The Sun.
London, England, 1866-07-03 00:00:00

The Prince and Princess of Wales.

The Prince and Princess of Wales, accompanied
by the Queen of the Belgians, rode out on horse-
back yesterday forenoon, attended by the Countess
of Macclesfield and Major Grey.
The Princess of Wales drove out in the afternoon,
accompanied by the Queen of the Belgians.

TENNYSON AND HIS HOME.—An american gentle-
man, Mr. Harry Harewood Leech, has supplied the
New York Bonze Journal with the following account of a
visit he recently made to Tennyson :—" Mr. Tennyson's
residence at Farringford House,' Isle of Wight, is at once
spacious, unpretending, and elegant. It has a wide front,
all clustered over with the trailing ivy-leaves ; to the
right of which runs a picturesque porch, completely fes-
tooned with woodbines, and at the left side appears a plea-
sant conservatory filled with choice plants. I was charmed
with the broad paths, as I approached the house, which
were sheltered irregularly, on each side, with ancient
oaks, which threw their spreading branches completely
over them. Then the wide level lawns extended on each
side to shaded allees, in which I loved to think the poet
wandered, weaving the sweet fancies that should charm
the world. . . A butler, in plain clothes, ushered me into
a cabinet until he could inform the poet of my arrival. Per-
haps no better index to the tastes of Mr. Tennyson could be
found than this collection (gathered mostly by himself) of
minerals and fossils, curious crustacea, shells and crystals,
all labelled and arranged carefully. In a few moments I
was shown into the drawing-room, where I saw Mrs. Ten-
nyson and the poet's maiden sister. The ladies entertained
me by showing me some exquisite photographic albums,
and a packet of photographs of Mr. Carlyle. As I was ex-
amining them Mr. Tennyson came in from his study. How
can I describe him to you. He is, perhaps, 5 feet 9 inches
in height, but he stoops much as he walks, and thus looks
shorter. He does not seem to be above 50 years of age, yet
his gait is feeble, and the wearing of glasses adds to the
impression of his being older. His dress is extremely old-
fashioned— indeed, he looked more like an old picture
stepping out of a frame than a gentleman of the nineteenth
century. His coat, short in the waist, was of a sort of
linsey-woolsey material, of a grey mixed colour, and
fitted him very tight ; vest and trowsers of the same
material. Around his ample shirt-collar a black
cravat was loosely tied. But nothing could de-
tract from the power of his massive forehead, high and
broad, and nothing could be more pricturesque than the
long black hair, fine as silk (but plentifully mixed with
grey), which fell over his fine head, down even to his
shoulders. His eyes are dark grey, I think, and have the
peculiar appearance about the lids common to all students,
and especially night readers, which is very clearly per-
ceived and defined in photographs of the poet. His mouth
is constantly smiling, but his eyes seem to be absent while
he is speaking, searching everywhere for something that
.is not present—that strange, speculative look that is not
easy to convey by description, and must be comprehended
rather than clearly defined. His voice is rich and sonorous,
but ho chooses his words slowly, and, I should think by this
betrays that, in his composition, ho is equally careful and
slow. A sort of dreamy, ruminating voice, that has spoken,
yet is far beyond the voice in thought. In speaking of
Carlyle, the poet, on looking upon the picture of the author
of Sartor Resartus' he said—' He has a sad face. Do you
not think so ?" Yes !' I replied, but I can conceive that
he has many of the same qualities he loved in Frederick
the Great.' Doubtless,' was the reply, accompanied by
one of those strange smiles. Our conversation turned upon
the beauties of the Isle of Wight, England generally, my
own stay in it, and gradually upon America. He had many
questions to ask me of Boston friends—the sudden death of
Mr. Ticknor (of Ticknor and Fields), and, finally, asked
me if I knew Mr. Henry Tuckerman. I said I had not
that pleasure, and I understood him to praise that gentle-
man. At last I expressed the hope that some day, not far
distant, we should have the honour of a visit from him, so
that the thousand lovers of his song in America could wel-
come him. He interrupted me by a firm—' No ! I think•
not." Why ? may I ask.' Ah ! you are too violent over
there for me' (referring to our late civil war). But now
that we aro at peace,' I advanced, and slavery is at an
end'—He interrupted quickly. 'Ah ! but your press,' he
said, it is positively outrageous and violent.' I tried to
prove that some he named—ultra-political papers—were
exceptions, and that our moderate, high-toned journals,
would compare favourably with those of England ; but I
soon gathered from the laureate that he, in common with
the governing class in England, had but little sympathy
with the peaceful settlement of our late rebellion, and I
was much pained by the reflection that, though our deeds
were writ in iron,' we should not have this 'shadowy
honour' upon their tombs. However, on all rosthetical
subjects we clasped hands, and the moments fled all too
quickly in converse with that pure soul. So, with tender
memories, I left Farringford House, carrying away with
me some sweet souvenirs of pictures, flowers, and auto-
graphs."
QUESTIONABLE TRIBUTE TO A LADY'S MEMORY.—
A comical contributor to Harper's Magazine, among
other whimsical recollections of typographical mistakes,
observes that upon the occasion of a decease occurring in
Slumgullion an obituary suitably prepared was sent to me
for publication by a disconsolate widower. It was con-
structed according to the usual formula which distinguishes
that class of composition, and suitably garnished with di-
luted sentiment and Scriptural quotation. I handed it over
to the printer without comment or correction. On looking
over the proof, however, I perceived that the lady was
spoken of as having been "remarkable for her chastity,"
As this was evidently intended to be " charity," and not
a malicious slur on the fair fame of the rest of the
village, I underlined the obnoxious word, made an in-
terrogation point in the margin, and sent the proof
to the bereaved husband, with the request tat he should
return it directly to the printer after making his correc-
tions. Other engagements kept me away from the office
until after the Slumgullion Independent had gone to press.
The next morning a zealous friend called upon mo at an
early hour, and imparted the pleasing information that
the bereaved husband was, in the local dialect, "hunt-
ing me." "You see," added my sympathising friend,
" the old fool can't take a joke, and he swears he'll
have your life." "But I haven't joked him !" I began in
amazement. " You don't mean to say that you mean
that for good ?" said my friend, with some concern de-
picted on his face. " Mean what ? For goodness sake
what do you mean ?" " Why, that joke on old Follins-
bee's wife. You see," he continued confidentially, "the
innocent old ass thought everything of old Suke Follins-
bee, and that air dig of yours in the paper rather got him.
It was pretty rough on Suke, too, but it was very good.
He ! he!" I snatched the paper from his hand and ran my
eye rapidly over the obituary. It had never been cor-
rected. But as it wont on to recount the virtues of the
deceased, it seemed that the ingenious printer had seen fit
to interpolate my query as an editorial doubt of one of the
qualities of the esteemed Mrs. Follinsbee, and she was
spoken of as haying been "remarkable for her chastity (?)"