son. Soon Mr. ——— returned, and said that he had found the Poet Laureate, and, going into the saloon of the old masters, we saw him there, in company with Mr. Woolner, whose bust of him is now in the Exhibition. . . . .
"Gazing at him with all my eyes, I liked him well, and rejoiced more in him than in all the other wonders of the Exhibition.
"How strange that in these two or three pages I cannot get one single touch that may call him up hereafter!
"I would most gladly have seen more of this one poet of our day, but forbore to follow him; for I must own that it seemed mean to be dogging him through the saloons, or even to look at him, since it was to be done stealthily, if at all.
"He is as un-English as possible—indeed, an Englishman of genius usually lacks the national characteristics, and is great abnormally.
"Un-English as he was, Tennyson had not, however, an American look. I cannot well describe the difference, but there was something more mellow in him—softer, sweeter, broader, more simple than we are apt to be. Living apart from men as he does would hurt
