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Evening at Lady Cowley's, for Queen of Holland. Went to Isle of Wight with W. Wallace at Easter. From M. Gulzot Paris, April 7th. ... It is curious to watch France, and I am also curious as to the possible consequences of what is happening in England. France has never been so liberal and so anti-revolutionary at the same time.
To me. How much? What key? Six sharps? F sharp major, Ben Dollard said. Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords. Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. No, Richie said. Yes, must. Got money somewhere. He's on for a razzle backache spree. Much? He seehears lipspeech. One and nine. Penny for yourself. Here. Give him twopence tip. Deaf, bothered.
Wilkins was not chosen President; that honour was given to Lord Brouncker. The experiments, its chief work, were to be productive both of light and fruit: the influence of Bacon is so great and evident that he might in a sense be called the founder of the Royal Society. Sprat's real preface to his History is Cowley's famous ode.
After dinner came Sir W. Batten, and I left him to pay off another ship, and I walked home again reading of a little book of new poems of Cowley's, given me by his brother. Abraham do lie, it seems, very sicke, still, but like to recover. At my office till late, and then came Mr.
After dinner came Sir W. Batten, and I left him to pay off another ship, and I walked home again reading of a little book of new poems of Cowley's, given me by his brother. Abraham do lie, it seems, very sicke, still, but like to recover. At my office till late, and then came Mr.
Where the whole construction, indeed, depends upon no inner necessity, the various threads, as soon as their interweaving ceases to be necessary to the plot, fall apart of themselves, without any dénoûment, strictly speaking, at all. Thus Cowley's play has the characteristic faults of immature work, absence of rational characterization, and want of logical construction.
Cowley's Post-Angel is no more than would be expedient in such an intercourse. One drops a packet at Lombard-street, and in twenty-four hours a friend in Cumberland gets it as fresh as if it came in ice. It is only like whispering through a long trumpet.
That state of life which bears the face of poverty with Mr. Cowley's great Vulgar, is admirably described; and it is no small satisfaction to those of the same turn of desire, that he produces the authority of the wisest men of the best age of the world, to strengthen his opinion of the ordinary pursuits of mankind.
And now, my young friends, in the year 1822, in which I write, and shall probably die, the love which glitters through Moore, and walks so ambitiously ambiguous through the verse of Byron; the love which you consider now so deep and so true; the love which tingles through the hearts of your young ladies, and sets you young gentlemen gazing on the evening star, all that love too will become unfamiliar or ridiculous to an after age; and the young aspirings and the moonlight dreams and the vague fiddle-de-dees which ye now think so touching and so sublime will go, my dear boys, where Cowley's Mistress and Waller's Sacharissa have gone before, go with the Sapphos and the Chloes, the elegant "charming fairs," and the chivalric "most beauteous princesses!"
What do I say? 'Twas not my purpose, not my business here, to give a character of Philander, no nor to speak of love; but oh! like Cowley's lute, my soul will sound to nothing but to love: talk what you will, begin what discourse you please, I end it all in love, because my soul is ever fix'd on Philander, and insensibly its biass leads to that subject; no, I did not when I began to write, think of speaking one word of my own weakness; but to have told you with what resolv'd courage, honour and virtue, I expect your coming; and sure so sacred a thing as love was not made to ruin these, and therefore in vain, my lovely brother, you will attempt it; and yet, oh heavens!
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