t looks
beautiful in the extreme, surrounded as it is by a range of mountains
that have no parallel in the United States for beauty. Amid a sun of
uncommon splendour, dazzling the eye with the reflection upon the water
below, we descended into the valley, and I was soon again seated by the
fireside of our hospitable hostess. In the afternoon of the same day, we
took a drive to the "Dove's Nest," the home of the late Mrs. Hemans.

We did not see the inside of the house, on account of its being occupied
by a very eccentric man, who will not permit a woman to enter the house,
and it is said that he has been known to run when a female had
unconsciously intruded herself upon his premises. And as our company was
in part composed of ladies, we had to share their fate, and therefore
were prevented from seeing the interior of the Dove's Nest. The
exhibitor of such a man would be almost sure of a prize at the great
Exhibition.

At the head of Grassmere Lake, and surrounded by a few cottages, stands
an old gray, antique-looking Parish Church, venerable with the lapse of
centuries, and the walls partly covered with ivy, and in the rear of
which is the parish burial-ground. After leaving the Dove's Nest, and
having a pleasant ride over the hills and between the mountains, and
just as the sun was disappearing behind them, we arrived at the gate of
Grassmere Church; and alighting and following Miss M., we soon found
ourselves standing over a grave, marked by a single stone, and that,
too, very plain, with a name deeply cut. This announced to us that we
were standing over the grave of William Wordsworth. He chose his own
grave, and often visited the spot before his death. He lies in the most
sequestered spot in the whole grounds, and the simplicity and beauty of
the place was enough to make one in love with it, to be laid so far from
the bustle of the world, and in so sweet a place. The more one becomes
acquainted with the literature of the old world, the more he must love
her poets. Among the teachers of men, none are more worthy of study than
the poets; and, as teachers, they should receive far more credit than is
yielded to them. No one can look back upon the lives of Dante,
Shakspere, Milton, Goethe, Cowper, and many others that we might name,
without being reminded of the sacrifices which they made for mankind,
and which were not appreciated until long after their deaths. We need
look no farther than our own country to find men a