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Updated: May 11, 2025
Or, to continue in this charming vein of parable, the author of Pelham may be likened to Beau Tibbs. Tibbs, as we all remember, would pass for a pink of fashion, and had a wife whom he presented to the world as a paragon of virtue and ton, and who was but the cast-off mistress of a lord. Mr. Bulwer's philosophy is his Mrs.
I might mention a number of old plays managers have in contemplation but as Shakespeare says I think it was the sweet Bard of Avon that so expressed himself 'Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. That is why I have selected Bulwer's great romantic and poetic masterpiece 'The Lady of Lyons. Besides, ladies, bear in mind it will afford Miss Daisy Daffodil a magnificent opportunity to appear as Pauline, a character, ladies, which has claimed the histrionic talents of many of the bright luminaries of the stage from the days of the glorious Peg Woffington to those of Leslie Carter."
Whatever makes for greater intelligence and enlightenment throughout a nation makes for the greater stability of the national life, and gives new emphasis to Bulwer's words: Take away the sword; States can be saved without it bring the pen.
She felt it was a frightful extravagance as she paid away two of Miss Cobb's shillings for Bulwer's 'Caxtons; but she felt also that to live through those three tedious hours without such aid would be a step on the road to a lunatic asylum.
Turning the leaves of an old novel that had lost one cover, she came across the name of one of her heroes, "Richard of the Lion Heart." She had a passion, just then, for English history. And there was Bulwer's "White Rose of England," in paper covers with a Harper imprint. "Could I take these beside?" she asked, with some hesitation. He glanced over at them as he came to that end of the room.
We found it very cold as we went home, and Bulwer's rooms seem also to have been insufficiently heated, so that we took refuge in a restaurant to drink a glass of hot punch. The incident has remained fixed in my memory because here for the first time I saw Cornelius in an ungovernably eccentric humour. While we thus took our pleasure, Mine.
As regular a visitor was a huge long-bearded Norwegian who looked a prophet and was an artist, and who spent most of the winter in the study of Marion Crawford's novels, I cannot imagine why, as they roused him to fury. "Marion Crawford," he would thunder at us as if somehow we were responsible, "Bah! He is a weak imitator of Bulwer, that is all, and he has not Bulwer's power of construction.
Much of the time, I am sorry to say, was devoted to novels, but not those of a trashy sort. I read all of Bulwer's then published, Cooper's, Marryat's, Scott's, Washington Irving's works, Lever's, and many others that I do not now remember. Mathematics was very easy to me, so that when January came, I passed the examination, taking a good standing in that branch.
There are so many misleading purple-velvet waistcoats, gold chains, superfine sentiments, and blue-blooded affiliations in the way, that the true nucleus of so much decoration becomes less accessible than the needle in the hay-stack. It is greatly to Bulwer's credit that he stuck valiantly to his quest, and nearly, if not quite, ran down his game at last.
She was ready to talk about anything and everything the newly-wedded queen, and the fortunate Prince, whose existence among us had all the charm of novelty of Lord Melbourne's declining health and Sir Robert Peel's sliding scale mesmerism the Oxford Tracts the latest balloon ascent the opera Macready's last production at Drury lane Bulwer's new novel that clever little comic paper, just struggling into popularity what do you call the thing Punch? yes, Punch, or the London Charivari a much more respectable paper than its Parisian prototype.
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