" Fuller's
"Worthies," and Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying." Thomas Westwood
tells us that there were few modern volumes in his library, it being
his custom to give away and throw away (as the same writer asserts)
presentation copies of contemporaneous literature. Says Barry
Cornwall: "Lamb's pleasures lay amongst the books of the old English
writers," and Lamb himself uttered these memorable words: "I cannot
sit and think--books think for me."

Wordsworth, on the other hand, cared little for books; his library was
a small one, embracing hardly more than five hundred volumes. He drew
his inspiration not from books, but from Nature. From all that I have
heard of him I judge him to have been a very dull man. Allibone
relates of him that he once remarked that he did not consider himself a
witty poet. "Indeed," quoth he, "I don't think I ever was witty but
once in my life."

His friends urged him to tell them about it. After some hesitation, he
said: "Well, I will tell you. I was standing some time ago at the
entrance of Rydal Mount. A man accosted me with the question: 'Pray,
sir, have you seen my wife pass by?' Whereupon I retorted, 'Why, my
good friend, I didn't know till this moment that you had a wife.'"

Illustrative of Wordsworth's vanity, it is told that when it was
reported that the next Waverley novel was to be "Rob Roy," the poet
took down his "Ballads" and read to the company "Rob Roy's Grave."
Then he said gravely: "I do not know what more Mr. Scott can have to
say on the subject."

Wordsworth and Dickens disliked each other cordially. Having been
asked his opinion of the young novelist, Wordsworth answered: "Why,
I'm not much given to turn critic on people I meet; but, as you ask me,
I will cordially avow that I thought him a very talkative young
person--but I dare say he may be very clever. Mind, I don't want to
say a word against him, for I have never read a line he has written."

The same inquirer subsequently asked Dickens how he liked Wordsworth.

"Like him!" roared Dickens, "not at all; he is a dreadful Old Ass!"

XIX

OUR DEBT TO MONKISH MEN

Where one has the time and the money to devote to the collection of
missals and illuminated books, the avocation must be a very delightful
one. I never look upon a missal or upon a bit of antique illumination
that I do not invest that object with a certain poetic romance, and I
picture to myself long lines of monkish men bending over