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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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PLEA AND COUNTER-PLEA , Concerning the " Memoriam" of Alfred Tennyson . By Arches Gubnkt , Clerk . I . —FIBBT IMPBBSSIONS , Why . Tennyson I what hapless mood Hath moved thee pages , fond as these , To print , to publish , all at ease ? What self-delusive hardihood ! These weary rhymes , which evermore Beat time to nothing in thy brain , — These weary rhymes , as sad as vain , Why blend them with thy poet-lore ? Thus might one wail , from morn to eve , And still from eve to morn anew , That leaves are green , that skies are blue , That shadows round their circles weave , But thpu didst prize thy Friend ! "X is well ; Nor will I seek to question here , That grace , that genius , void of peer ! Thy fancy wrought the giant-spell , Nay , if it pleased thee to rehearse Thy sorrows to the weeping skies In vague and boundless melodies , Though sickly , fair befal thy verse ! But these things , man , were not for print /•*—Here lay a string of pearls for thee , Where others painted beads would see . What ! a whole book and nothing in ' t ! No , Tennyson : I prize thee much , But mine esteem must fainter grow : Two hundred leaves of morbid wqe , And of free genius scarce a touch ! Think not I ne ' er thy songs did love ! 'T is for thy fame , to me right dear , That jealously I watch and fear : Mine inmost soul ' twas thine to move . When thou last struck Love ' s master-keys , When grace and passion thrill'd thy strain , This cheek hath flushed , shall flush again , With kindling poet-sympathies . My tears have rained their tribute due To thy sweet pathos , matchless save On Shakspeare ' s page ; and thence I waive All courtesies , and " tell thee true " : These rhymes are blanks ; or little more ; For thee , at least , too faint , too dull ; Dim shadows of the beautiful ; Of faded leaves an autumn store . Quick , send some kindling war-note forth , — War-note or love-note , which thou wilt , — - To cleunse from literary guilt , And test and prove and seal thy worth . Meanwhile , my serious song must flow , In echoes creeping on for aye : — " O doleful , doleful , doleful lay ! Oli , dreary , dreary , dreary , oh !" > II . —SECOND THOUGHTS . Ah , rash and impious haste in me ! Gould old experience nothing teacli ? These " doleful ditties , " all mid each , Are sweet as angels' songs may be ! Yet let my haste memento stand To hasty critics , one and all , That each may blot the peevish scrawl , Or pillory tttraiglu bin own right hand ! In eager hopes of—lleav ' n knows what—The book 1 oped , and o ' er it threw Fleet amoious glances ; rush they flow , Like waves on waves , and rested not . Still dreaming , magic luy beyond , Mure strange , more dazzling , mightier far , I soar'd from gentle star to star , And craved u comet ! craving fond ! More passionate , impulsive Htiuiii , Music more wild , I dreamt to hear ; A brighter love , a keener fear , A world of rapture arid of pain . $ o thiv calm atrcam , so sweet , so strong ; Bo thi » gold sunlight , broad but still ; ThUi hu « hed repose of vitle and hill ; This pur © fblioity of song ;
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All this to me seem d monotone , Stagnation morbid . In an hour , Or less , - O Ease ! thou fatal dower 1—I read , and judg'd , and scrawl'd : ' t was done } Undone might be ! Yet wherefore this ? Jtather the beacon-light I set ( Which may I ne ' er myself forget !) And now record the poet-bliss Which sinoe my inmost soul o ' ercame , In scanning these dear leaves of woe . Yet were they faultless ? Surely , No ! 'T was true , they lack'd a constant aim .
For what is fruitless in thy strain , 'Twill perish ; what is true shall live : The false is ever fugitive ; The everlasting heavens remain . And so I witness bear : for meek And holy pathos , woe more bless'd Than bliss , most musical unrest , — For these man ne ' shall vainly seek , These leaves within !—Of song and light A lasting treasury hold we here ; For which all gentle hearts most dear Must count the man , who thus could write
Thus , then , in this my penance-lay , I own my haste , retract my wrong , And bless thee , Poet , for thy song O be thou bless'd henceforth alway ! And here I end , recanting that , My " doleful , doleful , doleful" cry : An Eagle—Tennyson , and I , 'Twould seem , a dreary purblind Bat
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AN EPISODE IN A HISTORY . Part II . —The Deliverance . It was a beautiful evening as I left Hamilton , and my walk to Glasgow was so delicious and exciting that it quite dispelled the recent gloom that had clouded my heart , and I half repented of my wish to quit the soldier ' s life . I began to dream of what I might be if I remained , in a year Sergeant Harwell ; in a year or two more a commissioned officer ; then Sir Francis Harwell , a distinguished commander in India ; then Lord Harwell , delighting the world as much by the
mastery of my eloquence and the wisdom of my statesmanship as I had just been astonishing it by my military skill and valour . A very simple circumstance soon dissipated my dreams . I entered a lonely house that stood by the side of the road t o get a draught of milk . There was no one within but a young and pretty woman and her little son no less pretty , who was about four years old . I took him in my arms and kissed him passionately as I thought of my own brothers , some of whom were about the Mine age . The young mother looked at me with pity , and
said that she loved her child with her whole soul , but that much as she loved him she woul d rather see him die that instant than think that when grown up he would become a tioldier . This brief sharp speech brought me to my senses . I reached Glasgow late at night , and a benevolent policeman whom I met near one of the bridges took some trouble to obtain me comfortable lodgings . I remained indoors all next day , as , from having been so long at the Glasgow University , I was afraid of meeting some oho that I knew . 1 did not wish to reach my native village in
the daytime aa I had determined that none of my old acquaintance there should see me in my military dress . As soon as the night had fairly set in I commenced my journey . I had thirty miles to walk . The day had been very beautiful , but 1 had not gone above a mile when it bc ^ an to rain and ceaselosH torrents kept drenching mo and dashing in my face the whole way . When I came to 1 ' uisloy 1 wus tempted to give up my cnierpriue . But 1 felt Homething Idee the voice of a good spirit urging mi ! on . I therefore , in spite of rain , and darkness , an d mud
pursued my journey . 1 pasned bcvorul villugeu where 1 hud kind i ' riendu who would have been glad to give me a welcoinu even in my soldier ' s garb . Hut I resolved rather to lie down by the wayside and die than neck the hospitality of any ono . JJesidea 1 was ho thoroughly vroin out by Madness of mind iiud fatigue of body that 1 had for the moment grown indifferent to life . JLow 1 dragged along my limbs during the last ten miles 1 Hcarcely know ; X suppose whuer loioo of will prevented me from being utterh ' exhausted . A « I defended the hills that circle in my native village the roar of tho occan ' a Waves
dashing against wild and well-known rock * gave me fresh courage and strength . Approaching my father ' s door about an hour before the dawn , I stood for a time without having the resolution to knock . When at last I did so , my mother ' s heart , rather than her ear told her by a strange instinct who was there . I heard a gentle foot coming rapidly near . Wh at then , oh ! God , were my emotions ? In a moment the poor wet , weary wanderer % vas hotly clasped by affectionate arms . My father was stealthily called , so as not to disturb or alarm the rest of the family , He
had no reproaches for me , nothing but sorrow or love . Some brief words told my history for the last few weeks . It was seen that that was not the time to question me , however desirous my parents were of knowing more . My wet clothes were stript off , and I had not been a minute in bed before I fell into a deep refreshing sleep . When I awoke I saw my mother by my bedside . I could then answer all her fond enquiries . My parents and I had a long consultation together , and my father at last said that though he could ill afford the money he would
purchase my discharge . He knew that I had never been inclined to vice though excessively rash and headlong . It was , therefore , arranged that he should himself take a journey to Hamilton as soon as possible , to obtain my discharge . Very early next morning , before any one was abroad , he drove me to Paislev . I walked thence to Hamilton the same day . When I came to the gate of the barracks I was immediately arrested for having been absent three days instead of two . I received a severe lecture from the sergeantmajor of my troop . My punishment , however , was not very severe . I was confined that night to the
guard-house , and was forbidden to leave the barracks for a week or two . In the guard-house I had no other bed than the bare boards , and no other bedclothes than a cloak which some kind soul lent me . When I left the guard-house it may be supposed that I did not return to my old occupations with much alacrity . I , however , determined to do all my duties with mechanical exactness , if I could not put that spirit into them which I felt now to be impossible . It did not reconcile me to my lot that some of my brother soldiers were as well educated as myself . Not a few had been clerks ; one or two had been
medical students . I saw that soldiers of this stamp only reconciled themselves to their lot by assuming a coarseness which was not natural to them , and that they were in general more selfish and depraved than those who had not received any education at all . Not more than a fortnight elapsed before my father came to Hamilton bringing my purchase-money , which was nearly double the amount incurred by the Magician . When I knew that it was paid , though I deeply grieved that my good father had been put to so much expense by my folly , yet I rejoiced with a great
joy that I was no longer a slave , thnt I had once more a father and that ho bad once moro a Hon . In a pleasant walk , howevor , and afterwards when we dined together , we could express our joy by nothing but a kind of holy ailonce . He had not been gone many days when I was again forced to enter the hosp ital by influenza . My bed was next to that of a person suffering from inflammation of tho brain . For several nights his wild delirious cries and furious gestures and movements scarcely allowed me to get any sleep . He was a recruit , and his father and mother lived at no great distance from Hamilton . ' They came one
day , two pious , wimple-hearted old people , to see their . son . Their limits had been half-broken by his enlisting ; how much more bitter their agony to stand beside Inn bed and listen to tho ravines of his madne » a ! One evening the t > ur < mm nhuved his head and applied leedheH . Hideous enough to my sensitive nerves were the streaming blood , tho fierce shriek varied by the melancholy moan , and afterwards tho face almost as white as the bandages above it . About midnight I waa routicd from Hweot dreams of n > y childhood und of my village home by one loud , rending , torturing howl , u » of tho damned . J' < «
moment the hospital attendants rushed in , bearing lights . The madman had pj > rutig iij > in bed , had torn off all the blindages , and Inn face and clothes wei " covered with the gushing ' blond . I know not whether my terror or n » y honor fora few instant ** wen ) greater . Perhaps this fresh flow of blood did tin : poor creature good , an he afterward ** recovered , though probably long ere this he Iuih found in Inih'i or elsewhere an unknown grave . When u » y futh « r learned that I was ill , he again cairio to Hamilton . I Haw him only once . . He Hat by my bedside , and our
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i 88 ®! l * ** . «***? [ Saturday ,
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Leader (1850-1860), Jan. 25, 1851, page 88, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1867/page/16/
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