raordinarily
prosperous and equable; he was undeniably self-sufficient. Even the
sorrows and bereavements that he had to bear were borne gently and
philosophically. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, and did it.
Those sturdy, useful legs of his bore him many a pleasant mile. He
always had exactly as much money as he needed, in order to live his
life as he desired. He chose precisely the abode he preferred; his
fame grew slowly and solidly. He became a great personage; he was
treated with immense deference and respect. He neither claimed nor
desired sympathy; he was as strong and self-reliant as the old yeomen
of the hills, of whom he indeed was one; his vocation was poetry, just
as their vocation was agriculture; and this vocation he pursued in as
business-like and intent a spirit as they pursued their farming.

Wordsworth, indeed, was armed at all points by a strong and simple
pride, too strong to be vanity, too simple to be egotism. He is one of
the few supremely fortunate men in the history of literature, because
he had none of the sensitiveness or indecision that are so often the
curse of the artistic temperament. He never had the least misgivings
about the usefulness of his life; he wrote because he enjoyed it; he
ate and drank, he strolled and talked, with the same enjoyment. He had
a perfect balance of physical health. His dreams never left him cold;
his exaltations never plunged him into depression. He felt the
mysteries of the world with a solemn awe, but he had no uneasy
questionings, no remorse, no bewilderment, no fruitless melancholy.

He bore himself with the same homely dignity in all companies alike; he
was never particularly interested in any one; he never had any fear of
being thought ridiculous or pompous. His favourite reading was his own
poetry; he wished every one to be interested in his work, because he
was conscious of its supreme importance. He probably made the mistake
of thinking that it was his sense of poetry and beauty that made him
simple and tranquil. As a matter of fact, it was the simplicity and
tranquillity of his temperament that gave him the power of enjoyment in
so large a measure. There is no growth or expansion about his life; he
did not learn his serene and impassioned attitude through failures and
mistakes: it was his all along.

And yet what a fine, pure, noble, gentle life it was! The very thought
of him, faring quietly about among his hills and lakes, mur