142 



POETRY AND POETS. 



suddenly burst open, and in came 

 two or three gentlemen (his friends), 

 looking some time, in vain, amid 

 the uniform dresses, for their man. 

 At length they pitched on Mr. C., 

 and, taking him by the arm, led 

 him, in silence, out of the room a 

 picture,' indeed, for a "Wilkie. As 

 the supposed deserter passed the 

 threshold, one of the astonished 

 auditors uttered, with a sigh, ' Poor 

 Silas ! I wish they may let him off 

 with a cool five hundred!' Mr. 

 C.'s ransom was soon joyfully ad- 

 justed by hig friends, and now the 

 wide world once more lay before 

 him." 



WORDSWORTH. 



The Lyrical Ballads were mostly 

 written at Allfoxden, near the Bris- 

 tol Channel, in one of the deepest 

 solitudes in England, amid woods, 

 glens, streams, and hills. Here 

 Wordsworth had retired with his 

 sister ; and Coleridge was only five 

 miles distant, at Stowey. 



Cottle relates some amusing 

 anecdotes of the ignorance of the 

 country people in regard to them, 

 and to poets and lovers of the 

 picturesque generally. Southey, 

 Coleridge and his wife, Lamb, and 

 the two Wedge woods visited Words- 

 worth in his retirement, and the 

 whole company used to wander 

 about the woods, and by the sea, to 

 the great wonder of all the honest 

 people they met. As they were 

 often out at night, it was supposed 

 they led a dissolute life ; and it is 

 said that there are respectable peo- 

 ple in Bristol who believe now that 

 Mrs. Coleridge and Miss Words- 

 worth were disreputable women, 

 from a remembrance of the scanda- 

 lous tattle circulating then. 



Cottle asserts that Wordsworth 

 was driven from the place by the 

 suspicions which his habits pro- 

 voked, being refused a continuance 

 of his lease of the Allfoxden house 

 by the ignoramus who had the let- 



ting of it, on the ground that he 

 was a criminal in the disguise of an 

 idler. 



One of the villagers said " that 

 he had seen him wander about at 

 night, and look rather strangely at 

 the moon ; and then he roamed over 

 the hills like a partridge." Another 

 testified, "he had heard him mutter, 

 as he walked, in some outlandish 

 brogue that nobody could under- 

 stand." This last, we suppose, is 

 the rustic version of the poet's own 

 statement, 

 "lie murmurs near the running brooks, 



A music sweeter than their own.", 



Others, however, took a different 

 view of his habits, as little flatter- 

 ing to his morals as the other view 

 to his sense. One wiseacre re- 

 marked confidently, " I know what 

 he is. We have all met him tramp- 

 ing away towards the sea. Would 

 any man in his senses take all that 

 trouble to look at a parcel of water ? 

 I think he carries on a snug busi- 

 ness in the smuggling line, and, in 

 these journeys, is on the look-out 

 for some wet cargo." 



Another carrying out this bright 

 idea, added, " I know he has got a 

 private still in his cellar ; for I once 

 passed his house at a little better 

 than a hundred yards' distance, and 

 I could smell the spirits as plain as 

 an ashen fagot at Christmas." But 

 the charge which probably had the 

 most weight in those times was the 

 last. " I know," said one, " that he 

 is surely a desperate French Jaco- 

 bin ; for he is so silent and dark 

 that no one ever heard him say one 

 word about politics." 



While the ludicrous tattle to 

 which we have referred was sound- 

 ing all around him, he was medi- 

 tating Peter Bell and the Lyrical 

 Ballads in the depths of the Allfox- 

 den woods, and consecrating the 

 rustics who were scandalizing him. 

 The great Poet of the Poor, who 

 has made the peasant a grander 

 object of contemplation than the 



