u seen the wonderful
sunset?' The good lady turned sharply round and, drawing herself to her
full height, as if mortally offended, answered: 'No, miss; I'm a tidy
cook, I know, and "they say" a decentish body for a landlady, but I don't
knaw nothing about sunsets or them sort of things, they've never been in
my line.' Her reminiscence of Wordsworth was as worthy of tradition as
it was explanatory, from her point of view, of the method in which
Wordsworth composed, and was helped in his labours by his enthusiastic
sister. 'Well, you know,' she said, 'Mr. Wordsworth went humming and
booing about, and she, Miss Dorothy, kept close behint him, and she
picked up the bits as he let 'em fall, and tak' 'em down, and put 'em
together on paper for him. And you may be very well sure as how she
didn't understand nor make sense out of 'em, and I doubt that he didn't
know much about them either himself, but, howivver, there's a great many
folk as do, I dare say.' Of Wordsworth's habit of talking to himself,
and composing aloud, we hear a great deal. 'Was Mr. Wordsworth a
sociable man?' asked Mr. Rawnsley of a Rydal farmer. 'Wudsworth, for a'
he had noa pride nor nowt,' was the answer, 'was a man who was quite one
to hissel, ye kna. He was not a man as folks could crack wi', nor not a
man as could crack wi' folks. But there was another thing as kep' folk
off, he had a ter'ble girt deep voice, and ye might see his faace agaan
for long enuff. I've knoan folks, village lads and lasses, coming over
by old road above, which runs from Grasmere to Rydal, flayt a'most to
death there by Wishing Gaate to hear the girt voice a groanin' and
mutterin' and thunderin' of a still evening. And he had a way of
standin' quite still by the rock there in t' path under Rydal, and folks
could hear sounds like a wild beast coming from the rocks, and childer
were scared fit to be dead a'most.'

Wordsworth's description of himself constantly recurs to one:

And who is he with modest looks,
And clad in sober russet gown?
He murmurs by the running brooks,
A music sweeter than their own;
He is retired as noontide dew,
Or fountain in a noonday grove.

But the corroboration comes in strange guise. Mr. Rawnsley asked one of
the Dalesmen about Wordsworth's dress and habits. This was the reply:
'Wudsworth wore a Jem Crow, never seed him in a boxer in my life,--a Jem
Crow and an old blue cloak was his rig, and _as for his