ing nature into the wild dream of the Rev-est and highest of causes lost in excess olution. The anguish it caused him, as the dream gradually dissipated and hope died away, is but lightly touched; but he tells with sorrowful vehemence of his dismay and despair when he found his own country joining in the alliance against patriot France and the cause of freedom, which had survived the Terror and all its excesses "No shock Given to my inmost nature had I known He cries with sharp pain. He can say no which tore away and crime, was such an argument as might "Then was the truth received into my heart That under transient sorrow earth can bring For Christians, and a sanctity, If new strength be not given, nor old restored, Thus from this great shock and mental tempest came the melancholy yet lofty philosophy which runs through all Wordsworth's works his constant endeavour to prove, if we may use such words, the From the best youth in England their dear reasonableness of sorrow in the theory of "By violence at one decisive rent pride, Their joy in England." Thus strongly does Time change the aspect of affairs, and blind one generation to the hopes and passions of another. The through all his works. He makes it a principle even that sorrow past becomes iovely, "not sorrow, but delight;" and that there is misery human existence - the necessity for it, and the grandeur of its use, which justified its employment. "Honour, which could not else have been." This is putting the argument in a much stronger way than that It may be said that this stormy and ter- sickening suggestion that "everything is rible chapter in Wordsworth's life was but for the best," with which the commonthe natural outbreak of revolutionary feel- place comforters of this world do their liting so common in human experience, an tle possible to aggravate grief. episode which, while full of youth's wild-reader will find how persistently Wordsest vagaries, is quite consistent with the worth holds by this thread of belief equally natural conservatism of maturer years. We think, however, that the effect it produced on the poet's mind and genius gives it a more important character. There is something in the peculiar tone "That is not pain of his philosophy throughout all his afterTo hear of, for the glory that redounds life which tells of a great shock underTherefrom to humankind, and what we are.” gone, and an immense mental effort made, to justify those ways of God to man which This is his constant theme. He will allow are at once the stumbling-block and the no grief to be dwelt upon for itself— no strong-hold of all thinking souls. Per- pang to be suffered without some compensonal loss would not have driven his dis-sation. "The purposes of wisdom ask no ciplined and self-controlled nature into more," is his verdict after the first tears bitter and painful encounter with this have been shed, and the first sharp pang great problem as it does to some minds; of pity has gone through the heart. His but the vaster question of a nation's well- "Wanderer" turns away "and walks being, and the still more poignant misery along the road in happiness," when he sees of beholding what seemed to him the holi-how calmly nature has composed the ruin 66 My temples with the muses' diadem. and disarray of Margaret's deserted cottage. Anguish and despair, however bitter, must pass away, and good remains, or ought to remain, in their place. This is the imperative doctrine which he preaches, perhaps all the more earnestly because it is difficult for the mind to hold by it through all the miseries of the world. It was the doctrine with which, in the face turbances and convulsions being over, It was at this point, all its early disof the gigantic calamities of France, he that the poet's life, as we have learned to had endeavoured to comfort his own sore know it the serene sober existence, and bitterly disappointed heart. After he returned to England" un-afterwards made into an ideal life among 'plain living and high thinking," which he willingly," he says he lived what he the Westmoreland hills began. The himself calls an "undomestic wanderer's choice was a strange one to be made by a life" for some two years. His friends wished him to enter the Church, which he this time had shown a love for wandering young man, just twenty-four, who up to was now of fit age to do; and he himself, and adventure, and who had just come anxious by any means to escape that nethrough a crisis of intense political excitecessity, made some attempts to gain adment. To such a one, the observer would mittance into the feverish field of journal- naturally conclude, active life, society, the ism. But it is clear, that his desultory applause of his fellows, and intercourse and self-governed youth had not qualified with them, would have been the first him for the regular work and restraint things sought; but such was not the deci which any profession would have demand- sion of Wordsworth. His head was full of ed; and both these dangers were speedily the highest theories of life and poetry, and staved off by the death of Raisley Calvert, he was already his own judge and standard, a young friend with whom he had been holding lightly the opinions of others. travelling, whom he attended through his There is a certain mist of ardour and last illness, and who left to him the sum friendliness in youth which conceals the of £900. This was no great fortune, it is harsher features of character; but already true, but to Wordsworth, who had nothing, it is apparent that Wordsworth considered it meant independenee, and almost salva- most things primarily as educating influThis bequest," he wrote some years ences for himself, and means of perfecting later to Sir George Beaumont, "was from a his individual being. For this, in a great young man with whom, though I call him degree, the French Revolution had been; friend, I had had but little connection; and and for this-with all tenderness, with the act was done entirely from a confidence all grateful affection acknowledged, but on his part that I had powers and attainstill for this - poor Calvert died. What ments which might be of use to mankind." could men do for the man whom already. This opened at once a new life to the poet, God had so marked out for special care the troublous and uncertain existence of and training? The world was profoundly his early years came to an end, and with interested in everything that could be grateful gladness Wordsworth settled done to increase his powers and develop down, as so few people are able to do, to them, but the world was incapable of carry out his own theory of life, and shape helping much in that great work. Nahis career as he pleased. Even at this early period, a pervading consciousness ture, his nurse and instructress of old, that he was not as other men are, and and the silence and quiet in which alone that it was fit and becoming that extraor- great seeds of thought can germinate, and dinary means should be taken by Provi- great projects ripen - these were the aids tion. dence and his friends to fit him for his "That I, if frugal and severe, might stray was which he needed most. And here, too, another personage comes into the tale. The brothers of Wordsworth were all by this time afloat on the world; one in business as a solicitor in London, one at sea in that noble East India Company's service, which then opened a career to sailors; and one entering upon that highly successful career of fellowships and prosperities which ended in the mastership of Trinity College, Cam - bridge. The only other member of the | Wordsworth wrote at a later period, with family, Dorothy, the sole sister, had been fond enthusiasm. "It was the first home brought up in the home of an uncle. Her I had." Here the two young poets- for character was a peculiar one. She was such they were, though one was voiceless impetuous, impulsive and irregular — the lived and mused, and observed everykind of creature who flourishes best in thing that passed around them. They the indulgent atmosphere of a natural took long walks on the breezy downs, and home. She had been separated from her gazed with brilliant young eyes, which brother since their childhood, and now at noted every ripple and change of colour the first moment when their reunion was over the sea. They gardened, no doubt, possible seems to have rushed to him with- full of novel delight in the space of ground all the impetuosity of her nature. With which, for the moment, they called their out taking his sister into consideration, no own, and read with industry-"if readjust estimate can be formed of Words- ing can ever deserve the name of indusworth. He was, as it were, henceforward try," Wordsworth says, with his perennial the spokesman to the world of two souls. indifference to books. Their own youthIt was not that she visibly or consciously ful vigour and freshness of feeling, and aided and stimulated him, but that she unbounded hope, no doubt kept them was him a second pair of eyes to see, a from any oppressive sense of the monotsecond and more delicate intuition to dis- ony of their existence; and so completely cern, a second heart to enter into all that sympathetic and congenial were the pair, came before their mutual observation. that their own society seems to have sufThis union was so close, that in many in- ficed them for two long years, during stances it becomes difficult to discern which there is no record of their career. which is the brother and which the sister. In this period Wordsworth wrote his one She was part not only of his life, but of drama, "The Borderers," a performance his imagination. He saw by her, felt scarcely worthy of him, which did not see through her; at her touch the strings of the light for fifty years, and which even the instrument began to thrill, the great now, we believe, is known to the great melodies awoke. Her journals are Words- majority of his readers only by name. worth in prose, just as his poems are Dor- And up to this time we are not aware othy in verse. The one soul kindled at that he had done anything which could, the other. The brother and sister met by any but the most extraordinary inwith all the enthusiasm of youthful, affec- sight, be considered as affording promise tion, strengthened and concentrated by of the splendid future before him. He their long separation, and the delightful sense that here at last was the possibility of making for themselves a home. He had the income arising from his £900; she had £100, a legacy which some kind soul had left her;- and with this, in their innocent frugality and courage, they faced the world like a new pair of babes in the wood. Their aspirations in one way were infinite, but in another, modest as any cot- Such a seer, however, there was, entager's. Daily bread sufficed them, and lightened by the kindred gift of genius, as the pleasure to be derived from nature, well as by that ardent youthful enthusiasm who is cheap, and gives herself lavishly which so often makes a right guess, without thought or hope of reward. The though on perfectly fallacious grounds. house in which they settled would seem to The name of this first critic who knew have been the first rural cottage which how to appreciate Wordsworth, and forestruck their fancy. It was not even in saw his future glory, was Samuel Taylor their native district, which had so many Coleridge. Seldom, if ever," he had said attractions to them both, but in the tamer some time before, after reading the "Descenery of Dorsetshire, if anything can scriptive Sketches," "was the emergence be called tame which is near the sea. of an original poetic genius above "The place was very retired, with little or no society, and a post only once a week." It was called Racedown Lodge, near Crewkerne. "I think Racedown is the place dearest to my recollections upon the whole surface of the island," Miss had published a volume of "Descriptive Sketches of Lake and Alpine Scenery," not much above the average of university composition, a few years before; but it would have required the eye of a true seer-one possessed with the very gift of divination to discern the author of "The Excursion" in those smooth and softly-flowing lines. 66 the literary horizon more evidently announced." We are not told how the two poets were brought to personal knowledge of each other; but in the summer of 1797, Coleridge appeared at Racedown, and their friendship seems to have at once be 66 66 Upon smooth Quantock's airy ridge we roved Unchecked, or loitered 'mid her sylvan combs." come most warm and close. They plunged | lived. This house was much larger than into sudden acquaintance, sudden love. their previous one, and the country deThere is something very whimsical in lighted them by its beauty; but " one Miss Wordsworth's record of the first principal inducement was Coleridge's soevening they spent together. "The first ciety," says Miss Wordsworth. They rething," she says, "that was read after he mained here for nearly a year, which came, was William's new poem, the Ru- Wordsworth himself describes as "a very ined Cottage"" (afterwards embodied in pleasant and productive time of my life." the first book of "The Excursion "), "with De Quincey gives a curious sketch of the which he was much delighted; and after feelings of poor little Mrs. Coleridge (for tea he repeated to us two acts and a half the poet was already married), who could of his tragedy Osorio.' The next even- neither walk nor talk, when the bright ing William read his tragedy, The apparition of Dorothy Wordsworth, not Borderers."" This was an appalling pretty, like the wedded Sara, but brilliant, commencement; but notwithstanding the hasty, sensitive, and sympathetic, burst temptation to smile over such a porten- upon her the sharer of all the long tous way of occupying the placid nothing- rambles, and all the desultory wonderful ness of an evening after tea," there is conversations which were Greek and Hesomething in the sublime mutual confi- brew to herself. With these little vexadence of the two poets, their intense tions, however, we have nothing to do; youthful gravity, and superiority to all but wonderful were the wanderings by that is ridiculous in the situation, and hill and dale, and sweet that summer, their absorption in the grand pursuit "under whose indulgent shade,” which was opening before them, which turns the reader's smile into sympathy. Great as their fame is now, and much as they have accomplished, no doubt there glimmered before them, in the golden mist of these early days, many an impossible feat and triumph greater than any reality. They exhausted themselves in eager theories, exchanging plans and fancies as they walked with their young heads reaching the skies over the combs and uplands. Half spectator, half inspirer, the deepeyed rapid girl between them heard and saw, and felt and enhanced every passing thought and scheme; and, with an enthusiasm, which borders on extravagance, they all worshipped and applauded each other. "He is a wonderful man," writes Miss Wordsworth of Coleridge. "His conversation teems with soul, mind, and spirit." Coleridge, on his part, describes "Wordsworth and his exquisite sister" with equal fervour. "I speak with heartfelt sincerity, and I think unblinded judgment, when I tell you that I feel a little man by his side," he writes; and adds of Dorothy, “In every motion her innocent soul outbeams so brightly, that who saw her would say guilt was a thing impossible with her. Her information is various, her eye watchful in observation of nature, and her taste a perfect electrometer." This rapid mutual conquest of each other made by the three friends advanced so quickly, that in a month after the beginning of the acquaintance the Wordsworths removed from Racedown to Somersetshire, to a house called Alfoxden, near Nether-Stowey, in which village Coleridge The three made all manner of expedi- After the perils of his moonlight ride, The communion of spirits even went farther than this. The "Ancient Mariner," for instance, was intended to have been a composition by the hands of both poets, and was destined to pay the expense of one of their little excursions. Words worth suggested (he himself tells us) the incident of the albatross, and of the navigation of the ship by the dead sailors, and furnished even an actual line or two to the poem; but "our respective manners," he says, " proved so widely different, that it would have been quite presumptuous in me to do anything but separate from an undertaking upon which I could only have been a clog." This idea, however, of mutual publication, was the origin of the "Lyrical Ballads" which received travagance, and go further than good So strange a reception from the world. taste or good sense sanctioned. AccordThe Ancient Mariner" grew out of its ing to Coleridge's explanation of this thefirst slight design into the great and won- ory, he himself was to take up the superderful poem it is; and the little excursion natural and romantic, as in the "Ancient among the Quantock Hills gave rise to the Mariner," while Wordsworth, whose mind boldest new essay in literature that had took a different bent, was "to propose to been heard of for a hundred years. himself as his object, to give the charm of The Lyrical Ballads" were published novelty to the things of every day, and to in September 1798. The volume consisted excite a feeling analogous to the supernatof Coleridge's great poem, and of many of ural awakening by the mind's attention Wordsworth's, which are as fine as any- to the lethargy of custom, and directing it thing he ever wrote. Among them are to the loveliness and the wonders of the the exquisite "Anecdote for Fathers world before us an inexhaustible treasmost clumsy of titles, and most lovely of ure, but for which, in consequence of the verses; the "Lines written in Early film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, Spring; ""We are Seven;" and the beau- we have eyes and see not, ears that hear tiful Tintern Abbey." The volume con-not, and hearts that neither feel nor taining all these and many more was understand." the public into something more than mere disapproval; and we cannot think that in this its decision was so far wrong as, in view of Wordsworth's eventual fame, the reader of to-day would be warranted in supposing. To begin a serious and affecting poem thus — "A little child, dear brother Jim," which, as originally written, was, we are told, the first line (now incomplete) of "We are Seven;" to concentrate the interest in a first volume of poetry upon so long and so extraordinary a production as the "Idiot Boy;" to introduce into serious verse "A household tub, like one of those published by Mr. Cottle, the friend of This attempt to teach and elevate it Coleridge, in Bristol, who gave Words- by ostentatiously simple means, roused worth thirty pounds for his share in it. The book, however, sold so poorly, having been assailed by almost every critic who noticed it, that when Cottle, a short time after, sold his copyrights to Longman in London, he found this was considered absolutely of no value, and restored it to its authors. This was, as we have already said, the volume which contained Coleridge's Ancient Mariner," a poem which was certainly not open to the charges of puerility and commonplace which were made against his brother poet. It was by Wordsworth, however, that the book was to stand or fall. Unfortunately there was in its very plan a certain polemical tendency and challenge which roused all the existing world of critics against it. The Which women use to wash their clothes;" young poet set himself to instruct mankind, not only in the legitimate way, by were sins sufficient to weigh down a great the real message which he had to deliver, many beauties. And when we add that but by revolutionizing the very form and all this was done not accidentally, but fashion under which poetry had hitherto with serious intention, and from a height taught the world. This was a very differ- of superiority, as if something sacred and ent matter from Cowper's loyal return to sublime was in the narrative of Johnny's that stately medium of blank verse, which ride and Harry Gill's shivering somehas been so dear to all the greatest of thing which the common reader was not English poets. It was a fanciful theory, sufficiently refined or elevated to apprebrought into being in the numberless dis- ciate the indignation of the public apcussions which arose between the two pears, to a certain extent, justifiable. This young enthusiasts, who combined with the foolish and quite unnecessary idea was infervour of their personal convictions a cer- sisted upon as the very essence and soul tain contempt for the judgment of the of the poet's mission by Wordsworth himworld, heightened by confidence in its in-self, until maturing years improved his evitable docility, and submission one time perceptions and taste. Nothing could be or another to themselves, its natural lead-more distinctly characteristic of the curiers. They knew, and were rather pleased ous self absorption of his nature. He was to think, that critics would be puzzled and startled; but they did not understand nor believe it possible that they themselves might strain their theory into ex a law to himself. The example of all older poetry and the opinion of the world were nothing to him, until time had gradually revealed the fact, which is so often |