mind you take the directions off that cask. You know what I mean. It will serve as a blind for them. You know. It was a blind business, both for you, and the coachman, . . . and all of us. Mind you take off the directions. 'A wink's as good as a nod with some folks;'" and then he turned round, looking at his companion with an air of self-satisfaction, and deep insight into unknown things! I could hardly help laughing outright at him. The laburnums blossom freely at the island, and in the shrubberies on the shore; they are blighted everywhere else. Roses of various sorts now out. The brooms were in full glory everywhere, "veins of gold" among the copses. The hawthorns in the valley fading away; beautiful upon the hills. We reached home at three o'clock. After tea William went out and walked and wrote that poem,
The sun has long been set, etc.
He . . . walked on our own path and wrote the lines; he called me into the orchard, and there repeated them to me. . . .
Wednesday, 9th June.— . . . The hawthorns on the mountain sides like orchards in blossom. . . .
Thursday, 10th June.— . . . Coleridge came in with a sack full of books, etc., and a branch of mountain ash. He had been attacked by a cow. He came over by Grisdale. A furious wind. . . .
******
Saturday, 12th June.—A rainy morning. Coleridge set off before dinner. We went with him to the Raise, but it rained, so we went no further. Sheltered under a wall. He would be sadly wet, for a furious shower came on just when we parted. . . .
Sunday, 13th June.—A fine morning. Sunshiny and bright, but with rainy clouds. William . . . has been altering the poem to Mary this morning. . . . I wrote out poems for our journey. . . . Mr. Simpson came when we were in the orchard in the morning, and
