literary compositions. Southey was equally at a loss to account for his classification in this school. He was in Portugal, having just published Thalaba, when, as he informs us in the preface to the fourth volume of his collected works published in 1837, "his name was first coupled with Mr. Wordsworth's. "We were then," he adds, "and for some time afterwards all but strangers to each other, and certainly there were no two poets in whose productions, the difference not being that between good and bad, less resemblance could be found. But I happened to be residing at Keswick, when Mr. Wordsworth and I began to be acquainted; Mr. Coleridge also had resided there; and this was reason enough for classing us together as a school of poets. Accordingly for more than twenty years from that time every tyro in criticism who could smatter and sneer, tried his 'prentice hand' upon the Lake poets, and every young sportsman who carried a pop-gun in the field of satire considered them fair game." Yet, when we come to reflect upon the subject, we find, notwithstanding this protest on the part of two of the illustrious trio, that there are points of similitude between their works and that although they differ in their most obvious characteristics, they bear a strong resemblance in one— and that a most essential one. Each of the three was of the romantic-or more properly speaking-of the natural school, as opposed to the classic; and in this

particular, each rendered no small service to literature and poetry. The world had had too much of superrefinement ;-too much of mannerism ;-too much of mere copying of antique models-when, all at once, these writers appeared, and following up what Cowper had begun—performed for English poetry what Burns had done for that of Scotland. They went back to nature, and took her for a model instead of convention. They restored the ancient simplicity. Wordsworth, more especially, excited for poetry, what has lately been excited for religion in another part of the country, a revival;-the effects of which are still to be traced, and will doubtless be traced for a long time yet to come in the literature of the country.

In the midst of thoughts something like these, I arrived at Grasmere, with its green and solitary but beautiful island in the middle; and began to conjure up recollections of a certain Wishing-gate, which poets had sung of. of. Lovely is the vale of Grasmere: worthy is it of all its renown—and holy will it ever be in the lays of the bards who have delighted to sing of it, and in the recollections of those who love the bards. The lake is of an oval shape, about a mile in length, and something less than half a mile in breadth. It is completely surrounded by mountains, the chief of which are Silver How, Butterlip How, Seat Sandal, and Helm Crag, the latter famous for the rugged stones on its top, which bear a fantastic

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GRASMERE LAKE.

resemblance to an "aged woman," or as some say, to a lion couchant," and as others say, to a "lion and a lamb." At the further extremity is seen the road to Keswick, stretching high above the bare hills, and called the Raise Gap. Most of these hills are mentioned in Mr. Wordsworth's exquisite verses on the Naming of Places," in the poem entitled "Joanna."

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"When I had gazed, perhaps two minutes space,
Joanna, looking in my eyes, beheld

That ravishment of mine, and laughed aloud.
The Rock, like something startling from a sleep,
Took up the lady's voice, and laughed again.
That ancient woman seated on Helm Crag
Was ready with her cavern: Hammar Scar,
And the tall steep of Silver How sent forth
A noise of laughter; Southern Loughrigg heard,
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone."

A portentous laugh for a lady, but nevertheless very beautiful to read of. The descent from Langdale into the vale of Grasmere has been described very accurately by Mr. Wordsworth in another poem; and Professor Wilson in his City of the Plague has also described the Church of Grasmere and the surrounding scenery. The Laureate says, with all the graces of poetry, and with much truth of description;

"So we descend, and winding round a rock

Attained a point that showed the valley, stretched
In length before us, and not distant far,
Upon a rising ground a grey church tower,
Whose battlements were screened by tufted trees,
And towards a crystal mere, that lay beyond
Among steep hills and woods embosomed, flowed
A copious stream with boldly winding course,
Here traceable, there hidden;-there again
To sight restored, and glittering in the sun.
On the stream's bank and every where appeared
Fair dwellings, single or in social knots,
Some scattered o'er the level, others perched
On the hill side; a cheerful quiet scene,
Now in its morning purity arrayed."

Professor Wilson's daguerrotype is slightly dif

ferent;

"There is a little church-yard on the side

Of a low hill that hangs o'er Grasmere Lake.

Most beautiful it is-a vernal spot

Enclosed with wooded rocks, where a few graves

Lie sheltered, sleeping in eternal calm ;—
Go thither when you will, and that sweet spot
Is bright with sunshine."

The latter part of this description must of course, in such a climate as that of England, be taken as a mere poetical heightening of the effect which the writer intended to produce, but not strictly true. On my visit, however, it tallied remarkably well, for the sunlight streamed over the simple and beautiful church tower, and lighted up the whole surface of the lake in a blaze of glory. Another poet of an earlier date, when Grasmere was not visited by the tourist as now, speaks with equal raptures of its charms; — Gray says of it, "that not a single red tile, no flaring gentleman's house or garden-wall breaks in upon the repose of this little unexpected paradise; but all is peace, rusticity, and happy poverty in its neatest and most becoming attire." The "happy poverty," it is to be feared, was as problematical then as it is now; but in other respects his description appears to have been of such a place as his brother bard Wordsworth would wish to have preserved in its pristine state until now. "It was well for the undisturbed pleasure of Gray," says the latter, "that he had no forebodings of the change which was soon to take place, and it might have been hoped that these words, indicating how much the charm of what was depended on what was not, would of themselves have preserved franchises of this and other kindred mountain retirements from trespass or (shall I dare to say?) would have secured scenes so consecrated from profanation."