The Portland daily press., 1872-01-06

HOW TIME AT LAST MADE ALL THINGS
EVEN.
I'M ID. Conway in the Cincinnati Commercial
While am writing about poetry. although
not exactly Tennysonian, NAV remark that
Mr.. Tennyson gets pretty severe treatment
ior MS new poem-that is, it is received with
silence. There has been no outburst of en-
thusiasm even from the most ardent Tenny
sonians. 1t is whispered about that Tennv-
son has been considerably impressed by the
rapid ascent of Swinburne to fame, and re-
solved for once to be Swinburnian. 1t sum
derstood that the only admirer of ''Tristram
and Queen Isault'' is Lord Lytton. He con-
siders himself avenged. have just been re-
Ierring to the battle which occurred between
Bulwer and Tennyson when the latter was
appointed laureate Of England. 1t isa story
Whicn nave never seen reproduced in Amer
ica and, indeed, it is but little known here
and so venture to fish it up. As L have in,
tlmated, when Tennyson was made laureate
Bulwer was very jealous and angry. He had
based his expectations upon first, his aristo-
cratic birth; second, upon ''The Lady of Lv-
ons," "Not so Bad as We Seem," his short
poems and translations from Schiller In his
anger he wrote tremendous attack on Ten
nyson in the ''New Tlmon:''
me life hath skilledl to me from woe and WRONG
ny passions tomb leaps forth the source Of song
The quicQuid agunt Homines-whate'er
Qur actions teach us, and our natures share,
Lille anu our world, our city, and our age
Have tried my spirit to inform my page;
have no purpled prettiness of phrase;
A soul In earnest seorns the tricks for praise
III to my verse denied the poets fame
This Tn merit rare to verse that wins claim;
Not mine, not mine % Muse forbidD the boon
vi borrowed notes, the mockbirds modiste tune
Inc Jinging medley of purloined conceits,
hafto atolffta
Where all the airs Of patchwork pastoral Chime
To drowsy ears in Tennysonian rhymel
Let school-miss Alfred vent her cllaste deliobt
On On darling little rooms SO warm and brighf,'
And catch her 'blue-hy singing L the hame'
Though praised by critics, though adored by Blues
hongh ou Teei with pudding plumb the pulling Muse,
And pensions Tennyson to starve Knowles,
HSG1 Mess
Than patch with frippery every tinsel iiue,
And faunt, admired, the Rag fair Of the Miner,
To this Tennyson replied in Punch. over
the signature of "Alcibiades,' - in a piece en-
titled, 'The New Timon and the Poets:
"We know him out Of Shakespeare's art,
And those fine curses which he SPOKE
The Old Timon with his noble heart,
That strongly loathing, greatly broke.
So died the Old; here comes the New
Regard him-a familiar face;
thought We knew him. What! it's You,
Ihe padded man that wears the stays
Who killed the girls and thrilled the BOYS
With dandy pathos when you wrote,
lion you that made noise
And shook name en- pdpilotes!
And once you tried the MUSES., too;
You failed, sir therefore now you turn,
You fall on those who to you
AS captain Is to subaltern.
But men of Iong-enduring hopes.
And careless what this hour NAV bring
Can pardon little would-be Popes
And Brummels when they try to sing.
An artist, sir, should rest in Art
And waive little Of his claim;
To have the deep poetic heart
Is more than all poetic fame.
But you, sir, you are hard to please:
You never look but half content
Nor like q gentleman at ease,
With moral breadth of temperament
And what with spites and what with fears
You cannot let a body be;
It's always ringing in your ears
They call this man as good as me-
What profits now to understand
The merits of q spotless shirt
A dapper little boot-a little hand
If half the little soul is dirtl
You talk of tinsel! Why we sea
yon mne eIas marx K, q Ng rouge upon your checks.
That split his life about the cliques
A Tmon you! Nay nay, for shamet
1t looks too arrogant jest
Inc nerce old man, to take his name:
You bandbox! OF, and let him rest
But notwithstanding this and notwithstand-
ing Thackeray's never-to- be-forgotten GSir
Edward Lytton Bullwog," Bulwer still stems
and drives along these streets Looking as much
Of young beau as ever. The frosts of age do
not tell upon his locks forr easons which Phys
ology can well understand And there be-
ing no hesh upon his face it cannot wrinkle.
saw him few days ago-the little hand,
1apper boot, extensive shirt-front, and ali
the all does not cover much) and he seemed
to me an inexplicable marvel. Will he live
forever? He is regarded as one of the ugliest
human beings, but it is no common ugliness.
Inc lace Is that of some antdeluvian hawk
with sharp beak, bony brow, and cold, twink
ling eyes, which has taken human shane and
become man of fashion. Poor Bulweri He
must have sad time of it. He has outliyed
his old companions, and has only spleen for
the successful literateurs of the present day.
What power he had is now dried up foun-
tain. He finds his delight in being a great
man among small Tory circles. Meanwhile
his old antagonist, Tennyson, whatever maybe
thought OF this or that piece he gives to the
world, becomes increasingly dear to the large
circle OF his personal friends For, much as
1t is to say, the man is better than his poetry.
Plain as Quaker in his garb, blunt but
cordial in his speech, humorous and full of
good stories, kindly and truthful, his annual
sojourn in London-he is here now-is look
ed forward to as aliterary and social festivity,
and the sight of his long head and genial
face, and his curious long cloak, is enough
even to make one forget the fogs which Just
now are thick, and cold enough to increase
the traffic in razors