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THE
LIVES
OF THE
POETS
Anthony Brewer,
A poet who flourished in the reign of Charles I. but of whose birth and life we can recover no particulars. He was highly esteemed by some wits in that reign, as appears from a Poem called Steps to Parnassus, which pays him the following well turned compliment.
[2] Let Brewer take his artful pen in hand,Attending muses will obey command,Invoke the aid of Shakespear's sleeping clay,And strike from... more...
THE
LIVES
OF THE
POETS.
* * * * *
Sir JOHN DENHAM.
An eminent poet of the 17th century, was the only son of Sir JohnDenham, knight, of Little Horsley in Essex, and sometime baron of theExchequer in Ireland, and one of the lords justices of that kingdom.He was born in Dublin, in the year 1615[1]; but was brought over fromthence very young, on his father's being made one of the barons of theExchequer in England 1617.
He received his... more...
PETER MOTTEAUX,
A French gentleman, born and educated at Rohan, in Normandy. He came over into England, was a considerable trader, and resided here many years. He is said to have possessed no inconsiderable share of wit, and humour; and, besides a translation of Don Quixote, several Songs, Prologues and Epilogues, together with a Poem on Tea, dedicated to the Spectator, (see Vol. VII. Numb. 552) he is author of the following dramatic pieces.
1.... more...
THE
LIVES
OF THE
POETS
* * * * *
EUSTACE BUDGELL, Esq;
was the eldest son of Gilbert Budgell, D.D. of St. Thomas near Exeter, by his first wife Mary, the only daughter of Dr. William Gulston, bishop of Bristol; whose sister Jane married dean Addison, and was mother to the famous Mr. Addison the secretary of state. This family of Budgell is very old, and has been settled, and known in Devonshire above 200 years[1].
Eustace was born about... more...
Chapter I
From Broadway To Ghent
When the war broke out in August, 1914, I was at work in the City Room of the "New York Evening Post." One morning, during the first week of activities, the copy boy handed me a telegram which was signed "Luther, Boston," and contained the rather cryptic message: —"How about this fight?"
It was some moments before I could recall the time, more than two years before, when I had last seen the writer,... more...
Three years have passed since Hubbard and I began that fateful journey into Labrador of which this volume is a record. A little more than a year has elapsed since the first edition of our record made its appearance from the press. Meanwhile I have looked behind the ranges. Grand Lake has again borne me upon the bosom of her broad, deep waters into the great lonely wilderness that lured Hubbard to his death.
It was a day in June last year that... more...
PREFACE
Every man who writes about himself is, on the face of the matter, obnoxious to the suspicion which haunts the daily pathway of the Bore. To talk of self and not be offensive demands an art which is not always given to man. And yet we are always longing to get near each other and to understand each other; and in default of a closer communion with our living fellows we take to our bosoms the shadows of fiction and the stage. If the real... more...
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH WE BEGIN OUR SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY
By rights Henry, being the hero of this story, should be introduced in the first line. But really there isn't so much to say about Henry—Henry J. Allen for short, as we say in Kansas—Henry J. Allen, editor and owner of the Wichita Beacon. And to make the dramatis personae complete, we may consider me as the editor of the Emporia Gazette, and the two of us as short, fat, bald,... more...
CHAPTER I.
Peculiar interest attached to his Life—His Birth—His early studies—His passion for Mathematics—His work on the Hydrostatic Balance—Appointed Lecturer on Mathematics at Pisa—His antipathy to the Philosophy of Aristotle—His contentions with the Aristotelians—Chosen professor of Mathematics in Padua—Adopts the Copernican system, but still teaches the Ptolemaic doctrine—His... more...
THE PLAY-HOUSE CALLED OTTAWA.
Do not imagine that I spend much time at once in Ottawa. I have never liked the kind of play-house that politicians have made on that glorious plateau in a valley of wonderland with a river of dreams rolling past to the sea. Where under heaven is any other Capital so favoured by the great scenic artist? On what promontory do parliamentary towers and gables so colossally arise to enchant the vision? The Thames draws... more...