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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

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 5 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

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

ribbons and our martial laurels: sometimes kiss their hands; sometimes hang out, as signals of affection, pocket-handkerchiefs, aprons, dusters, anything that, by catching the summer breezes, will express an aërial 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,

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, and the grandeur of the mail establishment by 20 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 “Badajoz11 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.

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,

Liberated from the embarrassments of the City, and issuing into the broad uncrowded 55 no; they will not say that. They cannot deny

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 Wellington in 1812.

they do not deny that for this night they are our sisters; gentle or simple, scholar or illiterate servant, for twelve hours to come, 22 Eleven miles north of London.

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

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.

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 illumination falling upon our flowers and glittering 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 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.

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;

Accordingly he tossed it in, so folded that the huge capitals expressing some such legend 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,
and hardly three hours later, occurred the
reverse case. A poor woman, who too prob-
ably would find herself, in a day or two, to
have suffered the heaviest of afflictions by the 55
battle, blindly allowed herself to express an
exultation so unmeasured in the news and its
details, as gave to her the appearance which
i. e. the official report of the battle.

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.

26 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 lay 5 mangled together. But I told her how these dear children of England, officers and privates, had leaped their horses over all obstacles as gaily as hunters to the morning's chase. I told her how they rode their horses into the

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 mists of death (saying to myself, but not saying 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 aceldama26— in 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 was 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 28 "The field of blood." See Acts i. 19.

mother's knees, or had sunk to sleep in her arms. Strange it is, yet true, that she seemed to have no fears for her son's safety, even after 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.

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WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM

I send you here a sort of allegory,
(For you will understand it) of a soul,
A sinful soul possess'd of many gifts,
A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,
A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain,
That did love Beauty only (Beauty seen
In all varieties of mould and mind),
And Knowledge for its beauty; or if Good,
Good only for its beauty, seeing not

5

THE PALACE OF ART

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house,
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell,
I said "O soul, make merry and carouse,
Dear soul, for all is well.'

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
The rock rose clear, or winding stair.
My soul would live alone unto herself
In her high palace there.

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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

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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,
Living together under the same roof,
And never can be sunder'd without tears.
And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be
Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie 15
Howling in outer darkness. Not for this
Was common clay ta'en from the common earth,
Moulded by God, and temper'd with the tears
Of angels to the perfect shape of man.

1 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 Paltee 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, esecially for the edition of 1842. The version here given s the final and more familiar one.

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Or the maid-mother by a crucifix,

In tracts of pasture sunny-warm,
Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx
Sat smiling, babe in arm.

Or in a clear-walled city on the sea,
Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair
Wound with white roses, slept Saint Cecily;3
An angel look'd at her.

Or thronging all one porch of Paradise
A group of Houris bow'd to see

The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes
That said, we wait for thee.

Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son*
In some fair space of sloping greens
Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon,
And watch'd by weeping queens.

Or hollowing one hand against his ear,
To list a footfall, ere he saw

95

100

105

The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian kings to hear

Of wisdom and of law.

Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, And many a tract of palm and rice,

110

The throne of Indian Camas slowly sail'd 115 A summer fann'd with spice.

Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, From off her shoulder backward borne; From one hand droop'd a crocus; one hand grasp'd

The mild bull's golden horn.

Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh
Half buried in the eagle's down,

Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky
Above the pillar'd town.

Nor these alone; but every legend fair
Which the supreme Caucasian mind
Carved out of Nature for itself was there,
Not less than life design'd.

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 hatmonies brought an angel down from heaven. Cf. Dryden's Song for St. Cecilia's Day, p. 277, and his Alerander's Feast. p. 278, supra.

King Arthur, according to legend the son of Uther Pendragon.

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.

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