Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1893-12-16
TENNYsON's DEATH BED.
Sir Andrew Clark's Graphic Descrip
ton.

Lord Ternyson was dead; from Hasie-
mere came confused rumors that the death
bed scene had been Of unearthly beauty.
and that Sir Andrew. who had watched
with his dying friend and patient through
the whole OF the last day and night was
or his way back to London. When i step
ped out Of my hanson at his door, Sir An
drew drove up from the opposite direction.
He could rot see patients just then. the
servant told me very politely. I wasn't q
patient. 1 replied. and gave him my letter
OF introduction from the editor. And then
1 was told Sir Andrew would see me pres
entity. / had to wait some time. and then
he himself came in full Of apologies and
ready to listen to my requests. Come
along into my den." he said. very kindly;
Il am tired. but would like to oblige your
editor. Your editor is my editor. for yours
is the only evening paper I read regularly"
This. by the way, was in the last days OF
the former incarnation OF the Westminster
Gazette.
And now listen and will tell you what
think may say" he said as we had set
tied in the famous consulting room. A red
dish light from the fire LIT up the gloom Of
the duh. wet. autumn day. and In the per-
feet silence Of the house Sir Andrews &C.
count OF that most wonderful Of death
beds was almost as a story from another
world. He looked very sad as he was sit
ting in front OF his bureau; necessarily
twisting pencil between his fingers; but
for one moment he frightened UP. then
looked frowningly at me and said: do you
know what You are asking? You are ask
ing me &c do what In the medical profess
sion is considered an awful breach OF eti-
auette. And then he got up. and in bit
ter disappointment I rose to 60, with only
sufficient courage left to say that certainly
Il this was SO ] was sincerely sorry. In
one second the frown turned into o genial
smile, and with his hand on my shoulder
he said. sit still I don't mind committing
a breach Of etiquette this time. but you
must promise me faithfully not to mention
my name as that Of your informant
Keep my name out and then tell the
world what I tell You. a. far as words can
tell such things. OF that glorious deathbed
down on the Surrey hills" and then, with
glowing emotion, with voice that rose
steady. he told me Of the last watch by the
bedside OF the poet. Il have stood by the
bedsides Of thousands Of fellow creatures"
he said, and have seen very grand and
solemn deathbed scenes. but never one like
that from which / have just come home"
Sir Andrew, when he grew animated. had
strange magnetic power over his hearers
l have heard Others students. medical men
this-and / sat In spellbound silence as he
told Of the glorious day which, in the midst
Of the autumn storms and rains. dawned
over the world as the poet lay on his death
bed. One sentence I remember of the de-
scription which he then gave me. '"rhe
distant hills. shrouded In mists Of perfect
white. could be seen through the oriel win
dow OF the room where Tennyson lay like
a piece Of breathing marble" He went on
to describe the night flooded with moon
light. the perfect stiffness. the dying mans
request REQ, St for HI. shakespears. and. after
and walked up and down the room also
''slt st.ii!' he Numbered. suddenly. Shall
peaceful? This is not to be put into the
papers today. Probably II would not inter-
est them today. But the secret Is this: He
lived a quiet laborious. simple life. 1t IL a
secret which few men learn In time to profit
by it. i was his friend before was his
physician. Metaphysics drew us together
Gladstone, too. is deeply interested in that
subject and We all three agreed in our
taste for a simple life. and life of work
Half the disease OF the generation is due
to peoples idleness. Idleness, the beginning
Of all evil. The mother Of a pampered dari-
ing Of daughter sends to me- The girl
prescribe. know before I 60 what is the
matter with the girl Go to your local
medical man. I say; he can manage the
case very we'll But no, It must be Sir An
drew. the grumpy Scot. and Sir Andrew
prescribes long walks and less rich food,
and regular meals and early hours. And
presently. when the young lady has re-
gained her red cheeks and high spirits they
think have performed a wonderful curei
Now let me tell you how I myself have
managed to live at all. I am sixty six
Over thirty years ago. when / was q young
and obscure Scotch practitioner In London,
I applied for a place on the medical stan
Of the London Hospital. The authorities
there said: oh. let US give he poor chap
a chance. He is consumptive; he won't last
long. Let us, In pity. give him the post
Well. I have outlived nearly every one Of
them. All my life i have been delicate: I
have several times been at deaths door
but by reason OF q simple life and a life OF
work. i have managed to get very close to
three score years and ten"
got UP once more to take my leave sit
still" he commanded once more as he put
on his glasses and q professional air And
so you are one OF those ladies who writer
They tell me all the younger generation of
women write and smoke. Do you smoker
with a terrible emphasis on the personal
pronoun) mo. Sir Andrew. don't" " You
don't smoke? Look here. let me tell you one
thing. Don't! Don'tr' took my leave, ana
Jumped into my hanson; but was recalled.
Come back! Make haste! Young woman,
called after me. and showed me again into
his room. II only want to tell YOU one
thing. II you breathe my name In connec-
ton with what have told you. rll-I'u
haunt you. Now shake hands, ana forriye
. garrulous old man for keeping you DO
long"
never mentioned Sir Andrews mama
at the time In connection with the informa-
ton He sent his well done~s dowp 20