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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
153
Wednesday,
16th.--We
walked
towards
Rydale
for
letters....
One
from
Mary.
We
went
up
into
Rydale
woods
and
read
it
there.
We
sate
near
the
old
wall,
which
fenced
a
hazel
grove,
which
William
said
was
exactly
like
the
filbert
grove
at
Middleham.
It
is
a
beautiful
spot,
a
sloping
or
rather
steep
piece
of
ground,
with
hazels
growing
"tall
and
erect"
in
clumps
at
distances,
almost
seeming
regular,
as
if
they
had
been
planted....
I
wrote
to
Mary
after
dinner,
while
William
sate
in
the
orchard....
I
spoke
of
the
little
birds
keeping
us
company,
and
William
told
me
that
that
very
morning
a
bird
had
perched
upon
his
leg.
He
had
been
lying
very
still,
and
had
watched
this
little
creature.
It
had
come
under
the
bench
where
he
was
sitting....
He
thoughtlessly
stirred
himself
to
look
further
at
it,
and
it
flew
on
to
the
apple
tree
above
him.
It
was
a
little
young
creature
that
had
just
left
its
nest,
equally
unacquainted
with
man,
and
unaccustomed
to
struggle
against
the
storms
and
winds.
While
it
was
upon
the
apple
tree
the
wind
blew
about
the
stiff
boughs,
and
the
bird
seemed
bemazed,
and
not
strong
enough
to
strive
with
it.
The
swallows
come
to
the
sitting-room
window
as
if
wishing
to
build,
but
I
am
afraid
they
will
not
have
courage
for
it;
but
I
believe
they
will
build
in
my
room
window.
They
twitter,
and
make
a
bustle,
and
a
little
cheerful
song,
hanging
against
the
panes
of
glass
with
their
soft
white
bellies
close
to
the
glass
and
their
forked
fish-like
tails.
They
swim
round
and
round,
and
again
they
come....
I
do
not
now
see
the
brownness
that
was
in
the
coppices.
The
bower
hawthorn
blossoms
passed
away.
Those
on
the
hills
are
a
faint
white.
The
wild
guelder-rose
is
coming
out,
and
the
wild
roses.
I
have
seen
no
honey-suckles
yet....
Foxgloves
are
now
frequent.
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