The writer
either was, or wanted to be, transported. We are _all_ very fond of the
Guelphs--at least every body in decent society is--and that is just the
reason why we are not enthusiastic. We are all ready to 'die for the
throne,' etc., but we don't see any immediate probability of our
devotion being tested. So the laureate only rhymes loyally, and he at
stated seasons, and in a temperate, professional style."
"Please don't laugh at Tennyson," she interrupted; "I suppose it is very
easy to do so, for so many people try it; but I never listen to them if
I can help it."
"A premature warning," was the grave reply; "I had no such idea. I
admire Tennyson fully as much as you can do, and read him, I dare say,
much oftener. I was only speaking of his performances in the _manege_;
indeed, there is not enough of these to make a fair illustration, so I
was wrong to bring them in. When he settles to his stride, few of the
'cracks' of last century seem able to live with him. They have not set
all his best things to music. A clever composer might do great things, I
fancy, with 'The Sisters,' and the _refrain_ of 'the wind in turret and
tree.
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