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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 42, April, 1861   By:

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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 42, April, 1861, is a fascinating collection of essays, stories, and poetry that offer a snapshot of American culture during the mid-19th century. The contributors cover a wide range of topics, from the political climate leading up to the Civil War to lighthearted musings on everyday life.

The writing is elegant and thought-provoking, with each piece showcasing the unique voice of its author. The essays are particularly compelling, offering insights into the pressing issues of the time and shedding light on the complexities of the era.

While some of the literary references may feel dated to modern readers, the overall quality of the writing is impressive. The variety of genres represented in this issue makes for a rich and diverse reading experience, ensuring that there is something for everyone to enjoy.

Overall, The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 42, April, 1861, is a thought-provoking and engaging collection that offers a window into the past. It is a must-read for history buffs and literature enthusiasts alike.

First Page:





"Can trouble dwell with April days?"

In Memoriam.

In our methodical New England life, we still recognize some magic in summer. Most persons reluctantly resign themselves to being decently happy in June, at least. They accept June. They compliment its weather. They complained of the earlier months as cold, and so spent them in the city; and they will complain of the later months as hot, and so refrigerate themselves on some barren sea coast. God offers us yearly a necklace of twelve pearls; most men choose the fairest, label it June, and cast the rest away. It is time to chant a hymn of more liberal gratitude.

There are no days in the whole round year more delicious than those which often come to us in the latter half of April. On these days one goes forth in the morning, and an Italian warmth broods over all the hills, taking visible shape in a glistening mist of silvered azure, with which mingles the smoke from many bonfires. The sun trembles in his own soft rays, till one understands the old English tradition, that he dances on Easter Day. Swimming in a sea of glory, the tops of the hills look nearer than their bases, and their glistening watercourses seem close to the eye, as is their liberated murmur to the ear... Continue reading book >>

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