closet-like chamber, the window looking towards
St. Anne's Hill. It is never difficult to imagine a poet in a _small
chamber_, particularly when his mind may imbibe inspiration from so rich
and lovely a landscape. Beside the group of trees, beneath whose shadow
the poet frequently sat, there is a horse chestnut of such exceeding size
and beauty, that it is worthy a pilgrimage, and no lover of nature could
look upon it without mingled feelings of reverence and affection.

Here then amid such tranquil scenes, and such placid beauty, the
"melancholy Cowley," passed the later days of big anxious existence; here
we may fancy him receiving Evelyn and Denham, the poets and men of letters
of his troubled day, who found the disappointments of courtly life more
than their philosophy could endure. Here his friendly biographer, Doctor
Spratt, cheered his lonely hours.

Cowley was one of those fortunate bards who obtain fame and honor during
life. His learning was deep, his reading extensive, his acquaintance with
mankind large. "To him," says Denham in his famous elegy,

"To him no author was unknown,
Yet what he wrote was all his own."

His biographer adds, "There was nothing affected or singular in his habit,
or person, or gesture; _he understood the forms of good breeding enough to
practise them without burdening himself or others_." This indeed is the
perfection of good breeding and good sense.

Having obtained, as we have said, the Porch-house at Chertsey, his mind
dwelt with pleasure--a philosophic pleasure--upon the hereafter, which he
hoped for in this life of tranquillity, and the silent labor he so dearly
loved; but he was destined to prove the reality of his own poesy:

"Oh life, thou _Nothing's_ younger brother,
So _like_ that one might take one for the other."

The career of Abraham Cowley was never sullied by vice,(3) he was loyal
without being servile, and at once modest, independent and sincere. His
character is eloquently drawn by Doctor Spratt. "He governed his passions
with great moderation, his virtues were never troublesome or uneasy to
any, whatever he disliked in others he only corrected by the silent
reproof of a better practice."

He died at Chertsey on the 28th of July, 1667, and was interred in
Westminster Abbey. A throng of nobles followed him to his grave, and the
worthless king who had deserted him is reported to have said, that Mr.
Cowley had not left a better man behind him in Englan