Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1892-10-06
for the oossliest palace London could offer

| MIN.
Beside, the poet is now very old man
He is So years of age and he has been writ
Ing poetry nearly 70 years. Not for fv'
lived to such an age. But one, indeed, ha
lived more than 80 years That was Will
lam Wordsworth, Tennyson's immediat,
predecessor in the laureatship. He LIVED
16 days beyond his 8Oth year. But Words
worth at 80 was but the wreck of man IL
mind and body. Tennyson at SO is still
comparatively a vigorous old man. True
be does not sing with as full throat ss ht
once did, but that we may well overlook.
No Trappist monk ever lived more out o.
the world than Tennyson lives now, and ye,
in all London, and for that matter, in al
the three Kingdoms, there is NO man who il
80 sought after as is the laureate. HI
knows little of this and cares less Il
is the constant care of his family to keeE
him from all care and annoyance. It il
the sole work of his son to see to this
Letters of all kinds pour in upon the
poet, by the cart load almost There are
| Invitations from the highest in the land tt
dinners, receptions and what not where ht
would be the lion of the lions There ART
requests for autographs, there are books
that the authors hope the poet may find /,
in his heart to notice Indeed there are al
| sorts of letters, some from wise men, and 9
great many from fools
His Companions Not Numerous.
Tennyson himself sees none of these.
His son opens and reads them. He an
swers such as call for an answer, and
throws the rest in the waste basket II
must be an important communication,
indeed, that reaches the old poet himself
As for visitors, he wants none, and sees
none except few very close friends He
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 how he
won Tennyson's esteem. It was on the
occasion of his first visit The poet re-
ceived him in his library. He was sitting
by the fire, his huge jar of tobacco by his
side, his beloved pipe in his mouth.
Without speaking he waved his visitor
to seat on the other side of the fire,
at the same time handing him q we'll
filled pipe. Then without speaking he went
on smoking. The visitor knowing of moth
ing else to do, fell to smoking, too, and for
two long hours the two men sat there over
the fire. sending up clouds OF tobacco smoke
until they could scarcely see each others
face, and all the while saying not
a word. At the end of this time
went to the door with him, shook him
heartily by the hand and assured him that
he had rarely passed more pleasant even
ing. And he doubtless meant it, for he
took the visitor into his friendship there
after. Probably he looked upon him as a
man of tact and sense, who could pay a
visit and smoke friendly pipe without
annoying with useless conversation.
Outside visitors Tennyson will 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. They may, perhaps, get a
glimpse OF him walking in the shaded lanes
near his home, for he is still famous
accompanied by his son, who sees to it
that he is not approached by the curious
rabble.
Sinking to Sleep in Ouietude.
Such is the greatest living master of
song, the poet who stands solitary and
alone in his greatness at SO. His life work
is done. He has written more continuously
and with greater and more unwearying e1-
cellence than any other poet of his time.
To use the language of the poet critic
Gosse he 'has not headed single moral re-
form nor inaugurated a single revolution of
opinion; he has never pointed the way to
undiscovered regions of thought; he has
never stood on tip-toe to discover new
worlds, that his fellows were not tall
enough to discover ahead. In all these di-
rections he has been prompt to follow,
quick to apprehend, but never himself q
pioneer"
Still the English people look upon him
as being the greatest master of English
verse with a single exception since Milton.
All his life he has been a poet, for we are
told that from the time when he, a mere
youth, chose the making of poetry for pro-
fession, he has done not one days work of
any other kind for his living, and vet he
was poor enough at first
He is living very quietly now. His wife
is still with him and spends much Of her
time in setting her husbands verses to
music. And, indeed. these lyrics form the
most interesting feature of London drawing
room entertainments nowadays
Meanwhile the glorious old man sits in
his quiet study at. Haslemere, surrounded
by his books, jhis tobacco jar by his side,
out through his open window over glen and
wood and hill to where the sea gllstens sill
ver-like in the distance. And, perchance,
he may light his pipe and through the
clouds of smoke see visions beyond our ken.
So let us leave him calmly living out the
evening of his life. When it closes, all
England may well mourn, for it may be
long before his like may again be seen.
The Laureate's Own Poem on Death.
As the days of the poet seem to be num-
bered his admirers recall one of the most
beautiful lyrics of the English language,
written by the poet in his S0th year, on this
very subject of death. 1t forms fitting
song for his own going out It is entitled
Crossing the Bal" and is as follows:
Sunset and evening star
And one clear call for mel
And may there be no moaning of the bar
When put out to sea;
But such tide as moving seems asleep.
Too full for sound and foam,
W hen that which drew from out the bound.
less deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bells,
And after that the dark
And may there be no sadness of farewells
When embark;
For though from out our bourne Of Time
and Place
The floods may bear me far,
hope to see my Pilot lace to face
When have crossed the bar.
THE COOLEYS' SUCCESSORS.
A Road Supervisor in Fayette County Turns
Detective With Good Results.
III nnf I