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In conclusion, the Examiner observes "We are not acquainted with any living author who could have written the Fool's Tragedy; and, though the publication is unaccompanied by any hint of authorship, we believe that we are correct in stating it to be a posthumous production of the author of the Bride's Tragedy; Mr. Thomas Lovell Beddoes.
Beddoes, and was for thirty years in the service of Mrs. Haldimand we are told, and was own sister to Simple Susan. The grand English ladies are talking of Lady Clonbrony. "If you knew all she endures to look, speak, move, breathe like an Englishwoman, you would pity her," said Lady Langdale.
In the following year he brought out the two volumes of poetical works, which remained for forty years the only record of the full scope and power of Beddoes' genius. Of these rare and valuable volumes the Muses' Library edition is almost an exact reprint, except that it omits the memoir and revives The Improvisatore. Only one other edition of Beddoes exists the limited one brought out by Mr.
Certainly I am not to say that "The Death Wake" is a pearl of great price, but it does contain passages of poetry of poetry very curious because it is full of the new note, the new melody which young Mr. Tennyson was beginning to waken. It anticipates Beddoes, it coincides with Gautier and Les Chimeres of Gerard, it answers the accents, then unheard in England, of Poe.
As it happened, however, he came as a strange and isolated phenomenon, a star which had wandered from its constellation, and was lost among alien lights. It is to very little purpose that Mr. For Beddoes cannot be hoisted into line with his contemporaries by such methods as these; nor is it in the light of such after-considerations that the value of his work must be judged.
He walked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner, and announced his intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man. "'I've had enough of Norfolk, said he. 'I'll run down to Mr. Beddoes, in Hampshire. He'll be as glad to see me as you were, I daresay. "'You're not going away in an unkind spirit, Hudson, I hope, said my father, with a tameness which made my blood boil.
"Where have you been all the afternoon?" "In my room. I've been busy." "Tea? You don't mind it strong, do you, because it's been here a good long time? Gingerbread cake especially for you." But gingerbread cake wasn't in the least attractive. Beddoes suited him much better: Is that the wind dying?
He walked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner, and announced his intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man. ""I've had enough of Norfolk," said he. "I'll run down to Mr. Beddoes in Hampshire. He'll be as glad to see me as you were, I dare say." ""You're not going away in an unkind spirit, Hudson, I hope," said my father, with a tameness which made my blood boil.
He died in 1848 at Basle by a complicated and ghastly kind of suicide. Three years later his Poems appeared, and they have been recently republished, with additions and a curious collection of letters. Beddoes has sometimes been treated as a mainly bookish poet deriving from the Elizabethans and Shelley. I cannot agree with this.
Crawley, you'll make out her committal and, Beddoes, you'll drive her over in the spring cart, in the morning, to Southampton Gaol." "My dear," interposed the Magistrate and Rector "she's only " "Are there no handcuffs?" Mrs. Bute continued, stamping in her clogs. "There used to be handcuffs. Where's the creature's abominable father?"
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