the needles.

No one has ever claimed that Tennyson was an ideal lover. Surely he never
could have been tempted to do what Browning did--break up the peace of a
household by an elopement. His love was a thing of the head, weighed
carefully in the scales of his judgment. His caution and good sense saved
him from all Byronic excesses, or foolish alliances such as took Shelley
captive. He believed in law and order, and early saw that his interests
lay in that direction. He belonged to the Church of England, and doubtless
thought as he pleased, but ever expressed himself with caution.

It is easy to accuse Tennyson of being insular--to say that he is merely
"the poet of England." Had he been more he would have been less.
World-poets have usually been revolutionists, and dangerous men who
exploded at an unknown extent of concussion. None of them has been a safe
man--none respectable. Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Hugo and Whitman were
outcasts.

Tennyson is always serene, sane and safe--his lines breathe purity and
excellence. He is the poet of religion, of the home and fireside, of
established order, of truth, justice and mercy as embodied in law.

Very early he became a close personal friend of Queen Victoria, and many
of his lines ministered to her personal consolation. For fifty years
Tennyson's life was one steady, triumphal march. He acquired wealth, such
as no other English poet before him had ever gained; his name was known in
every corner of the earth where white men journeyed, and at home he was
beloved and honored. He died October Sixth, Eighteen Hundred Ninety-two,
aged eighty-three, and for him the Nation mourned, and with deep sincerity
the Queen spoke of his demise as a poignant, personal sorrow.