s which I was pointing out. We have only exchanged a few casual
letters since that period, and I have never seen this great and good man
again."

In the Recollections of Wordsworth we find related the affront which led
to Hogg's caricature of Wordsworth's style, an offence which shut out
the Shepherd from the society of the amiable poet of the Lakes.

"This anecdote has been told and told again, but never truly; and was
likewise brought forward in the 'Noctes Ambrosianae,' as a joke; but it
was no joke; and the plain, simple truth of the matter was thus:--

It chanced one night, when I was there, that there was a resplendent
arch across the zenith from the one horizon to the other, of something
like the aurora borealis, but much brighter. It was a scene that is well
remembered, for it struck the country with admiration, as such a
phenomenon had never before been witnessed in such perfection; and, as
far as I could learn, it had been more brilliant over the mountains and
pure waters of Westmoreland than any where else. Well, when word came
into the room of the splendid meteor, we all went out to view it; and,
on the beautiful platform at Mount Ryedale we were all walking, in twos
and threes, arm-in-arm, talking of the phenomenon, and admiring it. Now,
be it remembered, that Wordsworth, Professor Wilson, Lloyd, De Quincey,
and myself, were present, besides several other literary gentlemen,
whose names I am not certain that I remember aright. Miss Wordsworth's
arm was in mine, and she was expressing some fears that the splendid
stranger might prove ominous, when I, by ill luck, blundered out the
following remark, thinking that I was saying a good thing:--'Hout,
me'em! it is neither mair nor less than joost a treeumphal airch, raised
in honour of the meeting of the poets.' 'That's not amiss.--Eh?
Eh?--that's very good,' said the Professor, laughing. But Wordsworth,
who had De Quincey's arm, gave a grunt, and turned on his heel, and
leading the little opium-chewer aside, he addressed him in these
disdainful and venomous words:--'Poets? Poets?--What does the fellow
mean?--Where are they?' Who could forgive this? For my part, I never
can, and never will! I admire Wordsworth; as who does not, whatever they
may pretend? but for that short sentence I have a lingering ill-will at
him which I cannot get rid of. It is surely presumption in any man to
circumscribe all human excellence within the narrow sphere of his own
capacity. T