Part 2 (2/2)

Poor fellow at a distance--idle? in this hay-time when wages are so high? [We] come near [and] then [see that he is] pale, can scarce speak or throw out his fis.h.i.+ng rod.

[This incident is fully described by Wordsworth in the last of the four poems on ”Naming of Places.”

--_Poetical Works of W. Wordsworth_, 1889, p. 144.]

[Sidenote: September 1, [1800]]

The beards of thistle and dandelions flying about the lonely mountains like life--and I saw them through the trees skimming the lake like swallows.

[”And, in our vacant mood, Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard, That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake, Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand!

And starting off again with freak as sudden; In all its sportive wanderings, all the while, Making report of an invisible breeze That was its wings, its chariot and its horse, Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul.”

_Ibid._ p. 143.]

Luther--a hero, fettered, indeed, with prejudices--but with those very fetters he would knock out the brains of a modern _Fort Esprit_.

_Comment._ Frightening by his prejudices, as a spirit does by clanking his chains.

Not only words, as far as relates to speaking, but the knowledge of words as distinct component parts, which we learn by learning to read--what an immense effect it must have on our reasoning faculties!

Logical in opposition to real.

[Sidenote: 1797-1801]

Children, in making new words, always do it a.n.a.logously. Explain this.

Hot-headed men confuse, your cool-headed gentry jumble. The man of warm feelings only produces order and true connection. In what a jumble M.

and H. write, every third paragraph beginning with ”Let us now return,”

or ”We come now to the consideration of such a thing”--that is, what _I said_ I _would_ come to in the contents prefixed to the chapter.

[Sidenote: Dec. 19, 1800]

The thin scattered rain-clouds were scudding along the sky; above them, with a visible inters.p.a.ce, the crescent moon hung, and partook not of the motion; her own hazy light filled up the concave, as if it had been painted and the colours had run.

”He to whom all things are one, who draweth all things to one, and seeth all things in one, may enjoy true peace of mind and rest of spirit.”--JEREMY TAYLOR'S _Via Pacis_.

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