of her dainty articulation, I was able to hear her more perfectly than I generally hear anybody.  One evening Mr. and Mrs. Du Maurier joined us.  The Lewes’s had a great regard for Mr. Du Maurier, and spoke to us in a most feeling way of the danger which had then recently threatened the eyesight of that admirable artist.  We had music; and Mr. Du Maurier sang a drinking song, accompanying himself on the piano.  George Eliot had specially asked for this song, saying, I remember, “A good drinking song is the only form of intemperance I admire!”

I think also that Lewes seemed in higher spirits than when I had been with him at Florence.  But this was no more than an additional testimony to the fact that she was happier.

She also was, I take it, in better health, for we had some most delightful walks over the exceptionally beautiful country in the neighbourhood of their house, to a greater extent than she would, I think, have been capable of at Florence.

One day we made a most memorable excursion to visit Tennyson at Black Down.  It was the first time I had ever seen him.  He walked with us round his garden, and to a point finely overlooking the country below, charmingly varied by cultivated land, meadow and woodland.  It was a magnificent day; but as I looked over the landscape I thought I understood why the woods, which one looks down on from a similar Italian height, are called macchie—­stains, whereas our ordinarily more picturesque language knows no such term and no such image.  In looking over a wide-spread Italian landscape one is struck by the accuracy and picturesque truth of the image; but it needs the sun and the light and the atmosphere of Italy to produce the contrast of light and shade which justifies the phrase.

Our friends were evidently personae gratae at the court of the Laureate; and after our walk he gave us the exquisite treat of reading to us the just completed manuscript of Rizpah.  And how he read it!  Everybody thinks that he has been impressed by that wonderful poem to the full extent of the effect that it is capable of producing.  They would be astonished at the increase of weird terror which thrills the hearer of the poet’s own recital of it.

He was very good-natured about it.  It was explained to him by George Eliot that I should not be able to enjoy the reading unless I were close to him, so he placed me by his side.  He detected me availing myself of that position to use my good eyes as well as my bad ears, and protested; but on my appeal ad misrecordiam, and assurance that I should so enjoy the promised treat to infinitely greater effect, he allowed me to look over his shoulder as he read.  After Rizpah he read the Northern Cobbler to us, also with wonderful effect.  The difference between reading the printed lines and hearing them so read is truly that between looking on a black and white engraving and the coloured picture from which