Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards
Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards (1850-1943) was an American writer renowned for her children's literature and biographies. She penned over 90 books, including the beloved children's classic "Tirra Lirra" and the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography of her mother, Julia Ward Howe. Richards' work often reflected her family's literary and social reform background, blending engaging storytelling with moral and educational themes.

Author's Books:

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CHAPTER I INTRODUCING THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS "If I'm not mistaken," said Calvin Parks, "this is the ro'd where Sam and Sim used to live!" He checked his horse and looked about him. "And there—well, I'm blowed if that ain't the house now. Same old pumpkin-color; same old well-sweep; same old trees; it certinly is the house. Well!" He looked earnestly at... more...

THE SILVER CROWN "And shall I be a king?" asked the child, "and shall I wear a crown?" "You shall surely wear a crown," said the Angel, "and a kingdom is waiting for you." "Oh, joy!" said the child. "But tell me, how will it come about? for now I am only a little child, and the crown would hardly stay on my curls." "Nay! that I may not tell," said... more...

THE GREEN SATIN GOWN Who ever wore such a queer-looking thing? I wore it myself, dear, once upon a time; yes, I did! Perhaps you would like to hear about it, while you mend that tear in your muslin. Sit down, then, and let us be cosy. I was making a visit in Hillton once, when I was seventeen years old, just your age; staying with dear old Miss Persis Elderby, who is now dead. I have told you about... more...

CHAPTER I. Melody, My Dear Child:I   SIT down to write my story for you, the life-story of old Rosin the Beau, your friend and true lover. Some day, not far distant now, my fiddle and I shall be laid away, in the quiet spot you know and love; and then (for you will miss me, Melody, well I know that!) this writing will be read to you, and you will hear my voice still, and will learn to know me better... more...

CHAPTER I. HILDEGARDIS GRAHAM. "And have you decided what is to become of Hilda?" asked Mrs. Graham. "Hilda?" replied her husband, in a tone of surprise, "Hilda? why, she will go with us, of course. What else should become of the child? She will enjoy the trip immensely, I have no doubt." Mrs. Graham sighed and shook her head. "I fear that is impossible, dear George!"... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BOY JOHN. The boy John was sitting on the wharf, watching the ebb of the tide. The current was swift, for there had been heavy rains within a few days; the river was full of drifting logs, bits of bark, odds and ends of various kinds; the water, usually so blue, looked brown and thick. It swirled round the great mossy piers, making eddies between them; from time to time the boy dropped... more...

CHAPTER I. THE CHILD. "Well, there!" said Miss Vesta. "The child has a wonderful gift, that is certain. Just listen to her, Rejoice! You never heard our canary sing like that!" Miss Vesta put back the shutters as she spoke, and let a flood of light into the room where Miss Rejoice lay. The window was open, and Melody's voice came in like a wave of sound, filling the room with... more...

CHAPTER I. MARIE. Marie was tired. She had been walking nearly the whole day, and now the sun was low in the west, and long level rays of yellow light were spreading over the country, striking the windows of a farmhouse here and there into sudden flame, or resting more softly on tree-tops and hanging slopes. They were like fiddle-bows, Marie thought; and at the thought she held closer something that... more...

CHAPTER I. THE ARRIVAL. "Mamma," said Hildegarde Grahame, flying into her mother's room,"I have news for you, thrilling news! Guess what it is!" Mrs. Grahame looked up from her sewing. "The house is on fire," she said, quietly, "or you have found a Royal Walnut Moth; or, possibly, Hugh has developed wings and flown away. None of these things would greatly surprise me;... more...

THE MORNING MAIL. Hildegarde was walking home from the village, whither she had gone to get the mail. She usually rode the three miles on her bicycle, but she had met a tack on the road the day before, and must now wait a day or two till the injured tire could be mended. Save for missing the sensation of flying, which she found one of the most delightful things in the world, she was hardly sorry to... more...

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