Memories and Anecdotes

son-Julia Ward Howe-Mary A. Livermore-A Day at the Concord Sch

oston to get one thousand dollars from each to create a publishing company, so that authors could have their books published at a much cheaper rate than in the regular way. This person never called on m

was recovering from a severe fall, and walked with a slow and feeble step. When he noticed me sitting on the broad piazza, he came, and taking a chair beside me, began to joke in his old way, telling comic

em, doubtless very impressive, but although in a box just over the stage, I could not get one word. He placed his voice at the roof of his mouth, a fine sounding board, but the

rove that women possess both wit and humour. He spoke of his first wife as the wittiest woman he had ever known, giving convincing proof. A few men were on my side, but they could be counted on one hand omitting the thumb. But I worked on this theme until I had more than sufficient material for a good-sized volume. If a masculine book reviewer ever alluded to the book, it was with a sneer. He generally left it without a word, as men still ignore the fact when a woman wins in an essay-writing competition against m

lliant wit. Julia Ward Howe was undeniably witty. Her concurrence with a dilapidated bachelor, who retained little but his conceit, was excellent. He said: "It is time now for me to

a certain family noted for their chilling manners and lofty exclusiveness, she hurried to the house of a jolly friend, and, seating herself before the glowin

rg, and then by her saying, when urged by Mrs. Livermore to dine with her: "O no! my dear, it'

rles Sumner refusing to meet some friends of hers at dinner explained languidly: "Really, Julia, I have lost all my interest in individuals." She retorted, "Why, Charles, God hasn't got as far as that yet!" Once walking in the streets of Boston with a friend she looked up and read on a public building, "Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary." She said: "I did not know there were any charitable eyes and ears in Boston." She showed indomitable courage to the last. A lady in Boston, who live

a climax of fun. Returning to the house after revelling in this exercise, she exclaimed: "Splend

practise close economy, and she decided: "I ought not to wear out my shoes by sliding, whe

her parents to rise and pray for the children. "It's no matter about m

for three months, and after that was hired at thirty-seven cents a day to work there three months more. She also applied for work at a clothing store, and received a dozen red flannel shirts to make up at six and a qua

rom some source, and always listened, and was saved from accidents and danger. And she said that what was rev

cepting invitations, to divert her mind somewhat. She felt at times that she could not leave her unfortunate child behind, when she should be called from earth, but she was enabled to drive th

of Philosophy during its first season. Of c

n we will ascend." Then he would look around as if to question all, and add: "Is it not so? Is it not so?" I remember another of his mystic utterances: "When the mind is izzing,

rks, and had asked for questions, one lady timidly arose and inqui

ide potentiality, as we might say of potatoes in a hat; they are eit

n American Literature, and I ventured t

lative, I inquired, but probably was rather pert: "Would a bank check, if it were

am, and talked and talked, but as I co

the sun shining down through the pi

say in answer to a question from the lady with him: "Why, if you can't understand that, you can

me joyously: "I'm going West in Lou's chariot,"

ed "Transcendental Wild Oats," ma

have recently published Bronson Alcott's "Fruitlands," compiled by Clara Endicott Sears, with "Transc

in Miss Whiting's record of Kate Field's life, of Miss Hosmer as a universal favourite in Rome, a dearly loved friend of the Brownings, and associated with the literary and artistic coterie the

l animation and cordiality as she said: "It is your fault that I am a little slow in coming d

theirs. One which seemed specially characteristic of Robert Browning was written on the thinnest of paper in the finest hand, difficult to decipher. And on the flap of the envelope was a long message from his wife. Each letter was addressed to "My dearest Hattie," and ended, "Yours most affect

as to cow i

presence to

hen lame from a sprain, she was announced by a pompous butler at a reception as "Miss Cobble." "No, Miss Hobble," was her instant correction. She weighed n

known. She was with her at some museum where an immense antique drinking cup was exhibited, large enough for a

eld, who, after a tempestuous trip, said: "Lemonade is the only satisfa

devoted to futile attempts to solve the problem of Perpe

ia, and two centuries ago the head of it went to Wallachia, where it had been a powerful and ruling family. In 1849, at the age of twenty, the Pr

this lady was everywhere known, beloved by many personal friends, and admired by all who had read her works. Her thought was profound and liberal, her views were broad and humane. As an author, philanthropist, traveller, artist, and one of the strongest advocates of freedom and liberty for the oppressed of both sexe

tters and articles for the daily papers, and addresses to be read before various learned societies, of which she was an honoured member. M. Deschanel, the critic of the Journal des Débats, has said of her that "each one of her works would suffice for the reputation of a man." As an artist, her paintings have bee

tree sle

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stainl

und it far

e dreams

y, sad,

ng easte

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ted also did her homage. Named by Frederika Bremer and the Athenians, "The New Corinne," she was invested by the Greeks with the citizenship of Greece

ore and, while born a princess of an ancient race and by marriage one also, she counted these titles of rank as nothi

by nature with both mental and physical, as well as social superiority, the Princess united in an unusual degree masculine strength of character, grasp of thought, philosophical calmness, love of study and research, joined to an ardent and impassioned love of the grand, the true, and the beautiful. She had the grace and tenderness of the most sensitive of women, added to mental endowments rare in a man. Her

but after reading this article I ventured to ask her to send me the material for a lecture and she responded most generously, sending books, many sketches of her career, full lists of the subjects whi

was handed round to an eager crowd. In about six months I saw in the papers that Dora D'Is

s of the butter used on the corn were visible about her mouth and she was smoking a large and very strong cigar, a sight not so common at that time in this country. A rocking chair was to her a delightful novelty and she had already bought six large rocking c

eeing my puzzled expression, "I deed think of you as so deeferent, I deed think y

rised to meet a person so "different" from my romantic ideal. Like the two Irishmen, who chancing to meet were each mistaken

rs. Oliver and myself valuable t