J------
was kind enough to go in quest of him. Not for the purpose of
introduction, however, for he was not acquainted with Tennyson. Soon Mr.
J------ returned, and said that he had found the Poet Laureate,--and,
going into the saloon of the old masters, we saw him there, in company
with Mr. Woolner, whose bust of him is now in the Exhibition.
Gazing at him with all my eyes, I liked him well, and rejoiced more in
him than in all the other wonders of the Exhibition.
How strange that in these two or three pages I cannot get one single
touch that may call him up hereafter!
I would most gladly have seen more of this one poet of our day, but
forbore to follow him; for I must own that it seemed mean to be dogging
him through the saloons, or even to look at him, since it was to be done
stealthily, if at all.
He is as un-English as possible; indeed an Englishman of genius usually
lacks the national characteristics, and is great abnormally. Even the
great sailor, Nelson, was unlike his countrymen in the qualities that
constituted him a hero; he was not the perfection of an Englishman, but a
creature of another kind,--sensitive, nervous, excitable, and really more
like a Frenchman.
Un-English as he was, Tennyson had not, however, an American look. I
cannot well describe the difference; but there was something more mellow
in him,--softer, sweeter, broader, more simple than we are apt to be.
Living apart from men as he does would hurt any one of us more than it
does him.
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