eeded, who, as the most acceptable poet of
the day, could alone rightly succeed, Alfred Tennyson, the actual
Poet-Laureate. Not without opposition. There were those who endeavored
to extinguish the office, and hang up the laurel forever,--and to that
end brought pregnant argument to bear upon government. "The Times" was
more than usually decided in favor of the policy of extinguishment.
Give the salary, it was urged, as a pension to some deserving writer
of verse, whose necessities are exacting; but abolish a title degraded
by association with names and uses so unworthy, as to confer shame,
not honor, on the wearer. The laurel is presumed to be granted to the
ablest living English poet. What vocation have the Tite Barnacles,
red-tapists, vote-mongers, of Downing Street to discriminate and
determine this supreme poetical excellence, in regard to which the
nicest critics, or the most refined and appreciative reading public
may reasonably differ among themselves as widely as the stars? On the
other hand, it was argued, that the laurel had, from its last two
wearers, recovered its lost dignity. They had lent it honor, which it
could not fail to confer upon any survivor, however great his name.
If, then, the old odium had disappeared, why not retain the place for
the sake of the ancient worthies whom tradition had handed down as at
one time or another connected with it? There was rarely difficulty in
selecting from among contemporary poets one of preeminent talent,
whose elevation to the laurel would offend none of his fellows. There
was certainly no difficulty in the present case. There was palpable
evidence that Tennyson was by all admission the hierophant of his
order; and it would be time enough to dispense with the title when a
future occasion should be at a loss to decide among contending
candidates. The latter reasoning prevailed. Tennyson accepted the
laurel, and with it a self-imposed obligation to make occasional
acknowledgments for the gift.

The first opportunity presented itself in the issue of a fresh edition
of his poems, in 1851. To these he prefixed some noble verses,
dedicating the volumes to the Queen, and referring with as much
delicacy as modesty to his place and his predecessor:--

"Victoria,--since your royal grace
To one of less desert allows
This laurel, greener from the brows
Of him that uttered nothing base."--

The next occasion was of a different order. The hero of Waterloo ended
his