she encountered a fog, and was bewildered.  At last, she sat down and waited; in a short time it began to clear; she could see that a valley was before her.  In time, she saw the backs of cattle feeding, which emerged from the darkness, and at last the Tarn; and then found she had stopped providentially, and was sitting nearly on the edge of the precipice.  Our return was somewhat more perilous for the riders than the ascent; but we accomplished it safely, and, in our return, turned in Butterlip How, a circular, soft, green hill, surrounded with oak trees, at the head of Grasmere.  It is about twenty acres, and belongs to a London banker, purchased, as I suppose, with a view to building on it.  It is a lovely spot for a house, with delicious views of the lake and church, Easedale, Helm Crag, &c.  I have seen no place, I think, on which I should so much like to build my retreat.

[242] I cannot fill the blank.  J.T.C.

[243] I used the word trudging at the time; it denoted to me his bold way of walking.  J.T.C.

October 16th.—­Since church, we have taken our last walk with Wordsworth.  M. was mounted on Dora W.’s pony.  He led us up on Loughrigg, round to the Tarn, by the back of Loughrigg to the foot of Grasmere Lake, and so home by this side of Rydal; the weather warm and fine, and a lovely walk it was.  The views of the mountains, Langdale Way, the Tarn itself and its banks, and the views on Grasmere and Rydal Waters, are almost beyond anything I have seen, even in this country.

He and Mrs. W. came this evening to bid us farewell.  We parted with great, I believe mutual, regret; certainly they have been kind to us in a way and degree which seemed unequivocally to testify good liking to us, and them it is impossible not to love.  The more I have seen of Wordsworth, the more I admire him as a poet and as a man.  He has the finest and most discriminating feeling for the beauties of Nature that I ever witnessed; he expresses himself in glowing and yet manly language about them.  There is much simplicity in his character, much naivete, but it is all generous and highly moral.[244]

[244] Memoirs, ii. 300-15.

* * * * *

(c) RECOLLECTIONS OF TOUR IN ITALY, BY H.C.  ROBINSON.

Oct. 18. 1850.

MY DEAR SIR,

I feel quite ashamed, I assure you, of sending you the Itinerary of my journey with Mr. Wordsworth, so poorly accompanied as it must be, and the more, because Mr. Wordsworth seems to have thought that I might be able to make a contribution to your work worth your acceptance.  At the same time, I am much relieved by recollecting that he himself cared nothing for the connection which a place might have with a great poet, unless an acquaintance with it served to illustrate his works.  He made this remark in the Church of St. Onofrio at Rome, where Tasso lies buried.  The place which, on this account, interested him more