interview with the great poet-philosopher, to whom you and I, and so many others, feel that we are under the deepest obligation for the good which has come to us from his writings. At two o'clock I was at the wicket gate opening into Wordsworth's grounds. I walked along the gravel pathway, leading through shrubbery to the open space in front of the long two-story cottage, the Poet's dwelling.

In a few minutes I heard steps in the entry, the door was opened, and Wordsworth came out, it could be no other

a tall figure, a little bent with age, his hair thin and grey, and his face deeply wrinkled. . . . The expression of his countenance was sad, mournful I might say; he seemed one on whom sorrow pressed heavily. He gave me his hand, and welcomed me cordially, though without smiling. 'Will you walk in, Sir, and join us at the table,' said he. 'I am engaged to dine elsewhere.' 'But you can sit with us,' said he; so, leading the way, he conducted me to the dining-room. At the head of the table sat Mrs Wordsworth, and their three grand-children made up the party. It was a humble apartment, not ceiled, the rafters being visible; having a large old-fashioned chimney-place, with a high mantelpiece.

Wordsworth asked after Mr Ticknor of Boston, who had visited him a few months before, and for whom he expressed much regard. Some other questions led me to speak of the progress we were making in America in the extension of our territory, the settlements on the Pacific, &c.; all this involving the rapid spread of our English tongue. Wordsworth at this looked up, and I noticed a fixing of his eye as if on some remote object. He said that considering this extension of our language, it behoved those

who wrote to see to it, that what they put forth was on the side of virtue. This remark, although thrown out at the moment, was made in a serious thoughtful way; and I was much impressed by it. I could not but reflect that to him a deep sense of responsibility had ever been present: to purify and elevate has been the purpose of all his writings. Such may have been at that moment his own inward meditation, and he may have had in mind the coming generations who are to dwell upon his words.

Referring to the last French revolution, he said that Louis Philippe and Guizot had shown a sad want of courage -but for this the result might have been very different. Lamartine he spoke of very slightingly, a poor writer of verses not having the least claim to be considered a statesman.'

Queen Victoria was mentioned her visit to Ireland, which had just been made the courage she had shown. 'That is a virtue,' said he, 'which she has to a remarkable degree, which is very much to her credit.'

Inman's portrait of him I alluded to as being very familiar to me, the copy which hung in the room calling it to mind, which led him to speak of the one painted by Pickersgill, for St John's College, Cambridge. 'I was a member of that College,' he said, 'and the fellows and students did me the honour to ask me to sit, and allowed me to choose the artist. I wrote to Mr Rogers on the subject, and he recommended Pickersgill, who came down soon afterwards, and the picture was painted here.' He. believed he had sat twenty-three times. My impression is he was in doubt whether Inman's or Pickersgill's portrait was the better one.

I think it was this mention of honours which had been

paid him, which seemed to bring to his mind the University degrees he had received. The Universities of Oxford and Durham had made him D.C.L., Cambridge would have done the same had he not declined.

Mrs Wordsworth smiled as he said this, though without looking up from her knitting, as if he was speaking too much of these honours. But to me there was a certain simplicity and naturalness in his manner that made what he was telling seem in no way a departure from true modesty.

Trinity College, Cambridge, was mentioned, which was founded by Henry VIII. Of that king he spoke in terms of the strongest abhorrence. I wish I could recall his exact words, they were extremely forcible. I think the concluding sentence was, 'I loathe his very memory.' I alluded to Holbein's portrait of Henry, which I had lately seen at Oxford, at the Bodleian Library. Yes, there he is,' he said, his hand grasping the dagger.' I recalled at once that this was the position of the hand resting on the dagger-hilt.

He spoke with great animation of the advantage of classical study, Greek especially. 'Where,' said he, 'would one look for a greater orator than Demosthenes; or finer dramatic poetry, next to Shakspeare, than that of Æschylus and Sophocles, not to speak of Euripides?' Herodotus he thought the most interesting and instructive book, next to the Bible, which had ever been written. Modern discoveries had only tended to confirm the general truth of his narrative. Thucydides he thought less of.

Continuing to speak of Cambridge, he considered the rule an unfortunate one which obliged those holding Fellowships to resign them at the end of seven years, unless they took orders. Many men, he said, began the study of law when this period was over, but finding their academic life had

unfitted them for this profession-leading them, as it did, into the open world—they returned to the University and took orders, as though they could not help themselves. Archdeacon Hare was one of these.

France was our next subject, and one which seemed very near his heart. He had been much in that country at the outbreak of the Revolution, and afterwards during its wildest excesses. At the time of the September massacres he was at Orleans. Addressing Mrs W. he said, ‘I wonder how I came to stay there so long, and at a period so exciting.' He had known many of the abbés and other ecclesiastics, and thought highly of them as a class; they were earnest, faithful men: being unmarried, he must say, they were the better able to fulfil their sacred duties; they were married to their flocks. In the towns there seemed, he admitted, very little religion; but in the country there had always been a great deal. 'I should like to spend another month in France,' he said, 'before I close my eyes.' He seemed to feel deep commiseration for the sorrows of that unhappy country. It was evidently the remembrance of hopes which in his youth he had ardently cherished, and which had been blighted, on which his mind was dwelling. I alluded to Henry the Fifth, to whom many eyes were, I thought, beginning to turn. With him, he remarked, there would be a principle for which men could contend-legitimacy. The advantage of this he stated finely.

It seems an abrupt transition, but the next subject I find on my notes is Mr Ruskin's Modern Painters. Ruskin he thought a brilliant writer, but there was too much praise of Turner in his book, to the disparagement of others; he had hardly a word for any one else. Seeing Manning's Sermons on the table, I alluded to them, and mentioned that I had heard the Archdeacon in London a short time

before. Mrs Wordsworth took an interest in my account, as well as her husband, and joined almost for the first time in the conversation. The sermons were evidently well known to her, and much valued. Wordsworth said to her, calling her 'Mary,' as he always did when he addressed her, 'Did I buy that copy?' 'No,' said she, it was a present.' From the Archdeacon?' he enquired. 'No, a present to me, from Miss Fenwick.'

There was tenderness, I thought, in the tones of his voice, when speaking with his wife; and I could not but look with deep interest and admiration on the woman for whom this illustrious man had for so many years cherished feelings of reverential love.

Peace settles where the intellect is meek,

is a line which you will recall from one of the beautiful poems Wordsworth has addressed to her; and this seemed peculiarly the temper of her spirit-peace, the holy calmness of a heart to whom love had been an unerring light.'

I ventured to remark to Wordsworth that I had observed from a note in the last published volumes of his poems, that he had looked with hope to the movement in the English Church which had then begun at Oxford, and which has since had such great results. I asked whether late events had led him to alter in any degree this favourable judgment. He replied that his opinion was unchanged. 'I foresaw,' said he, that the movement was for good, and such I conceive it has been beyond all question.'

Continuing to speak of the English Church, he said there ought to be an increase in the number of Bishops-they ought to be five times as many.

I may here mention, that throughout the conversation Wordsworth's manner was animated, and that he took pleasure in it evidently. His words were very choice; each