Taking us into the house, he showed us the picture of his sister, repeating with much expression some lines of hers, and those so famous of his about her, beginning “Five years,” &c.; also, his own picture, by Inman, of whom he spoke with esteem.  I had asked to see a picture in that room, which has been described in one of the finest of his later poems.  A hundred times had I wished to see this picture, yet when seen was not disappointed by it.  The light was unfavorable, but it had a light of its own,—­

        “whose mild gleam
  Of beauty never ceases to enrich
  The common light.”

Mr. Wordsworth is fond of the hollyhock; a partiality scarcely deserved by the flower, but which marks the simplicity of his tastes.  He had made a long avenue of them, of all colors, from the crimson brown to rose, straw-color, and white, and pleased himself with having made proselytes to a liking for them, among his neighbors.

I never have seen such magnificent fuchsias as at Ambleside, and there was one to be seen in every cottage-yard.  They are no longer here under the shelter of the green-house, as with us, and as they used to be in England.  The plant, from its grace and finished elegance, being a great favorite of mine, I should like to see it as frequently and of as luxuriant growth at home, and asked their mode of culture, which I here mark down for the benefit of all who may be interested.  Make a bed of bog-earth and sand; put down slips of the fuchsia, and give them a great deal of water; this is all they need.  People leave them out here in winter, but perhaps they would not bear the cold of our Januaries.

Mr. Wordsworth spoke with more liberality than we expected of the recent measures about the Corn-laws, saying that “the principle was certainly right, though whether existing interests had been as carefully attended to as was right, he was not prepared to say,” &c.  His neighbors were pleased to hear of his speaking thus mildly, and hailed it as a sign that he was opening his mind to more light on these subjects.  They lament that his habits of seclusion keep him ignorant of the real wants of England and the world.  Living in this region, which is cultivated by small proprietors, where there is little poverty, vice, or misery, he hears not the voice which cries so loudly from other parts of England, and will not be stilled by sweet, poetic suasion, or philosophy, for it is the cry of men in the jaws of destruction.

It was pleasant to find the reverence inspired by this great and pure mind warmest near home.  Our landlady, in heaping praises upon him, added, constantly, “and Mrs. Wordsworth, too.”  “Do the people here,” said I, “value Mr. Wordsworth most because he is a celebrated writer?” “Truly, madam,” said she, “I think it is because he is so kind a neighbor.”

    “True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.”

EDINBURGH.——­DE QUINCEY.