We were entering it together, when observing a very fine bay-tree by the door-side, I unfortunately expressed surprise at its luxuriance in such a position.

"Why should you be surprised ?" he asked, suddenly turning upon me with much displeasure in his manner.

Not a little disconcerted, I hesitatingly answered that I had imagined the bay-tree required more and greater warmth of sunshine than it could find there.

"Pooh!" said he, much offended at the slight cast on his beloved locality, "what has sunshine got to do with it ?" I had not the readiness to reply, that in truth the world had abundance of testimony that the bay could flourish in those latitudes! But I think, had I done so it might have made my peace--for the remainder of that evening's experiences led me to imagine that the great poet was not insensible to incense from very small and humble worshippers.
The evening, I think I may say the entire evening, was occupied by a monologue addressed by the poet to my mother, who was of course extremely well pleased to listen to it.

I was chiefly occupied in talking to my old schoolfellow, Herbert Hill, Southey's nephew, who also passed the evening there, and with whom I had a delightful walk the next day.