’When to the attractions of the busy world,
    Preferring studious leisure,’ &c.[240]

Oct. 7th.—­Yesterday Wordsworth drove me to Low-wovel; and then we ascended a great way towards Kirkstone by Troutbeck, passing by many interesting cots, barns, and farm-houses, where W. had constantly something to point out in the architecture, or the fringes of moss, fern, &c., on the roofs or walls.  We crossed the valley, and descended on Troutbeck Church, whence we came down to the turnpike road, and I left the Poet, who was going on to assist Sir T. Pasley in laying out his grounds.  I turned homeward, till I met my horse.

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[239] This old road was very steep, after the fashion of former days, crossing the hill straight over its highest point.  A new cut had been made, somewhat diminishing the steepness, but still leaving it a very inconvenient and difficult ascent.  At length another alteration was made, and the road was carried on a level round the foot of the hill.  My friend Arnold pointed these out to me, and, quizzing my politics, said, the first denoted the old Tory corruption, the second bit by bit, the third Radical Reform.  J.T.C.

[240] See Poems on the naming of Places.

As we walked, I was admiring the never-ceasing sound of water, so remarkable in this country.  ‘I was walking,’ he said, ’on the mountains, with ——­, the Eastern traveller; it was after rain, and the torrents were full.  I said, “I hope you like your companions—­these bounding, joyous, foaming streams.”  “No,” said the traveller, pompously, “I think they are not to be compared in delightful effect with the silent solitude of the Arabian Desert.”  My mountain blood was up.  I quickly observed that he had boots and a stout great-coat on, and said, “I am sorry you don’t like this; perhaps I can show you what will please you more.”  I strode away, and led him from crag to crag, hill to vale, and vale to hill, for about six hours; till I thought I should have had to bring him home, he was so tired.’

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October 10th.—­I have passed a great many hours to-day with Wordsworth, in his house.  I stumbled on him with proof sheets before him.  He read me nearly all the sweet stanzas written in his copy of the ’Castle of Indolence,’[241] describing himself and my uncle; and he and Mrs. W. both assured me the description of the latter at that time was perfectly accurate; that he was almost as a great boy in feelings, and had all the tricks and fancies there described.  Mrs. W. seemed to look back on him, and those times, with the fondest affection.  Then he read me some lines, which formed part of a suppressed portion of ’The Waggoner;’ but which he is now printing ‘on the Rock of Names,’ so called because on it they had carved out their initials: 

W.W.  Wm. Wordsworth. 
M.H.  Mary W.
D.W.  Dorothy Wordsworth. 
S.T.C.  Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
J.W.  John Wordsworth. 
S.H.  Sarah Hutchinson.