It was in 1854 that the Tennysons first settled at Farringford. Those must have been happy days for Mrs. Tennyson, though the trial of delicate health was always there. She sends to her friend, describing the sights to be seen from her drawing-room windows: ‘The elms make a golden girdle round us now. The dark purple bills of England behind are a glorious picture in the morning when the sun shines on them and the elm trees....’ Again: ‘It is tantalizing to have a big smooth rounded down just in front of a large window and to be forbidden by bitter winter blasts to climb it. It is a pity the golden furze is not in bloom, for when it is, it makes a gorgeous contrast to the blue Solent.... Alfred has been reading “Hamlet” to me and since then has been drawn to the bay by the loud voice of the sea.... There is something so wholesome in beauty and it is not for me to try to tell of all we have here in those delicate tints of a distant bay and the still more distant headlands. These I see every day with my own eyes, and so many other things with _his_, when he comes back from his walk.’ Of her two boys she writes: ‘People say they are winning children, even those who are neither poets nor mothers. What should I do if I had not a poet’s heart to share my feelings for the children?’ We get a pretty glimpse of Alfred one Christmas time putting on little Hallam’s coatee, a present from Mrs. Cameron, needless to say. ‘Thanks, thanks, thanks,’ says Mrs. Tennyson. ‘And for my frill, as Alfred calls it, and for the big beautiful ball which charms Hallam beyond measure and delights baby too, only with so much of fear in the delight that he dare not approach the giant without having Mother’s hand in his. I do hope that I shall hear you are all well and that things grow brighter and brighter as Christmas comes on, for I cannot accept old Herbert’s gloomy version of things. I will admit most thankfully that griefs are joys in disguise, but not the converse except as a half truth, and half truths are the most dangerous of all. God wills us to be happy even here ... only let us give happiness its most exalted sense. I often think one is not told of joy as a Christian virtue as one ought to be. This however is rather by the way, for joy can subsist with sorrow, and happiness cannot be without happy circumstances.’ Another Christmas brings more acknowledgments for other gifts, and also friendly reproaches. ‘The only drawback is the old complaint that you _will_ rain down precious things upon us, not drop by drop, but in whole Golconda mines at once.’ Mrs. Cameron pays little attention to such warnings, for the next letter from Mrs. Tennyson begins with thanks again. ‘Why will you send us these beautiful things which are so beautiful?’