"Then there were two Christmases," he said. "I wasn't so far out as I thought."

His hand clenched upon the letter and the lines in his face deepened. Then his expression relaxed.

Blackwood's Magazine.

"Poor old Allerton! It may not have been altogether his fault. He was never any good in a tight place.-and the broken reed does not know how it pierces the hand."

Philippa Bridges.

Olympian figure, cast in a Homeric mould which won the praises even of that arch-grumbler Carlyle, Tennyson has long been acknowledged as one of the finest of men as well as poets. He had friends worthy of him, a circle such as had not been seen in England since Johnson's day, though he did not follow the sage's advice concerning keeping friendships in repair. He had, too, something of Johnson's gift as a talker-the freedom from cant, the happy, unconventional touch, the art of saying much in a word or two. The hero-worshipper expects these memorable sayings from a great writer, and as often as not fails to hear them. The "Memoir" of Tennyson by his son showed this terse felicity of the poet, and "Tennyson and his Friends," the work of many hands, supplies more of admirable quality which we are glad to have before memory fades. was high time to publish the volume, for already the past has become dim for some of the contributors. In his brief "Preface." Lord Tennyson speaks of the recent death of three admirable scholars who have done much for this book-Henry Butcher, Sir Alfred Lyall, and Graham Dakyns.

It

Tennyson was fortunate in the time of his passing; one cannot imagine him moving in the present world of journalists zealous to appease "the manyheaded beast" with all sorts of trivial personalities regarding the eminent.

"Tennyson and his Friends." Edited by Hallam, Lord Tennyson. (Macmillan & Co.) LIVING AGE. VOL. LIV. 2816

Round him, as round other classics, has gathered a great cloud of comment and conjecture, sometimes good, but more often careless and futile. His poems have become school-books long since, and their wealth of allusion has been traced by editors and critics. Thus the details added here concerning the poems reprinted as being addressed to various friends have mostly been discovered by the industrious admirer. It is well, however, to have them. verified with authority, and all these personal tributes are among the best of Tennyson's work, worth reading and re-reading,

When we come to examine the 500 odd pages of the volume, we are a little disappointed to see so much that we knew already. Was it, for instance, worth while to reprint from so well-known a series as Dr. John Brown's "Horæ Subsecivæ" the account of A. H. Hallam? Sir Norman Lockyer's short article on Tennyson's scientific side is republished from his recent book on the subject; and Mr. Arthur Sidgwick, Mr. W. G. Ward, and Sir James Knowles all supply reprinted comment. Perhaps the reading public of to-day has too short a memory to be sensibly disturbed by some of these repetitions, but we think the editor might have saved us some familiar comments and stories, things satis vulgata, and sometimes in a better shape. Dr. Butler need not have described as “a rather gushing lady” the well-known author who published

years since the story about "Maud, Maud, Maud," representing the "caw, caw, caw" of the rook, and not the nightingale. Here we expect a crossreference to FitzGerald's letter to Tennyson (p. 120). With his usual freakish independence of view, he objects:

But wait-before I finish I must ask why you assure Clark of Trinity that it is the rooks who call "Maud, Maud, &c." Indeed it is the Thrush, as I have heard a hundred times in a summer's evening, when scared in the evergreens of a garden. Therefore:

Rooks in a classroom quarrel up in the tall trees caw'd;

But 'twas the thrush in the laurel, that

kept crying, Maud, Maud, Maud. FitzGerald's "Recollections of Tennyson" are excellent, but the note below says that some of them have appeared in the "Memoir." The same remark applies to much that is noteworthy here. A few of these repetitions are recognized, but many others are not, and two contributors are allowed more than once to give the same story. An instance of familiar matter is the note concerning the place where "Break, break, break," was written ("Memoir," i. 190). Once we read that "Crossing the Bar" came in five minutes; again, "That poem came to me in five minutes. Anyhow, under ten minutes." Twice we read a verdict concerning Shakespeare's sonnets and plays (p. 145 and p. 265); and twice we are told that Tennyson disliked the word "Beschützer" in Goethe (p. 265 and p. 275). The notes on Macready's mistaken view of "Out, out, brief candle," and Tennyson as a school-book have been extant in the "Memoir" for years (i. 268 and i. 16).

The book, in fact, deserved more careful editing as an addition to the "Memoir." But the "Memoir" had an excellent Index; this volume has none. Lord Tennyson ought to repair this serious omission at the earliest opportunity. In Sir Norman Lockyer's book

there was no Index either. Such treatment might serve for an ephemeral volume of gossip, but is hardly to be expected in a book of permanent worth. An admirable section is that by Mr. Charles Tennyson on the brothers Frederick and Charles, the one a fiery spirit deep in revolt against the world, and only needing sustained power to be a fine poet; the other a man of "an almost saintly patience," working hard in his country parish and polishing his sonnets slowly to perfection. Freder

ick's letters are full of spiritual thought and fury against the world. At one time a convinced Swedenborgian, he perpetually thundered against the "frowzy diatribes of black men with white ties too often the only white thing about them." He growled at the critics all his life, and at society too:

The "high-jinks of the high-nosed" (to use another phrase of his) angered him, as did all persons "who go about with well-cut trousers and ill-arranged ideas." The consequence was that his acquaintance in Florence long remained narrow.

Emily, Lady Tennyson, described by Sir John Simeon as "a piece of the finest china, the mould of which had been broken as soon as she was made," supplies slight but charming reminiscences of her early life. The gaiety of youth was somewhat tempered by a rigorous aunt, who produced a certain little riling-whip for small hands, a fool's cap for dunces, and needles to prick fingers when needlework was not well done.

Mr. Aldis Wright on James Spedding is excellent, and sketches a fine picture of his sagacious and Socratic figure, adding abundant measure of letters which show that the intellectual circle of friends were not above chaf

fing each other. Spedding himself is half-ashamed of his bald head, and likes to wear a hat in the pit of the

theatre.

In

His determination to make the best of his powers and his indifference to money are shown in a letter on his leaving the Colonial Office. 1842 he went to the United States as secretary to Lord Ashburton, which drew from FitzGerald the following Comments:

You have, of course, read the account of Spedding's forehead landing in America. English sailors hail it in the Channel, mistaking it for Beachy Head. There is a Shakespeare cliff, and a Spedding cliff. Good old fellow! I hope he'll come back safe and sound, forehead and all. Not swords, nor cannon, nor all the bulls of Bashan butting at it, could, I feel sure, discompose that venerable forehead. No wonder that no hair can grow at such an altitude; no wonder his view of Bacon's virtue is so rarefied, that the common consciences of men cannot endure it. Thackeray and I occasionally amuse ourselves with the idea of Spedding's forehead; we find it somehow or other in all things, just peering out of all things; you see it in a milestone, Thackeray says. He also draws the forehead rising with a sober light over Mont Blanc, and reflected in the Lake of Geneva. We have great laughing over this."

In this article and elsewhere we light on pleasant glimpses of Hartley Coleridge, who was less of a born preacher and moralist than most of his distinguished family. It was he who stole a joint of meat from Wordsworth's larder for fun. He was certainly unconventional. Once he was

asked to dine with the family of a stiff Presbyterian clergyman residing in the Lake district. The guests, Trappist fashion, sat a long time in the drawing-room waiting for the announcement of dinner. Not a word was uttered, and Hartley was bored to extinction. At last he suddenly jumped up from the sofa, kissed the clergyman's wife, and rushed out of the house.

Tennyson thought him "a lovable little fellow," and no doubt enjoyed his departures from propriety, as he did the reply of the coachman who, asked what sort of place Winchester was, replied: "Debauched, sir, debauched, like all other Cathedral cities."

We leave readers to enjoy the new stories of Tennyson, but one instance of his remarkable powers of observation we must give, as recorded by FitzGerald:

He had a powerful brain for Physics as for the Ideal. I remember his noticing that the forward-bending horns of some built-up mammal in the British Museum would never force its way through jungle, &c., and I observed on an after-visit that they had been altered accordingly.

Truth to tell, the poet was somewhat spoilt, and the prevailing reverential tone of the reminiscences is a little cloying. There are, however, hints that his temper was not always equable. Spedding speaks of Alfred as "very gruff and unmanageable," and we read, though not for the first time, the corrective comment of that clever woman and photographer, Mrs. Cameron, when the bard was sulky and would not see some Americans she had sent up to him:

Having made her way to Tennyson, she said to him solemnly, "Alfred, these good people have come 3,000 miles to see a lion and they have found a bear." He laughed, relented, and received the strangers most courteously.

After all, the poet had a good deal to suffer from visitors and letter-writers. As Spedding remarked, "Time leaks in a gentleman's house," and Appendix C gives a selection of the attempts of applicants to secure autographs, criticism of their own poetry, of course, and other forms of help. Perhaps the boldest admirer is a gentleman "often supposed to be your noble self," who

wears "a large Tyrolese felt hat." He had been requested to appear at a grand summer party as "Lord Tennyson," and adds:

The

Athenæum.

Could your Lordship kindly lend me any outer clothing, by Thursday morning at latest? a cloak, &c? Then I should feel so thankful and fulfil the character better.

The discovery that Sir Edward Grey on his own avowal was actually supporting the Russian ultimatum to Persia-in open violation of the Anglo-Russian agreement as well as to the obvious detriment of British and Indian interests-gave an ugly shock to public opinion. It has been the fashion to speak of Sir Edward Grey as a convinced but cool-headed Imperialist, a strong guardian of British interests, and one who does not know the meaning of fear where England's glory or honor or power is concerned. Of course, the most ridiculous language of adulation is used from time to time about every statesman who attains any eminence, and no one should be surprised if a political hero does not come up to the proofs when he is put to the test. We have for several months past been inclined to suspect that there is something wrong with the Foreign Office, and a fortnight ago we endeavored to explore what possible causes might account for recent diplomatic failures, and what natural deficiencies or official embarrassments might have prevented some of Sir Edward Grey's finer qualities from coming into play. The want of travel and languages explains a great deal. Sir Edward Grey is a naturalist, and because he studies birds and fishes he loves them. A naturalist will do as much to prevent cruelty to animals as a humanist to prevent cruelty to men and women. The one will be as anxious to avoid the extinction of a species as the other the extinction of a nation. If you do not know other

If

nations, if you cannot read their national aspirations in their own tongue, if you have no acquaintance with the works of their philosophers and poets, if you have never seen their cities, mountains, and rivers, or lived among their peasants, how can you expect to feel generous emotion towards them when all your official information is colored and biassed against them? the Persians had been birds and the Finns had been fishes, more sympathy might have been extended to them when their lives and liberties were threatened by the Great Oppressor, who is warring against liberty when he ought to be warring against famine in 18 starving Provinces. But no one acquainted with the Foreign Office and its Russophile chiefs expects it to support the rights of these small nationalities, unless it can be shown that the material interests of Great Britain or the British Empire imperatively require that those rights should be supported. As a matter of fact, there is a good deal to be said on utilitarian grounds for the diplomatic support of justice and equity. The policy with which the names of Canning, Palmerston, Russell, and Gladstone are closely associated, the policy which forwarded freedom and discouraged oppression not with military intervention, but with all the diplomatic strength and prestige of Great Britain, was not disadvantageous. It paid us very well to be honored and looked up to by the small nations of the earth. It meant that we merited and won the respect of all civilized opinion. It was

a great thing for British commerce and enterprise that Canning's diplomacy supported the claims of the new Republican Governments in South America. It was a great thing that England helped to rescue Greece and the Balkan States from Turkish misrule. It was a great thing that Palmerston and Russell and Gladstone so effectually promoted the cause of Italian unity.

But we live in days of meaner ideals. Statesmen on both sides seem to be afraid of expressing generous emotions. There appears to be no official recognition of the fundamental fact, recognized by Demosthenes and Burke if not by Machiavelli and Bacon, that there are moral relations between States. A really great nation has a right to expect that the conduct of those who represent it should not be such as would disgrace an individual, but should be honorable, high minded, jealous of its own rights and interests, but very regardful of the rights and interests of others, more especially of those whose weakness exposes them to injustice and outrage. It is quite true that the analogy between the individual and the State is not a perfect one. An impulsive and chivalrous act, which in the individual might excite our admiration as a generous readiness to risk or sacrifice his own career, his fortunes, or even his life, might excite our just censure in a Foreign Secretary or a statesman, who by a rash speech was endangering neither his own life nor his own salary, but the lives and fortunes of thousands of his fellow-countrymen. In short, the Foreign Secretary is a trustee, and it is from this point of view that we must measure and criticise his policy. Our own criticism of Sir Edward Grey's Moroccan policy is that, while he has been very watchful and suspicious of aggressive action on the part of Germany, the aggressive policy of France (the first and

worst offender) has been steadily seconded and encouraged. It would have been an honorable and intelligible policy for us as a great Mohammedan Power to have interfered to save the Arabs of North Africa from the rapacity of Europe. Our diplomacy might well have exercised a restraining influence upon France and Italy and Spain. We certainly ought to have protested against the march on Fez, for it was a scandalous breach of the Treaty of Algeciras, and we were signatories. We certainly ought to have protested against the Italian ultimatum; for it was a breach of all civilized usage and international comity. such an action as this is to be acquiesced in, what is there to prevent any Power from invading any other at a moment's notice?

If

But in the new case of Persia we have a much more obvious blunder, something that shocks and bewilders the man in the street. On September 28, 1907, we ventured in these columns to welcome the Anglo-Russian agreement, because of the security which it gave to India through a preamble, by which the two Governments "mutually engaged to respect the integrity and independence of Persia." We wrote: "We do not see how, from the standpoint either of British interests or international morals, the stipulations concerning Tibet and Afghanistan could be improved upon. The only omission seems to be an arbitration clause, providing that any dispute as to the interpretation of the agreement shall be referred to the Hague tribunal." The policy of buffer States is a sound policy for India, because it enables the Government to spend Indian taxes, not upon war and warlike preparations, but upon the education of the people, upon railways, irrigation and economic development. Unfortunately, it has become increasingly clear in the last year that the Russian Gov