The Life and Letters of Sir John Everett Millais, President of the Royal Academy, Volume 1Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1899 - 462 pages A biography of the life and works of Sir John Everett Millais born 8 June 1829 at Southampton, England the son of John William Millais and Mary Evamey. He married in 1855 Euphemia Chalmers daughter of George Gray. John died 13 Aug 1896. |
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83 GOWER STREET admired afterwards amongst amusing artist asked autumn background beautiful Black Brunswicker Blind Girl brother called canvas Charles Charles Dickens church Collins colour Combe critics D. G. Rossetti dealer DEAR delighted Dickens dined dinner drawing early exhibited father feel figure finished fishing following letter Gambart hand head hear heard Holman Hunt hope Huguenot Hunt's illustrate JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS John Leech Jopling kind lady London look Luard Mariana morning mother never night Ophelia Order of Release painted painter Perth picture portrait Pre-Raphaelite Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood Proscribed Royalist Royal Academy Royalist Ruskin seen Sir Isumbras sitting sketch tell Thackeray thing told Tom Taylor took Vale of Rest walked Walter Deverell water-colour whilst wife Wilkie Collins William Allingham William Millais Woodman's Daughter Worcester Park write yesterday young
Popular passages
Page 49 - And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame, But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!
Page 372 - Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; Half hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
Page iii - THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF SIR JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS, President of the Royal Academy. With 319 Illustrations, of which 9 are Photogravure.
Page 69 - FAIR ISABEL, poor simple Isabel ! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye ! They could not in the self-same mansion dwell Without some stir of heart, some malady ; They could not sit at meals but feel how well It soothed each to be the other by ; They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep, But to each other dream, and nightly weep.
Page 106 - My life is dreary, He cometh not,' she said; She said, 'I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!
Page 115 - That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them. There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up; Which time she chanted snatches of old lauds, As one incapable of her own distress, Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element; but long it could not be Till that her...
Page 283 - ... own early ideas impressed indelibly on my memory by the excellence of his delineations. Those illustrations were commenced fifteen years ago, and from that time up to this day my affection for the man of whom I am speaking has increased. To see him has always been a pleasure. His voice has been a sweet sound in my ears. Behind his back I have never heard him praised without joining the eulogist ; I have never heard a word spoken against him without opposing the censurer. These words, should he...
Page 112 - ... true, of which surely there is and for ever will be a whole infinitude unknown to us, of infinite importance to us. Poetry will more and more come to be understood as nothing but higher knowledge, and the only genuine Romance for grown persons, Reality.
Page 281 - It was evidently the cry of a woman in distress; and while pausing to consider what they should do, the iron gate leading to the garden was dashed open, and from it came the figure of a young and very beautiful woman dressed in flowing white robes that shone in the moonlight. She seemed to float rather than run in their direction, and on coming up to the three young men, she paused for a moment in an attitude of supplication and terror. Then, suddenly seeming to recollect herself, she suddenly moved...
Page 335 - The eye of a critic is often, like a microscope, made so very fine and nice, that it discovers the atoms, grains, and minutest particles, without ever comprehending the whole, comparing the parts, or seeing all at once the harmony.