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There was a celebrated Fourier at the Academy of Science, whom posterity has forgotten; and in some garret an obscure Fourier, whom the future will recall. Lord Byron was beginning to make his mark; a note to a poem by Millevoye introduced him to France in these terms: a certain Lord Baron. David d'Angers was trying to work in marble.
Je t'embrasse. How gets on the German? "We have such a specimen of the gandin here the Vicomte de Gars. I think John Catt had better make haste over. "Yours affectionately, Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Sharp. "Rue Millevoye. "My dearest Emmy, No answer from you? How unkind! But still I continue to give you my ideas of the moment from this. What do we want?
The mariners who sketched the bounds of this empire, which is at last attaining to the full consciousness of its mighty destinies, were the contemporaries of Marlowe and Webster, of Beaumont and Ford. Napoleon's fretful impatience that its victories should have as their literary accompaniments only the wan tragedies of Joseph Chénier and the unleavened odes of Millevoye was just.
Literary genius remained deaf to his voice, and the real talent of several poets of a secondary order, Delille, Esmenard, Millevoye, Chenedolle, was not sufficient to triumph over the intellectual apathy which seemed to envelope the people he governed.
Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Emily Sharp. "Rue Millevoye, Paris. "MY DEAREST EMMY, I should certainly not venture to offer any remarks on taste to you, my love, under ordinary circumstances. But I am provoked. I have passed a severe round of soirées of every description.
Mrs. Rowe's was in the Rue say the Rue Millevoye, so that we may not interfere with possible vested interests. Was it respectable? Was it genteel? Did good country families frequent it? Were all the comforts of an English home to be had? Had Mrs. Grundy cast an approving eye into every nook and corner? Of course there were Bibles in the bedrooms; and you were not made to pay a franc for every cake of soap. Mrs. Rowe had her tea direct from Twinings'. Twinings' tea she had drunk through her better time, when Rowe had one of the finest houses in all Shepherd's Bush, and come what might, Twinings' tea she would drink while she was permitted to drink tea at all. Brown Windsor no other soap for Mrs. Rowe, if you please. People who wanted any of the fanciful soaps of Rimmel or Piver must buy them. Brown Windsor was all she kept. Yes, she was obliged to have Gruyère and people did ask occasionally for Roquefort; but her opinion was that the person who did not prefer a good Cheshire to any other cheese, deserved to go without any. She had been twenty-one years in Paris, and seven times only had she missed morning service on Sundays. Hereupon, a particular history of each occasion, and the superhuman difficulty which had bound Mrs. Rowe hand and foot to the Rue Millevoye from eleven till one. She had a faithful note of a beautiful sermon preached in the year 1850 by the Rev. John Bobbin, in which he compared life to a boarding-house. He was staying with Mrs. Howe at the time. He was an earnest worker in the true way; and she distinctly saw her salle-
It afforded me excellent creature comforts; and I was indebted to it for a constant welcome when I got to Paris which is something to the traveller. We cling to an old hotel, after we have found the service bad, the cooking execrable, and the rooms dirty. It is an ancient house, and the people know us, and have a cheery word and a home look. Many years were passed in the Rue Millevoye by Mrs.
I shall keep him dark when I dine with Papa Cockayne on Sunday." Is there a more melancholy place than the street in which you have lived; than the house, now curtainless and weather-stained, you knew prim, and full of happy human creatures; than the "banquet-hall deserted:" than the empty chair; than the bed where Death found the friend you loved? The Rue Millevoye is all this to me. I avoid it.
Most of us have gone through that, the Millevoye phase, but who else has shown such a wise and gay acceptance of the apparently inevitable? We parted; I remember little of our converse, except a shrewd and hearty piece of encouragement given me by my junior, who already knew so much more of life than his senior will ever do.
Mohun as the idle wind? The mysteries which lay in the talk, and perplexed her, were cleared up in due time. "He has but stumbled in the path Thou hast in weakness trod." "He's here again, Mum." He was there at the servant's entrance to the highly respectable boarding-house in the Rue Millevoye. It was five in the morning a winter's morning. Mrs.
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