236

THE EXCURSION AND THE TASK.

the escutcheons, or are painted the armorial bearings, of the high-born ancestry of hall and castle.

Shepherd. Ay, sir, these Books are delichtfu'-divine.

North. I love to hear you say so, my dear James. They are divine.

Tickler. Would that all those exquisite pictures had been by themselves, without the cumbrous machinery of the clumsy plan-if plan it may be called.

North. It is obvious that a parallel might be drawn, though I have no intention now of doing so, between The Excursion and The Task. Wordsworth, if not by nature, certainly by the influences of his life, has far higher enthusiasm of soul than Cowper. He has seen far more of the glories of creation than it was given that other great poet to see; and hence, when he speaks of external nature, his strains are generally of a loftier mood. But Cowper was not ambitious and Wordsworth's chief fault is ambition. The author of The Task loved nature for her own sake-the author of The Excursion loves her chiefly for the sake of the power which she inspires within him—for the sake of the poetry that his gifted spirit flings over all her cliffs, and infuses into all her torrents. It often requires great effort to follow Wordsworth in his hymns-nor can any reader do so who has not enjoyed some of the same privileges in youth that have all his life long been open to that poet-above all, the privileges of freedom from this world's carking cares, enjoyed to the uttermost among the steadfast spectacles, or sudden apparitions of nature. But almost all persons alike, who have ever lived in the country at all, can go along with Cowper. Fields, hedgerows, groves, gardens, all common rural sights and sounds, and those too of all the seasons, are realised in The Task, so easily and naturally, that we see and hear as we read, with minds seldom, perhaps, greatly elevated above the everyday mood, but touched with gentle and purest pleasure, and filled with a thousand delightful memories. Wordsworth's finest strains can be felt or understood only when our imagination is ready to ascend to its highest sphereand to the uninitiated they must be unintelligible, and that is indeed their very highest praise. But the finest things in The Task may be enjoyed at all times, and almost by every cultivated mind. That too is their highest praise. To which of the two kinds of poetry the palm should be given, it would be hard to say; but it is easy to know which of the two must

WORDSWORTH'S PEDLAR.

237

be the more popular. Were it for nothing else than its rural descriptions, The Task would still be a favourite poem with almost all classes of readers. Noble as they are, and, in our opinion, frequently equal, if not superior to anything of the kind in poetry, the rural descriptions of Wordsworth (rural is but a poor word here) can never be sympathised with by the million, for not ten in a thousand are, by constitution or custom, capable to understand their transcendent excellence.

Tickler. There must, I fear, be some wrong-headedness in the poet, who, from the whole range of human life, deliberately selected a pedlar for his highest philosophical character in a philosophical poem.

Shepherd. Dinna abuse pedlars, Mr Tickler. In Scotland they're aye murdered.

Tickler. Mr Jeffrey murdered the pedlar in The Excursion. Shepherd. Na. Mr Wordsworth.

North. No impertinence, gents.

Shepherd. Nae wut without a portion o' impertinence.
North. Therefore I am never witty.

Shepherd. But then, you see, you may be impertinent, as you was the noo, notwithstanding.

North. The first twenty pages of The Excursion enable the reader to know on what grounds, and for what reasons, Mr Wordsworth has chosen, in a moral work of the highest pretensions, to make his chief and most authoritative interlocutor a pedlar. Much small wit has been sported on the subject, about pieces of tape and ribbon, thimbles, penknives, kneebuckles, pin-cushions, and other pedlar-ware; and perhaps such associations, and others, essentially mean or paltry, must, to a certain extent, connect themselves in most, or all minds, with the idea of such a calling. There is neither difficulty nor absurdity, however, in believing that an individual, richly endowed with natural gifts, may be a pedlar-and certainly that mode of life not only furnishes, but offers the best opportunities to a man of a thoughtful and feeling mind, of becoming intimately and thoroughly acquainted with all the ongoings of humble life. Robert Burns was an exciseman. Yet it does not follow from this, that there is wisdom in the choice of such a small retired merchant for the chief spokesman in a series of dialogues, in which one of the greatest poets of England is to take a part. Of many things spoken of in those dialogues, such a pedlar, in virtue of his profession, was an excellent

238

PEDLAR ON THE HEATHEN MYTHOLOGY.

"1

judge; but of many more the knowledge is not only not peculiarly appropriate to a pedlar, but such knowledge as could only, I conceive, have been accumulated and mastered by a man of finished classical education. We fear, therefore, that there is something absurd in his language about Thebes, and "Palmyra central in the desert,' nor less so in the profound attention with which he listens to the "Poet's" still more eloquent, most poetical, and philosophical disquisition on the origin of the heathen mythology. But admitting this, none but the shallowest and weakest minds will allow themselves to be overcome by a word. Blot out the word pedlar from the poem, substitute, as Charles Lamb well remarked, the word palmer, and the poem is then relieved from this puny and futile objection. Let his previous history be unknownhis birth and parentage-and let him be merely said to be a MAN of natural genius, great powers of reflection, a humane spirit, an understanding chiefly cultivated by self-education, though not unenlightened by knowledge of history, and especially of long and intimate experience of the habits, and occupations, and character of the poor, and we have a person before us, entitled to walk and talk even with Mr Wordsworth, and if so, before all the world.

1 "Egyptian Thebes,

Tyre, by the margin of the sounding waves.

Palmyra, central in the desert, fell;

And the Arts died by which they had been raised.”

The Excursion, book 8.

2 "Once more to distant Ages of the world
Let us revert, and place before our thoughts
The face which rural Solitude might wear
To the unenlightened swains of pagan Greece.
-In that fair Clime, the lonely Herdsman, stretched
On the soft grass through half a summer's day,
With music lulled his indolent repose:

And, in some fit of weariness, if he,

When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear
A distant strain, far sweeter than the sounds
Which his poor skill could make, his Fancy fetched
Even from the blazing Chariot of the Sun,
A beardless Youth, who touched a golden lute,
And filled the illumined groves with ravishment.
The nightly Hunter, lifting up his eyes
Towards the crescent Moon, with grateful heart
Called on the lovely wanderer who bestowed
That timely light, to share his joyous sport:

TICKLER TAKES A NAP.

239

Tickler. My dear Shepherd, will you have the goodness to help me to wheel round yonder sofa-bed towards the right flank of the fire?

Shepherd. Surely, sir-but you're no gaun to sleep?

Tickler. Why, James, I waltzed from eleven last night till three this morning

Shepherd. You what?

Tickler. Waltzed, and gallopaded, and mazourka'd.

Shepherd. The man's mad.

[TICKLER lies down on the sofa-bed, and the SHEPHERD covers him cosily with cloaks.

Tickler. Pastor Fido!

Shepherd. I wunner what Procrusty would hae thocht o' you, sir?-Noo, dinna snore nane. Though I snore mysel, I canna thole't in ithers-that's a gude callant-say your prayers-shut your een-and gang to sleep. Hushabyhushaby-hushaby-hushaby! Remember me, sir, to a' your freens in the Land o' Nod-a strange shadowy set, an unaccountable generation-leevin unner laws that hae subsisted sin' the Fa', and enjoyin sic a perfeck system o' misrepresentation, that nae desire hae they o' Parliamentary Reform.

And hence, a beaming Goddess with her Nymphs,
Across the lawn and through the darksome grove
(Not unaccompanied with tuneful notes

By echo multiplied from rock or cave),

Swept in the storm of chase, as Moon and Stars

Glance rapidly along the clouded heaven,

When winds are blowing strong. The Traveller slaked
His thirst from Rill or gushing Fount, and thanked
The Naiad. Sunbeams, upon distant Hills

Gliding apace, with Shadows in their train,

Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed
Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly.

The Zephyrs, fanning, as they passed, their wings,
Lacked not, for love, fair Objects, whom they wooed
With gentle whisper. Withered Boughs grotesque,
Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age,
From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth
In the low vale, or on steep mountain side:
And, sometimes, intermixed with stirring horns
Of the live Deer or Goat's depending beard,—
These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood
Of gamesome Deities; or Pan himself,
The simple Shepherd's awe-inspiring god."

The Excursion, book 4.

240

A SUDDEN IMPULSE-ENTER THE FIVE HUNDRED.

Tickler (indistinctly)—

"A plague on both your houses."

Shepherd. His een's fast glazin-there's a bit snorie-and noo I think that may be safely ca'd sleep. (Starting up)-Mr North, haud ma hauns!

North. Hold your hands! What do you mean, James?

Shepherd. I was seized just then wi' a shudderin impetus to murder Mr Tickler-and had there been a knife on the table, I do devootly believe I would hae nicked his craig.1

North (taking his crutch from its corner). I cannot just exactly say, James, that I altogether like the expression in these eyes of yours at present. Burke indeed is dead-but his accomplices are yet alive

Shepherd. Oh, man! but you're easily frichtened-you're a great cooard

North (cautiously restoring the crutch to its corner, while he still eyes the Shepherd). Well then-well-James.

Shepherd. Wheesht, sir-wheesht. Speak lown, and ring the bell saftly-for eisters, and we'll cheat Tickler out o' the brodd. [Enter the Establishment with the Oyster-boardthe Council of Five Hundred.

North. Now, my dear James, let us suck them up silently -not to disturb Timothy's dreams.

Shepherd. Excessive sappy!

North. Very.

Shepherd. Young though lusty-their beards are no grown yet-ay, here's ane wi' a pair o' whuskers

North. The natural history of the oyster

Shepherd. Oh, sir! but I'm fonder and fonder every day o' the study o' natural history.

North. You have Bewick, I know, James, at your fingerends

Shepherd. Na-you ken nae sic thing. I hae little or nae knowledge at my finger-ends, or my tongue-tip either—it lies a' in my brain and in my heart. When, at times, the ideas come flashing out, my een are filled wi' fire-and when the emotions come flowin up, wi' water; at least in the ae case there's brichtness, and in the ither a haze. Aften the twa unite, like a cloud, veilin, but not hidin, the sun-like radiance on dew, showin it mair translucent ere it melt awa on the spring buds or the simmer flowers-an evanescence o' 1 Craig-throat.