corruption which public opinion ought to sweep out of existence; a usurpation for which there is no excuse save the complete ignorance of one race, and the utter helplessness of the other.

In a succeeding paper we will look into the manufacturing interests of that delightful section of the State near Aiken, journey together to Augusta, and thence downward through Georgia.

IN the year 1851, Tennyson received the laurel, and almost immediately was called upon by the national sentiment to exercise the functions of his poetic office. The "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington" was the first, and remains the most ambitious, of his patriotic lyrics. This tribute to the "last great Englishman" may fairly be pronounced equal to the occasion; a respectable performance for Tennyson, a strong one for another poet. None but a great artist could have written it, yet it is scarcely a great poem, and certainly, though Tennyson's most important ode, is not comparable with his predecessor's lofty discourse upon the "Intimations of Immortality." Several passages have become folk-words, such as O good gray head which all men knew!" and

66

"This is England's greatest son,He that gained a hundred fights, Nor ever lost an English gun!"

but the ode, upon the whole, is labored, built up of high-sounding lines and refrains after the manner of Dryden, in which rhetoric often is substituted for imagination and richness of thought.

The laureate never has been at ease in handling events of the day. To his brooding and essentially poetic nature such matters seem of no more moment, beside the mysteries of eternal beauty and truth, than was the noise of catapults and armed men to. Archimedes studying out problems during the city's siege. If he succeeds at all with them, it is by sheer will and workmanship. Even then his voice is hollow, and his didacticism, as in "Maud," artificial and insincere. The laurel, and the fame which now had come to him, seemed for a time to bring him more in sympathy with his countrymen, and he made an honest endeavor to rehearse their achievements in his song. The result, seen in

the volume Maud and other Poems, illustrates what I say. Here are contained his prominent occasional-pieces, "The Charge of the Light Brigade," the Wellington ode, and the metrical romance from which the volume takes its name. After several revisions, the Balaklavan lyric has passed into literature, but ranks below the nobler measures of Drayton and Campbell. "Maud," however, with its strength and weakness, has divided public opinion more than any other of the author's works. I think that his judicious students will not demur to my opinion that it is quite below his other sustained productions; rather, that it is not sustained at all, but, while replete with beauties, weak and uneven as a whole-and that this is due to the poet's having gone outside his own nature, and to his surrender of the joy of art, in an effort to produce something that should at once catch the favor of the multitude. "Maud" is scanty in theme, thin in treatment, poor in thought; but has musical episodes, with much fine scenery and diction.

It is a greater medley than "The Princess," shifting from vague speculations to passionate outbreaks, and glorying in one famous and beautiful nocturne-but all intermixed with cheap satire, and conspicuous for affectations unworthy of the poet. The pity of it was that this production appeared when Tennyson suddenly had become fashionable, in England and America, through his accession to the laureate's honors, and for this reason, as well as for its theme and eccentric qualities, had a wider reading than his previous works: nor only among the masses, to whom the other volumes had been sealed books, but among thoughtful people, who now first made the poet's acquaintance and received "Maud" as the foremost example of his style. First impressions are lasting, and to this day Tennyson is

deemed, by many of the latter class, an apostle of tinsel and affectation. In our own country especially, his popular reputation began with "Maud"-a work which, for lack of constructive beauty, is the opposite of his other narrative poems.

A pleasing feature of the volume of 1855 was an idyl, "The Brook," which is charmingly finished and contains a swift and rippling inter-lyric delightful to every reader. A winsome, novel stanzaic form, possibly of the laureates own invention, is to be found in "The Daisy," and in the Horatian lines to his friend Maurice. Here, too, is much of that felicitous wordpainting for which he is deservedly renowned:

"O Milan, O the chanting quires, The giant windows' blazon'd fires,

The height, the space, the gloom, the glory! A mount of marble, a hundred spires!

"How faintly-flush'd, how phantom-fair, Was Monte Rosa, hanging there

A thousand shadowy-pencill'd valleys And snowy dells in a golden air.”

We come at last to Tennyson's master work, so recently brought to a completion after the labor of twenty years-during which period the separate Idyls of the King had appeared from time to time. Nave and transept, aisle after aisle, the Gothic minster has extended, until, with the addition of a cloister here and a chapel yonder, the structure stands complete. I hardly think that the poet at first expect ed to compose an epic. It has grown insensibly, under the hands of one man who has given it the best years of his lifebut somewhat as Wolf conceives the Homeric poems to have grown, chant by chant, until the time came for the whole to be welded together in heroic form. Yet in other great epics the action rarely ceases, the links are connected, and the move. ment continues from day to day until the end. Here, we have a series of idyls-like the tapestry-work illustrations of a romance, scene after scene, with much change of actors and emotions, yet all leading to one solemn and tragic close. It is the epic of chivalry, the christian ideal of chivalry which we have deduced from a barbaric source, our conception of what knighthood should be, rather than what it really was; but so skillfully wrought of high imaginings, faery spells, fantastic legends and mediæval splendors, that the whole work, suffused with the Tennysonian glamour of VOL. VIII.-II

golden mist, seems like a chronicle illuminated by saintly hands, and often blazes with light like that which flashed from the holy wizard's book when the covers were unclasped. And, indeed, if this be not the greatest narrative-poem since "Paradise Lost," what other English production are you to name in its place? Never so lofty as the grander portions of Milton's epic, it is more evenly sustained and has no long prosaic passages; while "Paradise Lost" is justly declared to be a work of superhuman genius impoverished by dreary wastes of theology.

Tennyson early struck a vein in the black-letter compilation of Sir Thomas Malory. A tale was already fashioned to his use, from which to derive his legends and exalt them with whatsoever spiritual meanings they might require. The picturesque qualities of the old Anglo-Breton romance fascinated his youth, and found lyrical expression in the wierd, melodious, Pre-Raphaelite ballad of "The Lady of Shalott." The young poet here attained great excellence in a walk which Rossetti and his pupils have since chosen for their own, and his early studies are on a level with their masterpieces. They make success in this direction their highest aim, while Tennyson would not be restricted even to such attractive work, but went steadily on, claiming the entire field of imaginative research as the poet's own.

His strong allegorical bent, evinced in that early lyric, was heightened by analysis of the Arthurian legends. The English caught this tendency, long since, from the Italians; the Elizabethan era was so charged with it, that the courtiers of the Virgin Queen hardly could speak without a mystical double-meaning-for an illustration of which read the dialogue in certain portions of Kingsley's Amyas Leigh. From Sidney and Spenser down to plain John Bunyan, and even to Sir Walter Scott, allegory is a natural English mode; and, while adopted in several of Tennyson's pieces, finds a special development in the 'Idyls of the King."

The name thus bestowed upon the early installments of this production seems less adapted to its complete form. Like the walls of Troy, it

Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,
A cloud that gathered shape.

The shape no longer is idyllic, and doubt no longer exists whether a successful epic

can be written in a mature period of national literature. We have one here, but subdivided into ten distinct poems, each of which suits the canonical requirement, and may be read at a single sitting.

To my mind, there is a marked difference in style between the original and later portions of this work. The "Morte d'Arthur" of 1842 is Homeric to the farthest degree possible in the slow, Saxon movement of the verse; grander, with its "hollow oes and aes," than any succeeding canto, always excepting "Guinevere." Nor do I think the later idyls equal to those four which first were issued in one volume, and which so cleared the laureate's fame from the doubts suggested by " Maud and Other Poems." "Vivien is a bold and subtle analysis, a closer study of certain human types than Tennyson is wont to make. "Elaine" still remains, for pathetic sweetness and absolute beauty of narrative and rhythm, dearest to the heart of maiden, youth, or sage. "Enid," while upon the lower level of "Pelleas and Ettarre" and "Gareth and Lynette," is clear and strong, and shows a freedom from mannerism characteristic of the author's best period. It would seem that his creative vigor reached its height during the composition of these four idyls; certainly, since the production of "Enoch Arden," at an early subsequent date, he has not advanced in freshness and imagination. His greatest achievement still is that noblest of modern episodes, the canto entitled Guinevere," surcharged with tragic pathos and high dramatic power. He never has so reached the passio vera of the early dramatist as in this imposing scene. There is nothing finer in modern verse than the interview between Arthur and his remorseful wife; nothing loftier than the speech beginning

Lo! I forgive thee, as Eternal God

Forgives: do thou for thine own soul the rest.
But how to take last leave of all I loved?
O golden hair, with which I used to play
Not knowing! O imperial moulded form,
And beauty such as never woman wore,
Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee-
I cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine,

But Lancelot's: nay, they never were the King's. When this idyl first appeared, what elevation seized upon the soul of every poetic aspirant as he read it! What despair of rivalling a passion so imaginative, an art so majestic and supreme!

I have referred to the Homeric manner

of the fragment now made the conclusion of the epic, and entitled "The Passing of Arthur.' It is not strengthened by its new prelude, and plainly weakens at the close. The epic properly ends with the line, “And on the mere the wailing died away." The poet's sense of proportion here works injuriously, urging him to fully bring out the moral of his allegory, albeit the effect really is harmed by this addition of the sequel, down to the line which finishes the work: And the new sun rose, bringing the new year." In conclusion, observe the technical features of "Gareth and Lynette," a canto recently added to the poem. It displays Tennyson's latest, not his best, manner, carried to an extreme; the verse is clamped together, with every conjunction omitted that can be spared, yet interspersed with lines of a galloping, redundant nature, as if the laureate were somewhat influenced by Swinburne and adapting himself to a fashion of the time. A special fault is the substitution of alliteration for the simple excellence of his standard verse. This may be a concession to the modern school, or a result of his mousing among preChaucerian ballads. It palls on the ear, as does the poet's excessive reiteration and play upon words. I have elsewhere said that we are compensated for all this by a stalwart presentation of that fine old English which Emerson has pronounced "a stern and dreadful language." The public is indebted to Tennyson for a restoration of precious Saxon words, too long forgotten, which, we trust, will hereafter maintain their ground. He is a purifier of our tongue: a resistant to the novelties of slang and affectation intruded upon our literature by the mixture of races and the extension of English-speaking colonies to every clime and continent in the world.

It is not probable that another sustained poem hereafter will be written upon the Arthurian legends. Milton's dream, inconsonant with his own time and higher aspirations, has, at last, its due fulfillment. The subject waited long, a sleeping beauty, until the "fated fairy-prince" came, woke it into life, and the spell is forever at an end. But who shall say whether future generations will rate this epic as highly as we do; whether it will stand out. like "The Faery Queene" and "Paradise Lost," as one of the epochal compositions by which an age is symbolized. More than one poem, or series of poems,-Drayton's

"The Barons' Wars," for instance, has wrongly in its own time been thought a work of this class, though now men say of it that only the shadow of its name remains. At present we have no right to declare of the "Idyls of the King," as of "In Memoriam," that it is so original, so representative both of the author and of his period, as to defy the dust of time.

A famous life often falls short of its promise. Temperament and circumstance hedge it with obstacles; or, perhaps, the "Fury with the abhorred shears" slits its thin-spun tissue before the decisive hour. In the case of Tennyson this has been reversed. He has advanced by regular stages to the highest office of a poet. More fortunate than Landor, he was suited to the time, and the time to his genius; he has been happier than Keats or Shelley in length of years, and, in ease of circumstances, than Wordsworth, Coleridge or Hood. Had he died after completing the epic, his work would still seem rounded and complete. Surely a poet's youthful dream never was more fully realized, and we must regard the laureate's genius as developed through good fortune to the utmost degree permitted by inherent limitations.

During the growth of this epic he has, however, produced a few other poems which take high rank. Of these, "Enoch Arden," in sustained beauty, bears a relation to his shorter pastorals similar to that existing between the epic and his minor heroic-verse. Coming within the average range of emotions, it has been very widely read. This poem is in its author's purest idyllic style; noticeable for evenness of tone, clearness of diction, successful description of coast and ocean,-finally, for the loveliness and fidelity of its genre scenes. In study of a class below him, "hearts centered in the sphere of common duties," the laureate is unsurpassed. far different creation is "Lucretius," a brooding character with which Tennyson is quite in sympathy. He has invested it with a certain restless grandeur, yet hardly, I should conceive, wrought out the work he thought possible when the theme was first suggested to his mind. He found its limits and contented himself with portraying a gloomy, isolated figure, as strongly and subtly as Browning would have drawn it, and with a terseness beyond the latter's

art.

A

I have already spoken of "Sea Dreams" and "Aylmer's Field." Among other and

""The Voyage,"

better pieces, "Tithonus,' a fine lyric-and such masterly ballads as "The Victor," "The Captor," and "The Sailor Boy," will not be forgotten. It is worth while to observe the few dialect poems which Tennyson has writtenthrown off, as if merely to show that he could be easily first in a field which he resigns to others. The "Northern Farmer" ballads, old and new, are the best English dialect studies of our time. Among his minor diversions are light occasional pieces and some experiments in classical measures

often finished sketches, germs of works to which he has given no further attention. He saw that "Boadicea" offered no such field as that afforded by the Arthurian legends, and wisely gave it over. Again, he unquestionably could have made a great blank-verse translation of Homer, but chose the better part in devoting his middle life solely to creative work. The world can ill afford to lose a poet's golden prime in the labors of a translator.

II.

A BRIEF and crowded summary of Tennyson's characteristics is all that we are able to attempt: proffering clues to what might be said on each division of the subject, and not seeking to follow any path at length.

The complete and even balance of the laureate's poetry is from first to last conspicuous. It exhibits that just combination of lyrical elements which makes a symphony, wherein it is difficult to say what quality predominates. Reviewing minor poets, we think this one attractive for the wild flavor of his unstudied verse; another, for the gush and music of his songs; a third, for idyllic sweetness or tragic power; but in Tennyson we have the strong repose of art, whereof,-as of the perfection of nature,-the world is slow to tire. It has become conventional, but remember that nothing endures to the point of conventionalism which is not based upon lasting rules; that it once was new and refreshing, and is sure, in future days, to regain the early charm.

The one thing longed for, and most frequently missed, in work of this kind, is the very wilding flavor of which I speak. We are not always broad enough and elevated enough to be content with symphonic art. Guinevere wearies of Arthur. There are times when a tart apple, a crust