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always at me in my dreams,-hooting, pelting, spitting at me, stopping my ways, setting all sorts of hideous, scornful faces at me, oppressing me with indescribable horrors, to which waking life has no parallel. You have often wished that I had been bred at a public school. I have not the least doubt that the fagging and maltreatment of these places would have driven me frantic-mad even to see it.* It may often be a man's duty to persevere in a profession to which he feels a strong disinclination; but no man ought to enter into a way of life for which he is conscious of an insurmountable incapacity. In my own case, the disorder was so far from diminishing by use, that the increasing disorder of my nerves made it every day greater. Hence you may conjecture the cause (I mean it not for a palliation) of the unhappy irregularities into which I latterly fell.”

This affecting statement requires no comment. On the failure of the school, he removed from Ambleside to Grasmere, at the distance of four miles, a place of greater seclusion, residing first at the little rustic inn, and afterwards with a Mrs. Fleming, an elderly woman, the widow of a farmer, by whom he was regarded with motherly affection. Go where he would he won all hearts - living in so simple a manner, and, indeed,

* The reader will be reminded of Cowper's account of his own sufferings when a school-boy. I have myself known a man of eccentric manners and repulsive appearance, but of the very largest natural capacity, whose whole moral and intellectual nature had been dwarfed and distorted by the treatment which he had met with at school. His genius, which it was impossible to quench, kept smouldering on, till life and it went out tog her.

practising so strict an economy, that though the proceeds of his pen, to which he now again looked entirely for support, were insufficient for his maintenance, his expenditure was so small as to occasion his mother, who cheerfully made up the deficiency, no serious inconvenience. He was indeed, so far as his necessities admitted, honourably and delicately scrupulous in regard to money matters, incurring pecuniary obligation with reluctance, and acknowledging it with affectionate gratitude.

He kept no regular diary, but he has occasionally jotted down the occurrences of a single day. The following gives a picture of his mode of life, with something of his way of feeling and thinking at this period. It is my wish to represent him exactly as he was,—to place him as far as possible before the mind's eye, with such insight as can be obtained into the movements within.

July 25th, 1830. “ And now the day of rest draws to a close. The weather has kept the sabbath. The morning was the very perfection of stillness. No gay sunshine, no clamorous wind, no drudging rain : the sky wore one grey sober veil, and the mist hung upon the hills as if it paused on its journey : the vapours were gathered up; no light detachments foraged along the mountain sides to catch the flying sunbeams, but the thick masses formed an even line, like an army drawn up for a decisive engagement, and only halting till the truce of God was past—they divided the mountains as it were in half, concealing the higher moiety, and leaving the lower bulk

distinct in dark, damp, solemn visibility. The vale was clad in deepest green, and fancifully resembled the face of one that is calm and patient after long weeping. The few patches of hay, gathered into round cocks, appeared to solicit the prayers of the congregation. All was quiet, pensive, not sad-only the young damsels in their fresh and fragrant garments (such I mean as did not think it necessary to look like Death, because a man whom they cared nothing about was gone, let us hope, to heaven) tripping along the fields and green lanes, and picking their way in the moist high roads, glanced by like living sunbeams, and made their bright blue and pink ribbons dance like things of life. Some time before nine I arose, found the twin two dear innocent little girls, whose shining faces are a far better refutation of Calvinism than Dr. Tomline's, in their blue stuff frocks (as pretty a dress as a little rustic can wear) prepared for Ambleside rush-bearing. Found also my own breakfast ready-read part of the life of Barry_deliberated whether to go to church-saw J. W., hailed him from the window-determined to hear him—set forth with bible and prayer-bookcalled into the Sunday-school, found the two nuns surrounded with good little women and men, bright with the beauty of benevolence—how sweet even a plain woman can look when engaged unaffectedly in doing good—found myself thirsty— called at the Red Lion and took a sober potation of John Barleycorn-got into church (mirabile dictu) in time—John does duty very respectably-first lesson, David's politic getting rid of Saul's family—second, a truly heavenly chapter, 13th of John, admirably calculated to remove the unsafe impressions of the first. N.B. Much doubt the good effects of the public reading of certain portions of the Old Testament which can only profit souls deeply imbued with Christian love. Singing rather out of tune. Resolved to write a poetical address to the Supreme Being.–Clergymen should not wear Wellingtons and trowsers of a Sunday—black woollen hose and capacious shoes with broad buckles much more in keeping.–Sermon, James ii. verse 22, “Seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by, works was faith made

VOL. I.

practising so strict an economy, that though the proceeds of his pen, to which he now again looked entirely for support, were insufficient for his maintenance, his expenditure was so small as to occasion his mother, who cheerfully made up the deficiency, no serious inconvenience. He was indeed, so far as his necessities admitted, honourably and delicately scrupulous in regard to money matters, incurring pecuniary obligation with reluctance, and acknowledging it with affectionate gratitude.

He kept no regular diary, but he has occasionally jotted down the occurrences of a single day. The following gives a picture of his mode of life, with something of his way of feeling and thinking at this period. It is my wish to represent him exactly as he was,—to place him as far as possible before the mind's eye, with such insight as can be obtained into the movements within.

July 25th, 1830. And now the day of rest draws to a close. The weather has kept the sabbath. The morning was the very perfection of stillness. No gay sunshine, no clamorous wind, no drudging rain : the sky wore one grey sober veil, and the mist hung upon the hills as if it paused on its journey : the vapours were gathered up; no light detachments foraged along the mountain sides to catch the flying sunbeams, but the thick masses formed an even line, like an army drawn up for a decisive engagement, and only halting till the truce of God was past—they divided the mountains as it were in half, concealing the higher moiety, and leaving the lower bulk

distinct in dark, damp, solemn visibility. The vale was clad in deepest green, and fancifully resembled the face of one that is calm and patient after long weeping. The few patches of hay, gathered into round cocks, appeared to solicit the prayers of the congregation. All was quiet, pensive, not sad-only the young damsels in their fresh and fragrant garments (such I mean as did not think it necessary to look like Death, because a man whom they cared nothing about was gone, let us hope, to heaven) tripping along the fields and green lanes, and picking their way in the moist high roads, glanced by like living sunbeams, and made their bright blue and pink ribbons dance like things of life. Some time before nine I arose, found the twin two dear innocent little girls, whose shining faces are a far better refutation of Calvinism than Dr. Tomline's, in their blue stuff frocks (as pretty a dress as a little rustic can wear) prepared for Ambleside rush-bearing. Found also my own breakfast ready-read part of the life of Barry—deliberated whether to go to church-saw J. W., hailed him from the window-determined to hear him—set forth with bible and prayer-bookcalled into the Sunday-school, found the two nuns surrounded with good little women and men, bright with the beauty of benevolence—how sweet even a plain woman can look when engaged unaffectedly in doing good—found myself thirsty— called at the Red Lion and took a sober potation of John Barleycorn-got into church (mirabile dictu) in time—John does duty very respectably-first lesson, David's politic getting rid of Saul's family-second, a truly heavenly chapter, 13th of John, admirably calculated to remove the unsafe impressions of the first. N.B. Much doubt the good effects of the public reading of certain portions of the Old Testament which can only profit souls deeply imbued with Christian love. Singing rather out of tune. Resolved to write a poetical address to the Supreme Being.–Clergymen should not wear Wellingtons and trowsers of a Sunday—black woollen hose and capacious shoes with broad buckles much more in keeping.--Sermon, James ii. verse 22, “ Seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by, works was faith made

VOL, I.

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