for all human ills, and that powerful pens were needed to guide the public mind; and that the pen of genius could scarcely be more nobly employed. But he has no confidence in the body of the people, in their willingness to read what is wholesome, or to do what is right; and this, I took the liberty to say, seemed to me the radical point on which he and I differed. I told him that there were large communities in America in whom I did confide, and that I believed other communities might be raised up to the same condition; and that it appeared to me that it should be the grand effort of the world now, to raise up this mass to knowledge, to comfort, and virtue—since the mass was evidently ere long to rule for us. After this conversation, Mr. Wordsworth proposed a walk to Grasmere Lake, to see it after sunset; and in that loveliest of all the scenes I ever witnessed on earth were lost all thoughts but of religion and poetry. I could not help saying, with fervent sincerity, 'I thank you, sir, for bringing me here at this hour'; for he had evidently taken some pains, pushing aside some little interferences with his purpose, to accomplish it. He said, in reply, that so impressive was the scene to him, that he felt almost as if it were a sin not to come here every fair evening. We sat by the shore half an hour, and talked of themes far removed from the strife of politics. The village on the opposite side lay in deep shadow; from which the tower of the church rose like heaven's sentinel on the gates of evening. A single taper shot its solitary ray across the waters. The little lake lay hushed in deep and solemn repose. Not a sound was heard upon its shore. The fading light trembled upon the bosom of the waters, which were here slightly ruffled, and there lay, as a mirror, to reflect the serenity of heaven. The dark mountains lay beyond, with every varying shade that varying distance could give them. The furthest ridges were sowed with light, as if it were resolved into separate particles and showered down into the darkness below, to make it visible. VOL. III. The mountain-side had a softness of shadowing upon it, such as I never saw before, and such as no painting I ever saw approached in the remotest degree. It seemed, Mr. Wordsworth said, as if it were 'clothed with the air.' Above all, was the clear sky, looking almost cold, it looked so pure, along the horizon-but, warmed in the region a little higher, with the vermilion tint of the softest sunset. I am persuaded that the world might be travelled over without the sight of one such spectacle as this—and all owing to the circumstances, the time, the hour. It was perhaps not the least of those circumstances influencing the scene, that it was an hour, passed in one of his holy retreats, with Wordsworth!" CHAPTER XXXVIII. CORRESPONDENCE-RECORDS OF CONVERSATION-1835-1836. THE Library at Rydal Mount-though never so large as the libraries of most literary men-was, by the accumulations and gifts of many years, now a very interesting and valuable one. In the Transactions of the Wordsworth Society, vol. vi. pp. 195-257, the Sale Catalogue of that portion of the library which was disposed of in July 1859-amounting to nearly 3000 volumes— will be found. It contained some books of rare interest, which are now in the possession of Lord Coleridge, and others. But the most valuable part of the poet's library still exists at The Stepping Stones, Ambleside. The household at Rydal Mount were extremely liberal in lending books to all their neighbours and friends; and there is now in the possession of Mr. Dykes Campbell, London, a Ms. Library Book which was kept at the Mount, in which all the books lent out, and the names of the borrowers, were regularly entered. This was probably disposed of at the same auction sale at which many interesting relics of the poet were scattered. Amongst the borrowers occur the names of Hartley Coleridge, De Quincey, H. C. Robinson, Serjeant Talfourd, Mrs. S. T. Coleridge, the Cookson family, Mrs. and Miss Quillinan, Mr. Aubrey de Vere, Miss Southey, Mrs. Davy, Mrs. Fletcher, Lady Richardson, Miss Fenwick, and the families at Fox How and Fox Ghyll. Matthew Arnold's name is entered as having borrowed Sir Charles Grandison in 1834-5. Amongst the books taken out by the borrowers are Tenny son's Poems, Miss Barrett's Prometheus, her Seraphim, Shelley's Letters, Modern Painters, Lamb's Letters. The entries range from 1824 onwards. They were apparently taken down at first with some care and regularity, and the dates of the returns of the books are at times mentioned; but, as I suspect occurs in the majority of such 'Library Books,' it was by degrees less accurately kept; and the MS. is full of blots, erasures, and even other miscellaneous entries, such as the addresses of friends in London and elsewhere. Still fearing a Revolution at hand, Wordsworth wrote to Mr. Moxon, while visiting at Lowther Castle in January 1835: "The Radicals and foolish Whigs are driving the nation. rapidly to that point, and soon, alas! it is likely to be found that power will pass from the audacious and wicked to the more audacious and wicked, and so to the still more and more, till military despotism comes in as a quietus. And then, after a time, the struggle for liberty will re-commence; and you, young as you are, should your life be prolonged to the seventy years of the psalmist, will not live to see her cause crowned with success.' In January 1835, he wrote to Lord Lonsdale offering to "give up the office of Stamp Distributor, which he had held for nearly 22 years, if his son could be appointed to it in his place. He wrote on the same subject again; and, referring to the Duke of Wellington's objection to appoint sons as successors to their fathers, referred to himself as having "some claim upon his country" as one who had "devoted his life to the service of sound Literature," which, the law of copyright stepping in, declares that "the greater parts of my productions shall be public property the moment I cease to breathe." To his friend Wrangham he wrote, February 2, 1835 :— 'MY DEAR WRANGHAM, . . . The mind of every thinking man who is attached to the Church of England must at this time be especially turned to reflections upon all points of ecclesiastical polity, government, and management, which may tend to strengthen the Establishment in the affections of the people, and enlarge the sphere of its efficiency. It cannot, then, I feel, be impertinent in me, though a layman, to express upon this occasion my satisfaction, qualified as it is by what has been said above, in finding from this instance that our Diocesan is unwilling to station clergymen in cures with which they are locally connected. Some years ago, when the present Bishop of London, then of Chester, was residing in this neighbourhood, I took the liberty of strenuously recommending to him 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 the mischief of this, especially as affecting the functions and characters of ministers born and bred up in the lower classes of society. It has been painful to me to observe the false position, as the French would call it, in which men so placed are. Their habits, their manners, and their 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 perpetual conflict, and are liable to be taxed with pride and ingratitude, as seeming to neglect their old friends, when they only associate with them with that reserve, and under those restraints, which their sacred profession enjoins. If, on the other hand, they fall into unrestrained familiarity with the associates of their earlier life and boyish days, how injurious to their ministry such intercourse would be must flash upon every man's mind whose thoughts have turned for a moment to the subject. |