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Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch
Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch (1863-1944) was a renowned British writer and literary critic, best known for his influential work on English literature. He authored the classic "The Oxford Book of English Verse" and significantly contributed to the field of literary studies through his lectures at the University of Cambridge, where he held the position of King Edward VII Professor of English Literature. Quiller-Couch, often writing under the pen name "Q," was also a prolific novelist and short story writer, celebrated for his skillful storytelling and keen insight into human nature.
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IN A COLLEGE GARDEN. Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake, What ayles thee soe to pyne? Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake When dayes be fyne And greene thynges twyne: Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne? Turtur. Naye,...
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A Tale of Wild Justice. I. Beside a high-road in the extreme West of England stands a house which you might pass many times without suspecting it of a dark history or, indeed, any history worth mention. The country itself, which here slopes westward from the Mining District to Mount's Bay, has little beauty and—unless you happen to have studied it—little interest. It is bare, and it comes near...
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LECTURE I. INAUGURAL Wednesday, January 29, 1913 In all the long quarrel set between philosophy and poetry I know of nothing finer, as of nothing more pathetically hopeless, than Plato's return upon himself in his last dialogue 'The Laws.' There are who find that dialogue (left unrevised) insufferably dull, as no doubt it is without form and garrulous. But I think they will read it with...
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POETRY By Arthur Quiller-Couch "Trust in good verses then: They only shall aspire, When pyramids, as men Are lost i'the funeral fire." As the tale is told by Plato, in the tenth book of his Republic, one Er the son of Arminius, a Pamphylian, was slain in battle; and ten days afterwards, when they collected the bodies for burial, his body alone showed no taint of corruption. His relatives,...
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THE OMNIBUS. It was not so much a day as a burning, fiery furnace. The roar of London's traffic reverberated under a sky of coppery blue; the pavements threw out waves of heat, thickened with the reek of restaurants and perfumery shops; and dust became cinders, and the wearing of flesh a weariness. Streams of sweat ran from the bellies of 'bus-horses when they halted. Men went up and down...
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DEDICATION. MY DEAR WILLIAM ARCHER, Severe and ruthlessly honest man that you are, you will find that the levities and the gravities of this book do not accord, and will say so. I plead only that they were written at intervals, and in part for recreation, during years in which their author has striven to maintain a cheerful mind while a popular philosophy which he believed to be cheap took possession...
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CHAPTER I. ROSEWARNE OF HALL. John Rosewarne sat in his counting-house at Hall, dictating a letter to his confidential clerk. The letter ran— "Dear Sir,—In answer to yours of the 6th inst., I beg to inform you that in consequence of an arrangement with the Swedish firms, by which barrel-staves will be trimmed and finished to three standard lengths before shipment, we are enabled to offer an...
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CHAPTER I. MALBROUCK S'EN VA-T'EN GUERRE. "So adieu, Jack, until we meet in Quebec! You have the start of us, report says, and this may even find you drinking his Majesty's health in Fort Carillon. Why not? You carry Howe, and who carries Howe carries the eagles on his standards; or so you announce in your last. Well, but have we, on our part, no vexillum? Brother Romulus presents...
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THE MASTER OF ST. HOSPITAL. 'As poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things…' The Honourable and Reverend Eustace John Wriothesley Blanchminster, D.D., Master of St. Hospital-by-Merton, sat in the oriel of his library revising his Trinity Gaudy Sermon. He took pains with these annual sermons, having a quick and fastidious sense of literary style. "It...
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CHAPTER I. OF THE LINEAGE AND CONDITION OF SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. "I have laboured to make a covenant with myself, that affection may not press upon judgment: for I suppose there is no man, that hath any apprehension of gentry or nobleness, but his affection stands to a continuance of a noble name and house, and would take hold of a twig or twine-thread to uphold it: and yet time hath his...
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