TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks, and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & CO. Single copies of the LIVING AGE, 18 cents. HERE AND THERE. How otherwise they go my heart records, And white sheep crop the grass, and sea- Between the lovely earth and lovely sky. Here the sun grins along the dusty street Hark! spiritless, sad tramp of toiling feet, To the far meadowlands of Paradise. O golden-lichened church and red-roofed barn O long sweet days — That love which now you more than half despise ? If I were lying silent neath the skies I think that soon you would my name forget. "I know that I am nothing in your life, Haunt you thus after, were I no more near, "Yet it is possible that some chance word, My voice; and told me that my love was O changing, unchanged skies, straight You could not stoop unto so low a thing, In the sad city way, Forever in my heart; and I must stand That flower blooms not where the wide Within your shadow with an empty hand, Yet never deem that I can it regret. marshes gleam, That star shines only when the skies are "I am not worthy to be lov'd by you, grey. And knowing this must bear the bitter pain For here fair peace and passionate pleasure Of feeling that my love is unto you Only an irksome weight. Will it be vain E. NESBIT. From The Cornhill Magazine. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. IT is interesting to observe that the most enthusiastic admirers of Wordsworth are to be drawn, for the most part, from the ranks of his fellow-poets, contemporary and following, rather than from the ordinary lovers of poetry, to whom a certain sense of incongruity not uncommonly presents itself in the fact of the poet's adopting, as the source of his inspiration, the more commonsando matter-of-fact side of things mundane. But to hold the mirror to nature as she is was precisely what the poety conceived to be his mission and province. He was the alchemist by whose art baser metal was turned to gold. It is not, however, the object of the writer of this paper to criticise either the poet or his works, but to transcribe for the benefit of those who may be interested in them, some of his unpublished letters. Before me lies a large number, and in turning them over one is impressed by their honest simplicity and directness of purpose; their sin cerity and warmth of expression, and the intense solicitude they evince for the well-being of those to whom they are addressed. A yellow primrose was something more than a yellow primrose to the eye which had the gift of discerning its inner meaning; and in like manner, They also present to one's notice the common joys and sorrows of hu- other characteristics which the reader manity, albeit their pathos might be will be quick to observe. Very noticedisguised by the coarse setting of pov-able, for instance, is the complete erty, or distorted and obscured by the absence of playfulness, or anything narrow limit of human intellect, ap- approaching a sense of fun in any one pealed directly to his heart. He some- of the series (there are more than where speaks of the "humbleness, meanness, if you like, of my subject, together with the homely mode of treating it," admitting that from motives of policy he would often have excluded that which, for humanity's sake, he puts into verse and publishes. forty), all written to members of the immediate family circle, and some under circumstances that would, naturally have given rise to a jest, a light word, or a merry turn to a sentence, had the inclination, or, shall we say, the capacity of the writer tended in any way in that direction. And, indeed, his whole life is a consistent record of the largest humanita- But, then, who could realize a humorrianism, which, with his sympathy and ous Wordsworth? Search his works fellowship with the world of nature, through and through, and the poem can be unerringly traced in almost every containing the faintest glimmer of hữ“ line of his writings. Neither elabora- mor remains yet to be discovered. It tion of ideas, nor embroidery of lan-is as well to note his peculiarity in this guage is their main characteristic, but respect, because we at once recognize on every page shine out the manly, that, had his nature been endowed with. gentle soul, and the wide, comprehen- the slightest touch of appreciation for sive grasp by which he drew to himself the ludicrous, we might have been the sympathies and affections of all spared many a jangling note, many a within his range. A little child's hand, jarring discord which has clashed with a dog, an insect, a wee, pale blossom" the sweet music we love so well. —nothing seems to have been too small. One solitary suggestion of "amuseor too insignificant to be the objects of ment," as the poet himself puts it, his tender regard.si poiftumnwend-low certainly does occur in the letter first And we cannot but view. Wordsworth quoted. It refers to some lines after イ wards published in the "Sonnets to think it would be applied at once to I own I do not see the Liberty and Order," and with it he your dear aunt. apparently endeavors to take off the force of this objection, but if you and edge, as it were, of the sad theme Miss Fenwick, and others, should be of touched upon in the earlier half of the the same mind, it shall be suppressed. letter—namely, the mental affliction of It is already sent to the press, but not his dearly loved sister, Dorothy. as it now stands; if you think it may be printed without impropriety, pray be so good as to superintend the revise which I shall order the printer to send you; this would save time, for I could not entrust the revise to the printer only. A defect in the manuscript has obliterated part of the poem referring to this subject, but it can be found complete in the published works, together with a comment added by the poet, who, as it appears from the words of the letter, was anxious its origin should not be misunderstood. He says: "The sad condition of poor Mrs. Southey put me upon writing this. It has afforded comfort to many persons whose friends have been similarly affected.” "MY DEAR DOra, - Read the following remodelling of the sonnet I addressed to S. The personalities are omitted, a few lines only retained :— Oh, what a wreck! How changed in mien and speech! Yet, though dread Powers that work in mystery, spin Entanglings for her brain; though shadows stretch "This is sent for your amusement; it will go by Mr. Fleming to Cambridge for your cousin John, to be printed without my name, if he thinks it worth while, in the Said Secresy to Cowardice and Fraud, O'er the chilled heart - reflect! far, far Then whispered she, "The Bill is carrying within out!" They heard, and started up, the Brood of Clapp'd hands, and shook with glee their All Powers and Places that abhor the light Joined in the transport, echoed back their shout, Hurrah! for Grote, hugging his Ballotbox!" If Dora possessed political tendencies with a leaning towards Conservatism, it may be that she was enabled to derive some entertainment from the rather ponderous levity of the above lines. They had reference, of course, to the introduction of the Ballot Bill into the House of Commons, and so help us to an indication as to when the letter was written; for, like most of its companions, it is undated. In the printed version of the lines the word "Grote " is omitted. Possibly, as Mr. Grote was a well-known author in one of the highest walks of literature, as well as a lead ́ing politician, the insertion of his name was thought to be an indiscretion; in 1893, however, we can afford to be less particular. Most of the letters being, as already remarked, undated, it is not easy to arrange them in anything like order. The one given below, however, dates itself by its reference to the work upon which the poet was engaged. The tragedy of "The Borderers" to which he alludes, though written in 1795, was not published till 1842. Wordsworth offers some sort of apology for it, in mentioning certain crudenesses which would not have appeared in it had it been the work of a later period of his life, and remarks also that part of his object in writing it was to preserve in his distinct remembrance what he had observed of transition of character, and the reflections he had been led to make during the time he was a witness of the changes through which the French Revolution passed : "MY DEAR DAUGHTER, I cannot suffer the morning of my birthday to pass without telling you that my heart is full of you and all that concerns you. Yesterday was lovely, and this morning is not less so. God grant that we may all have like sunshine in our hearts as long as we remain in this transient world. 66 is well judged, the sound being more grand and solemn, whatever it may lose in sweetness, by the want of female tones. "After the funeral we walked to Mrs. Fletcher's, the place very tempting. They are expected on Saturday. "I am pretty well, but far from having recovered the strength which I lost through several sleepless nights, the consequence of over, and ill-timed exertion to get the Volume out before Easter, in which attempt I failed." I am glad you like the tragedy. I was' myself surprised to find the interest so kept up in the 4th and 5th acts. Of the third I never doubted, and quite agree with you that Herbert's speech is much the finest thing in the drama; I mean the most moving, or rather, the most in that style of the pathetic which one loves to dwell upon; though I acknowledge it is not so intensely dramatic as some parts of the fifth act especially. "As to the first, my only fear was that the action was too far advanced in it. I think the scene where the Vagrant tells her false story has great merit; it is thoroughly natural, and yet not commonplace nature. "Some of the sentiments which the development of Oswald's character required will, I fear, be complained of as too depraved for anything but biographical writing. "With affectionate remembrances to your husband and the girls, 66 "Ever yours, "W. W."" "It is about half past nine; two hours hence we go to pay a condoling visit to poor Fanny. Mr. Carter, James and I all attended the funeral on Monday; it was a beautiful afternoon, the light of the declining sun glowing upon The exquisite lines descriptive of Fairfield, as described in The Excur- Dawson's funeral service to which he sion,' at Dawson's funeral. The Psalm here alludes are to be found in the sung before raising the coffin from its 'Churchyard among the Mountains," station before the Door, and afterwards, one of the portions into which "The as the procession moved between the Excursion" is divided. They tell of trees was most touching. Mr. Green- the burial of a peasant youth, to whom wood was there and told me the name his comrades paid a soldier's honors, (which I forget) of the composer, who and as they may not be fresh in the lived two hundred years ago. The minds of all readers, I cannot refrain music was worthy of the occasion and from quoting them :— admirably given, the schoolmaster, a very respectable man, leading the four Bright was the sun, the sky a cloudless or five voices; upon these occasions blue At his funeral hour the women do not sing, and I think that A golden lustre slept upon the hills; |