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Thanks for complementing my laziness, Rebecca, and actually looking them up: yes, I remember now: Maude and Mariana, exemplary neurasthenic Victorian ladies...no wonder I confused them. Interesting how my memory drew out those weary weary laments, but they're still fairly wearisome. While I'm rummaging through my dusty attic, I remember also a poem by Adrian Mitchell (?), The Oxford History of English Poetry or somesuch, in which the verse on Tennyson goes something like And then there were about a thousand years of Tennyson. Funny, really. We all thought he was a golfer. Best A Alison Croggon Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com Editor, Masthead: http://masthead.net.au Home page: http://alisoncroggon.com