fforts proved successful and a neat, courteous young woman showed
us over the rambling house. It is quite large--and had to be, in fact,
to accommodate the rector's family of no fewer than twelve children, of
whom the poet was the fourth. The oddest feature is the large dining
room, which has an arched roof and narrow, stained-glass windows, and
the ceiling is broken by several black-oak arches. At the base of each
of these is a queer little face carved in stone and the mantel is
curiously carved in black oak--all of this being the work of the elder
Tennyson himself. There is some dispute as to the poet's birthroom. Our
fair guide showed us all the rooms and said we might take our choice. We
liked the one which opened on the old-fashioned garden at the rear of
the house, for as is often the case in England, the garden side was more
attractive than the front. Just across the road stands the tiny church
of which the Rev. Tennyson was rector for many years. This was one of
the very smallest that we visited and would hardly seat more than fifty
people altogether. It is several hundred years old, and in the
churchyard is a tall, Norman cross, as old as the church itself.

[Illustration: SOMERSBY CHURCH.]

A rare thing it is to find the burying-ground around a church in England
quite neglected, but the one at Somersby is the exception to the rule.
The graves of the poet's father and brother were overgrown with grass
and showed evidences of long neglect. We expressed surprise at this, and
the old woman who kept the key to the church replied with some
bitterness that the Tennysons "were ashamed to own Somersby since they
had become great folks." Anyway, it seems that the poet never visited
the place after the family left in 1837. Near the church door was a box
with a notice stating that the congregation was small and the people
poor, and asking for contributions to be used in keeping the church in
repair. The grange, near the rectory, is occupied by the squire who owns
the birthplace, it is a weatherbeaten building of brick and gray stone
and perhaps the "gray old grange" referred to in "In Memoriam."
Altogether, Somersby is one of the quietest and most charming of places.
Aside from its connection with the great poet, it would be well worthy
of a visit as a bit of rural England. Scattered about are several great
English elms, which were no doubt large trees during the poet's boyhood,
a hundred years ago.

For a long distance