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all sense of ordinary distinctions. Those evening, the sun, perhaps, only just at the passengers who happen to be gentlemen are point of setting, we are seen from every storey now hardly to be distinguished as such except of every house. Heads of every age crowd by dress; for the usual reserve of their manner to the windows-young and old understant in speaking to the attendants has on this 5 the language of our victorious symbols-and night melted away. One heart, one pride, one rolling volleys of sympathising cheers ru glory, connects every man by the transcen- along us, behind us, and before us. The beggu. dent bond of his national blood. The spec- rearing himself against the wall, forgets his tators, who are numerous beyond precedent, lameness-real or assumed-thinks not of his express their sympathy with these fervent 10 whining trade, but stands erect with brid feelings by continual hurrahs. Every moment exulting smiles, as we pass him. The victory are shouted aloud by the post-office servants, has healed him, and says, Be thou whole! and summoned to draw up, the great ancestral Women and children, from garrets alike and names of cities known to history through a thou- cellars, through infinite London, look dond sand years—Lincoln, Winchester, Portsmouth, 15 or look up with loving eyes upon our gar Gloucester, Oxford, Bristol, Manchester, York, ribbons and our martial laurels: sometimes Newcastle, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Perth, Stir- kiss their hands; sometimes hang out, s ling, Aberdeen--expressing the grandeur of signals of affection, pocket-handkerchiefs

, the empire by the antiquity of its towns, aprons, dusters, anything that, by catching and the grandeur of the mail establishment by 20 the summer breezes, will express an aërial the diffusive radiation of its separate missions. jubilation. On the London side of Barnet,** to Every moment you hear the thunder of lids which we draw near within a few minutes afta locked down upon the mail-bags. That sound nine, observe that private carriage which is to each individual mail is the signal for drawing approaching us. The weather being so war, off, which process is the finest part of the en- 25 the glasses are all down; and one may read, tire spectacle. Then come the horses into play. on the stage of a theatre, everything that goes Horses! can these be horses that bound off

on within. It contains three ladies-004 with the action and gestures of leopards? likely to be "mamma," and two of seventeen What stir!—what sea-like ferment!—what a or eighteen, who are probably her daughters thundering of wheels!—what a trampling of 30 What lovely animation, what beautiful, unhoofs!--what a sounding of trumpets!--what premeditated pantomime, explaining to us farewell cheers!-what redoubling peals of every syllable that passes in these ingenuos brotherly congratulation, connecting the name girls! By the sudden start and raising of the of the particular mail—“Liverpool for ever!”- hands, on first discovering our laurelled equiwith the name of the particular victory— 35 page!-by the sudden movement and appeal to “Badajoz21 for ever!” or “Salamanca for the elder lady from both of them-and by the ever!The half-slumbering consciousness heightened colour on their animated counthat, all night long, and all the next day-per- tenances, we can almost hear them saying, haps for even a longer period-many of these "See, see! Look at their laurels! Oh, mamma! mails, like fire racing along a train of gunpowder, 40 there has been a great battle in Spain; and it will be kindling at every instant new succes- has been a great victory.” In a moment we sions of burning joy, has an obscure effect of are on the point of passing them. We passenmultiplying the victory itself, by multiplying gers--I on the box, and the two on the roof to the imagination into infinity the stages of behind me-raise our hats to the ladies; the its progressive diffusion. A fiery arrow seems 45 coachman makes his professional salute with to be let loose, which from that moment is the whip; the guard even, though punctilious destined to travel, without intermission, west- on the matter of his dignity as an officer under wards for three hundred miles--northwards for the crown, touches his hat. The ladies move six hundred; and the sympathy of our Lombard to us, in return, with a winning graciousness Street friends at parting is exalted a hundred- 50 of gesture; all smile on each side in a way fold by a sort of visionary sympathy with the that nobody could misunderstand, and that yet slumbering sympathies which in so vast nothing short of a grand national sympathy a succession we are going to awake.

could so instantaneously prompt. Will the Liberated from the embarrassments of the ladies say that we are nothing to them? Oh, City, and issuing into the broad uncrowded 55 no; they will not say that. They cannot denyavenues of the northern suburbs, we soon begin they do not deny—that for this night they to enter upon our natural pace of ten miles are our sisters; gentle or simple, scholar or an hour. In the broad light of the summer illiterate servant, for twelve hours to come, 31 In Spain, taken by Weilington in 1812.

82 Eleven miles north of London,

we on the outside have the honour to be their amongst Celtic Highlanders is called sey.24 brothers. Those poor women, again, who stop This was at some little town where we changed to gaze upon us with delight at the entrance horses an hour or two after midnight. Some of Barnet, and seem, by their air of weariness, fair or wake had kept the people up out of to be returning from labourdo you mean to 5 their beds, and had occasioned a partial illumisay that they are washerwomen and char- nation of the stalls and booths, presenting an women? Oh, my poor friend, you are quite unusual but very impressive effect. We saw mistaken. I assure you they stand in a far many lights moving about as we drew near; higher rank; for this one night they feel them- and perhaps the most striking scene on the selves by birth-right to be daughters of Eng- 10 whole route was our reception at this place. land, and answer to no humbler title.

The flashing of torches and the beautiful Every joy, however, even rapturous joy- radiance of blue lights (technically, Bengal such is the sad law of earth-may carry with lights) upon the heads of our horses; the fine it grief, or fear of grief, to some. Three miles effect of such a showery and ghostly illuminabeyond Barnet, we see approaching us another 15 tion falling upon our flowers and glittering private carriage, nearly repeating the circum- laurels; whilst all around ourselves, that stances of the former case. Here, also, the formed a centre of light, the darkness gathered glasses are all down-here, also, is an elderly on the rear and flanks in massy blackness; these lady seated; but the two daughters are missing; optical splendours, together with the prodifor the single young person sitting by the lady's 20 gious enthusiasm of the people, composed a side, seems to be an attendant—so I judge from picture at once scenical and affecting, theatrical her dress, and her air of respectful reserve. and holy. As we stayed for three or four The lady is in mourning; and her countenance minutes, I alighted; and immediately from a expresses sorrow. At first she does not look dismantled stall in the street, where no doubt up; so that I believe she is not aware of our 25 she had been presiding through the earlier approach, until she hears the measured beating part of the night, advanced eagerly a middleof our horses' hoofs. Then she raises her eyes aged woman. The sight of my newspaper it to settle them painfully on our triumphal was that had drawn her attention upon myself. equipage. Our decorations explain the case The victory which we were carrying down to to her at once; but she beholds them with ap- 30 the provinces on this occasion, was the imparent anxiety, or even with terror. Some perfect one of Talavera 25-imperfect for its time before this, I, finding it difficult to hit a results, such was the virtual treachery of the flying mark, when embarrassed by the coach- Spanish general, Cuesta, but not imperfect man's person and reins intervening, had given in its ever-memorable heroism. I told her the to the guard a “Courier" evening paper, 35 main outline of the battle. The agitation of containing the gazette,23 for the next carriage her enthusiasm had been so conspicuous when that might pass.

listening, and when first applying for informaAccordingly he tossed it in, so folded that tion, that I could not but ask her if she had not the huge capitals expressing some such legend some relative in the Peninsular army. Oh yes; as-GLORIOUS VICTORY, might catch the eye 40 her only son was there. In what regiment? at once. To see the paper, however, at all, He was a trooper in the 23rd Dragoons. My interpreted as it was by our ensigns of triumph, heart sank within me as she made that answer.

explained everything; and, if the guard were This sublime regiment, which an Englishman · right in thinking the lady to have received it should never mention without raising his hat

with a gesture of horror, it could not be doubt- 45 to their memory, had made the most memorful that she had suffered some deep personal able and effective charge recorded in military affliction in connection with this Spanish war. anpals. They leaped their horses-over a

Here, now, was the case of one who, having trench where they could, into it, and with formerly suffered, might, erroneously perhaps, the result of death or mutilation when they be distressing herself with anticipations of 50 could not. What proportion cleared the trench another similar suffering. That same night, is nowhere stated. Those who did, closed up and hardly three hours later, occurred the and went down upon the enemy with such A poor woman, who too prob

24 Not a Gaelic word, but an Old English word retained ably would find herself, in a day or two, to

in the Scotch. In Old English poetry it was applied to

warriors who were "doomed" to fall in battle. have suffered the heaviest of afflictions by the 55 Scottish use it implies a state of high spirits and wild battle, blindly allowed herself to express an

exaltation in the person unconscious of his doom.

26 Talavera de la Reiva, at the confluence of the Alberche exultation so unmeasured in the news and its and the Tagus, where the English under Sir Arthur details, as gave to her the appearance which

Wellesley (afterward Duke of Wellington) and the

Spanish under Cuesta were attacked by the French under 22 i. e. the official report of the battle.

Marshal Victor and Joseph Bonaparte, July 27, 1809.

reverse case.

In its

divinity of fervour (I use the word divinity showed her not the funeral banners under by design: the inspiration of God must have which the noble regiment was sleeping. I prompted this movement to those whom even lifted not the overshadowing laurels from the then He was calling to His presence), that two bloody trench in which horse and rider by results followed. As regarded the enemy, 5 mangled together. But I told her how these this 23rd Dragoons, not, I believe, originally dear children of England, officers and private. three hundred and fifty strong, paralysed a had leaped their horses over all obstacles as French column, six thousand strong, then gaily as hunters to the morning's chase. ! ascended the hill, and fixed the gaze of the told her how they rode their horses into the whole French army. As regarded themselves, 10 mists of death (saying to myself, but not saying the 23rd were supposed at first to have been to her), and laid down their young lives for barely not annihilated; but eventually, I thee, O mother England! as willingly-poured believe, about one in four survived. And out their noble blood as cheerfully—as ever. this, then, was the regiment-a regiment after a long day's sport, when infants, they already for some hours glorified and hallowed 15 had rested their wearied heads upon their to the ear of all London, as lying stretched, by a mother's knees, or had sunk to sleep in her large majority, upon one bloody aceldama 26. arms. Strange it is, yet true, that she seemed in which the young trooper served whose to have no fears for her son's safety, even after mother was now talking in a spirit of such this knowledge that the 23rd Dragoons bad joyous enthusiasm. Did I tell her the truth? 20 been memorably engaged; but so much * Had I the heart to break up her dreams? No. she enraptured by the knowledge that his To-morrow, said I to myself-to-morrow, or regiment, and therefore that he, had rendered the next day, will publish the worst. For one conspicuous service in the dreadful conflictnight more, wherefore should she not sleep in a service which had actually made them, within peace? After to-morrow, the chances are too 25 the last twelve hours, the foremost topic of many that peace will forsake her pillow. This conversation in London--so absolutely was brief respite, then, let her owe to my gift and fear swallowed up in joy-that, in the mere my forbearance. But, if I told her not of the simplicity of her fervent nature, the poor bloody price that had been paid, not, therefore, woman threw her arms round my neck, as was I silent on the contributions from her son's 30 she thought of her son, and gave to me the kiss regiment to that day's service and glory. I which secretly was meant for him.

2 "The field of blood." See Acts i. 19.

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THE PALACE OF ART1

To which my soul made answer readily:

“Trust me, in bliss I shall abide (From Poems, 1832)

In this great mansion, that is built for me,
Το

So royal-rich and wide.”
WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM
I send you here a sort of allegory,

Four courts I made, East, West and South (For you will understand it) of a soul,

and North, À sinful soul possess’d of many gifts,

In each a squared lawn, wherefrom A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,

The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain,

A flood of fountain-foam.
That did love Beauty only (Beauty seen
In all varieties of mould and mind),

And round the cool green courts there ran a And Knowledge for its beauty; or if Good,

row Good only for its beauty, seeing not

Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three Echoing all night to that sonorous flow sisters

Of spouted fountain-floods;
That doat upon each other, friends to man,
Living together under the same roof,

And round the roofs a gilded gallery
And never can be sunder'd without tears.

That lent broad vergel to distant lands, And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie 15 Dipt down to sea and sands. Howling in outer darkness. Not for this Was common clay ta'en from the common earth, From those four jets four currents in one swell Moulded by God, and temper'd with the tears Across the mountain stream'd below Of angels to the perfect shape of man.

In misty folds, that floating as they fell 1 Tennyson wrote the following notes on this poem in Lit up a torrent-bow. 1890: "Trench said to me, wben we were at Trinity together, 'Tennyson, we cannot live in art.' "The Palace of Art' is the embodiment of my own belief that the

And high on every peak a statue seem'd Godlike life is with man and for man, that 'Beauty, Good, To hang on tiptoe, tossing up and Koowledge are three sisters,' etc."

A cloud of incense of all odor steam'd (Memoir, by H. Tennyson, I. 118.) Tennyson made a number of changes in this poem, es

From out a golden cup. pecially for the edition of 1842. The version here given is the final and more familiar one.

1 Horizon; a peculiarly Tennysonian use.

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So that she thought, “And who shall gaze upon

My palace with unblinded eyes,
While this great bow will waver in the sun,

And that sweet incense rise?

Nor these alone, but every landscape fair,

As fit for every mood of mind, Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there,

Not less than truth design'd.

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Or the maid-mother by a crucifix,

In tracts of pasture sunny-warm,
Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx

Sat smiling, babe in arm.
Or in a clear-walled city on the sea,

Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair
Wound with white roses, slept Saint Cecily;"

An angel look'd at her.
Or thronging all one porch of Paradise

A group of Houris bow'd to see
The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes

That said, we wait for thee.
Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son

In some fair space of sloping greens
Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon,

And watch'd by weeping queens.
Or hollowing one hand against his ear,
To list a footfall
, ere he saw

110 The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king

to hear Of wisdom and of law. Or over hills with peaky tops engraild,

And many a tract of palm and rice,
The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd 115

A summer fann'd with spice.
Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd,

From off her shoulder backward borne; From one hand droop'd a crocus; one hand

grasp'd The mild bull's golden horn.

120 Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh

Half buried in the eagle's down,
Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky

Above the pillar'd town.
Nor these alone; but every legend fair

Which the supreme Caucasian mind
Carved out of Nature for itself was there,

Not less than life design'd.

Full of long-sounding corridors it was,

That over-vaulted grateful gloom, Thro' which the livelong day my soul did

pass, Well-pleased, from room to room. Full of great rooms and small the palace stood,

All various, each a perfect whole From living Nature, fit for every mood

And change of my still soul. For some were hung with arras green and blue,

Showing a gaudy summer-morn, Where with puff'd cheek the belted hunter blew

His wreathed bugle-horn.
One seem'd all dark and red-a tract of sand, 65

And some one pacing there alone,
Who paced for ever in a glimmering land,

Lit with a low large moon.
One show'd an iron coast and angry waves.

You seem'd to hear them climb and fall 70 And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves,

Beneath the windy wall.
And one, a full-fed river winding slow

By herds upon an endless plain,
The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, 75

With shadow-streaks of rain.
And one, the reapers at their sultry toil.

In front they bound the sheaves. Behind
Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil,
And hoary to the wind.2

80 And one a foreground black with stones and

slags; Beyond, a line of heights; and higher All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful

crags; And highest, snow and fire. And one, an English home-gray twilight pour'd

On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep-all things in order stored,

A haunt of ancient Peace.

2 "To appreciate this touch, one must have seen a grove of olive-trees, when the peculiar whitish-gray underside of the leaves is turned up by the wiad," Rolle.

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Then in the towers I placed great bells that

swung, Moved of themselves, with silver sound; 130 And with choice paintings of wise men I hung

The royal dais round.

• St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music, whose harmonies brought an angel down from heaven. Cf. Dryden's Song for St. Cecilia's Day, p. 277, and his Alerts der's Feast, p. 278, supra.

* King Arthur, according to legend the son of Utber Pendragon.

Numa Pompilius, according to legend the second King of Rome. The "wood-nymph," Egeria, met him in a grove near the city, and there taught him how to frame laws and religious ceremonies for his people,

* Or Kama, the Hindoo god of love.

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