"What else could one have anticipated? To love poetry is a boon of nature, most sparingly bestowed; appreciation of the poet's art is an outcome of studious leisure. Even an honest liking for verse, without discernment, depends upon complex conditions of birth, breeding, education. No one seeks to disparage the laborious masses on the ground of their incapacity for delights necessarily the privilege of a few. It was needless folly to pretend that, because one or two of Tennyson's poems became largely known through popular recitation, therefore Tennyson was dear to the heart of the people, a subject of their pride whilst he lived, of their mourning when he departed. My point is that _no_ poet holds this place in the esteem of the English lower orders. "Tennyson? The mere price of his works is prohibitive to people who think a shilling a very large outlay for printed paper. Half a dozen of his poems at most would obtain a hearing from the average uneducated person. We know very well the kind of home in which Tennyson is really beloved for the sake of perhaps half his work--and that not the better half. Between such households and the best discoverable in the world of which I speak, lies a chasm of utter severance. In default of other tests, Tennyson might be used as a touch-stone to distinguish the last of gentle-folk from the first of the unprivileged. "On the day of his funeral, I spoke of the dead poet to a live schoolmaster, a teacher of poor children, and he avowed to me, quite simply, that he 'couldn't stand poetry--except a few hymns;' that he had thoroughly disliked it ever since the day, when as a schoolboy, he had to learn by heart portions of _The Lady of the Lake_. I doubt whether this person could have named three pieces of Tennyson's writing. He spoke with the consciousness of being supported by general opinion in his own world. "Some days before, I was sitting in a public room, where two men, retired shopkeepers, exchanged an occasional word as they read the morning's news. 'A great deal here about Lord Tennyson,' said one. The 'Lord' was significant; I listened anxiously for his companion's reply. 'Ah--yes.' The man moved uneasily, and added at once: 'What do you think about this long-distance ride?' In that room (I frequented it on successive days with this object) not a syllable did I hear regarding Tennyson save the sentence faithfully recorded. This was in the south of England; perhaps it could not have happened in the north.