The Collected Writing of Thomas De Quincey, Vol. IIDe Quincey, Thomas
History
The Collected Writing of Thomas De Quincey, Vol. II
De Quincey, Thomas
De Quincey, Thomas, 1785-1859; English literature -- 19th century
whereas the intellect of Wordsworth was, by its original tendency, too
stern, too austere, too much enamoured of an ascetic harsh sublimity,
she it was--the lady who paced by his side continually through sylvan
and mountain tracks, in Highland glens, and in the dim recesses of
German charcoal-burners--that first _couched_ his eye to the sense of
beauty, humanized him by the gentler charities, and engrafted, with
her delicate female touch, those graces upon the ruder growths of
his nature which have since clothed the forest of his genius with a
foliage corresponding in loveliness and beauty to the strength of its
boughs and the massiness of its trunks. The greatest deductions from
Miss Wordsworth's attractions, and from the exceeding interest which
surrounded her in right of her character, of her history, and of the
relation which she fulfilled towards her brother, were the glancing
quickness of her motions, and other circumstances in her deportment
(such as her stooping attitude when walking), which gave an ungraceful,
and even an unsexual character to her appearance when out-of-doors.
She did not cultivate the graces which preside over the person and its
carriage. But, on the other hand, she was a person of very remarkable
endowments intellectually; and, in addition to the other great services
which she rendered to her brother, this I may mention, as greater than
all the rest, and it was one which equally operated to the benefit of
every casual companion in a walk--viz. the exceeding sympathy, always
ready and always profound, by which she made all that one could tell
her, all that one could describe, all that one could quote from a
foreign author, reverberate, as it were, _à plusieurs reprises_, to
one's own feelings, by the manifest impression it made upon _hers_. The
pulses of light are not more quick or more inevitable in their flow
and undulation, than were the answering and echoing movements of her
sympathizing attention. Her knowledge of literature was irregular, and
thoroughly unsystematic. She was content to be ignorant of many things;
but what she knew and had really mastered lay where it could not be
disturbed--in the temple of her own most fervid heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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