“Upon another occasion, while I was at the same house, along with my eldest brother, Richard, we were whipping tops together in the large drawing-room, on which the carpet was only laid down upon particular occasions.--The walls were humg round with family pictures, and I said to my elder brother: ‘Dare you strike your whip through that old lady’s petticoat?’ ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I won’t.’ ‘Then,’ said I, ‘here goes!’--and I struck my lash through her hooped petticoat; for which, no doubt, I was properly punished, although I have forgotten it. But, possibly from some want of judgment in punishments inflicted, I was perverse and obstinate in defying chastisement, and rather proud of it than otherwise.” Perhaps the real truth of Mrs. Wordsworth’s anxiety is, after all, to be found in the fact that she had anticipated an extraordinary career for her son. There does not appear, however, to have been much ground for the supposition that the “evil chance” would prevail; and considering the wise teaching of this dear mother, and the apt though erratic nature of her son, I think there was good reason for a more cheering augury of his fate. Speaking of his mother’s mode of education, in the “Prelude,” he says, that it was founded upon “a virtual faith, that He Who fills the mothers breast with innocent milk, Doth also for our nobler part provide, Under His great correction and control, As innocent instincts, and as innocent food. * * * * * This was her creed, and therefore she was pure From anxious fear of error, or mishap, And evil, overweeningly so called, Was not puffed up by false, unnatural hopes, Nor selfish, with unnecessary care; Nor with impatience for the season asked More than its timely produce; rather loved The hours for what they are, than from regard Glanced on their promises in restless pride. Such was she--not for faculties more strong Than others have, but from the times, perhaps, And spot in which she lived, and thro’ a grace Of modest meekness, simple-mindedness, A heart that found benignity and hope, Being itself benign.” That there are evidences of this healthful and pious faith, this holy and beneficent teaching, in Wordsworth’s writings, every one acquainted with them will admit; and the passage just quoted is more than ordinarily interesting on this account, as an illustration of the force of early training. His mother’s love haunts him in later years, although he is altogether silent about his father, and only speaks of his mother twice in all his poems. The hearth-stone, and its gods, seem to have been too sacred with him for parade. When he appears before the vicar, with a trembling, earnest company of boys about his own age, to say the catechism, at Easter, as the custom was, the mother watches him with beating heart; and here is the second tribute of affection to her beloved memory: