through the District of the Lakes in the North of England, with a Description of the Scenery, etc., for the Use of Tourists and Residents."*

Wordsworth's book is, as might have been expected, much more than a guide. It is an application of his moral philosophy, and of the principles of æsthetics deducible from them, to a particular object. This object, while unusually well defined by geographical boundaries, is in itself very complex, like almost everything else in nature. He begins by making a scientific survey, which at once simplifies the process of analysis. The varied beauty of the Lake country depends ultimately on certain geological facts. These Wordsworth brings to our attention in a short and striking passage. Then he considers the climate, which is in this case the cause both of loveliness and of much annoyance. The effects of man's residence in the district are then traced to their historical causes. All this is done with perfect competence, and as briefly as possible. He avoids all excess, and never descends to the trivial. His distaste for sentimentality is nowhere more plainly shown. The subject was full of temptation to be both trivial and sentimental. He does, however, fall into an error to which he is becoming more and more liable—the error of denouncing, without making any allowances, what he conceives to be the mistakes of other people. One would suppose, for example, that to plant a larch anywhere between Carlisle and Kendal was an offence past forgiveness. He is quite ready, also, to find fault with nature herself. His attempt to glorify the English lakes at the expense of those of Scotland and Switzerland is an instance of obstinate provincialism. In short, this treatise, though bearing witness to Wordsworth's hardgrained intelligence and his eminent powers of scientific observation and analysis, betrays a defect which is henceforth to become more and more apparent in his life-namely, a settled obstinacy of view and an over

* This has been admirably edited, with a good introduction and notes, by Professor Ernest de Sélincourt, in a little volume published by Henry Frowde, London, 1906.

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weening self-confidence. Human nature is such that we tolerate dogmatism less easily in one who is generally correct than in a fellow-mortal who makes many mistakes. However, it must be admitted that Wordsworth is an authority on topography. Architects, landscapegardeners, and foresters, in all parts of the world, will find his remarks valuable. As an example of the application of æsthetic principles, the Guide to the Lakes merits a place not too far below Lessing's "Laocoon."

CHAPTER XXV.

LOSSES AND FEARS

We have seen that by the autumn of 1810 Coleridge had sickened of The Friend, and was living at Allan Bank as an invalid and dependent. His friends nursed him, humoured him, tried to animate his flagging will. Their patience was inexhaustible, their love unfailing. They knew that, however great their own inconvenience was, it could not be compared with his remorse. He was racked with physical pain, which opium could no longer dull, and plunged in mental torpors which alcohol could no longer dispel. In a busy household including several young children, his irregular and selfish habits must have been little less than intolerable. Yet they were tolerated to the end. But late in October Basil Montagu, with Mrs. Montagu and their daughter, passed through Grasmere on their way from Scotland to London, and Coleridge made arrangements to travel with them. Montagu was an impulsive man, with plenty of means. He invited his old friend to live with him in his town-house, and Coleridge, fired with fresh hope and ambition, gladly accepted. Wordsworth, thinking it unfair not to warn Montagu, told him plainly that Coleridge's habits would make him a troublesome guest. As J. Dykes Campbell suggests, this was done in Coleridge's interest as well as Montagu's. A quarrel with Montagu, which was sure to occur if they tried to live together, would have deprived Coleridge of one of his most useful friends. Apparently the advice was disregarded at first, and only acted upon when it was seen to be well founded; for it was at Montagu's house, a few days after their arrival, "Life of Coleridge," p. 179.

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that poor Coleridge was blunderingly told that Wordsworth had predicted a failure of the plan. Montagu, who was not a prudent and exact talker, spoke in a moment of exasperation. He probably exaggerated what Wordsworth had said, and in such a case the manner is quite as important as the matter. One can imagine the painful effort Wordsworth must have made to express his scruples, and how delicately worded they must have been. As they came to Coleridge's ears they were harsh and unfriendly. He conceived the monstrous idea that Wordsworth had commissioned Montagu to tell him that he had been an absolute nuisance in the former's family, and that he, Wordsworth, had lost all hope of him.* Our information of what Coleridge thought he heard and how he felt is derived chiefly from his heart-breaking letters written eighteen months later, when reconciliation was in progress. Although he professed that he never liked or respected Montagu, and had no intention of staying in his house, yet he believed his report, adding interpretations which became part of the text, and telling Mary Lamb, with a flood of tears, that Wordsworth had given him up. He was at this juncture taken in by his kind friends, the Morgans, under whose roof a new chapter in his life began. And that old chapter, of a noble friendship, of a community of genius, of generous admiration, of faithful sacrifice, could never be opened again.

Coleridge suffered acutely, the more so as, through his own indiscretion, the story got abroad, to the discredit of all concerned. Wordsworth, for some time ignorant of what had happened, could only wonder why Coleridge never wrote. News came at last through Mrs. Coleridge. The whole circle, from Southey at Keswick to kind Thomas Poole at Nether Stowey, were rendered miserable. The Lambs, hearing only one side, were partially estranged from the Wordsworths. Coleridge's sons, Hartley and Derwent, who had seen their father happy, for him, at Grasmere, grieved at the change which they could not understand. "It would pity anybody's

E. H. Coleridge, "Letters of S. T. Coleridge," II. 590.

to look at

heart," wrote Dorothy to Mrs. Clarkson, Hartley, when he inquires (as if hopelessly) if there has been any news of his father.'

In the spring of 1811 the Wordsworths moved into the Rectory, opposite the church in Grasmere village, and we learn from a letter of Dorothy's, dated June 16, 1811, that the Coleridge boys had, up to that time, been spending two days a week with them as before, though now it would be necessary to curtail these visits. It is pathetic to observe that William and Dorothy read The Courier newspaper, picking out articles and poems which they recognized as having been written by their old friend. How far he had fallen in their respect is shown by the following passage in Dorothy's letter to Mrs. Clarkson, just quoted:

"I am sorry to say (I would not say it but to you) that poor Coleridge's late writings in The Courier have in general evinced the same sad weakness of moral constitution to which you alluded in your last letter, as tainting his intercourse with his private friends, and his casual acquaintances also. They are as much the work of a party-spirit as if he were writing for a placeservile adulations of the Wellesleys."

The picture that Henry Crabb Robinson, in his Diary, paints of Coleridge in London is not at all melancholy. Robinson saw him for the first time in private, at Charles Lamb's, on November 14, 1810. The pleasure was repeated the next evening, Morgan, among others, being present. Coleridge was very " eloquent," and spoke of Wordsworth" with great warmth of praise, but objected to some of his poems." Wishing to avoid an undue regard to the high and genteel in society, Wordsworth had unreasonably attached himself to the low, so that he himself erred at last." It is strange that Coleridge could talk so freely about Wordsworth if the mere thought of him occasioned anguish. Perhaps what he thought Montagu reported Wordsworth to have said had not yet reached full dimensions in his mind. There was doubtless some original offence, but we may be sure

* "Letters of the Wordsworth Family," I. 514.