Date of publication: 2017-07-08 16:27
Organised campaigns for women's suffrage began to appear in 6866 and from 6888 women could vote in many local council elections. When parliamentary reform was being debated in 6867, John Stuart Mill proposed an amendment that would have given the vote to women on the same terms as men but it was rejected by 699 votes to 78. The campaign gained momentum after this.
The picture is familiar enough the only thing that changes is our attitude toward it. Shelley, excitable, uncompromising, atheistical, throwing his pamphlets into the sea in the belief that he is going to reform the world, has become a figure which is half heroic and wholly delightful. On the other hand, the world that Shelley fought has become ridiculous. Somehow the untidy, shrill-voiced boy, with his violence and his oddity has succeeded in making Eton and Oxford, the English government, the Town Clerk and Mayor of Barnstable, the country gentlemen of Sussex and innumerable obscure people whom we might call generically, after Mary's censorious friends, the Booths and the Baxters Shelley has succeeded in making all these look absurd.
The morning spread seven foot by four green and sunny. Like a fling of grain the birds settled on the land. She was jerked again by another tweak of the tormenting hand.
Why is it that musicals like Into the Woods and Wicked and television shows like Grimm and Once Upon a Time draw such faithful fandoms? (Apart from all the beautiful people, that is.) Come to think of it, what makes Disney so sure that they can rake in success after success by reimagining age-old folk tales, fairy tales, myths, and legends?
so the old lady rambles on, and for a moment we see him as in a cracked mirror held in a trembling hand. For a moment, a cloud crosses that august countenance. It was true. He had sometimes on returning home in the evening, sighed for a companion. He had sometimes felt that "domestic a comfortless state." He had conceived the romantic idea of adopting and educating a female relative called Charlotte. But there were difficulties the idea was abandoned. Then the cloud drifts away common sense, indomitable cheerfulness return once more the serene figure of the historian emerges triumphant. He had every reason to be content. The great building was complete the mountain was off his breast the slave was freed from the toil of the oar.
But enough. I may be wrong. Miss Chester's hair may have nothing to do with it. And Miss Waddell may be right every good quality of heart and head may be yours. I am sure I hope so. But I beg, William, now that you are about to begin a fresh volume, at Cambridge too, with men of character and learning, that you will pull yourself together. Speak out. Justify the faith that Miss Waddell has in you. For you are keeping one of the finest scholars of her time shut up in the British Museum among mummies and policemen and wet umbrellas. There must be a trifle of ninety-five volumes more of you in those iron-bound chests. Lighten her task relieve our anxiety, and so add to the gratitude of your obliged obedient servant,
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Then, towards the end of the nineteenth century, there was a change. Again for reasons not easy to discover, widows became broader-minded, the public keener-sighted the effigy no longer carried conviction or satisfied curiosity. The biographer certainly won a measure of freedom. At least he could hint that there were scars and furrows on the dead man's face. Froude's Carlyle is by no means a wax mask painted rosy red. And following Froude there was Sir Edmund Gosse, who dared to say that his own father was a fallible human being. And following Edmund Gosse in the early years of the present century came Lytton Strachey.
.his person was broad and full, and tended even to corpulence, his complexion was eyes were large and soft in their expression and it was from the peculiar appearance of haze or dreaminess which mixed with their light, that I recognized my object.
In that pause she saw herself in the past at ten, at twenty, at twenty-five. She was running in and out of a cottage with eleven brothers and sisters. The line jerked. She was thrown forward in her chair.
We have here, then, in conjunction the Honourable Horace Walpole and the Reverend William Cole. But they were two very different people. Cole, it is true, had been at Eton with Horace, where he was called by the famous Walpole group "Tozhy," but he was not a member of that group, and socially he was greatly Walpole's inferior. His father was a farmer, Horace's father was a Prime Minister. Cole's niece was the daughter of a cheesemonger Horace's niece married a Prince of the Blood Royal. But Cole was a man of solid good sense who made no bones of this disparity, and, after leaving Eton and Cambridge, he had become, in his quiet frequently flooded parsonage, one of the first antiquaries of the time. It was this common passion that brought the two friends together again.
If at this moment there is little chance of re-reading the sixteen volumes of the Paget Toynbee edition of Walpole's letters, while the prospect of possessing the magnificent Yale edition, where all the letters are to be printed with all the answers, becomes remote, this sound and sober biography of Horace Walpole by Mr. Ketton-Cremer may serve at least to inspire some random thoughts about Walpole and the humane art which owes its origin to the love of friends.