n impression that her Grace's brother was
probably a person whose face every one knew, or was expected to know; so
that, as I had never met him, my answer was in fact a lie! It is too bad
that, when more than seventy years old, I should be brought from the
mountains to London in order to tell a lie!' He made his complaint
wherever he went, laying the blame, however, not so much on himself, or
on the Duchess, as on the corrupt city; and some of those who learned
how the most truthful man in England had thus quickly been subverted by
metropolitan snares came to the conclusion that within a few years more
no virtue would be left extant in the land. He was likewise maltreated
in lesser ways. 'This morning I was compelled by my engagements to eat
three breakfasts--one with an aged and excellent gentleman, who may
justly be esteemed an accomplished man of letters, although I cannot
honestly concede to him the title of a poet; one at a fashionable party;
and one with an old friend whom no pressure would induce me to
neglect--although for this, my first breakfast to-day, I was obliged to
name the early hour of seven o'clock, as he lives in a remote part of
London.'

But it was only among his own mountains that Wordsworth could be
understood. He walked among them not so much to admire them as to
converse with them. They exchanged thoughts with him, in sunshine or
flying shadow, giving him their own and accepting his. Day and night, at
all hours, and in all weather, he would face them. If it rained, he
might fling his plaid over him, but would take no admonition. He must
have his way. On such occasions, dutiful as he was in higher matters, he
remained incurably wayward. In vain one reminded him that a letter
needed an answer, or that the storm would soon be over. It was very
necessary for him to do what he liked; and one of his dearest friends
said to me, with a smile of the most affectionate humour, 'He wrote his
"Ode to Duty," and then he had done with that matter.' This very
innocent form of lawlessness, corresponding with the classic expression,
'Indulge genio,' seemed to belong to his genius, not less than the
sympathetic reverence with which he looked up to the higher and
universal laws. Sometimes there was a battle between his reverence for
Nature and his reverence for other things. The friend already alluded to
was once remarking on his varying expressions of countenance. 'That
rough old face is capable of high and real b