I never again saw the household at Farringford after April 1891. Once more we were at Aldworth in October of that year, when Tennyson signed for us a photograph from Mr. Watts's last picture. He was tired before we left and had gone to rest in his room, but I begged Hallam to let me go in to wish him good-bye. Had I known that it _was_ good-bye, and that for the last time I looked on his face and kissed his dear hands, what could I have said? Never could I express the sorrowing love, the immense gratitude, which overflow my heart as I think of my father's friend and mine! * * * * * The following letter was written by Tennyson to Catherine Lady Simeon after the death of his friend: ALDWORTH, _June 27th, 1870_. MY DEAR LADY SIMEON--Of course nothing could be more grateful to me than some memorial of my much-loved and ever-honoured friend, the only man on earth, I verily believe, to whom I could, and have more than once opened my whole heart; and he also has given me in many a conversation at Farringford in my little attic his utter confidence. I knew none like him for tenderness and generosity, not to mention his other noble qualities, and he was the very Prince of Courtesy; but I need not tell you this; anything, little book, or whatever you will choose, send me or bring when you come; and do pray come on the 4th July, and we will be all alone; and Louie can come, when she will, and you can spare her.--Believe me, always affectionately yours, A. TENNYSON. SIR JOHN SIMEON By AUBREY DE VERE The world external knew thee but in part: It saw and honoured what was least in thee; The loyal trust, the inborn courtesy; The ways so winning, yet so pure from art; The cordial reverence, keen to all desert, All save thine own; the accost so frank and free; The public zeal that toiled, but not for fee, And shunned alike base praise, and hireling's mart. These things men saw; but deeper far than these The under-current of thy soul worked on Unvexed by surface-ripple, beam, or breeze, And unbeheld its way to ocean won: Life of thy life was still that Christian Faith The sophist scorns. It failed thee not in death. TENNYSON By ARTHUR SIDGWICK, Fellow of Corpus Christi, Oxford, and sometime Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. (Read in the Chapel of Trinity College, Cambridge, October 30, 1909.[84]) We are met here to-day to do honour to the memory and the life's work of one of the greatest of Trinity's sons, who has also won for himself--few lovers of poetry here or anywhere can feel a doubt--a high and secure place in the glorious roll of English Poets, that roll which records the poetic achievements of over 500 years.