y one on his
friends, headed "Italian Martyrs." He is one in whom holiness has
purified, but somewhat dwarfed the man.

* * * * *

Our visit to Mr. Wordsworth was fortunate. He is seventy-six; but his
is a florid, fair old age. He walked with us to all his haunts about
the house. Its situation is beautiful, and the "Rydalian Laurels" are
magnificent. Still, I saw abodes among the hills that I should have
preferred for Wordsworth; more wild and still more romantic. The fresh
and lovely Rydal Mount seems merely the retirement of a gentleman,
rather than the haunt of a poet. He showed his benignity of
disposition in several little things, especially in his attentions to
a young boy we had with us. This boy had left the circus, exhibiting
its feats of horsemanship, in Ambleside, "for that day only," at his
own desire to see Wordsworth; and I feared he would be dissatisfied,
as I know I should have been at his age, if, when called to see
a poet, I had found no Apollo flaming with youthful glory,
laurel-crowned, and lyre in hand; but, instead, a reverend old man
clothed in black, and walking with cautious step along the level
garden-path. However, he was not disappointed; and Wordsworth, in his
turn, seemed to feel and prize a congenial nature in this child.

Taking us into the house, he showed us the picture of his sister,
repeating with much expression some lines of hers, and those so famous
of his about her, beginning "Five years," &c.; also, his own picture,
by Inman, of whom he spoke with esteem. I had asked to see a picture
in that room, which has been described in one of the finest of his
later poems. A hundred times had I wished to see this picture, yet
when seen was not disappointed by it. The light was unfavorable, but
it had a light of its own,--

"whose mild gleam
Of beauty never ceases to enrich
The common light."

Mr. Wordsworth is fond of the hollyhock; a partiality scarcely
deserved by the flower, but which marks the simplicity of his tastes.
He had made a long avenue of them, of all colors, from the crimson
brown to rose, straw-color, and white, and pleased himself with having
made proselytes to a liking for them, among his neighbors.

I never have seen such magnificent fuchsias as at Ambleside, and there
was one to be seen in every cottage-yard. They are no longer here
under the shelter of the green-house, as with us, and as they used to
be in England. The