affection, tempered with godliness, of John Winthrop is a good foil to the gallant coquetries of Lord Peterborough and the Countess of Suffolk. There are all sorts of guests at this banquet of Love, as in that other symposium, described by Plato, at which the poetic Agathon, the calm Pausanias, the witty Aristophanes, even the handsome Alcibiades, a little disordered with wine, yet crowned with violets, all sat to discourse on Love, each in his own fashion; while above all their varying voices rose that of the great Socrates, declaring, "Love is the desire that good be forever present to us. Of necessity, then, love must also be the desire for immortality." NOTE. THIS little volume bears exactly the same name as a charming comedy by the dramatic author, Mr. BRONSON HOWARD; and I take this opportunity of apologizing to him for what might otherwise seem like an unwarrantable appropriation of a title, and of urging in excuse that this book could not easily have been called anything else than Old Love-Letters. |