new to
Jane--who was alone for the first hour or two of it. A fine,
large-featured, dim-eyed, bronze-colored, shaggy-headed man is Alfred;
dusty, smoky, free and easy; who swims outwardly and inwardly, with great
composure, in an articulate element as of tranquil chaos and
tobacco-smoke; great now and then when he does emerge; a most restful,
brotherly, solid-hearted man."

The "English Idylls," put forth in Eighteen Hundred Forty-two, contained
all the poems, heretofore published, that Tennyson cared to retain. It
must be stated to the credit, or discredit, of America, that the only
complete editions of Tennyson were issued by New York and Boston
publishers. These men seized upon the immature early poems of Tennyson,
and combining them with his later books, issued the whole in a style that
tried men's eyes--very proud of the fact that "this is the only complete
edition," etc. Of course they paid the author no royalty, neither did they
heed his protests, and possibly all this prepared the way for frosty
receptions of daughters of quick machine-made American millionaires, who
journeyed to the Isle of Wight in after-days. Soon after the publication
of "English Idylls," Alfred Tennyson moved gracefully, like a ship that is
safely launched, into the first place among living poets. He was then
thirty-three years of age, with just half a century, lacking a few months,
yet to live. In all that half-century, with its many conflicting literary
judgments, his title to first place was never seriously questioned. Up to
Eighteen Hundred Forty-two, in his various letters, and through his close
friends, we learn that Tennyson was sore pressed for funds. He hadn't
money to buy books, and when he traveled it was through the munificence of
some kind kinsman. He even excuses himself from attending certain social
functions on account of his lack of suitable raiment--probably with a
certain satisfaction.

But when he tells of his poverty to Emily Sellwood, the woman of his
choice, there is anguish in his cry. In fact, her parents succeeded in
breaking off her relations with Tennyson for a time, on account of his
very uncertain prospects. His brothers, even those younger than he, had
slipped into snug positions--"but Alfred dreams on with nothing special in
sight." Poetry, in way of a financial return, is not to be commended.
Honors were coming Tennyson's way as early as Eighteen Hundred Forty-two,
but it was not until Eighteen Hundred Fort