Here, then, thanks to De Quincy, who, for these “Lake Reminiscences” alone, is well worthy of a pension, which, had I been Prime Minister, he should have had long ago; for no living man is more deserving of this distinction for the service he has rendered to our literature:--here, I say, we have portraits of the inmates of the white cottage at Grasmere; and beautiful portraits they are. One could have wished that Dr. Wordsworth had given a little more vitality to his biography of these inmates--that he had used his pallet and brushes a little more freely (for he _can_ paint, if he likes, as the description of Rydal Mount shows); but instead of vitality, we have dry facts--which are the mere bones of biography--and these are often strung together with very indifferent tendons. We have no picture, for example, of the poet’s wedded life at this time--we cannot get _behind_ the scenes; all we know is, that a wedding had taken place, and the good doctor tells us, that the twain were afterwards very happy all the days of their life, just as fairy tales wind up. There seems to be a good deal of needless reserve about this matter; and I, for one, do not thank the greedy poet when he says, touching his private life, that “a stranger intermeddleth not with his joy.” No one wishes to _meddle_ with it; but to _sympathise_ with it, and to know how this joy manifested itself in the little household, appear to be legitimate demands of the curious lovers of Wordsworth, and, indeed of all curious men, whether lovers of Wordsworth or not. But the doctor has nothing to say on these points; and all we can gather respecting them is to be found in the “Prelude,” and one or two other poems. Here is the extract from the “Prelude,” expressing the poet’s feelings as he left the cottage with his sister before his marriage:-- “Fareweil! thou little nook of mountain-ground, Farewell! we leave thee to Heaven’s peaceful care, Thee, and the cottage, which thou dost surround. We go for one to whom ye will be dear; And she will prize this bower, this Indian shed, Our own contrivance--building without peer; A gentle maid.... Will come to you, to you herself will wed, And love the blessed life that we lead here.”