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And, looking o'er the hedge, be-fore me I espied
A snow-white mountain lamb, with a-maiden at its side.
No other sheep was near,--the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was-tether'd to a stone.'
"Now, we have no doubt this is all true: we will believe it, indeed we
will, Mr. W. Is it sympathy for the sheep you wish to excite? I love a
sheep from the bottom of my heart.
"
But there are occasions, dear B-, there are occasions when even
Wordsworth is reasonable. Even Stamboul, it is said, shall have an end,
and the most unlucky blunders must come to a conclusion. Here is an
extract from his preface:-
"'Those who have been accustomed to the phraseology of modem writers, if
they persist in reading this book to a conclusion (impossible!) will,
no doubt, have to struggle with feelings of awkwardness; (ha! ha! ha!)
they will look round for poetry (ha! ha! ha! ha!), and will be induced
to inquire by what species of courtesy these attempts have been
permitted to assume that title.' Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
"Yet, let not Mr. W. despair; he has given immortality to a wagon, and
the bee Sophocles has transmitted to eternity a sore toe, and dignified
a tragedy with a chorus of turkeys.
"
Of Coleridge, I can not speak but with reverence. His towering
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