Identifier: digvwr00vedd (find matches)
Title: The digressions of V. : written for his own fun and that of his friends / by Elihu Vedder ; containing the quaint legends of his infancy, an account of his stay in Florence, the garden of lost opportunities, return home on the track of Columbus, his struggle in New York in war-time coinciding with that of the nation, his prolonged stay in Rome, and likewise his prattlings upon art, tamperings with literature, struggles with verse, and many other things, being a portrait of himself from youth to age ; with many illustrations by the author.
Year: 1910 (1910s)
Authors: Vedder, Elihu
Subjects: American Art
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Company
Contributing Library: Whitney Museum of American Art, Frances Mulhall Achilles Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Metropolitan New York Library Council - METRO

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n, but man-aged to make it work; like all weak animals I protected myselfby little devices. Had I then had a typewriter and a calculating-machine, I would now be standing with the proudest in the land,at the top of the ladder, instead of at the foot with aching neck,looking up. Finally we moved into the new house and were delighted withit. But poor mother was taken ill almost at once; and, as I havetold elsewhere, when the crisis was passed, instead of being givena strengthening treatment, by the absolute neglect and forget-fulness of an old doctor she was allowed to die of weakness. Ihad been sent out to call the doctor, and when I came back mybrother met me at the door and told me she was dead. For theonly time in my life I fainted away. She lies in the beautifulCemetery of the Evergreens near East New York. An Architectural Interlude. — It had always been mymothers wish that I should be an artist, a great artist, and forher sake I wish it could have been so. For my own part, I am
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WE BUILD A HOUSE 81 perfectly content to be just what I am, and finally to occupy thatlittle niche posterity may assign to me; although I beg leave thave my doubts about posterity, having felt but little need of itskind offices, yet nourishing at the same time a little hope that itwill think kindly of me. I think it wise to assume that it will,and so get all the comfort that idea gives during my lifetime.My mothers wish, then, that I should be an artist, and my fatherswanting me to make money, led to a compromise and I was putwith an architect. I dont wish it understood that I considerarchitecture a compromise, for I have always held it to be oneof the noblest of the arts. In Chambers Street, nearly opposite our old home, there hungout from a house a small sign. It was black, with the facade ofa Grecian temple in white and in high relief projecting from itsdusty surface. This marked the business abode of Shugg andBeers, Architects. It was just like Dickens, and I remember that

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