Tennyson had begun writing "In Memoriam" a little before this, _i.e._ early in 1834, soon after his friend Hallam's sudden death and sad home-bringing in the winter of 1833. He kept it on the stocks, as all know, for some seventeen years. It was published, at first anonymously, in 1850. The secret of its authorship was soon revealed, the poem found immediate acceptance and popularity. It became and has remained one of the most widely read poems in the language. In the meantime Tennyson, though not so famous as "In Memoriam" made him, had become well known through the 1842 volumes. FitzGerald, on the contrary, was at that time quite unknown, except by his friendships, and to his friends. An Irishman, with the easygoing and _dolce far niente_ qualities which so often temper the brilliant genius of that race, sufficiently provided with means, he was naturally inclined for a quiet and easy, not to say indolent life. He deliberately chose from the first the _fallentis semita vitae_. He had some literary ambitions, and he wrote a few early poems, one or two of rare promise and beauty. One gift in particular was his--not, it is true, always leading him to action, yet in its passive or dynamic form constant and abundant almost to excess--loyalty in friendship. Once and fatally, it led him to take or submit to a positive step. He had been the attached friend of Bernard Barton the Quaker poet, the friend of Charles Lamb. When Barton died, from a mistaken sense of duty, FitzGerald not only collected his poems, a task more pious than profitable, but afterward, having meanwhile hesitated and halted too long in offering himself to one who was his real love, married his daughter who was not this. He left her, not indeed as is sometimes said, on the morrow of the wedding, but after separations and repeated attempts--in town and country--at reunion, and lived, as he had done before, alone and somewhat drearily ever afterwards. Speculation has busied itself about his unfortunate marriage. The briefest but also the best pronouncement is probably his own letter written at the time to Mrs. Tennyson: 31 PORTLAND STREET, LONDON, _March 19th, 1858_. DEAR MRS. TENNYSON--My married life has come to an end: I am back again in the old quarters, living as for the last thirty years--only so much older, sadder, uglier, and worse!--If people want to go further for the cause of this blunder, than the fact of two people of very determined habits and temper first trying to change them at close on fifty--they may lay nine-tenths of the blame on me. I don't want to talk more of the matter, but one must say something.