The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1891-09-28

ners, receptions and what not Fhere 1.
would be the lion of lions. Them ners-
quests for autographs, there are bo5Uskas
the authors hope the poet may lind II IN
his heart to notice. Indeed, there sn al
sorts of letters. some from wise men, snd
great many from fools.
Tennyson himself sees none Of thek
His son opens and reads them. He IN
swers such as call for an answer, and
throws the rest in the waste basket |.
must be an important communication, In
deed, that reaches the old poet himself.
AS for visitors, he wants none, and SEES
none except few very close friends. Be
has never been over-companionable His
pipe, his books and his thoughts have
been enough. One of those who are NUM-
bered among his friends now tells bow he
won Tennyson's esteem. 1t was on tie
occasion of his first visit. The poet re-
ceived him in his library. He was sitting
by the ire, his huge jarNf tobacco b. his
side, his beloved pipe in his mouth. With.
out speaking he waved his visitor to
a seat on the other side of the FIRE,
at the same time handing him Q well.
filled pipe. Then, without speaking, he
went on smoking. The visitor, knowing
of nothing else to do, fell to smoking 100,
and for two long hours the two men sat
there over the fire, sending up clouds Of
see each others face, and all the while
saying not word. At the end Of this
time the visitor arose to 60. The poet
went to the door with him, shook him
heartily by the hand aud assured him that
he had rarely passed more pleasant even
ing. And he doubtless meant il, for he
took the visitor into his friendship there
after. Probably he looked upon him as
man of tact and sense, who could pay
vfusf nv,1 g. L. - rvT4h
annoying with useless conversation.
Outside visitors Tennyson viii not see.
They journey from all over the world to
the Isle of Wight in the hope OF obtaining
an audience with the laureate, but they
are disappointed. The may, perhaps, get
glimpse of him walking in the shaded
lanes near his home, for he 10 stlii . IAN
Gus pedestrian, but even In these Walks
he is accompanied by his son, VINO sees
to it that he is not approached py the curl
Gus rabble.
Such is the greatest living master OF
song, the poet who stands solitary anu
alone in his greatness at 81. His NE work
Is done. He has written more commune
ously and with greater and more unNsafy
ing excellence than any other poes "
his time. To use the language OF inc
poet critic, Gosse, he has not headed :
single moral reform nor inauguIatea
single revolution of opinions; ne nss
never pointed the way to undiscovered
regions of thought; he has never stood On
tip-toe to discover new worlds, tnat nls
follows were not tall enough to discover
ahead. In all these directions ne mas peen
prompt to follow, quick 70 apprenenu' oa'
never himself a pioneer"
Still the English people look upon nun
as being the greatest master OF EnSiisA
verse, with single exception, since Milton.
All his life he has been poet, Tor We arg
told that from the time when ne, mefc
youth, chose the making Of poetry Iof :
profession, he has done not one days Wolk
of any other kind for his living, ana yes ne
was poor enough at first. -.
He is living very quietly now. his VIE
is still with him and spends mucn OF nsl
time in setting her husbands verses -
music. And, indeed, these lyrics form sne
most interesting feature of London afsH-
ing-room entertainments nowadays. =
Meanwhile the glorious old man SITS y
his quiet study at Haslemere, surronnasa
by his books, his tobacco jar by MS sios,
his beloved pipe near, where ne can l1o vA
out through his open window over gen
and wood and hill to where the sea
glistens silyer-like in the distance. ana
perchance. he may light his pipe ana
through the clouds of smoke see visions
beyond our ken. So let US leave nm
calmly living out the evening Of his ine,,
When it closes, all England may vel
mourn, for it may be long before his hAs
NAV again be seen