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They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.
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Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato, and Milton is, that they set at naught books and traditions, and spoke not what men but what they thought. Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost,- and our first thought is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment. To believe your own thought, to believe that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men, - that is genius. The sentiment they instil is of more value than any thought they may contain. The soul always hears an admonition in such lines, let the subject be what it may. The stories are told by the characters who have always been there, some lost in time, but now reintroduced to be savored and enjoyed through books read by today’s young readers.I read the other day some verses written by an eminent painter which were original and not conventional. It’s all there, all the tales that can be shared through history’s young voices, any of whom could easily have stepped out of one of our classroom history books. And now, in the most recent addition, we’re introduced to Hock who survives Andersonville, one of the most dreaded prison camps of the Civil War. Is it true? It’s the tale of a trunk that was found washed up on the rocky coast of Maine after a late winter storm. Olivia is introduced as a young girl who took on the role of mother to her family, while unwillingly caring for the Yankee troops.
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It’s a tale of how she was captured and sent off to the Colonies as an indentured servant. From there it’s Bitsy’s story, who in the 1700s wrote a letter that was found not so long ago. The reader meets her as Jenny, a young girl from Gettysburg, who is well known to history. Through many different roles she comes alive with tales that tell of her varied and wide-ranging history. One small doll wanted a story, one that told of who she was, where she lived, what she was busy doing and why? Her message was clear – and thus it began. Those eyes seemed to be asking “Who am I?” They were searching for not only a name, but a tale that needed to be told.Īnd there it began. It was a corner from where those dark glass eyes could take in all that went on in day-to-day life. And what happened next? That first doll that she had painted, baked, dressed, with hair and eyes inserted, had been tucked safely into a sheltered corner. Moving beyond the class, Tecla set up a kiln in her own home where doll parts were baked – arms, legs, heads. But with three daughters this was a wonderful skill to learn. This was not something she had ever envisioned herself doing. That was how history was taught way back then, which only promoted a lack of interest in what should be a fascinating subject.Īnd then one day not so long ago, in the late winter when the weather was a bit dreary, she was coerced into taking a craft class on creating porcelain dolls. From early on she knew there had to be a better way to learn about our past – something beyond dates, names of generals and places of major battles. When asked where did this all begin – this need to record bits and pieces of history – her response was that it began in grade school. Tecla Emerson didn’t have dreams or aspirations of becoming a writer.