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finest enjoyments of life. Here am I, older than you are, and I have just walked from Falmouth to the Land's End, and from the Land's End to Barnstaple, with many a goodly zigzag besides, here and there, in Cornwall; and as for a chaise, I should be ashamed to put my foot in one for such a mere stride. To be candid, I won't have anything to do with a chaise, and so I suppose here we must part.”
“ Astounding !” said the great man, for he was evidently given to wonder—" and you've really done that, and are all the better for it. But no; it may do for you, but it would not do for me. I could not think of it!” “Then good-bye,” said I, extending my hand : “I thought we were just going to make a pleasant county acquaintance.” He stood as taken quite aback. Well, I had set my mind on going to Tintern with you, I don't know why--but four miles yet !” “Four fiddlesticks !” I said: “Come along, it will do you good, and we might have been half-way there now." He shook his head; but suddenly he said, “And you really think it will do me good ?” “I do.” “Then here goes," he said ; and on we marched, with a good hearty “Bravo!” on my part.
It was a stout climb to the Wynd Cliff, and my worthy and robust cotton-spinner perspired freely, and wiped his ample brow industriously, and exclaimed, “ This is very severe; but it may do me good.” Anon we stood on that splendid height the summit of the Wynd Cliff: and as my neophyte in peripatetics gazed down on the Wye far below, rushing with the inflowing tide between its lofty rocks, and then glanced on the scenes around, he burst forth with an emphatic "Glorious!”
“ You are right," I said ; “but button up your waistcoat and your coat, for the wind is cool here, and I will read
you from the guide-book all the objects you can see from this spot."
« The extensive prospect commanded from this summit is generally extolled as one of the most beautiful in the island. The objects included are,—the new line of road from Chepstow to Tintern; the Wye winding in its circuitous course between its rocky and wooded banks ; the pretty hamlet of Lancaut, with the perpendicular cliffs of Bannagor, and the whole domain of Piercefield; a little to the left Berkeley Castle and Thornbury Church. On the right successively the castle and town of Chepstow; the majestic Severn, and the confluences of the rivers Wye and Severn; the Old and New Passages; Durdham Down, and Dundry Tower, near Bristol ; the mouth of the Avon and Portishead Point: to the south-west, the Holmes and Penarth Point, near Cardiff : and far away in the north-west the Black Mountains, forming a sublime background to the whole : thus embracing parts of nine counties, namely, Monmouth, Gloucester, Wilts, Somerset, Devon, Glamorgan, Brécon, Hereford, and Worcester. In the words of Mr. Roscoe—' The grouping of the landscape is perfect : I know of no picture more beautiful.
My great friend rested in full enjoyment of this magnificent scene--refted, that made no small part of the charm, for he had found a seat. He would have dwelt on each point, and endeavoured by questions to identify every one of them ; but I reminded him that he might take cold, and we proceeded on our way. But the great difficulty was now passed — the rest of the road was pretty level, and I endeavoured to keep up his attention by pointing out the beauties of the strangely-circling Wye to our right. I told him of the advantages people drew from walking; of the acquaintance it gave them with the people passing the same way, or as you fat awhile with them in their cottages.
“Ay,” said he, eagerly looking round, « that fitting in a cottage must be pleasant;” but there was no cottage visible. And I went on telling him of the many poems Wordsworth wrote from materials picked up in walking, or on the top of coaches-(“I prefer the top of coaches, myself,” said he.)-that Wordsworth at Goodrich Castle thus met with the little girl who gave him the idea of “ We are Seven;" and also walking along the Wye from Builth to Hay, he fell in with “ Peter Bell.” The countenance, gait, and figure of Peter, he tells us, were taken from a wild rover with whom he walked from Builth, and who told him strange stories. I then drew from my pocket the small Paris edition of Wordsworth's Poems. “This book,” I said, “ gave great vexation to Wordsworth ; for when he had not made fifty pounds in his whole life by the fale of his English edition, this pirated one had fold one hundred and twenty thousand copies in Paris. It annoyed him, but it will please us." And I began to read his
LINES WRITTEN ON REVISITING TINTERN.
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire
These beauteous forms,
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
And so I dare to hope,