[Something must now be said of this poem, but chiefly, as has been done
through the whole of these notes, with reference to my personal friends,
and especially to her who has perseveringly taken them down from my
dictation. Towards the close of the first book, stand the lines that were
first written,–beginning “Nine tedious years,” and ending “Last human
tenant of these ruined walls.” These were composed in 1795, at Racedown;
and for several passages describing the employment and demeanour of
Margaret during her affliction, I was indebted to observations made
in Dorsetshire, and afterwards at Alfoxden, in Somersetshire, where
I resided in 1797 and 1798. The lines towards the conclusion of the
fourth book, “Despondency corrected,”–beginning “For the man who in
this spirit,” to the words “intellectual soul,”–were in order of time
composed the next, either at Racedown or Alfoxden, I do not remember
which. The rest of the poem was written in the vale of Grasmere, chiefly
during our residence at Allan Bank. The long poem on my own education
was, together with many minor poems, composed while we lived at the
cottage at Town-end. Perhaps my purpose of giving an additional interest
to these my poems, in the eyes of my nearest and dearest friends, may be
promoted by saying a few words upon the character of the Wanderer, the
Solitary, and the Pastor, and some other of the persons introduced. And
first of the principal one, the Wanderer.
My lamented friend Southey (for this is written a month after his
decease) used to say that had he been born a Papist, the course of
life which would in all probability have been his, was the one for which
he was most fitted and most to his mind, that of a Benedictine monk, in
a convent, furnished, as many once were, and some still are, with an
inexhaustible library. Books, as appears from many passages in his
writings, and was evident to those who had opportunities of observing his
daily life, were in fact his passion; and wandering, I can with truth
affirm, was mine; but this propensity in me was happily counteracted by
inability from want of fortune to fulfil my wishes.
But had I been born in a class which would have deprived me of what is
called a liberal education, it is not unlikely that, being strong in
body, I should have taken to a way of life such as that in which my
Pedlar passed the greater part of his days. At all events, I am here
called upon freely to acknowledge that the character I have represented
in his person is chiefly an idea of what I fancied my own character might
have become in his circumstances. Nevertheless much of what he says and
does had an external existence, that fell under my own youthful and
subsequent observation.
An individual, named Patrick, by birth and education a Scotchman,
followed this humble occupation for many years, and afterwards settled
in the town of Kendal. He married a kinswoman of my wife’s, and her
sister Sarah was brought up from her ninth year under this good man’s
roof. My own imaginations I was happy to find clothed in reality,
and fresh ones suggested, by what she reported of this man’s tenderness
of heart, his strong and pure imagination, and his solid attainments in
literature, chiefly religious, whether in prose or verse. At Hawkshead
also, while I was a schoolboy, there occasionally resided a Packman
(the name then generally given to persons of this calling), with whom
I had frequent conversations upon what had befallen him, and what he
had observed, during his wandering life; and, as was natural, we took
much to each other; and, upon the subject of Pedlarism in general, as
then followed, and its favourableness to an intimate knowledge of human
concerns, not merely among the humbler classes of society, I need say
nothing here in addition to what is to be found in The Excursion, and a
note attached to it.
Now for the Solitary. Of him I have much less to say. Not long after we
took up our abode at Grasmere, came to reside there, from what motive
I either never knew or have forgotten, a Scotchman, a little past the
middle of life, who had for many years been chaplain to a Highland
regiment. He was in no respect, as far as I know, an interesting
character, though in his appearance there was a good deal that attracted
attention, as if he had been shattered in fortune, and not happy in mind.
Of his quondam position I availed myself to connect with the Wanderer,
also a Scotchman, a character suitable to my purpose, the elements of
which I drew from several persons with whom I had been connected, and
who fell under my observation during frequent residences in London at
the beginning of the French Revolution. The chief of these was, one may
now say, a Mr. Fawcett, a preacher at a Dissenting meeting-house at the
Old Jewry. It happened to me several times to be one of his congregation
through my connection with Mr. Nicholson of Cateaton Street, Strand,
who, at a time when I had not many acquaintances in London, used often
to invite me to dine with him on Sundays; and I took that opportunity
(Mr. N. being a Dissenter) of going to hear Fawcett, who was an able and
eloquent man. He published a poem on War, which had a good deal of merit,
and made me think more about him than I should otherwise have done.
But his Christianity was probably never very deeply rooted; and, like
many others in those times of like shewy talents, he had not strength
of character to withstand the effects of the French Revolution, and of
the wild and lax opinions which had done so much towards producing it,
and far more in carrying it forward in its extremes. Poor Fawcett, I
have been told, became pretty much such a person as I have described,
and early disappeared from the stage, having fallen into habits of
intemperance, which I have heard (though I will not answer for the fact)
hastened his death. Of him I need say no more. There were many like him
at that time, which the world will never be without, but which were more
numerous then, for reasons too obvious to be dwelt upon.
To what is said of the Pastor in the poem, I have little to add but what
may be deemed superfluous. It has ever appeared to me highly favourable
to the beneficial influence of the Church of England upon all gradations
and classes of society, that the patronage of its benefices is in
numerous instances attached to the estates of noble families of ancient
gentry; and accordingly I am gratified by the opportunity afforded me in
The Excursion, to pourtray the character of a country clergyman of more
than ordinary talents, born and bred in the upper ranks of society so
as to partake of their refinements, and at the same time brought by his
pastoral office and his love of rural life into intimate connection with
the peasantry of his native district.
To illustrate the relation which in my mind this Pastor bore to the
Wanderer, and the resemblances between them, or rather the points of
community in their nature, I likened one to an oak, and the other to a
sycamore; and having here referred to this comparison, I need only add, I
had no one individual in my mind, wishing rather to embody this idea than
to break in upon the simplicity of it by traits of individual character,
or of any peculiarity of opinion.
And now for a few words upon the scene where these interviews and
conversations are supposed to occur.
The scene of the first book of the poem is, I must own, laid in a
tract of country not sufficiently near to that which soon comes into
view in the second book, to agree with the fact. All that relates to
Margaret, and the ruined cottage, etc., was taken from observations
made in the south-west of England, and certainly it would require more
than seven-league boots to stretch in one morning, from a common in
Somersetshire, or Dorsetshire, to the heights of Furness Fells, and the
deep valleys they embosom. For thus dealing with space, I need make, I
trust, no apology; but my friends may be amused by the truth.
In the poem, I suppose that the Pedlar and I ascended from a plain
country up the vale of Langdale, and struck off a good way above the
chapel to the western side of the vale. We ascended the hill, and thence
looked down upon the circular recess in which lies Blea Tarn, chosen by
the Solitary for his retreat. After we quit his cottage, passing over
a low ridge, we descend into another vale, that of Little Langdale,
towards the head of which stands embowered, or partly shaded by yews and
other trees, something between a cottage and a mansion, or gentleman’s
house, such as they once were in this country. This I convert into the
parsonage, and at the same time, and as by the waving of a magic wand, I
turn the comparatively confined vale of Langdale, its tarn, and the rude
chapel which once adorned the valley, into the stately and comparatively
spacious vale of Grasmere and its ancient parish church; and upon the
side of Loughrigg Fell, at the foot of the lake, and looking down upon it
and the whole Vale and its encompassing mountains, the Pastor is supposed
by me to stand, when at sunset he addresses his companions in words
which I hope my readers will remember, or I should not have taken
the trouble of giving so much in detail the materials on which my mind
actually worked.
Now for a few particulars of fact, respecting the persons whose stories
are told or characters described by the different speakers. To Margaret I
have already alluded. I will add here that the lines beginning,
She was a woman of a steady mind,
and ending
Live on earth a life of happiness,
faithfully delineate, as far as they go, the character possessed in
common by many women whom it has been my happiness to know in humble
life; and that several of the most touching things which she is
represented as saying and doing are taken from actual observation of the
distresses and trials under which different persons were suffering, some
of them strangers to me, and others daily under my notice.
I was born too late to have a distinct remembrance of the origin of the
American war; but the state in which I represent Robert’s mind to be,
I had frequent opportunities of observing at the commencement of our
rupture with France in 1793; opportunities of which I availed myself
in the story of the Female Vagrant, as told in the poem on Guilt and
Sorrow. The account given by the Solitary, towards the close of the
second book, in all that belongs to the character of the old man, was
taken from a Grasmere pauper, who was boarded in the last house quitting
the vale on the road to Ambleside; the character of his hostess, and all
that befell the poor man upon the mountain, belongs to Paterdale. The
woman I knew well; her name was Ruth Jackson, and she was exactly such a
person as I describe. The ruins of the old chapel, among which the old
man was found lying, may yet be traced, and stood upon the ridge that
divides Paterdale from Boardale and Martindale, having been placed there
for the convenience of both districts. The glorious appearance disclosed
above and among the mountains, was described partly from what my friend
Mr. Luff, who then lived in Paterdale, witnessed upon that melancholy
occasion, and partly from what Mary and I had seen, in company with Sir
George and Lady Beaumont, above Hartshope Hall, on our way from Paterdale
to Ambleside.
And now for a few words upon the Church, its Monuments, and of the
Deceased who are spoken of as lying in the surrounding churchyard. But
first for the one picture given by the Pastor and the Wanderer of the
Living. In this nothing is introduced but what was taken from nature and
real life. The cottage was called Hackett, and stands, as described, on
the southern extremity of the ridge which separates the two Langdales.
The pair who inhabited it were called Jonathan and Betty Yewdale. Once
when our children were ill, of whooping-cough, I think, we took them
for change of air to this cottage, and were in the habit of going there
to drink tea upon fine summer afternoons, so that we became intimately
acquainted with the characters, habits, and lives of these good, and let
me say, in the main, wise people. The matron had, in her early youth,
been a servant in a house at Hawkshead, where several boys boarded,
while I was a schoolboy there. I did not remember her as having served
in that capacity; but we had many little anecdotes to tell to each other
of remarkable boys, incidents, and adventures, which had made a noise in
their day in that small town. These two persons were induced afterwards
to settle at Rydal, where they both died.
The church, as already noticed, is that of Grasmere. The interior of
it has been improved lately and made warmer by underdrawing the roof,
and raising the floor; but the rude and antique majesty of its former
appearance has been impaired by painting the rafters; and the oak
benches, with a simple rail at the back dividing them from each other,
have given way to seats that have more the appearance of pews. It is
remarkable that, excepting only the pew belonging to Rydal Hall, that to
Rydal Mount, the one to the Parsonage, and I believe another, the men and
women still continue, as used to be the custom in Wales, to sit separate
from each other. Is this practice as old as the Reformation? and when and
how did it originate? In the Jewish synagogues, and in Lady Huntingdon’s
chapels, the sexes are divided in the same way. In the adjoining
churchyard greater changes have taken place. It is now not a little
crowded with tombstones; and near the school-house, which stands in the
churchyard, is an ugly structure, built to receive the hearse, which is
recently come into use. It would not be worth while to allude to this
building, or the hearse-vehicle it contains, but that the latter has
been the means of introducing a change much to be lamented in the mode
of conducting funerals among the mountains. Now, the coffin is lodged
in the hearse at the door of the house of the deceased, and the corpse
is so conveyed to the churchyard gate. All the solemnity which formerly
attended its progress, as described in this poem, is put an end to. So
much do I regret this, that I beg to be excused for giving utterance here
to a wish that, should it befall me to die at Rydal Mount, my own body
may be carried to Grasmere Church after the manner in which, till lately,
that of every one was borne to the place of sepulture here, namely, on
the shoulders of neighbours; no house being passed without some words of
a funeral psalm being sung at the time by the attendants bearing it. When
I put into the mouth of the Wanderer, “Many precious rites and customs of
our rural ancestry are gone, or stealing from us; this, I hope, will last
for ever,” and what follows, little did I foresee that the observance and
mode of proceeding which had often affected me so much would so soon be
superseded.
Having said much of the injury done to this churchyard, let me add, that
one is at liberty to look forward to a time when, by the growth of the
yew-trees thriving there, a solemnity will be spread over the place that
will in some degree make amends for the old simple character which has
already been so much encroached upon, and will be still more every year.
I will here set down, by way of memorial, that my friend Sir George
Beaumont, having long ago purchased the beautiful piece of water called
Loughrigg Tarn, on the banks of which he intended to build, I told him
that a person in Kendal who was attached to the place wished to purchase
it. Sir George, finding the possession of no use to him, consented
to part with it, and placed the purchase-money–£20–at my disposal,
for any local use which I thought proper. Accordingly, I resolved to
plant yew-trees in the churchyard; and had four pretty strong large oak
enclosures made, in each of which was planted, under my own eye, and
principally if not entirely by my own hand, two young trees, with the
intention of leaving the one that throve best to stand. Many years after,
Mr. Barber, who will long be remembered in Grasmere, Mr. Greenwood (the
chief landed proprietor), and myself, had four other enclosures made in
the churchyard at our own expense, in each of which was planted a tree
taken from its neighbour, and they all stand thriving admirably, the
fences having been removed as no longer necessary. May the trees be taken
care of hereafter, when we are all gone; and some of them will perhaps,
at some far-distant time, rival in majesty the yew of Lorton, and those
which I have described as growing at Borrowdale, where they are still to
be seen in grand assemblage.
And now for the persons that are selected as lying in the churchyard. But
first for the individual whose grave is prepared to receive him.
His story is here truly related. He was a schoolfellow of mine for some
years. He came to us when he was at least seventeen years of age, very
tall, robust, and full grown. This prevented him from falling into the
amusements and games of the school; consequently, he gave more time to
books. He was not remarkably bright or quick, but by industry, he made
a progress more than respectable. His parents not being wealthy enough
to send him to college when he left Hawkshead, he became a schoolmaster,
with a view to prepare himself for holy orders. About this time he
fell in love, as related in the poem, and everything followed as there
described, except that I do not know exactly when and where he died.
The number of youths that came to Hawkshead School from the families of
the humble yeomanry, to be educated to a certain degree of scholarship,
as a preparation for the church, was considerable, and the fortunes of
those persons in after life various of course, and some not a little
remarkable. I have now one of this class in my eye who became an usher in
a preparatory school, and ended in making a large fortune. His manners,
when he came to Hawkshead, were as uncouth as well could be; but he had
good abilities, with skill to turn them to account; and when the master
of the school, to which he was usher, died, he stept into his place and
became proprietor of the establishment. He contrived to manage it with
such address, and so much to the taste of what is called high society and
the fashionable world, that no school of the kind, even till he retired,
was in such high request. Ministers of State, the wealthiest gentry,
and nobility of the first rank, vied with each other in bespeaking a
place for their sons in the seminary of this fortunate teacher. In
the solitude of Grasmere, while living as a married man in a cottage
of £8 per annum rent, I often used to smile at the tales which reached
me of the brilliant career of this quondam clown–for such in reality
he was, in manners, and appearance, before he was polished a little by
attrition with gentlemen’s sons trained at Hawkshead, rough and rude as
many of our juveniles were. Not 200 yards from the cottage in Grasmere
just mentioned, to which I retired, this gentleman, who many years
afterwards purchased a small estate in the neighbourhood, is now erecting
a boat-house, with an upper story to be resorted to as an entertaining
room when he and his associates may feel inclined to take their pastime
on the lake. Every passenger will be disgusted with the sight of this
edifice, not merely as a tasteless thing in itself, but as utterly out of
place, and peculiarly fitted, as far as it is observed (and it obtrudes
itself on notice at every point of view), to mar the beauty and destroy
the pastoral simplicity of the vale. For my own part, and that of my
household, it is our utter detestation, standing by a shore to which,
before the high road was made to pass that way, we used daily and hourly
to repair for seclusion and for the shelter of a grove, under which I
composed many of my poems–The Brothers especially; and for this reason
we gave the grove that name.
That which each man loved
And prized in his peculiar nook of earth
Dies with him, or is changed.
So much for my old schoolfellow and his exploits. I will only add
that, as the foundation has twice failed, from the Lake no doubt being
intolerant of the intrusion, there is some ground for hoping that the
impertinent structure will not stand. It has been rebuilt in somewhat
better taste, and much as one wishes it away, it is not now so very
unsightly. The structure is an emblem of the man. Perseverance has
conquered difficulties, and given something of form and polish to
rudeness.
The Miner, next described as having found his treasure after twice ten
years of labour, lived in Paterdale, and the story is true to the
letter. It seems to me, however, rather remarkable, that the strength of
mind which had supported him through his long unrewarded labour, did not
enable him to bear its successful issue. Several times in the course of
my life I have heard of sudden influxes of great wealth being followed
by derangement; and, in one instance, the shock of good fortune was
so great as to produce absolute idiotcy. But these all happened where
there had been little or no previous effort to acquire the riches, and
therefore such a consequence might the more naturally be expected, than
in the case of the solitary miner. In reviewing his story, one cannot but
regret that such perseverance was not sustained by a worthier object.
Archimedes leaped out of his bath and ran about the streets, proclaiming
his discovery in a transport of joy; but we are not told that he lost
either his life or his senses in consequence.
The next character, to whom the priest is led by contrast with the
resoluteness displayed by the foregoing, is taken from a person born and
bred in Grasmere, by name Dawson; and whose talents, dispositions, and
way of life, were such as are here delineated. I did not know him, but
all was fresh in memory when we settled at Grasmere in the beginning of
the century. From this point the conversation leads to the mention of two
individuals, who, by their several fortunes, were, at different times,
driven to take refuge at the small and obscure town of Hawkshead on the
skirt of these mountains. Their stories I had from the dear old dame with
whom, as a schoolboy, and afterwards, I lodged for nearly the space of
ten years. The elder, the Jacobite, was named Drummond, and was of a high
family in Scotland; the Hanoverian Whig bore the name of Vandeput, and
might, perhaps, be a descendant of some Dutchman who had come over in the
train of King William. At all events, his zeal was such, that he ruined
himself by a contest for the representation of London or Westminster,
undertaken to support his Party, and retired to this corner of the
world, selected (as it had been by Drummond) for that obscurity which,
since visiting the Lakes became fashionable, it has no longer retained.
So much was this region considered out of the way till a late period,
that persons who had fled from justice used often to resort hither for
concealment, and some were so bold as to not unfrequently make excursions
from the place of their retreat for the purpose of committing fresh
offences. Such was particularly the case with two brothers of the name of
Weston, who took up their abode at Old Brathay, I think about seventy
years ago. They were highwaymen, and lived there some time without being
discovered, though it was known that they often disappeared, in a way,
and upon errands, which could not be accounted for. Their horses were
noticed as being of a choice breed, and I have heard from the Relph
family, one of whom was a saddler in the town of Kendal, that they were
curious in their saddles, and housings, and accoutrements of their
horses. They, as I have heard, and as was universally believed, were, in
the end, both taken and hanged.
Tall was her stature; her complexion dark
And saturnine.
This person lived at Town-end, and was almost our next neighbour. I have
little to notice concerning her beyond what is said in the poem. She
was a most striking instance how far a woman may surpass in talent, in
knowledge, and culture of mind, those with and among whom she lives,
and yet fall below them in Christian virtues of the heart and spirit.
It seemed almost, and I say it with grief, that in proportion as she
excelled in the one, she failed in the other. How frequently has one
to observe in both sexes the same thing, and how mortifying is the
reflection!
As, on a sunny bank, a tender lamb
Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March.
The story that follows was told to Mrs. Wordsworth and my sister, by
the sister of this unhappy young woman. Every particular was exactly
as I have related. The party was not known to me, though she lived at
Hawkshead; but it was after I left school. The clergyman who administered
comfort to her in her distress I knew well. Her sister, who told the
story, was the wife of a leading yeoman in the vale of Grasmere, and
they were an affectionate pair, and greatly respected by every one
who knew them. Neither lived to be old; and their estate–which was,
perhaps, the most considerable then in the vale, and was endeared to
them by many remembrances of a salutary character, not easily understood
or sympathised with by those who are born to great affluence–passed to
their eldest son, according to the practice of these vales, who died soon
after he came into possession. He was an amiable and promising youth,
but was succeeded by an only brother, a good-natured man, who fell into
habits of drinking, by which he gradually reduced his property; and the
other day the last acre of it was sold, and his wife and children, and
he himself still surviving, have very little left to live upon; which
it would not, perhaps, have been worth while to record here, but that
through all trials this woman has proved a model of patience, meekness,
affectionate forbearance, and forgiveness. Their eldest son, who through
the vices of his father has thus been robbed of an ancient family
inheritance, was never heard to murmur or complain against the cause
of their distress, and is now (1843) deservedly the chief prop of his
mother’s hopes.
The Clergyman and his family described at the beginning of the seventh
book were, during many years, our principal associates in the vale of
Grasmere, unless I were to except our very nearest neighbours. I have
entered so particularly into the main points of their history, that I
will barely testify in prose that–with the single exception of the
particulars of their journey to Grasmere, which, however, was exactly
copied from real life in another instance–the whole that I have said
of them is as faithful to the truth as words can make it. There was
much talent in the family, and the eldest son was distinguished for
poetical talent, of which a specimen is given in my notes to the Sonnets
to the Duddon. Once, when in our cottage at Town-end I was talking with
him about poetry, in the course of our conversation I presumed to find
fault with the versification of Pope, of whom he was an enthusiastic
admirer. He defended him with a warmth that indicated much irritation;
nevertheless I would not abandon my point, and said, “In compass and
variety of sound your own versification surpasses his.” Never shall
I forget the change in his countenance and tone of voice: the storm
was laid in a moment; he no longer disputed my judgment, and I passed
immediately in his mind, no doubt, for as great a critic as ever lived. I
ought to add, he was a clergyman and a well-educated man, and his verbal
memory was the most remarkable of any individual I have known, except a
Mr. Archer, an Irishman, who lived several years in this neighbourhood,
and who in this faculty was a prodigy: he afterwards became deranged, and
I fear continues so if alive.
Then follows the character of Robert Walker, for which see notes to the
Duddon.
That of the Deaf Man, whose epitaph may be seen in the churchyard at
the head of Hawes Water, and whose qualities of mind and heart, and
their benign influence in conjunction with his privation, I had from his
relatives on the spot.
The Blind Man, next commemorated, was John Gough, of Kendal, a man
known, far beyond his neighbourhood, for his talents and attainments in
natural history and science.
Of the Infant’s Grave next noticed, I will only say, it is an exact
picture of what fell under my own observation; and all persons who are
intimately acquainted with cottage life must often have observed like
instances of the working of the domestic affections.
A volley thrice repeated o’er the corse
Let down into the hollow of that grave.
This young volunteer bore the name of Dawson, and was younger brother,
if I am not mistaken, to the prodigal of whose character and fortunes
an account is given towards the beginning of the preceding book. The
father of the family I knew well; he was a man of literary education and
considerable experience in society–much beyond what was common among the
inhabitants of the Vale. He had lived a good while in the Highlands of
Scotland as a manager of ironworks at Bunaw, and had acted as clerk to
one of my predecessors in the office of Distributor of Stamps, when he
used to travel round the country collecting and bringing home the money
due to Government in gold, which it may be worth while to mention, for
the sake of my friends, was deposited in the cell or iron closet under
the west window, which still exists, with the iron doors that guarded the
property. This, of course, was before the time of Bills and Notes. The
two sons of this person had no doubt been led by the knowledge of their
father to take more delight in scholarship, and had been accustomed, in
their own minds, to take a wider view of social interests, than was usual
among their associates. The premature death of this gallant young man was
much lamented, and as an attendant upon the funeral, I myself witnessed
the ceremony, and the effect of it as described in the poems.
… Tradition tells
That, in Eliza’s golden days, a Knight
Came on a war-horse….
… The house is gone.
The pillars of the gateway in front of the mansion remained when we
first took up our abode at Grasmere. Two or three cottages still remain
which are called Nott Houses, from the name of the gentleman (I have
called him a knight) concerning whom these traditions survive. He was
the ancestor of the Knott family, formerly considerable proprietors in
the district. What follows in the discourse of the Wanderer, upon the
changes he had witnessed in rural life by the introduction of machinery,
is truly described from what I myself saw during my boyhood and early
youth, and from what was often told me by persons of this humble calling.
Happily, most happily, for these mountains, the mischief was diverted
from the banks of their beautiful streams, and transferred to open and
flat counties abounding in coal, where the agency of steam was found
much more effectual for carrying on those demoralising works. Had it not
been for this invention, long before the present time, every torrent and
river in this district would have had its factory, large and populous
in proportion to the power of the water that could there be commanded.
Parliament has interfered to prevent the night-work which was once
carried on in these mills as actively as during the day-time, and by
necessity, still more perniciously; a sad disgrace to the proprietors and
to the nation which could so long tolerate such unnatural proceedings.
Reviewing, at this late period, 1843, what I put into the mouths of my
interlocutors a few years after the commencement of the century, I grieve
that so little progress has been made in diminishing the evils deplored,
or promoting the benefits of education which the Wanderer anticipates.
The results of Lord Ashley’s labours to defer the time when children
might legally be allowed to work in factories, and his endeavours to
limit still further the hours of permitted labour, have fallen far
short of his own humane wishes, and of those of every benevolent and
right-minded man who has carefully attended to this subject; and in
the present session of Parliament (1843) Sir James Graham’s attempt to
establish a course of religious education among the children employed
in factories has been abandoned, in consequence of what might easily be
foreseen, the vehement and turbulent opposition of the Dissenters; so
that for many years to come it may be thought expedient to leave the
religious instruction of children entirely in the hands of the several
denominations of Christians in the Island, each body to work according
to its own means and in its own way. Such is my own confidence, a
confidence I share with many others of my most valued friends, in the
superior advantages, both religious and social, which attend a course
of instruction presided over and guided by the clergy of the Church of
England, that I have no doubt, that if but once its members, lay and
clerical, were duly sensible of those benefits, their Church would
daily gain ground, and rapidly, upon every shape and fashion of Dissent;
and in that case, a great majority in Parliament being sensible of
these benefits, the Ministers of the country might be emboldened, were
it necessary, to apply funds of the State to the support of education
on church principles. Before I conclude, I cannot forbear noticing the
strenuous efforts made at this time in Parliament by so many persons
to extend manufacturing and commercial industry at the expense of
agricultural, though we have recently had abundant proofs that the
apprehensions expressed by the Wanderer were not groundless.
I spake of mischief by the wise diffused,
With gladness thinking that the more it spreads
The healthier, the securer, we become;
Delusion which a moment may destroy!
The Chartists are well aware of this possibility, and cling to it with
an ardour and perseverance which nothing, but wiser and more brotherly
dealing towards the many, on the part of the wealthy few, can moderate or
remove.
While, from the grassy mountain’s open side
We gazed, in silence hushed.
The point here fixed upon in my imagination is half way up the northern
side of Loughrigg Fell, from which the Pastor and his companions are
supposed to look upwards to the sky and mountain-tops, and round the
vale, with the lake lying immediately beneath them.
But turned, not without welcome promise given
That he would share the pleasures and pursuits
Of yet another summer’s day, consumed
In wandering with us.
When I reported this promise of the Solitary, and long after, it
was my wish, and I might say intention, that we should resume our
wanderings and pass the Borders into his native country, where, as I
hoped, he might witness, in the society of the Wanderer, some religious
ceremony–a sacrament say, in the open fields, or a preaching among
the mountains–which, by recalling to his mind the days of his early
childhood, when he had been present on such occasions in company with
his parents and nearest kindred, might have dissolved his heart into
tenderness, and so done more towards restoring the Christian faith in
which he had been educated, and, with that, contentedness and even
cheerfulness of mind, and all that the Wanderer and Pastor by their
several effusions and addresses had been unable to effect. An issue like
this was in my intentions. But alas!
—-‘mid the wreck of is and was,
Things incomplete and purposes betrayed
Make sadder transits o’er thought’s optic glass
Than noblest objects utterly decayed.
RYDAL MOUNT, June 24, 1843.
St. John Baptist Day.–I. F.]
Although the Fenwick note to The Excursion has been printed here in
full, extracts from it will be introduced as footnotes, in explanation of
certain passages of the poem. The Excursion was written at intervals
between 1795 and 1814. The story of Margaret, in the first book, was
begun at Racedown in 1795, and continued at Alfoxden in 1797-8. But
only two short fragments of the poem–the former in book first and the
latter in book fourth (as indicated in the Fenwick note)–were written
before Wordsworth’s arrival at Grasmere. There the poem was thought out,
arranged, written down, altered, and re-arranged; the first part during
his residence at Dove Cottage, the second and longer part at Allan Bank.
The following extracts from Miss Wordsworth’s Grasmere Journal show how
laboriously her brother worked at this poem:–
Tuesday, Dec. 22, 1801.– … “Went to Rydal for letters. The road was
covered with snow. We walked home almost without speaking. William
composed a few lines of ‘The Pedlar.’ We talked about Lamb’s tragedy.”…
Wednesday, Dec. 23.– … “Mary wrote out the Tales from Chaucer for
Coleridge. William worked at ‘The Ruined Cottage,’ and made himself very
ill.”…
Tuesday, Jan. 26, 1802.– … “We sate till we were both tired, for
William wrote out part of his poem, and endeavoured to alter it, and so
made himself ill. I copied out the rest for him.”…
Monday, Feb. 1st.– … “William worked hard at ‘The Pedlar,’ and tired
himself.”…
Tuesday, 2nd Feb.– … “William worked at ‘The Pedlar.'”…
Thursday, 4th.– … “William thought a little about ‘The Pedlar.'”
Friday, 5th.– … “Sate up late at ‘The Pedlar.'”
Sunday, 7th.–“William had a bad night, and was working at his poem.
We sate by the fire, and did not walk, but read ‘The Pedlar,’ thinking
it done; but lo! … could find fault with no one part of it–it was
uninteresting, and must be altered. Poor William!”
Wednesday, 10th Feb.–“We read the first part of the poem, and were
delighted with it, but William afterwards got to some ugly place, and
went to bed tired out.” …
Thursday, 11th.– … “William sadly tired, and working at ‘The Pedlar.'”
Friday, 12th.– … “I re-copied ‘The Pedlar’; but poor William all the
time at work…. We sate a long time with the window unclosed, and almost
finished writing ‘The Pedlar,’ but poor William wore himself out and me
with labour. Went to bed at 12 o’clock.”
Saturday, 13th.–“It snowed a little. Still at work at ‘The Pedlar,’
altering and re-fitting…. William read parts of his Recluse aloud to
me.”…
Sunday, 14th Feb.– … “William left me at work altering some passages
of ‘The Pedlar,’ and went into the orchard.”
Sunday, Feb. 28.– … “William very ill; employed himself with ‘The
Pedlar.'”
Friday morning.– … “I wrote ‘The Pedlar,’ and finished it.”…
These extracts–which will recall the laborious way in which he toiled
over the poem Michael (see vol. ii. p. 233)–all refer to the close of
the year 1801, and the beginning of the year 1802. It is impossible to
find out, with exactness, what were the parts of The Excursion which
were then so carefully written, and so fastidiously altered–since “The
Pedlar” was the Wordsworth household name for the entire poem, until
it was recast for publication, at Allan Bank. But after February
he turned to other subjects of composition, chiefly lyrical, and laid
aside “The Pedlar” for a time–his sister, at least, regarding it as
“finished.” What was completed, however, did not, probably, extend beyond
the story of the Wanderer, and perhaps a part of that of the Solitary.
The person, whose character gave rise to the Solitary, came to reside
at Grasmere not long after the Wordsworths settled there; but as the
Fenwick note expressly says that the poem was written “chiefly during
our residence at Allan Bank,” I do not think that more than the first two
books belong to the Town-end period.
The Excursion was originally published in quarto in 1814. The second
edition, octavo, appeared in 1820.
The Excursion was included in all the collected editions of 1827,
1832, 1836-7, 1840, 1845, 1849-50, in the Paris reprint of 1828, and in
the American edition by Henry Reed. It was also republished by itself
in 1836, 1844, and 1847. The textual changes in the several editions
were numerous and significant. The longest and most important passage in
the earlier ones, omitted after 1820, occurs at the close of the sixth
book. Another (shorter) fragment, near the beginning of book seventh,
refers to the Sympson household at the Wytheburn parsonage. No edition
of The Excursion has as yet been issued with adequate notes, either
topographical or literary. The first book–“The Wanderer”–has, however,
been annotated, both by Mr. H. H. Turner (published in Rivington’s
English School Classics), and also by the Rev. H. G. Robinson, Prebendary
of York, and published at Edinburgh, by Messrs. Oliver and Boyd.
The following letter from Charles Lamb to Wordsworth, after his first
perusal of The Excursion has special interest:–
August 14, 1814.
“DEAR WORDSWORTH–I cannot tell you how pleased I was at the receipt of
the great armful of poetry which you have sent me; and to get it before
the rest of the world too! I have gone quite through with it, and was
thinking to have accomplished that pleasure a second time before I wrote
to thank you, but M. Burney came in the night (while we were out) and
made holy theft of it, but we expect restitution in a day or two. It is
the noblest conversational poem I ever read–a day in Heaven. The part
(or rather main body) which has left the sweetest odour on my memory (a
bad term for the remains of an impression so recent) is the Tales of the
Churchyard; the only girl among seven brethren, born out of due time, and
not duly taken away again,–the deaf man and the blind man; the Jacobite
and the Hanoverian, whom antipathies reconcile; the Scarron-entry of
the rusticating parson upon his solitude;–these were all new to me
too. My having known the story of Margaret (at the beginning), a very
old acquaintance, even as long back as when I saw you first at Stowey,
did not make her reappearance less fresh. I don’t know what to pick out
of this best of books upon the best subjects for partial naming. That
gorgeous sunset is famous; I think it must have been the identical one
we saw on Salisbury Plain five years ago, that drew Phillips from the
card-table, where he had sat from rise of that luminary to its unequalled
set; but neither he nor I had gifted eyes to see those symbols of common
things glorified, such as the prophets saw them in that sunset–the
wheel, the potter’s clay, the wash-pot, the wine-press, the almond-tree
rod, the basket of figs, the fourfold visaged head, the throne, and Him
that sat thereon. One feeling I was particularly struck with, as what
I recognised so very lately at Harrow Church on entering in it after a
hot and secular day’s pleasure, the instantaneous coolness and calming,
almost transforming properties of a country church just entered; a
certain fragrance which it has, either from its holiness, or being kept
shut all the week, or the air that is let in being pure country, exactly
what you have reduced into words; but I am feeling that which I can-not
express. Reading your lines about it fixed me for a time, a monument in
Harrow Church. Do you know it? with its fine long spire, white as washed
marble, to be seen, by vantage of its high site, as far as Salisbury
spire itself almost.”
In a letter written in the same year, 1814, Lamb tells Wordsworth of the
spurious review of The Excursion, in The Quarterly Review, “which Mr.
Baviad Gifford has palmed upon it for mine,” calls his own review “the
prettiest piece of prose I ever writ,” and gives a specimen of it, viz.–
“The poet of the Excursion ‘walks through common forests as through
some Dodona or enchanted wood, and every casual bird that flits upon the
boughs, like that miraculous one in Tasso, but in language more piercing
than any articulate sounds, reveals to him far higher love-lays.'” (The
Letters of Charles Lamb, edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. pp. 271-281.)
In the Notes to the text I have confined myself chiefly to the
explanation of obscure allusions, topographical, historical, or
legendary.–ED.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: Southey died on the 21st of March, 1843.–ED.]
[Footnote B: See the Appendix to this volume, Note A, p. 391.–ED.]
[Footnote C: “Sarah went to Kendal on our mother’s death, but Mr. P. died
in the course of a year or two.–M. W.” Pencilled on the opposite page of
the MS.–ED.]
[Footnote D: See The Excursion, book ix. l. 614.–ED.]
[Footnote E: Alas! no longer as they were in Wordsworth’s time. See the
note to Yew-Trees, vol. ii. p. 371.–ED.]
[Footnote F: “Mr. Pearson.” Pencilled on the opposite page of the
MS.–ED.]
[Footnote G: Pencilled on the opposite page of the MS.–“This boathouse,
badly built, gave way, and was rebuilt. It again tumbled, and was a third
time reconstructed, but in a better fashion than before. It is not now,
per se, an ugly building, however obtrusive it may be.”–ED.]
[Footnote H: Compare the sonnet Malham Cove in volume vi., to which
these lines belong.–ED.]
[Footnote I: The following note from Wordsworth to Mr. Dyce, shews his
estimation of the text of the first octavo edition, as compared with that
of the earlier quarto edition.
“MY DEAR SIR,–When you read The Excursion do not read the quarto. It
is improved in the 8vo E.:–but I thought the quarto might have its value
with you as a collector.–Believe me, faithfully yours,
“W. WORDSWORTH.”
7th April, my birthday–61,
12 Bryanston Street.
In 1820 there are very few departures from the text of 1814.–ED.]
[Footnote J: In a subsequent letter (August 29th) he corrects this, and
calls it “that celestial splendour of the mist going off.”–ED.]
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM, EARL OF LONSDALE, K.G., ETC. ETC.
Oft, through thy fair domains, illustrious Peer!
In youth I roamed, on youthful pleasures bent;
And mused in rocky cell or sylvan tent,
Beside swift-flowing Lowther’s current clear.
–Now, by thy care befriended, I appear
Before thee, LONSDALE, and this Work present,
A token (may it prove a monument!)
Of high respect and gratitude sincere.
Gladly would I have waited till my task
Had reached its close; but Life is insecure,
And Hope full oft fallacious as a dream:
Therefore, for what is here produced, I ask
Thy favour; trusting that thou wilt not deem
The offering, though imperfect, premature.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND,
July 29, 1814.