the consciousness of a lofty aim, and the sympathy of a select band of admirers, alone sustaining him. Shortly after the migration to Rydal, we find him completing his longest and most important work, 'The Excursion'. It was published in 1814, prefaced by a grateful dedicatory sonnet addressed to the Earl of Lonsdale. A combination of circumstances, however, prevented this admirable poem from meeting with the reception it deserved. Its length, its meditative and philosophic character, certain heavy passages, tales which are prolix, and reasonings which are spun out, deterred those who read for excitement or mere transient pleasure. The multitude who require the mint-stamp of precedent before they pass anything as genuine, or look to the Reviews to tell them what to think, were of course arrayed against it. The Eclectic Review contained a highly encomiastic article, rendering ample justice to the poetic talents of the author, but raising a doubt as to the religious character of the poem, the narrowness of the critic's views leading him to denounce as a lamentable error, the representing a love of Nature as a sanctifying process, and to argue as if it were an impossiblity to see the divinity which is in God's works, without blinding oneself to the inspiration which is in his word. But it were an endless task to enumerate the diversities of opinion which it called forth: perhaps it left his admirers and contemners where they were, each being furnished with instances to strengthen his own persuasions. Even now, when the merits of the poem are so generally acknowledged, there are many readers who are averse to the dialogue-form in which it is constructed, seeing that there is so little variety in the tone and style of the speakers; but, as Wordsworth's design was to represent them all as lofty-minded or highly-intellectual characters, we can only say they all speak as if they were Wordsworths, but can hardly apply, in this instance, the good-humoured banter of Goldsmith, who said of Dr Johnson, that if he were to write a dialogue between fishes, he would make his minnows speak as if they were whales. On this topic the Rev. E. P. Hood writes, 'Exception has been taken to its colloquial style, even by some of its admirers, in that it is a conversation, it betrays want of dignity; let the same charge be preferred against all the writings of Plato. The Poet, it is said, should give utterance to his own thoughts without calling in the aid of dialogue; but, surely, minds entirely emancipated from the trammellings of old methods, will only find in the mode by which the great doctrines of this poem are unfolded, one of its most prominent beauties. In its lovely Historical Episodes and Legends; in its curious paintings of mental life and progress; in its noble discourses against despondency, and upon immortality; in its fine aphorisms of lofty thought and wisdom, are presented for it a claim to a place among the very dearest productions of genius in our language'. As to the Pedlar, who plays such a conspicuous part in the 'Excursion', Wordsworth says, 'Had I been in a class which would have deprived me of a liberal education, it is not unlikely that being strong in body, I should have taken to a way of life such as that in which my "Wanderer" passed the greater part of his days. At all events, I am called upon freely to acknowledge that the character I have represented in his person, is chiefly an idea of what I fancied my own character might have become in his circumstances'. The demand for the 'Excursion' was so limited that an edition of 500 copies sufficed for six years, and another edition of 500, was the total requirement for the next seven years. * It was of this work that Southey writes to Scott, 'Jeffrey, I hear, has written what his admirers call a crushing review of the "Excursion". He might as well seat himself upon Skiddaw and fancy he crushed the mountain'. We read that Thersites railed indiscriminately at the Grecian Heroes, until a blow from the fist of Achilles silenced him for ever. Southey aims another blow at the Thersites of Literature, where he says, 'there are critics who are everlastingly picking out single lines, and condemning their cadence as bad. This might be true if the line could possibly stand alone. But were I to cut off one of the critic's fingers and tell him it was only fit for a tobacco-stopper, that would be true also because the act of amputation made it so'. Wordsworth himself calmly remarked, ‘Let the age continue to love its own darkness, I shall continue to write, with, I trust, the light of heaven upon me'. The necessity of repelling unjust contempt forces the most modest man into a feeling of pride and selfconsciousness, but there were many of the poet's friends, who, while admiring the manly avowal which he everywhere made of the sense he entertained of his own merit, yet wished he had left unwritten those supplemental prefaces to his poems, which contained *Upon the completion of Madoc', Sir Walter Scott wrote to Southey, I hope you have not and don't mean to part with the copyright. I do not think you and Wordsworth understand the book-selling animal well enough, and wish you would one day try my friend Constable, who would give any terms for a connexion with you'. severe reproaches on the bad taste of the times, fearing that they might be ascribed to personal feeling and disappointment. A proposal was, about this time, made to Wordsworth, to exchange his office of Distributor of Stamps for the more lucrative post of Collector for the town of Whitehaven, but he was not to be tempted from the charms of Rydal Mount to reside in a dingy town by a mere increase of salary. The place had become dear to him; he loved the rocky and wooded heights which sheltered his pleasant abode, and made a bold framework to the more distant scenery. The house itself was sufficiently raised on the slope of a hill to look down upon Rydal Church; to the south, the little town of Ambleside revealed its lurking place by its wreaths of blue smoke, while beyond, an extensive view of Windermere completed the prospect. The terrace in front of the house, the steps leading from it, gay with the favourite wild-flowers which he suffered partially to cover them, the lawn, — 'A carpet, all alive With shadows flung from leaves to strive In dance amid a press Of sunshine' these, with many other immediate surroundings of the house, have found due record in the poet's verse. When desirous of greater seclusion, he had the choice of another terrace-walk behind the house, and, facing northward, where spaces judiciously kept open between majestic trees, afforded charming glimpses of the diminutive but lovely Rydal Water. Here, resting in his fir-cone summer-house, as often as 'he murmured forth his half-formed melodies' a turtle-dove responded from its cage, or, as he more choicely expresses it, 'from her osier mansion near'. To complete the picture we must add luxuriant shrubberies, and brilliant and fragrant parterres, of which, however, the poet could only enjoy the brilliancy and not the perfume, the sense of smell having been denied him. Passing through the garden gate we enter a meadow into one of whose banks nature has built a rough mass of stone, on which Wordsworth was tempted to have some lines inscribed, which now read as an affecting epitaph for himself. In these fair vales hath many a tree, At Wordsworth's suit been spared; Was rescued by the Bard: In addition to the beauties of his own small domain, Wordsworth had, at all times, welcome access to the adjoining grounds of Rydal Park; and here again his poems show how he revelled in the natural charms of the region, and delighted to study, from some covert nook, one or other of the beautiful cascades which attract so many visitors 'To mark its eddying foam-balls, prettily distrest Or watch with mutual teaching The current as it plays, In flashing leaps, and stealthy creeps, Adown a rocky maze'. With such alluring scenes at hand, and with his en G |