ause, Tennyson changed
the subject by inquiring if his visitor had ever read "The Princess."
Sumner replied that it was one of his favorite poems, whereupon Tennyson
handed him the book and asked him to read. Sumner began, but was soon
stopped by Tennyson, who wished to show him how a passage should be
read. He went on reading aloud in his high nasal voice, until Sumner
grew very weary, but did not dare to move for fear of being thought
unappreciative. On and on read the poet, page after page, never making a
moment's pause or giving Sumner any chance to escape, until he had read
the whole poem. It is said that Sumner never dared pay him another
visit. Being a decided egotist himself, it was painfully hard for the
distinguished American to subordinate himself for so long a time, and
his friends amused themselves very much at the idea.

Tennyson undoubtedly has a high opinion of his work; but he does not go
quite to the length of Wordsworth in such self-admiration, as Wordsworth
would read no poetry but his own, while Tennyson is a generous admirer
of the work of fellow-poets.

Tennyson's married life has been one of the happiest on record. He
addresses his wife in these lines:--

"Dear, near, and true--no truer Time himself
Can prove you, though he make you evermore
Dearer and nearer."

One cannot think, when he witnesses the devotion of the poet to his
wife, that he ever regrets the "Amy shallow-hearted," the "Amy mine no
more," of his youth; and the reader certainly cannot regret her, if it
is really to her that we owe "Locksley Hall." Mrs. Tennyson has been
something of an invalid, and the poet and his sons, Hallam and Lionel,
may often be seen wheeling her on the lawn at Farringford. Of the house
at Farringford Miss Thackeray, who is an old friend of the family, as
was her father before her, tells us:--

"The house itself seemed like a charmed palace, with green walls
without and speaking walls within. There hung Dante with his solemn
nose and wreath; Italy gleamed over the doorways; friends' faces
lined the way; books filled the shelves, and a glow of crimson was
everywhere; the great oriel window in the drawing-room was full of
green and golden leaves, of the sound of birds, and of the distant
sea."

She continues:--

"I first knew the place in the autumn, but perhaps it is even more
beautiful in spring-time, when all day the lark trills high
overhea