5 evening, the sun, perhaps, only just at the point of setting, we are seen from every storey of every house. Heads of every age crowd to the windows-young and old understand the language of our victorious symbols-and rolling volleys of sympathising cheers run along us, behind us, and before us. The beggar, rearing himself against the wall, forgets his lameness-real or assumed-thinks not of his all sense of ordinary distinctions. Those passengers who happen to be gentlemen are now hardly to be distinguished as such except by dress; for the usual reserve of their manner in speaking to the attendants has on this night melted away. One heart, one pride, one glory, connects every man by the transcendent bond of his national blood. The spectators, who are numerous beyond precedent, express their sympathy with these fervent 10 whining trade, but stands erect with bold feelings by continual hurrahs. Every moment are shouted aloud by the post-office servants, and summoned to draw up, the great ancestral names of cities known to history through a thou exulting smiles, as we pass him. The victory has healed him, and says, Be thou whole! Women and children, from garrets alike and cellars, through infinite London, look down sand years-Lincoln, Winchester, Portsmouth, 15 or look up with loving eyes upon our gay Gloucester, Oxford, Bristol, Manchester, York, Newcastle, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Perth, Stirling, Aberdeen-expressing the grandeur of the empire by the antiquity of its towns, ribbons and our martial laurels: sometimes kiss their hands; sometimes hang out, as signals of affection, pocket-handkerchiefs, aprons, dusters, anything that, by catching and the grandeur of the mail establishment by 20 the summer breezes, will express an aerial jubilation. On the London side of Barnet," to which we draw near within a few minutes after nine, observe that private carriage which is approaching us. The weather being so warm, the diffusive radiation of its separate missions. Every moment you hear the thunder of lids locked down upon the mail-bags. That sound to each individual mail is the signal for drawing off, which process is the finest part of the en- 25 the glasses are all down; and one may read, as on the stage of a theatre, everything that goes on within. It contains three ladies one likely to be "mamma," and two of seventeen or eighteen, who are probably her daughters. tire spectacle. Then come the horses into play. Horses! can these be horses that bound off with the action and gestures of leopards? What stir!-what sea-like ferment!-what a thundering of wheels!-what a trampling of 30 What lovely animation, what beautiful, unhoofs! what a sounding of trumpets!-what farewell cheers!-what redoubling peals of brotherly congratulation, connecting the name of the particular mail-"Liverpool for ever!". with the name of the particular victory-35 "Badajoz for ever!" or "Salamanca for ever!" The half-slumbering consciousness that, all night long, and all the next day-perhaps for even a longer period-many of these mails, like fire racing along a train of gunpowder, 40 will be kindling at every instant new successions of burning joy, has an obscure effect of multiplying the victory itself, by multiplying to the imagination into infinity the stages of its progressive diffusion. A fiery arrow seems 45 to be let loose, which from that moment is destined to travel, without intermission, westwards for three hundred miles-northwards for six hundred; and the sympathy of our Lombard Street friends at parting is exalted a hundred- 50 of gesture; all smile on each side in a way fold by a sort of visionary sympathy with the yet slumbering sympathies which in so vast a succession we are going to awake. Liberated from the embarrassments of the City, and issuing into the broad uncrowded 55 avenues of the northern suburbs, we soon begin to enter upon our natural pace of ten miles an hour. In the broad light of the summer 21 In Spain, taken by Weilington in 1812. premeditated pantomime, explaining to us every syllable that passes in these ingenuous girls! By the sudden start and raising of the hands, on first discovering our laurelled equipage!-by the sudden movement and appeal to the elder lady from both of them-and by the heightened colour on their animated countenances, we can almost hear them saying "See, see! Look at their laurels! Oh, mamma! there has been a great battle in Spain; and it has been a great victory." In a moment we are on the point of passing them. We passengers-I on the box, and the two on the roof behind me-raise our hats to the ladies; the coachman makes his professional salute with the whip; the guard even, though punctilious on the matter of his dignity as an officer under the crown, touches his hat. The ladies move to us, in return, with a winning graciousness that nobody could misunderstand, and that nothing short of a grand national sympathy could so instantaneously prompt. Will these ladies say that we are nothing to them? Oh, no; they will not say that. They cannot denythey do not deny-that for this night they are our sisters; gentle or simple, scholar or illiterate servant, for twelve hours to come, ?? Eleven miles north of London, we on the outside have the honour to be their brothers. Those poor women, again, who stop to gaze upon us with delight at the entrance of Barnet, and seem, by their air of weariness, to be returning from labour-do you mean to say that they are washerwomen and charwomen? Oh, my poor friend, you are quite mistaken. I assure you they stand in a far higher rank; for this one night they feel themselves by birth-right to be daughters of Eng- 10 whole route was our reception at this place. land, and answer to no humbler title. amongst Celtic Highlanders is called fey.24 This was at some little town where we changed horses an hour or two after midnight. Some fair or wake had kept the people up out of 5 their beds, and had occasioned a partial illumination of the stalls and booths, presenting an unusual but very impressive effect. We saw many lights moving about as we drew near; and perhaps the most striking scene on the The flashing of torches and the beautiful radiance of blue lights (technically, Bengal lights) upon the heads of our horses; the fine effect of such a showery and ghostly illumina laurels; whilst all around ourselves, that formed a centre of light, the darkness gathered on the rear and flanks in massy blackness; these optical splendours, together with the prodigious enthusiasm of the people, composed a picture at once scenical and affecting, theatrical and holy. As we stayed for three or four minutes, I alighted; and immediately from a dismantled stall in the street, where no doubt Every joy, however, even rapturous joysuch is the sad law of earth-may carry with it grief, or fear of grief, to some. Three miles beyond Barnet, we see approaching us another 15 tion falling upon our flowers and glittering private carriage, nearly repeating the circumstances of the former case. Here, also, the glasses are all down-here, also, is an elderly lady seated; but the two daughters are missing; for the single young person sitting by the lady's 20 side, seems to be an attendant-so I judge from her dress, and her air of respectful reserve. The lady is in mourning; and her countenance expresses sorrow. At first she does not look up; so that I believe she is not aware of our 25 she had been presiding through the earlier approach, until she hears the measured beating of our horses' hoofs. Then she raises her eyes to settle them painfully on our triumphal equipage. Our decorations explain the case to her at once; but she beholds them with ap- 30 the provinces on this occasion, was the imparent anxiety, or even with terror. Some time before this, I, finding it difficult to hit a flying mark, when embarrassed by the coachman's person and reins intervening, had given to the guard a "Courier" evening paper, 35 main outline of the battle. The agitation of containing the gazette, 23 for the next carriage that might pass. Accordingly he tossed it in, so folded that the huge capitals expressing some such legend part of the night, advanced eagerly a middleaged woman. The sight of my newspaper it was that had drawn her attention upon myself. The victory which we were carrying down to perfect one of Talavera-imperfect for its results, such was the virtual treachery of the Spanish general, Cuesta, but not imperfect in its ever-memorable heroism. I told her the her enthusiasm had been so conspicuous when listening, and when first applying for information, that I could not but ask her if she had not some relative in the Peninsular army. Oh yes; as-GLORIOUS VICTORY, might catch the eye 40 her only son was there. In what regiment? at once. To see the paper, however, at all, interpreted as it was by our ensigns of triumph, explained everything; and, if the guard were right in thinking the lady to have received it with a gesture of horror, it could not be doubt-45 ful that she had suffered some deep personal affliction in connection with this Spanish war. Here, now, was the case of one who, having formerly suffered, might, erroneously perhaps, He was a trooper in the 23rd Dragoons. My heart sank within me as she made that answer. This sublime regiment, which an Englishman should never mention without raising his hat to their memory, had made the most memorable and effective charge recorded in military annals. They leaped their horses-over a trench where they could, into it, and with the result of death or mutilation when they be distressing herself with anticipations of 50 could not. What proportion cleared the trench another similar suffering. That same night, is nowhere stated. Those who did, closed up and went down upon the enemy with such 24 Not a Gaelic word, but an Old English word retained in the Scotch. In Old English poetry it was applied to warriors who were "doomed" to fall in battle. In its Scottish use it implies a state of high spirits and wild exaltation in the person unconscious of his doom. 25 Talavera de la Reiva, at the confluence of the Alberche and the Tagus, where the English under Sir Arthur Wellesley (afterward Duke of Wellington) and the Spanish under Cuesta were attacked by the French under Marshal Victor and Joseph Bonaparte, July 27, 1809. showed her not the funeral banners under which the noble regiment was sleeping. I lifted not the overshadowing laurels from the bloody trench in which horse and rider by 5 mangled together. But I told her how these dear children of England, officers and privates. had leaped their horses over all obstacles * gaily as hunters to the morning's chase. I told her how they rode their horses into the mists of death (saying to myself, but not saying to her), and laid down their young lives for thee, O mother England! as willingly-poured out their noble blood as cheerfully-as ever, after a long day's sport, when infants, they divinity of fervour (I use the word divinity by design: the inspiration of God must have prompted this movement to those whom even then He was calling to His presence), that two results followed. As regarded the enemy, this 23rd Dragoons, not, I believe, originally three hundred and fifty strong, paralysed a French column, six thousand strong, then ascended the hill, and fixed the gaze of the whole French army. As regarded themselves, 10 the 23rd were supposed at first to have been barely not annihilated; but eventually, I believe, about one in four survived. And this, then, was the regiment-a regiment already for some hours glorified and hallowed 15 had rested their wearied heads upon their to the ear of all London, as lying stretched, by a large majority, upon one bloody aceldama 26in which the young trooper served whose mother was now talking in a spirit of such joyous enthusiasm. Did I tell her the truth? 20 been memorably engaged; but so much wis Had I the heart to break up her dreams? No. To-morrow, said I to myself-to-morrow, or the next day, will publish the worst. For one night more, wherefore should she not sleep in peace? After to-morrow, the chances are too 25 many that peace will forsake her pillow. This brief respite, then, let her owe to my gift and my forbearance. But, if I told her not of the bloody price that had been paid, not, therefore, was I silent on the contributions from her son's 30 regiment to that day's service and glory. I 26 "The field of blood." See Acts i. 19. mother's knees, or had sunk to sleep in ber arms. Strange it is, yet true, that she seemed to have no fears for her son's safety, even afte this knowledge that the 23rd Dragoons had she enraptured by the knowledge that his regiment, and therefore that he, had rendered conspicuous service in the dreadful conflicta service which had actually made them, within the last twelve hours, the foremost topic of conversation in London-so absolutely was fear swallowed up in joy-that, in the mere simplicity of her fervent nature, the poor woman threw her arms round my neck, as she thought of her son, and gave to me the kiss which secretly was meant for him. WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM I send you here a sort of allegory, 5 THE PALACE OF ART I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass, I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf 5 10 And "while the world runs round and round," I said "Reign thou apart a quiet king, Still as, while Saturn whirls, his steadfast shade Sleeps on his luminous ring." To which my soul made answer readily: "Trust me, in bliss I shall abide In this great mansion, that is built for me, So royal-rich and wide." 15 20 10 Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, Echoing all night to that sonorous flow Of spouted fountain-floods; That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters That doat upon each other, friends to man, Was common clay ta'en from the common earth, Tennyson wrote the following notes on this poem in 1890: "Trench said to me, when we were at Trinity together, "Tennyson, we cannot live in art.'"' "The Palace of Art' is the embodiment of my own belief that the Godlike life is with man and for man, that 'Beauty, Good, and Knowledge are three sisters,' etc." (Memoir, by H. Tennyson, I. 118.) Tennyson made a number of changes in this poem, especially for the edition of 1842. The version here given is the final and more familiar one. Nor these alone, but every landscape fair, Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there, Or the maid-mother by a crucifix, Or in a clear-walled city on the sea, Or thronging all one porch of Paradise The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son1 Or hollowing one hand against his ear, 95 100 105 The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king' to hear Of wisdom and of law. 110 Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, The mild bull's golden horn. Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky Nor these alone; but every legend fair 120 125 Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung, Moved of themselves, with silver sound; 130 And with choice paintings of wise men I hung The royal dais round. St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music, whose harmonies brought an angel down from heaven. Cf. Dryden's Song for St. Cecilia's Day, p. 277, and his Alerasder's Feast, p. 278, supra. King Arthur, according to legend the son of Uther Pendragon. 5 Numa Pompilius, according to legend the second King of Rome. The "wood-nymph," Egeria, met him in a grove near the city, and there taught him how to frame laws and religious ceremonies for his people. Or Kama, the Hindoo god of love. |