So is it ever: when with bold step we press our way into the holy place where genius hath wrought, we find it to be a place of sorrows. Art has its Gethsemane and its Calvary as well as religion. Our best loved books and sweetest songs are those “that tell of saddest thought.”
The summer of 1859 found Mrs. Stowe again on her way to Europe, this time accompanied by all her children except the youngest.
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