visit to her uncle at Trinity Lodge, on my way from
Bakewell to Matlock I turned aside to Chatsworth, and had scarcely
gratified my curiosity by the sight of that celebrated place before
there came on a severe storm of wind and rain, which continued till I
reached Derby, both man and pony in a pitiable plight. For myself I went
to bed at noon-day. In the course of that journey I had to encounter a
storm worse if possible, in which the pony could (or would) only make
his way slantwise. I mention this merely to add, that notwithstanding
this battering, I composed on pony-back the lines to the memory of Sir
George Beaumont, suggested during my recent visit to Coleorton.

228. *_Sonnet_ XXII.

'Tis said that to the brow,' &c.

This pleasing tradition was told me by the coachman at whose side I sate
while he drove down the dale, he pointing to the trees on the hill as he
related the story.

229. *_Sonnet_ XXIII.

'Untouched through all severity of cold.'

This was also communicated to me by a coachman in the same way. In the
course of my many coach rambles and journeys, which, during the daytime
always, and often in the night, were taken on the outside of the coach,
I had good and frequent opportunities of learning the character of this
class of men. One remark I made, that is worth recording, that whenever
I had occasion especially to notice their well-ordered, respectful, and
kind behaviour to women, of whatever age, I found them, I may say almost
always, to be married men.

230. *_Sonnet_ XXIV.

'Go, faithful Tishart,' &c.

The six last lines of this sonnet are not written for poetical effect,
but as a matter of fact, which in more than one instance could not
escape my notice in the servants of the house.

231. *_Sonnet_ XXV.

'Why art thou silent?'

In the month of January [blank], when Dora and I were walking from
Town-End, Grasmere, across the vale, snow being on the ground, she
espied in the thick though leafless hedge a bird's-nest half filled with
snow. Out of this comfortless appearance arose this Sonnet, which was,
in fact, written without the least reference to any individual object,
but merely to prove to myself that I could, if I thought fit, write in a
strain that poets have been fond of. On the 14th of February in the same
year, my daughter, in a sportive mood, sent it as a Valentine under a
fictitious name to her cousin C. W.

232. *_Sonnet_ XXVI.

'Haydon! let worthier judge