struggles, as they have been, and will be found, true to themselves. Buonaparte cannot have lost less than 140 or 150 thousand men already in Spain. A man must know little of human nature who despairs of the cause because the country is overrun, or because the Spaniards cannot beat the French yet in pitched battles. I wish to converse with you upon the military defence of our own country, and to lay before you my reasons for believing that nothing has yet been done towards it (I mean in the arrangements concerning the Volunteers, local militia, &c.), which is not far worse than useless. We are, in fact, in everything but our fleet, leaning upon broken reeds, and these perhaps (as has been apprehended by some wise men) sleeping upon gunpowder. . . .

How strange that I should have so expressed myself as to lead you to believe that I meant to lay it down as a general position, that freedom of discussion could exist under arbitrary governments-or under any modification of them, could exist for any good purpose. In the comparison which I made between our own and other countries, I did not mean to say any more than this, which might both be concluded à priori, and has been proved by fact, viz.:-that under arbitrary governments, which have been long established in tranquillity, and are confident of their own security, works of bold disquisition, both in religion, morals, and politics, have been permitted to see the light; and, what is of more consequence, have been generally read, though not to any good purpose. And the reason is plain-because under such governments, in such circumstances, opinions excite no alarm either to the governors, or among any part of the governed; there being no probable connection between opinion and action. Whereas, in a country like ours, where we have a considerable portion of practical liberty, not only is the government afraid of opinions differing from those on which

its own strength is founded; but likewise there takes place another intolerance, still more to be deprecated, in the minds of large bodies of the community, who set their faces against everything that appears which is not in matter and manner perfectly orthodox, from the apprehension that, if such notions gain ground a course of action will follow, and their privileges, or at least their tranquillity, be sacrificed. Hence for the most part such books only are written as flatter existing prejudice and ignorance; or, if others be produced, they are cried out against at first, and finally neglected. You will remember that I positively said in my letter that books avail nothing without institutions, that is, of course, institutions of civil liberty. I am sure that on these points not the smallest difference would exist between us, if we had an opportunity of sifting thoroughly each other's thoughts.

"May 25, 1809.

If we, who wish for a temperate reform, are utterly to reject all assistance from all those who do not think exactly as we do, how is it to be attained? For my part I see no party with whom, in regard to this measure, I could act with entire approbation of their views, but I should be glad to receive assistance from any. I do not think the reform will ever be effected, unless the people take it up; and if the people do stir, it can only be by public meetings. It is natural that in meetings of this kind the most violent men should be the most applauded, but I do not see that it necessarily follows that their words will be realised in action. The misfortune of this question of reform is that the one party sees nothing in it but dangers, the other nothing but hopes and promises. For my part, I think the dangers and difficulties great, but not insurmountable, whereas, if there be not a reform, the destruction of the liberties of the country is inevitable. . . .

answer.

"May 31, 1809.

MY DEAR SIR,-I learn from a letter received last night from Mr De Quincey that the book has been lying now ten days at the printers', finished; and is probably still unpublished. With great sorrow I have perceived that this has been owing to your not having been apprized that the printing was done. Mr De Quincey having been satisfied by the printer's assurance made to him that you had been informed when the sheets were going to be struck off; but at the same time he tells us that they did not wait for your Therefore when the printers had shown themselves so inattentive to their promise to you, viz., that the sheets were not to be struck off till you had examined them, what proof had Mr De Quincey that this message was sent? Much less that you had received it? But it avails nothing to find fault, especially with one who has taken such pains (according to the best of his judgment) to forward this business. That he has failed is too clear, and not without great blame on his own part (being a man of great abilities and the best feelings, but, as I have found, not fitted for smooth and speedy progress in business.) I learn that the sheets, as I have said, were struck off without your having an opportunity to ascertain whether they contained anything libellous. This has angered me much, as it is an act of great disrespect to you, and may prove of most serious injury to me. In fact, if I were superstitious, I should deem that there was a fatality attending this my first essay in politics. I have kept my temper till last night, but I must say that Mr De Quincey's letter of last night ruffled me not a little.

I hope you did not take ill my freedom with respect to the late conduct of The Courier. I spoke from the best motives."

The following two letters from Wordsworth to Thomas Poole of Nether Stowey, refer mainly to the Convention of

Cintra, but his allusions to The Friend are also interesting. The first was written from Allan Bank.

"GRASMERE, NEAR KENDAL, March 30 [1809].

DEAR POOLE, Finding—what indeed I might without such proof have been sure of-from a letter of yours to Coleridge that the Convention of Cintra has excited in your mind the same sensations as in my own, I write this to let you know that I have just sent off to the press the last sheets of a tract. [He gives the long title in full.] Longman is the publisher, and I have given my name. You will get it as cheap as I could have sent it down to you. If when you have read you should think the circulation of the tract would be of service, I know you will promote it. I speak this not from any paltry consideration of gain, for I do not expect a farthing from it, nor even wish for the least emolument of that kind; but for truth's sake and liberty's. I should be happy to receive any observations or elucidations which it may suggest to you. I suppose it will be out in less than a fortnight.

Coleridge has not been here this month. He is now at Keswick, having had a great deal of trouble about arranging the publication of his Friend. How comes it that we never see you down here? It is not far for a wealthy bachelor to travel. Let next summer bring you down. I cannot say that Coleridge has been managing himself well, and therefore I would not have you be disappointed if The Friend should not last long; but do not hint a word of this to anybody, as anything of that kind, should it come to his ears, would completely dash him. But I must say to you, to prevent mortification on your part, that I have not much hope.

I should be most happy to see Alfoxden, Stowey, and the Quantock Hills and Coombs once more before I close my

eyes; but Poetry, you know well, and Patriotism are not mines very affluent in gold ore. At least I do not find them so. Riches, it has often been said, have wings. Of that I seldom think; but sometimes I do think and feel that they give wings, and that the gift has not found its way to me; else assuredly you would have seen me under your roof before this time. I mention this partly as matter of regret and partly as good-natured reproach to you, whose shoulders are well fledged and furnished, for having never thought it worth while to fly so far as these mountains. But I am scribbling so wretchedly that you will be unable to read; therefore, to save you any further vexation, I conclude. Your affectionate friend,

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

If you were a married man I should tell you that I have an excellent wife, and four fine children; but you are above these luxuries, as a friend of mine once called them in my hearing; saying that he could not afford to give in to such things, and the rogue meanwhile had pictures and prints in his house to the amount of ten thousand pounds. My sister is well, and begs to be most kindly remembered to you. Do not forget to mention my name to Ward, as one who often has the image of what he was eleven years ago before his eyes. God bless you!"

The second letter to Poole was written from Keswick evidently on the 31st May 1809.

"MY DEAR POOLE,- Before I wrote my last letter to you, the last sheet of my pamphlet was sent off to the printer, since which time I have not altered a word in it, or added one; judge, then, when I say that at that time one hundred pages were printed off, how I must have been used! In fact, my patience is completely wearied out.

I will explain