was told she asked her neighbour, 'Has not Mr. Wordsworth written some poems?""

Robinson tells us that Ludwig Tieck was on a visit to England during this year, and that he read to him two of Wordsworth's sonnets, when Tieck remarked, "Das ist ein Englischer Goethe."

In August 1824, Wordsworth made a tour in North Wales with his wife and daughter. They were absent from Rydal nearly three months. It was during this year-and possibly during the tour in Wales-that the lines were addressed to Mrs. Wordsworth, which perhaps rival those written of her in her youth, the lines beginning

and

O dearer far than life and light are dear,

Let other bards of angels sing.

Memorial poems followed, bearing on the Welsh Tour. The following is Wordsworth's own account of the tour, written to Sir George Beaumont :

"Hindwell, Radnor, Sept. 20, 1824.

MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,-After a three weeks' ramble in North Wales, Mrs. Wordsworth, Dora, and myself are set down quietly here for three weeks more. The weather has been delightful, and everything to our wishes. On a beautiful day we took the steam-packet at Liverpool, passed the mouth of the Dee, coasted the extremity of the Vale of Clwyd, sailed close under Great Orme's Head, had a noble prospect of Penmaenmawr, and, having almost touched upon Puffin's Island, we reached Bangor Ferry, a little after six in the afternoon. We admired the stupendous preparations for the bridge over the Menai; and breakfasted next morning at Carnarvon. We employed several hours in exploring the interior of the noble castle, and looking at it from different points of view in the

neighbourhood. At half-past four we departed for Llanberis, having fine views (as we looked back) of Carnarvon Castle, the sea, and Anglesey. A little before sunset we came in sight of Llanberis Lake, Snowdon, and all the craggy hills and mountains surrounding it; the foreground a beautiful contrast to this grandeur and desolation—a green sloping hollow, furnishing a shelter for one of the most beautiful collections of lowly Welsh cottages, with thatched roofs, overgrown with plants, anywhere to be met with. The hamlet is called Cwm-y-glo, and here we took boat, while the solemn lights of evening were receding towards the tops of the mountains. As we advanced, Dolbarden Castle came in view, and Snowdon opened upon our admiration. It was almost dark when we reached the quiet and comfortable inn at Llanberis.

There being no carriage-road, we undertook to walk by the Pass of Llanberis, eight miles, to Capel Curig. This proved fatiguing, but it was the only oppressive exertion we made during the course of our tour. We arrived at Capel Curig 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 is perhaps seen nowhere to more advantage than from this place. Next morning, 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 we could only make use of the morning and evening. Here we were joined, according to previous arrangement, by Bishop Hobart, of New York, who remained with us till two o'clock next day, and left us to complete his hasty tour through North and South Wales. In the afternoon my old college friend and youthful companion among the Alps, the Rev. R. Jones, arrived, 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 we lodged; having

passed through bold and rocky scenery along the banks of a stream which is a feeder of the Dee. Next morning we turned from the Irish road three or four miles to visit the 'Valley of Meditation' (Glyn Mavyr), where Mr. Jones has, at present, a curacy, with a comfortable parsonage. We slept at Corwen,

and went down the Dee to Llangollen, which you and dear Lady B. know well. Called upon the celebrated recluses, who hoped that you and Lady B. had not forgotten them; they certainly had not forgotten you, and they begged us to say that they retained a lively remembrance of you both. We drank tea, and passed a couple of hours with them in the evening, having visited the aqueduct over the Dee, and Chirk Castle, in the afternoon. Lady E. has not been well, and has suffered much in her eyes, but she is surprisingly lively for her years. Miss P. is apparently in unimpaired health. Next day I sent them the following sonnet from Ruthin, which was conceived, and in a great measure composed, in their grounds

A stream to mingle with your favourite Dee
Along the Vale of Meditation flows.

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 our friend, to complete our tour. We dined at Conway, walked to Benarth, the view from which is a good deal choked up with wood. A small part of the castle has been demolished, for the sake of the new road to communicate with the suspension bridge, which they are about to make to the small island opposite the castle, to be connected by a long embankment with the opposite shore. The bridge will, I think, prove rather ornamental, when time has taken off the newness of its supporting masonry; but the mound deplorably impairs the majesty of the water at high-tide; in fact it destroys its lake-like appearance. Our drive to Aber in the

evening was charming; sun setting in glory. We had also a delightful walk next morning up the vale of Aber, terminated by a lofty waterfall, not much in itself, but most striking as a closing accompaniment to the secluded valley. Here, in the early morning, I saw an odd sight--fifteen milkmaids together, laden with their brimming pails. How cheerful and happy they appeared! and not a little inclined to joke, after the manner of the pastoral persons in Theocritus. That day brought us to Capel Curig again, after a charming drive up the banks of the Ogwen, having previously had beautiful views of Bangor, the sea, and its shipping. From Capel Curig we went down the justly celebrated vale of Nant Gwynant to Bethgelert. In this vale are two small lakes, the higher of which is the only Welsh lake which has any pretensions to compare with our own; and it has one great advantage over them, that it remains wholly free from intrusive objects. We saw it early in the morning; and with the greenness of the meadows at its head, the steep rocks on one of its shores, and the bold mountains at both extremities-a feature almost peculiar to itself-it appeared to us truly enchanting. The village of Bethgelert is much altered for the worse: new and. formal houses have, in a great measure, supplanted the old rugged and tufted cottages, and a smart hotel has taken the place of the lowly public-house, in which I took refreshment almost thirty years ago, previous to a midnight ascent to the summit of Snowdon. At B. we were agreeably surprised by the appearance of Mr. Hare, of New College, Oxford. We slept at Tan-y-bwlch, having employed the afternoon in exploring the beauties of the vale of Festiniog. Next day to Barmouth, whence, the following morning, we took boat and rowed up its sublime. estuary, which may compare with the finest of Scotland, having the advantage of a superior climate. From Dolgelly we went to Tal-y-llyn, a solitary and very interesting lake under Cader Idris. Next day, being Sunday, we heard service

performed in Welsh, and in the afternoon went part of the way down a beautiful valley to Machynlleth, next morning to Aberystwith, and up the Rhydiol to the Devil's Bridge, where we passed the following day in exploring those two rivers, and Hafod in the neighbourhood. I had seen these things long ago, but either my memory, or my powers of observation, had not done them justice. It rained heavily in the night, and we saw the waterfalls in perfection. While Dora was attempting to make a sketch from the chasm in the rain, I composed by her side the following 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? etc.

...

Next day, viz. last Wednesday, we reached this place. . . . I hope to see Mr. Price at Foxley, in a few days. Mrs. Wordsworth's brother is about to change his present residence for a farm close by Foxley. . . ."

On the 13th December Dorothy Wordsworth wrote to Crabb Robinson:

"My brother and sister, with their daughter, arrived at home a month ago after an absence of eleven and a half weeks. Their tour in North Wales was delightful-much surpassing remembrance and expectation; to my brother the ground had been familiar in the days of his youth, but all was new to the females. They spent five weeks among their friends in Herefordshire and Radnorshire, and bore away one great consolation in parting from Thomas Monkhouse, as they all feared for the last time, that he had been cheated out of many a melancholy thought by their presence. My brother's society was an especial comfort to him. Two days before our travellers left Wales, the sick man had set off for Torquay with his wife and child and