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A CHILD'S 
 RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 TENNYSON 
 
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 FARRINGFORD 
 
A CHILD'S 
 RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 TENNYSON 
 
 BY 
 
 EDITH NIGHOLL ELLISON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 
 1906 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two CoDies Received 
 
 JUN 80 1906 
 
 Oopyright Entry 
 
 .£4 
 
 Copyright, 1906 
 Bj E. P. DuTTON & Company 
 
 Published, September, 1906 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PEESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 
 
To My Sister 
 MARGARET L. WOODS 
 
 D 
 
 We twa hae rua about the braes, 
 
 And pu'd the gowaas fine ; 
 But we 've wandered mony a weary foot 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 For auld lang sync, my dear, 
 
 For auld lang syne, 
 We '11 tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 
 For auld lang syne. 
 
 We twa hae paidllt i' the burn 
 
 Frae mornin' sun till dine ; 
 But seas between us braid hae roared 
 Sin' auld lang syne. 
 
 For auld lang syne, my dear. 
 
 For auld lang syne. 
 We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet. 
 For auld lang syne 1 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Farringford Frontispiece 
 
 Mrs. Tennyson Facing page 20 
 
 Tennyson at Farringford. About 
 
 1866 " " 32 
 
 Hallam. Aged 12. By Watts ** ** 42 
 
 Lane, Farringford *' '* 5o 
 
 Tennyson at Farringford. About 
 
 1870 " "100 
 
 Lionel. As a Cambridge Under- 
 graduate " " io4 
 
 Lionel. Aged 10. By Watts . '* " 106 
 
 Tennyson and his Nurse ... '* ♦' no 
 
A CHILD S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 TENNYSON 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 IT all began in the Isle of Wight, 
 far back in the days of the Crimean 
 War ; and it is true from beginning 
 to end. 
 
 The little girl of the story was 
 only three years old ; in fact, she 
 was celebrating her third birthday, 
 so, of course, the first part of the 
 story comes out of her mother's 
 diary. 
 
 Her mother was helping her to 
 celebrate, and so was her elder 
 brother — a beautiful five-year-old 
 in a holland blouse. The picture 
 of both children, as they looked 
 then, still hangs in their mother's 
 
2 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 room. On that August day in the 
 far past, as in the picture, the little 
 girl's fair curls were snooded with 
 a blue ribbon and crowned with 
 a wreath of blue speedwells and 
 forget-me-nots ; for the mother was 
 young, and thought the flowers and 
 ribbon matched the little girl's eyes 
 then. The child also wore a blue 
 frock and a pinafore of fine white 
 lawn. All this is in the mother's 
 diary, of course. 
 
 The birthday feast was spread on 
 the top of a low haystack in the 
 barnyard of the farmhouse in which 
 the children and their parents were 
 spending the summer . There was a 
 birthday cake and other good things, 
 — ' ' Isle of Wight doughnuts, " and 
 *' Isle of Wight junket." No one 
 in the world has tasted junket as 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 these island people make it ; I mean, 
 no one in the big world outside, 
 across the seas. It is a glorified 
 clabber, covered an inch deep with 
 thick yellow cream and scattered 
 with " Hundreds and Thousands. " 
 Those delightful little red and blue 
 pellets, so tiny that you cannot count 
 them, do not grow on this side of 
 the ocean, but on the other side they 
 were one of the sweet enchantments 
 of the children of the Long Ago. 
 
 The snowy tablecloth was strewn 
 with wild flowers because the feast 
 took place in the Island of Flowers. 
 A blue awning protected the heads of 
 the revelers from the old-fashioned 
 August sun ; for even the English 
 sun was hot in those blessed days. 
 And beyond the green of the rabbit- 
 warren and the rushgrown common 
 
4 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 they could see the roUing downs 
 and the white cHffs and the blue 
 and shining sea. 
 
 There was only one drawback 
 to the children's enjoyment, and 
 that was a flock of geese that 
 jabbered and stretched their long 
 necks. The children did not like 
 geese. They had run away from 
 them, hand in hand, too often — 
 running for their lives, as they 
 really believed in those days. 
 However, their mother was with 
 them this time ; and after all, 
 though the neck of a goose is terri- 
 bly long, it cannot quite reach to 
 the top of a stack. 
 
 Suddenly there appeared in the 
 barnyard a tall man with flowing 
 black hair. He wore a black 
 Spanish sombrero and a blue cloak 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 With a velvet collar. His eyes 
 were certainly of the near-sighted 
 kind, but they were dark and 
 bright, and his clean-shaven mouth 
 was curved with a smile. 
 
 The mother of the children had 
 never seen the poet before, although 
 their father had met him ; however, 
 she recognized Alfred Tennyson at 
 once. 
 
 "Pray, who are you?" asked a 
 gruif but not unattractive voice. 
 ' ' And how did you get up there ? " 
 
 *' I am Granville Bradley's wife, 
 and these are our children. We 
 climbed up here, and we are having 
 a feast because it is our little girl's 
 birthday." 
 
 He laughed and cried, 
 
 ' ' Hold up the child that I may 
 see her! " 
 
6 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 The proud young mother obeyed, 
 and then he stretched out his arms 
 exclaiming, 
 
 * ' Drop her down ! Don't be 
 afraid ! Mrs. Tennyson and the 
 babies are in the carriage. She 
 can't get out, so come down and 
 see her." 
 
 So the Httle girl was dropped 
 into the poet's arms. 
 
 *' Little maid, how old are you 
 to-day? " he said. 
 
 " Thwee 1 " quoth she. 
 
 • * Then you and I have a birth- 
 day between us. I am forty-five 
 to-day, and you are three. Per- 
 haps when you are a woman and I 
 am an old man you will remember 
 that we had one birthday once.'* 
 
 Meantime the mother had slipped 
 down the other side of the stack 
 
OF TEINNYSON 
 
 with Wa-Wa, as the Kttle boy was 
 sometimes called, and walking to 
 the yard gate she found a carriage 
 there, in which was seated a lovely 
 lady. Her large dark eyes beamed 
 a kind welcome, and she was fair- 
 skinned and dressed all in white. 
 With her were two boys, one a 
 baby on his nurse's lap. 
 
 After awhile the poet said, 
 
 "Now, Emily, you have talked 
 enough I Come, Hallam, take the 
 little girl's hand, and walk together 1 
 We will go in the house and see if 
 we cannot find her father." 
 
 And just then the father came 
 out to greet the visitors. 
 
 Hallam Tennyson was a striking 
 child, with long fair curls and 
 solemn brown eyes ; a grave, self- 
 possessed boy, looking like a pic- 
 
8 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 ture in his velvet blouse and wide 
 lace collar. 
 
 He took the little girl's hand, and 
 said in a low, slow voice, 
 
 ' ' How old are jou ? " 
 
 " Thwee. This is mj birth- 
 day." 
 
 ' ' Then we all have birthdays 
 together," replied the little boy. 
 "I'm thwee in four days." 
 
 Then the poet went into the small 
 parlor, and seeing the table littered 
 with books, took up a volume of 
 his own poems which was amongst 
 them. It was "Maud," pub- 
 lished only a short time before. 
 He talked about the poem, which 
 when it was first published was a 
 good deal disliked ; it was not 
 until later that it became so pop- 
 ular. He always begged his friends 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 * * never to hear his pet bantUng 
 abused without defending her," 
 and as the father of the children 
 admired "Maud* greatly, he was 
 ever ready to do so. Some time 
 after this when Lear, the artist and 
 musician — known to children as 
 the author of the fascinating ' ' Book 
 of Nonsense " — was at Farringford, 
 he went to the piano and began 
 inventing a musical setting to 
 "Maud," singing the words as he 
 went along. Mr. Tennyson was 
 charmed, and marched up and 
 down the room, occasionally add- 
 ing his own voice to that of the 
 singer, and exclaiming, " Lear, 
 you have revealed more of my 
 Maud to myself! " But afterward, 
 when a lady tried to improve on 
 Lear's work in setting it down in 
 
lo A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 black and white, the poet did not 
 like the music any more. 
 
 Mr. Tennyson and the children's 
 father talked and talked in the little 
 parlor of the farmhouse that August 
 day, and still could not finish what 
 they had to say; so at last the father 
 walked all the way home with the 
 poet over Beacon Down. And this 
 was the first of many, many such 
 walks to come, and the beginning 
 of a friendship which endured till 
 death. 
 
 It was at this time, although the 
 letter is not dated, that the father 
 of the children wrote to his wife's 
 brother* as follows : 
 
 Dear William: We leave this 
 delightful place to-morrow. We've 
 been here a short fortnight: so glori- 
 
 1 The Rev. William B. Philpot. 
 
OF TEINNYSON 
 
 ous I Freshwater parish is a triangle 
 at the end of the Island, with its base 
 on a little stream that runs into Yar- 
 mouth Estuary, and its apex the 
 Needles. The whole of its south side 
 is a grand chalk down, with cliffs 600 
 feet high, ending in the Needles, and 
 vicAvs that quite craze one. The rest 
 is very broken and interesting ground. 
 We are just at the east end, a short 
 mile from the Needles in Alum Bay, 
 at the foot of the downs just off the 
 chalk on a strip of marine Eocene 
 Tertiary that runs through the Island, 
 with a fine hill opposite us called 
 Headon Hill, overrun by rabbits, 
 and famous geologically. We are, in 
 fact, living at The Warren, in a 
 primitive little farmhouse, three 
 miles from church and seven from 
 the butcher's ; a few minutes take us 
 up the down, a few the other way 
 to the sea far below us. I leave it 
 [here come some Greek words which 
 
12 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 mean sorrowing at heart]. More- 
 over, I've seen a great deal of Tenny- 
 son. I made bold to call: found him 
 at dinner : so left my card with a 
 line of apology and an appeal to the 
 name of Franklin Lushington. A 
 genial note next day, and an invite 
 to meet Lear, the artist. Two days 
 after another dinner — five o'clock, 
 with long evenings — and since then 
 sundry talks, culminating in a whole 
 day yesterday spent tete-a-tete with 
 him, except just at dinner, etc. We 
 walked early to see the Wealden 
 strata five miles off, and spent all 
 the day walking and sitting. I found 
 I could talk to him as to an old 
 friend on all subjects, high and low, 
 and I believe that even if he had 
 never written a line I should think 
 him one of the finest of the genus 
 human am. 
 
 I wish I could see you, my dear 
 fellow, to talk it all over. He 
 
OF TENNYSON i3 
 
 explained to me sundry cruces in 
 "Maud," and read or chanted me a 
 good deal of it. Don't you form an 
 opinion about it until you've read it 
 over and over. We talked a great 
 deal on religious questions. A grand 
 fellow, sir I I implored him to come 
 to Rugby, 1 but that is not likely. 
 However, please God, we return here 
 next year, and for a longer time. 
 His house is two miles off, and he 
 walked back with me towards mid- 
 night, so I am still under the spell 
 of a great man. 
 
 I 've read right through the Odys- 
 sey here : but not much else, except 
 Jowett's Essays and some geology — 
 you see how it has entered into the 
 Tennysonian brain. . . . The last 
 three nights I 've excited myself talk- 
 ing to the poet over much — but J 've 
 had little enough of that in this place. 
 
 1 The children's father was then a master at 
 Rugby School. 
 
1 4 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 We get to Rugby early on Friday. 
 We hope to sleep in Oxford to- 
 morrow : it 's rather a long journey 
 with wife, brats, and three young 
 Forest ponies. 
 
 Best love to you both from both. 
 Brother, 
 
 G. G. Bradley.i 
 
 And now the story of the little 
 girl's birthday is all told. More 
 birthdays were celebrated in the 
 Isle of Wight, and sisters came 
 into the world to spend it with 
 her ; but this third birthday was 
 the most important of all. 
 
 1 The above letter is in the possession of H. S. 
 Philpot, son of the recipient. 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 Chapter II 
 
 iNOT so very long after this our 
 father built himself a country 
 home on that green little island in 
 the English Channel. Of course 
 England is an island too, but 
 somehow we never thought of 
 that, as it seemed to us a huge 
 and boundless land ; and when we 
 sat upon the deck of the Solent 
 steamer, anxiously watching our 
 favorite ponies trailing behind us 
 in a flat-bottomed boat and rolling 
 about in the foamy waves our 
 steamer churned up, we always 
 felt as if we were making quite 
 an adventurous voyage. 
 
 On the English side of the 
 Solent is the famous New Forest, 
 of which everyone had read and 
 
1 6 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 heard so much ; but I do not 
 think many persons are acquainted 
 with the New Forest ponies — the 
 prettiest and most spirited breed 
 of ponies in the world, my father 
 thought. He never would own 
 any other breed. They are shaped 
 like small horses, with clean, fine 
 limbs, small, lean heads, which 
 they carry high, and are in every 
 way superior to the rougher, 
 coarser breeds of ponies. The 
 silver-mounted hoof of one partic- 
 ularly wicked little black beauty, 
 who made many a trip back and 
 forth across the Solent, stands on 
 my table now. My father believed 
 that the wickeder the ponies we 
 rode as children, the better horse- 
 women we should become ; and 
 perhaps he was right. Anyhow, 
 
OF TENNYSON 17 
 
 SO long as we were children the 
 ponies were never left behind, 
 when, every summer and winter, 
 we went for a few weeks to the 
 Isle of Wight. 
 
 Very often, on the pier at Yar- 
 mouth, we would see, long before 
 our steamer was made fast to it, 
 certain black specks, which even at 
 a great distance we knew to be the 
 Tennyson family, come down to 
 meet us, Mr. Tennyson always in 
 his Spanish cloak and sombrero. 
 For they were near neighbors of 
 ours at Freshwater, which then 
 was nothing but a straggling 
 village. Beautiful Farringford, the 
 poet's island home, was within 
 easy walking distance, and my 
 sister and I and his two boys were 
 constantly together. The happiest 
 
1 8 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 hours of my childhood were passed 
 in that rambhiig, romantic, old 
 gray pile, or beneath the spread- 
 ing cedars and ilexes of its mossy 
 lawns, or playing imaginative games 
 through its woodland mazes or 
 along its broad meadows. We 
 were only children, yet the charm 
 of that big house lay in its mys- 
 terious promise of something — we 
 knew not what; and now, more 
 than ever, my sister writes me, 
 it resembles the Palace of the 
 Sleeping Beauty in the woods. 
 A house that had a secret pas- 
 sage, too 1 But we will tell about 
 that later. There were odd, sweet, 
 faint odors in those quaint rooms 
 — odors that appealed to the 
 imagination in some wonderful, 
 quite unexplainable way. We 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 wondered if the grown-ups felt as 
 we did. 
 
 Before me lies a picture of that 
 lovely home. Once more my sister 
 and I are running down the leafy 
 lane, hurrying to Farringford, for 
 a long afternoon and evening play 
 with the boys. There is the low 
 green gate in the wall — the pos- 
 tern gate of old romance — which 
 lets us in to fairyland. Wide it 
 flies, and in a moment we, too, 
 are flying along the pebbly paths 
 that wind through close-growing 
 trees down to the dear old house, 
 nestling, with its mullioned win- 
 dows and ivy clad gables, like — 
 well, just like a bird in a warm 
 nest. In the picture you can see 
 the side door through which the 
 boys used to come bounding to 
 
20 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 meet us — not noisily, though. 
 Noise reigned rampant only in the 
 upper story of the rambling house 
 or in the wide grounds, in sunlit 
 nooks of which stray flowers 
 bloomed in the balmy winters of 
 the Isle of Wight. The boys never 
 forgot that their mother was an 
 invalid, and love and considera- 
 tion for her came always first with 
 them . 
 
 If the afternoon chanced to be 
 damp and gloomy, then we would 
 all four slip swiftly in at the side 
 door, through the boys' study — 
 where they studied every morning 
 with a tutor — across the anteroom 
 connected with the big drawing- 
 room, from this to the hall beyond, 
 and then with a concerted noiseless 
 rush up the stairs, to turn loose the 
 
MRS. TENNYSON 
 
OF TENNYSON 21 
 
 spirit of fun in the endless mazes 
 of that upper floor. 
 
 Such a house as that was for 
 **I Spy 1 " and other thrilling 
 games ! All nooks and corners 
 and queer little gable rooms and 
 great big ones leading one out of 
 the other — you never could tell 
 when or where you were safe I 
 The enemy came bouncing out j ust 
 when you least expected him, and 
 then what a breathless chase there 
 was up and down steps and around 
 sharp corners ! 
 
 These games never disturbed the 
 calm of the elders below — not even 
 the poet in his far-off study. The 
 walls were too heavy, and winding 
 passages, too, did much to shut out 
 the noise. But on one never-to- 
 be-forgotten afternoon, at an hour 
 
22 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIO^S 
 
 chosen by Mr. Tennyson for his 
 walk, I found an ideal hiding-place 
 — under the steps leading down 
 from his bedroom to his dressing- 
 room. Triumphant and secure I 
 crouched, listening to the footsteps 
 and cries of my playfellows, now 
 near, now far, but ever at fault. 
 Suddenly a gruff voice shouted, 
 "I spy! " and the great figure, 
 which had stooped to peer at me, 
 wheeled and started to run — then 
 unexpectedly whirled again, and 
 catching me up in his arms, the 
 poet pretended to smother me in 
 the folds of his huge cloak, roaring 
 like a bear. At that time I was 
 too old to be scared, but I certainly 
 was startled at the results of my 
 own audacity, and he was gone be- 
 fore I had breath to utter a word. 
 
OF TENNYSON 28 
 
 Then there was the warm and 
 pleasant nursery, opening into the 
 large corridor, in both of which we 
 freely played. The boys possessed 
 what seemed to us the most fasci- 
 nating collection of books and toys ; 
 and a specially entrancing box of 
 lead soldiers furnished our varied 
 imaginations with sport for hours. 
 When we finally tired of these, we 
 would go downstairs to the stone- 
 floored hall, near whose massive 
 front door stood the light of our 
 eyes — the Farringford rocking- 
 horse. To swing forever if we so 
 desired with this glorious steed, 
 two on his sorrel back and one in 
 each of the seats at the ends of his 
 rockers, weaving imaginary tales 
 and singing long, low songs, all 
 together, had a peculiar fascination 
 
2^ A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 for our youthful minds. Years and 
 years later my sister, on a visit to 
 Farringford, wrote me that she had 
 been watching the poet's grandsons 
 rocking on the same beloved horse, 
 and she wondered whether those 
 small boys loved him just in the 
 same way we did. 
 
 As we four grew older our games 
 became more and more games with- 
 out toys. They were endless story- 
 plays, filled with adventure and 
 romance. We played a good deal 
 in pairs, too ; for sometimes Lionel, 
 who was very high-spirited, would 
 rebel at the parts given him by his 
 brother in the performance, and he 
 and my sister would run off by 
 themselves. But the quartette was 
 seldom broken for more than a very 
 short time, the rebels soon return- 
 
OF TENNYSON 26 
 
 irig to their allegiance. I never 
 remember a quarrel between the 
 brothers. They were devoted to 
 each other, and to their parents and 
 home; and if Lionel was spirited, 
 Hallam was always patient and tact- 
 ful. And if, as we grew older, our 
 games became somewhat fanciful 
 and romantic, there was not a 
 trace of silly sentimentality either 
 in ourselves or our play ; we were 
 still children, absolutely childlike 
 whether in fun or in earnest. 
 
 Perhaps it was the effect of the 
 mysterious old house that kept our 
 imaginations ever on the alert. 
 Certain it was that our rapture 
 knew no bounds when Lionel said 
 one day, 
 
 * ' Did you know that there is a 
 secret passage in one of these walls ? 
 
26 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 It leads out into the grounds, be- 
 hind the drawing-room." 
 
 We were all in the dim, picture- 
 hung lower hall, and immediately 
 there were low, excited cries of 
 **No — not really?" "How do 
 we get in ? " ' * Let 's try now ! " 
 
 One of the boys ran for a candle, 
 and with much mystery and with 
 very solemn faces we took down 
 the picture behind which the secret 
 passage was said to be. Sure 
 enough, there was a really, truly 
 door I 
 
 We opened it, and in we all 
 went, the leader bearing the lighted 
 candle. We might have set the 
 old house on fire, but of course 
 we never thought of anything so 
 commonplace. It was dark in 
 there, and musty and dusty too. 
 
OF TENNYSOW 27 
 
 That was a serious little procession 
 stumbling slowly along inside the 
 thick wall. Every step seemed to 
 be leading us further away — back 
 into the dark ages, when England 
 was forever quarrelling with herself 
 and real men fled for their lives 
 along this narrow path to light and 
 liberty — further away from our 
 everyday lives, with its lessons and 
 clean aprons and other tiresome 
 things . 
 
 But alas I our trembling joy 
 was shortlived. 
 
 "It's no use!'* exclaimed our 
 leader in hollow accents. "We 
 can't get any further! The pas- 
 sage is choked with rubbish ; yet 
 I know it leads into a little room 
 behind the drawing-room fireplace 
 and then out upon the lawn. I 
 
28 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 have heard my father tell about 
 it." 
 
 In vain we prodded and poked. 
 The dust of ages was too much for 
 us, and sorrowfully we backed out 
 Into ordinary life again. 
 
 Of the evenings at Farringford 
 very much has been written by 
 grown-ups of and for grown-ups, 
 but no one has told the children's 
 side of these evenings. When Mr. 
 and Mrs. Tennyson were alone, or 
 had only intimate friends — such 
 as our parents — or one or two 
 distinguished guests, to dine with 
 them, the meal was served in the 
 anteroom. Dessert, consisting of 
 fruit, wine, and a particular kind 
 of sweet biscuit which we children 
 believed could not possibly be made 
 anywhere but in the Farringford 
 
OF TENNYSON 29 
 
 kitchen, was served in llie draw- 
 ing-room, on a table drawn close 
 to Mrs. Tennyson's sofa beside 
 the big fireplace. The wide win- 
 dow, looking out on the giant 
 cedar and the lawn, was curtained 
 — well I remember how the boys, 
 who loved pets of all kinds, kept 
 a tame toad in that window ! — 
 and the large room was cosy 
 with fire and lamp light. As soon 
 as dessert was ready a summons 
 was sent upstairs to the distant 
 nursery : 
 
 " Send the children down I " 
 And then what a combing of 
 curls (very sadly tangled) and 
 straightening out of frocks and 
 tunics set in ! Two girls and two 
 boys, all Avith long hair and sashes 
 to be tied, and only one nurse to 
 
3o A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 attend to them all ! And one boy 
 full of pranks and mischief! 
 
 *' It's just his fun ! " laughed the 
 long-suffering nurse, whilst she 
 struggled with Lionel's mass of 
 red-gold curls, he, overbrimming 
 with merriment, hindering her 
 patient labors. 
 
 At last we were ready, and down 
 we trooped, led by Hallam, whose 
 duty it was to serve the dessert — 
 a loving duty, performed gently, 
 and with that simplicity and absence 
 of affectation, that straightforward 
 courtesy, which characterized both 
 boys. Of this simple frankness a 
 great man once said he did not 
 know whether they had inherited 
 or been taught it. 
 
 Even children notice harmonious 
 effects, and to this day I can see 
 
OF TENNYSON 3i 
 
 that Farringford drawing-room as 
 it looked then : The soft browns 
 and crimsons touched here and 
 there by the glow of fire and 
 candles — for, if my memory is 
 correct, it was candles that were 
 used ; the lady on the sofa, who 
 must never be disturbed by raised 
 voices or noisy steps, robed always 
 in a trailing gown of dove-color, 
 her dark hair crowned with a tri- 
 angular piece of old lace hanging 
 in lappets on either side of her 
 clear-cut, highbred face, and whose 
 low-toned call of " Allie ! " never 
 failed to attract the attention of the 
 bearded poet, sitting smoking in a 
 chair not far removed from her 
 sofa. Then the guests, in those 
 early days more remarkable for 
 quality than quantity, as Mr. 
 
33 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Tennyson in later years, after his 
 sons were grown, became less of a 
 recluse; but quality they certainly 
 possessed, these guests. Scarcely 
 one but had something to say 
 worth hearing or was in some way 
 worthy of notice ; yet, as I remem- 
 ber those evenings, it was mostly 
 the poet who talked in a deep, 
 growling voice, his guests occa- 
 sionally joining in, all very sub- 
 dued and quiet as they seemed to 
 us, who sat still as mice (though 
 the mice / have met never were as 
 still as we were) on our chairs in 
 that great hushed room, eating 
 cakes and fruit. Now and then 
 the poet was what we irreverent 
 little girls called grumpy, and just 
 sat silent, pulling at his beloved 
 pipe. Last, but to us not least, 
 
TENNYSON AT FAHRINGFOllD 
 
 About 1800 
 
OF TENNYSON 33 
 
 the two boys. Straight and tall, 
 dressed always in tunics and knee- 
 pants of the same shade of gray as 
 their mother's gown — belted on 
 week-days, crimson sashed and 
 crimson stockinged on Sundays, 
 holidays, and everyday evenings ; 
 low, strapped slippers always worn 
 in the house ; and on their broad , lace 
 collars their long golden hair falling, 
 Lionel's curls forever in his eyes. 
 They were both fine boys, but the 
 younger's beauty was so great that 
 even we children were conscious of 
 it. He looked like his mother, 
 whereas the elder had his father's 
 deep-set eyes and high forehead. 
 They were attired as the sons of ar- 
 tists or poets, and matched the old 
 house as well as their faces in those 
 days matched their quaint attire. 
 
34 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Before very long we children 
 would slip out and gather around 
 the red coals of the anteroom fire. 
 There we told, in thrilling whis- 
 pers, hair-raising tales of ghosts 
 and banshees and all kinds of de- 
 lightful horrors ; and this custom 
 we kept up until we were — well, 
 never mind how old I 
 
 Occasionally the tall folding 
 doors of the drawing-room opened, 
 and in the entrance stood, solemnly 
 gazing at us — though a twinkle 
 lurked in his deep eyes — a well- 
 known, loosely clad figure, pipe in 
 hand. The boys sprang to meet 
 their father, and lights and music 
 were called for. Then what a 
 banging and beating of the piano, 
 what a shouting there would be ! 
 Lionel was really musical, but 
 
OF TEI\]NYSON 35 
 
 there was not much music to be 
 got out of that ancient instrument. 
 In one of the letters pubhshed in 
 the life of my uncle-in-law, Sir 
 George Grove, he writes of that 
 piano thus : 
 
 " Sullivan went down with me, 
 and pleased both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Tennyson extremely. In the even- 
 ing we had as much music as we 
 could on a very tinkling piano, very 
 much out of tune." ^ 
 
 This was the uncle whom Brown- 
 ing, the poet, addressed as " Grove, 
 the Orientalist, the Schubertian, 
 the Literate in ordinary and ex- 
 traordinary." ^ And besides all 
 these things, and many more, this 
 one of the most delightful of uncles 
 and men was in these later days 
 
 ^ Graves' " Life of Sir George Grove." 
 
36 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Director of the Royal College of 
 Music, and his home was the 
 rendezvous for long years of those 
 famous in music principally, but 
 also in literature and art ; and it 
 is amusing to think of him sub- 
 jected to the singular noises given 
 out by that funny old Farringford 
 piano — not to mention Arthur 
 Sullivan, his bosom friend. 
 "What shall I say of Grove?" 
 writes Sullivan. "It would be 
 painting the lily to try and describe 
 his goodness and charm." 
 
 Mr. Sullivan, as he was in those 
 early days, was one of the con- 
 stant guests at the dear old frame 
 house at Lower Sydenham, and it 
 was there that I first saw him — 
 when "Uncle G.," or " G." as 
 he was fondly styled by a large 
 
OF TENNYSON 87 
 
 circle, was editor of Macmillan's 
 Magazine, Secretary to the Crystal 
 Palace, and practically the author 
 of those analytical programmes 
 which rendered the Palace Concerts 
 world renowned. Grove claimed 
 that he was not the ** inventor" of 
 the analytical programme; but 
 whether this was so or no, it is 
 certain that for forty Crystal Palace 
 seasons he wrote most of the analy- 
 ses for the concerts, his great learn- 
 ing and his untiring researches 
 where music was concerned making 
 this work a labor of combined love 
 and art. It was Grove who accom- 
 panied Dean Stanley on his trip to 
 this country in 1878. Stanley was 
 my brother's godfather and one of 
 our father's dearest friends, and 
 only our joint representations as to 
 
38 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the roughness of existence in the 
 then wilds of the Blue Ridge pre- 
 vented the Dean from paying us a 
 visit. As it was, '' Uncle G." came 
 on alone to Virginia, and enjoyed 
 himself vastly. 
 
 As I remember Sullivan, the pub- 
 lished portraits of the celebrated 
 composer are admirable likenesses. 
 But to return to Farringford. 
 
 With music in its highest sense 
 such evenings as I am describing 
 had little to do. The hush and 
 quiet which usually prevailed 
 downstairs vanished as if by 
 magic. Scottish songs and old 
 English ballads made the lofty 
 rooms ring again. The poet never 
 failed to call for Auld Lang Syne 
 as a wind-up, he himself standing 
 and crossing hands with the rest, 
 
OF TENNYSON 89 
 
 his deep voice chiming in ; for 
 to sing Auld Lang Syne without 
 standing and crossing hands is 
 altogether wrong, and if you had 
 ever sung it as I have many and 
 many a time, with several hundred 
 people, you would hate to sing it 
 or listen to it sung in any other 
 way. 
 
 The poet's last call was for good- 
 night kisses. Now this was a part 
 of the performance I did not enjoy, 
 because I so much disliked the odor 
 of tobacco in his raggedy beard. 
 My hair was very long and heavy, 
 and he used to take hold of it by 
 the extreme end, throw that end 
 around his neck, and then turn 
 and turn until he had wound him- 
 self close enough to my face for 
 what he called an "osculation." 
 
^o A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Then followed the hunt in the 
 boys' study for hats and wraps, 
 many loud good-nights, and away 
 into the darkness we scurried, 
 father and mother close behind, all 
 bound for home and bed. 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 Chapter III 
 
 IN spite of their quaint costume 
 and their gentle household ways, 
 the boys were no mollycoddles, 
 the younger, as I have said, being 
 particularly high-spirited, and 
 daring also. Yet their chief play- 
 mates when we were on the Island 
 were my sister and myself — and 
 after all, we were not such very 
 poor imitations of boys, as we had 
 little to do with girls in those 
 days, and could do everything that 
 boys could, even to playing cricket 
 and football, and taking the kicks 
 and hard knocks without a mur- 
 mur. It is the fashion now for 
 girls to do as boys do, but then it 
 was not a fashion or a fad, but 
 merely quite a common custom in 
 
42 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 England for girls to be athletic, 
 and to ride, or even to run, across 
 country as the boys and men did. 
 No one talked or made a fuss about 
 it, or put their pictures in the 
 newspapers, or blew trumpets, or 
 anything of that kind. If a girl 
 ran several miles across rough 
 country, or stuck to her saddle for 
 a whole day where fences were 
 stiff and water-jumps wide and 
 deep, or leaped higher than the 
 boys in the gymnasium, she just 
 did it — and that was the begin- 
 ning and end of the whole affair. 
 Therefore it was, I suppose, that 
 the Tennyson boys were able to 
 make good companions of us, 
 although we were girls. 
 
 Hallam must have been quite 
 thirteen years old when his father 
 
HALLAM 
 
 Aged 12 
 
 JSu Wails 
 
OF TENNYSON 43 
 
 wrote to the late Duke of Argyle : 
 "I have decided to send my son 
 Hallam to Marlborough. For 
 Bradley is a friend of mine, and 
 Stanley has told me that it is the 
 best school in England." Then, 
 of course, the boy's flowing locks 
 had to be shorn, and I well re- 
 member the shocked awe with 
 which we gazed upon our play- 
 mate, his yellow mane gone, and 
 attired like an everyday boy. 
 
 The games we four loved best, 
 however, were those of the imagi- 
 nation, whether played indoors or 
 out. In the outdoor games a son 
 of Julia Margaret Cameron, the 
 first artist-photographer, often 
 joined us, and also our brother ; 
 and when we were in the mood for 
 riotous boy-games the Farringford 
 
44 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 meadows were trampled by the 
 feet of many boys — sons of resi- 
 dents for the most part, with 
 occasional visitors ; for in those 
 days there was no railroad to 
 Freshwater, and the beauties of 
 that beautiful spot were little 
 known. Neither had Mr. Tenny- 
 son — and others beside him — 
 begun to bewail the ruin of their 
 island corner by the intrusions of 
 "bricks and mortar." One of the 
 resident families contained but a 
 single girl in the midst of a small 
 crowd of boys, and this family 
 sometimes came to play in the 
 Farringford grounds, and my 
 brother, my sister, and I often 
 spent part of a day with them at 
 their own home. And a charming 
 home that Was. Several acres of 
 
OF TENNYSON 45 
 
 land belonged to It, and when 
 Lady Hammond wanted to call 
 her flock to tea she used to blow 
 a silver whistle which could be 
 heard at a great distance. After 
 tea, before going home, we al- 
 ways spent an hour or so, clus- 
 tered around her knee, listening 
 breathlessly to awful stories of the 
 Indian Mutiny, through which 
 Lady Hammond and her husband, 
 the Admiral, had safely passed, 
 surviving perils and hardships un- 
 speakable. But though the Ham- 
 mond boys sometimes came to 
 Farringford, I do not recall the 
 Tennyson boys' presence at any of 
 those gatherings at the Hammonds' 
 home. 
 
 But not even a child's picture of 
 Freshwater, which leaves out so 
 
46 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 many celebrated grown-ups, would 
 be complete without some mention 
 of the old parish church ; and what 
 brings me to this is the fact that 
 the son of its apple-cheeked, kindly 
 rector, Mr. Isaacson, was one of 
 our playmates in our real boy 
 games. I do not know how many 
 years Mr. Isaacson filled this posi- 
 tion, but it must have been for a 
 great many, as I cannot imagine 
 Freshwater without him. When 
 I was a small child, I believed him 
 to be a very old man, which shows 
 how absurd children are some- 
 times. In those days the pews 
 were enormously high and the 
 seats cramped and narrow, and we 
 were shut into these boxes by tall 
 doors. Unless our parents were 
 kind enough to lift us on the seat, 
 
OF TENNYSON 4? 
 
 we could see nothing; and Mr. 
 Isaacson's sermons were very, very 
 long. Almost the first thing I can 
 remember is standing on that pew 
 seat beside my father, and suddenly 
 making a remark in a loud voice 
 which caused the congregation to 
 bow their heads in the shelter of 
 their tall pews and my father to 
 catch me up in his arms and hurry 
 down the aisle with me into the 
 open air. I was not taken to church 
 again for some time, he has since 
 informed me. But the remark I 
 made, though out of place, was 
 not unnatural. The pulpit had a 
 canopy top, and was rather like 
 the beds of the period, now coming 
 into fashion again, and the rector 
 wore a shining white surplice ; 
 therefore I exclaimed: "Papa, 
 
48 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 why has Mr. Isaacson got on his 
 nightgown and is going to bed in 
 church? " 
 
 Another curious feature of this 
 old church was its music, which 
 was provided by a barrel or grind 
 organ, whose wheezy sounds came 
 down to us from a bare gallery, 
 in which the singers also were. 
 Everybody who knew Freshwater 
 knew this church, perched high on 
 a hill, and surrounded by a grave- 
 yard filled with tombstones, on 
 many of which the quaintest in- 
 scriptions were cut deep into the 
 stone and overgrown with mosses. 
 As I said. Freshwater church en- 
 tered into the life of the children 
 of whom I am writing. 
 
 But to go back to our playtimes. 
 Those games of the imagination 
 
OF TENNYSON 49 
 
 played by us in Maiden's Croft 
 were really best beloved of all. 
 
 Maiden's Croft, well known to 
 all the poet's friends, was part of 
 the Farringford estate ; and though 
 we often played the same games 
 when Hallam and Lionel came to 
 see us at our own home, the 
 magic of the Croft was somehow 
 missing. 
 
5o A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Chapter III 
 
 Maidens croft, through 
 
 which runs the path from Farring- 
 ford to the now famous Beacon 
 Down, is a long, tree-bordered 
 meadow. A lane — a real English 
 lane, shut in by moss-grown, 
 flower-strewn banks, as shown in 
 the picture — divides the Croft 
 from the lawns and groves sur- 
 rounding the house. A rustic 
 bridge crosses this roadway, and 
 almost underneath the bridge is the 
 little green postern-gate of which 
 I spoke before. The Croft was 
 constantly used by the poet as an 
 outdoor study, and when he was 
 there no one else was permitted to 
 cross the bridge. Usually he paced 
 the length of the meadow, back 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 and forth, composing and meditat- 
 ing, but sometimes he wrote in 
 the picturesque summer-house he 
 had had built halfway along the 
 meadow. It was octagonal in 
 shape, and was fitted with benches 
 and a table, and, as his son tells, 
 the poet had himself painted on its 
 windows ' ' marvellous dragons and 
 sea-serpents." 
 
 The great man safely out of 
 the way, with some chosen com- 
 panion, on his daily walk to 
 Beacon Down, stirring times some- 
 times arrived for that summer- 
 house, and this sacred building was 
 transformed into a castle. Then 
 sprang over the bridge little knights 
 and squires of high degree, bearing 
 lances of reed and shields of closely 
 plaited rushes. Terrific were the 
 
52 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 onslaughts upon that castle, gallant 
 its defence, and many a splendid 
 horseman bit the dust. Or the 
 greensward of Maiden's Croft be- 
 came in imagination lists, whereon 
 were held gorgeous jousts and 
 tournaments, witnessed by high- 
 born ladies, sumptuously arrayed. 
 The sole cause of dispute arose 
 from the vehement opposition of 
 all concerned, the two girls in- 
 cluded, to "play lady." The role 
 was looked on as insignificant, not 
 to say humiliating, and the matter 
 invariably ended in ' ' making be- 
 lieve." The gallant knights wore 
 the imaginary tokens of imaginary 
 fair ones, and raised reverently 
 admiring eyes to sublime beings, 
 who gazed down upon the lists 
 from imaginary thrones, "Queens 
 
OF TENNYSON 53 
 
 of Beauty" in our dreams alone. 
 Thus all were satisfied. Yet even 
 the degree of squire was viewed 
 askance, particularly as each mem- 
 ber of the party was of the opinion 
 that a certain knight belonged to 
 him or her and to no other. For 
 instance, I was Sir Tristram, sleep- 
 ing or waking, playing or studying 
 my lessons ; no one dared to in- 
 fringe on my rights. The same 
 was true of my sister, who per- 
 sonated another knight of equal 
 renown, whilst Hallam was always 
 Sir Launcelot and Lionel was Sir 
 Galahad. The other players, not 
 being regular in attendance, had 
 to take what they could get. Thus 
 it may be seen that we four, at 
 least, had "The Idylls of the 
 King" at our tongues' ends, and 
 
54 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 that, what with these and the im- 
 mortal legends of King Arthur and 
 his Knights of the Round Table, 
 we were never at a loss for inspir- 
 ing games. Neither was it only 
 the Idylls that entered into our 
 young lives. There were few of 
 Tennyson's poems which we could 
 not pour forth in moments of 
 enthusiasm, and besides Tenny- 
 son, Shelley, Keats, Swinburne, 
 Wordsworth, and yet others fur- 
 nished us with an unfailing supply 
 of poetical nourishment. To this 
 day the back of my mind is stored 
 with these old favorites, ready at 
 the slightest encouragement, and 
 often without it, to issue forth. 
 This habit, termed by our mother 
 ** spouting,'* is a trick inherited 
 or caught from our father, from 
 
OF TENNYSON 55 
 
 whose lips, as we galloped together 
 morning after morning over the 
 wide Wiltshire downs, rolled con- 
 tinually the music of England's 
 Immortals. Perhaps it is not such 
 a bad trick, after all ; the tongue 
 might be doing worse things. 
 Until I was well in my teens — 
 fully fifteen — I was not allowed 
 to read any novels except certain 
 ones of Walter Scott's, and not even 
 those until the afternoon ; and as at 
 that date there were few or no maga- 
 zines for young people, there was 
 plenty of room for the poetry and 
 history, the love for which our father 
 encouraged in preference to what 
 he called "trash." 
 
 I think an incident relating to 
 the poet Dante Rossetti is not out 
 of place here. A scholarly friend 
 
56 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 of that great man brought to our 
 house the manuscript of Rossetti's 
 exquisite poem, " The Blessed 
 Damozel." Whether we merely 
 heard our father read it several 
 times, or whether we were per- 
 mitted to read for ourselves the 
 precious manuscript (although, of 
 course, it may have been but a 
 copy) , I cannot say ; certain it is 
 that in a very short time the long 
 poem was being reeled off by the 
 yard in those haunts sacred to the 
 young ones of the family. When 
 the poem was published, changes 
 were made of which we stoutly 
 disapproved, and to which to this 
 day I cannot reconcile myself! 
 
 We went to the Isle of Wight only 
 for a few weeks twice a year, and it 
 was whilst we were absent that Gari- 
 
OF TENNYSON 67 
 
 baldi paid his memorable visit to the 
 Tennjsons. I remember with what 
 delighted amusement we examined 
 the funny caricatures of the family, 
 intended for likenesses, published in 
 the Illustrated London News. The 
 picture represented Mr. and Mrs. 
 Tennyson and the two boys re- 
 ceiving the Italian hero under the 
 portico in front of the house, 
 where members of the royal fam- 
 ily were always received by them. 
 Every detail of the quaint costumes 
 of the Tennysons was faithfully 
 reproduced, but the faces were, 
 or appeared to us, very comical. 
 Many a laugh we had over them I 
 And the first thing we ran to look 
 at on our return to Freshwater was 
 the tree planted in the Farringford 
 garden by the great patriot. 
 
58 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 IVlANY of you have perhaps heard 
 of the Tennyson Memorial Cross, 
 set up on Beacon Down, the poet's 
 favorite walk, and dedicated to his 
 memory on August 6, 1897. Also 
 you have no doubt read of that 
 other memorial to the poet, in the 
 far Arctic regions, — a tall pillar 
 of rock discovered by Dr. Kane, 
 the Arctic explorer, on his voyage 
 in search of that other explorer, 
 Sir John Franklin, who was Mrs. 
 Tennyson's uncle. Dr. Kane, 
 therefore, had two reasons for 
 naming that beautiful pillar The 
 Tennyson Monument, — *' your 
 memorial of me in the wilder- 
 ness," as the poet wrote him, — 
 first, as being a warm admirer 
 
OF TENNYSON 69 
 
 of Tennyson's poems; second, be- 
 cause the poet's wife was the lost 
 explorer's niece. A picture of the 
 Arctic Tennyson Memorial hung 
 over the fireplace in the anteroom 
 at Farringford. 
 
 But that memorial we have 
 never seen, nor ever shall see. It 
 is the Memorial Cross on Beacon 
 Down in the Isle of Wight which 
 marks a spot both near and dear ; 
 for on that spot once stood the 
 old Beacon, full of interest for the 
 children of the long ago, apart 
 from the fact that it was the goal 
 of the poet's everyday walk. 
 
 The old beacon was a pole set 
 in a pile of rocks, and in time of 
 *' war's alarms" a heap of brush 
 lay always beside it ready for 
 hasty kindling, and the iron basket 
 
6o A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 upon its top was kept filled with 
 tar for the same purpose ; but 
 that, of course, was long before 
 we children were born. Still, we 
 loved to hear our elders tell of 
 the warning fires leaping into the 
 blackness of the night from the 
 white and crimson cliiTs of Eng- 
 land's furrowed coast, summoning 
 the sturdy yeomen from their beds 
 and the soldiers from their camps 
 to drive away an invader who, after 
 all, never arrived. The Beacon 
 stood where the Cross stands now, 
 at the extreme limit of the Down, 
 overlooking the surge and roar of 
 the sea and the sharp white points 
 of the Needles. 
 
 Many happy minutes have I 
 passed lying face downward upon 
 the short grass and wild thyme 
 
OF TENNYSON 6i 
 
 and tiny shells of Beacon Down, 
 gazing, fascinated, over the edge 
 of that terrific descent into the 
 boiling caldron below, whilst my 
 patient father held me by the 
 skirts, lest I should fall over and 
 be dashed to pieces on the rocks. 
 Yet the scene had no terrors for 
 me; it was pure, unmixed delight. 
 It was no wonder that the poet loved 
 this scene and view so well that 
 he went there every day. Across 
 the sapphire blue of the Solent 
 stretched the fair Hampshire shore, 
 protected by Hurst Castle on its 
 long spit of sand ; and between 
 the Castle and the Needles slipped, 
 hour by hour, ships great and 
 small into the unknown deep or 
 homeward bound from distant lands ; 
 bearing with them sometimes the 
 
62 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 vague dreams and imaginings of a 
 still untravelled little girl. 
 
 Quite as entrancing was it to 
 look down the sheer wall of the 
 cliff into the abyss below. The 
 furious roar of the waves as they 
 dashed the foam high above the 
 Needles and into my own small 
 face peeping over the cliff's brim, 
 the scream of the gray gulls as they 
 wheeled and poised in the heart 
 of the tumult, — all is as vivid as 
 if seen and heard at this moment ; 
 and the wail of the ocean birds on 
 the monotonous New Jersey flats 
 speaks to one listener always of 
 enchanted times in the long ago 
 when she lay face downward on 
 a little island's perilous rim, and 
 nothing in the world was real but 
 dreams. 
 
OF TENNYSON 63 
 
 And equally vivid is the picture 
 of the well-known figure pacing 
 the long meadow of Maiden's Croft 
 and climbing the high down, — 
 the picture of a majestic Spanish 
 brigand in flapping sombrero and 
 cloak wrapped in statuesque folds 
 about him. Never did he walk 
 alone, and many great and good 
 Englishmen as well as Americans 
 have paced beside him up on 
 Beacon Down. But to me, as 
 a child, the picture of my own 
 father's small and active form 
 beside that of the more slowly 
 moving poet is the one that left a 
 stronger impression. 
 
 Like most persons possessed of 
 what is called the artistic or poetic 
 temperament, Mr. Tennyson was 
 given to fits of gloom. He spoke 
 
64 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 of these spells as being due to 
 *'the black-bloodedness of the 
 Tennysons," but every one knows 
 that other families beside that of 
 the Tennysons are afflicted with 
 such an inheritance. My father 
 used to tell a story about these 
 gloomy spells, which, like others 
 of their kind, seldom had any 
 cause. One summer day he ar- 
 rived at his Freshwater home in 
 high spirits, and almost immedi- 
 ately rushed off to Farringford to 
 see his poet friend. Not finding 
 him in or around the house, he 
 hurried to Maiden's Croft, where 
 he found Mr. Tennyson sitting 
 alone on a bench. My father 
 smote him impetuously on the 
 shoulder, calling out, *' Hullo! 
 how are you ? ' The poet answered 
 
OF TENNYSON 65 
 
 in a deep voice, and without even 
 turning his head, ' ' Tired of Hfc ! " 
 At this time, as it happened, Mr. 
 Tennyson was particularly prosper- 
 ous and fortunate in every way. 
 
 While the boys were still young 
 Mrs. Tennyson's airings were taken 
 in a wheeled chair, drawn by one 
 of the fattest of white ponies, who 
 bore the distinguished name of 
 *' Fanny.'* This otherwise inno- 
 cent beast was the cause — just 
 once, never again — of bitter mor- 
 tification to me. For some reason 
 that I do not recall she was sent 
 over for me to ride one day, and 
 I had hardly proceeded a quarter 
 of a mile before the saddle quietly 
 described a half-circle and I was 
 deposited in one of the ditches 
 that always ran on either side of a 
 
60 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Freshwater lane. I was furious. 
 Never had such a thing happened 
 to me before. To think that I 
 should be thrown — and by fat 
 Fanny, too ! That this humiliating 
 accident took place just because 
 Fanny loas so fat was my sole 
 consolation. 
 
 When Fanny drew the chair, 
 Mr. Tennyson or the boys usually 
 walked beside it. There was a 
 farm belonging to Farringford, and 
 also a large walled-in garden, — 
 rich in summertime with luscious 
 fruit, — so that Fanny could so- 
 berly walk for quite a distance 
 without leaving the estate. In 
 those days Mrs. Tennyson led a 
 life of almost entire seclusion so 
 far as outside visiting went. When 
 Hallam was old enough to drive 
 
OF TENNYSON 67 
 
 a pair of horses, the chair was ex- 
 changed for a carriage, and every 
 fine day he drove his father or 
 mother or both. The devotion of 
 the boys to their parents w^as some- 
 thing for even children to observe 
 and remember. No daughter could 
 have done more for a mother 
 than Hallam did ; not all daugh- 
 ters would have done as much. 
 Although a housekeeper was 
 employed, this son, at a very 
 early age, oversaw the household 
 arrangements ; and the outside 
 world knows how, as he grew 
 to manhood and after he became 
 a man, he was his father's right 
 hand and his mother's loving aide 
 and companion. It was he of 
 whom the poet wrote to Mr. Glad- 
 stone : 
 
68 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 * * I do not think any man ever 
 had a better son than I have in 
 him." 
 
 But we are now talking of child- 
 hood's days. Of that united family 
 of four, only one now remains. 
 We used, as children, to believe 
 that the younger boy possessed a 
 touch of his father's genius; and 
 children are sometimes pretty good 
 judges. But you have all read of 
 Pegasus, the winged horse, who 
 never bore harness, and perhaps 
 Lionel's genius resembled Pegasus. 
 It is hard to say, for Lionel died 
 long before he reached his prime. 
 He had a slight impediment in his 
 speech, and as a boy he was given 
 to spells of dreaminess alternating 
 with exuberant spirits. But he had 
 a fine sense of humor, and was, as 
 
OF TENINYSON 
 
 I said, musically gifted. After his 
 marriage, when he Hved in London, 
 he used this gift for the pleasure 
 and benefit of the working people, 
 and did some literary work besides. 
 But his actual work was in the 
 India Office, and it was during his 
 return from a trip to India with 
 Lord Dufferin that he died of 
 jungle fever, and was buried in 
 the Red Sea. He was only thirty- 
 two years old, and, as his father 
 said, "so full of promise." 
 
 Both boys were alike in their 
 care and thought for their delicate 
 mother's health. The hasty young 
 feet fell light and slow on the thick 
 carpets before the drawing-room 
 door was reached, the handle was 
 turned ever so softly, and the jubi- 
 lant voices hushed. Neither did 
 
70 A CHILD'S REGOLLEGTIOINS 
 
 their unselfishness and considera- 
 tion make them unhappy. I have 
 never known a happier boyhood 
 than that of those boys. Quarrels 
 and discontent found no place at 
 Farringford; on the contrary, all 
 was ** sweetness and light.'* And 
 this is no late idealization; we 
 children knew it at the time, and 
 have never forgotten it. 
 
OF TENNYSON 71 
 
 Chapter V 
 
 And now I think wc have come 
 to a point where we must not go 
 any further before giving a chapter 
 to Mrs. Cameron, without whom 
 no picture of Farringford would be 
 complete. Julia Margaret Cameron 
 was an artist, not a mere * ' camera 
 fiend.'* Not only so, but she was 
 the one living photographer at that 
 date who attempted the artistic ; 
 therefore she was not appreciated 
 as she deserved to be: She was 
 very intimate with the Tennysons, 
 her picturesque if somewhat untidy 
 home being not very far away, 
 and that home, as she describes it 
 herself, often the scene of * ' feasts 
 of intellect.'* Mr. Cameron him- 
 self was a learned and interesting 
 
72 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 man, but to the children of those 
 days a rather mysterious and awe- 
 inspiring being, with his long white 
 beard and hair and Oriental garb, 
 — for the Gamerons had lived many 
 years in India. There were sev- 
 eral sons, but only one near our 
 own age. He had a passion for 
 the stage, and would have made a 
 success of his chosen profession, I 
 have been told, had it not been for 
 a defect in his eyes which finally 
 compelled him to abandon an 
 actor's life. 
 
 Mrs. Cameron was neither mys- 
 terious nor awe-inspiring, but just 
 a kind, exacting, though benevo- 
 lent, tyrant. Children loved but 
 fled from her. I can see her now, 
 clad in the never-failing wrapper, 
 stained — as were her hands and 
 
OF TENMYSON 7^ 
 
 eager face — with the chemicals she 
 used ill her work, her hair faUing 
 any way but the right way, lying 
 in wait some fine morning at her 
 garden-gate for the young ones 
 passing down the road on their 
 way to Farringford or to the sands 
 of Freshwater Bay. 
 
 "She's coming! She'll catch 
 one of us ! " 
 
 And sure enough an arm would 
 intercept the passage of some luck- 
 less wight, and, bribed by jars of 
 preserve or other toothsome dainty, 
 the victim was led away to spend 
 the sunny hours posing in the 
 studio. Photography was then, at 
 the best, a slow and tiresome 
 process, and Mrs. Cameron never 
 hurried in her work. Endless were 
 the poses, especially if, as was often 
 
74 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 the case, the chosen victim was to 
 represent some character in poem 
 or story. Mrs. Cameron did not, 
 as a rule, care for mere beauty — 
 she wanted an artistic subject; 
 nevertheless, two pretty cousins of 
 ours visiting us at Freshwater were 
 favorite victims. Lionel Tennyson 
 was, perhaps, her star performer, 
 however, among the children ; and 
 indeed he was artistic enough to 
 satisfy anyone. But none escaped 
 his or her turn. At that time she 
 was specially fond of illustrating 
 Mr. Tennyson's poems by means 
 of captured children, and "Enoch 
 Arden " had its full share of attention 
 — and of victims I She tried two 
 or three assortments before she was 
 satisfied, and if my memory serves 
 me right, her final choice fell on 
 
OF TENNYSON 75 
 
 my two cousins and Hallann Tenny- 
 son. 
 
 Ilcr particular favorite for a long 
 time was a servant girl, who to the 
 ordinary eye was no beauty, but who 
 became the artist's idol. She cer- 
 tainly posed beautifully, and when 
 Mrs. Cameron began to exhibit her 
 pictures in London, as she did later 
 on, some of her finest photographs 
 were pictures of this girl, of whom 
 she made a pet. 
 
 Of course Mr. Tennyson had to 
 pose constantly for her, but he never 
 yielded without a struggle. He 
 used to meet her prayers and coax- 
 ings with jeers and fun, and laugh 
 at her enthusiasm, but she usually 
 won the victory, as many a splendid 
 portrait of him proves. The 
 picture she took of the poet in 
 
76 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 1867 i^ more lifelike to me than 
 any other. Undoubtedly Mrs. 
 Cameron was a genius in her own 
 way. But she certainly was a 
 strange looking figure, and it was 
 no wonder that, as Mrs. Tennyson 
 tells in her diary, Garibaldi thought 
 she was a beggar when she kneeled 
 before him, her stained hands up- 
 raised, begging to be allowed to 
 take his picture. 
 
 She had another passion also, 
 though probably she indulged this 
 passion for the stage as much to 
 please her youngest son — her Ben- 
 jamin — as herself. She built a 
 small theatre adjoining the house, 
 and there for a good many years 
 she was in the habit of staging 
 well-known plays, the performers 
 being her amateur young friends. 
 
OF TENNYSON 77 
 
 The last year before my part of the 
 story was ended by my coming out 
 to this country to join my brother, 
 we spent a few of the winter weeks 
 at Freshwater in a house belonging 
 to Mr. Tennyson — we having long 
 outgrown our own home on the 
 island — and were at once pressed 
 into service by Mrs. Cameron, who 
 wanted to present a play in the 
 interests of charity. I do not feel 
 sure of the play itself, but think it 
 was one popular at that date, ' ' Our 
 Wife," the heroine being repre- 
 sented by my luckless self. I say 
 luckless, because Mrs. Cameron was 
 as severely exacting in this direction 
 as she was in her photography. 
 Her troupe consisted of my sister 
 and myself, Hallam and Lionel, 
 and her own son Henry. Her 
 
78 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 excitement and enthusiasm were 
 greater than can be described, the 
 audience was expected to be large, 
 and the tickets were sold rapidly. 
 Her studio was deserted for her 
 parlor, in which daily rehearsals 
 took place. Now the play was a 
 sentimental one, chosen by herself, 
 and there was consequently some 
 rebelHon on the part of the per- 
 formers during these rehearsals. 
 Girls and boys who had been play- 
 mates from childhood objected to 
 standing up in the light of day in 
 a commonplace parlor, in their 
 everyday clothes, and making 
 violent love to order — in cold blood 
 too, without paint and powder, or 
 footlights or applause. However, 
 our kind tyrant would have it so, 
 though the mischievous Lionel 
 
OF TENNYSON 79 
 
 *'took it out" not only at the re- 
 hearsals, but, sad to say, during 
 the public performance of the 
 play by turning his back now and 
 again on the audience and twisting 
 his face into horrible grimaces for 
 the encouragement of the fellow- 
 sufferer who chanced at the mo- 
 ment to be "speaking" his or her 
 " piece." 
 
 During some of the rehearsals 
 Mrs. Cameron became very much 
 displeased with the backwardness 
 of her troupe in the Ipve-scenes. 
 One day in particular she leaped to 
 her feet and almost knocked our 
 heads together. 
 
 "Oh, heavens, Henry!" she 
 cried. "Do you call that making 
 love ? Here — let me show you 
 how to do it! " 
 
8o A CHILD'S REGOLLEGTIONS 
 
 Then seizing the reluctant hand 
 of the unfortunate heroine of the 
 romance, she flung herself upon 
 her knees and poured forth a flood 
 of impassioned words, winding up 
 with an embrace which certainly 
 was not at all like those we see 
 on the stage, because it was the 
 real thing. 
 
 "There!" she exclaimed, rising 
 out of breath and triumphant. 
 " That's the way to do it 1 " 
 
 "All right, mother!" replied 
 her son, a comical gleam in his 
 eye. ' ' All in good time ! " 
 
 She scolded and wrangled in her 
 own good-natured way to the very 
 last, and it was not until the falling 
 of the curtain on the eventful night 
 that her beaming face and her rap- 
 turous embraces of each member of 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 her troupe bore eloquent witness to 
 her final satisfaction. 
 
 And now we will go back to the 
 children. 
 
82 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Chapter YI 
 
 After Hallam was sent to Marl- 
 borough College, of which our 
 father was head master, the Tenny- 
 sons visited us more than once. 
 The climate was rather severe, and 
 was considered too much so for 
 Lionel, particularly as the boys — 
 all boarders, and between four and 
 five hundred in number — made it 
 a point of honor to harden them- 
 selves ; that is to say, go without 
 overcoats in the bitterest winter 
 weather. But it was a great school 
 — considered then the best in Eng- 
 land ; according to Matthew Arnold 
 considered so "by universal con- 
 sent." Lionel went later to Eton. 
 The principal building of Marl- 
 borough College was, and is, a 
 
OF TENNYSON 83 
 
 beautiful old red brick Elizabethan 
 mansion, which after it passed out 
 of its noble owner's possession was 
 used as an inn in the days of stage 
 coaches. When we first went to 
 Marlborough one coach still passed 
 through the broad street of the town, 
 though the old inn had long been 
 turned into a school. The town 
 itself is to this day one of the most 
 picturesque in England, with its 
 ancient houses, — pent-houses, as 
 they are called, — whose upper 
 stories project so far over the lower 
 ones that persons can walk half the 
 length of the street on a rainy day 
 without getting wet. The street is 
 not only long, but immensely wide 
 — in fact, one great market-place. 
 There is nothing like it anywliere 
 that I have seen. Mr. Tennyson 
 
84 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 is reported as quoting the saying 
 that ' ' If God made the country and 
 man the town, the devil made the 
 country town!" Nevertheless, he 
 admired the tow^n of Marlhorough 
 very much. 
 
 The tall tower of one of the parish 
 churches divides the street at its 
 end, and in the bend of the road 
 — the great coach road to Bath — 
 stands the college, with its different 
 buildings, and the master's house — 
 our house, as it once was. Splen- 
 did lime trees rear their tall heads 
 about the older buildings, and in 
 front of the Elizabethan mansion 
 spreads the old garden, just as it 
 used to be in ancient days, with its 
 velvet bowling-green and wide ter- 
 race and fantastically cut yews, and 
 tall limes whispering in a circle as 
 
OF TENNYSON 85 
 
 the breeze from the Wiltshire downs 
 tosses their leaves. Could a better 
 place be found for the romantic 
 games in which we delighted? A 
 venerable w^all separated the college 
 garden from that of the master, but 
 all alike were beautiful. On one 
 of his visits the poet was inspired 
 by the enchantments of these gardens 
 to write a poem there ; at which we 
 did not wonder in the least. 
 
 A visit from the poet laureate 
 was, of course, a great event at 
 Marlborough. Everyone desired to 
 meet him, but only a few could be 
 chosen. His visits were never long, 
 and nobody must be invited to the 
 house who could by any possibility 
 bore him. My parents had to set 
 their wits to work for some time 
 before his arrival. The schoolboys 
 
86 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 were never overlooked, and the sixth 
 form — the highest class in the 
 college — vN^ere invited as a w^hole 
 to hear him read his own poems. 
 A great deal of praise has been be- 
 stov\^ed upon these readings, but I 
 have to speak of them as we young 
 ones found them, and I am sorry 
 to say they seemed to us rather 
 uncomfortable performances. We 
 were accustomed to the musical 
 cadences of our father's voice, whose 
 reading not only of poetry, but of 
 the Bible's grand prose was unique, 
 and when the poet read I really 
 must confess that we thought he was 
 shy, as we heard little but mutter- 
 ings and grumblings into his 
 straggly beard. While we are quite 
 young, you know, we do not think 
 just like everyone else, but we have 
 
OF TENNYSON 87 
 
 ' ' long, long thoughts " of our own. 
 And we were young. '*We" 
 meant at that time my sister, my- 
 self, and a girl cousin who lived with 
 us. Of this cousin I must tell a 
 funny little tale, which she has since 
 often laughed at herself. After the 
 carriage had rolled from the door 
 one morning, bearing the departing 
 poet, our cousin ran to us in the 
 schoolroom in great glee, carrying 
 something carefully in her hand. 
 For some time she would not let 
 us look at her treasure, or tell us 
 what it was. Finally she opened 
 her closed fist very cautiously, and 
 we peeped in . What do you think 
 she had ? A bunch of hair comb- 
 ings ! "What are those?" we 
 exclaimed with fine scorn. "They 
 are Mr. Tennyson's hairs!" she 
 
88 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 cried with a mixture of defiance 
 and triumph. ' ' I combed them out 
 of his brush ! " But I am ashamed 
 to say that we continued to poke 
 fun at her. 
 
 There were certain rooms at 
 Marlborough dedicated to the poet's 
 use, and my mother kept his special 
 coffee cup and saucer under a glass 
 case, so that no one else should drink 
 out of them . 
 
 We were excessively proud and 
 fond of Marlborough and everything 
 connected with it, and that the poet 
 was also quite enthusiastic pleased us 
 very much. Besides the wide chalk 
 downs, there was a most beautiful 
 forest — Savernake Forest — belong- 
 ing to the Marquis of Ailesbury, but 
 open to all. In it were broad, 
 grassy glades and magnificent 
 
OF TENNYSON 89 
 
 timber, and one specially fine avenue 
 shadowed for two or three miles 
 and more by high, oyer-arching 
 trees. There were troops of fallow 
 deer in the forest, and altogether it 
 is one of the loveliest and most 
 attractive estates in England, and 
 to us, in our youth, quite perfect. 
 
 Neither were the forest and the 
 downs all there was to show the 
 visiting poet . The dr uidical remains 
 of Stonehenge were within a long 
 drive, but much nearer — indeed all 
 around — were monuments of rock 
 raised by unknown hands, some- 
 times valleys full of such, relics 
 of ancient British villages, huge 
 mounds which were the last resting- 
 places of long-forgotten warriors, 
 and many, many things of interest 
 to the historian and antiquarian. 
 
go A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 They were interesting to us too, so 
 we found it not at all surprising 
 that Mr. Tennyson enjoyed his 
 Marlborough drives. Dearly did 
 we love that home, and it was a sad 
 day for us when our father became 
 master of University College, and 
 we had to move to Oxford, Arch- 
 deacon Farrar taking his place. I 
 was at school in Germany at the 
 time, and I well remember how 
 grieved I was to hear that Marl- 
 borough was to be our home no 
 more. 
 
 Our respective fathers were very 
 much interested in language, the 
 study of words, their derivation, 
 and so forth. Amongst my father's 
 many scholarly friends were men 
 of note in this particular line. I 
 remember well an argument which 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 took place on the lawn at Marl- 
 borough between Hallam on one 
 side and my sister and myself on 
 the other, Hallam and I being 
 perhaps thirteen years old at the 
 time. We contended for the broad 
 A, because our father rightly insisted 
 that the narrow A was a Cockneyism, 
 pure and simple, and did not belong 
 to the language. Our mother used 
 the narrow A, and Hallam vainly 
 endeavored to twist our mouths 
 to something betwixt and between, 
 which he claimed on his father's 
 behalf. We laughingly refused, 
 however, to accept the compromise, 
 which probably was a satisfactory 
 one, nevertheless. 
 
 In Tennyson's Life by his son 
 is mentioned the incident of our 
 Belgian governess placidly replying, 
 
92 A CHILD'S REGOLLECTIOWS 
 
 when the poet asked her how much 
 of his reading of ' ' The Northern 
 Farmer" she had understood, 
 "Pas un mot, Monsieur." "Not 
 one word." We were fond of our 
 governess, who still remains a 
 friend of the family ; but I remem- 
 ber that we were very much amused 
 by her calm, undisturbed reply, and 
 also wondered how much of his 
 careful explanations she understood. 
 Probably " pas un mot" either ! 
 
 The organist of the college chapel, 
 who also trained and managed the 
 large, fine choir of schoolboys, was 
 a more than ordinarily good 
 musician. We three girls received 
 lessons from him, and were the 
 most loyal admirers of his playing 
 on both organ and piano, not to 
 mention his compositions. To this 
 
OF TENNYSON 98 
 
 day Mr. Bambridge's rendering of 
 The Dead March in " Saul" on the 
 chapel organ, on one of those sad 
 occasions of the deaths of boys, is 
 an impressive memory with me. 
 Such occasions fortunately did not 
 occur often, but when they did, it 
 is difficult to imagine anything more 
 solemn and pathetic than this as- 
 sembling of the whole great school, 
 masters included, to mourn the 
 going out of some young life. And 
 when the music chanced to be a 
 favorite, the entire congregation 
 would throw themselves into it, 
 heart and soul, the volume of har- 
 mony, whether sad or triumphant, 
 rising hi^fh over the strains of the 
 powerful organ. No one who has 
 ever formed part of such scenes can 
 ever forget them. Heart and soul 
 
94 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 were indeed stirred to their depths. 
 When the whole school rose to sing, 
 to Mr. Bamhridge's beautiful and 
 unforgetable music, the hymn, 
 
 " Thou art gone to the grave, but we 
 will not deplore thee, 
 Though sorrows and darkness en- 
 compass the tomb, 
 Thy Saviour hath passed through its 
 portals before thee, 
 And the lamp of His love is thy 
 guide through the gloom," 
 
 it was not singular that many young 
 voices were choked and many young 
 eyes dim. It was this exquisite 
 composition that moved Mr. Tenny- 
 son to admiration, although he 
 never heard it sung, as we did, by 
 hundreds of voices at the death of a 
 schoolmate. Marlburians are scat- 
 tered all over the face of the earth, 
 
OF TENNYSON 95 
 
 a goodly proportion of them have 
 mounted to * ' the seats of the 
 mighty, " many have passed in their 
 turn through the grave's portals, 
 but I doubt if any Kving son of 
 their beloved Alma Mater could 
 listen unmoved to these familiar 
 strains. 
 
96 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 JdUT children grow up in spite of 
 everybody and everything, and we 
 did as the others do. I was almost 
 ready for long dresses and tucked- 
 up hair when my father sadly tore 
 himself away from beloved Marl- 
 borough to go to Oxford. I do not 
 believe anything but the knowledge 
 that his delicate health was unequal 
 longer to the strain of that big and 
 important school would have in- 
 duced him to leave Marlborough, 
 for he had already in the past de- 
 clined other and greater honors. 
 But the Wiltshire climate was harsh 
 and the responsibility tremendous ; 
 so, even as he himself had taken 
 the place of one friend — my god- 
 father. Bishop Cotton, of Calcutta 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 97 
 
 — SO he made way for another 
 friend, Dr. Farrar. 
 
 Our last visit to Freshwater paid 
 as a family was, as I have told, 
 spent in a house belonging to Mr. 
 Tennyson close to Freshwater Bay. 
 Our home was then at Oxford. 
 The happy days of bringing ponies 
 were over, but the boys contrived to 
 find us something to ride occasion- 
 ally, and on one of these occasions 
 a rather curious incident occurred. 
 Whilst we four were galloping over 
 the downs and through the lanes, 
 my mother had been spending the 
 afternoon with Mrs. Tennyson, and 
 suddenly springing from her chair 
 she ran out bareheaded, exclaiming 
 that she had just seen Hallam and 
 myself racing our horses across 
 the lawn past the drawing-room 
 
98 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 windows. We Avere miles away at 
 the time, and in any case should 
 not have used the beautiful mossy 
 lawn for a race-course, so the matter 
 was left unexplained ; its rather dis- 
 agreeable though only result being 
 that our mother, who had never been 
 nervous about us before, was for 
 some time afterward uneasy when 
 we were out riding with the boys, as 
 she could not help fearing that what 
 she had seen, or believed she had 
 seen, meant that some accident was 
 going to happen to either Hallam 
 or myself. But her fears were 
 unfounded. 
 
 Both Mr. Tennyson and Hallam 
 were fond of making personal re- 
 marks, to which both my sister and 
 myself strongly objected. When 
 Hallam thus sinned, we had no 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 99 
 
 hesitation in voicing our objections 
 as loudly as we so desired; but with 
 his father it was otherwise. One 
 day at this time we were driving 
 with the two in an open carriage, 
 my sister and I facing them. 
 Hallam started the trouble by fixing 
 his eyes calmly and coolly on our 
 faces, first one and then the other, 
 for several minutes. We silently 
 remonstrated, but in vain. We 
 knew his ways too well. Losing 
 patience, one of us ejaculated, 
 
 *'What are you staring at, 
 Hallam?" 
 
 With the same coolness as before, 
 he turned away, and addressing his 
 father, as if we were wax figures at 
 Madame Tussaud's, said, 
 
 *' Father, Avould you call Edith 
 and Daisy fair or dark ? " 
 
 -Of a 
 
loo A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 A long and awful pause. Mr. 
 Tennyson drew forth his glasses, 
 carefully wiped them and placed 
 them on his nose, with as much 
 deliberation as though he were 
 going to inspect a picture he had 
 never seen before, although the one 
 before him had been familiar for a 
 great many years. His extraor- 
 dinarily piercing, deep-set eyes 
 transfixed us in turn. Finally he 
 thrust out his lips and pronounced 
 judgment in the profoundest tones 
 of his bass-drum voice : 
 
 ' ' / should call them half-way 
 houses I " 
 
 Then those eyes twinkled, and 
 half-way houses we were for a long 
 time to come. 
 
 Another incident which at the 
 time did not seem amusing to us, 
 
TENNYSON AT I ARRINGFOHD 
 
 About 1870 
 
OF TENISYSON 
 
 but which later we understood better , 
 belongs to that year. 
 
 When I was about thirteen or 
 fourteen, my sister and I were fired 
 with the desire to edit a magazine. 
 Very early in our editorial career 
 we received the support and en- 
 couragement of our father's brilliant 
 young step-brothers, the younger 
 of whom was not only near my 
 own age , but a w arm and close friend . 
 In its early days this magazine was 
 brought out quarterly, and every 
 word of it was copied by my own 
 hand. Our list of contributors as 
 well as subscribers was even then 
 quite large, and after we moved to 
 Oxford we found ourselves able to 
 have the magazine printed . Oh , the 
 pride and joy with which we gloated 
 over those first printed pages I At the 
 
I02 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 time of which I am writing, * ' The 
 Miscellany" had several noted 
 names on its list — noted then or 
 since. Unfortunately the magazine 
 died a natural death after I came 
 to this country, and but few 
 copies remain of the long-lived 
 "Miscellany"; but we had one 
 hundred and twenty subscribers 
 in the Oxford days, and such men 
 wrote for us as Andrew Lang, 
 WilHam Hurrell Mallock, A. T. 
 Myers, Hallam and Lionel Tenny- 
 son, and others since known to 
 fame. Needless to say, all these 
 wrote "for glory!" Perhaps I 
 should also mention among the 
 'authors my two uncles, whom the 
 scholarly element in England recog- 
 nizes amongst its honored sons, and 
 my own sister. 
 
OF TENISYSON 
 
 In that last Isle of Wight so- 
 journ we were at the lieiglit of our 
 amhitions, and one of these was to 
 persuade Mr. Tennyson to give us 
 four lines for the title-page of our 
 coming January nuniher. But 
 neither my sister nor myself could 
 screw up our courage to the sticking- 
 point. At last, repeatedly urged 
 by Hallam, I found courage and 
 opportunity on one of the Auld 
 Lang Syne evenings I have already 
 described . Probably something had 
 occurred to annoy the poet, or his 
 reasons were better than they seemed 
 to us at the time, the children of 
 his old friend ; but at all events 
 he replied by asking me how much 
 money I supposed every word of 
 his to be worth? Perhaps he was 
 joking, but we were well accus- 
 
io4 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 tomed, in our own family circle, 
 to jests. However, we and our 
 ambitions were successfully 
 quenched. 
 
 That winter Eleanor Locker, 
 whom Lionel afterward married, 
 was visiting at Farringford. He 
 was married the year after my own 
 marriage took place ; then came that 
 of my sister; and, after an interval 
 of a good many years, that of 
 Hallam. 
 
 Both the boys went to Cambridge, 
 and more than one plan was formed 
 for us to go and see them there; 
 but their festive times occurred 
 during our Oxford ' ' Commemora- 
 tion" — or, as we call it here, 
 * ' Commencement" — and then our 
 duties as daughters of the head of 
 a college prevented us from leaving 
 
LIONEL 
 
 AS A CAMBRIDGE UNDERGRADUATE 
 
OF TEJNi^YSON io5 
 
 home. But they came to see us 
 at Oxford. 
 
 My own recollections of Aid- 
 worth, the poet's home on far- 
 famed Blackdown in Surrey, take 
 in but one visit, as not very long 
 afterward my brother and his wife 
 carried me off with them to Virginia, 
 where within a year I was settled 
 in my own home in the beautiful 
 Blue Ridge country. 
 
 Aldworth, as it then impressed 
 me on my first and last acquain- 
 tance with it, belongs to those 
 "stately homes of England," of 
 which, I think, it is Mrs. Hemans 
 who sings. No doubt, however, 
 you have seen pictures of the fine 
 stone house standing high on the 
 ridge of Blackdown. From its 
 balustraded terrace the eye ranges 
 
io6 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 over hills and woods and rivers until 
 it rests upon the blue ribbon of 
 the English Channel, and around 
 and about the house are the lawns 
 and flowers and woods in which 
 both Mr. and Mrs. Tennyson so 
 much delighted. But somehow 
 the witchery, the vague promise 
 of romance, which enchained our 
 youthful hearts and imaginations at 
 Farringford, are absent. Yet Aid- 
 worth is a noble home, worthy of 
 a great poet. 
 
 It is at Aldworth that the picture 
 of the boys, painted by Watts, 
 hangs. It represents them in their 
 days of long hair, tunics, and wide 
 collars ; and though we young ones 
 never thought the likeness of Hallam 
 good, that of Lionel seemed to us 
 remarkably so, as it brings out not 
 
LIONEL 
 
 Aged 10 
 
 By Watts 
 
OF TEISISYSON 107 
 
 only the beauty of the child face, 
 but its hidden poetry too. 
 
 During those few days at Aid- 
 worth we took up again our 
 childhood's ways. There, as at 
 Farringford, was an anteroom, to 
 which, after a reasonable time spent 
 with our elders after dinner, we 
 retired, enticed out by Lionel, 
 who was always primed for fun, 
 and followed later by Hallam. 
 There, as in the old days, we 
 crowded around the dying open 
 fire and told tales of haunted 
 houses and other creepy horrors, 
 in the spinning of which yarns 
 Lionel was especially proficient. 
 
 There were certain *' sacred" 
 hours during the day in which the 
 poet, as befits a poet, liked to com- 
 mune with his own soul and that 
 
io8 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 of no one else. Yet he did riot 
 always care to be alone In these 
 hours. As my sister writes : 
 
 ' ' Do you remember his morning 
 walks at Aldworth, on which he 
 liked to have company, but liked it 
 to walk behind and not speak to 
 him? So it did. Two or three 
 of us following in single file over 
 the heather. It was quite nice." 
 
 Certainly I remember. The 
 figure and the cloak — and the 
 silence, in which alone high thoughts 
 are set to noble words. 
 
 At other times we either drove, 
 all of us, in two carriages through 
 that lovely country, or when Hallam, 
 most devoted of sons, felt that 
 he could be spared from attendance 
 on his parents, one or both, we 
 four young ones mounted horses, 
 
OF TENNYSON 109 
 
 and with lunches attached to our 
 saddles, raced away, to be gone for 
 hours. As there chanced to be no 
 other guests but our parents and 
 ourselves, Ilallam, who was the 
 mainstay of the household, was 
 more than usually at leisure. 
 
 One day in particular I recall. 
 This elder son had made all arrange- 
 ments for the comfort of the 
 family during the few hours he 
 expected to be absent, and all 
 four of us were in the dining- 
 room, chattering and having a 
 good time, whilst we cut bread 
 and meat for sandwiches. No 
 doubt we were making a noise 
 too, for Lionel was in riotous 
 spirits, and as usual the wit of the 
 company. At all events, although 
 the windows were wide open, we 
 
no A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 did not hear the well-known massive 
 tread on the gravelled terrace with- 
 out, or notice the darkening of one 
 of the windows by the large, cloaked 
 form. Then we were startled by 
 that deep-toned voice : 
 
 " Hallam, I wish you would stay 
 at home to-day. I need you." 
 
 There was an instant's pause — 
 scarcely more — on the part of one 
 of the best sons in the world, and 
 then came the cheerful, unhesitating 
 reply. 
 
 *'Very well, father. I will be 
 with you directly." 
 
 And we three rode away without 
 Hallam. Thus it was always. And 
 it is no exaggeration to say that in 
 this absolute devotion he found 
 great happiness; also, no doubt, 
 his reward, if one were needed. 
 
TENNYSON AND HIS NURSE 
 
OF TENNYSON 
 
 After I came to this country our 
 father was appointed Dean of West- 
 minster, to succeed his almost 
 lifelong friend, Arthur Penrhyn 
 Stanley. Mr. Tennyson paid more 
 than one visit to the deanery — 
 how many I do not know, as I 
 never was in England but once 
 when he was at our house. It was 
 on this occasion that he took his 
 seat in the House of Lords for the 
 first time. He enjoyed wandering 
 around the abbey and cloisters, and 
 took much interest in the theatre, 
 especially after his own plays had 
 been put upon the stage. 
 
 To the deanery many persons of 
 note were invited to meet him, some 
 of these as great, each in his own 
 way, as the poet laureate himself, 
 and it was 'at a luncheon party 
 
112 A CHILD'S RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 given in his honor on the day he 
 received his peerage that a rather 
 amusing incident took place. The 
 deanery servants were apparently 
 greatly impressed with the fact that 
 Mr. Tennyson was now a peer, and 
 the butler in particular so far parted 
 with his customary composure as 
 to address Browning as ' ' my lord." 
 The genial gentleman threw up his 
 hands in disgust. *' Don't' my lord' 
 me, my good man, I pray!" he 
 cried, considerably to the amuse- 
 ment of one of my sisters who sat 
 next him at table, and who, like 
 all who knew him, admired Mr. 
 Browning extremely. 
 
 And this was the last time I saw 
 England's poet laureate. 
 
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