The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1918-11-30
WORDSWOI&TH'S
 CHARMING HOME.

On cloudy morning we came to Rydal and turned up the road to Wordsworth's home," William T. Pal mer writes in "The English Lakes" At RydaI Mount he produced some ot his most characteristic poetry. short pieces such as Tine Clouds and The Mountain Echo;' at Dove cot tage The Excursion and The Pre- Jude were penned. In Words Worth's day the road in the glen did not send up an almost ceaseless cIat- ter, and seldom did the steam plume by Waterhead pier meet his sight The poet had an aversion to the larch tree, an exotic ten being planted ex- tensively in the dales, and did not care much for steam and the work of the engineer The trees in stiff lines ana squares make hideous the mountain, slopes today; but see them growing in romantic irreGularity, as by Thirl- mere, and you will believe that Wordsworth might have conceded a beauty to the larch. And there ar things more hideous than steam for instance, the petrol motor, Sty- dal Mount is not a museum; it's grounds are kept private. It is a simple daIes dwelling in design round chimneys, lead-glazed windows, gray walls without low-ceiled, raft cred rooms within; it's weu-planned gardens are the only characteristic to mark it from any other abode of the bettermer mak' of yeo1nan folk En- thusiasts often run up from the road to peep over it's shrubs and gate, but most tourists go heedlessly by this re- treat of the aged poet From the garden where the poet composed his verses--- 'bumming and booing to hissel' says one who recollects him clearly: 'bum-bum- -bum-b bum, and al every bum he maid a step forrit mebbe six or sebben steps; then roond he wad whirrel and gang blackburn bum, bum-happen just as many i times. It don't matter to hin whether he wor in his ane garden ol on t fell or on t roo-ad-there is 2 I grand view. Down the glen to tn; i lake, darkling under the masset l clouds ober the woods of Rydal and 2 1 corner of the mere, Loughrigg and ! dimly seen through rolling mists l Crinkle Crags and Bowfen. Would that a gleam of sunshine would kin | dIe the gray and brown and dull re,
 of dale and feTside to silver anc
 russet, crimson and goldl For 1t i
 late September and the glory O
 autumn is about us.
 q have read many interviews
 with the aged Wordsworth. Som
 writers have seen him in idealism others in a matter-of-fact light. 4
 third class, bent on decrying hi
 worth, have conjured up overheatet
 visions of an uncultivated, unman
 nered man, calling to question his ge
 nius, his mode of living, his person
 But some thumble scribe pen
 ned the following. He had no diff
 culty in reaching the Laureate; request at the door of Rydal Noun
 for a short interview was answere
 by the poet himself. He took m
 by the hand in a way that did m
 good There was welcome in hi words and looks as well as in tn shake oe his hand, and in less tha five minutes he was taking me roun
 his fairy dwelling place and point , ing out to me the most striking oh jects of the beautiful and glowin scenes around. He was rather ta and thin, with a countenance some what pale, and more thoughtful tha joyous. Simple and courteous in hi demeanor, and frank in his remark ' he made me feel at ease. He was jus the man that I had imagined him
 be from reading his Excursion The same writer looking into an ivte and oss-grown unused quarry nea
 White Moss, expressed his pleasur : at the sight. Sir was the poet response, all might find these SC
 cluded temples of beauty, but all wi not give themselves the trouble