1786, came Burns, whose poetry, if it did not reach
the ordinary Englishman of the literary class, at least thrilled the
hearts of English poets. That Wordsworth had felt his power we know,
for, independent as he stood, and little wont to acknowledge his
indebtedness to any, he yet confesses in one place that it was Burns who
first set him on the right track. This series of surprises coming from
beyond the Tweed had drawn the eyes of Englishmen towards Scotland.
Especially two such voices--Ossian speaking from the heart of the
Highlands, Burns concentrating in his song the whole strength and the
weakness also of Lowland character--seemed to call across the Borders on
Wordsworth to come and look on their land. And during all the first days
of that journey the thought of Burns and his untimely end, then so
recent, lay heavy on his heart.

Again, it were well, as we read, to remember the time when this Diary was
written. It was before Scott was known as an original poet, before he
had given anything to the world save 'The Border Minstrelsy.' We are
accustomed to credit Scott with whatever enchantment invests Scotland in
the eyes of the English, and of foreigners. And doubtless a large
portion of it is due to him, but perhaps not quite so much as we are apt
to fancy. We commonly suppose that it was he who first discovered the
Trossachs and Loch Katrine, and revealed them to the world in 'The Lady
of the Lake.' Yet they must have had some earlier renown, enough to make
Wordsworth, travelling two years before the appearance even of Scott's
'Lay,' turn aside to go in search of them.

To Dorothy Wordsworth and Coleridge this was the first time they had set
foot on Scottish ground. Wordsworth himself seems to have crossed the
Border two years before this, though of that journey there is no record
remaining. As they set forth from Keswick on that August morning one can
well believe that

'Their exterior semblance did belie
Their soul's immensity.'

None of the three paid much regard to the outward man. Coleridge,
perhaps, in soiled nankeen trousers, and with the blue and brass in which
he used to appear in Unitarian pulpits, buttoned round his growing
corpulency; Wordsworth in a suit of russet, not to say dingy, brown, with
a broad flapping straw hat to protect his weak eyesight. And as for Miss
Wordsworth, we may well believe that in her dress she thought more of use
than of ornament. These three, mounte