untouched by the life he was leading.
The error of his life sprung, I suppose, from moral incapacity
of some kind--his way of life seemed in some things destructive
of self-respect; and was certainly regarded by himself with a
feeling of shame, which in his seasons of self-communion became
passionate; and yet it did not at all degrade his mind. It
left, not his understanding only, but also his imagination and
feelings, perfectly healthy,--free, fresh, and pure. His
language might be sometimes what some people would call gross,
but that I think was not from any want of true delicacy, but
from a masculine disdain of false delicacy; and his opinions,
and judgment, and speculations, were in the highest degree
refined and elevated--full of chivalrous generosity, and
purity, and manly tenderness. Such, at least, was my invariable
impression. It always surprised me, but fresh observations
always confirmed it."

When Wordsworth heard of his death, he was much affected, and gave the
touching direction to his brother:--"Let him lie by us: he would have
wished it." It was accordingly so arranged.

"The day following he walked over with me to Grasmere--to the
churchyard, a plain enclosure of the olden time, surrounding
the old village church, in which lay the remains of his wife's
sister, his nephew, and his beloved daughter. Here, having
desired the sexton to measure out the ground for his own and
for Mrs. Wordsworth's grave, he bade him measure out the space
of a third grave for my brother, immediately beyond.

"'When I lifted up my eyes from my daughter's grave,' he
exclaimed, 'he was standing there!' pointing to the spot where
my brother had stood on the sorrowful occasion to which he
alluded. Then turning to the sexton, he said, 'Keep the ground
for us,--we are old people, and it cannot be for long.'"

"In the grave thus marked out, my brother's remains were laid
on the following Thursday, and in little more than a
twelvemonth his venerable and venerated friend was brought to
occupy his own. They lie in the south-east angle of the
churchyard, not far from a group of trees, with the little
beck, that feeds the lake with its clear waters, murmuring by
their side. Around them are the quiet mountains."

We have often expressed a high opinion of Hartley Coler