What do you think of one person having opened a battery of nineteen fourteen-pounders upon me, _i.e._ nineteen sonnets, in which he gives himself credit for having blown me and my system to atoms?
Another sonneteer has had a solitary shot at me from Ireland.
Ever faithfully yours, W.WORDSWORTH.[8] [8] _Memoirs_, ii.pp.

386-7.
* * * * * XX.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
459.

_Epistle to Sir G.H.Beaumont, Bart_.[1.] From the South-west Coast of Cumberland,--1811.

This poem opened, when first written, with a paragraph that has been transferred as an introduction to the first series of my 'Scotch Memorials.' The journey, of which the first part is here described, was from Grasmere to Bootle, on the south-west coast of Cumberland, the whole along mountain-roads, through a beautiful country, and we had fine weather.