Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
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Title: Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Author: Dorothy Wordsworth
Editor: William Angus Knight
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOURNALS OF DOROTHY WORDSWORTH, VOL. 1 (OF 2) ***
JOURNALS
OF
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
VOL. I
[Illustration: _Dorothy Wordsworth_]
JOURNALS
OF
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
EDITED BY
WILLIAM KNIGHT
VOL. I
[Illustration: Rock of Names. Thirlmere.]
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
1897
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFATORY NOTE vii
I. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT ALFOXDEN
(FROM 20TH JANUARY TO 22ND MAY 1798) 1
II. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF DAYS SPENT AT
HAMBURGH IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1798 19
III. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT
GRASMERE (14TH MAY TO 21ST DECEMBER 1800) 29
IV. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT
GRASMERE (FROM 10TH OCTOBER 1801 TO 29TH
DECEMBER 1801) 61
V. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT
GRASMERE (FROM 1ST JANUARY 1802 TO 8TH JULY
1802) 77
VI. DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT
GRASMERE (9TH JULY 1802 TO 11TH JANUARY 1803) 139
VII. RECOLLECTIONS OF A TOUR MADE IN SCOTLAND
(A.D. 1803) 159
PREFATORY NOTE
The Journals written by Dorothy Wordsworth, and her reminiscences of
Tours made with her brother, are more interesting to posterity than her
letters.
A few fragments from her Grasmere Journal were included by the late
Bishop of Lincoln in the _Memoirs_ of his uncle, published in 1850. The
_Recollections of a Tour made in Scotland_ in 1803, were edited in full
by the late Principal Shairp in the year 1874 (third edition 1894). In
1889, I included in my _Life of William Wordsworth_ most of the Journal
written at Alfoxden, much of that referring to Hamburg, and the greater
part of the longer Grasmere Journal. Some extracts from the Journal of a
Tour on the Continent made in 1820 (and of a similar one written by Mrs.
Wordsworth), as well as short records of subsequent visits to Scotland
and to the Isle of Man, were printed in the same volume. None of these,
however, were given in their entirety; nor is it desirable now to print
them _in extenso_, except in the case of the _Recollections of a Tour
made in Scotland_ in 1803. All the Journals contain numerous trivial
details, which bear ample witness to the "plain living and high
thinking" of the Wordsworth household--and, in this edition, samples of
these details are given--but there is no need to record all the cases in
which the sister wrote, "To-day I mended William's shirts," or "William
gathered sticks," or "I went in search of eggs," etc. etc. In all cases,
however, in which a sentence or paragraph, or several sentences and
paragraphs, in the Journals are left out, the omission is indicated by
means of asterisks. Nothing is omitted of any literary or biographical
value. Some persons may think that too much has been recorded, others
that everything should have been printed. As to this, posterity must
judge. I think that many, in future years, will value these Journals,
not only as a record of the relations existing between Wordsworth and
his sister, his wife, her family and his friends, but also as an
illustration of the remarkable literary brotherhood and sisterhood of
the period.
Coming now to details.
I
I do not know of any Journal written at Racedown, and I do not think
that Dorothy kept one while she and her brother lived in Dorsetshire. In
July 1797 they took up their residence at Alfoxden; but, so far as is
known, it was not till the 20th of January 1798 that Dorothy began to
write a Journal of her own and her brother's life at that place. It was
continued uninterruptedly till Thursday, 22nd May 1798. It gives
numerous details as to the visits of Coleridge to Alfoxden, and the
Wordsworths' visits to him at Nether-Stowey, as well as of the
circumstances under which several of their poems were composed. Many
sentences in the Journal present a curious resemblance to words and
phrases which occur in the poems; and there is no doubt that, as brother
and sister made use of the same note-book--some of Wordsworth's own
verses having been written by him in his sister's journal--the
copartnery may have extended to more than the common use of the same MS.
The archaic spellings which occur in this Journal are retained; but
inaccuracies--such as Bartelmy for Bartholemew, Crewkshank for
Cruikshank--are corrected. In the edition of 1889 the words were printed
as written in MS.; but it is one thing to reproduce the _bona fide_ text
of a journal, or the _ipsissima verba_ of a poet, and quite another to
reproduce the incorrect spellings of his sister.
II
From the Journal of the days spent at Hamburg in 1798--when the
Wordsworths were on their way to Goslar, and Coleridge to
Ratzeburg--only a few extracts are given, dating from 14th September to
3rd October of that year. These explain themselves.
III-VI
Of the Grasmere Journals much more is given, and a great deal that was
omitted from the first volume of the _Life of Wordsworth_ in 1889, is
now printed. To many readers this will be by far the most interesting
section of all Dorothy Wordsworth's writings. It not only contains
exquisite descriptions of Grasmere and its district--a most felicitous
record of the changes of the seasons and the progress of the year,
details as to flower and tree, bird and beast, mountain and lake--but it
casts a flood of light on the circumstances under which her brother's
poems were composed. It also discloses much as to the doings of the
Wordsworth household, of the visits of Coleridge and others, while it
vividly illustrates the peasant life of Westmoreland at the beginning of
this century. What I have seen of this Journal extends from 14th May to
21st December 1800, and from 10th October 1801 to 16th January 1803. It
is here printed in four sections.
VII
When the late Principal Shairp edited the _Recollections of a Tour made
in Scotland_ in 1803, he inserted an elaborate and valuable
introduction, with a few explanatory and topographical notes. With the
consent of Mrs. Shairp, and of the Principal's son, Sheriff J. C.
Shairp, many of them are now reproduced, with the initials J. C. S.
appended. As some notes were needed at these places, and I could only
have slightly varied the statements of fact, it seemed better for the
reader, and more respectful to the memory of such a Wordsworthian as the
late Principal was, to record them as his. I cordially thank Mrs.
Shairp, and her son, for their kindness in this matter. It should be
added that Dorothy Wordsworth's archaic spelling of many of the names of
places, such as--Lanerk, Ulswater, Strath Eyer, Loch Ketterine,
Inversneyde, etc., are retained.
These Recollections of the Tour made in Scotland were not all written
down at the time during the journey. Many of them were "afterthoughts."
The Alfoxden and Grasmere Journals were "diaries," in the sense
that--except when the contrary is stated--they were written down day by
day; but certain portions of the Scottish Journal suggest either that
they were entirely written after the return to Grasmere, or were then
considerably expanded. I have not seen the original MS. Dorothy
transcribed it in full for her friend Mrs. Clarkson, commencing the work
in 1803, and finishing it on 31st May 1805 (see vol. ii. p. 78). This
transcript I have seen. It is the only one now traceable.
It should be mentioned that Dorothy Wordsworth was often quite incorrect
in her dates, both as to the day of the week and the month. Minute
accuracy on these points did not count for much at that time; and very
often a mistake in the date of one entry in her Journal brought with it
a long series of future errors. The same remark applies to the Grasmere
Journal, and to the record of the Continental Tour of 1820.
Many friends and students of Wordsworth regretted the long delay in the
publication of the Tour made in Scotland in 1803. In the _Recollections
of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers_ (1856), p. 208, we find the
following: "I do indeed regret that Wordsworth has printed only
fragments of his sister's journal; it is most excellent, and ought to
have been published entire." It will always hold a place of honour in
itinerary literature. It possesses a singular charm, and has abiding
interest, not only as a record of travel, but also as a mirror of
Scottish life and character nearly a hundred years ago.
VIII
The Journal of a Mountain Ramble, by William and Dorothy Wordsworth in
November 1805, calls for no special remark. The ramble was from Grasmere
by Rydal and Kirkstone Pass to Patterdale and Ullswater, thence to the
top of Place Fell, at the foot of which Wordsworth thought of
buying--and did afterwards buy--a small property near the Lake, thence
to Yanworth, returning to Grasmere by Kirkstone again. The story of this
"ramble," written by Dorothy, was afterwards incorporated in part by
William Wordsworth in his prose _Description of the Scenery of the
Lakes_--another curious instance of their literary copartnery.
IX
In 1820 the poet, his wife, and sister, along with Mr. and Mrs.
Monkhouse, and Miss Horrocks (a sister of Mrs. Monkhouse), spent more
than three months on the Continent. They left Lambeth on the 10th of
July, and returned to London in November. Starting from Dover on 11th
July, they went by Brussels to Cologne, up the Rhine to Switzerland,
were joined by Henry Crabb Robinson at Lucerne, crossed over to the
Italian Lakes, visited Milan, came back to Switzerland, and passed
through France to Paris, where they spent a month. Dorothy Wordsworth
wrote a minute and very careful Journal of this tour, taking notes at
the time, and extending them on her return to Westmoreland. Mrs.
Wordsworth kept a shorter record of the same journey. Crabb Robinson
also wrote a diary of it. Wordsworth recorded and idealised his tour in
a series of poems, named by him "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent,
1820," very few of which were written on the spot; and when, in the
after-leisure of Rydal Mount, he set to work upon them, it is evident
that he consulted, and made frequent use of, the two family Journals,
particularly the one written by his sister. In a letter to Mrs. Clarkson
from Coblentz, dated 22nd July, Dorothy said: "Journals we shall have in
abundance; for all, except my brother and Mrs. Monkhouse, keep a
journal. Mine is nothing but notes, unintelligible to any one but
myself. I look forward, however, to many a pleasant hour's employment at
Rydal Mount in filling up the chasms."
The originals of these two Journals still exist, and it is hard to say
whether the jottings taken at the time by the wife, or the extended
Journal afterwards written by the sister, is the more admirable, both as
a record of travel and as a commentary on the poet's work. Dorothy's MS.
is nearly as long as her Recollections of the Scottish Tour of 1803.
Extracts from both Journals were published in the library edition of the
Poems in 1884, and in the _Life of William Wordsworth_ in 1889; but
these were limited to passages illustrative of the Poems.
It is not expedient to print either Journal in full. There are,
however, so many passages of interest and beauty in each--presenting a
vivid picture of the towns and countries through which the Wordsworths
passed, and of the style of continental travelling in those days--that
it seems desirable to insert more numerous extracts from them than those
which have been already printed. They will be found to illustrate much
of the state of things in Germany, Switzerland, Italy and France in the
first quarter of the present century; while they afford an interesting
contrast to that which meets the eye of the traveller, and ministers to
his wants, at the present day. In the 80 pages extracted from Dorothy's
Journal alone, it is such passages that have, in the main, been
selected.
In October 1821, Mr. Robinson was a visitor at Rydal Mount; and after
reading over the Journals of Mrs. and Dorothy Wordsworth, he wrote thus
in his _Diary_:--
"_2nd Oct. '21._--I read to-day part of Miss, and also Mrs. W.'s
Journal in Switzerland. They put mine to shame.[1] They had adopted
a plan of journalising which could not fail to render the account
amusing and informing. Mrs. W., in particular, frequently
described, as in a panorama, the objects around her; and these were
written on the spot: and I recollect her often sitting on the
grass, not aware of what kind of employment she had. Now it is
evident that a succession of such pictures must represent the face
of the country. Their Journals were alike abundant in observation
(in which the writers showed an enviable faculty), and were sparing
of reflections, which ought rather to be excited by than obtruded
in a book of travels. I think I shall profit on some future
occasion by the hint I have taken."
[Footnote 1: Perhaps the most interesting entry in Henry Crabb
Robinson's Journal of the tour is the following: "_26th June
1820._--I made some cheap purchases: if anything _not wanted_
can be cheap."]
Again, in November 1823, Robinson wrote:--
"Finished Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal. I do not know when I have felt
more humble than in reading it. It is so superior to my own. She
saw so much more than I did, though we were side by side during a
great part of the time."
Robinson advised Dorothy Wordsworth to publish her Journal of this
Continental Tour, and she replied to him, 23rd May 1824:--
"... Your advice respecting my Continental Journal is, I am sure,
very good, provided it were worth while to make a book of it,
_i.e._ provided I _could_ do so, and provided it were my wish; but
it is not. 'Far better,' I say, 'make another tour, and write the
Journal on a different plan!' In recopying it, I should, as you
advise, omit considerable portions of the description.... But,
observe, my object is not to make a book, but to leave to my niece
a neatly-penned memorial of those few interesting months of our
lives...."
X
In 1822, Dorothy Wordsworth went with Joanna Hutchinson to Scotland, for
change of air and scene. She wrote of this journey:--
"I had for years promised Joanna to go with her to Edinburgh--that
was her object; but we planned a little tour, up the Forth to
Stirling, thence by track-boat to Glasgow; from Dumbarton to Rob
Roy's cave by steam; stopping at Tarbet; thence in a cart to
Inverary; back again to Glasgow, down Loch Fyne, and up the Clyde;
thence on the coach to Lanark; and from Lanark to Moffat in a cart.
There we stopped two days, my companion being an invalid; and she
fancied the waters might cure her, but a bathing-place which nobody
frequents is never in order; and we were glad to leave Moffat,
crossing the wild country again in a cart, to the banks of the
river Esk. We returned to Edinburgh for the sake of warm baths. We
were three weeks in lodgings at Edinburgh. Joanna had much of that
sort of pleasure which one has in first seeing a foreign country;
and in our travels, whether on the outside of a coach, on the deck
of a steamboat, or in whatever way we got forward, she was always
cheerful, never complaining of bad fare, bad inns, or anything
else...."
It was a short excursion, but was memorialised in the usual way by
Dorothy's ever ready pen.
XI
In the following year, 1823, Wordsworth and his wife left Lee Priory,
"for a little tour in Flanders and Holland," as he phrased it in a
letter to John Kenyon. He wrote 16th May:--
"We shall go to Dover, with a view to embark for Ostend to-morrow,
unless detained by similar obstacles. From Ostend we mean to go to
Ghent, to Antwerp, Breda, Utrecht, Amsterdam--to Rotterdam by
Haarlem, the Hague, and Leyden--thence to Antwerp by another route,
and perhaps shall return by Mechlin, Brussels, Lille, and Ypres to
Calais--or direct to Ostend as we came. We hope to be landed in
England within a month. We shall hurry through London homewards,
where we are naturally anxious already to be, having left Rydal
Mount so far back as February...."
The extracts taken from Mary Wordsworth's Journal show how far they
conformed to, and how far they departed from, their original plan of
travel. In them will be found the same directness and simplicity, the
same vividness of touch, as are seen in her Journal of the longer tour
taken in 1820.
XII
In 1828, Dorothy Wordsworth went to the Isle of Man, accompanied by
Mrs. Wordsworth's sister Joanna, to visit her brother Henry Hutchinson.
This was a visit, earlier by five years than that which the poet took
with his sister to the Isle of Man, before proceeding to Scotland, a
tour which gave rise to so many sonnets. Of the later tour she kept no
Journal, but of the earlier one some records survive, from which a few
extracts have been made.
In conclusion, I must mention the special kindness of the late Mrs.
Wordsworth, the daughter-in-law of the poet, and of Mr. Gordon
Wordsworth his grandson, in granting free access to all the Journals and
MSS. they possessed, and now possess. Without their aid the publication
of these volumes would have been impossible.
WILLIAM KNIGHT.
I
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL
WRITTEN AT ALFOXDEN
FROM 20TH JANUARY TO 22ND MAY 1798
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT ALFOXDEN IN 1798[2]
[Footnote 2: In the original MS. there is no title. The above is a
descriptive one, given by the editor.--ED.]
Alfoxden, _January 20th 1798_.--The green paths down the hill-sides are
channels for streams. The young wheat is streaked by silver lines of
water running between the ridges, the sheep are gathered together on the
slopes. After the wet dark days, the country seems more populous. It
peoples itself in the sunbeams. The garden, mimic of spring, is gay with
flowers. The purple-starred hepatica spreads itself in the sun, and the
clustering snow-drops put forth their white heads, at first upright,
ribbed with green, and like a rosebud when completely opened, hanging
their heads downwards, but slowly lengthening their slender stems. The
slanting woods of an unvarying brown, showing the light through the thin
net-work of their upper boughs. Upon the highest ridge of that round
hill covered with planted oaks, the shafts of the trees show in the
light like the columns of a ruin.
_21st._ Walked on the hill-tops--a warm day. Sate under the firs in the
park. The tops of the beeches of a brown-red, or crimson. Those oaks,
fanned by the sea breeze, thick with feathery sea-green moss, as a grove
not stripped of its leaves. Moss cups more proper than acorns for fairy
goblets.
_22nd._--Walked through the wood to Holford. The ivy twisting round the
oaks like bristled serpents. The day cold--a warm shelter in the
hollies, capriciously bearing berries. Query: Are the male and female
flowers on separate trees?
_23rd._--Bright sunshine, went out at 3 o'clock. The sea perfectly calm
blue, streaked with deeper colour by the clouds, and tongues or points
of sand; on our return of a gloomy red. The sun gone down. The crescent
moon, Jupiter, and Venus. The sound of the sea distinctly heard on the
tops of the hills, which we could never hear in summer. We attribute
this partly to the bareness of the trees, but chiefly to the absence of
the singing of birds, the hum of insects, that noiseless noise which
lives in the summer air.[3] The villages marked out by beautiful beds of
smoke. The turf fading into the mountain road. The scarlet flowers of
the moss.
[Footnote 3: Compare Keats, _Miscellaneous Poems_--
There crept
A little noiseless noise amongst the leaves
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves. ED.
And Coleridge, _The Æolian Harp_--
The stilly murmur of the distant sea
Tells us of silence. ED.]
_24th._--Walked between half-past three and half-past five. The evening
cold and clear. The sea of a sober grey, streaked by the deeper grey
clouds. The half dead sound of the near sheep-bell, in the hollow of the
sloping coombe, exquisitely soothing.
_25th._--Went to Poole's after tea. The sky spread over with one
continuous cloud, whitened by the light of the moon, which, though her
dim shape was seen, did not throw forth so strong a light as to chequer
the earth with shadows. At once the clouds seemed to cleave asunder, and
left her in the centre of a black-blue vault. She sailed along, followed
by multitudes of stars, small, and bright, and sharp. Their brightness
seemed concentrated, (half-moon).
_26th._--Walked upon the hill-tops; followed the sheep tracks till we
overlooked the larger coombe. Sat in the sunshine. The distant
sheep-bells, the sound of the stream; the woodman winding along the
half-marked road with his laden pony; locks of wool still spangled with
the dewdrops; the blue-grey sea, shaded with immense masses of cloud,
not streaked; the sheep glittering in the sunshine. Returned through the
wood. The trees skirting the wood, being exposed more directly to the
action of the sea breeze, stripped of the net-work of their upper
boughs, which are stiff and erect, like black skeletons; the ground
strewed with the red berries of the holly. Set forward before two
o'clock. Returned a little after four.
_27th._--Walked from seven o'clock till half-past eight. Upon the whole
an uninteresting evening. Only once while we were in the wood the moon
burst through the invisible veil which enveloped her, the shadows of the
oaks blackened, and their lines became more strongly marked. The
withered leaves were coloured with a deeper yellow, a brighter gloss
spotted the hollies; again her form became dimmer; the sky flat,
unmarked by distances, a white thin cloud. The manufacturer's dog makes
a strange, uncouth howl, which it continues many minutes after there is
no noise near it but that of the brook. It howls at the murmur of the
village stream.
_28th._--Walked only to the mill.
_29th._--A very stormy day. William walked to the top of the hill to see
the sea. Nothing distinguishable but a heavy blackness. An immense bough
riven from one of the fir trees.
_30th._--William called me into the garden to observe a singular
appearance about the moon. A perfect rainbow, within the bow one star,
only of colours more vivid. The semi-circle soon became a complete
circle, and in the course of three or four minutes the whole faded away.
Walked to the blacksmith's and the baker's; an uninteresting evening.
_31st._--Set forward to Stowey at half-past five. A violent storm in
the wood; sheltered under the hollies. When we left home the moon
immensely large, the sky scattered over with clouds. These soon closed
in, contracting the dimensions of the moon without concealing her. The
sound of the pattering shower, and the gusts of wind, very grand. Left
the wood when nothing remained of the storm but the driving wind, and a
few scattering drops of rain. Presently all clear, Venus first showing
herself between the struggling clouds; afterwards Jupiter appeared. The
hawthorn hedges, black and pointed, glittering with millions of diamond
drops; the hollies shining with broader patches of light. The road to
the village of Holford glittered like another stream. On our return, the
wind high--a violent storm of hail and rain at the Castle of Comfort.
All the Heavens seemed in one perpetual motion when the rain ceased; the
moon appearing, now half veiled, and now retired behind heavy clouds,
the stars still moving, the roads very dirty.
_February 1st._--About two hours before dinner, set forward towards Mr.
Bartholemew's.[4] The wind blew so keen in our faces that we felt
ourselves inclined to seek the covert of the wood. There we had a warm
shelter, gathered a burthen of large rotten boughs blown down by the
wind of the preceding night. The sun shone clear, but all at once a
heavy blackness hung over the sea. The trees almost _roared_, and the
ground seemed in motion with the multitudes of dancing leaves, which
made a rustling sound, distinct from that of the trees. Still the asses
pastured in quietness under the hollies, undisturbed by these
forerunners of the storm. The wind beat furiously against us as we
returned. Full moon. She rose in uncommon majesty over the sea, slowly
ascending through the clouds. Sat with the window open an hour in the
moonlight.
[Footnote 4: Mr. Bartholemew rented Alfoxden, and sub-let the house to
Wordsworth.--ED.]
_2nd._--Walked through the wood, and on to the Downs before dinner; a
warm pleasant air. The sun shone, but was often obscured by straggling
clouds. The redbreasts made a ceaseless song in the woods. The wind rose
very high in the evening. The room smoked so that we were obliged to
quit it. Young lambs in a green pasture in the Coombe, thick legs, large
heads, black staring eyes.
_3rd._--A mild morning, the windows open at breakfast, the redbreasts
singing in the garden. Walked with Coleridge over the hills. The sea at
first obscured by vapour; that vapour afterwards slid in one mighty mass
along the sea-shore; the islands and one point of land clear beyond it.
The distant country (which was purple in the clear dull air), overhung
by straggling clouds that sailed over it, appeared like the darker
clouds, which are often seen at a great distance apparently motionless,
while the nearer ones pass quickly over them, driven by the lower winds.
I never saw such a union of earth, sky, and sea. The clouds beneath our
feet spread themselves to the water, and the clouds of the sky almost
joined them. Gathered sticks in the wood; a perfect stillness. The
redbreasts sang upon the leafless boughs. Of a great number of sheep in
the field, only one standing. Returned to dinner at five o'clock. The
moonlight still and warm as a summer's night at nine o'clock.
_4th._--Walked a great part of the way to Stowey with Coleridge. The
morning warm and sunny. The young lasses seen on the hill-tops, in the
villages and roads, in their summer holiday clothes--pink petticoats and
blue. Mothers with their children in arms, and the little ones that
could just walk, tottering by their side. Midges or small flies spinning
in the sunshine; the songs of the lark and redbreast; daisies upon the
turf; the hazels in blossom; honeysuckles budding. I saw one solitary
strawberry flower under a hedge. The furze gay with blossom. The moss
rubbed from the pailings by the sheep, that leave locks of wool, and the
red marks with which they are spotted, upon the wood.
_5th._--Walked to Stowey with Coleridge, returned by Woodlands; a very
warm day. In the continued singing of birds distinguished the notes of a
blackbird or thrush. The sea overshadowed by a thick dark mist, the land
in sunshine. The sheltered oaks and beeches still retaining their brown
leaves. Observed some trees putting out red shoots. Query: What trees
are they?
_6th._--Walked to Stowey over the hills, returned to tea, a cold and
clear evening, the roads in some parts frozen hard. The sea hid by mist
all the day.
_7th._--Turned towards Potsdam, but finding the way dirty, changed our
course. Cottage gardens the object of our walk. Went up the smaller
Coombe to Woodlands, to the blacksmith's, the baker's, and through the
village of Holford. Still misty over the sea. The air very delightful.
We saw nothing very new, or interesting.
_8th._--Went up the Park, and over the tops of the hills, till we came
to a new and very delicious pathway, which conducted us to the Coombe.
Sat a considerable time upon the heath. Its surface restless and
glittering with the motion of the scattered piles of withered grass, and
the waving of the spiders' threads. On our return the mist still hanging
over the sea, but the opposite coast clear, and the rocky cliffs
distinguishable. In the deep Coombe, as we stood upon the sunless hill,
we saw miles of grass, light and glittering, and the insects passing.
_9th._--William gathered sticks....
_10th._--Walked to Woodlands, and to the waterfall. The adder's-tongue
and the ferns green in the low damp dell. These plants now in perpetual
motion from the current of the air; in summer only moved by the
drippings of the rocks. A cloudy day.
_11th._--Walked with Coleridge near to Stowey. The day pleasant, but
cloudy.
_12th._--Walked alone to Stowey. Returned in the evening with Coleridge.
A mild, pleasant, cloudy day.
_13th._--Walked with Coleridge through the wood. A mild and pleasant
morning, the near prospect clear. The ridges of the hills fringed with
wood, showing the sea through them like the white sky, and still beyond
the dim horizon of the distant hills, hanging as it were in one
undetermined line between sea and sky.
_14th._--Gathered sticks with William in the wood, he being unwell and
not able to go further. The young birch trees of a bright red, through
which gleams a shade of purple. Sat down in a thick part of the wood.
The near trees still, even to their topmost boughs, but a perpetual
motion in those that skirt the wood. The breeze rose gently; its path
distinctly marked, till it came to the very spot where we were.
_15th._--Gathered sticks in the further wood. The dell green with moss
and brambles, and the tall and slender pillars of the unbranching oaks.
I crossed the water with letters; returned to Wm. and Basil. A shower
met us in the wood, and a ruffling breeze.
_16th._--Went for eggs into the Coombe, and to the baker's; a hail
shower; brought home large burthens of sticks, a starlight evening, the
sky closed in, and the ground white with snow before we went to bed.
_17th._--A deep snow upon the ground. Wm. and Coleridge walked to Mr.
Bartholemew's, and to Stowey. Wm. returned, and we walked through the
wood into the Coombe to fetch some eggs. The sun shone bright and clear.
A deep stillness in the thickest part of the wood, undisturbed except by
the occasional dropping of the snow from the holly boughs; no other
sound but that of the water, and the slender notes of a redbreast, which
sang at intervals on the outskirts of the southern side of the wood.
There the bright green moss was bare at the roots of the trees, and the
little birds were upon it. The whole appearance of the wood was
enchanting; and each tree, taken singly, was beautiful. The branches of
the hollies pendent with their white burden, but still showing their
bright red berries, and their glossy green leaves. The bare branches of
the oaks thickened by the snow.
_18th._--Walked after dinner beyond Woodlands.[5] A sharp and very cold
evening; first observed the crescent moon, a silvery line, a thready
bow, attended by Jupiter and Venus in their palest hues.
[Footnote 5: This house was afterwards John Kenyon's,--to whom
_Aurora Leigh_ is dedicated,--and was subsequently the residence
of the Rev. William Nichols, author of _The Quantocks and their
Associations_.--ED.]
_19th._--I walked to Stowey before dinner; Wm. unable to go all the way.
Returned alone; a fine sunny, clear, frosty day. The sea still, and
blue, and broad, and smooth.
_20th._--Walked after dinner towards Woodlands.
_21st._--Coleridge came in the morning, which prevented our walking. Wm.
went through the wood with him towards Stowey; a very stormy night.
_22nd._--Coleridge came in the morning to dinner. Wm. and I walked after
dinner to Woodlands; the moon and two planets; sharp and frosty. Met a
razor-grinder with a soldier's jacket on, a knapsack upon his back, and
a boy to drag his wheel. The sea very black, and making a loud noise as
we came through the wood, loud as if disturbed, and the wind was silent.
_23rd._--William walked with Coleridge in the morning. I did not go out.
_24th._--Went to the hill-top. Sat a considerable time overlooking the
country towards the sea. The air blew pleasantly round us. The landscape
mildly interesting. The Welsh hills capped by a huge range of tumultuous
white clouds. The sea, spotted with white, of a bluish grey in general,
and streaked with darker lines. The near shores clear; scattered farm
houses, half-concealed by green mossy orchards, fresh straw lying at the
doors; hay-stacks in the fields. Brown fallows, the springing wheat,
like a shade of green over the brown earth, and the choice meadow plots,
full of sheep and lambs, of a soft and vivid green; a few wreaths of
blue smoke, spreading along the ground; the oaks and beeches in the
hedges retaining their yellow leaves; the distant prospect on the land
side, islanded with sunshine; the sea, like a basin full to the margin;
the dark fresh-ploughed fields; the turnips of a lively rough green.
Returned through the wood.
_25th._--I lay down in the morning, though the whole day was very
pleasant, and the evening fine. We did not walk.
_26th._--Coleridge came in the morning, and Mr. and Mrs. Cruikshank[6];
walked with Coleridge nearly to Stowey after dinner. A very clear
afternoon. We lay sidelong upon the turf, and gazed on the landscape
till it melted into more than natural loveliness. The sea very uniform,
of a pale greyish blue, only one distant bay, bright and blue as a sky;
had there been a vessel sailing up it, a perfect image of delight.
Walked to the top of a high hill to see a fortification. Again sat down
to feed upon the prospect; a magnificent scene, _curiously_ spread out
for even minute inspection, though so extensive that the mind is afraid
to calculate its bounds. A winter prospect shows every cottage, every
farm, and the forms of distant trees, such as in summer have no
distinguishing mark. On our return, Jupiter and Venus before us. While
the twilight still overpowered the light of the moon, we were reminded
that she was shining bright above our heads, by our faint shadows going
before us. We had seen her on the tops of the hills, melting into the
blue sky. Poole called while we were absent.
[Footnote 6: Of Nether-Stowey, the agent of the Earl of Egmont.--ED.]
_27th._--I walked to Stowey in the evening. Wm. and Basil went with me
through the wood. The prospect bright, yet _mildly_ beautiful. The sea
big and white, swelled to the very shores, but round and high in the
middle. Coleridge returned with me, as far as the wood. A very bright
moonlight night. Venus almost like another moon. Lost to us at Alfoxden
long before she goes down the large white sea.
* * * * * *
_March 1st._--We rose early. A thick fog obscured the distant prospect
entirely, but the shapes of the nearer trees and the dome of the wood
dimly seen and dilated. It cleared away between ten and eleven. The
shapes of the mist, slowly moving along, exquisitely beautiful; passing
over the sheep they almost seemed to have more of life than those quiet
creatures. The unseen birds singing in the mist.[7]
[Footnote 7: Compare _The Recluse_, 1. 91--
Her Voice was like a hidden Bird that sang. ED.]
_2nd._--Went a part of the way home with Coleridge in the morning.
Gathered fir apples afterwards under the trees.
_3rd._--I went to the shoemaker's. William lay under the trees till my
return. Afterwards went to the secluded farm house in search of eggs,
and returned over the hill. A very mild, cloudy evening. The rose trees
in the hedges and the elders budding.
_4th._--Walked to Woodlands after dinner, a pleasant evening.
_5th._--Gathered fir-apples. A thick fog came on. Walked to the baker's
and the shoemaker's, and through the fields towards Woodlands. On our
return, found Tom Poole in the parlour. He drank tea with us.
_6th._--A pleasant morning, the sea white and bright, and full to the
brim. I walked to see Coleridge in the evening. William went with me to
the wood. Coleridge very ill. It was a mild, pleasant afternoon, but the
evening became very foggy; when I was near Woodlands, the fog overhead
became thin, and I saw the shapes of the Central Stars. Again it closed,
and the whole sky was the same.
_7th._--William and I drank tea at Coleridge's. A cloudy sky. Observed
nothing particularly interesting--the distant prospect obscured. One
only leaf upon the top of a tree--the sole remaining leaf--danced round
and round like a rag blown by the wind.[8]
[Footnote 8: Did this suggest the lines in _Christabel_?--
The one red leaf, the last of its clan,
That dances as often as dance it can,
Hanging so light, and hanging so high,
On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. ED.]
_8th._--Walked in the Park in the morning. I sate under the fir trees.
Coleridge came after dinner, so we did not walk again. A foggy morning,
but a clear sunny day.
_9th._--A clear sunny morning, went to meet Mr. and Mrs. Coleridge. The
day very warm.
_10th._--Coleridge, Wm., and I walked in the evening to the top of the
hill. We all passed the morning in sauntering about the park and
gardens, the children playing about, the old man at the top of the hill
gathering furze; interesting groups of human creatures, the young
frisking and dancing in the sun, the elder quietly drinking in the life
and soul of the sun and air.
_11th._--A cold day. The children went down towards the sea. William and
I walked to the top of the hills above Holford. Met the blacksmith.
Pleasant to see the labourer on Sunday jump with the friskiness of a cow
upon a sunny day.
_12th._--Tom Poole returned with Coleridge to dinner, a brisk, cold,
sunny day; did not walk.
_13th._--Poole dined with us. William and I strolled into the wood.
Coleridge called us into the house.
* * * * * *
_15th._--I have neglected to set down the occurrences of this week, so I
do not recollect how we disposed of ourselves to-day.
_16th._--William, and Coleridge, and I walked in the Park a short time.
I wrote to ----. William very ill, better in the evening; and we called
round by Potsdam.
_17th._--I do not remember this day.
_18th._--The Coleridges left us. A cold, windy morning. Walked with
them half way. On our return, sheltered under the hollies, during a
hail-shower. The withered leaves danced with the hailstones. William
wrote a description of the storm.[9]
[Footnote 9: See "A whirl-blast from behind the hill" in the "Poetical
Works," vol. i. p. 238.--ED.]
_19th._--Wm. and Basil and I walked to the hill-tops, a very cold bleak
day. We were met on our return by a severe hailstorm. William wrote some
lines describing a stunted thorn.[10]
[Footnote 10: See _The Thorn_, "Poetical Works," vol. i. p. 239.--ED.]
_20th._--Coleridge dined with us. We went more than half way home with
him in the evening. A very cold evening, but clear. The spring seemingly
very little advanced. No green trees, only the hedges are budding, and
looking very lovely.
_21st._--We drank tea at Coleridge's. A quiet shower of snow was in the
air during more than half our walk. At our return the sky partially
shaded with clouds. The horned moon was set. Startled two night birds
from the great elm tree.
_22nd._--I spent the morning in starching and hanging out linen; walked
_through_ the wood in the evening, very cold.
_23rd._--Coleridge dined with us. He brought his ballad finished.[11] We
walked with him to the Miner's house. A beautiful evening, very starry,
the horned moon.
[Footnote 11: The ballad was finished by February 18, 1798. See _Early
Recollections_, etc., by Joseph Cottle, vol. i. p. 307 (1837).--ED.]
_24th._--Coleridge, the Chesters, and Ellen Cruikshank called. We
walked with them through the wood. Went in the evening into the Coombe
to get eggs; returned through the wood, and walked in the park. A duller
night than last night: a sort of white shade over the blue sky. The
stars dim. The spring continues to advance very slowly, no green trees,
the hedges leafless; nothing green but the brambles that still retain
their old leaves, the evergreens, and the palms, which indeed are not
absolutely green. Some brambles I observed to-day budding afresh, and
those have shed their old leaves. The crooked arm of the old oak tree
points upwards to the moon.
_25th._--Walked to Coleridge's after tea. Arrived at home at one
o'clock. The night cloudy but not dark.
_26th._--Went to meet Wedgwood at Coleridge's after dinner. Reached home
at half-past twelve, a fine moonlight night; half moon.
_27th._--Dined at Poole's. Arrived at home a little after twelve, a
partially cloudy, but light night, very cold.
_28th._--Hung out the linen.
_29th._--Coleridge dined with us.
_30th._--Walked I know not where.
_31st._--Walked.
_April 1st._--Walked by moonlight.
_2nd._--A very high wind. Coleridge came to avoid the smoke; stayed all
night. We walked in the wood, and sat under the trees. The half of the
wood perfectly still, while the wind was making a loud noise behind us.
The still trees only gently bowed their heads, as if listening to the
wind. The hollies in the thick wood unshaken by the blast; only, when it
came with a greater force, shaken by the rain drops falling from the
bare oaks above.
_3rd._--Walked to Crookham, with Coleridge and Wm., to make the appeal.
Left Wm. there, and parted with Coleridge at the top of the hill. A very
stormy afternoon....
_4th._--Walked to the sea-side in the afternoon. A great commotion in
the air, but the sea neither grand nor beautiful. A violent shower in
returning. Sheltered under some fir trees at Potsdam.
_5th._--Coleridge came to dinner. William and I walked in the wood in
the morning. I fetched eggs from the Coombe.
_6th._--Went a part of the way home with Coleridge. A pleasant warm
morning, but a showery day. Walked a short distance up the lesser
Coombe, with an intention of going to the source of the brook, but the
evening closing in, cold prevented us. The Spring still advancing very
slowly. The horse-chestnuts budding, and the hedgerows beginning to look
green, but nothing fully expanded.
_7th._--Walked before dinner up the Coombe, to the source of the brook,
and came home by the tops of the hills; a showery morning, at the
hill-tops; the view opened upon us very grand.
_8th._--Easter Sunday. Walked in the morning in the wood, and half way
to Stowey; found the air at first oppressively warm, afterwards very
pleasant.
_9th._--Walked to Stowey, a fine air in going, but very hot in
returning. The sloe in blossom, the hawthorns green, the larches in the
park changed from black to green in two or three days. Met Coleridge in
returning.
_10th._--I was hanging out linen in the evening. We walked to Holford. I
turned off to the baker's, and walked beyond Woodlands, expecting to
meet William, met him on the hill; a close warm evening ... in bloom.
_11th._--In the wood in the morning, walked to the top of the hill, then
I went down into the wood. A pleasant evening, a fine air, the grass in
the park becoming green, many trees green in the dell.
_12th._--Walked in the morning in the wood. In the evening up the
Coombe, fine walk. The Spring advances rapidly, multitudes of primroses,
dog-violets, periwinkles, stitchwort.
_13th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. In the evening went to
Stowey. I staid with Mr. Coleridge. Wm. went to Poole's. Supped with Mr.
Coleridge.
_14th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. The evening very stormy, so
we staid within doors. Mary Wollstonecraft's life, etc., came.
_15th._--Set forward after breakfast to Crookham, and returned to
dinner at three o'clock. A fine cloudy morning. Walked about the
squire's grounds. Quaint waterfalls about, about which Nature was very
successfully striving to make beautiful what art had deformed--ruins,
hermitages, etc. etc. In spite of all these things, the dell romantic
and beautiful, though everywhere planted with unnaturalised trees.
Happily we cannot shape the huge hills, or carve out the valleys
according to our fancy.
_16th._--New moon. William walked in the wood in the morning. I
neglected to follow him. We walked in the park in the evening....
_17th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. In the evening upon the
hill. Cowslips plentiful.
_18th._--Walked in the wood, a fine sunny morning, met Coleridge
returned from his brother's. He dined with us. We drank tea, and then
walked with him nearly to Stowey....
_19th._-- ...
_20th._--Walked in the evening up the hill dividing the Coombes. Came
home the Crookham way, by the thorn, and the "little muddy pond." Nine
o'clock at our return. William all the morning engaged in wearisome
composition. The moon crescent. _Peter Bell_ begun.
_21st_, _22nd_, _23rd_.-- ...
_24th._--Walked a considerable time in the wood. Sat under the trees, in
the evening walked on the top of the hill, found Coleridge on our return
and walked with him towards Stowey.
_25th._--Coleridge drank tea, walked with him to Stowey.
_26th._--William went to have his picture taken.[12] I walked with him.
Dined at home. Coleridge and he drank tea.
[Footnote 12: This was the earliest portrait of Wordsworth by W.
Shuter. It is now in the possession of Mrs. St. John, Ithaca,
U.S.A.--ED.]
_27th._--Coleridge breakfasted and drank tea, strolled in the wood in
the morning, went with him in the evening through the wood, afterwards
walked on the hills: the moon, a many-coloured sea and sky.
_28th, Saturday._--A very fine morning, warm weather all the week.
_May 6th, Sunday._--Expected the painter, and Coleridge. A rainy
morning--very pleasant in the evening. Met Coleridge as we were walking
out. Went with him to Stowey; heard the nightingale; saw a glow-worm.
_7th._--Walked in the wood in the morning. In the evening, to Stowey
with Coleridge who called.
_8th._--Coleridge dined, went in the afternoon to tea at Stowey. A
pleasant walk home.
_9th._-- ... Wrote to Coleridge.
_Wednesday, 16th May._--Coleridge, William, and myself set forward to
the Chedder rocks; slept at Bridgewater.
_22nd, Thursday._[13]--Walked to Chedder. Slept at Cross.
[Footnote 13: It is thus written in the MS., but the 22nd May 1798
was a _Tuesday_. If the entry refers to a _Thursday_, the day of the
month should have been written 24th. Dorothy Wordsworth was not exact
as to dates.--ED.]
II
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL
OF
DAYS SPENT AT HAMBURGH
IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1798
EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL OF DAYS SPENT AT HAMBURGH,
IN SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER 1798[14]
[Footnote 14: This is not Dorothy's own title. Her Journal has no
title.--ED.]
Quitted London, Friday, 14th September 1798. Arrived at Yarmouth on
Saturday noon, and sailed on Sunday morning at eleven o'clock. Before we
heaved the anchor I was consigned to the cabin, which I did not quit
till we were in still water at the mouth of the Elbe, on Tuesday morning
at ten o'clock. I was surprised to find, when I came upon deck, that we
could not see the shores, though we were in the river. It was to my eyes
a still sea. But oh! the gentle breezes and the gentle motion!... As we
advanced towards Cuxhaven the shores appeared low and flat, and thinly
peopled; here and there a farm-house, cattle feeding, hay-stacks, a
cottage, a windmill. Some vessels were at anchor at Cuxhaven, an ugly,
black-looking place. Dismissed a part of our crew, and proceeded in the
packet-boat up the river.
Cast anchor between six and seven o'clock. The moon shone upon the
waters. The shores were visible rock; here and there a light from the
houses. Ships lying at anchor not far from us. We[15] drank tea upon
deck by the light of the moon. I enjoyed solitude and quietness, and
many a recollected pleasure, hearing still the unintelligible jargon of
the many tongues that gabbled in the cabin. Went to bed between ten and
eleven. The party playing at cards, but they were silent, and suffered
us to go to sleep. At four o'clock in the morning we were awakened by
the heaving of the anchor, and till seven, in the intervals of sleep, I
enjoyed the thought that we were advancing towards Hamburgh; but what
was our mortification on being told that there was a thick fog, and that
we could not sail till it was dispersed. I went on to the deck. The air
was cold and wet, the decks streaming, the shores invisible, no hope of
clear weather. At ten however the sun appeared, and we saw the green
shores. All became clear, and we set sail. Churches very frequent on the
right, with spires red, blue, sometimes green; houses thatched or tiled,
and generally surrounded with low trees. A beautiful low green island,
houses, and wood. As we advanced, the left bank of the river became more
interesting.
[Footnote 15: _i.e._ William and Dorothy Wordsworth, Coleridge, and
Chester.--ED.]
The houses warm and comfortable, sheltered with trees, and neatly
painted. Blankenese, a village or town scattered over the sides of three
hills, woody where the houses lie and sleep down below, the houses
half-concealed by, and half-obtruding themselves from, the low trees.
Naked boats with masts lying at the bare feet of the Blankenese hills.
Houses more and more frequent as we approach Hamburgh. The banks of the
Elbe more steep. Some gentlemen's seats after the English fashion. The
spires of Altona and Hamburgh visible a considerable time. At Altona we
took a boat, and rowed through the narrow passages of the Elbe, crowded
with vessels of all nations. Landed at the Boom House, where we were
received by porters, ready to carry our luggage to any part of the town.
William went to seek lodgings, and the rest of the party guarded the
luggage. Two boats were about to depart. An elegant English carriage was
placed in one, and presently a very pretty woman, conducted by a
gentleman, seated herself in it, and they rowed off. The other contained
a medley crew of all ages. There was an old woman, with a blue cap
trimmed with broad silver lace, and tied under her chin. She had a short
coloured cloak, etc. While we stood in the street, which was open on one
side to the Elbe, I was much amused by the various employments and
dresses of the people who passed before us.... There were Dutch women
with immense straw bonnets, with flat crowns and rims in the shape of
oyster shells, without trimming, or with only a plain riband round the
crown, and literally as large as a small-sized umbrella. Hamburgher
girls with white caps, with broad overhanging borders, crimped and
stiff, and long lappets of riband. Hanoverians with round borders,
showing all the face, and standing upright, a profusion of riband....
Fruit-women, with large straw hats in the shape of an inverted bowl, or
white handkerchiefs tied round the head like a bishop's mitre. Jackets
the most common, often the petticoat and jacket of different colours.
The ladies without hats, in dresses of all fashions. Soldiers with
dull-looking red coats, and immense cocked hats. The men little
differing from the English, except that they have generally a pipe in
their mouths. After waiting about an hour we saw Wm. appear. Two porters
carried our luggage upon a sort of wheelbarrow, and we were conducted
through dirty, ill-paved streets to an inn, where, with great
difficulty, and after long seeking, lodgings had been procured for us.
* * * * * *
Breakfasted with Mons. de Loutre. Chester and I went to the promenade.
People of all ranks, and in various dresses, walking backwards and
forwards. Ladies with small baskets hanging on their arms, long shawls
of various colours thrown over their shoulders. The women of the lower
order dressed with great modesty.... Went to the French theatre in the
evening.... The piece a mixture of dull declamation and unmeaning rant.
The ballet unintelligible to us, as the story was carried on in singing.
The body of the house very imperfectly lighted, which has a good effect
in bringing out the stage, but the acting was not very amusing....
_Sunday._--William went in the boat to Harburgh. In our road to the boat
we looked into one of the large churches. Service was just ended. The
audience appeared to be simply composed of singing boys dressed in large
cocked hats, and a few old women who sat in the aisles.... Met many
bright-looking girls with white caps, carrying black prayer-books in
their hands.... Coleridge went to Ratzeberg at five o'clock in the
diligence. Chester accompanied me towards Altona. The streets wide and
pleasant in that quarter of the town. Immense crowds of people walking
for pleasure, and many pleasure-waggons passing and repassing. Passed
through a nest of Jews. Were invited to view an exhibition of waxwork.
The theatres open, and the billiard-tables attended. The walks very
pleasing between Hamburgh and Altona. A large piece of ground planted
with trees, and intersected by gravel walks. Music, cakes, fruit,
carriages, and foot-passengers of all descriptions. A very good view of
the shipping, and of Altona and the town and spires of Hamburgh. I could
not but remark how much the prospect would have suffered by one of our
English canopies of coal smoke. The ground on the opposite side of the
Elbe appears marshy. There are many little canals or lines of water.
While the sun was yet shining pleasantly, we were obliged to blink
perpetually to turn our eyes to the church clock. The gates are shut at
half-past six o'clock, and there is no admittance into the city after
that time. This idea deducts much from the pleasure of an evening walk.
You are haunted by it long before the time has elapsed....
_Wednesday._--Dined with Mr. Klopstock. Had the pleasure of meeting his
brother the poet, a venerable old man, retaining the liveliness and
alertness of youth, though he evidently cannot be very far from the
grave.... The party talked with much interest of the French comedy, and
seemed fond of music. The poet and his lady were obliged to depart soon
after six. He sustained an animated conversation with William during the
whole afternoon. Poor old man! I could not look upon him, the benefactor
of his country, the father of German poetry, without emotion....
During my residence in Hamburgh I have never seen anything like a
quarrel in the streets but once, and that was so trifling that it would
scarcely have been noticed in England.... In the shops (except the
established booksellers and stationers) I have constantly observed a
disposition to cheat, and take advantage of our ignorance of the
language and money....
_Thursday, 28th September._--William and I set forward at twelve o'clock
to Altona.... The Elbe in the vicinity of Hamburgh is so divided, and
spread out, that the country looks more like a plain overflowed by heavy
rain than the bed of a great river. We went about a mile and a half
beyond Altona: the roads dry and sandy, and a causeway for
foot-passengers.... The houses on the banks of the Elbe, chiefly of
brick, seemed very warm and well built....
The small cottage houses seemed to have little gardens, and all the
gentlemen's houses were surrounded by gardens quaintly disposed in beds
and curious knots, with ever-twisting gravel walks and bending poplars.
The view of the Elbe and the spreading country must be very interesting
in a fine sunset. There is a want of some atmospherical irradiation to
give a richness to the view. On returning home we were accosted by the
first beggar whom we have seen since our arrival at Hamburgh.
_Friday, 29th._--Sought Coleridge at the bookseller's, and went to the
Promenade.... All the Hamburghers full of Admiral Nelson's victory.
Called at a baker's shop. Put two shillings into the baker's hands, for
which I was to have had four small rolls. He gave me two. I let him
understand that I was to have four, and with this view I took one
shilling from him, pointed to it and to two loaves, and at the same time
offering it to him. Again I took up two others. In a savage manner he
half knocked the rolls out of my hand, and when I asked him for the
other shilling he refused to return it, and would neither suffer me to
take bread, nor give me back my money, and on these terms I quitted the
shop. I am informed that it is the boast and glory of these people to
cheat strangers, that when a feat of this kind is successfully performed
the man goes from the shop into his house, and triumphantly relates it
to his wife and family. The Hamburgher shopkeepers have three sorts of
weights, and a great part of their skill, as shopkeepers, consists in
calculating upon the knowledge of the buyer, and suiting him with scales
accordingly....
_Saturday, 30th September._--The grand festival of the Hamburghers,
dedicated to Saint Michael, observed with solemnity, but little
festivity. Perhaps this might be partly owing to the raininess of the
evening. In the morning the churches were opened very early. St.
Christopher's was quite full between eight and nine o'clock. It is a
large heavy-looking building, immense, without either grandeur or
beauty; built of brick, and with few windows.... There are some
pictures, ... one of the Saint fording the river with Christ upon his
back--a giant figure, which amused me not a little.... Walked with
Coleridge and Chester upon the promenade.... We took places in the
morning in the Brunswick coach for Wednesday.
_Sunday, 1st October._--Coleridge and Chester went to Ratzeberg at
seven o'clock in the morning.... William and I set forward at half-past
eleven with an intention of going to Blankenese.... The buildings all
seem solid and warm in themselves, but still they look cold from their
nakedness of trees. They are generally newly built, and placed in
gardens, which are planted in front with poplars and low shrubs, but the
possessors seem to have no prospective view to a shelter for their
children. They do not plant behind their houses. All the buildings of
this character are near the road which runs at different distances from
the edge of the bank which rises from the river. This bank is generally
steep, scattered over with trees which are either not of ancient growth,
or from some cause do not thrive, but serve very well to shelter and
often conceal the more humble dwellings, which are close to the sandy
bank of the river.... We saw many carriages. In one of them was
Klopstock, the poet. There are many inns and eating-houses by the
roadside. We went to a pretty village, or nest of houses about a league
from Blankenese, and beyond to a large open field, enclosed on one side
with oak trees, through which winds a pleasant gravel walk. On the other
it is open to the river.... When we were within about a mile and a half
or two miles of Altona, we turned out of the road to go down to the
river, and pursued our way along the path that leads from house to
house. These houses are low, never more than two storeys high, built of
brick, or a mixture of brick and wood, and thatched or tiled. They have
all window-shutters, which are painted frequently a grey light green,
but always painted. We were astonished at the excessive neatness which
we observed in the arrangement of everything within these houses. They
have all window curtains as white as snow; the floors of all that we saw
were perfectly clean, and the brass vessels as bright as a mirror.... I
imagine these houses are chiefly inhabited by sailors, pilots,
boat-makers, and others whose business is upon the water.
_Monday, October 2nd._--William called at Klopstock's to inquire the
road into Saxony. Bought Burgher's poems, the price 6 marks. Sate an
hour at Remnant's. Bought Percy's ancient poetry, 14 marks. Walked on
the ramparts; a very fine morning.
III
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL
WRITTEN AT GRASMERE
(14TH MAY TO 21ST DECEMBER 1800)
EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE
_May 14th, 1800._--Wm. and John set off into Yorkshire after dinner at
half-past two o'clock, cold pork in their pockets. I left them at the
turning of the Low-wood bay under the trees. My heart was so full that I
could hardly speak to W. when I gave him a farewell kiss. I sate a long
time upon a stone at the margin of the lake, and after a flood of tears
my heart was easier. The lake looked to me, I knew not why, dull and
melancholy, and the weltering on the shores seemed a heavy sound. I
walked as long as I could amongst the stones of the shore. The wood rich
in flowers; a beautiful yellow (palish yellow) flower, that looked
thick, round, and double--the smell very sweet (I supposed it was a
ranunculus), crowfoot, the grassy-leaved rabbit-looking white flower,
strawberries, geraniums, scentless violets, anemones, two kinds of
orchises, primroses, the heckberry very beautiful, the crab coming out
as a low shrub. Met an old man, driving a very large beautiful bull, and
a cow. He walked with two sticks. Came home by Clappersgate. The valley
very green; many sweet views up to Rydale, when I could juggle away the
fine houses; but they disturbed me, even more than when I have been
happier; one beautiful view of the bridge, without Sir Michael's.[16]
Sate down very often, though it was cold. I resolved to write a journal
of the time, till W. and J. return, and I set about keeping my resolve,
because I will not quarrel with myself, and because I shall give William
pleasure by it when he comes home again. At Rydale, a woman of the
village, stout and well dressed, begged a half-penny. She had never she
said done it before, but these hard times! Arrived at home, set some
slips of privet, the evening cold, had a fire, my face now
flame-coloured. It is nine o'clock. I shall now go to bed.... Oh that I
had a letter from William.
[Footnote 16: _i.e._ Rydal Hall, the residence of Sir Michael le
Fleming.--ED.]
* * * * * *
_Friday Morning, 16th._--Warm and mild, after a fine night of rain....
The woods extremely beautiful with all autumnal variety and softness. I
carried a basket for mosses, and gathered some wild plants. Oh! that we
had a book of botany. All flowers now are gay and deliciously sweet. The
primrose still prominent; the later flowers and the shiny foxgloves very
tall, with their heads budding. I went forward round the lake at the
foot of Loughrigg Fell. I was much amused with the busyness of a pair of
stone-chats; their restless voices as they skimmed along the water,
following each other, their shadows under them, and their returning back
to the stones on the shore, chirping with the same unwearied voice.
Could not cross the water, so I went round by the stepping-stones....
Rydale was very beautiful, with spear-shaped streaks of polished
steel.... Grasmere very solemn in the last glimpse of twilight. It calls
home the heart to quietness. I had been very melancholy. In my walk back
I had many of my saddest thoughts, and I could not keep the tears within
me. But when I came to Grasmere I felt that it did me good. I finished
my letter to M. H....
_Saturday._--Incessant rain from morning till night.... Worked hard,
and read _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and ballads. Sauntered a little in
the garden. The blackbird sate quietly in its nest, rocked by the wind,
and beaten by the rain.
_Sunday, 18th._--Went to church, slight showers, a cold air. The
mountains from this window look much greener, and I think the valley is
more green than ever. The corn begins to shew itself. The ashes are
still bare. A little girl from Coniston came to beg. She had lain out
all night. Her step-mother had turned her out of doors; her father could
not stay at home "she flights so." Walked to Ambleside in the evening
round the lake, the prospect exceeding beautiful from Loughrigg Fell. It
was so green that no eye could weary of reposing upon it. The most
beautiful situation for a home, is the field next to Mr. Benson's. I was
overtaken by two Cumberland people who complimented me upon my walking.
They were going to sell cloth, and odd things which they make
themselves, in Hawkshead and the neighbourhood.... Letters from
Coleridge and Cottle. John Fisher[17] overtook me on the other side of
Rydale. He talked much about the alteration in the times, and observed
that in a short time there would be only two ranks of people, the very
rich and the very poor, "for those who have small estates," says he,
"are forced to sell, and all the land goes into one hand." Did not reach
home till ten o'clock.
[Footnote 17: Their neighbour at Town-End, who helped Wordsworth to
make the steps up to the orchard, in Dove Cottage garden.--ED.]
_Monday._--Sauntered a good deal in the garden, bound carpets, mended
old clothes, read _Timon of Athens_, dried linen.... Walked up into the
Black Quarter.[18] I sauntered a long time among the rocks above the
church. The most delightful situation possible for a cottage, commanding
two distinct views of the vale and of the lake, is among those rocks....
The quietness and still seclusion of the valley affected me even to
producing the deepest melancholy. I forced myself from it. The wind rose
before I went to bed....
[Footnote 18: I think that this name was given to a bit of the valley
to the north-east of Grasmere village; but Mr. Gordon Wordsworth's
opinion is that "'The Black Quarter' was simply the family nickname
for Easedale. The phrase seems to disappear from the Journals as they
got more accustomed to local names. It is an excellent description of
the usual appearance of these fells, and makes a contrast to the name
of the White Moss, which lay behind Dove Cottage; as Easedale lay in
front, and was equally in their thoughts."--ED.]
_Tuesday Morning._--A fine mild rain.... Everything green and
overflowing with life, and the streams making a perpetual song, with the
thrushes, and all little birds, not forgetting the stone-chats. The post
was not come in. I walked as far as Windermere, and met him there.
* * * * * *
_Saturday, May 24th._--Walked in the morning to Ambleside. I found a
letter from Wm. and one from Mary Hutchinson. Wrote to William after
dinner, worked in the garden, sate in the evening under the trees.
_Sunday._-- ... Read _Macbeth_ in the morning; sate under the trees
after dinner.... I wrote to my brother Christopher.... On my return
found a letter from Coleridge and from Charles Lloyd, and three papers.
_Monday, May 26th._-- ... Wrote letters to J. H., Coleridge, Col. Ll.,
and W. I walked towards Rydale, and turned aside at my favourite field.
The air and the lake were still. One cottage light in the vale, and so
much of day left that I could distinguish objects, the woods, trees, and
houses. Two or three different kinds of birds sang at intervals on the
opposite shore. I sate till I could hardly drag myself away, I grew so
sad. "When pleasant thoughts," etc.[19]...
[Footnote 19: Compare _Lines written in Early Spring_, "Poetical
Works," vol. i. p. 269--
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind. ED.]
_Tuesday, 27th._--I walked to Ambleside with letters ... only a letter
from Coleridge. I expected a letter from Wm. It was a sweet morning, the
ashes in the valley nearly in full leaf, but still to be distinguished,
quite bare on the higher ground....
_Wednesday._--In the morning walked up to the rocks above Jenny
Dockeray's. Sate a long time upon the grass; the prospect divinely
beautiful. If I had three hundred pounds, and could afford to have a bad
interest for my money, I would buy that estate, and we would build a
cottage there to end our days in. I went into her garden and got white
and yellow lilies, etc., periwinkle, etc., which I planted. Sate under
the trees with my work. Worked between 7 and 8, and then watered the
garden. A beautiful evening. The crescent moon hanging above Helm Crag.
_Thursday._--In the morning worked in the garden a little. Read _King
John_. Miss Simpson, and Miss Falcon, and Mr. S. came very early. Went
to Mr. Gill's boat. Before tea we fished upon the lake, and amongst us
caught 13!...
_Friday._--In the morning went to Ambleside, forgetting that the post
does not come till the evening. How was I grieved when I was so
informed. I walked back, resolving to go again in the evening. It rained
very mildly and sweetly in the morning as I came home, but came on a wet
afternoon and evening, and chilly. I caught Mr. Olliff's lad as he was
going for letters. He brought me one from Wm. and 12 papers. I planted
London Pride upon the wall, and many things on the borders. John sodded
the wall. As I came past Rydale in the morning, I saw a heron swimming
with only its neck out of water. It beat and struggled amongst the
water, when it flew away, and was long in getting loose.
_Saturday._--A sweet mild rainy morning. Grundy the carpet man called. I
paid him £1: 10s. Went to the blind man's for plants. I got such a load
that I was obliged to leave my basket in the road, and send Molly for
it....
_Sunday, June 1st._--Rain in the night. A sweet mild morning. Read
ballads. Went to church. Singers from Wytheburn. Walked upon the hill
above the house till dinner time. Went again to church. After tea, went
to Ambleside, round the Lakes. A very fine warm evening. Upon the side
of Loughrigg my heart dissolved in what I saw: when I was not startled,
but called from my reverie by a noise as of a child paddling without
shoes. I looked up, and saw a lamb close to me. It approached nearer and
nearer, as if to examine me, and stood a long time. I did not move. At
last, it ran past me, and went bleating along the pathway, seeming to be
seeking its mother. I saw a hare on the high road....
_Monday._--A cold dry windy morning. I worked in the garden, and planted
flowers, etc. Sate under the trees after dinner till tea time.... I went
to Ambleside after tea, crossed the stepping-stones at the foot of
Grasmere, and pursued my way on the other side of Rydale and by
Clappersgate. I sate a long time to watch the hurrying waves, and to
hear the regularly irregular sound of the dashing waters. The waves
round about the little Island seemed like a dance of spirits that rose
out of the water, round its small circumference of shore. Inquired about
lodgings for Coleridge, and was accompanied by Mrs. Nicholson as far as
Rydale. This was very kind, but God be thanked, I want not society by a
moonlit lake. It was near eleven when I reached home. I wrote to
Coleridge, and went late to bed.
_Wednesday._-- ... I walked to the lake-side in the morning, took up
plants, and sate upon a stone reading ballads. In the evening I was
watering plants, when Mr. and Miss Simpson called, and I accompanied
them home, and we went to the waterfall at the head of the valley. It
was very interesting in the twilight. I brought home lemon-thyme, and
several other plants, and planted them by moonlight. I lingered out of
doors in the hope of hearing my brother's tread.
_Thursday._--I sate out of doors great part of the day, and worked in
the garden. Had a letter from Mr. Jackson, and wrote an answer to
Coleridge. The little birds busy making love, and pecking the blossoms
and bits of moss off the trees. They flutter about and about, and
beneath the trees as I lie under them.[20] I would not go far from home,
expecting my brother. I rambled on the hill above the house, gathered
wild thyme, and took up roots of wild columbine. Just as I was returning
with my load, Mr. and Miss Simpson called. We went again upon the hill,
got more plants, set them, and then went to the blind man's, for London
Pride for Miss Simpson. I went up with them as far as the blacksmith's,
a fine lovely moonlight night.
[Footnote 20: Compare _The Green Linnet_, in the "Poetical Works,"
vol. ii. p. 367.--ED.]
_Friday._--Sate out of doors reading the whole afternoon, but in the
morning I wrote to my aunt Cookson. In the evening I went to Ambleside
with Coleridge's letter. It was a lovely night as the day had been. I
went by Loughrigg and Clappersgate and just met the post at the
turnpike. He told me there were two letters but none for me, so I was in
no hurry and went round again by Clappersgate, crossed the
stepping-stones and entered Ambleside at Matthew Harrison's. A letter
from Jack Hutchinson, and one from Montagu, enclosing a £3 note. No
William! I slackened my pace as I came near home, fearing to hear that
he was not come. I listened till after one o'clock to every barking dog,
cock-fighting, and other sports. Foxgloves just coming into blossom.
_Saturday._--A very warm cloudy morning, threatening to rain. I walked
up to Mr. Simpson's to gather gooseberries. It was a very fine
afternoon. Little Tommy came down with me. We went up the hill, to
gather sods and plants; and went down to the lake side, and took up
orchises, etc. I watered the garden and weeded. I did not leave home, in
the expectation of Wm. and John, and sitting at work till after 11
o'clock I heard a foot at the front of the house, turn round, and open
the gate. It was William! After our first joy was over, we got some tea.
We did not go to bed till 4 o'clock in the morning, so he had an
opportunity of seeing our improvements. The buds were staying; and all
looked fresh, though not gay. There was a greyness on earth and sky. We
did not rise till near 10 in the morning. We were busy all day in
writing letters to Coleridge, Montagu, etc. Mr. and Miss Simpson called
in the evening. The little boy carried our letters to Ambleside. We
walked with Mr. and Miss S. home, on their return.... We met John on our
return home.
_Monday 9th._--In the morning W. cut down the winter cherry tree. I
sowed French beans and weeded. A coronetted landau went by, when we were
sitting upon the sodded wall. The ladies (evidently tourists) turned an
eye of interest upon our little garden and cottage. Went round to Mr.
Gill's boat, and on to the lake to fish. We caught nothing. It was
extremely cold. The reeds and bullrushes or bullpipes of a tender soft
green, making a plain whose surface moved with the wind. The reeds not
yet tall. The lake clear to the bottom, but saw no fish. In the evening
I stuck peas, watered the garden, and planted brocoli. Did not walk, for
it was very cold. A poor girl called to beg, who had no work, and was
going in search of it to Kendal. She slept in Mr. Benson's ... and went
off after breakfast in the morning with 7d. and a letter to the Mayor of
Kendal.
_Tuesday 10th._--A cold, yet sunshiny morning. John carried letters to
Ambleside. Wm. stuck peas. After dinner he lay down. John not at home. I
stuck peas alone. Cold showers with hail and rain, but at half-past
five, after a heavy rain, the lake became calm and very beautiful. Those
parts of the water which were perfectly unruffled lay like green islands
of various shapes. William and I walked to Ambleside to seek lodgings
for C. No letters. No papers. It was a very cold cheerless evening. John
had been fishing in Langdale and was gone to bed.
A very tall woman, tall much beyond the measure of tall women, called
at the door. She had on a very long brown cloak and a very white cap,
without bonnet. Her face was excessively brown, but it had plainly once
been fair. She led a little bare-footed child about two years old by the
hand, and said her husband, who was a tinker, was gone before with the
other children. I gave her a piece of bread. Afterwards on my way to
Ambleside, beside the bridge at Rydale, I saw her husband sitting by the
roadside, his two asses feeding beside him, and the two young children
at play upon the grass. The man did not beg. I passed on and about a
quarter of a mile further I saw two boys before me, one about 10, the
other about 8 years old, at play chasing a butterfly. They were wild
figures, not very ragged, but without shoes and stockings. The hat of
the elder was wreathed round with yellow flowers, the younger whose hat
was only a rimless crown, had stuck it round with laurel leaves. They
continued at play till I drew very near, and then they addressed me with
the begging cant and the whining voice of sorrow. I said "I served your
mother this morning." (The boys were so like the woman who had called at
... that I could not be mistaken.) "O!" says the elder, "you could not
serve my mother for she's dead, and my father's on at the next
town--he's a potter." I persisted in my assertion, and that I would give
them nothing. Says the elder, "Let's away," and away they flew like
lightning. They had however sauntered so long in their road that they
did not reach Ambleside before me, and I saw them go up to Matthew
Harrison's house with their wallet upon the elder's shoulder, and
creeping with a beggar's complaining foot. On my return through
Ambleside I met in the street the mother driving her asses, in the two
panniers of one of which were the two little children, whom she was
chiding and threatening with a wand which she used to drive on her
asses, while the little things hung in wantonness over the pannier's
edge. The woman had told me in the morning that she was of Scotland,
which her accent fully proved, but that she had lived (I think at
Wigtoun), that they could not keep a house and so they travelled.[21]
[Footnote 21: Compare the poem _Beggars_, in the "Poetical Works" vol.
ii. pp. 276-281.--ED.]
_Wednesday, 13th June._[22]--A very cold morning. We went on the lake to
set pike floats with John's fish. W. and J. went ... alone. Mr. Simpson
called, and I accompanied him to the lake side. My brothers and I again
went upon the water, and returned to dinner. We landed upon the island
where I saw the whitest hawthorn I have seen this year, the generality
of hawthorns are bloomless. I saw wild roses in the hedges. Wm. and John
went to the pike floats. They brought in two pikes. I sowed kidney beans
and spinnach. A cold evening. Molly stuck the peas. I weeded a little.
Did not walk.
[Footnote 22: This and the two following dates are incorrectly given.
They should be "Wednesday 11th, Thursday 12th, and Friday 13th
June."--ED.]
_Thursday, 14th June._--William and I went upon the water to set pike
floats. John fished under Loughrigg. We returned to dinner, two pikes
boiled and roasted. A very cold air but warm sun. W. and I again went
upon the water. We walked to Rydale after tea, and up to potter's. A
cold night, but warmer.
_Friday, 15th June._--A rainy morning. W. and J. went upon the lake.
Very warm and pleasant, gleams of sunshine. Caught a pike 7-1/2 lbs.
Went upon the water after tea, Mr. Simpson trolling.
_Saturday._--A fine morning but cloudy. W. and John went upon the lake.
I staid at home. We drank tea at Mr. Simpson's. Stayed till after 10
o'clock.
_Sunday._--John walked to Coniston. W. and I sauntered in the garden.
Afterwards walked by the lake side. A cold air. We pushed through the
wood. Walked behind the fir grove, and returned to dinner. The farmer
and the blacksmith from Hawkshead called.
_Monday._--Wm. and I went to Brathay by Little Langdale and Collath, and
... It was a warm mild morning with threatening rain. The vale of Little
Langdale looked bare and unlovely. Collath was wild and interesting,
from the peat carts and peat gatherers. The valley all perfumed with the
gale and wild thyme. The woods about the waterfall bright with rich
yellow broom. A succession of delicious views from ... to Brathay. We
met near ... a pretty little boy with a wallet over his shoulder. He
came from Hawkshead and was going to sell a sack of meal. He spoke
gently and without complaint. When I asked him if he got enough to eat,
he looked surprised, and said Nay. He was 7 years old but seemed not
more than 5. We drank tea at Mr. Ibbetson's, and returned by Ambleside.
Lent £3: 9s. to the potter at Kendal. Met John on our return home at
about 10 o'clock. Saw a primrose in blossom.
_Tuesday._--We put the new window in. I ironed, and worked about a good
deal in house and garden. In the evening we walked for letters. Found
one for Coleridge at Rydale, and I returned much tired.
_Wednesday._--We walked round the lake in the morning and in the evening
to the lower waterfall at Rydale. It was a warm, dark, lowering evening.
_Thursday._--A very hot morning. W. and I walked up to Mr. Simpson's. W.
and old Mr. S. went to fish in Wytheburn water. I dined with John and
lay under the trees. The afternoon changed from clear to cloudy, and to
clear again. John and I walked up to the waterfall, and to Mr.
Simpson's, and with Miss Simpson. Met the fishers. W. caught a pike
weighing 4-3/4 lbs. There was a gloom almost terrible over Grasmere
water and vale. A few drops fell but not much rain. No Coleridge, whom
we fully expected.
_Friday._--I worked in the garden in the morning. Wm. prepared pea
sticks. Threatening for rain, but yet it comes not. On Wednesday evening
a poor man called--a hatter. He had been long ill, but was now
recovered. The parish would not help him, because he had implements of
trade, etc. etc. We gave him 6d.
_Saturday._--Walked up the hill to Rydale lake. Grasmere looked so
beautiful that my heart was almost melted away. It was quite calm, only
spotted with sparkles of light; the church visible. On our return all
distant objects had faded away, all but the hills. The reflection of the
light bright sky above Black Quarter was very solemn....
_Sunday._-- ... In the evening I planted a honeysuckle round the yew
tree.... No news of Coleridge....
_Monday._--Mr. Simpson called in the morning. W. and I went into
Langdale to fish. The morning was very cold. I sate at the foot of the
lake, till my head ached with cold. The view exquisitely beautiful,
through a gate, and under a sycamore tree beside the first house going
into Loughrigg. Elter-water looked barren, and the view from the church
less beautiful than in winter. When W. went down to the water to fish, I
lay under the wind, my head pillowed upon a mossy rock, and slept about
10 minutes, which relieved my headache. We ate our dinner together, and
parted again.... W. went to fish for pike in Rydale. John came in when I
had done tea and he and I carried a jug of tea to William. We met him in
the old road from Rydale. He drank his tea upon the turf. The setting
sun threw a red purple light upon the rocks, and stone walls of Rydale,
which gave them a most interesting and beautiful appearance.
_Tuesday._--W. went to Ambleside. John walked out. I made tarts, etc.
Mrs. B. Simpson called and asked us to tea. I went to the view of
Rydale, to meet William. W. and I drank tea at Mr. Simpson's. Brought
down lemon-thyme, greens, etc. The old woman was very happy to see us,
and we were so in the pleasure we gave. She was an affecting picture of
patient disappointment, suffering under no particular affliction.
_Wednesday._--A very rainy day. I made a shoe. Wm. and John went to
fish in Langdale. In the evening I went above the house, and gathered
flowers, which I planted, foxgloves, etc. On Sunday[23] Mr. and Mrs.
Coleridge and Hartley came. The day was very warm. We sailed to the foot
of Loughrigg. They staid with us three weeks, and till the Thursday
following, from 1st till the 23rd of July.[24] On the Friday preceding
their departure, we drank tea at the island. The weather was delightful,
and on the Sunday we made a great fire, and drank tea in Bainriggs with
the Simpsons. I accompanied Mrs. C. to Wytheburne, and returned with W.
to tea at Mr. Simpson's. It was exceedingly hot, but the day after,
Friday 24th July,[25] still hotter. All the morning I was engaged in
unpacking our Somersetshire goods. The house was a hot oven. I was so
weary, I could not walk: so I went out, and sate with Wm. in the
orchard. We had a delightful half-hour in the warm still evening.
[Footnote 23: Coleridge arrived at Grasmere on Sunday 29th June.--ED.]
[Footnote 24: The dates here given are confusing. S. T. C. says he was
ill at Grasmere, and stayed a fortnight. In a letter to Tom Poole he
says he arrived at Keswick on 24th July, which was a Thursday.--ED.]
[Footnote 25: That Friday was the 25th July. The two next dates were
incorrectly entered by Dorothy.--ED.]
* * * * * *
_Saturday, 26th._--Still hotter. I sate with W. in the orchard all the
morning, and made my shoe....
_Sunday, 27th._--Very warm.... I wrote out _Ruth_ in the afternoon. In
the morning, I read Mr. Knight's _Landscape_.[26] After tea we rowed
down to Loughrigg Fell, visited the white foxglove, gathered wild
strawberries, and walked up to view Rydale. We lay a long time looking
at the lake; the shores all dim with the scorching sun. The ferns were
turning yellow, that is, here and there one was quite turned. We walked
round by Benson's wood home. The lake was now most still, and reflected
the beautiful yellow and blue and purple and grey colours of the sky. We
heard a strange sound in the Bainriggs wood, as we were floating on the
water; it _seemed_ in the wood, but it must have been above it, for
presently we saw a raven very high above us. It called out, and the dome
of the sky seemed to echo the sound. It called again and again as it
flew onwards, and the mountains gave back the sound, seeming as if from
their centre; a musical bell-like answering to the bird's hoarse voice.
We heard both the call of the bird, and the echo, after we could see him
no longer....[27]
[Footnote 26: _The Landscape: a Didactic Poem in three Books._ By
Richard Payne Knight. 1794.--ED.]
[Footnote 27: Compare _The Excursion_, book iv. II. 1185-1195.--ED.]
_Monday._--Received a letter from Coleridge enclosing one from Mr. Davy
about the _Lyrical Ballads_. Intensely hot.... William went into the
wood, and altered his poems....
* * * * * *
_Thursday._--All the morning I was busy copying poems. Gathered peas,
and in the afternoon Coleridge came. He brought the 2nd volume of
Anthology. The men went to bathe, and we afterwards sailed down to
Loughrigg. Read poems on the water, and let the boat take its own
course. We walked a long time upon Loughrigg. I returned in the grey
twilight. The moon just setting as we reached home.
_Friday, 1st August._--In the morning I copied _The Brothers_. Coleridge
and Wm. went down to the lake. They returned, and we all went together
to Mary Point, where we sate in the breeze, and the shade, and read
Wm.'s poems. Altered _The Whirlblast_, etc. We drank tea in the orchard.
_Saturday Morning, 2nd._--Wm. and Coleridge went to Keswick. John went
with them to Wytheburn, and staid all day fishing, and brought home 2
small pikes at night. I accompanied them to Lewthwaite's cottage, and on
my return papered Wm.'s rooms.... About 8 o'clock it gathered for rain,
and I had the scatterings of a shower, but afterwards the lake became of
a glassy calmness, and all was still. I sate till I could see no longer,
and then continued my work in the house.
_Sunday Morning, 3rd._-- ... A heavenly warm evening, with scattered
clouds upon the hills. There was a vernal greenness upon the grass, from
the rains of the morning and afternoon. Peas for dinner.
_Monday 4th._--Rain in the night. I tied up scarlet beans, nailed the
honeysuckles, etc. etc. John was prepared to walk to Keswick all the
morning. He seized a returned chaise and went after dinner. I pulled a
large basket of peas and sent to Keswick by a returned chaise. A very
cold evening. Assisted to spread out linen in the morning.
_Tuesday 5th._--Dried the linen in the morning. The air still cold. I
pulled a bag full of peas for Mrs. Simpson. Miss Simpson drank tea with
me, and supped, on her return from Ambleside. A very fine evening. I
sate on the wall making my shifts till I could see no longer. Walked
half-way home with Miss Simpson.
_Wednesday, 6th August._-- ... William came home from Keswick at eleven
o'clock.
_Thursday Morning, 7th August._-- ... William composing in the wood in
the morning. In the evening we walked to Mary Point. A very fine sunset.
_Friday Morning._--We intended going to Keswick, but were prevented by
the excessive heat. Nailed up scarlet beans in the morning.... Walked
over the mountains by Wattendlath.... A most enchanting walk.
Wattendlath a heavenly scene. Reached Coleridge's at eleven o'clock.
_Saturday Morning._--I walked with Coleridge in the Windy Brow woods.
_Sunday._--Very hot. The C.'s went to church. We sailed upon Derwent in
the evening.
_Monday Afternoon._--Walked to Windy Brow.
_Tuesday._-- ... Wm. and I walked along the Cockermouth road. He was
altering his poems.
_Wednesday._--Made the Windy Brow seat.
_Thursday Morning._--Called at the Speddings. In the evening walked in
the wood with W. Very very beautiful the moon.
* * * * * *
_Sunday, 17th August._-- ... William read us _The Seven Sisters_.
* * * * * *
_Saturday, 23rd._--A very fine morning. Wm. was composing all the
morning. I shelled peas, gathered beans, and worked in the garden till
1/2 past 12. Then walked with Wm. in the wood.... The gleams of
sunshine, and the stirring trees, and gleaming boughs, cheerful lake,
most delightful.... Wm. read _Peter Bell_ and the poem of _Joanna_,
beside the Rothay by the roadside.
* * * * * *
_Tuesday, 26th._-- ... A very fine solemn evening. The wind blew very
fierce from the island, and at Rydale. We went on the other side of
Rydale, and sate a long time looking at the mountains, which were all
black at Grasmere, and very bright in Rydale; Grasmere exceedingly dark,
and Rydale of a light yellow green.
* * * * * *
_Friday Evening_ [29th August].--We walked to Rydale to inquire for
letters. We walked over the hill by the firgrove. I sate upon a rock,
and observed a flight of swallows gathering together high above my head.
They flew towards Rydale. We walked through the wood over the
stepping-stones. The lake of Rydale very beautiful, partly still. John
and I left Wm. to compose an inscription; that about the path. We had a
very fine walk by the gloomy lake. There was a curious yellow reflection
in the water, as of corn fields. There was no light in the clouds from
which it appeared to come.
_Saturday Morning, 30th August._-- ... William finished his Inscription
of the Pathway,[28] then walked in the wood; and when John returned, he
sought him, and they bathed together. I read a little of Boswell's _Life
of Johnson_. I went to lie down in the orchard. I was roused by a shout
that Anthony Harrison was come. We sate in the orchard till tea time.
Drank tea early, and rowed down the lake which was stirred by breezes.
We looked at Rydale, which was soft, cheerful, and beautiful. We then
went to peep into Langdale. The Pikes were very grand. We walked back to
the view of Rydale, which was now a dark mirror. We rowed home over a
lake still as glass, and then went to George Mackareth's to hire a horse
for John. A fine moonlight night. The beauty of the moon was startling,
as it rose to us over Loughrigg Fell. We returned to supper at 10
o'clock. Thomas Ashburner brought us our 8th cart of coals since May
17th.
[Footnote 28: Professor Dowden thinks that this refers to the poem on
John's Grove. But a hitherto unpublished fragment will soon be issued
by the Messrs. Longman, which may cast fresh light on this
"Inscription of the Pathway."--ED.]
_Sunday, 31st._-- ... A great deal of corn is cut in the vale, and the
whole prospect, though not tinged with a general autumnal yellow, yet
softened down into a mellowness of colouring, which seems to impart
softness to the forms of hills and mountains. At 11 o'clock Coleridge
came, when I was walking in the still clear moonshine in the garden. He
came over Helvellyn. Wm. was gone to bed, and John also, worn out with
his ride round Coniston. We sate and chatted till half-past three, ...
Coleridge reading a part of _Christabel_. Talked much about the
mountains, etc. etc....
_Monday Morning, 1st September._--We walked in the wood by the lake. W.
read _Joanna_, and the _Firgrove_, to Coleridge. They bathed. The
morning was delightful, with somewhat of an autumnal freshness. After
dinner, Coleridge discovered a rock-seat in the orchard. Cleared away
brambles. Coleridge went to bed after tea. John and I followed Wm. up
the hill, and then returned to go to Mr. Simpson's. We borrowed some
bottles for bottling rum. The evening somewhat frosty and grey, but very
pleasant. I broiled Coleridge a mutton chop, which he ate in bed. Wm.
was gone to bed. I chatted with John and Coleridge till near 12.
_Tuesday, 2nd._--In the morning they all went to Stickle Tarn. A very
fine, warm, sunny, beautiful morning.... The fair-day.... There seemed
very few people and very few stalls, yet I believe there were many cakes
and much beer sold. My brothers came home to dinner at 6 o'clock. We
drank tea immediately after by candlelight. It was a lovely moonlight
night. We talked much about a house on Helvellyn. The moonlight shone
only upon the village. It did not eclipse the village lights, and the
sound of dancing and merriment came along the still air. I walked with
Coleridge and Wm. up the lane and by the church, and then lingered with
Coleridge in the garden. John and Wm. were both gone to bed, and all the
lights out.
_Wednesday, 3rd September._--Coleridge, Wm., and John went from home,
to go upon Helvellyn with Mr. Simpson. They set out after breakfast. I
accompanied them up near the blacksmith's.... I then went to a funeral
at John Dawson's. About 10 men and 4 women. Bread, cheese, and ale. They
talked sensibly and cheerfully about common things. The dead person, 56
years of age, buried by the parish. The coffin was neatly lettered and
painted black, and covered with a decent cloth. They set the corpse down
at the door; and, while we stood within the threshold, the men, with
their hats off, sang, with decent and solemn countenances, a verse of a
funeral psalm. The corpse was then borne down the hill, and they sang
till they had passed the Town-End. I was affected to tears while we
stood in the house, the coffin lying before me. There were no near
kindred, no children. When we got out of the dark house the sun was
shining, and the prospect looked as divinely beautiful as I ever saw it.
It seemed more sacred than I had ever seen it, and yet more allied to
human life. The green fields, in the neighbourhood of the churchyard,
were as green as possible; and, with the brightness of the sunshine,
looked quite gay. I thought she was going to a quiet spot, and I could
not help weeping very much. When we came to the bridge, they began to
sing again, and stopped during four lines before they entered the
churchyard.... Wm. and John came home at 10 o'clock.
* * * * * *
_Friday, 12th September._-- ... The fern of the mountains now spreads
yellow veins among the trees; the coppice wood turns brown. William
observed some affecting little things in Borrowdale. A decayed house
with the tall, silent rocks seen through the broken windows. A sort of
rough column put upon the gable end of a house, with a ball stone,
smooth from the river-island, upon it for ornament. Near it, a stone
like it, upon an old mansion, carefully hewn.
_Saturday, 13th September._--Morning. William writing his
Preface[29]--did not walk. Jones, and Mr. Palmer came to tea....
[Footnote 29: The Preface to the second edition of _Lyrical
Ballads_.--ED.]
_Sunday morning, 14th._-- ... A lovely day. Read Boswell in the house in
the morning, and after dinner under the bright yellow leaves of the
orchard. The pear trees a bright yellow. The apple trees still green. A
sweet lovely afternoon.... Here I have long neglected my Journal. John
came home in the evening, after Jones left. Jones returned again on the
Friday, the 19th September. Jones stayed with us till Friday, 26th
September. Coleridge came in.
_Tuesday, 23rd._--I went home with Jones. Charles Lloyd called on
Tuesday, 23rd.
_Sunday, 28th._--We heard of the Abergavenny's arrival....
_Monday, 29th._--John left us. Wm. and I parted with him in sight of
Ullswater. It was a fine day, showery, but with sunshine and fine
clouds. Poor fellow, my heart was right sad. I could not help thinking
we should see him again, because he was only going to Penrith.
_Tuesday, 30th September._--Charles Lloyd dined with us. We walked
homewards with him after dinner. It rained very hard. Rydale was
extremely wild, and we had a fine walk. We sate quietly and comfortably
by the fire. I wrote the last sheet of Notes and Preface.[30a] Went to bed
at twelve o'clock.
[Footnote 30a: _i.e._ of the Notes and Preface to the second edition of
_Lyrical Ballads_.--ED.]
_Wednesday, 1st October._--A fine morning, a showery night. The lake
still in the morning; in the forenoon flashing light from the beams of
the sun, as it was ruffled by the wind. We corrected the last sheet.[30]
[Footnote 30: _i.e._ of the Notes and Preface to the second edition of
_Lyrical Ballads_.--ED.]
_Thursday, 2nd October._--A very rainy morning. We walked after dinner
to observe the torrents. I followed Wm. to Rydale. We afterwards went to
Butterlip How. The Black Quarter looked marshy, and the general prospect
was cold, but the _force_ was very grand. The lichens are now coming out
afresh. I carried home a collection in the afternoon. We had a pleasant
conversation about the manners of the rich; avarice, inordinate desires,
and the effeminacy, unnaturalness, and unworthy objects of education.
The moonlight lay upon the hills like snow.
_Friday, 3rd October._--Very rainy all the morning. Wm. walked to
Ambleside after dinner. I went with him part of the way. He talked much
about the object of his essay for the second volume of "L. B." ... Amos
Cottle's death in the _Morning Post_.
_N.B._--When William and I returned from accompanying Jones, we met an
old man almost double. He had on a coat, thrown over his shoulders,
above his waistcoat and coat. Under this he carried a bundle, and had an
apron on and a night-cap. His face was interesting. He had dark eyes and
a long nose. John, who afterwards met him at Wytheburn, took him for a
Jew. He was of Scotch parents, but had been born in the army. He had had
a wife, and "she was a good woman, and it pleased God to bless us with
ten children." All these were dead but one, of whom he had not heard for
many years, a sailor. His trade was to gather leeches, but now leeches
were scarce, and he had not strength for it. He lived by begging, and
was making his way to Carlisle, where he should buy a few godly books to
sell. He said leeches were very scarce, partly owing to this dry season,
but many years they have been scarce. He supposed it owing to their
being much sought after, that they did not breed fast, and were of slow
growth. Leeches were formerly 2s. 6d. per 100; they are now 30s. He had
been hurt in driving a cart, his leg broken, his body driven over, his
skull fractured. He felt no pain till he recovered from his first
insensibility. It was then late in the evening, when the light was just
going away.[31]
[Footnote 31: Compare _Resolution and Independence_, in the "Poetical
Works," vol. ii. p. 312.--ED.]
_Saturday, 4th October 1800._--A very rainy, or rather showery and
gusty, morning; for often the sun shines. Thomas Ashburner could not go
to Keswick. Read a part of Lamb's Play.[32] The language is often very
beautiful, but too imitative in particular phrases, words, etc. The
characters, except Margaret, unintelligible, and, except Margaret's, do
not show themselves in action. Coleridge came in while we were at
dinner, very wet. We talked till twelve o'clock. He had sate up all the
night before, writing essays for the newspaper.... Exceedingly delighted
with the second part of _Christabel_.
[Footnote 32: _Pride's Cure._ The title was afterwards changed to
_John Woodvill_.--ED.]
_Sunday Morning, 5th October._--Coleridge read _Christabel_ a second
time; we had increasing pleasure. A delicious morning. Wm. and I were
employed all the morning in writing an addition to the Preface. Wm. went
to bed, very ill after working after dinner. Coleridge and I walked to
Ambleside after dark with the letter. Returned to tea at 9 o'clock. Wm.
still in bed, and very ill. Silver How in both lakes.
_Monday._--A rainy day. Coleridge intending to go, but did not go off.
We walked after dinner to Rydale. After tea read _The Pedlar_.
Determined not to print _Christabel_ with the L. B.
_Tuesday._--Coleridge went off at eleven o'clock. I went as far as Mr.
Simpson's. Returned with Mary.
_Wednesday._--Frequent threatening of showers. Received a £5 note from
Montagu. Wm. walked to Rydale. I copied a part of _The Beggars_ in the
morning.... A very mild moonlight night. Glow-worms everywhere.
* * * * * *
_Friday, 10th October._--In the morning when I arose the mists were
hanging over the opposite hills, and the tops of the highest hills were
covered with snow. There was a most lively combination at the head of
the vale of the yellow autumnal hills wrapped in sunshine, and overhung
with partial mists, the green and yellow trees, and the distant
snow-topped mountains. It was a most heavenly morning. The Cockermouth
traveller came with thread, hardware, mustard, etc. She is very healthy;
has travelled over the mountains these thirty years. She does not mind
the storms, if she can keep her goods dry. Her husband will not travel
with an ass, because it is the tramper's badge; she would have one to
relieve her from the weary load. She was going to Ulverston, and was to
return to Ambleside Fair.... The fern among the rocks exquisitely
beautiful.... Sent off _The Beggars_, etc., by Thomas Ashburner....
William sat up after me, writing _Point Rash Judgment_.
_Saturday, 11th._--A fine October morning. Sat in the house working all
the morning. William composing.... After dinner we walked up Greenhead
Gill in search of a sheepfold. We went by Mr. Olliff's, and through his
woods. It was a delightful day, and the views looked excessively
cheerful and beautiful, chiefly that from Mr. Olliff's field, where our
own house is to be built. The colours of the mountains soft, and rich
with orange fern; the cattle pasturing upon the hilltops; kites sailing
in the sky above our heads; sheep bleating, and feeding in the water
courses, scattered over the mountains. They come down and feed, on the
little green islands in the beds of the torrents, and so may be swept
away. The sheepfold is falling away. It is built nearly in the form of a
heart unequally divided. Looked down the brook, and saw the drops rise
upwards and sparkle in the air at the little falls. The higher sparkled
the tallest. We walked along the turf of the mountain till we came to a
track, made by the cattle which come upon the hills....
_Sunday, October 12th._--Sate in the house writing in the morning while
Wm. went into the wood to compose. Wrote to John in the morning; copied
poems for the L. B. In the evening wrote to Mrs. Rawson. Mary Jameson
and Sally Ashburner dined. We pulled apples after dinner, a large basket
full. We walked before tea by Bainriggs to observe the many-coloured
foliage. The oaks dark green with yellow leaves, the birches generally
still green, some near the water yellowish, the sycamore crimson and
crimson-tufted, the mountain ash a deep orange, the common ash
lemon-colour, but many ashes still fresh in their peculiar green, those
that were discoloured chiefly near the water. Wm. composing in the
evening. Went to bed at 12 o'clock.
_Monday, October 13th._--A grey day. Mists on the hills. We did not walk
in the morning. I copied poems on the Naming of Places. A fair at
Ambleside. Walked in the Black Quarter at night.
* * * * * *
_Wednesday._--A very fine clear morning. After Wm. had composed a
little, I persuaded him to go into the orchard. We walked backwards and
forwards. The prospect most divinely beautiful from the seat; all
colours, all melting into each other. I went in to put bread in the
oven, and we both walked within view of Rydale. Wm. again composed at
the sheepfold after dinner. I walked with Wm. to Wytheburn, and he went
on to Keswick. I drank tea, and supped at Mr. Simpson's. A very cold
frosty air in returning. Mr. and Miss S. came with me. Wytheburn looked
very wintry, but yet there was a foxglove blossoming by the roadside.
* * * * * *
_Friday, 17th._--A very fine grey morning. The swan hunt.... I walked
round the lake between 1/2 past 12, and 1/2 past one.... In my walk in
the morning, I observed Benson's honey-suckles in flower, and great
beauty. I found Wm. at home, where he had been almost ever since my
departure. Coleridge had done nothing for the L. B. Working hard for
Stuart.[33] Glow-worms in abundance.
[Footnote 33: The editor of _The Morning Post_.--ED.]
_Saturday._--A very fine October morning. William worked all the morning
at the sheepfold, but in vain. He lay down in the afternoon till 7
o'clock, but could not sleep.... We did not walk all day....
_Sunday Morning._--We rose late, and walked directly after breakfast.
The tops of Grasmere mountains cut off. Rydale very beautiful. The
surface of the water quite still, like a dim mirror. The colours of the
large island exquisitely beautiful, and the trees, still fresh and
green, were magnified by the mists. The prospects on the west side of
the Lake were very beautiful. We sate at the "two points"[34] looking up
to Parks. The lowing of the cattle was echoed by a hollow voice in the
vale. We returned home over the stepping-stones. Wm. got to work....
[Footnote 34: Mary Point and Sarah Point.--ED.]
_Monday, 20th._--William worked in the morning at the sheepfold. After
dinner we walked to Rydale, crossed the stepping-stones, and while we
were walking under the tall oak trees the Lloyds called out to us. They
went with us on the western side of Rydale. The lights were very grand
upon the woody Rydale hills. Those behind dark and tipped with clouds.
The two lakes were divinely beautiful. Grasmere excessively solemn, the
whole lake calm, and dappled with soft grey ripples. The Lloyds staid
with us till 8 o'clock. We then walked to the top of the hill at Rydale.
Very mild and warm. Beheld 6 glow-worms shining faintly. We went up as
far as the Swan. When we came home the fire was out. We ate our supper
in the dark, and went to bed immediately. William was disturbed in the
night by the rain coming into his room, for it was a very rainy night.
The ash leaves lay across the road.
_Tuesday, 21st._-- ... Wm. had been unsuccessful in the morning at the
sheepfold. The reflection of the ash scattered, and the tree stripped.
_Wednesday Morning._-- ... Wm. composed without much success at the
sheepfold. Coleridge came in to dinner. He had done nothing. We were
very merry. C. and I went to look at the prospect from his seat.... Wm.
read _Ruth_, etc., after supper. Coleridge read _Christabel_.
_Thursday, 23rd._--Coleridge and Stoddart went to Keswick. We
accompanied them to Wytheburn. A wintry grey morning from the top of the
Raise. Grasmere looked like winter, and Wytheburn still more so.... Wm.
was not successful in composition in the evening.
_Friday, 24th._--A very fine morning. We walked, before Wm. began to
work, to the top of the Rydale hill. He was afterwards only partly
successful in composition. After dinner we walked round Rydale lake,
rich, calm, streaked, very beautiful. We went to the top of Loughrigg.
Grasmere sadly inferior.... The ash in our garden green, one close to it
bare, the next nearly so.
_Saturday._--A very rainy day. Wm. again unsuccessful. We could not
walk, it was so very rainy. We read Rogers, Miss Seward, Cowper, etc.
_Sunday._--Heavy rain all night, a fine morning after 10 o'clock. Wm.
composed a good deal in the morning....
_Monday, 27th October._-- ... Wm. in the firgrove. I had before walked
with him there for some time. It was a fine shelter from the wind. The
coppices now nearly of one brown. An oak tree in a sheltered place near
John Fisher's, not having lost any of its leaves, was quite brown and
dry.... It was a fine wild moonlight night. Wm. could not compose much.
Fatigued himself with altering.
_Tuesday, 28th._-- ... We walked out before dinner to our favourite
field. The mists sailed along the mountains, and rested upon them,
enclosing the whole vale. In the evening the Lloyds came. We played a
rubber at whist....
_Wednesday._--William worked at his poem all the morning. After dinner,
Mr. Clarkson called.... Played at cards.... Mr. Clarkson slept here.
_Thursday._--A rainy morning. W. C. went over Kirkstone. Wm. talked all
day, and almost all night, with Stoddart. Mrs. and Miss H. called in the
morning. I walked with them to Tail End.[35]
[Footnote 35: On the western side of Grasmere Lake.--ED.]
_Friday Night._-- ... W. and I did not rise till 10 o'clock.... A very
fine moonlight night. The moon shone like herrings in the water.
* * * * * *
_Tuesday._-- ... Tremendous wind. The snow blew from Helvellyn
horizontally like smoke....
* * * * * *
_Thursday, 6th November._-- ... Read _Point Rash Judgment_....
_Friday, 7th November._-- ... I working and reading _Amelia_. The
Michaelmas daisy droops, the pansies are full of flowers, the ashes
still green all but one, but they have lost many of their leaves. The
copses are quite brown. The poor woman and child from Whitehaven drank
tea....
_Saturday, 8th November._--A rainy morning. A whirlwind came that tossed
about the leaves, and tore off the still green leaves of the ashes. Wm.
and I walked out at 4 o'clock. Went as far as Rothay Bridge.... The
whole face of the country in a winter covering.
* * * * * *
_Monday._-- ... Jupiter over the hilltops, the only star, like a sun,
flashed out at intervals from behind a black cloud.
_Tuesday Morning._-- ... William had been working at the sheepfold....
Played at cards. A mild night, partly clouded, partly starlight. The
cottage lights. The mountains not very distinct.
* * * * * *
_Thursday._--We sate in the house all the morning. Rainy weather, played
at cards. A poor woman from Hawkshead begged, a widow of Grasmere. A
merry African from Longtown....
_Friday._--Much wind, but a sweet mild morning. I nailed up trees....
Two letters from Coleridge, very ill. One from Sara H....
_Saturday Morning._--A terrible rain, so prevented William from going
to Coleridge's. The afternoon fine.... We both set forward at five
o'clock. A fine wild night. I walked with W. over the Raise. It was
starlight. I parted with him very sad, unwilling not to go on. The
hills, and the stars, and the white waters, with their ever varying yet
ceaseless sound, were very impressive. I supped at the Simpsons'. Mr. S.
walked home with me.
_Sunday, 16th November._--A very fine warm sunny morning. A letter from
Coleridge, and one from Stoddart. Coleridge better.... One beautiful ash
tree sheltered, with yellow leaves, one low one quite green. A noise of
boys in the rocks hunting some animal. Walked a little in the garden
when I came home. Very pleasant now. Rain comes on. Mr. Jackson called
in the evening, brought me a letter from C. and W.
_Monday Morning._--A fine clear frosty morning with a sharp wind. I
walked to Keswick. Set off at 5 minutes past 10, and arrived at 1/2 past
2. I found them all well.
On _Tuesday_ morning W. and C. set off towards Penrith. Wm. met Sara
Hutchinson at Threlkeld. They arrived at Keswick at tea time.
_Wednesday._--We walked by the lake side and then went to Mr. Denton's.
I called upon the Miss Cochyns.
_Thursday._--We spent the morning in the town. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Peach
dined with us.
_Friday._--A very fine day. Went to Mrs. Greaves'. Mrs. C. and I called
upon the Speddings. A beautiful crescent moon.
_Saturday Morning._--After visiting Mr. Peach's Chinese pictures we set
off to Grasmere. A threatening and rather rainy morning. Arrived at G.
Very dirty and a little wet at the closing in of evening.
_Sunday._--Wm. not well. I baked bread and pie for dinner.
_Monday._--A fine morning. Sara and I walked to Rydale. After dinner we
went to Lloyd's, and drank tea, and supped. A sharp cold night, with
sleet and snow.
_Tuesday._--Read _Tom Jones_.
_Wednesday._-- ... Wm. very well. We had a delightful walk up into
Easedale. The tops of the mountains covered with snow, frosty and sunny,
the roads slippery. A letter from Mary. The Lloyds drank tea. We walked
with them near to Ambleside. A beautiful moonlight night. Sara and I
walked home. William very well, and highly poetical.
_Thursday, 27th November._--Wrote to Tom Hutchinson to desire him to
bring Mary with him. A thaw, and the ground covered with snow. Sara and
I walked before dinner.
_Friday._--Coleridge walked over. Miss Simpson drank tea with us.
William walked home with her. Coleridge was very unwell. He went to bed
before Wm.'s return.
* * * * * *
_Sunday, 30th November._--A very fine clear morning. Snow upon the
ground everywhere. Sara and I walked towards Rydale by the upper road,
and were obliged to return, because of the snow. Walked by moonlight.
_Monday._--A thaw in the night, and the snow was entirely gone.
Coleridge unable to go home. We walked by moonlight.
_Tuesday, 2nd December._--A rainy morning. Coleridge was obliged to set
off. Sara and I met C. Lloyd and S. turned back with him. I walked round
the 2 lakes with Charles, very pleasant. We all walked to Ambleside. A
pleasant moonlight evening, but not clear. It came on a terrible
evening. Hail, and wind, and cold, and rain.
_Wednesday, 3rd December._--We lay in bed till 11 o'clock. Wrote to
John, and M. H. William and Sara and I walked to Rydale after tea. A
very fine frosty night. Sara and W. walked round the other side.
_Thursday._--Coleridge came in, just as we finished dinner. We walked
after tea by moonlight to look at Langdale covered with snow, the Pikes
not grand, but the Old Man[36] very expressive. Cold and slippery, but
exceedingly pleasant. Sat up till half-past one.
[Footnote 36: Coniston 'Old Man.'--ED.]
_Friday Morning._--Terribly cold and rainy. Coleridge and Wm. set
forward towards Keswick, but the wind in Coleridge's eyes made him turn
back. Sara and I had a grand bread and cake baking. We were very merry
in the evening, but grew sleepy soon, though we did not go to bed till
twelve o'clock.
_Saturday._--Wm. accompanied Coleridge to the foot of the Raise. A very
pleasant morning. Sara and I accompanied him half-way to Keswick.
Thirlemere was very beautiful, even more so than in summer. William was
not well, had laboured unsuccessfully.... A letter from M. H.
_Sunday._--A fine morning. I read. Sara wrote to Hartley, Wm. to Mary, I
to Mrs. C. We walked just before dinner to the lakeside, and found out a
seat in a tree. Windy, but very pleasant. Sara and Wm. walked to the
waterfalls at Rydale.
_Monday, 8th December._--A sweet mild morning. I wrote to Mrs. Cookson,
and Miss Griffith.
_Tuesday, 9th._--I dined at Lloyd's. Wm. drank tea. Walked home. A
pleasant starlight frosty evening. Reached home at one o'clock. Wm.
finished his poem to-day.
_Wednesday, 10th._--Walked to Keswick. Snow upon the ground. A very fine
day. Ate bread and ale at John Stanley's. Found Coleridge better. Stayed
at Keswick till Sunday 14th December.
_Wednesday._--A very fine day. Writing all the morning for William.
_Thursday._--Mrs. Coleridge and Derwent came. Sweeping chimneys.
_Friday._--Baking.
_Saturday._--Coleridge came. Very ill, rheumatic fever. Rain
incessantly.
_Monday._--S. and Wm. went to Lloyd's. Wm. dined. It rained very hard
when he came home.
IV
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL
WRITTEN AT GRASMERE
(FROM 10TH OCTOBER 1801 TO 29TH DECEMBER 1801)
EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL, WRITTEN AT GRASMERE, FROM
10TH OCTOBER 1801 TO 29TH DECEMBER 1801
_Saturday, 10th October 1801._--Coleridge went to Keswick, after we had
built Sara's seat.
_Thursday, 15th._-- ... Coleridge came in to Mr. Luff's while we were at
dinner. William and I walked up Loughrigg Fell, then by the
waterside....
_Saturday, 24th._--Attempted Fairfield, but misty, and we went no
further than Green Head Gill to the sheepfold; mild, misty, beautifully
soft. Wm. and Tom put out the boat....
_Sunday, 25th._--Rode to Legberthwaite with Tom, expecting Mary.... Went
upon Helvellyn. Glorious sights. The sea at Cartmel. The Scotch
mountains beyond the sea to the right. Whiteside large, and round, and
very soft, and green, behind us. Mists above and below, and close to us,
with the sun amongst them. They shot down to the coves. Left John
Stanley's[37] at 10 minutes past 12. Returned thither 1/4 past 4, drank
tea, ate heartily. Before we went on Helvellyn we got bread and cheese.
Paid 4/ for the whole. Reached home at nine o'clock. A soft grey
evening; the light of the moon, but she did not shine on us. Mary and I
sate in C.'s room a while.
[Footnote 37: The landlord of Wytheburn Inn.--ED.]
* * * * * *
_Tuesday, 10th_ [_November_].--Poor C. left us, and we came home
together. We left Keswick at 2 o'clock and did not arrive at Grasmere
till 9 o'clock. I burnt myself with Coleridge's aquafortis. C. had a
sweet day for his ride. Every sight and every sound reminded me of
him--dear, dear fellow, of his many talks to us, by day and by night, of
all dear things. I was melancholy, and could not talk, but at last I
eased my heart by weeping--nervous blubbering says William. It is not
so. O! how many, many reasons have I to be anxious for him.
_Wednesday, 11th._-- ... Put aside dearest C.'s letters, and now, at
about 7 o'clock, we are all sitting by a nice fire. Wm. with his book
and a candle, and Mary writing to Sara.
_November 16th._-- ... Wm. is now, at 7 o'clock, reading Spenser. Mary
is writing beside me. The little syke[38] murmurs.[39a] We are quiet and
happy, but poor Peggy Ashburner coughs, as if she would cough her life
away. I am going to write to Coleridge and Sara. Poor C.! I hope he was
in London yesterday....
[Footnote 38: A Cumberland word for a rillet.--ED.]
[Footnote 39a: Probably some of the lines afterwards included in _The
Excursion._--ED.]
_Tuesday, 17th._--A very rainy morning. We walked into Easedale before
dinner. The coppices a beautiful brown. The oaks many, a very fine leafy
shade. We stood a long time to look at the corner birch tree. The wind
was among the light thin twigs, and they yielded to it, this way and
that.
_Wednesday, 18th._--We sate in the house in the morning reading
Spenser. Wm. and Mary walked to Rydale. Very pleasant moonlight. The
lakes beautiful. The church an image of peace. Wm. wrote some lines upon
it.[40] Mary and I walked as far as the Wishing Gate before supper. We
stood there a long time, the whole scene impressive. The mountains
indistinct, the Lake calm and partly ruffled. A sweet sound of water
falling into the quiet Lake.[39] A storm was gathering in Easedale, so
we returned; but the moon came out, and opened to us the church and
village. Helm Crag in shade, the larger mountains dappled like a sky. We
stood long upon the bridge. Wished for Wm....
[Footnote 39: Compare _To a Highland Girl_, 1. 8--
A murmur near the silent lake. ED.]
[Footnote 40: Probably some of the lines afterwards included in _The
Excursion._--ED.]
* * * * * *
_Friday, 20th._--We walked in the morning to Easedale. In the evening we
had cheerful letters from Coleridge and Sara.
_Saturday, 21st._--We walked in the morning, and paid one pound and 4d.
for letters. William out of spirits. We had a pleasant walk and spent a
pleasant evening. There was a furious wind and cold at night. Mr.
Simpson drank tea with us, and helped William out with the boat. Wm. and
Mary walked to the Swan, homewards, with him. A keen clear frosty night.
I went into the orchard while they were out.
_Sunday, 22nd._--We wrote to Coleridge.
* * * * * *
_Tuesday, 24th._-- ... It was very windy, and we heard the wind
everywhere about us as we went along the lane, but the walls sheltered
us. John Green's house looked pretty under Silver How. As we were going
along we were stopped at once, at the distance perhaps of 50 yards from
our favourite birch tree. It was yielding to the gusty wind with all its
tender twigs. The sun shone upon it, and it glanced in the wind like a
flying sunshiny shower. It was a tree in shape, with stem and branches,
but it was like a spirit of water. The sun went in, and it resumed its
purplish appearance, the twigs still yielding to the wind, but not so
visibly to us. The other birch trees that were near it looked bright and
cheerful, but it was a creature by its own self among them.... We went
through the wood. It became fair. There was a rainbow which spanned the
lake from the island-house to the foot of Bainriggs. The village looked
populous and beautiful. Catkins are coming out; palm trees budding; the
alder, with its plum-coloured buds. We came home over the
stepping-stones. The lake was foamy with white waves. I saw a solitary
butter-flower in the wood.... Reached home at dinner time. Sent Peggy
Ashburner some goose. She sent me some honey, with a thousand thanks.
"Alas! the gratitude of men has," etc.[41] I went in to set her right
about this, and sate a while with her. She talked about Thomas's having
sold his land. "I," says she, "said many a time he's not come fra London
to buy our land, however." Then she told me with what pains and industry
they had made up their taxes, interest, etc. etc., how they all got up
at 5 o'clock in the morning to spin and Thomas carded, and that they had
paid off a hundred pounds of the interest. She said she used to take
much pleasure in the cattle and sheep. "O how pleased I used to be when
they fetched them down, and when I had been a bit poorly I would gang
out upon a hill and look over't fields and see them, and it used to do
me so much good you cannot think." Molly said to me when I came in,
"Poor body! she's very ill, but one does not know how long she may last.
Many a fair face may gang before her." We sate by the fire without work
for some time, then Mary read a poem of Daniel.... Wm. read Spenser, now
and then, a little aloud to us. We were making his waistcoat. We had a
note from Mrs. C., with bad news from poor C.--very ill. William went to
John's Grove. I went to find him. Moonlight, but it rained.... He had
been surprised, and terrified, by a sudden rushing of winds, which
seemed to bring earth, sky, and lake together, as if the whole were
going to enclose him in. He was glad he was in a high road.
[Footnote 41: See, in the "Poetical Works," _Simon Lee_, II. 95, 96,
vol. i. p. 268.--ED.]
In speaking of our walk on Sunday evening, the 22nd November, I forgot
to notice one most impressive sight. It was the moon and the moonlight
seen through hurrying driving clouds immediately behind the Stone-Man
upon the top of the hill, on the forest side. Every tooth and every edge
of rock was visible, and the Man stood like a giant watching from the
roof of a lofty castle. The hill seemed perpendicular from the darkness
below it. It was a sight that I could call to mind at any time, it was
so distinct.
_Wednesday, 25th November._--It was a showery morning and threatened to
be a wettish day, but the sun shone once or twice. We were engaged to
Mr. Lloyd's and Wm. and Mary were determined to go that it might be
over. I accompanied them to the thorn beside Rydale water. I parted from
them first at the top of the hill, and they called me back. It rained a
little, and rained afterwards all the afternoon. I baked bread, and
wrote to Sara Hutchinson and Coleridge. I passed a pleasant evening, but
the wind roared so, and it was such a storm that I was afraid for them.
They came in at nine o'clock, no worse for their walk, and cheerful,
blooming, and happy.
_Thursday, 26th._--Mr. Olliff called before Wm. was up to say that they
would drink tea with us this afternoon. We walked into Easedale, to
gather mosses, and to fetch cream. I went for the cream, and they sate
under a wall. It was piercing cold.
* * * * * *
_Thursday, 3rd December 1801._--Wm. walked into Easedale. Hail and
snow.... I wrote a little bit of my letter to Coleridge....
_Friday, 4th._-- ... Wm. translating _The Prioress's Tale_. William and
Mary walked after tea to Rydale. I finished the letter to Coleridge, and
we received a letter from him and Sara. C.'s letter written in good
spirits. A letter of Lamb's about George Dyer with it.[42]
[Footnote 42: An unprinted letter.--ED.]
_Saturday, 5th._-- ... Wm. finished _The Prioress's Tale_, and after tea
Mary and he wrote it out....
_Sunday, 6th._--A very fine beautiful sunshiny morning. Wm. worked a
while at Chaucer, then we set forward to walk into Easedale.... We
walked backwards and forwards in the flat field, which makes the second
course of Easedale, with that beautiful rock in the field beside us, and
all the rocks and the woods and the mountains enclosing us round. The
sun was shining among them, the snow thinly scattered upon the tops of
the mountains. In the afternoon we sate by the fire: I read Chaucer
aloud, and Mary read the first canto of _The Fairy Queen_. After tea
Mary and I walked to Ambleside for letters.... It was a sober starlight
evening. The stars not shining as it were with all their brightness when
they were visible, and sometimes hiding themselves behind small greying
clouds, that passed soberly along. We opened C.'s letter at Wilcock's
door. We thought we saw that he wrote in good spirits, so we came
happily homewards where we arrived 2 hours after we left home. It was a
sad melancholy letter, and prevented us all from sleeping.
_Monday Morning, 7th._--We rose by candlelight. A showery unpleasant
morning, after a downright rainy night. We determined, however, to go to
Keswick if possible, and we set off a little after 9 o'clock. When we
were upon the Raise, it snowed very much; and the whole prospect closed
in upon us, like a moorland valley, upon a moor very wild. But when we
were at the top of the Raise we saw the mountains before us. The sun
shone upon them, here and there; and Wytheburn vale, though wild, looked
soft. The day went on cheerfully and pleasantly. Now and then a hail
shower attacked us; but we kept up a good heart, for Mary is a famous
jockey.... We reached Greta Hall at about one o'clock. Met Mrs. C. in
the field. Derwent in the cradle asleep. Hartley at his dinner. Derwent
the image of his father. Hartley well. We wrote to C. Mrs. C. left us at
1/2 past 2. We drank tea by ourselves, the children playing about us.
Mary said to Hartley, "Shall I take Derwent with me?" "No," says H., "I
cannot spare my little brother," in the sweetest tone possible, "and he
can't do without his mamma." "Well," says Mary, "why can't I be his
mamma? Can't he have more mammas than one?" "No," says H. "What for?"
"Because they do not love, and mothers do." "What is the difference
between mothers and mammas?" Looking at his sleeves, "Mothers wear
sleeves like this, pulling his own tight down, and mammas" (pulling them
up, and making a bustle about his shoulders) "so." We parted from them
at 4 o'clock. It was a little of the dusk when we set off. Cotton mills
lighted up. The first star at Nadel Fell, but it was never dark. We rode
very briskly. Snow upon the Raise. Reached home at seven o'clock.
William at work with Chaucer, _The God of Love_. Sate latish. I wrote a
letter to Coleridge.
_Tuesday, 8th December 1801._--A dullish, rainyish morning. Wm. at work
with Chaucer. I read Bruce's _Lochleven_.... William worked at _The
Cuckoo and the Nightingale_ till he was tired....
_Wednesday Morning, 9th December._-- ... I read _Palemon and
Arcite_.... William writing out his alteration of Chaucer's _Cuckoo and
Nightingale_.... When I had finished a letter to C., ... Mary and I
walked into Easedale, and backwards and forwards in that large field
under George Rawson's white cottage. We had intended gathering mosses,
and for that purpose we turned into the green lane, behind the tailor's,
but it was too dark to see the mosses. The river came galloping past the
Church, as fast as it could come; and when we got into Easedale we saw
Churn Milk Force, like a broad stream of snow at the little foot-bridge.
We stopped to look at the company of rivers, which came hurrying down
the vale, this way and that. It was a valley of streams and islands,
with that great waterfall at the head, and lesser falls in different
parts of the mountains, coming down to these rivers. We could hear the
sound of the lesser falls, but we could not see them. We walked
backwards and forwards till all distant objects, except the white shape
of the waterfall and the lines of the mountains, were gone. We had the
crescent moon when we went out, and at our return there were a few stars
that shone dimly, but it was a grey cloudy night.
_Thursday, 10th December._-- ... We walked into Easedale to gather
mosses, and then we went ... up the Gill, beyond that little waterfall.
It was a wild scene of crag and mountain. One craggy point rose above
the rest irregular and rugged, and very impressive it was. We were very
unsuccessful in our search after mosses. Just when the evening was
closing in, Mr. Clarkson came to the door. It was a fine frosty evening.
We played at cards.
* * * * * *
_Saturday, 12th._-- ... Snow upon the ground.... All looked cheerful
and bright. Helm Crag rose very bold and craggy, a Being by itself, and
behind it was the large ridge of mountain, smooth as marble and snow
white. All the mountains looked like solid stone, on our left, going
from Grasmere, _i.e._ White Moss and Nab Scar. The snow hid all the
grass, and all signs of vegetation, and the rocks showed themselves
boldly everywhere, and seemed more stony than rock or stone. The birches
on the crags beautiful, red brown and glittering. The ashes glittering
spears with their upright stems. The hips very beautiful, and so good!!
and, dear Coleridge! I ate twenty for thee, when I was by myself. I came
home first. They walked too slow for me. Wm. went to look at Langdale
Pikes. We had a sweet invigorating walk. Mr. Clarkson came in before
tea. We played at cards. Sate up late. The moon shone upon the waters
below Silver How, and above it hung, combining with Silver How on one
side, a bowl-shaped moon, the curve downwards, the white fields,
glittering roof of Thomas Ashburner's house, the dark yew tree, the
white fields gay and beautiful. Wm. lay with his curtains open that he
might see it.
_Sunday, 13th._--Mr. Clarkson left us, leading his horse.... The boy
brought letters from Coleridge, and from Sara. Sara in bad spirits about
C.
_Monday, 14th December._--Wm. and Mary walked to Ambleside in the
morning to buy mouse-traps.... I wrote to Coleridge a very long letter
while they were absent. Sate by the fire in the evening reading.
* * * * * *
_Thursday, 17th._--Snow in the night and still snowing.... Ambleside
looked excessively beautiful as we came out--like a village in another
country; and the light cheerful mountains were seen, in the long
distance, as bright and as clear as at mid-day, with the blue sky above
them. We heard waterfowl calling out by the lake side. Jupiter was very
glorious above the Ambleside hills, and one large star hung over the
corner of the hills on the opposite side of Rydale water.
_Friday, 18th December 1801._--Mary and Wm. walked round the two lakes.
I staid at home to make bread. I afterwards went to meet them, and I met
Wm. Mary had gone to look at Langdale Pikes. It was a cheerful glorious
day. The birches and all trees beautiful, hips bright red, mosses green.
I wrote to Coleridge.
* * * * * *
_Sunday, 20th December._--It snowed all day. It was a very deep snow.
The brooms were very beautiful, arched feathers with wiry stalks pointed
to the end, smaller and smaller. They waved gently with the weight of
the snow.
_Monday 21st_ being the shortest day, Mary walked to Ambleside for
letters. It was a wearisome walk, for the snow lay deep upon the roads
and it was beginning to thaw. I stayed at home. Wm. sate beside me, and
read _The Pedlar_. He was in good spirits, and full of hope of what he
should do with it. He went to meet Mary, and they brought four
letters--two from Coleridge, one from Sara, and one from France.
Coleridge's were melancholy letters. He had been very ill. We were made
very unhappy. Wm. wrote to him, and directed the letter into
Somersetshire. I finished it after tea. In the afternoon Mary and I
ironed.
_Tuesday, 22nd._-- ... Wm. composed a few lines of _The Pedlar_. We
talked about Lamb's tragedy as we went down the White Moss. We stopped a
long time in going to watch a little bird with a salmon-coloured breast,
a white cross or T upon its wings, and a brownish back with faint
stripes.... It began to pick upon the road at the distance of four yards
from us, and advanced nearer and nearer till it came within the length
of W.'s stick, without any apparent fear of us. As we came up the White
Moss, we met an old man, who I saw was a beggar by his two bags hanging
over his shoulder; but, from half laziness, half indifference, and
wanting to _try_ him, if he would speak, I let him pass. He said
nothing, and my heart smote me. I turned back, and said, "You are
begging?" "Ay," says he. I gave him something. William, judging from his
appearance, joined in, "I suppose you were a sailor?" "Ay," he replied,
"I have been 57 years at sea, 12 of them on board a man-of-war under Sir
Hugh Palmer." "Why have you not a pension?" "I have no pension, but I
could have got into Greenwich hospital, but all my officers are dead."
He was 75 years of age, had a freshish colour in his cheeks, grey hair,
a decent hat with a binding round the edge, the hat worn brown and
glossy, his shoes were small thin shoes low in the quarters, pretty
good. They had belonged to a gentleman. His coat was frock shaped,
coming over his thighs. It had been joined up at the seams behind with
paler blue, to let it out, and there were three bell-shaped patches of
darker blue behind, where the buttons had been. His breeches were either
of fustian, or grey cloth, with strings hanging down, whole and tight.
He had a checked shirt on, and a small coloured handkerchief tied round
his neck. His bags were hung over each shoulder, and lay on each side of
him, below his breast. One was brownish and of coarse stuff, the other
was white with meal on the outside, and his blue waistcoat was whitened
with meal.
* * * * * *
We overtook old Fleming at Rydale, leading his little Dutchman-like
grandchild along the slippery road. The same face seemed to be natural
to them both--the old man and the little child--and they went hand in
hand, the grandfather cautious, yet looking proud of his charge. He had
two patches of new cloth at the shoulder-blades of his faded
claret-coloured coat, like eyes at each shoulder, not worn elsewhere. I
found Mary at home in her riding-habit, all her clothes being put up. We
were very sad about Coleridge.... We stopped to look at the stone seat
at the top of the hill. There was a white cushion upon it, round at the
edge like a cushion, and the rock behind looked soft as velvet, of a
vivid green, and so tempting! The snow too looked as soft as a down
cushion. A young foxglove, like a star, in the centre. There were a few
green lichens about it, and a few withered brackens of fern here and
there upon the ground near, all else was a thick snow; no footmark to
it, not the foot of a sheep.... We sate snugly round the fire. I read to
them the Tale of Constance and the Syrian monarch, in the _Man of Lawe's
Tale_, also some of the _Prologue_....
_Wednesday, 23rd._-- ... Mary wrote out the Tales from Chaucer for
Coleridge. William worked at _The Ruined Cottage_ and made himself very
ill.... A broken soldier came to beg in the morning. Afterwards a tall
woman, dressed somewhat in a tawdry style, with a long checked muslin
apron, a beaver hat, and throughout what are called good clothes. Her
daughter had gone before, with a soldier and his wife. She had buried
her husband at Whitehaven, and was going back into Cheshire.
_Thursday, 24th._--Still a thaw. Wm., Mary, and I sate comfortably
round the fire in the evening, and read Chaucer. Thoughts of last year.
I took out my old Journal.
_Friday, 25th._--_Christmas Day._ We received a letter from Coleridge.
His letter made us uneasy about him. I was glad I was not by myself when
I received it.
_Saturday, 26th._-- ... We walked to Rydale. Grasmere Lake a beautiful
image of stillness, clear as glass, reflecting all things. The wind was
up, and the waters sounding. The lake of a rich purple, the fields a
soft yellow, the island yellowish-green, the copses red-brown, the
mountains purple, the church and buildings, how quiet they were! Poor
Coleridge, Sara, and dear little Derwent here last year at this time.
After tea we sate by the fire comfortably. I read aloud _The Miller's
Tale_. Wrote to Coleridge.... Wm. wrote part of the poem to
Coleridge.[43]
[Footnote 43: See _Stanzas, written in my Pocket Copy of Thomson's
Castle of Indolence_, "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 305.--ED.]
_Sunday, 27th._--A fine soft beautiful mild day, with gleams of
sunshine. William went to take in his boat. I sate in John's Grove a
little while. Mary came home. Mary wrote some lines of the third part of
his poem, which he brought to read to us, when we came home....
_Monday, 28th of December._--William, Mary, and I set off on foot to
Keswick. We carried some cold mutton in our pockets, and dined at John
Stanley's, where they were making Christmas pies. The sun shone, but it
was coldish. We parted from Wm. upon the Raise. He joined us opposite
Sara's rock. He was busy in composition, and sate down upon the wall. We
did not see him again till we arrived at John Stanley's. There we
roasted apples in the room. After we had left John Stanley's, Wm.
discovered that he had lost his gloves. He turned back, but they were
gone. Wm. rested often. Once he left his Spenser, and Mary turned back
for it, and found it upon the bank, where we had last rested.... We
reached Greta Hall at about 1/2 past 5 o'clock. The children and Mrs. C.
well. After tea, message came from Wilkinson, who had passed us on the
road, inviting Wm. to sup at the Oak. He went. Met a young man (a
predestined Marquis) called Johnston. He spoke to him familiarly of the
L. B. He had seen a copy presented by the Queen to Mrs. Harcourt. Said
he saw them everywhere, and wondered they did not sell. We all went
weary to bed....
_Tuesday, 29th._--A fine morning. A thin fog upon the hills which soon
disappeared. The sun shone. Wilkinson went with us to the top of the
hill. We turned out of the road at the second mile stone, and passed a
pretty cluster of houses at the foot of St. John's Vale. The houses were
among tall trees, partly of Scotch fir, and some naked forest trees. We
crossed a bridge just below these houses, and the river winded sweetly
along the meadows. Our road soon led us along the sides of dreary bare
hills, but we had a glorious prospect to the left of Saddleback,
half-way covered with snow, and underneath the comfortable white houses
and the village of Threlkeld. These houses and the village want trees
about them. Skiddaw was behind us, and dear Coleridge's desert home. As
we ascended the hills it grew very cold and slippery. Luckily, the wind
was at our backs, and helped us on. A sharp hail shower gathered at the
head of Martindale, and the view upwards was very grand--wild cottages,
seen through the hurrying hail-shower. The wind drove, and eddied about
and about, and the hills looked large and swelling through the storm. We
thought of Coleridge. O! the bonny nooks, and windings, and curlings of
the beck, down at the bottom of the steep green mossy banks. We dined at
the public-house on porridge, with a second course of Christmas pies. We
were well received by the landlady, and her little Jewish daughter was
glad to see us again. The husband a very handsome man. While we were
eating our dinner a traveller came in. He had walked over Kirkstone,
that morning. We were much amused by the curiosity of the landlord and
landlady to learn who he was, and by his mysterious manner of letting
out a little bit of his errand, and yet telling nothing. He had business
further up in the vale. He left them with this piece of information to
work upon, and I doubt not they discovered who he was and all his
business before the next day at that hour. The woman told us of the
riches of a Mr. Walker, formerly of Grasmere. We said, "What, does he do
nothing for his relations? He has a sickly sister at Grasmere." "Why,"
said the man, "I daresay if they had any sons to put forward he would do
it for them, but he has children of his own."
(_N.B._--His fortune is above £60,000, and he has two children!!)
The landlord went about a mile and a half with us to put us in the
right way. The road was often very slippery, the wind high, and it was
nearly dark before we got into the right road. I was often obliged to
crawl on all fours, and Mary fell many a time. A stout young man whom we
met on the hills, and who knew Mr. Clarkson, very kindly set us into the
right road, and we inquired again near some houses and were directed, by
a miserable, poverty-struck, looking woman, who had been fetching water,
to go down a miry lane. We soon got into the main road and reached Mr.
Clarkson's at tea time. Mary H. spent the next day with us, and we
walked on Dunmallet before dinner, but it snowed a little. The day
following, being New Year's Eve, we accompanied Mary to Howtown Bridge.
V
DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL
WRITTEN AT GRASMERE
(FROM 1ST JANUARY 1802 TO 8TH JULY 1802)
EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL (FROM 1ST JANUARY 1802
TO 8TH JULY 1802)
_New Year's Day._--We walked, Wm. and I, towards Martindale.
_January 2nd._--It snowed all day. We walked near to Dalemain in the
snow.
_January 3rd._--Sunday. Mary brought us letters from Sara and Coleridge
and we went with her homewards to ... Parted at the stile on the Pooley
side. Thomas Wilkinson dined with us and stayed supper.
I do not recollect how the rest of our time was spent exactly. We had a
very sharp frost which broke on Friday the 15th January, or rather on
the morning of Saturday 16th.
On Sunday the 17th we went to meet Mary. It was a mild gentle thaw.
She stayed with us till Friday, 22nd January. On Thursday we dined at
Mr. Myers's, and on Friday, 22nd, we parted from Mary. Before our
parting we sate under a wall in the sun near a cottage above Stainton
Bridge. The field in which we sate sloped downwards to a nearly level
meadow, round which the Emont flowed in a small half-circle as at
Lochleven.[44] The opposite bank is woody, steep as a wall, but not
high, and above that bank the fields slope gently, and irregularly down
to it. These fields are surrounded by tall hedges, with trees among
them, and there are clumps or grovelets of tall trees here and there.
Sheep and cattle were in the fields. Dear Mary! there we parted from
her. I daresay as often as she passes that road she will turn in at the
gate to look at this sweet prospect. There was a barn and I think two or
three cottages to be seen among the trees, and slips of lawn and
irregular fields. During our stay at Mr. Clarkson's we walked every day,
except that stormy Thursday. We dined at Thomas Wilkinson's on Friday
the 15th, and walked to Penrith for Mary. The trees were covered with
hoar-frost--grasses, and trees, and hedges beautiful; a glorious sunset;
frost keener than ever. Next day thaw. Mrs. Clarkson amused us with many
stories of her family and of persons whom she had known. I wish I had
set them down as I heard them, when they were fresh in my memory....
Mrs. Clarkson knew a clergyman and his wife who brought up ten children
upon a curacy, sent two sons to college, and he left £1000 when he died.
The wife was very generous, gave food and drink to all poor people. She
had a passion for feeding animals. She killed a pig with feeding it over
much. When it was dead she said, "To be sure it's a great loss, but I
thank God it did not die _clemmed_" (the Cheshire word for starved). Her
husband was very fond of playing back-gammon, and used to play whenever
he could get anybody to play with him. She had played much in her youth,
and was an excellent player; but her husband knew nothing of this, till
one day she said to him, "You're fond of back-gammon, come play with
me." He was surprised. She told him she had kept it to herself, while
she had a young family to attend to, but that now she would play with
him! So they began to play, and played every night. Mr. C. told us many
pleasant stories. His journey from London to Wisbeck on foot when a
schoolboy, knife and stick, postboy, etc., the white horse sleeping at
the turnpike gate snoring, the turnpike man's clock ticking, the burring
story, the story of the mastiff, bull-baiting by men at Wisbeck.
[Footnote 44: This refers probably to Loch Leven in Argyll, but its
point is not obvious, and Dorothy Wordsworth had not then been in
Scotland.--ED.]
On Saturday, January 23rd, we left Eusemere at 10 o'clock in the
morning, I behind Wm. Mr. Clarkson on his Galloway.[45] The morning not
very promising, the wind cold. The mountains large and dark, but only
thinly streaked with snow; a strong wind. We dined in Grisdale on ham,
bread, and milk. We parted from Mr. C. at one o'clock. It rained all the
way home. We struggled with the wind, and often rested as we went along.
A hail shower met us before we reached the Tarn, and the way often was
difficult over the snow; but at the Tarn the view closed in. We saw
nothing but mists and snow: and at first the ice on the Tarn below us
cracked and split, yet without water, a dull grey white. We lost our
path, and could see the Tarn no longer. We made our way out with
difficulty, guided by a heap of stones which we well remembered. We were
afraid of being bewildered in the mists, till the darkness should
overtake us. We were long before we knew that we were in the right
track, but thanks to William's skill we knew it long before we could see
our way before us. There was no footmark upon the snow either of man or
beast. We saw four sheep before we had left the snow region. The vale of
Grasmere, when the mists broke away, looked soft and grave, of a yellow
hue. It was dark before we reached home. O how happy and comfortable we
felt ourselves, sitting by our own fire, when we had got off our wet
clothes. We talked about the Lake of Como, read the description, looked
about us, and felt that we were happy....
[Footnote 45: A Galloway pony.--ED.]
_Sunday, 24th._--We went into the orchard as soon as breakfast was
over. Laid out the situation for our new room, and sauntered a while.
Wm. walked in the morning. I wrote to Coleridge....
_Monday, 25th January._-- ... Wm. tired with composition....
_Tuesday, 26th._-- ... We are going to walk, and I am ready and waiting
by the kitchen fire for Wm. We set forward intending to go into
Easedale, but the wind being loudish, and blowing down Easedale, we
walked under Silver How for a shelter. We went a little beyond the syke;
then up to John's Grove, where the storm of Thursday has made sad
ravages. Two of the finest trees are uprooted, one lying with the turf
about its root, as if the whole together had been pared by a knife. The
other is a larch. Several others are blown aside, one is snapped in two.
We gathered together a faggot. Wm. had tired himself with working.... We
received a letter from Mary with an account of C.'s arrival in London. I
wrote to Mary before bedtime.... Wm. wrote out part of his poem, and
endeavoured to alter it, and so made himself ill. I copied out the rest
for him. We went late to bed. Wm. wrote to Annette.[46]
[Footnote 46: See the "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 335.--ED.]
_Wednesday, 27th._--A beautiful mild morning; the sun shone; the lake
was still, and all the shores reflected in it. I finished my letter to
Mary. Wm. wrote to Stuart. I copied sonnets for him. Mr. Olliff called
and asked us to tea to-morrow. We stayed in the house till the sun shone
more dimly and we thought the afternoon was closing in, but though the
calmness of the Lake was gone with the bright sunshine, yet it was
delightfully pleasant. We found no letter from Coleridge. One from Sara
which we sate upon the wall to read; a sweet long letter, with a most
interesting account of Mr. Patrick. We cooked no dinner. Sate a while by
the fire, and then drank tea at Frank Raty's. As we went past the Nab I
was surprised to see the youngest child amongst them running about by
itself, with a canny round fat face, and rosy cheeks. I called in. They
gave me some nuts. Everybody surprised that we should come over
Grisdale. Paid £1: 3: 3 for letters come since December 1st. Paid also
about 8 shillings at Penrith. The bees were humming about the hive.
William raked a few stones off the garden, his first garden labour this
year. I cut the shrubs. When we returned from Frank's, Wm. wasted his
mind in the Magazines. I wrote to Coleridge, and Mrs. C., closed the
letters up to Samson. Then we sate by the fire, and were happy, only our
tender thoughts became painful.[47] Went to bed at 1/2 past 11.
[Footnote 47: Compare, in _Lines written in Early Spring_, vol. i.
p. 269--
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind. ED.]
_Thursday, 28th._--A downright rain. A wet night. Wm. wrote an epitaph,
and altered one that he wrote when he was a boy. It cleared up after
dinner. We were both in miserable spirits, and very doubtful about
keeping our engagements to the Olliffs. We walked first within view of
Rydale then to Lowthwaite, then we went to Mr. Olliff. We talked a
while. Wm. was tired. We then played at cards. Came home in the rain.
Very dark. Came with a lantern. Wm. out of spirits and tired. He called
at 1/4 past 3 to know the hour.
_Friday, 29th January._--Wm. was very unwell. Worn out with his bad
night's rest. I read to him, to endeavour to make him sleep. Then I came
into the other room, and I read the first book of _Paradise Lost_. After
dinner we walked to Ambleside.... A heart-rending letter from Coleridge.
We were sad as we could be. Wm. wrote to him. We talked about Wm.'s
going to London. It was a mild afternoon. There was an unusual softness
in the prospects as we went, a rich yellow upon the fields, and a soft
grave purple on the waters. When we returned many stars were out, the
clouds were moveless, and the sky soft purple, the lake of Rydale calm,
Jupiter behind. Jupiter at least _we_ call him, but William says we
always call the largest star Jupiter. When we came home we both wrote to
C. I was stupefied.
_Saturday, January 30th._--A cold dark morning. William chopped wood. I
brought it in a basket.... He asked me to set down the story of Barbara
Wilkinson's turtle dove. Barbara is an old maid. She had two turtle
doves. One of them died, the first year I think. The other continued to
live alone in its cage for nine years, but for one whole year it had a
companion and daily visitor--a little mouse, that used to come and feed
with it; and the dove would carry it and cover it over with its wings,
and make a loving noise to it. The mouse, though it did not testify
equal delight in the dove's company, was yet at perfect ease. The poor
mouse disappeared, and the dove was left solitary till its death. It
died of a short sickness, and was buried under a tree, with funeral
ceremony by Barbara and her maidens, and one or two others.
On _Saturday, 30th_, Wm. worked at _The Pedlar_ all the morning. He kept
the dinner waiting till four o'clock. He was much tired....
_Sunday, 31st._--Wm. had slept very ill. He was tired. We walked round
the two lakes. Grasmere was very soft, and Rydale was extremely
beautiful from the western side. Nab Scar was just topped by a cloud
which, cutting it off as high as it could be cut off, made the mountain
look uncommonly lofty.[48] We sate down a long time with different
plans. I always love to walk that way, because it is the way I first
came to Rydale and Grasmere, and because our dear Coleridge did also.
When I came with Wm., 6 and 1/2 years ago, it was just at sunset. There
was a rich yellow light on the waters, and the islands were reflected
there. To-day it was grave and soft, but not perfectly calm. William
says it was much such a day as when Coleridge came with _him_. The sun
shone out before we reached Grasmere. We sate by the roadside at the
foot of the Lake, close to Mary's dear name, which she had cut herself
upon the stone. Wm. cut at it with his knife to make it plainer.[49] We
amused ourselves for a long time in watching the breezes, some as if
they came from the bottom of the lake, spread in a circle, brushing
along the surface of the water, and growing more delicate as it were
thinner, and of a _paler_ colour till they died away. Others spread out
like a peacock's tail, and some went right forward this way and that in
all directions. The lake was still where these breezes were not, but
they made it all alive. I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The
little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for _they_
were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossom was spread full
out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an
outrage, so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it,
but let it live if it can. We found Calvert here. I brought a
handkerchief full of mosses, which I placed on the chimneypiece when
Calvert was gone. He dined with us, and carried away the encyclopædias.
After they were gone, I spent some time in trying to reconcile myself to
the change, and in rummaging out and arranging some other books in their
places. One good thing is this--there is a nice elbow place for Wm., and
he may sit for the picture of John Bunyan any day. Mr. Simpson drank tea
with us. We paid our rent to Benson....
[Footnote 48: Compare the poem _To the Clouds_, vol. viii. p. 142, and
the Fenwick note to that poem.--ED.]
[Footnote 49: This still exists, but is known to few.--ED.]
_Monday, February 1st._--Wm. slept badly. I baked bread. William worked
hard at _The Pedlar_, and tired himself.... There was a purplish light
upon Mr. Olliff's house, which made me look to the other side of the
vale, when I saw a strange stormy mist coming down the side of Silver
How of a reddish purple colour. It soon came on a heavy rain.... A box
with books came from London. I sate by W.'s bedside, and read in _The
Pleasures of Hope_ to him, which came in the box. He could not fall
asleep.
_Tuesday, 2nd February._-- ... Wm. went into the orchard after
breakfast, to chop wood. We walked into Easedale.... Walked backwards
and forwards between Goody Bridge and Butterlip How. William wished to
break off composition, but was unable, and so did himself harm. The sun
shone, but it was cold. William worked at _The Pedlar_. After tea I read
aloud the eleventh book of _Paradise Lost_. We were much impressed, and
also melted into tears. The papers came in soon after I had laid aside
the book--a good thing for my Wm....
_Wednesday, 3rd._--A rainy morning. We walked to Rydale for letters.
Found one from Mrs. Cookson and Mary H. It snowed upon the hills. We
sate down on the wall at the foot of White Moss. Sate by the fire in the
evening. Wm. tired, and did not compose. He went to bed soon, and could
not sleep. I wrote to Mary H. Sent off the letter by Fletcher. Wrote
also to Coleridge. Read Wm. to sleep after dinner, and read to him in
bed till 1/2 past one.
_Thursday, 4th._-- ... Wm. thought a little about _The Pedlar_. Read
Smollet's life.
_Friday, 5th._--A cold snowy morning. Snow and hail showers. We did not
walk. Wm. cut wood a little. Sate up late at _The Pedlar_.
_Saturday, 6th February._-- ... Two very affecting letters from
Coleridge; resolved to try another climate. I was stopped in my writing,
and made ill by the letters.... Wrote again after tea, and translated
two or three of Lessing's _Fables_.
_Sunday, 7th._--A fine clear frosty morning. The eaves drop with the
heat of the sun all day long. The ground thinly covered with snow. The
road black, rocks black. Before night the island was quite green. The
sun had melted all the snow. Wm. working at his poem. We sate by the
fire, and did not walk, but read _The Pedlar_, thinking it done; but W.
could find fault with one part of it. It was uninteresting, and must be
altered. Poor Wm.!
_Monday Morning, 8th February 1802._--It was very windy and rained hard
all the morning. William worked at his poem and I read a little in
Lessing and the grammar. A chaise came past.
After dinner (_i.e._ we set off at about 1/2 past 4) we went towards
Rydale for letters. It was a "_cauld clash_." The rain had been so cold
that it hardly melted the snow. We stopped at Park's to get some straw
round Wm.'s shoes. The young mother was sitting by a bright wood fire,
with her youngest child upon her lap, and the other two sate on each
side of the chimney. The light of the fire made them a beautiful sight,
with their innocent countenances, their rosy cheeks, and glossy curling
hair. We sate and talked about poor Ellis, and our journey over the
Hawes. Before we had come to the shore of the Lake, we met our patient
bow-bent friend, with his little wooden box at his back. "Where are you
going?" said he. "To Rydale for letters." "I have two for you in my
box." We lifted up the lid, and there they lay. Poor fellow, he
straddled and pushed on with all his might; but we outstripped him far
away when we had turned back with our letters.... I could not help
comparing lots with him. He goes at that slow pace every morning, and
after having wrought a hard day's work returns at night, however weary
he may be, takes it all quietly, and, though perhaps he neither feels
thankfulness nor pleasure, when he eats his supper, and has nothing to
look forward to but falling asleep in bed, yet I daresay he neither
murmurs nor thinks it hard. He seems mechanised to labour. We broke the
seal of Coleridge's letters, and I had light enough just to see that he
was not ill. I put it in my pocket. At the top of the White Moss I took
it to my bosom,--a safer place for it. The sight was wild. There was a
strange mountain lightness, when we were at the top of the White Moss. I
have often observed it there in the evenings, being between the two
valleys. There is more of the sky there than any other place. It has a
strange effect. Sometimes, along with the obscurity of evening, or
night, it seems almost like a peculiar sort of light. There was not much
wind till we came to John's Grove, then it roared right out of the
grove, all the trees were tossing about. Coleridge's letter somewhat
damped us. It spoke with less confidence about France. Wm. wrote to him.
The other letter was from Montagu, with £8. Wm. was very unwell, tired
when he had written. He went to bed and left me to write to M. H.,
Montagu, and Calvert, and Mrs. Coleridge. I had written in his letter to
Coleridge. We wrote to Calvert to beg him not to fetch us on Sunday. Wm.
left me with a little peat fire. It grew less. I wrote on, and was
starved. At 2 o'clock I went to put my letters under Fletcher's door. I
never felt such a cold night. There was a strong wind and it froze very
hard. I gathered together all the clothes I could find (for I durst not
go into the pantry for fear of waking Wm.). At first when I went to bed
I seemed to be warm. I suppose because the cold air, which I had just
left, no longer touched my body; but I soon found that I was mistaken. I
could not sleep from sheer cold. I had baked pies and bread in the
morning. Coleridge's letter contained prescriptions.
_N.B._--The moon came out suddenly when we were at John's Grove, and a
star or two besides.
_Tuesday._--Wm. had slept better. He fell to work, and made himself
unwell. We did not walk. A funeral came by of a poor woman who had
drowned herself, some say because she was hardly treated by her husband;
others that he was a very decent respectable man, and _she_ but an
indifferent wife. However this was, she had only been married to him
last Whitsuntide and had had very indifferent health ever since. She had
got up in the night, and drowned herself in the pond. She had requested
to be buried beside her mother, and so she was brought in a hearse. She
was followed by some very decent-looking men on horseback, her
sister--Thomas Fleming's wife--in a chaise, and some others with her,
and a cart full of women. Molly says folks thinks o' their mothers. Poor
body, _she_ has been little thought of by any body else. We did a little
of Lessing. I attempted a fable, but my head ached; my bones were sore
with the cold of the day before, and I was downright stupid. We went to
bed, but not till Wm. had tired himself.
_Wednesday, 10th._--A very snowy morning.... I was writing out the poem,
as we hoped for a final writing.... We read the first part and were
delighted with it, but Wm. afterwards got to some ugly place, and went
to bed tired out. A wild, moonlight night.
_Thursday, 11th._-- ... Wm. sadly tired and working at _The Pedlar_....
We made up a good fire after dinner, and Wm. brought his mattress out,
and lay down on the floor. I read to him the life of Ben Jonson, and
some short poems of his, which were too interesting for him, and would
not let him go to sleep. I had begun with Fletcher, but he was too dull
for me. Fuller says, in his _Life of Jonson_ (speaking of his plays),
"If his latter be not so spriteful and vigorous as his first pieces, all
that are old, and all who desire to be old, should excuse him therein."
He says he "beheld" wit-combats between Shakespeare and Jonson, and
compares Shakespeare to an English man-of-war, Jonson to a great Spanish
galleon. There is one affecting line in Jonson's epitaph on his first
daughter--
Here lies to each her parents ruth,
Mary the daughter of their youth.
At six months' end she parted hence,
In safety of her innocence.
Two beggars to-day. I continued to read to Wm. We were much delighted
with the poem of _Penshurst_.[50] Wm. rose better. I was cheerful and
happy. He got to work again.
[Footnote 50: By Ben Jonson.--ED.]
_Friday, 12th._--A very fine, bright, clear, hard frost. Wm. working
again. I recopied _The Pedlar_, but poor Wm. all the time at work.... In
the afternoon a poor woman came, she said, to beg, ... but she has been
used to go a-begging, for she has often come here. Her father lived to
the age of 105. She is a woman of strong bones, with a complexion that
has been beautiful, and remained very fresh last year, but now she looks
broken, and her little boy--a pretty little fellow, and whom I have
loved for the sake of Basil--looks thin and pale. I observed this to
her. "Aye," says she, "we have all been ill. Our house was nearly
unroofed in the storm, and we lived in it so for more than a week." The
child wears a ragged drab coat and a fur cap. Poor little fellow, I
think he seems scarcely at all grown since the first time I saw him.
William was with me when we met him in a lane going to Skelwith Bridge.
He looked very pretty. He was walking lazily, in the deep narrow lane,
overshadowed with the hedgerows, his meal poke hung over his shoulder.
He said he "was going a laiting." Poor creature! He now wears the same
coat he had on at that time. When the woman was gone, I could not help
thinking that we are not half thankful enough that we are placed in that
condition of life in which we are. We do not so often bless God for
this, as we wish for this £50, that £100, etc. etc. We have not,
however, to reproach ourselves with ever breathing a murmur. This
woman's was but a common case. The snow still lies upon the ground. Just
at the closing in of the day, I heard a cart pass the door, and at the
same time the dismal sound of a crying infant. I went to the window, and
had light enough to see that a man was driving a cart, which seemed not
to be very full, and that a woman with an infant in her arms was
following close behind and a dog close to her. It was a wild and
melancholy sight. Wm. rubbed his tables after candles were lighted, and
we sate a long time with the windows unclosed, and almost finished
writing _The Pedlar_; but poor Wm. wore himself out, and me out, with
labour. We had an affecting conversation. Went to bed at 12 o'clock.
_Saturday, 13th._--It snowed a little this morning. Still at work at
_The Pedlar_, altering and refitting. We did not walk, though it was a
very fine day. We received a present of eggs and milk from Janet
Dockeray, and just before she went, the little boy from the Hill brought
us a letter from Sara H., and one from the Frenchman in London. I wrote
to Sara after tea, and Wm. took out his old newspapers, and the new ones
came in soon after. We sate, after I had finished the letter, talking;
and Wm. read parts of his _Recluse_ aloud to me....
_Sunday, 14th February._--A fine morning. The sun shines out, but it
has been a hard frost in the night. There are some little snowdrops that
are afraid to put their white heads quite out, and a few blossoms of
hepatica that are half-starved. Wm. left me at work altering some
passages of _The Pedlar_, and went into the orchard. The fine day pushed
him on to resolve, and as soon as I had read a letter to him, which I
had just received from Mrs. Clarkson, he said he would go to Penrith, so
Molly was despatched for the horse. I worked hard, got the writing
finished, and all quite trim. I wrote to Mrs. Clarkson, and put up some
letters for Mary H., and off he went in his blue spencer, and a pair of
new pantaloons fresh from London.... I then sate over the fire, reading
Ben Jonson's _Penshurst_, and other things. Before sunset, I put on my
shawl and walked out. The snow-covered mountains were spotted with rich
sunlight, a palish buffish colour.... I stood at the wishing-gate, and
when I came in view of Rydale, I cast a long look upon the mountains
beyond. They were very white, but I concluded that Wm. would have a very
safe passage over Kirkstone, and I was quite easy about him. After
dinner, a little before sunset, I walked out about 20 yards above
Glow-worm Rock. I met a carman, a Highlander I suppose, with four carts,
the first three belonging to himself, the last evidently to a man and
his family who had joined company with him, and who I guessed to be
potters. The carman was cheering his horses, and talking to a little
lass about ten years of age who seemed to make him her companion. She
ran to the wall, and took up a large stone to support the wheel of one
of his carts, and ran on before with it in her arms to be ready for him.
She was a beautiful creature, and there was something uncommonly
impressive in the lightness and joyousness of her manner. Her business
seemed to be all pleasure--pleasure in her own motions, and the man
looked at her as if he too was pleased, and spoke to her in the same
tone in which he spoke to his horses. There was a wildness in her whole
figure, not the wildness of a Mountain lass, but of the Road lass, a
traveller from her birth, who had wanted neither food nor clothes. Her
mother followed the last cart with a lovely child, perhaps about a year
old, at her back, and a good-looking girl, about fifteen years old,
walked beside her. All the children were like the mother. She had a very
fresh complexion, but she was blown with fagging up the steep hill, and
with what she carried. Her husband was helping the horse to drag the
cart up by pushing it with his shoulder. I reached home, and read German
till about 9 o'clock. I wrote to Coleridge. Went to bed at about 12
o'clock.... I slept badly, for my thoughts were full of Wm.
_Monday, 15th February._--It snowed a good deal, and was terribly cold.
After dinner it was fair, but I was obliged to run all the way to the
foot of the White Moss, to get the least bit of warmth into me. I found
a letter from C. He was much better, this was very satisfactory, but his
letter was not an answer to Wm.'s which I expected. A letter from
Annette. I got tea when I reached home, and then set on reading German.
I wrote part of a letter to Coleridge, went to bed and slept badly.
_Tuesday, 16th._--A fine morning, but I had persuaded myself not to
expect Wm., I believe because I was afraid of being disappointed. I
ironed all day. He came just at tea time, had only seen Mary H. for a
couple of hours between Eamont Bridge and Hartshorn Tree. Mrs. C.
better. He had had a difficult journey over Kirkstone, and came home by
Threlkeld. We spent a sweet evening. He was better, had altered _The
Pedlar_. We went to bed pretty soon. Mr. Graham said he wished Wm. had
been with him the other day--he was riding in a post-chaise and he heard
a strange cry that he could not understand, the sound continued, and he
called to the chaise driver to stop. It was a little girl that was
crying as if her heart would burst. She had got up behind the chaise,
and her cloak had been caught by the wheel, and was jammed in, and it
hung there. She was crying after it, poor thing. Mr. Graham took her
into the chaise, and her cloak was released from the wheel, but the
child's misery did not cease, for her cloak was torn to rags; it had
been a miserable cloak before, but she had no other, and it was the
greatest sorrow that could befall her. Her name was Alice Fell.[51] She
had no parents, and belonged to the next town. At the next town, Mr. G.
left money with some respectable people in the town, to buy her a new
cloak.
[Footnote 51: See the poem _Alice Fell_, in the "Poetical Works," vol.
ii. p. 273.--ED.]
_Wednesday, 17th._--A miserable nasty snowy morning. We did not walk,
but the old man from the hill brought us a short letter from Mary H. I
copied the second part of _Peter Bell_....
_Thursday, 18th._--A foggy morning. I copied new part of _Peter Bell_
in W.'s absence, and began a letter to Coleridge. Wm. came in with a
letter from Coleridge.... We talked together till 11 o'clock, when Wm.
got to work, and was no worse for it. Hard frost.
* * * * * *
_Saturday, 20th._-- ... I wrote the first part of _Peter Bell_....
_Sunday, 21st._--A very wet morning. I wrote the 2nd prologue to _Peter
Bell_.... After dinner I wrote the 1st prologue.... Snowdrops quite out,
but cold and winterly; yet, for all this, a thrush that lives in our
orchard has shouted and sung its merriest all day long ...
_Monday, 22nd._--Wm. brought me 4 letters to read--from Annette and
Caroline,[52] Mary and Sara, and Coleridge.... In the evening we walked
to the top of the hill, then to the bridge. We hung over the wall, and
looked at the deep stream below. It came with a full, steady, yet a very
rapid flow down to the lake. The sykes made a sweet sound everywhere,
and looked very interesting in the twilight, and that little one above
Mr. Olliff's house was very impressive. A ghostly white serpent line, it
made a sound most distinctly heard of itself. The mountains were black
and steep, the tops of some of them having snow yet visible.
[Footnote 52: See "Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 335.--ED.]
_Tuesday, 23rd._-- ... When we came out of our own doors, that dear
thrush was singing upon the topmost of the smooth branches of the ash
tree at the top of the orchard. How long it had been perched on that
same tree I cannot tell, but we had heard its dear voice in the orchard
the day through, along with a cheerful undersong made by our winter
friends, the robins. As we came home, I picked up a few mosses by the
roadside, which I left at home. We then went to John's Grove. There we
sate a little while looking at the fading landscape. The lake, though
the objects on the shore were fading, seemed brighter than when it is
perfect day, and the island pushed itself upwards, distinct and large.
All the shores marked. There was a sweet, sea-like sound in the trees
above our heads. We walked backwards and forwards some time for dear
John's sake, then walked to look at Rydale. Wm. now reading in Bishop
Hall, I going to read German. We have a nice singing fire, with one
piece of wood....
_Wednesday, 24th._--A rainy morning. William returned from Rydale very
wet, with letters. He brought a short one from C., a very long one from
Mary. Wm. wrote to Annette, to Coleridge.... I wrote a little bit to
Coleridge. We sent off these letters by Fletcher. It was a tremendous
night of wind and rain. Poor Coleridge! a sad night for a traveller such
as he. God be praised he was in safe quarters. Wm. went out. He never
felt a colder night.
_Thursday, 25th._--A fine, mild, gay, beautiful morning. Wm. wrote to
Montagu in the morning.... I reached home just before dark, brought some
mosses and ivy, and then got tea, and fell to work at German. I read a
good deal of Lessing's Essay. Wm. came home between 9 and 10 o'clock. We
sat together by the fire till bedtime. Wm. not very much tired.
_Friday, 26th._--A grey morning till 10 o'clock, then the sun shone
beautifully. Mrs. Lloyd's children and Mrs. Luff came in a chaise, were
here at 11 o'clock, then went to Mrs. Olliff. Wm. and I accompanied them
to the gate. I prepared dinner, sought out _Peter Bell_, gave Wm. some
cold meat, and then we went to walk. We walked first to Butterlip How,
where we sate and overlooked the dale, no sign of spring but the red
tints of the woods and trees. Sate in the sun. Met Charles Lloyd near
the Bridge.... Mr. and Mrs. Luff walked home, the Lloyds stayed till 8
o'clock. Wm. always gets on better with conversation at home than
elsewhere. The chaise-driver brought us a letter from Mrs. H., a short
one from C. We were perplexed about Sara's coming. I wrote to Mary. Wm.
closed his letter to Montagu, and wrote to Calvert and Mrs. Coleridge.
Birds sang divinely to-day. Wm. better.
_Sunday, 28th February._--Wm. employed himself with _The Pedlar_. We got
papers in the morning.
_Monday._--A fine pleasant day, we walked to Rydale. I went on before
for the letters, brought two from M. and S. H. We climbed over the wall
and read them under the shelter of a mossy rock. We met Mrs. Lloyd in
going. Mrs. Olliff's child ill. The catkins are beautiful in the hedges,
the ivy is very green. Robert Newton's paddock is greenish--that is all
we see of Spring; finished and sent off the letter to Sara, and wrote to
Mary. Wrote again to Sara, and Wm. wrote to Coleridge. Mrs. Lloyd called
when I was in bed.
_Tuesday._[53]--A fine grey morning.... I read German, and a little
before dinner Wm. also read. We walked on Butterlip How under the wind.
It rained all the while, but we had a pleasant walk. The mountains of
Easedale, black or covered with snow at the tops, gave a peculiar
softness to the valley. The clouds hid the tops of some of them. The
valley was populous and enlivened with streams....
[Footnote 53: March 2nd.--ED.]
_Wednesday._--I was so unlucky as to propose to rewrite _The Pedlar_.
Wm. got to work, and was worn to death. We did not walk. I wrote in the
afternoon.
_Thursday._--Before we had quite finished breakfast Calvert's man
brought the horses for Wm. We had a deal to do, pens to make, poems to
put in order for writing, to settle for the press, pack up; and the man
came before the pens were made, and he was obliged to leave me with only
two. Since he left me at half-past 11 (it is now 2) I have been putting
the drawers into order, laid by his clothes which he had thrown here and
there and everywhere, filed two months' newspapers and got my dinner, 2
boiled eggs and 2 apple tarts. I have set Molly on to clean the garden a
little, and I myself have walked. I transplanted some snowdrops--the
Bees are busy. Wm. has a nice bright day. It was hard frost in the
night. The Robins are singing sweetly. Now for my walk. I _will_ be
busy. I _will_ look well, and be well when he comes back to me. O the
Darling! Here is one of his bitter apples. I can hardly find it in my
heart to throw it into the fire.... I walked round the two Lakes,
crossed the stepping-stones at Rydale foot. Sate down where we always
sit. I was full of thought about my darling. Blessings on him. I came
home at the foot of our own hill under Loughrigg. They are making sad
ravages in the woods. Benson's wood is going, and the woods above the
River. The wind has blown down a small fir tree on the Rock, that
terminates John's path. I suppose the wind of Wednesday night. I read
German after tea. I worked and read the L. B., enchanted with the _Idiot
Boy_. Wrote to Wm. and then went to bed. It snowed when I went to bed.
_Friday._--First walked in the garden and orchard, a frosty sunny
morning. After dinner I gathered mosses in Easedale. I saw before me
sitting in the open field, upon his pack of rags, the old Ragman that I
know. His coat is of scarlet in a thousand patches. When I came home
Molly had shook the carpet and cleaned everything upstairs. When I see
her so happy in her work, and exulting in her own importance, I often
think of that affecting expression which she made use of to me one
evening lately. Talking of her good luck in being in this house, "Aye,
Mistress, them 'at's low laid would have been proud creatures could they
but have seen where I is now, fra what they thought wud be my doom." I
was tired when I reached home. I sent Molly Ashburner to Rydale. No
letters. I was sadly mortified. I expected one fully from Coleridge.
Wrote to William, read the L. B., got into sad thoughts, tried at
German, but could not go on. Read L. B. Blessings on that brother of
mine! Beautiful new moon over Silver How.
_Friday Morning._--A very cold sunshiny frost. I wrote _The Pedlar_,
and finished it before I went to Mrs. Simpson's to drink tea. Miss S. at
Keswick, but she came home. Mrs. Jameson came in and stayed supper.
Fletcher's carts went past and I let them go with William's letter. Mr.
B. S. came nearly home with me. I found letters from Wm., Mary, and
Coleridge. I wrote to C. Sat up late, and could not fall asleep when I
went to bed.
* * * * * *
_Sunday Morning._--A very fine, clear frost. I stitched up _The Pedlar_;
wrote out _Ruth_; read it with the alterations, then wrote Mary H. Read
a little German, ... and in came William, I did not expect him till
to-morrow. How glad I was. After we had talked about an hour, I gave him
his dinner. We sate talking and happy. He brought two new stanzas of
_Ruth_....
_Monday Morning._--A soft rain and mist. We walked to Rydale for
letters. The Vale looked very beautiful in excessive simplicity, yet, at
the same time, in uncommon obscurity. The Church stood alone--mountains
behind. The meadows looked calm and rich, bordering on the still lake.
Nothing else to be seen but lake and island....
On Friday evening the moon hung over the northern side of the highest
point of Silver How, like a gold ring snapped in two, and shaven off at
the ends. Within this ring lay the circle of the round moon, as
distinctly to be seen as ever the enlightened moon is. William had
observed the same appearance at Keswick, perhaps at the very same
moment, hanging over the Newland Fells. Sent off a letter to Mary H.,
also to Coleridge, and Sara, and rewrote in the evening the alterations
of _Ruth_, which we sent off at the same time.
_Tuesday Morning._--William was reading in Ben Jonson. He read me a
beautiful poem on Love.... We sate by the fire in the evening, and read
_The Pedlar_ over. William worked a little, and altered it in a few
places....
_Wednesday._-- ... Wm. read in Ben Jonson in the morning. I read a
little German. We then walked to Rydale. No letters. They are slashing
away in Benson's wood. William has since tea been talking about
publishing the Yorkshire Wolds Poem with _The Pedlar_.
_Thursday._--A fine morning. William worked at the poem of _The Singing
Bird_.[54] Just as we were sitting down to dinner we heard Mr.
Clarkson's voice. I ran down, William followed. He was so finely mounted
that William was more intent upon the horse than the rider, an offence
easily forgiven, for Mr. Clarkson was as proud of it himself as he well
could be....
[Footnote 54: First published in 1807, under the title of _The
Sailor's Mother_.--ED.]
_Friday._--A very fine morning. We went to see Mr. Clarkson off. The sun
shone while it rained, and the stones of the walls and the pebbles on
the road glittered like silver.... William finished his poem of _The
Singing Bird_. In the meantime I read the remainder of Lessing. In the
evening after tea William wrote _Alice Fell_. He went to bed tired, with
a wakeful mind and a weary body....
_Saturday Morning._--It was as cold as ever it has been all winter, very
hard frost.... William finished _Alice Fell_, and then wrote the poem of
_The Beggar Woman_, taken from a woman whom I had seen in May (now
nearly two years ago) when John and he were at Gallow Hill. I sate with
him at intervals all the morning, took down his stanzas, etc.... After
tea I read to William that account of the little boy belonging to the
tall woman, and an unlucky thing it was, for he could not escape from
those very words, and so he could not write the poem. He left it
unfinished, and went tired to bed. In our walk from Rydale he had got
warmed with the subject, and had half cast the poem.
_Sunday Morning._--William ... got up at nine o'clock, but before he
rose he had finished _The Beggar Boy_, and while we were at breakfast
... he wrote the poem _To a Butterfly_! He ate not a morsel, but sate
with his shirt neck unbuttoned, and his waistcoat open while he did it.
The thought first came upon him as we were talking about the pleasure we
both always felt at the sight of a butterfly. I told him that I used to
chase them a little, but that I was afraid of brushing the dust off
their wings, and did not catch them. He told me how he used to kill all
the white ones when he went to school because they were Frenchmen.... I
wrote it down and the other poems, and I read them all over to him....
William began to try to alter _The Butterfly_, and tired himself....
_Monday Morning._--We sate reading the poems, and I read a little
German.... During W.'s absence a sailor who was travelling from
Liverpool to Whitehaven called, he was faint and pale when he knocked at
the door--a young man very well dressed. We sate by the kitchen fire
talking with him for two hours. He told us interesting stories of his
life. His name was Isaac Chapel. He had been at sea since he was 15
years old. He was by trade a sail-maker. His last voyage was to the
coast of Guinea. He had been on board a slave ship, the captain's name
Maxwell, where one man had been killed, a boy put to lodge with the pigs
and was half eaten, set to watch in the hot sun till he dropped down
dead. He had been away in North America and had travelled thirty days
among the Indians, where he had been well treated. He had twice swam
from a King's ship in the night and escaped. He said he would rather be
in hell than be pressed. He was now going to wait in England to appear
against Captain Maxwell. "O he's a Rascal, Sir, he ought to be put in
the papers!" The poor man had not been in bed since Friday night. He
left Liverpool at 2 o'clock on Saturday morning; he had called at a farm
house to beg victuals and had been refused. The woman said she would
give him nothing. "Won't you? Then I can't help it." He was excessively
like my brother John.
_Tuesday._-- ... William went up into the orchard, ... and wrote a part
of _The Emigrant Mother_. After dinner I read him to sleep. I read
Spenser.... We walked to look at Rydale. The moon was a good height
above the mountains. She seemed far distant in the sky. There were two
stars beside her, that twinkled in and out, and seemed almost like
butterflies in motion and lightness. They looked to be far nearer to us
than the moon.
_Wednesday._--William went up into the orchard and finished the poem. I
went and sate with W. and walked backwards and forwards in the orchard
till dinner time. He read me his poem. I read to him, and my Beloved
slept. A sweet evening as it had been a sweet day, and I walked quietly
along the side of Rydale lake with quiet thoughts--the hills and the
lake were still--the owls had not begun to hoot, and the little birds
had given over singing. I looked before me and saw a red light upon
Silver How as if coming out of the vale below,
There was a light of most strange birth,
A light that came out of the earth,
And spread along the dark hill-side.
Thus I was going on when I saw the shape of my Beloved in the road at a
little distance. We turned back to see the light but it was
fading--almost gone. The owls hooted when we sate on the wall at the
foot of White Moss; the sky broke more and more, and we saw the moon now
and then. John Gill passed us with his cart; we sate on. When we came in
sight of our own dear Grasmere, the vale looked fair and quiet in the
moonshine, the Church was there and all the cottages. There were huge
slow-travelling clouds in the sky, that threw large masses of shade upon
some of the mountains. We walked backwards and forwards, between home
and Olliff's, till I was tired. William kindled, and began to write the
poem. We carried cloaks into the orchard, and sate a while there. I left
him, and he nearly finished the poem. I was tired to death, and went to
bed before him. He came down to me, and read the poem to me in bed. A
sailor begged here to-day, going to Glasgow. He spoke cheerfully in a
sweet tone.
_Thursday._--Rydale vale was full of life and motion. The wind blew
briskly, and the lake was covered all over with bright silver waves,
that were there each the twinkling of an eye, then others rose up and
took their place as fast as they went away. The rocks glittered in the
sunshine. The crows and the ravens were busy, and the thrushes and
little birds sang. I went through the fields, and sate for an hour
afraid to pass a cow. The cow looked at me, and I looked at the cow, and
whenever I stirred the cow gave over eating.... A parcel came in from
Birmingham, with Lamb's play for us, and for C.... As we came along
Ambleside vale in the twilight, it was a grave evening. There was
something in the air that compelled me to various thoughts--the hills
were large, closed in by the sky.... Night was come on, and the moon was
overcast. But, as I climbed the moss, the moon came out from behind a
mountain mass of black clouds. O, the unutterable darkness of the sky,
and the earth below the moon, and the glorious brightness of the moon
itself! There was a vivid sparkling streak of light at this end of
Rydale water, but the rest was very dark, and Loughrigg Fell and Silver
How were white and bright, as if they were covered with hoar frost. The
moon retired again, and appeared and disappeared several times before I
reached home. Once there was no moonlight to be seen but upon the
island-house and the promontory of the island where it stands. "That
needs must be a holy place," etc. etc. I had many very exquisite
feelings, and when I saw this lofty Building in the waters, among the
dark and lofty hills, with that bright, soft light upon it, it made me
more than half a poet. I was tired when I reached home, and could not
sit down to reading. I tried to write verses, but alas! I gave up,
expecting William, and went soon to bed.
_Friday._--A very rainy morning. I went up into the lane to collect a
few green mosses to make the chimney gay against my darling's return.
Poor C., I did not wish for, or expect him, it rained so.... Coleridge
came in. His eyes were a little swollen with the wind. I was much
affected by the sight of him, he seemed half-stupefied. William came in
soon after. Coleridge went to bed late, and William and I sate up till
four o'clock. A letter from Sara sent by Mary. They disputed about Ben
Jonson. My spirits were agitated very much.
_Saturday._-- ... When I awoke the whole vale was covered with snow.
William and Coleridge walked.... We had a little talk about going
abroad. After tea William read _The Pedlar_. Talked about various
things--christening the children, etc. etc. Went to bed at 12 o'clock.
_Sunday._--Coleridge and William lay long in bed. We sent up to George
Mackareth's for the horse to go to Keswick, but we could not have it.
Went with C. to Borwick's where he left us. William very unwell. We had
a sweet and tender conversation. I wrote to Mary and Sara.
_Monday._--A rainy day. William very poorly. 2 letters from Sara, and
one from poor Annette. Wrote to my brother Richard. We talked a good
deal about C. and other interesting things. We resolved to see Annette,
and that Wm. should go to Mary. Wm. wrote to Coleridge not to expect us
till Thursday or Friday.
_Tuesday._--A mild morning. William worked at _The Cuckoo_ poem. I
sewed beside him.... I read German, and, at the closing-in of day, went
to sit in the orchard. William came to me, and walked backwards and
forwards. We talked about C. Wm. repeated the poem to me. I left him
there, and in 20 minutes he came in, rather tired with attempting to
write. He is now reading Ben Jonson. I am going to read German. It is
about 10 o'clock, a quiet night. The fire flickers, and the watch ticks.
I hear nothing save the breathing of my Beloved as he now and then
pushes his book forward, and turns over a leaf....
_Wednesday._--It was a beautiful spring morning, warm, and quiet with
mists. We found a letter from M. H. I made a vow that we would not leave
this country for G. Hill.[55] ... William altered _The Butterfly_ as we
came from Rydale....
[Footnote 55: Gallow Hill, Yorkshire.--ED.]
_Thursday._-- ... No letter from Coleridge.
_Friday._-- ... William wrote to Annette, then worked at _The
Cuckoo_.... After dinner I sate 2 hours in the orchard. William and I
walked together after tea, to the top of White Moss. I left Wm. and
while he was absent I wrote out poems. I grew alarmed, and went to seek
him. I met him at Mr. Olliff's. He has been trying, without success, to
alter a passage--his _Silver How_ poem. He had written a conclusion just
before he went out. While I was getting into bed, he wrote _The
Rainbow_.
_Saturday._--A divine morning. At breakfast William wrote part of an
ode.... We sate all day in the orchard.
_Sunday._--We went to Keswick. Arrived wet to the skin....
_Monday._--Wm. and C. went to Armathwaite.
_Tuesday, 30th March._--We went to Calvert's.
_Wednesday, 31st March._-- ... We walked to Portinscale, lay upon the
turf, and looked into the Vale of Newlands; up to Borrowdale, and down
to Keswick--a soft Venetian view. Calvert and Wilkinsons dined with us.
I walked with Mrs. W. to the Quaker's meeting, met Wm., and we walked in
the field together.
_Thursday, 1st April._--Mrs. C, Wm. and I went to the How. We came home
by Portinscale.
_Friday, 2nd._--Wm. and I sate all the morning in the field.
_Saturday, 3rd._--Wm. went on to Skiddaw with C. We dined at
Calvert's....
_Sunday, 4th._--We drove by gig to Water End. I walked down to
Coleridge's. Mrs. Calvert came to Greta Bank to tea. William walked down
with Mrs. Calvert, and repeated his verses to them....
_Monday, 5th._--We came to Eusemere. Coleridge walked with us to
Threlkeld....
* * * * * *
_Monday, 12th._-- ... The ground covered with snow. Walked to T.
Wilkinson's and sent for letters. The woman brought me one from William
and Mary. It was a sharp, windy night. Thomas Wilkinson came with me to
Barton, and questioned me like a catechiser all the way. Every question
was like the snapping of a little thread about my heart. I was so full
of thought of my half-read letter and other things. I was glad when he
left me. Then I had time to look at the moon while I was thinking my own
thoughts. The moon travelled through the clouds, tinging them yellow as
she passed along, with two stars near her, one larger than the other.
These stars grew and diminished as they passed from, or went into, the
clouds. At this time William, as I found the next day, was riding by
himself between Middleham and Barnard Castle....
_Tuesday, 13th April._--Mrs. C. waked me from sleep with a letter from
Coleridge.... I walked along the lake side. The air was become still,
the lake was of a bright slate colour, the hills darkening. The bays
shot into the low fading shores. Sheep resting. All things quiet. When I
returned _William_ was come. The surprise shot through me....
* * * * * *
_Thursday, 15th._--It was a threatening, misty morning, but mild. We
set off after dinner from Eusemere. Mrs. Clarkson went a short way with
us, but turned back. The wind was furious, and we thought we must have
returned. We first rested in the large boathouse, then under a furze
bush opposite Mr. Clarkson's. Saw the plough going in the field. The
wind seized our breath. The lake was rough. There was a boat by itself
floating in the middle of the bay below Water Millock. We rested again
in the Water Millock Lane. The hawthorns are black and green, the
birches here and there greenish, but there is yet more of purple to be
seen on the twigs. We got over into a field to avoid some cows--people
working. A few primroses by the roadside--woodsorrel flower, the
anemone, scentless violets, strawberries, and that starry, yellow flower
which Mrs. C. calls pile wort. When we were in the woods beyond
Gowbarrow Park we saw a few daffodils close to the water-side. We
fancied that the sea had floated the seeds ashore, and that the little
colony had so sprung up. But as we went along there were more and yet
more; and at last, under the boughs of the trees, we saw that there was
a long belt of them along the shore, about the breadth of a country
turnpike road. I never saw daffodils so beautiful. They grew among the
mossy stones about and above them; some rested their heads upon these
stones, as on a pillow, for weariness; and the rest tossed and reeled
and danced, and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind, that
blew upon them over the lake; they looked so gay, ever glancing, ever
changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here
and there a little knot, and a few stragglers higher up; but they were
so few as not to disturb the simplicity, unity, and life of that one
busy highway. We rested again and again. The bays were stormy, and we
heard the waves at different distances, and in the middle of the water,
like the sea.... All was cheerless and gloomy, so we faced the storm. At
Dobson's I was very kindly treated by a young woman. The landlady looked
sour, but it is her way.... William was sitting by a good fire when I
came downstairs. He soon made his way to the library, piled up in a
corner of the window. He brought out a volume of Enfield's _Speaker_,
another miscellany, and an odd volume of Congreve's plays. We had a
glass of warm rum and water. We enjoyed ourselves, and wished for Mary.
It rained and blew, when we went to bed.
_Friday, 16th April_ (_Good Friday_).--When I undrew curtains in the
morning, I was much affected by the beauty of the prospect, and the
change. The sun shone, the wind had passed away, the hills looked
cheerful, the river was very bright as it flowed into the lake. The
church rises up behind a little knot of rocks, the steeple not so high
as an ordinary three-story house. Trees in a row in the garden under the
wall. The valley is at first broken by little woody knolls that make
retiring places, fairy valleys in the vale, the river winds along under
these hills, travelling, not in a bustle but not slowly, to the lake. We
saw a fisherman in the flat meadow on the other side of the water. He
came towards us, and threw his line over the two-arched bridge. It is a
bridge of a heavy construction, almost bending inwards in the middle,
but it is grey, and there is a look of ancientry in the architecture of
it that pleased me. As we go on the vale opens out more into one vale,
with somewhat of a cradle bed. Cottages, with groups of trees, on the
side of the hills. We passed a pair of twin children, two years old.
Sate on the next bridge which we crossed--a single arch. We rested again
upon the turf, and looked at the same bridge. We observed arches in the
water, occasioned by the large stones sending it down in two streams. A
sheep came plunging through the river, stumbled up the bank, and passed
close to us. It had been frightened by an insignificant little dog on
the other side. Its fleece dropped a glittering shower under its belly.
Primroses by the road-side, pile wort that shone like stars of gold in
the sun, violets, strawberries, retired and half-buried among the grass.
When we came to the foot of Brothers Water, I left William sitting on
the bridge, and went along the path on the right side of the lake
through the wood. I was delighted with what I saw. The water under the
boughs of the bare old trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the
exquisite beauty of the path. There was one grey cottage. I repeated
_The Glow-worm_, as I walked along. I hung over the gate, and thought I
could have stayed for ever. When I returned, I found William writing a
poem descriptive of the sights and sounds we saw and heard.[56] There
was the gentle flowing of the stream, the glittering, lively lake, green
fields without a living creature to be seen on them; behi
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