of history or quasi history forming finished pictures, the second as mere episodes resembling imperfect sketches. In the former case the poet has to erase much and to substitute much; in the latter he has to fill in the outline, to heighten suggested contrasts, and to develope latent effects. The latter was the task undertaken by Mr. Tennyson when he conceived the idea of Elaine. But, to follow out our metaphor, he was singularly fortunate in the character of the sketch which was ready to his hand. It was no ordinary mind whose conceptions he had to develope; it was no 'prentice hand which had traced the bold outline of the central figures and dashed the brilliant colouring over the glowing panel.

It will be well to trace the broad features of the original story, and then briefly to notice the points of divergence which the Laureate has conceded to his taste, his fancy, or the exigencies of the laws of poetry.

I would first remark the peculiarly appropriate position which the episode occupies in the main narrative. Sir Lancelot has reached the zenith of his career. He is already the glory of King Arthur's court, the flower of Christian chivalry. There is but one cloud that dims the lustre of a star which has been ever in the ascendant since it first rose unnoticed above the horizon. That cloud is the breath of an ominous whisper that links the name of Arthur's Queen with the name of Arthur's best beloved knight. Alas that so foul a stain should mar the perfection of a noble nature! What but woe can result from so fatal an infatuation ? But the situation is not without a gleam of hope. We can trace an inward struggle breaking forth now and again in impassioned utterance, which testifies that Lancelot's good angel has not yet finally averted his face and given over the great but erring soul to final destruction. But the hour is approaching when the sin must be abjured once and for ever, or the fallen nature will be left to the dominion of the powers of darkness,

and drag down in the vortex of its ruin the fortunes of the great son of Uther. It is at this crisis that the momentous choice between good and evil is suddenly offered to Lancelot, by the introduction upon the scene of Elaine; and the fate of chivalry and Christendom is with marvellous dexterity made to depend upon an incident as insignificant as it is touching and natural. Sir Lancelot has just vindicated the honour of Queen Guinevere against the aspersions of Sir Mador, whom he has worsted in the lists, but not without receiving a wound, which is scarcely well healed when the King proclaims a great tournament at Camelot, a name which is in this instance identified with Winchester. Το this tournament Queen Guinevere refuses to go on the plea of sickness. Sir Lancelot also begs to be excused on the pretext that he is not yet recovered from his recent wound. So Sir Lancelot and the Queen are left together. But when the King is gone, Guinevere rebukes Sir Lancelot for so rashly incurring the imputations which such conduct must necessarily engender among their enemies. Upon this Sir Lancelot changes his purpose, and starts for Camelot. On his way he comes at sunset to Astolat, and, with a confidence sanctioned by the usage of the times, claims the hospitality of an old knight who has two sons, Sir Tirre (or Sir Torre) and Sir Lavaine, and one daughter, Elaine the Fair. From his host he begs the loan of a blank shield, stating his wish to attend the jousts incognito, and receiving that of Sir Torre deposits his own shield in its place. Meanwhile, Elaine is possessed by a hopeless passion for her father's noble guest, and at his departure with her brother Lavaine, whom he has persuaded to accompany him, she begs him to wear a sleeve of hers upon his helmet in the tourney. To this request he yields the more ready compliance, because he reasons that its inconsistency with his previous habits will add to the security of his disguise, a disguise, however, which fails in its principal object from the fact, which

is unknown to Sir Lancelot, that the King has chanced to espy him as he takes lodging at Astolat, and has at once surmised that he will, after all, put in an appearance at the tournament.

On his arrival at Camelot Sir Lancelot is accidentally wounded by Sir Bors, after performing prodigies of valour in the lists. He therefore rides hastily off the field, accompanied by Lavaine, and takes refuge at a contiguous hermitage, where he slowly recovers from his wound. Meanwhile, King Arthur is anxious to present the prize to the hero of the day, in whom he alone recognizes Lancelot. Great is his dismay when he hears of his wound and hasty departure, and he readily accepts Gawaine's offer to go in search of the missing knight. In the course of his wanderings Gawaine is brought to Astolat, and recognizes Sir Lancelot's shield, which Elaine jealously guards in her chamber.

Upon this he reveals to the family of Astolat the world-renowned name of their late guest, and so startles Elaine from her propriety by a vivid description of his wound and probable danger, that she asks and obtains leave from her father to go in search of the great knight. Hard by Camelot she by chance lights upon Lavaine, and is by him escorted to Sir Lancelot, with whom we must leave her rendering the wounded hero such faithful service and comfort as love alone can bestow. Gawaine on his part returns to Camelot and expounds the enigma of the scarlet sleeve, driving the Queen to distraction by this proof of Lancelot's love for another.

Lancelot, who, after experiencing a dangerous relapse which calls forth all the hidden strength of Elaine's passion, has in the meantime been removed to Astolat, is at length healed of his wound and announces his intention to depart. Thereupon Elaine declares her passion and entreats him to return her love. To this Sir Lancelot, fettered as he

is by his guilty tie to the Queen, cannot consent; and his offer to endow her with an estate of 1000 pounds yearly on the day she weds another is all in vain. He takes his leave and from that hour Elaine pines away, until, when death is near at hand, she begs her father to write a letter which she dictates, to place this in her hand at the instant of death, then to deck her body in its richest apparel and allow it to drop down the river in a barge steered by one man to Camelot. His promise obtained, she dies. All is done in accordance with her directions: the barge carries her to Camelot, and excites the wondering pity of the court. The King commands Lancelot to see the body buried, and the Queen implores his pardon for her unjust suspicions of his fealty. Thus is the intervention of Sir Lancelot's good angel baffled, and the life which might have been crowned with the pure and elevated affection of Elaine is finally dedicated to the guilty passion of Guinevere. Henceforward the catastrophe hastens on with winged speed. Sir Lancelot feels that the die is cast and the struggle over. We see this inward conviction asserting itself in a greater recklessness of consequences and a more facile submission to the guidance of what was once temptation but is now destiny.

But, retracing my steps, I observe first what I have hinted above, that the story of Elaine is essentially an outline, but an eminently suggestive one. The character of Elaine herself is perhaps the most fully developed. It is the ideal purity which asserts itself in an ingenuous simplicity of word and deed, so unconventional as to be at times almost startling. Thus, when she hears from Sir Gawaine of Sir Lancelot's success at the tournament, she exclaims in the transport of her joy, "Now blessed be God that that knight sped so well; for he is the man in the world that I first loved, and truly he shall be the last that ever I shall love." And again, "Then know ye not his name, said

Sir Gawaine. Nay truly said the damsel, I know not his name, nor from whence he cometh, but to say that I love him: I promise you and God that I love him." Nor, is she less unreserved to her father. "Now, fair father said then Elaine," (when she is told of Lancelot's wound received at the tournament), "I require you to give me leave to ride and to seek him, or else I wot well I shall go out of my mind, for I shall never stint till that I find him." She never affects to conceal her love even before Sir Lancelot himself. It is true that we may regard her as surprised into self-betrayal by the ravages which she traces in the wounded Sir Lancelot, when she first sees him at the hermitage: and again, when Sir Lancelot's wound bursts out afresh, and "she weeps as though she had been wood, and kisses him, and rebukes her brother and Sir Bors, and calls them false traitors, why they would take him out of his bed; and cries that she will appeal them of his death." But we can scarcely apply the same standard to the deliberate offer of her love which we have recorded in these words. "And so upon the morn, when Sir Lancelot should depart, fair Elaine brought her father with her, and Sir Tirre, and Sir Lavaine, and thus she said: my lord Sir Lancelot, now I see ye will depart, now, fair Knight and courteous Knight, have mercy upon me and suffer me not to die for thy love. What would ye that I did, said Sir Lancelot. I would have you to my husband, said Elaine. Fair damsel, I thank you, said Sir Lancelot, but truly, said he, I cast me never to be wedded man. Then, fair Knight, said she, will ye be my love? Jesu defend me, said Sir Lancelot, for then I rewarded to your father and your brother full evil for their great goodness. Alas, said she, then must I die for your love." In this scene I see Elaine exhibiting the artless candour of a child, which sees no shame in asking plainly for the object of its desire. But I discern something more. It is to Elaine