chronological continuity of this poem, as extending from the later Autumn of 1833 to the Spring or Summer of 1837.1

Under this aspect, then, In Memoriam contains a natural history of the Sorrow of Bereavement. The poet depicts the successive moods that sweep over his spirit, the various questionings that naturally arise within his mind, and the gradual change which passes over his grief, as the seasons come and go. One of the most beautiful features of the poem arises out of the skill with which Tennyson indicates this gradual change, and contrasts his experience in the earlier stages of his sorrow with his experience later on, when time has done its healing work. Thus the odes that open the poem stand in marked contrast with the odes that close it. The former breathe a passionate fear lest, through any philosophical attempt to moderate

[1The editor has left the argument and dates untouched; the author seemed, indeed, to have good authority for his statements, as appears from the following letter he received from the late Rector of Somersby :

SOMERSBY, Jany. 13th, 1871.

Dear Sir,-Mrs. Tennyson continued to reside at Somersby Rectory some time after the Dr.'s death. To the best of my recollection she would leave about June or July 1836, when I had to come into residence. The date I sent you is quite correct.—I am, Dear sir, Yours truly,

L. B. BURTON.

Further inquiry, however, shows that the Tennysons left Somersby in the early part of 1837. In a letter to R. Monckton Milnes, dated Jany. 10th, 1837, the poet speaks of all his people being about to quit Somersby, never to return (see Life of R. Monckton Milnes, vol. i. p. 180); and it seems that the sale of the furniture of the Rectory was advertised in the Lincolnshire Mercury to take place on May 22nd and 23rd, 1837.-J.F.

grief, love should lose its intensity; they express a morbid desire that love should prove its constant fidelity by cherishing a constant gloom; and they indicate how this gloomy Sorrow within tends to darken all Nature without, and to rob the heart of its faith in a wise and universal Order. The closing odes, on the other hand, breathe the spirit of joy in Nature, and the calm assurance that all is well"; and they indicate that, although love is not less, but is even more than ever, yet it now exists, not as a dark and darkening Regret, but as a bright and brightening Hope. The first ode dreads the "victor Hours" the last ode triumphs over the "conquered years."

At

These contrasts of experience, due to the lapse of time, are, moreover, pursued into detail; and the transitional stages through which the mourner gradually passes are marked with delicacy and skill. first the dark yew-tree in the churchyard is so congenial to his spirit, that he is filled with a "sick" longing to be as faithful, in his own melancholy, to the departed, as the yew is "stubbornly" faithful in its unchanging gloom. He cannot bear the thought that the coming of Spring will ever make him cheerful again. He sinks into a state of sullen torpor; and yet he doubts whether he ought to "embrace" or to "crush" such sorrow. When he sleeps, he never dreams of his friend, but is burdened "all night" by a "nameless trouble." When he goes, in the "early morning," to look at the house where his friend used to live, that house appears all "dark" and "unlovely," and he shrinks within himself as he thinks of the "hand that can be clasp'd no more." To tell him that there are thousands besides

himself who are mourning the loss of friends, only increases the bitterness of his sorrow. Sometimes the whole thing looks like a dream, and he finds it difficult to realize his loss. The "Shadow" of Death darkens for him both the Present and the Future: it is only the Past that is bright; and the memory of its departed joy makes the pathway of life very "dreary." Thus a whole year passes away. Then comes the first

Christmas after the funeral. He had almost wished never to hear "the merry, merry bells of Yule" again. But when they do ring, they bring him "sorrow touch'd with joy." He cannot altogether escape the power of early associations. He tries to keep Christmas-eve after the old fashion, just for custom's sake; but the gaiety is a "vain pretence of gladness," and the forced mirth is followed by silence and tears. By-and-bye the Spring comes, but it brings him no joy yet; only he can see now that even the yew-tree, which in his earliest grief he had called unchanging, does respond to the quickening influences of the season. His sorrow is not quite so gloomy. His feeling is that this sorrow must ever remain with him, but that it may have its "lovelier" aspects, as well as its "harsher moods." He has his comforting thoughts as to the abiding love of the departed. He begins to take a kindly interest in others, and when he sleeps at night now, he has visions of his friend's face-the happy days of the past are reproduced in his dreams. But still, when the anniversary of Arthur's death comes round, it renews the old gloom. It is the 15th of September, and it comes a wild, showery day; but he feels that, if it had come calm and fair, it would have been quite as chill and cheerless to him. Thus, a second year has

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passed away; and presently Christmas-eve has to be kept again. And now the mirth is no longer forced -it almost appears, in the midst of the festivity, as if sorrow had grown less; but he comforts himself with the thought that his Regret can never die, and that it is only made less poignant by long familiarity. It is clear, however, that his grief is by this time altered in its character. When the new year comes he finds himself even longing for the flowers of Spring. quiet "content" takes possession of his mind. He begins "to count it crime" to "mourn for any overmuch." He finds solace in a second friendship, although he feels that it can never be quite like "the first." The "sweet air" of the Summer evening imparts to him a sense of (( new life." The warble of the nightingale, that seems to blend joy with grief, typifies his own feeling; almost in spite of himself, he is glad. There was a time when he "would not have felt it to be strange," if the ship that was bringing Arthur's remains had landed him at the quay, a living passenger; but now, if Arthur were to appear to him, he would regard it simply as an illusion of the brain. And now, again, the 15th of September comes round; and this time it comes with "balmy breath": and he can now take a kind of comfort from the thought that there are multitudes besides himself to whom the day brings "memories of death." Thus a third year has passed away. The next Christmas, indeed, is spent without festivity, but that is simply because they have recently left the old family-home; and when the bells begin to "ring in the new year," the poet finds himself in full sympathy with their cheerful, hopeful chimes

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Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;

"Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in."

And when the 1st of February comes-the anniversary of Arthur's birthday he keeps it with festal cheer and books and music. Rather than cherish sorrow, he would reap the "wisdom" that sorrow brings. And now, with the advent of the new Spring, his “ Regret becomes an April violet, and buds and blossoms." Now, when he goes to look at the "house" where his friend used to live, the street seems even bright and gladsome, and he feels as if "in thought" he were clasping his friend's hand again. He is looking forward to re-union, rather than backward to separation. There is

"Less yearning for the friendship fled, Than some strong bond which is to be."

Thus, then, time has done its healing work. The mourner who at first dreaded its influence, has lived to be thankful for it. It has "touched into leaf" the crown of thorns." And yet, although there is so great a change in the tone of his feeling, he is conscious that he himself has not changed. His love abides unaltered. Formerly, it was like "Hesper," the evening star, brooding over the departed Sun; now, it is like " Phosphor," the morning star, anticipating the coming Dawn. Yet "Hesper" and "Phosphor" are, after all, just the same star in different positions at different periods of the year; and, in like manner, it is only the attitude of his spirit that is altered-his love is the same as ever :