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himself with more confidence; without her the affections sleep, and the eye refuses to look on objects from that point of vision whence their most healthful and invigorating aspects are cast. The mind of our Poet was in danger of bowing to these darkening shadows; it already felt the chill winds from the Sea of Doubt, and looking beyond, saw only a giddy reel of objects and beings deceiving themselves with the mockery of the possession of Will and Choice. He has honored his sister by shewing how she took him by the hand and restored him to nature. He points to her as influencing considerably the final building up the edifice of his character; thus adding in the graceful and unobtrusive manner in which she steps through the chambers of his history, another illustration to the influence of woman in moulding and giving destiny to the character of the most illustrious men.

eye

In reviewing Wordsworth's obligations to his sister, we cannot but notice the most curious assistance, probably arising from the indisposition he constantly felt to use his pen in noting down the circumstances which met his and his mind. Dr. Wordsworth presents to us many illustrations of the constant exercise of his sister's eye for him. It almost suggests to us a sorrow that there was an inability to generalise-sufficiently— objects, seen when seen in themselves—not as parts of a great whole or world—it was this constant tendency to allow the eye to rest on the last object, and to be haunted by the impression of it, that prevented him from grasping all into one great whole; and we again

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cannot but turn aside to think that probably the constant presence of his sister might be the cause of this. That he did not lack in himself the power to take in many objects and form them into one picture seems evident both from "Ruth," "the Leech Gatherer," and hundreds of other compositions; and we cannot but wish, notwithstanding all the beauty and glory of many of his smaller pieces, that they had been absorbed into the mental system-that instead of being distinct and occasional poems, they had fallen into the channel of mental structure and education-used not with reference to an impressive show, or for that spot or place, but for a wide Cartoon, and for all Nature and all Time; but perhaps the character of the Poet's mind prevented this, and it is certain that his sister aided that character.

The following illustrations will convey to the reader's mind the peculiarity of the aid he derived from his sister-thus at Grasmere, Friday, Oct. 3rd, 1800, she gives to us the origin of our old friend mentioned above, the Leech Gatherer. "When William and I returned from accompanying Jones, we met an old man almost double. His face was interesting. He was of Scotch parents, but had been born in the army. He had had a wife, a good woman, and it pleased God to bless him with ten children; all these were dead but one, of whom he had not heard for many years, a sailor. His trade was to gather leeches, but now leeches were scarce, and he had not strength for it. He had been hurt in driving a cart, his leg broke, his body driven over, his skull fractured; he felt no pain till he recovered from his first insensi

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bility. It was then late in the evening when the light was just going away."

And again in the same diary we have the origin of Alice Fell. "Feb. 16th. Mr. Graham called; said he wished William had been with him the other day. He was riding in a post chaise; heard a strange cry; called to the chaise-driver to stop. It was a little girl crying as if her heart would burst. She had got up behind the chaise, and her cloak had been caught by the wheel; she was crying after it. Mr. G. took her into the chaise, and the cloak was released, but it was torn to rags. It had been a miserable cloak before, but she had no other, and this was her greatest sorrow that could befal her. Her name was Alice Fell. At the next town Mr. G. left money to buy her a new cloak.”

Again the origin of the Beggars. "W. wrote the poem of the Beggar Woman, taken from a woman whom I had seen nearly two years ago, when he was absent at Gallow Hill, and had thus described. On Tuesday, May 27th, a very tall woman called at the door; she had on a very long brown cloak, and a very white cap without bonnet; she led a little bare-footed child about two years old by the hand, and said her husband was gone before with the other children. I gave her a piece of bread. Afterwards on my road to Ambleside, beside the bridge at Rydal, I saw her husband sitting by the road side, his two asses standing beside him, and the two young children at play upon the grass. The man did not beg. I passed on, and about a quarter of a mile further I saw two boys before me, one about ten, the

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other about eight years old, at play, chasing a butterfly. They were wild figures; the hat of the elder was wreathed round with yellow flowers; the younger, whose hat was only a rimless crown, had stuck it round with laurel leaves. They continued play till I drew very near, and then they addressed me with the begging cant and the whining voice of sorrow. I said, 'I served your mother this morning,' (the boys were so like the woman who had called at our door that I could not be mistaken.) 'O,' says the elder, 'you could not serve my mother, for she's dead, and my father's on at the next town, he's a potter.' I persisted in my assertion, and that I would give them nothing. Says the elder, Tom, let's away,' and away they flew like lightning. They had however sauntered so long in their road that they did not reach Ambleside before me, and I saw them go up to Matthew Harrison's house with their wallet upon their eldest brother's shoulder, and creeping with a beggar's complaining foot. On my return from Ambleside I met, in the street, the mother driving her asses, in the two panniers on one of which were the two little children, whom she was chiding and threatening with a wand which she used, to drive on her asses, while the little things hung in wantonness over the pannier's edge. The woman had told me in the morning that she was of Scotland, which her accent fully proved, and that she had lived (I think) at Wigtown, that they could not keep a house and so they travelled. After tea I read W. the account I had written of the little boy belonging to the tall woman:

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and an unlucky thing it was, for he could not escape from those very words. Next morning at breakfast he wrote the poem To a Butterfly. The thought came upon him as we were talking about the pleasure we both always felt at the sight of a butterfly. I told him that I used in my childhood to chase them, but was afraid of brushing the dust off their wings."

April 15.-We set off after dinner from Eusemere, Mr. Clarkson's: wind furious. Lake (Ullswater) rough. When we were in the woods below Gowbarrow Park, we saw a few Daffodils close to the water side. As we went along there were more and yet more; and at last, under the boughs of the trees, we saw there was a long belt of them along the shore. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the mossy stones about them some rested their heads on these stones as on a pillow; the rest tossed, and reeled, and danced, and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind, they looked so gay and glancing."

If now the reader refers to the four poems-Alice Fell-The Beggars-The Butterfly—and especially the Poem, the Daffodils, he will instantly see the kind of benefit conferred by his sister.

Thus far how much the life of Wordsworth has resembled the life of Milton-up to the age of 35 Milton was a traveller and wanderer among the nations of Europe, and through some parts of his own land-he had moved to and fro apparently in aimless existence, and in his own country appeared uncertain where to find a resting place; but Milton had no sweet sister to take