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When the French came here, they found only one old man in the dungeons, and he could not speak." Mr. W.D. Howells A gondoliers' quarrel Mr. Sargent's Diploma picture The Barbarigo family Ruskin's sherry Palace hotels The Venetian balcony.
In his later years he not unfrequently attended the meetings of the Radical Club, or Chestnut Street Club, at Mrs. John T. Sargent's, in Boston, a place looked upon with pious horror by good Doctor Peabody, and equally discredited by the young positivists whom President Eliot had introduced in the college faculty.
"When the grass comes next spring, those scars in the sod will grow over. Lucky that neither horse was killed. Honest, I'll never breathe it! Not for worlds!" Sargent's irony was wasted. Dell, in a dazed way, recovered his horse, mounted, and aimlessly followed his bunkie. On reaching their saddles, the mental fog lifted, and as if awakening from a pleasant dream, the boy dismounted.
Emerson convoyed his party to a hotel on Copley Square and left them there while he went out at once to meet his business friends. "How far away Rosemont seems, and poor Mrs. Paterno with her troubles," she said an hour later as they stood before Sargent's panel of the Prophets in the Public Library.
Miss Anthony wrote her many times: "You can not begin to know what a blessing your home is to me, or how grateful I am to you for its comfort and luxury. You are indeed Mrs. Sargent's successor in love and hospitality, and my hope is always to deserve them."
In answer to the third question, 6 libraries report both a separate card catalog and finding list, 43 a finding list for sale or distribution, 15 a card catalog for children, and 88 no separate list. Of the printed finding lists 4 are Sargent's, 1 Larned's, 2 Hardy's, and 2 Miss James's. The fourth question relates to covering books for children.
From the time of his first successes at the Salon he was hailed, I believe, as a recruit of high value to the camp of the Impressionists, and to-day he is for many people most conveniently pigeon-holed under that head. It is not necessary to protest against the classification if this addition always be made to it, that Mr. Sargent's impressions happen to be worthy of record.
Couldn't you sort of shelve the Justine question for a while?" "Dearie, be advised," Mrs. Salisbury said, with solemn warning. "You DON'T want a girl like that, dear. You will be a SOMEBODY, Sandy. You can't do just what any other girl would do, as Owen Sargent's wife! Don't live with Mrs. Sargent if you don't want to, but take a pretty house, dear.
Billett will have to reconcile your knowledge of Sargent's and my situation with whatever moral ideas you may happen to have on fathers-in-law and friends' fathers for some time yet I'm sure I don't know how you're going to do it, especially Mr. Billett, and I can't honestly say that I particularly care. But that will not be permanent, I imagine. You understand?"
On the day after Abbey had stretched his great canvas in Sargent's studio in London, expecting to begin his work the following week, he suddenly passed away, and what would, in all likelihood, have been Edwin Abbey's mural masterpiece was lost to the world. Assured of Mrs.
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