no English eye shall behold a line of them, either before or after my Sicilian tour. OI feel, I feel, what a treasure, what an inspiring Deity they will be to me when I am absent. I would not talk thus warmly if I did not know how much I am asking, therefore it is fit I should express how great the good will be.

I leave this place on Friday morning. I assure you that Sir George Beaumont has often talked of William, his domestic happiness, and his height of uniqueness of poetic genius, till the tears have been in his eyes, and on Lady Beaumont's cheeks, who verily has a soul in point of quick enthusiastic feeling, so much like to Dorothy's, only not Dorothy's powers. Yet she has mentioned many things, to me very very interesting, concerning her early life and feelings.'

"MR J. C. MOTLEY'S, PORTSMOUTH, Wednesday Morning, April 4, 1804.

O dearest and most

MY DEAREST FRIENDS,revered William! I seem to grow weaker and weaker in my moral feelings, and everything that forcibly awakes me to person and contingency, strikes fear into me, sinkings and misgivings, alienation from the spirit of hope, obscure withdrawings out of life, and a wish to retire into stoniness and to stir not, or to be diffused upon the winds and have no individual existence. . . . I most eagerly wish to have my beloved Dorothy's tour. . . . If, however, Southey should not go, and you should not have it ready, then send it exactly in the same letter-form, and in letters, each short of an ounce and three-quarters, inclusive of the two envelopes, directed-1. S. T. Coleridge, Esqre., Mr J. C. Motley's, Portsmouth. 2. Inclose this in an envelope, directed simply, Jno. Rickman, Esqre. 3. Inclose this in another cover, and direct it to The Right Honorble. the Speaker, Palace

Yard, Westminster. N.B. Whatever you do, do not forget the second cover to Rickman, lest the Speaker should find himself letter-smuggler to Squire Coleridge; and secondly, send them not altogether, nor even day after day, but interpose four or five days between each letter, and after this once every month or six weeks. If dear William have written any verses, more than will go in a single sheet to Lamb, you will send an ounce and three-quarters to me at Motley's .. O dear, dear friends! I love you, even to anguish love you; and I know no difference, I feel no difference between my love of little Sara and dear little John. Being equally with me, I could not but love them equally; how could I—the child of the man, for whom I must find another name than friend, if I call any others but him by the name of friend-Mary and Dorothy's own darling, the first free hope of you all! . . . S. T. C."

Every one who is familiar with the literary history of England at the beginning of this century knows the closeness of the tie which bound Wordsworth and Coleridge to each other. It was a tie of more than ordinary friendship, growing out of a community of thought, feeling, sympathy, and affection; but this profound, and in some respects unparalleled friendship, was quite consistent with a keen sense of the limitations of each other's genius, and even with a vivid critical exposure of these. It is a total mistake to suppose that the literary coterie at Grasmere, Keswick, &c., a group to which Southey and Lamb (though resident in London) belonged, as well as Wordsworth and Coleridge,—was a "mutual admiration society." Southey's criticism of Wordsworth was as trenchant, as his eulogy was just: Lamb's satire on his weaknesses as arrowy and true, as his appreciation of his merits was far-reaching; and Coleridge's discernment of faults in the poetic work of his

friend was as clear-eyed, as his insight into the unique greatness of that work was profound, and his praise of it generous and unstinted.

The letter to Richard Sharp, printed at pp. 9-12, is sufficient evidence both of the depth of his sympathy and the incisiveness of his criticism: but additional letters exist― although they have not yet been published—which make this as clear, as the Biographia Literaria disclosed the other side of the picture. That the two men should sometimes misunderstand one another was inevitable. With all their affinities, there were radical (even constitutional) differences of temperament and of character within them; and these differences became greater as years advanced.

Coleridge used to complain of the "self-involution" of Wordsworth. He lamented that so much was done for him by his sister and wife, that they even spoiled him by their devotion. He had an honest dread lest this should do his friend permanent harm, shutting him up more and more within himself. He even lamented the fact that Wordsworth's genius turned so much to "lyrical ballads," and to " sonnets," small poems dealing with small themes,instead of flowing freely forth, toward what he (Coleridge) told him, in season and out of season, should be the great work of his life, viz., the projected poem of The Recluse. His desertion of this to write smaller lyrics,--poems of the fancy" or the "imagination," of "the affections," or of "sentiment and reflection," he likened to his friend's forsaking a mountain track, to wander in lanes and alleys; or to his haunting waterfalls, rather than sailing out over the great ocean of poetic work, under the steady wind of inspiration. And there was truth in the criticism. The majority of the reviews that had appeared, hostile to Wordsworth, were so blind and ignorant, that he not only ignored them, but defied them; and in his defiance-grand

though it was, and magnificent as its results were-he overshot the mark, and certainly wrote some trifles that the world would now "willingly let die."

The urgency of Coleridge was not without its good effect. Wordsworth's chief work during the years 1804-5 was the continuation and completion of The Prelude. I must refer the reader to the prefatory note to this poem (vol. iii. pp. 120-127) for details as to its composition. Several facts, however, unknown to me when that note was written, are contained in another letter of Wordsworth's to his friend, Richard Sharp, which I have recently received (with several others) from Mrs Drummond, Fredley, Dorking. It will be seen that from the first he had no intention of publishing the autobiographical introduction to The Recluse in his own lifetime, and that this reluctance was due to modesty. Although The Prelude had only reached the seventh book, he says "it is a frightful deal to say about myself."

"GRASMERE, April 29, 1804.

MY DEAR SIR,-I have long considered myself as owing you a letter, though Coleridge was so good as to be my amanuensis some time ago, and express my acknowledgments of your kindness in writing to me, and your present of the Minstrelsy of the Border. You did flatter me with a sort of hope that I should receive from you a MS. poem of your own, which I have expected with no little eagerMy sister writes to Charles Lamb to-day. ... Among the many inducements which I have had to write to you, a wish to return the thanks of my family, joined with my own, for your kindness, and more than kindness, to our dear and honoured friend Coleridge, during his late residence in town, has not been the least. He spoke in the warmest terms of the many affectionate attentions he received from you, and believe me, dear sir, it gave

ness.

.

me the greatest pleasure to think, not on his account, but on yours also, that such an intercourse had taken place between you; as I am sure nothing could be more grateful to your heart than to be useful to such a man, going upon an errand in which all his friends must be deeply interested. I need not say how much our fireside has suffered upon the melancholy occasion, and what a loss he will be to us.

*

We are indebted to you for a world of pleasure in our Scotch tour, the how, the when, and the where I will explain when we have the satisfaction of seeing you here again. . . . The leaves which ought to have been out a month ago are now budding fast, and our little orchard is in the full height of its primrose beauty. Summer will soon be here; and, as I take for granted you don't mean to expose yourself to be kidnapped in Germany, and most other parts of the Continent are probably too distant for your limited tour, we may look forward with some confidence to the pleasure of seeing you here. You will be very welcome; and I have made some discoveries in Grasmere, which I shall be delighted to show you, little unthought of nooks, that are as beautiful as they are shy. You will perhaps see in the London papers an estate at Troutbeck advertised for sale. It consists of a furnished cottage, a decent sort of a house for this country, that is considerably better than mine, and thirty acres of land. The house is on the side of Troutbeck Vale, opposite to your chosen spot, and about a mile further up the valley, but in every respect inferior to yours; no view of Windermere; and in my opinion by no means an eligible situation. It is at present occupied by Mr Ibbetson the painter.

I have been very busy these last ten weeks; having written between two and three thousand lines-accurately

* He probably referred to suggestions made by Sharp of places to visit during the tour.