We ought to have seen De Quincey's former residence and Hartley
Coleridge's cottage, I believe, on our way, but were not aware of it at
the time. Near the lake there is a stone-quarry, and a cavern of some
extent, artificially formed, probably by taking out the stone. Above the
shore of the lake, not a great way from Wordsworth's residence, there is
a flight of steps hewn in a rock and ascending to a rock seat where a
good view of the lake may be attained; and, as Wordsworth has doubtless
sat there hundreds of times, so did we ascend and sit down, and look at
the hills and at the flags on the lake's shore.
Reaching the house that had been pointed out to us as Wordsworth's
residence, we began to peer about at its front and gables, and over the
garden wall, on both sides of the road, quickening our enthusiasm as much
as we could, and meditating to pilfer some flower or ivy-leaf from the
house or its vicinity, to be kept as sacred memorials. At this juncture
a man approached, who announced himself as the gardener of the place, and
said, too, that this was not Wordsworth's house at all, but the residence
of Mr. Ball, a Quaker gentleman; but that his ground adjoined
Wordsworth's, and that he had liberty to take visitors through the
latter. How absurd it would have been if we had carried away ivy-leaves
and tender recollections from this domicile of a respectable Quaker! The
gardener was an intelligent man, of pleasant, sociable, and respectful
address; and as we went along he talked about the poet, whom he had
known, and who, he said, was very familiar with the country people.
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