of 1885 revealed new capacity on the part of the poet. The spinster's "Sweet-arts" are a number of cats named "arter the fellers es once was sweet upo' me "—

Tommy the fust, an' Tommy the second, an' Steevie an' Rob.

They remind the dame of the characteristics of her old
lovers, and in her prattling to them we discover the humour
and the pathos of her past history. The Spinster had
had "two 'oonderd a-year," and Rob was the first to angle
for the prize-

Niver wur pretty, not I, but ye knaw'd it wur pleasant to 'ear,
Thaw it warn't not me es wur pretty, but my two 'oonderd a-year.

The dame espied the man's flattery, and though once she
was "nigh saäyin' Yis," the clumsy man spoilt her carpet,
and she gave him "a raätin" that "sattled his coortin'."
Then came Steevie, but he was a widower, and the parti-
cular maid could not have taken to the "bouncin' boy
an' a gell." "I hevn't naw likin' fur brats," she says—
"A haxin' me hawkard questions, and saäyin' ondecent
things." Then her thoughts revert to the two quarrelsome,
fighting Tommies, and she has no regret that she declined
to become their slave-" Horder'd about, an waäked, when
Molly'd put out the light" by a man "coomin' in wi' a
hiccup"-

An' the taäble stain'd wi' 'is aäle, an' the mud o' 'is boots o' the stairs,
An' the stink o' 'is pipe i' the 'ouse, an' the mark o' 'is 'eäd o' the chairs.

So she remained a spinster, sitting in her "oän little parlour," doing her little charities, and being held in more esteem than a "graäter Laädy" who would have "allus to hax of a man how much to spare or to spend."

The dialect poem of Owd Roä can only be included in the category of humorous poems on account of incidental passages. The sleepy farmer thinking of Free Trade, and wondering

Howiver was British farmers to stan' ageän o' their feeät,

is a capital study.

An' I slep' i' my chair ageän wi' my hairm hingin down to the floor, An' I thowt it was Roäver a-tuggin' an' tearin' me wuss nor afoor,

An' I thowt 'at I kick'd 'im ageän, but I kick'd thy Moother istead. "What arta snorin' theere fur? the house is afire," she said.

Thy Moother 'ed beän a-naggin' about the gell o' the farm,

She offens 'ud spy summut wrong when there warn't not a mossel o' harm;

But Moother was free of 'er tongue, as I offens 'ev tell'd 'er mysen, So I kep i' my chair, fur I thowt she was nobbut a-rilin' ma then.

But the house was on fire-" An' I wasn't afeärd, or I thinks leästwaäys as I wasn't afeärd"; but the general panic was intense, and" Moother was naggin' an' groänin' an' moänin' an' naggin' ageän." Old Rover the dog was the hero of that night, and saved the life of a child to whom the story is told; but "Moother" "cotch'd 'er death o' cowd that night, poor soul, i' the straw."

The last of this delightful series of poems appeared in the volume of Swan-songs, The Death of Enone and other Poems. In The Churchwarden and the Curate we are presented exactly with the same type of character as the Northern Farmer, and the dialect is confessedly "that which was current at Spilsby and in the country about it" in the poet's youth. Spilsby is a small market town about seven miles across the wolds from Somersby, Tennyson's birthplace; and it was here that Sir John Franklin was born, the uncle of Tennyson's wife. The poet has written few stories which are more delightful than this of the old churchwarden turned from being a Baptist

I can't abeär 'em, I can't, fur a lot on 'em coom'd ta-year—

I wur down wi' the rheumatis then-to my pond to wesh thessens theere

Sa I sticks like the ivin as long as I lives to the owd church now,
Fur they wesh'd their sins i' my pond, an' I doubts they poison'd the

COW.

The joke is not original-it is told by Julian Young in his Memoirs, of a farmer's wife who laboured under the same delusion. But the churchwarden is an excellent type. He recognises in the new curate an audacious lad who was wont to steal his apples and take fish surreptitiously out of Howlaby beck-but he was not going to be severe on the "Parson's lad." He can now give him some good worldly advice, and we detect in it the satire against certain of the clergy which is thoroughly characteristic of Tennyson :—

An' I reckons tha'll light of a livin' somewheers i' the Wowd or the
Fen,

If tha cottons down to thy betters, an' keeäps thysen to thysen.
But niver not speäk plaain out, if tha wants to git forrards a bit,
But creeäp along the hedge-bottoms, an' thou'll be a Bishop yit.

Naäy, but tha mun speäk hout to the Baptises here i' the town, Fur moäst on 'em talks ageän tithe, an' I'd like tha to preäch 'em down,

For they've been a-preächin' mea down, they heve, an' I haätes 'em

now,

Fur they leaved their nasty sins i' my pond, an' it poison'd the cow.

The old man's advice to the curate is exquisite in its way, and his explanation as to how he himself "coom'd to the top o' the tree" is too good to be quoted in fragments. It is incomparable in its quaintness and its worldly wisdom, and is in Tennyson's best style.

Saw by the graäce o' the Lord, Mr Harry, I ham wot I ham

is the boast of the sly old fellow, and there is a sting of satire in the poet's explanation of how the words came to be uttered.

Within limits, and in his special domain, we must regard Tennyson as a humourist of a genuine and uncommon order. As in other things, he was punctilious even in his merry-making, and in consequence it was only when really inspired that he was seen to advantage. The triviality or dullness which passes for humour in the dramas is the

obvious result of a set task being formally carried out. The contrast is great indeed when the grim and subtle humour of the poems is turned to; and The Northern Farmer series alone would support Tennyson's reputation for keen wit and the masterly delineation of quain characters.

CHAPTER XV.

SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF TENNYSON.

"One whom the strong sons of the world despise;
For lucky rhymes to him were scrip and share,
And mellow metres more than cent for cent;
Nor could he understand how money breeds,
Thought it a dead thing; yet himself could make
The thing that is not as the thing that is."

-The Brook.

"TENNYSON has re-made the English language," wrote Mr Galton. Although there are undoubtedly mannerisms and conceits in Tennyson's verse-taking "conceits" in Kingsley's sense to mean an image not true and abiding but for a mood and occasion only-yet, even in these details, he was consistent and correct. What at first seemed to be purely affectation, proved to be part of a deep-laid plan, and we have to thank the poet who was originally described as artificial for bringing back into use simple, strong Saxon words which had fallen into desuetude or been held up to contempt. No finnicking poet, after all, was the writer of album verses, the minstrel of fair women, and the rhymer of the boudoir. Enoch Arden is a vigorous Saxon poem ; so are the Idylls one and all. For the sake of compactness all words with Tennyson are contracted as much as possible. He was no lover of polysyllables and sesquipedalian adjectives. In his earlier volumes he wrote each word fully, but when he commenced revising, every “though was shortened to "tho'," every past participle ending in "ed" was written "'d" or "t"; the word "toward " became in every place a monosyllable, and wherever an abbreviation could be allowed it was made. Consequently there is no waste in the lines; there is no sense of profusion,