his lion? Wordsworth's answer came to this: first, that he did not prevent them, for the Lakes were already within easy reach of all; secondly, that the public had not been educated up to enjoying the Lakes and mountains. A Manchester man had told him that a beautiful detached rock near his house was 'a hugly lump.' People should not rush into his solitude and spoil it, and then talk about ugly lumps. He thought that the people should take walks in the fields, near their homes, where they could study botany and be out of the way. It was impossible that they could appreciate Grasmere, and their appearance annoyed and disturbed the poetic few, the county families, and the faithful peasantry. This view of Wordsworth's, which admits of being stated in a rather cynical way, is not one that could be seriously put forward any longer. We are bound to believe that every one appreciates mountain glories, that he would not be found among them if he did not like them, and that, at all events, he will never learn to appreciate them while he potters about a field in the rural neighbourhood of Birmingham. Moreover, fields near large towns are rather less easy to get at than Ambleside itself. If there are two voices—one of the sea, and the other of the mountains—as Wordsworth tells us, and if these voices have so many noble and moral remarks to make, as he implies, every one has a right to hear them, and a right to be
