But I did listen with much pleasure when Wordsworth recited his own lines descriptive of Little Langdale.

He gave them really exquisitely.

But his manner in conversation was not impressive.
He sat continuously looking down with a green shade over his eyes even though it was twilight; and his mode of speech and delivery suggested to me the epithet "maundering," though I was ashamed of myself for the thought with reference to such a man.

As we came away I cross-examined my mother much as to the subjects of his talk.

She said it had been all about himself and his works, and that she had been interested.