THE PROSE WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

FOR THE FIRST TIME COLLECTED, _WITH ADDITIONS FROM UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS_. 

Edited, with Preface, Notes and Illustrations, BY THE REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART, ST. GEORGE'S, BLACKBURN, LANCASHIRE. 

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

VOL. I. 

POLITICAL AND ETHICAL. 

LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, SON, AND CO. 1 AMEN CORNER, PATERNOSTER ROW. 

1876. 

AMS Press, Inc. New York 10003 1967

Manufactured in the United States of America

TO THE QUEEN. 

MADAM, I have the honour to place in your Majesty's hands the hithertouncollected and unpublished Prose Works of

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

--name sufficient in its simpleness to give lustre to any page. 

Having been requested thus to collect and edit his Prose Writings bythose who hold his MSS. And are his nearest representatives, one littlediscovery or recovery among these MSS. Suggested your Majesty as the oneamong all others to whom the illustrious Author would have chosen todedicate these Works, viz. A rough transcript of a Poem which he hadinscribed on the fly-leaf of a gift-copy of the collective edition ofhis Poems sent to the Royal Library at Windsor Castle. This very tender, beautiful, and pathetic Poem will be found on the other side of thisDedication. It must 'for all time' take its place beside the livingLaureate's imperishable verse-tribute to your Majesty. 

I venture to thank your Majesty for the double permission soappreciatively given--of this Dedication itself and to print (for thefirst time) the Poem. The gracious permission so pleasantly anddiscriminatingly signified is only one of abundant proofs that yourMajesty is aware that of the enduring names of the reign of Victoria, Wordsworth's is supreme as Poet and Thinker. 

 Gratefully and loyally, ALEXANDER B. GROSART. 

 Deign, Sovereign Mistress! to accept a lay, No Laureate offering of elaborate art; But salutation taking its glad way From deep recesses of a loyal heart. 

 Queen, Wife, and Mother! may All-judging Heaven Shower with a bounteous hand on Thee and Thine Felicity that only can be given On earth to goodness blest by grace divine. 

 Lady! devoutly honoured and beloved Through every realm confided to thy sway; Mayst Thou pursue thy course by God approved, And He will teach thy people to obey. 

 As Thou art wont, thy sovereignty adorn With woman's gentleness, yet firm and staid; So shall that earthly crown thy brows have worn Be changed for one whose glory cannot fade. 

 And now, by duty urged, I lay this Book Before thy Majesty, in humble trust That on its simplest pages Thou wilt look With a benign indulgence more than just. 

 Nor wilt Thou blame an aged Poet's prayer, That issuing hence may steal into thy mind Some solace under weight of royal care, Or grief--the inheritance of humankind. 

 For know we not that from celestial spheres, When Time was young, an inspiration came (Oh, were it mine!) to hallow saddest tears, And help life onward in its noblest aim?

W. W. 

9th January 1846. 

PREFACE. 

In response to a request put in the most gratifying way possible of thenearest representatives of WORDSWORTH, the Editor has prepared thiscollection of his _Prose Works_. That this should be done _for the firsttime_ herein seems somewhat remarkable, especially in the knowledge ofthe permanent value which the illustrious Author attached to his Prose, and that he repeatedly expressed his wish and expectation that it wouldbe thus brought together and published, _e. G. _ in the 'Memoirs, 'speaking of his own prose writings, he said that but for COLERIDGE'Sirregularity of purpose he should probably have left much more in thatkind behind him. When COLERIDGE was proposing to publish his 'Friend, 'he (WORDSWORTH) had offered contributions. COLERIDGE had expressedhimself pleased with the offer, but said, "I must arrange my principlesfor the work, and when that is done I shall be glad of your aid. " Butthis "arrangement of principles" never took place. WORDSWORTH added: "_Ithink my nephew, Dr. Wordsworth, will, after my death, collect andpublish all I have written in prose_. .. . " "On another occasion, Ibelieve, he intimated a desire that his _works in Prose should be editedby his son-in-law, Mr. Quillinan_. "[1] Similarly he wrote to ProfessorREED in 1840: 'I am much pleased by what you say in your letter of the18th May last, upon the Tract of the "Convention of Cintra, " and _Ithink myself with some interest upon its being reprinted hereafter alongwith my other writings_ [in prose]. But the respect which, in commonwith all the rest of the rational part of the world, I bear for the DUKEOF WELLINGTON will prevent my reprinting the pamphlet during hislifetime. It has not been in my power to read the volumes of hisDespatches, which I hear so highly spoken of; but I am convinced thatnothing they contain could alter my opinion of the injurious tendency ofthat or any other Convention, conducted upon such principles. _It was, Irepeat, gratifying to me that you should have spoken of that work as youdo, and particularly that you should have considered it in relation tomy Poems, somewhat in the same manner as you had done in respect to mylittle volume on the Lakes_. '[2]

[1] 'Memoirs, ' vol. Ii. P. 466. 

[2] Ibid. Vol. I. P. 420. 

It is probable that the _amount_ of the Prose of WORDSWORTH will come asa surprise--surely a pleasant one--on even his admirers and students. His own use of 'Tract' to describe a goodly octavo volume, and hiscalling his 'Guide' a 'little volume' while it is a somewhatconsiderable one, together with the hiding away of some of his mostmatterful and weightiest productions in local and fugitive publications, and in Prefaces and Appendices to Poems, go far to explain theprevailing unacquaintance with even the _extent_, not to speak of theimportance, of his Prose, and the light contentment with which it hasbeen permitted so long to remain (comparatively) out of sight. That theinter-relation of the Poems to the Prose, and of the Prose to thePoems--of which above he himself wrote--makes the collection andpublication of the Prose a duty to all who regard WILLIAM WORDSWORTH asone of the supreme intellects of the century--as certainly the glory ofthe Georgian and Victorian age as ever SHAKESPEARE and RALEIGH were ofthe Elizabethan and Jacobean--will not be questioned to-day. 

The present Editor can only express his satisfaction at being called toexecute a task which, from a variety of circumstances, has been too longdelayed; but only delayed, inasmuch as the members of the Poet's familyhave always held it as a sacred obligation laid upon them, with theadditional sanction that WORDSWORTH'S old and valued friend, HENRY CRABBROBINSON, Esq. , had expressed a wish in his last Will (1868) that theProse Works of his friend should one day be collected; and which wishalone, from one so discriminating and generous--were there no othergrounds for doing so--the family of WORDSWORTH could not but regard asimperative. He rejoices that the delay--otherwise to be regretted--hasenabled the Editor to furnish a much fuller and more complete collectionthan earlier had perhaps been possible. He would now briefly notice thesuccessive portions of these Volumes:

VOL. I. 

I. POLITICAL. 

(a) _Apology for the French Revolution_, 1793. 

This is from the Author's own MS. , and is published _for the firsttime_. Every reader of 'The Recluse' and 'The Excursion' and the 'Lineson the French Revolution, as it appeared to Enthusiasts at itsCommencement'--to specify only these--is aware that, in common withSOUTHEY and the greater COLERIDGE, WORDSWORTH was in sympathy with theuprising of France against its tyrants. But it is only now that we areadmitted to a full discovery of his youthful convictions and emotion bythe publication of this Manuscript, carefully preserved by him, butnever given to the world. The title on the fly-leaf--'Apology, ' &c. , being ours--in the Author's own handwriting, is as follows:

 A LETTER TO THE BISHOP OF LANDAFF ON THE EXTRAORDINARY AVOWAL OF HIS POLITICAL PRINCIPLES, CONTAINED IN THE APPENDIX TO HIS LATE SERMON: BY A REPUBLICAN. 

It is nowhere dated, but inasmuch as Bishop WATSON'S Sermon, with theAppendix, appeared early in 1793, to that year certainly belongs thecomposition of the 'Letter. ' The title-page of the Sermon and Appendixmay be here given;

A SERMON PREACHED BEFORE THE STEWARDS OF THE WESTMINSTER DISPENSARY, ATTHEIR ANNIVERSARY MEETING, CHARLOTTE STREET CHAPEL, APRIL 1785. 

WITH AN APPENDIX, BY R. WATSON, D. D. LORD BISHOP OF LANDAFF. 

LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL IN THE STRAND; AND T. EVANS IN PATERNOSTERROW. 

1793 [8vo]. 

In the same year a 'second edition' was published, and also separatelythe Appendix, thus:

STRICTURES ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION, ASWRITTEN IN 1793 IN AN APPENDIX TO A SERMON PREACHED BEFORE THE STEWARDSOF THE WESTMINSTER DISPENSARY, AT THEIR ANNIVERSARY MEETING, CHARLOTTESTREET CHAPEL, APRIL 1785, BY R. WATSON, D. D. LORD BISHOP OF LANDAFF. 

_Reprinted at Loughborough, (With his Lordship's permission) by Adams, Jun. And Recommended by the Loughborough Association For the Support ofthe Constitution to The Serious Attention of the Public_. 

Price Twopence, being one third of the original price, 1793 [small 8vo], The Sermon is a somewhat commonplace dissertation on 'The Wisdom andGoodness of God in having made both Rich and Poor, ' from Proverbs xxii. 2: 'The rich and poor meet together, the Lord is the Maker of them all. 'It could not but be most irritating to one such as youngWORDSWORTH--then in his twenty-third year--who passionately felt as wellwith as for the poor of his native country, and that from an intimacy ofknowledge and intercourse and sympathy in striking contrast with theserene optimism of the preacher, --all the more flagrant in that BishopWatson himself sprang from the very humblest ranks. But it is on theAppendix this Letter expends its force, and, except from BURKE on theopposite side, nothing more forceful, or more effectively argumentative, or informed with a nobler patriotism, is to be found in the Englishlanguage. If it have not the kindling eloquence which is Demosthenic, and that axiomatic statement of principles which is Baconian, of the'Convention, ' every sentence and epithet pulsates--as its verylife-blood--with a manly scorn of the false, the base, the sordid, themerely titularly eminent. It may not be assumed that even to old ageWILLIAM WORDSWORTH would have disavowed a syllable of this 'Apology. 'Technically he might not have held to the name 'Republican, ' but to thelast his heart was with the oppressed, the suffering, the poor, thesilent. Mr. H. CRABB ROBINSON tells us in his Diary (vol. Ii. P. 290, 3dedition): 'I recollect once hearing Mr. WORDSWORTH say, half in joke, half in earnest, "I have no respect whatever for Whigs, but I have agreat deal of the Chartist in me;"' and his friend adds: 'To be sure hehas. His earlier poems are full of that intense love of the people, assuch, which becomes Chartism when the attempt is formally made to maketheir interests the especial object of legislation, as of deeperimportance than the positive rights hitherto accorded to the privilegedorders. ' Elsewhere the same Diarist speaks of 'the brains of the noblestyouths in England' being 'turned' (i. 31, 32), including WORDSWORTH. There was no such 'turning' of brain with him. He was deliberate, judicial, while at a red heat of indignation. To measure the quality ofdifference, intellectually and morally, between WORDSWORTH and anothernoticeable man who entered into controversy with Bishop WATSON, it isonly necessary to compare the present Letter with GILBERT WAKEFIELD'S'Reply to some Parts of the Bishop of Landaff's Address to the People ofGreat Britain' (1798). 

The manuscript is wholly in the handwriting of its author, and is donewith uncharacteristic painstaking; for later, writing was painful andirksome to him, and even his letters are in great part illegible. Onefolio is lacking, but probably it contained only an additional sentenceor two, as the examination of the Appendix is complete. Following on ourending are these words: 'Besides the names which I. '

That the Reader may see how thorough is the Answer of WORDSWORTH toBishop WATSON, the 'Appendix' is reprinted _in extenso_. Beingcomparatively brief, it was thought expedient not to put the student ona vain search for the long-forgotten Sermon. On the biographic value ofthis Letter, and the inevitableness of its inclusion among his proseWorks, it cannot be needful to say a word. It is noticed--and littlemore--in the 'Memoirs' (c. Ix. Vol. I. Pp. 78-80). In his Letters (vol. Iii. ) will be found incidental allusions and vindications of theprinciples maintained in the 'Apology. '

_(b) Concerning the Relations of Great Britain, Spain, and Portugal, toeach other and the common Enemy, at this Crisis; and specifically asaffected by the Convention of Cintra: the whole brought to the test ofthose Principles, by which alone the Independence and Freedom of Nationscan be Preserved or Recovered_. 1809. 

As stated in its 'Advertisement, ' two portions of this treatise (ratherthan 'Tract'), 'extending to p. 25' of the completed volume, wereoriginally printed in the months of December and January (1808-9), inthe 'Courier' newspaper. In this shape it attracted the notice of noless a reader than Sir WALTER SCOTT, who thus writes of it: 'I have readWORDSWORTH'S lucubrations[3] in the 'Courier, ' _and much agree withhim_. Alas! we want everything but courage and virtue in this desperatecontest. Skill, knowledge of mankind, ineffable unhesitating villany, combination of movement and combination of means, are with ouradversary. We can only fight like mastiffs--boldly, blindly, andfaithfully. I am almost driven to the pass of the Covenanters, when theytold the Almighty in their prayers He should no longer be their God; andI really believe a few Gazettes more will make me turn Turk orinfidel. '[4]

[3] Lucubrations = meditative studies. It has since deteriorated inmeaning. 

[4] Lockhart's 'Life of Scott, ' vol. Iii. Pp. 260-1 (edition, 1856). 

What WORDSWORTH'S own feelings and impulses were in the composition ofthe 'Convention of Cintra' are revealed with unwonted as fine passion inhis 'Letters and Conversations' (vol. Iii. Pp. 256-261, &c. ), whitherthe Reader will do well to turn, inasmuch as he returns and re-returnstherein to his standing-ground in this very remarkable and imperishablebook. The long Letters to (afterwards) Sir CHARLES W. PASLEY andanother--_never before printed_--which follow the 'Convention of Cintra'itself, are of special interest. The Appendix of Notes, 'a portion ofthe work which WORDSWORTH regarded as executed in a masterly manner, wasdrawn up by De Quincey, who revised the proofs of the whole' ('Memoirs, 'i. 384). Of the 'Convention of Cintra' the (now) Bishop of Lincoln(WORDSWORTH) writes eloquently as follows: 'Much of WORDSWORTH'S lifewas spent in comparative retirement, and a great part of his poetryconcerns natural and quiet objects. But it would be a great error toimagine that he was not an attentive observer of public events. He wasan ardent lover of his country and of mankind. He watched the progressof civil affairs in England with a vigilant eye, and he brought theactions of public men to the test of the great and lasting principles ofequity and truth. He extended his range of view to events in foreignparts, especially on the continent of Europe. Few persons, thoughactually engaged in the great struggle of that period, felt more deeplythan WORDSWORTH did in his peaceful retreat for the calamities ofEuropean nations, suffering at that time from the imbecility of theirgovernments, and from the withering oppression of a prosperousdespotism. His heart burned within him when he looked forth upon thecontest, and impassioned words proceeded from him, both in poetry andprose. The contemplative calmness of his position, and the depth andintensity of his feelings, combined together to give a dignity andclearness, a vigour and splendour, and, consequently, a lasting value, to his writings on measures of domestic and foreign policy, qualitiesthat rarely belong to contemporaneous political effusions produced bythose engaged in the heat and din of the battle. This remark isspecially applicable to his tract on the Convention of Cintra. .. . Whatever difference of opinion may prevail concerning the relevance ofthe great principles enunciated in it to the questions at issue, but onejudgment can exist with respect to the importance of those principles, and the vigorous and fervid eloquence with which they are enforced. IfWORDSWORTH had never written a single verse, this Essay alone would besufficient to place him in the highest rank of English poets. .. . Enoughhas been quoted to show that the Essay on the Convention of Cintra wasnot an ephemeral production, destined to vanish with the occasion whichgave it birth. If this were the case, the labour bestowed upon it wasalmost abortive. The author composed the work in the discharge of whathe regarded a sacred duty, and for the permanent benefit of society, rather than with a view to any immediate results. '[5] The Bishop addsfurther these details: 'He foresaw and predicted that his words would beto the public ear what midnight storms are to men who sleep:

[5] 'Memoirs, ' as before, vol. I. Pp. 383, 399. 

 "I dropp'd my pen, and listen'd to the wind, That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost-- A midnight harmony, and wholly lost To the general sense of men, by chains confined Of business, care, or pleasure, or resign'd To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassion'd strain, Which without aid of numbers I sustain, Like acceptation from the world will find. Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink A dirge devoutly breath'd o'er sorrows past; And to the attendant promise will give heed-- The prophecy--like that of this wild blast, Which, while it makes the heart with, sadness shrink, Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed. "[6]

It is true that some few readers it had on its first appearance; and itis recorded by an ear-witness that Canning said of this pamphlet that heconsidered it the most eloquent production since the days of Burke;[7]but, by some untoward delays in printing, it was not published till theinterest in the question under discussion had almost subsided. Certainit is, that an edition, consisting only of five hundred copies, was notsold off; that many copies were disposed of by the publishers as wastepaper, and went to the trunkmakers; and now there is scarcely any volumepublished in this country which is so difficult to be met with as thetract on the Convention of Cintra; and if it were now reprinted, itwould come before the public with almost the unimpaired freshness of anew work. '[8] In agreement with the closing statement, at the sale ofthe library of Sir James Macintosh a copy fetched (it has been reported)ten guineas. Curiously enough not a single copy was preserved by theAuthor himself. The companion sonnet to the above, 'composed while theauthor was engaged in writing a tract occasioned by the Convention ofCintra, 1808, ' must also find a place here:

 'Not 'mid the world's vain objects that enslave The free-born soul--that world whose vaunted skill In selfish interest perverts the will, Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave-- Not there; but in dark wood and rocky cave, And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill With omnipresent murmur as they rave Down their steep beds, that never shall be still, Here, mighty Nature, in this school sublime I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain; For her consult the auguries of time, And through the human heart explore my way, And look and listen--gathering where I may Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain. '[9]

_(c) Letter to Major-General Sir Charles W. Pasley, K. C. B. , on his'Military Policy and Institutions of the British Empire, ' withanother--now first printed--transmitting it_. 

[6] 'Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty, ' viii. 

[7] Southey's 'Life and Correspondence, ' vol. Iii. P. 180; 'Gentleman'sMagazine' for June 1850, p. 617. 

[8] 'Memoirs, ' as before, vol. I, pp. 404-5. 

[9] 'Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty, ' vii. 

The former is derived from the 'Memoirs' (vol. I. Pp. 405-20). Inforwarding it to the (now) Bishop of Lincoln, Sir CHARLES thus wrote ofit: 'The letter on my "Military Policy" is particularly interesting. .. . Though WORDSWORTH agreed that we ought to step forward with all ourmilitary force as principals in the war, he objected to any increase ofour own power and resources by continental conquest, in which I nowthink he was quite right. I am not, however, by any means shaken in theopinion then advanced, that peace with Napoleon would lead to the lossof our naval superiority and of our national independence, . .. And Ifully believe that the Duke of Wellington's campaigns in the SpanishPeninsula saved the nation, though no less credit is due to the Ministryof that day for not despairing of eventual success, but supporting himunder all difficulties in spite of temporary reverses, and in oppositionto a powerful party and to influential writers. ' The lettertransmitting the other has only recently been discovered on areëxamination of the Wordsworth MSS. Both letters have aShakespearian-patriotic ring concerning 'This England. ' It is inspiringto read in retrospect of the facts such high-couraged writing as inthese letters. 

_(d) Two Addresses to the Freeholders of Westmoreland_, 1818. 

The 'Mr. BROUGHAM' of these 'Two Addresses' was, as all the world knows, the (afterwards) renowned and many-gifted HENRY, Lord BROUGHAM and VAUX. In his Autobiography he refers very good-humouredly to his three defeatsin contesting the representation of Westmoreland; but there is noallusion whatever to WORDSWORTH. With reference to his final effort hethus informs us: 'Parliament was dissolved in 1826, when for the thirdtime I stood for Westmoreland; and, after a hard-fought contest, wasagain defeated. I have no wish to enter into the local politics of thatcounty, but I cannot resist quoting an extract from a letter of myesteemed friend Bishop BATHURST to Mr. HOWARD of Corby, by whosekindness I am enabled to give it: "Mr. BROUGHAM has struggled nobly forcivil and religious liberty; and is fully entitled to the celebratedeulogy bestowed by Lucan upon Cato--

 'Victrix causa Diis placuit, sed victa Catoni. '

How others may feel I know not, but for my own part I would much ratherbe in his situation than in that of the two victorious opponents;notwithstanding the cold discouraging maxim of Epictetus, which iscalculated to check every virtuous effort--[Greek: Anikêtos einaidunasai, ean ouk eis mêdena agôna katabainês, ou ouk estin epinikêsai][=You may be invincible if you never go down into the arena when you arenot secure of victory: Enchiridion, cxxv. ]. He will not, I hope, sufferfrom his exertions, extraordinary in every way. I respect exceedinglyhis fine abilities, and the purpose to which he applies them" (Norwich, July 10, 1826). As Cato owed Lucan's panegyric to the firmness he hadshown in adhering to the losing cause, and to his steadfastness to theprinciples he had adopted, so I considered the Bishop's application ofthe lines to me as highly complimentary' ('Life and Times, ' vol. Ii. Pp. 437-8). It seemed only due to the subject of WORDSWORTH'S invective andopposition to give _his_ view of the struggle and another's worthy ofall respect. Unless the writer has been misinformed, WORDSWORTH andBROUGHAM came to know and worthily estimate each other when theexacerbations and clamours of provincial politics had long passed away, and when, except the 'old gray head' of WELLINGTON, none received morereverence from the nation than that of HENRY BROUGHAM. In thejust-issued 'Memoirs of the Reigns of George IV. And William IV. ' byGREVILLE, BROUGHAM and WORDSWORTH are brought together very pleasingly. (See these works, vol. Iii. P. 504. )

The Author's personal relations to the Lowthers semi-unconsciouslycoloured his opinions, and intensified his partisanship and glorifiedthe commonplace. But with all abatements these 'Two Addresses' supplymuch material for a right and high estimate of WORDSWORTH as man andthinker. As invariably, he descends to the roots of things, and almostennobles even his prejudices and alarms and ultra-caution. There is thesame terse, compacted, pungent style in these 'Two Addresses' with hisgeneral prose. Bibliographically the 'Two Addresses' are even rarer andhigher-priced than the 'Convention of Cintra. '

_(e) Of the Catholic Relief Bill_, 1829. 

To the great names of EDMUND SPENSER and Sir JOHN DAVIES, as Englishmenwho dealt with the problem of the government of Ireland, and found it, as more recent statesmen have done, to be in infinite ways 'England'sdifficulty, ' has now to be added one not less great--WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. If at this later day--for even 1829 seems remote now--much of thepresent letter to the Bishop of London (BLOMFIELD) is mainly ofhistorical noticeableness, as revealing how 'Catholic Emancipation'looked to one of the foremost minds of his age, there are, nevertheless, expressions of personal opinion--_e. G. _ against the Athanasian Creed inits 'cursing' clauses, and expositions of the Papacy regardedpolitically and ecclesiastically in its domination of Ireland, that havea message for to-day strangely congruous with that of the magnificentphilippic 'Of the Vatican Decrees, ' which is thundering across Europe asthese words are written. As a piece of vigorous, masculine, and o'timeseloquent English, this letter may take its place--not an inchlower--beside a 'View of the State of Ireland, ' and the 'Discoverie ofthe True Cavses why Ireland was never entirely subdued, nor broughtunder obedience of the Crowne of England, untill the beginning of hisMaiestie's happie raigne;' while the conflict with Ultramontanism inGermany and elsewhere and Mr. Gladstone's tractate give new significanceto its forecastings and portents. 

The manuscript, unlike most of his, is largely in WORDSWORTH'S ownhandwriting--the earlier portion in (it is believed) partly MissWORDSWORTH'S and partly Mrs. WORDSWORTH'S. In the 'Memoirs' this letteris quoted largely (vol. Ii. Pp. 136-140). It is now given completelyfrom the manuscript itself, not without significant advantage. It doesnot appear whether this letter were actually sent to the Bishop ofLondon. There is no mention of it in Bishop Blomfield's 'Life;' andhence probably it never was sent to him. In his letters there are manyreferences to the present topics (cf. Vol. Iii. Pp. 258-9, 263-4, &c. ). 

II. ETHICAL. 

I. _Of Legislation for the Poor, the Working Classes, and the Clergy:Appendix to Poems_, 1835. 

This formed one of WORDSWORTH'S most deliberate and powerful Appendicesto his Poems (1835), and has ever since been regarded as of enduringworth. It has all the Author's characteristics of deep thinking, imaginative illustration, intense conviction and realness. Again, acceptor dissent, this State Paper (so to say) is specially Wordsworthian. 

It seems only due to WORDSWORTH to bear in recollection that, herein andelsewhere, he led the way in indicating CO-OPERATION as _the_ remedy forthe defects and conflicts in the relations between our capitalists andtheir operatives, or capital and labour (see the second section of thePostscript, and remember its date--1835). 

II. _Advice to the Young_. 

(_a_) Letter to the Editor of 'The Friend, ' signed Mathetes. 

(_b_) Answer to the Letter of Mathetes, 1809. 

'Mathetes' proved to be Professor JOHN WILSON, 'eminent in the variousdepartments of poetry, philosophy, and criticism' ('Memoirs, ' i. 423), and here probably was the commencement of the long friendship betweenhim and WORDSWORTH. As a student of WILSON'S, the Editor remembersvividly how the 'old man eloquent' used to kindle into enthusiasm theentire class as he worked into his extraordinary lectures quotationsfrom the 'Excursion' and 'Sonnets' and 'Poems of the Imagination. ' Amongthe letters (vol. Iii. P. 263) is an interesting one refering to 'Adviceto the Young;' and another to Professor WILSON (vol. Ii. Pp. 208-14). 

III. OF EDUCATION. 

(_a_) On the Education of the Young: Letter to a Friend, 1806. 

(_b_) Of the People, their Ways and Needs: Letter to ArchdeaconWrangham, 1808. 

(_c_) Education: Two Letters to the Rev. H. J. Rose, 1828. 

(_d_) Education of Duty: Letter to Rev. Dr. Wordsworth, 1830. 

(_e_) Speech on laying the Foundation-stone of the New School in theVillage of Bowness, Windermere, 1836. 

In these Letters and the Speech are contained WORDSWORTH'S earliest andlatest and most ultimate opinions and sentiments on education. Agree ordiffer, the student of WORDSWORTH has in these discussions--for in partthey have the elaborateness and thoroughness of such--what were of thesubstance of his beliefs. Their biographic importance--intellectuallyand spiritually--can scarcely be exaggerated, _(a), (b), (c), (d)_ arefrom the 'Memoirs;' (_e_) is from the local newspaper (Kendal), beingfor the first time fully reprinted. 

VOL. II. 

AESTHETICAL AND LITERARY. 

I. _Of Literary Biography and Monuments_. 

(_a_) A Letter to a Friend of Robert Burns, 1816. 

(_b_) Letter to a Friend on Monuments to Literary Men, 1819. 

(_c_) Letter to John Peace, Esq. , of Bristol, 1844. 

These naturally group themselves together. Of the first (_a_), perhapsit is hardly worth while, and perhaps it is worth while, recalling thatWILLIAM HAZLITT, in his Lectures upon the English Poets, attackedWORDSWORTH on this Letter with characteristic insolence and uncriticalshallowness and haste. Under date Feb. 24th, 1818, Mr. H. CRABB ROBINSONthus refers to the thing: 'Heard part of a lecture by HAZLITT at theSurrey Institution. He was so contemptuous towards WORDSWORTH, speakingof his Letter about Burns, that I lost my temper. He imputed toWORDSWORTH the desire of representing himself as a superior man' (vol. I. P. 311, 3d ed. ). The lecture is included in HAZLITT'S publishedLectures in all its ignorance and wrong-headedness; but it were a pityto lose one's temper over such trash. His eyes were spectacles, not'seeing eyes, ' and jaundice-yellow, (_b_) and (_c_) are sequels to(_a_), and as such accompany it. 

II. UPON EPITAPHS. 

(_a_) From 'The Friend. ' (_b_ and _c_) From the Author's MSS. , for thefirst time. 

Of (_a_) CHARLES LAMB wrote: 'Your Essay on Epitaphs is the onlysensible thing which has been written on that subject, and it goes tothe bottom' (Talfourd's 'Final Memorials, ' vol. I. P. 180). The twoadditional Papers--only briefly quoted from in the 'Memoirs' (c. Xxx. Vol. I. )--were also intended for 'The Friend, ' had COLERIDGE succeededin his announced arrangement of principles. These additional papers arein every respect equal to the first, with Wordsworthian touches andturns in his cunningest faculty. They are faithfully given from the MSS. 

III. ESSAYS, LETTERS, AND NOTES ELUCIDATORY AND CONFIRMATORY OF THEPOEMS, 1798-1835. 

(_a_) Of the Principles of Poetry and the 'Lyrical Ballads' (1798-1802. )

(_b_) Of Poetic Diction. 

(_c_) Poetry as a Study (1815). 

(_d_) Of Poetry as Observation and Description, and Dedication of 1815. 

(_e_) Of 'The Excursion:' Preface. 

(_f_) Letters to Sir George and Lady Beaumont and others on the Poemsand related Subjects. 

(_g_) Letter to Charles Fox with the 'Lyrical Ballads, ' and his Answer, &c. 

(_h_) Letter on the Principles of Poetry and his own Poems to(afterwards) Professor John Wilson. 

(_a_) to (_e_) form appendices to the early and later editions of thePoems, and created an epoch in literary criticism. COLERIDGE put forthhis utmost strength on a critical examination of them, oblivious that hehad himself impelled, not to say compelled, his friend to write thesePrefaces, as WORDSWORTH signifies. It is not meant by this thatCOLERIDGE was thereby shut out from criticising the definitions andstatements to which he objected. 

IV. DESCRIPTIVE. 

(_a_) A Guide through the District of the Lakes, 1835. 

(_b_) Kendal and Windermere Railway: two Letters, &c. 

These very much explain themselves; but of the former it may be ofbibliographical interest to state that it formed originally theletterpress and Introduction to 'Select Views in Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lancashire, ' by the Rev. JOSEPH WILKINSON, Rector ofEast Wrotham, Norfolk, 1810 (folio). It was reprinted in the volume ofSonnets on the River Duddon. The fifth edition (1835) has been selectedas the Author's own final text. In Notes and Illustrations in the place, a strangely overlooked early account of the Lake District is pointed outand quoted from. The 'Two Letters' need no vindication at this late day. Ruskin is reiterating their arguments and sentiment eloquently as thesepages pass through the press. Apart from deeper reasons, let thefault-finder realise to himself the differentia of general approval ofrailways, and a railway forced through the 'old churchyard' that holdshis mother's grave or the garden of his young prime. It was a merelysordid matter on the part of the promoters. Their professions of carefor the poor and interest in the humbler classes getting to the Lakeshad a Judas element in them, nothing higher or purer. 

VOL. III. 

CRITICAL AND ETHICAL. 

I. _Notes and Illustrations of the Poems, incorporating_:

(_a_) The Notes originally added to the first and successive editions. 

(_b_) The whole of the I. F. MSS. 

This division of the Prose has cost the Editor more labour and thoughtthan any other, from the scattered and hitherto unclassifiedsemi-publication of these Notes. Those called 'original' are from thefirst and successive editions of the Poems, being found in some andabsent in other collections. An endeavour has been made to includeeverything, even the briefest; for judging by himself, the Editorbelieves that to the reverent and thoughtful student of WORDSWORTH theslightest thing is of interest; _e. G. _ one turns to the most commonplacebook of topography or contemporary verse in any way noticed by him, justbecause it is WORDSWORTH who has noticed it, while an old ballad, alegend, a bit of rural usage, takes a light of glory from the page inwhich it is found. Hence as so much diamond-dust or filings of gold thepublished Notes are here brought together. Added, and far exceeding inquantity and quality alike, it is the privilege of the Editor to print_completely and in integrity_ the I. F. MSS. , as written down to thedictation of WORDSWORTH by Miss FENWICK. These have been hitherto givenwith tantalising and almost provoking fragmentariness in the 'Memoirs'and in the centenary edition of the Poems--again withdrawn in the recentRossetti edition. In these Notes--many of which in both senses areelaborate and full--are some of the deepest and daintiest-worded thingsfrom WORDSWORTH. The I. F. MSS. Are delightfully chatty and informal, andages hence will be treasured and studied in relation to the Poems by the(then) myriad millions of the English-speaking races. 

Miss FENWICK, to whom the world is indebted for these MSS. , isimmortalised in two Sonnets by WORDSWORTH, which surely long ere thisought to have been included in the Poetical Works; and they may fitlyreappear here (from the 'Memoirs'):

 '_On a Portrait of I. F. , painted by Margaret Gillies_. 

 We gaze--nor grieve to think that we must die, But that the precious love this friend hath sown Within our hearts, the love whose flower hath blown Bright as if heaven were ever in its eye, Will pass so soon from human memory; And not by strangers to our blood alone, But by our best descendants be unknown, Unthought of--this may surely claim a sigh. Yet, blessed Art, we yield not to dejection; Thou against Time so feelingly dost strive: Where'er, preserved in this most true reflection, An image of her soul is kept alive, Some lingering fragrance of the pure affection, Whose flower with us will vanish, must survive. 

 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

 _Rydal Mount, New Year's Day, 1840_. '

 '_To I. F. _

 The star which comes at close of day to shine More heavenly bright than when it leads the morn Is Friendship's emblem, whether the forlorn She visiteth, or shedding light benign Through shades that solemnise Life's calm decline, Doth make the happy happier. This have we Learnt, Isabel, from thy society, Which now we too unwillingly resign Though for brief absence. But farewell! the page Glimmers before my sight through thankful tears, Such as start forth, not seldom, to approve Our truth, when we, old yet unchill'd by age, Call thee, though known but for a few fleet years, The heart-affianced sister of our love!

 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

 _Rydal Mount, Feb. 1840_. '

In addition to these Sonnets the beautiful memory of Miss FENWICK hasbeen reillumined in the 'Memoir and Letters of Sara Coleridge' (2 vols. 1873); _e. G. _ 'I take great delight in Miss Fenwick, and in herconversation. Well should I like to have her constantly in thedrawing-room, to come down to and from my little study up-stairs--hermind is such a noble compound of heart and intelligence, of spiritualfeeling and moral strength, and the most perfect feminineness. She isintellectual, but--what is a great excellence--never talks for effect, never _keeps possession of the floor_, as clever women are so apt to do. She converses for the interchange of thought and feeling, no matter_how_, so she gets at your mind, and lets you into hers. A more generousand a tenderer heart I never knew. I differ from her on many points ofreligious faith, but on the whole prefer her views to those of mostothers who differ from her' (ii. 5). Again: 'Miss FENWICK is to me anangel upon earth. Her being near me now has seemed a special providence. God bless her, and spare her to us and her many friends. She is a noblecreature, all tenderness and strength. When I first became acquaintedwith her, I saw at once that her heart was of the very finest, richestquality, and her wisdom and insight are, as ever must be in such a case, exactly correspondent' (ibid. P. 397). Such words from one sopenetrative, so indeceivable, so great in the fullest sense as was thedaughter of _the_ COLERIDGE, makes every one long to have the sameservice done for Miss FENWICK as has been done for SARA COLERIDGE andMiss HARE, and within these weeks for Mrs. FLETCHER. Her Diaries andCorrespondence would be inestimable to lovers of WORDSWORTH; for few ornone got so near to him or entered so magnetically into his thinking. The headings and numberings of the successive Notes--lesser andlarger--will guide to the respective Poems and places. The numberingsaccord with ROSSETTI'S handy one-volume edition of the Poems, but as arule will offer no difficulty in any. The I. F. MSS. Are marked with anasterisk [*]: They are _for the first time_ furnished in their entirety, and accurately. 

II. _Letters and Extracts of Letters_. 

These are arranged as nearly as possible chronologically from the'Memoirs, ' &c. &c. , with the benefit, as before, of collation in manycases of the original MSS. , especially in the Sir W. R. HAMILTON letters, and a number are _for the first time printed_. The Editor does not atall like 'Extracts, ' and must be permitted to regret that what in hisjudgment was an antiquated and mistaken idea of biography led theexcellent as learned Bishop of Lincoln to abridge and mutilate so verymany--the places not always marked. On this and the principle and_motif_ which approve and vindicate the publication of the Letters ofevery really potential intellect such as WORDSWORTH'S, the accomplisheddaughter of SARA COLERIDGE has remarked: 'A book composed of epistolaryextracts can never be a wholly satisfactory one, because its contentsare not only relative and fragmentary, but unauthorised and unrevised. To arrest the passing utterances of the hour, and reveal to the worldthat which was spoken either in the innermost circle of home affection, or in the outer (but still guarded) circle of social or friendlyintercourse, seems almost like a betrayal of confidence, and is a stepwhich cannot be taken by survivors without some feelings of hesitationand reluctance. That reluctance is only to be overcome by the sensethat, however natural, it is partly founded on delusion--a delusionwhich leads us to personify "the world, " to our imagination, as anobtuse and somewhat hostile individual, who is certain to take things bythe wrong handle, and cannot be trusted to make the needful allowance, and supply the inevitable omissions. Whereas it is a more reasonable anda more comfortable belief, that the only part of the world which is inthe least likely to concern itself with such volumes as these iscomposed of a number of enlightened and sympathetic persons' (as before, Preface, vii. Viii. ). The closing consideration ought to overweigh allscruples and reserve. [10]

[10] The charming 'Journal' in full of Miss WORDSWORTH has only withinthe past year been published. The welcome it has met with--havingbounded into a third edition already--is at once proof of the soundnessof judgment that at long-last issued it, if it be also accusatory thatmany have gone who yearned to read it. The Editor ventures to invitespecial attention to WORDSWORTH'S own express wish that the foreign'Journals' of Miss WORDSWORTH and Mrs. WORDSWORTH should be published. Surely _his_ words ought to be imperative (vol. Iii. P. 77)?

There _is_ the select circle of lovers of WORDSWORTH--yearlywidening--and there are the far-off multitudes of the future to whomWILLIAM WORDSWORTH will be the grand name of the 18th-19th century, andall that SHAKESPEARE and MILTON are now; and consequently the letters ofone so chary in letter-writing ought to be put beyond the risks of loss, and given to Literature in entirety and trueness. WORDSWORTH had amorbid dislike of writing letters, his weak eyes throughout renderingall penmanship painful; but the present Editor, while conceding that hisletters lack the charm of style of COWPER'S, and the vividness andpassion of BYRON'S, finds in them, even the hastiest, matter of rarestbiographic and interpretative value. He was not a great sentencemaker;in a way prided himself that his letters were so (intentionally) poor assure to be counted unworthy of publication; and altogether had theprejudices of an earlier day against the giving of letters to the world;but none the less are his letters informed with his intellect andmeditative thoughtfulness and exquisiteness of feeling. It is earnestlyto be hoped that one of the Family who is admirably qualified for thetask of love will address himself to write adequately and confidinglythe Life of his immortal relative; and toward this every one possessedof anything in the handwriting or from the mind of WORDSWORTH may beappealed to for co-operation. The 'Memoirs' of the (now) Bishop ofLincoln, within its own limits, was a great gift; but it is avowedly nota 'Life, ' and _the world wants a Life_. Collation of the originals ofthese letters has restored sentences and words and things of the mostcharacteristic kind. Very gross mistakes have also been corrected. [11]

[11] It may be well to point out here specially a mistake in heading twoof the WORDSWORTH letters to Sir W. R. HAMILTON: 'Royal Dublin Society, 'instead of 'Royal Irish Academy' (see vol. Iii. Pp. 350 and 352); alsothat at p. 394 'of the' has slipped in from the first 'of the, ' and sonow reads 'Of the Heresiarch of the Church of Rome, ' for 'The HeresiarchChurch, ' as in the body of the letter. 

 III. _Conversations and Personal Reminiscences of Wordsworth_. 

 From 'Satyrane's Letters;' Klopstock. 

 Personal Reminiscences of the Hon. Mr. Justice Coleridge. 

 Recollections of a Tour in Italy with Wordsworth. By H. C. Robinson. 

 Reminiscences of Lady Richardson and Mrs. Davy. 

 Conversations recorded by the Bishop of Lincoln. 

 Reminiscences by the Rev. R. P. Graves, M. A. , Dublin; on the Death of Coleridge; and further (hitherto unpublished) Reminiscences. 

 An American's Reminiscences. 

 Recollections of Aubrey de Vere, Esq. , now first published. [12]

 From 'Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron, ' by E. J. Trelawny, Esq. 

 From Letters of Professor Tayler (1872). 

 Anecdote of Crabbe and Wordsworth. 

 Wordsworth's Later Opinion of Lord Brougham. 

[12] Will the Reader indulgently correct a most unfortunate oversight ofthe printers in vol. Iii. P. 497, l. 15, where 'no angel smiled'(mis)reads 'no angle smiled'?

These are included in the Prose inevitably, inasmuch as they preserveopinions and sentiments, criticisms and sayings, actually spoken byWORDSWORTH, of exactly the type of which Lord COLERIDGE, among otherthings, wrote the Editor: 'I hope we shall have a transcript from you ofthe thoughts and opinions of that very great and noble person, of whom(as far as I know them) it is most true that "the very dust of hiswritings is gold. " Any grave and deliberate opinion of his is entitledto weight; and if we have his opinions at all, we should have them wholeand entire. '

The Editor has studied to give WORDSWORTH'S own conversations andsayings--not others' concerning him. Hence such eloquentpseudo-enthusiasm as is found in De Quincey's 'Recollections of theLakes' (Works, vol. Ii. ) is excluded. He dares to call itpseudo-enthusiasm; for this book of the little, alert, self-consciouscreature, with the marvellous brain and more marvellous tongue--a monkeywith a man's soul somehow transmigrated into it--opens and shuts withoutpreserving a solitary saying of the man he professes to honour. That isa measure of _his_ admiration as of his insight or no insight. There arebesides personal impertinencies, declarative of essentialvulgarity. [13] Smaller men have printed their 'Recollections, ' or ratherretailed their gossip; but they themselves occupy the foreground, muchas your chimney-sweep introduces himself prominently in front of hissignboard presentment of some many-chimneyed 'noble house. ' EvenEmerson's 'English Traits' (a most un-English book) belongs to the sameunderbred category. The new 'Recollections' by AUBREY DE VERE, Esq. , itis a privilege to publish--full of reverence and love, and so daintilyand musically worded, as they are. 

[13] Possibly indignation roused by the 'Recollections' has provoked toovehement condemnation. Let it therefore be noted that it is the'Recollections' that are censured. Elsewhere DE QUINCEY certainly showsa glimmering recognition of WORDSWORTH'S great qualities, and thatbefore they had been fully admitted; but everywhere there is animpertinence of familiarity and a patronising self-consciousness that isirritating to any one who reverences great genius and high rectitude. Itmay be conceded that DE QUINCEY, so far as he was capable, did reverenceWORDSWORTH; but his exaggerations of awe and delays bear on the face ofthem unveracity. 

Such is an account of the contents of these volumes; and it may bepermitted the Editor to record his hearty thanks to the Sons of thePoet--WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, Esq. , Carlisle, and the just dead Rev. JOHNWORDSWORTH, M. A. , Brigham--and his nephew Professor WORDSWORTH ofBombay, for their so flattering committal of this trust to him; andespecially to the last, for his sympathetic and gladdening counselthroughout--augury of larger service ultimately, it is to be hoped. Tothe co-executor with WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, Esq. --STRICKLAND COOKSON, Esq. --like acknowledgment is due. He cannot sufficiently thank AUBREY DEVERE, Esq. , for his brilliant contribution to the 'PersonalReminiscences. ' The Rev. ROBERT PERCEVAL GRAVES, M. A. , of Dublin(formerly of Windermere), has greatly added to the interest of thesevolumes by forwarding his further reminiscences of WORDSWORTH and theHamilton Letters. Fifteen of these letters of WORDSWORTH, not yetpublished, will be given in a Life of the great mathematician ofIreland, Sir W. R. HAMILTON, towards whom WORDSWORTH felt the warmestfriendship, and of whose many-sided genius he had the most absoluteadmiration. Mr. GRAVES, walking in the footsteps of FULKE GREVILLE, LordBROOKE, who sought that on his tomb should be graven 'Friend of SirPhilip Sidney' (albeit he would modestly disclaim the lofty comparison), regards it as his title to memory that he was called 'my highly esteemedfriend' by WORDSWORTH (vol. Iii. P. 27). For the GRAVESES the Poet hadmuch regard, and it was mutual. A Sonnet addressed to WORDSWORTH by the(now) Bishop of Limerick was so highly valued by him that it is apleasure to be able to read it, as thus:

 '_To Wordsworth_. 

 The Sages of old time have pass'd away, A throng of mighty names. But little power Have ancient names to rule the present hour: No Plato to the learners of our day In grove of Academe reveals the way, The law, the soul of Nature. Yet a light Of living wisdom, beaming calm and bright, Forbids our youth 'mid error's maze to stray. To thee, with gratitude and reverent love, O Poet and Philosopher! we turn; For in thy truth-inspirèd song we learn Passion and pride to quell--erect to move, From doubts and fears deliver'd--and conceiving Pure hopes of heaven, live happy in believing. 

_August_ 1833. ' C. G. 

Lady RICHARDSON has similarly added to the value of her former'Recollections' for this work. Very special gratitude is due to the MissQUILLINANS of Loughrigg, Rydal, for the use of the MS. Of Miss FENWICK'SNotes--one half in their father's handwriting, and the other half (orthereabout) in that of Mrs. QUILLINAN ('DORA'), who at the end haswritten:

 'To dearest Miss Fenwick are we obliged for these Notes, every word of which was taken down by her kind pen from my father's dictation. The former portion was transcribed at Rydal by Mr. Quillinan, the latter by me, and finished at the Vicarage, Brigham, this twenty-fifth day of August 1843. --D. Q. '

The MS. , he it repeated, is now printed _in extenso_, nor will the leastacceptable be 'DORA'S' own slight pencillings intercalated. The MissCOOKSONS of Grasmere were good enough to present the Editor with a copyof the 'Two Letters to the Freeholders of Westmoreland', when he hadalmost despaired of recovering the pamphlet. Thanks are due to severalliterary friends for aid in the Notes and Illustrations. There must benamed Professor DOWDEN and Rev. E. P. GRAVES, M. A. , [14] Dublin; F. W. COSENS, Esq. , and G. A. SIMCOX, Esq. , London; W. ALDIS WRIGHT, Esq. , M. A. , Trinity College, Cambridge. 

[14] Mr. Graves has published the following on the Wordsworths: (_a_)'Recollections of Wordsworth and the Lake Country'; a lecture, and acapital one. (_b_) 'A Good Name and the Day of Death: two Blessings'; asermon preached in Ambleside Church, January 30, 1859, on occasion ofthe death of Mrs. Wordsworth--tender and consolatory. (_c_) 'TheAscension of our Lord, and its Lessons for Mourners'; a sermon (1858)finely commemorative of Arnold, the Wordsworths, Mrs. Fletcher, andothers. 

One point only remains to be noticed. Every one who knows our highestpoetical literature knows the 'Lost Leader' of ROBERT BROWNING, Esq. Many have been the speculations and surmises and assertions andcontradictions as to who the 'Lost Leader' was. The verdict of one ofthe immortals on his fellow-immortal concerns us all. Hence it is withno common thankfulness the Editor of WORDSWORTH'S Prose embraces thisopportunity of settling the controversy beyond appeal, by giving aletter which Mr. BROWNING has done him the honour to write forpublication. It is as follows:

 '19 Warwick-crescent, W. Feb. 24, '75. 

 DEAR MR. GROSART, I have been asked the question you now address me with, and as duly answered it, I can't remember how many times: there is no sort of objection to one more assurance, or rather confession, on my part, that I _did_ in my hasty youth presume to use the great and venerated personality of WORDSWORTH as a sort of painter's model; one from which this or the other particular feature may be selected and turned to account: had I intended more, above all, such a boldness as portraying the entire man, I should not have talked about "handfuls of silver and bits of ribbon". These never influenced the change of politics in the great poet; whose defection, nevertheless, accompanied as it was by a regular face about of his special party, was to my juvenile apprehension, and even mature consideration, an event to deplore. But just as in the tapestry on my wall I can recognise figures which have _struck out_ a fancy, on occasion, that though truly enough thus derived, yet would be preposterous as a copy, so, though I dare not deny the original of my little poem, I altogether refuse to have it considered as the "very effigies" of such a moral and intellectual superiority. 

 Faithfully yours, ROBERT BROWNING. '

The Editor cannot close this Preface without expressing his sense of thegreatness of the trust confided to him, and the personal benefit it hasbeen to himself to have been brought so near to WILLIAM WORDSWORTH as hehas been in working on this collection of his Prose. He felt almostawed as he handled the great and good man's MSS. , and found himselfbehind the screen (as it were), seeing what he had seen, touching whathe had touched, knowing what he had known, feeling what he had felt. Reverence, even veneration is an empty word to utter the emotion excitedin such communion; these certainly, but something tenderer and morehuman were in head and heart. It was a grand, high-thoughted, pure-lived, unique course that was run in those sequestered vales. Thecloser one gets to the man, the greater he proves, the truer, thesimpler; and it is a benediction to the race, amid so many fragmentaryand jagged and imperfect lives, to have one so rounded and completed, soaugust and so genuine:

 'Summon Detraction to object the worst That may be told, and utter all it can; It cannot find a blemish to be enforced Against him, other than he was a man, And built of flesh and blood, and did live here, Within the region of infirmity; Where all perfections never did appear To meet in any one so really, But that his frailty ever did bewray Unto the world that he was set in clay. '

(Funeral Panegyric on the Earl of Devonshire, by Samuel Daniel. )

 ALEXANDER B. GROSART. 

_Park View, Blackburn, Lancashire_. 

NOTE. --It is perhaps right to mention, for Editor and present Printers'sake, that WORDSWORTH'S own capitals, italics, punctuation, and othersomewhat antique characteristics, have been faithfully reproduced. Atthe dates, capitals, italics, and punctuation were more abundant than atpresent. _G_. 

CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 

*** A star [*] designates publication herein _for the first time_. G. =PAGE=The Dedication to the Queen v*Poem addressed to her Majesty with a Gift-copy of the Poems. ViThe Preface vii-xxxviii

POLITICAL. 

*I. Apology for the French Revolution, 1793 1-23 Appendix to Bishop Watson's Sermon 24-30II. The Convention of Cintra, 1809 31-174 Appendix by De Quincey 175-194III. Vindication of Opinions in the Treatise on the 'Convention of Cintra:' (_a_) Letter to Major-General Sir Charles W. Pasley, K. C. B. , on his 'Military Policy and Institutions of the British Empire, ' 1811 195-200 *(_b_) Letter enclosing the Preceding to a Friend unnamed 206-209iv. Two Addresses to the Freeholders of Westmoreland, 1818 211-257*v. Of the Catholic Relief Bill, 1829 259-270

ETHICAL. 

I. Of Legislation for the Poor, the Working Classes, and the Clergy: Appendix to Poems, 1835 271-294II. Advice to the Young: (_a_) Letter to the Editor of 'The Friend, ' signed 'Mathetes' 295-308 (_b_) Answer to the Letter of 'Mathetes, ' 1809 309-326III. Of Education: (_a_) On the Education of the Young: Letter to a Friend, 1806 327-333 (_b_) Of the People, their Ways and Needs: Letter to Archdeacon Wrangham, 1808 334-339 (_c_) Education: two Letters to the Rev. H. J. Rose, 1828 340-348 (_d_) Education of Duty: Letter to Rev. Dr. Wordsworth, 1830 349 *(_e_) Speech on laying the Foundation-stone of the New School in the Village of Bowness, Windermere, 1830 350-356

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS 357-360

I. POLITICAL. 

I. APOLOGY FOR THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 1793. 

NOTE. 

For an account of the manuscript of this 'Apology, ' and details on otherpoints, see Preface in the present volume. G. 

APOLOGY FOR THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, 1793. 

MY LORD, Reputation may not improperly be termed the moral life of man. Alludingto our natural existence, Addison, in a sublime allegory well known toyour Lordship, has represented us as crossing an immense bridge, fromwhose surface from a variety of causes we disappear one after another, and are seen no more. Every one who enters upon public life has such abridge to pass. Some slip through at the very commencement of theircareer from thoughtlessness, others pursue their course a little longer, till, misled by the phantoms of avarice and ambition, they fall victimsto their delusion. Your Lordship was either seen, or supposed to beseen, continuing your way for a long time unseduced and undismayed; butthose who now look for you will look in vain, and it is feared you haveat last fallen, through one of the numerous trap-doors, into the tide ofcontempt, to be swept down to the ocean of oblivion. 

It is not my intention to be illiberal; these latter expressions havebeen forced from me by indignation. Your Lordship has given a proof thateven religious controversy may be conducted without asperity; I hope Ishall profit by your example. At the same time, with a spirit which youmay not approve--for it is a republican spirit--I shall not precludemyself from any truths, however severe, which I may think beneficial tothe cause which I have undertaken to defend. You will not, then, besurprised when I inform you that it is only the name of its author whichhas induced me to notice an Appendix to a Sermon which you have latelygiven to the world, with a hope that it may have some effect in calminga perturbation which, you say, has been _excited_ in the minds of thelower orders of the community. While, with a servility which hasprejudiced many people against religion itself, the ministers of theChurch of England have appeared as writers upon public measures only tobe the advocates of slavery civil and religious, your Lordship stoodalmost alone as the defender of truth and political charity. The namesof levelling prelate, bishop of the Dissenters, which were intended as adishonour to your character, were looked upon by your friends--perhapsby yourself--as an acknowledgment of your possessing an enlarged andphilosophical mind; and like the generals in a neighbouring country, ifit had been equally becoming your profession, you might have adopted, asan honourable title, a denomination intended as a stigma. 

On opening your Appendix, your admirers will naturally expect to find animpartial statement of the grievances which harass this Nation, and asagacious inquiry into the proper modes of redress. They will bedisappointed. Sensible how large a portion of mankind receive opinionsupon authority, I am apprehensive lest the doctrines which they willthere find should derive a weight from your name to which they are by nomeans intrinsically entitled. I will therefore examine what you haveadvanced, from a hope of being able to do away any impression left onthe minds of such as may be liable to confound with argument a strongprepossession for your Lordship's talents, experience, and virtues. 

Before I take notice of what you appear to have laid down as principles, it may not be improper to advert to some incidental opinions found atthe commencement of your political confession of faith. 

At a period big with the fate of the human race I am sorry that youattach so much importance to the personal sufferings of the late royalmartyr, and that an anxiety for the issue of the present convulsionsshould not have prevented you from joining in the idle cry of modishlamentation which has resounded from the Court to the cottage. You wishit to be supposed you are one of those who are unpersuaded of the guiltof Louis XVI. If you had attended to the history of the FrenchRevolution as minutely as its importance demands, so far from stoppingto bewail his death, you would rather have regretted that the blindfondness of his people had placed a human being in that monstroussituation which rendered him unaccountable before a human tribunal. Abishop, a man of philosophy and humanity[15] as distinguished as yourLordship, declared at the opening of the National Convention--andtwenty-five millions of men were convinced of the truth of theassertion--that there was not a citizen on the tenth of August who, ifhe could have dragged before the eyes of Louis the corpse of one of hismurdered brothers, might not have exclaimed to him: 'Tyran, voilà tonouvrage. ' Think of this, and you will not want consolation under anydepression your spirits may feel at the contrast exhibited by Louis onthe most splendid throne of the universe, and Louis alone in the towerof the Temple or on the scaffold. But there is a class of men whoreceived the news of the late execution with much more heartfelt sorrowthan that which you, among such a multitude, so officiously express. Thepassion of pity is one of which, above all others, a Christian teachershould be cautious of cherishing the abuse when, under the influence ofreason, it is regulated by the disproportion of the pain suffered to theguilt incurred. It is from the passion thus directed that the men ofwhom I have just spoken are afflicted by the catastrophe of the fallenmonarch. They are sorry that the prejudice and weakness of mankind havemade it necessary to force an individual into an unnatural situation, which requires more than human talents and human virtues, and at thesame time precludes him from attaining even a moderate knowledge ofcommon life, and from feeling a particular share in the interests ofmankind. But, above all, these men lament that any combination ofcircumstances should have rendered it necessary or advisable to veil fora moment the statues of the laws, and that by such emergency the causeof twenty-five millions of people, I may say of the whole human race, should have been so materially injured. Any other sorrow for the deathof Louis is irrational and weak. 

[15] M. Gregoire. 

In France royalty is no more. The person of the last anointed is no morealso; and I flatter myself I am not alone, even in this _kingdom_, whenI wish that it may please the Almighty neither by the hands of Hispriests nor His nobles (I allude to a striking passage of Racine) toraise his posterity to the rank of his ancestors, and reillume the torchof extinguished David. [16]

[16] See _Athalie_, [act i. ] scene 2:

 'Il faut que sur le trône un roi soit élevé, Qui _se souvienne un jour_ qu'au rang de ses ancêtres. 

You say: 'I fly with terror and abhorrence even from the altar ofLiberty, when I see it stained with the blood of the aged, of theinnocent, of the defenceless sex, of the ministers of religion, and ofthe faithful adherents of a fallen monarch. ' What! have you so littleknowledge of the nature of man as to be ignorant that a time ofrevolution is not the season of true Liberty? Alas, the obstinacy andperversion of man is such that she is too often obliged to borrow thevery arms of Despotism to overthrow him, and, in order to reign inpeace, must establish herself by violence. She deplores such sternnecessity, but the safety of the people, her supreme law, is herconsolation. This apparent contradiction between the principles ofliberty and the march of revolutions; this spirit of jealousy, ofseverity, of disquietude, of vexation, indispensable from a state of warbetween the oppressors and oppressed, must of necessity confuse theideas of morality, and contract the benign exertion of the bestaffections of the human heart. Political virtues are developed at theexpense of moral ones; and the sweet emotions of compassion, evidentlydangerous when traitors are to be punished, are too often altogethersmothered. But is this a sufficient reason to reprobate a convulsionfrom which is to spring a fairer order of things? It is the province ofeducation to rectify the erroneous notions which a habit of oppression, and even of resistance, may have created, and to soften this ferocity ofcharacter, proceeding from a necessary suspension of the mild and socialvirtues; it belongs to her to create a race of men who, truly free, willlook upon their fathers as only enfranchised. [17]

[17]

 Dieu l'a fait remonter par la main de ses prêtres: L'a tiré par leurs mains de l'oubli du tombeau, Et de David éteint rallumé le flambeau. '

The conclusion of the same speech applies so strongly to the presentperiod that I cannot forbear transcribing it:

 'Daigne, daigne, mon Dieu, sur Mathan, et sur elle Répandre _cet esprit d'imprudence et d'erreur, De la chute des rois funeste avant-coureur_!'

I proceed to the sorrow you express for the fate of the Frenchpriesthood. The measure by which that body was immediately stripped ofpart of its possessions, and a more equal distribution enjoined of therest, does not meet with your Lordship's approbation. You do notquestion the right of the Nation over ecclesiastical wealth; you havevoluntarily abandoned a ground which you were conscious was altogetheruntenable. Having allowed this right, can you question the propriety ofexerting it at that particular period? The urgencies of the State weresuch as required the immediate application of a remedy. Even the clergywere conscious of such necessity; and aware, from the immunities theyhad long enjoyed, that the people would insist upon their bearing someshare of the burden, offered of themselves a considerable portion oftheir superfluities. The Assembly was true to justice, and refused tocompromise the interests of the Nation by accepting as a satisfactionthe insidious offerings of compulsive charity. They enforced theirright. They took from the clergy a large share of their wealth, andapplied it to the alleviation of the national misery. Experience showsdaily the wise employment of the ample provision which yet remains tothem. While you reflect on the vast diminution which some men's fortunesmust have undergone, your sorrow for these individuals will bediminished by recollecting the unworthy motives which induced the bulkof them to undertake the office, and the scandalous arts which enabledso many to attain the rank and enormous wealth which it has seemednecessary to annex to the charge of a Christian pastor. You will ratherlook upon it as a signal act of justice that they should thusunexpectedly be stripped of the rewards of their vices and their crimes. If you should lament the sad reverse by which the hero of thenecklace[18] has been divested of about 1, 300, 000 livres of annualrevenue, you may find some consolation that a part of this prodigiousmass of riches is gone to preserve from famine some thousands of curés, who were pining in villages unobserved by Courts. 

[18] Prince de Rohan. 

I now proceed to principles. Your Lordship very properly asserts that'the liberty of man in a state of society consists in his being subjectto no law but the law enacted by the general will of the society towhich he belongs. ' You approved of the object which the French had inview when, in the infancy of the Revolution, they were attempting todestroy arbitrary power, and to erect a temple to Liberty on itsremains. It is with surprise, then, that I find you afterwards presumingto dictate to the world a servile adoption of the British constitution. It is with indignation I perceive you 'reprobate' a people for havingimagined happiness and liberty more likely to flourish in the open fieldof a Republic than under the shade of Monarchy. You are therefore guiltyof a most glaring contradiction. Twenty-five millions of Frenchmen havefelt that they could have no security for their liberties under anymodification of monarchical power. They have in consequence unanimouslychosen a Republic. You cannot but observe that they have only exercisedthat right in which, by your own confession, liberty essentiallyresides. 

As to your arguments, by which you pretend to justify your anathemas ofa Republic--if arguments they may be called--they are so concise, that Icannot but transcribe them. 'I dislike a Republic for this reason, because of all forms of government, scarcely excepting the mostdespotic, I think a Republic the most oppressive to the bulk of thepeople; they are deceived in it with a show of liberty, but they live init under the most odious of all tyrannies--the tyranny of their equals. '

This passage is a singular proof of that fatality by which the advocatesof error furnish weapons for their own destruction: while it is merely_assertion_ in respect to a justification of your aversion toRepublicanism, a strong _argument_ may be drawn from it in its favour. Mr. Burke, in a philosophic lamentation over the extinction of chivalry, told us that in those times vice lost half its evil by losing all itsgrossness. Infatuated moralist! Your Lordship excites compassion aslabouring under the same delusion. Slavery is a bitter and a poisonousdraught. We have but one consolation under it, that a Nation may dashthe cup to the ground when she pleases. Do not imagine that by takingfrom its bitterness you weaken its deadly quality; no, by rendering itmore palatable you contribute to its power of destruction. We submitwithout repining to the chastisements of Providence, aware that we arecreatures, that opposition is vain and remonstrance impossible. But whenredress is in our own power and resistance is rational, we suffer withthe same humility from beings like ourselves, because we are taught frominfancy that we were born in a state of inferiority to our oppressors, that they were sent into the world to scourge, and we to be scourged. Accordingly we see the bulk of mankind, actuated by these fatalprejudices, even more ready to lay themselves under the feet of _thegreat_ than the great are to trample upon them. Now taking for granted, that in Republics men live under the tyranny of what you call theirequals, the circumstance of this being the most odious of all tyranniesis what a Republican would boast of; as soon as tyranny becomes odious, the principal step is made towards its destruction. Reflecting on thedegraded state of the mass of mankind, a philosopher will lament thatoppression is not odious to them, that the iron, while it eats the soul, is not felt to enter into it. 'Tout homme né dans l'esclavage nâit pourl'esclavage, rien n'est plus certain; les esclaves perdent tout dansleurs fers, jusqu'au désir d'en sortir; ils aiment leur servitude, commeles compagnons d'Ulysse aimaient leur abrutissement. '

I return to the quotation in which you reprobate Republicanism. Relyingupon the temper of the times, you have surely thought little argumentnecessary to content what few will be hardy enough to support; thestrongest of auxiliaries, imprisonment and the pillory, has left yourarm little to perform. But the happiness of mankind is so closelyconnected with this subject, that I cannot suffer such considerations todeter me from throwing out a few hints, which may lead to a conclusionthat a Republic legitimately constructed contains less of an oppressiveprinciple than any other form of government. 

Your Lordship will scarcely question that much of human misery, that thegreat evils which desolate States, proceed from the governors having aninterest distinct from that of the governed. It should seem a naturaldeduction, that whatever has a tendency to identify the two must also inthe same degree promote the general welfare. As the magnitude of almostall States prevents the possibility of their enjoying a pure democracy, philosophers--from a wish, as far as is in their power, to make thegovernors and the governed one--will turn their thoughts to the systemof universal representation, and will annex an equal importance to thesuffrage of every individual. Jealous of giving up no more of theauthority of the people than is necessary, they will be solicitous offinding out some method by which the office of their delegates may beconfined as much as is practicable to the proposing and deliberatingupon laws rather than to enacting them; reserving to the people thepower of finally inscribing them in the national code. Unless this isattended to, as soon as a people has chosen representatives it nolonger has a political existence, except as it is understood to retainthe privilege of annihilating the trust when it shall think proper, andof resuming its original power. Sensible that at the moment of electionan interest distinct from that of the general body is created, anenlightened legislator will endeavour by every possible method todiminish the operation of such interest. The first and most natural modethat presents itself is that of shortening the regular duration of thistrust, in order that the man who has betrayed it may soon be supersededby a more worthy successor. But this is not enough; aware of thepossibility of imposition, and of the natural tendency of power tocorrupt the heart of man, a sensible Republican will think it essentialthat the office of legislator be not intrusted to the same man for asuccession of years. He will also be induced to this wise restraint bythe grand principle of identification; he will be more sure of thevirtue of the legislator by knowing that, in the capacity of privatecitizen, to-morrow he must either smart under the oppression or blessthe justice of the law which he has enacted to-day. 

Perhaps in the very outset of this inquiry the principle on which Iproceed will be questioned, and I shall be told that the people are notthe proper judges of their own welfare. But because under everygovernment of modern times, till the foundation of the AmericanRepublic, the bulk of mankind have appeared incapable of discerningtheir true interests, no conclusion can be drawn against my principle. At this moment have we not daily the strongest proofs of the successwith which, in what you call the best of all monarchical governments, the popular mind may be debauched? Left to the quiet exercise of theirown judgment, do you think that the people would have thought itnecessary to set fire to the house of the philosophic Priestley, and tohunt down his life like that of a traitor or a parricide? that, deprivedalmost of the necessaries of existence by the burden of their taxes, they would cry out, as with one voice, for a war from which not a singleray of consolation can visit them to compensate for the additionalkeenness with which they are about to smart under the scourge of labour, of cold, and of hunger?

Appearing, as I do, the advocate of Republicanism, let me not bemisunderstood. I am well aware, from the abuse of the executive powerin States, that there is not a single European nation but what affords amelancholy proof that if, at this moment, the original authority of thepeople should be restored, all that could be expected from suchrestoration would in the beginning be but a change of tyranny. Considering the nature of a Republic in reference to the presentcondition of Europe, your Lordship stops here; but a philosopher willextend his views much farther: having dried up the source from whichflows the corruption of the public opinion, he will be sensible that thestream will go on gradually refining itself. I must add also, that thecoercive power is of necessity so strong in all the old governments, that a people could not at first make an abuse of that liberty which alegitimate Republic supposes. The animal just released from its stallwill exhaust the overflow of its spirits in a round of wanton vagaries;but it will soon return to itself, and enjoy its freedom in moderate andregular delight. 

But, to resume the subject of universal representation, I ought to havementioned before, that in the choice of its representatives a peoplewill not immorally hold out wealth as a criterion of integrity, nor laydown as a fundamental rule, that to be qualified for the trying dutiesof legislation a citizen should be possessed of a certain fixedproperty. Virtues, talents, and acquirements are all that it will lookfor. 

Having destroyed every external object of delusion, let us now see whatmakes the supposition necessary that the people will mislead themselves. Your Lordship respects 'peasants and mechanics when they intrude notthemselves into concerns for which their education has not fitted them. '

Setting aside the idea of a peasant or mechanic being a legislator, whatvast education is requisite to enable him to judge amongst hisneighbours which is most qualified by his industry and integrity to beintrusted with the care of the interests of himself and of hisfellow-citizens? But leaving this ground, as governments formed on sucha plan proceed in a plain and open manner, their administration wouldrequire much less of what is usually called talents and experience, thatis, of disciplined treachery and hoary Machiavelism; and at the sametime, as it would no longer be their interest to keep the mass of thenation in ignorance, a moderate portion of useful knowledge would beuniversally disseminated. If your Lordship has travelled in thedemocratic cantons of Switzerland, you must have seen the herdsman withthe staff in one hand and the book in the other. In the constituentAssembly of France was found a peasant whose sagacity was asdistinguished as his integrity, whose blunt honesty over-awed andbaffled the refinements of hypocritical patriots. The people of Parisfollowed him with acclamations, and the name of Père Gerard will long bementioned with admiration and respect through the eighty-threedepartments. 

From these hints, if pursued further, might be demonstrated theexpediency of the whole people 'intruding themselves' on the office oflegislation, and the wisdom of putting into force what they may claim asa right. But government is divided into two parts--the legislative andexecutive. The executive power you would lodge in the hands of anindividual. Before we inquire into the propriety of this measure, itwill be necessary to state the proper objects of the executive power ingovernments where the principle of universal representation is admitted. With regard to that portion of this power which is exerted in theapplication of the laws, it may be observed that much of it would besuperseded. As laws, being but the expression of the general will, wouldbe enacted only from an almost universal conviction of their utility, any resistance to such laws, any desire of eluding them, must proceedfrom a few refractory individuals. As far, then, as relates to theinternal administration of the country, a Republic has a manifestadvantage over a Monarchy, inasmuch as less force is requisite to compelobedience to its laws. 

From the judicial tribunals of our own country, though we labour under avariety of partial and oppressive laws, we have an evident proof of thenullity of regal interference, as the king's name is confessedly a merefiction, and justice is known to be most equitably administered when thejudges are least dependent on the crown. 

I have spoken of laws partial and oppressive; our penal code is socrowded with disproportioned penalties and indiscriminate severity thata conscientious man would sacrifice, in many instances, his respect forthe laws to the common feelings of humanity; and there must be a strangevice in that legislation from which can proceed laws in whose executiona man cannot be instrumental without forfeiting his self-esteem andincurring the contempt of his fellow-citizens. 

But to return from this digression: with regard to the other branches ofthe executive government, which relate rather to original measures thanto administering the law, it may be observed that the power exercised inconducting them is distinguished by almost imperceptible shades from thelegislative, and that all such as admit of open discussion and of thedelay attendant on public deliberations are properly the province of therepresentative assembly. If this observation be duly attended to, itwill appear that this part of the executive power will be extremelycircumscribed, will be stripped almost entirely of a deliberativecapacity, and will be reduced to a mere hand or instrument. As aRepublican government would leave this power to a select body destituteof the means of corruption, and whom the people, continuallycontributing, could at all times bring to account or dismiss, will itnot necessarily ensue that a body so selected and supported wouldperform their simple functions with greater efficacy and fidelity thanthe complicated concerns of royalty can be expected to meet with in thecouncils of princes; of men who from their wealth and interest haveforced themselves into trust; and of statesmen, whose constant object isto exalt themselves by laying pitfalls for their colleagues and fortheir country. 

I shall pursue this subject no further; but adopting your Lordship'smethod of argument, instead of continuing to demonstrate the superiorityof a Republican executive government, I will repeat some of theobjections which have been often made to monarchy, and have not beenanswered. 

My first objection to regal government is its instability, proceedingfrom a variety of causes. Where monarchy is found in its greatestintensity, as in Morocco and Turkey, this observation is illustrated ina very pointed manner, and indeed is more or less striking asgovernments are more or less despotic. The reason is obvious: as themonarch is the chooser of his ministers, and as his own passions andcaprice are in general the sole guides of his conduct, these ministers, instead of pursuing directly the one grand object of national welfare, will make it their chief study to vary their measures according to hishumours. But a minister _may_ be refractory: his successor willnaturally run headlong into plans totally the reverse of the formersystem; for if he treads in the same path, he is well aware that asimilar fate will attend him. This observation will apply to eachsuccession of kings, who, from vanity and a desire of distinction, willin general studiously avoid any step which may lead to a suspicion thatthey are so spiritless as to imitate their predecessor. That a similarinstability is not incident to Republics is evident from their veryconstitution. 

As from the nature of monarchy, particularly of hereditary monarchy, there must always be a vast disproportion between the duties to beperformed and the powers that are to perform them; and as the measuresof government, far from gaining additional vigour, are, on the contrary, enfeebled by being intrusted to one hand, what arguments can be used forallowing to the will of a single being a weight which, as history shows, will subvert that of the whole body politic? And this brings me to mygrand objection to monarchy, which is drawn from (THE ETERNAL NATURE OFMAN. ) The office of king is a trial to which human virtue is not equal. Pure and universal representation, by which alone liberty can besecured, cannot, I think, exist together with monarchy. It seems madnessto expect a manifestation of the _general_ will, at the same time thatwe allow to a _particular_ will that weight which it must obtain in allgovernments that can with any propriety be called monarchical. They mustwar with each other till one of them is extinguished. It was so inFrance and. .. . 

I shall not pursue this topic further, but, as you are a teacher ofpurity of morals, I cannot but remind you of that atmosphere ofcorruption without which it should seem that courts cannot exist. 

You seem anxious to explain what ought to be understood by the equalityof men in a state of civil society; but your Lordship's success has notanswered your trouble. If you had looked in the articles of the Rightsof Man, you would have found your efforts superseded: 'Equality, withoutwhich liberty cannot exist, is to be met with in perfection in thatState in which no distinctions are admitted but such as have evidentlyfor their object the general good;' 'The end of government cannot beattained without authorising some members of the society to command, andof course without imposing on the rest the necessity of obedience. '

Here, then, is an inevitable inequality, which may be denominated thatof power. In order to render this as small as possible, a legislatorwill be careful not to give greater force to such authority than isessential to its due execution. Government is at best but a necessaryevil. Compelled to place themselves in a state of subordination, menwill obviously endeavour to prevent the abuse of that superiority towhich they submit; accordingly they will cautiously avoid whatever maylead those in whom it is acknowledged to suppose they hold it as aright. Nothing will more effectually contribute to this than that theperson in whom authority has been lodged should occasionally descend tothe level of private citizen; he will learn from it a wholesome lesson, and the people will be less liable to confound the person with thepower. On this principle hereditary authority will be proscribed; and onanother also--that in such a system as that of hereditary authority, nosecurity can be had for talents adequate to the discharge of the office, and consequently the people can only feel the mortification of beinghumbled without having protected themselves. 

Another distinction will arise amongst mankind, which, though it may beeasily modified by government, exists independent of it; I mean thedistinction of wealth, which always will attend superior talents andindustry. It cannot be denied that the security of individual propertyis one of the strongest and most natural motives to induce men to bowtheir necks to the yoke of civil government. In order to attain this endof security to property, a legislator will proceed with impartiality. Heshould not suppose that, when he has insured to their proprietors thepossession of lands and movables against the depredation of thenecessitous, nothing remains to be done. The history of all ages hasdemonstrated that wealth not only can secure itself, but includes evenan oppressive principle. Aware of this, and that the extremes of povertyand riches have a necessary tendency to corrupt the human heart, he willbanish from his code all laws such as the unnatural monster ofprimogeniture, such as encourage associations against labour in the formof corporate bodies, and indeed all that monopolising system oflegislation, whose baleful influence is shown in the depopulation of thecountry and in the necessity which reduces the sad relicks to owe theirvery existence to the ostentatious bounty of their oppressors. If it istrue in common life, it is still more true in governments, that weshould be just before we are generous; but our legislators seem to haveforgotten or despised this homely maxim. They have unjustly leftunprotected that most important part of property, not less real becauseit has no material existence, that which ought to enable the labourer toprovide food for himself and his family. I appeal to innumerablestatutes, whose constant and professed object it is to lower the priceof labour, to compel the workman to be _content_ with arbitrary wages, evidently too small from the necessity of legal enforcement of theacceptance of them. Even from the astonishing amount of the sums raisedfor the support of one description of the poor may be concluded theextent and greatness of that oppression, whose effects have rendered itpossible for the few to afford so much, and have shown us that such amultitude of our brothers exist in even helpless indigence. YourLordship tells us that the science of civil government has received allthe perfection of which it is capable. For my part, I am moreenthusiastic. The sorrow I feel from the contemplation of thismelancholy picture is not unconsoled by a comfortable hope that theclass of wretches called mendicants will not much longer shock thefeelings of humanity; that the miseries entailed upon the marriage ofthose who are not rich will no longer tempt the bulk of mankind to flyto that promiscuous intercourse to which they are impelled by theinstincts of nature, and the dreadful satisfaction of escaping theprospect of infants, sad fruit of such intercourse, whom they are unableto support. If these flattering prospects be ever realised, it must beowing to some wise and salutary regulations counteracting thatinequality among mankind which proceeds from the present _fixed_disproportion of their possessions. 

I am not an advocate for the agrarian law nor for sumptuary regulations, but I contend that the people amongst whom the law of primogenitureexists, and among whom corporate bodies are encouraged, and immensesalaries annexed to useless and indeed hereditary offices, is oppressedby an inequality in the distribution of wealth which does notnecessarily attend men in a state of civil society. 

Thus far we have considered inequalities inseparable from civil society. But other arbitrary distinctions exist among mankind, either fromchoice or usurpation. I allude to titles, to stars, ribbons, andgarters, and other badges of fictitious superiority. Your Lordship willnot question the grand principle on which this inquiry set out; I lookupon it, then, as my duty to try the propriety of these distinctions bythat criterion, and think it will be no difficult task to prove thatthese separations among mankind are absurd, impolitic, and immoral. Considering hereditary nobility as a reward for services rendered to theState--and it is to my charity that you owe the permission of taking upthe question on this ground--what services can a man render to the Stateadequate to such a compensation that the making of laws, upon which thehappiness of millions is to depend, shall be lodged in him and hisposterity, however depraved may be their principles, howevercontemptible their understandings?

But here I may be accused of sophistry; I ought to subtract every ideaof power from such distinction, though from the weakness of mankind itis impossible to disconnect them. What services, then, can a man renderto society to compensate for the outrage done to the dignity of ournature when we bind ourselves to address him and his posterity withhumiliating circumlocutions, calling him most noble, most honourable, most high, most august, serene, excellent, eminent, and so forth; whenit is more than probable that such unnatural flattery will but generatevices which ought to consign him to neglect and solitude, or make himthe perpetual object of the finger of scorn? And does not experiencejustify the observation, that where titles--a thing very rare--have beenconferred as the rewards of merit, those to whom they have descended, far from being thereby animated to imitate their ancestor, have presumedupon that lustre which they supposed thrown round them, and, prodigallyrelying on such resources, lavished what alone was their own, theirpersonal reputation?

It would be happy if this delusion were confined to themselves; but, alas, the world is weak enough to grant the indulgence which theyassume. Vice, which is forgiven in one character, will soon cease tomeet with sternness of rebuke when found in others. Even at first shewill entreat pardon with confidence, assured that ere long she will becharitably supposed to stand in no need of it. 

But let me ask you seriously, from the mode in which those distinctionsare originally conferred, is it not almost necessary that, far frombeing the rewards of services rendered to the State, they should usuallybe the recompense of an industrious sacrifice of the general welfare tothe particular aggrandisement of that power by which they are bestowed?Let us even alter their source, and consider them as proceeding from theNation itself, and deprived of that hereditary quality; even here Ishould proscribe them, and for the most evident reason--that a man'spast services are no sufficient security for his future character; hewho to-day merits the civic wreath may to-morrow deserve the Tarpeianrock. Besides, where respect is not perverted, where the world is nottaught to reverence men without regarding their conduct, the esteem ofmankind will have a very different value, and, when a properindependence is secured, will be regarded as a sufficient recompense forservices however important, and will be a much surer guarantee of thecontinuance of such virtues as may deserve it. 

I have another strong objection to nobility, which is that it has anecessary tendency to dishonour labour, a prejudice which extends farbeyond its own circle; that it binds down whole ranks of men toidleness, while it gives the enjoyment of a reward which exceeds thehopes of the most active exertions of human industry. The languid tediumof this noble repose must be dissipated, and gaming, with the trickingmanoeuvres of the horse-race, afford occupation to hours which it wouldbe happy for mankind had they been totally unemployed. 

Reflecting on the corruption of the public manners, does your Lordshipshudder at the prostitution which miserably deluges our streets? You mayfind the cause in our aristocratical prejudices. Are you disgusted withthe hypocrisy and sycophancy of our intercourse in private life? You mayfind the cause in the necessity of dissimulation which we haveestablished by regulations which oblige us to address as our superiors, indeed as our masters, men whom we cannot but internally despise. Do youlament that such large portions of mankind should stoop to occupationsunworthy the dignity of their nature? You may find in the pride andluxury thought necessary to nobility how such servile arts areencouraged. Besides, where the most honourable of the Land do not blushto accept such offices as groom of the bedchamber, master of thehounds, lords in waiting, captain of the honourable band ofgentlemen-pensioners, is it astonishing that the bulk of the peopleshould not ask of an occupation, what is it? but what may be gained byit?

If the long equestrian train of equipage should make your Lordship sighfor the poor who are pining in hunger, you will find that little isthought of snatching the bread from their mouths to eke out the'_necessary_ splendour' of nobility. 

I have not time to pursue this subject further, but am so stronglyimpressed with the baleful influence of aristocracy and nobility uponhuman happiness and virtue, that if, as I am persuaded, monarchy cannotexist without such supporters, I think that reason sufficient for thepreference I have given to the Republican system. 

It is with reluctance that I quit the subjects I have just touched upon;but the nature of this Address does not permit me to continue thediscussion. I proceed to what more immediately relates to this Kingdomat the present crisis. 

You ask with triumphant confidence, to what other law are the people ofEngland subject than the general will of the society to which theybelong? Is your Lordship to be told that acquiescence is not choice, andthat obedience is not freedom? If there is a single man in Great Britainwho has no suffrage in the election of a representative, the will of thesociety of which he is a member is not generally expressed; he is aHelot in that society. You answer the question, so confidently put, inthis singular manner: 'The King, we are all justly persuaded, has notthe inclination--and we all know that, if he had the inclination, he hasnot the power--to substitute his will in the place of law. The House ofLords has no such power. The House of Commons has no such power. ' Thispassage, so artfully and unconstitutionally framed to agree with thedelusions of the moment, cannot deceive a thinking reader. Theexpression of your full persuasion of the upright intentions of the Kingcan only be the language of flattery. You are not to be told that it isconstitutionally a maxim not to attribute to the person of the King themeasures and misconduct of government. Had you chosen to speak, as youought to have done, openly and explicitly, you must have expressed yourjust persuasion and implicit confidence in the integrity, moderation, and wisdom of his Majesty's ministers. Have you forgot the avowedministerial maxim of Sir Robert Walpole? Are you ignorant of theoverwhelming corruption of the present day?

You seem unconscious of the absurdity of separating what is inseparableeven in imagination. Would it have been any consolation to the miserableRomans under the second triumvirate to have been asked insultingly, Isit Octavius, is it Anthony, or is it Lepidus that has caused thisbitterness of affliction? and when the answer could not be returned withcertainty, to have been reproached that their sufferings were imaginary?The fact is that the King _and_ Lords _and_ Commons, by what is termedthe omnipotence of Parliament, have constitutionally the right ofenacting whatever laws they please, in defiance of the petitions orremonstrances of the nation. They have the power of doubling ourenormous debt of 240 millions, and _may_ pursue measures which couldnever be supposed the emanation of the general will without concludingthe people stripped of reason, of sentiment, and even of that firstinstinct which prompts them to preserve their own existence. 

I congratulate your Lordship upon your enthusiastic fondness for thejudicial proceedings of this country. I am happy to find you have passedthrough life without having your fleece torn from your back in thethorny labyrinth of litigation. But you have not lived always incolleges, and must have passed by some victims, whom it cannot besupposed, without a reflection on your heart, that you have forgotten. Here I am reminded of what I have said on the subject ofrepresentation--to be qualified for the office of legislation you shouldhave felt like the bulk of mankind; their sorrows should be familiar toyou, of which, if you are ignorant, how can you redress them? As amember of the assembly which, from a confidence in its experience, sagacity, and wisdom, the constitution has invested with the supremeappellant jurisdiction to determine the most doubtful points of anintricate jurisprudence, your Lordship cannot, I presume, be ignorant ofthe consuming expense of our never-ending process, the verbosity ofunintelligible statutes, and the perpetual contrariety in our judicialdecisions. 

'The greatest freedom that can be enjoyed by man in a state of civilsociety, the greatest security that can be given with respect to theprotection of his character, property, personal liberty, limb, andlife, is afforded to every individual by our present constitution. '

'Let it never be forgotten by ourselves, and let us impress theobservation upon the hearts of our children, that we are in possessionof both (liberty and equality), of as much of both as can be consistentwith the end for which civil society was introduced among mankind. '

Many of my readers will hardly believe me when I inform them that thesepassages are copied verbatim from your Appendix. Mr. Burke roused theindignation of all ranks of men when, by a refinement in crueltysuperior to that which in the East yokes the living to the dead, hestrove to persuade us that we and our posterity to the end of time wereriveted to a constitution by the indissoluble compact of--a deadparchment, and were bound to cherish a corpse at the bosom when reasonmight call aloud that it should be entombed. Your Lordship aims at thesame detestable object by means more criminal, because more dangerousand insidious. Attempting to lull the people of England into a beliefthat any inquiries directed towards the nature of liberty and equalitycan in no other way lead to their happiness than by convincing them thatthey have already arrived at perfection in the science of government, what is your object but to exclude them for ever from the most fruitfulfield of human knowledge? Besides, it is another cause to execrate thisdoctrine that the consequence of such fatal delusion would be that theymust entirely draw off their attention, not only from the government, but from their governors; that the stream of public vigilance, far fromclearing and enriching the prospect of society, would by its stagnationconsign it to barrenness, and by its putrefaction infect it with death. You have aimed an arrow at liberty and philosophy, the eyes of the humanrace; why, like the inveterate enemy of Philip, in putting your name tothe shaft, did you not declare openly its destination?

As a teacher of religion, your Lordship cannot be ignorant of a class ofbreaches of duty which may be denominated faults of omission. Youprofess to give your opinions upon the present turbulent crisis, expressing a wish that they may have some effect in tranquillising theminds of the people. Whence comes it, then, that the two grand causes ofthis working of the popular mind are passed over in silence? YourLordship's conduct may bring to mind the story of a company ofstrolling comedians, who gave out the play of _Hamlet_ as theperformance of the evening. The audience were not a little surprised tobe told, on the drawing up of the curtain, that from circumstances ofparticular convenience it was hoped they would dispense with theomission of the character of--Hamlet! But to be serious--for the subjectis serious in the extreme--from your silence respecting the general callfor a PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, supported by your assertion that we atpresent enjoy as great a portion of liberty and equality as isconsistent with civil society, what can be supposed but that you are adetermined enemy to the redress of what the people of England call andfeel to be grievances?

From your omitting to speak upon the war, and your generaldisapprobation of French measures and French principles, expressedparticularly at this moment, we are necessarily led also to concludethat you have no wish to dispel an infatuation which is now giving up tothe sword so large a portion of the poor, and consigning the rest to themore slow and more painful consumption of want. I could excuse yoursilence on this point, as it would ill become an English bishop at theclose of the eighteenth century to make the pulpit the vehicle ofexhortations which would have disgraced the incendiary of the Crusades, the hermit Peter. But you have deprived yourself of the plea of decorumby giving no opinion on the REFORM OF THE LEGISLATURE. As undoubtedlyyou have some secret reason for the reservation of your sentiments onthis latter head, I cannot but apply the same reason to the former. Uponwhat principle is your conduct to be explained? In some parts of Englandit is quaintly said, when a drunken man is seen reeling towards hishome, that he has business on both sides of the road. Observing yourLordship's tortuous path, the spectators will be far from insinuatingthat you have partaken of Mr. Burke's intoxicating bowl; they willcontent themselves, shaking their heads as you stagger along, withremarking that you have business on both sides of the road. 

The friends of Liberty congratulate themselves upon the odium underwhich they are at present labouring, as the causes which have producedit have obliged so many of her false adherents to disclaim withofficious earnestness any desire to promote her interests; nor are theydisheartened by the diminution which their body is supposed already tohave sustained. Conscious that an enemy lurking in our ranks is tentimes more formidable than when drawn out against us, that theunblushing aristocracy of a Maury or a Cazalès is far less dangerousthan the insidious mask of patriotism assumed by a La Fayette or aMirabeau, we thank you for your desertion. Political convulsions havebeen said particularly to call forth concealed abilities, but it hasbeen seldom observed how vast is their consumption of them. Reflectingupon the fate of the greatest portion of the members of the constituentand legislative assemblies, we must necessarily be struck with aprodigious annihilation of human talents. Aware that this necessity isattached to a struggle for Liberty, we are the less sorry that we canexpect no advantage from the mental endowments of your Lordship. 

APPENDIX to Bishop Watson's Sermon. 

[It is deemed expedient to reprint here the Appendix to Bishop Watson'sSermon, which is animadverted on in the preceding Apology. G. ]

The Sermon which is now, for the first time, published, was written manyyears ago; it may, perhaps, on that account be more worthy of theattention of those for whose benefit it is designed. If it shall haveany effect in calming the perturbation which has been lately excited, and which still subsists in the minds of the lower classes of thecommunity, I shall not be ashamed of having given to the world acomposition in every other light uninteresting. I will take thisopportunity of adding, with the same intention, a few reflections on thepresent circumstances of our own and of a neighbouring country. 

With regard to France--I have no hesitation in declaring, that theobject which the French seemed to have in view at the commencement oftheir revolution had my hearty approbation. The object was to freethemselves and their posterity from arbitrary power. I hope there is nota man in Great Britain so little sensible of the blessings of that freeconstitution under which he has the happiness to live, so entirely deadto the interests of general humanity, as not to wish that a constitutionsimilar to our own might be established, not only in France, but inevery despotic state in Europe; not only in Europe, but in every quarterof the globe. 

It is one thing to approve of an end, another to approve of the means bywhich an end is accomplished. I did not approve of the means by whichthe first revolution was effected in France. I thought that it wouldhave been a wiser measure to have abridged the oppressive privileges, and to have lessened the enormous number of the nobility, than to haveabolished the order. I thought that the State ought not in justice tohave seized any part of the property of the Church, till it hadreverted, as it were, to the community, by the death of its immediatepossessors. I thought that the king was not only treated with unmeritedindignity, but that too little authority was left him to enable him, asthe chief executive magistrate, to be useful to the State. These weresome of my reasons for not approving the means by which the firstrevolution in France was brought about. As to other evils which tookplace on the occasion, I considered them certainly as evils ofimportance; but at the same time as evils inseparable from a state ofcivil commotion, and which I conceived would be more than compensated bythe establishment of a limited monarchy. 

The French have abandoned the constitution they had at firstestablished, and have changed it for another. No one can reprobate withmore truth than I do both the means and the end of this change. The endhas been the establishment of a republic. Now a republic is a form ofgovernment which, of all others, I most dislike--and I dislike it forthis reason; because of all forms of government, scarcely excepting themost despotic, I think a republic the most oppressive to the bulk of thepeople: they are deceived in it with the show of liberty; but they livein it under the most odious of all tyrannies, the tyranny of theirequals. With respect to the means by which this new republic has beenerected in France, they have been sanguinary, savage, more than brutal. They not merely fill the heart of every individual with commiserationfor the unfortunate sufferers, but they exhibit to the eye ofcontemplation an humiliating picture of human nature, when its passionsare not regulated by religion, or controlled by law. I fly with terrorand abhorrence even from the altar of Liberty, when I see it stainedwith the blood of the aged, of the innocent, of the defenceless sex, ofthe ministers of religion, and of the faithful adherents of a fallenmonarch. My heart sinks within me when I see it streaming with the bloodof the monarch himself. Merciful God! strike speedily, we beseech Thee, with deep contrition and sincere remorse, the obdurate hearts of therelentless perpetrators and projectors of these horrid deeds, lest theyshould suddenly sink into eternal and extreme perdition, loaded with anunutterable weight of unrepented and, except through the blood of Himwhose religion they reject, inexpiable sin. 

The monarch, you will tell me, was guilty of perfidy and perjury. I knownot that he was guilty of either; but admitting that he has been guiltyof both, who, alas, of the sons of men is so confident in the strengthof his own virtue, so assured of his own integrity and intrepidity ofcharacter, as to be certain that, under similar temptations, he wouldnot have been guilty of similar offences? Surely it would have been nodiminution of the sternness of new republican virtue, no disgrace to themagnanimity of a great nation, if it had pardoned the perfidy which itsown oppression had occasioned, if it had remitted the punishment of theperjury of the king to the tribunal of Him by whom _kings reign andprinces decree justice_. 

And are there any men in this kingdom, except such as find their accountin public confusion, who would hazard the introduction of such scenes ofrapine, barbarity, and bloodshed, as have disgraced France and outragedhumanity, for the sake of obtaining--what?--Liberty and Equality. Isuspect that the meaning of these terms is not clearly and generallyunderstood: it may be of use to explain them. 

The liberty of a man in a state of nature consists in his being subjectto no law but the law of nature; and the liberty of a man in a state ofsociety consists in his being subject to no law but to the law enactedby the general will of the society to which he belongs. And to whatother law is any man in Great Britain subject? The king, we are alljustly persuaded, has not the inclination, and we all know that if hehad the inclination, he has not the power, to substitute his will in theplace of the law. The House of Lords has no such power; the House ofCommons has no such power; the Church has no such power; the rich men ofthe country have no such power. The poorest man amongst us, the beggarat our door, is governed--not by the uncertain, passionate, arbitrarywill of an individual--not by the selfish insolence of an aristocraticfaction--not by the madness of democratic violence--but by the fixed, impartial, deliberate voice of law, enacted by the general suffrage of afree people. Is your property injured? Law, indeed, does not give youproperty; but it ascertains it. Property is acquired by industry andprobity; by the exercise of talents and ingenuity; and the possession ofit is secured by the laws of the community. Against whom think you is itsecured? It is secured against thieves and robbers; against idle andprofligate men, who, however low your condition may be, would be glad todeprive you of the little you possess. It is secured, not only againstsuch disturbers of the public peace, but against the oppression of thenoble, the rapacity of the powerful, and the avarice of the rich. Thecourts of British justice are impartial and incorrupt; they respect notthe persons of men; the poor man's lamb is, in their estimation, assacred as the monarch's crown; with inflexible integrity they adjudge toevery man his own. Your property under their protection is secure. Ifyour personal liberty be unjustly restrained, though but for an hour, and that by the highest servants of the crown, the crown cannot screenthem; the throne cannot hide them; the law, with an undaunted arm, seizes them, and drags them with irresistible might to the judgment ofwhom?--of your equals--of twelve of your neighbours. In such aconstitution as this, what is there to complain of on the score ofliberty?

The greatest freedom that can be enjoyed by man in a state of civilsociety, the greatest security that can be given him with respect to theprotection of his character, property, personal liberty, limb, and life, is afforded to every individual by our present constitution. 

The equality of men in a state of nature does not consist in an equalityof bodily strength or intellectual ability, but in their being equallyfree from the dominion of each other. The equality of men in a state ofcivil society does not consist in an equality of wisdom, honesty, ingenuity, industry, nor in an equality of property resulting from a dueexertion of these talents; but in being equally subject to, equallyprotected by the same laws. And who knows not that every individual inthis great nation is, in this respect, equal to every other? There isnot one law for the nobles, another for the commons of the land--one forthe clergy, another for the laity--one for the rich, another for thepoor. The nobility, it is true, have some privileges annexed to theirbirth; the judges, and other magistrates, have some annexed to theiroffice; and professional men have some annexed to theirprofessions:--but these privileges are neither injurious to the libertyor property of other men. And you might as reasonably contend, that thebramble ought to be equal to the oak, the lamb to the lion, as that nodistinctions should take place between the members of the same society. The burdens of the State are distributed through the whole community, with as much impartiality as the complex nature of taxation will admit;every man sustains a part in proportion to his strength; no order isexempted from the payment of taxes. Nor is any order of men exclusivelyentitled to the enjoyment of the lucrative offices of the State. Allcannot enjoy them, but all enjoy a capacity of acquiring them. The sonof the meanest man in the nation may become a general or an admiral, alord chancellor or an archbishop. If any persons have been so simple asto suppose that even the French ever intended, by the term equality, anequality of property, they have been quite mistaken in their ideas. TheFrench never understood by it anything materially different from what weand our ancestors have been in full possession of for many ages. 

Other nations may deluge their land with blood in struggling for libertyand equality; but let it never be forgotten by ourselves, and let usimpress the observation upon the hearts of our children, that we are inpossession of both, of as much of both as can be consistent with the endfor which civil society was introduced amongst mankind. 

The provision which is made for the poor in this kingdom is so liberal, as, in the opinion of some, to discourage industry. The rental of thelands in England and Wales does not, I conjecture, amount to more thaneighteen millions a year; and the poor rates amount to two millions. Thepoor then, at present, possess a ninth part of the landed rental of thecountry; and, reckoning ten pounds for the annual maintenance of eachpauper, it may be inferred, that those who are maintained by thecommunity do not constitute a fortieth part of the people. An equaldivision of land would be to the poor a great misfortune; they wouldpossess far less than by the laws of the land they are at presententitled to. When we add to this consideration an account of the immensesums annually subscribed by the rich for the support of hospitals, infirmaries, dispensaries--for the relief of sufferers by fire, tempests, famine, loss of cattle, great sickness, and other misfortunes, all of which charities must cease were all men on a level, for all menwould then be equally poor, --it cannot but excite one's astonishmentthat so foolish a system should have ever been so much as mentioned byany man of common sense. It is a system not practicable; and was itpracticable, it would not be useful; and was it useful, it would not bejust. 

But some one may think, and, indeed, it has been studiously inculcatedinto the minds of the multitude, that a monarchy, even a limited one, isa far more expensive mode of civil government than a republic; that acivil-list of a million a year is an enormous sum, which might be savedto the nation. Supposing that every shilling of this sum could be saved, and that every shilling of it was expended in supporting the dignity ofthe crown--both which suppositions are entirely false--still should Ithink the liberty, the prosperity, the tranquillity, the happiness ofthis great nation cheaply purchased by such a sum; still should I thinkthat he would be a madman in politics who would, by a change of theconstitution, risk these blessings (and France supplies us with a proofthat infinite risk would be run) for a paltry saving of expense. I amnot, nor have ever been, the patron of corruption. So far as thecivil-list has a tendency to corrupt the judgment of any member ofeither house of parliament, it has a bad tendency, which I wish it hadnot; but I cannot wish to see the splendour of the crown reduced tonothing, lest its proper weight in the scale of the constitution shouldbe thereby destroyed. A great portion of this million is expended inpaying the salaries of the judges, the interpreters of our law, theguardians of our lives and properties; another portion is expended inmaintaining ambassadors at different courts, to protect the generalconcerns of the nation from foreign aggression; another portion isexpended in pensions and donations to men of letters and ingenuity; tomen who have, by naval, military, or civil services, just claims to theattention of their country; to persons of respectable families andconnections, who have been humbled and broken down by misfortunes. I donot speak with accuracy, nor on such a subject is accuracy requisite;but I am not far wide of truth in saying, that a fifth part of themillion is more than sufficient to defray the expenses of the royalhousehold. What a mighty matter is it to complain of, that eachindividual contributes less than sixpence a year towards the support ofthe monarchy!

That the constitution of this country is so perfect as neither torequire or admit of any improvement, is a proposition to which I neverdid or ever can assent; but I think it far too excellent to be amendedby peasants and mechanics. I do not mean to speak of peasants andmechanics with any degree of disrespect; I am not so ignorant of theimportance, either of the natural or social chain by which all theindividuals of the human race are connected together, as to thinkdisrespectfully of any link of it. Peasants and mechanics are as usefulto the State as any other order of men; but their utility consists intheir discharging well the duties of their respective stations; itceases when they affect to become legislators; when they intrudethemselves into concerns for which their education has not fitted them. The liberty of the press is a main support of the liberty of the nation;it is a blessing which it is our duty to transmit to posterity; but abad use is sometimes made of it: and its use is never more perniciousthan when it is employed to infuse into the minds of the lowest ordersof the community disparaging ideas concerning the constitution of theircountry. No danger need be apprehended from a candid examination of ourown constitution, or from a display of the advantages of any other; itwill bear to be contrasted with the best: but all men are not qualifiedto make the comparison; and there are so many men, in every community, who wish to have no government at all, that an appeal to them on such apoint ought never to be made. 

There are, probably, in every government upon earth, circumstances whicha man, accustomed to the abstract investigation of truth, may easilyprove to be deviations from the rigid rule of strict political justice;but whilst these deviations are either generally not known, or, thoughknown, generally acquiesced in as matters of little moment to thegeneral felicity, I cannot think it to be the part, either of a good manor of a good citizen, to be zealous in recommending such matters to thediscussion of ignorant and uneducated men. 

I am far from insinuating, that the science of politics is involved inmystery; or that men of plain understandings should be debarred fromexamining the principles of the government to which they yieldobedience. All that I contend for is this--that the foundations of ourgovernment ought not to be overturned, nor the edifice erected thereontumbled into ruins, because an acute politician may pretend that he hasdiscovered a flaw in the building, or that he could have laid thefoundation after a better model. 

What would you say to a stranger who should desire you to pull downyour house, because, forsooth, he had built one in France or America, after what he thought a better plan? You would say to him: No, sir--myancestors have lived in this mansion comfortably and honourably for manygenerations; all its walls are strong, and all its timbers sound: if Ishould observe a decay in any of its parts, I know how to make thereparation without the assistance of strangers; and I know too that thereparation, when made by myself, may be made without injury either tothe strength or beauty of the building. It has been buffeted, in thecourse of ages, by a thousand storms; yet still it stands unshaken as arock, the wonder of all my neighbours, each of whom sighs for one of asimilar construction. Your house may be suited to your climate andtemper, this is suited to mine. Permit me, however, to observe to you, that you have not yet lived long enough in your new house to be sensibleof all the inconveniences to which it may be liable, nor have you yethad any experience of its strength; it has yet sustained no shocks; thefirst whirlwind may scatter its component members in the air; the firstearthquake may shake its foundation; the first inundation may sweep thesuperstructure from the surface of the earth. I hope no accident willhappen to your house, but I am satisfied with mine own. 

Great calamities of every kind attend the breaking up of establishedgovernments:--yet there are some forms of government, especially whenthey happen to be badly administered, so exceedingly destructive of thehappiness of mankind, that a change of them is not improvidentlypurchased at the expense of the mischief accompanying their subversion. Our government is not of that kind; look round the globe, and see if youcan discover a single nation on all its surface so powerful, so rich, sobeneficent, so free and happy as our own. May Heaven avert from theminds of my countrymen the slightest wish to abolish their constitution!

'Kingdoms, ' observes Mr. Locke, 'have been overturned by the pride, ambition, and turbulency of private men; by the people's wantonness anddesire to cast off the lawful authority of their rulers, as well as bythe rulers' insolence, and endeavours to get and exercise an arbitrarypower over the people. ' The recent danger to our constitution was in myopinion small; for I considered its excellence to be so obvious to meneven of the most unimproved understandings, that I looked upon it as anidle and fruitless effort, either in foreign or domestic incendiaries, to endeavour to persuade the bulk of the people to consent to analteration of it in favour of a republic. I knew, indeed, that in everycountry the flagitious dregs of a nation were always ripe forrevolutions; but I was sensible, at the same time, that it was theinterest, not only of the opulent and powerful, not only of themercantile and middle classes of life, but even of honest labourers andmanufacturers, of every sober and industrious man, to resist thelicentious principles of such pestilent members, shall I call them, oroutcasts of society. Men better informed and wiser than myself thoughtthat the constitution was in great danger. Whether in fact the dangerwas great or small, it is not necessary now to inquire; it may be moreuseful to declare that, in my humble opinion, the danger, of whatevermagnitude it may have been, did not originate in any encroachments ofeither the legislative or executive power on the liberties or propertiesof the people; but in the wild fancies and turbulent tempers ofdiscontented or ill-informed individuals. I sincerely rejoice that, through the vigilance of administration, this turbulency has received acheck. The hopes of bad men have been disappointed, and theunderstandings of mistaken men have been enlightened, by the general andunequivocal judgment of a whole nation; a nation not more renowned forits bravery and its humanity, though justly celebrated for both, thanfor its loyalty to its princes, and, what is perfectly consistent withloyalty, for its love of liberty and attachment to the constitution. Wise men have formed it, brave men have bled for it; it is our part topreserve it. 

R. LANDAFF. 

_London, Jan. 25, 1793_. 

II. THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA, 1809. 

NOTE. 

On the 'Convention of Cintra' see Preface in the present volume. G. 

CONCERNING THE RELATIONS OF GREAT BRITAIN, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL, TO EACHOTHER, AND TO THE COMMON ENEMY, AT THIS CRISIS; AND SPECIFICALLY ASAFFECTED BY THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA:

_The whole brought to the test of those Principles, by which alone theIndependence and Freedom of Nations can be Preserved or Recovered_. 

 * * * * *

 Qui didicit patriae quid debeat;-------- Quod sit conscripti, quod judicis officium; quae Partes in bellum missi ducis. 

 * * * * *

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

 * * * * *

London:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 

 * * * * *

1809. 

Bitter and earnest writing must not hastily be condemned; for men cannotcontend coldly, and without affection, about things which they hold dearand precious. A politic man may write from his brain, without touch andsense of his heart; as in a speculation that appertaineth not untohim;--but a feeling Christian will express, in his words, a character ofzeal or love. _Lord Bacon_. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The following pages originated in the opposition which was made by hisMajesty's ministers to the expression, in public meetings and otherwise, of the opinions and feelings of the people concerning the Convention ofCintra. For the sake of immediate and general circulation, I determined(when I had made a considerable progress in the manuscript) to print itin different portions in one of the daily newspapers. Accordingly twoportions of it (extending to page 25) were printed, in the months ofDecember and January, in the _Courier_, --as being one of the mostimpartial and extensively circulated journals of the time. The reader isrequested to bear in mind this previous publication: otherwise he willbe at a loss to account for the arrangement of the matter in oneinstance in the earlier part of the work. An accidental loss of severalsheets of the manuscript delayed the continuance of the publication inthat manner, till the close of the Christmas holidays; and--the pressureof public business rendering it then improbable that room could befound, in the columns of the paper, regularly to insert matter extendingto such a length--this plan of publication was given up. 

It may be proper to state that, in the extracts which have been madefrom the Spanish Proclamations, I have been obliged to content myselfwith the translations which appeared in the public journals; having onlyin one instance had access to the original. This is, in some cases, tobe regretted--where the language falls below the dignity of the matter:but in general it is not so; and the feeling has suggested correspondentexpressions to the translators; hastily as, no doubt, they must haveperformed their work. 

I must entreat the reader to bear in mind that I began to write uponthis subject in November last; and have continued without bringing mywork earlier to a conclusion, partly from accident, and partly from awish to possess additional documents and facts. Passing occurrences havemade changes in the situation of certain objects spoken of; but I havenot thought it necessary to accommodate what I had previously written tothese changes: the whole stands without alteration; except whereadditions have been made, or errors corrected. 

As I have spoken without reserve of things (and of persons as far as itwas necessary to illustrate things, but no further); and as this hasbeen uniformly done according to the light of my conscience; I havedeemed it right to prefix my name to these pages, in order that thislast testimony of a sincere mind might not be wanting. 

_May 20th_, 1809. 

CONCERNING THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA. 

 * * * * *

The Convention, recently concluded by the Generals at the head of theBritish army in Portugal, is one of the most important events of ourtime. It would be deemed so in France, if the Ruler of that countrycould dare to make it public with those merely of its known bearings anddependences with which the English people are acquainted; it has beendeemed so in Spain and Portugal as far as the people of those countrieshave been permitted to gain, or have gained, a knowledge of it; and whatthis nation has felt and still feels upon the subject is sufficientlymanifest. Wherever the tidings were communicated, they carried agitationalong with them--a conflict of sensations in which, though sorrow waspredominant, yet, through force of scorn, impatience, hope, andindignation, and through the universal participation in passions socomplex, and the sense of power which this necessarily included--thewhole partook of the energy and activity of congratulation and joy. Nota street, not a public room, not a fire-side in the island which was notdisturbed as by a local or private trouble; men of all estates, conditions, and tempers were affected apparently in equal degrees. Yetwas the event by none received as an open and measurable affliction: ithad indeed features bold and intelligible to every one; but there was anunder-expression which was strange, dark, and mysterious--and, accordingly as different notions prevailed, or the object was looked atin different points of view, we were astonished like men who areoverwhelmed without forewarning--fearful like men who feel themselves tobe helpless, and indignant and angry like men who are betrayed. In aword, it would not be too much to say that the tidings of this event didnot spread with the commotion of a storm which sweeps visibly over ourheads, but like an earthquake which rocks the ground under our feet. 

How was it possible that it could be otherwise? For that army had beensent upon a service which appealed so strongly to all that was human inthe heart of this nation--that there was scarcely a gallant father of afamily who had not his moments of regret that he was not a soldier byprofession, which might have made it his duty to accompany it; everyhigh-minded youth grieved that his first impulses, which would have senthim upon the same errand, were not to be yielded to, and thatafter-thought did not sanction and confirm the instantaneous dictates orthe reiterated persuasions of an heroic spirit. The army took itsdeparture with prayers and blessings which were as widely spread as theywere fervent and intense. For it was not doubted that, on this occasion, every person of which it was composed, from the General to the privatesoldier, would carry both into his conflicts with the enemy in thefield, and into his relations of peaceful intercourse with theinhabitants, not only the virtues which might be expected from him as asoldier, but the antipathies and sympathies, the loves and hatreds of acitizen--of a human being--acting, in a manner hitherto unprecedentedunder the obligation of his human and social nature. If the conduct ofthe rapacious and merciless adversary rendered it neither easy norwise--made it, I might say, impossible to give way to that unqualifiedadmiration of courage and skill, made it impossible in relation to himto be exalted by those triumphs of the courteous affections, and to bepurified by those refinements of civility which do, more than any thing, reconcile a man of thoughtful mind and humane dispositions to thehorrors of ordinary war; it was felt that for such loss the benign andaccomplished soldier would upon this mission be abundantly recompensedby the enthusiasm of fraternal love with which his Ally, the oppressedpeople whom he was going to aid in rescuing themselves, would receivehim; and that this, and the virtues which he would witness in them, would furnish his heart with never-failing and far nobler objects ofcomplacency and admiration. The discipline of the army was well known;and as a machine, or a vital organized body, the Nation was assured thatit could not but be formidable; but thus to the standing excellence ofmechanic or organic power seemed to be superadded, at this time, and forthis service, the force of _inspiration_: could any thing therefore belooked for, but a glorious result? The army proved its prowess in thefield; and what has been the result is attested, and long will beattested, by the downcast looks--the silence--the passionateexclamations--the sighs and shame of every man who is worthy to breathethe air or to look upon the green-fields of Liberty in this blessed andhighly-favoured Island which we inhabit. 

If I were speaking of things however weighty, that were long past anddwindled in the memory, I should scarcely venture to use this language;but the feelings are of yesterday--they are of to-day; the flower, amelancholy flower it is! is still in blow, nor will, I trust, its leavesbe shed through months that are to come: for I repeat that the heart ofthe nation is in this struggle. This just and necessary war, as we havebeen accustomed to hear it styled from the beginning of the contest inthe year 1793, had, some time before the Treaty of Amiens, viz. Afterthe subjugation of Switzerland, and not till then, begun to be regardedby the body of the people, as indeed both just and necessary; and thisjustice and necessity were by none more clearly perceived, or morefeelingly bewailed, than by those who had most eagerly opposed the warin its commencement, and who continued most bitterly to regret that thisnation had ever borne a part in it. Their conduct was herein consistent:they proved that they kept their eyes steadily fixed upon principles;for, though there was a shifting or transfer of hostility in their mindsas far as regarded persons, they only combated the same enemy opposed tothem under a different shape; and that enemy was the spirit of selfishtyranny and lawless ambition. This spirit, the class of persons of whomI have been speaking, (and I would now be understood, as associatingthem with an immense majority of the people of Great Britain, whoseaffections, notwithstanding all the delusions which had been practisedupon them, were, in the former part of the contest, for a long time onthe side of their nominal enemies, ) this spirit, when it becameundeniably embodied in the French government, they wished, in spite ofall dangers, should be opposed by war; because peace was not to beprocured without submission, which could not but be followed by acommunion, of which the word of greeting would be, on the one part, insult, --and, on the other, degradation. The people now wished for war, as their rulers had done before, because open war between nations is adefined and effectual partition, and the sword, in the hands of the goodand the virtuous, is the most intelligible symbol of abhorrence. It wasin order to be preserved from spirit-breaking submissions--from theguilt of seeming to approve that which they had not the power toprevent, and out of a consciousness of the danger that such guilt wouldotherwise actually steal upon them, and that thus, by evilcommunications and participations, would be weakened and finallydestroyed, those moral sensibilities and energies, by virtue of whichalone, their liberties, and even their lives, could be preserved, --thatthe people of Great Britain determined to encounter all perils whichcould follow in the train of open resistance. --There were some, andthose deservedly of high character in the country, who exerted theirutmost influence to counteract this resolution; nor did they give to itso gentle a name as want of prudence, but they boldly termed itblindness and obstinacy. Let them be judged with charity! But there arepromptings of wisdom from the penetralia of human nature, which a peoplecan hear, though the wisest of their practical Statesmen be deaf towardsthem. This authentic voice, the people of England had heard and obeyed:and, in opposition to French tyranny growing daily more insatiate andimplacable, they ranged themselves zealously under their Government;though they neither forgot nor forgave its transgressions, in havingfirst involved them in a war with a people then struggling for its ownliberties under a twofold infliction--confounded by inbred faction, andbeleagured by a cruel and imperious external foe. But these remembrancesdid not vent themselves in reproaches, nor hinder us from beingreconciled to our Rulers, when a change or rather a revolution incircumstances had imposed new duties: and, in defiance of local andpersonal clamour, it may be safely said, that the nation united heartand hand with the Government in its resolve to meet the worst, ratherthan stoop its head to receive that which, it was felt, would not be thegarland but the yoke of peace. Yet it was an afflicting alternative; andit is not to be denied, that the effort, if it had the determination, wanted the cheerfulness of duty. Our condition savoured too much of agrinding constraint--too much of the vassalage of necessity;--it had toomuch of fear, and therefore of selfishness, not to be contemplated inthe main with rueful emotion. We desponded though we did not despair. Infact a deliberate and preparatory fortitude--a sedate and sternmelancholy, which had no sunshine and was exhilarated only by thelightnings of indignation--this was the highest and best state of moralfeeling to which the most noble-minded among us could attain. 

But, from the moment of the rising of the people of the Pyrenëanpeninsula, there was a mighty change; we were instantaneously animated;and, from that moment, the contest assumed the dignity, which it is notin the power of any thing but hope to bestow: and, if I may dare totransfer language, prompted by a revelation of the state of being thatadmits not of decay or change, to the concerns and interests of ourtransitory planet, from that moment 'this corruptible put onincorruption, and this mortal put on immortality. ' This sudden elevationwas on no account more welcome--was by nothing more endeared, than bythe returning sense which accompanied it of inward liberty and choice, which gratified our moral yearnings, inasmuch as it would givehenceforward to our actions as a people, an origination and directionunquestionably moral--as it was free--as it was manifestly in sympathywith the species--as it admitted therefore of fluctuations of generousfeeling--of approbation and of complacency. We were intellectualizedalso in proportion; we looked backward upon the records of the humanrace with pride, and, instead of being afraid, we delighted to lookforward into futurity. It was imagined that this new-born spirit ofresistance, rising from the most sacred feelings of the human heart, would diffuse itself through many countries; and not merely for thedistant future, but for the present, hopes were entertained as bold asthey were disinterested and generous. 

Never, indeed, was the fellowship of our sentient nature more intimatelyfelt--never was the irresistible power of justice more gloriouslydisplayed than when the British and Spanish Nations, with an impulselike that of two ancient heroes throwing down their weapons andreconciled in the field, cast off at once their aversions and enmities, and mutually embraced each other--to solemnize this conversion of love, not by the festivities of peace, but by combating side by side throughdanger and under affliction in the devotedness of perfect brotherhood. This was a conjunction which excited hope as fervent as it wasrational. On the one side was a nation which brought with it sanctionand authority, inasmuch as it had tried and approved the blessings forwhich the other had risen to contend: the one was a people which, by thehelp of the surrounding ocean and its own virtues, had preserved toitself through ages its liberty, pure and inviolated by a foreigninvader; the other a high-minded nation, which a tyrant, presuming onits decrepitude, had, through the real decrepitude of its Government, perfidiously enslaved. What could be more delightful than to think of anintercourse beginning in this manner? On the part of the Spaniards theirlove towards us was enthusiasm and adoration; the faults of our nationalcharacter were hidden from them by a veil of splendour; they saw nothingaround us but glory and light; and, on our side, we estimated _their_character with partial and indulgent fondness;--thinking on their pastgreatness, not as the undermined foundation of a magnificent building, but as the root of a majestic tree recovered from a long disease, andbeginning again to flourish with promise of wider branches and a deepershade than it had boasted in the fulness of its strength. If in thesensations with which the Spaniards prostrated themselves before thereligion of their country we did not keep pace with them--if even theirloyalty was such as, from our mixed constitution of government and fromother causes, we could not thoroughly sympathize with, --and if, lastly, their devotion to the person of their Sovereign appeared to us to havetoo much of the alloy of delusion, --in all these things we judged themgently: and, taught by the reverses of the French revolution, we lookedupon these dispositions as more human--more social--and therefore aswiser, and of better omen, than if they had stood forth the zealots ofabstract principles, drawn out of the laboratory of unfeelingphilosophists. Finally, in this reverence for the past and present, wefound an earnest that they were prepared to contend to the death for asmuch liberty as their habits and their knowledge enabled them toreceive. To assist them and their neighbours the Portugueze in theattainment of this end, we sent to them in love and in friendship apowerful army to aid--to invigorate--and to chastise:--they landed; andthe first proof they afforded of their being worthy to be sent on such aservice--the first pledge of amity given by them was the victory ofVimiera; the second pledge (and this was from the hand of theirGenerals, ) was the Convention of Cintra. 

The reader will by this time have perceived, what thoughts wereuppermost in my mind, when I began with asserting, that this Conventionis among the most important events of our times:--an assertion, whichwas made deliberately, and after due allowance for that infirmity whichinclines us to magnify things present and passing, at the expence ofthose which are past. It is my aim to prove, wherein the real importanceof this event lies: and, as a necessary preparative for forming a rightjudgment upon it, I have already given a representation of thesentiments, with which the people of Great Britain and those of Spainlooked upon each other. I have indeed spoken rather of the Spaniardsthan of the Portugueze; but what has been said, will be understood asapplying in the main to the whole Peninsula. The wrongs of the twonations have been equal, and their cause is the same: they must stand orfall together. What their wrongs have been, in what degree theyconsidered themselves united, and what their hopes and resolutions were, we have learned from public Papers issued by themselves and by theirenemies. These were read by the people of this Country, at the time whenthey were severally published, with due impression. --- Pity, that thoseimpressions could not have been as faithfully retained as they were atfirst received deeply! Doubtless, there is not a man in these Islands, who is not convinced that the cause of Spain is the most righteous causein which, since the opposition of the Greek Republics to the PersianInvader at Thermopylae and Marathon, sword ever was drawn! But this isnot enough. We are actors in the struggle; and, in order that we mayhave steady PRINCIPLES to controul and direct us, (without which we maydo much harm, and can do no good, ) we ought to make it a duty to revivein the memory those words and facts, which first carried the convictionto our hearts: that, as far as it is possible, we may see as we thensaw, and feel as we then felt. Let me therefore entreat the Readerseriously to peruse once more such parts of those Declarations as Ishall extract from them. I feel indeed with sorrow, that events arehurrying us forward, as down the Rapid of an American river, and thatthere is too much danger _before_, to permit the mind easily to turnback upon the course which is past. It is indeed difficult. --But I neednot say, that to yield to the difficulty, would be degrading to rationalbeings. Besides, if from the retrospect, we can either gain strength bywhich we can overcome, or learn prudence by which we may avoid, suchsubmission is not only degrading, but pernicious. I address these wordsto those who have feeling, but whose judgment is overpowered by theirfeelings:--such as have not, and who are mere slaves of curiosity, calling perpetually for something new, and being able to create nothingnew for themselves out of old materials, may be left to wander aboutunder the yoke of their own unprofitable appetite. --Yet not so! Eventhese I would include in my request: and conjure them, as they are men, not to be impatient, while I place before their eyes, a composition madeout of fragments of those Declarations from various parts of thePeninsula, which, disposed as it were in a tesselated pavement, shallset forth a story which may be easily understood; which will move andteach, and be consolatory to him who looks upon it. I say, consolatory:and let not the Reader shrink from the word. I am well aware of theburthen which is to be supported, of the discountenance from recentcalamity under which every thing, which speaks of hope for the Spanishpeople, and through _them_ for mankind, will be received. But this, farfrom deterring, ought to be an encouragement; it makes the duty moreimperious. Nevertheless, whatever confidence any individual ofmeditative mind may have in these representations of the principles andfeelings of the people of Spain, both as to their sanctity and truth, and as to their competence in ordinary circumstances to make theseacknowledged, it would be unjust to recall them to the public mind, stricken as it is by present disaster, without attempting to mitigatethe bewildering terror which accompanies these events, and which iscaused as much by their nearness to the eye, as by any thing in theirown nature. I shall, however, at present confine myself to suggest a fewconsiderations, some of which will be developed hereafter, when I resumethe subject. 

It appears then, that the Spanish armies have sustained great defeats, and have been compelled to abandon their positions, and that thesereverses have been effected by an army greatly superior to the Spanishforces in number, and far excelling them in the art and practice of war. This is the sum of those tidings, which it was natural we shouldreceive with sorrow, but which too many have received with dismay anddespair, though surely no events could be more in the course of rationalexpectation. And what is the amount of the evil?--It is manifest that, though a great army may easily defeat or disperse another _army_, lessor greater, yet it is not in a like degree formidable to a determined_people_, nor efficient in a like degree to subdue them, or to keep themin subjugation--much less if this people, like those of Spain in thepresent instance, be numerous, and, like them, inhabit a territoryextensive and strong by nature. For a great army, and even several greatarmies, cannot accomplish this by marching about the country, unbroken, but each must split itself into many portions, and the severaldetachments become weak accordingly, not merely as they are small insize, but because the soldiery, acting thus, necessarily relinquish muchof that part of their superiority, which lies in what may be called theenginery of war; and far more, because they lose, in proportion as theyare broken, the power of profiting by the military skill of theCommanders, or by their own military habits. The experienced soldier isthus brought down nearer to the plain ground of the inexperienced, manto the level of man: and it is then, that the truly brave man rises, theman of good hopes and purposes; and superiority in moral brings with itsuperiority in physical power. Hence, if the Spanish armies have beendefeated, or even dispersed, it not only argues a want of magnanimity, but of sense, to conclude that the cause _therefore_ is lost. Supposingthat the spirit of the people is not crushed, the war is now broughtback to that plan of conducting it, which was recommended by the Juntaof Seville in that inestimable paper entitled 'PRECAUTIONS, ' which planought never to have been departed from, except by compulsion, or with amoral certainty of success; and which the Spaniards will now beconstrained to re-adopt, with the advantage, that the lesson, which hasbeen received, will preclude the possibility of their ever committingthe same error. In this paper it is said, 'let the first object be toavoid all general actions, and to convince ourselves of the very greathazards without any advantage or the hope of it, to which they wouldexpose us. ' The paper then gives directions, how the war ought to beconducted as a war of partizans, and shews the peculiar fitness of thecountry for it. Yet, though relying solely on this unambitious mode ofwarfare, the framers of the paper, which is in every part of itdistinguished by wisdom, speak with confident thoughts of success. Tothis mode of warfare, then, after experience of calamity from not havingtrusted in it; to this, and to the people in whom the contestoriginated, and who are its proper depository, that contest is nowreferred. 

Secondly, if the spirits of the Spaniards be not broken by defeat, whichis impossible, if the sentiments that have been publicly expressed befairly characteristic of the nation, and do not belong only toparticular spots or to a few individuals of superior mind, --a doubt, which the internal evidence of these publications, sanctioned by theresistance already made, and corroborated by the universal consent withwhich certain qualities have been attributed to the Spaniards in allages, encourages us to repel;--then are there mighty resources in thecountry which have not yet been called forth. For all has hitherto beendone by the spontaneous efforts of the people, acting under little or nocompulsion of the Government, but with its advice and exhortation. It isan error to suppose, that, in proportion as a people are strong, and actlargely for themselves, the Government must therefore be weak. This isnot a necessary consequence even in the heat of Revolution, but onlywhen the people are lawless from want of a steady and noble object amongthemselves for their love, or in the presence of a foreign enemy fortheir hatred. In the early part of the French Revolution, indeed as longas it was evident that the end was the common safety, the NationalAssembly had the power to turn the people into any course, to constrainthem to any task, while their voluntary efforts, as far as these couldbe exercised, were not abated in consequence. That which the NationalAssembly did for France, the Spanish Sovereign's authority actingthrough those whom the people themselves have deputed to represent him, would, in their present enthusiasm of loyalty, and condition of theirgeneral feelings, render practicable and easy for Spain. The Spaniards, it is true, with a thoughtfulness most hopeful for the cause which theyhave undertaken, have been loth to depart from established laws, forms, and practices. This dignified feeling of self-restraint they would dowell to cherish so far as never to depart from it without somereluctance;--but, when old and familiar means are not equal to theexigency, new ones must, without timidity, be resorted to, though bymany they may be found harsh and ungracious. Nothing but good wouldresult from such conduct. The well-disposed would rely more confidentlyupon a Government which thus proved that it had confidence in itself. Men, less zealous, and of less comprehensive minds, would soon bereconciled to measures from which at first they had revolted; the remissand selfish might be made servants of their country, through theinfluence of the same passions which had prepared them to become slavesof the Invader; or, should this not be possible, they would appear intheir true character, and the main danger to be feared from them wouldbe prevented. The course which ought to be pursued is plain. Either thecause has lost the people's love, or it has not. If it has, let thestruggle be abandoned. If it has not, let the Government, in whatevershape it may exist, and however great may be the calamities under whichit may labour, act up to the full stretch of its rights, nor doubt thatthe people will support it to the full extent of their power. If, therefore, the Chiefs of the Spanish Nation be men of wise and strongminds, they will bring both the forces, those of the Government and ofthe people, into their utmost action; tempering them in such a mannerthat neither shall impair or obstruct the other, but rather that theyshall strengthen and direct each other for all salutary purposes. 

Thirdly, it was never dreamt by any thinking man, that the Spaniardswere to succeed by their army; if by their _army_ be meant any thing butthe people. The whole people is their army, and their true army is thepeople, and nothing else. Five hundred men, who in the early part of thestruggle had been taken prisoners, --I think it was at the battle of RioSeco--were returned by the French General under the title of GalicianPeasants, a title, which the Spanish General, Blake, rejected andmaintained in his answer that they were genuine soldiers, meaningregular troops. The conduct of the Frenchman was politic, and that ofthe Spaniard would have been more in the spirit of his cause and of hisown noble character, if, waiving on this occasion the plea of anysubordinate and formal commission which these men might have, he hadrested their claim to the title of soldiers on its true ground, andaffirmed that this was no other than the rights of the cause which theymaintained, by which rights every Spaniard was a soldier who couldappear in arms, and was authorized to take that place, in which it wasprobable, to those under whom he acted, and on many occasions tohimself, that he could most annoy the enemy. But these patriots ofGalicia were not clothed alike, nor perhaps armed alike, nor had theoutward appearance of those bodies, which are called regular troops; andthe Frenchman availed himself of this pretext, to apply to them thatinsolent language, which might, I think, have been more nobly repelledon a more comprehensive principle. For thus are men of the gravest mindsimposed upon by the presumptuous; and through these influences it comes, that the strength of a tyrant is in opinion--not merely in the opinionof those who support him, but alas! even of those who willingly resist, and who would resist effectually, if it were not that their ownunderstandings betray them, being already half enslaved by shews andforms. The whole Spanish nation ought to be encouraged to deemthemselves an army, embodied under the authority of their country and ofhuman nature. A military spirit should be there, and a military action, not confined like an ordinary river in one channel, but spreading likethe Nile over the whole face of the land. Is this possible? I believe itis: if there be minds among them worthy to lead, and if those leadingminds cherish a _civic_ spirit by all warrantable aids and appliances, and, above all other means, by combining a reverential memory of theirelder ancestors with distinct hopes of solid advantage, from theprivileges of freedom, for themselves and their posterity--to which thehistory and the past state of Spain furnish such enviable facilities;and if they provide for the sustenance of this spirit, by organizing itin its primary sources, not timidly jealous of a people, whose toils andsacrifices have approved them worthy of all love and confidence, andwhose failing of excess, if such there exist, is assuredly on the sideof loyalty to their Sovereign, and predilection for all establishedinstitutions. We affirm, then, that a universal military spirit may beproduced; and not only this, but that a much more rare and moreadmirable phenomenon may be realized--the civic and military spiritunited in one people, and in enduring harmony with each other. Thepeople of Spain, with arms in their hands, are already in an elevatedmood, to which they have been raised by the indignant passions, and thekeen sense of insupportable wrong and insult from the enemy, and itsinfamous instruments. But they must be taught, not to trust tooexclusively to the violent passions, which have already done much oftheir peculiar task and service. They must seek additional aid fromaffections, which less imperiously exclude all individual interests, while at the same time they consecrate them to the public good. --But theenemy is in the heart of their Land! We have not forgotten this. Wewould encourage their military zeal, and all qualities especiallymilitary, by all rewards of honourable ambition, and by rank and dignityconferred on the truly worthy, whatever may be their birth or condition, the elevating influence of which would extend from the individualpossessor to the class from which he may have sprung. For the necessityof thus raising and upholding the military spirit, we plead: but yet the_professional_ excellencies of the soldier must be contemplatedaccording to their due place and relation. Nothing is done, or worsethan nothing, unless something higher be taught, _as_ higher, somethingmore fundamental, _as_ more fundamental. In the moral virtues andqualities of passion which belong to a people, must the ultimatesalvation of a people be sought for. Moral qualities of a high order, and vehement passions, and virtuous as vehement, the Spaniards havealready displayed; nor is it to be anticipated, that the conduct oftheir enemies will suffer the heat and glow to remit and languish. Thesemay be trusted to themselves, and to the provocations of the mercilessInvader. They must now be taught, that their strength _chiefly_ lies inmoral qualities, more silent in their operation, more permanent in theirnature; in the virtues of perseverance, constancy, fortitude, andwatchfulness, in a long memory and a quick feeling, to rise upon afavourable summons, a texture of life which, though cut through (as hathbeen feigned of the bodies of the Angels) unites again--these are thevirtues and qualities on which the Spanish People must be taught_mainly_ to depend. These it is not in the power of their Chiefs tocreate; but they may preserve and procure to them opportunities ofunfolding themselves, by guarding the Nation against an intemperatereliance on other qualities and other modes of exertion, to which itcould never have resorted in the degree in which it appears to haveresorted to them without having been in contradiction to itself, payingat the same time an indirect homage to its enemy. Yet, in hazardingthis conditional censure, we are still inclined to believe, that, inspite of our deductions on the score of exaggeration, we have stillgiven too easy credit to the accounts furnished by the enemy, of therashness with which the Spaniards engaged in pitched battles, and oftheir dismay after defeat. For the Spaniards have repeatedly proclaimed, and they have inwardly felt, that their strength was from theircause--of course, that it was moral. Why then should they abandon this, and endeavour to prevail by means in which their opponents areconfessedly so much superior? Moral strength is their's; but physicalpower for the purposes of immediate or rapid destruction is on the sideof their enemies. This is to them no disgrace, but, as soon as theyunderstand themselves, they will see that they are disgraced bymistrusting their appropriate stay, and throwing themselves upon a powerwhich for them must be weak. Nor will it then appear to them asufficient excuse, that they were seduced into this by the splendidqualities of courage and enthusiasm, which, being the frequentcompanions, and, in given circumstances, the necessary agents of virtue, are too often themselves hailed as virtues by their own title. Butcourage and enthusiasm have equally characterized the best and the worstbeings, a Satan, equally with an ABDIEL--a BONAPARTE equally with aLEONIDAS. They are indeed indispensible to the Spanish soldiery, inorder that, man to man, they may not be inferior to their enemies in thefield of battle. But inferior they are and long must be in warlike skilland coolness; inferior in assembled numbers, and in blind mobility tothe preconceived purposes of their leader. If therefore the Spaniardsare not superior in some superior quality, their fall may be predictedwith the certainty of a mathematical calculation. Nay, it is right toacknowledge, however depressing to false hope the thought may be, thatfrom a people prone and disposed to war, as the French are, through thevery absence of those excellencies which give a contra-distinguishingdignity to the Spanish character; that, from an army of men presumptuousby nature, to whose presumption the experience of constant success hasgiven the confidence and stubborn strength of reason, and who balanceagainst the devotion of patriotism the superstition so naturallyattached by the sensual and disordinate to the strange fortunes andcontinual felicity of their Emperor; that, from the armies of such apeople a more manageable enthusiasm, a courage less under the influenceof accidents, may be expected in the confusion of immediate conflict, than from forces like the Spaniards, united indeed by devotion to acommon cause, but not equally united by an equal confidence in eachother, resulting from long fellowship and brotherhood in all conceivableincidents of war and battle. Therefore, I do not hesitate to affirm, that even the occasional flight of the Spanish levies, from sudden panicunder untried circumstances, would not be so injurious to the Spanishcause; no, nor so dishonourable to the Spanish character, nor so ominousof ultimate failure, as a paramount reliance on superior valour, insteadof a principled reposal on superior constancy and immutable resolve. Rather let them have fled once and again, than direct their primeadmiration to the blaze and explosion of animal courage, in slight ofthe vital and sustaining warmth of fortitude; in slight of that moralcontempt of death and privation, which does not need the stir and shoutof battle to call it forth or support it, which can smile in patienceover the stiff and cold wound, as well as rush forward regardless, because half senseless of the fresh and bleeding one. Why did we giveour hearts to the present cause of Spain with a fervour and elevationunknown to us in the commencement of the late Austrian or Prussianresistance to France? Because we attributed to the former an heroictemperament which would render their transfer to such domination an evilto human nature itself, and an affrightening perplexity in thedispensations of Providence. But if in oblivion of the prophetic wisdomof their own first leaders in the cause, they are surprised beyond thepower of rallying, utterly cast down and manacled by fearful thoughtsfrom the first thunder-storm of defeat in the field, wherein do theydiffer from the Prussians and Austrians? Wherein are they a People, andnot a mere army or set of armies? If this be indeed so, what have we tomourn over but our own honourable impetuosity, in hoping where no justground of hope existed? A nation, without the virtues necessary for theattainment of independence, have failed to attain it. This is all. Forlittle has that man understood the majesty of true national freedom, whobelieves that a population, like that of Spain, in a country like thatof Spain, may want the qualities needful to fight out theirindependence, and yet possess the excellencies which render mensusceptible of true liberty. The Dutch, the Americans, did possess theformer; but it is, I fear, more than doubtful whether the one ever did, or the other ever will, evince the nobler morality indispensible to thelatter. 

It was not my intention that the subject should at present have beenpursued so far. But I have been carried forward by a strong wish to beof use in raising and steadying the minds of my countrymen, an end towhich every thing that I shall say hereafter (provided it be true) willcontribute. For all knowledge of human nature leads ultimately torepose; and I shall write to little purpose if I do not assist someportion of my readers to form an estimate of the grounds of hope andfear in the present effort of liberty against oppression, in the presentor any future struggle which justice will have to maintain againstmight. In fact, this is my main object, 'the sea-mark of my utmostsail:' in order that, understanding the sources of strength and seats ofweakness, both in the tyrant and in those who would save or rescuethemselves from his grasp, we may act as becomes men who would guardtheir own liberties, and would draw a good use from the desire whichthey feel, and the efforts which they are making, to benefit the lessfavoured part of the family of mankind. With these as my ultimateobjects, I have undertaken to examine the Convention of Cintra; and, asan indispensible preparative for forming a right judgment of this event, I have already faithfully exhibited the feelings of the people of GreatBritain and of Spain towards each other, and have shewn by what sacredbonds they were united. With the same view, I shall next proceed to shewby what barrier of aversion, scarcely less sacred, the people of the_Peninsula_ were divided from their enemies, --their feelings towardsthem, and their hopes for themselves; trusting, that I have alreadymitigated the deadening influences of recent calamity, and that therepresentation I shall frame, in the manner which has been promised, will speak in its true colours and life to the eye and heart of thespectator. 

The government of Asturias, which was the first to rise against theiroppressors, thus expresses itself in the opening of its Address to thePeople of that Province. 'Loyal Asturians! beloved Countrymen! yourwishes are already fulfilled. The Principality, discharging those dutieswhich are most sacred to men, has already declared war against France. You may perhaps dread this vigorous resolution. But what other measurecould or ought we to adopt? Shall there be found one single man amongus, who prefers the vile and ignominious death of slaves, to the gloryof dying on the field of honour, with arms in his hand, defending ourunfortunate monarch; our homes, our children, and our wives? If, in thevery moment when those bands of banditti were receiving the kindestoffices and favours from the inhabitants of our Capital, they murderedin cold blood upwards of two thousand people, for no other reason thantheir having defended their insulted brethren, what could we expect fromthem, had we submitted to their dominion? Their perfidious conducttowards our king and his whole family, whom they deceived and decoyedinto France under the promise of an eternal armistice, in order to chainthem all, has no precedent in history. Their conduct towards the wholenation is more iniquitous, than we had the right to expect from a hordeof Hottentots. They have profaned our temples; they have insulted ourreligion; they have assailed our wives; in fine, they have broken alltheir promises, and there exists no right which they have not violated. To arms, Asturians! to arms!' The Supreme Junta of Government, sittingat Seville, introduces its declaration of war in words to the sameeffect. 'France, under the government of the emperor Napoleon the First, has violated towards Spain the most sacred compacts--has arrested hermonarchs--obliged them to a forced and manifestly void abdication andrenunciation; has behaved with the same violence towards the SpanishNobles whom he keeps in his power--has declared that he will elect aking of Spain, the most horrible attempt that is recorded inhistory--has sent his troops into Spain, seized her fortresses and herCapital, and scattered his troops throughout the country--has committedagainst Spain all sorts of assassinations, robberies, and unheard-ofcruelties; and this he has done with the most enormous ingratitude tothe services which the Spanish nation has rendered France, to thefriendship it has shewn her, thus treating it with the most dreadfulperfidy, fraud, and treachery, such as was never committed against anynation or monarch by the most barbarous or ambitious king or people. Hehas in fine declared, that he will trample down our monarchy, ourfundamental laws, and bring about the ruin of our holy catholicreligion. --The only remedy therefore to such grievous ills, which are somanifest to all Europe, is in war, which we declare against him. ' Theinjuries, done to the Portugueze Nation and Government, previous to itsdeclaration of war against the Emperor of the French, are stated atlength in the manifesto of the Court of Portugal, dated Rio Janeiro, May1st, 1808; and to that the reader may he referred: but upon this subjectI will beg leave to lay before him, the following extract from theAddress of the supreme Junta of Seville to the Portugueze nation, datedMay 30th, 1808. 'PORTUGUESE, --Your lot is, perhaps, the hardest everendured by any people on the earth. Your princes were compelled to flyfrom you, and the events in Spain have furnished an irrefragable proofof the absolute necessity of that measure. --You were ordered not todefend yourselves, and you did not defend yourselves. Junot offered tomake you happy, and your happiness has consisted in being treated withgreater cruelty than the most ferocious conquerors inflict on the peoplewhom they have subdued by force of arms and after the most obstinateresistance. You have been despoiled of your princes, your laws, yourusages, your customs, your property, your liberty, even your lives, andyour holy religion, which your enemies never have respected, howeverthey may, according to their custom, have promised to protect it, andhowever they may affect and pretend to have any sense of it themselves. Your nobility has been annihilated, --its property confiscated inpunishment of its fidelity and loyalty. You have been basely dragged toforeign countries, and compelled to prostrate yourselves at the feet ofthe man who is the author of all your calamities, and who, by the mosthorrible perfidy, has usurped your government, and rules you with asceptre of iron. Even now your troops have left your borders, and aretravelling in chains to die in the defence of him who has oppressed you;by which means his deep malignity may accomplish his purpose, --bydestroying those who should constitute your strength, and by renderingtheir lives subservient to his triumphs, and to the savage glory towhich he aspires. --Spain beheld your slavery, and the horrible evilswhich followed it, with mingled sensations of grief and despair. You areher brother, and she panted to fly to your assistance. But certainChiefs, and a Government either weak or corrupt, kept her in chains, andwere preparing the means by which the ruin of our king, our laws, ourindependence, our liberty, our lives, and even the holy religion inwhich we are united, might accompany your's, --by which a barbarouspeople might consummate their own triumph, and accomplish the slavery ofevery nation in Europe:--our loyalty, our honour, our justice, could notsubmit to such flagrant atrocity! We have broken our chains, --let usthen to action. ' But the story of Portugueze sufferings shall be told byJunot himself; who, in his proclamation to the people of Portugal (datedPalace of Lisbon, June 26, ) thus speaks to them: 'You have earnestlyentreated of him a king, who, aided by the omnipotence of that greatmonarch, might raise up again your unfortunate Country, and replace herin the rank which belongs to her. Doubtless at this moment your newmonarch is on the point of visiting you. --He expects to find faithfulSubjects--shall he find only rebels? I expected to have delivered overto him a peaceable kingdom and flourishing cities--shall I be obliged toshew him only ruins and heaps of ashes and dead bodies?--Merit pardon byprompt submission, and a prompt obedience to my orders; if not, think ofthe punishment which awaits you. --Every city, town, or village, whichshall take up arms against my forces, and whose inhabitants shall riseupon the French troops, shall be delivered up to pillage and totallydestroyed, and the inhabitants shall be put to the sword--everyindividual taken in arms shall be instantly shot. ' That these were notempty threats, we learn from the bulletins published by authority of thesame Junot, which at once shew his cruelty, and that of the persons whomhe employed, and the noble resistance of the Portugueze. 'We enteredBeia, ' says one of those dismal chronicles, 'in the midst of greatcarnage. The rebels left 1200 dead on the field of battle; all thosetaken with arms in their hands were put to the sword, and all the housesfrom which we had been fired upon were burned. ' Again in another, 'Thespirit of insanity, which had led astray the inhabitants of Beia andrendered necessary the terrible chastisement which they have received, has likewise been exercised in the north of Portugal. ' Describinganother engagement, it is said, 'the lines endeavoured to make a stand, but they were forced; the massacre was terrible--more than a thousanddead bodies remained on the field of battle, and General Loison, pursuing the remainder of these wretches, entered Guerda with fixedbayonets. ' On approaching Alpedrinha, they found the _rebels_ posted ina kind of redoubt--'it was forced, the town of Alpedrinha taken, anddelivered to the flames:' the whole of this tragedy is thus summedup--'In the engagements fought in these different marches, we losttwenty men killed, and 30 or 40 wounded. The insurgents have left atleast 13000 dead in the field, the melancholy consequence of a frenzywhich nothing can justify, which forces us to multiply victims, whom welament and regret, but whom a terrible necessity obliges us tosacrifice. ' 'It is thus, ' continues the writer, 'that deluded men, ungrateful children as well as culpable citizens, exchange all theirclaims to the benevolence and protection of Government for misfortuneand wretchedness; ruin their families; carry into their habitationsdesolation, conflagrations, and death; change flourishing cities intoheaps of ashes--into vast tombs; and bring on their whole countrycalamities which they deserve, and from which (feeble victims!) theycannot escape. In fine, it is thus that, covering themselves withopprobrium and ridicule at the same time that they complete theirdestruction, they have no other resource but the pity of those they havewished to assassinate--a pity which they never have implored in vain, when acknowledging their crime, they have solicited pardon fromFrenchmen, who, incapable of departing from their noble character, areever as generous as they are brave. '--By order of Monseigneur le ducd'Abrantés, Commander in chief. '--Compare this with the Address ofMassaredo to the Biscayans, in which there is the like avowal that theSpaniards are to be treated as Rebels. He tells them, that he iscommanded by his master, Joseph Bonaparte, to assure them--'that, incase they disapprove of the insurrection in the City of Bilboa, hismajesty will consign to oblivion the mistake and error of theInsurgents, and that he will punish only the heads and beginners of theinsurrection, with regard to whom _the law must take its course_. '

To be the victim of such bloody-mindedness is a doleful lot for aNation; and the anguish must have been rendered still more poignant bythe scoffs and insults, and by that heinous contempt of the most awfultruths, with which the Perpetrator of those cruelties has proclaimedthem. --Merciless ferocity is an evil familiar to our thoughts; but thesecombinations of malevolence historians have not yet been called upon torecord; and writers of fiction, if they have ever ventured to createpassions resembling them, have confined, out of reverence for theacknowledged constitution of human nature, those passions to reprobateSpirits. Such tyranny is, in the strictest sense, intolerable; notbecause it aims at the extinction of life, but of every thing whichgives life its value--of virtue, of reason, of repose in God, or intruth. With what heart may we suppose that a genuine Spaniard would readthe following impious address from the Deputation, as they were falselycalled, of his apostate countrymen at Bayonne, seduced or compelled toassemble under the eye of the Tyrant, and speaking as he dictated? 'DearSpaniards, Beloved Countrymen!--Your habitations, your cities, yourpower, and your property, are as dear to us as ourselves; and we wish tokeep all of you in our eye, that we may be able to establish yoursecurity. --We, as well as yourselves, are bound in allegiance to the olddynasty--to her, to whom an end has been put by that God-like Providencewhich rules all thrones and sceptres. We have seen the greatest statesfall under the guidance of this rule, and our land alone has hithertoescaped the same fate. An unavoidable destiny has now overtaken ourcountry, and brought us under the protection of the invincible Emperorof France. --We know that you will regard our present situation with theutmost consideration; and we have accordingly, in this conviction, beenuniformly conciliating the friendship to which we are tied by so manyobligations. With what admiration must we see the benevolence andhumanity of his imperial and royal Majesty outstep our wishes--qualitieswhich are even more to be admired than his great power! He has desirednothing else, than that we should be indebted to him for our welfare. Whenever he gives us a sovereign to reign over us in the person of hismagnanimous brother Joseph, he will consummate our prosperity. --As hehas been pleased to change our old system of laws, it becomes us toobey, and to live in tranquillity: as he has also promised tore-organize our financial system, we may hope that then our naval andmilitary power will become terrible to our enemies, &c. '--That theCastilians were horror-stricken by the above blasphemies, which are thehabitual language of the French Senate and Ministers to their Emperor, is apparent from an address dated Valladolid, --'He (Bonaparte) carrieshis audacity the length of holding out to us offers of happiness andpeace, while he is laying waste our country, pulling down our churches, and slaughtering our brethren. His pride, cherished by a band ofvillains who are constantly anxious to offer incense on his shrine, andtolerated by numberless victims who pine in his chains, has caused himto conceive the fantastical idea of proclaiming himself Lord and Rulerof the whole world. There is no atrocity which he does not commit toattain that end. .. . Shall these outrages, these iniquities, remainunpunished while Spaniards--and Castilian Spaniards--yet exist?'

Many passages might be adduced to prove that carnage and devastationspread over their land have not afflicted this noble people so deeply asthis more searching warfare against the conscience and the reason. Theygroan less over the blood which has been shed, than over the arrogantassumptions of beneficence made by him from whose order that blood hasflowed. Still to be talking of bestowing and conferring, and to be happyin the sight of nothing but what he thinks he has bestowed or conferred, this, in a man to whom the weakness of his fellows has given greatpower, is a madness of pride more hideous than cruelty itself. We haveheard of Attila and Tamerlane who called themselves the scourges of God, and rejoiced in personating the terrors of Providence; but such monstersdo less outrage to the reason than he who arrogates to himself thegentle and gracious attributes of the Deity: for the one actsprofessedly from the temperance of reason, the other avowedly in thegusts of passion. Through the terrors of the Supreme Ruler of things, asset forth by works of destruction and ruin, we see but darkly; we mayreverence the chastisement, may fear it with awe, but it is not naturalto incline towards it in love: moreover, devastation passes away--aperishing power among things that perish: whereas to found, and tobuild, to create and to institute, to bless through blessing, this hasto do with objects where we trust we can see clearly, --it reminds us ofwhat we love, --it aims at permanence, --and the sorrow is, (as in thepresent instance the people of Spain feel) that it may last; that, ifthe giddy and intoxicated Being who proclaims that he does these thingswith the eye and through the might of Providence be not overthrown, itwill last; that it needs must last:--and therefore would they hate andabhor him and his pride, even if he were not cruel; if he were merely animage of mortal presumption thrust in between them and the piety whichis natural to the heart of man; between them and that religious worshipwhich, as authoritatively as his reason forbids idolatry, that samereason commands. Accordingly, labouring under these violations done totheir moral nature, they describe themselves, in the anguish of theirsouls, treated as a people at once dastardly and _insensible_. In thesame spirit they make it even matter of complaint, as comparatively afar greater evil, that they have not fallen by the brute violence ofopen war, but by deceit and perfidy, by a subtle undermining, orcontemptuous overthrow of those principles of good faith, throughprevalence of which, in some degree, or under some modification orother, families, communities, a people, or any frame of human society, even destroying armies themselves can exist. 

But enough of their wrongs; let us now see what were their consolations, their resolves, and their hopes. First, they neither murmur nor repine;but with genuine religion and philosophy they recognize in thesedreadful visitations the ways of a benign Providence, and find in themcause for thankfulness. The Council of Castile exhort the people ofMadrid 'to cast off their lethargy, and purify their manners, and toacknowledge the calamities which the kingdom and that great capital hadendured as a punishment necessary to their correction. ' General Morla inhis address to the citizens of Cadiz thus speaks to them:--'Thecommotion, more or less violent, which has taken place in the wholepeninsula of Spain, has been of eminent service to rouse us from thestate of lethargy in which we indulged, and to make us acquainted withour rights, our glory, and the inviolable duty which we owe to our holyreligion and our monarch. We wanted some electric stroke to rouse usfrom our paralytic state of inactivity; we stood in need of a hurricaneto clear the atmosphere of the insalubrious vapours with which it wasloaded. '--The unanimity with which the whole people were affected theyrightly deem, an indication of wisdom, an authority, and asanction, --and they refer it to its highest source. 'The defence of ourcountry and our king, ' (says a manifesto of the Junta of Seville) 'thatof our laws, our religion, and of all the rights of man, trodden downand violated in a manner which is without example, by the Emperor ofthe French, Napoleon I. And by his troops in Spain, compelled the wholenation to take up arms, and choose itself a form of government; and, inthe difficulties and dangers into which the French had plunged it, all, or nearly all the provinces, as it were by the inspiration of heaven, and in a manner little short of miraculous, created Supreme Juntas, delivered themselves up to their guidance, and placed in their hands therights and the ultimate fate of Spain. The effects have hitherto mosthappily corresponded with the designs of those who formed them. '

With this general confidence, that the highest good may be brought outof the worst calamities, they have combined a solace, which isvouchsafed only to such nations as can recall to memory the illustriousdeeds of their ancestors. The names of Pelayo and The Cid are thewatch-words of the address to the people of León; and they are told thatto these two deliverers of their country, and to the sentiments ofenthusiasm which they excited in every breast, Spain owes the glory andhappiness which she has _so long_ enjoyed. The Biscayans are called tocast their eyes upon the ages which are past, and they will see theirancestors at one time repulsing the Carthaginians, at another destroyingthe hordes of Rome; at one period was granted to them the distinction ofserving in the van of the army; at another the privilege of citizens. 'Imitate, ' says the address, 'the glorious example of your worthyprogenitors. ' The Asturians, the Gallicians, and the city of Cordova, are exhorted in the same manner. And surely to a people thus united intheir minds with the heroism of years which have been long departed, andliving under such obligation of gratitude to their ancestors, it is notdifficult, nay it is natural, to take upon themselves the highestobligations of duty to their posterity; to enjoy in the holiness ofimagination the happiness of unborn ages to which they shall haveeminently contributed; and that each man, fortified by these thoughts, should welcome despair for himself, because it is the assured mother ofhope for his country. --'Life or Death, ' says a proclamation affixed inthe most public places of Seville, 'is in this crisis indifferent;--yewho shall return shall receive the reward of gratitude in the embracesof your country, which shall proclaim you her deliverers;--ye whomheaven destines to seal with your blood the independence of yournation, the honour of your women, and the purity of the religion whichye profess, do not dread the anguish of the last moments; remember inthese moments that there are in our hearts inexhaustible tears oftenderness to shed over your graves, and fervent prayers, to which theAlmighty Father of mercies will lend an ear, to grant you a glorysuperior to that which they who survive you shall enjoy. ' And in fact itought never to be forgotten, that the Spaniards have not wilfullyblinded themselves, but have steadily fixed their eyes not only upondanger and upon death, but upon a deplorable issue of the contest. Theyhave contemplated their subjugation as a thing possible. The nextextract, from the paper entitled Precautions, (and the same language isholden by many others) will show in what manner alone they reconcilethemselves to it. 'Therefore, it is necessary to sacrifice our lives andproperty in defence of the king, and of the country; and, though our lot(which we hope will never come to pass) should destine us to becomeslaves, let us become so fighting and dying like gallant men, not givingourselves up basely to the yoke like sheep, as the late infamousgovernment would have done, and fixing upon Spain and her slaveryeternal ignominy and disgrace. '

But let us now hear them, as becomes men with such feelings, expressmore cheering and bolder hopes rising from a confidence in the supremacyof justice, --hopes which, however the Tyrant from the iron fortresses ofhis policy may scoff at them and at those who entertained them, willrender their memory dear to all good men, when his name will bepronounced with universal abhorrence. 

'All Europe, ' says the Junta of Seville, 'will applaud our efforts andhasten to our assistance: Italy, Germany, and the whole North, whichsuffer under the despotism of the French nation, will eagerly availthemselves of the favourable opportunity, held out to them by Spain, toshake off the yoke and recover their liberty, their laws, theirmonarchs, and all they have been robbed of by that nation. Franceherself will hasten to erase the stain of infamy, which must cover thetools and instruments of deeds so treacherous and heinous. She will notshed her blood in so vile a cause. She has already suffered too muchunder the idle pretext of peace and happiness, which never came, and cannever be attained, but under the empire of reason, peace, religion, andlaws, and in a state where the rights of other nations are respected andpreserved. ' To this may be added a hope, the fulfilment of which belongsmore to themselves, and lies more within their own power, namely, a hopethat they shall be able in their progress towards liberty, to inflictcondign punishment on their cruel and perfidious enemies. The Junta ofSeville, in an Address to the People of Madrid, express themselves thus:'People of Madrid! Seville has learned, with consternation and surprize, your dreadful catastrophe of the second of May; the weakness of agovernment which did nothing in our favour, --which ordered arms to bedirected against you; and your heroic sacrifices. Blessed be ye, andyour memory shall shine immortal in the annals of our nation!--She hasseen with horror that the author of all your misfortunes and of our'shas published a proclamation, in which he distorted every fact, andpretended that you gave the first provocation, while it was he whoprovoked you. The government was weak enough to sanction and order thatproclamation to be circulated; and saw, with perfect composure, numbersof you put to death for a pretended violation of laws which did notexist. The French were told in that proclamation, that French bloodprofusely shed was crying out for vengeance! And the Spanish blood, doesnot _it_ cry out for vengeance? That Spanish blood, shed by an armywhich hesitated not to attack a disarmed and defenceless people, livingunder their laws and their king, and against whom cruelties werecommitted, which shake the human frame with horror. We, all Spain, exclaim--the Spanish blood shed in Madrid cries aloud for revenge!Comfort yourselves, we are your brethren: we will fight like you, untilwe perish in defending our king and country. Assist us with your goodwishes, and your continual prayers offered up to the Most High, whom weadore, and who cannot forsake us, because he never forsakes a justcause. ' Again, in the conclusion of their address to the People ofPortugal, quoted before, 'The universal cry of Spain is, we will die indefence of our country, but we will take care that those infamousenemies shall die with us. Come then, ye generous Portugueze, and unitewith us. You have among yourselves the objects of your vengeance--obeynot the authors of your misfortunes--attack them--they are but a handfulof miserable panic-struck men, humiliated and conquered already by theperfidy and cruelties which they have committed, and which have coveredthem with disgrace in the eyes of Europe and the world! Rise then in abody, but avoid staining your honourable hands with crimes, for yourdesign is to resist them and to destroy them--our united efforts will dofor this perfidious nation; and Portugal, Spain, nay, all Europe, shallbreathe or die free like men. '--Such are their hopes; and again see, upon this subject, the paper entitled '_Precautions_;' a contrast thisto the impious mockery of Providence, exhibited by the Tyrant in somepassages heretofore quoted! 'Care shall be taken to explain to thenation, and to convince them that, when free, as we trust to be, fromthis civil war, to which the French have forced us, and when placed in astate of tranquillity, our Lord and King, Ferdinand VII, being restoredto the throne of Spain, under him and by him, _the Cortes will beassembled, abuses reformed_, and such laws shall be enacted, as thecircumstances of the time and experience may dictate for the public goodand happiness. Things which we Spaniards know how to do, which we havedone as well as other nations, without any necessity that the vileFrench should come to instruct us, and, according to their custom, underthe mask of friendship, should deprive us of our liberty, our laws, &c. &c. '

One extract more and I shall conclude. It is from a proclamation datedOviedo, July 17th. 'Yes--Spain with the energies of Liberty has tocontend with France debilitated by slavery. If she remain firm andconstant, Spain will triumph. A whole people is more powerful thandisciplined armies. Those, who unite to maintain the independence oftheir country, must triumph over tyranny. Spain will inevitably conquer, in a cause the most just that has ever raised the deadly weapon of war;for she fights, not for the concerns of a day, but for the security andhappiness of ages; not for an insulated privilege, but for the rights ofhuman nature; not for temporal blessings, but for eternal happiness; notfor the benefit of one nation, but for all mankind, and even for Franceherself. '

I will now beg of my reader to pause a moment, and to review in his ownmind the whole of what has been laid before him. He has seen of whatkind, and how great have been the injuries endured by these two nations;what they have suffered, and what they have to fear; he has seen thatthey have felt with that unanimity which nothing but the light of truthspread over the inmost concerns of human nature can create; with thatsimultaneousness which has led Philosophers upon like occasions toassert, that the voice of the people is the voice of God. He has seenthat they have submitted as far as human nature could bear; and that atlast these millions of suffering people have risen almost like one man, with one hope; for whether they look to triumph or defeat, to victory ordeath, they are full of hope--despair comes not near them--they willdie, they say--each individual knows the danger, and, strong in themagnitude of it, grasps eagerly at the thought that he himself is toperish; and more eagerly, and with higher confidence, does he lay to hisheart the faith that the nation will survive and be victorious;--or, atthe worst, let the contest terminate how it may as to superiority ofoutward strength, that the fortitude and the martyrdom, the justice andthe blessing, are their's and cannot be relinquished. And not only arethey moved by these exalted sentiments of universal morality, and ofdirect and universal concern to mankind, which have impelled them toresist evil and to endeavour to punish the evil-doer, but also theydescend (for even this, great as in itself it is, may be here consideredas a descent) to express a rational hope of reforming domestic abuses, and of re-constructing, out of the materials of their ancientinstitutions, customs, and laws, a better frame of civil government, thesame in the great outlines of its architecture, but exhibiting theknowledge, and genius, and the needs of the present race, harmoniouslyblended with those of their forefathers. Woe, then, to the unworthy whointrude with their help to maintain this most sacred cause! It callsaloud, for the aid of intellect, knowledge, and love, and rejects everyother. It is in vain to send forth armies if these do not inspire anddirect them. The stream is as pure as it is mighty, fed by ten thousandsprings in the bounty of untainted nature; any augmentation from thekennels and sewers of guilt and baseness may clog, but cannot strengthenit. --It is not from any thought that I am communicating new information, that I have dwelt thus long upon this subject, but to recall to thereader his own knowledge, and to re-infuse into that knowledge a breathand life of appropriate feeling; because the bare sense of wisdom isnothing without its powers, and it is only in these feelings that thepowers of wisdom exist. If then we do not forget that the Spanish andPortugueze Nations stand upon the loftiest ground of principle andpassion, and do not suffer on our part those sympathies to languishwhich a few months since were so strong, and do not negligently ortimidly descend from those heights of magnanimity to which as a Nationwe were raised, when they first represented to us their wrongs andentreated our assistance, and we devoted ourselves sincerely andearnestly to their service, making with them a common cause under acommon hope; if we are true in all this to them and to ourselves, weshall not be at a loss to conceive what actions are entitled to ourcommendation as being in the spirit of a friendship so nobly begun, andtending assuredly to promote the common welfare; and what are abject, treacherous, and pernicious, and therefore to be condemned and abhorred. Is then, I may now ask, the Convention of Cintra an act of this latterkind? Have the Generals, who signed and ratified that agreement, therebyproved themselves unworthy associates in such a cause? And has theMinistry, by whose appointment these men were enabled to act in thismanner, and which sanctioned the Convention by permitting them to carryit into execution, thereby taken to itself a weight of guilt, in whichthe Nation must feel that it participates, until the transaction shallbe solemnly reprobated by the Government, and the remote and immediateauthors of it brought to merited punishment? An answer to each of thesequestions will be implied in the proof which will be given that thecondemnation, which the People did with one voice pronounce upon thisConvention when it first became known, was just; that the nature of theoffence of those who signed it was such, and established by evidence ofsuch a kind, making so imperious an exception to the ordinary course ofaction, that there was no need to wait here for the decision of a Courtof Judicature, but that the People were compelled by a necessityinvolved in the very constitution of man as a moral Being to passsentence upon them. And this I shall prove by trying this act of their'sby principles of justice which are of universal obligation, and by areference to those moral sentiments which rise out of that retrospect ofthings which has been given. 

I shall now proceed to facts. The dispatches of Sir Arthur Wellesley, containing an account of his having defeated the enemy in two severalengagements, spread joy through the Nation. The latter action appearedto have been decisive, and the result may be thus briefly reported, in anever to be forgotten sentence of Sir Arthur's second letter. 'In thisaction, ' says he, 'in which the whole of the French force in Portugalwas employed, under the command of the DUC D'ABRANTES in person, inwhich the enemy was certainly superior in cavalry and artillery, and inwhich not more than half of the British army was actually engaged, hesustained a signal defeat, and has lost thirteen pieces of cannon, &c. &c. ' In the official communication, made to the public of thesedispatches, it was added, that 'a General officer had arrived at theBritish head-quarters to treat for terms. ' This was joyful intelligence!First, an immediate, effectual, and honourable deliverance of Portugalwas confidently expected: secondly, the humiliation and captivity of alarge French army, and just punishment, from the hands of the Portuguezegovernment, of the most atrocious offenders in that army and among thosewho, having held civil offices under it, (especially if Portugueze) had, in contempt of all law, civil and military, notoriously abused the powerwhich they had treasonably accepted: thirdly, in this presumed surrenderof the army, a diminution of the enemy's military force was looked to, which, after the losses he had already sustained in Spain, would mostsensibly weaken it: and lastly, and far above this, there was ananticipation of a shock to his power, where that power is strongest, inthe imaginations of men, which are sure to fall under the bondage oflong-continued success. The judicious part of the Nation fixed theirattention chiefly on these results, and they had good cause to rejoice. They also received with pleasure this additional proof (which indeedwith the unthinking many, as after the victory of Maida, weighed toomuch, ) of the superiority in courage and discipline of the Britishsoldiery over the French, and of the certainty of success whenever ourarmy was led on by men of even respectable military talents against anyequal or not too greatly disproportionate number of the enemy. But thepleasure was damped in the minds of reflecting persons by severalcauses. It occasioned regret and perplexity, that they had not heardmore of the Portugueze. They knew what that People had suffered, and howthey had risen;--remembered the language of the proclamation addressedto them, dated August the 4th, and signed CHARLES COTTON and ARTHURWELLESLEY, in which they (the Portugueze) were told, that 'The BritishArmy had been sent in consequence of ardent supplications from all partsof Portugal; that the glorious struggle, in which they are engaged, isfor all that is dear to man; that the noble struggle against the tyrannyand usurpation of France will be _jointly_ maintained by Portugal, Spain, and England. ' Why then, it was asked, do we not hear more ofthose who are at least coequals with us, if not principals, in thiscontest? They appeared to have had little share in either engagement;(_See Appendix A_. ) and, while the French were abundantly praised, noword of commendation was found for _them_. Had they deserved to be thusneglected? The body of the People by a general rising had proved theirzeal and courage, their animosity towards their enemies, their hatred ofthem. It was therefore apprehended, from this silence respecting thePortugueze, that their Chiefs might either be distracted by factions, orblinded by selfish interests, or that they mistrusted their Allies. Situated as Portugal then was, it would argue gross ignorance of humannature to have expected that unanimity should prevail among all theseveral authorities or leading persons, as to the _means_ to beemployed: it was enough, that they looked with one feeling to the _end_, namely, an honourable deliverance of their country and security for itsIndependence in conjunction with the liberation and independence ofSpain. It was therefore absolutely necessary to make allowance for somedivision in conduct from difference of opinion. Instead of acquiescingin the first feelings of disappointment, our Commanders ought to haveused the best means to win the confidence of the Portugueze Chiefs, andto induce them to regard the British as dispassionate arbiters; theyought to have endeavoured to excite a genuine patriotic spirit where itappeared wanting, and to assist in creating for it an organ by which itmight act. Were these things done? or, if such evils existed among thePortugueze, was _any_ remedy or alleviation attempted? Sir ArthurWellesley has told us, before the Board of Inquiry, that he madeapplications to the Portugueze General, FRERE, for assistance, whichwere acceded to by General FRERE upon such conditions only as made SirArthur deem it more advisable to refuse than accept his co-operation:and it is alleged that, in his general expectations of assistance, hewas greatly disappointed. We are not disposed to deny, that such causefor complaint _might_ exist; but that it _did_, and upon no provocationon our part, requires confirmation by other testimony. And surely, thePortugueze have a right to be heard in answer to this accusation, beforethey are condemned. For they have supplied no fact from their own hands, which tends to prove that they were languid in the cause, or that theyhad unreasonable jealousies of the British Army or Nation, ordispositions towards them which were other than friendly. Now there is afact, furnished by Sir Arthur Wellesley himself, which may seem torender it in the highest degree probable that, previously to anyrecorded or palpable act of disregard or disrespect to the situation andfeelings of the Portugueze, the general tenour of his bearing towardsthem might have been such that they could not look favourably upon him;that he was not a man framed to conciliate them, to compose theirdifferences, or to awaken or strengthen their zeal. I allude to thepassage in his letter above quoted, where, having occasion to speak ofthe French General, he has found no name by which to designate him butthat of DUC D'ABRANTES--words necessarily implying, that Bonaparte, whohad taken upon himself to confer upon General Junot this Portuguezetitle with Portugueze domains to support it, was lawful Sovereign ofthat Country, and that consequently the Portugueze Nation were rebels, and the British Army, and he himself at the head of it, aiders andabettors of that rebellion. It would be absurd to suppose, that SirArthur Wellesley, at the time when he used these words, was aware of themeaning really involved in them: let them be deemed an oversight. Butthe capability of such an oversight affords too strong suspicion of adeadness to the moral interests of the cause in which he was engaged, and of such a want of sympathy with the just feelings of his injuredAlly as could exist only in a mind narrowed by exclusive and overweeningattention to the _military_ character, led astray by vanity, or hardenedby general habits of contemptuousness. These words, 'DUKE OF ABRANTES_in person_, ' were indeed words of bad omen: and thinking men trembledfor the consequences. They saw plainly, that, in the opinion of theexalted Spaniards--of those assuredly who framed, and of all who hadfelt, that affecting Proclamation addressed by the Junta of Seville tothe Portugueze people, he must appear utterly unworthy of the station inwhich he had been placed. He had been sent as a deliverer--as anassertor and avenger of the rights of human nature. But these wordswould carry with them every where the conviction, that Portugal andSpain, yea, all which was good in England, or iniquitous in France or inFrenchmen, was forgotten, and his head full only of himself, miserablyconceiting that he swelled the importance of his conquered antagonist bysounding titles and phrases, come from what quarter they might; andthat, in proportion as this was done, he magnified himself and hisachievements. It was plain, then, that here was a man, who, having notany fellow-feeling with the people whom he had been commissioned to aid, could not know where their strength lay, and therefore could not turn itto account, nor by his example call it forth or cherish it; but that, ifhis future conduct should be in the same spirit, he must be a blightingwind wherever his influence was carried: for he had neither felt thewrongs of his Allies nor been induced by common worldly prudence toaffect to feel them, or at least to disguise his insensibility; andtherefore what could follow, but, in despite of victory and outwarddemonstrations of joy, inward disgust and depression? These reflectionsinterrupted the satisfaction of many; but more from fear of futureconsequences than for the immediate enterprize, for here success seemedinevitable; and a happy and glorious termination was confidentlyexpected, yet not without that intermixture of apprehension, which wasat once an acknowledgment of the general condition of humanity, and aproof of the deep interest attached to the impending event. 

Sir Arthur Wellesley's dispatches had appeared in the Gazette on the 2dof September, and on the 16th of the same month suspence was put an endto by the publication of Sir Hew Dalrymple's letter, accompanied withthe Armistice and Convention. The night before, by order of ministers, an attempt had been made at rejoicing, and the Park and Tower guns hadbeen fired in sign of good news. --Heaven grant that the ears of thatgreat city may be preserved from such another outrage! As soon as thetruth was known, never was there such a burst of rage andindignation--such an overwhelming of stupefaction and sorrow. But I willnot, I cannot dwell upon it--it is enough to say, that Sir HewDalrymple and Sir Arthur Wellesley must he bold men if they can think ofwhat must have been reported to them, without awe and trembling; theheart of their country was turned against them, and they were execratedin bitterness. 

For they had changed all things into their contraries, hope intodespair; triumph into defeat; confidence into treachery, which left noplace to stand upon; justice into the keenest injury. --Whom had theydelivered but the Tyrant in captivity? Whose hands had they bound butthose of their Allies, who were able of themselves to have executedtheir own purposes? Whom had they punished but the innocent sufferer?Whom rewarded but the guiltiest of Oppressors? They had reversed everything:--favour and honour for their enemies--insult for theirfriends--and robbery (they had both protected the person of the robberand secured to him his booty) and opprobrium for themselves;--to thoseover whom they had been masters, who had crouched to them by an open actof submission, they had made themselves servants, turning the BritishLion into a beast of burthen, to carry a vanquished enemy, with his loadof iniquities, when and whither it had pleased him. 

Such issue would have been a heavy calamity at any time; but now, whenwe ought to have risen above ourselves, and if possible to have beenforemost in the strife of honour and magnanimity; now, when a new-bornpower had been arrayed against the Tyrant, the only one which everoffered a glimpse of hope to a sane mind, the power of popularresistance rising out of universal reason, and from the heart of humannature, --and by a peculiar providence disembarrassed from theimbecility, the cowardice, and the intrigues of a worn-outgovernment--that at this time we, the most favoured Nation upon earth, should have acted as if it had been our aim to level to the ground byone blow this long-wished-for spirit, whose birth we had so joyfullyhailed, and by which even our own glory, our safety, our existence, wereto be maintained; this was verily a surpassing affliction to every manwho had a feeling of life beyond his meanest concerns!

As soon as men had recovered from the shock, and could bear to looksomewhat steadily at these documents, it was found that the gross bodyof the transaction, considered as a military transaction, was this;that the Russian fleet, of nine sail of the line, which had been so longwatched, and could not have escaped, was to be delivered up to us; theships to be detained till six months after the end of the war, and thesailors sent home by us, and to be by us protected in their voyagethrough the Swedish fleet, and to be at liberty to fight immediatelyagainst our ally, the king of Sweden. Secondly, that a French army ofmore than twenty thousand men, already beaten, and no longer able toappear in the field, cut off from all possibility of receivingreinforcements or supplies, and in the midst of a hostile countryloathing and abhorring it, was to be transported with its arms, ammunition, and plunder, at the expence of Great Britain, in Britishvessels, and landed within a few days march of the Spanishfrontier, --there to be at liberty to commence hostilities immediately!

Omitting every characteristic which distinguishes the present contestfrom others, and looking at this issue merely as an affair between twoarmies, what stupidity of mind to provoke the accusation of not merelyshrinking from future toils and dangers, but of basely shifting theburthen to the shoulders of an ally, already overpressed!--Whatinfatuation, to convey the imprisoned foe to the very spot, whither, ifhe had had wings, he would have flown! This last was an absurdity asglaring as if, the French having landed on our own island, we had takenthem from Yorkshire to be set on shore in Sussex; but ten thousand timesworse! from a place where without our interference they had beenvirtually blockaded, where they were cut off, hopeless, useless, anddisgraced, to become an efficient part of a mighty host, carrying thestrength of their numbers, and alas! the strength of their glory, (notto mention the sight of their plunder) to animate that host; while theBritish army, more numerous in the proportion of three to two, with allthe population and resources of the peninsula to aid it, within ten dayssail of it's own country, and the sea covered with friendly shipping atit's back, was to make a long march to encounter this same enemy, (theBritish forfeiting instead of gaining by the treaty as to superiority ofnumbers, for that this would be the case was clearly foreseen) toencounter, in a new condition of strength and pride, those whom, by itsdeliberate act, it had exalted, --having taken from itself, meanwhile, all which it had conferred, and bearing into the presence of its nobleally an infection of despondency and disgrace. The motive assigned forall this, was the great importance of gaining time; fear of an openbeach and of equinoctial gales for the shipping; fear thatreinforcements could not be landed; fear of famine;--fear of every thingbut dishonour! (_See Appendix B_. )

The nation had expected that the French would surrender immediately atdiscretion; and, supposing that Sir Arthur Wellesley had told them thewhole truth, they had a right to form this expectation. It has sinceappeared, from the evidence given before the Board of Inquiry, that SirArthur Wellesley earnestly exhorted his successor in command (Sir HarryBurrard) to pursue the defeated enemy at the battle of Vimiera; andthat, if this had been done, the affair, in Sir Arthur Wellesley'sopinion, would have had a much more satisfactory termination. But, waiving any considerations of this advice, or of the fault which mightbe committed in not following it; and taking up the matter from the timewhen Sir Hew Dalrymple entered upon the command, and when the twoadverse armies were in that condition, relatively to each other, thatnone of the Generals has pleaded any difference of opinion as to theirability to advance against the enemy, I will ask what confirmation hasappeared before the Board of Inquiry, of the reasonableness of thecauses, assigned by Sir Hew Dalrymple in his letter, for deeming aConvention adviseable. A want of cavalry, (for which they who occasionedit are heavily censurable, ) has indeed been proved; and certain failuresof duty in the Commissariat department with respect to horses, &c. ; butthese deficiencies, though furnishing reasons against advancing upon theenemy in the open field, had ceased to be of moment, when the businesswas to expel him from the forts to which he might have the power ofretreating. It is proved, that, though there are difficulties in landingupon that coast, (and what military or marine operation can be carriedon without difficulty?) there was not the slightest reason to apprehendthat the army, which was then abundantly supplied, would sufferhereafter from want of provisions; proved also that heavy ordnance, forthe purpose of attacking the forts, was ready on ship-board, to belanded when and where it might be needed. Therefore, so far from beingexculpated by the facts which have been laid before the Board ofInquiry, Sir Hew Dalrymple and the other Generals, who deemed _any_Convention necessary or expedient upon the grounds stated in his letter, are more deeply criminated. But grant, (for the sake of looking at adifferent part of the subject, ) grant a case infinitely stronger thanSir Hew Dalrymple has even hinted at;--why was not the taste of some ofthose evils, in apprehension so terrible, actually tried? It would nothave been the first time that Britons had faced hunger and tempests, hadendured the worst of such enmity, and upon a call, under an obligation, how faint and feeble, compared with that which the brave men of thatarmy must have felt upon the present occasion! In the proclamationquoted before, addressed to the Portugueze, and signed Charles Cottonand Arthur Wellesley, they were told, that the objects, for which theycontended, 'could only be attained by distinguished examples offortitude and constancy. ' Where were the fortitude and constancy of theteachers? When Sir Hew Dalrymple had been so busy in taking the measureof his own weakness, and feeding his own fears, how came it to escapehim, that General Junot must also have had _his_ weaknesses and _his_fears? Was it nothing to have been defeated in the open field, where hehimself had been the assailant? Was it nothing that so proud a man, theservant of so proud a man, had stooped to send a General Officer totreat concerning the evacuation of the country? Was the hatred andabhorrence of the Portugueze and Spanish Nations nothing? the people ofa large metropolis under his eye--detesting him, and stung almost tomadness, nothing? The composition of his own army made up of men ofdifferent nations and languages, and forced into the service, --was thereno cause of mistrust in this? And, finally, among the many unsoundplaces which, had his mind been as active in this sort of inquiry as SirHew Dalrymple's was, he must have found in his constitution, could a badcause have been missed--a worse cause than ever confounded the mind of asoldier when boldly pressed upon, or gave courage and animation to arighteous assailant? But alas! in Sir Hew Dalrymple and his brethren, wehad Generals who had a power of sight only for the strength of theirenemies and their own weakness. 

Let me not be misunderstood. While I am thus forced to repeat things, which were uttered or thought of these men in reference to theirmilitary conduct, as heads of that army, it is needless to add, thattheir personal courage is in no wise implicated in the charge broughtagainst them. But, in the name of my countrymen, I do repeat theseaccusations, and tax them with an utter want of _intellectual_courage--of that higher quality, which is never found without one orother of the three accompaniments, talents, genius, orprinciple;--talents matured by experience, without which it cannot existat all; or the rapid insight of peculiar genius, by which the fitness ofan act may be instantly determined, and which will supply higher motivesthan mere talents can furnish for encountering difficulty and danger, and will suggest better resources for diminishing or overcoming them. Thus, through the power of genius, this quality of intellectual couragemay exist in an eminent degree, though the moral character be greatlyperverted; as in those personages, who are so conspicuous in history, conquerors and usurpers, the Alexanders, the Caesars, and Cromwells; andin that other class still more perverted, remorseless and energeticminds, the Catilines and Borgias, whom poets have denominated 'bold, badmen. ' But, though a course of depravity will neither preclude nordestroy this quality, nay, in certain circumstances will give it apeculiar promptness and hardihood of decision, it is not on this accountthe less true, that, to _consummate_ this species of courage, and torender it equal to all occasions, (especially when a man is not actingfor himself, but has an additional claim on his resolution from thecircumstance of responsibility to a superior) _Principle_ isindispensibly requisite. I mean that fixed and habitual principle, whichimplies the absence of all selfish anticipations, whether of hope orfear, and the inward disavowal of any tribunal higher and more dreadedthan the mind's own judgment upon its own act. The existence of suchprinciple cannot but elevate the most commanding genius, add rapidity tothe quickest glance, a wider range to the most ample comprehension; but, without this principle, the man of ordinary powers must, in the tryinghour, be found utterly wanting. Neither, without it, can the man ofexcelling powers be trustworthy, or have at all times a calm andconfident repose in himself. But he, in whom talents, genius, andprinciple are united, will have a firm mind, in whatever embarrassmenthe may be placed; will look steadily at the most undefined shapes ofdifficulty and danger, of possible mistake or mischance; nor will theyappear to him more formidable than they really are. For HIS attention isnot distracted--he has but one business, and that is with the objectbefore him. Neither in general conduct nor in particular emergencies, are HIS plans subservient to considerations of rewards, estate, ortitle: these are not to have precedence in his thoughts, to govern hisactions, but to follow in the train of his duty. Such men, in ancienttimes, were Phocion, Epaminondas, and Philopoemen; and such a man wasSir Philip Sidney, of whom it has been said, that he first taught thiscountry _the majesty of honest dealing_. With these may be named, thehonour of our own age, Washington, the deliverer of the AmericanContinent; with these, though in many things unlike, Lord Nelson, whomwe have lately lost. Lord Peterborough, who fought in Spain a hundredyears ago, had the same excellence; with a sense of exalted honour, anda tinge of romantic enthusiasm, well suited to the country which was thescene of his exploits. Would that we had a man, like Peterborough orNelson, at the head of our army in Spain at this moment! I utter thiswish with more earnestness, because it is rumoured, that some of those, who have already called forth such severe reprehension from theircountrymen, are to resume a command, which must entrust to them aportion of those sacred hopes in which, not only we, and the people ofSpain and Portugal, but the whole human race are so deeply interested. (_See Appendix C_. )

I maintain then that, merely from want of this intellectual courage, ofcourage as generals or chiefs, (for I will not speak at present of thewant of other qualities equally needful upon this service, ) grievouserrors were committed by Sir Hew Dalrymple and his colleagues inestimating the relative state of the two armies. A precious moment, itis most probable, had been lost after the battle of Vimiera; yet stillthe inferiority of the enemy had been proved; they themselves hadadmitted it--not merely by withdrawing from the field, but by proposingterms:--monstrous terms! and how ought they to have been received?Repelled undoubtedly with scorn, as an insult. If our Generals had beenmen capable of taking the measure of their real strength, either asexisting in their own army, or in those principles of liberty andjustice which they were commissioned to defend, they must of necessityhave acted in this manner;--if they had been men of common sagacity forbusiness, they must have acted in this manner;--nay, if they had beenupon a level with an ordinary bargain-maker in a Fair or a market, theycould not have acted otherwise. --Strange that they should so far forgetthe nature of their calling! They were soldiers, and their business wasto fight. Sir Arthur Wellesley had fought, and gallantly; it was notbecoming his high situation, or that of his successors, to treat, thatis, to beat down, to chaffer, or on their part to propose: it does notbecome any general at the head of a victorious army so to do. [19]

[19] Those rare cases are of course excepted, in which the superiorityon the one side is not only fairly to be presumed but positive--and soprominently obtrusive, that to _propose_ terms is to _inflict_ terms. 

They were to _accept_, --and, if the terms offered were flagrantlypresumptuous, our commanders ought to have rejected them with dignifiedscorn, and to have referred the proposer to the sword for a lesson ofdecorum and humility. This is the general rule of all high-minded menupon such occasions; and meaner minds copy them, doing in prudence whatthey do from principle. But it has been urged, before the Board ofInquiry, that the conduct of the French armies upon like occasions, andtheir known character, rendered it probable that a determined resistancewould in the present instance be maintained. We need not fear to saythat this conclusion, from reasons which have been adverted to, waserroneous. But, in the mind of him who had admitted it upon whateverground, whether false or true, surely the first thought which followed, ought to have been, not that we should bend to the enemy, but that, ifthey were resolute in defence, we should learn from that example to becourageous in attack. The tender feelings, however, are pleaded againstthis determination; and it is said, that one of the motives for thecessation of hostilities was to prevent the further effusion of humanblood. --When, or how? The enemy was delivered over to us; it was not tobe hoped that, cut off from all assistance as they were, these, or anequal number of men, could ever be reduced to such straits as wouldensure their destruction as an enemy, with so small a sacrifice of lifeon their part, or on ours. What then was to be gained by thistenderness? The shedding of a few drops of blood is not to be risked inPortugal to-day, and streams of blood must shortly flow from the sameveins in the fields of Spain! And, even if this had not been the assuredconsequence, let not the consideration, though it be one which no humaneman can ever lose sight of, have more than its due weight. For nationalindependence and liberty, and _that_ honour by which these and otherblessings are to be preserved, honour--which is no other than the mostelevated and pure conception of justice which can be formed, these aremore precious than life: else why have we already lost so many brave menin this struggle?--Why not submit at once, and let the Tyrant mount uponhis throne of universal dominion, while the world lies prostrate at hisfeet in indifference and apathy, which he will proclaim to it is peaceand happiness? But peace and happiness can exist only by knowledge andvirtue; slavery has no enduring connection with tranquillity orsecurity--she cannot frame a league with any thing which isdesirable--she has no charter even for her own ignoble ease and darlingsloth. Yet to this abject condition, mankind, betrayed by an ill-judgingtenderness, would surely be led; and in the face of an inevitablecontradiction! For neither in this state of things would the shedding ofblood be prevented, nor would warfare cease. The only difference wouldbe, that, instead of wars like those which prevail at this moment, presenting a spectacle of such character that, upon one side at least, asuperior Being might look down with favour and blessing, there wouldfollow endless commotions and quarrels without the presence of justiceany where, --in which the alternations of success would not excite a wishor regret; in which a prayer could not be uttered for a decision eitherthis way or that;--wars from no impulse in either of the combatants, butrival instigations of demoniacal passion. If, therefore, by the facultyof reason we can prophecy concerning the shapes which the future may puton, --if we are under any bond of duty to succeeding generations, thereis high cause to guard against a specious sensibility, which mayencourage the hoarding up of life for its own sake, seducing us fromthose considerations by which we might learn when it ought to beresigned. Moreover, disregarding future ages, and confining ourselves tothe present state of mankind, it may be safely affirmed that he, who isthe most watchful of the honour of his country, most determined topreserve her fair name at all hazards, will be found, in any view ofthings which looks beyond the passing hour, the best steward of the_lives_ of his countrymen. For, by proving that she is of a firm temper, that she will only submit or yield to a point of her own fixing, andthat all beyond is immutable resolution, he will save her from beingwantonly attacked; and, if attacked, will awe the aggressor into aspeedier abandonment of an unjust and hopeless attempt. Thus will hepreserve not only that which gives life its value, but life itself; andnot for his own country merely, but for that of his enemies, to whom hewill have offered an example of magnanimity, which will ensure to themlike benefits; an example, the re-action of which will be felt by hisown countrymen, and will prevent them from becoming assailants unjustlyor rashly. Nations will thus be taught to respect each other, andmutually to abstain from injuries. And hence, by a benign ordinance ofour nature, genuine honour is the hand-maid of humanity; the attendantand sustainer--both of the sterner qualities which constitute theappropriate excellence of the male character, and of the gentle andtender virtues which belong more especially to motherliness andwomanhood. These general laws, by which mankind is purified and exalted, and by which Nations are preserved, suggest likewise the best rules forthe preservation of individual armies, and for the accomplishment of allequitable service upon which they can be sent. 

Not therefore rashly and unfeelingly, but from the dictates ofthoughtful humanity, did I say that it was the business of our Generalsto fight, and to persevere in fighting; and that they did not bear thisduty sufficiently in mind; this, almost the sole duty which professionalsoldiers, till our time, (happily for mankind) used to think of. But thevictories of the French have been attended every where by the subversionof Governments; and their generals have accordingly united _political_with military functions: and with what success this has been done bythem, the present state of Europe affords melancholy proof. But havethey, on this account, ever neglected to calculate upon the advantageswhich might fairly be anticipated from future warfare? Or, in a treatyof to-day, have they ever forgotten a victory of yesterday? Eager tograsp at the double honour of captain and negociator, have they eversacrificed the one to the other; or, in the blind effort, lost both?Above all, in their readiness to flourish with the pen, have they everoverlooked the sword, the symbol of their power, and the appropriateinstrument of their success and glory? I notice this assumption of adouble character on the part of the French, not to lament over it andits consequences, but to render somewhat more intelligible the conductof our own Generals; and to explain how far men, whom we have no reasonto believe other than brave, have, through the influence of suchexample, lost sight of their primary duties, apeing instead ofimitating, and following only to be misled. 

It is indeed deplorable, that our Generals, from this infirmity, or fromany other cause, did not assume that lofty deportment which thecharacter and relative strength of the two armies authorized them, andthe nature of the service upon which they were sent, enjoined them toassume;--that they were in such haste to treat--that, with such an enemy(let me say at once, ) and in such circumstances, they should havetreated at all. Is it possible that they could ever have askedthemselves who that enemy was, how he came into that country, and whathe had done there? From the manifesto of the Portugueze government, issued at Rio Janeiro, and from other official papers, they might havelearned, what was notorious to all Europe, that this body of mencommissioned by Bonaparte, in the time of profound peace, without adeclaration of war, had invaded Portugal under the command of Junot, whohad perfidiously entered the country, as the General of a friendly andallied Power, assuring the people, as he advanced, that he came toprotect their Sovereign against an invasion of the English; and that, when in this manner he had entered a peaceable kingdom, which offered noresistance, and had expelled its lawful Sovereign, he wrung from itunheard-of contributions, ravaged it, cursed it with domestic pillageand open sacrilege; and that, when this unoffending people, unable toendure any longer, rose up against the tyrant, he had given their townsand villages to the flames, and put the whole country, thus resisting, under military execution. --Setting aside all natural sympathy with thePortugueze and Spanish nations, and all prudential considerations ofregard or respect for _their feelings_ towards these men, and for _theirexpectations_ concerning the manner in which they ought to be dealtwith, it is plain that the French had forfeited by their crimes allright to those privileges, or to those modes of intercourse, which onearmy may demand from another according to the laws of war. They were notsoldiers in any thing but the power of soldiers, and the outward frameof an army. During their occupation of Portugal, the laws and customs ofwar had never been referred to by them, but as a plea for some enormity, to the aggravated oppression of that unhappy country! Pillage, sacrilege, and murder--sweeping murder and individual assassination, hadbeen proved against them by voices from every quarter. They had outlawedthemselves by their offences from membership in the community of war, and from every species of community acknowledged by reason. But even, should any one be so insensible as to question this, he will not at allevents deny, that the French ought to have been dealt with as having puton a double character. For surely they never considered themselvesmerely as an army. They had dissolved the established authorities ofPortugal, and had usurped the civil power of the government; and it wasin this compound capacity, under this twofold monstrous shape, that theyhad exercised, over the religion and property of the country, the mostgrievous oppressions. What then remained to protect them but theirpower?--Right they had none, --and power! it is a mortifyingconsideration, but I will ask if Bonaparte, (nor do I mean in thequestion to imply any thing to his honour, ) had been in the place of SirHew Dalrymple, what would he have thought of their power?--Yet beforethis shadow the solid substance of _justice_ melted away. 

And this leads me from the contemplation of their errors in the estimateand application of means, to the contemplation of their heavier errorsand worse blindness in regard to ends. The British Generals acted as ifthey had no purpose but that the enemy should be removed from thecountry in which they were, upon _any_ terms. Now the evacuation ofPortugal was not the prime object, but the manner in which that eventwas to be brought about; this ought to have been deemed first both inorder and importance;--the French were to be subdued, their ferociouswarfare and heinous policy to be confounded; and in this way, and noother, was the deliverance of that country to be accomplished. It wasnot for the soil, or for the cities and forts, that Portugal was valued, but for the human feeling which was there; for the rights of humannature which might be there conspicuously asserted; for a triumph overinjustice and oppression there to be achieved, which could neither beconcealed nor disguised, and which should penetrate the darkest cornerof the dark Continent of Europe by its splendour. We combated forvictory in the empire of reason, for strongholds in the imagination. Lisbon and Portugal, as city and soil, were chiefly prized by us as a_language_; but our Generals mistook the counters of the game for thestake played for. The nation required that the French should surrenderat discretion;--grant that the victory of Vimiera had excited someunreasonable impatience--we were not so overweening as to demand thatthe enemy should surrender within a given time, but that they shouldsurrender. Every thing, short of this, was felt to be below the dutiesof the occasion; not only no service, but a grievous injury. Only as faras there was a prospect of forcing the enemy to an unconditionalsubmission, did the British Nation deem that they had a right tointerfere;--if that prospect failed, they expected that their army wouldknow that it became it to retire, and take care of itself. But ourGenerals have told us, that the Convention would not have been admitted, if they had not judged it right to effect, even upon these terms, theevacuation of Portugal--as ministerial to their future services inSpain. If this had been a common war between two established governmentsmeasuring with each other their regular resources, there might have beensome appearance of force in this plea. But who does not cry out at once, that the affections and opinions, that is, the souls of the people ofSpain and Portugal, must be the inspiration and the power, if thislabour is to be brought to a happy end? Therefore it was worse thanfolly to think of supporting Spain by physical strength, at the expenceof moral. Besides, she was strong in men; she never earnestly solicitedtroops from us; some of the Provinces had even refused them whenoffered, --and all had been lukewarm in the acceptance of them. TheSpaniards could not _ultimately_ be benefited but by Allies acting underthe same impulses of honour, roused by a sense of their wrongs, andsharing their loves and hatreds--above all, their _passion_ for justice. They had themselves given an example, at Baylen, proclaiming to all theworld what ought to be aimed at by those who would uphold their cause, and be associated in arms with them. And was the law of justice, whichSpaniards, Spanish peasantry, I might almost say, would not relax infavour of Dupont, to be relaxed by a British army in favour of Junot?Had the French commander at Lisbon, or his army, proved themselves lessperfidious, less cruel, or less rapacious than the other? Nay, did notthe pride and crimes of Junot call for humiliation and punishment farmore importunately, inasmuch as his power to do harm, and therefore hiswill, keeping pace with it, had been greater? Yet, in the noble letterof the Governor of Cadiz to Dupont, he expressly tells him, that hisconduct, and that of his army, had been such, that they owed their livesonly to that honour which forbad the Spanish army to becomeexecutioners. The Portugueze also, as appears from various lettersproduced before the Board of Inquiry, have shewn to our Generals, asboldly as their respect for the British Nation would permit them to do, what _they_ expected. A Portugueze General, who was also a member of theregency appointed by the Prince Regent, says, in a protest addressed toSir Hew Dalrymple, that he had been able to drive the French out of theprovinces of Algarve and Alentejo; and therefore he could not beconvinced, that such a Convention was necessary. What was this butimplying that it was dishonourable, and that it would frustrate theefforts which his country was making, and destroy the hopes which it hadbuilt upon its own power? Another letter from a magistrate inveighsagainst the Convention, as leaving the crimes of the French in Portugalunpunished; as giving no indemnification for all the murders, robberies, and atrocities which had been committed by them. But I feel that I shallbe wanting in respect to my countrymen if I pursue this argumentfurther. I blush that it should be necessary to speak upon the subjectat all. And these are men and things, which we have been reproved forcondemning, because evidence was wanting both as to fact and person! Ifthere ever was a case, which could not, in any rational sense of theword, be prejudged, this is one. As to the fact--it appears, and shedsfrom its own body, like the sun in heaven, the light by which it isseen; as to the person--each has written down with his own hand, _I amthe man_. Condemnation of actions and men like these is not, in theminds of a people, (thanks to the divine Being and to human nature!) amatter of choice; it is like a physical necessity, as the hand must beburned which is thrust into the furnace--the body chilled which standsnaked in the freezing north-wind. I am entitled to make this assertionhere, when the _moral_ depravity of the Convention, of which I shallhave to speak hereafter, has not even been touched upon. Nor let it beblamed in any man, though his station be in private life, that upon thisoccasion he speaks publicly, and gives a decisive opinion concerningthat part of this public event, and those measures, which are moreespecially military. All have a right to speak, and to make their voicesheard, as far as they have power. For these are times, in which theconduct of military men concerns us, perhaps, more intimately than thatof any other class; when the business of arms comes unhappily too nearto the fire-side; when the character and duties of a soldier ought to beunderstood by every one who values his liberty, and bears in mind howsoon he may have to fight for it. Men will and ought to speak uponthings in which they are so deeply interested; how else are rightnotions to spread, or is error to be destroyed? These are times also inwhich, if we may judge from the proceedings and result of the Court ofInquiry, the heads of the army, more than at any other period, stand inneed of being taught wisdom by the voice of the people. It is their owninterest, both as men and as soldiers, that the people should speakfervently and fearlessly of their actions:--from no other quarter canthey be so powerfully reminded of the duties which they owe tothemselves, to their country, and to human nature. Let any one read theevidence given before that Court, and he will there see, how much theintellectual and moral constitution of many of our military officers, has suffered by a profession, which, if not counteracted by admonitionswillingly listened to, and by habits of meditation, does, more than anyother, denaturalize--and therefore degrade the human being;--he willnote with sorrow, how faint are their sympathies with the best feelings, and how dim their apprehension of some of the most awful truths, relating to the happiness and dignity of man in society. But on this Ido not mean to insist at present; it is too weighty a subject to betreated incidentally: and my purpose is--not to invalidate the authorityof military men, _positively_ considered, upon a military question, but_comparatively_;--to maintain that there are military transactions uponwhich the people have a right to be heard, and upon which theirauthority is entitled to far more respect than any man or number of mencan lay claim to, who speak merely with the ordinary professional viewsof soldiership;--that there are such military transactions;--and that_this_ is one of them. 

The condemnation, which the people of these islands pronounced upon theConvention of Cintra considered as to its main _military_ results, thatis, as a treaty by which it was established that the Russian fleetshould be surrendered on the terms specified; and by which, not only theobligation of forcing the French army to an unconditional surrender wasabandoned, but its restoration in freedom and triumph to its own countrywas secured;--the condemnation, pronounced by the people upon a treaty, by virtue of which these things were to be done, I haverecorded--accounted for--and thereby justified. --I will now proceed toanother division of the subject, on which I feel a still more earnestwish to speak; because, though in itself of the highest importance, ithas been comparatively neglected;--mean the political injustice andmoral depravity which are stamped upon the front of this agreement, andpervade every regulation which it contains. I shall shew that ourGenerals (and with them our Ministers, as far as they might have eithergiven directions to this effect, or have countenanced what has beendone)--when it was their paramount duty to maintain at all hazards thenoblest principles in unsuspected integrity; because, upon the summonsof these, and in defence of them, their Allies had risen, and by thesealone could stand--not only did not perform this duty, but descended asfar below the level of ordinary principles as they ought to have mountedabove it;--imitating not the majesty of the oak with which it lifts itsbranches towards the heavens, but the vigour with which, in the languageof the poet, it strikes its roots downwards towards hell:--

 Radice in Tartara tendit. 

The Armistice is the basis of the Convention; and in the first articlewe find it agreed, 'That there shall be a suspension of hostilitiesbetween the forces of his Britannic Majesty, and those of his Imperialand Royal Majesty, Napoleon I. ' I will ask if it be the practice ofmilitary officers, in instruments of this kind, to acknowledge, in theperson of the head of the government with which they are at war, titleswhich their own government--for which they are acting--has notacknowledged. If this be the practice, which I will not stop todetermine, it is grossly improper; and ought to be abolished. OurGenerals, however, had entered Portugal as Allies of a Government bywhich this title had been acknowledged; and they might have pleaded thiscircumstance in mitigation of their offence; but surely not in aninstrument, where we not only look in vain for the name of thePortugueze Sovereign, or of the Government which he appointed, or of anyheads or representatives of the Portugueze armies or people as a partyin the contract, --but where it is stipulated (in the 4th article) thatthe British General shall engage to include the Portugueze armies inthis Convention. What an outrage!--We enter the Portugueze territory asAllies; and, without their consent--or even consulting them, we proceedto form the basis of an agreement, relating--- not to the safety orinterests of our own army--but to Portugueze territory, Portuguezepersons, liberties, and rights, --and engage, out of our own will andpower, to include the Portugueze army, they or their Government willingor not, within the obligation of this agreement. I place these things incontrast, viz. The acknowledgement of Bonaparte as emperor and king, andthe utter neglect of the Portugueze Sovereign and Portuguezeauthorities, to shew in what spirit and temper these agreements wereentered upon. I will not here insist upon what was our duty, on thisoccasion, to the Portugueze--as dictated by those sublime precepts ofjustice which it has been proved that they and the Spaniards had risento defend, --and without feeling the force and sanctity of which, theyneither could have risen, nor can oppose to their enemy resistance whichhas any hope in it; but I will ask, of any man who is not dead to thecommon feelings of his social nature--and besotted in understanding, ifthis be not a cruel mockery, and which must have been felt, unless itwere repelled with hatred and scorn, as a heart-breaking insult. Moreover, this conduct acknowledges, by implication, that principlewhich by his actions the enemy has for a long time covertly maintained, and now openly and insolently avows in his words--that power is themeasure of right;--and it is in a steady adherence to this abominabledoctrine that his strength mainly lies. I do maintain then that, as faras the conduct of our Generals in framing these instruments tends toreconcile men to this course of action, and to sanction this principle, they are virtually his Allies: their weapons may be against him, but hewill laugh at their weapons, --for he knows, though they themselves donot, that their souls are for him. Look at the preamble to theArmistice! In what is omitted and what is inserted, the French Rulercould not have fashioned it more for his own purpose if he had traced itwith his own hand. We have then trampled upon a fundamental principle ofjustice, and countenanced a prime maxim of iniquity; thus adding, in anunexampled degree, the foolishness of impolicy to the heinousness ofguilt. A conduct thus grossly unjust and impolitic, without having thehatred which it inspires neutralised by the contempt, is madecontemptible by utterly wanting that colour of right which authority andpower, put forth in defence of our Allies--in asserting their justclaims and avenging their injuries, might have given. But we, instead oftriumphantly displaying our power towards our enemies, haveostentatiously exercised it upon our friends; reversing here, as everywhere, the practice of sense and reason;--conciliatory even to abjectsubmission where we ought to have been haughty and commanding, --andrepulsive and tyrannical where we ought to have been gracious and kind. Even a common law of good breeding would have served us here, had weknown how to apply it. We ought to have endeavoured to raise thePortugueze in their own estimation by concealing our power in comparisonwith theirs; dealing with them in the spirit of those mild and humanedelusions, which spread such a genial grace over the intercourse, andadd so much to the influence of love in the concerns of private life. Itis a common saying, presume that a man is dishonest, and that is thereadiest way to make him so: in like manner it may be said, presume thata nation is weak, and that is the surest course to bring it toweakness, --if it be not rouzed to prove its strength by applying it tothe humiliation of your pride. The Portugueze had been weak; and, inconnection with their Allies the Spaniards, they were prepared to becomestrong. It was, therefore, doubly incumbent upon us to foster andencourage them--to look favourably upon their efforts--generously togive them credit upon their promises--to hope with them and for them;and, thus anticipating and foreseeing, we should, by a naturaloperation of love, have contributed to create the merits which wereanticipated and foreseen. I apply these rules, taken from theintercourse between individuals, to the conduct of large bodies of men, or of nations towards each other, because these are nothing butaggregates of individuals; and because the maxims of all just law, andthe measures of all sane practice, are only an enlarged or modifiedapplication of those dispositions of love and those principles ofreason, by which the welfare of individuals, in their connection witheach other, is promoted. There was also here a still more urgent callfor these courteous and humane principles as guides of conduct; because, in exact proportion to the physical weakness of Governments, and to thedistraction and confusion which cannot but prevail, when a people isstruggling for independence and liberty, are the well-intentioned andthe wise among them remitted for their support to those benignelementary feelings of society, for the preservation and cherishing ofwhich, among other important objects, government was from the beginningordained. 

Therefore, by the strongest obligations, we were bound to be studious ofa delicate and respectful bearing towards those ill-fated nations, ourAllies: and consequently, if the government of the Portugueze, thoughweak in power, possessed their affections, and was strong in right, itwas incumbent upon us to turn our first thoughts to that government, --tolook for it if it were hidden--to call it forth, --and, by our powercombined with that of the people, to assert its rights. Or, if thegovernment were dissolved and had no existence, it was our duty, in suchan emergency, to have resorted to the nation, expressing its willthrough the most respectable and conspicuous authority, through thatwhich seemed to have the best right to stand forth as itsrepresentative. In whatever circumstances Portugal had been placed, theparamount right of the Portugueze nation, or government, to appear notmerely as a party but a principal, ought to have been established as aprimary position, without the admission of which, all proposals to treatwould be peremptorily rejected. But the Portugueze _had_ a government;they had a lawful prince in Brazil; and a regency, appointed by him, athome; and generals, at the head of considerable bodies of troops, appointed also by the regency or the prince. Well then might one ofthose generals enter a formal protest against the treaty, on account ofits being 'totally void of that deference due to the prince regent, orthe government that represents him; as being hostile to the sovereignauthority and independence of that government; and as being against thehonour, safety, and independence of the nation. ' I have already remindedthe reader, of the benign and happy influences which might have attendedupon a different conduct; how much good we might have added to thatalready in existence; how far we might have assisted in strengthening, among our Allies, those powers, and in developing those virtues, whichwere producing themselves by a natural process, and to which thesebreathings of insult must have been a deadly check and interruption. Norwould the evil be merely negative; for the interference of professedfriends, acting in this manner, must have superinduced dispositions andpassions, which were alien to the condition of thePortugueze;--scattered weeds which could not have been found upon thesoil, if our ignorant hands had not sown them. Of this I will not nowspeak, for I have already detained the reader too long at thethreshold;--but I have put the master key into his possession; and everychamber which he opens will be found loathsome as the one which he lastquitted. Let us then proceed. 

By the first article of the Convention it is covenanted, that all theplaces and forts in the kingdom of Portugal, occupied by the Frenchtroops, shall be delivered to the British army. Articles IV. And XII. Are to the same effect--determining the surrender of Portuguezefortified places, stores, and ships, to the English forces; but not aword of their being to be holden in trust for the prince regent, or hisgovernment, to whom they belonged! The same neglect or contempt ofjustice and decency is shewn here, as in the preamble to theseinstruments. It was further shewn afterwards, by the act of hoisting theBritish flag instead of the Portugueze upon these forts, when they werefirst taken possession of by the British forces. It is no excuse to saythat this was not intended. Such inattentions are among the mostgrievous faults which can be committed; and are _impossible_, when theaffections and understandings of men are of that quality, and in thatstate, which are required for a service in which there is any thingnoble or virtuous. Again, suppose that it was the purpose of thegenerals, who signed and ratified a Convention containing the articlesin question, that the forts and ships, &c. Should be deliveredimmediately to the Portugueze government, --would the delivering up ofthem wipe away the affront? Would it not rather appear, after theomission to recognize the right, that we had ostentatiously taken uponus to bestow--as a boon--- that which they felt to be their own?

Passing by, as already deliberated and decided upon, those conditions, (Articles II. And III. ) by which it is stipulated, that the French armyshall not be considered as prisoners of war, shall be conveyed witharms, &c. To some port between Rochefort and L'Orient, and be at libertyto serve; I come to that memorable condition, (Article V. ) 'that theFrench army shall carry with it all its equipments, that is to say, itsmilitary chests and carriages, attached to the field commissariat andfield hospitals, or shall be allowed to dispose of such part, as theCommander in Chief may judge it unnecessary to embark. In like mannerall individuals of the army shall be at liberty to dispose of _theirprivate property_ of _every_ description, with full security hereafterfor the purchasers. ' This is expressed still more pointedly in theArmistice, --though the meaning, implied in the two articles, isprecisely the same. For, in the fifth article of the Armistice, it isagreed provisionally, 'that all those, of whom the French army consists, shall be conveyed to France with arms and baggage, _and_ all theirprivate property of every description, no part of which shall be wrestedfrom them. ' In the Convention it is only expressed, that they shall beat liberty to depart, (Article II. ) with arms and baggage, and (ArticleV. ) to dispose of their private property of every description. But, ifthey had a right to dispose of it, _this_ would include a right to carryit away--which was undoubtedly understood by the French general. And inthe Armistice it is expressly said, that their private property of everydescription shall be conveyed to France along with their persons. Whatthen are we to understand by the words, _their private property of everydescription_? Equipments of the army in general, and baggage ofindividuals, had been stipulated for before: now we all know that thelawful professional gains and earnings of a soldier must be small; thathe is not in the habit of carrying about him, during actual warfare, anyaccumulation of these or other property; and that the ordinary privateproperty, which he can be supposed to have a _just_ title to, isincluded under the name of his _baggage_;--therefore this was somethingmore; and what it was--is apparent. No part of their property, says theArmistice, shall be _wrested from them_. Who does not see in these wordsthe consciousness of guilt, an indirect self-betraying admission thatthey had in their hands treasures which might be lawfully taken fromthem, and an anxiety to prevent that act of justice by a positivestipulation? Who does not see, on what sort of property the Frenchmanhad his eye; that it was not property by right, but their_possessions_--their plunder--every thing, by what means soeveracquired, that the French army, or any individual in it, was possessedof? But it has been urged, that the monstrousness of such a suppositionprecludes this interpretation, renders it impossible that it couldeither be intended by the one party, or so understood by the other. Whatright they who signed, and he who ratified this Convention, have toshelter themselves under this plea--will appear from the 16th and 17tharticles. In these it is stipulated, 'that all subjects of France, or ofPowers in alliance with France, domiciliated in Portugal, oraccidentally in the country, shall have their property of everykind--moveable and immoveable--guaranteed to them, with liberty ofretaining or disposing of it, and passing the produce into France:' thesame is stipulated, (Article XVII. ) for such natives of Portugal as havesided with the French, or occupied situations under _the FrenchGovernment_. Here then is a direct avowal, still more monstrous, thatevery Frenchman, or native of a country in alliance with France, howeverobnoxious his crimes may have made him, and every traitorous Portugueze, shall have his property guaranteed to him (both previously to and afterthe reinstatement of the Portugueze government) by the British army! Nowlet us ask, what sense the word property must have had fastened to it in_these_ cases. Must it not necessarily have included all the rewardswhich the Frenchman had received for his iniquity, and the traitorousPortugueze for his treason? (for no man would bear a part in suchoppressions, or would be a traitor for nothing; and, moreover, all therewards, which the French could bestow, must have been taken from thePortugueze, extorted from the honest and loyal, to be given to thewicked and disloyal. ) These rewards of iniquity must necessarily havebeen included; for, on our side, no attempt is made at a distinction;and, on the side of the French, the word _immoveable_ is manifestlyintended to preclude such a distinction, where alone it could have beeneffectual. Property, then, here means--possessions thus infamouslyacquired; and, in the instance of the Portugueze, the fundamental notionof the word is subverted; for a traitor can have no property, till thegovernment of his own country has remitted the punishment due to hiscrimes. And these wages of guilt, which the master by such exactions wasenabled to pay, and which the servant thus earned, are to be guaranteedto him by a British _army_! Where does there exist a power on earth thatcould confer this right? If the Portugueze government itself had actedin this manner, it would have been guilty of wilful suicide; and thenation, if it had acted so, of high treason against itself. Let it not, then, be said, that the monstrousness of covenanting to convey, alongwith the persons of the French, their plunder, secures the article fromthe interpretation which the people of Great Britain gave, and which, Ihave now proved, they were bound to give to it. --But, conceding for amoment, that it was not intended that the words should bear this sense, and that, neither in a fair grammatical construction, nor as illustratedby other passages or by the general tenour of the document, theyactually did bear it, had not unquestionable voices proclaimed thecruelty and rapacity--the acts of sacrilege, assassination, and robbery, by which these treasures had been amassed? Was not the perfidy of theFrench army, and its contempt of moral obligation, both as a body and asto the individuals which composed it, infamous throughEurope?--Therefore, the concession would signify nothing: for ourGenerals, by allowing an army of this character to depart with itsequipments, waggons, military chest, and baggage, had provided abundantmeans to enable it to carry off whatsoever it desired, and thus to eludeand frustrate any stipulations which might have been made for compellingit to restore that which had been so iniquitously seized. And here arewe brought back to the fountain-head of all this baseness; to thatapathy and deadness to the principle of justice, through the influenceof which, this army, outlawed by its crimes, was suffered to depart fromthe Land, over which it had so long tyrannized--other than as a band ofdisarmed prisoners. --I maintain, therefore, that permission to carry offthe booty was distinctly expressed; and, if it had not been so, thatthe principle of justice could not here be preserved; as a violation ofit must necessarily have followed from other conditions of the treaty. Sir Hew Dalrymple himself, before the Court of Inquiry, has told us, intwo letters (to Generals Beresford and Friere, ) that 'such part of theplunder as was in money, it would be difficult, if not impossible, toidentify;' and, consequently, the French could not be prevented fromcarrying it away with them. From the same letters we learn, that 'theFrench were intending to carry off a considerable part of their plunder, by calling it public money, and saying that it belonged to the militarychest; and that their evasions of the article were most shameful, andevinced a want of probity and honour, which was most disgraceful tothem. ' If the French had given no other proofs of their want of suchvirtues, than those furnished by this occasion, neither the Portugueze, nor Spanish, nor British nations would condemn them, nor hate them asthey now do; nor would this article of the Convention have excited suchindignation. For the French, by so acting, could not deem themselvesbreaking an engagement; no doubt they looked upon themselves asinjured, --that the failure in good faith was on the part of the British;and that it was in the lawlessness of power, and by a mere quibble, thatthis construction was afterwards put upon the article in question. 

Widely different from the conduct of the British was that of theSpaniards in a like case:--with high feeling did they, abating not a jotor a tittle, enforce the principle of justice. 'How, ' says the governorof Cadiz to General Dupont in the same noble letter before alluded to, 'how, ' says he, after enumerating the afflictions which his army, andthe tyrant who had sent it, had unjustly brought upon the Spanishnation, (for of these, in _their_ dealings with the French, they neverfor a moment lost sight, ) 'how, ' asks he, 'could you expect, that yourarmy should carry off from Spain the fruit of its rapacity, cruelty, andimpiety? how could you conceive this possible, or that we should be sostupid or senseless?' And this conduct is as wise in reason as it istrue to nature. The Spanish people could have had no confidence in theirgovernment, if it had not acted thus. These are the sympathies which, prove that a government is paternal, --that it makes one family with thepeople: besides, it is only by such adherence to justice, that, intimes of like commotion, popular excesses can either be mitigated orprevented. If we would be efficient allies of Spain, nay, if we wouldnot run the risk of doing infinite harm, these sentiments must not onlybe ours as a nation, but they must pervade the hearts of our ministersand our generals--our agents and our ambassadors. If it be not so, they, who are sent abroad, must either be conscious how unworthy they are, andwith what unworthy commissions they appear, or not: if they do feelthis, then they must hang their heads, and blush for their country andthemselves; if they do not, the Spaniards must blush for them and revoltfrom them; or, what would be ten thousand times more deplorable, theymust purchase a reconcilement and a communion by a sacrifice of all thatis excellent in themselves. Spain must either break down her loftyspirit, her animation and fiery courage, to run side by side in the sametrammels with Great Britain; or she must start off from her intendedyoke-fellow with contempt and aversion. This is the alternative, andthere is no avoiding it. 

I have yet to speak of the influence of such concessions upon the FrenchRuler and his army. With what Satanic pride must he have contemplatedthe devotion of his servants and adherents to _their_ law, thesteadiness and zeal of their perverse loyalty, and the faithfulness withwhich they stand by him and each other! How must his heart havedistended with false glory, while he contrasted these qualities of hissubjects with the insensibility and slackness of his British enemies!This notice has, however, no especial propriety in this place; for, asfar as concerns Bonaparte, his pride and depraved confidence may beequally fed by almost all the conditions of this instrument. But, as tohis army, it is plain that the permission (whether it be considered asby an express article formally granted, or only involved in the generalconditions of the treaty), to bear away in triumph the harvest of itscrimes, must not only have emboldened and exalted it with arrogance, andwhetted its rapacity; but that hereby every soldier, of which this armywas composed, must, upon his arrival in his own country, have been aseed which would give back plenteously in its kind. The French are atpresent a needy people, without commerce or manufactures, --unsettled intheir minds and debased in their morals by revolutionary practices andhabits of warfare; and the youth of the country are rendered desperateby oppression, which, leaving no choice in their occupation, dischargesthem from all responsibility to their own consciences. How powerful thenmust have been the action of such incitements upon a people socircumstanced! The actual sight, and, far more, the imaginary sight andhandling of these treasures, magnified by the romantic tales which musthave been spread about them, would carry into every town and village anantidote for the terrors of conscription; and would rouze men, like thedreams imported from the new world when the first discoverers andadventurers returned, with their ingots and their gold dust--theirstories and their promises, to inflame and madden the avarice of theold. 'What an effect, ' says the Governor of Cadiz, 'must it have uponthe people, ' (he means the Spanish people, ) 'to know that a singlesoldier was carrying away 2580 livres tournois!' What an effect, (hemight have said also, ) must it have upon the French!--I direct thereader's attention to this, because it seems to have been overlooked;and because some of the public journals, speaking of the Convention, (and, no doubt, uttering the sentiments of several of theirreaders, )--say 'that they are disgusted with the transaction, notbecause the French have been permitted to carry off a few diamonds, orsome ingots of silver; but because we confessed, by consenting to thetreaty, that an army of 35, 000 British troops, aided by the Portuguezenation, was not able to compel 20, 000 French to surrender atdiscretion. ' This is indeed the root of the evil, as hath been shewn;and it is the curse of this treaty, that the several parts of it are ofsuch enormity as singly to occupy the attention and to destroycomparison and coexistence. But the people of Great Britain aredisgusted both with the one and the other. They bewail the violation ofthe principle: if the value of the things carried off had been in itselftrifling, their grief and their indignation would have been scarcelyless. But it is manifest, from what has been said, that it was nottrifling; and that therefore, (upon that account as well as uponothers, ) this permission was no less impolitic than it was unjust anddishonourable. 

In illustrating these articles of the Armistice and Convention, by whichthe French were both expressly permitted and indirectly enabled to carryoff their booty, we have already seen, that a concession was made whichis still more enormous; viz. That all subjects of France, or of powersin alliance with France, domiciliated in Portugal or resident there, andall natives of Portugal who have accepted situations under _the Frenchgovernment_, &c. , shall have their _property_ of every kind guaranteedto them by the British army. By articles 16th and 17th, their _persons_are placed under the like protection. 'The French' (Article XVI. ) 'shallbe at liberty either to accompany the French army, or to remain inPortugal;' 'And the Portugueze' (Article XVII. ) 'shall not be renderedaccountable for their political conduct during the period of theoccupation of the country by the French army: they all are placed underthe protection of the British commanders, and shall sustain no injury intheir property or persons. '

I have animadverted, heretofore, upon the unprofessional eagerness ofour Generals to appear in the character of negotiators when the swordwould have done them more service than the pen. But, if they hadconfined themselves to mere military regulations, they might indeed withjustice have been grievously censured as injudicious commanders, whosenotion of the honour of armies was of a low pitch, and who had noconception of the peculiar nature of the service in which they wereengaged: but the censure must have stopped here. Whereas, by theseprovisions, they have shewn that they have never reflected upon thenature of military authority as contra-distinguished from civil. Frenchexample had so far dazzled and blinded them, that the French army issuffered to denominate itself '_the French government_;' and, from thewhole tenour of these instruments, (from the preamble, and thesearticles especially, ) it should seem that our Generals fanciedthemselves and their army to be _the British government_. For theseregulations, emanating from a mere military authority, are purely civil;but of such a kind, that no power on earth could confer a right toestablish them. And this trampling upon the most sacred rights--thissacrifice of the consciousness of a self-preserving principle, withoutwhich neither societies nor governments can exist, is not made by ourgenerals in relation to subjects of their own sovereign, but to anindependent nation, our ally, into whose territories we could not haveentered but from its confidence in our friendship and good faith. Surelythe persons, who (under the countenance of too high authority) havetalked so loudly of prejudging this question, entirely overlooked orutterly forgot this part of it. What have these monstrous provisions todo with the relative strength of the two armies, or with any pointadmitting a doubt? What need here of a Court of Judicature to settle whowere the persons (their names are subscribed by their own hands), and todetermine the quality of the thing? Actions and agents like these, exhibited in this connection with each other, must of necessity becondemned the moment they are known: and to assert the contrary, is tomaintain that man is a being without understanding, and that morality isan empty dream. And, if this condemnation must after this manner follow, to utter it is less a duty than a further inevitable consequence fromthe constitution of human nature. They, who hold that the formalsanction of a Court of Judicature is in this case required before apeople has a right to pass sentence know not to what degree they areenemies to that people and to mankind; to what degree selfishness, whether arising from their peculiar situation or from other causes, hasin them prevailed over those faculties which are our common inheritance, and cut them off from fellowship with the species. Most deplorable wouldbe the result, if it were possible that the injunctions of these mencould be obeyed, or their remonstrances acknowledged to be just. For, (not to mention that, if it were not for such prompt decisions of thepublic voice, misdemeanours of men high in office would rarely beaccounted for at all, ) we must bear in mind, at this crisis, that theadversary of all good is hourly and daily extending his ravages; and, according to such notions of fitness, our indignation, our sorrow, ourshame, our sense of right and wrong, and all those moral affections, andpowers of the understanding, by which alone he can be effectuallyopposed, are to enter upon a long vacation; their motion is to besuspended--a thing impossible; if it could, it would be destroyed. 

Let us now see what language the Portugueze speak upon that part of thetreaty which has incited me to give vent to these feelings, and toassert these truths. 'I protest, ' says General Friere, 'against ArticleXVII. , one of the two now under examination, because it attempts to tiedown the government of this kingdom not to bring to justice and condignpunishment those persons, who have been notoriously and scandalouslydisloyal to their prince and the country by joining and serving theFrench party: and, even if the English army should be allowed to screenthem from the punishment they have deserved, still it should not preventtheir expulsion--whereby this country would no longer have to fear beingagain betrayed by the same men. ' Yet, while the partizans of the Frenchare thus guarded, not a word is said to protect the loyal Portugueze, whose fidelity to their country and their prince must have rendered themobnoxious to the French army; and who in Lisbon and the environs, wereleft at its mercy from the day when the Convention was signed, till thedeparture of the French. Couple also with this the first additionalarticle, by which it is agreed, 'that the individuals in the civilemployment of the army, ' (including all the agitators, spies, informers, all the jackals of the ravenous lion, ) 'made prisoners either by theBritish troops or the Portugueze in any part of Portugal, will berestored (_as is customary_) without exchange. ' That is, no stipulationsbeing made for reciprocal conditions! In fact, through the whole courseof this strange interference of a military power with the administrationof civil justice in the country of an Ally, there is only one article(the 15th) which bears the least shew of attention to Portuguezeinterests. By this it is stipulated, 'That, from the date of theratification of the Convention, all arrears of contributions, requisitions, or claims whatever of the French Government againstsubjects of Portugal, or any other individuals residing in this country, founded on the occupation of Portugal by the French troops in the monthof December 1807, which may not have been paid up, are cancelled: andall sequestrations, laid upon their property moveable or immoveable, areremoved; and the free disposal of the same is restored to the properowners. ' Which amounts to this. The French are called upon formally torelinquish, in favour of the Portugueze, that to which they never hadany right; to abandon false claims, which they either had a power toenforce, or they had not: if they departed immediately and had _not_power, the article was nugatory; if they remained a day longer and _had_power, there was no security that they would abide by it. Accordingly, loud complaints were made that, after the date of the Convention, allkinds of ravages were committed by the French upon Lisbon and itsneighbourhood: and what did it matter whether these were upon the pleaof old debts and requisitions; or new debts were created more greedilythan ever--from the consciousness that the time for collecting them wasso short? This article, then, the only one which is even in shewfavourable to the Portugueze, is, in substance, nothing: inasmuch as, inwhat it is silent upon, (viz. That the People of Lisbon and itsneighbourhood shall not be vexed and oppressed by the French, duringtheir stay, with new claims and robberies, ) it is grossly cruel ornegligent; and, in that for which it actually stipulates, whollydelusive. It is in fact insulting; for the very admission of a formalrenunciation of these claims does to a certain degree acknowledge theirjustice. The only decent manner of introducing matter to this effectwould have been by placing it as a bye clause of a provision thatsecured the Portugueze from further molestations, and merely alluding toit as a thing understood of course. Yet, from the place which thisspecious article occupies, (preceding immediately the 16th and 17thwhich we have been last considering, ) it is clear that it must have beenintended by the French General as honey smeared upon the edge of thecup--to make the poison, contained in those two, more palateable. 

Thus much for the Portugueze, and their particular interests. In oneinstance, a concern of the Spanish Nation comes directly under notice;and that Nation also is treated without delicacy or feeling. For by the18th article it is agreed, 'that the Spaniards, (4000 in number) who hadbeen disarmed, and were confined on ship-board in the port of Lisbon bythe French, should be liberated. ' And upon what consideration? Not upontheir _right_ to be free, as having been treacherously and cruelly dealtwith by men who were part of a Power that was labouring to subjugatetheir country, and in this attempt had committed inhuman crimes againstit;--not even exchanged as soldiers against soldiers:--but the conditionof their emancipation is, that the British General engages 'to obtain ofthe Spaniards to restore such French subjects, either military or civil, as have been detained in Spain, without having been taken in battle orin consequence of military operations, but on account of the_occurrences_ of the 29th of last May and the days immediatelyfollowing. '_Occurrences_!' I know not what are exactly the features ofthe face for which this word serves as a veil: I have no register athand to inform me what these events precisely were: but there can be nodoubt that it was a time of triumph for liberty and humanity; and thatthe persons, for whom these noble-minded Spaniards were to be exchanged, were no other than a horde from among the most abject of the FrenchNation; probably those wretches, who, having never faced either thedangers or the fatigues of war, had been most busy in secretpreparations or were most conspicuous in open acts of massacre, when thestreets of Madrid, a few weeks before, had been drenched with the bloodof two thousand of her bravest citizens. Yet the liberation of theseSpaniards, upon these terms, is recorded (in the report of the Court ofEnquiry) 'as one of the advantages which, in the contemplation of theGenerals, would result from the Convention!'

Finally, 'If there shall be any doubt (Article XIV. ) as to the meaningof any article, it shall be explained favourably to the French Army; andHostages (Article XX. ) of the rank of Field Officers, on the part of theBritish Army and Navy, shall be furnished for the guarantee of thepresent Convention. '

I have now gone through the painful task of examining the most materialconditions of the CONVENTION of CINTRA:--the whole number of thearticles is twenty-two, with three additional ones--a long ladder into adeep abyss of infamy!--

Need it be said that neglects--injuries--and insults--like these whichwe have been contemplating, come from what quarter they may, let them beexhibited towards whom they will, must produce not merely mistrust andjealousy, but alienation and hatred. The passions and feelings may bequieted or diverted for a short time; but, though out of sight orseemingly asleep, they must exist; and the life which they have receivedcannot, but by a long course of justice and kindness, be overcome anddestroyed. But why talk of a long course of justice and kindness, whenthe immediate result must have been so deplorable? Relying upon ourhumanity, our fellow-feeling, and our justice, upon these instant andurgent claims, sanctioned by the more mild one of ancient alliance, thePortugueze People by voices from every part of their land entreated oursuccour; the arrival of a British Army upon their coasts was joyfullyhailed; and the people of the country zealously assisted in landing thetroops; without which help, as a British General has informed us, thatlanding could not have been effected. And it is in this manner thatthey are repaid! Scarcely have we set foot upon their country before westing them into self-reproaches, and act in every thing as if it wereour wish to make them ashamed of their generous confidence as of afoolish simplicity--proclaiming to them that they have escaped from onethraldom only to fall into another. If the French had any traitorouspartizans in Portugal, (and we have seen that such there were; and thatnothing was left undone on our part, which could be done, to keep themthere, and to strengthen them) what answer could have been given to oneof these, if (with this treaty in his hand) he had said, 'The Frenchhave dealt hardly with us, I allow; but we have gained nothing: thechange is not for the better, but for the worse: for the appetite oftheir tyranny was palled; but this, being new to its food, is keen andvigorous. If you have only a choice between two masters, (such anadvocate might have argued) chose always the stronger: for he, after hisevil passions have had their first harvest, confident in his strength, will not torment you wantonly in order to prove it. Besides, theproperty which he has in you he can maintain; and there will be no riskof your being torn in pieces--the unsettled prey of two rival claimants. You will thus have the advantage of a fixed and assured object of yourhatred: and your fear, being stripped of doubt, will lose its motion andits edge: both passions will relax and grow mild; and, though they maynot turn into reconcilement and love, though you may not be independentnor be free, yet you will at least exist in tranquillity, --and possess, if not the activity of hope, the security of despair. ' No effectualanswer, I say, could have been given to a man pleading thus in suchcircumstances. So much for the choice of evils. But, for the hope ofgood!--what is to become of the efforts and high resolutions of thePortugueze and Spanish Nations, manifested by their own hand in themanner which we have seen? They may live indeed and prosper; but not byus, but in despite of us. 

Whatever may be the character of the Portugueze Nation; be it true ornot, that they had a becoming sense of the injuries which they hadreceived from the French Invader, and were rouzed to throw offoppression by a universal effort, and to form a living barrier againstit;--certain it is that, betrayed and trampled upon as they had been, they held unprecedented claims upon humanity to secure them from furtheroutrages. --Moreover, our conduct towards them was grossly inconsistent. For we entered their country upon the supposition that they had suchsensibility and virtue; we announced to them publickly and solemnly ourbelief in this: and indeed to have landed a force in the Peninsula uponany other inducement would have been the excess of folly and madness. But the Portugueze _are_ a brave people--a people of great courage andworth! Conclusions, drawn from intercourse with certain classes of thedepraved inhabitants of Lisbon only, and which are true only withrespect to them, have been hastily extended to the whole Nation, whichhas thus unjustly suffered both in our esteem and in that of all Europe. In common with their neighbours the Spaniards, they _were_ making auniversal, zealous, and fearless effort; and, whatever may be the finalissue, the very act of having risen under the pressure and in the faceof the most tremendous military power which the earth has ever seen--isitself evidence in their favour, the strongest and most comprehensivewhich can be given; a transcendent glory! which, let it be remembered, no subsequent failures in duty on their part can forfeit. This they musthave felt--that they had furnished an illustrious example; and thatnothing can abolish their claim upon the good wishes and upon thegratitude of mankind, which is--and will be through all ages their due. At such a time, then, injuries and insults from any quarter would havebeen deplorable; but, proceeding from us, the evil must have beenaggravated beyond calculation. For we have, throughout Europe, thecharacter of a sage and meditative people. Our history has been read bythe degraded Nations of the Continent with admiration, and some portionsof it with awe; with a recognition of superiority and distance, whichwas honourable to us--salutary for those to whose hearts, in theirdepressed state, it could find entrance--and promising for the futurecondition of the human race. We have been looked up to as a people whohave acted nobly; whom their constitution of government has enabled tospeak and write freely, and who therefore have thought comprehensively;as a people among whom philosophers and poets, by their surpassinggenius--their wisdom--and knowledge of human nature, havecirculated--and made familiar--divinely-tempered sentiments and thepurest notions concerning the duties and true dignity of individual andsocial man in all situations and under all trials. By so readilyacceding to the prayers with which the Spaniards and Portuguezeentreated our assistance, we had proved to them that we were not wantingin fellow-feeling. Therefore might we be admitted to be judges betweenthem and their enemies--unexceptionable judges--more competent even thana dispassionate posterity, which, from the very want comparatively ofinterest and passion, might be in its examination remiss and negligent, and therefore in its decision erroneous. We, their contemporaries, weredrawn towards them as suffering beings; but still their sufferings werenot ours, nor could be; and we seemed to stand at that due point ofdistance from which right and wrong might be fairly looked at and seenin their just proportions. Every thing conspired to prepossess theSpaniards and Portugueze in our favour, and to give the judgment of theBritish Nation authority in their eyes. Strange, then, would be theirfirst sensations, when, upon further trial, instead of a growingsympathy, they met with demonstrations of a state of sentiment andopinion abhorrent from their own. A shock must have followed upon thisdiscovery, a shock to their confidence--not perhaps at first in us, butin themselves: for, like all men under the agitation of extreme passion, no doubt they had before experienced occasional misgivings that theywere subject to error and distraction from afflictions pressing tooviolently upon them. These flying apprehensions would now take a fixedplace; and that moment would be most painful. If they continued torespect our opinion, so far must they have mistrusted themselves: fatalmistrust at such a crisis! Their passion of just vengeance, theirindignation, their aspiring hopes, everything that elevated and cheared, must have departed from them. But this bad influence, the _excess_ ofthe outrage would mitigate or prevent; and we may be assured that theyrather recoiled from Allies who had thus by their actionsdiscountenanced and condemned efforts, which the most solemn testimonyof conscience had avouched to them were just;--that they recoiled fromus with that loathing and contempt which unexpected, determined, andabsolute hostility, upon points of dearest interest will for evercreate. 

Again: independence and liberty were the blessings for which the peopleof the Peninsula were contending--immediate independence, which was notto be gained but by modes of exertion from which liberty must ensue. Now, liberty--healthy, matured, time-honoured liberty--this is thegrowth and peculiar boast of Britain; and Nature herself, by encirclingwith the ocean the country which we inhabit, has proclaimed that thismighty Nation is for ever to be her own ruler, and that the land is setapart for the home of immortal independence. Judging then from thesefirst fruits of British Friendship, what bewildering and depressing andhollow thoughts must the Spaniards and Portugueze have entertainedconcerning the real value of these blessings, if the people who havepossessed them longest, and who ought to understand them best, couldsend forth an army capable of enacting the oppression and baseness ofthe Convention of Cintra; if the government of that people couldsanction this treaty; and if, lastly, this distinguished and favouredpeople themselves could suffer it to be held forth to the eyes of men asexpressing the sense of their hearts--as an image of theirunderstandings. 

But it did not speak their sense--it was not endured--it was notsubmitted to in their hearts. Bitter was the sorrow of the people ofGreat Britain when the tidings first came to their ears, when they firstfixed their eyes upon this covenant--overwhelming was theirastonishment, tormenting their shame; their indignation was tumultuous;and the burthen of the past would have been insupportable, if it had notinvolved in its very nature a sustaining hope for the future. Among manyalleviations, there was one, which, (not wisely, but overcome bycircumstances) all were willing to admit;--that the event was so strangeand uncouth, exhibiting such discordant characteristics of innocentfatuity and enormous guilt, that it could not without violence bethought of as indicative of a general constitution of things, either inthe country or the government; but that it was a kind of _lususnaturae_, in the moral world--a solitary straggler out of thecircumference of Nature's law--a monster which could not propagate, andhad no birth-right in futurity. Accordingly, the first expectation wasthat the government would deem itself under the necessity of disanullingthe Convention; a necessity which, though in itself a great evil, appeared small in the eyes of judicious men, compared with theconsequences of admitting that such a contract could be binding. Forthey, who had signed and ratified it, had not only glaringly exceededall power which could be supposed to be vested in them as holding amilitary office; but, in the exercise of political functions, they hadframed ordinances which neither the government, nor the Nation, nor anyPower on earth, could confer upon them a right to frame: therefore thecontract was self-destroying from the beginning. It is a wretchedoversight, or a wilful abuse of terms still more wretched, to speak ofthe good faith of a Nation as being pledged to an act which was not ashattering of the edifice of justice, but a subversion of itsfoundations. One man cannot sign away the faculty of reason in another;much less can one or two individuals do this for a whole people. Therefore the contract was void, both from its injustice and itsabsurdity; and the party, with whom it was made, must have known it tobe so. It could not then but be expected by many that the governmentwould reject it. Moreover, extraordinary outrages against reason andvirtue demand that extraordinary sacrifices of atonement should be madeupon their altars; and some were encouraged to think that a governmentmight upon this impulse rise above itself, and turn an exceedingdisgrace into true glory, by a public profession of shame and repentancefor having appointed such unworthy instruments; that, this beingacknowledged, it would clear itself from all imputation of having anyfurther connection with what had been done, and would provide that theNation should as speedily as possible, be purified from all suspicion oflooking upon it with other feelings than those of abhorrence. The peopleknew what had been their own wishes when the army was sent in aid oftheir Allies; and they clung to the faith, that their wishes and theaims of the Government must have been in unison; and that the guiltwould soon be judicially fastened upon those who stood forth asprincipals, and who (it was hoped) would be found to have fulfilled onlytheir own will and pleasure, --to have had no explicit commission orimplied encouragement for what they had done, --no accessaries in theircrime. The punishment of these persons was anticipated, not to satisfyany cravings of vindictive justice (for these, if they could haveexisted in such a case, had been thoroughly appeased already: for whatpunishment could be greater than to have brought upon themselves thesentence passed upon them by the voice of their countrymen?); but forthis reason--that a judicial condemnation of the men, who were openlythe proximate cause, and who were forgetfully considered as the singleand sole originating source, would make our detestation of the effectmore signally manifest. 

These thoughts, if not welcomed without scruple and relied upon withoutfear, were at least encouraged; till it was recollected that the personsat the head of government had ordered that the event should becommunicated to the inhabitants of the metropolis with signs of nationalrejoicing. No wonder if, when these rejoicings were called to mind, itwas impossible to entertain the faith which would have been mostconsolatory. The evil appeared no longer as the forlorn monster which Ihave described. It put on another shape and was endued with a moreformidable life--with power to generate and transmit after its kind. Anew and alarming import was added to the event by this open testimony ofgladness and approbation; which intimated--which declared--that thespirit, which swayed the individuals who were the ostensible andimmediate authors of the Convention, was not confined to them; but thatit was widely prevalent: else it could not have been found in the verycouncil-seat; there, where if wisdom and virtue have not some influence, what is to become of the Nation in these times of peril? rather say, into what an abyss is it already fallen!

His Majesty's ministers, by this mode of communicating the tidings, indiscreet as it was unfeeling, had committed themselves. Yet still theymight have recovered from the lapse, have awakened after a little time. And accordingly, notwithstanding an annunciation so ominous, it wasmatter of surprise and sorrow to many, that the ministry appeared todeem the Convention binding, and that its terms were to be fulfilled. There had indeed been only a choice of evils: but, of the two theworse--ten thousand times the worse--was fixed upon. The ministers, having thus officially applauded the treaty, --and, by suffering it to becarried into execution, made themselves a party to thetransaction, --drew upon themselves those suspicions which will everpursue the steps of public men who abandon the direct road which leadsto the welfare of their country. It was suspected that they had takenthis part against the dictates of conscience, and from selfishness andcowardice; that, from the first, they reasoned thus withinthemselves:--'If the act be indeed so criminal as there is cause tobelieve that the public will pronounce it to be; and if it shallcontinue to be regarded as such; great odium must sooner or later fallupon those who have appointed the agents: and this odium, which will befrom the first considerable, in spite of the astonishment andindignation of which the framers of the Convention may be the immediateobject, will, when the astonishment has relaxed, and the angry passionshave died away, settle (for many causes) more heavily upon those who, byplacing such men in the command, are the original source of the guiltand the dishonour. How then is this most effectually to be prevented? Byendeavouring to prevent or to destroy, as far as may be, the odiumattached to the act itself. ' For which purpose it was suspected that therejoicings had been ordered; and that afterwards (when the people haddeclared themselves so loudly), --partly upon the plea of the good faithof the Nation being pledged, and partly from a false estimate of thecomparative force of the two obligations, --the Convention, in the sameselfish spirit, was carried into effect: and that the ministry took uponitself a final responsibility, with a vain hope that, by so doing andincorporating its own credit with the transaction, it might bear downthe censures of the people, and overrule their judgment to thesuper-inducing of a belief, that the treaty was not so unjust andinexpedient: and thus would be included--in one sweepingexculpation--the misdeeds of the servant and the master. 

But, --whether these suspicions were reasonable or not, whatever motivesproduced a determination that the Convention should be actedupon, --there can be no doubt of the manner in which the ministry wishedthat the people should appreciate it; when the same persons, who hadordered that it should at first be received with rejoicing, availedthemselves of his Majesty's high authority to give a harsh reproof tothe City of London for having prayed 'that an enquiry might beinstituted into this dishonourable and unprecedented transaction. ' Intheir petition they styled it also 'an afflicting event--humiliating anddegrading to the country, and injurious to his Majesty's Allies. ' Andfor this, to the astonishment and grief of all sound minds, thepetitioners were severely reprimanded; and told, among otheradmonitions, 'that it was inconsistent with the principles of Britishjurisprudence to pronounce judgement without previous investigation. '

Upon this charge, as re-echoed in its general import by persons who havebeen over-awed or deceived, and by others who have been wilfuldeceivers, I have already incidentally animadverted; and repelled it, Itrust, with becoming, indignation. I shall now meet the charge for thelast time formally and directly; on account of considerations applicableto all times; and because the whole course of domestic proceedingsrelating to the Convention of Cintra, combined with menaces which havebeen recently thrown out in the lower House of Parliament, renders ittoo probable that a league has been framed for the purpose of layingfurther restraints upon freedom of speech and of the press; and that thereprimand to the City of London was devised by ministers as apreparatory overt act of this scheme; to the great abuse of theSovereign's Authority, and in contempt of the rights of the Nation. Inmeeting this charge, I shall shew to what desperate issues men arebrought, and in what woeful labyrinths they are entangled, when, underthe pretext of defending instituted law, they violate the laws of reasonand nature for their own unhallowed purposes. 

If the persons, who signed this petition, acted inconsistently with theprinciples of British jurisprudence; the offence must have beencommitted by giving an answer, before adequate and lawful evidence hadentitled them so to do, to one or other of these questions:--'What isthe act? and who is the agent?'--or to both conjointly. Now the petitiongives no opinion upon the agent; it pronounces only upon the act, andthat some one must be guilty; but _who_--it does not take upon itself tosay. It condemns the act; and calls for punishment upon the authors, whosoever they may be found to be; and does no more. After the analysiswhich has been made of the Convention, I may ask if there be any thingin this which deserves reproof; and reproof from an authority whichought to be most enlightened and most dispassionate, --as it is, next tothe legislative, the most solemn authority in the Land. 

It is known to every one that the privilege of complaint and petition, in cases where the Nation feels itself aggrieved, _itself_ being thejudge, (and who else ought to be, or can be?)--a privilege, theexercise of which implies condemnation of something complained of, followed by a prayer for its removal or correction--not only isestablished by the most grave and authentic charters of Englishmen, whohave been taught by their wisest statesmen and legislators to be jealousover its preservation, and to call it into practice upon everyreasonable occasion; but also that this privilege is an indispensablecondition of all civil liberty. Nay, of such paramount interest is it tomankind, existing under any frame of Government whatsoever; that, eitherby law or custom, it has universally prevailed under allgovernments--from the Grecian and Swiss Democracies to the Despotisms ofImperial Rome, of Turkey, and of France under her present ruler. It mustthen be a high principle which could exact obeisance from governments atthe two extremes of polity, and from all modes of governmentinclusively; from the best and from the worst; from magistrates actingunder obedience to the stedfast law which expresses the general will;and from depraved and licentious tyrants, whose habit it is--to express, and to act upon, their own individual will. Tyrants have seemed to feelthat, if this principle were acknowledged, the subject ought to bereconciled to any thing; that, by permitting the free exercise of thisright alone, an adequate price was paid down for all abuses; that astanding pardon was included in it for the past, and a daily renewedindulgence for every future enormity. It is then melancholy to thinkthat the time is come when an attempt has been made to tear, out of thevenerable crown of the Sovereign of Great Britain, a gem which is in thevery front of the turban of the Emperor of Morocco. --(_See Appendix D_. )

To enter upon this argument is indeed both astounding and humiliating:for the adversary in the present case is bound to contend that we cannotpronounce upon evil or good, either in the actions of our own or in pasttimes, unless the decision of a Court of Judicature has empowered us soto do. Why then have historians written? and why do we yield to theimpulses of our nature, hating or loving--approving or condemningaccording to the appearances which their records present to our eyes?But the doctrine is as nefarious as it is absurd. For those publicevents in which men are most interested, namely, the crimes of rulersand of persons in high authority, for the most part are such as eitherhave never been brought before tribunals at all, or before unjust ones:for, though offenders may be in hostility with each other, yet thekingdom of guilt is not wholly divided against itself; its subjects areunited by a general interest to elude or overcome that law which wouldbring them to condign punishment. Therefore to make a verdict of a Courtof Judicature a necessary condition for enabling men to determine thequality of an act, when the 'head and front'--the life and soul of theoffence may have been, that it eludes or rises above the reach of alljudicature, is a contradiction which would be too gross to merit notice, were it not that men willingly suffer their understandings to stagnate. And hence this rotten bog, rotten and unstable as the crude consistenceof Milton's Chaos, 'smitten' (for I will continue to use the language ofthe poet) 'by the petrific mace--and bound with Gorgonian rigour by thelook'--of despotism, is transmuted; and becomes a high-way of adamantfor the sorrowful steps of generation after generation. 

Again: in cases where judicial inquiries can be and are instituted, andare equitably conducted, this suspension of judgment, with respect toact or agent, is only supposed necessarily to exist in the Court itself;not in the witnesses, the plaintiffs or accusers, or in the minds evenof the people who may be present. If the contrary supposition wererealized, how could the arraigned person ever have been brought intoCourt? What would become of the indignation, the hope, the sorrow, orthe sense of justice, by which the prosecutors, or the people of thecountry who pursued or apprehended the presumed criminal, or they whoappear in evidence against him, are actuated? If then this suspension ofjudgment, by a law of human nature and a requisite of society, is notsupposed _necessarily_ to exist--except in the minds of the Court; ifthis be undeniable in cases where the eye and ear-witnesses arefew;--how much more so in a case like the present; where all, thatconstitutes the essence of the act, is avowed by the agents themselves, and lies bare to the notice of the whole world?--Now it was in thecharacter of complainants and denunciators, that the petitioners of theCity of London appeared before his Majesty's throne; and they have beenreproached by his Majesty's ministers under the cover of a sophism, which, if our anxiety to interpret favourably words sanctioned by theFirst Magistrate--makes us unwilling to think it a deliberate artificemeant for the delusion of the people, must however (on the mostcharitable comment) be pronounced an evidence of no little heedlessnessand self-delusion on the part of those who framed it. 

To sum up the matter--the right of petition (which, we have shewn as ageneral proposition, supposes a right to condemn, and is in itself anact of qualified condemnation) may in too many instances take the groundof absolute condemnation, both with respect to the crime and thecriminal. It was confined, in this case, to the crime; but, if the Cityof London had proceeded farther, they would have been justifiable;because the delinquents had set their hands to their own delinquency. The petitioners, then, are not only clear of all blame; but are entitledto high praise: and we have seen whither the doctrines lead, upon whichthey were condemned. --And now, mark the discord which will ever be foundin the actions of men, where there is no inward harmony of reason orvirtue to regulate the outward conduct. 

Those ministers, who advised their Sovereign to reprove the City ofLondon for uttering prematurely, upon a measure, an opinion in whichthey were supported by the unanimous voice of the nation, had themselvesbefore publickly prejudged the question by ordering that the tidingsshould be communicated with rejoicings. One of their body has sinceattempted to wipe away this stigma by representing that these orderswere given out of a just tenderness for the reputation of the generals, who would otherwise have appeared to be condemned without trial. But didthese rejoicings leave the matter indifferent? Was not the _positive_fact of thus expressing an opinion (above all in a case like this, inwhich surely no man could ever dream that there were any features ofsplendour) far stronger language of approbation, than the _negative_fact could be of disapprobation? For these same ministers who had calledupon the people of Great Britain to rejoice over the Armistice andConvention, and who reproved and discountenanced and suppressed to theutmost of their power every attempt at petitioning for redress of theinjury caused by those treaties, have now made publick a document fromwhich it appears that, 'when the instruments were first laid before hisMajesty, the king felt himself compelled _at once_' (i. E. Previously toall investigation) 'to express his disapprobation of those articles, inwhich stipulations were made directly affecting the interests orfeelings of the Spanish and Portugueze nations. '

And was it possible that a Sovereign of a free country could beotherwise affected? It is indeed to be regretted that his Majesty'scensure was not, upon this occasion, radical--and pronounced in asterner tone; that a Council was not in existence sufficientlyintelligent and virtuous to advise the king to give full expression tothe sentiments of his own mind; which, we may reasonably conclude, werein sympathy with those of a brave and loyal people. Never surely wasthere a public event more fitted to reduce men, in all ranks of society, under the supremacy of their common nature; to impress upon them onebelief; to infuse into them one spirit. For it was not done in a remotecorner by persons of obscure rank; but in the eyes of Europe and of allmankind; by the leading authorities, military and civil, of a mightyempire. It did not relate to a petty immunity, or a local and insulatedprivilege--but to the highest feelings of honour to which a Nation mayeither be calmly and gradually raised by a long course of independence, liberty, and glory; or to the level of which it may be lifted up atonce, from a fallen state, by a sudden and extreme pressure of violenceand tyranny. It not only related to these high feelings of honour; butto the fundamental principles of justice, by which life and property, that is the means of living, are secured. 

A people, whose government had been dissolved by foreign tyranny, andwhich had been left to work out its salvation by its own virtues, prayedfor our help. And whence were we to learn how that help could be mosteffectually given, how they were even to be preserved from receivinginjuries instead of benefits at our hands, --whence were we to learn thisbut from their language and from our own hearts? They had spoken ofunrelenting and inhuman wrongs; of patience wearied out; of theagonizing yoke cast off; of the blessed service of freedom chosen; ofheroic aspirations; of constancy, and fortitude, and perseverance; ofresolution even to the death; of gladness in the embrace of death; ofweeping over the graves of the slain, by those who had not been so happyas to die; of resignation under the worst final doom; of glory, andtriumph, and punishment. This was the language which we heard--this wasthe devout hymn that was chaunted; and the responses, with which ourcountry bore a part in the solemn service, were from her soul and fromthe depths of her soul. 

O sorrow! O misery for England, the Land of liberty and courage andpeace; the Land trustworthy and long approved; the home of lofty exampleand benign precept; the central orb to which, as to a fountain, thenations of the earth 'ought to repair, and in their golden urns drawlight;'--O sorrow and shame for our country; for the grass which is uponher fields, and the dust which is in her graves;--for her good men whonow look upon the day;--and her long train of deliverers and defenders, her Alfred, her Sidneys, and her Milton; whose voice yet speaketh forour reproach; and whose actions survive in memory to confound us, or toredeem!

For what hath been done? look at it: we have looked at it: we havehandled it: we have pondered it steadily: we have tried it by theprinciples of absolute and eternal justice; by the sentiments ofhigh-minded honour, both with reference to their general nature, and totheir especial exaltation under present circumstances; by the rules ofexpedience; by the maxims of prudence, civil and military: we haveweighed it in the balance of all these, and found it wanting; in that, which is most excellent, most wanting. 

Our country placed herself by the side of Spain, and her fellow Nation;she sent an honourable portion of her sons to aid a suffering people tosubjugate or destroy an army--but I degrade the word--a banded multitudeof perfidious oppressors, of robbers and assassins, who had outlawedthemselves from society in the wantonness of power; who were abominablefor their own crimes, and on account of the crimes of him whom theyserved--to subjugate or destroy these; not exacting that it should bedone within a limited time; admitting even that they might effect theirpurpose or not; she could have borne either issue, she was prepared foreither; but she was not prepared for such a deliverance as hath beenaccomplished; not a deliverance of Portugal from French oppression, butof the oppressor from the anger and power (at least from the animatingefforts) of the Peninsula: she was not prepared to stand between herAllies, and their worthiest hopes: that, when chastisement could not beinflicted, honour--as much as bad men could receive--should beconferred: that them, whom her own hands had humbled, the same hands andno other should exalt: that finally the sovereign of this horde ofdevastators, himself the destroyer of the hopes of good men, should haveto say, through the mouth of his minister, and for the hearing of allEurope, that his army of Portugal had 'DICTATED THE TERMS OF ITSGLORIOUS RETREAT. '

I have to defend my countrymen: and, if their feelings deservereverence, if there be any stirrings of wisdom in the motions of theirsouls, my task is accomplished. For here were no factions to blind; nodissolution of established authorities to confound; no ferments todistemper; no narrow selfish interests to delude. The object was at adistance; and it rebounded upon us, as with force collected from amighty distance; we were calm till the very moment of transition; andall the people were moved--and felt as with one heart, and spake as withone voice. Every human being in these islands was unsettled; the mostslavish broke loose as from fetters; and there was not an individual--itneed not be said of heroic virtue, but of ingenuous life and sounddiscretion--who, if his father, his son, or his brother, or if theflower of his house had been in that army, would not rather that theyhad perished, and the whole body of their countrymen, their companionsin arms, had perished to a man, than that a treaty should have beensubmitted to upon such conditions. This was the feeling of the people;an awful feeling: and it is from these oracles that rulers are to learnwisdom. 

For, when the people speaks loudly, it is from being strongly possessedeither by the Godhead or the Demon; and he, who cannot discover the truespirit from the false, hath no ear for profitable communion. But in allthat regarded the destinies of Spain, and her own as connected withthem, the voice of Britain had the unquestionable sound of inspiration. If the gentle passions of pity, love, and gratitude, be porches of thetemple; if the sentiments of admiration and rivalry be pillars uponwhich the structure is sustained; if, lastly, hatred, and anger, andvengeance, be steps which, by a mystery of nature, lead to the House ofSanctity;--then was it manifest to what power the edifice wasconsecrated; and that the voice within was of Holiness and Truth. 

Spain had risen not merely to be delivered and saved;--deliverance andsafety were but intermediate objects;--regeneration and liberty were theend, and the means by which this end was to be attained; had their ownhigh value; were determined and precious; and could no more admit ofbeing departed from, than the end of being forgotten. --She hadrisen--not merely to be free; but, in the act and process of acquiringthat freedom, to recompense herself, as it were in a moment, for allwhich she had suffered through ages; to levy, upon the false fame of acruel Tyrant, large contributions of true glory; to lift herself, by theconflict, as high in honour--as the disgrace was deep to which her ownweakness and vices, and the violence and perfidy of her enemies, hadsubjected her. 

Let us suppose that our own Land had been so outraged; could we havebeen content that the enemy should be wafted from our shores as lightlyas he came, --much less that he should depart illustrated in his own eyesand glorified, singing songs of savage triumph and wickedgaiety?--No. --Should we not have felt that a high trespass--a grievousoffence had been committed; and that to demand satisfaction was ourfirst and indispensable duty? Would we not have rendered their bodiesback upon our guardian ocean which had borne them hither; or haveinsisted that their haughty weapons should submissively kiss the soilwhich they had polluted? We should have been resolute in a defence thatwould strike awe and terror: this for our dignity:--moreover, if safetyand deliverance are to be so fondly prized for their own sakes, whatsecurity otherwise could they have? Would it not be certain that thework, which had been so ill done to-day, we should be called upon toexecute still more imperfectly and ingloriously to-morrow; that weshould be summoned to an attempt that would be vain?

In like manner were the wise and heroic Spaniards moved. If an Angelfrom heaven had come with power to take the enemy from their grasp (I donot fear to say this, in spite of the dominion which is now re-extendedover so large a portion of their Land), they would have been sad; theywould have looked round them; their souls would have turned inward; andthey would have stood like men defrauded and betrayed. 

For not presumptuously had they taken upon themselves the work ofchastisement. They did not wander madly about the world--like theTamerlanes, or the Chengiz Khans, or the present barbarian Ravager ofEurope--under a mock title of Delegates of the Almighty, acting uponself-assumed authority. Their commission had been thrust upon them. Theyhad been trampled upon, tormented, wronged--bitterly, wantonly wronged, if ever a people on the earth was wronged. And this it was whichlegitimately incorporated their law with the supreme conscience, andgave to them the deep faith which they have expressed--that their powerwas favoured and assisted by the Almighty. --These words are not utteredwithout a due sense of their awful import: but the Spirit of evil isstrong: and the subject requires the highest mode of thinking andfeeling of which human nature is capable. --Nor in this can they bedeceived; for, whatever be the immediate issue for themselves, the finalissue for their Country and Mankind must be good;--they are instrumentsof benefit and glory for the human race; and the Deity therefore is withthem. 

From these impulses, then, our brethren of the Peninsula had risen; theycould have risen from no other. By these energies, and by such others as(under judicious encouragement) would naturally grow out of and unitewith these, the multitudes, who have risen, stand; and, if they desertthem, must fall. --Riddance, mere riddance--safety, mere safety--areobjects far too defined, too inert and passive in their own nature, tohave ability either to rouze or to sustain. They win not the mind by anyattraction of grandeur or sublime delight, either in effort or inendurance: for the mind gains consciousness of its strength to undergoonly by exercise among materials which admit the impression of itspower, --which grow under it, which bend under it, --which resist, --whichchange under its influence, --which alter either through its might or inits presence, by it or before it. These, during times of tranquillity, are the objects with which, in the studious walks of sequestered life, Genius most loves to hold intercourse; by which it is reared andsupported;--these are the qualities in action and in object, in image, in thought, and in feeling, from communion with which proceedsoriginally all that is creative in art and science, and all that ismagnanimous in virtue. --Despair thinks of _safety_, and hath no purpose;fear thinks of safety; despondency looks the same way:--but thesepassions are far too selfish, and therefore too blind, to reach thething at which they aim; even when there is in them sufficient dignityto have an aim. --All courage is a projection from ourselves; howevershort-lived, it is a motion of hope. But these thoughts bind too closelyto something inward, --to the present and to the past, --that is, to theself which is or has been. Whereas the vigour of the human soul is fromwithout and from futurity, --in breaking down limit, and losing andforgetting herself in the sensation and image of Country and of thehuman race; and, when she returns and is most restricted and confined, her dignity consists in the contemplation of a better and more exaltedbeing, which, though proceeding from herself, she loves and is devotedto as to another. 

In following the stream of these thoughts, I have not wandered from mycourse: I have drawn out to open day the truth from its recesses in theminds of my countrymen. --Something more perhaps may have been done: ashape hath perhaps been given to that which was before a stirringspirit. I have shewn in what manner it was their wish that the strugglewith the adversary of all that is good should be maintained--by purepassions and high actions. They forbid that their noble aim should befrustrated by measuring against each other things which areincommensurate--mechanic against moral power--body against soul. Theywill not suffer, without expressing their sorrow, that purblindcalculation should wither the purest hopes in the face of all-seeingjustice. These are times of strong appeal--of deep-searching visitation;when the best abstractions of the prudential understanding give way, andare included and absorbed in a supreme comprehensiveness of intellectand passion; which is the perfection and the very being of humanity. 

How base! how puny! how inefficient for all good purposes are the toolsand implements of policy, compared with these mighty engines ofNature!--There is no middle course: two masters cannot beserved:--Justice must either be enthroned above might, and the moral lawtake place of the edicts of selfish passion; or the heart of the people, which alone can sustain the efforts of the people, will languish: theirdesires will not spread beyond the plough and the loom, the field andthe fire-side: the sword will appear to them an emblem of no promise; aninstrument of no hope; an object of indifference, of disgust, or fear. Was there ever--since the earliest actions of men which have beentransmitted by affectionate tradition or recorded by faithful history, or sung to the impassioned harp of poetry--was there ever a people whopresented themselves to the reason and the imagination, as under moreholy influences than the dwellers upon the Southern Peninsula; as rouzedmore instantaneously from a deadly sleep to a more hopeful wakefulness;as a mass fluctuating with one motion under the breath of a mightierwind; as breaking themselves up, and settling into several bodies, inmore harmonious order; as reunited and embattled under a standard whichwas reared to the sun with more authentic assurance of finalvictory?--The superstition (I do not dread the word), which prevailed inthese nations, may have checked many of my countrymen who wouldotherwise have exultingly accompanied me in the challenge which, underthe shape of a question, I have been confidently uttering; as I knowthat this stain (so the same persons termed it) did, from the beginning, discourage their hopes for the cause. Short-sighted despondency!Whatever mixture of superstition there might be in the religious faithor devotional practices of the Spaniards; this must have necessarilybeen transmuted by that triumphant power, wherever that power was felt, which grows out of intense moral suffering--from the moment in which itcoalesces with fervent hope. The chains of bigotry, which enthralled themind, must have been turned into armour to defend and weapons to annoy. Wherever the heaving and effort of freedom was spread, purification musthave followed it. And the types and ancient instruments of error, whereemancipated men shewed their foreheads to the day, must have become alanguage and a ceremony of imagination; expressing, consecrating, andinvigorating, the most pure deductions of Reason and the holiestfeelings of universal Nature. 

When the Boy of Saragossa (as we have been told), too immature in growthand unconfirmed in strength to be admitted by his Fellow-citizens intotheir ranks, too tender of age for them to bear the sight of him inarms--when this Boy, forgetful or unmindful of the restrictions whichhad been put upon him, rushed into the field where his Countrymen wereengaged in battle, and, fighting with the sinew and courage of an unripeHero, won a standard from the enemy, and bore his acquisition to theChurch, and laid it with his own hands upon the Altar of theVirgin;--surely there was not less to be hoped for his Country from thisact, than if the banner, taken from his grasp, had, without any suchintermediation, been hung up in the place of worship--a direct offeringto the incorporeal and supreme Being. Surely there is here an objectwhich the most meditative and most elevated minds may contemplate withabsolute delight; a well-adapted outlet for the dearest sentiments; anorgan by which they may act; a function by which they may besustained. --Who does not recognise in this presentation a visibleaffinity with deliverance, with patriotism, with hatred of oppression, and with human means put forth to the height for accomplishing, underdivine countenance, the worthiest ends?

Such is the burst and growth of power and virtue which may rise out ofexcessive national afflictions from tyranny and oppression;--such is thehallowing influence, and thus mighty is the sway, of the spirit of moraljustice in the heart of the individual and over the wide world ofhumanity. Even the very faith in present miraculous interposition, whichis so dire a weakness and cause of weakness in tranquil times when thelistless Being turns to it as a cheap and ready substitute upon everyoccasion, where the man sleeps, and the Saint, or the image of theSaint, is to perform his work, and to give effect to his wishes;--eventhis infirm faith, in a state of incitement from extreme passionsanctioned by a paramount sense of moral justice; having for its objecta power which is no longer sole nor principal, but secondary andministerial; a power added to a power; a breeze which springs upunthought-of to assist the strenuous oarsman;--even this faith issubjugated in order to be exalted; and--instead of operating as atemptation to relax or to be remiss, as an encouragement to indolence orcowardice; instead of being a false stay, a necessary and definitedependence which may fail--it passes into a habit of obscure andinfinite confidence of the mind in its own energies, in the cause fromits own sanctity, and in the ever-present invisible aid or momentaryconspicuous approbation of the supreme Disposer of things. 

Let the fire, which is never wholly to be extinguished, break outafresh; let but the human creature be rouzed; whether he have lainheedless and torpid in religious or civil slavery--have languishedunder a thraldom, domestic or foreign, or under both thesealternately--or have drifted about a helpless member of a clan ofdisjointed and feeble barbarians; let him rise and act;--and hisdomineering imagination, by which from childhood he has been betrayed, and the debasing affections, which it has imposed upon him, will fromthat moment participate the dignity of the newly ennobled being whomthey will now acknowledge for their master; and will further him in hisprogress, whatever be the object at which he aims. Still more inevitableand momentous are the results, when the individual knows that the fire, which is reanimated in him, is not less lively in the breasts of hisassociates; and sees the signs and testimonies of his own power, incorporated with those of a growing multitude and not to bedistinguished from them, accompany him wherever he moves. --Hence thosemarvellous achievements which were performed by the first enthusiasticfollowers of Mohammed; and by other conquerors, who with their armieshave swept large portions of the earth like a transitory wind, or havefounded new religions or empires. --But, if the object contended for beworthy and truly great (as, in the instance of the Spaniards, we haveseen that it is); if cruelties have been committed upon an ancient andvenerable people, which 'shake the human frame with horror;' if notalone the life which is sustained by the bread of the mouth, butthat--without which there is no life--the life in the soul, has beendirectly and mortally warred against; if reason has had abominations toendure in her inmost sanctuary;--then does intense passion, consecratedby a sudden revelation of justice, give birth to those higher and betterwonders which I have described; and exhibit true miracles to the eyes ofmen, and the noblest which can be seen. It may be added that, --as thisunion brings back to the right road the faculty of imagination, where itis prone to err, and has gone farthest astray; as it corrects thosequalities which (being in their essence indifferent), and cleanses thoseaffections which (not being inherent in the constitution of man, nornecessarily determined to their object) are more immediately dependentupon the imagination, and which may have received from it a thoroughtaint of dishonour;--so the domestic loves and sanctities which are intheir nature less liable to be stained, --so these, wherever they haveflowed with a pure and placid stream, do instantly, under the sameinfluence, put forth their strength as in a flood; and, without beingsullied or polluted, pursue--exultingly and with song--a course whichleads the contemplative reason to the ocean of eternal love. 

I feel that I have been speaking in a strain which it is difficult toharmonize with the petty irritations, the doubts and fears, and thefamiliar (and therefore frequently undignified) exterior of present andpassing events. But the theme is justice: and my voice is raised formankind; for us who are alive, and for all posterity:--justice andpassion; clear-sighted aspiring justice, and passion sacred as vehement. These, like twin-born Deities delighting in each other's presence, havewrought marvels in the inward mind through the whole region of thePyrenëan Peninsula. I have shewn by what process these united powerssublimated the objects of outward sense in such rites--practices--andordinances of Religion--as deviate from simplicity and wholesome piety;how they converted them to instruments of nobler use; and raised them toa conformity with things truly divine. The same reasoning might havebeen carried into the customs of civil life and their accompanyingimagery, wherever these also were inconsistent with the dignity of man;and like effects of exaltation and purification have been shewn. 

But a more urgent service calls me to point to further works of theseunited powers, more obvious and obtrusive--works and appearances, suchas were hailed by the citizen of Seville when returning fromMadrid;--'where' (to use the words of his own public declaration) 'hehad left his countrymen groaning in the chains which perfidy had thrownround them, and doomed at every step to the insult of being eyed withthe disdain of the conqueror to the conquered; from Madrid threatened, harrassed, and vexed; where mistrust reigned in every heart, and thesmallest noise made the citizens tremble in the bosom of their families;where the enemy, from time to time, ran to arms to sustain theimpression of terror by which the inhabitants had been stricken throughthe recent massacre; from Madrid a prison, where the gaolers tookpleasure in terrifying the prisoners by alarms to keep them quiet; fromMadrid thus tortured and troubled by a relentless Tyrant, to fit it forthe slow and interminable evils of Slavery;'--when he returned, and wasable to compare the oppressed and degraded state of the inhabitants ofthat metropolis with the noble attitude of defence in which Andalusiastood. 'A month ago, ' says he, 'the Spaniards had lost theircountry;--Seville has restored it to life more glorious than ever; andthose fields, which for so many years have seen no steel but that of theplough-share, are going amid the splendour of arms to prove the newcradle of their adored country. '--'I could not, ' he adds, 'refrain fromtears of joy on viewing the city in which I first drew breath--and tosee it in a situation so glorious!'

We might have trusted, but for late disgraces, that there is not a manin these islands whose heart would not, at such a spectacle, have beatin sympathy with that of this fervent Patriot--whose voice would not bein true accord with his in the prayer (which, if he has not alreadyperished for the service of his dear country, he is perhaps uttering atthis moment) that Andalusia and the city of Seville may preserve thenoble attitude in which they then stood, and are yet standing; or, ifthey be doomed to fall, that their dying efforts may not be unworthy oftheir first promises; that the evening--the closing hour of theirfreedom may display a brightness not less splendid, though more aweful, than the dawn; so that the names of Seville and Andalusia may beconsecrated among men, and be words of life to endless generations. 

Saragossa!--She also has given bond, by her past actions, that shecannot forget her duty and will not shrink from it. [20]

[20] Written in February. 

Valencia is under the seal of the same obligation. The multitudes of menwho were arrayed in the fields of Baylen, and upon the mountains of theNorth; the peasants of Asturias, and the students of Salamanca; and manya solitary and untold-of hand, which, quitting for a moment the ploughor the spade, has discharged a more pressing debt to the country bylevelling with the dust at least one insolent and murderousInvader;--these have attested the efficacy of the passions which we havebeen contemplating--that the will of good men is not a vain impulse, heroic desires a delusive prop;--have proved that the condition of humanaffairs is not so forlorn and desperate, but that there are goldenopportunities when the dictates of justice may be unrelentinglyenforced, and the beauty of the inner mind substantiated in the outwardact;--for a visible standard to look back upon; for a point of realizedexcellence at which to aspire; a monument to record;--for a charter tofasten down; and, as far as it is possible, to preserve. 

Yes! there was an annunciation which the good received with gladness; abright appearance which emboldened the wise to say--We trust thatRegeneration is at hand; these are works of recovered innocence andwisdom:

 Magnus ab integro seclorum nascitur ordo; _Jam_ redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna; _Jam_ nova progenies coelo demittitur alto. 

The spirits of the generous, of the brave, of the meditative, of theyouthful and undefiled--who, upon the strongest wing of human nature, have accompanied me in this journey into a fair region--must descend:and, sorrowful to think! it is at the name and remembrance of Britainthat we are to stoop from the balmy air of this pure element. Ourcountry did not create, but there was created for her, one of thosegolden opportunities over which we have been rejoicing: an invitationwas offered--a summons sent to her ear, as if from heaven, to go forthalso and exhibit on her part, in entire coincidence and perfect harmony, the beneficent action with the benevolent will; to advance in the careerof renovation upon which the Spaniards had so gloriously entered; and tosolemnize yet another marriage between Victory and Justice. How sheacquitted herself of this duty, we have already seen and lamented: yeton this--and on this duty only--ought the mind of that army and of thegovernment to have been fixed. Every thing was smoothed before theirfeet;--Providence, it might almost be said, held forth to the men ofauthority in this country a gracious temptation to deceive them into thepath of the new virtues which were stirring;--the enemy was deliveredover to them; and they were unable to close their infantine fingers uponthe gift. --The helplessness of infancy was their's--oh! could I but add, the innocence of infancy!

Reflect upon what was the temper and condition of the Southern Peninsulaof Europe--the noble temper of the people of this mighty islandsovereigns of the all-embracing ocean; think also of the condition of sovast a region in the Western, continent and its islands; and we shallhave cause to fear that ages may pass away before a conjunction ofthings, so marvellously adapted to ensure prosperity to virtue, shallpresent itself again. It could scarcely be spoken of as being to thewishes of men, --it was so far beyond their hopes. --The government whichhad been exercised under the name of the old Monarchy of Spain--thisgovernment, imbecile even to dotage, whose very selfishness wasdestitute of vigour, had been removed; taken laboriously and foolishlyby the plotting Corsican to his own bosom; in order that the world mightsee, more triumphantly set forth than since the beginning of things hadever been seen before, to what degree a man of bad principles isdespicable--though of great power--working blindly against his ownpurposes. It was a high satisfaction to behold demonstrated, in thismanner, to what a narrow domain of knowledge the intellect of a Tyrantmust be confined; that if the gate by which wisdom enters has never beenopened, that of policy will surely find moments when it will shut itselfagainst its pretended master imperiously and obstinately. To the eyes ofthe very peasant in the field, this sublime truth was laid open--notonly that a Tyrant's domain of knowledge is narrow, but melancholy asnarrow; inasmuch as--from all that is lovely, dignified, or exhilaratingin the prospect of human nature--he is inexorably cut off; and thereforehe is inwardly helpless and forlorn. 

Was not their hope in this--twofold hope; from the weakness of him whohad thus counteracted himself; and a hope, still more cheering, from thestrength of those who had been disburthened of a cleaving curse by anordinance of Providence--employing their most wilful and determinedenemy to perform for them the best service which man could perform? Thework of liberation was virtually accomplished--we might almost say, established. The interests of the people were taken from a governmentwhose sole aim it had been to prop up the last remains of its owndecrepitude by betraying those whom it was its duty toprotect;--withdrawn from such hands, to be committed to those of thepeople; at a time when the double affliction which Spain had endured, and the return of affliction with which she was threatened, made itimpossible that the emancipated Nation could abuse its new-born strengthto any substantial injury to itself. --Infinitely less favourable to allgood ends was the condition of the French people when, a few years past, a Revolution made them, for a season, their own masters, --rid them fromthe incumbrance of superannuated institutions--the galling pressure ofso many unjust laws--and the tyranny of bad customs. The Spaniardsbecame their own masters: and the blessing lay in this, that they becameso at once: there had not been time for them to court their power: theirfancies had not been fed to wantonness by ever-changing temptations:obstinacy in them would not have leagued itself with trivial opinions:petty hatreds had not accumulated to masses of strength conflictingperniciously with each other: vanity with them had not found leisure toflourish--nor presumption: they did not assume their authority, --it wasgiven them, --it was thrust upon them. The perfidy and tyranny ofNapoleon '_compelled_, ' says the Junta of Seville in words beforequoted, 'the whole Nation to take up arms and _to choose itself a formof government_; and, in the difficulties and dangers into which theFrench had plunged it, all--or nearly all--the provinces, as it were _bythe inspiration of Heaven_ and _in a manner little short of miraculous_, created Supreme Juntas--delivered themselves up to their guidance--andplaced in their hands the rights and the ultimate fate ofSpain. '--Governments, thus newly issued from the people, could not butact from the spirit of the people--be organs of their life. And, thoughmisery (by which I mean pain of mind not without some consciousness ofguilt) naturally disorders the understanding and perverts the moralsense, --calamity (that is suffering, individual or national, when it hasbeen inflicted by one to whom no injury has been done or provocationgiven) ever brings wisdom along with it; and, whatever outward agitationit may cause, does inwardly rectify the will. 

But more was required; not merely judicious desires; not alone an eyefrom which the scales had dropped off--which could see widely andclearly; but a mighty hand was wanting. The government had been formed;and it could not but recollect that the condition of Spain did not exactfrom her children, as a _first_ requisite, virtues like those due andfamiliar impulses of Spring-time by which things are revived and carriedforward in accustomed health according to established order--not powerso much for a renewal as for a birth--labour by throes and violence;--achaos was to be conquered--a work of creation begun andconsummated;--and afterwards the seasons were to advance, and continuetheir gracious revolutions. The powers, which were needful for thepeople to enter upon and assist in this work, had been given; we haveseen that they had been bountifully conferred. The Nation had beenthrown into--rather, lifted up to--that state when conscience, for thebody of the people, is not merely an infallible monitor (which may beheard and disregarded); but, by combining--with the attributes ofinsight to perceive, and of inevitable presence to admonish andenjoin--the attribute of passion to enforce, it was truly anall-powerful deity in the soul. 

Oh! let but any man, who has a care for the progressive happiness of thespecies, peruse merely that epitome of Spanish wisdom and benevolenceand 'amplitude of mind for highest deeds' which, in the former part ofthis investigation, I have laid before the reader: let him listen to thereports--which they, who really have had means of knowledge, and who areworthy to speak upon the subject, will give to him--of the things doneor endured in every corner of Spain; and he will see what emancipationhad there been effected in the mind;--how far the perceptions--theimpulses--and the actions also--had outstripped the habit and thecharacter, and consequently were in a process of permanently elevatingboth; and how much farther (alas! by infinite degrees) the principlesand practice of a people, with great objects before them to concentratetheir love and their hatred, transcend the principles and practice ofgovernments; not excepting those which, in their constitution andordinary conduct, furnish the least matter for complaint. 

Then it was--when the people of Spain were thus rouzed; after thismanner released from the natal burthen of that government which hadbowed them to the ground; in the free use of their understandings, andin the play and 'noble rage' of their passions; while yet the newauthorities, which they had generated, were truly living members oftheir body, and (as I have said) organs of their life: when thatnumerous people were in a stage of their journey which could not beaccomplished without the spirit which was then prevalent in them, andwhich (as might be feared) would too soon abate of itself;--then it wasthat we--not we, but the heads of the British army and Nation--when, ifthey could not breathe a favouring breath, they ought at least to havestood at an awful distance--stepped in with their forms, theirimpediments, their rotten customs and precedents, their narrow desires, their busy and purblind fears; and called out to these aspiringtravellers to halt--'For ye are in a dream;' confounded them (for it wasthe voice of a seeming friend that spoke); and spell-bound them, as faras was possible, by an instrument framed 'in the eclipse' and sealed'with curses dark. '--In a word, we had the power to act up to the mostsacred letter of justice--and this at a time when the mandates ofjustice were of an affecting obligation such as had never before beenwitnessed; and we plunged into the lowest depths of injustice:--We hadpower to give a brotherly aid to our Allies in supporting the mightyworld which their shoulders had undertaken to uphold; and, while theywere expecting from us this aid, we undermined--without forewarningthem--the ground upon which they stood. The evil is incalculable; andthe stain will cleave to the British name as long as the story of thisisland shall endure. 

Did we not (if, from this comprehensive feeling of sorrow, I may for amoment descend to particulars)--did we not send forth a general, onewhom, since his return, Court, and Parliament, and Army, have been atstrife with each other which shall most caress and applaud--a general, who, in defending the armistice which he himself had signed, said inopen Court that he deemed that the French army was _entitled_ to suchterms. The people of Spain had, through the Supreme Junta of Seville, thus spoken of this same army: 'Ye have, among yourselves, the objectsof your vengeance;--attack them;--they are but a handful of miserablepanic-struck men, humiliated and conquered already by their perfidy andcruelties;--resist and destroy them: our united efforts will extirpatethis perfidious nation. ' The same Spaniards had said (speakingofficially of the state of the whole Peninsula, and no doubt with theireye especially upon this army in Portugal)--'Our enemies have taken upexactly those positions in which they may most easily bedestroyed'--Where then did the British General find this right and titleof the French army in Portugal? 'Because, ' says he in military language, 'it was not broken. '--Of the MAN, and of the understanding and heart ofthe man--of the CITIZEN, who could think and feel after this manner insuch circumstances, it is needless to speak; but to the GENERAL I willsay, This is most pitiable pedantry. If the instinctive wisdom of yourAlly could not be understood, you might at least have remembered theresolute policy of your enemy. The French army was not broken? Break itthen--wither it--pursue it with unrelenting warfare--hunt it out of itsholds;--if impetuosity be not justifiable, have recourse to patience--towatchfulness--to obstinacy: at all events, never for a moment forget whothe foe is--and that he is in your power. This is the example which theFrench Ruler and his Generals have given you at Ulm--at Lubeck--inSwitzerland--over the whole plain of Prussia--every where;--and this forthe worst deeds of darkness; while your's was the noblest service oflight. 

This remonstrance has been forced from me by indignation:--let meexplain in what sense I propose, with calmer thought, that the exampleof our enemy should be imitated. --The laws and customs of war, and themaxims of policy, have all had their foundation in reason and humanity;and their object has been the attainment or security of some real orsupposed--some positive or relative--good. They are established amongmen as ready guides for the understanding, and authorities to which thepassions are taught to pay deference. But the relations of things toeach other are perpetually changing; and in course of time many of theseleaders and masters, by losing part of their power to do service andsometimes the whole, forfeit in proportion their right to obedience. Accordingly they are disregarded in some instances, and sink insensiblyinto neglect with the general improvement of society. But they oftensurvive when they have become an oppression and a hindrance which cannotbe cast off decisively, but by an impulse--rising either from theabsolute knowledge of good and great men, --or from the partial insightwhich is given to superior minds, though of a vitiated moralconstitution, --or lastly from that blind energy and those habits ofdaring which are often found in men who, checked by no restraint ofmorality, suffer their evil passions to gain extraordinary strength inextraordinary circumstances. By any of these forces may the tyranny bebroken through. We have seen, in the conduct of our Countrymen, to whatdegree it tempts to weak actions, --and furnishes excuse for them, admitted by those who sit as judges. I wish then that we could so farimitate our enemies as, like them, to shake off these bonds; but not, like them, from the worst--but from the worthiest impulse. If this weredone, we should have learned how much of their practice would harmonizewith justice; have learned to distinguish between those rules whichought to be wholly abandoned, and those which deserve to be retained;and should have known when, and to what point, they ought to betrusted. --But how is this to be? Power of mind is wanting, where thereis power of place. Even we cannot, as a beginning of a new journey, force or win our way into the current of success, the flattering motionof which would awaken intellectual courage--the only substitute which isable to perform any arduous part of the secondary work of 'heroicwisdom;'--I mean, execute happily any of its prudential regulations. Inthe person of our enemy and his chieftains we have living example howwicked men of ordinary talents are emboldened by success. There is akindliness, as they feel, in the nature of advancement; and prosperityis their Genius. But let us know and remember that this prosperity, withall the terrible features which it has gradually assumed, is a child ofnoble parents--Liberty and Philanthropic Love. Perverted as the creatureis which it has grown up to (rather, into which it has passed), --from noinferior stock could it have issued. It is the Fallen Spirit, triumphantin misdeeds, which was formerly a blessed Angel. 

If then (to return to ourselves) there be such strong obstacles in theway of our drawing benefit either from the maxims of policy or theprinciples of justice: what hope remains that the British Nation shouldrepair, by its future conduct, the injury which has been done?--Wecannot advance a step towards a rational answer to thisquestion--without previously adverting to the original sources of ourmiscarriages; which are these:--First; a want, in the minds of themembers of government and public functionaries, of knowledgeindispensible for this service; and, secondly, a want of power, in thesame persons acting in their corporate capacities, to give effect to theknowledge which individually they possess. --Of the latter source ofweakness, --this inability as caused by decay in the machine ofgovernment, and by illegitimate forces which are checking andcontrouling its constitutional motions, --I have not spoken, nor shall Inow speak: for I have judged it best to suspend my task for a while: andthis subject, being in its nature delicate, ought not to be lightly ortransiently touched. Besides, no _immediate_ effect can be expected fromthe soundest and most unexceptionable doctrines which might be laiddown for the correcting of this evil. --The former source ofweakness, --namely, the want of appropriate and indispensibleknowledge, --has, in the past investigation, been reached, and shall befurther laid open; not without a hope of some result of _immediate_ goodby a direct application to the mind; and in full confidence that thebest and surest way to render operative that knowledge which is alreadypossessed--is to increase the stock of knowledge. 

Here let me avow that I undertook this present labour as a serious duty;rather, that it was forced (and has been unremittingly pressed) upon meby a perception of justice united with strength of feeling;--in a word, by that power of conscience, calm or impassioned, to which throughout Ihave done reverence as the animating spirit of the cause. My work wasbegun and prosecuted under this controul:--and with the accompanyingsatisfaction that no charge of presumption could, by a thinking mind, bebrought against me: though I had taken upon myself to offer instructionto men who, if they possess not talents and acquirements, have no titleto the high stations which they hold; who also, by holding thosestations, are understood to obtain certain benefit of experience and ofknowledge not otherwise to be gained; and who have a further claim todeference--founded upon reputation, even when it is spurious (as much ofthe reputation of men high in power must necessarily be; their errorsbeing veiled and palliated by the authority attached to their office;while that same authority gives more than due weight and effect to theirwiser opinions). Yet, notwithstanding all this, I did not fear thecensure of having unbecomingly obtruded counsels or remonstrances. Forthere can be no presumption, upon a call so affecting as the present, inan attempt to assert the sanctity and to display the efficacy ofprinciples and passions which are the natural birth-right of man; tosome share of which all are born; but an inheritance which may bealienated or consumed; and by none more readily and assuredly than bythose who are most eager for the praise of policy, of prudence, ofsagacity, and of all those qualities which are the darling virtues ofthe worldly-wise. Moreover; the evidence to which I have made appeal, inorder to establish the truth, is not locked up in cabinets; but isaccessible to all; as it exists in the bosoms of men--in the appearancesand intercourse of daily life--in the details of passing events--and ingeneral history. And more especially is its right import within thereach of him who--taking no part in public measures, and having noconcern in the changes of things but as they affect what is mostprecious in his country and humanity--will doubtless be more alive tothose genuine sensations which are the materials of sound judgment. Noris it to be overlooked that such a man may have more leisure (andprobably will have a stronger inclination) to communicate with therecords of past ages. 

Deeming myself justified then in what has been said, --I will continue tolay open (and, in some degree, to account for) those privations in thematerials of judgment, and those delusions of opinion, and infirmitiesof mind, to which practical Statesmen, and particularly such as are highin office, are more than other men subject;--as containing an answer tothat question, so interesting at this juncture, --How far is it in ourpower to make amends for the harm done?

After the view of things which has been taken, --we may confidentlyaffirm that nothing but a knowledge of human nature directing theoperations of our government, can give it a right to an intimateassociation with a cause which is that of human nature. I say, anintimate association founded on the right of thorough knowledge;--tocontradistinguish this best mode of exertion from another which mightfound _its_ right upon a vast and commanding military power put forthwith manifestation of sincere intentions to benefit our Allies--from aconviction merely of policy that their liberty, independence, andhonour, are our genuine gain;--to distinguish the pure brotherlyconnection from this other (in its appearance at least more magisterial)which such a power, guided by such intention uniformly displayed, mightauthorize. But of the former connection (which supposes the mainmilitary effort to be made, even at present, by the people of thePeninsula on whom the moral interest more closely presses), and of theknowledge which it demands, I have hitherto spoken--and have further tospeak. 

It is plain _à priori_ that the minds of Statesmen and Courtiers areunfavourable to the growth of this knowledge. For they are in asituation exclusive and artificial; which has the further disadvantage, that it does not separate men from men by collateral partitions whichleave, along with difference, a sense of equality--that they, who aredivided, are yet upon the same level; but by a degree of superioritywhich can scarcely fail to be accompanied with more or less of pride. This situation therefore must be eminently unfavourable for thereception and establishment of that knowledge which is founded not uponthings but upon sensations;--sensations which are general, and undergeneral influences (and this it is which makes them what they are, andgives them their importance);--not upon things which may be _brought_;but upon sensations which must be _met_. Passing by the kindred andusually accompanying influence of birth in a certain rank--and, whereeducation has been pre-defined from childhood for the express purpose offuture political power, the tendency of such education to warp (andtherefore weaken) the intellect;--we may join at once, with theprivation which I have been noticing, a delusion equally common. It isthis: that practical Statesmen assume too much credit to themselves fortheir ability to see into the motives and manage the selfish passions oftheir immediate agents and dependants; and for the skill with which theybaffle or resist the aims of their opponents. A promptness in lookingthrough the most superficial part of the characters of those men--who, by the very circumstance of their contending ambitiously for the rewardsand honours of government, are separated from the mass of the society towhich they belong--is mistaken for a knowledge of human kind. Hence, where higher knowledge is a prime requisite, they not only areunfurnished, but, being unconscious that they are so, they look downcontemptuously upon those who endeavour to supply (in some degree) theirwant. --The instincts of natural and social man; the deeper emotions; thesimpler feelings; the spacious range of the disinterested imagination;the pride in country for country's sake, when to serve has not been aformal profession--and the mind is therefore left in a state of dignityonly to be surpassed by having served nobly and generously; theinstantaneous accomplishment in which they start up who, upon asearching call, stir for the Land which they love--not from personalmotives, but for a reward which is undefined and cannot be missed; thesolemn fraternity which a great Nation composes--gathered together, in astormy season, under the shade of ancestral feeling; the delicacy ofmoral honour which pervades the minds of a people, when despair has beensuddenly thrown off and expectations are lofty; the apprehensiveness toa touch unkindly or irreverent, where sympathy is at once exacted as atribute and welcomed as a gift; the power of injustice and inordinatecalamity to transmute, to invigorate, and to govern--to sweep away thebarriers of opinion--to reduce under submission passions purely evil--toexalt the nature of indifferent qualities, and to render them fitcompanions for the absolute virtues with which they are summoned toassociate--to consecrate passions which, if not bad in themselves, areof such temper that, in the calm of ordinary life, they are rightlydeemed so--to correct and embody these passions--and, without weakeningthem (nay, with tenfold addition to their strength), to make them worthyof taking their place as the advanced guard of hope, when a sublimemovement of deliverance is to be originated;--these arrangements andresources of nature, these ways and means of society, have so littleconnection with those others upon which a ruling minister of along-established government is accustomed to depend; these--elements asit were of a universe, functions of a living body--are so opposite, intheir mode of action, to the formal machine which it has been his prideto manage;--that he has but a faint perception of their immediateefficacy; knows not the facility with which they assimilate with otherpowers; nor the property by which such of them--as, from necessity ofnature, must change or pass away--will, under wise and fearlessmanagement, surely generate lawful successors to fill their place whentheir appropriate work is performed. Nay, of the majority of men, whoare usually found in high stations under old governments, it may withoutinjustice be said; that, when they look about them in times (alas! toorare) which present the glorious product of such agency to their eyes, they have not a right, to say--with a dejected man in the midst of thewoods, the rivers, the mountains, the sunshine, and shadows of sometranscendant landscape--

 'I see, not feel, how beautiful they are:'

These spectators neither see nor feel. And it is from the blindness andinsensibility of these, and the train whom they draw along with them, that the throes of nations have been so ill recompensed by the birthswhich have followed; and that revolutions, after passing from crime tocrime and from sorrow to sorrow, have often ended in throwing back suchheavy reproaches of delusiveness upon their first promises. 

I am satisfied that no enlightened Patriot will impute to me a wish todisparage the characters of men high in authority, or to detract fromthe estimation which is fairly due to them. My purpose is to guardagainst unreasonable expectations. That specific knowledge, --theparamount importance of which, in the present condition of Europe, I aminsisting upon, --they, who usually fill places of high trust in oldgovernments, neither do--nor, for the most part, can--possess: nor is itnecessary, for the administration of affairs in ordinary circumstances, that they should. --The progress of their own country, and of the othernations of the world, in civilization, in true refinement, in science, in religion, in morals, and in all the real wealth of humanity, mightindeed be quicker, and might correspond more happily with the wishes ofthe benevolent, --if Governors better understood the rudiments of natureas studied in the walks of common life; if they were men who hadthemselves felt every strong emotion 'inspired by nature and by fortunetaught;' and could calculate upon the force of the grander passions. Yet, at the same time, there is temptation in this. To know may seduce;and to have been agitated may compel. Arduous cares are attractive fortheir own sakes. Great talents are naturally driven towards hazard anddifficulty; as it is there that they are most sure to find theirexercise, and their evidence, and joy in anticipated triumph--theliveliest of all sensations. Moreover; magnificent desires, when leastunder the bias of personal feeling, dispose the mind--more than itselfis conscious of--to regard commotion with complacency, and to watch theaggravations of distress with welcoming; from an immoderate confidencethat, when the appointed day shall come, it will be in the power ofintellect to relieve. There is danger in being a zealot in anycause--not excepting that of humanity. Nor is it to be forgotten thatthe incapacity and ignorance of the regular agents of long-establishedgovernments do not prevent some progress in the dearest concerns of men;and that society may owe to these very deficiencies, and to the tame andunenterprizing course which they necessitate, much security and tranquilenjoyment. 

Nor, on the other hand, (for reasons which may be added to thosealready given) is it so desirable as might at first sight be imagined, much less is it desirable as an absolute good, that men of comprehensivesensibility and tutored genius--either for the interests of mankind orfor their own--should, in ordinary times, have vested in them politicalpower. The Empire, which they hold, is more independent: its constituentparts are sustained by a stricter connection: the dominion is purer andof higher origin; as mind is more excellent than body--the search oftruth an employment more inherently dignified than the application offorce--the determinations of nature more venerable than the accidents ofhuman institution. Chance and disorder, vexation and disappointment, malignity and perverseness within or without the mind, are a sadexchange for the steady and genial processes of reason. Moreover;worldly distinctions and offices of command do not lie in the path--norare they any part of the appropriate retinue--of Philosophy and Virtue. Nothing, but a strong spirit of love, can counteract the consciousnessof pre-eminence which ever attends pre-eminent intellectual power withcorrespondent attainments: and this spirit of love is best encouraged byhumility and simplicity in mind, manners, and conduct of life; virtues, to which wisdom leads. But, --though these be virtues in a Man, aCitizen, or a Sage, --they cannot be recommended to the especial cultureof the Political or Military Functionary; and still less of the CivilMagistrate. Him, in the exercise of his functions, it will often becometo carry himself highly and with state; in order that evil may besuppressed, and authority respected by those who have not understanding. The power also of office, whether the duties be discharged well or ill, will ensure a never-failing supply of flattery and praise: and ofthese--a man (becoming at once double-dealer and dupe) may, withoutimpeachment of his modesty, receive as much as his weakness inclines himto; under the shew that the homage is not offered up to himself, but tothat portion of the public dignity which is lodged in his person. But, whatever may be the cause, the fact is certain--that there is anunconquerable tendency in all power, save that of knowledge acting byand through knowledge, to injure the mind of him who exercises thatpower; so much so, that best natures cannot escape the evil of suchalliance. Nor is it less certain that things of soundest quality, issuing through a medium to which they have only an arbitrary relation, are vitiated: and it is inevitable that there should be a reäscent ofunkindly influence to the heart of him from whom the gift, thus unfairlydealt with, proceeded. --In illustration of these remarks, as connectedwith the management of States, we need only refer to the Empire ofChina--where superior endowments of mind and acquisitions of learningare the sole acknowledged title to offices of great trust; and yet in nocountry is the government more bigotted or intolerant, or society lessprogressive. 

To prevent misconception; and to silence (at least to throw discreditupon) the clamours of ignorance;--I have thought proper thus, in somesort, to strike a balance between the claims of men of routine--and menof original and accomplished minds--to the management of State affairsin ordinary circumstances. But ours is not an age of this character:and, --after having seen such a long series of misconduct, so manyunjustifiable attempts made and sometimes carried into effect, goodendeavours frustrated, disinterested wishes thwarted, and benevolenthopes disappointed, --it is reasonable that we should endeavour toascertain to what cause these evils are to be ascribed. I have directedthe attention of the Reader to one primary cause: and can he doubt ofits existence, and of the operation which I have attributed to it?

In the course of the last thirty years we have seen two wars wagedagainst Liberty--the American war, and the war against the French Peoplein the early stages of their Revolution. In the latter instance theEmigrants and the Continental Powers and the British did, in all theirexpectations and in every movement of their efforts, manifest a commonignorance--originating in the same source. And, for what more especiallybelongs to ourselves at this time, we may affirm--that the samepresumptuous irreverence of the principles of justice, and blankinsensibility to the affections of human nature, which determined theconduct of our government in those two wars _against_ liberty, havecontinued to accompany its exertions in the present struggle _for_liberty, --and have rendered them fruitless. The British government deems(no doubt), on its own part, that its intentions are good. It must notdeceive itself: nor must we deceive ourselves. Intentions--thoroughlygood--could not mingle with the unblessed actions which we havewitnessed. A disinterested and pure intention is a light that guides aswell as cheers, and renders desperate lapses impossible. 

Our duty is--our aim ought to be--to employ the true means of libertyand virtue for the ends of liberty and virtue. In such policy, thoroughly understood, there is fitness and concord and rationalsubordination; it deserves a higher name--organization, health, andgrandeur. Contrast, in a single instance, the two processes; and thequalifications which they require. The ministers of that period found itan easy task to hire a band of Hessians, and to send it across theAtlantic, that they might assist _in bringing the Americans_ (accordingto the phrase then prevalent) _to reason_. The force, with which thesetroops would attack, was gross, --tangible, --and might be calculated; butthe spirit of resistance, which their presence would create, wassubtle--ethereal--mighty--and incalculable. Accordingly, from the momentwhen these foreigners landed--men who had no interest, no business, inthe quarrel, but what the wages of their master bound him to, and heimposed upon his miserable slaves;--nay, from the first rumour of theirdestination, the success of the British was (as hath since been affirmedby judicious Americans) impossible. 

The British government of the present day have been seduced, as we haveseen, by the same commonplace facilities on the one side; and have beenequally blind on the other. A physical auxiliar force of thirty-fivethousand men is to be added to the army of Spain: but the moral energy, which thereby _might_ be taken away from the principal, is overlooked orslighted; the material being too fine for their calculation. What doesit avail to graft a bough upon a tree; if this be done so ignorantly andrashly that the trunk, which can alone supply the sap by which the wholemust flourish, receives a deadly wound? Palpable effects of theConvention of Cintra, and self-contradicting consequences even in thematter especially aimed at, may be seen in the necessity which itentailed of leaving 8, 000 British troops to protect Portugueze traitorsfrom punishment by the laws of their country. A still more serious andfatal contradiction lies in this--that the English army was made aninstrument of injustice, and was dishonoured, in order that it might behurried forward to uphold a cause which could have no life but byjustice and honour. The Nation knows how that army languished in theheart of Spain: that it accomplished nothing except its retreat, issure: what great service it might have performed, if it had moved from adifferent impulse, we have shewn. 

It surely then behoves those who are in authority--to look to the stateof their own minds. There is indeed an inherent impossibility that theyshould be equal to the arduous duties which have devolved upon them: butit is not unreasonable to hope that something higher might be aimed at;and that the People might see, upon great occasions, --in the practice ofits Rulers--a more adequate reflection of its own wisdom and virtue. OurRulers, I repeat, must begin with their own minds. This is a precept ofimmediate urgency; and, if attended to, might be productive of immediategood. I will follow it with further conclusions directly referring tofuture conduct. 

I will not suppose that any ministry of this country can be so abject, so insensible, and unwise, as to abandon the Spaniards and Portuguezewhile there is a Patriot in arms; or, if the people should for a time besubjugated, to deny them assistance the moment they rise to require itagain. I cannot think so unfavourably of my country as to suppose thispossible. Let men in power, however, take care (and let the nation beequally careful) not to receive any reports from our army--of thedisposition of the Spanish people--without mistrust. The Britishgenerals, who were in Portugal (the whole body of them, [21] according tothe statement of Sir Hew Dalrymple), approved of the Convention ofCintra; and have thereby shewn that _their_ communications are not to berelied upon in this case. And indeed there is not any information, whichwe can receive upon this subject, that is so little trustworthy as thatwhich comes from our army--or from any part of it. The opportunities ofnotice, afforded to soldiers in actual service, must necessarily be verylimited; and a thousand things stand in the way of their power to make aright use of these. But a retreating army, in the country of anAlly;--harrassed and dissatisfied; willing to find a reason for itsfailures in any thing but itself, and actually not without much solidground for complaint; retreating; sometimes, perhaps, fugitive; and, inits disorder, tempted (and even forced) to commit offences upon thepeople of the district through which it passes; while they, in theirturn, are filled with fear and inconsiderate anger;--an army, in such acondition, must needs be incapable of seeing objects as they really are;and, at the same time, all things must change in its presence, and puton their most unfavourable appearances. 

[21] From this number, however, must be excepted the gallant andpatriotic General Ferguson. For that officer has had the virtue publiclyand in the most emphatic manner, upon two occasions, to reprobate thewhole transaction. 

Deeming it then not to be doubted that the British government willcontinue its endeavours to support its Allies; one or other of twomaxims of policy follows obviously from the painful truths which we havebeen considering:--Either, first, that we should put forth to the utmostour strength as a military power--strain it to the very last point, andprepare (no erect mind will start at the proposition) to pour into thePeninsula a force of two hundred thousand men or more, --and makeourselves for a time, upon Spanish ground, principals in the contest;or, secondly, that we should direct our attention to giving supportrather in _Things_ than in Men. 

The former plan, though requiring a great effort and many sacrifices, is(I have no doubt) practicable: its difficulties would yield to a boldand energetic Ministry, in despite of the present constitution ofParliament. The Militia, if they had been called upon at the beginningof the rising in the Peninsula, would (I believe)--almost to a man--haveoffered their services: so would many of the Volunteers in theirindividual capacity. They would do so still. The advantages of this planwould be--that the power, which would attend it, must (if judiciouslydirected) insure unity of effort; taming down, by its dignity, thediscords which usually prevail among allied armies; and subordinating toitself the affections of the Spanish and Portugueze by the palpableservice which it was rendering to their Country. A further encouragementfor adopting this plan he will find, who perceives that the militarypower of our Enemy is not in substance so formidable, by many--manydegrees of terror, as outwardly it appears to be. The last campaign hasnot been wholly without advantage: since it has proved that the Frenchtroops are indebted, for their victories, to the imbecility of theiropponents far more than to their own discipline or courage--or even tothe skill and talents of their Generals. There is a superstition hangingover us which the efforts of our army (not to speak of the Spaniards)have, I hope, removed. --But their mighty numbers!--In that is a delusionof another kind. In the former instance, year after year we imaginedthings to be what they were not: and in this, by a more fatal and morecommon delusion, the thought of what things really are--precludes thethought of what in a moment they may become: the mind, overlaid by thepresent, cannot lift itself to attain a glimpse of the future. 

All--which is comparatively inherent, or can lay claim to any degree ofpermanence, in the tyranny which the French Nation maintains overEurope--rests upon two foundations:--First; Upon the despotic rule whichhas been established in France over a powerful People who have latelypassed from a state of revolution, in which they supported a strugglebegun for domestic liberty, and long continued for liberty and nationalindependence:--and, secondly, upon the personal character of the Man bywhom that rule is exercised. 

As to the former; every one knows that Despotism, in a general sense, isbut another word for weakness. Let one generation disappear; and apeople over whom such rule has been extended, if it have not virtue tofree itself, is condemned to embarrassment in the operations of itsgovernment, and to perpetual languor; with no better hope than thatwhich may spring from the diseased activity of some particular Prince onwhom the authority may happen to devolve. This, if it takes a regularhereditary course: but, --if the succession be interrupted, and thesupreme power frequently usurped or given by election, --worse evilsfollow. Science and Art must dwindle, whether the power be hereditary ornot: and the virtues of a Trajan or an Antonine are a hollow support forthe feeling of contentment and happiness in the hearts of theirsubjects: such virtues are even a painful mockery;--something that is, and may vanish in a moment, and leave the monstrous crimes of aCaracalla or a Domitian in its place, --men, who are probably leaders ofa long procession of their kind. The feebleness of despotic power wehave had before our eyes in the late condition of Spain and Prussia; andin that of France before the Revolution; and in the present condition ofAustria and Russia. But, in a _new-born_ arbitrary and militaryGovernment (especially if, like that of France, it have been immediatelypreceded by a popular Constitution), not only this weakness is notfound; but it possesses, for the purposes of external annoyance, apreternatural vigour. Many causes contribute to this: we need onlymention that, fitness--real or supposed--being necessarily the chief(and almost sole) recommendation to offices of trust, it is clear thatsuch offices will in general be ably filled; and their duties, comparatively, well executed: and that, from the conjunction of absolutecivil and military authority in a single Person, there naturally followspromptness of decision; concentration of effort; rapidity of motion; andconfidence that the movements made will be regularly supported. This isall which need now be said upon the subject of this first basis ofFrench Tyranny. 

For the second--namely, the personal character of the Chief; I shall atpresent content myself with noting (to prevent misconception) that thisbasis is not laid in any superiority of talents in him, but in his utterrejection of the restraints of morality--in wickedness whichacknowledges no limit but the extent of its own power. Let any onereflect a moment; and he will feel that a new world of forces is openedto a Being who has made this desperate leap. It is a tremendousprinciple to be adopted, and steadily adhered to, by a man in thestation which Buonaparte occupies; and he has taken the full benefit ofit. What there is in this principle of weak, perilous, andself-destructive--I may find a grateful employment in endeavouring toshew upon some future occasion. But it is a duty which we owe to thepresent moment to proclaim--in vindication of the dignity of humannature, and for an admonition to men of prostrate spirit--that thedominion, which this Enemy of mankind holds, has neither been acquirednor is sustained by endowments of intellect which are rarely bestowed, or by uncommon accumulations of knowledge; but that it has risen fromcircumstances over which he had no influence; circumstances which, withthe power they conferred, have stimulated passions whose natural foodhath been and is ignorance; from the barbarian impotence and insolenceof a mind--originally of ordinary constitution--lagging, in moralsentiment and knowledge, three hundred years behind the age in which itacts. In such manner did the power originate; and, by the forces which Ihave described, is it maintained. This should be declared: and itshould be added--that the crimes of Buonaparte are more to be abhorredthan those of other denaturalized creatures whose actions are painted inHistory; because the Author of those crimes is guilty with lesstemptation, and sins in the presence of a clearer light. 

No doubt in the command of almost the whole military force of Europe(the subject which called upon me to make these distinctions) he has, _at this moment_, a third source of power which may be added to thesetwo. He himself rates this last so high--either is, or affects to be, sopersuaded of its pre-eminence--that he boldly announces to the worldthat it is madness, and even impiety, to resist him. And sorry may we beto remember that there are British Senators, who (if a judgement may beformed from the language which they speak) are inclined to accompany himfar in this opinion. But the enormity of this power has in it nothing_inherent_ or _permanent_. Two signal overthrows in pitched battleswould, I believe, go far to destroy it. Germans, Dutch, Italians, Swiss, Poles, would desert the army of Buonaparte, and flock to the standard ofhis Adversaries, from the moment they could look towards it with thatconfidence which one or two conspicuous victories would inspire. Aregiment of 900 Swiss joined the British army in Portugal; and, if theFrench had been compelled to surrender as Prisoners of War, we shouldhave seen that all those troops, who were not native Frenchmen, would(if encouragement had been given) have joined the British: and theopportunity that was lost of demonstrating this fact--was not among theleast of the mischiefs which attended the termination of thecampaign. --In a word; the vastness of Buonaparte's military power isformidable--not because it is impossible to break it; but because it hasnot yet been penetrated. In this respect it may not inaptly be comparedto a huge pine-forest (such as are found in the Northern parts of thisIsland), whose ability to resist the storms is in its skirts: let butthe blast once make an inroad; and it levels the forest, and sweeps itaway at pleasure. A hundred thousand men, such as fought at Vimiera andCorunna, would accomplish three such victories as I have beenanticipating. This Nation _might_ command a military force which woulddrive the French out of the Peninsula: I do not say that we couldsustain there a military force which would prevent their re-entering;but that we could transplant thither, by a great effort, one which wouldexpel them:--_This_ I maintain: and it is matter of thought in whichinfirm minds may find both reproach and instruction. The Spaniards couldthen take possession of their own fortresses; and have leisure to givethemselves a blended civil and military organization, complete andanimated by liberty; which, if once accomplished, they would be able toprotect themselves. The oppressed Continental Powers also, seeing suchunquestionable proof that Great Britain was sincere and earnest, wouldlift their heads again; and, by so doing, would lighten the burthen ofwar which might remain for the Spaniards. 

In treating of this plan--I have presumed that a General might be placedat the head of this great military power who would not sign a Treatylike that of the Convention of Cintra, and say (look at the proceedingsof the Board of Inquiry) that he was determined to this by 'Britishinterests;' or frame _any_ Treaty in the country of an Ally (save onepurely military for the honourable preservation, if necessary, of hisown army or part of it) to which the sole, or even the main, inducementwas--our interests contra-distinguished from those of that Ally;--aGeneral and a Ministry whose policy would be comprehensive enough toperceive that the true welfare of Britain is best promoted by theindependence, freedom, and honour of other Nations; and that it is onlyby the diffusion and prevalence of these virtues that French Tyranny canbe ultimately reduced; or the influence of France over the rest ofEurope brought within its natural and reasonable limits. 

If this attempt be 'above the strain and temper' of the country, thereremains only a plan laid down upon the other principles; namely, service(as far as is required) in _things_ rather than in men; that is, menbeing secondary to things. It is not, I fear, possible that the moralsentiments of the British Army or Government should accord with those ofSpain in her present condition. Commanding power indeed (as hath beensaid), put forth in the repulse of the common enemy, would tend, moreeffectually than any thing save the prevalence of true wisdom, toprevent disagreement, and to obviate any temporary injury which themoral spirit of the Spaniards might receive from us: at all events--suchpower, should there ensue any injury, would bring a solid compensation. But from a middle course--an association sufficiently intimate and wideto scatter every where unkindly passions, and yet unable to attain thesalutary point of decisive power--no good is to be expected. Great wouldbe the evil, at this momentous period, if the hatred of the Spaniardsshould look two ways. Let it be as steadily fixed upon the French, asthe Pilot's eye upon his mark. Military stores and arms should befurnished with unfailing liberality: let Troops also be supplied; butlet these act separately, --taking strong positions upon the coast, ifsuch can be found, to employ twice their numbers of the Enemy; and, above all, let there be floating Armies--keeping the Enemy in constantuncertainty where he is to be attacked. The peninsula frame of Spain andPortugal lays that region open to the full shock of British warfare. OurFleet and Army should act, wherever it is possible, as parts of onebody--a right hand and a left; and the Enemy ought to be made to feelthe force of both. 

But--whatever plans be adopted--there can be no success, unless theexecution be entrusted to Generals of competent judgement. That theBritish Army swarms with those who are incompetent--is too plain fromsuccessive proofs in the transactions at Buenos Ayres, at Cintra, and inthe result of the Board of Inquiry. --Nor must we see a General appointedto command--and required, at the same time, to frame his operationsaccording to the opinion of an inferior Officer: an injunction (for arecommendation, from such a quarter, amounts to an injunction) implyingthat a man had been appointed to a high station--of which the verypersons, who had appointed him, deemed him unworthy; else they must haveknown that he would endeavour to profit by the experience of any of hisinferior officers, from the suggestions of his own understanding: at thesame time--by denying to the General-in-Chief the free use of his ownjudgement, and by the act of announcing this presumption of hisincompetence to the man himself--such an indignity is put upon him, thathis passions must of necessity be rouzed; so as to leave it scarcelypossible that he could draw any benefit, which he might otherwise havedrawn, from the local knowledge or talents of the individual to whom hewas referred: and, lastly, this injunction virtually involves asubversion of all military subordination. In the better times of theHouse of Commons--a minister, who had presumed to write such a letter asthat to which I allude, would have been impeached. 

The Debates in Parliament, and measures of Government, every day furnishnew Proofs of the truths which I have been attempting to establish--ofthe utter want of general principles;--new and lamentable proofs! Thismoment (while I am drawing towards a conclusion) I learn, from thenewspaper reports, that the House of Commons has refused to declare thatthe Convention of Centra _disappointed the hopes and expectations of theNation_. 

The motion, according to the letter of it, was ill-framed; for theConvention might have been a very good one, and still have disappointedthe hopes and expectations of the Nation--as those might have beenunwise: at all events, the words ought to have stood--the _just_ and_reasonable_ hopes of the Nation. But the hacknied phrase of'_disappointed hopes and expectations_'--should not have been used atall: it is a centre round which much delusion has gathered. TheConvention not only did not satisfy the Nation's hopes of good; but sunkit into a pitfall of unimagined and unimaginable evil. The hearts andunderstandings of the People tell them that the language of a proposedparliamentary resolution, upon this occasion, ought--not only to havebeen different in the letter--but also widely different in the spirit:and the reader of these pages will have deduced, that no terms ofreprobation could in severity exceed the offences involved in--andconnected with--that instrument. But, while the grand keep of the castleof iniquity was to be stormed, we have seen nothing but a puny assaultupon heaps of the scattered rubbish of the fortress; nay, for the mostpart, on some accidental mole-hills at its base. I do not speak thus indisrespect to the Right Hon. Gentleman who headed this attack. His mind, left to itself, would (I doubt not) have prompted something worthier andhigher: but he moves in the phalanx of Party;--a spiritual Body; inwhich (by strange inconsistency) the hampering, weakening, anddestroying, of every individual mind of which it is composed--is the lawwhich must constitute the strength of the whole. The questionwas--whether principles, affecting the very existence of Society, hadnot been violated; and an arm lifted, and let fall, which struck at theroot of Honour; with the aggravation of the crime having been committedat this momentous period. But what relation is there between theseprinciples and actions, and being in Place or out of it? If the Peoplewould constitutionally and resolutely assert their rights, theirRepresentatives would be taught another lesson; and for their ownprofit. Their understandings would be enriched accordingly: for it isthere--there where least suspected--that the want, from which thiscountry suffers, chiefly lies. They err, who suppose that venality andcorruption (though now spreading more and more) are the master-evils ofthis day: neither these nor immoderate craving for power are so much tobe deprecated, as the non-existence of a widely-ranging intellect; of anintellect which, if not efficacious to infuse truth as a vital fluidinto the heart, might at least make it a powerful tool in the hand. Outward profession, --which, for practical purposes, is an act of mostdesirable subservience, --would then wait upon those objects to whichinward reverence, though not felt, was known to be due. Schemes of amplereach and true benefit would also promise best to insure the rewardscoveted by personal ambition: and men of baser passions, finding ittheir interest, would naturally combine to perform useful service underthe direction of strong minds: while men of good intentions would havetheir own pure satisfaction; and would exert themselves with moreupright--I mean, more hopeful--cheerfulness, and more successfully. Itis not therefore inordinate desire of wealth or power which is soinjurious--as the means which are and must be employed, in the presentintellectual condition of the Legislature, to sustain and secure thatpower: these are at once an effect of barrenness, and a cause; acting, and mutually re-acting, incessantly. An enlightened Friend has, inconversation, observed to the Author of these pages--that formerly theprinciples of men wore better than they who held them; but that now (afar worse evil!) men are better than their principles. I believe it:--ofthe deplorable quality and state of principles, the public proceedingsin our Country furnish daily new proof. It is however some consolation, at this present crisis, to find--that, of the thoughts and feelingsuttered during the two debates which led me to these painfuldeclarations, such--as approach towards truth which has any dignity init--come from the side of his Majesty's Ministers. --But note againthose contradictions to which I have so often been obliged to advert. The Ministers advise his Majesty publicly to express sentiments ofdisapprobation upon the Convention of Cintra; and, when the question ofthe merits or demerits of this instrument comes before them inParliament, the same persons--who, as advisers of the crown, latelycondemned the treaty--now, in their character of representatives of thepeople, by the manner in which they received this motion, havepronounced an encomium upon it. For, though (as I have said) the motionwas inaccurately and inadequately worded, it was not set aside upon thisground. And the Parliament has therefore persisted in withholding, fromthe insulted and injured People and from their Allies, the onlyreparation which perhaps it may be in its power to grant; has refused tosignify its repentance and sorrow for what hath been done; withoutwhich, as a previous step, there can be no proof--no gratifyingintimation, even to this Country or to its Allies, that the futureefforts of the British Parliament are in a sincere spirit. The guilt ofthe transaction therefore being neither repented of, nor atoned for; thecourse of evil is, by necessity, persevered in. --But let us turn to abrighter region. 

The events of the last year, gloriously destroying many frail fears, have placed--in the rank of serene and immortal truths--a propositionwhich, as an object of belief, hath in all ages been fondly cherished;namely--That a numerous Nation, determined to be free, may effect itspurpose in despite of the mightiest power which a foreign Invader canbring against it. These events also have pointed out how, in the ways ofNature and under the guidance of Society, this happy end is to beattained: in other words, they have shewn that the cause of the People, in dangers and difficulties issuing from this quarter of oppression, issafe while it remains not only in the bosom but in the hands of thePeople; or (what amounts to the same thing) in those of a governmentwhich, being truly _from_ the People, is faithfully _for_ them. Whilethe power remained with the provincial Juntas, that is, with the bodynatural of the community (for those authorities, newly generated in suchadversity, were truly living members of that body); every thingprospered in Spain. Hopes of the best kind were opened out andencouraged; liberal opinions countenanced; and wise measures arranged:and last, and (except as proceeding from these) least of all, --victoriesin the field, in the streets of the city, and upon the walls of thefortress. 

I have heretofore styled it a blessing that the Spanish People becametheir own masters at once. It _was_ a blessing; but not without muchalloy: as the same disinterested generous passions, which preserved (andwould for a season still have preserved) them from a bad exercise oftheir power, impelled them to part with it too soon; before labours, hitherto neither tried nor thought of, had created throughout thecountry the minor excellences indispensible for the performance of thoselabours; before powerful minds, not hitherto of general note, had foundtime to shew themselves; and before men, who were previously known, hadundergone the proof of new situations. Much therefore was wanting todirect the general judgement in the choice of persons, when the seconddelegation took place; which was a removal (the first, we have seen, hadnot been so) of the power from the People. But, when a common centrebecame absolutely necessary, the power ought to have passed from theprovincial Assemblies into the hands of the Cortes; and into none else. A pernicious Oligarchy crept into the place of this comprehensive--thisconstitutional--this saving and majestic Assembly. Far be it from me tospeak of the Supreme Junta with ill-advised condemnation: every man mustfeel for the distressful trials to which that Body has been exposed. Buteighty men or a hundred, with a king at their head veiled under a cloudof fiction (we might say, with reference to the difficulties of thismoment, begotten upon a cloud of fiction), could not be an image of aNation like that of Spain, or an adequate instrument of their power fortheir ends. The Assembly, from the smallness of its numbers, must havewanted breadth of wing to extend itself and brood over Spain with aquickening touch of warmth every where. If also, as hath been mentioned, there was a want of experience to determine the judgment in choice ofpersons; this same smallness of numbers must have unnecessarilyincreased the evil--by excluding many men of worth and talents whichwere so far known and allowed as that they would surely have beendeputed to an Assembly upon a larger scale. Gratitude, habit, andnumerous other causes must have given an undue preponderance to birth, station, rank, and fortune; and have fixed the election, more than wasreasonable, upon those who were most conspicuous for thesedistinctions;--men whose very virtue would incline them superstitiouslyto respect established things, and to mistrust the People--towards whomnot only a frank confidence but a forward generosity was the first ofduties. I speak not of the vices to which such men would be liable, brought up under the discipline of a government administered like theold Monarchy of Spain: the matter is both ungracious and too obvious. 

But I began with hope; and hope has inwardly accompanied me to the end. The whole course of the campaign, rightly interpreted, has justified myhope. In Madrid, in Ferrol, in Corunna, in every considerable place, andin every part of the country over which the French have re-extendedtheir dominion, --we learn, from their own reports, that the body of thePeople have shewed against them, to the last, the most determinedhostility. Hence it is clear that the lure, which the invading Usurperfound himself constrained lately to hold out to the inferior orders ofsociety in the shape of various immunities, has totally failed: andtherefore he turns for support to another quarter, and now attempts tocajole the wealthy and the privileged. But this class has been taught, by late Decrees, what it has to expect from him; and how far he is to beconfided-in for its especial interests. Many individuals, no doubt, hewill seduce; but the bulk of the class, even if they could be insensibleto more liberal feelings, cannot but be his enemies. This change, therefore, is not merely shifting ground; but retiring to a positionwhich he himself has previously undermined. Here is confusion; and apower warring against itself. 

So will it ever fare with foreign Tyrants when (in spite of domesticabuses) a People, which has lived long, feels that it has a Country tolove; and where the heart of that People is sound. Between the nativeinhabitants of France and Spain there has existed from the earliestperiod, and still does exist, an universal and utter dissimilitude inlaws, actions, deportment, gait, manners, customs: join with this thedifference in the language, and the barrier of the Pyrenees; aseparation and an opposition in great things, and an antipathy in small. Ignorant then must he be of history and of the reports of travellers andresidents in the two countries, or strangely inattentive to theconstitution of human nature, who (this being true) can admit thebelief that the Spaniards, numerous and powerful as they are, will liveunder Frenchmen as their lords and masters. Let there be added to thisinherent mutual repulsiveness--those recent indignities and horribleoutrages; and we need not fear to say that such reconcilement isimpossible; even without that further insuperable obstacle which we hopewill exist, an establishment of a free Constitution in Spain. --Theintoxicated setter-up of Kings may fill his diary with pompous storiesof the acclamations with which his solemn puppets are received; he maystuff their mouths with impious asseverations; and hire knees to bendbefore them, and lips to answer with honied greetings of gratitude andlove: these cannot remove the old heart, and put a new one into thebosom of the spectators. The whole is a pageant seen for a day among menin its passage to that 'Limbo large and broad' whither, as to theirproper home, fleet

 All the unaccomplish'd works of Nature's hand, Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mix'd, _Dissolv'd on earth_. 

Talk not of the perishable nature of enthusiasm; and rise above acraving for perpetual manifestations of things. He is to be pitied whoseeye can only be pierced by the light of a meridian sun, whose frame canonly be warmed by the heat of midsummer. Let us hear no more of thelittle dependence to be had in war upon voluntary service. The things, with which we are primarily and mainly concerned, are inward passions;and not outward arrangements. These latter may be given at any time;when the parts, to be put together, are in readiness. Hatred and love, and each in its intensity, and pride (passions which, existing in theheart of a Nation, are inseparable from hope)--these elements being inconstant preparation--enthusiasm will break out from them, or coalescewith them, upon the summons of a moment. And these passions are scarcelyless than inextinguishable. The truth of this is recorded in the mannersand hearts of North and South Britons, of Englishmen and Welshmen, oneither border of the Tweed and of the Esk, on both sides of the Severnand the Dee; an inscription legible, and in strong characters, which thetread of many and great blessings, continued through hundreds of years, has been unable to efface. The Sicilian Vespers are to this day afamiliar game among the boys of the villages on the sides of Mount Etna, and through every corner of the Island; and 'Exterminate the French!' isthe action in their arms, and the word of triumph upon their tongues. Hethen is a sorry Statist, who desponds or despairs (nor is he less so whois too much elevated) from any considerations connected with the qualityof enthusiasm. Nothing is so easy as to sustain it by partial andgradual changes of its object; and by placing it in the way of receivingnew interpositions according to the need. The difficulty lies--not inkindling, feeding, or fanning the flame; but in continuing so toregulate the relations of things--that the fanning breeze and thefeeding fuel shall come from no unworthy quarter, and shall neither ofthem be wanting in appropriate consecration. The Spaniards have as greathelps towards ensuring this, as ever were vouchsafed to a People. 

What then is to be desired? Nothing but that the Government and thehigher orders of society should deal sincerely towards the middle classand the lower: I mean, that the general temper should be sincere. --It isnot required that every one should be disinterested, or zealous, or ofone mind with his fellows. Selfishness or slackness in individuals, andin certain bodies of men also (and at time's perhaps in all), have theiruse: else why should they exist? Due circumspection and necessaryactivity, in those who are sound, could not otherwise maintainthemselves. The deficiencies in one quarter are more than made up byconsequent overflowings in another. 'If my Neighbour fails, ' says thetrue Patriot, 'more devolves upon me. ' Discord and even treason are not, in a country situated as Spain is, the pure evils which, upon asuperficial view, they appear to be. Never are a people so livelilyadmonished of the love they bear their country, and of the pride whichthey have in their common parent, as when they hear of some parricidalattempt of a false brother. For this cause chiefly, in times of nationaldanger, are their fancies so busy in suspicion; which under such shape, though oftentimes producing dire and pitiable effects, isnotwithstanding in its general character no other than that habit whichhas grown out of the instinct of self-preservation--elevated into awakeful and affectionate apprehension for the whole, and ennobling itsprivate and baser ways by the generous use to which they are converted. Nor ever has a good and loyal man such a swell of mind, such a clearinsight into the constitution of virtue, and such a sublime sense of itspower, as at the first tidings of some atrocious act of perfidy; when, having taken the alarm for human nature, a second thought recovers him;and his faith returns--gladsome from what has been revealed withinhimself, and awful from participation of the secrets in the profanergrove of humanity which that momentary blast laid open to his view. 

Of the ultimate independence of the Spanish Nation there is no reason todoubt: and for the immediate furtherance of the good cause, and athrowing-off of the yoke upon the first favourable opportunity by thedifferent tracts of the country upon which it has been re-imposed, nothing is wanting but sincerity on the part of the government towardsthe provinces which are yet free. The first end to be secured by Spainis riddance of the enemy: the second, permanent independence: and thethird, a free constitution of government; which will give their main(though far from sole) value to the other two; and without which littlemore than a formal independence, and perhaps scarcely that, can besecured. Humanity and honour, and justice, and all the sacred feelingsconnected with atonement, retribution, and satisfaction; shame that willnot sleep, and the sting of unperformed duty; and all the powers of themind, the memory that broods over the dead and turns to the living, theunderstanding, the imagination, and the reason;--demand and enjoin thatthe wanton oppressor should be driven, with confusion and dismay, fromthe country which he has so heinously abused. 

This cannot be accomplished (scarcely can it be aimed at) without anaccompanying and an inseparable resolution, in the souls of theSpaniards, to be and remain their own masters; that is, to preservethemselves in the rank of Men; and not become as the Brute that isdriven to the pasture, and cares not who owns him. It is a common sayingamong those who profess to be lovers of civil liberty, and givethemselves some credit for understanding it, --that, if a Nation be notfree, it is mere dust in the balance whether the slavery be bred athome, or comes from abroad; be of their own suffering, or of astranger's imposing. They see little of the under-ground part of thetree of liberty, and know less of the nature of man, who can think thus. Where indeed there is an indisputable and immeasurable superiority inone nation over another; to be conquered may, in course of time, be abenefit to the inferior nation: and, upon this principle, some of theconquests of the Greeks and Romans may be justified. But in what ofreally useful or honourable are the French superior to their Neighbours?Never far advanced, and, now barbarizing apace, they may carry--amongstthe sober and dignified Nations which surround them--much to be avoided, but little to be imitated. 

There is yet another case in which a People may be benefited byresignation or forfeiture of their rights as a separate independentState; I mean, where--of two contiguous or neighbouring countries, bothincluded by nature under one conspicuously defined limit--the weaker isunited with, or absorbed into, the more powerful; and one and the sameGovernment is extended over both. This, with clue patience andforesight, may (for the most part) be amicably effected, without theintervention of conquest; but--even should a violent course have beenresorted to, and have proved successful--the result will be matter ofcongratulation rather than of regret, if the countries have beenincorporated with an equitable participation of natural advantages andcivil privileges. Who does not rejoice that former partitions havedisappeared, --and that England, Scotland, and Wales, are under onelegislative and executive authority; and that Ireland (would that shehad been more justly dealt with!) follows the same destiny? The largeand numerous Fiefs, which interfered injuriously with the granddemarcation assigned by nature to France, have long since been unitedand consolidated. The several independent Sovereignties of Italy (acountry, the boundary of which is still more expressly traced out bynature; and which has no less the further definition and cement ofcountry which Language prepares) have yet this good to aim at: and itwill be a happy day for Europe, when the natives of Italy and thenatives of Germany (whose duty is, in like manner, indicated to them)shall each dissolve the pernicious barriers which divide them, and formthemselves into a mighty People. But Spain, excepting a free union withPortugal, has no benefit of this kind to look for: she has long sinceattained it. The Pyrenees on the one side, and the Sea on every other;the vast extent and great resources of the territory; a populationnumerous enough to defend itself against the whole world, and capableof great increase; language; and long duration of independence;--pointout and command that the two nations of the Peninsula should be unitedin friendship and strict alliance; and, as soon as it may be effectedwithout injustice, form one independent and indissoluble sovereignty. The Peninsula cannot be protected but by itself: it is too large a treeto be framed by nature for a station among underwoods; it must havepower to toss its branches in the wind, and lift a bold forehead to thesun. 

Allowing that the 'regni novitas' should either compel or tempt theUsurper to do away some ancient abuses, and to accord certaininsignificant privileges to the People upon the purlieus of the forestof Freedom (for assuredly he will never suffer them to enter the body ofit); allowing this, and much more; that the mass of the Population wouldbe placed in a condition outwardly more thriving--would be _better off_(as the phrase in conversation is); it is still true that--in the actand consciousness of submission to an imposed lord and master, to a willnot growing out of themselves, to the edicts of another People theirtriumphant enemy--there would be the loss of a sensation within forwhich nothing external, even though it should come close to the gardenand the field--to the door and the fire-side, can make amends. TheArtisan and the Merchant (men of classes perhaps least attached to theirnative soil) would not be insensible to this loss; and the Mariner, inhis thoughtful mood, would sadden under it upon the wide ocean. Thecentral or cardinal feeling of these thoughts may, at a future time, furnish fit matter for the genius of some patriotic Spaniard to expressin his own noble language--as an inscription for the Sword of Francisthe First; if that Sword, which was so ingloriously and perfidiouslysurrendered, should ever, by the energies of Liberty, be recovered, anddeposited in its ancient habitation in the Escurial. The Patriot willrecollect that, --if the memorial, then given up by the hand of theGovernment, had also been abandoned by the heart of the People, and thatindignity patiently subscribed to, --his country would have been lost forever. 

There are multitudes by whom, I know, these sentiments will not belanguidly received at this day; and sure I am--that, a hundred and fiftyyears ago, they would have been ardently welcomed by all. But, in manyparts of Europe (and especially in our own country), men have beenpressing forward, for some time, in a path which has betrayed by itsfruitfulness; furnishing them constant employment for picking up thingsabout their feet, when thoughts were perishing in their minds. WhileMechanic Arts, Manufactures, Agriculture, Commerce, and all thoseproducts of knowledge which are confined to gross--definite--andtangible objects, have, with the aid of Experimental Philosophy, beenevery day putting on more brilliant colours; the splendour of theImagination has been fading: Sensibility, which was formerly a generousnursling of rude Nature, has been chased from its ancient range in thewide domain of patriotism and religion with the weapons of derision by ashadow calling itself Good Sense: calculations of presumptuousExpediency--groping its way among partial and temporaryconsequences--have been substituted for the dictates of paramount andinfallible Conscience, the supreme embracer of consequences: lifelessand circumspect Decencies have banished the graceful negligence andunsuspicious dignity of Virtue. 

The progress of these arts also, by furnishing such attractive stores ofoutward accommodation, has misled the higher orders of society in theirmore disinterested exertions for the service of the lower. Animalcomforts have been rejoiced over, as if they were the end of being. Aneater and more fertile garden; a greener field; implements and utensilsmore apt; a dwelling more commodious and better furnished;--let these beattained, say the actively benevolent, and we are sure not only of beingin the right road, but of having successfully terminated our journey. Now a country may advance, for some time, in this course with apparentprofit: these accommodations, by zealous encouragement, may be attained:and still the Peasant or Artisan, their master, be a slave in mind; aslave rendered even more abject by the very tenure under which thesepossessions are held: and--if they veil from us this fact, or reconcileus to it--they are worse than worthless. The springs of emotion may berelaxed or destroyed within him; he may have little thought of the past, and less interest in the future. --The great end and difficulty of lifefor men of all classes, and especially difficult for those who live bymanual labour, is a union of peace with innocent and laudable animation. Not by bread alone is the life of Man sustained; not by raiment alone ishe warmed;--but by the genial and vernal inmate of the breast, which atonce pushes forth and cherishes; by self-support and self-sufficingendeavours; by anticipations, apprehensions, and active remembrances; byelasticity under insult, and firm resistance to injury; by joy, and bylove; by pride which his imagination gathers in from afar; by patience, because life wants not promises; by admiration; by gratitudewhich--debasing him not when his fellow-being is its object--habituallyexpands itself, for his elevation, in complacency towards his Creator. 

Now, to the existence of these blessings, national independence isindispensible; and many of them it will itself produce and maintain. Forit is some consolation to those who look back upon the history of theworld to know--that, even without civil liberty, society maypossess--diffused through its inner recesses in the minds even of itshumblest members--something of dignified enjoyment. But, withoutnational independence, this is impossible. The difference, betweeninbred oppression and that which is from without, is _essential_;inasmuch as the former does not exclude, from the minds of a people, thefeeling of being self-governed; does not imply (as the latter does, whenpatiently submitted to) an abandonment of the first duty imposed by thefaculty of reason. In reality: where this feeling has no place, a peopleare not a society, but a herd; man being indeed distinguished among themfrom the brute; but only to his disgrace. I am aware that there are toomany who think that, to the bulk of the community, this independence isof no value; that it is a refinement with which they feel they have noconcern; inasmuch as, under the best frame of Government, there is aninevitable dependence of the pool upon the rich--of the many upon thefew--so unrelenting and imperious as to reduce this other, bycomparison, into a force which has small influence, and is entitled tono regard. Superadd civil liberty to national independence; and thisposition is overthrown at once: for there is no more certain mark of asound frame of polity than this; that, in all individual instances (andit is upon these generalized that this position is laid down), thedependence is in reality far more strict on the side of the wealthy; andthe labouring man leans less upon others than any man in thecommunity. --But the case before us is of a country not internally free, yet supposed capable of repelling an external enemy who attempts itssubjugation. If a country have put on chains of its own forging; in thename of virtue, let it be conscious that to itself it is accountable:let it not have cause to look beyond its own limits for reproof:and, --in the name of humanity, --if it be self-depressed, let it have itspride and some hope within itself. The poorest Peasant, in an unsubduedland, feels this pride. I do not appeal to the example of Britain or ofSwitzerland, for the one is free, and the other lately was free (and, Itrust, will ere long be so again): but talk with the Swede; and you willsee the joy he finds in these sensations. With him animal courage (thesubstitute for many and the friend of all the manly virtues) has spaceto move in; and is at once elevated by his imagination, and softened byhis affections: it is invigorated also; for the whole courage of hisCountry is in his breast. 

In fact: the Peasant, and he who lives by the fair reward of his manuallabour, has ordinarily a larger proportion of his gratificationsdependent upon these thoughts--than, for the most part, men in otherclasses have. For he is in his person attached, by stronger roots, tothe soil of which he is the growth: his intellectual notices aregenerally confined within narrower bounds: in him no partial orantipatriotic interests counteract the force of those nobler sympathiesand antipathies which he has in right of his Country; and lastly thebelt or girdle of his mind has never been stretched to utter relaxationby false philosophy, under a conceit of making it sit more easily andgracefully. These sensations are a social inheritance to him: moreimportant, as he is precluded from luxurious--and those which areusually called refined--enjoyments. 

Love and admiration must push themselves out towards some quarter:otherwise the moral man is killed. Collaterally they advance with greatvigour to a certain extent--and they are checked: in that direction, limits hard to pass are perpetually encountered: but upwards anddownwards, to ancestry and to posterity, they meet with gladsome helpand no obstacles; the tract is interminable. --Perdition to the Tyrantwho would wantonly cut off an independent Nation from its inheritance inpast ages; turning the tombs and burial-places of the Forefathers intodreaded objects of sorrow, or of shame and reproach, for the Children!Look upon Scotland and Wales: though, by the union of these withEngland under the same Government (which was effected without conquestin one instance), ferocious and desolating wars, and more injuriousintrigues, and sapping and disgraceful corruptions, have been prevented;and tranquillity, security, and prosperity, and a thousand interchangesof amity, not otherwise attainable, have followed;--yet the flashingeye, and the agitated voice, and all the tender recollections, withwhich the names of Prince Llewellin and William Wallace are to this daypronounced by the fire-side and on the public road, attest that thesesubstantial blessings have not been purchased without the relinquishmentof something most salutary to the moral nature of Man: else theremembrances would not cleave so faithfully to their abiding-place inthe human heart. But, if these affections be of general interest, theyare of especial interest to Spain; whose history, written andtraditional, is pre-eminently stored with the sustaining food of suchaffections: and in no country are they more justly and generally prized, or more feelingly cherished. 

In the conduct of this argument I am not speaking _to_ the humbler ranksof society: it is unnecessary: _they_ trust in nature, and are safe. ThePeople of Madrid, and Corunna, and Ferrol, resisted to the last; from animpulse which, in their hearts, was its own justification. The failurewas with those who stood higher in the scale. In fact; the universalrising of the Peninsula, under the pressure and in the face of the mosttremendous military power which ever existed, is evidence which cannotbe too much insisted upon; and is decisive upon this subject, asinvolving a question of virtue and moral sentiment. All ranks werepenetrated with one feeling: instantaneous and universal was theacknowledgement. If there have been since individual fallings-off; thosehave been caused by that kind of after-thoughts which are the bastardoffspring of selfishness. The matter was brought home to Spain; and noSpaniard has offended herein with a still conscience. --It is to theworldlings of our own country, and to those who think without carryingtheir thoughts far enough, that I address myself. Let them know, thereis no true wisdom without imagination; no genuine sense;--that the man, who in this age feels no regret for the ruined honour of other Nations, must be poor in sympathy for the honour of his own Country; and that, ifhe be wanting here towards that which circumscribes the whole, heneither has--nor can have--social regard for the lesser communitieswhich Country includes. Contract the circle, and bring him to hisfamily; such a man cannot protect _that_ with dignified loves. Reducehis thoughts to his own person; he may defend himself, --what _he_ deemshis honour; but it is the _action_ of a brave man from the impulse ofthe brute, or the motive of a coward. 

But it is time to recollect that this vindication of human feeling beganfrom an _hypothesis_, --that the _outward_ state of the mass of theSpanish people would be improved by the French usurpation. To this I nowgive an unqualified denial. Let me also observe to those men, for whoseinfirmity this hypothesis was tolerated, --that the true point ofcomparison does not lie between what the Spaniards have been under agovernment of their own, and what they may become under Frenchdomination; but between what the Spaniards may do (and, in alllikelihood, will do) for themselves, and what Frenchmen would do forthem. But, --waiving this, --the sweeping away of the most splendidmonuments of art, and rifling of the public treasuries in the conqueredcountries, are an apt prologue to the tragedy which is to ensue. Strangethat there are men who can be so besotted as to see, in the decrees ofthe Usurper concerning feudal tenures and a worn-out Inquisition, anyother evidence than that of insidiousness and of a constrainedacknowledgement of the strength which he felt he had to overcome. Whatavail the lessons of history, if men can be duped thus? Boons andpromises of this kind rank, in trustworthiness, many degrees lower thanamnesties after expelled kings have recovered their thrones. The fate of subjugated Spain may be expressed in thesewords, --pillage--depression--and helotism--for the supposedaggrandizement of the imaginary freeman its master. There would indeedbe attempts at encouragement, that there might be a supply of somethingto pillage: studied depression there would be, that there might arise nopower of resistance: and lastly helotism;--but of what kind? that a vainand impious Nation might have slaves, worthier than itself, for workwhich its own hands would reject with scorn. 

What good can the present arbitrary power confer upon France itself? Letthat point be first settled by those who are inclined to look farther. The earlier proceedings of the French Revolution no doubt infusedhealth into the country; something of which survives to this day: butlet not the now-existing Tyranny have the credit of it. France neitherowes, nor can owe, to this any rational obligation. She has seen decreeswithout end for the increase of commerce and manufactures; pompousstories without number of harbours, canals, warehouses, and bridges: butthere is no worse sign in the management of affairs than when that, which ought to follow as an effect, goes before under a vain notion thatit will be a cause. --Let us attend to the springs of action, and weshall not be deceived. The works of peace cannot flourish in a countrygoverned by an intoxicated Despot; the motions of whose distortedbenevolence must be still more pernicious than those of his cruelty. '_Ihave bestowed; I have created; I have regenerated; I have been pleasedto organize_;'--this is the language perpetually upon his lips, when hisill-fated activities turn that way. Now commerce, manufactures, agriculture, and all the peaceful arts, are of the nature of virtues orintellectual powers: they cannot be given; they cannot be stuck in hereand there; they must spring up; they must grow of themselves: they maybe encouraged; they thrive better with encouragement, and delight in it;but the obligation must have bounds nicely defined; for they aredelicate, proud, and independent. But a Tyrant has no joy in any thingwhich is endued with such excellence: he sickens at the sight of it: heturns away from it, as an insult to his own attributes. We have seen thepresent ruler of France publicly addressed as a Providence upon earth;styled, among innumerable other blasphemies, the supreme Ruler ofthings; and heard him say, in his answers, that he approved of thelanguage of those who thus saluted him. (_See Appendix E_. )--Oh folly tothink that plans of reason can prosper under such countenance! If thisbe the doom of France, what a monster would be the double-headed tyrannyof Spain!

It is immutably ordained that power, taken and exercised in contempt ofright, never can bring forth good. Wicked actions indeed have oftentimeshappy issues: the benevolent economy of nature counter-working anddiverting evil; and educing finally benefits from injuries, and turningcurses to blessings. But I am speaking of good in a direct course. Allgood in this order--all moral good--begins and ends in reverence ofright. The whole Spanish People are to be treated not as a mightymultitude with feeling, will, and judgment; not as rationalcreatures;--but as objects without reason; in the language of human law, insuperably laid down not as Persons but as Things. Can good come fromthis beginning; which, in matter of civil government, is thefountain-head and the main feeder of all the pure evil upon earth? Lookat the past history of our sister Island for the quality of foreignoppression: turn where you will, it is miserable at best; but, in thecase of Spain!--it might be said, engraven upon the rocks of her ownPyrenees, Per me si va nella città dolente; Per me si va nell' eterno dolore; Per me si va tra la perduta gente. 

So much I have thought it necessary to speak upon this subject; with adesire to enlarge the views of the short-sighted, to cheer thedesponding, and stimulate the remiss. I have been treating of dutieswhich the People of Spain feel to be solemn and imperious; and havereferred to springs of action (in the sensations of love and hatred, ofhope and fear), --for promoting the fulfilment of these duties, --whichcannot fail. The People of Spain, thus animated, will move now; and willbe prepared to move, upon a favourable summons, for ages. And it isconsolatory to think that, --even if many of the leading persons of thatcountry, in their resistance to France, should not look beyond the twofirst objects (viz. Riddance of the enemy, and security of nationalindependence);--it is, I say, consolatory to think that the conduct, which can alone secure either of these ends, leads directly to a freeinternal Government. We have therefore both the passions and the reasonof these men on our side in two stages of the common journey: and, whenthis is the case, surely we are justified in expecting some furthercompanionship and support from their reason--acting independent of theirpartial interests, or in opposition to them. It is obvious that, to thenarrow policy of this class (men loyal to the Nation and to the King, yet jealous of the People), the most dangerous failures, which havehitherto taken place, are to be attributed: for, though from acts ofopen treason Spain may suffer and has suffered much, these (as I haveproved) can never affect the vitals of the cause. But the march ofLiberty has begun; and they, who will not lead, may be borne along. --Atall events, the road is plain. Let members for the Cortes be assembledfrom those Provinces which are not in the possession of the Invader: orat least (if circumstances render this impossible at present) let it beannounced that such is the intention, to be realized the first momentwhen it shall become possible. In the mean while speak boldly to thePeople: and let the People write and speak boldly. Let the expectationbe familiar to them of open and manly institutions of law and libertyaccording to knowledge. Let them be universally trained to militaryexercises, and accustomed to military discipline: let them be drawntogether in civic and religious assemblies; and a general communicationof those assemblies with each other be established through the country:so that there may be one zeal and one life in every part of it. 

With great profit might the Chiefs of the Spanish Nation look back uponthe earlier part of the French Revolution. Much, in the outward manner, might there be found worthy of qualified imitation: and, where there isa difference in the inner spirit (and there is a mighty difference!), the advantage is wholly on the side of the Spaniards. --Why should thePeople of Spain be dreaded by their leaders? I do not mean theprofligate and flagitious leaders; but those who are well-intentioned, yet timid. That there are numbers of this class who have excellentintentions, and are willing to make large personal sacrifices, is clear;for they have put every thing to risk--all their privileges, theirhonours, and possessions--by their resistance to the Invader. Why thenshould they have fears from a quarter--whence their safety must come, ifit come at all?--Spain has nothing to dread from Jacobinism. Manufactures and Commerce have there in far less degree thanelsewhere--by unnaturally clustering the people together--enfeebledtheir bodies, inflamed their passions by intemperance, vitiated fromchildhood their moral affections, and destroyed their imaginations. Madrid is no enormous city, like Paris; over-grown, anddisproportionate; sickening and bowing down, by its corrupt humours, theframe of the body politic. Nor has the pestilential philosophism ofFrance made any progress in Spain. No flight of infidel harpies hasalighted upon their ground. A Spanish understanding is a hold too strongto give way to the meagre tactics of the 'Système de la Nature;' or tothe pellets of logic which Condillac has cast in the foundry ofnational vanity, and tosses about at hap-hazard--self-persuaded that heis proceeding according to art. The Spaniards are a people withimagination: and the paradoxical reveries of Rousseau, and theflippancies of Voltaire, are plants which will not naturalise in thecountry of Calderon and Cervantes. Though bigotry among the Spaniardsleaves much to be lamented; I have proved that the religious habits ofthe nation must, in a contest of this kind, be of inestimable service. 

Yet further: contrasting the present condition of Spain with that ofFrance at the commencement of her revolution, we must not overlook onecharacteristic; the Spaniards have no division among themselves by andthrough themselves; no numerous Priesthood--no Nobility--no large bodyof powerful Burghers--from passion, interest, and conscience--opposingthe end which is known and felt to be the duty and only honest and trueinterest of all. Hostility, wherever it is found, must proceed from theseductions of the Invader: and these depend solely upon his power: letthat be shattered; and they vanish. 

And this once again leads us directly to that immense military forcewhich the Spaniards have to combat; and which, many think, more thancounterbalances every internal advantage. It is indeed formidable: asrevolutionary appetites and energies must needs be; when, among a peoplenumerous as the people of France, they have ceased to spend themselvesin conflicting factions within the country for objects perpetuallychanging shape; and are carried out of it under the strong controul ofan absolute despotism, as opportunity invites, for a definiteobject--plunder and conquest. It is, I allow, a frightful spectacle--tosee the prime of a vast nation propelled out of their territory with therapid sweep of a horde of Tartars; moving from the impulse of likesavage instincts; and furnished, at the same time, with those implementsof physical destruction which have been produced by science andcivilization. Such are the motions of the French armies; unchecked byany thought which philosophy and the spirit of society, progressivelyhumanizing, have called forth--to determine or regulate the applicationof the murderous and desolating apparatus with which by philosophy andscience they have been provided. With a like perversion of things, andthe same mischievous reconcilement of forces in their nature adverse, these revolutionary impulses and these appetites of barbarous (nay, what is far worse, of barbarized) men are embodied in a new frame ofpolity; which possesses the consistency of an ancient Government, without its embarrassments and weaknesses. And at the head of all is themind of one man who acts avowedly upon the principle that everything, which can be done safely by the supreme power of a State, may be done(_See Appendix F_. ); and who has, at his command, the greatest part ofthe continent of Europe--to fulfil what yet remains unaccomplished ofhis nefarious purposes. 

Now it must be obvious to a reflecting mind that every thing which isdesperately immoral, being in its constitution monstrous, is of itselfperishable: decay it cannot escape; and, further, it is liable to suddendissolution: time would evince this in the instance before us; thoughnot, perhaps, until infinite and irreparable harm had been done. But, even at present, each of the sources of this preternatural strength (asfar as it is formidable to Europe) has its corresponding seat ofweakness; which, were it fairly touched, would manifest itselfimmediately. --The power is indeed a Colossus: but, if the trunk be ofmolten-brass, the members are of clay; and would fall to pieces upon ashock which need not be violent. Great Britain, if her energies wereproperly called forth and directed, might (as we have alreadymaintained) give this shock. 'Magna parvis obscurantur' was theappropriate motto (the device a Sun Eclipsed) when Lord Peterborough, with a handful of men opposed to fortified cities and large armies, brought a great part of Spain to acknowledge a sovereign of the House ofAustria. We have _now_ a vast military force; and, --even without aPeterborough or a Marlborough, --at this precious opportunity (when, asis daily more probable, a large portion of the French force must marchnorthwards to combat Austria) we might easily, by expelling the Frenchfrom the Peninsula, secure an immediate footing there for liberty; andthe Pyrenees would then be shut against them for ever. The disciplinedtroops of Great Britain might overthrow the enemy in the field; whilethe Patriots of Spain, under wise management, would be able to consumehim slowly but surely. 

For present annoyance his power is, no doubt, mighty: but liberty--inwhich it originated, and of which it is a depravation--is far mightier;and the good in human nature is stronger than the evil. The events ofour age indeed have brought this truth into doubt with some persons: andscrupulous observers have been astonished and have repined at the sightof enthusiasm, courage, perseverance, and fidelity, put forth seeminglyto their height, --and all engaged in the furtherance of wrong. But theminds of men are not always devoted to this bad service as strenuouslyas they appear to be. I have personal knowledge that, when the attackwas made which ended in the subjugation of Switzerland, the injustice ofthe undertaking was grievously oppressive to many officers of the Frencharmy; and damped their exertions. Besides, were it otherwise, there isno just cause for despondency in the perverted alliance of thesequalities with oppression. The intrinsic superiority of virtue andliberty, even for politic ends, is not affected by it. If the tide ofsuccess were, by any effort, fairly turned;--not only a generaldesertion, as we have the best reason to believe, would follow among thetroops of the enslaved nations; but a moral change would also take placein the minds of the native French soldiery. Occasion would be given forthe discontented to break out; and, above all, for the triumph of humannature. It would _then_ be seen whether men fighting in a badcause, --men without magnanimity, honour, or justice, --could recover; andstand up against champions who by these virtues were carried forward ingood fortune, as by these virtues in adversity they had been sustained. As long as guilty actions thrive, guilt is strong: it has a giddinessand transport of its own; a hardihood not without superstition, as ifProvidence were a party to its success. But there is no independentspring at the heart of the machine which can be relied upon for asupport of these motions in a change of circumstances. Disaster opensthe eyes of conscience; and, in the minds of men who have been employedin bad actions, defeat and a feeling of punishment are inseparable. 

On the other hand; the power of an unblemished heart and a brave spiritis shewn, in the events of war, not only among unpractised citizens andpeasants; but among troops in the most perfect discipline. Large bodiesof the British army have been several times broken--that is, technicallyvanquished--in Egypt, and elsewhere. Yet they, who were conquered asformal soldiers, stood their ground and became conquerors as men. Thisparamount efficacy of moral causes is not willingly admitted by personshigh in the profession of arms; because it seems to diminish their valuein society--by taking from the importance of their art: but the truth isindisputable: and those Generals are as blind to their own interests asto the interests of their country, who, by submitting to inglorioustreaties or by other misconduct, hazard the breaking down of thosepersonal virtues in the men under their command--to which theythemselves, as leaders, are mainly indebted for the fame which theyacquire. 

Combine, with this moral superiority inherent in the cause of Freedom, the endless resources open to a nation which shews constancy indefensive war; resources which, after a lapse of time, leave thestrongest invading army comparatively helpless. Before six cities, resisting as Saragossa hath resisted during her two sieges, the whole ofthe military power of the adversary would melt away. Without anyadvantages of natural situation; without fortifications; without even aditch to protect them; with nothing better than a mud wall; with notmore than two hundred regular troops; with a slender stock of arms andammunition; with a leader inexperienced in war;--the Citizens ofSaragossa began the contest. Enough of what was needful--was producedand created; and--by courage, fortitude, and skill rapidly matured--theybaffled for sixty days, and finally repulsed, a large French army withall its equipments. In the first siege the natural and moral victorywere both on their side; nor less so virtually (though the terminationwas different) in the second. For, after another resistance of nearlythree months, they have given the enemy cause feelingly to say, withPyrrhus of old, --'A little more of such conquest, and I am destroyed. '

If evidence were wanting of the efficacy of the principles whichthroughout this Treatise have been maintained, --it has been furnished inoverflowing measure. A private individual, I had written; and knew notin what manner tens of thousands were enacting, day after day, thetruths which, in the solitude of a peaceful vale, I was meditating. Mostgloriously have the Citizens of Saragossa proved that the true army ofSpain, in a contest of this nature, is the whole people. The same cityhas also exemplified a melancholy--yea a dismal truth; yet consolatory, and full of joy; that, --when a people are called suddenly to fight fortheir liberty, and are sorely pressed upon, --their best field of battleis the floors upon which their children have played; the chambers wherethe family of each man has slept (his own or his neighbours'); upon orunder the roofs by which they have been sheltered; in the gardens oftheir recreation; in the street, or in the market-place; before theAltars of their Temples; and among their congregated dwellings--blazing, or up-rooted. 

The Government of Spain must never forget Saragossa for a moment. Nothing is wanting, to produce the same effects every where, but aleading mind such as that city was blessed with. In the latter contestthis has been proved; for Saragossa contained, at that time, bodies ofmen from almost all parts of Spain. The narrative of those two siegesshould be the manual of every Spaniard: he may add to it the ancientstories of Numantia and Saguntum: let him sleep upon the book as apillow; and, if he be a devout adherent to the religion of his country, let him wear it in his bosom for his crucifix to rest upon. 

Beginning from these invincible feelings, and the principles of justicewhich are involved in them; let nothing be neglected, which policy andprudence dictate, for rendering subservient to the same end thosequalities in human nature which are indifferent or even morally bad; andfor making the selfish propensities contribute to the support of wisearrangements, civil and military. --Perhaps there never appeared in thefield more steady soldiers--troops which it would have been moredifficult to conquer with such knowledge of the art of war as thenexisted--than those commanded by Fairfax and Cromwell: let us see fromwhat root these armies grew. 'Cromwell, ' says Sir Philip Warwick, 'madeuse of the zeal and credulity of these persons' (that is--such of thepeople as had, in the author's language, the fanatic humour); 'teachingthem (as they too readily taught themselves) that they engaged for God, when he led them against his vicegerent the King. And, where thisopinion met with a natural courage, it made them bolder--and too oftencrueller; and, where natural courage wanted, zeal supplied its place. And at first they chose rather to die than flee; and custom removed fearof danger: and afterwards--finding the sweet of good pay, and ofopulent plunder, and of preferment suitable to activity and merit--thelucrative part made gain seem to them a natural member of godliness. AndI cannot here omit' (continues the author) 'a character of this armywhich General Fairfax gave unto myself; when, complimenting him with theregularity and temperance of his army, he told me, The best commonsoldiers he had--came out of our army and from the garrisons he hadtaken in. So (says he) I found you had made them good soldiers; and Ihave made them good men. But, upon this whole matter, it may appear'(concludes the author) 'that the spirit of discipline of war may begetthat spirit of discipline which even Solomon describes as the spirit ofwisdom and obedience. ' Apply this process to the growth and maturity ofan armed force in Spain. In making a comparison of the two cases; to thesense of the insults and injuries which, as Spaniards and as humanBeings, they have received and have to dread, --and to the sanctity whichan honourable resistance has already conferred upon theirmisfortunes, --add the devotion of that people to their religion asCatholics;--and it will not be doubted that the superiority of theradical feeling is, on their side, immeasurable. There is (I cannotrefrain from observing) in the Catholic religion, and in the characterof its Priesthood especially, a source of animation and fortitude indesperate struggles--which may be relied upon as one of the best hopesof the cause. The narrative of the first siege of Zaragoza, latelypublished in this country, and which I earnestly recommend to thereader's perusal, informs us that, --'In every part of the town where thedanger was most imminent, and the French the most numerous, --was PadreSt. Iago Sass, curate of a parish in Zaragoza. As General Palafox madehis rounds through the city, he often beheld Sass alternately playingthe part of a Priest and a Soldier; sometimes administering thesacrament to the dying; and, at others, fighting in the most determinedmanner against the enemies of his country. --He was found so serviceablein inspiring the people with religious sentiments, and in leading themon to danger, that the General has placed him in a situation where bothhis piety and courage may continue to be as useful as before; and he isnow both Captain in the army, and Chaplain to the commander-in-chief. '

The reader will have been reminded, by the passage above cited from SirPhilip Warwick's memoirs, of the details given, in the earlier part ofthis tract, concerning the course which (as it appeared to me) mightwith advantage be pursued in Spain: I must request him to combine thosedetails with such others as have since been given: the whole would havebeen further illustrated, if I could sooner have returned to thesubject; but it was first necessary to examine the grounds of hope inthe grand and disinterested passions, and in the laws of universalmorality. My attention has therefore been chiefly directed to these lawsand passions; in order to elevate, in some degree, the conceptions of myreaders; and with a wish to rectify and fix, in this fundamental point, their judgements. The truth of the general reasoning will, I have nodoubt, be acknowledged by men of uncorrupted natures and practisedunderstandings; and the conclusion, which I have repeatedly drawn, willbe acceded to; namely, that no resistance can be prosperous which doesnot look, for its chief support, to these principles and feelings. If, however, there should be men who still fear (as I have been speaking ofthings under combinations which are transitory) that the action of thesepowers cannot be sustained; to such I answer that, --if there be anecessity that it should be sustained at the point to which it firstascended, or should recover that height if there have been afall, --Nature will provide for that necessity. The cause is in Tyranny:and that will again call forth the effect out of its holy retirements. Oppression, its own blind and predestined enemy, has poured this ofblessedness upon Spain, --that the enormity of the outrages, of which shehas been the victim, has created an object of love and of hatred--ofapprehensions and of wishes--adequate (if that be possible) to theutmost demands of the human spirit. The heart that serves in this cause, if it languish, must languish from its own constitutional weakness; andnot through want of nourishment from without. But it is a beliefpropagated in books, and which passes currently among talking men aspart of their familiar wisdom, that the hearts of the many _are_constitutionally weak; that they _do_ languish; and are slow to answerto the requisitions of things. I entreat those, who are in thisdelusion, to look behind them and about them for the evidence ofexperience. Now this, rightly understood, not only gives no support toany such belief; but proves that the truth is in direct opposition toit. The history of all ages; tumults after tumults; wars, foreign orcivil, with short or with no breathing-spaces, from generation togeneration; wars--why and wherefore? yet with courage, withperseverance, with self-sacrifice, with enthusiasm--with cruelty drivingforward the cruel man from its own terrible nakedness, and attractingthe more benign by the accompaniment of some shadow which seems tosanctify it; the senseless weaving and interweaving offactions--vanishing and reviving and piercing each other like theNorthern Lights; public commotions, and those in the bosom of theindividual; the long calenture to which the Lover is subject; the blast, like the blast of the desart, which sweeps perennially through afrightful solitude of its own making in the mind of the Gamester; theslowly quickening but ever quickening descent of appetite down which theMiser is propelled; the agony and cleaving oppression of grief; theghost-like hauntings of shame; the incubus of revenge; thelife-distemper of ambition;--these inward existences, and the visibleand familiar occurrences of daily life in every town and village; thepatient curiosity and contagious acclamations of the multitude in thestreets of the city and within the walls of the theatre; a procession, or a rural dance; a hunting, or a horse-race; a flood, or a fire;rejoicing and ringing of bells for an unexpected gift of good fortune, or the coming of a foolish heir to his estate;--these demonstrateincontestibly that the passions of men (I mean, the soul of sensibilityin the heart of man)--in all quarrels, in all contests, in all quests, in all delights, in all employments which are either sought by men orthrust upon them--do immeasurably transcend their objects. The truesorrow of humanity consists in this;--not that the mind of man fails;but that the course and demands of action and of life so rarelycorrespond with the dignity and intensity of human desires: and hencethat, which is slow to languish, is too easily turned aside and abused. But--with the remembrance of what has been done, and in the face of theinterminable evils which are threatened--a Spaniard can never have causeto complain of this, while a follower of the tyrant remains in arms uponthe Peninsula. 

Here then they, with whom I _hope_, take their stand. There is aspiritual community binding together the living and the dead; the good, the brave, and the wise, of all ages. We would not be rejected from thiscommunity: and therefore do we hope. We look forward with erect mind, thinking and feeling: it is an obligation of duty: take away the senseof it, and the moral being would die within us. --Among the mostillustrious of that fraternity, whose encouragement we participate, isan Englishman who sacrificed his life in devotion to a cause bearing astronger likeness to this than any recorded in history. It is the elderSidney--a deliverer and defender, whose name I have before uttered withreverence; who, treating of the war in the Netherlands against Philipthe Second, thus writes: 'If her Majesty, ' says he, 'were the fountain;I wold fear, considering what I daily find, that we shold wax dry. Butshe is but a means whom God useth. And I know not whether I am deceaved;but I am fully persuaded, that, if she shold withdraw herself, othersprings wold rise to help this action. For, methinks, I see the greatwork indeed in hand against the abuses of the world; wherein it is nogreater fault to have confidence in man's power, than it is too hastilyto despair of God's work. '

The pen, which I am guiding, has stopped in my hand; and I have scarcelypower to proceed. --I will lay down one principle; and then shallcontentedly withdraw from the sanctuary. 

When wickedness acknowledges no limit but the extent of her power, andadvances with aggravated impatience like a devouring fire; the onlyworthy or adequate opposition is--that of virtue submitting to nocircumscription of her endeavours save that of her rights, and aspiringfrom the impulse of her own ethereal zeal. The Christian exhortation forthe individual is here the precept for nations--'Be ye thereforeperfect; even as your Father, which is in Heaven, is perfect. '

Upon a future occasion (if what has been now said meets with attention)I shall point out the steps by which the practice of life may be liftedup towards these high precepts. I shall have to speak of the child aswell as the man; for with the child, or the youth, may we begin withmore hope: but I am not in despair even for the man; and chiefly fromthe inordinate evils of our time. There are (as I shall attempt to shew)tender and subtile ties by which these principles, that love to soar inthe pure region, are connected with the ground-nest in which they werefostered and from which they take their flight. 

The outermost and all-embracing circle of benevolence has inwardconcentric circles which, like those of the spider's web, are boundtogether by links, and rest upon each other; making one frame, andcapable of one tremor; circles narrower and narrower, closer and closer, as they lie more near to the centre of self from which they proceeded, and which sustains the whole. The order of life does not require thatthe sublime and disinterested feelings should have to trust long totheir own unassisted power. Nor would the attempt consist either withtheir dignity or their humility. They condescend, and they adopt: theyknow the time of their repose; and the qualities which are worthy ofbeing admitted into their service--of being their inmates, theircompanions, or their substitutes. I shall strive to shew that theseprinciples and movements of wisdom--so far from towering above thesupport of prudence, or rejecting the rules of experience, for thebetter conduct of those multifarious actions which are alike necessaryto the attainment of ends good or bad--do instinctively prompt the soleprudence which cannot fail. The higher mode of being does not exclude, but necessarily includes, the lower; the intellectual does not exclude, but necessarily includes, the sentient; the sentient, the animal; andthe animal, the vital--to its lowest degrees. Wisdom is the hidden rootwhich thrusts forth the stalk of prudence; and these uniting feed anduphold 'the bright consummate flower'--National Happiness--the end, theconspicuous crown, and ornament of the whole. 

I have announced the feelings of those who hope: yet one word more tothose who despond. And first; _he_ stands upon a hideous precipice (andit will be the same with all who may succeed to him and his ironsceptre)--he who has outlawed himself from society by proclaiming, withact and deed, that he acknowledges no mastery but power. This truth mustbe evident to all who breathe--from the dawn of childhood, till the lastgleam of twilight is lost in the darkness of dotage. But take the tyrantas he is, in the plenitude of his supposed strength. The vast country ofGermany, in spite of the rusty but too strong fetters of corruptprincedoms and degenerate nobility, --Germany--with its citizens, itspeasants, and its philosophers--will not lie quiet under the weight ofinjuries which has been heaped upon it. There is a sleep, but no death, among the mountains of Switzerland. Florence, and Venice, and Genoa, andRome, --have their own poignant recollections, and a majestic train ofglory in past ages. The stir of emancipation may again be felt at themouths as well as at the sources of the Rhine. Poland perhaps will notbe insensible; Kosciusko and his compeers may not have bled in vain. Noris Hungarian loyalty to be overlooked. And, for Spain itself, theterritory is wide: let it be overrun: the torrent will weaken as thewater spreads. And, should all resistance disappear, be not daunted:extremes meet: and how often do hope and despair almost touch eachother--though unconscious of their neighbourhood, because their facesare turned different ways! yet, in a moment, the one shall vanish; andthe other begin a career in the fulness of her joy. 

But we may turn from these thoughts: for the present juncture is mostauspicious. Upon liberty, and upon liberty alone, can there be permanentdependence; but a temporary relief will be given by the share whichAustria is about to take in the war. Now is the time for a great anddecisive effort; and, if Britain does not avail herself of it, herdisgrace will be indelible, and the loss infinite. If there be ground ofhope in the crimes and errors of the enemy, he has furnished enough ofboth: but imbecility in his opponents (above all, the imbecility of theBritish) has hitherto preserved him from the natural consequences of hisignorance, his meanness of mind, his transports of infirm fancy, and hisguilt. Let us hasten to redeem ourselves. The field is open for acommanding British military force to clear the Peninsula of the enemy, while the better half of his power is occupied with Austria. For theSouth of Spain, where the first effort of regeneration was made, is yetfree. Saragossa (which, by a truly efficient British army, might havebeen relieved) has indeed fallen; but leaves little to regret; forconsummate have been her fortitude and valour. The citizens and soldiersof Saragossa are to be envied: for they have completed the circle oftheir duty; they have done all that could be wished--all that could beprayed for. And, though the cowardly malice of the enemy gives too muchreason to fear that their leader Palafox (with the fate of Toussaint)will soon be among the dead, it is the high privilege of men who haveperformed what he has performed--that they cannot be missed; and, inmoments of weakness only, can they be lamented: their actions representthem every where and for ever. Palafox has taken his place as parent andancestor of innumerable heroes. 

Oh! that the surviving chiefs of the Spanish people may prove worthy oftheir situation! With such materials, --their labour would be pleasant, and their success certain. But--though heads of a nation venerable forantiquity, and having good cause to preserve with reverence theinstitutions of their elder forefathers--they must not beindiscriminately afraid of new things. It is their duty to restore thegood which has fallen into disuse; and also to create, and to adopt. Young scions of polity must be engrafted on the time-worn trunk: a newfortress must be reared upon the ancient and living rock of justice. Then would it be seen, while the superstructure stands inwardlyimmoveable, in how short a space of time the ivy and wild plant wouldclimb up from the base, and clasp the naked walls; the storms, whichcould not shake, would weather-stain; and the edifice, in the day of itsyouth, would appear to be one with the rock upon which it was planted, and to grow out of it. 

But let us look to ourselves. Our offences are unexpiated: and, wantinglight, we want strength. With reference to this guilt and to thisdeficiency, and to my own humble efforts towards removing both, I shallconclude with the words of a man of disciplined spirit, who withdrewfrom the too busy world--not out of indifference to its welfare, or toforget its concerns--- but retired for wider compass of eye-sight, thathe might comprehend and see in just proportions and relations; knowingabove all that he, who hath not first made himself master of the horizonof his own mind, must look beyond it only to be deceived. It is Petrarchwho thus writes: 'Haec dicerem, et quicquid in rem praesentem etindignatio dolorque dictarent; nisi obtorpuisse animos, actumque derebus nostris, crederem. Nempe, qui aliis iter rectum ostenderesolebamus, nunc (quod exitio proximum est) coeci coecis ducibus perabrupta rapimur; alienoque circumvolvimur exemplo; quid velimus, nescii. Nam (ut coeptum exequar) totum hoc malum, seu nostrum proprium seupotius omnium gentium commune, IGNORATIO FINIS facit. Nesciuntinconsulti homines quid agant: ideo quicquid agunt, mox ut coeperint, vergit in nauseam. Hinc ille discursus sine termino; hinc, medio calle, discordiae; et, ante exitum, DAMNATA PRINCIPIA; et expletè nihil. '

As an act of respect to the English reader--I shall add, to the samepurpose, the words of our own Milton; who, contemplating our ancestorsin his day, thus speaks of them and their errors:--'Valiant, indeed, andprosperous to win a field; but, to know the end and reason of winning, injudicious and unwise. Hence did their victories prove as fruitless, astheir losses dangerous; and left them still languishing under the samegrievances that men suffer conquered. Which was indeed unlikely to gootherwise; unless men more than vulgar bred up in the knowledge ofancient and illustrious deeds, invincible against many and vain titles, impartial to friendships and relations, had conducted their affairs. '

THE END. 

APPENDIX. 

 * * * * *

_A (page 67)_. 

When this passage was written, there had appeared only unauthorizedaccounts of the Board of Inquiry's proceedings. Neither from thesehowever, nor from the official report of the Board (which has been sincepublished), is any satisfactory explanation to be gained on thisquestion--or indeed on any other question of importance. All, which isto be collected from them, is this: the Portugueze General, it appears, offered to unite his whole force with the British on the singlecondition that they should be provisioned from the British stores; and, accordingly, rests his excuse for not co-operating on the refusal of SirArthur Wellesley to comply with this condition. Sir A. W. Denies thevalidity of his excuse; and, more than once, calls it a _pretence_;declaring that, in his belief, Gen. Freire's real motive for not joiningwas--a mistrust in the competence of the British to appear in the fieldagainst the French. This however is mere surmise; and therefore cannothave much weight with those who sincerely sought for satisfaction onthis point: moreover, it is a surmise of the individual whosejustification rests on making it appear that the difficulty did notarise with himself; and it is right to add, that the only _fact_produced goes to discredit this surmise; viz. That Gen. Friere did, without any delay, furnish the whole number of troops which Sir Arthurengaged to feed. However the Board exhibited so little anxiety to besatisfied on this point, that no positive information was gained. 

A reference being here first made to the official report of the Board ofInquiry; I shall make use of the opportunity which it offers to laybefore the reader an outline of that Board's proceedings; from which itwill appear how far the opinion--pronounced, by the national voice, uponthe transactions in Portugal--ought, in sound logic, to be modified byany part of those proceedings. 

We find in the warrant under which the Board of Inquiry was to act, andwhich defined its powers, that an inquiry was to be made into theconditions of the 'armistice and convention; and into all the causes andcircumstances, whether arising from the operations of the British army, or otherwise, which led to them. '

Whether answers to the charges of the people of England were madepossible by the provisions of this warrant--and, secondly, whether eventhese provisions have been satisfied by the Board of Inquiry--will bestappear by involving those charges in four questions, according to thefollowing scale, which supposes a series of concessions impossible tothose who think the nation justified in the language held on thetransactions in Portugal. 

1. Considering the perfidy with which the French army had enteredPortugal; the enormities committed by it during its occupation of thatcountry; the vast military power of which that army was a part, and theuse made of that power by its master; the then existing spirit of theSpanish, Portugueze, and British nations; in a word, considering theespecial nature of the service, and the individual character of thiswar;--was it lawful for the British army, under any conceivablecircumstances, so long as it had the liberty of re-embarking, to make_any conceivable_ convention? i. E. Was the negative evil of a totalfailure in every object for which it had been sent to Portugal of worsetendency than the positive evil of acknowledging in the French army afair title to the privileges of an honourable enemy by consenting to amode of treaty which (in its very name, implying a reciprocation ofconcession and respect) must be under any limitations as much moreindulgent than an ordinary capitulation, as that again must (in itsseverest form) be more indulgent than the only favour which the Frenchmarauders could presume upon obtaining--viz. Permission to surrender atdiscretion?

To this question the reader need not be told that these pages give anaked unqualified denial; and that to establish the reasonableness ofthat denial is one of their main purposes: but, for the benefit of themen accused, let it be supposed granted; and then the second questionwill be

2. Was it lawful for the English army, in the case of its being reducedto the supposed dilemma of either re-embarking or making _some_convention, to make _that specifical_ convention which it did make atCintra?

This is of necessity and _à fortiori_ denied; and it has been provedthat neither to this, nor any other army, could it be lawful to makesuch a convention--not merely under the actual but under any conceivablecircumstances; let however this too, on behalf of the parties accused, be granted; and then the third question will be

3. Was the English Army reduced to that dilemma?

4. Finally, this also being conceded (which not even the Generals havedared to say), it remains to ask by whose and by what misconduct did anarmy--confessedly the arbiter of its own movements and plans at theopening of the campaign--forfeit that free agency--either to the extentof the extremity supposed, or of any approximation to that extremity?

Now of these four possible questions in the minds of all those whocondemn the convention of Cintra, it is obvious that the King's warrantsupposes only the three latter to exist (since, though it allows inquiryto be made into the individual convention, it no where questions thetolerability of a convention _in genere_); and it is no less obviousthat the Board, acting under that warrant, has noticed only thelast--i. E. By what series of military movements the army was broughtinto a state of difficulty which justified _a_ convention (the Boardtaking for granted throughout--1st, That such a state could exist;2ndly, That it actually did exist; and 3rdly, That--if it existed, andaccordingly justified _some imaginable_ convention--it must therefore ofnecessity justify _this_ convention). 

Having thus shewn that it is on the last question only that the nationcould, in deference to the Board of Inquiry, surrender or qualify anyopinion which, it had previously given--let us ask what answer isgained, from the proceedings of that Board, to the charge involved evenin this last question (premising however--first--that this charge wasnever explicitly made by the public, or at least was enunciated only inthe form of a conjecture--and 2ndly that the answer to it is collectedchiefly from the depositions of the parties accused)? Now the whole sumof their answer amounts to no more than this--that, in the opinion ofsome part of the English staff, an opportunity was lost on the 21st ofexchanging the comparatively slow process of reducing the French army bysiege for the brilliant and summary one of a _coup-de-main_. 

This opportunity, be it observed, was offered only by Gen. Junot'spresumption in quitting his defensive positions, and coming out to meetthe English army in the field; so that it was an advantage so much overand above what might fairly have been calculated upon: at any rate, if_this_ might have been looked for, still the accident of battle, bywhich a large part of the French army was left in a situation to be cutoff, (to the loss of which advantage Sir A. Wellesley ascribes thenecessity of a convention) could surely never have been anticipated; andtherefore the British army was, even after that loss, in as prosperous astate as it had from the first any right to expect. Hence it is to beinferred, that Sir A. W. Must have entered on this campaign with apredetermination to grant a convention in any case, excepting in onesingle case which he knew to be in the gift of only very extraordinarygood fortune. With respect to him, therefore, the charges--pronounced bythe national voice--are not only confirmed, but greatly aggravated. Further, with respect to the General who superseded him, all those--whothink that such an opportunity of terminating the campaign was reallyoffered, and, through his refusal to take advantage of it, lost--arecompelled to suspect in him a want of military skill, or a wilfulsacrifice of his duty to the influence of personal rivalry, accordinglyas they shall interpret his motives. 

The whole which we gain therefore from the Board of Inquiry is--thatwhat we barely suspected is ripened into certainty--and that on all, which we assuredly knew and declared without needing that any tribunalshould lend us its sanction, no effort has been made at denial, ordisguise, or palliation. 

Thus much for the proceedings of the Board of Inquiry, upon which theirdecision was to be grounded. As to the decision itself, it declares thatno further military proceedings are necessary; 'because' (say themembers of the Board). 'however some of us may differ in our sentimentsrespecting the fitness of the convention in the relative situation ofthe two armies, it is our unanimous declaration that unquestionable zealand firmness appear throughout to have been exhibited by Generals Sir H. Dalrymple, Sir H. Burrard, and Sir A. Wellesley. ' In consequence of thisdecision, the Commander-in-Chief addressed a letter to theBoard--reminding them that, though the words of his Majesty's warrantexpressly enjoin that the _conditions_ of the Armistice and Conventionshould be strictly examined and reported upon, they have altogetherneglected to give any opinion upon those conditions. They were thereforecalled upon then to declare their opinion, whether an armistice wasadviseable; and (if so) whether the terms of _that_ armistice were suchas ought to be agreed upon;--and to declare, in like manner, whether aconvention was adviseable; and (if so) whether the terms of _that_convention were such as ought to have been agreed upon. 

To two of these questions--viz. Those which relate to the particulararmistice and convention made by the British Generals--the members ofthe Board (still persevering in their blindness to the other two whichexpress doubt as to the lawfulness of _any_ armistice or convention)severally return answers which convey an approbation of the armisticeand convention by four members, a disapprobation of the convention bythe remaining three, and further a disapprobation of the armistice byone of those three. 

Now it may be observed--first--that, even if the investigation had notbeen a public one, it might have reasonably been concluded, from thecircumstance of the Board having omitted to report any opinionconcerning the terms of the armistice and the convention, that thoseterms had not occupied enough of its attention to justify the Board ingiving any opinion upon them--whether of approbation or disapprobation;and, secondly, --this conclusion, which might have been made _à priori_, is confirmed by the actual fact that no examination or inquiry of thiskind appears throughout the report of its proceedings: and therefore anyopinion subsequently given, in consequence of the requisition of theCommander-in-Chief, can lay claim to no more authority upon thesepoints--than the opinion of the same men, if they had never sat in apublic Court upon this question. In this condition are all the members, whether they approve or disapprove of the convention. And with respectto the three who disapprove of the convention, --over and above thegeneral impropriety of having, under these circumstances, pronounced averdict at all in the character of members of that Board--they aresubject to an especial charge of inconsistency in having given such anopinion, in their second report, as renders nugatory that which theyfirst pronounced. For the reason--assigned, in their first report, fordeeming no further military proceedings necessary--is because it appearsthat unquestionable _zeal and firmness_ were exhibited throughout by theseveral General Officers; and the reason--assigned by those three whocondemn the convention--is that the Generals did not insist upon theterms to which they were entitled; that is (in direct opposition totheir former opinions), the Generals shewed a want of firmness and zeal. If then the Generals were acquitted, in the first case, solely upon theground of having displayed firmness and zeal; a confessed want offirmness and zeal, in the second case, implies conversely a ground ofcensure--rendering (in the opinions of these three members) furthermilitary proceedings absolutely necessary. They, --who are most aware ofthe unconstitutional frame of this Court or Board, and of the perplexingsituation in which its members must have found themselves placed, --willhave the least difficulty in excusing this inconsistency: it is howeverto be regretted; particularly in the instance of the Earl ofMoira;--who, disapproving both of the Convention and Armistice, hasassigned for that disapprobation unanswerable reasons drawn--not fromhidden sources, unapproachable except by judicial investigation--butfrom facts known to all the world. 

--The reader will excuse this long note; to which however I must addone word:--Is it not strange that, in the general decision of the Board, zeal and firmness--nakedly considered, and without question of theirunion with judgment and such other qualities as can alone give them anyvalue--should be assumed as sufficient grounds on which to rest theacquittal of men lying under a charge of military delinquency?

 * * * * *

B _(page 72)_. 

It is not necessary to add, that one of these fears was removed by theactual landing of ten thousand men, under Sir J. Moore, pending thenegotiation: and yet no change in the terms took place in consequence. This was an important circumstance; and, of itself, determined two ofthe members of the Board of Inquiry to disapprove of the convention:such an accession entitling Sir H. Dalrymple (and, of course, making ithis duty) to insist on more favourable terms. But the argument iscomplete without it. 

 * * * * *

C _(page 75)_. 

I was unwilling to interrupt the reader upon a slight occasion; but Icannot refrain from adding here a word or two by way of comment. --I havesaid at page 71, speaking of Junot's army, that the British were toencounter the same men, &c. Sir Arthur Wellesley, before the Board ofInquiry, disallowed this supposition; affirming that Junot's army hadnot then reached Spain, nor could be there for some time. Grant this:was it not stipulated that a messenger should be sent off, immediatelyafter the conclusion of the treaty, to Buonaparte--apprising him of itsterms, and when he might expect his troops; and would not this enablehim to hurry forward forces to the Spanish frontiers, and to bring theminto action--knowing that these troops of Junot's would be ready tosupport him? What did it matter whether the British were again tomeasure swords with these identical men; whether these men were even toappear again upon Spanish ground? It was enough, that, if these did not, others would--who could not have been brought to that service, but thatthese had been released and were doing elsewhere some other service fortheir master; enough that every thing was provided by the British toland them as near the Spanish frontier (and as speedily) as they coulddesire. 

 * * * * *

D _(page 108)_. 

This attempt, the reader will recollect, is not new to our country;--itwas accomplished, at one aera of our history, in that memorable act ofan English Parliament, which made it unlawful for any man to ask hisneighbour to join him in a petition for redress of grievances: and whichthus denied the people 'the benefit of tears and prayers to their owninfamous deputies!' For the deplorable state of England and Scotland atthat time--see the annals of Charles the Second, and his successor. --Wemust not forget however that to this state of things, as the cause ofthose measures which the nation afterwards resorted to, we areoriginally indebted for the blessing of the Bill of Rights. 

 * * * * *

_E_ (_page_ 159). 

I allude here more especially to an address presented to Buonaparte(October 27th, 1808) by the deputies of the new departments of thekingdom of Italy; from which address, as given in the English journals, the following passages are extracted:--

 'In the necessity, in which you are to overthrow--to destroy--to disperse your enemies as the wind dissipates the dust, you are not an exterminating angel; but you are the being that extends his thoughts--that measures the face of the earth--to re-establish universal happiness upon better and surer bases. '

 * * * * *

 'We are the interpreters of a million of souls at the extremity of your kingdom of Italy. '--'Deign, _Sovereign Master of all Things_, to hear (as we doubt not you will)' &c. 

The answer begins thus:--

'I _applaud_ the sentiments you express in the name of my people ofMusora, Metauro, and Tronto. '

 * * * * *

_F_ (_page_ 163). 

This principle, involved in so many of his actions, Buonaparte has oflate explicitly avowed: the instances are numerous: it will besufficient, in this place, to allege one--furnished by his answer to theaddress cited in the last note:--

 'I am particularly attached to your Archbishop of Urbino: that prelate, animated with the true faith, repelled with indignation the advice--and braved the menaces--of those who wished to confound the affairs of Heaven, which never change, with the affairs of this world, which are modified according to circumstances _of force_ and policy. '

 * * * * *

SUSPENSION OF ARMS

_Agreed upon between Lieutenant-General_ SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY, K. B. _onthe one part, and the General-of-Division_ KELLERMANN _on the otherpart; each having powers from the respective Generals of the French andEnglish Armies_. 

_Head-Quarters of the English Army_, August 22, 1808. 

ARTICLE I. There shall be, from this date, a Suspension of Arms betweenthe armies of his Britannic Majesty, and his Imperial and Royal Majesty, Napoleon I. For the purpose of negociating a Convention for theevacuation of Portugal by the French army. 

ART. II. The Generals-in-Chief of the two armies, and theCommander-in-Chief of the British fleet at the entrance of the Tagus, will appoint a day to assemble, on such part of the coast as shall bejudged convenient, to negociate and conclude the said Convention. 

ART. III. The river of Sirandre shall form the line of demarcation to beestablished between the two armies; Torres Vedras shall not be occupiedby either. 

ART. IV. The General-in-Chief of the English army undertakes to includethe Portugueze armies in this suspension of arms; and for them the lineof demarkation shall be established from Leyria to Thomar. 

ART. V. It is agreed provisionally that the French army shall not, inany case, be considered as prisoners of war; that all the individualswho compose it shall be transported to France with their arms andbaggage, and the whole of their private property, from which nothingshall be exempted. 

ART. VI. No individual, whether Portugueze, or of a nation allied toFrance, or French, shall be called to account for his political conduct;their respective property shall be protected; and they shall be atliberty to withdraw from Portugal, within a limited time, with theirproperty. 

ART. VII. The neutrality of the port of Lisbon shall be recognised forthe Russian fleet: that is to say, that, when the English army or fleetshall be in possession of the city and port, the said Russian fleetshall not be disturbed during its stay; nor stopped when it wishes tosail; nor pursued, when it shall sail, until after the time fixed by themaritime law. 

ART. VIII. All the artillery of French calibre, and also the horses ofthe cavalry, shall be transported to France. 

ART. IX. This suspension of arms shall not be broken without forty-eighthours' previous notice. 

Done and agreed upon between the above-named Generals, the day and yearabove-mentioned. 

 (Signed) ARTHUR WELLESLEY. KELLERMANN, General-of-Division. 

_Additional Article_. 

The garrisons of the places occupied by the French army shall beincluded in the present Convention, if they have not capitulated beforethe 25th instant. 

 (Signed) ARTHUR WELLESLEY. KELLERMANN, General-of-Division. 

 (A true Copy. )

 A. J. DALRYMPLE, Captain, Military Secretary. 

 * * * * *

DEFINITIVE CONVENTION FOR THE EVACUATION OF PORTUGAL BY THE FRENCH ARMY. 

The Generals commanding in chief the British and French armies inPortugal, having determined to negociate and conclude a treaty for theevacuation of Portugal by the French troops, on the basis of theagreement entered into on the 22d instant for a suspension ofhostilities, have appointed the under-mentioned officers to negociatethe same in their names; viz. --on the part of the General-in-Chief ofthe British army, Lieutenant-Colonel MURRAY, Quarter-Master-General;and, on the part of the General-in-Chief of the French army, MonsieurKELLERMANN, General-of-Division; to whom they have given authority tonegociate and conclude a Convention to that effect, subject to theirratification respectively, and to that of the Admiral commanding theBritish fleet at the entrance of the Tagus. 

Those two officers, after exchanging their full powers, have agreed uponthe articles which follow:

ARTICLE I. All the places and forts in the kingdom of Portugal, occupiedby the French troops, shall be delivered up to the British army in thestate in which they are at the period of the signature of the presentConvention. 

ART. II. The French troops shall evacuate Portugal with their arms andbaggage; they shall not be considered as prisoners of war; and, on theirarrival in France, they shall be at liberty to serve. 

ART. III. The English Government shall furnish the means of conveyancefor the French army; which shall be disembarked in any of the ports ofFrance between Rochefort and L'Orient, inclusively. 

ART. IV. The French army shall carry with it all its artillery, ofFrench calibre, with the horses belonging to it, and the tumbrilssupplied with sixty rounds per gun. All other artillery, arms, andammunition, as also the military and naval arsenals, shall be given upto the British army and navy in the state in which they may be at theperiod of the ratification of the Convention. 

ART. V. The French army shall carry with it all its equipments, and allthat is comprehended under the name of property of the army; that is tosay, its military chest, and carriages attached to the FieldCommissariat and Field Hospitals; or shall be allowed to dispose of suchpart of the same, on its account, as the Commander-in-Chief may judge itunnecessary to embark. In like manner, all individuals of the army shallbe at liberty to dispose of their private property of every description;with full security hereafter for the purchasers. 

ART. VI. The cavalry are to embark their horses; as also the Generalsand other officers of all ranks. It is, however, fully understood, thatthe means of conveyance for horses, at the disposal of the BritishCommanders, are very limited; some additional conveyance may be procuredin the port of Lisbon; the number of horses to be embarked by the troopsshall not exceed six hundred; and the number embarked by the Staff shallnot exceed two hundred. At all events every facility will be given tothe French army to dispose of the horses, belonging to it, which cannotbe embarked. 

ART. VII. In order to facilitate the embarkation, it shall take place inthree divisions; the last of which will be principally composed of thegarrisons of the places, of the cavalry, the artillery, the sick, andthe equipment of the army. The first division shall embark within sevendays of the date of the ratification; or sooner, if possible. 

ART. VIII. The garrison of Elvas and its forts, and of Peniche andPalmela, will be embarked at Lisbon; that of Almaida at Oporto, or thenearest harbour. They will be accompanied, on their march by BritishCommissaries, charged with providing for their subsistence andaccommodation. 

ART. IX. All the sick and wounded, who cannot be embarked with thetroops, are entrusted to the British army. They are to be taken care of, whilst they remain in this country, at the expence of the BritishGovernment; under the condition of the same being reimbursed by Francewhen the final evacuation is effected. The English government willprovide for their return to France; which shall take place bydetachments of about one hundred and fifty (or two hundred) men at atime. A sufficient number of French medical officers shall be leftbehind to attend them. 

ART. X. As soon as the vessels employed to carry the army to Franceshall have disembarked it in the harbours specified, or in any other ofthe ports of France to which stress of weather may force them, everyfacility shall be given them to return to England without delay; andsecurity against capture until their arrival in a friendly port. 

ART. XI. The French army shall be concentrated in Lisbon, and within adistance of about two leagues from it. The English army will approachwithin three leagues of the capital; and will be so placed as to leaveabout one league between the two armies. 

ART. XII. The forts of St. Julien, the Bugio, and Cascais, shall beoccupied by the British troops on the ratification of the Convention. Lisbon and its citadel, together with the forts and batteries, as far asthe Lazaretto or Tarfuria on one side, and fort St. Joseph on the other, inclusively, shall be given up on the embarkation of the seconddivision; as shall also the harbour; and all armed vessels in it ofevery description, with their rigging, sails, stores, and ammunition. The fortresses of Elvas, Almaida, Peniche, and Palmela, shall be givenup as soon as the British troops can arrive to occupy them. In the meantime, the General-in-Chief of the British army will give notice of thepresent Convention to the garrisons of those places, as also to thetroops before them, in order to put a stop to all further hostilities. 

ART. XIII. Commissioners shall be named, on both sides, to regulate andaccelerate the execution of the arrangements agreed upon. 

ART. XIV. Should there arise doubts as to the meaning of any article, itwill be explained favourably to the French army. 

ART. XV. From the date of the ratification of the present Convention, all arrears of contributions, requisitions, or claims whatever, of theFrench Government, against the subjects of Portugal, or any otherindividuals residing in this country, founded on the occupation ofPortugal by the French troops in the mouth of December 1807, which maynot have been paid up, are cancelled; and all sequestrations laid upontheir property, moveable or immoveable, are removed; and the freedisposal of the same is restored to the proper owners. 

ART. XVI. All subjects of France, or of powers in friendship or alliancewith France, domiciliated in Portugal, or accidentally in this country, shall be protected: their property of every kind, moveable andimmoveable, shall be respected: and they shall be at liberty either toaccompany the French army, or to remain in Portugal. In either casetheir property is guaranteed to them; with the liberty of retaining orof disposing of it, and passing the produce of the sale thereof intoFrance, or any other country where they may fix their residence; thespace of one year being allowed them for that purpose. 

It is fully understood, that the shipping is excepted from thisarrangement; only, however, in so far as regards leaving the Port; andthat none of the stipulations above-mentioned can be made the pretext ofany commercial speculation. 

ART. XVII. No native of Portugal shall be rendered accountable for hispolitical conduct during the period of the occupation of this country bythe French army; and all those who have continued in the exercise oftheir employments, or who have accepted situations under the FrenchGovernment, are placed under the protection of the British Commanders:they shall sustain no injury in their persons or property; it not havingbeen at their option to be obedient, or not, to the French Government:they are also at liberty to avail themselves of the stipulations of the16th Article. 

ART. XVIII. The Spanish troops detained on board ship in the Port ofLisbon shall be given up to the Commander-in-Chief of the British army;who engages to obtain of the Spaniards to restore such French subjects, either military or civil, as may have been detained in Spain, withoutbeing taken in battle, or in consequence of military operations, but onoccasion of the occurrences of the 29th of last May, and the daysimmediately following. 

ART. XIX. There shall be an immediate exchange established for all ranksof prisoners made in Portugal since the commencement of the presenthostilities. 

ART. XX. Hostages of the rank of field-officers shall be mutuallyfurnished on the part of the British army and navy, and on that of theFrench army, for the reciprocal guarantee of the present Convention. Theofficer of the British army shall be restored on the completion of thearticles which concern the army; and the officer of the navy on thedisembarkation of the French troops in their own country. The like is totake place on the part of the French army. 

ART. XXI. It shall be allowed to the General-in-Chief of the French armyto send an officer to France with intelligence of the presentConvention. A vessel will be furnished by the British Admiral to conveyhim to Bourdeaux or Rochefort. 

ART. XXII. The British Admiral will be invited to accommodate HisExcellency the Commander-in-Chief, and the other principal officers ofthe French army, on board of ships of war. 

Done and concluded at Lisbon this 30th day of August, 1808. 

 (Signed) GEORGE MURRAY, Quarter-Master-General. KELLERMANN, Le Général de Division. 

We, the Duke of Abrantes, General-in-Chief of the French army, haveratified and do ratify the present Definitive Convention in all itsarticles, to be executed according to its form and tenor. 

 (Signed) The Duke of ABRANTES. _Head-Quarters--Lisbon_, 30 _th August_, 1808. 

_Additional Articles to the Convention of the 30th of August_, 1808. 

ART. I. The individuals in the civil employment of the army madeprisoners, either by the British troops, or by the Portugueze, in anypart of Portugal, will be restored, as is customary, without exchange. 

ART. II. The French army shall be subsisted from its own magazines up tothe day of embarkation; the garrisons up to the day of the evacuation ofthe fortresses. 

The remainder of the magazines shall be delivered over, in the usualform, to the British Government; which charges itself with thesubsistence of the men and horses of the army from the above-mentionedperiods till they arrive in France; under the condition of their beingreimbursed by the French Government for the excess of the expense beyondthe estimates, to be made by both parties, of the value of the magazinesdelivered up to the British army. 

The provisions on board the ships of war, in possession of the Frencharmy, will be taken in account by the British Government in like mannerwith the magazines in the fortresses. 

ART. III. The General commanding the British troops will take thenecessary measures for re-establishing the free circulation of the meansof subsistence between the country and the capital. 

Done and concluded at Lisbon this 30th day of August, 1808. 

 (Signed) GEORGE MURRAY, Quarter-Master-General. KELLERMANN, Le Général de Division. 

We, Duke of Abrantes, General-in-Chief of the French army, have ratifiedand do ratify the additional articles of the Convention, to be executedaccording to their form and tenor. 

 The Duke of ABRANTES. (A true Copy. ) A. J. DALRYMPLE, Captain, Military Secretary. 

_Articles of a Convention entered into between Vice-Admiral_ SENIAVIN, _Knight of the Order of St. Alexander and other Russian Orders, andAdmiral Sir_ CHARLES COTTON, _Bart. For the Surrender of the RussianFleet, now anchored in the River Tagus_. 

ART. I. The ships of war of the Emperor of Russia, now in the Tagus (asspecified in the annexed list), shall be delivered up to Admiral SirCharles Cotton, immediately, with all their stores as they now are; tobe sent to England, and there held as a deposit by his BritannicMajesty, to be restored to His Imperial Majesty within six months afterthe conclusion of a peace between His Britannic Majesty and His ImperialMajesty the Emperor of all the Russias. 

ART. II. Vice-Admiral Seniavin, with the officers, sailors, and marines, under his command, to return to Russia, without any condition orstipulation respecting their future services; to be conveyed thither inmen of war, or proper vessels, at the expence of His Britannic Majesty. 

Done and concluded on board the ship Twerday, in the Tagus, and on boardHis Britannic Majesty's ship Hibernia, off the mouth of that river, the3d day of September 1808. 

 (Signed) DE SENIAVIN. (Signed) CHARLES COTTON. (Counter-signed) By command of the Admiral, L. SASS, Assesseur de Collège. (Counter-signed) By command of the Admiral, JAMES KENNEDY, Secretary. 

POSTSCRIPT

ON SIR JOHN MOORE'S LETTERS. 

Whilst the latter sheets of this work were passing through the press, there was laid before Parliament a series of correspondence between theEnglish Government and its servants in Spain; amongst which were theletters of Sir John Moore. That these letters, even with minds the leastvigilant to detect contradictions and to make a commentary from the pastactions of the Spaniards, should have had power to alienate them fromthe Spanish cause--could never have been looked for; except indeed bythose who saw, in the party spirit on this question, a promise that morethan ordinary pains would be taken to misrepresent their contents and toabuse the public judgment. But however it was at any rate to have beenexpected--both from the place which Sir J. Moore held in the Nation'sesteem previously to his Spanish campaign, and also especially from thatwhich (by his death in battle) he had so lately taken in itsaffections--that they would weigh a good deal in depressing the generalsympathy with Spain: and therefore the Author of this work was desirousthat all which these letters themselves, or other sources ofinformation, furnished to mitigate and contradict Sir J. M. 'sopinions--should be laid before the public: but--being himself at agreat distance from London, and not having within his reach all thedocuments necessary for this purpose--he has honoured the friend, whocorrects the press errors, by making over that task to him; and thereader is therefore apprised, that the Author is not responsible for anything which follows. 

 * * * * *

Those, who have not examined these letters for themselves, will havecollected enough of their general import, from conversation and thepublic prints, to know that they pronounce an opinion unfavourable tothe Spaniards. They will perhaps have yet to learn that this opinion isnot supported by any body of _facts_ (for of facts only three are given;and those, as we shall see, misrepresented); but solely by the weight ofSir John Moore's personal authority. This being the case, it becomes themore important to assign the value of that authority, by making suchdeductions from the present public estimate of it, as are either fairlyto be presumed from his profession and office, or directly inferred fromthe letters under consideration. 

As reasons for questioning _à priori_ the impartiality of theseletters, --it might be suggested (in reference to what they would belikely to _omit_)--first--that they are the letters of a _soldier_; thatis, of a man trained (by the prejudices of his profession) to despise, or at least to rate as secondary, those resources which for Spain mustbe looked to as supreme;--and, secondly, that they are the letters of a_general_; that is, of a soldier removed by his rank from thepossibility of any extensive intercourse with the lower classes;concerning whom the question chiefly was. But it is more important toremark (in reference to what they would be likely to_mis-state_)--thirdly--that they are the letters of a_commander-in-chief_; standing--from the very day when he took thefield--in a dilemma which compelled him to risk the safety of his armyby advancing, or its honour by retreating; and having to make out anapology, for either issue, to the very persons who had imposed thisdilemma upon him. --The reader is requested to attend to this. Sir JohnMoore found himself in León with a force 'which, if united, ' (to quotehis own words) 'would not exceed 26, 000 men. ' Such a force, after thedefeat of the advanced armies, --he was sure--could effect nothing; thebest result he could anticipate was an inglorious retreat. That heshould be in this situation at the very opening of the campaign, he saw, would declare to all Europe that somewhere there must be blame: butwhere? with himself he knew that there was none: the English Government(with whom he must have seen that at least a part of the blame lay--forsending him so late, and with a force so lamentably incommensurate tothe demands of the service) it was not for him--holding the situationthat he did--openly to accuse (though, by implication, he often doesaccuse them); and therefore it became his business to look to theSpaniards; and, in their conduct, to search for palliations of thatinefficiency on his part--which else the persons, to whom he waswriting, would understand as charged upon themselves. Writing with sucha purpose--and under a double fettering of his faculties; first fromanxious forebodings of calamity or dishonour; and secondly from the painhe must have felt at not being free to censure those with whom he couldnot but be aware that the embarrassments of his situation had, at leastin part, originated--we might expect that it would not be difficult forhim to find, in the early events of the campaign, all which he sought;and to deceive himself into a belief, that, in stating these eventswithout any commentary or even hints as to the relative circumstancesunder which they took place (which only could give to the naked factstheir value and due meaning), he was making no misrepresentations, --anddoing the Spaniards no injustice. 

These suggestions are made with the greater earnestness, as it isprobable that the honourable death of Sir John Moore will have given somuch more weight to his opinion on any subject--as, if these suggestionsbe warranted, it is entitled on this subject to less weight--than theopinion of any other individual equally intelligent, and not liable(from high office and perplexity of situation) to the same influences ofdisgust or prejudice. 

That these letters _were_ written under some such influences, is plainthroughout: we find, in them, reports of the four first events in thecampaign; and, in justice to the Spaniards, it must be said that all arevirtually mis-statements. Take two instances:

1. The main strength and efforts of the French were, at the opening ofthe campaign, directed against the army of Gen. Blake. The issue is thusgiven by Sir J. M. :--'Gen. Blake's army in Biscay has beendefeated--dispersed; and its officers and men are flying in everydirection. ' Could it be supposed that the army, whose matchlessexertions and endurances are all merged in this over-charged (and almostinsulting) statement of their result, was, 'mere peasantry' (Sir J. M. 'sown words) and opposed to greatly superior numbers of veteran troops?Confront with this account the description given by an eye-witness(Major-Gen. Leith) of their constancy and the trials of their constancy;remembering that, for ten successive days, they were engaged (under thepressure of similar hardships, with the addition of one not mentionedhere, viz. --a want of clothing) in continued actions with theFrench:--'Here I shall take occasion to state another instance of thepatience (and, I will add, the chearfulness) of the Spanish soldiersunder the greatest privations. --After the action of Soronosa on the 31stult. , it was deemed expedient by Gen. Blake, for the purpose of forminga junction with the second division and the army of Asturias, that thearmy should make long, rapid, and continued marches through a country atany time incapable of feeding so numerous an army, and at present almosttotally drained of provisions. From the 30th of October to the presentday (Nov. 6), with the exception of a small and partial issue of breadat Bilboa on the morning of the 1st of November, this army has beentotally destitute of bread, wine, or spirits; and has literally lived onthe scanty supply of beef and sheep which those mountains afford. Yetnever was there a symptom of complaint or murmur; the soldiers' mindsappearing to be entirely occupied with the idea of being led against theenemy at Bilboa. '--'It is impossible for me to do justice to thegallantry and energy of the divisions engaged this day. The army areloud in expressing their desires to be led against the enemy at Bilboa;the universal exclamation is--The bayonet! the bayonet! lead us back toSoronosa. '

2. On the 10th of November the Estramaduran advanced guard, of about12, 000 men, was defeated at Burgos by a division of the French army_selected_ for the service--and having a vast superiority in cavalry andartillery. This event, with the same neglect of circumstances as in theformer instance, Sir J. M. Thus reports:--'The French, after beating thearmy of Estramadura, are advanced at Burgos. ' Now surely to anyunprejudiced mind the bare fact of 12, 000 men (chiefly raw levies)having gone forward to meet and to find out the main French army--underall the oppression which, to the ignorant of the upper and lower classesthroughout Europe, there is in the name of Bonaparte--must appear, underany issue, a title to the highest admiration, such as would have madethis slight and incidental mention of it impossible. 

The two next events--viz. The forcing of the pass at Somosierra by thePolish horse, and the partial defeat of Castanos--are, as might be shewneven from the French bulletins, no less misrepresented. With respect tothe first, --Sir J. Moore, over-looking the whole drama of that nobledefence, gives only the catastrophe; and his account of the second willappear, from any report, to be an exaggeration. 

It may be objected that--since Sir J. M. No where alleges these events asproving any thing against the Spaniards, but simply as accounting forhis own plans (in which view, howsoever effected, whether with orwithout due resistance, they were entitled to the same value)--it isunfair to say that, by giving them uncircumstantially, he hasmisrepresented them. But it must be answered, that, in letterscontaining elsewhere (though not immediately in connexion with thesestatements) opinions unfavourable to the Spaniards, to omit any thingmaking _for_ them--_is_ to misrepresent in effect. And, further, itshall now be shewn that even those three charges--which Sir J. M. _does_allege in proof of his opinions--are as glaringly mis-stated. 

The first of these charges is the most important: I give it to thereader in the words of Sir John Moore:--'The French cavalry from Burgos, in small detachments, are over-running the province of León; raisingcontributions; to which the inhabitants submit without the leastresistance. ' Now here it cannot be meant that no efforts at resistancewere made by individuals or small parties; because this would not onlycontradict the universal laws of human nature, --but would also be atutter variance with Sir J. M. 's repeated complaints that he could gain noinformation of what was passing in his neighbourhood. It is meanttherefore that there was no regular organised resistance; no resistancesuch as might be made the subject of an official report. Now we all knowthat the Spaniards have every where suffered deplorably from a want ofcavalry; and, in the absence of that, hear from a military man(Major-Gen. Brodrick) _why_ there was no resistance: '--At that time Iwas not aware how remarkably the plains of León and Castille differ fromany other I have seen; nor how strongly the circumstances, whichconstitute that difference, enforce the opinion I venture to express. '(He means the necessity of cavalry reinforcements from England. ) 'Myroad from Astorga lay through a vast open space, extending from 5 to 20or more miles on every side; without a single accident of ground whichcould enable a body of infantry to check a pursuing enemy, or to coverits own retreat. In such ground, any corps of infantry might beinsulted, to the very gates of the town it occupied, by cavalry farinferior in numbers; _contributions raised under their eyes_, and thewhole neighbourhood exhausted of its resources, _without the possibilityof their opposing any resistance to such incursions_. '

The second charge is made on the retreat to Corunna: 'the Gallicians, though armed, ' Sir J. M. Says, 'made no attempt to stop the passage ofthe French through the mountains. ' That they were armed--is a proof thatthey had an _intention_ to do so (as one of our journals observed): butwhat encouragement had they in that intention from the sight of aregular force--more than 30, 000 strong--abandoning, without a struggle, passes where (as an English general asserts) 'a body of a thousand menmight stop an army of twenty times the number?'

The third charge relates to the same Province: it is a complaint that'the people run away; the villages are deserted;' and again, in his lastletter, --'They abandoned their dwellings at our approach; drove awaytheir carts, oxen, and every thing which could be of the smallest aid tothe army. ' To this charge, in so far as it may be thought to criminatethe Spaniards, a full answer is furnished by their accuser himself inthe following memorable sentence in another part of the very sameletter:--'I am sorry to say that the army, whose conduct I had suchreason to extol in its march through Portugal and on its arrival inSpain, has totally changed its character since it began to retreat. 'What do we collect from this passage? Assuredly that the armyill-treated the Gallicians; for there is no other way in which an army, as a body, can offend--excepting by an indisposition to fight; and thatinterpretation (besides that we are all sure that no English army could_so_ offend) Sir J. Moore expressly guards against in the next sentence. 

The English army then treated its Ally as an enemy: and, --though thereare alleviations of its conduct in its great sufferings, --yet it must beremembered that these sufferings were due--not to the Gallicians--but tocircumstances over which they had no controul--to the precipitancy ofthe retreat, the inclemency of the weather, and the poverty of thecountry; and that (knowing this) they must have had a double sense ofinjustice in any outrages of an English army, from, contrasting themwith the professed objects of that army in entering Spain. --It is to beobserved that the answer to the second charge would singly have beensome answer to this; and, reciprocally, that the answer to this is afull answer to the second. 

Having thus shewn that, in Sir J. Moore's very inaccurate statements offacts, we have some further reasons for a previous distrust of anyopinion which is supported by those statements, --it is now time to makethe reader acquainted with the real terms and extent of that opinion. For it is far less to be feared that, from his just respect for him whogave it, he should allow it an undue weight in his judgment--than that, reposing on the faithfulness of the abstracts and reports of theseletters, he should really be still ignorant of its exact tenor. 

The whole amount then of what Sir John Moore has alleged against theSpaniards, in any place but one, is comprised in this sentence:--'Theenthusiasm, of which we have heard so much, no where appears; whatevergood-will there is (and I believe amongst the lower orders there is agreat deal) is taken no advantage of. ' It is true that, in that oneplace (viz. In his last letter written at Corunna), he charges theSpaniards with 'apathy and indifference:' but, as this cannot bereconciled with his concession of _a great deal of good-will_, we arebound to take that as his real and deliberate opinion which he gaveunder circumstances that allowed him most coolness and freedom ofjudgment. --The Spaniards then were wanting in enthusiasm. Now what ismeant by enthusiasm? Does it mean want of ardour and zeal in battle?This Sir J. Moore no where asserts; and, even without a directacknowledgement of their good conduct in the field (of which he hadindeed no better means of judging than we in England), there is involvedin his statement of the relative numbers of the French andSpaniards--combined with our knowledge of the time during which theymaintained their struggle--a sufficient testimony to that; even if theevents of the first campaign had not made it superfluous. Does it meanthen a want of good-will to the cause? So far from this, we have seenthat Sir J. M. Admits that there was, in that class where it was mostwanted, 'a great deal' of good-will. And, in the present condition ofSpain, let it be recollected what it is that this implies. We see, inthe intercepted letter to Marshal Soult (transmitted by Sir J. M. ), thatthe French keep accurate registers of the behaviour of the differenttowns; and this was, no doubt, well known throughout Spain. Therefore toshew any signs of good-will--much more to give a kind welcome to theEnglish (as had been done at Badajoz and Salamanca)--was, they knew, apledge of certain punishment on any visit from the French. So thatgood-will, manifested in these circumstances, was nothing less than atestimony of devotion to the cause. 

Here then, the reader will say, I find granted--in the courage and thegood-will of the Spaniards--all the elements of an enthusiasticresistance; and cannot therefore imagine what more could be sought forexcept the throwing out and making palpable of their enthusiasm to thecareless eye in some signal outward manifestations. In this accordinglywe learn what interpretation we are to give to Sir J. M. 's charge:--therewere no tumults on his entrance into Spain; no insurrections; they didnot, as he says, 'rally round' the English army. But, to determine howfar this disappointment of his expectations tells against the Spaniards, we must first know how far those expectations were reasonable. Let thereader consider, then, First; what army was this round which the Spaniards were to rally? If itwas known by the victory of Vimiera, it was known also to many by theConvention of Cintra; for, though the government had never ventured tocommunicate that affair officially to the nation, dark and perplexingwhispers were however circulated about it throughout Spain. Moreover, itmust surely demand some superstition in behalf of regular troops--tosee, in an army of 20, 000 men, a dignity adequate to the office hereclaimed for it of awakening a new vigour and enthusiasm in such a nationas Spain; not to mention that an English army, however numerous, had noright to consider itself as other than a tributary force--as itselftending to a centre--and attracted rather than attracting. 

Secondly; it appears that Sir J. M. Has overlooked one most importantcircumstance;--viz. That the harvest, in these provinces, had beenalready reaped; the English army could be viewed only as gleaners. Thus, as we have already seen, Estramadura had furnished an army which hadmarched before his arrival; from Salamanca also--the very place in whichhe makes his complaint--there had gone out a battalion to Biscay whichGen. Blake had held up, for its romantic gallantly, to the admiration ofhis whole army. 

Yet, thirdly, it is not meant by any means to assert that Spain has putforth an energy adequate to the service--or in any tolerable proportionto her own strength. Far from it! But upon whom does the blame rest? Notsurely upon the people--who, as long as they continued to haveconfidence in their rulers, could not be expected (after the earlyfervours of their revolution had subsided) much to overstep the measureof exertion prescribed to them--but solely upon the government. Up tothe time when Sir J. M. Died, the Supreme Junta had adopted no one grandand comprehensive measure for calling out the strength of thenation;--scarcely any of such ordinary vigour as, in some countries, would have been adopted to meet local disturbances among the people. From their jealousy of popular feeling, --they had never taken any steps, by books or civic assemblies, to make the general enthusiasm in thecause available by bringing it within the general consciousness; andthus to create the nation into an organic whole. Sir J. M. Was fullyaware of this:--'The Spanish Government, ' he says, 'do not seem ever tohave contemplated the possibility of a second attack:' and accordingly, whenever he is at leisure to make distinctions, he does the people thejustice to say--that the failure was with those who should have 'takenadvantage' of their good will. With the people therefore will for everremain the glory of having resisted heroically with means utterlyinadequate; and with the government the whole burthen of the disgracethat the means were thus inadequate. 

But, further, --even though it should still be thought that, in the threeProvinces which Sir J. Moore saw, there may have been some failures withthe people, --it is to be remembered that these were the very three whichhad never been the theatre of French outrages; which therefore hadneither such a vivid sense of the evils which they had to fear, nor sostrong an animation in the recollection of past triumphs: we mightaccordingly have predicted that, if any provinces should prove slack intheir exertions, it would be these three. So that, after all, (a candidinquirer into this matter will say) admitting Sir J. M. 's description tobe faithful with respect to what he saw, I can never allow that theconduct of these three provinces shall be held forth as an exponent ofthe general temper and condition of Spain. For that therefore I mustlook to other authorities. 

Such an inquirer we might then refer to the testimonies of Gen. Leithand of Capt. Pasley for Biscay and Asturias; of Mr. Vaughan (as cited byLord Castlereagh) for the whole East and South; of Lord Cochrane(himself a most gallant man, and giving _his_ testimony under a tryingcomparison of the Spaniards with English Sailors) for Catalonia inparticular; of Lord W. Bentinck for the central provinces; and, for allSpain, we might appeal even to the Spanish military reports--which, bythe discrimination of their praises (sometimes giving severe rebukes toparticular regiments, &c. ), authenticate themselves. 

But, finally, we are entitled--after the _actions_ of the Spaniards--todispense with such appeals. Spain might justly deem it a high injury andaffront, to suppose that (after her deeds performed under the conditionof her means) she could require any other testimony to justify herbefore nil posterity. What those deeds have been, it cannot surely nowbe necessary to inform the reader: and therefore the remainder of thisnote shall be employed in placing before him the present posture ofSpain--under two aspects which may possibly have escaped his notice. 

First, Let him look to that part of Spain which is now in the possessionof the enemy;--let him bear in mind that the present campaign opened atthe latter end of last October; that the French were then masters ofthe country up to the Ebro; that the contest has since lain between aveteran army (rated, on the lowest estimate, at 113, 000 men--with aprodigious superiority in cavalry, artillery, &c. ) opposed (as to all_regular_ opposition) by unpractised Spaniards, split into threedistinct armies, having no communication with each other, making a totalof not more than 80, 000 men;--and then let him inquire what progress, inthis time and with these advantages, the French have been able to make(comparing it, at the same time, with that heretofore made in Prussia, and elsewhere): the answer shall be given from the _Times_ newspaper ofApril 8th--'It appears that, at the date of our last accounts fromFrance as well as Spain, about one half of the Peninsula was stillunsubdued by the French arms. The Provinces, which retain theirindependence, form a sort of irregular or broken crescent; of which onehorn consists in parts of Catalonia and Valencia, and the other hornincludes Asturias (perhaps we may soon add Gallicia). The broadersurface contains the four kingdoms of Andalusia (Seville, Grenada, Cordova, and Murcia), and considerable parts of Estramadura, and LaMancha; besides Portugal. '--The writer might have added that even theProvinces, occupied by the French, cannot yet be counted substantiallyas conquests: since they have a military representation in the south;large proportions of the defeated armies having retreated thither. 

Secondly. Let him look to that part of Spain which yet remainsunsubdued. --It was thought no slight proof of heroism in the people ofMadrid, that they prepared for their defence--not as the foremostchampions of Spain (in which character they might have gained anadventitious support from the splendour of their post; and, at any rate, would have been free from the depression of preceding disasters)--butunder a full knowledge of recent and successive overthrows; theiradvanced armies had been defeated; and their last stay, at Somosierra, had been driven in upon them. But the Provinces in the South have manymore causes for dejection: they have heard, since these disasters, thatthis heroic city of Madrid has fallen; that their forts in Cataloniahave been wrested from them; that an English army just moved upon thehorizon of Spain--to draw upon itself the gaze and expectations of thepeople, and then to vanish like an apparition; and, finally, they haveheard of the desolation of Saragossa. Under all this accumulation ofcalamity, what has been their conduct? In Valencia redoubledpreparations of defence; in Seville a decree for such energeticretaliation on the enemy, --as places its authors, in the event of hissuccess, beyond the hopes of mercy; in Cadiz--on a suspicion that acompromise was concerted with their enemy--tumults and clamours of thepeople for instant vengeance; every where, in their uttermost distress, the same stern and unfaultering attitude of defiance as at the gloriousbirth of their resistance. 

In this statement, then, of the past efforts of Spain--and of herpresent preparations for further efforts--will be found a full answer toall the charges alleged, by Sir John Moore in his letters, against thepeople of Spain, even if we did not find sufficient ground for rejectingthem in an examination of these letters themselves. 

 * * * * *

The Author of the above note--having, in justice to the Spaniards, spoken with great plainness and freedom--feels it necessary to add a fewwords, that it may not thence be concluded that he is insensible to SirJ. Moore's claims upon his respect. Perhaps--if Sir J. M. Could himselfhave given us his commentary upon these letters, and have restricted theextension of such passages as (from want of vigilance in makingdistinctions or laxity of language) are at variance with concessionsmade elsewhere--they would have been found not more to differ from thereports of other intelligent and less prejudiced observers, than wemight have expected from the circumstances under which they werewritten. Sir J. M. Has himself told us (in a letter published since theabove note was written) that he thinks the Spaniards 'a fine people;'and that acknowledgement, from a soldier, cannot be supposed to excludecourage; nor, from a Briton, some zeal for national independence. We aretherefore to conclude that, when Sir J. M. Pronounces opinions on 'theSpaniards' not to be reconciled with this and other passages, hespeaks--not of the Spanish people--but of the Spanish government. And, even for what may still remain charged uncandidly upon the people, thewriter does not forget that there are infinite apologies to be found inSir J. Moore's situation: the earliest of these letters were writtenunder great anxiety and disturbance of mind from the anticipation ofcalamity;--and the latter (which are the most severe) under the actualpressure of calamity; and calamity of that sort which would be the mostpainful to the feelings of a gallant soldier, and most likely to vitiatehis judgment with respect to those who had in part (however innocently)occasioned it. There may be pleaded also for him--that want of leisurewhich would make it difficult to compare the different accounts hereceived, and to draw the right inferences from them. But then theseapologies for his want of fidelity--are also reasons before-hand forsuspecting it: and there are now (May 18th) to be added to thesereasons, and their confirmations in the letters themselves, fresh proofsin the present state of Gallicia, as manifested by the late re-captureof Vigo, and the movements of the Marquis de la Romana; all which, fromSir J. Moore's account of the temper in that province, we might haveconfidently pronounced impossible. We must therefore remember that whatin him were simply mis-statements--are now, when repeated with ourbetter information, calumnies; and calumnies so much the less to beexcused in us, as we have already (in our conduct towards Spain) givenher other and no light matter of complaint against ourselves. 

 * * * * *

END OF THE APPENDIX. 

III. VINDICATION OF OPINIONS IN THE TREATISE ON THE 'CONVENTION OFCINTRA:'

=VIZ=. 

(_a_) LETTER TO MAJOR-GENERAL SIR CHARLES W. PASLEY, K. C. B. , ON HIS'MILITARY POLICY AND INSTITUTIONS OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE, ' 1811. 

(_b_) LETTER ENCLOSING THE PRECEDING TO A FRIEND UN-NAMED. 

 * * * * *

NOTE. 

These two Letters--the latter for the first time printed--form a fittingsequel to the 'Convention of Cintra. ' See Preface in the present volumefor more on them. G. 

 * * * * *

TO CAPTAIN PASLEY, ROYAL ENGINEERS. 

Grasmere, March 28, 1811. 

MY DEAR SIR, I address this to the publishers of your 'Essay, ' not knowing where tofind you. Before I speak of the instruction and pleasure which I havederived from your work, let me say a word or two in apology for my ownapparent _neglect_ of the letter with which you honoured me some timeago. In fact, I was thoroughly sensible of the value of yourcorrespondence, and of your kindness in writing to me, and took up thepen to tell you so. I wrote half of a pretty long letter to you, but Iwas so disgusted with the imperfect and feeble expression which I hadgiven to some not uninteresting ideas, that I threw away the unfinishedsheet, and could not find resolution to resume what had been soinauspiciously begun. I am ashamed to say, that I write so few letters, and employ my pen so little in any way, that I feel both a lack of words(such words I mean as I wish for) and of mechanical skill, extremelydiscouraging to me. I do not plead these disabilities on my part as anexcuse, but I wish you to know that they have been the sole cause of mysilence, and not a want of sense of the honour done me by yourcorrespondence, or an ignorance of what good breeding required of me. But enough of my trespasses! Let me only add, that I addressed a letterof some length to you when you were lying ill at Middleburgh; thisprobably you never received. Now for your book. I had expected it withgreat impatience, and desired a friend to send it down to me immediatelyon its appearance, which he neglected to do. On this account, I did notsee it till a few days ago. I have read it through twice, with greatcare, and many parts three or four times over. From this, you willconclude that I must have been much interested; and I assure you that Ideem myself also in a high degree instructed. It would be a mostpleasing employment to me to dwell, in this letter, upon those points inwhich I agree with you, and to acknowledge my obligations for theclearer views you have given of truths which I before perceived, thoughnot with that distinctness in which they now stand before my eyes. But Icould wish this letter to be of some use to you; and that end is morelikely to be attained if I advert to those points in which I think youare mistaken. These are chiefly such as though very material inthemselves, are not at all so to the main object you have in view, viz. That of proving that the military power of France may by us besuccessfully resisted, and even overthrown. In the first place, then, Ithink that there are great errors in the survey of the comparativestrength of the two empires, with which you begin your book, and onwhich the first 160 pages are chiefly employed. You seem to wish tofrighten the people into exertion; and in your ardour to attain yourobject, that of rousing our countrymen by any means, I think you havecaught far too eagerly at every circumstance with respect to revenue, navy, &c. That appears to make for the French. This I think wasunnecessary. The people are convinced that the power of France isdangerous, and that it is our duty to resist it to the utmost. I thinkyou might have commenced from this acknowledged fact; and, at allevents, I cannot help saying, that the first 100 pages or so of yourbook, contrasted with the brilliant prospects towards the conclusion, have impressed me with a notion that you have written too much under theinfluence of feelings similar to those of a poet or novelist, whodeepens the distress in the earlier part of his work, in order that thehappy catastrophe which he has prepared for his hero and heroine may bemore keenly relished. Your object is to conduct us to Elysium, and, lestwe should not be able to enjoy that pure air and purpurial sunshine, youhave taken a peep at Tartarus on the road. Now I am of your mind, thatwe ought not to make peace with France, on any account, till she ishumiliated, and her power brought within reasonable bounds. It is ourduty and our interest to be at war with her; but I do not think withyou, that a state of peace would give to France that superiority whichyou seem so clearly to foresee. In estimating the resources of the twoempires, as to revenue, you appear to make little or no allowance forwhat I deem of prime and paramount importance, the characters of the twonations, and of the two governments. Was there ever an instance, sincethe world began, of the peaceful arts thriving under a despotism sooppressive as that of France is and must continue to be, and among apeople so unsettled, so depraved, and so undisciplined in civil arts andhabits as the French nation must now be? It is difficult to come at thereal revenue of the French empire; but it appears to me certain, absolutely certain, that it must diminish rapidly every year. The armieshave hitherto been maintained chiefly from the contributions raised uponthe conquered countries, and from the plunder which the soldiers havebeen able to find. But that harvest is over. Austria, and particularlyHungary, may have yet something to supply; but the French Ruler willscarcely quarrel with them for a few years at least. But from Denmark, and Sweden, and Russia, there is not much to be gained. In the meanwhile, wherever his iron yoke is fixed, the spirits of the people arebroken; and it is in vain to attempt to extort money which they do notpossess, and cannot procure. Their bodies he may command, but theirbodies he cannot move without the inspiration of _wealth_, somewhere orother; by wealth I mean superfluous produce, something arising from thelabour of the inhabitants of countries beyond what is necessary to theirsupport. What will avail him the command of the whole population of theContinent, unless there be a security for capital somewhere existing, sothat the mechanic arts and inventions may thereby be applied in such amanner as that an overplus may arise from the labour of the countrywhich shall find its way into the pocket of the State for the purpose ofsupporting its military and civil establishments? Now, when I look atthe condition of our country, and compare it with that of France, andreflect upon the length of the time, and the infinite combination offavourable circumstances which have been necessary to produce the laws, the regulations, the customs, the moral character, and the physicalenginery of all sorts, through means, and by aid of which, labour iscarried on in this happy Land; and when I think of the wealth andpopulation (concentrated too in so small a space) which we must have atcommand for military purposes, I confess I have not much dread, lookingeither at war or peace, of any power which France, with respect to us, is likely to attain for years, I may say for generations. Whatever maybe the form of a government, its spirit, at least, must be mild and freebefore agriculture, trade, commerce, and manufactures can thrive underit; and if these do not prosper in a State, it may extend its empire toright and to left, and it will only carry poverty and desolation alongwith it, without being itself permanently enriched. You seem to take forgranted, that because the French revenue amounts to so much at presentit must continue to keep up to that height. This, I conceive impossible, unless the spirit of the government alters, which is not likely for manyyears. How comes it that we are enabled to keep, by sea and land, somany men in arms? Not by our foreign commerce, but by our domesticingenuity, by our home labour, which, with the aid of capital and themechanic arts and establishments, has enabled a few to produce so muchas will maintain themselves, and the hundreds of thousands of theircountrymen whom they support in arms. If our foreign trade were utterlydestroyed, I am told, that not more than one-sixth of our trade wouldperish. The spirit of Buonaparte's government is, and must continue tobe, like that of the first conquerors of the New World who went ravingabout for gold--gold! and for whose rapacious appetites the slow butmighty and sure returns of any other produce could have no charms. Icannot but think that generations must pass away before France, or anyof the countries under its thraldom, can attain those habits, and thatcharacter, and those establishments which must be attained before it canwield its population in a manner that will ensure our overthrow. This(if we conduct the war upon principles of common sense) seems to meimpossible, while we continue at war; and should a peace take place(which, however, I passionately deprecate), France will long becompelled to pay tribute to us, on account of our being so far beforeher in the race of genuine practical philosophy and true liberty. I meanthat the _mind_ of this country is so far before that of France, andthat _that_ mind has empowered the _hands_ of the country to raise somuch national wealth, that France must condescend to accept from us whatshe will be unable herself to produce. Is it likely that any of ourmanufacturing capitalists, in case of a peace, would trust themselves toan arbitrary government like that of France, which, without a moment'swarning, might go to war with us and seize their persons and theirproperty; nay, if they should be so foolish as to trust themselves toits discretion, would be base enough to pick a quarrel with us for thevery purpose of a pretext to strip them of all they possessed? Or is itlikely, if the native French manufacturers and traders were capable ofrivalling us in point of skill, that any Frenchman would venture uponthat ostentatious display of wealth which a large cotton-mill, forinstance, requires, when he knows that by so doing he would only drawupon himself a glance of the greedy eye of government, soon to befollowed by a squeeze from its rapacious hand? But I have dwelt too longupon this. The sum of what I think, by conversation, I could convinceyou of is, that your comparative estimate is erroneous, and materiallyso, inasmuch as it makes no allowance for the increasing superioritywhich a State, supposed to be independent and equitable in its dealingsto its subjects, must have over an oppressive government; and none forthe time which is necessary to give prosperity to peaceful arts, even ifthe government should improve. Our country has a mighty and dailygrowing forest of this sort of wealth; whereas, in France, the trees arenot yet put into the ground. For my own part, I do not think it possiblethat France, with all her command of territory and coast, can outstripus in naval power, unless she could previously, by her land power, cutus off from timber and naval stores, necessary for the building andequipment of our fleet. In that intellectual superiority which, as Ihave mentioned, we possess over her, we should find means to build asmany ships as she could build, and also could procure sailors to manthem. The same energy would furnish means for maintaining the men; andif they could be fed and maintained, they would surely be produced. Whythen am I for _war_ with France? 1st. Because I think our navalsuperiority may be more cheaply maintained, and more easily, by war thanby peace; and because I think, that if the war were conducted upon thoseprinciples of martial policy which you so admirably and nobly enforce, united with (or rather bottomed upon) those notions of justice andright, and that knowledge of and reverence for the moral sentiments ofmankind, which, in my Tract, I attempted to portray and illustrate, thetide of military success would immediately turn in our favour; and weshould find no more difficulty in reducing the French power thanGustavus Adolphus did in reducing that of the German Empire in his day. And here let me express my zealous thanks for the spirit and beauty withwhich you have pursued, through all its details, the course of martialpolicy which you recommend. Too much praise cannot be given to thiswhich is the great body of your work. I hope that it will not be lostupon your countrymen. But (as I said before) I rather wish to dwell uponthose points in which I am dissatisfied with your 'Essay. ' Let me thencome at once to a fundamental principle. You maintain, that as themilitary power of France is in progress, ours must be so also, or wemust perish. In this I agree with you. Yet you contend also, that thisincrease or progress can only be brought about by conquests permanentlyestablished upon the Continent; and, calling in the doctrines of thewriters upon the Law of Nations to your aid, you are for beginning withthe conquest of Sicily, and so on, through Italy, Switzerland, &c. &c. Now it does not appear to me, though I should rejoice heartily to see aBritish army march from Calabria, triumphantly, to the heart of theAlps, and from Holland to the centre of Germany, --yet it does not appearto me that the conquest and permanent possession of these countries isnecessary either to produce those resources of men or money which thesecurity and prosperity of our country requires. All that is absolutelyneedful, for either the one or the other, is a large, experienced, andseasoned _army_, which we cannot possess without a field to fight in, and that field must be somewhere upon the Continent. Therefore, as faras concerns ourselves and our security, I do not think that so wide aspace of conquered country is desirable; and, as a patriot, I have nowish for it. If I desire it, it is not for our sakes directly, but forthe benefit of those unhappy nations whom we should rescue, and whoseprosperity would be reflected back upon ourselves. Holding thesenotions, it is natural, highly as I rate the importance of militarypower, and deeply as I feel its necessity for the protection of everyexcellence and virtue, that I should rest my hopes with respect to theemancipation of Europe more upon moral influence, and the wishes andopinions of the people of the respective nations, than you appear to do. As I have written in my pamphlet, 'on the moral qualities of a peoplemust its salvation ultimately depend. Something higher than militaryexcellence must be taught _as_ higher; something more fundamental, _as_more fundamental. ' Adopting the opinion of the writers upon the laws ofNations, you treat of _conquest_ as if _conquest_ could in itself, nakedly and abstractedly considered, confer rights. If we once admitthis proposition, all morality is driven out of the world. We conquerItaly--that is, we raise the British standard in Italy, --and, by the aidof the inhabitants, we expel the French from the country, and have aright to keep it for ourselves. This, if I am not mistaken, is not onlyimplied, but explicitly maintained in your book. Undoubtedly, if it beclear that the possession of Italy is necessary for our security, wehave a right to keep possession of it, if we should ever be able tomaster it by the sword. But not because we have gained it by conquest, therefore may we keep it; no; the sword, as the sword, can give norights; but because a great and noble Nation, like ours, cannot prosperor exist without such possession. If the fact _were_ so, we should thenhave a right to keep possession of what by our valour we hadacquired--not otherwise. If these things were matter of merespeculation, they would not be worth talking about; but they are not so. The spirit of conquest, and the ambition of the sword, never can confertrue glory and happiness upon a nation that has attained powersufficient to protect itself. Your favourites, the Romans, though nodoubt having the fear of the Carthaginians before their eyes, yet wereimpelled to carry their arms out of Italy by ambition far more than by arational apprehension of the danger of their condition. And how did theyenter upon their career? By an act of atrocious injustice. You are toowell read in history for me to remind you what that act was. The samedisregard of morality followed too closely their steps everywhere. Theirruling passion, and sole steady guide, was the glory of the Roman name, and the wish to spread the Roman power. No wonder, then, if their armiesand military leaders, as soon as they had destroyed all foreign enemiesfrom whom anything was to be dreaded, turned their swords upon eachother. The ferocious cruelties of Sylla and Marius, of Catiline, and ofAntony and Octavius, and the despotism of the empire, were the necessaryconsequences of a long course of action pursued upon such blind andselfish principles. Therefore, admiring as I do your scheme of martialpolicy, and agreeing with you that a British military power may, andthat the _present_ state of the world requires that it _ought_ to be, predominant in Italy, and Germany, and Spain; yet still, I am afraidthat you look with too much complacency upon conquest by British arms, and upon British military influence upon the Continent, for _its ownsake_. Accordingly, you seem to regard Italy with more satisfaction thanSpain. I mean you contemplate our possible exertions in Italy with morepleasure, merely because its dismembered state would probably keep itmore under our sway--in other words, more at our mercy. Now, I thinkthere is nothing more unfortunate for Europe than the condition ofGermany and Italy in these respects. Could the barriers be dissolvedwhich have divided the one nation into Neapolitans, Tuscans, Venetians, &c. , and the other into Prussians, Hanoverians, &c. , and could they oncebe taught to feel their strength, the French would be driven back intotheir own Land immediately. I wish to see Spain, Italy, France, Germany, formed into independent nations; nor have I any desire to reduce thepower of France further than may be necessary for that end. Woe be tothat country whose military power is irresistible! I deprecate such anevent for Great Britain scarcely less than for any other Land. Scipioforesaw the evils with which Rome would be visited when no Carthageshould be in existence for her to contend with. If a nation have nothingto oppose or to fear without, it cannot escape decay and concussionwithin. Universal triumph and absolute security soon betray a State intoabandonment of that discipline, civil and military, by which itsvictories were secured. If the time should ever come when this islandshall have no more formidable enemies by land than it has at this momentby sea, the extinction of all that it previously contained of good andgreat would soon follow. Indefinite progress, undoubtedly, there oughtto be somewhere; but let that be in knowledge, in science, incivilization, in the increase of the numbers of the people, and in theaugmentation of their virtue and happiness. But progress in conquestcannot be indefinite; and for that very reason, if for no other, itcannot be a fit object for the exertions of a people, I mean beyondcertain limits, which, of course, will vary with circumstances. Myprayer, as a patriot, is, that we may always have, somewhere or other, enemies capable of resisting us, and keeping us at arm's length. Do I, then, object that our arms shall be carried into every part of theContinent? No: such is the present condition of Europe, that I earnestlypray for what I deem would be a mighty blessing. France has alreadydestroyed, in almost every part of the Continent, the detestablegovernments with which the nations have been afflicted; she hasextinguished one sort of tyranny, but only to substitute another. Thus, then, have the countries of Europe been taught, that domesticoppression, if not manfully and zealously repelled, must sooner or laterbe succeeded by subjugation from without; they have tasted thebitterness of both cups, have drunk deeply of both. Their spirits areprepared for resistance to the foreign tyrant, and with our help I thinkthey may shake him off, and, under our countenance, and following (asfar as they are capable) our example, they may fashion to themselves, making use of what is best in their own ancient laws and institutions, new forms of government, which may secure posterity from a repetition ofsuch calamities as the present age has brought forth. The materials of anew balance of power exist in the language, and name, and territory ofSpain, in those of France, and those of Italy, Germany, Russia, and theBritish Isles. The smaller States must disappear, and merge in the largenations and wide-spread languages. The possibility of this remodellingof Europe I see clearly; earnestly do I pray for it; and I have in mymind a strong conviction that your invaluable work will be a powerfulinstrument in preparing the way for that happy issue. Yet, still, wemust go deeper than the nature of your labour requires you to penetrate. Military policy merely will not perform all that is needful, nor meremilitary virtues. If the Roman State was saved from overthrow, by theattack of the slaves and of the gladiators, through the excellence ofits armies, yet this was not without great difficulty;[22] and Romewould have been destroyed by Carthage, had she not been preserved by acivic fortitude in which she surpassed all the nations of the earth. Thereception which the Senate gave to Terentius Varro, after the battle ofCannae, is the sublimest event in human history. What a contrast to thewretched conduct of the Austrian government after the battle at Wagram!England requires, as you have shown so eloquently and ably, a new systemof martial policy; but England, as well as the rest of Europe, requireswhat is more difficult to give it, --a new course of education, a highertone of moral feeling, more of the grandeur of the imaginativefaculties, and less of the petty processes of the unfeeling and purblindunderstanding, that would manage the concerns of nations in the samecalculating spirit with which it would set about building a house. Now aState ought to be governed (at least in these times), the labours of thestatesman ought to advance, upon calculations and from impulses similarto those which give motion to the hand of a great artist when he ispreparing a picture, or of a mighty poet when he is determining theproportions and march of a poem;--much is to be done by rule; the greatoutline is previously to be conceived in distinctness, but theconsummation of the work must be trusted to resources that are nottangible, though known to exist. Much as I admire the political sagacitydisplayed in your work, I respect you still more for the lofty spiritthat supports it; for the animation and courage with which it isreplete; for the contempt, in a just cause, of death and danger by whichit is ennobled; for its heroic confidence in the valour of yourcountrymen; and the absolute determination which it everywhere expressesto maintain in all points the honour of the soldier's profession, andthat of the noble Nation of which you are a member--of the Land in whichyou were born. No insults, no indignities, no vile stooping, will yourpolitics admit of; and therefore, more than for any other cause, do Icongratulate my country on the appearance of a book which, resting inthis point our national safety upon the purity of our nationalcharacter, will, I trust, lead naturally to make us, at the same time, amore powerful and a high-minded nation. 

 Affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [23]

[22] 'Totis imperii viribus consurgitur, ' says the historian, speakingof the war of the gladiators. 

[23] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 406-20. 

 * * * * *

_Letter enclosing the Preceding to a Friend unnamed_. 

MY DEAR SIR, I have taken the Liberty of addressing the enclosed to you, with a wishthat you would be so kind as to send it by the twopenny Post. TheLetter, though to a personal Acquaintance and to some degree a friend, is upon a kind of Public occasion, and consists of Comments upon CaptainPasley's lately published Essay on the Military Policy of Great Britain;a work which if you have not seen I earnestly recommend to your carefulPerusal. I have sent my Letter unsealed in order that if you think itworth while you may read it, which would oblige me. You may begin withthose words in the 1st Page, 'Now for your Book:' which you will see arelegible, being transcribed by a Friend. The rest, in my own hand, isonly an Apology for not writing sooner; save that there are two Sonnetswhich if you like you may glance your eye over. Do not forget to put awafer on the Letter after you have done with it. 

Will you excuse me if I find myself unable to forbear saying, upon thisoccasion, a few words concerning the conduct pursued with respect toforeign affairs by the Party with whom you act? I learn from a privatequarter of unquestionable Authority, that it was Lord Grenville'sintention, had he come into power as he lately expected, to haverecalled the army from Portugal. In the name of my Country, of ourvirtuous and suffering Allies, and of Human Nature itself, I give thanksto Providence who has restored the King's health so far as to preventthis intention being put into practice hitherto. The transgressions ofthe present ministry are grievous; but excepting only a deliberate anddirect attack upon the civil liberty of our own Country, there cannot beany thing in a Minister worse than a desponding spirit and the lack ofconfidence in a good cause. If Lord G. And Mr. Ponsonby think that theprivilege allowed to opposition-manoeuvering justifies them in speakingas they do, they are sadly mistaken and do not discern what is becomingthe times; but if they sincerely believe in the omnipotence ofBuonaparte upon the Continent, they are the dupes of their own fears andthe slaves of their own ignorance. Do not deem me presumptuous when Isay that it is pitiable to hear Lord Grenville talking as he did in thelate debate of the inability of Great Britain to take a commandingstation as a military Power, and maintaining that our efforts must beessentially, he means exclusively, naval. We have destroyed our enemiesupon the Sea, and are equally capable of destroying him upon land. Richin soldiers and revenues as we are, we are capable, availing ourselvesof the present disposition of the Continent, to erect there under ourcountenance, and by a wise application of our resources, a militaryPower, which the tyrannical and immoral Government of Buonaparte couldnot prevail against, and if he could not overthrow it, he must himselfperish. Lord G. Grudges two millions in aid of Portugal, which haseighty thousand men in arms, and what they can perform has been proved. Yet Lord G. Does not object to our granting aid to a great MilitaryPower on the Continent if such could he found, nay he begs of us to waittill that fortunate period arrives. Whence does Lord G. , from whatquarter does he expect it? from Austria, from the Prussian monarchy, brought to life again, from Russia, or lastly from the Confederacy ofthe Rhine turning against their Creator and Fashioner? Is theexpectation of the Jews for their Messiah or of the Portugueze for St. Sebastian more extravagant? But Lord G. Ought to know that such amilitary POWER does already exist upon the Peninsula, formless indeedcompared with what under our plastic hands it may become, yet which hasproved itself capable of its giving employment during the course ofthree years to at least five hundred thousand of the enemy's besttroops. An important fact has been proved, that the enemy cannot _drive_us from the Peninsula. We have the point to stand upon which Archimedeswished for, and we may move the Continent if we persevere. Let usprepare to exercise in Spain a military influence like that which wealready possess in Portugal, and our affairs must improve daily andrapidly. Whatever money we advance for Portugal and Spain, we can directthe management of it, an inestimable advantage which, with relation toPrussia, Russia or Austria, we never possessed. Besides, how could wegovern the purposes of those States, when that inherent imbecility andcowardice leave them no purpose or aim to which they can steadily adhereof themselves for six weeks together? Military Powers! So these Stateshave been called. A strange Misnomer! they are Weaknesses--a true thoughill-sounding Title!--and not Powers! Polybius tells us that Hannibalentered into Italy with twenty thousand men, and that the aggregateforces of Italy at that time amounted to seven hundred and sixtythousand foot and horse, with the Roman discipline and power to headthat mighty force. Gustavus Adolphus invaded Germany with thirteenthousand men; the Emperor at that time having between two and threehundred thousand warlike and experienced Troops commanded by ableGenerals, to oppose to him. Let these facts and numerous others whichhistory supplies of the same kind, be thought of; and let us hear nomore of the impossibility of Great Britain girt round and defended bythe Sea and an invincible Navy, becoming a military Power; Great Britainwhose troops surpass in valour those of all the world, and who has anarmy and a militia of upwards of three hundred thousand men! Do reflectmy dear Sir, upon the materials which are now in preparation upon theContinent. Hannibal expected to be joined by a parcel of the contentedbarbarian Gauls in the north of Italy. Gustavus stood forth as theChampion of the Protestant interest: how feeble and limited each ofthese auxiliary sentiments and powers, compared with what the state ofknowledge, the oppressions of their domestic governments, and theinsults and injuries and hostile cruelties inflicted by the French uponthe continental nations, must have exerted to second our arms wheneverwe shall appear in that Force which we can assume, and with thatboldness which would become us, and which justice and human nature andPatriotism call upon us to put forth. Farewell, most truly yours, W. WORDSWORTH. 

Shall we see you this Summer? I hope so. 

IV. TWO ADDRESSES TO THE FREEHOLDERS OF WESTMORELAND. 

1818. 

NOTE. 

On the occasion of these 'Two Addresses, ' and other related matters, seePreface in the present volume. G. 

 TWO ADDRESSES TO THE FREEHOLDERS OF WESTMORELAND. 

 * * * * *Kendal:

PRINTED BY AIREY AND BELLINGHAM. 1818. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

 * * * * *

The Author thinks it proper to advise his Reader, that he alone isresponsible for the sentiments and opinions expressed in these sheets. Gladly would he have availed himself of the judgment of others, if thatbenefit could have been had without subjecting the Persons consulted tothe possibility of blame, for having sanctioned any view of the topicsunder consideration, which, either from its erroneousness might deserve, or from Party feelings or other causes might incur, censure. 

The matter comprised in these pages was intended to compose a successionof Addresses to be printed in the _Kendal Chronicle_, and a part of thefirst was published through that channel. The intention was dropped forreasons well known. It is now mentioned in order to account for thedisproportion in the length of the two Addresses, and an arrangement ofmatter, in some places, different from what would otherwise have beenchosen. A portion also has appeared in the _Carlisle Patriot_. 

It is of little importance to add, that this Publication has beendelayed by unavoidable engagements of the Printer. 

_March_ 26, 1818. 

 * * * * *

TO THE READER. 

The new Candidate has appeared amongst us, and concluded, for thepresent, his labours in the County. They require no further notice herethan an expression of thanks for the success with which he hasco-operated with the Author of these pages to demonstrate, by the wholeof his itinerant proceedings, that the vital principle of the Oppositionostensibly headed by him, is at enmity with the bonds by which societyis held together, and Government maintained. 

_April_ 4, 1818. 

TO THE FREEHOLDERS, &c. 

 * * * * *

GENTLEMEN, Two Months have elapsed since warning was given of an intention tooppose the present Representatives of the County of Westmoreland, at theensuing Election; yet, till so late a period as the 26th of January, noavowal of such intention appeared from any quarter entitling it toconsideration. For, as to the Body of Men, calling itself the LondonCommittee, there is not, up to this hour I believe, any public evidenceeven of its existence, except certain notices signed by two obscureindividuals. But, in the minds of those naturally interested in thewelfare of the County, a ferment was excited by various devices;inflammatory addresses were busily circulated; men, laying claim to theflattering character of Reformers of abuses, became active; and, as thisstir did not die away, they who foresaw its bearings and tendencies, were desirous that, if there were any just grounds for discontent, thesame should be openly declared, by persons whose characters andsituations in life would be a pledge for their having proceeded uponmature deliberation. At length, a set of resolutions have appeared, froma Meeting of dissatisfied Freeholders, holden in a Town, which, if notthe principal in point of rank, is the most populous, opulent, andweighty, in the County. Among those who composed this Meeting, the firstvisible authentic Body which the Opposition has produced, are to befound persons answering to the description above given--men from whommight have been expected, in the exposition of their complaints, soundsense as to the nature of the grievances, and rational views as to themode of removing them--Have such expectations, if entertained, beenfulfilled?

The first Resolution unanimously agreed upon by this Meeting, is couchedin these words: 'It is impossible for us, as Freeholders, to submit anylonger to a single Family, however respectable, naming both Members forthe County. ' What if this leading article had been thus expressed? 'Thatit is injurious to the interests, and derogatory to the dignity, of theCounty of Westmoreland, that both its Representatives should be broughtinto Parliament, by the influence of one Family. ' Words to this effectwould surely have given the sense of the Resolution, as proceeding frommen of cool reflection; and offered nakedly to the consideration ofminds which, it was desired, should be kept in a similar state. But wecannot '_submit_ any longer'--if the intention was to mislead andirritate, such language was well adapted for the purpose; but it illaccords with the spirit of the next Resolution, which affirms, that theMeeting is wholly unconnected with any political Party; and, thusdisclaiming indirectly those passions and prejudices that are apt tofasten upon political partisans, implicitly promises, that the opinionsof the Meeting shall be conveyed in terms suitable to such disavowal. Did the persons in question imagine themselves in a state ofdegradation? On their own word we must believe they did; and no onecould object to their employing, among each other, such language as gavevent to feelings proceeding from that impression, in a way thatgratified themselves. But, by _publishing_ their Resolutions, they shewthat they are not communing for the sake of mutual sympathy, but toinduce others to participate a sentiment which probably they arestrangers to. We _submit_ to the law, and to those who are placed inauthority over us, while in the legitimate exercise of theirfunctions--we _submit_ to the decrees of Providence, because they arenot to be resisted--a coward _submits_ to be insulted--a pusillanimouswretch to be despised--and a knave, if detected, must submit to bescouted--a slave submits to his Taskmaster; but, the Freeholders ofWestmoreland, cannot, _in reason_, be said to submit to the House ofLowther naming their Representatives, unless it can be proved that thoseRepresentatives have been thrust upon them by an unjustifiable agency;and that they owe their seats, not to the free suffrages and frankconsent of their Constituents, but to unfair means, whether in the shapeof seduction or threat. If there be an indignity on one side, there musthave been a wrong done on the other; and, to make out this point, itought to have been shewn, that some other Person, qualified by hisproperty, his education, his rank, and character, had stood forth andoffered himself to represent you, Freeholders of Westmoreland, inParliament; and that, in this attempt, he had been crushed by the powerof a single Family, careless of the mode in which that power wasexercised. I appeal to those who have had an opportunity of beingacquainted with the Noble Lord who is at the head of that Family, whether they are of opinion, that any consideration of his own interestor importance in the State, would have induced him to oppose _such_ aCandidate, provided there was reason for believing that the unabusedsense of the County was with him. If indeed a Candidate supposed to beso favoured by the County, had declared himself an enemy to the generalmeasures of Administration for some years past, those measures havedepended on principles of conduct of such vast importance, that theNoble Lord must needs have endeavoured, as far as prudence authorised, to frustrate an attempt, which, in conscience, he could not approve. 

I affirm, then, that, as there was no wrong, there is no indignity--thepresent Members owe their high situation to circumstances, local andnational. They are there _because no one else has presented himself_, or, for some years back, has been likely to present himself, withpretensions, the reasonableness of which could enter into competitionwith their's. This is, in some points of view, a misfortune, but it isthe fact; and no class of men regret it more than the independent andjudicious adherents of the House of Lowther: Men who are happy and proudto rally round the Nobleman who is the head of that House, in defence ofrational liberty: Men who know that he has proved himself a faithfulguardian to the several orders of the State--that he is a tried enemy todangerous innovations--a condemner of fantastic theories--one whounderstands mankind, and knows the heights and levels of human nature, by which the course of the streams of social action is determined--aLover of the People, but one who despises, as far as relates to his ownpractice; and deplores, in respect to that of others, the shows, andpretences, and all the false arts by which the plaudits of the multitudeare won, and the people flattered to the common ruin of themselves andtheir deceivers. 

But after all, let us soberly enquire to what extent it is really anevil that two persons, so nearly connected in blood, should representthis County. And first looking at the matter _locally_, what _is_ thatportion of England known by the name of the County of Westmoreland? ACounty which indeed the natives of it love, and are justly proud of; aregion famous for the production of shrewd, intelligent, brave, active, honest, enterprising men:--but it covers no very large space on the map;the soil is in general barren, the country poor accordingly, and ofnecessity thinly inhabited. There are in England single Towns, even of athird or fourth rate importance, that contain a larger population thanis included within the limits of Westmoreland, from the foot of Wrynoseto the sides of Stainmoor, and from the banks of the Kent to those ofthe Emont. Is it, then, to be wondered at, considering the antiquity ofthe House of Lowther, that circumstances should have raised it to theelevation which it holds in a district so thinly peopled, neither richin the products of Agriculture, nor in the materials of Commerce, andwhere it is impossible that any considerable number of Country Gentlemenof large, or as our ancestors expressed themselves of notable estate, can co-exist. It must unavoidably happen therefore that, at all times, there will be few persons, in such a County, furnished with the stablerequisites of property, rank, family, and personal fitness, that shallpoint them out for such an office, and _dispose them to covet it_, byinsuring that degree of public confidence which will make themindependent, comfortable, and happy, in discharging the duties which itimposes. This small number will, at particular periods, be liable to bereduced; that this _has_ been the case is apparent upon retrospect; andthat the number is not large at present, may be inferred from thedifficulty with which a third Candidate has been found; and from theinsignificant station which the Individual, who has at length obeyed thecall of the discontented, holds in the County. 

With these local circumstances _general_ considerations have powerfullyco-operated, to place the representation of Westmoreland where it nowis; and to this second division of the subject I particularly requestyour attention, Gentlemen, as reflecting Patriots. 

Looking up to the government with respectful attachment, we allacknowledge that power must be controlled and checked, or it will beabused; hence the desirableness of a vigorous opposition in the Houseof Commons; and hence a wish, grounded upon a conviction of generalexpediency, that the opposition to ministry, whose head and chief seatof action are in Parliament, should be efficaciously diffused throughall parts of the Country. On this principle the two grand divisions ofParty, under our free government, are founded. Conscience regulated byexpediency, is the basis; honour, binding men to each other in spite oftemptation, is the corner-stone; and the superstructure is friendship, protecting kindness, gratitude, and all the moral sentiments by whichself-interest is liberalized. Such is Party, looked at on the favourableside. Cogent _moral_ inducements, therefore, exist for the prevalence oftwo powerful bodies in the practice of the State, spreading theirinfluence and interests throughout the country; and, on _political_considerations, it is desirable that the strength of each should bearsuch proportion to that of the other, that, while Ministry are able tocarry into effect measures not palpably injurious, the vigilance ofOpposition may turn to account, being backed by power at all timessufficient to awe, but never, (were that possible) except when supportedby manifest reason, to intimidate. 

Such apportioning of the strength of the two Parties _has_ existed; sucha degree of power the Opposition formerly possessed; and if they havelost that salutary power, if they are dwindled and divided, they mustascribe it to their own errors. They are weak because they have beenunwise: they are brought low, because when they had solid and highground to stand upon, they took a flight into the air. To have hoped tooardently of human nature, as they did at the commencement of the FrenchRevolution, was no dishonour to them as men; but _politicians_ cannot beallowed to plead temptations of fancy, or impulses of feeling, inexculpation of mistakes in judgement. Grant, however, to the enthusiasmof Philanthropy as much indulgence as it may call for, it is stillextraordinary that, in the minds of English Statesmen and Legislators, the naked absurdity of the means did not raise a doubt as to theattainableness of the end. Mr. Fox, captivated by the vanities of asystem founded upon abstract rights, chaunted his expectations in theHouse of Parliament; and too many of his Friends partook of theillusion. The most sagacious Politician of his age broke out in anopposite strain. Time has verified his predictions; the books remain inwhich his principles of foreknowledge were laid down; but, as the Authorbecame afterwards a Pensioner of State, thousands, in this country offree opinions, persist in asserting that his divination was guess-work, and that conscience had no part in urging him to speak. That warningvoice proved vain; the Party from whom he separated, proceeded--confiding in splendid oratorical talents and ardent feelingsrashly wedded to novel expectations, when common sense, uninquisitiveexperience, and a modest reliance on old habits of judgement, wheneither these, or a philosophic penetration, were the only qualities thatcould have served them. 

How many private Individuals, at that period, were kept in a rationalcourse by circumstances, supplying restraints which their ownunderstandings would not have furnished! Through what fatality ithappens, that Bodies of Men are so slow to profit, in a similar way, bycircumstances affecting their prosperity, the Opposition seem never tohave enquired. They could not avoid observing, that the Holders ofProperty throughout the country, being mostly panic-stricken by theproceedings in France, turned instinctively against the admirers of thenew system;--and, as security for property is the very basis of civilsociety, how was it possible but that reflecting men, who perceived thistruth, should mistrust those Representatives of the People, who couldnot have acted less prudently, had they been utterly unconscious of it!But they had committed themselves and did not retract; either fromunabating devotion to their cause, or from false honour, and thatself-injuring consistency, the favourite sister of obstinacy, which themixed conscience of mankind is but too apt to produce. Meanwhile thetactics of Parliament must continue in exercise on some system or other;their adversaries were to be annoyed at any rate; and so intent werethey upon this, that, in proportion as the entrenchments of Ministrystrengthened, the assaults of Opposition became more careless anddesperate. 

While the war of words and opinions was going forward in this country, Europe was deluged with blood. They in whose hands power was vestedamong us, in course of time, lost ground in public opinion, through thefailure of their efforts. Parties were broken and re-composed; but Menwho are brought together less by principle than by events, cannotcordially co-operate, or remain long united. The opponents of the war, in this middle stage and desponding state of it, were not popular; andafterwards, when the success of the enemy made the majority of theNation feel, that Peace dictated by him could not be lasting, and theywere bent on persevering in the struggle, the Party of Oppositionpersisted in a course of action which, as their countenance of thedoctrine of the rights of man, had brought their understandings intodisrepute, cast suspicion on the soundness of their patrioticaffections. Their passions made them blind to the differences between astate of peace and war, (above all such a war!) as prescribing rules fortheir own conduct. They were ignorant, or never bore in mind, that aspecies of hostility which, had there been no foreign enemy to resist, might have proved useful and honourable, became equally pernicious anddisgraceful, when a formidable foe threatened us with destruction. 

I appeal to impartial recollection, whether, during the course of thelate awful struggle, and in the latter stages of it especially, theantagonists of Ministers, in the two Houses of Parliament, did not, forthe most part, conduct themselves more like allies to a military despot, who was attempting to enslave the world, and to whom their own countrywas an object of paramount hatred, than like honest Englishmen, who hadbreathed the air of liberty from their cradles. If any state of thingscould supply them with motives for acting in that manner, they mustabide by the consequences. They must reconcile themselves as well asthey can to dislike and to disesteem, the unavoidable results ofbehaviour so unnatural. Peace has indeed come; but do they whodeprecated the continuance of the war, and clamoured for its close, onany terms, rejoice heartily in a triumph by which their prophecies werebelied? Did they lend their voices to swell the hymn of transport, thatresounded through our Land, when the arch-enemy was overthrown? Are theypleased that inheritances have been restored, and that legitimategovernments have been re-established, on the Continent? And do theygrieve when those re-established governments act unworthily of thefavour which Providence has shown them? Do not too many rather secretlycongratulate themselves on every proof of imbecility or misconduct thereexhibited; and endeavour that attention shall be exclusively fixed onthose melancholy facts, as if they were the only fruits of a triumph, to which we Britons owe, that we are a fearless, undishonoured, andrapidly improving people, and the nations of the Continent owe theirvery existence as self-governed communities?

The Party of Opposition, or what remains of it, has much to repent of;many humiliating reflections must pass through the minds of those whocompose it, and they must learn the hard lesson to be thankful for themas a discipline indispensible to their amendment. Thus only can theyfurnish a sufficient nucleus for the formation of a new Body; nor canthere be any hope of such Body being adequate to its appropriateservice, and of its possessing that portion of good opinion which shallentitle it to the respect of its antagonists, unless it live and act, for a length of time, under a distinct conception of the kind and degreeof hostility to the executive government, which is fairly warrantable. The Party must cease indiscriminately to court the discontented, and toleague itself with Men who are athirst for innovation, to a point whichleaves it doubtful, whether an Opposition, that is willing to co-operatewith such Agitators, loves as it ought to do, and becomingly venerates, the happy and glorious Constitution, in Church and State, which we haveinherited from our Ancestors. 

Till not a doubt can be left that this indispensible change has beeneffected, Freeholders of Westmoreland! you will remain--but to _exhort_is not my present business--I was retracing the history of the influenceof one Family, and have shewn that much of it depends upon that steadysupport given by them to government, during a long and arduous struggle, and upon the general course of their public conduct, which has securedyour approbation and won for them your confidence. Let us now candidlyask what practical evil has arisen from this preponderance. Is it notobvious, that it is justified by the causes that have produced it? Asfar as it concerns the general well-being of the Kingdom, it would beeasy to shew, that if the democratic activities of the great Towns andof the manufacturing Districts, were not counteracted by the sedentarypower of large estates, continued from generation to generation inparticular families, it would be scarcely possible that the Laws andConstitution of the Country could sustain the shocks which they would besubject to. And as to our own County, _that_ Man must be strangelyprejudiced, who does not perceive how desireable it is, that somepowerful Individual should he attached to it; who, by his influence withGovernment, may facilitate the execution of any plan tending, with dueconcern for _general_ welfare, to the especial benefit of Westmoreland. The influence of the House of Lowther is, we acknowledge, great; but hasa case been made out, that this influence has been abused? The voice ofgratitude is not loud, out of delicacy to the Benefactor; but, if allwho know were at liberty to speak, to the measure of their wishes, theservices which have been rendered by the House of Lowther toWestmoreland, its Natives, and Inhabitants, would be proclaimed in amanner that would confound detraction. --Yet the Kendal Committee of the26th of January--without troubling themselves to inquire how far thispreponderance is a reasonable thing, and what have been its real andpractical effects--are indignant; their blood is roused; 'and they aredetermined to address their Brother Freeholders, and call upon them torecover the exercise of the elective Franchise, which has been withheldfrom them for half a century. '--_Withheld_ from them! Suppose theseChampions, in this their first declaration of hostility, had said, 'torecover the elective Franchise _which we have suffered to lie dormant_. 'But no!--Who would take blame to himself, when, by so doing, he islikely to break the force of the indignation, which, whether deserved ornot, he hopes to heap upon his adversary? This is politic--but does itbecome professing men? Does it suit those who set forward with aproclamation, that they are select spirits, free from Party ties; and, of course, superior to those artifices and misrepresentations--to thosegroundless or immoderate aversions--which men who act in parties find itso difficult to keep clear of?

What degree of discernment and consistency, an assembly of persons, whobegin their labours with such professions and publish such intentions, have shewn, by making choice of the Individual whom they haverecommended, as eminently entitled to their confidence and qualified toassist them in attaining their end, may become the fit subject of afuture enquiry. 

SECOND ADDRESS. 

GENTLEMEN, Much of my former Address, originated in deference to that sense ofright, which is inseparable from the minds of enlightened Patriots. Passing from local considerations, I wrote under a belief that, whateverpersonal or family leanings might prevail among you, you would be movedby a wish to see the supporters of his Majesty's Ministers and theiropponents--possessed, relatively to each other, of that degree ofstrength which might render both parties, in their several capacities, most serviceable to the State. I noticed, that this just proportion ofstrength no longer remained; and shewed, that the Opposition had causedit to be destroyed by holding, from the beginning of the FrenchRevolution, such a course as introduced in Parliament, discord amongthemselves; deprived them, in that House and elsewhere, of the respectwhich from their Adversaries they had been accustomed to command; turnedindifferent persons into enemies; and alienated, throughout the Island, the affections of thousands who had been proud to unite with them. Thisweakness and degradation, deplored by all true Friends of theCommonweal, was sufficiently accounted for, without even adverting tothe fact that--when the disasters of the war had induced the Country toforgive, and, in some degree, to forget, the alarming attachment of thatParty to French theories: and power, heightened by the popularity ofhope and expectation, was thrown into their hands--they disgusted evenbigotted adherents, by the rapacious use they made of thatpower;--stooping to so many offensive compromises, and committing somany faults in every department, that, a Government of Talents, if suchbe the fruits of talent, was proved to be the most mischievous sort ofgovernment which England had ever been troubled with. So that, whetherin or out of place, an evil genius seemed to attend them!

How could all this happen? For the fundamental reason, that neither thereligion, the laws, the morals, the manners, nor the literature of thecountry, especially as contrasted with those of France, were prized bythe Leaders of the Party as they deserved. It is a notorious fact that, among their personal Friends, was scarcely to be found a singleClergyman of distinction;--so that, how to dispose of theirecclesiastical patronage in a manner that might do them credit, theywere almost as ignorant as strangers landed, for the first time, in aforeign Country. This is not to be accounted for on any supposition(since the education of men of rank naturally devolves on those membersof our Universities, who choose the Church for their profession) butthat of a repugnance on their part to associate with persons of gravecharacter and decorous manners. Is the distracted remnant of the Party, now surviving, improved in that respect? The dazzling talents with whichit was once distinguished have passed away; pleasure and dissipation areno longer, in that quarter, exhibited to the world in such reconcilementwith business as excited dispositions to forgive what could not beapproved, and a species of wonder, not sufficiently kept apart fromenvy, at the extraordinary gifts and powers by which the union wasaccomplished. This injurious conjunction no longer exists, so as toattract the eyes of the Nation. But we look in vain for signs that theopinions, habits, and feelings of the Party are tending towards arestoration of that genuine English character, by which alone theconfidence of the sound part of the People can be recovered. 

The public life of the Candidate who now, for the first time, solicitsyour suffrages, my Brother Freeholders, cannot, however, withoutinjustice to that Party, be deemed a fair exponent of its politicalopinions. It has, indeed, been too tolerant with Mr. Brougham, while hewas labouring to ingraft certain sour cuttings from the wild wood ofultra reform on the reverend, though somewhat decayed, stock of thattree of Whiggism, which flourished proudly under the cultivation of ourAncestors. This indulgence, and others like it, will embolden him to aimat passing himself off as the Delegate of Opposition, and the authorizedpleader of their cause. But Time, that Judge from whom none but triflersappeal to conjecture, has decided upon leading principles and mainevents, and given the verdict against his clients. While, with a readytongue, the Advocate of a disappointed party is filling one scale, doyou, with a clear memory and apt judgment, silently throw in what ofright belongs to the other; and the result will be, that no sensible manamong you, who has supported the present Members on account of theirsteady adherence to Ministers, can be induced to change his conduct, orbe persuaded that the hour is either come, or approaching, when, for thesake of bringing the power of Opposition in this County nearer to anequality with that of Ministers, it will be his duty to vote againstthose Representatives in whom he has hitherto confided. No, if Mr. Brougham had not individually passed far beyond the line of thatParty--if his conduct had been such that even they themselves wouldadmit that he truly belonged to them--the exception would still lieagainst the general rule; and will remain till the character of men andmeasures materially changes, for the better, assuredly, on the one side, if not for the worse on the other. Remember what England might have beenwith an Administration countenancing French Doctrines at the dawn of theFrench Revolution, and suffering them, as it advanced, to be sown withevery wind that came across the Channel! Think what was the state ofEurope before the French Emperor, the apparent, and in too many respectsthe real, Idol of Opposition, was overthrown!

Numbers, I am aware, do not cease vehemently to maintain, that the latewar was neither just nor necessary; that the ostensible and real causesof it were widely different; that it was not begun, and persisted in, for the purpose of withstanding foreign aggression, and in defence ofsocial order: but from unprincipled ambition in the Powers of Europe, eager to seize that opportunity of augmenting their territories at theexpence of distracted and enfeebled France. --Events ever-to-be-lamenteddo, I grant, give too much colour to those affirmations. But this was awar upon a large scale, wherein many Belligerents took part; and no onewho distinctly remembers the state of Europe at its commencement will beinclined any more to question that the alleged motives had a solidfoundation, because then, or afterwards, others might mix with them, than he would doubt that the maintenance of Christianity and thereduction of the power of the Infidels were the principal motives of theCrusades, because roving Adventurers, joining in those expeditions, turned them to their own profit. Traders and hypocrites may make part ofa Caravan bound to Mecca; but it does not follow that a religiousobservance is not the prime object of the Pilgrimage. The politicalfanaticism (it deserves no milder name) that pervaded the Manifestoissued by the Duke of Brunswick, on his entry into France, proves, thathe and the Power whose organ he was, were swayed on their march by anambition very different from that of territorial aggrandizement;--atleast, if such ambition existed, it is plain that feelings of anotherkind blinded them to the means of gratifying it. Nevertheless, we mustacknowledge the passion soon manifested itself, and in a quarter whereit was least excusable. The seizure of Valenciennes, in the name of theEmperor of Germany, was an act of such glaring rapacity, and gave thelie so unfeelingly to all that had been professed, that the thenMinisters of Great Britain, doubtless, opposed the intention with astrong remonstrance. But the dictates of magnanimity (which in suchcases is but another word for high and sage policy) would havebeen--'this unjust act must either be abandoned, or Great Britain shallretire from a contest which, if such principles are to govern, orinterfere with, the conduct of it, cannot but be calamitous. ' A threatto this purpose was either not given or not acted upon. _Hinc illaeclades_! From that moment the alliance of the French Loyalists with thecoalesced Powers seemed to have no ground of rational patriotism tostand upon. Their professed helpers became their worst enemies; andnumbers among them not only began to wish for the defeat of their falsefriends, but joined themselves to their fellow-countrymen, of allparties, who were labouring to effect it. --But the military successes ofthe French, arising mainly from this want of principle in theConfederate Powers, in course of time placed the policy and justice ofthe war upon a new footing. However men might differ about the necessityor reasonableness of resorting to arms in the first instance, thingswere brought to such a state that, among the disinterested anddispassionate, there could be but one opinion (even if nothing higherthan security was aimed at) on the demand for the utmost strength of thenation being put forth in the prosecution of the war, till it shouldassume a more hopeful aspect. --And now it was that Ministers made ampleamends for past subserviency to selfish coadjutors, and provedthemselves worthy of being entrusted with the fate of Europe. While theOpposition were taking counsel from their fears, and recommendingdespair--while they continued to magnify without scruple the strength ofthe Enemy, and to expose, misrepresent, and therefore increase theweaknesses of their country, his Majesty's Ministers were not daunted, though often discouraged: they struggled up against adversity withfortitude, and persevered heroically; throwing themselves upon thehonour and wisdom of the Country, and trusting for the issue to thedecrees of a just PROVIDENCE:--and for this determination everlastinggratitude will attend them!

From the internal situation of France, produced by the Revolution, Warwith the contiguous Powers was inevitable; sooner or later the evil musthave been encountered; and it was of little importance whether Englandtook a share in it somewhat earlier than, by fallible judgments, mightbe deemed necessary, or not. The frankness with which the faults thatwere committed have been acknowledged entitles the writer to someregard, when, speaking from an intimate knowledge of the internal stateof France at that time, he affirms, that the war waged against her was, in a liberal interpretation of the words, _just and necessary_. At allevents our Nation viewed it in this light. A large majority of theInhabitants of Great Britain called for the war; and they who _will_ theend _will_ the means: the war being deemed necessary, taxes becameindispensible for its support. Some might prefer one mode of raisingthem--some another; but these are minor considerations. Public men, united in bodies, must act on great principles. Mutual deference is afundamental requisite for the composition and efficiency of a Party:for, if individual judgment is to be obtruded and insisted upon insubordinate concerns, the march of business will be perpetuallyobstructed. The leaders will not know whom they can depend upon, andtherefore will be at a loss what to recommend, and how to act. If apublic man differs from his Party in essentials, Conscience and Honourdemand that he should withdraw; but if there be no such difference, itis incumbent upon him to submit his personal opinion to the generalsense. He, therefore, who thought the prosecution of the war necessary, could not condemn the public Imposts; on this consequence the steadyadherents of Ministers rest their claim to approbation, and advance itboldly in defiance of the outcry raised against the Government, onaccount of the burthens which the situation of Europe compelled it tolay upon the people. 

In matters of taste, it is a process attended with little advantage, andoften injurious, to compare one set of artists, or writers, withanother. But, in estimating the merits of public men, especially of twoParties acting in direct opposition, it is not only expedient, butindispensible, that both should be kept constantly in sight. The truthor fallacy of French principles, and the tendency, good or bad, of theRevolution which sprang out of them; and the necessity, ornon-necessity--the policy, or impolicy--of resisting by war theencroachments of republican and imperial France; these were the oppositegrounds upon which each Party staked their credit: here we behold themin full contrast with each other--To whom shall the crown be given? Onwhom has the light fallen? and who are covered by shade and thickdarkness?

The magnanimity which resolved, that for principle's sake no effortsshould be spared to crush a bestial despotism, was acknowledged by everymanly spirit whom Party degenerating into Faction had not vitiated. Thatsuch was the dictate of confiding _wisdom_ had long been inwardly felt;and the _prudence_ of the course was evinced by the triumphant issue;but to the very completeness of this triumph may be indirectlyattributed no small portion of the obloquy how heaped upon thoseadvisers through whom it was achieved. The power of Napoleon Buonapartewas overthrown--his person has disappeared from the theatre ofEurope--his name has almost deserted the columns of her daily and weeklyJournals--but as he has left no Successor, as there is no foreign Tyrantof sufficient importance to attract hatred by exciting fear, many honestEnglish Patriots must either find, or set up, something at home for theemployment of those affections. This is too natural to occasionsurprise; thousands are so framed, that they are but languidly consciousof their love of an object, unless while they feel themselves in anactive state of aversion to something which they can regard as itsopposite. --Thus we see Men, who had been proud of their attachment tohis Majesty's Ministers, during the awful struggle, as soon as it wasover, allowing on the first temptation that proud attachment to beconverted into immoderate suspicion, and a long experienced gratitudeinto sudden alienation. --Through this infirmity, many were betrayed intotaking part with the Men whom they had heretofore despised or condemned;and assisted them in reviling their own Government for suffering, amongthe States of the Continent, institutions to remain which therespective nations (surely the best, if not the only judges in the case)were unwilling to part with; and for having permitted things to be done, either just and proper in themselves, or if indeed abuses, abuses ofthat kind which Great Britain had neither right to oppose, nor power toprevent. Not a Frenchman is in arms in Spain! But (alas for the creditof the English Cabinet!) Ferdinand, though a lawful, appears to be asorry King; and the Inquisition, though venerated by the People of Spainas a holy tribunal, which has spread a protecting shade over theirreligion for hundreds of years, is, among Protestants, an abomination!Is that, however, a reason why we should not rejoice that Spain isrestored to the rank of an Independent nation; and that her resources donot continue at the disposal of a foreign Tyrant, for the annoyance ofGreat Britain? Prussia no longer receives decrees from the Tuilleries;but nothing, we are told, is gained by this deliverance; because theSovereign of that Country has not participated, as far as became him, apopular effervescence; and has withheld from his subjects certainprivileges which they have proved themselves, to all but heatedjudgments, not yet qualified to receive. Now, if numbers can blame, without cause, the British Cabinet for events falling below theirwishes, in cases remote from their immediate concerns, thereasonableness of their opinions may well be questioned in points whereselfish passion is touched to the quick. --Yes, in spite of the outcry ofsuch Men to the contrary, every enlightened Politician and discerningPatriot, however diffident as to what was the exact line of prudence insuch arduous circumstances, will reprobate the conduct of those who werefor reducing public expenditure with a precipitation that might haveproduced a convulsion in the State. The Habeas Corpus Act is also ourown near concern; it was suspended, some think without sufficient cause;not so, however, the Persons who had the best means of ascertaining thestate of the Country; for they could have been induced to have recourseto a measure, at all times so obnoxious, by nothing less than apersuasion of its expediency. 'But persuasion (an Objector will say) isproduced in many ways; and even that degree of it which in these matterspasses for conviction, depends less upon external testimony than on thehabits and feelings of those by whom the testimony is to be weighed anddecided upon. A council for the administration of affairs is far frombeing as favourably circumstanced as a tribunal of law; for the Party, which is to pronounce upon the case, has had to procure the evidence, the sum and quality of which must needs have been affected by previouslyexisting prejudices, and by any bias received in the process ofcollecting it. --The privileges of the subject, one might think, wouldnever be unjustifiably infringed, if it were only from considerations ofself-interest; but power is apt to resort to unnecessary rigour in orderto supply the deficiencies of _authority_ forfeited by remissness; it isalso not unfrequently exerted merely to shew that it is possessed; toshew this to others while power is a novelty, and when it has longceased to be so, to prove it to ourselves. Impatience of mind, moreover, puts men upon the use of strong and coarse tools, when those of lightermake and finer edge, with due care, might execute the work much better. Above all, timidity flies to extremes;--if the elements were at ourcommand, how often would an inundation be called for, when a fire-enginewould have proved equal to the service!--Much more might be urged inthis strain, and similar suggestions are all that the question willadmit of; for to suppose a gross appetite of tyranny in Government, would be an insult to the reader's understanding. Happily for theInhabitants of Westmoreland, as no dispositions existing among themcould furnish a motive for this restrictive measure, so they will not besorry that their remoteness from scenes of public confusion, has placedthem where they will be slow to give an unqualified opinion upon itsmerits. Yet it will not escape their discernment, that, if doubts mighthave been entertained whether the ignorant and distressed multitude, inother parts of the Island, were actually brought to a state thatjustified the suspension of this law, such doubts must have beenweakened, if not wholly removed, by the subsequent behaviour of those inthe upper ranks of society, who, in order to arraign the Government, anddenounce the laws, have seized every opportunity of palliating sedition, if not of exculpating treason. O far better to employ bad men in thedetection of foul conspiracies, than to excuse and shelter--(would thatI were allowed to confine myself to these words)--than to reward andhonour--every one that can contrive to make himself conspicuous bycourses which, wherever they are not branded with infamy, find thenational character in a state of degradation, ominous (if it shouldspread) for the existence of all that ought to be dear to Englishmen. 

But there are points of domestic policy in which his Majesty'sMinisters, not appearing in counterview with their Opponents, are seenless to their honour. Speaking as an Individual, and knowing that here Idiffer from many Freeholders with whom it is an honour to co-operate inthe present struggle, I must express my disapprobation of the patronageafforded by several persons in power, to a Society by which is virtuallypropagated the notion that Priesthood, and of course our own inestimableChurch Establishment, is superfluous. I condemn their sanction (and thisattaches to the whole body) of the malevolent and senseless abuse heapedupon the Clergy, in the matter of Tythes, through the medium of paperscirculated by the Agricultural Board. I deprecate the course which someamong them take in the Catholic Question, as unconstitutional; anddeplore the want of discernment evinced by men who persuade themselvesthat the discontents prevalent in Ireland will be either removed orabated by such concession. With these errors and weaknesses the Membersof the Administration (as appears to me) may be justly reproached; and astill heavier charge will lie against them, if the correction of thePoor Laws be longer deferred. May they exhibit, in treating thismomentous subject, a tenderness of undeceived humanity on the one side, and a sternness of enlightened state-policy on the other! Thus, and thusonly, can be checked immediately, and in due course of time perhapsremoved, an evil by which one claim and title is set in array againstanother, in a manner, and to an extent, that threatens utter subversionto the ancient frame of society. 

This is the heaviest burthen that now lies upon England!--Here is anecessity for reform which, as it cannot prosper unless it begin fromthe Government and the upper ranks in society, has no attraction fordemagogues and mob-exciting patriots. They understand their game; and, as if the people could in no way be so effectually benefited as byrendering their Government suspected, they declaim against taxes; and, by their clamours for reduction of public expenditure, drown thecounter-suggestions from the 'still small voice' of moderation appealingto circumstances. 'Cry aloud, and spare not!--Retrench and lop off!'and so they proceeded with the huzza of the multitude at their heels, till they had produced an extreme embarrassment in the Government, andinstant distress and misery among the People. 

One of the most importunate of that class of Economists which Parliamentcontained, now Gentlemen, solicits the honour of representing you; andmerit may perhaps be claimed for him for his exertions upon thatoccasion. If it be praiseworthy to have contributed to cast shoals ofour deserving countrymen adrift, without regard to their past services, that praise cannot be denied him; if it be commendable to have availedhimself of inordinate momentary passion to carry measures whereby thegeneral weal was sacrificed, whether designedly for the attainment ofpopularity, or in the self-applauding sincerity of a heated mind, thatpraise is due to Mr. Brougham and his coadjutors. But, to the judiciousFreeholders of Westmoreland, whether Gentry or Yeomanry, rich or poor, he will in vain adduce this, or any other part of the recent conduct ofOpposition, as a motive for strengthening their interests amongst us. No, Freeholders, we must wait; assuring them that they shall have areasonable portion of our support as soon as they have proved that theydeserve it!

Till that time comes, it will not grieve us that this County shouldsupply two Representatives to uphold the Servants of the Crown, even ifboth should continue, through unavoidable circumstances, to issue fromone Family amongst us. Till that change takes place, we will treat withscorn the senseless outcry for the recovery of an independence which hasnever been lost. We are, have been, and will remain, independent; andthe host of men, respectable on every account, who have publicly avowedtheir desire to maintain our present Representatives in their seats, deem it insolence to assert the contrary. They are independent in everyrational sense of the word; acknowledging, however, that they rest upona principle, and are incorporated with an interest; and this they regardas a proof that their affections are sane, and their understandingssuperior to illusion. But in certain vocabularies liberty is synonymouswith licence; and to be free, as explained by some, is to live and actwithout restraint. In like manner, independence, according to themeaning of their interpretation, is the explosive energy ofconceit--making blind havoc with expediency. It is a presumptuousspirit at war with all the passive worth of mankind. The independencewhich they boast of despises habit, and time-honoured forms ofsubordination; it consists in breaking old ties upon new temptations; incasting off the modest garb of private obligation to strut about in theglittering armour of public virtue; in sacrificing, with jacobinicalinfatuation, the near to the remote, and preferring, to what has beenknown and tried, that which has no distinct existence, even inimagination; in renouncing, with voluble tongue and vain heart, everything intricate in motive, and mixed in quality, in a downright passionof love for absolute, unapproachable patriotism! In short, theindependence these Reformers bawl for is the worthy precursor of theliberty they adore;--making her first essay by starting out of thecourse for the pleasure of falling into the ditch; and asserting herheaven-born vigour by soaring _above_ the level of humanity inprofession, that it may more conspicuously appear how far she can fall_below_ it in practice. 

To this spurious independence the Friends of our present Representativeslay no claim. They assert in the face of the world that thoseRepresentatives hold their seats by free election. --_That_ has placedthem there; and why should we wish to change what we do not disapproveof--that which could not have been without our approbation? But thisCounty has not for a long time been disturbed by electioneeringcontests. --Is there no species of choice, then, but that which isaccompanied with commotion and clamour? Do silent acquiescence anddeliberate consent pass for nothing? Being contented, what could we seekfor more? Being satisfied, why should we stir for stirring's sake?Uproar and disorder, even these we could tolerate on a justifyingoccasion; but it is no sign of prudence to court them unnecessarily, norof temper to invite them wantonly. He who resorts to substantialunruliness for the redress of imaginary grievances, provokes certainmischief; and often, in the end, produces calamity which would excitelittle compassion, could it be confined to its original author. 

Let those who think that they are degraded proclaim their own dishonour. _They_ choose to regard themselves as shackled Conscripts:--_we_ knowthat we are self-equipped Volunteers. If they cannot be easy withoutbranding themselves as slaves, we would endeavour to dissuade them fromsuch abuse of their free-agency; but if they persist, we cannotinterfere with their humour: only do not let them apply the iron to ourforeheads! They cry out that they have been in a lethargy; why do theynot add that they would have been asleep to this hour, if they had notbeen roused, in their vales and on their moors, by an officious andimpertinent call from the dirty alleys and obscure courts of theMetropolis?

If there be any honour in England, the composition of the Lowther Partymust be loyal and honourable. Its adversaries have admitted that a largemajority, they might have added nearly the whole, of the leading Gentry;that the Magistracy--all but a single Individual; that the Clergy andthe Members of the other liberal Professions--with very few exceptions;and a vast body of Tradesmen and Manufacturers, and of substantialYeomen, the honest Grey-coats of Westmoreland, have already declaredthemselves of one mind upon this appeal to their judgments. Looking to adistance, they see the worth and opulence, the weight of character, andthe dignity and respectability of station, that distinguish the numerouslist of Freeholders resident in London, who have jointly and publiclytestified their satisfaction in the conduct of our presentRepresentatives. The discontented see and know these things; and arewell aware also that the Lowthers cannot justly be accused of inordinateand disrespectful family ambition, inasmuch as it was not their wishthat the County should be represented by two Members of their House. Ithas long been no secret that if any other Gentleman of the Countyproperly qualified, whose _political principles did not substantiallydiffer from their own_, would have come forward, he would have been_sure of their support_. If they resist to the utmost persons of_opposite_ principles, the points in dispute being scarcely less thanvital, the more must they be respected by every zealous Patriot andconscientious Man. 

From what has been said, it appears that the political influence of thefamily of Lowther in Westmoreland is the natural and reasonableconsequence of a long-continued possession of largeproperty--furnishing, with the judicious Nobleman at its head, anobvious support, defence, and _instrument_ for the intelligentpatriotism of the County. I have said instrument, and laid an emphasisupon the word; because they who do not perceive that such is the truthare ignorant what shape, in these cases, social combinations must take, in order to be efficient and be preserved. Every great family which manyhave rallied round from congeniality of public sentiment, and for apolitical purpose, seems in course of time to direct, and in ordinarycases does direct, its voluntary adherents; but, if it should violatetheir wishes and shock their sense of right, it would speedily bereduced to such support only as it could _command_; and then would beseen who had been Principal, and who Secondary; to whom had belonged inreality the place of Agent, to whom that of the Employer. The sticklersfor _emancipation_ (a fashionable word in our times, when rationalacquiescence is deemed baseness of spirit, and the most enlightenedservice passes for benighted servility!) have been free on numerousoccasions to make the effort they are now making. Could any considerableperson have been found to share their feeling, they might have proposeda Representative unacceptable to the Family whose ascendancy theycomplain of, with a certainty of securing his election, had thegood-will of the Freeholders been on their side. What could possiblyhave prevented this trial? But they talk as if some mysterious power hadbeen used to their injury. Some call it 'a thraldom from without'--some'a drowsiness within. '--Mr. Brougham's Kendal Committee find fault withothers--the Chairman of the Appleby Committee is inclined to fix theblame nearer home. An accredited organ of their Kendal Committee tellsyou dogmatically, from the Bill of Rights, that '_Elections shall befree_;' and, if asked how the citation bears upon the case, his answerwould most likely prove him of opinion, that, as noise is sometimes anaccompaniment of freedom, so there can be no freedom without noise. Or, does the erudite Constitutionalist take this method of informing us, that the Lord Lieutenant has been accustomed to awe and controul theVoters of this County, as Charles the Second and his Brother attemptedto awe and controul those of the whole kingdom? If such be the meaningof the Writer and his Employers, what a pity Westmoreland has not aLunatic Asylum for the accommodation of the whole Body! In the samestrain, and from the same quarter, we are triumphantly told 'that noPeer of Parliament shall interfere in Elections. ' How injurious then tothese Monitors and their Cause the report of the Hereditary HighSheriff's massy subscription, and his zealous countenance! Let him beentreated formally to contradict it;--or would they have one law for aPeer who is a Friend to Administration, and another for such as are itsenemies? Is the same act to pass for culpable or praiseworthy, just asit thwarts, or furthers, the wishes of those who pronounce a judgmentupon it?

The approvers of that order of things in which we live and move, at thisday, as free Englishmen, are under no temptation to fall into thesecontradictions. They acknowledge that the general question is one ofgreat delicacy: they admit that laws cannot be openly slighted without abreach of decorum, even when the relations of things are so far alteredthat Law looks one way--and Reason another. Where such disagreementoccurs in respect to those Statutes which have the dignity ofconstitutional regulations, the less that is said upon the subject thebetter for the Country. But writers, who in such a case would gladlykeep a silent course, are often forced out of it by wily hypocrites, andby others, who seem unconscious that, as there are Pedants inLiterature, and Bigots in Religion, so are there Precisians inPolitics--men without experience, who contend for limits and restraintswhen the Power which those limits and restraints were intended toconfine is long since vanished. In the Statute-books Enactments of greatname stand unrepealed, which may be compared to a stately oak in thelast stage of decay, or a magnificent building in ruins. Respect andadmiration are due to both; and we should deem it profaneness to cutdown the one, or demolish the other. But are we, therefore, to be sentto the sapless tree for may-garlands, or reproached for not making themouldering ruin our place of abode? Government is essentially a matterof expediency; they who perceive this, and whose knowledge keeps pacewith the changes of society, lament that, when Time is gently carryingwhat is useless or injurious into the back-ground, he must beinterrupted in the process by Smatterers and Sciolists--intent uponmisdirecting the indignation of the simple, and feeding the ill-humoursof the ignorant. How often do such men, for no better purpose, remindtheir disciples of the standing order that declares it to be 'a highinfringement of the liberties and privileges of the Commons, for anyLord of Parliament to concern himself in the election of members, toserve for the Commons in Parliament. '--This vote continues to be readpublicly at the opening of every Session, --but practice rises up againstit; and, without censuring the Custom, or doubting that it might besalutary when first established, (though it is not easily reconcileablewith the eligibility of the eldest sons of Peers to the lower House, without any other qualification than their birth, ) we may be permittedto be thankful that subsequent experience is not rendered useless to theliving by the formal repetition of a voice from the tombs. Better is itthat laws should remain till long trial has proved them an incumbrance, than that they should be too hastily changed; but this considerationneed not prevent the avowal of an opinion, which every practicalStatesman will confirm, that, if the property of the Peers were not, according to the will and by the care of the owners, substantiallyrepresented by Commoners, to a proportionate extent under theirinfluence, their large Estates would be, for them, little better thansand liable to be blown about in the desart, and their privileges, however useful to the country, would become fugitive as foam upon thesurface of the sea. --(_See Note_. )

I recollect a picture of Diogenes going about in search of an honestman. The philosopher bore a staff in one hand, and a lantern in theother. Did the latter accompaniment imply that he was a perseveringSpirit who would continue his labour by night as well as by day? Or wasit a stroke of satire on the part of the painter, indicating that, asDiogenes was a surly and conceited Cynic, he preferred darkness for histime of search, and a scanty and feeble light of his own carrying, tothe bounteous assistance of the sun in heaven? How this might be withDiogenes, I know not; but assuredly thus it fares with ourReformers:--The Journal of some venal or factious scribbler is the blackand smoky lantern they are guided by; and the sunshine spread over theface of a happy country is of no use in helping them to find any objectthey are in search of. --The plea of the degraded state of theRepresentation of Westmoreland has been proved to be rotten;--if certaindiscontented persons desire to erect a building on a new plan, why notlook about for a firm foundation? The dissatisfied ought honestly toavow, that their aim is to elect a Man, whose principles differ fromthose of the present Members to an extreme which takes away all hope, oreven wish, that the interest he is to depend upon should harmonize withthe interest hitherto prevalent in the County. Every thing short of thisleaves them subject to a charge of acting upon false pretences, unlessthey prefer being accused of harbouring a pharisaical presumption, thatwould be odious were it not ridiculous. If the state of society inWestmoreland be as corrupt as they describe, what, in the name ofwonder, has preserved _their_ purity? Away then with hypocrisy andhollow pretext; let us be no longer deafened with a rant about throwingoff intolerable burthens, and repelling injuries, and avenging insults!Say at once that you disapprove of the present Members, and would haveothers more to your own liking; you have named your Man, or rathernecessity has named him for you. Your ship was reduced to extremities;it would have been better to abandon her--you thought otherwise; willyou listen then while I shew that the Pilot, who has taken charge of thevessel, is ignorant of the soundings, and that you will have cause to bethankful if he does not prove very desperate in the management of thehelm?

The Lands of England, you will recollect, Gentlemen, are originallysupposed to be holden by grants from the King, our liege Lord; and theConstitution of the Country is accordingly a mellowed feudality. Theoldest and most respectable name for a County Representative is, KNIGHTOF THE SHIRE. In the reign of Queen Anne it was enacted, that everyKnight of the Shire (the eldest sons of Peers and a few others excepted)shall have a clear estate of Freehold or Copyhold to the value of £600per annum. The same qualification continues to be required at this day;and, if the depreciation of money and other causes have injuriouslyaffected the _Letter_ of the Statute, the _Spirit_ of it has not onlybeen preserved in practice, but carried still higher. Hence we scarcelyscruple to take for granted that a County Representative is a man ofsubstantial landed property; or stands in such known relation to aconspicuous Estate that he has in it a valuable interest; and that, whoever be the possessor, such Estate may be looked upon as a pledge forhis conduct. 

The basis of the elective Franchise being property, the legal conditionof eligibility to a seat in Parliament is the same. Our ancestors werenot blind to the _moral_ considerations which, if they did not suggestthese ordinances, established a confidence in their expediency. Knowingthat there could be no _absolute_ guarantee for integrity, and thatthere was no _certain_ test of discretion and knowledge, for bodies ofmen, the prudence of former times turned to the best substitute humannature would admit of, and civil society furnished. This was property;which shewed that a man had something that might be impaired or lost bymismanagement; something which tended to place him above dependence fromneed; and promised, though it did not insure, some degree of educationto produce requisite intelligence. To be a Voter required a fixedProperty, or a defined privilege; to be voted for, required more; andthe scale of demand rose with the responsibility incurred. A Knight ofthe Shire must have double the Estate required from a Representative ofa Borough. This is the old Law; and the course of things since hascaused, as was observed above, that high office to devolve almostexclusively on Persons of large Estate, or their near connections. Andwhy is it desirable that we should not deviate from this track? If wewish for honesty, we shall select men who, not being subject to one ofthe strongest temptations to be otherwise than honest, will incurheavier disgrace, and meet with less indulgence, if they disappoint us. Do we wish for sage conduct, our choice will fall upon those who havethe wisdom that lurks in circumstances, to supply what may be deficientin their personal accomplishments. But, if there _be_ a deficiency, thefault must lie with the Electors themselves. When persons of largeproperty are confided in, we cannot plead want of opportunities forbeing acquainted with them. Men of large estates cannot but be men ofwide concerns; and thus it is that they become known in proportion. Extensive landed property entails upon the possessor many duties, andplaces him in divers relations, by which he undergoes a public trial. Isa man just in his dealings? Does he keep his promises? Does he pay hisdebts punctually? Has he a feeling for the poor? Is his Family wellgoverned? Is he a considerate Landlord? Does he attend to his ownaffairs; and are those of others, which have fallen under his care, diligently and judiciously managed? Answers to these questions, wherethe Subject of them has but an inconsiderable landed Property, can onlybe expected from a very narrow circle of Neighbours;--but place him atthe head of a large Estate, and knowledge of what he is in theseparticulars must spread to a distance; and it will be further known howhe has acted as a Magistrate, and in what manner he has fulfilled theduties of every important office which he may have been called to, byvirtue of his possessions. 

Such are the general principles of reason which govern law, and justifypractice in this weighty matter. The decision is not to take place uponimagination or conjecture. It is not to rest upon professions of theCandidate, or protestations of his Friends. As a County Representativeis to be voted for by many--many must have opportunities of knowing him;or, failing that intimate knowledge, we require the pledge of condition, the bond and seal of circumstance. Otherwise we withhold our confidence, and cannot be prevailed upon to give, to the opinions of an Individualunbacked by these advantages, the countenance and authority which theymight derive from being supposed to accord with those of numerousConstituents scattered over a wide Country, and therefore less liable tobe affected by partial views, or sudden and transitory passion--todiminish their value. 

The Freeholders of past times knew that their rights were most likely torepose in safety, under the shade of rank and property. Adventurers hadno estimation among them; there was no room for them--no place for themto appear in. --Think of this, and ask if your Fathers, could they risefrom their tombs, would not have stared, with no small degree of wonder, upon the Person who now solicits the Suffrages of the County ofWestmoreland. What are his Rents--Where are his comings in? He isengaged in an undertaking of great expence--how is that expencesupplied? From his own purse? Impossible! Where are the golden sinewswhich this Champion of Independence depends upon? If they be furnishedby those who have no natural connection with the County, are we simpleenough to believe that they dip their hands into their pockets out ofpure good-will to us? May they not rather justly be suspected of a wishto embroil us for some sinister purpose? At all events, it might be somesatisfaction would they shew themselves, so that, if we are to have aSubscription-candidate, we may know what sort of Persons he is indebtedto, and at least be able to _guess_ what they will require of him. 

The principles that have been laid down, and the facts which have beenadverted to, might seem to render it superfluous to retrace the publicconduct of Mr. Brougham, and to enquire whether, in Parliament or at theLondon Tavern, in Palace Yard or elsewhere, those acts and courses, towhich he himself refers as his _only_ recommendation, do not still moreunfit him for the trust which he covets. But Persons fond of noveltymake light of deficiencies which would have admitted of no compensationin the judgment of our Ancestors; and the Candidate, being in no respectremarkable for deference to public opinion, is willing to avail himselfof new-fangled expectations. Hence it becomes necessary to consider whatwould be the _political value of the Freeholds of Westmoreland_, if thesystem of Annual Parliaments and Universal Suffrage (countenanced by Mr. Brougham) should be acted upon. But, as there has been much saying andunsaying on this subject, let us review the case. 

In the House of Commons, on the 17th of February, 1817, Lord Cochraneaffirmed, that, on a certain day which he named, Mr. Brougham, at adinner given at the London Tavern, to the Friends of ParliamentaryReform, used the following words, or words to the same effect:--'Asoften as we have required that Parliaments should be chosen yearly, andthat the elective Franchise should be extended to all who pay taxes, wehave been desired to wait, for the enemy was at the gate, and ready toavail himself of the discords attending our political contests, in orderto undermine our national independence. This argument is gone, and ourAdversaries must now look for another. He had mentioned the two radicaldoctrines of _yearly election_, and the _Franchise enjoyed by all payingtaxes_; but it would be superfluous to reason in favour of them here, where all are agreed on the subject. '

When this, and other passages of like import, were produced by Lord C. In a paper declared to be in Mr. Brougham's handwriting, and to be areport made by himself of the speech then and there delivered, did Mr. Brougham deny that the handwriting was his, and that those words hadfallen from his pen, as the best image that his own memory could furnishof what he had uttered? No--he gave vent only to a vague complaint ofgroundless aspersions; and accused certain persons of rashness andimprudence, and of not waiting only for a few days longer, when theywould have had a full and fair opportunity of hearing his sentiments onthis momentous subject. He then acknowledged that some observations hadfallen from him _similar_ to what had been read by the Noble Lord; andadded, that he then said, or at least meant to be understood as saying, (he takes no notice of what he wrote or meant to be understood aswriting, ) _what he still maintained_--'that the power of election shouldhe limited _to those who paid direct taxes_;' in other and more faithfulwords, should be _extended_ to all persons in that condition. Mr. B. Proceeded manfully to scout the notion, that the mere production of aspeech delivered by him at a Tavern would make him swerve from the lineof his duty, from the childish desire of keeping up an appearance ofconsistency!

What then is the amount? On the 23d of June, 1814, (it cannot be unfairto state as a fact, that a vacancy in the Representation of Westminsterwas at that time looked for, ) Mr. B. Either was, or wished to be, accounted an Advocate of Annual Parliaments and Suffrage to be enjoyedby all paying taxes; and on the 17th of February, 1817, when Mr. B. Inanother place is reminded of these, his avowed opinions, he is utterlymute upon the subject of Annual Parliaments, on the expediency of whichhe had before harangued at length, and confines himself to announce, asthe sum of his then opinion, that suffrage should _be co-extensive withdirect taxation_! The question had two faces, and Mr. B. Chooses only tolook at one. Hard pressed as he was, we cannot grant him thisindulgence. He has, indeed, denounced, on other occasions, the_combined_ doctrines of Annual Parliaments and Universal Suffrage aschimerical and absurd; though how near he came to the point ofrecommending both, at the London Tavern, he is any thing but explicit;(in fact both, as Lord C. Shewed, _were_ virtually recommended by him. )But what does he think of Annual Parliaments, in _conjunction_ with hisrectified opinion of Suffrage, co-extensive with direct taxation? Herehe leaves us wholly in the dark; but if the turbulent workings of Mr. Brougham's mind, and his fondness for contentious exhibition, manifestedon all possible occasions, may be admitted as positive evidence, tocorroborate the negative which his silence on this point implies, we arejustified in believing that his passions were on that side, whatevermight be the bent of his cooler judgment. But this is of little import. 

Introduce suffrage co-extensive with direct taxation, and AnnualParliaments must unavoidably follow. The clumsy simplicity of the onearrangement would, in the eyes of its Admirers, match strikingly withthe palpable expediency of the other. Such a union is equally suitableto an age of gross barbarism and an age of false philosophy. It isamusing to hear this plan of suffrage for all who pay direct taxesrecommended as consonant to the genius and spirit of the BritishConstitution, when, in fact, though sufficiently rash and hazardous, itis no better than a timid plagiarism from the doctrine of the Rights ofMan. Upon the model of that system, it begins with flagrant injustice to_chartered_ rights; for if it were adopted, the elective Franchises thatnow exist would be depreciated accordingly; an invidious process forthose who would lose by the alteration; and still more invidious forthose to whom the privilege would not be suffered to descend. Alas! I amtrifling with the subject! If the spirit of a People, composed as thatof England now is, were once put into a ferment, by organizing ademocracy on this scheme, and to this extent, with a Press as free andlicentious as our's has long been, what a flimsy barrier would remain tocheck the impetus of the excluded! When, in thousands, they bore downupon the newly constituted House of Assembly, demanding to be placedupon a level with their fellow-subjects, it would avail little to send aPeace-officer to enquire--where are your vouchers? Shew us that theTax-gatherer has been among you! As soon as the petty Artizans, Shop-keepers, and Pot-house Keepers, of our over-grown ManufacturingTowns and our enormous Cities, had each and all been invested with theright of voting, the infection would spread like a plague. --Ourneighbours on the Continent tried this plan of direct taxation; and, inthe beginning of the third year of _their_ Reform, Universal Suffrage, which had long ruled in spirit, lorded it in form also, from thePyrenees to the Rhine, and from the Straits of Calais to the Shores ofthe Mediterranean. Down went the throne of France! and, if we shouldtake the same guide, the Throne of England must submit a second time toa like destiny. Most of us would deem this a considerable evil--thegreatest political evil that could befal the Land! Not so, however, ournew Candidate! unless his opinion, if, indeed, he ever _held_ what maybe called an opinion upon any thing, has undergone important changessince the time when he expressed himself in the following words:--'Whentrade and the arts of civilized life have been carried to a certainlength, war is the greatest calamity that can befal a community. Anystate in modern Europe would be so completely ruined by the contestswhich Athens and Carthage easily supported, that it would be a matter oftotal indifference, whether the war was a series of victories ordisasters. The return of Peace to France or England, after half so longa contest as either the Peloponnesian or the Punic wars, _would becheaply purchased by any conquest or revolution, any change of dynastyor overthrow of Government_. '--See vol. I. P. 13, of _Colonial Policy_, by H. Brougham. 

The above was given to the world when we were at war with Bonaparte; andthat part of the English nation, who might read the book or hear of thisauthor's doctrines, was plainly told, that, in _his_ estimation, ourConstitutional liberties were not worthy of being defended at the costof a 14 years' war! But the unsuspecting, humane, and hope-cherishingadherents of the new Candidate will tell you, this does not prove thatMr. B. Sets a small price on the Constitution and Laws of England; itonly shews his tender-heartedness, and his extreme aversion to thehorrors and devastation of war. --Hear then Mr. B. On these points also. Let his _serious_ Friends take from his pen this pleasant description, which proves at least that he can be _jocular_ upon a subject that makesmost men grave; although they may not think twice seven years' war sogreat a calamity as _any_ conquest or _Revolution_, any change ofdynasty or _overthrow_ of _Government_. --'A species of pecuniarycommutation, ' he tells us, 'has been contrived, by which the operationsof war are rendered very harmless; they are performed by some hundredsof sailors fighting _harmlessly_ on the barren plains of the ocean, andsome thousands of soldiers carrying on a scientific, and regular, and_quiet_ system of warfare, in countries _set apart for the purpose_, andresorted to as the arena where the disputes of nations may bedetermined. The prudent policy had been adopted of _purchasing defeat_at a distance rather than victory at home; in this manner we _paid ourallies for being vanquished; a few useless millions, and a few moreuseless lives were sacrificed_; and the result was, that we were amplyrewarded by safety, increased resources, and real addition of power. '(_Edinburgh Review_, No. II. , and ascertained to be the writing of Mr. Brougham, by his having incorporated it in his _Colonial Policy_. )

The new Candidate challenges the strictest scrutiny into his publiclife, so that had we gone much farther than the above retrospect, weshould only have been fulfilling his own wishes. Personal enmity towardsthe Subject, the Writer has none; being, in all that concerns thefeelings of private life, friendly to Mr. Brougham, rather thanotherwise. That his talents and habits of application entitle him to nocommon respect, must be universally acknowledged; but talents in_themselves merely_ are, in the eyes of the judicious, norecommendation. If a sword be sharp, it is of the more importance toask--What use it is likely to be put to? In government, if we can keepclear of mischief, good will come of itself. Fitness is the thing to besought; and unfitness is much less frequently caused by generalincapacity than by absence of that kind of capacity which the chargedemands. Talent is apt to generate presumption and self-confidence; andno qualities are so necessary, in a Legislator, as the opposites ofthese--which, if they do not imply the existence of sagacity, are thebest substitutes for it--whether they produce, in the generaldisposition of the mind, an humble reliance on the wisdom of ourForefathers, and a sedate yielding to the pressure of existing things;or carry the thoughts still higher, to religious trust in asuperintending Providence, by whose permission laws are ordered andcustoms established, for other purposes than to be perpetually foundfault with. 

These suggestions are recommended to the consideration of our newAspirant, and of all those public men whose judgments are perverted, andtempers soured, by long struggling in the ranks of opposition, andincessant bustling among the professors of Reform. I shall not recall tonotice further particulars, because time, by softening asperities orremoving them out of sight, is a friend to benevolence. Although arigorous investigation has been invited, it is well that there is noneed to run through the rash assertions, the groundless accusations, andthe virulent invectives that disfigure the speeches of this never-silentMember. All these things, offensive to moderate men, are too much to thetaste of many of Mr. Brougham's partizans in Westmoreland. But I callupon those who relish these deviations from fair and honourabledealing--upon those also of his adherents who are inwardly ashamed oftheir Champion, on this account--and upon all the Freeholders concernedin the general question, to review what has been laid before them. Having done this, they cannot but admit that Mr. Brougham's_independence_ is a dark _dependence_, which no one understands--and, that if a jewel _has_ been lost in Westmoreland, his are not the eyes bywhich it is to be found again. If the dignity of Knight of the Shire isto be conferred, _he_ cannot be pronounced a fit person to receive it. For whether, my Brother Freeholders, you look at the humbleness of hissituation amongst Country Gentlemen; or at his amphibious habits, in thetwo elements of Law and Authorship, and the odd vagaries he has playedin both; or whether he be tried by the daring opinions which, by his ownacknowledgment, he has maintained in Parliament, and at public meetings, on the subject of the elective Franchise; we meet with concurring proofsthat HE IS ALTOGETHER UNFIT TO REPRESENT THIS, OR ANY OTHER COUNTY!

If, notwithstanding the truth of this inference, Mr. Brougham's talents, information, and activity make it desirable that he should have a placein the House of Commons, why cannot they who are of this opinion becontent, since he is already there? What service he is capable ofrendering may be as effectually performed, should he never aspire beyondre-election to one of those seats which he now fills. The good, if anyis to be looked for, may then be obtained with much less risk of evil. While he continues a Member for a close Borough, his dangerous opinionsare left mainly to the support of his own character, and the argumentswhich his ingenuity can adduce to recommend them; but should they derivethat degree of sanction from the Freeholders of a County, which successin his present undertaking would imply, they might become trulyformidable!--Let every one, then, who cannot accompany Mr. B. In hisbold theories, and does not go the length of admiring the composition ofhis political life, be cautious how he betakes himself to such help, inorder to reduce, within what he may deem due bounds, the influence of aFamily prominent in the civil service of the County from the earliesttimes. It is apparent, if the Writer has not employed his pen in vain, that against this influence there is no just ground of complaint. Theywho think with him will continue to uphold it, as long as the Familyproves that it understands its own interest and honour by a judiciousattention to our's. And should it forfeit our respect by misconduct, inthe unavoidable decline of its political importance which would ensue, we should not envy that House its splendid possessions or its manifoldprivileges; knowing that some Families must be permanently great andopulent, or there would be no security for the possessions of the middleranks, or of the humble Proprietor. But, looking at the presentconstitution and measure of this influence, you cannot but perceive, Gentlemen, that, if there were _indeed_ any thing in it that couldjustly be complained of, our duty might still be to bear with the localevil, as correcting an opposite extreme in some other quarter of theIsland;--as a counterpoise of some weight elsewhere pressing injuriouslyupon the springs of social order. How deplorable would be the ignorance, how pitiful the pride, that could prevent us from submitting to apartial evil for the sake of a general good! In fine, if a comprehensivesurvey enjoined no such sacrifice, and even if all that the unthinking, the malevolent, and the desperate, all that the deceivers and thedeceived, have conjointly urged at this time against the House ofLowther, were literally true, you would be cautious how you sought aremedy for aristocratic oppression, by throwing yourselves into the armsof a flaming democracy!

Government and civil Society are things of infinite complexity, and rashPoliticians are the worst enemies of mankind; because it is mainlythrough them that rational liberty has made so little progress in theworld. You have heard of a Profession to which the luxury of moderntimes has given birth, that of Landscape-Gardeners, or Improvers ofPleasure-grounds. A competent Practitioner in this elegant art begins byconsidering every object, that he finds in the place where he is calledto exercise his skill, as having a right to remain, till the contrary beproved. If it be a deformity he asks whether a slight alteration may notconvert it into a beauty; and he destroys nothing till he has convincedhimself by reflection that no alteration, no diminution or addition, canmake it ornamental. Modern Reformers reverse this judicious maxim. If athing is before them, so far from deeming that it has on that account aclaim to continue and be deliberately dealt with, its existence withthem is a sufficient warrant for its destruction. Institutions are to besubverted, Practices radically altered, and Measures to be reversed. All men are to change their places, not because the men areobjectionable, or the place is injurious, but because certain Pretendersare eager to be at work, being tired of both. Some are forward, throughpruriency of youthful talents--and Greybeards hobble after them, in whomnumber of years is a cloak for poverty of experience. Some who have muchleisure, because every affair of their own has withered under theirmismanagement, are eager to redeem their credit, by stirring gratis forthe public;--others, having risen a little in the world, take_swimmingly_ to the trade of factious Politics, on their original stockof base manners and vulgar opinions. Some are theorists hot forpractice, others hacknied Practitioners who never had a theory; many arevain, and must be busy; and almost as many are needy--and the spirit ofjustice, deciding upon their own merits, will not suffer them to remainat rest. 

The movement made among us, my countrymen of Westmoreland, was preceded, announced, and prepared, by _such_ Agitators, disseminating falsehoodsand misrepresentations, equally mischievous, whether they proceeded fromwilful malice or presumptuous ignorance. Take warning in time. Be notpersuaded to unite with them who, whether they intend you injury or not, cannot but prove your enemies. Let not your's be the first County inEngland, which, since the days of Wilkes, and after the dreadful exampleof France, has given countenance to principles congenial to the vice, profligacy, and half-knowledge of Westminster; but which formerly wereunheard of among us, or known only to be detested. Places, Pensions, andformidable things, if you like! but far better these, with our King andConstitution, with our quiet fire-sides and flourishing fields, thanproscription and confiscation, without them! Long wars, and theirunavoidable accompaniment, heavy taxes--both these evils are liable tointemperate exaggeration; but, be they what they may, would there beless of war and lighter taxes, as so many grumblers loudly preach, andtoo many submissive spirits fondly believe, if the House of Commons werealtered into one of more popular frame, with more frequent opportunitiesgiven of changing the persons sent thither? A reference to the twentyyears which succeeded the Revolution, may suffice to shew the fallacy ofsuch expectations. Parliaments were then triennial, and democraticprinciples fashionable even among the Servants of the Crown. Yet, duringthat space of time, wars were almost incessant; and never were burthensimposed so far above the apparent ability of the Nation to support them. Having adverted to the warlike measures of those reigns merely tosupport my argument, I cannot forbear to applaud the high-spiritedEnglishmen of that age. Our forefathers were tried, as we have beentried--and their virtue did not sink under the duties which the decreesof Providence imposed upon it. They triumphed, though less signally thanwe have done;--following their example, let us now cultivate fortitude, encourage hope and chearful industry; and give way to enterprise. Sowill prosperity return. The stream, which has been checked, will flowwith recruited vigour--and, when another century shall have passed away, the ambition of France will be as little formidable to our then-existingPosterity as it is now to us. But the lessons of History must bestudied;--they teach us that, under every form of civil polity, war willcontrive to lift up its head, and most pertinaciously in those Stateswhere the People have most sway. When I recur to these admonitions, itis to entreat that the discontented would exercise their understandings, rather than consult their passions; first separating real from mistakengrievances, and then endeavouring to ascertain (which cannot be donewith a glance of the mind) how much is fairly attributable to theGovernment; how much to ourselves; and how large a portion of what wehave to endure has been forced upon us by a foreign Power, over whom wecould exercise no controul but by arms. The course here recommended willkeep us, as we are, free and happy--will preserve us from what, throughwant of these and like precautions, other Nations have been hurriedinto--domestic broils, sanguinary tribunals, civil slaughter in thefield, anarchy, and (sad cure and close of all!) tranquillity under theiron grasp of military despotism. Years before this catastrophe, whatwould have become of your Elective Franchise, Freeholders ofWestmoreland? The Coadjutors of the obscure Individuals who, from adistance, first excited this movement under a pretence of recoveringyour Rights, would have played the whirlwind among your Property, andcrushed you, less perhaps out of malice, than because, in their frenzy, they could not help it. 

A conviction that the subject is ill understood by those who wereunprepared for what has just been said, is the excuse to my own mind, Gentlemen, for having made so protracted a demand upon your attention. The ruinous tendencies of this self-flattering enterprize can only bechecked by timely and general foresight. The contest in which we areengaged has been described by Persons noticing it from a distance, asthe work of a Cabal of Electioneering Jobbers, who have contrived to setup the Thanet against the Lowther interests, that both Parties mightspend their money for the benefit of those who cared for neither. TheThanet interest in the County of Westmoreland!--one might almost as welltalk of an interest in the moon! The Descendant of the Cliffords has notthought it worth while to recommend himself to the Electors, by thecourse either of his public or his private life; and therefore, thoughhis purse may have weight, and his possessions are considerable, hehimself, in reference to the supposed object, is nothing. If this hadbeen really an attempt made by a numerous body of malcontent Freeholdersto carry their wishes for a change into effect, by placing at their headsome _approved_ Chief of an ancient Family, possessed of realconsequence in the County, the proceeding, considered in the abstract, could not have been objected to. This County is, and ever was, open tofair and honourable contest, originating in principles sanctioned bygeneral practice; and carried on by means which, if universally adopted, would not be injurious to the State. But the present measure stands notupon any such grounds; it is an attempt, no matter with what ultimateview, TO EFFECT A TOTAL CHANGE IN THE CHARACTER OF COUNTY ELECTIONS;beginning here with the expectation, as is openly avowed, of beingimitated elsewhere. It _reverses_ the order hitherto pursued. Instead ofaiming to influence the less wealthy and less instructed Freeholdersthrough the medium of those whom they have been accustomed to confidein--instead of descending by legitimate gradations from high to lower, from the well-instructed and widely-experienced to those who have nothad equal advantages--it commences at the bottom; far beneath the degreeof the poorest Freeholders; and works upwards, with an inflammatoryappeal to feelings that owe their birth to previous mistatement offacts. Opulence, rank, station, privilege, distinction, intellectualculture--the notions naturally following upon these in a Country likeEngland are protection, succour, guidance, example, dissemination ofknowledge, introduction of improvements, and all the benefits andblessings that among Freemen are diffused, where authority like theparental, from a sense of community of interest and the natural goodnessof mankind, is softened into brotherly concern. This is no Utopianpicture of the characteristics of elevated rank, wealth, competence, andlearned and liberal education in England; for, with the liberty ofspeech and writing that prevails amongst us, if such rays of light andlove did not generally emanate from superiority of station, possessions, and accomplishment, the frame of society, which we behold, could notsubsist. Yes--in spite of pride, hardness of heart, grasping avarice, and other selfish passions, the not unfrequent concomitants of affluenceand worldly prosperity, the mass of the people are justly dealt with, and tenderly cherished;--accordingly, gratitude without servility;dispositions to prompt return of service, undebased by officiousness;and respectful attachment, that, with small prejudice to theunderstanding, greatly enriches the heart: such are the sentiments withwhich Englishmen of the humblest condition have been accustomed to lookup towards their Friends and Benefactors. Among the holders of fixedproperty (whether labourers in the field or artisans); among those whoare fortunate enough to have an interest in the soil of their Country;these human sentiments of civil life are strengthened by additionaldependencies. --I am aware how much universal habits of rapaciousspeculation, occasioned by fluctuations in the value of produce duringthe late war--how much the spread of manufactories and the balefuloperation of the Poor Laws, have done to impair these indigenous andsalutary affections. I am conscious of the sad deterioration, and no onecan lament it more deeply; but sufficient vitality is left in the Stockof ancient virtue to furnish hope that, by careful manuring, and skilfulapplication of the knife to the withered branches, fresh shoots mightthrive in their place--were it not for the base artifices of Malignants, who, pretending to invigorate the tree, pour scalding water andcorrosive compounds among its roots; so that the fibres are killed inthe mould by which they have been nourished. 

That for years such artifices have been employed in Westmoreland, and ina neighbouring County, with unremitting activity, must be known to all. Whatever was disliked has been systematically attacked, by the vilifyingof persons connected with it. The Magistrates and public Functionaries, up to the Lord Lieutenant himself, have been regularly traduced--asunfaithful to their trust; the Clergy habitually derided--astime-servers and slavish dependants; and the Gentry, if conspicuous forattachment to the Government, stigmatized--as Men without honour orpatriotism, and leagued in conspiracy against the Poor. After thismanner have the Provincial Newspapers (the chief agents in this localmischief, ) concurred with the disaffected London Journals, who wereplaying the same part towards laws and institutions, and generalmeasures of State, by calumniating the principal Authorities of theKingdom. Hence, instead of gratitude and love, and confidence and hope, are resentment and envy, mistrust and jealousy, and hatred and rancour, inspired:--and the drift of all is, to impress the Body of the Peoplewith a belief that neither justice can be expected, nor benevolencehoped for, unless power be transferred to Persons least resembling thosewho now hold it; that is--to Demagogues and Incendiaries!

It will be thought that this attempt is too extravagant to be dangerous;inasmuch as every member of society, possessed of weight and authority, must revolt from such a transfer, and abhor the issues to which itpoints. Possessed of weight and authority--with whom? These Agitators_have_ weight and authority there, where they seek for it, that is withno small portion of what they term the physical strength of the Country. The People have ever been the dupes of extremes. VAST GAINS WITH LITTLEPAINS, is a jingle of words that would be an appropriate inscription forthe insurrectionary banner of unthinking humanity. To walk--towind--towards a thing that is coveted--how unattractive an operationcompared with leaping upon it at once!--Certainly no one possessed of_legitimate authority_ can desire such a transfer as we have been forcedto contemplate; but he may aid in bringing it about, without desiringit. Numerous are the courses of civil action in which men of puredispositions and honourable aims, are tempted to take part with thosewho are utterly destitute of both. Be not startled, if, merely glancingat the causes of this deplorable union, as it is now exhibited in thispart of England, I observe, that there is no necessary connectionbetween public spirit and political sagacity. How often does it happenthat right intention is averse to inquiry as casting a damp upon its ownzeal, and a suspicion upon the intrinsic recommendation of its object!Good men turn instinctively from inferences unfavourable to humannature. But there are facts which are not to be resisted, where theunderstanding is sound. The self-styled Emancipators have tried theirstrength; if there were any thing promising to England in their efforts, we should have seen this Country arrayed in opposite Parties resemblingeach other in quality and composition. Little of that appears. Thepromoters of the struggle did not hope for such a result; and many ofthem would not have wished for it, could they have expected to becarried through by that ruinous division of the upper from the lowerranks of society, on which they mainly relied. 

But, Freeholders, wicked devices have not done the service that wasexpected from them. You are upon your guard; the result of this canvasshas already shewn that a vast majority of you are proof against assault, and remain of sound mind. Such example of Men abiding by the rules oftheir Forefathers cannot but encourage others, who yet hesitate, todetermine in favour of the good cause. The more signal the victory thegreater will be the honour paid to fixed and true principles, and thefirmer our security against the recurrence of like innovations. At allevents, enough, I trust, has been effected by the friends of our presentRepresentatives to protect those who have been deceived, and may not intime awaken from their delusion. May their eyes be opened, and at nodistant day; so that, perceiving the benefits which the laws, as nowenacted and administered, ensure to their native Land, they may feeltowards you who make the wiser choice the gratitude which you will havedeserved. --The beginnings of great troubles are mostly of comparativeinsignificance;--a little spark can kindle a mighty conflagration, and asmall leak will suffice to sink a stately vessel. To that loyal decisionof the event now pending, which may be confidently expected, Britain mayowe the continuance of her tranquillity and freedom; the maintenance ofthe justice and equity for which she is pre-eminent among nations; andthe preservation of her social comforts, her charitable propensities, her morals and her religion. Of this, as belonging to the future, wecannot speak with certainty; but not a doubt can exist that thepractices which led to the destruction of all that was venerable in aneighbouring Country, have upon this occasion been industriously, unscrupulously, eagerly resorted to. --But my last words shall be wordsof congratulation and thanksgiving--upon a bright prospect that thewishes will be crossed, and the endeavours frustrated, of those amongstus who, without their own knowledge, were ready to relinquish every goodwhich they and we possess, by uniting with overweening Reformers--tocompose the VANGUARD OF A FEROCIOUS REVOLUTION!

A FREEHOLDER. 

Westmoreland, February 24, 1818. 

 * * * * *

NOTE. 

I have not scrupled to express myself strongly on this subject, perceiving what use is made by the Opposite Party of those resolutionsof the House of Commons. In support of my opinion I quote the followingfrom the 'CARLISLE PATRIOT' of the 14th of February, premising, with theAuthor of the Letter from which it is extracted, that by far thegreatest number of opulent Landholders are Members of the upper House, and that the richest subjects are some of its Peers:--

'The Peers of Great Britain, stripped as they now are of the overgrownimportance which they derived from the Feudal System, have made noacquisition of political influence to compensate for the loss of it, byan increasing extension of patronage, either collectively orindividually, like the crown; nor have the various circumstancesoperated upon their body in any considerable degree, which have effectedsuch a radical and powerful accumulation of consequence and importancein the Lower House. Add to this, that the general sentiment or feelingthat commonly exists between them and the body of the people bears noanalogy to the vivid principles of affectionate loyalty that tend sostrongly to secure and guard the person and rights of the King, or thereciprocal sympathy of congenial interests that acts and directs sopowerfully betwixt the Commons and the Community in general. On thecontrary, the spirit that exists betwixt the Peers as a collectivelydistinct body, and the people at large, is a spirit of _repulsion_rather than of attraction. In a corporate light, they are viewed with nosentiments of kindly affection, and therefore upon the supposition of apolitical contest betwixt them and either of the other two Estates, theywould inevitably labour under the disadvantage of carrying it on againstall the force of the prejudices, which to a great extent always directspopular opinion; hence, amidst all the contests and straggles which haveagitated or convulsed the Kingdom since the Reign of Henry the Seventh, the political importance of the Peers, considered as an Estate ofParliament, has been rather diminished than increased; and were such ademocratical House of Commons as our modern Patriots so loudly call for, to be efficiently formed, the constitutional equilibrium of our enviedpublic system would be infallibly destroyed, and the spirit of ourLegislative Body, which in a great measure awards influence inproportion to property, completely abrogated:--and it is in vain tosuppose that if even such a change was desirable, it could possibly beeffected without producing a train of incalculable miseries that wouldmuch more than overbalance any partial good which could reasonably beexpected from the alteration. .. . '

'As property then is incontestibly the foundation-stone of politicalright in Britain, it follows, as an inevitable consequence, that theratio of these rights should be in some measure commensurate to theextent of the property, otherwise the immutable maxims of justice, aswell as the spirit of the Constitution, is violated; for it would bepalpably unjust to put a man who possessed a great stake in the welfareof the Country, and paid comparatively a greater proportion of itspublic revenue, on a level with the inferior freeholders, who, notpossessing any thing like an equal extent of property, cannot possiblyhave the means of equally contributing to the exigencies of the State. .. . 

'Now if any considerate conscientious man will calmly reflect upon thepower of the House of Commons in the imposition of taxes, and in howmany ways the public burthen affects the landed interest, eitherdirectly or indirectly, he must acknowledge the expediency, as well asthe necessity and justice of the system, which, _steadily thoughsilently_, protects the great landholders in exercising an appropriateinfluence in the election of the Representatives of thePeople. --PHOCION. '

Previous to the Reign of Henry the Seventh, the Peers defended theirproperty and their privileges through the means of armed Retainers. Thatpolitic Prince, by laws directed against the number of these Retainers;by bringing in use the making of leases; and by statutes framed for thepurpose of 'unfettering more easily the Estates of his powerfulNobility, and laying them more open to alienation, ' prepared the way forreducing the power of an Order which had been too strong for the Crown. The operation of these laws, in course of time, would have brought thePeers, as an Estate of the Realm, to utter insignificance, had not thepractice of supplying the Peerage with new Members, through creation bypatent without intervention of Parliament, been substituted for the onlymode previously tolerated by the great Barons for the exercise of thisroyal prerogative, namely, by authority of Parliament. Thus did theconsequence of the Order, notwithstanding the diminution of its power, continue to be maintained;--rich Commoners and Royal Favourites beingintroduced to supply the places of extinguished Families, or those whosewealth had fallen into decay. This prerogative grew without immoderateexercise till the close of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. The first ofthe Stuarts employed it lavishly, not considering the changes that hadtaken place. His predecessors of the House of Tudor, by breaking downthe feudal strength of the Lords, and by transfer (through theReformation) of the Spiritual supremacy to themselves as temporalSovereigns, had come into possession of a superfluity of power whichenabled the Crown to supply what was wanted in the Peers for their ownsupport. But through remote operation of the same causes, the Commonswere rising fast into consequence, with a puritanical spirit ofrepublicanism spreading rapidly amongst them. Hence the augmentation ofthe number of Peers, made by James the First, notwithstanding theaddition of property carried by it to the Upper House, did not addsufficient strength to that body to compensate for the distastefulnessof the measure to the people; and, as far as the property of the NewPeers was but the creature of prodigal grants from the Crown, theconjoint strength of the two Estates received no increase. In themeanwhile surrenders were made of the power of the Crown with infatuatedfacility; till the Commons became so strong that the right of creatingBoroughs, being openly disputed, was almost abandoned; and the speedyconsequence of the whole was that the two parliamentary Estates of Kingand Lords fell before the intemperance of the third. After therestoration, the disputes about the bounds of Liberty and Prerogativewere revived; but Prerogative was gradually abandoned for the lessobnoxious and less obvious operations of influence. The numerouscreations of Peers were complained of; but, whatever motive might havegoverned those creations, they were justified by the necessity ofthings. Large as were the additions made to the number of Peers theywere insufficient to give the House its due weight as a separate Estatein the Legislature. Through the reigns of Charles, William, and Anne, whether the Crown was disposed to tyranny, or the Commons were venal, factious, or arbitrary, we see too many proofs of the Lords wantingnatural strength to maintain their rights, and carry their patrioticwishes into effect, even when they were supported by marked expressionsof popular opinion in their favour. If the changes which had taken placein the structure of Society would have allowed them to act regularly asan independent body upon its intrinsic resources, a deathblow was givento such expectation towards the close of the reign of Queen Anne, whentwelve Peers were created in one day. This act, deservedly made one ofthe articles of impeachment against Lord Oxford, shewed that theirsentiments, as a Body, were at the mercy of any unprincipledAdministration, and _compelled_ them to look about for some other meansof being attended to;--and the most obvious was the best for the Countryand themselves--That of taking care of, and augmenting, the influencewhich they possessed in the House of Commons. Reformers plead againstthis practice, constitutional resolutions still existing. The slightreview which has been given demonstrates its necessity if theConstitution is to be preserved. The only question which a practicalpolitician can tolerate for a moment relates to the _degree_ of thisinfluence;--has it been carried too far? The considerations which put meupon writing the present note (for the length of which I ought toapologise) do not require the discussion of this point. The amicablereader will rejoice with me that, in spite of mutual shocks andencroachments, the three Orders of the State are preserved in salutaryequipoise, although the mode of bringing this about has unavoidablychanged with change of circumstances. The spirit of the Constitutionremains unimpaired, nor have the essential parts of its frame undergoneany alteration. May both endure as long as the Island itself!

V. OF THE CATHOLIC RELIEF BILL, 1829. 

NOTE. 

See Preface in the present volume for details on this 'Letter;' whichwas addressed to the Bishop of London (Blomfield). This is printed fromthe original Manuscript. G. 

OF THE CATHOLIC RELIEF BILL, 1829. 

My Lord, I have been hesitating for the space of a week, whether I should takethe liberty of addressing you; but as the decision draws near my anxietyincreases, and I cannot refrain from intruding upon you for a fewminutes. I will try to be brief, throwing myself upon your indulgence, if what I have to say prove of little moment. 

The question before us is, Can Protestantism and Popery--or, somewhatnarrowing the ground, Can the Church of England (including that ofIreland) and the Church of Rome--be co-ordinate powers in theconstitution of a free country, and at the same time Christian belief bein that country a vital principle of action? The States of the Continentafford no proof whatever that the existence of Protestantism andRomanism under the specified conditions is practicable; nor can they berationally referred to as furnishing a guide for us. In France, the mostconspicuous of these States and the freest, the number of Protestants incomparison with Catholics is insignificant, and unbelief andsuperstition almost divide the country between them. In Prussia, thereis no legislative Assembly; the Government is essentially military; andexcepting the countries upon the Rhine, recently added to that Power, the proportion of Catholics is inconsiderable. In Hanover, Jacob speaksof the Protestants as more than ten to one; here, indeed, is alegislative Assembly, but its powers are ill defined. Hanover had, andstill may have, a censorship of the press--an indulgent one; it canafford to be so through the sedative virtue of the standing army of thecountry, and that of the Germanic League to back the executive in caseof commotion. No sound-minded Englishman will build upon the short-livedexperience of the kingdom of the Netherlands. In Flanders a benightedPapacy prevails, which defeated the attempts of the king to enlightenthe people by education; and I am well assured that the Protestantportion of Holland have small reason to be thankful for the footing uponwhich they have been there placed. If that kingdom is to last, there isgreat cause for fear that its government will incline more and more toRomanism as the religion of a great majority of its subjects, and as onewhich by its slavish spirit makes the people more manageable. If so, itis to be apprehended that Protestantism will gradually disappear beforeit; and the ruling classes, in a still greater degree than they now are, will become infidels, as the easiest refuge in their own minds from thedebasing doctrines of Papacy. 

Three great conflicts[24] are before the progressive nations, betweenChristianity and Infidelity, between Papacy and Protestantism, andbetween the spirit of the old feudal and monarchical governments and therepresentative and republican system, as established in America. TheChurch of England, in addition to her infidel and Roman Catholicassailants, and the politicians of the anti-feudal class, has to contendwith a formidable body of Protestant Dissenters. Amid these several andoften combined attacks, how is she to maintain herself? From which ofthese enemies has she most to fear? Some are of opinion that Papacy isless formidable than Dissent, whose bias is republican, which is averseto monarchy, to a hierarchy, and to the tything system--to all whichRomanism is strongly attached. The abstract principles embodied in thecreed of the Dissenters' catechism are without doubt full as politicallydangerous as those of the Romanists; but fortunately their creed is nottheir practice. They are divided among themselves, they acknowledge noforeign jurisdiction, their organisation and discipline, arecomparatively feeble; and in times long past, however powerful theyproved themselves to overthrow, they are not likely to be able to buildup. Whatever the Presbyterian form, as in the Church of Scotland, mayhave to recommend it, we find that the sons of the nobility and gentryof Scotland who choose the sacred profession almost invariably enterinto the Church of England; and for the same reason, viz. The want of ahierarchy (you will excuse me for connecting views so humiliating withdivine truth), the rich Dissenters, in the course of a generation ortwo, fall into the bosom of our Church. As holding out attractions tothe upper orders, the Church of England has no advantages over that ofRome, but rather the contrary. Papacy will join with us in preservingthe form, but for the purpose and in the hope of seizing the substancefor itself. Its ambition is upon record; it is essentially at enmitywith light and knowledge; its power to exclude these blessings is not sogreat as formerly, though its desire to do so is equally strong, and itsdetermination to exert its power for its own exaltation by means of thatexclusion is not in the least abated. The See of Rome justly regardsEngland as the head of Protestantism; it admires, it is jealous, it isenvious of her power and greatness. It despairs of being able to destroythem, but it is ever on the watch to regain its lost influence over thatcountry; and it hopes to effect this through the means of Ireland. Thewords of this last sentence are not my own, but those of the head of oneof the first Catholic families of the county from which I write, spokenwithout reserve several years ago. Surely the language of thisindividual must be greatly emboldened when he sees the prostratecondition in which our yet Protestant Government now lies before thePapacy of Ireland. 'The great Catholic interest, ' 'the old Catholicinterest, ' I know to have been phrases of frequent occurrence in themouth of a head of the first Roman Catholic family of England; and todescend far lower, 'What would satisfy you?' said, not long ago, aperson to a very clever lady, a dependent upon another branch of thatfamily. 'That church, ' replied she, pointing to the parish church of thelarge town where the conversation took place. Monstrous expectation! yetnot to be overlooked as an ingredient in the compound of Papacy. This'great Catholic interest' we are about to embody in a legislative form. A Protestant Parliament is to turn itself into a canine monster with twoheads, which, instead of keeping watch and ward, will be snarling at andbent on devouring each other. 

[24] In this classification I anticipate matter which Mr. Southey has inthe press, the substance of a conversation between us. 

Whatever enemies the Church of England may have to struggle with now andhereafter, it is clear that at this juncture she is specially called totake the measure of her strength as opposed to the Church of Rome--thatis her most pressing enemy. The Church of England, as to the point ofprivate judgment, standing between the two extremes of Papacy andDissent, is entitled to heartfelt reverence; and among thinking men, whose affections are not utterly vitiated, never fails to receive it. Papacy will tolerate no private judgment, and Dissent is impatient ofanything else. The blessing of Providence has thus far preserved theChurch of England between the shocks to which she has been exposed fromthose opposite errors; and notwithstanding objections may lie againstsome parts of her Liturgy, particularly the Athanasian Creed, andhowever some of her articles may be disputed about, her doctrines areexclusively scriptural, and her practice is accommodated to theexigencies of our weak nature. If this be so, what has she to fear? Lookat Ireland, might be a sufficient answer. Look at the disproportionbetween her Catholic and Protestant population. Look at the distemperedheads of the Roman Catholic Church insisting upon terms which in France, and even in Austria, dare not be proposed, and which the Pope himselfwould probably relinquish for a season. Look at the revenues of theProtestant Church; her cathedrals, her churches, that once belonged tothe Romanists, and where, _in imagination_, their worship has neverceased to be celebrated. Can it be doubted that when the yet existingrestrictions are removed, that the disproportion in the population andthe wealth of the Protestant Church will become more conspicuous objectsfor discontent to point at; and that plans, however covert, will beinstantly set on foot, with the aid of new powers, for effecting anoverthrow, and, if possible, a transfer? But all this is too obvious; Iwould rather argue with those who think that by excluding the Romanistsfrom political power we make them more attached to their religion, andcause them to unite more strongly in support of it. Were this true tothe extent maintained, we should still have to balance between theunorganised power which they derive from a sense of injustice, real orsupposed, and the legitimate organised power which concession wouldconfer upon surviving discontent; for no one, I imagine, is weak enoughto suppose that discontent would disappear. But it is a deception, and amost dangerous one, to conclude that if a free passage were given to thetorrent, it would lose, by diffusion, its ability to do injury. Thechecks, as your Lordship well knows, which are after a time necessary toprovoke other sects to activity, are not wanted here. The Roman Churchstands independent of them through its constitution, so exquisitelycontrived, and through its doctrine and discipline, which give apeculiar and monstrous power to its priesthood. In proof of this, takethe injunction of celibacy, alone separating the priesthood from thebody of the community, and the practice of confession, making themmasters of the conscience, while the doctrines give them an absolutepower over the will. To submit to such thraldom men must be bigoted inits favour; and that we see is the case of Spain, in Portugal, inAustria, in Italy, in Flanders, in Ireland, and in all countries whereyou have Papacy in full blow. And does not history prove, that howeverother sects may have languished under the relaxing influence of goodfortune, Papacy has ever been most fiery and rampant when mostprosperous?

But many, who do not expect that conciliation will be the result ofconcession, have a farther expedient on which they rely much. Theypropose to take the Romish Church in Ireland into pay, and expect thatafterwards its clergy will be as compliant to the Government as thePresbyterians in that country have proved. This measure is, in the firstplace, too disingenuous not to be condemned by honest men; for theGovernment acting on this policy would degrade itself by offering bribesto men of a sacred calling to act contrary to their sense of duty. Ifthey be sincere, as priests and truly spiritual-minded, they will findit impossible to accept of a stipend, known to be granted with suchexpectation. If they be worldlings and false of heart, they willpractise double-dealing, and seem to support the Government while theyare actually undermining it; for they know that if they be suspected ofsacrificing the interests of the Church they will lose all authorityover their flocks. Power and consideration are more valued than money. The priests will not be induced to risk their sway over the people forany sums that our Government would venture to afford them out of theexhausted revenues of the empire. Surely they would prefer to such ascanty hire the hope of carving for themselves from the property of theProtestant Church of their country, or even the gratification ofstripping usurpation--for such they deem it--of its gains, though theremay be no hope to win what others are deprived of. Many Englishfavourers of this scheme are reconciled to what they call a modificationof the Irish Protestant Establishment in an application of a portion ofthe revenues to the support of the Romish Church. This they deemreasonable; shortly it will be openly aimed at, and they will rejoiceshould they accomplish their purpose. But your Lordship will agree withme that, if that happen, it would be one of the most calamitous eventsthat ignorance has in our time given birth to. After all, could thesecular clergy be paid out of this spoliation, or in any other way? TheRegulars would rise in consequence of their degradation; and where wouldbe the influence that could keep them from mischief? They would swarmover the country to prey upon the people still more than they now do. Inall the reasonings of the friends to this bribing scheme, thedistinctive character of the Papal Church is overlooked. 

But they who expect that tranquillity will be a permanent consequence ofthe Relief Bill dwell much upon the mighty difference in opinion andfeeling between the upper and lower ranks of the Romish communion. Theyaffirm that many keep within the pale of the Church as a point ofhonour; that others have notions greatly relaxed, and though not atpresent prepared to separate, they will gradually fall off. But whatavail the inward sentiments of men if they are convinced that by actingupon them they will forfeit their outward dignity and power? As long asthe political influence which the priests now exercise shall endure, oranything like it, the great proprietors will be obliged to dissemble, and to conform in their action to the demands of that power. Such willbe the conduct of the great Roman Catholic proprietors; nay, farther, Iagree with those who deem it probable that, through a natural andreasonable desire to have their property duly represented, manylandholders who are now Protestant will be tempted to go over to Papacy. This may be thought a poor compliment to Protestantism, since religiousscruples, it is said, are all that keep the Papists out; but is not thedesire to be in, pushing them on almost to rebellion at this moment? Weare taking, I own, a melancholy view of both sides; but human nature, beit what it may, must by legislators be looked at as it is. 

In the treatment of this question we hear perpetually of wrong; but thewrong is all on one side. If the political power of Ireland is to be atransfer from those who are of the State religion of the country tothose who are not, there is nothing gained on the score of justice. Wehear also much of STIGMA; but this is not to be done away unless alloffices, the Privy Council and the Chancellorship, be open to them; thatis, unless we allow a man to be eligible to keep the King's consciencewho has not his own in his keeping; unless we open the throne itself tomen of this soul-degrading faith. 

The condition of Ireland is indeed, and long has been, wretched. Lamentable is it to acknowledge, that the mass of the people are sogrossly uninformed, and from that cause subject to such delusions andpassions, that they would destroy each other were it not for restraintsput upon them by a power out of themselves. This power it is thatprotracts their existence in a state for which otherwise the course ofnature would provide a remedy by reducing their numbers through mutualdestruction; so that English civilisation may fairly be said to havebeen the shield of Irish barbarism. And now these swarms of degradedpeople, which could not have existed but through the neglect andmisdirected power of the sister island, are by a withdrawing of thatpower to have their own way, and to be allowed to dictate to us. Apopulation, vicious in character as unnatural in immediate origin (forit has been called into birth by short-sighted landlords, set uponadding to the number of votes at their command, and by priests who forlucre's sake favour the increase of marriages), is held forth asconstituting a claim to political power strong in proportion to itsnumbers, though in a sane view that claim is in an inverse ratio tothem. Brute force indeed wherever lodged, as we are too feelingly taughtat present, must be measured and met--measured with care, in order to bemet with fortitude. 

The chief proximate causes of Irish misery and ignorance are Papacy--ofwhich I have said so much--and the tenure and management of landedproperty, and both these have a common origin, viz. The imperfectconquest of the country. The countries subjected by the ancient Romans, and those that in the middle ages were subdued by the Northern tribes, afford striking instances of the several ways in which nations may beimproved by foreign conquest. The Romans by their superiority in artsand arms, and, in the earlier period of their history, in virtues also, may seem to have established a moral right to force their institutionsupon other nations, whether under a process of decline or emerging frombarbarism; and this they effected, we all know, not by overrunningcountries as Eastern conquerors have done, and Bonaparte in our owndays, but by completing a regular subjugation, with military roads andgarrisons, which became centres of civilisation for the surroundingdistrict. Nor am I afraid to add, though the fact might be caught at asbearing against the general scope of my argument, that both conquerorsand conquered owed much to the participation of civil rights which theRomans liberally communicated. The other mode of conquest, that pursuedby the Northern nations, brought about its beneficial effects by thesettlement of a hardy and vigorous people among the distracted andeffeminate nations against whom their incursions were made. Theconquerors transplanted with them their independent and ferocious spiritto reanimate exhausted communities, and in their turn received asalutary mitigation, till in process of time the conqueror andconquered, having a common interest, were lost in each other. To neitherof these modes was unfortunate Ireland subject, and her insularterritory, by physical obstacles, and still more by moral influencesarising out of them, has aggravated the evil consequent uponindependence lost as hers was. The writers of the time of QueenElizabeth have pointed out how unwise it was to transplant among abarbarous people, not half subjugated, the institutions that time hadmatured among those who too readily considered themselves masters ofthat people. It would be presumptuous in me to advert in detail to theexacerbations and long-lived hatred that have perverted the moral sensein Ireland, obstructed religious knowledge, and denied to her a dueshare of English refinement and civility. It is enough to observe, thatthe Reformation was ill supported in that country, and that her soilbecame, through frequent forfeitures, mainly possessed by men whosehearts were not in the land where their wealth lay. 

But it is too late, we are told, for retrospection. We have no choicebetween giving way and a sanguinary war. Surely it is rather too muchthat the country should be required to take the measure of thethreatened evil from a Cabinet which by its being divided againstitself, which by its remissness and fear of long and harassing debatesin the two Houses, has for many years past fostered the evil, and in nosmall part created the danger, the extent of which is now urged asimposing the necessity of granting their demands. 

Danger is a relative thing, and the first requisite for being in acondition to judge of what we have to dread from the physical force ofthe Romanists is to be in sympathy with the Protestants. Had ourMinisters been truly so, could they have suffered themselves to bebearded by the Catholic Association for so many years as they have been?

I speak openly to you, my Lord, though a member of his Majesty's PrivyCouncil; and begging your pardon for detaining you so long, I hasten toa conclusion. 

The civil disabilities, for the removal of which Mr. O'Connell and hisfollowers are braving the Government, cannot but be indifferent to thegreat body of the Irish nation, except as means for gaining an end. Takeaway the intermediate power of the priests, and an insurrection inBrobdignag at the call of the King of Lilliput might be as hopefullyexpected as that the Irish people would stir as they are now prepared todo at the call of a political demagogue. Now these civil disabilities donot directly affect the priests; they therefore must have ulteriorviews, and though it must be flattering to their vanity to shew thatthey have the Irish representation in their own hands, and though theirworldly interest and that of their connections will, they know, immediately profit by that dominion, what they look for principally isthe advancement of their religion at the cost of Protestantism; thatwould bring everything else in its train. While it is obvious that thepolitical agitators could not rouse the people without the interventionof the priests, it is true that the priests could not excite the peoplewithout a hope that from the exaltation of their Church their socialcondition would be improved. What in Irish interpretation these wordswould mean we may tremble to think of. 

In whatever way we look, religion is so much mixed up in this matter, that the guardians of the Episcopal Church of the Empire are imperiouslycalled upon to show themselves worthy of the high trust reposed in them. You, my Lord, are convinced that, in spite of the best securities thatcan be given, the admission of Roman Catholics into the Legislature is adangerous experiment. Oaths cannot be framed that will avail here; theonly securities to be relied upon are what we have little hope tosee--the Roman Church reforming itself, and a Ministry and a Parliamentsufficiently sensible of the superiority of the one form of religionover the other to be resolved, not only to preserve the present rightsand immunities of the Protestant Church inviolate, but prepared by allfair means for the extension of its influence, with a hope that it maygradually prevail over Papacy. 

It is, we trust, the intention of Providence that the Church of Romeshould in due time disappear; and come what may on the Church ofEngland, we have the satisfaction of knowing that in defending aGovernment resting upon a Protestant basis--say what they will, theother party have abandoned--we are working for the welfare of humankind, and supporting whatever there is of dignity in our frail nature. 

Here I might stop; but I am above measure anxious for the course whichthe bench of bishops may take at this crisis. They are appealed to, andeven by the Heir Presumptive to the throne from his seat in Parliament. There will be attempts to brow-beat them on the score of humanity; buthumanity is, if it deserves the name, a calculating and prospectivequality; it will on this occasion balance an evil at hand with a fargreater one that is sure, or all but sure, to come. Humanity is notshewn the less by firmness than by tenderness of heart. It is neitherdeterred by clamour, nor enfeebled by its own sadness; but it estimatesevil and good to the best of its power, acts by the dictates ofconscience, and trusts the issue to the Ruler of all things. 

If, my Lord, I have seemed to write with over-confidence on any opinionsI have above given, impute it to a wish of avoiding cumbrous qualifyingexpressions. 

Sincerely do I pray that God may give your Lordship and the rest of yourbrethren light to guide you and strength to walk in that light. 

 I am, my Lord, &c. 

II. ETHICAL. 

I. OF LEGISLATION FOR THE POOR, THE WORKING CLASSES, AND THE CLERGY:APPENDIX TO POEMS. 

1835. 

NOTE. 

On the several portions of this division of the Prose see Preface in thepresent volume. G. 

OF LEGISLATION FOR THE POOR, THE WORKING CLASSES, AND THE CLERGY. 

APPENDIX TO POEMS. 

In the present Volume, as in those that have preceded it, the readerwill have found occasionally opinions expressed upon the course ofpublic affairs, and feelings given vent to as national interests excitedthem. Since nothing, I trust, has been uttered but in the spirit ofreflective patriotism, those notices are left to produce their owneffect; but, among the many objects of general concern, and the changesgoing forward, which I have glanced at in verse, are some especiallyaffecting the lower orders of society: in reference to these, I wishhere to add a few words in plain prose. 

Were I conscious of being able to do justice to those important topics, I might avail myself of the periodical press for offering anonymously mythoughts, such as they are, to the world; but I feel that, in procuringattention, they may derive some advantage, however small, from my name, in addition to that of being presented in a less fugitive shape. It isalso not impossible that the state of mind which some of the foregoingpoems may have produced in the reader, will dispose him to receive morereadily the impression which I desire to make, and to admit theconclusions I would establish. 

 * * * * *

I. The first thing that presses upon my attention is the Poor LawAmendment Act. I am aware of the magnitude and complexity of thesubject, and the unwearied attention which it has received from men offar wider experience than my own; yet I cannot forbear touching upon onepoint of it, and to this I will confine myself, though not insensible tothe objection which may reasonably be brought against treating a portionof this, or any other, great scheme of civil polity separately from thewhole. The point to which I wish to draw the reader's attention is, that_all_ persons who cannot find employment, or procure wages sufficientto support the body in health and strength, are entitled to amaintenance by law. 

This dictate of humanity is acknowledged in the Report of theCommissioners: but is there not room for apprehension that some of theregulations of the new Act have a tendency to render the principlenugatory by difficulties thrown in the way of applying it? If this beso, persons will not be wanting to show it, by examining the provisionsof the Act in detail, --an attempt which would be quite out of placehere; but it will not, therefore, be deemed unbecoming in one who fearsthat the prudence of the head may, in framing some of those provisions, have supplanted the wisdom of the heart, to enforce a principle whichcannot be violated without infringing upon one of the most preciousrights of the English people, and opposing one of the most sacred claimsof civilised humanity. 

There can be no greater error, in this department of legislation, thanthe belief that this principle does by necessity operate for thedegradation of those who claim, or are so circumstanced as to make itlikely they may claim, through laws founded upon it, relief orassistance. The direct contrary is the truth: it may be unanswerablymaintained that its tendency is to raise, not to depress; by stamping avalue upon life, which can belong to it only where the laws have placedmen who are willing to work, and yet cannot find employment, above thenecessity of looking for protection against hunger and other naturalevils, either to individual and casual charity, to despair and death, orto the breach of law by theft or violence. 

And here, as in the Report of the Commissioners, the fundamentalprinciple has been recognised, I am not at issue with them any fartherthan I am compelled to believe that their 'remedial measures' obstructthe application of it more than the interests of society require. 

And calling to mind the doctrines of political economy which are nowprevalent, I cannot forbear to enforce the justice of the principle, andto insist upon its salutary operation. 

And first for its justice: If self-preservation be the first law of ournature, would not every one in a state of nature be morally justified intaking to himself that which is indispensable to such preservation, where, by so doing, he would not rob another of that which might beequally indispensable to _his_ preservation? And if the value of lifebe regarded in a right point of view, may it not be questioned whetherthis right of preserving life, at any expense short of endangering thelife of another, does not survive man's entering into the social state;whether this right can be surrendered or forfeited, except when itopposes the divine law, upon any supposition of a social compact, or ofany convention for the protection of mere rights of property?

But, if it be not safe to touch the abstract question of man's right ina social state to help himself even in the last extremity, may we notstill contend for the duty of a Christian government, standing _in locoparentis_ towards all its subjects, to make such effectual provision, that no one shall be in danger of perishing either through the neglector harshness of its legislation? Or, waiving this, is it notindisputable that the claim of the State to the allegiance, involves theprotection of the subject? And, as all rights in one party impose acorrelative duty upon another, it follows that the right of the State torequire the services of its members, even to the jeoparding of theirlives in the common defence, establishes a right in the people (not tobe gainsaid by utilitarians and economists) to public support when, fromany cause, they may be unable to support themselves. 

Let us now consider the salutary and benign operation of this principle. Here we must have recourse to elementary feelings of human nature, andto truths which from their very obviousness are apt to be slighted, tillthey are forced upon our notice by our own sufferings or those ofothers. In the Paradise Lost, Milton represents Adam, after the Fall, asexclaiming, in the anguish of his soul--

 Did I request Thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man; did I solicit Thee From darkness to promote me? . .. My will Concurred not to my being. 

Under how many various pressures of misery have men been driven thus, ina strain touching upon impiety, to expostulate with the Creator! andunder few so afflictive as when the source and origin of earthlyexistence have been brought back to the mind by its impending close inthe pangs of destitution. But as long as, in our legislation, dueweight shall be given to this principle, no man will be forced to bewailthe gift of life in hopeless want of the necessaries of life. 

Englishmen have, therefore, by the progress of civilisation among them, been placed in circumstances more favourable to piety and resignation tothe divine will, than the inhabitants of other countries, where a likeprovision has not been established. And as Providence, in this care ofour countrymen, acts through a human medium, the objects of that caremust, in like manner, be more inclined towards a grateful love of theirfellow-men. Thus, also, do stronger ties attach the people to theircountry, whether while they tread its soil, or, at a distance, think oftheir native Land as an indulgent parent, to whose arms even they whohave been imprudent and undeserving may, like the prodigal son, betakethemselves, without fear of being rejected. 

Such is the view of the case that would first present itself to areflective mind; and it is in vain to show, by appeals to experience, incontrast with this view, that provisions founded upon the principle havepromoted profaneness of life, and dispositions the reverse ofphilanthropic, by spreading idleness, selfishness, and rapacity: forthese evils have arisen, not as an inevitable consequence of theprinciple, but for want of judgment in framing laws based upon it; and, above all, from faults in the mode of administering the law. Themischief that has grown to such a height from granting relief in caseswhere proper vigilance would have shewn that it was not required, or inbestowing it in undue measure, will be urged by no truly enlightenedstatesman, as a sufficient reason for banishing the principle itselffrom legislation. 

Let us recur to the miserable states of consciousness that it precludes. 

There is a story told, by a traveller in Spain, of a female who, by asudden shock of domestic calamity, was driven out of her senses, andever after looked up incessantly to the sky, feeling that herfellow-creatures could do nothing for her relief. Can there beEnglishmen who, with a good end in view, would, upon system, exposetheir brother Englishmen to a like necessity of looking upwards only; ordownwards to the earth, after it shall contain no spot where thedestitute can demand, by civil right, what by right of nature they areentitled to?

Suppose the objects of our sympathy not sunk into this blank despair, but wandering about as strangers in streets and ways, with the hope ofsuccour from casual charity; what have we gained by such a change ofscene? Woful is the condition of the famished Northern Indian, dependent, among winter snows, upon the chance passage of a herd ofdeer, from which one, if brought down by his rifle-gun, may be made themeans of keeping him and his companions alive. As miserable is that ofsome savage Islander, who, when the land has ceased to afford himsustenance, watches for food which the waves may cast up, or in vainendeavours to extract it from the inexplorable deep. But neither ofthese is in a state of wretchedness comparable to that which is so oftenendured in civilised society: multitudes, in all ages, have known it, ofwhom may be said:--

 Homeless, near a thousand homes they stood, And near a thousand tables pined, and wanted food. 

Justly might I be accused of wasting time in an uncalled-for attempt toexcite the feelings of the reader, if systems of political economy, widely spread, did not impugn the principle, and if the safeguardsagainst such extremities were left unimpaired. It is broadly asserted bymany, that every man who endeavours to find work, _may_ find it. Werethis assertion capable of being verified, there still would remain aquestion, what kind of work, and how far may the labourer be fit for it?For if sedentary work is to be exchanged for standing; and some lightand nice exercise of the fingers, to which an artisan has beenaccustomed all his life, for severe labour of the arms; the best effortswould turn to little account, and occasion would be given for theunthinking and the unfeeling unwarrantably to reproach those who are putupon such employment, as idle, froward, and unworthy of relief, eitherby law or in any other way! Were this statement correct, there wouldindeed be an end of the argument, the principle here maintained would besuperseded. But, alas! it is far otherwise. That principle, applicableto the benefit of all countries, is indispensable for England, uponwhose coast families are perpetually deprived of their support byshipwreck, and where large masses of men are so liable to be thrown outof their ordinary means of gaining bread, by changes in commercialintercourse, subject mainly or solely to the will of foreign powers; bynew discoveries in arts and manufactures; and by reckless laws, inconformity with theories of political economy, which, whether right orwrong in the abstract, have proved a scourge to tens of thousands, bythe abruptness with which they have been carried into practice. 

But it is urged, --refuse altogether compulsory relief to theable-bodied, and the number of those who stand in need of relief willsteadily diminish through a conviction of an absolute necessity forgreater forethought, and more prudent care of a man's earnings. Undoubtedly it would, but so also would it, and in a much greaterdegree, if the legislative provisions were retained, and parochialrelief administered under the care of the upper classes, as it ought tobe. For it has been invariably found, that wherever the funds have beenraised and applied under the superintendence of gentlemen andsubstantial proprietors, acting in vestries and as overseers, pauperismhas diminished accordingly. Proper care in that quarter wouldeffectually check what is felt in some districts to be one of the worstevils in the Poor Law system, viz. The readiness of small and needyproprietors to join in imposing rates that seemingly subject them togreat hardships, while, in fact, this is done with a mutualunderstanding, that the relief each is ready to bestow upon his stillpoorer neighbours will be granted to himself or his relatives, should ithereafter be applied for. 

But let us look to inner sentiments of a nobler quality, in order toknow what we have to build upon. Affecting proofs occur in every one'sexperience, who is acquainted with the unfortunate and the indigent, oftheir unwillingness to derive their subsistence from aught but their ownfunds or labour, or to be indebted to parochial assistance for theattainment of any object, however dear to them. A case was reported, theother day, from a coroner's inquest, of a pair who, through the space offour years, had carried about their dead infant from house to house, andfrom lodging to lodging, as their necessities drove them, rather thanask the parish to bear the expense of its interment:--the poor creatureslived in the hope of one day being able to bury their child at their owncost. It must have been heart-rending to see and hear the mother, whohad been called upon to account for the state in which the body wasfound, make this deposition. By some, judging coldly, if not harshly, this conduct might be imputed to an unwarrantable pride, as she and herhusband had, it is true, been once in prosperity. But examples, wherethe spirit of independence works with equal strength, though not withlike miserable accompaniments, are frequently to be found even yet amongthe humblest peasantry and mechanics. There is not, then, sufficientcause for doubting that a like sense of honour may be revived among thepeople, and their ancient habits of independence restored, withoutresorting to those severities which the new Poor Law Act has introduced. 

But even if the surfaces of things only are to be examined, we have aright to expect that lawgivers should take into account the varioustempers and dispositions of mankind: while some are led, by theexistence of a legislative provision, into idleness and extravagance, the economical virtues might be cherished in others by the knowledgethat, if all their efforts fail, they have in the Poor Laws a 'refugefrom the storm and a shadow from the heat. ' Despondency and distractionare no friends to prudence: the springs of industry will relax, ifcheerfulness be destroyed by anxiety; without hope men become reckless, and have a sullen pride in adding to the heap of their own wretchedness. He who feels that he is abandoned by his fellow-men will be almostirresistibly driven to care little for himself; will lose hisself-respect accordingly, and with that loss what remains to him ofvirtue?

With all due deference to the particular experience and generalintelligence of the individuals who framed the Act, and of those who inand out of Parliament have approved of and supported it; it may be said, that it proceeds too much upon the presumption that it is a labouringman's own fault if he be not, as the phrase is, before-hand with theworld. But the most prudent are liable to be thrown back by sickness, cutting them off from labour, and causing to them expense: and who buthas observed how distress creeps upon multitudes without misconduct oftheir own; and merely from a gradual fall in the price of labour, without a correspondent one in the price of provisions; so that men whomay have ventured upon the marriage state with a fair prospect ofmaintaining their families in comfort and happiness, see them reduced toa pittance which no effort of theirs can increase? Let it be remembered, also, that there are thousands with whom vicious habits of expense arenot the cause why they do not store up their gains; but they aregenerous and kind-hearted, and ready to help their kindred and friends;moreover, they have a faith in Providence that those who have beenprompt to assist others will not be left destitute, should theythemselves come to need. By acting from these blended feelings, numbershave rendered themselves incapable of standing up against a suddenreverse. Nevertheless, these men, in common with all who have themisfortune to be in want, if many theorists had their wish, would bethrown upon one or other of those three sharp points of condition beforeadverted to, from which the intervention of law has hitherto saved them. 

All that has been said tends to show how the principle contended formakes the gift of life more valuable, and has, it may be hoped, led tothe conclusion that its legitimate operation is to make men worthier ofthat gift: in other words, not to degrade but to exalt human nature. Butthe subject must not be dismissed without adverting to the indirectinfluence of the same principle upon the moral sentiments of a peopleamong whom it is embodied in law. In our criminal jurisprudence there isa maxim, deservedly eulogised, that it is better that ten guilty personsshould escape, than that one innocent man should suffer; so, also, mightit be maintained, with regard to the Poor Laws, that it is better forthe interests of humanity among the people at large, that tenundeserving should partake of the funds provided, than that one morallygood man, through want of relief, should either have his principlescorrupted, or his energies destroyed; than that such a one should eitherbe driven to do wrong, or be cast to the earth in utter hopelessness. InFrance, the English maxim of criminal jurisprudence is reversed; there, it is deemed better that ten innocent men should suffer, than one guiltyescape: in France, there is no universal provision for the poor; and wemay judge of the small value set upon human life in the metropolis ofthat country, by merely noticing the disrespect with which, after death, the body is treated, not by the thoughtless vulgar, but in schools ofanatomy, presided over by men allowed to be, in their own art and inphysical science, among the most enlightened in the world. In the East, where countries are overrun with population as with a weed, infinitelymore respect is shown to the remains of the deceased: and what a bittermockery is it, that this insensibility should be found where civilpolity is so busy in minor regulations, and ostentatiously careful togratify the luxurious propensities, whether social or intellectual, ofthe multitude! Irreligion is, no doubt, much concerned with thisoffensive disrespect shown to the bodies of the dead in France; but itis mainly attributable to the state in which so many of the living areleft by the absence of compulsory provision for the indigent so humanelyestablished by the law of England. 

Sights of abject misery, perpetually recurring, harden the heart of thecommunity. In the perusal of history and of works of fiction, we arenot, indeed, unwilling to have our commiseration excited by such objectsof distress as they present to us; but, in the concerns of real life, men know that such emotions are not given to be indulged for their ownsakes: there, the conscience declares to them that sympathy must befollowed by action; and if there exist a previous conviction that thepower to relieve is utterly inadequate to the demand, the eye shrinksfrom communication with wretchedness, and pity and compassion languish, like any other qualities that are deprived of their natural aliment. Letthese considerations be duly weighed by those who trust to the hope thatan increase of private charity, with all its advantages of superiordiscrimination, would more than compensate for the abandonment of thoseprinciples, the wisdom of which has been here insisted upon. Howdiscouraging, also, would be the sense of injustice, which could notfail to arise in the minds of the well-disposed, if the burden ofsupporting the poor, a burden of which the selfish have hitherto bycompulsion borne a share, should now, or hereafter, be thrownexclusively upon the benevolent. 

By having put an end to the Slave Trade and Slavery, the British peopleare exalted in the scale of humanity; and they cannot but feel so, ifthey look into themselves, and duly consider their relation to God andtheir fellow-creatures. That was a noble advance; but a retrogrademovement will assuredly be made, if ever the principle, which has beenhere defended, should be either avowedly abandoned or but ostensiblyretained. 

But after all, there may be a little reason to apprehend permanentinjury from any experiment that may be tried. On the one side will behuman nature rising up in her own defence, and on the other prudentialselfishness acting to the same purpose, from a conviction that, withouta compulsory provision for the exigencies of the labouring multitude, that degree of ability to regulate the price of labour, which isindispensable for the reasonable interest of arts and manufactures, cannot, in Great Britain, be upheld. 

 * * * * *

II. In a poem of the foregoing collection, allusion is made to the stateof the workmen congregated in manufactories. In order to relieve many ofthe evils to which that class of society are subject, and to establish abetter harmony between them and their employers, it would be well torepeal such laws as prevent the formation of joint-stock companies. There are, no doubt, many and great obstacles to the formation andsalutary working of these societies, inherent in the mind of those whomthey would obviously benefit. But the combinations of masters to keepdown, unjustly, the price of labour would be fairly checked by them, asfar as they were practicable; they would encourage economy, inasmuch asthey would enable a man to draw profit from his savings, by investingthem in buildings or machinery for processes of manufacture with whichhe was habitually connected. His little capital would then be workingfor him while he was at rest or asleep; he would more clearly perceivethe necessity of capital for carrying on great works: he would betterlearn to respect the larger portions of it in the hands of others; hewould be less tempted to join in unjust combinations: and, for the sakeof his own property, if not for higher reasons, he would be slow topromote local disturbance, or endanger public tranquillity; he would, atleast, be loth to act in that way _knowingly_: for it is not to bedenied that such societies might be nurseries of opinions unfavourableto a mixed constitution of government, like that of Great Britain. Thedemocratic and republican spirit which they might be apt to foster wouldnot, however, be dangerous in itself, but only as it might act withoutbeing sufficiently counterbalanced, either by landed proprietorship, orby a Church extending itself so as to embrace an ever-growing andever-shifting population of mechanics and artisans. But if thetendencies of such societies would be to make the men prosper who mightbelong to them, rulers and legislators should rejoice in the result, and do their duty to the State by upholding and extending the influenceof that Church to which it owes, in so great a measure, its safety, itsprosperity, and its glory. 

This, in the temper of the present times, may be difficult, but it isbecome indispensable, since large towns in great numbers have sprung up, and others have increased tenfold, with little or no dependence upon thegentry and the landed proprietors; and apart from those mitigated feudalinstitutions, which, till of late, have acted so powerfully upon thecomposition of the House of Commons. Now it may be affirmed that, inquarters where there is not an attachment to the Church, or the landedaristocracy, and a pride in supporting them, _there_ the people willdislike both, and be ready, upon such incitements as are perpetuallyrecurring, to join in attempts to overthrow them. There is no neutralground here: from want of due attention to the state of society in largetowns and manufacturing districts, and ignorance or disregard of theseobvious truths, innumerable well-meaning persons became zealoussupporters of a Reform Bill, the qualities and powers of which, whetherdestructive or constructive, they would otherwise have been afraid of:and even the framers of that bill, swayed as they might be by partyresentments and personal ambition, could not have gone so far, had notthey too been lamentably ignorant or neglectful of the same truths bothof fact and philosophy. 

But let that pass; and let no opponent of the Bill be tempted tocompliment his own foresight, by exaggerating the mischiefs and dangersthat have sprung from it: let not time be wasted in profitless regrets;and let those party distinctions vanish to their very names that haveseparated men who, whatever course they may have pursued, have ever hada bond of union in the wish to save the limited monarchy, and thoseother institutions that have, under Providence, rendered for so long aperiod of time this country the happiest and worthiest of which there isany record since the foundation of civil society. 

 * * * * *

III. A philosophic mind is best pleased when looking at religion in itsspiritual bearing; as a guide of conduct, a solace under affliction, anda support amid the instabilities of mortal life; but the Church havingbeen forcibly brought by political considerations to my notice, whiletreating of the labouring classes, I cannot forbear saying a few wordsupon that momentous topic. 

There is a loud clamour for extensive change in that department. Theclamour would be entitled to more respect if they who are the most eagerto swell it with their voices were not generally the most ignorant ofthe real state of the Church, and the service it renders to thecommunity. _Reform_ is the word employed. Let us pause and consider whatsense it is apt to carry, and how things are confounded by a lax use ofit. The great religious Reformation, in the sixteenth century, did notprofess to be a new construction, but a restoration of something falleninto decay, or put out of sight. That familiar and justifiable use ofthe word seems to have paved the way for fallacies with respect to theterm reform, which it is difficult to escape from. Were we to speak ofimprovement and the correction of abuses, we should run less risk ofbeing deceived ourselves, or of misleading others. We should be lesslikely to fall blindly into the belief, that the change demanded is arenewal of something that has existed before, and that, therefore, wehave experience on our side; nor should we be equally tempted to beg thequestion, that the change for which we are eager must be advantageous. From generation to generation, men are the dupes of words; and it ispainful to observe, that so many of our species are most tenacious ofthose opinions which they have formed with the least consideration. Theywho are the readiest to meddle with public affairs, whether in Church orState, fly to generalities, that they may be eased from the trouble ofthinking about particulars; and thus is deputed to mechanicalinstrumentality the work which vital knowledge only can do well. 

'Abolish pluralities, have a resident incumbent in every parish, ' is afavourite cry; but, without adverting to other obstacles in the way ofthis specious scheme, it may be asked what benefit would accrue from its_indiscriminate_ adoption to counterbalance the harm it would introduce, by nearly extinguishing the order of curates, unless the revenues of theChurch should grow with the population, and be greatly increased in manythinly peopled districts, especially among the parishes of the North. 

The order of curates is so beneficial, that some particular notice of itseems to be required in this place. For a Church poor as, relatively tothe numbers of people, that of England is, and probably will continue tobe, it is no small advantage to have youthful servants, who will workupon the wages of hope and expectation. Still more advantageous is it tohave, by means of this order, young men scattered over the country, whobeing more detached from the temporal concerns of the benefice, havemore leisure for improvement and study, and are less subject to bebrought into secular collision with those who are under their spiritualguardianship. The curate, if he reside at a distance from the incumbent, undertakes the requisite responsibilities of a temporal kind, in thatmodified way which prevents him, as a new-comer, from being charged withselfishness: while it prepares him for entering upon a benefice of hisown, with something of a suitable experience. If he should act under andin co-operation with a resident incumbent, the gain is mutual. Hisstudies will probably be assisted; and his training, managed by asuperior, will not be liable to relapse in matters of prudence, seemliness, or in any of the highest cares of his functions; and by wayof return for these benefits to the pupil, it will often happen that thezeal of a middle-aged or declining incumbent will be revived, by beingin near communion with the ardour of youth, when his own efforts mayhave languished through a melancholy consciousness that they have notproduced as much good among his flock as, when he first entered upon thecharge, he fondly hoped. 

Let one remark, and that not the least important, be added. A curate, entering for the first time upon his office, comes from college after acourse of expense, and with such inexperience in the use of money, that, in his new situation, he is apt to fall unawares into pecuniarydifficulties. If this happens to him, much more likely is it to happento the youthful incumbent; whose relations, to his parishioners and tosociety, are more complicated; and, his income being larger andindependent of another, a costlier style of living is required of him bypublic opinion. If embarrassment should ensue, and with that unavoidablysome loss of respectability, his future usefulness will beproportionably impaired: not so with the curate, for he can easilyremove and start afresh with a stock of experience and an unblemishedreputation; whereas the early indiscretions of an incumbent beingrarely forgotten, may be impediments to the efficacy of his ministry forthe remainder of his life. The same observations would apply with equalforce to doctrine. A young minister is liable to errors, from hisnotions being either too lax or over-strained. In both cases it wouldprove injurious that the error should be remembered, after study andreflection, with advancing years, shall have brought him to a clearerdiscernment of the truth, and better judgment in the application of it. 

It must be acknowledged that, among the regulations of ecclesiasticalpolity, none at first view are more attractive than that whichprescribes for every parish a resident incumbent. How agreeable topicture to one's self, as has been done by poets and romance writers, from Chaucer down to Goldsmith, a man devoted to his ministerial office, with not a wish or a thought ranging beyond the circuit of its cares!Nor is it in poetry and fiction only that such characters are found;they are scattered, it is hoped not sparingly, over real life, especially in sequestered and rural districts, where there is but smallinflux of new inhabitants, and little change of occupation. The spiritof the Gospel, unaided by acquisitions of profane learning andexperience in the world, --that spirit and the obligations of the sacredoffice may, in such situations, suffice to effect most of what isneedful. But for the complex state of society that prevails in England, much more is required, both in large towns, and in many extensivedistricts of the country. A minister should not only be irreproachablein manners and morals, but accomplished in learning, as far as ispossible without sacrifice of the least of his pastoral duties. Asnecessary, perhaps more so, is it that he should be a citizen as well asa scholar; thoroughly acquainted with the structure of society and theconstitution of civil government, and able to reason upon both with themost expert; all ultimately in order to support the truths ofChristianity, and to diffuse its blessings. 

A young man coming fresh from the place of his education, cannot havebrought with him these accomplishments; and if the scheme of equalisingChurch incomes, which many advisers are much bent upon, be realised, sothat there should be little or no secular inducement for a clergyman todesire a removal from the spot where he may chance to have been firstset down: surely not only opportunities for obtaining the requisitequalifications would be diminished, but the motives for desiring toobtain them would be proportionably weakened. And yet thesequalifications are indispensable for the diffusion of that knowledge, bywhich alone the political philosophy of the New Testament can be rightlyexpounded, and its precepts adequately enforced. In these time, when thepress is daily exercising so great a power over the minds of the people, for wrong or for right as may happen, _that_ preacher ranks among thefirst of benefactors who, without stooping to the direct treatment ofcurrent politics and passing events, can furnish infallible guidancethrough the delusions that surround them; and who, appealing to thesanctions of Scripture, may place the grounds of its injunctions in soclear a light, that disaffection shall cease to be cultivated as alaudable propensity, and loyalty cleansed from the dishonour of a blindand prostrate obedience. 

It is not, however, in regard to civic duties alone, that this knowledgein a minister of the Gospel is important; it is still more so forsoftening and subduing private and personal discontents. In all places, and at all times, men have gratuitously troubled themselves, becausetheir survey of the dispensations of Providence has been partial andnarrow; but now that readers are so greatly multiplied, men judge asthey are _taught_, and repinings are engendered everywhere, byimputations being cast upon the government; and are prolonged oraggravated by being ascribed to misconduct or injustice in rulers, whenthe individual himself only is in fault. If a Christian pastor becompetent to deal with these humours, as they may be dealt with, and byno members of society so successfully, both from more frequent and morefavourable opportunities of intercourse, and by aid of the authoritywith which he speaks; he will be a teacher of moderation, a dispenser ofthe wisdom that blunts approaching distress by submission to God's will, and lightens, by patience, grievances which cannot be removed. 

We live in times when nothing, of public good at least, is generallyacceptable, but what we believe can be traced to preconceived intention, and specific acts and formal contrivances of human understanding. AChristian instructor thoroughly accomplished would be a standingrestraint upon such presumptuousness of judgment, by impressing thetruth that--

 In the unreasoning progress of the world A wiser spirit is at work for us, A better eye than ours. --MS. 

Revelation points to the purity and peace of a future world; but oursphere of duty is upon earth; and the relations of impure andconflicting things to each other must be understood, or we shall beperpetually going wrong, in all but goodness of intention; and goodnessof intention will itself relax through frequent disappointment. Howdesirable, then, is it, that a minister of the Gospel should be versedin the knowledge of existing facts, and be accustomed to a wide range ofsocial experience! Nor is it less desirable for the purpose ofcounterbalancing and tempering in his own mind that ambition with whichspiritual power is as apt to be tainted as any other species of powerwhich men covet or possess. 

It must be obvious that the scope of the argument is to discourage anattempt which would introduce into the Church of England an equality ofincome and station, upon the model of that of Scotland. The sounder partof the Scottish nation know what good their ancestors derived from theirChurch, and feel how deeply the living generation is indebted to it. They respect and love it, as accommodated in so great a measure to acomparatively poor country, through the far greater portion of whichprevails a uniformity of employment; but the acknowledged deficiency oftheological learning among the clergy of that Church is easily accountedfor by this very equality. What else may be wanting there, it would beunpleasant to inquire, and might prove invidious to determine: onething, however, is clear; that in all countries the temporalities of theChurch Establishment should bear an analogy to the state of society, otherwise it cannot diffuse its influence through the whole community. In a country so rich and luxurious as England, the character of itsclergy must unavoidably sink, and their influence be everywhereimpaired, if individuals from the upper ranks, and men of leadingtalents, are to have no inducements to enter into that body but such asare purely spiritual. And this 'tinge of secularity' is no reproach tothe clergy, nor does it imply a deficiency of spiritual endowments. Parents and guardians, looking forward to sources of honourablemaintenance for their children and wards, often direct their thoughtsearly towards the Church, being determined partly by outwardcircumstances, and partly by indications of seriousness, or intellectualfitness. It is natural that a boy or youth, with such a prospect beforehim, should turn his attention to those studies, and be led into thosehabits of reflection, which will in some degree tend to prepare him forthe duties he is hereafter to undertake. As he draws nearer to the timewhen he will be called to these duties, he is both led and compelled toexamine the Scriptures. He becomes more and more sensible of theirtruth. Devotion grows in him; and what might begin in temporalconsiderations will end (as in a majority of instances we trust it does)in a spiritual-mindedness not unworthy of that Gospel, the lessons ofwhich he is to teach, and the faith of which he is to inculcate. Notinappositely may be here repeated an observation which, from itsobviousness and importance, must have been frequently made--viz. Thatthe impoverishing of the clergy, and bringing their incomes much nearerto a level, would not cause them to become less worldly-minded: theemoluments, howsoever reduced, would be as eagerly sought for, but bymen from lower classes in society; men who, by their manners, habits, abilities, and the scanty measure of their attainments, wouldunavoidably be less fitted for their station, and less competent todischarge its duties. 

Visionary notions have in all ages been afloat upon the subject of bestproviding for the clergy; notions which have been sincerely entertainedby good men, with a view to the improvement of that order, and eagerlycaught at and dwelt upon, by the designing, for its degradation anddisparagement. Some are beguiled by what they call the _voluntarysystem_, not seeing (what stares one in the face at the very threshold)that they who stand in most need of religious instruction areunconscious of the want, and therefore cannot reasonably be expected tomake any sacrifices in order to supply it. Will the licentious, thesensual, and the depraved, take from the means of their gratificationsand pursuits, to support a discipline that cannot advance withoutuprooting the trees that bear the fruit which they devour so greedily?Will _they_ pay the price of that seed whose harvest is to be reaped inan invisible world? A voluntary system for the religious exigencies of apeople numerous and circumstanced as we are! Not more absurd would it beto expect that a knot of boys should draw upon the pittance of theirpocket-money to build schools, or out of the abundance of theirdiscretion be able to select fit masters to teach and keep them inorder! Some, who clearly perceive the incompetence and folly of such ascheme for the agricultural part of the people, nevertheless think itfeasible in large towns, where the rich might subscribe for thereligious instruction of the poor. Alas! they know little of the thickdarkness that spreads over the streets and alleys of our large towns. The parish of Lambeth, a few years since, contained not more than onechurch and three or four small proprietary chapels, while dissentingchapels of every denomination were still more scantily found there; yetthe inhabitants of the parish amounted at that time to upwards of50, 000. Were the parish church, and the chapels of the Establishmentexisting there, an _impediment_ to the spread of the Gospel among thatmass of people? Who shall dare to say so? But if any one, in the face ofthe fact which has just been stated, and in opposition to authenticreports to the same effect from various other quarters, should stillcontend, that a voluntary system is sufficient for the spread andmaintenance of religion, we would ask, what kind of religion? whereinwould it differ, among the many, from deplorable fanaticism?

For the preservation of the Church Establishment, all men, whether theybelong to it or not, could they perceive their true interest, would bestrenuous: but how inadequate are its provisions for the needs of thecountry! and how much is it to be regretted that, while its zealousfriends yield to alarms on account of the hostility of Dissent, theyshould so much overrate the danger to be apprehended from that quarter, and almost overlook the fact that hundreds of thousands of ourfellow-countrymen, though formally and nominally of the Church ofEngland, never enter her places of worship, neither have theycommunication with her ministers! This deplorable state of things waspartly produced by a decay of zeal among the rich and influential, andpartly by a want of due expansive power in the constitution of theEstablishment as regulated by law. Private benefactors, in their effortsto build and endow churches, have been frustrated, or too much impededby legal obstacles: these, where they are unreasonable or unfitted forthe times, ought to be removed; and, keeping clear of intolerance andinjustice, means should be used to render the presence and powers ofthe Church commensurate with the wants of a shifting andstill-increasing population. 

This cannot be effected, unless the English Government vindicate thetruth, that, as her Church exists for the benefit of all (though not inequal degree), whether of her communion or not, all should be made tocontribute to its support. If this ground be abandoned, cause will begiven to fear that a moral wound may be inflicted upon the heart of theEnglish people, for which a remedy cannot be speedily provided by theutmost efforts which the members of the Church will themselves be ableto make. 

But let the friends of the Church be of good courage. Powers are at workby which, under Divine Providence, she may be strengthened and thesphere of her usefulness extended; not by alterations in her Liturgy, accommodated to this or that demand of finical taste, nor by cutting offthis or that from her articles or Canons, to which the scrupulous or theoverweening may object. Covert schism, and open nonconformity, wouldsurvive after alterations, however promising in the eyes of those whosesubtilty had been exercised in making them. Latitudinarianism is theparhelion of liberty of conscience, and will ever successfully lay claimto a divided worship. Among Presbyterians, Socinians, Baptists, andIndependents, there will always be found numbers who will tire of theirseveral creeds, and some will come over to the Church. Conventicles maydisappear, congregations in each denomination may fall into decay or bebroken up, but the conquests which the National Church ought chiefly toaim at, lie among the thousands and tens of thousands of the unhappyoutcasts who grow up with no religion at all. The wants of these cannotbut be feelingly remembered. Whatever may be the disposition of the newconstituencies under the Reformed Parliament, and the course which themen of their choice may be inclined or compelled to follow, it may beconfidently hoped that individuals, acting in their private capacities, will endeavour to make up for the deficiencies of the Legislature. Is ittoo much to expect that proprietors of large estates, where theinhabitants are without religious instruction, or where it is sparinglysupplied, will deem it their duty to take part in this good work; andthat thriving manufacturers and merchants will, in their severalneighbourhoods, be sensible of the like obligation, and act upon it withgenerous rivalry?

Moreover, the force of public opinion is rapidly increasing: and somemay bend to it, who are not so happy as to be swayed by a higher motive:especially they who derive large incomes from lay-impropriations, intracts of country where ministers are few and meagerly provided for. Aclaim still stronger may be acknowledged by those who, round theirsuperb habitations, or elsewhere, walk over vast estates which werelavished upon their ancestors by royal favouritism or purchased atinsignificant prices after church-spoliation; such proprietors, thoughnot conscience-stricken (there is no call for that), may be prompted tomake a return for which their tenantry and dependents will learn tobless their names. An impulse has been given; an accession of means fromthese several sources, co-operating with a _well_-considered change inthe distribution of some parts of the property at present possessed bythe Church, a change scrupulously founded upon due respect to law andjustice, will, we trust, bring about so much of what her friends desire, that the rest may be calmly waited for, with thankfulness for what shallhave been obtained. 

Let it not be thought unbecoming in a layman to have treated at length asubject with which the clergy are more intimately conversant. All may, without impropriety, speak of what deeply concerns all: nor need anapology be offered for going over ground which has been trod before soably and so often: without pretending, however, to any thing of novelty, either in matter or manner, something may have been offered to view, which will save the writer from the imputation of having little torecommend his labour, but goodness of intention. 

It was with reference to thoughts and feelings expressed in verse, thatI entered upon the above notices, and with verse I will conclude. Thepassage is extracted from my MSS. Written above thirty years ago: itturns upon the individual dignity which humbleness of social conditiondoes not preclude, but frequently promotes. It has no direct bearingupon clubs for the discussion of public affairs, nor upon political ortrade-unions; but if a single workman--who, being a member of one ofthose clubs, runs the risk of becoming an agitator, or who, beingenrolled in a union, must be left without a will of his own, andtherefore a slave--should read these lines, and be touched by them, Ishould indeed rejoice, and little would I care for losing credit as apoet with intemperate critics, who think differently from me uponpolitical philosophy or public measures, if the sober-minded admit that, in general views, my affections have been moved, and my imaginationexercised, under and _for_ the guidance of reason. 

 Here might I pause, and bend in reverence To Nature, and the power of human minds; To men as they are men within themselves. How oft high service is performed within, When all the external man is rude in show; Not like a temple rich with pomp and gold, But a mere mountain chapel that protects Its simple worshippers from sun and shower! Of these, said I, shall be my song; of these, If future years mature me for the task, Will I record the praises, making verse Deal boldly with substantial things--in truth And sanctity of passion speak of these, That justice may be done, obeisance paid Where it is due. Thus haply shall I teach Inspire, through unadulterated ears Pour rapture, tenderness, and hope; my theme No other than the very heart of man, As found among the best of those who live, Not unexalted by religious faith, Nor uninformed by books, good books, though few In Nature's presence: thence may I select Sorrow that is not sorrow, but delight, And miserable love that is not pain To hear of, for the glory that redounds Therefrom to human kind, and what we are. Be mine to follow with no timid step Where knowledge leads me; it shall be my pride That I have dared to tread this holy ground, Speaking no dream, but things oracular, Matter not lightly to be heard by those Who to the letter of the outward promise Do read the invisible soul; by men adroit In speech, and for communion with the world Accomplished, minds whose faculties are then Most active when they are most eloquent, And elevated most when most admired. Men may be found of other mould than these; Who are their own upholders, to themselves Encouragement and energy and will; Expressing liveliest thoughts in lively words As native passion dictates. Others, too, There are, among the walks of homely life, Still higher, men for contemplation framed; Shy, and unpractised in the strife of phrase; Meek men, whose very souls perhaps would sink Beneath them, summoned to such intercourse. Theirs is the language of the heavens, the power, The thought, the image, and the silent joy: Words are but under-agents in their souls; When they are grasping with their greatest strength They do not breathe among them; this I speak In gratitude to God, who feeds our hearts For His own service, knoweth, loveth us, When we are unregarded by the world. 

II. ADVICE TO THE YOUNG. 

(_a_) LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF 'THE FRIEND, ' SIGNED 'MATHETES. '

(_b_) ANSWER TO THE LETTER OF 'MATHETES. '

1809. 

ADVICE TO THE YOUNG. 

INTRODUCTION TO 'THE FRIEND, ' VOL. III. (1850). 

(_a_) LETTER TO THE EDITOR BY 'MATHETES. '

 [Greek: Para Sextou--tên ennoian tou kata physinzên, kai to semnon aplastôs, --ôse kolakeias men pasês prosêneseran einai tên omilian autou, aidesimôtaton de par' auton ekeinon ton kairon einai kai ama men apathesaton einai, ama de philosorgotaton kai to idein aithrôpon saphôs elachison tôn eautou kalôn hêgoumenon tên autou polymathiên]. 

 M. ANTONINUS. [25]

[25] L. I. 9. But the passage is made up from, rather than found in, Antoninus. Ed. Of _Friend_. 

 From Sextus, and from the contemplation of his character, I learned what it was to live a life in harmony with nature; and that seemliness and dignity of deportment, which insured the profoundest reverence at the very same time that his company was more winning than all the flattery in the world. To him I owe likewise that I have known a man at once the most dispassionate and the most affectionate, and who of all his attractions set the least value on the multiplicity of his literary acquisitions. 

_To the Editor of 'The Friend. '_

SIR, I hope you will not ascribe to presumption the liberty I take inaddressing you on the subject of your work. I feel deeply interested inthe cause you have undertaken to support; and my object in writing thisletter is to describe to you, in part from my own feelings, what Iconceive to be the state of many minds, which may derive importantadvantage from your instructions. 

I speak, Sir, of those who, though bred up under our unfavourable systemof education, have yet held at times some intercourse with nature, andwith those great minds whose works have been moulded by the spirit ofnature; who, therefore, when they pass from the seclusion and constraintof early study, bring with them into the new scene of the world much ofthe pure sensibility which is the spring of all that is greatly good inthought and action. To such the season of that entrance into the worldis a season of fearful importance; not for the seduction of itspassions, but of its opinions. Whatever be their intellectual powers, unless extraordinary circumstances in their lives have been sofavourable to the growth of meditative genius, that their speculativeopinions must spring out of their early feelings, their minds are stillat the mercy of fortune: they have no inward impulse steadily to propelthem: and must trust to the chances of the world for a guide. And suchis our present moral and intellectual state, that these chances arelittle else than variety of danger. There will be a thousand causesconspiring to complete the work of a false education, and by inclosingthe mind on every side from the influences of natural feeling, todegrade its inborn dignity, and finally bring the heart itself undersubjection to a corrupted understanding. I am anxious to describe to youwhat I have experienced or seen of the dispositions and feelings thatwill aid every other cause of danger, and tend to lay the mind open tothe infection of all those falsehoods in opinion and sentiment, whichconstitute the degeneracy of the age. 

Though it would not be difficult to prove, that the mind of the countryis much enervated since the days of her strength, and brought down fromits moral dignity, it is not yet so forlorn of all good, --there isnothing in the face of the times so dark and saddening and repulsive--asto shock the first feelings of a generous spirit, and drive it at onceto seek refuge in the elder ages of our greatness. There yet survives somuch of the character bred up through long years of liberty, danger, andglory, that even what this age produces bears traces of those that arepast, and it still yields enough of beautiful, and splendid, and bold, to captivate an ardent but untutored imagination. And in this realexcellence is the beginning of danger: for it is the first spring ofthat excessive admiration of the age which at last brings down to itsown level a mind born above it. If there existed only the generaldisposition of all who are formed with a high capacity for good, to berather credulous of excellence than suspiciously and severely just, theerror would not be carried far: but there are, to a young mind, in thiscountry and at this time, numerous powerful causes concurring to inflamethis disposition, till the excess of the affection above the worth ofits object is beyond all computation. To trace these causes it will benecessary to follow the history of a pure and noble mind from the firstmoment of that critical passage from seclusion to the world, whichchanges all the circumstances of its intellectual existence, shows itfor the first time the real scene of living men, and calls up the newfeeling of numerous relations by which it is to be connected with them. 

To the young adventurer in life, who enters upon his course with such amind, every thing seems made for delusion. He comes with a spirit thedearest feelings and highest thoughts of which have sprung up under theinfluences of nature. He transfers to the realities of life the highwild fancies of visionary boyhood: he brings with him into the world thepassions of solitary and untamed imagination, and hopes which he haslearned from dreams. Those dreams have been of the great and wonderfuland lovely, of all which in these has yet been disclosed to him: histhoughts have dwelt among the wonders of nature, and among the loftiestspirits of men, heroes, and sages, and saints;--those whose deeds, andthoughts, and hopes, were high above ordinary mortality, have been thefamiliar companions of his soul. To love and to admire has been the joyof his existence. Love and admiration are the pleasures he will demandof the world. For these he has searched eagerly into the ages that aregone; but with more ardent and peremptory expectation he requires themof that in which his own lot is cast: for to look on life with hopes ofhappiness is a necessity of his nature, and to him there is no happinessbut such as is surrounded with excellence. 

See first how this spirit will affect his judgment of moral character, in those with whom chance may connect him in the common relations oflife. It is of those with whom he is to live, that his soul firstdemands this food of her desires. From their conversation, their looks, their actions, their lives, she asks for excellence. To ask from all andto ask in vain, would be too dismal to bear: it would disturb him toodeeply with doubt and perplexity and fear. In this hope, and in therevolting of his thoughts from the possibility of disappointment, thereis a preparation for self-delusion: there is an unconsciousdetermination that his soul shall be satisfied; an obstinate will tofind good every where. And thus his first study of mankind is acontinued effort to read in them the expression of his own feelings. Hecatches at every uncertain shew and shadowy resemblance of what heseeks; and unsuspicious in innocence, he is first won with thoseappearances of good which are in fact only false pretensions. But thiserror is not carried far: for there is a sort of instinct of rectitude, which, like the pressure of a talisman given to baffle the illusions ofenchantment, warns a pure mind against hypocrisy. There is anotherdelusion more difficult to resist and more slowly dissipated. It is whenhe finds, as he often will, some of the real features of excellence inthe purity of their native form. For then his rapid imagination willgather round them all the kindred features that are wanting to perfectbeauty; and make for him, where he could not find, the moral creature ofhis expectation; peopling, even from this human world, his little circleof affection with forms as fair as his heart desired for its love. 

But when, from the eminence of life which he has reached, he lifts uphis eyes, and sends out his spirit to range over the great scene that isopening before him and around him, the whole prospect of civilised lifeso wide and so magnificent;--when he begins to contemplate, in theirvarious stations of power or splendour, the leaders of mankind, thosemen on whose wisdom are hung the fortunes of nations, those whose geniusand valour wield the heroism of a people;--or those, in no inferiorpride of place, whose sway is over the mind of society, chiefs in therealm of imagination, interpreters of the secrets of nature, rulers ofhuman opinion;--what wonder, when he looks on all this living scene, that his heart should burn with strong affection, that he should feelthat his own happiness will be for ever interwoven with the interests ofmankind? Here then the sanguine hope with which he looks on life, willagain be blended with his passionate desire of excellence; and he willstill be impelled to single out some, on whom his imagination and hishopes may repose. To whatever department of human thought or action hismind is turned with interest, either by the sway of public passion or byits own impulse, among statesmen, and warriors, and philosophers, andpoets, he will distinguish some favoured names on which he may satisfyhis admiration. And there, just as in the little circle of his ownacquaintance, seizing eagerly on every merit they possess, he willsupply more from his own credulous hope, completing real with imaginedexcellence, till living men, with all their imperfections, become tohim the representatives of his perfect ideal creation;--till, multiplying his objects of reverence, as he enlarges his prospect oflife, he will have surrounded himself with idols of his own hands, andhis imagination will seem to discern a glory in the countenance of theage, which is but the reflection of its own effulgence. 

He will possess, therefore, in the creative power of generous hope, apreparation for illusory and exaggerated admiration of the age in whichhe lives: and this predisposition will meet with many favouringcircumstances, when he has grown up under a system of education likeours, which (as perhaps all education must that is placed in the handsof a distinct and embodied class, who therefore bring to it the peculiarand hereditary prejudices of their order) has controlled his imaginationto a reverence of former times, with an unjust contempt of his own. Forno sooner does he break loose from this control, and begin to feel, ashe contemplates the world for himself, how much there is surrounding himon all sides that gratifies his noblest desires, than there springs upin him an indignant sense of injustice, both to the age and to his ownmind; and he is impelled warmly and eagerly to give loose to thefeelings that have been held in bondage, to seek out and to delight infinding excellence that will vindicate the insulted world, while itjustifies, too, his resentment of his own undue subjection, and exaltsthe value of his new found liberty. 

Add to this, that secluded as he has been from knowledge, and, in theimprisoning circle of one system of ideas, cut off from his share in thethoughts and feelings that are stirring among men, he finds himself, atthe first steps of his liberty, in a new intellectual world. Passionsand powers which he knew not of start up in his soul. The human mind, which he had seen but under one aspect, now presents to him a thousandunknown and beautiful forms. He sees it, in its varying powers, glancingover nature with restless curiosity, and with impetuous energy strivingfor ever against the barriers which she has placed around it; sees itwith divine power creating from dark materials living beauty, and fixingall its high and transported fancies in imperishable forms. In the worldof knowledge, and science, and art, and genius, he treads as a stranger:in the confusion of new sensations, bewildered in delights, all seemsbeautiful; all seems admirable. And therefore he engages eagerly in thepursuit of false or insufficient philosophy; he is won by theallurements of licentious art; he follows with wonder the irregulartransports of undisciplined imagination. Nor, where the objects of hisadmiration are worthy, is he yet skilful to distinguish between theacquisitions which the age has made for itself, and that largeproportion of its wealth which it has only inherited: but in his delightof discovery and growing knowledge, all that is new to his own mindseems to him new-born to the world. To himself every fresh idea appearsinstruction; every new exertion, acquisition of power: he seems justcalled to the consciousness of himself, and to his true place in theintellectual world; and gratitude and reverence towards those to whom heowes this recovery of his dignity, tend much to subject him to thedominion of minds that were not formed by nature to be the leaders ofopinion. 

All the tumult and glow of thought and imagination, which seize on amind of power in such a scene, tend irresistibly to bind it by strongerattachment of love and admiration to its own age. And there is one amongthe new emotions which belong to its entrance on the world, one almostthe noblest of all, in which this exaltation of the age is essentiallymingled. The faith in the perpetual progression of human nature towardsperfection gives birth to such lofty dreams, as secure to it the devoutassent of the imagination; and it will be yet more grateful to a heartjust opening to hope, flushed with the consciousness of new strength, and exulting in the prospect of destined achievements. There is, therefore, almost a compulsion on generous and enthusiastic spirits, asthey trust that the future shall transcend the present, to believe thatthe present transcends the past. It is only on an undue love andadmiration of their own age that they can build their confidence in themelioration of the human race. Nor is this faith, which, in some shape, will always be the creed of virtue, without apparent reason, even in theerroneous form in which the young adopt it. For there is a perpetualacquisition of knowledge and art, an unceasing progress in many of themodes of exertion of the human mind, a perpetual unfolding of virtueswith the changing manners of society: and it is not for a young mind tocompare what is gained with what has passed away; to discern thatamidst the incessant intellectual activity of the race, the intellectualpower of individual minds maybe falling off; and that amidstaccumulating knowledge lofty science may disappear; and still less, tojudge, in the more complicated moral character of a people, what isprogression, and what is decline. 

Into a mind possessed with this persuasion of the perpetual progress ofman, there may even imperceptibly steal both from the belief itself, andfrom many of the views on which it rests, something like a distrust ofthe wisdom of great men of former ages, and with the reverence, which nodelusion will ever over-power in a pure mind, for their greatness, afancied discernment of imperfection and of incomplete excellence, whichwanted for its accomplishment the advantages of later improvements:there will be a surprise that so much should have been possible in timesso ill prepared; and even the study of their works may be sometimesrather the curious research of a speculative inquirer, than the devoutcontemplation of an enthusiast, --the watchful and obedient heart of adisciple listening to the inspiration of his master. 

Here then is the power of delusion that will gather round the firststeps of a youthful spirit, and throw enchantment over the world inwhich it is to dwell; hope realising its own dreams; ignorance dazzledand ravished with sudden sunshine; power awakened and rejoicing in itsown consciousness; enthusiasm kindling among multiplying images ofgreatness and beauty, and enamoured, above all, of one splendid error;and, springing from all these, such a rapture of life and hope and joy, that the soul, in the power of its happiness, transmutes thingsessentially repugnant to it into the excellence of its own nature: theseare the spells that cheat the eye of the mind with illusion. It is underthese influences that a young man of ardent spirit gives all his love, and reverence, and zeal, to productions of art, to theories of science, to opinions, to systems of feeling, and to characters distinguished inthe world, that are far beneath his own original dignity. 

Now as this delusion springs not from his worse but his better nature, it seems as if there could be no warning to him from within of hisdanger: for even the impassioned joy which he draws at times from theworks of nature, and from those of her mightier sons, and which wouldstartle him from a dream of unworthy passion, serves only to fix theinfatuation:--for those deep emotions, proving to him that his heart isuncorrupted, justify to him all its workings, and his mind, confidingand delighting in itself, yields to the guidance of its own blindimpulses of pleasure. His chance, therefore, of security is the chancethat the greater number of objects occurring to attract his honourablepassions may be worthy of them. But we have seen that the whole power ofcircumstances is collected to gather round him such objects andinfluences as will bend his high passions to unworthy enjoyment. Heengages in it with a heart and understanding unspoiled: but they cannotlong be misapplied with impunity. They are drawn gradually into closersympathy with the falsehoods they have adopted, till, his very natureseeming to change under the corruption, there disappears from it thecapacity of those higher perceptions and pleasures to which he was born:and he is cast off from the communion of exalted minds, to live and toperish with the age to which he has surrendered himself. 

If minds under these circumstances of danger are preserved from decayand overthrow, it can seldom, I think, be to themselves that they owetheir deliverance. It must be to a fortunate chance which places themunder the influence of some more enlightened mind, from which they mayfirst gain suspicion and afterwards wisdom. There is a philosophy, which, leading them by the light of their best emotions to theprinciples which should give life to thought and law to genius, willdiscover to them, in clear and perfect evidence, the falsehood of theerrors that have misled them, and restore them to themselves. And thisphilosophy they will be willing to hear and wise to understand; but theymust be led into its mysteries by some guiding hand; for they want theimpulse or the power to penetrate of themselves the recesses. 

If a superior mind should assume the protection of others just beginningto move among the dangers I have described, it would probably be found, that delusions springing from their own virtuous activity were not theonly difficulties to be encountered. Even after suspicion is awakened, the subjection to falsehood may be prolonged and deepened by manyweaknesses both of the intellectual and moral nature; weaknesses thatwill sometimes shake the authority of acknowledged truth. There may beintellectual indolence; an indisposition in the mind to the effort ofcombining the ideas it actually possesses, and bringing into distinctform the knowledge, which in its elements is already its own: there maybe, where the heart resists the sway of opinion, misgivings and modestself-mistrust in him who sees that, if he trusts his heart, he mustslight the judgment of all around him:--there may be too habitualyielding to authority, consisting, more than in indolence or diffidence, in a conscious helplessness and incapacity of the mind to maintainitself in its own place against the weight of general opinion; and theremay be too indiscriminate, too undisciplined, a sympathy with others, which by the mere infection of feeling will subdue the reason. Theremust be a weakness in dejection to him who thinks with sadness, if hisfaith be pure, how gross is the error of the multitude, and thatmultitude how vast;--a reluctance to embrace a creed that excludes somany whom he loves, so many whom his youth has revered;--a difficulty tohis understanding to believe that those whom he knows to be, in muchthat is good and honourable, his superiors, can be beneath him in thiswhich is the most important of all;--a sympathy pleading importunatelyat his heart to descend to the fellowship of his brothers, and to taketheir faith and wisdom for his own. How often, when under the impulsesof those solemn hours, in which he has felt with clearer insight anddeeper faith his sacred truths, he labours to win to his own beliefthose whom he loves, will he be checked by their indifference or theirlaughter! And will he not bear back to his meditations a painful anddisheartening sorrow, a gloomy discontent in that faith which takes inbut a portion of those whom he wishes to include in all his blessings?Will he not be enfeebled by a distraction of inconsistent desires, whenhe feels so strongly that the faith which fills his heart, the circlewithin which he would embrace all he loves--would repose all his wishesand hopes, and enjoyments--is yet incommensurate with his affections?

Even when the mind, strong in reason and just feeling united, andrelying on its strength, has attached itself to truth, how much is therein the course and accidents of life that is for ever silently at workfor its degradation. There are pleasures deemed harmless, that layasleep the recollections of innocence: there are pursuits heldhonourable, or imposed by duty, that oppress the moral spirit: aboveall there is that perpetual connection with ordinary minds in the commonintercourse of society; that restless activity of frivolousconversation, where men of all characters and all pursuits mixingtogether, nothing may be talked of that is not of common interest toall;--nothing, therefore, but those obvious thoughts and feelings thatfloat over the surface of things: and all which is drawn from the depthof nature, all which impassioned feeling has made original in thought, would be misplaced and obtrusive. The talent that is allowed to shewitself is that which can repay admiration by furnishing entertainment:and the display to which it is invited is that which flatters the vulgarpride of society, by abasing what is too high in excellence for itssympathy. A dangerous seduction to talents, which would make language, given to exalt the soul by the fervid expression of its pure emotions, the instrument of its degradation. And even when there is, as in theinstance I have supposed, too much uprightness to choose sodishonourable a triumph, there is a necessity of manners, by whicheveryone must be controlled who mixes much in society, not to offendthose with whom he converses by his superiority; and whatever be thenative spirit of a mind, it is evident that this perpetual adaptation ofitself to others, this watchfulness against its own rising feelings, this studied sympathy with mediocrity, must pollute and impoverish thesources of its strength. 

From much of its own weakness, and from all the errors of its misleadingactivities, may generous youth be rescued by the interposition of anenlightened mind: and in some degree it may be guarded by instructionagainst the injuries to which it is exposed in the world. His lot ishappy who owes this protection to friendship; who has found in a friendthe watchful guardian of his mind. He will not be deluded, having thatlight to guide; he will not slumber, with that voice to inspire; he willnot be desponding or dejected, with that bosom to lean on. But how manymust there be whom Heaven has left unprovided, except in their ownstrength; who must maintain themselves, unassisted and solitary, againsttheir own infirmities and the opposition of the world! For such theremay yet be a protector. If a teacher should stand up in theirgeneration, conspicuous above the multitude in superior power, and stillmore in the assertion and proclamation of disregarded truth;--to him, tohis cheering or summoning voice, all those would turn, whose deepsensibility has been oppressed by the indifference, or misled by theseduction, of the times. Of one such teacher who has been given to ourown age you have described the power when you said, that in hisannunciation of truths he seemed to speak in thunders. I believe thatmighty voice has not been poured out in vain; that there are hearts thathave received into their inmost depths all its varying tones; and thateven now, there are many to whom the name of Wordsworth calls up therecollection of their weakness and the consciousness of their strength. 

To give to the reason and eloquence of one man this complete controlover the minds of others, it is necessary, I think, that he should beborn in their own times. For thus whatever false opinion of pre-eminenceis attached to the age becomes at once a title of reverence to him: andwhen with distinguished powers he sets himself apart from the age, andabove it, as the teacher of high but ill-understood truths, he willappear at once to a generous imagination in the dignity of one whosesuperior mind outsteps the rapid progress of society, and will derivefrom illusion itself the power to disperse illusions. It is probabletoo, that he who labours under the errors I have described, might feelthe power of truth in a writer of another age, yet fail in applying thefull force of his principles to his own times: but when he receives themfrom a living teacher, there is no room for doubt or misapplication. Itis the errors of his own generation that are denounced; and whateverauthority he may acknowledge in the instructions of his master, strikes, with inevitable force, at his veneration for the opinions and charactersof his own times. And finally there will be gathered round a livingteacher, who speaks to the deeper soul, many feelings of human love thatwill place the infirmities of the heart peculiarly under his control; atthe same time that they blend with and animate the attachment to hiscause. So that there will flow from him something of the peculiarinfluence of a friend: while his doctrines will be embraced and assertedand vindicated with the ardent zeal of a disciple, such as can scarcelybe carried back to distant times, or connected with voices that speakonly from the grave. 

I have done what I proposed. I have related to you as much as I have hadopportunities of knowing of the difficulties from within and fromwithout, which may oppose the natural development of true feeling andright opinion in a mind formed with some capacity for good; and theresources which such a mind may derive from an enlightened contemporarywriter. If what I have said be just, it is certain that this influencewill be felt more particularly in a work, adapted by its mode ofpublication to address the feelings of the time, and to bring to itsreaders repeated admonition and repeated consolation. 

I have perhaps presumed too far in trespassing on your attention, and ingiving way to my own thoughts; but I was unwilling to leave any thingunsaid which might induce you to consider with favour the request I wasanxious to make, in the name of all whose state of mind I havedescribed, that you would at times regard us more particularly in yourinstructions. I cannot judge to what degree it may be in your power togive the truth you teach a control over understandings that have maturedtheir strength in error; but in our class I am sure you will have docilelearners. 

MATHETES. 

(_b_) ANSWER TO THE LETTER OF MATHETES. 

The Friend might rest satisfied that his exertions thus far have notbeen wholly unprofitable, if no other proof had been given of theirinfluence, than that of having called forth the foregoing letter, withwhich he has been so much interested, that he could not deny himself thepleasure of communicating it to his readers. In answer to hiscorrespondent, it need scarcely here be repeated, that one of the mainpurposes of his work is to weigh, honestly and thoughtfully, the moralworth and intellectual power of the age in which we live; to ascertainour gain and our loss; to determine what we are in ourselves positively, and what we are compared with our ancestors; and thus, and by everyother means within his power, to discover what may be hoped for futuretimes, what and how lamentable are the evils to be feared, and how farthere is cause for fear. If this attempt should not be made wholly invain, my ingenious correspondent, and all who are in a state of mindresembling that of which he gives so lively a picture, will be enabledmore readily and surely to distinguish false from legitimate objects ofadmiration: and thus may the personal errors which he would guardagainst be more effectually prevented or removed by the development ofgeneral truth for a general purpose, than by instructions specificallyadapted to himself or to the class of which he is the ablerepresentative. There is a life and spirit in knowledge which we extractfrom truths scattered for the benefit of all, and which the mind, by itsown activity, has appropriated to itself, --a life and spirit, which isseldom found in knowledge communicated by formal and direct precepts, even when they are exalted and endeared by reverence and love for theteacher. 

Nevertheless, though I trust that the assistance which my correspondenthas done me the honour to request, will in course of time flow naturallyfrom my labours, in a manner that will best serve him, I cannot resistthe inclination to connect, at present, with his letter a few remarks ofdirect application to the subject of it; remarks, I say, --for to such Ishall confine myself, --independent of the main point out of which hiscomplaint and request both proceed; I mean the assumed inferiority ofthe present age in moral dignity and intellectual power to those whichhave preceded it. For if the fact were true, that we had even surpassedour ancestors in the best of what is good, the main part of the dangersand impediments which my correspondent has feelingly portrayed, couldnot cease to exist for minds like his, nor indeed would they be muchdiminished; as they arise out of the constitution of things, from thenature of youth, from the laws that govern the growth of the faculties, and from the necessary condition of the great body of mankind. Let usthrow ourselves back to the age of Elizabeth, and call up to mind theheroes, the warriors, the statesmen, the poets, the divines, and themoral philosophers, with which the reign of the virgin queen wasillustrated. Or if we be more strongly attracted by the moral purity andgreatness, and that sanctity of civil and religious duty, with which thetyranny of Charles I. Was struggled against, let us cast our eyes, inthe hurry of admiration, round that circle of glorious patriots: but donot let us be persuaded, that each of these, in his course ofdiscipline, was uniformly helped forward by those with whom heassociated, or by those whose care it was to direct him. Then, as now, existed objects to which the wisest attached undue importance; then, asnow, judgment was misled by factions and parties, time wasted incontroversies fruitless, except as far as they quickened the faculties;then, as now, minds were venerated or idolized, which owed theirinfluence to the weakness of their contemporaries rather than to theirown power. Then, though great actions were wrought, and great works inliterature and science produced, yet the general taste was capricious, fantastical, or grovelling; and in this point, as in all others, wasyouth subject to delusion, frequent in proportion to the liveliness ofthe sensibility, and strong as the strength of the imagination. Everyage hath abounded in instances of parents, kindred, and friends, who, byindirect influence of example, or by positive injunction andexhortation, have diverted or discouraged the youth, who, in thesimplicity and purity of nature, had determined to follow hisintellectual genius through good and through evil, and had devotedhimself to knowledge, to the practice of virtue and the preservation ofintegrity, in slight of temporal rewards. Above all, have not the commonduties and cares of common life at all times exposed men to injury fromcauses the action of which is the more fatal from being silent andunremitting, and which, wherever it was not jealously watched andsteadily opposed, must have pressed upon and consumed the divinerspirit?

There are two errors into which we easily slip when thinking of pasttimes. One lies in forgetting in the excellence of what remains thelarge overbalance of worthlessness that has been swept away. Rangingover the wide tracts of antiquity, the situation of the mind may belikened to that of a traveller[26] in some unpeopled part of America, who is attracted to the burial place of one of the primitiveinhabitants. It is conspicuous upon an eminence, 'a mount upon a mount!'He digs into it, and finds that it contains the bones of a man of mightystature; and he is tempted to give way to a belief, that as there weregiants in those days, so all men were giants. But a second and wiserthought may suggest to him that this tomb would never have forced itselfupon his notice, if it had not contained a body that was distinguishedfrom others, --that of a man who had been selected as a chieftain orruler for the very reason that he surpassed the rest of his tribe instature, and who now lies thus conspicuously inhumed upon themountain-top, while the bones, of his followers are laid unobtrusivelytogether in their burrows upon the plain below. The second habitualerror is, that in this comparison of ages we divide time merely intopast and present, and place these in the balance to be weighed againsteach other; not considering that the present is in our estimation notmore than a period of thirty years, or half a century at most, and thatthe past is a mighty accumulation of many such periods, perhaps thewhole of recorded time, or at least the whole of that portion of it inwhich our own country has been distinguished. We may illustrate this bythe familiar use of the words ancient and modern, when applied topoetry. What can be more inconsiderate or unjust than to compare a fewexisting writers with the whole succession of their progenitors? Thedelusion, from the moment that our thoughts are directed to it, seemstoo gross to deserve mention; yet men will talk for hours upon poetry, balancing against each other the words ancient and modern, and beunconscious that they have fallen into it. 

[26] See Ashe's _Travels in America_. 

These observations are not made as implying a dissent from the beliefof my correspondent, that the moral spirit and intellectual powers ofthis country are declining; but to guard against unqualified admiration, even in cases where admiration has been rightly fixed, and to preventthat depression which must necessarily follow, where the notion of thepeculiar unfavourableness of the present times to dignity of mind hasbeen carried too far. For in proportion as we imagine obstacles to existout of ourselves to retard our progress, will, in fact, our progress beretarded. Deeming, then, that in all ages an ardent mind will be baffledand led astray in the manner under contemplation, though in variousdegrees, I shall at present content myself with a few practical anddesultory comments upon some of those general causes, to which mycorrespondent justly attributes the errors in opinion, and the loweringor deadening of sentiment, to which ingenuous and aspiring youth isexposed. And first, for the heart-cheering belief in the perpetualprogress of the species towards a point of unattainable perfection. Ifthe present age do indeed transcend the past in what is most beneficialand honourable, he that perceives this, being in no error, has no causefor complaint; but if it be not so, a youth of genius might, it shouldseem, be preserved from any wrong influence of this faith by an insightinto a simple truth, namely, that it is not necessary, in order tosatisfy the desires of our nature, or to reconcile us to the economy ofprovidence, that there should be at all times a continuous advance inwhat is of highest worth. In fact it is not, as a writer of the presentday has admirably observed, in the power of fiction to portray in words, or of the imagination to conceive in spirit, actions or characters ofmore exalted virtue, than those which thousands of years ago haveexisted upon earth, as we know from the records of authentic history. Such is the inherent dignity of human nature, that there belong to itsublimities of virtues which all men may attain, and which no man cantranscend: and though this be not true in an equal degree ofintellectual power, yet in the persons of Plato, Demosthenes, and Homer, and in those of Shakespeare, Milton, and Lord Bacon, were enshrined asmuch of the divinity of intellect as the inhabitants of this planet canhope will ever take up its abode among them. But the question is not ofthe power or worth of individual minds, but of the general moral orintellectual merits of an age, or a people, or of the human race. Be itso. Let us allow and believe that there is a progress in the speciestowards unattainable perfection, or whether this be so or not, that itis a necessity of a good and greatly-gifted nature to believe it; surelyit does not follow that this progress should be constant in thosevirtues and intellectual qualities, and in those departments ofknowledge, which in themselves absolutely considered are of most value, things independent and in their degree indispensable. The progress ofthe species neither is nor can be like that of a Roman road in a rightline. It may be more justly compared to that of a river, which, both inits smaller reaches and larger turnings, is frequently forced backtowards its fountains by objects which cannot otherwise be eluded orovercome; yet with an accompanying impulse that will insure itsadvancement hereafter, it is either gaining strength every hour, orconquering in secret some difficulty, by a labour that contributes aseffectually to further it in its course, as when it moves forwarduninterrupted in a line, direct as that of the Roman road with which Ibegan the comparison. 

It suffices to content the mind, though there may be an apparentstagnation, or a retrograde movement in the species, that something isdoing which is necessary to be done, and the effects of which will indue time appear; that something is unremittingly gaining, either insecret preparation or in open and triumphant progress. But in fact here, as every where, we are deceived by creations which the mind is compelledto make for itself; we speak of the species not as an aggregate, but asendued with the form and separate life of an individual. But humankind, --what is it else than myriads of rational beings in variousdegrees obedient to their reason; some torpid, some aspiring; some ineager chase to the right hand, some to the left; these wasting downtheir moral nature, and those feeding it for immortality? A wholegeneration may appear even to sleep, or may be exasperated withrage, --they that compose it, tearing each other to pieces with more thanbrutal fury. It is enough for complacency and hope, that scattered andsolitary minds are always labouring somewhere in the service of truthand virtue; and that by the sleep of the multitude the energy of themultitude may be prepared; and that by the fury of the people the chainsof the people may be broken. Happy moment was it for England when herChaucer, who has rightly been called the morning star of her literature, appeared above the horizon; when her Wicliffe, like the sun, shot orientbeams through the night of Romish superstition! Yet may the darkness andthe desolating hurricane which immediately followed in the wars of Yorkand Lancaster, be deemed in their turn a blessing, with which the Landhas been visited. 

May I return to the thought of progress, of accumulation, of increasinglight, or of any other image by which it may please us to represent theimprovement of the species? The hundred years that followed theusurpation of Henry IV. , were a hurling-back of the mind of the country, a dilapidation, an extinction; yet institutions, laws, customs, andhabits, were then broken down, which would not have been so readily, norperhaps so thoroughly destroyed by the gradual influence of increasingknowledge; and under the oppression of which, if they had continued toexist, the virtue and intellectual prowess of the succeeding centurycould not have appeared at all, much less could they have displayedthemselves with that eager haste, and with those beneficent triumphs, which will to the end of time be looked back upon with admiration andgratitude. 

If the foregoing obvious distinctions be once clearly perceived, andsteadily kept in view, I do not see why a belief in the progress ofhuman nature towards perfection should dispose a youthful mind, howeverenthusiastic, to an undue admiration of his own age, and thus tend todegrade that mind. 

But let me strike at once at the root of the evil complained of in mycorrespondent's letter. Protection from any fatal effect of seductionsand hindrances which opinion may throw in the way of pure andhigh-minded youth, can only be obtained with certainty at the same priceby which every thing great and good is obtained, namely, steadydependence upon voluntary and self-originating effort, and upon thepractice of self-examination, sincerely aimed at and rigorouslyenforced. But how is this to be expected from youth? Is it not to demandthe fruit when the blossom is barely put forth, and is hourly at themercy of frosts and winds? To expect from youth these virtues andhabits, in that degree of excellence to which in mature years they maybe carried, would indeed be preposterous. Yet has youth many helps andaptitudes for the discharge of these difficult duties, which arewithdrawn for the most part from the more advanced stages of life. Foryouth has its own wealth and independence; it is rich in health of bodyand animal spirits, in its sensibility to the impressions of the naturaluniverse, in the conscious growth of knowledge, in lively sympathy andfamiliar communion with the generous actions recorded in history, andwith the high passions of poetry; and, above all, youth is rich in thepossession of time, and the accompanying consciousness of freedom andpower. The young man feels that he stands at a distance from the seasonwhen his harvest is to be reaped; that he has leisure and may lookaround, and may defer both the choice and the execution of his purposes. If he makes an attempt and shall fail, new hopes immediately rush in andnew promises. Hence, in the happy confidence of his feelings, and in theelasticity of his spirit, neither worldly ambition, nor the love ofpraise, nor dread of censure, nor the necessity of worldly maintenance, nor any of those causes which tempt or compel the mind habitually tolook out of itself for support; neither these, nor the passions of envy, fear, hatred, despondency, and the rankling of disappointed hopes, (allwhich in after life give birth to, and regulate, the efforts of men anddetermine their opinions) have power to preside over the choice of theyoung, if the disposition be not naturally bad, or the circumstanceshave not been in an uncommon degree unfavourable. 

In contemplation, then, of this disinterested and free condition of theyouthful mind, I deem it in many points peculiarly capable of searchinginto itself, and of profiting by a few simple questions, such as thesethat follow. Am I chiefly gratified by the exertion of my power from thepure pleasure of intellectual activity, and from the knowledge therebyacquired? In other words, to what degree do I value my faculties and myattainments for their own sakes? or are they chiefly prized by me onaccount of the distinction which they confer, or the superiority whichthey give me over others? Am I aware that immediate influence and ageneral acknowledgment of merit are no necessary adjuncts of asuccessful adherence to study and meditation in those departments ofknowledge which are of most value to mankind;--that a recompense ofhonours and emoluments is far less to be expected; in fact, that thereis little natural connection between them? Have I perceived this truth;and, perceiving it, does the countenance of philosophy continue toappear as bright and beautiful in my eyes?--Has no haze bedimmed it? Hasno cloud passed over and hidden from me that look which was before soencouraging? Knowing that it is my duty, and feeling that it is myinclination, to mingle as a social being with my fellow men; preparedalso to submit cheerfully to the necessity that will probably exist ofrelinquishing, for the purpose of gaining a livelihood, the greatestportion of my time to employments where I shall have little or no choicehow or when I am to act; have I, at this moment, when I stand as it wereupon the threshold of the busy world, a clear intuition of thatpre-eminence in which virtue and truth (involving in this latter wordthe sanctities of religion) sit enthroned above all denominations anddignities which, in various degrees of exaltation, rule over the desiresof men? Do I feel that, if their solemn mandates shall be forgotten, ordisregarded, or denied the obedience due to them when opposed to others, I shall not only have lived for no good purpose, but that I shall havesacrificed my birth-right as a rational being; and that every otheracquisition will be a bane and a disgrace to me? This is not spoken withreference to such sacrifices as present themselves to the youthfulimagination in the shape of crimes, acts by which the conscience isviolated; such a thought, I know, would be recoiled from at once, notwithout indignation; but I write in the spirit of the ancient fable ofProdicus, representing the choice of Hercules. Here is the World, afemale figure approaching at the head of a train of willing or giddyfollowers: her air and deportment are at once careless, remiss, self-satisfied, and haughty: and there is Intellectual Prowess, with apale cheek and serene brow, leading in chains Truth, her beautiful andmodest captive. The one makes her salutation with a discourse of ease, pleasure, freedom, and domestic tranquillity; or, if she invite tolabour, it is labour in the busy and beaten track, with assurance of thecomplacent regards of parents, friends, and of those with whom weassociate. The promise also may be upon her lip of the huzzas of themultitude, of the smile of kings, and the munificent rewards of senates. The other does not venture to hold forth any of these allurements; shedoes not conceal from him whom she addresses the impediments, thedisappointments, the ignorance and prejudice which her follower willhave to encounter, if devoted, when duty calls, to active life; and ifto contemplative, she lays nakedly before him a scheme of solitary andunremitting labour, a life of entire neglect perhaps, or assuredly alife exposed to scorn, insult, persecution, and hatred; but cheered byencouragement from a grateful few, by applauding conscience, and by aprophetic anticipation, perhaps, of fame--a late, though lasting, consequence. Of these two, each in this manner soliciting you to becomeher adherent, you doubt not which to prefer; but oh! the thought ofmoment is not preference, but the degree of preference; the passionateand pure choice, the inward sense of absolute and unchangeable devotion. 

I spoke of a few simple questions. The question involved in thisdeliberation is simple, but at the same time it is high and awful; and Iwould gladly know whether an answer can be returned satisfactory to themind. We will for a moment suppose that it can not; that there is astartling and a hesitation. Are we then to despond, --to retire from allcontest, --and to reconcile ourselves at once to cares without a generoushope, and to efforts in which there is no more moral life than thatwhich is found in the business and labours of the unfavoured andunaspiring many? No. But if the inquiry have not been on just groundssatisfactorily answered, we may refer confidently our youth to thatnature of which he deems himself an enthusiastic follower, and one whowishes to continue no less faithful and enthusiastic. We would tell himthat there are paths which he has not trodden; recesses which he has notpenetrated; that there is a beauty which he has not seen, a pathos whichhe has not felt, a sublimity to which he hath not been raised. If hehave trembled because there has occasionally taken place in him a lapseof which he is conscious; if he foresee open or secret attacks, which hehas had intimations that he will neither be strong enough to resist, norwatchful enough to elude, let him not hastily ascribe this weakness, this deficiency, and the painful apprehensions accompanying them, in anydegree to the virtues or noble qualities with which youth by nature isfurnished; but let him first be assured, before he looks about for themeans of attaining the insight, the discriminating powers, and theconfirmed wisdom of manhood, that his soul has more to demand of theappropriate excellencies of youth, than youth has yet supplied to it;that the evil under which he labours is not a superabundance of theinstincts and the animating spirit of that age, but a falling short, ora failure. But what can he gain from this admonition? He cannot recallpast time; he cannot begin his journey afresh; he cannot untwist thelinks by which, in no undelightful harmony, images and sentiments arewedded in his mind. Granted that the sacred light of childhood is andmust be for him no more than a remembrance. He may, notwithstanding, beremanded to nature, and with trustworthy hopes, founded less upon hissentient than upon his intellectual being; to nature, as leading oninsensibly to the society of reason, but to reason and will, as leadingback to the wisdom of nature. A re-union, in this order accomplished, will bring reformation and timely support; and the two powers of reasonand nature, thus reciprocally teacher and taught, may advance togetherin a track to which there is no limit. 

We have been discoursing (by implication at least) of infancy, childhood, boyhood, and youth, of pleasures lying upon the unfoldingintellect plenteously as morning dew-drops, --of knowledge inhaledinsensibly like the fragrance, --of dispositions stealing into the spiritlike music from unknown quarters, --of images uncalled for and rising uplike exhalations, --of hopes plucked like beautiful wild flowers from theruined tombs that border the highways of antiquity, to make a garlandfor a living forehead;--in a word, we have been treating of nature as ateacher of truth through joy and through gladness, and as a creatress ofthe faculties by a process of smoothness and delight. We have made nomention of fear, shame, sorrow, nor of ungovernable and vexing thoughts;because, although these have been and have done mighty service, they areoverlooked in that stage of life when youth is passing intomanhood--overlooked, or forgotten. We now apply for the succour which weneed to a faculty that works after a different course; that faculty isreason; she gives more spontaneously, but she seeks for more; she worksby thought through feeling; yet in thoughts she begins and ends. 

A familiar incident may elucidate this contrast in the operations ofnature, may render plain the manner in which a process of intellectualimprovements, the reverse of that which nature pursues, is by reasonintroduced. There never perhaps existed a school-boy, who, having, whenhe retired to rest, carelessly blown out his candle, and having chancedto notice, as he lay upon his bed in the ensuing darkness, the sullenlight which had survived the extinguished flame, did not, at some timeor other, watch that light as if his mind were bound to it by a spell. It fades and revives, gathers to a point, seems as if it would go out ina moment, again recovers its strength, nay becomes brighter than before:it continues to shine with an endurance, which in its apparent weaknessis a mystery; it protracts its existence so long, clinging to the powerwhich supports it, that the observer, who had lain down in his bed soeasy-minded, becomes sad and melancholy; his sympathies are touched; itis to him an intimation and an image of departing human life; thethought comes nearer to him; it is the life of a venerated parent, of abeloved brother or sister, or of an aged domestic, who are gone to thegrave, or whose destiny it soon may be thus to linger, thus to hang uponthe last point of mortal existence, thus finally to depart and be seenno more. This is nature teaching seriously and sweetly through theaffections, melting the heart, and, through that instinct of tenderness, developing the understanding. In this instance the object of solicitudeis the bodily life of another. Let us accompany this same boy to thatperiod between youth and manhood, when a solicitude may be awakened forthe moral life of himself. Are there any powers by which, beginning witha sense of inward decay that affects not however the natural life, hecould call to mind the same image and hang over it with an equalinterest as a visible type of his own perishing spirit? Oh! surely, ifthe being of the individual be under his own care, if it be his firstcare, if duty begin from the point of accountableness to our conscienceand, through that, to God and human nature; if without such primarysense of duty, all secondary care of teacher, of friend, or parent, mustbe baseless and fruitless; if, lastly, the motions of the soul transcendin worth those of the animal functions, nay, give to them their solevalue; then truly are there such powers; and the image of the dyingtaper may be recalled and contemplated, though with no sadness in thenerves, no disposition to tears, no unconquerable sighs, yet with amelancholy in the soul, a sinking inward into ourselves from thought tothought, a steady remonstrance, and a high resolve. Let then the youthgo back, as occasion will permit, to nature and to solitude, thusadmonished by reason, and relying upon this newly acquired support. Aworld of fresh sensations will gradually open upon him as his mind putsoff its infirmities, and as instead of being propelled restlesslytowards others in admiration, or too hasty love, he makes it his primebusiness to understand himself. New sensations, I affirm, will be openedout, pure, and sanctioned by that reason which is their original author;and precious feelings of disinterested, that is self-disregarding, joyand love may be regenerated and restored; and, in this sense, he may besaid to measure back the track of life he has trodden. 

In such disposition of mind let the youth return to the visibleuniverse, and to conversation with ancient books, and to those, if suchthere be, which in the present day breathe the ancient spirit; and lethim feed upon that beauty which unfolds itself, not to his eye as itsees carelessly the things which cannot possibly go unseen, and areremembered or not as accident shall decide, but to the thinking mind;which searches, discovers, and treasures up, infusing by meditation intothe objects with which it converses an intellectual life, whereby theyremain planted in the memory, now and for ever. Hitherto the youth, Isuppose, has been content for the most part to look at his own mind, after the manner in which he ranges along the stars in the firmamentwith naked unaided sight: let him now apply the telescope of art, tocall the invisible stars out of their hiding places; and let himendeavour to look through the system of his being, with the organ ofreason, summoned to penetrate, as far as it has power, in discovery ofthe impelling forces and the governing laws. 

These expectations are not immoderate; they demand nothing more than theperception of a few plain truths; namely, that knowledge, efficaciousfor the production of virtue, is the ultimate end of all effort, thesole dispenser of complacency and repose. A perception also is impliedof the inherent superiority of contemplation to action. The Friend doesnot in this contradict his own words, where he has said heretofore, that'doubtless to act is nobler than to think. '[27]

[27] 'The Friend, ' vol. I. P. 158 (ed. 1850). G. 

In those words, it was his purpose to censure that barrencontemplation, which rests satisfied with itself in cases where thethoughts are of such quality that they may, and ought to, be embodied inaction. But he speaks now of the general superiority of thought toaction; as proceeding and governing all action that moves to salutarypurposes; and, secondly, as leading to elevation, the absolutepossession of the individual mind, and to a consistency or harmony ofthe being within itself, which no outward agency can reach to disturb orto impair; and lastly, as producing works of pure science; or of thecombined faculties of imagination, feeling, and reason; works which, both from their independence in their origin upon accident, theirnature, their duration, and the wide spread of their influence, areentitled rightly to take place of the noblest and most beneficent deedsof heroes, statesmen, legislators, or warriors. 

Yet, beginning from the perception of this established superiority, wedo not suppose that the youth, whom we wish to guide and encourage, isto be insensible to those influences of wealth, or rank, or station, bywhich the bulk of mankind are swayed. Our eyes have not been fixed uponvirtue which lies apart from human nature, or transcends it. In factthere is no such virtue. We neither suppose nor wish him to undervalueor slight these distinctions as modes of power, things that may enablehim to be more useful to his contemporaries; nor as gratifications thatmay confer dignity upon his living person, and, through him, upon thosewho love him; nor as they may connect his name, through a family to befounded by his success, in a closer chain of gratitude with some portionof posterity, who shall speak of him as among their ancestry, with amore tender interest than the mere general bond of patriotism orhumanity would supply. We suppose no indifference to, much less acontempt of, these rewards; but let them have their due place; let it beascertained, when the soul is searched into, that they are only anauxiliary motive to exertion, never the principal or originating force. If this be too much to expect from a youth who, I take for granted, possesses no ordinary endowments, and whom circumstances with respect tothe more dangerous passions have favoured, then, indeed, must the noblespirit of the country be wasted away; then would our institutions bedeplorable, and the education prevalent among us utterly vile anddebasing. 

But my correspondent, who drew forth these thoughts, has said rightly, that the character of the age may not without injustice be thus branded. He will not deny that, without speaking of other countries, there is inthese islands, in the departments of natural philosophy, of mechanicingenuity, in the general activities of the country, and in theparticular excellence of individual minds, in high stations civil ormilitary, enough to excite admiration and love in the sober-minded, andmore than enough to intoxicate the youthful and inexperienced. I willcompare, then, an aspiring youth, leaving the schools in which he hasbeen disciplined, and preparing to bear a part in the concerns of theworld, I will compare him in this season of eager admiration, to anewly-invested knight appearing with his blank unsignalized shield, uponsome day of solemn tournament, at the court of the Faery-queen, as thatsovereignty was conceived to exist by the moral and imaginative geniusof our divine Spenser. He does not himself immediately enter the listsas a combatant, but he looks round him with a beating heart, dazzled bythe gorgeous pageantry, the banners, the impresses, the ladies ofovercoming beauty, the persons of the knights, now first seen by him, the fame of whose actions is carried by the traveller, like merchandize, through the world, and resounded upon the harp of the minstrel. But I amnot at liberty to make this comparison. If a youth were to begin hiscareer in such an assemblage, with such examples to guide and toanimate, it will be pleaded, there would be no cause for apprehension;he could not falter, he could not be misled. But ours is, notwithstanding its manifold excellences, a degenerate age; and recreantknights are among us far outnumbering the true. A false Gloriana inthese days imposes worthless services, which they who perform them, intheir blindness, know not to be such; and which are recompensed byrewards as worthless, yet eagerly grasped at, as if they were theimmortal guerdon of virtue. 

I have in this declaration insensibly overstepped the limits which I haddetermined not to pass: let me be forgiven; for it is hope which hathcarried me forward. In such a mixed assemblage as our age presents, withits genuine merit and its large overbalance of alloy, I may boldly askinto what errors, either with respect to person or thing, could a youngman fall, who had sincerely entered upon the course of moral disciplinewhich has been recommended, and to which the condition of youth, it hasbeen proved, is favourable? His opinions could no where deceive himbeyond the point up to which, after a season, he would find that it wassalutary for him to have been deceived. For as that man cannot set aright value upon health who has never known sickness, nor feel theblessing of ease who has been through his life a stranger to pain, socan there be no confirmed and passionate love of truth for him who hasnot experienced the hollowness of error. Range against each other asadvocates, oppose as combatants, two several intellects, eachstrenuously asserting doctrines which he sincerely believes; but the onecontending for the worth and beauty of that garment which the other hasoutgrown and cast away. Mark the superiority, the ease, the dignity, onthe side of the more advanced mind, how he overlooks his subject, commands it from centre to circumference, and hath the same thoroughknowledge of the tenets which his adversary, with impetuous zeal, but inconfusion also, and thrown off his guard at every turn of the argument, is labouring to maintain. If it be a question of the fine arts (poetryfor instance) the riper mind not only sees that his opponent isdeceived; but, what is of far more importance, sees how he is deceived. The imagination stands before him with all its imperfections laid open;as duped by shows, enslaved by words, corrupted by mistaken delicacy andfalse refinement, as not having even attended with care to the reportsof the senses, and therefore deficient grossly in the rudiments of itsown power. He has noted how, as a supposed necessary condition, theunderstanding sleeps in order that the fancy may dream. Studied in thehistory of society, and versed in the secret laws of thought, he canpass regularly through all the gradations, can pierce infallibly all thewindings, which false taste through ages has pursued, from the very timewhen first, through inexperience, heedlessness, or affectation, theimagination took its departure from the side of truth, its originalparent. Can a disputant thus accoutred be withstood?--one to whom, further, every movement in the thoughts of his antagonist is revealed bythe light of his own experience; who, therefore, sympathizes withweakness gently, and wins his way by forbearance; and hath, whenneedful, an irresistible power of onset, arising from gratitude to thetruth which he vindicates, not merely as a positive good for mankind, but as his own especial rescue and redemption. 

I might here conclude: but my correspondent towards the close of hisletter, has written so feelingly upon the advantages to be derived, inhis estimation, from a living instructor, that I must not leave thispart of the subject without a word of direct notice. The Friend cited, some time ago, [28] a passage from the prose works of Milton, eloquentlydescribing the manner in which good and evil grow up together in thefield of the world almost inseparably; and insisting, consequently, uponthe knowledge and survey of vice as necessary to the constituting ofhuman virtue, and the scanning of error to the confirmation of truth. 

[28] 'The Friend, ' vol. I. P. 96 (ed. 1850). G. 

If this be so, and I have been reasoning to the same effect in thepreceding paragraph, the fact, and the thoughts which it may suggest, will, if rightly applied, tend to moderate an anxiety for the guidanceof a more experienced or superior mind. The advantage, where it ispossessed, is far from being an absolute good: nay, such a preceptor, ever at hand, might prove an oppression not to be thrown off, and afatal hindrance. Grant that in the general tenor of his intercourse withhis pupil he is forbearing and circumspect, inasmuch as he is rich inthat knowledge (above all other necessary for a teacher) which cannotexist without a liveliness of memory, preserving for him an unbrokenimage of the winding, excursive, and often retrograde course, alongwhich his own intellect has passed. Grant that, furnished with thesedistinct remembrances, he wishes that the mind of his pupil should befree to luxuriate in the enjoyments, loves, and admirations appropriatedto its age; that he is not in haste to kill what he knows will in duetime die of itself; or be transmuted, and put on a nobler form andhigher faculties otherwise unattainable. In a word, that the teacher isgoverned habitually by the wisdom of patience waiting with pleasure. Yetperceiving how much the outward help of art can facilitate the progressof nature, he may be betrayed into many unnecessary or perniciousmistakes where he deems his interference warranted by substantialexperience. And in spite of all his caution, remarks may drop insensiblyfrom him which shall wither in the mind of his pupil a generoussympathy, destroy a sentiment of approbation or dislike, not merelyinnocent but salutary; and for the inexperienced disciple how manypleasures may be thus off, what joy, what admiration, and what love!While in their stead are introduced into the ingenuous mind misgivings, a mistrust of its own evidence, dispositions to affect to feel wherethere can be no real feeling, indecisive judgments, a superstructure ofopinions that has no base to support it, and words uttered by rote withthe impertinence of a parrot or a mockingbird, yet which may not belistened to with the same indifference, as they cannot be heard withoutsome feeling of moral disapprobation. 

These results, I contend, whatever may be the benefit to be derived fromsuch an enlightened teacher, are in their degree inevitable. And by thisprocess, humility and docile dispositions may exist towards the master, endued as he is with the power which personal presence confers; but atthe same time they will be liable to overstep their due bounds, and todegenerate into passiveness and prostration of mind. This towards him;while, with respect to other living men, nay even to the mighty spiritsof past times, there may be associated with such weakness a want ofmodesty and humility. Insensibly may steal in presumption and a habit ofsitting in judgment in cases where no sentiment ought to have existedbut diffidence or veneration. Such virtues are the sacred attributes ofyouth; its appropriate calling is not to distinguish in the fear ofbeing deceived or degraded, not to analyze with scrupulous minuteness, but to accumulate in genial confidence; its instinct, its safety, itsbenefit, its glory, is to love, to admire, to feel, and to labour. Nature has irrevocably decreed, that our prime dependence in all stagesof life after infancy and childhood have been passed through (nor do Iknow that this latter ought to be excepted) must be upon our own minds;and that the way to knowledge shall be long, difficult, winding, andoftentimes returning upon itself. 

What has been said is a mere sketch, and that only of a part of theinteresting country into which we have been led; but my correspondentwill be able to enter the paths that have been pointed out. Should he dothis and advance steadily for a while, he needs not fear any deviationsfrom the truth which will be finally injurious to him. He will not longhave his admiration fixed upon unworthy objects; he will neither beclogged nor drawn aside by the love of friends or kindred, betraying hisunderstanding through his affections; he will neither be bowed down byconventional arrangements of manners producing too often a lifelessdecency; nor will the rock of his spirit wear away in the endlessbeating of the waves of the world; neither will that portion of his owntime, which he must surrender to labours by which his livelihood is tobe earned or his social duties performed, be unprofitable to himselfindirectly, while it is directly useful to others; for that time hasbeen primarily surrendered through an act of obedience to a moral lawestablished by himself, and therefore he moves them also along the orbitof perfect liberty. 

Let it be remembered, that the advice requested does not relate to thegovernment of the more dangerous passions, or to the fundamentalprinciples of right and wrong as acknowledged by the universalconscience of mankind. I may therefore assure my youthful correspondent, if he will endeavour to look into himself in the manner which I haveexhorted him to do, that in him the wish will be realized, to him in duetime the prayer granted, which was uttered by that living teacher ofwhom he speaks with gratitude as of a benefactor, when in his characterof philosophical poet, having thought of morality as implying in itsessence voluntary obedience, and producing the effect of order, hetransfers in the transport of imagination, the law of moral to physicalnatures, and having contemplated, through the medium of that order, allmodes of existence as subservient to one spirit, concludes his addressto the power of duty in the following words:

 To humbler functions, awful power! I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live!

III. OF EDUCATION. 

(_a_) ON THE EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG: LETTER TO A FRIEND, 1806. 

(_b_) OF THE PEOPLE, THEIR WAYS AND NEEDS: LETTER TO ARCHDEACONWRANGHAM, 1808. 

(_c_) EDUCATION: TWO LETTERS TO THE REV. H. J. ROSE, 1828. 

(_d_) EDUCATION OF DUTY: LETTER TO REV. DR. WORDSWORTH, 1830. 

(_e_) SPEECH ON LAYING THE FOUNDATION-STONE OF THE NEW SCHOOL IN THEVILLAGE OF BOWNESS, WINDERMERE, 1836. 

(_a_) ON THE EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG. 

_Letter to a Friend_ [1806]. 

MY DEAR SIR, I am happy to hear of the instructions which you are preparing forparents, and feel honoured by your having offered to me such anopportunity of conveying to the public any information I may possessupon the subject; but, in truth, I am so little competent in the presentunarranged state of my ideas to write any thing of value, that it wouldbe the highest presumption in me to attempt it. This is not mockmodesty, but rigorous and sober truth. As to the case of your own child, I will set down a few thoughts, which I do not hope will throw muchlight on your mind, but they will show my willingness to do the littlethat is in my power. 

The child being the child of a man like you, what I have to say will liein small compass. 

I consider the facts which you mention as indicative of what is commonlycalled sensibility, and of quickness and talent, and shall take forgranted that they are so; you add that the child is too much noticed bygrown people, and apprehend selfishness. 

Such a child will almost always be too much noticed; and it is scarcelypossible entirely to guard against the evil: hence vanity, and under badmanagement selfishness of the worst kind. And true it is, that underbetter and even the best management, such constitutions are liable toselfishness; not showing itself in the shape of tyranny, caprice, avarice, meanness, envy, skulking, and base self-reference; butselfishness of a worthier kind, yet still rightly called by that name. What I mean I shall explain afterwards. 

Vanity is not the necessary or even natural growth of such atemperament; quite the contrary. Such a child, if neglected and sufferedto run wild, would probably be entirely free from vanity, owing to theliveliness of its feelings, and the number of its resources. It would beby nature independent and sufficient for itself. But as such children, in these times in particular, are rarely if ever neglected, or ratherrarely if ever not far too much noticed, it is a hundred to one yourchild will have more vanity than you could wish. This is one evil to beguarded against. Formerly, indeed till within these few years, childrenwere very carelessly brought up; at present they too early and toohabitually feel their own importance, from the solicitude andunremitting attendance which is bestowed upon them. A child like yours, I believe, unless under the wisest guidance, would prosper most whereshe was the least noticed and the least made of; I mean more than thiswhere she received the least cultivation. She does not stand in need ofthe stimulus of praise (as much as can benefit her, _i. E. _ as much asher nature requires, it will be impossible to withhold from her); nor ofbeing provoked to exertion, or, even if she be not injudiciouslythwarted, to industry. Nor can there be any need to be _sedulous_ incalling out her affections; her own lively enjoyments will do all thisfor her, and also point out what is to be done to her. But take all thepains you can, she will be too much noticed. Other evils will also besether, arising more from herself; and how are these to be obviated? But, first, let us attempt to find what these evils will be. 

Observe, I put all gross mismanagement out of the question, and Ibelieve they will then probably be as follows: first, as mentionedbefore, a considerable portion of vanity. But if the child be notconstrained too much, and be left sufficiently to her own pursuits, andbe not too anxiously tended, and have not her mind planted over by artwith likings that do not spring naturally up in it, this will by theliveliness of her independent enjoyment almost entirely disappear, andshe will become modest and diffident; and being not apt from the sameruling cause, --I mean the freshness of her own sensations--to compareherself with others, she will hold herself in too humble estimation. Butshe will probably still be selfish; and this brings me to theexplanation of what I hinted at before, viz. , in what manner she will beselfish. 

It appears, then, to me that all the permanent evils which you have toapprehend for your daughter, supposing you should live to educate heryourself, may be referred to this principle, --an undue predominance ofpresent objects over absent ones, which, as she will surely bedistinguished by an extreme love of those about her, will produce acertain restlessness of mind, calling perpetually for proofs ofever-living regard and affection: she must be loved as much and in thesame way as she loves, or she will not be satisfied. Hence, quickness intaking offence, petty jealousies and apprehensions lest she is neglectedor loses ground in people's love, a want of a calm and steady sense ofher own merits to secure her from these fits of imagined slights; for, in the first place, she will, as is hinted at before, be in generaldeficient in this just estimation of her own worth, and will further beapt to forget everything of that kind in the present sense of supposedinjury. She will (all which is referable to the same cause) in thecompany of others have too constant a craving for sympathy up to aheight beyond what her companions are capable of bestowing; this willoften be mortifying to herself, and burthensome to others; and shouldcircumstances be untoward, and her mind be not sufficiently furnishedwith ideas and knowledge, this craving would be most pernicious toherself, preying upon mind and body. She will be too easily pleased, aptto overrate the merits of new acquaintances, subject to fits ofover-love and over-joy, in absence from those she loves full of fearsand apprehensions, &c. , injurious to her health; her passions for themost part will be happy and good, but she will be too little mistress ofthem. The distinctions which her intellect will make will be apt, able, and just, but in conversation she will be prone to overshoot herself, and commit eloquent blunders through eagerness. In fine, her mannerswill be frank and ardent, but they will want dignity; and a want ofdignity will be the general defect of her character. 

Something of this sort of character, which I have thus loosely sketched, and something of the sort of selfishness to which I have adverted, itseems to me that under the best management you have reason to apprehendfor your daughter. If she should happen to be an only child, or the onlysister of brothers who would probably idolize her, one might prophesyalmost with absolute confidence that most of these qualities would befound in her in a great degree. How then is the evil to be softened downor prevented? Assuredly, not by mortifying her, which is the coursecommonly pursued with such tempers; nor by preaching to her about herown defects; nor by overrunning her infancy with books about good boysand girls, and bad boys and girls, and all that trumpery; but (and thisis the only important thing I have to say upon the subject) by puttingher in the way of acquiring without measure or limit such knowledge aswill lead her out of herself, such knowledge as is interesting for itsown sake; things known because they are interesting, not interestingbecause they are known; in a word, by leaving her at liberty toluxuriate in such feelings and images as will feed her mind in silentpleasure. This nourishment is contained in fairy tales, romances, thebest biographies and histories, and such parts of natural historyrelating to the powers and appearances of the earth and elements, andthe habits and structure of animals, as belong to it, not as an art orscience, but as a magazine of form and feeling. This kind of knowledgeis purely good, a direct antidote to every evil to be apprehended, andfood absolutely necessary to preserve the mind of a child like yoursfrom morbid appetites. Next to these objects comes such knowledge as, while it is chiefly interesting for its own sake, admits the fellowshipof another sort of pleasure, that of complacence from the consciousexertion of the faculties and love of praise. The accomplishments ofdancing, music, and drawing, rank under this head; grammar, learning oflanguages, botany probably, and out of the way knowledge of arts andmanufactures, &c. The second class of objects, as far as they tend tofeed vanity and self-conceit, are evil; but let them have their justproportion in the plan of education, and they will afterwards contributeto destroy these, by furnishing the mind with power and independentgratification: the vanity will disappear, and the good will remain. 

Lastly comes that class of objects which are interesting almost solelybecause they are known, and the knowledge may be displayed; and thisunfortunately comprehends three fourths of what, according to the planof modern education, children's heads are stuffed with; that is, minute, remote, or trifling facts in geography, topography, natural history, chronology, &c. , or acquisitions in art, or accomplishments which thechild makes by rote, and which are quite beyond its age; things of novalue in themselves, but as they show cleverness; things hurtful to anytemper, but to a child like yours absolute poison. Having said thusmuch, it seems almost impertinent to add that your child, above all, should, I might say, be chained down to the severest attention totruth, --I mean to the minutest accuracy in every thing which sherelates; this will strike at the root of evil by teaching her to formcorrect notions of present things, and will steadily strengthen hermind. Much caution should be taken not to damp her natural vivacity, forthis may have a very bad effect; and by the indirect influence of theexample of manly and dignified manners any excessive wildnesses of herown will be best kept under. Most unrelaxing firmness should from thepresent hour be maintained in withstanding such of her desires as aregrossly unreasonable. But indeed I am forgetting to whom I am speaking, and am ashamed of these precepts; they will show my good will, and inthat hope alone can I suffer them to stand. Farewell, there is greatreason to congratulate yourself in having a child so promising; and youhave my best and most ardent wishes that she may be a blessing to herparents and every one about her. [29]

[29] _Memoirs_, vol. Ii. Pp. 164-70. G. 

_(b)_ OF THE PEOPLE, THEIR WAYS AND NEEDS. 

_Letter to Archdeacon Wrangham_. 

Grasmere, June 5. 1808. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, I have this moment received your letter. 

--is a most provoking fellow; very kind, very humane, very generous, very ready to serve, with a thousand other good qualities, but in thepractical business of life the arrantest marplan that ever lived. When Ifirst wrote to you, I wrote also to him, sending the statement which Isent to you, and begging his exertions _among his friends_. By and bycomes back my statement, having undergone a _rifacimento_ from hishands, and _printed_, with an accompanying letter, saying that if someof the principal people in this neighbourhood who had already subscribedwould put their names to this paper, testifying that this was a propercase for charitable interferences, or that the _persons mentioned wereproper objects of charity_, that he would have the printed paperinserted in the public newspapers, &c. Upon which, my sister wrote tohim, that in consequence of what had been already subscribed, and whatwe had reason to expect from those friends who were privately stirringin the business, among whom we chiefly alluded to you, in our own minds, as one on whom we had most dependence, that there would be no necessity_for public advertisements_, but that if among his private friends hecould raise any money for us, we should be very glad to receive it. Andupon this does he write to you in this (what shall I call it? for I amreally vexed!) blundering manner! I will not call upon you to undertakethe awkward task of rebuilding that part of the edifice which ---- hasdestroyed, but let what remains be preserved; and if a little could beadded, there would be no harm. I must request you to transmit the moneyto me, with the names of the persons to whom we are obliged. 

 * * * * *

With regard to the more important part of your letter, I am under manydifficulties. I am writing from a window which gives me a view of alittle boat, gliding quietly about upon the surface of our basin of alake. I should like to be in it, but what could I do with such a vesselin the heart of the Atlantic Ocean? As this boat would be to thatnavigation, so is my letter to the subject upon which you would set meafloat. Let me, however, say, that I have read your sermon (which Ilately received from Longman) with much pleasure; I only gave it acursory perusal, for since it arrived our family has been in greatconfusion, we having removed to another house, in which we are not yethalf settled. The Appendix I had received before in a frank, and of thatI feel myself more entitled to speak, because I had read it more atleisure. I am entirely of accord with you in chiefly recommendingreligious books for the poor; but of many of those which you recommend Ican neither speak in praise nor blame, as I have never read them. Yet, as far as my own observation goes, which has been mostly employed uponagricultural persons in thinly-peopled districts, I cannot find thatthere is much disposition to read among the labouring classes, or muchoccasion for it. Among manufacturers and persons engaged in sedentaryemployments, it is, I know, very different. The labouring man inagriculture generally carries on his work either in solitude or with hisown family--with persons whose minds he is thoroughly acquainted with, and with whom he is under no temptation to enter into discussions, or tocompare opinions. He goes home from the field, or the barn, and withinand about his own house he finds a hundred little jobs which furnish himwith a change of employment which is grateful and profitable; then comessupper, and bed. This for week-days. For sabbaths, he goes to churchwith us often or mostly twice a day; on coming home, some one turns tothe Bible, finds the text, and probably reads the chapter whence it istaken, or perhaps some other; and in the afternoon the master ormistress frequently reads the Bible, if alone; and on this day themistress of the house _almost always_ teaches the children to read, oras they express it, hears them a lesson; or if not thus employed, theyvisit their neighbours, or receive them in their own houses as they dropin, and keep up by the hour a slow and familiar chat. This kind of life, of which I have seen much, and which I know would be looked upon withlittle complacency by many religious persons, is peaceable, and asinnocent as (the frame of society and the practices of government beingwhat they are) we have a right to expect; besides, it is much moreintellectual than a careless observer would suppose. One of ourneighbours, who lives as I have described, was yesterday walking withme; and as we were pacing on, talking about indifferent matters, by theside of a brook, he suddenly said to me, with great spirit and a livelysmile, 'I _like_ to walk where I can hear the sound of a beck!' (theword, as you know, in our dialect for a brook). I cannot but think thatthis man, without being conscious of it, has had many devout feelingsconnected with the appearances which have presented themselves to him inhis employment as a shepherd, and that the pleasure of his heart at thatmoment was an acceptable offering to the Divine Being. But to return tothe subject of books. I find among the people I am speaking of, halfpenny ballads and penny and two-penny histories in great abundance;these are often bought as charitable tributes to the poor persons whohawk them about (and it is the best way of procuring them). They arefrequently stitched together in tolerably thick volumes, and such I haveread; some of the contents, though not often religious, very good;others objectionable, either for the superstition in them, such asprophecies, fortune-telling, &c. , or more frequently for indelicacy. Ihave so much felt the influence of these straggling papers, that I havemany a time wished that I had talents to produce songs, poems, andlittle histories that might circulate among other good things in thisway, supplanting partly the bad flowers and useless herbs, and to takeplace of weeds. Indeed, some of the poems which I have published werecomposed, not without a hope that at some time or other they mightanswer this purpose. The kind of library which you recommend would not, I think, for the reasons given above, be of much direct use in any ofthe agricultural districts of Cumberland and Westmoreland with which Iam acquainted, though almost every person here can read; I mean ofgeneral use as to morals or behaviour. It might, however, withindividuals, do much in awakening enterprise, calling forth ingenuity, and fostering genius. I have known several persons who would eagerlyhave sought, not after these books merely, but _any_ books, and wouldhave been most happy in having such a collection to repair to. Theknowledge thus acquired would also have spread, by being dealt about inconversation among their neighbours, at the door, and by the fire-side;so that it is not easy to foresee how far the good might extend; andharm I can see none which would not be greatly overbalanced by theadvantage. The situation of manufacturers is deplorably different. Themonotony of their employments renders some sort of stimulus, intellectual or bodily, absolutely necessary for them. Their work iscarried on in clusters, --men from different parts of the world, andperpetually changing; so that every individual is constantly in the wayof being brought into contact with new notions and feelings, and beingunsettled in his own accordingly; a select library, therefore, in suchsituations may be of the same use as a public dial, keeping everybody'sclock in some kind of order. 

Besides contrasting the manufacturer with the agriculturalist, it may beobserved, that he has much more leisure; and in his over hours, nothaving other pleasant employment to turn to, he is more likely to findreading a relief. What, then, are the books which should be put in hisway? Without being myself a clergyman, I have no hesitation in saying, chiefly religious ones; though I should not go so far as you seemedinclined to do, excluding others because they are not according to theletter or in the spirit of your profession. I, with you, feel littledisposed to admire several of those mentioned by Gilbert Burns, muchless others which you name as having been recommended. In Gilbert B. 'scollection there may be too little religion, and I should fear that you, like all other clergymen, may confine yourself too exclusively to thatconcern which you justly deem the most important, but which by beingexclusively considered can never be thoroughly understood. I will allow, with you, that a religious faculty is the eye of the soul; but, if wewould have successful soul-oculists, not merely that organ, but thegeneral anatomy and constitution of the intellectual frame must bestudied; for the powers of that eye are affected by the general state ofthe system. My meaning is, that piety and religion will be the bestunderstood by him who takes the most comprehensive view of the humanmind, and that, for the most part, they will strengthen with the generalstrength of the mind, and that this is best promoted by a due mixture ofdirect and indirect nourishment and discipline. For example, _ParadiseLost_, and _Robinson Crusoe_, might be as serviceable as Law's _SeriousCall_, or Melmoth's _Great Importance of a Religious Life_; at least, if the books be all good, they would mutually assist each other. In whatI have said, though following my own thoughts merely as called forth byyour Appendix, is _implied_ an answer to your request that I would giveyou 'half an idea upon education as a national object. ' I have only keptupon the surface of the question, but you must have deduced, that I deemany plan of national education in a country like ours most difficult toapply to practice. In Switzerland, or Sweden, or Norway, or France, orSpain, or anywhere but Great Britain, it would be comparatively easy. Heaven and hell are scarcely more different from each other thanSheffield and Manchester, &c. , differ from the plains and valleys ofSurrey, Essex, Cumberland, or Westmoreland. We have mighty cities, andtowns of all sizes, with villages and cottages scattered everywhere. Weare mariners, miners, manufacturers in tens of thousands, traders, husbandmen, everything. What form of discipline, what books ordoctrines--I will not say would equally suit all these--but which, ifhappily fitted for one, would not perhaps be an absolute nuisance inanother? You will, also, have deduced that nothing romantic can be saidwith truth of the influence of education upon the district in which Ilive. We have, thank heaven, free schools, or schools with someendowment, almost everywhere; and almost every one can read. But notbecause we have free or endowed schools, but because our land is, farmore than elsewhere, tilled by men who are the owners of it; and as thepopulation is not over crowded, and the vices which are quickened andcherished in a crowded population do not therefore prevail, parents havemore ability and inclination to send their children to school; much morethan in manufacturing districts, and also, though in a less degree, morethan in agricultural ones where the tillers are not proprietors. If inScotland the children are sent to school, where the parents have not theadvantage I have been speaking of, it is chiefly because their labourcan be turned to no account at home. Send among them manufacturers, orfarmers on a large scale, and you may indeed substitute Sunday-schoolsor other modes of instructing them; but the ordinary parish schools willbe neglected. The influence of our schools in this neighbourhood cannever be understood, if this, their connection with the state of landedproperty, be overlooked. In fact, that influence is not striking. Thepeople are not habitually religious, in the common sense of the word, much less godly. The effect of their schooling is chiefly seen by theactivity with which the young persons emigrate, and the successattending it; and at home, by a general orderliness and gravity, withhabits of independence and self-respect: nothing obsequious or fawningis ever to be seen amongst them. 

It may be added, that this ability (from the two causes, land andschools) of giving their children instruction contributes to spread arespect for scholarship through the country. If in any family one of thechildren should be quicker at his book, or fonder of it than others, heis often marked out in consequence for the profession of a clergyman. This (before the mercantile or manufacturing employments held out suchflattering hopes) very generally happened; so that the schools of theNorth were the great nurseries of curates, several of whom got forwardin their profession, some with and others without the help of auniversity education; and, in all instances, such connection of families(all the members of which lived in the humblest and plainest manner, working with their own hands as labourers) with a learned and dignifiedprofession, assisted (and still does, though in a less degree) not alittle to elevate their feelings, and conferred importance on them intheir own eyes. But I must stop, my dear Wrangham. Begin your educationat the top of society; let the head go in the right course, and the tailwill follow. But what can you expect of national education conducted bya government which for twenty years resisted the abolition of the slavetrade, and annually debauches the morals of the people by every possibledevice? holding out temptation with one hand, and scourging with theother. The distilleries and lotteries are a standing record that thegovernment cares nothing for the morals of the people, and that allwhich they want is their money. But wisdom and justice are the only truesources of the revenue of a people; preach this, and may you not preachin vain!

Wishing you success in every good work, I remain your affectionatefriend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

Thanks for your inquiries about our little boy, who is well, though notyet quite strong. [30]

[30] _Memoirs_, vol. Ii. Pp. 171-9. G. 

(_c. _) EDUCATION. 

_Two Letters to the Rev. Hugh James Rose, Horsham, Sussex_. 

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 11. 1828. 

MY DEAR SIR, I have read your excellent sermons delivered before the University[31]several times. In nothing were my notions different from yours as thereexpressed. It happened that I had been reading just before Bishop Bull'ssermon, [32] of which you speak so highly: it had struck me just in thesame way as an inestimable production. I was highly gratified by yourdiscourses, and cannot but think that they must have been beneficial tothe hearers, there abounds in them so pure a fervour. I have as yetbestowed less attention upon your German controversy[33] than soimportant a subject deserves. 

[31] _On the Commission and consequent Duties of the Clergy_, preachedbefore the University of Cambridge, in April 1826, and published in1828. G. 

[32] The title of which is _The Priest's Office difficult anddangerous_. It will be found in vol. I. P. 137. Of Dr. Burton's editionof the bishop's works. G. 

[33] _The State of the Protestant Religion in Germany_, a series ofdiscourses preached before the University of Cambridge, by the Rev. HughJames Rose; Lond. 1825: and his _Letter to the Bishop of London, inreply to Mr. Pusey's work on that subject_; Lond. 1829. G. 

Since our conversation upon the subject of Education, I have found noreason to alter the opinions I then expressed. Of those who seem to meto be in error, two parties are especially prominent; they, the mostconspicuous head of whom is Mr. Brougham, who think that sharpening ofintellect and attainment of knowledge are things good in themselves, without reference to the circumstances under which the intellect _is_sharpened, or to the quality of the knowledge acquired. 'Knowledge, 'says Lord Bacon, 'is power, ' but surely not less for evil than for good. Lord Bacon spoke like a philosopher; but they who have that maxim intheir mouths the oftenest have the least understanding of it. 

The other class consists of persons who are aware of the importance ofreligion and morality above everything; but, from not understanding theconstitution of our nature and the composition of society, they aremisled and hurried on by zeal in a course which cannot but lead todisappointment. One instance of this fell under my own eyes the otherday in the little town of Ambleside, where a party, the leaders of whichare young ladies, are determined to set up a school for girls on theMadras system, confidently expecting that these girls will inconsequence be less likely to go astray when they grow up to women. Alas, alas! they may be taught, I own, more quickly to read and writeunder the Madras system, and to answer more readily, and perhaps withmore intelligence, questions put to them, than they could have doneunder dame-teaching. But poetry may, with deference to the philosopherand the religionist, be consulted in these matters; and I will backShenstone's school-mistress, by her winter fire and in her summergarden-seat, against all Dr. Bell's sour-looking teachers in petticoatsthat I have ever seen. 

What is the use of pushing on the education of girls so fast, and mainlyby the stimulus of Emulation, who, to say nothing worse of her, iscousin-german to Envy? What are you to do with these girls? what demandis there for the ability that they may have prematurely acquired? Willthey not be indisposed to bend to any kind of hard labour or drudgery?and yet many of them must submit to it, or do wrong. The mechanism ofthe Bell system is not required in small places; praying after the_fugleman_ is not like praying at a mother's knee. The Bellites overlookthe difference: they talk about moral discipline; but wherein does itencourage the imaginative feelings, without which the practicalunderstanding is of little avail, and too apt to become the cunningslave of the bad passions. I dislike _display_ in everything; above allin education. .. . The old dame did not affect to make theologians orlogicians; but she taught to read; and she practised the memory, often, no doubt, by rote; but still the faculty was improved: something, perhaps, she explained, and trusted the rest to parents, to masters, andto the pastor of the parish. I am sure as good daughters, as goodservants, as good mothers and wives, were brought up at that time asnow, when the world is so much less humble-minded. A hand full ofemployment, and a head not above it, with such principles and habits asmay be acquired without the Madras machinery, are the best security forthe chastity of wives of the lower rank. 

Farewell. I have exhausted my paper. 

Your affectionate

W. WORDSWORTH. [34]

[34] _Memoirs_, vol. Ii. Pp. 180-3. G. 

 * * * * *

_Of the Same to the Same_, MY DEAR SIR, I have taken a folio sheet to make certain minutes upon the subject ofEDUCATION. 

As a Christian preacher your business is with man as an immortal being. Let us imagine you to be addressing those, and those only, who wouldgladly co-operate with you in any course of education which is mostlikely to ensure to men a happy immortality. Are you satisfied with thatcourse which the most active of this class are bent upon? Clearly not, as I remember from your conversation, which is confirmed by your lastletter. Great principles, you hold, are sacrificed to shifts andexpedients. I agree with you. What more sacred law of nature, forinstance, than that the mother should educate her child? yet wefelicitate ourselves upon the establishment of infant-schools, which isin direct opposition to it. Nay, we interfere with the maternal instinctbefore the child is born, by furnishing, in cases where there is nonecessity, the mother with baby-linen for her unborn child. Now, that intoo many instances a lamentable necessity may exist for this, I allow;but why should such charity be obtruded? Why should so many excellentladies form themselves into committees, and rush into an almostindiscriminate benevolence, which precludes the poor mother from thestrongest motive human nature can be actuated by for industry, forforethought, and self-denial? When the stream has thus been poisoned atits fountain-head, we proceed, by separating, through infant-schools, the mother from the child, and from the rest of the family, disburthening them of all care of the little-one for perhaps eight hoursof the day. To those who think this an evil, but a necessary one, muchmight be said, in order to qualify unreasonable expectations. But thereare thousands of stirring people now in England, who are so far misledas to deem these schools _good in themselves_, and to wish that, even inthe smallest villages, the children of the poor should have what _they_call 'a good education' in this way. Now, these people (and no error isat present more common) confound _education_ with _tuition_. 

Education, I need not remark to you, is everything that _draws out_ thehuman being, of which _tuition_, the teaching of schools especially, however important, is comparatively an insignificant part. Yet thepresent bent of the public mind is to sacrifice the greater power to theless--all that life and nature teach, to the little that can be learnedfrom books and a master. In the eyes of an enlightened statesman this isabsurd; in the eyes of a pure lowly-minded Christian it is monstrous. 

The Spartan and other ancient communities might disregard domestic ties, because they had the substitution of country, which we cannot have. Withus, country is a mere name compared with what it was to the Greeks;first, as contrasted with barbarians; and next, and above all, as that_passion_ only was strong enough to preserve the individual, his family, and the whole State, from ever-impending destruction. Our course is tosupplant domestic attachments without the possibility of substitutingothers more capacious. What can grow out of it but selfishness?

Let it then be universally admitted that infant-schools are an evil, only tolerated to qualify a greater, viz. , the inability of mothers toattend to their children, and the like inability of the elder to takecare of the younger, from their labour being wanted in factories, orelsewhere, for their common support. But surely this is a sad state ofsociety; and if these expedients of tuition or education (if that wordis not to be parted with) divert our attention from the fact that theremedy for so mighty an evil must be sought elsewhere, they are mostpernicious things, and the sooner they are done away with the better. 

But even as a course of tuition, I have strong objections toinfant-schools; and in no small degree to the Madras system also. Wemust not be deceived by premature adroitness. The _intellect_ must notbe trained with a view to what the infant or child may perform, withoutconstant reference to what that performance promises for the man. It iswith the mind as with the body. I recollect seeing a German babe stuffedwith beer and beef, who had the appearance of an infant Hercules. _He_might have enough in him of the old Teutonic blood to grow up to astrong man; but tens of thousands would dwindle and perish after suchunreasonable cramming. Now I cannot but think, that the like wouldhappen with our modern pupils, if the views of the patrons of theseschools were realised. The diet they offer is not the natural diet forinfant and juvenile minds. The faculties are over-strained, and notexercised with that simultaneous operation which ought to be aimed at asfar as is practicable. Natural history is taught in infant-schools bypictures stuck up against walls, and such mummery. A moment's notice ofa red-breast pecking by a winter's hearth is worth it all. 

These hints are for the negative side of the question: and for thepositive, --what conceit, and presumption, and vanity, and envy, andmortification, and hypocrisy, &c. &c. , are the unavoidable result ofschemes where there is so much display and contention! All this is atenmity with Christianity; and if the practice of sincere churchmen inthis matter be so, what have we not to fear when we cast our eyes uponother quarters where religious instruction is deliberately excluded? Thewisest of us expect far too much from school teaching. One of the mostinnocent, contented, happy, and, in his sphere, most useful men whom Iknow, can neither read nor write. Though learning and sharpness of witmust exist somewhere, to protect, and in some points to interpret theScriptures, yet we are told that the Founder of this religion rejoicedin spirit, that things were hidden from the wise and prudent, andrevealed unto babes: and again, 'Out of the mouths of babes andsucklings Thou hast perfected praise. ' Apparently, the infants herecontemplated were under a very different course of discipline from thatwhich many in our day are condemned to. In a town of Lancashire, aboutnine in the morning, the streets resound with the crying of infants, wheeled off in carts and other vehicles (some ladies, I believe, lendingtheir carriages for this purpose) to their school-prisons. 

But to go back a little. Human learning, as far as it tends to breedpride and self-estimation (and that it requires constant vigilance tocounteract this tendency we must all feel), is against the spirit ofthe Gospel. Much cause then is there to lament that inconsiderate zeal, wherever it is found, which whets the intellect by blunting theaffections. Can it, in a _general_ view, be good, that an infant shouldlearn much which its _parents do not know_? Will not the child arrogatea superiority unfavourable to love and obedience?

But suppose this to be an evil only for the present generation, and thata succeeding race of infants will have no such advantage over theirparents; still it may be asked, should we not be making these infantstoo much the creatures of society when we cannot make them more so? Herewould they be for eight hours in the day like plants in a conservatory. What is to become of them for the other sixteen hours, when they arereturned to all the influences, the dread of which first suggested thiscontrivance? Will they be better able to resist the mischief they may beexposed to from the bad example of their parents, or brothers andsisters? It is to be feared not, because, though they must have heardmany good precepts, their condition in school is artificial; they havebeen removed from the discipline and exercise of humanity, and theyhave, besides, been subject to many evil temptations within school andpeculiar to it. 

In the present generation I cannot see anything of an harmoniousco-operation between these schools and home influences. If the family bethoroughly bad, and the child cannot be removed altogether, how feeblethe barrier, how futile the expedient! If the family be of middlecharacter, the children will lose more by separation from domestic caresand reciprocal duties, than they can possibly gain from captivity withsuch formal instruction as may be administered. 

We are then brought round to the point, that it is to a physical and nota moral necessity that we must look, if we would justify this disregard, I had almost said violation, of a primary law of human nature. The linkof eleemosynary tuition connects the infant school with the nationalschools upon the Madras system. Now I cannot but think that there is toomuch indiscriminate gratuitous instruction in this country; arising outof the misconception above adverted to, of the real power of schoolteaching, relatively to the discipline of life; and out of an over-valueof talent, however exerted, and of knowledge prized for its own sake, and acquired in the shape of knowledge. The latter clauses of the lastsentence glance rather at the London University and the Mechanics'Institutes than at the Madras schools, yet they have some bearing uponthese also. Emulation, as I observed in my last letter, is themaster-spring of that system. It mingles too much with all teaching, andwith all learning; but in the Madras mode it is the great wheel whichputs every part of the machine into motion. 

But I have been led a little too far from gratuitous instruction. Ifpossible, instruction ought never to be altogether so. A child will soonlearn to feel a stronger love and attachment to its parents, when itperceives that they are making sacrifices for its instruction. All thatprecept can teach is nothing compared with convictions of this kind. Inshort, unless book-attainments are carried on by the side of moralinfluences they are of no avail. Gratitude is one of the most benign ofmoral influences; can a child be grateful to a corporate body for itsinstruction? or grateful even to the Lady Bountiful of theneighbourhood, with all the splendour which he sees about her, as hewould be grateful to his poor father and mother, who spare from theirscanty provision a mite for the culture of his mind at school? If welook back upon the progress of things in this country since theReformation, we shall find, that instruction has never been severed frommoral influences and purposes, and the natural action of circumstances, in the way that is now attempted. Our forefathers established, inabundance, free grammar schools; but for a distinctly understoodreligious purpose. They were designed to provide against a relapse ofthe nation into Popery, by diffusing a knowledge of the languages inwhich the Scriptures are written, so that a sufficient number might beaware how small a portion of the popish belief had a foundation in HolyWrit. 

It is undoubtedly to be desired that every one should be able to read, and perhaps (for that is far from being equally apparent) to write. Butyou will agree with me, I think, that these attainments are likely toturn to better account where they are not gratuitously lavished, andwhere either the parents and connections are possessed of certainproperty which enables them to procure the instruction for theirchildren, or where, by their frugality and other serious andself-denying habits, they contribute, as far as they can, to benefittheir offspring in this way. Surely, whether we look at the usefulnessand happiness of the individual, or the prosperity and security of theState, this, which was the course of our ancestors, is the bettercourse. Contrast it with that recommended by men in whose view knowledgeand intellectual adroitness are to do everything of themselves. 

We have no guarantee on the social condition of these well informedpupils for the use they may make of their power and their knowledge: thescheme points not to man as a religious being; its end is an unworthyone; and its means do not pay respect to the order of things. Try theMechanics' Institutes and the London University, &c. &c. By this test. The powers are not co-ordinate with those to which this nation owes itsvirtue and its prosperity. Here is, in one case, a sudden formalabstraction of a vital principle, and in both an unnatural and violentpushing on. Mechanics' Institutes make discontented spirits andinsubordinate and presumptuous workmen. Such at least was the opinion ofWatt, one of the most experienced and intelligent of men. Andinstruction, where religion is expressly excluded, is little less to bedreaded than that by which it is trodden under foot. And, for my ownpart, I cannot look without shuddering on the array of surgicalmidwifery lectures, to which the youth of London were invited at thecommencement of this season by the advertisements of the LondonUniversity. Hogarth understood human nature better than theseprofessors: his picture I have not seen for many long years, but I thinkhis last stage of cruelty is in the dissecting room. 

But I must break off, or you will have double postage to pay for thisletter. Pray excuse it; and pardon the style, which is, purposely, asmeagre as I could make it, for the sake of brevity. I hope that you cangather the meaning, and that is enough. I find that I have a few momentsto spare, and will, therefore, address a word to those who may beinclined to ask, what is the use of all these objections? Theschoolmaster is, and will remain, abroad. The thirst of knowledge isspreading and will spread, whether virtue and duty go along with it orno. Grant it; but surely these observations may be of use if they tendto check unreasonable expectations. One of the most difficult tasks isto keep benevolence in alliance with beneficence. Of the former there isno want, but we do not see our way to the latter. Tenderness of heart isindispensable for a good man, but a certain sternness of heart is asneedful for a wise one. We are as impatient under the evils of societyas under our own, and more so; for in the latter case, necessityenforces submission. It is hard to look upon the condition in which somany of our fellow creatures are born, but they are not to be raisedfrom it by partial and temporary expedients: it is not enough to rushheadlong into any new scheme that may be proposed, be it BenefitSocieties, Savings' Banks, Infant Schools, Mechanic Institutes, or anyother. Circumstances have forced this nation to do, by itsmanufacturers, an undue portion of the dirty and unwholesome work of theglobe. The revolutions among which we have lived have unsettled thevalue of all kinds of property, and of labour, the most precious of all, to that degree, that misery and privation are frightfully prevalent. Wemust bear the sight of this, and endure its pressure, till we have byreflection discovered the cause, and not till then can we hope even topalliate the evil. It is a thousand to one but that the means resortedto will aggravate it. 

 Farewell, ever affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. 

_Quere_. --Is the education in the parish schools of Scotland gratuitous, or if not, in what degree is it so?[35]

[35] _Memoirs_, vol. Ii. Pp. 183-92. G. 

(_d_) EDUCATION OF DUTY. 

_Letter to the Rev. Dr. Wordsworth_. 

 =Rydal= Mount, April 27. 1830. 

MY DEAR BROTHER, Was Mr. Rose's course of sermons upon education? The more I reflect uponthe subject, the more I am convinced that positive instruction, even ofa religious character, is much over-rated. The education of man, andabove all of a Christian, is the education of _duty_, which is mostforcibly taught by the business and concerns of life, of which, even forchildren, especially the children of the poor, book-learning is but asmall part. There is an officious disposition on the part of the upperand middle classes to precipitate the tendency of the people towardsintellectual culture in a manner subversive of their own happiness, anddangerous to the peace of society. It is mournful to observe of howlittle avail are lessons of piety taught at school, if householdattentions and obligations be neglected in consequence of the time takenup in school tuition, and if the head be stuffed with vanity from thegentlemanliness of the employment of reading. Farewell. 

W. W. [36]

[36] _Memoirs_, =vol=. Ii. P. 193. G. 

(_e_) SPEECH ON LAYING THE FOUNDATION-STONE OF THE NEW SCHOOL IN THEVILLAGE OF BOWNESS, WINDERMERE, 1836. 

Standing here as Mr. Bolton's substitute, at his own request, an honourof which I am truly sensible, it gives me peculiar pleasure to see inspite of this stormy weather, so numerous a company of his friends andneighbours upon this occasion. How happy would it have made him to havebeen eye-witness of an assemblage which may fairly be regarded as aproof of the interest felt in his benevolent undertaking, and an earnestthat the good work will not be done in vain. Sure I am, also, that thereis no one present who does not deeply regret the cause why thatexcellent man cannot appear among us. The public spirit of Mr. Boltonhas ever been remarkable both for its comprehensiveness and thejudicious way in which it has been exerted. Many years ago when we werethreatened with foreign invasion, he equipped and headed a body ofvolunteers, for the defence of our country. Not long since theinhabitants of Ulverston (his native place I believe) were indebted tohim for a large contribution towards erecting a church in that town. Hisrecent munificent donations to the public charities of Liverpool arewell known; and I only echo the sentiments of this meeting, when I saythat every one would have rejoiced to see a gentleman (who has completedhis 80th year) taking the lead in this day's proceedings, for whichthere would have been no call, but for his desire permanently to benefita district in which he has so long been a resident proprietor. It may begathered from old documents, that, upwards of 200 years ago, this placewas provided with a school, which early in the reign of Charles II. Was_endowed_ by the liberality of certain persons of the neighbourhood. Thebuilding, originally small and low, has long been in a state whichrendered the erection of a new one very desirable; this Mr. Bolton hasundertaken to do at his sole expense. The structure, which is tosupersede the old school-house, will have two apartments, airy, spacious, and lofty, one for boys the other for girls, in which theywill be instructed by respective teachers, and not crowded together asin the old school-room, under one and the same person; each room will becapable of containing at least 100 children; within the enclosure therewill be spacious and separate play-grounds for the boys and girls, withdistinct covered sheds to play in in wet weather. There will also be alibrary-room for the school, and to contain books for the benefit of theneighbourhood; and, in short, every arrangement that could be desired. It may be added, that the building, from the elegance of itsarchitecture, and its elevated, conspicuous situation, will prove astriking ornament to the beautiful country in the midst of which it willstand. Such being the advantages proposed, allow me to express a hopethat they will be turned to the best possible account. The privilege ofthe school being free, will not, I trust, tempt parents to withdrawtheir children from punctual attendance upon slight and trivialoccasions; and they will take care, as far as depends upon themselves, that the wishes of the present benefactor may be met, and his intentionsfulfilled. Those wishes and intentions I will take upon me to say, areconsonant to what has been expressed in the original trust-deed of thepious and sensible men already spoken of, who in that instrument declarethat they have provided a fund 'towards the finding and maintenance ofan able schoolmaster, and repairing the school-house from time to time, for ever; for teaching and instructing of youth within the said hamlets, in grammar, writing, reading, and other good learning and disciplinemeet and convenient for them; for the honour of God, for the betteradvancement and preferment of the said youth, and to the perpetual andthankful remembrance of the founders and authors of so good a work. ' Theeffect of this beautiful summary upon your minds will not, I hope, beweakened if I make a brief comment upon the several clauses of it, whichwill comprise nearly the whole of what I feel prompted to say upon thisoccasion. I will take the liberty, however, of inverting the order inwhich the purposes of these good men are mentioned, beginning at whatthey end with. '_The perpetual and thankful remembrance of the foundersand authors of so good a work_. ' Do not let it be supposed that yourforefathers, when they looked onwards to this issue, did so from vanityand love of applause, uniting with local attachment; they wished theirgood works to be remembered principally because they were conscious thatsuch remembrance would be beneficial to the hearts of those whom theydesired to serve, and would effectually promote the particular good theyhad in view. Let me add _for_ them, what their modesty and humilitywould have prevented their insisting upon, that such tribute of gratefulrecollection was, and is still, their _due_; for if gratitude be not themost perfect shape of justice, it is assuredly her most beautifulcrown, --a halo and glory with which she delights to have her browsencircled. So much of this gratitude as those good men hoped for, I maybespeak for your neighbour, who is now animated by the same spirit, andtreading in their steps. 

The second point to which I shall advert is that where it is said thatsuch and such things shall be taught '_for the better advancement andpreferment of the said youth_. ' This purpose is as honourable as it isnatural, and recalls to remembrance the time when the northern countieshad, in this particular, great advantages over the rest of England. Bythe zealous care of many pious and good men, among whom I cannot butname (from his connection with this neighbourhood, and the benefits heconferred upon it) Archbishop Sandys, free schools were founded in theseparts of the kingdom in much greater numbers than elsewhere. The learnedprofessions derived many ornaments from this source; but a moreremarkable consequence was that till within the last 40 years or so, merchants' counting-houses, and offices, in the lower departments ofwhich a certain degree of scholastic attainment was requisite, weresupplied in a great measure from Cumberland and Westmoreland. Numerousand large fortunes were the result of the skill, industry, andintegrity, which the young men thus instructed, carried with them to theMetropolis. That superiority no longer exists; not so much, I trust, from a slackening on the part of the teachers, or an indisposition ofthe inhabitants to profit by their free schools, but because the kingdomat large has become sensible of the advantages of school instruction;and we of the north consequently have competitors from every quarter. Let not this discourage, but rather stimulate us to more strenuousendeavours, so that if we do not keep a-head of the rest of ourcountrymen, we may at least take care not to be left behind in the raceof honourable ambition. But after all, worldly advancement andpreferment neither are, nor ought to be the _main_ end of instruction, either in schools or elsewhere, and particularly in those which are inrural places, and scantily endowed. It is in the order of Providence, aswe are all aware, that _most_ men must end their temporal course prettymuch as they began it; nor will the thoughtful repine at thisdispensation. In lands where nature in the many is not trampled upon byinjustice, feelingly may the peasant say to the courtier--

 The sun that bids your diamond blaze To deck our lily deigns. 

Contentment, according to the common adage, is better than riches; andwhy is it better? Not merely because there can be no happiness withoutit, but for the sake, also, of its moral dignity. Mankind, we know, areplaced on earth to have their hearts and understandings exercised andimproved, some in one sphere and some in another, to undergo varioustrials, and to perform divers duties; _that_ duty which, in the world'sestimation may seem the least, often being the most important in theeyes of our heavenly Father. Well and wisely has it been said, in wordswhich I need not scruple to quote here, where extreme poverty and abjectmisery are unknown--

 God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state Is kingly--thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait. 

Thus am I naturally led to the third and last point in the declarationof the ancient trust-deed, which I mean to touch upon:--'_Youth shalllie instructed in grammar, writing, reading, and, other good discipline, meet and convenient for them, for the honour of God_. ' Now, my friendsand neighbours, much as we must admire the zeal and activity which haveof late years been shewn in the teaching of youth, I will candidly askthose among you, who have had sufficient opportunities to observe, whether the instruction given in many schools _is_, in fact, _meet andconvenient_? In the building about to be erected here, I have not thesmallest reason for dreading that it will be otherwise. But I speak inthe hearing of persons who may be active in the management of schoolselsewhere; and they will excuse me for saying, that many are conductedat present so as to afford melancholy proof that instruction is neither_meet nor convenient_ for the pupils there taught, nor, indeed, for thehuman mind in any rank or condition of society. I am not going to saythat religious instruction, the most important of all, is neglected; farfrom it; but I affirm, that it is too often given with reference, lessto the affections, to the imagination, and to the practical duties, thanto subtile distinctions in points of doctrine, and to facts in scripturehistory, of which a knowledge may be brought out by a catecheticalprocess. This error, great though it be, ought to be looked at withindulgence, because it is a tempting thing for teachers unduly toexercise the understanding and memory, inasmuch as progress in thedepartments in which these faculties are employed, is most obviouslyproved to the teacher himself, and most flatteringly exhibited to theinspectors of schools and casual lookers on. A still more lamentableerror which proceeds much from the same cause, is an over-strainedapplication to mental processes of arithmetic and mathematics; and a toominute attention to departments of natural and civil history. How muchof trick may mix with this we will not ask, but the display ofprecocious intellectual power in these branches, is often astonishing;and, in proportion as it is so, may, for the most part, be pronouncednot only useless, but injurious. The training that fits a boxer forvictory in the ring, gives him strength that cannot, and is notrequired, to be kept up for ordinary labour, and often lays thefoundation of subsequent weakness and fatal disease. In like mannerthere being in after life no call for these extraordinary powers ofmind, and little use for the knowledge, the powers decay, and theknowledge withers and drops off. Here is then not only a positiveinjury, but a loss of opportunities for culture of intellect andacquiring information, which, as being in a course of regular demand, would be hereafter, the one strengthened and the other naturallyincreased. All this mischief, my friends, originates in a decay of thatfeeling which our fathers had uppermost in their hearts, viz. , that thebusiness of education should be conducted for _the honour of God_. Andhere I must direct your attention to a fundamental mistake, by whichthis age, so distinguished for its marvellous progress in arts andsciences, is unhappily characterized--a mistake, manifested in the useof the word _education_, which is habitually confounded with _tuition_or school instruction; this is indeed a very important part ofeducation, but when it is taken for the whole, we are deceived andbetrayed. Education, according to the derivation of the word, and in theonly use of which it is strictly justifiable, comprehends all thoseprocesses and influences, come from whence they may, that conduce to thebest development of the bodily powers, and of the moral, intellectual, and spiritual faculties which the position of the individual admits of. In this just and high sense of the word, the education of a sincereChristian, and a good member of society upon Christian principles, doesnot terminate with his youth, but goes on to the last moment of hisconscious earthly existence--an education not for time but for eternity. To education like this, is indispensably necessary, as co-operating withschoolmasters and ministers of the gospel, the never-ceasing vigilanceof parents; not so much exercised in superadding their pains to that ofthe schoolmaster or minister in teaching lessons or catechisms, or byenforcing maxims or precepts (though this part of their duty ought to behabitually kept in mind), but by care over their _own_ conduct. It isthrough the silent operation of example in their own well-regulatedbehaviour, and by accustoming their children early to the discipline ofdaily and hourly life, in such offices and employment as the situationof the family requires, and as are suitable to tender years, thatparents become infinitely the most important tutors of their children, without appearing, or positively meaning to be so. This education ofcircumstances has happily, in this district, not yet been much infringedupon by experimental novelties; parents here are anxious to send theiroffspring to those schools where knowledge substantially useful isinculcated, and those arts most carefully taught for which in after lifethere will be most need; this is especially true of the judgments ofparents respecting the instruction of their daughters, which _I know_they would wish to be confined to reading, writing, and arithmetic, andplain needlework, or any other art favourable to economy andhome-comforts. Their shrewd sense perceives that hands full ofemployment, and a head not above it, afford the best protection againstrestlessness and discontent, and all the perilous temptations to which, through them, youthful females are exposed. It is related of Burns, thecelebrated Scottish poet, that once while in the company of a friend, hewas looking from an eminence over a wide tract of country, he said, thatthe sight of so many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his mind thatnone could understand who had not witnessed, like himself, the happinessand worth which they contained. How were those _happy_ and _worthy_people educated? By the influence of hereditary good example at home, and by their parochial schoolmasters opening the way for the admonitionsand exhortations of their clergy; that was at a time when knowledge wasperhaps better than now distinguished from smatterings of information, and when knowledge itself was more thought of in due subordination towisdom. How was the evening before the sabbath then spent by thefamilies among which the poet was brought up? He has himself told us inimperishable verse. The Bible was brought forth, and after the father ofthe family had reverently laid aside, his bonnet, passages of scripturewere read, and the poet thus describes what followed:--

 Then kneeling down to Heaven's eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing, That thus they all shall meet in future days: There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

May He who enlightened the understanding of those cottagers with aknowledge of Himself for the entertainment of such hope, 'who sanctifiedtheir affections that they might love Him, and put His fear into theirhearts that they might dread to offend Him'--may He who, in preparingfor these blessed effects, disdained not the humble instrumentality ofparochial schools, enable this of ours, by the discipline and teachingpursued in it, to sow seeds for a like harvest! In this wish, I am sure, my friends, you will all fervently join; and now, after renewing ourexpression of regret that the benevolent founder is not here to performthe ceremony himself, we will proceed to lay the first stone of theintended edifice. 

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 

I. POLITICAL. 

I. _Apology for the French Revolution_. 

P. 3, l. 5. 'A sublime allegory. ' 'The Vision of Mirza' of Addison, originally published in 'The Spectator' (No. 159, Sept. 1, 1711). 

P. 4, ll. 38-9. 'A bishop, a man of philosophy and humanity, asdistinguished as your lordship. ' This was the Abbé Grégoire, whomSchlosser describes as the 'good-natured, pious, and visionary bishop;'and again, 'particular attention must be paid to the speeches of thepious Grégoire and his dreams of Utopian virtue. ' ('History of the 18thCentury, ' vol. Vi. Pp. 203-434). Cf. Alison's 'History of the FrenchRevolution, ' vol. Ii. C. Vii. Pp. 81-2 (ed. 1853); vol. Xii. P. 3, _etalibi_. 

P. 7, l. 20. 'The hero of the necklace. ' Prince de Rohan. More exactlythe Cardinal de Rohan, but who was of the princely house of De Rohan. Carlyle has characteristically told the story of 'the diamond necklace'in one of his Essays. Cf. Alison, as before, i. P. 177; and Schlosser, _s. U. _

P. 8, l. 22. 'Mr. Burke, in a philosophic lamentation over theextinction of chivalry, ' &c. The famous apostrophe in relation to MarieAntoinette in his 'Reflections on the Revolution in France' (1790). 

P. 9, ll. 8-12. The author gives no reference whatever to the source ofthis French quotation. 

P. 14, l. 34. 'The Rights of Man. ' The famous (or notorious) book ofThos. Paine, published in 1791-2 as 'The Rights of Man; being an Answerto Mr. Burke's Attack on the French Revolution. ' See p. 21 forWordsworth's vehement denunciation of Burke in the work which Paineanswers, viz. 'The Reflections, ' &c. But Wordsworth's ultimate estimateof Burke is the splendid praise of 'The Prelude, ' book vii. Ll. 513-544. 

II. _The Convention of Cintra_. 

Title-page. 'Qui didicit, ' &c. From Horace, 'De Arto Poetica, ' ll. 312, 314, 315. 

_Verso_ of title-page. Quotation from Bacon. From 'Advertisementtouching the Controversies of the Church of England (4th paragraph), Spedding's Letters and Life, ' vol. I. P. 76. 

P. 55, l. 40. 'General Loison. ' A French general of cavalry. He wasknown by the nickname of Maneta, the bloody one-handed. He was theAlaric of Evora. 'His misdeeds, ' says Southey, 'were never equalled orparalleled in the dark ages. ' It was from Orense that Soult invadedPortugal, having Loison and Foy for his lieutenants. 

P. 56, l. 26. 'M. Le duc d'Abrantés. ' Andoche Junot, duc d'Abrantés, born 23d Oct. 1771, and died by his own hand 29th July 1813. He wascreated duke by Napoleon when he was sent by him to command the Frencharmy in Portugal (1808); defeated by Sir Arthur Wellesley (Wellington)at Vimiera, 21st August 1808. 

P. 65, l. 27. 'Massaredo. ' Rather Mazaredo, a Spanish general. He hadlived much in England. He cleansed and repaired Sir John Moore's tomb atCorunna, and planted the ground for a public Alameda (walk). 

P. 59, ll. 25-6. 'General Morla. ' At wind-blown Fuencanal (one leaguefrom Madrid) is an old mansion of the Mendoza family, in whichBuonaparte lodged from Dec. 2, 1808, until Dec. 22; and here, Dec. 3, hereceived the Madrid deputation headed by the traitor Morla. 'On the 4thDec. 1808, General Morla and General Don Fernando de Vera, governor ofthe town (Madrid), presented themselves, and at ten o'clock GeneralBelliard took the command of Madrid. All the posts were put into thehands of the French, and a general pardon was proclaimed' (Southey, _s. N. _). 

P. 60, l. 15. 'The names of Pelayo and The Cid, ' &c. (1) _Pelayo_. TheMoorish descent was made in great force near Gibraltar in 711. Thebattle of the Gaudalete (fought near Jerez de la Frontera) followedimmediately; and in the course of three years they (the Moors) hadconquered the whole of Spain except the north-west region (Biscay andAsturias), behind whose mountains a large body of Chóntians under Pelayoretreated. Seven years later he (Pelayo) defeated the Moors, seizedLeón, and became the first king of the Asturias. (2) _The Cid_. RodrigoRuy Diaz of Vibar, born in 1026, is the prince the champion of Spain, ElCid Campeador, and the Achilles and Aeneas of Gotho-Spanish epos. Thus, as Schlegel says, 'he is worth a whole library for the understanding thespirit of his age and the character of the old Castilian. ' 'Cast in thestern mould of a disputed and hostile invasion, when men fought fortheir God and their father-land, for all they had or hoped for in thisworld and the next, the Cid possessed the vices and virtues of themediaeval Spaniard, and combined the daring personal valour, the cooldetermination and perseverance of the Northman, engrafted on the subtleperfidy and brilliant chivalry of the Oriental. '

P. 63, l. 15. 'Ferdinand VII. ' King of Spain; born 1784; died 1833. Father of Isabella II. , the present ex-queen of Spain. In opposition tohis father and his best advisers, he solicited the protection ofNapoleon, for which he was imprisoned (1807); compelled to renounce hisrights (1808); resided at Bayonne, where he servilely subjected himselfto Napoleon, 1808 to 1813; restored 1814, when he abolished the Cortesand revived the Inquisition. By the help of a French army he put down auinsurrection, and reëstablished absolute despotism (1823). He marriedChristiana of Naples (now Duchess Rianzanes), 1829. Abolished Salic lawin favour of his daughter, 1830. 

P. 84, l. 35. 'Radice in Tartara tendit. ' From Virgil, Georg. Ii. 292. 

P. 92, l. 28. 'General Dupont. ' In June 1808, Dupont, commanding theFrench army, had marched from Madrid to Andalusia, in the south ofSpain, given Cordova up to pillage, and committed atrocities whichroused the Spanish people to fury. The Spanish general Leastaños(afterwards created Duque de Baylen), with an army sent by the Junta ofSeville, won the sanguinary battle of Baylen, and compelled the Frenchto surrender at discretion on the 21st July 1808. 

P. 96, l. 37. 'General Friere. ' More accurately, Freyere, viz. ManuelFreyere, a Spanish general; born 1795; died 1834. He distinguishedhimself in the War of Independence, 1809-1813. He helped much in gainingthe victory at Toulouse, 10th April 1814. Faithful to constitutionalprinciples, he retired from public life in 1820. 

P. 109, ll. 12-16. Quotation from Milton. Adapted from 'Paradise Lost, 'book x. Ll. 294-7. 

P. 117, l. 33. 'The Boy of Saragossa. ' Probably a _lapsus_ for the_Maid_ of Saragossa, Angustina. This Amazon (in a good, soft sense), although a mere itinerant seller of cool drinks, vied in heroism withthe noble Condeya de Burita, who amid the crash of war tended the sickand wounded, resembling in looks and deeds a ministering angel. She(Angustina) snatched the match from a dying artillery-man's hand, andfired the cannon at the French; hence she was called La Artillera. 

P. 122, ll. 8-10. Latin quotation. Virgil, Eclogae, iv. 6. 

P. 149, ll. 16-19. Quotation from Milton, viz. 'Paradise Lost, ' bookiii. Ll. 455-7. 

P. 149, l. 40. 'The Sicilian Vespers. ' The historical name given to themassacre of the French in Sicily, commenced at Palermo 30th March 1282. The late Earl of Ellesmere wrote a monograph on the subject. 

P. 160, ll. 11-13. Quotation in Italian. From Dante, 'Inferno, ' c. Iii. Ll. 1-3. 

P. 165, ll. 30-1. Saying of Pyrrhus. More exactly, 'Another suchvictory, and I must return to Epeirus alone' (said of the renownedbattle on the bank of the Siris). See 'Plutarch and Dionysius, ' andDroysen, 'Geschichte des Hellenisinus, ' _s. N. _

P. 166, l. 31. 'Onward. ' Sir Philip Warwick. His 'Memoirs' werereprinted and edited by Sir Walter Scott (1702). His 'portraiture' ofCromwell is among the commonplaces of history. 

P. 167, l. 30. 'Padre St. Iago Sass. ' He is introduced into Wilkie'sfamous picture of the 'Maid of Saragossa. '

P. 167, l. 31. 'Palafox. ' José Palafox y Chelzi, Duke of Saragossa, wasborn in 1780; heroically defended Saragossa against the attack of theFrench, 27th July 1808; sent prisoner to France 21st Feb. 1809; released11th Dec. 1813; died 16th Feb. 1847. 

P. 173-4. 'Petrarch. ' From his Epistolae, _s. V. _--'Milton. ' Apparently asomewhat loose recollection from memory of a passage in 'The Ready andEasy Way to establish a Free Commonwealth, ' &c. (1659-60), commencing'It may be well thought strange, ' &c. 

III. _Vindication of Opinions in the Treatise on the Convention ofCintra_. 

P. 205, footnote. Latin quotation. Read, 'Totis imperii viribus [contramirmillonem] consurgitur. ' Floras, iii. 20. 

II. ETHICAL. 

I. _Of Legislation for the Poor_. 

P. 275, ll. 28 onward. Quotation from Milton. From 'Paradise Lost, ' bookx. Ll. 743-747, but changed somewhat in meaning. 

P. 277, ll. 16-17. Quotation. Adapted from 'Guilt and Sorrow, ' st. Xli. II. 8-9. 

II. _(e) Speech on Laying the Foundation-stone of the New School, &c. _

On this occasion a prayer was offered by the Rev. R. P. Graves, M. A. , (then) the curate, which--as admirably suitable, and as having made aprofound impression at the time, the bowed head and reverent look of thevenerable Poet as he joined in it remaining 'pleasures of memory'still--it is deemed expedient to preserve permanently. I derive it fromthe same source as the full Speech itself, and give the context: 'Mr. Wordsworth then descended a step-ladder to the foundation-stone, anddeposited the bottle in the cavity, which was covered with a brassplate, having inscribed on it the name of the founder, date, &c. Beingfurnished with a trowel and mortar by the master mason, Mr. John Holme, he spread it; another massy stone was then let down upon the first, andadjusted to its position, Mr. Wordsworth handling the rule, plumb-line, and mallet, and patting the stone he retired. The Rev. R. P. Graves nextoffered up the following prayer for the welfare and success of theundertaking: "The foundation-stone of the new parochial school-house ofBowness being now laid, it remains that, as your minister, I shouldinvoke upon the work that blessing of God, without which no humanundertaking can prosper, --O Lord God, Who dwellest on high, Whose throneis the Heaven of heavens, and Who yet deignest to look down withgoodness and mercy on Thy children of earth, look down, we beseech Thee, with favour upon us who now implore Thy gracious benediction on the workwhich is before Thee. The building which Thou hast put into the heart ofThy servant to erect grant that, as it is happily begun, it may besuccessfully completed, and that it may become a fountain-head ofblessing to this place and neighbourhood. Thou hast directed us, O Lord, to bring up our children in Thy nurture and admonition; bless, we prayThee, this effort to secure the constant fulfilment of so important aduty, one so entirely bound up with our own and our children's welfare. Grant that here, from age to age, the youth of these hamlets may receivesuch faithful instruction as may fit them for usefulness in this life, and for happiness in the next. Grant that the one school may send outnumbers endued with such principles and knowledge as may make them, intheir several callings, industrious, upright, useful men; in society, peaceful neighbours, contented citizens, loyal subjects; in theirfamilies, affectionate sons, and husbands, and fathers; in the Church, dutiful members of that pure and Scriptural Establishment with whichThou hast blessed our Land; and, as crowning and including all, resolvedand pious followers of our Redeemer Christ. Grant too, O Lord, that thefemales which shall be educated in the other school shall receive theresuch valuable principles and such convenient knowledge as may fit themto make happy the homes of such men; that, with Thy blessing on theirinstruction, they may become obedient and dutiful children, modest andvirtuous women, faithful and affectionate wives and mothers, pious andunassuming Christians; so that with regard to both it may be widely andgratefully owned that here was sown the good seed which shall have bornefruit abundantly in all the relations of life, and which at the greatday of harvest hereafter shall, according to Thy word, be gathered intoThy garner. Such, O Lord God, Thou knowest to be the good objectscontemplated by the original founders of the school, and the promotionof which is at the heart of him whose benefaction we have this day seenauspiciously begun. Trusting, therefore, O Lord, with full assurancethat Thou dost favourably allow and regard these pious designs, I nowundertake, as God's minister, and in His name, to bless and dedicate forever this spot of ground, and the building which, with the Divinepermission, will be here erected, and of which this is thefoundation-stone, to the sound and religious training up of youth fromgeneration to generation, to the continued grateful remembrance of thepious benefactor, and to the everlasting glory of God Most High, theFather, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. And let all the people say, Amen. "'

P. 288, ll. 1-3. These lines might have gone into the closing book of'The Prelude, ' but I have failed to trace or recall them. 

P. 223. Long verse-quotation. From 'The Prelude, ' book xiii. Ll. 220-277. 

P. 311, footnote [A], viz. Captain T. Ashe's 'Travels in America in theyear 1806, for the purpose of exploring the rivers of Alleghanny, Monongahela, Ohio, and the Mississippi, and ascertaining the Produce andCondition of their Banks and Vicinity. ' 3 vols. 12mo, 1808. AlexanderWilson, the 'Ornithologist, ' vainly sought to accompany Ashe. Had hedone so the incredibilities of these Travels had probably been omitted. (See his Works by me, 2 vols. 8vo, 1875. )

P. 326. Verse-quotation at close. From close of 'Ode to Duty' (xix. 'Poems of Sentiment and Reflection'). 

P. 353, ll. 7-8. Verse-quotation. Whence? It sounds familiarly. 

P. 353, ll. 20-25. From Milton, 'Sonnet xiv. '

P. 356, ll. 16-24. Verse-quotation. From Burns' 'Cottar's SaturdayNight. ' It may be noted here that the 'saint, the father, and thehusband' of this imperishable celebration of lowly Scottish godlinesswas William Burns (or Burness), father of the Poet; and whilst this noteis being written a copy of a most interesting MS. (about to bepublished) by William Burness, prepared by him for his children, reachesme. It is entitled, 'Manual of Religious Belief, by William Burness, inthe form of a Dialogue between a Father and his Son. ' G. 

THE PROSE WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

FOR THE FIRST TIME COLLECTED, _WITH ADDITIONS FROM UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS_. 

Edited, with Preface, Notes and Illustrations, BY THE REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART, ST. GEORGE'S, BLACKBURN, LANCASHIRE. 

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

VOL. II. 

AESTHETICAL AND LITERARY. 

LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, SON, AND CO. 1 AMEN CORNER, PATERNOSTER ROW. 

1876. 

AMS Press, Inc. New York 100031967 Manufactured in the United States of America

CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 

*** A star [*] designates publication herein _for the first time_ G. 

AESTHETICAL AND LITERARY. 

 I. Of Literary Biography and Monuments: (_a_) A Letter to a Friend of Robert Burns, 1816 (_b_) Letter to a Friend on Monuments to Literary Men, 1819 (_c_) Letter to John Peace, Esq. , of Bristol, 1844 II. Upon Epitaphs: (_a_) From 'The Friend' *(_b_) From the Author's MSS. : The Country Church-yard, and critical Examination of Ancient Epitaphs *(_c_) From the Author's MSS. : Celebrated Epitaphs consideredIII. Essays, Letters, and Notes, elucidatory and confirmatory of the Poems, 1798-1835: (_a_) Of the Principles of Poetry and the 'Lyrical Ballads, ' 1798-1802 (_b_) Of Poetic Diction (_c_) Poetry as a Study, 1815 (_d_) Of Poetry as Observation and Description, and Dedication of 1815 (_e_) Of 'The Excursion:' Preface *(_f_) Letters to Sir George and Lady Beaumont and others, on the Poems and related Subjects[1] (_g_) Letter to Charles Fox with the 'Lyrical Ballads, ' and his Answer, &c. (_h_) Letter on the Principles of Poetry and his own Poems to (afterwards) Professor John Wilson IV. Descriptive: (_a_) A Guide through the District of the Lakes, 1835 (_b_) Kendal and Windermere Railway: two Letters reprinted from the _Morning Post_. Revised, with Additions, 1844NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS

[1] The Beaumont Letters are given from the originals, and in manycases, as elsewhere, contain important additions and corrections. G. 

AESTHETICAL AND LITERARY. 

I. OF LITERARY BIOGRAPHY AND MONUMENTS. 

(_a_) A LETTER TO A FRIEND OF ROBERT BURNS, 1816. 

(_b_) LETTER TO A FRIEND ON MONUMENTS TO LITERARY MEN, 1819. 

(_c_) LETTER TO JOHN PEACE OF BRISTOL, 1844. 

NOTE. 

For details on the several portions of this division, see the Preface inVol. I. G. 

A LETTER TO A FRIEND OF ROBERT BURNS: OCCASIONED BY AN INTENDEDREPUBLICATION OF THE ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE OF BURNS, BY DR. CURRIE; AND OFTHE SELECTION MADE BY HIM FROM HIS LETTERS. 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

_LONDON_:

PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 

1816. 

(_a_) A LETTER TO A FRIEND OF ROBERT BURNS. 

TO JAMES GRAY, ESQ. , EDINBURGH. 

DEAR SIR, I have carefully perused the Review of the Life of your friend RobertBurns, [2] which you kindly transmitted to me; the author has rendered asubstantial service to the poet's memory; and the annexed letters areall important to the subject. After having expressed this opinion, Ishall not trouble you by commenting upon the publication; but willconfine myself to the request of Mr. Gilbert Burns, that I would furnishhim with my notions upon the best mode of conducting the defence of hisbrother's injured reputation; a favourable opportunity being nowafforded him to convey his sentiments to the world, along with arepublication of Dr. Currie's book, which he is about to superintend. From the respect which I have long felt for the character of the personwho has thus honoured me, and from the gratitude which, as a lover ofpoetry, I owe to the genius of his departed relative, I should mostgladly comply with this wish; if I could hope that any suggestions ofmine would be of service to the cause. But, really, I feel it a thing ofmuch delicacy, to give advice upon this occasion, as it appears to me, mainly, not a question of opinion, or of taste, but a matter ofconscience. Mr. Gilbert Burns must know, if any man living does, whathis brother was; and no one will deny that he, who possesses thisknowledge, is a man of unimpeachable veracity. He has already spoken tothe world in contradiction of the injurious assertions that have beenmade, and has told why he forbore to do this on their first appearance. 

[2] _A Review of the Life of Robert Burns, and of various Criticisms onhis Character and Writings_, by Alexander Peterkin, 1814. 

If it be deemed adviseable to reprint Dr. Currie's narrative, withoutstriking out such passages as the author, if he were now alive, wouldprobably be happy to efface, let there be notes attached to the mostobnoxious of them, in which the misrepresentations may be corrected, andthe exaggerations exposed. I recommend this course, if Dr. Currie's Lifeis to be republished, as it now stands, in connexion with the poems andletters, and especially if prefixed to them; but, in my judgment, itwould be best to copy the example which Mason has given in his secondedition of Gray's works. There, inverting the order which had beenproperly adopted, when the Life and Letters were new matter, the poemsare placed first; and the rest takes its place as subsidiary to them. Ifthis were done in the intended edition of Burns's works, I shouldstrenuously recommend, that a concise life of the poet be prefixed, fromthe pen of Gilbert Burns, who has already given public proof how wellqualified he is for the undertaking. I know no better model as toproportion, and the degree of detail required, nor, indeed, as to thegeneral execution, than the life of Milton by Fenton, prefixed to manyeditions of the _Paradise Lost_. But a more copious narrative would beexpected from a brother; and some allowance ought to be made, in thisand other respects, for an expectation so natural. 

In this prefatory memoir, when the author has prepared himself byreflecting, that fraternal partiality may have rendered him, in somepoints, not so trustworthy as others less favoured by opportunity, itwill be incumbent upon him to proceed candidly and openly, as far assuch a procedure will tend to restore to his brother that portion ofpublic estimation, of which he appears to have been unjustly deprived. Nay, when we recall to mind the black things which have been written ofthis great man, and the frightful ones that have been insinuated againsthim; and, as far as the public knew, till lately, without complaint, remonstrance, or disavowal, from his nearest relatives; I am not surethat it would not be best, at this day, explicitly to declare to whatdegree Robert Burns had given way to pernicious habits, and, as nearlyas may be, to fix the point to which his moral character had beendegraded. It is a disgraceful feature of the times that this measureshould be necessary; most painful to think that a _brother_ should havesuch an office to perform. But, if Gilbert Burns be conscious that thesubject will bear to be so treated, he has no choice; the duty has beenimposed upon him by the errors into which the former biographer hasfallen, in respect to the very principles upon which his work ought tohave been conducted. 

I well remember the acute sorrow with which, by my own fire-side, Ifirst perused Dr. Currie's Narrative, and some of the letters, particularly of those composed in the latter part of the poet's life. Ifmy pity for Burns was extreme, this pity did not preclude a strongindignation, of which he was not the object. If, said I, it were in thepower of a biographer to relate the truth, the _whole_ truth, andnothing _but_ the truth, the friends and surviving kindred of thedeceased, for the sake of general benefit to mankind, might endure thatsuch heart-rending communication should be made to the world. But in nocase is this possible; and, in the present, the opportunities ofdirectly acquiring other than superficial knowledge have been mostscanty; for the writer has barely seen the person who is the subject ofhis tale; nor did his avocations allow him to take the pains necessaryfor ascertaining what portion of the information conveyed to him wasauthentic. So much for facts and actions; and to what purpose relatethem even were they true, if the narrative cannot be heard withoutextreme pain; unless they are placed in such a light, and broughtforward in such order, that they shall explain their own laws, and leavethe reader in as little uncertainty as the mysteries of our nature willallow, respecting the spirit from which they derived their existence, and which governed the agent? But hear on this pathetic and awfulsubject, the poet himself, pleading for those who have transgressed!

 One point must still be greatly dark, The moving _why_ they do it, And just as lamely can ye mark How far, perhaps, they rue it. 

 Who made the heart, 'tis _he_ alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord--its various tone, Each spring, its various bias. 

 Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's _resisted_. 

How happened it that the recollection of this affecting passage did notcheck so amiable a man as Dr. Currie, while he was revealing to theworld the infirmities of its author? He must have known enough of humannature to be assured that men would be eager to sit in judgment, andpronounce _decidedly_ upon the guilt or innocence of Burns by histestimony; nay, that there were multitudes whose main interest in theallegations would be derived from the incitements which they foundtherein to undertake this presumptuous office. And where lies thecollateral benefit, or what ultimate advantage can be expected, tocounteract the injury that the many are thus tempted to do to their ownminds; and to compensate the sorrow which must be fixed in the hearts ofthe considerate few, by language that proclaims so much, and provokesconjectures as unfavourable as imagination can furnish? Here, said I, being moved beyond what it would become me to express, here is arevolting account of a man of exquisite genius, and confessedly of manyhigh moral qualities, sunk into the lowest depths of vice and misery!But the painful story, notwithstanding its minuteness, isincomplete, --in essentials it is deficient; so that the most attentiveand sagacious reader cannot explain how a mind, so well established byknowledge, fell--and continued to fall, without power to prevent orretard its own ruin. 

Would a bosom friend of the author, his counsellor and confessor, havetold such things, if true, as this book contains? and who, but onepossessed of the intimate knowledge which none but a bosom friend canacquire, could have been justified in making these avowals? Such a one, himself a pure spirit, having accompanied, as it were, upon wings, thepilgrim along the sorrowful road which he trod on foot; such a one, neither hurried down by its slippery descents, nor entangled among itsthorns, nor perplexed by its windings, nor discomfited by its founderouspassages--for the instruction of others--might have delineated, almostas in a map, the way which the afflicted pilgrim had pursued till thesad close of his diversified journey. In this manner the venerablespirit of Isaac Walton was qualified to have retraced the unsteadycourse of a highly-gifted man, who, in this lamentable point, and inversatility of genius, bore no unobvious resemblance to the Scottishbard; I mean his friend COTTON--whom, notwithstanding all that the sagemust have disapproved in his life, he honoured with the title of son. Nothing like this, however has the biographer of Burns accomplished;and, with his means of information, copious as in some respects theywere, it would have been absurd to attempt it. The only motive, therefore, which could authorize the writing and publishing matter sodistressing to read--is wanting!

Nor is Dr. Currie's performance censurable from these considerationsalone; for information, which would have been of absolute worth if inhis capacity of biographer and editor he had known when to stop short, is rendered unsatisfactory and inefficacious through the absence of thisreserve, and from being coupled with statements of improbable andirreconcileable facts. We have the author's letters discharged upon usin showers; but how few readers will take the trouble of comparing thoseletters with each other, and with the other documents of thepublication, in order to come at a genuine knowledge of the writer'scharacter!--The life of Johnson by Boswell had broken through manypre-existing delicacies, and afforded the British public an opportunityof acquiring experience, which before it had happily wanted;nevertheless, at the time when the ill-selected medley of Burns'scorrespondence first appeared, little progress had been made (nor is itlikely that, by the mass of mankind, much ever will be made) indetermining what portion of these confidential communications escapesthe pen in courteous, yet often innocent, compliance--to gratify theseveral tastes of correspondents; and as little towards distinguishingopinions and sentiments uttered for the momentary amusement merely ofthe writer's own fancy, from those which his judgment deliberatelyapproves, and his heart faithfully cherishes. But the subject of thisbook was a man of extraordinary genius; whose birth, education, andemployments had placed and kept him in a situation far below that inwhich the writers and readers of expensive volumes are usually found. Critics upon works of fiction have laid it down as a rule thatremoteness of place, in fixing the choice of a subject, and inprescribing the mode of treating it, is equal in effect to distance oftime;--restraints may be thrown off accordingly. Judge then of thedelusions which artificial distinctions impose, when to a man likeDoctor Currie, writing with views so honourable, the _social condition_of the individual of whom he was treating, could seem to place him atsuch a distance from the exalted reader, that ceremony might hediscarded with him, and his memory sacrificed, as it were, almostwithout compunction. The poet was laid where these injuries could notreach him; but he had a parent, I understand, an admirable woman, stillsurviving; a brother like Gilbert Burns!--a widow estimable for hervirtues; and children, at that time infants, with the world before them, which they must face to obtain a maintenance; who remembered theirfather probably with the tenderest affection;--and whose opening minds, as their years advanced, would become conscious of so many reasons foradmiring him. --Ill-fated child of nature, too frequently thine ownenemy, --unhappy favourite of genius, too often misguided, --this isindeed to be 'crushed beneath the furrow's weight!'

Why, sir, do I write to you at this length, when all that I had toexpress in direct answer to the request, which occasioned this letter, lay in such narrow compass?--Because having entered upon the subject, Iam unable to quit it!--Your feelings, I trust, go along with mine; and, rising from this individual case to a general view of the subject, youwill probably agree with me in opinion that biography, though differingin some essentials from works of fiction, is nevertheless, like them, an_art_--an art, the laws of which are determined by the imperfections ofour nature, and the constitution of society. Truth is not here, as inthe sciences, and in natural philosophy, to be sought without scruple, and promulgated for its own sake, upon the mere chance of its beingserviceable; but only for obviously justifying purposes, moral orintellectual. 

Silence is a privilege of the grave, a right of the departed: let him, therefore, who infringes that right, by speaking publicly of, for, oragainst, those who cannot speak for themselves, take heed that he opensnot his mouth without a sufficient sanction. _De mortuis nil nisibonum_, is a rule in which these sentiments have been pushed to anextreme that proves how deeply humanity is interested in maintainingthem. And it was wise to announce the precept thus absolutely; bothbecause there exist in that same nature, by which it has been dictated, so many temptations to disregard it, --and because there are powers andinfluences, within and without us, that will prevent its being literallyfulfilled--to the suppression of profitable truth. Penalties of law, conventions of manners, and personal fear, protect the reputation of theliving; and something of this protection is extended to the recentlydead, --who survive, to a certain degree, in their kindred and friends. Few are so insensible as not to feel this, and not to be actuated by thefeeling. But only to philosophy enlightened by the affections does itbelong justly to estimate the claims of the deceased on the one hand, and of the present age and future generations, on the other; and tostrike a balance between them. --Such philosophy runs a risk of becomingextinct among us, if the coarse intrusions into the recesses, the grossbreaches upon the sanctities, of domestic life, to which we have latelybeen more and more accustomed, are to be regarded as indications of avigorous state of public feeling--favourable to the maintenance of theliberties of our country. --Intelligent lovers of freedom are fromnecessity bold and hardy lovers of truth; but, according to the measurein which their love is intelligent, is it attended with a finerdiscrimination, and a more sensitive delicacy. The wise and good (andall others being lovers of licence rather than of liberty are in factslaves) respect, as one of the noblest characteristics of Englishmen, that jealousy of familiar approach, which, while it contributes to themaintenance of private dignity, is one of the most efficacious guardiansof rational public freedom. 

The general obligation upon which I have insisted, is especially bindingupon those who undertake the biography of _authors_. Assuredly, there isno cause why the lives of that class of men should be pried into withthe same diligent curiosity, and laid open with the same disregard ofreserve, which may sometimes be expedient in composing the history ofmen who have borne an active part in the world. Such thorough knowledgeof the good and bad qualities of these latter, as can only be obtainedby a scrutiny of their private lives, conduces to explain not only theirown public conduct, but that of those with whom they have acted. Nothingof this applies to authors, considered merely as authors. Our businessis with their books, --to understand and to enjoy them. And, of poetsmore especially, it is true--that, if their works be good, they containwithin themselves all that is necessary to their being comprehended andrelished. It should seem that the ancients thought in this manner; forof the eminent Greek and Roman poets, few and scanty memorials were, Ibelieve, ever prepared; and fewer still are preserved. It is delightfulto read what, in the happy exercise of his own genius, Horace chooses tocommunicate of himself and his friends; but I confess I am not so much alover of knowledge, independent of its quality, as to make it likelythat it would much rejoice me, were I to hear that records of the Sabinepoet and his contemporaries, composed upon the Boswellian plan, had beenunearthed among the ruins of Herculaneum. You will interpret what I amwriting, _liberally_. With respect to the light which such a discoverymight throw upon Roman manners, there would be reasons to desire it: butI should dread to disfigure the beautiful ideal of the memories of thoseillustrious persons with incongruous features, and to sully theimaginative purity of their classical works with gross and trivialrecollections. The least weighty objection to heterogeneous details, isthat they are mainly superfluous, and therefore an incumbrance. 

But you will perhaps accuse me of refining too much; and it is, I own, comparatively of little importance, while we are engaged in reading the_Iliad_, the _Eneid_, the tragedies of _Othello_ and _King Lear_, whether the authors of these poems were good or bad men; whether theylived happily or miserably. Should a thought of the kind cross ourminds, there would be no doubt, if irresistible external evidence didnot decide the question unfavourably, that men of such transcendantgenius were both good and happy: and if, unfortunately, it had been onrecord that they were otherwise, sympathy with the fate of theirfictitious personages would banish the unwelcome truth whenever itobtruded itself, so that it would but slightly disturb our pleasure. Farotherwise is it with that class of poets, the principal charm of whosewritings depends upon the familiar knowledge which they convey of thepersonal feelings of their authors. This is eminently the case with theeffusions of Burns;--in the small quantity of narrative that he hasgiven, he himself bears no inconsiderable part, and he has produced nodrama. Neither the subjects of his poems, nor his manner of handlingthem, allow us long to forget their author. On the basis of his humancharacter he has reared a poetic one, which with more or lessdistinctness presents itself to view in almost every part of hisearlier, and, in my estimation, his most valuable verses. This poeticfabric, dug out of the quarry of genuine humanity, is airy andspiritual:--and though the materials, in some parts, are coarse, and thedisposition is often fantastic and irregular, yet the whole is agreeableand strikingly attractive. Plague, then, upon your remorseless huntersafter matter of fact (who, after all, rank among the blindest of humanbeings) when they would convince you that the foundations of thisadmirable edifice are hollow; and that its frame is unsound! Grantingthat all which has been raked up to the prejudice of Burns wereliterally true; and that it added, which it does not, to our betterunderstanding of human nature and human life (for that genius is notincompatible with vice, and that vice leads to misery--the more acutefrom the sensibilities which are the elements of genius--we needed notthose communications to inform us) how poor would have been thecompensation for the deduction made, by this extrinsic knowledge, fromthe intrinsic efficacy of his poetry--to please, and to instruct!

In illustration of this sentiment, permit me to remind you that it isthe privilege of poetic genius to catch, under certain restrictions ofwhich perhaps at the time of its being exerted it is but dimlyconscious, a spirit of pleasure wherever it can be found, --in the walksof nature, and in the business of men. --The poet, trusting to primaryinstincts, luxuriates among the felicities of love and wine, and isenraptured while he describes the fairer aspects of war: nor does heshrink from the company of the passion of love though immoderate--fromconvivial pleasure though intemperate--nor from the presence of warthough savage, and recognized as the handmaid of desolation. Frequentlyand admirably has Burns given way to these impulses of nature; both withreference to himself and in describing the condition of others. Who, butsome impenetrable dunce or narrow-minded puritan in works of art, everread without delight the picture which he has drawn of the convivialexaltation of the rustic adventurer, Tam o'Shanter? The poet fears notto tell the reader in the outset that his hero was a desperate andsottish drunkard, whose excesses were frequent as his opportunities. This reprobate sits down to his cups, while the storm is roaring, andheaven and earth are in confusion;--the night is driven on by song andtumultuous noise--laughter and jest thicken as the beverage improvesupon the palate--conjugal fidelity archly bends to the service ofgeneral benevolence--selfishness is not absent, but wearing the mask ofsocial cordiality--and, while these various elements of humanity areblended into one proud and happy composition of elated spirits, theanger of the tempest without doors only heightens and sets off theenjoyment within. --I pity him who cannot perceive that, in all this, though there was no moral purpose, there is a moral effect. 

 Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the _ills_ of life victorious. 

What a lesson do these words convey of charitable indulgence for thevicious habits of the principal actor in this scene, and of those whoresemble him!--Men who to the rigidly virtuous are objects almost ofloathing, and whom therefore they cannot serve! The poet, penetratingthe unsightly and disgusting surfaces of things, has unveiled withexquisite skill the finer ties of imagination and feeling, that oftenbind these beings to practices productive of so much unhappiness tothemselves, and to those whom it is their duty to cherish;--and, as faras he puts the reader into possession of this intelligent sympathy, hequalifies him for exercising a salutary influence over the minds ofthose who are thus deplorably enslaved. 

Not less successfully does Burns avail himself of his own character andsituation in society, to construct out of them a poeticself, --introduced as a dramatic personage--for the purpose ofinspiriting his incidents, diversifying his pictures, recommending hisopinions, and giving point to his sentiments. His brother can set meright if I am mistaken when I express a belief that, at the time when hewrote his story of _Death and Dr. Hornbook_, he had very rarely beenintoxicated, or perhaps even much exhilarated by liquor. Yet how happilydoes he lead his reader into that track of sensations! and with whatlively humour does he describe the disorder of his senses and theconfusion of his understanding, put to test by a deliberate attempt tocount the horns of the moon!

 But whether she had three or four He could na' tell. 

Behold a sudden apparition that disperses this disorder, and in a momentchills him into possession of himself! Coming upon no more importantmission than the grisly phantom was charged with, what mode ofintroduction could have been more efficient or appropriate?

But, in those early poems, through the veil of assumed habits andpretended qualities, enough of the real man appears to show that he wasconscious of sufficient cause to dread his own passions, and to bewailhis errors! We have rejected as false sometimes in the letter, and ofnecessity as false in the spirit, many of the testimonies that othershave borne against him; but, by his own hand--in words the import ofwhich cannot be mistaken--it has been recorded that the order of hislife but faintly corresponded with the clearness of his views. It isprobable that he would have proved a still greater poet if, by strengthof reason, he could have controlled the propensities which hissensibility engendered; but he would have been a poet of a differentclass: and certain it is, had that desirable restraint been earlyestablished, many peculiar beauties which enrich his verses could neverhave existed, and many accessary influences, which contribute greatly totheir effect, would have been wanting. For instance, the momentous truthof the passage already quoted, 'One point must still be greatly dark, '&c. Could not possibly have been conveyed with such pathetic force byany poet that ever lived, speaking in his own voice; unless it were feltthat, like Burns, he was a man who preached from the text of his ownerrors; and whose wisdom, beautiful as a flower that might have risenfrom seed sown from above, was in fact a scion from the root of personalsuffering. Whom did the poet intend should be thought of as occupyingthat grave over which, after modestly setting forth the moraldiscernment and warm affections of its 'poor inhabitant, ' it is supposedto be inscribed that

 --Thoughtless follies laid him low, And stained his name. 

Who but himself, --himself anticipating the too probable termination ofhis own course? Here is a sincere and solemn avowal--a publicdeclaration _from his own will_--a confession at once devout, poetical, and human--a history in the shape of a prophecy! What more was requiredof the biographer than to have put his seal to the writing, testifyingthat the foreboding had been realized, and that the record wasauthentic?--Lastingly is it to be regretted in respect to this memorablebeing, that inconsiderate intrusion has not left us at liberty to enjoyhis mirth, or his love; his wisdom or his wit; without an admixture ofuseless, irksome, and painful details, that take from his poems so muchof that right--which, with all his carelessness, and frequent breachesof self-respect, he was not negligent to maintain for them--the right ofimparting solid instruction through the medium of unalloyed pleasure. 

You will have noticed that my observations have hitherto been confinedto Dr. Currie's book: if, by fraternal piety, the poison can be suckedout of this wound, those inflicted by meaner hands may be safely left toheal of themselves. Of the other writers who have given their names, only one lays claim to even a slight acquaintance with the author, whosemoral character they take upon them publicly to anatomize. The_Edinburgh_ reviewer--and him I single out because the author of thevindication of Burns has treated his offences with comparativeindulgence, to which he has no claim, and which, from whatever cause itmight arise, has interfered with the dispensation of justice--the_Edinburgh_ reviewer thus writes:[3] 'The _leading vice_ in Burns'scharacter, and the _cardinal deformity_, indeed, of ALL his productions, was his contempt, or affectation of contempt, for prudence, decency, andregularity, and his admiration of thoughtlessness, oddity, and vehementsensibility: his belief, in short, in the dispensing power of genius andsocial feeling in all matters of morality and common sense;' adding, that these vices and erroneous notions 'have communicated to a greatpart of his productions a character of immorality at once contemptibleand hateful. ' We are afterwards told, that he is _perpetually_ making aparade of his thoughtlessness, inflammability, and imprudence; and, inthe next paragraph, that he is _perpetually_ doing something else; i. E. 'boasting of his own independence. '--Marvellous address in thecommission of faults! not less than Caesar showed in the management ofbusiness; who, it is said, could dictate to three secretaries upon threeseveral affairs, at one and the same moment! But, to be serious. When aman, self-elected into the office of a public judge of the literatureand life of his contemporaries, can have the audacity to go theselengths in framing a summary of the contents of volumes that arescattered over every quarter of the globe, and extant in almost everycottage of Scotland, to give the lie to his labours; we must not wonderif, in the plenitude of his concern for the interests of abstractmorality, the infatuated slanderer should have found no obstacle toprevent him from insinuating that the poet, whose writings are to thisdegree stained and disfigured, was 'one of the sons of fancy and ofsong, who spend in vain superfluities the money that belongs of right tothe pale industrious tradesman and his famishing infants; and who raveabout friendship and philosophy in a tavern, while their wives' hearts, '&c. &c. 

[3] From Mr. Peterkin's pamphlet, who vouches for the accuracy of hiscitations; omitting, however, to apologize for their length. 

It is notorious that this persevering Aristarch, [4] as often as a workof original genius comes before him, avails himself of that opportunityto re-proclaim to the world the narrow range of his own comprehension. The happy self-complacency, the unsuspecting vain-glory, and the cordial_bonhommie_, with which this part of his duty is performed, do not leavehim free to complain of being hardly dealt with if any one shoulddeclare the truth, by pronouncing much of the foregoing attack upon theintellectual and moral character of Burns, to be the trespass (forreasons that will shortly appear, it cannot be called the venialtrespass) of a mind obtuse, superficial, and inept. What portion ofmalignity such a mind is susceptible of, the judicious admirers of thepoet, and the discerning friends of the man, will not trouble themselvesto enquire; but they will wish that this evil principle had possessedmore sway than they are at liberty to assign to it; the offender'scondition would not then have been so hopeless. For malignity _selects_its diet; but where is to be found the nourishment from which vanitywill revolt? Malignity may be appeased by triumphs real or supposed, andwill then sleep, or yield its place to a repentance producingdispositions of good will, and desires to make amends for past injury;but vanity is restless, reckless, intractable, unappeasable, insatiable. 

[4] A friend, who chances to be present while the author is correctingthe proof sheets, observes that Aristarchus is libelled by thisapplication of his name, and advises that 'Zoilus' should besubstituted. The question lies between spite and presumption; and it isnot easy to decide upon a case where the claims of each party are sostrong: but the name of Aristarch, who, simple man! would allow no verseto pass for Homer's which he did not approve of, is retained, forreasons that will be deemed cogent. 

Fortunate is it for the world when this spirit incites only to actionsthat meet with an adequate punishment in derision; such, as in a schemeof poetical justice, would be aptly requited by assigning to the agents, when they quit this lower world, a station in that not uncomfortablelimbo--the Paradise of Fools! But, assuredly, we shall have here anotherproof that ridicule is not the test of truth, if it prevent us fromperceiving, that _depravity_ has no ally more active, more inveterate, nor, from the difficulty of divining to what kind and degree ofextravagance it may prompt, more pernicious than self-conceit. Wherethis alliance is too obvious to be disputed, the culprit ought not to beallowed the benefit of contempt--as a shelter from detestation; muchless should he be permitted to plead, in excuse for his transgressions, that especial malevolence had little or no part in them. It is notrecorded, that the ancient, who set fire to the temple of Diana, had aparticular dislike to the goddess of chastity, or held idolatry inabhorrence: he was a fool, an egregious fool, but not the less, on thataccount, a most odious monster. The tyrant who is described as havingrattled his chariot along a bridge of brass over the heads of hissubjects, was, no doubt, inwardly laughed at; but what if this mockJupiter, not satisfied with an empty noise of his own making, had amusedhimself with throwing fire-brands upon the house-tops, as a substitutefor lightning; and, from his elevation, had hurled stones upon the headsof his people, to show that he was a master of the destructive bolt, aswell as of the harmless voice of the thunder!--The lovers of all that ishonourable to humanity have recently had occasion to rejoice over thedownfall of an intoxicated despot, whose vagaries furnish more solidmaterials by which the philosopher will exemplify how strict is theconnection between the ludicrously, and the terribly fantastic. We know, also, that Robespierre was one of the vainest men that the most vaincountry upon earth has produced;--and from this passion, and from thatcowardice which naturally connects itself with it, flowed the horrors ofhis administration. It is a descent, which I fear you will scarcelypardon, to compare these redoubtable enemies of mankind with theanonymous conductor of a perishable publication. But the moving spiritis the same in them all; and, as far as difference of circumstances, anddisparity of powers, will allow, manifests itself in the same way; byprofessions of reverence for truth, and concern for duty--carried to thegiddiest heights of ostentation, while practice seems to have no otherreliance than on the omnipotence of falsehood. 

The transition from a vindication of Robert Burns to these hints for apicture of the intellectual deformity of one who has grossly outragedhis memory, is too natural to require an apology: but I feel, sir, thatI stand in need of indulgence for having detained you so long. Let mebeg that you would impart to any judicious friends of the poet as muchof the contents of these pages as you think will be serviceable to thecause; but do not give publicity to any _portion_ of them, unless it bethought probable that an open circulation of the whole may be useful. [5]The subject is delicate, and some of the opinions are of a kind, which, if torn away from the trunk that supports them, will be apt to wither, and, in that state, to contract poisonous qualities; like the branchesof the yew, which, while united by a living spirit to their native tree, are neither noxious, nor without beauty; but, being dissevered and castupon the ground, become deadly to the cattle that incautiously feed uponthem. 

To Mr. Gilbert Burns, especially, let my sentiments be conveyed, with mysincere respects, and best wishes for the success of his praise-worthyenterprize. And if, through modest apprehension, he should doubt of hisown ability to do justice to his brother's memory, let him takeencouragement from the assurance that the most odious part of thecharges owed its credit to the silence of those who were deemed bestentitled to speak; and who, it was thought, would not have been mute, had they believed that they could speak beneficially. Moreover, it maybe relied on as a general truth, which will not escape his recollection, that tasks of this kind are not so arduous as, to those who are tenderlyconcerned in their issue, they may at first appear to be; for, if themany be hasty to condemn, there is a re-action of generosity whichstimulates them--when forcibly summoned--to redress the wrong; and, forthe sensible part of mankind, _they_ are neither dull to understand, norslow to make allowance for, the aberrations of men, whose intellectualpowers do honour to their species. 

 I am, dear Sir, respectfully yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

Rydal Mount, January, 1816. 

[5] It was deemed that it would be so, and the letter is publishedaccordingly. 

(b) OF MONUMENTS TO LITERARY MEN. 

_Letter to a Friend_. 

 Rydal Mount, April 21. 1819. 

SIR, The letter with which you have honoured me, bearing date the 31st ofMarch, I did not receive until yesterday; and, therefore, could notearlier express my regret that, notwithstanding a cordial approbation ofthe feeling which has prompted the undertaking, and a genuine sympathyin admiration with the gentlemen who have subscribed towards a Monumentfor Burns, I cannot unite my humble efforts with theirs in promotingthis object. 

Sincerely can I affirm that my respect for the motives which have swayedthese gentlemen has urged me to trouble you with a brief statement ofthe reasons of my dissent. 

In the first place: Eminent poets appear to me to be a class of men, wholess than any others stand in need of such marks of distinction; andhence I infer, that this mode of acknowledging their merits is one forwhich they would not, in general, be themselves solicitous. Burns did, indeed, erect a monument to Fergusson; but I apprehend his gratitudetook this course because he felt that Fergusson had been prematurely cutoff, and that his fame bore no proportion to his deserts. In neither ofthese particulars can the fate of Burns justly be said to resemble thatof his predecessor: his years were indeed few, but numerous enough toallow him to spread his name far and wide, and to take permanent root inthe affections of his countrymen; in short, he has raised for himself amonument so conspicuous, and of such imperishable materials, as torender a local fabric of stone superfluous, and, therefore, comparatively insignificant. 

But why, if this be granted, should not his fond admirers be permittedto indulge their feelings, and at the same time to embellish themetropolis of Scotland? If this may be justly objected to, and in myopinion it may, it is because the showy tributes to genius are apt todraw off attention from those efforts by which the interests ofliterature might be substantially promoted; and to exhaust public spiritin comparatively unprofitable exertions, when the wrongs of literary menare crying out for redress on all sides. It appears to me, that towardsno class of his Majesty's subjects are the laws so unjust andoppressive. The attention of Parliament has lately been directed, bypetition, to the exaction of copies of newly published works for certainlibraries; but this is a trifling evil compared with the restrictionsimposed upon the duration of copyright, which, in respect to worksprofound in philosophy, or elevated, abstracted, and refined inimagination, is tantamount almost to an exclusion of the author from allpecuniary recompence; and, even where works of imagination and mannersare so constituted as to be adapted to immediate demand, as is the caseof those of Burns, justly may it be asked, what reason can be assignedthat an author who dies young should have the prospect before him of hischildren being left to languish in poverty and dependence, whilebooksellers are revelling in luxury upon gains derived from works whichare the delight of many nations. 

This subject might be carried much further, and we might ask, if thecourse of things insured immediate wealth, and accompanying rank andhonours--honours and wealth often entailed on their families to mendistinguished in the other learned professions, --why the laws shouldinterfere to take away those pecuniary emoluments which are the naturalinheritance of the posterity of authors, whose pursuits, if directed bygenius and sustained by industry, yield in importance to none in whichthe members of a community can be engaged?

But to recur to the proposal in your letter. I would readily assist, according to my means, in erecting a monument to the memory of the PoetChatterton, who, with transcendent genius, was cut off while he was yeta boy in years; this, could he have anticipated the tribute, might havesoothed his troubled spirit, as an expression of general belief in theexistence of those powers which he was too impatient and too proud todevelope. At all events, it might prove an awful and a profitablewarning. I should also be glad to see a monument erected on the banks ofLoch Leven to the memory of the innocent and tender-hearted MichaelBruce, who, after a short life, spent in poverty and obscurity, wascalled away too early to have left behind him more than a fewtrustworthy promises of pure affections and unvitiated imagination. 

Let the gallant defenders of our country be liberally rewarded withmonuments; their noble actions cannot speak for themselves, as thewritings of men of genius are able to do. Gratitude in respect to themstands in need of admonition; and the very multitude of heroiccompetitors which increases the demand for this sentiment towards ournaval and military defenders, considered as a body, is injurious to theclaims of individuals. Let our great statesmen and eminent lawyers, ourlearned and eloquent divines, and they who have successfully devotedthemselves to the abstruser sciences, be rewarded in like manner; buttowards departed genius, exerted in the fine arts, and more especiallyin poetry, I humbly think, in the present state of things, the sense ofour obligation to it may more satisfactorily be expressed by meanspointing directly to the general benefit of literature. 

Trusting that these opinions of an individual will be candidlyinterpreted, I have the honour to be

 Your obedient servant, W. WORDSWORTH. [6]

[6] _Memoirs_, ii. 88-91. 

(_c_) OF SIR THOMAS BROWNE, A MONUMENT TO SOUTHEY, &c. 

_Letter to John Peace, Esq. , City Library, Bristol_. 

 Rydal Mount, April 8. 1844. 

MY DEAR MR. PEACE, You have gratified me by what you say of Sir Thomas Browne. I possesshis _Religio Medici, Christian Morals, Vulgar Errors_, &c. In separatepublications, and value him highly as a most original author. I almostregret that you did not add his Treatise upon _Urn Burial_ to yourpublication; it is not long, and very remarkable for the vigour of mindthat it displays. 

Have you had any communication with Mr. Cottle upon the subject of thesubscription which he has set on foot for the erection of a _Monument_to Southey in Bristol Cathedral? We are all engaged in a like tribute tobe placed in the parish church of Keswick. For my own part, I am notparticularly fond of placing monuments in _churches_, at least in moderntimes. I should prefer their being put in public places in the town withwhich the party was connected by birth or otherwise; or in the country, if he were a person who lived apart from the bustle of the world. And inSouthey's case, I should have liked better a bronze bust, in someaccessible and not likely to be disturbed part of St. Vincent's Rocks, as a site, than the cathedral. 

Thanks for your congratulations upon my birthday. I have now entered, awful thought! upon my 75th year. 

God bless you, and believe me, my dear friend, Ever faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

Mrs. Wordsworth begs her kind remembrance, as does Miss Fenwick, who iswith us. [7]

[7] _Memoirs_, ii. 91-2. 

II. UPON EPITAPHS. 

_(a)_ FROM 'THE FRIEND. '

_(b and c)_ FROM THE AUTHOR'S MSS. 

(_a_) UPON EPITAPHS. 

_From 'The Friend, ' Feb_. 22, 1810. 

It needs scarcely be said, that an Epitaph presupposes a Monument, uponwhich it is to be engraven. Almost all Nations have wished that certainexternal signs should point out the places where their dead areinterred. Among savage tribes unacquainted with letters this has mostlybeen done either by rude stones placed near the graves, or by mounds ofearth raised over them. This custom proceeded obviously from a twofolddesire; first, to guard the remains of the deceased from irreverentapproach or from savage violation: and, secondly, to preserve theirmemory. 'Never any, ' says Camden, 'neglected burial but some savagenations; as the Bactrians, which cast their dead to the dogs; somevarlet philosophers, as Diogenes, who desired to be devoured of fishes;some dissolute courtiers, as Maecenas, who was wont to say, Non tumulumeuro; sepelit natura relictos. 

 I'm careless of a grave:--Nature her dead will save. 

As soon as nations had learned the use of letters, epitaphs wereinscribed upon these monuments; in order that their intention might bemore surely and adequately fulfilled. I have derived monuments andepitaphs from two sources of feeling: but these do in fact resolvethemselves into one. The invention of epitaphs, Weever, in his_Discourse of Funeral Monuments_, says rightly, 'proceeded from thepresage of fore-feeling of immortality, implanted in all men naturally, and is referred to the scholars of Linus the Theban poet, who flourishedabout the year of the world two thousand seven hundred; who firstbewailed this Linus their Master, when he was slain, in doleful verses, then called of him Aelina, afterwards Epitaphia, for that they werefirst sung at burials, after engraved upon the sepulchres. '

And, verily, without the consciousness of a principle of immortality inthe human soul, Man could never have had awakened in him the desire tolive in the remembrance of his fellows: mere love, or the yearning ofkind towards kind, could not have produced it. The dog or horse perishesin the field, or in the stall, by the side of his companions, and isincapable of anticipating the sorrow with which his surroundingassociates shall bemoan his death, or pine for his loss; he cannotpre-conceive this regret, he can form no thought of it; and thereforecannot possibly have a desire to leave such regret or remembrance behindhim. Add to the principle of love which exists in the inferior animals, the faculty of reason which exists in Man alone; will the conjunction ofthese account for the desire? Doubtless it is a necessary consequence ofthis conjunction; yet not I think as a direct result, but only to become at through an intermediate thought, viz. That of an intimation orassurance within us, that some part of our nature is imperishable. Atleast the precedence, in order of birth, of one feeling to the other, isunquestionable. If we look back upon the days of childhood, we shallfind that the time is not in remembrance when, with respect to our ownindividual Being, the mind was without this assurance; whereas, the wishto be remembered by our friends or kindred after death, or even inabsence, is, as we shall discover, a sensation that does not form itselftill the _social_ feelings have been developed, and the Reason hasconnected itself with a wide range of objects. Forlorn, and cut off fromcommunication with the best part of his nature, must that man be, whoshould derive the sense of immortality, as it exists in the mind of achild, from the same unthinking gaiety or liveliness of animal spiritswith which the lamb in the meadow, or any other irrational creature isendowed; who should ascribe it, in short, to blank ignorance in thechild; to an inability arising from the imperfect state of his facultiesto come, in any point of his being, into contact with a notion of death;or to an unreflecting acquiescence in what had been instilled into him!Has such an unfolder of the mysteries of nature, though he may haveforgotten his former self, ever noticed the early, obstinate, andunappeasable inquisitiveness of children upon the subject oforigination? This single fact proves outwardly the monstrousness ofthose suppositions: for, if we had no direct external testimony that theminds of very young children meditate feelingly upon death andimmortality, these inquiries, which we all know they are perpetuallymaking concerning the _whence_, do necessarily include correspondenthabits of interrogation concerning the _whither_. Origin and tendencyare notions inseparably co-relative. Never did a child stand by the sideof a running stream, pondering within himself what power was the feederof the perpetual current, from what never-wearied sources the body ofwater was supplied, but he must have been inevitably propelled to followthis question by another: 'Towards what abyss is it in progress? whatreceptacle can contain the mighty influx?' And the spirit of the answermust have been, though the word might be sea or ocean, accompaniedperhaps with an image gathered from a map, or from the real object innature--these might have been the _letter_, but the _spirit_ of theanswer must have been _as_ inevitably, --a receptacle without bounds ordimensions;--nothing less than infinity. We may, then, be justified inasserting, that the sense of immortality, if not a co-existent and twinbirth with Reason, is among the earliest of her offspring: and we mayfurther assert, that from these conjoined, and under their countenance, the human affections are gradually formed and opened out. This is notthe place to enter into the recesses of these investigations; but thesubject requires me here to make a plain avowal, that, for my own part, it is to me inconceivable, that the sympathies of love towards eachother, which grow with our growth, could ever attain any new strength, or even preserve the old, after we had received from the outward sensesthe impression of death, and were in the habit of having that impressiondaily renewed and its accompanying feeling brought home to ourselves, and to those we love; if the same were not counteracted by thosecommunications with our internal Being, which are anterior to all theseexperiences, and with which revelation coincides, and has through thatcoincidence alone (for otherwise it could not possess it) a power toaffect us. I confess, with me the conviction is absolute, that, if theimpression and sense of death were not thus counterbalanced, such ahollowness would pervade the whole system of things, such a want ofcorrespondence and consistency, a disproportion so astounding betwixtmeans and ends, that there could be no repose, no joy. Were we to growup unfostered by this genial warmth, a frost would chill the spirit, sopenetrating and powerful, that there could be no motions of the life oflove; and infinitely less could we have any wish to be remembered afterwe had passed away from a world in which each man had moved about like ashadow. --If, then, in a creature endowed with the faculties of foresightand reason, the social affections could not have unfolded themselvesuncountenanced by the faith that Man is an immortal being; and if, consequently, neither could the individual dying have had a desire tosurvive in the remembrance of his fellows, nor on their side could theyhave felt a wish to preserve for future times vestiges of the departed;it follows, as a final inference, that without the belief inimmortality, wherein these several desires originate, neither monumentsnor epitaphs, in affectionate or laudatory commemoration of thedeceased, could have existed in the world. 

Simonides, it is related, upon landing in a strange country, found thecorpse of an unknown person lying by the sea-side; he buried it, and washonoured throughout Greece for the piety of that act. Another ancientPhilosopher, chancing to fix his eyes upon a dead body, regarded thesame with slight, if not with contempt; saying, 'See the shell of theflown bird!' But it is not to be supposed that the moral andtender-hearted Simonides was incapable of the lofty movements ofthought, to which that other Sage gave way at the moment while his soulwas intent only upon the indestructible being; nor, on the other hand, that he, in whose sight a lifeless human body was of no more value thanthe worthless shell from which the living fowl had departed, would not, in a different mood of mind, have been affected by those earthlyconsiderations which had incited the philosophic Poet to the performanceof that pious duty. And with regard to this latter we may be assuredthat, if he had been destitute of the capability of communing with themore exalted thoughts that appertain to human nature, he would havecared no more for the corpse of the stranger than for the dead body of aseal or porpoise which might have been cast up by the waves. We respectthe corporeal frame of Man, not merely because it is the habitation of arational, but of an immortal Soul. Each of these Sages was in sympathywith the best feelings of our nature; feelings which, though they seemopposite to each other, have another and a finer connection than that ofcontrast. --It is a connection formed through the subtle process bywhich, both in the natural and the moral world, qualities passinsensibly into their contraries, and things revolve upon each other. As, in sailing upon the orb of this planet, a voyage towards the regionswhere the sun sets, conducts gradually to the quarter where we have beenaccustomed to behold it come forth at its rising; and, in like manner, avoyage towards the east, the birth-place in our imagination of themorning, leads finally to the quarter where the sun is last seen when hedeparts from our eyes; so the contemplative Soul, travelling in thedirection of mortality, advances to the country of everlasting life;and, in like manner, may she continue to explore those cheerful tracts, till she is brought back, for her advantage and benefit, to the land oftransitory things--of sorrow and of tears. 

On a midway point, therefore, which commands the thoughts and feelingsof the two Sages whom we have represented in contrast, does the Authorof that species of composition, the laws of which it is our presentpurpose to explain, take his stand. Accordingly, recurring to thetwofold desire of guarding the remains of the deceased and preservingtheir memory, it may be said that a sepulchral monument is a tribute toa man as a human being; and that an epitaph (in the ordinary meaningattached to the word) includes this general feeling and something more;and is a record to preserve the memory of the dead, as a tribute due tohis individual worth, for a satisfaction to the sorrowing hearts of thesurvivors, and for the common benefit of the living: which record is tobe accomplished, not in a general manner, but, where it can, in _closeconnection with the bodily remains of the deceased_: and these, it maybe added, among the modern nations of Europe, are deposited within, orcontiguous to, their places of worship. In ancient times, as is wellknown, it was the custom to bury the dead beyond the walls of towns andcities; and among the Greeks and Romans they were frequently interred bythe way-sides. 

I could here pause with pleasure, and invite the Reader to indulge withme in contemplation of the advantages which must have attended such apractice. We might ruminate upon the beauty which the monuments, thusplaced, must have borrowed from the surrounding images of nature--fromthe trees, the wild flowers, from a stream running perhaps within sightor hearing, from the beaten road stretching its weary length hard by. Many tender similitudes must these objects have presented to the mind ofthe traveller leaning upon one of the tombs, or reposing in the coolnessof its shade, whether he had halted from weariness or in compliance withthe invitation, 'Pause, Traveller!' so often found upon the monuments. And to its epitaph also must have been supplied strong appeals tovisible appearances or immediate impressions, lively and affectinganalogies of life as a journey--death as a sleep overcoming the tiredwayfarer--of misfortune as a storm that falls suddenly upon him--ofbeauty as a flower that passeth away, or of innocent pleasure as onethat may be gathered--of virtue that standeth firm as a rock against thebeating waves;--of hope 'undermined insensibly like the poplar by theside of the river that has fed it, ' or blasted in a moment like apine-tree by the stroke of lightning upon the mountain-top--ofadmonitions and heart-stirring remembrances, like a refreshing breezethat comes without warning, or the taste of the waters of an unexpectedfountain. These, and similar suggestions, must have given, formerly, tothe language of the senseless stone a voice enforced and endeared by thebenignity of that Nature with which it was in unison. --We, in moderntimes, have lost much of these advantages; and they are but in a smalldegree counterbalanced to the inhabitants of large towns and cities, bythe custom of depositing the dead within, or contiguous to, their placesof worship; however splendid or imposing may be the appearance of thoseedifices, or however interesting or salutary the recollectionsassociated with them. Even were it not true that tombs lose theirmonitory virtue when thus obtruded upon the notice of men occupied withthe cares of the world, and too often sullied and defiled by thosecares, yet still, when death is in our thoughts, nothing can make amendsfor the want of the soothing influences of Nature, and for the absenceof those types of renovation and decay, which the fields and woods offerto the notice of the serious and contemplative mind. To feel the forceof this sentiment, let a man only compare in imagination the unsightlymanner in which our monuments are crowded together in the busy, noisy, unclean, and almost grassless church-yard of a large town, with thestill seclusion of a Turkish cemetery, in some remote place; and yetfurther sanctified by the grove of cypress in which it is embosomed. Thoughts in the same temper as these have already been expressed withtrue sensibility by an ingenuous Poet of the present day. The subject ofhis poem is 'All Saints Church, Derby:' he has been deploring theforbidding and unseemly appearance of its burial-ground, and uttering awish, that in past times the practice had been adopted of interring theinhabitants of large towns in the country. --

 Then in some rural, calm, sequestered spot, Where healing Nature her benignant look Ne'er changes, save at that lorn season, when, With tresses drooping o'er her sable stole, She yearly mourns the mortal doom of man, Her noblest work, (so Israel's virgins erst, With annual moan upon the mountains wept Their fairest gone, ) there in that rural scene, So placid, so congenial to the wish The Christian feels, of peaceful rest within The silent grave, I would have stayed:

 * * * * *

 --wandered forth, where the cold dew of heaven Lay on the humbler graves around, what time The pale moon gazed upon the turfy mounds, Pensive, as though like me, in lonely muse, Twere brooding on the dead inhumed beneath. There while with him, the holy man of Uz, O'er human destiny I sympathised, Counting the long, long periods prophecy Decrees to roll, ere the great day arrives Of resurrection, oft the blue-eyed Spring Had met me with her blossoms, as the Dove, Of old, returned with olive leaf, to cheer The Patriarch mourning o'er a world destroyed: And I would bless her visit; for to me 'Tis sweet to trace the consonance that links As one, the works of Nature and the word Of God. --JOHN EDWARDS. 

A village church-yard, lying as it does in the lap of Nature, may indeedbe most favourably contrasted with that of a town of crowded population;and sepulture therein combines many of the best tendencies which belongto the mode practised by the Ancients, with others peculiar to itself. The sensations of pious cheerfulness, which attend the celebration ofthe sabbath-day in rural places, are profitably chastised by the sightof the graves of kindred and friends, gathered together in that generalhome towards which the thoughtful yet happy spectators themselves arejourneying. Hence a parish-church, in the stillness of the country, is avisible centre of a community of the living and the dead; a point towhich are habitually referred the nearest concerns of both. 

As, then, both in cities and villages, the dead are deposited in closeconnection with our places of worship, with us the composition of anepitaph naturally turns, still more than among the nations of antiquity, upon the most serious and solemn affections of the human mind; upondeparted worth--upon personal or social sorrow and admiration--uponreligion, individual and social--upon time, and upon eternity. Accordingly, it suffices, in ordinary cases, to secure a composition ofthis kind from censure, that it contain nothing that shall shock or beinconsistent with this spirit. But, to entitle an epitaph to praise, more than this is necessary. It ought to contain some thought or feelingbelonging to the mortal or immortal part of our nature touchinglyexpressed; and if that be done, however general or even trite thesentiment may be, every man of pure mind will read the words withpleasure and gratitude. A husband bewails a wife; a parent breathes asigh of disappointed hope over a lost child; a son utters a sentiment offilial reverence for a departed father or mother; a friend perhapsinscribes an encomium recording the companionable qualities, or thesolid virtues, of the tenant of the grave, whose departure has left asadness upon his memory. This and a pious admonition to the living, anda humble expression of Christian confidence in immortality, is thelanguage of a thousand church-yards; and it does not often happen thatanything, in a greater degree discriminate or appropriate to the dead orto the living, is to be found in them. This want of discrimination hasbeen ascribed by Dr. Johnson, in his Essay upon the epitaphs of Pope, totwo causes; first, the scantiness of the objects of human praise; and, secondly, the want of variety in the characters of men; or, to use hisown words, 'to the fact, that the greater part of mankind have nocharacter at all. ' Such language may be holden without blame among thegeneralities of common conversation; but does not become a critic and amoralist speaking seriously upon a serious subject. The objects ofadmiration in human nature are not scanty, but abundant: and every manhas a character of his own, to the eye that has skill to perceive it. The real cause of the acknowledged want of discrimination in sepulchralmemorials is this: That to analyse the characters of others, especiallyof those whom we love, is not a common or natural employment of men atany time. We are not anxious unerringly to understand the constitutionof the minds of those who have soothed, who have cheered, who havesupported us: with whom we have been long and daily pleased ordelighted. The affections are their own justification. The light of lovein our hearts is a satisfactory evidence that there is a body of worthin the minds of our friends or kindred, whence that light has proceeded. We shrink from the thought of placing their merits and defects to beweighed against each other in the nice balance of pure intellect; nor dowe find much temptation to detect the shades by which a good quality orvirtue is discriminated in them from an excellence known by the samegeneral name as it exists in the mind of another; and, least of all, dowe incline to these refinements when under the pressure of sorrow, admiration, or regret, or when actuated by any of those feelings whichincite men to prolong the memory of their friends and kindred, byrecords placed in the bosom of the all-uniting and equalising receptacleof the dead. 

The first requisite, then, in an Epitaph is, that it should speak, in atone which shall sink into the heart, the general language of humanityas connected with the subject of death--the source from which an epitaphproceeds--of death, and of life. To be born and to die are the twopoints in which all men feel themselves to be in absolute coincidence. This general language may be uttered so strikingly as to entitle anepitaph to high praise; yet it cannot lay claim to the highest unlessother excellencies be superadded. Passing through all intermediatesteps, we will attempt to determine at once what these excellencies are, and wherein consists the perfection of this species of composition. --Itwill be found to lie in a due proportion of the common or universalfeeling of humanity to sensations excited by a distinct and clearconception, conveyed to the reader's mind, of the individual, whosedeath is deplored and whose memory is to be preserved; at least of hischaracter as, after death, it appeared to those who loved him and lamenthis loss. The general sympathy ought to be quickened, provoked, anddiversified, by particular thoughts, actions, images, --circumstances ofage, occupation, manner of life, prosperity which the deceased hadknown, or adversity to which he had been subject; and these ought to bebound together and solemnised into one harmony by the general sympathy. The two powers should temper, restrain, and exalt each other. The readerought to know who and what the man was whom he is called upon to thinkof with interest. A distinct conception should be given (implicitlywhere it can, rather than explicitly) of the individual lamented. --Butthe writer of an epitaph is not an anatomist, who dissects the internalframe of the mind; he is not even a painter, who executes a portrait atleisure and in entire tranquillity; his delineation, we must remember, is performed by the side of the grave; and, what is more, the grave ofone whom he loves and admires. What purity and brightness is that virtueclothed in, the image of which must no longer bless our living eyes! Thecharacter of a deceased friend or beloved kinsman is not seen, no--norought to be seen, otherwise than as a tree through a tender haze or aluminous mist, that spiritualises and beautifies it; that takes away, indeed, but only to the end that the parts which are not abstracted mayappear more dignified and lovely; may impress and affect the more. Shallwe say, then, that this is not truth, not a faithful image; and that, accordingly, the purposes of commemoration cannot be answered?--It _is_truth, and of the highest order; for, though doubtless things are notapparent which did exist; yet, the object being looked at through thismedium, parts and proportions are brought into distinct view whichbefore had been only imperfectly or unconsciously seen: it is truthhallowed by love--the joint offspring of the worth of the dead and theaffections of the living! This may easily be brought to the test. Letone, whose eyes have been sharpened by personal hostility to discoverwhat was amiss in the character of a good man, hear the tidings of hisdeath, and what a change is wrought in a moment! Enmity melts away; and, as it disappears, unsightliness, disproportion, and deformity, vanish;and, through the influence of commiseration, a harmony of love andbeauty succeeds. Bring such a man to the tomb-stone on which shall beinscribed an epitaph on his adversary, composed in the spirit which wehave recommended. Would he turn from it as from an idle tale? No;--thethoughtful look, the sigh, and perhaps the involuntary tear, wouldtestify that it had a sane, a generous, and good meaning; and that onthe writer's mind had remained an impression which was a true abstractof the character of the deceased; that his gifts and graces wereremembered in the simplicity in which they ought to be remembered. Thecomposition and quality of the mind of a virtuous man, contemplated bythe side of the grave where his body is mouldering, ought to appear, andbe felt as something midway between what he was on earth walking aboutwith his living frailties, and what he may be presumed to be as a spiritin heaven. 

It suffices, therefore, that the trunk and the main branches of theworth of the deceased be boldly and unaffectedly represented. Anyfurther detail, minutely and scrupulously pursued, especially if this bedone with laborious and antithetic discriminations, must inevitablyfrustrate its own purpose; forcing the passing Spectator to thisconclusion, --either that the dead did not possess the merits ascribed tohim, or that they who have raised a monument to his memory, and musttherefore be supposed to have been closely connected with him, wereincapable of perceiving those merits; or at least during the act ofcomposition had lost sight of them; for, the understanding having beenso busy in its petty occupation, how could the heart of the mourner beother than cold? and in either of these cases, whether the fault be onthe part of the buried person or the survivors, the memorial isunaffecting and profitless. 

Much better is it to fall short in discrimination than to pursue it toofar, or to labour it unfeelingly. For in no place are we so muchdisposed to dwell upon those points, of nature and condition, whereinall men resemble each other, as in the temple where the universal Fatheris worshipped, or by the side of the grave which gathers all humanBeings to itself, and 'equalises the lofty and the low. ' We suffer andwe weep with the same heart; we love and are anxious for one another inone spirit; our hopes look to the same quarter; and the virtues by whichwe are all to be furthered and supported, as patience, meekness, good-will, justice, temperance, and temperate desires, are in an equaldegree the concern of us all. Let an Epitaph, then, contain at leastthese acknowledgments to our common nature; nor let the sense of theirimportance be sacrificed to a balance of opposite qualities or minutedistinctions in individual character; which if they do not, (as will forthe most part be the case, ) when examined, resolve themselves into atrick of words, will, even when they are true and just, for the mostpart be grievously out of place; for, as it is probable that few onlyhave explored these intricacies of human nature, so can the tracing ofthem be interesting only to a few. But an epitaph is not a proud writingshut up for the studious: it is exposed to all--to the wise and the mostignorant; it is condescending, perspicuous, and lovingly solicitsregard; its story and admonitions are brief, that the thoughtless, thebusy, and indolent, may not be deterred, nor the impatient tired: thestooping old man cons the engraven record like a second horn-book;--thechild is proud that he can read it;--and the stranger is introducedthrough its mediation to the company of a friend: it is concerning all, and for all:--in the church-yard it is open to the day; the sun looksdown upon the stone, and the rains of heaven beat against it. 

Yet, though the writer who would excite sympathy is bound in this case, more than in any other, to give proof that he himself has been moved, itis to be remembered, that to raise a monument is a sober and areflective act; that the inscription which it bears is intended to bepermanent, and for universal perusal; and that, for this reason, thethoughts and feelings expressed should be permanent also--liberated fromthat weakness and anguish of sorrow which is in nature transitory, andwhich with instinctive decency retires from notice. The passions shouldbe subdued, the emotions controlled; strong, indeed, but nothingungovernable or wholly involuntary. Seemliness requires this, and truthrequires it also: for how can the narrator otherwise be trusted?Moreover, a grave is a tranquillising object: resignation in course oftime springs up from it as naturally as the wild flowers, besprinklingthe turf with which it may be covered, or gathering round the monumentby which it is defended. The very form and substance of the monumentwhich has received the inscription, and the appearance of the letters, testifying with what a slow and laborious hand they must have beenengraven, might seem to reproach the author who had given way upon thisoccasion to transports of mind, or to quick turns of conflictingpassion; though the same might constitute the life and beauty of afuneral oration or elegiac poem. 

These sensations and judgments, acted upon perhaps unconsciously, havebeen one of the main causes why epitaphs so often personate thedeceased, and represent him as speaking from his own tomb-stone. Thedeparted Mortal is introduced telling you himself that his pains aregone; that a state of rest is come; and he conjures you to weep for himno longer. He admonishes with the voice of one experienced in the vanityof those affections which are confined to earthly objects, and gives averdict like a superior Being, performing the office of a judge, who hasno temptations to mislead him, and whose decision cannot but bedispassionate. Thus is death disarmed of its sting, and afflictionunsubstantialised. By this tender fiction, the survivors bind themselvesto a sedater sorrow, and employ the intervention of the imagination inorder that the reason may speak her own language earlier than she wouldotherwise have been enabled to do. This shadowy interposition alsoharmoniously unites the two worlds of the living and the dead by theirappropriate affections. And it may be observed, that here we have anadditional proof of the propriety with which sepulchral inscriptionswere referred to the consciousness of immortality as their primalsource. 

I do not speak with a wish to recommend that an epitaph should be castin this mould preferably to the still more common one, in which what issaid comes from the survivors directly; but rather to point out hownatural those feelings are which have induced men, in all states andranks of society, so frequently to adopt this mode. And this I have donechiefly in order that the laws, which ought to govern the composition ofthe other, may be better understood. This latter mode, namely, that inwhich the survivors speak in their own persons, seems to me upon thewhole greatly preferable: as it admits a wider range of notices; and, above all, because, excluding the fiction which is the ground-work ofthe other, it rests upon a more solid basis. 

Enough has been a said to convey our notion of a perfect epitaph; but itmust be borne in mind that one is meant which will best answer the_general_ ends of that species of composition. According to the coursepointed out, the worth of private life, through all varieties ofsituation and character, will be most honourably and profitablypreserved in memory. Nor would the model recommended less suit publicmen, in all instances save of those persons who by the greatness oftheir services in the employments of peace or war, or by the surpassingexcellence of their works in art, literature, or science, have madethemselves not only universally known, but have filled the heart oftheir country with everlasting gratitude. Yet I must here pause tocorrect myself. In describing the general tenor of thought whichepitaphs ought to hold, I have omitted to say, that if it be the_actions_ of a man, or even some _one_ conspicuous or beneficial act oflocal or general utility, which have distinguished him, and excited adesire that he should be remembered, then, of course, ought theattention to be directed chiefly to those actions or that act: and suchsentiments dwelt upon as naturally arise out of them or it. Having madethis necessary distinction, I proceed. --The mighty benefactors ofmankind, as they are not only known by the immediate survivors, but willcontinue to be known familiarly to latest posterity, do not stand inneed of biographic sketches, in such a place; nor of delineations ofcharacter to individualise them. This is already done by their Works, inthe memories of men. Their naked names, and a grand comprehensivesentiment of civic gratitude, patriotic love, or human admiration--orthe utterance of some elementary principle most essential in theconstitution of true virtue;--or a declaration touching that pioushumility and self-abasement, which are ever most profound as minds aremost susceptible of genuine exaltation--or an intuition, communicated inadequate words, of the sublimity of intellectual power;--these are theonly tribute which can here be paid--the only offering that upon such analtar would not be unworthy. 

 What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star y-pointing pyramid? Dear Son of Memory, great Heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument, And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 

(_b_) THE COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD, AND CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF ANCIENTEPITAPHS. 

_From the Author's Mss. _

 Yet even these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply, And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

When a Stranger has walked round a Country Church-yard and glanced hiseye over so many brief chronicles, as the tomb-stones usually contain, of faithful wives, tender husbands, dutiful children, and good men ofall classes; he will be tempted to exclaim in the language of one of thecharacters of a modern Tale, in a similar situation, 'Where are all the_bad_ people buried?' He may smile to himself an answer to thisquestion, and may regret that it has intruded upon him so soon. For myown part such has been my lot; and indeed a man, who is in the habit ofsuffering his mind to be carried passively towards truth as well as ofgoing with conscious effort in search of it, may be forgiven, if he hassometimes insensibly yielded to the delusion of those flatteringrecitals, and found a pleasure in believing that the prospect of reallife had been as fair as it was in that picture represented. And such atransitory oversight will without difficulty be forgiven by those whohave observed a trivial fact in daily life, namely, how apt, in a seriesof calm weather, we are to forget that rain and storms have been, andwill return to interrupt any scheme of business or pleasure which ourminds are occupied in arranging. Amid the quiet of a church-yard thusdecorated as it seemed by the hand of Memory, and shining, if I may sosay, in the light of love, I have been affected by sensations akin tothose which have risen in my mind while I have been standing by theside of a smooth sea, on a Summer's day. It is such a happiness to have, in an unkind world, one enclosure where the voice of Detraction is notheard; where the traces of evil inclinations are unknown; wherecontentment prevails, and there is no jarring tone in the peacefulconcert of amity and gratitude. I have been rouzed from this reverie bya consciousness suddenly flashing upon me, of the anxieties, theperturbations, and in many instances, the vices and rancorousdispositions, by which the hearts of those who lie under so smooth asurface and so fair an outside have been agitated. The image of anunruffled sea has still remained; but my fancy has penetrated into thedepths of that sea, --with accompanying thoughts of shipwreck, of thedestruction of the mariner's hopes, the bones of drowned men heapedtogether, monsters of the deep, and all the hideous and confused sightswhich Clarence saw in his dream. 

Nevertheless, I have been able to return (and who may _not_?) to asteady contemplation of the benign influence of such a favourableRegister lying open to the eyes of all. Without being so far lulled asto imagine I saw in a village church-yard the eye or central point of arural Arcadia, I have felt that with all the vague and generalexpressions of love, gratitude, and praise, with which it is usuallycrowded, it is a far more faithful representation of homely life asexisting among a community in which circumstances have not beenuntoward, than any report which might be made by a rigorous observerdeficient in that spirit of forbearance and those kindly prepossessions, without which human life can in no condition be profitably looked at ordescribed. For we must remember that it is the nature of vice to forceitself upon notice, both in the act and by its consequences. Drunkenness, cruelty, brutal manners, sensuality and impiety, thoughtless prodigality and idleness, are obstreperous while they are inthe height and heyday of their enjoyment; and when that is passed away, long and obtrusive is the train of misery which they draw after them. But on the contrary, the virtues, especially those of humble life, areretired; and many of the highest must be sought for or they will beoverlooked. Industry, economy, temperance, and cleanliness, are indeedmade obvious by flourishing fields, rosy complexions, and smilingcountenances; but how few know anything of the trials to which men in alonely condition are subject, or of the steady and triumphant manner inwhich those trials are often sustained, but they themselves? Theafflictions which peasants and rural citizens have to struggle with arefor the most part secret; the tears which they wipe away, and the sighswhich they stifle, --this is all a labour of privacy. In fact theirvictories are to themselves known only imperfectly; for it isinseparable from virtue, in the pure sense of the word, to beunconscious of the might of her own prowess. This is true of minds themost enlightened by reflection; who have forecast what they may have toendure, and prepared themselves accordingly. It is true even of these, when they are called into action, that they necessarily lose sight oftheir own accomplishments and support their conflicts inself-forgetfulness and humility. That species of happy ignorance, whichis the consequence of these noble qualities, must exist still morefrequently, and in a greater degree, in those persons to whom duty hasnever been matter of laborious speculation, and who have no intimationsof the power to act and to resist which is in them, till they aresummoned to put it forth. I could illustrate this by many examples, which are now before my eyes; but it would detain me too long from myprincipal subject which was to suggest reasons for believing that theencomiastic language of rural tomb-stones does not so far exceed realityas might lightly be supposed. Doubtless, an inattentive or ill-disposedObserver, who should apply to surrounding cottages the knowledge whichhe may possess of any rural neighbourhood, would upon the first impulseconfidently report that there was little in their living inhabitantswhich reflected the concord and the virtue there dwelt upon so fondly. Much has been said in a former Paper tending to correct thisdisposition; and which will naturally combine with the presentconsiderations. Besides, to slight the uniform language of thesememorials as on that account not trustworthy would obviously beunjustifiable. 

Enter a church-yard by the sea-coast, and you will be almost sure tofind the tomb-stones crowded with metaphors taken from the sea and asea-faring life. These are uniformly in the same strain; but surely weought not thence to infer that the words are used of course, without anyheartfelt sense of their propriety. Would not the contrary conclusion beright? But I will adduce a fact which more than a hundred analogicalarguments will carry to the mind a conviction of the strength andsanctity of those feelings which persons in humble stations of societyconnect with their departed friends and kindred. We learn from theStatistical Account of Scotland that in some districts, a generaltransfer of inhabitants has taken place; and that a great majority ofthose who live, and labour, and attend public worship in one part of thecountry, are buried in another. Strong and unconquerable still continuesto be the desire of all, that their bones should rest by the side oftheir forefathers, and very poor persons provide that their bodiesshould be conveyed if necessary to a great distance to obtain that lastsatisfaction. Nor can I refrain from saying that this naturalinterchange by which the living inhabitants of a parish have smallknowledge of the dead who are buried in their church-yard is grievouslyto be lamented, wherever it exists. For it cannot fail to preclude notmerely much but the best part of the wholesome influence of thatcommunion between living and dead which the conjunction in ruraldistricts of the place of burial and place of worship tends soeffectually to promote. Finally, let us remember that if it be thenature of man to be insensible to vexations and afflictions when theyhave passed away, he is equally insensible to the height and depth ofhis blessings till they are removed from him. An experienced andwell-regulated mind, will not, therefore, be insensible to thismonotonous language of sorrow and affectionate admiration; but will findunder that veil a substance of individual truth. Yet upon all men, andupon such a mind in particular, an Epitaph must strike with a gleam ofpleasure, when the expression is of that kind which carries convictionto the heart at once that the author was a sincere mourner, and that theinhabitant of the grave deserved to be so lamented. This may be donesometimes by a naked ejaculation; as in an instance which a friend ofmine met with in a church-yard in Germany, thus literally translated:'Ah! they have laid in the grave a brave man: he was to me more thanmany!'

 Ach! sie haben Einen Braven Mann begraben Mir war er mehr als viele. 

An effect as pleasing is often produced by the recital of an afflictionendured with fortitude, or of a privation submitted to with contentment;or by a grateful display of the temporal blessings with which Providencehad favoured the deceased, and the happy course of life through which hehad passed. And where these individualities are untouched upon, it maystill happen that the estate of man in his helplessness, in hisdependence upon his Maker, or some other inherent of his nature shall bemovingly and profitably expressed. Every Reader will be able to supplyfrom his own observation instances of all these kinds, and it will bemore pleasing for him to refer to his memory than to have the pagecrowded with unnecessary quotations. I will however give one or two froman old book cited before. The following of general application, was agreat favourite with our forefathers:

 Farwel my Frendys, the tyd abidyth no man, I am departed hens, and so sal ye, But in this passage the best song I can Is _Requiem Eternam_, now Jesu grant it me. When I have ended all myn adversity Grant me in Paradys to have a mansion That shedst Thy bloud for my redemption. 

This epitaph might seem to be of the age of Chaucer, for it has the verytone and manner of the Prioress's Tale. 

The next opens with a thought somewhat interrupting that complacency andgracious repose which the language and imagery of a church-yard tend todiffuse, but the truth is weighty and will not be less acceptable forthe rudeness of the expression. 

 When the bells be mearely roung And the Masse devoutly soung And the meate merrely eaten Then sall Robert Trappis his Wyffs and his Chyldren be forgotten. Wherfor Iesu that of Mary sproung Set their soulys Thy Saynts among, Though it be undeservyd on their syde Yet good Lord let them evermor Thy mercy abyde!

It is well known how fond our ancestors were of a play upon the name ofthe deceased when it admitted of a double sense. The following is aninstance of this propensity not idly indulged. It brings home a generaltruth to the individual by the medium of a pun, which will be readilypardoned for the sake of the image suggested by it, for the happy moodof mind in which the epitaph is composed, for the beauty of thelanguage, and for the sweetness of the versification, which indeed, thedate considered, is not a little curious. It is upon a man whose namewas Palmer. I have modernized the spelling in order that its uncouthnessmay not interrupt the Reader's gratification. 

 Palmers all our Fathers were I a Palmer livèd here And travelled still till worn with age I ended this world's pilgrimage, On the blest Ascension-day In the chearful month of May; One thousand with four hundred seven, And took my journey hence to heaven. 

With this join the following, which was formerly to be seen upon a fairmarble under the portraiture of one of the abbots of St. Albans. 

 Hic quidem terra tegitur Peccati solvens debitum Cujus nomen non impositum In libro vitae sit inscriptum. 

The spirit of it may be thus given: 'Here lies, covered by the earth, and paying his debt to sin, one whose name is not set forth: may it beinscribed in the Book of Life!'

But these instances, of the humility, the pious faith and simplicity ofour forefathers, have led me from the scene of our contemplations--aCountry Church-yard! and from the memorials at this day commonly foundin it. I began with noticing such as might be wholly uninteresting fromthe uniformity of the language which they exhibit; because, withoutpreviously participating the truths upon which these generalattestations are founded, it is impossible to arrive at that state ofdisposition of mind necessary to make those epitaphs thoroughly feltwhich have an especial recommendation. With the same view, I willventure to say a few words upon another characteristic of thesecompositions almost equally striking; namely, the homeliness of some ofthe inscriptions, the strangeness of the illustrative images, thegrotesque spelling, with the equivocal meaning often struck out by it, and the quaint jingle of the rhymes. These have often excited regret inserious minds, and provoked the unwilling to good-humoured laughter. Yet, for my own part, without affecting any superior sanctity, I mustsay that I have been better satisfied with myself, when in theseevidences I have seen a proof how deeply the piety of the rudeforefathers of the hamlet, is seated in their natures; I mean howhabitual and constitutional it is, and how awful the feeling which theyattach to the situation of their departed friends, --a proof of thisrather than of their ignorance or of a deadness in their faculties to asense of the ridiculous. And that this deduction may be just, isrendered probable by the frequent occurrence of passages according toour present notion, full as ludicrous, in the writings of the most wiseand learned men of former ages, divines and poets, who in theearnestness of their souls have applied metaphors and illustrations, taken either from Holy Writ or from the usages of their own country, inentire confidence that the sacredness of the theme they were discussingwould sanctify the meanest object connected with it; or rather withoutever conceiving it was possible that a ludicrous thought could spring upin any mind engaged in such meditations. And certainly, these odd andfantastic combinations are not confined to epitaphs of the peasantry, orof the lower orders of society, but are perhaps still more commonlyproduced among the higher, in a degree equally or more striking. Forinstance, what shall we say to this upon Sir George Vane, the notedSecretary of State to King Charles I. ?

 His Honour wonne i'th' field lies here in dust, His Honour got by grace shall never rust: The former fades, the latter shall fade never For why? He was Sr George once but St George ever. 

The date is 1679. When we reflect that the father of this personage musthave had his taste formed in the punning Court of James I. , and that theepitaph was composed at a time when our literature was stuffed withquaint or out-of-the-way thoughts, it will seem not unlikely that theauthor prided himself upon what he might call a clever hit: I mean hisbetter affections were less occupied with the several associationsbelonging to the two ideas than his vanity delighted with that act ofingenuity by which they had been combined. But the first coupletconsists of a just thought naturally expressed; and I should ratherconclude the whole to be a work of honest simplicity; and that thesense of worldly dignity associated with the title, in a degreehabitual to our ancestors, but which at this time we can but feeblysympathize with, and the imaginative feeling involved--viz. The saintlyand chivalrous name of the champion of England, were unaffectedly linkedtogether: and that both were united and consolidated in the author'smind, and in the minds of his contemporaries whom no doubt he hadpleased, by a devout contemplation of a happy immortality, the reward ofthe just. 

At all events, leaving this particular case undecided, the generalpropriety of these notices cannot be doubted; and I gladly avail myselfof this opportunity to place in a clear view the power and majesty ofimpassioned faith, whatever be its object: to shew how it subjugates thelighter motions of the mind, and sweeps away superficial difference inthings. And this I have done, not to lower the witling and the worldlingin their own esteem, but with a wish to bring the ingenuous into stillcloser communion with those primary sensations of the human heart, whichare the vital springs of sublime and pathetic composition, in this andin every other kind. And as from these primary sensations suchcomposition speaks, so, unless correspondent ones listen promptly andsubmissively in the inner cell of the mind to whom it is addressed, thevoice cannot be heard; its highest powers are wasted. 

These suggestions may be further useful to establish a criterion ofsincerity, by which a writer may be judged; and this is of high import. For, when a man is treating an interesting subject, or one which heought not to treat at all unless he be interested, no faults have such akilling power as those which prove that he is not in earnest, that he isacting a part, has leisure for affectation, and feels that without it hecould do nothing. This is one of the most odious of faults; because itshocks the moral sense, and is worse in a sepulchral inscription, precisely in the same degree as that mode of composition calls forsincerity more urgently than any other. And indeed where the internalevidence proves that the writer was moved, in other words where thischarm of sincerity lurks in the language of a tomb-stone and secretlypervades it, there are no errors in style or manner for which it willnot be, in some degree, a recompence; but without habits of reflection atest of this inward simplicity cannot be come at; and as I have said, Iam now writing with a hope to assist the well-disposed to attain it. 

Let us take an instance where no one can be at a loss. The followinglines are said to have been written by the illustrious Marquis ofMontrose with the point of his sword, upon being informed of the deathof his master, Charles I. :

 Great, good, and just, could I but rate My griefs, and thy so rigid fate; I'd weep the world to such a strain, As it should deluge once again. But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies, More from Briareus' hands than Argus' eyes, I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpets' sounds And write thy epitaph with blood and wounds. 

These funereal verses would certainly be wholly out of their place upona tomb-stone; but who can doubt that the writer was transported to theheight of the occasion? that he was moved as it became an heroicsoldier, holding those principles and opinions, to be moved? His soullabours;--the most tremendous event in the history of theplanet--namely, the deluge, is brought before his imagination by thephysical image of tears, --a connection awful from its very remotenessand from the slender band that unites the ideas:--it passes into theregion of fable likewise; for all modes of existence that forward hispurpose are to be pressed into the service. The whole is instinct withspirit, and every word has its separate life; like the chariot of theMessiah, and the wheels of that chariot, as they appeared to theimagination of Milton aided by that of the prophet Ezekiel. It had powerto move of itself, but was conveyed by cherubs. 

 --with stars their bodies all And wings were set with eyes, with eyes the wheels Of beryl, and careering fires between. 

Compare with the above verses of Montrose the following epitaph upon SirPhilip Sidney, which was formerly placed over his grave in St. Paul'sChurch. 

 England, Netherland, the Heavens, and the Arts, The Soldiers, and the World, have made six parts Of noble Sidney; for who will suppose That a small heap of stones can Sidney enclose? England hath his Body, for she it fed, Netherland his Blood, in her defence shed: The Heavens have his Soul, the Arts have his Fame, The Soldiers the grief, the World his good Name. 

There were many points in which the case of Sidney resembled that ofCharles I. He was a sovereign, but of a nobler kind--a sovereign in thehearts of men; and after his premature death he was truly, as he hathbeen styled, 'the world-mourned Sidney. ' So fondly did the admiration ofhis contemporaries settle upon him, that the sudden removal of a man sogood, great, and thoroughly accomplished, wrought upon many even torepining, and to the questioning the dispensations of Providence. Yethe, whom Spenser and all the men of genius of his age had tenderlybemoaned, is thus commemorated upon his tomb-stone; and to add to theindignity, the memorial is nothing more than the second-hand coat of aFrench commander! It is a servile translation from a French epitaph, which says Weever, 'was by some English Wit happily imitated andingeniously applied to the honour of our worthy chieftain. ' Yet Weeverin a foregoing paragraph thus expresses himself upon the same subject;giving without his own knowledge, in my opinion, an example of themanner in which an epitaph ought to have been composed: 'But I cannotpass over in silence Sir Philip Sidney, the elder brother, being (to useCamden's words) the glorious star of this family, a lively pattern ofvirtue, and the lovely joy of all the learned sort; who fightingvaliantly with the enemy before Zutphen in Geldesland, dyed manfully. This is that Sidney, whom, as God's will was, he should therefore beborn into the world even to shew unto our age a sample of ancientvirtues: so His good pleasure was, before any man looked for it, to callfor him again and take him out of the world, as being more worthy ofheaven than earth. Thus we may see perfect virtue suddenly vanisheth outof sight, and the best men continue not long. '

There can be no need to analyse this simple effusion of the moment inorder to contrast it with the laboured composition before given; thedifference will flash upon the Reader at once. But I may say it is notlikely that such a frigid composition as the former would have ever beenapplied to a man whose death had so stirred up the hearts of hiscontemporaries, if it had not been felt that something different fromthat nature which each man carried in his own breast was in his caserequisite; and that a certain straining of mind was inseparable from thesubject. Accordingly, an epitaph is adopted in which the Writer hadturned from the genuine affections and their self-forgettinginspirations, to the end that his understanding, or the facultydesignated by the word _head_ as opposed to _heart_, might curiouslyconstruct a fabric to be wondered at. Hyperbole in the language ofMontrose is a mean instrument made mighty because wielded by anafflicted soul, and strangeness is here the order of Nature. Montrosestretched after remote things, but was at the same time propelledtowards them; the French Writer goes deliberately in search of them: nowonder then if what he brings home does not prove worth the carriage. 

Let us return to an instance of common life. I quote it with reluctance, not so much for its absurdity as that the expression in one place willstrike at first sight as little less than impious; and it is indeed, though unintentionally so, most irreverent. But I know no other examplethat will so forcibly illustrate the important truth I wish toestablish. The following epitaph is to be found in a church-yard inWestmoreland; which the present Writer has reason to think of withinterest as it contains the remains of some of his ancestors andkindred. The date is 1678. 

 Under this Stone, Reader, inter'd doth lye, Beauty and Virtue's true epitomy. At her appearance the noone-son Blush'd and shrunk in 'cause quite outdon. In her concentered did all graces dwell: God pluck'd my rose that He might take a smel. I'll say no more: but weeping wish I may Soone with thy dear chaste ashes com to lay. Sic efflevit Maritus. 

Can anything go beyond this in extravagance? yet, if the fundamentalthoughts be translated into a natural style, they will be foundreasonable and affecting--'The woman who lies here interred, was in myeyes a perfect image of beauty and virtue; she was to me a brighterobject than the sun in heaven: God took her, who was my delight, fromthis earth to bring her nearer to Himself. Nothing further is worthy tobe said than that weeping I wish soon to lie by thy dear chaste ashes. Thus did the husband pour out his tears. '

These verses are preceded by a brief account of the lady, in Latinprose, in which the little that is said is the uncorrupted language ofaffection. But, without this introductory communication I should myselfhave had no doubt, after recovering from the first shock of surprize anddisapprobation, that this man, notwithstanding his extravagantexpressions, was a sincere mourner; and that his heart, during the veryact of composition, was moved. These fantastic images, though they stainthe writing, stained not her soul, --they did not even touch it; but hunglike globules of rain suspended above a green leaf, along which they mayroll and leave no trace that they have passed over it. Thissimple-hearted man must have been betrayed by a common notion that whatwas natural in prose would be out of place in verse;--that it is not theMuse which puts on the garb but the garb which makes the Muse. Andhaving adopted this notion at a time when vicious writings of this kindaccorded with the public taste, it is probable that, in the excess ofhis modesty, the blankness of his inexperience, and the intensity of hisaffection, he thought that the further he wandered from Nature in hislanguage the more would he honour his departed consort, who now appearedto him to have surpassed humanity in the excellence of her endowments. The quality of his fault and its very excess are both in favour of thisconclusion. 

Let us contrast this epitaph with one taken from a celebrated Writer ofthe last century. 

 _To the memory of_ LUCY LYTTLETON, _Daughter &c. Who departed this life &c. Aged_ 20. _ Having employed the short time assigned to her here in the uniform practice of religion and virtue_. 

 Made to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes, Though meek, magnanimous; though witty, wise; Polite, as all her life in Courts had been; Yet good, as she the world had never seen; The noble fire of an exalted mind, With gentle female tenderness combined. Her speech was the melodious voice of love, Her song the warbling of the vernal grove; Her eloquence was sweeter than her song, Soft as her heart, and as her reason strong; Her form each beauty of the mind express'd, Her mind was Virtue by the Graces drest. 

The prose part of this inscription has the appearance of being intendedfor a tomb-stone; but there is nothing in the verse that would suggestsuch a thought. The composition is in the style of those labouredportraits in words which we sometimes see placed at the bottom of aprint to fill up lines of expression which the bungling Artist had leftimperfect. We know from other evidence that Lord Lyttleton dearly lovedhis wife; he has indeed composed a monody to her memory which provesthis, and she was an amiable woman; neither of which facts could havebeen gathered from these inscriptive verses. This epitaph would derivelittle advantage from being translated into another style as the formerwas; for there is no under current; no skeleton or staminae of thoughtand feeling. The Reader will perceive at once that nothing in the heartof the Writer had determined either the choice, the order or theexpression, of the ideas; that there is no interchange of action fromwithin and from without; that the connections are mechanical andarbitrary, and the lowest kind of these--heart and eyes: pettyalliterations, as meek and magnanimous, witty and wise, combined withoppositions in thoughts where there is no necessary or naturalopposition. Then follow voice, song, eloquence, form, mind--eachenumerated by a separate act as if the Author had been making a_Catalogue Raisonné_. 

These defects run through the whole; the only tolerable verse is, Her speech was the melodious voice of love. 

Observe, the question is not which of these epitaphs is better or worse;but which faults are of a worse kind. In the former case we have amourner whose soul is occupied by grief and urged forward by hisadmiration. He deems in his simplicity that no hyperbole can transcendthe perfections of her whom he has lost; for the version which I havegiven fairly demonstrates that, in spite of his outrageous expressions, the under current of his thoughts was natural and pure. We havetherefore in him the example of a mind during the act of compositionmisled by false taste to the highest possible degree; and, in that ofLord Lyttleton, we have one of a feeling heart, not merely misled, butwholly laid asleep by the same power. Lord Lyttleton could not havewritten in this way upon such a subject, if he had not been seduced bythe example of Pope, whose sparkling and tuneful manner had bewitchedthe men of letters his contemporaries, and corrupted the judgment of thenation through all ranks of society. So that a great portion of originalgenius was necessary to embolden a man to write faithfully to Natureupon any affecting subject if it belonged to a class of composition inwhich Pope had furnished examples. 

I am anxious not to be misunderstood. It has already been stated that inthis species of composition above every other, our sensations andjudgments depend upon our opinion or feeling of the Author's state ofmind. Literature is here so far identified with morals, the quality ofthe act so far determined by our notion of the aim and purpose of theagent, that nothing can please us, however well executed in its kind, ifwe are persuaded that the primary virtues of sincerity, earnestness anda moral interest in the main object are wanting. Insensibility hereshocks us, and still more so if manifested by a Writer going wholly outof his way in search of supposed beauties, which if he were truly movedhe could set no value upon, could not even think of. We are struck inthis case not merely with a sense of disproportion and unfitness, but wecannot refrain from attributing no small part of his intellectual to amoral demerit. And here the difficulties of the question begin, namelyin ascertaining what errors in the choice of or the mode of expressingthe thoughts, most surely indicate the want of that which is mostindispensible. Bad taste, whatever shape it may put on, is injurious tothe heart and the understanding. If a man attaches much interest to thefaculty of taste as it exists in himself and employs much time in thosestudies of which this faculty (I use the word taste in its comprehensivethough most unjustifiable sense) is reckoned the arbiter, certain it ishis moral notions and dispositions must either be purified andstrengthened or corrupted and impaired. How can it be otherwise, whenhis ability to enter into the spirit of works in literature must dependupon his feelings, his imagination and his understanding, that is uponhis recipient, upon his creative or active and upon his judging powers, and upon the accuracy and compass of his knowledge, in fine upon allthat makes up the moral and intellectual man. What is true ofindividuals is equally true of nations. Nevertheless a man called to atask in which he is not practised, may have his expression thoroughlydefiled and clogged by the style prevalent in his age, yet still, through the force of circumstances that have roused him, his underfeeling may remain strong and pure; yet this may be wholly concealedfrom common view. Indeed the favourite style of different ages is sodifferent and wanders so far from propriety that if it were not thatfirst rate Writers in all nations and tongues are governed by commonprinciples, we might suppose that truth and nature were things not to belooked for in books; hence to an unpractised Reader the productions ofevery age will present obstacles in various degrees hard to surmount; adeformity of style not the worst in itself but of that kind with whichhe is least familiar will on the one hand be most likely to render himinsensible to a pith and power which may be within, and on the otherhand he will be the least able to see through that sort of falsehoodwhich is most prevalent in the works of his own time. Many of myReaders, to apply these general observations to the present case, musthave derived pleasure from the epitaph of Lord Lyttleton and no doubtwill be startled at the comparison I have made; but bring it to the testrecommended it will then be found that its faults, though not in degreeso intolerable, are in kind more radical and deadly than those of thestrange composition with which it has been compared. 

The course which we have taken having brought us to the name of thisdistinguished Writer--Pope--I will in this place give a few observationsupon his Epitaphs, --the largest collection we have in our language, fromthe pen of any Writer of eminence. As the epitaphs of Pope and alsothose of Chiabrera, which occasioned this dissertation, are in metre, itmay be proper here to enquire how far the notion of a perfect epitaph, as given in a former Paper, may be modified by the choice of metre forthe vehicle, in preference to prose. If our opinions be just, it ismanifest that the basis must remain the same in either case; and thatthe difference can only lie in the superstructure; and it is equallyplain, that a judicious man will be less disposed in this case than inany other to avail himself of the liberty given by metre to adoptphrases of fancy, or to enter into the more remote regions ofillustrative imagery. For the occasion of writing an epitaph ismatter-of-fact in its intensity, and forbids more authoritatively thanany other species of composition all modes of fiction, except thosewhich the very strength of passion has created; which have beenacknowledged by the human heart, and have become so familiar that theyare converted into substantial realities. When I come to the epitaphs ofChiabrera, I shall perhaps give instances in which I think he has notwritten under the impression of this truth; where the poetic imagerydoes not elevate, deepen, or refine the human passion, which it oughtalways to do or not to act at all, but excludes it. In a far greaterdegree are Pope's epitaphs debased by faults into which he could not Ithink have fallen if he had written in prose as a plain man and not as ametrical Wit. I will transcribe from Pope's Epitaphs the one upon Mrs. Corbet (who died of a cancer), Dr. Johnson having extolled it highly andpronounced it the best of the collection. 

 Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason and with sober sense; No conquest she but o'er herself desir'd; No arts essayed, but not to be admir'd. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, Convinc'd that virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so compos'd a mind, So firm yet soft, so strong yet so refin'd, Heaven as its purest gold by tortures tried, The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died. 

This _may_ be the best of Pope's Epitaphs; but if the standard which wehave fixed be a just one, it cannot be approved of. First, it must beobserved, that in the epitaphs of this Writer, the true impulse iswanting, and that his motions must of necessity be feeble. For he has noother aim than to give a favourable portrait of the character of thedeceased. Now mark the process by which this is performed. Nothing isrepresented implicitly, that is, with its accompaniment ofcircumstances, or conveyed by its effects. The Author forgets that it isa living creature that must interest us and not an intellectualexistence, which a mere character is. Insensible to this distinction thebrain of the Writer is set at work to report as flatteringly as he mayof the mind of his subject; the good qualities are separately abstracted(can it be otherwise than coldly and unfeelingly?) and put togetheragain as coldly and unfeelingly. The epitaph now before us owes whatexemption it may have from these defects in its general plan to theexcruciating disease of which the lady died; but it is liable to thesame censure, and is, like the rest, further objectionable in this;namely, that the thoughts have their nature changed and moulded by thevicious expression in which they are entangled, to an excess renderingthem wholly unfit for the place they occupy. 

 Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason--

from which _sober sense_ is not sufficiently distinguishable. This verseand a half, and the one 'so unaffected, so composed a mind, ' arecharacteristic, and the expression is true to nature; but they are, if Imay take the liberty of saying it, the only parts of the epitaph whichhave this merit. Minute criticism is in its nature irksome, and ascommonly practiced in books and conversation, is both irksome andinjurious. Yet every mind must occasionally be exercised in thisdiscipline, else it cannot learn the art of bringing words rigorously tothe test of thoughts; and these again to a comparison with things, theirarchetypes, contemplated first in themselves, and secondly in relationto each other; in all which processes the mind must be skilful, otherwise it will be perpetually imposed upon. In the next couplet theword _conquest_, is applied in a manner that would have been displeasingeven from its triteness in a copy of complimentary verses to afashionable Beauty; but to talk of making conquests in an epitaph is notto be endured. 'No arts essayed, but not to be admired, '--are wordsexpressing that she had recourse to artifices to conceal her amiable andadmirable qualities; and the context implies that there was a merit inthis; which surely no sane mind would allow. But the meaning of theAuthor, simply and honestly given, was nothing more than that sheshunned admiration, probably with a more apprehensive modesty than wascommon; and more than this would have been inconsistent with the praisebestowed upon her--that she had an unaffected mind. This couplet isfurther objectionable, because the sense of love and peaceful admirationwhich such a character naturally inspires, is disturbed by an obliqueand ill-timed stroke of satire. She is not praised so much as others areblamed, and is degraded by the Author in thus being made a covert orstalking-horse for gratifying a propensity the most abhorrent from herown nature--'Passion and pride were to her soul unknown. ' It cannot bemeant that she had no passions, but that they were moderate and kept insubordination to her reason; but the thought is not here expressed; noris it clear that a conviction in the understanding that 'virtue only isour own, ' though it might suppress her pride, would be itself competentto govern or abate many other affections and passions to which our frailnature is, and ought in various degrees, to be subject. In fact, theAuthor appears to have had no precise notion of his own meaning. If shewas 'good without pretence, ' it seems unnecessary to say that she wasnot proud. Dr. Johnson, making an exception of the verse, 'Convincedthat virtue only is our own, ' praises this epitaph for 'containingnothing taken from common places. ' Now in fact, as may be deduced fromthe principles of this discourse, it is not only no fault but a primaryrequisite in an epitaph that it shall contain thoughts and feelingswhich are in their substance common-place, and even trite. It isgrounded upon the universal intellectual property of man, --sensationswhich all men have felt and feel in some degree daily andhourly;--truths whose very interest and importance have caused them tobe unattended to, as things which could take care of themselves. But itis required that these truths should be instinctively ejaculated orshould rise irresistibly from circumstances; in a word that they shouldbe uttered in such connection as shall make it felt that they are notadopted, not spoken by rote, but perceived in their whole compass withthe freshness and clearness of an original intuition. The Writer mustintroduce the truth with such accompaniment as shall imply that he hasmounted to the sources of things, penetrated the dark cavern from whichthe river that murmurs in every one's ear has flowed from generation togeneration. The line 'Virtue only is our own, '--is objectionable, notfrom the common-placeness of the truth, but from the vapid manner inwhich it is conveyed. A similar sentiment is expressed with appropriatedignity in an epitaph by Chiabrera, where he makes the Archbishop ofAlbino say of himself, that he was

 --smitten by the great ones of the world, But did not fall; for virtue braves all shocks, Upon herself resting immoveably. 

'So firm yet soft, so strong yet so refined': These intellectualoperations (while they can be conceived of as operations of intellectat all, for in fact one half of the process is mechanical, words doingtheir own work and one half of the line manufacturing the rest) remindme of the motions of a Posture-master, or of a man balancing a swordupon his finger, which must be kept from falling at all hazards. 'Thesaint sustained it, but the woman died. ' Let us look steadily at thisantithesis: the _saint_, that is her soul strengthened by religion, supported the anguish of her disease with patience and resignation; butthe _woman_, that is her body (for if anything else is meant by the wordwoman, it contradicts the former part of the proposition and the passageis nonsense), was overcome. Why was not this simply expressed; withoutplaying with the Reader's fancy, to the delusion and dishonour of hisunderstanding, by a trifling epigramatic point? But alas! ages must passaway before men will have their eyes open to the beauty and majesty ofTruth, and will be taught to venerate Poetry no further than as she is ahandmaid pure as her mistress--the noblest handmaid in her train!

_(c)_ CELEBRATED EPITAPHS CONSIDERED. _From the Author's Mss_. 

I vindicate the rights and dignity of Nature; and as long as I condemnnothing without assigning reasons not lightly given, I cannot suffer anyindividual, however highly and deservedly honoured by my countrymen, tostand in my way. If my notions are right, the epitaphs of Pope cannotwell be too severely condemned; for not only are they almost whollydestitute of those universal feelings and simple movements of mind whichwe have called for as indispensible, but they are little better than atissue of false thoughts, languid and vague expressions, unmeaningantithesis, and laborious attempts at discrimination. Pope's mind hadbeen employed chiefly in observation upon the vices and follies of men. Now, vice and folly are in contradiction with the moral principle whichcan never be extinguished in the mind; and therefore, wanting thecontrast, are irregular, capricious, and inconsistent with themselves. If a man has once said (see _Friend_, No. .. .. . ), 'Evil, be thou mygood!' and has acted accordingly, however strenuous may have been hisadherence to this principle, it will be well known by those who have hadan opportunity of observing him narrowly that there have been perpetualobliquities in his course; evil passions thwarting each other in variousways; and now and then, revivals of his better nature, which check himfor a short time or lead him to remeasure his steps:--not to speak ofthe various necessities of counterfeiting virtue, which the furtheranceof his schemes will impose upon him, and the division which will beconsequently introduced into his nature. 

It is reasonable then that Cicero, when holding up Catiline todetestation; and (without going to such an extreme case) that Dryden andPope, when they are describing characters like Buckingham, Shaftsbury, and the Duchess of Marlborough, should represent qualities and actionsat war with each other and with themselves; and that the page should besuitably crowded with antithetical expressions. But all this argues anobtuse moral sensibility and a consequent want of knowledge, if appliedwhere virtue ought to be described in the language of affectionateadmiration. In the mind of the truly great and good everything that isof importance is at peace with itself; all is stillness, sweetness andstable grandeur. Accordingly the contemplation of virtue is attendedwith repose. A lovely quality, if its loveliness be clearly perceived, fastens the mind with absolute sovereignty upon itself; permitting orinciting it to pass, by smooth gradation or gentle transition, to someother kindred quality. Thus a perfect image of meekness (I refer to aninstance before given) when looked at by a tender mind in its happiestmood, might easily lead on to thoughts of magnanimity; for assuredlythere is nothing incongruous in those virtues. But the mind would notthen be separated from the person who is the object of its thoughts; itwould still be confined to that person or to others of the same generalcharacter; that is, would be kept within the circle of qualities whichrange themselves quietly by each other's sides. Whereas, when meeknessand magnanimity are represented antithetically, the mind is not onlycarried from the main object, but is compelled to turn to a subject inwhich the quality exists divided from some other as noble, its naturalally: a painful feeling! that checks the course of love, and repels thesweet thoughts that might be settling round the person whom it was theAuthor's wish to endear to us; but for whom, after this interruption, weno longer care. If then a man, whose duty it is to praise departedexcellence not without some sense of regret or sadness, to do this or tobe silent, should upon all occasions exhibit that mode of connectingthoughts, which is only natural while we are delineating vice undercertain relations, we may be assured that the nobler sympathies are notalive in him; that he has no clear insight into the internalconstitution of virtue; nor has himself been soothed, cheared, harmonized, by those outward effects which follow everywhere hergoings, --declaring the presence of the invisible Deity. And though it betrue that the most admirable of them must fall far short of perfection, and that the majority of those whose work is commemorated upon theirtomb-stones must have been persons in whom good and evil were intermixedin various proportions and stood in various degrees of opposition toeach other, yet the Reader will remember what has been said before uponthat medium of love, sorrow and admiration, through which a departedfriend is viewed; how it softens down or removes these harshnesses andcontradictions, which moreover must be supposed never to have beengrievous: for there can be no true love but between the good; and noepitaph ought to be written upon a bad man, except for a warning. 

The purpose of the remarks given in the last Essay was chiefly to assistthe Reader in separating truth and sincerity from falsehood andaffectation; presuming that if the unction of a devout heart be wantingeverything else is of no avail. It was shewn that a current of justthought and feeling may flow under a surface of illustrative imagery soimpure as to produce an effect the opposite of that which was intended. Yet, though this fault may be carried to an intolerable _degree_, theReader will have gathered that in our estimation it is not _in kind_ themost offensive and injurious. We have contrasted it in its excess withinstances where the genuine current or vein was wholly wanting; wherethe thoughts and feelings had no vital union, but were artificiallyconnected, or formally accumulated, in a manner that would implydiscontinuity and feebleness of mind upon any occasion, but still morereprehensible here!

I will proceed to give milder examples not in this last kind but in theformer; namely of failure from various causes where the ground-work isgood. 

 Take holy earth! all that my soul holds dear: Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave: To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care, Her faded form. She bow'd to taste the wave-- And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line? Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine; Even from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move: And if so fair, from vanity as free, As firm in friendship, and as fond in love; Tell them, tho 'tis an awful thing to die, ('Twas e'en to thee) yet, the dread path once trod; Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids 'the pure in heart behold their God. '

This epitaph has much of what we have demanded; but it is debased insome instances by weakness of expression, in others by falseprettiness. 'She bow'd to taste the wave, and died. ' The plain truthwas, she drank the Bristol waters which failed to restore her, and herdeath soon followed; but the expression involves a multitude of pettyoccupations for the fancy. 'She bow'd': was there any truth in this? 'totaste the wave': the water of a mineral spring which must have beendrunk out of a goblet. Strange application of the word 'wave' and'died': This would have been a just expression if the water had killedher; but, as it is, the tender thought involved in the disappointment ofa hope however faint is left unexpressed; and a shock of surprise isgiven, entertaining perhaps to a light fancy but to a steady mindunsatisfactory, because false. 'Speak! dead Maria, breathe a straindivine'! This sense flows nobly from the heart and the imagination; butperhaps it is not one of those impassioned thoughts which should befixed in language upon a sepulchral stone. It is in its nature toopoignant and transitory. A husband meditating by his wife's grave wouldthrow off such a feeling, and would give voice to it; and it would be inits place in a Monody to her memory; but if I am not mistaken, ought tohave been suppressed here, or uttered after a different manner. Theimplied impersonation of the deceased (according to the tenor of whathas before been said) ought to have been more general and shadowy. 

 And if so fair, from vanity as free, As firm in friendship and as fond in love; Tell them--

These are two sweet verses, but the word 'fair' is improper; forunquestionably it was not intended that their title to receive thisassurance should depend at all upon their personal beauty. Moreover inthis couplet and in what follows, the long suspension of the senseexcites the expectation of a thought less common than the concludingone; and is an instance of a failure in doing what is most needful andmost difficult in an epitaph to do; namely to give to universallyreceived truths a pathos and spirit which shall re-admit them into thesoul like revelations of the moment. 

I have said that this excellence is difficult to attain; and why? Is itbecause nature is weak? No! Where the soul has been thoroughly stricken(and Heaven knows the course of life must have placed all men, at sometime or other, in that condition) there is never a want of _positive_strength; but because the adversary of Nature (call that adversary Artor by what name you will) is _comparatively_ strong. The far-searchinginfluence of the power, which, for want of a better name, we willdenominate Taste, is in nothing more evinced than in the changefulcharacter and complexion of that species of composition which we havebeen reviewing. Upon a call so urgent, it might be expected that theaffections, the memory, and the imagination would be _constrained_ tospeak their genuine language. Yet, if the few specimens which have beengiven in the course of this enquiry, do not demonstrate the fact, theReader need only look into any collection of Epitaphs to be convinced, that the faults predominant in the literature of every age will be asstrongly reflected in the sepulchral inscriptions as any where; nayperhaps more so, from the anxiety of the Author to do justice to theoccasion: and especially if the composition be in verse; for then itcomes more avowedly in the shape of a work of art; and of course, ismore likely to be coloured by the work of art holden in most esteem atthe time. In a bulky volume of Poetry entitled ELEGANT EXTRACTS INVERSE, which must be known to most of my Readers, as it is circulatedeverywhere and in fact constitutes at this day the poetical library ofour Schools, I find a number of epitaphs in verse, of the last century;and there is scarcely one which is not thoroughly tainted by theartifices which have over-run our writings in metre since the days ofDryden and Pope. Energy, stillness, grandeur, tenderness, those feelingswhich are the pure emanations of Nature, those thoughts which have theinfinitude of truth, and those expressions which are not what the garbis to the body but what the body is to the soul, themselves aconstituent part and power or function in the thought--all these areabandoned for their opposites, --as if our countrymen, through successivegenerations, had lost the sense of solemnity and pensiveness (not tospeak of deeper emotions) and resorted to the tombs of their forefathersand contemporaries, only to be tickled and surprised. Would we notrecoil from such gratification, in such a place, if the generalliterature of the country had not co-operated with other causesinsidiously to weaken our sensibilities and deprave our judgments?Doubtless, there are shocks of event and circumstance, public andprivate, by which for all minds the truths of Nature will be elicited;but sorrow for that individual or people to whom these specialinterferences are necessary, to bring them into communion with the innerspirit of things! for such intercourse must be profitless in proportionas it is unfrequently irregular and transient. Words are too awful aninstrument for good and evil, to be trifled with; they hold above allother external powers a dominion over thoughts. If words be not(recurring to a metaphor before used) an incarnation of the thought, butonly a clothing for it, then surely will they prove an ill gift; such aone as those possessed vestments, read of in the stories ofsuperstitious times, which had power to consume and to alienate from hisright mind the victim who put them on. Language, if it do not uphold, and feed, and leave in quiet, like the power of gravitation or the airwe breathe, is a counter-spirit, unremittingly and noiselessly at work, to subvert, to lay waste, to vitiate, and to dissolve. From a deepconviction then that the excellence of writing, whether in prose orverse, consists in a conjunction of Reason and Passion, a conjunctionwhich must be of necessity benign; and that it might be deduced fromwhat has been said that the taste, intellectual power and morals of acountry are inseparably linked in mutual dependence, I have dwelt thuslong upon this argument. And the occasion justifies me; for how couldthe tyranny of bad taste be brought home to the mind more aptly than byshowing in what degree the feelings of nature yield to it when we arerendering to our friends the solemn testimony of our love? more forciblythan by giving proof that thoughts cannot, even upon this impulse, assume an outward life without a transmutation and a fall. 

 _Epitaph on Miss Drummond in the Church of Broadsworth, Yorkshire_. MASON. 

 Here sleeps what once was beauty, once was grace; Grace, that with tenderness and sense combin'd To form that harmony of soul and face, Where beauty shines, the mirror of the mind. Such was the maid, that in the morn of youth, In virgin innocence, in Nature's pride, Blest with each art, that owes its charm to truth, Sunk in her Father's fond embrace, and died. He weeps: O venerate the holy tear! Faith lends her aid to ease Affliction's load; The parent mourns his child upon the bier, The Christian yields an angel to his God. 

The following is a translation from the Latin, communicated to a Lady inher childhood and by her preserved in memory. I regret that I have notseen the original. 

 She is gone--my beloved daughter Eliza is gone, Fair, cheerful, benign, my child is gone. Thee long to be regretted a Father mourns, Regretted--but thanks to the most perfect God! not lost. For a happier age approaches When again, my child, I shall behold And live with thee for ever. 

 Matthew Dobson to his dear, engaging, happy Eliza Who in the 18th year of her age Passed peaceably into heaven. 

The former of these epitaphs is very far from being the worst of itskind, and on that account I have placed the two in contrast. Unquestionably, as the Father in the latter speaks in his own person, the situation is much more pathetic; but, making due allowance for thisadvantage, who does not here feel a superior truth and sanctity, whichis not dependent upon this circumstance but merely the result of theexpression and the connection of the thoughts? I am not so fortunate asto have any knowledge of the Author of this affecting composition, but Imuch fear if he had called in the assistance of English verse the betterto convey his thoughts, such sacrifices would, from various influences, have been made _even by him_, that, though he might have excitedadmiration in thousands, he would have truly moved no one. The latterpart of the following by Gray is almost the only instance among themetrical epitaphs in our language of the last century, which I remember, of affecting thoughts rising naturally and keeping themselves pure fromvicious diction; and therefore retaining their appropriate power overthe mind. 

 _Epitaph on Mrs. Clark_. Lo! where the silent marble weeps, A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps; A heart, within whose sacred cell The peaceful virtues lov'd to dwell. Affection warm, and love sincere, And soft humanity were there. In agony, in death resigned, She felt the wound she left behind. Her infant image, here below, Sits smiling on a father's woe; Whom what awaits, while yet he strays Along the lonely vale of days? A pang to secret sorrow dear; A sigh, an unavailing tear, Till time shall every grief remove, With life, with meaning, and with love. 

I have been speaking of faults which are aggravated by temptationsthrown in the way of modern Writers when they compose in metre. Thefirst six lines of this epitaph are vague and languid, more so than Ithink would have been possible had it been written in prose. Yet Gray, who was so happy in the remaining part, especially the last four lines, has grievously failed _in prose_ upon a subject which it might have beenexpected would have bound him indissolubly to the propriety of Natureand comprehensive reason. I allude to the conclusion of the epitaph uponhis mother, where he says, 'she was the careful tender mother of manychildren, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her. ' This isa searching thought, but wholly out of place. Had it been said of anidiot, of a palsied child, or of an adult from any cause dependent uponhis mother to a degree of helplessness which nothing but maternaltenderness and watchfulness could answer, that he had the misfortune tosurvive his mother, the thought would have been just. The same mightalso have been wrung from any man (thinking of himself) when his soulwas smitten with compunction or remorse, through the consciousness of amisdeed from which he might have been preserved (as he hopes orbelieves) by his mother's prudence, by her anxious care if longercontinued, or by the reverential fear of offending or disobeying her. But even then (unless accompanied with a detail of extraordinarycircumstances), if transferred to her monument, it would have beenmisplaced, as being too peculiar, and for reasons which have been beforealleged, namely, as too transitory and poignant. But in an ordinarycase, for a man permanently and conspicuously to record that this washis fixed feeling; what is it but to run counter to the course ofnature, which has made it matter of expectation and congratulation thatparents should die before their children? What is it, if searched to thebottom, but lurking and sickly selfishness? Does not the regret includea wish that the mother should have survived all her offspring, havewitnessed that bitter desolation where the order of things is disturbedand inverted? And finally, does it not withdraw the attention of theReader from the subject to the Author of the Memorial, as one to becommiserated for his strangely unhappy condition, or to be condemned forthe morbid constitution of his feelings, or for his deficiency injudgment? A fault of the same kind, though less in degree, is found inthe epitaph of Pope upon Harcourt; of whom it is said that 'he nevergave his father grief but when he died. ' I need not point out how manysituations there are in which such an expression of feeling would benatural and becoming; but in a permanent inscription things only shouldbe admitted that have an enduring place in the mind; and a niceselection is required even among these. The Duke of Ormond said of hisson Ossory, 'that he preferred his dead son to any living son inChristendom, '--a thought which (to adopt an expression used before) hasthe infinitude of truth! But though in this there is no momentaryillusion, nothing fugitive, it would still have been unbecoming, had itbeen placed in open view over the son's grave; inasmuch as suchexpression of it would have had an ostentatious air, and would haveimplied a disparagement of others. The sublimity of the sentimentconsists in its being the secret possession of the Father. 

Having been engaged so long in the ungracious office of sitting injudgment where I have found so much more to censure than to approve, though, wherever it was in my power, I have placed good by the side ofevil, that the Reader might intuitively receive the truths which Iwished to communicate, I now turn back with pleasure to Chiabrera; ofwhose productions in this department the Reader of the _Friend_ may beenabled to form a judgment who has attentively perused the few specimensonly which have been given. 'An epitaph, ' says Weever, 'is asuperscription (either in verse or prose) or an astrict pithic diagram, writ, carved, or engraven upon the tomb, grave, or sepulchre of thedefunct, briefly declaring (_and that with a kind of commiseration_) thename, the age, the deserts, the dignities, the state, _the praises bothof body and minde_, the good and bad fortunes in the life, and themanner and time of the death of the person therein interred. ' Thisaccount of an epitaph, which as far as it goes is just, was no doubttaken by Weever from the monuments of our own country, and it shews thatin his conception an epitaph was not to be an abstract character of thedeceased but an epitomized biography blended with description by whichan impression of the character was to be conveyed. Bring forward the oneincidental expression, a kind of commiseration, unite with it a concernon the part of the dead for the well-being of the living made known byexhortation and admonition, and let this commiseration and concernpervade and brood over the whole, so that what was peculiar to theindividual shall still be subordinate to a sense of what he had incommon with the species, our notion of a perfect epitaph would then berealized; and it pleases me to say that this is the very model uponwhich those of Chiabrera are for the most part framed. Observe howexquisitely this is exemplified in the one beginning 'Pause, courteousstranger! Balbi supplicates, ' given in the _Friend_ some weeks ago. Thesubject of the epitaph is introduced intreating, not directly in his ownperson but through the mouth of the author, that according to thereligious belief of his country a prayer for his soul might be preferredto the Redeemer of the world: placed in counterpoize with this rightwhich he has in common with all the dead, his individual earthlyaccomplishments appear light to his funeral Biographer as they did tothe person of whom he speaks when alive, nor could Chiabrera haveventured to touch upon them but under the sanction of this person'sacknowledgment. He then goes on to say how various and profound was hislearning, and how deep a hold it took upon his affections, but that heweaned himself from these things as vanities, and was devoted in laterlife exclusively to the divine truths of the Gospel as the onlyknowledge in which he could find perfect rest. Here we are thrown backupon the introductory supplication and made to feel its especialpropriety in this case; his life was long, and every part of it boreappropriate fruits. Urbina his birth-place might be proud of him, andthe passenger who was entreated to pray for his soul has a wish breathedfor his welfare. This composition is a perfect whole, there is nothingarbitrary or mechanical, but it is an organized body, of which themembers are bound together by a common life and are all justlyproportioned. If I had not gone so much into detail I should have givenfurther instances of Chiabrera's Epitaphs, but I must content myselfwith saying that if he had abstained from the introduction of heathenmythology, of which he is lavish--an inexcusable fault for an inhabitantof a Christian country, yet admitting of some palliation in an Italianwho treads classic soil and has before his eyes the ruins of the templeswhich were dedicated to those fictitious beings of objects of worship bythe majestic people his ancestors--had omitted also someuncharacteristic particulars, and had not on some occasions forgottenthat truth is the soul of passion, he would have left his Readers littleto regret. I do not mean to say that higher and nobler thoughts may notbe found in sepulchral inscriptions than his contain; but he understoodhis work, the principles upon which he composed are just. The Reader ofthe _Friend_ has had proofs of this: one shall be given of his mixedmanner, exemplifying some of the points in which he has erred. 

 O Lelius beauteous flower of gentleness, The fair Anglaia's friend above all friends: O darling of the fascinating Loves By what dire envy moved did Death uproot Thy days e'er yet full blown, and what ill chance Hath robbed Savona of her noblest grace? She weeps for thee and shall for ever weep, And if the fountain of her tears should fail She would implore Sabete to supply Her need: Sabete, sympathizing stream, Who on his margin saw thee close thine eyes On the chaste bosom of thy Lady dear, Ah, what do riches, what does youth avail? Dust are our hopes, I weeping did inscribe In bitterness thy monument, and pray Of every gentle spirit bitterly To read the record with as copious tears. 

This epitaph is not without some tender thoughts, but a comparison of itwith the one upon the youthful Pozzobonelli (see _Friend_, No. .. . ) willmore clearly shew that Chiabrera has here neglected to ascertain whetherthe passions expressed were in kind and degree a dispensation of reason, or at least commodities issued under her licence and authority. 

The epitaphs of Chiabrera are twenty-nine in number, all of them savetwo probably little known at this day in their own country and scarcelyat all beyond the limits of it; and the Reader is generally madeacquainted with the moral and intellectual excellence whichdistinguished them by a brief history of the course of their lives or aselection of events and circumstances, and thus they are individualized;but in the two other instances, namely those of Tasso and Raphael, heenters into no particulars, but contents himself with four linesexpressing one sentiment upon the principle laid down in the former partof this discourse, where the subject of an epitaph is a man of primenote. 

 Torquato Tasso rests within this tomb: This figure weeping from her inmost heart Is Poesy: from such impassioned grief Let every one conclude what this man was. 

The epitaph which Chiabrera composed for himself has also an appropriatebrevity and is distinguished for its grandeur, the sentiment being thesame as that which the Reader has before seen so happily enlarged upon. 

As I am brought back to men of first rate distinction and publicbenefactors, I cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing the metricalpart of an epitaph which formerly was inscribed in the church of St. Paul's to that Bishop of London who prevailed with William the Conquerorto secure to the inhabitants of the city all the liberties andprivileges which they had enjoyed in the time of Edward the Confessor. 

 These marble monuments to thee thy citizens assigne, Rewards (O Father) farre unfit to those deserts of thine: Thee unto them a faithful friend, thy London people found, And to this towne of no small weight, a stay both sure and sound. Their liberties restorde to them, by means of thee have beene, Their publicke weale by means of thee, large gifts have felt and seene: Thy riches, stocke, and beauty brave, one hour hath them supprest, Yet these thy virtues and good deeds with us for ever rest. 

Thus have I attempted to determine what a sepulchral inscription oughtto be, and taken at the same time a survey of what epitaphs are good andbad, and have shewn to what deficiencies in sensibility and to whaterrors in taste and judgement most commonly are to be ascribed. It wasmy intention to have given a few specimens from those of the ancients;but I have already I fear taken up too much of the Reader's time. I havenot animadverted upon such, alas! far too numerous, as are reprehensiblefrom the want of moral rectitude in those who have composed them orgiven it to be understood that they should he so composed; boastful andhaughty panegyrics ludicrously contradicting the solid remembrance ofthose who knew the deceased; shocking the common sense of mankind bytheir extravagance, and affronting the very altar with their impiousfalsehood. Those I leave to general scorn, not however without a generalrecommendation that they who have offended or may be disposed to offendin this manner, would take into serious thought the heinousness of theirtransgression. 

Upon reviewing what has been written I think it better here to add a fewfavourable specimens such as are ordinarily found in our countrychurch-yards at this day. If those primary sensations upon which I havedwelt so much be not stifled in the heart of the Reader, they will beread with pleasure, otherwise neither these nor more exalted strains canby him be truly interpreted. 

 _Aged 87 and 83_. 

 Not more with silver hairs than virtue crown'd The good old pair take up this spot of ground: Tread in their steps and you will surely find Their Rest above, below their peace of mind. 

 * * * * *

 At the Last Day I'm sure I shall appear, To meet with Jesus Christ my Saviour dear: Where I do hope to live with Him in bliss. Oh, what a joy at my last hour was this!

 * * * * *

 _Aged 3 Months_. 

 What Christ said once He said to all, Come unto Me, ye children small: None shall do you any wrong, For to My Kingdom you belong. 

 * * * * *

 _Aged 10 Weeks_. 

 The Babe was sucking at the breast When God did call him to his rest. 

In an obscure corner of a country church-yard I once espied, halfovergrown with hemlock and nettles, a very small stone laid upon theground, bearing nothing more than the name of the deceased with the dateof birth and death, importing that it was an infant which had been bornone day and died the following. I know not how far the Reader may be insympathy with me; but more awful thoughts of rights conferred, of hopesawakened, of remembrances stealing away or vanishing, were imparted tomy mind by that inscription there before my eyes than by any other thatit has ever been my lot to meet with upon a tomb-stone. 

The most numerous class of sepulchral inscriptions do indeed recordnothing else but the name of the buried person; but that he was bornupon one day and died upon another. Addison in the _Spectator_ makingthis observation says, 'that he cannot look upon those registers ofexistence, whether of brass or marble, but as a kind of satire upon thedeparted persons who had left no other memorial of them than that theywere born and that they died. ' In certain moods of mind this is anatural reflection; yet not perhaps the most salutary which theappearance might give birth to. As in these registers the name is mostlyassociated with others of the same family, this is a prolongedcompanionship, however shadowy: even a tomb like this is a shrine towhich the fancies of a scattered family may return in pilgrimage; thethoughts of the individuals without any communication with each othermust oftentimes meet here. Such a frail memorial then is not without itstendency to keep families together. It feeds also local attachment, which is the tap-root of the tree of Patriotism. 

I know not how I can withdraw more satisfactorily from this longdisquisition than by offering to the Reader as a farewell memorial thefollowing Verses, suggested to me by a concise epitaph which I met withsome time ago in one of the most retired vales among the mountains ofWestmoreland. There is nothing in the detail of the poem which is noteither founded upon the epitaph or gathered from enquiries concerningthe deceased, made in the neighbourhood. 

 Beneath that pine which rears its dusky head Aloft, and covered by a plain blue stone Briefly inscribed, a gentle Dalesman lies; From whom in early childhood was withdrawn The precious gift of hearing. He grew up From year to year in loneliness of soul; And this deep mountain valley was to him Soundless with all its streams. The bird of dawn Did never rouse this Cottager from sleep With startling summons; not for his delight The vernal cuckoo shouted, not for him Murmured the labouring bee. When stormy winds Were working the broad bosom of the Lake Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves, Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags, The agitated scene before his eye Was silent as a picture; evermore Were all things silent wheresoe'er he moved. Yet by the solace of his own calm thoughts Upheld, he duteously pursued the round Of rural labours: the steep mountain side Ascended with his staff and faithful dog; The plough he guided and the scythe he swayed, And the ripe corn before his sickle fell Among the jocund reapers. For himself, All watchful and industrious as he was, He wrought not; neither field nor flock he owned; No wish for wealth had place within his mind, No husband's love nor father's hope or care; Though born a younger brother, need was none That from the floor of his paternal home He should depart to plant himself anew; And when mature in manhood he beheld His parents laid in earth, no loss ensued Of rights to him, but he remained well pleased By the pure bond of independent love, An inmate of a second family, The fellow-labourer and friend of him To whom the small inheritance had fallen. Nor deem that his mild presence was a weight That pressed upon his brother's house; for books Were ready comrades whom he could not tire; Of whose society the blameless man Was never satiate; their familiar voice Even to old age with unabated charm Beguiled his leisure hours, refreshed his thoughts, Beyond its natural elevation raised His introverted spirit, and bestowed Upon his life an outward dignity Which all acknowledged. The dark winter night, The stormy day had each its own resource; Song of the Muses, sage historic tale, Science severe, or word of Holy Writ Announcing immortality and joy To the assembled spirits of the just From imperfection and decay secure: Thus soothed at home, thus busy in the field, To no perverse suspicion he gave way; No languour, peevishness, nor vain complaint. And they who were about him did not fail In reverence or in courtesy; they prized His gentle manners, and his peaceful smiles; The gleams of his slow-varying countenance Were met with answering sympathy and love. At length when sixty years and five were told A slow disease insensibly consumed The powers of nature, and a few short steps Of friends and kindred bore him from his home, Yon cottage shaded by the woody cross, To the profounder stillness of the grave. Nor was his funeral denied the grace Of many tears, virtuous and thoughtful grief, Heart-sorrow rendered sweet by gratitude; And now that monumental stone preserves His name, and unambitiously relates How long and by what kindly outward aids And in what pure contentedness of mind The sad privation was by him endured. And yon tall pine-tree, whose composing sound Was wasted on the good man's living ear, Hath now its own peculiar sanctity, And at the touch of every wandering breeze Murmurs not idly o'er his peaceful grave. 

III. ESSAYS, LETTERS, AND NOTES ELUCIDATORY AND CONFIRMATORY OF THE POEMS. 

1798-1835. 

_(a)_ OF THE PRINCIPLES OF POETRY AND THE 'LYRICAL BALLADS' (1798-1802). _(b)_ OF POETIC DICTION. _(c)_ POETRY AS A STUDY (1815). _(d)_ OF POETRY AS OBSERVATION AND DESCRIPTION, AND DEDICATION OF 1815. _(e)_ OF 'THE EXCURSION:' PREFACE. _(f)_ LETTERS TO SIR GEORGE AND LADY BEAUMONT AND OTHERS ON THE POEMSAND RELATED SUBJECTS. _(g)_ LETTER TO CHARLES FOX WITH THE 'LYRICAL BALLADS, ' AND HIS ANSWER, &c. _(h)_ LETTER ON THE PRINCIPLES OF POETRY AND HIS OWN POEMS TO (AFTERWARDS)PROFESSOR JOHN WILSON. 

NOTE. 

Of the occasion and sources, &c. Of the several portions of the presentdivision see Preface in Vol. I. G. 

_(a)_ OF THE PRINCIPLES OF POETRY AND THE 'LYRICAL BALLADS'(1798-1802). 

The first Volume of these Poems has already been submitted to generalperusal. It was published, as an experiment, which, I hoped, might be ofsome use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to metrical arrangement aselection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart. 

I had formed no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effect of thosePoems: I flattered myself that they who should be pleased with themwould read them with more than common pleasure: and, on the other hand, I was well aware, that by those who should dislike them, they would beread with more than common dislike. The result has differed from myexpectation in this only, that a greater number have been pleased than Iventured to hope I should please. 

 * * * * *

Several of my Friends are anxious for the success of these Poems, from abelief, that, if the views with which they were composed were indeedrealised, a class of Poetry would be produced, well adapted to interestmankind permanently, and not unimportant in the quality, and in themultiplicity of its moral relations: and on this account they haveadvised me to prefix a systematic defence of the theory upon which thePoems were written. But I was unwilling to undertake the task, knowingthat on this occasion the Reader would look coldly upon my arguments, since I might be suspected of having been principally influenced by theselfish and foolish hope of _reasoning_ him into an approbation of theseparticular Poems: and I was still more unwilling to undertake the task, because, adequately to display the opinions, and fully to enforce thearguments, would require a space wholly disproportionate to a preface. For, to treat the subject with the clearness and coherence of which itis susceptible, it would be necessary to give a full account of thepresent state of the public taste in this country, and to determine howfar this taste is healthy or depraved; which, again, could not bedetermined, without pointing out in what manner language and the humanmind act and re-act on each other, and without retracing therevolutions, not of literature alone, but likewise of society itself. Ihave therefore altogether declined to enter regularly upon this defence;yet I am sensible, that there would be something like impropriety inabruptly obtruding upon the Public, without a few words of introduction, Poems so materially different from those upon which general approbationis at present bestowed. 

It is supposed, that by the act of writing in verse an Author makes aformal engagement that he will gratify certain known habits ofassociation; that he not only thus apprises the Reader that certainclasses of ideas and expressions will be found in his book, but thatothers will be carefully excluded. This exponent or symbol held forth bymetrical language must in different eras of literature have excited verydifferent expectations: for example, in the age of Catullus, Terence, and Lucretius, and that of Statius or Claudian; and in our own country, in the age of Shakspeare and Beaumont and Fletcher, and that of Donneand Cowley, or Dryden, or Pope. I will not take upon me to determine theexact import of the promise which, by the act of writing in verse, anAuthor in the present day makes to his reader: but it will undoubtedlyappear to many persons that I have not fulfilled the terms of anengagement thus voluntarily contracted. They who have been accustomed tothe gaudiness and inane phraseology of many modern writers, if theypersist in reading this book to its conclusion, will, no doubt, frequently have to struggle with feelings of strangeness andawkwardness: they will look round for poetry, and will be induced toinquire by what species of courtesy these attempts can be permitted toassume that title. I hope therefore the reader will not censure me forattempting to state what I have proposed to myself to perform; and also(as far as the limits of a preface will permit) to explain some of thechief reasons which have determined me in the choice of my purpose: thatat least he may be spared any unpleasant feeling of disappointment, andthat I myself may be protected from one of the most dishonourableaccusations which can be brought against an Author; namely, that of anindolence which prevents him from endeavouring to ascertain what is hisduty, or, when his duty is ascertained, prevents him from performing it. 

The principal object, then, proposed in these Poems was to chooseincidents and situations from common life, and to relate or describethem, throughout, as far as was possible in a selection of languagereally used by men, and, at the same time, to throw over them a certaincolouring of imagination, whereby ordinary things should be presented tothe mind in an unusual aspect; and, further, and above all, to makethese incidents and situations interesting by tracing in them, trulythough not ostentatiously, the primary laws of our nature: chiefly, asfar as regards the manner in which we associate ideas in a state ofexcitement. Humble and rustic life was generally chosen, because, inthat condition, the essential passions of the heart find a better soilin which they can attain their maturity, are less under restraint, andspeak a plainer and more emphatic language; because in that condition oflife our elementary feelings co-exist in a state of greater simplicity, and, consequently, may be more accurately contemplated, and moreforcibly communicated; because the manners of rural life germinate fromthose elementary feelings, and, from the necessary character of ruraloccupations, are more easily comprehended, and are more durable; and, lastly, because in that condition the passions of men are incorporatedwith the beautiful and permanent forms of Nature. The language, too, ofthese men has been adopted (purified indeed from what appear to be itsreal defects, from all lasting and rational causes of dislike ordisgust) because such men hourly communicate with the best objects fromwhich the best part of language is originally derived; and because, fromtheir rank in society and the sameness and narrow circle of theirintercourse, being less under the influence of social vanity, theyconvey their feelings and notions in simple and unelaboratedexpressions. Accordingly, such a language, arising out of repeatedexperience and regular feelings, is a more permanent, and a far morephilosophical language, than that which is frequently substituted for itby Poets, who think that they are conferring honour upon themselves andtheir art, in proportion as they separate themselves from the sympathiesof men, and indulge in arbitrary and capricious habits of expression, in order to furnish food for fickle tastes, and fickle appetites, oftheir own creation. [8]

I cannot, however, be insensible to the present outcry against thetriviality and meanness, both of thought and language, which some of mycontemporaries have occasionally introduced into their metricalcompositions; and I acknowledge that this defect, where it exists, ismore dishonourable to the Writer's own character than false refinementor arbitrary innovation, though I should contend at the same time, thatit is far less pernicious in the sum of its consequences. From suchverses the Poems in these volumes will be found distinguished at leastby one mark of difference, that each of them has a worthy _purpose_. Notthat I always began to write with a distinct purpose formally conceived;but habits of meditation have, I trust, so prompted and regulated myfeelings, that my descriptions of such objects as strongly excite thosefeelings, will be found to carry along with them a _purpose_. If thisopinion be erroneous, I can have little right to name of a Poet. For allgood poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: and thoughthis be true, Poems to which any value can be attached were neverproduced on any variety of subjects but by a man who, being possessed ofmore than usual organic sensibility, had also thought long and deeply. For our continued influxes of feeling are modified and directed by ourthoughts, which are indeed the representatives of all our past feelings;and, as by contemplating the relation of these general representativesto each other, we discover what is really important to men, so, by therepetition and continuance of this act, our feelings will be connectedwith important subjects, till at length, if we be originally possessedof much sensibility, such habits of mind will be produced, that, byobeying blindly and mechanically the impulses of those habits, we shalldescribe objects, and utter sentiments, of such a nature, and in suchconnection with each other, that the understanding of the Reader mustnecessarily be in some degree enlightened, and his affectionsstrengthened and purified. 

[8] It is worth while here to observe, that the affecting parts ofChaucer are almost always expressed in language pure and universallyintelligible even to this day. 

It has been said that each of these poems has a purpose. Anothercircumstance must be mentioned which distinguishes these Poems from thepopular Poetry of the day; it is this, that the feeling thereindeveloped gives importance to the action and situation, and not theaction and situation to the feeling. 

A sense of false modesty shall not prevent me from asserting, that theReader's attention is pointed to this mark of distinction, far less forthe sake of these particular Poems than from the general importance ofthe subject. The subject is indeed important! For the human mind iscapable of being excited without the application of gross and violentstimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty anddignity who does not know this, and who does not further know, that onebeing is elevated above another, in proportion as he possesses thiscapability. It has therefore appeared to me, that to endeavour toproduce or enlarge this capability is one of the best services in which, at any period, a Writer can be engaged; but this service, excellent atall times, is especially so at the present day. For a multitude ofcauses, unknown to former times, are now acting with a combined force toblunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and, unfitting it for allvoluntary exertion, to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor. Themost effective of these causes are the great national events which aredaily taking place, and the increasing accumulation of men in cities, where the uniformity of their occupations produces a craving forextraordinary incident, which the rapid communication of intelligencehourly gratifies. To this tendency of life and manners the literatureand theatrical exhibitions of the country have conformed themselves. Theinvaluable works of our elder writers, I had almost said the works ofShakspeare and Milton, are driven into neglect by frantic novels, sicklyand stupid German Tragedies, and deluges of idle and extravagant storiesin verse. --When I think upon this degrading thirst after outrageousstimulation, I am almost ashamed to have spoken of the feeble endeavourmade in these volumes to counteract it; and, reflecting upon themagnitude of the general evil, I should be oppressed with nodishonourable melancholy, had I not a deep impression of certaininherent and indestructible qualities of the human mind, and likewise ofcertain powers in the great and permanent objects that act upon it, which are equally inherent and indestructible; and were there not addedto this impression a belief, that the time is approaching when the evilwill be systematically opposed, by men of greater powers, and with farmore distinguished success. 

Having dwelt thus long on the subjects and aim of these Poems, I shallrequest the Reader's permission to apprise him of a few circumstancesrelating to their _style_, in order, among other reasons, that he maynot censure me for not having performed what I never attempted. TheReader will find that personifications of abstract ideas rarely occur inthese volumes; and are utterly rejected, as an ordinary device toelevate the style, and raise it above prose. My purpose was to imitate, and, as far as is possible, to adopt the very language of men; andassuredly such personifications do not make any natural or regular partof that language. They are, indeed, a figure of speech occasionallyprompted by passion, and I have made use of them as such; but haveendeavoured utterly to reject them as a mechanical device of style, oras a family language which Writers in metre seem to lay claim to byprescription. I have wished to keep the Reader in the company of fleshand blood, persuaded that by so doing I shall interest him. Others whopursue a different track will interest him likewise; I do not interferewith their claim, but wish to prefer a claim of my own. There will alsobe found in these volumes little of what is usually called poeticdiction; as much pains has been taken to avoid it as is ordinarily takento produce it; this has been done for the reason already alleged, tobring my language near to the language of men; and further, because thepleasure which I have proposed to myself to impart, is of a kind verydifferent from that which is supposed by many persons to be the properobject of poetry. Without being culpably particular, I do not know howto give my Reader a more exact notion of the style in which it was mywish and intention to write, than by informing him that I have at alltimes endeavoured to look steadily at my subject; consequently, there isI hope in these Poems little falsehood of description, and my ideas areexpressed in language fitted to their respective importance. Somethingmust have been gained by this practice, as it is friendly to oneproperty of all good poetry, namely, good sense: but it has necessarilycut me off from a large portion of phrases and figures of speech whichfrom father to son have long been regarded as the common inheritance ofPoets. I have also thought it expedient to restrict myself stillfurther, having abstained from the use of many expressions, inthemselves proper and beautiful, but which have been foolishly repeatedby bad Poets, till such feelings of disgust are connected with them asit is scarcely possible by any art of association to overpower. 

If in a poem there should be found a series of lines, or even a singleline, in which the language, though naturally arranged, and according tothe strict laws of metre, does not differ from that of prose, there is anumerous class of critics, who, when they stumble upon these prosaisms, as they call them, imagine that they have made a notable discovery, andexult over the Poet as over a man ignorant of his own profession. Nowthese men would establish a canon of criticism which the Reader willconclude he must utterly reject, if he wishes to be pleased with thesevolumes. And it would be a most easy task to prove to him, that not onlythe language of a large portion of every good poem, even of the mostelevated character, must necessarily, except with reference to themetre, in no respect differ from that of good prose, but likewise thatsome of the most interesting parts of the best poems will be found to bestrictly the language of prose when prose is well written. The truth ofthis assertion might be demonstrated by innumerable passages from almostall the poetical writings, even of Milton himself. To illustrate thesubject in a general manner, I will here adduce a short composition ofGray, who was at the head of those who, by their reasonings, haveattempted to widen the space of separation betwixt Prose and Metricalcomposition, and was more than any other man curiously elaborate in thestructure of his own poetic diction. 

 In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire: The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire. These ears, alas! for other notes repine; _A different object do these eyes require; My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; And in my breast the imperfect joys expire_; Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; To warm their little loves the birds complain. _I fruitless mourn to Him that cannot hear, And weep the more because I weep in vain_. 

It will easily be perceived, that the only part of this Sonnet which isof any value is the lines printed in Italics; it is equally obvious, that, except in the rhyme, and in the use of the single word 'fruitless'for fruitlessly, which is so far a defect, the language of these linesdoes in no respect differ from that of prose. 

By the foregoing quotation it has been shown that the language of Prosemay yet be well adapted to Poetry; and it was previously asserted, thata large portion of the language of every good poem can in no respectdiffer from that of good Prose. We will go further. It may be safelyaffirmed, that there neither is, nor can be, any _essential_ differencebetween the language of prose and metrical composition. We are fond oftracing the resemblance between Poetry and Painting, and, accordingly, we call them Sisters: but where shall we find bonds of connectionsufficiently strict to typify the affinity betwixt metrical and prosecomposition? They both speak by and to the same organs; the bodies inwhich both of them are clothed may be said to be of the same substance, their affections are kindred, and almost identical, not necessarilydiffering even in degree; Poetry[9] sheds no tears 'such as Angelsweep, ' but natural and human tears; she can boast of no celestial ichorthat distinguishes her vital juices from those of prose; the same humanblood circulates through the veins of them both. 

[9] I here use the word 'Poetry' (though against my own judgment) asopposed to the word Prose, and synonymous with metrical composition. Butmuch confusion has been introduced into criticism by thiscontradistinction of Poetry and Prose, instead of the more philosophicalone of Poetry and Matter of Fact, or Science. The only strict antithesisto Prose is Metre; nor is this, in truth, a _strict_ antithesis, becauselines and passages of metre so naturally occur in writing prose, that itwould be scarcely possible to avoid them, even were it desirable. 

If it be affirmed that rhyme and metrical arrangement of themselvesconstitute a distinction which overturns what has just been said on thestrict affinity of metrical language with that of prose, and paves theway for other artificial distinctions which the mind voluntarily admits, I answer that the language of such Poetry as is here recommended is, asfar as is possible, a selection of the language really spoken by men;that this selection, wherever it is made with true taste and feeling, will of itself form a distinction far greater than would at first beimagined, and will entirely separate the composition from the vulgarityand meanness of ordinary life; and, if metre be superadded thereto, Ibelieve that a dissimilitude will he produced altogether sufficient forthe gratification of a rational mind. What other distinction would wehave? Whence is it to come? And where is it to exist? Not, surely, wherethe Poet speaks through the mouths of his characters: it cannot benecessary here, either for elevation of style, or any of its supposedornaments: for, if the Poet's subject be judiciously chosen, it willnaturally, and upon fit occasion, lead him to passions the language ofwhich, if selected truly and judiciously, must necessarily be dignifiedand variegated, and alive with metaphors and figures. I forbear to speakof an incongruity which would shock the intelligent Reader, should thePoet interweave any foreign splendour of his own with that which thepassion naturally suggests: it is sufficient to say that such additionis unnecessary. And, surely, it is more probable that those passages, which with propriety abound with metaphors and figures, will have theirdue effect, if, upon other occasions where the passions are of a mildercharacter, the style also be subdued and temperate. 

But, as the pleasure which I hope to give by the Poems now presented tothe Reader must depend entirely on just notions upon this subject, and, as it is in itself of high importance to our taste and moral feelings, Icannot content myself with these detached remarks. And if, in what I amabout to say, it shall appear to some that my labour is unnecessary, andthat I am like a man fighting a battle without enemies, such persons maybe reminded, that, whatever be the language outwardly holden by men, apractical faith in the opinions which I am wishing to establish isalmost unknown. If my conclusions are admitted, and carried as far asthey must be carried if admitted at all, our judgments concerning theworks of the greatest Poets both ancient and modern will be fardifferent from what they are at present, both when we praise, and whenwe censure: and our moral feelings influencing and influenced by thesejudgments will, I believe, be corrected and purified. 

Taking up the subject, then, upon general grounds, let me ask, what ismeant by the word Poet? What is a Poet? To whom does he address himself?And what language is to be expected from him?--He is a man speaking tomen: a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, moreenthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common amongmankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and whorejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him;delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifestedin the goings-on of the Universe, and habitually impelled to create themwhere he does not find them. To these qualities he has added adisposition to be affected more than other men by absent things as ifthey were present; an ability of conjuring up in himself passions, whichare indeed far from being the same as those produced by real events, yet(especially in those parts of the general sympathy which are pleasingand delightful) do more nearly resemble the passions produced by realevents, than anything which, from the motions of their own minds merely, other men are accustomed to feel in themselves:--whence, and frompractice, he has acquired a greater readiness and power in expressingwhat he thinks and feels, and especially those thoughts and feelingswhich, by his own choice, or from the structure of his own mind, arisein him without immediate external excitement. 

But whatever portion of this faculty we may suppose even the greatestPoet to possess, there cannot be a doubt that the language which it willsuggest to him, must often, in liveliness and truth, fall short of thatwhich is uttered by men in real life, under the actual pressure of thosepassions, certain shadows of which the Poet thus produces, or feels tobe produced, in himself. 

However exalted a notion we would wish to cherish of the character of aPoet, it is obvious, that while he describes and imitates passions, hisemployment is in some degree mechanical, compared with the freedom andpower of real and substantial action and suffering. So that it will bethe wish of the Poet to bring his feelings near to those of the personswhose feelings he describes, nay, for short spaces of time, perhaps, tolet himself slip into an entire delusion, and even confound and identifyhis own feelings with theirs; modifying only the language which is thussuggested to him by a consideration that he describes for a particularpurpose, that of giving pleasure. Here, then, he will apply theprinciple of selection which has been already insisted upon. He willdepend upon this for removing what would otherwise be painful ordisgusting in the passion; he will feel that there is no necessity totrick out or to elevate nature: and, the more industriously he appliesthis principle, the deeper will be his faith that no words, which _his_fancy or imagination can suggest, will be to be compared with thosewhich are the emanations of reality and truth. 

But it may be said by those who do not object to the general spirit ofthese remarks, that, as it is impossible for the Poet to produce uponall occasions language as exquisitely fitted for the passion as thatwhich the real passion itself suggests, it is proper that he shouldconsider himself as in the situation of a translator, who does notscruple to substitute excellencies of another kind for those which areunattainable by him; and endeavours occasionally to surpass hisoriginal, in order to make some amends for the general inferiority towhich he feels that he must submit. But this would be to encourageidleness and unmanly despair. Further, it is the language of men whospeak of what they do not understand; who talk of Poetry as of a matterof amusement and idle pleasure; who will converse with us as gravelyabout a _taste_ for Poetry, as they express it, as if it were a thing asindifferent as a taste for rope-dancing, or Frontiniac or Sherry. Aristotle, I have been told, has said, that Poetry is the mostphilosophic of all writing: it is so: its object is truth, notindividual and local, but general, and operative; not standing uponexternal testimony, but carried alive into the heart by passion; truthwhich is its own testimony, which gives competence and confidence to thetribunal to which it appeals, and receives them from the same tribunal. Poetry is the image of man and nature. The obstacles which stand in theway of the fidelity of the Biographer and Historian, and of theirconsequent utility, are incalculably greater than those which are to beencountered by the Poet who comprehends the dignity of his art. The Poetwrites under one restriction only, namely, the necessity of givingimmediate pleasure to a human Being possessed of that information whichmay be expected from him, not as a lawyer, a physician, a mariner, anastronomer, or a natural philosopher, but as a Man. Except this onerestriction, there is no object standing between the Poet and the imageof things; between this, and the Biographer and Historian, there are athousand. 

Nor let this necessity of producing immediate pleasure be considered asa degradation of the Poet's art. It is far otherwise. It is anacknowledgment of the beauty of the universe, an acknowledgment the moresincere, because not formal, but indirect; it is a task light and easyto him who looks at the world in the spirit of love: further, it is ahomage paid to the native and naked dignity of man, to the grandelementary principle of pleasure, by which he knows, and feels, andlives, and moves. We have no sympathy but what is propagated bypleasure: I would not be misunderstood; but wherever we sympathise withpain, it will be found that the sympathy is produced and carried on bysubtle combinations with pleasure. We have no knowledge, that is, nogeneral principles drawn from the contemplation of particular facts, butwhat has been built up by pleasure, and exists in us by pleasure alone. The Man of science, the Chemist and Mathematician, whatever difficultiesand disgusts they may have had to struggle with, know and feel this. However painful may be the objects with which the Anatomist's knowledgeis connected, he feels that his knowledge is pleasure; and where he hasno pleasure he has no knowledge. What then does the Poet? He considersman and the objects that surround him as acting and re-acting upon eachother, so as to produce an infinite complexity of pain and pleasure; heconsiders man in his own nature and in his ordinary life ascontemplating this with a certain quantity of immediate knowledge, withcertain convictions, intuitions, and deductions, which from habitacquire the quality of intuitions; he considers him as looking upon thiscomplex scene of ideas and sensations, and finding every where objectthat immediately excite in him sympathies which, from the necessities ofhis nature, are accompanied by an overbalance of enjoyment. 

To this knowledge which all men carry about with them, and to thesesympathies in which, without any other discipline than that of our dailylife, we are fitted to take delight, the Poet principally directs hisattention. He considers man and nature as essentially adapted to eachother, and the mind of man as naturally the mirror of the fairest andmost interesting properties of nature. And thus the Poet, prompted bythis feeling of pleasure, which accompanies him through the whole courseof his studies, converses with general nature, with affections akin tothose, which, through labour and length of time, the Man of science hasraised up in himself, by conversing with those particular parts ofnature which are the objects of his studies. The knowledge both of thePoet and the Man of science is pleasure; but the knowledge of the onecleaves to us as a necessary part of our existence, our natural andunalienable inheritance; the other is a personal and individualacquisition, slow to come to us, and by no habitual and direct sympathyconnecting us with our fellow-beings. The Man of science seeks truth asa remote and unknown benefactor; he cherishes and loves it in hissolitude: the Poet, singing a song in which all human beings join withhim, rejoices in the presence of truth as our visible friend and hourlycompanion. Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it isthe impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science. Emphatically may it be said of the Poet, as Shakspeare hath said of man, 'that he looks before and after. ' He is the rock of defence for humannature; an upholder and preserver, carrying every where with himrelationship and love. In spite of difference of soil and climate, oflanguage and manners, of laws and customs: in spite of things silentlygone out of mind, and things violently destroyed; the Poet bindstogether by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, asit is spread over the whole earth, and over all time. The objects of thePoet's thoughts are every where; though the eyes and senses of man are, it is true, his favourite guides, yet he will follow wheresoever he canfind an atmosphere of sensation in which to move his wings. Poetry isthe first and last of all knowledge--it is as immortal as the heart ofman. If the labours of Men of science should ever create any materialrevolution, direct or indirect, in our condition, and in the impressionswhich we habitually receive, the Poet will sleep then no more than atpresent; he will be ready to follow the steps of the Man of science, notonly in those general indirect effects, but he will be at his side, carrying sensation into the midst of the objects of the science itself. The remotest discoveries of the Chemist, the Botanist, or Mineralogist, will be as proper objects of the Poet's art as any upon which it can beemployed, if the time should ever come when these things shall befamiliar to us, and the relations under which they are contemplated bythe followers of these respective sciences shall be manifestly andpalpably material to us as enjoying and suffering beings. If the timeshould ever come when what is now called science, thus familiarised tomen, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the Poet will lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, andwill welcome the Being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate ofthe household of man. --It is not, then, to be supposed that any one, whoholds that sublime notion of Poetry which I have attempted to convey, will break in upon the sanctity and truth of his pictures by transitoryand accidental ornaments, and endeavour to excite admiration of himselfby arts, the necessity of which must manifestly depend upon the assumedmeanness of his subject. 

What has been thus far said applies to Poetry in general; but especiallyto those parts of composition where the Poet speaks through the mouthsof his characters; and upon this point it appears to authorise theconclusion that there are few persons of good sense, who would not allowthat the dramatic parts of composition are defective, in proportion asthey deviate from the real language of nature, and are coloured by adiction of the Poet's own, either peculiar to him as an individual Poetor belonging simply to Poets in general; to a body of men who, from thecircumstance of their composition being in metre, it is expected willemploy a particular language. 

It is not, then, in the dramatic parts of composition that we look forthis distinction of language; but still it may be proper and necessarywhere the Poet speaks to us in his own person and character. To this Ianswer by referring the Reader to the description before given of aPoet. Among the qualities there enumerated as principally conducing toform a Poet, is implied nothing differing in kind from other men, butonly in degree. The sum of what was said is, that the Poet is chieflydistinguished from other men by a greater promptness to think and feelwithout immediate external excitement, and a greater power in expressingsuch thoughts and feelings as are produced in him in that manner. Butthese passions and thoughts and feelings are the general passions andthoughts and feelings of men. And with what are they connected?Undoubtedly with our moral sentiments and animal sensations, and withthe causes which excite these; with the operations of the elements, andthe appearances of the visible universe; with storm and sunshine, withthe revolutions of the seasons, with cold and heat, with loss of friendsand kindred, with injuries and resentments, gratitude and hope, withfear and sorrow. These, and the like, are the sensations and objectswhich the Poet describes, as they are the sensations of other men, andthe objects which interest them. The Poet thinks and feels in the spiritof human passions. How, then, can his language differ in any materialdegree from that of all other men who feel vividly and see clearly? Itmight be _proved_ that it is impossible. But supposing that this werenot the case, the Poet might then be allowed to use a peculiar languagewhen expressing his feelings for his own gratification, or that of menlike himself. But Poets do not write for Poets alone, but for men. Unless therefore we are advocates for that admiration which subsistsupon ignorance, and that pleasure which arises from hearing what we donot understand, the Poet must descend from this supposed height; and, inorder to excite rational sympathy, he must express himself as other menexpress themselves. To this it may be added, that while he is onlyselecting from the real language of men, or, which amounts to the samething, composing accurately in the spirit of such selection, he istreading upon safe ground, and we know what we are to expect from him. Our feelings are the same with respect to metre; for, as it may beproper to remind the Reader, the distinction of metre is regular anduniform, and not, like that which is produced by what is usually calledPOETIC DICTION, arbitrary, and subject to infinite caprices, upon whichno calculation whatever can be made. In the one case, the Reader isutterly at the mercy of the Poet, respecting what imagery or diction hemay choose to connect with the passion; whereas, in the other, the metreobeys certain laws, to which the Poet and Reader both willingly submitbecause they are certain, and because no interference is made by themwith the passion but such as the concurring testimony of ages has shownto heighten and improve the pleasure which co-exists with it. 

It will now be proper to answer an obvious question, namely, Why, professing these opinions, have I written in verse? To this, in additionto such answer as is included in what has been already said, I reply, inthe first place, Because, however I may have restricted myself, there isstill left open to me what confessedly constitutes the most valuableobject of all writing, whether in prose or verse; the great anduniversal passions of men, the most general and interesting of theiroccupations, and the entire world of nature before me--to supply endlesscombinations of forms and imagery. Now, supposing for a moment thatwhatever is interesting in these objects may be as vividly described inprose, why should I be condemned for attempting to superadd to suchdescription, the charm which, by the consent of all nations, isacknowledged to exist in metrical language? To this, by such as are yetunconvinced, it may be answered that a very small part of the pleasuregiven by Poetry depends upon the metre, and that it is injudicious towrite in metre, unless it be accompanied with the other artificialdistinctions of style with which metre is usually accompanied, and that, by such deviation, more will be lost from the shock which will therebybe given to the Reader's associations than will be counterbalanced byany pleasure which he can derive from the general power of numbers. Inanswer to those who still contend for the necessity of accompanyingmetre with certain appropriate colours of style in order to theaccomplishment of its appropriate end, and who also, in my opinion, greatly under-rate the power of metre in itself, it might, perhaps, asfar as relates to these Volumes, have been almost sufficient to observe, that poems are extant, written upon more humble subjects, and in a stillmore naked and simple style, which have continued to give pleasure fromgeneration to generation. Now, if nakedness and simplicity be a defect, the fact here mentioned affords a strong presumption that poems somewhatless naked and simple are capable of affording pleasure at the presentday; and, what I wished _chiefly_ to attempt, at present, was to justifymyself for having written under the impression of this belief. 

But various causes might be pointed out why, when the style is manly, and the subject of some importance, words metrically arranged will longcontinue to impart such a pleasure to mankind as he who proves theextent of that pleasure will be desirous to impart. The end of Poetry isto produce excitement in co-existence with an overbalance of pleasure;but, by the supposition, excitement is an unusual and irregular state ofthe mind; ideas and feelings do not, in that state, succeed each otherin accustomed order. If the words, however, by which this excitement isproduced be in themselves powerful, or the images and feelings have anundue proportion of pain connected with them, there is some danger thatthe excitement may he carried beyond its proper bounds. Now theco-presence of something regular, something to which the mind has beenaccustomed in various moods and in a less excited state, cannot but havegreat efficacy in tempering and restraining the passion by anintertexture of ordinary feeling, and of feeling not strictly andnecessarily connected with the passion. This is unquestionably true; andhence, though the opinion will at first appear paradoxical, from thetendency of metre to divest language, in a certain degree, of itsreality, and thus to throw a sort of half-consciousness of unsubstantialexistence over the whole composition, there can be little doubt but thatmore pathetic situations and sentiments, that is, those which have agreater proportion of pain connected with them, may be endured inmetrical composition, especially in rhyme, than in prose. The metre ofthe old ballads is very artless; yet they contain many passages whichwould illustrate this opinion; and I hope, if the following Poems beattentively perused, similar instances will be found in them. Thisopinion may be further illustrated by appealing to the Reader's ownexperience of the reluctance with which he comes to the re-perusal ofthe distressful parts of _Clarissa Harlowe_, or the _Gamester_; whileShakspeare's writings, in the most pathetic scenes, never act upon us, as pathetic, beyond the bounds of pleasure--an effect which, in a muchgreater degree than might at first be imagined, is to be ascribed tosmall, but continual and regular impulses of pleasurable surprise fromthe metrical arrangement. --On the other hand (what it must be allowedwill much more frequently happen) if the Poet's words should beincommensurate with the passion, and inadequate to raise the Reader to aheight of desirable excitement, then, (unless the Poet's choice of hismetre has been grossly injudicious) in the feelings of pleasure whichthe Reader has been accustomed to connect with metre in general, and inthe feeling, whether cheerful or melancholy, which he has beenaccustomed to connect with that particular movement of metre, there willbe found something which will greatly contribute to impart passion tothe words, and to effect the complex end which the Poet proposes tohimself. 

If I had undertaken a SYSTEMATIC defence of the theory here maintained, it would have been my duty to develop the various causes upon which thepleasure received from metrical language depends. Among the chief ofthese causes is to be reckoned a principle which must be well known tothose who have made any of the Arts the object of accurate reflection;namely, the pleasure which the mind derives from the perception ofsimilitude in dissimilitude. This principle is the great spring of theactivity of our minds, and their chief feeder. From this principle thedirection of the sexual appetite, and all the passions connected withit, take their origin: it is the life of our ordinary conversation; andupon the accuracy with which similitude in dissimilitude, anddissimilitude in similitude are perceived, depend our taste and ourmoral feelings. It would not be a useless employment to apply thisprinciple to the consideration of metre, and to show that metre is henceenabled to afford much pleasure, and to point out in what manner thatpleasure is produced. But my limits will not permit me to enter uponthis subject, and I must content myself with a general summary. 

I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerfulfeelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity:the emotion is contemplated till, by a species of re-action, thetranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that whichwas before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and doesitself actually exist in the mind. In this mood successful compositiongenerally begins, and in a mood similar to this it is carried on; butthe emotion, of whatever kind, and in whatever degree, from variouscauses, is qualified by various pleasures, so that in describing anypassions whatsoever, which are voluntarily described, the mind will, upon the whole, be in a state of enjoyment. If Nature be thus cautiousto preserve in a state of enjoyment a being so employed, the Poet oughtto profit by the lesson held forth to him, and ought especially to takecare, that, whatever passions he communicates to his Reader, thosepassions, if his Reader's mind be sound and vigorous, should always beaccompanied with an overbalance of pleasure. Now the music of harmoniousmetrical language, the sense of difficulty overcome, and the blindassociation of pleasure which has been previously received from works ofrhyme or metre of the same or similar construction, an indistinctperception perpetually renewed of language closely resembling that ofreal life, and yet, in the circumstance of metre, differing from it sowidely--all these imperceptibly make up a complex feeling of delight, which is of the most important use in tempering the painful feelingalways found intermingled with powerful descriptions of the deeperpassions. This effect is always produced in pathetic and impassionedpoetry; while, in lighter compositions, the ease and gracefulness withwhich the Poet manages his numbers are themselves confessedly aprincipal source of the gratification of the Reader. All that it is_necessary_ to say, however, upon this subject, may be effected byaffirming, what few persons will deny, that, of two descriptions, eitherof passions, manners, or characters, each of them equally well executed, the one in prose and the other in verse, the verse will be read ahundred times where the prose is read once. 

Having thus explained a few of my reasons for writing in verse, and whyI have chosen subjects from common life, and endeavoured to bring mylanguage near to the real language of men, if I have been too minute inpleading my own cause, I have at the same time been treating a subjectof general interest; and for this reason a few words shall be added withreference solely to these particular poems, and to some defects whichwill probably be found in them. I am sensible that my associations musthave sometimes been particular instead of general, and that, consequently, giving to things a false importance, I may have sometimeswritten upon unworthy subjects; but I am less apprehensive on thisaccount, than that my language may frequently have suffered from thosearbitrary connections of feelings and ideas with particular words andphrases, from which no man can altogether protect himself. Hence I haveno doubt, that, in some instances, feelings, even of the ludicrous, maybe given to my Readers by expressions which appeared to me tender andpathetic. Such faulty expressions, were I convinced they were faulty atpresent, and that they must necessarily continue to be so, I wouldwillingly take all reasonable pains to correct. But it is dangerous tomake these alterations on the simple authority of a few individuals, oreven of certain classes of men; for where the understanding of an Authoris not convinced, or his feelings altered, this cannot be done withoutgreat injury to himself: for his own feelings are his stay and support;and, if he set them aside in one instance, he may be induced to repeatthis act till his mind shall lose all confidence in itself, and becomeutterly debilitated. To this it may be added, that the Critic oughtnever to forget that he is himself exposed to the same errors as thePoet, and, perhaps, in a much greater degree: for there can be nopresumption in saying of most readers, that it is not probable they willbe so well acquainted with the various stages of meaning through whichwords have passed, or with the fickleness or stability of the relationsof particular ideas to each other; and, above all, since they are somuch less interested in the subject, they may decide lightly andcarelessly. 

Long as the Reader has been detained, I hope he will permit me tocaution him against a mode of false criticism which has been applied toPoetry, in which the language closely resembles that of life and nature. Such verses have been triumphed over in parodies, of which Dr. Johnson'sstanza is a fair specimen:--

 I put my hat upon my head And walked into the Strand, And there I met another man Whose hat was in his hand. 

Immediately under these lines let us place one of the mostjustly-admired stanzas of the 'Babes in the Wood. '

 These pretty Babes with hand in hand Went wandering up and down; But never more they saw the Man Approaching from the Town. 

In both these stanzas the words, and the order of the words, in norespect differ from the most unimpassioned conversation. There are wordsin both, for example, 'the Strand, ' and 'the Town, ' connected with nonebut the most familiar ideas; yet the one stanza we admit as admirable, and the other as a fair example of the superlatively contemptible. Whence arises this difference? Not from the metre, not from thelanguage, not from the order of the words; but the _matter_ expressed inDr. Johnson's stanza is contemptible. The proper method of treatingtrivial and simple verses, to which Dr. Johnson's stanza would be a fairparallelism, is not to say, this is a bad kind of poetry, or, this isnot poetry; but, this wants sense; it is neither interesting in itself, nor can _lead_ to any thing interesting; the images neither originate inthat sane state of feeling which arises out of thought, nor can excitethought or feeling in the Reader. This is the only sensible manner ofdealing with such verses. Why trouble yourself about the species tillyou have previously decided upon the genus? Why take pains to prove thatan ape is not a Newton, when it is self-evident that he is not a man?

One request I must make of my reader, which is, that in judging thesePoems he would decide by his own feelings genuinely, and not byreflection upon what will probably be the judgment of others. How commonis it to hear a person say, I myself do not object to this style ofcomposition, or this or that expression, but, to such and such classesof people it will appear mean or ludicrous! This mode of criticism, sodestructive of all sound unadulterated judgment, is almost universal:let the Reader then abide, independently, by his own feelings, and, ifhe finds himself affected, let him not suffer such conjectures tointerfere with his pleasure. 

If an Author, by any single composition, has impressed us with respectfor his talents, it is useful to consider this as affording apresumption, that on other occasions where we have been displeased, he, nevertheless, may not have written ill or absurdly; and further, to givehim so much credit for this one composition as may induce us to reviewwhat has displeased us, with more care than we should otherwise havebestowed upon it. This is not only an act of justice, but, in ourdecisions upon poetry especially, may conduce, in a high degree, to theimprovement of our own taste: for an _accurate_ taste in poetry, and inall the other arts, as Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed, is an_acquired_ talent, which can only be produced by thought and along-continued intercourse with the best models of composition. This ismentioned, not with so ridiculous a purpose as to prevent the mostinexperienced Reader from judging for himself, (I have already said thatI wish him to judge for himself;) but merely to temper the rashness ofdecision, and to suggest, that, if Poetry be a subject on which muchtime has not been bestowed, the judgment may be erroneous; and that, inmany cases, it necessarily will be so. 

Nothing would, I know, have so effectually contributed to further theend which I have in view, as to have shown of what kind the pleasure is, and how that pleasure is produced, which is confessedly produced bymetrical composition essentially different from that which I have hereendeavoured to recommend: for the Reader will say that he has beenpleased by such composition; and what more can be done for him? Thepower of any art is limited; and he will suspect, that, if it beproposed to furnish him with new friends, that can be only uponcondition of his abandoning his old friends. Besides, as I have said, the Reader is himself conscious of the pleasure which he has receivedfrom such composition, composition to which he has peculiarly attachedthe endearing name of Poetry; and all men feel an habitual gratitude, and something of an honourable bigotry, for the objects which have longcontinued to please them: we not only wish to be pleased, but to bepleased in that particular way in which we have been accustomed to bepleased. There is in these feelings enough to resist a host ofarguments; and I should be the less able to combat them successfully, asI am willing to allow, that, in order entirely to enjoy the Poetry whichI am recommending, it would be necessary to give up much of what isordinarily enjoyed. But, would my limits have permitted me to point outhow this pleasure is produced, many obstacles might have been removed, and the Reader assisted in perceiving that the powers of language arenot so limited as he may suppose; and that it is possible for Poetry togive other enjoyments, of a purer, more lasting, and more exquisitenature. This part of the subject has not been altogether neglected, butit has not been so much my present aim to prove, that the interestexcited by some other kinds of poetry is less vivid, and less worthy ofthe nobler powers of the mind, as to offer reasons for presuming, thatif my purpose were fulfilled, a species of poetry would be produced, which is genuine poetry; in its nature well adapted to interest mankindpermanently, and likewise important in the multiplicity and quality ofits moral relations. 

From what has been said, and from a perusal of the Poems, the Readerwill be able clearly to perceive the object which I had in view: he willdetermine how far it has been attained; and, what is a much moreimportant question, whether it be worth attaining: and upon the decisionof these two questions will rest my claim to the approbation of thePublic. 

(b) OF POETIC DICTION. 

'What is usually called Poetic Diction' (Essay i. Page 84, line 22). 

Perhaps, as I have no right to expect that attentive perusal, withoutwhich, confined, as I have been, to the narrow limits of a Preface, mymeaning cannot be thoroughly understood, I am anxious to give an exactnotion of the sense in which the phrase poetic diction has been used;and for this purpose, a few words shall here be added, concerning theorigin and characteristics of the phraseology, which I have condemnedunder that name. 

The earliest poets of all nations generally wrote from passion excitedby real events; they wrote naturally, and as men: feeling powerfully asthey did, their language was daring, and figurative. In succeedingtimes, Poets, and Men ambitious of the fame of Poets, perceiving theinfluence of such language, and desirous of producing the same effectwithout being animated by the same passion, set themselves to amechanical adoption of these figures of speech, and made use of them, sometimes with propriety, but much more frequently applied them tofeelings and thoughts with which they had no natural connectionwhatsoever. A language was thus insensibly produced, differingmaterially from the real language of men in _any situation_. The Readeror Hearer of this distorted language found himself in a perturbed andunusual state of mind: when affected by the genuine language of passionhe had been in a perturbed and unusual state of mind also: in both caseshe was willing that his common judgment and understanding should be laidasleep, and he had no instinctive and infallible perception of the trueto make him reject the false; the one served as a passport for theother. The emotion was in both cases delightful, and no wonder if heconfounded the one with the other, and believed them both to be producedby the same, or similar causes. Besides, the Poet spake to him in thecharacter of a man to be looked up to, a man of genius and authority. Thus, and from a variety of other causes, this distorted language wasreceived with admiration; and Poets, it is probable, who had beforecontented themselves for the most part with misapplying onlyexpressions which at first had been dictated by real passion, carriedthe abuse still further, and introduced phrases composed apparently inthe spirit of the original figurative language of passion, yetaltogether of their own invention, and characterised by various degreesof wanton deviation from good sense and Nature. 

It is indeed true, that the language of the earliest Poets was felt todiffer materially from ordinary language, because it was the language ofextraordinary occasions; but it was really spoken by men, language whichthe Poet himself had uttered when he had been affected by the eventswhich he described, or which he had heard uttered by those around him. To this language it is probable that metre of some sort or other wasearly superadded. This separated the genuine language of Poetry stillfurther from common life, so that whoever read or heard the poems ofthese earliest Poets felt himself moved in a way in which he had notbeen accustomed to be moved in real life, and by causes manifestlydifferent from those which acted upon him in real life. This was thegreat temptation to all the corruptions which have followed: under theprotection of this feeling succeeding Poets constructed a phraseologywhich had one thing, it is true, in common with the genuine language ofpoetry, namely, that it was not heard in ordinary conversation; that itwas unusual. But the first Poets, as I have said, spake a languagewhich, though unusual, was still the language of men. This circumstance, however, was disregarded by their successors; they found that they couldplease by easier means: they became proud of modes of expression whichthey themselves had invented, and which were uttered only by themselves. In process of time metre became a symbol or promise of this unusuallanguage, and whoever took upon him to write in metre, according as hepossessed more or less of true poetic genius, introduced less or more ofthis adulterated phraseology into his compositions, and the true and thefalse were inseparably interwoven until, the taste of men becominggradually perverted, this language was received as a natural language:and at length by the influence of books upon men, did to a certaindegree really become so. Abuses of this kind were imported from onenation to another, and with the progress of refinement this dictionbecame daily more and more corrupt, thrusting out of sight the plainhumanities of Nature by a motley masquerade of tricks, quaintnesses, hieroglyphics, and enigmas. 

It would not be uninteresting to point out the causes of the pleasuregiven by this extravagant and absurd diction. It depends upon a greatvariety of causes, but upon none, perhaps, more than its influence inimpressing a notion of the peculiarity and exaltation of the Poet'scharacter, and in flattering the Reader's self-love by bringing himnearer to a sympathy with that character; an effect which isaccomplished by unsettling ordinary habits of thinking, and thusassisting the Reader to approach to that perturbed and dizzy state ofmind in which if he does not find himself, he imagines that he is_balked_ of a peculiar enjoyment which poetry can and ought to bestow. 

The sonnet quoted from Gray, in the Preface, except the lines printed inItalics, consists of little else but this diction, though not of theworst kind; and indeed, if one may be permitted to say so, it is far toocommon in the best writers both ancient and modern. Perhaps in no way, by positive example, could more easily be given a notion of what I meanby the phrase _poetic diction_ than by referring to a comparison betweenthe metrical paraphrase which we have of passages in the Old and NewTestament, and those passages as they exist in our common Translation. See Pope's 'Messiah' throughout; Prior's 'Did sweeter sounds adorn myflowing tongue, ' etc. , etc. , 'Though I speak with the tongues of men andof angels, ' etc. , etc. 1st Corinthians, chap. Xiii. By way of immediateexample, take the following of Dr. Johnson:

 Turn on the prudent Ant thy heedless eyes, Observe her labours, Sluggard, and be wise; No stern command, no monitory voice, Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice; Yet, timely provident, she hastes away To snatch the blessings of a plenteous day; When fruitful Summer loads the teeming plain, She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain. How long shall sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy powers? While artful shades thy downy couch enclose, And soft solicitation courts repose, Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, Year chases year with unremitted flight, Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow, Shall spring to seize thee, like an ambush'd foe. 

From this hubbub of words pass to the original. 'Go to the Ant, thouSluggard, consider her ways, and be wise: which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth herfood in the harvest. How long wilt thou sleep, O Sluggard? When wiltthou arise out of thy sleep? Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, alittle folding of the hands to sleep. So shall thy poverty come as onethat travelleth, and thy want as an armed man. ' Proverbs, chap. Vi. 

One more quotation, and I have done. It is from Cowper's Verses supposedto be written by Alexander Selkirk:--

 Religion! what treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold, Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared. 

 Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I must visit no more. My Friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. 

This passage is quoted as an instance of three different styles ofcomposition. The first four lines are poorly expressed; some Criticswould call the language prosaic; the fact is, it would be bad prose, sobad, that it is scarcely worse in metre. The epithet 'church-going'applied to a bell, and that by so chaste a writer as Cowper, is aninstance of the strange abuses which Poets have introduced into theirlanguage, till they and their Readers take them as matters of course, ifthey do not single them out expressly as objects of admiration. The twolines 'Ne'er sigh'd at the sound, ' &c. , are, in my opinion, an instanceof the language of passion wrested from its proper use, and, from themere circumstance of the composition being in metre, applied upon anoccasion that does not justify such violent expressions; and I shouldcondemn the passage, though perhaps few Readers will agree with me, asvicious poetic diction. The last stanza is throughout admirablyexpressed: it would be equally good whether in prose or verse, exceptthat the Reader has an exquisite pleasure in seeing such naturallanguage so naturally connected with metre. The beauty of this stanzatempts me to conclude with a principle which ought never to be lostsight of, and which has been my chief guide in all I have said, --namely, that in works _of imagination and sentiment_, for of these only have Ibeen treating, in proportion as ideas and feelings are valuable, whetherthe composition be in prose or in verse, they require and exact one andthe same language. Metre is but adventitious to composition, and thephraseology for which that passport is necessary, even where it may begraceful at all, will be little valued by the judicious. 

(c) POETRY AS A STUDY. 

With the young of both sexes, Poetry is, like love, a passion; but, formuch the greater part of those who have been proud of its power overtheir minds, a necessity soon arises of breaking the pleasing bondage;or it relaxes of itself;--the thoughts being occupied in domestic cares, or the time engrossed by business. Poetry then becomes only anoccasional recreation; while to those whose existence passes away in acourse of fashionable pleasure, it is a species of luxurious amusement. In middle and declining age, a scattered number of serious personsresort to poetry, as to religion, for a protection against the pressureof trivial employments, and as a consolation for the afflictions oflife. And, lastly, there are many, who, having been enamoured of thisart in their youth, have found leisure, after youth was spent, tocultivate general literature; in which poetry has continued to becomprehended _as a study_. 

Into the above classes the Readers of poetry may be divided; Criticsabound in them all; but from the last only can opinions be collected ofabsolute value, and worthy to be depended upon, as prophetic of thedestiny of a new work. The young, who in nothing can escape delusion, are especially subject to it in their intercourse with Poetry. Thecause, not so obvious as the fact is unquestionable, is the same as thatfrom which erroneous judgments in this art, in the minds of men of allages, chiefly proceed; but upon Youth it operates with peculiar force. The appropriate business of poetry, (which, nevertheless, if genuine, isas permanent as pure science, ) her appropriate employment, her privilegeand her _duty_, is to treat of things not as they _are_, but as they_appear_; not as they exist in themselves, but as they _seem_ to existto the _senses_, and to the _passions_. What a world of delusion doesthis acknowledged obligation prepare for the inexperienced! whattemptations to go astray are here held forth for them whose thoughtshave been little disciplined by the understanding, and whose feelingsrevolt from the sway of reason!--When a juvenile Reader is in the heightof his rapture with some vicious passage, should experience throw indoubts, or common-sense suggest suspicions, a lurking consciousnessthat the realities of the Muse are but shows, and that her liveliestexcitements are raised by transient shocks of conflicting feeling andsuccessive assemblages of contradictory thoughts--is ever at hand tojustify extravagance, and to sanction absurdity. But, it may be asked, as these illusions are unavoidable, and, no doubt, eminently useful tothe mind as a process, what good can be gained by making observations, the tendency of which is to diminish the confidence of youth in itsfeelings, and thus to abridge its innocent and even profitablepleasures? The reproach implied in the question could not be warded off, if Youth were incapable of being delighted with what is truly excellent;or, if these errors always terminated of themselves in due season. But, with the majority, though their force be abated, they continue throughlife. Moreover, the fire of youth is too vivacious an element to beextinguished or damped by a philosophical remark; and, while there is nodanger that what has been said will be injurious or painful to theardent and the confident, it may prove beneficial to those who, beingenthusiastic, are, at the same time, modest and ingenuous. Theintimation may unite with their own misgivings to regulate theirsensibility, and to bring in, sooner than it would otherwise havearrived, a more discreet and sound judgment. 

If it should excite wonder that men of ability, in later life, whoseunderstandings have been rendered acute by practice in affairs, shouldbe so easily and so far imposed upon when they happen to take up a newwork in verse, this appears to be the cause;--that, having discontinuedtheir attention to poetry, whatever progress may have been made in otherdepartments of knowledge, they have not, as to this art, advanced intrue discernment beyond the age of youth. If, then, a new poem fall intheir way, whose attractions are of that kind which would haveenraptured them during the heat of youth, the judgment not beingimproved to a degree that they shall be disgusted, they are dazzled; andprize and cherish the faults for having had power to make the presenttime vanish before them, and to throw the mind back, as by enchantment, into the happiest season of life. As they read, powers seem to berevived, passions are regenerated, and pleasures restored. The Book wasprobably taken up after an escape from the burden of business, and witha wish to forget the world, and all its vexations and anxieties. Havingobtained this wish, and so much more, it is natural that they shouldmake report as they have felt. 

If Men of mature age, through want of practice, be thus easily beguiledinto admiration of absurdities, extravagances, and misplaced ornaments, thinking it proper that their understandings should enjoy a holiday, while they are unbending their minds with verse, it may be expected thatsuch Readers will resemble their former selves also in strength ofprejudice, and an inaptitude to be moved by the unostentatious beautiesof a pure style. In the higher poetry, an enlightened Critic chieflylooks for a reflection of the wisdom of the heart and the grandeur ofthe imagination. Wherever these appear, simplicity accompanies them;Magnificence herself, when legitimate, depending upon a simplicity ofher own, to regulate her ornaments. But it is a well-known property ofhuman nature, that our estimates are ever governed by comparisons, ofwhich we are conscious with various degrees of distinctness. Is it not, then, inevitable (confining these observations to the effects of stylemerely) that an eye, accustomed to the glaring hues of diction by whichsuch Readers are caught and excited, will for the most part be ratherrepelled than attracted by an original Work, the colouring of which isdisposed according to a pure and refined scheme of harmony? It is in thefine arts as in the affairs of life, no man can _serve_ (i. E. Obey withzeal and fidelity) two Masters. 

As Poetry is most just to its own divine origin when it administers thecomforts and breathes the spirit of religion, they who have learned toperceive this truth, and who betake themselves to reading verse forsacred purposes, must be preserved from numerous illusions to which thetwo Classes of Readers, whom we have been considering, are liable. But, as the mind grows serious from the weight of life, the range of itspassions is contracted accordingly; and its sympathies become soexclusive, that many species of high excellence wholly escape, or butlanguidly excite its notice. Besides, men who read from religious ormoral inclinations, even when the subject is of that kind which theyapprove, are beset with misconceptions and mistakes peculiar tothemselves. Attaching so much importance to the truths which interestthem, they are prone to over-rate the Authors by whom those truths areexpressed and enforced. They come prepared to impart so much passion tothe Poet's language, that they remain unconscious how little, in fact, they receive from it. And, on the other hand, religious faith is to himwho holds it so momentous a thing, and error appears to be attended withsuch tremendous consequences, that, if opinions touching upon religionoccur which the Reader condemns, he not only cannot sympathise withthem, however animated the expression, but there is, for the most part, an end put to all satisfaction and enjoyment. Love, if it beforeexisted, is converted into dislike; and the heart of the Reader is setagainst the Author and his book. --To these excesses, they, who fromtheir professions ought to be the most guarded against them, are perhapsthe most liable; I mean those sects whose religion, being from thecalculating understanding, is cold and formal. For when Christianity, the religion of humility, is founded upon the proudest faculty of ournature, what can be expected but contradictions? Accordingly, believersof this cast are at one time contemptuous; at another, being troubled, as they are and must be, with inward misgivings, they are jealous andsuspicious;--and at all seasons, they are under temptation to supply, bythe heat with which they defend their tenets, the animation which iswanting to the constitution of the religion itself. 

Faith was given to man that his affections, detached from the treasuresof time, might be inclined to settle upon those of eternity:--theelevation of his nature, which this habit produces on earth, being tohim a presumptive evidence of a future state of existence; and givinghim a title to partake of its holiness. The religious man values what hesees chiefly as an 'imperfect shadowing forth' of what he is incapableof seeing. The concerns of religion refer to indefinite objects, and aretoo weighty for the mind to support them without relieving itself byresting a great part of the burthen upon words and symbols. The commercebetween Man and his Maker cannot be carried on but by a process wheremuch is represented in little, and the Infinite Being accommodateshimself to a finite capacity. In all this may be perceived the affinitybetween religion and poetry; between religion--making up thedeficiencies of reason by faith; and poetry--passionate for theinstruction of reason; between religion--whose element is infinitude, and whose ultimate trust is the supreme of things, submitting herselfto circumscription, and reconciled to substitutions; andpoetry--ethereal and transcendent, yet incapable to sustain herexistence without sensuous incarnation. In this community of nature maybe perceived also the lurking incitements of kindred error;--so that weshall find that no poetry has been more subject to distortion, than thatspecies, the argument and scope of which is religious; and no lovers ofthe art have gone farther astray than the pious and the devout. 

Whither then shall we turn for that union of qualifications which mustnecessarily exist before the decisions of a critic can be of absolutevalue? For a mind at once poetical and philosophical; for a critic whoseaffections are as free and kindly as the spirit of society, and whoseunderstanding is severe as that of dispassionate government? Where arewe to look for that initiatory composure of mind which no selfishnesscan disturb? For a natural sensibility that has been tutored intocorrectness without losing anything of its quickness; and for activefaculties, capable of answering the demands which an Author of originalimagination shall make upon them, associated with a judgment that cannotbe duped into admiration by aught that is unworthy of it?--among thoseand those only, who, never having suffered their youthful love of poetryto remit much of its force, have applied to the consideration of thelaws of this art the best power of their understandings. At the sametime it must be observed--that, as this Class comprehends the onlyjudgments which are trustworthy, so does it include the most erroneousand perverse. For to be mistaught is worse than to be untaught; and noperverseness equals that which is supported by system, no errors are sodifficult to root out as those which the understanding has pledged itscredit to uphold. In this Class are contained censors, who, if they bepleased with what is good, are pleased with it only by imperfectglimpses, and upon false principles; who, should they generaliserightly, to a certain point, are sure to suffer for it in the end; who, if they stumble upon a sound rule, are fettered by misapplying it, or bystraining it too far; being incapable of perceiving when it ought toyield to one of higher order. In it are found critics too petulant to bepassive to a genuine poet, and too feeble to grapple with him; men, whotake upon them to report of the course which _he_ holds whom they areutterly unable to accompany, --confounded if he turn quick upon the wing, dismayed if he soar steadily 'into the region;'--men of palsiedimaginations and indurated hearts; in whose minds all healthy action islanguid, who therefore feed as the many direct them, or, with the many, are greedy after vicious provocatives;--judges, whose censure isauspicious, and whose praise ominous! In this class meet together thetwo extremes of best and worst. 

The observations presented in the foregoing series are of too ungraciousa nature to have been made without reluctance; and, were it only on thisaccount, I would invite the reader to try them by the test ofcomprehensive experience. If the number of judges who can be confidentlyrelied upon be in reality so small, it ought to follow that partialnotice only, or neglect, perhaps long continued, or attention whollyinadequate to their merits--must have been the fate of most works in thehigher departments of poetry; and that, on the other hand, numerousproductions have blazed into popularity, and have passed away, leavingscarcely a trace behind them; it will be further found, that whenAuthors shall have at length raised themselves into general admirationand maintained their ground, errors and prejudices have prevailedconcerning their genius and their works, which the few who are consciousof those errors and prejudices would deplore; if they were notrecompensed by perceiving that there are select Spirits for whom it isordained that their fame shall be in the world an existence like that ofVirtue, which owes its being to the struggles it makes, and its vigourto the enemies whom it provokes;--a vivacious quality, ever doomed tomeet with opposition, and still triumphing over it; and, from the natureof its dominion, incapable of being brought to the sad conclusion ofAlexander, when he wept that there were no more worlds for him toconquer. 

Let us take a hasty retrospect of the poetical literature of thisCountry for the greater part of the last two centuries, and see if thefacts support these inferences. 

Who is there that now reads the 'Creation' of Dubartas? Yet all Europeonce resounded with his praise; he was caressed by kings; and, when hisPoem was translated into our language, the 'Faery Queen' faded beforeit. The name of Spenser, whose genius is of a higher order than eventhat of Ariosto, is at this day scarcely known beyond the limits of theBritish Isles. And if the value of his works is to be estimated from theattention now paid to them by his countrymen, compared with that whichthey bestow on those of some other writers, it must be pronounced smallindeed. 

 The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets _sage_--

are his own words; but his wisdom has, in this particular, been hisworst enemy: while its opposite, whether in the shape of folly ormadness, has been _their_ best friend. But he was a great power, andbears a high name: the laurel has been awarded to him. 

A dramatic Author, if he write for the stage, must adapt himself to thetaste of the audience, or they will not endure him; accordingly themighty genius of Shakspeare was listened to. The people were delighted:but I am not sufficiently versed in stage antiquities to determinewhether they did not flock as eagerly to the representation of manypieces of contemporary Authors, wholly undeserving to appear upon thesame boards. Had there been a formal contest for superiority amongdramatic writers, that Shakspeare, like his predecessors Sophocles andEuripides, would have often been subject to the mortification of seeingthe prize adjudged to sorry competitors, becomes too probable, when wereflect that the admirers of Settle and Shadwell were, in a later age, as numerous, and reckoned as respectable in point of talent, as those ofDryden. At all events, that Shakspeare stooped to accommodate himself tothe People, is sufficiently apparent; and one of the most strikingproofs of his almost omnipotent genius, is, that he could turn to suchglorious purpose those materials which the prepossessions of the agecompelled him to make use of. Yet even this marvellous skill appears notto have been enough to prevent his rivals from having some advantageover him in public estimation; else how can we account for passages andscenes that exist in his works, unless upon a supposition that some ofthe grossest of them, a fact which in my own mind I have no doubt of, were foisted in by the Players, for the gratification of the many?

But that his Works, whatever might be their reception upon the stage, made but little impression upon the ruling Intellects of the time, maybe inferred from the fact that Lord Bacon, in his multifariouswritings, nowhere either quotes or alludes to him. [10]--His dramaticexcellence enabled him to resume possession of the stage after theRestoration; but Dryden tells us that in his time two of the plays ofBeaumont and Fletcher were acted for one of Shakspeare's. And so faintand limited was the perception of the poetic beauties of his dramas inthe time of Pope, that, in his Edition of the Plays, with a view ofrendering to the general reader a necessary service, he printed betweeninverted commas those passages which he thought most worthy of notice. 

[10] The learned Hakewill (a third edition of whose book bears date1635), writing to refute the error 'touching Nature's perpetual anduniversal decay, ' cites triumphantly the names of Ariosto, Tasso, Bartas, and Spenser, as instances that poetic genius had notdegenerated; but he makes no mention of Shakspeare. 

At this day, the French Critics have abated nothing of their aversion tothis darling of our Nation: 'the English, with their bouffon deShakspeare, ' is as familiar an expression among them as in the time ofVoltaire. Baron Grimm is the only French writer who seems to haveperceived his infinite superiority to the first names of the Frenchtheatre; an advantage which the Parisian critic owed to his German bloodand German education. The most enlightened Italians, though wellacquainted with our language, are wholly incompetent to measure theproportions of Shakspeare. The Germans only, of foreign nations, areapproaching towards a knowledge and feeling of what he is. In somerespects they have acquired a superiority over the fellow-countrymen ofthe Poet: for among us it is a current, I might say, an establishedopinion, that Shakspeare is justly praised when he is pronounced to be'a wild irregular genius, in whom great faults are compensated by greatbeauties. ' How long may it be before this misconception passes away, andit becomes universally acknowledged that the judgment of Shakspeare inthe selection of his materials, and in the manner in which he has madethem, heterogeneous as they often are, constitute a unity of their own, and contribute all to one great end, is not less admirable than hisimagination, his invention, and his intuitive knowledge of human Nature!

There is extant a small Volume of miscellaneous poems, in whichShakspeare expresses his own feelings in his own person. It is notdifficult to conceive that the Editor, George Steevens, should havebeen insensible to the beauties of one portion of that Volume, theSonnets; though in no part of the writings of this Poet is found, in anequal compass, a greater number of exquisite feelings felicitouslyexpressed. But, from regard to the Critic's own credit, he would nothave ventured to talk of an[11] act of parliament not being strongenough to compel the perusal of those little pieces, if he had not knownthat the people of England were ignorant of the treasures contained inthem: and if he had not, moreover, shared the too common propensity ofhuman nature to exult over a supposed fall into the mire of a geniuswhom he had been compelled to regard with admiration, as an inmate ofthe celestial regions--'there sitting where he durst not soar. '

[11] This flippant insensibility was publicly reprehended by Mr. Coleridge in a course of Lectures upon Poetry given by him at the RoyalInstitution. For the various merits of thought and language inShakspeare's Sonnets, see Numbers 27, 29, 30, 32, 33, 54, 64, 66, 68, 73, 76, 86, 91, 92, 93, 97, 98, 105, 107, 108, 109, 111, 113, 114, 116, 117, 129, and many others. 

Nine years before the death of Shakspeare, Milton was born: and early inlife he published several small poems, which, though on their firstappearance they were praised by a few of the judicious, were afterwardsneglected to that degree, that Pope in his youth could borrow from themwithout risk of its being known. Whether these poems are at this dayjustly appreciated, I will not undertake to decide: nor would it imply asevere reflection upon the mass of readers to suppose the contrary;seeing that a man of the acknowledged genius of Voss, the German poet, could suffer their spirit to evaporate; and could change theircharacter, as is done in the translation made by him of the most popularof those pieces. At all events, it is certain that these Poems of Miltonare now much read, and loudly praised; yet were they little heard oftill more than 150 years after their publication; and of the Sonnets, Dr. Johnson, as appears from Boswell's Life of him, was in the habit ofthinking and speaking as contemptuously as Steevens wrote upon those ofShakspeare. 

About the time when the Pindaric odes of Cowley and his imitators, andthe productions of that class of curious thinkers whom Dr. Johnson hasstrangely styled metaphysical Poets, were beginning to lose something ofthat extravagant admiration which they had excited, the 'Paradise Lost'made its appearance. 'Fit audience find though few, ' was the petitionaddressed by the Poet to his inspiring Muse. I have said elsewhere thathe gained more than he asked; this I believe to be true; but Dr. Johnsonhas fallen into a gross mistake when he attempts to prove, by the saleof the work, that Milton's Countrymen were '_just_ to it' upon its firstappearance. Thirteen hundred Copies were sold in two years; an uncommonexample, he asserts, of the prevalence of genius in opposition to somuch recent enmity as Milton's public conduct had excited. But, be itremembered that, if Milton's political and religious opinions, and themanner in which he announced them had raised him many enemies, they hadprocured him numerous friends; who, as all personal danger was passedaway at the time of publication, would be eager to procure themaster-work of a man whom they revered, and whom they would be proud ofpraising. Take, from the number of purchasers, persons of this class, and also those who wished to possess the Poem as a religious work, andbut few I fear would be left who sought for it on account of itspoetical merits. The demand did not immediately increase; 'for, ' saysDr. Johnson, 'many more readers' (he means persons in the habit ofreading poetry) 'than were supplied at first the Nation did not afford. 'How careless must a writer be who can make this assertion in the face ofso many existing title-pages to belie it! Turning to my own shelves, Ifind the folio of Cowley, seventh edition, 1681. A book near it isFlatman's Poems, fourth edition, 1686; Waller, fifth edition, same date. The Poems of Norris of Bemerton not long after went, I believe, throughnine editions. What further demand there might be for these works I donot know; but I well remember, that, twenty-five years ago, thebooksellers' stalls in London swarmed with the folios of Cowley. This isnot mentioned in disparagement of that able writer and amiable man; butmerely to show--that, if Milton's work were not more read, it was notbecause readers did not exist at the time. The early editions of the'Paradise Lost' were printed in a shape which allowed them to be sold ata low price, yet only three thousand copies of the Work were sold ineleven years; and the Nation, says Dr. Johnson, had been satisfied from1623 to 1664, that is, forty-one years, with only two editions of theWorks of Shakspeare; which probably did not together make one thousandCopies; facts adduced by the critic to prove the 'paucity ofReaders. '--There were readers in multitudes; but their money went forother purposes, as their admiration was fixed elsewhere. We areauthorized, then, to affirm, that the reception of the 'Paradise Lost, 'and the slow progress of its fame, are proofs as striking as can bedesired that the positions which I am attempting to establish are noterroneous. [12]--How amusing to shape to one's self such a critique as aWit of Charles's days, or a Lord of the Miscellanies or tradingJournalist of King William's time, would have brought forth, if he hadset his faculties industriously to work upon this Poem, every whereimpregnated with _original_ excellence. 

So strange indeed are the obliquities of admiration, that they whoseopinions are much influenced by authority will often be tempted to thinkthat there are no fixed principles[13] in human nature for this art torest upon. I have been honoured by being permitted to peruse in MS. Atract composed between the period of the Revolution and the close ofthat century. It is the Work of an English Peer of high accomplishments, its object to form the character and direct the studies of his son. Perhaps nowhere does a more beautiful treatise of the kind exist. Thegood sense and wisdom of the thoughts, the delicacy of the feelings, andthe charm of the style, are, throughout, equally conspicuous. Yet theAuthor, selecting among the Poets of his own country those whom he deemsmost worthy of his son's perusal, particularises only Lord Rochester, Sir John Denham, and Cowley. Writing about the same time, Shaftesbury, an author at present unjustly depreciated, describes the English Musesas only yet lisping in their cradles. 

The arts by which Pope, soon afterwards, contrived to procure to himselfa more general and a higher reputation than perhaps any English Poetever attained during his life-time, are known to the judicious. And aswell known is it to them, that the undue exertion of those arts is thecause why Pope has for some time held a rank in literature, to which, ifhe had not been seduced by an over-love of immediate popularity, and hadconfided more in his native genius, he never could have descended. 

[12] Hughes is express upon this subject: in his dedication of Spenser'sWorks to Lord Somers, he writes thus. 'It was your Lordship'sencouraging a beautiful Edition of "Paradise Lost" that first broughtthat incomparable Poem to be generally known and esteemed. '

[13] This opinion seems actually to have been entertained by Adam Smith, the worst critic, David Hume not excepted, that Scotland, a soil towhich this sort of weed seems natural, has produced. 

He bewitched the nation by his melody, and dazzled it by his polishedstyle, and was himself blinded by his own success. Having wandered fromhumanity in his Eclogues with boyish inexperience, the praise, whichthese compositions obtained, tempted him into a belief that Nature wasnot to be trusted, at least in pastoral Poetry. To prove this byexample, he put his friend Gay upon writing those Eclogues which theirauthor intended to be burlesque. The instigator of the work, and hisadmirers, could perceive in them nothing but what was ridiculous. Nevertheless, though these Poems contain some detestable passages, theeffect, as Dr. Johnson well observes, 'of reality and truth becameconspicuous even when the intention was to show them grovelling anddegraded. ' The Pastorals, ludicrous to such as prided themselves upontheir refinement, in spite of those disgusting passages, 'becamepopular, and were read with delight, as just representations of ruralmanners and occupations. '

Something less than sixty years after the publication of the 'ParadiseLost' appeared Thomson's 'Winter;' which was speedily followed by hisother 'Seasons. ' It is a work of inspiration: much of it is written fromhimself, and nobly from himself. How was it received? 'It was no soonerread, ' says one of his contemporary biographers, 'than universallyadmired: those only excepted who had not been used to feel, or to lookfor any thing in poetry, beyond a _point_ of satirical or epigrammaticwit, a smart _antithesis_ richly trimmed with rhyme, or the softness ofan _elegiac_ complaint. To such his manly classical spirit could notreadily commend itself; till, after a more attentive perusal, they hadgot the better of their prejudices, and either acquired or affected atruer taste. A few others stood aloof, merely because they had longbefore fixed the articles of their poetical creed, and resignedthemselves to an absolute despair of ever seeing any thing new andoriginal. These were somewhat mortified to find their notions disturbedby the appearance of a poet, who seemed to owe nothing but to Nature andhis own genius. But, in a short time, the applause became unanimous;every one wondering how so many pictures, and pictures so familiar, should have moved them but faintly to what they felt in hisdescriptions. His digressions too, the overflowings of a tenderbenevolent heart, charmed the reader no less; leaving him in doubt, whether he should more admire the Poet or love the Man. '

This case appears to bear strongly against us:--but we must distinguishbetween wonder and legitimate admiration. The subject of the work is thechanges produced in the appearances of Nature by the revolution of theyear: and, by undertaking to write in verse, Thomson pledged himself totreat his subject as became a Poet. Now it is remarkable that, exceptingthe nocturnal 'Reverie' of Lady Winchilsea, and a passage or two in the'Windsor Forest' of Pope, the poetry of the period intervening betweenthe publication of the 'Paradise Lost' and the 'Seasons' does notcontain a single new image of external Nature; and scarcely presents afamiliar one from which it can be inferred that the eye of the Poet hadbeen steadily fixed upon his object, much less that his feelings hadurged him to work upon it in the spirit of genuine imagination. To whata low state knowledge of the most obvious and important phenomena hadsunk, is evident from the style in which Dryden has executed adescription of Night in one of his Tragedies, and Pope his translationof the celebrated moonlight scene in the 'Iliad. ' A blind man, in thehabit of attending accurately to descriptions casually dropped from thelips of those around him, might easily depict these appearances withmore truth. Dryden's lines are vague, bombastic, and senseless;[14]those of Pope, though he had Homer to guide him, are throughout falseand contradictory. The verses of Dryden, once highly celebrated, areforgotten; those of Pope still retain their hold upon publicestimation, --nay, there is not a passage of descriptive poetry, which atthis day finds so many and such ardent admirers. Strange to think of anenthusiast, as may have been the case with thousands, reciting thoseverses under the cope of a moonlight sky, without having his raptures inthe least disturbed by a suspicion of their absurdity!--If these twodistinguished writers could habitually think that the visible universewas of so little consequence to a poet, that it was scarcely necessaryfor him to cast his eyes upon it, we may be assured that those passagesof the older poets which faithfully and poetically describe thephenomena of Nature, were not at that time holden in much estimation, and that there was little accurate attention paid to those appearances. 

[14] CORTES _alone in a night-gown_. 

All things are hush'd as Nature's self lay dead; The mountains seem tonod their drowsy head. The little Birds in dreams their songs repeat, And sleeping Flowers beneath the Night-dew sweat: Even Lust and Envysleep; yet Love denies Rest to my soul, and slumber to my eyes. 

DRYDEN's _Indian Emperor_. 

Wonder is the natural product of Ignorance; and as the soil was _in suchgood condition_ at the time of the publication of the 'Seasons, ' thecrop was doubtless abundant. Neither individuals nor nations becomecorrupt all at once, nor are they enlightened in a moment. Thomson wasan inspired poet, but he could not work miracles; in cases where the artof seeing had in some degree been learned, the teacher would further theproficiency of his pupils, but he could do little _more_; though so fardoes vanity assist men in acts of self-deception, that many would oftenfancy they recognised a likeness when they knew nothing of the original. Having shown that much of what his biographer deemed genuine admirationmust in fact have been blind wonderment--how is the rest to be accountedfor?--Thomson was fortunate in the very title of his poem, which seemedto bring it home to the prepared sympathies of every one: in the nextplace, notwithstanding his high powers, he writes a vicious style; andhis false ornaments are exactly of that kind which would be most likelyto strike the undiscerning. He likewise abounds with sentimentalcommon-places, that, from the manner in which they were brought forward, bore an imposing air of novelty. In any well-used copy of the 'Seasons'the book generally opens of itself with the rhapsody on love, or withone of the stories (perhaps 'Damon and Musidora'); these also areprominent in our collections of Extracts, and are the parts of his Work, which, after all, were probably most efficient in first recommending theauthor to general notice. Pope, repaying praises which he had received, and wishing to extol him to the highest, only styles him 'an elegant andphilosophical poet;' nor are we able to collect any unquestionableproofs that the true characteristics of Thomson's genius as animaginative poet[15] were perceived, till the elder Warton, almost fortyyears after the publication of the 'Seasons, ' pointed them out by anote in his Essay on the Life and Writings of Pope. In the 'Castle ofIndolence' (of which Gray speaks so coldly) these characteristics werealmost as conspicuously displayed, and in verse more harmonious, anddiction more pure. Yet that fine poem was neglected on its appearance, and is at this day the delight only of a few!

[15] Since these observations upon Thomson were written, I have perusedthe second edition of his 'Seasons, ' and find that even _that_ does notcontain the most striking passages which Warton points out foradmiration; these, with other improvements, throughout the whole work, must have been added at a later period. 

When Thomson died, Collins breathed forth his regrets in an ElegiacPoem, in which he pronounces a poetical curse upon _him_ who shouldregard with insensibility the place where the Poet's remains weredeposited. The Poems of the mourner himself have now passed throughinnumerable editions, and are universally known; but if, when Collinsdied, the same kind of imprecation had been pronounced by a survivingadmirer, small is the number whom it would not have comprehended. Thenotice which his poems attained during his life-time was so small, andof course the sale so insignificant, that not long before his death hedeemed it right to repay to the bookseller the sum which he had advancedfor them, and threw the edition into the fire. 

Next in importance to the 'Seasons' of Thomson, though at considerabledistance from that work in order of time, come the _Reliques of AncientEnglish Poetry_; collected, new-modelled, and in many instances (if sucha contradiction in terms may be used) composed by the Editor, Dr. Percy. This work did not steal silently into the world, as is evident from thenumber of legendary tales, that appeared not long after its publication;and had been modelled, as the authors persuaded themselves, after theold Ballad. The Compilation was however ill suited to the then existingtaste of city society; and Dr. Johnson, 'mid the little senate to whichhe gave laws, was not sparing in his exertions to make it an object ofcontempt. The critic triumphed, the legendary imitators were deservedlydisregarded, and, as undeservedly, their ill-imitated models sank, inthis country, into temporary neglect; while Bürger, and other ablewriters of Germany, were translating, or imitating these _Reliques_, andcomposing, with the aid of inspiration thence derived, poems which arethe delight of the German nation. Dr. Percy was so abashed by theridicule flung upon his labours from the ignorance and insensibility ofthe persons with whom he lived, that, though while he was writing undera mask he had not wanted resolution to follow his genius into theregions of true simplicity and genuine pathos (as is evinced by theexquisite ballad of 'Sir Cauline' and by many other pieces), yet when heappeared in his own person and character as a poetical writer, headopted, as in the tale of the 'Hermit of Warkworth, ' a diction scarcelyin any one of its features distinguishable from the vague, the glossy, and unfeeling language of his day. I mention this remarkable fact[16]with regret, esteeming the genius of Dr. Percy in this kind of writingsuperior to that of any other man by whom in modern times it has beencultivated. That even Bürger (to whom Klopstock gave, in my hearing, acommendation which he denied to Goethe and Schiller, pronouncing him tobe a genuine poet, and one of the few among the Germans whose workswould last) had not the fine sensibility of Percy, might be shown frommany passages, in which he has deserted his original only to go astray. For example, Now daye was gone, and night was come, And all were fast asleepe, All save the Lady Emeline, Who sate in her bowre to weepe:

 And soone she heard her true Love's voice Low whispering at the walle, Awake, awake, my clear Ladye, 'Tis I thy true-love call. 

Which is thus tricked out and dilated:

 Als nun die Nacht Gebirg' und Thal Vermummt in Rabenschatten, Und Hochburgs Lampen überall Schon ausgeflimmert hatten, Und alles tief entschlafen war; Doch nur das Fräulein immerdar, Voll Fieberangst, noch wachte, Und seinen Ritter dachte: Da horch! Ein süsser Liebeston Kam leis' empor geflogen. 'Ho, Trüdchen, ho! Da bin ich schon! Frisch auf! Dich angezogen!'

[16] Shenstone, in his 'Schoolmistress, ' gives a still more remarkableinstance of this timidity. On its first appearance, (See D'Israeli's 2dSeries of the _Curiosities of Literature_) the Poem was accompanied withan absurd prose commentary, showing, as indeed some incongruousexpressions in the text imply that the whole was intended for burlesque. In subsequent editions, the commentary was dropped, and the People havesince continued to read in seriousness, doing for the Author what he hadnot courage openly to venture upon for himself. 

But from humble ballads we must ascend to heroics. 

All hail, Macpherson! hail to thee, Sire of Ossian! The Phantom wasbegotten by the smug embrace of an impudent Highlander upon a cloud oftradition--it travelled southward, where it was greeted withacclamation, and the thin Consistence took its course through Europe, upon the breath of popular applause. The Editor of the _Reliques_ hadindirectly preferred a claim to the praise of invention, by notconcealing that his supplementary labours were considerable! how selfishhis conduct, contrasted with that of the disinterested Gael, who, likeLear, gives his kingdom away, and is content to become a pensioner uponhis own issue for a beggarly pittance!--Open this far-famed Book!--Ihave done so at random, and the beginning of the 'Epic Poem Temora, ' ineight Books, presents itself. 'The blue waves of Ullin roll in light. The green hills are covered with day. Trees shake their dusky heads inthe breeze. Grey torrents pour their noisy streams. Two green hills withaged oaks surround a narrow plain. The blue course of a stream is there. On its banks stood Cairbar of Atha. His spear supports the king; the redeyes of his fear are sad. Cormac rises on his soul with all his ghastlywounds. ' Precious memorandums from the pocket-book of the blind Ossian!

If it be unbecoming, as I acknowledge that for the most part it is, tospeak disrespectfully of Works that have enjoyed for a length of time awidely-spread reputation, without at the same time producingirrefragable proofs of their unworthiness, let me be forgiven upon thisoccasion. --Having had the good fortune to be born and reared in amountainous country, from my very childhood I have felt the falsehoodthat pervades the volumes imposed upon the world under the name ofOssian. From what I saw with my own eyes, I knew that the imagery wasspurious. In Nature everything is distinct, yet nothing defined intoabsolute independent singleness. In Macpherson's work, it is exactly thereverse; every thing (that is not stolen) is in this manner defined, insulated, dislocated, deadened, --yet nothing distinct. It will alwaysbe so when words are substituted for things. To say that the charactersnever could exist, that the manners are impossible, and that a dream hasmore substance than the whole state of society, as there depicted, isdoing nothing more than pronouncing a censure which Macpherson defied;when, with the steeps of Morven before his eyes, he could talk sofamiliarly of his Car-borne heroes;--of Morven, which, if one may judgefrom its appearance at the distance of a few miles, contains scarcely anacre of ground sufficiently accommodating for a sledge to be trailedalong its surface. --Mr. Malcolm Laing has ably shown that the diction ofthis pretended translation is a motley assemblage from all quarters; buthe is so fond of making out parallel passages as to call poor Macphersonto account for his '_ands_' and his '_buts_!' and he has weakened hisargument by conducting it as if he thought that every strikingresemblance was a _conscious_ plagiarism. It is enough that thecoincidences are too remarkable for its being probable or possible thatthey could arise in different minds without communication between them. Now as the Translators of the Bible, and Shakspeare, Milton, and Pope, could not be indebted to Macpherson, it follows that he must have owedhis fine feathers to them; unless we are prepared gravely to assert, with Madame de Staël, that many of the characteristic beauties of ourmost celebrated English Poets are derived from the ancient Fingallian;in which case the modern translator would have been but giving back toOssian his own. --It is consistent that Lucien Buonaparte, who couldcensure Milton for having surrounded Satan in the infernal regions withcourtly and regal splendour, should pronounce the modern Ossian to bethe glory of Scotland;--a country that has produced a Dunbar, aBuchanan, a Thomson, and a Burns! These opinions are of ill-omen for theEpic ambition of him who has given them to the world. 

Yet, much as those pretended treasures of antiquity have been admired, they have been wholly uninfluential upon the literature of the Country. No succeeding writer appears to have caught from them a ray ofinspiration; no author, in the least distinguished, has venturedformally to imitate them--except the boy, Chatterton, on their firstappearance. He had perceived, from the successful trials which hehimself had made in literary forgery, how few critics were able todistinguish between a real ancient medal and a counterfeit of modernmanufacture; and he set himself to the work of filling a magazine with_Saxon Poems_, --counterparts of those of Ossian, as like his as one ofhis misty stars is to another. This incapability to amalgamate with theliterature of the Island, is, in my estimation, a decisive proof thatthe book is essentially unnatural; nor should I require any other todemonstrate it to be a forgery, audacious as worthless. Contrast, inthis respect, the effect of Macpherson's publication with the _Reliques_of Percy, so unassuming, so modest in their pretensions!--I have alreadystated how much Germany is indebted to this latter work; and for our owncountry, its poetry has been absolutely redeemed by it. I do not thinkthat there is an able writer in verse of the present day who would notbe proud to acknowledge his obligations to the _Reliques_; I know thatit is so with my friends; and, for myself, I am happy in this occasionto make a public avowal of my own. 

Dr. Johnson, more fortunate in his contempt of the labours of Macphersonthan those of his modest friend, was solicited not long after to furnishPrefaces biographical and critical for the works of some of the mosteminent English Poets. The booksellers took upon themselves to make thecollection; they referred probably to the most popular miscellanies, and, unquestionably, to their books of accounts; and decided upon theclaim of authors to be admitted into a body of the most eminent, fromthe familiarity of their names with the readers of that day, and by theprofits, which, from the sale of his works, each had brought and wasbringing to the Trade. The Editor was allowed a limited exercise ofdiscretion, and the Authors whom he recommended are scarcely to bementioned without a smile. We open the volume of Prefatory Lives, and toour astonishment the _first_ name we find is that of Cowley!--What isbecome of the morning-star of English Poetry? Where is the brightElizabethan constellation? Or, if names be more acceptable than images, where is the ever-to-be-honoured Chaucer? Where is Spenser? whereSidney? and, lastly, where he, whose rights as a poet, contradistinguished from those which he is universally allowed topossess as a dramatist, we have vindicated, --where Shakspeare?--These, and a multitude of others not unworthy to be placed near them, theircontemporaries and successors, we have _not_. But in their stead, wehave (could better be expected when precedence was to be settled by anabstract of reputation at any given period made, as in this case beforeus?) Roscommon, and Stepney, and Phillips, and Walsh, and Smith, andDuke, and King, and Spratt--Halifax, Granville, Sheffield, Congreve, Broome, and other reputed Magnates--metrical writers utterly worthlessand useless, except for occasions like the present, when theirproductions are referred to as evidence what a small quantity of brainis necessary to procure a considerable stock of admiration, provided theaspirant will accommodate himself to the likings and fashions of hisday. 

As I do not mean to bring down this retrospect to our own times, it maywith propriety be closed at the era of this distinguished event. Fromthe literature of other ages and countries, proofs equally cogent mighthave been adduced, that the opinions announced in the former part ofthis Essay are founded upon truth. It was not an agreeable office, nor aprudent undertaking, to declare them; but their importance seemed torender it a duty. It may still be asked, where lies the particularrelation of what has been said to these Volumes?--The question will beeasily answered by the discerning Reader who is old enough to rememberthe taste that prevailed when some of these poems were first published, seventeen years ago; who has also observed to what degree the poetry ofthis Island has since that period been coloured by them; and who isfurther aware of the unremitting hostility with which, upon someprinciple or other, they have each and all been opposed. A sketch of myown notion of the constitution of Fame has been given; and, as far asconcerns myself, I have cause to be satisfied. The love, the admiration, the indifference, the slight, the aversion, and even the contempt, withwhich these Poems have been received, knowing, as I do, the sourcewithin my own mind, from which they have proceeded, and the labour andpains, which, when labour and pains appeared needful, have been bestowedupon them, must all, if I think consistently, be received as pledges andtokens, bearing the same general impression, though widely different invalue;--they are all proofs that for the present time I have notlaboured in vain; and afford assurances, more or less authentic, thatthe products of my industry will endure. 

If there be one conclusion more forcibly pressed upon us than another bythe review which has been given of the fortunes and fate of poeticalWorks, it is this, --that every author, as far as he is great and at thesame time _original_, has had the task of _creating_ the taste by whichhe is to be enjoyed; so has it been, so will it continue to be. Thisremark was long since made to me by the philosophical Friend for theseparation of whose poems from my own I have previously expressed myregret. The predecessors of an original Genius of a high order will havesmoothed the way for all that he has in common with them;--and much hewill have in common; but, for what is peculiarly his own, he will becalled upon to clear and often to shape his own road:--he will be in thecondition of Hannibal among the Alps. 

And where lies the real difficulty of creating that taste by which atruly original poet is to be relished? Is it in breaking the bonds ofcustom, in overcoming the prejudices of false refinement, and displacingthe aversions of inexperience? Or, if he labour for an object which hereand elsewhere I have proposed to myself, does it consist in divestingthe reader of the pride that induces him to dwell upon those pointswherein men differ from each other, to the exclusion of those in whichall men are alike, or the same; and in making him ashamed of the vanitythat renders him insensible of the appropriate excellence which civilarrangements, less unjust than might appear, and Nature illimitable inher bounty, have conferred on men who may stand below him in the scaleof society? Finally, does it lie in establishing that dominion over thespirits of readers by which they are to be humbled and humanised, inorder that they may be purified and exalted?

If these ends are to be attained by the mere communication of_knowledge_, it does _not_ lie here. --TASTE, I would remind the reader, like IMAGINATION, is a word which has been forced to extend its servicesfar beyond the point to which philosophy would have confined them. It isa metaphor, taken from a _passive_ sense of the human body, andtransferred to things which are in their essence _not_ passive, --tointellectual _acts_ and _operations_. The word, Imagination, has beenoverstrained, from impulses honourable to mankind, to meet the demandsof the faculty which is perhaps the noblest of our nature. In theinstance of Taste, the process has been reversed; and from theprevalence of dispositions at once injurious and discreditable, being noother than that selfishness which is the child of apathy, --which, asNations decline in productive and creative power, makes them valuethemselves upon a presumed refinement of judging. Poverty of language isthe primary cause of the use which we make of the word, Imagination;but the word, Taste, has been stretched to the sense which it bears inmodern Europe by habits of self-conceit, inducing that inversion in theorder of things whereby a passive faculty is made paramount among thefaculties conversant with the fine arts. Proportion and congruity, therequisite knowledge being supposed, are subjects upon which taste may betrusted; it is competent to this office;--for in its intercourse withthese the mind is _passive_, and is affected painfully or pleasurably asby an instinct. But the profound and the exquisite in feeling, the loftyand universal in thought and imagination; or, in ordinary language, thepathetic and the sublime;--are neither of them, accurately speaking, objects of a faculty which could ever without a sinking in the spirit ofNations have been designated by the metaphor--_Taste_. And why? Becausewithout the exertion of a co-operating _power_ in the mind of theReader, there can be no adequate sympathy with either of these emotions:without this auxiliary impulse, elevated or profound passion cannotexist. 

Passion, it must be observed, is derived from a word which signifies_suffering_; but the connection which suffering has with effort, withexertion, and _action_, is immediate and inseparable. How strikingly isthis property of human nature exhibited by the fact, that, in popularlanguage, to be in a passion, is to be angry!--But, Anger in hasty _words_ or _blows_ Itself discharges on its foes. 

To be moved, then, by a passion, is to be excited, often to external, and always to internal, effort: whether for the continuance andstrengthening of the passion, or for its suppression, accordingly as thecourse which it takes may be painful or pleasurable. If the latter, thesoul must contribute to its support, or it never becomes vivid, --andsoon languishes, and dies. And this brings us to the point. If everygreat poet with whose writings men are familiar, in the highest exerciseof his genius, before he can be thoroughly enjoyed, has to call forthand to communicate _power_, this service, in a still greater degree, falls upon an original writer, at his first appearance in the world. --Ofgenius the only proof is, the act of doing well what is worthy to bedone, and what was never done before: Of genius, in the fine arts, theonly infallible sign is the widening the sphere of human sensibility, for the delight, honour, and benefit of human nature. Genius is theintroduction of a new element into the intellectual universe: or, ifthat be not allowed, it is the application of powers to objects on whichthey had not before been exercised, or the employment of them in such amanner as to produce effects hitherto unknown. What is all this but anadvance, or a conquest, made by the soul of the poet? Is it to besupposed that the reader can make progress of this kind, like an Indianprince or general--stretched on his palanquin, and borne by his slaves?No; he is invigorated and inspirited by his leader, in order that he mayexert himself; for he cannot proceed in quiescence, he cannot be carriedlike a dead weight. Therefore to create taste is to call forth andbestow power, of which knowledge is the effect; and _there_ lies thetrue difficulty. 

As the pathetic participates of an _animal_ sensation, it mightseem--that, if the springs of this emotion were genuine, all men, possessed of competent knowledge of the facts and circumstances, wouldbe instantaneously affected. And, doubtless, in the works of every truepoet will be found passages of that species of excellence, which isproved by effects immediate and universal. But there are emotions of thepathetic that are simple and direct, and others--that are complex andrevolutionary; some--to which the heart yields with gentleness;others--against which it struggles with pride; these varieties areinfinite as the combinations of circumstance and the constitutions ofcharacter. Remember, also, that the medium through which, in poetry, theheart is to be affected--is language; a thing subject to endlessfluctuations and arbitrary associations. The genius of the poet meltsthese down for his purpose; but they retain their shape and quality tohim who is not capable of exerting, within his own mind, a correspondingenergy. There is also a meditative, as well as a human, pathos; anenthusiastic, as well as an ordinary, sorrow; a sadness that has itsseat in the depths of reason, to which the mind cannot sink gently ofitself--but to which it must descend by treading the steps of thought. And for the sublime, --if we consider what are the cares that occupy thepassing day, and how remote is the practice and the course of life fromthe sources of sublimity in the soul of Man, can it be wondered thatthere is little existing preparation for a poet charged with a newmission to extend its kingdom, and to augment and spread itsenjoyments?

Away, then, with the senseless iteration of the word _popular_, appliedto new works in poetry, as if there were no test of excellence in thisfirst of the fine arts but that all men should run after itsproductions, as if urged by an appetite, or constrained by a spell!--Thequalities of writing best fitted for eager reception are either such asstartle the world into attention by their audacity and extravagance; orthey are chiefly of a superficial kind lying upon the surfaces ofmanners; or arising out of a selection and arrangement of incidents, bywhich the mind is kept upon the stretch of curiosity and the fancyamused without the trouble of thought. But in every thing which is tosend the soul into herself, to be admonished of her weakness, or to bemade conscious of her power:--wherever life and Nature are described asoperated upon by the creative or abstracting virtue of the imagination;wherever the instinctive wisdom of antiquity and her heroic passionsuniting, in the heart of the poet, with the meditative wisdom of laterages, have produced that accord of sublimated humanity, which is at oncea history of the remote past and a prophetic enunciation of the remotestfuture, _there_, the poet must reconcile himself for a season to few andscattered hearers. --Grand thoughts (and Shakspeare must often havesighed over this truth), as they are most naturally and most fitlyconceived in solitude, so can they not be brought forth in the midst ofplaudits, without some violation of their sanctity. Go to a silentexhibition of the productions of the Sister Art, and be convinced thatthe qualities which dazzle at first sight, and kindle the admiration ofthe multitude, are essentially different from those by which permanentinfluence is secured. Let us not shrink from following up theseprinciples as far as they will carry us, and conclude withobserving--that there never has been a period, and perhaps never willbe, in which vicious poetry, of some kind or other, has not excited morezealous admiration, and been far more generally read, than good; butthis advantage attends the good, that the _individual_, as well as thespecies, survives from age to age; whereas, of the depraved, though thespecies be immortal, the individual quickly _perishes_; the object ofpresent admiration vanishes, being supplanted by some other as easilyproduced; which, though no better, brings with it at least theirritation of novelty, --with adaptation, more or less skilful, to thechanging humours of the majority of those who are most at leisure toregard poetical works when they first solicit their attention. 

Is it the result of the whole, that, in the opinion of the Writer, thejudgment of the People is not to be respected? The thought is mostinjurious; and, could the charge be brought against him, he would repelit with indignation. The People have already been justified, and theireulogium pronounced by implication, when it was said, above--that, of_good_ poetry, the _individual_, as well as the species, _survives_. Andhow does it survive but through the People? What preserves it but theirintellect and their wisdom?

 --Past and future, are the wings On whose support, harmoniously conjoined, Moves the great Spirit of human knowledge--MS. 

The voice that issues from this Spirit, is that Vox Populi which theDeity inspires. Foolish must he be who can mistake for this a localacclamation, or a transitory outcry--transitory though it be for years, local though from a Nation. Still more lamentable is his error who canbelieve that there is any thing of divine infallibility in the clamourof that small though loud portion of the community, ever governed byfactitious influence, which, under the name of the PUBLIC, passesitself, upon the unthinking, for the PEOPLE. Towards the Public, theWriter hopes that he feels as much deference as it is entitled to: butto the People, philosophically characterised, and to the embodied spiritof their knowledge, so far as it exists and moves, at the present, faithfully supported by its two wings, the past and the future, hisdevout respect, his reverence, is due. He offers it willingly andreadily; and, this done, takes leave of his Readers, by assuringthem--that, if he were not persuaded that the contents of these Volumes, and the Work to which they are subsidiary, evince something of the'Vision and the Faculty divine;' and that, both in words and things, they will operate in their degree, to extend the domain of sensibilityfor the delight, the honour, and the benefit of human nature, notwithstanding the many happy hours which he has employed in theircomposition, and the manifold comforts and enjoyments they have procuredto him, he would not, if a wish could do it, save them from immediatedestruction;--from becoming at this moment, to the world, as a thingthat had never been. 

1815

_(d)_ OF POETRY AS OBSERVATION AND DESCRIPTION. 

The powers requisite for the production of poetry are: first, those ofObservation and Description, --_i. E. _, the ability to observe withaccuracy things as they are in themselves, and with fidelity to describethem, unmodified by any passion or feeling existing in the mind of thedescriber: whether the things depicted be actually present to thesenses, or have a place only in the memory. This power, thoughindispensable to a Poet, is one which he employs only in submission tonecessity, and never for a continuance of time: as its exercise supposesall the higher qualities of the mind to be passive, and in a state ofsubjection to external objects, much in the same way as a translator orengraver ought to be to his original. 2ndly, Sensibility, --which, themore exquisite it is, the wider will be the range of a poet'sperceptions; and the more will he be incited to observe objects, both asthey exist in themselves, and as re-acted upon by his own mind. (Thedistinction between poetic and human sensibility has been marked in thecharacter of the Poet delineated in the original preface. ) 3dly, Reflection, --which makes the Poet acquainted with the value of actions, images, thoughts, and feelings; and assists the sensibility inperceiving their connection with each other. 4thly, Imagination andFancy, --to modify, to create, and to associate. 5thly, Invention, --bywhich characters are composed out of materials supplied by observation;whether of the Poet's own heart and mind, or of external life andnature; and such incidents and situations produced as are mostimpressive to the imagination, and most fitted to do justice to thecharacters, sentiments, and passions, which the Poet undertakes toillustrate. And, lastly, Judgment, --to decide how and where, and in whatdegree, each of these faculties ought to be exerted; so that the lessshall not be sacrificed to the greater; nor the greater, slighting theless, arrogate, to its own injury, more than its due. By judgment, also, is determined what are the laws and appropriate graces of every speciesof composition. [17]

[17] As sensibility to harmony of numbers, and the power of producingit, are invariably attendants upon the faculties above specified, nothing has been said upon those requisites. 

The materials of Poetry, by these powers collected and produced, arecast, by means of various moulds, into divers forms. The moulds may beenumerated, and the forms specified, in the following order. 1st, TheNarrative, --including the Epopoeia, the Historic Poem, the Tale, theRomance, the Mock-Heroic, and, if the spirit of Homer will tolerate suchneighbourhood, that dear production of our days, the metrical Novel. Ofthis class, the distinguishing mark is, that the Narrator, howeverliberally his speaking agents be introduced, is himself the source fromwhich every thing primarily flows. Epic Poets, in order that their modeof composition may accord with the elevation of their subject, representthemselves as _singing_ from the inspiration of the Muse, 'Arma virumque_cano_;' but this is a fiction, in modern times, of slight value; the'Iliad' or the 'Paradise Lost' would gain little in our estimation bybeing chanted. The other poets who belong to this class are commonlycontent to _tell_ their tale;--so that of the whole it may be affirmedthat they neither require nor reject the accompaniment of music. 

2ndly, The Dramatic, --consisting of Tragedy, Historic Drama, Comedy, andMasque, in which the poet does not appear at all in his own person, andwhere the whole action is carried on by speech and dialogue of theagents; music being admitted only incidentally and rarely. The Opera maybe placed here, inasmuch as it proceeds by dialogue; though depending, to the degree that it does, upon music, it has a strong claim to beranked with the lyrical. The characteristic and impassioned Epistle, ofwhich Ovid and Pope have given examples, considered as a species ofmonodrama, may, without impropriety, be placed in this class. 

3dly, The Lyrical, --containing the Hymn, the Ode, the Elegy, the Song, and the Ballad; in all which, for the production of their _full_ effect, an accompaniment of music is indispensable. 

4thly, The Idyllium, --descriptive chiefly either of the processes andappearances of external nature, as the 'Seasons' of Thomson; or ofcharacters, manners, and sentiments, as are Shenstone's'Schoolmistress, ' 'The Cotter's Saturday Night' of Burns, 'The Twa Dogs'of the same Author; or of these in conjunction with the appearances ofNature, as most of the pieces of Theocritus, the 'Allegro' and'Penseroso' of Milton, Beattie's 'Minstrel, ' Goldsmith's 'DesertedVillage. ' The Epitaph, the Inscription, the Sonnet, most of the epistlesof poets writing in their own persons, and all loco-descriptive poetry, belong to this class. 

5thly, Didactic, --the principal object of which is direct instruction;as the Poem of Lucretius, the 'Georgics' of Virgil, 'The Fleece' ofDyer, Mason's 'English Garden, ' &c. 

And, lastly, philosophical Satire, like that of Horace and Juvenal;personal and occasional Satire rarely comprehending sufficient of thegeneral in the individual to be dignified with the name of poetry. 

Out of the three last has been constructed a composite order, of whichYoung's 'Night Thoughts, ' and Cowper's 'Task, ' are excellent examples. 

It is deducible from the above, that poems, apparently miscellaneous, may with propriety be arranged either with reference to the powers ofmind _predominant_ in the production of them; or to the mould in whichthey are cast; or, lastly, to the subjects to which they relate. Fromeach of these considerations, the following Poems have been divided intoclasses; which, that the work may more obviously correspond with thecourse of human life, and for the sake of exhibiting in it the threerequisites of a legitimate whole, a beginning, a middle, and an end, have been also arranged, as far as it was possible, according to anorder of time, commencing with Childhood, and terminating with Old Age, Death, and Immortality. My guiding wish was, that the small pieces ofwhich these volumes consist, thus discriminated, might be regarded undera twofold view; as composing an entire work within themselves, and asadjuncts to the philosophical Poem, 'The Recluse. ' This arrangement haslong presented itself habitually to my own mind. Nevertheless, I shouldhave preferred to scatter the contents of these volumes at random, if Ihad been persuaded that, by the plan adopted, any thing material wouldbe taken from the natural effect of the pieces, individually, on themind of the unreflecting Reader. I trust there is a sufficient varietyin each class to prevent this; while, for him who reads with reflection, the arrangement will serve as a commentary unostentatiously directinghis attention to my purposes, both particular and general. But, as Iwish to guard against the possibility of misleading by thisclassification, it is proper first to remind the Reader, that certainpoems are placed according to the powers of mind, in the Author'sconception, predominant in the production of them; _predominant_, whichimplies the exertion of other faculties in less degree. Where there ismore imagination than fancy in a poem, it is placed under the head ofimagination, and _vice versâ_. Both the above classes might withoutimpropriety have been enlarged from that consisting of 'Poems founded onthe Affections;' as might this latter from those, and from the class'proceeding from Sentiment and Reflection. ' The most strikingcharacteristics of each piece, mutual illustration, variety, andproportion, have governed me throughout. 

None of the other Classes, except those of Fancy and Imagination, require any particular notice. But a remark of general application maybe made. All Poets, except the dramatic, have been in the practice offeigning that their works were composed to the music of the harp orlyre: with what degree of affectation this has been done in moderntimes, I leave to the judicious to determine. For my own part, I havenot been disposed to violate probability so far, or to make such a largedemand upon the Reader's charity. Some of these pieces are essentiallylyrical; and, therefore, cannot have their due force without a supposedmusical accompaniment; but, in much the greatest part, as a substitutefor the classic lyre or romantic harp, I require nothing more than ananimated or impassioned recitation, adapted to the subject. Poems, however humble in their kind, if they be good in that kind, cannot readthemselves; the law of long syllable and short must not be soinflexible, --the letter of metre must not be so impassive to the spiritof versification, --as to deprive the Reader of all voluntary power tomodulate, in subordination to the sense, the music of the poem;--in thesame manner as his mind is left at liberty, and even summoned, to actupon its thoughts and images. But, though the accompaniment of a musicalinstrument be frequently dispensed with, the true Poet does nottherefore abandon his privilege distinct from that of the mere Proseman;

 He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own. 

Let us come now to the consideration of the words Fancy and Imagination, as employed in the classification of the following Poems. 'A man, ' saysan intelligent author, 'has imagination in proportion as he candistinctly copy in idea the impressions of sense: it is the facultywhich _images_ within the mind the phenomena of sensation. A man hasfancy in proportion as he can call up, connect, or associate, atpleasure, those internal images ([Greek: phantazein] is to cause toappear) so as to complete ideal representations of absent objects. Imagination is the power of depicting, and fancy of evoking andcombining. The imagination is formed by patient observation; the fancyby a voluntary activity in shifting the scenery of the mind. The moreaccurate the imagination, the more safely may a painter, or a poet, undertake a delineation, or a description, without the presence of theobjects to be characterised. The more versatile the fancy, the moreoriginal and striking will be the decorations produced. '--_BritishSynonyms discriminated, by W. Taylor_. 

Is not this as if a man should undertake to supply an account of abuilding, and be so intent upon what he had discovered of thefoundation, as to conclude his task without once looking up at thesuperstructure? Here, as in other instances throughout the volume, thejudicious Author's mind is enthralled by Etymology; he takes up theoriginal word as his guide and escort, and too often does not perceivehow soon he becomes its prisoner, without liberty to tread in any pathbut that to which it confines him. It is not easy to find out howimagination, thus explained, differs from distinct remembrance ofimages; or fancy from quick and vivid recollection of them: each isnothing more than a mode of memory. If the two words bear the abovemeaning and no other, what term is left to designate that faculty ofwhich the Poet is 'all compact;' he whose eye glances from earth toheaven, whose spiritual attributes body forth what his pen is prompt inturning to shape; or what is left to characterise Fancy, as insinuatingherself into the heart of objects with creative activity? Imagination, in the sense of the word as giving title to a class of the followingPoems, has no reference to images that are merely a faithful copy, existing in the mind, of absent external objects; but is a word ofhigher import, denoting operations of the mind upon those objects andprocesses of creation or of composition, governed by certain fixed laws. I proceed to illustrate my meaning by instances. A parrot _hangs_ fromthe wires of his cage by his beak or by his claws; or a monkey from thebough of a tree by his paws or his tail. Each creature does so literallyand actually. In the first Eclogue of Virgil, the shepherd, thinking ofthe time when he is to take leave of his farm, thus addresses hisgoats:--

 Non ego vos posthac viridi projectus in antro Dumosa _pendere_ procul de rupe videbo. 

 --half way down _Hangs_ one who gathers samphire, is the well-known expression of Shakspeare, delineating an ordinaryimage upon the cliffs of Dover. In these two instances is a slightexertion of the faculty which I denominate imagination, in the use ofone word: neither the goats nor the samphire-gatherer do literally hang, as does the parrot or the monkey; but, presenting to the sensessomething of such an appearance, the mind in its activity, for its owngratification, contemplates them as hanging. 

 As when far off at sea a fleet descried _Hangs_ in the clouds, by equinoctial wind; Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles Of Ternate or Tidore, whence merchants bring Their spicy drugs; they on the trading flood Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape Ply, stemming nightly toward the Pole; so seemed Far off the flying Fiend. 

Here is the full strength of the imagination involved in the word_hangs_, and exerted upon the whole image: First, the fleet, anaggregate of many ships, is represented as one mighty person, whosetrack, we know and feel, is upon the waters; but, taking advantage ofits appearance to the senses, the Poet dares to represent it as _hangingin the clouds_, both for the gratification of the mind in contemplatingthe image itself, and in reference to the motion and appearance of thesublime objects to which it is compared. 

From impressions of sight we will pass to those of sound; which, as theymust necessarily be of a less definite character, shall be selected fromthese volumes:

 Over his own sweet voice the Stock-dove _broods_;

of the same bird, His voice was _buried_ among trees. Yet to be come at by the breeze;

 O, Cuckoo! shall I call thee _Bird_, Or but a wandering _Voice_?

The stock-dove is said to _coo_, a sound well imitating the note of thebird; but, by the intervention of the metaphor _broods_, the affectionsare called in by the imagination to assist in marking the manner inwhich the bird reiterates and prolongs her soft note, as if herselfdelighting to listen to it, and participating of a still and quietsatisfaction, like that which may be supposed inseparable from thecontinuous process of incubation. 'His voice was buried among thetrees, ' a metaphor expressing the love of _seclusion_ by which this Birdis marked; and characterising its note as not partaking of the shrilland the piercing, and therefore more easily deadened by the interveningshade; yet a note so peculiar and withal so pleasing, that the breeze, gifted with that love of the sound which the Poet feels, penetrates theshades in which it is entombed, and conveys it to the ear of thelistener. 

 Shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice?

This concise interrogation characterises the seeming ubiquity of thevoice of the cuckoo, and dispossesses the creature almost of a corporealexistence; the Imagination being tempted to this exertion of her powerby a consciousness in the memory that the cuckoo is almost perpetuallyheard throughout the season of spring, but seldom becomes an object ofsight. 

Thus far of images independent of each other, and immediately endowed bythe mind with properties that do not inhere in them, upon an incitementfrom properties and qualities the existence of which is inherent andobvious. These processes of imagination are carried on either byconferring additional properties upon an object, or abstracting from itsome of those which it actually possesses, and thus enabling it tore-act upon the mind which hath performed the process, like a newexistence. 

I pass from the Imagination acting upon an individual image to aconsideration of the same faculty employed upon images in a conjunctionby which they modify each other. The Reader has already had a fineinstance before him in the passage quoted from Virgil, where theapparently perilous situation of the goat, hanging upon the shaggyprecipice, is contrasted with that of the shepherd contemplating it fromthe seclusion of the cavern in which he lies stretched at ease and insecurity. Take these images separately, and how unaffecting the picturecompared with that produced by their being thus connected with, andopposed to, each other!

 As a huge stone is sometimes seen to lie Couched on the bald top of an eminence, Wonder to all who do the same espy By what means it could thither come, and whence, So that it seems a thing endued with sense, Like a sea-beast crawled forth, which on a shelf Of rock or sand reposeth, there to sun himself. 

 Such seemed this Man; not all alive or dead Nor all asleep, in his extreme old age. 

 * * * * *

 Motionless as a cloud the old Man stood, That heareth not the loud winds when they call, And moveth altogether if it move at all. 

In these images, the conferring, the abstracting, and the modifyingpowers of the Imagination, immediately and mediately acting, are allbrought into conjunction. The stone is endowed with something of thepower of life to approximate it to the sea-beast; and the sea-beaststripped of some of its vital qualities to assimilate it to the stone;which intermediate image is thus treated for the purpose of bringing theoriginal image, that of the stone, to a nearer resemblance to the figureand condition of the aged Man; who is divested of so much of theindications of life and motion as to bring him to the point where thetwo objects unite and coalesce in just comparison. After what has beensaid, the image of the cloud need not be commented upon. 

Thus far of an endowing or modifying power: but the Imagination alsoshapes and _creates_; and how? By innumerable processes; and in nonedoes it more delight than in that of consolidating numbers into unity, and dissolving and separating unity into number, --alternationsproceeding from, and governed by, a sublime consciousness of the soul inher own mighty and almost divine powers. Recur to the passage alreadycited from Milton. When the compact Fleet, as one Person, has beenintroduced 'Sailing from Bengala. ' 'They, ' _i. E. _ the 'merchants, 'representing the fleet resolved into a multitude of ships, 'ply' theirvoyage towards the extremities of the earth: 'So' (referring to the word'As' in the commencement) 'seemed the flying Fiend;' the image of hisperson acting to recombine the multitude of ships into one body, --thepoint from which the comparison set out. 'So seemed, ' and to whomseemed? To the heavenly Muse who dictates the poem, to the eye of thePoet's mind, and to that of the Reader, present at one moment in thewide Ethiopian, and the next in the solitudes, then first broken inupon, of the infernal regions!

 Modo me Thebis, modo ponit Athenis. 

Here again this mighty Poet, --speaking of the Messiah going forth toexpel from heaven the rebellious angels, Attended by ten thousand thousand Saints He onward came: far off his coming shone, --

the retinue of Saints, and the Person of the Messiah himself, lostalmost and merged in the splendour of that indefinite abstraction 'Hiscoming!'

As I do not mean here to treat this subject further than to throw somelight upon the present Volumes, and especially upon one division ofthem, I shall spare myself and the Reader the trouble of considering theImagination as it deals with thoughts and sentiments, as it regulatesthe composition of characters, and determines the course of actions: Iwill not consider it (more than I have already done by implication) asthat power which, in the language of one of my most esteemed Friends, 'draws all things to one; which makes things animate or inanimate, beings with their attributes, subjects with their accessaries, take onecolour and serve to one effect. '[18] The grand store-houses ofenthusiastic and meditative Imagination, of poetical, ascontradistinguished from human and dramatic Imagination, are theprophetic and lyrical parts of the Holy Scriptures, and the works ofMilton; to which I cannot forbear to add those of Spenser. I selectthese writers in preference to those of ancient Greece and Rome, becausethe anthropomorphitism of the Pagan religion subjected the minds of thegreatest poets in those countries too much to the bondage of definiteform; from which the Hebrews were preserved by their abhorrence ofidolatry. This abhorrence was almost as strong in our great epic Poet, both from circumstances of his life, and from the constitution of hismind. However imbued the surface might be with classical literature, hewas a Hebrew in soul; and all things tended in him towards the sublime. Spenser, of a gentler nature, maintained his freedom by aid of hisallegorical spirit, at one time inciting him to create persons out ofabstractions; and, at another, by a superior effort of genius, to givethe universality and permanence of abstractions to his human beings, bymeans of attributes and emblems that belong to the highest moral truthsand the purest sensations, --of which his character of Una is a gloriousexample. Of the human and dramatic Imagination the works of Shakspeareare an inexhaustible source. 

[18] Charles Lamb upon the genius of Hogarth. 

 I tax not you, ye Elements, with unkindness, I never gave you kingdoms, call'd you Daughters!

And if, bearing in mind the many Poets distinguished by this primequality, whose names I omit to mention; yet justified by recollection ofthe insults which the ignorant, the incapable and the presumptuous, haveheaped upon these and my other writings, I may be permitted toanticipate the judgment of posterity upon myself, I shall declare(censurable, I grant, if the notoriety of the fact above stated does notjustify me) that I have given in these unfavourable times, evidence ofexertions of this faculty upon its worthiest objects, the externaluniverse, the moral and religious sentiments of Man, his naturalaffections, and his acquired passions; which have the same ennoblingtendency as the productions of men, in this kind, worthy to be holden inundying remembrance. 

To the mode in which Fancy has already been characterised as the powerof evoking and combining, or, as my friend Mr. Coleridge has styled it, 'the aggregative and associative power, ' my objection is only that thedefinition is too general. To aggregate and to associate, to evoke andto combine, belong as well to the Imagination as to the Fancy; buteither the materials evoked and combined are different; or they arebrought together under a different law, and for a different purpose. Fancy does not require that the materials which she makes use of shouldbe susceptible of change in their constitution, from her touch; and, where they admit of modification, it is enough for her purpose if it beslight, limited, and evanescent. Directly the reverse of these, are thedesires and demands of the Imagination. She recoils from everything butthe plastic, the pliant, and the indefinite. She leaves it to Fancy todescribe Queen Mab as coming, In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman. 

Having to speak of stature, she does not tell you that her giganticAngel was as tall as Pompey's Pillar; much less that he was twelvecubits, or twelve hundred cubits high; or that his dimensions equalledthose of Teneriffe or Atlas;--because these, and if they were a milliontimes as high it would be the same, are bounded: The expression is, 'Hisstature reached the sky!' the illimitable firmament!--When theImagination frames a comparison, if it does not strike on the firstpresentation, a sense of the truth of the likeness, from the moment thatit is perceived, grows--and continues to grow--upon the mind; theresemblance depending less upon outline of form and feature, than uponexpression and effect; less upon casual and outstanding, than uponinherent and internal, properties: moreover, the images invariablymodify each other. --The law under which the processes of Fancy arecarried on is as capricious as the accidents of things, and the effectsare surprising, playful, ludicrous, amusing, tender, or pathetic, as theobjects happen to be appositely produced or fortunately combined. Fancydepends upon the rapidity and profusion with which she scatters herthoughts and images; trusting that their number, and the felicity withwhich they are linked together, will make amends for the want ofindividual value: or she prides herself upon the curious subtilty andthe successful elaboration with which she can detect their lurkingaffinities. If she can win you over to her purpose, and impart to youher feelings, she cares not how unstable or transitory may be herinfluence, knowing that it will not be out of her power to resume itupon an apt occasion. But the Imagination is conscious of anindestructible dominion;--the Soul may fall away from it, not being ableto sustain its grandeur; but, if once felt and acknowledged, by no actof any other faculty of the mind can it be relaxed, impaired, ordiminished. --Fancy is given to quicken and to beguile the temporal partof our nature, Imagination to incite and to support the eternal. --Yet isit not the less true that Fancy, as she is an active, is also, under herown laws and in her own spirit, a creative faculty. In what manner Fancyambitiously aims at a rivalship with Imagination, and Imagination stoopsto work with materials of Fancy, might be illustrated from thecompositions of all eloquent writers, whether in prose or verse; andchiefly from those of our own Country. Scarcely a page of theimpassioned parts of Bishop Taylor's Works can be opened that shall notafford examples. --Referring the Reader to those inestimable volumes, Iwill content myself with placing a conceit (ascribed to LordChesterfield) in contrast with a passage from the 'Paradise Lost:'--

 The dews of the evening most carefully shun, They are the tears of the sky for the loss of the sun. 

After the transgression of Adam, Milton, with other appearances ofsympathising Nature, thus marks the immediate consequence, Sky lowered, and, muttering thunder, some sad drops Wept at completion of the mortal sin. 

The associating link is the same in each instance: Dew and rain, notdistinguishable from the liquid substance of tears, are employed asindications of sorrow. A flash of surprise is the effect in the formercase; a flash of surprise, and nothing more; for the nature of thingsdoes not sustain the combination. In the latter, the effects from theact, of which there is this immediate consequence and visible sign, areso momentous, that the mind acknowledges the justice and reasonablenessof the sympathy in nature so manifested; and the sky weeps drops ofwater as if with human eyes, as 'Earth had before trembled from herentrails, and Nature given a second groan. '

Finally, I will refer to Cotton's 'Ode upon Winter, ' an admirablecomposition, though stained with some peculiarities of the age in whichhe lived, for a general illustration of the characteristics of Fancy. The middle part of this ode contains a most lively description of theentrance of Winter, with his retinue, as 'A palsied king, ' and yet amilitary monarch, --advancing for conquest with his army; the severalbodies of which, and their arms and equipments, are described with arapidity of detail, and a profusion of _fanciful_ comparisons, whichindicate on the part of the poet extreme activity of intellect, and acorrespondent hurry of delightful feeling. Winter retires from the foeinto his fortress, where

 --a magazine Of sovereign juice is cellared in; Liquor that will the siege maintain Should Phoebus ne'er return again. 

Though myself a water-drinker, I cannot resist the pleasure oftranscribing what follows, as an instance still more happy of Fancyemployed in the treatment of feeling than, in its preceding passages, the Poem supplies of her management of forms. 

 'Tis that, that gives the poet rage, And thaws the gelly'd blood of age; Matures the young, restores the old, And makes the fainting coward bold. 

 It lays the careful head to rest, Calms palpitations in the breast. Renders our lives' misfortune sweet;

 * * * * *

 Then let the chill Sirocco blow, And gird us round with hills of snow, Or else go whistle to the shore, And make the hollow mountains roar. 

 Whilst we together jovial sit Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit, Where, though bleak winds confine us home, Our fancies round the world shall roam. 

 We'll think of all the Friends we know. And drink to all worth drinking to; When having drunk all thine and mine, We rather shall want healths than wine. 

 But where Friends fail us, we'll supply Our friendships with our charity; Men that remote in sorrows live, Shall by our lusty brimmers thrive. 

 We'll drink the wanting into wealth, And those that languish into health, The afflicted into joy; th' opprest Into security and rest. 

 The worthy in disgrace shall find Favour return again more kind, And in restraint who stifled lie, Shall taste the air of liberty. 

 The brave shall triumph in success, The lovers shall have mistresses, Poor unregarded Virtue, praise, And the neglected Poet, bays. 

 Thus shall our healths do others good, Whilst we ourselves do all we would; For, freed from envy and from care, What would we be but what we are?

When I sate down to write this Preface, it was my intention to havemade it more comprehensive; but, thinking that I ought rather toapologise for detaining the reader so long, I will here conclude. 

 * * * * *

DEDICATION: PREFIXED TO THE EDITION OF 1815. 

_To Sir George Howland Beaumont, Bart_. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, Accept my thanks for the permission given me to dedicate these Volumesto you. In addition to a lively pleasure derived from generalconsiderations, I feel a particular satisfaction; for, by inscribingthese Poems with your Name, I seem to myself in some degree to repay, byan appropriate honour, the great obligation which I owe to one part ofthe Collection--as having been the means of first making us personallyknown to each other. Upon much of the remainder, also, you have apeculiar claim, --for some of the best pieces were composed under theshade of your own groves, upon the classic ground of Coleorton; where Iwas animated by the recollection of those illustrious Poets of your nameand family, who were born in that neighbourhood; and, we may be assured, did not wander with indifference by the dashing stream of Grace Dieu, and among the rocks that diversify the forest of Charnwood. --Nor isthere any one to whom such parts of this Collection as have beeninspired or coloured by the beautiful Country from which I now addressyou, could be presented with more propriety than to yourself--to whom ithas suggested so many admirable pictures. Early in life, the sublimityand beauty of this region excited your admiration; and I know that youare bound to it in mind by a still strengthening attachment. 

Wishing and hoping that this Work, with the embellishments it hasreceived from your pencil, may survive as a lasting memorial of afriendship which I reckon among the blessings of my life, I have the honour to be, my dear Sir George, Yours most affectionately and faithfully, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND, _February_ 1, 1815. 

_(e)_ OF 'THE EXCURSION. '

The Title-page announces that this is only a portion of a poem; and theReader must be here apprised that it belongs to the second part of along and laborious Work, which is to consist of three parts. --The Authorwill candidly acknowledge that, if the first of these had beencompleted, and in such a manner as to satisfy his own mind, he shouldhave preferred the natural order of publication, and have given that tothe world first; but, as the second division of the Work was designed torefer more to passing events, and to an existing state of things, thanthe others were meant to do, more continuous exertion was naturallybestowed upon it, and greater progress made here than in the rest of thepoem; and as this part does not depend upon the preceding, to a degreewhich will materially injure its own peculiar interest, the Author, complying with the earnest entreaties of some valued Friends, presentsthe following pages to the Public. 

It may be proper to state whence the poem, of which 'The Excursion' is apart, derives its Title of THE RECLUSE. -Several years ago, when theAuthor retired to his native mountains, with the hope of being enabledto construct a literary Work that might live, it was a reasonable thingthat he should take a review of his own mind, and examine how far Natureand Education had qualified him for such employment. As subsidiary tothis preparation, he undertook to record, in verse, the origin andprogress of his own powers, as far as he was acquainted with them. ThatWork, addressed to a dear Friend, most distinguished for his knowledgeand genius, and to whom the Author's Intellect is deeply indebted, hasbeen long finished; and the result of the investigation which gave riseto it was a determination to compose a philosophical poem, containingviews of Man, Nature, and Society; and to be entitled, 'The Recluse;' ashaving for its principal subject the sensations and opinions of a poetliving in retirement. --The preparatory poem is biographical, andconducts the history of the Author's mind to the point when he wasemboldened to hope that his faculties were sufficiently matured forentering upon the arduous labour which he had proposed to himself: andthe two Works have the same kind of relation to each other, if he may soexpress himself, as the ante-chapel has to the body of a gothic church. Continuing this allusion, he may be permitted to add, that his minorPieces, which have been long before the Public, when they shall beproperly arranged, will be found by the attentive Reader to have suchconnection with the main Work as may give them claim to be likened tothe little cells, oratories, and sepulchral recesses, ordinarilyincluded in those edifices. 

The Author would not have deemed himself justified in saying, upon thisoccasion, so much of performances either unfinished, or unpublished, ifhe had not thought that the labour bestowed by him upon what he hasheretofore and now laid before the Public entitled him to candidattention for such a statement as he thinks necessary to throw lightupon his endeavours to please and, he would hope, to benefit hiscountrymen. --Nothing further need be added, than that the first andthird parts of 'The Recluse' will consist chiefly of meditations in theAuthor's own person; and that in the intermediate part ('The Excursion')the intervention of characters speaking is employed, and something of adramatic form adopted. 

It is not the Author's intention formally to announce a system: it wasmore animating to him to proceed in a different course; and if he shallsucceed in conveying to the mind clear thoughts, lively images, andstrong feelings, the Reader will have no difficulty in extracting thesystem for himself. And in the mean time the following passage, takenfrom the conclusion of the first book of 'The Recluse, ' may beacceptable as a kind of _Prospectus_ of the design and scope of thewhole Poem. 

 On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, Musing in solitude, I oft perceive Fair trains of imagery before me rise. Accompanied by feelings of delight Pure, or with no unpleasing sadness mixed; And I am conscious of affecting thoughts And dear remembrances, whose presence soothes Or elevates the Mind, intent to weigh The good and evil of our mortal state. --To these emotions, whencesoe'er they come, Whether from breath of outward circumstance, Or from the Soul--an impulse to herself-- I would give utterance in numerous verse. Of Truth, of Grandeur, Beauty, Love, and Hope, And melancholy Fear subdued by Faith; Of blessed consolations in distress; Of moral strength, and intellectual Power; Of joy in widest commonalty spread; Of the individual Mind that keeps her own Inviolate retirement, subject there To Conscience only, and the law supreme Of that Intelligence which governs all-- I sing:--'fit audience let me find though few!'

 So prayed, more gaining than he asked, the Bard-- In holiest mood. Urania, I shall need Thy guidance, or a greater Muse, if such Descend to earth or dwell in highest heaven! For I must tread on shadowy ground, must sink Deep--and, aloft ascending, breathe in worlds To which the heaven of heavens is but a veil. All strength--all terror, single or in bands, That ever was put forth in personal form-- Jehovah--with His thunder, and the choir Of shouting Angels, and the empyreal thrones-- I pass them unalarmed. Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out By help of dreams--can breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often when we look Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man-- My haunt, and the main region of my song. --Beauty--a living Presence of the earth, Surpassing the most fair ideal Forms Which craft of delicate Spirits hath composed From earth's materials--waits upon my steps; Pitches her tents before me as I move, An hourly neighbour. Paradise, and groves Elysian, Fortunate Fields--like those of old Sought in the Atlantic Main--why should they be A history only of departed things, Or a mere fiction of what never was? For the discerning intellect of Man, When wedded to this goodly universe In love and holy passion, shall find these A simple produce of the common day. --I, long before the blissful hour arrives, Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse Of this great consummation:--and, by words Which speak of nothing more than what we are, Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep Of Death, and win the vacant and the vain To noble raptures; while my voice proclaims How exquisitely the individual Mind (And the progressive powers perhaps no less Of the whole species) to the external World Is fitted:--and how exquisitely, too-- Theme this but little heard of among men-- The external World is fitted to the Mind; And the creation (by no lower name Can it be called) which they with blended might Accomplish:--this is our high argument. --Such grateful haunts foregoing, if I oft Must turn elsewhere--to travel near the tribes And fellowships of men, and see ill sights Of madding passions mutually inflamed; Must hear Humanity in fields and groves Pipe solitary anguish; or must hang Brooding above the fierce confederate storm Of sorrow, barricadoed evermore Within the walls of cities--may these sounds Have their authentic comment; that even these Hearing, I be not downcast or forlorn!-- Descend, prophetic Spirit! that inspir'st The human Soul of universal earth, Dreaming on things to come; and dost possess A metropolitan temple in the hearts Of mighty Poets: upon me bestow A gift of genuine insight; that my Song With star-like virtue in its place may shine. Shedding benignant influence, and secure, Itself, from all malevolent effect Of those mutations that extend their sway Throughout the nether sphere!--And if with this I mix more lowly matter: with the thing Contemplated, describe the Mind and Man Contemplating: and who, and what he was-- The transitory Being that beheld This Vision: when and where, and how he lived; Be not this labour useless. If such theme May sort with highest objects, then--dread Power! Whose gracious favour is the primal source Of all illumination--may my Life Express the image of a better time, More wise desires, and simpler manners;--nurse My Heart in genuine freedom:--all pure thoughts Be with me;--so shall Thy unfailing love Guide, and support, and cheer me to the end!

_f_ LETTERS TO SIR GEORGE AND LADY BEAUMONT AND OTHERS ON THE POEMS ANDRELATED SUBJECTS. 

 * * * * *

GRATITUDE FOR KINDNESSES, DIFFICULTY OFLETTER-WRITING, &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, 14th October, 1803. 

DEAR SIR GEORGE, If any Person were to be informed of the particulars of your kindness tome, --if it were described to him in all its delicacy and nobleness, --andhe should afterwards be told that I suffered eight weeks to elapsewithout writing to you one word of thanks or acknowledgment, he woulddeem it a thing absolutely _impossible_. It is nevertheless true. Thisis, in fact, the first time that I have taken up a pen, not for writingletters, but on any account whatsoever, except once, since Mr. Coleridgeshowed me the writings of the Applethwaite Estate, and told me thelittle history of what you had done for me, the motives, &c. I need notsay that it gave me the most heartfelt pleasure, not for my own sakechiefly, though in that point of view it might well be most highlyinteresting to me, but as an act which, considered in all its relationsas to matter and manner, it would not be too much to say, did honour tohuman nature; at least, I felt it as such, and it overpowered me. 

Owing to a set of painful and uneasy sensations which I have, more orless, at all times about my chest, from a disease which chiefly affectsmy nerves and digestive organs, and which makes my aversion from writinglittle less than madness, I deferred writing to you, being at first madestill more uncomfortable by travelling, and loathing to do violence tomyself, in what ought to be an act of pure pleasure and enjoyment, viz. , the expression of my deep sense of your goodness. This feeling was, indeed, so strong in me, as to make me look upon the act of writing toyou, not as the work of a moment, but as a business with somethinglittle less than awful in it, a task, a duty, a thing not to be done butin my best, my purest, and my happiest moments. Many of these I had, butthen I had not my pen and ink (and) my paper before me, my conveniences, 'my appliances and means to boot;' all which, the moment that I thoughtof them, seemed to disturb and impair the sanctity of my pleasure. Icontented myself with thinking over my complacent feelings, andbreathing forth solitary gratulations and thanksgivings, which I did inmany a sweet and many a wild place, during my late Tour. In this shape, procrastination became irresistible to me; at last I said, I will writeat home from my own fire-side, when I shall be at ease and in comfort. Ihave now been more than a fortnight at home, but the uneasiness in mychest has made me beat off the time when the pen was to be taken up. Ido not know from what cause it is, but during the last three years Ihave never had a pen in my hand for five minutes, before my whole framebecomes one bundle of uneasiness; a perspiration starts out all over me, and my chest is oppressed in a manner which I cannot describe. This is asad weakness; for I am sure, though it is chiefly owing to the state ofmy body, that by exertion of mind I might in part control it. So, however, it is; and I mention it, because I am sure when you are madeacquainted with the circumstances, though the extent to which it existsnobody can well conceive, you will look leniently upon my silence, andrather pity than blame me; though I must still continue to reproachmyself, as I have done bitterly every day for these last eight weeks. One thing in particular has given me great uneasiness: it is, least inthe extreme delicacy of your mind, which is well known to me, you for amoment may have been perplexed by a single apprehension that there mightbe any error, anything which I might misconceive, in your kindness tome. When I think of the possibility of this, I am vexed beyond measurethat I had not resolution to write immediately. But I hope that thesefears are all groundless, and that you have (as I know your nature willlead you to do) suspended your judgment upon my silence, blaming meindeed but in that qualified way in which a good man blames what hebelieves will be found an act of venial infirmity, when it is fullyexplained. But I have troubled you far too much with this. Such I amhowever, and deeply I regret that I am such. I shall conclude withsolemnly assuring you, late as it is, that nothing can wear out of myheart, as long as my faculties remain, the deep feeling which I have ofyour delicate and noble conduct towards me. 

It is now high time to speak of the estate, and what is to be done withit. It is a most delightful situation, and few things would give megreater pleasure than to realise the plan which you had in view for me, of building a house there. But I am afraid, I am sorry to say, that thechances are very much against this, partly on account of the state of myown affairs, and still more from the improbability of Mr. Coleridge'scontinuing in the country. The writings are at present in my possession, and what I should wish is, that I might be considered at present assteward of the land, with liberty to lay out the rent in planting, orany other improvement which might be thought advisable, with a view tobuilding upon it. And if it should be out of my power to pitch my owntent there, I would then request that you would give me leave to restorethe property to your own hands, in order that you might have theopportunity of again presenting it to some worthy person who might be sofortunate as to be able to make that pleasant use of it which it wasyour wish that I should have done. 

Mr. Coleridge informed me, that immediately after you left Keswick, hehad, as I requested, returned you thanks for those two elegant drawingswhich you were so good as to leave for me. The present is valuable initself, and I consider it as a high honour conferred on me. How oftendid we wish for five minutes' command of your pencil while we were inScotland! or rather that you had been with us. Sometimes I am sure youwould have been highly delighted. In one thing Scotland is superior toevery country I have travelled in; I mean the graceful beauty of thedresses and figures. There is a tone of imagination about them beyondanything I have seen elsewhere. 

Mr. Coleridge, I understand, has written to you several times lately; soof course he will have told you when and why he left us. I am glad hedid, as I am sure the solitary part of his tour did him much the mostservice. He is still unwell, though wonderfully strong. He is attemptingto bring on a fit of the gout, which he is sure will relieve himgreatly. I was at Keswick last Sunday and saw both him and Mr. Southey, whom I liked very much. Coleridge looks better, I think, than when yousaw him; and is, I also think, upon the whole, much better. LadyBeaumont will be pleased to hear that our carriage (though it did notsuit Mr. Coleridge, the noise of it being particularly unpleasant tohim) answered wonderfully well for my sister and me, and that the wholetour far surpassed our most sanguine expectations. 

They are sadly remiss at Keswick in putting themselves to trouble indefence of the country; they came forward very cheerfully some time ago, but were so thwarted by the orders and counter-orders of the ministryand their servants, that they have thrown up the whole in disgust. AtGrasmere, we have turned out almost to a man. We are to go to Amblesideon Sunday to be mustered, and put on, for the first time, our militaryapparel. I remain, dear Sir George, with the most affectionate andrespectful regard for you and Lady Beaumont, Yours sincerely, W. WORDSWORTH. 

My sister will transcribe three sonnets, [19] which I do not send youfrom any notion I have of their merit, but merely because they are theonly verses I have written since I had the pleasure of seeing you andLady Beaumont. At the sight of Kilchurn Castle, an ancient residence ofthe Breadalbanes, upon an island in Loch Awe, I felt a real poeticalimpulse: but I did not proceed. I began a poem (apostrophising thecastle) thus:

 Child of loud-throated war! the mountain stream Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest Is come, and thou art silent in thine age;

but I stopp'd. [20]

[19] Written at Needpath, (near Peebles, ) a mansion of the Duke ofQueensbury: 'Now as I live, I pity that great Lord, ' &c. (_Memorials ofa Tour in Scotland_, xii. ) To the Men of Kent: 'Vanguard of Liberty, yeMen of Kent. ' [_Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty_, xxiii. ] Anticipation: 'Shout, for a mighty victory is won!' (_Ibid_, xxvi. ) &c. If you think, either you or Lady Beaumont, that these twolast Sonnets are worth publication, would you have the goodness tocirculate them in any way you like. (On _various readings_ in theseSonnets, see our Notes and Illustrations. G. )

[20] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 260-4, with important additions from theoriginal. G. 

OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, July 20. 1804. DEAR SIR GEORGE, Lady Beaumont in a letter to my sister told her some time ago that itwas your intention to have written to me, but knowing my aversion toletter writing you were unwilling to impose upon me the trouble ofanswering. I am much obliged to you for the honour you intended me, anddeeply sensible of your delicacy. If a man were what he ought to be, with such feelings and such motives as I have, it would be as easy forhim to write to Sir George Beaumont as to take his food when he washungry or his repose when he was weary. But we suffer bad habits to growupon us, and that has been the case with me, as you have had reason tofind and forgive already. I cannot quit the subject without regrettingthat any weakness of mine should have prevented my hearing from you, which would always give me great delight, and though I cannot presume tosay that I should be a _punctual_ correspondent, I am sure I should notbe insensible of your kindness, but should also do my best to deserveit. 

A few days ago I received from Mr. Southey your very acceptable presentof Sir Joshua Reynolds's Works, which, with the Life, I have nearly readthrough. Several of the Discourses I had read before, though neverregularly together: they have very much added to the high opinion whichI before entertained of Sir Joshua Reynolds. Of a great part of them, never having had an opportunity of _studying_ any pictures whatsoever, Ican be but a very inadequate judge; but of such parts of the Discoursesas relate to general philosophy, I may be entitled to speak with moreconfidence; and it gives me great pleasure to say to you, knowing yourgreat regard for Sir Joshua, that they appear to me highly honourable tohim. The sound judgment universally displayed in these Discourses istruly admirable, --I mean the deep conviction of the necessity ofunwearied labour and diligence, the reverence for the great men of hisart, and the comprehensive and unexclusive character of his taste. Is itnot a pity, Sir George, that a man with such a high sense of the_dignity_ of his art, and with such industry, should not have given moreof his time to the nobler departments of painting? I do not say this somuch on account of what the world would have gained by the superiorexcellence and interest of his pictures, though doubtless that wouldhave been very considerable, but for the sake of example. It is such ananimating sight to see a man of genius, regardless of temporary gains, whether of money or praise, fixing his attention solely upon what isintrinsically interesting and permanent, and finding his happiness in anentire devotion of himself to such pursuits as shall most ennoble humannature. We have not yet seen enough of this in modern times; and neverwas there a period in society when such examples were likely to do moregood than at present. The industry and love of truth which distinguishSir Joshua's mind are most admirable; but he appears to me to have livedtoo much for the age in which he lived, and the people among whom helived, though this in an infinitely less degree than his friend Burke, of whom Goldsmith said, with such truth, long ago, that--

 Born for the universe, he narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. 

I should not have said thus much of Reynolds, which I have not saidwithout pain, but because I have so great a respect for his character, and because he lived at a time when, being the first Englishmandistinguished for excellence in the higher department of painting, hehad the field fairly open for him to have given an example, upon whichall eyes needs must have been fixed, of a man preferring the cultivationand exertion of his own powers in the highest possible degree to anyother object of regard. My writing is growing quite illegible. I musttherefore either mend it, or throw down the pen. 

How sorry we all are under this roof that we cannot have the pleasure ofseeing you and Lady Beaumont down this summer! The weather has been mostglorious, and the country, of course, most delightful. Our own valley inparticular was last night, by the light of the full moon, and in theperfect stillness of the lake, a scene of loveliness and repose asaffecting as was ever beheld by the eye of man. We have had a day and ahalf of Mr. Davy's company at Grasmere, and no more: he seemed to leaveus with great regret, being post-haste on his way to Edinburgh. I wentwith him to Paterdale, on his road to Penrith, where he would takecoach. We had a deal of talk about you and Lady Beaumont: he was in yourdebt a letter, as I found, and exceedingly sorry that he had not beenable to get over to see you, having been engaged at Mr. Coke'ssheep-shearing, which had not left him time to cross from the Duke ofBedford's to your place. We had a very pleasant interview, though fartoo short. He is a most interesting man, whose views are fixed uponworthy objects. 

That Loughrigg Tarn, beautiful pool of water as it is, is a perpetualmortification to me when I think that you and Lady Beaumont were so nearhaving a summer-nest there. This is often talked over among us; and wealways end the subject with a heigh ho! of regret. But I must think ofconcluding. My sister thanks Lady Beaumont for her last letter, and willwrite to her in a few days; but I must say to her myself how happy I wasto hear that her sister had derived any consolation from Coleridge'spoems and mine. I must also add how much pleasure it gives me that LadyBeaumont is so kindly, so affectionately disposed to my dear and goodsister, and also to the other unknown parts of my family. Could we buthave Coleridge back among us again! There is no happiness in this lifebut in intellect and virtue. Those were very pretty verses which LadyBeaumont sent; and we were much obliged to her for them. 

What shocking bad writing I have sent you; I don't know [how] it is, but[it] seems as if I could not write any better. 

Farewell. Believe me, with the sincerest love and affection for you andLady Beaumont, YOURS, WM. WORDSWORTH. [21]

[21] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 267-70, with important additions from theoriginal. G. 

 * * * * *

FAMILY NEWS, REYNOLDS, &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, August 30. (?) 1804. DEAR SIR GEORGE, Wednesday last, Mrs. Coleridge, as she may, perhaps, herself haveinformed you or Lady Beaumont, received a letter from Coleridge. Ihappened to be at Keswick when it arrived; and she has sent it over tous to-day. I will transcribe the most material parts of it, firstassuring you, to remove anxiety on your part, that the contents are, wethink, upon the whole, promising. He begins thus (date, June 5. 1804, Tuesday noon; Dr. Stoddart's, Malta):--'I landed, in more than usualhealth, in the harbour of Valetta, about four o'clock, Friday afternoon, April 18. Since then I have been waiting, day after day, for thedeparture of Mr. Laing, tutor of the only child of Sir A. Ball, ourcivil governor. '

 * * * * *

My sister has to thank Lady Beaumont for a letter; but she is at presentunable to write, from a violent inflammation in her eyes, which I hopeis no more than the complaint going about: but as she has lately beenover-fatigued, and is in other respects unwell, I am not without fearthat the indisposition in her eyes may last some time. As soon as she isable, she will do herself the pleasure of writing to Lady Beaumont. Mrs. Wordsworth and Lady B. 's little god-daughter[22] are both doing verywell. Had the child been a boy, we should have persisted in our right toavail ourselves of Lady Beaumont's goodness in offering to stand sponsorfor it. The name of _Dorothy_, obsolete as it is now grown, had been solong devoted in my own thoughts to the first daughter that I might have, that I could not break this promise to myself--a promise in which mywife participated; though the name of _Mary_, to my ear the most musicaland truly English in sound we have, would have otherwise been mostwelcome to me, including, as it would, Lady Beaumont and its mother. This last sentence, though in a letter to you, Sir George, is intendedfor Lady Beaumont. 

[22] Dora Wordsworth, born Aug. 16. 1804. 

 * * * * *

When I ventured to express my regret at Sir Joshua Reynolds giving somuch of his time to portrait-painting and to his friends, I did not meanto recommend absolute solitude and seclusion from the world as anadvantage to him or anybody else. I think it a great evil; and indeed, in the case of a painter, frequent intercourse with the living worldseems absolutely necessary to keep the mind in health and vigour. Ispoke, in some respects, in compliment to Sir Joshua Reynolds, feelingdeeply, as I do, the power of his genius, and loving passionately thelabours of genius in every way in which I am capable of comprehendingthem. Mr. Malone, in the account prefixed to the Discourses, tells usthat Sir Joshua generally passed the time from eleven till four everyday in portrait-painting. This it was that grieved me, as a sacrifice ofgreat things to little ones. It will give me great pleasure to hear fromyou at your leisure. I am anxious to know that you are satisfied withthe site and intended plan of your house. I suppose no man ever built ahouse without finding, when it was finished, that something in it mighthave been better done. _Internal_ architecture seems to have arrived atgreat excellence in England; but, I don't know how it is, I scarcelyever see the _outside_ of a new house that pleases me. But I must breakoff. Believe me, with best remembrances from my wife and sister toyourself and Lady Beaumont, Yours, With the greatest respect and regard, W. WORDSWORTH. 

My poetical labours have been entirely suspended during the last twomonths: I am most anxious to return to them[23]. 

[23] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 270--2. G. 

 * * * * *

OF NATURE AND ART, &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont_. 

 August 28. 1811, Cottage, 7 minutes' walk from the sea-side, near Bootle, Cumberland. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, How shall I appear before you again after so long an interval? It seemsthat now I ought rather to begin with an apology for writing, than fornot having written during a space of almost twelve months. I have blamedmyself not a little; yet not so much as I should have done had I notknown that the main cause of my silence has been the affection I feelfor you; on which account it is not so easy to me to write upon triflingor daily occurrences to you as it would be to write to another whom Iloved less. Accordingly these have not had power to tempt me to take upthe pen; and in the mean while, from my more intimate concerns I haveabstained, partly because I do not, in many cases, myself like to seethe reflection of them upon paper, and still more because it is my wishat all times, when I think of the state in which your health and spiritsmay happen to be, that my letter should be wholly free from melancholy, and breathe nothing but cheerfulness and pleasure. Having made thisavowal, I trust that what may be wanting to my justification will bemade up by your kindness and forgiving disposition. 

It was near about this time last year that we were employed in ourpleasant tour to the Leasowes and Hagley. The twelve months that haveelapsed have not impaired the impressions which those scenes made uponme, nor weakened my remembrance of the delight which the places andobjects, and the conversations they led to, awakened in our minds. 

 * * * * *

It is very late to mention, that when in Wales, last autumn, I contrivedto pass a day and a half with your friend Price at Foxley. He was verykind, and took due pains to show me all the beauties of his place. Ishould have been very insensible not to be pleased with, and gratefulfor, his attentions; and certainly I was gratified by the sight of thescenes through which he conducted me. 

 * * * * *

I was less able to do justice in my own mind to the scenery of Foxley. You will, perhaps, think it a strange fault that I am going to find withit, considering the acknowledged taste of the owner, viz. That, small asit is compared with hundreds of places, the domain is too extensive forthe character of the country. Wanting both rock and water, itnecessarily wants variety; and in a district of this kind, the portionof a gentleman's estate which he keeps exclusively to himself, and whichhe devotes, wholly or in part, to ornament, may very easily exceed theproper bounds, --not, indeed, as to the preservation of wood, but mosteasily as to every thing else. A man by little and little becomes sodelicate and fastidious with respect to forms in scenery, where he has apower to exercise a control over them, that if they do not exactlyplease him in all moods and every point of view, his power becomes hislaw; he banishes one, and then rids himself of another; impoverishingand _monotonising_ landscapes, which, if not originally distinguishedby the bounty of Nature, must be ill able to spare the inspiritingvarieties which art, and the occupations and wants of life in a countryleft more to itself, never fail to produce. This relish of humanityFoxley wants, and is therefore to me, in spite of all itsrecommendations, a melancholy spot, --I mean that part of it which theowner keeps to himself, and has taken so much pains with. I heard theother day of two artists who thus expressed themselves upon the subjectof a scene among our lakes: 'Plague upon those vile enclosures!' saidone; 'they spoil everything. ' 'Oh, ' said the other, 'I never _see_them. ' Glover was the name of this last. Now, for my part, I should notwish to be either of these gentlemen; but to have in my own mind thepower of turning to advantage, wherever it is possible, every object ofart and nature as they appear before me. What a noble instance, as youhave often pointed out to me, has Rubens given of this in that picturein your possession, where he has brought, as it were, a whole countyinto one landscape, and made the most formal partitions of cultivation, hedge-rows of pollard willows, conduct the eye into the depths anddistances of his picture; and thus, more than by any other means, hasgiven it that appearance of immensity which is so striking. As I haveslipped into the subject of painting, I feel anxious to inquire whetheryour pencil has been busy last winter in the solitude and uninterruptedquiet of Dunmow. Most likely you know that we have changed our residencein Grasmere, which I hope will be attended with a great overbalance ofadvantages. One we are certain of--that we have at least onesitting-room clear of smoke, I trust, in all winds. .. . Over thechimney-piece is hung your little picture, from the neighbourhood ofColeorton. In our other house, on account of the frequent fits of smokefrom the chimneys, both the pictures which I have from your hand wereconfined to bed-rooms. A few days after I had enjoyed the pleasure ofseeing, in different moods of mind, your Coleorton landscape from myfire-side, it _suggested_ to me the following sonnet, which, havingwalked out to the side of Grasmere brook, where it murmurs through themeadows near the church, I composed immediately:

 Praised be the art whose subtle power could stay Yon cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape; Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape. Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day; Which stopped that band of travellers on their way, Ere they were lost within the shady wood; And showed the bark upon the glassy flood For ever anchored in her sheltering bay. 

The images of the smoke and the travellers are taken from your picture;the rest were added, in order to place the thought in a clear point ofview, and for the sake of variety. I hope Coleorton continues to improveupon you and Lady Beaumont; and that Mr. Taylor's new laws andregulations are at least _peaceably_ submitted to. Mrs. W. And I returnin a few days to Grasmere. We cannot say that the child for whose sakewe came down to the sea-side has derived much benefit from the bathing. The weather has been very unfavourable: we have, however, contrived tosee every thing that lies within a reasonable walk of our presentresidence; among other places, Mulcaster--at least as much of it as canbe seen from the public road; but the noble proprietor has contrived toshut himself up so with plantations and chained gates and locks, thatwhatever prospects he may command from his stately prison, or ratherfortification, can only be guessed at by the passing traveller. In thestate of blindness and unprofitable peeping in which we were compelledto pursue our way up a long and steep hill, I could not help observingto my companion that the Hibernian peer had completely given the lie tothe poet Thomson, when, in a strain of proud enthusiasm, he boasts, I care not, Fortune, what you me deny, You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living stream, &c. (_Castle of Indolence_. )

The _windows of the sky_ were not _shut_, indeed, but the business wasdone more thoroughly; for the sky was nearly shut out altogether. Thisis like most others, a bleak and treeless coast, but abounding incorn-fields, and with a noble beach, which is delightful either forwalking or riding. The Isle of Man is right opposite our window; andthough in this unsettled weather often invisible, its appearance hasafforded us great amusement. One afternoon, above the whole length ofit was stretched a body of clouds, shaped and coloured like amagnificent grove in winter when whitened with snow and illuminated bythe morning sun, which, having melted the snow in part, has intermingledblack masses among the brightness. The whole sky was scattered over withfleecy dark clouds, such as any sunshiny day produces, and which werechanging their shapes and position every moment. But this line of cloudsimmoveably attached themselves to the island, and manifestly took theirshape from the influence of its mountains. There appeared to be justspan enough of sky to allow the hand to slide between the top ofSnâfell, the highest peak in the island, and the base of this gloriousforest, in which little change was noticeable for more than the space ofhalf an hour. We had another fine sight one evening, walking along arising ground, about two miles distant from the shore. It was about thehour of sunset, and the sea was perfectly calm; and in a quarter whereits surface was indistinguishable from the western sky, hazy, andluminous with the setting sun, appeared a tall sloop-rigged vessel, magnified by the atmosphere through which it was viewed, and seemingrather to hang in the air than to float upon the waters. Milton comparesthe appearance of Satan to a _fleet_ descried far off at sea. Thevisionary grandeur and beautiful form of this _single_ vessel, couldwords have conveyed to the mind the picture which nature presented tothe eye, would have suited his purpose as well as the largest company ofvessels that ever associated together with the help of a trade wind inthe wide ocean; yet not exactly so, and for this reason, that his imageis a permanent one, not dependent upon accident. 

I have not left myself room to assure you how sincerely I remain, Your affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [24]

[24] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 272--8. G. 

 * * * * *

'THE RECLUSE, ' REYNOLDS, &c. 

_To Sir George Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, Dec. 25th. 1804. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, Long since ought I to have thanked you for your last affectionateletter; but I knew how indulgent you were, and therefore fell, I won'tsay more easily, but surely with far less pain to myself, into my oldtrick of procrastination. I was deeply sensible of your kindness ininviting me to Grosvenor Square, and then felt and still feel a stronginclination to avail myself of the opportunity of cultivating yourfriendship and that of Lady Beaumont, and of seeing a little of theworld at the same time. But as the wish is strong there are also strongobstacles against it; first, though I have lately been tolerablyindustrious, I am far behind-hand with my appointed work; and next, mynervous system is so apt to be deranged by going from home, that I am byno means sure that I should not be so much of a dependent invalid, Imean a person obliged to manage himself, as to make it absolutelyimproper for me to obtrude myself where neither my exertions of mind orbody, could enable me to be tolerable company. I say nothing of myfamily, because a short absence would be abundantly recompensed by thepleasure of a 'sweet return. ' At all events, I must express my sincerethanks for your kindness and the pleasure which I received from yourletter, breathing throughout such favourable dispositions, I may say, such earnest friendship towards me. 

I think we are completely agreed upon the subject of Sir Joshua, thatis, we both regret that he did not devote more of his time to the higherbranches of the Art, and further, I think you join with me in lamentingto a certain degree at least that he did not live more to himself. Ihave since read the rest of his Discourses, with which I have beengreatly pleased, and, wish most heartily that I could have anopportunity of seeing in your company your own collection of picturesand some others in town, Mr. Angerstein's, for instance, to have pointedout to me some of those finer and peculiar beauties of painting which Iam afraid I shall never have an occasion of becoming sufficientlyfamiliar with pictures to discover of myself. There is not a day in mylife when I am at home in which that exquisite little drawing of yoursof Applethwaite does not affect me with a sense of harmony and grace, which I cannot describe. Mr. Edridge, an artist whom you know, saw thisdrawing along with a Mr. Duppa, another artist, who published _Hintsfrom Raphael and Michael Angelo_; and they were both most enthusiasticin their praise of it, to my great delight. By the bye, I thought Mr. Edridge a man of very mild and pleasing manners, and as far as I couldjudge, of delicate feelings, in the province of his Art. Duppa ispublishing a life of Michael Angelo, and I received from him a few daysago two proof-sheets of an Appendix which contains the poems of M. A. , which I shall read, and translate one or two of them, if I can do itwith decent success. I have peeped into the Sonnets, and they do notappear at all unworthy of their great Author. 

You will be pleased to hear that I have been advancing with my work: Ihave written upwards of 2000 verses during the last ten weeks. I do notknow if you are exactly acquainted with the plan of my poetical labour:it is twofold; first, a Poem, to be called 'The Recluse;' in which itwill be my object to express in verse my most interesting feelingsconcerning man, nature, and society; and next, a poem (in which I am atpresent chiefly engaged) on my earlier life, or the growth of my ownmind, taken up upon a large scale. This latter work I expect to havefinished before the month of May; and then I purpose to fall with all mymight on the former, which is the chief object upon which my thoughtshave been fixed these many years. Of this poem, that of 'ThePedlar, '[25] which Coleridge read you, is part, and I may have writtenof it altogether about 2000 lines. It will consist, I hope, of about tenor twelve thousand. 

[25] 'The Excursion. ' 'The Pedlar' was the title once proposed, from thecharacter of the Wanderer, but abandoned. (_Memoirs_, vol. I. P. 304. )

May we not hope for the pleasure of seeing you and Lady Beaumont downhere next Summer? I flatter myself that Coleridge will then be return'd, and though we would not [on] any account that he should fix himself inthis rainy part of England, yet perhaps we may have the happiness ofmeeting all together for a few weeks. We have lately built in our littlerocky orchard, a little circular Hut, lined with moss, like a wren'snest, and coated on the outside with heath, that stands most charmingly, with several views from the different sides of it, of the Lake, theValley, and the Church--sadly spoiled, however, lately by beingwhite-washed. The little retreat is most delightful, and I am sure youand Lady Beaumont would be highly pleased with it. Coleridge has neverseen it. What a happiness would it be to us to see him there, andentertain you all next Summer in our homely way under its shady thatch. I will copy a dwarf inscription which I wrote for it the other day, before the building was entirely finished, which indeed it is not yet. 

 No whimsy of the purse is here, No Pleasure-House forlorn; Use, comfort, do this roof endear; A tributary Shed to chear The little Cottage that is near, To help it and adorn. 

I hope the young Roscius, if he go on as he has begun, will rescue theEnglish theatre from the infamy that has fallen upon it, and restore thereign of good sense and nature. From what you have seen, Sir George, doyou think he could manage a character of Shakspeare? Neither Selin norDouglas require much power; but even to perform them as he does, talentsand genius I should think must be necessary. I had very little hope Iconfess, thinking it very natural that a theatre which had brought a dogupon the stage as a principal performer, would catch at a wonderwhatever shape it might put on. 

We have had no tidings of Coleridge these several months. He spoke ofpapers which he had sent by private hands, none of which _we_ havereceived. It must be most criminal neglect somewhere if the fever besuffered to enter Malta. Farewell, and believe me, my dear Sir George, your affectionate and sincere friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [26]

[26] _Memoirs_, vol. I. P. 304 _et seq. , _ with important additions fromthe original. G. 

 * * * * *

 'THE RECLUSE; YOUNG ROSCIUS, &c. 

 _Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. Grasmere, May 1st. 1805. 

 MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, I have wished to write to you every day this long time, but I have alsohad another wish, which has interfered to prevent me; I mean the wish toresume my poetical labours: time was stealing away fast from me, andnothing done, and my mind still seeming unfit to do anything. At first Ihad a strong impulse to write a poem that should record my brother'svirtues, and be worthy of his memory. I began to give vent to myfeelings, with this view, but I was overpowered by my subject, and couldnot proceed. I composed much, but it is all lost except a few lines, asit came from me in such a torrent that I was unable to remember it. Icould not hold the pen myself, and the subject was such that I could notemploy Mrs. Wordsworth or my sister as my amanuensis. This work musttherefore rest awhile till I am something calmer; I shall, however, never be at peace till, as far as in me lies, I have done justice to mydeparted brother's memory. His heroic death (the particulars of which Ihave now accurately collected from several of the survivors) exacts thisfrom me, and still more his singularly interesting character, andvirtuous and innocent life. 

Unable to proceed with this work, I turned my thoughts again to the Poemon my own Life, and you will be glad to hear that I have added 300 linesto it in the course of last week. Two books more will conclude it. Itwill be not much less than 9000 lines, --not hundred but thousand lineslong, --an alarming length! and a thing unprecedented in literary historythat a man should talk so much about himself. It is not self-conceit, asyou will know well, that has induced me to do this, but real humility. Ibegan the work because I was unprepared to treat any more arduoussubject, and diffident of my own powers. Here, at least, I hoped that toa certain degree I should be sure of succeeding, as I had nothing to dobut describe what I had felt and thought; therefore could not easily bebewildered. This might certainly have been done in narrower compass by aman of more address; but I have done my best. If, when the work shall befinished, it appears to the judicious to have redundancies, they shallbe lopped off, if possible; but this is very difficult to do, when a manhas written with thought; and this defect, whenever I have suspected itor found it to exist in any writings of mine, I have always foundincurable. The fault lies too deep, and is in the first conception. Ifyou see Coleridge before I do, do not speak of this to him, as I shouldlike to have his judgment unpreoccupied by such an apprehension. I wishmuch to have your further opinion of the young Roscius, above all of his'Hamlet. ' It is certainly impossible that he should understand thecharacter, that is, the composition of the character. But many of thesentiments which are put into Hamlet's mouth he may be supposed to becapable of feeling, and to a certain degree of entering into the spiritof some of the situations. I never saw 'Hamlet' acted myself, nor do Iknow what kind of a play they make of it. I think I have heard thatsome parts which I consider among the finest are omitted: in particular, Hamlet's wild language after the ghost has disappeared. The players havetaken intolerable liberties with Shakspeare's Plays, especially with'Richard the Third, ' which, though a character admirably conceived anddrawn, is in some scenes bad enough in Shakspeare himself; but the play, as it is now acted, has always appeared to me a disgrace to the Englishstage. 'Hamlet, ' I suppose, is treated by them with more reverence. Theyare both characters far, far above the abilities of any actor whom Ihave ever seen. Henderson was before my time, and, of course, Garrick. 

We are looking anxiously for Coleridge: perhaps he may be with you now. We were afraid that he might have had to hear other bad news of ourfamily, as Lady Beaumont's little god-daughter has lately had thatdangerous complaint, the croup, particularly dangerous here, where weare thirteen miles from any medical advice on which we can have theleast reliance. Her case has been a mild one, but sufficient to alarm usmuch, and Mrs. Wordsworth and her aunt have undergone much fatigue insitting up, as for nearly a fortnight she had very bad nights. She yetrequires much care and attention. 

Is your building going on? I was mortified that the sweet little valley, of which you spoke some time ago, was no longer in the possession ofyour family: it is the place, I believe, where that illustrious and mostextraordinary man, Beaumont the Poet, and his brother, were born. One isastonished when one thinks of that man having been only eight-and-twentyyears of age, for I believe he was no more, when he died. Shakspeare, weare told, had scarcely written a single play at that age. I hope, forthe sake of poets, you are proud of these men. 

Lady Beaumont mentioned some time ago that you were painting a picturefrom 'The Thorn:' is it finished? I should like to see it; the poem is afavourite with me, and I shall love it the better for the honour youhave done it. We shall be most happy to have the other drawing which youpromised us some time ago. The dimensions of the Applethwaite one areeight inches high, and a very little above ten broad; this, of course, exclusive of the margin. 

I am anxious to know how your health goes on: we are better than we hadreason to expect. When we look back upon this Spring, it seems like adreary dream to us. But I trust in God that we shall yet 'bear up andsteer right onward. '

Farewell. I am, your affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

My sister thanks Lady Beaumont for her letter, the short one of theother day, and hopes to be able to write soon. Have you seen Southey's'Madoc'? We have it in the house, but have deferred reading it, havingbeen too busy with the child. I should like to know how it pleasesyou. [27]

[27] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 305--8. G. 

 * * * * *

PORTRAIT OF COLERIDGE: 'THE EXCURSION' FINISHED: SOUTHEY'S MADOC; &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, June 3d. 1805. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, I write to you from the moss-hut at the top of my orchard, the sun justsinking behind the hills in front of the entrance, and his light fallingupon the green moss of the side opposite me. A linnet is singing in thetree above, and the children of some of our neighbours, who have beento-day little John's visitors, are playing below equally noisy andhappy. The green fields in the level area of the vale, and part of thelake, lie before me in quietness. I have just been reading twonewspapers, full of factious brawls about Lord Melville and hisdelinquencies, ravage of the French in the West Indies, victories of theEnglish in the East, fleets of ours roaming the sea in search of enemieswhom they cannot find, &c. &c. &c. ; and I have asked myself more thanonce lately, if my affections can be in the right place, caring as I doso little about what the world seems to care so much for. All this seemsto me, 'a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifyingnothing. ' It is pleasant in such a mood to turn one's thoughts to a goodman and a dear friend. I have, therefore, taken up the pen to write toyou. And, first, let me thank you (which I ought to have done long ago, and should have done, but that I knew I had a licence from you toprocrastinate) for your most acceptable present of Coleridge's portrait, welcome in itself, and more so as coming from you. It is as good aresemblance as I expect to see of Coleridge, taking it all together, forI consider C. 's as a face absolutely impracticable. Mrs. Wordsworth wasoverjoyed at the sight of the print; Dorothy and I much pleased. Wethink it excellent about the eyes and forehead, which are the finestparts of C. 's face, and the general contour of the face is well given;but, to my sister and me, it seems to fail sadly about the middle of theface, particularly at the bottom of the nose. Mrs. W. Feels this also;and my sister so much, that, except when she covers the whole of themiddle of the face, it seems to her so entirely to alter the expression, as rather to confound than revive in her mind the remembrance of theoriginal. We think, as far as mere likeness goes, Hazlitt's is better;but the expression in Hazlitt's is quite dolorous and funereal; that inthis is much more pleasing, though certainly falling far below what onewould wish to see infused into a picture of C. Mrs. C. Received a day ortwo ago a letter from a friend who had letters from Malta, not fromColeridge, but a Miss Stoddart, who is there with her brother. Theseletters are of the date of the fifth of March, and speak of him aslooking well and quite well, and talking of coming home, but doubtfulwhether by land or sea. 

I have the pleasure to say, that I finished my poem about a fortnightago. I had looked forward to the day as a most happy one; and I wasindeed grateful to God for giving me life to complete the work, such asit is. But it was not a happy day for me; I was dejected on manyaccounts: when I looked back upon the performance, it seemed to have adead weight about it, --the reality so far short of the expectation. Itwas the first long labour that I had finished; and the doubt whether Ishould ever live to write The Recluse, ' and the sense which I had ofthis poem being so far below what I seemed capable of executing, depressed me much; above all, many heavy thoughts of my poor departedbrother hung upon me, the joy which I should have had in showing him themanuscript, and a thousand other vain fancies and dreams. I have spokenof this, because it was a state of feeling new to me, the occasion beingnew. This work may be considered as a sort _of portico_ to 'TheRecluse, ' part of the same building, which I hope to be able, ere long, to begin with in earnest; and if I am permitted to bring it to aconclusion, and to write, further, a narrative poem of the epic kind, Ishall consider the task of my life as over. I ought to add, that I havethe satisfaction of finding the present poem not quite of so alarming alength as I apprehended. 

I wish much to hear from you, if you have leisure; but as you are soindulgent to me, it would be the highest injustice were I otherwise toyou. 

We have read 'Madoc, ' and been highly pleased with it. It abounds inbeautiful pictures and descriptions, happily introduced, and there is ananimation diffused through the whole story, though it cannot, perhaps, be said that any of the characters interest you much, except, perhaps, young Llewellyn, whose situation is highly interesting, and he appearsto me the best conceived and sustained character in the piece. Hisspeech to his uncle at their meeting in the island is particularlyinteresting. The poem fails in the highest gifts of the poet's mind, imagination in the true sense of the word, and knowledge of human natureand the human heart. There is nothing that shows the hand of the greatmaster; but the beauties in description are innumerable; for instance, that of the figure of the bard, towards the beginning of the conventionof the bards, receiving the poetic inspiration; that of the wife ofTlalala, the savage, going out to meet her husband; that of Madoc, andthe Atzecan king with a long name, preparing for battle; everywhere, indeed, you have beautiful descriptions, and it is a work which does theauthor high credit, I think. I should like to know your opinion of it. Farewell! Best remembrances and love to Lady Beaumont. Believe me, My dear Sir George, Your most sincere friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

My sister thanks Lady Beaumont for her letter, and will write in a fewdays. I find that Lady B. Has been pleased much by 'Madoc. '[28]

[28] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 309--12. G. 

COLERIDGE: VISIT TO COLEORTON: HOUBRAKEN: 'MADOC, ' &c. 

_To Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, July 29th. [1805. ]

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, We have all here been made happy in hearing that you are so much better. I write now chiefly on account of a mistake which you seem to be underconcerning Coleridge. I guess from your letter that you suppose him tobe appointed to the place of Secretary to Sir A. Ball. This is by nomeans the case. He is an occasional substitute for Mr. Chapman, who issecretary, and no doubt must have resumed his office long before this;as he had been expected every day some time before the date of C. 's lastletter. The paragraph in the Paper (which we also saw) positively statesthat C. Is appointed Secretary. This is an error, and has been merelyput in upon common rumour. 

When you were ill I had a thought which I will mention to you. It wasthis: I wished to know how you were at present situated as to house-roomat Coleorton, that is, whether you could have found a corner for me toput my head in, in case I could have contrived to have commanded threeweeks' time, or so. I am at present, and shall be for some time, engagedwith a sick friend, who has come all the way from Bristol on purpose tosee us, and has taken lodgings in the Village; but should you be unwellagain, and my company be like to tend in the least to exhilarate you, Ishould like to know, that were it in my power to go and see you, I mighthave the liberty to do so. 

Having such reason to expect Coleridge at present (were we at liberty inother respects), I cannot think of taking my family on tour, agreeableto your kind suggestion. Something has, however, already been added byyour means to our comforts, in the way of Books, and probably we shallbe able to make an excursion ere the Summer be over. 

By the bye, are you possessed of Houbraken and Vertue's _Heads ofIllustrious Persons_, with anecdotes of their Lives by Birch? I had anopportunity of purchasing a handsome copy (far below the price at whichit now sells, I believe, in London) at Penrith, a few weeks ago; and ifyou have not a copy, and think the work has any merit, you would pleaseme greatly by giving it a place in your Library. 

I am glad you like the passage in 'Madoc' about Llewellyn. Southey'smind does not seem strong enough to draw the picture of a hero. Thecharacter of Madoc is often very insipid and contemptible; for instance, when he is told that the Foemen have surprised Caer, Madoc, and ofcourse (he has reason to believe) butchered or carried away all thewomen and children, what does the Author make him do? Think of Goervyland Llayan very tenderly forsooth; but not a word about his people! Inshort, according to my notion, the character is throughout languidlyconceived, and, as you observe, the contrast between her and Llewellynmakes him look very mean. I made a mistake when I pointed out abeautiful passage as being in the beginning of the meeting of the bards;it occurs before, and ends thus:

 --His eyes were closed; His head, as if in reverence to receive The inspiration, bent; and as he raised His glowing countenance and brighter eye And swept with passionate hands the ringing harp. 

The verses of your ancestor Francis Beaumont, the younger, are veryelegant and harmonious, and written with true feeling. Is this the onlypoem of his extant? There are some pleasing Verses (I think by Corbet, Bishop of Norwich) on the death of Francis Beaumont the elder. They end, I remember, thus, alluding to his short life:

 --by whose sole death appears, Wit's a disease consumes men in few years. 

I have never seen the works of the brother of the dramatic Poet; but Iknow he wrote a poem upon the Battle of Bosworth Field. Probably it willbe in the volume which you have found, which it would give me greatpleasure to see, as also Charnwood Rocks, which must have a strikingeffect in that country. I am highly flattered by Lady Beaumont'sfavourable opinion of me and my poems. 

My Sister will answer her affectionate letter very soon; she would havedone it before now, but she has been from home three days and unwell, orentirely engrossed with some visitors whom we have had, the rest of hertime. 

The letter which you will find accompanying this is from anacquaintance of ours to his wife. He lives at Patterdale, and she wasover at Grasmere. We thought it would interest you. Farewell. I remain, in hopes of good news of your health, your affectionate and sincerefriend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

_From Mr. Luff of Patterdale to his Wife_. 

Patterdale, July 23d. [1805. ]

An event happened here last night which has greatly affected the wholevillage, and particularly myself. 

The body, or more properly speaking, bones of a poor fellow wereyesterday found by Willy Harrison, in the rocks at the head of red Tarn. It appears that he was attempting to descend the Pass from Helvellyn tothe Tarn, when he lost his footing and was dashed to pieces. 

His name appears to have been Charles Gough. Several things were foundin his pockets; fishing tackle, memorandums, a gold watch, silverpencil, Claude Lorraine glasses, &c. 

Poor fellow! It is very strange, but we met him when we were lastreviewed in April; and he then wanted John Harrison to turn back withhim and go to the Tarn; but he was told that his request could not becomplied with. It appears that he proceeded [forward] and met his fate. 

You will be much interested to know that a spaniel bitch was found aliveby his side, where she has remained upwards of three months, guardingthe bones of her master; but she had become so wild that it was withdifficulty she was taken. She is in good condition; and what is moreodd, had whelped a pup, which from its size must have lived some weeks, but when found was lying dead by the bones. The bones are as completelyfreed from flesh as if they had been anatomised, and perfectly white anddry. The head can nowhere be found. The arms, one thigh and a leg wereall that remained in the clothes. All the rest were scattered about hereand there. 

When I reflect on my own wanderings and the many dangerous situations Ihave found myself in, in the pursuit of game, I cannot help thankingProvidence that I am now here to relate to you this melancholy tale. Iwonder whether poor Fan's affection would under similar circumstanceshave equalled that of the little spaniel. 

OF LORD NELSON AND 'THE HAPPY WARRIOR, ' AND PITT; AND ON BUILDING, GARDENING, &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, Feb. 11th. 1806. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, Upon opening this letter, you must have seen that it is accompanied witha copy of verses. [29] I hope they will give you some pleasure, as itwill be the best way in which they can repay me for a little vexation, of which they have been the cause. They were written several weeks ago, and I wished to send them to you, but could not muster up resolution, asI felt that they were so unworthy of the subject. Accordingly, I keptthem by me from week to week, with a hope (which has proved vain) that, in some happy moment, a new fit of inspiration would help me to mendthem; and hence my silence, which, with your usual goodness, I know youwill excuse. 

[29] 'The Happy Warrior'

You will find that the verses are allusive to Lord Nelson; and they willshow that I must have sympathised with you in admiration of the man, andsorrow for our loss. Yet, considering the matter coolly, there waslittle to regret. The state of Lord Nelson's health, I suppose, wassuch, that he could not have lived long; and the first burst ofexultation upon landing in his native country, and his reception here, would have been dearly bought, perhaps, by pain and bodily weakness, anddistress among his friends, which he could neither remove nor alleviate. Few men have ever died under circumstances so likely to make theirdeaths of benefit to their country: it is not easy to see what his lifecould have done comparable to it. The loss of such men as Lord Nelsonis, indeed, great and real; but surely not for the reason which makesmost people grieve, a supposition that no other such man is in thecountry. The old ballad has taught us how to feel on these occasions:

 I trust I have within my realm Five hundred good as he. 

But this is the evil, that nowhere is merit so much under the power ofwhat (to avoid a more serious expression) one may call that of fortune, as in military and naval service; and it is five hundred to one thatsuch men will not have attained situations where they can showthemselves, so that the country may know in whom to trust. Lord Nelsonhad attained that situation; and, therefore, I think (and not for theother reason), ought we chiefly to lament that he is taken from us. 

Mr. Pitt is also gone! by tens of thousands looked upon in like manneras a great loss. For my own part, as probably you know, I have neverbeen able to regard his political life with complacency. I believe him, however, to have been as disinterested a man, and as true a lover of hiscountry, as it was possible for so ambitious a man to be. His first wish(though probably unknown to himself) was that his country should prosperunder his administration; his next that it should prosper. Could theorder of these wishes have been reversed, Mr. Pitt would have avoidedmany of the grievous mistakes into which, I think, he fell. I know, mydear Sir George, you will give me credit for speaking without arrogance;and I am aware it is not unlikely you may differ greatly from me inthese points. But I like, in some things, to differ with a friend, andthat he should _know_ I differ from him; it seems to make a more healthyfriendship, to act as a relief to those notions and feelings which wehave in common, and to give them a grace and spirit which they could nototherwise possess. 

There were some parts in the long letter which I wrote about laying outgrounds, in which the expression must have been left imperfect. I likesplendid mansions in their proper places, and have no objection to largeor even obtrusive houses in themselves. My dislike is to that system ofgardening which, because a house happens to be large or splendid, andstands at the head of a large domain, establishes it therefore as aprinciple that the house ought to _dye_ all the surrounding country witha strength of colouring and to an extent proportionate to its ownimportance. This system, I think, is founded in false taste, falsefeeling, and its effects disgusting in the highest degree. The reasonyou mention as having induced you to build was worthy of you, and gaveme the highest pleasure. But I hope God will grant you and Lady Beaumontlife to enjoy yourselves the fruit of your exertions for many years. 

We have lately had much anxiety about Coleridge. What can have become ofhim? It must be upwards of three months since he landed at Trieste. Hashe returned to Malta think you, or what can have befallen him? He hasnever since been heard of. 

Lady Beaumont spoke of your having been ill of a cold; I hope you arebetter. We have all here been more or less deranged in the same way. 

We have to thank you for a present of game, which arrived in good time. 

Never have a moment's uneasiness about answering my letters. We are allwell at present, and unite in affectionate wishes to you and LadyBeaumont. Believe me, Your sincere friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

I have thoughts of sending the Verses to a Newspaper. [30]

[30] _Memoirs_, vol. I. P. 321 _et seq_. , with important additions fromthe original. By a curious inadvertence this letter is dated 1796--quiteplainly--for 1806, as shown by the post-mark outside. G. 

 * * * * *

OF HIS OWN POEMS AS FALSELY CRITICISED. 

_Letter to Lady Beaumont_. 

 Coleorton, May 21. 1807. 

MY DEAR LADY BEAUMONT, Though I am to see you so soon, I cannot but write a word or two, tothank you for the interest you take in my poems, as evinced by yoursolicitude about their immediate reception. I write partly to thank youfor this, and to express the pleasure it has given me, and partly toremove any uneasiness from your mind which the disappointments yousometimes meet with, in this labour of love, may occasion. I see thatyou have many battles to fight for me, --more than, in the ardour andconfidence of your pure and elevated mind, you had ever thought of beingsummoned to; but be assured that this opposition is nothing more thanwhat I distinctly foresaw that you and my other friends would have toencounter. I say this, not to give myself credit for an eye of prophecy, but to allay any vexatious thoughts on my account which this oppositionmay have produced in you. 

It is impossible that any expectations can be lower than mineconcerning the immediate effect of this little work upon what is calledthe public. I do not here take into consideration the envy andmalevolence, and all the bad passions which always stand in the way of awork of any merit from a living poet; but merely think of the pure, absolute, honest ignorance in which all worldlings of every rank andsituation must be enveloped, with respect to the thoughts, feelings, andimages, on which the life of my poems depends. The things which I havetaken, whether from within or without, what have they to do with routs, dinners, morning calls, hurry from door to door, from street to street, on foot or in carriage; with Mr. Pitt or Mr. Fox, Mr. Paul or SirFrancis Burdett, the Westminster election or the borough of Honiton? Ina word--for I cannot stop to make my way through the hurry of imagesthat present themselves to me--what have they to do with endless talkingabout things nobody cares any thing for except as far as their ownvanity is concerned, and this with persons they care nothing for but astheir vanity or _selfishness_ is concerned?--what have they to do (tosay all at once) with a life without love? In such a life there can beno thought; for we have no thought (save thoughts of pain) but as far aswe have love and admiration. 

It is an awful truth, that there neither is, nor can be, any genuineenjoyment of poetry among nineteen out of twenty of those persons wholive, or wish to live, in the broad light of the world--among those whoeither are, or are striving to make themselves, people of considerationin society. This is a truth, and an awful one, because to be incapableof a feeling of poetry, in my sense of the word, is to be without loveof human nature and reverence for God. 

Upon this I shall insist elsewhere; at present let me confine myself tomy object, which is to make you, my dear friend, as easy-hearted asmyself with respect to these poems. Trouble not yourself upon theirpresent reception; of what moment is that compared with what I trust istheir destiny?--to console the afflicted; to add sunshine to daylight, by making the happy happier; to teach the young and the gracious ofevery age to see, to think, and feel, and, therefore, to become moreactively and securely virtuous; this is their office, which I trust theywill faithfully perform, long after we (that is, all that is mortal ofus) are mouldered in our graves. I am well aware how far it would seemto many I over-rate my own exertions, when I speak in this way, indirect connection with the volume I have just made public. 

I am not, however, afraid of such censure, insignificant as probably themajority of those poems would appear to very respectable persons. I donot mean London wits and witlings, for these have too many foul passionsabout them to be respectable, even if they had more intellect than thebenign laws of Providence will allow to such a heartless existence astheirs is; but grave, kindly-natured, worthy persons, who would bepleased if they could. I hope that these volumes are not without somerecommendations, even for readers of this class: but their imaginationhas slept; and the voice which is the voice of my poetry, withoutimagination, cannot be heard. Leaving these, I was going to say a wordto such readers as Mr. ----. Such!--how would he be offended if he knew Iconsidered him only as a representative of a class, and not an unique!'Pity, ' says Mr. ---- 'that so many trifling things should be admitted toobstruct the view of those that have merit. ' Now, let this candid judgetake, by way of example, the sonnets, which, probably, with theexception of two or three other poems, for which I will not contend, appear to him the most trifling, as they are the shortest. I would sayto him, omitting things of higher consideration, there is one thingwhich must strike you at once, if you will only read these poems, --thatthose 'to Liberty, ' at least, have a connection with, or a bearing upon, each other; and, therefore, if individually they want weight, perhaps, as a body, they may not be so deficient. At least, this ought to induceyou to suspend your judgment, and qualify it so far as to allow that thewriter aims at least at comprehensiveness. 

But, dropping this, I would boldly say at once, that these sonnets, while they each fix the attention upon some important sentiment, separately considered, do, at the same time, collectively make a poem onthe subject of civil liberty and national independence, which, eitherfor simplicity of style or grandeur of moral sentiment, is, alas! likelyto have few parallels in the poetry of the present day. Again, turn tothe 'Moods of my own Mind. ' There is scarcely a poem here of abovethirty lines, and very trifling these poems will appear to many; but, omitting to speak of them individually, do they not, takencollectively, fix the attention upon a subject eminently poetical, viz. , the interest which objects in Nature derive from the predominanceof certain affections, more or less permanent, more or less capable ofsalutary renewal in the mind of the being contemplating these objects?This is poetic, and essentially poetic. And why? Because it is creative. 

But I am wasting words, for it is nothing more than you know; and ifsaid to those for whom it is intended, it would not be understood. 

I see by your last letter, that Mrs. Fermor has entered into the spiritof these 'Moods of my own Mind. ' Your transcript from her letter gave methe greatest pleasure; but I must say that even she has something yet toreceive from me. I say this with confidence, from her thinking that Ihave fallen below myself in the sonnet, beginning, With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh. 

As to the other which she objects to, I will only observe, that there isa misprint in the last line but two, And _though_ this wilderness, for

 And _through_ this wilderness, that makes it unintelligible. This latter sonnet, for many reasons(though I do not abandon it), I will not now speak of; but upon theother, I could say something important in conversation, and will attemptnow to illustrate it by a comment, which, I feel, will be inadequate toconvey my meaning. There is scarcely one of my poems which does not aimto direct the attention to some moral sentiment, or to some generalprinciple, or law of thought, or of our intellectual constitution. Forinstance, in the present case, who is there that has not felt that themind can have no rest among a multitude of objects, of which it eithercannot make one whole, or from which it cannot single out one individualwhereupon may be concentrated the attention, divided among or distractedby a multitude? After a certain time, we must either select one image orobject, which must put out of view the rest wholly, or must subordinatethem to itself while it stands forth as a head:

 How glowed the firmament With living sapphires! Hesperus, that _led_ The starry host, rode brightest; till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length, Apparent _Queen_, unveiled _her peerless_ light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. 

Having laid this down as a general principle, take the case before us. Iam represented in the sonnet as casting my eyes over the sea, sprinkledwith a multitude of ships, like the heavens with stars. My mind may besupposed to float up and down among them, in a kind of dreamyindifference with respect either to this or that one, only in apleasurable state of feeling with respect to the whole prospect. 'Joyously it showed. ' This continued till that feeling may be supposedto have passed away, and a kind of comparative listlessness or apathy tohave succeeded, as at this line, Some veering up and down, one knew not why. 

All at once, while I am in this state, comes forth an object, anindividual; and my mind, sleepy and unfixed, is awakened and fastened ina moment. 

 Hesperus, that _led_ The starry host, is a poetical object, because the glory of his own nature gives him thepre-eminence the moment he appears. He calls forth the poetic faculty, receiving its exertions as a tribute. But this ship in the sonnet may, in a manner still more appropriate, be said to come upon a mission ofthe poetic spirit, because, in its own appearance and attributes, it isbarely sufficiently distinguished to rouse the creative faculty of thehuman mind, to exertions at all times welcome, but doubly so when theycome upon us when in a state of remissness. The mind being once fixedand roused, all the rest comes from itself; it is merely a lordly ship, nothing more:

 This ship was nought to me, nor I to her, Yet I pursued her with a lover's look. 

My mind wantons with grateful joy in the exercise of its own powers, and, loving its own creation, This ship to all the rest I did prefer, making her a sovereign or a regent, and thus giving body and life to allthe rest; mingling up this idea with fondness and praise--

 where she comes the winds must stir;

and concluding the whole with, On went she, and due north her journey took;

thus taking up again the reader with whom I began, letting him know howlong I must have watched this favourite vessel, and inviting him to resthis mind as mine is resting. 

Having said so much upon mere fourteen lines, which Mrs. Fermor did notapprove, I cannot but add a word or two upon my satisfaction in findingthat my mind has so much in common with hers, and that we participate somany of each other's pleasures. I collect this from her having singledout the two little poems, 'The Daffodils, ' and 'The Rock crowned withSnowdrops. ' I am sure that whoever is much pleased with either of thesequiet and tender delineations must be fitted to walk through therecesses of my poetry with delight, and will there recognise, at everyturn, something or other in which, and over which, it has that propertyand right which knowledge and love confer. The line, Come, blessed barrier, &c. 

in the 'Sonnet upon Sleep, ' which Mrs. F. Points out, had before beenmentioned to me by Coleridge, and, indeed, by almost every body who hadheard it, as eminently beautiful. My letter (as this second sheet, whichI am obliged to take, admonishes me) is growing to an enormous length;and yet, saving that I have expressed my calm confidence that thesepoems will live, I have said nothing which has a particular applicationto the object of it, which was to remove all disquiet from your mind onaccount of the condemnation they may at present incur from that portionof my contemporaries who are called the public. I am sure, my dear LadyBeaumont, if you attach any importance to it, it can only be from anapprehension that it may affect me, upon which I have already set you atease; or from a fear that this present blame is ominous of their futureor final destiny. If this be the case, your tenderness for me betraysyou. Be assured that the decision of these persons has nothing to dowith the question; they are altogether incompetent judges. These people, in the senseless hurry of their idle lives, do not _read_ books, theymerely snatch a glance at them, that they may talk about them. And evenif this were not so, never forget what, I believe, was observed to youby Coleridge, that every great and original writer, in proportion as heis great or original, must himself create the taste by which he is to berelished; he must teach the art by which he is to be seen; this, in acertain degree, even to all persons, however wise and pure may be theirlives, and however unvitiated their taste. But for those who dip intobooks in order to give an opinion of them, or talk about them to take upan opinion--for this multitude of unhappy, and misguided, and misguidingbeings, an entire regeneration must be produced; and if this bepossible, it must be a work _of time_. To conclude, my ears arestone-dead to this idle buzz, and my flesh as insensible as iron tothese petty stings; and, after what I have said, I am sure yours will bethe same. I doubt not that you will share with me an invincibleconfidence that my writings (and among them these little poems) willco-operate with the benign tendencies in human nature and society, wherever found; and that they will, in their degree, be efficacious inmaking men wiser, better, and happier. Farewell! I will not apologisefor this letter, though its length demands an apology. Believe me, eagerly wishing for the happy day when I shall see you and Sir Georgehere, Most affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. 

Do not hurry your coming hither on our account: my sister regrets thatshe did not press this upon you, as you say in your letter, 'we cannot_possibly_ come before the first week in June;' from which we infer thatyour kindness will induce you to make sacrifices for our sakes. Whateverpleasure we may have in thinking of Grasmere, we have no impatience tobe gone, and think with full as much regret of leaving Coleorton. I had, for myself, indeed, a wish to be at Grasmere with as much of the summerbefore me as might be; but to this I attach no importance whatever, asfar as the gratification of that wish interferes with any inclination orduty of yours. I could not be satisfied without seeing you here, andshall have great pleasure in waiting. [31]

[31] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 331-40. 

OF 'PETER BELL' AND OTHER POEMS. _Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, I am quite delighted to hear of your picture for 'Peter Bell;' I wasmuch pleased with the sketch, and I have no doubt that the picture willsurpass it as far as a picture ought to do. I long much to see it. Ishould approve of any engraver approved by you. But remember that nopoem of mine will ever be popular; and I am afraid that the sale of'Peter' would not carry the expence of the engraving, and that the poem, in the estimation of the public, would be a weight upon the print. I saynot this in modest disparagement of the poem, but in sorrow for thesickly taste of the public in verse. The _people_ would love the poem of'Peter Bell, ' but the _public_ (a very different being) will never loveit. Thanks for dear Lady B. 's transcript from your friend's letter; itis written with candour, but I must say a word or two not in praise ofit. 'Instances of what I mean, ' says your friend, 'are to be found in apoem on a Daisy' (by the by, it is on _the_ Daisy, a mighty difference!)'and on _Daffodils reflected in the Water_. ' Is this accuratelytranscribed by Lady Beaumont? If it be, what shall we think of criticismor judgment founded upon, and exemplified by, a poem which must havebeen so inattentively perused? My language is precise; and, therefore, it would be false modesty to charge myself with blame. 

 Beneath the trees, Ten thousand dancing in the _breeze_. The _waves beside_ them danced, but they Outdid the _sparkling waves_ in glee. 

Can expression be more distinct? And let me ask your friend how it ispossible for flowers to be _reflected_ in water where there are _waves_?They may, indeed, in _still_ water; but the very object of my poem isthe trouble or agitation, both of the flowers and the water. I mustneeds respect the understanding of every one honoured by yourfriendship; but sincerity compels me to say that my poems must be morenearly looked at, before they can give rise to any remarks of muchvalue, even from the strongest minds. With respect to this individualpoem, Lady B. Will recollect how Mrs. Fermor expressed herself upon it. A letter also was sent to me, addressed to a friend of mine, and by himcommunicated to me, in which this identical poem was singled out forfervent approbation. What then shall we say? Why, let the poet firstconsult his own heart, as I have done, and leave the rest toposterity, --to, I hope, an improving posterity. The fact is, the English_public_ are at this moment in the same state of mind with respect to mypoems, if small things may be compared with great, as the French are inrespect to Shakspeare, and not the French alone, but almost the wholeContinent. In short, in your friend's letter, I am condemned for thevery thing for which I ought to have been praised, viz. , that I have notwritten down to the level of superficial observers and unthinking minds. Every great poet is a teacher: I wish either to be considered as ateacher, or as nothing. 

To turn to a more pleasing subject. Have you painted anything elsebeside this picture from 'Peter Bell'? Your two oil-paintings (and, indeed, everything I have of yours) have been much admired by theartists who have seen them. And, for our own parts, we like them betterevery day; this, in particular, is the case with the small picture fromthe neighbourhood of Coleorton, which, indeed, pleased me much at thefirst sight, but less impressed the rest of our household, who now seeas many beauties in it as I do myself. Havill, the water-colour painter, was much pleased with these things; he is painting at Ambleside, and hasdone a view of Rydal Water, looking down upon it from Rydal Park, ofwhich I should like to know your opinion; it will be exhibited in theSpring, in the water-colour Exhibition. I have purchased a black-leadpencil sketch of Mr. Green, of Ambleside, which, I think, has greatmerit, the materials being uncommonly picturesque, and well puttogether: I should dearly like to have the same subject (it is thecottage at Glencoign, by Ulleswater) treated by you. In the poem I havejust written, you will find one situation which, if the work should everbecome familiarly known, would furnish as fine a subject for a pictureas any thing I remember in poetry ancient or modern. I need not mentionwhat it is, as when you read the poem you cannot miss it. We have atlast had, by the same post, two letters from Coleridge, long andmelancholy; and also, from Keswick, an account so depressing as to thestate of his health, that I should have set off immediately to London, to see him, if I had not myself been confined by indisposition. 

I hope that Davy is by this time perfectly restored to health. Believeme, my dear Sir George, Most sincerely yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [32]

[32] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 340-3. 

OF BUILDING AND GARDENING AND LAYING OUT OF GROUNDS. _Letter to SirGeorge H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, October 17th. 1805. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, I was very glad to learn that you had room for me at Coleorton, and farmore so, that your health was so much mended. Lady Beaumont's lastletter to my sister has made us wish that you were fairly through yourpresent engagements with workmen and builders, and, as to improvements, had smoothed over the first difficulties, and gotten things into a wayof improving themselves. I do not suppose that any man ever built ahouse, without finding in the progress of it obstacles that wereunforeseen, and something that might have been better planned; thingsteazing and vexatious when they come, however the mind may have beenmade up at the outset to a general expectation of the kind. 

With respect to the grounds, you have there the advantage of being ingood hands, namely, those of Nature; and, assuredly, whatever pettycrosses from contrariety of opinion or any other cause you may now meetwith, these will soon disappear, and leave nothing behind butsatisfaction and harmony. Setting out from the distinction made byColeridge which you mentioned, that your house will belong to thecountry, and not the country be an appendage to your house, you cannotbe wrong. Indeed, in the present state of society, I see nothinginteresting either to the imagination or the heart, and, of course, nothing which true taste can approve, in any interference with Nature, grounded upon any other principle. In times when the feudal system wasin its vigor, and the personal importance of every chieftain might besaid to depend entirely upon the extent of his landed property andrights of seignory; when the king, in the habits of people's minds, wasconsidered as the primary and true proprietor of the soil, which wasgranted out by him to different lords, and again by them to theirseveral tenants under them, for the joint defence of all; there mighthave been something imposing to the imagination in the whole face of adistrict, testifying, obtrusively even, its dependence upon its chief. Such an image would have been in the spirit of the society, implyingpower, grandeur, military state, and security; and, less directly, inthe person of the chief, high birth, and knightly education andaccomplishments; in short, the most of what was then deemed interestingor affecting. Yet, with the exception of large parks and forests, nothing of this kind was known at that time, and these were left intheir wild state, so that such display of ownership, so far from takingfrom the beauty of Nature, was itself a chief cause of that beauty beingleft unspoiled and unimpaired. The _improvements_, when the place wassufficiently tranquil to admit of any, though absurd and monstrous inthemselves, were confined (as our present Laureate has observed, Iremember, in one of his essays) to an acre or two about the house in theshape of garden with terraces, &c. So that Nature had greatly theadvantage in those days, when what has been called English gardening wasunheard of. This is now beginning to be perceived, and we are settingout to travel backwards. Painters and poets have had the credit of beingreckoned the fathers of English gardening; they will also have, hereafter, the better praise of being fathers of a better taste. Erroris in general nothing more than getting hold of good things, as everything has two handles, by the wrong one. It was a misconception of themeaning and principles of poets and painters which gave countenance tothe modern system of gardening, which is now, I hope, on the decline; inother words, we are submitting to the rule which you at present areguided by, that of having our houses belong to the country, which willof course lead us back to the simplicity of Nature. And leaving your ownindividual sentiments and present work out of the question, what goodcan come of any other guide, under any circumstances? We have, indeed, distinctions of rank, hereditary legislators, and large landedproprietors; but from numberless causes the state of society is so muchaltered, that nothing of that lofty or imposing interest, formerlyattached to large property in land, can now exist; none of the poeticpride, and pomp, and circumstance; nor anything that can be consideredas making amends for violation done to the holiness of Nature. Let ustake an extreme case, such as a residence of a Duke of Norfolk, orNorthumberland: of course you would expect a mansion, in some degreeanswerable to their consequence, with all conveniences. The names ofHoward and Percy will always stand high in the regards of Englishmen;but it is degrading, not only to such families as these, but to everyreally interesting one, to suppose that their importance will be mostfelt where most displayed, particularly in the way I am now alluding to. This is contracting a general feeling into a local one. Besides, were itnot so, as to what concerns the Past, a man would be sadly astray, whoshould go, for example, to modernise Alnwick and its dependencies, withhis head full of the ancient Percies: he would find nothing there whichwould remind him of them, except by contrast; and of that kind ofadmonition he would, indeed, have enough. But this by the bye, for it isagainst the principle itself I am contending, and not the misapplicationof it. After what was said above, I may ask, if anything connected withthe families of Howard and Percy, and their rank and influence, and thuswith the state of government and society, could, in the present age, bedeemed a recompence for their thrusting themselves in between us andNature. Surely it is a substitution of little things for great when wewould put a whole country into a nobleman's livery. I know nothing whichto me would be so pleasing or affecting, as to be able to say when I amin the midst of a large estate--This man is not the victim of hiscondition; he is not the spoiled child of worldly grandeur; the thoughtof himself does not take the lead in his enjoyments; he is, where heought to be, lowly-minded, and has human feelings; he has a true relishof simplicity, and therefore stands the best chance of being happy; atleast, without it there is no happiness, because there can be no truesense of the bounty and beauty of the creation, or insight into theconstitution of the human mind. Let a man of wealth and influence shew, by the appearance of the country in his neighbourhood, that he treadsin the steps of the good sense of the age, and occasionally goesforemost; let him give countenance to improvements in agriculture, steering clear of the pedantry of it, and showing that its grossestutilities will connect themselves harmoniously with the moreintellectual arts, and even thrive the best under such connection; lethim do his utmost to be surrounded with tenants living comfortably, which will bring always with it the best of all graces which a countrycan have--flourishing fields and happy-looking houses; and, in that partof his estate devoted to park and pleasure-ground, let him keep himselfas much out of sight as possible; let Nature be all in all, taking carethat everything done by man shall be in the way of being adopted by her. If people chuse that a great mansion should be the chief figure in acountry, let this kind of keeping prevail through the picture, and truetaste will find no fault. 

I am writing now rather for writing's sake than anything else, for Ihave many remembrances beating about in my head which you would littlesuspect. I have been thinking of you, and Coleridge, and our ScotchTour, and Lord Lowther's grounds, and Heaven knows what. I have hadbefore me the tremendously long ell-wide gravel walks of the Duke ofAthol, among the wild glens of Blair, Bruar Water, and Dunkeld, brushedneatly, without a blade of grass or weed upon them, or anything thatbore traces of a human footstep; much indeed of human hands, but wear ortear of foot was none. Thence I pass'd to our neighbour, Lord Lowther. You know that his predecessor, greatly, without doubt, to the advantageof the place, left it to take care of itself. The present lord seemsdisposed to do something, but not much. He has a neighbour, a Quaker, anamiable, inoffensive man[33], and a little of a poet too, who has amusedhimself, upon his own small estate upon the Emont, in twining pathwaysalong the banks of the river, making little cells and bowers withinscriptions of his own writing, all very pretty as not spreading far. This man is at present Arbiter Elegantiarum, or master of the grounds, at Lowther, and what he has done hitherto is very well, as it is littlemore than making accessible what could not before be got at. 

[33] Mr. Thomas Wilkinson. See poem, 'To his Spade. '

You know something of Lowther. I believe a more delightful spot is not underthe sun. Last summer I had a charming walk along the river, for which I wasindebted to this man, whose intention is to carry the walk along theriver-side till it joins the great road at Lowther Bridge, which youwill recollect, just under Brougham, about a mile from Penrith. This tomy great sorrow! for the manufactured walk, which was absolutelynecessary in many places, will in one place pass through a few hundredyards of forest ground, and will there efface the most beautifulspecimen of a forest pathway ever seen by human eyes, and which I havepaced many an hour, when I was a youth, with some of those I best love. This path winds on under the trees with the wantonness of a river or aliving creature; and even if I may say so with the subtlety of a spirit, contracting or enlarging itself, visible or invisible as it likes. Thereis a continued opening between the trees, a narrow slip of green turfbesprinkled with flowers, chiefly daisies, and here it is, if I may usethe same kind of language, that this pretty path plays its pranks, wearing away the turf and flowers at its pleasure. When I took the walkI was speaking of, last summer, it was Sunday. I met several of thepeople of the country posting to and from church, in different parts;and in a retired spot by the river-side were two musicians (belongingprobably to some corps of volunteers) playing upon the hautboy andclarionet. You may guess I was not a little delighted; and as you hadbeen a visiter at Lowther, I could not help wishing you were with me. And now I am brought to the sentiment which occasioned this detail; Imay say, brought back to my subject, which is this, --that all just andsolid pleasure in natural objects rests upon two pillars, God and Man. Laying out grounds, as it is called, may be considered as a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting; and its object, like that of allthe liberal arts, is, or ought to be, to move the affections under thecontroul of good sense; that is, those of the best and wisest: but, speaking with more precision, it is to assist Nature in moving theaffections, and, surely, as I have said, the affections of those whohave the deepest perception of the beauty of Nature; who have the mostvaluable feelings, that is, the most permanent, the most independent, the most ennobling, connected with Nature and human life. No liberal artaims merely at the gratification of an individual or a class: thepainter or poet is degraded in proportion as he does so; the trueservants of the Arts pay homage to the human kind as impersonated inunwarped and enlightened minds. If this be so when we are merely puttingtogether words or colours, how much more ought the feeling to prevailwhen we are in the midst of the realities of things; of the beauty andharmony, of the joy and happiness of living creatures; of men andchildren, of birds and beasts, of hills and streams, and trees andflowers; with the changes of night and day, evening and morning, summerand winter; and all their unwearied actions and energies, as benign inthe spirit that animates them as they are beautiful and grand in thatform and clothing which is given to them for the delight of our senses!But I must stop, for you feel these things as deeply as I; more deeply, if it were only for this, that you have lived longer. What then shall wesay of many great mansions with their unqualified expulsion of humancreatures from their neighbourhood, happy or not; houses, which do whatis fabled of the upas tree, that they breathe out death and desolation!I know you will feel with me here, both as a man and a lover andprofessor of the arts. I was glad to hear from Lady Beaumont that youdid not think of removing your village. Of course much here will dependupon circumstances, above all, with what kind of inhabitants, from thenature of the employments in that district, the village is likely to bestocked. But, for my part, strip my neighbourhood of human beings, and Ishould think it one of the greatest privations I could undergo. You haveall the poverty of solitude, nothing of its elevation. In a word, if Iwere disposed to write a sermon (and this is something like one) uponthe subject of taste in natural beauty, I should take for my text thelittle pathway in Lowther Woods, and all which I had to say would beginand end in the human heart, as under the direction of the Divine Nature, conferring value on the objects of the senses, and pointing out what isvaluable in them. 

I began this subject with Coleorton in my thoughts, and a confidence, that whatever difficulties or crosses (as of many good things it is noteasy to chuse the best) you might meet with in the practical applicationof your principles of Taste, yet, being what they are, you will soon bepleased and satisfied. Only (if I may take the freedom to say so) do notgive way too much to others: considering what your studies and pursuitshave been, your own judgment must be the best: professional men maysuggest hints, but I would keep the decision to myself. 

Lady Beaumont utters something like an apprehension that the slowness ofworkmen or other impediments may prevent our families meeting atColeorton next summer. We shall be sorry for this, the more so, as thesame cause will hinder your coming hither. At all events, we shalldepend upon her frankness, which we take most kindly indeed; I mean, onthe promise she has made, to let us know whether you are gotten so farthrough your work as to make it comfortable for us all to be together. 

I cannot close this letter without a word about myself. I am sorry tosay I am not yet settled to any serious employment. The expectation ofColeridge not a little unhinges me, and, still more, the number ofvisitors we have had; but winter is approaching, and I have good hopes. I mentioned Michael Angelo's poetry some time ago; it is the mostdifficult to construe I ever met with, but just what you would expectfrom such a man, shewing abundantly how conversant his soul was withgreat things. There is a mistake in the world concerning the Italianlanguage; the poetry of Dante and Michael Angelo proves, that if therebe little majesty and strength in Italian verse, the fault is in theauthors, and not in the tongue. I can translate, and have translated, two books of Ariosto, at the rate, nearly, of 100 lines a day; but somuch meaning has been put by Michael Angelo into so little room, andthat meaning sometimes so excellent in itself, that I found thedifficulty of translating him insurmountable. I attempted, at least, fifteen of the sonnets, but could not anywhere succeed. I have sent youthe only one I was able to finish: it is far from being the best, ormost characteristic, but the others were too much for me. [34]

[34] 'Yes, Hope may with my strong desire keep pace, ' &c. 

I began this letter about a week ago, having been interrupted. I mentionthis, because I have on this account to apologise to Lady Beaumont, andto my sister also, whose intention it was to have written, but beingvery much engaged, she put it off as I was writing. We have been weaningDorothy, and since, she has had a return of the croup from an imprudentexposure on a very cold day. But she is doing well again; and my sisterwill write very soon. Lady Beaumont inquired how game might be sent us. There is a direct conveyance from Manchester to Kendal by the mail, anda parcel directed for me, to be delivered at Kendal, immediately, toJohn Brockbank, Ambleside, postman, would, I dare say, find its way tous expeditiously enough; only you will have the goodness to mention inyour letters when you do send anything, otherwise we may not be aware ofany mistake. 

I am glad the Houbraken will be acceptable, and will send it any way youshall think proper, though perhaps, as it would only make a smallparcel, there might be some risk in trusting it to the waggon or mail, unless it could be conveniently inquired after. No news of Coleridge. The length of this letter is quite formidable; forgive it. Farewell, andbelieve me, my dear Sir George, Your truly affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [35]

[35] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 345-54, with very important additions from theoriginal. G. 

OF THE INSCRIPTIONS AT COLEORTON. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, Had there been room at the end of the small avenue of lime-trees forplanting a spacious circle of the same trees, the urn might have beenplaced in the centre, with the inscription thus altered:

 Ye lime-trees, ranged around this hallowed urn, Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return!

 * * * * *

 Here may some painter sit in future days, Some future poet meditate his lays! Not mindless of that distant age, renowned, When inspiration hovered o'er this ground, The haunt of him who sang, how spear and shield In civil conflict met on Bosworth field, And of that famous youth (full soon removed From earth!) by mighty Shakspeare's self approved. Fletcher's associate, Jonson's friend beloved. 

The first couplet of the above, as it before stood, would have appearedludicrous, if the stone had remained after the tree might have beengone. The couplet relating to the household virtues did not accord withthe painter and the poet; the former being allegorical figures; thelatter, living men. 

What follows, I composed yesterday morning, thinking there might be noimpropriety in placing it, so as to be _visible only to a person sittingwithin the niche_ which we hollowed out of the sandstone in thewinter-garden. I am told that this is, in the present form of the niche, impossible; but I shall be most ready, when I come to Coleorton, toscoop out a place for it, if Lady Beaumont think it worth while. 

 INSCRIPTION. 

 Oft is the medal faithful to its trust When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust; And 'tis a common ordinance of fate That things obscure and small outlive the great. Hence, &c. 

These inscriptions have all one fault, they are too long; but I wasunable to do justice to the thoughts in less room. The second hasbrought Sir John Beaumont and his brother Francis so lively to my mind, that I recur to the plan of republishing the former's poems, perhaps inconnection with those of Francis. Could any further _search_ be madeafter the 'Crown of Thorns?' If I recollect right, Southey appliedwithout effect to the numerous friends he has among the collectors. Thebest way, perhaps, of managing this republication would be, to print itin a very elegant type and paper, and not many copies, to be sold high, so that it might be prized by the collectors as a curiosity. Bearing inmind how many excellent things there are in Sir John Beaumont's littlevolume, I am somewhat mortified at this mode of honouring his memory;but in the present state of the taste of this country, I cannot flattermyself that poems of that character would win their way into generalcirculation. Should it appear advisable, another edition mightafterwards be published, upon a plan which would place the book withinthe reach of those who have little money to spare. I remain, my dear SirGeorge, Your affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH[36]. 

[36] _Memoirs_, vol. I, pp. 358-60. 

OF POEMS, COLERIDGE, &c. &c. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart_. 

 Grasmere, Sat. , Nov. 16. 1811. 

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, I have to thank you for two letters. Lady Beaumont also will accept myacknowledgments for the interesting letter with which she favoured me. 

 * * * * *

I learn from Mrs. Coleridge, who has lately heard from C----, thatAlston, the painter, has arrived in London. Coleridge speaks of him as amost interesting person. He has brought with him a few pictures from hisown pencil, among others, a Cupid and Psyche, which, in C. 's opinion, has not, for colouring, been surpassed since Titian. C. Is about todeliver a Course of Lectures upon Poetry, at some Institution in thecity. He is well, and I learn that the 'Friend' has been a good dealinquired after lately. For ourselves, we never hear from him. 

I am glad that the inscriptions please you. It did always appear to me, that inscriptions, particularly those in verse, or in a dead language, were never supposed _necessarily_ to be the composition of those inwhose name they appeared. If a more striking, or more dramatic effectcould be produced, I have always thought, that in an epitaph or memorialof any kind, a father, or husband, &c. Might be introduced, speaking, without any absolute deception being intended: that is, the reader isunderstood to be at liberty to say to himself, --these verses, or thisLatin, may be the composition of some unknown person, and not that ofthe father, widow, or friend, from whose hand or voice they profess toproceed. If the composition be natural, affecting, or beautiful, it isall that is required. This, at least, was my view of the subject, or Ishould not have adopted that mode. However, in respect to your scruples, which I feel are both delicate and reasonable, I have altered theverses; and I have only to regret that the alteration is not morehappily done. But I never found anything more difficult. I wished topreserve the expression _patrimonial grounds_, but I found thisimpossible, on account of the awkwardness of the pronouns, he and his, as applied to Reynolds, and to yourself. This, even where it does notproduce confusion, is always inelegant. I was, therefore, obliged todrop it; so that we must be content, I fear, with the inscription as itstands below. As you mention that the first copy was mislaid, I willtranscribe the first part from that; but you can either choose the Domeor the Abbey as you like. 

 Ye lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed urn, Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return; And be not slow a stately growth to rear Of pillars, branching off from year to year, Till ye have framed, at length, a darksome aisle, Like a recess within that sacred pile Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead, In the last sanctity of fame is laid, &c. &c. 

I hope this will do: I tried a hundred different ways, but cannot hitupon anything better. I am sorry to learn from Lady Beaumont, that thereis reason to believe that our cedar is already perished. I am sorry forit. The verses upon that subject you and Lady B. Praise highly; andcertainly, if they have merit, as I cannot but think they have, yourdiscriminating praises have pointed it out. The alteration in thebeginning, I think with you, is a great improvement, and the first lineis, to my ear, very rich and grateful. As to the 'Female and Male, ' Iknow not how to get rid of it; for that circumstance gives the recess anappropriate interest. I remember, Mr. Bowles, the poet, objected to theword ravishment at the end of the sonnet to the winter-garden; yet ithas the authority of all the first-rate poets, for instance, Milton:

 In whose sight all things joy, with _ravishment_, Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze. 

Objections upon these grounds merit more attention in regard toinscriptions than any other sort of composition; and on this account, the lines (I mean those upon the niche) had better be suppressed, for itis not improbable that the altering of them might cost me more troublethan writing a hundred fresh ones. 

We were happy to hear that your mother, Lady Beaumont, was sosurprisingly well. You do not mention the school at Coleorton. Pray howis Wilkie in health, and also as to progress in his art? I do not doubtthat I shall like Arnold's picture; but he would have been a betterpainter, if his genius had led him to _read_ more in the early part ofhis life. Wilkie's style of painting does not require that the mindshould be fed from books; but I do not think it possible to _excel_ in_landscape_ painting without a strong tincture of the poeticspirit. [37]

OF THE INSCRIPTIONS AT COLEORTON. 

_Letter to Lady Beaumont_. 

 Grasmere, Wednesday, Nov. 20. 1811. 

MY DEAR LADY BEAUMONT, When you see this you will think I mean to overrun you withinscriptions: I do not mean to tax you with putting them up, only withreading them. The following I composed yesterday morning, in a walk fromBrathway, whither I had been to accompany my sister. 

 FOR A SEAT IN THE GROVES OF COLEORTON. 

 Beneath yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound Rugged and high of Charnwood's forest-ground, Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy view, The ivied ruins of forlorn Grace Dieu, &c. &c. 

I hope that neither you nor Sir George will think that the above takesfrom the effect of the mention of Francis Beaumont in the poem upon thecedar. Grace Dieu is itself so interesting a spot, and has naturally andhistorically such a connection with Coleorton, that I could not denymyself the pleasure of paying it this mark of attention. The thought ofwriting the inscription occurred to me many years ago. I took theliberty of transcribing for Sir George an alteration which I had made inthe inscription for St. Herbert's island; I was not then quite satisfiedwith it; I have since retouched it, and will trouble you to read him thefollowing, which I hope will give you pleasure. 

 This island, guarded from profane approach By mountains high and waters widely spread, Gave to St. Herbert a benign retreat, &c. &c. 

I ought to mention, that the line, And things of holy use unhallowed lie, is taken from the following of Daniel, Strait all that holy was unhallowed lies. 

[37] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 360-3. 

I will take this occasion of recommending to you (if you happen to haveDaniel's poems) to read the epistle addressed to the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, beginning, He that of such a height hath built his mind. 

The whole poem is composed in a strain of meditative morality moredignified and affecting than anything of the kind I ever read. It is, besides, strikingly applicable to the revolutions of the present times. 

My dear Lady Beaumont, your letter and the accounts it contains of thewinter-garden, gave me great pleasure. I cannot but think, that underyour care, it will grow up into one of the most beautiful andinteresting spots in England. We all here have a longing desire to seeit. I have mentioned the high opinion we have of it to a couple of myfriends, persons of taste living in this country, who are determined, the first time they are called up to London, to turn aside to visit it;which I said they might without scruple do, if they mentioned my name tothe gardener. My sister begs me to say, that she is aware how long shehas been in your debt, and that she should have written before now, butthat, as I have, latterly, been in frequent communication withColeorton, she thought it as well to defer answering your letter. Do yousee the _Courier_ newspaper at Dunmow? I ask on account of a little poemupon the comet, which I have read in it to-day. Though with severaldefects, and some feeble and constrained expressions, it has greatmerit, and is far superior to the run, not merely of newspaper, but ofmodern poetry in general. I half suspect it to be Coleridge's, forthough it is, in parts, inferior to him, I know no other writer of theday who can do so well. It consists of five stanzas, in the measure ofthe 'Fairy Queen. ' It is to be found in last Saturday's paper, November16th. If you don't see the _Courier_ we will transcribe it for you. Asso much of this letter is taken up with my verses, I will e'en trespassstill further on your indulgence, and conclude with a sonnet, which Iwrote some time ago upon the poet, John Dyer. If you have not read the'Fleece, ' I would strongly recommend it to you. The character of Dyer, as a patriot, a citizen, and a tender-hearted friend of humanity was, insome respects, injurious to him as a poet, and has induced him to dwell, in his poem, upon processes which, however important in themselves, were unsusceptible of being poetically treated. Accordingly, his poemis, in several places, dry and heavy; but its beauties are innumerable, and of a high order. In point of _Imagination_ and purity of style, I amnot sure that he is not superior to any writer in verse since the timeof Milton. 

 SONNET. 

 Bard of the Fleece! whose skilful genius made That work a living landscape fair and bright; Nor hallowed less by musical delight Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed, Those southern tracts of Cambria, deep embayed, &c. &c. 

In the above is one whole line from the 'Fleece, ' and two otherexpressions. When you read the 'Fleece' you will recognise them. Iremain, my dear Lady Beaumont, Your sincere friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [38]

[38] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 363-6. 

EXCURSION IN NORTH WALES. 

_Letter to Sir George H. Beaumont_. 

 Hindwell, Radnor, Sept. 20. 1824. MY DEAR SIR GEORGE, After a three weeks' ramble in North Wales, Mrs. Wordsworth, Dora, andmyself are set down quietly here for three weeks more. The weather hasbeen delightful, and everything to our wishes. On a beautiful day wetook the steam-packet at Liverpool, passed the mouth of the Dee, coastedthe extremity of the Vale of Clwyd, sailed close under Great Orm's Head, had a noble prospect of Penmaenmawr, and having almost touched uponPuffin's Island, we reached Bangor Ferry, a little after six in theafternoon. We admired the stupendous preparations for the bridge overthe Menai; and breakfasted next morning at Carnarvon. We employedseveral hours in exploring the interior of the noble castle, and lookingat it from different points of view in the neighbourhood. At half-pastfour we departed for Llanberris, having fine views as we looked back ofC. Castle, the sea, and Anglesey. A little before sunset we came insight of Llanberris Lake, Snowdon, and all the craggy hills andmountains surrounding it; the foreground a beautiful contrast to thisgrandeur and desolation--a green sloping hollow, furnishing a shelterfor one of the most beautiful collections of lowly Welsh cottages, withthatched roofs, overgrown with plants, anywhere to be met with: thehamlet is called Cum-y-glo. And here we took boat, while the solemnlights of evening were receding towards the tops of the mountains. As weadvanced, Dolbardin Castle came in view, and Snowdon opened upon ouradmiration. It was almost dark when we reached the quiet and comfortableinn at Llanberris. 

 * * * * *

There being no carriage-road, we undertook to walk by the Pass ofLlanberris, eight miles, to Capel Cerig; this proved fatiguing, but itwas the only oppressive exertion we made during the course of our tour. We arrived at Capel Cerig in time for a glance at the Snowdonian range, from the garden of the inn, in connection with the lake (or rather pool)reflecting the crimson clouds of evening. The outline of Snowdon isperhaps seen nowhere to more advantage than from this place. Nextmorning, five miles down a beautiful valley to the banks of the Conway, which stream we followed to Llanrwst; but the day was so hot that wecould only make use of the morning and evening. Here we were joined, according to previous arrangement, by Bishop Hobart, of New York, whoremained with us till two o'clock next day, and left us to complete hishasty tour through North and South Wales. In the afternoon arrived myold college friend and youthful companion among the Alps, the Rev. R. Jones, and in his car we all proceeded to the Falls of the Conway, thence up that river to a newly-erected inn on the Irish road, where welodged; having passed through bold and rocky scenery along the banks ofa stream which is a feeder of the Dee. Next morning we turned from theIrish road three or four miles to visit the 'Valley of Meditation' (GlynMavyr) where Mr. Jones has, at present, a curacy, with a comfortableparsonage. We slept at Corwen, and went down the Dee to Llangollen, which you and dear Lady B. Know well. Called upon the celebratedRecluses, [39] who hoped that you and Lady B. Had not forgotten them;they certainly had not forgotten you, and they begged us to say thatthey retained a lively remembrance of you both. We drank tea and passeda couple of hours with them in the evening, having visited the aqueductover the Dee and Chirk Castle in the afternoon. Lady E. Has not beenwell, and has suffered much in her eyes, but she is surprisingly livelyfor her years. Miss P. Is apparently in unimpaired health. Next day Isent them the following sonnet from Ruthin, which was conceived, and ina great measure composed, in their grounds. 

[39] The Lady E. Butler, and the Hon. Miss Ponsonby. 

 A stream, to mingle with your favourite Dee, Along the _Vale of Meditation_ flows; So named by those fierce Britons, pleased to see In Nature's face the expression of repose, &c. &c. 

We passed three days with Mr. Jones's friends in the vale of Clwyd, looking about us, and on the Tuesday set off again, accompanied by ourfriend, to complete our tour. We dined at Conway, walked to Bennarth, the view from which is a good deal choked up with wood. A small part ofthe castle has been demolished for the sake of the new road tocommunicate with the suspension-bridge, which they are about to make tothe small island opposite the castle, to be connected by a longembankment with the opposite shore. The bridge will, I think, proverather ornamental when time has taken off the newness of its supportingmasonry; but the mound deplorably impairs the majesty of the water athigh-tide; in fact it destroys its lake-like appearance. Our drive toAber in the evening was charming; sun setting in glory. We had also adelightful walk next morning up the vale of Aber, terminated by a loftywaterfall; not much in itself, but most striking as a closingaccompaniment to the secluded valley. Here, in the early morning, I sawan odd sight--fifteen milk-maids together, laden with their brimmingpails. How cheerful and happy they appeared! and not a little inclinedto joke after the manner of the pastoral persons in Theocritus. That daybrought us to Capel Cerig again, after a charming drive up the banks ofthe Ogwen, having previously had beautiful views of Bangor, the sea, andits shipping. From Capel Cerig down the justly celebrated vale of NantGwynant to Bethgelart. In this vale are two small lakes, the higher ofwhich is the only Welsh lake which has any pretensions to compare withour own; and it has one great advantage over them, that it remainswholly free from intrusive objects. We saw it early in the morning; andwith the greenness of the meadows at its head, the steep rocks on one ofits shores, and the bold mountains at _both_ extremities, a featurealmost peculiar to itself, it appeared to us truly enchanting. Thevillage of Bethgelart is much altered for the worse: new and formalhouses have, in a great measure, supplanted the old rugged and tuftedcottages, and a smart hotel has taken the lead of the lowly public-housein which I took refreshment almost thirty years ago, previous to amidnight ascent to the summit of Snowdon. At B. We were agreeablysurprised by the appearance of Mr. Hare, of New College, Oxford. Weslept at Tan-y-bylch, having employed the afternoon in exploring thebeauties of the vale of Festiniog. Next day to Barmouth, whence, thefollowing morning, we took boat and rowed up its sublime estuary, whichmay compare with the finest of Scotland, having the advantage of asuperior climate. From Dolgelly we went to Tal-y-llyn, a solitary andvery interesting lake under Cader Idris. Next day, being Sunday, weheard service performed in Welsh, and in the afternoon went part of theway down a beautiful valley to Machynleth, next morning to Aberystwith, and up the Rhydiol to the Devil's Bridge, where we passed the followingday in exploring those two rivers, and Hafod in the neighbourhood. I hadseen these things long ago, but either my memory or my powers ofobservation had not done them justice. It rained heavily in the night, and we saw the waterfalls in perfection. While Dora was attempting tomake a sketch from the chasm in the rain, I composed by her side thefollowing address to the torrent:

 How art thou named? In search of what strange land, From what huge height descending? Can such force Of water issue from a British source?

Next day, viz. Last Wednesday, we reached this place, and found all ourfriends well, except our good and valuable friend, Mr. Monkhouse, who ishere, and in a very alarming state of health. His physicians haveordered him to pass the winter in Devonshire, fearing a consumption; buthe is certainly not suffering under a regular hectic pulmonary decline:his pulse is good, so is his appetite, and he has no fever, but isdeplorably emaciated. He is a near relation of Mrs. W. , and one, as youknow, of my best friends. I hope to see Mr. Price, at Foxley, in a fewdays. Mrs. W. 's brother is about to change his present residence for afarm close by Foxley. 

Now, my dear Sir George, what chance is there of your being in Walesduring any part of the autumn? I would strain a point to meet youanywhere, were it only for a couple of days. Write immediately, orshould you be absent without Lady B. She will have the goodness to tellme of your movements. I saw the Lowthers just before I set off, allwell. You probably have heard from my sister. It is time to make an endof this long letter, which might have been somewhat less dry if I hadnot wished to make you master of our whole route. Except ascending oneof the high mountains, Snowdon or Cader Idris, we omitted nothing, andsaw as much as the shortened days would allow. With love to Lady B. Andyourself, dear Sir George, from us all, I remain, ever, Most faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [40]

[40] _Memoirs_, vol. Ii. Pp. 121--7. 

(g) LETTER TO THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES JAMES FOX. 

_With the 'Lyrical Ballads'_ (1801): _with critical Remarks on hisPoems_. 

 Grasmere, Westmoreland, January 14th. 1801. 

SIR, It is not without much difficulty that I have summoned the courage torequest your acceptance of these volumes. Should I express my realfeelings, I am sure that I should seem to make a parade of diffidenceand humility. 

Several of the poems contained in these volumes are written uponsubjects which are the common property of all poets, and which, at someperiod of your life, must have been interesting to a man of yoursensibility, and perhaps may still continue to be so. It would be highlygratifying to me to suppose that even in a single instance the manner inwhich I have treated these general topics should afford you anypleasure; but such a hope does not influence me upon the presentoccasion; in truth I do not feel it. Besides, I am convinced that theremust be many things in this collection which may impress you with anunfavourable idea of my intellectual powers. I do not say this with awish to degrade myself, but I am sensible that this must be the case, from the different circles in which we have moved, and the differentobjects with which we have been conversant. 

Being utterly unknown to you as I am, I am well aware that if I amjustified in writing to you at all, it is necessary my letter should beshort; but I have feelings within me, which I hope will so far showthemselves, as to excuse the trespass which I am afraid I shall make. 

In common with the whole of the English people, I have observed in yourpublic character a constant predominance of sensibility of heart. Necessitated as you have been from your public situation to have much todo with men in bodies, and in classes, and accordingly to contemplatethem in that relation, it has been your praise that you have not therebybeen prevented from looking upon them as individuals, and that you havehabitually left your heart open to be influenced by them in thatcapacity. This habit cannot but have made you dear to poets; and I amsure that if, since your first entrance into public life, there has beena single true poet living in England, he must have loved you. 

But were I assured that I myself had a just claim to the title of apoet, all the dignity being attached to the word which belongs to it, Ido not think that I should have ventured for that reason to offer thesevolumes to you; at present it is solely on account of two poems in thesecond volume, the one entitled 'The Brothers, ' and the other 'Michael, 'that I have been emboldened to take this liberty. 

It appears to me that the most calamitous effect which has followed themeasures which have lately been pursued in this country, is, a rapiddecay of the domestic affections among the lower orders of society. Thiseffect the present rulers of this country are not conscious of, or theydisregard it. For many years past, the tendency of society, amongstalmost all the nations of Europe, has been to produce it; but recently, by the spreading of manufactures through every part of the country, bythe heavy taxes upon postage, by workhouses, houses of industry, and theinvention of soup-shops, &c. , superadded to the increasing disproportionbetween the price of labour and that of the necessaries of life, thebonds of domestic feeling among the poor, as far as the influence ofthese things has extended, have been weakened, and in innumerableinstances entirely destroyed. The evil would be the less to beregretted, if these institutions were regarded only as palliatives to adisease; but the vanity and pride of their promoters are so subtlyinterwoven with them, that they are deemed great discoveries andblessings to humanity. In the meantime, parents are separated from theirchildren, and children from their parents; the wife no longer prepares, with her own hands, a meal for her husband, the produce of his labour;there is little doing in his house in which his affections can beinterested, and but little left in it that he can love. I have twoneighbours, a man and his wife, both upwards of eighty years of age. They live alone. The husband has been confined to his bed many months, and has never had, nor till within these few weeks has ever needed, anybody to attend to him but his wife. She has recently been seized with alameness which has often prevented her from being able to carry him hisfood to his bed. The neighbours fetch water for her from the well, anddo other kind offices for them both. But her infirmities increase. Shetold my servant two days ago, that she was afraid they must both beboarded out among some other poor of the parish (they have long beensupported by the parish); but she said it was hard, having kept housetogether so long, to come to this, and she was sure that 'it would bursther heart. ' I mention this fact to show how deeply the spirit ofindependence is, even yet, rooted in some parts of the country. Thesepeople could not express themselves in this way without an almostsublime conviction of the blessings of independent domestic life. If itis true, as I believe, that this spirit is rapidly disappearing, nogreater curse can befall a Land. 

I earnestly entreat your pardon for having detained you so long. In thetwo poems, 'The Brothers, ' and 'Michael, ' I have attempted to draw apicture of the domestic affections, as I know they exist among a classof men who are now almost confined to the north of England. They aresmall independent _proprietors_ of land, here called statesmen, men ofrespectable education, who daily labour on their own little properties. The domestic affections will always be strong amongst men who live in acountry not crowded with population, if these men are placed abovepoverty. But if they are proprietors of small estates, which havedescended to them from their ancestors, the power, which theseaffections will acquire amongst such men, is inconceivable by those whohave only had an opportunity of observing hired labourers, farmers, andthe manufacturing poor. Their little tract of land serves as a kind ofpermanent rallying point for their domestic feelings, as a tablet uponwhich they are written, which makes them objects of memory in a thousandinstances, when they would otherwise be forgotten. It is a fountainfitted to the nature of social man, from which supplies of affection, aspure as his heart was intended for, are daily drawn. This class of menis rapidly disappearing. You, Sir, have a consciousness, upon whichevery good man will congratulate you, that the whole of your publicconduct has, in one way or other, been directed to the preservation ofthis class of men, and those who hold similar situations. You have feltthat the most sacred of all property is the property of the poor. Thetwo poems, which I have mentioned, were written with a view to showthat men who do not wear fine clothes can feel deeply. 'Pectus enim estquod disertos facit, et vis mentis. Ideoque imperitis quoque, si modosint aliquo affectu concitati, verba non desunt. ' The poems are faithfulcopies from Nature; and I hope whatever effect they may have upon you, you will at least be able to perceive that they may excite profitablesympathies in many kind and good hearts, and may in some small degreeenlarge our feelings of reverence for our species, and our knowledge ofhuman nature, by showing that our best qualities are possessed by menwhom we are too apt to consider, not with reference to the points inwhich they resemble us, but to those in which they manifestly differfrom us. I thought, at a time when these feelings are sapped in so manyways, that the two poems might co-operate, however feebly, with theillustrious efforts which you have made to stem this and other evilswith which the country is labouring; and it is on this account alonethat I have taken the liberty of thus addressing you. 

Wishing earnestly that the time may come when the country may perceivewhat it has lost by neglecting your advice, and hoping that your latterdays may be attended with health and comfort, I remain, With the highest respect and admiration, Your most obedient and humble servant, W. WORDSWORTH. [41]

Fox's reply was as follows:

SIR, I owe you many apologies for having so long deferred thanking you foryour poems, and your obliging letter accompanying them, which I receivedearly in March. The poems have given me the greatest pleasure; and if Iwere obliged to choose out of them, I do not know whether I should notsay that 'Harry Gill, ' 'We are Seven, ' 'The Mad Mother, ' and 'TheIdiot, ' are my favourites. I read with particular attention the two youpointed out; but whether it be from early prepossessions, or whateverother cause, I am no great friend to blank verse for subjects which areto be treated of with simplicity. 

[41] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 166--171. 

You will excuse my stating my opinion to you so freely, which I shouldnot do if I did not really admire many of the poems in the collection, and many parts even of those in blank verse. Of the poems which youstate not to be yours, that entitled 'Love' appears to me to be thebest, and I do not know who is the author. 'The Nightingale' Iunderstand to be Mr. Coleridge's, who combats, I think, verysuccessfully, the mistaken prejudice of the nightingale's note beingmelancholy. I am, with great truth, Sir, Your most obedient servant, C. J. Fox. [42]

St. Ann's Hill, May 25. [1801. ]

[42] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 171--2. 

 * * * * *

In connection with the above the following observations addressed byWordsworth to some friends fitly find a place here. 

Speaking of the poem of the _Leech-Gatherer_, [43] sent in MS. , he says:

 'It is not a matter of indifference whether you are pleased with his figure and employment, it may be comparatively whether you are pleased with _this Poem_; but it is of the utmost importance that you should have had pleasure in contemplating the fortitude, independence, persevering spirit, and the general moral dignity of this old man's character. '

[43] Entitled 'Resolution and Independence. '

And again, on the same poem:

 'I will explain to you, in prose, my feelings in writing _that_ poem. .. . I describe myself as having been exalted to the highest pitch of delight by the joyousness and beauty of Nature; and then as depressed, even in the midst of those beautiful objects, to the lowest dejection and despair. A young poet in the midst of the happiness of Nature is described as overwhelmed by the thoughts of the miserable reverses which have befallen the happiest of all men, viz. Poets. I think of this till I am so deeply impressed with it, that I consider the manner in which I was rescued from my dejection and despair almost as an interposition of Providence. A person reading the poem with feelings like mine will have been awed and controlled, expecting something spiritual or supernatural. What is brought forward? A lonely place, "a pond, by which an old man _was_, far from all house or home:" not _stood_, nor _sat_, but _was_--the figure presented in the most naked simplicity possible. This feeling of spirituality or supernaturalness is again referred to as being strong in my mind in this passage. How came he here? thought I, or what can he be doing? I then describe him, whether ill or well is not for me to judge with perfect confidence; but this I _can_ confidently affirm, that though I believe God has given me a strong imagination, I cannot conceive a figure more impressive than that of an old man like this, the survivor of a wife and ten children, travelling alone among the mountains and all lonely places, carrying with him his own fortitude and the necessities which an unjust state of society has laid upon him. You speak of his speech as tedious. Everything is tedious when one does not read with the feelings of the author. "The Thorn" is tedious to hundreds; and so is the "Idiot Boy" to hundreds. It is in the character of the old man to tell his story, which an impatient reader must feel tedious. But, good heavens! such a figure, in such a place; a pious, self-respecting, miserably infirm and pleased old man telling such a tale!

 'Your feelings upon the "Mother and the Boy, with the Butterfly, " were not indifferent: it was an affair of whole continents of moral sympathy. '

 'I am for the most part uncertain about my success in _altering_ poems; but in this case, ' speaking of an insertion, 'I am sure I have produced a great improvement. '[44]

[44] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 166--174. 

(_h_) OF THE PRINCIPLES OF POETRY AND HIS OWN POEMS. 

_Letter to (afterwards) Professor John Wilson_ ['_Christopher North_']. 

_To_ ----. 

MY DEAR SIR, Had it not been for a very amiable modesty you could not have imaginedthat your letter could give me any offence. It was on many accountshighly grateful to me. I was pleased to find that I had given so muchpleasure to an ingenuous and able mind, and I further considered theenjoyment which you had had from my Poems as an earnest that othersmight be delighted with them in the same, or a like manner. It is plainfrom your letter that the pleasure which I have given you has not beenblind or unthinking; you have studied the poems, and prove that you haveentered into the spirit of them. They have not given you a cheap orvulgar pleasure; therefore, I feel that you are entitled to my kindestthanks for having done some violence to your natural diffidence in thecommunication which you have made to me. 

There is scarcely any part of your letter that does not deserveparticular notice; but partly from some constitutional infirmities, andpartly from certain habits of mind, I do not write any letters unlessupon business, not even to my dearest friends. Except during absencefrom my own family I have not written five letters of friendship duringthe last five years. I have mentioned this in order that I may retainyour good opinion, should my letter be less minute than you are entitledto expect. You seem to be desirous of my opinion on the influence ofnatural objects in forming the character of Nations. This cannot beunderstood without first considering their influence upon men ingeneral, first, with reference to such objects as are common to allcountries; and, next, such as belong exclusively to any particularcountry, or in a greater degree to it than to another. Now it ismanifest that no human being can be so besotted and debased byoppression, penury, or any other evil which unhumanises man, as to beutterly insensible to the colours, forms, or smell of flowers, the(voices)[45] and motions of birds and beasts, the appearances of the skyand heavenly bodies, the general warmth of a fine day, the terror anduncomfortableness of a storm, &c. &c. How dead soever many full-grownmen may outwardly seem to these things, all are more or less affected bythem; and in childhood, in the first practice and exercise of theirsenses, they must have been not the nourishers merely, but often thefathers of their passions. There cannot be a doubt that in tracts ofcountry where images of danger, melancholy, grandeur, or loveliness, softness, and ease prevail, that they will make themselves feltpowerfully in forming the characters of the people, so as to produce anuniformity or national character, where the nation is small and is notmade up of men who, inhabiting different soils, climates, &c. , by theircivil usages and relations materially interfere with each other. It wasso formerly, no doubt, in the Highlands of Scotland; but we cannotperhaps observe much of it in our own island at the present day, because, even in the most sequestered places, by manufactures, traffic, religion, law, interchange of inhabitants, &c. , distinctions are doneaway, which would otherwise have been strong and obvious. This complexstate of society does not, however, prevent the characters ofindividuals from frequently receiving a strong bias, not merely from theimpressions of general Nature, but also from local objects and images. But it seems that to produce these effects, in the degree in which wefrequently find them to be produced, there must be a peculiarsensibility of original organisation combining with moral accidents, asis exhibited in 'The Brothers' and in 'Ruth;' I mean, to produce this ina marked degree; not that I believe that any man was ever brought up inthe country without loving it, especially in his better moments, or in adistrict of particular grandeur or beauty without feeling some strongerattachment to it on that account than he would otherwise have felt. Iinclude, you will observe, in these considerations, the influence ofclimate, changes in the atmosphere and elements, and the labours andoccupations which particular districts require. 

[45] Parts of this letter have been torn, and words have been lost; someof which are here conjecturally supplied between brackets. 

You begin what you say upon the 'Idiot Boy, ' with this observation, thatnothing is a fit subject for poetry which does not please. But herefollows a question, Does not please whom? Some have little knowledge ofnatural imagery of any kind, and, of course, little relish for it; someare disgusted with the very mention of the words pastoral poetry, sheepor shepherds; some cannot tolerate a poem with a ghost or anysupernatural agency in it; others would shrink from an animateddescription of the pleasures of love, as from a thing carnal andlibidinous; some cannot bear to see delicate and refined feelingsascribed to men in low conditions in society, because their vanity andself-love tell them that these belong only to themselves, and men likethemselves in dress, station, and way of life; others are disgusted withthe naked language of some of the most interesting passions of men, because either it is indelicate, or gross, or vulgar; as many fineladies could not bear certain expressions in the 'Mother' and the'Thorn, ' and, as in the instance of Adam Smith, who, we are told, couldnot endure the ballad of 'Clym of the Clough, ' because the author hadnot written like a gentleman. Then there are professional and nationalprejudices for evermore. Some take no interest in the description of aparticular passion or quality, as love of solitariness, we will say, genial activity of fancy, love of Nature, religion, and so forth, because they have [little or] nothing of it in themselves; and so onwithout end. I return then to [the] question, please whom? or what? Ianswer, human nature as it has been (and ever) will be. But where are weto find the best measure of this? I answer, [from with] in; by strippingour own hearts naked, and by looking out of ourselves to [wards men] wholead the simplest lives, and most according to Nature; men who havenever known false refinements, wayward and artificial desires, falsecriticisms, effeminate habits of thinking and feeling, or who havingknown these things have outgrown them. This latter class is the most tobe depended upon, but it is very small in number. People in our rank inlife are perpetually falling into one sad mistake, namely, that ofsupposing that human nature and the persons they associate with are oneand the same thing. Whom do we generally associate with? Gentlemen, persons of fortune, professional men, ladies, persons who can afford tobuy, or can easily procure books of half-a-guinea price, hot-pressed, and printed upon superfine paper. These persons are, it is true, a partof human nature, but we err lamentably if we suppose them to be fairrepresentatives of the vast mass of human existence. And yet few everconsider books but with reference to their power of pleasing thesepersons and men of a higher rank; few descend lower, among cottages andfields, and among children. A man must have done this habitually beforehis judgment upon the 'Idiot Boy' would be in any way decisive with me. I _know_ I have done this myself habitually; I wrote the poem withexceeding delight and pleasure, and whenever I read it I read it withpleasure. You have given me praise for having reflected faithfully in myPoems the feelings of human nature. I would fain hope that I have doneso. But a great Poet ought to do more than this; he ought, to a certaindegree, to rectify men's feelings, to give them new compositions offeeling, to render their feelings more sane, pure, and permanent, inshort, more consonant to Nature, that is, to eternal Nature, and thegreat moving Spirit of things. He ought to travel before menoccasionally as well as at their sides. I may illustrate this by areference to natural objects. What false notions have prevailed fromgeneration to generation of the true character of the Nightingale. Asfar as my Friend's Poem, in the 'Lyrical Ballads, ' is read, it willcontribute greatly to rectify these. You will recollect a passage inCowper, where, speaking of rural sounds, he says, And _even_ the boding Owl That hails the rising moon has charms for me. 

Cowper was passionately fond of natural objects, yet you see he mentionsit as a marvellous thing that he could connect pleasure with the cry ofthe owl. In the same poem he speaks in the same manner of that beautifulplant, the gorse; making in some degree an amiable boast of his lovingit _'unsightly'_ and unsmooth as it is. There are many aversions of thiskind, which, though they have some foundation in nature, have yet soslight a one, that, though they may have prevailed hundreds of years, aphilosopher will look upon them as accidents. So with respect to manymoral feelings, either of love or dislike. What excessive admiration waspaid in former times to personal prowess and military success; it is sowith the latter even at the present day, but surely not nearly so muchas heretofore. So with regard to birth, and innumerable other modes ofsentiment, civil and religious. But you will be inclined to ask by thistime how all this applies to the 'Idiot Boy. ' To this I can only saythat the loathing and disgust which many people have at the sight of anidiot, is a feeling which, though having some foundation in humannature, is not necessarily attached to it in any virtuous degree, but isowing in a great measure to a false delicacy, and, if I may say itwithout rudeness, a certain want of comprehensiveness of thinking andfeeling. Persons in the lower classes of society have little or nothingof this: if an idiot is born in a poor man's house, it must be takencare of, and cannot be boarded out, as it would be by gentlefolks, orsent to a public or private receptacle for such unfortunate beings. [Poor people] seeing frequently among their neighbours such objects, easily [forget] whatever there is of natural disgust about them, andhave [therefore] a sane state, so that without pain or suffering they[perform] their duties towards them. I could with pleasure pursue thissubject, but I must now strictly adopt the plan which I proposed tomyself when I began to write this letter, namely, that of setting down afew hints or memorandums, which you will think of for my sake. 

I have often applied to idiots, in my own mind, that sublime expressionof Scripture that _'their life is hidden with God. '_ They areworshipped, probably from a feeling of this sort, in several parts ofthe East. Among the Alps, where they are numerous, they are considered, I believe, as a blessing to the family to which they belong. I have, indeed, often looked upon the conduct of fathers and mothers of thelower classes of society towards idiots as the great triumph of thehuman heart. It is there that we see the strength, disinterestedness, and grandeur of love; nor have I ever been able to contemplate an objectthat calls out so many excellent and virtuous sentiments without findingit hallowed thereby, and having something in me which bears down beforeit, like a deluge, every feeble sensation of disgust and aversion. 

There are, in my opinion, several important mistakes in the latter partof your letter which I could have wished to notice; but I find myselfmuch fatigued. These refer both to the Boy and the Mother. I mustcontent myself simply with observing that it is probable that theprincipal cause of your dislike to this particular poem lies in the_word_ Idiot. If there had been any such word in our language, _to whichwe had attached passion_, as lack-wit, half-wit, witless, &c. , I shouldhave certainly employed it in preference; but there is no such word. Observe (this is entirely in reference to this particular poem), my'Idiot' is not one of those who cannot articulate, and such as areusually disgusting in their persons:

 Whether in cunning or in joy, And then his words were not a few, &c. _

and the last speech at the end of the poem. The 'Boy' whom I had in mymind was by no means disgusting in his appearance, quite the contrary;and I have known several with imperfect faculties, who are handsome intheir persons and features. There is one, at present, within a mile ofmy own house, remarkably so, though [he has something] of a stare andvacancy in his countenance. A friend of mine, knowing that some personshad a dislike to the poem, such as you have expressed, advised me to adda stanza, describing the person of the Boy [so as] entirely to separatehim in the imaginations of my readers from that class of idiots who aredisgusting in their persons; but the narration in the poem is so rapidand impassioned, that I could not find a place in which to insert thestanza without checking the progress of it, and [so leaving] a deadnessupon the feeling. This poem has, I know, frequently produced the sameeffect as it did upon you and your friends; but there are many also towhom it affords exquisite delight, and who, indeed, prefer it to anyother of my poems. This proves that the feelings there delineated aresuch as men _may_ sympathise with. This is enough for my purpose. It isnot enough for me as a Poet, to delineate merely such feelings as allmen _do_ sympathise with; but it is also highly desirable to add tothese others, such as all men _may_ sympathise with, and such as thereis reason to believe they would be better and more moral beings if theydid sympathise with. 

I conclude with regret, because I have not said one half of [what Iintended] to say; but I am sure you will deem my excuse sufficient, [when I] inform you that my head aches violently, and I am in otherrespects unwell. I must, however, again give you my warmest thanks foryour kind letter. I shall be happy to hear from you again: and do notthink it unreasonable that I should request a letter from you, when Ifeel that the answer which I may make to it will not perhaps be abovethree or four lines. This I mention to you with frankness, and you willnot take it ill after what I have before said of my remissness inwriting letters. 

 I am, dear Sir, With great respect, Yours sincerely, W. WORDSWORTH. [46]

[46] _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 192--200. 

IV. DESCRIPTIVE. 

(_a_) A GUIDE THROUGH THE DISTRICT OF THE LAKES. 

(_b_) LETTERS, &c, ON KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY. 

NOTE. 

See Preface in Vol. I. For details on the 'Guide' and these Letters. G. 

A =GUIDE= THROUGH THE =DISTRICT OF THE LAKES= IN The North of England. WITH =A DESCRIPTION OF THE SCENERY, &c. = FOR THE USE OF =TOURISTS ANDRESIDENTS=. 

 * * * * *

=FIFTH EDITION=, WITH CONSIDERABLE ADDITIONS. 

 * * * * *

=BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH=. 

_KENDAL:_

PUBLISHED BY HUDSON AND NICHOLSON, AND IN LONDON BY

LONGMAN & CO. , MOXON, AND WHITTAKER & CO. 

1835. 

CONTENTS. 

 * * * * *

DIRECTIONS AND INFORMATION FOR THE TOURIST. 

Windermere. --Ambleside. --Coniston. --Ulpha Kirk. --Road from Ambleside toKeswick. --Grasmere. --The Vale of Keswick. --Buttermere andCrummock. --Lowes-water. --Wastdale. --Ullswater, with its tributaryStreams. --Haweswater, &c. 

DESCRIPTION OF THE SCENERY OF THE LAKES. 

SECTION FIRST. 

VIEW OR THE COUNTRY AS FORMED BY NATURE. 

Vales diverging from a common Centre. --Effect of Light and Shadow asdependant upon the Position of the Vales. --Mountains, --theirSubstance, --Surfaces, --and Colours. --Winter Colouring. --TheVales, --Lakes, --Islands, --Tarns, --Woods, --Rivers, --Climate, --Night. .. . P. 235

SECTION SECOND. 

ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY AS AFFECTED BY ITS INHABITANTS. 

Retrospect. --Primitive Aspect. --Roman and British Antiquities. --FeudalTenantry, --their Habitations and Enclosures--Tenantry reduced in Numberby the Union of the Two Crowns. --State of Society after thatEvent. --Cottages, --Bridges, --Places of Worship, --Parks andMansions. --General Picture of Society. .. . 256

SECTION THIRD. 

CHANGES, AND RULES OF TASTE FOR PREVENTING THEIR BAD EFFECTS. 

Tourists. --New Settlers. --The Country disfigured. --Causes offalse Taste in Grounds and Buildings. --Ancient Modelsrecommended. --Houses. --Colouring of Buildings. --Grounds andPlantations. --The Larch. --Planting. --Further ChangesProbable. --Conclusion. .. . 269

MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS. 

Time for visiting the Country. --Order in which Objects should beapproached. --Views from the Heights. --Comparisons, howinjurious. --Alpine Scenes compared with Cumbrian, &c. --Phenomena. --Comparative Estimate. .. . 287

EXCURSIONS

TO THE TOP OF SCAWFELL AND ON THE BANKS OF ULLSWATER, p. 302. 

ODE. 

THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE, p. 314. 

ITINERARY, p. 316. 

DIRECTIONS AND INFORMATION FOR THE TOURIST. 

In preparing this Manual, it was the Author's principal wish to furnisha Guide or Companion for the _Minds_ of Persons of taste, and feelingfor Landscape, who might be inclined to explore the District of theLakes with that degree of attention to which its beauty may fairly layclaim. For the more sure attainment, however, of this primary object, hewill begin by undertaking the humble and tedious task of supplying theTourist with directions how to approach the several scenes in theirbest, or most convenient, order. But first, supposing the approach to bemade from the south, and through Yorkshire, there are certaininteresting spots which may be confidently recommended to his notice, iftime can be spared before entering upon the Lake District; and the routemay be changed in returning. 

There are three approaches to the Lakes through Yorkshire; the leastadviseable is the great north road by Catterick and Greta Bridge, andonwards to Penrith. The Traveller, however, taking this route, mighthalt at Greta Bridge, and be well recompenced if he can afford to givean hour or two to the banks of the Greta, and of the Tees, at Rokeby. Barnard Castle also, about two miles up the Tees, is a striking object, and the main North Road might be rejoined at Bowes. Every one has heardof the great Fall of the Tees above Middleham, interesting for itsgrandeur, as the avenue of rocks that leads to it, is to the geologist. But this place lies so far out of the way as scarcely to be within thecompass of our notice. It might, however, be visited by a Traveller onfoot, or on horseback, who could rejoin the main road upon Stanemoor. 

The second road leads through a more interesting tract of country, beginning at Ripon, from which place see Fountain's Abbey, and thence byHackfall, and Masham, to Jervaux Abbey, and up the vale of Wensley;turning aside before Askrigg is reached, to see Aysgarth-force, upon theUre; and again, near Hawes, to Hardraw Scar, of which, with itswaterfall, Turner has a fine drawing. Thence over the fells toSedbergh, and Kendal. 

The third approach from Yorkshire is through Leeds. Four miles beyondthat town are the ruins of Kirkstall Abbey, should that road to Skiptonbe chosen; but the other by Otley may be made much more interesting byturning off at Addington to Bolton Bridge, for the sake of visiting theAbbey and grounds. It would be well, however, for a party previously tosecure beds, if wanted, at the inn, as there is but one, and it is muchresorted to in summer. 

The Traveller on foot, or horseback, would do well to follow the banksof the Wharf upwards, to Burnsall, and thence cross over the hills toGordale--a noble scene, beautifully described in Gray's Tour, and withwhich no one can be disappointed. Thence to Malham, where there is arespectable village inn, and so on, by Malham Cove, to Settle. 

Travellers in carriages must go from Bolton Bridge to Skipton, wherethey rejoin the main road; and should they be inclined to visit Gordale, a tolerable road turns off beyond Skipton. Beyond Settle, underGiggleswick Scar, the road passes an ebbing and flowing well, worthy thenotice of the Naturalist. Four miles to the right of Ingleton, isWeathercote Cave, a fine object, but whoever diverges for this, mustreturn to Ingleton. Near Kirkby Lonsdale observe the view from thebridge over the Lune, and descend to the channel of the river, and by nomeans omit looking at the Vale of Lune from the Church-yard. 

The journey towards the Lake country through Lancashire, is, with theexception of the Vale of the Ribble, at Preston, uninteresting; till youcome near Lancaster, and obtain a view of the fells and mountains ofLancashire and Westmoreland; with Lancaster Castle, and the Tower of theChurch seeming to make part of the Castle, in the foreground. 

They who wish to see the celebrated ruins of Furness Abbey, and are notafraid of crossing the Sands, may go from Lancaster to Ulverston; fromwhich place take the direct road to Dalton; but by all means returnthrough Urswick, for the sake of the view from the top of the hill, before descending into the grounds of Conishead Priory. From thisquarter the Lakes would be advantageously approached by Coniston; thenceto Hawkshead, and by the Ferry over Windermere, to Bowness: a muchbetter introduction than by going direct from Coniston to Ambleside, which ought not to be done, as that would greatly take off from theeffect of Windermere. 

Let us now go back to Lancaster. The direct road thence to Kendal is 22miles, but by making a circuit of eight miles, the Vale of the Lune toKirkby Lonsdale will be included. The whole tract is pleasing; there isone view mentioned by Gray and Mason especially so. In West's Guide itis thus pointed out:--'About a quarter of a mile beyond the thirdmile-stone, where the road makes a turn to the right, there is a gate onthe left which leads into a field where the station meant, will befound. ' Thus far for those who approach the Lakes from the South. 

Travellers from the North would do well to go from Carlisle by Wigton, and proceed along the Lake of Bassenthwaite to Keswick; or, ifconvenience should take them first to Penrith, it would still be betterto cross the country to Keswick, and begin with that vale, rather thanwith Ulswater. It is worth while to mention, in this place, that thebanks of the river Eden, about Corby, are well worthy of notice, both onaccount of their natural beauty, and the viaducts which have recentlybeen carried over the bed of the river, and over a neighbouring ravine. In the Church of Wetherby, close by, is a fine piece of monumentalsculpture by Nollekens. The scenes of Nunnery, upon the Eden, or ratherthat part of them which is upon Croglin, a mountain stream there fallinginto the Eden, are, in their way, unrivalled. But the nearest roadthither, from Corby, is so bad, that no one can be advised to take it ina carriage. Nunnery may be reached from Corby by making a circuit andcrossing the Eden at Armathwaite bridge. A portion of this road, however, is bad enough. 

As much the greatest number of Lake Tourists begin by passing fromKendal to Bowness, upon Windermere, our notices shall commence with thatLake. Bowness is situated upon its eastern side, and at equal distancefrom each extremity of the Lake of

WINDERMERE. 

The lower part of this Lake is rarely visited, but has many interestingpoints of view, especially at Storr's Hall and at Fellfoot, where theConiston Mountains peer nobly over the western barrier, whichelsewhere, along the whole Lake, is comparatively tame. To one also whohas ascended the hill from Grathwaite on the western side, thePromontory called Rawlinson's Nab, Storr's Hall, and the TroutbeckMountains, about sun-set, make a splendid landscape. The view from thePleasure-house of the Station near the Ferry has suffered much fromLarch plantations; this mischief, however, is gradually disappearing, and the Larches, under the management of the proprietor, Mr. Curwen, aregiving way to the native wood. Windermere ought to be seen both from itsshores and from its surface. None of the other Lakes unfold so manyfresh beauties to him who sails upon them. This is owing to its greatersize, to the islands, and to its having _two_ vales at the head, withtheir accompanying mountains of nearly equal dignity. Nor can thegrandeur of these two terminations be seen at once from any point, except from the bosom of the Lake. The Islands may be explored at anytime of the day; but one bright unruffled evening, must, if possible, beset apart for the splendour, the stillness, and solemnity of a threehours' voyage upon the higher division of the Lake, not omitting, towards the end of the excursion, to quit the expanse of water, and peepinto the close and calm River at the head; which, in its quietcharacter, at such a time, appears rather like an overflow of thepeaceful Lake itself, than to have any more immediate connection withthe rough mountains whence it has descended, or the turbulent torrentsby which it is supplied. Many persons content themselves with what theysee of Windermere during their progress in a boat from Bowness to thehead of the Lake, walking thence to Ambleside. But the whole road fromBowness is rich in diversity of pleasing or grand scenery; there isscarcely a field on the road side, which, if entered, would not give tothe landscape some additional charm. Low-wood Inn, a mile from the headof Windermere, is a most pleasant halting-place; no inn in the wholedistrict is so agreeably situated for water views and excursions; andthe fields above it, and the lane that leads to Troutbeck, presentbeautiful views towards each extremity of the Lake. From this place, andfrom

 AMBLESIDE, Rides may be taken in numerous directions, and the interesting walksare inexhaustible[47]; a few out of the main road may beparticularized;--the lane that leads from Ambleside to Skelgill; theride, or walk by Rothay Bridge, and up the stream under Loughrigg Fell, continued on the western side of Rydal Lake, and along the fell to thefoot of Grasmere Lake, and thence round by the church of Grasmere; or, turning round Loughrigg Fell by Loughrigg Tarn and the River Brathay, back to Ambleside. From Ambleside is another charming excursion byClappersgate, where cross the Brathay, and proceed with the river on theright to the hamlet of Skelwith-fold; when the houses are passed, turn, before you descend the hill, through a gate on the right, and from arocky point is a fine view of the Brathay River, Langdale Pikes, &c. ;then proceed to Colwith-force, and up Little Langdale to Blea Tarn. Thescene in which this small piece of water lies, suggested to the Authorthe following description, (given in his Poem of the 'Excursion')supposing the spectator to look down upon it, not from the road, butfrom one of its elevated sides. 

 'Behold! Beneath our feet, a little lowly Vale, A lowly Vale, and yet uplifted high Among the mountains; even as if the spot Had been, from eldest time by wish of theirs, So placed, to be shut out from all the world! Urn-like it was in shape, deep as an Urn; With rocks encompassed, save that to the South Was one small opening, where a heath-clad ridge Supplied a boundary less abrupt and close; A quiet treeless nook, [48] with two green fields, A liquid pool that glittered in the sun, And one bare Dwelling; one Abode, no more! It seemed the home of poverty and toil, Though not of want: the little fields, made green By husbandry of many thrifty years, Paid cheerful tribute to the moorland House. --There crows the Cock, single in his domain: The small birds find in Spring no thicket there To shroud them; only from the neighbouring Vales The Cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops, Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place. '

[47] Mr. Green's Guide to the Lakes, in two vols. , contains a completeMagazine of minute and accurate information of this kind, with the namesof mountains, streams, &c. 

[48] No longer strictly applicable, on account of recent plantations. 

From this little Vale return towards Ambleside by Great Langdale, stopping, if there be time, to see Dungeon-ghyll waterfall. 

The Lake of

CONISTON

May be conveniently visited from Ambleside, but is seen to mostadvantage by entering the country over the Sands from Lancaster. TheStranger, from the moment he sets his foot on those Sands, seems toleave the turmoil and traffic of the world behind him; and, crossing themajestic plain whence the sea has retired, he beholds, rising apparentlyfrom its base, the cluster of mountains among which he is going towander, and towards whose recesses, by the Vale of Coniston, he isgradually and peacefully led. From the Inn at the head of Coniston Lake, a leisurely Traveller might have much pleasure in looking into Yewdaleand Tilberthwaite, returning to his Inn from the head of Yewdale by amountain track which has the farm of Tarn Hows, a little on the right:by this road is seen much the best view of Coniston Lake from the south. At the head of Coniston Water there is an agreeable Inn, from which anenterprising Tourist might go to the Vale of the Duddon, over WalnaScar, down to Seathwaite, Newfield, and to the rocks where the riverissues from a narrow pass into the broad Vale. The Stream is veryinteresting for the space of a mile above this point, and below, byUlpha Kirk, till it enters the Sands, where it is overlooked by thesolitary Mountain Black Comb, the summit of which, as that experiencedsurveyor, Colonel Mudge, declared, commands a more extensive view thanany point in Britain. Ireland he saw more than once, but not when thesun was above the horizon. 

 Close by the Sea, lone sentinel, Black-Comb his forward station keeps; He breaks the sea's tumultuous swell, -- And ponders o'er the level deeps. 

 He listens to the bugle horn, Where Eskdale's lovely valley bends; Eyes Walney's early fields of corn; Sea-birds to Holker's woods he sends. 

 Beneath his feet the sunk ship rests, In Duddon Sands, its masts all bare:

 * * * * *

_The Minstrels of Windermere_, by Chas. Farish, B. D. 

The Tourist may either return to the Inn at Coniston by Broughton, or, by turning to the left before he comes to that town, or, which would bemuch better, he may cross from

ULPHA KIRK

Over Birker moor, to Birker-force, at the head of the finest ravine inthe country; and thence up the Vale of the Esk, by Hardknot and Wrynose, back to Ambleside. Near the road, in ascending from Eskdale, areconspicuous remains of a Roman fortress. Details of the Duddon andDonnerdale are given in the Author's series of Sonnets upon the Duddonand in the accompanying Notes. In addition to its two Vales at its head, Windermere communicates with two lateral Vallies; that of Troutbeck, distinguished by the mountains at its head--by picturesque remains ofcottage architecture; and, towards the lower part, by bold foregroundsformed by the steep and winding banks of the river. This Vale, as beforementioned, may be most conveniently seen from Low Wood. The otherlateral Valley, that of Hawkshead, is visited to most advantage, andmost conveniently, from Bowness; crossing the Lake by the Ferry--thenpass the two villages of Sawrey, and on quitting the latter, you have afine view of the Lake of Esthwaite, and the cone of one of the LangdalePikes in the distance. 

Before you leave Ambleside give three minutes to looking at a passage ofthe brook which runs through the town; it is to be seen from a garden onthe right bank of the stream, a few steps above the bridge--the gardenat present is rented by Mrs. Airey. --Stockgill-force, upon the samestream, will have been mentioned to you as one of the sights of theneighbourhood. And by a Tourist halting a few days in Ambleside, the_Nook_ also might be visited; a spot where there is a bridge overScandale-beck, which makes a pretty subject for the pencil. Lastly, forresidents of a week or so at Ambleside, there are delightful ramblesover every part of Loughrigg Fell and among the enclosures on its sides;particularly about Loughrigg Tarn, and on its eastern side about Fox Howand the properties adjoining to the north-wards. 

ROAD FROM AMBLESIDE TO KESWICK. 

The Waterfalls of Rydal are pointed out to every one. But it ought to beobserved here, that Rydal-mere is no where seen to advantage from the_main road_. Fine views of it may be had from Rydal Park; but thesegrounds, as well as those of Rydal Mount and Ivy Cottage, from whichalso it is viewed to advantage, are private. A foot road passing behindRydal Mount and under Nab Scar to Grasmere, is very favourable to viewsof the Lake and the Vale, looking back towards Ambleside. The horse roadalso, along the western side of the Lake, under Loughrigg fell, asbefore mentioned, does justice to the beauties of this small mere, ofwhich the Traveller who keeps the high road is not at all aware. 

GRASMERE. 

There are two small Inns in the Vale of Grasmere, one near the Church, from which it may be conveniently explored in every direction, and amountain walk taken up Easedale to Easedale Tarn, one of the finesttarns in the country, thence to Stickle Tarn, and to the top of LangdalePikes. See also the Vale of Grasmere from Butterlip How. A boat is keptby the innkeeper, and this circular Vale, in the solemnity of a fineevening, will make, from the bosom of the Lake, an impression that willbe scarcely ever effaced. 

The direct road from Grasmere to Keswick does not (as has been observedof Rydal Mere) shew to advantage Thirlmere, or Wythburn Lake, with itssurrounding mountains. By a Traveller proceeding at leisure, a deviationought to be made from the main road, when he has advanced a littlebeyond the sixth mile-stone short of Keswick, from which point there isa noble view of the Vale of Legberthwaite, with Blencathra (commonlycalled Saddle-back) in front. Having previously enquired, at the Innnear Wythburn Chapel, the best way from this mile-stone to the bridgethat divides the Lake, he must cross it, and proceed with the Lake onthe right, to the hamlet a little beyond its termination, and rejoin themain road upon Shoulthwaite Moss, about four miles from Keswick; or, ifon foot, the Tourist may follow the stream that issues from Thirlmeredown the romantic Vale of St. John's, and so (enquiring the way at somecottage) to Keswick, by a circuit of little more than a mile. A moreinteresting tract of country is scarcely any where to be seen, than theroad between Ambleside and Keswick, with the deviations that have beenpointed out. Helvellyn may be conveniently ascended from the Inn atWythburn. 

THE VALE OF KESWICK. 

This Vale stretches, without winding, nearly North and South, from thehead of Derwent Water to the foot of Bassenthwaite Lake. It communicateswith Borrowdale on the South; with the river Greta, and Thirlmere, onthe East, with which the Traveller has become acquainted on his way fromAmbleside; and with the Vale of Newlands on the West--which last Valehe may pass through, in going to, or returning from, Buttermere. Thebest views of Keswick Lake are from Crow Park; Frier's Crag; theStable-field, close by; the Vicarage, and from various points in takingthe circuit of the Lake. More distant views, and perhaps full asinteresting, are from the side of Latrigg, from Ormathwaite, andApplethwaite; and thence along the road at the foot of Skiddaw towardsBassenthwaite, for about a quarter of a mile. There are fine bird's eyeviews from the Castle-hill; from Ashness, on the road to Watenlath, andby following the Watenlath stream downwards to the Cataract of Lodore. This Lake also, if the weather be fine, ought to be circumnavigated. There are good views along the western side of Bassenthwaite Lake, andfrom Armathwaite at its foot; but the eastern side from the high roadhas little to recommend it. The Traveller from Carlisle, approaching byway of Ireby, has, from the old road on the top of Bassenthwaite-hawse, much the most striking view of the Plain and Lake of Bassenthwaite, flanked by Skiddaw, and terminated by Wallow-crag on the south-east ofDerwent Lake; the same point commands an extensive view of Solway Frithand the Scotch Mountains. They who take the circuit of Derwent Lake, mayat the same time include BORROWDALE, going as far as Bowder-stone, orRosthwaite. Borrowdale is also conveniently seen on the way to Wastdaleover Sty-head; or, to Buttermere, by Seatoller and Honister Crag; or, going over the Stake, through Langdale, to Ambleside. Buttermere may bevisited by a shorter way through Newlands, but though the descent uponthe Vale of Buttermere, by this approach, is very striking, as it alsois to one entering by the head of the Vale, under Honister Crag, yet, after all, the best entrance from Keswick is from the lower part of theVale, having gone over Whinlater to Scale Hill, where there is a roomyInn, with very good accommodation. The Mountains of the Vale of

BUTTERMERE AND CRUMMOCK

are no where so impressive as from the bosom of Crummock Water. Scale-force, near it, is a fine chasm, with a lofty, though but slender, Fall of water. 

From Scale Hill a pleasant walk may be taken to an eminence in Mr. Marshall's woods, and another by crossing the bridge at the foot of thehill, upon which the Inn stands, and turning to the right, after theopposite hill has been ascended a little way, then follow the road forhalf a mile or so that leads towards Lorton, looking back upon CrummockWater, &c. , between the openings of the fences. Turn back and make yourway to

LOWES-WATER. 

But this small Lake is only approached to advantage from the other end;therefore any Traveller going by this road to Wastdale, must look backupon it. This road to Wastdale, after passing the village of LamplughCross, presents suddenly a fine view of the Lake of Ennerdale, with itsMountains; and, six or seven miles beyond, leads down upon Calder Abbey. Little of this ruin is left, but that little is well worthy of notice. At Calder Bridge are two comfortable Inns, and, a few miles beyond, accommodations may be had at the Strands, at the foot of Wastdale. Into

WASTDALE

are three horse-roads, viz. Over the Stye, from Borrowdale; a short cutfrom Eskdale by Burnmore Tarn, which road descends upon the head of theLake; and the principal entrance from the open country by the Strands atits foot. This last is much the best approach. Wastdale is well worththe notice of the Traveller who is not afraid of fatigue; no part of thecountry is more distinguished by sublimity. Wast-water may also bevisited from Ambleside; by going up Langdale, over Hardknot andWrynose--down Eskdale and by Irton Hall to the Strands; but this roadcan only be taken on foot, or on horseback, or in a cart. 

We will conclude with

ULLSWATER, as being, perhaps, upon the whole, the happiest combination of beautyand grandeur, which any of the Lakes affords. It lies not more than tenmiles from Ambleside, and the Pass of Kirkstone and the descent from itare very impressive; but, notwithstanding, this Vale, like the others, loses much of its effect by being entered from the head: so that it isbetter to go from Keswick through Matterdale, and descend upon GowbarrowPark; you are thus brought at once upon a magnificent view of the twohigher reaches of the Lake. Ara-force thunders down the Ghyll on theleft, at a small distance from the road. If Ullswater be approached fromPenrith, a mile and a half brings you to the winding vale of Eamont, andthe prospects increase in interest till you reach Patterdale; but thefirst four miles along Ullswater by this road are comparatively tame;and in order to see the lower part of the Lake to advantage, it isnecessary to go round by Pooley Bridge, and to ride at least three milesalong the Westmoreland side of the water, towards Martindale. The views, especially if you ascend from the road into the fields, are magnificent;yet this is only mentioned that the transient Visitant may know whatexists; for it would be inconvenient to go in search of them. They whotake this course of three or four miles _on foot_, should have a boat inreadiness at the end of the walk, to carry them across to the Cumberlandside of the Lake, near Old Church, thence to pursue the road upwards toPatterdale. The Church-yard Yew-tree still survives at Old Church, butthere are no remains of a Place of Worship, a New Chapel having beenerected in a more central situation, which Chapel was consecrated by thethen Bishop of Carlisle, when on his way to crown Queen Elizabeth, hebeing the only Prelate who would undertake the office. It may be herementioned that Bassenthwaite Chapel yet stands in a bay as sequesteredas the Site of Old Church; such situations having been chosen indisturbed times to elude marauders. 

The Trunk, or Body of the Vale of Ullswater need not be further noticed, as its beauties show themselves: but the curious Traveller may wish toknow something of its tributary Streams. 

At Dalemain, about three miles from Penrith, a Stream is crossed calledthe Dacre, or Dacor, which name it bore as early as the time of theVenerable Bede. This stream does not enter the Lake, but joins theEamont a mile below. It rises in the moorish Country about Penruddock, flows down a soft sequestered Valley, passing by the ancient mansionsof Hutton John and Dacre Castle. The former is pleasantly situated, though of a character somewhat gloomy and monastic, and from some of thefields near Dalemain, Dacre Castle, backed by the jagged summit ofSaddle-back, with the Valley and Stream in front, forms a grand picture. There is no other stream that conducts to any glen or valley worthy ofbeing mentioned, till we reach that which leads up to Ara-force, andthence into Matterdale, before spoken of. Matterdale, though a wild andinteresting spot, has no peculiar features that would make it worth theStranger's while to go in search of them; but, in Gowbarrow Park, thelover of Nature might linger for hours. Here is a powerful Brook, whichdashes among rocks through a deep glen, hung on every side with a richand happy intermixture of native wood; here are beds of luxuriant fern, aged hawthorns, and hollies decked with honeysuckles; and fallow-deerglancing and bounding over the lawns and through the thickets. These arethe attractions of the retired views, or constitute a foreground forever-varying pictures of the majestic Lake, forced to take a windingcourse by bold promontories, and environed by mountains of sublime form, towering above each other. At the outlet of Gowbarrow Park, we reach athird stream, which flows through a little recess called Glencoin, wherelurks a single house, yet visible from the road. Let the Artist orleisurely Traveller turn aside to it, for the buildings and objectsaround them are romantic and picturesque. Having passed under the steepsof Styebarrow Crag, and the remains of its native woods, at GlenriddingBridge, a fourth Stream is crossed. 

The opening on the side of Ullswater Vale, down which this Stream flows, is adorned with fertile fields, cottages, and natural groves, thatagreeably unite with the transverse views of the Lake; and the Stream, if followed up after the enclosures are left behind, will lead alongbold water-breaks and waterfalls to a silent Tarn in the recesses ofHelvellyn. This desolate spot was formerly haunted by eagles, that builtin the precipice which forms its western barrier. These birds used towheel and hover round the head of the solitary angler. It also derives amelancholy interest from the fate of a young man, a stranger, whoperished some years ago, by falling down the rocks in his attempt tocross over to Grasmere. His remains were discovered by means of afaithful dog that had lingered here for the space of three months, self-supported, and probably retaining to the last an attachment to theskeleton of its master. But to return to the road in the main Vale ofUllswater. --At the head of the Lake (being now in Patterdale) we crossa fifth Stream, Grisdale Beck: this would conduct through a woody steep, where may be seen some unusually large ancient hollies, up to the levelarea of the Valley of Grisdale; hence there is a path forfoot-travellers, and along which a horse may be led to Grasmere. Asublime combination of mountain forms appears in front while ascendingthe bed of this valley, and the impression increases till the path leadsalmost immediately under the projecting masses of Helvellyn. Havingretraced the banks of the Stream to Patterdale, and pursued the road upthe main Dale, the next considerable stream would, if ascended in thesame manner, conduct to Deep-dale, the character of which Valley may beconjectured from its name. It is terminated by a cove, a craggy andgloomy abyss, with precipitous sides; a faithful receptacle of the snowsthat are driven into it, by the west wind, from the summit of Fairfield. Lastly, having gone along the western side of Brotherswater and passedHartsop Hall, a Stream soon after issues from a cove richly decoratedwith native wood. This spot is, I believe, never explored by Travellers;but, from these sylvan and rocky recesses, whoever looks back on thegleaming surface of Brotherswater, or forward to the precipitous sidesand lofty ridges of Dove Crag, &c. , will be equally pleased with thebeauty, the grandeur, and the wildness of the scenery. 

Seven Glens or Vallies have been noticed, which branch off from theCumberland side of the Vale. The opposite side has only two Streams ofany importance, one of which would lead up from the point where itcrosses the Kirkstone-road, near the foot of Brotherswater, to thedecaying hamlet of Hartsop, remarkable for its cottage architecture, andthence to Hayswater, much frequented by anglers. The other, coming downMartindale, enters Ullswater at Sandwyke, opposite to Gowbarrow Park. Nopersons but such as come to Patterdale, merely to pass through it, should fail to walk as far as Blowick, the only enclosed land which onthis side borders the higher part of the Lake. The axe has hereindiscriminately levelled a rich wood of birches and oaks, that dividedthis favoured spot into a hundred pictures. It has yet its land-lockedbays, and rocky promontories; but those beautiful woods are gone, which_perfected_ its seclusion; and scenes, that might formerly have beencompared to an inexhaustible volume, are now spread before the eye in asingle sheet, --magnificent indeed, but seemingly perused in a moment!From Blowick a narrow track conducts along the craggy side ofPlace-fell, richly adorned with juniper, and sprinkled over withbirches, to the village of Sandwyke, a few straggling houses, that withthe small estates attached to them, occupy an opening opposite toLyulph's Tower and Gowbarrow Park. In Martindale, [49] the road losessight of the Lake, and leads over a steep hill, bringing you again intoview of Ullswater. Its lowest reach, four miles in length, is beforeyou; and the view terminated by the long ridge of Cross Fell in thedistance. Immediately under the eye is a deep-indented bay, with a plotof fertile land, traversed by a small brook, and rendered cheerful bytwo or three substantial houses of a more ornamented and showyappearance than is usual in those wild spots. 

From Pooley Bridge, at the foot of the Lake, Haweswater may beconveniently visited. Haweswater is a lesser Ullswater, with thisadvantage, that it remains undefiled by the intrusion of bad taste. 

Lowther Castle is about four miles from Pooley Bridge, and, if duringthis Tour the Stranger has complained, as he will have had reason to do, of a want of majestic trees, he may be abundantly recompensed for hisloss in the far-spreading woods which surround that mansion. Visitants, for the most part, see little of the beauty of these magnificentgrounds, being content with the view from the Terrace; but the wholecourse of the Lowther, from Askham to the bridge under Brougham Hall, presents almost at every step some new feature of river, woodland, androcky landscape. A portion of this tract has, from its beauty, acquiredthe name of the Elysian Fields;--but the course of the stream can onlybe followed by the pedestrian. 

NOTE. --_Vide_ p. 227. --About 200 yards beyond the last house on theKeswick side of Rydal village the road is cut through a low wooded rock, called Thrang Crag. The top of it, which is only a few steps on thesouth side, affords the best view of the Vale which is to be had by aTraveller who confines himself to the public road. 

[49] See page 308. 

DESCRIPTION OF THE SCENERY OF THE LAKES. 

 * * * * *

SECTION FIRST. 

VIEW OF THE COUNTRY AS FORMED BY NATURE. 

At Lucerne, in Switzerland, is shewn a Model of the Alpine country whichencompasses the Lake of the four Cantons. The Spectator ascends a littleplatform, and sees mountains, lakes, glaciers, rivers, woods, waterfalls, and vallies, with their cottages, and every other objectcontained in them, lying at his feet; all things being represented intheir appropriate colours. It may be easily conceived that thisexhibition affords an exquisite delight to the imagination, tempting itto wander at will from valley to valley, from mountain to mountain, through the deepest recesses of the Alps. But it supplies also a moresubstantial pleasure: for the sublime and beautiful region, with all itshidden treasures, and their bearings and relations to each other, isthereby comprehended and understood at once. 

Something of this kind, without touching upon minute details andindividualities which would only confuse and embarrass, will here beattempted, in respect to the Lakes in the north of England, and thevales and mountains enclosing and surrounding them. The delineation, iftolerably executed, will, in some instances, communicate to thetraveller, who has already seen the objects, new information; and willassist in giving to his recollections a more orderly arrangement thanhis own opportunities of observing may have permitted him to make; whileit will be still more useful to the future traveller, by directing hisattention at once to distinctions in things which, without such previousaid, a length of time only could enable him to discover. It is hoped, also, that this Essay may become generally serviceable, by leading tohabits of more exact and considerate observation than, as far as thewriter knows, have hitherto been applied to local scenery. 

To begin, then, with the main outlines of the country;--I know not howto give the reader a distinct image of these more readily, than byrequesting him to place himself with me, in imagination, upon some givenpoint; let it be the top of either of the mountains, Great Gavel, orScawfell; or, rather, let us suppose our station to be a cloud hangingmidway between those two mountains, at not more than half a mile'sdistance from the summit of each, and not many yards above their highestelevation; we shall then see stretched at our feet a number of vallies, not fewer than eight, diverging from the point, on which we are supposedto stand, like spokes from the nave of a wheel. First, we note, lying tothe south-east, the vale of Langdale, [50] which will conduct the eye tothe long lake of Winandermere, stretched nearly to the sea; or rather tothe sands of the vast bay of Morcamb, serving here for the rim of thisimaginary wheel;--let us trace it in a direction from the south-easttowards the south, and we shall next fix our eyes upon the vale ofConiston, running up likewise from the sea, but not (as all the othervallies do) to the nave of the wheel, and therefore it may be notinaptly represented as a broken spoke sticking in the rim. Looking forthagain, with an inclination towards the west, we see immediately at ourfeet the vale of Duddon, in which is no lake, but a copious stream, winding among fields, rocks, and mountains, and terminating its coursein the sands of Duddon. The fourth vale, next to be observed, viz. Thatof the Esk, is of the same general character as the last, yetbeautifully discriminated from it by peculiar features. Its streampasses under the woody steep upon which stands Muncaster Castle, theancient seat of the Penningtons, and after forming a short and narrowaestuary enters the sea below the small town of Ravenglass. Next, almostdue west, look down into, and along the deep valley of Wastdale, withits little chapel and half a dozen neat dwellings scattered upon a plainof meadow and corn-ground intersected with stone walls apparentlyinnumerable, like a large piece of lawless patch-work, or an array ofmathematical figures, such as in the ancient schools of geometry mighthave been sportively and fantastically traced out upon sand. Beyond thislittle fertile plain lies, within a bed of steep mountains, the long, narrow, stern, and desolate lake of Wastdale; and, beyond this, a duskytract of level ground conducts the eye to the Irish Sea. The streamthat issues from Wast-water is named the Irt, and falls into theaestuary of the river Esk. Next comes in view Ennerdale, with its lakeof bold and somewhat savage shores. Its stream, the Ehen or Enna, flowing through a soft and fertile country, passes the town of Egremont, and the ruins of the castle, --then, seeming, like the other rivers, tobreak through the barrier of sand thrown up by the winds on thistempestuous coast, enters the Irish Sea. The vale of Buttermere, withthe lake and village of that name, and Crummock-water, beyond, nextpresent themselves. We will follow the main stream, the Coker, throughthe fertile and beautiful vale of Lorton, till it is lost in theDerwent, below the noble ruins of Cockermouth Castle. Lastly, Borrowdale, of which the vale of Keswick is only a continuation, stretching due north, brings us to a point nearly opposite to the valeof Winandermere with which we began. From this it will appear, that theimage of a wheel, thus far exact, is little more than one half complete;but the deficiency on the eastern side may be supplied by the vales ofWytheburn, Ulswater, Hawswater, and the vale of Grasmere and Rydal; noneof these, however, run up to the central point between Great Gavel andScawfell. From this, hitherto our central point, take a flight of notmore than four or five miles eastward to the ridge of Helvellyn, and youwill look down upon Wytheburn and St. John's Vale, which are a branch ofthe vale of Keswick; upon Ulswater, stretching due east:--and not farbeyond to the south-east (though from this point not visible) lie thevale and lake of Hawswater; and lastly, the vale of Grasmere, Rydal, andAmbleside, brings you back to Winandermere, thus completing, though onthe eastern side in a somewhat irregular manner, the representativefigure of the wheel. 

[50] Anciently spelt Langden, and so called by the old inhabitants tothis day--_dean_, from which the latter part of the word is derived, being in many parts of England a name for a valley. 

Such, concisely given, is the general topographical view of the countryof the Lakes in the north of England; and it may be observed, that, fromthe circumference to the centre, that is, from the sea or plain countryto the mountain stations specified, there is--in the several ridges thatenclose these vales, and divide them from each other, I mean in theforms and surfaces, first of the swelling grounds, next of the hills androcks, and lastly of the mountains--an ascent of almost regulargradation, from elegance and richness, to their highest point ofgrandeur and sublimity. It follows therefore from this, first, thatthese rocks, hills, and mountains, must present themselves to view instages rising above each other, the mountains clustering togethertowards the central point; and next, that an observer familiar with theseveral vales, must, from their various position in relation to the sun, have had before his eyes every possible embellishment of beauty, dignity, and splendour, which light and shadow can bestow upon objectsso diversified. For example, in the vale of Winandermere, if thespectator looks for gentle and lovely scenes, his eye is turned towardsthe south; if for the grand, towards the north: in the vale of Keswick, which (as hath been said) lies almost due north of this, it is directlythe reverse. Hence, when the sun is setting in summer far to thenorth-west, it is seen, by the spectator from the shores or breast ofWinandermere, resting among the summits of the loftiest mountains, someof which will perhaps be half or wholly hidden by clouds, or by theblaze of light which the orb diffuses around it; and the surface of thelake will reflect before the eye correspondent colours through everyvariety of beauty, and through all degrees of splendour. In the vale ofKeswick, at the same period, the sun sets over the humbler regions ofthe landscape, and showers down upon _them_ the radiance which at onceveils and glorifies, --sending forth, meanwhile, broad streams of rosy, crimson, purple, or golden light, towards the grand mountains in thesouth and south-east, which, thus illuminated, with all theirprojections and cavities, and with an intermixture of solemn shadows, are seen distinctly through a cool and clear atmosphere. Of course, there is as marked a difference between the _noontide_ appearance ofthese two opposite vales. The bedimming haze that overspreads the south, and the clear atmosphere and determined shadows of the clouds in thenorth, at the same time of the day, are each seen in these severalvales, with a contrast as striking. The reader will easily conceive inwhat degree the intermediate vales partake of a kindred variety. 

I do not indeed know any tract of country in which, within so narrow acompass, may be found an equal variety in the influences of light andshadow upon the sublime or beautiful features of landscape; and it isowing to the combined circumstances to which the reader's attention hasbeen directed. From a point between Great Gavel and Scawfell, ashepherd would not require more than an hour to descend into any one ofeight of the principal vales by which he would be surrounded; and allthe others lie (with the exception of Hawswater) at but a smalldistance. Yet, though clustered together, every valley has its distinctand separate character: in some instances, as if they had been formed instudied contrast to each other, and in others with the united pleasingdifferences and resemblances of a sisterly rivalship. This concentrationof interest gives to the country a decided superiority over the mostattractive districts of Scotland and Wales, especially for thepedestrian traveller. In Scotland and Wales are found, undoubtedly, individual scenes, which, in their several kinds, cannot be excelled. But, in Scotland, particularly, what long tracts of desolate countryintervene! so that the traveller, when he reaches a spot deservedly ofgreat celebrity, would find it difficult to determine how much of hispleasure is owing to excellence inherent in the landscape itself; andhow much to an instantaneous recovery from an oppression left upon hisspirits by the barrenness and desolation through which he has passed. 

But to proceed with our survey;--and, first, of the MOUNTAINS. Their_forms_ are endlessly diversified, sweeping easily or boldly in simplemajesty, abrupt and precipitous, or soft and elegant. In magnitude andgrandeur they are individually inferior to the most celebrated of thosein some other parts of this island; but, in the combinations which theymake, towering above each other, or lifting themselves in ridges likethe waves of a tumultuous sea, and in the beauty and variety of theirsurfaces and colours, they are surpassed by none. 

The general _surface_ of the mountains is turf, rendered rich and greenby the moisture of the climate. Sometimes the turf, as in theneighbourhood of Newlands, is little broken, the whole covering beingsoft and downy pasturage. In other places rocks predominate; the soil islaid bare by torrents and burstings of water from the sides of themountains in heavy rains; and not unfrequently their perpendicular sidesare seamed by ravines (formed also by rains and torrents) which, meetingin angular points, entrench and scar the surface with numerous figureslike the letters W. And Y. 

In the ridge that divides Eskdale from Wasdale, granite is found; butthe MOUNTAINS are for the most part composed of the stone bymineralogists termed schist, which, as you approach the plain country, gives place to limestone and freestone; but schist being the substanceof the mountains, the predominant _colour_ of their _rocky_ parts isbluish, or hoary grey--the general tint of the lichens with which thebare stone is encrusted. With this blue or grey colour is frequentlyintermixed a red tinge, proceeding from the iron that interveins thestone, and impregnates the soil. The iron is the principle ofdecomposition in these rocks; and hence, when they become pulverized, the elementary particles crumbling down, overspread in many places thesteep and almost precipitous sides of the mountains with an intermixtureof colours, like the compound hues of a dove's neck. When in the heat ofadvancing summer, the fresh green tint of the herbage has somewhatfaded, it is again revived by the appearance of the fern profuselyspread over the same ground: and, upon this plant, more than uponanything else, do the changes which the seasons make in the colouring ofthe mountains depend. About the first week in October, the rich green, which prevailed through the whole summer, is usually passed away. Thebrilliant and various colours of the fern are then in harmony with theautumnal woods; bright yellow or lemon colour, at the base of themountains, melting gradually, through orange, to a dark russet browntowards the summits, where the plant, being more exposed to the weather, is in a more advanced state of decay. Neither heath nor furze are_generally_ found upon the _sides_ of these mountains, though in manyplaces they are adorned by those plants, so beautiful when in flower. Wemay add, that the mountains are of height sufficient to have the surfacetowards the summit softened by distance, and to imbibe the finest aërialhues. In common also with other mountains, their apparent forms andcolours are perpetually changed by the clouds and vapours which floatround them: the effect indeed of mist or haze, in a country of thischaracter, is like that of magic. I have seen six or seven ridges risingabove each other, all created in a moment by the vapours upon the sideof a mountain, which, in its ordinary appearance, shewed not aprojecting point to furnish even a hint for such an operation. 

I will take this opportunity of observing, that they who have studiedthe appearances of Nature feel that the superiority, in point of visualinterest, of mountainous over other countries--is more strikinglydisplayed in winter than in summer. This, as must be obvious, is partlyowing to the _forms_ of the mountains, which, of course, are notaffected by the seasons; but also, in no small degree, to the greatervariety that exists in their winter than their summer _colouring_. Thisvariety is such, and so harmoniously preserved, that it leaves littlecause of regret when the splendour of autumn is passed away. Theoak-coppices, upon the sides of the mountains, retain russet leaves; thebirch stands conspicuous with its silver stem and puce-coloured twigs;the hollies, with green leaves and scarlet berries, have come forth toview from among the deciduous trees, whose summer foliage had concealedthem; the ivy is now plentifully apparent upon the stems and boughs ofthe trees, and upon the steep rocks. In place of the deep summer-greenof the herbage and fern, many rich colours play into each other over thesurface of the mountains; turf (the tints of which are interchangeablytawny-green, olive, and brown), beds of withered fern, and grey rocks, being harmoniously blended together. The mosses and lichens are never sofresh and flourishing as in winter, if it be not a season of frost; andtheir minute beauties prodigally adorn the foreground. Wherever we turn, we find these productions of Nature, to which winter is ratherfavourable than unkindly, scattered over the walls, banks of earth, rocks, and stones, and upon the trunks of trees, with the intermixtureof several species of small fern, now green and fresh; and, to theobserving passenger, their forms and colours are a source ofinexhaustable admiration. Add to this the hoar-frost and snow, with allthe varieties they create, and which volumes would not be sufficient todescribe. I will content myself with one instance of the colouringproduced by snow, which may not be uninteresting to painters. It isextracted from the memorandum-book of a friend; and for its accuracy Ican speak, having been an eye-witness of the appearance. 'I observed, 'says he, 'the beautiful effect of the drifted snow upon the mountains, and the perfect _tone_ of colour. From the top of the mountainsdownwards a rich olive was produced by the powdery snow and the grass, which olive was warmed with a little brown, and in this way harmoniouslycombined, by insensible gradations, with the white. The drifting tookaway the monotony of snow; and the whole vale of Grasmere, seen fromthe terrace walk in Easedale, was as varied, perhaps more so, than evenin the pomp of autumn. In the distance was Loughrigg-Fell, thebasin-wall of the lake: this, from the summit downward, was a richorange-olive; then the lake of a bright olive-green, nearly the sametint as the snow-powdered mountain tops and high slopes in Easedale; andlastly, the church, with its firs, forming the centre of the view. Nextto the church came nine distinguishable hills, six of them with woodysides turned towards us, all of them oak-copses with their bright redleaves and snow-powdered twigs; these hills--so variously situated inrelation to each other, and to the view in general, so variouslypowdered, some only enough to give the herbage a rich brown tint, oneintensely white and lighting up all the others--were yet so placed, asin the most inobtrusive manner to harmonise by contrast with a perfectnaked, snowless bleak summit in the far distance. '

Having spoken of the forms, surface, and colour of the mountains, let usdescend into the VALES. Though these have been represented under thegeneral image of the spokes of a wheel, they are, for the most part, winding; the windings of many being abrupt and intricate. And, it may beobserved, that, in one circumstance, the general shape of them all hasbeen determined by that primitive conformation through which so manybecame receptacles of lakes. For they are not formed, as are most of thecelebrated Welsh vallies, by an approximation of the sloping bases ofthe opposite mountains towards each other, leaving little more betweenthan a channel for the passage of a hasty river; but the bottom of thesevallies is mostly a spacious and gently declining area, apparently levelas the floor of a temple, or the surface of a lake, and broken in manycases, by rocks and hills, which rise up like islands from the plain. Insuch of the vallies as make many windings, these level areas open uponthe traveller in succession, divided from each other sometimes by amutual approximation of the hills, leaving only passage for a river, sometimes by correspondent windings, without such approximation; andsometimes by a bold advance of one mountain towards that which isopposite it. It may here be observed with propriety that the severalrocks and hills, which have been described as rising up like islandsfrom the level area of the vale, have regulated the choice of theinhabitants in the situation of their dwellings. Where none of theseare found, and the inclination of the ground is not sufficiently rapideasily to carry off the waters, (as in the higher part of Langdale, forinstance, ) the houses are not sprinkled over the middle of the vales, but confined to their sides, being placed merely so far up the mountainas to be protected from the floods. But where these rocks and hills havebeen scattered over the plain of the vale, (as in Grasmere, Donnerdale, Eskdale, &c. ) the beauty which they give to the scene is much heightenedby a single cottage, or cluster of cottages, that will be almost alwaysfound under them, or upon their sides; dryness and shelter havingtempted the Dalesmen to fix their habitations there. 

I shall now speak of the LAKES of this country. The form of the lake ismost perfect when, like Derwent-water, and some of the smaller lakes, itleast resembles that of a river;--I mean, when being looked at fromany given point where the whole may be seen at once, the width of itbears such proportion to the length, that, however the outline may bediversified by far-receding bays, it never assumes the shape of a river, and is contemplated with that placid and quiet feeling which belongspeculiarly to the lake--as a body of still water under the influenceof no current; reflecting therefore the clouds, the light, and all theimagery of the sky and surrounding hills; expressing also and makingvisible the changes of the atmosphere, and motions of the lightestbreeze, and subject to agitation only from the winds--

 --The visible scene Would enter unawares into his mind With all its solemn imagery, its rocks, Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received Into the bosom of the _steady_ lake!

It must be noticed, as a favourable characteristic of the lakes of thiscountry, that, though several of the largest, such as Winandermere, Ulswater, Hawswater, do, when the whole length of them is commanded froman elevated point, loose somewhat of the peculiar form of the lake, andassume the resemblance of a magnificent river; yet, as their shape iswinding, (particularly that of Ulswater and Hawswater) when the view ofthe whole is obstructed by those barriers which determine the windings, and the spectator is confined to one reach, the appropriate feeling isrevived; and one lake may thus in succession present to the eye theessential characteristic of many. But, though the forms of the largelakes have this advantage, it is nevertheless favourable to the beautyof the country that the largest of them are comparatively small; andthat the same vale generally furnishes a succession of lakes, instead ofbeing filled with one. The vales in North Wales, as hath been observed, are not formed for the reception of lakes; those of Switzerland, Scotland, and this part of the North of England, _are_ so formed; but, in Switzerland and Scotland, the proportion of diffused water is oftentoo great, as at the lake of Geneva for instance, and in most of theScotch lakes. No doubt it sounds magnificent and flatters theimagination, to hear at a distance of expanses of water so many leaguesin length and miles in width; and such ample room may be delightful tothe fresh-water sailor, scudding with a lively breeze amid therapidly-shifting scenery. But, who ever travelled along the banks ofLoch-Lomond, variegated as the lower part is by islands, without feelingthat a speedier termination of the long vista of blank water would beacceptable; and without wishing for an interposition of green meadows, trees, and cottages, and a sparkling stream to run by his side? In fact, a notion, of grandeur, as connected with magnitude, has seduced personsof taste into a general mistake upon this subject. It is much moredesirable, for the purposes of pleasure, that lakes should be numerous, and small or middle-sized, than large, not only for communication bywalks and rides, but for variety, and for recurrence of similarappearances. To illustrate this by one instance:--how pleasing is itto have a ready and frequent opportunity of watching, at the outlet of alake, the stream pushing its way among the rocks in lively contrast withthe stillness from which it has escaped; and how amusing to compare itsnoisy and turbulent motions with the gentle playfulness of the breezes, that may be starting up or wandering here and there over thefaintly-rippled surface of the broad water! I may add, as a generalremark, that, in lakes of great width, the shores cannot be distinctlyseen at the same time, and therefore contribute little to mutualillustration and ornament; and, if the opposite shores are out of sightof each other, like those of the American and Asiatic lakes, thenunfortunately the traveller is reminded of a nobler object; he has theblankness of a sea-prospect without the grandeur and accompanying senseof power. 

As the comparatively small size of the lakes in the North of England isfavourable to the production of variegated landscape, their_boundary-line_ also is for the most part gracefully or boldly indented. That uniformity which prevails in the primitive frame of the lowergrounds among all chains or clusters of mountains where large bodies ofstill water are bedded, is broken by the _secondary_ agents of Nature, ever at work to supply the deficiences of the mould in which things wereoriginally cast. Using the word _deficiences_, I do not speak withreference to those stronger emotions which a region of mountains ispeculiarly fitted to excite. The bases of those huge barriers may runfor a long space in straight lines, and these parallel to each other;the opposite sides of a profound vale may ascend as exact counterparts, or in mutual reflection, like the billows of a troubled sea; and theimpression be, from its very simplicity, more awful and sublime. Sublimity is the result of Nature's first great dealings with thesuperficies of the Earth; but the general tendency of her subsequentoperations is towards the production of beauty; by a multiplicity ofsymmetrical parts uniting in a consistent whole. This is everywhereexemplified along the margins of these lakes. Masses of rock, that havebeen precipitated from the heights into the area of waters, lie in someplaces like stranded ships; or have acquired the compact structure ofjutting piers; or project in little peninsulas crested with native wood. The smallest rivulet--one whose silent influx is scarcely noticeablein a season of dry weather--so faint is the dimple made by it on thesurface of the smooth lake--will be found to have been not useless inshaping, by its deposits of gravel and soil in time of flood, a curvethat would not otherwise have existed. But the more powerful brooks, encroaching upon the level of the lake, have, in course of time, givenbirth to ample promontories of sweeping outline that contrast boldlywith the longitudinal base of the steeps on the opposite shore; whiletheir flat or gently-sloping-surfaces never fail to introduce, into themidst of desolation and barrenness, the elements of fertility, evenwhere the habitations of men may not have been raised. These alluvialpromontories, however, threaten, in some places, to bisect the waterswhich they have long adorned; and, in course of ages, they will causesome of the lakes to dwindle into numerous and insignificant pools;which, in their turn, will finally be filled up. But, checking theseintrusive calculations, let us rather be content with appearances asthey are, and pursue in imagination the meandering shores, whetherrugged steeps, admitting of no cultivation, descend into the water; orgently-sloping lawns and woods, or flat and fertile meadows, stretchbetween the margin of the lake and the mountains. Among minuterrecommendations will be noticed, especially along bays exposed to thesetting-in of strong winds, the curved rim of fine blue gravel, thrownup in course of time by the waves, half of it perhaps gleaming fromunder the water, and the corresponding half of a lighter hue; and inother parts bordering the lake, groves, if I may so call them, of reedsand bulrushes; or plots of water-lilies lifting up their largetarget-shaped leaves to the breeze, while the white flower is heavingupon the wave. 

To these may naturally be added the birds that enliven the waters. Wild-ducks in spring-time hatch their young in the islands, and uponreedy shores;--the sand-piper, flitting along the stony margins, byits restless note attracts the eye to motions as restless:--upon somejutting rock, or at the edge of a smooth meadow, the stately heron maybe descried with folded wings, that might seem to have caught theirdelicate hue from the blue waters, by the side of which she watches forher sustenance. In winter, the lakes are sometimes resorted to by wildswans; and in that season habitually by widgeons, goldings, and otheraquatic fowl of the smaller species. Let me be allowed the aid of verseto describe the evolutions which these visitants sometimes perform, on afine day towards the close of winter. 

 Mark how the feather'd tenants of the flood, With grace of motion that might scarcely seem Inferior to angelical, prolong Their curious pastime! shaping in mid air (And sometimes with ambitious wing that soars High as the level of the mountain tops, ) A circuit ampler than the lake beneath, Their own domain;---but ever, while intent On tracing and retracing that large round, Their jubilant activity evolves Hundreds of curves and circlets, to and fro, Upward and downward, progress intricate Yet unperplex'd, as if one spirit swayed Their indefatigable flight. --'Tis done-- Ten times, or more, I fancied it had ceased; But lo! the vanish'd company again Ascending;--they approach--I hear their wings Faint, faint, at first, and then an eager sound Past in a moment--and as faint again! They tempt the sun to sport amid their plumes; They tempt the water or the gleaming ice, To shew them a fair image;--'tis themselves, Their own fair forms, upon the glimmering plain, Painted more soft and fair as they descend Almost to touch;--then up again aloft, Up with a sally and a flash of speed, As if they scorn'd both resting-place and rest!

The ISLANDS, dispersed among these lakes, are neither so numerous nor sobeautiful as might be expected from the account that has been given ofthe manner in which the level areas of the vales are so frequentlydiversified by rocks, hills, and hillocks, scattered over them; nor arethey ornamented (as are several of the lakes in Scotland and Ireland) bythe remains of castles or other places of defence; nor with the stillmore interesting ruins of religious edifices. Every one must regret thatscarcely a vestige is left of the Oratory, consecrated to the Virgin, which stood upon Chapel-Holm in Windermere, and that the Chauntry hasdisappeared, where mass used to be sung, upon St. Herbert's Island, Derwent-water. The islands of the last-mentioned lake are neitherfortunately placed nor of pleasing shape; but if the wood upon them weremanaged with more taste, they might become interesting features in thelandscape. There is a beautiful cluster on Winandermere; a pairpleasingly contrasted upon Eydal; nor must the solitary green island ofGrasmere be forgotten. In the bosom of each of the lakes of Ennerdaleand Devockwater is a single rock, which, owing to its neighbourhood tothe sea, is--

 The haunt of cormorants and sea-mews' clang, a music well suited to the stern and wild character of the severalscenes! It may be worth while here to mention (not as an object ofbeauty, but of curiosity) that there occasionally appears above thesurface of Derwent-water, and always in the same place, a considerabletract of spongy ground covered with aquatic plants, which is called theFloating, but with more propriety might be named the Buoyant, Island;and, on one of the pools near the lake of Esthwaite, may sometimes beseen a mossy Islet, with trees upon it, shifting about before the wind, a _lusus naturae_ frequent on the great rivers of America, and notunknown in other parts of the world. 

 --fas habeas invisere Tiburis arva, Albuneaeque lacum, atque umbras terrasque natantes. [51]

[51] See that admirable Idyllium, the Catillus and Salia of Landor. 

This part of the subject may be concluded with observing--that, from themultitude of brooks and torrents that fall into these lakes, and ofinternal springs by which they are fed, and which circulate through themlike veins, they are truly living lakes, _'vivi lacus;'_ and are thusdiscriminated from the stagnant and sullen pools frequent amongmountains that have been formed by volcanoes, and from the shallow meresfound in flat and fenny countries. The water is also of crystallinepurity; so that, if it were not for the reflections of the incumbentmountains by which it is darkened, a delusion might be felt, by a personresting quietly in a boat on the bosom of Winandermere or Derwent-water, similar to that which Carver so beautifully describes when he wasfloating alone in the middle of lake Erie or Ontario, and could almosthave imagined that his boat was suspended in an element as pure as air, or rather that the air and water were one. 

Having spoken of Lakes I must not omit to mention, as a kindred featureof this country, those bodies of still water called TARNS. In theeconomy of Nature these are useful, as auxiliars to Lakes; for if thewhole quantity of water which falls upon the mountains in time of stormwere poured down upon the plains without intervention, in some quarters, of such receptacles, the habitable grounds would be much more subjectthan they are to inundation. But, as some of the collateral brooks spendtheir fury, finding a free course toward and also down the channel ofthe main stream of the vale before those that have to pass through thehigher tarns and lakes have filled their several basins, a gradualdistribution is effected; and the waters thus reserved, instead ofuniting, to spread ravage and deformity, with those which meet with nosuch detention, contribute to support, for a length of time, the vigourof many streams without a fresh fall of rain. Tarns are found in some ofthe vales, and are numerous upon the mountains. A Tarn, in a _Vale_, implies, for the most part, that the bed of the vale is not happilyformed; that the water of the brooks can neither wholly escape, nordiffuse itself over a large area. Accordingly, in such situations, Tarnsare often surrounded by an unsightly tract of boggy ground; but this isnot always the case, and in the cultivated parts of the country, whenthe shores of the Tarn are determined, it differs only from the Lake inbeing smaller, and in belonging mostly to a smaller valley, or circularrecess. Of this class of miniature lakes, Loughrigg Tarn, near Grasmere, is the most beautiful example. It has a margin of green firm meadows, ofrocks, and rocky woods, a few reeds here, a little company ofwater-lilies there, with beds of gravel or stone beyond; a tiny streamissuing neither briskly nor sluggishly out of it; but its feeding rills, from the shortness of their course, so small as to be scarcely visible. Five or six cottages are reflected in its peaceful bosom; rocky andbarren steeps rise up above the hanging enclosures; and the solemn Pikesof Langdale overlook, from a distance, the low cultivated ridge of landthat forms the northern boundary of this small, quiet, and fertiledomain. The _mountain_ Tarns can only be recommended to the notice ofthe inquisitive traveller who has time to spare. They are difficult ofaccess and naked; yet some of them are, in their permanent forms, verygrand; and there are accidents of things which would make the meanest ofthem interesting. At all events, one of these pools is an acceptablesight to the mountain wanderer; not merely as an incident thatdiversifies the prospect, but as forming in his mind a centre orconspicuous point to which objects, otherwise disconnected orinsubordinated, may be referred. Some few have a varied outline, withbold heath-clad promontories; and, as they mostly lie at the foot of asteep precipice, the water, where the sun is not shining upon it, appears black and sullen; and, round the margin, huge stones and massesof rock are scattered; some defying conjecture as to the means by whichthey came thither; and others obviously fallen from on high--thecontribution of ages! A not unpleasing sadness is induced by thisperplexity, and these images of decay; while the prospect of a body ofpure water unattended with groves and other cheerful rural images, bywhich fresh water is usually accompanied, and unable to give furtheranceto the meagre vegetation around it--excites a sense of some repulsivepower strongly put forth, and thus deepens the melancholy natural tosuch scenes. Nor is the feeling of solitude often more forcibly or moresolemnly impressed than by the side of one of these mountain pools:though desolate and forbidding, it seems a distinct place to repair to;yet where the visitants must be rare, and there can be no disturbance. Water-fowl flock hither; and the lonely angler may here be seen; but theimagination, not content with this scanty allowance of society, istempted to attribute a voluntary power to every change which takes placein such a spot, whether it be the breeze that wanders over the surfaceof the water, or the splendid lights of evening resting upon it in themidst of awful precipices. 

 There, sometimes does a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak In symphony austere: Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud, And mists that spread the flying shroud, And sunbeams, and the sounding blast. 

It will be observed that this country is bounded on the south and eastby the sea, which combines beautifully, from many elevated points, withthe inland scenery; and, from the bay of Morecamb, the sloping shoresand back-ground of distant mountains are seen, composing picturesequally distinguished for amenity and grandeur. But the aestuaries onthis coast are in a great measure bare at low water[52]; and there is noinstance of the sea running far up among the mountains, and minglingwith the lakes, which are such in the strict and usual sense of theword, being of fresh water. Nor have the streams, from the shortness oftheir course, time to acquire that body of water necessary to conferupon them much majesty. In fact, the most considerable, while theycontinue in the mountain and lake-country, are rather large brooks thanrivers. The water is perfectly pellucid, through which in many placesare seen, to a great depth, their beds of rock, or of blue gravel, whichgive to the water itself an exquisitely cerulean colour: this isparticularly striking in the rivers Derwent and Duddon, which may becompared, such and so various are their beauties, to any two rivers ofequal length of course in any country. The number of the torrents andsmaller brooks is infinite, with their waterfalls and water-breaks; andthey need not here be described. I will only observe that, as many, evenof the smallest rills, have either found, or made for themselves, recesses in the sides of the mountains or in the vales, they havetempted the primitive inhabitants to settle near them for shelter; andhence, cottages so placed, by seeming to withdraw from the eye, are themore endeared to the feelings. 

[52] In fact there is not an instance of a harbour on the Cumberlandside of the Solway frith that is not dry at low water; that ofRavenglass, at the mouth of the Esk, as a natural harbour is much thebest. The Sea appears to have been retiring slowly for ages from thiscoast. From Whitehaven to St. Bees extends a tract of level ground, about five miles in length, which formerly must have been under saltwater, so as to have made an island of the high ground that stretchesbetween it and the Sea. 

The WOODS consist chiefly of oak, ash, and birch, and here and thereWych-elm, with underwood of hazel, the white and black thorn, andhollies; in moist places alders and willows abound; and yews among therocks. Formerly the whole country must have been covered with wood to agreat height up the mountains; where native Scotch firs[53] must havegrown in great profusion, as they do in the northern part of Scotland tothis day. But not one of these old inhabitants has existed, perhaps, forsome hundreds of years; the beautiful traces, however, of the universalsylvan[54] appearance the country formerly had, yet survive in thenative coppice-woods that have been protected by inclosures, and also inthe forest-trees and hollies, which, though disappearing fast, are yetscattered both over the inclosed and uninclosed parts of the mountains. The same is expressed by the beauty and intricacy with which the fieldsand coppice woods are often intermingled: the plough of the firstsettlers having followed naturally the veins of richer, dryer, or lessstony soil; and thus it has shaped out an intermixture of wood and lawn, with a grace and wildness which it would have been impossible for thehand of studied art to produce. Other trees have been introduced withinthese last fifty years, such as beeches, larches, limes, &c. Andplantations of firs, seldom with advantage, and often with great injuryto the appearance of the country; but the sycamore (which I believe wasbrought into this island from Germany, not more than two hundred yearsago) has long been the favourite of the cottagers; and, with the fir, has been chosen to screen their dwellings: and is sometimes found in thefields whither the winds or the waters may have carried its seeds. 

[53] This species of fir is in character much superior to the Americanwhich has usurped its place: Where the fir is planted for ornament, letit be by all means of the aboriginal species, which can only be procuredfrom the Scotch nurseries. 

[54] A squirrel (so I have heard the old people of Wytheburn say) mighthave gone from their chapel to Keswick without alighting on the ground. 

The want most felt, however, is that of timber trees. There are few_magnificent_ ones to be found near any of the lakes; and unless greatercare be taken, there will, in a short time, scarcely be left an ancientoak that would repay the cost of felling. The neighbourhood of Rydal, notwithstanding the havoc which has been made, is yet noblydistinguished. In the woods of Lowther, also, is found an almostmatchless store of ancient trees, and the majesty and wildness of thenative forest. 

Among the smaller vegetable ornaments must be reckoned the bilberry, aground plant, never so beautiful as in early spring, when it is seenunder bare or budding trees, that imperfectly intercept the tomb-stonecovering the rocky knolls with a pure mantle of fresh verdure, morelively than the herbage of the open fields;--the broom, that spreadsluxuriantly along rough pastures, and in the month of June interveinsthe steep copses with its golden blossoms;--and the juniper, a richevergreen, that thrives in spite of cattle, upon the uninclosed parts ofthe mountains:--the Dutch myrtle diffuses fragrance in moist places;and there is an endless variety of brilliant flowers in the fields andmeadows, which, if the agriculture of the country were more carefullyattended to, would disappear. Nor can I omit again to notice the lichensand mosses: their profusion, beauty, and variety, exceed those of anyother country I have seen. 

It may now be proper to say a few words respecting climate, and 'skieyinfluences, ' in which this region, as far as the character of itslandscapes is affected by them, may, upon the whole, be consideredfortunate. The country is, indeed, subject to much bad weather, and ithas been ascertained that twice as much rain falls here as in many partsof the island; but the number of black drizzling days, that blot out theface of things, is by no means _proportionally_ great. Nor is acontinuance of thick, flagging, damp air, so common as in the West ofEngland and Ireland. The rain here comes down heartily, and isfrequently succeeded by clear, bright weather, when every brook isvocal, and every torrent sonorous; brooks and torrents, which are nevermuddy, even in the heaviest floods, except, after a drought, theyhappen to be defiled for a short time by waters that have swept alongdusty roads, or have broken out into ploughed fields. Days of unsettledweather, with partial showers, are very frequent; but the showers, darkening, or brightning, as they fly from hill to hill, are not lessgrateful to the eye than finely interwoven passages of gay and sad musicare touching to the ear. Vapours exhaling from the lakes and meadowsafter sun-rise, in a hot season, or, in moist weather, brooding upon theheights, or descending towards the valleys with inaudible motion, give avisionary character to every thing around them; and are in themselves sobeautiful, as to dispose us to enter into the feelings of those simplenations (such as the Laplanders of this day) by whom they are taken forguardian deities of the mountains; or to sympathise with others, whohave fancied these delicate apparitions to be the spirits of theirdeparted ancestors. Akin to these are fleecy clouds resting upon thehill-tops; they are not easily managed in picture, with theiraccompaniments of blue sky; but how glorious are they in Nature! howpregnant with imagination for the poet! and the height of the Cumbrianmountains is sufficient to exhibit daily and hourly instances of thosemysterious attachments. Such clouds, cleaving to their stations, orlifting up suddenly their glittering heads from behind rocky barriers, or hurrying out of sight with speed of the sharpest sledge--will oftentempt an inhabitant to congratulate himself on belonging to a country ofmists and clouds and storms, and make him think of the blank sky ofEgypt, and of the cerulean vacancy of Italy, as an unanimated and even asad spectacle. The atmosphere, however, as in every country subject tomuch rain, is frequently unfavourable to landscape, especially when keenwinds succeed the rain which are apt to produce coldness, spottiness, and an unmeaning or repulsive detail in the distance;--a sunlessfrost, under a canopy of leaden and shapeless clouds, is, as far as itallows things to be seen, equally disagreeable. 

It has been said that in human life there are moments worth ages. In amore subdued tone of sympathy may we affirm, that in the climate ofEngland there are, for the lover of Nature, days which are worth wholemonths, --I might say--even years. One of these favoured dayssometimes occurs in spring-time, when that soft air is breathing overthe blossoms and new-born verdure, which inspired Buchanan with hisbeautiful Ode to the first of May; the air, which, in the luxuriance ofhis fancy, he likens to that of the golden age, --to that which givesmotion to the funereal cypresses on the banks of Lethe;--to the airwhich is to salute beatified spirits when expiatory fires shall haveconsumed the earth with all her habitations. But it is in autumn thatdays of such affecting influence most frequently intervene;--theatmosphere seems refined, and the sky rendered more crystalline, as thevivifying heat of the year abates; the lights and shadows are moredelicate; the colouring is richer and more finely harmonised; and, inthis season of stillness, the ear being unoccupied, or only gentlyexcited, the sense of vision becomes more susceptible of its appropriateenjoyments. A resident in a country like this which we are treating of, will agree with me, that the presence of a lake is indispensable toexhibit in perfection the beauty of one of these days; and he must haveexperienced, while looking on the unruffled waters, that theimagination, by their aid, is carried into recesses of feeling otherwiseimpenetrable. The reason of this is, that the heavens are not onlybrought down into the bosom of the earth, but that the earth is mainlylooked at, and thought of, through the medium of a purer element. Thehappiest time is when the equinoxial gales are departed; but their furymay probably be called to mind by the sight of a few shattered boughs, whose leaves do not differ in colour from the faded foliage of thestately oaks from which these relics of the storm depend: all elsespeaks of tranquillity;--not a breath of air, no restlessness ofinsects, and not a moving object perceptible--except the cloudsgliding in the depths of the lake, or the traveller passing along, aninverted image, whose motion seems governed by the quiet of a time, towhich its archetype, the living person, is, perhaps, insensible:--orit may happen, that the figure of one of the larger birds, a raven or aheron, is crossing silently among the reflected clouds, while the voiceof the real bird, from the element aloft, gently awakens in thespectator the recollection of appetites and instincts, pursuits andoccupations, that deform and agitate the world, --yet have no power toprevent Nature from putting on an aspect capable of satisfying the mostintense cravings for the tranquil, the lovely, and the perfect, to whichman, the noblest of her creatures, is subject. 

Thus far, of climate, as influencing the feelings through its effect onthe objects of sense. We may add, that whatever has been said upon theadvantages derived to these scenes from a changeable atmosphere, wouldapply, perhaps still more forcibly, to their appearance under the variedsolemnities of night. Milton, it will be remembered, has given a_clouded_ moon to Paradise itself. In the night-season also, thenarrowness of the vales, and comparative smallness of the lakes, areespecially adapted to bring surrounding objects home to the eye and tothe heart. The stars, taking their stations above the hill-tops, arecontemplated from a spot like the Abyssinian recess of Rasselas, withmuch more touching interest than they are likely to excite when lookedat from an open country with ordinary undulations: and it must beobvious, that it is the _bays_ only of large lakes that can present suchcontrasts of light and shadow as those of smaller dimensions displayfrom every quarter. A deep contracted valley, with diffused waters, sucha valley and plains level and wide as those of Chaldea, are the twoextremes in which the beauty of the heavens and their connexion with theearth are most sensibly felt. Nor do the advantages I have been speakingof imply here an exclusion of the aerial effects of distance. These areinsured by the height of the mountains, and are found, even in thenarrowest vales, where they lengthen in perspective, or act (if theexpression may be used) as telescopes for the open country. 

The subject would bear to be enlarged upon: but I will conclude thissection with a night-scene suggested by the Vale of Keswick. TheFragment is well known; but it gratifies me to insert it, as the Writerwas one of the first who led the way to a worthy admiration of thiscountry. 

 Now sunk the sun, now twilight sunk, and night Rode in her zenith; not a passing breeze Sigh'd to the grove, which in the midnight air Stood motionless, and in the peaceful floods Inverted hung: for now the billows slept Along the shore, nor heav'd the deep; but spread A shining mirror to the moon's pale orb, Which, dim and waning, o'er the shadowy cliffs, The solemn woods, and spiry mountain tops, Her glimmering faintness threw: now every eye, Oppress'd with toil, was drown'd in deep repose, Save that the unseen Shepherd in his watch, Propp'd on his crook, stood listening by the fold, And gaz'd the starry vault, and pendant moon; Nor voice, nor sound, broke on the deep serene; But the soft murmur of swift-gushing rills, Forth issuing from the mountain's distant steep, (Unheard till now, and now scarce heard) proclaim'd All things at rest, and imag'd the still voice Of quiet, whispering in the ear of Night. [55]

[55] Dr. Brown, the author of this fragment, was from his infancybrought up in Cumberland, and should have remembered that the practiceof folding sheep by night is unknown among these mountains, and that theimage of the Shepherd upon the watch is out of its place, and belongsonly to countries, with a warmer climate, that are subject to ravagesfrom beasts of prey. It is pleasing to notice a dawn of imaginativefeeling in these verses. Tickel, a man of no common genius, chose, forthe subject of a Poem, Kensington Gardens, in preference to the Banks ofthe Derwent, within a mile or two of which he was born. But this was inthe reign of Queen Anne, or George the first. Progress must have beenmade in the interval; though the traces of it, except in the works ofThomson and Dyer, are not very obvious. 

 * * * * *

SECTION SECOND. 

ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY, AS AFFECTED BY ITS INHABITANTS. 

Hitherto I have chiefly spoken of the features by which Nature hasdiscriminated this country from others. I will now describe, in generalterms, in what manner it is indebted to the hand of man. What I have tonotice on this subject will emanate most easily and perspicuously from adescription of the ancient and present inhabitants, their occupations, their condition of life, the distribution of landed property among them, and the tenure by which it is holden. 

The reader will suffer me here to recall to his mind the shapes of thevallies, and their position with respect to each other, and the formsand substance of the intervening mountains. He will people the vallieswith lakes and rivers: the coves and sides of the mountains with poolsand torrents; and will bound half of the circle which we havecontemplated by the sands of the sea, or by the sea itself. He willconceive that, from the point upon which he stood, he looks down uponthis scene before the country had been penetrated by anyinhabitants:---to vary his sensations, and to break in upon theirstillness, he will form to himself an image of the tides visiting andre-visiting the friths, the main sea dashing against the bolder shore, the rivers pursuing their course to be lost in the mighty mass ofwaters. He may see or hear in fancy the winds sweeping over the lakes, or piping with a loud voice among the mountain peaks; and, lastly, maythink of the primeval woods shedding and renewing their leaves with nohuman eye to notice, or human heart to regret or welcome the change. 'When the first settlers entered this region (says an animated writer)they found it overspread with wood; forest trees, the fir, the oak, theash, and the birch had skirted the fells, tufted the hills, and shadedthe vallies, through centuries of silent solitude; the birds and beastsof prey reigned over the meeker species; and the _bellum inter omnia_maintained the balance of Nature in the empire of beasts. '

Such was the state and appearance of this region when the aboriginalcolonists of the Celtic tribes were first driven or drawn towards it, and became joint tenants with the wolf, the boar, the wild bull, the reddeer, and the leigh, a gigantic species of deer which has been longextinct; while the inaccessible crags were occupied by the falcon, theraven, and the eagle. The inner parts were too secluded, and of toolittle value, to participate much of the benefit of Roman manners; andthough these conquerors encouraged the Britons to the improvement oftheir lands in the plain country of Furness and Cumberland, they seem tohave had little connexion with the mountains, except for militarypurposes, or in subservience to the profit they drew from the mines. 

When the Romans retired from Great Britain, it is well known that thesemountain-fastnesses furnished a protection to some unsubdued Britons, long after the more accessible and more fertile districts had beenseized by the Saxon or Danish invader. A few, though distinct, traces ofRoman forts or camps, as at Ambleside, and upon Dunmallet, and a fewcircles of rude stones attributed to the Druids[56], are the onlyvestiges that remain upon the surface of the country, of these ancientoccupants; and, as the Saxons and Danes, who succeeded to the possessionof the villages and hamlets which had been established by the Britons, seem at first to have confined themselves to the open country, --we maydescend at once to times long posterior to the conquest by the Normans, when their feudal polity was regularly established. We may easilyconceive that these narrow dales and mountain sides, choaked up as theymust have been with wood, lying out of the way of communication withother parts of the Island, and upon the edge of a hostile kingdom, couldhave little attraction for the high-born and powerful; especially as themore open parts of the country furnished positions for castles andhouses of defence, sufficient to repel any of those sudden attacks, which, in the then rude state of military knowledge, could be made uponthem. Accordingly, the more retired regions (and to such I am nowconfining myself) must have been neglected or shunned even by thepersons whose baronial or signioral rights extended over them, and left, doubtless, partly as a place of refuge for outlaws and robbers, andpartly granted out for the more settled habitation of a few vassalsfollowing the employment of shepherds or woodlanders. Hence these lakesand inner vallies are unadorned by any remains of ancient grandeur, castles, or monastic edifices, which are only found upon the skirts ofthe country, as Furness Abbey, Calder Abbey, the Priory of Lannercost, Gleaston Castle, --long ago a residence of the Flemings, --and thenumerous ancient castles of the Cliffords, the Lucys, and the Dacres. Onthe southern side of these mountains, (especially in that part known bythe name of Furness Fells, which is more remote from the borders, ) thestate of society would necessarily be more settled; though it also wasfashioned, not a little, by its neighbourhood to a hostile kingdom. Wewill, therefore, give a sketch of the economy of the Abbots in thedistribution of lands among their tenants, as similar plans weredoubtless adopted by other Lords, and as the consequences have affectedthe face of the country materially to the present day, being, in fact, one of the principal causes which give it such a striking superiority, in beauty and interest, over all other parts of the island. 

[56] It is not improbable that these circles were once numerous, andthat many of them may yet endure in a perfect state, under no very deepcovering of soil. A friend of the Author, while making a trench in alevel piece of ground, not far from the banks of the Emont, but in noconnection with that river, met with some stones which seemed to himformally arranged; this excited his curiosity, and proceeding, heuncovered a perfect circle of stones, from two to three or four feethigh, with a _sanctum sanctorum_, --the whole a complete place ofDruidical worship of small dimensions, having the same sort of relationto Stonehenge, Long Meg and her Daughters near the river Eden, and KarlLofts near Shap (if this last be not Danish), that a rural chapel bearsto a stately church, or to one of our noble cathedrals. This interestinglittle monument having passed, with the field in which it was found, into other hands, has been destroyed. It is much to be regretted, thatthe striking relic of antiquity at Shap has been in a great measuredestroyed also. 

The DAUGHTERS of LONG MEG are placed not in an oblong, as the STONES ofSHAP, but in a perfect circle, eighty yards in diameter, and seventy-twoin number, and from above three yards high, to less than so many feet: alittle way out of the circle stands LONG MEG herself--a single stoneeighteen feet high. 

When the Author first saw this monument, he came upon it by surprize, therefore might over-rate its importance as an object; but he must say, that though it is not to be compared with Stonehenge, he has not seenany other remains of those dark ages, which can pretend to rival it insingularity and dignity of appearance. 

 A weight of awe not easy to be borne Fell suddenly upon my spirit, cast From the dread bosom of the unknown past, When first I saw that sisterhood forlorn;-- And Her, whose strength and stature seem to scorn The power of years--pre-eminent, and placed Apart, to overlook the circle vast. Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn, While she dispels the cumbrous shades of night; Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud, When, how, and wherefore, rose on British ground That wondrous Monument, whose mystic round Forth shadows, some have deemed, to mortal sight The inviolable God that tames the proud. 

'When the Abbots of Furness, ' says an author before cited, 'enfranchisedtheir villains, and raised them to the dignity of customary tenants, thelands, which they had cultivated for their lord, were divided into wholetenements; each of which, besides the customary annual rent, was chargedwith the obligation of having in readiness a man completely armed forthe king's service on the borders, or elsewhere; each of these wholetenements was again subdivided into four equal parts; each villain hadone; and the party tenant contributed his share to the support of theman of arms, and of other burdens. These divisions were not properlydistinguished; the land remained mixed; each tenant had a share throughall the arable and meadow-land, and common of pasture over all thewastes. These sub-tenements were judged sufficient for the support of somany families; and no further division was permitted. These divisionsand sub-divisions were convenient at the time for which they werecalculated: the land, so parcelled out, was of necessity more attendedto, and the industry greater, when more persons were to be supported bythe produce of it. The frontier of the kingdom, within which Furness wasconsidered, was in a constant state of attack and defence; more hands, therefore, were necessary to guard the coast, to repel an invasion fromScotland, or make reprisals on the hostile neighbour. The dividing thelands in such manner as has been shown, increased the number ofinhabitants, and kept them at home till called for: and, the land beingmixed, and the several tenants united in equipping the plough, theabsence of the fourth man was no prejudice to the cultivation of hisland, which was committed to the care of three. 

'While the villains of Low Furness were thus distributed over the land, and employed in agriculture; those of High Furness were charged with thecare of flocks and herds, to protect them from the wolves which lurkedin the thickets, and in winter to browze them with the tender sprouts ofhollies and ash. This custom was not till lately discontinued in HighFurness; and holly-trees were carefully preserved for that purpose whenall other wood was cleared off; large tracts of common being so coveredwith these trees, as to have the appearance of a forest of hollies. Atthe Shepherd's call, the flocks surrounded the holly-bush, and receivedthe croppings at his hand, which they greedily nibbled up, bleating formore. The Abbots of Furness enfranchised these pastoral vassals, andpermitted them to enclose _quillets_ to their houses, for which theypaid encroachment rent. '--West's _Antiquities of Furness_. 

However desirable, for the purposes of defence, a numerous populationmight be, it was not possible to make at once the same numerousallotments among the untilled vallies, and upon the sides of themountains, as had been made in the cultivated plains. The enfranchisedshepherd or woodlander, having chosen there his place of residence, builds it of sods, or of the mountain-stone, and, with the permission ofhis lord, encloses, like Robinson Crusoe, a small croft or twoimmediately at his door for such animals as he wishes to protect. Othersare happy to imitate his example, and avail themselves of the sameprivileges: and thus a population, mainly of Danish or Norse origin, asthe dialect indicates, crept on towards the more secluded parts of thevallies. Chapels, daughters of some distant mother church, are firsterected in the more open and fertile vales, as those of Bowness andGrasmere, offsets of Kendal: which again, after a period, as the settledpopulation increases, become motherchurches to smaller edifices, planted, at length, in almost every dale throughout the country. Theinclosures, formed by the tenantry, are for a long time confined to thehome-steads; and the arable and meadow land of the vales is possessed incommon field; the several portions being marked out by stones, bushes, or trees; which portions, where the custom has survived, to this day arecalled _dales_, from the word _deylen_, to distribute; but, while thevalley was thus lying open, enclosures seem to have taken place upon thesides of the mountains; because the land there was not intermixed, andwas of little comparative value; and, therefore, small opposition wouldbe made to its being appropriated by those to whose habitations it wascontiguous. Hence the singular appearance which the sides of many ofthese mountains exhibit, intersected, as they are, almost to the summit, with stone walls. When first erected, these stone fences must havelittle disfigured the face of the country; as part of the lines wouldevery where be hidden by the quantity of native wood then remaining; andthe lines would also be broken (as they still are) by the rocks whichinterrupt and vary their course. In the meadows, and in those parts ofthe lower grounds where the soil has not been sufficiently drained, andcould not afford a stable foundation, there, when the increasing valueof land, and the inconvenience suffered from intermixed plots of groundin common field, had induced each inhabitant to enclose his own, theywere compelled to make the fences of alders, willows, and other trees. These, where the native wood had disappeared, have frequently enrichedthe vallies with a sylvan appearance; while the intricate intermixtureof property has given to the fences a graceful irregularity, which, where large properties are prevalent, and large capitals employed inagriculture, is unknown. This sylvan appearance is heightened by thenumber of ash-trees planted in rows along the quick fences, and alongthe walls, for the purpose of browzing the cattle at the approach ofwinter. The branches are lopped off and strewn upon the pastures; andwhen the cattle have stripped them of the leaves, they are used forrepairing the hedges or for fuel. 

We have thus seen a numerous body of Dalesmen creeping into possessionof their home-steads, their little crofts, their mountain-enclosures;and, finally, the whole vale is visibly divided; except, perhaps, hereand there some marshy ground, which, till fully drained, would notrepay the trouble of enclosing. But these last partitions do not seem tohave been general, till long after the pacification of the Borders, bythe union of the two crowns: when the cause, which had first determinedthe distribution of land into such small parcels, had not onlyceased, --but likewise a general improvement had taken place in thecountry, with a correspondent rise in the value of its produce. From thetime of the union, it is certain that this species of feudal populationmust rapidly have diminished. That it was formerly much more numerousthan it is at present, is evident from the multitude of tenements (I donot mean houses, but small divisions of land) which belonged formerlyeach to a several proprietor, and for which separate fines are paid tothe manorial lord at this day. These are often in the proportion of fourto one of the present occupants. 'Sir Launcelot Threlkeld, who lived inthe reign of Henry VII. , was wont to say, he had three noble houses, onefor pleasure, Crosby, in Westmoreland, where he had a park full of deer;one for profit and warmth, wherein to reside in winter, namely, Yanwith, nigh Penrith; and the third, Threlkeld, (on the edge of the vale ofKeswick, ) well stocked with tenants to go with him to the wars. ' But, asI have said, from the union of the two crowns, this numerous vassalage(their services not being wanted) would rapidly diminish; varioustenements would be united in one possessor; and the aboriginal houses, probably little better than hovels, like the kraels of savages, or thehuts of the Highlanders of Scotland, would fall into decay, and theplaces of many be supplied by substantial and comfortable buildings, amajority of which remain to this day scattered over the vallies, and areoften the only dwellings found in them. 

From the time of the erection of these houses, till within the lastsixty years, the state of society, though no doubt slowly and graduallyimproving, underwent no material change. Corn was grown in these vales(through which no carriage-road had yet been made) sufficient upon eachestate to furnish bread for each family, and no more: notwithstandingthe union of several tenements, the possessions of each inhabitant stillbeing small, in the same field was seen an intermixture of differentcrops; and the plough was interrupted by little rocks, mostly overgrownwith wood, or by spongy places, which the tillers of the soil hadneither leisure nor capital to convert into firm land. The storms andmoisture of the climate induced them to sprinkle their upland propertywith outhouses of native stone, as places of shelter for their sheep, where, in tempestuous weather, food was distributed to them. Everyfamily spun from its own flock the wool with which it was clothed; aweaver was here and there found among them; and the rest of their wantswas supplied by the produce of the yarn, which they carded and spun intheir own houses, and carried to market, either under their arms, ormore frequently on pack-horses, a small train taking their way weeklydown the valley or over the mountains to the most commodious town. Theyhad, as I have said, their rural chapel, and of course their minister, in clothing or in manner of life, in no respect differing fromthemselves, except on the Sabbath-day; this was the sole distinguishedindividual among them; every thing else, person and possession, exhibited a perfect equality, a community of shepherds andagriculturists, proprietors, for the most part, of the lands which theyoccupied and cultivated. 

While the process above detailed was going on, the native forest musthave been every where receding; but trees were planted for thesustenance of the flocks in winter, --such was then the rude state ofagriculture; and, for the same cause, it was necessary that care shouldbe taken of some part of the growth of the native woods. Accordingly, inQueen Elizabeth's time, this was so strongly felt, that a petition wasmade to the Crown, praying, 'that the Blomaries in High Furness might beabolished, on account of the quantity of wood which was consumed in themfor the use of the mines, to the great detriment of the cattle. ' Butthis same cause, about a hundred years after, produced effects directlycontrary to those which had been deprecated. The re-establishment, atthat period, of furnaces upon a large scale, made it the interest of thepeople to convert the steeper and more stony of the enclosures, sprinkled over with remains of the native forest, into close woods, which, when cattle and sheep were excluded, rapidly sowed and thickenedthemselves. The reader's attention has been directed to the cause bywhich tufts of wood, pasturage, meadow, and arable land, with itsvarious produce, are intricately intermingled in the same field; and hewill now see, in like manner, how enclosures entirely of wood, andthose of cultivated ground, are blended all over the country under a lawof similar wildness. 

An historic detail has thus been given of the manner in which the handof man has acted upon the surface of the inner regions of thismountainous country, as incorporated with and subservient to the powersand processes of Nature. We will now take a view of the sameagency--acting, within narrower bounds, for the production of the fewworks of art and accommodations of life which, in so simple a state ofsociety, could be necessary. These are merely habitations of man andcoverts for beasts, roads and bridges, and places of worship. 

And to begin with the COTTAGES. They are scattered over the vallies, andunder the hill sides, and on the rocks; and, even to this day, in themore retired dales, without any intrusion of more assuming buildings;

 Cluster'd like stars some few, but single most, And lurking dimly in their shy retreats, Or glancing on each other cheerful looks, Like separated stars with clouds between. --MS. 

The dwelling-houses, and contiguous outhouses, are, in many instances, of the colour of the native rock, out of which they have been built;but, frequently the Dwelling or Fire-house, as it is ordinarily called, has been distinguished from the barn or byer by rough-cast and whitewash, which, as the inhabitants are not hasty in renewing it, in a fewyears acquires, by the influence of weather, a tint at once sober andvariegated. As these houses have been, from father to son, inhabited bypersons engaged in the same occupations, yet necessarily with changes intheir circumstances, they have received without incongruity additionsand accommodations adapted to the needs of each successive occupant, who, being for the most part proprietor, was at liberty to follow hisown fancy: so that these humble dwellings remind the contemplativespectator of a production of Nature, and may (using a strong expression)rather be said to have grown than to have been erected;--to have risen, by an instinct of their own, out of the native rock--so little is therein them of formality, such is their wildness and beauty. Among thenumerous recesses and projections in the walls and in the differentstages of their roofs, are seen bold and harmonious effects ofcontrasted sunshine and shadow. It is a favourable circumstance, thatthe strong winds, which sweep down the vallies, induced the inhabitants, at a time when the materials for building were easily procured, tofurnish many of these dwellings with substantial porches; and such ashave not this defence, are seldom unprovided with a projection of twolarge slates over their thresholds. Nor will the singular beauty of thechimneys escape the eye of the attentive traveller. Sometimes a lowchimney, almost upon a level with the roof, is overlaid with a slate, supported upon four slender pillars, to prevent the wind from drivingthe smoke down the chimney. Others are of a quadrangular shape, risingone or two feet above the roof; which low square is often surmounted bya tall cylinder, giving to the cottage chimney the most beautiful shapein which it is ever seen. Nor will it be too fanciful or refined toremark, that there is a pleasing harmony between a tall chimney of thiscircular form, and the living column of smoke, ascending from it throughthe still air. These dwellings, mostly built, as has been said, of roughunhewn stone, are roofed with slates, which were rudely taken from thequarry before the present art of splitting them was understood, and are, therefore, rough and uneven in their surface, so that both the coveringsand sides of the houses have furnished places of rest for the seeds oflichens, mosses, ferns, and flowers. Hence buildings, which in theirvery form call to mind the processes of Nature, do thus, clothed in partwith a vegetable garb, appear to be received into the bosom of theliving principle of things, as it acts and exists among the woods andfields; and, by their colour and their shape, affectingly direct thethoughts to that tranquil course of Nature and simplicity, along whichthe humble-minded inhabitants have, through so many generations, beenled. Add the little garden with its shed for bee-hives, its small bed ofpot-herbs, and its borders and patches of flowers for Sunday posies, with sometimes a choice few too much prized to be plucked; an orchard ofproportioned size; a cheese-press, often supported by some tree near thedoor; a cluster of embowering sycamores for summer shade; with a tallfir, through which the winds sing when other trees are leafless; thelittle rill or household spout murmuring in all seasons;--combine theseincidents and images together, and you have the representative idea of amountain-cottage in this country so beautifully formed in itself, andso richly adorned by the hand of Nature. 

Till within the last sixty years there was no communication between anyof these vales by carriage-roads; all bulky articles were transported onpack-horses. Owing, however, to the population not being concentrated invillages, but scattered, the vallies themselves were intersected as nowby innumerable lanes and pathways leading from house to house and fromfield to field. These lanes, where they are fenced by stone walls, aremostly bordered with ashes, hazels, wild roses, and beds of tall fern, at their base; while the walls themselves, if old, are overspread withmosses, small ferns, wild strawberries, the geranium, and lichens: and, if the wall happen to rest against a bank of earth, it is sometimesalmost wholly concealed by a rich facing of stone-fern. It is a greatadvantage to a traveller or resident, that these numerous lanes andpaths, if he be a zealous admirer of Nature, will lead him on into allthe recesses of the country, so that the hidden treasures of itslandscapes may, by an ever-ready guide, be laid open to his eyes. 

Likewise to the smallness of the several properties is owing the greatnumber of bridges over the brooks and torrents, and the daring andgraceful neglect of danger or accommodation with which so many of themare constructed, the rudeness of the forms of some, and their endlessvariety. But, when I speak of this rudeness, I must at the same timeadd, that many of these structures are in themselves models of elegance, as if they had been formed upon principles of the most thoughtfularchitecture. It is to be regretted that these monuments of the skill ofour ancestors, and of that happy instinct by which consummate beauty wasproduced, are disappearing fast; but sufficient specimens remain[57] togive a high gratification to the man of genuine taste. 

[57] Written some time ago. The injury done since, is more than couldhave been calculated upon. 

_Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes_. This is in the course ofthings; but why should the genius that directed the ancient architectureof these vales have deserted them? For the bridges, churches, mansions, cottages, and their richly fringed and flat-roofed outhouses, venerableas the grange of some old abbey, have been substituted structures, inwhich baldness only seems to have been studied, or plans of the mostvulgar utility. But some improvement may be looked for in future; thegentry _recently_ have copied the old models, and successful instancesmight be pointed out, if I could take the liberty. 

Travellers who may not have been accustomed to pay attention to thingsso inobtrusive, will excuse me if I point out the proportion between thespan and elevation of the arch, the lightness of the parapet, and thegraceful manner in which its curve follows faithfully that of the arch. 

Upon this subject I have nothing further to notice, except the PLACES OFWORSHIP, which have mostly a little school-house adjoining[58]. Thearchitecture of these churches and chapels, where they have not beenrecently rebuilt or modernised, is of a style not less appropriate andadmirable than that of the dwelling-houses and other structures. Howsacred the spirit by which our forefathers were directed! The _Religioloci_ is no where violated by these unstinted, yet unpretending, worksof human hands. They exhibit generally a well-proportioned oblong, witha suitable porch, in some instances a steeple tower, and in othersnothing more than a small belfry, in which one or two bells hangvisibly. But these objects, though pleasing in their forms, mustnecessarily, more than others in rural scenery, derive their interestfrom the sentiments of piety and reverence for the modest virtues andsimple manners of humble life with which they may be contemplated. A manmust be very insensible who would not be touched with pleasure at thesight of the chapel of Buttermere, so strikingly expressing, by itsdiminutive size, how small must be the congregation there assembled, asit were, like one family; and proclaiming at the same time to thepassenger, in connection with the surrounding mountains, the depth ofthat seclusion in which the people live, that has rendered necessary thebuilding of a separate place of worship for so few. A patriot, callingto mind the images of the stately fabrics of Canterbury, York, orWestminster, will find a heartfelt satisfaction in presence of thislowly pile, as a monument of the wise institutions of our country, andas evidence of the all-pervading and paternal care of that venerableEstablishment, of which it is, perhaps, the humblest daughter. Theedifice is scarcely larger than many of the single stones or fragmentsof rock which are scattered near it. 

[58] In some places scholars were formerly taught in the church, and atothers the school-house was a sort of anti-chapel to the place ofworship, being under the same roof; an arrangement which was abandonedas irreverent. It continues, however, to this day in Borrowdale. In theparish register of that chapelry is a notice, that a youth who hadquitted the valley, and died in one of the towns on the coast ofCumberland, had requested that his body should be brought and interredat the foot of the pillar by which he had been accustomed to sit while aschool-boy. One cannot but regret that parish registers so seldomcontain any thing but bare names; in a few of this country, especiallyin that of Lowes-water, I have found interesting notices of unusualnatural occurrences--characters of the deceased, and particulars oftheir lives. There is no good reason why such memorials should not befrequent; these short and simple annals would in future ages becomeprecious. 

We have thus far confined our observations, on this division of thesubject, to that part of these Dales which runs up far into themountains. 

As we descend towards the open country, we meet with halls and mansions, many of which have been places of defence against the incursions of theScottish borderers; and they not unfrequently retain their towers andbattlements. To these houses, parks are sometimes attached, and to theirsuccessive proprietors we chiefly owe whatever ornament is still left tothe country of majestic timber. Through the open parts of the vales arescattered, also, houses of a middle rank between the pastoral cottageand the old hall residence of the knight or esquire. Such houses differmuch from the rugged cottages before described, and are generally gracedwith a little court or garden in front, where may yet be seen specimensof those fantastic and quaint figures which our ancestors were fond ofshaping out in yew-tree, holly, or box-wood. The passenger willsometimes smile at such elaborate display of petty art, while the housedoes not deign to look upon the natural beauty or the sublimity whichits situation almost unavoidably commands. 

Thus has been given a faithful description, the minuteness of which thereader will pardon, of the face of this country as it was, and had beenthrough centuries, till within the last sixty years. Towards the head ofthese Dales was found a perfect Republic of Shepherds andAgriculturists, among whom the plough of each man was confined to themaintenance of his own family, or to the occasional accommodation of hisneighbour[59]. 

[59] One of the most pleasing characteristics of manners in secluded andthinly-peopled districts, is a sense of the degree in which humanhappiness and comfort are dependent on the contingency of neighbourhood. This is implied by a rhyming adage common here, '_Friends are far, whenneighbours are nar_' (near). This mutual helpfulness is not confined toout-of-doors work; but is ready upon all occasions. Formerly, if aperson became sick, especially the mistress of a family, it was usualfor those of the neighbours who were more particularly connected withthe party by amicable offices, to visit the house, carrying a present;this practice, which is by no means obsolete, is called _owning_ thefamily, and is regarded as a pledge of a disposition to be otherwiseserviceable in a time of disability and distress. 

Two or three cows furnished each family with milk and cheese. Thechapel was the only edifice that presided over these dwellings, thesupreme head of this pure Commonwealth; the members of which existed inthe midst of a powerful empire, like an ideal society or an organisedcommunity, whose constitution had been imposed and regulated by themountains which protected it. Neither high-born nobleman, knight, noresquire, was here; but many of these humble sons of the hills had aconsciousness that the land, which they walked over and tilled, had formore than five hundred years been possessed by men of their name andblood; and venerable was the transition, when a curious traveller, descending from the heart of the mountains, had come to some ancientmanorial residence in the more open parts of the Vales, which, throughthe rights attached to its proprietor, connected the almost visionarymountain republic he had been contemplating with the substantial frameof society as existing in the laws and constitution of a mighty empire. 

 * * * * *

SECTION THIRD. 

CHANGES, AND BULKS OF TASTE FOR PREVENTING THEIR BAD EFFECTS. 

Such, as hath been said, was the appearance of things till within thelast sixty years. A practice, denominated Ornamental Gardening, was atthat time becoming prevalent over England. In union with an admirationof this art, and in some instances in opposition to it, had beengenerated a relish for select parts of natural scenery: and Travellers, instead of confining their observations to Towns, Manufactories, orMines, began (a thing till then unheard of) to wander over the island insearch of sequestered spots, distinguished as they might accidentallyhave learned, for the sublimity or beauty of the forms of Nature thereto be seen. --Dr. Brown, the celebrated Author of the _Estimate of theManners and Principles of the Times_, published a letter to a friend, inwhich the attractions of the Vale of Keswick were delineated with apowerful pencil, and the feeling of a genuine Enthusiast. Gray, thePoet, followed: he died soon after his forlorn and melancholy pilgrimageto the Vale of Keswick, and the record left behind him of what he hadseen and felt in this journey, excited that pensive interest with whichthe human mind is ever disposed to listen to the farewell words of a manof genius. The journal of Gray feelingly showed how the gloom of illhealth and low spirits had been irradiated by objects, which theAuthor's powers of mind enabled him to describe with distinctness andunaffected simplicity. Every reader of this journal must have beenimpressed with the words which conclude his notice of the Vale ofGrasmere:--'Not a single red tile, no flaring gentleman's house orgarden-wall, breaks in upon the repose of this little unsuspectedparadise; but all is peace, rusticity, and happy poverty, in its neatestand most becoming attire. '

What is here so justly said of Grasmere applied almost equally to allits sister Vales. It was well for the undisturbed pleasure of the Poetthat he had no forebodings of the change which was soon to take place;and it might have been hoped that these words, indicating how much thecharm of what _was_, depended upon what was _not_, would of themselveshave preserved the ancient franchises of this and other kindred mountainretirements from trespass; or (shall I dare to say?) would have securedscenes so consecrated from profanation. The lakes had now becomecelebrated; visitors flocked hither from all parts of England; thefancies of some were smitten so deeply, that they became settlers; andthe Islands of Derwent-water and Winandermere, as they offered thestrongest temptation, were the first places seized upon, and wereinstantly defaced by the intrusion. 

The venerable wood that had grown for centuries round the small housecalled St. Herbert's Hermitage, had indeed some years before been felledby its native proprietor, and the whole island planted anew with Scotchfirs, left to spindle up by each other's side--a melancholy phalanx, defying the power of the winds, and disregarding the regret of thespectator, who might otherwise have cheated himself into a belief, thatsome of the decayed remains of those oaks, the place of which was inthis manner usurped, had been planted by the Hermit's own hand. Thissainted spot, however, suffered comparatively little injury. At thebidding of an alien improver, the Hind's Cottage, upon Vicar's island, in the same lake, with its embowering sycamores and cattle-shed, disappeared from the corner where they stood; and right in the middle, and upon the precise point of the island's highest elevation, rose atall square habitation, with four sides exposed, like an astronomer'sobservatory, or a warren-house reared upon an eminence for the detectionof depredators, or, like the temple of Oeolus, where all the winds payhim obeisance. Round this novel structure, but at a respectful distance, platoons of firs were stationed, as if to protect their commander whenweather and time should somewhat have shattered his strength. Within thenarrow limits of this island were typified also the state and strengthof a kingdom, and its religion as it had been, and was, --for neither wasthe druidical circle uncreated, nor the church of the presentestablishment; nor the stately pier, emblem of commerce and navigation;nor the fort to deal out thunder upon the approaching invader. The tasteof a succeeding proprietor rectified the mistakes as far as waspracticable, and has ridded the spot of its puerilities. The church, after having been docked of its steeple, is applied both ostensibly andreally, to the purpose for which the body of the pile was actuallyerected, namely, a boat-house; the fort is demolished; and, withoutindignation on the part of the spirits of the ancient Druids whoofficiated at the circle upon the opposite hill, the mimic arrangementof stones, with its _sanctum sanctorum_, has been swept away. 

The present instance has been singled out, extravagant as it is, because, unquestionably, this beautiful country has, in numerous otherplaces, suffered from the same spirit, though not clothed exactly in thesame form, nor active in an equal degree. It will be sufficient here toutter a regret for the changes that have been made upon the principalIsland at Winandermere, and in its neighbourhood. What could be moreunfortunate than the taste that suggested the paring of the shores, andsurrounding with an embankment this spot of ground, the natural shape ofwhich was so beautiful! An artificial appearance has thus been given tothe whole, while infinite varieties of minute beauty have beendestroyed. Could not the margin of this noble island be given back toNature? Winds and waves work with a careless and graceful hand: and, should they in some places carry away a portion of the soil, thetrifling loss would be amply compensated by the additional spirit, dignity, and loveliness, which these agents and the other powers ofNature would soon communicate to what was left behind. As to thelarch-plantations upon the main shore, --they who remember the originalappearance of the rocky steeps, scattered over with native hollies andash-trees, will be prepared to agree with what I shall have to sayhereafter upon plantations[60] in general. 

[60] These are disappearing fast, under the management of the presentProprietor, and native wood is resuming its place. 

But, in truth, no one can now travel through the more frequented tracts, without being offended, at almost every turn, by an introduction ofdiscordant objects, disturbing that peaceful harmony of form and colour, which had been through a long lapse of ages most happily preserved. 

All gross transgressions of this kind originate, doubtless, in a feelingnatural and honourable to the human mind, viz. The pleasure which itreceives from distinct ideas, and from the perception of order, regularity, and contrivance. Now, unpractised minds receive theseimpressions only from objects that are divided from each other by stronglines of demarcation; hence the delight with which such minds aresmitten by formality and harsh contrast. But I would beg of those whoare eager to create the means of such gratification, first carefully tostudy what already exists; and they will find, in a country so lavishlygifted by Nature, an abundant variety of forms marked out with aprecision that will satisfy their desires. Moreover, a new habit ofpleasure will be formed opposite to this, arising out of the perceptionof the fine gradations by which in Nature one thing passes away intoanother, and the boundaries that constitute individuality disappear inone instance only to be revived elsewhere under a more alluring form. The bill of Dunmallet, at the foot of Ulswater, was once divided intodifferent portions, by avenues of fir-trees, with a green and almostperpendicular lane descending down the steep hill through eachavenue;--contrast this quaint appearance with the image of the same hillovergrown with self-planted wood, --each tree springing up in thesituation best suited to its kind, and with that shape which thesituation constrained or suffered it to take. What endless melting andplaying into each other of forms and colours does the one offer to amind at once attentive and active; and how insipid and lifeless, compared with it, appear those parts of the former exhibition withwhich a child, a peasant perhaps, or a citizen unfamiliar with naturalimagery, would have been most delighted!

The disfigurement which this country has undergone, has not, however, proceeded wholly from the common feelings of human nature which havebeen referred to as the primary sources of bad taste in rural imagery;another cause must be added, that has chiefly shown itself in its effectupon buildings. I mean a warping of the natural mind occasioned by aconsciousness that, this country being an object of general admiration, every new house would be looked at and commented upon either forapprobation or censure. Hence all the deformity and ungracefulness thatever pursue the steps of constraint or affectation. Persons, who inLeicestershire or Northamptonshire would probably have built a modestdwelling like those of their sensible neighbours, have been turned outof their course; and, acting a part, no wonder if, having had littleexperience, they act it ill. The craving for prospect, also, which isimmoderate, particularly in new settlers, has rendered it impossiblethat buildings, whatever might have been their architecture, should inmost instances be ornamental to the landscape: rising as they do fromthe summits of naked hills in staring contrast to the snugness andprivacy of the ancient houses. 

No man is to be condemned for a desire to decorate his residence andpossessions; feeling a disposition to applaud such an endeavour, I wouldshow how the end may be best attained. The rule is simple; with respectto grounds--work, where you can, in the spirit of Nature, with aninvisible hand of art. Planting, and a removal of wood, may thus, andthus only, be carried on with good effect; and the like may be said ofbuilding, if Antiquity, who may be styled the co-partner and sister ofNature, be not denied the respect to which she is entitled. I havealready spoken of the beautiful forms of the ancient mansions of thiscountry, and of the happy manner in which they harmonise with the formsof Nature. Why cannot such be taken as a model, and modern internalconvenience be confined within their external grace and dignity. Expenseto be avoided, or difficulties to be overcome, may prevent a closeadherence to this model; still, however, it might be followed to acertain degree in the style of architecture and in the choice ofsituation, if the thirst for prospect were mitigated by thoseconsiderations of comfort, shelter, and convenience, which used to bechiefly sought after. But should an aversion to old fashionsunfortunately exist, accompanied with a desire to transplant into thecold and stormy North, the elegancies of a villa formed upon a modeltaken from countries with a milder climate, I will adduce a passage froman English poet, the divine Spenser, which will show in what manner sucha plan may be realised without injury to the native beauty of thesescenes. 

 Into that forest farre they thence him led, Where was their dwelling in a pleasant glade With MOUNTAINS round about environed, And MIGHTY WOODS which did the valley shade, And like a stately theatre it made, Spreading itself into a spacious plaine; And in the midst a little river plaide Emongst the puny stones which seem'd to 'plaine With gentle murmure that his course they did restraine. 

 Beside the same a dainty place there lay, Planted with mirtle trees and laurels green, In which the birds sang many a lovely lay Of God's high praise, and of their sweet loves teene, As it an earthly paradise had beene; In whose _enclosed shadow_ there was pight A fair pavillion, _scarcely to be seen_, The which was all within most richly dight, That greatest princes living it mote well delight. 

Houses or mansions suited to a mountainous region, should be 'notobvious, not obtrusive, but retired;' and the reasons for this rule, though they have been little adverted to, are evident. Mountainouscountries, more frequently and forcibly than others, remind us of thepower of the elements, as manifested in winds, snows, and torrents, andaccordingly make the notion of exposure very unpleasing; while shelterand comfort are in proportion necessary and acceptable. Far-windingvallies difficult of access, and the feelings of simplicity habituallyconnected with mountain retirements, prompt us to turn from ostentationas a thing there eminently unnatural and out of place. A mansion, amidsuch scenes, can never have sufficient dignity or interest to becomeprincipal in the landscape, and to render the mountains, lakes, ortorrents, by which it may be surrounded, a subordinate part of theview. It is, I grant, easy to conceive, that an ancient castellatedbuilding, hanging over a precipice or raised upon an island, or thepeninsula of a lake, like that of Kilchurn Castle, upon Loch Awe, maynot want, whether deserted or inhabited, sufficient majesty to presidefor a moment in the spectator's thoughts over the high mountains amongwhich it is embosomed; but its titles are from antiquity--a powerreadily submitted to upon occasion as the vicegerent of Nature: it isrespected, as having owed its existence to the necessities of things, asa monument of security in times of disturbance and danger long passedaway, --as a record of the pomp and violence of passion, and a symbol ofthe wisdom of law; it bears a countenance of authority, which is notimpaired by decay. 

 Child of loud-throated War, the mountain stream Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest Is come, and thou art silent in thy age!

To such honours a modern edifice can lay no claim; and the puny effortsof elegance appear contemptible, when, in such situations, they areobtruded in rivalship with the sublimities of Nature. But, towards theverge of a district like this of which we are treating, where themountains subside into hills of moderate elevation, or in an undulatingor flat country, a gentleman's mansion may, with propriety, become aprincipal feature in the landscape; and, itself being a work of art, works and traces of artificial ornament may, without censure, beextended around it, as they will be referred to the common centre, thehouse; the right of which to impress within certain limits a characterof obvious ornament will not be denied, where no commanding forms ofNature dispute it, or set it aside. Now, to a want of the perception ofthis difference, and to the causes before assigned, may chiefly beattributed the disfigurement which the Country of the Lakes hasundergone, from persons who may have built, demolished, and planted, with full confidence, that every change and addition was or would becomean improvement. 

The principle that ought to determine the position, apparent size, andarchitecture of a house, viz. That it should be so constructed, and (iflarge) so much of it hidden, as to admit of its being gentlyincorporated into the scenery of Nature--should also determine itscolour. Sir Joshua Reynolds used to say, 'If you would fix upon the bestcolour for your house, turn up a stone, or pluck up a handful of grassby the roots, and see what is the colour of the soil where the house isto stand, and let that be your choice. ' Of course, this precept given inconversation, could not have been meant to be taken literally. Forexample, in Low Furness, where the soil, from its strong impregnationwith iron, is universally of a deep red, if this rule were strictlyfollowed, the house also must be of a glaring red; in other places itmust be of a sullen black; which would only be adding annoyance toannoyance. The rule, however, as a general guide, is good; and, inagricultural districts, where large tracts of soil are laid bare by theplough, particularly if (the face of the country being undulating) theyare held up to view, this rule, though not to be implicitly adhered to, should never be lost sight of;--the colour of the house ought, ifpossible, to have a cast or shade of the colour of the soil. Theprinciple is, that the house must harmonise with the surroundinglandscape: accordingly, in mountainous countries, with still moreconfidence may it be said, 'look at the rocks and those parts of themountains where the soil is visible, and they will furnish a safedirection. ' Nevertheless, it will often happen that the rocks may bearso large a proportion to the rest of the landscape, and may be of such atone of colour, that the rule may not admit, even here, of beingimplicitly followed. For instance, the chief defect in the colouring ofthe Country of the Lakes (which is most strongly felt in the summerseason) is an over-prevalence of a bluish tint, which the green of theherbage, the fern, and the woods, does not sufficiently counteract. If ahouse, therefore, should stand where this defect prevails, I have nohesitation in saying, that the colour of the neighbouring rocks wouldnot be the best that could be chosen. A tint ought to be introducedapproaching nearer to those which, in the technical language ofpainters, are called _warm_: this, if happily selected, would notdisturb, but would animate the landscape. How often do we see thisexemplified upon a small scale by the native cottages, in cases wherethe glare of white-wash has been subdued by time and enriched byweather-stains! No harshness is then seen; but one of these cottages, thus coloured, will often form a central point to a landscape by whichthe whole shall be connected, and an influence of pleasure diffusedover all the objects that compose the picture. But where the cold bluetint of the rocks is enriched by the iron tinge, the colour cannot betoo closely imitated; and it will be produced of itself by the stoneshewn from the adjoining quarry, and by the mortar, which may be temperedwith the most gravelly part of the soil. The pure blue gravel, from thebed of the river, is, however, more suitable to the mason's purpose, whowill probably insist also that the house must be covered withrough-cast, otherwise it cannot be kept dry; if this advice be taken, the builder of taste will set about contriving such means as may enablehim to come the nearest to the effect aimed at. 

The supposed necessity of rough-cast to keep out rain in houses notbuilt of hewn stone or brick, has tended greatly to injure Englishlandscape, and the neighbourhood of these Lakes especially, byfurnishing such apt occasion for whitening buildings. That white shouldbe a favourite colour for rural residences is natural for many reasons. The mere aspect of cleanliness and neatness thus given, not only to anindividual house, but, where the practice is general, to the whole faceof the country, produces moral associations so powerful, that, in manyminds, they take place of all others. But what has already been saidupon the subject of cottages, must have convinced men of feeling andimagination, that a human dwelling of the humblest class may be renderedmore deeply interesting to the affections, and far more pleasing to theeye, by other influences, than a sprightly tone of colour spread overits outside. I do not, however, mean to deny, that a small whitebuilding, embowered in trees, may, in some situations, be a delightfuland animating object--in no way injurious to the landscape; but thisonly where it sparkles from the midst of a thick shade, and in rare andsolitary instances; especially if the country be itself rich andpleasing, and abound with grand forms. On the sides of bleak anddesolate moors, we are indeed thankful for the sight of white cottagesand white houses plentifully scattered, where, without these, perhapsevery thing would be cheerless: this is said, however, with hesitation, and with a wilful sacrifice of some higher enjoyments. But I havecertainly seen such buildings glittering at sun-rise, and in wanderinglights, with no common pleasure. The continental traveller also willremember, that the convents hanging from the rocks of the Rhine, theRhone, the Danube, or among the Appenines, or the mountains of Spain, are not looked at with less complacency when, as is often the case, theyhappen to be of a brilliant white. But this is perhaps owing, in nosmall degree, to the contrast of that lively colour with the gloom ofmonastic life, and to the general want of rural residences of smilingand attractive appearance, in those countries. 

The objections to white, as a colour, in large spots or masses inlandscape, especially in a mountainous country, are insurmountable. InNature, pure white is scarcely ever found but in small objects, such asflowers: or in those which are transitory, as the clouds, foam ofrivers, and snow. Mr. Gilpin, who notices this, has also recorded thejust remark of Mr. Locke, of N----, that white destroys the _gradations_of distance; and, therefore, an object of pure white can scarcely everbe managed with good effect in landscape-painting. Five or six whitehouses, scattered over a valley, by their obtrusiveness, dot thesurface, and divide it into triangles, or other mathematical figures, haunting the eye, and disturbing that repose which might otherwise beperfect. I have seen a single white house materially impair the majestyof a mountain; cutting away, by a harsh separation, the whole of itsbase, below the point on which the house stood. Thus was the apparentsize of the mountain reduced, not by the interposition of another objectin a manner to call forth the imagination, which will give more than theeye loses; but what had been abstracted in this case was left visible;and the mountain appeared to take its beginning, or to rise, from theline of the house, instead of its own natural base. But, if I mayexpress my own individual feeling, it is after sunset, at the coming onof twilight, that white objects are most to be complained of. Thesolemnity and quietness of Nature at that time are always marred, andoften destroyed by them. When the ground is covered with snow, they areof course inoffensive; and in moonshine they are always pleasing--it isa tone of light with which they accord: and the dimness of the scene isenlivened by an object at once conspicuous and cheerful. I will concludethis subject with noticing, that the cold, slaty colour, which manypersons, who have heard the white condemned, have adopted in its stead, must be disapproved of for the reason already given. The flaring yellowruns into the opposite extreme, and is still more censurable. Upon thewhole, the safest colour, for general use, is something between a creamand a dust-colour, commonly called stone colour;--there are, among theLakes, examples of this that need not be pointed out. [61]

[61] A proper colouring of houses is now becoming general. It is bestthat the colouring material should be mixed with the rough-cast, and notlaid on as a _wash_ afterwards. 

The principle taken as our guide, viz. That the house should be soformed, and of such apparent size and colour, as to admit of its beinggently incorporated with the works of Nature, should also be applied tothe management of the grounds and plantations, and is here more urgentlyneeded; for it is from abuses in this department, far more even thanfrom the introduction of exotics in architecture (if the phrase may beused), that this country has suffered. Larch and fir plantations havebeen spread, not merely with a view to profit, but in many instances forthe sake of ornament. To those who plant for profit, and are thrustingevery other tree out of the way, to make room for their favourite, thelarch, I would utter first a regret, that they should have selectedthese lovely vales for their vegetable manufactory, when there is somuch barren and irreclaimable land in the neighbouring moors, and inother parts of the island, which might have been had for this purpose ata far cheaper rate. And I will also beg leave to represent to them, thatthey ought not to be carried away by flattering promises from the speedygrowth of this tree; because in rich soils and sheltered situations, thewood, though it thrives fast, is full of sap, and of little value; andis, likewise, very subject to ravage from the attacks of insects, andfrom blight. Accordingly, in Scotland, where planting is much betterunderstood, and carried on upon an incomparably larger scale than amongus, good soil and sheltered situations are appropriated to the oak, theash, and other deciduous trees; and the larch is now generally confinedto barren and exposed ground. There the plant, which is a hardy one, isof slower growth; much less liable to injury; and the timber is ofbetter quality. But the circumstances of many permit, and their tasteleads them, to plant with little regard to profit; and there are others, less wealthy, who have such a lively feeling of the native beauty ofthese scenes, that they are laudably not unwilling to make somesacrifices to heighten it. Both these classes of persons, I wouldentreat to inquire of themselves wherein that beauty which they admireconsists. They would then see that, after the feeling has been gratifiedthat prompts us to gather round our dwelling a few flowers and shrubs, which from the circumstance of their not being native, may, by theirvery looks, remind us that they owe their existence to our hands, andtheir prosperity to our care; they will see that, after this naturaldesire has been provided for, the course of all beyond has beenpredetermined by the spirit of the place. Before I proceed, I willremind those who are not satisfied with the restraint thus laid uponthem, that they are liable to a charge of inconsistency, when they areso eager to change the face of that country, whose native attractions, by the act of erecting their habitations in it, they have soemphatically acknowledged. And surely there is not a single spot thatwould not have, if well managed, sufficient dignity to support itself, unaided by the productions of other climates, or by elaboratedecorations which might be becoming elsewhere. 

Having adverted to the feelings that justify the introduction of a fewexotic plants, provided they be confined almost to the doors of thehouse, we may add, that a transition should be contrived, withoutabruptness, from these foreigners to the rest of the shrubs, which oughtto be of the kinds scattered by Nature, through the woods--holly, broom, wild-rose, elder, dogberry, white and black thorn, &c. --either theseonly, or such as are carefully selected in consequence of their beingunited in form, and harmonising in colour with them, especially withrespect to colour, when the tints are most diversified, as in autumn andspring. The various sorts of fruit-and-blossom-bearing trees usuallyfound in orchards, to which may be added those of the woods, --namely, the wilding, black cherry tree, and wild cluster-cherry (here calledheck-berry)--may be happily admitted as an intermediate link between theshrubs and the forest trees; which last ought almost entirely to be suchas are natives of the country. Of the birch, one of the most beautifulof the native trees, it may be noticed, that, in dry and rockysituations, it outstrips even the larch, which many persons are temptedto plant merely on account of the speed of its growth. The Scotch fir isless attractive during its youth than any other plant; but, when fullgrown, if it has had room to spread out its arms, it becomes a nobletree; and, by those who are disinterested enough to plant for posterity, it may be placed along with the sycamore near the house; for, from theirmassiveness, both these trees unite well with buildings, and in somesituations with rocks also; having, in their forms and apparentsubstances, the effect of something intermediate betwixt theimmoveableness and solidity of stone, and the spray and foliage of thelighter trees. If these general rules be just, what shall we say towhole acres of artificial shrubbery and exotic trees among rocks anddashing torrents, with their own wild wood in sight--where we have thewhole contents of the nurseryman's catalogue jumbled together--colour atwar with colour, and form with form?--among the most peaceful subjectsof Nature's kingdom, everywhere discord, distraction, and bewilderment!But this deformity, bad as it is, is not so obtrusive as the smallpatches and large tracts of larch-plantations that are overrunning thehill sides. To justify our condemnation of these, let us again recur toNature. The process, by which she forms woods and forests, is asfollows. Seeds are scattered indiscriminately by winds, brought bywaters, and dropped by birds. They perish, or produce, according as thesoil and situation upon which they fall are suited to them: and underthe same dependence, the seedling or the sucker, if not cropped byanimals, (which Nature is often careful to prevent by fencing it aboutwith brambles or other prickly shrubs) thrives, and the tree grows, sometimes single, taking its own shape without constraint, but for themost part compelled to conform itself to some law imposed upon it by itsneighbours. From low and sheltered places, vegetation travels upwards tothe more exposed; and the young plants are protected, and to a certaindegree fashioned, by those that have preceded them. The continuous massof foliage which would be thus produced, is broken by rocks, or byglades or open places, where the browzing of animals has prevented thegrowth of wood. As vegetation ascends, the winds begin also to beartheir part in moulding the forms of the trees; but, thus mutuallyprotected, trees, though not of the hardiest kind, are enabled to climbhigh up the mountains. Gradually, however, by the quality of the ground, and by increasing exposure, a stop is put to their ascent; the hardytrees only are left: those also, by little and little, give way--and awild and irregular boundary is established, graceful in its outline, and never contemplated without some feeling, more or less distinct, ofthe powers of Nature by which it is imposed. 

Contrast the liberty that encourages, and the law that limits, thisjoint work of Nature and Time, with the disheartening necessities, restrictions, and disadvantages, under which the artificial planter mustproceed, even he whom long observation and fine feeling have bestqualified for his task. In the first place his trees, however wellchosen and adapted to their several situations, must generally start allat the same time; and this necessity would of itself prevent that fineconnection of parts, that sympathy and organisation, if I may so expressmyself, which pervades the whole of a natural wood, and appears to theeye in its single trees, its masses of foliage, and their variouscolours, when they are held up to view on the side of a mountain; orwhen, spread over a valley, they are looked down upon from an eminence. It is therefore impossible, under any circumstances, for the artificialplanter to rival the beauty of Nature. But a moment's thought will showthat, if ten thousand of this spiky tree, the larch, are stuck in atonce upon the side of a hill, they can grow up into nothing butdeformity; that, while they are suffered to stand, we shall look in vainfor any of those appearances which are the chief sources of beauty in anatural wood. 

It must be acknowledged that the larch, till it has outgrown the size ofa shrub, shows, when looked at singly, some elegance in form andappearance, especially in spring, decorated, as it then is, by the pinktassels of its blossoms; but, as a tree, it is less than any otherpleasing: its branches (for _boughs_ it has none) have no variety in theyouth of the tree, and little dignity, even when it attains its fullgrowth: _leaves_ it cannot be said to have, consequently neither affordsshade nor shelter. In spring the larch becomes green long before thenative trees; and its green is so peculiar and vivid, that, findingnothing to harmonise with it, wherever it comes forth, a disagreeablespeck is produced. In summer, when all other trees are in their pride, it is of a dingy, lifeless hue; in autumn of a spiritless unvariedyellow, and in winter it is still more lamentably distinguished fromevery other deciduous tree of the forest, for they seem only to sleep, but the larch appears absolutely dead. If an attempt be made to minglethickets, or a certain proportion of other forest-trees, with thelarch, its horizontal branches intolerantly cut them down as with ascythe, or force them to spindle up to keep pace with it. Theterminating spike renders it impossible that the several trees, whereplanted in numbers, should ever blend together so as to form a mass ormasses of wood. Add thousands to tens of thousands, and the appearanceis still the same--a collection of separate individual trees, obstinately presenting themselves as such; and which, from whateverpoint they are looked at, if but seen, may be counted upon the fingers. Sunshine, or shadow, has little power to adorn the surface of such awood; and the trees not carrying up their heads, the wind raises amongthem no majestic undulations. It is indeed true, that, in countrieswhere the larch is a native, and where, without interruption, it maysweep from valley to valley, and from hill to hill, a sublime image maybe produced by such a forest, in the same manner as by one composed ofany other single tree, to the spreading of which no limits can beassigned. For sublimity will never be wanting, where the sense ofinnumerable multitude is lost in, and alternates with, that of intenseunity; and to the ready perception of this effect, similarity and almostidentity of individual form and monotony of colour contribute. But thisfeeling is confined to the native immeasurable forest; no artificialplantation can give it. 

The foregoing observations will, I hope, (as nothing has been condemnedor recommended without a substantial reason) have some influence uponthose who plant for ornament merely. To such as plant for profit, I havealready spoken. Let me then entreat that the native deciduous trees maybe left in complete possession of the lower ground; and that plantationsof larch, if introduced at all, may be confined to the highest and mostbarren tracts. Interposition of rocks would there break the drearyuniformity of which we have been complaining; and the winds would takehold of the trees, and imprint upon their shapes a wildness congenial totheir situation. 

Having determined what kinds of trees must be wholly rejected, or atleast very sparingly used, by those who are unwilling to disfigure thecountry; and having shown what kinds ought to be chosen; I should havegiven, if my limits had not already been overstepped, a few practicalrules for the manner in which trees ought to be disposed in planting. But to this subject I should attach little importance, if I couldsucceed in banishing such trees as introduce deformity, and couldprevail upon the proprietor to confine himself, either to those found inthe native woods, or to such as accord with them. This is, indeed, themain point; for, much as these scenes have been injured by what has beentaken from them--buildings, trees, and woods, either through negligence, necessity, avarice, or caprice--it is not the removals, but the harsh_additions_ that have been made, which are the worst grievance--astanding and unavoidable annoyance. Often have I felt this distinction, with mingled satisfaction and regret; for, if no positive deformity ordiscordance be substituted or superinduced, such is the benignity ofNature, that, take away from her beauty after beauty, and ornament afterornament, her appearance cannot be marred--the scars, if any be left, will gradually disappear before a healing spirit; and what remains willstill be soothing and pleasing. --

 Many hearts deplored The fate of those old trees; and oft with pain The traveller at this day will stop and gaze On wrongs which Nature scarcely seems to heed: For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green silent pastures, yet remain. 

There are few ancient woods left in this part of England upon which suchindiscriminate ravage as is here 'deplored, ' could now be committed. But, out of the numerous copses, fine woods might in time be raised, probably without sacrifice of profit, by leaving, at the periodicalfellings, a due proportion of the healthiest trees to grow up intotimber. --This plan has fortunately, in many instances, been adopted; andthey, who have set the example, are entitled to the thanks of allpersons of taste. As to the management of planting with reasonableattention to ornament, let the images of Nature be your guide, and thewhole secret lurks in a few words; thickets or underwoods--singletrees--trees clustered or in groups--groves--unbroken woods, but withvaried masses of foliage--glades--invisible or winding boundaries--inrocky districts, a seemly proportion of rock left wholly bare, and otherparts half hidden--disagreeable objects concealed, and formal linesbroken--trees climbing up to the horizon, and, in some places, ascendingfrom its sharp edge, in which they are rooted, with the whole body ofthe tree appearing to stand in the clear sky--in other parts, woodssurmounted by rocks utterly bare and naked, which add to the sense ofheight, as if vegetation could not thither be carried, and impress afeeling of duration, power of resistance, and security from change!

The author has been induced to speak thus at length, by a wish topreserve the native beauty of this delightful district, because stillfurther changes in its appearance must inevitably follow, from thechange of inhabitants and owners which is rapidly taking place. --Aboutthe same time that strangers began to be attracted to the country, andto feel a desire to settle in it, the difficulty, that would have stoodin the way of their procuring situations, was lessened by an unfortunatealteration in the circumstances of the native peasantry, proceeding froma cause which then began to operate, and is now felt in every house. Thefamily of each man, whether _estatesman_ or farmer, formerly had atwofold support; first, the produce of his lands and flocks; and, secondly, the profit drawn from the employment of the women andchildren, as manufacturers; spinning their own wool in their own houses(work chiefly done in the winter season), and carrying it to market forsale. Hence, however numerous the children, the income of the familykept pace with its increase. But, by the invention and universalapplication of machinery, this second resource has been cut off; thegains being so far reduced, as not to be sought after but by a few agedpersons disabled from other employment. Doubtless, the invention ofmachinery has not been to these people a pure loss; for the profitsarising from home-manufactures operated as a strong temptation to choosethat mode of labour in neglect of husbandry. They also participate inthe general benefit which the island has derived from the increasedvalue of the produce of land, brought about by the establishment ofmanufactories, and in the consequent quickening of agriculturalindustry. But this is far from making them amends; and now thathome-manufactures are nearly done away, though the women and childrenmight, at many seasons of the year, employ themselves with advantage inthe fields beyond what they are accustomed to do, yet still all possibleexertion in this way cannot be rationally expected from persons whoseagricultural knowledge is so confined, and, above all, where there mustnecessarily be so small a capital. The consequence, then, is--thatproprietors and farmers being no longer able to maintain themselves uponsmall farms, several are united in one, and the buildings go to decay, or are destroyed; and that the lands of the _estatesmen_ beingmortgaged, and the owners constrained to part with them, they fall intothe hands of wealthy purchasers, who in like manner unite andconsolidate; and, if they wish to become residents, erect new mansionsout of the ruins of the ancient cottages, whose little enclosures, withall the wild graces that grew out of them, disappear. The feudal tenureunder which the estates are held has indeed done something towardschecking this influx of new settlers; but so strong is the inclination, that these galling restraints are endured; and it is probable, that in afew years the country on the margin of the Lakes will fall almostentirely into the possession of gentry, either strangers or natives. Itis then much to be wished, that a better taste should prevail amongthese new proprietors; and, as they cannot be expected to leave thingsto themselves, that skill and knowledge should prevent unnecessarydeviations from that path of simplicity and beauty along which, withoutdesign and unconsciously, their humble predecessors have moved. In thiswish the author will be joined by persons of pure taste throughout thewhole island, who, by their visits (often repeated) to the Lakes in theNorth of England, testify that they deem the district a sort of nationalproperty, in which every man has a right and interest who has an eye toperceive and a heart to enjoy. 

MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS. 

MR. WEST, in his well-known Guide to the Lakes, recommends, as the bestseason for visiting this country, the interval from the beginning ofJune to the end of August; and, the two latter months being a time ofvacation and leisure, it is almost exclusively in these that strangersresort hither. But that season is by no means the best; the colouring ofthe mountains and woods, unless where they are diversified by rocks, isof too unvaried a green; and, as a large portion of the vallies isallotted to hay-grass, some want of variety is found there also. Themeadows, however, are sufficiently enlivened after hay-making begins, which is much later than in the southern part of the island. A strongerobjection is rainy weather, setting in sometimes at this period with avigour, and continuing with a perseverance, that may remind thedisappointed and dejected traveller of those deluges of rain which fallamong the Abyssinian mountains, for the annual supply of the Nile. Themonths of September and October (particularly October) are generallyattended with much finer weather; and the scenery is then, beyondcomparison, more diversified, more splendid, and beautiful; but, on theother hand, short days prevent long excursions, and sharp and chillgales are unfavourable to parties of pleasure out of doors. Nevertheless, to the sincere admirer of Nature, who is in good healthand spirits, and at liberty to make a choice, the six weeks followingthe 1st of September may be recommended in preference to July andAugust. For there is no inconvenience arising from the season which, tosuch a person, would not be amply compensated by the _autumnal_appearance of any of the more retired vallies, into which discordantplantations and unsuitable buildings have not yet found entrance. --Insuch spots, at this season, there is an admirable compass and proportionof natural harmony in colour, through the whole scale of objects; in thetender green of the after-grass upon the meadows, interspersed withislands of grey or mossy rock, crowned by shrubs and trees; in theirregular inclosures of standing corn, or stubble-fields, in like mannerbroken; in the mountain-sides glowing with fern of divers colours; inthe calm blue lakes and river-pools; and in the foliage of the trees, through all the tints of autumn, --from the pale and brilliant yellow ofthe birch and ash, to the deep greens of the unfaded oak and alder, andof the ivy upon the rocks, upon the trees, and the cottages. Yet, asmost travellers are either stinted, or stint themselves, for time, thespace between the middle or last week in May, and the middle or lastweek of June, may be pointed out as affording the best combination oflong days, fine weather, and variety of impressions. Few of the nativetrees are then in full leaf; but, for whatever maybe wanting in depth ofshade, more than an equivalent will be found in the diversity offoliage, in the blossoms of the fruit-and-berry-bearing trees whichabound in the woods, and in the golden flowers of the broom and othershrubs, with which many of the copses are interveined. In those woods, also, and on those mountain-sides which have a northern aspect, and inthe deep dells, many of the spring-flowers still linger; while the openand sunny places are stocked with the flowers of the approaching summer. And, besides, is not an exquisite pleasure still untasted by him who hasnot heard the choir of linnets and thrushes chaunting their love-songsin the copses, woods, and hedge-rows of a mountainous country; safe fromthe birds of prey, which build in the inaccessible crags, and are at allhours seen or heard wheeling about in the air? The number of theseformidable creatures is probably the cause, why, in the _narrow_vallies, there are no skylarks; as the destroyer would be enabled todart upon them from the near and surrounding crags, before they coulddescend to their ground-nests for protection. It is not often that thenightingale resorts to these vales; but almost all the other tribes ofour English warblers are numerous; and their notes, when listened to bythe side of broad still waters, or when heard in unison with themurmuring of mountain-brooks, have the compass of their power enlargedaccordingly. There is also an imaginative influence in the voice of thecuckoo, when that voice has taken possession of a deep mountain valley, very different from any thing which can be excited by the same sound ina flat country. Nor must a circumstance be omitted, which here rendersthe close of spring especially interesting; I mean the practice ofbringing down the ewes from the mountains to yean in the vallies andenclosed grounds. The herbage being thus cropped as it springs, _that_first tender emerald green of the season, which would otherwise havelasted little more than a fortnight, is prolonged in the pastures andmeadows for many weeks: while they are farther enlivened by themultitude of lambs bleating and skipping about. These sportivecreatures, as they gather strength, are turned out upon the openmountains, and with their slender limbs, their snow-white colour, andtheir wild and light motions, beautifully accord or contrast with therocks and lawns, upon which they must now begin to seek their food. Andlast, but not least, at this time the traveller will be sure of room andcomfortable accommodation, even in the smaller inns. I am aware that fewof those who may be inclined to profit by this recommendation will beable to do so, as the time and manner of an excursion of this kind aremostly regulated by circumstances which prevent an entire freedom ofchoice. It will therefore be more pleasant to observe, that, though themonths of July and August are liable to many objections, yet it oftenhappens that the weather, at this time, is not more wet and stormy thanthey, who are really capable of enjoying the sublime forms of Nature intheir utmost sublimity, would desire. For no traveller, provided he bein good health, and with any command of time, would have a justprivilege to visit such scenes, if he could grudge the price of a littleconfinement among them, or interruption in his journey, for the sight orsound of a storm coming on or clearing away. Insensible must he be whowould not congratulate himself upon the bold bursts of sunshine, thedescending vapours, wandering lights and shadows, and the invigoratedtorrents and waterfalls, with which broken weather, in a mountainousregion, is accompanied. At such a time there is no cause to complain, either of the monotony of midsummer colouring, or the glaring atmosphereof long, cloudless, and hot days. 

Thus far concerning the respective advantages and disadvantages of thedifferent seasons for visiting this country. As to the order in whichobjects are best seen--a lake being composed of water flowing fromhigher grounds, and expanding itself till its receptacle is filled tothe brim, --it follows, that it will appear to most advantage whenapproached from its outlet, especially if the lake be in a mountainouscountry; for, by this way of approach, the traveller faces the granderfeatures of the scene, and is gradually conducted into its most sublimerecesses. Now, every one knows, that from amenity and beauty thetransition to sublimity is easy and favourable; but the reverse is notso; for, after the faculties have been elevated, they are indisposed tohumbler excitement. [62]

[62] The only instances to which the foregoing observations do notapply, are Derwent-water and Lowes-water. Derwent is distinguished fromall the other Lakes by being _surrounded_ with sublimity: the fantasticmountains of Borrowdale to the south, the solitary majesty of Skiddaw tothe north, the bold steeps of Wallow-crag and Lodore to the east, and tothe west the clustering mountains of Newlands. Lowes-water is tame atthe head, but towards its outlet has a magnificent assemblage ofmountains. Yet, as far as respects the formation of such receptacles, the general observation holds good: neither Derwent nor Lowes-waterderive any supplies from the streams of those mountains that dignify thelandscape towards the outlets. 

It is not likely that a mountain will be ascended withoutdisappointment, if a wide range of prospect be the object, unless eitherthe summit be reached before sun-rise, or the visitant remain thereuntil the time of sun-set, and afterwards. The precipitous sides of themountain, and the neighbouring summits, may be seen with effect underany atmosphere which allows them to be seen at all; but _he_ is the mostfortunate adventurer, who chances to be involved in vapours which openand let in an extent of country partially, or, dispersing suddenly, reveal the whole region from centre to circumference. 

A stranger to a mountainous country may not be aware that his walk inthe early morning ought to be taken on the eastern side of the vale, otherwise he will lose the morning light, first touching the tops andthence creeping down the sides of the opposite hills, as the sunascends, or he may go to some central eminence, commanding both theshadows from the eastern, and the lights upon the western mountains. But, if the horizon line in the east be low, the western side may betaken for the sake of the reflections, upon the water, of light from therising sun. In the evening, for like reasons, the contrary course shouldbe taken. 

After all, it is upon the _mind_ which a traveller brings along with himthat his acquisitions, whether of pleasure or profit, must principallydepend. --May I be allowed a few words on this subject?

Nothing is more injurious to genuine feeling than the practice ofhastily and ungraciously depreciating the face of one country bycomparing it with that of another. True it is Qui _bene_ distinguit bene_docet_; yet fastidiousness is a wretched travelling companion; and thebest guide to which, in matters of taste, we can entrust ourselves, is adisposition to be pleased. For example, if a traveller be among theAlps, let him surrender up his mind to the fury of the gigantictorrents, and take delight in the contemplation of their almostirresistible violence, without complaining of the monotony of theirfoaming course, or being disgusted with the muddiness of thewater--apparent even where it is violently agitated. In Cumberland andWestmoreland, let not the comparative weakness of the streams preventhim from sympathising with such impetuosity as they possess; and, makingthe most of the present objects, let him, as he justly may do, observewith admiration the unrivalled brilliancy of the water, and that varietyof motion, mood, and character, that arises out of the want of thoseresources by which the power of the streams in the Alps issupported. --Again, with respect to the mountains; though these arecomparatively of diminutive size, though there is little of perpetualsnow, and no voice of summer-avalanches is heard among them; and thoughtraces left by the ravage of the elements are here comparatively rareand unimpressive, yet out of this very deficiency proceeds a sense ofstability and permanence that is, to many minds, more grateful--

 While the hoarse rushes to the sweeping breeze Sigh forth their ancient melodies. 

Among the Alps are few places that do not preclude this feeling oftranquil sublimity. Havoc, and ruin, and desolation, and encroachment, are everywhere more or less obtruded; and it is difficult, notwithstanding the naked loftiness of the _pikes_, and the snow-cappedsummits of the _mounts_, to escape from the depressing sensation, thatthe whole are in a rapid process of dissolution; and, were it not thatthe destructive agency must abate as the heights diminish, would, intime to come, be levelled with the plains. Nevertheless, I would relishto the utmost the demonstrations of every species of power at work toeffect such changes. 

From these general views let us descend a moment to detail. A strangerto mountain imagery naturally on his first arrival looks out forsublimity in every object that admits of it; and is almost alwaysdisappointed. For this disappointment there exists, I believe, nogeneral preventive; nor is it desirable that there should. But withregard to one class of objects, there is a point in which injuriousexpectations may be easily corrected. It is generally supposed thatwaterfalls are scarcely worth being looked at except after much rain, and that, the more swoln the stream, the more fortunate the spectator;but this however is true only of large cataracts with sublimeaccompaniments; and not even of these without some drawbacks. In otherinstances, what becomes, at such a time, of that sense of refreshingcoolness which can only be felt in dry and sunny weather, when therocks, herbs, and flowers glisten with moisture diffused by the breathof the precipitous water? But, considering these things as objects ofsight only, it may be observed that the principal charm of the smallerwaterfalls or cascades consists in certain proportions of form andaffinities of colour, among the component parts of the scene; and in thecontrast maintained between the falling water and that which isapparently at rest, or rather settling gradually into quiet in the poolbelow. The beauty of such a scene, where there is naturally so muchagitation, is also heightened, in a peculiar manner, by the_glimmering_, and, towards the verge of the pool, by the _steady_, reflection of the surrounding images. Now, all those delicatedistinctions are destroyed by heavy floods, and the whole stream rushesalong in foam and tumultuous confusion. A happy proportion of componentparts is indeed noticeable among the landscapes of the North of England;and, in this characteristic essential to a perfect picture, they surpassthe scenes of Scotland, and, in a still greater degree, those ofSwitzerland. 

As a resident among the Lakes, I frequently hear the scenery of thiscountry compared with that of the Alps; and therefore a few words shallbe added to what has been incidentally said upon that subject. 

If we could recall, to this region of lakes, the native pine-forests, with which many hundred years ago a large portion of the heights wascovered, then, during spring and autumn, it might frequently, with muchpropriety, be compared to Switzerland, --the elements of the landscapewould be the same--one country representing the other in miniature. Towns, villages, churches, rural seats, bridges and roads: greenmeadows and arable grounds, with their various produce, and deciduouswoods of diversified foliage which occupy the vales and lower regions ofthe mountains, would, as in Switzerland, be divided by dark forests fromridges and round-topped heights covered with snow, and from pikes andsharp declivities imperfectly arrayed in the same glittering mantle: andthe resemblance would be still more perfect on those days when vapours, resting upon, and floating around the summits, leave the elevation ofthe mountains less dependent upon the eye than on the imagination. Butthe pine-forests have wholly disappeared; and only during late springand early autumn is realised here that assemblage of the imagery ofdifferent seasons, which is exhibited through the whole summer among theAlps, --winter in the distance, --and warmth, leafy woods, verdure andfertility at hand, and widely diffused. 

Striking, then, from among the permanent materials of the landscape, that stage of vegetation which is occupied by pine-forests, and, abovethat, the perennial snows, we have mountains, the highest of whichlittle exceed 3000 feet, while some of the Alps do not fall short of14, 000 or 15, 000, and 8000 or 10, 000 is not an uncommon elevation. Ourtracts of wood and water are almost diminutive in comparison; therefore, as far as sublimity is dependent upon absolute bulk and height, andatmospherical influences in connection with these, it is obvious, thatthere can be no rivalship. But a short residence among the BritishMountains will furnish abundant proof, that, after a certain point ofelevation, viz. That which allows of compact and fleecy clouds settlingupon, or sweeping over, the summits, the sense of sublimity depends moreupon form and relation of objects to each other than upon their actualmagnitude; and that an elevation of 3000 feet is sufficient to callforth in a most impressive degree the creative, and magnifying, andsoftening powers of the atmosphere. Hence, on the score even ofsublimity, the superiority of the Alps is by no means so great as mighthastily be inferred;--and, as to the _beauty_ of the lower regions ofthe Swiss Mountains, it is noticeable--that, as they are all regularlymown, their surface has nothing of that mellow tone and variety of huesby which mountain turf, that is never touched by the scythe, isdistinguished. On the smooth and steep slopes of the Swiss hills, theseplots of verdure do indeed agreeably unite their colour with that of thedeciduous trees, or make a lively contrast with the dark greenpine-groves that define them, and among which they run in endlessvariety of shapes--but this is most pleasing _at first sight_; thepermanent gratification of the eye requires finer gradations of tone, and a more delicate blending of hues into each other. Besides, it isonly in spring and late autumn that cattle animate by their presence theSwiss lawns; and, though the pastures of the higher regions where theyfeed during the summer are left in their natural state of floweryherbage, those pastures are so remote, that their texture and colour areof no consequence in the composition of any picture in which a lake ofthe Vales is a feature. Yet in those lofty regions, how vegetation isinvigorated by the genial climate of that country! Among the luxuriantflowers there met with, groves, or forests, if I may so call them, ofMonks-hood are frequently seen; the plant of deep, rich blue, and astall as in our gardens; and this at an elevation where, in Cumberland, Icelandic moss would only be found, or the stony summits be utterlybare. 

We have, then, for the colouring of Switzerland, _principally_ a vividgreen herbage, black woods, and dazzling snows, presented in masses witha grandeur to which no one can be insensible; but not often graduated byNature into soothing harmony, and so ill suited to the pencil, thatthough abundance of good subjects may be there found, they are not suchas can be deemed _characteristic_ of the country; nor is this unfitnessconfined to colour: the forms of the mountains, though many of them insome points of view the noblest that can be conceived, are apt to runinto spikes and needles, and present a jagged outline which has a meaneffect, transferred to canvass. This must have been felt by the ancientmasters; for, if I am not mistaken, they have not left a singlelandscape, the materials of which are taken from the _peculiar_ featuresof the Alps; yet Titian passed his life almost in their neighbourhood;the Poussins and Claude must have been well acquainted with theiraspects; and several admirable painters, as Tibaldi and Luino, were bornamong the Italian Alps. A few experiments have lately been made byEnglishmen, but they only prove that courage, skill, and judgment, maysurmount any obstacles; and it may be safely affirmed, that they whohave done best in this bold adventure, will be the least likely torepeat the attempt. But, though our scenes are better suited to paintingthan those of the Alps, I should be sorry to contemplate either countryin reference to that art, further than as its fitness or unfitness forthe pencil renders it more or less pleasing to the eye of the spectator, who has learned to observe and feel, chiefly from Nature herself. 

Deeming the points in which Alpine imagery is superior to British tooobvious to be insisted upon, I will observe that the deciduous woods, though in many places unapproachable by the axe, and triumphing in thepomp and prodigality of Nature, have, in general, [63] neither thevariety nor beauty which would exist in those of the mountains ofBritain, if left to themselves. Magnificent walnut-trees grow upon theplains of Switzerland; and fine trees, of that species, are foundscattered over the hill-sides: birches also grow here and there inluxuriant beauty; but neither these, nor oaks, are ever a prevailingtree, nor can even be said to be common; and the oaks, as far as I hadan opportunity of observing, are greatly inferior to those of Britain. Among the interior vallies the proportion of beeches and pines is sogreat that other trees are scarcely noticeable; and surely such woodsare at all seasons much less agreeable than that rich and harmoniousdistribution of oak, ash, elm, birch, and alder, that formerly clothedthe sides of Snowdon and Helvellyn; and of which no mean remains stillsurvive at the head of Ulswater. On the Italian side of the Alps, chesnut and walnut-trees grow at a considerable height on the mountains;but, even there, the foliage is not equal in beauty to the 'naturalproduct' of this climate. In fact the sunshine of the South of Europe, so envied when heard of at a distance, is in many respects injurious torural beauty, particularly as it incites to the cultivation of spots ofground which in colder climates would be left in the hands of Nature, favouring at the same time the culture of plants that are more valuableon account of the fruit they produce to gratify the palate, than foraffording pleasure to the eye, as materials of landscape. Take, forinstance, the Promontory of Bellagio, so fortunate in its command of thethree branches of the Lake of Como, yet the ridge of the Promontoryitself, being for the most part covered with vines interspersed witholive-trees, accords but ill with the vastness of the greenunappropriated mountains, and derogates not a little from the sublimityof those finely contrasted pictures to which it is a foreground. Thevine, when cultivated upon a large scale, notwithstanding all that maybe said of it in poetry, [64] makes but a dull formal appearance inlandscape; and the olive-tree (though one is loth to say so) is not moregrateful to the eye than our common willow, which it much resembles; butthe hoariness of hue, common to both, has in the aquatic plant anappropriate delicacy, harmonising with the situation in which it mostdelights. The same may no doubt be said of the olive among the dry rocksof Attica, but I am speaking of it as found in gardens and vineyards inthe North of Italy. At Bellagio, what Englishman can resist thetemptation of substituting, in his fancy, for these formal treasures ofcultivation, the natural variety of one of our parks--its pasturedlawns, coverts of hawthorn, of wild-rose, and honeysuckle, and themajesty of forest trees?--such wild graces as the banks of Derwent-watershewed in the time of the Ratcliffes; and Growbarrow Park, Lowther, andRydal do at this day. 

[63] The greatest variety of trees is found in the Valais. 

As my object is to reconcile a Briton to the scenery of his own country, though not at the expense of truth, I am not afraid of asserting that inmany points of view our LAKES, also, are much more interesting thanthose of the Alps; first, as is implied above, from being more happilyproportioned to the other features of the landscape; and next, both asbeing infinitely more pellucid, and less subject to agitation from thewinds. [65]

[64] Lucretius has charmingly described a scene of this kind. 

 Inque dies magis in montem succedere sylvas Cogebant, infráquo locum coucedere cultis: Prata, lacus, rivos, segetes, vinetaque laeta Collibus et campis ut haberent, atque olearum _Caerula_ distinguens inter _plaga_ currere posset Per tumulos, et convalleis, camposque profusa: Ut nunc esse vides vario distincta lepore Onmia, quae pomis intersita dulcibus ornant, Arbustisque teneut felicibus obsita circúm. 

[65] It is remarkable that Como (as is probably the case with otherItalian Lakes) is more troubled by storms in summer than in winter. Hence the propriety of the following verses:

 Lari! margine ubique confragoso Nulli coelicolum negas sacellum Picto pariete saxeoque tecto; Hinc miracula multa navitarum Audis, nee placido refellis ore, Sed nova usque pavas, Noto vel Euro _Aestivas_ quatieutibus cavernas, Vel surgentis ab Adduae cubili Caeco grandinis imbre provoluto. LANDOR. 

Como, (which may perhaps be styled the King of Lakes, as Lugano iscertainly the Queen) is disturbed by a periodical wind blowing _from_the head in the morning, and _towards_ it in the afternoon. Themagnificent Lake of the four Cantons, especially its noblest division, called the Lake of Uri, is not only much agitated by winds, but in thenight time is disturbed from the bottom, as I was told, and indeed as Iwitnessed, without any apparent commotion in the air; and when at rest, the water is not pure to the eye, but of a heavy green hue--as is thatof all the other lakes, apparently according to the degree in which theyare fed by melted snows. If the Lake of Geneva furnish an exception, this is probably owing to its vast extent, which allows the water todeposit its impurities. The water of the English lakes, on the contrary, being of a crystalline clearness, the reflections of the surroundinghills are frequently so lively, that it is scarcely possible todistinguish the point where the real object terminates, and itsunsubstantial duplicate begins. The lower part of the Lake of Geneva, from its narrowness, must be much less subject to agitation than thehigher divisions, and, as the water is clearer than that of the otherSwiss Lakes, it will frequently exhibit this appearance, though it isscarcely possible in an equal degree. During two comprehensive toursamong the Alps, I did not observe, except on one of the smaller lakesbetween Lugano and Ponte Tresa, a single instance of those beautifulrepetitions of surrounding objects on the bosom of the water, which areso frequently seen here: not to speak of the fine dazzling tremblingnet-work, breezy motions, and streaks and circles of intermingled smoothand rippled water, which make the surface of our lakes a field ofendless variety. But among the Alps, where every thing tends to thegrand and the sublime, in surfaces as well as in forms, if the lakes donot court the placid reflections of land objects those of first-ratemagnitude make compensation, in some degree, by exhibiting thoseever-changing fields of green, blue, and purple shadows or lights, (onescarcely knows which to name them) that call to mind a sea-prospectcontemplated from a lofty cliff. 

The subject of torrents and waterfalls has already been touched upon;but it may be added that in Switzerland, the perpetual accompaniment ofsnow upon the higher regions takes much from the effect of foaming whitestreams; while, from their frequency, they obstruct each other'sinfluence upon the mind of the spectator; and, in all cases, the effectof an individual cataract, excepting the great Fall of the Rhine atSchaffhausen, is diminished by the general fury of the stream of whichit is a part. 

Recurring to the reflections from still water, I will describe asingular phenomenon of this kind of which I was an eye-witness. 

Walking by the side of Ulswater upon a calm September morning, I saw, deep within the bosom of the Lake, a magnificent Castle, with towers andbattlements: nothing could be more distinct than the whole edifice. After gazing with delight upon it for some time, as upon a work ofenchantment, I could not but regret that my previous knowledge of theplace enabled me to account for the appearance. It was in fact thereflection of a pleasure-house called Lyulph's Tower--the towers andbattlements magnified and so much changed in shape as not to beimmediately recognised. In the meanwhile, the pleasure-house itself wasaltogether hidden from my view by a body of vapour stretching over itand along the hill-side on which it stands, but not so as to haveintercepted its communication with the lake; and hence this novel andmost impressive object, which, if I had been a stranger to the spot, would, from its being inexplicable, have long detained the mind in astate of pleasing astonishment. 

Appearances of this kind, acting upon the credulity of early ages, mayhave given birth to, and favoured the belief in, stories of sub-aqueouspalaces, gardens, and pleasure-grounds--the brilliant ornaments ofRomance. 

With this _inverted_ scene I will couple a much more extraordinaryphenomenon, which will show how other elegant fancies may have had theirorigin, less in invention than in the actual processes of Nature. 

About eleven o'clock on the forenoon of a winter's day, comingsuddenly, in company of a friend, into view of the Lake of Grasmere, wewere alarmed by the sight of a newly-created Island; the transitorythought of the moment was, that it had been produced by an earthquake orsome other convulsion of Nature. Recovering from the alarm, which wasgreater than the reader can possibly sympathise with, but which wasshared to its full extent by my companion, we proceeded to examine theobject before us. The elevation of this new island exceeded considerablythat of the old one, its neighbour; it was likewise larger incircumference, comprehending a space of about five acres; its surfacerocky, speckled with snow, and sprinkled over with birch-trees; it wasdivided towards the south from the other island by a narrow frith, andin like manner from the northern shore of the lake; on the east and westit was separated from the shore by a much larger space of smooth water. 

Marvellous was the illusion! Comparing the new with the old Island, thesurface of which is soft, green, and unvaried, I do not scruple to saythat, as an object of sight, it was much the more distinct. 'How littlefaith, ' we exclaimed, 'is due to one sense, unless its evidence beconfirmed by some of its fellows! What Stranger could possibly bepersuaded that this, which we know to be an unsubstantial mockery, is_really_ so; and that there exists only a single Island on thisbeautiful Lake?' At length the appearance underwent a gradualtransmutation; it lost its prominence and passed into a glimmering anddim _inversion_, and then totally disappeared; leaving behind it a clearopen area of ice of the same dimensions. We now perceived that this bedof ice, which was thinly suffused with water, had produced the illusion, by reflecting and refracting (as persons skilled in optics would nodoubt easily explain) a rocky and woody section of the opposite mountainnamed Silver-how. 

Having dwelt so much upon the beauty of pure and still water, andpointed out the advantage which the Lakes of the North of England havein this particular over those of the Alps, it would be injustice not toadvert to the sublimity that must often be given to Alpine scenes, bythe agitations to which those vast bodies of diffused water are theresubject. I have witnessed many tremendous thunder-storms among the Alps, and the most glorious effects of light and shadow: but I never happenedto be present when any Lake was agitated by those hurricanes which Iimagine must often torment them. If the commotions be at allproportionable to the expanse and depth of the waters, and the height ofthe surrounding mountains, then, if I may judge from what is frequentlyseen here, the exhibition must be awful and astonishing. --On this day, March 30, 1822, the winds have been acting upon the small Lake of Rydal, as if they had received command to carry its waters from their bed intothe sky; the white billows in different quarters disappeared underclouds, or rather drifts, of spray, that were whirled along, and up intothe air by scouring winds, charging each other in squadrons in everydirection, upon the Lake. The spray, having been hurried aloft till itlost its consistency and whiteness, was driven along the mountain topslike flying showers that vanish in the distance. Frequently an eddyingwind scooped the waters out of the basin, and forced them upwards in thevery shape of an Icelandic Geyser, or boiling fountain, to the height ofseveral hundred feet. 

This small Mere of Rydal, from its position, is subject in a peculiardegree to these commotions. The present season, however, is unusuallystormy;--great numbers of fish, two of them not less than 12 poundsweight, were a few days ago cast on the shores of Derwent-water by theforce of the waves. 

Lest, in the foregoing comparative estimate, I should be suspected ofpartiality to my native mountains, I will support my general opinion bythe authority of Mr. West, whose Guide to the Lakes has been eminentlyserviceable to the Tourist for nearly 50 years. The Author, a RomanCatholic Clergyman, had passed much time abroad, and was well acquaintedwith the scenery of the Continent. He thus expresses himself: 'They whointend to make the continental tour should begin here; as it will give, in miniature, an idea of what they are to meet with there, in traversingthe Alps and Appenines; to which our northern mountains are not inferiorin beauty of line, or variety of summit, number of lakes, andtransparency of water; not in colouring of rock, or softness of turf, but in height and extent only. The mountains here are all accessible tothe summit, and furnish prospects no less surprising, and with morevariety, than the Alps themselves. The tops of the highest Alps areinaccessible, being covered with everlasting snow, which commencing atregular heights above the cultivated tracts, or wooded and verdantsides, form indeed the highest contrast in Nature. For there may be seenall the variety of climate in one view. To this, however, we oppose thesight of the ocean, from the summits of all the higher mountains, as itappears intersected with promontories, decorated with islands, andanimated with navigation. '--West's _Guide_, p. 5. 

EXCURSIONS TO THE TOP OF SCAWFELL AND ON THE BANKS OF ULSWATER. 

It was my intention, several years ago, to describe a regular tourthrough this country, taking the different scenes in the most favourableorder; but after some progress had been made in the work it wasabandoned from a conviction, that, if well executed, it would lessen thepleasure of the Traveller by anticipation, and, if the contrary, itwould mislead him. The Reader may not, however, be displeased with thefollowing extract from a letter to a Friend, giving an account of avisit to a summit of one of the highest of these mountains; of which Iam reminded by the observations of Mr. West, and by reviewing what hasbeen said of this district in comparison with the Alps. 

Having left Rosthwaite in Borrowdale, on a bright morning in the firstweek of October, we ascended from Seathwaite to the top of the ridge, called Ash-course, and thence beheld three distinct views;--on one side, the continuous Vale of Borrowdale, Keswick, and Bassenthwaite, --withSkiddaw, Helvellyn, Saddle-back, and numerous other mountains--and, inthe distance, the Solway Frith and the Mountains of Scotland;--on theother side, and below us, the Langdale Pikes--their own vale below_them_;--Windermere, --and, far beyond Windermere, Ingleborough inYorkshire. But how shall I speak of the deliciousness of the thirdprospect! At this time, _that_ was most favoured by sunshine and shade. The green Vale of Esk--deep and green, with its glittering serpentstream, lay below us; and, on we looked to the Mountains near theSea, --Black Comb pre-eminent, --and, still beyond, to the Sea itself, indazzling brightness. Turning round we saw the Mountains of Wastdale intumult; to our right, Great Gavel, the loftiest, a distinct, and _huge_form, though the middle of the mountain was, to our eyes, as its base. 

We had attained the object of this journey; but our ambition now mountedhigher. We saw the summit of Scawfell, apparently very near to us; andwe shaped our course towards it; but, discovering that it could not bereached without first making a considerable descent, we resolved, instead, to aim at another point of the same mountain, called the_Pikes_, which I have since found has been estimated as higher than thesummit bearing the name of Scawfell Head, where the Stone Man is built. 

The sun had never once been overshadowed by a cloud during the whole ofour progress from the centre of Borrowdale. On the summit of the Pike, which we gained after much toil, though without difficulty, there wasnot a breath of air to stir even the papers containing our refreshment, as they lay spread out upon a rock. The stillness seemed to be not ofthis world:--we paused, and kept silence to listen; and no sound couldbe heard: the Scawfell Cataracts were voiceless to us; and there was notan insect to hum in the air. The vales which we had seen from Ash-courselay yet in view; and, side by side with Eskdale, we now saw the sisterVale of Donnerdale terminated by the Duddon Sands. But the majesty ofthe mountains below, and close to us, is not to be conceived. We nowbeheld the whole mass of Great Gavel from its base, --the Den of Wastdaleat our feet--a gulf immeasurable: Grasmire and the other mountains ofCrummock--Ennerdale and its mountains; and the Sea beyond! We sat downto our repast, and gladly would we have tempered our beverage (for therewas no spring or well near us) with such a supply of delicious water aswe might have procured, had we been on the rival summit of Great Gavel;for on its highest point is a small triangular receptacle in the nativerock, which, the shepherds say, is never dry. There we might have slakedour thirst plenteously with a pure and celestial liquid, for the cup orbasin, it appears, has no other feeder than the dews of heaven, theshowers, the vapours, the hoar frost, and the spotless snow. 

While we were gazing around, 'Look, ' I exclaimed, 'at yon ship upon theglittering sea!' 'Is it a ship?' replied our shepherd-guide. 'It can benothing else, ' interposed my companion; 'I cannot be mistaken, I am soaccustomed to the appearance of ships at sea. ' The Guide dropped theargument; but, before a minute was gone, he quietly said, 'Now look atyour ship; it is changed into a horse. ' So indeed it was, --a horse witha gallant neck and head. We laughed heartily; and, I hope, when againinclined to be positive, I may remember the ship and the horse upon theglittering sea; and the calm confidence, yet submissiveness, of ourwise Man of the Mountains, who certainly had more knowledge of cloudsthan we, whatever might be our knowledge of ships. 

I know not how long we might have remained on the summit of the Pike, without a thought of moving, had not our Guide warned us that we mustnot linger; for a storm was coming. We looked in vain to espy the signsof it. Mountains, vales, and sea were touched with the clear light ofthe sun. 'It is there, ' said he, pointing to the sea beyond Whitehaven, and there we perceived a light vapour unnoticeable but by a shepherdaccustomed to watch all mountain bodings. We gazed around again, and yetagain, unwilling to lose the remembrance of what lay before us in thatlofty solitude; and then prepared to depart. Meanwhile the air changedto cold, and we saw that tiny vapour swelled into mighty masses of cloudwhich came boiling over the mountains. Great Gavel, Helvellyn, andSkiddaw, were wrapped in storm; yet Langdale, and the mountains in thatquarter, remained all bright in sunshine. Soon the storm reached us; wesheltered under a crag; and almost as rapidly as it had come it passedaway, and left us free to observe the struggles of gloom and sunshine inother quarters. Langdale now had its share, and the Pikes of Langdalewere decorated by two splendid rainbows. Skiddaw also had his ownrainbows. Before we again reached Ash-course every cloud had vanishedfrom every summit. 

I ought to have mentioned that round the top of Scawfell-PIKE not ablade of grass is to be seen. Cushions or tufts of moss, parched andbrown, appear between the huge blocks and stones that lie in heaps onall sides to a great distance, like skeletons or bones of the earth notneeded at the creation, and there left to be covered with never-dyinglichens, which the clouds and dews nourish; and adorn with colours ofvivid and exquisite beauty. Flowers, the most brilliant feathers, andeven gems, scarcely surpass in colouring some of those masses of stone, which no human eye beholds, except the shepherd or traveller be ledthither by curiosity: and how seldom must this happen! For the othereminence is the one visited by the adventurous stranger; and theshepherd has no inducement to ascend the PIKE in quest of his sheep; nofood being _there_ to tempt them. 

We certainly were singularly favoured in the weather; for when we wereseated on the summit, our conductor, turning his eyes thoughtfullyround, said, 'I do not know that in my whole life, I was ever, at anyseason of the year, so high upon the mountains on so _calm_ a day. ' (Itwas the 7th of October. ) Afterwards we had a spectacle of the grandeurof earth and heaven commingled; yet without terror. We knew that thestorm would pass away;--for so our prophetic Guide had assured us. 

Before we reached Seathwaite in Borrowdale, a few stars had appeared, and we pursued our way down the Vale, to Rosthwaite, by moonlight. 

Scawfell and Helvellyn being the two Mountains of this region which willbest repay the fatigue of ascending them, the following Verses may behere introduced with propriety. They are from the Author's MiscellaneousPoems. 

_To--_. 

ON HER FIRST ASCENT TO THE SUMMIT OF HELVELLYN. 

 Inmate of a Mountain Dwelling, Thou hast clomb aloft, and gazed, From the watch-towers of Helvellyn; Awed, delighted, and amazed!

 Potent was the spell that bound thee Not unwilling to obey; For blue Ether's arms, flung round thee, Stilled the pantings of dismay. 

 Lo! the dwindled woods and meadows! What a vast abyss is there! Lo! the clouds, the solemn shadows, And the glistenings--heavenly fair!

 And a record of commotion Which a thousand ridges yield; Ridge, and gulf, and distant ocean Gleaming like a silver shield!

 --Take thy flight;--possess, inherit Alps or Andes--they are thine! With the morning's roseate Spirit, Sweep their length of snowy line;

 Or survey the bright dominions In the gorgeous colours drest Flung from off the purple pinions, Evening spreads throughout the west!

 Thine are all the coral fountains Warbling in each sparry vault Of the untrodden lunar mountains; Listen to their songs!--or halt, To Niphate's top invited, Whither spiteful Satan steered; Or descend where the ark alighted, When the green earth re-appeared:

 For the power of hills is on thee, As was witnessed through thine eye Then, when old Helvellyn won thee To confess their majesty!

Having said so much of _points of view_ to which few are likely toascend, I am induced to subjoin an account of a short excursion throughmore accessible parts of the country, made at a _time_ when it is seldomseen but by the inhabitants. As the journal was written for oneacquainted with the general features of the country, only those effectsand appearances are dwelt upon, which are produced by the changeablenessof the atmosphere, or belong to the season when the excursion was made. 

A. D. 1805. --On the 7th of November, on a damp and gloomy morning, weleft Grasmere Vale, intending to pass a few days on the banks ofUllswater. A mild and dry autumn had been unusually favourable to thepreservation and beauty of foliage; and, far advanced as the season was, the trees on the larger Island of Rydal-mere retained a splendour whichdid not need the heightening of sunshine. We noticed, as we passed, thatthe line of the grey rocky shore of that island, shaggy with variegatedbushes and shrubs, and spotted and striped with purplish brown heath, indistinguishably blending with its image reflected in the still water, produced a curious resemblance, both in form and colour, to arichly-coated caterpillar, as it might appear through a magnifying glassof extraordinary power. The mists gathered as we went along: but, whenwe reached the top of Kirkstone, we were glad we had not beendiscouraged by the apprehension of bad weather. Though not able to see ahundred yards before us, we were more than contented. At such a time, and in such a place, every scattered stone the size of one's headbecomes a companion. Near the top of the Pass is the remnant of an oldwall, which (magnified, though obscured, by the vapour) might have beentaken for a fragment of some monument of ancient grandeur, --yet thatsame pile of stones we had never before even observed. This situation, it must be allowed, is not favourable to gaiety; but a pleasing hurry ofspirits accompanies the surprise occasioned by objects transformed, dilated, or distorted, as they are when seen through such a medium. Manyof the fragments of rock on the top and slopes of Kirkstone, and ofsimilar places, are fantastic enough in themselves; but the full effectof such impressions can only be had in a state of weather when they arenot likely to be _sought_ for. It was not till we had descendedconsiderably that the fields of Hartshope were seen, like a lake tingedby the reflection of sunny clouds: I mistook them for Brotherswater, but, soon after, we saw that lake gleaming faintly with a steellybrightness, --then, as we continued to descend, appeared the brown oaks, and the birches of lively yellow--and the cottages--and the lowly Hallof Hartshope, with its long roof and ancient chimneys. During great partof our way to Patterdale, we had rain, or rather drizzling vapour; forthere was never a drop upon our hair or clothes larger than the smallestpearls upon a lady's ring. 

The following morning, incessant rain till 11 o'clock, when the skybegan to clear, and we walked along the eastern shore of Ullswatertowards the farm of Blowick. The wind blew strong, and drove the cloudsforward, on the side of the mountain above our heads;--twostorm-stiffened black yew-trees fixed our notice, seen through, or underthe edge of, the flying mists, --four or five goats were bounding amongthe rocks;--the sheep moved about more quietly, or cowered beneath theirsheltering places. This is the only part of the country where goats arenow found;[66] but this morning, before we had seen these, I wasreminded of that picturesque animal by two rams of mountain breed, bothwith Ammonian horns, and with beards majestic as that which MichaelAngelo has given to his statue of Moses. --But to return; when our pathhad brought us to that part of the naked common which overlooks thewoods and bush-besprinkled fields of Blowick, the lake, clouds, andmists were all in motion to the sound of sweeping winds;--the church andcottages of Patterdale scarcely visible, or seen only by fits betweenthe shifting vapours. To the northward the scene was lessvisionary;--Place Fell steady and bold;--the whole lake driving onwardlike a great river--waves dancing round the small islands. The house atBlowick was the boundary of our walk; and we returned, lamenting to seea decaying and uncomfortable dwelling in a place where sublimity andbeauty seemed to contend with each other. But these regrets weredispelled by a glance on the woods that clothe the opposite steeps ofthe lake. How exquisite was the mixture of sober and splendid hues! Thegeneral colouring of the trees was brown--rather that of ripe hazelnuts; but towards the water, there were yet beds of green, and in thehighest parts of the wood, was abundance of yellow foliage, which, gleaming through a vapoury lustre, reminded us of masses of clouds, asyou see them gathered together in the west, and touched with the goldenlight of the setting sun. 

[66] A. D. 1835. These also have disappeared. 

After dinner we walked up the Vale; I had never had an idea of itsextent and width in passing along the public road on the other side. Wefollowed the path that leads from house to house; two or three times ittook us through some of those copses or groves that cover the littlehillocks in the middle of the vale, making an intricate and pleasingintermixture of lawn and wood. Our fancies could not resist thetemptation; and we fixed upon a spot for a cottage, which we began tobuild: and finished as easily as castles are raised in the air. --Visitedthe same spot in the evening. I shall say nothing of the moonlightaspect of the situation which had charmed us so much in the afternoon;but I wish you had been with us when, in returning to our friend'shouse, we espied his lady's large white dog, lying in the moonshine uponthe round knoll under the old yew-tree in the garden, a romanticimage--the dark tree and its dark shadow--and the elegant creature, asfair as a spirit! The torrents murmured softly: the mountains down whichthey were falling did not, to my sight, furnish a back-ground for thisOssianic picture; but I had a consciousness of the depth of theseclusion, and that mountains were embracing us on all sides; 'I sawnot, but I _felt_ that they were there. '

Friday, November 9th. --Rain, as yesterday, till 10 o'clock, when we tooka boat to row down the lake. The day improved, --clouds and sunny gleamson the mountains. In the large bay under Place Fell, three fishermenwere dragging a net, --picturesque group beneath the high and bare crags!A raven was seen aloft: not hovering like the kite, for that is not thehabit of the bird; but passing on with a straight-forward perseverance, and timing the motion of its wings to its own croaking. The waters wereagitated; and the iron tone of the raven's voice, which strikes upon theear at all times as the more dolorous from its regularity, was in finekeeping with the wild scene before our eyes. This carnivorous fowl is agreat enemy to the lambs of these solitudes; I recollect frequentlyseeing, when a boy, bunches of unfledged ravens suspended from thechurch-yard gates of H----, for which a reward of so much a head wasgiven to the adventurous destroyer. --The fishermen drew their netashore, and hundreds of fish were leaping in their prison. They were allof the kind called skellies, a sort of fresh-water herring, shoals ofwhich may sometimes be seen dimpling or rippling the surface of the lakein calm weather. This species is not found, I believe, in any other ofthese lakes; nor, as far as I know, is the chevin, that _spiritless_fish, (though I am loth to call it so, for it was a prime favourite withIsaac Walton, ) which must frequent Ullswater, as I have seen a largeshoal passing into the lake from the river Eamont. _Here_ are no pike, and the char are smaller than those of the other lakes, and of inferiorquality; but the grey trout attains a very large size, sometimesweighing above twenty pounds. This lordly creature seems to know that'retiredness is a piece of majesty;' for it is scarcely ever caught, oreven seen, except when it quits the depths of the lake in the spawningseason, and runs up into the streams, where it is too often destroyed indisregard of the law of the land and of Nature. 

Quitted the boat in the bay of Sandwyke, and pursued our way towardsMartindale along a pleasant path--at first through a coppice, borderingthe lake, then through green fields--and came to the village, (ifvillage it may be called, for the houses are few, and separated fromeach other, ) a sequestered spot, shut out from the view of the lake. Crossed the one-arched bridge, below the chapel, with its 'bare ring ofmossy wall, ' and single yew-tree. At the last house in the dale we weregreeted by the master, who was sitting at his door, with a flock ofsheep collected round him, for the purpose of smearing them with tar(according to the custom of the season) for protection against thewinter's cold. He invited us to enter, and view a room built by Mr. Hasell for the accommodation of his friends at the annual chase of reddeer in his forests at the head of these dales. The room is fitted upin the sportsman's style, with a cupboard for bottles and glasses, withstrong chairs, and a dining-table; and ornamented with the horns of thestags caught at these hunts for a succession of years--the length of thelast race each had run being recorded under his spreading antlers. Thegood woman treated us with oaten cake, new and crisp; and after thiswelcome refreshment and rest, we proceeded on our return to Patterdaleby a short cut over the mountains. On leaving the fields of Sandwyke, while ascending by a gentle slope along the valley of Martindale, we hadoccasion to observe that in thinly-peopled glens of this character thegeneral want of wood gives a peculiar interest to the scattered cottagesembowered in sycamore. Towards its head, this valley splits into twoparts; and in one of these (that to the left) there is no house, nor anybuilding to be seen but a cattle-shed on the side of a hill, which issprinkled over with trees, evidently the remains of an extensive forest. Near the entrance of the other division stands the house where we wereentertained, and beyond the enclosures of that farm there are no other. A few old trees remain, relics of the forest, a little stream hastens, though with serpentine windings, through the uncultivated hollow, wheremany cattle were pasturing. The cattle of this country are generallywhite, or light-coloured; but these were dark brown, or black, whichheightened the resemblance this scene bears to many parts of theHighlands of Scotland. --While we paused to rest upon the hill-side, though well contented with the quiet every-day sounds--the lowing ofcattle, bleating of sheep, and the very gentle murmuring of the valleystream, we could not but think what a grand effect the music of thebugle-horn would have among these mountains. It is still heard onceevery year, at the chase I have spoken of; a day of festivity for theinhabitants of this district except the poor deer, the most ancient ofthem all. Our ascent even to the top was very easy; when it wasaccomplished we had exceedingly fine views, some of the lofty Fellsbeing resplendent with sunshine, and others partly shrouded by clouds. Ullswater, bordered by black steeps, was of dazzling brightness; theplain beyond Penrith smooth and bright, or rather gleamy, as the sea orsea sands. Looked down into Boardale, which, like Stybarrow, has beennamed from the wild swine that formerly abounded here; but it has now nosylvan covert, being smooth and bare, a long, narrow, deep, cradle-shaped glen, lying so sheltered that one would be pleased to seeit planted by human hands, there being a sufficiency of soil; and thetrees would be sheltered almost like shrubs in a green-house. --Afterhaving walked some way along the top of the hill, came in view ofGlenriddin and the mountains at the head of Grisdale. --Before we beganto descend turned aside to a small ruin, called at this day the chapel, where it is said the inhabitants of Martindale and Patterdale wereaccustomed to assemble for worship. There are now no traces from whichyou could infer for what use the building had been erected; the loosestones and the few which yet continue piled up resemble those which lieelsewhere on the mountain; but the shape of the building having beenoblong, its remains differ from those of a common sheep-fold; and it hasstood east and west. Scarcely did the Druids, when they fled to thesefastnesses, perform their rites in any situation more exposed todisturbance from the elements. One cannot pass by without being remindedthat the rustic psalmody must have had the accompaniment of many awildly-whistling blast; and what dismal storms must have often drownedthe voice of the preacher! As we descend, Patterdale opens upon the eyein grand simplicity, screened by mountains, and proceeding from twoheads, Deep-dale and Hartshope, where lies the little lake ofBrotherswater, named in old maps Broaderwater, and probably rightly so;for Bassenthwaite-mere at this day is familiarly called Broadwater; butthe change in the appellation of this small lake or pool (if it be acorruption) may have been assisted by some melancholy accident similarto what happened about twenty years ago, when two brothers were drownedthere, having gone out to take their holiday pleasure upon the ice on anew-year's day. 

A rough and precipitous peat track brought us down to our friend'shouse. --Another fine moonlight night; but a thick fog rising from theneighbouring river, enveloped the rocky and wood-crested knoll on whichour fancy cottage had been erected; and, under the damp cast upon myfeelings, I consoled myself with moralising on the folly of hastydecisions in matters of importance, and the necessity of having at leastone year's knowledge of a place before you realise airy suggestions insolid stone. 

Saturday, November 10th. --At the breakfast-table tidings reached us ofthe death of Lord Nelson, and of the victory at Trafalgar. Sequesteredas we were from the sympathy of a crowd, we were shocked to hear thatthe bells had been ringing joyously at Penrith to celebrate the triumph. In the rebellion of the year 1745, people fled with their valuables fromthe open country to Patterdale, as a place of refuge secure from theincursions of strangers. At that time, news such as we had heard mighthave been long in penetrating so far into the recesses of the mountains;but now, as you know, the approach is easy, and the communication, insummer time, almost hourly: nor is this strange, for travellers afterpleasure are become not less active, and more numerous than those whoformerly left their homes for purposes of gain. The priest on the banksof the remotest stream of Lapland will talk familiarly of Buonaparte'slast conquests, and discuss the progress of the French revolution, having acquired much of his information from adventurers impelled bycuriosity alone. 

The morning was clear and cheerful after a night of sharp frost. At 10o'clock we took our way on foot towards Pooley Bridge, on the same sideof the lake we had coasted in a boat the day before. --Looked backwardsto the south from our favourite station above Blowick. The dazzlingsunbeams striking upon the church and village, while the earth wassteaming with exhalations not traceable in other quarters, renderedtheir forms even more indistinct than the partial and flitting veil ofunillumined vapour had done two days before. The grass on which we trod, and the trees in every thicket, were dripping with melted hoar-frost. Weobserved the lemon-coloured leaves of the birches, as the breeze turnedthem to the sun, sparkle, or rather _flash_, like diamonds, and theleafless purple twigs were tipped with globes of shining crystal. 

The day continued delightful, and unclouded to the end. I will notdescribe the country which we slowly travelled through, nor relate ouradventures: and will only add, that on the afternoon of the 13th wereturned along the banks of Ullswater by the usual road. The lake lay indeep repose after the agitations of a wet and stormy morning. The treesin Gowbarrow park were in that state when what is gained by thedisclosure of their bark and branches compensates, almost, for the lossof foliage, exhibiting the variety which characterises the point of timebetween autumn and winter. The hawthorns were leafless; their roundheads covered with rich scarlet berries, and adorned with arches ofgreen brambles, and eglantines hung with glossy hips; and the greytrunks of some of the ancient oaks, which in the summer season mighthave been regarded only for their venerable majesty, now attractednotice by a pretty embellishment of green mosses and fern intermixedwith russet leaves retained by those slender outstarting twigs which theveteran tree would not have tolerated in his strength. The smooth silverbranches of the ashes were bare; most of the alders as green as theDevonshire cottage-myrtle that weathers the snows of Christmas. --Willyou accept it as some apology for my having dwelt so long on thewoodland ornaments of these scenes--that artists speak of the trees onthe banks of Ullswater, and especially along the bays of Stybarrowcrags, as having a peculiar character of picturesque intricacy in theirstems and branches, which their rocky stations and the mountain windshave combined to give them?

At the end of Gowbarrow park a large herd of deer were either movingslowly or standing still among the fern. I was sorry when achance-companion, who had joined us by the way, startled them with awhistle, disturbing an image of grave simplicity and thoughtfulenjoyment; for I could have fancied that those natives of this wild andbeautiful region were partaking with us a sensation of the solemnity ofthe closing day. The sun had been set some time; and we could perceivethat the light was fading away from the coves of Helvellyn, but the lakeunder a luminous sky, was more brilliant than before. 

After tea at Patterdale, set out again:--a fine evening; the seven starsclose to the mountain-top; all the stars seemed brighter than usual. Thesteeps were reflected in Brotherswater, and, above the lake, appearedlike enormous black perpendicular walls. The Kirkstone torrents had beenswoln by the rains, and now filled the mountain pass with their roaring, which added greatly to the solemnity of our walk. Behind us, when we hadclimbed to a great height, we saw one light, very distinct, in the vale, like a large red star--a solitary one in the gloomy region. Thecheerfulness of the scene was in the sky above us. 

Reached home a little before midnight. The following verses (from theAuthor's Miscellaneous Poems, ) after what has just been read may beacceptable to the reader, by way of conclusion to this little Volume. 

ODE. 

THE PASS OF KIRKSTONE. 

 I. 

 Within the mind strong fancies work, A deep delight the bosom thrills, Oft as I pass along the fork Of these fraternal hills: Where, save the rugged road, we find No appanage of human kind; Nor hint of man, if stone or rock Seem not his handy-work to mock By something cognizably shaped; Mockery--or model roughly hewn, And left as if by earthquake strewn, Or from the Flood escaped: Altars for Druid service fit; (But where no fire was ever lit, Unless the glow-worm to the skies Thence offer nightly sacrifice;) Wrinkled Egyptian monument; Green moss-grown tower; or hoary tent; Tents of a camp that never shall be raised; On which four thousand years have gazed!

 II. 

 Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes! Ye snow-white lambs that trip Imprisoned 'mid the formal props Of restless ownership! Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall To feed the insatiate Prodigal! Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields, All that the fertile valley shields; Wages of folly--baits of crime, -- Of life's uneasy game the stake, Playthings that keep the eyes awake Of drowsy, dotard Time; O care! O guilt!--O vales and plains, Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains, A Genius dwells, that can subdue At once all memory of You, -- Most potent when mists veil the sky, Mists that distort and magnify; While the hoarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze, Sigh forth their ancient melodies!

 III. 

 List to those shriller notes!--_that_ march Perchance was on the blast, When through this Height's inverted arch, Rome's earliest legion passed! --They saw, adventurously impelled, And older eyes than theirs beheld, This block--and yon, whose Church-like frame Gives to the savage Pass its name. Aspiring Road! that lov'st to hide Thy daring in a vapoury bourn, Not seldom may the hour return When thou shalt be my Guide: And I (as often we find cause, When life is at a weary pause, And we have panted up the hill Of duty with reluctant will) Be thankful, even though tired and faint, For the rich bounties of Constraint; Whence oft invigorating transports flow That Choice lacked courage to bestow!

 IV. 

 My Soul was grateful for delight That wore a threatening brow; A veil is lifted--can she slight The scene that opens now? Though habitation none appear, The greenness tells, man must be there; The shelter--that the perspective Is of the clime in which we live; Where Toil pursues his daily round; Where Pity sheds sweet tears, and Love, In woodbine bower or birchen grove, Inflicts his tender wound. --Who comes not hither ne'er shall know How beautiful the world below; Nor can he guess how lightly leaps The brook adown the rocky steeps. Farewell, thou desolate Domain! Hope, pointing to the cultured Plain, Carols like a shepherd boy; And who is she?--Can that be Joy! Who, with a sun-beam for her guide, Smoothly skims the meadows wide; While Faith, from yonder opening cloud, To hill and vale proclaims aloud, 'Whate'er the weak may dread, the wicked dare, Thy lot, O man, is good, thy portion fair!'

_The Publishers, with permission of the Author, have added thefollowing_

ITINERARY OF THE LAKES, FOR THE USE OF TOURISTS. 

 * * * * *

STAGES. MILES. 

Lancaster to Kendal, by Kirkby Lonsdale 30Lancaster to Kendal, by Burton 22Lancaster to Kendal, by Milnthorpe 21Lancaster to Ulverston, over Sands 21Lancaster to Ulverston, by Levens Bridge 35-1/2Ulverston to Hawkshead, by Coniston Water Head 19Ulverston to Bowness, by Newby Bridge 17Hawkshead to Ambleside 5Hawkshead to Bowness 6Kendal to Ambleside 14Kendal to Ambleside, by Bowness 15From and back to Ambleside round the two Langdales 18Ambleside to Ullswater 10Ambleside to Keswick 16-1/4Keswick to Borrowdale, and round the Lake 12Keswick to Borrowdale and Buttermere 23Keswick to Wastdale and Calder Bridge 27Calder Bridge to Buttermere and Keswick 29Keswick, round Bassenthwaite Lake 18Keswick to Patterdale, Pooley Bridge, and Penrith 38Keswick to Pooley Bridge and Penrith 24Keswick to Penrith 17-1/2Whitehaven to Keswick 27Workington to Keswick 21Excursion from Penrith to Hawes Water 27Carlisle to Penrith 18Penrith to Kendal 26

 * * * * *

_Inns and Public Houses, when not mentioned, are marked thus *_. 

LANCASTER to KENDAL, by Kirkby Lonsdale, 30 miles. 

MILES. MILES. 5 Caton 5 2 Claughton 7 2 Hornby* 9 2 Melling 11 2 Tunstall 13 2 Burrow 15 2 Kirkby Lonsdale 1713 Kendal 30

INNS--_Lancaster_: King's Arms, Commercial Inn, Royal Oak. _KirkbyLonsdale_: Rose and Crown, Green Dragon. 

LANCASTER to KENDAL, by Burton, 21-3/4 miles. 

MILES. MILES. 10-3/4 Burton 10-3/44-3/4 Crooklands 15-1/21/2 End Moor* 165-3/4 Kendal 21-3/4

INNS: _Kendal_: King's Arms, Commercial Inn. _Burton_: Royal Oak, King's Arms. 

LANCASTER to KENDAL, by Milnthorpe, 21-1/4/miles. 

2-3/4 Slyne* 2-3/41-1/4 Bolton-le-Sands* 42 Carnforth* 62 Junction of the Milnthorpeand Burton roads 84 Hale* 121/2 Beethom* 12-1/21-1/4 Milnthorpe 13-3/41-1/4 Heversham* 151-1/2 Levens-Bridge 16-1/24-3/4 Kendal 21-1/4

INN--_Milnthorpe_: Cross Keys. LANCASTER to ULVERSTON, over Sands, 21 miles. 

3-1/2 Hest Bank* 3-1/21/4 Lancaster Sands 3-3/49 Kent's Bank 12-3/41 Lower Allithwaite 13-3/41-1/4 Flookburgh* 153/4 Cark 15-3/41/4 Leven Sands 165 Ulverston 21

INNS--_Ulverston_: Sun Inn, Bradyll's Arms. 

LANCASTER to ULVERSTON, by Levens-Bridge, 35-1/2 miles. 

12 Hale* 121/2 Beethom* 12-1/21-1/4 Milnthorpe 13-3/41-1/4 Heversham* 152-3/4 Levens-Bridge 16-1/24 Witherslack* 20-1/23 Lindal* 232 Newton* 252 Newby-Bridge* 27-1/22 Low Wood 29-1/23 Greenodd 32-1/23 Ulverston 35-1/2

ULVERSTON to HAWKSHEAD, by Coniston Water-Head, 19 miles. 

6 Lowick-Bridge 62 Nibthwaite 88 Coniston Water-Head* 163 Hawkshead 19

INN--_Hawkshead_: Red Lion. 

ULVERSTON to BOWNESS, by Newby-Bridge, 16 miles. 

3 Greenodd 33 Low Wood 62 Newby-Bridge 88 Bowness 16

INNS--_Bowness_: White Lion, Crown Inn. 

HAWKSHEAD to AMBLESIDE, 5 miles. 

HAWKSHEAD to BOWNESS, 5-1/2 miles. 

2 Sawrey 22 Windermere-ferry* 41-1/2 Bowness 5-1/2

KENDAL to AMBLESIDE, 13-1/2 miles. 

5 Staveley* 51-1/2 Ings Chapel 6-1/22 Orrest-head 8-1/21-1/2 Troutbeck-Bridge* 102 Low Wood Inn 121-1/2 Ambleside 13-1/2

INNS--_Ambleside_: Salutation Hotel, Commercial Inn. 

KENDAL to AMBLESIDE, by Bowness, 15 miles. 

MILES. MILES. 4 Crook* 42 Gilpin-Bridge* 63 Bowness 92-1/2 Troutbeck-Bridge 11-1/22 Low Wood Inn 13-1/21-1/2 Ambleside 15

A Circuit from and back to AMBLESIDE, by Little and Great Langdale, 18 miles. 

3 Skelwith-Bridge* 32 Colwith Cascade 53 Blea Tarn 83 Dungeon Ghyll 112 Langdale Chapel Stile* 135 By High Close and Rydal to Ambleside 18

AMBLESIDE to ULLSWATER, 10 miles. 

4 Top of Kirkstone 43 Kirkstone Foot 73 Inn at Patterdale 10

AMBLESIDE to KESWICK, 16-1/4 miles. 

1-1/2 Rydal 1-1/23-1/2 Swan, Grassmere* 52 Dunmail Raise 71-1/4 Nag's Head, Wythburn 8-1/44 Smalthwaite-Bridge 12-1/43 Castlerigg 15-1/41 Keswick 16-1/4

 * * * * *

EXCURSIONS FROM KESWICK. 

INNS--_Keswick_: Royal Oak, Queen's Head. 

To BORROWDALE, and ROUND THE LAKE, 12 miles. 

2 Barrow House 21 Lowdore 31 Grange 41 Bowder Stone 51 Return to Grange 64-1/2 Portinscale 10-1/21-1/2 Keswick 12

To BORROWDALE and BUTTERMERE. 

5 Bowder Stone 51 Rosthwaite 62 Seatoller 84 Gatesgarth 122 Buttermere* 149 Keswick, by Newlands 23

Two Days' Excursion to WASTDALE, ENNERDALE, and LOWES-WATER. 

_First Day. _

6 Rosthwaite 62 Seatoller 81 Seathwaite 93 Sty-head 122 Wastdale-head 146 Strands, * Nether Wastdale 204 Gosforth* 243 Calder-Bridge* 27

_Second Day. _

7 Ennerdale-Bridge 73 Lamplugh Cross* 104 Lowes-Water 142 Scale-hill* 164 Buttermere* 209 Keswick 29

KESWICK round BASSENTHWAITE WATER. 

MILES. MILES. 

8 Peel Wyke* 81 Ouse-Bridge 91 Castle Inn 103 Bassenthwaite Sandbed 135 Keswick 18

KESWICK to PATTERDALE, and by Pooley-Bridge to PENRITH. 

10 Springfield* 10 7 Gowbarrow Park 17 5 Patterdale* 2210 Pooley--Bridge* through Gowbarrow Park 32 6 Penrith 38

INNS--_Penrith_: Crown Inn, the George. 

KESWICK to POOLEY-BRIDGE and PENRITH. 

12 Penruddock* 123 Dacre* 153 Pooley-Bridge 186 Penrith 24

KESWICK to PENRITH, 17-1/2 miles. 

4 Threlkeld* 47-1/2 Penruddock 11-1/23-1/2 Stainton* 152-1/2 Penrith 17-1/2

* * * * *

WHITEHAVEN to KESWICK, 27 miles. 

2 Moresby 22 Distington 42 Winscales 63 Little Clifton 95 Cockermouth 142-1/2 Embleton 16-1/26-1/2 Thornthwaite 234 Keswick 27

INNS--_Whitehaven_: Black Lion, Golden Lion, the Globe. _Cockermouth_:The Globe, the Sun. 

WORKINGTON to KESWICK, 21 miles. 

The road joins that from Whitehaven to Keswick 4 miles from Workington. 

INNS--_Workington_: Green Dragon, New Crown, King's Arms. 

Excursion from PENRITH to HAWESWATER. 

5 Lowther, or Askham* 57 By Bampton* to Haweswater 124 Return by Butterswick 165 Over Moor Dovack to Pooley 216 By Dalemain to Penrith 27

CARLISLE to PENRITH, 18 miles. 

2-1/2 Carlton* 2-1/27 Low Hesket* 9-1/21-1/2 High Hesket* 112 Plumpton* 135 Penrith 18

INNS--_Carlisle_: The Bush Coffee-House, King's Arms. 

PENRITH to KENDAL, 26 miles. 

1 Eamont-Bridge* 11-1/2 Clifton* 2-1/22 Hackthorpe* 4-1/25-3/4 Shap 10-1/46-3/4 Hawse Foot* 174 Plough Inn* 212-1/2 Skelsmergh Stocks* 23-1/22-1/2 Kendal 26

INNS--_Shap_: Greyhound, King's Arms. 

KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY. 

 * * * * *

TWO LETTERS

RE-PRINTED FROM THE MORNING POST. 

REVISED, WITH ADDITIONS. 

 * * * * *

KENDAL:

PRINTED BY E. BRANTHWAITE AND SON. 

[1844. ]

NOTE. 

See Preface in Vol. I. For details on these Letters, &c. G. 

SONNET ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY. 

 Is then no nook of English ground secure From rash assault? Schemes of retirement sown In youth, and mid the busy world kept pure As when their earliest flowers of hope were blown, Must perish;--how can they this blight endure? And must he too the ruthless change bemoan Who scorns a false utilitarian lure Mid his paternal fields at random thrown? Baffle the threat, bright Scene, from Orrest-head Given to the pausing traveller's rapturous glance: Plead for thy peace, thou beautiful romance Of nature; and, if human hearts be dead, Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your strong And constant voice, protest against the wrong. 

 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Rydal Mount, October 12th, 1844. 

The degree and kind of attachment which many of the yeomanry feel totheir small inheritances can scarcely be over-rated. Near the house ofone of them stands a magnificent tree, which a neighbour of the owneradvised him to fell for profit's sake. 'Fell it, ' exclaimed the yeoman, 'I had rather fall on my knees and worship it. ' It happens, I believe, that the intended railway would pass through this little property, and Ihope that an apology for the answer will not be thought necessary by onewho enters into the strength of the feeling. 

W. W. 

KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY. 

 * * * * *

No. I. 

 _To the Editor of the 'Morning Post. '_

SIR, Some little time ago you did me the favour of inserting a sonnetexpressive of the regret and indignation which, in common with othersall over these Islands, I felt at the proposal of a railway to extendfrom Kendal to Low Wood, near the head of Windermere. The project was sooffensive to a large majority of the proprietors through whose lands theline, after it came in view of the Lake, was to pass, that, for thisreason, and the avowed one of the heavy expense without which thedifficulties in the way could not be overcome, it has been partiallyabandoned, and the terminus is now announced to be at a spot within amile of Bowness. But as no guarantee can be given that the project willnot hereafter be revived, and an attempt made to carry the line forwardthrough the vales of Ambleside and Grasmere, and as in one mainparticular the case remains essentially the same, allow me to addressyou upon certain points which merit more consideration than thefavourers of the scheme have yet given them. The matter, thoughseemingly local, is really one in which all persons of taste must beinterested, and, therefore, I hope to be excused if I venture to treatit at some length. 

I shall barely touch upon the statistics of the question, leaving theseto the two adverse parties, who will lay their several statements beforethe Board of Trade, which may possibly be induced to refer the matter tothe House of Commons; and, contemplating that possibility, I hope thatthe observations I have to make may not be altogether without influenceupon the public, and upon individuals whose duty it may be to decide intheir place whether the proposed measure shall be referred to aCommittee of the House. Were the case before us an ordinary one, Ishould reject such an attempt as presumptuous and futile; but it is notonly different from all others, but, in truth, peculiar. 

In this district the manufactures are trifling; mines it has none, andits quarries are either wrought out or superseded; the soil is light, and the cultivateable parts of the country are very limited; so that ithas little to send out, and little has it also to receive. SummerTOURISTS, (and the very word precludes the notion of a railway) it hasin abundance; but the inhabitants are so few and their intercourse withother places so infrequent, that one daily coach, which could not bekept going but through its connection with the Post-office, suffices forthree-fourths of the year along the line of country as far as Keswick. The staple of the district is, in fact, its beauty and its character ofseclusion and retirement; and to these topics and to others connectedwith them my remarks shall be confined. 

The projectors have induced many to favour their schemes by declaringthat one of their main objects is to place the beauties of the Lakedistrict within easier reach of those who cannot afford to pay forordinary conveyances. Look at the facts. Railways are completed, which, joined with others in rapid progress, will bring travellers who preferapproaching by Ullswater to within four miles of that lake. TheLancaster and Carlisle Railway will approach the town of Kendal, abouteight or nine miles from eminences that command the whole vale ofWindermere. The Lakes are therefore at present of very easy access for_all_ persons; but if they be not made still more so, the poor, it issaid, will be wronged. Before this be admitted let the question befairly looked into, and its different bearings examined. No one canassert that, if this intended mode of approach be not effected, anythingwill be taken away that is actually possessed. The wrong, if any, mustlie in the unwarrantable obstruction of an attainable benefit. First, then, let us consider the probable amount of that benefit. 

Elaborate gardens, with topiary works, were in high request, even amongour remote ancestors, but the relish for choice and picturesque natural_scenery_ (a poor and mean word which requires an apology, but will begenerally understood), is quite of recent origin. Our earliertravellers--Ray, the naturalist, one of the first men of his age--BishopBurnet, and others who had crossed the Alps, or lived some time inSwitzerland, are silent upon the sublimity and beauty of those regions;and Burnet even uses these words, speaking of the Grisons--'When theyhave made up estates elsewhere they are glad to leave Italy and the bestparts of Germany, and to come and live among those mountains of whichthe very sight is enough to fill a man with horror. ' The accomplishedEvelyn, giving an account of his journey from Italy through the Alps, dilates upon the terrible, the melancholy, and the uncomfortable; but, till he comes to the fruitful country in the neighbourhood of Geneva, not a syllable of delight or praise. In the _Sacra Telluris Theoria_ ofthe other Burnet there is a passage--omitted, however, in his ownEnglish translation of the work--in which he gives utterance to hissensations, when, from a particular spot he beheld a tract of the Alpsrising before him on the one hand, and on the other the MediterraneanSea spread beneath him. Nothing can be worthier of the magnificentappearances he describes than his language. In a noble strain also doesthe Poet Gray address, in a Latin Ode, the _Religio loci_ at the GrandeChartruise. But before his time, with the exception of the passage fromThomas Burnet just alluded to, there is not, I believe, a single Englishtraveller whose published writings would disprove the assertion, that, where precipitous rocks and mountains are mentioned at all, they arespoken of as objects of dislike and fear, and not of admiration. EvenGray himself, describing, in his Journal, the steeps at the entrance ofBorrowdale, expresses his terror in the language of Dante:--'Let us notspeak of them, but look and pass on. ' In my youth, I lived some time inthe vale of Keswick, under the roof of a shrewd and sensible woman, whomore than once exclaimed in my hearing, 'Bless me! folk are alwaystalking about prospects: when I was young there was never sic a thingneamed. ' In fact, our ancestors, as every where appears, in choosing thesite of their houses, looked only at shelter and convenience, especiallyof water, and often would place a barn or any other out-house directlyin front of their habitations, however beautiful the landscape whichtheir windows might otherwise have commanded. The first house that wasbuilt in the Lake district for the sake of the beauty of the countrywas the work of a Mr. English, who had travelled in Italy, and chose forhis site, some eighty years ago, the great island of Windermere; but itwas sold before his building was finished, and he showed how little hewas capable of appreciating the character of the situation by setting upa length of high garden-wall, as exclusive as it was ugly, almost closeto the house. The nuisance was swept away when the late Mr. Curwenbecame the owner of this favoured spot. Mr. English was followed by Mr. Pocklington, a native of Nottinghamshire, who played strange pranks byhis buildings and plantations upon Vicar's Island, in Derwent-water, which his admiration, such as it was, of the country, and probably awish to be a leader in a new fashion, had tempted him to purchase. Butwhat has all this to do with the subject?--Why, to show that a vividperception of romantic scenery is neither inherent in mankind, nor anecessary consequence of even a comprehensive education. It is benignlyordained that green fields, clear blue skies, running streams of purewater, rich groves and woods, orchards, and all the ordinary varietiesof rural Nature, should find an easy way to the affections of all men, and more or less so from early childhood till the senses are impaired byold age and the sources of mere earthly enjoyment have in a greatmeasure failed. But a taste beyond this, however desirable it may bethat every one should possess it, is not to be implanted at once; itmust be gradually developed both in nations and individuals. Rocks andmountains, torrents and wide-spread waters, and all those features ofNature which go to the composition of such scenes as this part ofEngland is distinguished for, cannot, in their finer relations to thehuman mind, be comprehended, or even very imperfectly conceived, withoutprocesses of culture or opportunities of observation in some degreehabitual. In the eye of thousands and tens of thousands, a rich meadow, with fat cattle grazing upon it, or the sight of what they would call aheavy crop of corn, is worth all that the Alps and Pyrenees in theirutmost grandeur and beauty could show to them; and, notwithstanding thegrateful influence, as we have observed, of ordinary Nature and theproductions of the fields, it is noticeable what trifling conventionalprepossessions will, in common minds, not only preclude pleasure fromthe sight of natural beauty, but will even turn it into an object ofdisgust. 'If I had to do with this garden, ' said a respectable person, one of my neighbours, 'I would sweep away all the black and dirty stufffrom that wall. ' The wall was backed by a bank of earth, and wasexquisitely decorated with ivy, flowers, moss, and ferns, such as growof themselves in like places; but the mere notion of fitness associatedwith a trim garden-wall prevented, in this instance, all sense of thespontaneous bounty and delicate care of Nature. In the midst of a smallpleasure-ground, immediately below my house, rises a detached rock, equally remarkable for the beauty of its form, the ancient oaks thatgrow out of it, and the flowers and shrubs which adorn it. 'What a niceplace would this be, ' said a Manchester tradesman, pointing to the rock, 'if that ugly lump were but out of the way. ' Men as little advanced inthe pleasure which such objects give to others are so far from beingrare, that they may be said fairly to represent a large majority ofmankind. This is a fact, and none but the deceiver and the willinglydeceived can be offended by its being stated. But as a more susceptibletaste is undoubtedly a great acquisition, and has been spreading amongus for some years, the question is, what means are most likely to bebeneficial in extending its operation? Surely that good is not to beobtained by transferring at once uneducated persons in large bodies toparticular spots, where the combinations of natural objects are such aswould afford the greatest pleasure to those who have been in the habitof observing and studying the peculiar character of such scenes, and howthey differ one from another. Instead of tempting artisans andlabourers, and the humbler classes of shopkeepers, to ramble to adistance, let us rather look with lively sympathy upon persons in thatcondition, when, upon a holiday, or on the Sunday, after having attendeddivine worship, they make little excursions with their wives andchildren among neighbouring fields, whither the whole of each familymight stroll, or be conveyed at much less cost than would be required totake a single individual of the number to the shores of Windermere bythe cheapest conveyance. It is in some such way as this only, thatpersons who must labour daily with their hands for bread in large towns, or are subject to confinement through the week, can be trained to aprofitable intercourse with Nature where she is the most distinguishedby the majesty and sublimity of her forms. 

For further illustration of the subject, turn to what we know of a manof extraordinary genius, who was bred to hard labour in agriculturalemployments, Burns, the poet. When he had become distinguished by thepublication of a volume of verses, and was enabled to travel by theprofit his poems brought him, he made a tour, in the course of which, ashis companion, Dr. Adair, tells us, he visited scenes inferior to nonein Scotland in beauty, sublimity, and romantic interest; and the Doctorhaving noticed, with other companions, that he seemed little moved uponone occasion by the sight of such a scene, says--'I doubt if he had muchtaste for the picturesque. ' The personal testimony, however, upon thispoint is conflicting; but when Dr. Currie refers to certain local poemsas decisive proofs that Burns' fellow-traveller was mistaken, thebiographer is surely unfortunate. How vague and tame are the poet'sexpressions in those few local poems, compared with his language when heis describing objects with which his position in life allowed him to befamiliar! It appears, both from what his works contain, and from what isnot to be found in them, that, sensitive as they abundantly prove hismind to have been in its intercourse with common rural images, and withthe general powers of Nature exhibited in storm and in stillness, inlight or darkness, and in the various aspects of the seasons, he waslittle affected by the sight of one spot in preference to another, unless where it derived an interest from history, tradition, or localassociations. He lived many years in Nithsdale, where he was in dailysight of Skiddaw, yet he never crossed the Solway for a betteracquaintance with that mountain; and I am persuaded that, if he had beeninduced to ramble among our Lakes, by that time sufficiently celebrated, he would have seldom been more excited than by some ordinary Scottishstream or hill with a tradition attached to it, or which had been thescene of a favourite ballad or love song. If all this be truly said ofsuch a man, and the like cannot be denied of the eminent individualsbefore named, who to great natural talents added the accomplishments ofscholarship or science, then what ground is there for maintaining thatthe poor are treated with disrespect, or wrong done to them or any classof visitants, if we be reluctant to introduce a railway into thiscountry for the sake of lessening, by eight or nine miles only, thefatigue or expense of their journey to Windermere?--And wherever anyone among the labouring classes has made even an approach to thesensibility which drew a lamentation from Burns when he had uprooted adaisy with his plough, and caused him to turn the 'weeder-clips aside'from the thistle, and spare 'the symbol dear' of his country, thensurely such a one, could he afford by any means to travel as far asKendal, would not grudge a two hours' walk across the skirts of thebeautiful country that he was desirous of visiting. 

The wide-spread waters of these regions are in their nature peaceful; soare the-steep mountains and the rocky glens; nor can they be profitablyenjoyed but by a mind disposed to peace. Go to a pantomime, a farce, ora puppet-show, if you want noisy pleasure--the crowd of spectators whopartake your enjoyment will, by their presence and acclamations, enhanceit; but may those who have given proof that they prefer othergratifications continue to be safe from the molestation of cheap trainspouring out their hundreds at a time along the margin of Windermere; norlet any one be liable to the charge of being selfishly disregardful ofthe poor, and their innocent and salutary enjoyments, if he does notcongratulate himself upon the especial benefit which would thus beconferred on such a concourse. 

 O, Nature, a' thy shows an' forms, To feeling pensive hearts hae charms!

So exclaimed the Ayrshire ploughman, speaking of ordinary rural Natureunder the varying influences of the seasons, and the sentiment has foundan echo in the bosoms of thousands in as humble a condition as hehimself was when he gave vent to it. But then they were feeling, pensivehearts; men who would be among the first to lament the facility withwhich they had approached this region, by a sacrifice of so much of itsquiet and beauty, as, from the intrusion of a railway, would beinseparable. What can, in truth, be more absurd, than that either richor poor should be spared the trouble of travelling by the high roadsover so short a space, according to their respective means, if theunavoidable consequence must be a great disturbance of the retirement, and in many places a destruction of the beauty of the country, which theparties are come in search of? Would not this be pretty much like thechild's cutting up his drum to learn where the sound came from?

Having, I trust, given sufficient reason for the belief that theimperfectly educated classes are not likely to draw much good from rarevisits to the Lakes performed in this way, and surely on their ownaccount it is not desirable that the visits should be frequent, let usglance at the mischief which such facilities would certainly produce. The directors of railway companies are always ready to devise orencourage entertainments for tempting the humbler classes to leave theirhomes. Accordingly, for the profit of the shareholders and that of thelower class of innkeepers, we should have wrestling matches, horse andboat races without number, and pot-houses and beer-shops would keep pacewith these excitements and recreations, most of which might too easilybe had elsewhere. The injury which would thus be done to morals, bothamong this influx of strangers and the lower class of inhabitants, isobvious; and, supposing such extraordinary temptations not to be heldout, there cannot be a doubt that the Sabbath day in the towns ofBowness and Ambleside, and other parts of the district, would be subjectto much additional desecration. 

Whatever comes of the scheme which we have endeavoured todiscountenance, the charge against its opponents of being selfishlyregardless of the poor, ought to cease. The cry has been raised and keptup by three classes of persons--they who wish to bring into discreditall such as stand in the way of their gains or gambling speculations;they who are dazzled by the application of physical science to theuseful arts, and indiscriminately applaud what they call the spirit ofthe age as manifested in this way; and, lastly, those persons who areever ready to step forward in what appears to them to be the cause ofthe poor, but not always with becoming attention to particulars. I amwell aware that upon the first class what has been said will be of noavail, but upon the two latter some impression will, I trust, be made. 

To conclude. The railway power, we know well, will not admit of beingmaterially counteracted by sentiment; and who would wish it where largetowns are connected, and the interests of trade and agriculture aresubstantially promoted, by such mode of intercommunication? But be itremembered, that this case is, as has been said before, a peculiar one, and that the staple of the country is its beauty and its character ofretirement. Let then the beauty be undisfigured and the retirementunviolated, unless there be reason for believing that rights andinterests of a higher kind and more apparent than those which have beenurged in behalf of the projected intrusion will compensate thesacrifice. Thanking you for the judicious observations that haveappeared in your paper upon the subject of railways, I remain, Sir, Your obliged, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

Rydal Mount, Dec. 9, 1844. 

NOTE. --To the instances named in this letter of the indifference even ofmen of genius to the sublime forms of Nature in mountainous districts, the author of the interesting Essays, in the _Morning Post_, entitledTable Talk has justly added Goldsmith, and I give the passage in his ownwords. 

'The simple and gentle-hearted Goldsmith, who had an exquisite sense ofrural beauty in the familiar forms of hill and dale, and meadows withtheir hawthorn-scented hedges, does not seem to have dreamt of any suchthing as beauty in the Swiss Alps, though he traversed them on foot, andhad therefore the best opportunities of observing them. In his poem "TheTraveller, " he describes the Swiss as loving their mountain homes, notby reason of the romantic beauty of the situation, but in spite of themiserable character of the soil, and the stormy horrors of theirmountain steeps--

 Turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread, And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. No produce here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword: No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter lingering chills the lap of May; No Zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, But meteors glare and stormy glooms invest. Yet still, _even here_, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. '

In the same Essay, (December 18th, 1844, ) are many observationsjudiciously bearing upon the true character of this and similarprojects. 

No. II. 

_To the Editor of the 'Morning Post. '_

Sir, As you obligingly found space in your journal for observations of mineupon the intended Kendal and Windermere Railway, I venture to send yousome further remarks upon the same subject. The scope of the mainargument, it will be recollected, was to prove that the perception ofwhat has acquired the name of picturesque and romantic scenery is so farfrom being intuitive, that it can be produced only by a slow and gradualprocess of culture; and to show, as a consequence, that the humblerranks of society are not, and cannot be, in a state to gain materialbenefit from a more speedy access than they now have to this beautifulregion. Some of our opponents dissent from this latter proposition, though the most judicious of them readily admit the former; but then, overlooking not only positive assertions, but reasons carefully given, they say, 'As you allow that a more comprehensive taste is desirable, you ought to side with us;' and they illustrate their position, byreference to the British Museum and National Picture Gallery. 'There, 'they add, 'thanks to the easy entrance now granted, numbers are seen, indicating by their dress and appearance their humble condition, who, when admitted for the first time, stare vacantly around them, so thatone is inclined to ask what brought them hither? But an impression ismade, something gained which may induce them to repeat the visit untillight breaks in upon them, and they take an intelligent interest in whatthey behold. ' Persons who talk thus forget that, to produce such animprovement, frequent access at small cost of time and labour isindispensable. Manchester lies, perhaps, within eight hours' railwaydistance of London; but surely no one would advise that Manchesteroperatives should contract a habit of running to and fro between thattown and London, for the sake of forming an intimacy with the BritishMuseum and National Gallery? No, no; little would all but a very fewgain from the opportunities which, consistently with common sense, could be afforded them for such expeditions. Nor would it fare betterwith them in respect of trips to the lake district; an assertion, thetruth of which no one can doubt, who has learned by experience how manymen of the same or higher rank, living from their birth in this veryregion, are indifferent to those objects around them in which acultivated taste takes so much pleasure. I should not have detained thereader so long upon this point, had I not heard (glad tidings for thedirectors and traffickers in shares!) that among the affluent andbenevolent manufacturers of Yorkshire and Lancashire are some whoalready entertain the thought of sending, at their own expense, largebodies of their workmen, by railway, to the banks of Windermere. Surelythose gentlemen will think a little more before they put such a schemeinto practice. The rich man cannot benefit the poor, nor the superiorthe inferior, by anything that degrades him. Packing off men after thisfashion, for holiday entertainment, is, in fact, treating them likechildren. They go at the will of their master, and must return at thesame, or they will be dealt with as transgressors. 

A poor man, speaking of his son, whose time of service in the army wasexpired, once said to me, (the reader will be startled at theexpression, and I, indeed, was greatly shocked by it), 'I am glad he hasdone with that _mean_ way of life. ' But I soon gathered what was at thebottom of the feeling. The father overlooked all the glory that attachesto the character of a British soldier, in the consciousness that hisson's will must have been in so great a degree subject to that ofothers. The poor man felt where the true dignity of his species lay, namely, in a just proportion between actions governed by a man's owninclinations and those of other men; but, according to the father'snotion, that proportion did not exist in the course of life from whichhis son had been released. Had the old man known from experience thedegree of liberty allowed to the common soldier, and the moral effect ofthe obedience required, he would have thought differently, and had hebeen capable of extending his views, he would have felt how much of thebest and noblest part of our civic spirit was owing to our military andnaval institutions, and that perhaps our very existence as a free peoplehad by them been maintained. This extreme instance has been adduced toshow how deeply seated in the minds of Englishmen is their sense ofpersonal independence. Master-manufacturers ought never to lose sight ofthis truth. Let them consent to a Ten Hours' Bill, with little or, ifpossible, no diminution of wages, and the necessaries of life being moreeasily procured, the mind will develope itself accordingly, and eachindividual would be more at liberty to make at his own cost excursionsin any direction which might be most inviting to him. There would thenbe no need for their masters sending them in droves scores of miles fromtheir homes and families to the borders of Windermere, or anywhere else. Consider also the state of the lake district; and look, in the firstplace, at the little town of Bowness, in the event of such railwayinundations. What would become of it in this, not the Retreat, but theAdvance, of the Ten Thousand? Leeds, I am told, has sent as many at onceto Scarborough. We should have the whole of Lancashire, and no smallpart of Yorkshire, pouring in upon us to meet the men of Durham, and theborderers from Cumberland and Northumberland. Alas, alas, if the lakesare to pay this penalty for their own attractions!

 --Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring, And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king. 

The fear of adding to the length of my last long letter prevented mefrom entering into details upon private and personal feelings among theresidents, who have cause to lament the threatened intrusion. These arenot matters to be brought before a Board of Trade, though I trust therewill always be of that board members who know well that as we do 'notlive by bread alone, ' so neither do we live by political economy alone. Of the present Board I would gladly believe there is not one who, if hisduty allowed it, would not be influenced by considerations of what maybe felt by a gallant officer now serving on the coast of South America, when he shall learn that the nuisance, though not intended actually toenter his property, will send its omnibuses, as fast as they can drive, within a few yards of his modest abode, which he built upon a smalldomain purchased at a price greatly enhanced by the privacy and beautyof the situation. Professor Wilson (him I take the liberty to name), though a native of Scotland, and familiar with the grandeur of his owncountry, could not resist the temptation of settling long ago among ourmountains. The place which his public duties have compelled him to quitas a residence, and may compel him to part with, is probably dearer tohim than any spot upon earth. The reader should be informed with whatrespect he has been treated. Engineer agents, to his astonishment, cameand intruded with their measuring instruments, upon his garden. He sawthem; and who will not admire the patience that kept his hands fromtheir shoulders? I must stop. 

But with the fear before me of the line being carried; at a day notdistant, through the whole breadth of the district, I could dwell, withmuch concern for other residents, upon the condition which they would bein if that outrage should be committed; nor ought it to be deemedimpertinent were I to recommend this point to the especial regard ofMembers of Parliament who may have to decide upon the question. The twoHouses of Legislature have frequently shown themselves not unmindful ofprivate feeling in these matters. They have, in some cases, been inducedto spare parks and pleasure grounds. But along the great railway linesthese are of rare occurrence. They are but a part, and a small part;here it is far otherwise. Among the ancient inheritances of the yeomen, surely worthy of high respect, are interspersed through the entiredistrict villas, most of them with such small domains attached that theoccupants would be hardly less annoyed by a railway passing throughtheir neighbour's ground than through their own. And it would beunpardonable not to advert to the effect of this measure on theinterests of the very poor in this locality. With the town of Bowness Ihave no _minute_ acquaintance; but of Ambleside, Grasmere, and theneighbourhood, I can testify from long experience, that they have beenfavoured by the residence of a gentry whose love of retirement has beena blessing to these vales; for their families have ministered, and stillminister, to the temporal and spiritual necessities of the poor, andhave personally superintended the education of the children in a degreewhich does those benefactors the highest honour, and which is, I trust, gratefully acknowledged in the hearts of all whom they have relieved, employed, and taught. Many of those friends of our poor would quit thiscountry if the apprehended change were realised, and would be succeededby strangers not linked to the neighbourhood, but flitting to and frobetween their fancy villas and the homes where their wealth wasaccumulated and accumulating by trade and manufactures. It is obviousthat persons, so unsettled, whatever might be their good wishes andreadiness to part with money for charitable purposes, would ill supplythe loss of the inhabitants who had been driven away. 

It will be felt by those who think with me upon this occasion that Ihave been writing on behalf of a social condition which no one who iscompetent to judge of it will be willing to subvert, and that I havebeen endeavouring to support moral sentiments and intellectual pleasuresof a high order against an enmity which seems growing more and moreformidable every day; I mean 'Utilitarianism, ' serving as a mask forcupidity and gambling speculations. My business with this evil lies inits reckless mode of action by Railways, now its favourite instruments. Upon good authority I have been told that there was lately an intentionof driving one of these pests, as they are likely too often to prove, through a part of the magnificent ruins of Furness Abbey--an outragewhich was prevented by some one pointing out how easily a deviationmight be made; and the hint produced its due effect upon the engineer. 

Sacred as that relic of the devotion of our ancestors deserves to bekept, there are temples of Nature, temples built by the Almighty, whichhave a still higher claim to be left unviolated. Almost every reach ofthe winding vales in this district might once have presented itself to aman of imagination and feeling under that aspect, or, as the Vale ofGrasmere appeared to the Poet Gray more than seventy years ago. 'Noflaring gentleman's-house, ' says he, 'nor garden-walls break in upon therepose of this little unsuspected _paradise_, but all is peace, ' &c. , &c. Were the Poet now living, how would he have lamented the probableintrusion of a railway with its scarifications, its intersections, itsnoisy machinery, its smoke, and swarms of pleasure-hunters, most of themthinking that they do not fly fast enough through the country which theyhave come to see. Even a broad highway may in some places greatly impairthe characteristic beauty of the country, as will be readilyacknowledged by those who remember what the Lake of Grasmere was beforethe new road that runs along its eastern margin had been constructed. 

 Quanto praestantias esset Numen aquae viridi si margina clauderet undas Herba--

As it once was, and fringed with wood, instead of the breastwork of barewall that now confines it. In the same manner has the beauty, and stillmore the sublimity of many Passes in the Alps been injuriously affected. Will the reader excuse a quotation from a MS. Poem in which I attemptedto describe the impression made upon my mind by the descent towardsItaly along the Simplon before the new military road had taken the placeof the old muleteer track with its primitive simplicities?

 Brook and road Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass, And with them did we journey several hours At a slow step. The immeasurable height Of woods decaying, never to be decayed, The stationary blasts of waterfalls. And in the narrow rent, at every turn, Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn, The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky, The rocks that muttered close upon our ears, Black drizzling crags that spake by the way-side As if a voice were in them, the sick sight And giddy prospect of the raving stream, The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens, Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light, Were all like workings of one mind, the features Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree, Characters of the great Apocalypse, The types and symbols of Eternity, Of first, and last, and midst, and without end. 1799. 

Thirty years afterwards I crossed the Alps by the same Pass: and whathad become of the forms and powers to which I had been indebted forthose emotions? Many of them remained of course undestroyed andindestructible. But, though the road and torrent continued to runparallel to each other, their fellowship was put an end to. The streamhad dwindled into comparative insignificance, so much had Art interferedwith and taken the lead of Nature; and although the utility of the newwork, as facilitating the intercourse of great nations, was readilyacquiesced in, and the workmanship, in some places, could not but exciteadmiration, it was impossible to suppress regret for what had vanishedfor ever. The oratories heretofore not unfrequently met with, on a roadstill somewhat perilous, were gone; the simple and rude bridges sweptaway; and instead of travellers proceeding, with leisure to observe andfeel, were pilgrims of fashion hurried along in their carriages, not afew of them perhaps discussing the merits of 'the last new Novel, ' orporing over their Guide-books, or fast asleep. Similar remarks might beapplied to the mountainous country of Wales; but there too, the plea ofutility, especially as expediting the communication between England andIreland, more than justifies the labours of the Engineer. Not so wouldit be with the Lake District. A railroad is already planned along thesea coast, and another from Lancaster to Carlisle is in greatforwardness: an intermediate one is therefore, to say the least of it, superfluous. Once for all let me declare that it is not against Railwaysbut against the abuse of them that I am contending. 

How far I am from undervaluing the benefit to be expected from railwaysin their legitimate application will appear from the following linespublished in 1837, and composed some years earlier. 

STEAMBOATS AND RAILWAYS. 

 Motions and Means, on sea, on land at war With old poetic feeling, not for this Shall ye, by poets even, be judged amiss! Nor shall your presence, howsoe'er it mar The loveliness of Nature, prove a bar To the mind's gaining that prophetic sense Of future good, that point of vision, whence May be discovered what in soul ye are. In spite of all that Beauty must disown In your harsh features, Nature doth embrace Her lawful offspring in man's Art; and Time, Pleased with your triumphs o'er his brother Space, Accepts from your bold hand the proffered crown Of hope, and welcomes you with cheer sublime. 

I have now done with the subject. The time of life at which I havearrived may, I trust, if nothing else will, guard me from the imputationof having written from any selfish interests, or from fear ofdisturbance which a railway might cause to myself. If gratitude for whatrepose and quiet in a district hitherto, for the most part, notdisfigured but beautified by human hands, have done for me through thecourse of a long life, and hope that others might hereafter be benefitedin the same manner and in the same country, _be_ selfishness, then, indeed, but not otherwise, I plead guilty to the charge. Nor have Iopposed this undertaking on account of the inhabitants of the district_merely_, but, as hath been intimated, for the sake of every one, however humble his condition, who coming hither shall bring with him aneye to perceive, and a heart to feel and worthily enjoy. And as forholiday pastimes, if a scene is to be chosen suitable to them forpersons thronging from a distance, it may be found elsewhere at lesscost of every kind. But, in fact, we have too much hurrying about inthese islands; much for idle pleasure, and more from over activity inthe pursuit of wealth, without regard to the good or happiness ofothers. 

 Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old, Your patriot sons, to stem invasive war, Intrenched your brows; ye gloried in each scar: Now, for your shame, a Power, the Thirst of Gold, That rules o'er Britain like a baneful star, Wills that your peace, your beauty, shall be sold, And clear way made for her triumphal car Through the beloved retreats your arms enfold! Heard YE that Whistle? As her long-linked Train Swept onwards, did the vision cross your view? Yes, ye were startled;--and, in balance true, Weighing the mischief with the promised gain, Mountains, and Vales, and Floods, I call on you To share the passion of a just disdain. 

 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 

AESTHETICAL AND LITERARY. 

I. _Of Literary Biography and Monuments_. 

(_a_) _A Letter to a Friend of Robert Burns, 1816_. 

P. 5, l. 1. James Gray, Esq. Wordsworth was justified in naming Gray a'friend' of Burns. He was originally Master of the High School, Dumfries, and associated with the Poet there. Transferred to the HighSchool of Edinburgh, he taught for well-nigh a quarter of a century withrepute. Disappointed of the Rectorship, he retired from Edinburgh to anacademy at Belfast. Later, having entered holy orders, he proceeded toIndia as a chaplain in the East India Company's service. He wasstationed at Bhooj, in Cutch, near the mouth of the Indus; and theeducation of the young Rao of that province having been intrusted to theBritish Government, Gray was selected as his instructor--being the firstChristian honoured with such an appointment in the East. He died at hispost in 1830, deeply regretted. He was author of 'Cuna of Cheyd' and the'Sabbath among the Mountains, ' and many other things, original andeditorial. He left a MS. Poem, entitled 'India, ' and a translation ofthe Gospels into the Cutch dialect of Hindoostanee. He will hold a nichein literature as the fifteenth bard in the 'Queen's Wake' who sings of'King Edward's Dream. ' He married a sister of Mrs. Hogg. 

P. 5, footnote. Peterkin was a laborious compiler; but his Lives ofBurns and Fergusson are written in the most high-flown and exaggeratedstyle imaginable. He died in 1847. 

P. 5, l. 9. 'Mr. Gilbert Burns . .. A favourable opportunity, ' &c. Thisexcellent, common-sensed, and humble man's contributions to the laterimpressions (1804, &c. ) of Dr. Currie's edition of Burns are ofpermanent value--very much more valuable than later brilliantproductions that have displaced them. In Peterkin's Burns there is aletter from Gilbert Burns to him, dated September 29th, 1814. 

P. 7. Verse-quotation from Burns. From 'Address to the Unco Guid, or theRigidly Righteous' (closing stanzas). 

P. 15. Verse-quotation. From Burns' 'A Bard's Epitaph. '

P. 17, footnote. Long before Wordsworth, Thomas Watson, in his 'Epistleto the Frendly Reader' prefixed to his [Greek: EKATOMPATHIA] (1582), wrote: 'As for any _Aristarchus_, Momus, or Zoilus, if they pinch memore than is reasonable, thou, courteous Reader, which arte of a betterdisposition, shalt rebuke them in my behalfe; saying to the first[Aristarchus], that my birdes are al of mine own hatching, ' &c. 

P. 21, ll. 30-37, Chatterton; ll. 38-40, &c. , Michael Bruce. Both of thesuggested monuments have been raised; Chatterton's at Bristol, andBruce's over his grave. A photograph of the latter is given in ourquarto edition of his Poems. 

II. _Upon Epitaphs_. 

P. 27, l. 10. Camden. Here and throughout the quotations (modernised)are from 'Remaines concerning Britain: their

Languages, Names, Surnames, Allusions, Anagrammes, Armories, Monies, Empreses, Apparell, Artillarie, Wise Speeches, Proverbs, Poesies, Epitaphs. 

Written by William Camden, Esquire, Clarenceux King of Armes, surnamedthe Learned. The sixth Impression, with many rare Antiquities neverbefore imprinted. By the Industry and Care of John Philpot, SomersetHerald: and W. D. Gent. London, 1657, 4to. Epitaphes, pp. 355-409. It hasnot been deemed necessary to point out the somewhat loose character ofthe quotations from Camden by Wordsworth; nor, with so many editionsavailable, would it have served any good end to have given the places inthe 'Epitaphes. ' While Wordsworth evidently read both Camden and Weever, his chief authority seems to have been a book that appeared on the saleof his library, viz. 'Wit's Recreations; containing 630 Epigrams, 160_Epitaphs_, and variety of Fantasies and Fantastics, good for MelancholyHumours. 1641. '

P. 27, l. 16. This verse-rendering of 'Maecenas' is by Wordsworth, notCamden--the quotation from whom here ought to have been marked with aninverted comma (') after _relictos_. 

P. 27, l. 22. Weever. The title in full is as follows: 'Ancient FvnerallMonvments within the Vnited Monarchie of Great Britaine, Ireland, andthe Islands adiacent, with the dissolued Monasteries therein contained:their Founders, and what eminent Persons have beene in the sameinterred. As also the Death and Bvriall of Certaine of the Blood Royall, the Nobilitie and Gentrie of these Kingdomes entombed in forraineNations. A work reuiuing the dead memorie of the Royal Progenie, theNobilitie, Gentrie, and Communaltie of these his Maiesties Dominions. Intermixed and Illustrated with variety of Historicall observations, annotations, and briefe notes, extracted out of approued Authors, infallible Records, Lieger Bookes, Charters, Rolls, old Manuscripts, andthe Collections of iudicious Antiquaries. Whereunto is prefixed aDiscourse of Funerall Monuments. Of the Foundation and Fall of ReligiousHouses. Of Religious Orders. Of the Ecclesiasticall estate of England. And of other occurrences touched vpon by the way, in the whole passageof these intended labours. Composed by the Studie and Trauels of JohnWeever. Spe labor leuis. London. 1631, folio. ' As with Camden, Wordsworth quotes Weever from memory (apparently) throughout. 

P. 27, l. 23. Query--'or fore-feeling'?

P. 32, l. 6. 'Pause, Traveller. ' The 'Siste viator' was kept up longafter such roadside interments were abandoned. Crashaw's Epitaph forHarris so begins; _e. G. _ 'Siste te paulum, viator, ' &c. (Works, vol. Ii. P. 378, Fuller Worthies' Library. )

P. 33. John Edwards; verse-quotation. Query--the author of 'Kathleen'(1808), 'Abradates and Panthea' (1808), &c. ?

P. 40. At close; verse-quotation. From Milton, Ep. W. Sh. 

P. 41. Verse-heading. From Gray's 'Elegy. ' _En passant_, be it notedthat on 1st June 1875, at Sotheby's, the original MS. Of this Elegy wassold for upwards of 300 guineas to Sir William Fraser. 

P. 45, l. 28. Read 'mearely'=merrily, as 'merrely' onward. 

P. 49. Ll. 7-14. On these lines, alleged to have been written byMontrose, see Dr. Hannah's 'Courtly Poets' (1870), p. 207, and numerousreferences. It may be noted that in line 2 Wordsworth changes 'toorigid' into 'so rigid;' and l. 7, 'trumpet' into 'trumpets. '

P. 49, ll. 30-2. Verse-quotation. Milton, 'Paradise Lost, ' book vi. Ll. 754-6. 

P. 66 (bottom). Epitaph on Mrs. Clark--_i. E. _ Mrs. Jane Clarke. In l. 1, Gray wrote, not 'the, ' but 'this;' which in the light of thecriticism it is important to remember. 

P. 73-75. Long verse-quotation. From the 'Excursion, ' book vii. Ll. 400-550. Note the 'Various Readings. '

III. _Essays, Letters, and Notes elucidatory and confirmatory of thePoems_. 

(_a_) _Of the Principles of Poetry and the 'Lyrical Ballads. '_

P. 85. Verse-quotation. From Gray's Poems, 'Sonnet on the Death of Mr. Richard West. '

P. 99, l. 30. Sir Joshua Reynolds. For Wordsworth's critical verdict onhis literary work as well as his painting, see Letters in presentvolume, pp. 153-157, _et alibi_. 

(_c_) _Poetry as a study_. 

P. 112, ll. 6-7. Quotation from Spenser, 'Fairy Queen, ' b. I. C. I. St. 9, l. 1. 

P. 113, footnote. Hakewill. The work intended is 'An Apologie orDeclaration of the Power and Providence of God in the Government of theWorld. ' Oxford, 1627 (folio), and later editions. He was GeorgeHakewill, D. D. , Archdeacon of Surrey. Died 1649. 

P. 115, ll. 36-7. '1623 to 1664 . .. Only two editions of the Works ofShakspeare. ' The second folio of 1632 and that of 1663 (same as 1664)are here forgotten, and also the abundant separate reprints of theseparate Plays and Poems. 

P. 123, l. 6. Mr. Malcom Laing, a historian of Scotland 'from the Unionof the Crowns to the Union of the Kingdoms in the Reign of Queen Anne'(4th edition, 1819, 4 vols. ), who, in an exhaustive and drastic style, disposed of the notorious 'Ossian' fictions of Macpherson. 

P. 130, ll. 12-14. Verse-quotation. From the 'Prelude. '

(_d_) _Of Poetry as Observation and Description_. 

P. 134, ll. 3-4 (at bottom). Verse-quotation. From 'A Poet's Epitaph'(VIII. 'Poems of Sentiment and Reflection'). 

P. 136, ll. 7-8. Verse-quotation. From Shakspeare, 'Lear, ' iv. 6. 

P. 136, ll. 17-24. Verse-quotation. From Milton, 'Paradise Lost, ' bookii. Ll. 636-43. 

P. 139, ll. 10-11. Verse-quotation. Ibid. Book vi. Ll. 767-8. 

P. 140, ll. 10-11. Verse-quotation. From Shakspeare, 'Lear, ' iii. 2. 

P. 141, ll. 1-2. Verse-quotation. Ibid. 'Romeo and Juliet, ' i. 4. 

P. 142, ll. 7-8. 12-13. Verse-quotation. From Milton, 'Paradise Lost, 'book ix. 1002-3. 

P. 143. Long verse-quotation. Charles Cotton, the associate 'Angler' ofWalton 'for all time, ' and of whom, as a Poet, Abp. Trench, in his'Household Book of English Poetry, ' has recently spoken highly yetmeasuredly. 

P. 152, footnote *. _Various Readings_. (1) 'Sonnet composed at--. ' Suchis the current heading of this Sonnet in the Poems (Rossetti, p. 177). In the MS. It runs, 'Written at Needpath (near Peebles), Mansion of theDuke of Queensbury' (_sic_); and thus opens:

 'Now, as I live, I pity that great lord! Whom pure despite of heart, ' &c. ;

instead of, 'Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord! Whom mere, ' &c. 

(2) To the Men of Kent, October 1803. In l. 3, the MS. Reads:

 'Her haughty forehead 'gainst the coast of France, '

for 'brow against. ' Line 7, 'can' for 'may. ' (3) 'Anticipation, ' October1803. Line 12 in MS. Reads:

 'The loss and the sore prospect of the slain, '

for, 'And even the prospect of our brethren slain. '

In l. 14:

 'True glory, everlasting sanctity, '

for, 'In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity. '

P. 161, l. 22. 'Milton compares, ' &c. In 'Paradise Lost, ' ii. 636-7. 

P. 163, l. 2. 'Duppa is publishing a Life of Michael Angelo, ' &c. Itappeared in 1806 (4to); reprinted in Bohn's 'Illustrated Library. '

P. 163, footnote A. Alexander Wilson, who became the renowned'Ornithologist' of America, was for years a 'pedlar, ' both at home andin the United States. His intellectual ability and genius would alonehave given sanction to Wordsworth's conception; but as simplematter-of-fact, the class was a peculiarly thoughtful and observant one, as the Biographies of Scotland show. 

P. 167, ll. 30-1. 'A tale told, ' &c. From Shakspeare, 'Macbeth, ' v. 5. 

P. 170, l. 34. 'Houbraken, ' &c. Reissued from the old copper-plates. 

P. 171, l. 30. 'I have never seen the works, ' &c. In the FullerWorthies' Library I have collected the complete Poems of Sir JohnBeaumont, 1 vol. 

Pp. 178-9. Quotation (bottom). From Milton, 'Paradise Lost, ' book iv. Ll. 604-9; but 'How' is inadvertently substituted for 'Now. '

P. 196, l. 35. John Dyer. Wordsworth's repeated recognition and loftyestimate of Dyer recalls the fact that a collection of his many-sidedWritings is still a _desideratum_ that the present Editor ofWordsworth's Prose hopes some day to supply--invited to the task of loveby a lineal descendant. 

(_b_) _Of the Principles of Poetry and his own Poems_. 

P. 211, ll. 24-5. Verse-quotation from Cowper: more accurately it reads:

 'The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. '

('The Task, ' b. I. Ll. 205-6. )

IV. DESCRIPTIVE. 

(_a_) _A Guide through the District of the Lakes_. 

P. 217. It seems somewhat remarkable that Wordsworth nowhere mentionsthe following work: 'Remarks made in a Tour from London to the Lakes ofWestmoreland and Cumberland in the Summer of MDCCXCI. , originallypublished in the _Whitehall Evening Post_, and now reprinted withadditions and corrections. .. . By A. Walker, Lecturer, ' &c. 1792, 8vo. Wordsworth could not have failed to be interested in the descriptions ofthis overlooked book. They are open-eyed, open-eared, and vivid. I wouldrefer especially to the Letters on Windermere, pp. 58-60, and indeed allon the Lakes. Space can only be found for a short quotation on Ambleside(Letter xiii. , August 18, 1791): 'We now leave Low Wood, and along theverge of the Lake have a pleasing couple of miles to Ambleside. This isa straggling little market-town, made up of rough-cast white houses, butcharmingly situated in the centre of three radiant vallies, _i. E. _ allissuing from the town as from a centre. This shows the propriety of theRoman station situated near the west end of this place, calledAmboglana, commanding one of the most difficult passes in England. .. . Beautiful woods rise half-way up the sides of the mountains fromAmbleside, and seem wishful to cover the naked asperities of thecountry; but the Iron Works calling for them in the character ofcharcoal every fourteen or fifteen years, exposes the nakedness of thecountry. Among these woods and mountains are many frightful precipicesand roaring cascades. In a still evening several are heard at once, invarious keys, forming a kind of savage music; one, half a mile above thetown in a wood, seems upwards of a hundred feet fall. --About as muchwater as is in the New River precipitates itself over a perpendicularrock into a natural bason, where it seems to recover from its fallbefore it takes a second and a third tumble over huge stones that breakit into a number of streams. It suffers not this outrage quietly, for itgrumbles through hollow glens and stone cavities all the way, till itmeets the Rothay, when it quietly enters the Lake' (pp. 71-3). It is oddthat a book so matterful, and containing many descriptions equal to thisof Ambleside, should be so absolutely gone out of sight. It is aconsiderable volume, and pp. 1-114 are devoted to the Lake region. Walker, in 1787, issued anonymously 'An Hasty Sketch of a Tour throughPart of the Austrian Netherlands, &c. .. . By an English Gentleman. '

P. 264. Quotation from (eheu! eheu!) the still unpublished poem of'Grasmere. '

P. 274. Quotation from Spenser, 'Fairy Queen, ' b. Iii. C. V. St. 39-40. In st. 39, l. 8, 'puny' is a misprint for 'pumy' = pumice; in st. 40, l. 3, 'sang' similarly misreads 'song' = sung, or were singing. 

P. 284. Verse-quotation. From 'Sonnet on Needpath Castle, ' as _ante_. 

P. 296, footnote A. Lucretius, ii. 772 seq. ; and cf. V. 482 seq. 

(_b_) _Kendal and Windermere Railway_. 

P. 331. Quotation from Burns, --Verse-letter to William Simpson, st. 14. 

P. 336. Is this from Dryden? G. 

END OF VOL. II. 

THE PROSE WORKS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

FOR THE FIRST TIME COLLECTED, _WITH ADDITIONS FROM UNPUBLISHEDMANUSCRIPTS_. 

Edited with Preface, Notes, and Illustrations, BY THE REV. ALEXANDER B. GROSART, ST. GEORGE'S, BLACKBURN, LANCASHIRE. 

IN THREE VOLUMES. 

VOL. III. 

CRITICAL AND ETHICAL. 

LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, SON, AND CO. 

1 AMEN CORNER, PATERNOSTER ROW. 

1876. 

AMS Press, Inc. New York, N. Y. 10003 1967

Manufactured in the United States of America

CONTENTS OF VOL. III. 

*** A star [*] designates publication herein _for the first time_. G. 

CRITICAL AND ETHICAL. 

I. NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POEMS, INCORPORATING: (a) The Notesoriginally added to the first and successive editions. Pp. 1-216 (b) Thewhole of the I. F. MSS. 

 *1. Prefatory Lines *2. Prelude to the Last Volume

I. _Poems written in Youth_. 

 *3. Extract from the conclusion, &c. 4. The Evening Walk, &c. *5. An Evening Walk 5_a_. Intake 6. Ghyll 7. From Thomson *8. Lines written while sailing, &c. 9. Descriptive Sketches: Dedication *10. Descriptive Sketches 11. The Cross 12. Rivers 13. Vallombre 14. Sugh 15. Pikes 16. Shrine 17. Sourd *18. Lines left upon a Seat, &c. 19. Guilt and Sorrow, &c. : Advertisement *20. The Female Vagrant *21. Guilt and Sorrow, &c. 22. Charles Farish *23. The Forsaken, &c. *24. The Borderers 25. Short printed Note 26. Later Note

II _Poems referring to the Period of Childhood_. 

 *27. My Heart leaps up, &c. *28. To a Butterfly *29. The Sparrow's Nest *30. Foresight *31. Characteristics of a Child, &c. *32. Address to a Child *33. The Mother's Return *34. Alice Fell; or Poverty *35. Lucy Gray; or Solitude *36. We are Seven, &c. *37. The Idle Shepherd Boys 38. Dungeon-ghyll Force *39. Anecdote for Fathers 40. Rural Architecture 41. Great How *42. The Pet Lamb, &c. *43. Influence of natural Objects *44. The Longest Day *45. The Norman Boy

III. _Poems founded on the Affections_. 

 46. The Brothers 47. Great Gavel 48. Artegal and Elidure *49. To a Butterfly *50. A Farewell *51. Stanzas in Castle of Indolence *52. Louisa *53. Strange Fits, &c. *54. Ere with cold Beads, &c. *55. To ---- 56. 'Tis said that some, &c. *57. A Complaint *58. To ---- *59. How rich that Forehead's, &c *60. To ---- 61. Lament of Mary Queen of Scots 62. The Complaint of a forsaken Indian Woman *63. Ibid. *64. The Last of the Flock *65. Repentance *66. The Affliction of Margaret *67. The Cottager to her Infant *68. Maternal Grief *69. The Sailor's Mother *70. The Childless Father 71. Funeral Basin *72. The Emigrant Mother 73. Vaudracour and Julia *74. Ibid. 75. The Idiot Boy *76. Michael 77. Clipping *78. The Widow on Windermere Side 79. The Armenian Lady's Love 80. Percy's Reliques *81. Loving and Liking *82. Farewell Lines 83. (1) The Redbreast *84. (2) " *85. Her Eyes are wild

IV. _Poems on the Naming of Places_. 

 86. Advertisement *87. It was an April Morn, &c. *88. May call it Emma's Dell *89. To Joanna Hutchinson 90. Inscriptions *91. There is an Eminence, &c. *92. A narrow girdle, &c. *93. To Mary Hutchinson *94. When to the attractions, &c. 95. Captain Wordsworth

V. _Poems of the Fancy_. 

 *96. A Morning Exercise *97. Birds *98. A Flower-garden *99. A Whirl-blast, &c. *100. The Waterfall and the Eglantine*101. The Oak and the Broom*102. To a Sexton*103. To the Daisy*104. To the same Flower*105. To the small Celandine 106. The Seven Sisters*107. The Redbreast chasing Butterfly*108. Song for the Spinning-wheel*109. Hint from the Mountains*110. On seeing a Needle-case, &c. *111. The Contrast*112. The Danish Boy*113. Song for the Wandering Jew*114. Stray Pleasures*115. The Pilgrim's Dream, &c. *116. The Poet and Turtle-dove*117. A Wren's Nest*118. Love lies bleeding*119. Rural Illusions*120. Kitten and falling Leaves 121. The Waggoner: Dedication*122. The Waggoner 123. Benjamin the Waggoner 124. The Dor-Hawk 125. Helmcrag 126. Merrynight 127. Ghimmer-Crag

VI. _Poems of the Imagination_. 

*128. There was a Boy, &c. *129. To the Cuckoo*130. A Night-piece*131. Yew-trees*132. Nutting*133. She was a Phantom of Delight*134. The Nightingale*135. Three Years she grew 136. I wandered lonely, &c. 137. The Daffodils*138. The Reverie of poor Susan*139. Power of Music*140. Star-gazers*141. Written in March*142. Beggars*143. Gipsies*144. Ruth*145. Resolution and Independence*146. The Thorn 147. Hart-Leap Well 148. Ibid. 149. Song at Feast of Brougham Castle*150. Ibid. 151. Sir John Beaumont 152. The undying Fish of Bowscale Tarn 153. The Cliffords*154. Tintern Abbey*155. It is no spirit, &c. 156. French Revolution 157. Yes, it was the Mountain Echo 158. To a Skylark*159. Laodamia 160. Withered Trees*161. Dion 162. Fair is the Swan, &c. *163. The Pass of Kirkstone*164. To ----*165. To a Young Lady*166. Water-fowl*167. View from Black Comb*168. The Haunted Tree*169. The Triad 170. The Wishing-gate 171. The Wishing-gate destroyed*172. The Primrose of the Rock*173. Presentiments*174. Vernal Ode*175. Devotional Incitements*176. The Cuckoo-Clock*177. To the Clouds*178. Suggested by a Picture of the Bird of Paradise*179. A Jewish Family*180. On the Power of Sound 181. Peter Bell: a Tale 182. Peter Bell: the Poem

VII. _Miscellaneous Sonnets_: Part I. 

*183. Commencement of writing of Sonnets 184. Admonition*185. Sonnet iv. Beaumont, &c. *186. " vi. There is, &c. *187. " viii. The fairest, &c. 188. The Genius*189. Sonnet ix. Upon the sight, &c. *190. " xi. Aerial Rock*191. " xv. The Wild Duck's Nest*192. " xix. Grief, &c. *193. " xxii. Decay of Piety*194. " xxiv. To xxvi. *195. " xxvii. Surprised, &c. *196. " xxviii. And xxix. *197. " xxx. It is, &c. *198. " xxxvi. Calvert, &c. 

Part II. 

*199. " iv. From the dark, &c. *200. " v. Fool, &c. *201. " vi. I watch, &c. 202. " vii. The ungenial Hollow 203. Sonnet viii. For the whole weight*204. " x. Mark, &c. *205. " xi. Dark, &c. *206. " xiii. While not, &c. *207. " xiv. How clear, &c. *208. " xv. One who, &c. *209. " xviii. Lady, &c. *210. " xix. There is a pleasure, &c. *211. " xxix. Though narrow, &c. *212. " xxx. Four fiery, &c. *213. " xxxi. Brook, &c. *214. " xxxiii. To xxxv. 

Part III. 

*215. " vi. Fame tells, &c. *216. " vii. Where lively ground, &c. *217. " ix. A stream, &c. 218. " xi. In the Woods of Rydal*219. " xiii. While Anna's peers, &c. *220. " xvi. Unquiet childhood, &c. *222. " xvii. Such age, &c. *223. " xviii. Rotha, &c. 224. The Rotha*225. Sonnet xix. Miserrimus*226. " xx. While poring, &c. *227. " xxi. Chatsworth, &c. *228. " xxii. 'Tis said, &c. *229. " xxiii. Untouched, &c. *230. " xxiv. Go, &c. *231. " xxv. Why art, &c. *232. " xxvi. Haydon, &c. *233. " xxvii. A poet, &c. *234. " xxviii. The most, &c. *235. " xxix. By Art's, &c. *236. " xxxii. All praise, &c. *237. " xxxvi. Oh, what, &c. *238. " xxxvii. Intent, &c. 239. " xlii. Wansfel 240. " xliii. A little rural town

VIII. _Memorials of a Tour in Scotland, 1803_. 

*241. Setting out*242. To the Sons of Burns, &c. 243. Ellen Irwin, &c. *244. To a Highland Girl 245. Stepping Westward*246. Address to Kilchurn Castle. *247. Rob Roy's Grave*248. Sonnet composed at ---- Castle 249. Yarrow Unvisited 250. The Matron of Jedborough, &c. *251. Sonnet, Fly, &c. *252. The Blind Highland Boy

IX. _Memorials of a Second Tour in Scotland, 1814_. 

*253. Suggested by a beautiful Ruin, &c. *254. At Corra Linn*255. Effusion, &c. *256. Yarrow Visited

X. _Poems dedicated to National Independence and Liberty_. 

 257. Robert Jones 258. I grieved, &c. 259. The King of Sweden, &c. *260. Sept. 1, 1802*261. Two Voices are there, &c. *262. O Friend, &c. *263. War in Spain*264. Zaragossa*265. Lines on expected Invasion 266. Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke 267. Oak of Guernica 268. Thanksgiving Ode*269. Ibid. 270. Spenser

XI. _Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820_. 

*271. Introductory Remarks 272. Fishwomen of Calais*273. Incident at Bruges 274. Between Namur and Liege 275. Miserere Domine 276. The Danube 277. The Staub-bach 278. Memorial, &c. 279. Engelberg 280. Our Lady of the Snow 281. Tower of Tell at Altorf 282. Schwytz 283. Church of San Salvador 284. Arnold Winkelried 285. The Last Supper 286. Statues on Milan Cathedral 287. A Religious Procession 288. Elegiac Stanzas 289. Mount Righi 290. Tower of Caligula 291. Herds of Cattle 292. The Forks 292a. The Landenberg 293. Pictures in Bridges, &c. *294. At Dover

XII. _Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837_. 

*295. Introductory Remarks 296. Ibid. *297. Musings at Aquapendente 298. Scott and Tasso 299. Over waves, &c. 300. How lovely, &c. 301. This flowering Broom, &c. 302. The Religious Movement, &c. 302a. Pine-tree of Monte Mario 303. Is this, ye Gods 304. At Rome*305. At Albano*306. Cuckoo at Laverna 307. Camaldoli 308. Monk-visitors*309. At Vallombrosa*310. At Florence*311. The Baptist*312. Florence*312a. Convent in the Apennines*313. After leaving Italy*314. At Rydal, 1838*315. Pillar of Trajan*316. The Egyptian Maid

XIII. _The River Duddon, &c. _

 317. Introduction 318. The River Duddon 319. Sonnets on the Duddon 320. The Wild Strawberry 321. Return, &c. 322. Memoir of Walker 323. Milton 324. White Doe of Rylstone, &c. *325. Ibid. 326. Hazlitt 327. Bolton Abbey 328. Lady Aäliza 328a. Brancepeth 329. Battle of the Standard 330. Bells of Rylstone 331. Rock-encircled Pound

XIV. _Ecclesiastical Sonnets_. 

 332. Advertisement*333. Introductory Remarks 334. St. Paul never in Britain 335. Water-fowl 336. Hill at St. Alban's 337. Hallelujahs 338. Daniel and Fuller 339. Old Bangor 340. Paulinus 341. Edwin and the Sparrow 342. Near fresh Streams 343. The Clergy 343a. Bede 344. Zeal 345. Alfred 346. Crown and Cowl 347. Council of Clermont 348. Cistertian Monastery 349. Waldenses 350. Borrowed Lines 351. Transfiguration 352. Craft 353. The Virgin Mountain 354. Land 355. Pilgrim Fathers 356. The Clergyman 357. Rush-bearing 358. George Dyer 359. Apprehension 360. The Cross 361. Monte Rosa

XV. _Yarrow Revisited, &c. _

 362. Dedication*363. Yarrow Revisited*363a. Ibid. *364. Place of Burial, &c. *365. A Manse in Scotland*366. Roslin Chapel*367. The Trosachs*368. Lock Etive Glen 369. Eagles*370. Sound of Mull 371. Shepherds 372. Highland Broach 373. The Brownie*374. Bothwell Castle*375. The Avon*376. Inglewood Forest 377. Hart's-Horn Tree 378. Fancy and Tradition 379. Countess' Pillar

XVI. _Evening Voluntaries_. 

 380. Sixty-third Birthday*381. By the Sea-side 382. Not in the lucid, &c. 383. The leaves, &c. 384. Impromptu*385. Evening of extraordinary Splendour 386. Alston 387. Mountain-ridges

XVII. _Poems composed in Tour of_ 1833. 

 388. Advertisement 389. The Greta 390. Brigham Church*391. Nun's Well, Brigham*392. To a Friend 393. Mary Queen of Scots*394. " " 395. St. Bees and C. Smith 396. Requiems. 397. Sir William Hillary 398. Isle of Man*399. " 400. By a retired Mariner*401. At Bala Sala*402. Tynwald Hill 403. Snafell 404. Eagle in Mosaic*405. Frith of Clyde, &c. 406. " " 407. Mosgiel*408. Macpherson's 'Ossian' 409. Cave of Staffa 410. Ox-eyed Daisy 411. Iona 412. Eden 413. "*414. Mrs. Howard 415. Nunnery 416. Corby*417. Druidical Monument*418. Lowther 419. Earl of Lonsdale*420. The Somnambulist

XVIII. _Poems of Sentiment, &c. _

 421. Expostulation and Reply 422. The Tables turned*423. Lines written in early Spring*424. A Character*425. To my Sister*426. Simon Lee*427. Germany, 1798-9*428. To the Daisy 429. Matthew*430. " 431. Personal Talk*432. Spade of a Friend*433. A Night Thought*434. An Incident, &c. 435. Tribute, &c. 436. Fidelity*437. Ode to Duty*438. Happy Warrior*439. The Force of Prayer*440. A Fact, &c. *441. A little onward 442. Ode to Lycoris*443. Ibid. *444. Memory*445. This Lawn*446. Humanity. *447. Thought on the Seasons*448. To ----, &c. *449. The Warning*450. The Labourer's Noon-day Hymn*451. May Morning*452. Portrait by Stone*453. Bird of Paradise

XIX. _Sonnets dedicated to Liberty_. 

 454. Change 455. American Repudiation 456. To the Pennsylvanians*457. Feel for the Wrongs, &c. 458. Punishment of Death

XX. _Miscellaneous Poems_. 

 459. Epistle to Beaumont*460. Upon perusing the Foregoing, &c. 461. Ibid. *462. Gold and Silver Fishes*463. Liberty 464. " 465. Poor Robin*466. Ibid. *467. Lady le Fleming*468. To a Redbreast*469. Floating Island*470. Once I could hail, &c. *471. The Gleaner 472. Nightshade 473. Churches--East and West 474. Horn of Egremont Castle*475. Goody Blake, &c. *476. To a Child*477. Lines in an Album, &c. 478. The Russian Fugitive*479. Ibid. 

XXI. _Inscriptions_. 

*480 to 486

XXII. _Selections from Chaucermodernised_. 

 487. Of the Volume, &c 488. The Prioress's Tale

XXIII. _Poems referring to Old Age_. 

 489. The Old Cumberland Beggar*490. Ibid. 491 and 492. Farmer of Tilsbury Vale 493. The small Celandine*494. The two Thieves*495. Animal Tranquillity, &c. 

XXIV. _Epitaphs and Elegiac Pieces_. 

*496. From Chiabrera*497. By a blest Husband, &c. 498. Cenotaph*499. Epitaph, &c. *500. Address to Scholars*501. Elegiac Stanzas, &c. 502. Elegiac Verses 503. Moss Campion 504. Lines 189*505. Invocation to the Earth*506. Elegiac Stanzas*507. Elegiac Musings 508. Charles Lamb*509. Ibid. *510. James Hogg, Mrs. Hemans, &c. 511. Dead Friends*512. Ode: Intimations of Immortality, &c. 

XXV. _The Excursion_. 

*513. On the leading Characters and Scenes 514. The Aristocracy of Nature 515. Eternity 516. Of Mississippi, &c. 517. Richard Baxter 518. Endowment of Immortal Power, &c. 519. Samuel Daniel, &c. 520. Spires 521. Sycamores 522. The Transitory 523. Dyer and The Fleece 524. Dr. Bell

II. LETTERS AND EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS. 

 1. Autobiographical Memoranda, &c. 2. Schoolmistress 3. Books and Reading 4. Tour on the Continent, 1790: Letter to Miss Wordsworth 5. In Wales 6. Melancholy of a Friend 7. Holy Orders 8. The French Revolution 9. Failure of Louvet's Denunciation of Robespierre 10. Of inflammatory political Opinions 11. At Milkhouse, Halifax; 'Not _to take orders_' 12. Literary Work, &c. 13. Employment on a London Newspaper 14. Raisley Calvert's Last Illness 15. Family History 16. Reading 17. Satire: Juvenal, &c. , 1795 18. Visit to Thelwall 19. Poetry added to, 1798 20. On the Wye 21. At Home again 22. Early Visit to the Lake District 23. On a Tour, 1799 24. At the Lakes: Letter to Coleridge 25. Inconsistent Opinions on Poems 26. On his Scottish Tour: To Scott 27. The Grove: Capt. Wordsworth 28. Spenser and Milton 29. Death of Capt. Wordsworth 30. Of Dryden: To Scott 31. Of Marmion 32. Topographical History 33. The War in Spain, &c. 34, 35, 36. The Convention of Cintra 37. Home at Grasmere *38. On Education of the Young 39. Roman Catholics, &c. 40. Death of Children 41. Letter of Introduction: Humour 42. The Peninsular War 43. Of Southey 44. Of alleged Changes in political Opinions 45. Of his Poems, &c. 46. Of Thanksgiving Ode, &c. 47. Of Poems in Stanzas 48 and 49. The Classics: Aeneid, &c. 50. Tour on the Continent, 1820 51. Shakspeare's Cliff at Dover 52. Of Affairs on the Continent, 1828 *53. Style: Francis Edgeworth, &c. 54. Of the Icon Basiliké, &c. 55. Of the R. Catholic Question 56. Of the R. C. Emancipation Bill 57. Of Ireland and the Poor Laws 58. Of Lonsdale: Virgil, &c. 59. Poems of Moxon *60. Of Hamilton's, 'It haunts, ' &c. 61. Of Collins, Dyer, &c. 62. Verses and Counsels 63. Annuals and Roguery 64. Works of Peele, &c. 65. Lady Winchelsea, Tickell, &c. *66. Hamilton's 'Spirit of Beauty, ' &c. 67. Play, Home, &c. 68. Summer, Quillinan, &c. 69. Works of Webster, &c. 70. French Revolution, 1830 *71. Nonsense: Rotten Boroughs, &c. *72. Verses: Edgeworth, &c. 73. Tour in Scotland 74. Sir Walter Scott 75. Of writing more Prose 76. Of Poetry and Prose, &c. 77. Of the Reform Bill 78. Of political Affairs 79. Family Affliction, &c. *80. Illness of Sister, &c. 81. Lucretia Davidson, &c. 82. Tuition at the University 83. Dissenters in University 84. Skelton 85. James Shirley 86. Literary Criticism, &c. 87. Of Elia, &c. 88. English Sonnets, &c. 89. Lady Winchelsea, &c. 90. Popularity of Poetry 91. Sonnets and Female Poets, &c. 92. Mrs. Hemans' Dedication 93. Verse-attempts 94. Mrs. Hemans' Poems 95. Church of England 96. Omnipresence of the Deity 97. And 98. New Church at Cockermouth *99. Classic Scenes: Holy Land 100. American ed. Of Poems 101. Quillinan's Poems 102. On a Tour 103. Bentley and Akenside*104. Presidency of Royal Irish Academy, &c. *105. Prose-writing: Coleridge, &c. 106. Of his own Poems, &c. 107. In the Sheldonian Theatre 108. New edition of Poems 109 and 110. Death of a Nephew 111. On Death of a young Person 112. Religion and versified Religion 113. Sacred Poetry 114. Visit of Queen Adelaide 115. Ecclesiastical Duties and Revenues Act, &c. 116. Samuel Rogers and Wordsworth 117. An alarming Accident 118. Of Alston and Haydon, &c. 119. Of Peace's Apology for Cathedrals 120. Of Cowper's Task 121. On a Tour 122. Marriage of Dora 123. Letters to Brother 124. Episcopal Church of America: Emerson and Carlyle 125. Old Haunts revisited 126. No Pension sought 127. The Master of Trinity 128. Alston's Portrait of Coleridge 129. Southey's Death 130. Tropical Scenery: Grace Darling 131. Contemporary Poets: Southey's Death, &c. 132. The Laureateship*133. The same: Landor, &c. 134. Alston: Home Occupations 135. Socinianism 136. Sacred Hymns 137. Bereavements 138. Birthday in America, &c. 139. Class-fellows and School-fellows 140. From Home: Queen, &c. 141. The Laureateship: Tennyson, &c. 142. Poems of Imagination, &c. 143. Of the College of Maynooth, &c. 144. Of the Heresiarch Church of Rome 145. Family Trials 146. Bishop White: Mormonites, &c. 147. Governor Malartie: Lord Rector, &c. 148 and 149. Death of Dora 150. To John Peace, Esq. 151. A Servant's Illness and Death 152. Humility

III. CONVERSATIONS AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF WORDSWORTH. 

From 'Satyrane's Letters:' KlopstockPersonal Reminiscences of the Hon. Mr. Justice ColeridgeRecollections of a Tour in Italy, by H. C. RobinsonReminiscences of Lady Richardson and Mrs. DavyConversations and Reminiscences recorded by the Bishop of LincolnReminiscences of the Rev. R. P. GravesOn the Death of ColeridgeFurther Reminiscences and Memorabilia, by Rev. R. P. GravesAn American's ReminiscencesRecollections of Aubrey de Vere, Esq. From 'Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron, ' by E. J. Trelawny, Esq. From Letters of Professor TaylerAnecdote of CrabbeLater Opinion of Lord Brougham

CRITICAL AND ETHICAL. 

I. NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POEMS, INCORPORATING

(a) THE NOTES ORIGINALLY ADDED TO THE FIRST AND SUCCESSIVE EDITIONS. (b) THE WHOLE OF THE I. F. MSS. 

NOTE. 

On these Notes and Illustrations, their sources and arrangement, &c. , see our Preface, Vol. I. The star [*] marks those that belong to theI. F. MSS. G. 

1. *_Prefatory Lines_. 

 'If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven, Then to the measure of that heaven-born light, Shine, POET, in thy place, and be content:'--

'Like an untended watch-fire, ' &c. (l. 10): These Verses were writtensome time after we had become resident at Rydal Mount; and I will takeoccasion from them to observe upon the beauty of that situation, asbeing backed and flanked by lofty fells, which bring the heavenly bodiesto touch, as it were, the earth upon the mountain-tops, while theprospect in front lies open to a length of level valley, the extendedlake, and a terminating ridge of low hills; so that it gives anopportunity to the inhabitants of the place of noticing the stars inboth the positions here alluded to, namely, on the tops of themountains, and as winter-lamps at a distance among the leafless trees. 

2. *_Prelude to the Last Volume_. [As supra. ]

These Verses were begun while I was on a visit to my son John atBrigham, and finished at Rydal. As the contents of this Volume to whichthey are now prefixed will be assigned to their respective classes whenmy Poems shall be collected in one Vol. , I should be at a loss wherewith propriety to place this Prelude, being too restricted in itsbearing to serve as a Preface for the whole. The lines towards theconclusion allude to the discontents then fomented thro' the country bythe Agitators of the Anti-Corn-Law League: the particular causes of suchtroubles are transitory, but disposition to excite and liability to beexcited, are nevertheless permanent and therefore proper objects of thePoet's regard. 

I. POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH. 

3. *_Extract from the Conclusion of a Poem, composed in anticipation ofleaving School_. 

'Dear native regions, ' &c. 1786. Hawkshead. The beautiful image withwhich this poem concludes suggested itself to me while I was resting ina boat along with my companions under the shade of a magnificent row ofsycamores, which then extended their branches from the shore of thepromontory upon which stands the ancient and at that time the morepicturesque Hall of Coniston, the Seat of the Le Flemings from veryearly times. The Poem of which it was the conclusion was of many hundredlines, and contained thoughts and images most of which have beendispersed through my other writings. 

4. Of the Poems in this class, 'The Evening Walk' and 'DescriptiveSketches' were first published in 1793. They are reprinted with somealterations that were chiefly made very soon after their publication. 

 * * * * *

This notice, which was written some time ago, scarcely applies to thePoem, 'Descriptive Sketches, ' as it now stands. The corrections, thoughnumerous, are not, however, such as to prevent its retaining withpropriety a place in the class of Juvenile Pieces. 

5. *_An Evening Walk. Addressed to a Young Lady_. [III. ]

The young lady to whom this was addressed was my sister. It was composedat School and during my first two college vacations. There is not animage in it which I have not observed; and, now in my seventy-thirdyear, I recollect the time and place where most of them were noticed. Iwill confine myself to one instance. 

 'Waving his hat, the shepherd from the vale Directs his wandering dog the cliffs to scale; The dog bounds barking mid the glittering rocks, Hunts where his master points, the intercepted flocks. '

I was an eye-witness of this for the first time while crossing the passof Dunmail Raise. Upon second thought, I will mention another image:

 'And fronting the bright west, yon oak entwines Its darkening boughs and leaves in stronger lines. '

This is feebly and imperfectly exprest; but I recollect distinctly thevery spot where this first struck me. It was on the way betweenHawkshead and Ambleside, and gave me extreme pleasure. The moment wasimportant in my poetical history; for I date from it my consciousness ofthe infinite variety of natural appearances which had been unnoticed bythe poets of any age or country, so far as I was acquainted with them;and I made a resolution to supply in some degree the deficiency. I couldnot have been at that time above fourteen years of age. The descriptionof the swans that follows, was taken from the daily opportunities I hadof observing their habits, not as confined to the gentleman's park, butin a state of nature. There were two pairs of them that divided the lakeof Esthwaite and its in-and-out-flowing streams between them, nevertrespassing a single yard upon each other's separate domain. They wereof the old magnificent species, bearing in beauty and majesty about thesame relation to the Thames swan which that does to a goose. It was fromthe remembrance of these noble creatures I took, thirty years after, thepicture of the swan which I have discarded from the poem of 'Dion. 'While I was a school-boy, the late Mr. Curwen introduced a little fleetof these birds, but of the inferior species, to the Lake of Windermere. Their principal home was about his own islands; but they sailed aboutinto remote parts of the lake, and either from real or imagined injurydone to the adjoining fields, they were got rid of at the request of thefarmers and proprietors, but to the great regret of all who had becomeattached to them from noticing their beauty and quiet habits. I willconclude my notice of this poem by observing that the plan of it has notbeen confined to a particular walk, or an individual place; a proof (ofwhich I was unconscious at the time) of my unwillingness to submit thepoetic spirit to the chains of fact and real circumstance. The countryis idealized rather than described in any one of its local aspects. 

FOOT-NOTES. 

5a. _Intake_ (l. 49). 

 'When horses in the sunburnt intake stood. '

The word _intake_ is local, and signifies a mountain-enclosure. 

6. _Ghyll_ (l. 54). 

 'Brightens with water-brooks the hollow ghyll. '

Ghyll is also, I believe, a term confined to this country; ghyll anddingle have the same meaning. 

7. Line 191. 

 'Gives one bright glance, and drops behind the hill. '

From Thomson. 

8. *_Lines written while sailing in a Boat at Evening_. [IV. ]

1789. This title is scarcely correct. It was during a solitary walk onthe banks of the Cam that I was first struck with this appearance, andapplied it to my own feelings in the manner here expressed, changing thescene to the Thames, near Windsor. This, and the three stanzas of thefollowing poem, 'Remembrance of Collins, ' formed one piece; but upon therecommendation of Coleridge, the three last stanzas were separated fromthe other. 

9. _Descriptive Sketches taken during a Pedestrian Tour among the Alps_. [VI. ]

DEDICATION. 

TO THE REV. ROBERT JONES, FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 

DEAR SIR, --However desirous I might have been of giving you proofs ofthe high place you hold in my esteem, I should have been cautious ofwounding your delicacy by thus publicly addressing you, had not thecircumstance of our having been companions among the Alps seemed to givethis dedication a propriety sufficient to do away any scruples whichyour modesty might otherwise have suggested. 

In inscribing this little work to you, I consult my heart. You know wellhow great is the difference between two companions lolling in apost-chaise, and two travellers plodding slowly along the road, side byside, each with his little knapsack of necessaries upon his shoulders. How much more of heart between the two latter!

I am happy in being conscious that I shall have one reader who willapproach the conclusion of these few pages with regret. You they mustcertainly interest, in reminding you of moments to which you can hardlylook back without a pleasure not the less dear from a shade ofmelancholy. You will meet with few images without recollecting the spotwhere we observed them together; consequently, whatever is feeble in mydesign, or spiritless in my colouring, will be amply supplied by yourown memory. 

With still greater propriety I might have inscribed to you a descriptionof some of the features of your native mountains, through which we havewandered together, in the same manner, with so much pleasure. But thesea-sunsets, which give such splendour to the vale of Clwyd, Snowdon, the chair of Idris, the quiet village of Bethgelert, Menai and herDruids, the Alpine steeps of the Conway, and the still more interestingwindings of the wizard stream of the Dee, remain yet untouched. Apprehensive that my pencil may never be exercised on these subjects, Icannot let slip this opportunity of thus publicly assuring you with howmuch affection and esteem

 I am, dear Sir, Most sincerely yours, W. WORDSWORTH. 

London, 1793. 

10. *_Descriptive Sketches_. 

1791-2. Much the greatest part of this poem was composed during my walksupon the banks of the Loire, in the years 1791, 1792. I will only noticethat the description of the valley filled with mist, beginning 'Insolemn shapes, ' &c. Was taken from that beautiful region, of which theprincipal features are Lungarn and Sarnen. Nothing that I ever saw inNature left a more delightful impression on my mind than that which Ihave attempted, alas how feebly! to convey to others in these lines. Those two lakes have always interested me, especially from bearing, intheir size and other features, a resemblance to those of the North ofEngland. It is much to be deplored that a district so beautiful shouldbe so unhealthy as it is. 

FOOT-NOTES. 

11. _The Cross_. 'The Cross, by angels planted on the aerial rock' (I. 70). Alluding to the crosses seen on the spiry rocks of Chartreuse. 

12. _Rivers_. 'Along the mystic streams of Life and Death' (I. 71). Names of rivers at the Chartreuse. 

13. _Vallombre_. 'Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes' (I. 74). Name ofone of the valleys of the Chartreuse. 

14. _Sugh_. 'Beneath the cliffs, and pine-wood's steady sugh' (I. 358). Sugh, a Scotch word expressive of the sound of the wind through thetrees. 

15. _Pikes_. 'And Pikes of darkness named and fear and storms' (I. 471). As Schreck-Horn, the pike of terror, Wetter-horn, the pike of storms, &c. &c. 

16. _Shrine_. 'Ensiedlen's wretched fane' (I. 545). This shrine isresorted to, from a hope of relief, by multitudes, from every corner ofthe Catholic world, labouring under mental or bodily afflictions. 

17. _Sourd_. 'Sole sound, the Sourd prolongs his mournful cry!' (I. 618. ) An insect so called, which emits a short melancholy cry, heard atthe close of the Summer evenings, on the banks of the Loire. 

18. *_Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree, which stands near the Lakeof Esthwaite, on a desolate Part of the Shore, commanding a beautifulProspect_. [VII. ]

Composed in part at school at Hawkshead. The tree has disappeared, andthe slip of Common on which it stood, that ran parallel to the lake, and lay open to it, has long been enclosed, so that the road has lostmuch of its attraction. This spot was my favourite walk in the eveningsduring the latter part of my school-time. The individual whose habitsand character are here given was a gentleman of the neighbourhood, a manof talent and learning, who had been educated at one of ouruniversities, and returned to pass his time in seclusion on his ownestate. He died a bachelor in middle age. Induced by the beauty of theprospect, he built a small summer-house on the rocks above the peninsulaon which the ferry-house stands. [In pencil here--Query, Mr. Nott?]

This property afterwards past into the hands of the late Mr. Curwen. Thesite was long ago pointed out by Mr. West in his _Guide_ as the pride ofthe Lakes, and now goes by the name of 'The Station. ' So much used I tobe delighted with the view from it, while a little boy, that some yearsbefore the first pleasure-house was built, I led thither from Hawksheada youngster about my own age, an Irish boy, who was a servant to anitinerant conjuror. My motive was to witness the pleasure I expected theboy would receive from the prospect of the islands below, and theintermingling water. I was not disappointed; and I hope the fact, insignificant as it may seem to some, may be thought worthy of note byothers who may cast their eye over these notes. 

19. _Guilt and Sorrow; or Incidents upon Salisbury Plain_. [VIII. ]

ADVERTISEMENT, PREFIXED TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS POEM, PUBLISHED IN1842. 

Not less than one-third of the following poem, though it has from timeto time been altered in the expression, was published so far back as theyear 1798, under the title of 'The Female Vagrant. ' The extract is ofsuch length that an apology seems to be required for reprinting it here:but it was necessary to restore it to its original position, or the restwould have been unintelligible. The whole was written before the closeof the year 1794, and I will detail, rather as a matter of literarybiography than for any other reason, the circumstances under which itwas produced. 

During the latter part of the summer of 1793, having passed a month inthe Isle of Wight, in view of the fleet which was then preparing forsea off Portsmouth at the commencement of the war, I left the place withmelancholy forebodings. The American war was still fresh in memory. Thestruggle which was beginning, and which many thought would be brought toa speedy close by the irresistible arms of Great Britain being added tothose of the Allies, I was assured in my own mind would be of longcontinuance, and productive of distress and misery beyond all possiblecalculation. This conviction was pressed upon me by having been awitness, during a long residence in revolutionary France, of the spiritwhich prevailed in that country. After leaving the Isle of Wight, Ispent two days in wandering on foot over Salisbury Plain, which, thoughcultivation was then widely spread through parts of it, had upon thewhole a still more impressive appearance than it now retains. 

The monuments and traces of antiquity, scattered in abundance over thatregion, led me unavoidably to compare what we know or guess of thoseremote times with certain aspects of modern society, and withcalamities, principally those consequent upon war, to which, more thanother classes of men, the poor are subject. In those reflections, joinedwith particular facts that had come to my knowledge, the followingstanzas originated. 

In conclusion, to obviate some distraction in the minds of those who arewell acquainted with Salisbury Plain, it may be proper to say, that ofthe features described as belonging to it, one or two are taken fromother desolate parts of England. 

20. *_The Female Vagrant_. 

I find the date of this is placed in 1792 in contradiction, by mistake, to what I have asserted in 'Guilt and Sorrow. ' The correct date is1793-4. The chief incidents of it, more particularly her description ofher feelings on the Atlantic, are taken from life. 

21. *_Guilt and Sorrow; or Incidents upon Salisbury Plain_. [VIII. ]

Unwilling to be unnecessarily particular, I have assigned this poem tothe dates 1793 and 1794; but, in fact, much of the Female Vagrant'sstory was composed at least two years before. All that relates to hersufferings as a soldier's wife in America, and her condition of mindduring her voyage home, were faithfully taken from the report made to meof her own case by a friend who had been subjected to the same trials, and affected in the same way. Mr. Coleridge, when I first becameacquainted with him, was so much impressed with this poem, that it wouldhave encouraged me to publish the whole as it then stood; but theMariner's fate appeared to me so tragical, as to require a treatmentmore subdued, and yet more strictly applicable in expression, than I hadat first given to it. This fault was corrected nearly fifty yearsafterwards, when I determined to publish the whole. It may be worthwhile to remark, that though the incidents of this attempt do only in asmall degree produce each other, and it deviates accordingly from thegeneral rule by which narrative pieces ought to be governed, it is nottherefore wanting in continuous hold upon the mind, or in unity, whichis effected by the identity of moral interest that places the twopersonages upon the same footing in the reader's sympathies. My rambleover many parts of Salisbury Plain put me, as mentioned in the preface, upon writing this poem, and left upon my mind imaginative impressionsthe force of which I have felt to this day. From that district Iproceeded to Bath, Bristol, and so on to the banks of the Wye; when Itook again to travelling on foot. In remembrance of that part of myjourney, which was in 1793, I began the verses, 'Five years have passed, ' &c. 

22. _Charles Farish_. 

 'And hovering, round it often did a raven fly. '

From a short MS. Poem read to me when an undergraduate, by myschoolfellow and friend, Charles Farish, long since deceased. The verseswere by a brother of his, a man of promising genius, who died young. ['Guilt and Sorrow, ' st. Ix. L. 9. ]

23. *_The Forsaken. Poems founded on the Affections_. [XII. ]

This was an overflow from the affliction of Margaret, and excluded assuperfluous there; but preserved in the faint hope that it may turn toaccount, by restoring a shy lover to some forsaken damsel; my poetryhaving been complained of as deficient in interests of this sort, acharge which the next piece, beginning, 'Lyre! though such power do in thy magic live!'

will scarcely tend to obviate. The natural imagery of these verses wassupplied by frequent, I might say intense, observation of the RydalTorrent. What an animating contrast is the ever-changing aspect of that, and indeed of every one of our mountain brooks, to the monotonous toneand unmitigated fury of such streams among the Alps as are fed all thesummer long by glaciers and melting snows! A traveller, observing theexquisite purity of the great rivers, such as the Rhone at Geneva, andthe Reuss at Lucerne, where they issue out of their respective lakes, might fancy for a moment that some power in Nature produced thisbeautiful change, with a view to make amends for those Alpine sullyingswhich the waters exhibit near their fountain heads; but, alas! how soondoes that purity depart, before the influx of tributary waters that haveflowed through cultivated plains and the crowded abodes of men. 

24. *_The Borderers: a Tragedy_. 

Of this dramatic work I have little to say in addition to the shortprinted note which will be found attached to it. It was composed atRacedown in Dorset, during the latter part of the year 1795, and in thecourse of the following year. Had it been the work of a later period oflife, it would have been different in some respects from what it is now. The plot would have been something more complex, and a greater varietyof characters introduced, to relieve the mind from the pressure ofincidents so mournful; the manners also would have been more attendedto. My care was almost exclusively given to the passions and thecharacters, and the position in which the persons in the drama stoodrelatively to each other, that the reader (for I never thought of thestage at the time it was written) might be moved, and to a degreeinstructed, by lights penetrating somewhat into the depths of ournature. In this endeavour, I cannot think, upon a very late review, thatI have failed. As to the scene and period of action, little more wasrequired for my purpose than the absence of established law andgovernment, so that the agents might be at liberty to act on their ownimpulses. Nevertheless, I do remember, that having a wish to colour themanners in some degree from local history more than my knowledge enabledme to do, I read Redpath's _History of the Borders_, but found therenothing to my purpose. I once made an observation to Sir W. Scott, inwhich he concurred, that it was difficult to conceive how so dull a bookcould be written on such a subject. Much about the same time, but alittle after, Coleridge was employed in writing his tragedy of_Remorse_; and it happened soon after that, through one of the Mr. Pooles, Mr. Knight, the actor, heard that we had been engaged in writingplays, and, upon his suggestion, mine was curtailed, and (I believe, with Coleridge's) was offered to Mr. Harris, manager of Covent Garden. For myself, I had no hope, nor even a wish (though a successful playwould in the then state of my finances have been a most welcome piece ofgood fortune), that he should accept my performance; so that I incurredno disappointment when the piece was _judiciously_ returned as notcalculated for the stage. In this judgment I entirely concurred; and hadit been otherwise, it was so natural for me to shrink from publicnotice, that any hope I might have had of success would not havereconciled me altogether to such an exhibition. Mr. C. 's play was, as iswell known, brought forward several years after, through the kindness ofMr. Sheridan. In conclusion, I may observe, that while I was composingthis play, I wrote a short essay, illustrative of that constitution andthose tendencies of human nature, which make the apparently _motiveless_actions of bad men intelligible to careful observers. This was partlydone with reference to the character of Oswald, and his perseveringendeavour to lead the man he disliked into so heinous a crime; but stillmore to preserve in my distinct remembrance what I had observed oftransitions in character, and the reflections I had been led to make, during the time I was a witness of the changes through which the FrenchRevolution passed. 

25. The following is the 'short printed note' mentioned in above:

This Dramatic Piece, as noticed in its title-page, was composed in1795-6. It lay nearly from that time till within the last two or threemonths unregarded among my papers, without being mentioned even to mymost intimate friends. Having, however, impressions upon my mind whichmade me unwilling to destroy the MS. , I determined to undertake theresponsibility of publishing it during my own life, rather than imposeupon my successors the task of deciding its fate. Accordingly it hasbeen revised with some care; but, as it was at first written, and is nowpublished, without any view to its exhibition upon the stage, not theslightest alteration has been made in the conduct of the story, or thecomposition of the characters; above all, in respect to the two leadingPersons of the Drama, I felt no inducement to make any change. The studyof human nature suggests this awful truth, that, as in the trial towhich life subjects us, sin and crime are apt to start from their veryopposite qualities, so are there no limits to the hardening of theheart, and the perversion of the understanding to which they may carrytheir slaves. During my long residence in France, while the Revolutionwas rapidly advancing to its extreme of wickedness, I had frequentopportunities of being an eye-witness of this process, and it was whilethat knowledge was fresh upon my memory that the Tragedy of the_Borderers_ was composed. 

26. Later, this was prefixed: 'Readers already acquainted with my Poemswill recognise, in the following composition, some eight or ten lineswhich I have not scrupled to retain in the places where they originallystood. It is proper, however, to add, that they would not have been usedelsewhere, if I had foreseen the time when I might be induced to publishthis Tragedy. February 28. 1842. '

II. POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF CHILDHOOD. 

27. *_My Heart leaps up when I behold_. [I. ]

This was written at Grasmere, Town-End, 1804. 

28. *_To a Butterfly_. [II. ]

Grasmere, Town-End. Written in the Orchard, 1801. My sister and I wereparted immediately after the death of our mother, who died in 1777, both being very young. [Corrected in pencil on opposite page--' March1778. ']

29. *_The Sparrow's Nest_, [III. ]

The Orchard, Grasmere, Town-End, 1801. At the end of the garden of myFather's house at Cockermouth was a high terrace that commanded a fineview of the river Derwent and Cockermouth Castle. This was our favouriteplay-ground. The terrace wall, a low one, was covered with closely-cliptprivet and roses, which gave an almost impervious shelter to birds thatbuilt their nests there. The latter of these stanzas alludes to one ofthese nests. 

30. *_Foresight_, [IV. ]

Also composed in the Orchard, Grasmere, Town-End. 

31. *_Characteristics of a Child three Years old_. [V. ]

Picture of my daughter Catharine, who died the year after. Written atAllan-Bank, Grasmere, 1811. 

32. *_Address to a Child_, [VI. ]

During a boisterous Winter's Evening. Town-End, Grasmere, 1806. 

33. *_The Mother's Return_, [VII. ]

Ditto. By Miss Wordsworth [_i. E. _ both poems]. 

34. *_Alice Fell; or Poverty_. [VIII. ]

1801. Written to gratify Mr. Graham, of Glasgow, brother of the Authorof 'The Sabbath. ' He was a zealous coadjutor of Mr. Clarkson, and a manof ardent humanity. The incident had happened to himself, and he urgedme to put it into verse for humanity's sake. The humbleness, meanness ifyou like, of the subject, together with the homely mode of treating it, brought upon me a world of ridicule by the small critics, so that inpolicy I excluded it from many editions of my Poems, till it wasrestored at the request of some of my friends, in particular myson-in-law, Edward Quillinan. 

35. *_Lucy Gray; or Solitude_. [IX. ]

Written at Goslar, in Germany, in 1799. It was founded on acircumstance told me by my sister, of a little girl, who, not far fromHalifax, in Yorkshire, was bewildered in a snow-storm. Her footstepswere tracked by her parents to the middle of the lock of a canal, and noother vestige of her, backward or forward, could be traced. The body, however, was found in the canal. The way in which the incident wastreated, and the spiritualising of the character, might furnish hintsfor contrasting the imaginative influences, which I have endeavoured tothrow over common life, with Crabbe's matter-of-fact style of handlingsubjects of the same kind. This is not spoken to his disparagement, farfrom it; but to direct the attention of thoughtful readers into whosehands these notes may fall, to a comparison that may enlarge the circleof their sensibilities, and tend to produce in them a catholic judgment. 

36. *_We are Seven_. [X. ] _The Ancient Mariner and Coleridge, &c. &c. _&c. &c. 

Written at Alfoxden in the spring of 1798, under circumstances somewhatremarkable. The little girl who is the heroine, I met within the area ofGoderich Castle in the year 1793. Having left the Isle of Wight, andcrost Salisbury Plain, as mentioned in the preface to 'Guilt andSorrow, ' I proceeded by Bristol up the Wye, and so on to N. Wales to theVale of Clwydd, where I spent my summer under the roof of the father ofmy friend, Robert Jones. 

In reference to this poem, I will here mention one of the mostremarkable facts in my own poetic history, and that of Mr. Coleridge. Inthe spring of the year 1798, he, my sister, and myself, started fromAlfoxden pretty late in the afternoon, with a view to visit Linton, andthe Valley of Stones near to it; and as our united funds were verysmall, we agreed to defray the expense of the tour by writing a poem, tobe sent to the _New Monthly Magazine_, set up by Phillips, thebookseller, and edited by Dr. Aikin. Accordingly we set off, andproceeded, along the Quantock Hills, towards Watchet; and in the courseof this walk was planned the poem of the 'Ancient Mariner, ' founded on adream, as Mr. Coleridge said, of his friend Mr. Cruikshank. Much thegreatest part of the story was Mr. Coleridge's invention; but certainparts I myself suggested; for example, some crime was to be committedwhich would bring upon the Old Navigator, as Coleridge afterwardsdelighted to call him, the spectral persecution, as a consequence ofthat crime and his own wanderings. I had been reading in Shelvocke's_Voyages_, a day or two before, that, while doubling Cape Horn, theyfrequently saw albatrosses in that latitude, the largest sort ofsea-fowl, some extending their wings twelve or thirteen feet. 'Suppose, 'said I, 'you represent him as having killed one of these birds onentering the South Sea, and that the tutelary spirits of these regionstake upon them to avenge the crime. ' The incident was thought fit forthe purpose, and adopted accordingly. I also suggested the navigation ofthe ship by the dead men, but do not recollect that I had anything moreto do with the scheme of the poem. The gloss with which it wassubsequently accompanied was not thought of by either of us at the time, at least not a hint of it was given to me, and I have no doubt it was agratuitous after-thought. We began the composition together, on that tome memorable evening: I furnished two or three lines at the beginning ofthe poem, in particular--

 'And listen'd like a three years' child; The Mariner had his will. '

These trifling contributions, all but one, (which Mr. C. Has withunnecessary scrupulosity recorded, ) slipt out of his mind, as they wellmight. As we endeavoured to proceed conjointly (I speak of the sameevening), our respective manners proved so widely different, that itwould have been quite presumptuous in me to do anything but separatefrom an undertaking upon which I could only have been a clog. Wereturned after a few days from a delightful tour, of which I have manypleasant, and some of them droll enough, recollections. We returned byDulverton to Alfoxden. The 'Ancient Mariner' grew and grew till itbecame too important for our first object, which was limited to ourexpectation of five pounds; and we began to talk of a volume which wasto consist, as Mr. Coleridge has told the world, of Poems chiefly onnatural subjects, taken from common life, but looked at, as much asmight be, through an imaginative medium. Accordingly I wrote 'The IdiotBoy, ' 'Her Eyes are wild, ' &c. , and 'We are Seven, ' 'The Thorn, ' andsome others. To return to 'We are Seven, ' the piece that called forththis note:--I composed it while walking in the grove of Alfoxden. Myfriends will not deem it too trifling to relate, that while walking toand fro I composed the last stanza first, having begun with the lastline. When it was all but finished, I came in and recited it to Mr. Coleridge and my sister, and said, 'A prefatory stanza must be added, and I should sit down to our little tea-meal with greater pleasure if mytask was finished. ' I mentioned in substance what I wished to beexpressed, and Coleridge immediately threw off the stanza, thus:

 'A little child, dear brother Jem. '

I objected to the rhyme, 'dear brother Jem, ' as being ludicrous; but weall enjoyed the joke of hitching in our friend James Tobin's name, whowas familiarly called Jem. He was the brother of the dramatist; and thisreminds me of an anecdote which it may be worth while here to notice. The said Jem got a sight of the 'Lyrical Ballads' as it was goingthrough the press at Bristol, during which time I was residing in thatcity. One evening he came to me with a grave face, and said, 'Wordsworth, I have seen the volume that Coleridge and you are about topublish. There is one poem in it which I earnestly entreat you willcancel, for, if published, it will make you everlastingly ridiculous. ' Ianswered, that I felt much obliged by the interest he took in my goodname as a writer, and begged to know what was the unfortunate piece healluded to. He said, 'It is called "We are Seven. "' 'Nay, ' said I, 'thatshall take its chance, however;' and he left me in despair. I have onlyto add, that in the spring of 1841, I visited Goodrich Castle, nothaving seen that part of the Wye since I met the little girl there in1793. It would have given me greater pleasure to have found in theneighbouring hamlet traces of one who had interested me so much, butthat was impossible, as, unfortunately, I did not even know her name. The ruin, from its position and features, is a most impressive object. Icould not but deeply regret that its solemnity was impaired by afantastic new castle set up on a projection of the same ridge, as if toshow how far modern art can go in surpassing all that could be done byantiquity and Nature with their united graces, remembrances, andassociations. I could have almost wished for power, so much the contrastvexed me, to blow away Sir ---- Meyrick's impertinent structure and allthe possessions it contains. 

37. *_The Idle Shepherd Boys; or Dungeon-Ghyll Force: a Pastoral_. [XI. ]

Grasmere, Town-End, 1800. I will only add a little monitory anecdoteconcerning this subject. When Coleridge and Southey were walkingtogether upon the Fells, Southey observed that, if I wished to beconsidered a faithful painter of rural manners, I ought not to have saidthat my shepherd boys trimmed their rustic hats as described in thepoem. Just as the words had past his lips, two boys appeared with thevery plant entwined round their hats. I have often wondered thatSouthey, who rambled so much about the mountains, should have falleninto this mistake; and I record it as a warning for others who, with farless opportunity than my dear friend had of knowing what things are, andwith far less sagacity, give way to presumptuous criticism, from whichhe was free, though in this matter mistaken. In describing a tarn underHelvellyn, I say, 'There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer. '

This was branded by a critic of those days, in a review ascribed to Mrs. Barbauld, as unnatural and absurd. I admire the genius of Mrs. Barbauld, and am certain that, had her education been favourable to imaginativeinfluences, no female of her day would have been more likely tosympathise with that image, and to acknowledge the truth of thesentiment. 

38. _Foot-note_. 

Heading: 'Dungeon-ghyll Force. ' _Ghyll_, in the dialect of Cumberlandand Westmoreland, is a short and, for the most part, a steep narrowvalley, with a stream running through it. _Force_ is the worduniversally employed in these dialects for waterfall. 

39. *_Anecdote for Fathers_. [XII. ]

This was suggested in front of Alfoxden. The boy was a son of my friendBasil Montagu, who had been two or three years under our care. The nameof Kilve is from a village in the Bristol Channel, about a mile fromAlfoxden; and the name of Liswin Farm was taken from a beautiful spot onthe Wye. When Mr. Coleridge, my sister, and I had been visiting thefamous John Thelwall, who had taken refuge from politics, after a trialfor high treason, with a view to bring up his family by the profits ofagriculture; which proved as unfortunate a speculation as that he hadfled from. Coleridge and he had been public lecturers: Coleridgemingling with his politics theology; from which the other abstained, unless it were for the sake of a sneer. This quondam community of publicemployment induced Thelwall to visit Coleridge at Nether Stowey, wherehe fell in my way. He really was a man of extraordinary talent, anaffectionate husband, and a good father. Though brought up in the cityon a tailor's board, he was truly sensible of the beauty of naturalobjects. I remember once when Coleridge, he and I were seated togetherupon the turf, on the brink of a stream in the most beautiful part ofthe most beautiful glen of Alfoxden, Coleridge exclaimed, 'This is aplace to reconcile one to all the jarrings and conflicts of the wideworld. ' 'Nay, ' said Thelwall, 'to make one forget them altogether. ' Thevisit of this man to Coleridge was, as I believe Coleridge has related, the occasion of a spy being sent by Government to watch our proceedings;which were, I can say with truth, such as the world at large would havethought ludicrously harmless. 

40. _Rural Architecture_. [XIII. ]

These structures, as every one knows, are common among our hills, beingbuilt by shepherds, as conspicuous marks, and occasionally by boys insport. It was written at Town-End, in 1801. 

41. _Foot-note: Great How_ (l. 4). 

Great How is a single and conspicuous hill, which rises towards the footof Thirlmere, on the western side of the beautiful dale ofLegberthwaite. 

42. *_The Pet Lamb: a Pastoral_. [XIV. ]

Town-End, 1800. Barbara Lewthwaite, now living at Ambleside (1843), though much changed as to beauty, was one of two most lovely sisters. Almost the first words my poor brother John said, when he visited us forthe first time at Grasmere, were, 'Were those two angels that I havejust seen?' and from his description I have no doubt they were thosetwo sisters. The mother died in childbed; and one of our neighbours, atGrasmere, told me that the loveliest sight she had ever seen was thatmother as she lay in her coffin with her [dead] babe in her arm. Imention this to notice what I cannot but think a salutary custom, onceuniversal in these vales: every attendant on a funeral made it a duty tolook at the corpse in the coffin before the lid was closed, which wasnever done (nor I believe is now) till a minute or two before the corpsewas removed. Barbara Lewthwaite was not, in fact, the child whom I hadseen and overheard as engaged in the poem. I chose the name for reasonsimplied in the above, and will here add a caution against the use ofnames of living persons. Within a few months after the publication ofthis poem, I was much surprised, and more hurt, to find it in a child'sschool-book, which, having been compiled by Lindley Murray, had comeinto use at Grasmere school, where Barbara was a pupil. And, alas, I hadthe mortification of hearing that she was very vain of being thusdistinguished; and in after life she used to say that she remembered theincident, and what I said to her upon the occasion. 

43. *_Influence of Natural Objects, &c. _ [XVI. ]

Written in Germany, 1799. 

44. *_The Longest Day_. [XVII. ]

1817. Suggested by the sight of my daughter (Dora) playing in front ofRydal Mount, and composed in a great measure the same afternoon. I haveoften wished to pair this poem upon the 'longest' with one upon the'shortest' day, and regret even now that it has not been done. 

45. *_The Norman Boy_. [XVIII. ]

The subject of this poem was sent me by Mrs. Ogle, to whom I waspersonally unknown, with a hope on her part that I might be induced torelate the incident in verse. And I do not regret that I took thetrouble; for not improbably the fact is illustrative of the boy's earlypiety, and may concur, with my other little pieces on children, toproduce profitable reflection among my youthful readers. This is said, however, with an absolute conviction that children will derive mostbenefit from books which are not unworthy the perusal of persons of anyage. I protest with my whole heart against those productions, soabundant in the present day, in which the doings of children are dweltupon as if they were incapable of being interested in anything else. Onthis subject I have dwelt at length in the Poem on the growth of my ownmind. ['Prelude. ']

 * * * * *

III. POEMS FOUNDED ON THE AFFECTIONS. 

46. _The Brothers_. [I. ]

1800. This poem was composed in a grove at the north-eastern end ofGrasmere Lake, which grove was in a great measure destroyed by turningthe high-road along the side of the water. The few trees that are leftwere spared at my intercession. The poem arose out of the fact mentionedto me, at Ennerdale, that a shepherd had fallen asleep upon the top ofthe rock called the 'pillar, ' and perished as here described, his staffbeing left midway on the rock. 

47. _Great Gavel_. (Foot-note. )

'From the Great Gavel down by Leeza's banks' (l. 324). 

The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance to the gableend of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland mountains. TheLeeza is a river which flows into the Lake of Ennerdale. 

48. _Artegal and Elidure_. [II. ]

Rydal Mount. This was written in the year 1815, as a token ofaffectionate respect for the memory of Milton. 'I have determined, ' sayshe, in his preface to his History of England, 'to bestow the tellingover even of these reputed tales, be it for nothing else but in favourof our English Poets and Rhetoricians, who by their wit well know how touse them judiciously. ' See the Chronicle of Geoffrey of Monmouth andMilton's History of England. 

49. *_To a Butterfly_. [III. ]

1801. Written at the same time and place. 

50 *_A Farewell_. [IV. ]

1802. Composed just before my sister and I went to fetch Mary fromGallowhill, near Scarborough. 

51. *_Stanzas written in my Pocket-copy of Thomson's 'Castle ofIndolence. '_ [V. ]

Composed in the Orchard, Grasmere, Town-End. Coleridge living with usmuch at the time, his son Hartley has said that his father's characterand history are here preserved in a livelier way than in anything thathas been written about him. 

52. *_Louisa. After accompanying her on a mountain Excursion_. [VI. ]

Town-End, 1805. 

53. *_Strange Fits of Passion have I known_. [VII. ] *_She dwelt among the Springs of Dove_. [VIII. ] *_I travelled among unknown Men_. [IX. ]

These three poems were written in Germany, 1799. 

54. *_Ere with cold Beads of midnight Dew_. [X. ]

Rydal Mount, 1826. Suggested by the condition of a friend. 

55. *_To_ ----. [XI. ]

Rydal Mount, 1824. Prompted by the undue importance attached to personalbeauty by some dear friends of mine. [In opposite page in pencil--S. C. ]

56. *_'Tis said that some have died for Love_. [XIII. ]

1800. 

57. *_A Complaint_. [XIV. ]

Suggested by a change in the manners of a friend. Coleorton, 1806. [Town-End marked out and Coleorton written in pencil; and on oppositepage in pencil--Coleridge, S. T. ]

58. *_To_ ----. [XV. ]

Rydal Mount, 1824. Written on [Mrs. ] Mary Wordsworth. 

59. * '_How rich that Forehead's calm Expanse_!'[XVII. ]

Rydal Mount, 1824. Also on M. W. 

60. *_To_ ----. [XIX]

Rydal Mount, 1824. To M. W. , Rydal Mount. 

61. *_Lament of Mary Queen of Scots_. [XX. ]

This arose out of a flash of Moonlight that struck the ground when I wasapproaching the steps that lead from the garden at Rydal Mount to thefront of the house. 'From her sunk eye a stagnant tear stole forth, ' istaken, with some loss, from a discarded poem, 'The Convict, ' in whichoccurred, when he was discovered lying in the cell, these lines:

 'But now he upraises the deep-sunken eye; The motion unsettles a tear; The silence of sorrow it seems to supply, And asks of me, why I am here. '

62. _The Complaint of a forsaken Indian Woman_. [XXI. ]

When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journeywith his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of theplace will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companionsintend to pursue, and if he be unable to follow, or overtake them, heperishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune tofall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, orstill more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's _Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean_. In the highnorthern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the northernlights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and acrackling noise, as alluded to in the following poem. 

63. *_Ibid. _

At Alfoxden, in 1798, where I read Hearne's _Journey_ with greatinterest. It was composed for the volume of 'Lyrical Ballads. '

64. *_The Last of the Flock_. [XXII. ]

Produced at the same time [as 'The Complaint, ' No. 62] and for the samepurpose. The incident occurred in the village of Holford, close byAlfoxden. 

65. *_Repentance_ [XXIII. ]

Town-End, 1804. Suggested by the conversation of our next neighbour, Margaret Ashburner. 

66. *_The Affliction of Margaret_ ----. [XXIV. ]

Town-End, 1804. This was taken from the case of a poor widow who livedin the town of Penrith. Her sorrow was well known to Mary, to my sister, and I believe to the whole town. She kept a shop, and when she saw astranger passing by, she was in the habit of going out into the streetto inquire of him after her son. 

67. *_The Cottager to her Infant_. [XXV. ]

By my sister. Suggested to her while beside my sleeping children. 

68. *_Maternal Grief_. 

This was in part an overflow from the Solitary's description of his ownand his wife's feelings upon the decease of their children; and I willventure to add, for private notice solely, is faithfully set forth frommy wife's feelings and habits after the loss of our two children, withinhalf a year of each other. 

69. *_The Sailor's Mother_. [XXVII. ]

Town-End, 1800. I met this woman near the Wishing-Gate, on the high-roadthat then led from Grasmere to Ambleside. Her appearance was exactly ashere described, and such was her account, nearly to the letter. 

70. *_The Childless Father_. [XXVIII. ]

Town-End, 1800. When I was a child at Cockermouth, no funeral took placewithout a basin filled with sprigs of boxwood being placed upon a tablecovered with a white cloth in front of the house. The huntings (on foot)which the Old Man is suffered to join as here described were of common, almost habitual, occurrence in our vales when I was a boy; and thepeople took much delight in them. They are now less frequent. 

71. _Funeral Basin_. 

 'Filled the funeral basin at Timothy's door. '

In several parts of the North of England, when a funeral takes place, abasin full of sprigs of boxwood is placed at the door of the house fromwhich the coffin is taken up, and each person who attends the funeralordinarily takes a sprig of this boxwood, and throws it into the graveof the deceased. 

72. *_The Emigrant Mother_. [XXIX. ]

1802. Suggested by what I have noticed in more than one French fugitiveduring the time of the French Revolution. If I am not mistaken, thelines were composed at Sockburn when I was on a visit to Mary and herbrothers. 

73. _Vaudracour and Julia_. [XXX. ]

The following tale was written as an Episode, in a work from which itslength may perhaps exclude it. The facts are true; no invention as tothese has been exercised, as none was needed. 

74. *_Ibid. _

Town-End, 1805. Faithfully narrated, though with the omission of manypathetic circumstances, from the mouth of a French lady, who had been aneye and ear-witness of all that was done and said. Many long years afterI was told that Dupligne was then a monk in the Convent of La Trappe. 

75. _The Idiot Boy_. 

Alfoxden, 1798. The last stanza, 'The cocks did crow, and the sun didshine so cold, ' was the foundation of the whole. The words werereported to me by my dear friend Thomas Poole; but I have since heardthe same reported of other idiots. Let me add, that this long poem wascomposed in the groves of Alfoxden, almost extempore; not a word, Ibelieve, being corrected, though one stanza was omitted. I mention thisin gratitude to those happy moments, for, in truth, I never wroteanything with so much glee. 

76. *_Michael_. [XXXII. ]

Town-End, 1807. Written about the same time as 'The Brothers. ' Thesheepfold on which so much of the poem turns, remains, or rather theruins of it. The character and circumstances of Luke were taken from afamily to whom had belonged, many years before, the house we lived in atTown-End, along with some fields and woodlands on the eastern shore ofGrasmere. The name of the Evening Star was not in fact given to thishouse, but to another on the same side of the valley more to the north. [On opposite page in pencil--' Greenhead Ghyll. ']

77. _Clipping_. 

 'The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears' (foot-note on 1. 169). 

Clipping is the word used in the North of England for shearing. 

78. *_The Widow on Windermere Side_. [XXXIV. ]

The facts recorded in this Poem were given me and the character of theperson described by my highly esteemed friend the Rev. R. P. Graves, whohas long officiated as Curate at Bowness, to the great benefit of theparish and neighbourhood. The individual was well known to him. She diedbefore these Verses were composed. It is scarcely worth while to noticethat the stanzas are written in the sonnet-form; which was adopted whenI thought the matter might be included in 28 lines. 

79. _The Armenian Lady's Love_. [XXXIV. ]

The subject of the following poem is from the 'Orlandus' of the author'sfriend, Kenelm Henry Digby: and the liberty is taken of inscribing it tohim as an acknowledgment, however unworthy, of pleasure and instructionderived from his numerous and valuable writings, illustrative of thepiety and chivalry of the olden time. *Rydal Mount, 1830. 

80. _Percy's 'Reliques'_ (foot-note on 1. 2). 

 'You have heard "a Spanish Lady How she wooed an English man. "'

See in Percy's _Reliques_ that fine old ballad, 'The Spanish Lady'sLove'; from which Poem the form of stanza, as suitable to dialogue, isadopted. 

81. *_Loving and Liking_. [XXXV. ]

By my Sister. Rydal Mount, 1832. It arose, I believe, out of a casualexpression of one of Mr. Swinburne's children. 

82. *_Farewell Lines_. [XXXVI. ]

These Lines were designed as a farewell to Charles Lamb and his Sister, who had retired from the throngs of London to comparative solitude inthe village of Enfield, Herts, [_sic. _]

83. (1) _The Redbreast_. 

Lines 45-6. 

 'Of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John Blessing the bed she lies upon. '

The words--

 'Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on, '

are part of a child's prayer still in general use through the northerncounties. 

84. *(2)

Rydal Mount, 1834. Our cats having been banished the house, it was soonfrequented by Red-breasts. Two or three of them, when the window wasopen, would come in, particularly when Mary was breakfasting alone, andhop about the table picking up the crumbs. My Sister being then confinedto her room by sickness, as, dear creature, she still is, had one that, without being caged, took up its abode with her, and at night used toperch upon a nail from which a picture had hung. It used to sing and fanher face with its wings in a manner that was very touching. [Inpencil--- But who was the pale-faced child?]

85. *_Her Eyes are wild_. [XXXVIII. ]

Alfoxden, 1798. The subject was reported to me by a lady of Bristol, whohad seen the poor creature. 

 * * * * *

IV. POEMS ON THE NAMING OF PLACES. 

86. _Advertisement_. 

By persons resident in the country and attached to rural objects, manyplaces will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little Incidentsmust have occurred, or feelings been experienced, which will have givento such places a private and peculiar interest. From a wish to give somesort of record to such Incidents, and renew the gratification of suchfeelings, Names have been given to Places by the Author and some of hisFriends, and the following Poems written in consequence. 

87. *_It was an April Morn, &c. _ [I. ]

Grasmere, 1800. This poem was suggested on the banks of the brook thatruns through Easedale, which is, in some parts of its course, as wildand beautiful as brook can be. I have composed thousands of verses bythe side of it. 

88. *'_May call it Emmas Dell'_ (I. 47). 

[In pencil, with reference to the last line is this--Emma's Dell--Whowas Emma?]

89. *_To Joanna Hutchinson_. [II. ]

Grasmere, 1800. The effect of her laugh is an extravagance; though theeffect of the reverberation of voices in some parts of these mountainsis very striking. There is, in 'The Excursion, ' an allusion to the bleatof a lamb thus re-echoed and described, without any exaggeration, as Iheard it on the side of Stickle Tarn, from the precipice that stretcheson to Langdale Pikes. 

90. _Inscriptions_. 

In Cumberland and Westmoreland are several Inscriptions upon the nativerock, which, from the wasting of time, and the rudeness of theworkmanship, have been mistaken for Runic. They are without doubt Roman. The Rotha mentioned in the poem is the River which, flowing through thelakes of Grasmere and Ryedale, falls into Wynandermere. On Helmcrag, that impressive single mountain at the head of the Vale of Grasmere, isa rock which from most points of view bears a striking resemblance to anold woman cowering. Close by this rock is one of those fissures orcaverns which in the language of the country are called dungeons. Mostof the mountains here mentioned immediately surround the Vale ofGrasmere; of the others, some are at a considerable distance, but theybelong to the same cluster. 

91. *_There is an Eminence, &c. _ [III. ]

1800. It is not accurate that the eminence here alluded to could be seenfrom our orchard seat. It arises above the road by the side of GrasmereLake, towards Keswick, and its name is Stone Arthur. 

92. *'_A narrow Girdle of rough Stones and Crags'_ [IV. ]

 '----Point Kash Judgment' (last line). 

1800. The character of the eastern shore of Grasmere Lake is quitechanged since these verses were written, by the public road beingcarried along its side. The friends spoken of were Coleridge and mysister, and the fact occurred strictly as recorded. 

93. *_To Mary Hutchinson_. [V. ]

Two years before our marriage. The pool alluded to is in Rydal UpperPark. 

94. *_When to the Attractions, &c. _ [VI. ]

1805. The grove still exists; but the plantation has been walled in, andis not so accessible as when my brother John wore the path in the mannerhere described. The grove was a favourite haunt with us all while welived at Town-End. 

95. _Captain Wordsworth_. 

 'When we, and others whom we love, shall meet A second time, in Grasmere's happy Vale' (last lines). 

This wish was not granted; the lamented Person not long after perishedby shipwreck, in discharge of his duty as Commander of the HonourableEast India Company's Vessel, the Earl of Abergavenny. 

V. POEMS OF THE FANCY. 

96. *_A Morning Exercise_. [I. ]

Rydal Mount, 1825. I could wish the last five stanzas of this to be readwith the poem addressed to the Skylark. [No. 158. ]

97. *_Birds_. 

'A feathered task-master cries, "Work away!" And, in thy iteration, "Whip Poor Will!" Is heard the spirit of a toil-worn slave' (II. 15-17). 

See Waterton's _Wanderings in South America_. 

98. *_A Flower-garden_. [II. ]

Planned by my friend Lady Beaumont in connexion with the garden atColeorton. 

99. *_A Whirl-blast from behind the Hill_. [III. ]

Observed in the holly grove at Alfoxden, where these verses were writtenin the spring of 1799. I had the pleasure of again seeing, with dearfriends, this Grove in unimpaired beauty forty-one years after. [The'dear friends' were Mrs. Wordsworth, Miss Fenwick, Mr. And Mrs. Quillinan, and Mr. William Wordsworth, May 18, 1841. _Memoirs_, i. 112. ]

100. *_The Waterfall and the Eglantine_. [IV. ]

Suggested nearer to Grasmere on the same mountain track. The eglantineremained many years afterwards, but is now gone. [In pencil on oppositepage--Mr. W. Shewed me the place 1848. E. Q. ]

101. *_The Oak and the Broom; a Pastoral_. [V. ]

1800. Suggested upon the mountain pathway that leads from Upper Rydal toGrasmere. The ponderous block of stone, which is mentioned in the poem, remains, I believe, to this day, a good way up Nab-Scar. Broom growsunder it, and in many places on the side of the precipice. 

102. *_To a Sexton_. [VI. ]

Written in Germany, 1799. 

103. *_To the Daisy_. [VII. ]

This Poem, and two others to the same flower, were written in the year1802; which is mentioned, because in some of the ideas, though not inthe manner in which those ideas are connected, and likewise even in someof the expressions, there is a resemblance to passages in a Poem (latelypublished) of Mr. [James] Montgomery's, entitled a 'Field Flower. ' Thisbeing said, Mr. Montgomery will not think any apology due to him; but Icannot, however, help addressing him in the words of the Father ofEnglish Poets:

 'Though it happe me to rehersin That ye han in your freshe songes saied, Forberith me, and beth not ill apaied, Sith that ye se I doe it in the honour Of Love, and eke in service of the Flour. '

1807. [Note. ] See, in Chaucer and the older Poets, the honours formerlypaid to this flower. 

104. *_To the same Flower_. [VIII. ]

'To the Daisy, ' 'To the same Flower, ' and 'The Green Linnet'--allcomposed at Town-End Orchard, where the bird was often seen as heredescribed. 

105. *_To the small Celandine_. [XI. ]

Grasmere, Town-End. It is remarkable that this flower coming out soearly in the spring as it does, and so bright and beautiful, and in suchprofusion, should not have been noticed earlier in English verse. Whatadds much to the interest that attends it, is its habit of shuttingitself up and opening out according to the degree of light andtemperature of the air. [In pencil on opposite page--Has not Chaucernoticed it?] [Note. ] Common Pilewort. 

106. _The Seven Sisters_. 

The story of this Poem is from the German of Frederica Brun. 

107. *_The Redbreast chasing the Butterfly_. [XV. ]

Observed as described in the then beautiful Orchard at Town-End. 

108. *_Song for the Spinning-wheel_. [XVI. ]

1806. The belief on which this is founded I have often heard expressedby an old neighbour of Grasmere. 

109. *_Hint from the Mountains_. [XVII. ]

Bunches of fern may often be seen wheeling about in the wind, as heredescribed. The particular bunch that suggested these verses was noticedin the Pass of Dunmail-Raise. The verses were composed in 1817, but theapplication is for all times and places. 

110. *_On seeing a Needle-case in the Form of a Harp_. [XVIII. ] 1827. 

111. *_The Contrast: the Parrot and the Wren_. 

This parrot belonged to Mrs. Luff while living at Fox-Ghyll. The wrenwas one that haunted for many years the Summer-house between the twoterraces at Rydal Mount. [In pencil on opposite page--Addressed toDora. ]

112. *_The Danish Boy_. [XXII. ]

Written in Germany, 1799. It was entirely a fancy; but intended as aprelude to a ballad poem never written. 

113. *_Song for the Wandering Jew_. [XXIII. ] 1800. 

114. *_Stray Pleasures_. [XXIV. ]

Suggested on the Thames by the sight of one of those floating mills thatused to be seen there. This I noticed on the Surrey side, betweenSomerset House and Blackfriars Bridge. Charles Lamb was with me at thetime; and I thought it remarkable that I should have to point out to_him_, an idolatrous Londoner, a sight so interesting as the happy groupdancing on the platform. Mills of this kind used to he, and perhapsstill are, not uncommon on the Continent. I noticed several upon theriver Saone in the year 1799; particularly near the town of Chalons, where my friend Jones and I halted a day when we crossed France, so faron foot. There we embarked and floated down to Lyons. 

115. *_The Pilgrim's Dream; or the Star and the Glowworm_. [XXV. ]

I distinctly recollect the evening when these verses were suggested in1818. It was on the road between Rydal and Grasmere, where glow-wormsabound. A star was shining above the ridge of Loughrigg Fell justopposite. I remember a blockhead of a critic in some Review or othercrying out against this piece. 'What so monstrous, ' said he, 'as to makea star talk to a glowworm!' Poor fellow, we know well from this sageobservation what the 'primrose on the river's brim was to him. '

Further--In writing to Coleridge he says: 'I parted from M---- on Mondayafternoon, about six o'clock, a little on this side Rushyford. Soonafter I missed my road in the midst of the storm. .. . Between thebeginning of Lord Darlington's park at Raby, and two or three milesbeyond Staindrop, I composed the poem on the opposite page ['ThePilgrim's Dream, ' &c. ]. I reached Barnard Castle about half-past ten. Between eight and nine evening I reached Eusemere. ' [_Memoirs_, i. Pp. 181-2. ]

116. *_The Poet and the caged Turtle-dove_. [XXVI. ]

Rydal Mount, 1830. This dove was one of a pair that had been given to mydaughter by our excellent friend Miss Jewsbury, who went to India withher husband Mr. Fletcher, where she died of cholera. The dove survivedits mate many years, and was killed, to our great sorrow, by aneighbour's cat that got in at the window and dragged it partly out ofthe cage. These verses were composed extempore, to the letter, in theTerrace Summer-house before spoken of. It was the habit of the bird tobegin cooing and murmuring whenever it heard me making my verses. [Inpencil on opposite page--Dora. ]

117. *_A Wren's Nest_. [XXVII. ]

In Dora's Field, 1833: Rydal Mount. This nest was built as described, ina tree that grows near the pool in Dora's field next the Rydal MountGarden. 

118. *_Love lies bleeding_. [XXVIII. ]

It has been said that the English, though their country has produced somany great poets, is now the most unpoetical nation in Europe. It isprobably true; for they have more temptation to become so than any otherEuropean people. Trade, commerce, and manufactures, physical science andmechanic arts, out of which so much wealth has arisen, have made ourcountrymen infinitely less sensible to movements of imagination andfancy than were our forefathers in their simple state of society. Howtouching and beautiful were in most instances the names they gave to ourindigenous flowers, or any other they were familiarly acquainted with!Every month for many years have we been importing plants and flowersfrom all quarters of the globe, many of which are spread through ourgardens, and some, perhaps, likely to be met with on the few commonswhich we have left. Will their botanical names ever be displaced byplain English appellations which will bring them home to our hearts byconnection with our joys and sorrows? It can never be, unless societytreads back her steps towards those simplicities which have beenbanished by the undue influence of towns spreading and spreading inevery direction, so that city life with every generation takes more andmore the lead of rural. Among the ancients, villages were reckoned theseats of barbarism. Refinement, for the most part false, increases thedesire to accumulate wealth; and, while theories of political economyare boastfully pleading for the practice, inhumanity pervades all ourdealings in buying and selling. This selfishness wars againstdisinterested imagination in all directions, and, evils coming round ina circle, barbarism spreads in every quarter of our island. Oh, for thereign of justice! and then the humblest man among us would have morepeace and dignity in and about him than the highest have now. 

119. *_Rural Illusions_. [XXV. ]

Rydal Mount, 1832. Observed a hundred times in the grounds at RydalMount. 

120. *_The Kitten and the falling Leaves_. [XXXI. ]

1805. Seen at Town-End, Grasmere. The elder bush has long sincedisappeared; it hung over the wall near the cottage, and the kittencontinued to leap up, catching the leaves as here described. The infantwas Dora. 

121. _The Waggoner_. [XXXIII. ]

DEDICATION. 

 'In Cairo's crowded streets The impatient Merchant, wondering, waits in vain, And Mecca saddens at the long delay. '

 THOMSON. 

 To CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. 

 MY DEAR FRIEND, When I sent you, a few weeks ago, 'The Tale of Peter Bell, ' you asked'why "The Waggoner" was not added?'--To say the truth, --from the highertone of imagination, and the deeper touches of passion aimed at in theformer, I apprehended, this little Piece could not accompany it withoutdisadvantage. In the year 1806, if I am not mistaken, 'The Waggoner' wasread to you in manuscript, and, as you have remembered it for so long atime, I am the more encouraged to hope that, since the localities onwhich the Poem partly depends did not prevent its being interesting toyou, it may prove acceptable to others. Being therefore in some measurethe cause of its present appearance, you must allow me the gratificationof inscribing it to you; in acknowledgment of the pleasure I havederived from your Writings, and of the high esteem with which I am verytruly yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Rydal Mount, May 20, 1819. 

122. *_The Waggoner_. 

Town-End, 1805. The character and story from fact. 

123. _Benjamin 'the Waggoner. '_

Several years after the event that forms the subject of the Poem, incompany with my friend, the late Mr. Coleridge, I happened to fall inwith the person to whom the name of Benjamin is given. Upon ourexpressing regret that we had not, for a long time, seen upon the roadeither him or his waggon, he said:--'They could not do without me; andas to the man who was put in my place, no good could come out of him; hewas a man of no _ideas_. '

The fact of my discarded hero's getting the horses out of a difficultywith a word, as related in the poem, was told me by an eye-witness. 

124. _The Dor-Hawk_. 

 'The buzzing Dor-hawk round and round is wheeling' (c. I. L. 3). 

When the Poem was first written the note of the bird was thusdescribed:--

 'The Night-hawk is singing his frog-like tune, Twirling his watchman's rattle about'--

but from unwillingness to startle the reader at the outset by so bold amode of expression, the passage was altered as it now stands. 

125. _Helmcrag_ (c. I. L. 168). 

A mountain of Grasmere, the broken summit of which presents two figures, full as distinctly shaped as that of the famous Cobbler near Arroquharin Scotland. 

126. _Merrynight_ (c. Ii. L. 30). 

A term well known in the North of England, and applied to ruralfestivals where young persons meet in the evening for the purpose ofdancing. 

 'The fiddles squeak--that call to bliss' (c. Ii. L. 97). 

At the close of each strathspey, or jig, a particular note from thefiddle summons the Rustic to the agreeable duty of saluting his partner. 

127. _Ghimmer-Crag _(c. Iii. L. 21). 

The crag of the ewe-lamb. 

VI. POEMS OF THE IMAGINATION. 

128. *_There was a Boy_. [I. ]

Written in Germany, 1799. This is an extract from the Poem on my ownpoetical education. This practice of making an instrument of their ownfingers is known to most boys, though some are more skilful at it thanothers. William Raincock of Rayrigg, a fine spirited lad, took the leadof all my schoolfellows in this art. 

129. *_To the Cuckoo_. [II. ] Composed in the Orchard at Town-End, 1804. 

130. *_A Night-piece_. [III. ]

Composed on the road between Nether Stowey and Alfoxden, extempore. Idistinctly remember the very moment when I was struck, as described, 'Helooks up at the clouds, ' &c. 

131. *_Yew-trees_. [V. ]

Grasmere, 1803. These Yew-trees are still standing, but the spread ofthat at Lorton is much diminished by mutilation. I will here mentionthat a little way up the hill on the road leading from Rossthwaite toStonethwaite lay the trunk of a yew-tree which appeared as youapproached, so vast was its diameter, like the entrance of a cave, andnot a small one. Calculating upon what I have observed of the slowgrowth of this tree in rocky situations, and of its durability, I haveoften thought that the one I am describing must have been as old as theChristian era. The tree lay in the line of a fence. Great masses of itsruins were strewn about, and some had been rolled down the hill-side andlay near the road at the bottom. As you approached the tree you werestruck with the number of shrubs and young plants, ashes, &c. Which hadfound a bed upon the decayed trunk and grew to no inconsiderable height, forming, as it were, a part of the hedgerow. In no part of England, orof Europe, have I ever seen a yew-tree at all approaching this inmagnitude, as it must have stood. By the bye, Hutton, the Old Guide ofKeswick, had been so imprest with the remains of this tree that he usedgravely to tell strangers that there could be no doubt of its havingbeen in existence before the Flood. 

132. *_Nutting_. [VI. ]

Written in Germany: intended as part of a poem on my own life, butstruck out as not being wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows Iwas an impassioned Nutter. For this pleasure the Vale of Esthwaite, abounding in coppice wood, furnished a very wide range. These versesarose out of the remembrance of feelings I had often had when a boy, andparticularly in the extensive woods that still stretch from the side ofEsthwaite Lake towards Graythwaite, the seat of the ancient family ofSandys. 

133. *_She was a Phantom of Delight_. [VIII. ]

1804. Town-End. The germ of this Poem was four lines composed as a partof the verses on the Highland Girl. Though beginning in this way, it waswritten from my heart, as is sufficiently obvious. 

134. *_The Nightingale_. [IX. ]

Town-End, 1806. [So, but corrected in pencil 'Written at Coleorton. ']

135. *_Three Years she grew, &c. _ [X. ]

1799. Composed in the Hartz Forest. [In pencil on opposite page--Who?]

136. _I wandered lonely as a Cloud_. [XII. ] [= 'The Daffodils. ']

Town-End, 1804. 'The Daffodils. ' The two best lines in it are by Mary. The daffodils grew and still grow on the margin of Ulswater, andprobably may be seen to this day as beautiful in the month of Marchnodding their golden heads beside the dancing and foaming waves. [Inpencil on opposite page--Mrs. Wordsworth--but which? See the answer tothis, _infra_. ]

137. _The Daffodils_. [xii. ]

 Grasmere, Nov. 4. 

MT DEAR WRANGHAM, I am indeed much pleased that Mrs. Wrangham and yourself have beengratified by these breathings of simple nature; the more so, because Iconclude from the character of the Poems which you have particularisedthat the Volumes cannot but improve upon you. I see that you haveentered into the spirit of them. You mention 'The Daffodils. ' You knowButler, Montagu's friend: not Tom Butler, but the Conveyancer: when Iwas in town in spring, he happened to see the Volumes lying on Montagu'smantle-piece, and to glance his eye upon the very poem of 'TheDaffodils. ' 'Aye, ' says he, 'a fine morsel this for the Reviewers. ' Whenthis was told me (for I was not present), I observed that there were_two lines_ in that little poem which, if thoroughly felt, wouldannihilate nine-tenths of the reviews of the kingdom, as they would findno readers; the lines I alluded to were these:

 'They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude. '

[These two lines were composed by Mrs. Wordsworth: _Memoirs_, i. 183-4. ]

138. *_The Reverie of poor Susan_. [XIII. ]

Written 1801 or 1802. This arose out of my observations of the affectingmusic of these birds, hanging in this way in the London streets duringthe freshness and stillness of the Spring morning. 

139. *_Power of Music_. [XIV. ]

Taken from life, 1806. 

140. *_Star-gazers_. [XV. ] Observed by me in Leicester Square, as heredescribed, 1806. 

141. *_Written in March_. [XVI. ]

Extempore, 1801. This little poem was a favourite with Joanna Baillie. 

142. *_Beggars_. [XVIII. ]

Town-End, 1802. Met and described by me to my sister near the Quarry atthe head of Rydal Lake--a place still a chosen resort of vagrantstravelling with their families. 

143. *_Gipsies_. [XX. ]

Composed at Coleorton, 1807. I had observed them, as here described, near Castle Donnington on my way to and from Derby. 

144. *_Ruth_. 

Written in Germany, 1799. Suggested by an account I had of a wanderer inSomersetshire. 

145. *_Resolution and Independence_. [XXII. ]

Town-End, 1807. This old man I met a few hundred yards from my cottageat Town-End, Grasmere; and the account of him is taken from his ownmouth. I was in the state of feeling described in the beginning of thepoem, while crossing over Barton Fell from Mr. Clarkson's at the foot ofUllswater, towards Askham. The image of the hare I then observed on theridge of the Fell. 

146. *_The Thorn_. [XXIII. ]

Alfoxden, 1798. Arose out of my observing on the ridge of Quantock Hill, on a stormy day, a thorn, which I had often past in calm and brightweather without noticing it. I said to myself, cannot I by someinvention do as much to make this Thorn permanently an impressive objectas the storm has made it to my eyes at this moment? I began the poemaccordingly, and composed it with great rapidity. Sir George Beaumontpainted a picture from it, which Wilkie thought his best. He gave it tome; though, when he saw it several times at Rydal Mount afterwards, hesaid, 'I could make a better, and would like to paint the same subjectover again. ' The sky in this picture is nobly done, but it reminds onetoo much of Wilson. The only fault however, of any consequence, is thefemale figure, which is too old and decrepit for one likely to frequentan eminence on such a call. 

147. _Hart-Leap Well_. [XXIV. ]

Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles fromRichmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads fromRichmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, thememory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the secondPart of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have theredescribed them. 

148. _Ibid. _

Town-End, 1800. The first eight stanzas were composed extempore onewinter evening in the cottage; when, after having tired and disgustedmyself with labouring at an awkward passage in 'The Brothers, ' I startedwith a sudden impulse to this, to get rid of the other, and finished itin a day or two. My sister and I had past the place a few weeks beforein our wild winter journey from Sockburn on the banks of the Tees toGrasmere. A peasant whom we met near the spot told us the story, so faras concerned the name of the well, and the hart, and pointed out thestones. Both the stones and the well are objects that may easily bemissed: the tradition by this time may be extinct in the neighbourhood:the man who related it to us was very old. 

[In pencil on opposite page--See Dryden's dog and hare in _AnnusMirabilis_. ]

149. _Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle_. [XXV. ]

Henry Lord Clifford, &c. &c. , who is the subject of this Poem, was theson of John Lord Clifford, who was slain at Towton Field, which JohnLord Clifford, as is known to the reader of English history, was theperson who after the battle of Wakefield slew, in the pursuit, the youngEarl of Rutland, son of the Duke of York, who had fallen in the battle, 'in part of revenge' (say the Authors of the _History of Cumberland andWestmoreland_); 'for the Earl's father had slain his. ' A deed whichworthily blemished the author (saith Speed); but who, as he adds, 'darepromise anything temperate of himself in the heat of martial fury?chiefly, when it was resolved not to leave any branch of the York linestanding; for so one maketh this Lord to speak. ' This, no doubt, I wouldobserve by the bye, was an action sufficiently in the vindictive spiritof the times, and yet not altogether so bad as represented; 'for theEarl was no child, as some writers would have him, but able to beararms, being sixteen or seventeen years of age, as is evident from this, (say the _Memoirs of the Countess of Pembroke_, who was laudably anxiousto wipe away, as far as could be, this stigma from the illustrious nameto which she was born, ) that he was the next child to King Edward theFourth, which his mother had by Richard Duke of York, and that King wasthen eighteen years of age: and for the small distance betwixt herchildren, see Austin Vincent, in his _Book of Nobility_, p. 622, wherehe writes of them all. It may further he observed, that Lord Clifford, who was then himself only 25 years of age, had been a leading man andcommander, two or three years together in the army of Lancaster, beforethis time; and, therefore, would be less likely to think that the Earlof Rutland might be entitled to mercy from his youth. --But, independentof this act, at best a cruel and savage one, the Family of Clifford haddone enough to draw upon them the vehement hatred of the House of York:so that after the battle of Towton there was no hope for them but inflight and concealment. Henry, the subject of the poem, was deprived ofhis estate and honours during the space of twenty-four years; all whichtime he lived as a shepherd in Yorkshire, or in Cumberland, where theestate of his father-in-law (Sir Lancelot Threlkeld) lay. He wasrestored to his estate and honours in the first year of Henry theSeventh. It is recorded that, 'when called to Parliament, he behavednobly and wisely; but otherwise came seldom to London or the Court; andrather delighted to live in the country, where he repaired several ofhis castles, which had gone to decay during the late troubles. ' Thus faris chiefly collected from Nicholson and Burn; and I can add, from my ownknowledge, that there is a tradition current in the village of Threlkeldand its neighbourhood, his principal retreat, that, in the course of hisshepherd-life, he had acquired great astronomical knowledge. I cannotconclude this note without adding a word upon the subject of thosenumerous and noble feudal Edifices, spoken of in the Poem, the ruins ofsome of which are, at this day, so great an ornament to that interestingcountry. The Cliffords had always been distinguished for an honourablepride in these Castles; and we have seen that after the wars of York andLancaster they were rebuilt; in the civil wars of Charles the First theywere again laid waste, and again restored almost to their formermagnificence by the celebrated Mary Anne Clifford, Countess of Pembroke, &c. &c. Not more than twenty-five years after this was done, when theestates of Clifford had passed into the family of Tufton, three of thesecastles, namely, Brough, Brougham, and Pendragon, were demolished, andthe timber and other materials sold by Thomas Earl of Thanet. We willhope that, when this order was issued, the Earl had not consulted thetext of Isaiah, 58th chap. 12th verse, to which the inscription placedover the gate of Pendragon Castle, by the Countess of Pembroke (Ibelieve his grandmother), at the time she repaired that structure, refers the reader:--'_And they that shall be of thee shall build the oldwaste places: thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations;and thou shalt be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer ofpaths to dwell in_. ' The Earl of Thanet, the present possessor of theestates, with a due respect for the memory of his ancestors, and aproper sense of the value and beauty of these remains of antiquity, has(I am told) given orders that they shall be preserved from alldepredations. 

150. *_Ibid. _

See the note attached. This poem was composed at Coleorton, while I waswalking to and fro along the path that led from Sir George Beaumont'sfarm-house, where we resided, to the Hall, which was building at thattime. 

151. _Sir John Beaumont_. 

 'Earth helped him with the cry of blood' (l. 27). 

This line is from 'The Battle of Bosworth Field, ' by Sir John Beaumont(brother to the dramatist), whose poems are written with much spirit, elegance, and harmony; and have deservedly been reprinted in Chalmers'_Collection of English Poets_. 

152. _The undying Fish of Bowscale Tarn_ (l. 122). 

It is believed by the people of the country that there are two immortalfish, inhabitants of this Tarn, which lies in the mountains not far fromThrelkeld--Blencathara, mentioned before, is the old and proper name ofthe mountain vulgarly called Saddle-back. 

153. _The Cliffords_. 

 'Armour rusting in his Halls On the blood of Clifford calls' (ll. 142-3). 

The martial character of the Cliffords is well known to the readers ofEnglish history; but it may not be improper here to say, by way ofcomment on these lines and what follows, that besides several others whoperished in the same manner, the four immediate Progenitors of thePerson in whose hearing this is supposed to be spoken all died on theField. 

154. *_Tintern Abbey_. [XXVI. ]

July 1798. No poem of mine was composed under circumstances morepleasant for me to remember than this. I began it upon leaving Tintern, after crossing the Wye, and concluded it just as I was entering Bristolin the evening, after a ramble of four or five days with my sister. Nota line of it was altered, and not any part of it written down till Ireached Bristol. It was published almost immediately after in the littlevolume of which so much has been said in these notes, the 'LyricalBallads, ' as first published at Bristol by Cottle. 

155. *_It is no Spirit, &c. _ [XXVII. ]

1803. Town-End. I remember the instant my sister Sarah Hutchinson calledme to the window of our cottage saying, 'Look, how beautiful is yonstar! It has the sky all to itself. ' I composed the verses immediately. 

156. _French Revolution_. [XXVIII. ]

An extract from the long poem on my own poetical education. It was firstpublished by Coleridge in his _Friend_, which is the reason of itshaving had a place in every edition of my poems since. 

157. *_Yes, it was the Mountain Echo_. [XXIX. ]

Town-End, 1806. The Echo came from Nabscar, when I was walking on theopposite side of Rydal Mere. I will here mention, for my dear sister'ssake, that while she was sitting alone one day, high up on this part ofLoughrigg Fell, she was so affected by the voice of the cuckoo, heardfrom the crags at some distance, that she could not suppress a wish tohave a stone inscribed with her name among the rocks from which thesound proceeded. On my return from my walk I recited those verses toMary, who was then confined with her son Thomas, who died in his seventhyear, as recorded on his headstone in Grasmere Churchyard. 

158. _To a Skylark_. [XXX. ]

Rydal Mount, 1825. [In pencil--Where there are no skylarks; but the poetis everywhere. ]

159. *_Laodamia_. [XXXI. ]

Rydal Mount, 1814. Written at the same time as 'Dion, ' and 'Artegal, 'and 'Elidure. ' The incident of the trees growing and withering put thesubject into my thoughts, and I wrote with the hope of giving it aloftier tone than, so far as I know, has been given it by any of theancients who have treated of it. It cost me more trouble than almostanything of equal length I have ever written. 

160. _Withered Trees_ (foot-note). 

 'The trees' tall summits withered at the sight' (l. 73). 

For the account of long-lived trees, see King's [_Natural_] _History_, lib. Xvi. Cap. 44; and for the features in the character of Protesilaus, see the _Iphigenia in Aulis_ of Euripides. 

161. *_Dion_. [XXXII. ]

This poem was first introduced by a stanza that I have since transferredto the notes, for reasons there given; and I cannot comply with therequest expressed by some of my friends, that the rejected stanza shouldbe restored. I hope they will be content if it be hereafter immediatelyattached to the poem, instead of its being degraded to a place in thenotes. 

The 'reasons' (_supra_) are thus given: This poem began with thefollowing stanza, which has been displaced on account of its detainingthe reader too long from the subject, and as rather precluding, thanpreparing for, the due effect of the allusion to the genius of Plato. 

162. _Fair is the Swan, &c. _ [XXXIII. ] (See _supra_, 161. )

163. *_The Pass of Kirkstone_. 

Rydal Mount, 1817. Thoughts and feelings of many walks in all weathersby day and night over this Pass alone, and with beloved friends. 

164. *_To_ ----. [XXXV. ]

Rydal Mount, 1816. The lady was Miss Blackett, then residing with Mr. Montague Burgoyne, at Fox-Ghyll. We were tempted to remain too long uponthe mountain, and I imprudently, with the hope of shortening the way, led her among the crags and down a steep slope, which entangled us indifficulties, that were met by her with much spirit and courage. 

165. *_To a Young Lady_. [XXXVI. ]

Composed at the same time, and on the same vein, as 'I met Louisa in theShade. ' Indeed they were designed to make one piece. [See No. 52. ]

166. *_Water-fowl_. [XXXVII. ]

Observed frequently over the lakes of Rydal and Grasmere. 

167. *_View from the Top of Black Comb_. [XXXVIII. ]

1813. Mary and I, as mentioned in the Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont, livedsome time under its shadow. 

168. *_The Haunted Tree_. [XXXIX. ]

1819. This tree grew in the park of Rydal, and I have often listened toits creaking as described. 

169. *_The Triad_. [XL. ]

'Rydal Mount, 1828. The girls Edith Mary Southey, my daughter Dora, andSarah Coleridge. ' More fully on this and others contemporaneouslywritten, is the following letter:

 To G. H. GORDON, ESQ. Rydal Mount, Dec. 15, 1828. 

How strange that any one should be puzzled with the name 'Triad' _after_reading the poem! I have turned to Dr. Johnson, and there find '_Triad, three united_, ' and not a word more, as nothing more was needed. Ishould have been rather mortified if _you_ had not liked the piece, as Ithink it contains some of the happiest verses I ever wrote. It had beenpromised several years to two of the party before a fancy fit for theperformance struck me; it was then thrown off rapidly, and afterwardsrevised with care. During the last week I wrote some stanzas on the_Power of Sound_, which ought to find a place in my larger work if aughtshould ever come of that. 

In the book on the Lakes, which I have not at hand, is a passage rathertoo vaguely expressed, where I content myself with saying, that after acertain point of elevation the effect of mountains depends much moreupon their form than upon their absolute height. This point, which oughtto have been defined, is the one to which fleecy clouds (not thin wateryvapours) are accustomed to descend. I am glad you are so much interestedwith this little tract; it could not have been written without longexperience. 

 I remain, most faithfully, Your much obliged, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

170. _The Wishing-gate_. [XLI. ]

In the Vale of Grasmere, by the side of the old highway leading toAmbleside, is a gate which, time out of mind, has been called the'Wishing-gate, ' from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there havea favourable issue. 

171. _The Wishing-gate destroyed_. 

Having been told, upon what I thought good authority, that this gate hadbeen destroyed, and the opening, where it hung, walled up, I gave ventimmediately to my feelings in these stanzas. But going to the place sometime after, I found, with much delight, my old favourite unmolested. [*Rydal Mount, 1828. ]

172. *_The Primrose of the Rock_. [XLIII. ]

Rydal Mount, 1821. It stands on the right hand, a little way leading upthe vale from Grasmere to Rydal. We have been in the habit of calling itthe glow-worm rock, from the number of glow-worms we have often seenhanging on it as described. The tuft of primrose has, I fear, beenwashed away by heavy rains. 

173. *_Presentiments_. [XLIV. ]

Rydal Mount, 1830. 

174. *_Vernal Ode_. [XLV. ]

Rydal Mount, 1817. Composed to place in view the immortality ofsuccession where immortality is denied, so far as we know, to theindividual creature. 

175. *_Devotional Incitements_. [XLVI. ]

Rydal Mount, 1832. 

176. *_The Cuckoo-Clock_. [XLVII. ]

Of this clock I have nothing further to say than what the poemexpresses, except that it must be here recorded that it was a presentfrom the dear friend for whose sake these notes were chiefly undertaken, and who has written them from my dictation. 

177. *_To the Clouds_. [XLVIII. ]

These verses were suggested while I was walking on the foot-road betweenRydal Mount and Grasmere. The clouds were driving over the top ofNab-Scar across the vale; they set my thoughts agoing, and the restfollowed almost immediately. 

178. *_Suggested by a Picture of the Bird of Paradise_. [XLIX. ]

This subject has been treated of before (see a former note). I will hereonly, by way of comment, direct attention to the fact, that pictures ofanimals and other productions of Nature, as seen in conservatories, menageries and museums, &c. , would do little for the national mind, nay, they would be rather injurious to it, if the imagination were excludedby the presence of the object, more or less out of the state of Nature. If it were not that we learn to talk and think of the lion and theeagle, the palm-tree, and even the cedar, from the impassionedintroduction of them so frequently in Holy Scripture, and by greatpoets, and divines who write as poets, the spiritual part of our nature, and therefore the higher part of it, would derive no benefit from suchintercourse with such subjects. 

179. *_A Jewish Family_. [L. ]

Coleridge and my daughter and I in 1828 passed a fortnight upon thebanks of the Rhine, principally under the hospitable roof of Mr. Adersat Gotesburg, but two days of the time were spent at St. Goa or inrambles among the neighbouring vallies. It was at St. Goa that I saw theJewish family here described. Though exceedingly poor, and in rags, theywere not less beautiful than I have endeavoured to make them appear. Wehad taken a little dinner with us in a basket, and invited them topartake of it, which the mother refused to do both for herself and herchildren, saying it was with them a fast-day; adding diffidently, thatwhether such observances were right or wrong, _she_ felt it her duty tokeep them strictly. The Jews, who are numerous in this part of theRhine, greatly surpass the German peasantry in the beauty of theirfeatures and in the intelligence of their countenances. But the lowerclasses of the German peasantry have, here at least, the air of peoplegrievously opprest. Nursing mothers at the age of seven or eight andtwenty often look haggard and far more decayed and withered than womenof Cumberland and Westmoreland twice their age. This comes from beingunder-fed and over-worked in their vineyards in a hot and glaring sun. [In pencil on opposite page--The three went from my house inBryanston-street, London--E. Q. ]

180. *_On the Power of Sound_. [LI. ]

Rydal Mount, 1828. I have often regretted that my tour in Ireland, chiefly performed in the short days of October in a carriage and four (Iwas with Mr. Marshall), supplied my memory with so few images that werenew and with so little motive to write. The lines, however, in thispoem, 'Thou too he heard, lone eagle!' &c. , were suggested near theGiant's Causeway, or rather at the promontory of Fairhead, where a pairof eagles wheeled above our heads, and darted off as if to hidethemselves in a blaze of sky made by the setting sun. 

181. _Peter Bell: a Tale_. 

 DEDICATION. 'What's in a _Name_?' 'Brutus will start a Spirit as soon as Caesar!'

 To ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. , P. L. , ETC. , ETC. MY DEAR FRIEND, The Tale of 'Peter Bell, ' which I now introduce to your notice, and tothat of the Public, has, in its Manuscript state, nearly survived its_minority_:--for it first saw the light in the summer of 1798. Duringthis long interval, pains have been taken at different times to make theproduction less unworthy of a favourable reception; or, rather, to fitit for filling _permanently_ a station, however humble, in theLiterature of our Country. This has, indeed, been the aim of all myendeavours in Poetry, which, you know, have been sufficiently laboriousto prove that I deem the Art not lightly to be approached; and that theattainment of excellence in it may laudably be made the principal objectof intellectual pursuit by any man who, with reasonable consideration ofcircumstances, has faith in his own impulses. 

The Poem of 'Peter Bell, ' as the Prologue will show, was composed undera belief that the Imagination not only does not require for its exercisethe intervention of supernatural agency, but that, though such agency beexcluded, the faculty may be called forth as imperiously and for kindredresults of pleasure, by incidents, within the compass of poeticprobability, in the humblest departments of daily life. Since thatPrologue was written, _you_ have exhibited most splendid effects ofjudicious daring, in the opposite and usual course. Let thisacknowledgment make my peace with the lovers of the supernatural; and Iam persuaded it will be admitted that to you, as a Master in thatprovince of the art, the following Tale, whether from contrast orcongruity, is not an inappropriate offering. Accept it, then, as apublic testimony of affectionate admiration from one with whose nameyours has been often coupled (to use your own words) for evil and forgood; and believe me to be, with earnest wishes that life and health maybe granted you to complete the many important works in which you areengaged, and with high respect, Most faithfully yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Rydal Mount, April 7, 1819. 

182. _Peter Bell: the Poem_. 

Alfoxden, 1798. Founded upon an anecdote which I read in a newspaper, ofan ass being found hanging his head over a canal in a wretched posture. Upon examination a dead body was found in the water, and proved to bethe body of its master. The countenance, gait, and figure of Peter weretaken from a wild rover with whom I walked from Builth, on the riverWye, downwards, nearly as far as the town of Hay. He told me strangestories. It has always been a pleasure to me, through life, to catch atevery opportunity that has occurred in my rambles of becoming acquaintedwith this class of people. The number of Peter's wives was taken fromthe trespasses, in this way, of a lawless creature who lived in thecounty of Durham, and used to be attended by many women, sometimes notless than half a dozen, as disorderly as himself; and a story went inthe country, that he had been heard to say while they were quarrelling, 'Why can't you be quiet, there's none so many of you. ' Benoni, or thechild of sorrow, I knew when I was a school-boy. His mother had beendeserted by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, she herself being agentlewoman by birth. The circumstances of her story were told me by mydear old dame, Ann Tyson, who was her confidante. The lady diedbroken-hearted. In the woods of Alfoxden I used to take great delight innoticing the habits, tricks, and physiognomy of asses; and I have nodoubt that I was thus put upon writing the poem out of liking for thecreature that is so often dreadfully abused. The crescent moon, whichmakes such a figure in the prologue, assumed this character one eveningwhile I was watching its beauty in front of Alfoxden House. I intendedthis poem for the volume before spoken of, but it was not published formore than twenty years afterwards. The worship of the Methodists, orRanters, is often heard during the stillness of the summer evening, inthe country, with affecting accompaniments of rural beauty. In both thepsalmody and voice of the preacher there is, not unfrequently, muchsolemnity likely to impress the feelings of the rudest characters underfavourable circumstances. 

_Potter_ (foot-note). 

 'A Potter, Sir, he was by trade' (Pt. I. L. 11). 

In the dialect of the North, a hawker of earthenware is thus designated. 

VII. MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS. 

PART I. 

183. *_Commencement of writing of Sonnets_. 

In the cottage of Town-End, one afternoon in 1801, my sister read to methe sonnets of Milton. I had long been well acquainted with them, but Iwas particularly struck on that occasion with the dignified simplicityand majestic harmony that runs through most of them--in character sototally different from the Italian, and still more so from Shakespeare'sfine sonnets. I took fire, if I may be allowed to say so, and producedthree sonnets the same afternoon--the first I ever wrote, except anirregular one at school. Of these three, the only one I distinctlyremember is 'I grieved for Buonaparte, ' &c. One was never written down;the third, which was I believe preserved, I cannot particularise. 

184. _Admonition_. 

 'Well mays't thou halt, ' &c. [II. ]

Intended more particularly for the perusal of those who have happened tobe enamoured of some beautiful place of retreat in the Country of theLakes. 

185. *_Sonnet_ IV. 

 'Beaumont! it was thy wish, ' &c. 

This was presented to me by Sir George Beaumont, with a view to theerection of a house upon it, for the sake of being near to Coleridge, then living, and likely to remain, at Greta Hall, near Keswick. Thesevere necessities that prevented this arose from his domesticsituation. This little property, with a considerable addition that stillleaves it very small, lies beautifully upon the banks of a rill thatgurgles down the side of Skiddaw; and the orchard and other parts of thegrounds command a magnificent prospect of Derwent Water, the Mountainsof Borrowdale and Newlands. Not many years ago I gave the place to mydaughter. [In pencil on opposite page in Mrs. Quillinan'shandwriting--Many years ago, sir, for it was given when she was a frailfeeble monthling. ]

186. *_Sonnet_ VI. 

 'There is a little unpretending rill. '

This rill trickles down the hill-side into Windermere near Lowood. Mysister and I, on our first visit together to this part of the country, walked from Kendal, and we rested to refresh ourselves by the side ofthe Lake where the streamlet falls into it. This sonnet was written someyears after in recollection of that happy ramble, that most happy dayand hour. 

187. *_Sonnet_ VIII. 

 'The fairest, brightest hues, ' &c. 

Suggested at Hackett, which is the craggy ridge that rises between thetwo Langdales, and looks towards Windermere. The cottage of Hackett wasoften visited by us; and at the time when this sonnet was written, andlong after, was occupied by the husband and wife described in 'TheExcursion, ' where it is mentioned that she was in the habit of walkingin the front of the dwelling with a light to guide her husband home atnight. The same cottage is alluded to in the Epistle to Sir G. Beaumontas that from which the female peasant hailed us on our morning journey. The musician mentioned in the sonnet was the Rev. P. Tilbrook ofPeterhouse, who remodelled the Ivy Cottage at Rydal after he hadpurchased it. 

188. '_The Genius_. '

 'Such strains of rapture as the Genius played. '

See the 'Vision of Mirza' in the _Spectator_. 

189. *_Sonnet_ IX. 

Upon the sight of a beautiful picture. 

This was written when we dwelt in the Parsonage at Grasmere. Theprincipal features of the picture are Bredon Hill and Cloud Hill, nearColeorton. I shall never forget the happy feeling with which my heartwas filled when I was impelled to compose this sonnet. We resided onlytwo years in this house; and during the last half of this time, whichwas after this poem had been written, we lost our two children, Thomasand Catherine. Our sorrow upon these events often brought it to my mind, and cast me upon the support to which the last line of it givesexpression:

 'The appropriate calm of blest eternity. '

It is scarcely necessary to add that we still possess the picture. 

190. *_Sonnet_ XI. 

Aerial Rock. 

A projecting point of Loughrigg, nearly in front of Rydal Mount. Thencelooking at it, you are struck with the boldness of its aspect; butwalking under it, you admire the beauty of its details. It is vulgarlycalled Holme-scar, probably from the insulated pasture by the watersidebelow it. 

191. *_Sonnet_ XV. 

The Wild Duck's Nest. 

I observed this beautiful nest on the largest island of Rydal Water. 

192. *_Sonnet_ XIX. 

 'Grief thou hast lost, ' &c. 

I could write a treatise of lamentation upon the changes brought aboutamong the cottages of Westmoreland by the silence of the spinning-wheel. During long winter's nights and wet days, the wheel upon which wool wasspun gave employment to a great part of a family. The old man, howeverinfirm, was able to card the wool, as he sate in the corner by thefireside; and often, when a boy, have I admired the cylinders of cardedwool which were softly laid upon each other by his side. Two wheels wereoften at work on the same floor, and others of the family, chiefly thelittle children, were occupied in teazing and clearing the wool to fitit for the hand of the carder. So that all, except the infants, werecontributing to mutual support: Such was the employment that prevailedin the pastoral vales. Where wool was not at hand, in the small ruraltowns, the wheel for spinning flax was almost in as constant use, ifknitting was not preferred; which latter occupation had the advantage(in some cases disadvantage) that not being of necessity stationary, itallowed of gossiping about from house to house, which good housewivesreckoned an idle thing. 

193. *_Sonnet_ XXII. 

Decay of Piety. 

Attendance at church on prayer-days, Wednesdays and Fridays andholidays, received a shock at the Revolution. It is now, however, happily reviving. The ancient people described in this sonnet were amongthe last of that pious class. May we hope that the practice now in somedegree renewed will continue to spread. 

194. *_Sonnets_ XXIV. XXV. XXVI. 

Translations from Michael Angelo, done at the request of Mr. Duppa, whose acquaintance I made through Mr. Southey. Mr. Duppa was engaged inwriting the life of Michael Angelo, and applied to Mr. Southey andmyself to furnish some specimens of his poetic genius. 

195. *_Sonnet_ XXVII. 

 'Surprised by joy, ' &c. 

This was in fact suggested by my daughter Catherine long after herdeath. 

196. *_Sonnets_ XXVIII. XXIX. 

 'Methought I saw, ' &c. 'Even so for me, ' &c. 

The latter part of the first of these was a great favourite with mysister, Sara Hutchinson. When I saw her lying in death, I could notresist the impulse to compose the sonnet that follows. 

197. *_Sonnet_ XXX. 

 'It is a beauteous evening, ' &c. 

This was composed on the beach near Calais, in the autumn of 1802. 

198. *_Sonnet_ XXXVI. 

 'Calvert! it must not be, ' &c. 

This young man, Raisley Calvert, to whom I was so much indebted, died atPenrith, 179-. 

 * * * * *

PART II. 

199. *_Sonnet_ IV. 

 'From the dark chambers, ' &c. 

Composed in Edinburgh, during my Scotch tour with Mary and Sara, in theyear 1814. Poor Gillies never rose above the course of extravagance inwhich he was at that time living, and which soon reduced him to povertyand all its degrading shifts, mendicity being far from the worst. Igrieve whenever I think of him; for he was far from being withoutgenius, and had a generous heart--which is not always to be found in mengiven up to profusion. He was nephew of Lord Gillies, the Scotch judge, and also of the historian of Greece. He was cousin of Miss MargaretGillies, who painted so many portraits with success in our house. 

200. *_Sonnet_ V. 

'Fool, prime of life, ' &c. 

Suggested by observation of the way in which a young friend, whom I donot choose to name, misspent his time and misapplied his talents. Hetook afterwards a better course, and became an useful member of society, respected, I believe, wherever he has been known. 

201. *_Sonnet_ VI. 

'I watch, and long have watched, ' &c. 

Suggested in front of Rydal Mount, the rocky parapet being the summit ofLoughrigg Fell opposite. Not once only but a hundred times have thefeelings of this sonnet been awakened by the same objects from the sameplace. 

202. _Sonnet_ VII. 

'The ungenial Hollow. '

See the 'Phaedon' of Plato, by which this sonnet was suggested. 

203. _Sonnet_ VIII. 

'For the whole weight, ' &c. 

Composed, almost extempore, in a short walk on the western side of RydalLake. 

204. *_Sonnet_ X. 

'Mark the concentred hazels, ' &c. 

Suggested in the wild hazel-wood at foot of Helm-Crag, where the stonestill lies, with others of like form and character, though much of thewood that veiled it from the glare of day has been felled. Thisbeautiful ground was lately purchased by our friend, Mrs. Fletcher, theancient owners, most respected persons, being obliged to part with it inconsequence of the imprudence, if not misconduct, of a son. It isgratifying to mention that instead of murmuring and repining at thischange of fortune they offered their services to Mrs. Fletcher, thehusband as an out-door labourer and the wife as a domestic servant. Ihave witnessed the pride and pleasure with which the man worked atimprovements of the ground round the house. Indeed he expressed them tome himself, and the countenance and manner of his wife always denotedfeelings of the same character. I believe a similar disposition tocontentment under change of fortune is common among the class to whichthese good people belong. Yet, in proof that to part with theirpatrimony is most painful to them, I may refer to those stanzas entitled'Repentance, ' no inconsiderable part of which was taken _verbatim_ fromthe language of the speaker himself. [In pencil--Herself, M. N. ]

205. *_Sonnet_ XI. 

'Dark and more dark, ' &c. 

October 3d or 4th, 1802. Composed after a journey over the HambletonHills, on a day memorable to me--the day of my marriage. The horizoncommanded by those hills is most magnificent. 

The next day, while we were travelling in a post-chaise up Wensley Dale, we were stopt by one of the horses proving restiff, and were obliged towait two hours in a severe storm before the post-boy could fetch fromthe Inn another to supply its place. The spot was in front of BoltonHall, where Mary Queen of Scots was kept prisoner soon after herunfortunate landing at Workington. The place then belonged to theScroopes, and memorials of her are yet preserved there. To beguile thetime I composed a sonnet. The subject was our own confinement contrastedwith hers; but it was not thought worthy of being preserved. 

206. *_Sonnet_ XIII. 

'While not a leaf, ' &c. 

September 1815. 'For me, who under kindlier laws, ' &c. (l. 9). Thisconclusion has more than once, to my great regret, excited painfully sadfeelings in the hearts of young persons fond of poetry and poeticcomposition by contrast of their feeble and declining health with thatstate of robust constitution which prompted me to rejoice in a season offrost and snow as more favourable to the Muses than summer itself. 

207. *_Sonnet_ XIV. 

'How clear, how keen, ' &c. 

November 1st. Suggested on the banks of the Brathay by the sight ofLangdale Pikes. It is delightful to remember those moments offar-distant days, which probably would have been forgotten if theimpression had not been transferred to verse. The same observationapplies to the rest. 

208. *_Sonnet_ XV. 

One who was suffering, ' &c. 

Composed during a storm in Rydal Wood by the side of a torrent. 

209. *_Sonnet_ XVIII. 

'Lady, the songs of Spring, ' &c. 

1807. To Lady Beaumont. The winter garden of Coleorton, fashioned out ofan old quarry under the superintendence and direction of Mrs. Wordsworthand my sister Dorothy, during the Winter and Spring of the year weresided there. 

210. *_Sonnet_ XIX. 

'There is a pleasure, ' &c. 

Written on a journey from Brinsop Court, Herefordshire. 

211. *_Sonnet_ XXIX. 

'Though narrow, ' &c. 

1807. Coleorton. This old man's name was Mitchell. He was, in all hisways and conversation, a great curiosity, both individually and as arepresentative of past times. His chief employment was keeping watch atnight by pacing round the house at that time building, to keep offdepredators. He has often told me gravely of having seen the 'SevenWhistlers and the Hounds' as here described. Among the groves ofColeorton, where I became familiar with the habits and notions of oldMitchell, there was also a labourer of whom I regret I had no personalknowledge; for, more than forty years after, when he was become an oldman, I learnt that while I was composing verses, which I usually didaloud, he took much pleasure, unknown to me, in following my steps, thathe might catch the words I uttered, and, what is not a littleremarkable, several lines caught in this way kept their place in hismemory. My volumes have lately been given to him, by my informant, andsurely he must have been gratified to meet in print his oldacquaintance. 

212. *_Sonnet_ XXX. 'Four fiery steeds, ' &c. 

Suggested on the road between Preston and Lancaster, where it firstgives a view of the Lake country, and composed on the same day, on theroof of the coach. 

213. *_Sonnet_ XXXI. 'Brook! whose society, ' &c. 

Also composed on the roof of a coach, on my way to France, September1802. 

214. *_Sonnets_ XXXIII. -V. 'Waters. '

Waters (as Mr. Westall informs us in the letter-press prefixed to hisadmirable views [of the Caves, &c. Of Yorkshire]) are invariably foundto flow through these caverns. 

 * * * * *

PART III

215. *_Sonnet_ IV. 'Fame tells of Groves, ' &c. 

Wallachia is the country alluded to. 

216. *_Sonnet_ VII. 'Where lively ground, ' &c. 

This parsonage was the residence of my friend Jones, and is particularlydescribed in another note. 

217. *_Sonnet_ IX. 'A stream to mingle, ' &c. 

In this Vale of Meditation ['Glen Mywr'] my friend Jones resided, havingbeen allowed by his Diocesan to fix himself there without resigning hisliving in Oxfordshire. He was with my wife and daughter and me when wevisited these celebrated ladies, who had retired, as one may say, intonotice in this vale. Their cottage lay directly in the road betweenLondon and Dublin, and they were, of course, visited by their Irishfriends as well as innumerable strangers. They took much delight inpassing jokes on our friend Jones's plumpness, ruddy cheeks, and smilingcountenance, as little suited to a hermit living in the Vale ofMeditation. We all thought there was ample room for retort on his part, so curious was the appearance of these ladies, so elaboratelysentimental about themselves and their _caro Albergo_, as they named itin an inscription on a tree that stood opposite, the endearing epithetbeing preceded by the word _Ecco_! calling upon the saunterer to lookabout him. So oddly was one of these ladies attired that we took her, ata little distance, for a Roman Catholic priest, with a crucifix andrelics hung at his neck. They were without caps; their hair bushy andwhite as snow, which contributed to the mistake. 

218. _Sonnet_ XI. In the Woods of Rydal. 

This Sonnet, as Poetry, explains itself, yet the scene of the incidenthaving been a wild wood, it may be doubted, as a point of naturalhistory, whether the bird was aware that his attentions were bestowedupon a human, or even a living creature. But a Redbreast will perch uponthe foot of a gardener at work, and alight on the handle of the spadewhen his hand is half upon it. This I have seen. And under my own roof Ihave witnessed affecting instances of the creature's friendly visits tothe chambers of sick persons, as described in the verses to theRedbreast [No. 83]. One of these welcome intruders used frequently toroost upon a nail in the wall, from which a picture had hung, and wasready, as morning came, to pipe his song in the hearing of the invalid, who had been long confined to her room. These attachments to aparticular person, when marked and continued, used to be reckonedominous; but the superstition is passing away. 

219. *_Sonnet_ XIII. 'While Anna's peers, ' &c. 

This is taken from the account given by Miss Jewsbury of the pleasureshe derived, when long confined to her bed by sickness, from theinanimate object on which this Sonnet turns. 

220. *_Sonnet_ XV. 'Wait, prithee wait, ' &c. 

The fate of this poor dove, as described, was told to me at BrinsopCourt by the young lady to whom I have given the name of Lesbia. 

221. *_Sonnet_ XVI. 'Unquiet childhood, ' &c. 

The infant was Mary Monkhouse, the only daughter of our friend andcousin Thomas Monkhouse. 

222. *_Sonnet_ XVII. 'Such age how beautiful!' &c. 

Lady Fitzgerald as described to me by Lady Beaumont. 

223. *_Sonnet_ XVIIII. 'Rotha! my spiritual child, ' &c. 

Rotha, the daughter of my son-in-law Mr. Quillinan. 

224. _The Rotha_. 'The peaceful mountain stream, ' &c. 

The river Rotha, that flows into Windermere from the Lakes of Grasmereand Rydal. 

225. *_Sonnet_ XIX. 'Miserrimus. '

Many conjectures have been formed as to the person who lies under thisstone. Nothing appears to be known for a certainty. ?The Rev. Mr. Morris, a Nonconformist, a sufferer for conscience' sake; a worthy man, who having been deprived of his benefice after the accession of WilliamIII, lived to an old age in extreme destitution, on the alms ofcharitable Jacobites. 

226. *_Sonnet_ XX. 'While poring, ' &c. 

My attention to these antiquities was directed by Mr. Walker, son to theitinerant Eidouranian philosopher. The beautiful pavement was discoveredwithin a few yards of the front door of his parsonage, and appeared(from the site in full view of several hills upon which there hadformerly been Roman encampments) as if it might have been the villa ofthe commander of the forces; at least such was Mrs. W. 's conjecture. 

227. *_Sonnet_ XXI. 

 'Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, ' &c. 

I have reason to remember the day that gave rise to this Sonnet, the 6thof November 1830. Having undertaken--a great feat for me--to ride mydaughter's pony from Westmoreland to Cambridge, that she might have theuse of it while on a visit to her uncle at Trinity Lodge, on my way fromBakewell to Matlock I turned aside to Chatsworth, and had scarcelygratified my curiosity by the sight of that celebrated place beforethere came on a severe storm of wind and rain, which continued till Ireached Derby, both man and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself I wentto bed at noon-day. In the course of that journey I had to encounter astorm worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would) only makehis way slantwise. I mention this merely to add, that notwithstandingthis battering, I composed on pony-back the lines to the memory of SirGeorge Beaumont, suggested during my recent visit to Coleorton. 

228. *_Sonnet_ XXII. 

 'Tis said that to the brow, ' &c. 

This pleasing tradition was told me by the coachman at whose side I satewhile he drove down the dale, he pointing to the trees on the hill as herelated the story. 

229. *_Sonnet_ XXIII. 

 'Untouched through all severity of cold. '

This was also communicated to me by a coachman in the same way. In thecourse of my many coach rambles and journeys, which, during the daytimealways, and often in the night, were taken on the outside of the coach, I had good and frequent opportunities of learning the character of thisclass of men. One remark I made, that is worth recording, that wheneverI had occasion especially to notice their well-ordered, respectful, andkind behaviour to women, of whatever age, I found them, I may say almostalways, to be married men. 

230. *_Sonnet_ XXIV. 

'Go, faithful Tishart, ' &c. 

The six last lines of this sonnet are not written for poetical effect, but as a matter of fact, which in more than one instance could notescape my notice in the servants of the house. 

231. *_Sonnet_ XXV. 

'Why art thou silent?'

In the month of January [blank], when Dora and I were walking fromTown-End, Grasmere, across the vale, snow being on the ground, sheespied in the thick though leafless hedge a bird's-nest half filled withsnow. Out of this comfortless appearance arose this Sonnet, which was, in fact, written without the least reference to any individual object, but merely to prove to myself that I could, if I thought fit, write in astrain that poets have been fond of. On the 14th of February in the sameyear, my daughter, in a sportive mood, sent it as a Valentine under afictitious name to her cousin C. W. 

232. *_Sonnet_ XXVI. 

'Haydon! let worthier judges, ' &c. 

This Sonnet, though said to be written on seeing the portrait ofNapoleon, was in fact composed some time after, extempore, in RydalMount. [In pencil--But it was said in prose in Haydon's studio, for Iwas present: relate the facts and why it was versified. ]

233. *_Sonnet_ XXVII. 

'A poet!--He hath put, ' &c. 

I was impelled to write this Sonnet by the disgusting frequency withwhich the word _artistical_, imported with other impertinencies from theGermans, is employed by writers of the present day. For 'artistical' letthem substitute 'artificial, ' and the poetry written on this system, both at home and abroad, will be, for the most part, much bettercharacterised. 

234. *_Sonnet_ XXVIII. 

'The most alluring clouds, ' &c. 

Hundreds of times have I seen hanging about and above the Vale of Rydal, clouds that might have given birth to this Sonnet; which was thrownoff, on the impulse of the moment, one evening when I was returning homefrom the favourite walk of ours along the Rotha, under Loughrigg. 

235. *_Sonnet_ XXIX. 

'By Art's bold privilege, ' &c. 

This was composed while I was ascending Helvelyn in company with mydaughter and her husband. She was on horseback, and rode to the very topof the hill without once dismounting: a feat which it was scarcelypossible to perform except during a season of dry weather, and a guidewith whom we fell in on the mountain told us he believed it had neverbeen accomplished before by any one. 

236. *_Sonnet_ XXXII. 

'All praise the likeness, ' &c. 

The picture which gave occasion to this and the following Sonnet wasfrom the pencil of Miss M. Gillies, who resided for several weeks underour roof at Rydal Mount. 

237. *_Sonnet_ XXXVI. 

'Oh, what a wreck, ' &c. 

The sad condition of poor Mrs. Southey put me upon writing this. It hasafforded comfort to many persons whose friends have been similarlyaffected. 

238. *_Sonnet_ XXXVII. 

'Intent on gathering wool, ' &c. 

Suggested by a conversation with Miss F. , who along with her sister hadduring their childhood found much delight in such gatherings for thepurpose here alluded to. 

239. _Sonnet_ XLII. 

Wansfel. 

The Hill that rises to the south-east above Ambleside. 

240. _Sonnet_ XLIII. 

----'a little rural town. '

Ambleside. 

VIII. MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1803. 

241. *_Setting out_. 

Mr. Coleridge, my sister, and myself started together from Town-End, tomake a tour in Scotland, August [14th]. Poor Coleridge was at that timein bad spirits, and somewhat too much in love with his own dejection, and he departed from us, as is recorded in my sister's Journal, soonafter we left Loch Lomond. The verses that stand foremost among thesememorials were not actually written for the occasion, but transplantedfrom my Epistle to Sir G. Beaumont. 

242. *_To the Sons of Burns after visiting the Grave of their Father_. [iv. ]

See, in connection with these verses, two other poems upon Burns, onecomposed actually at the time, and the other, though then felt, not putinto words till several years afterwards [viz. 'At the Grave of Burns, 1803, Seven Years after his Death (II. );' and 'Thoughts suggested theDay following, on the Banks of Nith, near the Poet's Residence. ' (III. )Another Note in I. F. MSS. Is nearly the same as this: viz. To be printedamong the Poems relating to my first Tour in Scotland: for illustrationssee my Sister's Journal. It may be proper to add that the second ofthese pieces, though _felt_ at the time, was not composed till manyyears after]. 

243. *_Ellen Irwin, or the Braes of Kirtle_. [v. ]

It may be worth while to observe, that as there are Scotch poems on thissubject, in the simple ballad strain, I thought it would be bothpresumptuous and superfluous to attempt treating it in the same way; andaccordingly, I chose a construction of stanza quite new in our language;in fact, the same as that of Bürgher's 'Leonora, ' except that the firstand third lines do not in my stanzas rhyme. At the outset, I threw out aclassical image, to prepare the reader for the style in which I meant totreat the story, and so to preclude all comparison. [Note. --The Kirtleis a river in the southern part of Scotland, on the banks of which theevents here related took place. ]

244. *_To a Highland Girl_. [VI. ]

This delightful creature, and her demeanour, are particularly describedin my sister's Journal. The sort of prophecy with which the versesconclude has, through God's goodness, been realised; and now, approaching the close of my seventy-third year, I have a most vividremembrance of her, and the beautiful objects with which she wassurrounded. She is alluded to in the poem of 'The Three Cottage Girls, 'among my continental memorials. In illustration of this class of poems, I have scarcely anything to say beyond what is anticipated in mysister's faithful and admirable Journal. 

245. _Stepping Westward_. [VII. ]

While my fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of LochKetterine [Katrine] one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a Hutwhere, in the course of our Tour, we had been hospitably entertainedsome weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of thatsolitary region, two well-dressed women, one of whom said to us, by wayof greeting, 'What, you are stepping westward?'

246. *_Address to Kilchurn Castle_. [X. ]

The first three lines were thrown off at the moment I first caught sightof the ruin from a small eminence by the wayside; the rest was addedmany years after. [Note. --The tradition is that the Castle was built bya Lady during the absence of her Lord in Palestine. ]

247. *_Rob Roys Grave_. [XI. ]

I have since been told that I was misinformed as to the burial-place ofBob Roy; if so, I may plead in excuse that I wrote on apparently goodauthority, namely, that of a well-educated lady, who lived at the headof the Lake, within a mile, or less, of the point indicated ascontaining the remains of one so famous in that neighbourhood. [Noteprefixed. --The history of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his grave isnear the head of Loch Ketterine, in one of those small pinfold-likeburial-grounds, of neglected and desolate appearance, which thetraveller meets with in the Highlands of Scotland. ]

248. *_Sonnet composed at ---- Castle_, 1803. [XII. ]

The castle here mentioned was Nidpath, near Peebles. The person alludedto was the then Duke of Queensberry. The fact was told me by WalterScott. 

249. _Yarrow Unvisited_. [XIII. ]

See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of theYarrow; in particular the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning

 'Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie Bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow. '

250. _The Matron of Jedborough [Jedburgh] and her Husband_. [XV. ]

At Jedborough, my companion and I went into private lodgings for a fewdays; and the following Verses were called forth by the character anddomestic situation of our Hostess. 

251. *_Sonnet, 'Fly, some kind Harbinger. '_ [XVI. ]

This was actually composed the last day of our tour, between Dalston andGrasmere. 

252. *_The Blind Highland Boy_. [XVII. ]

The story was told me by George Mackreth, for many years parish-clerk ofGrasmere. He had been an eye-witness of the occurrence. The vessel inreality was a washing-tub, which the little fellow had met with on theshore of the loch. [Appended Note. --It is recorded in Dampier's_Voyages_ that a boy, son of the captain of a man-of-war, seated himselfin a turtle-shell and floated in it from the shore to his father's ship, which lay at anchor at the distance of half a mile. In deference to theopinion of a friend, I have substituted such a shell for the lesselegant vessel in which my blind Voyager did actually intrust himself tothe dangerous current of Loch Leven, as was related to me by aneye-witness. ]

IX. MEMORIALS OF A SECOND TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1814. 

253. *_Suggested by a beautiful Ruin upon one of the islands of LochLomond: a place chosen for the retreat of a solitary individual, fromwhom this Habitation acquired the name of the Brownie's Cell_, [I. ]

In this tour my wife and her sister Sara were my companions. The accountof the Brownie's Cell, and the Brownies, was given me by a man we metwith on the banks of Loch Lomond, a little above Tarbert, and in frontof a huge mass of rock by the side of which, we were told, preachingswere often held in the open air. The place is quite a solitude, and thesurrounding scenery very striking. How much is it to be regretted that, instead of writing such poems as the 'Holy Fair, ' and others in whichthe religious observances of his country are treated with so muchlevity, and too often with indecency, Burns had not employed his geniusin describing religion under the serious and affecting aspects it mustso frequently take. 

254. *_Composed at Corra Linn, in sight of Wallace Tower_. [II. ]

I had seen this celebrated waterfall twice before. But the feelings towhich it had given birth were not expressed till they recurred inpresence of the object on this occasion. 

255. *_Effusion in the Pleasure-ground on the Banks of the Braw, nearDunkeld_. [III. ]

I am not aware that this condemnatory effusion was ever seen by theowner of the place. He might be disposed to pay little attention to it;but, were it to prove otherwise, I should be glad, for the wholeexhibition is distressingly puerile. 

256. *_Yarrow Visited_. [IV. ]

As mentioned in my verses on the death of the Ettrick Shepherd, my firstvisit to Yarrow was in his company. We had lodged the night before atTraquhair, where Hogg had joined us, and also Dr. Anderson, the editorof the British Poets, who was on a visit at the Manse. Dr. A. Walkedwith us till we came in view of the vale of Yarrow, and being advancedin life he then turned back. The old man was passionately fond ofpoetry, though with not much of a discriminating judgment, as thevolumes he edited sufficiently shew. But I was much pleased to meet withhim and to acknowledge my obligation to his Collection, which had beenmy brother John's companion in more than one voyage to India, and whichhe gave me before his departure from Grasmere never to return. Throughthese volumes I became first familiar with Chaucer; and so little moneyhad I then to spare for books, that, in all probability, but for thissame work, I should have known little of Drayton, Daniel, and otherdistinguished poets of the Elizabethan age and their immediatesuccessors, till a much later period of my life. I am glad to recordthis, not for any importance of its own, but as a tribute of gratitudeto this simple-hearted old man, whom I never again had the pleasure ofmeeting. I seldom read or think of this poem without regretting that mydear sister was not of the party, as she would have had so much delightin recalling the time when, travelling together in Scotland, we declinedgoing in search of this celebrated stream, not altogether, I willfrankly confess, for the reasons assigned in the poem on the occasion. 

 * * * * *

X. POEMS DEDICATED TO NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE AND LIBERTY. 

[HEADED IN I. F. NOTES 'SONNETS DEDICATED TO LIBERTY. ']

257. _Robert Jones_. 

'Jones! as from Calais, ' &c. [Sonnet III. ]

(See No. 9, Dedication to Descriptive Sketches. )

This excellent Person, one of my earliest and dearest friends, died inthe year 1835. We were under-graduates together of the same year, at thesame college, and companions in many a delightful ramble through his ownromantic country of North Wales. Much of the latter part of his life hepassed in comparative solitude; which I know was often cheered byremembrance of our youthful adventures, and of the beautiful regionswhich, at home and abroad, we had visited together. Our long friendshipwas never subject to a moment's interruption, --and, while revisingthese volumes for the last time, I have been so often reminded of myloss, with a not unpleasing sadness, that I trust the Reader will excusethis passing mention of a Man who well deserves from me something morethan so brief a notice. Let me only add, that during the middle part ofhis life he resided many years (as Incumbent of the Living) at aParsonage in Oxfordshire, which is the subject of the seventh of the'Miscellaneous Sonnets, ' Part III. 

258. _I grieved for Buonaparte. [Sonnet_ IV. ]

[Note No. 183 is repeated here. ]

259. _The King of Sweden and Toussaint L'Ouverture_. 

[Sonnets VII. And VIII. ]

In this and a succeeding Sonnet on the same subject, let me beunderstood as a Poet availing himself of the situation which the King ofSweden occupied, and of the principles AVOWED IN HIS MANIFESTOS; aslaying hold of these advantages for the purpose of embodying moraltruths. This remark might, perhaps, as well have been suppressed; for tothose who may be in sympathy with the course of these Poems, it will besuperfluous; and will, I fear, be thrown away upon that other class, whose besotted admiration of the intoxicated despot hereafter placed incontrast with him is the most melancholy evidence of degradation inBritish feeling and intellect which the times have furnished. 

260. _September_ 1, 1802. [Sonnet IX. ]

Among the capricious acts of tyranny that disgraced these times was thechasing of all negroes from France by decree of the Government; we had afellow-passenger who was one of the expelled. 

261. *'_Two Voices are there, ' &c. _ [Sonnet XII. ]

This was composed while pacing to and fro between the Hall of Coleorton, then rebuilding, and the principal Farm-house of the Estate, in which welived for nine or ten months. I will here mention that the Song on theRestoration of Lord Clifford, as well as that on the Feast of BroughamCastle as mentioned [in the place], were produced on the same ground. 

262. *'_O Friend! I know not which Way_. ' [Sonnet XIII. ]

This was written immediately after my return from France to London, whenI could not but be struck, as here described, with the vanity and paradeof our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as contrastedwith the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the Revolution hadproduced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the reader maythink that in this and succeeding sonnets I have exaggerated themischief engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed wealth. 

[In pencil--Query: Sonnets relating to the expected Invasion, &c. , p. 189, vol. Iii. (1837) to p. 200; Ode, p. 201 to 203; Sonnets, partsecond, p. 204 to 215]. [After three blank pages. ]

263. *_War in Spain_. 

It would not be easy to conceive with what a depth of feeling I enteredinto the struggle carried on by the Spaniards for their deliverance fromthe usurped power of the French. Many times have I gone from Allan Bank, in Grasmere Vale, where we were then residing, to the top of theRaise-Gap, as it is called, so late as two o'clock in the morning, tomeet the carrier bringing the newspaper from Keswick. Imperfect tracesof the state of mind in which I then was may be found in my tract on theConvention of Cintra, as well as in these Sonnets. 

264. *_Zaragossa_. [Sonnet XVI. ]

In this sonnet I am under some obligations to one of an Italian author, to which I cannot refer. 

265. *_Lines on the expected Invasion_, 1803. [Sonnet XXVI. ]

To take their place among the political pieces. 

266. _Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke_. [Sonnet XXVII. ]

 'Danger which they fear, and honour which they understand not. '

Words in Lord Brooke's Life of Sir Philip Sidney. 

So in the 'Thanksgiving Ode' (vi. 10) on 'And discipline was passion'sdire excess' is quoted, 'Discipline the rule whereof is passion. '

267. _The Oak of Guernica_. [Part II. Sonnet XXVI. ]

The ancient oak of Guernica, says Laborde, in his account of Biscay, isa most venerable natural monument. Ferdinand and Isabella, in the year1476, after hearing mass in the church of Santa Maria de la Antigua, repaired to this tree, under which they swore to the Biscayans tomaintain their _fueros_ (privileges). What other interest belongs to itin the minds of the people will appear from the following 'SupposedAddress to the Same. '

268. _Thanksgiving Ode_. [Part II. XLVI. ]

Wholly unworthy of touching upon the momentous subject here treatedwould that Poet be, before whose eyes the present distresses under whichthis kingdom labours could interpose a veil sufficiently thick to hide, or even to obscure, the splendour of this great moral triumph. If I havegiven way to exultation, unchecked by these distresses, it might besufficient to protect me from a charge of insensibility, should I statemy own belief that the sufferings will be transitory. Upon the wisdom ofa very large majority of the British nation rested that generosity whichpoured out the treasures of this country for the deliverance of Europe;and in the same national wisdom, presiding in time of peace over anenergy not inferior to that which has been displayed in war, _they_confide who encourage a firm hope that the cup of our wealth will begradually replenished. There will, doubtless, be no few ready to indulgein regrets and repinings; and to feed a morbid satisfaction byaggravating these burthens in imagination; in order that calamity soconfidently prophesied, as it has not taken the shape which theirsagacity allotted to it, may appear as grievous as possible underanother. But the body of the nation will not quarrel with the gain, because it might have been purchased at a less price; and, acknowledgingin these sufferings, which they feel to have been in a great degreeunavoidable, a consecration of their noble efforts, they will vigorouslyapply themselves to remedy the evil. 

Nor is it at the expense of rational patriotism, or in disregard ofsound philosophy, that I have given vent to feelings tending toencourage a martial spirit in the bosoms of my countrymen, at a timewhen there is a general outcry against the prevalence of thesedispositions. The British army, both by its skill and valour in thefield, and by the discipline which rendered it, to the inhabitants ofthe several countries where its operations were carried on, a protectionfrom the violence of their own troops, has performed services that willnot allow the language of gratitude and admiration to be suppressed orrestrained (whatever be the temper of the public mind) through ascrupulous dread lest the tribute due to the past should prove aninjurious incentive for the future. Every man deserving the name ofBriton adds his voice to the chorus which extols the exploits of hiscountrymen, with a consciousness, at times overpowering the effort, thatthey transcend all praise. --But this particular sentiment, thusirresistibly excited, is not sufficient. The nation would errgrievously, if she suffered the abuse which other States have made ofmilitary power to prevent her from perceiving that no people ever was orcan be independent, free, or secure, much less great, in any saneapplication of the word, without a cultivation of military virtues. Norlet it be overlooked, that the benefits derivable from these sources areplaced within the reach of Great Britain, under conditions peculiarlyfavourable. The same insular position which, by rendering territorialincorporation impossible, utterly precludes the desire of conquest underthe most seductive shape it can assume, enables her to rely, for herdefence against foreign foes, chiefly upon a species of armed force fromwhich her own liberties have nothing to fear. Such are the privileges ofher situation; and, by permitting, they invite her to give way to thecourageous instincts of human nature, and to strengthen and refine themby culture. 

But some have more than insinuated that a design exists to subvert thecivil character of the English people by unconstitutional applicationsand unnecessary increase of military power. The advisers and abettors ofsuch a design, were it possible that it should exist, would be guilty ofthe most heinous crime, which, upon this planet, can be committed. Trusting that this apprehension arises from the delusive influences ofan honourable jealousy, let me hope that the martial qualities which Ivenerate will be fostered by adhering to those good old usages whichexperience has sanctioned; and by availing ourselves of new means ofindisputable promise: particularly by applying, in its utmost possibleextent, that system of tuition whose master-spring is a habit ofgradually enlightened subordination;--by imparting knowledge, civil, moral, and religious, in such measure that the mind, among all classesof the community, may love, admire, and be prepared and accomplished todefend, that country under whose protection its faculties have beenunfolded, and its riches acquired:--by just dealing towards all ordersof the State, so that no members of it being trampled upon, courage mayeverywhere continue to rest immoveably upon its ancient Englishfoundation, personal self-respect;--by adequate rewards, and permanenthonours, conferred upon the deserving;--by encouraging athleticexercises and manly sports among the peasantry of the country;--and byespecial care to provide and support institutions, in which, during atime of peace, a reasonable proportion of the youth of the country maybe instructed in military science. 

I have only to add, that I should feel little satisfaction in giving tothe world these limited attempts to celebrate the virtues of my country, if I did not encourage a hope that a subject, which it has fallen withinmy province to treat only in the mass, will by other poets beillustrated in that detail which its importance calls for, and whichwill allow opportunities to give the merited applause to PERSONS as wellas to THINGS. 

The ode was published along with other pieces, now interspersed throughthis Volume. 

269. *_Ibid. _

The first stanza of this Ode was composed almost extempore, in front ofRydal Mount before Church-time, on such a morning and precisely withsuch objects before my eyes as are here described. The view taken ofNapoleon's character and proceedings is little in accordance with thattaken by some Historians and critical philosophers. I am glad and proudof the difference, and trust that this series of Poems, infinitely belowthe subject as they are, will survive to counteract in unsophisticatedminds the pernicious and degrading tendency of those views and doctrinesthat lead to the idolatry of power as power, and in that false splendourto lose sight of its real nature and constitution, as it often acts forthe gratification of its possessor without reference to a beneficialend--an infirmity that has characterised men of all ages, classes, andemployments, since Nimrod became a mighty hunter before the Lord, [Inpencil is the following by Mr. Quillinan--In a letter to Southey aboutthe rhythm of this Ode Wordsworth, comparing the first paragraph of the'Aeneid' with that of the 'Jerusalem Liberated, ' says, that 'the measureof the latter has the pace of a set of recruits shuffling to vulgarmusic upon a parade, and receiving from the adjutant or drill-sergeantthe command to halt at every twenty steps. ' Mr. W. Had no ear forinstrumental music; or he would not have applied this vulgar sarcasm tomilitary march-music. Besides, awkward recruits are never drilled tomusic at all. The Band on parade plays to perfectly-drilled troops. Nesutor ultra crepidam. ]

270. _Spenser_. [Part II. Sonnet XLIII. ]

 'Assoiled from all encumbrance of our time. ' 'From all this world's encumbrance did himself assoil. '

 * * * * *

XI. MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820. 

271. *_Introductory Remarks_. 

I set out in company with my wife and sister, and Mr. And Mrs. Monkhouse, then just married, and Miss Horrocks. These two ladies, sisters, we left at Berne, while Mr. Monkhouse took the opportunity ofmaking an excursion with us among the Alps, as far as Milan. Mr. H. C. Robinson joined us at Lucerne, and when this ramble was completed werejoined at Geneva the two ladies we had left at Berne, and proceeded toParis, where Mr. Monkhouse and H. C. R. Left us, and where we spent fiveweeks, of which there is not a record in these poems. 

272. _The Fishwomen of Calais_, [I. ]

If in this Sonnet [I. Of 'Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, ' 1820] Ishould seem to have borne a little hard upon the personal appearance ofthe worthy Poissardes of Calais, let me take shelter under the authorityof my lamented friend, the late Sir George Beaumont. He, a most accurateobserver, used to say of them, that their features and countenancesseemed to have conformed to those of the creatures they dealt in; atall events the resemblance was striking. 

273. *_Incident at Bruges_. [IV. ]

This occurred at Bruges in the year 1828. Mr. Coleridge, my daughter, and I, made a tour together in Flanders, upon the Rhine, and returned byHolland. Dora and I, while taking a walk along a retired part of thetown, heard the voice as here described, and were afterwards informedthat it was a convent, in which were many English. We were both muchtouched, I might say affected, and Dora moved as appears in the verses. 

274. _Between Namur and Liege_. [VI. ]

The scenery on the Meuse pleases me more, upon the whole, than that ofthe Rhine, though the river itself is much inferior in grandeur. Therocks, both in form and colour, especially between Namur and Liege, surpass any upon the Rhine, though they are in several places disfiguredby quarries, whence stones were taken for the new fortifications. Thisis much to be regretted, for they are useless, and the scars willremain, perhaps, for thousands of years. A like injury to a stillgreater degree has been inflicted, in my memory, upon the beautifulrocks at Clifton, on the banks of the Avon. There is probably inexistence a very long letter of mine to Sir Uvedale Price, in which wasgiven a description of the landscapes on the Meuse as compared withthose on the Rhine. 

Details in the spirit of these sonnets are given both in Mary's Journaland my sister's; and the reperusal of them has strengthened a wish longentertained, that somebody would put together, as in one work, the notescontained in them, omitting particulars that were written down merely toaid our memory, and bringing the whole into as small a compass as isconsistent with the general interests belonging to the scenes, circumstances, and objects touched on by each writer. 

275. '_Miserere Domine_. ' [X. ]

See the beautiful song on Mr. Coleridge's Tragedy, 'The Remorse. ' Why isthe harp of Quantock silent?

276. _The Danube_. [XI. ]

 'Not, like his great Compeers, indignantly Doth Danube spring to life!'

Before this quarter of the Black Forest was inhabited, the source of theDanube might have suggested some of those sublime images which Armstronghas so finely described; at present, the contrast is most striking. TheSpring appears in a capacious stone Basin in front of a Ducal palace, with a pleasure-ground opposite; then, passing under the pavement, takesthe form of a little, clear, bright, black, vigorous rill, barely wideenough to tempt the agility of a child five years old to leap overit, --and entering the garden, it joins, after a course of a few hundredyards, a stream much more considerable than itself. The _copiousness_ ofthe spring at _Doneschingen_ must have procured for it the honour ofbeing named the Source of the Danube. 

277. _The Staub-bach_. [XII. ]

'The Staub-bach' is a narrow Stream, which, after a long course on theheights, comes to the sharp edge of a somewhat overhanging precipice, overleaps it with a bound, and, after a fall of 930 feet, forms again arivulet. The vocal powers of these musical Beggars may seem to beexaggerated; but this wild and savage air was utterly unlike any soundsI had ever heard; the notes reached me from a distance, and on whatoccasion they were sung I could not guess, only they seemed to belong, in some way or other, to the Waterfall--and reminded me of religiousservices chanted to Streams and Fountains in Pagan times. Mr. Southeyhas thus accurately characterised the peculiarity of this music: 'Whilewe were at the Waterfall, some half-score peasants, chiefly women andgirls, assembled just out of reach of the Spring, and set up--surely, the wildest chorus that ever was heard by human ears, --a song not ofarticulate sounds, but in which the voice was used as a mere instrumentof music, more flexible than any which art could produce, --sweet, powerful, and thrilling beyond description. '--See Notes to 'A Tale ofParaguay. '

278. _Memorial near the Outlet of the Lake of Thun_. [XIV. ]

 Dem Andenken Meines Freundes ALOYS REDING MDCCCXVIII. 

Aloys Reding, it will be remembered, was Captain-General of the SwissForces, which with a courage and perseverance worthy of the cause, opposed the flagitious and too successful attempt of Buonaparte tosubjugate their country. 

279. _Engelbery_. [XVIII. ]

The Convent whose site was pointed out, according to tradition, in thismanner, is seated at its base. The architecture of the building isunimpressive, but the situation is worthy of the honour which theimagination of the mountaineers has conferred upon it. 

280. _Our Lady of the Snow_. [XIX. ]

Mount Righi. 

281. _Effusion in presence of the painted Tower of Tell at Altorf_. [XX. ]

This Tower stands upon the spot where grew the Linden Tree against whichhis Son is said to have been placed, when the Father's archery was putto proof under circumstances so famous in Swiss Story. 

282. _The Town of Schwytz_. [XXI. ]

Nearly 500 years (says Ebel, speaking of the French Invasion) hadelapsed, when, for the first time, foreign soldiers were seen upon thefrontiers of this small Canton, to impose upon it the laws of theirgovernors. 

283. _The Church of San Salvador, seen from the Lake of Lugano_. [XXIV. ]

This Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ago, but thealtar and the image of the Patron Saint were untouched. The Mount, uponthe summit of which the Church is built, stands amid the intricacies ofthe Lake of Lugano; and is, from a hundred points of view, its principalornament, rising to the height of 2000 feet, and, on one side, nearlyperpendicular. The ascent is toilsome; but the traveller who performs itwill be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility, rich woods and dazzlingwaters, seclusion and confinement of view contrasted with sea-likeextent of plain fading into the sky; and this again, in an oppositequarter, with an horizon of the loftiest and boldest Alps--unite incomposing a prospect more diversified by magnificence, beauty, andsublimity, than perhaps any other point in Europe, of so inconsiderablean elevation, commands. 

284. _Foot-note on lines_ 31-36. 

 'He, too, of battle martyrs chief! Who, to recall his daunted peers, For victory shaped an open space, By gathering with a wide embrace, Into his single breast, a sheaf Of fatal Austrian spears. '

Arnold Winkelried, at the battle of Sampach, broke an Austrian phalanxin this manner. 

285. _'The Last Supper' of Leonardo da Vinci_. [xxvi. ]

 'Though searching damps and many an envious flaw Have marred this Work. '

This picture of the Last Supper has not only been grievously injured bytime, but the greatest part of it, if not the whole, is said to havebeen retouched, or painted over again. These niceties may be left toconnoisseurs, --I speak of it as I felt. The copy exhibited in Londonsome years ago, and the engraving by Morghen, are both admirable; but inthe original is a power which neither of those works has attained, oreven approached. 

286. _Statues on Milan Cathedral_. [XXVII. ]

 'Of figures human and divine. '

The Statues ranged round the spire and along the roof of the Cathedralof Milan, have been found fault with by persons whose exclusive taste isunfortunate for themselves. It is true that the same expense and labour, judiciously directed to purposes more strictly architectural, mighthave much heightened the general effect of the building; for, seen fromthe ground, the Statues appear diminutive. But the _coup-d'oeil_, fromthe best point of view, which is half way up the spire, must strike anunprejudiced person with admiration; and surely the selection andarrangement of the Figures is exquisitely fitted to support the religionof the country in the imaginations and feelings of the spectator. It waswith great pleasure that I saw, during the two ascents which we made, several children, of different ages, tripping up and down the slenderspire, and pausing to look around them, with feelings much more animatedthan could have been derived from these or the finest works of art, ifplaced within easy reach. --Remember also that you have the Alps on oneside, and on the other the Apennines, with the plain of Lombardybetween!

287. _A Religious Procession_. [XXXII. ]

 'Still, with those white-robed Shapes--a living Stream, The glacier pillars join in solemn guise. '

This Procession is a part of the sacramental service performed once amonth. In the valley of Engleberg we had the good fortune to be presentat the _Grand Festival_ of the Virgin--but the Procession on that day, though consisting of upwards of 1000 persons, assembled from all thebranches of the sequestered valley, was much less striking(notwithstanding the sublimity of the surrounding scenery): it wantedboth the simplicity of the other and the accompaniment of theGlacier-columns, whose sisterly resemblance to the _moving_ Figures gaveit a most beautiful and solemn peculiarity. 

288. _Elegiac Stanzas_. [XXXIII. ]

The lamented Youth whose untimely death gave occasion to these elegiacverses was Frederick William Goddard, from Boston in North America. Hewas in his twentieth year, and had resided for some time with aclergyman in the neighbourhood of Geneva for the completion of hiseducation. Accompanied by a fellow-pupil, a native of Scotland, he hadjust set out on a Swiss tour when it was his misfortune to fall in witha friend of mine who was hastening to join our party. The travellers, after spending a day together on the road from Berne and at Soleure, took leave of each other at night, the young men having intended toproceed directly to Zurich. But early in the morning my friend found hisnew acquaintances, who were informed of the object of his journey, andthe friends he was in pursuit of, equipped to accompany him. We met atLucerne the succeeding evening, and Mr. G. And his fellow-student becamein consequence our travelling companions for a couple of days. Weascended the Righi together; and, after contemplating the sunrise fromthat noble mountain, we separated at an hour and on a spot well suitedto the parting of those who were to meet no more. Our party descendedthrough the valley of our Lady of the Snow, and our late companions, toArt. We had hoped to meet in a few weeks at Geneva; but on the thirdsucceeding day (on the 21st of August) Mr. Goddard perished, beingoverset in a boat while crossing the lake of Zurich. His companion savedhimself by swimming, and was hospitably received in the mansion of aSwiss gentleman (M. Keller) situated on the eastern coast of the lake. The corpse of poor Goddard was cast ashore on the estate of the samegentleman, who generously performed all the rites of hospitality whichcould be rendered to the dead as well as to the living. He caused ahandsome mural monument to be erected in the church of Küsnacht, whichrecords the premature fate of the young American, and on the shores tooof the lake the traveller may read an inscription pointing out the spotwhere the body was deposited by the waves. 

289. _Mount Righi_ (foot-note). 

 --'the dread summit of the Queen Of Mountains. '

Mount Righi--Regina Montium. 

290. _The Tower of Caligula_. [XXXV. ]

Near the town of Boulogne, and overhanging the beach, are the remains ofa tower which bears the name of Caligula, who here terminated hiswestern expedition, of which these sea-shells were the boasted spoils. And at no great distance from these ruins, Buonaparte, standing upon amound of earth, harangued his 'Army of England, ' reminding them of theexploits of Caesar, and pointing towards the white cliffs, upon whichtheir standards _were to float_. He recommended also a subscription tobe raised among the Soldiery to erect on that ground, in memory of thefoundation of the 'Legion of Honour, ' a Column--which was not completedat the time we were there. 

291. _Herds of Cattle_. [XXXVI. ]

 'We mark majestic herds of cattle, free To ruminate. '

This is a most grateful sight for an Englishman returning to his nativeland. Every where one misses in the cultivated grounds abroad, theanimated and soothing accompaniment of animals ranging and selectingtheir own food at will. 

292. _The Forks_. ['Desultory Stanzas, ' l. 37. ]

Les Fourches, the point at which the two chains of mountains part, thatenclose the Valais, which terminates at St. Maurice. 

292[a]. _The Landenberg_. [Ibid. Ll. 49-51. ]

 --'ye that occupy Your Council-seats beneath the open sky, On Sarnen's Mount. '

Sarnen, one of the two capitals of the Canton of Underwalden; the spothere alluded to is close to the town, and is called the Landenberg, fromthe tyrant of that name, whose chateau formerly stood there. On the 1stof January 1308, the great day which the confederated Heroes had chosenfor the deliverance of their country, all the castles of the Governorswere taken by force or stratagem; and the Tyrants themselves conducted, with their creatures, to the frontiers, after having witnessed thedestruction of their strong-holds. From that time the Landenberg hasbeen the place where the Legislators of this division of the Cantonassemble. The site, which is well described by Ebel, is one of the mostbeautiful in Switzerland. 

293. _Pictures in Bridges of Switzerland_. [Ibid. L. 56. ]

 'Calls me to pace her honoured Bridge. '

The bridges of Lucerne are roofed, and open at the sides, so that thepassenger has, at the same time, the benefit of shade, and a view of themagnificent country. The pictures are attached to the rafters; thosefrom Scripture History, on the Cathedral-bridge, amount, according to mynotes, to 240. Subjects from the Old Testament face the passenger as hegoes towards the Cathedral, and those from the New as he returns. Thepictures on these bridges, as well as those in most other parts ofSwitzerland, are not to be spoken of as works of art; but they areinstruments admirably answering the purpose for which they weredesigned. 

294. *_At Dover_. [XXXVII. ]

For the impressions on which this Sonnet turns I am indebted to theexperience of my daughter during her residence at Dover with our dearfriend Miss Fenwick. 

 * * * * *

XII. MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN ITALY, 1837. 

295. *_Introductory Remarks_. 

During my whole life I had felt a strong desire to visit Rome and theother celebrated cities and regions of Italy, but did not think myselfjustified in incurring the necessary expense till I received from Mr. Moxon, the publisher of a large edition of my poems, a sum sufficient toenable me to gratify my wish without encroaching upon what I considereddue to my family. My excellent friend H. C. Robinson readily consented toaccompany me, and in March 1837 we set off from London, to which wereturned in August--earlier than my companion wished, or I should myselfhave desired, had I been, like him, a bachelor. These Memorials of thatTour touch upon but a very few of the places and objects that interestedme; and in what they do advert to are for the most part much slighterthan I could wish. More particularly do I regret that there is no noticein them of the south of France, nor of the Roman antiquities aboundingin that district; especially of the Pont de Degard, which, together withits situation, impressed me full as much as any remains of Romanarchitecture to be found in Italy. Then there was Vaucluse, with itsfountain, its Petrarch, its rocks [query--roses?] of all seasons, itssmall plots of lawn in their first vernal freshness, and the blossoms ofthe peach and other trees embellishing the scene on every side. Thebeauty of the stream also called forcibly for the expression of sympathyfrom one who from his childhood had studied the brooks and torrents ofhis native mountains. Between two and three hours did I run about, climbing the steep and rugged craggs, from whose base the water ofVaucluse breaks forth. 'Has Laura's lover, ' often said I to myself, 'ever sat down upon this stone? Or has his foot ever pressed that turf?'Some, especially of the female sex, could have felt sure of it; myanswer was (impute it to my years), 'I fear, not. ' Is it not in factobvious that many of his love-verses must have flowed, I do not say froma wish to display his own talent, but from a habit of exercising hisintellect in that way, rather than from an impulse of his heart? It isotherwise with his Lyrical Poems, and particularly with the one upon thedegradation of his country. There he pours out his reproaches, lamentations, and aspirations like an ardent and sincere patriot. Butenough; it is time to turn to my own effusions, such as they are. 

296. _Ibid. _

The Tour, of which the following Poems are very inadequate remembrances, was shortened by report, too well founded, of the prevalence of choleraat Naples. To make some amends for what was reluctantly left unseen inthe south of Italy, we visited the Tuscan Sanctuaries among theApennines, and the principal Italian Lakes among the Alps. Neither ofthose lakes, nor of Venice, is there any notice in these poems, chieflybecause I have touched upon them elsewhere. See in particular'Descriptive Sketches, ' 'Memorials of a Tour on the Continent in 1820, 'and a Sonnet upon the extinction of the Venetian Republic. 

297. *_Musings at Aquapendente, April _1837. [I. ]

The following note refers to Sir W. Scott:

 'Had his sunk eye kindled at those dear words That spake of Bards and Minstrels' (ll. 60-1). 

_His_, Sir W. Scott's, eye _did_ in fact kindle at them, for the lines'Places forsaken now, ' and the two that follow, were adopted from a poemof mine, which nearly forty years ago was in part read to him, and henever forgot them. 

 'Old Helvellyn's brow, Where once together in his day of strength We stood rejoicing' (ll. 62-4). 

Sir Hy. Davy was with us at the time. We had ascended from Paterdale, and I could not but admire the vigour with which Scott scrambled alongthat horn of the mountain called 'Striding Edge. ' Our progress wasnecessarily slow, and beguiled by Scott's telling many stories andamusing anecdotes, as was his custom. Sir H. Davy would have probablybeen better pleased if other topics had occasionally been interspersedand some discussion entered upon; at all events, he did not remain withus long at the top of the mountain, but left us to find our way down itssteep side together into the vale of Grasmere, where at my cottage Mrs. Scott was to meet us at dinner. He said:

 'When I am there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow. '

See among these Notes the one upon Yarrow Revisited. [In the printedNotes there is the following farther reference to the touching quotationby Scott--These words were quoted to me from 'Yarrow Unvisited' by SirWalter Scott, when I visited him at Abbotsford, a day or two before hisdeparture for Italy; and the affecting condition in which he was when helooked upon Rome from the Janicular Mount was reported to me by a ladywho had the honour of conducting him thither. ]

298. A few short steps, painful they were, apart From Tasso's convent-haven and retired grave'_(ll. 83-5). 

This, though introduced here, I did not know till it was told me at Romeby Miss Mackenzie of Seaforth, a lady whose friendly attentions, duringmy residence at Rome, I have gratefully acknowledged with expressions ofsincere regret that she is no more. Miss M. Told me that she hadaccompanied Sir Walter to the Janicular Mount, and, after showing himthe grave of Tasso in the church upon the top, and a mural monumentthere erected to his memory, they left the church, and stood together onthe brow of the hill overlooking the city of Rome. His daughter Anne waswith them, and she, naturally desirous, for the sake of Miss Mackenzieespecially, to have some expression of pleasure from her father, halfreproached him for showing nothing of that kind either by his looks orvoice. 'How can I, ' replied he, 'having only one leg to stand upon, andthat in extreme pain?' so that the prophecy was more than fulfilled. 

299. '_Over waves rough and deep_' (line 122). 

We took boat near the lighthouse at the point of the right horn of thebay, which makes a sort of natural port for Genoa; but the wind washigh, and the waves long and rough, so that I did not feel quiterecompensed by the view of the city, splendid as it was, for the dangerapparently incurred. The boatman (I had only one) encouraged me, saying, we were quite safe; but I was not a little glad when we gained theshore, though Shelley and Byron--one of them at least who seemed to havecourted agitation from every quarter--would have probably rejoiced insuch a situation. More than once, I believe, were they both in extremedanger even on the Lake of Geneva. Every man, however, has his fears ofsome kind or other, and, no doubt, they had theirs. Of all men whom Ihave ever known, Coleridge had the most of passive courage in bodilytrial, but no one was so easily cowed when moral firmness was requiredin miscellaneous conversation or in the daily intercourse of sociallife. 

300. 

 '_How lovely_--_didst thou appear, Savona_' (ll. 209-11). 

There is not a single bay along this beautiful coast that might notraise in a traveller a wish to take up his abode there; each as itsucceeds seems more inviting than the other; but the desolated conventon the cliff in the bay of Savona struck my fancy most; and had I, forthe sake of my own health or of that of a dear friend, or any othercause, been desirous of a residence abroad, I should have let mythoughts loose upon a scheme of turning some part of this building intoa habitation, provided as far as might be with English comforts. Thereis close by it a row, or avenue (I forget which), of tall cypresses. Icould not forbear saying to myself, 'What a sweet family walk, or onefor lonely musings, would be found under the shade!' but there probablythe trees remain little noticed and seldom enjoyed. 

301. /p '_This flowering Broom's dear Neighbourhood_' (l. 378). P/

The Broom is a great ornament through the months of March and April tothe vales and hills of the Apennines, in the wild part of which it blowsin the utmost profusion, and of course successively at differentelevations as the season advances. It surpasses ours in beauty andfragrance; but, speaking from my own limited observation only, I cannotaffirm the same of several of their wild Spring flowers, the primrosesin particular, which I saw not unfrequently but thinly scattered andlanguishing as compared with ours. 

302. _The Religious Movement in the English Church_. 

In the printed Notes there is the following on Aquapendente: 'It wouldbe ungenerous not to advert to the religious movement that, since thecomposition of these verses in 1837, has made itself felt, more or lessstrongly, throughout the English Church; a movement that takes for itsfirst principle a devout deference to the voice of Christian antiquity. It is not my office to pass judgment on questions of theological detail;but my own repugnance to the spirit and system of Romanism has been sorepeatedly, and I trust feelingly, expressed that I shall not besuspected of a leaning that way, if I do not join in the grave charges, thrown out, perhaps, in the heat of controversy, against the learned andpious men to whose labours I allude. I speak apart from controversy, butwith a strong faith in the moral temper which would elevate the presentby doing reverence to the past. I would draw cheerful auguries for theEnglish Church from this movement as likely to restore among us a toneof piety more earnest and real than that produced by the mereformalities of the understanding, refusing, in a degree which I cannotbut lament, that its own temper and judgment shall be controlled bythose of antiquity. ' From the I. F. MSS. We learn that the preceding notewas written by the Rev. F. W. Faber, D. D. , as thus: 'The Note at theclose of the poem upon the Oxford movement was intrusted to my friendMr. Frederick Faber. I told him what I wished to be said, and beggedthat as he was intimately acquainted with several of the Leaders of it, he would express my thought in the way least likely to be taken amissby them. Much of the work they are undertaking was grievously wanted, and God grant their endeavours may continue to prosper as they havedone. '

302[a]. *'_The Pine-tree of Monte Mario_, ' [II. ]

Rescued by Sir G. Beaumont from destruction. Sir G. Beaumont told methat when he first visited Italy, pine-trees of this species abounded;but that on his return thither, which was more than thirty years after, they had disappeared from many places where he had been accustomed toadmire them, and had become rare all over the country, especially in andabout Rome. Several Roman villas have within these few years passed intothe hands of foreigners, who, I observed with pleasure, have taken careto plant this tree, which in course of years will become a greatornament to the city and to the general landscape. 

May I venture to add here, that having ascended the Monte Mario I couldnot resist embracing the trunk of this interesting monument of mydeparted friend's feelings for the beauties of nature and the power ofthat art which he loved so much and in the practice of which he was sodistinguished. 

[Among the printed Notes is the following--Within a couple of hours ofmy arrival at Rome, I saw from Monte Pincio the Pine-tree as describedin the Sonnet; and while expressing admiration at the beauty of itsappearance, I was told by an acquaintance of my fellow-traveller, whohappened to join us at the moment, that a price had been paid for it bythe late Sir G. Beaumont, upon condition that the proprietor should notact upon his known intention of cutting it down. ]

303. '_Is this, ye gods_. ' [III. L. 1. ]

Sight is at first a sad enemy to imagination, and to those pleasuresbelonging to old times with which some exertions of that power willalways mingle. Nothing perhaps brings this truth home to the feelingsmore than the city of Rome, not so much in respect to the impressionmade at the moment when it is first seen and looked at as a whole, forthen the imagination may be invigorated, and the mind's eye quickened toperceive as much as that of the imagination; but when particular spotsor objects are sought out, disappointment is, I believe, invariablyfelt. Ability to recover from this disappointment will exist inproportion to knowledge, and the power of the mind to reconstruct out offragments and parts, and to make details in the present subservient tomore adequate comprehension of the past. 

304. '_At Rome_. '

 'They who have seen the noble Roman's scorn. ' [VII. L. 1. ]

I have a private interest in this sonnet, for I doubt whether it wouldever have been written, but for the lively picture given me by AnnaRicketts of what they had witnessed of the indignation and sorrowexpressed by some Italian noblemen of their acquaintance upon thesurrender, which circumstances had obliged them to make, of the bestportion of their family mansions to strangers. 

305. *_At Albano_. [IX]

This sonnet is founded on simple fact, and was written to enlarge, ifpossible, the views of those who can see nothing but evil in theintercessions countenanced by the Church of Rome. That they are in manyrespects lamentably pernicious must be acknowledged; but, on the otherhand, they who reflect while they see and observe cannot but be struckwith instances which will prove that it is a great error to condemn inall cases such mediation, as purely idolatrous. This remark bears withespecial force upon addresses to the Virgin. 

306. *_Cuckoo at Laverna_. [XIV. ]

May 25th, 1837. Among a thousand delightful feelings connected in mymind with the voice of the cuckoo, there is a personal one which israther melancholy. I was first convinced that age had rather dulled myhearing, by not being able to catch the sound at the same distance asthe younger companions of my walks; and of this failure I had proof uponthe occasion that suggested these verses. I did not hear the sound tillMr. Robinson had twice or thrice directed my attention to it. 

307. _Camaldoli_. [XV. ]

This famous sanctuary was the original establishment of Saint Romualdo, (or Rumwald, as our ancestors saxonised the name) in the 11th century, the ground (campo) being given by a Count Maldo. The Camaldolensi, however, have spread wide as a branch of Benedictines, and may thereforebe classed among the _gentlemen_ of the monastic orders. The societycomprehends two orders, monks and hermits; symbolised by their arms, twodoves drinking out of the same cup. The monastery in which the monkshere reside is beautifully situated, but a large unattractive edifice, not unlike a factory. The hermitage is placed in a loftier and wilderregion of the forest. It comprehends between 20 and 30 distinctresidences, each including for its single hermit an inclosed piece ofground and three very small apartments. There are days of indulgencewhen the hermit may quit his cell, and when old age arrives, he descendsfrom the mountain and takes his abode among the monks. 

My companion had, in the year 1831, fallen in with the monk, the subjectof these two sonnets, who showed him his abode among the hermits. It isfrom him that I received the following particulars. He was then about 40years of age, but his appearance was that of an older man. He had been apainter by profession, but on taking orders changed his name from Santito Raffaello, perhaps with an unconscious reference as well to the greatSanzio d'Urbino as to the archangel. He assured my friend that he hadbeen 13 years in the hermitage and had never known melancholy or ennui. In the little recess for study and prayer, there was a small collectionof books. 'I read only, ' said he, 'books of asceticism and mysticaltheology. ' On being asked the names of the most famous mystics, heenumerated _Scaramelli, San Giovanni della Croce, St. Dionysius theAreopayite_ (supposing the work which bears his name to be really his), and with peculiar emphasis _Ricardo di San Vittori_. The works of _SaintTheresa _are also in high repute among ascetics. These names mayinterest some of my readers. 

We heard that Raffaello was then living in the convent; my friend soughtin vain to renew his acquaintance with him. It was probably a day ofseclusion. The reader will perceive that these sonnets were supposed tobe written when he was a young man. 

308. _Monk-visitors of Camaldoli_. 

 'What aim had they the pair of Monks?' (XVII. L. 1. )

In justice to the Benedictines of Camaldoli, by whom strangers are sohospitably entertained, I feel obliged to notice, that I saw among themno other figures at all resembling, in size and complexion, the twomonks described in this Sonnet. What was their office, or the motivewhich brought them to this place of mortification, which they could nothave approached without being carried in this or some other way, afeeling of delicacy prevented me from inquiring. An account has beforebeen given of the hermitage they were about to enter. It was visited byus towards the end of the month of May; yet snow was lying thick underthe pine-trees, within a few yards of the gate. 

309. *_At Vallombrosa_. [XVIII. ]

I must confess, though of course I did not acknowledge it in the fewlines I wrote in the strangers' book kept at the Convent, that I wassomewhat disappointed at Vallombrosa. I had expected, as the nameimplies, a deep and narrow valley, over-shadowed by enclosing hills: butthe spot where the convent stands is in fact not a valley at all, but acove or crescent open to an extensive prospect. In the book beforementioned I read the notice in the English language, that if any onewould ascend the steep ground above the convent, and wander over it, hewould be abundantly rewarded by magnificent views. I had not time to actupon the recommendation, and only went with my young guide to a point, nearly on a level with the site of the convent, that overlooks the Valeof Arno for some leagues. 

To praise great and good men has ever been deemed one of the worthiestemployments of poetry; but the objects of admiration vary so much withtime and circumstances, and the noblest of mankind have been found, whenintimately known, to be of characters so imperfect, that no eulogist canfind a subject which he will venture upon with the animation necessaryto create sympathy, unless he confines himself to a particular act, orhe takes something of a one-sided view of the person he is disposed tocelebrate. This is a melancholy truth, and affords a strong reason forthe poetic mind being chiefly exercised in works of fiction. The poetcan then follow wherever the spirit of admiration leads him, uncheckedby such suggestions as will be too apt to cross his way if all that heis prompted to utter is to be tested by fact. Something in this spirit Ihave written in the note attached to the Sonnet on the King of Sweden;and many will think that in this poem, and elsewhere, I have spoken ofthe author of 'Paradise Lost' in a strain of panegyric scarcelyjustifiable by the tenour of some of his opinions, whether theologicalor political, and by the temper he carried into public affairs, inwhich, unfortunately for his genius, he was so much concerned. 

[Among the printed Notes is this--The name of Milton is pleasinglyconnected with Vallombrosa in many ways. The pride with which the Monk, without any previous question from me, pointed out his residence, Ishall not readily forget. It may be proper here to defend the Poet froma charge which has been brought against him, in respect to the passagein 'Paradise Lost' where this place is mentioned. It is said, that hehas erred in speaking of the trees there being deciduous, whereas theyare, in fact, pines. The fault-finders are themselves mistaken: thenatural woods of the region of Vallombrosa are deciduous and spread to agreat extent; those near the convent are, indeed, mostly pines; but theyare avenues of trees planted within a few steps of each other, and thuscomposing large tracts of wood, plots of which are periodically cutdown. The appearance of those narrow avenues, upon steep slopes open tothe sky, on account of the height which the trees attain by being forcedto grow upwards, is often very impressive. My guide, a boy of aboutfourteen years old, pointed this out to me in several places. ]

310. *_Sonnet at Florence_. [XIX. ]

 'Under the shadow of a stately pile. '

Upon what evidence the belief rests that this stone was a favourite seatof Dante, I do not know; but a man would little consult his own interestas a traveller, if he should busy himself with doubts as to the fact. The readiness with which traditions of this character are received, andthe fidelity with which they are preserved from generation togeneration, are an evidence of feelings honourable to our nature. Iremember now, during one of my rambles in the course of a collegevacation, I was pleased at being shown at ---- a seat near a kind ofrocky cell at the source of the river ----, on which it was said thatCongreve wrote his _Old Bachelor_. One can scarcely hit on anyperformance less in harmony with the scene; but it was a local tributepaid to intellect by those who had not troubled themselves to estimatethe moral worth of that author's comedies. And why should they? he was aman distinguished in his day, and the sequestered neighbourhood in whichhe often resided was perhaps as proud of him as Florence of her Dante. It is the same feeling, though proceeding from persons one cannot bringtogether in this way without offering some apology to the shade of thegreat visionary. 

311. *_The Baptist_. [XX. ]

It was very hot weather during the week we stayed at Florence; and, having never been there before, I went through much hard service, and amnot, therefore, _ashamed_ to confess, I fell asleep before this picture, and sitting with my back towards the Venus de Medicis. Buonaparte, inanswer to one who had spoken of his being in a sound sleep up to themoment when one of his great battles was to be fought, as a proof of thecalmness of his mind and command over anxious thoughts, said frankly, 'that he slept because, from bodily exhaustion, he could not help it. 'In like manner it is noticed that criminals, on the night previous totheir execution, seldom awake before they are called, a proof that thebody is the master of us far more than we need be willing to allow. 

Should this note by any possible chance be seen by any of my countrymenwho might have been in the Gallery at the time (and several persons werethere) and witnessed such an indecorum, I hope he will give up theopinion which he might naturally have formed to my prejudice. 

312. *_Florence_. 

 'Rapt above earth, ' and the following one. [XXI. -II. ]

However, at first, these two Sonnets from M. Angelo may seem in theirspirit somewhat inconsistent with each other, I have not scrupled toplace them side by side as characteristic of their great author, andothers with whom he lived. I feel, nevertheless, a wish to know at whatperiods of his life they were respectively composed. The latter, as itexpresses, was written in his advanced years, when it was natural thatthe Platonism that pervades the one should give way to the Christianfeeling that inspired the other. Between both, there is more than poeticaffinity. 

312a. *_Among the Ruins of a Convent in the Apennines_. [XXIII. ]

The political revolutions of our time have multiplied on the Continentobjects that unavoidably call forth reflections such as are expressed inthese verses, but the ruins in those countries are too recent to exhibitin anything like an equal degree the beauty with which time and Naturehave invested the remains of our convents and abbeys. These verses, itwill be observed, take up the beauty long before it is matured, as onecannot but wish it may be among some of the desolations of Italy, France, and Germany. 

313. *_Sonnets after leaving Italy_. [XXV. ]

I had proof in several instances that the Carbonari, if I may still callthem so, and their favourers, are opening their eyes to the necessity ofpatience, and are intent upon spreading knowledge actively, but quietlyas they can. May they have resolution to continue in this course, for itis the only one by which they can truly benefit their country. 

We left Italy by the way which is called the 'Nuova Strada d'Allemagna, 'to the east of the high passes of the Alps, which take you at once fromItaly into Switzerland. The road leads across several smaller heights, and winds down different vales in succession, so that it was only by theaccidental sound of a few German words I was aware we had quitted Italy;and hence the unwelcome shock alluded to in the two or three last linesof the Sonnet with which this imperfect series concludes. 

314. *_Composed at Rydal on May morning_, 1838. 

This and the following Sonnet [now XXVI. ] were composed on what we callthe 'far terrace' at Rydal Mount, where I have murmured out manythousands of my verses. 

315. *_Pillar of Trajan_. [XXVIII. ]

These verses had better, perhaps, be transferred to the class of'Italian Poems. ' I had observed in the newspaper that 'The Pillar ofTrajan' was given as a subject for a Prize Poem in English verse. I hada wish, perhaps, that my son, who was then an undergraduate at Oxford, should try his fortune; and I told him so: but he, not having beenaccustomed to write verse, wisely declined to enter on the task;whereupon I showed him these lines as a proof of what might, withoutdifficulty, be done on such a subject. 

316. *_The Egyptian Maid_. 

In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem, it may be worthwhile here to say, that it rose out of a few words casually used inconversation by my nephew Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with greatspirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admiremore than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the WaterLily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen itfloating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing andcomposing the poem. Had I not heard those words it would never have beenwritten. The form of the stanza is new, and is nothing but a repetitionof the first five lines as they were thrown off, and is, perhaps, notwell suited to narrative, and certainly would not have been trusted tohad I thought at the beginning that the poem would have gone to such alength. [The short note referred to _supra_ is as follows: 'For thenames and persons in the following poem see the _History of the RenownedPrince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table_; for the rest theauthor is answerable; only it may be proper to add that the Lotus, withthe bust of the goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art once included amongthe Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum. ']

XIII. THE RIVER DUDDON: A SERIES OF SONNETS. 

317. _Introduction_. 

The River Duddon rises upon Wrynose Fell, on the confines ofWestmoreland, Cumberland, and Lancashire: and, having served as aboundary to the two last counties for the space of about twenty-fivemiles, enters the Irish Sea, between the Isle of Walney and the Lordshipof Millum. 

318. '_The River Duddon_. '

A Poet, whose works are not yet known as they deserve to be, thus entersupon his description of the 'Ruins of Rome:'

 'The rising Sun Flames on the ruins in the purer air Towering aloft;'

and ends thus--

 'The setting sun displays His visible great round, between yon towers, As through two shady cliffs. '

Mr. Crowe, in his excellent loco-descriptive Poem, 'Lewesdon Hill, ' isstill more expeditious, finishing the whole on a May-morning, beforebreakfast. 

 'Tomorrow for severer thought, but now To breakfast, and keep festival to-day. '

No one believes, or is desired to believe, that those Poems wereactually composed within such limits of time; nor was there any reasonwhy a prose statement should acquaint the Reader with the plain fact, tothe disturbance of poetic credibility. But, in the present case, I amcompelled to mention, that the above series of Sonnets was the growth ofmany years;--the one which stands the 14th was the first produced; andothers were added upon occasional visits to the Stream, or asrecollections of the scenes upon its banks awakened a wish to describethem. In this manner I had proceeded insensibly, without perceiving thatI was trespassing upon ground pre-occupied, at least as far as intentionwent, by Mr. Coleridge; who, more than twenty years ago, used to speakof writing a rural Poem, to be entitled 'The Brook, ' of which he hasgiven a sketch in a recent publication. But a particular subject cannot, I think, much interfere with a general one; and I have been furtherkept from encroaching upon any right Mr. C. May still wish to exercise, by the restriction which the frame of the Sonnet imposed upon me, narrowing unavoidably the range of thought, and precluding, though notwithout its advantages, many graces to which a freer movement of versewould naturally have led. 

May I not venture, then, to hope, that, instead of being a hindrance, byanticipation of any part of the subject, these Sonnets may remind Mr. Coleridge of his own more comprehensive design, and induce him to fulfilit?--There is a sympathy in streams, --'one calleth to another;' and Iwould gladly believe, that 'The Brook' will, ere long, murmur in concertwith 'The Duddon. ' But, asking pardon for this fancy, I need not scrupleto say, that those verses must indeed be ill-fated which can enter uponsuch pleasant walks of Nature, without receiving and giving inspiration. The power of waters over the minds of Poets has been acknowledged fromthe earliest ages;--through the 'Flumina amem sylvasque inglorius' ofVirgil, down to the sublime apostrophe to the great rivers of the earth, by Armstrong, and the simple ejaculation of Burns, (chosen, if Irecollect right, by Mr. Coleridge, as a motto for his embryo 'Brook, ')--

 The Muse nae Poet ever fand her, Till by himsel' he learned to wander Adown some trotting burn's meander AND NA' THINK LANG. '

319. *_The Sonnets on the River Duddon_. 

It is with the little River Duddon as it is with most other rivers, Ganges and Nile not excepted, --many springs might claim the honour ofbeing its head. In my own fancy, I have fixed its rise near the notedShire Stones placed at the meeting point of the counties Westmoreland, Cumberland, and Lancashire. They stand by the wayside, on the top of theWrynose Pass, and it used to be reckoned a proud thing to say, that bytouching them at the same time with feet and hands, one had been inthree counties at once. At what point of its course the stream takes thename of Duddon, I do not know. I first became acquainted with theDuddon, as I have good reason to remember, in early boyhood. Upon thebanks of the Derwent, I had learnt to be very fond of angling. Fishabound in that large river, --not so in the small streams in theneighbourhood of Hawkshead; and I fell into the common delusion, thatthe farther from home the better sport would be had. Accordingly, oneday I attached myself to a person living in the neighbourhood ofHawkshead, who was going to try his fortune, as an angler, near thesource of the Duddon. We fished a great part of the day with very sorrysuccess, the rain pouring torrents; and long before we got home, I wasworn out with fatigue; and if the good man had not carried me on hisback, I must have lain down under the best shelter I could find. Littledid I think then it would have been my lot to celebrate, in a strain oflove and admiration, the stream which for many years I never thought ofwithout recollections of disappointment and distress. 

During my college vacation, and two or three years afterwards, beforetaking my bachelor's degree, I was several times resident in the houseof a near relative, who lived in the small town of Broughton. I passedmany delightful hours upon the banks of this river, which becomes anestuary about a mile from that place. The remembrances of that periodare the subject of the 21st Sonnet. The subject of the 27th Sonnet is, in fact, taken from a tradition belonging to Rydal Hall, which oncestood, as is believed, upon a rocky and woody hill on the right hand asyou go from Rydal to Ambleside, and was deserted, from the superstitiousfear here described, and the present site fortunately chosen instead. The present Hall was erected by Sir Michael le Fleming, and it may behoped that at some future time there will be an edifice more worthy ofso beautiful a position. With regard to the 30th Sonnet, it is oddenough that this imagination was realised in the year 1840, when I madea tour through this district with my wife and daughter, Miss Fenwick andher niece, and Mr. And Miss Quillinan. Before our return from SeathwaiteChapel, the party separated. Mrs. Wordsworth, while most of us wentfurther up the stream, chose an opposite direction, having told us thatwe would overtake her on our way to Ulpha. But she was tempted out ofthe main road to ascend a rocky eminence near it, thinking it impossiblewe should pass without seeing her. This however unfortunately happened;and then ensued vexation and distress, especially to me, which I shouldbe ashamed to have recorded, for I lost my temper entirely. Neither Inor those who were with me saw her again till we reached the Inn atBroughton, seven miles. This may perhaps in some degree excuse myirritability on the occasion, for I could not but think she had beenmuch to blame. It appeared, however, on explanation, that she hadremained on the rock, calling out and waving her handkerchief as we werepassing, in order that we also might ascend and enjoy a prospect whichhad much charmed her. 'But on we went, her signals proving vain. ' Howthen could she reach Broughton before us? When we found she had not goneon to Ulpha Kirk, Mr. Quillinan went back in one of the carriages insearch of her. He met her on the road, took her up, and by a shorter wayconveyed her to Broughton, where we were all re-united and spent a happyevening. 

I have many affecting remembrances connected with this stream. These Iforbear to mention, especially things that occurred on its banks duringthe latter part of that visit to the sea-side, of which the former partis detailed in my Epistle to Sir George Beaumont. 

[The following additional notices of his latter excursion to the banksof the Duddon are from a letter to Lady Frederick Bentinck. 

'You will have wondered, dear Lady Frederick, what is become of me. Ihave been wandering about the country, and only returned yesterday. Ourtour was by Keswick, Scale Hill, Buttermere, Loweswater, Ennerdale, Calder Abbey, Wastdale, Eskdale, the Vale of Duddon, Broughton, FurnessAbbey, Peele Castle, Ulverston, &c. ; we had broken weather, which keptus long upon the road, but we had also very fine intervals, and I oftenwished you had been present. We had such glorious sights! one, inparticular, I never saw the like of. About sunset we were directlyopposite that large, lofty precipice at Wastwater, which is called theScrees. The ridge of it is broken into sundry points, and along them, and partly along the side of the steep, went driving a procession ofyellow vapoury clouds from the sea-quarter towards the mountainScawfell. Their colours I have called yellow, but it was exquisitelyvaried, and the shapes of the rocks on the summit of the ridge variedwith the density or thinness of the vapours. The effect was mostenchanting; for right above was steadfastly fixed a beautiful rainbow. We were a party of seven, Mrs. Wordsworth, my daughter, and Miss Fenwickincluded, and it would be difficult to say who was most delighted. TheAbbey of Furness, as you well know, is a noble ruin, and most happilysituated in a dell that entirely hides it from the surrounding country. It is taken excellent care of, and seems little dilapidated since Ifirst knew it, more than half a century ago. ][1]

[1] _Memoirs_, ii. 97-8. 

320. _The Wild Strawberry: Sympson_. [Sonnet VI. Ll. 9-10. ]

 'There bloomed the strawberry of the wilderness, The trembling eyebright showed her sapphire blue. '

These two lines are in a great measure taken from 'The Beauties ofSpring, a Juvenile Poem, ' by the Rev. Joseph Sympson. He was a native ofCumberland, and was educated in the vale of Grasmere, and at Hawksheadschool: his poems are little known, but they contain passages ofsplendid description; and the versification of his 'Vision of Alfred' isharmonious and animated. In describing the motions of the Sylphs, thatconstitute the strange machinery of his Poem, he uses the followingillustrative simile:

 --'Glancing from their plumes A changeful light the azure vault illumes. Less varying hues beneath the Pole adorn The streamy glories of the Boreal morn, That wavering to and fro their radiance shed On Bothnia's gulf with glassy ice o'erspread, Where the lone native, as he homeward glides, On polished sandals o'er the imprisoned tides, And still the balance of his frame preserves, Wheeled on alternate foot in lengthening curves, Sees at a glance, above him and below, Two rival heavens with equal splendour glow. Sphered in the centre of the world he seems; For all around with soft effulgence gleams; Stars, moons, and meteors, ray opposed to ray, And solemn midnight pours the blaze of day. '

He was a man of ardent feeling, and his faculties of mind, particularlyhis memory, were extraordinary. Brief notices of his life ought to finda place in the History of Westmoreland. 

321. '_Return' and 'Seathwaite Chapel_. ' [Sonnets XVII. And XVIII. ]

The EAGLE requires a large domain for its support: but several pairs, not many years ago, were constantly resident in this country, buildingtheir nests in the steeps of Borrowdale, Wastdale, Ennerdale, and on theeastern side of Helvellyn. Often have I heard anglers speak of thegrandeur of their appearance, as they hovered over Red Tarn, in one ofthe coves of this mountain. The bird frequently returns, but is alwaysdestroyed. Not long since, one visited Rydal lake, and remained somehours near its banks: the consternation which it occasioned among thedifferent species of fowl, particularly the herons, was expressed byloud screams. The horse also is naturally afraid of the eagle. --Therewere several Roman stations among these mountains; the most considerableseems to have been in a meadow at the head of Windermere, established, undoubtedly, as a check over the Passes of Kirkstone, Dunmailraise, andof Hardknot and Wrynose. On the margin of Rydal lake, a coin of Trajanwas discovered very lately. --The ROMAN FORT here alluded to, called bythe country people '_Hardknot Castle_, ' is most impressively situatedhalf-way down the hill on the right of the road that descends fromHardknot into Eskdale. It has escaped the notice of most antiquarians, and is but slightly mentioned by Lysons. --The DRUIDICAL CIRCLE is abouthalf a mile to the left of the road ascending Stone-side from the valeof Duddon: the country people call it '_Sunken Church_. '

The reader who may have been interested in the foregoing Sonnets, (whichtogether may be considered as a Poem, ) will not be displeased to find inthis place a prose account of the Duddon, extracted from Green'scomprehensive _Guide to the Lakes_, lately published. 'The road leadingfrom Coniston to Broughton is over high ground, and commands a view ofthe River Duddon; which, at high water, is a grand sight, having thebeautiful and fertile lands of Lancashire and Cumberland stretching eachway from its margin. In this extensive view, the face of Nature isdisplayed in a wonderful variety of hill and dale; wooded grounds andbuildings; amongst the latter Broughton Tower, seated on the crown of ahill, rising elegantly from the valley, is an object of extraordinaryinterest. Fertility on each side is gradually diminished, and lost inthe superior heights of Blackcomb, in Cumberland, and the high landsbetween Kirkby and Ulverstone. 

'The road from Broughton to Seathwaite is on the banks of the Duddon, and on its Lancashire side it is of various elevations. The river is anamusing companion, one while brawling and tumbling over rockyprecipices, until the agitated water becomes again calm by arriving at asmoother and less precipitous bed, but its course is soon again ruffled, and the current thrown into every variety of form which the rockychannel of a river can give to water. '--_Vide Green's Guide to theLakes_, vol. I. Pp. 98-100. 

After all, the traveller would be most gratified who should approachthis beautiful Stream, neither at its source, as is done in the Sonnets, nor from its termination; but from Coniston over Walna Scar; firstdescending into a little circular valley, a collateral compartment ofthe long winding vale through which flows the Duddon. This recess, towards the close of September, when the after-grass of the meadow isstill of a fresh green, with the leaves of many of the trees faded, butperhaps none fallen, is truly enchanting. At a point elevated enough toshow the various objects in the valley, and not so high as to diminishtheir importance, the stranger will instinctively halt. On theforeground, a little below the most favourable station, a rudefoot-bridge is thrown over the bed of the noisy brook foaming by thewayside. Russet and craggy hills, of bold and varied outline, surroundthe level valley, which is besprinkled with grey rocks plumed with birchtrees. A few homesteads are interspersed, in some places peeping outfrom among the rocks like hermitages, whose site has been chosen for thebenefit of sunshine as well as shelter; in other instances, thedwelling-house, barn, and byre compose together a cruciform structure, which, with its embowering trees, and the ivy clothing part of the wallsand roof like a fleece, call to mind the remains of an ancient abbey. Time, in most cases, and Nature everywhere, have given a sanctity to thehumble works of man that are scattered over this peaceful retirement. Hence a harmony of tone and colour, a consummation and perfection ofbeauty, which would have been marred had aim or purpose interfered withthe course of convenience, utility, or necessity. This unvitiated regionstands in no need of the veil of twilight to soften or disguise itsfeatures. As it glistens in the morning sunshine, it would fill thespectator's heart with gladsomeness. Looking from our chosen station, hewould feel an impatience to rove among its pathways, to be greeted bythe milkmaid, to wander from house to house, exchanging 'good-morrows'as he passed the open doors; but, at evening, when the sun is set, and apearly light gleams from the western quarter of the sky, with ananswering light from the smooth surface of the meadows; when the treesare dusky, but each kind still distinguishable; when the cool air hascondensed the blue smoke rising from the cottage chimneys; when the darkmossy stones seem to sleep in the bed of the foaming brook; _then_, hewould be unwilling to move forward, not less from a reluctance torelinquish what he beholds, than from an apprehension of disturbing, byhis approach, the quietness beneath him. Issuing from the plain of thisvalley, the brook descends in a rapid torrent passing by the churchyardof Seathwaite. The traveller is thus conducted at once into the midst ofthe wild and beautiful scenery which gave occasion to the Sonnets fromthe 14th to the 20th inclusive. From the point where the Seathwaitebrook joins the Duddon, is a view upwards, into the pass through whichthe river makes its way into the plain of Donnerdale. The perpendicularrock on the right bears the ancient British name of THE PEN; the oneopposite is called WALLA-BARROW CRAG, a name that occurs in other placesto designate rocks of the same character. The _chaotic_ aspect of thescene is well marked by the expression of a stranger, who strolled outwhile dinner was preparing, and at his return, being asked by hishost, 'What way he had been wandering?' replied, 'As far as it is_finished_!'

The bed of the Duddon is here strewn with large fragments of rocksfallen from aloft; which, as Mr. Green truly says, 'are happily adaptedto the many-shaped waterfalls, ' (or rather water-breaks, for none ofthem are high, ) 'displayed in the short space of half a mile. ' Thatthere is some hazard in frequenting these desolate places, I myself havehad proof; for one night an immense mass of rock fell upon the very spotwhere, with a friend, I had lingered the day before. 'The concussion, 'says Mr. Green, speaking of the event, (for he also, in the practice ofhis art, on that day sat exposed for a still longer time to the sameperil, ) 'was heard, not without alarm, by the neighbouring shepherds. 'But to return to Seathwaite Churchyard: it contains the followinginscription:

 In memory of the Reverend Robert Walker, who died the 25th of June, 1802, in the 93d year of his age, and 67th of his curacy at Seathwaite. 

 'Also, of Anne his wife, who died the 28th of January, in the 93d year of her age. '

In the parish-register of Seathwaite Chapel, is this notice:

 'Buried, June 28th, the Rev. Robert Walker. He was curate of Seathwaite sixty-six years. He was a man singular for his temperance, industry, and integrity. '

This individual is the Pastor alluded to, in the eighteenth Sonnet, as aworthy compeer of the country parson of Chaucer, &c. In the seventh bookof the _Excursion_, an abstract of his character is given, beginning--

 'A Priest abides before whose life such doubts Fall to the ground;--'

and some account of his life, for it is worthy of being recorded, willnot be out of place here. 

322. _Memoir of the Rev. Robert Walker_. 

('Pastor, ' in Book vii. Of 'The Excursion. ')

In the year 1709, Robert Walker was born at Under-crag, in Seathwaite;he was the youngest of twelve children. His eldest brother, whoinherited the small family estate, died at Under-crag, aged ninety-four, being twenty-four years older than the subject of this Memoir, who wasborn of the same mother. Robert was a sickly infant; and, through hisboyhood and youth, continuing to be of delicate frame and tender health, it was deemed best, according to the country phrase, to _breed him ascholar_; for it was not likely that he would be able to earn alivelihood by bodily labour. At that period few of these dales werefurnished with schoolhouses; the children being taught to read and writein the chapel; and in the same consecrated building, where he officiatedfor so many years both as preacher and schoolmaster, he himself receivedthe rudiments of his education. In his youth he became schoolmaster atLoweswater; not being called upon, probably, in that situation, to teachmore than reading, writing, and arithmetic. But, by the assistance of a'Gentleman' in the neighbourhood, he acquired, at leisure hours, aknowledge of the classics, and became qualified for taking holy orders. Upon his ordination, he had the offer of two curacies: the one, Torver, in the vale of Coniston, --the other, Seathwaite, in his native vale. Thevalue of each was the same, _viz_. , five pounds _per annum_: but thecure of Seathwaite having a cottage attached to it, as he wished tomarry, he chose it in preference. The young person on whom hisaffections were fixed, though in the condition of a domestic servant, had given promise, by her serious and modest deportment, and by hervirtuous dispositions, that she was worthy to become the helpmate of aman entering upon a plan of life such as he had marked out for himself. By her frugality she had stored up a small sum of money, with which theybegan house-keeping. In 1735 or 1736, he entered upon his curacy; and, nineteen years afterwards, his situation is thus described, in someletters to be found in the _Annual Register_ for 1760, from which thefollowing is extracted:--

 'To MR. ----. 'Coniston, July 26, 1754. 

'Sir, --I was the other day upon a party of pleasure, about five or sixmiles from this place, where I met with a very striking object, and of anature not very common. Going into a clergyman's house (of whom I hadfrequently heard), I found him sitting at the head of a long squaretable, such as is commonly used in this country by the lower class ofpeople, dressed in a coarse blue frock, trimmed with black horn buttons;a checked shirt, a leathern strap about his neck for a stock, a coarseapron, and a pair of great wooden-soled shoes plated with iron topreserve them (what we call clogs in these parts), with a child upon hisknee, eating his breakfast; his wife, and the remainder of his children, were some of them employed in waiting upon each other, the rest inteasing and spinning wool, at which trade he is a great proficient; andmoreover, when it is made ready for sale, will lay it, by sixteen orthirty-two pounds' weight, upon his back, and on foot, seven or eightmiles, will carry it to the market, even in the depth of winter. I wasnot much surprised at all this, as you may possibly be, having heard agreat deal of it related before. But I must confess myself astonishedwith the alacrity and the good humour that appeared both in theclergyman and his wife, and more so at the sense and ingenuity of theclergyman himself. .. '

Then follows a letter from another person, dated 1755, from which anextract shall be given. 

'By his frugality and good management, he keeps the wolf from the door, as we say; and if he advances a little in the world, it is owing more tohis own care, than to anything else he has to rely upon. I don't findhis inclination is running after further preferment. He is settled amongthe people, that are happy among themselves; and lives in the greatestunanimity and friendship with them; and, I believe, the minister andpeople are exceedingly satisfied with each other; and indeed how shouldthey be dissatisfied when they have a person of so much worth andprobity for their pastor? A man who, for his candour and meekness, hissober, chaste, and virtuous conversation, his soundness in principle andpractice, is an ornament to his profession, and an honour to the countryhe is in; and bear with me if I say, the plainness of his dress, thesanctity of his manners, the simplicity of his doctrine, and thevehemence of his expression, have a sort of resemblance to the purepractice of primitive Christianity. '

We will now give his own account of himself, to be found in the sameplace. 

'FROM THE REV. ROBERT WALKER. 

'Sir, --Yours of the 26th instant was communicated to me by Mr. C----, and I should have returned an immediate answer, but the hand ofProvidence, then laying heavy upon an amiable pledge of conjugalendearment, hath since taken from me a promising girl, which thedisconsolate mother too pensively laments the loss of; though we haveyet eight living, all healthful, hopeful children, whose names and agesare as follows:--Zaccheus, aged almost eighteen years; Elizabeth, sixteen years and ten months; Mary, fifteen; Moses, thirteen years andthree months; Sarah, ten years and three months; Mabel, eight years andthree months; William Tyson, three years and eight months; and AnneEsther, one year and three months; besides Anne, who died two years andsix months ago, and was then aged between nine and ten; and Eleanor, whodied the 23d inst. , January, aged six years and ten months. Zaccheus, the eldest child, is now learning the trade of tanner, and has two yearsand a half of his apprenticeship to serve. The annual income of mychapel at present, as near as I can compute it, may amount to about17_l. _, of which is paid in cash, viz. , 5_l. _ from the bounty of QueenAnne, and 5_l. _ from W. P. , Esq. , of P----, out of the annual rents, hebeing lord of the manor; and 3_l. _ from the several inhabitants ofL----, settled upon the tenements as a rent-charge; the house andgardens I value at 4_l. _ yearly, and not worth more; and I believe thesurplice fees and voluntary contributions, one year with another, may beworth 3_l. _; but as the inhabitants are few in number, and the fees verylow, this last-mentioned sum consists merely in free-will offerings. 

'I am situated greatly to my satisfaction with regard to the conduct andbehaviour of my auditory, who not only live in the happy ignorance ofthe follies and vices of the age, but in mutual peace and good-will withone another, and are seemingly (I hope really too) sincere Christians, and sound members of the Established Church, not one dissenter of anydenomination being amongst them all. I got to the value of 40_l. _ for mywife's fortune, but had no real estate of my own, being the youngest sonof twelve children, born of obscure parents; and, though my income hasbeen but small, and my family large, yet, by a providential blessingupon my own diligent endeavours, the kindness of friends, and a cheapcountry to live in, we have always had the necessaries of life. By whatI have written (which is a true and exact account, to the best of myknowledge, ) I hope you will not think your favour to me, out of the lateworthy Dr. Stratford's effects, quite misbestowed, for which I must evergratefully own myself, Sir, 'Your much obliged and most obedient humble Servant, 'R. W. , Curate of S----. 

'To Mr. C. , of Lancaster. '

About the time when this letter was written the Bishop of Chesterrecommended the scheme of joining the curacy of Ulpha to the contiguousone of Seathwaite, and the nomination was offered to Mr. Walker; but anunexpected difficulty arising, Mr. W. , in a letter to the Bishop, (acopy of which, in his own beautiful handwriting, now lies before me, )thus expresses himself. 'If he, ' meaning the person in whom thedifficulty originated, 'had suggested any such objection before, Ishould utterly have declined any attempt to the curacy of Ulpha;indeed, I was always apprehensive it might be disagreeable to myauditory at Seathwaite, as they have been always accustomed to doubleduty, and the inhabitants of Ulpha despair of being able to support aschoolmaster who is not curate there also; which suppressed all thoughtsin me of serving them both. ' And in a second letter to the Bishop hewrites:

'My Lord, --I have the favour of yours of the 1st instant, and amexceedingly obliged on account of the Ulpha affair: if that curacyshould lapse into your Lordship's hands, I would beg leave rather todecline than embrace it; for the chapels of Seathwaite and Ulpha, annexed together, would be apt to cause a general discontent among theinhabitants of both places; by either thinking themselves slighted, being only served alternately, or neglected in the duty, or attributingit to covetousness in me; all which occasions of murmuring I wouldwillingly avoid. ' And in concluding his former letter, he expresses asimilar sentiment upon the same occasion, 'desiring, if it be possible, however, as much as in me lieth, to live peaceably with all men. '

 * * * * *

The year following, the curacy of Seathwaite was again augmented; and, to effect this augmentation, fifty pounds had been advanced by himself;and, in 1760, lands were purchased with eight hundred pounds. Scanty aswas his income, the frequent offer of much better benefices could nottempt Mr. W. To quit a situation where he had been so long happy, with aconsciousness of being useful. Among his papers I find the followingcopy of a letter, dated 1775, twenty years after his refusal of thecuracy of Ulpha, which will show what exertions had been made for one ofhis sons. 

'May it please your Grace, --Our remote situation here makes it difficultto get the necessary information for transacting business regularly;such is the reason of my giving your Grace the present trouble. 

'The bearer (my son) is desirous of offering himself candidate fordeacon's orders at your Grace's ensuing ordination; the first, on the25th instant, so that his papers could not be transmitted in due time. As he is now fully at age, and I have afforded him education to theutmost of my ability, it would give me great satisfaction (if yourGrace would take him, and find him qualified) to have him ordained. Hisconstitution has been tender for some years; he entered the college ofDublin, but his health would not permit him to continue there, or Iwould have supported him much longer. He has been with me at home abovea year, in which time he has gained great strength of body, sufficient, I hope, to enable him for performing the function. Divine Providence, assisted by liberal benefactors, has blest my endeavours, from a smallincome, to rear a numerous family; and as my time of life renders me nowunfit for much future expectancy from this world, I should be glad tosee my son settled in a promising way to acquire an honest livelihoodfor himself. His behaviour, so far in life, has been irreproachable; andI hope he will not degenerate, in principles or practice, from theprecepts and pattern of an indulgent parent. Your Grace's favourablereception of this, from a distant corner of the diocese, and an obscurehand, will excite filial gratitude, and a due use shall be made of theobligation vouchsafed thereby to

'Your Grace's very dutiful and most obedient Son and Servant, ROBERTWALKER. '

The same man, who was thus liberal in the education of his numerousfamily, was even munificent in hospitality as a parish priest. EverySunday, were served, upon the long table, at which he has been describedsitting with a child upon his knee, messes of broth, for the refreshmentof those of his congregation who came from a distance, and usually tooktheir seats as parts of his own household. It seems scarcely possiblethat this custom could have commenced before the augmentation of hiscure; and what would to many have been a high price of self-denial, waspaid, by the pastor and his family, for this gratification; as the treatcould only be provided by dressing at one time the whole, perhaps, oftheir weekly allowance of fresh animal food; consequently, for asuccession of days, the table was covered with cold victuals only. Hisgenerosity in old age may be still further illustrated by a littlecircumstance relating to an orphan grandson, then ten years of age, which I find in a copy of a letter to one of his sons; he requests thathalf a guinea may be left for 'little Robert's pocket-money, ' who wasthen at school: intrusting it to the care of a lady, who, as he says, 'may sometimes frustrate his squandering it away foolishly, ' andpromising to send him an equal allowance annually for the same purpose. The conclusion of the same letter is so characteristic, that I cannotforbear to transcribe it. 'We, ' meaning his wife and himself, 'are inour wonted state of health, allowing for the hasty strides of old ageknocking daily at our door, and threateningly telling us, we are notonly mortal, but must expect ere long to take our leave of our ancientcottage, and lie down in our last dormitory. Pray pardon my neglect toanswer yours: let us hear sooner from you, to augment the mirth of theChristmas holidays. Wishing you all the pleasures of the approachingseason, I am, dear Son, with lasting sincerity, yours affectionately, 'ROBERT WALKER. '

He loved old customs and old usages, and in some instances stuck to themto his own loss; for, having had a sum of money lodged in the hands of aneighbouring tradesman, when long course of time had raised the rate ofinterest, and more was offered, he refused to accept it; an act notdifficult to one, who, while he was drawing seventeen pounds a year fromhis curacy, declined, as we have seen, to add the profits of anothersmall benefice to his own, lest he should be suspected ofcupidity. --From this vice he was utterly free; he made no charge forteaching school; such as could afford to pay, gave him what theypleased. When very young, having kept a diary of his expenses, howevertrifling, the large amount, at the end of the year, surprised him; andfrom that time the rule of his life was to be economical, notavaricious. At his decease he left behind him no less a sum than2000_l. _; and such a sense of his various excellencies was prevalent inthe country, that the epithet of WONDERFUL is to this day attached tohis name. 

There is in the above sketch something so extraordinary as to requirefurther _explanatory_ details. --And to begin with his industry; eighthours in each day, during five days in the week, and half of Saturday, except when the labours of husbandry were urgent, he was occupied inteaching. His seat was within the rails of the altar; the communiontable was his desk; and, like Shenstone's schoolmistress, the masteremployed himself at the spinning-wheel, while the children wererepeating their lessons by his side. Every evening, after school hours, if not more profitably engaged, he continued the same kind of labour, exchanging, for the benefit of exercise, the small wheel, at which hehad sate, for the large one on which wool is spun, the spinner steppingto and fro. Thus, was the wheel constantly in readiness to prevent thewaste of a moment's time. Nor was his industry with the pen, whenoccasion called for it, less eager. Intrusted with extensive managementof public and private affairs, he acted, in his rustic neighbourhood, asscrivener, writing out petitions, deeds of conveyance, wills, covenants, &c. , with pecuniary gain to himself, and to the great benefit of hisemployers. These labours (at all times considerable) at one period ofthe year, viz. , between Christmas and Candlemas, when money transactionsare settled in this country, were often so intense, that he passed greatpart of the night, and sometimes whole nights, at his desk. His gardenalso was tilled by his own hand; he had a right of pasturage upon themountains for a few sheep and a couple of cows, which required hisattendance; with this pastoral occupation, he joined the labours ofhusbandry upon a small scale, renting two or three acres in addition tohis own less than one acre of glebe; and the humblest drudgery which thecultivation of these fields required was performed by himself. 

He also assisted his neighbours in haymaking and shearing their flocks, and in the performance of this latter service he was eminentlydexterous. They, in their turn, complimented him with the present of ahaycock, or a fleece; less as a recompence for this particular servicethan as a general acknowledgment. The Sabbath was in a strict sense keptholy; the Sunday evenings being devoted to reading the Scripture andfamily prayer. The principal festivals appointed by the Church were alsoduly observed; but through every other day in the week, through everyweek in the year, he was incessantly occupied in work of hand or mind;not allowing a moment for recreation, except upon a Saturday afternoon, when he indulged himself with a Newspaper, or sometimes with a Magazine. The frugality and temperance established in his house, were as admirableas the industry. Nothing to which the name of luxury could be given wasthere known; in the latter part of his life, indeed, when tea had beenbrought into almost general use, it was provided for visitors, and forsuch of his own family as returned occasionally to his roof, and hadbeen accustomed to this refreshment elsewhere; but neither he nor hiswife ever partook of it. The raiment worn by his family was comely anddecent, but as simple as their diet; the home-spun materials were madeup into apparel by their own hands. At the time of the decease of thisthrifty pair, their cottage contained a large store of webs of woollenand linen cloth, woven from thread of their own spinning. And it isremarkable that the pew in the chapel in which the family used to sit, remains neatly lined with woollen cloth spun by the pastor's own hands. It is the only pew in the chapel so distinguished; and I know of noother instance of his conformity to the delicate accommodations ofmodern times. The fuel of the house, like that of their neighbours, consisted of peat, procured from the mosses by their own labour. Thelights by which, in the winter evenings, their work was performed, wereof their own manufacture, such as still continue to be used in thesecottages; they are made of the pith of rushes, dipped in any unctuoussubstance that the house affords. _White_ candles, as tallow candles arehere called, were reserved to honour the Christmas festivals, and wereperhaps produced upon no other occasions. Once a month, during theproper season, a sheep was drawn from their small mountain flock, andkilled for the use of the family; and a cow, towards the close of theyear, was salted and dried for winter provision: the hide was tanned tofurnish them with shoes. --By these various resources, this venerableclergyman reared a numerous family, not only preserving them, as heaffectingly says, 'from wanting the necessaries of life;' but affordingthem an unstinted education, and the means of raising themselves insociety. In this they were eminently assisted by the effects of theirfather's example, his precepts, and injunctions: he was aware thattruth-speaking, as a moral virtue, is best secured by inculcatingattention to accuracy of report even on trivial occasions; and so rigidwere the rules of honesty by which he endeavoured to bring up hisfamily, that if one of them had chanced to find in the lanes or fieldsanything of the least use or value without being able to ascertain towhom it belonged, he always insisted upon the child's carrying it backto the place from which it had been brought. 

No one it might be thought could, as has been described, convert hisbody into a machine, as it were, of industry for the humblest uses, andkeep his thoughts so frequently bent upon secular concerns, withoutgrievous injury to the more precious parts of his nature. How could thepowers of intellect thrive, or its graces be displayed, in the midst ofcircumstances apparently so unfavourable, and where, to the directcultivation of the mind, so small a portion of time was allotted? But, in this extraordinary man, things in their nature adverse werereconciled. His conversation was remarkable, not only for being chasteand pure, but for the degree in which it was fervent and eloquent; hiswritten style was correct, simple, and animated. Nor did his_affections_ suffer more than his intellect; he was tenderly alive toall the duties of his pastoral office: the poor and needy 'he never sentempty away, '--the stranger was fed and refreshed in passing thatunfrequented vale--the sick were visited; and the feelings of humanityfound further exercise among the distresses and embarrassments in theworldly estate of his neighbours, with which his talents for businessmade him acquainted; and the disinterestedness, impartiality, anduprightness which he maintained in the management of all affairsconfided to him, were virtues seldom separated in his own consciencefrom religious obligation. Nor could such conduct fail to remind thosewho witnessed it of a spirit nobler than law or custom: they feltconvictions which, but for such intercourse, could not have beenafforded, that, as in the practice of their pastor, there was no guile, so in his faith there was nothing hollow; and we are warranted inbelieving, that upon these occasions, selfishness, obstinacy, anddiscord would often give way before the breathings of his good-will, andsaintly integrity. It may be presumed also--while his humblecongregation were listening to the moral precepts which he deliveredfrom the pulpit, and to the Christian exhortations that they should lovetheir neighbours as themselves, and do as they would be done unto--thatpeculiar efficacy was given to the preacher's labours by recollectionsin the minds of his congregation, that they were called upon to do nomore than his own actions were daily setting before their eyes. 

The afternoon service in the chapel was less numerously attended thanthat of the morning, but by a more serious auditory; the lesson from theNew Testament, on those occasions, was accompanied by Burkitt'sCommentaries. These lessons he read with impassioned emphasis, frequently drawing tears from his hearers, and leaving a lastingimpression upon their minds. His devotional feelings and the powers ofhis own mind were further exercised, along with those of his family, inperusing the Scriptures; not only on the Sunday evenings, but on everyother evening, while the rest of the household were at work, some one ofthe children, and in her turn the servant, for the sake of practice inreading, or for instruction, read the Bible aloud; and in this mannerthe whole was repeatedly gone through. That no common importance wasattached to the observance of religious ordinances by his family, appears from the following memorandum by one of his descendants, which Iam tempted to insert at length, as it is characteristic, and somewhatcurious. 'There is a small chapel in the county palatine of Lancaster, where a certain clergyman has regularly officiated above sixty years, and a few months ago administered the sacrament of the Lord's Supper inthe same, to a decent number of devout communicants. After the clergymanhad received himself, the first company out of the assembly whoapproached the altar, and kneeled down to be partakers of the sacredelements, consisted of the parson's wife; to whom he had been marriedupwards of sixty years; one son and his wife; four daughters, each withher husband; whose ages, all added together, amount to above 714 years. The several and respective distances from the place of each of theirabodes, to the chapel where they all communicated, will measure morethan 1000 English miles. Though the narration will appear surprising, itis without doubt a fact that the same persons, exactly four yearsbefore, met at the same place, and all joined in performance of the samevenerable duty. '

He was indeed most zealously attached to the doctrine and frame of theEstablished Church. We have seen him congratulating himself that he hadno dissenters in his cure of any denomination. Some allowance must bemade for the state of opinion when his first religious impressions werereceived, before the reader will acquit him of bigotry, when I mention, that at the time of the augmentation of the cure, he refused to investpart of the money in the purchase of an estate offered to him uponadvantageous terms, because the proprietor was a Quaker;--whether fromscrupulous apprehension that a blessing would not attend a contractframed for the benefit of the Church between persons not in religioussympathy with each other; or, as a seeker of peace, he was afraid of theuncomplying disposition which at one time was too frequently conspicuousin that sect. Of this an instance had fallen under his own notice; for, while he taught school at Loweswater, certain persons of thatdenomination had refused to pay annual interest due under the title ofChurch-stock;[2] a great hardship upon the incumbent, for the curacy ofLoweswater was then scarcely less poor than that of Seathwaite. To whatdegree this prejudice of his was blameable need not bedetermined;--certain it is, that he was not only desirous, as he himselfsays, to live in peace, but in love, with all men. He was placable, andcharitable in his judgments; and, however correct in conduct andrigorous to himself, he was ever ready to forgive the trespasses ofothers, and to soften the censure that was cast upon theirfrailties. --It would be unpardonable to omit that, in the maintenance ofhis virtues, he received due support from the partner of his long life. She was equally strict, in attending to her share of their joint cares, nor less diligent in her appropriate occupations. A person who had beensome time their servant in the latter part of their lives, concluded thepanegyric of her mistress by saying to me, 'She was no less excellentthan her husband; she was good to the poor; she was good to everything!' He survived for a short time this virtuous companion. When shedied, he ordered that her body should be borne to the grave by three ofher daughters and one grand-daughter; and, when the corpse was liftedfrom the threshold, he insisted upon lending his aid, and feeling about, for he was then almost blind, took hold of a napkin fixed to the coffin;and, as a bearer of the body, entered the chapel, a few steps from thelowly parsonage. 

[2] Mr. Walker's charity being of that kind which 'seeketh not her own, 'he would rather forego his rights than distrain for dues which theparties liable refused, as a point of conscience, to pay. 

What a contrast does the life of this obscurely-seated, and, in point ofworldly wealth, poorly-repaid Churchman, present to that of a CardinalWolsey!

 'O 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen Too heavy for a man who hopes for heaven!'

We have been dwelling upon images of peace in the moral world, that havebrought us again to the quiet enclosure of consecrated ground, in whichthis venerable pair lie interred. The sounding brook, that rolls closeby the churchyard, without disturbing feeling or meditation, is nowunfortunately laid bare; but not long ago it participated, with thechapel, the shade of some stately ash-trees, which will not springagain. While the spectator from this spot is looking round upon thegirdle of stony mountains that encompasses the vale, --masses of rock, out of which monuments for all men that ever existed might have beenhewn--it would surprise him to be told, as with truth he might be, thatthe plain blue slab dedicated to the memory of this aged pair is aproduction of a quarry in North Wales. It was sent as a mark of respectby one of their descendants from the vale of Festiniog, a region almostas beautiful as that in which it now lies!

Upon the Seathwaite Brook, at a small distance from the parsonage, hasbeen erected a mill for spinning yarn; it is a mean and disagreeableobject, though not unimportant to the spectator, as calling to mind themomentous changes wrought by such inventions in the frame ofsociety--changes which have proved especially unfavourable to thesemountain solitudes. So much had been effected by those new powers, before the subject of the preceding biographical sketch closed his life, that their operation could not escape his notice, and doubtless excitedtouching reflections upon the comparatively insignificant results of hisown manual industry. But Robert Walker was not a man of times andcircumstances; had he lived at a later period, the principle of dutywould have produced application as unremitting; the same energy ofcharacter would have been displayed, though in many instances withwidely different effects. 

With pleasure I annex, as illustrative and confirmatory of the aboveaccount, extracts from a paper in the _Christian Remembrancer_, October, 1819: it bears an assumed signature, but is known to be the work of theRev. Bobert Bamford, vicar of Bishopton, in the county of Durham; agreat-grandson of Mr. Walker, whose worth it commemorates, by a recordnot the less valuable for being written in very early youth. 

'His house was a nursery of virtue. All the inmates were industrious, and cleanly, and happy. Sobriety, neatness, quietness, characterised thewhole family. No railings, no idleness, no indulgence of passion, werepermitted. Every child, ever young, had its appointed engagements;every hand was busy. Knitting, spinning, reading, writing, mendingclothes, making shoes, were by the different children constantlyperforming. The father himself sitting amongst them, and guiding theirthoughts, was engaged in the same occupations. .. . 

'He sate up late, and rose early; when the family were at rest, heretired to a little room which he had built on the roof of his house. Hehad slated it, and fitted it up with shelves for his books, his stock ofcloth, wearing apparel, and his utensils. There many a cold winter'snight, without fire, while the roof was glazed with ice, did he remainreading or writing till the day dawned. He taught the children in thechapel, for there was no schoolhouse. Yet in that cold, damp place henever had a fire. He used to send the children in parties either to hisown fire at home, or make them run up the mountain side. 

 * * * * *

'It may be further mentioned, that he was a passionate admirer ofNature; she was his mother, and he was a dutiful child. While engaged onthe mountains it was his greatest pleasure to view the rising sun; andin tranquil evenings, as it slided behind the hills, he blessed itsdeparture. He was skilled in fossils and plants; a constant observer ofthe stars and winds: the atmosphere was his delight. He made manyexperiments on its nature and properties. In summer he used to gather amultitude of flies and insects, and, by his entertaining description, amuse and instruct his children. They shared all his daily employments, and derived many sentiments of love and benevolence from hisobservations on the works and productions of Nature. Whether they werefollowing him in the field, or surrounding him in school, he took everyopportunity of storing their minds with useful information. --Nor was thecircle of his influence confined to Seathwaite. Many a distant motherhas told her child of Mr. Walker, and begged him to be as good a man. 

 * * * * *

'Once, when I was very young, I had the pleasure of seeing and hearingthat venerable old man in his 90th year, and even then, the calmness, the force, the perspicuity of his sermon, sanctified and adorned by thewisdom of grey hairs, and the authority of virtue, had such an effectupon my mind, that I never see a hoary-headed clergyman, withoutthinking of Mr. Walker. .. . He allowed no dissenter or methodist tointerfere in the instruction of the souls committed to his cure: and sosuccessful were his exertions, that he had not one dissenter of anydenomination whatever in the whole parish. --Though he avoided allreligious controversies, yet when age had silvered his head, andvirtuous piety had secured to his appearance reverence and silenthonour, no one, however determined in his hatred of apostolic descent, could have listened to his discourse on ecclesiastical history andancient times, without thinking, that one of the beloved apostles hadreturned to mortality, and in that vale of peace had come to exemplifythe beauty of holiness in the life and character of Mr. Walker. 

 * * * * *

'Until the sickness of his wife, a few months previous to her death, hishealth and spirits and faculties were unimpaired. But this misfortunegave him such a shock, that his constitution gradually decayed. Hissenses, except sight, still preserved their powers. He never preachedwith steadiness after his wife's death. His voice faltered: he alwayslooked at the seat she had used. He could not pass her tomb withouttears. He became, when alone, sad and melancholy, though still among hisfriends kind and good-humoured. He went to bed about twelve o'clock thenight before his death. As his custom was, he went, tottering andleaning upon his daughter's arm, to examine the heavens, and meditate afew moments in the open air. "How clear the moon shines to-night!" Hesaid these words, sighed, and laid down. At six next morning he wasfound a corpse. Many a tear, and many a heavy heart, and many a gratefulblessing followed him to the grave. '

Having mentioned in this narrative the vale of Loweswater as a placewhere Mr. Walker taught school, I will add a few memoranda from itsparish register, respecting a person apparently of desires as moderate, with whom he must have been intimate during his residence there. 

 'Let him that would, ascend the tottering seat Of courtly grandeur, and become as great As are his mounting wishes; but for me, Let sweet repose and rest my portion be. 

 HENRY FOREST, Curate, '

 'Honour, the idol which the most adore, Receives no homage from my knee; Content in privacy I value more Than all uneasy dignity. '

 'Henry Forest came to Loweswater, 1708, being 25 years of age. '

 'This curacy was twice augmented by Queen Anne's Bounty. The first payment, with great difficulty, was paid to Mr. John Curwen of London, on the 9th of May, 1724, deposited by me, Henry Forest, Curate of Loweswater. Ye said 9th of May, ye said Mr. Curwen went to the office, and saw my name registered there, &c. This, by the Providence of God, came by lot to this poor place. 

 Haec testor H. Forest. '

In another place he records, that the sycamore trees were planted in thechurchyard in 1710. 

He died in 1741, having been curate thirty-four years. It is notimprobable that H. Forest was the gentleman who assisted Robert Walkerin his classical studies at Loweswater. 

To this parish register is prefixed a motto, of which the followingverses are a part:

 'Invigilate viri, tacito nam tempora gressu Diffugiunt, nulloque sono convertitur annus; Utendum est aetate, cito pede praeterit ajtas. '

323. _Milton_. 

 'We feel that we are greater than we know. ' [Sonnet XXXIV. L. 14. ] 'And feel that I am happier than I know. ' MILTON. 

The allusion to the Greek Poet will be obvious to the classical reader. 

324. _The White Doe of Rylstone; or the Fate of the Nortons_. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

During the summer of 1807 I visited, for the first time, the beautifulcountry that surrounds Bolton Priory, in Yorkshire; and the Poem of theWhite Doe, founded upon a tradition connected with that place, wascomposed at the close of the same year. 

THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE. 

The Poem of the White Doe of Rylstone is founded on a local tradition, and on the Ballad in Percy's Collection, entitled, 'The Rising of theNorth. ' The tradition is as follows: 'About this time, ' not long afterthe Dissolution, 'a White Doe, ' say the aged people of theneighbourhood, 'long continued to make a weekly pilgrimage fromRylstone over the falls of Bolton, and was constantly found in the AbbeyChurchyard during divine service; after the close of which she returnedhome as regularly as the rest of the congregation. '--Dr. Whitaker's_History of the Deanery of Craven_. --Rylstone was the property andresidence of the Nortons, distinguished in that ill-advised andunfortunate Insurrection; which led me to connect with this traditionthe principal circumstances of their fate, as recorded in the Ballad. 

'Bolton Priory, ' says Dr. Whitaker in his excellent book, _The Historyand Antiquities of the Deanery of Craven_, 'stands upon a beautifulcurvature of the Wharf, on a level sufficiently elevated to protect itfrom inundations, and low enough for every purpose of picturesqueeffect. 

'Opposite to the east window of the Priory Church the river washes thefoot of a rock nearly perpendicular, and of the richest purple, whereseveral of the mineral beds, which break out, instead of maintainingtheir usual inclination to the horizon, are twisted by someinconceivable process into undulating and spiral lines. To the south allis soft and delicious; the eye reposes upon a few rich pastures, amoderate reach of the river, sufficiently tranquil to form a mirror tothe sun, and the bounding hills beyond, neither too near nor too loftyto exclude, even in winter, any portion of his rays. 

'But, after all, the glories of Bolton are on the north. Whatever themost fastidious taste could require to constitute a perfect landscape, is not only found here, but in its proper place. In front, andimmediately under the eye, is a smooth expanse of park-like enclosure, spotted with native elm, ash, &c. Of the finest growth: on the right askirting oak wood, with jutting points of grey rock; on the left arising copse. Still forward are seen the aged groves of Bolton Park, thegrowth of centuries; and farther yet, the barren and rocky distances ofSimonseat and Barden Fell contrasted with the warmth, fertility, andluxuriant foliage of the valley below. 

'About half a mile above Bolton the valley closes, and either side ofthe Wharf is overhung by solemn woods, from which huge perpendicularmasses of grey rock jut out at intervals. 

'This sequestered scene was almost inaccessible till of late, thatridings have been cut on both sides of the river, and the mostinteresting points laid open by judicious thinnings in the woods. Here atributary stream rushes from a waterfall, and bursts through a woodyglen to mingle its waters with the Wharf: there the Wharf itself isnearly lost in a deep cleft in the rock, and next becomes a horned floodenclosing a woody island--sometimes it reposes for a moment, and thenresumes its native character, lively, irregular, and impetuous. 

'The cleft mentioned above is the tremendous STRID. This chasm, beingincapable of receiving the winter floods, has formed on either side abroad strand of naked gritstone full of rock-basins, or "pots of theLinn, " which bear witness to the restless impetuosity of so manyNorthern torrents. But, if here Wharf is lost to the eye, it amplyrepays another sense by its deep and solemn roar, like "the Voice of theangry Spirit of the Waters, " heard far above and beneath, amidst thesilence of the surrounding woods. 

'The terminating object of the landscape is the remains of Barden Tower, interesting from their form and situation, and still more so from therecollections which they excite. '

325. *_The White Doe of Rylstone_. 

The earlier half of this poem was composed at Stockton-upon-Tees, whenMary and I were on a visit to her eldest brother, Mr. Hutchinson, at theclose of the year 1807. The country is flat, and the weather was rough. I was accustomed every day to walk to and fro under the shelter of a rowof stacks, in a field at a small distance from the town, and therepoured forth my verses aloud, as freely as they would come. Mary remindsme that her brother stood upon the punctilio of not sitting down todinner till I joined the party; and it frequently happened that I didnot make my appearance till too late, so that she was madeuncomfortable. I here beg her pardon for this and similar transgressionsduring the whole course of our wedded life. To my beloved sister thesame apology is due. 

When, from the visit just mentioned, we returned to Town-End, Grasmere, I proceeded with the poem. It may be worth while to note as a caution toothers who may cast their eyes on these memoranda, that the skin havingbeen rubbed off my heel by my wearing too tight a shoe, though Idesisted from walking, I found that the irritation of the wounded partwas kept up by the act of composition, to a degree that made itnecessary to give my constitution a holiday. A rapid cure was theconsequence. 

Poetic excitement, when accompanied by protracted labour in composition, has throughout my life brought on more or less bodily derangement. Nevertheless I am, at the close of my seventy-third year, in what may becalled excellent health. So that intellectual labour is not, necessarily, unfavourable to longevity. But perhaps I ought here to add, that mine has been generally carried on out of doors. 

Let me here say a few words of this Poem, by way of criticism. Thesubject being taken from feudal times has led to its being compared tosome of Walter Scott's poems that belong to the same age and state ofsociety. The comparison is inconsiderate. Sir Walter pursued thecustomary and very natural course of conducting an action, presentingvarious turns of fortune, to some outstanding point on which the mindmight rest as a termination or catastrophe. The course I attempted topursue is entirely different. Everything that is attempted by theprincipal personages in the 'White Doe' fails, so far as its object isexternal and substantial: so far as it is moral and spiritual, itsucceeds. The heroine of the poem knows that her duty is not tointerfere with the current of events, either to forward or delay them;but--

 'To abide The shock, and finally secure O'er pain and grief a triumph pure. '

This she does in obedience to her brother's injunction, as most suitableto a mind and character that, under previous trials, had been proved toaccord with his. She achieves this, not without aid from thecommunication with the inferior creature, which often leads her thoughtsto revolve upon the past with a tender and humanising influence thatexalts rather than depresses her. The anticipated beatification, if Imay so say, of her mind, and the apotheosis of the companion of hersolitude, are the points at which the poem aims, and constitute itslegitimate catastrophe; far too spiritual a one for instant orwidely-spread sympathy, but not therefore the less fitted to make a deepand permanent impression upon that class of minds who think and feelmore independently than the many do of the surfaces of things, andinterests transitory because belonging more to the outward and socialforms of life than to its internal spirit. 

How insignificant a thing, for example, does personal prowess appear, compared with the fortitude of patience and heroic martyrdom; in otherwords, with struggles for the sake of principle, in preference tovictory gloried in for its own sake!

[To these remarks may be added the following, in a letter from thewriter to his friend Archdeacon Wrangham:

 'Thanksgiving Day, Jan. 1816. Rydal Mount. 

'MY DEAR WRANGHAM, 'You have given me an additional mark of that friendly disposition, andthose affectionate feelings which I have long known you to possess, bywriting to me after my long and unjustifiable silence. 

 * * * * *

'Of the "White Doe" I have little to say, but that I hope it will beacceptable to the intelligent, for whom alone it is written. It startsfrom a high point of imagination, and comes round, through variouswanderings of that faculty, to a still higher--nothing less than theapotheosis of the animal who gives the first of the two titles to thepoem. And as the poem thus begins and ends with pure and loftyimagination, every motive and impetus that actuates the personsintroduced is from the same source; a kindred spirit pervades, and isintended to harmonise the whole. Throughout, objects (the banner, forinstance) derive their influence, not from properties inherent in them, not from what they _are_ actually in themselves, but from such as are_bestowed_ upon them by the minds of those who are conversant with oraffected by those objects. Thus the poetry, if there be any in the work, proceeds, as it ought to do, from the _soul of man_, communicating itscreative energies to the images of the external world. But, too much ofthis. 

 'Most faithfully yours, 'W. WORDSWORTH. '][3]

[3] _Memoirs_, ii. Pp. 57-58. 

326. _William Hazlitt's Quotation_. 

 'Action is transitory. ' [Dedication-postscript, II. 1-6. ]

This and the five lines that follow were either read or recited by me, more than thirty years since, to the late Mr. Hazlitt, who quoted someexpressions in them (imperfectly remembered) in a work of his publishedseveral years ago. 

327. _Bolton Alley_. 

 'From Bolton's old monastic Tower' (c. I. L. 1). 

It is to be regretted that at the present day Bolton Abbey wants thisornament; but the Poem, according to the imagination of the Poet, iscomposed in Queen Elizabeth's time. 'Formerly, ' says Dr. Whitaker, 'overthe Transept was a tower. This is proved not only from the mention ofbells at the Dissolution, when they could have had no other place, butfrom the pointed roof of the choir, which must have terminated westward, in some building of superior height to the ridge. '

328. '_When Lady Aäliza mourned_' (c. I. L. 226). 

The detail of this tradition may be found in Dr. Whitaker's book, and ina Poem of this Collection, 'The Force of Prayer:'

 'Bare breast I take and an empty hand' (c. Ii. L. 179 and onward). 

See the Old Ballad--'The Rising of the North. '

328[a]. _Brancepeth_. 

 Nor joy for you, ' &c. (c. Iii. L. 1). 

Brancepeth Castle stands near the river Were, a few miles from the cityof Durham. It formerly belonged to the Nevilles, Earls of Westmoreland. See Dr. Percy's account. 

329. _The Battle of the Standard_. 

 'Of mitred Thurston--what a Host He conquered' (c. Iii. Ll. 121-2). 

See the Historians for the account of this memorable battle, usuallydenominated the Battle of the Standard. 

330. _Bells of Rylstone_ (c. Vii. L. 212). 

 'When the Bells of Rylstone played Their Sabbath music--"God us ayde!"'

On one of the bells of Rylstone church, which seems coeval with thebuilding of the tower, is this cypher, 'I. N. , ' for John Norton, and themotto, 'God us Ayde. '

331. '_The grassy rock-encircled Pound_' (c. Vii. L. 253). 

After a quotation from Whitaker. I cannot conclude without recommendingto the notice of all lovers of beautiful scenery, Bolton Abbey and itsneighbourhood. This enchanting spot belongs to the Duke of Devonshire;and the superintendence of it has for some years been entrusted to theRev. William Carr, who has most skilfully opened out its features; andin whatever he has added, has done justice to the place, by working withan invisible hand of art in the very spirit of Nature. 

 * * * * *

XIV. ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS. 

332. _Ecclesiastical Sonnets in Series_. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

During the month of December, 1820, I accompanied a much-beloved andhonoured Friend in a walk through different parts of his estate, with aview to fix upon the site of a new Church which he intended to erect. Itwas one of the most beautiful mornings of a mild season, --our feelingswere in harmony with the cherishing influences of the scene; and suchbeing our purpose, we were naturally led to look back upon past eventswith wonder and gratitude, and on the future with hope. Not longafterwards, some of the Sonnets which will be found towards the close ofthis series were produced as a private memorial of that morning'soccupation. 

The Catholic Question, which was agitated in Parliament about that time, kept my thoughts in the same course; and it struck me that certainpoints in the Ecclesiastical History of our Country might advantageouslybe presented to view in verse. Accordingly, I took up the subject, andwhat I now offer to the reader was the result. 

When this work was far advanced, I was agreeably surprised to find thatmy friend, Mr. Southey, had been engaged with similar views in writing aconcise History of the Church _in_ England. If our Productions, thusunintentionally coinciding, shall be found to illustrate each other, itwill prove a high gratification to me, which I am sure my friend willparticipate. 

 W. WORDSWORTH. Rydal Mount, January 24, 1822. 

For the convenience of passing from one point of the subject to anotherwithout shocks of abruptness, this work has taken the shape of a seriesof Sonnets: but the Reader, it is to be hoped, will find that thepictures are often so closely connected as to have jointly the effect ofpassages of a poem in a form of stanza to which there is no objectionbut one that bears upon the Poet only--its difficulty. 

333. *_Introductory Remarks_. 

My purpose in writing this Series was, as much as possible, to confinemy view to the 'introduction, progress, and operation of the CHURCH inENGLAND, both previous and subsequent to the Reformation. The Sonnetswere written long before Ecclesiastical History and points of doctrinehad excited the interest with which they have been recently enquiredinto and discussed. The former particular is mentioned as an excuse formy having fallen into error in respect to an incident which had beenselected as setting forth the height to which the power of the Popedomover temporal sovereignty had attained, and the arrogance with which itwas displayed. I allude to the last sonnet but one in the first series, where Pope Alexander the Third, at Venice, is described as setting hisfoot on the neck of the Emperor Barbarossa. Though this is related as afact in history, I am told it is a mere legend of no authority. Substitute for it an undeniable truth, not less fitted for my purpose, namely, the penance inflicted by Gregory the Seventh upon the EmperorHenry the Fourth, at [Canosa]. [4]

[4] ('According to Baronius the humiliation of the Emperor was avoluntary act of prostration on his part. _Ann. Eccl. Ad Ann_. 1177. '_Memoirs_, ii. 111. )

Before I conclude my notice of these Sonnets, let me observe that theopinion I pronounced in favour of Laud (long before the Oxford Tractmovement), and which had brought censure upon me from several quarters, is not in the least changed. Omitting here to examine into his conductin respect to the persecuting spirit with which he has been charged, Iam persuaded that most of his aims to restore ritual practices which hadbeen abandoned, were good and wise, whatever errors he might commit inthe manner he sometimes attempted to enforce them. I further believe, that had not he, and others who shared his opinions and felt as he did, stood up in opposition to the Reformers of that period, it isquestionable whether the Church would ever have recovered its lostground, and become the blessing it now is, and will, I trust, become ina still greater degree, both to those of its communion, and those whounfortunately are separated from it:

 '_ 1 saw the Figure of a lovely Maid_. ' [Sonnet I. Part III. ]

When I came to this part of the Series I had the dream described in thissonnet. The figure was that of my daughter, and the whole past exactlyas here represented. The sonnet was composed on the middle road leadingfrom Grasmere to Ambleside: it was begun as I left the last house in thevale, and finished, word for word, as it now stands, before I came inview of Rydal. I wish I could say the same of the five or six hundred Ihave written: most of them were frequently retouched in the course ofcomposition, and not a few laboriously. 

I have only further to observe that the intended church which promptedthese Sonnets was erected on Coleorton Moor, towards the centre of avery populous parish, between three and four miles fromAshby-de-la-Zouch, on the road to Loughborough, and has proved, Ibelieve, a great benefit to the neighbourhood. 

[POSTSCRIPT. 

As an addition to these general remarks on the 'Ecclesiastical Sonnets, 'it seems only right to give here from the _Memoirs_ (vol. Ii. P. 113)the following on Sonnet XL. (Pt. II. ):

 'With what entire affection did they prize Their _new-born_ Church!'

The invidious inferences that would be drawn from this epithet by theenemies of the English Church and Reformation are too obvious to bedilated on. The author was aware of this, and in reply to a friend whocalled his attention to the misconstruction and perversion to which thepassage was liable, he replied as follows:

 'Nov. 12. 1846. MY DEAR C----, 'The passage which you have been so kind as to comment upon in one ofthe "Ecclesiastical Sonnets, " was altered several years ago by my pen, in a copy of my poems which I possess, but the correction was notprinted till a place was given it in the last edition, printed lastyear, in one volume. It there stands, "Their church reformed. "

Though for my own part, as I mentioned some time since in a letter I hadoccasion to write to the Bishop of ----, I do not like the term_reformed_; if taken in its literal sense, as a _transformation_, it isvery objectionable. 

 'Yours affectionately, 'W. WORDSWORTH. '

Further, on the Sonnets on 'Aspects of Christianity in America, 'Wordsworth wrote to his valued friend, Professor Reed of Philadelphia, as follows:

'A few days ago, after a very long interval, I returned to poeticalcomposition; and my first employment was to write a couple of sonnetsupon subjects recommended by you to take place in the EcclesiasticalSeries. They are upon the Marriage Ceremony and the Funeral Service. Ihave also, at the same time, added two others, one upon Visiting theSick, and the other upon the Thanksgiving of Women after Childbirth, both subjects taken from the Services of our Liturgy. To the second partof the same series, I have also added two, in order to do more justiceto the Papal Church for the services which she did actually render toChristianity and humanity in the Middle Ages. By the by, the sonnetbeginning, "Men of the Western World, " &c. Was slightly altered after Isent it to you, not in the hope of substituting a better verse, butmerely to avoid the repetition of the same word, "book, " which occurs asa rhyme in "The Pilgrim Fathers. " These three sonnets, I learn, fromseveral quarters, have been well received by those of your countrymenwhom they most concern. '] [5]

[5] Extract: September 4th, 1842: _Memoirs_, ii. 389-90. 

PART I. FROM THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY INTO BRITAIN TO THECONSUMMATION OF THE PAPAL DOMINION. 

334. _St. Paul never in Britain_. 

 'Did holy Paul, ' &c. [Sonnet II. L. 6. ]

Stillingfleet adduces many arguments in support of this opinion, butthey are unconvincing. The latter part of this Sonnet (II. 'Conjectures') refers to a favourite notion of Roman Catholic writers, that Joseph of Arimathea and his companions brought Christianity intoBritain, and built a rude church at Glastonbury; alluded to hereafter ina passage upon the dissolution of monasteries. 

335. _Water-fowl_. [Sonnet III. L. 1. ]

 'Screams round the Arch-druid's brow the sea-mew. '

This water-fowl was among the Druids an emblem of those traditionsconnected with the deluge that made an important part of theirmysteries. The cormorant was a bird of bad omen. 

336. _Hill at St. Allan's: Bede_. 

 'That hill, whose flowery platform, ' &c. [Sonnet VI. L. 13. ]

This hill at St. Alban's must have been an object of great interest tothe imagination of the venerable Bede, who thus describes it, with adelicate feeling delightful to meet with in that rude age, traces ofwhich are frequent in his works:--'Variis herbarum floribus depictus imousquequaque vestitus, in quo nihil repente arduum, nihil praeceps, nihilabruptum, quem lateribus longe lateque deductum in modum aequoris naturacomplanat, dignum videlicet eum pro insitâ sibi specie venustatis jamolim reddens, qui beati martyris canore dicaretur. '

337. _Hallelujahs_. 

 'Nor wants the cause the panic-striking aid Of hallelujahs. ' [Sonnet XI. Ll. 1-2. ]

Alluding to the victory gained under Germanus. See Bede. 

338. _Samuel Daniel and Thomas Fuller _. [Ibid. Ll. 9-10. ]

 'By men yet scarcely conscious of a care For other monuments than those of earth. '

The last six lines of this Sonnet are chiefly from the prose of Daniel;and here I will state (though to the Readers whom this Poem will chieflyinterest it is unnecessary) that my obligations to other prose writersare frequent, --obligations which, even if I had not a pleasure incourting, it would have been presumptuous to shun, in treating anhistorical subject. I must, however, particularise Fuller, to whom I amindebted in the Sonnet upon Wycliffe and in other instances. And uponthe acquittal of the Seven Bishops I have done little more than versifya lively description of that event in the MS. Memoirs of the first LordLonsdale. 

339. _Monastery of Old Bangor_. [Sonnet XII. ]

After a quotation from Turner's 'valuable History of the Anglo-Saxons. 'Taliesen was present at the battle which preceded this desolation. Theaccount Bede gives of this remarkable event, suggests a most strikingwarning against National and Religious prejudices. 

340. _Paulinus_. [Sonnet XV. ]

The person of Paulinus is thus described by Bede, from the memory of aneye-witness: 'Longae staturae, paululum incurvus, nigro capillo, faciemacilenta, naso adunco, pertenui, venerabilis simul et terribilisaspectu. '

341. _King Edwin and the Sparrow_. 

'Man's life is like a sparrow. ' [Sonnet XVI. L. 1. ]

See the original of this speech in Bede. --The Conversion of Edwin, asrelated by him, is highly interesting--and the breaking up of thisCouncil accompanied with an event so striking and characteristic, that Iam tempted to give it at length in a translation. 'Who, exclaimed theKing, when the Council was ended, shall first desecrate the altars andthe temples? I, answered the Chief Priest; for who more fit than myself, through the wisdom which the true God hath given me, to destroy, forthe good example of others, what in foolishness is worshipped?Immediately, casting away vain superstition, he besought the King togrant him what the laws did not allow to a priest, arms and a courser(equum emissarium); which mounting, and furnished with a sword andlance, he proceeded to destroy the Idols. The crowd, seeing this, thought him mad--he however halted not, but, approaching the profanedtemple, casting against it the lance which he had held in his hand, and, exulting in acknowledgment of the worship of the true God, he orderedhis companions to pull down the temple, with all its enclosures. Theplace is shown where those idols formerly stood, not far from York, atthe source of the river Derwent, and is at this day called Gormund Gahamubi pontifex ille, inspirante Deo vero, polluit ac destruxit eas, _quasipse sacraverat aras_. ' The last expression is a pleasing proof that thevenerable monk of Wearmouth was familiar with the poetry of Virgil. 

342. '_Near fresh Streams_. ' [Sonnet XVII. L. 12. ]

The early propagators of Christianity were accustomed to preach nearrivers for the convenience of baptism. 

343. _The Clergy_. [Sonnet XIX. ]

Having spoken of the zeal, disinterestedness, and temperance of theclergy of those times, Bede thus proceeds:--'Unde et in magna eratveneratione tempore illo religionis habitus, ita ut ubicunque clericusaliquis, aut monachus adveniret, gaudeutur ab omnibus tanquam Deifamulus exciperetur. Etiam si in itinere pergens inveniretur, accurrebant, et flexâ cervice, vel manu signari, vel ore illius sebenedici, gaudebant. Verbis quoque horum exhortatoriis diligenterauditum praebebant. '--Lib. Iii. Cap. 26. 

343(a). _Bede_. [Sonnet XIII. L. 14. ]

He expired dictating the last words of a translation of St. John'sGospel. 

344. _Zeal_. 

 'The people work like congregated bees!' [Sonnet XXIV. L. 2. ]

See in Turner's History, vol. Iii. P. 528, the account of the erectionof Ramsey Monastery. Penances were removable by the performance of actsof charity and benevolence. 

345. _Alfred_. 

 ----'pain narrows not his cares. ' [Sonnet XXVI. L. 10. ]

Through the whole of his life, Alfred was subject to grievous maladies. 

346. _Crown and Cowl_. 

 'Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey. ' [Sonnet XXXIX. L. 1. ]

The violent measures carried on under the influence of Dunstan, forstrengthening the Benedictine Order, were a leading cause of the secondseries of Danish invasions. See Turner. 

347. _The Council of Clermont_. 

 ----'in awe-stricken countries far and nigh . .. That voice resounds. [Sonnet XXXIII. Ll. 13-14. ]

The decision of this Council was believed to be instantly known inremote parts of Europe. 

 * * * * *

PART II. TO THE CLOSE OF THE TROUBLES IN THE REIGN OF CHARLES I. 

348. _Cistertian Monastery_. [Sonnet III. ]

'Here man more purely lives, ' &c. 

'Bonum est nos hic esse, quia homo vivit purius, cadit rarius, surgitvelocius, incedit cautius, quiescit securius, moritur felicius, purgaturutius, praemiatur copiosius. '--Bernard. 'This sentence, ' says Dr. Whitaker, 'is usually inscribed in some conspicuous part of theCistertian houses. '

349. _Waldenses_. 

'Whom obloquy pursues with hideous bark. ' [Sonnet XIV. L. 8. ]

The list of foul names bestowed upon those poor creatures is long andcurious;--and, as is, alas! too natural, most of the opprobriousappellations are drawn from circumstances into which they were forced bytheir persecutors, who even consolidated their miseries into onereproachful term, calling them Patarenians, or Paturins, from _pati_, tosuffer. 

 Dwellers with wolves, she names them, for the pine And green oak are their covert; as the gloom Of night oft foils their enemy's design, She calls them Riders on the flying broom; Sorcerers, whose frame and aspect have become One and the same through practices malign. 

350. _Borrowed Lines_. 

 'And the green lizard and the gilded newt Lead unmolested lives, and die of age. ' [Sonnet XXI. Ll. 7-8. ]

These two lines are adopted from a MS. , written about 1770, whichaccidentally fell into my possession. The close of the preceding Sonnet'On Monastic Voluptuousness' is taken from the same source, as is theverse, 'Where Venus sits, ' &c. , and the line, 'Once ye were holy, ye areholy still, ' in a subsequent Sonnet. 

851. _Transfiguration_. 

 'One (like those prophets whom God sent of old) Transfigured, ' &c. [Sonnet XXXIV. Ll. 4-5. ]

'M. Latimer suffered his keeper very quietly to pull off his hose, andhis other array, which to looke unto was very simple: and being strippedunto his shrowd, he seemed as comely a person to them that were present, as one should lightly see: and whereas in his clothes hee appeared awithered and crooked sillie (weak) olde man, he now stood bolt upright, as comely a father as one might lightly behold. .. . Then they brought afaggotte, kindled with fire, and laid the same downe at doctor Ridley'sfeete. To whome M. Latimer spake in this manner, "Bee of good comfort, master Ridley, and play the man: wee shall this day light such a candleby God's grace in England, as I trust shall never bee put out. "'--_Fox'sActs, &c. _

Similar alterations in the outward figure and deportment of personsbrought to like trial were not uncommon. See note to the above passagein Dr. Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Biography, for an example in anhumble Welsh fisherman. 

352. _Craft_. 

 ----'craftily incites The overweening, personates the mad. ' [Sonnet XLI. L. 11. ]

A common device in religious and political conflicts. See Strype insupport of this instance. 

353. _The Virgin Mountain_. [Sonnet XLIII. ]

Jung-frau. 

354. _Laud_. [Sonnet XLV. ]

In this age a word cannot be said in praise of Laud, or even incompassion for his fate, without incurring a charge of bigotry; butfearless of such imputation, I concur with Hume, 'that it is sufficientfor his vindication to observe that his errors were the most excusableof all those which prevailed during that zealous period. ' A key to theright understanding of those parts of his conduct that brought the mostodium upon him in his own time, may be found in the following passage ofhis speech before the bar of the House of Peers:--'Ever since I came inplace, I have laboured nothing more than that the external publickworship of God, so much slighted in divers parts of this kingdom, mightbe preserved, and that with as much decency and uniformity as might be. For I evidently saw that the publick neglect of God's service in theoutward face of it, and the nasty lying of many places dedicated to thatservice, _had almost cast a damp upon the true and inward worship ofGod, which while we live in the body, needs external helps, and alllittle enough to keep it in any vigour_. '

 * * * * *

PART III. FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE PRESENT TIME. 

355. _The Pilgrim Fathers_. [Sonnet XIII. ]

American episcopacy, in union with the church in England, strictlybelongs to the general subject; and I here make my acknowledgments to myAmerican friends, Bishop Doane, and Mr. Henry Reed of Philadelphia, forhaving suggested to me the propriety of adverting to it, and pointed outthe virtues and intellectual qualities of Bishop White, which soeminently fitted him for the great work he undertook. Bishop White wasconsecrated at Lambeth, Feb. 4, 1787, by Archbishop Moor; and before hislong life was closed, twenty-six bishops had been consecrated inAmerica, by himself. For his character and opinions, see his ownnumerous Works, and a 'Sermon in commemoration of him, by GeorgeWashington Doane, Bishop of New Jersey. '

356. _The Clergyman_. 

 'A genial hearth---- And a refined rusticity, belong To the neat mansion. ' [Sonnet XVIII. Ll. 1-3. ]

Among the benefits arising, as Mr. Coleridge has well observed, from aChurch Establishment of endowments corresponding with the wealth of thecountry to which it belongs, may be reckoned as eminently important, theexamples of civility and refinement which the Clergy stationed atintervals, afford to the whole people. The Established clergy in manyparts of England have long been, as they continue to be, the principalbulwark against barbarism, and the link which unites the sequesteredpeasantry with the intellectual advancement of the age. Nor is it belowthe dignity of the subject to observe, that their taste, as acting uponrural residences and scenery often furnishes models which countrygentlemen, who are more at liberty to follow the caprices of fashion, might profit by. The precincts of an old residence must be treated byecclesiastics with respect, both from prudence and necessity. I rememberbeing much pleased, some years ago, at Rose Castle, the rural seat ofthe See of Carlisle, with a style of garden and architecture, which, ifthe place had belonged to a wealthy layman, would no doubt have beenswept away. A parsonage-house generally stands not far from the church;this proximity imposes favourable restraints, and sometimes suggests anaffecting union of the accommodations and elegances of life with theoutward signs of piety and mortality. With pleasure I recall to mind ahappy instance of this in the residence of an old and much-valued Friendin Oxfordshire. The house and church stand parallel to each other, at asmall distance; a circular lawn or rather grass-plot, spreads betweenthem; shrubs and trees curve from each side of the dwelling, veiling, but not hiding, the church. From the front of this dwelling, no part ofthe burial-ground is seen; but as you wind by the side of the shrubstowards the steeple-end of the church, the eye catches a single, small, low, monumental headstone, moss-grown, sinking into, and gentlyinclining towards the earth. Advance, and the churchyard, populous andgay with glittering tombstones, opens upon the view. This humble andbeautiful parsonage called forth a tribute, for which see the seventh ofthe 'Miscellaneous Sonnets, ' Part III. 

357. _Rush-bearing_. [Sonnet XXXII. ]

This is still continued in many churches in Westmoreland. It takes placein the month of July, when the floor of the stalls is strewn with freshrushes; and hence it is called the 'Rush-bearing. '

358. _George Dyer_. 

 'Teaching us to forget them or forgive. ' [Sonnet XXXV. L. 10. ]

This is borrowed from an affecting passage in Mr. George Dyer's Historyof Cambridge. 

359. _Apprehension_. 

 ----'had we, like them, endured Sore stress of apprehension. ' [Sonnet XXXVII. L. 6. ]

See Burnet, who is unusually animated on this subject; the east wind, soanxiously expected and prayed for, was called the 'Protestant wind. '

360. _The Cross_. 

 'Yet will we not conceal the precious Cross, Like men ashamed. ' [Sonnet XL. Ll. 9-10. ]

The Lutherans have retained the Cross within their churches: it is to beregretted that we have not done the same. 

361. _Monte Rosa_. 

 Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its name From roseate hues, ' &c. [Sonnet XLVI. Ll. 5-6. ]

Some say that Monte Rosa takes its name from a belt of rock at itssummit--a very unpoetical and scarcely a probable supposition. 

XV. 'YARROW REVISITED, ' AND OTHER POEMS. 

COMPOSED (TWO EXCEPTED) DURING A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, AND ON THE ENGLISHBORDER, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1831. 

362. _Dedication_. 

TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 

 As a testimony of friendship, and acknowledgment of intellectual obligations, these Memorials are affectionately inscribed. 

Rydal Mount, Dec. 11, 1834. 

The following stanzas ['Yarrow Revisited'] are a memorial of a daypassed with Sir Walter Scott, and other friends, visiting the banks ofthe Yarrow under his guidance, immediately before his departure fromAbbotsford for Naples. 

The title 'Yarrow Revisited' will stand in no need of explanation, forReaders acquainted with the Author's previous poems suggested by thatcelebrated stream. 

363. *_Yarrow Revisited_. 

I first became acquainted with this great and amiable man (Sir WalterScott) in the year 1803, when my sister and I, making a tour inScotland, were hospitably received by him in Lasswade, upon the banks ofthe Esk, where he was then living. We saw a good deal of him in thecourse of the following week. The particulars are given in my sister'sjournal of that tour. 

(2) *_Ibid. _

In the autumn of 1831, my daughter and I set off from Rydal to visit SirWalter Scott, before his departure for Italy. This journey had beendelayed, by an inflammation in my eyes, till we found that the timeappointed for his leaving home would be too near for him to receive uswithout considerable inconvenience. Nevertheless, we proceeded, andreached Abbotsford on Monday. I was then scarcely able to lift up myeyes to the light. How sadly changed did I find him from the man I hadseen so healthy, gay, and hopeful a few years before, when he said atthe inn at Paterdale, in my presence, his daughter Anne also beingthere, with Mr. Lockhart, my own wife and daughter, and Mr. Quillinan, 'I mean to live till I am eighty, and shall write as long as I live. 'Though we had none of us the least thought of the cloud of misfortunewhich was then going to break upon his head, I was startled, and almostshocked, at that bold saying, which could scarcely be uttered by such aman, sanguine as he was, without a momentary forgetfulness of theinstability of human life. But to return to Abbotsford. The inmates andguests we found there were Sir Walter, Major Scott, Anne Scott, and Mr. And Mrs. Lockhart; Mr. Liddell, his lady and brother, and Mr. Allan, thepainter, and Mr. Laidlaw, a very old friend of Sir Walter's. One ofBurns's sons, an officer in the Indian service, had left the house a dayor two before, and had kindly expressed his regret that he could notwait my arrival, a regret that I may truly say was mutual. In theevening, Mr. And Mrs. Liddell sang, and Mrs. Lockhart chaunted oldballads to her harp; and Mr. Allan, hanging over the back of a chair, told and acted odd stories in a humorous way. With this exhibition, andhis daughter's singing, Sir Walter was much amused, and, indeed, were weall, as far as circumstances would allow. But what is most worthy ofmention is the admirable demeanour of Major Scott during thatevening. [6] He had much to suffer from the sight of his father'sinfirmities and from the great change that was about to take place atthe residence he had built, and where he had long lived in so muchprosperity and happiness. But what struck me most was the patientkindness with which he supported himself under the many fretfulexpressions that his sister Anne addressed to him or uttered in hishearing, and she, poor thing, as mistress of that house, had beensubject, after her mother's death, to a heavier load of care andresponsibility, and greater sacrifices of time, than one of such aconstitution of body and mind was able to bear. Of this Dora and I weremade so sensible, that as soon as we had crossed the Tweed on ourdeparture, we gave vent at the same moment to our apprehensions that herbrain would fail and she would go out of her mind, or that she wouldsink under the trials she had passed and those which awaited her. 

[6] In pencil--This is a mistake, dear Father. It was the followingevening, when the Liddells were gone, and only ourselves and Mr. Allanpresent. 

On Tuesday morning, Sir Walter Scott accompanied us, and most of theparty, to Newark Castle, on the _Yarrow_. When we alighted from thecarriages, he walked pretty stoutly, and had great pleasure inrevisiting these his favourite haunts. Of that excursion, the verses, 'Yarrow Revisited' are a memorial. Notwithstanding the romance thatpervades Sir Walter's works, and attaches to many of his habits, thereis too much pressure of fact for these verses to harmonise, as much as Icould wish, with the two preceding poems. On our return in theafternoon, we had to cross the Tweed, directly opposite Abbotsford. Thewheels of our carriage grated upon the pebbles in the bed of the stream, that there flows somewhat rapidly. A rich, but sad light, of rather apurple than a golden hue, was spread over the Eildon Hills at thatmoment; and, thinking it probable that it might be the last time SirWalter would cross the stream, I was not a little moved, and expressedsome of my feelings in the sonnet beginning, 'A trouble, not of clouds, ' &c. 

At noon on Thursday we left Abbotsford, and on the morning of that day, Sir Walter and I had a serious conversation, _tête-à-tête_, when hespoke with gratitude of the happy life which, upon the whole, he hadled. He had written in my daughter's album, before he came into thebreakfast-room that morning, a few stanzas addressed to her; and whileputting the book into her hand, in his own Study, standing by his desk, he said to her in my presence, 'I should not have done any thing of thiskind, but for your father's sake; they are probably the last verses Ishall ever write. ' They show how much his mind was impaired; not by thestrain of thought, but by the execution, some of the lines beingimperfect, and one stanza wanting corresponding rhymes. One letter, theinitial S. , had been omitted in the spelling of his own name. In thisinterview, also, it was that, upon my expressing a hope of his healthbeing benefited by the climate of the country to which he was going, andby the interest he would take in the classic remembrances of Italy, hemade use of the quotation from 'Yarrow Revisited, ' as recorded by me inthe 'Musings at Aquapendente, ' six years afterwards. 

Mr. Lockhart has mentioned in his life of him, what I heard from severalquarters while abroad, both at Rome and elsewhere, that little seemed tointerest him but what he could collect or heard of the fugitive Stuarts, and their adherents who had followed them into exile. Both the 'YarrowRevisited' and the 'Sonnet' were sent him before his departure fromEngland. Some further particulars of the conversations which occurredduring this visit I should have set down, had they not been alreadyaccurately recorded by Mr. Lockhart. 

364. *_A Place of Burial in the South of Scotland_. [III. ]

Similar places for burial are not unfrequent in Scotland. The one thatsuggested this sonnet lies on the banks of a small stream, called theWauchope, that flows into the Esk near Langholme. Mickle, who, as itappears from his poem on Sir Martin, was not without genuine poeticfeelings, was born and passed his boyhood in this neighbourhood, underhis father, who was a minister of the Scotch Kirk. The Esk, both aboveand below Langholme, flows through a beautiful country; and the twostreams of the Wauchope and the Ewes, which join it near that place, aresuch as a pastoral poet would delight in. 

365. *_On the Sight of a Manse in the South of Scotland_. [IV. ]

The manses in Scotland, and the gardens and grounds about them, haveseldom that attractive appearance which is common about our Englishparsonages, even when the clergyman's income falls below the average ofthe Scotch minister's. This is not merely owing to the one country beingpoor in comparison with the other, but arises rather out of the equalityof their benefices, so that no one has enough to spare for decorationsthat might serve as an example for others, whereas with us the taste ofthe richer incumbent extends its influence more or less to the poorest. 

After all, in these observations, the surface only of the matter istouched. I once heard a conversation, in which the Roman Catholicreligion was decried on account of its abuses: 'You cannot deny, however, ' said a lady of the party, repeating an expression used byCharles II. , 'that it is the religion of a gentleman. ' It may be left tothe Scotch themselves to determine how far this observation applies tothe [religion] of their Kirk; while it cannot be denied [that] if it iswanting in that characteristic quality, the aspect of common life, sofar as concerns its beauty, must suffer. Sincere Christian piety may bethought not to stand in need of refinement or studied ornament, butassuredly it is ever ready to adopt them, when they fall within itsnotice, as means allow: and this observation applies not only tomanners, but to everything that a Christian (truly so in spirit)cultivates and gathers round him, however humble his social condition. 

366. *_Composed in Roslin Chapel during a Storm_. [V. ]

We were detained, by incessant rain and storm, at the small inn nearRoslin Chapel, and I passed a great part of the day pacing to and fro inthis beautiful structure, which, though not used for public service, isnot allowed to go to ruin. Here this sonnet was composed, and [I shallbe fully satisfied] if it has at all done justice to the feeling whichthe place and the storm raging without inspired. I was as a prisoner. APainter delineating the interior of the chapel and its minute features, under such circumstances, would have no doubt found his time agreeablyshortened. But the movements of the mind must be more free while dealingwith words than with lines and colours. Such, at least, was then, andhas been on many other occasions, my belief; and as it is allotted tofew to follow both arts with success, I am grateful to my own callingfor this and a thousand other recommendations which are denied to thatof the Painter. 

367. *_The Trosachs_. [VI. ]

As recorded in my Sister's Journal, I had first seen the Trosachs in herand Coleridge's company. The sentiment that runs through this sonnet wasnatural to the season in which I again saw this beautiful spot; butthis, and some other sonnets that follow, were coloured by theremembrance of my recent visit to Sir Walter Scott, and the melancholyerrand on which he was going. 

368. *_Composed in the Glen of Lock Etive_. [VIII. ]

 'That make the patriot spirit. '

It was mortifying to have frequent occasions to observe the bitterhatred of the lower orders of the Highlanders to their superiors: loveof country seemed to have passed into its opposite. Emigration was theonly relief looked to with hope. 

369. _Eagles: composed at Dunollie Castle in the Bay of Oban_. [IX. ]

The last I saw was on the wing, off the promontory of Fairhead, countyof Antrim. I mention this, because, though my tour in Ireland, with Mr. Marshall and his son, was made many years ago, this allusion to theeagle is the only image supplied by it to the poetry I have sincewritten. We travelled through the country in October; and to theshortness of the days, and the speed with which we travelled (in acarriage-and-four), may be ascribed this want of notices, in my verse, of a country so interesting. The deficiency I am somewhat ashamed of, and it is the more remarkable, as contrasted with my Scotch andcontinental tours, of which are to be found in these volumes so manymemorials. 

370. *_In the Sound of Mull_. [X. ]

Touring late in the season in Scotland is an uncertain speculation. Wewere detained a week by rain at Bunaw, on Loch Etive, in a vain hopethat the weather would clear up, and allow me to show my daughter thebeauties of Glencoe. Two days we were at the Isle of Mull, on a visit toMajor Campbell; but it rained incessantly, and we were obliged to giveup our intention of going to Staffa. The rain pursued us to Tyndrum, where the next sonnet was composed in a storm. 

371. '_Shepherds of Etive Glen_. ' [X. ]

In Gaelic--Buachaill Eite. 

372. _Highland Broach_. [XV. ]

On ascending a hill that leads from Loch Awe towards Inverary, I fellinto conversation with a woman of the humbler class, who wore one ofthese Highland broaches. I talked with her about it, and upon partingwith her, when I said, with a kindness I truly felt, 'May the broachcontinue in your family for many generations to come, as you havealready possessed it, ' she thanked me most becomingly, and seemed not alittle moved. The exact resemblance which the old broach (still in use, though rarely met with among the Highlanders) bears to the Roman Fibulamust strike every one, and concurs, with the plaid and kilt, to recallto mind the communication which the ancient Romans had with this remotecountry. 

[Note. --How much the Broach is sometimes prized by persons in humblestations may be gathered from an occurrence mentioned to me by a femalefriend. She had an opportunity of benefiting a poor old woman in her ownhut, who, wishing to make a return, said to her daughter in Erse, in atone of plaintive earnestness, 'I would give anything I have, but I_hope_ she does not wish for my Broach!' and uttering these words sheput her hand upon the Broach which fastened her kerchief, and which sheimagined had attracted the eye of her benefactress. ]

373. _The Brownie_. [XVI. ]

Upon a small island not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are someremains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode ofa solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan ofMacfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the shoreopposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned theseparticulars, and that this person then living there had acquired theappellation of 'The Brownie. ' See 'The Brownie's Cell' ['Memorials of aTour in Scotland, 1814, ' I. ], to which the following is a sequel. 

374. *_Bothwell Castle_. [XVIII. ]

In my Sister's Journal is an account of Bothwell Castle as it appearedto us at that time. 

375. *_The Avon: a Feeder of the Avon_. [XX. L. 2. ]

 'Yet is it one that other rivulets bear. '

There is the Shakspeare Avon, the Bristol Avon, the one that flows bySalisbury, and a small river in Wales, I believe, bear the name; Avonbeing, in the ancient tongue, the general name for river. 

376. *_Suggested by a View from an Eminence in Inglewood Forest_. [XXI. ]

The extensive forest of Inglewood has been enclosed within my memory. Iwas well acquainted with it in its ancient state. The Hartshorn tree, mentioned in the next sonnet, was one of its remarkable objects, as wellas another tree that grew upon an eminence not far from Penrith. It wassingle and conspicuous, and, being of a round shape, though it wasuniversally known to be a 'sycamore, ' it was always called the 'RoundThorn, ' so difficult is it to chain fancy down to fact. 

377. _Hart's-Horn Tree, near Penrith_. [XXII. ]

[After a quotation from Nicholson and Burns's History of Westmorelandand Cumberland. ] The tree has now disappeared, but I well remember itsimposing appearance as it stood, in a decayed state, by the side of thehigh road leading from Penrith to Appleby. The whole neighbourhoodabounds in interesting traditions and vestiges of antiquity, viz. , Julian's Bower; Brougham and Penrith Castles; Penrith Beacon, and thecurious remains in Penrith Churchyard; Arthur's Round Table, and, closeby, Maybrough; the excavation, called the Giant's Cave, on the banks ofthe Emont; Long Meg and her daughters, near Eden, &c. , &c. 

378. _Fancy and Tradition_. [XXIII. ]

Suggested by the recollection of Juliana's bower and other traditionsconnected with this ancient forest. 

379. _Countess' Pillar_. [XXIV. ]

On the road-side between Penrith and Appleby there stands a pillar withthe following inscription:--

 'This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Anne Countess Dowager of Pembroke, &c. For a memorial of her last parting with her pious mother, Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on the 2d April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of £4, to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2d day of April for ever, upon the stone table placed hard by. _Laus Deo_!'

 * * * * *

XVI. EVENING VOLUNTARIES. 

380. _Lines composed on a high part of the coast of Cumberland, EasterSunday, April 7th, the Author's sixty-third birthday_. [II. ]

The lines were composed on the road between Moresby and Whitehaven, while I was on a visit to my son, then rector of Moresby. Thissuccession of Voluntaries, with the exception of the 8th and 9th, originated in the concluding lines of the last paragraph of this poem. With this coast I have been familiar from my earliest childhood, andremember being struck for the first time by the town and port ofWhitehaven, and the white waves breaking against its quays and piers, asthe whole came into view from the top of the high ground down which theroad, --which has since been altered, --then descended abruptly. Mysister, when she first heard the voice of the sea from this point, andbeheld the scene spread before her, burst into tears. Our family thenlived at Cockermouth, and this fact was often mentioned among us asindicating the sensibility for which she was so remarkable. 

381. *_By the Sea-side_. [III. ]

These lines were suggested during my residence under my son's roof atMoresby on the coast near Whitehaven, at the time when I was composingthose verses among the Evening Voluntaries that have reference to theSea. In some future edition I purpose to place it among that class ofpoems. It was in that neighbourhood I first became acquainted with theocean and its appearances and movements. My infancy and early childhoodwere passed at Cockermouth, about eight miles from the coast, and I wellremember that mysterious awe with which I used to listen to anythingsaid about storms and shipwrecks. Sea-shells of many descriptions werecommon in the town, and I was not a little surprised when I heard Mr. Landor had denounced me as a Plagiarist from himself for havingdescribed a boy applying a sea-shell to his ear, and listening to it forintimation of what was going on in its native element. This I had donemyself scores of times, and it was a belief among us that we could knowfrom the sound whether the tide was ebbing or flowing. 

382. _Not in the lucid intervals of life_. [IV. ]

The lines following, 'Nor do words, ' &c. , were written with Lord Byron'scharacter as a poet before me, and that of others among hiscontemporaries, who wrote under like influences. 

383. _The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill_. [VII. ]

Composed by the side of Grasmere Lake. The mountains that enclose thevale, especially towards Easedale, are most favourable to thereverberation of sound: there is a passage in 'The Excursion, ' towardsthe close of the 4th book, where the voice of the raven in flight istraced through the modifications it undergoes, as I have often heard itin that vale and others of this district. 

384. _Impromptu_. [VIII. ]

This Impromptu appeared, many years ago, among the Author's Poems, fromwhich, in subsequent editions, it was excluded. It is reprinted at therequest of the Friend in whose presence the lines were thrown off. 

384a. *_Ibid. _

Reprinted at the request of my Sister, in whose presence the lines werethrown off. 

385. *_Composed upon an Evening of extraordinary Splendour and Beauty_[IX. ]

Felt, and in a great measure composed, upon the little mount in front ofour abode at Rydal. In concluding my notices of this class of poems itmay be as well to observe, that among the Miscellaneous Sonnets are afew alluding to morning impressions, which might be read with mutualbenefit in connection with these Evening Voluntaries. See for examplethat one on Westminster Bridge, that on May 2d, on the song of theThrush, and the one beginning 'While beams of orient light. '

386. _Alston: American Painter_. 

 'Wings at my shoulder seem to play' (IX. Iii. L. 9). 

In these lines I am under obligation to the exquisite picture of'Jacob's Dream, ' by Mr. Alston, now in America. It is pleasant to makethis public acknowledgment to a man of genius, whom I have the honour torank among my friends. 

387. _Mountain-ridges_. [_Ibid. _ IV. L. 20. ]

The multiplication of mountain-ridges, described at the commencement ofthe third stanza of this Ode as a kind of Jacob's Ladder, leading toHeaven, is produced either by watery vapours or sunny haze; in thepresent instance by the latter cause. Allusions to the Ode, entitled'Intimations of Immortality, ' pervade the last stanza of the foregoingPoem. 

XVII. POEMS COMPOSED OR SUGGESTED DURING A TOUR IN THE SUMMER OF 1833. 

388. _Advertisement_. 

Having been prevented by the lateness of the season, in 1831, fromvisiting Staffa and Iona, the author made these the principal objects ofa short tour in the summer of 1833, of which the following series ofpoems is a Memorial. The course pursued was down the Cumberland riverDerwent, and to Whitehaven; thence (by the Isle of Man, where a few dayswere passed, ) up the Frith of Clyde to Greenock, then to Oban, Staffa, Iona, and back towards England by Loch Awe, Inverary, Loch Goil-head, Greenock, and through parts of Renfrewshire, Ayrshire, and Dumfriesshireto Carlisle, and thence up the River Eden, and homeward by Ullswater. 

389. _The Greta_. 

 'But if thou, like Cocytus, ' &c. (IV. L. 5). 

Many years ago, when I was at Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire, the hostess ofthe inn, proud of her skill in etymology, said, that 'the name of theriver was taken from the _bridge_, the form of which, as every one mustnotice, exactly resembled a great A. ' Dr. Whitaker has derived it fromthe word of common occurrence in the north of England, '_to greet_;'signifying to lament aloud, mostly with weeping; a conjecture renderedmore probable from the stony and rocky channel of both the Cumberlandand Yorkshire rivers. The Cumberland Greta, though it does not, amongthe country people, take up _that_ name till within three miles of itsdisappearance in the river Derwent, may be considered as having itssource in the mountain cove of Wythburn, and flowing through Thirlmere, the beautiful features of which lake are known only to those who, travelling between Grasmere and Keswick, have quitted the main road inthe vale of Wythburn, and, crossing over to the opposite side of thelake, have proceeded with it on the right hand. 

The channel of the Greta, immediately above Keswick, has, for thepurposes of building, been in a great measure cleared of the immensestones which, by their concussion in high floods, produced the loud andawful noises described in the sonnet. 

'The scenery upon this river, ' says Mr. Southey in his Colloquies, 'where it passes under the woody side of Latrigg, is of the finest andmost rememberable kind:

 ----"ambiguo lapsu refluitque fluitque, Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas. "'

390. _Brigham Church_. 

 'By hooded votaresses, ' &c. (VIII. L. 11). 

Attached to the church of Brigham was formerly a chantry, which held amoiety of the manor; and in the decayed parsonage some vestiges ofmonastic architecture are still to be seen. 

391. *_Nun's Well, Brigham_. [VIII. ]

So named from the Religious House which stood close by. I have rather anodd anecdote to relate of the Nun's Well. One day the landlady of apublic house, a field's length from it, on the road-side, said to me, 'You have been to see the Nun's Well, sir. ' 'The Nun's Well! What isthat?' said the postman, who in his royal livery stopt his mail-car atthe door. The landlady and I explained to him what the name meant, andwhat sort of people the nuns were. A countryman who was standing byrather tipsy stammered out, 'Ay, those Nuns were good people; they aregone, but we shall soon have them back again. ' The Reform mania was justthen at its height. 

392. *_To a Friend_. [IX. ]

 'Pastor and Patriot. '

My son John, who was then building a parsonage on his small living atBrigham. 

393. _Mary Queen of Scots landing at Workington_. [X. ]

'The fears and impatience of Mary were so great, ' says Robertson, 'thatshe got into a fisher-boat, and with about twenty attendants landed atWorkington, in Cumberland; and thence she was conducted with many marksof respect to Carlisle. ' The apartment in which the Queen had slept atWorkington Hall (where she was received by Sir Henry Curwen as becameher rank and misfortunes) was long preserved, out of respect to hermemory, as she had left it; and one cannot but regret that somenecessary alterations in the mansion could not be effected without itsdestruction. 

394. *_Mary Queen of Scots_. [X. ]

 'Bright as a star. '

I will mention for the sake of the friend who is writing down theseNotes that it was among the fine Scotch firs near Ambleside, andparticularly those near Green Bank, that I have over and over againpaused at the sight of this image. Long may they stand to afford a likegratification to others! This wish is not uncalled for--several of theirbrethren having already disappeared. 

N. B. The Poem of St. Bees to follow at this place. 

395. _St. Bees and Charlotte Smith_. [XI. ]

St. Bees' Heads, anciently called the Cliff of Baruth, are a conspicuoussea-mark for all vessels sailing in the N. E. Parts of the Irish Sea. Ina bay, one side of which is formed by the southern headland, stands thevillage of St. Bees; a place distinguished, from very early times, forits religious and scholastic foundations. 

'St. Bees, ' say Nicholson and Burns, 'had its name from Bega, an holywoman from Ireland, who is said to have founded here, about the year ofour Lord 650, a small monastery, where afterwards a church was built inmemory of her. 

'The aforesaid religious house, being destroyed by the Danes, wasrestored by William de Meschiens, son of Ranulph, and brother of Ranulphde Meschiens, first Earl of Cumberland after the Conquest; and made acell of a prior and six Benedictine monks to the Abbey of St. Mary atYork. '

Several traditions of miracles, connected with the foundation of thefirst of these religious houses, survive among the people of theneighbourhood; one of which is alluded to in these Stanzas; and another, of a somewhat bolder and more peculiar character, has furnished thesubject of a spirited poem by the Rev. R. Parkinson, M. A. , late DivinityLecturer of St. Bees' College, and now Fellow of the Collegiate Churchof Manchester. 

After the dissolution of the monasteries, Archbishop Grindal founded afree school at St. Bees, from which the counties of Cumberland andWestmoreland have derived great benefit; and recently, under thepatronage of the Earl of Lonsdale, a college has been established therefor the education of ministers for the English Church. The oldConventual Church has been repaired under the superintendence of theRev. Dr. Ainger, the Head of the College; and is well worthy of beingvisited by any strangers who might be led to the neighbourhood of thiscelebrated spot. 

The form of stanza in this Poem, and something in the style ofversification, are adopted from the 'St. Monica, ' a poem of much beautyupon a monastic subject, by Charlotte Smith: a lady to whom Englishverse is under greater obligations than are likely to be eitheracknowledged or remembered. She wrote little, and that littleunambitiously, but with true feeling for rural Nature, at a time whenNature was not much regarded by English Poets; for in point of time herearlier writings preceded, I believe, those of Cowper and Burns. 

396. _Requiems_. 

 'Are not, in sooth, their Requiems sacred ties?' (XI. L. 73. )

I am aware that I am here treading upon tender ground; but to theintelligent reader I feel that no apology is due. The prayers ofsurvivors, during passionate grief for the recent loss of relatives andfriends, as the object of those prayers could no longer be the sufferingbody of the dying, would naturally be ejaculated for the souls of thedeparted; the barriers between the two worlds dissolving before thepower of love and faith. The ministers of religion, from their habitualattendance upon sick-beds, would be daily witnesses of these benignresults; and hence would be strongly tempted to aim at giving to thempermanence, by embodying them in rites and ceremonies, recurring atstated periods. All this, as it was in course of nature, so was itblameless, and even praiseworthy; since some of its effects, in thatrude state of society, could not but be salutary. No reflecting person, however, can view without sorrow the abuses which rose out of thusformalising sublime instincts and disinterested movements of passion, and perverting them into means of gratifying the ambition and rapacityof the priesthood. But, while we deplore and are indignant at theseabuses, it would be a great mistake if we imputed the origin of theoffices to prospective selfishness on the part of the monks and clergy;_they_ were at first sincere in their sympathy, and in their degreedupes rather of their own creed than artful and designing men. Charityis, upon the whole, the safest guide that we can take in judging ourfellow-men, whether of past ages or of the present time. 

397. _Sir William Hillary_. 

 'And they are led by noble Hillary' (XV. L. 14). 

The TOWER OF REFUGE, an ornament to Douglas Bay, was erected chieflythrough the humanity and zeal of Sir William Hillary; and he also wasthe founder of the lifeboat establishment at that place; by which, underhis superintendence, and often by his exertions at the imminent hazardof his own life, many seamen and passengers have been saved. 

398. _Isle of Man_. [XVI. L. 14. ]

The sea-water on the coast of the Isle of Man is singularly pure andbeautiful. 

399. *_Isle of Man_. [XVII. ]

My son William is here the person alluded to as saving the life of theyouth; and the circumstances were as mentioned in the Sonnet. 

400. *_By a retired Mariner_. [XIX. ]

Mary's brother Henry. 

401. *_At Bala Sala_. [XX. ]

A thankful refuge. Supposed to be written by a friend (Mr. Cookson) whodied there a few years after. 

402. *_Tynwald Hill_. 

Mr. Robinson and I walked the greater part of the way from Castle-Townto Peel, and stopped some time at Tynwald Hill. My companions were anelderly man, who in a muddy way (for he was tipsy) explained andanswered as far as he could my enquiries about the place and theceremonies held here. I found more agreeable company in some littlechildren, one of whom, upon my request, recited the Lord's Prayer to me, and I helped her to a clearer understanding of it as well as I could;but I was not at all satisfied with my own part. Hers was much betterdone; and I am persuaded that, like other children, she knew more aboutit than she was able to express, especially to a stranger. 

403. _Snafell_. 

 'Off with you cloud, old Snafell' (Sonnet XXI. L. 9). 

The summit of this mountain is well chosen by Cowley as the scene of the'Vision, ' in which the spectral angel discourses with him concerning thegovernment of Oliver Cromwell. 'I found myself, ' says he, 'on the top ofthat famous hill in the Island Mona, which has the prospect of threegreat, and not long since most happy, kingdoms. As soon as ever I lookedupon them, they called forth the sad representation of all the sins andall the miseries that had overwhelmed them these twenty years. ' It isnot to be denied that the changes now in progress, and the passions, andthe way in which they work, strikingly resemble those which led to thedisasters the philosophic writer so feelingly bewails. God grant thatthe resemblance may not become still more striking as months and yearsadvance!

404. _Eagle in Mosaic_. [Sonnet XXV. ]

 'On revisiting Dunolly Castle. '

This ingenious piece of workmanship, as I afterwards learned, had beenexecuted for their own amusement by some labourers employed about theplace. 

405. *_In the Frith of Clyde_. --_Ailsa Crag during an eclipse of thesun, July_ 17, 1833. [XXIII. ]

The morning of the eclipse was exquisitely beautiful while we passed theCrag, as described in the sonnet. On the deck of the steamboat wereseveral persons of the poor and labouring class; and I could not but bestruck with their cheerful talk with each other, while not one of themseemed to notice the magnificent objects with which we were surrounded;and even the phenomenon of the eclipse attracted but little of theirattention. Was it right not to regret this? They appeared to me, however, so much alive in their own minds to their own concerns that Icould not but look upon it as a misfortune that they had littleperception for such pleasures as cannot be cultivated without ease andleisure. Yet, if one surveys life in all its duties and relations, suchease and leisure will not be found so enviable a privilege as it may atfirst appear. Natural philosophy, painting, and poetry, and refinedtaste, are no doubt great acquisitions to society; but among those whodedicate themselves to such pursuits it is to be feared that few are ashappy and as consistent in the management of their lives as the class ofpersons who at that time led me into this course of reflection. I do notmean by this to be understood to derogate from intellectual pursuits, for that would be monstrous. I say it in deep gratitude for thiscompensation to those whose cares are limited to the necessities ofdaily life. Among them, self-tormentors, so numerous in the higherclasses of society, are rare. 

406. *_On the Frith of Clyde_. --_In a Steamboat_, [XXIV. ]

The mountain outline on the north of this island [Arran], as seen fromthe Frith of Clyde, is much the finest I have ever noticed in Scotlandor elsewhere. 

407. '_There, said a Stripling_. ' [XXXVII. ]

Mosgiel was thus pointed out to me by a young man, on the top of thecoach on my way from Glasgow to Kilmarnock. It is remarkable, thatthough Burns lived some time here, and during much the most productiveperiod of his poetical life, he nowhere adverts to the splendidprospects stretching towards the sea, and bounded by the peaks of Arranon one part, which in clear weather he must have had daily before hiseyes. Yet this is easily explained. In one of his poetical effusions hespeaks of describing 'fair Nature's face, ' as a privilege on which hesets a high value; nevertheless, natural appearances rarely take a leadin his poetry. It is as a human being, eminently sensitive andintelligent, and not as a poet clad in his priestly robes and carryingthe ensigns of sacerdotal office, that he interests and affects us. 

Whether he speaks of rivers, hills, and woods, it is not so much onaccount of the properties with which they are absolutely endowed, asrelatively to local patriotic remembrances and associations, or as theyare ministerial to personal feelings, especially those of love, whetherhappy or otherwise; yet it is not _always_ so. Soon after we had passedMosgiel Farm we crossed the Ayr, murmuring and winding through a narrowwoody hollow. His line, 'Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, ' [=stole]

came at once to my mind, with Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, Ayrshirestreams over which he breathes a sigh, as being unnamed in song; and, surely, his own attempts to make them known were as successful as hisheart could desire. 

408. *_Written on a Blank Leaf of Macpherson's 'Ossian_. ' [XXVII]

This poem should, for variety's sake, take its place among the itinerarySonnets on one of the Scotch Tours. 

409. _Cave of Staffa_. [XXIX. ]

The reader may be tempted to exclaim, 'How came this and the twofollowing Sonnets to be written, after the dissatisfaction expressed inthe preceding one?' In fact, at the risk of incurring the reasonabledispleasure of the master of the steamboat, I returned to the cave, andexplored it under circumstances more favourable to those imaginativeimpressions which it is so wonderfully fitted to make upon the mind. 

410. _Ox-eyed Daisy_. 

 'Hope smiled when your nativity was cast, Children of summer!' (XXXI. Ll. 1-2. )

Upon the head of the columns which form the front of the cave, rests abody of decomposed basaltic matter, which was richly decorated with thatlarge bright flower, the ox-eyed daisy. I had noticed the same flowergrowing with profusion among the bold rocks on the western coast of theIsle of Man; making a brilliant contrast with their black and gloomysurfaces. 

411. _Iona_. [XXXIII. ]

The four last lines of this Sonnet are adapted from a well-known Sonnetof Russel, as conveying my feeling better than any words of my own coulddo. 

412. _River Eden_, [XXXVIII. ]

 'Yet fetched from Paradise. '

It is to be feared that there is more of the poet than the soundetymologist in this derivation of the name Eden. On the western coast ofCumberland is a rivulet which enters the sea at Moresby, known also inthe neighbourhood by the name of Eden. May not the latter syllable comefrom the word Dean, _a valley_? Langdale, near Ambleside, is by theinhabitants called Langden. The former syllable occurs in the nameEmont, a principal feeder of the Eden; and the stream which flows, whenthe tide is out, over Cartmel Sands, is called the Ea--eau, French--aqua, Latin. 

413. _Ibid. _

 'Nature gives thee flowers that have no rival amidst British bowers. '

This can scarcely be true to the letter; but without stretching thepoint at all, I can say that the soil and air appear more congenial withmany upon the bank of this river than I have observed in any other partsof Great Britain. 

414. *_Monument of Mrs. Howard_. [XXXIX. ]

Before this monument was put up in the chapel at Wetheral, I saw it inthe sculptor's studio. Nollekens, who, by the bye, was a strange andgrotesque figure that interfered much with one's admiration of hisworks, showed me at the same time the various models in clay which hehad made one after another of the mother and her infant. The improvementon each was surprising, and how so much grace, beauty, and tendernesshad come out of such a head I was sadly puzzled to conceive. Upon awindow-seat in his parlour lay two casts of faces; one of the Duchess ofDevonshire, so noted in her day, and the other of Mr. Pitt, taken afterhis death--a ghastly resemblance, as these things always are, even whentaken from the living subject, and more ghastly in this instance (of Mr. Pitt) from the peculiarity of the features. The heedless and apparentlyneglectful manner in which the faces of these two persons were left--theone so distinguished in London society, and the other upon whosecounsels and public conduct during a most momentous period depended thefate of this great empire, and, perhaps, of all Europe--afforded alesson to which the dullest of casual visitors could scarcely beinsensible. It touched me the more because I had so often seen Mr. Pittupon his own ground at Cambridge and upon the floor of the House ofCommons. 

415. _Nunnery_. [XLI. ]

I became acquainted with the walks of Nunnery when a boy. They arewithin easy reach of a day's pleasant excursion from the town ofPenrith, where I used to pass my summer holidays under the roof of mymaternal grandfather. The place is well worth visiting, tho' withinthese few years its privacy, and therefore the pleasure which the sceneis so well fitted to give, has been injuriously affected by walks cut inthe rocks on that side the stream which had been left in its naturalstate. 

416. _Scene at Corby_. [XLII. ]

 'Canal, and Viaduct, and Railway tell!'

At Corby, a few miles below Nunnery, the Eden is crossed by amagnificent viaduct; and another of these works is thrown over a deepglen or ravine at a very short distance from the main stream. 

417. *_Druidical Monument_. [XLIII. ]

 'A weight of awe not easy to be borne. '

The daughters of Long Meg, placed in a perfect circle eighty yards indiameter, are seventy-two in number above ground; a little way out ofthe circle stands Long Meg herself, a single stone, eighteen feet high. When I first saw this monument, as I came upon it by surprise, I mightover-rate its importance as an object; but, though it will not bear acomparison with Stonehenge, I must say, I have not seen any otherrelique of those dark ages, which can pretend to rival it in singularityand dignity of appearance. 

418. *_Lowther_. [XLIV. ]

 'Cathedral pomp. '

It may be questioned whether this union was in the contemplation of theArtist when he planned the edifice. However this might be, a Poet may beexcused for taking the view of the subject presented in this Sonnet. 

419. _To the Earl of Lonsdale_. [XLV. ]

This sonnet was written immediately after certain trials, which tookplace at the Cumberland Assizes, when the Earl of Lonsdale, inconsequence of repeated and long-continued attacks upon his character, through the local press, had thought it right to prosecute theconductors and proprietors of three several journals. A verdict of libelwas given in one case; and, in the others, the prosecutions werewithdrawn, upon the individuals retracting and disavowing the charges, expressing regret that they had been made, and promising to abstain fromthe like in future. 

420. *_The Somnambulist_. [XLVI. ]

This poem might be dedicated to my friend Sir G. Beaumont and Mr. Rogersjointly. While we were making an excursion together in this part of theLake District, we heard that Mr. Glover the artist, while lodging atLyulph's Tower, had been disturbed by a loud shriek, and upon rising helearnt that it had come from a young woman in the house who was in thehabit of walking in her sleep. In that state she had gone down stairs, and while attempting to open the outer door, either from somedifficulty, or the effect of the cold stone upon her feet, had utteredthe cry which alarmed him. It seemed to us all that this might serve asa hint for a poem, and the story here told was constructed, and soonafter put into verse by me as it now stands. 

[Note. --'Lyulph's Tower'--A pleasure-house built by the late Duke ofNorfolk upon the banks of Ullswater. Force is the word used in the LakeDistrict for Waterfall. ]

XVIII. POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. 

421. _Expostulation and Reply_. [I. ]

This poem is a favourite among the Quakers, as I have learnt on manyoccasions. It was composed in front of the house at Alfoxden, in thespring of 1798. 

422. _The Tables turned_. [II. ]

Composed at the same time [as Expostulation and Reply]. 

423. *_Lines written in early Spring_. [III. ]

1798. Actually composed while I was sitting by the side of the brookthat runs down from the _Comb_, in which stands the village of Alford, through the grounds of Alfoxden. It was a chosen resort of mine. Thebrook fell down a sloping rock, so as to make a waterfall, considerablefor that country; and, across the pool below, had fallen a tree, an ash, if I rightly remember, from which rose, perpendicularly, boughs insearch of the light intercepted by the deep shade above. The boughs boreleaves of green, that for want of sunshine had faded into almostlily-white; and from the underside of this natural sylvan bridgedepended long and beautiful tresses of ivy, which waved gently in thebreeze, that might, poetically speaking, be called the breath of thewaterfall. This motion varied, of course, in proportion to the power ofwater in the brook. When, with dear friends, I revisited this spot, after an interval of more than forty years, this interesting feature ofthe scene was gone. To the owner of the place I could not but regretthat the beauty of this retired part of the grounds had not tempted himto make it more accessible, by a path, not broad or obtrusive, butsufficient for persons who love such scenes to creep along withoutdifficulty. 

424. *_A Character_. 

The principal features are taken from that of my friend Robert Jones. 

425. *_To my Sister_. [V. ]

Composed in front of Alfoxden House. 

My little boy-messenger on this occasion was the son of Basil Montagu. The larch mentioned in the first stanza was standing when I revisitedthe place in May, 1841, more than forty years after. I was disappointedthat it had not improved in appearance, as to size, nor had it acquiredanything of the majesty of age, which, even though less perhaps than anyother tree, the larch sometimes does. A few score yards from this treegrew, when we inhabited Alfoxden, one of the most remarkable beech-treesever seen. The ground sloped both towards and from it. It was of immensesize, and threw out arms that struck into the soil like those of thebanyan-tree, and rose again from it. Two of the branches thus insertedthemselves twice, which gave to each the appearance of a serpent movingalong by gathering itself up in folds. One of the large boughs of thistree had been torn off by the wind before we left Alfoxden, but fiveremained. In 1841 we could barely find the spot where the tree hadstood. So remarkable a production of nature could not have been wilfullydestroyed. 

426. *_Simon Lee, the old Huntsman_. [VI. ]

This old man had been huntsman to the Squires of Alfoxden, which, at thetime we occupied it, belonged to a minor. The old man's cottage stoodupon the Common, a little way from the entrance to Alfoxden Park. But[in 1841] it had disappeared. Many other changes had taken place in theadjoining village, which I could not but notice with a regret morenatural than well-considered. Improvements but rarely appear such tothose who after long intervals of time revisit places they have had muchpleasure in. It is unnecessary to add, the fact was as mentioned in thepoem; and I have, after an interval of forty-five years, the image ofthe old man as fresh before my eyes as if I had seen him yesterday. Theexpression when the hounds were out, 'I dearly love their voice, ' wasword for word from his own lips. 

427. *_Lines written in Germany_. 1798-9. [VII. ]

 'A plague, ' &c. 

A bitter winter it was when these verses were composed by the side of mysister, in our lodgings, at a draper's house, in the romantic imperialtown of Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the GermanEmperors of the Franconian line were accustomed to keep their court, andit retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold of thiswinter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the stove, ourcheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a room over apassage that was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say ratherunfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen to death some night;but with the protection of a pelisse lined with fur, and a dog's-skinbonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I walked daily on theramparts, or on a sort of public ground or garden, in which was a pond. Here I had no companion but a kingfisher, a beautiful creature thatused to glance by me. I consequently became much attached to it. Duringthese walks I composed the poem that follows, 'The Poet's Epitaph. '

Foot-note. --The Reader must be apprised, that the Stoves in NorthGermany generally have the impression of a gallopping horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms. 

428. *_To the Daisy_. [IX. ]

This and the other poems addressed to the same flower were composed atTown-End, Grasmere, during the earlier part of our residence there. Ihave been censured for the last line but one, 'thy functionapostolical, ' as being little less than profane. How could it be thoughtso? The word is adopted with reference to its derivation, implyingsomething sent on a mission; and assuredly, this little flower, especially when the subject of verse, may be regarded, in its humbledegree, as administering both to moral and to spiritual purposes. 

429. _Matthew_. [X. ]

In the school [of Hawkshead] is a tablet, on which are inscribed, ingilt letters, the names of the several persons who have beenschoolmasters there since the foundation of the school, with the time atwhich they entered upon and quitted their office. Opposite to one ofthose names the Author wrote the following lines: 'If Nature, ' &c. 

430. *_Matthew_. [X. ]

Such a tablet as is here spoken of continued to be preserved inHawkshead school, though the inscriptions were not brought down to ourtime. This and other poems connected with Matthew would not gain by aliteral detail of facts. Like the wanderer in the 'Excursion, ' thisschoolmaster was made up of several, both of his class and men of otheroccupations. I do not ask pardon for what there is of untruth in suchverses, considered strictly as matters of fact. It is enough if, beingtrue and consistent in spirit, they move and teach in a manner notunworthy of a Poet's calling. 

431. *_Personal Talk_. [XIII. ]

Written at Town-End. The last line but two stood at first, better andmore characteristically, thus:

 'By my half-kitchen and half-parlour fire. '

My sister and I were in the habit of having the teakettle in our littlesitting-room; and we toasted the bread ourselves, which reminds me of alittle circumstance not unworthy of being set down among these minutiae. Happening both of us to be engaged a few minutes one morning, when wehad a young prig of a Scotch lawyer to breakfast with us, my dearsister, with her usual simplicity, put the toasting-fork with a slice ofbread into the hands of this Edinburgh genius. Our little book-casestood on one side of the fire. To prevent loss of time, he took down abook, and fell to reading, to the neglect of the toast, which was burntto a cinder. Many a time have we laughed at this circumstance and othercottage simplicities of that day. By the bye, I have a spite at one ofthis series of sonnets (I will leave the reader to discover which), ashaving been the means of nearly putting off for ever our acquaintancewith dear Miss Fenwick, who has always stigmatised one line of it asvulgar, and worthy only of having been composed by a country squire. 

432. *_To the Spade of a Friend_. 1804. [XIV. ]

This person was Thomas Wilkinson, a Quaker by religious profession; bynatural constitution of mind--or, shall I venture to say, by God'sgrace? he was something better. He had inherited a small estate, andbuilt a house upon it, near Yanwath, upon the banks of the Emont. I haveheard him say that his heart used to beat, in his boyhood, when he heardthe sound of a drum and fife. Nevertheless, the spirit of enterprise inhim confined itself in tilling his ground, and conquering such obstaclesas stood in the way of its fertility. Persons of his religiouspersuasion do now, in a far greater degree than formerly, attachthemselves to trade and commerce. He kept the old track. As representedin this poem, he employed his leisure hours in shaping pleasant walks bythe side of his beloved river, where he also built something between ahermitage and a summer-house, attaching to it inscriptions, after themanner of Shenstone at his Leasowes. He used to travel from time totime, partly from love of Nature, and partly with religious friends, inthe service of humanity. His admiration of genius in every departmentdid him much honour. Through his connection with the family in whichEdmund Burke was educated, he became acquainted with that great man, whoused to receive him with great kindness and condescension; and manytimes have I heard Wilkinson speak of those interesting interviews. Hewas honoured also by the friendship of Elizabeth Smith, and of ThomasClarkson and his excellent wife, and was much esteemed by Lord and LadyLonsdale, and every member of that family. Among his verses (he wrotemany), are some worthy of preservation; one little poem in particular, upon disturbing, by prying curiosity, a bird while hatching her young inhis garden. The latter part of this innocent and good man's life wasmelancholy. He became blind, and also poor, by becoming surety for someof his relations. He was a bachelor. He bore, as I have often witnessed, his calamities with unfailing resignation. I will only add, that whileworking in one of his fields, he unearthed a stone of considerable size, then another, and then two more; and observing that they had been placedin order, as if forming the segment of a circle, he proceeded carefullyto uncover the soil, and brought into view a beautiful Druid's temple, of perfect, though small dimensions. In order to make his farm morecompact, he exchanged this field for another, and, I am sorry to add, the new proprietor destroyed this interesting relic of remote ages forsome vulgar purpose. The fact, so far as concerns Thomas Wilkinson, ismentioned in the note on a sonnet on 'Long Meg and her Daughters. '

433. *_A Night Thought_. [XV. ]

These verses were thrown off extempore upon leaving Mr. Luff's house atFox Ghyll one evening. The good woman is not disposed to look at thebright side of things, and there happened to be present certain ladieswho had reached the point of life where _youth_ is ended, and who seemedto contend with each other in expressing their dislike of the countryand the climate. One of them had been, heard to say she could not endurea country where there was 'neither sunshine nor cavaliers. ' [In pencilon opposite page--Gossip. ]

434. *_An Incident characteristic of a favourite Dog_. [XVI. ]

This dog I knew well. It belonged to Mrs. Wordsworth's brother, Mr. Thomas Hutchinson, who then lived at Sockburn-on-the-Tees, a beautifulretired situation, where I used to visit him and his sisters before mymarriage. My sister and I spent many months there after my return fromGermany in 1799. 

435. _Tribute to the Memory of the same Dog_. [XVII. ]

Was written at the same time, 1805. The dog Music died, aged and blind, by falling into a draw-well at Gallow Hill, to the great grief of thefamily of the Hutchinsons, who, as has been before mentioned, hadremoved to that place from Sockburn. 

436. _Fidelity_. [XVIII. ]

The young man whose death gave occasion to this poem was named CharlesGough, and had come early in the Spring to Patterdale for the sake ofangling. While attempting to cross over Helvellyn to Grasmere he slippedfrom a steep part of the rock where the ice was not thawed, andperished. His body was discovered as described in this poem. WalterScott heard of the accident, and both he and I, without either of usknowing that the other had taken up the subject, each wrote a poem inadmiration of the dog's fidelity. His contains a most beautiful stanza:

 'How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber! When the wind waved his garment how oft didst thou start!'

I will add that the sentiment in the last four lines of the last stanzaof my verses was uttered by a shepherd with such exactness, that atraveller, who afterwards reported his account in print, was induced toquestion the man whether he had read them, which he had not. 

437. *_Ode to Duty_. [XIX. ]

This Ode, written in 1805, is on the model of Gray's 'Ode to Adversity, 'which is copied from Horace's 'Ode to Fortune. '

Many and many a time have I been twitted by my wife and sister forhaving forgotten this dedication of myself to the stern law-giver. Transgressor indeed I have been, from hour to hour, from day to day; Iwould fain hope however not more flagrantly or in a worse way than mostof my tuneful brethren. But these last words are in a wrong strain. Weshould be rigorous to ourselves, and forbearing, if not indulgent, toothers, and if we make comparisons at all it ought to be with those whohave morally excelled us. [In pencil--But is not the first stanza ofGray's from a chorus of Aeschylus? And is not Horace's Ode also modelledon the Greek?]

438. *_Character of the Happy Warrior_. [XX. ]

The course of the great war with the French naturally fixed one'sattention upon the military character; and, to the honour of ourcountry, there are many illustrious instances of the qualities thatconstitute its highest excellence. Lord Nelson carried most of thevirtues that the trials he was exposed to in his department of theservice necessarily call forth and sustain, if they do not produce thecontrary vices. But his public life was stained with one great crime, sothat, though many passages of these lines were suggested by what wasgenerally known as excellent in his conduct, I have not been able toconnect his name with the poem as I could wish, or even to think of himwith satisfaction in reference to the idea of what a warrior ought tobe. For the sake of such of my friends as may happen to read this note Iwill add, that many elements of the character here portrayed were foundin my brother John, who perished by shipwreck, as mentioned elsewhere. His messmates used to call him 'the Philosopher;' from which it must beinferred that the qualities and dispositions I allude to had not escapedtheir notice. He often expressed his regret, after the war had continuedsome time, that he had not chosen the Naval instead of the East IndiaCompany's Service, to which his family connection had led him. Hegreatly valued moral and religious instruction for youth, as tending tomake good sailors. The best, he used to say, came from Scotland; thenext to them from the north of England, especially from Westmoreland andCumberland, where, thanks to the piety and local attachments of ourancestors, endowed, or, as they are called, free-schools abound. 

439. *_The Force of Prayer_. [XXI. ]

An appendage to 'The White Doe. ' My friend, Mr. Rogers, has also writtenon the subject. The story is preserved in Dr. Whitaker's _History ofCraven_, a topographical writer of first-rate merit in all that concernsthe past; but such was his aversion from the modern spirit, as shown inthe spread of manufactories in those districts of which he treated, thathis readers are left entirely ignorant, both of the progress of thesearts, and their real bearing upon the comfort, virtues, and happiness ofthe inhabitants. 

While wandering on foot through the fertile valleys, and over themoorlands of the Apennine that divides Yorkshire from Lancashire, I usedto be delighted with observing the number of substantial cottages thathad sprung up on every side, each having its little plot of fertileground, won from the surrounding waste. A bright and warm fire, ifneeded, was always to be found in these dwellings. The father was at hisloom, the children looked healthy and happy. Is it not to be feared thatthe increase of mechanic power has done away with many of theseblessings, and substituted many evils? Alas, if these evils grow, howare they to be checked, and where is the remedy to be found? Politicaleconomy will not supply it, that is certain. We must look to somethingdeeper, purer, and higher. 

440. *_A Fact and an Imagination_. [XXII. ]

The first and last four lines of this poem each make a sonnet, and werecomposed as such. But I thought that by intermediate lines they might beconnected so as to make a whole. One or two expressions are taken fromMilton's _History of England_. 

441. *_A little Onward_. [XXIII. ]

The complaint in my eyes which gave occasion to this address to mydaughter first showed itself as a consequence of inflammation, caught atthe top of Kirkstone, when I was over-heated by having carried up theascent my eldest son, a lusty infant. Frequently has the diseaserecurred since, leaving the eyes in a state which has often prevented myreading for months, and makes me at this day incapable of bearingwithout injury any strong light by day or night. My acquaintance withbooks has therefore been far short of my wishes, and on this account, toacknowledge the services daily and hourly done me by my family andfriends, this note is written. 

442. _Ode to Lycoris_. [XXIV. ]

This, as well as the preceding and the two that follow, were composed infront of Rydal Mount, and during my walks in the neighbourhood. Nine-tenths of my verses have been murmured out in the open air. Andhere let me repeat what I believe has already appeared in print. One daya stranger, having walked round the garden and grounds of Rydal Mount, asked of one of the female servants, who happened to be at the door, permission to see her master's Study. 'This, ' said she, leading himforward, 'is my master's library, where he keeps his books; but hisstudy is out of doors. ' After a long absence from home, it has more thanonce happened that some one of my cottage neighbours (not of thedouble-coach-house cottages) has said, 'Well, there he is; we are gladto hear him _booing_ about again. ' Once more, in excuse for so muchegotism, let me say these notes are written for my familiar friends, andat their earnest request. Another time a gentleman, whom James hadconducted through the grounds, asked him what kind of plants throve bestthere. After a little consideration, he answered, 'Laurels. ' 'That is, 'said the stranger, 'as it should be. Don't you know that the laurel isthe emblem of poetry, and that poets used, on public occasions, to becrowned with it?' James stared when the question was first put, but wasdoubtless much pleased with the information. 

443. *_Ibid. _

The discerning reader who is aware that in the poem of 'Ellen Irwin' Iwas desirous of throwing the reader at once out of the old ballad, so asif possible to preclude a comparison between that mode of dealing withthe subject and the mode I meant to adopt, may here, perhaps, perceivethat this poem originated in the four last lines of the first stanza. These specks of snow reflected in the lake, and so transferred, as itwere, to the subaqueous sky, reminded me of the swans which the fancy ofthe ancient classic poets yoked to the car of Venus. Hence the tenor ofthe whole first stanza and the name of Lycoris, which with some readers, who think mythology and classical allusion too far-fetched, andtherefore more or less unnatural or affected, will tend to unrealise thesentiment that pervades these verses. But surely one who has written somuch in verse as I have done may be allowed to retrace his steps intothe regions of fancy which delighted him in his boyhood, when he firstbecame acquainted with the Greek and Roman Poets. Before I read Virgil Iwas so strongly attached to Ovid, whose _Metamorphoses_ I read atschool, that I was quite in a passion whenever I found him, in books ofcriticism, placed below Virgil. As to Homer, I was never weary oftravelling over the scenes through which he led me. Classical literatureaffected me by its own beauty. But the truths of Scripture having beenentrusted to the dead languages, and these fountains having beenrecently laid open at the Reformation, an importance and a sanctity wereat that period attached to classical literature that extended, as isobvious in Milton's _Lycidas_, for example, both to its spirit and formin a degree that can never be revived. No doubt the hackneyed andlifeless use into which mythology fell towards the close of the 17thcentury, and which continued through the 18th, disgusted the generalreader with all allusion to it in modern verse. And though, in deferenceto this disgust, and also in a measure participating in it, I abstainedin my earlier writings from all introduction of pagan fable, --surely, even in its humble form, it may ally itself with real sentiment--as Ican truly affirm it did in the present case. 

444. *_Memory_. [XXVIII. ]

The verses 'Or strayed from hope and promise, self-betrayed, ' were, I amsorry to say, suggested from apprehensions of the fate of my friendH. C. , the subject of the verses addressed to H. C. When six years old. The piece which follows, to 'Memory, ' arose out of similar feelings. 

445. *_This Lawn_. [XXIX. ]

This lawn is the sloping one approaching the kitchen-garden, and wasmade out of it. Hundreds of times have I here watched the dancing ofshadows amid a press of sunshine, and other beautiful appearances oflight and shade, flowers and shrubs. What a contrast between this andthe cabbages and onions and carrots that used to grow there on a pieceof ugly-shaped unsightly ground! No reflection, however, either uponcabbages or onions. The latter, we know, were worshipped by theEgyptians; and he must have a poor eye for beauty who has not observedhow much of it there is in the form and colour which cabbages and plantsof this genus exhibit through the various stages of their growth anddecay. A richer display of colour in vegetable nature can scarcely beconceived than Coleridge, my sister, and I saw in a bed of potatoeplants in blossom near a hut upon the moor between Inversneyd and LochKatrine. These blossoms were of such extraordinary beauty and richnessthat no one could have passed them without notice. But the sense must becultivated through the mind before we can perceive those inexhaustibletreasures of Nature--for such they truly are--without the leastnecessary reference to the utility of her productions, or even to thelaws whereupon, as we learn by research, they are dependent. Some are ofopinion that the habit of analysing, decomposing, and anatomising, isinevitably unfavourable to the perception of beauty. People are led intothis mistake by overlooking the fact that such processes being to acertain extent within the reach of a limited intellect, we are apt toascribe to them that insensibility of which they are in truth theeffect, and not the cause. Admiration and love, to which all knowledgetruly vital must tend, are felt by men of real genius in proportion astheir discoveries in Natural Philosophy are enlarged; and the beauty inform of a plant or an animal is not made less but more apparent as awhole by a more accurate insight into its constituent properties andpowers. A _Savant_, who is not also a poet in soul and a religionist inheart, is a feeble and unhappy creature. 

446. *_Humanity_. [XXX. ]

These verses and the preceding ones, entitled 'Liberty, ' were composedas one piece, which Mrs. W. Complained of as unwieldy andill-proportioned; and accordingly it was divided into two, on herjudicious recommendation. 

[Printed notes: 'The rocking-stones alluded to in the beginning of thefollowing verses are supposed to have been used, by our Britishancestors, both for judicial and religious purposes. Such stones are notuncommonly found, at this day, both in Great Britain and in Ireland. ' Onl. 32, 'Descending to the worm in charity:' 'I am indebted here to apassage in one of Mr. Digby's valuable works. ']

447. *_Thought on the Seasons_. [XXXI. ]

Written at Rydal Mount, 1829. 

448. *_To_ ----, _on the Birth of her first Child_. [XXXII. ]

Written at Moresby near Whitehaven, 1833, when I was on a visit to myson, then incumbent of that small living. While I am dictating theseNotes to my friend Miss Fenwick, Jan. 24th, 1843, the child, upon whosebirth these verses were written, is under my roof, and is of adisposition so promising that the wishes and prayers and prophecieswhich I then breathed forth in verse are, thro' God's mercy, likely tobe realised. [In pencil--Jane?]

449. *_The Warning: a Sequel to the Foregoing_. [XXXIII. ]

These lines were composed during the fever spread through the nation bythe Reform Bill. As the motives which led to this measure, and the goodor evil which has attended or has risen from it, will be dulyappreciated by future historians, there is no call for dwelling on thesubject in this place. I will content myself with saying that the thencondition of the people's mind is not, in these verses, exaggerated. 

450. *_The Labourer's Noon-day Hymn_. [XXXV. ]

Bishop Ken's Morning and Evening Hymns are, as they deserve to be, familiarly known. Many other hymns have also been written on the samesubjects; but not being aware of any being designed for noon-day I wasinduced to compose these verses. Often we had occasion to observecottage children carrying in their baskets dinner to their fathersengaged with their daily labours in the fields and woods. How gratifyingwould it be to me could I be assured that any portion of these stanzashad been sung by such a domestic concert under such circumstances. Afriend of mine has told me that she introduced this Hymn into avillage-school which she superintended; and the stanzas in successionfurnished her with texts to comment upon in a way which withoutdifficulty was made intelligible to the children, and in which theyobviously took delight; and they were taught to sing it to the tune ofthe old 100th Psalm. 

451. *_Ode composed on May Morning_. [XXXVI. ]

*_To May_. [XXXVII. ]

These two Poems originated in these lines 'How delicate, &c. ' Mydaughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a Tour through our mountains withMr. And Mrs. Carr, in the month of May 1826; and as we were going up theVale of Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little chapelgleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves, and the feeling whichwas then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza that follows. As in the case of 'Liberty' and 'Humanity, ' mentioned before, my firstintention was to write only one Poem; but subsequently I broke it intotwo, making additions to each part, so as to produce a consistent andappropriate whole. 

452. *_Lines suggested by a Portrait from the Pencil of F. Stone_. [XXXVIII. ]

*_The foregoing Subject resumed_. [XXXIX. ]

This Portrait has hung for many years in our principal sitting-room, andrepresents J. Q. As she was when a girl. The picture, though it issomewhat thinly painted, has much merit in tone and general effect. Itis chiefly valuable, however, from the sentiment that pervades it. Theanecdote of the saying of the monk in sight of Titian's picture was toldin this house by Mr. Wilkie, and was, I believe, first communicated tothe public in this poem, the former portion of which I was composing atthe time. Southey heard the story from Miss Hutchinson, and transferredit to the 'Doctor;' but it is not easy to explain how my friend Mr. Rogers, in a note subsequently added to his 'Italy, ' was led to speak ofthe same remarkable words having many years before been spoken in hishearing by a monk or priest in front of a picture of the Last Supperplaced over a refectory-table in a convent at Padua. [Printed note onXXXVIII. , last line: 'The Escurial. The pile of buildings composing thepalace and convent of San Lorenzo has, in common usage, lost its propername in that of the Escurial, a village at the foot of the hill uponwhich the splendid edifice, built by Philip the Second, stands. It needscarcely be added, that Wilkie is the painter alluded to. ' On XXXIX. :

 'Frail ties, dissolving or dissolved On earth, will be revived, we trust, in heaven. '

'In the class entitled "Musings, " in Mr. Southey's Minor Poems, is oneupon his own miniature picture, taken in childhood, and another upon alandscape painted by Gaspar Poussin. It is possible that every word ofthe above verses, though similar in subject, might have been written hadthe author been unacquainted with those beautiful effusions of poeticsentiment. But, for his own satisfaction, he must be allowed thuspublicly to acknowledge the pleasure those two Poems of his friend havegiven him, and the grateful influence they have upon his mind as oftenas he reads them or thinks of them. ']

453. *_Upon seeing a coloured Drawing of the Bird of Paradise in anAlbum_. [XLI. ]

I cannot forbear to record that the last seven lines of this poem werecomposed in bed, during the night of the day on which my sister S. H. Died, about six P. M. , and it was the thought of her innocent andbeautiful life that through faith prompted the words:

 'On wings that fear no glance of God's pure sight, No tempest from His breath. '

The reader will find two Poems on pictures of this bird among my Poems. I will here observe, that in a far greater number of instances than havebeen mentioned in these Notes one Poem has, as in this case, grown outof another, either because I felt the subject had been inadequatelytreated or that the thoughts and images suggested in course ofcomposition have been such as I found interfered with the unityindispensable to every work of art, however humble in character. 

XIX. SONNETS DEDICATED TO LIBERTY AND ORDER. 

454. _Change_, [iv. 1. 14. ]

 'Perilous is sweeping change, all chance unsound. ' 'All change is perilous, and all chance unsound. ' SPENSER. 

455. _American Repudiation_. [VIII. ]

'Men of the Western World. '

These lines were written several years ago, when reports prevailed ofcruelties committed in many parts of America, by men making a law oftheir own passions. A far more formidable, as being a more deliberatemischief, has appeared among those States, which have lately brokenfaith with the public creditor in a manner so infamous. I cannot, however, but look at both evils under a similar relation to inherentgood, and hope that the time is not distant when our brethren of theWest will wipe off this stain from their name and nation. 

456. _To the Pennsylvanians_. [IX. ]

Happily the language of expostulation in which this Sonnet is written isno longer applicable. It will be gratifying to Americans and Englishmen(indignos fraternum rumpere foedus) to read the following particularscommunicated in a letter from Mr. Reed, dated October 28, 1850. 'In Mr. Wordsworth's letters to me you will have observed that a good deal issaid on the Pennsylvania Loans, a subject in which, as you are aware, hewas interested for his friends rather than for himself. Last December, when I learned that a new edition of his poems was in press, I wrote tohim (it was my last letter) to say frankly that his Sonnet "ToPennsylvanians" _was no longer just_, and to desire him _not to let_ itstand so for after time. It was very gratifying to me on receiving acopy of the new edition, which was not till after his death, to find the'_additional note_' at the end of the fifth volume, showing by its beingprinted on the unusual place of a fly-leaf, that he had been anxious toattend to such a request. It was characteristic of that righteousnesswhich distinguished him as an author; and it has this interest (as Iconjecture) that it was probably the last sentence he composed for thepress. It is chiefly on this account that I mention it to you. '[7]

[7] _Memoirs_, ii. P. 114. 

457. *_Feel for the Wrongs, &c. _ [XIV. ]

This Sonnet is recommended to the perusal of the Anti-Corn-Law-Leaguers, the Political Economists, and of all those who consider that the evilsunder which we groan are to be removed or palliated by measuresungoverned by moral and religious principles. 

458. _Sonnets upon the Punishment of Death_, [XX. ]

Of these Sonnets the author thus wrote to John Peace, Esq. , Bristol:

 Rydal Mount, Feb. 23. 1842. 

MY DEAR SIR, I was truly pleased with the receipt of the letter which you were putupon writing by the perusal of my 'Penal Sonnets' in the _QuarterlyReview_. Being much engaged at present, I might have deferred making myacknowledgments for this and other favours (particularly your 'Descant')if I had not had a special occasion for addressing you at this moment. ABristol lady has kindly undertaken to be the bearer of the walking-stickwhich I spoke to you of some time since. It was cut from a holly-treeplanted in our garden by my own hand. 

 * * * * *

Your 'Descant' amused me, but I must protest against your system, whichwould discard punctuation to the extent you propose. It would, I think, destroy the harmony of blank verse when skilfully written. What wouldbecome of the pauses at the third syllable followed by an _and_, or anysuch word, without the rest which a comma, when consistent with thesense, calls upon the reader to make, and which being made, he startswith the weak syllable that follows, as from the beginning of a verse? Iam sure Milton would have supported me in this opinion. Thomson wrotehis blank verse before his ear was formed as it was when he wrote the'Castle of Indolence, ' and some of his short rhyme poems. It was, therefore, rather hard in you to select him as an instance ofpunctuation abused. I am glad that you concur in my view on the_Punishment of Death_. An outcry, as I expected, has been raised againstme by weak-minded humanitarians. What do you think of one person havingopened a battery of nineteen fourteen-pounders upon me, _i. E. _ nineteensonnets, in which he gives himself credit for having blown me and mysystem to atoms? Another sonneteer has had a solitary shot at me fromIreland. 

 Ever faithfully yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [8]

[8] _Memoirs_, ii. Pp. 386-7. 

 * * * * *

XX. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

459. _Epistle to Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart_. [1. ]

From the South-west Coast of Cumberland, --1811. This poem opened, whenfirst written, with a paragraph that has been transferred as anintroduction to the first series of my 'Scotch Memorials. ' The journey, of which the first part is here described, was from Grasmere to Bootle, on the south-west coast of Cumberland, the whole along mountain-roads, through a beautiful country, and we had fine weather. The verses endwith our breakfast at the Head of Yewdale, in a yeoman's house, which, like all the other property in that sequestered vale, has passed, or ispassing, into the hands of Mr. James Marshall, of Monk Coniston, in Mr. Knott's, the late owner's time, called Waterhead. Our hostess married aMr. Oldfield, a lieutenant in the navy; they lived together for sometime at Hackett, where she still resides as his widow. It was in frontof that house, on the mountain-side, near which stood the peasant who, while we were passing at a distance, saluted us, waving a kerchief inhis hand, as described in the poem. The dog which we met soon after ourstarting, had belonged to Mr. Rowlandson, who for forty years was curateat Grasmere, in place of the rector, who lived to extreme old age, in astate of insanity. Of this Mr. R. Much might be said, both withreference to his character, and the way in which he was regarded by hisparishioners. He was a man of a robust frame, had a firm voice andauthoritative manner, of strong natural talents, of which he washimself conscious, for he has been heard to say (it grieves me to addwith an oath), 'If I had been brought up at college by ---- I should havebeen a Bishop. ' Two vices used to struggle in him for mastery, avariceand the love of strong drink. But avarice, as is common in like cases, always got the better of its opponent, for though he was oftenintoxicated it was never, I believe, at his own expense. As has beensaid of one in a more exalted station, he could take any _given_quantity. I have heard a story of him which is worth the telling. OneSummer's morning our Grasmere curate, after a night's carouse in theVale of Langdale, on his return home having reached a point near whichthe whole Vale of Grasmere might be seen with the Lake immediately belowhim, he stept aside and sat down upon the turf. After looking for sometime at the landscape, then in the perfection of its morning beauty, heexclaimed, 'Good God! that I should have led so long such a life in sucha place!' This no doubt was deeply felt by him at the time, but I am notauthorised to say that any noticeable amendment followed. Penuriousnessstrengthened upon him as his body grew feebler with age. He hadpurchased property and kept some land in his own hands, but he could notfind in his heart to lay out the necessary hire for labourers at theproper season, and consequently he has often been seen in half dotageworking his hay in the month of November by moonlight--a melancholysight, which I myself have witnessed. Notwithstanding all that has beensaid, this man, on account of his talents and superior education, waslooked up to by his parishioners, who, without a single exception, livedat that time (and most of them upon their own small inheritances) in astate of republican equality, a condition favourable to the growth ofkindly feelings among them, and, in a striking degree, exclusive totemptations to gross vice and scandalous behaviour. As a pastor, theircurate did little or nothing for them; but what could more strikinglyset forth the efficacy of the Church of England, through its Ordinancesand Liturgy, than that, in spite of the unworthiness of the minister, his church was regularly attended; and though there was not muchappearance in his flock of what might be called animated piety, intoxication was rare, and dissolute morals unknown? With the Bible theywere, for the most part, well acquainted, and, as was strikingly shownwhen they were under affliction, must have been supported and comfortedby habitual belief in those truths which it is the aim of the Church toinculcate. [Notes: 'Sled' (l. 110)--a local word for sledge; 'bield' (l. 175)--a word common in the country, signifying shelter, as in Scotland. ]

460. *_Upon perusing the foregoing Epistle, thirty Years after itsComposition_. 

Loughrigg Tarn. 

This beautiful pool, and the surrounding scene, are minutely describedin my little book on the Lakes. 

Sir G. H. B. , in the earlier part of his life, was induced, by his love ofNature and the art of painting, to take up his abode at Old Brathay, about three miles from this spot, so that he must have seen it [theTarn] under many aspects; and he was so much pleased with it, that hepurchased the Tarn with a view to build such a residence as is alludedto in this 'Epistle. ' Baronets and knights were not so common in thatday as now, and Sir M. Le Fleming, not liking to have a rival in thiskind of distinction so near him, claimed a sort of lordship over theterritory, and showed dispositions little in unison with those of Sir G. Beaumont, who was eminently a lover of peace. The project of buildingwas given up, Sir G. B. Retaining possession of the Tarn. Many yearsafterwards, a Kendal tradesman, born upon its banks, applied to me forthe purchase of it, and, accordingly, it was sold for the sum that hadbeen given for it, and the money was laid out, under my direction, upona substantial oak fence for a certain number of yew-trees, to be plantedin Grasmere Churchyard. Two were planted in each enclosure, with a viewto remove, after a certain time, the one which throve the least. Afterseveral years, the stouter plant being left, the others were taken up, and placed in other parts of the same churchyard, and were adequatelyfenced at the expense and under the care of the late Mr. Barber, Mr. Greenwood, and myself. The whole eight are now thriving, and are anornament to a place which, during late years, has lost much of itsrustic simplicity by the introduction of iron palisades, to fence offfamily burying-grounds, and by numerous monuments, some of them in verybad taste, from which this place of burial was in my memory quite free:see the lines in the sixth book of 'The Excursion, ' beginning, 'Green is the Churchyard. '

The 'Epistle, ' to which these notes refer, though written so far back as1811, was carefully revised so late as 1842, previous to itspublication. I am loath to add, that it was never seen by the person towhom it is addressed. So sensible am I of the deficiencies in all that Iwrite, and so far does every thing that I attempt fall short of what Iwish it to be, that even private publication, if such a term may beallowed, requires more resolution than I can command. I have written togive vent to my own mind, and not without hope that, some time or other, kindred minds might benefit by my labours; but I am inclined to believeI should never have ventured to send forth any verses of mine to theworld, if it had not been done on the pressure of personal occasions. Had I been a rich man, my productions, like this 'Epistle, ' the 'Tragedyof the Borderers, ' &c. , would most likely have been confined to MS. 

461. _Ibid. _

Loughrigg Tarn, alluded to in the foregoing Epistle, resembles, thoughmuch smaller in compass, the Lake Nemi, or _Speculum Dianae_ as it isoften called, not only in its clear waters and circular form, and thebeauty immediately surrounding it, but also as being overlooked by theeminence of Langdale Pikes as Lake Nemi is by that of Monte Calvo. Sincethis Epistle was written Loughrigg Tarn has lost much of its beauty bythe felling of many natural clumps of wood, relics of the old forest, particularly upon the farm called 'The Oaks, ' from the abundance of thattree which grew there. 

It is to be regretted, upon public grounds, that Sir George Beaumont didnot carry into effect his intention of constructing here a SummerRetreat in the style I have described; as his taste would have set anexample how buildings, with all the accommodations modern societyrequires, might be introduced even into the most secluded parts of thiscountry without injuring their native character. The design was notabandoned from failure of inclination on his part, but in consequence oflocal untowardness which need not be particularised. 

462. *_Gold and Silver Fishes in a Vase_. [II. ]

They were a present from Miss Jewsbury, of whom mention is made in theNote at the end of the next poem. The fish were healthy to allappearance in their confinement for a long time, but at last, for somecause we could not make out, languished; and one of them being all butdead, they were taken to the pool under the old pollard oak. Theapparently dying one lay on its side unable to move. I used to watch it, and about the tenth day it began to right itself, and in a few days morewas able to swim about with its companions. For many months theycontinued to prosper in their new place of abode; but one night by anunusually great flood they were swept out of the pool and perished, toour great regret. 

463. *_Liberty_ (_Sequel to the above_). [III. ]

The connection of this with the preceding poem is sufficiently obvious. 

464. _Liberty_. [III. ]

 'Life's book for thee may be unclosed, till age Shall with a thankful tear bedrop its latest page. '

There is now, alas! no possibility of the anticipation, with which theabove Epistle concludes, being realised: nor were the verses ever seenby the Individual for whom they were intended. She accompanied herhusband, the Rev. Wm. Fletcher, to India, and died of cholera, at theage of thirty-two or thirty-three years, on her way from Shalapore toBombay, deeply lamented by all who knew her. 

Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast; and her great talentswould have enabled her to be eminently useful in the difficult path oflife to which she had been called. The opinion she entertained of herown performances, given to the world under her maiden name, Jewsbury, was modest and humble, and, indeed, far below their merits; as is oftenthe case with those who are making trial of their powers, with a hope todiscover what they are best fitted for. In one quality, viz. , quicknessin the motions of her mind, she had, within the range of the Author'sacquaintance, no equal. 

465. _Poor Robin_. [IV. ]

The small wild Geranium known by that name. 

466. *_Ibid. _

I often ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day. Willthe old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about thegrounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses andferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude constructionsuffered and encouraged to grow among them? This little wild flower, 'Poor Robin, ' is here constantly courting my attention and exciting whatmay be called a domestic interest with the varying aspects of its stalksand leaves and flowers. Strangely do the tastes of men differ, accordingto their employment and habits of life. 'What a nice well would thatbe, ' said a labouring man to me one day, 'if all that rubbish wascleared off. ' The 'rubbish' was some of the most beautiful mosses andlichens and ferns and other wild growths, as could possibly be seen. Defend us from the tyranny of trimness and neatness, showing itself inthis way! Chatterton says of Freedom, 'Upon her head wild weeds werespread, ' and depend upon it, if 'the marvellous boy' had undertaken togive Flora a garland, he would have preferred what we are apt to callweeds to garden-flowers. True taste has an eye for both. Weeds have beencalled flowers out of place. I fear the place most people would assignto them is too limited. Let them come near to our abodes, as surely theymay without impropriety or disorder. 

467. *_To the Lady le Fleming_. [IX. ]

After thanking in prose Lady Fleming for the service she had done to herneighbourhood by erecting this Chapel, I have nothing to say beyond theexpression of regret that the architect did not furnish an elevationbetter suited to the site in a narrow mountain pass, and what is of moreconsequence, better constructed in the interior for the purposes ofworship. It has no chancel. The Altar is unbecomingly confined. The Pewsare so narrow as to preclude the possibility of kneeling. There is novestry, and what ought to have been first mentioned, the Font, insteadof standing at its proper place at the entrance, is thrust into thefarthest end of a little pew. When these defects shall be pointed out tothe munificent patroness, they will, it is hoped, be corrected. [Inpencil--Have they not been corrected in part at least? 1843. ]

468. *_To a Redbreast (in Sickness)_. [VI. ]

Almost the only Verses composed by our lamented sister S. H. [=Miss SarahHutchinson, sister of Mrs. Wordsworth]. 

469. *_Floating Island_. [VII. ]

My poor sister takes a pleasure in repeating these Verses, which shecomposed not long before the beginning of her sad illness. 

470. *_Once I could hail, &c. _ [VIII. ]

'No faculty yet given me to espy the dusky shape. ' Afterwards, when Icould not avoid seeing it, I wondered at this, and the more so because, like most children, I had been in the habit of watching the moon thro'all her changes, and had often continued to gaze at it while at thefull, till half-blinded. 

471. *_The Gleaner (suggested by a Picture)_. 

This poem was first printed in the Annual called 'The Keep-sake. ' ThePainter's name I am not sure of, but I think it was Holmes. 

472. _Nightshade_. [IX. Ii. 6. ]

Bekangs Ghyll--or the dell of Nightshade--in which stands St. Mary'sAbbey in Low Furness. 

473. _Churches--East and West_. [X. ]

Our churches, invariably perhaps, stand east and west, but why is by fewpersons exactly known; nor that the degree of deviation from due eastoften noticeable in the ancient ones was determined, in each particularcase, by the point on the horizon at which the sun rose upon the day ofthe saint to whom the church was dedicated. These observances of ourancestors, and the causes of them, are the subject of the followingstanzas. 

474. _The Horn of Egremont Castle_. [XI. ]

This story is a Cumberland tradition. I have heard it also related ofthe Hall of Hutton John, an ancient residence of the Huddlestons, in asequestered valley upon the river Dacor. [In the I. F. MSS. The Note runsthus: '1806. A tradition transferred from the ancient mansion of HuttonJohn, the seat of the Huddlestons, to Egremont Castle. ']

475. *_Goody Blake and Harry Gill_. [XII. ]

Written at Alfoxden, 1798. The incident from Dr. Darwin's _Zoonomia_. 

476. *_To a Child: written in her Album_. [XIV. ]

This quatrain was extempore on observing this image, as I had oftendone, on the lawn of Rydal Mount. It was first written down in the Albumof my god-daughter, Rotha Quillinan. 

477. *_Lines written in the Album of the Countess of Lonsdale_. [XV. ]

This is a faithful picture of that amiable Lady as she then was. Theyouthfulness of figure and demeanour and habits, which she retained inalmost unprecedented degree, departed a very few years after, and shedied without violent disease by gradual decay, before she reached theperiod of old age. [In pencil--Was she not 70? Mr. J. ]

478. _The Russian Fugitive_. [XVII. ]

Peter Henry Bruce, having given in his entertaining Memoirs thesubstance of this Tale, affirms that, besides the concurring reports ofothers, he had the story from the lady's own mouth. The Lady Catherine, mentioned towards the close, is the famous Catherine, then bearing thatname as the acknowledged wife of Peter the Great. 

479. *_Ibid. _

Early in life this story had interested me; and I often thought it wouldmake a pleasing subject for an Opera or musical drama. 

XXI. INSCRIPTIONS. 

480. *(I. ) In the grounds of Coleorton these verses are engraved on astone, placed near the tree, which was thriving and spreading when I sawit in the summer of 1841. 

481. *(II. ) This Niche is in the sandstone rock in the winter-garden atColeorton, which garden, as has been elsewhere said, was made under ourdirection out of an old unsightly quarry. While the labourers were atwork Mrs. Wordsworth, my sister, and I used to amuse ourselvesoccasionally in scooping this seat out of the soft stone. It is of thesize, with something of the appearance, of a stall in a cathedral. Thisinscription is not engraven, as the former and the two following are, inthe grounds. 

482. *(VI. ) The circumstance alluded to at the conclusion of theseverses was told me by Dr. Satterthwaite, who was Incumbent of Boodle, asmall town at the foot of Black Combe. He had the particulars from oneof the engineers, who was employed in making trigonometrical surveys ofthat region. 

483. *(VIII. ) Engraven, during my absence in Italy, upon a brass plateinserted in the stone. 

484. *(IX. ) The walk is what we call the far-terrace, beyond thesummer-house, at Rydal Mount. The lines were written when we were afraidof being obliged to quit the place to which we were so much attached. 

485. *(XI. ) The monument of ice here spoken of I observed whileascending the middle road of the three ways that lead from Rydal toGrasmere. It was on my right hand, and my eyes were upon it when itfell, as told in these lines. 

486. *(XII. ) Where the second quarry now is, as you pass from Rydal toGrasmere, there was formerly a length of smooth rock that sloped towardsthe road on the right hand. I used to call it tadpole slope, from havingfrequently observed there the water bubbles gliding under the ice, exactly in the shape of that creature. 

 * * * * *

XXII. SELECTIONS FROM CHAUCER MODERNISED. 

487. _Of the Volume in which the 'Selections' appeared_. 

Of these 'Selections' the Author wrote as follows to Professor Reed, ofPhiladelphia:

'There has recently been published in London a volume of some ofChaucer's tales and poems modernised. This little specimen originated inwhat I attempted with the "Prioress's Tale;" and if the book should findits way to America, you will see in it two further specimens frommyself. I had no further connection with the publication than by makinga present of these to one of the contributors. Let me, however, recommend to your notice the "Prologue" and the "Franklin's Tale;" theyare both by Mr. Horne, a gentleman unknown to me, but are, the latter inparticular, very well done. Mr. Leigh Hunt has not failed in the"Manciple's Tale, " which I myself modernised many years ago; but, thoughI much admire the genius of Chaucer as displayed in this performance, Icould not place my version at the disposal of the editor, as I deemedthe subject somewhat too indelicate, for pure taste, to be offered tothe world at this time of day. Mr. Horne has much hurt this publicationby not abstaining from the "Reve's Tale;" this, after making allallowance for the rude manners of Chaucer's age, is intolerable, and byindispensably softening down the incidents, he has killed the spirit ofthat humour, gross and farcical, that pervades the original. When thework was first mentioned to me, I protested as strongly as possibleagainst admitting any coarseness or indelicacy; so that my conscience isclear of countenancing aught of that kind. So great is my admiration ofChaucer's genius, and so profound my reverence for him as an instrumentin the hands of Providence for spreading the light of literature throughhis native land, that, notwithstanding the defects and faults in thispublication, I am glad of it, as a mean for making many acquainted withthe original who would otherwise be ignorant of everything about him buthis name. '[9]

[9] Extract: January 13th, 1841 (_Memoirs_, ii. P. 374-5). 

488. _The Prioress's Tale_. 

 'Call up him who left half told The story of Cambuscan bold. '

In the following Poem no further deviation from the original has beenmade than was necessary for the fluent reading and instant understandingof the Author: so much, however, is the language altered since Chaucer'stime, especially in pronunciation, that much was to be removed, and itsplace supplied with as little incongruity as possible. The ancientaccent has been retained in a few conjunctions, as _alsò_ and _alwày_, from a conviction that such sprinklings of antiquity would be admitted, by persons of taste, to have a graceful accordance with the subject. Thefierce bigotry of the Prioress forms a fine back-ground for hertender-hearted sympathies with the Mother and Child; and the mode inwhich the story is told amply atones for the extravagance of themiracle. 

XXIII. POEMS REFERRING TO THE PERIOD OF OLD AGE. 

489. _The Old Cumberland Beggar_. [I. ]

The class of Beggars to which the Old Man here described belongs willprobably soon be extinct. It consisted of poor, and mostly old andinfirm persons, who confined themselves to a stated round in theirneighbourhood, and had certain fixed days, on which, at differenthouses, they regularly received alms, sometimes in money, but mostly inprovisions. 

490. *_Ibid. _

Observed, and with great benefit to my own heart, when I was a child. Written at Racedown and Alfoxden in my 23d year. The politicaleconomists were about that time beginning their war upon mendicity inall its forms, and by implication, if not directly, on alms-giving also. This heartless process has been carried as far as it can go by theAMENDED Poor Law Bill, tho' the inhumanity that prevails in this measureis somewhat disguised by the profession that one of its objects is tothrow the poor upon the voluntary donations of their neighbours, thatis, if rightly interpreted, to force them into a condition betweenrelief in the Union Poor House and alms robbed of their Christian graceand spirit, as being forced rather from the avaricious and selfish; andall, in fact, but the humane and charitable are at liberty to keep allthey possess from their distressed brethren. 

491. _The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale_. 

With this picture, which was taken from real life, compare theimaginative one of 'The Reverie of Poor Susan, ' and see (to make up thedeficiencies of the class) 'The Excursion' _passim_. 

492. _Ibid. _

The character of this man was described to me, and the incident uponwhich the verses turn was told me by Mr. Pool, of Nether Stowey, withwhom I became acquainted through our common friend S. T. C. During myresidence at Alfoxden, I used to see a great deal of him, and hadfrequent occasions to admire the course of his daily life, especiallyhis conduct to his labourers and poor neighbours. Their virtues hecarefully encouraged, and weighed their faults in the scales of charity. If I seem in these verses to have treated the weaknesses of the farmerand his transgression too tenderly, it may in part be ascribed to myhaving received the story from one so averse to all harsh judgment. After his death was found in his _escritoir_ a lock of gray hair, carefully preserved, with a notice that it had been cut from the head ofhis faithful shepherd, who had served him for a length of years. I needscarcely add that he felt for all men as brothers. He was much belovedby distinguished persons:--Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Southey, Sir H. Davy, andmany others, and in his own neighbourhood was highly valued as amagistrate, a man of business, and in every other social relation. Thelatter part of the poem, perhaps, requires some apology, as being toomuch of an echo to the 'Reverie of Poor Susan. '

493. _The small Celandine_. [III. ]

See 'Poems of the Fancy' [XI. ]. 

494. *_The two Thieves_. [IV. ]

This is described from the life, as I was in the habit of observing whena boy at Hawkshead School. Daniel was more than 80 years older thanmyself when he was daily thus occupied under my notice. No book couldhave so early taught me to think of the changes to which human life issubject, and while looking at him I could not but say to myself, We may, any of us, I or the happiest of my playmates, live to become still morethe object of pity than the old man, this half-doating pilferer. 

495. *_Animal Tranquillity and Decay_. [V. ]

If I recollect right, these verses were an overflow from the 'OldCumberland Beggar. '

 * * * * *

XXIV. EPITAPHS AND ELEGIAC PIECES. 

496. *_From Chiabrera_. [I. To IX. ]

Those from Chiabrera were chiefly translated when Mr. Coleridge waswriting his _Friend_, in which periodical my Essay on Epitaphs, writtenabout that time, was first published. For further notice of Chiabrera inconnection with his Epitaphs see 'Musings at Aquapendente. '

497. *_By a blest Husband, &c. _

This lady was named Carleton. She, along with a sister, was brought upin the neighbourhood of Ambleside. The Epitaph, a part of it at least, is in the church at Bromsgrove, where she resided after her marriage. 

498. _Cenotaph_. 

In affectionate remembrance of Frances Fermor, whose remains aredeposited in the Church of Claines, near Worcester, this stone iserected by her sister, Dame Margaret, wife of Sir George Beaumont, Bart. , who, feeling not less than the love of a brother for thedeceased, commends this memorial to the care of his heirs and successorsin the possession of this place. (See the verses on Mrs. F. )

499. *_Epitaph in the Chapel-yard of Langdale, Westmoreland_. [IV. ]

Owen Lloyd, the subject of this Epitaph, was born at Old Brathay, nearAmbleside, and was the son of Charles Lloyd and his wife Sophia (néePemberton), both of Birmingham. They had many children, both sons anddaughters, of whom the most remarkable was the subject of this Epitaph. He was educated under Dawes of Ambleside, Dr. Butler of Shrewsbury, andlastly at Trin. Coll. , Cambridge, where he would have been greatlydistinguished as a scholar, but for inherited infirmities of bodilyconstitution, which from early childhood affected his mind. His love forthe neighbourhood in which he was born and his sympathy with the habitsand characters of the mountain yeomanry, in conjunction with irregularspirits, that unfitted him for facing duties in situations to which hewas unaccustomed, inclined him to accept the retired curacy of Langdale. How much he was beloved and honoured there and with what feelings hedischarged his duty under the oppressions of severe malady is set forth, though imperfectly, in this Epitaph. 

500. *_Address to the Scholars of the Village School_. 

Were composed at Goslar in Germany. They will be placed among theElegiac pieces. 

501. *_Elegiac Stanzas suggested by a Picture of Peel Castle_. [VI. ]

Sir George Beaumont painted two pictures of this subject, one of whichhe gave to Mrs. Wordsworth, saying she ought to have it: but Lady B. Interfered, and after Sir George's death she gave it to Sir UvedalePrice, in whose house at Foxley I have seen it--rather grudgingly I own. 

502. _Elegiac Verses_. [VIII. ]

In memory of my Brother, John Wordsworth, Commander of the E. I. Company's ship the Earl of Abergavenny, in which he perished bycalamitous shipwreck, Feb. 6, 1805. Composed near the Mountain trackthat leads from Grasmere through Grisdale Hawes, where it descendstowards Patterdale. 1805. 

503. _Moss Campion_ (_Silene acaulis_). [_Ibid. _ II. L. 5. ]

This most beautiful plant is scarce in England, though it is found ingreat abundance upon the mountains of Scotland. The first specimen Iever saw of it, in its native bed, was singularly fine, the tuft orcushion being at least eight inches in diameter, and the rootproportionably thick. I have only met with it in two places among ourmountains, in both of which I have since sought for it in vain. 

Botanists will not, I hope, take it ill, if I caution them againstcarrying off, inconsiderately, rare and beautiful plants. This has oftenbeen done, particularly from Ingleborough and other mountains inYorkshire, till the species have totally disappeared, to the greatregret of lovers of Nature living near the places where they grew. 

504. _Lines_. 

Composed at Grasmere, during a walk one evening after a stormy day, theAuthor having just read in a newspaper that the dissolution of Mr. Foxwas hourly expected, 'Loud is the Vale, ' &c. [IX. ]

505. *_Invocation to the Earth_. [x. ]

Composed immediately after the Thanksgiving Ode, to which it may beconsidered as a second part. 

506. *_Elegiac Stanzas. Addressed to Sir G. H. B_. [XII. ]

On Mrs. Fermor. This lady had been a widow long before I knew her. Herhusband was of the family of the lady celebrated in the 'Rape of theLock, ' and was, I believe, a Roman Catholic. The sorrow which his deathcaused her was fearful in its character, as described in this Poem, butwas subdued in course of time by the strength of her religious faith. Ihave been for many weeks at a time an inmate with her at Coleorton Hall, as were also Mary and my sister. The truth in the sketch of hercharacter here given was acknowledged with gratitude by her nearestrelatives. She was eloquent in conversation, energetic upon publicmatters, open in respect to these, but slow to communicate her personalfeelings. Upon these she never touched in her intercourse with me, sothat I could not regard myself as her confidential friend, and wasaccordingly surprised when I learnt she had left me a legacy of 100_l. _as a token of her esteem. See in further illustration, the second stanzainscribed upon her cenotaph in Coleorton Church. 

507. *_Elegiac Musings in the Grounds of Coleorton Hall_. [XIII. ]

These verses were in fact composed on horseback during a storm, whilst Iwas on my way from Coleorton to Cambridge. They are alluded toelsewhere. [Intercalated by Mrs. Quillinan--My father was on my pony, which he rode all the way from Rydal to Cambridge that I might have thecomfort and pleasure of a horse at Cambridge. The storm of wind and rainon this day was so violent that the coach in which my mother and Itravelled, the same coach, was all but blown over, and had the coachmandrawn up as he attempted to do at one of his halting-places, we musthave been upset. My father and his pony were several times actuallyblown out of the road. D. Q. ]

508. _Charles Lamb_. [XIV. ]

 From the most gentle creature nursed in fields. 

This way of indicating the _name_ of my lamented friend has been foundfault with; perhaps rightly so; but I may say in justification of thedouble sense of the word, that similar allusions are not uncommon inepitaphs. One of the best in our language in verse I ever read, was upona person who bore the name of Palmer; and the course of the thought, throughout, turned upon the Life of the Departed, considered as apilgrimage. Nor can I think that the objection in the present case willhave much force with any one who remembers Charles Lamb's beautifulsonnet addressed to his own name, and ending--

 'No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name!'

509. *_Ibid. _

Light will be thrown upon the tragic circumstance alluded to in thisPoem when, after the death of Charles Lamb's sister, his biographer, Mr. Serjeant Talfourd, shall be at liberty to relate particulars which couldnot, at the time when his Memoir was written, be given to the public. Mary Lamb was ten years older than her brother, and has survived him aslong a time. Were I to give way to my own feelings, I should dwell notonly on her genius and intellectual powers, but upon the delicacy andrefinement of manner which she maintained inviolable under most tryingcircumstances. She was loved and honoured by all her brother's friends, and others, some of them strange characters whom his philanthropicpeculiarities induced him to countenance. The death of C. Lamb himselfwas doubtless hastened by his sorrow for that of Coleridge, to whom hehad been attached from the time of their being schoolfellows at Christ'sHospital. Lamb was a good Latin scholar, and probably would have gone tocollege upon one of the School foundations but for the impediment in hisspeech. Had such been his lot, he would have probably been preservedfrom the indulgences of social humours and fancies which were ofteninjurious to himself and causes of severe regret to his friends, withoutreally benefiting the object of his misapplied kindness. 

510. *_Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg_. [XV. ]

These verses were written extempore immediately after reading a noticeof the Ettrick Shepherd's death in the Newcastle Paper, to the Editor ofwhich I sent a copy for publication. The persons lamented in theseVerses were all either of my friends or acquaintance. In Lockhart's Lifeof Sir Walter Scott an account is given of my first meeting with him in1803. How the Ettrick Shepherd and I became known to each other hasalready been mentioned in these Notes. He was undoubtedly a man oforiginal genius, but of coarse manners and low and offensive opinions. Of Coleridge and Lamb I need not speak here. Crabbe I have met in Londonat Mr. Rogers', but more frequently and favourably at Mr. Hoare's uponHampstead Heath. Every Spring he used to pay that family a visit of somelength, and was upon terms of intimate friendship with Mrs. Hoare, andstill more with her daughter-in-law, who has a large collection of hisletters addressed to herself. After the Poet's decease application wasmade to her to give up these letters to his biographer, that they, or atleast a part of them, might be given to the public. She hesitated tocomply, and asked my opinion on the subject. 'By no means, ' was myanswer, grounded not upon any objection there might be to publishing aselection from those letters, but from an aversion I have always felt tomeet idle curiosity by calling back the recently departed to become theobject of trivial and familiar gossip. Crabbe obviously for the mostpart preferred the company of women to that of men; for this among otherreasons, that he did not like to be put upon the stretch in generalconversation. Accordingly, in miscellaneous society his talk was somuch below what might have been expected from a man so deservedlycelebrated, that to me it seemed trifling. It must upon other occasionshave been of a different character, as I found in our rambles togetheron Hampstead Heath; and not so much so from a readiness to communicatehis knowledge of life and manners as of natural history in all itsbranches. His mind was inquisitive, and he seems to have taken refugefrom a remembrance of the distresses he had gone through in thesestudies and the employments to which they led. Moreover suchcontemplations might tend profitably to counterbalance the painfultruths which he had collected from his intercourse with mankind. Had Ibeen more intimate with him I should have ventured to touch upon hisoffice as a Minister of the Gospel, and how far his heart and soul werein it, so as to make him a zealous and diligent labourer. In poetry, tho' he wrote much, as we all know, he assuredly was not so. I happenedonce to speak of pains as necessary to produce merit of a certain kindwhich I highly valued. His observation was, 'It is not worth while. ' Youare right, thought I, if the labour encroaches upon the time due toteach truth as a steward of the mysteries of God; but if poetry is to beproduced at all, make what you do produce as good as you can. Mr. Rogersonce told me that he expressed his regret to Crabbe that he wrote in hislate works so much less correctly than in his earlier. 'Yes, ' repliedhe, 'but then I had a reputation to make; now I can afford to relax. 'Whether it was from a modest estimate of his own qualifications or fromcauses less creditable, his motives for writing verse and his hopes andaims were not so high as is to be desired. After being silent for morethan twenty years he again applied himself to poetry, upon the spur ofapplause he received from the periodical publications of the day, as hehimself tells us in one of his Prefaces. Is it not to be lamented that aman who was so conversant with permanent truth, and whose writings areso valuable an acquisition to our country's literature, should have_required_ an impulse from such a quarter?[10]

[10] In pencil on opposite page, by Mrs. Quillinan--Daddy dear, I don'tlike this. Think how many reasons there were to depress his Muse--to saynothing of his duties as a Priest, and probably he found poetryinterfere with them. He did not _require_ such praise to make him write, but it just put it into his heart to try again, and gave him the courageto do so. (See Notes and Illustrations at close. G)

Mrs. Hemans was unfortunate as a Poetess in being obliged bycircumstances to write for money, and that so frequently and so much, that she was compelled to look out for subjects wherever she could findthem, and to write as expeditiously as possible. As a woman she was to aconsiderable degree a spoilt child of the world. She had been early inlife distinguished for talents, and poems of hers were published whilstshe was a girl. She had also been handsome in her youth, but hereducation had been most unfortunate. She was totally ignorant ofhousewifery, and could as easily have managed the spear of Minerva asher needle. It was from observing these deficiencies that one day, whileshe was under my roof, I purposely directed her attention to householdeconomy, and told her I had purchased scales which I intended to presentto a young lady as a wedding present; pointed out their utility (for herespecial benefit), and said that no menage ought to be without them. Mrs. Hemans, not in the least suspecting my drift, reported this sayingin a letter to a friend at the time, as a proof of my simplicity. Beingdisposed to make large allowances for the faults of her education andthe circumstances in which she was placed, I felt most kindly disposedtowards her and took her part upon all occasions, and I was not a littleaffected by learning that after she withdrew to Ireland a long andsevere illness raised her spirit as it depressed her body. This I heardfrom her most intimate friends, and there is striking evidence of it ina poem entitled [Blank; and in pencil on opposite page--Do you mean aSonnet entitled 'Sabbath Sonnet, ' composed by Mrs. Hemans, April 26th, 1835, a few days before her death? 'How many blessed groups this hourare wending!'] These notices of Mrs. Hemans would be very unsatisfactoryto her intimate friends, as indeed they are to myself, not so much forwhat is said, but what for brevity's sake is left unsaid. Let it sufficeto add there was much sympathy between us, and if opportunity had beenallowed me to see more of her, I should have loved and valued heraccordingly. As it is, I remember her with true affection for heramiable qualities, and above all for her delicate and irreproachableconduct during her long separation from an unfeeling husband, whom shehad been led to marry from the romantic notions of inexperienced youth. Upon this husband I never heard her cast the least reproach, nor did Iever hear her even name him, though she did not forbear wholly to touchupon her domestic position; but never so as that any fault could befound with her manner of adverting to it. 

511. _Dead friends: 'Immortals. '_ [XV. ]

Walter Scott died 21st Sept. 1832. S. T. Coleridge " 25th July 1834. Charles Lamb " 27th Dec. 1834. Geo. Crabbe " 3rd Feb. 1832. Felicia Hemans " 16th May 1835. 

512. *_Ode: Intimations of Immortality, from Recollections of earlyChildhood_. [Headed in I. F. MSS. 'The Ode. ']

This was composed during my residence at Town-End, Grasmere. Two yearsat least passed between the writing of the four first stanzas and theremaining part. To the attentive and competent reader the wholesufficiently explains itself, but there may be no harm in adverting hereto particular feelings or _experiences_ of my own mind on which thestructure of the poem partly rests. Nothing was more difficult for me inchildhood than to admit the notion of death as a state applicable to myown being. I have said elsewhere

 'A simple child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?'[11]

[11] In pencil on opposite page--But this first stanza of 'We are Seven'is Coleridge's Jem and all (Mr. Quillinan). 

But it was not so much from the source of animal vivacity that _my_difficulty came as from a sense of the indomitableness of the spiritwithin me. I used to brood over the stories of Enoch and Elijah, andalmost to persuade myself that, whatever might become of others, Ishould be translated in something of the same way to heaven. With afeeling congenial to this, I was often unable to think of externalthings as having external existence, and I communed with all that I sawas something not apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. Many times while going to school have I grasped at a wall or tree torecall myself from this abyss of idealism to the reality. At that time Iwas afraid of such processes. In later periods of life I have deplored, as we have all reason to do, a subjugation of an opposite character, and have rejoiced over the remembrances, as is expressed in the lines, 'Obstinate questionings, ' &c. To that dreamlike vividness and splendourwhich invest objects of sight in childhood, every one, I believe, if hewould look back, could bear testimony, and I need not dwell upon ithere; but having in the Poem regarded it as presumptive evidence of aprior state of existence, I think it right to protest against aconclusion which has given pain to some good and pious persons, that Imeant to inculcate such a belief. It is far too shadowy a notion to berecommended to faith as more than an element in our instincts ofimmortality. But let us bear in mind that, though the idea is notadvanced in Revelation, there is nothing there to contradict it, and thefall of man presents an analogy in its favour. Accordingly, apre-existent state has entered into the popular creeds of many nations, and among all persons acquainted with classic literature is known as aningredient in Platonic philosophy. Archimedes said that he could movethe world if he had a point whereon to rest his machine. Who has notfelt the same aspirations as regards the world of his own mind? Havingto wield some of its elements when I was impelled to write this poem onthe 'Immortality of the Soul, ' I took hold of the notion ofpre-existence as having sufficient foundation in humanity forauthorising me to make for my purpose the best use of it I could as aPoet. 

 * * * * *

XXV. 'THE EXCURSION. '

513. *_On the leading Characters and Scenes of the Poem_. 

Something must now be said of this Poem, but chiefly, as has been donethrough the whole of these Notes, with reference to my personal friends, and especially to her [Miss Fenwick] who has perseveringly taken themdown from my dictation. Towards the close of the 1st book, stand thelines that were first written, beginning 'Nine tedious years, ' andending 'last human tenant of these ruined walls. ' These were composed in1795, at Racedown; and for several passages describing the employmentand demeanour of Margaret during her affliction, I was indebted toobservations made in Dorsetshire, and afterwards at Alfoxden, inSomersetshire, where I resided in 1797 and 1798. The lines towards theconclusion of the 4th book, 'Despondency corrected, ' beginning 'For theman who in this spirit, ' to the words 'intellectual soul, ' were in orderof time composed the next, either at Racedown or Alfoxden, I do notremember which. The rest of the poem was written in the vale ofGrasmere, chiefly during our residence at Allan Bank. The long poem onmy own education was, together with many minor poems, composed while welived at the cottage at Town-End. Perhaps my purpose of giving anadditional interest to these my poems, in the eyes of my nearest anddearest friends, may he promoted by saying a few words upon thecharacter of the 'Wanderer, ' the 'Solitary, ' and the 'Pastor, ' and someother of the persons introduced. And first of the principal one, the'Wanderer. '

My lamented friend Southey (for this is written a month after hisdecease[12]) used to say that had he been a Papist, the course of lifewhich would in all probability have been his, was the one for which hewas most fitted and most to his mind, that of a Benedictine Monk, in aConvent, furnished, as many once were, and some still are, with aninexhaustible library. _Books_, as appears from many passages in hiswritings, and was evident to those who had opportunities of observinghis daily life, were, in fact, _his passion_; and _wandering_, I canwith truth affirm, was mine; but this propensity in me was happilycounteracted by inability from want of fortune to fulfil my wishes. 

[12] Which took place in March, 1843. 

But had I been born in a class which would have deprived me of what iscalled a liberal education, it is not unlikely that, being strong inbody, I should have taken to a way of life such as that in which my'Pedlar' passed the greater part of his days. At all events, I am herecalled upon freely to acknowledge that the character I have representedin his person is chiefly an idea of what I fancied my own charactermight have become in his circumstances. 

Nevertheless much of what he says and does had an external existence, that fell under my own youthful and subsequent observation. 

An individual, named Patrick, by birth and education a Scotchman, followed this humble occupation for many years, and afterwards settledin the town of Kendal. He married a kinswoman of my wife's, and hersister Sarah was brought up from early childhood under this good man'seye. [13] My own imaginations I was happy to find clothed in reality, andfresh ones suggested, by what she reported of this man's tenderness ofheart, his strong and pure imagination, and his solid attainments inliterature, chiefly religious, whether in prose or verse. At Hawksheadalso, while I was a school-boy, there occasionally resided a packman(the name then generally given to this calling), with whom I hadfrequent conversations upon what had befallen him, and what he hadobserved during his wandering life, and, as was natural, we took much toeach other; and upon the subject of Pedlarism in general, as _then_followed, and its favourableness to an intimate knowledge of humanconcerns, not merely among the humbler classes of society, I need saynothing here in addition to what is to be found in 'The Excursion, ' anda note attached to it. 

[13] In pencil on opposite page--Sarah went to Kendal on our mother'sdeath, but Mr. P. Died in the course of a year or two. M. W. 

Now for the _Solitary_. Of him I have much less to say. Not long afterwe took up our abode at Grasmere, came to reside there, from what motiveI either never knew or have forgotten, a Scotchman, a little past themiddle of life, who had for many years been chaplain to a Highlandregiment. He was in no respect, as far as I know, an interestingcharacter, though in his appearance there was a good deal that attractedattention, as if he had been shattered in for bane, and not happy inmind. Of his quondam position I availed myself to connect with the'Wanderer, ' also a Scotchman, a character suitable to my purpose, theelements of which I drew from several persons with whom I had beenconnected, and who fell under my observation during frequent residencesin London at the beginning of the French Revolution. The chief of thesewas, one may now say, a Mr. Fawcett, a preacher at a Dissentingmeeting-house at the Old Jewry. It happened to me several times to beone of his congregation through my connection with Mr. Nicholson ofCateaton Street, Strand, who, at a time when I had not manyacquaintances in London, used often to invite me to dine with him onSundays; and I took that opportunity (Mr. N. Being a Dissenter) of goingto hear Fawcett, who was an able and eloquent man. He published a poemon War, which had a good deal of merit, and made me think more about himthan I should otherwise have done. But his Christianity was probablynever very deeply rooted; and, like many others in those times of likeshewy talents, he had not strength of character to withstand the effectsof the French Revolution, and of the wild and lax opinions which haddone so much towards producing it, and far more in carrying it forwardin its extremes. Poor Fawcett, I have been told, became pretty much sucha person as I have described, and early disappeared from the stage, having fallen into habits of intemperance, which I have heard (though Iwill not answer for the fact) hastened his death. Of him I need say nomore. There were many like him at that time, which the world will neverbe without, but which were more numerous then, for reasons too obviousto be dwelt upon. 

_The Pastor_. --To what is said of the 'Pastor' in the poem, I havelittle to add but what may be deemed superfluous. It has ever appearedto me highly favourable to the beneficial influence of the Church ofEngland upon all gradations and classes of society, that the patronageof its benefices is in numerous instances attached to the estates ofnoble families of ancient gentry; and accordingly I am gratified by theopportunity afforded me in 'The Excursion, ' to pourtray the character ofa country clergyman of more than ordinary talents, born and bred in theupper ranks of society so as to partake of their refinements, and at thesame time brought by his pastoral office and his love of rural life intointimate connection with the peasantry of his native district. 

To illustrate the relation which in my mind this 'Pastor' bore to the'Wanderer, ' and the resemblances between them, or rather the points ofcommunity in their nature, I likened one to an oak, and the other to asycamore; and having here referred to this comparison, I need only add, I had no one individual in my mind, wishing rather to embody this ideathan to break in upon the simplicity of it by traits of individualcharacter, or of any peculiarity of opinion. 

And now for a few words upon the scene where these interviews andconversations are supposed to occur. 

The scene of the first book of the poem is, I must own, laid in a tractof country not sufficiently near to that which soon comes into view inthe second book, to agree with the fact. All that relates to Margaret, and the ruined cottage, &c. , was taken from observations made in thesouth-west of England, and certainly it would require more thanseven-leagued boots to stretch in one morning from a common inSomersetshire, or Dorsetshire, to the heights of Furness Fells, and thedeep valleys they embosom. For this dealing with space, I need make, Itrust, no apology; but my friends may be amused by the truth. 

In the poem, I suppose that the Pedlar and I ascended from a plaincountry up the vale of Langdale, and struck off a good way above thechapel to the western side of the Vale. We ascended the hill, and thencelooked down upon the circular recess in which lies Blea Tarn, chosen bythe 'Solitary' for his retreat. After we quit his cottage, passing overa low ridge, we descend into another Vale, that of Little Langdale, towards the head of which stands embowered, or partly shaded by yews andother trees, something between a cottage and a mansion, or gentleman'shouse, such as they once were in this country. This I convert into theparsonage, and at the same time, and as by the waving of a magic wand, Iturn the comparatively confined Vale of Langdale, its tarn, and the rudechapel which once adorned the valley, into the stately and comparativelyspacious Vale of Grasmere and its ancient parish church; and upon theside of Loughrigg Fell, at the foot of the Lake, and looking down uponit and the whole Vale and its accompanying mountains, the 'Pastor' issupposed by me to stand, when at sunset he addresses his companions inwords which I hope my readers may remember, [14] or I should not havetaken the trouble of giving so much in detail the materials on which mymind actually worked. 

[14] Excursion; book the last, near the conclusion. 

Now for a few particulars of _fact_, respecting the persons whosestories are told or characters described by the different speakers. ToMargaret I have already alluded. I will add here that the linesbeginning, 'She was a woman of a steady mind, '

and, 'Live on earth a life of happiness, '

faithfully delineate, as far as they go, the character possessed incommon by many women whom it has been my happiness to know in humblelife; and that several of the most touching things which she isrepresented as saying and doing are taken from actual observation of thedistresses and trials under which different persons were suffering, some of them strangers to me, and others daily under my notice. 

I was born too late to have a distinct remembrance of the origin of theAmerican war; but the state in which I represent Robert's mind to be, Ihad frequent opportunities of observing at the commencement of ourrupture with France in 1793; opportunities of which I availed myself inthe story of the 'Female Vagrant, ' as told in the poem on 'Guilt andSorrow. ' The account given by the 'Solitary, ' towards the close of thesecond book, in all that belongs to the character of the old man, wastaken from a Grasmere pauper, who was boarded in the last house quittingthe Vale on the road to Ambleside; the character of his hostess, and allthat befell the poor man upon the mountain, belongs to Paterdale. Thewoman I knew well; her name was Ruth Jackson, and she was exactly such aperson as I describe. The ruins of the old chapel, among which the oldman was found lying, may yet be traced, and stood upon the ridge thatdivides Paterdale from Boardale and Martindale, having been placed therefor the convenience of both districts. The glorious appearance disclosedabove and among the mountains, was described partly from what my friendMr. Luff, who then lived in Paterdale, witnessed upon this melancholyoccasion, and partly from what Mrs. Wordsworth and I had seen, incompany with Sir G. And Lady Beaumont, above Hartshope Hall, in our wayfrom Paterdale to Ambleside. 

And now for a few words upon the church, its monuments, and of thedeceased who are spoken of as lying in the surrounding churchyard. Butfirst for the one picture given by the 'Wanderer' of the living. In thisnothing is introduced but what was taken from Nature, and real life. Thecottage was called Hackett, and stands, as described, on the southernextremity of the ridge which separates the two Langdales. The pair whoinhabited it were called Jonathan and Betty Yewdale. Once when ourchildren were ill, of whooping-cough I think, we took them for change ofair to this cottage, and were in the habit of going there to drink teaupon fine summer afternoons; so that we became intimately acquaintedwith the characters, habits, and lives of these good, and let me say, inthe main, wise people. The matron had, in her early youth, been aservant in a house at Hawkshead, where several boys boarded, while Iwas a school-boy there. I did not remember her as having served in thatcapacity; but we had many little anecdotes to tell to each other ofremarkable boys, incidents, and adventures, which had made a noise intheir day in that small town. These two persons were induced afterwardsto settle at Rydal, where they both died. 

_Church and Churchyard_. --The church, as already noticed, is that ofGrasmere. The interior of it has been improved lately and made warmer byunderdrawing the roof, and raising the floor; but the rude and antiquemajesty of its former appearance has been impaired by painting therafters; and the oak benches, with a simple rail at the back dividingthem from each other, have given way to seats that have more theappearance of pews. It is remarkable that, excepting only the pewbelonging to Rydal Hall, that to Rydal Mount, the one to the parsonage, and, I believe, another, the men and women still continue, as used to bethe custom in Wales, to sit separate from each other. Is this practiceas old as the Reformation? and when and how did it originate? In theJewish synagogues, and in Lady Huntingdon's chapels, the sexes aredivided in the same way. In the adjoining churchyard greater changeshave taken place; it is now not a little crowded with tombstones; andnear the schoolhouse, which stands in the churchyard, is an uglystructure, built to receive the hearse, which is recently come into use. It would not be worth while to allude to this building, or thehearse-vehicle it contains, but that the latter has been the means ofintroducing a change much to be lamented in the mode of conductingfunerals among the mountains. Now, the coffin is lodged in the hearse atthe door of the house of the deceased, and the corpse is so conveyed tothe churchyard gate. All the solemnity which formerly attended itsprogress, as described in this poem, is put an end to. So much do Iregret this, that I beg to be excused for giving utterance here to awish that, should it befall me to die at Rydal Mount, my own body may becarried to Grasmere Church after the manner in which, till lately, thatof every one was borne to the place of sepulchre here, namely, on theshoulders of neighbours; no house being passed without some words of afuneral psalm being sung at the time by the attendants bearing it. WhenI put into the mouth of the 'Wanderer, ' 'Many precious rites and customsof our rural ancestry are gone, or stealing from us, ' 'this, I hope, will last for ever, ' and what follows, little did I foresee that theobservance and mode of proceeding which had often affected me so muchwould so soon be superseded. 

Having said much of the injury done to this churchyard, let me add, thatone is at liberty to look forward to a time when, by the growth of theyew-trees thriving there, a solemnity will be spread over the place thatwill in some degree make amends for the old simple character which hasalready been so much encroached upon, and will be still more every year. I will here set down, by way of memorial, that my friend Sir G. Beaumont, having long ago purchased the beautiful piece of water calledLoughrigg Tarn, on the banks of which he intended to build, I told himthat a person in Kendal who was attached to the place wished to purchaseit. Sir George, finding the possession of no use to him, consented topart with it, and placed the purchase-money, 20_l. _, at my disposal, forany local use which I thought proper. Accordingly, I resolved to plantyew-trees in the churchyard; and had four pretty strong large oakenclosures made, in each of which was planted under my own eye, andprincipally, if not entirely, by my own hand, two young trees, with theintention of leaving the one that throve best to stand. Many yearsafter, Mr. Barber, who will long be remembered in Grasmere, Mr. Greenwood (the chief landed proprietor), and myself, had four otherenclosures made in the churchyard at our own expense, in each of whichwas planted a tree taken from its neighbour, and they all stand thrivingadmirably, the fences having been removed as no longer necessary. Maythe trees be taken care of hereafter, when we are all gone; and some ofthem will perhaps, at some far-distant time, rival the majesty of theyew of Lorton, and those which I have described as growing atBorrowdale, where they are still to be seen in grand assemblage. 

And now for the persons that are selected as lying in the churchyard. But first for the individual whose grave is prepared to receive him. 

His story is here truly related. He was a schoolfellow of mine for someyears. He came to us when he was at least seventeen years of age, verytall, robust, and full grown. This prevented him from falling into theamusements and games of the school; consequently, he gave more time tobooks. He was not remarkably bright or quick, but, by industry, he madea progress more than respectable. His parents not being wealthy enoughto send him to college when he left Hawkshead, he became a schoolmaster, with a view to preparing himself for holy orders. About this time hefell in love, as related in the poem, and every thing followed as theredescribed, except that I do not know exactly when and where he died. Thenumber of youths that came to Hawkshead school from the families of thehumble yeomanry, to be educated to a certain degree of scholarship, as apreparation for the church, was considerable; and the fortunes of thosepersons in after life various of course, and some not a littleremarkable. I have now one of this class in my eye who became an usherin a preparatory school, and ended in making a large fortune. Hismanners, when he came to Hawkshead, were as uncouth as well could be;but he had good abilities, with skill to turn them to account, and whenthe master of the school to which he was usher died, he stept into hisplace, and became proprietor of the establishment. He continued tomanage it with such address, and so much to the taste of what is calledhigh society and the fashionable world, that no school of the kind, eventill he retired, was in such high request. Ministers of State, thewealthiest gentry, and nobility of the first rank, vied with each otherin bespeaking a place for their sons in the seminary of this fortunateteacher. [In pencil on opposite page--Mr. Pearson. ] In the solitude ofGrasmere, while living as a married man in a cottage of 8_l. _ per annumrent, I often used to smile at the tales which reached me of thebrilliant career of this quondam clown--for such in reality he was, inmanners and appearance, before he was polished a little by attritionwith gentlemen's sons trained at Hawkshead, rough and rude as many ofour families were. Not 200 yards from the cottage in Grasmere justmentioned, to which I retired, this gentleman, who many years afterwardspurchased a small estate in the neighbourhood, is now erecting aboat-house, with an upper story to be resorted to as an entertainingroom when he and his associates may feel inclined to take their pastimeon the Lake. Every passenger will be disgusted with the sight of thisedifice, not merely as a tasteless thing in itself, but as utterly outof place, and peculiarly fitted, as far as it is observed (and itobtrudes itself on notice at every point of view), to mar the beautyand destroy the pastoral simplicity of the Vale. For my own part, andthat of my household, it is our utter detestation, standing by a shoreto which, before the high road was made to pass that way, we used dailyand hourly to repair for seclusion and for the shelter of a grove, underwhich I composed many of my poems--the 'Brothers' especially; and forthis reason we gave the grove that name. 'That which each man loved andprized in his peculiar nook of earth dies with him or is changed. ' Somuch for my old schoolfellow and his exploits. I will only add that, asthe foundation has twice failed, from the Lake no doubt being intolerantof the intrusion, there is some ground for hoping that the impertinentstructure will not stand. It has been rebuilt in somewhat better taste, and much as one wishes it away, it is not now so very unsightly. Thestructure is an emblem of the man. Perseverance has conquereddifficulties, and given something of form and polish to rudeness. [Inpencil on opposite page--This boat-house, badly built, gave way, and wasrebuilt. It again tumbled, and was a third time reconstructed, but in abetter fashion than before. It is not now, _per se_, an ugly building, however obtrusive it may be. ]

The Miner, next described as having found his treasure after twice tenyears of labour, lived in Paterdale, and the story is true to theletter. It seems to me, however, rather remarkable, that the strength ofmind which had supported him through his long unrewarded labour, did notenable him to bear its successful issue. Several times in the course ofmy life I have heard of sudden influxes of great wealth being followedby derangement; and, in one instance, the shock of good fortune was sogreat as to produce absolute idiotcy. But these all happened where therehad been little or no previous effort to acquire the riches, andtherefore such a consequence might the more naturally be expected, thanin the case of the solitary miner. In reviewing his story, one cannotbut regret that such perseverance was not sustained by a worthierobject. Archimedes leaped out of his bath and ran about the streets, proclaiming his discovery in a transport of joy; but we are not toldthat he lost either his life or his senses in consequence. 

The next character, to whom the priest is led by contrast with theresoluteness displayed by the foregoing, is taken from a person bornand bred in Grasmere, by name Dawson, and whose talents, dispositions, and way of life, were such as are here delineated. I did not know him, but all was fresh in memory when we settled at Grasmere in the beginningof the century. From this point the conversation leads to the mention oftwo individuals, who by their several fortunes were, at different times, driven to take refuge at the small and obscure town of Hawkshead on theskirt of these mountains. Their stories I had from the dear old damewith whom, as a school-boy, and afterwards, I lodged for the space ofnearly ten years. The elder, the Jacobite, was named Drummond, and wasof a high family in Scotland; the Hanoverian Whig bore the name ofVandeput, [15] and might, perhaps, be a descendant of some Dutchman whohad come over in the train of King William. At all events, his zeal wassuch, that he ruined himself by a contest for the representation ofLondon or Westminster, undertaken to support his Party, and retired tothis corner of the world, selected as it had been by Drummond for thatobscurity which, since visiting the Lakes became fashionable, it has nolonger retained. So much was this region considered out of the way tilla late period, that persons who had fled from justice used often toresort hither for concealment, and some were so bold as to notunfrequently make excursions from the place of their retreat for thepurpose of committing fresh offences. Such was particularly the casewith two brothers of the name of Weston, who took up their abode at OldBrathay, I think about seventy years ago. They were highwaymen, andlived there some time without being discovered, though it was known thatthey often disappeared, in a way, and upon errands, which could not beaccounted for. Their horses were noticed as being of a choice breed, andI have heard from the Relph family, one of whom was a saddler in thetown of Kendal, that they were curious in their saddles, and housings, and accoutrements of their horses. They, as I have heard, and as wasuniversally believed, were, in the end, both taken and hanged. 

[15] Sir George Vandeput. 

_Tall was her stature, her complexion dark, and saturnine_. --This personlived at Town-End, and was almost our next neighbour. I have little tonotice concerning her beyond what is said in the poem. She was a moststriking instance how far a woman may surpass in talent, in knowledge, and culture of mind, those with and among whom she lives, and yet fallbelow them in Christian virtues of the heart and spirit. It seemedalmost, and I say it with grief, that in proportion as she excelled inthe one, she failed in the other. How frequently has one to observe inboth sexes the same thing, and how mortifying is the reflection!

_As on a sunny bank the tender lamb_. --The story that follows was toldto Mrs. Wordsworth and my sister, by the sister of this unhappy youngwoman. Every particular was exactly as I have related. The party was notknown to me, though she lived at Hawkshead; but it was after I leftschool. The clergyman who administered comfort to her in her distress Iknew well. Her sister, who told the story, was the wife of a leadingyeoman in the Vale of Grasmere, and they were an affectionate pair, andgreatly respected by every one who knew them. Neither lived to be old;and their estate, which was, perhaps, the most considerable then in theVale, and was endeared to them by many remembrances of a salutarycharacter, not easily understood or sympathised with by those who areborn to great affluence, past to their eldest son, according to thepractice of these Vales, who died soon after he came into possession. Hewas an amiable and promising youth, but was succeeded by an onlybrother, a good-natured man, who fell into habits of drinking, by whichhe gradually reduced his property, and the other day the last acre of itwas sold, and his wife and children, and he himself still surviving, have very little left to live upon; which it would not, perhaps, havebeen worth while to record here, but that through all trials this womanhas proved a model of patience, meekness, affectionate forbearance, andforgiveness. Their eldest son, who through the vices of his father hasthus been robbed of an ancient family inheritance, was never heard tomurmur or complain against the cause of their distress, and is now, deservedly, the chief prop of his mother's hopes. 

BOOK VII. --The clergyman and his family described at the beginning ofthis book were, during many years, our principal associates in the Valeof Grasmere, unless I were to except our very nearest neighbours. I haveentered so particularly into the main points of their history, that Iwill barely testify in prose that (with the single exception of theparticulars of their journey to Grasmere, which, however, was exactlycopied from real life in another instance) the whole that I have said ofthem is as faithful to the truth as words can make it. There was muchtalent in the family, and the eldest son was distinguished for poeticaltalent, of which a specimen is given in my Notes to the Sonnets on theDuddon. Once, when in our cottage at Town-End, I was talking with himabout poetry, in the course of our conversation I presumed to find faultwith the versification of Pope, of whom he was an enthusiastic admirer. He defended him with a warmth that indicated much irritation;nevertheless I would not abandon my point, and said, 'In compass andvariety of sound your own versification surpasses his. ' Never shall Iforget the change in his countenance and tone of voice: the storm waslaid in a moment, he no longer disputed my judgment, and I passedimmediately in his mind, no doubt, for as great a critic as ever lived. I ought to add, he was a clergyman and a well-educated man, and hisverbal memory was the most remarkable of any individual I have known, except a Mr. Archer, an Irishman, who lived several years in thisneighbourhood, and who in this faculty was a prodigy: he afterwardsbecame deranged, and I fear continues so if alive. 

Then follows the character of Robert Walker, for which see Nates to theDuddon. 

Next that of the _Deaf Man_, whose epitaph may be seen in the churchyardat the head of Hawes-Water, and whose qualities of mind and heart, andtheir benign influence in conjunction with his privation, I had from hisrelatives on the spot. 

The _Blind Man_, next commemorated, was John Gough, of Kendal, a manknown, far beyond his neighbourhood, for his talents and attainments innatural history and science. 

Of the _Infants' Grave_ next noticed, I will only say, it is an exactpicture of what fell under my own observation; and all persons who areintimately acquainted with cottage life must often have observed likeinstances of the working of the domestic affections. 

_A volley thrice repeated_. --This young volunteer bore the name ofDawson, and was younger brother, if I am not mistaken, to the prodigalof whose character and fortunes an account is given towards thebeginning of the preceding book. The father of the family I knew well;he was a man of literary education and [considerable] experience insociety, much beyond what was common among the inhabitants of the Vale. He had lived a good while in the Highlands of Scotland as a manager ofiron-works at Bunaw, and had acted as clerk to one of my predecessors inthe office of distributor of stamps, when he used to travel round thecountry collecting and bringing home the money due to Government ingold, which it may be worth while to mention, for the sake of myfriends, was deposited in the cell or iron closet under the west window, which still exists, with the iron doors that guarded the property. This, of course, was before the time of bills and notes. The two sons of thisperson had no doubt been led by the knowledge of their father to takemore delight in scholarship, and had been accustomed, in their ownminds, to take a wider view of social interests, than was usual amongtheir associates. The premature death of this gallant young man was muchlamented, and as an attendant upon the funeral, I myself witnessed theceremony, and the effect of it as described in the poems, 'Traditiontells that in Eliza's golden days, ' 'A knight came on a war-horse, ' 'Thehouse is gone. ' The pillars of the gateway in front of the mansionremained when we first took up our abode at Grasmere. Two or threecottages still remain which are called Nott Houses, from the name of thegentleman (I have called him a knight) concerning whom these traditionssurvive. He was the ancestor of the _Knott_ family, formerlyconsiderable proprietors in the district. What follows in the discourseof the 'Wanderer, ' upon the changes he had witnessed in rural life bythe introduction of machinery, is truly described from what I myself sawduring my boyhood and early youth, and from what was often told me bypersons of this humble calling. Happily, most happily, for thesemountains, the mischief was diverted from the banks of their beautifulstreams, and transferred to open and flat counties abounding in coal, where the agency of steam was found much more effectual for carrying onthose demoralising works. Had it not been for this invention, longbefore the present time, every torrent and river in this district wouldhave had its factory, large and populous in proportion to the power ofthe water that could there be commanded. Parliament has interfered toprevent the night-work which was carried on in these mills as activelyas during the daytime, and by necessity, still more perniciously; a saddisgrace to the proprietors and to the nation which could so longtolerate such unnatural proceedings. 

Reviewing, at this late period, 1843, what I put into the mouths of myinterlocutors a few years after the commencement of the century, Igrieve that so little progress has been made in diminishing the evilsdeplored, or promoting the benefits of education which the 'Wanderer'anticipates. The results of Lord Ashley's labours to defer the time whenchildren might legally be allowed to work in factories, and hisendeavours to still further limit the hours of permitted labour, havefallen far short of his own humane wishes, and of those of everybenevolent and right-minded man who has carefully attended to thissubject; and in the present session of Parliament (1843) Sir JamesGraham's attempt to establish a course of religious education among thechildren employed in factories has been abandoned, in consequence ofwhat might easily have been foreseen, the vehement and turbulentopposition of the Dissenters; so that for many years to come it may bethought expedient to leave the religious instruction of childrenentirely in the hands of the several denominations of Christians in theIsland, each body to work according to its own means and in its own way. Such is my own confidence, a confidence I share with many others of mymost valued friends, in the superior advantages, both religious andsocial, which attend a course of instruction presided over and guided bythe clergy of the Church of England, that I have no doubt, that if butonce its members, lay and clerical, were duly sensible of thosebenefits, their Church would daily gain ground, and rapidly, upon everyshape and fashion of Dissent; and in that case, a great majority inParliament being sensible of these benefits, the ministers of thecountry might be emboldened, were it necessary, to apply funds of theState to the support of education on church principles. Before Iconclude, I cannot forbear noticing the strenuous efforts made at thistime in Parliament by so many persons to extend manufacturing andcommercial industry at the expense of agricultural, though we haverecently had abundant proofs that the apprehensions expressed by the'Wanderer' were not groundless. 

 'I spake of mischief by the wise diffused, With gladness thinking that the more it spreads The healthier, the securer we become; Delusion which a moment may destroy!'

The Chartists are well aware of this possibility, and cling to it withall ardour and perseverance which nothing but wiser and more brotherlydealing towards the many on the part of the wealthy few can moderate orremove. 

BOOK IX. , _towards conclusion_. 

 'While from the grassy mountain's open side We gazed. '

The point here fixed upon in my imagination is half-way up the northernside of Loughrigg Fell, from which the 'Pastor' and his companions aresupposed to look upwards to the sky and mountain-tops, and round theVale, with the Lake lying immediately beneath them. 

 'But turned, not without welcome promise given That he would share the pleasures and pursuits Of yet another Summer's day, consumed In wandering with us. '

When I reported this promise of the 'Solitary, ' and long after, it wasmy wish, and I might say intention, that we should resume our wanderingsand pass the borders into his native country, where, as I hoped, hemight witness, in the society of the 'Wanderer, ' some religiousceremony--a sacrament say, in the open fields, or a preaching among themountains, which, by recalling to his mind the days of his earlychildhood, when he had been present on such occasions in company withhis parents and nearest kindred, might have dissolved his heart intotenderness, and so done more towards restoring the Christian faith inwhich he had been educated, and, with that, contentedness and evencheerfulness of mind, than all that the 'Wanderer' and 'Pastor' by theirseveral effusions and addresses had been enabled to effect. An issuelike this was in my intentions, but alas!

 ----'mid the wreck of is and was, Things incomplete and purposes betrayed Make sadder transits o'er thought's optic glass Than noblest objects utterly decayed. '

 Bydal Mount, June 24. 1843. St. John Baptist Day. 

Of the 'Church' in the 'Excursion' (Book v. ) we find this additionalmorsel in a letter to Lady Frederick Bentinck (_Memoirs_, i. 156): 'TheChurch is a very ancient structure; some persons now propose to ceilit, a project which, as a matter of taste and feeling, I utterlydisapprove. At present, it is open to the rafters, and is accordinglyspacious, and has a venerable appearance, favourable, when one firstenters, to devotional impressions. '

514. _The Aristocracy of Nature_. 

 ----'much did he see of men. ' ['Excursion, ' Book i. 1. 344. ]

At the risk of giving a shock to the prejudices of artificial society, Ihave ever been ready to pay homage to the aristocracy of nature; under aconviction that vigorous human-heartedness is the constituent principleof true taste. It may still, however, be satisfactory to have prosetestimony how far a Character, employed for purposes of imagination, isfounded upon general fact. I, therefore, subjoin an extract from anauthor who had opportunities of being well acquainted with a class ofmen, from whom my own personal knowledge emboldened me to draw thisportrait. 

'We learn from Caesar and other Roman Writers, that the travellingmerchants who frequented Gaul and other barbarous countries, eithernewly conquered by the Roman arms, or bordering on the Roman conquests, were ever the first to make the inhabitants of those countriesfamiliarly acquainted with the Roman modes of life, and to inspire themwith an inclination to follow the Roman fashions, and to enjoy Romanconveniences. In North America, travelling merchants from thesettlements have done and continue to do much more towards civilisingthe Indian natives, than all the missionaries, Papist or Protestant, whohave ever been sent among them. 

'It is farther to be observed, for the credit of this most useful classof men, that they commonly contribute, by their personal manners, noless than by the sale of their wares, to the refinement of the peopleamong whom they travel. Their dealings form them to great quickness ofwit and acuteness of judgment. Having constant occasion to recommendthemselves and their goods, they acquire habits of the most obligingattention, and the most insinuating address. As in their peregrinationsthey have opportunity of contemplating the manners of various men andvarious cities, they become eminently skilled in the knowledge of theworld. _As they wander, each alone, through thinly-inhabiteddistricts they form habits of reflection and of sublime contemplation_. With all these qualifications, no wonder that they should often be, inremote parts of the country, the best mirrors of fashion, and censors ofmanners; and should contribute much to polish the roughness, and softenthe rusticity of our peasantry. It is not more than twenty or thirtyyears since a young man going from any part of Scotland to England, ofpurpose to _carry the pack_, was considered as going to lead the lifeand acquire the fortune of a gentleman. When, after twenty years'absence, in that honourable line of employment, he returned with hisacquisitions to his native country, he was regarded as a gentleman toall intents and purposes. ' _Heron's Journey in Scotland_, Vol. I. P. 89. 

515. _Eternity_. 

 'Lost in unsearchable Eternity!' ['Excursion, ' Book iii. 1. 112. ]

Since this paragraph was composed, I have read with so much pleasure, inBurnet's _Theory of the Earth_, a passage expressing correspondingsentiments, excited by objects of a similar nature, that I cannotforbear to transcribe it. 

'Siquod verò Natura nobis dedit spectaculum, in hâc tellure, verègratum, et philosopho dignum, id semel mihi contigisse arbitror; cùm excelsissimâ rupe speculabundus ad oram maris Mediterranei, hinc aequorcaeruleum, illinc tractus Alpinos prospexi; nihil quidem magìs disparaut dissimile, nec in suo genere, magìs egregium et singulare. Hoctheatrum ego facilè praetulerim Romanis cunctis, Graecisve; atque idquod natura hîc spectandum exhibet, scenicis ludis omnibus, autamphitheatri certamiuibus. Nihil hîc elegans aut venustum, sed ingens etmagnificum, et quod placet magnitudine suâ et quâdam specieimmensitatis. Hinc intuebar maris aequabilem superficiem, usque et usquediffusam, quantum maximùm oculorum acies ferri potuit; illincdisruptissimam terrae faciem, et vastas moles variè elevatas autdepressas, erectas, propendentes, reclinatas, coacervatas, omni situinaequali et turbido. Placuit, ex hàc parte, Naturae unitas etsimplicitas, et inexhausta quaedam planities; ex alterâ, multiformisconfusio magnorum corporum, et insanae rerum strages: quas cùm intuebar, non urbis alicujus aut oppidi, sed confracti mundi rudera, ante oculoshabere mihi visus sum. 

'In singulis ferè montibus erat aliquid insolens et mirabile, sed praecaeteris mihi placebat illa, quâ sedebam, rupes; erat maxima etaltissima, et quâ terram respiciebat, molliori ascensu altitudinem suamdissimulabat: quà verò mare, horrendúm praeceps, et quasi adperpendiculum facta, instar parietis. Praetereà facies illa marina adeòerat laevis ac uniformis (quod in rupibus aliquando observare licet) acsi scissa fuisset à summo ad imum, in illo plano; vel terrae motualiquo, aut fulmine, divulsa. 

'Ima pars rupis erat cava, recessusque habuit, et saxeos specus, euntesin vacuum montem; sive naturâ pridem factos, sive exesos mari, etundarum crebris ictibus: In hos enim cum impetu ruebant et fragore, aestuantis maris fluctus; quos iterum spumantes reddidit antrum, etquasi ab imo ventre evomuit. 

'Dextrum latus montis erat praeruptum, aspero saxo et nuda caute;sinistrum non adeò neglexerat Natura, arboribus utpote ornatum: et propepedem montis rivus limpidae aquae prorupit; qui cùm vicinam vallemirrigaverat, lento motu serpens, et per varios maeandros, quasi adprotrahendam vitam, in magno mari absorptus subito periit. Denique insummo vertice promontorii, commodè eminebat saxum, cui insidebamcontemplabundus. Vale augusta sedes, Rege digna: Augusta rupes, sempermihi memoranda!' P. 89. _Telluris Theoria sacra, &c. Editio secunda_. 

516. _'Of Mississippi, or that Northern Stream;' William Gilbert_. ['Excursion, ' Book iii. L. 935. ]

'A man is supposed to improve by going out into the _World_, by visiting_London_. Artificial man does; he extends with his sphere; but, alas!that sphere is microscopic; it is formed of minutiae, and he surrendershis genuine vision to the artist, in order to embrace it in his ken. Hisbodily senses grow acute, even to barren and inhuman pruriency; whilehis mental become proportionally obtuse. The reverse is the Man of Mind:he who is placed in the sphere of Nature and of God, might be a mock atTattersall's and Brooks', and a sneer at St. James's: he would certainlybe swallowed alive by the first _Pizarro_ that crossed him:--But when hewalks along the river of Amazons; when he rests his eye on theunrivalled Andes; when he measures the long and watered savannah; orcontemplates, from a sudden promontory, the distant, vast Pacific--andfeels himself a freeman in this vast theatre, and commanding each readyproduced fruit of this wilderness, and each progeny of this stream--hisexaltation is not less than imperial. He is as gentle, too, as he isgreat: his emotions of tenderness keep pace with his elevation ofsentiment; for he says, "These were made by a good Being, who, unsoughtby me, placed me here to enjoy them. " He becomes at once a child and aking. His mind is in himself; from hence he argues, and from hence heacts, and he argues unerringly, and acts magisterially: his mind inhimself is also in his God; and therefore he loves, and therefore hesoars. '--From the notes upon 'The Hurricane, ' a Poem, by WilliamGilbert. 

The Reader, I am sure, will thank me for the above quotation, which, though from a strange book, is one of the finest passages of modernEnglish prose. 

517. _Richard Baxter_. 

 ''Tis, by comparison, an easy task Earth to despise, ' &c. ['Excursion, ' Book iv. Ll. 131-2. ]

See, upon this subject, Baxter's most interesting review of his ownopinions and sentiments in the decline of life. It may be found (latelyreprinted) in Dr. Wordsworth's _Ecclesiastical Biography_. 

518. _Endowment of immortal Power_. 

 'Alas! the endowment of Immortal Power, ' &c. ['Excursion, ' Ibid. Ll. 206 _et seqq. _]

This subject is treated at length in the Ode 'Intimations ofImmortality. '

519. _Samuel Daniel and Countess of Cumberland_. ['Excursion, ' _ibid. _l. 326. ]

 'Knowing the heart of Man is set to be, ' &c. 

The passage quoted from Daniel is taken from a poem addressed to theLady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, and the two last lines, printedin Italics, are by him translated from Seneca. The whole Poem is verybeautiful. I will transcribe four stanzas from it, as they contain anadmirable picture of the state of a wise Man's mind in a time of publiccommotion. 

 Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow Of Power, that proudly sits on other's crimes; Charged with more crying sins than those he checks. The storms of sad confusion that may grow Up in the present for the coming times, Appal not him; that hath no side at all, But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 

 Although his heart (so near allied to earth) Cannot but pity the perplexed state Of troublous and distressed mortality, That thus make way unto the ugly birth Of their own sorrows, and do still beget Affliction upon Imbecility; Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, He looks thereon not strange, but as foredone. 

 And whilst distraught ambition compasses, And is encompassed, while as craft deceives, And is deceived: whilst man doth ransack man, And builds on blood, and rises by distress; And th' Inheritance of desolation leaves To great-expecting hopes: He looks thereon, As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, And bears no venture in Impiety. 

 Thus, Lady, fares that man that hath prepared A rest for his desire; and sees all things Beneath him; and hath learned this book of man, Full of the notes of frailty; and compared The best of glory with her sufferings: By whom, I see, you labour all you can To plant your heart! and set your thoughts as near His glorious mansion as your powers can bear. '

520. _Spires_. 

 And spires whose "silent finger points to Heaven. "' ['Excursion, ' Book vi. L. 19. ]

An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches in flatcountries with spire-steeples, which as they cannot be referred to anyother object, point as with silent finger to the sky and stars, andsometimes, when they reflect the brazen light of a rich though rainysunset, appear like a pyramid of flame burning heaven-ward. See 'TheFriend, ' by S. T. Coleridge, No. 14, p. 223. 

521. _Sycamores_. 

 'That sycamore which annually holds Within its shade as in a stately tent. ' ['Excursion, ' Book vii. Ll. 622-3. ]

 'This sycamore oft musical with Bees; _Such tents_ the Patriarch loved. ' S. T. COLERIDGE. 

522. _The Transitory_. 

 'Perish the roses and the flowers of Kings. ' ['Excursion, ' Book vii. L. 990. ]

The 'Transit gloria mundi' is finely expressed in the Introduction tothe Foundation-charters of some of the ancient Abbeys. Some expressionshere used are taken from that of the Abbey of St. Mary's, Furness, thetranslation of which is as follows:

'Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses andflowers of Kings, Emperors, and Dukes, and the crowns and palms of allthe great, wither and decay; and that all things, with an uninterruptedcourse, tend to dissolution and death: I therefore, ' &c. 

523. _Dyer and 'The Fleece. '_

 ---'Earth has lent Her waters, Air her breezes. ' ['Excursion, ' Book viii. Ll. 112-3. ]

In treating this subject, it was impossible not to recollect, withgratitude, the pleasing picture, which, in his Poem of the Fleece, theexcellent and amiable Dyer has given of the influences of manufacturingindustry upon the face of this Island. He wrote at a time when machinerywas first beginning to be introduced, and his benevolent heart promptedhim to augur from it nothing but good. Truth has compelled me to dwellupon the baneful effects arising out of an ill-regulated and excessiveapplication of powers so admirable in themselves. 

524. _Dr. Bell_. 

 'Binding herself by Statute. ' ['Excursion, ' Book ix. L. 300. ]

The discovery of Dr. Bell affords marvellous facilities for carryingthis into effect; and it is impossible to over-rate the benefit whichmight accrue to humanity from the universal application of this simpleengine under an enlightened and conscientious government. 

II. LETTERS AND EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS. 

NOTE. 

On this division of the Prose, the Reader may see our Preface, Vol. I. G. 

1. _Autobiographical Memoranda dictated by William Wordsworth, P. L. , atRydal Mount, November_ 1847. 

I was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, on April 7th, 1770, the secondson of John Wordsworth, attorney-at-law, as lawyers of this class werethen called, and law-agent to Sir James Lowther, afterwards Earl ofLonsdale. My mother was Anne, only daughter of William Cookson, mercer, of Penrith, and of Dorothy, born Crackanthorp, of the ancient family ofthat name, who from the times of Edward the Third had lived in NewbiggenHall, Westmoreland. My grandfather was the first of the name ofWordsworth who came into Westmoreland, where he purchased the smallestate of Sockbridge. He was descended from a family who had beensettled at Peniston in Yorkshire, near the sources of the Don, probablybefore the Norman Conquest. Their names appear on different occasions inall the transactions, personal and public, connected with that parish;and I possess, through the kindness of Col. Beaumont, an almery made in1325, at the expense of a William Wordsworth, as is expressed in a Latininscription[16] carved upon it, which carries the pedigree of the familyback four generations from himself. 

[16] The original is as follows, some of the abbreviations beingexpanded: 'HOC OPUS FIEBAT ANNO DOMINI MCCCXXV EX SUMPIU WLLLELMIWOBDESWORTH FILII W. FIL. JOH. FIL. W. FIL. NICH. VIRI ELIZABETH FILIAEET HEREDIS W. PROCTOR DE PENYSTON QUORUM ANIMABUS PROPITIETUE DEUS. '

On the almery are carved the letters 'I. H. S. ' and 'M. ;' also the emblemof the Holy Trinity. 

For further information concerning this oak press, see Mr. Hunter'spaper in _Gentleman's Magazine _for July, 1850, p. 43. 

The time of my infancy and early boyhood was passed partly atCockermouth, and partly with my mother's parents at Penrith, where mymother, in the year 1778, died of a decline, brought on by a cold, theconsequence of being put, at a friend's house in London, in what used tobe called 'a best bedroom. ' My father never recovered his usualcheerfulness of mind after this loss, and died when I was in myfourteenth year, a school-boy, just returned from Hawkshead, whither Ihad been sent with my elder brother Richard, in my ninth year. 

I remember my mother only in some few situations, one of which was herpinning a nosegay to my breast when I was going to say the catechism inthe church, as was customary before Easter. [17] I remember also tellingher on one week day that I had been at church, for our school stood inthe churchyard, and we had frequent opportunities of seeing what wasgoing on there. The occasion was, a woman doing penance in the church ina white sheet. My mother commended my having been present, expressing ahope that I should remember the circumstance for the rest of my life. 'But, ' said I, 'Mama, they did not give me a penny, as I had been toldthey would. ' 'Oh, ' said she, recanting her praises, 'if that was yourmotive, you were very properly disappointed. '

My last impression was having a glimpse of her on passing the door ofher bedroom during her last illness, when she was reclining in her easychair. An intimate friend of hers, Miss Hamilton by name, who was usedto visit her at Cockermouth, told me that she once said to her, that theonly one of her five children about whose future life she was anxious, was William; and he, she said, would be remarkable either for good orfor evil. The cause of this was, that I was of a stiff, moody, andviolent temper; so much so that I remember going once into the attics ofmy grandfather's house at Penrith, upon some indignity having been putupon me, with an intention of destroying myself with one of the foilswhich I knew was kept there. I took the foil in hand, but my heartfailed. Upon another occasion, while I was at my grandfather's house atPenrith, along with my eldest brother, Richard, we were whipping topstogether in the large drawing-room, on which the carpet was only laiddown upon particular occasions. The walls were hung round with familypictures, and I said to my brother, 'Dare you strike your whip throughthat old lady's petticoat?' He replied, 'No, I won't. ' 'Then, ' said I, 'here goes;' and I struck my lash through her hooped petticoat, forwhich no doubt, though I have forgotten it, I was properly punished. Butpossibly, from some want of judgment in punishments inflicted, I hadbecome perverse and obstinate in defying chastisement, and rather proudof it than otherwise. 

[17] See Ecclesiastical Sonnets, Part III. Sonnet xxii. 'OnCatechising. '

Of my earliest days at school I have little to say, but that they werevery happy ones, chiefly because I was left at liberty, then and in thevacations, to read whatever books I liked. For example, I read allFielding's works, _Don Quixote, Gil Blas, _ and any part of Swift that Iliked; _Gulliver's Travels, _ and the _Tale of the Tub, _ being both muchto my taste. I was very much indebted to one of the ushers of HawksheadSchool, by name Shaw, who taught me more of Latin in a fortnight than Ihad learnt during two preceding years at the school of Cockermouth. Unfortunately for me this excellent master left our school, and went toStafford, where he taught for many years. It may be perhaps as well tomention, that the first verses which I wrote were a task imposed by mymaster; the subject, 'The Summer Vacation;' and of my own accord I addedothers upon 'Return to School. ' There was nothing remarkable in eitherpoem; but I was called upon, among other scholars, to write verses uponthe completion of the second centenary from the foundation of the schoolin 1585, by Archbishop Sandys. These verses were much admired, far morethan they deserved, for they were but a tame imitation of Pope'sversification, and a little in his style. This exercise, however, put itinto my head to compose verses from the impulse of my own mind, and Iwrote, while yet a school-boy, a long poem running upon my ownadventures, and the scenery of the country in which I was brought up. The only part of that poem which has been preserved is the conclusion ofit, which stands at the beginning of my collected Poems ['Dear nativeregions, ' &c. ]. 

In the month of October, 1787, I was sent to St. John's College, Cambridge, of which my uncle, Dr. Cookson, had been a fellow. Themaster, Dr. Chevallier, died very soon after;[18] and, according to thecustom of that time, his body, after being placed in the coffin, wasremoved to the hall of the college, and the pall, spread over thecoffin, was stuck over by copies of verses, English or Latin, thecomposition of the students of St. John's. My uncle seemed mortifiedwhen upon inquiry he learnt that none of these verses were from my pen, 'because, ' said he, 'it would have been a fair opportunity fordistinguishing yourself. ' I did not, however, regret that _I_ had beensilent on this occasion, as I felt no interest in the deceased person, with whom I had had no intercourse, and whom I had never seen but duringhis walks in the college grounds. 

[18] He was succeeded by Dr. Craven in 1789. 

When at school, I, with the other boys of the same standing, was putupon reading the first six books of Euclid, with the exception of thefifth; and also in algebra I learnt simple and quadratic equations; andthis was for me unlucky, because I had a full twelvemonth's start of thefreshmen of my year, and accordingly got into rather an idle way;reading nothing but classic authors according to my fancy, and Italianpoetry. My Italian master was named Isola, and had been well acquaintedwith Gray the poet. As I took to these studies with much interest, hewas proud of the progress I made. Under his correction I translated the_Vision of Mirza_, and two or three other papers of the _Spectator_, into Italian. In the month of August, 1790, I set off for the Continent, in companionship with Robert Jones, a Welshman, a fellow-collegian. Wewent staff in hand, without knapsacks, and carrying each his needmentstied up in a pocket handkerchief, with about twenty pounds apiece in ourpockets. We crossed from Dover and landed at Calais on the eve of theday when the king was to swear fidelity to the new constitution: anevent which was solemnised with due pomp at Calais. On the afternoon ofthat day we started, and slept at Ardres. For what seemed best to meworth recording in this tour, see the 'Poem of my own Life. '[19]

After taking my degree in January, 1791, I went to London, stayed theresome time, and then visited my friend Jones, who resided in the Yale ofClwydd, North Wales. Along with him I made a pedestrian tour throughNorth Wales, for which also see the Poem. [20]

In the autumn of 1791 I went to Paris, where I stayed some little time, and then went to Orleans, with a view of being out of the way of my owncountrymen, that I might learn to speak the language fluently. AtOrleans, and Blois, and Paris, on my return, I passed fifteen or sixteenmonths. [21] It was a stirring time. The king was dethroned when I was atBlois, and the massacres of September took place when I was at Orleans. But for these matters see also the Poem. I came home before theexecution of the king, and passed the subsequent time among my friendsin London and elsewhere, till I settled with my only sister at Piacedownin Dorsetshire, in the year 1796. 

[19] Prelude, book vi. 

[20] Ibid, book xiv. 

[21] This is not quite correct; the time of his absence did not exceedthirteen months. 

Here we were visited by Mr. Coleridge, then residing at Bristol; and forthe sake of being near him when he had removed to Nether-Stowey, inSomersetshire, we removed to Alfoxden, three miles from that place. Thiswas a very pleasant and productive time of my life. Coleridge, mysister, and I, set off on a tour to Linton and other places inDevonshire; and in order to defray his part of the expense, Coleridge onthe same afternoon commenced his poem of the 'Ancient Mariner;' in whichI was to have borne my part, and a few verses were written by me, andsome assistance given in planning the poem; but our styles agreed solittle, that I withdrew from the concern, and he finished it himself. 

In the course of that spring I composed many poems, most of which wereprinted at Bristol, in one volume, by my friend Joseph Cottle, alongwith Coleridge's 'Ancient Mariner, ' and two or three other of hispieces. 

In the autumn of 1798, Mr. Coleridge, a friend of his Mr. Chester, mysister, and I, crossed from Yarmouth to Hamburgh, where we remained afew days, and saw, several times, Klopstock the poet. Mr. Coleridge andhis friend went to Ratzburg, in the north of Germany, and my sister andI preferred going southward; and for the sake of cheapness, and theneighbourhood of the Hartz Mountains, we spent the winter at the oldimperial city of Goslar. The winter was perishingly cold--the coldest ofthis century; and the good people with whom we lodged told me onemorning, that they expected to find me frozen to death, my littlesleeping room being immediately over an archway. However, neither mysister nor I took any harm. 

We returned to England in the following spring, and went to visit ourfriends the Hutchinsons, at Sockburn-on-Tees, in the county of Durham, with whom we remained till the 19th of December. We then came, on St. Thomas's Day, the 21st, to a small cottage at Town-End, Grasmere, which, in the course of a tour some months previously with Mr. Coleridge, I hadbeen pleased with, and had hired. This we furnished for about a hundredpounds, which sum had come to my sister by a legacy from her uncleCrackanthorp. 

I fell to composition immediately, and published, in 1800, the secondvolume of the 'Lyrical Ballads. '

In the year 1802 I married Mary Hutchinson, at Brompton, nearScarborough, to which part of the country the family had removed fromSockburn. We had known each other from childhood, and had practisedreading and spelling under the same old dame at Penrith, a remarkablepersonage, who had taught three generations, of the upper classesprincipally, of the town of Penrith and its neighbourhood. 

After our marriage we dwelt, together with our sister, at Town-End, where three of our children were born. In the spring of 1808, theincrease of our family caused us to remove to a larger house, then justbuilt, Allan Bank, in the same vale; where our two younger children wereborn, and who died at the rectory, the house we afterwards occupied fortwo years. They died in 1812, and in 1813 we came to Rydal Mount, wherewe have since lived with no further sorrow till 1836, when my sisterbecame a confirmed invalid, and our sister Sarah Hutchinson died. Shelived alternately with her brother and with us. [22]

2. _His Schoolmistress, Mrs. Anne Birkett, Penrith_. 

'The old dame did not affect to make theologians, or logicians, but shetaught to read, and she practised the memory, often no doubt by rote;but still the faculty was improved. Something perhaps she explained, andleft the rest to parents, to masters, and to the pastor of theparish. '[23]

3. _Books and Reading_. 

'Do not trouble yourself with reading modern authors at present; confineyour attention to ancient classical writers; make yourself master ofthem; and when you have done that, you will come down to us; and thenyou will be able to judge us according to our deserts. '[24]

[22] _Memoirs_, i. Pp. 7-17. 

[23] Letter to Rev. H. J. Rose (1828), _Memoirs_, i. 33. 

[24] Letter to a nephew, _Memoirs_, i. 48-9. 

4. _Tour on the Continent_, 1790. 

LETTER TO MISS WORDSWORTH, SEPT. 6 1790. 

 Sept. 6, 1790, Keswill (a small village on the Lake of Constance). 

MY DEAR SISTER, My last letter was addressed to you from St. Valier and the GrandeChartreuse. I have, since that period, gone over a very considerabletract of country, and I will give you a sketch of my route as far asrelates to mentioning places where I have been, after I have assured youthat I am in excellent health and spirits, and have had no reason tocomplain of the contrary during our whole tour. My spirits have beenkept in a perpetual hurry of delight, by the almost uninterruptedsuccession of sublime and beautiful objects which have passed before myeyes during the course of the last mouth. I will endeavour to give yousome idea of our route. It will be utterly impossible for me to dwellupon particular scenes, as my paper would be exhausted before I had donewith the journey of two or three days. On quitting the GrandeChartreuse, where we remained two days, contemplating, with increasedpleasure, its wonderful scenery, we passed through Savoy to Geneva;thence, along the Pays do Vaud side of the lake, to Villeneuve, a smalltown seated at its head. The lower part of the lake did not afford us apleasure equal to what might have been expected from its celebrity; thisowing partly to its width, and partly to the weather, which was one ofthose hot gleamy days in which all distant objects are veiled in aspecies of bright obscurity. But the higher part of the lake made usample amends; 'tis true we had some disagreeable weather, but the banksof the water are infinitely more picturesque, and, as it is muchnarrower, the landscape suffered proportionally less from that palesteam which before almost entirely hid the opposite shore. FromVilleneuve we proceeded up the Rhone to Martigny, where we left ourbundles, and struck over the mountains to Chamouny, and visited theglaciers of Savoy. You have undoubtedly heard of these celebratedscenes, but if you have not read about them, any description which Ihave room to give you must be altogether inadequate. After passing twodays in the environs of Chamouny, we returned to Martigny, and pursuedour mount up the Valais, along the Rhine, to Brig. At Brig we quittedthe Valais, and passed the Alps at the Simplon, in order to visit partof Italy. The impressions of three hours of our walk among these Alpswill never be effaced. From Duomo d'Ossola, a town of Italy which lay inour route, we proceeded to the lake of Locarno, to visit the BoromeanIslands, and thence to Como. A more charming path was scarcely evertravelled over. The banks of many of the Italian and Swiss lakes are sosteep and rocky as not to admit of roads; that of Como is partly ofthis character. A small foot-path is all the communication by landbetween one village and another, on the side along which we passed, forupwards of thirty miles. We entered upon this path about noon, and, owing to the steepness of the banks, were soon unmolested by the sun, which illuminated the woods, rocks, and villages of the opposite shore. The lake is narrow, and the shadows of the mountains were early thrownacross it. It was beautiful to watch them travelling up the side of thehills, --for several hours to remark one half of a village covered withshade, and the other bright with the strongest sunshine. It was withregret that we passed every turn of this charming path, where every newpicture was purchased by the loss of another which we should never havebeen tired of gazing upon. The shores of the lake consist of steepscovered with large, sweeping woods of chestnut, spotted with villages;some clinging from the summits of the advancing rocks, and others hidingthemselves within their recesses. Nor was the surface of the lake lessinteresting than its shores; half of it glowing with the richest greenand gold, the reflection of the illuminated wood and path, shaded with asoft blue tint. The picture was still further diversified by the numberof sails which stole lazily by us as we paused in the wood above them. After all this we had the moon. It was impossible not to contrast thatrepose, that complacency of spirit, produced by these lovely scenes, with the sensations I had experienced two or three days before, inpassing the Alps. At the lake of Como, my mind ran through a thousanddreams of happiness, which might be enjoyed upon its banks, ifheightened by conversation and the exercise of the social affections. Among the more awful scenes of the Alps, I had not a thought of man, ora single created being; my whole soul was turned to Him who produced theterrible majesty before me. But I am too particular for the limits of mypaper. 

We followed the lake of Como to its head, and thence proceeded toChiavenna, where we began to pass a range of the Alps, which brought usinto the country of the Grisons at Sovozza. From Sovozza we pursued thevalley of Myssen, in which it is situated, to its head; passed MountAdula to Hinter Rhine, a small village near one of the sources of theRhine. We pursued this branch of the Rhine downward through the Grisonsto Michenem, where we turned up the other branch of the same river, andfollowing it to Chiamut, a small village near its source. Here wequitted the Grisons, and entered Switzerland at the valley of Urseren, and pursued the course of the Reuss down to Altorf; thence we proceeded, partly upon the lake and partly behind the mountains on its banks, toLucerne, and thence to Zurich. From Zurich, along the banks of the lake, we continued our route to Richtenschwyl: here we left the lake to visitthe famous church and convent of Einsiedeln, and thence to Glaris. Butthis catalogue must be shockingly tedious. Suffice it to say, that, after passing a day in visiting the romantic valley of Glaris, weproceeded by the lake of Wallenstadt and the canton of Appenzell to thelake of Constance, where this letter was begun nine days ago. FromConstance we proceeded along the banks of the Rhine to Schaffhausen, toview the falls of the Rhine there. Magnificent as this fall certainlyis, I must confess I was disappointed in it. I had raised my ideas toohigh. 

We followed the Rhine downward about eight leagues from Schaffhausen, where we crossed it, and proceeded by Baden to Lucerne. I am at thispresent moment (14th September) writing at a small village on the roadfrom Grindelwald to Lauterbrunnen. By consulting your maps, you willfind these villages in the south-east part of the canton of Berne, notfar from the lakes of Thun and Brientz. After viewing the valley ofLauterbrunnen, we shall have concluded our tour of the more Alpine partof Switzerland. We proceed thence to Berne, and intend, after making twoor three small excursions about the lake of Neufchatel, to go to Basle, a town in Switzerland, upon the Rhine, whence we shall, if we find wecan afford it, take advantage of the river down to Cologne, and so crossto Ostend, where we shall take the packet to Margate. To-day is the 14thof September; and I hope we shall be in England by the 10th of October. I have had, during the course of this delightful tour, a great deal ofuneasiness from an apprehension of your anxiety on my account. I havethought of you perpetually; and never have my eyes burst upon a scene ofparticular loveliness but I have almost instantly wished that you couldfor a moment be transported to the place where I stood to enjoy it. Ihave been more particularly induced to form those wishes, because thescenes of Switzerland have no resemblance to any I have found inEngland; consequently it may probably never be in your power to form anidea of them. We are now, as I observed above, upon the point ofquitting these most sublime and beautiful parts; and you cannot imaginethe melancholy regret which I feel at the idea. I am a perfectenthusiast in my admiration of nature in all her various forms; and Ihave looked upon, and, as it were, conversed with, the objects whichthis country has presented to my view so long, and with such increasingpleasure, that the idea of parting from them oppresses me with a sadnesssimilar to what I have always felt in quitting a beloved friend. 

There is no reason to be surprised at the strong attachment which theSwiss have always shown to their native country. Much of it mustundoubtedly have been owing to those charms which have already producedso powerful an effect upon me, and to which the rudest minds cannotpossibly be indifferent. Ten thousand times in the course of this tourhave I regretted the inability of my memory to retain a more strongimpression of the beautiful forms before me; and again and again, inquitting a fortunate station, have I returned to it with the most eageravidity, in the hope of bearing away a more lively picture. At thismoment, when many of these landscapes are floating before my mind, Ifeel a high enjoyment in reflecting that perhaps scarcely a day of mylife will pass in which I shall not derive some happiness from theseimages. 

With regard to the manners of the inhabitants of this singular country, the impressions which we have had often occasion to receive have beenunfavourable; but it must be remembered that we have had little to dobut with innkeepers, and those corrupted by perpetual intercourse withstrangers. Had we been able to speak the language, which is German, andhad we time to insinuate ourselves into their cottages, we shouldprobably have had as much occasion to admire the simplicity of theirlives as the beauties of their country. My partiality to Switzerland, excited by its natural charms, induces me to hope that the manners ofthe inhabitants are amiable; but at the same time I cannot helpfrequently comparing them with those of the French, and, as far as Ihave had opportunity to observe, they lose very much by the comparison. We not only found the French a much less imposing people, but thatpoliteness diffused through the lowest ranks had an air so engaging thatyou could scarce attribute it to any other cause than real benevolence. During the time, which was near a month, that we were in France, we hadnot once to complain of the smallest deficiency in courtesy in anyperson, much less of any positive rudeness. We had also perpetualoccasion to observe that cheerfulness and sprightliness for which theFrench have always been remarkable. But I must remind you that wecrossed at the time when the whole nation was mad with joy inconsequence of the Revolution. It was a most interesting period to be inFrance; and we had many delightful scenes, where the interest of thepicture was owing solely to this cause. I was also much pleased withwhat I saw of the Italians during the short time we were among them. Wehad several times occasion to observe a softness and elegance whichcontrasted strongly with the severe austereness of their neighbours onthe other side of the Alps. It was with pleasure I observed, at a smallinn on the lake of Como, the master of it playing upon his harpsichord, with a large collection of Italian music about him. The outside of theinstrument was such that it would not much have graced an Englishdrawing-room; but the tones that he drew from it were by no meanscontemptible. 

But it is time to talk about England. When you write to my brothers, Imust beg of you to give my love, and tell them I am sorry it has notbeen in my power to write to them. Kit will be surprised he has notheard from me, as we were almost upon terms of regular correspondence. Ihad not heard from Richard for some time before I set out. I did notcall upon him when I was in London; not so much because we weredetermined to hurry through London, but because he, as many of ourfriends at Cambridge did, would look upon our scheme as mad andimpracticable. I expect great pleasure, on my return to Cambridge, inexulting over those of my friends who threatened us with such anaccumulation of difficulties as must undoubtedly render it impossiblefor us to perform the tour. Every thing, however, has succeeded with usfar beyond my most sanguine expectations. We have, it is true, met withlittle disasters occasionally, but far from distressing, and they rathergave us additional resolution and spirits. We have both enjoyed mostexcellent health; and we have been so inured to walking, that we arebecome almost insensible to fatigue. We have several times performed ajourney of thirteen leagues over the most mountainous parts ofSwitzerland without any more weariness than if we had been walking anhour in the groves of Cambridge. Our appearance is singular; and we haveoften observed, that, in passing through a village, we have excited ageneral smile. Our coats, which we had made light on purpose for thejourney, are of the same piece; and our manner of carrying our bundles, which is upon our heads, with each an oak stick in our hands, contributes not a little to that general curiosity which we seem toexcite. But I find I have again relapsed into egotism, and must hereentreat you, not only to pardon this fault, but also to make allowancefor the illegible hand and desultory style of this letter. It has beenwritten, as you will see by its different shades, at many sittings, andis, in fact, the produce of most of the leisure which I have had sinceit was begun, and is now finally drawing to a conclusion, it being onthe 16th of September. I flatter myself still with the hope of seeingyou for a fortnight or three weeks, if it be agreeable to my uncle, asthere will be no necessity for me to be in Cambridge before the 10th ofNovember. I shall be better able to judge whether I am likely to enjoythis pleasure in about three weeks. I shall probably write to you againbefore I quit France; if not, most certainly immediately on my landingin England. You will remember me affectionately to my uncle and aunt: ashe was acquainted with my giving up all thoughts of a fellowship, hemay, perhaps, not be so much displeased at this journey. I should besorry if I have offended him by it. I hope my little cousin is well. Imust now bid you adieu, with assuring you that you are perpetually in mythoughts, and that I remain, Most affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. 

On looking over this letter, I am afraid you will not be able to readhalf of it. I must again beg you to excuse me. 

Miss Wordsworth, Rev. Wm. Cookson's, Long Stretton, Norfolk, L'Angleterre. [25]

[25] Memoirs, pp. 57-66. 

5. _In Wales_. 

'You will see by the date of this letter that I am in Wales, and whetheryou remember the place of Jones's residence or no, you will immediatelyconclude that I am with him. I quitted London about three weeks ago, where my time passed in a strange manner, sometimes whirled about by thevortex of its _strenua inertia_, and sometimes thrown by the eddy into acorner of the stream. Think not, however, that I had not many pleasanthours. .. . My time has been spent since I reached Wales in a veryagreeable manner, and Jones and I intend to make a tour through itsnorthern counties, --on foot, as you will easily suppose. '[26]

6. _Melancholy of a Friend_. 

'I regret much not to have been made acquainted with your wish to haveemployed your vacation in a pedestrian tour, both on your account, as itwould have contributed greatly to exhilarate your spirits, and on mine, as we should have gained much from the addition of your society. Such anexcursion would have served like an Aurora Borealis to gild your longLapland night of melancholy. '[27]

7. _Holy Orders_. 

About this time Wordsworth was urged by some of his relatives to takeholy orders. Writing from Cambridge, September 23rd, to Mathews, hesays: 'I quitted Wales on a summons from Mr. Robinson, a gentleman youmost likely have heard me speak of, respecting my going into orders andtaking a curacy at Harwich; which curacy he considered as introductoryto the living. I thought it was best to pay my respects to him inperson, to inform him that I am not of age for ordination. '[28]

[26] Letter to William Mathews, _Memoirs_, i. 70. 

[27] Ibid. _Memoirs_, i. 71. 

[28] _Memoirs_, i. 71. 

8. _The French Revolution: _1792. 

'The horrors excited by the relation of the events consequent upon thecommencement of hostilities is general. Not but that there are some menwho felt a gloomy satisfaction from a measure which seemed to put thepatriot army out of a possibility of success. An ignominious flight, themassacre of their general, a dance performed with savage joy round hisburning body, the murder of six prisoners, are events which would havearrested the attention of the reader of the annals of Morocco. '

He then expresses his fear that the patriot army would be routed by theinvaders. But 'suppose, ' he adds, 'that the German army is at the gatesof Paris, what will be the consequence? It will be impossible for it tomake any material alterations in the constitution; impossible toreinstate the clergy in its ancient guilty splendour; impossible torestore an existence to the noblesse similar to that it before enjoyed;impossible to add much to the authority of the king. Yet there are inFrance some (millions?)--I speak without exaggeration--who expect thatthis will take place. '[29]

9. _Failure of Louvets Denunciation of Robespierre_. 

At Paris his feelings were still more disturbed by the abortive issue ofLouvet's denunciation of Robespierre: he began to forebode thecommencement of the Reign of Terror; he was paralysed with sorrow anddismay, and stung with disappointment, that no paramount spirit hademerged to abash the impious crests of the leaders of 'the atheistcrew, ' and 'to quell outrage and bloody power, ' and to 'clear a passagefor just government, and leave a solid birthright to the state. '[30]

[29] Extract of letter to Mathews, May 17, 1792, _Memoirs_, i. 75. 

[30] _Memoirs_, i. 76. 

10. _Of inflammatory Political Opinions_. 

'I disapprove of monarchical and aristocratical governments, howevermodified. Hereditary distinctions, and privileged orders of everyspecies, I think, must necessarily counteract the progress of humanimprovement. Hence it follows, that I am not among the admirers of theBritish constitution. I conceive that a more excellent system of civilpolicy might be established among us; yet in my ardour to attain thegoal, I do not forget the nature of the ground where the race is to berun. The destruction of those institutions which I condemn appears to meto be hastening on too rapidly. I recoil from the very idea of arevolution. I am a determined enemy to every species of violence. I seeno connection, but what the obstinacy of pride and ignorance rendersnecessary, between justice and the sword, between reason and bonds. Ideplore the miserable condition of the French, and think that _we_ canonly be guarded from the same scourge by the undaunted efforts of goodmen. .. . I severely condemn all inflammatory addresses to the passions ofmen. I know that the multitude walk in darkness. I would put into eachman's hands a lantern, to guide him; and not have him to set out uponhis journey depending for illumination on abortive flashes of lightning, or the coruscations of transitory meteors. '[31]

11. _At Milkhouse, Halifax_: 'Not _to take orders_. '

'My sister, ' he says, in a letter to Mathews (February 17th, 1794), 'isunder the same roof with me; indeed it was to see her that I came intothis country. I have been doing nothing, and still continue to donothing. What is to become of me I know not. ' He announces his resolve_not_ to take orders; and 'as for the Law, I have neither strength ofmind, purse, or constitution, to engage in that pursuit. '[32]

12. _Literary Work: Evening Walk and Descriptive Sketches_: 1794. 

In May, 1794, William Wordsworth was at Whitehaven, at his uncle's, Mr. Richard Wordsworth's; and he then proposes to his friend Mathews, whowas resident in London, that they should set on foot a monthly politicaland literary Miscellany, to which, he says, 'he would communicatecritical remarks on poetry, the arts of painting, gardening, &c. , besides essays on morals and politics. ' 'I am at present, ' he adds, 'nearly at leisure--I say _nearly_, for I am _not quite_ so, as I amcorrecting, and considerably adding to, those poems which I published inyour absence' ('The Evening Walk' and 'Descriptive Sketches'). 'It waswith great reluctance that I sent those two little works into the worldin so imperfect a state. But as I had done nothing by which todistinguish myself at the university, I thought these little thingsmight show that I _could_ do something. They have been treated withunmerited contempt by some of the periodicals, and others have spoken inhigher terms of them than they deserve. '[33]

[31] Extract of letter to Mathews, _Memoirs_, i. 79-80. 

[32] _Memoirs_, i. 82. 

[33] Ibid. I. 82-3. 

13. _Employment on a London Newspaper_. 

Writing from Keswick on November 7th, 1794, he announces to his friendMathews, who _was_ employed on the newspapers, his desire and intentionof coming to London for the same purpose, and requests him to procurefor him a similar engagement. 'You say a newspaper would be glad of me. Do you think you could ensure me employment in that way, on termssimilar to your own? I mean, also, in an Opposition paper, for I cannotabet, in the smallest degree, the measures pursued by the presentministry. They are already so deeply advanced in iniquity, that, likeMacbeth, they cannot retreat. When I express myself in this manner, I amfar from reprobating those whose sentiments differ from my own; I knowthat many good men are persuaded of the expediency of the present war. 'He then turns to domestic matters: 'You would probably see that mybrother [afterwards the Master of Trinity] has been honoured with twocollege declamation prizes. This goes towards a fellowship, which I hopehe will obtain, and am sure he will merit. He is a lad of talents, andindustrious withal. This same industry is a good old Roman quality, andnothing is to be done without it. '[34]

14. _Raisley Culvert's last Illness_. 

'My friend' [Calvert] 'has every symptom of a confirmed consumption, andI cannot think of quitting him in his present debilitated state. '[35]Again: 'I have been here [Mr. Somerby's, at the sign of the Robin Hood, Penrith] for some time. I am still much engaged with my sick friend; andsorry am I to add that he worsens daily . .. He is barely alive. '[36]

[34] Memoirs, i. 85. 

[35] Letter to Mathews, Nov. 9, 1794. 

[36] Memoirs, i. 85-6. 

15. _Family History_. 

LETTER TO SIR GEORGE H. BEAUMONT, BART. Grasmere, Feb. 20, 1805. 

My dear friend, My father, who was an attorney of considerable eminence, died intestatewhen we were children; and the chief part of his personal property afterhis decease was expended in an unsuccessful attempt to compel the lateLord Lonsdale to pay a debt of about 5000_l. _ to my father's estate. Enough, however, was scraped together to educate us all in differentways. I, the second son, was sent to college with a view to theprofession of the church or law; into one of which I should have beenforced by necessity, had not a friend left me 900_l. _ This bequest wasfrom a young man with whom, though I call him friend, I had had butlittle connection; and the act was done entirely from a confidence onhis part that I had powers and attainments which might be of use tomankind. This I have mentioned, because it was his due, and I thoughtthe fact would give you pleasure. Upon the interest of the 900_l. _, 400_l. _ being laid out in annuity, with 200_l. _ deducted from theprincipal, and 100_l. _ a legacy to my sister, and a 100_l. _ more whichthe 'Lyrical Ballads' have brought me, my sister and I contrived to liveseven years, nearly eight. Lord Lonsdale. Then died, and the presentLord Lowther paid to my father's estate 8500_l. _ Of this sum I believe1800_l. _ apiece will come to my sister and myself; at least, would havecome: but 3000_l. _ was lent out to our poor brother, [37] I mean takenfrom the whole sum, which was about 1200_l. _ more than his share, which1200_l. _ belonged to my sister and me. This 1200_l. _ we freely lent him;whether it was insured or no, I do not know; but I dare say it willprove to be the case; we did not, however, stipulate for its beinginsured. But you shall faithfully know all particulars as soon as I havelearned them. [38]

16. _Reading: 1795_. 

Here [Racedown Lodge, near Crewkerne, Dorsetshire] he and his sisteremployed themselves industriously in reading--'if reading can everdeserve the name of industry, ' says Wordsworth in a letter to his friendMathews of March 21, 1796. [39]

[37] Captain John Wordsworth, who perished by shipwreck a short timebefore the date of this letter. 

[38] _Memoirs_, i. 88-9. 

[39] Ibid. I. 94. 

17. _Satire: Poetical Imitations of Juvenal: 1795_. 

 LETTER TO WRANGHAM. 

Nov. 7. 1806. 

'I have long since come to a fixed resolution to steer clear of personalsatire; in fact, I never will have anything to do with it as far asconcerns the _private_ vices of individuals on any account. With respectto public delinquents or offenders, I will not say the same; though Ishould be slow to meddle even with these. This is a rule which I havelaid down for myself, and shall rigidly adhere to; though I do not inall cases blame those who think and act differently. 

'It will therefore follow, that I cannot lend any assistance to yourproposed publication. The verses which you have of mine I should wish tobe destroyed; I have no copy of them myself, at least none that I canfind. I would most willingly give them up to you, fame, profit, andeverything, if I thought either true fame or profit could arise out ofthem. '[40]

18. _Visit to Thelwall_. 

'Mr. Coleridge, my sister, and I had been visiting the famous JohnThelwall, who had taken refuge from politics after a trial for hightreason, with a view to bring up his family by the profits ofagriculture, which proved as unfortunate a speculation as that he hadfled from. Coleridge and he had been public lecturers, Coleridgemingling with his politics theology, from which the other elocutionistabstained, unless it were for the sake of a sneer. This quondamcommunity of public employment induced Thelwall to visit Coleridge, atNether-Stowey, where he fell in my way. He really was a man ofextraordinary talent, an affectionate husband, and a good father. Thoughbrought up in the City, on a tailor's board, he was truly sensible ofthe beauty of natural objects. I remember once, when Coleridge, he, andI were seated upon the turf on the brink of the stream, in the mostbeautiful part of the most beautiful glen of Alfoxden, Coleridgeexclaimed, "This is a place to reconcile one to all the jarrings andconflicts of the wide world. " "Nay, " said Thelwall, "to make one forgetthem altogether. " The visit of this man to Coleridge was, as I believeColeridge has related, the occasion of a spy being sent by Government towatch our proceedings, which were, I can say with truth, such as theworld at large would have thought ludicrously harmless. '[41]

[40] _Memoirs_, i. 95-6. 

[41] Ibid. I. 104-5. 

19. _Poetry added to: April 12th, 1798_. 

'You will be pleased to hear that I have gone on very rapidly adding tomy stock of poetry. Do come and let me read it to you under the oldtrees in the park [at Alfoxden]. We have little more than two months tostay in this place. '[42]

20. _On the Wye_. 

'We left Alfoxden on Monday morning, the 26th of June, stayed withColeridge till the Monday following, then set forth on foot towardsBristol. We were at Cottle's for a week, and thence we went towards thebanks of the Wye. We crossed the Severn Ferry, and walked ten milesfurther to Tintern Abbey, a very beautiful ruin on the Wye. The nextmorning we walked along the river through Monmouth to Goderich Castle, there slept, and returned the next day to Tintern, thence to Chepstow, and from Chepstow back again in a boat to Tintern, where we slept, andthence back in a small vessel to Bristol. 

'The Wye is a stately and majestic river from its width and depth, butnever slow and sluggish; you can always hear its murmur. It travelsthrough a woody country, now varied with cottages and green meadows, andnow with huge and fantastic rocks. '[43]

21. _At Home again_. 

'We are now' (he says in a letter to Cottle) 'in the county of Durham, just upon the borders of Yorkshire. We left Coleridge well at Gottingena month ago. We have spent our time pleasantly enough in Germany, but weare right glad to find ourselves in England--for we have learnt to knowits value. '[44]

22. _Early Visit to the Lake District_. 

On September 2nd [1799] Wordsworth writes from Sockburn to his friendCottle: 'If you come down. .. . I will accompany you on your tour. Youwill come by Greta Bridge, which is about twenty miles from this place:thither Dorothy and I will go to meet you. .. . Dorothy will return toSockburn, and I will accompany you into Cumberland andWestmoreland. '[45]

[42] Letter to Cottle, _Memoirs_, i. 116. 

[43] Ibid. I. 116-17. 

[44] 1799: _Memoirs_, i. 145. 

[45] Ibid. I. 147. 

23. _On a Tour, 1799_. 

'We left Cottle, as you know, at Greta Bridge. We were obliged to takethe mail over Stanemoor: the road interesting with sun and mist. AtTemple Sowerby I learned that John was at Newbiggin. I sent a note; hecame, looks very well, said he would accompany us a few days. Next daywe set off and dined at Mr. Myers', thence to Bampton, where we slept. On Friday proceeded along the lake of Hawes-Water, a noble scene whichpleased us much. The mists hung so low that we could not go directlyover to Ambleside, so we went round by Long Sleddale to Kentmere, Troutbeck, Rayrigg, and Bowness; . .. A rainy and raw day. .. . Went to theferry, much disgusted with the new erections about Windermere; . .. Thence to Hawkshead: great change among the people since we were lastthere. Next day by Rydal to Grasmere, Robert Newton's. At RobertNewton's we have remained till to-day. John left us on Tuesday: wewalked with him to the tarn. This day was a fine one, and we had somegrand mountain scenery; the rest of the week has been bad weather. Theevening before last we walked to the upper waterfall at Rydal, and sawit through the gloom, and it was very magnificent. Coleridge was muchstruck with Grasmere and its neighbourhood. I have much to say to you. You will think my plan a mad one, but I have thought of building a housethere by the lake-side. John would give me 40_l. _ to buy the ground. There is a small house at Grasmere empty, which, perhaps, we may take;but of this we will speak. '[46]

[46] _Memoirs_, i. 148-9. 

24. _At the Lakes_. 

LETTER TO COLERIDGE (1799): JOURNEY FROM SOCKBURN TO GRASMERE. 

'We arrived here on the evening of St. Thomas's day, last Friday [1799], and have now been four days in our new abode without writing to you--along time! but we have been in such confusion as not to have had amoment's leisure. My dear friend, we talk of you perpetually, and for meI see you every where. But let me be a little more methodical. We leftSockburn last Tuesday morning. We crossed the Tees by moonlight in theSockburn fields, and after ten good miles' riding came in sight of theSwale. It is there a beautiful river, with its green bank and flat holmsscattered over with trees. Four miles further brought us to Richmond, with its huge ivied castle, its friarage steeple, its castle towerresembling a huge steeple, and two other steeple towers, for such theyappeared to us. The situation of this place resembles that of BarnardCastle, but I should suppose is somewhat inferior to it. Georgeaccompanied us eight miles further, and there we parted with sorrowfulhearts. We were now in Wensley Dale, and D[orothy] and I set off side byside to foot it as far as Kendal. I will not clog my letter with adescription of this celebrated dale; but I must not neglect to mentionthat a little before sunset we reached one of the waterfalls, of which Iread you a short description in Mr. Taylor's tour. It is a singularscene; I meant to have given you some account of it, but I feel myselftoo lazy to execute the task. 'Tis such a performance as you might haveexpected from some giant gardener employed by one of Queen Elizabeth'scourtiers, if this same giant gardener had consulted with Spenser, andthey two had finished the work together. By this you will understandthat it is at once formal and wild. We reached Askrigg, twelve miles, before six in the evening, having been obliged to walk the last twomiles over hard frozen roads, to the great annoyance of our ankles andfeet. Next morning the earth was thinly covered with snow, enough tomake the road soft, and prevent its being slippery. On leaving Askrigg, we turned aside to see another waterfall. It was a beautiful morning, with driving snow showers, which disappeared by fits, and unveiled theeast, which was all one delicious pale orange colour. After walkingthrough two small fields we came to a mill, which we passed; and in amoment a sweet little valley opened before us with an area of grassyground, and a stream dashing over various laminae of black rocks closeunder a bank covered with firs; the bank and stream on our left, anotherwoody bank on our right, and the flat meadow in front, from which, as atButtermere the stream had retired, as it were, to hide itself under theshade. As we walked up this delightful valley we were tempted to lookback perpetually on the stream, which reflected the orange lights of themorning among the gloomy rocks, with a brightness varying with theagitation of the current. The steeple of Askrigg was between us and theeast, at the bottom of the valley; it was not a quarter of a miledistant, but oh! how far we were from it! The two banks seemed to joinbefore us with a facing of rock common to them both. When we reachedthis bottom the valley opened out again; two rocky banks on each side, which, hung with ivy and moss, and fringed luxuriantly with brushwood, ran directly parallel to each other, and then approaching with a gentlecurve at their point of union, presented a lofty waterfall, thetermination of the valley. It was a keen frosty morning, showers of snowthreatening us, but the sun bright and active. We had a task oftwenty-one miles to perform in a short winter's day. All this put ourminds into such a state of excitation, that we were no unworthyspectators of this delightful scene. On a nearer approach the watersseemed to fall down a tall arch, or niche, that had shaped itself byinsensible moulderings in the wall of an old castle. We left this spotwith reluctance, but highly exhilarated. When we had walked about a mileand a half, we overtook two men with a string of ponies and some emptycarts. I recommended to Dorothy to avail herself of this opportunity ofhusbanding her strength: we rode with them more than two miles. 'Twasbitter cold, the wind driving the snow behind us in the best style of amountain storm. We soon reached an inn at a place called Hardrane, anddescending from our vehicles, after warming ourselves by the cottagefire, we walked up the brook-side to take a view of a third waterfall. We had not walked above a few hundred yards between two winding rockybanks, before we came full upon the waterfall, which seemed to throwitself in a narrow line from a lofty wall of rock, the water, which shotmanifestly to some distance from the rock, seeming to be dispersed intoa thin shower scarcely visible before it reached the bason. We weredisappointed in the cascade itself, though the introductory andaccompanying banks were an exquisite mixture of grandeur and beauty. Wewalked up to the fall; and what would I not give if I could convey toyou the feelings and images which were then communicated to me? Aftercautiously sounding our way over stones of all colours and sizes, encased in the clearest water formed by the spray of the fall, we foundthe rock, which before had appeared like a wall, extending itself overour heads, like the ceiling of a huge cave, from the summit of which thewaters shot directly over our heads into a bason, and among fragmentswrinkled over with masses of ice as white as snow, or rather, as Dorothysays, like congealed froth. The water fell at least ten yards from us, and we stood directly behind it, the excavation not so deep in the rockas to impress any feeling of darkness, but lofty and magnificent; but inconnection with the adjoining banks excluding as much of the sky ascould well be spared from a scene so exquisitely beautiful. The spotwhere we stood was as dry as the chamber in which I am now sitting, andthe incumbent rock, of which the groundwork was limestone, veined anddappled with colours which melted into each other with every possiblevariety of colour. On the summit of the cave were three festoons, orrather wrinkles, in the rock, run up parallel like the folds of acurtain when it is drawn up. Each of these was hung with icicles ofvarious length, and nearly in the middle of the festoon in the deepestvalley of the waves that ran parallel to each other, the stream shotfrom the rows of icicles in irregular fits of strength, and with a bodyof water that varied every moment. Sometimes the stream shot into thebason in one continued current; sometimes it was interrupted almost inthe midst of its fall, and was blown towards part of the waterfall at nogreat distance from our feet like the heaviest thunder-shower. In such asituation you have at every moment a feeling of the presence of the sky. Large fleecy clouds drove over our heads above the rush of the water, and the sky appeared of a blue more than usually brilliant. The rocks oneach side, which, joining with the side of this cave, formed the vistaof the brook, were chequered with three diminutive waterfalls, or rathercourses of water. Each of these was a miniature of all that summer andwinter can produce of delicate beauty. The rock in the centre of thefalls, where the water was most abundant, a deep black, the adjoiningparts yellow, white, purple, and dove-colour, covered with water-plantsof the most vivid green, and hung with streaming icicles, that in someplaces seem to conceal the verdure of the plants, and the violet andyellow variegation of the rocks; and in some places render the coloursmore brilliant. I cannot express to you the enchanting effect producedby this Arabian scene of colour as the wind blew aside the greatwaterfall behind which we stood, and alternately hid and revealed eachof these fairy cataracts in irregular succession, or displayed themwith various gradations of distinctness as the intervening spray wasthickened or dispersed. What a scene, too, in summer! In the luxury ofour imagination we could not help feeding upon the pleasure which thiscave, in the heat of a July noon, would spread through a frameexquisitely sensible. That huge rock on the right, the bank windinground on the left, with all its living foliage, and the breeze stealingup the valley, and bedewing the cavern with the freshest imaginablespray. And then the murmur of the water, the quiet, the seclusion, and along summer day. '[47]

25. _Inconsistent Opinions on his Poems_. 

|----------------------------------------------------------------------------------|| 'HARMONIES OF CRITICISM. ' ||---------------------------------------|------------------------------------------|| '_Nutting_. ' | '_Nutting_. ' ||Mr. C. W. : | 'Mr. S. : ||'Worth its weight in gold. ' | 'Can make neither head nor tail of it. '|| | || '_Joanna_. ' | '_Joanna_. ' || | ||Mr. J. W. : | Mr. S. : ||'The finest poem of its | ||length you have written. ' | 'Can make nothing of it. ' || | || '_Poet's Epitaph_. ' | '_Poet's Epitaph_. ' || | ||Mr. Charles Lamb: | Mr. S. : ||'The latter part preëminently | ||good, and your own. ' | 'The latter part very ill written. || | || '_Cumberland Beggar_. ' | '_Cumberland Beggar_. ' ||Mr. J. W. : | Mr. Charles Lamb: ||'Everybody seems delighted. ' | 'You seem to presume your readers || | are stupid: the instructions too || | direct. ' || | || '_Idiot Boy_. ' | '_Idiot Boy_. ' ||Mr. J. W. : | Mr. S. : ||'A lady, a friend of mine, could | 'Almost thrown by it into a fit ||talk of nothing else: this, of all the | with disgust; _cannot read it_!' ||poems, her delight. ' | || | ||But here comes the waggon | || | W. W. [48] ||---------------------------------------|------------------------------------------|

26. _On his Scottish Tour_. 

TO SCOTT. 

Grasmere, Oct. 16. 1803. 

'We had a delightful journey home, delightful weather, and a sweetcountry to travel through. We reached our little cottage in highspirits, and thankful to God for all His bounties. My wife and childwere both well, and, as I need not say, we had all of us a happymeeting. .. . We passed Branxholme (your Branxholme, we supposed) aboutfour miles on this side of Hawick. It looks better in your poem than inits present realities. The situation, however, is delightful, and makesamends for an ordinary mansion. The whole of the Teviot, and thepastoral steeps about Mosspaul, pleased us exceedingly. The Esk, belowLangholm, is a delicious river, and we saw it to great advantage. We didnot omit noticing Johnnie Armstrong's Keep; but his hanging-place, toour great regret, we missed. We were, indeed, most truly sorry that wecould not have you along with us into Westmoreland. The country was inits full glory; the verdure of the valleys, in which we are so muchsuperior to you in Scotland, but little tarnished by the weather; andthe trees putting on their most beautiful looks. My sister was quiteenchanted; and we often said to each other, "What a pity Mr. Scott isnot with us!. .. " I had the pleasure of seeing Coleridge and Southey atKeswick last Sunday. Southey, whom I never saw much of before, I likedmuch: he is very pleasant in his manner, and a man of great reading inold books, poetry, chronicles, memoirs, &c. , particularly Spanish andPortuguese. .. . My sister and I often talk of the happy days that wespent in your company. Such things do not occur often in life. If welive, we shall meet again; that is my consolation when I think of thesethings. Scotland and England sound like division, do what we can; but wereally are but neighbours, and if you were no further off, and inYorkshire, we should think so. Farewell! God prosper you, and all thatbelongs to you! Your sincere friend, for such I will call myself, thoughslow to use a word of such solemn meaning to any one, 'W. WORDSWORTH. '[49]

[49] _Life of Scott_, by Lockhart, vol. Ii. 165-7 (1856). The followingfrom the same source, earlier, may fitly find a place here: 'It was inthe September of this year [1803] that Scott first saw Wordsworth. Theircommon acquaintance, Stoddart, had so often talked of them to eachother, that they met as if they had not been strangers; and they partedfriends. Mr. And Miss Wordsworth had just completed that tour in theHighlands of which so many incidents have since been immortalised, bothin the poet's sense and in the hardly less poetical prose of hissister's Diary. On the morning of the 17th of September, having lefttheir carriage at Rosslyn, they walked down the valley to Lasswade, andarrived there before Mr. And Mrs. Scott had risen. "We were received, "Mr. Wordsworth has told me, "with that frank cordiality which, underwhatever circumstances I afterwards met him, always marked his manners;and, indeed, I found him then in every respect--except perhaps that hisanimal spirits were somewhat higher--precisely the same man that youknew him in later life; the same lively, entertaining conversation, fullof anecdote, and averse from disquisition; the same unaffected modestyabout himself; the same cheerful and benevolent and hopeful views of manand the world. He partly read and partly recited, sometimes in anenthusiastic style of chant, the first four cantos of the "Lay of theLast Minstrel;" and the novelty of the manners, the clear picturesquedescriptions, and the easy glowing energy of much of the verse, greatlydelighted me. "' (pp. 160-1). 

27. _The Grove: Captain John Wordsworth_. 

John Wordsworth left Grasmere on Michaelmas-day, 1800, walking over byGrisedale Tarn to Paterdale, whence he would proceed to Penrith; he tookleave of his brother William, near the Tarn, where Ullswater first comesin view; and he went to sea again, in the Abergavenny East-Indiaman, inthe spring of 1801. 

After his departure from Grasmere, the Poet discovered a track which hadbeen worn by his brother's steps 'pacing there unwearied and alone, 'during the winter weather, in a sheltering fir-grove above the cottage, and henceforth _that_ fir-grove was known to the Poet's household by thename of 'John's Grove, ' or 'Brother's Grove. ' Of this Wordsworth writes:

'_When to the attractions of the busy world_, ' 1805. --'The grove stillexists, but the plantation has been walled in, and is not so accessibleas when my brother John wore the path in the manner described. The grovewas a favourite haunt with us all while we lived at Town-End. '[50]

28. _Spenser and Milton_. 

Captain Wordsworth returned from the voyage on which he sailed in 1801;and in November 1802, he writes for directions what books to buy tocarry with him on a voyage of sixteen months. .. . 

[50] _Memoirs_, i. 282. 

'Tell John' says Wordsworth, 'when he buys Spenser, to purchase anedition which has his "State of Ireland" in it. This is in prose. Thisedition may be scarce, but one surely can be found. 

'Milton's Sonnets (transcribe all this for John, as said by me to him) Ithink manly and dignified compositions, distinguished by simplicity andunity of object and aim, and undisfigured by false or vicious ornaments. They are in several places incorrect, and sometimes uncouth in language, and, perhaps, in some, inharmonious; yet, upon the whole, I think themusic exceedingly well suited to its end, that is, it has an energeticand varied flow of sound crowding into narrow room more of the combinedeffect of rhyme and blank verse than can be done by any other kind ofverse I know. The Sonnets of Milton which I like best are that to_Cyriack Skinner_; on his _Blindness_; _Captain or Colonel_; _Massacreof Piedmont_; _Cromwell_, except two last lines; _Fairfax_, &c. '[51]

[51] _Memoirs_, i. 287. 

29. _Death of Captain John Wordsworth_. 

LETTER TO SIR GEORGE H. BEAUMONT, BART. 

 Grasmere, Feb. 11. 1805. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, The public papers will already have broken the shock which the sight ofthis letter will give you: you will have learned by them the loss of theEarl of Abergavenny East-Indiaman, and, along with her, of a greatproportion of the crew, --that of her captain, our brother, and a mostbeloved brother he was. This calamitous news we received at 2 o'clockto-day, and I write to you from a house of mourning. My poor sister, andmy wife who loved him almost as we did (for he was one of the mostamiable of men), are in miserable affliction, which I do all in my powerto alleviate; but Heaven knows I want consolation myself. I can saynothing higher of my ever-dear brother, than that he was worthy of hissister, who is now weeping beside me, and of the friendship ofColeridge; meek, affectionate, silently enthusiastic, loving all quietthings, and a poet in every thing but words. 

Alas! what is human life! This present moment, I thought, this morning, would have been devoted to the pleasing employment of writing a letterto amuse you in your confinement. I had singled out several littlefragments (descriptions merely), which I purposed to have transcribedfrom my poems, thinking that the perusal of them might give you a fewminutes' gratification; and now I am called to this melancholy office. 

I shall never forget your goodness in writing so long and interesting aletter to me under such circumstances. This letter also arrived by thesame post which brought the unhappy tidings of my brother's death, sothat they were both put into my hands at the same moment. .. . 

 Your affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

I shall do all in my power to sustain my sister under her sorrow, whichis, and long will be, bitter and poignant. We did not love him as abrother merely, but as a man of original mind, and an honour to allabout him. Oh! dear friend, forgive me for talking thus. We have had notidings of Coleridge. I tremble for the moment when he is to hear of mybrother's death; it will distress him to the heart, --and his poor bodycannot bear sorrow. He loved my brother, and he knows how we at Grasmereloved him. 

Nine days afterwards, Wordsworth resumed the subject as follows:

 Grasmere, Feb. 20. 1805. 

Having spoken of worldly affairs, let me again mention my belovedbrother. It is now just five years since, after a separation of fourteenyears (I may call it a separation, for we only saw him four or fivetimes, and by glimpses), he came to visit his sister and me in thiscottage, and passed eight blessed months with us. He was then waitingfor the command of the ship to which he was appointed when he quittedus. As you will have seen, we had little to live upon, and he as little(Lord Lonsdale being then alive). But he encouraged me to persist, andto keep my eye steady on its object. He would work for me (that was hislanguage), for me and his sister; and I was to endeavour to do somethingfor the world. He went to sea, as commander, with this hope; his voyagewas very unsuccessful, he having lost by it considerably. When he camehome, we chanced to be in London, and saw him. 'Oh!' said he, 'I havethought of you, and nothing but you; if ever of myself, and my badsuccess, it was only on your account. ' He went again to sea a secondtime, and also was unsuccessful; still with the same hopes on ouraccount, though then not so necessary, Lord Lowther having paid themoney. [52] Lastly came the lamentable voyage, which he entered upon, full of expectation, and love to his sister and myself, and my wife, whom, indeed, he loved with all a brother's tenderness. This is the endof his part of the agreement--of his efforts for my welfare! God grantme life and strength to fulfil mine! I shall never forget him, --neverlose sight of him: there is a bond between us yet, the same as if hewere living, nay, far more sacred, calling upon me to do my utmost, ashe to the last did his utmost to live in honour and worthiness. Some ofthe newspapers carelessly asserted that he did not wish to survive hisship. This is false. He was heard by one of the surviving officersgiving orders, with all possible calmness, a very little before the shipwent down; and when he could remain at his post no longer, then, and nottill then, he attempted to save himself. I knew this would be so, but itwas satisfactory for me to have it confirmed by external evidence. Donot think our grief unreasonable. Of all human beings whom I ever knew, he was the man of the most rational desires, the most sedate habits, andthe most perfect self-command. He was modest and gentle, and shy even todisease; but this was wearing off. In every thing his judgments weresound and original; his taste in all the arts, music and poetry inparticular (for these he, of course, had had the best opportunities ofbeing familiar with), was exquisite; and his eye for the beauties ofnature was as fine and delicate as ever poet or painter was gifted with, in some discriminations, owing to his education and way of life, farsuperior to any person's I ever knew. But, alas! what avails it? It wasthe will of God that he should be taken away. 

 * * * * *

I trust in God that I shall not want fortitude; but my loss is great andirreparable. 

[52] Due to Wordsworth's father from James, Earl of Lonsdale, at whosedeath, in 1802, it was paid by his Lordship's successor, and dividedamong the five children. 

 * * * * *

Many thanks for the offer of your house; but I am not likely to becalled to town. Lady Beaumont gives us hope we may see you next summer:this would, indeed, be great joy to us all. My sister thanks Lady B. Forher affectionate remembrance of her and her letter, and will write assoon as ever she feels herself able. Her health, as was to be expected, has suffered much. 

 Your most affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

Again:

 Grasmere, March 12. 1805. 

As I have said, your last letter affected me much. A thousand times haveI asked myself, as your tender sympathy led me to do, 'why was he takenaway?' and I have answered the question as you have done. In fact, thereis no other answer which can satisfy and lay the mind at rest. Why havewe a choice, and a will, and a notion of justice and injustice, enablingus to be moral agents? Why have we sympathies that make the best of usso afraid of inflicting pain and sorrow, which yet we see dealt about solavishly by the Supreme Governor? Why should our notions of righttowards each other, and to all sentient beings within our influence, differ so widely from what appears to be His notion and rule, _if everything were to end here_? Would it not be blasphemy to say that, upon thesupposition of the thinking principle being _destroyed by death_, however inferior we may be to the great Cause and Ruler of things, wehave _more of love_ in our nature than He has? The thought is monstrous;and yet how to get rid of it, except upon the supposition of _another_and a _better world_, I do not see. As to my departed brother, who leadsour minds at present to these reflections, he walked all his life pureamong many impure. Except a little hastiness of temper, when any thingwas done in a clumsy or bungling manner, or when improperly contradictedupon occasions of not much importance, he had not one vice of hisprofession. I never heard an oath, or even an indelicate expression orallusion, from him in my life; his modesty was equal to that of thepurest woman. In prudence, in meekness, in self-denial, in fortitude, injust desires and elegant and refined enjoyments, with an entiresimplicity of manners, life, and habit, he was all that could be wishedfor in man; strong in health, and of a noble person, with every hopeabout him that could render life dear, thinking of, and living only for, others, --and we see what has been his end! So good must be better; sohigh must be destined to be higher. 

 * * * * *

I will take this opportunity of saying, that the newspaper accounts ofthe loss of the ship are throughout grossly inaccurate. The chief factsI will state, in a few words, from the deposition at the India House ofone of the surviving officers. She struck at 5 P. M. Guns were firedimmediately, and were continued to be fired. She was gotten off the rockat half-past seven, but had taken in so much water, in spite of constantpumping, as to be water-logged. They had, however, hope that she mightstill be run upon Weymouth Sands, and with this view continued pumpingand baling till eleven, when she went down. The longboat could not behoisted out, as, had that been done, there would have been nopossibility of the ship being run aground. I have mentioned thesethings, because the newspaper accounts were such as tended to throwdiscredit on my brother's conduct and personal firmness, stating thatthe ship had struck an hour and a half before guns were fired, and that, in the agony of the moment, the boats had been forgotten to be hoistedout. We knew well this could not be; but, for the sake of the relativesof the persons lost, it distressed us much that it should have beensaid. A few minutes before the ship went down, my brother was seentalking with the first mate, with apparent cheerfulness; and he wasstanding on the hen-coop, which is the point from which he couldoverlook the whole ship, the moment she went down, dying, as he hadlived, in the very place and point where his duty stationed him. I mustbeg your pardon for detaining you so long on this melancholy subject;and yet it is not altogether melancholy, for what nobler spectacle canbe contemplated than that of a virtuous man, with a serene countenance, in such an overwhelming situation? I will here transcribe a passagewhich I met with the other day in a review; it is from Aristotle's'Synopsis of the Virtues and Vices. '[53] 'It is, ' says he, 'the propertyof fortitude not to be easily terrified by the dread of thingspertaining to death; to possess good confidence in things terrible, andpresence of mind in dangers; rather to prefer to be put to deathworthily, than to be preserved basely; and to be the cause of victory. Moreover, it is the property of fortitude to labour and endure, and tomake valorous exertion an object of choice. Further, presence of mind, awell-disposed soul, confidence and boldness are the attendants onfortitude; and, besides these, industry and patience. ' Except in thecircumstance of making valorous exertion an 'object _of choice_' (if thephilosopher alludes to general habits of character), my brother mighthave sat for this picture; but he was of a meek and retired nature, loving all quiet things. 

[53] Vol. Ix. P. 395, ed. Bekker. Oxon. 1837. 

 I remain, dear Sir George, Your most affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

The following, to his friend Southey, was written the morrow after thearrival of the sad tidings:

 Tuesday Evening, Grasmere, 1805. 

We see nothing here that does not remind us of our dear brother; thereis nothing about us (save the children, whom he had not seen) that hehas not known and loved. 

If you could bear to come to this house of mourning to-morrow, I shouldbe for ever thankful. We weep much to-day, and that relieves us. As tofortitude, I hope I shall show that, and that all of us will show it ina proper time, in keeping down many a silent pang hereafter. But griefwill, as you say, and must, have its course; there is no wisdom inattempting to check it under the circumstances which we are all of us inhere. 

I condole with you, from my soul, on the melancholy account of your ownbrother's situation; God grant you may not hear such tidings! Oh! itmakes the heart groan, that, with such a beautiful world as this to livein, and such a soul as that of man's is by nature and gift of God, thatwe should go about on such errands as we do, destroying and layingwaste; and ninety-nine of us in a hundred never easy in any road thattravels towards peace and quietness. And yet, what virtue and whatgoodness, what heroism and courage, what triumphs of disinterested loveeverywhere, and human life, after all, what is it! Surely, this is notto be for ever, even on this perishable planet! Come to us to-morrow, if you can; your conversation, I know, will do me good. 

 * * * * *

All send best remembrances to you all. 

 Your affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. 

The following, to another friend, completes the sad tale:

 Grasmere, March 16. 1805. 

He wrote to us from Portsmouth, about twelve days before this disaster, full of hopes, saying that he was to sail to-morrow. Of course, at thetime when we heard this deplorable news, we imagined that he was as faron his voyage as Madeira. It was, indeed, a thunderstroke to us! Thelanguage which he held was always so encouraging, saying that shipswere, in nine instances out of ten, lost by mismanagement: he had, indeed, a great fear of pilots, and I have often heard him say, that nosituation could be imagined more distressing than that of being at themercy of these men. 'Oh!' said he, 'it is a joyful hour for us when weget rid of them. ' His fears, alas! were too well founded; his own shipwas lost while under the management of the pilot, whether mismanaged byhim or not, I do not know; but know for certain, which is, indeed, ourgreat consolation, that our dear brother did all that man could do, evento the sacrifice of his own life. The newspaper accounts were grosslyinaccurate; indeed, that must have been obvious to any person who couldbear to think upon the subject, for they were absolutely unintelligible. There are two pamphlets upon the subject; one a mere transcript from thepapers; the other may be considered, as to all important particulars, asof authority; it is by a person high in the India House, and containsthe deposition of the surviving officers concerning the loss of theship. The pamphlet, I am told, is most unfeelingly written: I have onlyseen an extract from it, containing Gilpin's deposition, the fourthmate. From this, it appears that every thing was done that could bedone, under the circumstances, for the safety of the lives and the ship. My poor brother was standing on the hen-coop (which is placed upon thepoop, and is the most commanding situation in the vessel) when she wentdown, and he was thence washed overboard by a large sea, which sank theship. He was seen struggling with the waves some time afterwards, havinglaid hold, it is said, of a rope. He was an excellent swimmer; but whatcould it avail in such a sea, encumbered with his clothes, and exhaustedin body, as he must have been!

For myself, I feel that there is something cut out of my life whichcannot be restored. I never thought of him but with hope and delight: welooked forward to the time, not distant, as we thought, when he wouldsettle near us, when the task of his life would be over, and he wouldhave nothing to do but reap his reward. By that time, I hoped also thatthe chief part of my labours would be executed, and that I should beable to show him that he had not placed a false confidence in me. Inever wrote a line without a thought of its giving him pleasure: mywritings, printed and manuscript, were his delight, and one of the chiefsolaces of his long voyages. But let me stop: I will not be cast down;were it only for his sake, I will not be dejected. I have much yet todo, and pray God to give me strength and power: his part of theagreement between us is brought to an end, mine continues; and I hopewhen I shall be able to think of him with a calmer mind, that theremembrance of him dead will even animate me more than the joy which Ihad in him living. I wish you would procure the pamphlet I havementioned; you may know the right one, by its having a motto fromShakspeare, from Clarence's dream. I wish you to see it, that you mayread G. 's statement, and be enabled, if the affair should ever bementioned in your hearing, to correct the errors which they must havefallen into who have taken their ideas from the newspaper accounts. Ihave dwelt long, too long I fear, upon this subject, but I could notwrite to you upon any thing else, till I had unburthened my heart. Wehave great consolations from the sources you allude to; but, alas! wehave much yet to endure. Time only can give us regular tranquillity. Weneither murmur nor repine, but sorrow we must; we should be senselesselse. [54]

[54] _Memoirs_, i. 288-98. 

30. _Of Dryden_. 

LETTER TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. [55]

[55] From Lockhart's _Life of Scott_, vol. Ii. Pp. 287-9 (edit. 1856). 

 Paterdale, Nov. 7. 1803. 

MY DEAR SCOTT, I was much pleased to hear of your engagement with Dryden: not that heis, as a poet, any great favourite of mine. I admire his talents andgenius highly, but his is not a poetical genius. The only qualities Ican find in Dryden that are _essentially_ poetical, are a certain ardourand impetuosity of mind, with an excellent ear. It may seem strange thatI do not add to this, great command of language. _That_ he certainlyhas, and of such language too, as it is most desirable that a poetshould possess, or rather, that he should not be without. But it is notlanguage that is, in the highest sense of the word, poetical, beingneither of the imagination nor of the passions; I mean the amiable, theennobling, or the intense passions. I do not mean to say that there isnothing of this in Dryden, but as little, I think, as is possible, considering how much he has written. You will easily understand mymeaning, when I refer to his versification of 'Palamon and Arcite, ' ascontrasted with the language of Chaucer. Dryden had neither a tenderheart nor a lofty sense of moral dignity. Whenever his language ispoetically impassioned, it is mostly upon unpleasing subjects, such asthe follies, vices, and crimes of classes of men, or of individuals. That his cannot be the language of imagination, must have necessarilyfollowed from this, --that there is not a single image from Nature in thewhole body of his works; and in his translation from Virgil, wheneverVirgil can be fairly said to have his _eye_ upon his object, Drydenalways spoils the passage. 

But too much of this; I am glad that you are to be his editor. Hispolitical and satirical pieces may be greatly benefited by illustration, and even absolutely require it. A correct text is the first object of aneditor; then such notes as explain difficult or obscure passages; andlastly, which is much less important, notes pointing out authors to whomthe Poet has been indebted, not in the fiddling way of phrase here andphrase there (which is detestable as a general practice), but where hehas had essential obligations either as to matter or manner. 

If I can be of any use to you, do not fail to apply to me. One thing Imay take the liberty to suggest, which is, when you come to the fables, might it not be advisable to print the whole of the Tales of Boccace ina smaller type in the original language? If this should look too muchlike swelling a book, I should certainly make such extracts as wouldshow where Dryden has most strikingly improved upon, or fallen below, his original. I think his translations from Boccace are the best, atleast the most poetical, of his poems. It is many years since I sawBoccace, but I remember that Sigismunda is not married by him toGuiscard (the names are different in Boccace in both tales, I believe, certainly in Theodore, &c. ). I think Dryden has much injured the storyby the marriage, and degraded Sigismunda's character by it. He has also, to the best of my remembrance, degraded her still more, by making herlove absolute sensuality and appetite; Dryden had no other notion of thepassion. With all these defects, and they are very gross ones, it is anoble poem. Guiscard's answer, when first reproached by Tancred, isnoble in Boccace, nothing but this: _Amor puà molto più che ne roi ne iopossiamo_. This, Dryden has spoiled. He says first very well, 'Thefaults of love by love are justified, ' and then come four lines ofmiserable rant, quite _à la Maximin_. Farewell, and believe me ever, Your affectionate friend, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

31. _Of Marmion_. 

EXTRACT OF LETTER TO SIR WALTER SCOTT (1808). 

Thank you for 'Marmion. ' I think your end has been attained. That it isnot the end which I should wish you to propose to yourself, you will bewell aware, from what you know of my notions of composition, both as tomatter and manner. In the circle of my acquaintance it seems as wellliked as the 'Lay, ' though I have heard that in the world it is not so. Had the Poem been much better than the Lay, it could scarcely havesatisfied the public, which has too much of the monster, the moralmonster, in its composition. The Spring has burst out upon us all atonce, and the vale is now in exquisite beauty; a gentle shower hasfallen this morning, and I hear the thrush, who has built in my orchard, singing amain. How happy we should be to see you here again! Ever, mydear Scott, your sincere friend, W. W. [56]

32. _Topographical History_, &_c_. 

LETTER TO REV. FRANCIS WRANGHAM, HUNMANBY, NEAR BRIDLINGTON, YORKSHIRE. 

 Grasmere, Oct. 2. 1808. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, In what are you employed--I mean by way of amusement and relaxation fromyour professional duties? Is there any topographical history of yourneighbourhood? I remember reading White's _Natural History andAntiquities of Selbourne_ with great pleasure, when a boy at school, andI have lately read Dr. Whitaker's _History of Craven and Whalley_, bothwith profit and pleasure. Would it not be worth your while to give someof your leisure hours to a work of this kind, making those works partlyyour model, and adding thereto from the originality of your own mind?

With your activity you might produce something of this kind of generalinterest, taking for your limit any division in your neighbourhood, natural, ecclesiastical, or civil: suppose, for example, the coast fromthe borders of Cleveland, or from Scarborough, to Spurnhead; and inwardinto the country to any boundary that you might approve of. Pray thinkof this. I am induced to mention it from belief that you are admirablyqualified for such a work; that it would pleasantly employ your leisurehours; and from a regret in seeing works of this kind, which might bemade so very interesting, utterly marred by falling into the hands ofwretched bunglers, _e. G. _ the _History of Cleveland_, which I have justread, by a Clergyman of ----, the most heavy performance I everencountered; and what an interesting district! Pray let me hear from yousoon. 

 Affectionately and sincerely yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [57]

[56] Lockhart's _Life_, iii. 45-6. 

[57] _Memoirs_, i. 385-6. 

33. _The War in Spain: Benefactors of Mankind, &c. _

TO THE SAME. 

 Grasmere, Dec. 3. 1808. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, On the other side you have the prospectus of a weekly essay intended tobe published by your friend Coleridge. 

 * * * * *

Your Sermon did not reach me till the night before last; we have allread it, and are much pleased with it. Upon the whole, I like it betterthan the last: it must have been heard with great interest. I differ, however, from you in a few particulars. 1st. The Spaniards 'devotingthemselves for an imprisoned Bourbon, or the crumbling relics of theInquisition. ' This is very fair for pointing a sentence, but it is notthe truth. They have told us over and over again, that they are_fighting against a foreign tyrant_, who has dealt with them mostperfidiously and inhumanly, who must hate them for their worth, and onaccount of the injuries they have received from him, and whom they musthate accordingly; _against_ a ruler over whom they could have nocontrol, and _for_ one whom they have told us they will establish as asovereign of a _free_ people, and therefore must he himself be a limitedmonarch. You will permit me to make to you this representation for itstruth's sake, and because it gives me an opportunity of letting out asecret, viz. That I myself am very deep in this subject, and about topublish upon it, first, I believe, in a newspaper, for the sake ofimmediate and wide circulation; and next, the same matter in a separatepamphlet, under the title of 'The Convention of Cintra brought to thetest of principles, and the people of Great Britain vindicated from thecharge of having prejudged it. ' You will wonder to hear me talk ofprinciples when I have told you that I also do not go along with you inyour sentiments respecting the Roman Catholic question. I confess I amnot prepared to see the Roman Catholic religion as the EstablishedChurch of Ireland; and how that can be consistently refused to them, ifother things are granted on the plea of their being the majority, I donot see. Certainly this demand will follow, and how would it beanswered?

There is yet another circumstance in which I differ from you. If Dr. Bell's plan of education be of that importance which it appears to beof, it cannot be a matter of indifference whether he or Lancaster have arightful claim to the invention. For Heaven's sake let all benefactorsof their species have the honour due to them. Virgil gives a high placein Elysium to the improvers of life, and it is neither the leastphilosophical or least poetical passage of the _Aeneid_. [58] Thesepoints of difference being stated, I may say that in other things Igreatly approve both of the matter and manner of your Sermon. 

Do not fail to return my best thanks to the lady to whom I am obligedfor the elegant and accurate drawing of Broughton Church. I should havewritten to thank her and you for it immediately, but I foresaw that Ishould have occasion to write to you on this or other business. 

All here desire their best remembrances; and believe me (in great haste, for I have several other letters to write on the same subject), affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [59]

[58] 'Quique sui memores alios fecere merendo. ' _Aen_. Vi. 664. 

[59] _Memoirs_, i. 386-8. 

34. _The Convention of Cintra: the Roman Catholics_. 

TO THE SAME. 

 Workington, April 8. 1809. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, You will think I am afraid that I have used you ill in not replyingsooner to your last letter; particularly as you were desirous to beinformed in what newspaper my Pamphlet was printing. I should not havefailed to give you immediately any information upon this subject whichcould be of use; but in fact, though I began to publish in a newspaper, viz. The '_Courier_, an accidental loss of two or three sheets of themanuscript prevented me from going on in that mode of publication aftertwo sections had appeared. The Pamphlet will be out in less than afortnight, entitled, at full length, 'Concerning the relations of GreatBritain, Spain, and Portugal, to each other, and to the common enemy atthis crisis, and specifically as affected by the Convention of Cintra;the whole brought to the test of those principles by which alone theindependence and freedom of nations can be preserved or recovered. ' Thisis less a Title than a Table of Contents. I give it you at full lengthin order that you may set your fancy at work (if you have no betteremployment for it) upon what the Pamphlet may contain. I sent off thelast sheets only a day or two since, else I should have written to yousooner; it having been my intention to pay my debt to you the moment Ihad discharged this debt to my country. What I have written has beendone according to the best light of my conscience: it is indeed veryimperfect, and will, I fear, be little read; but if it is read, cannot, I hope, fail of doing some good; though I am aware it will create me aworld of enemies, and call forth the old yell of Jacobinism. I have notsent it to any personal friends as such, therefore I have made noexception in your case. I have ordered it to be sent to two, the Spanishand Portuguese Ambassadors, and three or four other public men andMembers of Parliament, but to nobody of my friends and relations. It isprinted with my name, and, I believe, will be published by Longman. .. . Iam very happy that you have not been inattentive to my suggestion on thesubject of Topography. When I ventured to recommend the pursuit to you, I did not for a moment suppose that it was to interfere with yourappropriate duties as a parish priest; far otherwise: but I know you areof an active mind, and I am sure that a portion of your time might bethus employed without any deduction from that which was due to yourprofessional engagements. It would be a recreation to you; and also itdoes appear to me that records of this kind ought to be executed bysomebody or other, both for the instruction of those now living and forthe sake of posterity; and if so, the duty devolves more naturally uponclergymen than upon other persons, as their opportunities andqualifications are both likely to be better than those of other men. Ifyou have not seen White's and Whitaker's books do procure a sight ofthem. 

I was aware that you would think me fair game upon the Roman Catholicquestion; but really I should be greatly obliged to any man who wouldhelp me over the difficulty I stated. If the Roman Catholics, upon theplea of their being the majority merely (which implies an admission onour part that their profession of faith is in itself as good as ours, asconsistent with civil liberty), if they are to have their requestsaccorded, how can they be refused (consistently) the further prayer ofbeing constituted, upon the same plea, the Established Church? Iconfess I am not prepared for this. With the Methodists on one side andthe Catholics on the other, what is to become of the poor church and thepeople of England? to both of which I am most tenderly attached, and tothe former not the less so, on account of the pretty little spire ofBroughton Parish Church, under which you and I were made happy men bythe gift from Providence of two excellent wives. To Mrs. Wrangham, present my cordial regards, and believe me, dear Wrangham, your very

 Sincere and affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [60]

35. _The Tractate on 'The Convention of Cintra. '_

LETTER TO LORD LONSDALE. 

 Grasmere, May 25 [1809]. 

MY LORD, I had also another reason for deferring this acknowledgment to yourLordship, viz. That at the same time I wished to present to you a Tractwhich I have lately written, and which I hope you have now received. Itwas finished, and ought to have appeared, two months ago, but has beendelayed by circumstances (connected with my distance from the press)over which I had no control. If this Tract should so far interest yourLordship as to induce you to peruse it, I do not doubt that it will bethoughtfully and candidly judged by you; in which case I fear nocensure, but that which every man is liable to who, with goodintentions, may have occasionally fallen into error; while at the sametime I have an entire confidence that the principles which I haveendeavoured to uphold must have the sanction of a mind distinguished, like that of your Lordship, for regard to morality and religion, and thetrue dignity and honour of your country. 

 * * * * *

May I beg of your Lordship to present my respectful compliments to LadyLonsdale. 

 I have the honour to be, my Lord, Your Lordship's most obedient servant, W. WORDSWORTH. [61]

[60] _Memoirs_, i. 388-90. 

[61] _Ibid_, i. 390-1. 

36. _Of 'The Convention of Cintra, ' &c. _

LETTER TO SOUTHEY. 

MY DEAR SOUTHEY, [62]

[62] Mr. Southey's opinions on the Convention of Cintra, at the time ofits ratification, were in unison with those of his friend. See Southey's_Correspondence_, vol. Iii. P. 177-180. 

Col. Campbell, our neighbour at G. , has sent for your book; he servedduring the whole of the Peninsular war, and you shall hear what he saysof it in _due course_. We are out of the way of all literarycommunication, so I can report nothing. I have read the whole with greatpleasure; the work will do you everlasting honour. I have said _thewhole_, forgetting, in that contemplation, my feelings upon one part, where you have tickled with a feather when you should have branded witha red-hot iron. You will guess I mean the Convention of Cintra. Mydetestation, I may say abhorrence, of that event is not at alldiminished by your account of it. Buonaparte had committed a capitalblunder in supposing that when he had _intimidated_ the _Sovereigns_ ofEurope he had _conquered_ the several _Nations_. Yet it was natural fora wiser than he was to have fallen into this mistake; for the olddespotisms had deprived the body of the people of all practicalknowledge in the management, and, of necessity, of all interest, in thecourse of affairs. The French themselves were astonished at the apathyand ignorance of the people whom they had supposed they had utterlysubdued, when they had taken their fortresses, scattered their armies, entered their capital cities, and struck their cabinets with dismay. There was no hope for the deliverance of Europe till the nations hadsuffered enough to be driven to a passionate recollection of all thatwas honourable in their past history, and to make appeal to theprinciples of universal and everlasting justice. These sentiments, theauthors of that Convention most unfeelingly violated; and as to theprinciples, they seemed to be as little aware even of the existence ofsuch powers, for powers emphatically may they be called, as the tyranthimself. As far, therefore, as these men could, they put an extinguisherupon the star which was then rising. It is in vain to say that after thefirst burst of indignation was over, the Portuguese themselves werereconciled to the event, and rejoiced in their deliverance. We mayinfer from that the horror which they must have felt in the presence oftheir oppressors; and we may see in it to what a state of helplessnesstheir bad government had reduced them. Our duty was to have treated themwith respect as the representatives of suffering humanity beyond whatthey were likely to look for themselves, and as deserving greatly, incommon with their Spanish brethren, for having been the first to riseagainst the tremendous oppression, and to show how, and how only, itcould be put an end to. 

WM. WORDSWORTH. [63]

37. _Home at Grasmere: 'The Parsonage. '_

'The house which I have for some time occupied is the Parsonage ofGrasmere. It stands close by the churchyard [where his two children wereburied], and I have found it absolutely necessary that we should quit aplace which, by recalling to our minds at every moment the losses wehave sustained in the course of the last year [1811-12] would grievouslyretard our progress toward that tranquillity which it is our duty to aimat. '[64]

38. _On Education of the Young_. 

LETTER TO PROFESSOR HAMILTON, OBSERVATORY, DUBLIN. 

Lowther Castle, Sunday Mor[ning] [Sept. 26, 1830]. 

MY DEAR MR. HAMILTON, I profit by the frank in which the letter for your sister will beenclosed, to thank you for yours of the 11th, and the accompanyingspirited and elegant verses. You ask many questions, kindly testifyingthereby the interest you take in us and our neighbourhood. Most probablysome of them are answered in my daughter's letter to Miss E. H. I will, however, myself reply to one or two at the risk of repeating what shemay have said. 1st. Mrs. Hemans has not sent us any tidings of hermovements and intentions since she left us; so I am unable to tell youwhether she mean to settle in Edinburgh or London. 

[63] _Memoirs_, i. 391-8. 

[64] Letter to Lord Lonsdale, Jan. 8. 1813: _Memoirs_, ii. 2. 

She said she would write as soon as she could procure a frank. Thataccommodation is, I suppose, more rare in Scotland than at this seasonin our neighbourhood. I assure you the weather has been so unfavourableto out-door amusements since you left us (not but that we have had asprinkling of fine and bright days), that little or no progress has beenmade in the game of the Graces; and I fear that amusement must bedeferred till next summer, if we or anybody else are to see another. Mr. Barber has dined with us once, and my sister and Mrs. Marshall, ofHalsteads, have seen his palace and grounds; but I cannot report uponthe general state of his temper. I believe he continues to be enchanted, as far as decayed health will allow, with a Mr. Cooper, a clergyman whohas just come to the living of Hawkshend (about five miles fromAmbleside). Did I tell you that Professor Wilson, with his two sons anddaughter, have been, and probably still are, at Elleray? He heads thegaieties of the neighbourhood, and has presided as steward at tworegattas. Do these employments come under your notions of action opposedto contemplation? Why should they not? Whatever the high moralists maysay, the political economists will, I conclude, approve them as settingcapital afloat, and giving an impulse to manufacture and handicrafts;but I speak of the improvement which may come thence to navigation andnautical science. I have dined twice along with my brother (who left ussome time ago) in the Professor's company--at Mrs. Watson's, widow ofthe Bp. , at Calgarth, and at Mr. Bolton's. Poor Mr. B. ! he must havebeen greatly shocked at the fatal accident that put an end to his friendHuskisson's earthly career. There is another acquaintance of mine alsorecently gone--a person for whom I never had any love, but with whom Ihad for a short time a good deal of intimacy. I mean Hazlitt, whosedeath you may have seen announced in the papers. He was a man ofextraordinary acuteness, but perverse as Lord Byron himself; whose lifeby Galt I have been skimming since I came here. Galt affects to be veryprofound, though [he] is in fact a very shallow fellow, --and perhaps themost illogical writer that these illogical days have produced. His'buts' and his 'therefores' are singularly misapplied, singularly evenfor this unthinking age. He accuses Mr. Southey of pursuing Lord B----with _rancour_. I should like a reference to what Mr. S---- has writtenof Lord B----, to ascertain whether this charge be well founded. Itrust it is not, both from what I know of my friend, and for theaversion which Mr. G---- has expressed towards the Lakers, whom in theplenitude of his ignorance he is pleased to speak of as a _class_ or_school_ of Poets. 

Now for a word on the serious part of your letter. Your views of actionand contemplation are, I think, just. If you can lay your hands upon Mr. Coleridge's 'Friend, ' you will find some remarks of mine upon a lettersigned, if I recollect right, 'Mathetes, ' which was written by ProfessorWilson, in which, if I am not mistaken, sentiments like yours areexpressed. At all events, I am sure that I have long retained thoseopinions, and have frequently expressed them either by letter orotherwise. One thing, however, is not to be forgotten concerning activelife--that a personal independence must be provided for; and in somecases more is required--ability to assist our friends, relations, andnatural dependents. The party are at breakfast, and I must close thiswretched scrawl, which pray excuse. 

 Ever faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [65]

[65] _Memoirs_, i. 433, with important additions from the MS. G. 

Pray continue to write at your leisure. How could I have forgot so longto thank you for your obliging present, which I shall value on everyaccount?

39. _Roman Catholics: Bible Society, &c. _

LETTER TO ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. 

 Grasmere, March 27 [1811]. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, Your last letter, which I have left so long unanswered, found me in adistressed state of mind, with one of my children lying nearly, as Ithought, at the point of death. This put me off answering yourletter. .. . 

You return to the R. Catholic Question. I am decidedly of opinion thatno further concessions should be made. The R. Catholic Emancipation is amere pretext of ambitious and discontented men. Are you prepared for thenext step--a R. Catholic Established Church? I confess I dread thethought. 

As to the Bible Society, my view of the subject is as follows:--1st. Distributing Bibles is a good thing. 2ndly. More Bibles will bedistributed in consequence of the existence of the Bible Society;therefore, so far as that goes, the existence of the Bible Society isgood. But, 3rdly, as to the _indirect_ benefits expected from it, asproducing a golden age of unanimity among Christians, all that I thinkfume and emptiness; nay, far worse. So deeply am I persuaded thatdiscord and artifice, and pride and ambition, would be fostered by suchan approximation and unnatural alliance of sects, that I am inclined tothink the evil thus produced would more than outweigh the good done bydispersing the Bibles. I think the last fifty or sixty pages of mybrother's pamphlet[66] merit the serious consideration of all persons ofthe Established Church who have connected themselves with the sectariesfor this purpose. .. . 

Entreating your pardon for my long delay in answering your letter, letme conclude with assuring you that I remain, with great truth, youraffectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [67]

[66] _Reasons for declining to become a Subscriber to the British andForeign Bible Society_, by Christopher Wordsworth, D. D. , Dean ofBocking. Lond. 1810. See also his _Letter to Lord Teignmouth_ invindication of the above Letter. Lond. 1810. 

[67] _Memoirs_, ii. 8-9. 

40. _Death of Children: Politics, &c. _

 Rydal Mount, near Ambleside, Aug. 28, 1813. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, Your letter arrived when I was on the point of going from home onbusiness. I took it with me, intending to answer it upon the road, but Ihad not courage to undertake the office on account of the inquiries itcontains concerning my family. I will be brief on this melancholysubject. In the course of the last year I have lost two sweet children, a girl and a boy, at the ages of four and six and a half. Theseinnocents were the delight of our hearts, and beloved by everybody thatknew them. They were cut off in a few hours--one by the measles, and theother by convulsions; dying, one half a year after the other. I quitthis sorrowful subject, secure of your sympathy as a father and as myfriend. 

 * * * * *

My employment I find salutary to me, and of consequence in a pecuniarypoint of view, as my literary employments bring me no remuneration, norpromise any. As to what you say about the Ministry, I very much preferthe course of their policy to that of the Opposition; especially on twopoints most near my heart: resistance of Buonaparte by force of arms, and their adherence to the principles of the British Constitution inwithholding political power from the Roman Catholics. My most determinedhostility shall always be directed against those statesmen who, likeWhitbread, Grenville, and others, would crouch to a sanguinary tyrant;and I cannot act with those who see no danger to the Constitution inintroducing papists into Parliament. There are other points of policy inwhich I deem the Opposition grievously mistaken, and therefore I am atpresent, and long have been, by principle, a supporter of ministers, asfar as my little influence extends. With affectionate wishes for yourwelfare and that of your family, and with best regards to Mrs. Wrangham, I am, my dear friend, Faithfully yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [68]

[68] _Memoirs_, ii. 9-10. 

41. _Letter of Introduction: Humour_. 

TO ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. 

 Rydal Mount, near Kendal, April 26. 1814. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, I trouble you with this in behalf of a very deserving young clergyman ofthe name of Jameson, who is just gone from this neighbourhood to acuracy at Sherbourne, in the neighbourhood of Ferry Bridge. He has amother and a younger brother dependent upon his exertions, and it is hiswish to take pupils in order to increase his income, which, as he is acurate, you know, cannot but be small. He is an excellent young man, agood scholar, and likely to become much better, for he is extremelyindustrious. Among his talents I must mention that for drawing, in whichhe is a proficient. .. . Now my wish is that, if it fall in your way, youwould vouchsafe him your patronage. .. . 

Of course, you cannot speak for him directly till you have seen him;but, might he be permitted to refer to you, you could have no objectionto say that you were as yet ignorant of his merits as to your ownknowledge, but that 'your _esteemed_ friend Mr. Wordsworth, that_popular_ poet, stamp-collector for Westmoreland, &c. , had recommendedhim strenuously to you as in all things deserving. '

A portion of a long poem[69] from me will see the light ere long; I hopeit will give you pleasure. It is serious, and has been written withgreat labour. .. . 

I mean to make a tour in Scotland with Mrs. W---- and her sister, MissHutchinson. I congratulate you on the overthrow of the execrable despot, and the complete triumph of the _war faction_, of which noble body Ihave the honour to be as active a member as my abilities and industrywould allow. Best remembrances to yourself and Mrs. Wrangham, And believe me affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [70]

42. _The Peninsular War_. 

LETTER TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. 

 ----, 1827. 

MY DEAR SIR, Edith thanked you, in my name, for your valuable present of the'Peninsular War. ' I have read it with great delight: it is beautifullywritten, and a most interesting story. I did not notice a singlesentiment or opinion that I could have wished away but one--where yousupport the notion that, if the Duke of Wellington had not lived andcommanded, Buonaparte must have continued the master of Europe. I do notobject to this from any dislike I have to the Duke, but from aconviction--I trust, a philosophic one--that Providence would not allowthe upsetting of so diabolical a system as Buonaparte's to depend uponthe existence of any individual. Justly was it observed by LordWellesley, that Buonaparte was of an order of minds that created forthemselves great reverses. He might have gone further, and said that itis of the nature of tyranny to work to its own destruction. [71]

[69] 'The Excursion, ' published 1814. 

[70] _Memoirs_, ii 10-11. 

[71] As has been said by Demosthenes. 

The sentence of yours which occasioned these loose remarks is, as Isaid, the only one I objected to, while I met with a thousand things toadmire. Your sympathy with the great cause is every where energeticallyand feelingly expressed. What fine fellows were Alvarez and Albuquerque;and how deeply interesting the siege of Gerona!

I have not yet mentioned dear Sir George Beaumont. [72] His illness wasnot long; and he was prepared by habitually thinking on his latter end. But it is impossible not to grieve for ourselves, for his loss cannot besupplied. Let dear Edith stay as long as you can; and when she must go, pray come for her, and stay a few days with us. Farewell. 

 Ever most affectionately yours, W. W----. [73]

[72] Who died Feb. 7, 1827. 

[73] _Memoirs_, ii. 20-1. 

43. _Of the Writings of Southey_. 

LETTER TO G. HUNTLY GORDON, ESQ. Rydal Mount, May 14. 1829. 

Mr. Southey means to present me (as usual) his 'Colloquies, ' &c. Thereis, perhaps, not a page of them that he did not read me in MS. ; andseveral of the Dialogues are upon subjects which we have oftendiscussed. I am greatly interested with much of the book; but upon itseffect as a whole I can yet form no opinion, as it was read to me as ithappened to be written. I need scarcely say that Mr. Southey ranks veryhighly, in my opinion, as a prose writer. His style is eminently clear, lively, and unencumbered, and his information unbounded; and there is amoral ardour about his compositions which nobly distinguishes them fromthe trading and factious authorship of the present day. He may notimprobably be our companion in Wales next year. At the end of this monthhe goes, with his family, to the Isle of Man for sea-air; and said, if Iwould accompany him, and put off the Welsh tour for another year, hewould join our party. Notwithstanding the inducement, I could not bringmyself to consent; but as things now are, I shall remind him of the hopehe held out. 

 Believe me, very faithfully, yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

There is no probability of my being in town this season. I have ahorror of smoking; and nothing but a necessity for health's sake couldreconcile me to it in William. [74]

[74] _Memoirs_, ii. 22. 

44. _Of alleged Changes in Political Opinions_. 

LETTER TO A FRIEND, 1821. 

In the year 1821 (October 7) an old friend of Wordsworth thus writes tohim: 'They tell me you have changed your opinions upon many subjectsrespecting which we used to think alike; but I am persuaded we shallneither of us change those great principles which ought to guide us inour conduct, and lead us to do all the good we can to others. And I ammuch mistaken if we should not find many things to talk about withoutdisturbing ourselves with political or party disputes. '

To this Wordsworth answered as follows:

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 4. 1821. 

MY DEAR L----, Your letter ought to have been much earlier acknowledged, and would havebeen so, had I not been sure you would ascribe my silence to its truecause, viz. Procrastination, and not to indifference to your kindattention. There was another feeling which both urged and indisposed meto write to you, --I mean the allusion which, in so friendly a manner, you make to a supposed change in my political opinions. To thescribblers in pamphlets and periodical publications who have heaped somuch obloquy upon myself and my friends Coleridge and Southey, I havenot condescended to reply, nor ever shall; but to you, my candid andenlightened friend, I will say a few words on this subject, which, if wehave the good fortune to meet again, as I hope we may, will probably befurther dwelt upon. 

I should think that I had lived to little purpose if my notions on thesubject of government had undergone no modification: my youth must, inthat case, have been without enthusiasm, and my manhood endued withsmall capability of profiting by reflection. If I were addressing thosewho have dealt so liberally with the words renegade, apostate, &c. , Ishould retort the charge upon them, and say, _you_ have been deluded by_places_ and _persons_, while I have stuck to _principles_. _I_abandoned France and her rulers when _they_ abandoned the struggle forliberty, gave themselves up to tyranny, and endeavoured to enslave theworld. I disapproved of the war against France at its commencement, thinking, which was, perhaps, an error, that it might have been avoided;but after Buonaparte had violated the independence of Switzerland, myheart turned against him, and against the nation that could submit to bethe instrument of such an outrage. Here it was that I parted, infeeling, from the Whigs, and to a certain degree united with theiradversaries, who were free from the delusion (such I must ever regardit) of Mr. Fox and his party, that a safe and honourable peace waspracticable with the French nation, and that an ambitious conqueror likeBuonaparte could be softened down into a commercial rival. 

In a determination, therefore, to aim at the overthrow of thatinordinate ambition by war, I sided with the ministry, not from generalapprobation of their conduct, but as men who thought right on thisessential point. How deeply this question interested me will be plain toany one who will take the trouble of reading my political sonnets, andthe tract occasioned by the 'Convention of Cintra, ' in which aresufficient evidences of my dissatisfaction with the mode of conductingthe war, and a prophetic display of the course which it would take ifcarried on upon the principles of justice, and with due respect for thefeelings of the oppressed nations. 

This is enough for foreign politics, as influencing my attachments. 

There are three great domestic questions, viz. The liberty of the press, parliamentary reform, and Roman Catholic concession, which, if I brieflyadvert to, no more need be said at present. 

A free discussion of public measures through the press I deem the _only_safeguard of liberty: without it I have neither confidence in kings, parliaments, judges, or divines: they have all in their turn betrayedtheir country. But the press, so potent for good, is scarcely less sofor evil; and unfortunately they who are misled and abused by its meansare the persons whom it can least benefit. It is the fatalcharacteristic of their disease to reject all remedies coming from thequarter that has caused or aggravated the malady. I am _therefore_ forvigorous restrictions; but there is scarcely any abuse that I would notendure rather than sacrifice, or even endanger, this freedom. 

When I was young (giving myself credit for qualities which I did notpossess, and measuring mankind by that standard) I thought it derogatoryto human nature to set up property in preference to person as a titlefor legislative power. That notion has vanished. I now perceive manyadvantages in our present complex system of representation whichformerly eluded my observation; this has tempered my ardour for reform:but if any plan could be contrived for throwing the representationfairly into the hands of the property of the country, and not leaving itso much in the hands of the large proprietors as it now is, it shouldhave my best support; though even in that event there would be asacrifice of personal rights, independent of property, that are nowfrequently exercised for the benefit of the community. 

Be not startled when I say that I am averse to further concessions tothe Roman Catholics. My reasons are, that such concessions will notproduce harmony among the Roman Catholics themselves; that they amongthem who are most clamorous for the measure care little about it but asa step, first, to the overthrow of the Protestant establishment inIreland, as introductory to a separation of the two countries--theirultimate aim; that I cannot consent to take the character of a religionfrom the declaration of powerful professors of it disclaiming doctrinesimputed to that religion; that, taking its character from what it_actually teaches to the great mass_, I believe the Roman Catholicreligion to be unchanged in its doctrines and unsoftened in itsspirit, --how can it be otherwise unless the doctrine of Infallibility begiven up? that such concessions would set all other dissenters inmotion--an issue which has never fairly been met by the friends toconcession; and deeming the Church Establishment not only a fundamentalpart of our constitution, but one of the greatest upholders andpropagators of civilization in our own country, and, lastly, the mosteffectual and main support of religious Toleration, I cannot but lookwith jealousy upon measures which must reduce her relative influence, unless they be accompanied with arrangements more adequate than any yetadopted for the preservation and increase of that influence, to keeppace with the other powers in the community. 

I do not apologise for this long letter, the substance of which you mayreport to any one worthy of a reply who, in your hearing, may animadvertupon my political conduct. I ought to have added, perhaps, a word on_local politics_, but I have not space; but what I should have said mayin a great measure be deduced from the above. 

 I am, my dear L----, Yours, &c. &c. , W. W. [75]

[75] _Memoirs_, ii. 23-27. 

45. _Of his Poems and others_. 

LETTER TO BERNARD BARTON. 

 Rydal Mount, near Ambleside, Jan. 12. 1816. 

DEAR SIR, Though my sister, during my absence, has returned thanks in my name forthe verses which you have done me the honour of addressing to me, andfor the obliging letter which accompanies them, I feel it incumbent onme, on my return home, to write a few words to the same purpose, with myown hand. 

It is always a satisfaction to me to learn that I have given pleasureupon _rational_ grounds; and I have nothing to object to your poeticalpanegyric but the occasion which called it forth. An admirer of myworks, zealous as you have declared yourself to be, condescends too muchwhen he gives way to an impulse proceeding from the ----, or indeed fromany other Review. The writers in these publications, while theyprosecute their inglorious employment, cannot be supposed to be in astate of mind very favourable for being affected by the finer influencesof a thing so pure as genuine poetry; and as to the instance which hasincited you to offer me this tribute of your gratitude, though I havenot seen it, I doubt not but that it is a splenetic effusion of theconductor of that Review, who has taken a perpetual retainer from hisown incapacity to plead against my claims to public approbation. 

I differ from you in thinking that the only poetical lines in youraddress are 'stolen from myself. ' The best verse, perhaps, is thefollowing:

 'Awfully mighty in his impotence, '

which, by way of repayment, I may he tempted to steal from you on somefuture occasion. 

It pleases, though it does not surprise me, to learn that, having beenaffected early in life by my verses, you have returned again to your oldloves after some little infidelities, which you were shamed into bycommerce with the scribbling and chattering part of the world. I haveheard of many who upon their first acquaintance with my poetry have hadmuch to get over before they could thoroughly relish it; but never ofone who having once learned to enjoy it, had ceased to value it, orsurvived his admiration. This is as good an external assurance as I candesire, that my inspiration is from a pure source, and that myprinciples of composition are trustworthy. 

With many thanks for your good wishes, and begging leave to offer minein return, I remain, Dear Sir, Respectfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [76]

[76] _Memoirs_, ii. 52-4. 

Bernard Barton, Esq. , Woodbridge, Suffolk. 

46. _Of the Thanksgiving Ode and 'White Doe of Rylston. '_

LETTER TO ROBERT SOUTHEY. 

 1816. MY DEAR SOUTHEY, I am much of your mind in respect to my Ode. Had it been a hymn, uttering the sentiments of a _multitude_, a _stanza_ would have beenindispensable. But though I have called it a 'Thanksgiving Ode, 'strictly speaking it is not so, but a poem, composed, or supposed to becomposed, on the morning of the thanksgiving, uttering the sentiments ofan _individual_ upon that occasion. It is a _dramatised ejaculation_;and this, if any thing can, must excuse the irregular frame of themetre. In respect to a _stanza_ for a grand subject designed to betreated comprehensively, there are great objections. If the stanza beshort, it will scarcely allow of fervour and impetuosity, unless soshort, as that the sense is run perpetually from one stanza to another, as in Horace's Alcaics; and if it be long, it will be as apt to generatediffuseness as to check it. Of this we have innumerable instances inSpenser and the Italian poets. The sense required cannot he included inone given stanza, so that another whole stanza is added, notunfrequently, for the sake of matter which would naturally includeitself in a very few lines. 

If Gray's plan be adopted, there is not time to become acquainted withthe arrangement, and to recognise with pleasure the recurrence of themovement. 

Be so good as to let me know where you found most difficulty infollowing me. The passage which I most suspect of being misunderstoodis, 'And thus is missed the sole true glory;'

and the passage, where I doubt most about the reasonableness ofexpecting that the reader should follow me in the luxuriance of theimagery and the language, is the one that describes, under so manymetaphors, the spreading of the news of the Waterloo victory over theglobe. Tell me if this displeased you. 

Do you know who reviewed 'The White Doe, ' in the _Quarterly_? Afterhaving asserted that Mr. W. Uses his words without any regard to theirsense, the writer says, that on no other principle can he explain thatEmily is _always_ called 'the consecrated Emily. ' Now, the name Emilyoccurs just fifteen times in the poem; and out of these fifteen, theepithet is attached to it _once_, and that for the express purpose ofrecalling the scene in which she had been consecrated by her brother'ssolemn adjuration, that she would fulfil her destiny, and become a soul, 'By force of sorrows high Uplifted to the purest sky Of undisturbed mortality. '

The point upon which the whole moral interest of the piece hinges, whenthat speech is closed, occurs in this line, 'He kissed the consecrated maid;'

and to bring back this to the reader, I repeated the epithet. 

The service I have lately rendered to Burns' genius[77] will one day beperformed to mine. The quotations, also, are printed with the mostculpable neglect of correctness: there are lines turned into nonsense. Too much of this. Farewell!

 Believe me affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [78]

[77] See his 'Letter to a Friend of Burns. '

[78] _Memoirs_, ii. 60-1. 

_47. Of Poems in Stanzas_. 

LETTER TO ROBERT SOUTHEY. 

DEAR SOUTHEY, * * * * *

My opinion in respect to _epic poetry_ is much the same as the criticwhom Lucien Buonaparte has quoted in his preface. _Epic_ poetry, of thehighest class, requires in the first place an action eminentlyinfluential, an action with a grand or sublime train of consequences; itnext requires the intervention and guidance of beings superior to man, what the critics I believe call _machinery_; and, lastly, I think withDennis, that no subject but a religious one can answer the demand of thesoul in the highest class of this species of poetry. Now Tasso's is areligious subject, and in my opinion, a most happy one; but I amconfidently of opinion that the _movement_ of Tasso's poem rarelycorresponds with the essential character of the subject; nor do I thinkit possible that written in _stanzas_ it should. The celestial movementcannot, I think, be kept up, if the sense is to be broken in thatdespotic manner at the close of every eight lines. Spenser's stanza isinfinitely finer than the _ottaca rhima_, but even Spenser's will notallow the epic movement as exhibited by Homer, Virgil, and Milton. Hownoble is the first paragraph of the _Aeneid_ in point of sound, comparedwith the first stanza of the _Jerusalem Delivered_! The one winds withthe majesty of the Conscript Fathers entering the Senate House in solemnprocession; and the other has the pace of a set of recruits shuffling onthe drill-ground, and receiving from the adjutant or drill-serjeant thecommands to halt at every ten or twenty steps. Farewell. 

 Affectionately yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [79]

[79] _Memoirs_, ii. 62-3. 

48. _The Classics: Translation of Aeneid, &c. _

[Laodamia, Dion, &c. ] These poems were written in 1814-16. About thistime Wordsworth's attention was given to the education of his eldestson: this occupation appears to have been the occasion of theircomposition. In preparing his son for his university career, hereperused the principal Latin poets; and doubtless the careful study oftheir works was not without a beneficial influence on his own. Itimparted variety and richness to his conceptions, and shed new graces onhis style, and rescued his poems from the charge of mannerism. 

Among the fruits of this course of reading, was a translation of some ofthe earlier books of VIRGIL'S AENEID. Three books were finished. Thisversion was not executed in blank verse, but in rhyme; not, however, inthe style of Pope, but with greater freedom and vigour. A specimen ofthis translation was contributed by Wordsworth to the _PhilologicalMuseum_, printed at Cambridge in 1832. [80] It was accompanied with thefollowing letter from the author:--

TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE FIRST BOOK OF THE AENEID. [81]

_To the editor off the Philological Museum_. 

Your letter reminding me of an expectation I some time since held out toyou, of allowing some specimens of my translation from the _Aeneid_ tobe printed in the _Philological Museum_, was not very acceptable; for Ihad abandoned the thought of ever sending into the world any part ofthat experiment--for it was nothing more--an experiment begun foramusement, and, I now think, a less fortunate one than when I firstnamed it to you. Having been displeased, in modern translations, withthe additions of incongruous matter, I began to translate with a resolveto keep clear of that fault, by adding nothing; but I became convincedthat a spirited translation can scarcely be accomplished in the Englishlanguage without admitting a principle of compensation. On this point, however, I do not wish to insist; and merely send the following passage, taken at random, from a wish to comply with your request. 

 W. W. [82]

[80] Vol. I. P. 382. 

[81] _Philological Museum_, edit. Camb. 1832, vol. I. P. 382. 

[82] _Memoirs_, ii. 68-9. 

49. _On the same: Letters to Earl Lonsdale_. 

MY LORD, Many thanks for your obliging letter. I shall be much gratified if youhappen to like my translation, and thankful for any remarks with whichyou may honour me. I have made so much progress with the second book, that I defer sending the former till that is finished. It takes in manyplaces a high tone of passion, which I would gladly succeed inrendering. When I read Virgil in the original I am moved; but not somuch so by the translation; and I cannot but think this owing to adefect in the diction, which I have endeavoured to supply, with whatsuccess you will easily be enabled to judge. 

 Ever, my Lord, Most faithfully your obliged friend and servant, WM. WORDSWORTH. [83]

 Feb. 5 [1829]. 

MY LORD, I am truly obliged by your friendly and frank communication. May I begthat you would add to the favour, by marking with a pencil some of thepassages that are faulty, in your view of the case? We seem pretty muchof opinion upon the subject of rhyme. Pentameters, where the sense has aclose of some sort at every two lines, may be rendered in regularlyclosed couplets; but hexameters (especially the Virgilian, that run thelines into each other for a great length) cannot. I have long beenpersuaded that Milton formed his blank verse upon the model of the_Georgics_ and the _Aeneid_, and I am so much struck with thisresemblance, that I should have attempted Virgil in blank verse, had Inot been persuaded that no ancient author can be with advantage sorendered. Their religion, their warfare, their course of action andfeeling, are too remote from modern interest to allow it. We requireevery possible help and attraction of sound, in our language, to smooththe way for the admission of things so remote from our present concerns. My own notion of translation is, that it cannot be too literal, providedthree faults be avoided: _baldness_, in which I include all that takesfrom dignity; and _strangeness_ or _uncouthness_, including harshness;and lastly, attempts to convey meanings which, as they cannot be givenbut by languid circumlocutions, cannot in fact be said to be given atall. I will trouble you with an instance in which I fear this faultexists. Virgil, describing Aeneas's voyage, third book, verse 551, says--

 'Hinc sinus Herculei, si vera est fama. Tarenti Cernitur. '

[83] _Memoirs_, ii. 69. 

I render it thus:

 'Hence we behold the bay that bears the name Of proud Tarentum, proud to share the fame Of Hercules, though by a dubious claim. '

I was unable to get the meaning with tolerable harmony into fewer words, which are more than to a modern reader, perhaps, it is worth. 

I feel much at a loss, without the assistance of the marks which I haverequested, to take an exact measure of your Lordship's feelings withregard to the diction. To save you the trouble of reference, I willtranscribe two passages from Dryden; first, the celebrated appearance ofHector's ghost to Aeneas. Aeneas thus addresses him:

 'O light of Trojans and support of Troy, Thy father's champion, and thy country s joy, O long expected by thy friends, from whence Art thou returned, so late for our defence? Do we behold thee, wearied as we are With length of labours and with toils of war? After so many funerals of thy own, Art thou restored to thy declining town?'

This I think not an unfavourable specimen of Dryden's way of treatingthe solemnly pathetic passages. Yet, surely, here is _nothing_ of the_cadence_ of the original, and little of its spirit. The second verse isnot in the original, and ought not to have been in Dryden; for itanticipates the beautiful hemistich, 'Sat patriae Priamoque datum. '

By the by, there is the same sort of anticipation in a spirited andharmonious couplet preceding:

 'Such as he was when by _Pelides slain_ Thessalian coursers dragged him o'er the plain. '

This introduction of Pelides here is not in Virgil, because it wouldhave prevented the effect of

 'Redit exuvias indutus Achillei. '

There is a striking solemnity in the answer of Pantheus to Aeneas:

 'Venit summa dies et ineluctabile tempus Dardaniae: fuimus Troës, fuit Ilium, et ingens Gloria Teucrorum, ' &c. 

Dryden thus gives it:

 'Then Pantheus, with a groan, Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town. The fatal day, the appointed hour is come When wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands. The fire consumes the town, the foe commands. '

My own translation runs thus; and I quote it because it occurred to mymind immediately on reading your Lordship's observations:

 'Tis come, the final hour, Th' inevitable close of Dardan power Hath come! we _have_ been Trojans, Ilium _was_, And the great name of Troy; now all things pass To Argos. So wills angry Jupiter. Amid a burning town the Grecians domineer. '

I cannot say that '_we have been_, ' and 'Ilium _was_, ' are as sonoroussounds as 'fuimus, ' and 'fuit;' but these latter must have been asfamiliar to the Romans as the former to ourselves. I should much like toknow if your Lordship disapproves of my translation here. I have oneword to say upon ornament. It was my wish and labour that my translationshould have far more of the _genuine_ ornaments of Virgil than mypredecessors. Dryden has been very careless of these, and profuse of hisown, which seem to me very rarely to harmonise with those of Virgil; as, for example, describing Hector's appearance in the passage above alludedto, 'A _bloody shroud_, he seemed, and _bath'd_ in tears. I wept to see the _visionary_ man. '

Again, 'And all the wounds he for his country bore Now streamed afresh, and with _new purple ran_. '

I feel it, however, to be too probable that my translation is deficientin ornament, because I must unavoidably have lost many of Virgil's, andhave never without reluctance attempted a compensation of my own. Had Itaken the liberties of my predecessors, Dryden especially, I could havetranslated nine books with the labour that three have cost me. The thirdbook, being of a humbler character than either of the former, I havetreated with rather less scrupulous apprehension, and have interwoven alittle of my own; and, with permission, I will send it, ere long, forthe benefit of your Lordship's observations, which really will be ofgreat service to me if I proceed. Had I begun the work fifteen yearsago, I should have finished it with pleasure; at present, I fear it willtake more time than I either can or ought to spare. I do not think ofgoing beyond the fourth book. 

As to the MS. , be so kind as to forward it at your leisure to me, at SirGeorge Beaumont's, Coleorton Hall, near Ashby, whither I am going inabout ten days. May I trouble your Lordship with our respectfulcompliments to Lady Lonsdale?

 Believe [me] ever Your Lordship's faithful And obliged friend and servant, WM. WORDSWORTH. [84]

[84] _Memoirs_, ii. 69-74. 

50. _Tour on the Continent, 1820_. 

LETTERS TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE. 

 Lucerne, Aug. 19. 1820. MY LORD, You did me the honour of expressing a wish to hear from me during mycontinental tour; accordingly, I have great pleasure in writing fromthis place, where we arrived three days ago. Our route has lain throughBrussels, Namur, along the banks of the Meuse, to Liege; thence toAix-la-Chapelle, Cologne, and along the Rhine to Mayence, to Frankfort, Heidelberg (a noble situation, at the point where the Neckar issues fromsteep lofty hills into the plain of the Rhine), Carlsruhe, and throughthe Black Forest to Schaffhausen; thence to Zurich, Berne, Thun, Interlachen. Here our Alpine tour might be said to commence, which hasproduced much pleasure thus far, and nothing that deserves the name ofdifficulty, even for the ladies. From the Valley of Lauterbrunnen wecrossed the Wengern Alp to Grindelwald, and then over the grand Sheideckto Meyringen. This journey led us over high ground, and for fifteenleagues along the base of the loftiest Alps, which reared their bare orsnow-clad ridges and pikes, in a clear atmosphere, with fleecy cloudsnow and then settling upon and gathering round them. We heard and sawseveral avalanches; they are announced by a sound like thunder, but moremetallic and musical. This warning naturally makes one look about, andwe had the gratification of seeing one falling, in the shape andappearance of a torrent or cascade of foaming water, down the deep-worncrevices of the steep or perpendicular granite mountains. Nothing canbe more awful than the sound of these cataracts of ice and snow thusdescending, unless it be the silence which succeeds. The elevations fromwhich we beheld these operations of Nature, and saw such an immenserange of primitive mountains stretching to the east and west, werecovered with rich pasturage and beautiful flowers, among which wasabundance of the monkshood, a flower which I had never seen but in thetrim borders of our gardens, and which here grew not so much in patchesas in little woods or forests, towering above the other plants. At thisseason the herdsmen are with their cattle in still higher regions thanthose which we have trod, the herbage where we travelled being reservedtill they descend in the autumn. We have visited the Abbey of Engelberg, not many leagues from the borders of the Lake of Lucerne. The traditionis, that the site of the abbey was appointed by angels, singing from alofty mountain that rises from the plain of the valley, and which, fromhaving been thus honoured, is called Engelberg, or the Hill of theAngels. It is a glorious position for such beings, and I should havethought myself repaid for the trouble of so long a journey by theimpression made upon my mind, when I first came in view of the vale inwhich the convent is placed, and of the mountains that enclose it. Thelight of the sun had left the valley, and the deep shadows spread overit heightened the splendour of the evening light, and spread upon thesurrounding mountains, some of which had their summits covered with puresnow; others were half hidden by vapours rolling round them; and theRock of Engelberg could not have been seen under more fortunatecircumstances, for masses of cloud glowing with the reflection of therays of the setting sun were hovering round it, like choirs of spiritspreparing to settle upon its venerable head. 

To-day we quit this place to ascend the mountain Righi. We shall bedetained in this neighbourhood till our passports are returned fromBerne, signed by the Austrian minister, which we find absolutelynecessary to enable us to proceed into the _Milanese_. At the end offive weeks at the latest, we hope to reach Geneva, returning by theSimplon Pass. There I might have the pleasure of hearing from yourLordship; and may I beg that you would not omit to mention ourWestmoreland politics? The diet of Switzerland is now sitting in thisplace. Yesterday I had a long conversation with the Bavarian envoy, whose views of the state of Europe appear to me very just. This lettermust unavoidably prove dull to your Lordship, but when I have thepleasure of seeing you, I hope to make some little amends, though I feelthis is a very superficial way of viewing a country, even with referencemerely to the beauties of Nature. We have not met with many English;there is scarcely a third part as many in the country as there was lastyear. A brother of Lord Grey is in the house where we now are, and LordAshburton left yesterday. I must conclude abruptly, with kindestremembrances to Lady Lonsdale and Lady Mary. Believe me, my Lord, mostfaithfully

 Your Lordship's WM. WORDSWORTH. 

 Paris, Oct. 7 [1820], 45 Rue Charlot, Boulevards du Temple. 

MY LORD, I had the honour of writing to your Lordship from Lucerne, 19th ofAugust, giving an account of our movements. We have visited, since, those parts of Switzerland usually deemed most worthy of notice, and theItalian lakes, having stopped four days at Milan, and as many at Geneva. With the exception of a couple of days on the Lake of Geneva, theweather has been most favourable, though frequently during the lastfortnight extremely cold. We have had no detention from illness, nor anybad accident, for which we feel more grateful, on account of some of ourfellow travellers, who accidentally joined us for a few days. Of these, one, an American gentleman, was drowned in the Lake of Zurich, by theupsetting of a boat in a storm, two or three days after he parted withus; and two others, near the summit of Mount Jura, and in the middle ofa tempestuous night, were precipitated, they scarcely knew how far, along with one of those frightful and ponderous vehicles, a continentaldiligence. We have been in Paris since Sunday last, and think of stayingabout a fortnight longer, as scarcely less will suffice for even a hastyview of the town and neighbourhood. We took Fontainebleau in our way, and intend giving a day to Versailles. The day we entered Paris wepassed a well-drest young man and woman, dragging a harrow through afield, like cattle; nevertheless, working in the fields on the sabbathday does not appear to be general in France. On the same day awretched-looking person begged of us, as the carriage was climbing ahill. Nothing could exceed his transport in receiving a pair of oldpantaloons which were handed out of the carriage. This poor mendicant, the postilion told us, was an _ancien Curé_. The churches seem generallyfalling into decay in the country. We passed one which had been recentlyrepaired. I have noticed, however, several young persons, men as well aswomen, earnestly employed in their devotions, in different churches, both in Paris and elsewhere. Nothing which I have seen in this city hasinterested me at all like the Jardin des Plantes, with the livinganimals, and the Museum of Natural History which it includes. Scarcelycould I refrain from tears of admiration at the sight of this apparentlyboundless exhibition of the wonders of the creation. The statues andpictures of the Louvre affect me feebly in comparison. The exterior ofParis is much changed since I last visited it in 1792. I miss manyancient buildings, particularly the Temple, where the poor king and hisfamily were so long confined. That memorable spot, where the JacobinClub was held, has also disappeared. Nor are the additional buildingsalways improvements; the Pont des Arts, in particular, injures the viewfrom the Pont Neuf greatly; but in these things public convenience isthe main point. 

I say nothing of public affairs, for I have little opportunity ofknowing anything about them. In respect to the business of our Queen, wedeem ourselves truly fortunate in having been out of the country at atime when an inquiry, at which all Europe seems scandalised, was goingon. 

I have purposely deferred congratulating your Lordship on the marriageof Lady Mary with Lord Frederick Bentinck, which I hear has beencelebrated. My wishes for her happiness are most earnest. 

With respectful compliments and congratulations to Lady Lonsdale, inwhich Mrs. Wordsworth begs leave to join, I have the honour to be, My Lord, Your Lordship's Obliged and faithful friend and servant, WM. WORDSWORTH. [85]

[85] _Memoirs_, ii. 90-104. 

51. _Shakespeare's Cliff at Dover_. 

How strange that the description of Dover Cliff, in _King Lear_, shouldever have been supposed to have been meant for a reality! I know nothingthat more forcibly shows the little reflection with which even men ofsense read poetry. The cliff cannot be more than 400 feet high; and yet, 'how truly, ' exclaims the historian of Dover, 'has Shakespeare describedthe precipice!' How much better would the historian have done, had hegiven us its actual elevation![86]

[86] _Memoirs_, ii. 116. 

52. _Of Affairs on the Continent_, 1828. 

LETTER TO A NEPHEW. 

 Rydal Mount, Nov. 27. 1828. 

MY DEAR C----, It gives me much pleasure to learn that your residence in France hasanswered so well. As I had recommended the step, I felt more especiallyanxious to be informed of the result. I have only to regret that you didnot tell me whether the interests of a foreign country and a brilliantmetropolis had encroached more upon the time due to academical studiesthan was proper. 

As to the revolution which Mr. D---- calculates upon, I agree with himthat a great change must take place, but not altogether, or even mainly, from the causes which he looks to, if I be right in conjecturing that heexpects that the religionists who have at present such influence overthe king's mind will be predominant. The extremes to which they wish tocarry things are not sufficiently in the spirit of the age to suit theirpurpose. The French monarchy must undergo a great change, or it willfall altogether. A constitution of government so disproportioned cannotendure. A monarchy, without a powerful aristocracy or nobilitygraduating into a gentry, and so downwards, cannot long subsist. This iswanting in France, and must continue to be wanting till the restrictionsimposed on the disposal of property by will, through the Code Napoleon, are done away with: and it may be observed, by the by, that there is abareness, some would call it a simplicity, in that code which unfits itfor a complex state of society like that of France, so that evasionsand stretchings of its provisions are already found necessary, to adegree which will ere long convince the French people of the necessityof disencumbering themselves of it. But to return. My apprehension is, that for the cause assigned, the French monarchy may fall before anaristocracy can be raised to give it necessary support. The greatmonarchies of Russia, Prussia, and Austria, having not yet been subjectto popular revolutions, are still able to maintain themselves, throughthe old feudal _forces_ and qualities, with something, not much, of thefeudal _virtues_. This cannot be in France; popular inclinations aremuch too strong--thanks, I will say so far, to the Revolution. How is agovernment fit for her condition to be supported, but by religion, and aspirit of honour, or refined conscience? Now religion, in a widelyextended country plentifully peopled, cannot be preserved from abuse ofpriestly influence, and from superstition and fanaticism, nor honour bean operating principle upon a large scale, except through_property_--that is, such accumulations of it, graduated as I havementioned above, through the community. Thus and thus only can be hadexemption from temptation to low habits of mind, leisure for solideducation, and dislike to innovation, from a sense in the severalclasses how much they have to lose; for circumstances often make menwiser, or at least more discreet, when their individual levity orpresumption would dispose them to be much otherwise. To what extent thatconstitution of character which is produced by property makes up for thedecay of chivalrous loyalty and strengthens governments, may be seen bycomparing the officers of the English army with those of Prussia, &c. How far superior are ours as gentlemen! so much so that British officerscan scarcely associate with those of the Continent, not from pride, butinstinctive aversion to their low propensities. But I cannot proceed, and ought, my dear C----, to crave your indulgence for so long a prose. 

When you see Frere, pray give him my kind regards, and say that he shallhear from me the first frank I can procure. Farewell, with kindest lovefrom all, Yours, very affectionately, W. W. [87]

[87] _Memoirs_, ii. 129-131. 

53. _Style: Francis Edgeworth's 'Dramatic Fragment:' Criticisms_. Ishould say [to your young friend] style is in Poetry of incalculableimportance. He seems, however, aware of it, for his diction is obviouslystudied. Now the great difficulty is to determine what constitutes agood style. In estimating this we are all subject to delusion, notimprobably I am so, when it appears to me that the metaphor in the firstspeech of his dramatic scene is too much drawn out. It does not pass offas rapidly as metaphors ought to do, I think, in dramatic writing. I amwell aware that our early dramatists abound with these continuities ofimagery, but to me they appear laboured and unnatural, at least unsuitedto that species of composition, of which action and motion are theessentials. 'While with the ashes of a light that was, ' and the twofollowing lines, are in the best style of dramatic writing. To everyopinion thus given always add, I pray you, 'in my judgment, ' though Imay not, to save trouble or to avoid a charge of false modesty, expressit. 'This over-pressure of a heavy pleasure, ' &c. , is admirable; and, indeed, it would be tedious to praise all that pleases me. Shelley's'Witch of Atlas' I never saw; therefore the stanza referring toNarcissus and her was read by me to some disadvantage. One observation Iam about to make will at least prove I am no flatterer, and willtherefore give a qualified value to my praise. 

 'There was nought there that morn But thrice three antient hills _alone_. '

Here the word 'alone, ' being used instead of only, makes an absurditylike that noticed in the _Spectator_--'Enter a king and three fidlers_solus_. '[88]

54. _Of the 'Icôn Basiliké, ' &c. _ LETTER TO SOUTHEY. 

MY DEAR S----, I am ashamed not to have done your message about the _Icôn_ to mybrother. [89]

[88] Extract of Letter to Professor Hamilton, 12th Feb. 1829, here firstprinted. G. [F9] This refers to Dr. Wordsworth's volume on the authorshipof _Icôn Basiliké_. London, 1824. 

I have no excuse, but that at that time both my body and my memory wererun off their legs. I am very glad you thought the answer[90] appearedto you triumphant, for it had struck me as in the main point, knowledgeof the subject, and spirit in the writing, and accuracy in the logic, asone of the best controversial tracts I ever had. 

I am glad you have been so busy; I wish I could say so much of myself. Ihave written this last month, however, about 600 verses, with tolerablesuccess. 

Many thanks for the review: your article is excellent. I only wish thatyou had said more of the deserts of government in respect to Ireland;since I do sincerely believe that no government in Europe has shownbetter dispositions to its subjects than the English have done to theIrish, and that no country has improved so much during the same period. You have adverted to this part of the subject, but not spoken soforcibly as I could have wished. There is another point might beinsisted upon more expressly than you have done--the danger, not to saythe absurdity, of Roman Catholic legislation for the property of a_Protestant_ church, so inadequately _represented in Parliament_ as oursis. The Convocation is gone; clergymen are excluded from the House ofCommons; and the Bishops are at the beck of Ministers. I boldly ask whatreal property of the country is so inadequately represented: it is amere mockery. 

 Most affectionately yours, W. W. [91]

[90] This alludes to Dr. Wordsworth's second publication, entitled 'KingCharles the First the Author of _Icôn Basiliké_. ' London, 1828. 

[91] _Memoirs_, ii. 132-3. 

55. _Of the Roman Catholic Question_. 

LETTER TO G. HUNTLY GORDON, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, Thursday Night, Feb. 26. 1829. 

You ask for my opinion on the Roman Catholic Question. 

I dare scarcely trust my pen to the notice of the question which theDuke of Wellington tells us is about to be _settled_. One thing norational person will deny, that the experiment is hazardous. Equallyobvious is it that the timidity, supineness, and other unworthyqualities of the government for many years past have produced thedanger, the extent of which they now affirm imposes a necessity ofgranting all that the Romanists demand. Now, it is rather too much thatthe country should be called upon to take the measure of this dangerfrom the very men who may almost be said to have created it. Danger is arelative thing, and the first requisite for judging of what we have todread from the physical force of the Roman Catholics is to be insympathy with the Protestants. Had our Ministers been so, could theyhave suffered themselves to be bearded by the Catholic Association forso many years?

C----, if I may take leave to say it, loses sight of _things_ in_names_, when he says that they should not be admitted as RomanCatholics, but simply as British subjects. The question before us is, Can Protestantism and Popery be coordinate powers in the constitution ofa _free_ country, and at the same time Christian belief be in thatcountry a vital principle of action?

I fear not. Heaven grant I may be deceived!

W. W. [92]

[92] _Memoirs_, ii. 134. 

56. _Of the Roman Catholic Emancipation Bill_. 

LETTER TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE. 

 Rydal Mount, Wednesday. 

MY LORD, * * * * *

There is one point also delicate to touch upon and hazardous to dealwith, but of prime importance in this crisis. The question, as under theconduct of the present Ministers, is closely connecting itself withreligion. Now after all, if we are to be preserved from utter confusion, it is religion and morals, and conscience, which must do the work. Thereligious part of the community, especially those attached to the Churchof England, must and _do_ feel that neither the Church as anestablishment, nor its points of Faith as a church, nor Christianityitself as governed by Scripture, ought to be left long, if it can beprevented, in the hands which manage our affairs. 

But I am running into unpardonable length. I took up the pen principallyto express a hope that your Lordship may have continued to see thequestion in the light which affords the only chance of preserving thenation from several generations perhaps of confusion, and crime, andwretchedness. 

 Excuse the liberty I have taken, And believe me most faithfully, Your Lordship's Much obliged, W. WORDSWORTH. [93]

[93] _Memoirs_, ii. 135. 

57. _Of Ireland and the Poor Laws, &c. _

LETTER TO G. HUNTLY GORDON, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 1. 1829. 

MY DEAR SIR, You must not go to Ireland without applying to me, as the guide-booksfor the most part are sorry things, and mislead by their exaggerations. If I were a younger man, and could prevail upon an able artist toaccompany me, there are few things I should like better than giving amonth or six weeks to explore the county of Kerry only. A judicioustopographical work on that district would be really useful, both for thelovers of Nature and the observers of manners. As to the Giant'sCauseway and the coast of Antrim, you cannot go wrong; there theinterests obtrude themselves on every one's notice. 

The subject of the Poor Laws was never out of my sight whilst I was inIreland; it seems to me next to impossible to introduce a general systemof such laws, principally for two reasons: the vast numbers that wouldhave equal claims for relief, and the non-existence of a class capableof looking with effect to their administration. Much is done at presentin many places (Derry, for example) by voluntary contributions; but thenarrow-minded escape from the burthen, which falls unreasonably upon thecharitable; so that assessments in the best-disposed places are to bewished for, could they be effected without producing a greater evil. 

The great difficulty that is complained of in the well-managed places isthe floating poor, who cannot be excluded, I am told, by any existinglaw from quartering themselves where they like. Open begging is notpractised in many places, but there is no law by which the poor can beprevented from returning to a place which they may have quittedvoluntarily, or from which they have been expelled (as I was told). Wereit not for this obstacle compulsory local regulations might, I think, beapplied in many districts with good effect. 

It would be unfair to myself to quit this momentous subject withoutadding that I am a zealous friend to the great principle of the PoorLaws, as tending, if judiciously applied, much more to elevate than todepress the character of the labouring classes. I have never seen thistruth developed as it ought to be in parliament. 

The day I dined with Lord F. L. Gower at his official residence in thePhoenix Park, I met there with an intelligent gentleman, Mr. Page, whowas travelling in Ireland expressly to collect information upon thissubject, which, no doubt, he means to publish. If you should hear ofthis pamphlet when it comes out procure it, for I am persuaded it willprove well worth reading. Farewell. 

 Faithfully yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. [94]

58. _Of the Earl of Lonsdale: Virgil: Book-buying: Gifts of Books:Commentaries_. 

TWO LETTERS TO THE VENERABLE ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. 

 Rydal Mount, Feb. 19. 1819. 

DEAR WRANGHAM, I received your kind letter last night, for which you will accept mythanks. I write upon the spur of that mark of your regard, or myaversion to letter-writing might get the better of me. 

I find it difficult to speak publicly of good men while alive, especially if they are persons who have power. The world ascribes theeulogy to interested motives, or to an adulatory spirit, which I detest. But of LORD LONSDALE, I will say to you, that I do not think thereexists in England a man of any rank more anxiously desirous to dischargehis duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God to call him. His thought and exertions are constantly directed to that object; andthe more he is known the more is he beloved, and respected, and admired. 

[94] _Memoirs_, ii. 155-6. 

I ought to have thanked you before for your version of VIRGIL'SECLOGUES, which reached me at last. I have lately compared it line forline with the original, and think it very well done. I was particularlypleased with the skill you have shown in managing the contest betweenthe shepherds in the third Pastoral, where you have included in asuccession of couplets the sense of Virgil's paired hexameters. I thinkI mentioned to you that these poems of Virgil have always delighted memuch; there is frequently either an elegance or a happiness which notranslation can hope to equal. In point of fidelity your translation isvery good indeed. 

You astonish me with the account of your books; and I should have beenstill more astonished if you had told me you had read a third (shall Isay a tenth part?) of them. My reading powers were never very good, andnow they are much diminished, especially by candle-light; and as to_buying_ books, I can affirm that in _new_ books I have not spent fiveshillings for the last five years, _i. E. _, in Reviews, Magazines, Pamphlets, &c. &c. ; so that there would be an end of Mr. Longman, andMr. Cadell, &c. &c. , if nobody had more power or inclination to buy thanmyself. And as to old books, my dealings in that way, for want of means, have been very trifling. Nevertheless, small and paltry as my collectionis, I have not read a fifth part of it. I should, however, like to seeyour army. 

 'Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, When Agrican, with fill his _northern_ powers, Besieged Albracca, as _romances_ tell. '

Not that I accuse you of romancing; I verily believe that you have allthe books you speak of. Dear Wrangham, are you and I ever like to meetin this world again? _Yours_ is a _corner_ of the earth; _mine_ is _not_so. I never heard of anybody going to Bridlington; but all the worldcomes to the Lakes. Farewell. Excuse this wretched scrawl; it is likeall that proceeds from, my miserable pen. 

 * * * * *

 Ever faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

DEAR WRANGHAM, You are very good in sending one letter after another to inquire after aperson so undeserving of attentions of this kind as myself. Dr. Johnson, I think, observes, or rather is made to observe by some of hisbiographers, that no man delights to _give_ what he is accustomed to_sell_. 'For example: you, Mr. Thrale, would rather part with anythingin this way than your porter. ' Now, though I have never been much of asalesman in matters of literature (the whole of my returns--I do not say_net profits_, but _returns_--from the writing trade, not amounting toseven score pounds), yet, somehow or other, I manufacture a letter, andpart with it as reluctantly as if it were really a thing of price. But, to drop the comparison, I have so much to do with writing, in the way oflabour and profession, that it is difficult to me to conceive howanybody can take up a pen but from constraint. My writing-desk is to mea place of punishment; and, as my penmanship sufficiently testifies. Ialways bend over it with some degree of impatience. All this is saidthat you may know the real cause of my silence, and not ascribe it inany degree to slight or forgetfulness on my part, or an insensibility toyour worth and the value of your friendship. .. . As to my occupations, they look little at the present age; but I live in hope of leavingsomething behind me that by some minds will be valued. 

I see no new books except by the merest accident. Of course your poem, which I should have been pleased to read, has not found its way to me. You inquire about old books: you might almost as well have asked for myteeth as for any of mine. The only _modern_ books that I read are thoseof Travels, or such as relate to matters of fact; and the only modernbooks that I care for; but as to old ones, I am like yourself--scarcelyanything comes amiss to me. The little time I have to spare--the verylittle, I may say--all goes that way. If, however, in the _line of yourprofession_ you want any bulky old Commentaries on the Scriptures (suchas not twelve strong men of these degenerate days will venture--I do notsay to _read_, but to _lift_), I can, perhaps, as a special favour, accommodate you. 

I and mine will be happy to see you and yours here or anywhere; but I amsorry the time you talk of is so distant: a year and a half is a longtime looking forward, though looking back ten times as much is as briefas a dream. My writing is wholly illegible--at least I fear so; I hadbetter, therefore, release you. 

 Believe me, my dear Wrangham, Your affectionate friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [95]

59. _Poems of Edward Moxon_. 

LETTER TO MOXON. 

 (Postmark) Dec. 8. 1826. 

DEAR SIR, It is some time since I received your little volume, for which I nowreturn you my thanks, and also for the obliging letter that accompaniedit. 

Your poem I have read with no inconsiderable pleasure; it is full ofnatural sentiments and pleasing pictures: among the minor pieces, thelast pleased me much the best, and especially the latter part of it. This little volume, with what I saw of yourself during a shortinterview, interest me in your welfare; and the more so, as I alwaysfeel some apprehension for the destiny of those who in youth addictthemselves to the composition of verse. It is a very seducingemployment, and, though begun in disinterested love of the Muses, is tooapt to connect itself with self-love, and the disquieting passions whichfollow in the train of that our natural infirmity. Fix your eye uponacquiring independence by honourable business, and let the Muses comeafter rather than go before. Such lines as the latter of this couplet, 'Where lovely woman, chaste as heaven above. Shines in the golden virtues of her love, '

and many other passages in your poem, give proof of no common-placesensibility. I am therefore the more earnest that you should guardyourself against this temptation. 

Excuse this freedom; and believe me, my dear Sir, very faithfully, Your obliged servant, WM. WORDSWORTH. [96]

[95] _Memoirs_, ii. 205-9. 

[96] _Ibid. _ ii. 211-12. 

60. _Of Hamilton's 'It haunts me yet' and Miss Hamilton's 'Boys'School. '_

LETTER TO W. R. HAMILTON, ESQ. , OBSERVATORY, NEAR DUBLIN. 

 Rydal Mount, near Kendal, Sept. 24. 1827. 

MY DEAR SIR, You will have no pain to suffer from my sincerity. With a safeconscience I can assure you that in my judgment your verses are animatedwith true poetic spirit, as they are evidently the product of strongfeeling. The sixth and seventh stanzas affected me much, even to thedimming of my eye and faltering of my voice while I was reading themaloud. Having said this, I have said enough; now for the _per contra_. 

You will not, I am sure, be hurt, when I tell you that the workmanship(what else could be expected from so young a writer?) is not what itought to be; even in those two affecting stanzas it is not perfect:

 'Some touch of human sympathy find way, And whisper that though Truth's and Science' ray With such serene effulgence o'er thee shone. '

Sympathy might whisper, but a '_touch_ of sympathy' could not. 'Truth'sand Science' ray, ' for the ray of truth and science, is not onlyextremely harsh, but a 'ray _shone_' is, if not absolutely a pleonasm, agreat awkwardness: 'a ray fell' or 'shot' may be said, and a sun or amoon or a candle shone, but not a ray. I much regret that I did notreceive these verses while you were here, that I might have given you, _vivâ voce_, a comment upon them, which would be tedious by letter, andafter all very imperfect. If I have the pleasure of seeing you again, Iwill beg permission to dissect these verses, or any other you may beinclined to show me; but I am certain that without conference with me, or any benefit drawn from my practice in metrical composition, your ownhigh powers of mind will lead you to the main conclusions. 

You will be brought to acknowledge that the logical faculty hasinfinitely more to do with poetry than the young and the inexperienced, whether writer or critic, ever dreams of. Indeed, as the materials uponwhich that faculty is exorcised in poetry are so subtle, so plastic, socomplex, the application of it requires an adroitness which can proceedfrom nothing but practice, a discernment which emotion is so far frombestowing that at first it is ever in the way of it. Here I must stop:only let me advert to two lines:

 'But shall despondence therefore _blench_ my _brow_, Or pining sorrow sickly ardor o'er. '

These are two of the worst lines in mere expression. 'Blench' is perhapsmiswritten for 'blanch;' if not, I don't understand the word. _Blench_signifies to flinch. If 'blanch' be the word, the next ought to be'_hair_. ' You cannot here use _brow_ for the _hair_ upon it, because awhite brow or forehead is a beautiful characteristic of youth. 'Sicklyardor o'er' was at first reading to me unintelligible. I took 'sickly'to be an adjective joined with 'ardor, ' whereas you mean it as a portionof a verb, from Shakspeare, 'Sicklied o'er with the pale cast ofthought. ' But the separation of the parts or decomposition of the word, as here done, is not to be endured. 

Let me now come to your sister's verses, for which I thank you. They aresurprisingly vigorous for a female pen, but occasionally too rugged, andespecially for such a subject; they have also the same faults inexpression as your own, but not, I think, in quite an equal degree. Muchis to be hoped from feelings so strong, and from a mind thus disposed. Ishould have entered into particulars with these also, had I seen youafter they came into my hands. Your sister is, no doubt, aware that inher poem she has trodden the same ground as Gray, in his 'Ode upon adistant Prospect of Eton College. ' What he has been contented to treatin the abstract, she has represented in particular, and with admirablespirit. But again, my dear Sir, let me exhort you (and do you exhortyour sister) to deal little with modern writers, but fix your attentionalmost exclusively upon those who have stood the test of time. _You_have not leisure to allow of your being tempted to turn aside from theright course by deceitful lights. My household desire to be rememberedto you in no formal way. Seldom have I parted, never I was going to say, with one whom after so short an acquaintance, I lost sight of with moreregret. I trust we shall meet again, if not [sentence cut off with theautograph]. Postscript. Pray do not forget to remember me to Mr. Otway. I was much pleased with him and with your fellow-traveller Mr. Nimmo, as I should have been, no doubt, with the young Irishman, had not ourconversation taken so serious a turn. The passage in Tacitus whichMilton's line so strongly resembles is not in the 'Agricola, ' nor can Ifind it, but it exists somewhere. 

W. WORDSWORTH. [97]

61. _Of Collins, Dyer, Thomson, &c. _

LETTER TO REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Rydal Mount, Kendal, Jan. 12. 1829. 

DEAR SIR, I regret to hear of the indisposition from which you have beensuffering. 

That you are convinced[98] gives me great pleasure, as I hope that everyother editor of Collins will follow your example. You are at perfectliberty to declare that you have rejected Bell's copy in consequence ofmy opinion of it; and I feel much satisfaction in being the instrumentof rescuing the memory of Collins from this disgrace. I have always feltsome concern that Mr. Home, who lived several years after Bell'spublication, did not testify more regard for his deceased friend'smemory by protesting against this imposition. Mr. Mackenzie is stillliving; and I shall shortly have his opinion upon the question; and ifit be at all interesting, I shall take the liberty of sending it to you. 

[97] _Memoirs_, ii. 212-14, with important additions from the original. G. 

[98] _i. E. _ convinced by what Wordsworth had remarked to me, that thoseportions of Collins's 'Ode on the Superstitions of the Highlanders, 'which first appeared in Bell's edition of that Ode, were forgeries. _A. D. _

Dyer is another of our minor poets--minor as to quantity--of whom onewould wish to know more. Particulars about him might still be collected, I should think, in South Wales, his native country, and where in earlylife he practised as a painter. I have often heard Sir George Beaumontexpress a curiosity about his pictures, and a wish to see any specimenof his pencil that might survive. If you are a rambler, perhaps you may, at some time or other, be led into Carmarthenshire, and might bear inmind what I have just said of this excellent author. 

I had once a hope to have learned some unknown particulars of Thomson, about Jedburgh, but I was disappointed. Had I succeeded, I meant topublish a short life of him, prefixed to a volume containing 'TheSeasons, ' 'The Castle of Indolence, ' his minor pieces in rhyme, and afew extracts from his plays, and his 'Liberty;' and I feel stillinclined to do something of the kind. These three writers, Thomson, Collins, and Dyer, had more poetic imagination than any of theircontemporaries, unless we reckon Chatterton as of that age. I do notname Pope, for he stands alone, as a man most highly gifted; butunluckily he took the plain when the heights were within his reach. 

Excuse this long letter, and believe me, Sincerely yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [99]

[99] _Memoirs_, ii. 214-16. 

62. _Verses and Counsels_. 

LETTER TO PROFESSOR HAMILTON, OBSERVATORY, DUBLIN. 

 Rydal Mount, July 24. 1820. 

MY DEAR SIR, I have been very long in your debt. An inflammation in my eyes cut meoff from writing and reading, so that I deem it still prudent to employan Amanuensis; but I had a more decisive reason for putting off payment, nothing less than the hope that I might discharge my debt in person: itseems better, however, to consult you beforehand. I wish to make a Tourin Ireland, and _perhaps_ along with my daughter, but I am ignorant ofso many points, as where to begin, whether it be safe at this _rioting_period, what is best worth seeing, what mode of travelling will furnishthe greatest advantages at the least expense. Dublin of course--theWicklow mountains--Killarney Lakes--and I think the ruins not far fromLimerick would be among my objects, and return by the North; but I canform no conjecture as to the time requisite for this, and whether itwould be best to take the steamboat from Liverpool to Cork, beginningthere, or to go from Whitehaven to Dublin. To start from Whitehaven bysteam to Dublin would suit me as being nearer this place and a shortervoyage; besides my son is settled near Whitehaven, and I couldconveniently embark from his abode. 

I have read with great pleasure the 'Sketches in Ireland' which Mr. Otway was kind enough to present to me; but many interesting things hespeaks of in the West will be quite out of my reach. In short I am asunprepared with Tourists' information as any man can be, and sensible asI am of the very great value of your time, I cannot refrain from beggingyou to take pity upon my ignorance and to give me some information, keeping in mind the possibility of my having a female companion. 

It is time to thank you for the verses you so obligingly sent me. 

Your sister's have abundance of spirit and feeling; all that they wantis what appears in itself of little moment, and yet is of incalculablygreat, --that is, workmanship, --the art by which the thoughts are made tomelt into each other, and to fall into light and shadow, regulated bydistinct preconception of the best general effect they are capable ofproducing. This may seem very vague to you, but by conversation I thinkI could make it appear otherwise. It is enough for the present to saythat I was much gratified, and beg you would thank your sister forfavouring me with the sight of compositions so distinctly marked withthat quality which is the subject of them ['Genius']. Your own versesare to me very interesting, and affect me much as evidences of high andpure-mindedness, from which humble-mindedness is inseparable. I like tosee and think of you among the stars, and between death and immortality, where three of these poems place you. The 'Dream of Chivalry' is alsointeresting in another way; but it would be insincere not to say thatsomething of a style more terse, and a harmony more accurately balanced, must be acquired before the bodily form of your verses will be quiteworthy of their living soul. You are probably aware of this, tho'perhaps not in an equal degree with myself; nor is it desirable youshould, for it might tempt you to labour, which would divert you fromsubjects of infinitely greater importance. 

Many thanks for your interesting account of Mr. Edgeworth. I heartilyconcur with you in the wish that neither Plato nor any other profaneauthor may lead him from the truths of the Gospel, without which ourexistence is an insupportable mystery to the thinking mind. 

Looking for a reply at your early convenience, I remain, my dear Sir, faithfully, your obliged WM. WORDSWORTH. [100]

[100] _Memoirs_, ii. 216-17. 

63. _'Annuals' and publishing Roguery_. 

LETTER TO C. HUNTLY GORDON, ESQ. Rydal Mount, July 29. 1829. 

MY DEAR SIR, I hope you have enjoyed yourself in the country, as we have been doingamong our shady woods, and green hills, and invigorated streams. Thesummer is passing on, and I have not left home, and perhaps shall not;for it is far more from duty than inclination that I quit my dear andbeautiful home; and duty pulls two ways. On the one side my mind standsin need of being fed by new objects for meditation and reflection, themore so because diseased eyes have cut me off so much from reading; and, on the other hand, I am obliged to look at the expense of distanttravelling, as I am not able to take so much out of my body by walkingas heretofore. 

I have not got my MS. Back from the ----, [101] whose managers have, between them, used me shamefully; but my complaint is principally of theeditor, for with the proprietor I have had little direct connection. Ifyou think it worth while, you shall, at some future day, see such partsof the correspondence as I have preserved. Mr. Southey is pretty much inthe same predicament with them, though he has kept silence for thepresent. .. . I am properly served for having had any connection with suchthings. My only excuse is, that they offered me a very liberal sum, andthat I have laboured hard through a long life, without more pecuniaryemolument than a lawyer gets for two special retainers, or a publicperformer sometimes for two or three songs. Farewell; pray let me hearfrom 3-011 at your early convenience, And believe me faithfully your Much obliged WM. WORDSWORTH. [102]

[101] An Annual, to which Wordsworth had been induced to become acontributor. 

[102] _Memoirs_, ii. 217-18. 

64. _Works of George Peele_. 

LETTER TO REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Rydal Mount, Kendal, Oct. 16. 1829. 

MY DEAR SIR, On my return from Ireland, where I have been travelling a few weeks, Ifound your present of George Peele's works, and the obliging letteraccompanying it; for both of which I offer my cordial thanks. 

English literature is greatly indebted to your labours; and I have muchpleasure in this occasion of testifying my respect for the soundjudgment and conscientious diligence with which you discharge your dutyas an editor. Peele's works were well deserving of the care you havebestowed upon them; and, as I did not previously possess a copy of anypart of them, the beautiful book which you have sent me was veryacceptable. 

By accident, I learned lately that you had made a Book of Extracts, which I had long wished for opportunity and industry to execute myself. I am happy it has fallen into so much better hands. I allude to your_Selections from the Poetry of English Ladies_. I had only a glance atyour work; but I will take this opportunity of saying, that should asecond edition be called for, I should be pleased with the honour ofbeing consulted by you about it. There is one poetess to whose writingsI am especially partial, the Countess of Winchelsea. I have perused herpoems frequently, and should be happy to name such passages as I thinkmost characteristic of her genius, and most fit to be selected. 

I know not what to say about my intended edition of a portion ofThomson. There appears to be some indelicacy in one poet treatinganother in that way. The example is not good, though I think there arefew to whom the process might be more advantageously applied than toThomson. Yet, so sensible am I of the objection, that I should not haveentertained the thought, but for the expectation held out to me by anacquaintance, that valuable materials for a new Life of Thomson might beprocured. In this I was disappointed. 

 With much respect, I remain, dear Sir, Sincerely yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [103]

[103] _Memoirs_, ii. 219-220. 

65. _Of Lady Winchelsea, Tickell, &c. : Sonnets, &c. _

LETTER TO REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Rydal Mount, Kendal, May 10. 1830. 

MY DEAR SIR, My last was, for want of room, concluded so abruptly, that I availmyself of an opportunity of sending you a few additional words free ofpostage, upon the same subject. 

I observed that Lady Winchelsea was unfortunate in hermodels--_Pindarics_ and _Fables_; nor does it appear from her_Aristomenes_ that she would have been more successful than hercontemporaries, if she had cultivated tragedy. She had sensibilitysufficient for the tender parts of dramatic writing, but in the stormyand tumultuous she would probably have failed altogether. She seems tohave made it a moral and religious duty to control her feelings lestthey should mislead her. Of love, as a passion, she is afraid, no doubtfrom a conscious inability to soften it down into friendship. I haveoften applied two lines of her drama (p. 318) to her affections:

 'Love's soft bands, His gentle cords of hyacinths and roses, Wove in the dewy Spring when storms are silent. '

By the by, in the next page are two impassioned lines spoken to a personfainting:

 'Then let me hug and press thee into life, And lend thee motion from my beating heart. '

From the style and versification of this, so much her longest work, Iconjecture that Lady Winchelsea had but a slender acquaintance with thedrama of the earlier part of the preceding century. Yet her style inrhyme is often admirable, chaste, tender, and vigorous, and entirelyfree from sparkle, antithesis, and that overculture, which reminds one, by its broad glare, its stiffness, and heaviness, of the double daisiesof the garden, compared with their modest and sensitive kindred of thefields. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I think there is a good deal ofresemblance in her style and versification to that of Tickell, to whomDr. Johnson justly assigns a high place among the minor poets, and ofwhom Goldsmith rightly observes, that there is a strain ofballad-thinking through all his poetry, and it is very attractive. Pope, in that production of his boyhood, the 'Ode to Solitude, ' and in his'Essay on Criticism, ' has furnished proofs that at one period of hislife he felt the charm of a sober and subdued style, which he afterwardsabandoned for one that is, to my taste at least, too pointed andambitious, and for a versification too timidly balanced. 

If a second edition of your 'Specimens' should be called for, you mightadd from Helen Maria Williams the 'Sonnet to the Moon, ' and that to'Twilight;' and a few more from Charlotte Smith, particularly, 'I love thee, mournful, sober-suited Night. '

At the close of a sonnet of Miss Seward are two fine verses:

 'Come, that I may not hear the winds of night. Nor count the heavy eave-drops as they fall. '

You have well characterised the poetic powers of this lady; but, afterall, her verses please me, with all their faults, better than those ofMrs. Barbauld, who, with much higher powers of mind, was spoiled as apoetess by being a dissenter, and concerned with a dissenting academy. One of the most pleasing passages in her poetry is the close of thelines upon 'Life, ' written, I believe, when she was not less than eightyyears of age:

 'Life, we have been long together, ' &c. [104]

You have given a specimen of that ever-to-be-pitied victim of Swift, 'Vanessa. ' I have somewhere a short piece of hers upon her passion forSwift, which well deserves to be added. But I am becoming tedious, whichyou will ascribe to a well-meant endeavour to make you some return foryour obliging attentions. 

 I remain, dear Sir, faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [105]

[104] It was on hearing these lines repeated by his friend, Mr. H. C. Robinson, that Wordsworth exclaimed, 'Well! I am not given to envy otherpeople their good things; but I _do_ wish I had written _that_. ' He muchadmired Mrs. Barbauld's Essays, and sent a copy of them, with alaudatory letter upon them, to the Archbishop of Canterbury. 

[105] _Memoirs_, ii. 220-22. 

66. _Hamilton's 'Spirit of Beauty:' Verbal Criticism: Female Authorship:Words_. 

Where there is so much sincerity of feeling in a matter so dignified asthe renunciation of poetry for science, one feels that an apology isnecessary for verbal criticism. I will therefore content myself withobserving that 'joying' for joy or joyance is not to my taste. Indeed Iobject to such liberties upon principle. We should soon have no languageat all if the unscrupulous coinage of the present day were allowed topass, and become a precedent for the future. One of the first duties ofa Writer is to ask himself whether his thought, feeling, or image cannotbe expressed by existing words or phrases, before he goes about creatingnew terms, even when they are justified by the analogies of thelanguage. 'The cataract's steep flow' is both harsh and inaccurate:'thou hast seen me bend over the cataract' would express one idea insimplicity and all that was required. Had it been necessary to be moreparticular, 'steep flow' are not the words that ought to have been used. I remember Campbell says in a composition that is overrun with faultylanguage, 'And dark as winter was the _flow_ of Iser rolling rapidly;'that is, 'flowing rapidly. ' The expression ought to have been 'stream'or 'current. .. ' These may appear to you frigid criticisms, but dependupon it no writings will live in which these rules are disregarded. .. . 

Female authorship is to be shunned as bringing in its train more andheavier evils than have presented themselves to your sister's ingenuousmind. No true friend I am sure will endeavour to shake her resolution toremain in her own quiet and healthful obscurity. This is not said with aview to discourage her from writing, nor have the remarks made above anyaim of the kind; they are rather intended to assist her in writing withmore permanent satisfaction to herself. She will probably write less inproportion as she subjects her feelings to logical forms, but the rangeof her sensibilities so far from being narrowed will extend as sheimproves in the habit of looking at things thro' a steady light ofwords; and, to speak a little metaphysically, words are not a merevehicle, but they are powers either to kill or animate. [106]

[106] Extract of letter to Professor Hamilton, Dublin, Dec. 23d, 1829. 

67. _His 'Play:' Hone: Eyesight failing, &c. _

 TO CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. Jan. 10. 1830. MY DEAR LAMB, A whole twelvemonth have I been a letter in your debt, for which fault Ihave been sufficiently punished by self-reproach. 

I liked your Play marvellously, having no objection to it but one, whichstrikes me as applicable to a large majority of plays, those ofShakspeare himself not entirely excepted--I mean a little degradation ofcharacter for a more dramatic turn of plot. Your present of Hone's bookwas very acceptable; and so much so, that your part of the book is thecause why I did not write long ago. I wished to enter a little minutelyinto notice of the dramatic extracts, and, on account of the smallnessof the print, deferred doing so till longer days would allow me to readwithout candle-light, which I have long since given up. But, alas! whenthe days lengthened, my eyesight departed, and for many months I couldnot read three minutes at a time. You will be sorry to hear that thisinfirmity still hangs about me, and almost cuts me off from readingaltogether. But how are you, and how is your dear sister? I long much, as we all do, to know. 

For ourselves, this last year, owing to my sister's dangerous illness, the effects of which are not yet got over, has been an anxious one andmelancholy. But no more of this. My sister has probably told everythingabout the family; so that I may conclude with less scruple, by assuringyou of my sincere and faithful affection for you and your dear sister. 

 WM. WORDSWORTH. [107]

68. _Summer: Mr. Quillinan: Draining, &c. _

LETTER TO G. HUNTLY GORDON, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, April 6. 1830. 

MY DEAR MR. GORDON, You are kind in noticing with thanks my rambling notes. [108]

We have had here a few days of delicious summer weather. 

[107] _Memoirs_, ii. 223. 

[108] On a proposed tour. 

It appeared with the suddenness of a pantomimic trick, stayed longerthan we had a right to expect, and was as rapidly succeeded by highwind, bitter cold, and winter snow, over hill and dale. 

I am not surprised that you are so well pleased with Mr. Quillinan. Themore you see of him the better you will like him. You ask what are myemployments. According to Dr. Johnson they are such as entitle me tohigh commendation, for I am not only making two blades of grass growwhere only one grew before, but a dozen. In plain language, I amdraining a bit of spungy ground. [109] In the field where this goes on Iam making a green terrace that commands a beautiful view of our twolakes, Rydal and Windermere, and more than two miles of intervening valewith the stream visible by glimpses flowing through it. I shall havegreat pleasure in showing you this among the other returns which I hopeone day to make for your kindness. 

 Adieu, yours, W. W. [110]

69. _Works of Webster, &c. : Elder Poets: Dr. Darwin: 'Excursion:'Collins, &c. _

LETTER TO REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

[No date, but Postmark, 1830. ]

I am truly obliged, my dear Sir, by your valuable present of Webster'sDramatic Works and the 'Specimens. '[111] Your publisher was right ininsisting upon the whole of Webster, otherwise the book might have beensuperseded, either by an entire edition separately given to the world, or in some _corpus_ of the dramatic writers. The poetic genius ofEngland, with the exception of Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, Dryden, Pope, and a very few more, is to be sought in her drama. How it grieves onethat there is so little probability of those valuable authors being readexcept by the curious! I questioned my friend Charles Lamb whether itwould answer for some person of real taste to undertake abridging theplays that are not likely to be read as wholes, and telling such partsof the story in brief abstract as were ill managed in the drama. Hethought it would not. I, however, am inclined to think it would. 

[109] In the field to the S. W. Below the garden at Rydal. 

[110] _Memoirs_, ii. 224. 

[111] _Specimens of British Poetesses. A. D. _

The account of your indisposition gives me much concern. It pleases me, however, to see that, though you may suffer, your industry does notrelax; and I hope that your pursuits are rather friendly than injuriousto your health. 

You are quite correct in your notice of my obligation to Dr. Darwin. [112] In the first edition of the poem it was acknowledged in anote, which slipped out of its place in the last, along with someothers. In putting together that edition, I was obliged to cut upseveral copies; and, as several of the poems also changed their places, some confusion and omission, and, in one instance, a repetition, was theconsequence. Nothing, however, so bad as in the edition of 1820, where along poem, 'The Lament of Mary Queen of Scots, ' was by mistakealtogether omitted. Another unpleasantness arose from the same cause;for, in some instances, notwithstanding repeated charges to the printer, you have only two Spenserian stanzas in a page (I speak now of the lastedition) instead of three; and there is the same irregularity inprinting other forms of stanza. 

You must indeed have been fond of that ponderous quarto, 'TheExcursion, ' to lug it about as you did. [113] In the edition of 1827 itwas diligently revised, and the sense in several instances got into lessroom; yet still it is a long poem for these feeble and fastidious times. You would honour me much by accepting a copy of my poetical works; but Ithink it better to defer offering it to you till a new edition is calledfor, which will be ere long, as I understand the present is getting low. 

[112] In Mr. W. 's lines 'To Enterprise. ' _A. D. _

[113] I had mentioned to Mr. W. That, when I had a curacy in Cornwall, Iused frequently to carry 'The Excursion' down to the sea-shore, and readit there. _A. D. _

A word or two about Collins. You know what importance I attach tofollowing strictly the last copy of the text of an author; and I do notblame you for printing in the 'Ode to Evening' 'brawling' spring; butsurely the epithet is most unsuitable to the time, the very worst, Ithink, that could have been chosen. 

I now come to Lady Winchelsea. First, however, let me say a few wordsupon one or two other authoresses of your 'Specimens. ' British poetessesmake but a poor figure in the 'Poems by Eminent Ladies. '[114]

[114] Two volumes, 1755. _A. D. _

But observing how injudicious that selection is in the case of LadyWinchelsea, and of Mrs. Aphra Behn (from whose attempts they aremiserably copious), I have thought something better might have beenchosen by more competent persons who had access to the volumes of theseveral writers. In selecting from Mrs. Pilkington, I regret that youomitted (look at p. 255) 'Sorrow, ' or at least that you did not abridgeit. The first and third paragraph are very affecting. See also'Expostulation, ' p. 258: it reminds me strongly of one of thePenitential Hymns of Burns. The few lines upon St. John the Baptist, byMrs. Killigrew (vol. Ii. P. 6), are pleasing. A beautiful Elegy of MissWarton (sister to the poets of that name) upon the death of her father, has escaped your notice; nor can I refer you to it. Has the Duchess ofNewcastle written much verse? her Life of her Lord, and the extracts inyour book, and in the 'Eminent Ladies, ' are all that I have seen ofhers. The 'Mirth and Melancholy' has so many fine strokes ofimagination, that I cannot but think there must be merit in many partsof her writings. How beautiful those lines, from 'I dwell in groves, ' tothe conclusion, 'Yet better loved, the more that I am known, ' exceptingthe four verses after 'Walk up the hills. ' And surely the latter verseof the couplet, 'The tolling bell which for the dead rings out; A mill where rushing waters run about;'

is very noticeable: no person could have hit upon that union of imageswithout being possessed of true poetic feeling. Could you tell meanything of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu more than is to be learned fromPope's letters and her own? She seems to have been destined forsomething much higher and better than she became. A parallel between hergenius and character and that of Lady Winchelsea her contemporary(though somewhat prior to her) would be well worth drawing. 

And now at last for the poems of Lady Winchelsea. I will transcribe anote from a blank leaf of my own edition, written by me before I saw thescanty notice of her in Walpole. (By the by, that book has alwaysdisappointed me when I have consulted it upon any particular occasion. )The note runs thus: 'The "Fragment, " p. 280, seems to prove that she wasattached to James II. , as does p. 42, and that she suffered by theRevolution. The most celebrated of these poems, but far from the best, is "The Spleen. " "The Petition for an absolute Retreat, " and the"Nocturnal Reverie, " are of much superior merit. See also for favourablespecimens, p. 156; "On the Death of Mr. Thynne, " p. 263; and p. 280, "Fragment. " The Fable of "Love, Death, and Reputation, " p. 29, isingeniously told. ' Thus far my own note. I will now be more particular. P. 3, 'Our Vanity, ' &c. , and p. 163 are noticeable as giving someaccount from herself of her authorship. See also p. 148, where shealludes to 'The Spleen. ' She was unlucky in her models, Pindaric Odesand French Fables. But see p. 70, 'The Blindness of Elymas, ' for proofthat she could write with powers of a high order when her own individualcharacter and personal feelings were not concerned. For less strikingproofs of this power, see p. 4, 'All is Vanity, ' omitting verses 5 and6, and reading 'clouds that are lost and gone, ' &c. There is merit inthe two next stanzas; and the last stanza towards the close contains afine reproof for the ostentation of Louis XIV. , and one magnificentverse, 'Spent the astonished hours, forgetful to adore. '

But my paper is nearly out. As far as 'For my garments, ' p. 36, the poemis charming; it then falls off; revives at p. 39, 'Give me there;' p. 41, &c. , reminds me of Dyer's 'Grongar Hill;' it revives p. 47, towardsthe bottom, and concludes with sentiments worthy of the writer, thoughnot quite so happily expressed as other parts of the poem. See pages 82, 92, 'Whilst in the Muses' paths I stray;' p. 113. 'The Cautious Lovers, 'p. 118, has little poetic merit, but is worth reading as characteristicof the author. P. 143, 'Deep lines of honour, ' &c. , to 'maturer age. ' P. 151, if shortened, would be striking; p. 154, characteristic; p. 159, from 'Meanwhile, ye living parents, ' to the close, omitting 'Nor couldwe hope, ' and the five following verses; p. 217, last paragraph; p. 259, _that_ you have;[115] pp. 262, 263; p. 280, Was Lady W. A R. Catholic?p. 290, 'And to the clouds proclaim thy fall;' p. 291, omit 'Whenscatter'd glow-worms, ' and the next couplet. I have no more room. Pray, excuse this vile scrawl. 

Ever faithfully yours, W. W. 

P. S. I have inconsiderately sent your letter to my daughter (nowabsent), without copying the address. I knew the letter would interesther. I shall direct to your publisher. [116]

Rydal Mount. 

[115] Mr. W. Means, that I _have_ inserted that poem in my 'Specimens. '_A. D. _

[116] _Memoirs_, ii. 225-30. 

70. _French Revolution_, 1830. 

LETTERS TO G. HUNTLY GORDON, ESQ. 

MY DEAR MR. GORDON, * * * * *

I cannot but deeply regret that the late King of France and hisministers should have been so infatuated. Their stupidity, not to saytheir crimes, has given an impulse to the revolutionary and democraticspirit throughout Europe which is premature, and from which muchimmediate evil may be apprehended, whatever things may settle into atlast. Whereas had the Government conformed to the increasing knowledgeof the people, and not surrendered itself to the counsels of the priestsand the bigoted Royalists, things might have been kept in an evencourse, to the mutual improvement and benefit of both governed andgovernors. 

In France incompatible things are aimed at--a monarchy and democracy tobe united without an intervening aristocracy to constitute a graduatedscale of power and influence. I cannot conceive how an hereditarymonarchy can exist without an hereditary peerage in a country so largeas France, nor how either can maintain their ground if the law of theNapoleon Code, compelling equal division of property by will, be notrepealed. And I understand that a vast majority of the French aredecidedly adverse to the repeal of that law, which, I cannot but think, will ere long be found injurious both to France and, in its collateraleffects, to the rest of Europe. 

 Ever, dear Mr. Gordon, Cordially and faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

MY DEAR MR. GORDON, Thanks for your hint about Rhenish: strength from wine is good, fromwater still better. 

 * * * * *

One is glad to see tyranny baffled and foolishness put to shame; but theFrench King and his ministers will be unfairly judged by all those whotake not into consideration the difficulties of their position. It isnot to be doubted that there has long existed a determination, and thatplans have been laid, to destroy the Government which the Frenchreceived, as they felt, at the hands of the Allies, and their pridecould not bear. Moreover, the Constitution, had it been their ownchoice, would by this time have lost favour in the eyes of the French, as not sufficiently democratic for the high notion _that_ peopleentertain of their fitness to govern themselves; but, for my own part, I'd rather fill the office of a parish beadle than sit on the thronewhere the Duke of Orleans has suffered himself to be placed. 

The heat is gone, and but that we have too much rain again the countrywould be enchanting. 

 With a thousand thanks, I remain ever yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [117]

71. _Nonsense: Rotten Boroughs: Sonnets: Pegasus: Kenelm Digby:Tennysons_. 

LETTERS TO PROFESSOR HAMILTON. 

 Trinity Lodge, Cambridge, November 26. 1830. 

MY DEAR MR. HAMILTON, I reached this place nine days ago, where I should have found yourletter of the 23d ult. , but that it had been forwarded to ColeortonHall, Leicestershire, where we stopped a week on our road. I am trulyglad to find that your good spirits put you upon writing what you callnonsense, and so much of it; but I assure you it all passed with me forvery agreeable sense, or something better, and continues to do so evenin this learned spot; which you will not be surprised to hear, when Itell you that at a dinner-party the other day, I heard a Head of aHouse, a clergyman also, gravely declare, that the rotten boroughs, asthey are called, should instantly be abolished without compensation totheir owners; that slavery should be destroyed with like disregard ofthe _claims_ (for rights he would allow none) of the proprietors, and amultitude of extravagances of the same sort. Therefore say I, Vive laBagatelle; motley is your only wear. 

[117] _Memoirs_, ii. 230-1. 

You tell me kindly that you have often asked yourself where is Mr. Wordsworth, and the question has readily been solved for you. He is atCambridge: a great mistake! So late as the 5th of November, I will tellyou where I was, a solitary equestrian entering the romantic little townof Ashford in the Waters, on the edge of Wilds of Derbyshire, at theclose of day, when guns were beginning to be left [let?] off and squibsto be fired on every side. So that I thought it prudent to dismount andlead my horse through the place, and so on to Bakewell, two milesfarther. You must know how I happened to be riding through these wildregions. It was my wish that Dora should have the benefit of her ponywhile at Cambridge, and very valiantly and economically I determined, unused as I am to horsemanship, to ride the creature myself. I sentJames with it to Lancaster; there mounted; stopped a day at Manchester, a week at Coleorton, and so reached the end of my journey safe andsound, not, however, without encountering two days of tempestuous rain. Thirty-seven miles did I ride in one day through the worse of thesestorms. And what was my resource? guess again: writing verses to thememory of my departed friend Sir George Beaumont, whose house I had leftthe day before. While buffetting the other storm I composed a Sonnetupon the splendid domain at Chatsworth, which I had seen in the morning, as contrasted with the secluded habitations of the narrow dells in thePark; and as I passed through the tame and manufacture-disfiguredcountry of Lancashire I was reminded by the faded leaves, of Spring, andthrew off a few stanzas of an ode to May. 

But too much of self and my own performances upon my steed--a descendantno doubt of Pegasus, though his owner and present rider knew nothing ofit. Now for a word about Professor Airey. I have seen him twice; but Idid not communicate your message. It was at dinner and at an eveningparty, and I thought it best not to speak of it till I saw him, which Imean to do, upon a morning call. 

There is a great deal of intellectual activity within the walls of thisCollege, and in the University at large; but conversation turns mainlyupon the state of the country and the late change in the administration. The fires have extended to within 8 miles of this place; from which Isaw one of the worst, if not absolutely the worst, indicated by aredness in the sky--a few nights ago. 

I am glad when I fall in with a member of Parliament, as it puts me uponwriting to my friends, which I am always disposed to defer, without sucha determining advantage. At present we have two members, Mr. Cavendish, one of the representatives of the University, and Lord Morpeth, underthe Master's roof. We have also here Lady Blanche, wife of Mr. Cavendish, and sister of Lord Morpeth. She is a great admirer of Mrs. Hemans' poetry. There is an interesting person in this University for aday or two, whom I have not yet seen--Kenelm Digby, author of the'Broadstone of Honor, ' a book of chivalry, which I think was put intoyour hands at Rydal Mount. We have also a respectable show of blossom inpoetry. Two brothers of the name of Tennison, in particular, are not alittle promising. Of science I can give you no account; though perhaps Imay pick up something for a future letter, which may be long in comingfor reasons before mentioned. Mrs. W. And my daughter, of whom youinquire, are both well; the latter rides as often as weather and regardfor the age of her pony will allow. She has resumed her German labours, and is not easily drawn from what she takes to. Therefore I hope MissHamilton will not find fault if she does not write for some time, as shewill readily conceive that with this passion upon her, and manyengagements, she will be rather averse to writing. In fact she owes along letter to her brother in Germany, who, by the bye, tells us that hewill not cease to look out for the Book of Kant you wished for. Farewell, with a thousand kind remembrances to yourself and sister, andthe rest of your amiable family, in which Mrs. W. And Dora join. 

 Believe me most faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [118]

[118] Here first printed. G. 

72. _Verses: 'Reform Bill:' Francis Edgeworth: Eagles: 'YarrowRevisited. '_

 Rydal Mount, Oct. 27 [1831]. 

MY DEAR MR. HAMILTON, A day or two before my return from Scotland arrived your letter andverses; for both of which I thank you, as they exhibit your mind underthose varied phases which I have great pleasure in contemplating. Myreply is earlier than it would have been, but for the opportunity of afrank from one of the Members for the University of Oxford--a friend ofMr. Southey's and mine, who by way of recreating himself after thefatigues of the last Session, had taken a trip to see the Manchesterrailway, and kindly and most unexpectedly came on to give a day apieceto Southey and me. He is, like myself, in poor heart at the aspect ofpublic affairs. In his opinion the Ministers when they brought in theBill neither expected nor wished it to be carried. All they wanted wasan opportunity of saying to the people, 'Behold what great things wewould have done for you had it been in our power: we must now contentourselves with the best we can get. ' But, to return to your letter. Tospeak frankly, you appear to be at least three-fourths gone in love;therefore, think about the last quarter in the journey. The picture yougive of the lady makes one wish to see her more familiarly than I had anopportunity of doing, were it only to ascertain whether, as youastronomers have in your observatories magnifying glasses for the stars, you do not carry about with you also, when you descend to common life, coloured glasses and Claude Loraine mirrors for throwing upon objectsthat interest you enough for the purpose, such lights and hues as may bemost to the taste of the intellectual vision. In a former letter youmention Francis Edgeworth. He is a person not to be forgotten. If you bein communication with him pray present him my very kind respects, andsay that he was not unfrequently in my thoughts during my late poeticrambles; and particularly when I saw the objects which called forth aSonnet that I shall send you. He was struck with my mention of a soundin the eagle's notes, much and frequently resembling the yelping andbarking of a dog, and quoted a passage in Eschylus where the eagle iscalled the flying hound of the air, and he suggested that Eschylus mightnot only allude by that term to his being a bird of chase or prey, butalso to this barking voice, which I do not recollect ever hearingnoticed. The other day I was forcibly reminded of the circumstancesunder which the pair of eagles were seen that I described in the letterto Mr. Edgeworth, his brother. It was the promontory of Fairhead, on thecoast of Antrim, and no spectacle could be grander. At Dunally Castle, aruin seated at the tip of one of the horns of the bay of Oban, I sawthe other day one of these noble creatures cooped up among the ruins, and was incited to give vent to my feelings as you shall now see:

 'Dishonoured Rock and Ruin! that by law Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove imbarred, Like a lone criminal whose life is spared. Vexed is he and screams loud:--The last I saw Was on the wing, and struck my soul with awe, Now wheeling low, then with a consort paired, From a bold headland their loved aery's guard, Flying, above Atlantic waves, --to draw Light from the fountain of the setting sun. Such was this prisoner once; and, when his plumes The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, In spirit, for a moment he resumes His rank 'mong free-born creatures that live free; His power, his beauty, and his majesty. '

You will naturally wish to hear something of Sir Walter Scott, andparticularly of his health. I found him a good deal changed within thelast three or four years, in consequence of some shocks of theapoplectic kind; but his friends say that he is very much better, andthe last accounts, up to the time of his going on board, were still morefavourable. He himself thinks his age much against him, but he has onlycompleted his 60th year. But a friend of mine was here the other day, who has rallied, and is himself again, after a much severer shock, andat an age several years more advanced. So that I trust the world and hisfriends may be hopeful, with good reason, that the life and faculties ofthis man, who has during the last six and twenty years diffused moreinnocent pleasure than ever fell to the lot of any human being to do inhis own life-time, may be spared. Voltaire, no doubt, was full asextensively known, and filled a larger space probably in the eye ofEurope; for he was a great theatrical writer, which Scott has not provedhimself to be, and miscellaneous to that degree, that there wassomething for all classes of readers: but the pleasure afforded by hiswritings, with the exception of some of his Tragedies and minor Poems, was not pure, and in this Scott is greatly his superior. 

As Dora has told your sister, Sir W. Was our guide to Yarrow. Thepleasure of that day induced me to add a third to the two poems uponYarrow, 'Yarrow Revisited. ' It is in the same measure, and as much inthe same spirit as matter of fact would allow. You are artist enough toknow that it is next to impossible entirely to harmonise things thatrest upon their poetic credibility, and are idealised by distance oftime and space, with those that rest upon the evidence of the hour, andhave about them the thorny points of actual life. I am interrupted by astranger, and a gleam of fine weather reminds me also of takingadvantage of it the moment I am at liberty, for we have had a week ofincessant rain. 

 [Ever faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. ][119]

[119] _Memoirs_, ii. 241-2. Given completely (instead of the briefextract) from the original. The autograph, &c. Cut away. G. 

73. _Tour in Scotland_. 

LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

 Rydal Mount, Nov. 9. 

MY DEAR LADY FREDERICK, * * * * *

You are quite right, dear Lady F. , in congratulating me on my lateramble in Scotland. I set off with a severe inflammation in one of myeyes, which was removed by being so much in the open air; and for morethan a month I scarcely saw a newspaper, or heard of their contents. During this time we almost forgot, my daughter and I, the deplorablestate of the country. My spirits rallied, and, with exercise--for Ioften walked scarcely less than twenty miles a day--and the employmentof composing verses, amid scenery the most beautiful, and at a seasonwhen the foliage was most rich and varied, the time flew awaydelightfully; and when we came back into the world again, it seemed asif I had waked from a dream, that never was to return. We travelled inan open carriage with one horse, driven by Dora; and while we were inthe Highlands I walked most of the way by the side of the carriage, which left us leisure to observe the beautiful appearances. The rainbowsand coloured mists floating about the hills were more like enchantmentthan anything I ever saw, even among the Alps. There was in particular, the day we made the tour of Loch Lomond in the steamboat, a fragment ofa rainbow, so broad, so splendid, so glorious, with its reflection inthe calm water, it astonished every one on board, a party of foreignersespecially, who could not refrain from expressing their pleasure in amore lively manner than we are accustomed to do. My object in going toScotland so late in the season was to see Sir Walter Scott before hisdeparture. We stayed with him three days, and he quitted Abbotsford theday after we left it. His health has undoubtedly been much shattered, bysuccessive shocks of apoplexy, but his friends say he is so muchrecovered, that they entertain good hopes of his life and facultiesbeing spared. Mr. Lockhart tells me that he derived benefit by a changeof his treatment made by his London physicians, and that he embarked ingood spirits. 

As to public affairs, I have no hope but in the goodness of AlmightyGod. The Lords have recovered much of the credit they had lost by theirconduct in the Roman Catholic question. As an Englishman I am deeplygrateful for the stand which they have made, but I cannot help fearingthat they may be seduced or intimidated. Our misfortune is, that thedisapprovers of this monstrous bill give way to a belief that nothingcan prevent its being passed; and therefore they submit. 

As to the cholera, I cannot say it appals me much; it may be in theorder of Providence to employ this scourge for bringing the nation toits senses; though history tells us in the case of the plague at Athens, and other like visitations, that men are never so wicked and depraved aswhen afflictions of that kind are upon them. So that, after all, onemust come round to our only support, submission to the will of God, andfaith in the ultimate goodness of His dispensations. 

I am sorry you did not mention your son, in whose health and welfare, and progress in his studies, I am always much interested. Pray rememberme kindly to Lady Caroline. All here join with me in presenting theirkindest remembrances to yourself; and believe me, dear Lady Frederick, Faithfully and affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [120]

[120] _Memoirs_, ii. 242-4. 

74. _Sir Walter Scott_. 

EXTRACT OF LETTER TO MRS. HEMANS. 

Rydal Mount, Aug. 20. 1833. 

The visit which occasioned the poem ['Yarrow Revisited'] addressed toSir Walter Scott, that you mention in terms so flattering, was a verymelancholy one. My daughter was with me. We arrived at his house onMonday noon, and left it at the same time on Thursday, the very daybefore he quitted Abbotsford for London, on his way to Naples. On themorning of our departure he composed a few lines for Dora's Album, andwrote them in it. We prize this memorial very much, and the more so asan affecting testimony of his regard at a time when, as the versesprove, his health of body and powers of mind were much impaired andshaken. You will recollect the little green book which you were kindenough to write in on its first page. 

Let me hope that your health will improve, so that you may be enabled toproceed with the sacred poetry with which you are engaged. Be assuredthat I shall duly appreciate the mark of honour you design for me inconnection with so interesting a work. [121]

[121] _Memoirs_, ii. 244. 

75. _Of Advices that he would write more in Prose_. 

LETTER TO REV. J. K. MILLER, VICAR OF WALKERINGHAM. 

 Rydal Mount, Kendal, Dec. 17. 1831. 

MY DEAR SIR, You have imputed my silence, I trust, to some cause neither disagreeableto yourself nor unworthy of me. Your letter of the 26th of Nov. Had beenmisdirected to Penrith, where the postmaster detained it some time, expecting probably that I should come to that place, which I have oftenoccasion to visit. When it reached me I was engaged in assisting my wifeto make out some of my mangled and almost illegible MSS. , whichinevitably involved me in endeavours to correct and improve them. Myeyes are subject to frequent inflammations, of which I had an attack(and am still suffering from it) while that was going on. You wouldnevertheless have heard from me almost as soon as I received yourletter, could I have replied to it in terms in any degree accordant tomy wishes. Your exhortations troubled me in a way you cannot be in theleast aware of; for I have been repeatedly urged by some of my mostvalued friends, and at times by my own conscience, to undertake the taskyou have set before me. But I will deal frankly with you. A convictionof my incompetence to do justice to the momentous subject has kept me, and I fear will keep me, silent. My sixty-second year will soon becompleted, and though I have been favoured thus far in health andstrength beyond most men of my age, yet I feel its effects upon myspirits; they sink under a pressure of apprehension to which, at anearlier period of my life, they would probably have been superior. Thereis yet another obstacle: I am no ready master of prose writing, havingbeen little practised in the art. This last consideration will not weighwith you; nor would it have done with myself a few years ago; but thebare mention of it will serve to show that years have deprived me of_courage_, in the sense the word bears when applied by Chaucer to theanimation of birds in spring time. 

What I have already said precludes the necessity of otherwise confirmingyour assumption that I am opposed to the spirit you so justlycharacterise. [122] To your opinions upon this subject, my judgment (if Imay borrow your own word) 'responds. ' Providence is now trying thisempire through her political institutions. Sound minds find theirexpediency in principles; unsound, their principles in expediency. Onthe proportion of these minds to each other the issue depends. Fromcalculations of partial expediency in opposition to general principles, whether those calculations be governed by fear or presumption, nothingbut mischief is to be looked for; but, in the present stage of ouraffairs, the class that does the most harm consists _ofwell-intentioned_ men, who, being ignorant of human nature, think thatthey may help the thorough-paced reformers and revolutionists to a_certain_ point, then stop, and that the machine will stop with them. After all, the question is, fundamentally, one of piety and morals; ofpiety, as disposing men who are anxious for social improvement to waitpatiently for God's good time; and of morals, as guarding them fromdoing evil that good may come, or thinking that any ends _can_ be sogood as to justify wrong means for attaining them. In fact, means, inthe concerns of this life, are infinitely more important than ends, which are to be valued mainly according to the qualities and virtuesrequisite for their attainment; and the best test of an end being goodis the purity of the means, which, by the laws of God and our nature, must be employed in order to secure it. Even the interests of eternitybecome distorted the moment they are looked at through the medium ofimpure means. Scarcely had I written this, when I was told by a personin the Treasury, that it is intended to carry the Reform Bill by a newcreation of peers. If this be done, the constitution of England will bedestroyed, and the present Lord Chancellor, after having contributed tomurder it, may consistently enough pronounce, in his place, its _élogefunèbre_!

[122] As revolutionary. 

I turn with pleasure to the sonnets you have addressed to me and if Idid not read them with unqualified satisfaction it was only fromconsciousness that I was unworthy of the enconiums they bestowed uponme. 

Among the papers I have lately been arranging are passages that wouldprove as forcibly as anything of mine that has been published, you werenot mistaken in your supposition that it is the habit of my mindinseparably to connect loftiness of imagination with that humility ofmind which is best taught in Scripture. 

Hoping that you will be indulgent to my silence, which has been, fromvarious causes, protracted contrary to my wish, Believe me to be, dear Sir, Very faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [123]

[123] _Memoirs_, ii. 252-4. 

76. _Of Poetry and Prose: Milton and Shakspeare: Reform, &c. _

LETTER TO PROFESSOR HAMILTON, DUBLIN. 

 Nov. 22. 1831. 

MY DEAR MR. HAMILTON, You send me showers of verses, which I receive with much pleasure, as dowe all; yet have we fears that this employment may seduce you from thepath of Science, which you seem destined to tread with so much honour toyourself and profit to others. Again and again I must repeat, that thecomposition of verse is infinitely more of an art than men are preparedto believe; and absolute success in it depends upon innumerableminutiae, which it grieves me you should stoop to acquire a knowledgeof. Milton talks of 'pouring easy his unpremeditated verse. ' It would beharsh, untrue, and odious, to say there is anything like cant in this;but it is not true to the letter, and tends to mislead. I could pointout to you five hundred passages in Milton upon which labour has beenbestowed, and twice five hundred more to which additional labour wouldhave been serviceable. Not that I regret the absence of such labour, because no poem contains more proofs of skill acquired by practice. These observations are not called out by any defects or imperfections inyour last pieces especially: they are equal to the former ones ineffect, have many beauties, and are not inferior in execution; but againI do venture to submit to your consideration, whether the poetical partsof your nature would not find a field more favourable to their exercisein the regions of prose: not because those regions are humbler, butbecause they may be gracefully and profitably trod with footsteps lesscareful and in measures less elaborate. And now I have done with thesubject, and have only to add, that when you write verses you would notfail, from time to time, to let me have a sight of them; provided youwill allow me to defer criticism on your diction and versification tillwe meet. My eyes are so often useless both for reading and writing, thatI cannot tax the eyes and pens of others with writing down observationswhich to indifferent persons must be tedious. 

Upon the whole, I am not sorry that your project of going to London atpresent is dropped. It would have grieved me had you been unfurnishedwith an introduction from me to Mr. Coleridge; yet I know not how Icould have given you one--he is often so very unwell. A few weeks ago hehad had two attacks of cholera, and appears to be so much broken downthat unless I were assured he was something in his better way I couldnot disturb him by the introduction of any one. His most intimate friendis Mr. Green, a man of science and a distinguished surgeon. If to himyou could procure an introduction he would let you know the state ofColeridge's health; and to Mr. Green, whom I once saw, you might use myname with a view to further your wish, if it were at all needful. 

Shakspeare's sonnets (excuse this leap) are not upon the Italian model, which Milton's are; they are merely quatrains with a couplet tacked tothe end; and if they depended much upon the versification they wouldunavoidably be heavy. 

One word upon Reform in Parliament, a subject to which, somewhatreluctantly, you allude. You are a Reformer! Are you an approver of theBill as rejected by the Lords? or, to use Lord Grey's words, anything'as efficient?'--he means, if he means anything, for producing change. Then I earnestly entreat you to devote hours and hours to the study ofhuman nature, in books, in life, and in your own mind; and beg and praythat you would mix with society, not in Ireland and Scotland only, butin England; a fount of destiny which, if once poisoned, away goes allhope of quiet progress in well doing. The constitution of England, whichseems about to be destroyed, offers to my mind the sublimestcontemplation which the history of society and government have everpresented to it; and for this cause especially, that its principles havethe character of preconceived ideas, archetypes of the pure intellect, while they are, in fact, the results of a humble-minded experience. Think about this, apply it to what we are threatened with, and farewell. 

WM. WORDSWORTH. [124]

77. _Of the Reform Bill_. 

EXTRACT OF LETTER TO LORD LONSDALE. 

 Rydal Mount, Feb. 17. 1832. 

MY LORD, * * * * *

If, after all, I should be asked how I would myself vote, if it had beenmy fortune to have a seat in the House of Lords, I must say that Ishould oppose the second reading, though with my eyes open to the greathazard of doing so. My support, however, would be found in standing by agreat _principle_; for, without being unbecomingly personal, I may stateto your Lordship, that it has ever been the habit of my mind to trustthat expediency will come out of fidelity to principles, rather than toseek my principles of action in calculations of expediency. 

[124] _Memoirs_, ii. 255-7, with important additions from the original. G. 

With this observation I conclude, trusting your Lordship will excuse myhaving detained you so long. 

 I have the honour to be, most faithfully, Your much obliged, WM. WORDSWORTH. [125]

78. _Of Political Affairs_. 

EXTRACT OF LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

You were not mistaken in supposing that the state of public affairs hastroubled me much. I cannot see how the government is to be carried on, but by such sacrifices to the democracy as will, sooner or later, upseteverything. Whoever governs, it will be by out-bidding for popularfavour those who went before them. Sir Robert Peel was obliged to giveway in his government to the spirit of Reform, as it is falsely called;these men are going beyond him; and if ever he shall come back, it willonly, I fear, be to carry on the movement, in a shape somewhat lessobjectionable than it will take from the Whigs. In the mean while theRadicals or Republicans are cunningly content to have this work doneostensibly by the Whigs, while in fact they themselves are the Whigs'masters, as the Whigs well know; but they hope to be preserved fromdestruction by throwing themselves back upon the Tories when measuresshall be urged upon them by their masters which they may think toodesperate. What I am most afraid of is, alterations in the constituency, and in the duration of Parliament, which will bring it more and moreunder the dominion of the lower and lowest classes. On this account Ifear the proposed Corporation Reform, as a step towards householdsuffrage, vote by ballot, &c. As to a union of the Tories and Whigs inParliament, I see no prospect of it whatever. To the great Whig lordsmay be truly applied the expression in _Macbeth_, 'They have eaten of the insane root That takes the reason prisoner. '

 * * * * *

I ordered two copies of my new volume to be sent to Cottesmere. And nowfarewell; and believe me, Dear Lady Frederick, ever faithfully yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [126]

[125] _Memoirs_, ii. 257. 

[126] _Ibid. _ ii. 258-9. Y

79. _Family Affliction and State of Public Affairs_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH. 

 Rydal Mount, April 1. 1832. 

MY DEAR BROTHER, Our dear sister makes no progress towards recovery of strength. She isvery feeble, never quits her room, and passes most of the day in, orupon, the bed. She does not suffer much pain, and is very cheerful, andnothing troubles her but public affairs and the sense of requiring somuch attention. Whatever may be the close of this illness, it will be aprofound consolation to you, my dear brother, and to us all, that it isborne with perfect resignation; and that her thoughts are such as thegood and pious would wish. She reads much, both religious andmiscellaneous works. 

If you see Mr. Watson, remember me affectionately to him. 

I was so distressed with the aspect of public affairs, that were it notfor our dear sister's illness, I should think of nothing else. They areto be envied, I think, who, from age or infirmity, are likely to beremoved from the afflictions which God is preparing for this sinfulnation. God bless you, my brother. John says you are well; so am I, andevery one here except our sister: but I have witnessed one revolution ina foreign country, and I have not courage to think of facing another inmy own. Farewell. God bless you again. 

 Your affectionate Brother, W. W. [127]

[127] _Memoirs_, ii. 259-60. 

80. _Illness of Sister: Reform: Poems: Oxford and Cambridge, &c. _

LETTER TO PROFESSOR HAMILTON, DUBLIN. 

 Moresby, June 25. 1832. 

MY DEAR MR. HAMILTON, Your former letter reached me in due time; your second, from Cambridge, two or three days ago. I ought to have written to you long since, butreally I have for some time, from private and public causes of sorrowand apprehension, been in a great measure deprived of those genialfeelings which, thro' life, have not been so much accompaniments of mycharacter, as vital principles of my existence. 

My dear sister has been languishing more than seven months in asick-room, nor dare I or any of her friends entertain a hope that herstrength will ever be restored; and the course of public affairs, as Ithink I told you before, threatens, in my view, destruction to theinstitutions of the country; an event which, whatever may rise out of ithereafter, cannot but produce distress and misery for two or threegenerations at least. In any times I am but at best a poor andunpunctual correspondent, yet I am pretty sure you would have heard fromme but for this reason; therefore let the statement pass for an apologyas far as you think fit. 

The verses called forth by your love and the disappointment thatfollowed I have read with much pleasure, tho' grieved that you shouldhave suffered so much; as poetry they derive an interest from yourphilosophical pursuits, which could not but recommend the verses even toindifferent readers, and must give them in the eyes of your friends agreat charm. The style appears to me good, and the general flow of theversification harmonious; but you deal somewhat more in dactylic endingsand identical terminations than I am accustomed to think legitimate. Sincerely do I congratulate you upon being able to continue yourphilosophical pursuits under such a pressure of personal feeling. 

It gives me much pleasure that you and Coleridge have met, and that youwere not disappointed in the conversation of a man from whose writingsyou had previously drawn so much delight and improvement. He and mybeloved sister are the two beings to whom my intellect is most indebted, and they are now proceeding, as it were, _pari passu_, along the path ofsickness, I will not say towards the grave, but I trust towards ablessed immortality. 

It was not my intention to write so seriously: my heart is full, and youmust excuse it. 

You do not tell me how you like Cambridge as a place, nor what youthought of its buildings and other works of art. Did you not see Oxfordas well? Surely you would not lose the opportunity; it has greatly theadvantage over Cambridge in its happy intermixture of streets, churches, and collegiate buildings. 

I hope you found time when in London to visit the British Museum. 

A fortnight ago I came hither to my son and daughter, who are living agentle, happy, quiet, and useful life together. My daughter Dora is alsowith us. On this day I should have returned, but an inflammation in myeyes makes it unsafe for me to venture in an open carriage, the weatherbeing exceedingly disturbed. 

A week ago appeared here Mr. W. S. Landor, the Poet, and author of the_Imaginary Conversations_, which probably have fallen in your way. Wehad never met before, tho' several letters had passed between us; and asI had not heard that he was in England, my gratification in seeing himwas heightened by surprise. We passed a day together at the house of myfriend Mr. Rawson, on the banks of Wastwater. His conversation is livelyand original; his learning great, tho' he will not allow it, and hislaugh the heartiest I have heard of a long time. It is not much lessthan twenty years since he left England for France, and afterwardsItaly, where he hopes to end his days, nay [he has] fixed near Florenceupon the spot where he wishes to be buried. Remember me most kindly toyour sisters. Dora begs her love and thanks to your sister Eliza for herlast most interesting letter, which she will answer when she can commanda frank. 

 Ever faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [128]

[Postscript added on first page:] I have desired Messrs. Longman to putaside for you a copy of the new edition of my poems, compressed intofour vols. It contains nothing but what has before seen the light, butseveral poems which were not in the last. Pray direct your Dublinpublisher to apply for it. 

[128] _Memoirs_, ii. 260, with important additions from the original. G. 

81. '_Remains of Lucretia Davidson:' Public Events: Miss Jewsbury, &c. _

LETTER TO MRS. HEMANS. 

 Rydal Mount, Nov. 22 [1832]. 

DEAR MRS. HEMANS, I will not render this sheet more valueless than at best it will prove, by tedious apologies for not answering your very kind and welcome letterlong and long ago. I received it in London, when my mind was in a mostuneasy state, and when my eyes were useless both for writing andreading, so that an immediate reply was out of my power; and, since, Ihave been doubtful where to address you. Accept this, and somethingbetter, as my excuse, that I have very often thought of you withkindness and good wishes for your welfare, and that of your fine boys, who must recommend themselves to all that come in their way. Let methank you in Dora's name for your present of _The Remains of LucretiaDavidson_, a very extraordinary young creature, of whom I had beforeread some account in Mr. Southey's review of this volume. Surely manythings, not often bestowed, must concur to make genius an enviable gift. This truth is painfully forced upon one's attention in reading theeffusions and story of this enthusiast, hurried to her grave so early. You have, I understand, been a good deal in Dublin. The place I hope hasless of the fever of intellectual, or rather literary, ambition thanEdinburgh, and is less disquieted by factions and cabals of _persons_. As to those of parties they must be odious and dreadful enough; butsince they have more to do with religion, the adherents of the differentcreeds perhaps mingle little together, and so the mischief to socialintercourse, though great, will be somewhat less. 

I am not sure but that Miss Jewsbury has judged well in herdetermination of going to India. Europe is at present a melancholyspectacle, and these two Islands are likely to reap the fruit of theirown folly and madness, in becoming, for the present generation, the twomost unquiet and miserable spots upon the earth. May you, my dearfriend, find the advantage of the poetic spirit in raising you, inthought at least, above the contentious clouds! Never before did I feelsuch reason to be grateful for what little inspiration heaven hasgraciously bestowed upon my humble intellect. What you kindly wroteupon the interest you took during your travels in my verses, could notbut be grateful to me, because your own show that in a rare degree youunderstand and sympathise with me. We are all well, God be thanked. I ama wretched correspondent, as this scrawl abundantly shows. I know also, that you have far too much, both of receiving and writing letters, but Icannot conclude without expressing a wish, that from time to time youwould let us hear from you and yours, and how you prosper. All join withme in kindest remembrance to yourself and your boys, especially toCharles, of whom we know most. Believe me, dear Mrs. Hemans, not theless for my long silence, Faithfully and affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [129]

82. _Tuition at the University_. 

LETTER TO A NEPHEW. 

Rydal Mount, June 17. 1833. 

MY DEAR C----, You are welcome to England after your long ramble. I know not what tosay in answer to your wish for my opinion upon the offer of thelectureship. 

 * * * * *

I have only one observation to make, to which I should attach importanceif I thought it called for in your case, which I do not. I mean themoral duty of avoiding to encumber yourself with private pupils in anynumber. You are at an age when the blossoms of the mind are setting, tomake fruit; and the practice of _pupil-mongering_ is an absolute blightfor this process. Whatever determination you come to, may God grant thatit proves for your benefit: this prayer I utter with earnestness, beingdeeply interested, my dear C----, in all that concerns you. I have saidnothing of the uncertainty hanging over all the establishments, especially the religious and literary ones of the country, because ifthey are to be overturned, the calamity would be so widely spread, thatevery mode of life would be involved in it, and nothing survive forhopeful calculation. 

[129] _Memoirs_, ii. 261-2. 

We are always delighted to hear of any or all of you. God bless you, mydear C----. 

 Most faithfully, your affectionate, W. WORDSWORTH. [130]

83. _On the Admission of Dissenters to graduate in the University ofCambridge_. 

 May 15. 1834. 

MY DEAR C----, You will wonder what is become of us, and I am afraid you will think mevery unworthy the trouble you took in writing to us and sending yourpamphlet. A thousand little things have occurred to prevent my callingupon Mrs. Wordsworth, who is ever ready to write for me, in respect tothe question that you have so ably handled. Since the night when theReform Bill was first introduced, I have been convinced that theinstitutions of the country cannot be preserved. .. . It is a merequestion _of time_. A great majority of the present parliament, Ibelieve, are in the main favourable to the preservation of the Church, but among these many are ignorant how that is to be done. Add to theportion of those who with good intentions are in the dark, the numberwho will be driven or tempted to vote against their consciences by theclamour of their sectarian and infidel constituents under the ReformBill, and you will have a daily augmenting power even in thisparliament, which will be more and more hostile to the Church every weekand every day. You will see from the course which my letter thus far hastaken, that I regard the prayer of the Petitioners to whom you areopposed as formidable still more from the effect which, if granted, itwill ultimately have upon the Church, and through that medium upon theMonarchy and upon social order, than for its immediate tendency tointroduce discord in the universities, and all those deplorableconsequences which you have so feelingly painted as preparatory to theirdestruction. 

I am not yet able to use my eyes for reading or writing, but yourpamphlet has been twice read to me. .. . 

God bless you. .. . 

 Affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [131]

[130] _Memoirs_, ii. 263-4. 

[131] _Ibid. _ ii. 267-8. 

84. _The Poems of Skelton_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Rydal Mount, Kendal, Jan. 7. 1833. 

MY DEAR SIR, Having an opportunity of sending this to town free of postage, I writeto thank you for your last obliging letter. Sincerely do I congratulateyou upon having made such progress with Skelton, a writer deserving offar greater attention than his works have hitherto received. Youredition will be very serviceable, and may be the occasion of calling outillustrations, perhaps, of particular passages from others, beyond whatyour own reading, though so extensive, has supplied. I am pleased alsoto hear that 'Shirley' is out. 

 * * * * *

I lament to hear that your health is not good. My own, God be thanked, is excellent; but I am much dejected with the aspect of public affairs, and cannot but fear that this nation is on the brink of great troubles. 

Be assured that I shall at all times be happy to hear of your studiesand pursuits, being, with great respect, Sincerely yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [132]

85. _The Works of James Shirley_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Rydal Mount, March 20. 1833. 

MY DEAR SIR, I have to thank you for the very valuable present ofShirley's works, just received. The preface is all that I haveyet had time to read. It pleased me to find that you sympathisedwith me in admiration of the passage from the Duchessof Newcastle's poetry; and you will be gratified to be told thatI have the opinion you have expressed of that cold and false-heartedFrenchified coxcomb, Horace Walpole. 

Poor Shirley! what a melancholy end was his! and then to be so treatedby Dryden! One would almost suspect some private cause of dislike, suchas is said to, have influenced Swift in regard to Dryden himself. 

[132] _Memoirs_, ii. 274-5. 

Shirley's death reminded me of a sad close of the life of a literaryperson, Sanderson by name, in the neighbouring county of Cumberland. Helived in a cottage by himself, though a man of some landed estate. Hiscottage, from want of care on his part, took fire in the night. Theneighbours were alarmed; they ran to his rescue; he escaped, dreadfullyburned, from the flames, and lay down (he was in his seventieth year)much exhausted under a tree, a few yards from the door. His friends, inthe meanwhile, endeavoured to save what they could of his property fromthe flames. He inquired most anxiously after a box in which hismanuscripts and published pieces had been deposited with a view to apublication of a laboriously-corrected edition; and, upon being toldthat the box was consumed, he expired in a few minutes, saying, orrather sighing out the words, 'Then I do not wish to live. ' Poor man!though the circulation of his works had not extended beyond a circle offifty miles' diameter, perhaps, at furthest, he was most anxious tosurvive in the memory of the few who were likely to hear of him. 

The publishing trade, I understand, continues to be much depressed, andauthors are driven to solicit or invite subscriptions, as being in manycases the only means for giving their works to the world. 

I am always pleased to hear from you; and believe me, My dear Sir, Faithfully your obliged friend, WM. WORDSWORTH. [133]

86. _Literary Criticism and News: Men of Science, &c. _

LETTER TO PROFESSOR HAMILTON, OF DUBLIN. 

 Rydal Mount, May 8. 1833. 

MY DEAR SIR, My letters being of no value but as tokens of friendship, I waited forthe opportunity of a frank, which I had reason to expect earlier. Sincerely do we all congratulate you upon your marriage. Accept our bestwishes upon the event, and believe that we shall always be deeplyinterested in your welfare. Make our kind regards also to Mrs. Hamilton, who of course will be included in every friendly hope and expectationformed for yourself. 

[133] _Memoirs_, ii. 275-6. 

We look with anxiety to your sister Eliza's success in her schemes, --butfor pecuniary recompense in literature, especially poetical, nothing canbe more unpromising than the present state of affairs, except what wehave to fear for the future. Mrs. Godwyn, who sends verses to Blackwood, is our neighbour. I have had no conversation with her myself upon thesubject, but a friend of hers says she has reason to believe that shehas got nothing but a present of books. This however is of no moment, asMrs. G. Being a person of easy fortune she has not probably bargainedfor a return in money. Mrs. Hemans I see continues to publish in theperiodicals. If you ever see her, pray remember me affectionately toher, and tell her that I have often been, and still am, troubled inconscience for having left her obliging letter so long unanswered; butshe must excuse me as there is not a motive in my mind urging me tothrow any interest into my letters to friends beyond the expression ofkindness and esteem; and _that_ she does not require from me. Besides myfriends in general know how much I am hindered in all my pursuits by theinflammation to which my eyes are so frequently subject. I have longsince given up all exercise of them by candle-light, and the eveningsand nights are the seasons when one is most disposed to converse in thatway with absent friends. News you do not care about, and I have none foryou, except what concerns friends. My sister, God be thanked, has had arespite. She can now walk a few steps about her room, and has been bornetwice into the open air. Southey to whom I sent your Sonnets had, Igrieve to say, a severe attack of some unknown and painful complaint, about ten days ago. It weakened him much, but he is now I believeperfectly recovered. Coleridge I have reason to think is confined to hisbed; his mind vigorous as ever. Your Sonnets I think are as good asanything you have done in verse. We like the 2d best; and I single itout the more readily as it allows me an opportunity of reminding you ofwhat I have so often insisted upon, the extreme care which is necessaryin the composition of poetry. 

 'The ancient image _shall not_ depart From my soul's temple, the refined gold Already prov'd _remain_. '

Your meaning is that it shall remain, but according to the constructionof our language, you have said 'it shall not. '

 'The refined gold, Well proved, shall then remain, '

will serve to explain my objection. 

Could not you take us in your way coming or going to Cambridge? If Mrs. H. Accompanies you, we should be glad to see her also. 

I hope that in the meeting about to take place in Cambridge there willbe less of mutual flattery among the men of science than appeared inthat of the last year at Oxford. Men of science in England seem, indeed, to copy their fellows in France, by stepping too much out of their wayfor titles, and baubles of that kind, and for offices of state andpolitical struggles, which they would do better to keep out of. 

With kindest regards to yourself and Mrs. H. , and to your sisters, believe me ever, My dear Mr. H. , Faithfully yours, W. W. [134]

[134] _Memoirs_, ii. 276-7, with important additions from the original. 

87. _Of 'Elia:' Miss Wordsworth_. 

LETTER TO CHARLES LAMB, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount [Friday, May 17. 1833, or thereabouts]. 

MY DEAR LAMB, I have to thank you and Moxon for a delightful volume, your last (I hopenot) of 'Elia. ' I have read it all except some of the 'PopularFallacies, ' which I reserve. .. . The book has much pleased the whole ofmy family, viz. My wife, daughter, Miss Hutchinson, and my poor dearsister, on her sick bed; they all return their best thanks. I am notsure but I like the 'Old China, ' and the 'Wedding, ' as well as any ofthe Essays. I read 'Love me and my Dog' to my poor sister this morning. 

 * * * * *

I have been thus particular, knowing how much you and your dear sistervalue this excellent person, whose tenderness of heart I do not honestlybelieve was ever exceeded by any of God's creatures. Her loving-kindnesshas no bounds. God bless her for ever and ever! Again thanking you foryour excellent book, and wishing to know how you and your dear sisterare, with best love to you both from us all, I remain, my dear Lamb, Your faithful friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [135]

88. _'Specimens of English Sonnets:' Criticisms, &c. _

LETTER TO THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 [No date to this Letter, but written in 1833. ]

MY DEAR SIR, The dedication[136] which you propose I shall esteem as an honour; nordo I conceive upon what ground, but an over-scrupulous modesty, I couldobject to it. 

[135] _Memoirs_, ii. 277-8. 

[136] I had requested permission to dedicate a little book, _Specimensof English Sonnets_, to Mr. W. _A. D. _

Be assured that Mr. Southey will not have the slightest unwillingness toyour making any use you think proper of his 'Memoir of Bampfylde:' Ishall not fail to mention the subject to him upon the first opportunity. 

You propose to give specimens of the best _sonnet-writers_ in ourlanguage. May I ask if by this be meant a selection of the _bestsonnets, best_ both as to _kind_ and _degree_? A sonnet may be excellentin its kind, but that kind of very inferior interest to one of a higherorder, though not perhaps in every minute particular quite so wellexecuted, and from the pen of a writer of inferior genius. It shouldseem that the best rule to follow would be, first, to pitch upon thesonnets which are best _both_ in kind and perfectness of execution, and, next, those which, although of a humbler quality, are admirable for thefinish and happiness of the execution, taking care to exclude all thosewhich have not one or other of these recommendations, however strikingthey might be, as characteristic of the age in which the author lived, or some peculiarity of his manner. The 10th sonnet of Donne, beginning'Death, be not proud, ' is so eminently characteristic of his manner, andat the same time so weighty in the thought, and vigorous in theexpression, that I would entreat you to insert it, though to moderntaste it may be repulsive, quaint, and laboured. There are two sonnetsof Russell, which, in all probability, you may have noticed, 'Could, then, the babes, ' and the one upon Philoctetes, the last six lines ofwhich are first-rate. Southey's 'Sonnet to Winter' pleases me much; but, above all, among modern writers, that of Sir Egerton Brydges, upon 'Echoand Silence. ' Miss Williams's 'Sonnet upon Twilight' is pleasing; thatupon 'Hope' of great merit. 

Do you mean to have a short preface upon the construction of the sonnet?Though I have written so many, I have scarcely made up my own mind uponthe subject. It should seem that the sonnet, like every other legitimatecomposition, ought to have a beginning, a middle, and an end; in otherwords, to consist of three parts, like the three propositions of asyllogism, if such an illustration may be used. But the frame of metreadopted by the Italians does not accord with this view; and, as adheredto by them, it seems to be, if not arbitrary, best fitted to a divisionof the sense into two parts, of eight and six lines each. Milton, however, has not submitted to this; in the better half of his sonnetsthe sense does not close with the rhyme at the eighth line, butoverflows into the second portion of the metre. Now it has struck methat this is not done merely to gratify the ear by variety and freedomof sound, but also to aid in giving that pervading sense of intenseunity in which the excellence of the sonnet has always seemed to memainly to consist. Instead of looking at this composition as a piece ofarchitecture, making a whole out of three parts, I have been much in thehabit of preferring the image of an orbicular body, --a sphere, or adew-drop. All this will appear to you a little fanciful; and I am wellaware that a sonnet will often be found excellent, where the beginning, the middle, and the end are distinctly marked, and also where it isdistinctly separated into _two_ parts, to which, as I before observed, the strict Italian model, as they write it, is favourable. Of this lastconstruction of sonnet, Russell's upon 'Philoctetes' is a fine specimen;the first eight lines give the hardship of the case, the six last theconsolation, or the _per-contra_. 

Ever faithfully

 Your much obliged friend and servant, W. WORDSWORTH. 

P. S. In the case of the Cumberland poet, I overlooked a most patheticcircumstance. While he was lying under the tree, and his friends weresaving what they could from the flames, he desired them to bring out thebox that contained his papers, if possible. A person went back for it, but the bottom dropped out, and the papers fell into the flames and wereconsumed. Immediately upon hearing this, the poor old man expired. [137]

89. _The Poems of Lady Winchelsea, Skelton, &c. _

LETTER TO THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Lowther Castle, Sept. 23 [qu. Aug. 1833. No date of the Year. ]

MY DEAR SIR, I have put off replying to your obliging letter till I could procure afrank; as I had little more to say than to thank you for your attentionto Lady Winchelsea, [138] and for the extracts you sent me. 

[137] _Memoirs_, ii. 278-81. 

[138] _i. E. _ To Mr. W. 's request that I would, if possible, furnish himwith some particulars about her. _A. D. _

I expected to find at this place my friend, Lady Frederick Bentinck, through whom I intended to renew my request for materials, if any exist, among the Finch family, whether manuscript poems, or anything else thatwould be interesting; but Lady F. , unluckily, is not likely to be inWestmoreland. I shall, however, write to her. Without some additionalmaterials, I think I should scarcely feel strong enough to venture uponany species of publication connected with this very interesting woman, notwithstanding the kind things you say of the value of my criticalremarks. 

I am glad you have taken Skelton in hand, and much wish I could be ofany use to you. In regard to his life, I am certain of having readsomewhere (I thought it was in Burns's 'History of Cumberland andWestmoreland, ' but I am mistaken), that Skelton was born at BranthwaiteHall, in the county of Cumberland. Certain it is that a family of thatname possessed the place for many generations; and I own it would giveme some pleasure to make out that Skelton was a brother Cumbrian. Branthwaite Hall is about six miles from Cockermouth, my native place. Tickell (of the _Spectator_), one of the best of our minor poets, asJohnson has truly said, was born within two miles of the same town. These are mere accidents, it is true, but I am foolish enough to attachsome interest to them. 

If it would be more agreeable to you, I would mention your views inrespect to Skelton to Mr. Southey: I should have done so before, but itslipped my memory when I saw him. Mr. Southey is undoubtedly muchengaged, but I cannot think that he would take ill a letter from you onany literary subject. At all events, I shall, in a few days, mentionyour intention of editing Skelton, and ask if he has anything tosuggest. 

I meditate a little tour in Scotland this autumn, my principal objectbeing to visit Sir Walter Scott; but as I take my daughter along withme, we probably shall go to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and take a peep at thewestern Highlands. This will not bring us near Aberdeen. [139] If itsuited you to return to town by the Lakes, I should be truly glad to seeyou at Rydal Mount, near Ambleside. You might, at all events, call onMr. Southey in your way; I would prepare an introduction for you, bynaming your intention to Mr. S. I have added this, because my Scotchtour would, I fear, make it little likely that I should be at home aboutthe 10th September. Your return, however, may be deferred. 

 Believe me, my dear Sir, Very respectfully, your obliged, W. WORDSWORTH. 

P. S. I hope your health continues good. I assure you there was no wantof interest in your conversation on that or any other account. [140]

[139] Where I then was. _A. D. _

[140] _Memoirs_, ii. 281-3. 

90. _'Popularity' of Poetry_. 

LETTER TO E. MOXON, ESQ. 

 Lowther Castle, Westmoreland, Aug. 1833. MY DEAR MR. MOXON, * * * * *

There does not appear to be much genuine relish for poeticalpublications in Cumberland, if I may judge from the fact of not a copyof my poems having been sold there by one of the leading booksellers, though Cumberland is my native county. Byron and Scott are, I ampersuaded, the only _popular_ writers in that line, --perhaps the wordought rather to be that they are _fashionable_ writers. 

My poor sister is something better in health. Pray remember me veryaffectionately to Charles Lamb, and to his dear sister, if she be in astate to receive such communications from her friends. I hope Mr. Rogersis well; give my kindest regards to him also. 

 Ever, my dear Mr. Moxon, Faithfully yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [141]

91. _Sonnets, and less-known female Poets: Hartley Coleridge, &c. _

LETTER TO THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. /$ Rydal Mount, Dec. 4. 1833. 

MY DEAR SIR, $/

Your elegant volume of Sonnets, [142] which you did me the honour todedicate to me, was received a few months after the date of theaccompanying letter; and the copy for Mr. Southey was forwardedimmediately, as you may have learned long ago, by a letter from himself. Supposing you might not be returned from Scotland, I have deferredoffering my thanks for this mark of your attention: and about the timewhen I should otherwise probably have written, I was seized with aninflammation in my eyes, from the _effects_ of which I am not yet so farrecovered as to make it prudent for me to use them in writing orreading. [143]

[141] _Memoirs_, ii. 283. 

[142] _Specimens of English Sonnets. A. D. _

[143] This letter is in the handwriting of Miss D. Wordsworth, butsigned by Mr. W. _A. D. _

The selection of sonnets appears to me to be very judicious. If I wereinclined to make an exception, it would be in the single case of thesonnet of Coleridge upon 'Schiller, ' which is too much of a rant for mytaste. The one by him upon 'Linley's Music' is much superior inexecution; indeed, as a strain of feeling, and for unity of effect, itis very happily done. I was glad to see Mr. Southey's 'Sonnet toWinter. ' A lyrical poem of my own, upon the disasters of the French armyin Russia, has so striking a resemblance to it, in contemplating winterunder two aspects, that, in justice to Mr. Southey, who preceded me, Iought to have acknowledged it in a note; and I shall do so upon somefuture occasion. 

How do you come on with Skelton? And is there any prospect of a newedition of your _Specimens of British Poetesses_? If I could get at theoriginal works of the elder poetesses, such as the Duchess of Newcastle, Mrs. Behn, Orinda, &c. , I should be happy to assist you with my judgmentin such a publication, which, I think, might be made still moreinteresting than this first edition, especially if more matter werecrowded into a page. The two volumes of _Poems by Eminent Ladies_, HelenMaria Williams's works, Mrs. Smith's Sonnets, and Lady Winchelsea'sPoems, form the scanty materials which I possess for assisting such apublication. 

It is a remarkable thing, that the two best ballads, perhaps, of moderntimes, viz. 'Auld Robin Grey' and the 'Lament for the Defeat of theScots at Flodden-field, ' are both from the pens of females. 

I shall be glad to hear that your health is improved, and your spiritsgood, so that the world may continue to be benefited by your judiciousand tasteful labours. 

Pray let me hear from you at your leisure; and believe me, dear Sir, Very faithfully yours, W. WORDSWORTH. 

P. S. It is a pity that Mr. Hartley Coleridge's Sonnets had not beenpublished before your Collection was made, as there are several wellworthy of a place in it. Last midsummer I made a fortnight's tour in theIsle of Man, Staffa, Iona, &c. , which produced between thirty and fortysonnets, some of which, I think, would please you. 

Could not you contrive to take the Lakes in your way, sometimes, to orfrom Scotland? I need not say how glad I should be to see you for a fewdays. 

What a pity that Mr. Heber's wonderful collection of books is about tobe dispersed![144]

[144] _Memoirs_, ii. 284-6. 

92. _Proposed Dedication of Poems to Wordsworth_. 

LETTER TO MRS. HEMANS. 

 Rydal Mount, April 1834. 

MY DEAR MRS. HEMANS, * * * * *

You have submitted what you intended as a dedication of your poems tome. I need scarcely say that, as a _private letter_, such expressionsfrom such a quarter could not have been received by me but with pleasureof _no ordinary kind_, unchecked by any consideration but the fear thatmy writings were overrated by you, and my character thought better ofthan it deserved. But I must say, that a _public_ testimony, in so higha strain of admiration, is what I cannot but shrink from: be thismodesty true or false, it is in me; you must bear with it, and makeallowance for it. And, therefore, as you have submitted the whole to myjudgment, I am emboldened to express a wish that you would, instead ofthis dedication, in which your warm and kind heart has overpowered you, simply inscribe them to me, with such expression of respect or gratitudeas would come within the limits of the rule which, after what has beensaid above, will naturally suggest itself. Of course, if the sheet hasbeen struck off, I must hope that my shoulders may become a little moreAtlantean than I now feel them to be. 

My sister is not quite so well. She, Mrs. W. , and Dora, all unite withme in best wishes and kindest remembrances to yourself and yours; and

 Believe me, dear Mrs. Hemans, To remain faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [145]

[145] _Memoirs_, ii. 286-7. 

93. _Verse-Attempts_. 

LETTER TO LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR WM. M. GOMM. 

 Rydal Mount, April 16. 1834. 

MY DEAR SIR, Your verses, for which I sincerely thank you, are an additional proof ofthe truth which forced from me, many years ago, the exclamation, 'O, many are the poets that are sown by nature!'[146] The rest of thatparagraph also has some bearing upon your position in the poeticalworld. The thoughts and images through both the poems, and the feelingsalso, are eminently such as become their several subjects; but it wouldbe insincerity were I to omit adding, that there is here and there awant of that skill in _workmanship_, which I believe nothing butcontinued practice in the art can bestow. I have used the word _art_, from a conviction, which I am called upon almost daily to express, thatpoetry is infinitely more of an art than the world is disposed tobelieve. Nor is this any dishonour to it; both for the reason that thepoetic faculty is not rarely bestowed, and for this cause, also, thatmen would not be disposed to ascribe so much to inspiration, if they didnot feel how near and dear to them poetry is. 

[146] _Excursion_, book i. 

With sincere regards and best wishes to yourself and Lady Gomm, Believe me to be very sincerely yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [147]

[147] _Memoirs_, ii. 287-8. 

94. _The Poems of Mrs. Hemans_. 

LETTER TO MRS. HEMANS. 

 Rydal Mount, Sept. 1834. 

MY DEAR MRS. HEMANS, I avail myself gladly of the opportunity of Mr. Graves's return, toacknowledge the honour you have done me in prefixing my name to yourvolume of beautiful poems, and to thank you for the copy you have sentme with your own autograph. Where there is so much to admire, it isdifficult to select; and therefore I shall content myself with namingonly two or three pieces. And, first, let me particularise the piecethat stands second in the volume, 'Flowers and Music in a Sick Room. 'This was especially touching to me, on my poor sister's account, who haslong been an invalid, confined almost to her chamber. The feelings aresweetly touched throughout this poem, and the imagery very beautiful;above all, in the passage where you describe the colour of the petals ofthe wild rose. This morning, I have read the stanzas upon 'Elysium' withgreat pleasure. You have admirably expanded the thought ofChateaubriand. If we had not been disappointed in our expected pleasureof seeing you here, I should have been tempted to speak of many otherpassages and poems with which I have been delighted. 

Your health, I hope, [148] is by this time reëstablished. Your son, Charles, looks uncommonly well, and we have had the pleasure of seeinghim and his friends several times; but as you are aware, we are muchengaged with visitors at this season of the year, so as not always to beable to follow our inclinations as to whom we would wish to see. Icannot conclude without thanking you for your Sonnet upon a place sodear to me as Grasmere: it is worthy of the subject. With kindestremembrances, in which unite Mrs. W. , my sister, and Dora, I remain, dear Mrs. Hemans, Your much obliged friend, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

I have written very hastily to spare my eyes; a liberty which you willexcuse. [149]

[148] This hope, alas! was not realised. Mrs. Hemans died in thefollowing year, May 16, 1835. 

[149] _Memoirs_, ii. 291-2. 

95. _Of the Church of England, &c. _

LETTER TO THE VENERABLE ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM. 

 Rydal Mount, Feb. 2. 1835. 

MY DEAR WRANGHAM, Sincere thanks are due from me for the attention you paid to Mrs. W. 'sletter, written during my absence. You know the favourable opinion Ientertain of Mr. Graves; and I was under a promise to let him know, ifany vacancy occurred in the neighbourhood, and to do all I could, without infringing upon prior or stronger claims, to promote theattainment of his wishes. 

 * * * * *

The mind of every thinking man who is attached to the Church of Englandmust at this time be especially turned to reflections upon all points ofecclesiastical polity, government, and management, which may tend tostrengthen the Establishment in the affections of the people, andenlarge the sphere of its efficiency. It cannot, then, I feel, beimpertinent in me, though a layman, to express upon this occasion mysatisfaction, qualified as it is by what has been said above, infinding from this instance that our diocesan is unwilling to stationclergymen in cures with which they are locally connected. Some yearsago, when the present Bishop of London, then of Chester, was residing inthis neighbourhood, I took the liberty of strenuously recommending tohim not to ordain young men to curacies where they had been brought up, or in the midst of their own relatives. I had seen too much of themischief of this, especially as affecting the functions and charactersof ministers born and bred up in the lower classes of society. It hasbeen painful to me to observe the false position, as the French wouldcall it, in which men so placed are. Their habits, their manners, andtheir talk, their acquaintanceships, their friendships, and, let me say, their domestic affections, naturally and properly draw them one way, while their professional obligations point out another; and, accordingly, if they are sensible of both, they live in a perpetualconflict, and are liable to be taxed with pride and ingratitude, asseeming to neglect their old friends, when they only associate with themwith that reserve, and under those restraints, which their sacredprofession enjoins. If, on the other hand, they fall into unrestrainedfamiliarity with the associates of their earlier life and boyish days, how injurious to their ministry such intercourse would be, must flashupon every man's mind whose thoughts have turned for a moment to thesubject. Allow me to add a word upon the all-important matter oftestimonials. The case of the Rector of ---- and of ---- presses itclosely upon my mind. Had the individuals who signed those documentsbeen fitly impressed with the awfullness of the act they were about toengage in, they could not have undertaken it. .. . Would it not be a goodplan for bishops to exclude testimonials from relatives and nearconnections? It is painful to notice what a tendency there is in men'sminds to allow even a slight call of private regard to outweigh a verystrong claim of duty to the public, and not less in sacred concerns thanin civil. 

Your hands, my dear friend, have failed, as well as my eyes, so that weare neither of us in very flourishing trim for active correspondence: beassured, however, I participate the feelings you express. Last year hasrobbed me of Coleridge, of Charles Lamb, James Losh, Rudd, of Trinity, Fleming, just gone, and other schoolfellows and contemporaries. I cannotforget that Shakspeare, who scarcely survived fifty (I am now near theclose of my sixty-fifth year), wrote, 'In me that time of life thou dost behold, When yellow leaves, or few, or none, do hang Upon the bough. '

How much more reason have we to break out into such a strain! Let mehear from you from time to time; I shall feel a lively interest in allthat concerns you. I remain faithfully yours, W. W. [150]

[150] _Memoirs_, ii. 292-4. 

96. _Of 'The Omnipresence of the Deity, ' &c. _

LETTER TO THE REV. ROBERT MONTGOMERY. 

 Feb. 1835. 

MY DEAR SIR, On my return home, after an absence of some length, I have had thepleasure of receiving your two volumes. 

 * * * * *

With your 'Omnipresence of the Deity'[151] I was acquainted long ago, having read it and other parts of your writings with much pleasure, though with some abatement, such as you yourself seem sufficiently awareof, and which, in the works of so young a writer, were by me gentlyjudged, and in many instances regarded, though in themselves faults, asindications of future excellence. In your letter, for which also I thankyou, you allude to your Preface, and desire to know if my opinionconcurs with yours on the subject of sacred poetry. That Preface hasbeen read to me, and I can answer in the affirmative; but at the sametime allow me frankly to tell you that what _most_ pleased me in thatable composition is to be found in the few concluding paragraphs, beginning 'It is now seven years since, ' &c. 

[151] Mr. Montgomery informed the (now) Bishop of Lincoln that 'thispoem when forwarded to Wordsworth was not in the condition in which itis now, but that it had been almost rewritten, and was also his earliestpoem--composed when he was nineteen. ' G. 

 * * * * *

I cannot conclude without one word of literary advice, which I hope youwill deem my advanced age entitles me to give. Do not, my dear Sir, beanxious about any individual's opinion concerning your writings, howeverhighly you may think of his genius or rate his judgment. Be a severecritic to yourself; and depend upon it no person's decision upon themerit of your works will bear comparison in point of value with yourown. You must be conscious from what feeling they have flowed, and howfar they may or may not be allowed to claim, on that account, permanentrespect; and, above all, I would remind you, with a view to tranquilliseand steady your mind, that no man takes the trouble of surveying andpondering another's writings with a hundredth part of the care which anauthor of sense and genius will have bestowed upon his own. Add to thisreflection another, which I press upon you, as it has supported methrough life, viz. That Posterity will settle all accounts justly, andthat works which deserve to last will last; and if undeserving thisfate, the sooner they perish the better. 

 Believe me to be faithfully, Your much obliged, W. WORDSWORTH. [152]

[152] _Memoirs, ii_. 294-6. 

97. _A new Church at Cockermouth_. 

LETTER TO JAMES STANGER, ESQ. 

MY DEAR SIR, The obstacle arising out of conflicting opinions in regard to thepatronage, one must be prepared for in every project of this kind. Mutual giving-way is indispensable, and I hope it will not ultimately bewanting in this case. 

The point immediately to be attended to is the raising a sufficient sumto insure from the Church Building Societies a portion of the surplusfund which they have at command, and which I know, on account of claimsfrom many places, they are anxious to apply as speedily as possible. Iftime be lost, that sum will be lost to Cockermouth. 

In the question of the patronage as between the bishop and the people, Ientirely concur with you in preference of the former. Such is now theforce of public opinion, that bishops are not likely to present uponmerely selfish considerations; and if the judgment of one be not good, that of his successor may make amends, and probably will. But electionsof this sort, when vested in the inhabitants, have, as far as myexperience goes, given rise to so many cabals and manoeuvres, and causedsuch enmities and heart-burnings, that Christian charity has beendriven out of sight by them: and how often, and how soon, have thesuccessful party been seen to repent of their own choice!

The course of public affairs being what it is in respect to the Church, I cannot reconcile myself to delay from a hope of succeeding at anothertime. If we can get a new church erected at Cockermouth, great will bethe benefit, with the blessing of God, to that place; and our successcannot, I trust, but excite some neighbouring places to follow theexample. 

The little that I can do in my own sphere shall be attemptedimmediately, with especial view to insure the cooperation of thesocieties. Happy should I be if you and other gentlemen wouldimmediately concur in this endeavour. 

 I remain, &c. WM. WORDSWORTH. [153]

98. _Of the Same_. 

 Rydal Mount, Jan. 1836. MY DEAR C----, Now let me tell you, but more for your father's sake than yours, that ina letter which I received from Lord Lonsdale yesterday he generouslyproposes to endow a new church at Cockermouth with 150_l. _ per annum. From a conversation with him in the autumn, I expected he would do asmuch, though he did not then permit me, as he has done now, to mentionit publicly. [154]

99. _Classic Scenes: Holy Land_. 

We often think with much interest of your sister Eliza, and with athousand good wishes that her bold adventure may turn out well. If shefinds herself at liberty to move about, her sensitive, imaginative, andthoughtful mind cannot but be profitably excited and substantiallyenriched by what she will see in that most interesting part of the world(Smyrna, and the coast of Asia Minor). How should I like, old as I am, to visit those classic shores and the Holy Land, with all itsremembrances so sweet and solemn![155]

[153] _Memoirs_, ii. 296-7. 

[154] Extract: _Memoirs_, ii. 298. 

[155] Extract of letter to Sir W. R. Hamilton, Dublin, Jan. 11, 1836. Here first printed. 

100. _American Edition of Poems, &c_ LETTER TO PROFESSOR HENRY REED, OFPHILADELPHIA. 

 London, August 19 [1837]. 

My Dear Sir, Upon returning from a tour of several months upon the Continent, I findtwo letters from you awaiting my arrival, along with the edition of myPoems you have done me the honour of editing. To begin with the formerletter, April 25, 1836: It gives me concern that you should have thoughtit necessary (not to _apologise_, for that you have not done, but) toexplain at length why you addressed me in the language of affectionateregard. It must surely be gratifying to one, whose aim as an author hasbeen the hearts of his fellow-creatures of all ranks and in allstations, to find that he has succeeded in any quarter; and still moremust he be gratified to learn that he has pleased in a distant countrymen of simple habits and cultivated taste, who are at the same timewidely acquainted with literature. Your second letter, accompanying theedition of the Poems, I have read, but unluckily have it not before me. It was lent to Serjeant Talfourd, on account of the passage in it thatalludes to the possible and desirable establishment of English copyrightin America. I shall now hasten to notice the edition which you havesuperintended of my Poems. This I can do with much pleasure, as thebook, which has been shown to several persons of taste, Mr. Rogers inparticular, is allowed to be far the handsomest specimen of printing indouble columns which they have seen. Allow me to thank you for the painsyou have bestowed upon the work. Do not apprehend that any difference inour several arrangements of the poems can be of much importance; youappear to understand me far too well for that to be possible. I haveonly to regret, in respect to this volume, that it should have beenpublished before my last edition, in the correction of which I tookgreat pains, as my last labour in that way, and which moreover containsseveral additional pieces. It may be allowed me also to express a hopethat such a law will be passed ere long by the American legislature, aswill place English authors in general upon a better footing in Americathan at present they have obtained, and that the protection of copyrightbetween the two countries will be reciprocal. The vast circulation ofEnglish works in America offers a temptation for hasty and incorrectprinting; and that same vast circulation would, without adding to theprice of each copy of an English work in a degree that could be grudgedor thought injurious by any purchaser, allow an American remuneration, which might add considerably to the comforts of English authors, who maybe in narrow circumstances, yet who at the same time may have writtensolely from honourable motives. Besides, Justice is the foundation onwhich both law and practice ought to rest. 

Having many letters to write on returning to England after so long anabsence, I regret that I must be so brief on the present occasion. Icannot conclude, however, without assuring you that the acknowledgmentswhich I receive from the vast continent of America are among the mostgrateful that reach me. What a vast field is there open to the Englishmind, acting through our noble language! Let us hope that our authors oftrue genius will not be unconscious of that thought, or inattentive tothe duty which it imposes upon them, of doing their utmost to instruct, to purify, and to elevate their readers. That such may be my ownendeavour through the short time I shall have to remain in this world, is a prayer in which I am sure you and your life's partner will join me. Believe me gratefully, Your much obliged friend, W. WORDSWORTH. [156]

101. _Of the Poems of Quillinan, and Revision of his own Poems_. 

LETTER TO EDWARD QUILLINAN, ESQ. 

 Brinsop Court, Sept. 20. 1837. 

MY DEAR MR. QUILLINAN, We are heartily glad to learn from your letter, just received, that, inall probability, by this time, you must have left the unhappy country inwhich you have been so long residing. I should not have been sorry ifyou had entered a little more into Peninsular politics; for what isgoing on there is shocking to humanity, and one would be glad to seeanything like an opening for the termination of these unnaturaltroubles. 

[156] _Memoirs_, ii. 344-6. 

The position of the Miguelites, relatively to the conflicting, socalled, liberal parties, is just what I apprehended, and expressed verylately to Mr. Robinson. .. . 

He came down with us to Hereford with a view to a short tour on thebanks of the Wye, which has been prevented by an unexpected attack of myold complaint of inflammation in the eye; and in consequence of this, Dora will accompany me home, with a promise on her part of returning toLondon before the month of October is out. Our places are taken into-morrow's coach for Liverpool; so that, since we must be disappointedof seeing you and Jemima here, we trust that you will come on to Rydalfrom Leeds. This very day Dora had read to me your poem again: itconvinces me, along with your other writings, that it is in your powerto attain a permanent place among the poets of England. Your thoughts, feelings, knowledge, and judgment in style, and skill in metre, entitleyou to it; and, if you have not yet succeeded in gaining it, the causeappears to me merely to lie in the subjects which you have chosen. It isworthy of note how much of Gray's popularity is owing to the happinesswith which his subject is selected in three places, his 'Hymn toAdversity, ' his 'Ode on the distant Prospect of Eton College, ' and his'Elegy. ' I ought, however, in justice to you, to add, that one cause ofyour failure appears to have been thinking too humbly of yourself, sothat you have not reckoned it worth while to look sufficiently round youfor the best subjects, or to employ as much time in reflecting, condensing, bringing out and placing your thoughts and feelings in thebest point of view as is necessary. I will conclude this matter ofpoetry and my part of the letter, with requesting that, as an act offriendship, at your convenience, you would take the trouble--aconsiderable one, I own--of comparing the corrections in my last editionwith the text in the preceding one. You know my principles of stylebetter, I think, than any one else; and I should be glad to learn ifanything strikes you as being altered for the worse. You will find theprincipal changes are in 'The White Doe, ' in which I had too little ofthe benefit of your help and judgment. There are several also in theSonnets, both miscellaneous and political: in the other poems they arenothing like so numerous; but here also I should be glad if you wouldtake the like trouble. Jemima, I am sure, will be pleased to assist youin the comparison, by reading, new or old, as you may think fit. Withlove to her, I remain, My dear Mr. Quillinan, Faithfully yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. [157]

102. _On a Tour_. 

LETTER TO THE EARL OF LONSDALE. 

After having had excellent health during my long ramble [inHerefordshire], it is unfortunate that I should thus be disabled at theconclusion. The mischief came to me in Herefordshire, whither I had goneon my way home to see my brother-in-law, who, by his horse falling withhim some time ago, was left without the use of his limbs. 

I was lately a few days with Mr. Rogers, at Broadstairs, and also withthe Archbishop of Canterbury, at Addington Park; they were both well, and I was happy to see the Archbishop much stronger than his slender andalmost feeble appearance would lead one to expect. We walked up and downin the park for three hours one day, and nearly four the next, withouthis seeming to be the least fatigued. I mention this as we must all feelthe value of his life in this state of public affairs. 

The cholera prevented us getting as far as Naples, which was the onlydisappointment we met with. As a man of letters I have to regret thatthis most interesting tour was not made by me earlier in life, as Imight have turned the notices it has supplied me with to more accountthan I now expect to do. With respectful remembrances to Lady Lonsdale, and to your Lordship, in which Mrs. W. Unites, I remain, my dear Lord, faithfully, Your much obliged servant, WM. WORDSWORTH, [158]

[157] _Memoirs_, ii. 347-8. 

[158] _Ibid. _ ii. 349. 

103. _Of Bentley and Akenside_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

 Dec. 23. 1837. 

MY DEAR SIR, I have just received your valuable present of Bentley's works, forwhich accept my cordial thanks, as also for the leaf to be added toAkenside. 

Is it recorded in your Memoir of Akenside, --for I have not leisure noreyesight at present to look, --that he was fond of sitting in St. James'sPark with his eyes upon Westminster Abbey? This, I am sure, I haveeither read or heard of him; and I imagine that it was from Mr. Rogers. I am not unfrequently a visitor on Hampstead Heath, and seldom pass bythe entrance of Mr. Dyson's villa on Goulder's Hill, close by, withoutthinking of the pleasure which Akenside often had there. 

I cannot call to mind a reason why you should not think some passages in'The Power of Sound' equal to anything I have produced. When firstprinted in the 'Yarrow Revisited, ' I placed it at the end of the volume, and, in the last edition of my Poems, at the close of the Poems ofImagination, indicating thereby my _own_ opinion of it. 

How much do I regret that I have neither learning nor eyesightthoroughly to enjoy Bentley's masterly 'Dissertation upon the Epistlesof Phalaris'! Many years ago I read the work with infinite pleasure. Asfar as I know, or rather am able to judge, it is without a rival in thatdepartment of literature; a work of which the English nation may beproud as long as acute intellect, and vigorous powers, and profoundscholarship shall be esteemed in the world. 

Let me again repeat my regret that in passing to and from Scotland youhave never found it convenient to visit this part of the country. Ishould be delighted to see you, and I am sure Mr. Southey would be thesame: and in his house you would find an inexhaustible collection ofbooks, many curious no doubt; but his classical library is much theleast valuable part of it. The death of his excellent wife was adeliverance for herself and the whole family, so great had been hersufferings of mind and body. 

You do not say a word about Skelton; and I regret much yourdisappointment in respect of Middleton. 

 I remain, my dear Sir, Faithfully, your much obliged, WM. WORDSWORTH. [159]

[159] _Memoirs_, ii. 350-1. 

104. _Presidency of Royal Dublin Society: Patronage of Genius: Canons ofCriticism: Family News_. 

LETTER TO SIR WILLIAM R. HAMILTON. 

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 21 [1837]. 

MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM, The papers had informed me of the honour conferred upon you, and I wasintending to congratulate you on the occasion, when your letter arrived. The electors have done great credit to themselves by appointing you, andnot a little by rejecting the ultra-liberal Archbishop, and that by sodecided a majority. We are much pleased that your sister, who weconclude is well, has sent her Poems to press, and wish they may obtainthe attention we are sure they will merit. Your own two Sonnets, forwhich I thank you, we read, that is Mrs. W. And myself (Dora is in theSouth), with interest. But to the main purport of your letter. You payme an undeserved compliment in requesting my opinion, how you could bestpromote some of the benefits which the Society, at whose head you areplaced, aims at. As to patronage, you are right in supposing that I holdit in little esteem for helping genius forward in the fine arts, especially those whose medium is words. Sculpture and painting _may_ behelped by it; but even in those departments there is much to be dreaded. The French have established an Academy at Rome upon an extensive scale;and so far from doing good, I was told by every one that it had donemuch harm. The plan is this: they select the most distinguished studentsfrom the school or academy at Paris and send them to Rome, with handsomestipends, by which they are tempted into idleness, and of course intovice. So that it looks like a contrivance for preventing the Frenchnation and the world at large profiting by the genius which nature mayhave bestowed, and which left to itself would in some cases, perhaps, have prospered. The principal, I was indeed told the only, conditionimposed upon these students is, that each of them send annually somework of his hands to Paris. When at Rome, I saw a good deal of Englishartists. They seemed to be living happily and doing well, tho', as youare aware, the public patronage any of them receive is trifling. 

Genius in poetry, or any department of what is called the BellesLettres, is much more likely to be cramped than fostered by publicsupport: better wait to reward those who have done their work, tho' evenhere national rewards are not necessary, unless the labourers be, if notin poverty, at least in narrow circumstances. Let the laws be but justto them and they will be sure of attaining competence, if they have notmisjudged their own talents or misapplied them. 

The cases of Chatterton, Burns, and others, might, it should seem, beurged against the conclusion that help beforehand is not required; but Ido think that in the temperament of the two I have mentioned there wassomething which, however favourable had been their circumstances, however much they had been encouraged and supported, would have broughton their ruin. As to what Patronage can do in Science, discoveries inPhysics, mechanic arts, &c. , you know far better than I can pretend todo. 

As to 'better canons of criticism and general improvement of scholars, 'I really, speaking without affectation, am so little of a Critic orScholar, that it would be presumptuous in me to _write_ upon the subjectto you. If we were together and you should honour me by asking myopinion upon particular points, that would be a very different thing, and I might have something to say not wholly without value. But wherecould I begin with so comprehensive an argument, and how could I putinto the compass of a letter my thoughts, such as they may be, withanything like order? It is somewhat mortifying to me to disappoint you. You must upon reflection I trust perceive, that in attempting to complywith your wish I should only lose myself in a wilderness. I have beenapplied to to give lectures upon Poetry in a public institution inLondon, but I was conscious that I was neither competent to the office, nor the public prepared to receive what I should have felt it my duty tosay, however [inadequately?]. 

I have [had] a very pleasant and not profitless tour on the Continent, tho' with one great drawback, the being obliged on account of thecholera to return without seeing Naples and its neighbourhood. Had itnot been for the state of my eyes, which became inflamed after I gotback to England, I should have been able to take Liverpool in my wayhome, at the time you were there. The attack continued for a long time, and has left a weakness in the organ which does not yet allow me eitherto read or write; but with care I hope to come about. 

My sister continues in the same enfeebled state of mind and body. Mrs. W. Is well; but your godson, we hear, is suffering from derangement ofthe stomach, so that at present he is not a thriving child, but hiselder brother is now remarkably so, and he about the same age wassubject to the same trials. We trust that your little family are allflourishing, and with our united affectionate regards believe me, faithfully, Dear Sir W. , yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

I am sorry that I cannot send this thro' Lord Northampton, because hetells me he is coming northward. [160]

[160] Here first printed. G. 

105. _Prose-writing: Coleridge: Royal Dublin Society: Select Minds:Copyright: Private Affairs_. 

LETTER TO SIR WILLIAM R. HAMILTON. 

 Rydal Mount, Jan. 4. 1838. 

MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM, From a hope of something starting up in my mind which might prevent myletter being an utter disappointment, I have not answered yours, as Iwished to do, by return of post. But I am really still as much at a losshow to make my letter worth reading as if I had replied immediately. Allow me, however, to thank you for your last, which has completely doneaway with the vagueness of the former; I now distinctly understand you, and as to one of your leading points, viz. Availing myself ofpublication through your Society, I may say that if there had been amongmy papers anything of the kind you wish for, I should have gladlyforwarded it to you. But it is not so, nor dare I undertake to promiseanything of the kind for the future. Though prevailed upon by Mr. Coleridge to write the first Preface to my Poems, which tempted, orrather forced, me to add a supplement to it, and induced by myfriendship for him to write the Essay upon Epitaphs now appended to 'TheExcursion, ' but first composed for 'The Friend, ' I have never feltinclined to write criticism, though I have talked, and am daily talking, a great deal. If I were several years younger, out of friendship to youmainly, I would sit down to the task of giving a body to my notionsupon the essentials of Poetry; a subject which could not be properlytreated, without adverting to the other branches of fine art. But atpresent, with so much before me that I could wish to do in verse, andthe melancholy fact brought daily more and more home to my conviction, that intellectual labour, by its action on the brain and nervous system, is injurious to the bodily powers, and especially to my eyesight, Ishould only be deceiving myself and misleading you, were I to encouragea hope that, much as I could wish to be your fellow-labourer, howeverhumbly, I shall ever become so. 

Having disposed of this rather painful part of the subject of yourletter, let me say, that though it is principally matters of science inwhich publication through your Society would be serviceable, and indeedin that department eminently so, I concur with you in thinking, that thesame vehicle would be useful for bringing under the notice of thethinking part of the community critical essays of too abstract acharacter to be fit for popularity. There are obviously, even incriticism, two ways of affecting the minds of men--the one by treatingthe matter so as to carry it immediately to the sympathies of the many;and the other, by aiming at a few select and superior minds, that mighteach become a centre for illustrating it in a popular way. Mr. Coleridge, whom you allude to, acted upon the world to a great extentthro' the latter of these processes; and there cannot be a doubt thatyour Society might serve the cause of just thinking and pure tasteshould you, as president of it, hold up to view the desirableness offirst conveying to a few, thro' that channel, reflections uponliterature and art, which, if well meditated, would be sure of winningtheir way directly, or in their indirect results to a gradually wideningcircle. 

May I not encourage a hope that during the ensuing summer, or at theworst at no distant period, you and I might meet, when a few hours'conversation would effect more than could come out of a dozen lettersdictated, and hastily, as I am obliged to dictate this, from anunexpected interruption when Mrs. W. And I were sitting down with thepen in her hand?

You are right in your recollection that I named to you the subject offoreign piracy, as injurious to English authors; and I may add now thatif it could be put a stop to, I believe that it would rarely happen thatsuccessful writers, on works of imagination and feeling at least, wouldstand in need of pensions from Government, or would feel themselvesjustified in accepting them. Upon this subject I have spoken a greatdeal to M. P. 's of all parties, and with several distinguished Americans. I have also been in correspondence with the present Chancellor of theExchequer upon it, and dwelt upon the same topic in a letter which I hadoccasion to write to Sir Robert Peel. Mr. Lytton Bulwer, as perhaps youknow, drew the attention of Parliament to it during the late Session. Lord Palmerston said in answer to him, that the attention of Governmenthad already been directed to the measure, and that it would not be lostsight of, or something to that purpose. I may claim some credit for myexertions in this business, and full as much, or more, for the painswhich I have taken for many years, to interest men in the H[ouse] ofC[ommons] in the extension of the term of copyright--a measure which Itrust is about to be brought to a successful close by the exertions ofmy admirable friend Serjeant Talfourd. To him I have written upon theargument more than once. When this is effected, I trust the other partof the subject will be taken up with spirit, and if the ForeignSecretary, in whose department the matter lies, should be remiss, Itrust he will be stimulated thro' Parliament, to which desirable end theservices of distinguished societies like yours, and the notice of thequestion, by men of letters, in reviews or otherwise, would greatlycontribute. Good authors, if justice were done to them by their own andforeign countries, now that reading is spread and spreading so widely, would very few of them be in need, except thro' their own fault. 

When I was in town last August, the American minister, Mr. Stephenson, spoke to me with much indignation of the law and practice by whichcopyright was secured in England for American authors, while there wasno reciprocity for English writers in America. 

But I must conclude, or I shall miss the post. The father of your godsonis here, and begs to be remembered to you. 

Did I ever mention to you that owing to the sea having swallowed up hisfather-in-law's coal-pits, . .. Income is much reduced; and he thereforefeels it necessary to endeavour to procure a couple of pupils, who couldafford to pay rather handsomely for the advantages they would have underhis roof? By this time he would have succeeded, but parents in theSouth have an unaccountable objection to sending their sons so farNorth. As the same might not be felt in Ireland, I take the liberty ofmentioning his wish to you, being persuaded that if you can you willassist him in his views. If your address to your Society should bepublished, could you send it me, and acquaint me with what you havedone?

 Affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [161]

[161] Here first printed. G. 

106. _Of his own Poems and posthumous Fame_. 

LETTER TO HENRY REED, ESQ. , PHILADELPHIA. 

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 23. 1839. 

MY DEAR SIR, The year is upon the point of expiring; and a letter of yours, dated May7th, though not received till late in June (for I was moving about alllast spring and part of the summer), remains unacknowledged. I have alsoto thank you for the acceptable present of the two volumes which reachedme some time afterwards. 

 * * * * *

Your letters are naturally turned upon the impression which my poemshave made, and the estimation they are held, or likely to be held in, through the vast country to which you belong. I wish I could feel aslively as you do upon this subject, or even upon the general destiny ofthose works. Pray do not be long surprised at this declaration. There isa difference of more than the length of your life, I believe, betweenour ages. I am standing on the brink of that vast ocean I must sail sosoon; I must speedily lose sight of the shore; and I could not once haveconceived how little I now am troubled by the thought of how long orshort a time they who remain on that shore may have sight of me. Theother day I chanced to be looking over a MS. Poem, belonging to the year1803, though not actually composed till many years afterwards. It wassuggested by visiting the neighbourhood of Dumfries, in which Burns hadresided, and where he died; it concluded thus:

 'Sweet Mercy to the gales of heaven This minstrel led, his sins forgiven;

 The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of earth's bitter leaven Effaced for ever. '

Here the verses closed; but I instantly added, the other day, 'But why to him confine the prayer, When kindred thoughts and yearnings bear On the frail heart the purest share With all that live? The best of what we do and are. Just God, forgive!'

The more I reflect upon this last exclamation, the more I feel (andperhaps it may in some degree be the same with you) justified inattaching comparatively small importance to any literary monument that Imay be enabled to leave behind. It is well, however, I am convinced, that men think otherwise in the earlier part of their lives; and why itis so, is a point I need not touch upon in writing to you. 

Before I dismiss this subject let me thank you for the extract from yourintelligent friend's letter; and allow me to tell you that I could notbut smile at your Boston critic placing my name by the side of Cowley. Isuppose he cannot mean anything more than that the same measure ofreputation or fame (if that be not too presumptuous a word) is due to usboth. 

German transcendentalism, which you say this critic is infected by, would be a woeful visitation for the world. 

The way in which you speak of me in connection with your possible visitto England was most gratifying; and I here repeat that I should be trulyglad to see you in the delightful spot where I have long dwelt; and Ihave the more pleasure in saying this to you, because, in spite of myold infirmity, my strength exceeds that of most men of my years, and mygeneral health continues to be, as it always has been, remarkably good. A page of blank paper stares me in the face; and I am not sure that itis worth while to fill it with a sonnet which broke from me not long agoin reading an account of misdoings in many parts of your Republic. Mrs. Wordsworth will, however, transcribe it. 

 'Men of the Western World! in Fate's dark book, Whence these opprobrious leaves, of dire portent?'

To turn to another subject. You will be sorry to learn that several ofmy most valued friends are likely to suffer from the monetaryderangements in America. My family, however, is no way directlyentangled, unless the Mississippi bonds prove invalid. There is anopinion pretty current among discerning persons in England, thatRepublics are not to be trusted in money concerns, --I suppose becausethe sense of honour is more obtuse, the responsibility being dividedamong so many. For my own part, I have as little or less faith inabsolute despotisms, except that they are more easily convinced that itis politic to keep up their credit by holding to their engagements. Whatpower is maintained by this practice was shown by Great Britain in herstruggle with Buonaparte. This lesson has not been lost on the leadingmonarchical states of Europe. But too much of this. 

 Believe me to remain, Faithfully yours, Wm. Wordsworth. [162]

107. _the Sheldonian Theatre_. 

LETTER TO JOHN PEACE, ESQ. , CITY LIBRARY, BRISTOL. 

 Rydal Mount, Aug. 30. 1839. 

MY DEAR SIR, It was not a little provoking that I had not the pleasure of shaking youby the hand at Oxford when you did me the honour of coming so far to'join in the shout. ' I was told by a Fellow of University College thathe had never witnessed such an outburst of enthusiasm in that place, except upon the occasions of the visits of the Duke of Wellington--oneunexpected. My Nephew, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, waspresent, as well as my son, William, who, I am happy to say, is muchbetter in health than when you saw him in Oxford. He is here, anddesires to be kindly remembered to you. [163]

[162] _Memoirs_, ii. 351-4. 

[163] Extract: _Memoirs_, ii. 357-8. 

108. _New Edition of his Poems_. 

LETTER TO EDWARD MOXON, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 11. 1838. 

DEAR MR. MOXON, I am in hopes that my nephew, Mr. John Wordsworth, of Cambridge, willcorrect the proofs for me: he promised to do so, when he was here a fewweeks ago; but I grieve to say he has been very unwell since, and maynot be equal to the task; but I shall write to him on the subject. He isthe most accurate man I know; and if a revise of each sheet could besent to him the edition would be immaculate. 

 W. Wordsworth. [164]

109. _Death of his Nephew, John Wordsworth_. 

LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside (not Kendal), Jan. 3 [1840]. 

MY DEAR LADY FREDERICK, Yesterday brought us melancholy news in a letter from my brother, Dr. Wordsworth, which announced the death of his eldest son. He died lastTuesday, in Trinity College, of which he was a fellow, having beentenderly nursed by his father during rather a long illness. He was amost amiable man, and I have reason to believe was one of the bestscholars in Europe. We were all strongly attached to him, and, as hispoor father writes, the loss is to him, and to his sorrowing sons, irreparable on this side of the grave. 

 W. W. [165]

[164] _Memoirs_, ii. 358. 

[165] _Ibid. _ ii. 360. 

110. _Of the Same_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. THE MASTER OF TRINITY COLLEGE. CAMBRIDGE. 

 Friday, Jan. 3 [1840]. 

MY VERY DEAR BROTHER, It is in times of trouble and affliction that one feels most deeply thestrength of the ties of family and nature. We all most affectionatelycondole with you, and those who are around you, at this melancholy time. The departed was beloved in this house as he deserved to be; but oursorrow, great as it is for our own sakes, is still heavier for yours andhis brothers'. He is a power gone out of our family, and they will beperpetually reminded of it. But the best of all consolations will bewith you, with them, with us, and all his numerous relatives andfriends, especially with Mrs. Hoare, that his life had been as blamelessas man's could well be, and through the goodness of God, he is gone tohis reward. 

 I remain your loving brother, Wm. Wordsworth. [166]

111. _On the Death of a young Person_. [167]

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, May 21. 1840. 

MY DEAR SIR, Pray impute to anything but a want of due sympathy with you in youraffliction my not having earlier given an answer to your letter. Intruth, I was so much moved by it, that I had not, at first, sufficientresolution to bring my thoughts so very close to your trouble, as musthave been done had I taken up the pen immediately. I have been myselfdistressed in the same way, though my two children were taken from me atan earlier age, one in her fifth, the other in his seventh year, andwithin half a year of each other. I can, therefore, enter into yoursorrows more feelingly than for others is possible, who have notsuffered like losses. 

Your departed daughter struck me as having one of the most intelligentand impressive countenances I ever looked upon, and I spoke of her assuch to Mrs. Wordsworth, Miss Fenwick, and to others. The indicationswhich I saw in her of a somewhat alarming state of health, I could notbut mention to you, when you accompanied me a little way from your owndoor. You spoke something encouraging; but they continued to haunt me;so that your kind letter was something less of a shock than it wouldotherwise have been, though not less of a sorrow. 

[166] _Memoirs_, ii. 360-1. 

[167] Ellen Parry (daughter of Dr. Parry), who died April 28, 1840. Wordsworth saw her April 28, 1839. He was again at Summer Hill, Bath, inApril 1840. 

How pathetic is your account of the piety with which the dear creaturesupported herself under those severe trials of mind and body with whichit pleased God to prepare her for a happier world! The consolation which_children_ and very young persons, who have been religiously brought up, draw from the Holy Scriptures, ought to be habitually on the minds of_adults_ of all ages, for the benefit of their own souls, and requiresto be treated in a loftier and more comprehensive train of thought andfeeling than by writers has been usually bestowed upon it. It does not, therefore, surprise me that you hinted at my own pen being employed uponthe subject, as brought before the mind in your lamented daughter's ownmost touching case. I wish I were equal to anything so holy, but I feelthat I am not. It is remarkable, however, that within the last few daysthe subject has been presented to my mind by two several persons, bothunknown to me; which is something of a proof how widely its importanceis felt, and also that there is a feeling that I am not wholly unworthyof treating it. 

Your letter, my dear Sir, I value exceedingly, and shall take theliberty, as I have done more than once, with fit reverence, of readingit in quarters where it is likely to do good, or rather, where I know itmust do good. 

Wishing and praying that the Almighty may bestow upon yourself, thepartner in your bereavement, and all the fellow-sufferers in yourhousehold, that consolation and support which can proceed only from Hisgrace, I remain, my dear Dr. Parry, Most faithfully, your much obliged, W. Wordsworth. [168]

112. _Religion and Versified Religion_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. H. (AFTERWARDS DEAN) ALFORD. 

 (Postmark) Ambleside, Feb. 21. 1848. 

MY DEAR SIR, Pray excuse my having been some little time in your debt. I could pleadmany things in extenuation, the chief, that old one of the state of myeyes, which never leaves me at liberty either to read or write a tenthpart as much as I could wish, and as otherwise I ought to do. 

[168] _Memoirs_, ii. 362-3. 

It cannot but be highly gratifying to me to learn that my writings areprized so highly by a poet and critic of your powers. The essay uponthem which you have so kindly sent me seems well qualified to promoteyour views in writing it. I was particularly pleased with yourdistinction between religion in poetry, and versified religion. For myown part, I have been averse to frequent mention of the mysteries ofChristian faith; not from a want of a due sense of their momentousnature, but the contrary. I felt it far too deeply to venture onhandling the subject as familiarly as many scruple not to do. I am farfrom blaming them, but let them not blame me, nor turn from mycompanionship on that account. Besides general reasons for diffidence intreating subjects of Holy Writ, I have some especial ones. I might errin points of faith, and I should not deem my mistakes less to bedeprecated because they were expressed in metre. Even Milton, in myhumble judgment, has erred, and grievously; and what poet could hope toatone for his apprehensions[169] in the way in which that mighty mindhas done?

I am not at all desirous that any one should write an elaborate critiqueon my poetry. [170] There is no call for it. If they be from above, theywill do their own work in course of time; if not, they will perish asthey ought. But scarcely a week passes in which I do not receivegrateful acknowledgments of the good they have done to the minds of theseveral writers. They speak of the relief they have received from themunder affliction and in grief, and of the calmness and elevation ofspirit which the poems either give or assist them in attaining. As thesebenefits are not without a traceable bearing upon the good of theimmortal soul, the sooner, perhaps, they are pointed out and illustratedin a work like yours, the better. 

[169] Sic: qu. 'Misapprehensions. ' _H. A. _

[170] Sic: 1. 'Poems. ' _II. A_. 

Pray excuse my talking so much about myself: your letter and critiquecalled me to the subject. But I assure you it would have been moregrateful to me to acknowledge the debt we owe you in this house, wherewe have read your poems with no common pleasure. Your 'Abbot ofMuchelnage' also makes me curious to hear more of him. 

But I must conclude, I was truly sorry to have missed you when you and Mrs. Alford called atRydal. Mrs. W. Unites with me in kind regards to you both; and believeme, My dear Sir, Faithfully yours, Wm. Wordsworth. [171]

113. _Memorandum of a Conversation on Sacred Poetry (by Rev. R. P. Graves)_. 

I must try to give you a summary of a long conversation I had withWordsworth on the subject of _sacred poetry, _ and which I wish I wereable to report in full. In the course of it he expressed to me thefeelings of reverence which prevented him from venturing to lay his handon what he always thought a subject too high for him; and he accompaniedthis with the earnest protest that his works, as well as those of anyother poet, should not be considered as developing all the influenceswhich his own heart recognised, but rather those which he consideredhimself able as an artist to display to advantage, and which he thoughtmost applicable to the wants, and admitted by the usages, of the worldat large. This was followed by a most interesting discussion uponMilton, Cowper, the general progress of religion as an element ofpoetry, and the gradual steps by which it must advance to a powercomprehensive and universally admitted; steps which are defined in theirorder by the constitution of the human mind, and which must proceed withvastly more slowness in the case of the progress made by collectiveminds, than it does in an individual soul. [172]

114. _Visit of Queen Adelaide to Rydal Mount_. 

LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

 July 1840. 

I hope, dear Lady Frederick, that nothing will prevent my appearance atLowther towards the end of next week. But I have for these last fewyears been visited always with a serious inflammation in my eyes aboutthis season of the year, which causes me to have fears about thefulfilment of any engagement, however agreeable. Pray thank LordLonsdale, on my part, for his thinking of me upon this occasion. 

[171] _Memoirs_, ii. 364-6. 

[172] _Ibid. _ ii. 366. 

On Monday morning, a little before nine, a beautiful and bright day, the Queen Dowager and her sister appeared at Rydal. I met them at thelower waterfall, with which her Majesty seemed much pleased. Uponhearing that it was not more than half a mile to the higher fall, shesaid, briskly, she would go; though Lord Denbigh and Lord Howe felt thatthey were pressed for time, having to go upon Keswick Lake, and thenceto Paterdale. I walked by the Queen's side up to the higher waterfall, and she seemed to be struck much with the beauty of the scenery. Herstep was exceedingly light; but I learned that her health is not good, or rather that she still suffers from the state of her constitution, which caused her to go abroad. 

Upon quitting the park of Rydal, nearly opposite our own gate, the Queenwas saluted with a pretty rural spectacle; nearly fifty children, drawnup in avenue, with bright garlands in their hands, three large flagsflying, and a band of music. They had come from Ambleside, and thegarlands were such as are annually prepared at this season for aceremony called 'the Rush-bearing;' and the parish-clerk of Amblesidehit upon this way of showing at Rydal the same respect to the Queenwhich had been previously shown at Ambleside. I led the Queen to theprincipal points of view in our little domain, particularly to that, through the summer house, which shows the lake of Rydal to suchadvantage. The Queen talked more than once about having a cottage amongthe lakes, which of course was nothing more than a natural way of givingvent to the pleasure which she had in the country. You will think, Ifear, that I have dwelt already too long upon the subject; and I shalltherefore only add, that all went off satisfactorily, and that every onewas delighted with her Majesty's demeanour. Lord and Lady Sheffield werethe only persons of her suite whom I had seen before. Lord Howe waspleased with the sight of the pictures from his friend Sir GeorgeBeaumont's pencil, and showed them to the Queen, who, having sat somelittle time in the house, took her leave, cordially shaking Mrs. Wordsworth by the hand, as a friend of her own rank might have done. Shehad also inquired for Dora, who was introduced to her. I hope she willcome again into the country, and visit Lowther. 

Pray excuse the above long story, which I should not have ventured upon, but that you expressed a wish upon the subject. 

What enchanting weather! I hope, and do not doubt, that you all enjoyit, my dear Lady Frederick, as we are doing. 

I ought not to forget, that two days ago I went over to see Mr. Southey, or rather Mrs. Southey, for he is past taking pleasure in the presenceof any of his friends. He did not recognise me till he was told. Thenhis eyes flashed for a moment with their former brightness, but he sankinto the state in which I had found him, patting with both hands hisbooks affectionately, like a child. Having attempted in vain to interesthim by a few observations, I took my leave, after five minutes or so. Itwas, for me, a mournful visit, and for his poor wife also. His health isgood, and he may live many years; though the body is much enfeebled. 

 Ever affectionately yours, Wm. Wordsworth. 

We hope your lameness will soon leave you, that you may ramble about asusual. [173]

115. _Ecclesiastical Duties and Revenues Act, &c. _

LETTER TO THE REV. T. BOYLES MURRAY. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, Sept. 24. 1840. 

DEAR SIR, Upon returning home after an absence of ten days, I have the pleasure offinding your obliging letter, and the number of the _EcclesiasticalGazette_ containing the 'Ecclesiastical Duties and Revenues Act:' forboth marks of attention I beg you to accept my sincere thanks. As soonas I can find leisure, I will carefully peruse the Act; at present I canonly say that I look upon changes so extensive and searching with adegree of alarm proportionate to my love and affection for theEstablishment with which they are connected. 

As you have put me in possession of the _Gazette_, I can scarcely feeljustified in looking to the fulfilment of your promise to send me theAct, separately printed. Indeed, I feel that it would be giving yourselfmore trouble than there is occasion for. 

[173] _Memoirs_, ii. 367-9. 

It pleases me much to learn that Mrs. Murray and you enjoyed yourramble among the lakes. 

 Believe me to be, dear Sir, faithfully, Your obliged servant, Wm. Wordsworth. [174]

116. _Samuel Rogers and Wordsworth together_. 

LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

 Rydal Mount, Sept. 26. 1840. 

DEAR LADY FREDERICK, Mr. Rogers and I had a pleasant journey to Rydal the day we left all ourkind friends at Lowther. We alighted at Lyulph's Tower, and saw thewaterfall in great power after the night's rain, the sun shining fullinto the chasm, and making a splendid rainbow of the spray. Afterwards, walking through Mr. Askew's grounds, we saw the lake to the greatestpossible advantage. Mr. R. Left on Thursday, the morning most beautiful, though it rained afterwards. I know not how he could tear himself awayfrom this lovely country at this charming season. I say charming, notwithstanding this is a dull day; but yesterday was most glorious. Ihope our excellent friend does not mean to remain in London. 

We have had no visits from strangers since my return, so that the pressof the season seems to be over. The leaves are not changed here so muchas at Lowther, and of course not yet so beautiful, nor are they everquite so as with you, your trees being so much finer, and your woods sovery much more extensive. We have a great deal of coppice, which makesbut a poor show in autumn compared with timber trees. 

Your son George knows what he has to expect in the few sheets which Ienclose for him. 

With many thanks for the endless kind attentions which I received fromyou, and others under your father's hospitable roof, and with mygrateful respects to him, and a thousand good wishes for all, I remain, my wife and daughter joining in these feelings, My dear Lady Frederick, affectionately yours, Wm. Wordsworth. [175]

[174] _Memoirs_, ii. 369-70. 

[175] _Ibid. _ ii. 370-1. 

117. _An alarming Accident, Nov_. 11, 1840. 

LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

 Rydal Mount, Monday Evening. 

The accident after which you inquire, dear Lady Frederick, with so muchfeeling, might have been fatal, but through God's mercy we escapedwithout bodily injury, as far as I know, worth naming. These were theparticulars: About three miles beyond Keswick, on the Ambleside road, isa small bridge, from the top of which we got sight of the mail coachcoming towards us, at about forty yards' distance, just before the roadbegins to descend a narrow, steep, and winding slope. Nothing was leftfor J----, who drove the gig in which we were, but to cross the bridge, and, as the road narrowed up the slope that was in our front, to draw upas close to the wall on our left (our side of the road) as possible. This he did, both of us hoping that the coachman would slacken his pacedown the hill, and pass us as far from our wheel as the road wouldallow. But he did neither. On the contrary, he drove furiously down thehill; and though, as we afterwards ascertained, by the track of hiswheels, he had a yard width of road to spare, he made no use of it. Inconsequence of this recklessness and his want of skill, the wheel of hiscoach struck our wheel most violently, drove back our horse and gig someyards, and then sent us all together through a small gap in the wall, with the stones of the wall tumbling about us, into a plantation thatlay a yard perpendicular below the level of the road from which thehorse and gig, with us in it, had been driven. The shafts were brokenoff close to the carriage, and we were partly thrown and partly leapedout. After breaking the traces, the horse leaped back into the road andgalloped off, the shafts and traces sticking to him; nor did the poorcreature stop till he reached the turnpike at Grasmere, seven miles fromthe spot where the mischief was done. We sent by the coach for a chaiseto take us to Rydal, and hired a cart to take the broken gig to bemended at Keswick. 

The mercy was, that the violent shock from the coach did not tear offour wheel; for if this had been done, J----, and probably I also, musthave fallen under the hind wheels of the coach, and in all likelihoodbeen killed. We have since learned that the coachman had only just comeupon the road, which is in a great many places very dangerous, and thathe was wholly unpractised in driving four-in-hand. Pray excuse this longand minute account. I should have written to you next day, but I waited, hoping to be able to add that my indisposition was gone, as I now trustit is. 

With respectful remembrances to Lord Lonsdale, and kindest regards toyourself and Miss Thompson, I remain, Dear Lady Frederick, Affectionately yours, Wm. Wordsworth. [176]

[176] _Memoirs_, ii. 371-3. 

118. _Of Alston and Haydon, &c. _

LETTER TO HENRY REED, ESQ. , PHILADELPHIA. 

 Rydal Mount, Jan. 13. 1841. MY DEAR MR. REED, It is gratifying to learn that through your means Mr. Alston has beenreminded of me. We became acquainted many years ago through our commonfriend Mr. Coleridge, who had seen much of Mr. Alston when they wereboth living at Rome. 

 * * * * *

You mention the Sonnet I wrote upon Haydon's picture of the Duke ofWellington. I have known Haydon, and Wilkie also, from theircontemporaneous introduction to the world as artists; their powers wereperceived and acknowledged by my lamented friend Sir George Beaumont, and patronised by him accordingly; and it was at his house where I firstbecame acquainted with them both. Haydon is bent upon coming to Rydalnext summer, with a view to paint a likeness of me, not as a merematter-of-fact portrait, but one of a poetical character, in which hewill endeavour to place his friend in some favourite scene of thesemountains. I am rather afraid, I own, of any attempt of this kind, notwithstanding my high opinion of his ability; but if he keeps in hispresent mind, which I doubt, it will be in vain to oppose hisinclination. He is a great enthusiast, possessed also of a most activeintellect, but he wants that submissive and steady good sense which isabsolutely necessary for the adequate development of power in that artto which he is attached. 

As I am on the subject of painting, it may be worth while to add, thatPickersgill came down last summer to paint a portrait of me for SirRobert Peel's gallery at Drayton Manor. It was generally thought herethat this work was more successful than the one he painted some yearsago for St. John's College, at the request of the Master andFellows. [177]

[177] _Memoirs_, ii. 373-4. 

119. _Of Peace's 'Apology for Cathedrals. '_

I have no especial reason for writing at this moment of time, but I havelong wished to thank you for the 'Apology for Cathedrals, ' which I havelearned is from your pen. The little work does you great credit; it isfull of that wisdom which the heart and imagination alone couldadequately supply for such a subject; and is, moreover, very pleasinglydiversified by styles of treatment all good in their kind. I need add nomore than that I entirely concur in the views you take: but what availsit? the mischief is done, and they who have been most prominent insetting it on foot will have to repent of their narrow comprehension;which, however, is no satisfaction to us, who from the first foresaw theevil tendency of the measure. [178]

[178] Extract of letter to John Peace, Esq. , Jan. 19, 1841: _Memoirs_, ii. 376. 

120. _Of 'The Task' of Cowper and Shenstone_. 

Though I can make but little use of my eyes in writing or reading, Ihave lately been reading Cowper's 'Task' aloud; and in so doing wastempted to look over the parallelisms, for which Mr. Southey was in hisedition indebted to you. Knowing how comprehensive your acquaintancewith poetry is, I was rather surprised that you did not notice theidentity of the thought, and accompanying illustrations of it, in apassage of Shenstone's Ode upon Rural Elegance, compared with one in'The Task, ' where Cowper speaks of the inextinguishable love of thecountry as manifested by the inhabitants of cities in their culture ofplants and flowers, where the want of air, cleanliness, and light, isso unfavourable to their growth and beauty. The germ of the main thoughtis to be found in Horace, 'Nempe inter varias nutritur sylva columnas, Laudaturque domus longos quae prospicit agros; Naturam expellas furcâ, tamen usque recurret. '

Lib. I. Epist. X. V. 22. 

Pray write to me soon. Ever, my dear friend, Faithfully your obliged, WM. WORDSWORTH. [179]

121. _On a Tour_. 

LETTER TO JOHN PEACE, ESQ. 

 12 North Parade, Bath, April 19. 1841. 

MY DEAR MR. PEACE, Here I am and have been since last Wednesday evening. I came down theWye, and passed through Bristol, but arriving there at the moment therailway train was about to set off, and being in the company of fourladies (Miss Fenwick, and Mrs. Wordsworth, and my daughter and niece), Ihad not a moment to spare, so could not call on you, my good friend, which I truly regretted. Pray spare an hour or two to come here, andthen we can fix a day, when, along with my daughter, I can visitBristol, see you, Mr. Cottle, and Mr. Wade. 

 * * * * *

 All unite in kindest regards. Ever yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [180]

122. _Marriage of Dora_. 

TO THE SAME. 

 Bath, May 11. 1841. MY DEAR MR. PEACE, This morning my dear daughter was married in St. James's in this place. 

Tomorrow we leave Bath for Wells, and thence to the old haunts of Mr. Coleridge, and myself, and dear sister, about Alfoxden. 

 Adieu, W. W. [181]

[179] Extract of letter to John Peace, Esq. , January 19, 1841:_Memoirs_, ii. 376. 

[180] _Memoirs_, ii, 377. 

[181] _Ibid. _ ii. 378. 

123. _Letters to his Brother_. 

TO THE REV. DR. WORDSWORTH, MASTER OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 

MY DEAR BROTHER, Your affectionate and generous kindness to your, I trust, deservingniece has quite overpowered me and her mother, to whom I could notforbear communicating the contents of your letter. 

[The above relates to an act of kindness which the late Master ofTrinity had the happiness of performing, on the occasion of DoraWordsworth's marriage. 

The following refers to a serious accident which occurred to him atCambridge, by a fall from his horse. ]

 Feb. 16. 1841. 

MY DEAR BROTHER, The good accounts which we receive from time to time of your progresstowards perfect recovery from your late severe accident embolden me tocongratulate you in my own name, and the whole of my family. 

 * * * * *

It remains now for us to join heartily, as we all do, in expressing awish that, being convalescent, you would not be tempted to over-exertyourself. I need scarcely add, that we all unite with you and your sons, with Susan, and your other relations, and all your friends, in ferventthanks to Almighty God for His goodness in preserving you. 

As a brother I feel deeply; and regarding your life as most valuable tothe community, I the more rejoice in the prospect of your life beingprolonged. 

 Believe me, my dear Brother, Most affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [182]

[182] _Memoirs_, ii. 382-3. 

124. _Episcopal Church of America: Emerson and Carlyle_. 

TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, Aug. 16. 1841. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, I have lately had the pleasure of seeing, both in London and at my ownhouse, the Bishop of New Jersey. He is a man of no ordinary powers ofmind and attainments, of warm feelings and sincere piety. Indeed, Inever saw a person of your country, which is remarkable for cordiality, whose manner was so thoroughly cordial. He had been greatly delightedwith his reception in England, and what he had seen of it both in Artand Nature. By the by, I heard him preach an excellent sermon in London. I believe this privilege is of modern date. The Bishop has furnished mewith his funeral sermon upon Bishop White, to assist me in fulfilling arequest which you first made to me, viz. That I would add a Sonnet to myEcclesiastical Series, upon the union of the two Episcopal churches ofEngland and America. [183] I will endeavour to do so, when I have moreleisure than at present, this being the season when our beautiful regionattracts many strangers, who take up much of my time. 

Do you know Miss Peabody of Boston? She has just sent me, with thehighest eulogy, certain essays of Mr. Emerson. Our Mr. Carlyle and heappear to be what the French used to call _esprits forts_, though theFrench idols showed their spirit after a somewhat different fashion. Ourtwo present Philosophes, who have taken a language which they suppose tobe English for their vehicle, are verily 'par nobile fratrum, ' and it isa pity that the weakness of our age has not left them exclusively tothis appropriate reward--mutual admiration. Where is the thing which nowpasses for philosophy at Boston to stop?

 Ever faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [184]

[183] Dr. Seabury was consecrated bishop (of Connecticut) by Scottishbishops at Aberdeen, on 14th November 1784. Dr. White and Dr. Provoostwere consecrated bishops (of New York and Pennsylvania) at Lambeth, 4thFebruary 1787. 

[184] _Memoirs_, ii. 383-4. 

125. _Old Haunts revisited_. 

LETTER TO JOHN PEACE, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, Sept. 4. 1841. 

MY DEAR PEACE, * * * * *

Mrs. W. Is quite well. We were three months and as many weeks absentbefore we reached our own home again. We made a very agreeable tour inDevonshire, going by Exeter to Plymouth, and returning along the coastby Salisbury and Winchester to London. In London and its neighbourhoodwe stayed not quite a month. During this tour we visited my old hauntsat and about Alfoxden and Nethertowey, and at Coleorton, where we stayedseveral days. These were farewell visits for life, and of course not alittle interesting. .. . 

 Ever faithfully yours, W. WORDSWORTH. [185]

126. _No Pension sought_. 

In the summer of 1842, Wordsworth resigned his office of StampDistributor; not, however, on a retiring pension, as has been sometimesasserted. In a letter, dated March 2, 1840, and addressed to LordMorpeth, he says, 'I never did seek or accept a pension from the presentor any other administration, directly or indirectly. ' But the duties, and also the emoluments, of the Distributorship were transferred to hisson William, who had for some time acted as his deputy at Carlisle. [186]

127. _The Master of Trinity_. 

LETTER TO A NEPHEW. 

 Rydal, Nov. 5. 1841. 

MY DEAR C----, Your father left us yesterday, having been just a week under our roof. The weather was favourable, and he seemed to enjoy himself much. Hismuscular strength, as proved by the walks we took together, is great. One day we were nearly four hours on foot, without resting, and he didnot appear in the least fatigued. 

 * * * * *

[185] _Memoirs_, ii. 384-5. 

[186] _Ibid. _ ii. 387. 

We all thought him looking well, and his mind appears as active as ever. It was a great delight to us to see him here. 

He was anxious to see Charles; he will reach Winchester this afternoon, I hope without injury. Yours, &c. 

W. W. [187]

128. _Of Alston's Portrait of Coleridge_. 

Poor Mr. Wade! From his own modest merits, and his long connection withMr. Coleridge, and with my early Bristol remembrances, he was to me aninteresting person. His desire to have my address must have risen, Ithink, from a wish to communicate with me upon the subject of Mr. Alston's valuable portrait of Coleridge. Pray tell me what has, or islikely to, become of it. I care comparatively little about the matter, provided due care has been taken for its preservation, and in his nativecountry. It would be a sad pity if the late owner's intention of sendingit to America be fulfilled. It is the only likeness of the greatoriginal that ever gave me the least pleasure; and it is, in fact, mosthappily executed, as every one who has a distinct remembrance of what C. Was at that time must with delight acknowledge, and would be glad tocertify. [188]

129. _Of Southey's Death_. 

The papers will have informed you, before you receive this, of poor dearSouthey's decease. He died yesterday morning about nine o'clock. Somelittle time since, he was seized with typhus fever, but he passed awaywithout any outward signs of pain, as gently as possible. We are, ofcourse, not without sadness upon the occasion, notwithstanding there hasbeen, for years, cause why all who knew and loved him should wish forhis deliverance. [189]

130. _Tropical Scenery: Grace Darling: Southey, &c. _

LETTER TO LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR WM. GOMM. [190]

[187] _Memoirs_, ii. 385. 

[188] Extract of letter to John Peace, Esq. , Dec. 12, 1842: _ibid. _ ii. 390-1. 

[189] Extract of letter to Nephew, March 22, 1843: _ibid. _ ii. 391. 

[190] The venerable and illustrious soldier has only very recently died. Within ten days of his death he wrote the present Editor tenderly andreverentially of Wordsworth. G. 

 Rydal Mount, March 24. 1843. 

MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM, Nothing should have prevented my answering your kind letter from theCape, long ago, but the want of matter that seemed worth sending so far, unless I confined myself to what you must he well assured of, my sincereesteem and regard for yourself and Lady Gomm, and the expression of goodwishes for your health and happiness. I am still in the same difficulty, but cannot defer writing longer, lest I should appear to myself unworthyof your friendship or respect. 

You describe the beauties of Rio Janeiro in glowing colours, and youranimated picture was rendered still more agreeable to me by the sight, which I had enjoyed a little before, of a panorama of the same scene, executed by a friend of mine, who in his youth studied at the Academywith a view to practise painting as a profession. He was a verypromising young artist, but having a brother a Brazilian merchant, hechanged his purpose and went to Rio, where he resided many years, andmade a little fortune, which enabled him to purchase and build inCumberland, where I saw his splendid portrait of that magnificentregion. What an intricacy of waters, and what boldness and fantasticvariety in the mountains! I suppose, taking the region as a whole, it isscarcely anywhere surpassed. 

If the different quarters of the globe should ever become subject to oneempire, Rio ought to be the metropolis, it is so favoured in everyrespect, and so admirably placed for intercourse with all the countriesof the earth. Your approach to the Cape was under awful circumstances, and, with three great wrecks strewn along the coast of the bay, LadyGomm's spirit and fortitude, as described by you, are worthy of alladmiration, and I am sure she will sympathise with the verses I send, tocommemorate a noble exploit of one of her sex. The inhumanity with whichthe shipwrecked were lately treated upon the French coast impelled me toplace in contrast the conduct of an English woman and her parents underlike circumstances, as it occurred some years ago. Almost immediatelyafter I had composed my tribute to the memory of _Grace Darling_, Ilearnt that the Queen and Queen Dowager had both just subscribed towardsthe erection of a monument to record her heroism, upon the spot thatwitnessed it. 

Of public news I say nothing, as you will hear everything from quartersmore worthy of attention. I hope all goes on to your satisfaction, mainly so at least, in your new government, and that the dispositionwhich you will have taken with you to benefit the people under your rulehas not been, nor is likely to be, frustrated in any vexatious orpainful degree. 

Yesterday I went over to Keswick to attend the funeral of my excellentfriend, Mr. Southey. His genius and abilities are well known to theworld, and he was greatly valued for his generous disposition and moralexcellence. His illness was long and afflicting; his mind almostextinguished years before the breath departed. Mr. Rogers I have notbeen in communication with since I saw you in London, but be assured Ishall bear in memory your message, and deliver it, if he and I live tomeet again. And now, my dear Sir Wm. , repeating the united best goodwishes of Mrs. W. And myself, for you and Lady Gomm, and for your safereturn to your own country, I remain, in the hope of hearing from youagain, Most faithfully your much obliged, W. WORDSWORTH. 

My nephew is still in the Ionian Islands. [191]

[191] _Memoirs_, ii. 392-4. 

131. _Contemporary Poets: Southey's Death: 'The Excursion, ' &c. _

TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Rydal Mount, March 27. 1843. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, * * * * *

You give me pleasure by the interest you take in the various passages inwhich I speak of the poets, my contemporaries, who are no more: dearSouthey, one of the most eminent, is just added to the list. A few daysago I went over to Keswick to attend his remains to their last earthlyabode. For upwards of three years his mental faculties have been in astate of deplorable decay; and his powers of recognition, except veryrarely and but for a moment, have been, during more than half thatperiod, all but extinct. His bodily health was grievously impaired, andhis medical attendant says that he must have died long since but for thevery great strength of his natural constitution. As to his literaryremains, they must be very considerable, but, except his epistolarycorrespondence, more or less unfinished. His letters cannot but be verynumerous, and, if carefully collected and judiciously selected, will, Idoubt not, add greatly to his reputation. He had a fine talent for thatspecies of composition, and took much delight in throwing off his mindin that way. Mr. Taylor, the dramatic author, is his literary executor. 

Though I have written at great, and I fear tiresome, length, I will adda few words upon the wish you express that I would pay a tribute to theEnglish poets of past ages, who never had the fame they are entitled to, and have long been almost entirely neglected. Had this been suggested tome earlier in life, or had it come into my thoughts, the thing in allprobability would have been done. At present I cannot hope it will; butit may afford you some satisfaction to be told, that in the MS. Poemupon my poetic education there is a whole book, of about 600 lines, [192]upon my obligations to writers of imagination, and chiefly the poets, though I have not expressly named those to whom you allude, and forwhom, and many others of their age, I have a high respect. 

The character of the schoolmaster, about whom you inquire, had, like the'Wanderer, ' in 'The Excursion, ' a solid foundation in fact and reality, but, like him, it was also, in some degree, a composition: I will not, and need not, call it an invention--it was no such thing; but were I toenter into details, I fear it would impair the effect of the whole uponyour mind; nor could I do it to my own satisfaction. I send you, according to your wish, the additions to the 'Ecclesiastical Sonnets, 'and also the last poem from my pen. I threw it off two or three weeksago, being in a great measure impelled to it by the desire I felt to dojustice to the memory of a heroine, whose conduct presented, some timeago, a striking contrast to the inhumanity with which our countrymen, shipwrecked lately upon the French coast, have been treated. 

 Ever most faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

I must request that 'Grace Darling' may not be reprinted. I should bemuch obliged if you will have the enclosed Sonnets copied and sent toBishop Doane, who has not given me his address. 

 W. W. [193]

[192] Prelude, book v. 

[193] _Memoirs_, ii. 394-6. 

132. _Offer of the Laureateship on Death of Southey_. 

LETTER TO THE RIGHT HON. EARL DE LA WARR, LORD CHAMBERLAIN. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, April 1. 1843. 

MY LORD, The recommendation made by your Lordship to the Queen, and graciouslyapproved by her Majesty, that the vacant office of Poet Laureate shouldbe offered to me, affords me high gratification. Sincerely am I sensibleof this honour; and let me be permitted to add, that the being deemedworthy to succeed my lamented and revered friend, Mr. Southey, enhancesthe pleasure I receive upon this occasion. 

The appointment, I feel, however, imposes duties which, far advanced inlife as I am, I cannot venture to undertake, and therefore must begleave to decline the acceptance of an offer that I shall always rememberwith no unbecoming pride. 

Her Majesty will not, I trust, disapprove of a determination forced uponme by reflections which it is impossible for me to set aside. 

Deeply feeling the distinction conferred upon me, and grateful for theterms in which your Lordship has made the communication, I have the honour to be, My Lord, Your Lordship's most, obedient humble servant, W. W. 

[He thus communicates the particulars of the offer to Lady F. Bentinck:]

The Lord Chamberlain, in terms the most honourable, has, with theQueen's approbation, offered me the vacant Laureateship. Had I beenseveral years younger I should have accepted the office with pride andpleasure; but on Friday I shall enter, God willing, my 74th year, and onaccount of so advanced an age I begged permission to decline it, notventuring to undertake its duties. For though, as you are aware, theformal task-work of New Year and Birthday Odes was abolished[194] whenthe appointment was given to Mr. Southey, he still considered himselfobliged in conscience to produce, and did produce, verses, some of verygreat merit, upon important public occasions. He failed to do so uponthe Queen's Coronation, and I know that this omission caused him nolittle uneasiness. The same might happen to myself upon some importantoccasion, and I should be uneasy under the possibility; I hope, therefore, that neither you nor Lord Lonsdale, nor any of my friends, will blame me for what I have done. 

[194] Southey's account in his _Life and Correspondence_ renders thisstatement questionable. 

I was slow to send copies of 'Grace Darling' about, except to femalefriends, lest I should seem to attach too much importance to theproduction, though it was on a subject which interested the wholenation. But as the verses seem to have given general pleasure, I nowventure to send the enclosed copies, one for Mr. Colvill, and the otherfor my old friend Mr. O'Callaghan, begging that you would present themat your own convenience. With the best of good wishes, and every kindand respectful remembrance to Lord Lonsdale, who we are happy to learnis doing so well, and also not forgetting Miss Thompson, I remain, dearLady Frederick, Most faithfully and affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

[Wordsworth's letter did not, however, prevent the Lord Chamberlain frompressing the offer upon him, with an assurance that the duties ofLaureate had not recently extended beyond the Annual Ode, and might inhis case be considered as merely nominal, and would not in any wayinterfere with his repose and retirement. 

The same post brought also the following letter:]

 'Whitehall, April 3. 1843. 

'MY DEAR SIR, 'I hope you may be induced to reconsider your decision with regard tothe appointment of Poet Laureate. 

'The offer was made to you by the Lord Chamberlain, with my entireconcurrence, not for the purpose of imposing on you any onerous ordisagreeable duties, but in order to pay you that tribute of respectwhich is justly due to the first of living poets. 

'The Queen entirely approved of the nomination, and there is oneunanimous feeling on the part of all who have heard of the proposal(and it is pretty generally known), that there could not be a questionabout the selection. 

'Do not be deterred by the fear of any obligations which the appointmentmay be supposed to imply. I will undertake that you shall have nothing_required_ from you. 

'But as the Queen can select for this honourable appointment no onewhose claims for respect and honour, on account of eminence as a poet, can be placed in competition with yours, I trust you will not longerhesitate to accept it. 

 'Believe me, my dear Sir, 'With sincere esteem, 'Most faithfully yours, 'ROBERT PEEL. 

'I write this in haste, from my place in the House of Commons. '

[These letters had the desired effect in removing the aged Poet'sscruples, and he was well pleased that the laureate wreath should betwined round his silver hair:

 'Lauru cinge volens, Melpomene, comam. '

He replied as follows:]

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL DE LA WARR. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, April 4. 1843. 

MY LORD, Being assured by your Lordship's letter and by one from Sir Robert Peel, both received this day, that the appointment to the Laureateship is tobe considered merely honorary, the apprehensions which at firstcompelled me to decline accepting the offer of that appointment areentirely removed. 

Sir Robert Peel has also done me the honour of uniting his wish withthat which your Lordship has urged in a manner most gratifying to myfeelings; so that, under these circumstances, and sanctioned as therecommendation has been by her Majesty's gracious approval, it is withunalloyed pleasure that I accept this high distinction. 

 I have the honour to be, my Lord, most gratefully, Your Lordship's obedient humble servant, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

TO THE RT. HON. SIR ROBERT PEEL, BART. , M. P. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, April 4. 1843. 

DEAR SIR ROBERT, Having since my first acquaintance with Horace borne in mind the chargewhich he tells us frequently thrilled his ear, 'Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne Peccet ad extremum, '

I could not but be deterred from incurring responsibilities which Imight not prove equal to at so late a period of life; but as my mind hasbeen entirely set at ease by the very kind and most gratifying letterwith which you have honoured me, and by a second communication from theLord Chamberlain to the same effect, and in a like spirit, I haveaccepted, with unqualified pleasure, a distinction sanctioned by herMajesty, and which expresses, upon authority entitled to the highestrespect, a sense of the national importance of poetic literature; and sofavourable an opinion of the success with which it has been cultivatedby one who, after this additional mark of your esteem, cannot refrainfrom again assuring you how deeply sensible he is of the many and greatobligations he owes to your goodness, and who has the honour to be, Dear Sir Robert, Most faithfully, Your humble servant, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

133. _Laureateship: Walter Savage Landor and Quillinan: Godson_. 

LETTER TO SIR W. R. HAMILTON, DUBLIN. 

 [Undated: but 1843. ]

MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM, The sight of your handwriting was very welcome, and not the less sobecause your sister had led me to expect a letter from you. 

The Laureateship was offered to me in the most flattering terms, by theLord Chamberlain, of course with the approbation of the Queen; but Ideclined it on account of my advanced age. I then received a secondletter from his Lordship, urging my acceptance of it, and assuring methat it was intended merely as an honorary distinction for the past, without the smallest reference to any service to be attached to it. From Sir R. Peel I had also a letter to the same effect, and thesubstance and manner of both were such that if I had still rejected theoffer, I should have been little at peace with my own mind. 

Thank you for your translations. The longer poem[195] would have givenme more pain than pleasure, but for your addition, which sets all right. 

[195] Referring to a translation by Sir W. R. H. Of _Die Ideale_ ofSchiller, to which a stanza was added by Sir W. --G. 

The attack upon W. S. L. To which you allude was written by my son-in-law;but without any sanction from me, much less encouragement; in fact Iknew nothing about it or the preceding article of Landor, that hadcalled it forth, till after Mr. Q. 's had appeared. He knew very wellthat I should have disapproved of his condescending to notice anythingthat a man so deplorably tormented by ungovernable passion as thatunhappy creature might eject. His character may be given in two or threewords: a mad-man, a bad-man, yet a man of genius, as many a mad-man is. I have not eyesight to spare for Periodical Literature, so withexception of a newspaper now and then, I never look into anything of thekind, except some particular article may be recommended to me by afriend upon whose judgment I can rely. 

You are quite at liberty to print when and where you like any verseswhich you may do me the honour of writing upon, or addressing to, me. 

Your godson, his sister, and four brothers, are all doing well. He is avery clever boy, and more than that, being of an original or ratherpeculiar structure of intellect, and his heart appears to be notinferior to his head, so that I trust he will as a man do you nodiscredit. 

134. _Alston the Painter: Home Occupations_. 

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Rydal Mount, Aug. 2. 1843. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, A few days ago I received a letter from a countryman of yours, the Rev. R. C. Waterston of Boston, communicating the intelligence of the death ofthat admirable artist and amiable man, my old friend, Mr. Alston. Mr. W. And I are not acquainted, and therefore I take it very kindly that heshould have given me this melancholy information, with most interestingparticulars of the last few hours of the life of the deceased. He alsosent me a copy of verses addressed by himself to me, I presume somelittle time ago, and printed in the 'Christian Souvenir. ' You haveprobably seen the lines, and, if so, I doubt not, you will agree with methat they indicate a true feeling of the leading characteristics of mypoems. At least I am sure that I wished them such as he represents themto be, too partially no doubt. 

It would give me pleasure could I make this letter, so long due, moreworthy of perusal, by touching upon any topics of a public or privatenature that might interest you; but beyond the assurance which I cangive you, that I and mine are and have been in good health, I know notwhere to find them. This Spring I have not left home for London, oranywhere else; and during the progress of it and the Summer I have hadmuch pleasure in noting the flowers and blossoms, as they appeared anddisappeared successively; an occupation from which, at least withreference to my own grounds, a residence in town for the three foregoingSpring seasons cut me off. Though my health continues, thank God, to bevery good, and I am active as most men of my age, my strength for verylong walks among the mountains is of course diminishing; but, weak orstrong in body, I shall ever remain, in heart and mind, Faithfully, your much obliged friend, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

P. S. Mr. Southey's literary executors are making a collection of hisletters, which will prove highly interesting to the public, they are sogracefully and feelingly written. [196]

[196] _Memoirs_, ii. 404-5. 

135. _Socinianism_. 

LETTER TO JOSEPH COTTLE, ESQ. 

 Nov. 24. 1843. 

MY DEAR MR. COTTLE, You have treated the momentous subject[197] of Socinianism in a masterlymanner; entirely and absolutely convincing. 

[197] The title of Mr. J. Cottle's work is _Essays on Socinianism_, byJoseph Cottle. Lond. : Longmans. 

 Believe me to remain, my good old friend, With great respect, Faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [198]

136. _Sacred Hymns_. 

LETTER TO THE REV. (AFTERWARDS DEAN) HENRY ALFORD. [199]

 Rydal Mount, Feb. 28. 1844. 

MY DEAR SIR, I am pleased to hear what you are about, but I am far too advanced inlife to venture upon anything so difficult to do as hymns of devotion. 

The one of mine which you allude to is quite at your service; only Icould wish the first line of the fifth stanza to be altered thus:

 'Each field is then a hallowed spot. '

Or you might omit the stanza altogether, if you thought proper, thepiece being long enough without it. 

Wishing heartily for your success, and knowing in what able hands thework is, I remain, my dear Sir, Faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [200]

[198] _Memoirs_, ii. 405-6. 

[199] This was written in answer to an inquiry whether Wordsworth had byhim any hymns calculated for a collection which I was making, and askingpermission to insert his 'Noon-day Hymn. ' _H. A. _

[200] _Memoirs_, ii. 406. 

137. _Bereavements_. 

LETTER TO LADY FREDERICK BENTINCK. 

 March 31. 1844. 

MY DEAR LADY FREDERICK, We have known each other too long and too intimately for you not to bewell aware of the reasons why I have not earlier condoled with you uponyour bereavement. [201] I feel it deeply, and sympathise with you as muchand as truly as you possibly could wish. I have also grieved for therest of your family and household, and not the least for Miss Thompson, whose faithful and strong attachment to your revered father I have, fora long time, witnessed with delight and admiration. Through my kindfriend Mr. O'Brien I have heard of you both; and in his second letter heinforms me, to my great sorrow, that Miss Thompson has been exceedinglyill. God grant that she may soon recover, as you both will stand in needof all your bodily strength to support you under so sad a loss. But, howmuch is there to be thankful for in every part of Lord Lonsdale's lifeto its close! How gently was he dealt with in his last moments! and withwhat fortitude and Christian resignation did he bear such pains asattended his decline, and prepared the way for his quiet dissolution! Ofmy own feelings upon this loss I shall content myself with saying, thatas long as I retain consciousness I shall cherish the memory of yourfather, for his inestimable worth, and as one who honoured me with hisfriendship, and who was to myself and my children the best benefactor. The sympathy which I now offer, dear Lady Frederick, is shared by mywife and my daughter, and my son William; and will be also participatedin by my elder son, when he hears of the sad event. 

[201] Lord Lonsdale's death. 

I wrote to Dr. Jackson[202] to inquire whether the funeral was to bestrictly private, and learnt from him that it is to be so; otherwise Ishould not have deprived myself of the melancholy satisfaction ofattending. Accept, dear Lady Frederick, my best wishes; and be assuredof my prayers for your support; and believe me, Your very affectionate friend, WM. WORDSWORTH. [203]

[202] The respected Rector of Lowther, and Chancellor of the Diocese. 

[203] _Memoirs_, ii. 407-8. 

138. _Birthday in America and at Home: Church Poetry_. 

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 1844. 

In your last letter you speak so feelingly of the manner in which mybirthday (April 7) has been noticed, both privately in your country, andsomewhat publicly in my own neighbourhood, that I cannot forbear addinga word or two upon the subject. It would have delighted you to see theassemblage in front of our house, some dancing upon the gravelplatform, old and young, as described in Goldsmith's travels; andothers, children, I mean, chasing each other upon the little plot oflawn to which you descend by steps from the platform. We had music ofour own preparing; and two sets of casual itinerants, Italians andGermans, came in successively, and enlivened the festivity. There werepresent upwards of 300 children, and about 150 adults of both sexes andall ages, the children in their best attire, and of that happy and, Imay say, beautiful race, which is spread over this highly-favouredportion of England. The tables were tastefully arranged in the openair[204]--oranges and gingerbread in piles decorated with evergreens andSpring flowers; and all partook of tea, the young in the open air, andthe old within doors. I must own I wish that little commemorations ofthis kind were more common among us. It is melancholy to think howlittle that portion of the community which is quite at ease in theircircumstances have to do in a _social_ way with the humbler classes. They purchase commodities of them, or they employ them as labourers, orthey visit them in charity for the sake of supplying their most urgentwants by alms-giving. But this, alas, is far from enough; one would wishto see the rich mingle with the poor as much as may be upon a footing offraternal equality. The old feudal dependencies and relations are almostgone from England, and nothing has yet come adequately to supply theirplace. There are tendencies of the right kind here and there, but theyare rather accidental than aught that is established in general manners. Why should not great land-owners look for a substitute for what is lostof feudal paternity in the higher principles of christianised humanityand humble-minded brotherhood? And why should not this extend to thosevast communities which crowd so many parts of England under one head, inthe different sorts of manufacture, which, for the want of it, are toooften the pests of the social state? We are, however, improving, and Itrust that the example set by some mill-owners will not fail toinfluence others. 

[204] The fête was given by Miss Fenwick, then at Rydal. 

It gave me pleasure to be told that Mr. Keble's Dedication of his'Praelectiones' had fallen in your way, and that you had been struck byit. [205]

[205] See _Memoirs_, c. Xlv. 

It is not for me to say how far I am entitled to the honour which hehas done me, but I can sincerely say that it has been the main scope ofmy writings to do what he says I have accomplished. And where could Ifind a more trustworthy judge?

What you advise in respect to a separate publication of my ChurchPoetry, I have often turned in my own mind; but I have really done solittle in that way compared with the magnitude of the subject, that Ihave not courage to venture on such a publication. Besides, it wouldnot, I fear, pay its expenses. The Sonnets were so published upon therecommendation of a deceased nephew of mine, one of the first scholarsof Europe, and as good as he was learned. The volume did not, I believe, clear itself, and a great part of the impression, though latterlyoffered at a reduced price, still remains, I believe, in Mr. Moxon'shands. In this country people who do not grudge laying out their moneyfor new publications on personal or fugitive interests, that every oneis talking about, are very unwilling to part with it for literaturewhich is unindebted to temporary excitement. If they buy such at all, itmust be in some form for the most part that has little to recommend itbut low price. 

And now, my dear Sir, with many thanks for the trouble you have been at, and affectionate wishes for your welfare, Believe me faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

139. _Class-fellows and School-fellows_. 

LETTER TO BASIL MONTAGU, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, Oct. 1. 1844. 

MY DEAR MONTAGU, Absence from home has prevented my replying earlier to your letter, which gave me much pleasure on many accounts, and particularly as Ilearned from it that you are so industrious, and to such good effect. Idon't wonder at your mention of the friends whom we have lost by death. Bowles the poet still lives, and Rogers--all that survive of thepoetical fraternity with whom I have had any intimacy. Southey, Campbell, and Cary, are no more. Of my class-fellows and schoolfellowsvery few remain; my _intimate_ associates of my own college are allgone long since. Myers my cousin, Terrot, Jones my fellow-traveller, Fleming and his brother Raincock of Pembroke, Bishop Middleton of thesame college--it has pleased God that I should survive them all. Thenthere are none left but Joseph Cottle of the many friends I made atBristol and in Somersetshire; yet we are only in our 75th year. Butenough of this sad subject; let us be resigned under all dispensations, and thankful; for that is our duty, however difficult it may be toperform it. I send you the lock of hair which you desired, white assnow, and taken from a residue which is thinning rapidly. 

You neither mention your own health nor Mrs. Montagu's; I conclude, therefore, that both of you are doing well. Pray remember me kindly toher; and believe me, my dear Montagu, your faithful and affectionatefriend, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

In speaking of our Bristol friends I forgot to mention John Pinney, buthim I have neither seen nor heard of for many years. [206]

[206] _Memoirs_, ii. 411-12. 

140. _'From Home:' The Queen: Review of Poems, &c. _

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Nov. 18. 1844. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, Mrs. Wordsworth and I have been absent from home for a month past, andwe deferred acknowledging your acceptable letter till our return. Amongthe places to which we went on visits to our friends was Cambridge, where I was happy to learn that great improvement was going on among theyoung men. They were become much more regular in their conduct, andattentive to their duties. Our host was the master of Trinity College, Dr. Whewell, successor to my brother, Dr. Wordsworth, who filled theoffice for more than twenty years highly to his honour, and resignedbefore he was disqualified by age, lest, as his years advanced, hisjudgment might be impaired, and his powers become unfit for theresponsibility without his being aware of it. This, you will agree withme, was a noble example: may it be followed by others!

On our return home we were detained two hours at Northampton by the vastcrowd assembled to greet the Queen on her way to Burleigh House. Shoutsand ringing of bells there were in abundance; but these are things ofcourse. It did please us, however, greatly to see every village wepassed through for the space of twenty-two miles decorated withtriumphal arches, and every cottage, however humble, with its littledisplay of laurel boughs and flowers hung from the windows and over thedoors. The people, young and old, were all making it holiday, and theQueen could not but be affected with these universal manifestations ofaffectionate loyalty. As I have said, we were detained two hours, and Imuch regret that it did not strike me at the moment to throw off myfeelings in verse, for I had ample time to have done so, and might, perhaps, have contrived to present through some of the authorities thetribute to my Royal Mistress. How must these words shock your republicanears! But you are too well acquainted with mankind and their history notto be aware that love of country can clothe itself in many shapes. 

I need not say what pleasure it would give us to see you and Mrs. Reedin our beautiful place of abode. 

I have no wish to see the review of my poems to which you allude, norshould I read it if it fell in my way. It is too late in life for me toprofit by censure, and I am indifferent to praise merely as such. Mrs. Wordsworth will be happy to write her opinion of the portrait as yourequest. 

 Believe me, my dear Mr. Reed, Faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [207]

[207] _Memoirs_, ii. 412-13. 

141. _The Laureateship: Contemporaries, &c. : Tennyson_. 

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, July 1. 1845. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, I have, as usual, been long in your debt, which I am pretty sure youwill excuse as heretofore. It gave me much pleasure to have a glimpse ofyour brother under circumstances which no doubt he will have describedto you. He spoke of his health as improved, and I hope it will continueto do so. I understood from him that it was probable he should call atRydal before his return to his own country. I need not say to you Ishall be glad, truly glad, to see him both for his own sake, and as sonearly connected with you. My absence from home lately was not of morethan three weeks. I took the journey to London solely to pay my respectsto the Queen upon my appointment to the Laureateship upon the decease ofmy friend Mr. Southey. The weather was very cold, and I caught aninflammation in one of my eyes, which rendered my stay in the south veryuncomfortable. I nevertheless did, in respect to the object of myjourney, all that was required. The reception given me by the Queen ather ball was most gracious. Mrs. Everett, the wife of your minister, among many others, was a witness to it, without knowing who I was. Itmoved her to the shedding of tears. This effect was in part produced, Isuppose, by American habits of feeling, as pertaining to a republicangovernment. To see a grey-haired man of seventy-five years of age, kneeling down in a large assembly to kiss the hand of a young woman, isa sight for which institutions essentially democratic do not prepare aspectator of either sex, and must naturally place the opinions uponwhich a republic is founded, and the sentiments which support it, instrong contrast with a government based and upheld as ours is. I am not, therefore, surprised that Mrs. Everett was moved, as she herselfdescribed to persons of my acquaintance, among others to Mr. Rogers thepoet. By the by, of this gentleman, now I believe in his eighty-thirdyear, I saw more than of any other person except my host, Mr. Moxon, while I was in London. He is singularly fresh and strong for his years, and his mental faculties (with the exception of his memory a little) notat all impaired. It is remarkable that he and the Rev. W. Bowles wereboth distinguished as poets when I was a school-boy, and they havesurvived almost all their eminent contemporaries, several of whom cameinto notice long after them. Since they became known, Burns, Cowper, Mason the author of 'Caractacus' and friend of Gray, have died. ThomasWarton, Laureate, then Byron, Shelley, Keats, and a good deal later[208]Scott, Coleridge, Crabbe, Southey, Lamb, the Ettrick Shepherd, Cary thetranslator of Dante, Crowe the author of 'Lewesdon Hill, ' and others ofmore or less distinction, have disappeared. And now of English poets, advanced in life, I cannot recall any but James Montgomery, ThomasMoore, and myself, who are living, except the octogenarian with whom Ibegan. 

[208]

Walter Scott died 21st Sept. 1832. S. T. Coleridge " 25th July 1834. Charles Lamb " 27th Dec. 1834. Geo. Crabbe " 3rd Feb. 1832. FeliciaHemans " 16th May 1835. Robert Southey " 21st March 1843. 

I saw Tennyson, when I was in London, several times. He is decidedly thefirst of our living poets, and I hope will live to give the world stillbetter things. You will be pleased to hear that he expressed in thestrongest terms his gratitude to my writings. To this I was far fromindifferent, though persuaded that he is not much in sympathy with whatI should myself most value in my attempts, viz. The spirituality withwhich I have endeavoured to invest the material universe, and the moralrelations under which I have wished to exhibit its most ordinaryappearances. I ought not to conclude this first portion of my letterwithout telling you that I have now under my roof a cousin, who sometime ago was introduced, improperly, I think, she being then a child, tothe notice of the public, as one of the English poetesses, in an articleof the _Quarterly_ so entitled. Her name is Emmeline Fisher, and hermother is my first cousin. What advances she may have made in latteryears I do not know, but her productions from the age of eight to twelvewere not less than astonishing. She only arrived yesterday, and wepromise ourselves much pleasure in seeing more of her. Our dear friendMiss Fenwick is also under our roof; so is Katharine Southey, her latefather's youngest daughter, so that we reckon ourselves rich; though ouronly daughter is far from us, being gone to Oporto with her husband onaccount of her enfeebled frame: and most unfortunately, soon after herarrival, she was seized with a violent attack of rheumatic fever causedby exposure to the evening air. We have also been obliged lately to partwith four grandsons, very fine boys, who are gone with their father toItaly to visit their mother, kept there by severe illness, which senther abroad two years ago. Under these circumstances we old people keepour spirits as well as we can, trusting the end to God's goodness. 

Now, for the enclosed poem, [209] which I wrote the other day, and whichI send to you, hoping it may give you some pleasure, as a scantyrepayment for all that we owe you. Our dear friend, Miss Fenwick, isespecially desirous that her warmest thanks should be returned to youfor all the trouble you have taken about her bonds. But, to return tothe verses: if you approve, pray forward them with my compliments andthanks for his letter to ----. In his letter he states that with othershe is strenuously exerting himself in endeavours to abolish slavery, and, as one of the means of disposing the public mind to that measure, he is about to publish selections from various authors in behalf of_humanity_. He begs an original composition from me. I have nothingbearing directly upon slavery, but if you think this little piece wouldserve his cause indirectly, pray be so kind as to forward it to him. Hespeaks of himself as deeply indebted to my writings. 

[209] The poem enclosed is 'The Westmoreland Girl, ' dated June 6, 1845. The text corresponds with that in the one volume edition, with theexception of the two stanzas added in the next letter; and in the 1ststanza 'thoughtless' has been substituted for 'simple;' and in the 18th'is laid' for 'must lie. ' _H. R. _

I have not left room to subscribe myself more than

 Affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [210]

[210] _Memoirs_, ii. 414-17. 

142. _'Poems of Imagination:' New Edition, &c. : Portrait, &c. _

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Brinsop Court, Sept. 27 [1845]. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, The sight of your letter was very welcome, and its contents proved mostagreeable. It was well that you did not forward my little poem to theparty, he entertaining the opinions he holds, and being of the characteryou describe. I shall therefore be gratified if you, as you propose, write him a note, expressing that I have nothing among my MSS. Thatwould suit his purpose. The verses are already printed in the newedition of my poems (double column), which is going through the press. It will contain about 300 verses not found in the previous edition. I donot remember whether I have mentioned to you that, following yourexample, I have greatly extended the class entitled 'Poems of theImagination, ' thinking, as you must have done, that if imagination werepredominant in the class, it was not indispensable that it shouldpervade every poem which it contained. Limiting the class as I had donebefore seemed to imply, and to the uncandid or unobserving it did so, that the faculty, which is the _primum mobile_ in poetry, had little todo, in the estimation of the author, with the pieces not arranged underthat head. I, therefore, feel much obliged to you for suggesting by yourpractice the plan which I have adopted. In respect to the Prefaces, myown wish would be that now the Poems should be left to speak forthemselves without them; but I know that this would not answer for thepurposes of sale. They will, therefore, be printed at the end of thevolume; and to this I am in some degree reconciled by the matter theycontain relating to poetry in general, and the principles theyinculcate. I hope that, upon the whole, the edition will please you. Ina very few instances I have altered the expression for the worse, onaccount of the same feeling or word occurring rather too near thepassage. For example, the Sonnet on Baptism begins '_Blest_ be theChurch. ' But unfortunately the word occurs some three or four lines justbefore or after; I have, therefore, though reluctantly, substituted theless impressive word, '_Dear_ be the Church. ' I mention this solely toprevent blame on your part in this and a few similar cases where aninjurious change has been made. The book will be off my hands I hope inabout two weeks. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Wordsworth and I left home four days ago, and do not intend toreturn, if all goes well, in less than five or six weeks from this time. We purpose in our way home to visit York, the cathedral of which cityhas been restored; and then we shall go to Leeds, on a visit to ourfriend Mr. James Marshall, in full expectation that we shall be highlydelighted by the humane and judicious manner in which his manufactory ismanaged, and by inspecting the schools which he and his brother haveestablished and superintended. We also promise ourselves much pleasurefrom the sight of the magnificent church, which, upon the foundation ofthe old parish church of that town, has been built through the exertionsand by the munificence of the present incumbent, that excellent and ableman Dr. Hook, whom I have the honour of reckoning among my friends. 

This letter is written by the side of my brother-in-law, who, eightyears ago, became a cripple, confined to his chair, by the accident ofhis horse falling with him in the high road, where he lay without powerto move either hand or leg, but left in perfect possession of hisfaculties. His bodily sufferings are by this time somewhat abated, butthey still continue severe. His patience and cheerfulness are soadmirable that I could not forbear mentioning him to you. He is anexample to us all; and most undeserving should we be if we did notprofit by it. His family have lately succeeded in persuading him to havehis portrait taken as he sits in his arm-chair. It is an excellentlikeness, one of the best I ever saw, and will be invaluable to hisfamily. This reminds me of Mr. Inman and a promise which he made that hewould send us a copy of your portrait of myself. I say a promise, thoughit scarcely amounted to that absolutely, but it was little short of it. Do you think he could find time to act upon his own wish in this matter?in which I feel interested on Mrs. Wordsworth's account, who reckonsthat portrait much the best both as to likeness and execution of allthat have been made of me, and she is an excellent judge. In advertingto this subject, I of course presume that you would have no objection tothe picture being copied if the artist were inclined to do it. 

My paper admonishes me that I must conclude. Pray let me know in yournext how Mrs. Reed and your family are in health, and present my goodwishes to her. 

 Ever your faithful and much obliged friend, WM. WORDSWORTH. [211]

143. _Of the College of Maynooth, &c. _

LETTER TO A NEPHEW. 

 Rydal Mount, June 30. 1845. 

MY DEAR C----, I ought to have acknowledged my debt to you long ago, but theinflammation in one of my eyes which seized me on my first arrival inLondon kept its ground for a long time. I had your two first pamphletsread to me, and immediately put them into circulation among my friendsin this neighbourhood; but wishing to read them myself I did not like towrite to you till I had done so, as there were one or two passages onwhich I wished to make a remark. 

[211] _Memoirs_, ii. 418-21. 

As to your arguments, they are unanswerable, and the three tracts do youthe greatest possible credit; but the torrent cannot be stemmed, unlesswe can construct a body, I will not call it a party, upon a new and trueprinciple of action, as you have set forth. Certain questions are forcedby the present conduct of government upon the mind of every observingand thinking person. First and foremost, are we to have a _national_English Church, or is the Church of England to be regarded merely as asect? and is the _right to the Throne to be put on a new foundation_? Isthe present ministry prepared for this, and all that must precede andfollow it? Is Ireland an integral and inseparable portion of the Empireor not? If it be, I cannot listen to the argument in favour of endowingRomanism upon the ground of superiority of _numbers_. The Romanists arenot a majority in England and Ireland, taken, as they ought to be, together. As to Scotland, it has its separate kirk by especial covenant. Are the ministers prepared to alter fundamentally the basis of the Unionbetween England and Ireland, and to construct a new one? If they be, letthem tell us so at once. In short, they are involving themselves and theNation in difficulties from which there is no escape--for them at leastnone. What I have seen of your letter to Lord John M---- I like as wellas your two former tracts, and I shall read it carefully at my firstleisure moment. [212]

[212] _Memoirs_, ii. 151-2. 

144. _Of the 'Heresiarch of the Church of Rome. '_

LETTER TO JOSEPH COTTLE, ESQ. 

 Rydal Mount, Dec. 6. 1845. 

MY DEAR OLD FRIEND, Now for your little tract, 'Heresiarch Church of Rome. ' I have perusedit carefully, and go the whole length with you in condemnation ofRomanism, and probably _much further_, by reason of my having passed atleast three years of life in countries where Romanism was the prevailingor exclusive religion; and if we are to trust the declaration 'By theirfruits ye shall know them, ' I have stronger reasons, in the privilege Ihave named, for passing a severe condemnation upon leading parts oftheir faith, and courses of their practice, than others who have neverbeen eye-witnesses of the evils to which I allude. Your littlepublication is well timed, and will I trust have such an effect as youaimed at upon the minds of its readers. 

And now let me bid you affectionately good bye, with assurance that I doand shall retain to the last a remembrance of your kindness, and of themany pleasant and happy hours which, at one of the most interestingperiods of my life, I passed in your neighbourhood, and in your company. 

 Ever most faithfully yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. [213]

[213] _Memoirs_, ii. 152-3. 

145. _Family Trials_. 

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 Rydal Mount, Jan. 23. 1846. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, * * * * *

I hope to be able to send you an impression of an engraving, from apicture of Mr. Haydon, representing me in the act of climbing Helvellyn. There is great merit in this work, and the sight of it will show mymeaning on the subject of _expression_. This, I think, is attained; but, then, I am stooping, and the inclination of the head necessarily causesa foreshortening of the features below the nose, which takes from thelikeness accordingly; so that, upon the whole, yours has the advantage, especially under the circumstance of your never having seen theoriginal. Mrs. Wordsworth has been looking over your letters in vain tofind the address of the person in London, through whose hands any parcelfor you might be sent. Pray take the trouble of repeating the address inyour next letter, and your request shall be attended to of sending youmy two letters upon the offensive subject of a Railway to and throughour beautiful neighbourhood. 

 * * * * *

You will be sorry to hear that Mrs. Wordsworth and I have been, andstill are, under great trouble and anxiety. Our daughter-in-law fellinto bad health between three and four years ago. She went with herhusband to Madeira, where they remained nearly a year; she was thenadvised to go to Italy. After a prolonged residence there, her sixchildren, whom her husband returned to England for, went, at her earnestrequest, to that country, under their father's guidance: there he wasobliged, on account of his duty as a clergyman, to leave them. Four ofthe number resided with their mother at Rome, three of whom took a feverthere, of which the youngest, as noble a boy, of nearly five years, asever was seen, died, being seized with convulsions when the fever wassomewhat subdued. The father, in a distracted state of mind, is justgone back to Italy; and we are most anxious to hear the result. My onlysurviving brother, also, the late Master of Trinity College, Cambridge, and an inestimable person, is in an alarming state of health; and theonly child of my eldest brother, long since deceased, is now languishingunder mortal illness at Ambleside. He was educated to the medicalprofession, and caught his illness while on duty in the Mediterranean. He is a truly amiable and excellent young man, and will be universallyregretted. These sad occurrences, with others of like kind, have thrownmy mind into a state of feeling, which the other day vented itself inthe two sonnets which Mrs. Wordsworth will transcribe as the bestacknowledgment she can make for Mrs. Reed's and your kindness. 

 Ever faithfully and affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. [214]

[214] _Memoirs_, ii. 422-3. 

146. _Bishop White: Mormonites, &c. _

LETTER TO PROFESSOR REED. 

 February 3. 1846. 

MY DEAR MR. REED, I was much shocked to find that my last had been despatched withoutacknowledgment for your kindness in sending me the admirable engravingof Bishop White, which I was delighted, on many accounts, to receive. This omission was owing to the distressed state of mind in which Iwrote, and which I throw myself on your goodness to excuse. I ought tohave written again by next post, but we really have been, and still are, in such trouble from various causes, that I could not take up the pen, and now must beg you to accept this statement as the only excuse which Ican offer. We have had such accounts from my daughter-in-law at Rome, that her mother and brother are just gone thither to support her, hermother being seventy years of age. 

Do you know anything of a wretched set of religionists in your country, _Superstitionists_ I ought to say, called Mormonites, or latter-daysaints? Would you believe it? a niece of Mrs. Wordsworth's has justembarked, we believe at Liverpool, with a set of the deluded followersof that wretch, in an attempt to join their society. Her name is ----, ayoung woman of good abilities and well educated, but early in life shetook from her mother and her connections a methodistical turn, and hasgone on in a course of what she supposes to be piety till she has cometo this miserable close. If you should by chance hear anything abouther, pray let us know. 

The report of my brother's decease, which we look for every day, has notyet reached us. My nephew is still lingering on from day to day. 

 Ever faithfully and affectionately yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

The print of Bishop White is noble, everything, indeed, that could bewished. [215]

[215] _Memoirs_, ii. 424-5. 

147. _Governor Malartie: Lord Hector of Glasgow University, &c. _

LETTER TO SIR W. GOMM. &c. &c. , PORT LOUIS, MAURITIUS. 

 Rydal Mount, Ambleside, Nov. 23. 1846. 

DEAR SIR WILLIAM, Your kind letter of the 4th of August I have just received; and I thankyou sincerely for this mark of your attention, and for the gratificationit afforded me. It is pleasing to see fancy amusements giving birth toworks of solid profit, as, under the auspices of Lady Gomm, they aredoing in your island. 

Your sonnet addressed to the unfinished monument of Governor Malartie isconceived with appropriate feeling and just discrimination. Long may thefinished monument last as a tribute to departed worth, and as a checkand restraint upon intemperate desires for change, to which theinhabitants of the island may hereafter be liable!

Before this letter reaches you the newspapers will probably have toldyou that I have been recently put in nomination, unknown to myself, forthe high office of Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow; and thatthere was a majority of twenty-one votes in my favour, in opposition tothe premier, Lord John Russell. The forms of the election, however, allowed Lord John Russell to be returned, through the single vote of thesub-rector voting for his superior. To say the truth, I am glad of thisresult; being too advanced in life to undertake with comfort anyconsiderable public duty, and it might have seemed ungracious to declinethe office. 

Men of rank, or of high station, with the exception of the poetCampbell, who was, I believe, educated at this university, have almostinvariably been chosen for a rector of this ancient university; and thatanother exception was made in my favour by a considerable majorityaffords a proof that literature, independent of office, does not wantdue estimation. I should not have dwelt so long upon this subject, hadanything personal to myself occurred in which you could have takeninterest. 

As you do not mention your own health, or that of Lady Gomm, I inferwith pleasure that the climate agrees with you both. That this maycontinue to be so is my earnest and sincere wish, in which Mrs. Wordsworth cordially unites. 

 Believe me, dear Sir William, Faithfully yours, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. [216]

148. _Death of 'Dora. '_

 [Received July 10. 1847. ]

MY DEAR C----, Last night (I ought to have said a quarter before one this morning), itpleased God to take to Himself the spirit of our beloved daughter, andyour truly affectionate cousin. She had latterly much bodily suffering, under which she supported herself by prayer, and gratitude to herheavenly Father, for granting her to the last so many of His blessings. 

[216] _Memoirs_, ii. 432-3. 

I need not write more. Your aunt bears up under this affliction asbecomes a Christian. 

Kindest love to Susan, of whose sympathy we are fully assured. 

Your affectionate uncle, and the more so for this affliction, WM. WORDSWORTH. [217]

Pray for us!

149. _Of the Same: Sorrow_. 

We bear up under our affliction as well as God enables us to do. But oh!my dear friend, our loss is immeasurable. God bless you and yours. [218]

Our sorrow, I feel, is for life; but God's will be done![219]

[217] _Memoirs_, ii. 434. 

[218] To Mr. Moxon, Aug. 9, 1847. 

[219] 29th Dec. 1847. 

150. 

TO JOHN PEACE, ESQ. 

 Brigham [Postmark, 'Cockermouth, Nov. 18. 1848']. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, Mrs. Wordsworth has deputed to me the acceptable office of answeringyour friendly letter, which has followed us to Brigham, upon the banksof the river Derwent, near Cockermouth, the birthplace of four brothersand their sister. Of these four, I, the second, am now the only oneleft. Am I wrong in supposing that you have been here? The house wasdriven out of its place by a railway, and stands now nothing like soadvantageously for a prospect of this beautiful country, though at onlya small distance from its former situation. 

We are expecting Mr. Cuthbert Southey to-day, from his curacy, seven oreight miles distant. He is busy in carrying through the press the firstvolume of his father's letters, or rather, collecting and preparing themfor it. Do you happen to have any in your possession? If so, be so kindas to let me or his son know what they are, if you think they containanything which would interest the public. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. W. And I are, thank God, both in good health, and possessing adegree of strength beyond what is usual at our age, being both in ourseventy-ninth year. The beloved daughter whom it has pleased God toremove from this anxious and sorrowful world, I have not mentioned; butI can judge of the depth of your fellow-feeling for us. Many thanks toyou for referring to the text in Scripture which I quoted to you so longago. [220] 'Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. ' He who does not findsupport and consolation there, will find it nowhere. God grant that itmay he continued to me and mine, and to all sufferers! Believe me, withMrs. W. 's very kind remembrance, Faithfully yours, WM. WORDSWORTH. 

 * * * * *

When you see Mr. Cottle, pray remember us most affectionately to him, with respectful regards to his sister. [221]

151. _Illness and Death of a Servant at Rydal Mount_. 

Our anxieties are over, and our sorrow is not without heartfelt, I maysay heavenly, consolation. Dear, and good, and faithful, and dutifulJane breathed her last about twelve o'clock last night. The doctor hadseen her at noon; he found her much weaker. She said to him, 'I cannotstand now, ' but he gave us no reason to believe her end was so verynear. You shall hear all particulars when we are permitted to meet, which God grant may be soon. Nothing could be more gentle than herdeparture. 

Yesterday Mary read to her in my presence some chapters from the NewTestament, and her faculties were as clear as any one's in perfecthealth, and so they have ever been to the last. [222]

[220] [Note by Mr. Peace. ] At Rydal Mount in 1838. Ephesians v. 20. 'Myfavourite text, ' said he. 

[221] _Memoirs_, ii. 435-6. 

[222] _Ibid. _ ii. 501-2. 

152. _Humility_. 

Writing to a friend, he says: 'I feel myself in so many respectsunworthy of your love, and too likely to become more so. ' (This was in1844. ) 'Worldly-minded I am not; on the contrary, my wish to benefitthose within my humble sphere strengthens seemingly in exact proportionto my inability to realise those wishes. What I lament most is, that thespirituality of my nature does not expand and rise the nearer Iapproach the grave, as yours does, and as it fares with my belovedpartner. The pleasure which I derive from God's works in His visiblecreation is not with me, I think, impaired, but reading does notinterest me as it used to do, and I feel that I am becoming daily a lessinstructive companion to others. Excuse this egotism. I feel itnecessary to your understanding what I am, and how little you would gainby habitual intercourse with me, however greatly I might benefit fromintercourse with you. '[223]

153. _Hopefulness_. 

Writing to a friend at a time of public excitement, he thus speaks:'After all (as an excellent Bishop of the Scotch Church said to afriendly correspondent of mine), "Be of good heart; the affairs of theworld will be conducted as heretofore, --by the foolishness of man andthe wisdom of God. "'[224]

[223] _Memoirs_, ii. 502-3. 

[224] _Ibid. _ ii. 503. 

III. CONVERSATIONS AND PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF WORDSWORTH. 

(_a_) FROM 'SATYRANE'S LETTERS:' KLOPSTOCK. 

(_b_) PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF THE HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE. 

(_c_) RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR IN ITALY, BY H. C. ROBINSON. 

(_d_) REMINISCENCES OF LADY RICHARDSON AND MRS. DAVY. 

(_e_) CONVERSATIONS AND REMINISCENCES RECORDED BY THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN. 

(_f_) REMINISCENCES OF REV. R. P. GRAVES, M. A. , DUBLIN. 

(_g_) ON DEATH OF COLERIDGE. 

(_h_) FURTHER REMINISCENCES AND MEMORABILIA, BY REV. R. P. GRAVES, M. A. , DUBLIN, NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 

(_i_) AN AMERICAN'S REMINISCENCES. 

(_j_) RECOLLECTIONS OF AUBREY DE VERE, ESQ. , NOW FIRST PUBLISHED. 

(_k_) FROM 'RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LAST DAYS OF SHELLEY AND BYRON, ' BYE. J. TRELAWNY, ESQ. 

(_l_) FROM LETTERS OF PROFESSOR TAYLER (1872). 

(_m_) ANECDOTE OF CRABBE, FROM DIARY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

(_n_) WORDSWORTH'S LATER OPINION OF LORD BROUGHAM. 

NOTE. 

On these 'Personal Reminiscences' see the Preface in Vol. I. G. 

(_a_) KLOPSTOCK: NOTES OF HIS CONVERSATION. 

From 'Satyrane's Letters' (_Biographia Literaria_, vol. Ii. Pp. 228-254, ed. 1847). 

 Ratzeburg. 

No little fish thrown back again into the water, no fly unimprisonedfrom a child's hand, could more buoyantly enjoy its element, than I thisclean and peaceful house, with this lovely view of the town, groves, andlake of Ratzeburg, from the window at which I am writing. My spiritscertainly, and my health I fancied, were beginning to sink under thenoise, dirt, and unwholesome air of our Hamburg hotel. I left it onSunday, Sept. 23rd. With a letter of introduction from the poetKlopstock, to the _Amtmann_ of Ratzeburg. The _Amtmann_ received me withkindness, and introduced me to the worthy pastor, who agreed to boardand lodge me for any length of time not less than a month. The vehicle, in which I took my place, was considerably larger than an Englishstage-coach, to which it bore much the same proportion and ruderesemblance, that an elephant's ear does to the human. Its top wascomposed of naked boards of different colours, and seeming to have beenparts of different wainscots. Instead of windows there were leatherncurtains with a little eye of glass in each: they perfectly answered thepurpose of keeping out the prospect and letting in the cold. I couldobserve little, therefore, but the inns and farm-houses at which westopped. They were all alike, except in size: one great room, like abarn, with a hay-loft over it, the straw and hay dangling in tuftsthrough the boards which formed the ceiling of the room, and the floorof the loft. From this room, which is paved like a street, sometimesone, sometimes two smaller ones, are enclosed at one end. These arecommonly floored. In the large room the cattle, pigs, poultry, men, women, and children, live in amicable community: yet there was anappearance of cleanliness and rustic comfort. One of these houses Imeasured. It was an hundred feet in length. The apartments were takenoff from one corner. Between these and the stalls there was a smallinterspace, and here the breadth was forty-eight feet, but thirty-twowhere the stalls were; of course, the stalls were on each side eightfeet in depth. The faces of the cows &c. Were turned towards the room;indeed they were in it, so that they had at least the comfort of seeingeach other's faces. Stall-feeding is universal in this part of Germany, a practice concerning which the agriculturist and the poet are likely toentertain opposite opinions--or at least, to have very differentfeelings. The wood-work of these buildings on the outside is leftunplastered, as in old houses among us, and, being painted red andgreen, it cuts and tesselates the buildings very gaily. From withinthree miles of Hamburg almost to Molln, which is thirty miles from it, the country, as far as I could see it was a dead flat, only varied bywoods. At Molln it became more beautiful. I observed a small lake nearlysurrounded with groves, and a palace in view belonging to the King ofGreat Britain, and inhabited by the Inspector of the Forests. We werenearly the same time in travelling the thirty-five miles from Hamburg toRatzeburg, as we had been in going from London to Yarmouth, one hundredand twenty-six miles. 

The lake of Ratzeburg runs from south to north, about nine miles inlength, and varying in breadth from three miles to half a mile. About amile from the southernmost point it is divided into two, of course veryunequal, parts by an island, which, being connected by a bridge and anarrow slip of land with the one shore, and by another bridge of immenselength with the other shore, forms a complete isthmus. On this islandthe town of Ratzeburg is built. The pastor's house or vicarage, togetherwith the _Amtmann's, Amtsschreiber's_, and the church, stands near thesummit of a hill, which slopes down to the slip of land and the littlebridge, from which, through a superb military gate, you step into theisland-town of Ratzeburg. This again is itself a little hill, byascending and descending which, you arrive at the long bridge, and so tothe other shore. The water to the south of the town is called the LittleLake, which however almost engrosses the beauties of the whole: theshores being just often enough green and bare to give the proper effectto the magnificent groves which occupy the greater part of theircircumference. From the turnings, windings, and indentations of theshore, the views vary almost every ten steps, and the whole has a sortof majestic beauty, a feminine grandeur. At the north of the GreatLake, and peeping over it, I see the seven church towers of Lubec, atthe distance of twelve or thirteen miles, yet as distinctly as if theywere not three. The only defect in the view is, that Ratzeburg is builtentirely of red bricks, and all the houses roofed with red tiles. To theeye, therefore, it presents a clump of brick-dust red. Yet this evening, Oct. 10th. Twenty minutes past five, I saw the town perfectly beautiful, and the whole softened down into _complete keeping_, if I may borrow aterm from the painters. The sky over Ratzeburg and all the east was apure evening blue, while over the west it was covered with light sandyclouds. Hence a deep red light spread over the whole prospect, inundisturbed harmony with the red town, the brown-red woods, and theyellow-red reeds on the skirts of the lake. Two or three boats, withsingle persons paddling them, floated up and down in the rich light, which not only was itself in harmony with all, but brought all intoharmony. 

I should have told you that I went back to Hamburg on Thursday (Sept. 27th. ) to take leave of my friend, who travels southward, and returnedhither on the Monday following. From Empfelde, a village half way fromRatzeburg, I walked to Hamburg through deep sandy roads and a drearyflat: the soil everywhere white, hungry, and excessively pulverised; butthe approach to the city is pleasing. Light cool country houses, whichyou can look through and see the gardens behind them, with arbours andtrellis work, and thick vegetable walls, and trees in cloisters andpiazzas, each house with neat rails before it, and green seats withinthe rails. Every object, whether the growth of Nature or the work ofman, was neat and artificial. It pleased me far better, than if thehouses and gardens, and pleasure fields, had been in a nobler taste: forthis nobler taste would have been mere apery. The busy, anxious, money-loving merchant of Hamburg could only have adopted, he could nothave enjoyed the simplicity of Nature. The mind begins to love Nature byimitating human conveniences in Nature; but this is a step in intellect, though a low one--and were it not so, yet all around me spoke ofinnocent enjoyment and sensitive comforts, and I entered withunscrupulous sympathy into the enjoyments and comforts even of the busy, anxious, money-loving merchants of Hamburg. In this charitable and_catholic_ mood I reached the vast ramparts of the city. These are hugegreen cushions, one rising above the other, with trees growing in theinterspaces, pledges and symbols of a long peace. Of my return I havenothing worth communicating, except that I took extra post, whichanswers to posting in England. These north German post chaises areuncovered wicker carts. An English dust-cart is a piece of finery, a_chef d'oeuvre_ of mechanism, compared with them: and the horses!--asavage might use their ribs instead of his fingers for a numerationtable. Wherever we stopped, the postilion fed his cattle with the brownrye bread of which he eat himself, all breakfasting together; only thehorses had no gin to their water, and the postilion no water to his gin. Now and henceforward for subjects of more interest to you, and to theobjects in search of which I loft you: namely, the _literati_ andliterature of Germany. 

Believe me, I walked with an impression of awe on my spirits, as W----and myself accompanied Mr. Klopstock to the house of his brother, thepoet, which stands about a quarter of a mile from the city gate. It isone of a row of little common-place summer-houses, (for so they looked, )with four or five rows of young meagre elm trees before the windows, beyond which is a green, and then a dead flat intersected with severalroads. Whatever beauty, (thought I, ) may be before the poet's eyes atpresent, it must certainly be purely of his own creation. We waited afew minutes in a neat little parlour, ornamented with the figures of twoof the Muses and with prints, the subjects of which were fromKlopstock's odes. [225]

[225] 'There is a rhetorical amplitude and brilliancy in the Messias, 'says Mr. Carlyle, 'which elicits in our critic (Mr. Taylor) an instincttruer than his philosophy is. Neither has the still purer spirit ofKlopstock's odes escaped him. Perhaps there is no writing in ourlanguage that offers so correct an emblem of him as this analysis. ' Iremember thinking Taylor's 'clear outline' of the Messias the mostsatisfying account of a poem I ever read: it fills the mind with avision of pomp and magnificence, which it is pleasanter to contemplate, as it were, from afar, massed together in that general survey, than toexamine part by part. Mr. Taylor and Mr. Carlyle agree in exalting thatode of Klopstock's, in which he represents the Muse of Britain and theMuse of Germany running a race. The piece seems to me more rhetoricalthan strictly poetical; and if the younger Muse's power of keeping upthe race depends on productions of this sort, I would not give a pennyfor her chance, at least if the contest relates to pure poetry. Klopstock's _Herman_ (mentioned afterwards, ) consists of threechorus-dramas, as Mr. Taylor calls them: _The Battle of Herman_, _Hermanand the Princes_, and _The Death of Herman_. Herman is the Arminius ofthe Roman historians. S. C. 

The poet entered. I was much disappointed in his countenance, andrecognised in it no likeness to the bust. There was no comprehension inthe forehead, no weight over the eye-brows, no expression ofpeculiarity, moral or intellectual, on the eyes, no massiveness in thegeneral countenance. He is, if anything, rather below the middle size. He wore very large half-boots, which his legs filled, so fearfully werethey swollen. However, though neither W---- nor myself could discoverany indications of sublimity or enthusiasm in his physiognomy, we wereboth equally impressed with his liveliness, and his kind and readycourtesy. He talked in French with my friend, and with difficulty spokea few sentences to me in English. His enunciation was not in the leastaffected by the entire want of his upper teeth. The conversation beganon his part by the expression of his rapture at the surrender of thedetachment of French troops under General Humbert. Their proceedings inIreland with regard to the committee which they had appointed, with therest of their organizing system, seemed to have given the poet greatentertainment. He then declared his sanguine belief in Nelson's victory, and anticipated its confirmation with a keen and triumphant pleasure. His words, tones, looks, implied the most vehement Anti-Gallicanism. Thesubject changed to literature, and I inquired in Latin concerning thehistory of German poetry and the elder German poets. To my greatastonishment he confessed, that he knew very little on the subject. Hehad indeed occasionally read one or two of their elder writers, but notso as to enable him to speak of their merits. Professor Ebeling, hesaid, would probably give me every information of this kind: the subjecthad not particularly excited his curiosity. He then talked of Milton andGlover, and thought Glover's blank verse superiour to Milton's. [226]

[226] _Leonidus_, an epic poem, by R. Glover, first appeared in May, 1737: in the fifth edition, published in 1770, it was corrected andextended from nine books to twelve. Glover was the author of Boadiceaand Medea, tragedies, which had some success on the stage. I believethat _Leonidas_ has more merit in the conduct of the design, and in thedelineation of character, than as poetry. 

'He write an epic poem, ' said Thomson, 'who never saw a mountain!'Glover had seen the sun and moon, yet he seems to have looked for theirpoetical aspects in Homer and Milton, rather than in the sky. 'There isnot a single simile in _Leonidas_, ' says Lyttleton, 'that is borrowedfrom any of the ancients, and yet there is hardly any poem that has sucha variety of beautiful comparisons. ' The similes of Milton come so flatand dry out of Glover's mangle, that they are indeed quite _anotherthing_ from what they appear in the poems of that Immortal: _ex. Gr. _

 Like wintry clouds, which, opening for a time, Tinge their black folds with gleams of scattered light:--

Is not this Milton's 'silver lining' stretched and mangled?

 The Queen of Night Gleam'd from the centre of th' etherial vault, And o'er the raven plumes of darkness shed Her placid light. 

This is flattened from the well-known passage in Comus. 

 Soon will savage Mars Deform the lovely _ringlets of thy shrubs_. 

A genteel improvement upon Milton's 'bush with frizzled hair implicit. 'Then we have

 --delicious to the sight Soft dales meand'ring show their flowery laps Among rude piles of nature, spoiled from

 --the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread its store. 

Thus does this poet shatter and dissolve the blooming sprays of anotherman's plantation, instead of pushing through them some new shoots of hisown to crown them with fresh blossoms. 

Milton himself borrowed as much as Glover. Aye, ten times more; yetevery passage in his poetry is Miltonic, --more than anything else. Onthe other hand, his imitators _Miltonize_, yet produce nothing worthy ofMilton, the important characteristic of whose writings my father wellexpressed, when he said 'The reader of Milton must be always on hisduty: _he is surrounded with sense_. ' A man must have his sense toimitate him worthily. How we look through his words at the Deluge, as hefloods it upon us in Book xi. L. 738-53!--The Attic bees produce honeyso flavoured with the thyme of Hymettus that it is scarcely eatable, though to smell the herb itself in a breezy walk upon that celebratedMount would be an exceeding pleasure; thus certain epic poems areoverpoweringly flavoured with herbs of Milton, while yet the fragrantbalm and fresh breeze of his poetry is not to be found in them. S. C. 

W---- and myself expressed our surprise: and my friend gave hisdefinition and notion of harmonious verse, that it consisted, (theEnglish iambic blank verse above all, ) in the apt arrangement of pausesand cadences, and the sweep of whole paragraphs, ----'with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, '

and not in the even flow, much less in the prominence or antitheticvigour, of single lines, which were indeed injurious to the totaleffect, except where they were introduced for some specific purpose. Klopstock assented, and said that he meant to confine Glover'ssuperiority to single lines. [227]

[227] The 'abrupt and laconic structure' of Glover's periods appears atthe very commencement of _Leonidas_, which has something military in itsmovement, but rather the stiff gait of the drilled soldier than theproud march of the martial hero. 

 The virtuous Spartan who resign'd his life To save his country at th' Oetaen straits, Thermopylae, when all the peopled east In arms with Xerxes filled the Grecian plains, O Muse record! The Hellespont they passed O'erpowering Thrace. The dreadful tidings swift To Corinth flew. Her Isthmus was the seat Of Grecian council. Orpheus thence returns To Lacedaemon. In assembly full, &c. 

Glover's best passages are of a soft character. This is a pleasing_Homerism_:

 Lycis dies, For boist'rous war ill-chosen. He was skill'd To tune the lulling flute, and melt the heart; Or with his pipe's awak'ning strains allure The lovely dames of Lydia to the dance. They on the verdant level graceful mov'd In vary'd measures; while the cooling breeze Beneath their swelling garments wanton'd o'er Their snowy breasts, and smooth Cayster's streams Soft-gliding murmur'd by. The hostile blade, &c. Bk. VIII. 

And here is a pleasing expansion of Pindar, Olymp. II. 109:

 Placid were his days, Which flow'd through blessings. As a river pure, Whose sides are flowery, and whose meadows fair, Meets in his course a subterranean void; There dips his silver head, again to rise, And, rising, glide through flow'rs and meadows new; So shall Oïleus in those happier fields, Where never tempests roar, nor humid clouds In mists dissolve, nor white descending flakes Of winter violate th' eternal green; Where never gloom of trouble shades the mind, Nor gust of passion heaves the quiet breast, Nor dews of grief are sprinkled. Bk. X. S. C. 

He told us that he had read Milton, in a prose translation, when he wasfourteen. [228] I understood him thus myself, and W--- interpretedKlopstock's French as I had already construed it. He appeared to knowvery little of Milton or indeed of our poets in general. He spoke withgreat indignation of the English prose translation of his MESSIAH. Allthe translations had been bad, very bad--but the English was _no_translation--there were pages on pages not in the original: and half theoriginal was not to be found in the translation. W--- told him that Iintended to translate a few of his odes as specimens of Germanlyrics--he then said to me in English, 'I wish you would render intoEnglish some select passages of THE MESSIAH, and _revenge_ me of yourcountryman!'

[228] This was accidentally confirmed to me by an old German gentlemanat Helmstadt, who had been Klopstock's school and bed-fellow. Amongother boyish anecdotes, he related that the young poet set a particularvalue on a translation of the PARADISE LOST, and always slept with itunder his pillow. 

It was the liveliest thing which he produced in the whole conversation. He told us, that his first ode was fifty years older than his last. Ilooked at him with much emotion--I considered him as the venerablefather of German poetry; as a good man as a Christian; seventy-fouryears old; with legs enormously swollen; yet active, lively, cheerful, and kind, and communicative. My eyes felt as if a tear were swellinginto them. In the portrait of Lessing there was a toupee periwig, whichenormously injured the effect of his physiognomy--Klopstock wore thesame, powdered and frizzled. By the bye, old men ought never to wearpowder--the contrast between a large snow-white wig and the colour of anold man's skin is disgusting, and wrinkles in such a neighbourhoodappear only channels for dirt. It is an honour to poets and great men, that you think of them as parts of Nature; and anything of trick andfashion wounds you in them, as much as when you see venerable yewsclipped into miserable peacocks. --The author of THE MESSIAH should haveworn his own grey hair. --His powder and periwig were to the eye what_Mr_. Virgil would be to the ear. 

Klopstock dwelt much on the superiour power which the German languagepossessed of concentrating meaning. He said, he had often translatedparts of Homer and Virgil, line by line, and a German line proved alwayssufficient for a Greek or Latin one. In English you cannot do this. Ianswered, that in English we could commonly render one Greek heroic linein a line and a half of our common heroic metre, and I conjectured thatthis line and a half would be found to contain no more syllables thanone German or Greek hexameter. He did not understand me:[229] and I, whowished to hear his opinions, not to correct them, was glad that he didnot. 

[229] Klopstock's observation was partly true and partly erroneous. Inthe literal sense of his words, and, if we confine the comparison to theaverage of space required for the expression of the same thought in thetwo languages, it is erroneous. I have translated some German hexametersinto English hexameters, and find, that on the average three Englishlines will express four lines German. The reason is evident: ourlanguage abounds in monosyllables and dissyllables. The German, not lessthan the Greek, is a polysyllable language. But in another point of viewthe remark was not without foundation. For the German possessing thesame unlimited privilege of forming compounds, both with prepositionsand with epithets, as the Greek, it can express the richest single Greekword in a single German one, and is thus freed from the necessity ofweak or ungraceful paraphrases. I will content myself with one exampleat present, viz. The use of the prefixed participles _ver_, _zer_, _ent_, and _weg_: thus _reissen_ to rend, _verreissen_ to rend away, _zerreissen_ to rend to pieces, _entreissen_ to rend off or out of athing, in the active sense: or _schmelzen_ to melt--_ver_, _zer_, _ent_, _schmelzen_--and in like manner through all the verbs neuter and active. If you consider only how much we should feel the loss of the prefix_be_, as in bedropt, besprinkle, besot, especially in our poeticallanguage, and then think that this same mode of composition is carriedthrough all their simple and compound prepositions, and many of theiradverbs; and that with most of these the Germans have the same privilegeas we have of dividing them from the verb and placing them at the end ofthe sentence; you will have no difficulty in comprehending the realityand the cause of this superior power in the German of condensingmeaning, in which its great poet exulted. It is impossible to read halfa dozen pages of Wieland without perceiving that in this respect theGerman has no rival but the Greek. And yet I feel, that concentration orcondensation is not the happiest mode of expressing this excellence, which seems to consist not so much in the less time required forconveying an impression, as in the unity and simultaneousness with whichthe impression is conveyed. It tends to make their language morepicturesque: it _depictures_ images better. We have obtained this powerin part by our compound verbs derived from the Latin: and the sense ofits great effect no doubt induced our Milton both to the use and theabuse of Latin derivatives. But still these prefixed particles, conveying no separate or separable meaning to the mere English reader, cannot possibly act on the mind with the force or liveliness of anoriginal and homogeneous language such as the German is, and besides areconfined to certain words. 

We now took our leave. At the beginning of the French RevolutionKlopstock wrote odes of congratulation. He received some honorarypresents from the French Republic, (a golden crown I believe, ) and, likeour Priestley, was invited to a seat in the legislature, which hedeclined. But when French liberty metamorphosed herself into a fury, hesent back these presents with a _palinodia_, declaring his abhorrence oftheir proceedings: and since then he has been perhaps more than enoughan Anti-Gallican. I mean, that in his just contempt and detestation ofthe crimes and follies of the Revolutionists, he suffers himself toforget that the revolution itself is a process of the Divine Providence;and that as the folly of men is the wisdom of God, so are theiriniquities instruments of his goodness. From Klopstock's house we walkedto the ramparts, discoursing together on the poet and his conversation, till our attention was diverted to the beauty and singularity of thesunset and its effects on the objects around us. There were woods in thedistance. A rich sandy light, (nay, of a much deeper colour than sandy, )lay over these woods that blackened in the blaze. Over that part of thewoods which lay immediately under the intenser light, a brassy mistfloated. The trees on the ramparts, and the people moving to and frobetween them, were cut or divided into equal segments of deep shade andbrassy light. Had the trees, and the bodies of the men and women, beendivided into equal segments by a rule or pair of compasses, the portionscould not have been more regular. All else was obscure. It was a fairyscene!--and to increase its romantic character, among the movingobjects, thus divided into alternate shade and brightness, was abeautiful child, dressed with the elegant simplicity of an Englishchild, riding on a stately goat, the saddle, bridle, and otheraccoutrements of which were in a high degree costly and splendid. BeforeI quit the subject of Hamburg, let me say, that I remained a day or twolonger than I otherwise should have done, in order to be present at thefeast of St. Michael, the patron saint of Hamburg, expecting to see thecivic pomp of this commercial Republic. I was however disappointed. There were no processions, two or three sermons were preached to two orthree old women in two or three churches, and St. Michael and hispatronage wished elsewhere by the higher classes, all places ofentertainment, theatre, &c. Being shut up on this day. In Hamburg, thereseems to be no religion at all; in Lubec it is confined to the women. The men seem determined to be divorced from their wives in the otherworld, if they cannot in this. You will not easily conceive a moresingular sight, than is presented by the vast aisle of the principalchurch at Lubec seen from the organ-loft: for, being filled with femaleservants and persons in the same class of life, and all their capshaving gold and silver cauls, it appears like a rich pavement of goldand silver. 

I will conclude this letter with the mere transcription of notes, whichmy friend W---- made of his conversations with Klopstock, during theinterviews that took place after my departure. On these I shall make butone remark at present, and that will appear a presumptuous one, namely, that Klopstock's remarks on the venerable sage of Königsburg are to myown knowledge injurious and mistaken; and so far is it from being true, that his system is now given up, that throughout the Universities ofGermany there is not a single professor who is not either a Kantean or adisciple of Fichte, whose system is built on the Kantean, andpresupposes its truth; or lastly who, though an antagonist of Kant, asto his theoretical work, has not embraced wholly or in part his moralsystem, and adopted part of his nomenclature. 'Klopstock having wishedto see the CALVARY of Cumberland, and asked what was thought of it inEngland, I went to Remnant's (the English bookseller) where I procuredthe Analytical Review, in which is contained the review of Cumberland'sCALVARY. I remembered to have read there some specimens of a blank versetranslation of THE MESSIAH. I had mentioned this to Klopstock, and hehad a great desire to see them. I walked over to his house and put thebook into his hands. On adverting to his own poem, he told me he beganTHE MESSIAH when he was seventeen: he devoted three entire years to theplan without composing a single line. He was greatly at a loss in whatmanner to execute his work. There were no successful specimens ofversification in the German language before this time. The first threecantos he wrote in a species of measured or numerous prose. This, thoughdone with much labour and some success, was far from satisfying him. Hehad composed hexameters both Latin and Greek as a school exercise, andthere had been also in the German language attempts in that style ofversification. These were only of very moderate merit. --One day he wasstruck with the idea of what could be done in this way--he kept his rooma whole day, even went without his dinner, and found that in the eveninghe had written twenty-three hexameters, versifying a part of what he hadbefore written in prose. From that time, pleased with his efforts, hecomposed no more in prose. To-day he informed me that he had finishedhis plan before he read Milton. He was enchanted to see an author whobefore him had trod the same path. This is a contradiction of what hesaid before. He did not wish to speak of his poem to any one till it wasfinished: but some of his friends who had seen what he had finished, tormented him till he had consented to publish a few books in a journal. He was then, I believe, very young, about twenty-five. The rest wasprinted at different periods, four books at a time. The reception givento the first specimens was highly flattering. He was nearly thirty yearsin finishing the whole poem, but of these thirty years not more than twowere employed in the composition. He only composed in favourablemoments; besides he had other occupations. He values himself upon theplan of his odes, and accuses the modern lyrical writers of grossdeficiency in this respect. I laid the same accusation against Horace:he would not hear of it--but waived the discussion. He calledRousseau's ODE TO FORTUNE a moral dissertation in stanzas. [230] I spokeof Dryden's ST. CECILIA; but be did not seem familiar with our writers. He wished to know the distinctions between our dramatic and epic blankverse. 

[230] (A la Fortune. Liv. II. Ode vi. Oeuvres de Jean Baptiste Rousseau, p. 121, edit. 1820. One of the latter strophes of this ode concludes withtwo lines, which, as the editor observes, have become a proverb, and ofwhich the thought and expression are borrowed from Lucretius: _cripiturpersona, manet res:_ III. V. 58. 

 Montrez nous, guerriers magnanimes, Votre vertu dans tout son jour: Voyons comment vos coeurs sublimes Du sort soutiendront le retour. Tant que sa faveur vous seconde, Vous étes les maîtres du monde, Votre gloire nous éblouit: Mais au moindre revers funeste, _Le masque tombe, l'homme reste, Et le heros s'évanouit_. 

Horace, says the Editor, en traitant ce même sujet, liv. X. Ode XXXV. EtPindare en l'esquissant à grands traits, au commencement de sa douzièmeOlympique, n'avoient laissé à leurs successeurs que son côté moral àenvisager, et c'est le parti que prit Rousseau. The general sentiment ofthe ode is handled with great dignity in Paradise Regained. Bk. III. L. 43--157--a passage which, as Thyer says, contains the quintessence ofthe subject. Dante has some noble lines on Fortune in the viith canto ofthe _Inferno_, --lines worthy of a great mystic poet. After referring tothe vain complaints and maledictions of men against this Power, hebeautifully concludes:

 Ma ella s'è beata e ciò non ode: Con l'altre prime creature lieta _Volve sua spera, e beata si gode_. 

J. B. Rousseau was born in 1669, began his career at the close of the ageof Louis Quatorze, died at Brussels, March 17, 1741. He had beenbanished from France, by an intrigue, on a false charge, as now seemsclear, of having composed and distributed defamatory verses, in 1712;and it was engraved upon his tomb that he was 'thirty years an object ofenvy and thirty of compassion. ' Belonging to the classical school of the17th century, of which he was the last survivor, he came somewhat intoconflict with the spirit of the 18th, which was preparing a new vintage, and would have none but new wine in new bottles. Rousseau, however, wasa very finished writer in his way, and has been compared to Pindar, Horace, Anacreon and Malherbe. His ode to _M. Le Comte du Luc_ is asfine an example as I know of the modern classical style. This is quitedifferent from that which is exemplified in Wordsworth's Laodamia andSerjeant Talfourd's Ion; for in them the subjects only are ancient, while both the form and spirit are modern; whereas in the odes ofRousseau a modern subject is treated, as far as difference of times andlanguage will allow, in the manner and tone of the Ancients. SamsonAgonistes and Goethe's Iphigenia in Tauris are conformed to ancientmodes of thought, but in them the subject also is taken from antiquity. Rousseau's works consist of Odes, Epistles in verse, Cantatas, Epigrams, &c. &c. He wrote for the stage at the beginning of his literary life, but with no great success. S. C. )

He recommended me to read his HERMANN before I read either THE MESSIAHor the odes. He flattered himself that some time or other his dramaticpoems would be known in England. He had not heard of Cowper. He thoughtthat Voss in his translation of THE ILIAD had done violence to the idiomof the Germans, and had sacrificed it to the Greeks, not rememberingsufficiently that each language has its particular spirit andgenius. [231] He said Lessing was the first of their dramatic writers. Icomplained of NATHAN as tedious. He said there was not enough of actionin it; but that Lessing was the most chaste of their writers. He spokefavourably of Goethe; but said that his SORROWS OF WERTER was his bestwork, better than any of his dramas: he preferred the first written tothe rest of Goethe's dramas. Schiller's ROBBERS he found so extravagant, that he could not read it. I spoke of the scene of the setting sun. [232]He did not know it. He said Schiller could not live. He thought DONCARLOS the best of his dramas; but said that the plot wasinextricable. --It was evident he knew little of Schiller's works:indeed, he said, he could not read them. Bürger, he said, was a truepoet, and would live; that Schiller, on the contrary, must soon beforgotten; that he gave himself up to the imitation of Shakespeare, whooften was extravagant, but that Schiller was ten thousand times moreso. [233]

[231] Voss, who lived from Feb. 20, 1751, to March, 1826, was author ofthe Luise, 'a rural epopaea of simple structure divided into threeidyls, which relate the betrothment and marriage of the heroine. ' Thisis a pleasing and very peculiar poem, composed in hexameter verse. 'Thecharm of the narrative, ' says Mr. T. , 'consists in the minutedescription of the local domestic manners of the personages. ' The charmconsists, I think, in the blending of these manners with the beauty ofNature, and the ease and suitability of the versification. Voss'stranslation of the Odyssey is praised for being so perfect an imitationof the original. The Greek has been rendered, 'with a fidelity andimitative harmony so admirable, that it suggests to the scholar theoriginal wording, and reflects, as from a mirror, every beauty and everyblemish of the ancient poem. ' Hist. Survey, pp. 61-68. S. C. 

[232] Act III. Sc. 2. The night scene, which is the 5th of Act iv, isfine too in a frantic way. The songs it contains are very spirited. Thatsung by the Robbers is worthy of a Thug; it goes beyond our notions ofany European bandit, and transports us to the land of Jaggernat. S. C. 

[233] The works of Bürger, who was born on the first day of 1748, diedJune 8, 1794, consist of Poems (2 vols. ), Macbeth altered fromShakespeare, (pronounced by Taylor, --no good judge of _Shakespeare_, --insome respects superiour to the original, ) Munchaüsen's Travels;Translations; (of the six first books of the Iliad, and some others);Papers philological and political. His fame rests chiefly on threeballads, The Wild Hunter, The Parson's Daughter, and Lenore. Thepowerful diction and admirable harmony, --rhythm, sound, rhyme of thesecompositions Mr. Taylor describes as the result of laborious art; itstrikes me, from the outline which he has given of Bürger's history, that the violent feelings, the life-like expression of which constitutestheir power and value, may have been partly the reflex of the poet's ownmind. His seems to have been a life of mismanagement from youth tillmiddle age. Like Milton, he lost a beloved second wife by childbed inthe first year of marriage: like him, he married a third time, butwithout his special necessity--blindness and unkind daughters. He weddeda lady who had fallen in love with his poetry, or perhaps his poeticalreputation: an union founded, as it appears, in vanity, ended invexation of spirit: and as Death, which had deprived him of two wives, did not release him from a third, he obtained his freedom, at the end oflittle more than three years, from a court of justice. Why did Klopstockundervalue, by preference of such a poet, the lofty-minded Schiller--thedearest to England of all German bards; perhaps because the author ofWallenstein was a philosopher, and had many things in his philosophywhich the author of The Messiah could not find in _his_ heaven andearth. S. C. 

He spoke very slightingly of Kotzebue, as an immoral author in thefirst place, and next, as deficient in power. At Vienna, said he, theyare transported with him; but we do not reckon the people of Viennaeither the wisest or the wittiest people of Germany. He said Wieland wasa charming author, and a sovereign master of his own language: that inthis respect Goethe could not be compared to him, nor indeed could anybody else. He said that his fault was to be fertile to exuberance. Itold him the OBERON had just been translated into English. He asked meif I was not delighted with the poem. I answered, that I thought thestory began to flag about the seventh or eighth book; and observed, thatit was unworthy of a man of genius to make the interest of a long poemturn entirely upon animal gratification. He seemed at first disposed toexcuse this by saying, that there are different subjects for poetry, andthat poets are not willing to be restricted in their choice. I answered, that I thought the _passion_ of love as well suited to the purposes ofpoetry as any other passion; but that it was a cheap way of pleasing tofix the attention of the reader through a long poem on the mere_appetite_. Well! but, said he, you see, that such poems please everybody. I answered, that it was the province of a great poet to raisepeople up to his own level, not to descend to theirs. He agreed, andconfessed, that on no account whatsoever would he have written a worklike the OBERON. He spoke in raptures of Wieland's style, and pointedout the passage where Retzia is delivered of her child, as exquisitelybeautiful. [234]

[234] Oberon, Canto viii. Stanzas 69-80. The little touch about the newborn babe's returning its mother's kiss is very romantic: though putmodestly in the form of a query:

 --Und scheint nicht jeden Kuss Sein kleiner mund dem ihren zu entsaugen?

The word _entsaugen (suck off)_ is expressive--it very naturallycharacterises the kiss of an infant five minutes of age. Wieland hadgreat nursery experience. 'My sweetest hours, ' says he, in a letterquoted in the Survey, ' are those in which I see about me, in all theirglee of childhood, my whole posse of little half-way things between apesand angels. '

Mr. Sotheby's translation of the Oberon made the poem popular in thiscountry. The original first appeared in 1780. S. C. 

I said that I did not perceive any very striking passages; but that Imade allowance for the imperfections of a translation. Of the thefts ofWieland, he said, they were so exquisitely managed, that the greatestwriters might be proud to steal as he did. He considered the books andfables of old romance writers in the light of the ancient mythology, asa sort of common property, from which a man was free to take whatever hecould make a good use of. An Englishman had presented him with the odesof Collins, which he had read with pleasure. He knew little or nothingof Gray, except his ELEGY written in a country CHURCH-YARD. Hecomplained of the fool in LEAR. I observed that he seemed to give aterrible wildness to the distress; but still he complained. He askedwhether it was not allowed, that Pope had written rhymed poetry withmore skill than any of our writers--I said I preferred Dryden, becausehis couplets had greater variety in their movement. He thought my reasona good one; but asked whether the rhyme of Pope were not more exact. This question I understood as applying to the final terminations, andobserved to him that I believed it was the case; but that I thought itwas easy to excuse some inaccuracy in the final sounds, if the generalsweep of the verse was superiour. I told him that we were not so exactwith regard to the final endings of lines as the French. He did not seemto know that we made no distinction between masculine and feminine (i. E. Single or double, ) rhymes: at least he put inquiries to me on thissubject. He seemed to think, that no language could be so far formed asthat it might not be enriched by idioms borrowed from another tongue. Isaid this was a very dangerous practice; and added, that I thoughtMilton had often injured both his prose and verse by taking this libertytoo frequently. I recommended to him the prose works of Dryden as modelsof pure and native English. I was treading upon tender ground, as I havereason to suppose that he has himself liberally indulged in thepractice. 

The same day I dined at Mr. Klopstock's, where I had the pleasure of athird interview with the poet. We talked principally about indifferentthings. I asked him what he thought of Kant. He said that his reputationwas much on the decline in Germany. That for his own part he was notsurprised to find it so, as the works of Kant were to him utterlyincomprehensible--that he had often been pestered by the Kanteans; butwas rarely in the practice of arguing with them. His custom was toproduce the book, open it and point to a passage, and beg they wouldexplain it. This they ordinarily attempted to do by substituting theirown ideas. I do not want, I say, an explanation of your own ideas, butof the passage which is before us. In this way I generally bring thedispute to an immediate conclusion. He spoke of Wolfe as the firstMetaphysician they had in Germany. Wolfe had followers; but they couldhardly be called a sect, and luckily till the appearance of Kant, aboutfifteen years ago, Germany had not been pestered by any sect ofphilosophers whatsoever; but that each man had separately pursued hisinquiries uncontrolled by the dogmas of a master. Kant had appearedambitious to be the founder of a sect; that he had succeeded: but thatthe Germans were now coming to their senses again. That Nicolai andEngel had in different ways contributed to disenchant the nation;[235]but above all the incomprehensibility of the philosopher and hisphilosophy. He seemed pleased to hear, that as yet Kant's doctrines hadnot met with many admirers in England--did not doubt but that we had toomuch wisdom to be duped by a writer who set at defiance the common senseand common understandings of men. We talked of tragedy. He seemed torate highly the power of exciting tears--I said that nothing was moreeasy than to deluge an audience, that it was done every day by themeanest writers. '

I must remind you, my friend, first, that these notes are not intendedas specimens of Klopstock's intellectual power, or even '_colloquialprowess_, ' to judge of which by an accidental conversation, and thiswith strangers, and those two foreigners, would be not onlyunreasonable, but calumnious. Secondly, I attribute little otherinterest to the remarks than what is derived from the celebrity of theperson who made them. Lastly, if you ask me, whether I have read THEMESSIAH, and what I think of it? I answer--as yet the first four booksonly: and as to my opinion--(the reasons of which hereafter)--you mayguess it from what I could not help muttering to myself, when the goodpastor this morning told me, that Klopstock was the German Milton----'avery _German_ Milton indeed!!!'----Heaven preserve you, and S. T. COLERIDGE. 

[235] These _disenchanters_ put one in mind of the ratcatchers, who aresaid and supposed to rid houses of rats, and yet the rats, somehow orother, continue to swarm. The Kantean rats were not aware, I believe, when Klopstock spoke thus, of the extermination that had befallen them:and even to this day those acute animals infest the old house, and stealaway the daily bread of the children, --if the old notions of Space andTime, and the old proofs of religious verities by way of the_understanding_ and _speculative reason, _ must be called such. Whetheror no these are their true spiritual sustenance, or the necessary guardand vehicle of it, is perhaps a question. 

But who were Nicolai and Engel, and what did they against the famousenchanter? The former was born in 1733, at Berlin, where he carried onhis father's business of book-selling, pursued literature with markedsuccess, and attained to old age, full of literary honours. By means ofthree critical journals (the _Literatur-Briefe, _ the _Bibliothek derSchönen Wissenschaftern, _ and the _Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek, _)which he conducted with the powerful cooperation of Lessing, and of hisintimate friend Mendelssohn, and to which he contributed largelyhimself, he became very considerable in the German world of letters, andso continued for the space of twenty years. Jördens, in his Lexicon, speaks highly of the effect of Nicolai's writings in promoting freedomof thought, enlightened views in theology and philosophy, and a soundtaste in fine literature--describes him as a brave battler withintolerance, hypocrisy, and confused conceptions in religion; with emptysubtleties, obscurities, and terminologies, that can but issue in vainfantasies, in his controversial writings on the 'so-named criticalphilosophy. ' He engaged with the _Kritik der reinen Vernunft, _ on itsappearance in 1781, in the _Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek;_ firstexplained his objections to it in the 11th vol. Of his_Reisebeschreibung_, (Description of a Journey through Germany andSwitzerland in the year 1781, ) and afterwards, in his romance entitledThe Life and Opinions of Sempronius Gundibert, a German Philosopher, sought to set forth the childish crotchets and abuses imputable to manydisciples of this philosophy in their native absurdity. The _ratsbone_alluded to by Klopstock, was doubtless contained in the above-namedromance, which the old poet probably esteemed more than Nicolai's moreserious polemics. 

Gundibert has had its day, but in a fiction destined to a day of longerduration, --Goethe's Faust, --the Satirist is himself most effectivelysatirised. There he is, in that strange yet beautiful temple, pinned tothe wall in a ridiculous attitude, to be laughed at as long as thetemple itself is visited and admired. This doom came upon him, not somuch for his campaign against the Kanteans, as for his _Joys ofWerter_, --because he had dared to ridicule a book, which certainlyoffered no small temptations to the parodist. Indeed he seems to havebeen engaged in a series of hostilities with Fichte, Lavater, Wieland, Herder, and Goethe. 

(See Mr. Hayward's excellent translation of Faust, of which I have hearda literary German say that it gave a better notion of the original thanany other which he had seen. )

In the _Walpurgisnacht_ of the Faust he thus addresses the goblindancers:--

 Ihr seyd noch immer da! Nein das ist unerhört! Verschwindet doch! Wir haben ja aufgeklärt!

 'Fly! Vanish! Unheard of impudence! What, still there! In this enlightened age too, when you have been Proved not to exist?'--_Shelley's Translation_. 

Do we not see the doughty reviewer before us magisterially waving hishand and commanding the apparitions to vanish?--then with despondentastonishment exclaiming:

 Das Teufelspack es fragt nach keiner Regel. Wir sind so klug und dennoch spukt's in Tegel. 

So wise we are! yet what fantastic fooleries still stream forth from mycontemporary's brains; how are we still haunted! The speech of Faustconcerning him is mis-translated by Shelley, who understood the humourof the piece, as well as the poetry, but not the particular humours ofit. Nothing can be more expressive of a conceited, narrow-mindedreviewer. 'Oh he!--he is absolutely everywhere, --What others dance, hemust decide upon. If he can't chatter about every step, 'tis as good asnot made at all. _Nothing provokes him so much as when we go forward_. If you'd turn round and round in a circle, as he does in his old mill, he'd approve of that perhaps; especially if you'd consult him about it. '

'A man of such spirited habitudes, ' says Mr. Carlyle, after affirmingthat Nicolai wrote against Kant's philosophy without comprehending it, and judged of poetry, as of Brunswick Mum, by its utility, 'is now bythe Germans called a _Philister_. Nicolai earned for himself the painfulpre-eminence of being _Erz Philister_, Arch Philistine. ' 'He, an oldenemy of Goethe's, ' says Mr. Hill, in explanation of the title in whichhe appears in the _Walpurgisnacht_, 'had published an account of hisphantasmal illusions, pointing them against Fichte's system of idealism, which he evidently confounded with what Coleridge would have calledSubjective Idolism. '

Such was this wondrous _disenchanter_ in the eyes of later critics thanKlopstock: a man strong enough to maintain a long fight against genius, not wise enough to believe in it and befriend it. How many acontroversialist seems a mighty giant to those who are predisposed tohis opinions, while, in the eyes of others, he is but a blindfloundering Polyphemus, who knows not how to direct his heavy blows; ifnot a menacing scarecrow, with a stake in his hand, which he has nopower to drive home! I remember reading a thin volume in which allmetaphysicians that had ever left their thoughts behind them weredeclared utterly in the wrong--all up to, but not including, the valiantauthor himself. The world had lain in darkness till he appeared, like anew Phoebus, on the scene. This great man despatched Kant'ssystem--(never having read a syllable of any work of Kant's)--in a pageand a quarter! and the exploit had its celebraters and admirers. Yetstrange to say, the metaphysical world went on just as if nothing hadhappened!--after the sun was up, it went groping about, as if it hadnever been enlightened, and actually ever since has continued to talk asif Locke, Berkeley, Hume, Kant, and other metaphysicians understood thenature of the things they wrote about rather _more_ than the mass ofmankind, instead of _less! Verschwindet doch_! might this author say, asNicolai said to the spectres of the Brocken and the phantoms ofliterature, Verschwindet doch! _Wir haben ja aufgeklärt_. 

Engel opposed Kant in philosophical treatises, one of which is entitled_Zwei Gerpräche den Werth der Kritik betreffend_. He too occupied aconsiderable space in Literature--his works fill twelve volumes, besidesa few other pieces. 'To him, ' says Jördens, 'the criticism of taste andof art, speculative, practical, and popular philosophy, owe many oftheir later advances in Germany. ' Jördens pronounces his romance, entitled _Lorenz Stark_, a masterpiece in its way, and says of hisplays, that they deserve a place beside the best of Lessing's. He wasthe author of a miscellaneous work, entitled The Philosopher for theWorld, and is praised by Cousin as a meritorious anthropologist. Engelwas born September 11, 1741, at Parchim, of which his father was pastor, in Mecklenburg-Schwerin; died June 28, 1802. Neither Nicolai nor Engelis noticed by Cousin among the adversaries of Kant's doctrine: theintelligent adversaries, --who assailed it with skill and knowledge, rather proved its strength than discovered its weakness. _Fortius acriridiculum_; but this applies only to transient triumphs, where theobject of attack, though it furnishes _occasion_ for ridicule, affordsno just _cause_ for it. S. C. 

 * * * * *

(_b_) PERSONAL REMINISCENCES (1836), BY THE HON. MR. JUSTICE COLERIDGE. 

In the summer of 1836 I went on the Northern Circuit with Baron Parke. We took Bowness and Storrs, in our way from Appleby to Lancaster; and Ivisited Wordsworth, and my dear friend Arnold from Storrs. It was myfortune to have to try the great Hornby Castle cause, as it was called;this I did at the end of the circuit, returning from Liverpool toLancaster for the purpose. Arnold was kind enough to lend me his house(Foxhow) for the vacation; and when the circuit ended, my wife andchildren accompanied me to it, and we remained there six weeks. Duringthat time Mr. And Mrs. Wordsworth were our only neighbours, and wescarcely saw any one besides; but we needed no other addition to thelovely and loveable country in which we were. He was extremely kind, both in telling us where to go, and very often going with us. He wasengaged in correcting the press for a new edition of his poems. TheLondon post, I think, went out at 2 P. M. , and then, he would say, he wasat our service. A walk with him in that country was a real treat: Inever met with a man who seemed to know a country and the people sowell, or to love them better, nor one who had such exquisite taste forrural scenery: he had evidently cultivated it with great care; he notonly admired the beauties, but he could tell you what were the peculiarfeatures in each scene, or what the incidents to which it owed itspeculiar charm. He combined, beyond any man with whom I ever met, theunsophisticated poetic delight in the beauties of nature with a somewhatartistic skill in developing the sources and conditions of them. Inexamining the parts of a landscape he would be minute; and he dealt withshrubs, flower-beds, and lawns with the readiness of a practicedlandscape-gardener. His own little grounds afforded a beautiful specimenof his skill in this latter respect; and it was curious to see how hehad imparted the same faculty in some measure to his gardener--JamesDixon, I think, was his name. I found them together one morning in thelittle lawn by the Mount. 'James and I, ' said he, 'are in a puzzle here. The grass here has spots which offend the eye; and I told him we mustcover them with soap-lees. "That, " he says, "will make the green theredarker than the rest. " "Then, " I said, "we must cover the whole. " Heobjected: "That will not do with reference to the little lawn to whichyou pass from this. " "Cover that, " I said. To which he replies, "Youwill have an unpleasant contrast with the foliage surrounding it. "'

Beside this warm feeling and exquisite taste, which made him sodelightful a guide, his favourite spots had a human interest engraftedon them, --some tradition, some incident, some connection with his ownpoetry, or himself, or some dear friend. These he brought out in astriking way. Apart from these, he was well pleased to discourse onpoetry or poets; and here appeared to me to be his principalscholarship. He was extremely well read in English poetry; and he wouldin his walk review a poem or a poet with admirable precision andfairness. He did not intrude his own poetry or himself, but he did notdecline to talk about either; and he spoke of both simply, unboastingly, and yet with a manly consciousness of their worth. It was clear hethought he had achieved a high place among poets: it had been the aim ofhis life, humanly speaking; and he had taken worthy pains to accomplishand prepare himself for the enterprise. He never would sacrificeanything he thought right on reflection, merely to secure presentpopularity, or avert criticism which he thought unfounded; but he was asevere critic on himself, and would not leave a line or an expressionwith which he was dissatisfied until he had brought it to what he liked. He thought this due to the gift of poetry and the character of the poet. Carelessness in the finish of composition he seemed to look on almost asan offence. I remember well, that after speaking with love and delightof a very popular volume of poetry, he yet found great fault with thewant of correctness and finish. Reciting one of the poems, and pointingout inaccuracies in it, he said, 'I like the volume so much, that, if Iwas the author, I think I should never rest till I had nearly rewrittenit. ' No doubt he carried this in his own case to excess, when hecorrected so largely, in the decline of life, poems written in earlymanhood, under a state of feelings and powers which it was impossible toreproduce, and yet which was necessary, generally speaking, forsuccessful alteration. I cannot but agree with many who think that onthis account the earlier copies of his poems are more valuable than thelater. 

1836. _September_. Wednesday 21. --Wordsworth and I started in mycarriage for Lowther, crossed Kirkstone to Paterdale, by Ulleswater, going through the Glenridding Walks, [236] and calling at Hallsteads. Wereached the castle time enough before dinner for him to give me a walk. 

[236] I remember well, asking him if we were not trespassing on privatepleasure-grounds here. He said, no; the walks had, indeed, beeninclosed, but he remembered them open to the public, and he always wentthrough them when he chose. At Lowther, we found among the visitors, thelate Lord W----; and describing our walk, _he_ made the sameobservation, that we had been trespassing; but Wordsworth maintained hispoint with somewhat more warmth than I either liked, or could wellaccount for. But afterwards, when we were alone, he told me he hadpurposely answered Lord W---- stoutly and warmly, because he had done asimilar thing with regard to some grounds in the neighbourhood ofPenrith, and excluded the people of Penrith from walking where they hadalways enjoyed the right before. He had evidently a pleasure invindicating these rights, and seemed to think it a duty. J. T. C. 

After luncheon, on Thursday 22d, we had an open carriage, and proceededto Haweswater. It is a fine lake, entirely unspoilt by bad taste. On oneside the bank rises high and steep, and is well clothed with wood; onthe other it is bare and more sloping. Wordsworth conveyed a personalinterest in it to me, by telling me that it was the first lake which myuncle[237] had seen on his coming into this country: he was in companywith Wordsworth and his brother John. Wordsworth pointed out to mesomewhere about the spot on the hill-side, a little out of the track, from which they first saw the lake; and said, he well remembered how hisface brightened, and how much delight he appeared to feel. Yesterdaymorning we returned to this place. We called on our way and took ourluncheon at Hallsteads, and also called at Paterdale Hall. At both itwas gratifying to see the cordial manner of W. 's reception: he seemedloved and honoured; and his manner was of easy, hearty, kindness tothem. 

[237] See _Memoirs_, vol. I. Pp. 147-8. 

My tour with him was very agreeable, and I wish I could preserve in mymemory more of his conversation than I shall be able to do. I wasanxious to get from him anecdotes of himself and my uncle, and of theirworks. He told me of himself, that his first verses were a Popian copywritten at school on the 'Pleasure of Change;' then he wrote another onthe 'Second Centenary of the School's Foundation;' that he had writtenthese verses on the holidays, and on the return to school; that he wasrather the poet of the school. The first verses from which he rememberedto have received great pleasure, were Miss Carter's 'Poem on Spring, ' apoem in the six-line stanza, which he was particularly fond of, and hadcomposed much in, for example, 'Ruth. ' He said there was some foundationin fact, however slight, for every poem he had written of a narrativekind; so slight indeed, sometimes, as hardly to deserve the name; forexample, 'The Somnambulist' was wholly built on the fact of a girl atLyulph's Tower being a sleep-walker; and 'The Water Lily, ' on a shipbearing that name. 'Michael' was founded on the son of an old couplehaving become dissolute and run away from his parents; and on an oldshepherd having been seven years in building up a sheepfold in asolitary valley: 'The Brothers, ' on a young shepherd, in his sleep, having fallen down a crag, his staff remaining suspended midway. Manyincidents he seemed to have drawn from the narration of Mrs. Wordsworth, or his sister, 'Ellen' for example, in 'The Excursion;' and they musthave told their stories well, for he said his principle had been to givethe oral part as nearly as he could in the very words of the speakers, where he narrated a real story, dropping, of course, all vulgarisms orprovincialisms, and borrowing sometimes a Bible turn of expression:these former were mere accidents, not essential to the truth inrepresenting how the human heart and passions worked; and to give theselast faithfully was his object. If he was to have any name hereafter, his hope was on this, and he did think he had in some instancessucceeded;[238] that the sale of his poems increased among the classesbelow the middle; and he had had, constantly, statements made to him ofthe effect produced in reading 'Michael' and other such of his poems. Iadded my testimony of being unable to read it aloud without interruptionfrom my own feelings. 'She was a phantom of delight' he said was writtenon 'his dear wife, ' of whom he spoke in the sweetest manner; a mannerfull of the warmest love and admiration, yet with delicacy and reserve. He very much and repeatedly regretted that my uncle had written solittle verse; he thought him so eminently qualified, by his very niceear, his great skill in metre, and his wonderful power and happiness ofexpression. He attributed, in part, his writing so little, to theextreme care and labour which he applied in elaborating his metres. Hesaid, that when he was intent on a new experiment in metre, the time andlabour he bestowed were inconceivable; that he was quite an epicure insound. Latterly he thought he had so much acquired the habit ofanalysing his feelings, and making them matter for a theory or argument, that he had rather dimmed his delight in the beauties of nature andinjured his poetical powers. He said he had no idea how 'Christabelle'was to have been finished, and he did not think my uncle had everconceived, in his own mind, any definite plan for it; that the poem hadbeen composed while they were in habits of daily intercourse, and almostin his presence, and when there was the most unreserved intercoursebetween them as to all their literary projects and productions, and hehad never heard from him any plan for finishing it. Not that he doubtedmy uncle's _sincerity_ in his subsequent assertions to the contrary;because, he said, schemes of this sort passed rapidly and vividlythrough his mind, and so impressed him, that he often fancied he hadarranged things, which really and upon trial proved to be mere embryos. I omitted to ask him, what seems obvious enough now, whether, inconversing about it, he had never asked my uncle how it would end. Theanswer would have settled the question. He regretted that the story hadnot been made to end the same night in which it begun. There wasdifficulty and danger in bringing such a personage as the witch to thedaylight, and the breakfast-table; and unless the poem was to have beenlong enough to give time for creating a second interest, there was agreat probability of the conclusion being flat after such acommencement. 

[238] You could not walk with him a mile without seeing what a lovinginterest he took in the play and working of simple natures. As youascend Kirkstone from Paterdale, you have a bright stream leaping downfrom rock to rock, on your right, with here and there silent pools. Oneof Wordsworth's poor neighbours worked all the week over Kirkstone, Ithink in some mines; and returning on Saturday evenings, used to fish upthis little stream. We met him with a string of small trout. W. Offeredto buy them, and bid him take them to the Mount. 'Nay, ' said the man, 'Icannot sell them, Sir; the little children at home look for them forsupper, and I can't disappoint them. ' It was quite pleasant to see howthe man's answer delighted the Poet. J. T. C. 

 * * * * *

A great number of my uncle's sonnets, he said, were written from the'Cat and Salutation, ' or a public-house with some such name, inSmithfield, where my uncle imprisoned himself for some time; and theyappeared in a newspaper, I think he said the _Morning Chronicle_. 

He remembered his writing a great part of the translation of'Wallenstein, ' and he said there was nothing more astonishing than theease and rapidity with which it was done. 

_Sept. 29th, Foxhow_. --We are just setting out, in a promising day, fora second trip to Keswick, intending, if possible, to penetrate intoWastdale, over the Sty Head. Before I go, I wish to commemorate a walkwith the Poet, on a drizzly muddy day, the turf sponging out water atevery step, through which he stalked as regardless as if he were ofiron, and with the same fearless, unchanged pace over rough and smooth, slippery and sound. We went up by the old road[239] from Ambleside toKeswick, and struck off from the table-land on the left, over the fellground, till he brought me out on a crag, bounded, as it were, by twoascents, and showing me in front, as in a frame, Grasmere Lake, 'the onegreen island, ' the church, village, &c. , and the surrounding mountains. It is a lovely scene, strikingly described in his verses beginning, 'When to the attractions of the busy world, Preferring studious leisure, ' &c. [240]

_Oct. 7th_. --Yesterday Wordsworth drove me to Low-wovel; and then weascended a great way towards Kirkstone by Troutbeck, passing by manyinteresting cots, barns, and farm-houses, where W. Had constantlysomething to point out in the architecture, or the fringes of moss, fern, &c. , on the roofs or walls. We crossed the valley, and descendedon Troutbeck Church, whence we came down to the turnpike road, and Ileft the Poet, who was going on to assist Sir T. Pasley in laying outhis grounds. I turned homeward, till I met my horse. 

 * * * * *

[239] This old road was very steep, after the fashion of former days, crossing the hill straight over its highest point. A new cut had beenmade, somewhat diminishing the steepness, but still leaving it a veryinconvenient and difficult ascent. At length another alteration wasmade, and the road was carried on a level round the foot of the hill. Myfriend Arnold pointed these out to me, and, quizzing my politics, said, the first denoted the old Tory corruption, the second bit by bit, thethird Radical Reform. J. T. C. 

[240] See Poems on the naming of Places. 

As we walked, I was admiring the never-ceasing sound of water, soremarkable in this country. 'I was walking, ' he said, 'on the mountains, with ----, the Eastern traveller; it was after rain, and the torrentswere full. I said, "I hope you like your companions--these bounding, joyous, foaming streams. " "No, " said the traveller, pompously, "I thinkthey are not to be compared in delightful effect with the silentsolitude of the Arabian Desert. " My mountain blood was up. I quicklyobserved that he had boots and a stout great-coat on, and said, "I amsorry you don't like this; perhaps I can show you what will please youmore. " I strode away, and led him from crag to crag, hill to vale, andvale to hill, for about six hours; till I thought I should have had tobring him home, he was so tired. '

 * * * * *

_October 10th_. --I have passed a great many hours to-day withWordsworth, in his house. I stumbled on him with proof sheets beforehim. He read me nearly all the sweet stanzas written in his copy of the'Castle of Indolence, '[241] describing himself and my uncle; and he andMrs. W. Both assured me the description of the latter at that time wasperfectly accurate; that he was almost as a great boy in feelings, andhad all the tricks and fancies there described. Mrs. W. Seemed to lookback on him, and those times, with the fondest affection. Then he readme some lines, which formed part of a suppressed portion of 'TheWaggoner;' but which he is now printing 'on the Rock of Names, ' socalled because on it they had carved out their initials:

W. W. Wm. Wordsworth. M. H. Mary W. D. W. Dorothy Wordsworth. S. T. C. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. J. W. John Wordsworth. S. H. Sarah Hutchinson. 

[241] Poems founded on the Affections. 

This rock was about a mile beyond Wythburn Chapel, to which they used toaccompany my uncle, in going to Keswick from Grasmere, and where theywould meet him when he returned. This led him to read much of 'TheWaggoner' to me. It seems a very favourite poem of his, and he read mesplendid descriptions from it. He said his object in it had not beenunderstood. It was a play of the fancy on a domestic incident and lowlycharacter: he wished by the opening descriptive lines to put his readerinto the state of mind in which he wished it to be read. If he failed indoing that, he wished him to lay it down. He pointed out, with the sameview, the glowing lines on the state of exultation in which Ben and hiscompanions are under the influence of liquor. Then he read the sickeninglanguor of the morning walk, contrasted with the glorious uprising ofNature, and the songs of the birds. Here he has added about six mostexquisite lines. 

We walked out on the turf terrace, on the Loughrigg side of Rydal Water. Most exquisitely did the lake and opposite bank look. Thence he led mehome under Loughrigg, through lovely spots I had never seen before. Hisconversation was on critical subjects, arising out of his attempts toalter his poems. He said he considered 'The White Doe' as, inconception, the highest work he had ever produced. The mere physicalaction was all unsuccessful; but the true action of the poem wasspiritual--the subduing of the will, and all inferior passions, to theperfect purifying and spiritualising of the intellectual nature; whilethe Doe, by connection with Emily, is raised as it were from its mereanimal nature into something mysterious and saint-like. He said heshould devote much labour to perfecting the execution of it in the merebusiness parts, in which, from anxiety 'to get on' with the moreimportant parts, he was sensible that imperfections had crept in, whichgave the style a feebleness of character. 

He talked of Milton, and observed how he sometimes indulged himself, inthe 'Paradise Lost, ' in lines which, if not in time, you could hardlycall verse, instancing, 'And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old;'

and then noticed the sweet-flowing lines which followed, and with regardto which he had no doubt the unmusical line before had been inserted. 

'Paradise Regained' he thought the most perfect in _execution_ ofanything written by Milton; that and the 'Merchant of Venice, ' inlanguage, he thought were almost faultless: with the exception of somelittle straining in some of the speeches about the caskets, he said, they were perfect, the genuine English expressions of the ideas oftheir own great minds. Thomson he spoke of as a real poet, though itappeared less in his 'Seasons' than in his other poems. He had wantedsome judicious adviser to correct his taste; but every person he had todeal with only served to injure it. He had, however, a true love andfeeling for Nature, and a greater share of poetical imagination, asdistinguished from dramatic, than any man between Milton and him. As hestood looking at Ambleside, seen across the valley, embosomed in wood, and separated from us at sufficient distance, he quoted from Thomson's'Hymn on Solitude, ' and suggested the addition, or rather insertion, ofa line at the close, where he speaks of glancing at London from Norwood. The line, he said, should have given something of a more favourableimpression:

'Ambition---- [242] and pleasure vain. '

_October 14th, Foxhow_. --We have had a delightful day to-day. Theweather being fine, Wordsworth agreed to go with us into Easedale; so wegot three ponies, for Mary and Madge, and Fred and Alley, alternately, and walked from Grasmere, he _trudging_[243] before, with his greengauze shade over his eyes, and in his plaid jacket and waistcoat. First, he turned aside at a little farm-house, and took us into a swellingfield, to look down on the tumbling stream which bounded it, and whichwe saw precipitated at a distance, in a broad white sheet, from themountain. A beautiful water-break of the same stream was before us atour feet, and he noticed the connection which it formed in the landscapewith the distant waterfall. Then, as he mused for an instant, he said, 'I have often thought what a solemn thing it would be, if we could havebrought to our mind, at once, all the scenes of distress and misery, which any spot, however beautiful and calm before us, has been witnessto since the beginning. That water-break, with the glassy, quiet poolbeneath it, that looks so lovely, and presents no images to the mind butof peace, --there, I remember, the only son of his father, a poor man, who lived yonder, was drowned. He missed him, came to search, and sawhis body dead in the pool. ' We pursued our way up the stream, not a veryeasy way for the horses, near to the waterfall before mentioned, and sogradually up to the Tarn. Oh, what a scene! The day one of the softestand brightest in autumn; the lights various; the mountains in therichest colouring, fern covering them with reddish gold in great part;here and there, trees in every variety of autumn foliage; and the rockitself of a kind of lilac tint; the outlines of the mountains very fine;the Tarn, which might almost be called a lake for size and abundance ofwater, with no culture, or trees, or habitation around it, here andthere a great rock stretching into it like a promontory, and highmountains surrounding it on three sides, on two of them almostprecipitate; on the fourth side, it is more open, and on this thestream, crossed by four great stepping-stones, runs out of it, anddescends into Grasmere vale and lake. He pointed out the precipitousmountain at the head of the Tarn, and told us an incident of his sisterand himself coming from Langdale, which lies on the other side. Hehaving for some reason parted, she encountered a fog, and wasbewildered. At last, she sat down and waited; in a short time it beganto clear; she could see that a valley was before her. In time, she sawthe backs of cattle feeding, which emerged from the darkness, and atlast the Tarn; and then found she had stopped providentially, and wassitting nearly on the edge of the precipice. Our return was somewhatmore perilous for the riders than the ascent; but we accomplished itsafely, and, in our return, turned in Butterlip How, a circular, soft, green hill, surrounded with oak trees, at the head of Grasmere. It isabout twenty acres, and belongs to a London banker, purchased, as Isuppose, with a view to building on it. It is a lovely spot for a house, with delicious views of the lake and church, Easedale, Helm Crag, &c. Ihave seen no place, I think, on which I should so much like to build myretreat. 

[242] I cannot fill the blank. J. T. C. 

[243] I used the word _trudging_ at the time; it denoted to me his boldway of walking. J. T. C. 

_October 16th_. --Since church, we have taken our last walk withWordsworth. M. Was mounted on Dora W. 's pony. He led us up on Loughrigg, round to the Tarn, by the back of Loughrigg to the foot of GrasmereLake, and so home by this side of Rydal; the weather warm and fine, anda lovely walk it was. The views of the mountains, Langdale Way, the Tarnitself and its banks, and the views on Grasmere and Rydal Waters, arealmost beyond anything I have seen, even in this country. 

He and Mrs. W. Came this evening to bid us farewell. We parted withgreat, I believe mutual, regret; certainly they have been kind to us ina way and degree which seemed unequivocally to testify good liking tous, and them it is impossible not to love. The more I have seen ofWordsworth, the more I admire him as a poet and as a man. He has thefinest and most discriminating feeling for the beauties of Nature that Iever witnessed; he expresses himself in glowing and yet manly languageabout them. There is much simplicity in his character, much _naïveté_, but it is all generous and highly moral. [244]

[244] _Memoirs_, ii. 300-15. 

 * * * * *

(_c_) RECOLLECTIONS OF TOUR IN ITALY, BY H. C. ROBINSON. 

 Oct. 18. 1850. 

MY DEAR SIR, I feel quite ashamed, I assure you, of sending you the Itinerary of myjourney with Mr. Wordsworth, so poorly accompanied as it must be, andthe more, because Mr. Wordsworth seems to have thought that I might beable to make a contribution to your work worth your acceptance. At thesame time, I am much relieved by recollecting that he himself carednothing for the connection which a place might have with a great poet, unless an acquaintance with it served to illustrate his works. He madethis remark in the Church of St. Onofrio at Rome, where Tasso liesburied. The place which, on this account, interested him more than anyother on the journey was _Vaucluse_, while he cared nothing for Arezzo, which claims to be the place of Petrarch's birth. Indeed, a priest onthe spot, on another visit, said it is not certain that he was bornthere, much less in the house marked with his name. Mr. W. Was notwithout the _esprit de corps_, even before his official dignity, andtook great interest in Savona, on account of Chiabrera, as appears inthe 'Musings near Aquapendente, ' perhaps the most beautiful of theseMemorials of the Italian tour--'alas too few!' As he himself repeatedlysaid of the journey, 'It is too late. ' 'I have matter for volumes, ' hesaid once, 'had I but youth to work it up. ' It is remarkable how in thisadmirable poem meditation predominates over observation. It oftenhappened that objects of universal attraction served chiefly to bringback to his mind absent objects dear to him. When we were on that noblespot, the Amphitheatre at Nismes, I observed his eyes fixed in adirection where there was the least to be seen; and, looking that way, Ibeheld two very young children at play with flowers; and I overheard himsay to himself, 'Oh! you darlings, I wish I could put you in my pocketand carry you to Rydal Mount. '

It was Mr. Theed, the sculptor, who informed us of the pine tree beingthe gift of Sir George Beaumont. This incident occurred within a fewminutes after our walking up the Pincian Hill. And this was the veryfirst observation Mr. W. Made at Rome. 

It was a remark justly made on the Memorials of the Swiss Journey in1820, that Mr. W. Left unnoticed the great objects which have given riseto innumerable common-place verses and huge piles of bad prose, andwhich every body talks about, while he dwelt on impressions peculiar tohimself. As a reproach, nothing can be more idle and unmeaning. Iexpected it would be so with these latter poems, and so I found it. There are not more than two others which bring anything to my mind. 

The most important of these is the 'Cuckoo at Laverna. ' I recollectperfectly well that I heard the cuckoo at Laverna twice before he heardit; and that it absolutely fretted him that my ear was first favoured;and that he exclaimed with delight, 'I hear it! I hear it!' It was atLaverna, too, that he led me to expect that he had found a subject onwhich he would write; and that was the love which birds bore to St. Francis. He repeated to me a short time afterwards a few lines, which Ido not recollect among those he has written on St. Francis in this poem. On the journey, one night only I heard him in bed composing verses, andon the following day I offered to be his amanuensis; but I was notpatient enough, I fear, and he did not employ me a second time. He madeinquiries for St. Francis's biography, as if he would dub him hisLeib-heiliger (body-saint), as Goethe (saying that every one must haveone) declared St. Philip Neri to be his. 

The painter monk at Camaldoli also interested him, but he heard myaccount only in addition to a _very poor_ exhibition of professionaltalent; but he would not allow the pictures to be so very poor, asevery nun ought to be beautiful when she takes the veil. 

I recollect, too, the pleasure he expressed when I said to him, 'You arenow sitting in Dante's chair. ' It faces the south transept of thecathedral at Florence. 

I have been often asked whether Mr. W. Wrote anything on the journey, and my answer has always been, 'Little or nothing. ' Seeds were cast intothe earth, and they took root slowly. This reminds me that I once wasprivy to the conception of a sonnet, with a distinctness which did notonce occur on the longer Italian journey. This was when I accompaniedhim into the Isle of Man. We had been drinking tea with Mr. And Mrs. Cookson, and left them when the weather was dull. Very soon afterleaving them we passed the church tower of Bala Sala. The upper part ofthe tower had a sort of frieze of yellow lichens. Mr. W. Pointed it outto me, and said, 'It's a perpetual sunshine. ' I thought no more of it, till I read the beautiful sonnet, 'Broken in fortune, but in mind entire;'[245]

and then I exclaimed, I was present at the conception of this sonnet, atleast of the combination of thought out of which it arose. 

I beg to subscribe myself, with sincere esteem, Faithfully yours, H. C. ROBINSON. [246]

[245] See _Memoirs_, ii. 246. 

[246] _Ibid. _ ii. 329-32. 

 * * * * *

(_d_) REMINISCENCES OF WORDSWORTH. 

BY LADY RICHARDSON, AND MRS. DAVY, OF THE OAKS, AMBLESIDE. 

(1. ) LADY RICHARDSON. 

Lancrigg, Easedale, August 26. 1841. 

Wordsworth made some striking remarks on Goethe in a walk on the terraceyesterday. He thinks that the German poet is greatly overrated, both inthis country and his own. He said, 'He does not seem to me to be a greatpoet in either of the classes of poets. At the head of the first class Iwould place Homer and Shakspeare, whose universal minds are able toreach every variety of thought and feeling without bringing their ownindividuality before the reader. They infuse, they breathe life intoevery object they approach, but you never find _themselves_. At the headof the second class, those whom you can trace individually in all theywrite, I would place Spenser and Milton. In all that Spenser writes youcan trace the gentle affectionate spirit of the man; in all that Miltonwrites you find the exalted sustained being that he was. Now in whatGoethe writes, who aims to be of the first class, the _universal_, youfind the man himself, the artificial man, where he should not be found;so consider him a very artificial writer, aiming to be universal, andyet constantly exposing his individuality, which his character was notof a kind to dignify. He had not sufficiently clear moral perceptions tomake him anything but an artificial writer. 

Tuesday, the 2d of May, Wordsworth and Miss F. Came early to walk aboutand dine. He was in a very happy kindly mood. We took a walk on theterrace, and he went as usual to his favourite points. On our return hewas struck with the berries on the holly tree, and said, 'Why should notyou and I go and pull some berries from the other side of the tree, which is not seen from the window? and then we can go and plant them inthe rocky ground behind the house. ' We pulled the berries, and set forthwith our tool. I made the holes, and the Poet put in the berries. He wasas earnest and eager about it, as if it had been a matter of importance;and as he put the seeds in, he every now and then muttered, in his lowsolemn tone, that beautiful verse from Burns's 'Vision:'

 'And wear thou this, she solemn said, And bound the holly round my head. The polished leaves and berries red Did rustling play; And like a passing thought she fled In light away. '

He clambered to the highest rocks in the 'Tom Intake, ' and put in theberries in such situations as Nature sometimes does with such true andbeautiful effect. He said, 'I like to do this for posterity. Some peopleare selfish enough to say, What has posterity done for me? but the pastdoes much for us. '

(II. ) ADDITIONAL SENT TO THE PRESENT EDITOR BY LADY RICHARDSON. 

_August 28th_, 1841. --Mr. Wordsworth, Miss Fenwick, and Mrs. Hill cameto dine, and it rained on the whole day, but happily the Poet talked onfrom two to eight without being weary, as we certainly were not. Afterdinner, when we came to the drawing-room, the conversation turned on thetreatment of Wordsworth by the reviews of the day. I had never heard himopen out on it before, and was much struck with the manner in which hedid it; from his present elevation looking calmly back on the past, andat the same time feeling that an irreparable injury had been done to himat the time when life and hope were young. As nearly as I can I shallrecord his words as they were spoken. He said:

'At the time I resolved to dedicate myself to poetry and separate myselffrom the ordinary lucrative professions, it would certainly have been agreat object to me to have reaped the profits I should have done from mywritings but for the stupidity of Mr. Gifford and the impertinence ofMr. Jeffrey. It would have enabled me to purchase many books which Icould not obtain, and I should have gone to Italy earlier, which I nevercould afford to do until I was sixty-five, when Moxon gave me a thousandpounds for my writings. This was the only kind of injury Mr. Jeffrey didme, for I immediately perceived that his mind was of that kind that hisindividual opinion on poetry was of no consequence to me whatever, thatit was only by the influence his periodical exercised at the time inpreventing my poems being read and sold that he could injure me; forfeeling that my writings were founded on what was true and spiritual inhuman nature, I knew the time would come when they must be known, and Inever therefore felt his opinion of the slightest value, except inpreventing the young of that generation from receiving impressions whichmight have been of use to them through life. I say this, I hope not in aboasting spirit, but I am now daily surprised by receiving letters fromvarious places at home and abroad expressive of gratitude to me frompersons I never saw or heard of. As this occurs now, I may fairlyconclude that it might have been so when the poems appeared, but for thetyranny exercised over public opinion by the _Edinburgh_ and _QuarterlyReviews_. '

_December_ 1841. --Wordsworth and Miss Fenwick spent the shortest day ofthe year with us; he brought with him his Epitaph on Southey, and as wesat round the fire after dinner, my mother asked him to read it to us, which he did in his usual impressive manner. He asked our impression ofit. My mother ventured to tell him of one word, or rather two, which shethought might be altered with advantage. They were these:

 'Wide was his range, but ne'er in human breast Did private feeling find a holier nest. '

'Holier nest' were the words she objected to, as not being a correctunion of ideas. He took the suggestion most kindly, and said it had beenmuch discussed in his own mind and in his family circle, but that he sawthe force of what she said, and that he was aware many others would seeit also. He said there was yet time to change it, and that he shouldconsult Judge Coleridge whether the line, as he once had it, 'Did private feeling meet in holier rest, '

would not be more appropriate to the simplicity of an epitaph where youcon every word, and where every word is expected to bear an exactmeaning. We all thought this was an improvement. During tea he talkedwith great animation of the separation of feeling between the rich andpoor in this country; the reason of this he thinks is the greaterfreedom we enjoy; that the line of demarcation not being so clearly laiddown in this country by the law as in others, people fancy they mustmake it for themselves. He considers Christianity the only cure for thisstate of things. He spoke of his own desire to carry out the feeling ofbrotherhood with regard to servants, which he all along endeavoured todo. He doubted whether he might not have had better servants on adifferent system; but he thought it right to endeavour to inspire yourdomestics with a feeling of common interest. My mother said she entirelyagreed with him, but she had always found it most difficult. 

(III. ) LADY RICHARDSON (CONTINUED). 

_November_ 1843. --Wordsworth holds the critical power very low, infinitely lower than the inventive; and he said to-day that if thequantity of time considered in writing critiques on the works of otherswere given to original composition, of whatever kind it might be, itwould be much better employed; it would make a man find out sooner hisown level, and it would do infinitely less mischief. A false ormalicious criticism may do much injury to the minds of others; a stupidinvention, either in prose or verse, is quite harmless. 

_December_ 22_d_, 1843. --The shortest day is past, and it was a verypleasant one to us, for Wordsworth and Miss Fenwick offered to spend itwith us. They came early, and, although it was misty and dingy, heproposed to walk up Easedale. We went by the terrace, and through thelittle gate on the Fell, round by Brimmer Head, having diverged a littleup from Easedale, nearly as far as the ruined cottage. He said, when heand his sister wandered there so much, that cottage was inhabited by aman of the name of Benson, a waller, its last inhabitant. He said on theterrace, 'This is a striking anniversary to me; for this day forty-fouryears ago, my sister and I took up our abode at Grasmere, and three daysafter we found out this walk, which long remained our favourite haunt. 'There is always something very touching in his way of speaking of hissister; the tones of his voice become more gentle and solemn, and heceases to have that flow of expression which is so remarkable in him onall other subjects. It is as if the sadness connected with her presentcondition was too much for him to dwell upon in connection with thepast, although habit and the 'omnipotence of circumstance' have made itsdaily presence less oppressive to his spirits. He said that his sisterspoke constantly of their early days, but more of the years they spenttogether in other parts of England than those at Grasmere. As weproceeded on our walk he happened to speak of the frequent unhappinessof married persons, and the low and wretched principles on which thegreater number of marriages were formed. He said that unless there was astrong foundation of love and respect, the 'unavoidable breaks andcataracts' of domestic life must soon end in mutual aversion, for thatmarried life ought not to be in theory, and assuredly it never was inpractice, a system of mere submission on either side, but it should be asystem of mutual cooperation for the good of each. If the wife is alwaysexpected to conceal her difference of opinion from her husband, sheceases to be an equal, and the man loses the advantage which themarriage tie is intended to provide for him in a civilised andChristian country. He then went on to say, that, although he never sawan amiable single woman without wishing that she were married, from hisstrong feeling of the happiness of a well-assorted marriage, yet he wasfar from thinking that marriage always improved people. It certainly didnot, unless it was a congenial marriage. [247]

(IV. ) Mrs. DAVY. 

'The Oaks, Ambleside, Monday, Jan. 22. 1844. 

While Mrs. Quillinan was sitting with us to-day, Henry Fletcher ran into say that he had reserved his summons for Oxford (he had been insuspense about rooms as an exhibitioner at Balliol), and must be offwithin an hour. His young cousins and I went down with him to wait forthe mail in the marketplace. We found Mr. Wordsworth walking aboutbefore the post-office door in very charming mood. His spirits wereexcited by the bright morning sunshine, and he entered at once on a fullflow of discourse. He looked very benevolently on Henry as he mounted onthe top of the coach, and seemed quite disposed to give an old man'sblessing to the young man entering on an untried field, and then (nowiseinterrupted by the hurrying to and fro of ostlers with their smokinghorses, or passengers with their carpet bags) he launched into adissertation, in which there was, I thought, a remarkable union of hispowerful diction, and his practical, thoughtful good sense, on thesubject of college habits, and of his utter distrust of all attempts tonurse virtue by an avoidance of temptation. He expressed also his entirewant of confidence (from experience he said) of highly-wrought religiousexpression in youth. The safest training for the mind in religion heconsidered to be a contemplating of the character and personal historyof Christ. 'Work it, ' he said, 'into your thoughts, into yourimagination, make it a real presence in the mind. ' I was rejoiced tohear this plain, loving confession of a Christian faith from Wordsworth. I never heard one more earnest, more as if it came out of a devoutlybelieving heart. 

[247] The close of Lady Richardson's 'Reminiscences' here in the_Memoirs_ is not given, as being more fully introduced under December1841, p. 438. The repetition of the same sentiments in 1843, however, isnoticeable. For a vivid and sweetly toned paper on Wordsworth by LadyRichardson--based on the _Memoirs_--see _Sharpe's London Magazine_ forMarch 1853, pp. 148-55. G. 

 The Oaks, March 5. 1844. 

On our way to Lancrigg to-day, we called at Foxhow. We met Mr. Wordsworth there, and asked him to go with us. It was a beautiful day, one of his very own 'mild days' of this month. He kindly consented, andwalked with us to meet the carriage at Pelter Bridge. On our drive, hementioned, with marked pleasure, a dedication written by Mr. Keble, andsent to him for his approval, and for his permission to have it prefixedto Mr. Keble's new volumes of Latin Lectures on Poetry delivered atOxford. Mr. Wordsworth said that he had never seen any estimate of hispoetical powers, or more especially of his aims in poetry, that appearedto him so discriminating and so satisfactory. He considers praise aperilous and a difficult thing. On this subject he often quotes hislamented friend, Sir George Beaumont, whom, in his intercourse with menof genius, literary aspirants, he describes as admirable in the modestywhich he inculcated and practised on this head. 

The Oaks, Ambleside, July 11. 1844. 

Mr. And Mrs. Wordsworth at dinner, along with our family party. Mr. AndMrs. Price (from Rugby), two aunts of Mrs. P. 's, and her brother, Mr. Rose, a young clergyman (a devout admirer of Wordsworth), joined us attea. A circle was made as large as our little parlour could hold. Mr. Price sat next to Mr. Wordsworth, and by design or fortunate accident, introduced some remark on the powers and the discourse of Coleridge. Mr. Wordsworth entered heartily and largely on the subject. He said that theliveliest and truest image he could give of Coleridge's talk was 'thatof a majestic river, the sound or sight of whose course you caught atintervals, which was sometimes concealed by forests, sometimes lost insand, then came flashing out broad and distinct, then again took a turnwhich your eye could not follow, yet you knew and felt that it was thesame river: so, ' he said, 'there was always a train, a stream, inColeridge's discourse, always a connection between its parts in his ownmind, though one not always perceptible to the minds of others. ' Mr. Wordsworth went on to say, that in his opinion Coleridge had been spoiltas a poet by going to Germany. The bent of his mind, which was at alltimes very much to metaphysical theology, had there been fixed in thatdirection. 'If it had not been so, ' said Wordsworth, 'he would havebeen the greatest, the most abiding poet of his age. His very faultswould have made him popular (meaning his sententiousness and labouredstrain), while he had enough of the essentials of a poet to make himdeservedly popular in a higher sense. '

 * * * * *

Mr. Price soon after mentioned a statement of Coleridge's respectinghimself, recorded in his 'Table Talk, ' namely, that a visit to thebattle-field of Marathon would raise in him no kindling emotion, andasked Mr. Wordsworth whether this was true as a token of his mind. Atfirst Mr. Wordsworth said, 'Oh! that was a mere bravado, for the sake ofastonishing his hearers!' but then, correcting himself, he added, 'Andyet it might in some sense be true, for Coleridge was not under theinfluence of external objects. He had extraordinary powers of summoningup an image or series of images in his own mind, and he might mean thathis idea of Marathon was so vivid, that no visible observation couldmake it more so. ' 'A remarkable instance of this, ' added Mr. Wordsworth, 'is his poem, said to be "composed in the Vale of Chamouni. " Now henever was at Chamouni, or near it, in his life. ' Mr. Wordsworth nextgave a somewhat humorous account of the rise and progress of the'Ancient Mariner. ' 'It arose, ' he said, 'out of the want of five poundswhich Coleridge and I needed to make a tour together in Devonshire. Weagreed to write jointly a poem, the subject of which Coleridge took froma dream which a friend of his had once dreamt concerning a personsuffering under a dire curse from the commission of some crime. ' 'I, 'said Wordsworth, 'supplied the crime, the shooting of the albatross, from an incident I had met with in one of Shelvocke's voyages. We triedthe poem conjointly for a day or two, but we pulled different ways, andonly a few lines of it are mine. ' From Coleridge, the discourse thenturned to Scotland. Mr. Wordsworth, in his best manner, with earnestthoughts given out in noble diction, gave his reasons for thinking thatas a poet Scott would not live. 'I don't like, ' he said, 'to say allthis, or to take to pieces some of the best reputed passages of Scott'sverse, especially in presence of my wife, because she thinks me toofastidious; but as a poet Scott _cannot_ live, for he has never inverse written anything addressed to the immortal part of man. In makingamusing stories in verse, he will be superseded by some newer versifier;what he writes in the way of natural description is merely rhymingnonsense. ' As a prose writer, Mr. Wordsworth admitted that Scott hadtouched a higher vein, because there he had really dealt with feelingand passion. As historical novels, professing to give the manners of apast time, he did not attach much value to those works of Scott's socalled, because that he held to be an attempt in which success wasimpossible. This led to some remarks on historical writing, from whichit appeared that Mr. Wordsworth has small value for anything butcontemporary history. He laments that Dr. Arnold should have spent somuch of his time and powers in gathering up and putting into imaginaryshape the scattered fragments of the history of Rome. [248]

These scraps of Wordsworth's large, thoughtful, earnest discourse, seemvery meagre as I note them down, and in themselves perhaps hardly worthpreserving and yet this is an evening which those who spent it in hiscompany will long remember. His venerable head; his simple, natural, andgraceful attitude in his arm-chair; his respectful attention to theslightest remarks or suggestions of others in relation to what wasspoken of; his kindly benevolence of expression as he looked round nowand then on the circle in our little parlour, all bent to 'devour up hisdiscourse, ' filled up and enlarged the meaning which I fear is but illconveyed in the words as they are now set down. 

(V. ) LADY RICHARDSON: WORDSWORTH'S BIRTH-DAY. 

On Tuesday, April the 7th, 1844, my mother[249] and I left Lancrigg tobegin our Yorkshire journey. We arrived at Rydal Mount about threeo'clock, and found the tables all tastefully decorated on the esplanadein front of the house. The Poet was standing looking at them with a verypleased expression of face; he received us very kindly, and very soonthe children began to arrive. The Grasmere boys and girls came first, and took their places on the benches placed round the gravelled part ofthe esplanade; their eyes fixed with wonder and admiration on the tablescovered with oranges, gingerbread, and painted eggs, ornamented withdaffodils, laurels, and moss, gracefully intermixed. The plot soon beganto thicken, and the scene soon became very animated. Neighbours, old andyoung, of all degrees, ascended to the Mount to keep the Poet'sseventy-fourth birthday, and every face looked friendly and happy. Eachchild brought its own mug, and held it out to be filled with tea, inwhich ceremony all assisted. Large baskets of currant cakes were handedround and liberally dispensed; and as each detachment of children hadsatisfied themselves with tea and cake, they were moved off, to play athide and seek among the evergreens on the grassy part of the Mount. Theday was not bright, but it was soft, and not cold, and the scene, viewedfrom the upper windows of the house, was quite beautiful, and one Ishould have been very sorry not to have witnessed. It was innocent andgay, and perfectly natural. Miss F----, the donor of the fête, lookedvery happy, and so did all the Poet's household. The children, whoamounted altogether to above 300, gave three cheers to Mr. Wordsworthand Miss F----. After some singing and dancing, and after the divisionof eggs, gingerbread, and oranges had taken place, we all began todisperse. We spent the night at the Oaks, and set off on our journey thefollowing morning. The gay scene at the Mount often comes before me, asa pleasant dream. It is perhaps the only part of the island where such areunion of all classes could have taken place without any connection oflandlord and tenant, or any clerical relation, or school direction. Wordsworth, while looking at the gambols on the Mount, expressed hisconviction that if such meetings could oftener take place between peopleof different condition, a much more friendly feeling would be createdthan now exists in this country between the rich and poor. 

[248] But see _Memorials of Italy_, 'Sonnets on Roman Historians. '

[249] Mrs. Fletcher. 

 * * * * *

_July 12th, _ 1844. --Wordsworth spoke much during the evening of hisearly intercourse with Coleridge, on some one observing that it wasdifficult to carry away a distinct impression from Coleridge'sconversation, delightful as every one felt his outpourings to be. Wordsworth agreed, but said he was occasionally very happy in clothingan idea in words; and he mentioned one which was recorded in hissister's journal during a tour they all made together in Scotland. Theypassed a steam engine, and Wordsworth made some observation to theeffect that it was scarcely possible to divest oneself of the impressionon seeing it that it had life and volition. 'Yes, ' replied Coleridge, 'it is a giant with one idea. '

 * * * * *

He discoursed at great length on Scott's works. His poetry he consideredof that kind which will always he in demand, and that the supply willalways meet it, suited to the age. He does not consider that it in anyway goes below the surface of things; it does not reach to anyintellectual or spiritual emotion; it is altogether superficial, and hefelt it himself to be so. His descriptions are not true to Nature; theyare addressed to the ear, not to the mind. He was a master of bodilymovements in his battle-scenes; but very little productive power wasexerted in popular creations. 

DUDDON EXCURSION

On Friday, the 6th September 1844, I set off to breakfast at RydalMount, it being the day fixed by Mr. Wordsworth for our long-projectedexcursion to the Valley of the Duddon. 

 * * * * *

The rain fell in torrents, and it became doubtful whether we should setoff or not; but as it was a thunder-shower, we waited till it was over, and then Wordsworth, Mr. Quillinan, Miss Hutchinson, and I, set forth inour carriage to Coniston, where we were to find the Rydal Mount carriageawaiting us with Mr. Hutchinson. Wordsworth talked very agreeably on theway to Coniston, and repeated several verses of his own, which he seemedpleased that Serjeant Talfourd had repeated to him the day before. Hementioned a singular instance of T. Campbell's inaccuracy of memory inhaving actually printed as his own a poem of Wordsworth's, 'TheComplaint:' he repeated it beautifully as we were going up the hill toConiston. On reaching the inn in the village of Coniston, the rain againfell in torrents. At length, the carriages were ordered to the door withthe intention of our returning home; but just as they were ready the sunbroke out, and we turned the horse's head towards Ulpha Kirk. The rightbank of Coniston was all new to me after we passed the village, and OldMan of Coniston. The scenery ceases to be bold and rugged, but is verypleasing, the road passing through hazel copses, the openings showingnice little cornfields and comfortable detached farms, with olduncropped trees standing near them; some very fine specimens of old ashtrees, which I longed to transport to Easedale, where they have been socruelly lopped. The opening towards the sea, as we went on, was verypleasing; but the first striking view of the Duddon was looking downupon it soon after we passed Broughton, where you turn to the right, andvery soon after perceive the peculiar beauty of the valley, although itdoes not take its wild and dreamlike beauty till you pass Ulpha Kirk. Wereversed the order of the sonnets, and saw the river first, 'in radiantprogress tow'rd the deep, ' instead of tracing this 'child of the clouds'from its cradle in the lofty waste. We reached the Kirk of Ulpha betweenfive and six. The appearance of the little farm-house inn at once madeanything approaching to a dinner an impossibility had we wished it everso much; but in due time we had tea and boiled ham, with two eggsapiece, and were much invigorated by this our first Duddonian meal. Thehostess was evidently surprised that we thought of remaining all night, so humbly did she think of the accommodation she had to offer. Sheremembered Mr. Wordsworth sleeping there fifteen years ago, because itwas just after the birth of her daughter, a nice comely girl whoattended us at tea. Mr. Quillinan showed great good nature andunselfishness in the arrangements he made, and the care he took of theadmirable horse, which I saw him feeding out of a tub, a manger beingtoo great a refinement for Ulpha. 

 * * * * *

After tea, although it was getting dark, we went to the churchyard, which commands a beautiful view towards Seathwaite, and we then walkedin that direction, through a lane where the walls were more richlycovered by moss and fern than any I ever saw before. A beautifuldark-coloured tributary to the Duddon comes down from the moors on theleft hand, about a mile from Ulpha; and soon after we had passed thesmall bridge over this stream, Mr. Wordsworth recollected a well whichhe had discovered some thirty or forty years before. We went off theroad in search of it, through a shadowy, embowered path; and as it wasalmost dark we should probably have failed in finding it, had we notmet a very tiny boy, with a can of water in his hand, who looked at usin speechless amazement, when the Poet said, 'Is there a well here, mylittle lad?' We found the well, and then joined the road again byanother path, leaving the child to ponder whether we were creatures ofearth or air. 

 * * * * *

Saturday morning was cloudy but soft, and lovely in its hazy effects. When I went out about seven, I saw Wordsworth going a few steps, andthen moving on, and stopping again, in a very abstracted manner; so Ikept back. But when he saw me, he advanced, and took me again to thechurchyard to see the morning effects, which were very lovely. He saidhe had not slept well, that the recollection of former days and peoplehad crowded upon him, and, 'most of all, my dear sister; and when Ithought of her state, and of those who had passed away, Coleridge, andSouthey, and many others, while I am left with all my many infirmities, if not sins, in full consciousness, how could I sleep? and then I tookto the alteration of sonnets, and that made the matter worse still. 'Then suddenly stopping before a little bunch of harebell, which, alongwith some parsley fern, grew out of the wall near us, he exclaimed, 'Howperfectly beautiful that is!

 "Would that the little flowers that grow could live, Conscious of half the pleasure that they give. "'

He then expatiated on the inexhaustible beauty of the arrangements ofNature, its power of combining in the most secret recesses, and that itmust be for some purpose of beneficence that such operations existed. After breakfast, we got into the cart of the inn, which had a seat swunginto it, upon which a bolster was put, in honour, I presume, of the PoetLaureate. In this we jogged on to Seathwaite, getting out to ascend acraggy eminence on the right, which Mrs. Wordsworth admired: the viewfrom it is very striking. You see from it all the peculiarities of thevale, the ravine where the Duddon 'deserts the haunts of men, ' 'thespots of stationary sunshine, ' and the homesteads which are scatteredhere and there, both on the heights and in the lower ground nearprotecting rocks and craggy steeps. Seathwaite I had a perfectrecollection of; and the way we approached it twenty years ago, fromConiston over Walna Scar, is the way Mr. Wordsworth still recommends asthe most beautiful. We went on some distance beyond the chapel, andevery new turning and opening among the hills allured us on, till atlast the Poet was obliged to exercise the word of command, that weshould proceed no further. The return is always a flat thing, so I shallnot detail it, except that we reached our respective homes in good time;and I hope I shall never cease to think with gratitude and pleasure ofthe kindness of my honoured guide through the lovely scenes he hasrescued from obscurity, although it happily still remains an unvitiatedregion, 'which stands in no need of the veil of twilight to soften ordisguise its features: as it glistens in the morning's sun it fills thespectator's heart with gladsomeness. '

_November 21_. --My mother and I called at Rydal last Saturday, to seethe Wordsworths after their autumnal excursion. We found him only athome, looking in great vigour and much the better for this little changeof scene and circumstance. He spoke with much interest of acommunication he had had from a benevolent surgeon at Manchester, anadmirer of his, who thinks that a great proportion of the blindness inthis country might be prevented by attention to the diseases of the eyein childhood. He spoke of two very interesting blind ladies he had seenat Leamington, one of whom had been at Rydal Mount a short time beforeher 'total eclipse, ' and now derived the greatest comfort from therecollection of these beautiful scenes, almost the last she looked on. He spoke of his own pleasure in returning to them, and of the effect ofthe first view from 'Orrest Head, ' the point mentioned in his'unfortunate[250] sonnet, which has, ' he said, 'you are aware, exposedme to the most unlooked for accusations. They actually accuse me ofdesiring to interfere with the innocent enjoyments of the poor, bypreventing this district becoming accessible to them by a railway. Now Ideny that it is to that class that this kind of scenery is either themost improving or the most attractive. For the very poor the great Godof Nature has mercifully spread out His Bible everywhere; the commonsunshine, green fields, the blue sky, the shining river, are everywhereto be met with in this country; and it is only an individual here andthere among the uneducated classes who feels very deeply the poetry oflakes and mountains; and such persons would rather wander about wherethey like, than rush through the country in a railway. It is not, therefore, the poor, as a class, that would benefit morally or mentallyby a railway conveyance; while to the educated classes, to whom suchscenes as these give enjoyment of the purest kind, the effect would bealmost entirely destroyed. '

[250] See the Sonnet and Letters on the Furness Railway (vol. Ii. P. 321). G. 

_Wednesday, 20th Nov_. --A most remarkable halo was seen round the moonsoon after five o'clock to-day; the colours of the rainbow were mostbrilliant, and the circle was entire for about five minutes. 

Thursday, Mr. Wordsworth dined here with the Balls, Davys, and Mr. Jefferies. Mr. W. Spoke with much delight of the moon the day before, and said his servant, whom he called 'dear James, ' called his attentionto it. 

 * * * * *

_Wednesday, Dec. 18th_. --The Wordsworths and Quillinans sat two hourswith us. He said he thought [Dr. Arnold] was mistaken in the philosophyof his view of the danger of Milton's Satan being represented withouthorns and hoofs; that Milton's conception was as true as it was grand;that making sin ugly was a common-place notion compared with making itbeautiful outwardly, and inwardly a hell. It assumed every form ofambition and worldliness, the form in which sin attacks the highestnatures. 

 * * * * *

This day, Sunday, the 9th of February, the snow is again falling fast, but very gently. Yesterday, the 8th, was a beautiful day. We had a verypleasant visit of above an hour from Wordsworth and his wife. He was inexcellent spirits, and repeated with a solemn beauty, quite peculiar tohimself, a sonnet he had lately composed on 'Young England;' and hisindignant burst 'Where then is _old_, our dear old England?' was one ofthe finest bursts of Nature and Art combined I have ever heard. My dearmother's face, too, while he was repeating it, was a fine addition tothe picture; and I could not help feeling they were both noble specimensof 'dear old England. ' Mrs. Wordsworth, too, is a goodly type of anotherclass of old England, more thoroughly English perhaps than either of theothers, but they made an admirable trio; and Mrs. Wordsworth's faceexpressed more admiration of her husband in his bardic mood than I eversaw before. He discussed mesmerism very agreeably, stating strongly hisdetestation of clairvoyance; not only on the presumption of its beingaltogether false, but supposing it, for argument sake, to be true, thenhe thinks it would be an engine of enormous evil, putting it in thepower of any malicious person to blast the character of another, andshaking to the very foundations the belief in individual responsibility. He is not disposed to reject without examination the assertions withregard to the curative powers of mesmerism. He spoke to-day withpleasure of having heard that Mr. Lockhart had been struck by his linesfrom a MSS. Poem, printed in his Railway-Sonnet pamphlet. 

 * * * * *

_February 24th_. --Snow still on the ground. It has never been quiteclear of snow since the 27th January. Partial thaws have allowed us topeep out into the world of Ambleside and Rydal; and last Saturday wedrank tea at Foxhow, and met the Wordsworths and Miss F----. He is veryhappy to have his friend home again, and was in a very agreeable mood. He repeated his sonnet on the 'Pennsylvanians, ' and again that on 'YoungEngland, ' which I admire so much. 

 * * * * *

_March 6th_. --Wordsworth, whom we met yesterday at dinner at the Oaks, expressed his dislike to monuments in churches; partly from theabsurdity and falsehood of the epitaphs which sometimes belonged tothem, and partly from their injuring the architectural beauties of theedifice, as they grievously did in Westminster Abbey and many othercathedrals. He made an exception in favour of those old knightlymonuments, which he admitted added to the solemnity of the scene, andwere in keeping with the buildings; and he added, 'I must also exceptanother monument which once made a deep impression on my mind. It was ina small church near St. Alban's; and I once left London in theafternoon, so as to sleep at St. Alban's the first night, and have a fewhours of evening light to visit this church. It was before the inventionof railways, and I determined that I would always do the same; but, theyear after, railways existed, and I have never been able to carry out myproject again: all wandering is now over. Well, I went to this smallcountry church; and just opposite the door at which you enter, thefigure of the great Lord Bacon, in pure white, was the first thing thatpresented itself. I went there to see his tomb, but I did not expect tosee himself; and it impressed me deeply. There he was, a man whose fameextends over the whole civilised world, sitting calmly, age after age, in white robes of pure alabaster, in this small country church, seldomvisited except by some stray traveller, he having desired to be interredin this spot, to lie near his mother. '

On referring to Mallet's Life of Bacon, I see he mentions that he wasprivately buried at St. Michael's church, near St. Alban's; and it adds, 'The spot that contains his remains lay obscure and undistinguished, till the gratitude of a private man, formerly his servant' (Sir ThomasMeautys), 'erected a monument to his name and memory. ' This makes itprobable that the likeness is a correct one. 

_November 8th_, 1845. --On our way to take an early dinner at Foxhowyesterday, we met the Poet at the foot of his own hill, and he engagedus to go to tea to the Mount on our way home to hear their adventures, he and his Mary having just returned from a six weeks' wander amongtheir friends. During their absence we always feel that the road betweenGrasmere and Ambleside is wanting in something, beautiful as it is. Wereached the Mount before six, and found dear Mrs. Wordsworth muchrestored by her tour. She has enjoyed the visit to her kith and kin inHerefordshire extremely, and we had a nice comfortable chat round thefire and the tea-table. After tea, in speaking of the misfortune it waswhen a young man did not seem more inclined to one profession thananother, Wordsworth said that he had always some feeling of indulgencefor men at that age who felt such a difficulty. He had himself passedthrough it, and had incurred the strictures of his friends and relationson this subject. He said that after he had finished his college course, he was in great doubt as to what his future employment should be. He didnot feel himself good enough for the Church, he felt that his mind wasnot properly disciplined for that holy office, and that the strugglebetween his conscience and his impulses would have made life a torture. He also shrank from the law, although Southey often told him that he waswell fitted for the higher parts of the profession. He had studiedmilitary history with great interest, and the strategy of war; and healways fancied that he had talents for command; and he at one timethought of a military life, but then he was without connections, and hefelt if he were ordered to the West Indies his talents would not savehim from the yellow fever, and he gave that up. At this time he had onlya hundred a year. Upon this he lived, and travelled, and married, for itwas not until the late Lord Lonsdale came into possession that the moneywhich was due to them was restored. He mentioned this to show howdifficult it often was to judge of what was passing in a young man'smind, but he thought that for the generality of men, it was much betterthat they should be early led to the exercise of a profession of theirown choice. 

_December_ 1846. --Henry Fletcher and I dined at the Mount on the 21st ofthis month. The party consisted of Mr. Crabb Robinson (their Christmasguest), Mrs. Arnold, Miss Martineau, and ourselves. My mother's cold wastoo bad to allow her to go, which I regretted, as it was, like all theirlittle meetings, most sociable and agreeable. Wordsworth was muchpleased with a little notice of his new edition in the _Examiner_; hethought it very well done. He expressed himself very sweetly at dinneron the pleasant terms of neighbourly kindness we enjoyed in the valleys. It will be pleasant in after times to remember his words, and still morehis manner when he said this, it was done with such perfect simplicityand equality of feeling, without the slightest reference to self, and Iam sure without thinking of himself at the time as more than one of thelittle circle whose friendly feeling he was commending. 

 * * * * *

_October_ 1846. --Wordsworth dined with us one day last week, and was inmuch greater vigour than I have seen him all this summer. 

 * * * * *

He mentioned incidentally that the spelling of our language was verymuch fixed in the time of Charles the Second, and that the attemptswhich had been made since, and are being made in the present day, werenot likely to succeed. He entered his protest as usual against[Carlyle's] style, and said that since Johnson no writer had done somuch to vitiate the English language. He considers Lord Chesterfield thelast good English writer before Johnson. Then came the Scotchhistorians, who did infinite mischief to style, with the exception ofSmollett, who wrote good pure English. He quite agreed to the sayingthat all great poets wrote good prose; he said there was not oneexception. He does not think Burns's prose equal to his verse, but thishe attributes to his writing his letters in English words, while in hisverse he was not trammelled in this way, but let his numbers have theirown way. 

_Lancrigg, November_. --Mr. And Mrs. Wordsworth took an early dinner withus on the 26th of this month. He was very vigorous, and spoke of hismajority at Glasgow, also of his reception at Oxford. He told us of anapplication he had just had from a Glasgow publisher that he shouldwrite a sonnet in praise of Fergusson and Allan Ramsay, to prefix to anew edition of those Poets which was about to appear. He intended toreply, that Burns's lines to Fergusson would be a much more appropriatetribute than anything he could write; and he went on to say that Burnsowed much to Fergusson, and that he had taken the plan of many of hispoems from Fergusson, and the measure also. He did not think this at alldetracted from the merit of Burns, for he considered it a much highereffort of genius to excel in degree, than to strike out what may becalled an original poem. He spoke highly of the purity of language ofthe Scotch poets of an earlier period, Gavin Douglass and others, andsaid that they greatly excelled the English poets, after Chaucer, whichhe attributed to the distractions of England during the wars of York andLancaster. 

_December 25th_, 1846. --My mother and I called at Rydal Mount yesterdayearly, to wish our dear friends the blessings of the season. Mrs. W. Metus at the door most kindly, and we found him before his good fire in thedining-room, with a flock of robins feasting at the window. He had anold tattered book in his hand; and as soon as he had given us a cordialgreeting, he said, in a most animated manner, 'I must read to you whatMary and I have this moment finished. It is a passage in the Life ofThomas Elwood. ' He then read to us the following extract:

'Some little time before I went to Alesbury prison, I was desired by myquondam master, Milton, to take an house for him in the neighbourhoodwhere I dwell, that he might get out of the city, for the safety ofhimself and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in London. Itook a pretty box for him in Giles-Chalford, a mile from me, of which Igave him notice; and intended to have waited on him, and seen him wellsettled in it, but was prevented by that imprisonment. 

'But now being released, and returned home, I soon made a visit to him, to welcome him into the country. 

'After some common discourses had passed between us, he called for amanuscript of his, which being brought, he delivered to me, bidding metake it home with me and read it at my leisure; and when I had so done, return it to him with my judgment thereupon. 

'When I came home, and had set myself to read it, I found it was thatexcellent poem which he entituled 'Paradise Lost. ' After I had with thebest attention read it through, I made him another visit, and returnedhim his book with due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me incommunicating it to me. He asked me how I liked it, and what I thoughtof it, which I modestly, but freely told him; and after some furtherdiscourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, "Thou hast said much hereof Paradise lost, but what hast thou to say of Paradise found?" He mademe no answer, but sate some time in a muse; then brake off thatdiscourse, and fell upon another subject. After the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed and become safely habitable again, hereturned thither; and when afterwards I went to wait on him there (whichI seldom failed of doing whenever my occasions drew me to London), heshowed me his second poem, called "Paradise Regained;" and in apleasant tone said to me, "This is owing to you, for you put it into myhead by the question you put to me at Chalford, which before I had notthought of. " _But from this digression I return to the family I thenlived in. '_

Wordsworth was highly diverted with the _apology_ of the worthy Quaker, for _the digression_, which has alone saved him from oblivion. Heoffered to send us the old book, which came a few days after; and Ishall add another digression in favour of John Milton, to whom heappears to have been introduced about the year 1661, by a Dr. Paget. Itis thus notified _apropos_ to Thomas Elwood feeling a desire for morelearning than he possessed, which having expressed to Isaac Pennington, with whom he himself lived as tutor to his children, he says, 'IsaacPennington had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget, a physician ofnote in London, and he with John Milton, a gentleman of great note forlearning throughout the learned world, for the accurate pieces he hadwritten on various subjects and occasions. This person having filled apublic station in the former times, lived now a private and retired lifein London, and, having wholly lost his sight, kept always a man to readto him, which usually was the son of some gentleman of his acquaintance, whom in kindness he took to improve in his learning. 

'He received me courteously, as well for the sake of Dr. Paget, whointroduced me, as of Isaac Pennington who recommended me, to both whomhe bore a good respect; and having inquired divers things of me, withrespect to my former progression in learning, he dismissed me to providemyself of such accommodations as might be most suitable to my futurestudies. 

'I went, therefore, and took myself a lodging as near to his house, which was then in Jewin-street, as conveniently I could, and fromthenceforward went every day in the afternoon (except on the first daysof the week), and sitting by him in his dining-room, read to him in suchbooks in the Latin tongue as he pleased to hear me read. '

(VI. ) MRS. DAVY (CONTINUED). 

The Oaks, Ambleside, Jan. 15. 1845. 

We dined to-day at Rydal Mount. Mr. Wordsworth, during dinner, grave andsilent, till, on some remark having been made on the present conditionof the Church, he most unreservedly gave his own views; and gaveexpression, as I have only once heard him give before, to his ownearnest, devout, humble feelings as a Christian. In the evening, beingled by some previous conversation to speak of St. Paul, he said, 'Oh, what a character that is! how well we know him! How human, yet hownoble! How little outward sufferings moved him! It is not in speaking ofthese that he calls himself wretched; it is when he speaks of the inwardconflict. Paul and David, ' he said, 'may be called the two Shakspeariancharacters in the Bible; both types, as it were, of human nature in itsstrength and its weakness. Moses is grand, but then it is chiefly fromposition, from the office he had entrusted to him. We do not know Mosesas a man, as a brother man. '

_April_ 7, 1846. --I went to the Mount to-day, to pay my respects to Mr. Wordsworth on his birthday. I found him and dear Mrs. Wordsworth veryhappy, in the arrival of their four grandsons. The two elder are to goto Rossall next week. Some talk concerning schools led Mr. Wordsworthinto a discourse, which, in relation to himself, I thought veryinteresting, on the dangers of emulation, as used in the way of help toschool progress. Mr. Wordsworth thinks that envy is too likely to goalong with this, and therefore would hold it to be unsafe. 'In my owncase, ' he said, 'I never felt emulation with another man but once, andthat was accompanied by envy. It is a horrid feeling. ' This 'once' wasin the study of Italian, which, he continued, 'I entered on at collegealong with ----' (I forget the name he mentioned). 'I never engaged inthe proper studies of the university, so that in these I had notemptation to envy any one; but I remember with pain that I _had_envious feelings when my fellow-student in Italian got before me. I washis superior in many departments of mind, but he was the better Italianscholar, and I envied him. The annoyance this gave me made me feel thatemulation was dangerous for _me_, and it made me very thankful that as aboy I never experienced it. I felt very early the force of the words, "Be ye perfect even as your Father in heaven is perfect, " and as ateacher, or friend, or counsellor of youth, I would hold forth no othermotive to exertion than this. There is, I think, none other held forthin the gospels. No permission is given to emulation there. .. . There mustalways be a danger of incurring the passion of vanity by emulation. Ifwe try to outstrip a fellow-creature, and succeed, we may naturallyenough be proud. The true lesson of humility is to strive afterconformity to that excellence which we never can surpass, never even bya great distance attain to. ' There was, in the whole manner as well asmatter of Mr. Wordsworth's discourse on this subject, a deep venerationfor the will of God concerning us, which I shall long remember withinterest and delight--I hope with profit. 'Oh! one other time, ' headded, smiling, 'one other time in my life I felt envy. It was when mybrother was nearly certain of success in a foot race with me. I trippedup his heels. This _must_ have been envy. '

 * * * * *

 Lesketh How, Jan. 11. 1847. 

In a morning visit by our fireside to-day from Mr. Wordsworth, somethingled to the mention of Milton, whose poetry, he said, was earlier afavourite with him than that of Shakspeare. Speaking of Milton's notallowing his daughters to learn the meaning of the Greek they read tohim, or at least not exerting himself to teach it to them, he admittedthat this seemed to betoken a low estimate of the condition and purposesof the female mind. 'And yet, where could he have picked up suchnotions, ' said Mr. W. , 'in a country which had seen so many women oflearning and talent? But his opinion of what women ought to be, it maybe presumed, is given in the unfallen Eve, as contrasted with the rightcondition of man before his Maker:

 "He for God only, she for God in him. "

Now that, ' said Mr. Wordsworth, earnestly, '_is_ a low, a very low and avery false estimate of woman's condition. ' He was amused on my showinghim the (almost) contemporary notice of Milton by Wycherly, and, afterreading it, spoke a good deal of the obscurity of men of genius in ornear their own times. 'But the most singular thing, ' he continued, 'is, that in all the writings of Bacon there is not one allusion toShakspeare. '

Lasketh How, Jan. 10. 1849. 

A long fireside visit from Mr. Wordsworth this morning, in highlysociable spirits; speaking much of old days and old acquaintances. Hespoke with much regret of Scott's careless views about money, and saidthat he had often spoken to him of the duty of economy, as a means toinsure literary independence. Scott's reply always was, 'Oh, I can makeas much as I please by writing. ' 'This, ' said Mr. W. , 'was marvellous tome, who had never written a line with a view to profit. ' Speaking of hisown prose writing, he said, that but for Coleridge's irregularity ofpurpose he should probably have left much more in that kind behind him. When Coleridge was proposing to publish his 'Friend, ' he (Mr. Wordsworth) offered contributions. Coleridge expressed himself pleasedwith the offer, but said, 'I must arrange my principles for the work, and when that is done I shall be glad of your aid. ' But this'arrangement of principles' never took place. Mr. Wordsworth added, 'Ithink my nephew, Dr. _Conversations and Personal Reminiscences_. 

Wordsworth, [251] will, after my death, collect and publish all I havewritten in prose. '

On this day, as I have heard him more than once before, Mr. Wordsworth, in a way very earnest, and to me very impressive and remarkable, disclaimed all value for, all concern about, posthumous fame. [252]

_(e)_ CONVERSATIONS AND REMINISCENCES RECORDED BY THE (NOW) BISHOP OFLINCOLN, &c. 

Remember, first read the ancient classical authors; _then_ come to_us_; and you will be able to judge for yourself which of us is worthreading. 

The first book of Homer appears to be independent of the rest. The planof the _Odyssey_ is more methodical than that of the _Iliad_. Thecharacter of Achilles seems to me one of the grandest ever conceived. There is something awful in it, particularly in the circumstance of hisacting under an abiding foresight of his own death. One day, conversingwith Payne Knight and Uvedale Price concerning Homer, I expressed myadmiration of Nestor's speech, as eminently natural, where he tells theGreek leaders that _they_ are mere children in comparison with theheroes of _old_ whom _he_ had known[253]. 'But, ' said Knight and Price, 'that passage is spurious. ' However, I will not part with it. It isinteresting to compare the same characters (Ajax, for instance) astreated by Homer, and then afterwards by the Greek dramatists, and tomark the difference of handling. In the plays of Euripides, politicscome in as a disturbing force: Homer's characters act on physicalimpulse. There is more _introversion_ in the dramatist: whenceAristotle rightly calls him _tsagichhôtatos_. The tower-scene, whereHelen comes into the presence of Priam and the old Trojans, displays oneof the most beautiful pictures anywhere to be seen. Priam's speech[254]on that occasion is a striking proof of the courtesy and delicacy of theHomeric age, or, at least, of Homer himself. 

[251] On another occasion, I believe, he intimated a desire that hisworks in Prose should be edited by his son-in-law, Mr. Quillinan. (_Memoirs, _ ii. 466. )

[252] _Memoirs, _ ii. 437-66. 

[253] _Iliad_, i. 260. 

[254] _Ibid. _ iii. 156. 

Catullus translated literally from the Greek; succeeding Roman writersdid not so, because Greek had then become the fashionable, universallanguage. They did not translate, but they paraphrased; the ideasremaining the same, their dress different. Hence the attention of thepoets of the Augustan age was principally confined to the happyselection of the most appropriate words and elaborate phrases; and hencearises the difficulty of translating them. 

The characteristics ascribed by Horace to Pindar in his ode, 'Pindarumquisquis, ' &c. Are not found in his extant writings. Horace had manylyrical effusions of the Theban bard which we have not. How graceful isHorace's modesty in his 'Ego _apis_ Matinae More modoque, ' as contrastedwith the Dircaean Swan! Horace is my great favourite: I love him dearly. 

I admire Virgil's high moral tone: for instance, that sublime 'Aude, hospes, contemnere opes, ' &c. And 'his dantem jura Catonem!' Whatcourage and independence of spirit is there! There is nothing moreimaginative and awful than the passage, '----Arcades ipsum Credunt se vidisse Jovem, ' &c. [255]

In describing the weight of sorrow and fear on Dido's mind, Virgil showsgreat knowledge of human nature, especially in that exquisite touch offeeling[256], 'Hoc visum nulli, _non ipsi effata sorori. '_

The ministry of Confession is provided to satisfy the natural desire forsome relief from the load of grief. Here, as in so many other respects, the Church of Rome adapts herself with consummate skill to our nature, and is strong by our weaknesses. Almost all her errors and corruptionsare abuses of what is good. 

I think Buchanan's 'Maiae Calendae' equal in sentiment, if not inelegance, to anything in Horace; but your brother Charles, to whom Irepeated it the other day, pointed out a false quantity in it[257]. Happily this had escaped me. 

[255] _Aen_. Viii. 352. 

[256] _Ibid. _ iv. 455. 

[257] If I remember right, it is in the third line, 'Ludisque dicatae, jocisque;'

a strange blunder, for Buchanan must have read Horace's, 'Quid dedicatum poscit Apolliuem, '

a hundred times. 

When I began to give myself up to the profession of a poet for life, Iwas impressed with a conviction, that there were four English poets whomI must have continually before me as examples--Chaucer, Shakspeare, Spenser, and Milton. These I must study, and equal _if I could_; and Ineed not think of the rest[258]. 

[258] This paragraph was communicated by Mr. H. C. Robinson. 

I have been charged by some with disparaging Pope and Dryden. This isnot so. I have committed much of both to memory. As far as Pope goes, hesucceeds; but his Homer is not Homer, but Pope. 

I cannot account for Shakspeare's low estimate of his own writings, except from the sublimity, the superhumanity, of his genius. They wereinfinitely below his conception of what they might have been, and oughtto have been. 

The mind often does not think, when it thinks that it is thinking. If wewere to give our whole soul to anything, as the bee does to the flower, I conceive there would be little difficulty in any intellectualemployment. Hence there is no excuse for obscurity in writing. 

'Macbeth, ' is the best conducted of Shakspeare's plays. The fault of'Julius Caesar, ' 'Hamlet, ' and 'Lear, ' is, that the interest is not, andby the nature of the case could not be, sustained to their conclusion. The death of Julius Caesar is too _overwhelming_ an incident for _any_stage of the drama but the _last_. It is an incident to which the mindclings, and from which it will not be torn away to share in othersorrows. The same may be said of the madness of Lear. Again, the openingof 'Hamlet' is full of exhausting interest. There is more mind in'Hamlet' than in any other play, more knowledge of human nature. Thefirst act is incomparable. .. . There is too much of an every-day sickroom in the death-bed scene of Catherine, in 'Henry the Eighth'--toomuch of leeches and apothecaries' vials. .. . 'Zanga' is a bad imitationof 'Othello. ' Garrick never ventured on Othello: he could not submit toa blacked face. He rehearsed the part once. During the rehearsal Quinentered, and, having listened for some time with attention, exclaimed, 'Well done, David! but where's the teakettle?' alluding to the print ofHogarth, where a black boy follows his mistress with a teakettle in hishand. .. . In stature Garrick was short. .. . A fact which conveys a highnotion of his powers is, that he was able to _act out_ the absurdstage-costume of those days. He represented Coriolanus in the attire ofCheapside. I remember hearing from Sir G. Beaumont, that while he wasventing, as Lear, the violent paroxysms of his rage in the awful tempestscene, his wig happened to fall off. The accident did not produce theslightest effect on the gravity of the house, so strongly had heimpregnated every breast with his own emotions. 

Some of my friends (H. C. For instance) doubt whether poetry oncontemporary persons and events can be good. But I instance Spenser's'Marriage, ' and Milton's 'Lycidas. ' True, the 'Persae' is one of theworst of Aeschylus's plays; at least, in my opinion. 

Milton is falsely represented by some as a democrat. He was anaristocrat in the truest sense of the word. See the quotation from himin my 'Convention of Cintra. '[259] Indeed, he spoke in very proud andcontemptuous terms, of the populace. 'Comus' is rich in beautiful andsweet flowers, and in exuberant leaves of genius; but the ripe andmellow fruit is in 'Samson Agonistes. ' When he wrote that, his mind wasHebraized. Indeed, his genius fed on the writings of the Hebrewprophets. This arose, in some degree, from the temper of the times; thePuritan lived in the Old Testament, almost to the exclusion of the New. 

The works of the old English dramatists are the gardens of our language. 

One of the noblest things in Milton is the description of that sweet, quiet morning in the 'Paradise Regained, ' after that terrible night ofhowling wind and storm. The contrast is divine. [260]

[259] Page 174 (vol. I. ), where Milton speaks of the evils suffered by anation, ' unless men more than vulgar, bred up in the knowledge ofancient and illustrious deeds, conduct its affairs. '

[260] _Paradise Regained_, iv. 431. 

What a virulent democrat ---- is! A man ill at ease with his ownconscience is sure to quarrel with all government, order, and law. 

The influence of Locke's Essay was not due to its own merits, which areconsiderable; but to external circumstances. It came forth at a happyopportunity, and coincided with the prevalent opinions of the time. TheJesuit doctrines concerning the papal power in deposing kings, andabsolving subjects from their allegiance, had driven some Protestanttheologians to take refuge in the theory of the divine right of kings. This theory was unpalatable to the world at large, and others inventedthe more popular doctrine of a social contract, in its place; a doctrinewhich history refutes. But Locke did what he could to accommodate thisprinciple to his own system. 

The only basis on which property can rest is right derived fromprescription. 

The best of Locke's works, as it seems to me, is that in which heattempts the least--his _Conduct of the Understanding_. 

In the Summer of 1827, speaking of some of his contemporaries, Wordsworth said, T. Moore has great natural genius; but he is too lavishof brilliant ornament. His poems smell of the perfumer's and milliner'sshops. He is not content with a ring and a bracelet, but he must haverings in the ears, rings on the nose--rings everywhere. 

Walter Scott is not a careful composer. He allows himself manyliberties, which betray a want of respect for his reader. For instance, he is too fond of inversions; _i. E. _ he often places the verb before thesubstantive, and the accusative before the verb. W. Scott quoted, asfrom me, 'The swan on _sweet_ St. Mary's lake Floats double, swan and shadow, '

instead of _still_; thus obscuring my idea, and betraying his ownuncritical principles of composition. 

Byron seems to me deficient in _feeling_. Professor Wilson, I think, used to say that 'Beppo' was his best poem; because all his faults werethere brought to a height. I never read the 'English Bards' through. Hiscritical prognostications have, for the most part, proved erroneous. 

Sir James Mackintosh said of me to M. De Staël, Wordsworth is not agreat poet, but he is the greatest man among poets. ' Madame de Staëlcomplained of my style. 

Now whatever may be the result of my experiment in the subjects which Ihave chosen for poetical composition--be they vulgar or be they not, --Ican say without vanity, that I have bestowed great pains on my _style_, full as much as any of my contemporaries have done on theirs. I yield tonone in _love for my art_. I, therefore, labour at it with reverence, affection, and industry. My main endeavour as to style has been that mypoems should be written in pure intelligible English. Lord Byron hasspoken severely of my compositions. However faulty they may be, I do notthink that I ever could have prevailed upon myself to print such linesas he has done; for instance, 'I stood at Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand. '

Some person ought to write a critical review, analysing Lord Byron'slanguage, in order to guard others against imitating him in theserespects. 

Shelley is one of the best _artists_ of us all: I mean in workmanship ofstyle. 

At Calgarth, dining with Mrs. And the Miss Watsons . .. A very fineportrait of the late Bishop in the dining-room. .. . Mr. Wordsworth there:a very agreeable party. Walked home with him in the evening to Rydal. Itrained all the way. We met a poor woman in the road. She sobbed as shepassed us. Mr. Wordsworth was much affected with her condition: she wasswollen with dropsy, and slowly hobbling along with a stick, having beendriven from one lodging to another. It was a dark stormy night. Mr. Wordsworth brought her back to the Lowwood Inn, where, by the landlord'sleave, she was housed in one of his barns. 

One day I met Mr. M. T. Sadler at the late Archbishop's. Sadler did notknow me; and before dinner he began to launch forth in a criticaldissertation on contemporary English Poetry. 'Among living poets, yourGrace may know there is one called Wordsworth, whose writings the worldcalls childish and puerile, but I think some of them wonderfullypathetic. ' 'Now, Mr. Sadler, ' said the Archbishop, 'what a scrape youare in! here is Mr. Wordsworth: but go down with him to dinner, and youwill find that, though a great poet, he does not belong to the "genusirritabile. "' This was very happy. 

After returning one day from church at Addington, I took the liberty ofsaying a few words on the sermon we had heard. It was a very homelyperformance. 'I am rather surprised, my Lord Archbishop, that when yourGrace can have the choice of so many preachers in England, you do notprovide better for yourself. ' 'Oh!' said he, 'I think I can bear badpreaching better than most people, and I therefore keep it to myself. 'This seemed to me a very pleasing trait in the gentle and loveablecharacter of that admirable man. 

Patriarchal usages have not quite deserted us of these valleys. Thismorning (new year's day) you were awakened early by the minstrelsplaying under the eaves, 'Honour to Mr. Wordsworth!' 'Honour to Mrs. Wordsworth!' and so to each member of the household by name, servantsincluded, each at his own window. These customs bind us together as afamily, and are as beneficial as they are delightful. May they neverdisappear!

In my Ode on the 'Intimations of Immortality in Childhood, ' I do notprofess to give a literal representation of the state of the affectionsand of the moral being in childhood. I record my own feelings at thattime--my absolute spirituality, my 'all-soulness, ' if I may so speak. Atthat time I could not believe that I should lie down quietly in thegrave, and that my body would moulder into dust. 

Many of my poems have been influenced by my own circumstances when I waswriting them. 'The Warning' was composed on horseback, while I wasriding from Moresby in a snow-storm. Hence the simile in that poem, 'While thoughts press on and feelings overflow, And quick words round him fall like _flakes of snow_. '

In the 'Ecclesiastical Sonnets, ' the lines concerning the Monk (Sonnetxxi. ), 'Within his cell. Round the decaying trunk of human pride. At morn, and eve, and midnight's silent hour, Do penitential cogitations cling: Like ivy round some ancient elm they twine In grisly folds and strictures serpentine; Yet while they strangle, a fair growth they bring For recompence--their own perennial bower;'--

were suggested to me by a beautiful tree clad as thus described, whichyou may remember in Lady Fleming's park at Rydal, near the path to theupper waterfall. 

S----, in the work you mentioned to me, confounds _imagery_ and_imagination_. Sensible objects really existing, and felt to exist, are_imagery_; and they may form the materials of a descriptive poem, whereobjects are delineated as they are. Imagination is a subjective term: itdeals with objects not as they are, but as they appear to the mind ofthe poet. 

The imagination is that intellectual lens through the medium of whichthe poetical observer sees the objects of his observation, modified bothin form and colour; or it is that inventive dresser of dramatic_tableaux_, by which the persons of the play are invested with newdrapery, or placed in new attitudes; or it is that chemical faculty bywhich elements of the most different nature and distant origin areblended together into one harmonious and homogeneous whole. 

A beautiful instance of the modifying and _investive_ power ofimagination may be seen in that noble passage of Dyer's 'Ruins ofRome, '[261] where the poet hears the voice of Time; and in Thomson'sdescription of the streets of Cairo, expecting the arrival of thecaravan which had perished in the storm, [262]

Read all Cowley; he is very valuable to a collector of English soundsense. .. . Burns's 'Scots wha hae' is poor as a lyric composition. 

Ariosto and Tasso are very absurdly depressed in order to elevate Dante. Ariosto is not always sincere; Spenser always so. 

I have tried to read Goethe. I never could succeed. Mr. ---- refers meto his 'Iphigenia, ' but I there recognise none of the dignifiedsimplicity, none of the health and vigour which the heroes and heroinesof antiquity possess in the writings of Homer. The lines of Lucretiusdescribing the immolation of Iphigenia are worth the whole of Goethe'slong poem. Again, there is a profligacy, an inhuman sensuality, in hisworks which is utterly revolting. I am not intimately acquainted withthem generally. But I take up my ground on the first canto of 'WilhelmMeister;' and, as the attorney-general of human nature, I there indicthim for wantonly outraging the sympathies of humanity. Theologians tellus of the degraded nature of man; and they tell us what is true. Yet manis essentially a moral agent, and there is that immortal andunextinguishable yearning for something pure and spiritual which willplead against these poetical sensualists as long as man remains what heis. 

[261] 1. 37:

 'The pilgrim oft, At dead of night, 'mid his oraison, hears Aghast the voice of TIME, disparting towers, ' &c. 

[262] Thomson's 'Summer, ' 980:

 'In Cairo's crowded streets, The impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain, And Mecca saddens at the long delay. '

Scientific men are often too fond of aiming to be men of the world. They crave too much for titles, and stars, and ribbons. If Bacon haddwelt only in the court of Nature, and cared less for that of James theFirst, he would have been a greater man, and a happier one too. 

I heard lately from young Mr. Watt a noble instance of magnanimity in aneminent French chemist. He had made a discovery, which he was informedwould, if he took out a patent, realise a large fortune. 'No, ' said he, 'I do not live to amass money, but to discover Truth; and as long as sheattends me in my investigations so long will I serve her and her only. '

Sir ---- I know from my own experience was ruined by prosperity. The ageof Leo X. Would have shone with greater brilliance if it had had moreclouds to struggle with. The age of Louis XIV. Was formed by the PortRoyal amid the storms and thunders of the League. Racine lived in acourt till it became necessary to his existence, as his miserable deathproved. Those petty courts of Germany have been injurious to itsliterature. They who move in them are too prone to imagine themselves tobe the whole world, and compared with the whole world they are nothingmore than these little specks in the texture of this hearth-rug. 

As I was riding Dora's pony from Rydal to Cambridge, I got off, as Ioccasionally did, to walk. I fell in with a sweet-looking peasant girlof nine or ten years old. She had been to carry her father's dinner, whowas working in the fields, and she was wheeling a little wheelbarrow, inwhich she collected manure from the roads for her garden at home. Aftersome talk I gave her a penny, for which she thanked me in the sweetestway imaginable. I wish I had asked her whether she could read, andwhether she went to school. But I could not help being struck with thehappy arrangement which Nature has made for the education of the heart, an arrangement which it seems the object of the present age tocounteract instead of to cherish and confirm. I imagined the happydelight of the father in seeing his child at a distance, and watchingher as she approached to perform her errand of love. I imagined the joyof the mother in seeing her return. I am strongly of opinion (an opinionyou, perhaps, have seen expressed by me in a letter to Mr. Rose[263])that this is the discipline which is more calculated by a thousanddegrees to make a virtuous and happy nation than the all-engrossing, estranging, eleemosynary institutions for education, which perhapscommunicate more _knowledge_. In these institutions what the pupils gainin _knowledge_ they often lose in _wisdom_. This is a distinction whichmust never be lost sight of. 

[263] See vol. I. Pp. 340-8. G. 

Education should never be wholly eleemosynary. But must the parentsuffer privations for the sake of the child? Yes; for these privationsendear the child to the parent, and the parent to the child; andwhatever education the parent may thus gain or lose for his child, hehas thus gained the noblest result of the most liberal education forhimself--the habit of self-denial. 

Next to your principles, and affections, and health, value yourtime. [264]

[264] _Memoirs_, ii. Pp. 467-80. 

 * * * * *

(_f_) REMINISCENCES OF THE REV. R. P. GRAVES, M. A. , FORMERLY OFWINDERMERE, NOW OF DUBLIN. 

I remember Mr. Wordsworth saying that, at a particular stage of hismental progress, he used to be frequently so rapt into an unrealtranscendental world of ideas that the external world seemed no longerto exist in relation to him, and he had to reconvince himself of itsexistence _by clasping a tree_, or something that happened to be nearhim. I could not help connecting this fact with that obscure passage inhis great Ode on the 'Intimations of Immortality, ' in which he speaks of

 'Those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things; Fallings from us, vanishings: Blank misgivings of a creature, Moving about in worlds not realised, ' &c. 

I heard him once make the remark that it would be a good habit to watchclosely the first involuntary thoughts upon waking in the morning, asindications of the real current of the moral being. 

I was struck by what seemed to me a beautiful analogy, which I onceheard him draw, and which was new to me--that the individual charactersof mankind showed themselves distinctively in childhood and youth, asthose of trees in Spring; that of both, of trees in Summer and of humankind in middle life, they were then alike to a great degree merged in adull uniformity; and that again, in Autumn and in declining age, thereappeared afresh all their original and inherent variety brought out intoview with deeper marking of character, with more vivid contrast, andwith greater accession of interest and beauty. 

He thought the charm of _Robinson Crusoe_ mistakenly ascribed, as itcommonly is done, to its _naturalness_. Attaching a full value to thesingular yet easily imagined and most picturesque circumstances of theadventurer's position, to the admirable painting of the scenes, and tothe knowledge displayed of the working of human feelings, he yet feltsure that the intense interest created by the story arose chiefly fromthe extraordinary energy and resource of the hero under his difficultcircumstances, from their being so far beyond what it was natural toexpect, or what would have been exhibited by the average of men; andthat similarly the high pleasure derived from his successes and goodfortunes arose from the peculiar source of these uncommon merits of hischaracter. 

I have heard him pronounce that the Tragedy of _Othello_, Plato'srecords of the last scenes of the career of Socrates, and Isaac Walton's_Life of George Herbert_, were in his opinion the most pathetic of humancompositions. 

In a walk one day, after stopping, according to his custom, to claimadmiration for some happy aspect of the landscape, or beautiful_composition_ on a smaller scale of natural objects, caught by him atthe precisely best point of view in the midst of his conversation onother subjects, he added, good-humouredly, that there were threecallings for success in which Nature had furnished him withqualifications--the callings of poet, landscape-gardener, and critic ofpictures and works of art. On hearing this I could not but remember howhis qualifications for the second were proved by the surprising varietyof natural beauties he managed to display to their best advantage, fromthe very circumscribed limits of the garden at Rydal Mount, 'aninvisible hand of art everywhere working' (to use his own exquisiteexpression) 'in the very spirit of Nature, ' and how many there were whohave owed the charm of their grounds and gardens to direction soughtfrom his well-known taste and feeling. As to works of art, his criticismwas not that of one versed in the history of the schools, but, alwaysproceeding upon first principles, the 'prima philosophia, ' as he calledit; and it was, as it appeared to me, of the highest order. 

He was a very great admirer of _Virgil_, not so much as a creative poet, but as the most consummate master of language, that, perhaps, everexisted. From him, and Horace, who was an especial favourite, andLucretius, he used to quote much. [265]

[265] _Memoirs_, ii. 467-83. 

 * * * * *

(_g_) ON THE DEATH OF COLERIDGE. 

The death of Coleridge was announced to us by his friend Wordsworth. Itwas the Sunday evening after the event occurred that my brother and Iwalked over to the Mount, where we found the Poet alone. One of thefirst things we heard from him was the death of one who had been, hesaid, his friend for more than thirty years. He then continued to speakof him; called him the most _wonderful_ man that he had everknown--wonderful for the originality of his mind, and the power hepossessed of throwing out in profusion grand central truths from whichmight be evolved the most comprehensive systems. Wordsworth, as a poet, regretted that German metaphysics had so much captivated the taste ofColeridge, for he was frequently not intelligible on this subject;whereas, if his energy and his originality had been more exerted in thechannel of poetry, an instrument of which he had so perfect a mastery, Wordsworth thought he might have done more permanently to enrich theliterature, and to influence the thought of the nation, than any man ofthe age. As it was, however, he said he believed Coleridge's mind tohave been a widely fertilising one, and that the seed he had so lavishlysown in his conversational discourses, and the Sibylline leaves (not thepoems so called by him) which he had scattered abroad so extensivelycovered with his annotations, had done much to form the opinions of thehighest-educated men of the day; although this might be an influence notlikely to meet with adequate recognition. After mentioning, in answer toour inquiries about the circumstances of their friendship, that though aconsiderable period had elapsed during which they had not seen much ofeach other, Coleridge and he had been, for more than two years, uninterruptedly, in as close intimacy as man could be with man, heproceeded to read to us the letter from Henry Nelson Coleridge whichconveyed the tidings of his great relation's death, and of the manner ofit. It appeared that, his death was a relief from intense pain, which, however, subsided at the interval of a few days before the event; andthat shortly after this cessation of agony, he fell into a comatosestate. The most interesting part of the letter was the statement, thatthe last use he made of his faculties was to call his children and otherrelatives and friends around him, to give them his blessing, and toexpress his hope to them that the manner of his end might manifest thedepth of his trust in his Saviour Christ. As I heard this, I was at oncedeeply glad at the substance, and deeply affected by Wordsworth'semotion in reading it. When he came to this part his voice at firstfaltered, and then broke; but soon divine faith that the change was ablest one overcame aught of human grief, and he concluded in an equablethough subdued tone. Before I quit this subject, I will tell you what Iwas interested in hearing from a person of the highest abilities, [266]whom I had the good fortune of meeting at Rydal Mount. He said that hehad visited Coleridge about a month before his death, and had perceivedat once his countenance pervaded by a most remarkable serenity. On beingcongratulated on his appearance, Coleridge replied that he did now, forthe first time, begin to hope, from the mitigation of his pains, thathis health was undergoing a permanent improvement (alas! he wasdeceived; yet may we not consider this hopeful feeling, which is, Ibelieve, by no means uncommon, to be under such circumstances a valuableblessing?); but that what he felt most thankful for was the deep, calmpeace of mind which he then enjoyed; a peace such as he had never beforeexperienced, or scarcely hoped for. This, he said, seemed now settledupon him; and all things were thus looked at by him through anatmosphere by which all were _reconciled and harmonised_. [267]

[266] Dr. Whewell. G. 

[267] Extract of a letter to a friend, by Rev. R. P. Graves, M. A. , formerly of Windermere, now of Dublin: _Memoirs_, pp. 288-90. 

(_h_) FURTHER REMINISCENCES OF WORDSWORTH BY THE SAME, SENT TO THEPRESENT EDITOR. 

I remember to have been very much struck by what appeared to me thewisdom of a plan suggested by Wordsworth, for the revision of theauthorised version of the Bible and of the Book of Common Prayer. 

With regard to the former, no one, he said, could be more deeplyconvinced of the inestimable value of its having been made when it was, and being what it is. In his opinion it was made at the happy juncturewhen our language had attained adequate expansion and flexibility, andwhen at the same time its idiomatic strength was unimpaired by excess oftechnical distinctions and conventional refinements; and thesecircumstances, though of course infinitely subordinate to the spiritualinfluence of its subject-matter, he considered to be highly important inconnection with a volume which naturally became a universally recognisedstandard of the language; for thus the fresh well of English undefiledwas made a perennial blessing to the nation, in no slight degreeconducive to the robust and manly thinking and character of itsinhabitants. He was satisfied, too, as to its general and most impartialaccuracy, and its faithfulness in rendering not only the words but thestyle, the strength, and the spirit and the character of the originalrecords. He attached too the value one might suppose he would attach tothe desirableness of leaving undisturbed the sacred associations whichto the feelings of aged Christians belonged to the _ipsissima verba_which had been their support under the trials of life. 

And so with regard to the Prayer Book, he reverenced and loved it as theChurch's precious heritage of primitive piety, equally admirable for itsmatter and its style. It may be interesting to add, that in reference tothis latter point I have heard him pronounce that many of the collectsseemed to him examples of perfection, consisting, according to hisimpression, of words whose signification filled up without excess ordefect the simple and symmetrical contour of some majestic meaning, andwhose sound was a harmony of accordant simplicity and grandeur; acombination, he added, such as we enjoy in some of the best passages ofShakespeare. 

But notwithstanding that he held these opinions, which will evince thathe was not one who would lightly touch either sacred volume, he did notthink that plain mistakes in the translation of the Bible, or obsoletewords, or renderings commonly misunderstood, should be perpetuallyhanded down in our authorised version of the volume of inspiration, orthat similar blemishes in the Prayer Book, which, as being of humancomposition, would admit of freer though still reverential handling, should be permitted to continue as stumbling-blocks interfering with itsacceptableness and usefulness. 

The plan which he suggested as meeting the difficulties of the case wasthe following:

That by proper authority a Committee of Revision of the English Bibleshould be appointed, whose business should be, retaining the presentauthorised version as a standard to be departed from as little aspossible to settle upon such indubitable corrections of meaning andimprovements of expression as they agreed ought to be made, and havethese printed _in the margin_ of all Bibles published by authority. That, as an essential part of the scheme, this Committee of Revisionshould be renewed periodically, but not too frequently--he appeared tothink that periods of fifty years might serve--at which times it shouldbe competent to the Committee to authorise the transference from themargin into the text of all such alterations as had stood the test ofexperience and criticism during the previous period, as well as to fixon new marginal readings. 

He was of opinion that in the constitution of the Committee care shouldbe taken to appoint not only divines of established reputation for soundtheology, and especially for their knowledge in connection with theoriginal languages of the sacred volume, but some one author at leastnoted for his mastery over the vernacular language. 

It will be seen that this plan, while it provides for corrections oferrors and substitution of understood for obsolete or mistakenexpressions, leaves undisturbed the associations of aged Christians, andprepares the younger generation for receiving the marginal amendmentsinto the text. Wordsworth conceived that fixing the duration of theperiod of revision was of great consequence, both as obviating allagitation in the way of call for such a process, and as tending in thematter of critical discussions respecting the sanctioning, cancelling, and proposing of amendments to bring them to something of definitivenessin preparation for each era of revision. 

The same process, under certain modifications, he thought applicable tothe Book of Common Prayer. In this he deprecated all tampering withdoctrine, considering that alterations ought to be confined to changesrendering the services more clearly understood or more convenientlyused. It is fair to add, however, that I have heard him express a strongdesire that the Athanasian Creed were rid of the so-called damnatoryclauses; at the same time declaring that no one was ever more profoundlyconvinced than himself of the truth of the doctrine of the Trinity. 

He was in favour of a collection of metrical hymns, more peculiarlyChristian in character than the Psalter, being set forth by authorityfor use in the Church; and for the choice of such hymns he thought aCommittee should be appointed in which the knowledge of divine, of poet, and of laymen trusted for common sense and experience in life should beseverally and conjointly engaged. As a practical suggestion of moment inthe _composition_ of such hymns he advised that composers should not inthe four-line stanza do more than make the second and fourth linesrhyme; leaving the other two unrhymed, he said, would give an importantaddition of freedom both to the sense and the style. 

R. P. GRAVES. Windermere, 1850. 

To the above memorandum I now (Sept. 1874) add two items, of which Iretain a distinct remembrance. 

(1) He was in favour of the officiating clergyman being allowed tointroduce into his reading of the Lessons in church the authorisedmarginal corrections. 

(2) He expressed in very strong terms his opinion that the prefatoryportion of the Marriage Service should be altered so as to make it notonly less repulsive to modern feelings, but more accordant with thehigher aspects of the union to be solemnised. 

_Passion in Poetry_. --One day, speaking of passion as an element ofpoetry, he referred to his own poems, and said that he thought there wasa stronger fire of passion than was elsewhere to be found among them inthe lyrical burst near the conclusion of 'The Song at the Feast ofBrougham Castle:'

 'Armour rusting in his halls, On the blood of Clifford calls: "Quell the Scot, " exclaims the Lance-- "Bear me to the heart of France, " Is the longing of the Shield. '

_Chronological Classification of Poems_. --Many years ago I expressed toWordsworth a wish that his poems were printed in the order of theircomposition, assigning as reasons for the wish the great interest whichwould attach to observing the progressive development of the poet'sthought, and the interpretative value of the light mutually reflected bypoems of the same period. I remember being surprised by the feeling akinto indignation which he manifested at the suggestion. He said that suchproceeding would indicate on the part of a poet an amount of egotism, placing interest in himself above interest in the subjects treated byhim, which could not belong to a true poet caring for the elements ofpoetry in their right proportion, and designing to bring to bear uponthe minds of his readers the best influences at his command in the waybest calculated to make them effectual. I felt that his ground ofobjection made me revere him the more both as a man and as a poet; yet Iretained the opinion that much might be said on the reader's part in thecase of a great poet for such an arrangement of his poems as I had beensuggesting, and I welcomed in after-days the concession made by him inconsenting to put dates to the poems, while adhering to theirclassification according to subject or predominant element. 

_Verbal Criticism_. --Wordsworth not only sympathised with the feelingsexpressed in Southey's touching lines upon The Dead, but admired verymuch the easy flow of the verse and the perfect freedom from strain inthe expression by which they are marked. Yet in the first two stanzas henoted three flaws, and suggested changes by which they might have beeneasily avoided. I have underlined the words he took exception to:

 'My days among the dead are past; Around me I behold, Where'er _these casual eyes_ are cast, The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they, With whom I _converse_ day by day. 

 With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude. '

In the first stanza, for 'Where'er _these casual eyes_ are cast, ' whichhe objected to as not simple and natural, and as scarcely correct, hesuggested 'Where'er _a casual look I cast_;' and for '_converse_, ' theaccent of which he condemned as belonging to the noun and not to theverb, he suggested '_commune_. ' In the second stanza he pointed out theimproper sequence of tenses in the third and fifth lines, which hecorrected by reading in the latter '_My cheeks are oftentimes bedew'd_. 'Of the narrative poems of his friend, well executed as he consideredthem, and of the mainly external action of imagination or fancy in whichthey deal, I have certainly heard him pronounce a very depreciatoryopinion; whether I ever heard him use the hard words attributed to him, 'I would not give five shillings for a ream of them, ' I cannot nowassert, but if used, they were said in reference to the nobler kind ofimaginative power which reveals to man the deep places and sublimeraffinities of his own being. But to some others of Southey's verses, aswell as to the lines above quoted, and to his prose writings in general, he was wont to give liberal praise; and no one could doubt the sincerityand warmth of his admiration of the intellect and virtues of the man, orthe brotherly affection towards him which he not unfrequently expressed. 

R. P. GRAVES. Dublin, 1875. 

(i) AN AMERICAN'S REMINISCENCES. 

To PROFESSOR HENRY REED. 

 Philadelphia, Sept. 1850. 

MY DEAR FRIEND, You have asked me to write out as fully as I can an account of my visitto Wordsworth last Summer, of which your letter of introduction was theoccasion. Feeling very grateful to you for the pleasure which that visitgave me, and desiring to make a more minute record of it than either theletter I addressed to you from Keswick, or my journal written at thetime contains, I gladly comply with your request. 

It was about noon on the 18th of August 1849, that I set out with myfriends, from their house near Bowness, to ride to Ambleside. Our routewas along the shore of Lake Windermere. It was my first day among theEnglish Lakes, and I enjoyed keenly the loveliness which was spread outbefore me. My friends congratulated me on the clearness of theatmosphere and the bright skies. Twilight is all-important in bringingout the full beauty of the Lake Region, and in this respect I was veryfortunate. I had already been deeply moved by the tranquil beauty ofWindermere, for, as I came out of the cottage, formerly ProfessorWilson's, where I had passed the night, there it lay in all itsgrandeur, its clear waters, its green islands, and its girdle of solemnmountains. It was quite dark when I had been conducted to this cottagethe night before, so that I saw the Lake for the first time in the lightof early morning. The first impression was confirmed by every newprospect as we rode along. The vale seemed a very paradise for its sweetseclusion. I had been told that after Switzerland, I should find littleto attract me in this region, but such was not the case. Nothing can bemore lovely than these lakes and mountains, the latter thickly wooded, and rising directly from the water's edge. The foliage is of the darkestgreen, giving to the lake in which it is reflected the same sombre hue. It seemed the fittest dwelling-place for a Poet, amid all this quietbeauty. 

It was half-past one when we reached Ambleside, where I left Mr. AndMrs. B. , and walked on alone to Rydal Mount. I was full of eagerexpectations as I thought how soon I should, perhaps, be in the presenceof Wordsworth--that after long years of waiting, of distant reverentialadmiration and love, I was, as I hoped, to be favoured with a personalinterview with the great poet-philosopher, to whom you and I, and somany, many others, feel that we are under the deepest obligation for thegood which has come to us from his writings. At two o'clock I was at thewicket gate opening into Wordsworth's grounds. I walked along the gravelpathway, leading through shrubbery to the open space in front of thelong two-story cottage, the Poet's dwelling. Your sketch of the house byInman is a correct one, but it gives no idea of the view _from_ it, which is its chief charm. Rydal Mere with its islands, and the mountainsbeyond it, are all in sight. I had but a hasty enjoyment of this beauty;nor could I notice carefully the flowers which were blooming around. Itwas evident that the greatest attention had been paid to the grounds, for the flower-beds were tastefully arranged, and the gravel walks werein complete order. One might be well content, I thought, to make hisabode at a spot like this. 

A boy of about twelve years was occupied at one of the flower-beds, as Ipassed by; he followed me to the door, and waited my commands. I askedif Mr. Wordsworth was in. .. . He was dining--would I walk into thedrawing-room, and wait a short time?. .. I was shown into thedrawing-room, or study, I know not which to call it. .. . Here I am, Isaid to myself, in the great Poet's house. Here his daily life is spent. Here in this room, doubtless, much of his poetry has been written--wordsof power which are to go down with those of Shakspeare, and Spenser, andMilton, while our English tongue endures. It was a long apartment, theceiling low, with two windows at one end, looking out on the lawn andshrubbery. Many engravings were on the walls. The famous Madonna ofRaphael, known as that of the Dresden Gallery, hung directly over thefire-place. Inman's portrait of the Poet, your gift to Mrs. Wordsworth, being a copy of the one painted for you, had a conspicuous place. Theportrait of Bishop White, also your gift (the engraving from Inman'spicture), I also noticed. 

 * * * * *

I could have waited patiently for a long time indulging the thoughtswhich the place called up. In a few minutes, however, I heard steps inthe entry, the door was opened, and Wordsworth came in, it could be noother--- a tall figure, a little bent with age, his hair thin and grey, and his face deeply wrinkled. .. . The expression of his countenance wassad, mournful I might say; he seemed one on whom sorrow pressed heavily. He gave me his hand, and welcomed me cordially, though without smiling. 'Will you walk out, Sir, and join us at the table?' said he. 'I amengaged to dine elsewhere. ' 'But you can sit with us, ' said he; so, leading the way, he conducted me to the dining-room. At the head of thetable sat Mrs. Wordsworth, and their three grandchildren made up theparty. .. . It was a humble apartment, not ceiled, the rafters beingvisible; having a large old-fashioned chimney-place, with a highmantelpiece. 

 * * * * *

Wordsworth asked after Mr. Ticknor of Boston, who had visited him a fewmonths before, and for whom he expressed much regard. Some otherquestions led me to speak of the progress we were making in America inthe extension of our territory, the settlements on the Pacific, &c. ; allthis involving the rapid spread of our English tongue. Wordsworth atthis looked up, and I noticed a fixing of his eye as if on some remoteobject. He said that considering this extension of our language, itbehoved those who wrote to see to it, that what they put forth was onthe side of virtue. This remark, although thrown out at the moment, wasmade in a serious thoughtful way; and I was much impressed by it. Icould not but reflect that to him a deep sense of responsibility hadever been present: to purify and elevate has been the purpose of all hiswritings. Such may have been at that moment his own inward meditation, and he may have had in mind the coming generations who are to dwell uponhis words. 

 * * * * *

Queen Victoria was mentioned--her visit to Ireland which had just beenmade--the courage she had shown. 'That is a virtue, ' said he, 'which shehas to a remarkable degree, which is very much to her credit. '

 * * * * *

Inman's portrait of him I alluded to as being very familiar to me, thecopy which hung in the room calling it to mind, which led him to speakof the one painted by Pickersgill for St. John's College, Cambridge. 'Iwas a member of that College, he said, 'and the fellows and studentsdid me the honour to ask me to sit, and allowed me to choose the artist. I wrote to Mr. Rogers on the subject, and he recommended Pickersgill, who came down soon afterwards, and the picture was painted here. ' Hebelieved he had sat twenty-three times. My impression is he was in doubtwhether Inman's or Pickersgill's portrait was the better one. 

 * * * * *

He spoke with great animation of the advantage of classical study, Greekespecially. 'Where, ' said he, 'would one look for a greater orator thanDemosthenes; or finer dramatic poetry, next to Shakspeare, than that ofAeschylus and Sophocles, not to speak of Euripides?' Herodotus hethought 'the most interesting and instructive book, next to the Bible, which had ever been written. ' Modern discoveries had only tended toconfirm the general truth of his narrative. Thucydides he thought lessof. 

 * * * * *

France was our next subject, and one which seemed very near his heart. He had been much in that country at the out-break of the Revolution, andafterwards during its wildest excesses. At the time of the Septembermassacres he was at Orleans. Addressing Mrs. W. He said, 'I wonder how Icame to stay there so long, and at a period so exciting. ' He had knownmany of the abbés and other ecclesiastics, and thought highly of them asa class; they were earnest, faithful men: being unmarried, he must say, they were the better able to fulfil their sacred duties; they weremarried to their flocks. In the towns there seemed, he admitted, verylittle religion; but in the country there had always been a great deal. 'I should like to spend another month in France, ' he said, 'before Iclose my eyes. ' He seemed to feel deep commiseration for the sorrows ofthat unhappy country. It was evidently the remembrance of hopes which inhis youth he had ardently cherished, and which had been blighted, onwhich his mind was dwelling. I alluded to Henry the Fifth, to whom manyeyes were, I thought, beginning to turn. With him, he remarked, therewould be a principle for which men could contend--legitimacy. Theadvantage of this he stated finely. 

There was tenderness, I thought, in the tones of his voice, whenspeaking with his wife; and I could not but look with deep interest andadmiration on the woman for whom this illustrious man had for so manyyears cherished feelings of reverential love. 

 'Peace settles where the intellect is meek, '

is a line which you will recall from one of the beautiful poemsWordsworth has addressed to her; and this seemed peculiarly the temperof her spirit--_peace_, the holy calmness of a heart to whom love hadbeen an 'unerring light. ' Surely we may pray, my friend, that in thebrief season of separation which she has now to pass, she may bestrengthened with divine consolation. 

I cannot forbear to quote here that beautiful passage, near the end ofthe great poem, 'The Prelude, ' as an utterance by the author of tenderfeelings in his own matchless way. After speaking of his sister in tonesof deepest thankfulness, he adds, 'Thereafter came One, whom with thee friendship had early prized; She came, no more a phantom to adorn A moment, but an inmate of the heart; And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined, To penetrate the lofty and the low; Even as one essence of pervading light Shines in the brightness of ten thousand stars, And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp Couched in the dewy grass. '

I have been led away from my narrative; but I wished to record thefeelings which had arisen within me with regard to this excellent lady;she who has been, as ---- has so happily expressed it in his letter toyou, 'almost like the Poet's guardian angel for near fifty years. '

 * * * * *

I may here mention, that throughout the conversation Wordsworth's mannerwas animated, and that he took pleasure in it evidently. His words werevery choice: each sentence seemed faultless. No one could have listenedto his talk for five minutes, even on ordinary topics, withoutperceiving that he was a remarkable man. Not that he was brilliant; butthere was sustained vigour, and that mode of expression which denoteshabitual thoughtfulness. 

When the clock struck four, I thought it time for me to go. Wordsworthtold me to say to his friends in America, that he and his wife werewell; that they had had a great grief of late, in the loss of their onlydaughter, which he supposed they would never get over. This explained, as I have already mentioned, the sadness of his manner. Such strength ofthe affections in old age we rarely see. And yet the Poet has himselfcondemned, as you remember, in 'The Excursion, ' long and perseveringgrief for objects of our love 'removed from this unstable world, 'reminding one so sorrowing of

 'that state Of pure, imperishable blessedness Which reason promises, and Holy Writ Ensures to all believers. '

But, as if foreseeing his own case, he has added, with touching power, 'And if there be whose tender frames have drooped Even to the dust, apparently through weight Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power An agonising sorrow to transmute; Deem not that proof is here of hope withheld When wanted most; a confidence impaired So pitiably, that having ceased to see With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love Of what is lost, and perish through regret. '

The weakness of his bodily frame it was which took away his power oftranquil endurance. Bowed down by the weight of years, he had notstrength to sustain this further burden, grief for a much-loved child. His mind, happily, retained its clearness, though his body was decaying. 

 * * * * *

He walked out into the entry with me, and then asked me to go again intothe dining-room, to look at an oak chest or cabinet he had there--apiece of old furniture curiously carved. It bore a Latin inscription, which stated that it was made 300 years ago, for William Wordsworth, whowas the son of, &c. &c. Giving the ancestors of said William for manygenerations, and ending, 'on whose souls may God have mercy. ' ThisWordsworth repeated twice, and in an emphatic way, as he read theinscription. It seemed to me that he took comfort in the religiousspirit of his ancestors, and that he was also adopting the solemnejaculation for himself. There was something very impressive in hismanner. 

I asked to see the cast from Chantrey's bust of him, which he at onceshowed me; also a crayon sketch by Haydon, which, I understood him tosay, West had pronounced the finest crayon he had ever seen. He referredalso to another sketch, by Margaret Gillies, I think, which was there. 

We then went out together on the lawn, and stood for a while to enjoythe views, and he pulled open the shrubbery or hedge in places, that Imight see to better advantage. He accompanied me to the gate, and thensaid if I had a few minutes longer to spare he would like to show me thewaterfall which was close by--the lower fall of Rydal. I gladlyassented, and he led the way across the grounds of Lady Fleming, whichwere opposite to his own, to a small summer-house. The moment we openedthe door, the waterfall was before us; the summer-house being so placedas to occupy the exact spot from which it was to be seen; the rocks andshrubbery around closing it in on every side. The effect was magical. The view from the rustic house, the rocky basin into which the waterfell, and the deep shade in which the whole was enveloped, made it alovely scene. Wordsworth seemed to have much pleasure in exhibiting thisbeautiful retreat; it is described in one of his earlier poems, 'TheEvening Walk. '

As we returned together he walked very slowly, occasionally stoppingwhen he said anything of importance; and again I noticed that lookinginto remote space of which I have already spoken. His eyes, though notglistening, had yet in them the fire which betokened the greatness ofhis genius. This no painter could represent, and this it was which gaveto his countenance its high intellectual expression. 

 * * * * *

Hartley Coleridge he spoke of with affection. .. . 'There is a singleline, ' he added, 'in one of his father's poems which I consider explainsthe after-life of the son. He is speaking of his own confinement inLondon, and then says, "But thou, my child, shalt wander like a breeze. "

 * * * * *

Of Southey he said that he had had the misfortune to outlive hisfaculties. His mind, he thought, had been weakened by long watching bythe sick-bed of his wife, who had lingered for years in a verydistressing state. 

The last subject he touched on was the international copyrightquestion--the absence of protection in our country to the works offoreign authors. He said, mildly, that he thought it would be better_for us_ if some acknowledgment, however small, was made. The fame ofhis own writings, as far as it was of pecuniary advantage to him, he hadlong regarded with indifference; happily, he had an income more thansufficient for all his wants. .. . He remarked, he had once seen a volumeof his poems published in an American newspaper. 

I happened to have in my pocket the small volume of selections, whichyou made some years ago. I produced it, and asked at the same time if hehad ever seen it. He replied he had not. He took it with evidentinterest, turned to the title-page, which he read, with its motto. Hebegan the preface then, in the same way. But here I must record atrifling incident, which may yet be worth noting. We were standingtogether in the road, Wordsworth reading aloud, as I have said, when aman accosted us asking charity--a beggar of the better class. Wordsworth, scarcely looking off the book, thrust his hands into hispockets, as if instinctively acknowledging the man's right to beg bythis prompt action. He seemed to find nothing, however; and he said, ina sort of soliloquy, 'I have given to four or five, already, to-day, ' asif to account for his being then unprovided. 

Wordsworth, as he turned over one leaf after another, said, 'But I shallweary you, sir. ' 'By no means, ' said I; for I could have been content tostand there for hours to hear, as I did, the Poet read from time totime, with fitting emphasis, the choice passages which your preface andbiographical sketch contain. Imagine with what delight I listened to thevenerable man, and to hear, too, from his own lips, such words as these, your own most true reflection: '_His has been a life devoted to thecultivation of the poet's art for its best and most lasting uses--aself-dedication as complete as the world has ever witnessed_. ' Yourremark with regard to his having outlived many of his contemporariesamong the poets, he read with affecting simplicity; his manner beingthat of one who looked backward to the past with entire tranquillity, and forward with sure hope. I felt that his honoured life was drawingrapidly to a close, and with him there was evidently the sameconsciousness. 

He made but little comment on your notice of him. Occasionally he wouldsay, as he came to a particular fact, 'That's quite correct;' or, afterreading a quotation from his own works, he would add, 'That's from mywritings. ' These quotations he read in a way that much impressed me; itseemed almost as if he was awed by the greatness of his own power, thegifts with which he had been endowed. It was a solemn time to me, thispart of my interview; and to you, my friend, it would have been acrowning happiness to stand, as I did, by his side on that bright summerday, and thus listen to his voice. I thought of his long life; that hewas one who had felt himself from early youth 'a renovated spiritsingled out for holy services'--one who had listened to the teachings ofNature, and communed with his own heart in the seclusion of thosebeautiful vales, until his thoughts were ready to be uttered for thegood of his fellow-men. And there had come back to him offerings oflove, and gratitude, and reverent admiration, from a greater multitudethan had ever before paid their homage to a living writer; and theseacknowledgments have been for benefits so deep and lasting, that wordsseem but a poor return. But I will not attempt to describe further thefeelings which were strongly present to me at that moment, when I seemedmost to realise in whose presence I stood. 

 * * * * *

He walked with me as far as the main road to Ambleside. As we passed thelittle chapel built by Lady Fleming, which has been the occasion, as youremember, of one of his poems, there were persons, tourists evidently, talking with the sexton at the door. Their inquiries, I fancied, wereabout Wordsworth, perhaps as to the hour of service the next day(Sunday), with the hope of seeing him there. One of them caught sight ofthe venerable man at the moment, and at once seemed to perceive who itwas, for she motioned to the others to look, and they watched him withearnest gaze. I was struck with their looks of delighted admiration. Hestopped when we reached the main road, saying that his strength wouldnot allow him to walk further. Giving me his hand, he desired again tobe remembered to you and others in America, and wished me a safe returnto my friends, and so we parted. I went on my way, happy in therecollection of this, to me, memorable interview. My mind was in atumult of excitement, for I felt that I had been in the familiarpresence of one of the noblest of our race; and this sense ofWordsworth's intellectual greatness had been with me during the wholeinterview. I may speak, too, of the strong perception of his moralelevation which I had at the same time. No word of unkindness had fallenfrom him. He seemed to be living as if in the presence of God, byhabitual recollection. A strange feeling, almost of awe, had impressedme while I was thus with him. Believing that his memory will be had inhonour in all coming time, I could not but be thankful that I had beenadmitted to intimate intercourse with him then, when he was so near theend of life. To you, my dear friend, I must again say I owe thishappiness, and to you it has been denied. You also, of all others of ourcountrymen, would have most valued such an interview, for to you thegreat Poet's heart has been in an especial manner opened in privatecorrespondence. No other American has he honoured in the same degree;and by no one else in this country has the knowledge and appreciation ofhis poetry been so much extended. The love which has so long animatedyou has been such, that multitudes have been influenced to seek for joyand refreshment from the same pure source. 

I have been led, as I said at the beginning of my letter, to make thisrecord, partly from your suggestion, and partly from a remark of Southeywhich I have lately seen, to the effect that Wordsworth was one of whomposterity would desire to know all that can be remembered. You will not, I trust, deem the incidents I have set down trivial; or consider anydetail too minute, the object of which was only to bring the living manbefore you. Now that he has gone for ever from our sight in this world, I am led to look back to the interview with a deeper satisfaction; andit may be that this full account of it will have value hereafter. To youit was due that I should make the record; by myself these remembranceswill ever be cherished among my choicest possessions. 

Believe me, my dear friend, yours faithfully, Ellis Yarnall. [268]

[268] _Memoirs_, ii. 483-500. 

(j) RECOLLECTIONS OF WORDSWORTH. 

By Aubrey de Vere, Esq. 

_(Sent to the present Editor, and now first published)_

PART I. 

It was about eight years before his death that I had the happiness ofmaking acquaintance with Wordsworth. During the next four years I saw agood deal of him, chiefly among his own mountains, and, besides manydelightful walks with him, I had the great honour of passing some daysunder his roof. The strongest of my impressions respecting him was thatmade by the manly simplicity, and lofty rectitude, which characterisedhim. In one of his later sonnets he writes of himself thus: 'As a trueman who long had served the lyre:'--it was because he was a _true_ manthat he was a true poet; and it was impossible to know him without beingreminded of this. In any case he must have been recognised as a man oforiginal and energetic genius; but it was his strong and truthful moralnature, his intellectual sincerity, the abiding conscientiousness of hisimagination, which enabled that genius to do its great work, andbequeath to the England of the future the most solid mass ofdeep-hearted and authentic poetry which has been the gift to her of anypoet since the Elizabethan age. There was in his nature a veracity, which, had it not been combined with an idealising imagination not lessremarkable, would to many have appeared prosaic; yet, had he notpossessed that characteristic, the products of his imagination wouldhave lacked reality. They might still have enunciated a deep and soundphilosophy; but they would have been divested of that human interestwhich belongs to them in a yet higher degree. All the little incidentsof the neighbourhood were to him important. 

The veracity and the ideality which are so signally combined inWordsworth's poetic descriptions of Nature, made themselves at least asmuch felt whenever Nature was the theme of his discourse. In his intensereverence for Nature he regarded all poetical delineations of her withan exacting severity; and if the descriptions were not true, and true ina twofold sense, the more skilfully executed they were, the more was hisindignation roused by what he deemed a pretence and a deceit. An untruedescription of Nature was to him a profaneness, a heavenly messagesophisticated and falsely delivered. He expatiated much to me one day, as we walked among the hills above Grasmere, on the mode in which Naturehad been described by one of the most justly popular of England's modernpoets--one for whom he preserved a high and affectionate respect. 'Hetook pains, ' Wordsworth said; 'he went out with his pencil andnote-book, and jotted down whatever struck him most--a river ripplingover the sands, a ruined tower on a rock above it, a promontory, and amountain ash waving its red berries. He went home, and wove the wholetogether into a poetical description. ' After a pause, Wordsworth resumedwith a flashing eye and impassioned voice, 'But Nature does not permitan inventory to be made of her charms! He should have left his penciland note-book at home; fixed his eye, as he walked, with a reverentattention on all that surrounded him, and taken all into a heart thatcould understand and enjoy. Then, after several days had passed by, heshould have interrogated his memory as to the scene. He would havediscovered that while much of what he had admired was preserved to him, much was also most wisely obliterated. That which remained--the picturesurviving in his mind--would have presented the ideal and essentialtruth of the scene, and done so, in a large part, by discarding muchwhich, though in itself striking, was not characteristic. In every scenemany of the most brilliant details are but accidental. A true eye forNature does not note them, or at least does not dwell on them. ' On thesame occasion he remarked, 'Scott misquoted in one of his novels mylines on _Yarrow_. He makes me write, "The swans on sweet St. Mary's lake Float double, swans and shadow;"

but I wrote

 "The _swan_ on _still_ St. Mary's lake. "

Never could I have written "swans" in the plural. The scene when I sawit, with its still and dim lake, under the dusky hills, was one of utterloneliness: there was _one_ swan, and one only, stemming the water, andthe pathetic loneliness of the region gave importance to the onecompanion of that swan, its own white image in the water. It was forthat reason that I recorded the Swan and the Shadow. Had there been manyswans and many shadows, they would have implied nothing as regards thecharacter of the scene; and I should have said nothing about them. ' Heproceeded to remark that many who could descant with eloquence on Naturecared little for her, and that many more who truly loved her had yet noeye to discern her--which he regarded as a sort of 'spiritualdiscernment. ' He continued, 'Indeed I have hardly ever known any one butmyself who had a true eye for Nature, one that thoroughly understood hermeanings and her teachings--except' (here he interrupted himself) 'oneperson. There was a young clergyman, called Frederick Faber, [269] whoresided at Ambleside. He had not only as good an eye for Nature as Ihave, but even a better one, and sometimes pointed out to me on themountains effects which, with all my great experience, I had neverdetected. '

[269] Afterwards Father Faber of the Oratory. His 'Sir Launcelot'abounds in admirable descriptions. 

Truth, he used to say--that is, truth in its largest sense, as a thingat once real and ideal, a truth including exact and accurate detail, andyet everywhere subordinating mere detail to the spirit of thewhole--this, he affirmed, was the soul and essence not only ofdescriptive poetry, but of all poetry. He had often, he told me, intended to write an essay on poetry, setting forth this principle, andillustrating it by references to the chief representatives of poetry inits various departments. It was this twofold truth which made Shakspearethe greatest of all poets. 'It was well for Shakspeare, ' he remarked, 'that he gave himself to the drama. It was that which forced him to besufficiently human. His poems would otherwise, from the extraordinarilymetaphysical character of his genius, have been too recondite to beunderstood. His youthful poems, in spite of their unfortunate andunworthy subjects, and his sonnets also, reveal this tendency. Nothingcan surpass the greatness of Shakspeare where he is at his greatest; butit is wrong to speak of him as if even he were perfect. He had seriousdefects, and not those only proceeding from carelessness. For instance, in his delineations of character he does not assign as large a place toreligious sentiment as enters into the constitution of human natureunder normal circumstances. If his dramas had more religion in them, they would be truer representations of man, as well as more elevated, and of a more searching interest. ' Wordsworth used to warn young poetsagainst writing poetry remote from human interest. Dante he admitted tobe an exception; but he considered that Shelley, and almost all otherswho had endeavoured to out-soar the humanities, had suffered deplorablyfrom the attempt. I once heard him say, 'I have often been asked foradvice by young poets. All the advice I can give may be expressed in twocounsels. First, let Nature be your habitual and pleasurable study, human nature and material nature; secondly, study carefully thosefirst-class poets whose fame is universal, not local, and learn fromthem: learn from them especially how to observe and how to interpretNature. '

Those who knew Wordsworth only from his poetry might have supposed thathe dwelt ever in a region too serene to admit of human agitations. Thiswas not the fact. There was in his being a region of tumult as well as ahigher region of calm, though it was almost wholly in the latter thathis poetry lived. It turned aside from mere _personal_ excitements; andfor that reason, doubtless, it developed more deeply those specialardours which belong at once to the higher imagination and to the moralbeing. The passion which was suppressed elsewhere burned in his 'Sonnetsto Liberty, ' and added a deeper sadness to the 'Yew-trees ofBorrowdale. ' But his heart, as well as his imagination, was ardent. Whenit spoke most powerfully in his poetry it spoke with a stern brevityunusual in that poetry, as in the poem 'There is a change and I ampoor, ' and the still more remarkable one, 'A slumber did my spiritseal, ' a poem impassioned beyond the comprehension of those who fancythat Wordsworth lacks passion, merely because in him passion is neitherdeclamatory nor, latently, sensual. He was a man of strong affections, strong enough on one sorrowful occasion to withdraw him for a time frompoetry. [270]

[270] 'For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow' (Dedicatory Stanzasto 'The White Doe of Rylstone'). 

Referring once to two young children of his who had died about fortyyears previously, he described the details of their illnesses with anexactness and an impetuosity of troubled excitement, such as might havebeen expected if the bereavement had taken place but a few weeks before. The lapse of time appeared to have left the sorrow submerged indeed, butstill in all its first freshness. Yet I afterwards heard that at thetime of the illness, at least in the case of one of the two children, itwas impossible to rouse his attention to the danger. He chanced to bethen under the immediate spell of one of those fits of poeticinspiration which descended on him like a cloud. Till the cloud haddrifted he could see nothing beyond. Under the level of the calm therewas, however, the precinct of the storm. It expressed itself rarely butvehemently, partaking sometimes of the character both of indignation andsorrow. All at once the trouble would pass away, and his countenancebask in its habitual calm, like a cloudless summer sky. His indignationflamed out vehemently when he heard of a base action. 'I could kick sucha man across England with my naked foot, ' I heard him exclaim on such anoccasion. The more impassioned part of his nature connected itselfespecially with his political feelings. He regarded his own intellect asone which united some of the faculties which belong to the statesmanwith those which belong to the poet; and public affairs interested himnot less deeply than poetry. It was as patriot, not poet, that heventured to claim fellowship with Dante. [271] He did not accept the term'Reformer, ' because it implied an organic change in our institutions, and this he deemed both needless and dangerous; but he used to say thatwhile he was a decided Conservative, he remembered that to preserve ourinstitutions we must be ever improving them. He was, indeed, from firstto last, preëminently a patriot, an impassioned as well as a thoughtfulone. Yet his political sympathies were not with his own country only, but with the progress of Humanity. Till disenchanted by the excesses andfollies of the first French revolution, his hopes and sympathiesassociated themselves ardently with the new order of things created byit; and I have heard him say that he did not know how anygenerous-minded _young_ man, entering on life at the time of that greatuprising, could have escaped the illusion. To the end his sympathieswere ever with the cottage hearth far more than with the palace. If hebecame a strong supporter of what has been called 'the hierarchy ofsociety, ' it was chiefly because he believed the principle of 'equality'to be fatal to the well-being and the true dignity of the poor. Moreover, in siding politically with the Crown and the coronets, heconsidered himself to be siding with the weaker party in our democraticdays. 

[271] See his Sonnet on the seat of Dante, close to the Duomo atFlorence (_Poems of Early and Late Years_). 

The absence of love-poetry in Wordsworth's works has often beenremarked upon, and indeed brought as a charge against them. He once toldme that if he had avoided that form of composition, it was by no meansbecause the theme did not interest him, but because, treated as itcommonly has been, it tends rather to disturb and lower the reader'smoral and imaginative being than to elevate it. He feared to handle itamiss. He seemed to think that the subject had been so long vulgarised, that few poets had a right to assume that they could treat it worthily, especially as the theme, when treated unworthily, was such an easy andcheap way of winning applause. It has been observed also that theReligion of Wordsworth's poetry, at least of his earlier poetry, is notas distinctly 'Revealed Religion' as might have been expected from thispoet's well-known adherence to what he has called emphatically 'Thelord, and mighty paramount of Truths. ' He once remarked to me himself onthis circumstance, and explained it by stating that when in youth hisimagination was shaping for itself the channel in which it was to flow, his religious convictions were less definite and less strong than theyhad become on more mature thought, and that when his poetic mind andmanner had once been formed, he feared that he might, in attempting tomodify them, have become constrained. He added that on such matters heever wrote with great diffidence, remembering that if there were manysubjects too low for song, there were some too high. Wordsworth'sgeneral confidence in his own powers, which was strong, though far fromexaggerated, rendered more striking and more touching his humility inall that concerned Religion. It used to remind me of what I once heardMr. Rogers say, viz. 'There is a special character of _greatness_ abouthumility for it implies that a man can, in an unusual degree, estimatethe _greatness_ of what is above us. ' Fortunately his diffidence did notkeep Wordsworth silent on sacred themes; his later poems include anunequivocal as well as beautiful confession of Christian faith; and oneof them, 'The Primrose of the Rock, ' is as distinctly Wordsworthian inits inspiration as it is Christian in its doctrine. Wordsworth was a'high churchman, ' and also, in his prose mind, strongly anti-RomanCatholic, partly on political grounds; but that it was otherwise asregards his mind poetic is obvious from many passages in his Christianpoetry, especially those which refer to the monastic system, and theSchoolmen, and his sonnet on the Blessed Virgin, whom he addresses as

 'Our tainted nature's solitary boast. '

He used to say that the idea of one who was both Virgin and Mother hadsunk so deep into the heart of Humanity, that there it must ever remain. 

Wordsworth's estimate of his contemporaries was not generally high. Iremember his once saying to me, 'I have known many that might he calledvery _clever_ men, and a good many of real and vigorous _abilities_, butfew of genius; and only one whom I should call "wonderful. " That one wasColeridge. At any hour of the day or night he would talk by the hour, ifthere chanced to be _any_ sympathetic listener, and talk better than thebest page of his writings; for a pen half paralysed his genius. A childwould sit quietly at his feet and wonder, till the torrent had passedby. The only man like Coleridge whom I have known is Sir WilliamHamilton, Astronomer Royal of Dublin. ' I remember, however, that when Irecited by his fireside Alfred Tennyson's two political poems, 'You askme why, though ill at ease, ' and 'Of old sat Freedom on the heights, 'the old bard listened with a deepening attention, and when I had ended, said after a pause, 'I must acknowledge that those two poems are verysolid and noble in thought. Their diction also seems singularlystately. ' He was a great admirer of _Philip van Artevelde_. In the caseof a certain poet since dead, and never popular, he said to me, 'Iconsider his sonnets to be the best of modern times;' adding, 'Of courseI am not including my own in any comparison with those of others. ' Hewas not sanguine as to the future of English poetry. He thought thatthere was much to be supplied in other departments of our literature, and especially he desired a really great History of England; but he wasdisposed to regard the roll of English poetry as made up, and as leavingplace for little more except what was likely to be eccentric orimitational. 

In his younger days Wordsworth had had to fight a great battle inpoetry, for both his subjects and his mode of treating them wereantagonistic to the maxims then current. It was fortunate for posterity, no doubt, that his long 'militant estate' was animated by some minglingof personal ambition with his love of poetry. Speaking in an earlysonnet of

 'The poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth, and pure delight, by heavenly lays, '

he concludes, 'Oh! might my name be numbered among theirs, Then gladly would I end my mortal days. '

He died at eighty, and general fame did not come to him till aboutfifteen years before his death. This perhaps might have been fifteenyears too soon, if he had set any inordinate value on it. But it was notso. Shelley tells us that' Fame is love disguised;' and it wasintellectual sympathy that Wordsworth had always valued far more thanreputation. 'Give me thy love; I claim no other fee, ' had been hisdemand on his reader. When Fame had laid her tardy garland at his feethe found on it no fresher green than his 'Rydalian laurels' had alwaysworn. Once he said to me, 'It is indeed a deep satisfaction to hope andbelieve that my poetry will be, while it lasts, a help to the cause ofvirtue and truth--especially among the young. As for myself, it seemsnow of little moment how long I may be remembered. When a man pushes offin his little boat into the great seas of Infinity and Eternity, itsurely signifies little how long he is kept in sight by watchers fromthe shore. '

Such are my chief recollections of the great poet, whom I knew but inhis old age, but whose heart retained its youth till his daughter Dora'sdeath. He seemed to me one who from boyhood had been faithful to a highvocation; one who had esteemed it his office to minister, in an age ofconventional civilisation, at Nature's altar, and who had in his laterlife explained and vindicated such life-long ministration, even while heseemed to apologise for it, in the memorable confession, 'But who is innocent? By grace divine, Not otherwise, O Nature, are we thine. '[272]

[272] 'Evening Voluntary. '

It was to Nature as first created, not to Nature as corrupted by'disnatured' passions, that his song had attributed such high andhealing powers. In singing her praise he had chosen a theme loftier thanmost of his readers knew--loftier, as he perhaps eventually discovered, than he had at first supposed it to be. Utterly without Shakspeare'sdramatic faculty, he was richer and wider in the humanities than anypoet since Shakspeare. Wholly unlike Milton in character and inopinions, he abounds in passages to be paralleled only by Milton insolemn and spiritual sublimity, and not even by Milton in pathos. It wasplain to those who knew Wordsworth that he had kept his great gift pure, and used it honestly and thoroughly for that purpose for which it hadbeen bestowed. He had ever written with a conscientious reverence forthat gift; but he had also written spontaneously. He had composed withcare--not the exaggerated solicitude which is prompted by vanity, andwhich frets itself to unite incompatible excellences; but the diligencewhich shrinks from no toil while eradicating blemishes that confuse apoem's meaning, and frustrate its purpose. He regarded poetry as an art;but he also regarded Art not as the compeer of Nature, much less hersuperior, but as her servant and interpreter. He wrote poetry likewise, no doubt, in a large measure, because self-utterance was an essentiallaw of his nature. If he had a companion, he discoursed like one whosethoughts must needs run on in audible current; if he walked alone amonghis mountains, he murmured old songs. He was like a pine grove, vocal aswell as visible. But to poetry he had dedicated himself as to theutterance of the highest truths brought within the range of his life'sexperience; and if his poetry has been accused of egotism, the chargehas come from those who did not perceive that it was with a human, not amere personal interest that he habitually watched the processes of hisown mind. He drew from the fountain that was nearest at hand what hehoped might be a refreshment to those far off. He once said, speaking ofa departed man of genius, who had lived an unhappy life and deplorablyabused his powers, to the lasting calamity of his country, 'A great poetmust be a great man; and a great man must be a good man; and a good manought to be a happy man. ' To know Wordsworth was to feel sure that if hehad been a great poet, it was not merely because he had been endowedwith a great imagination, but because he had been a good man, a greatman, and a man whose poetry had, in an especial sense, been theexpression of a healthily happy moral being. 

AUBREY DE VERE. 

 Curragh Chase, March 31, 1875. 

P. S. Wordsworth was by no means without humour. When the Queen on oneoccasion gave a masked ball, some one said that a certain youthful poet, who has since reached a deservedly high place both in the literary andpolitical world, but who was then known chiefly as an accomplished andamusing young man of society, was to attend it dressed in the characterof the father of English poetry, grave old Chaucer. 'What, ' saidWordsworth, 'M. Go as Chaucer! Then it only remains for me to go as M. !'

 * * * * *

PART II. 

SONNET--RYDAL WITH WORDSWORTH. 

BY THE LATE SIR AUBREY DE VERE. 

 'What we beheld scarce can I now recall In one connected picture; images Hurrying so swiftly their fresh witcheries O'er the mind's mirror, that the several Seems lost, or blended in the mighty all. Lone lakes; rills gushing through rock-rooted trees: Peaked mountains shadowing vales of peacefulness: Glens echoing to the flashing waterfall. Then that sweet twilight isle! with friends delayed Beside a ferny bank 'neath oaks and yews; The moon between two mountain peaks embayed; Heaven and the waters dyed with sunset hues: And he, the Poet of the age and land, Discoursing as we wandered hand in hand. '

The above-written sonnet is the record of a delightful day spent by myfather in 1833 with Wordsworth at Rydal, to which he went from the stillmore beautiful shores of Ulswater, where he had been sojourning atHalsteads. He had been one of Wordsworth's warmest admirers, when theirnumber was small, and in 1842 he dedicated a volume of poems tohim. [273] He taught me when a boy of 18 years old to admire the greatbard. I had been very enthusiastically praising Lord Byron's poetry. Myfather calmly replied, 'Wordsworth is the great poet of modern times. 'Much surprised, I asked, 'And what may his special merits be?' Theanswer was, 'They are very various, as for instance, depth, largeness, elevation, and, what is rare in modern poetry, an _entire_ purity. Inhis noble "Laodamia" they are chiefly majesty and pathos. ' A few weeksafterwards I chanced to take from the library shelves a volume ofWordsworth, and it opened on 'Laodamia. ' Some strong, calm hand seemedto have been laid on my head, and bound me to the spot, till I had cometo the end. As I read, a new world, hitherto unimagined, opened itselfout, stretching far away into serene infinitudes. The region was one tome unknown, but the harmony of the picture attested its reality. Aboveand around were indeed

[273] _A Song of Faith, Devout Exercises, and Sonnets_ (Pickering). TheDedication closed thus: 'I may at least hope to be named hereafter amongthe friends of Wordsworth. '

 'An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams;'

and when I reached the line, 'Calm pleasures there abide--majestic pains, '

I felt that no tenants less stately could walk in so lordly a precinct. I had been translated into another planet of song--one with largermovements and a longer year. A wider conception of poetry had becomemine, and the Byronian enthusiasm fell from me like a bond that isbroken by being outgrown. The incident illustrates poetry in one of itsmany characters, that of 'the deliverer. ' The ready sympathies andinexperienced imagination of youth make it surrender itself easilydespite its better aspirations, or in consequence of them, to a falsegreatness; and the true greatness, once revealed, sets it free. As earlyas 1824 Walter Savage Landor, in his 'Imaginary Conversation' betweenSouthey and Porson, had pronounced Wordsworth's 'Laodamia' to be 'acomposition such as Sophocles might have exulted to own, and a part ofwhich might have been heard with shouts of rapture in the regions hedescribes'--the Elysian Fields. 

Wordsworth frequently spoke of death, as if it were the taking of a newdegree in the University of Life. 'I should like, ' he remarked to ayoung lady, 'to visit Italy again before I move to another planet. ' Hesometimes made a mistake in assuming that others were equallyphilosophical. We were once breakfasting at the house of Mr. Rogers, when Wordsworth, after gazing attentively round the room with abenignant and complacent expression, turned to our host, and wishing tocompliment him, said, 'Mr. Rogers, I never see this house, so perfect inits taste, so exquisite in all its arrangements, and decorated withsuch well-chosen pictures, without fancying it the very house imaged tohimself by the Roman poet, when, in illustration of man's mortality, hesays, "Linquenda est domus. "' 'What is that you are saying?' replied Mr. Rogers, whose years, between eighty and ninety, had not improved hishearing. 'I was remarking that your house, ' replied Wordsworth, 'alwaysreminds me of the Ode (more properly called an Elegy, though doubtlessthe lyrical measure not unnaturally causes it to be included amongHorace's Odes) in which the Roman poet writes "Linquenda est domus;"that is, since, ladies being present, a translation may be deemeddesirable, _The house is_, or _has to be, left_; and again, "et placensuxor"--and the pleasing wife; though, as we must all regret, that partof the quotation is not applicable on the present occasion. ' The TownBard, on whom 'no angle smiled' more than the end of St. James's-place, did not enter into the views of the Bard of the Mountains. His answerwas what children call 'making a great face, ' and the ejaculation, 'Don't talk Latin in, the society of ladies. ' When I was going away heremarked, 'What a stimulus the mountain air has on the appetite! I madea sign to Edmund to hand him the cutlets a second time. I was afraid hewould stick his fork into that beautiful woman who sat next him. 'Wordsworth never resented a jest at his own expense. Once when we hadknocked three times in vain at the door of a London house, I exclaimed, quoting his sonnet written on Westminster-bridge, 'Dear God, the very houses seem asleep. '

He laughed heartily, then smiled gravely, and lastly recounted theoccasion, and described the early morning on which that sonnet waswritten. He did not recite more than a part of it, to the accompanimentof distant cab and carriage; and I thought that the door was opened toosoon. 

Wordsworth, despite his dislike to great cities, was attractedoccasionally in his later years

 'To the proud margin of the Thames, And Lambeth's venerable towers, '

where his society was courted by persons of the most differentcharacter. But he complained bitterly of the great city. It was next toimpossible, he remarked, to tell the truth in it. 'Yesterday I was atS. House: the Duchess of S. , showing me the pictures, observed, "This isthe portrait of my brother" (naming him), "and it is considered verylike. " To this I assented, partly perhaps in absence of mind, butpartly, I think, with an impression that her Grace's brother wasprobably a person whose face every one knew, or was expected to know; sothat, as I had never met him, my answer was in fact a lie! It is too badthat, when more than seventy years old, I should be brought from themountains to London in order to tell a lie!' He made his complaintwherever he went, laying the blame, however, not so much on himself, oron the Duchess, as on the corrupt city; and some of those who learnedhow the most truthful man in England had thus quickly been subverted bymetropolitan snares came to the conclusion that within a few years moreno virtue would be left extant in the land. He was likewise maltreatedin lesser ways. 'This morning I was compelled by my engagements to eatthree breakfasts--one with an aged and excellent gentleman, who mayjustly be esteemed an accomplished man of letters, although I cannothonestly concede to him the title of a poet; one at a fashionable party;and one with an old friend whom no pressure would induce me toneglect--although for this, my first breakfast to-day, I was obliged toname the early hour of seven o'clock, as he lives in a remote part ofLondon. '

But it was only among his own mountains that Wordsworth could beunderstood. He walked among them not so much to admire them as toconverse with them. They exchanged thoughts with him, in sunshine orflying shadow, giving him their own and accepting his. Day and night, atall hours, and in all weather, he would face them. If it rained, hemight fling his plaid over him, but would take no admonition. He musthave his way. On such occasions, dutiful as he was in higher matters, heremained incurably wayward. In vain one reminded him that a letterneeded an answer, or that the storm would soon be over. It was verynecessary for him to do what he liked; and one of his dearest friendssaid to me, with a smile of the most affectionate humour, 'He wrote his"Ode to Duty, " and then he had done with that matter. ' This veryinnocent form of lawlessness, corresponding with the classic expression, 'Indulge genio, ' seemed to belong to his genius, not less than thesympathetic reverence with which he looked up to the higher anduniversal laws. Sometimes there was a battle between his reverence forNature and his reverence for other things. The friend already alluded towas once remarking on his varying expressions of countenance. 'Thatrough old face is capable of high and real beauty; I have seen in it anexpression quite of heavenly peace and contemplative delight, as the Maybreeze came over him from the woods while he was slowly walking out ofchurch on a Sunday morning, and when he had half emerged from theshadow. ' A flippant person present inquired, 'Did you ever chance, MissF. , to observe that heavenly expression on his countenance, as he waswalking into church, on a fine May morning?' A laugh was the reply. Theways of Nature harmonised with his feelings in age as well as in youth. He could understand no estrangement. Gathering a wreath of white thornon one occasion, he murmured, as he slipped it into the ribbon whichbound the golden tresses of his youthful companion, 'And what if I enwreathed my own? 'Twere no offence to reason; The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. '

 * * * * *

(_k_) FROM 'RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LAST DAYS OF SHELLEY AND BYRON. '

BY E. J. TRELAWNY. 1858 (MOXON). 

Some days after this conversation I walked to Lausanne, to breakfast atthe hotel with an old friend, Captain Daniel Roberts, of the navy. Hewas out sketching, but presently came in accompanied by two Englishladies, with whom he had made acquaintance whilst drawing, and whom hebrought to our hotel. The husband of one of them soon followed. I saw bytheir utilitarian garb, as well as by the blisters and blotches on theircheeks, lips, and noses, that they were pedestrian tourists, fresh fromthe snow-covered mountains, the blazing sun and frosty air having actedon their unseasoned skins as boiling water does on the lobster by dyeinghis dark coat scarlet. The man was evidently a denizen of the north, hisaccent harsh, skin white, of an angular and bony build, andself-confident and dogmatic in his opinions. The precision andquaintness of his language, as well as his eccentric remarks on commonthings, stimulated my mind. Our icy islanders thaw rapidly when theyhave drifted into warmer latitudes: broken loose from its anti-socialsystem, mystic castes, coteries, sets, and sects, they lay aside theirpurse-proud, tuft-hunting, and toadying ways, and are very apt to runrisk in the enjoyment of all their senses. Besides, we were compelled totalk in strange company, if not from good breeding, to prove our breed, as the gift of speech is often our principal, if not sole, distinctionfrom the rest of the brute animals. 

To return to our breakfast. The travellers, flushed with health, delighted with their excursion, and with appetites earned by bodily andmental activity, were in such high spirits that Roberts and I caught theinfection of their mouth; we talked as loud and fast as if under theexhilarating influence of champagne, instead of such a sedative compoundas _café au lait_. I can rescue nothing out of oblivion but a few lastwords. The stranger expressed his disgust at the introduction ofcarriages into the mountain districts of Switzerland, and at the oldfogies who used them. 

'As to the arbitrary, pitiless, godless wretches, ' he exclaimed, 'whohave removed Nature's landmarks by cutting roads through Alps andApennines, until all things are reduced to the same dead level, theywill he arraigned hereafter with the unjust: they have robbed the bestspecimens of what men should be of their freeholds in the mountains; theeagle, the black cock, and the red deer they have tamed or exterminated. The lover of Nature can nowhere find a solitary nook to contemplate herbeauties. Yesterday, ' he continued, 'at the break of day, I scaled themost rugged height within my reach; it looked inaccessible; thispleasant delusion was quickly dispelled; I was rudely startled out of adeep reverie by the accursed jarring, jingling, and rumbling of acalèche, and harsh voices that drowned the torrent's fall. '

The stranger, now hearing a commotion in the street, sprang on his feet, looked out of the window, and rang the bell violently. 

'Waiter, ' he said, 'is that our carriage? Why did you not tells us?Come, lasses, be stirring; the freshness of the day is gone. You mayrejoice in not having to walk; there is a chance of saving the remnantsof skin the sun has left on our chins and noses; to-day we shall hestewed instead of barbecued. '

On their leaving the room to get ready for their journey, my friendRoberts told me the strangers were the poet Wordsworth, his wife andsister. 

Who could have divined this? I could see no trace, in the hard featuresand weather-stained brow of the outer man, of the divinity within him. In a few minutes the travellers reappeared; we cordially shook hands, and agreed to meet again at Geneva. Now that I knew that I was talkingto one of the veterans of the gentle craft, as there was no time towaste in idle ceremony, I asked him abruptly what he thought of Shelleyas a poet. 

'Nothing, ' he replied as abruptly. 

Seeing my surprise, he added, 'A poet who has not produced a good poembefore he is twenty-five we may conclude cannot and never will do so. '

'The "Cenci"!' I said eagerly. 

'Won't do, ' he replied, shaking his head, as he got into the carriage: arough-coated Scotch terrier followed him. 

'This hairy fellow is our flea-trap, ' he shouted out as they startedoff. 

When I recovered from the shock of having heard the harsh sentencepassed by an elder bard on a younger brother of the Muses, I exclaimed, 'After all, poets are but earth. It is the old story, --envy--Cain andAbel. Professions, sects, and communities in general, right or wrong, hold together, men of the pen excepted; if one of their guild is worstedin the battle, they do as the rooks do by their inky brothers--fly fromhim, cawing and screaming; if they don't fire the shot, they sound thebugle to charge. '

I did not then know that the full-fledged author never reads thewritings of his contemporaries, except to cut them up in a review, thatbeing a work of love. In after years, Shelley being dead, Wordsworthconfessed this fact; he was then induced to read some of Shelley'spoems, and admitted that Shelley was the greatest master of harmoniousverse in our modern literature. (Pp. 4-8. )[274]

[274] See our Index, under Shelley, G. 

(_l_) FROM 'LETTERS, EMBRACING HIS LIFE, OF JOHN JAMES TAYLER, B. A. , PROFESSOR OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY AND BIBLICAL THEOLOGY, AND PRINCIPALOF MANCHESTER NEW COLLEGE. LONDON, 1872' (TWO VOLS. 8vo). 

 Spring Cottage, Loughrigg, Ambleside, July 26. 1826. 

Rydal, where we now are, has an air of repose and seclusion which I haverarely seen surpassed; the first few days we were here we perfectlyluxuriated in the purity and sweetness of the air and the deliciousstillness of its pastures and woods. It is interesting, too, on anotheraccount, as being the residence of the poet Wordsworth: his house isabout a quarter of a mile from ours; and since Osler joined us we haveobtained an introduction to him, and he favoured us with his company attea one evening last week. He is a very interesting man, remarkablysimple in his manners, full of enthusiasm and eloquence in conversation, especially on the subject of his favourite art--poetry--which he seemsto have studied in a very philosophical spirit, and about which heentertains some peculiar opinions. Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton arehis favourites among the English poets, especially the latter, whom healmost idolises. He expressed one opinion which rather surprised me, andin which I could not concur--that he preferred the 'Samson Agonistes' to'Comus. ' He recited in vindication of his judgment one very fine passagefrom the former poem, and in a very striking manner; his voice is deepand pathetic, and thrills with feeling. He is Toryish--at least whatwould he considered so--in his political principles, though he disclaimsall connection with party, and certainly argues with great fairness andtemper on controverted topics, such as Parliamentary Reform and CatholicEmancipation. We took a long walk with him the other evening, to thescene of one of his Pastorals in the neighbourhood of Grasmere. He has agood deal of general conversation, and has more the manners of a man ofthe world than I should have expected from his poems; but his discourseindicates great simplicity and purity of mind; indeed, nothing rendershis conversation more interesting than the unaffected tone of elevatedmorality and devotion which pervades it. We have been reading his longpoem, the 'Excursion, ' since we came here. I particularly recommend itto your notice, barring some few extra vagancies into which hispeculiar theory has led him: his fourth book, the last, containsspecimens both of versification, sentiment, and imagery, scarcelyinferior to what you will find in the best passages of Milton. He spokewith great plainness, and yet with candour, of his contemporaries. Headmitted the power of Byron in describing the workings of human passion, but denied that he knew anything of the beauties of Nature, or succeededin describing them with fidelity. This he illustrated by examples. Hespoke with deserved severity of Byron's licentiousness and contempt ofreligious decorum. He told us he thought the greatest of moderngeniuses, had he given his powers a proper direction, and one decidedlysuperior to Byron, was Shelley, a young man, author of 'Queen Mab, ' whodied lately at Rome. (Vol. I. Pp. 72-4. )

 Manchester, July 16. 1830. 

. .. . Though I am busy, I feel rather melancholy; and I am continuallyreminded how sad my life would be without the society and affection ofthose we love, and how terribly awful the dispensation of death must beto those who cannot anticipate a future reunion, and regard it as theutter extinction of all human interests and affections. I am solacingmyself with Wordsworth. Do you know, I shall become a thorough convertto him. Much of his poetry is delicious, and I perfectly adore hisphilosophy. To me he seems the purest, the most elevated, and the mostChristian of poets. I delight in his deep and tender piety, and hisspirit of exquisite sympathy with whatever is lovely and grand in thebreathing universe around us. (Vol. I. P. 86. )

 * * * * *

(_m_) ANECDOTE OF CRABBE. 

FROM 'DIARY OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. '

Talking of Wordsworth, he [W. ] told Anne a story, the object of which, as she understood it, was to show that Crabbe had no imagination. Crabbe, Sir George Beaumont, and Wordsworth were sitting together inMurray's room in Albemarle-street. Sir George, after sealing a letter, blew out the candle which had enabled him to do so, and exchanging alook with Wordsworth, began to admire in silence the undulating threadof smoke which slowly arose from the expiring wick, when Crabbe put onthe extinguisher. Anne laughed at the instance, and inquired if thetaper was wax; and being answered in the negative, seemed to think thatthere was no call on Mr. Crabbe to sacrifice his sense of smell to theiradmiration of beautiful and evanescent forms. In two other men I shouldhave said, 'Why, it is affectations, ' with Sir Hugh Evans ['Merry Wivesof Windsor, ' act i. Scene 1]; but Sir George is the man in the worldmost void of affectation; and then he is an exquisite painter, and nodoubt saw where the _incident_ would have succeeded in painting. Theerror is not in you yourself receiving deep impressions from slighthints, but in supposing that precisely the same sort of impression mustarise in the mind of men otherwise of kindred feeling, or that thecommon-place folk of the world can derive such inductions at any time orunder any circumstances. [275]

 * * * * *

(_n_) LATER OPINION OF LOUD BROUGHAM. 

I am just come from breakfasting with Henry Taylor to meet Wordsworth;the same party as when he had Southey--Mill, Elliot, Charles Villiers. Wordsworth may be bordering on sixty; hard-featured, brown, wrinkled, with prominent teeth and a few scattered gray hairs, but neverthelessnot a disagreeable countenance; and very cheerful, merry, courteous, andtalkative, much more so than I should have expected from the grave anddidactic character of his writings. He held forth on poetry, painting, politics, and metaphysics, and with a great deal of eloquence; he ismore conversible and with a greater flow of animal spirits than Southey. He mentioned that he never wrote down as he composed, but composedwalking, riding, or in bed, and wrote down after; that Southey alwayscomposes at his desk. He talked a great deal of Brougham, whose talentsand domestic virtues he greatly admires; that he was very generous andaffectionate in his disposition, full of duty and attention to hismother, and had adopted and provided for a whole family of his brother'schildren, and treats his wife's children as if they were his own. Heinsisted upon taking them both with him to the Drawing-room the otherday when he went in state as Chancellor. They remonstrated with him, butin vain. [276]

[275] 'Diary of Sir Walter Scott, ' _Life_, by Lockhart, as before, vol. Ix. Pp. 62-3. 

[276] _The Greville Memoirs_. A Journal of the Reigns of King George IV. And King William IV. By the late Charles C. F. Greville, Esq. , Clerk ofthe Council to those Sovereigns. Edited by Henry Reeve, Registrar of thePrivy Council. 3 vols. 8vo, fourth edition, 1875. Vol. Ii. P. 120. 

NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 

P. 5. Footnotes: 5a, 'Intake. ' Cf. P. 436 (bottom). 

P. 6, l. 6. 'Gives one bright glance, ' &c. From 'The Seasons, ' l. 175, from the end of 'Summer. ' Originally (1727) this line ran, 'Gives onefaint glimmer, and then disappears. '

P. 17, l. 2. Shelvocke's 'Voyages:' 'A Voyage round the World, by theWay of the Great South Sea. ' 1726, 8vo; 2d edition, 1757. 

P. 22, l. 27. Milton, History of England, &c. 'The History of Britain, that Part especially now called England; from the first traditionalBeginning, continued to the Norman Conquest. In six Books. ' Lond. 1670. (Works by Mitford, Prose, iii. Pp. 1-301. )

P. 24, l. 28. Hearne's 'Journey, ' &c. ; viz. Samuel Hearne's 'Journeyfrom the Prince of Wales's Fort in Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. '1795, 4to. 

P. 31, l. 12. Waterton's 'Wanderings, ' &c. ; viz. Charles Waterton's'Wanderings in South America, the North-West of the United States, andthe Antilles. ' 1825, 4to. Many subsequent editions, being a book thathas taken its place beside Walton's 'Angler' and White's 'Selborne. '

P. 32, l. 11. James Montgomery's 'Field Flower. ' Nothing gratified this'sweet Singer' so much as these words of Wordsworth. He used to pointthem out to visitors if the conversation turned, or was directed, toWordsworth. The particular poem is a daintily-touched one, found in allthe editions of his Poems. 

P. 32, l. 33. 'Has not Chaucer noticed it [the small Celandine]'?Certainly not under this name, nor apparently under any other. 

P. 33, l. 2. 'Frederica Brun. ' More exactly Frederike. She was a minorpoetess; imitator of Matthison, whose own poems can hardly be calledoriginal. (See Gostwick and Harrison's 'Outlines of German Literature, 'p. 355, cxxiii. , 7th period, 1770-1830. )

P. 36, ll. 13-15. Quotation from Thomson, 'The Seasons, ' 'Summer, ' l. 980. 

P. 44, l. 17. Quotation from Sir John Beaumont, 'The Battle of BosworthField, ' l. 100. (Poems in the Fuller Worthies' Library, p. 29. )Accurately it is, 'The earth assists thee with the cry of blood. '

P. 47, ll. 17-19. 'The Triad. ' Sara Coleridge thus wrote of this poem:'Look at "The Triad, " written by Mr. Wordsworth four-or five-and-twentyyears ago. That poem contains a poetical glorification of Edith Southey(now W. ), of Dora, and of myself. There is _truth_ in the sketch ofDora, poetic truth, though such as none but a poet-father would haveseen. She was unique in her sweetness and goodness. I mean that hercharacter was most peculiar--a compound of vehemence of feeling andgentleness, sharpness and lovingness, which is not often seen' ('Memoirsand Letters of Sara Coleridge, edited by her Daughter, ' 2 vols. 8vo, 3dedition, 1873, p. 68). Later: 'I do confess that I have never been ableto rank "The Triad" among Mr. Wordsworth's immortal works of genius. Itis just what he came into the poetical world to condemn, and both bypractice and theory to supplant. It is to my mind _artificial_ and_unreal_. There is no truth in it as a whole, although bits of truth, glazed and magnified, are embodied in it, as in the lines, "Features toold ideal grace allied"--a most unintelligible allusion to a likenessdiscovered in dear Dora's contour of countenance to the great Memnonhead in the British Museum, with its overflowing lips and width ofmouth, which seems to be typical of the ocean. The poem always strikesme as a mongrel, ' &c. (p. 352). 

P. 56, l. 7. 'Mr. Duppa. ' See note in Vol. II. On p. 163, l. 2. 

P. 56, l. 27. '179--. ' _Sic_ in the MS. He died in January 1795. 

P. 60, l. 16. 'Mr. Westall;' viz. William Westall's 'View of the Cavesnear Ingleton, Gosdale Scar, and Malham Cove, in Yorkshire. ' 1818, folio. 

P. 62, l. 31. 'The itinerant Eidouranian philosopher, ' &c. Query--theWalker of the book on the Lakes noticed in Vol. II. On p. 217?

P. 63, l. 6. 'I have reason, ' &c. Cf. Letter to Sir W. R. Hamilton, firstherein printed, pp. 310-11. 

P. 68, l. 24. Dampier's' Voyages, 'etc. ; viz. ' Collection of Voyages. 'London, 1729, 4 vols. 8vo. 

P. 72, l. 29. 'Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. ' His complete Works in Verseand Prose are given in the Fuller Worthies' Library, 4 vols. 

P. 76, l. 14. Spenser. An apparent misrecollection of the 'Fairy Queen, 'b. Iii. C. Viii. St. 32, l. 7, 'Had her from so infamous fact assoyld. '

P. 78, l. 6. 'Armstrong;' _i. E. _ Dr. John Armstrong, whose 'Art ofPreserving Health, ' under an unpromising title, really contains splendidthings. His portrait in the 'Castle of Indolence' is his most certainpassport to immortality. 

P. 80, l. 21. 'The Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci. ' A reproduction ofthe head of our Blessed Lord, taken from the fresco (photograph), isgiven in the quarto edition of Southwell's complete Poems in the FullerWorthies' Library--none the less precious that it pathetically revealsthe marks of Time's 'effacing fingers. ' No engraving approaches the'power' of this autotype of the supreme original. 

P. 88, l. 32. 'Faber. ' Among the treasures (unpublished) of theWordsworth Correspondence are various remarkable letters of Faber--one, very singular, announcing his going over to the Church of Rome. 

P. 90, l. 34. 'Mr. Robinson. ' Cf. 'Reminiscences' onward. 

P. 97, ll. 9-10, &c. 'Dyer. ' Cf. Note, Vol. II. , on p. 296, l. 35. 

P. 97, l. 18. 'Mr. Crowe;' _i. E. _ Rev. William Crowe, Public Orator ofOxford. His poem was originally published in 1786 (4to); reprinted 1804(12mo). 

P. 98, l. 19. 'Armstrong. ' See on p. 78, l. 6. 

P. 98, l. 20. 'Burns. ' Verse-Epistle to William Simpson, st. 13; but for'nae' read 'na, ' and for 'na' read 'no. '

P. 101, l. 9. 'Rev. Joseph Sympson. ' This poet, so pleasantly noticed byWordsworth, appears in none of the usual bibliographical authorities. Curiously enough, his 'Vision of Alfred' was republished in the UnitedStates--Philadelphia. 

P. 116, ll. 33-34. Quotation, Shakspeare, 'Henry VIII. ' iii. 2. 

P. 120, l. 22. Quotation from Milton, 'Paradise Lost, ' viii. L. 282. 

P. 125, l. 4. 'Mr. Hazlitt quoted, ' &c. See Index, _s. N. _ forWordsworth's estimate of Hazlitt; also our Preface. 

P. 130, l. 17. Hill at St. Alban's. See 'Eccl. Hist. ' _s. N. _

P. 130, l. 31. 'Germanus. ' Bede, 'Eccl. Hist. ' b. Ii. C. Xvi. 

P. 131, l. 10. 'Fuller;' viz. His 'Church History. '

P. 131, l. 16. 'Turner. ' The late laborious Sharon Turner, whose'Histories' are still kept in print (apparently). 

P. 131, l. 21. 'Paulinus. ' Bede, 'Eccl. Hist. ' b. Ii. C. Xvi. 

P. 131, l. 26. 'King Edwin. ' Bede, 'Eccl. Hist. ' b. Ii. C. Xiii. 

P. 136, l. 28. 'An old and much-valued friend in Oxfordshire;' viz. Rev. Robert Jones, as before. 

P. 137, l. 10. 'Dyer's History of Cambridge, ' 2 vols. 8vo, 1814. 

P. 137, l. 14. 'Burnet, ' in his 'History of the Reformation;' manyeditions. 

P. 119, ll. 4-5. Latin verse-quotation, Ovid, 'Metam. ' viii. 163, 164. 

P. 151, l. 11. 'Charlotte Smith. ' It seems a pity that the Poems of thisgenuine Singer should have gone out of sight. 

P. 155, l. 31. 'Russel. ' Should be Russell. Some very beautiful Sonnetsof his appear in Dyce's well-known collection, and to it doubtlessWordsworth was indebted for his knowledge of Russell. He has cruellypassed out of memory. 

P. 165, ll. 7-9. 'Is not the first stanza of Gray's, ' etc. Gray himselfprefixed these lines from Aeschylus, 'Agam. ' 181:

 [Greek: Zêna

 * * * * * ton phronein brotous hodô- santa, ton pathos thenta kuriôs echein. ]

He seems to have been rather indebted to Dionysius' Ode to Nemesis, v. Aratus. 

P. 182, l. 9. 'Dr. Darwin's _Zoonomia_;' _i. E. _ 'The Laws of OrganicLife, ' 1794-96, 2 vols. 4to. 

P. 182, l. 24. 'Peter Henry Bruce . .. Entertaining Memoirs. ' Published1782, 4to. 

P. 185, ll. 2-3. Verse-quotation, from Milton, 'Il Penseroso, ' ll. 109-110. 

P. 190, l. 27. 'Light will be thrown, ' &c. We have still to deplore thatthe Letters of Lamb are even at this later day either withheld orsorrowfully mutilated; _e. G. _ among the Wordsworth Correspondence(unpublished) is a whole sheaf of letters in their finest vein from Lamband his sister. Some of the former are written in black and red ink inalternate lines, and overflow with all his deepest and quaintestcharacteristics. His sister's are charming. The same might be said ofnearly all Wordsworth's greatest contemporaries. Surely these MSS. Willnot much longer be kept in this inexplicable and, I venture to say, scarcely pardonable seclusion?

P. 192, foot-note. This deliciously _naïve_ note of 'Dora' to hervenerated father suggests that it is due similarly to demur--with allrespect--to the representation given of Mrs. Hemans (pp. 193-4). Threethings it must be permitted me to recall: (_a_) That the 'brevity'ssake' hardly condones the fulness of statement of an imagined ignoranceof 'housewifery' on the part of Mrs. Hemans. (_b_) That a visitor for afew days in a family could scarcely be expected to set about using herneedle in home duties. (_c_) That unquestionable testimony, furnished meby those who knew her intimately, warrant me to state that Wordsworthwas mistaken in supposing that Mrs. Hemans 'could as easily have managedthe spear of Minerva as her needle. ' Her brave and beautiful life, andher single-handed upbringing of her many boys worthily, make one deeplyregret that such sweeping generalisation from a narrow and hastyobservation should have been indulged in. My profound veneration forWordsworth does not warrant my suppression of the truth in this matter. Be it remembered, too, that other expressions of Wordsworth largelyqualify the present ungracious judgment. 

P. 209, l. 8. 'Lord Ashley. ' Now the illustrious and honoured Earl ofShaftesbury. 

P. 212, l. 17. 'Burnet;' _i. E. _ Thomas Burnet, whose Latin treatise waspublished in 1681 and 1689; in English, 1684 and 1689. Imaginativegenius will be found in this uncritical and unscientific book. 

P. 214, l. 12. 'The Hurricane, ' &c. ; viz. 'The Hurricane; a Theosophicaland Western Eclogue, ' &c. 1797; reprinted 1798. 

P. 216, ll. 4-5. Quotation from Coleridge, from 'Sibylline Leaves, 'Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath. 

P. 216, l. 29. 'Dr. Bell. ' Southey edited the bulky Correspondence ofthis pioneer of our better education, in 3 vols. 8vo. 

P. 233, ll. 34-36. 'They have been treated, ' &c. ('Evening Walk, ' &c. , 1794. )

P. 247, foot-note [A]. De Quincey, in his 'Recollections of the Lakesand the Lake Poets, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Southey' (Works, vol. Ii. Pp. 151-6), gives a very realistic _exposé_ of the Lonsdales--abatingconsiderably the glow of Wordsworth's recurring praise and homage. 

P. 255, l. 31. 'History of Cleveland. ' The book is by the Rev. JohnGraves, and is entitled 'The History of Cleveland in the North Riding ofthe County of York. ' Carlisle, 1808. Wordsworth is unjust: it is adeserving work, if o' times inevitably dry. 

P. 285, l. 1. 'Francis Edgeworth's "Dramatic Fragment. "' This was FrancisBeaufort Edgeworth, half-brother of Maria Edgeworth. 

P. 285, ll. 29-30. 'Spectator. ' From No. 46, April 23, 1711, one ofAddison's own charming papers in his lighter vein of raillery. 

P. 280, ll. 13-16. 'Mr. Page;' viz. Frederick Page, author of (_a_) 'ThePrinciple of the English Poor Laws illustrated and defended by anHistorical View of Indigence in Civil Society. ' Bath, 1822. (_b_)'Observations on the State of the Indigent Poor in Ireland, and theexisting Institutions for their Relief. ' London, 1830. 

P. 290, ll. 25-27. Verse-quotation, from Milton, 'Paradise Regained, ' b. Iii. Ll. 337-9. 

P. 293, l. 1. Letter to Hamilton. The Rev. R. P. Graves, M. A. --Wordsworth's friend--is engaged in preparing a Life of thispreeminent mathematician and many-gifted man of genius, than whom thereseems to have been no contemporary who so deeply impressed Wordsworthintellectually, or so won his heart. The 'Poems' of Miss Hamilton (1vol. 1838) sparkle with beauties, often unexpected as the flash of gems. Space can only be found for one slight specimen of her gift in 'Lineswritten in Miss Dora Wordsworth's Album, ' as follows:

 'It is not now that I can speak, while still Thy lakes, thy hills, thyself are in my sight; I would be quiet--for the thoughts that fill My spirit's urn are a confused delight; They must have time to settle to the clear Untroubled calm of memory, ere they show, True as the water-depths around thee here, These images, that then will come and go, An everlasting joy. Far, far away As life, extends the shadow of to-day; And keenlier present from the past will come Thy sweet laugh's freshness pure, with all the poet's home. 

'_Rydal Mount_. 1830. '

'The Boys' School' is the title of Miss Hamilton's poem referred to byWordsworth. It occurs in the volume, pp. 126-131. Her brother's was onecommencing, 'It haunts me yet. ' The 'Mr. Nimmo' of this letter was acivil engineer connected with the Ordnance Survey of Ireland. 

P. 299, l. 18; 300, l. 8, &c. 'Countess of Winchelsea. ' Sad to say, acollection of this remarkable English gentlewoman's Poems remains stillan unfurnished _desideratum_. 

P. 306, l. 11. 'The Duchess of Newcastle. ' Edward Jenkins, Esq. M. P. , has recently collected some of the Poems of this lady and her lord in apretty little volume, which he entitles, 'The Cavalier and the Lady. '

P. 312, l. 32. 'Eschylus and the eagle. 'The reference doubtless is toAeschylus' 'Prometheus Vinctus, ' l. 1042:

 [Greek: Dids de toi ptênos kuôn, daphoinos aietos. ]

Compare

 'Aischulos' bronze-throat _eagle-bark_ at blood Has somehow spoiled my taste for twitterings. '

Robert Browning, 'Aristophanes' Apology' (1875), p. 94. 

P. 321, ll. 32-3. Verse-quotation, from 'Macbeth, ' viz. I. 3. 

P. 333, l. 2. 'Russell. ' Before misspelled 'Russel' (p. 155). 

P. 337, ll. 17-18. 'Auld Robin Grey' [= Gray], by Lady Ann Lindsay. 'Lament for the Defeat, ' &c. , viz. 'The Flowers of the Forest, ' by (1)Mrs. Cockburn; 'I've seen the smiling, ' &c. (2), Miss Jane Elliot. 'I'veheard the lilting, ' &c. 

P. 342, l. 1. 'Shakspeare. ' Quotation from Sonnet lxxiii. 

P. 380, ll. 6-7. Horace, Ep. I. L, 8-9. 

P. 382, ll. 27-9. Southey's Letters. Admirably done by his son Cuthbertin many volumes. The seeming over-quantity have been reduced (to thelook) by the American reproduction in a single handsome volume. 

P. 394. Heading of Letter 144. 'Of the' has by misadventure slipped in asecond time here. Read, 'Of the Heresiarch Church of Rome. '

P. 449, l. 34 onward. Mrs. Wordsworth. My excellent Correspondent theRev. R. P. Graves, of Dublin, thus writes me of Mrs. Wordsworth: 'Iforget whether it has been put on record, as it certainly deserves tobe, that Wordsworth habitually referred to his wife for the help of herjudgment on his poems. Mrs. Wordsworth did not indeed possess thecreative and colouring power of imagination that belonged to his sisteras well as to himself; but her simple truthfulness, her strong goodsense (which no sophistry could impose upon), and her delicate feelingfor propriety, rendered her judgment a test of utmost value with regardto any subjects of which it could take adequate cognisance. And thesewere confined within no narrow range--the workings of Nature as it livedand moved around her, social equities and charities, religious and moraltruth, tried by the heart as well as by the head, and verbal expression, required by her to avoid the regions of the merely abstract andphilosophical, and keep to the lower but more poetical ground ofidiomatic strength and transparent logic. '

P. 457, l. 18. 'The (almost) contemporary notice of Milton. ' A stillmore significant contemporary notice of Milton than the well-known oneof the text occurs in 'The Censure of the Rota upon Mr. Milton's bookentituled The Ready and Easie Way to establish a Free Commonwealth, 1660, by James Harrington, ' as comes out at p. 16 ('_my_ Oceana'). As itseems to have escaped the commentators, a short quotation must be givenhere: 'Though you have scribled your eyes out, your works have neverbeen printed but for the company of Chandlers and Tobacco-Men, who areyour Stationers, and the onely men that vend your Labors' (pp. 4-5). 'He[a member of the Rota] said that he himself reprieved the Whole _Defenceof the People of England_ for a groat, that was sentenced to vile_Mundungus_, and had suffer'd inevitably (but for him), though it costyou much oyle and the Rump 300_l. _ a year, ' &c. (ibid. ). This of the'Defence'!!!

P. 459, l. 7 onward. Horace, Ode iv. 2, 1; ibid. 2, 27. 

P. 462, l. 15. 'Walter Scott is not a careful composer, ' &c. This recursin Mr. Aubrey do Vere's 'Recollections' (p. 487 onward). I venture as aScot to observe that for this one slight misquotation by Scott, on whichso large a conclusion is built, the quotations by Wordsworth from otherswould furnish twenty-fold. He was singularly inexact in quotation, aseven these Notes and Illustrations will satisfy in the places--scarcelyin a single instance being verbally accurate. 'Sweet' certainly was aperfectly fitting word for the sequestered lake of St. Mary in itsserene summer beauty. Moreover, swans are not usually found singly, butin pairs; and a pair surely differenced not greatly the symbol ofloneliness. The latter remark points to Wordsworth's further objection, as stated to Mr. De Vere (as _supra_). 

P. 492, l. 26. 'In the case of a certain poet since dead, ' &c. I mayrecord what his own son has not felt free to do, that this was SirAubrey de Vere, whose 'Song of Faith, and other Poems, ' has not yetgathered its ultimate renown. Wordsworth greatly admired the modestlittle volume. See one of his Sonnets on page 495. Nor with theLaureate's poem-play of 'Queen Mary' (Tudor) winning inevitable welcomeought it to be forgotten--as even prominent critics of it aresorrowfully forgetting--that Sir Aubrey de Vere, so long ago as 1847, published _his_ drama of 'Mary Tudor. ' I venture to affirm that it takesits place--a lofty one--beside 'Philip van Artevelde, ' and that it needfear no comparison with 'Queen Mary. ' Early and comparatively modernsupreme poetry somehow gets out of sight for long. 

P. 497, 1. 15. Read 'no angel smiled. ' I can only offer the plea of anold Worthy, who said, 'Errata are inevitable, for we are human; and tohave none would imply eyes behind as well as before, or the wallet ofour errors all in front. ' G. 

INDEX. 

* * * As pointed out in the places, the 'Contents' of Vol. III. Give thedetails of topics in the 'Notes and Illustrations of the Poems' and of'Letters and Extracts of Letters' so minutely, as to obviate theirrecord here; thus lightening the Index. G. 

A. 

Abuses, i. 284. 

Acquiescence, not choice, i. 19. 

Action, springs of, i. 160. 

_Addresses, Two, to the Freeholders of Westmoreland_, i. 211-270; occasion of writing, i. 214. 

Addison, i. 357, iii. 508. 

Adventurers, i. 241. 

_Advice to the Young_, i. 295-326. 

Admiration, unqualified, i. 312. 

Advancement and preferment of youth, i. 352. 

'Age, present, ' supposed moral inferiority of, i. 310. 

Agitators, i. 249. 

Alpedrinha, i. 56. 

Allies, to be supported, i. 138; how, 138-9, _et seqq. _

Alban's, St. , ii. 46. 

Alston, ii. 193. 

'Altering' of poems, ii. 207. 

Alfoxden, iii. 16. [277]

[277] This first mention of Alfoxden in the 'Notes and Illustrations ofthe Poems' leads the Editor to record here the title-page of a trulydelightful privately-printed volume, by the Rev. W. L. Nichols, M. A. , Woodlands: _The Quantocks and their Associations_ (1873), 41 pp. AndAppendix, xxxii, pp. A photograph of 'Wordsworth's glen, Alfoxden' (p. 6) is exquisite. G. 

'Amends, ' how to make, i. 130-1, _et seqq. _

American war, i. 135-6. 

American edition of poems, iii. 483-4. 

Ambleside, ii. 224-6; road from, to Keswick, ii. 227-8. 

Anxiety, moderate, i. 324. 

_Appendix_ _to Bishop Watson's Sermon_, i. 24-30; _to Contention of Cintra_, i 175-179. (See preface, I. Xiv. -xix. )

_Apology for the French Revolution_, i. 1-23. (See preface, I. X. -xix. )

Arbitrary, distinctions, i. 16-17; power, i. 158-9. 

Aristocracy, i. 19. 

Aristarchus, ii. 17. 

Armistice, i. 84; preamble of, i. 86; articles of, i. 88-94. 

Armstrong, Dr. , iii. 506. 

Army, British, departure of, i. 38; Spanish, the people, i. 47; French, and the French government, i. 95. 

'Arrow, ' i. 21. 

Artevelde, van, Philip, iii. 492. 

Art and nature, ii. 157-61. 

Arts and science, i. 154; fine, i. 323. 

Ashe, i. 360. 

Ashley, iii. 507. 

Assembly, i. 147. 

Asturias, i. 52-3. 

B. 

'_Bad_ people, ' ii. 41. 

'Babes in the wood, ' ii. 98. 

Bacon, quotation from, i. 357; and Shakespeare, iii. 457. 

Beia, i. 55. 

Benevolence, i. 171. 

'Beck. ' i. 336. 

Beaumont, Sir George H. And Lady, _letters to_, ii. 146-201; drawings by Sir George, ii. 151. 

Beaumont, Sir John, ii 346, iii. 505. 

Bell, Peter, ii. 182. 

Bell, Dr. , iii. 507. 

Bede, iii. 506. 

Biscayans, i. 60. 

Biography, of authors, ii. 11-12. 

Birthday, iii. 443-4. 

Bonaparte, i. 37; acknowledgment of titles, i. 84-5; influence of concession on, i. 93-4; ravager of Europe, i. 115; formidable yet weak, i. 163-4; to decrease, i. 200, ii. 18, _et alibi frequenter_. 

Books, religious, i. 335. 

'Bolton, Mr. , ' i. 350. 

Boswell's Johnson, ii. 9. 

Bran [misprinted Braw], iii. 69. 

Bleeding, good, i. 86. 

Britain, history of a noble one, i. 101-2. 

Brougham, public life of, i. 225, _et seqq. _, 242-8, _et seqq. _ later opinion of, iii. 504. 

Bruce, Michael, ii. 21, 343. 

Bruce, P. H. . Iii. 507. 

Browne, Sir Thomas, ii. 23. 

Browning, Robert, _letter to the Editor_, i. Xxxiv. ; quotation from poem of, iii. 508. 

Brun, Frederica, iii. 505. 

Brooke, Lord, iii. 560. 

Burke, i. 21, 357. 

Burns, Robert, Cottar's Saturday-night, i. 356, 360; _letter to a friend of_, ii. 1-19; Gilbert, ii. 5, 19, 343; fitted to tell the whole truth of, ii. 6-7; quotations from, ii. 7, 13-14, 331, 343 (bis), 347, iii. 436, 506. 

Building and gardening, ii. 184-191. 

Buttermere and Crummock, ii. 230. 

Burnet, Thomas, ii. 327, 507. 

Burnet, Bishop, iii. 506. 

Buchanan, iii. 459. 

Byron, iii. 462-3, 503. 

C. 

Calamity, how to be regarded, i. 52. 

Castile, council of, i. 59. 

Cadiz, governor of, i. 92. 

_Catholic Relief Bill_, i. 259-70. 

Camden, ii. 27, 343-4. 

Carter, Miss, 'Spring, ' iii. 426. 

Campbell, odd forgetfulness of, ii. 445. 

Celandine, small, iii. 505. 

Church of England, servility of its clergy, i. 3-4; notices of, i. 262-4, 283, _et seqq. _

Chamber, personal character of and its chief, ii. 140-1. 

Child and man, i. 170. 

Charles I. , tyranny of, i. 310; epitaph of, ii. 49; Sydney and, ii. 50. 

Chatterton, ii. 21, 343. 

Churchyard, village, ii. 33-4; country, ii. 41, _et seqq. _; on sea-coast, ii. 434. 

Chiabiera, ii. 58, 68, _et seqq. _

Christabelle, ii. 427. 

Chronological classification of poems, iii. 474. 

Clark, Mrs. , ii. 66-7, 344-5. 

Clergyman, the, i. 286-7, _et seqq. _

Classical study, iii. 479. 

Cleveland, history of, iii. 508. 

Courts, corruption of, i. 14. 

Corruption, i. 20. 

_Contention of Cintra_, i. 31-172; occasion of writing, i. 35, 129; importance of, i. 37, 143; impression produced by the, i. 37; condemned, i. 65; reception by the people, i. 69; results of, as a military act, i. 70-1; critical examination of its terms, i. 71, _et seqq. _; not necessary, i. 82; military results, i. 84, _et seqq. _; conditions of, thus far examined, i. 99; injury done to British character, i. 99, 100, 101-2; sorrow of the nation over, i. 103-4; punishment demanded, i. 104-5; to be repudiated, i. 105-6; disgrace of, i. 121; _Vindication of the Opinions on_, i. 195 209. (See preface. Vol. I. Xiv. -xix. )

Courage, i. 50; intellectual, lacking, i. 74-5. 

Constancy, i. 51. 

Condemnation, inevitable, i. 82-3. 

Cortes, i. 147. 

Companions, i. 229. 

Contradictions, i. 237. 

Counters and stakes, i. 81. 

County elections, entire charge of, i. 251-2. 

Conciliation and concession, i. 265. 

Commissioners, report of, i. 274. 

'Compulsory' relief, i. 278. 

Coöperation of working people, i. 282. 

Continuous education, i. 355-6. 

Cotton, Charles, and Walton, ii. 89, 345. 

Cotton, Dr. , ii. 142-4. 

Contempt, ii, 18. 

'Common life, ' ii. 81-2, _et seqq. _

Cowper, ii. 104, 211, 346. 

Collins, ii. 120, iii. 419. 

Coleridge, ii. 155-6, 163, 164, 166, 167, 168, 170, 174-5, 183-4, 193, iii. 427, 441, 442, 444, 469-70, 492, 507, _et alibi frequenter_. 

Coleridge, Hartley, iii. 482, _et alibi_. 

Coleridge, the Lord, i. Xxxiii. 

Coniston, ii. 226-7. 

Conversations and personal reminiscences of Wordsworth, iii. 403-504. 

Cowley, iii. 465. 

Copyright, international, iii. 483. 

Cockburn, Mrs. , iii. 509. 

Criticism, false, ii. 175-181; result of in _Edinburgh Review_ and _Quarterly_, iii. 437; a low ability for, iii. 438-9; verbal, iii. 474-5. 

Critic, decision of, ii. 110. 

Crabbe, iii. 503, _et alibi_. 

Crashaw, ii. 344. 

Crowe, iii. 506. 

Cromwell, i. 166, 359. 

Curates, i. 285-6. 

Currie, Dr. , ii. 5; indignation with, ii. 7-8, 12. 

Cuckoo, ii. 136-7. 

Cumberland's Calvary, iii. 415. 

D. 

Dalrymple, Sir Hew, i. 72, _et frequenter_. 

Daughter, education of a, i. 329-33. 

Dante, i. 359, _et alibi_. 

Da Vinci, Leonardo, iii. 506. 

Darwin, Dr. , iii. 507. 

D'Abrantes, title of, wrongly acknowledged, i. 68, 357. 

Delusions, i. 19. 

Debt, national, i. 20. 

'Declarations, ' i. 43-4. 

Defeats and disasters, i. 44-45. 

Delicacy, no, i. 98. 

Defence of fellow-countrymen, i. 113. 

Despotism i. 139-40, 229. 

Despond, those who, i. 171 2. 

Detraction, no, ii. 42. 

Dedication, to the Queen, i. V. ; of 1815, ii. 144. 

De Vere, Sir Aubrey, iii. 495, 509-10. 

De Quincey, i. Xxxiii. -iv. , iii. 507. 

_Diction, of poetic_, ii. 101-5. 

'Difficulties, ' i. 72. 

Diogenes, i. 238. 

Disabilities, civil, i. 269. 

Dissenters, i. 262. 

'Dignity, ' individual, i. 292. 

Discrimination in epitaphs, ii. 37-8. 

Doe, White, the, iii. 430, _et alibi_. 

Double sense, ii. 45-6. 

Drummond, Miss. Ii. 65-6. 

Dryden, ii. 118, iii. 416, 419. 

Duty, i. 40-1, 129, 326, 349. 

Dupont, i. 358. 

Duppa, ii. 162, 346, iii. 506. 

Dubartas, ii. 111-12. 

Dyer, John, ii. 196-7, 346, iii. 216, 405, 506, _et alibi_. 

E. 

Economists, unfortunate, i. 233. 

_Education, of_, i. 327-56; what it is, i. 343-4, _et seqq. _, moral, i. 346-7; of Scotland, i. 348; continuous, i. 355-6. 

_Edinburgh Review_, censured, ii. 16, _et alibi_. 

Edwards, John, ii. 33, 344. 

Edgeworth, Francis, iii. 508. 

Egle, bank of, iii. 508. 

Election, free, i. 234. 

Elizabeth, i. 310. 

Elliot, Jane, iii. 509. 

Emerson, i. Xxxiv. , _et alibi_. 

Ends, i. 80-1. 

Enthusiasm, i. 149. 

_Epitaphs, upon, from 'The Friend, '_ ii. 27-40; laws of, 31, _et seqq. _; requisites of, ii. 35, _et seqq. _; a perfect, ii. 39; _The country Churchyard, and critical Examination of ancient_, ii. 41-59; in Germany, ii. 44; homeliness, ii. 46-7; in Westmoreland, ii. 51-2; of Pope, criticised, ii. 55, _et seqq. _; _Celebrated Epitaphs considered_, ii. 60-75; favourable examples, ii. 72, _et seqq. _ (See preface, I. Xxiv. -v. )

Equality, i. 14, 288. 

Established church and priesthood, i. 232; preservation of, i. 290. 

Eschylus, iii. 508. 

'Estate, ' gift of, ii. 151. 

Europe, state of, i. 220-1. 

Evil, ii. 91. 

Excursion, ii. 145-8, 168-9. 

Executive, the power, i. 13. 

F. 

Faith, ii. 109-10. 

Fancy and imagination, ii. 134-5, _et seqq. _

'Favourite spots, ' ii. 424. 

Fame, posthumous, iii. 458, 493. 

Faber, iii. 488, 566. 

Family, a single, 215-16. _et seqq. _; defence of the, I. 217-18. _et seqq. _

Feelings, i. 65. 158, ii. 83-4, _et seqq. _; rely on our, ii. 99. 

Ferguson, General, i. 137. 

Fermor, Mrs. , ii. 178. 

Fenwick, Miss, i. Xxvi. -xxx. 

Ferdinand VII. , i. 358. 

'Fire. ' i. 118-19. 

Flowers, iii. 447. 

Florus, i. 359. 

Fortitude, ancient, i. 205-6. 

Forebodings, i. 249-50. 

Fore-feeling, ii. 344. 

Founders of a school to be remembered, i. 351. 

Fool, in Lear, iii. 419. 

Fools, Paradise of, ii. 18. 

_Fox, letter to, on poems_, ii. 202-5; reply, ii. 205-6. 

Frere, i. 67-8, 96, 358. 

French armies, character of, i. 79-80; to surrender at discretion, i. 81; under French government, i. 90. 

'Free, ' a nation resolved to be, i. 146. 

Franchise, i. 223, 239. 

Fuller, iii. 506. 

G. 

Gardening, ii. 174; and building, ii. 184-191. 

Generals, British, bearing of, i. 79; political, i. 95; incompetent and competent, i. 143. 

Girl, peasant, iii. 466-7; education of, i. 341. 

Goldsmith, ii. 154, 333. 

Goethe, iii. 435-6, 465. 

Grievances, national, i. 4. 

Gregoire, i. 4-5, 357. 

Gratifications, what, i. 315-16. 

Gratuitous instruction, i. 346. 

Grammar, &c. , i. 353. 

Gray, ii. 41, 67-8, 85-6, 327, 344, 345, iii. 507. 

Gray, James, ii. 5, 343. 

Grimm, Baron, ii. 113. 

Gratitude for kindnesses, ii. 149. 

Grasmere, ii. 229. 

Graves, Rev. R. P. , M. A. , i. Xxxv. -vi. ; prayer by, i. 359-60. 

_Guide through the District of the Lakes_, ii. 215-313. (See under_Lakes_ and different places. )

H. 

Hamlet, i. 22. 

Hakewell, ii. 113, 345. 

Hamilton, Sir R. W. , iii. 492, 506, 508, _et frequenter_. 

Hamilton, Miss, iii. 508. 

Hazlitt, i. Xxiv. , ii. 168, 177, iii. 125, _et alibi_. 

Hearne, iii. 505. 

Hemans, Mrs. , iii. 507. 

Hessians, i. 136. 

High-minded men, i. 76. 

Hope, i. 41, 123-4, 148, 169, 322-3. 

Honour, i. 78. 

Home influences, i. 345. 

Houbraken, ii. 170, 346. 

Homer and the classics, iii. 458-9. 

Horace, i. 357, iii. 509 (_bis_). 

Humanity, i. 78, 274. 

Humility, iii. 491. 

Humour, iii. 495, 496. 

'Hurricane, ' iii. 507. 

I. 

Idiots, ii. 212. 

Impulses, grand, i. 115. 

Imagination, i. 154; and taste, ii. 126, _et seqq. _; and fancy, ii. 134-5, _et seqq. _

Immoral, the perishable, i. 163. 

Improvement, process of intellectual, i. 318-20. 

Immortality, ii. 27-30. 

Imbecility, i. 172. 

Imagery and imagination, iii. 464-5. 

Independence and liberty, i. 102-3; of Spain, i. 151. 

'Indifferent, ' i. 110. 

Invasion of our country, supposed, i. 114. 

Infancy and childhood, i. 318. 

Intellect, sharpening of, i. 340. 

Infant-schools, i. 343. 

Inscriptions at Coleorton, ii. 191-2, 195-6. 

'Intimations of immortality, ' iii. 464. 

Individual character, iii. 467-8. 

Intake, iii. 505. 

Ireland, i. 267-8, _et alibi_. 

J. 

James I. , ii. 47-8. 

Johnson, Dr. , ii. 98, 103-4. 

Jones, Rev. Robert, iii. 506. 

Judges in England, i. 12. 

Junot, i. 55-6. 

'Judicature, court of, ' not essential to a verdict on wrong, i. 108-10. 

Justice, i. 116; moral, i. 118. 

K. 

Kant, iii. 420. 

Keble, iii. 441. 

_Kendal and Windermere Railway_, two letters on, ii. 321-41, iii. 448-9. 

Keswick, vale of, ii. 229. 

Kirkstone, pass of, ii. 314-15. 

Klopstock, iii. 405-23. 

Knowledge, life and spirit of, i. 309; for virtue, i. 320. 

L. 

Laws, partial and oppressive, i. 12-13. 

Laws, delay, i. 20. 

Labour, dishonoured, i. 18. 

Lament for England, i. 112. 

Land, i. 239. 

Landscape gardens, i. 248. 

Lakes, the country of, as formed by Nature, ii. 235-6; as affected by its inhabitants, ii. 256-69; changes and rules of taste for preventing their bad effects, ii. 269-86; miscellaneous observations, ii. 287-301; excursions to the top of Scawfell, &c. , ii. 302-15; itinerary of, ii. 316-19. (See preface, I. Xxv. -vi. )

Laodamia, iii. 496. 

Laing, Malcom, ii. 345. 

Lamb, letters of, iii. 507. 

Leon, i. 60. 

_Legislation for the Poor_, &c. , i. 271-94. 

Letter-writing, difficulty of, ii. 149-50. 

Leech-gatherer, ii. 206-7. 

Letters and extracts of Letters, ii. 217-401. (See preface, I. Xxx. -ii. )

Liberty, i. 6; against oppression, i. 52; and independence, i. 155-6. 

Life, i. 77-8, 280. 

Library for poor, i. 337-8. 

Lindsay, Lady Ann, iii. 509. 

Louis XVI. , 'royal martyr' (so-called), i. 4-5, _et seqq. _

Loyalty, enthusiasm of, i. 46. 

Lowther family, i. 235, iii. 507-8. 

'Lower orders, ' i. 273. 

Loughrigg Tarn, ii. 155. 

Loweswater, ii. 230. 

Locke, iii. 461. 

Loison, i. 357. 

Luff, Mr. , ii. 172. 

Lucretius, ii. 347. 

Lyttleton, Lucy, ii. 52; Lord, monody criticised, ii. 53-4. 

Lyrical ballads, defence of, ii. 79-100. 

Lying, iii. 497-8. 

M. 

Massaredo, i. 56-8, 357. 

Manufactories, workmen in, i. 282-3. 

_Mathetes, Letter of_, i. 297-308; _Answer to_, i. 309-26. 

Madras, system of education, i. 341, 343. 

Malignity, ii. 17. 

Mason, William, ii. 62, _et seqq. _

Matter-of-fact and poetry, ii. 86. 

Macpherson, ii. 122, _et seqq. _

Madoc, ii. 169, 171. 

Manner in conversation, iii. 480. 

Means, i. 80. 

Memory, ii. 41. 

Metrical language, ii. 95-6, _et seqq. _

Mearely, ii. 344. 

Mirza, vision of, i. 3. 

Military spirit, i. 48-9; men to be judged by the people, i. 83-4. 

'Ministry, ' the conduct of the, i. 105-6. 

Might, i. 116. 

Miscarriages, national, i. 128-9. 

Misery, effects of, i. 281. 

Milton, i. 358 (_bis_), 359, 360. Ii. 6, 40, 114-15, 136, 142 _et seqq. _, 344, 345, 346, iii. 430-1, 449, 453-4, 461, 505, 506, 507, 508; contemporary notice of, iii. 509, _et alibi frequenter_. 

Monarchy, objections to, i. 13, _et seqq. _

'Moral' superiority, i. 165. 

_Monuments to Literary Men_, ii. 20-22; beauty of, ii. 31-2; monition of, ii. 32-3; near churches, ii. 34-5; in churches, iii. 450-1. 

Montrose, Marquis of, ii. 49, 51, 344. 

_Morning Post_, letter to, ii. 321-41. 

Morla, i. 357-8. 

Montgomery, James, iii. 505. 

N. 

Nations, the two suffering, i. 63-4; to speak to representatives of, i. 144-5. 

Nature, i. 317, ii. 60, iii. 493-4; and art, ii. 157-161. 

Needpath Castle, sonnet on, ii. 152, 345-6. 

Nelson, Lord, ii. 173. 

Necklace, diamond, i. 357. 

Newcastle, Duchess of, iii. 508. 

Nobility, hereditary, a wrong, i. 17. 

_Notes and Illustrations of the Poems_ (_a_), the notes originally added to the first and successive editions; (_b_) the whole of the I. F. MSS. , iii 1-216. (For details of these Notes, see minute 'Contents' of Vol. III. )

O. 

Obliquities of admiration, ii. 116. 

Observation and description, ii. 131-144. 

'Occurrences, ' i. 98. 

Offices, i. 18-19. 

Oligarchy, i. 147. 

'Oppression, ' i. 168-9. 

'Opposition, ' in House of Commons needed, i. 219; the party of, i. 222; degenerated, i. 225. 

Originality, ii. 126. 

Oviedo, i. 63. 

Oversight, culpable, i. 68. 

Ovid, iii. 506. 

P. 

Paine, Thomas, i. 14, 357. 

Parchment, 'dead, ' i. 21. 

Past, retrospect of, i. 43-4. 

Passions and passion, i. 115-16, ii. 127, _et seqq. _; in poetry, iii. 473-4; though not declamatory, iii. 489. 

'Party, ' i. 144, 219. 

Patriot, the, i. 150. 

Palafox, i. 167, 359. 

Pasley, letter to, i. 195-206; essay on the military policy of Great Britain, i. 197, 205, _et seqq. _

Palmers, ii. 46. 

Page, Frederic, iii. 508. 

'People, ' the, i. 10, 11; Spanish, i. 47-8; _their ways and needs_, i. 334-339. 

Peasants and mechanics, i. 11-12; peasantry, i. 159. 

'Petition, ' vindication of, i. 107-8, 110. 

'Petty' things, i. 120. 

Peninsula, southern, i. 122-3. 

'Peace, ' i. 221. 

Peterkin, ii. 5, 343. 

'Pedlar, ' ii. 163, 346. 

Pelayo and Cid, i. 358. 

Petrarch, i. 359. 

Philosophy, i. 316. 

Pity, i. 5. 

Pitt, ii. 174. 

Pluralities, i. 284. 

Pleasures, poetic, ii. 13; production of, ii. 90. 

Portugal, i. 80-1. 

Portugeze, i. 43, 54-5, 67, 86, 97, 100-1, _et seqq. _

'Political' generals, i. 78-9, 95. 

Policy, i. 116. 

Poor, laws to be reformed, i. 232; amendment act, i. 273-4, _et seqq. _; just claims of the, i. 274-7, 278-9. 

Pope, ii. 55, _et seqq. _, 116, iii. 419. 

_Poetry, of the Principles of and the 'Lyrical Ballads, '_ ii. 79-100; _as a study_, ii. 106-130; kinds of readers of, ii. 106; _as observation and description_, ii. 131-144; forms of, ii. 132-3; of the principle of and Wordsworth's own poems, ii. 208-14. (See preface, I. Xxv. -vi. )

Poet, what is a, ii. 87, _et seqq. _

'Popular, ' ii. 129; vox populi, ii. 130. 

Poems, classification of, ii. 133, _et seqq. _

Power without right, i. 159-60. 

Priesthood, French, i. 6-7. 

Principles, i. 39, 43, 74-5, 144, 145; of poetry, ii. 79-100. 

Primogeniture, i. 16. 

Prostitution, i. 18. 

'Precautions, ' i. 45, 61. 

Prudence, i. 58-9. 

Private, a, individual, i. 83. 

Private property, i. 89-90. 

Preface, Editor's, i. Vii-xxxviii. 

Prisoners of war, i. 89. 

Property, a sound basis, i. 240. 

Protestantism and Popery, i. 261. 

Progress, i. 314-15. 

Prosaisms, ii. 85. 

Prose, more of but for Coleridge, iii. 457. 

Purpose, worthy, ii. 82. 

Public, not the people, ii. 130. 

Puny, ii. 347. 

Pyrrhus, i. 359. 

Q. 

Qualities, moral, i. 49-50. 

Queen, dedication and poem to the, i. V. -vi. 

R. 

Racine, i. 5-6. 

'Rash' politicians, i. 248. 

Reputation, i. 3. 

Republic, American, i. 10. 

Republican, Wordsworth a, i. 3, 10; republicanism defended, i. 9, 10, _et seqq. _

Revolution, i. 6; war against the French, i. 135, iii. 490. 

Reform, parliamentary, i. 22. 

Representation, universal, i. 11. 

'Rejoicing, ' deplorable, i. 69, 105. 

Regeneration, national, i. 122. 

'Remonstrance, ' i. 127. 

Representation of Westmoreland, i. 215. 

Religion, in poetry, ii. 108-9, _et seqq. _

Religious instruction, i. 354. 

Reserve, biographical, ii. 9. 

'Reliques, ' ii. 120, _et seqq. _

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, ii. 153-7, 161-2, 345. 

'Recluse, ' the, ii. 163, 105. 

Revision of Authorised Version, &c. , iii. 471-3. 

Riddance, i. 115. 

Royalty, no more, in France, i. 5. 

Road, anecdote, i. 22; old, iii. 428. 

Robespierre, ii. 18. 

Roscius, Young, ii. 164, 165. 

Robinson Crusoe, ii. 468. 

Rogers, iii. 516, _et alibi_. 

'Ruin mouldering. ' i. 237. 

Russell, iii. 507, 509. 

S. 

Saragossa, i. 117, 121, 166, 357. 

Sass, Padre St. Iago, i. 167, 359. 

Scott, i. Xiv. , iii. 442-30, 445, 457, 462, 487; vindication of, 509: _et alibi frequenter_. 

Scotland, critics of, ii. 116. 

Schiller, iii. 417. 

Seville, i. 1-3, 60. 

Shelvocke, iii. 505. 

Shelley, iii. 489, 493, 501, 503. 

Shakespeare, ii. 113, 114, 136, 139, 140, 141, 345, 346, iii. 460, 488, 506, 509, _et alibi frequenter_. 

Silence, ii. 10. 

Simonides, ii. 30. 

Sincerity, ii. 48. 

Slavery, i. 77. 

Smith, Charlotte, iii. 507. 

Southey's Letters, iii. 509. 

Spain and Britain, i. 41-2, 161-2, _et seqq. _

Spanish people, patriotism of, i. 45-7, _et seqq. _, 125-6, _et seqq. _

Spenser, i. 322, ii. 111-12, 345, 347, iii. 466, 506, _et alibi_. 

_Speech on laying the Foundation stone of Bowness School_, i. 350-6. 

Spelling and style, iii. 452-3. 

Struggle, how the, ought to have been carried on, i. 116. 

Statesmen and courtiers, minds of, i. 130-1, _et seqq. _

Stagnation, apparent, i. 313. 

Statistical account of Scotland, ii. 44. 

Style, ii. 84, _et seqq. _

Stevens, George, ii. 113-14. 

Steamboats and railways, ii. 340. 

Superstition, i. 117. 

Superiority, i. 321. 

Sword, not pen, i. 95. 

Sympathy, ii. 38. 

Sydney, Sir Philip, ii. 49-50. 

Sympson, Rev. John, iii. 506. 

T. 

Tam o'Shanter, ii. 13-14. 

Tempers and dispositions, i. 279. 

Teacher, enlightened, i. 325. 

Tenderness, iii. 480, 489. 

Tennyson, iii. 390, 492, _et alibi_. 

Things, if not men, i. 142. 

Thomson, ii. 117, _et seqq. _, 160, iii. 505, _et alibi_. 

Timidity, i. 231. 

Tourist, directions and information for the, ii. 221, _et seqq. _

Traitors, i. 23. 

Tranquillity from 'Relief Bill' not possible, i. 266-7. 

Truth, love of, i. 323, iii. 488. 

Trespass, iii. 425. 

Tree-planting, iii. 436. 

Transcendental world, iii. 467. 

Triad, iii. 505-6. 

Turner, Sharon, iii. 506. 

Tyrant, the, i. 70, _et seqq. _

Tyranny, French, basis of, i. 139, 148. 

U. 

Ulpha, Kirk, ii. 227. 

Ullswater, ii. 230-4. 

Union of nations, i. 152-3. 

Unworthy objects, i. 326. 

V. 

Vane, Sir George, ii. 47. 

Verse, why write in, ii. 93-4. 

Veracity and ideality, iii. 486. 

Vespers, Sicilian, i. 359. 

Vimiera, i. 43, 75. 

Vindication of opinions, &c. I. 195-209. 

Vice and Virtue, ii, 42-3, 61. 

Virgil, i. 358 (_bis_), iii. 469, _et alibi_. (See II. 274-9. )

Virgin, the, iii. 492. 

Voice of the people, i. 113. 

Volunteers, i. 234. 

W. 

Watson, Bp. , i. 3, _et seqq. _ (See preface, I. X. -iiv. )

Watson, Thomas, ii. 313. 

War, just and necessary, i. 39-40; opponents of, i. 40; with France, wished still, i. 201-2, _et seqq. _; varied opinions of, i. 226-7. 

Warrior, happy, ii. 173-4. 

Wales, North, excursion in, ii. 197-201. 

Wastdale, ii. 230. 

Walks, iii. 423. 

Warwick, Sir Philip, i. 359. 

Walker, A. , book on the lakes overlooked, ii. 346-7, iii. 506(?). 

Waterton, iii. 506. 

Wealth, i. 15, 189. 

Westmoreland, two letters to freeholders of, i. Xix. -xxi. , 211, _et seqq. _

Wellesley (= Wellington), i. 65-6, 68-9, 126-7, _et seqq. , et alibi_. 

Weever, John, ii. 27, 50, 344. 

Westall, iii. 506. 

Wickedness, prodigious, i. 170. 

Wilson, Alexander, ii. 346. 

Wilson, Professor, ii. 208-14. (See under _Mathetes_. )

Windermere, ii. 223-4. 

Wieland, iii. 418. 

Winchelsea, Countess of, iii. 508. 

Wordsworth, Mrs. Iii. 509. 

Workmen in manufactories, i. 282-3. 

Worthlessnesses swept away, i. 311. 

Woman, iii. 457. 

Y. 

_Young, Advice to the_. I. 295-326, _et alibi_. (See under Education. )

Z. 

Zaragoza, i. 167. 

FINIS.