[117] Memoirs, ii. 230-1.

You tell me kindly that you have often asked yourself where is Mr. Wordsworth, and the question has readily been solved for you.  He is at Cambridge:  a great mistake!  So late as the 5th of November, I will tell you where I was, a solitary equestrian entering the romantic little town of Ashford in the Waters, on the edge of Wilds of Derbyshire, at the close of day, when guns were beginning to be left [let?] off and squibs to be fired on every side.  So that I thought it prudent to dismount and lead my horse through the place, and so on to Bakewell, two miles farther.  You must know how I happened to be riding through these wild regions.  It was my wish that Dora should have the benefit of her pony while at Cambridge, and very valiantly and economically I determined, unused as I am to horsemanship, to ride the creature myself.  I sent James with it to Lancaster; there mounted; stopped a day at Manchester, a week at Coleorton, and so reached the end of my journey safe and sound, not, however, without encountering two days of tempestuous rain.  Thirty-seven miles did I ride in one day through the worse of these storms.  And what was my resource? guess again:  writing verses to the memory of my departed friend Sir George Beaumont, whose house I had left the day before.  While buffetting the other storm I composed a Sonnet upon the splendid domain at Chatsworth, which I had seen in the morning, as contrasted with the secluded habitations of the narrow dells in the Park; and as I passed through the tame and manufacture-disfigured country of Lancashire I was reminded by the faded leaves, of Spring, and threw off a few stanzas of an ode to May.

But too much of self and my own performances upon my steed—­a descendant no doubt of Pegasus, though his owner and present rider knew nothing of it.  Now for a word about Professor Airey.  I have seen him twice; but I did not communicate your message.  It was at dinner and at an evening party, and I thought it best not to speak of it till I saw him, which I mean to do, upon a morning call.

There is a great deal of intellectual activity within the walls of this College, and in the University at large; but conversation turns mainly upon the state of the country and the late change in the administration.  The fires have extended to within 8 miles of this place; from which I saw one of the worst, if not absolutely the worst, indicated by a redness in the sky—­a few nights ago.

I am glad when I fall in with a member of Parliament, as it puts me upon writing to my friends, which I am always disposed to defer, without such a determining advantage.  At present we have two members, Mr. Cavendish, one of the representatives of the University, and Lord Morpeth, under the Master’s roof.  We have also here Lady Blanche, wife of Mr. Cavendish, and sister of Lord Morpeth.  She is a great admirer of Mrs. Hemans’ poetry.  There is an interesting person in this University for a day or two, whom I