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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
154
Thursday,
17th.--
...
When
I
came
home
I
found
William
at
work
attempting
to
alter
a
stanza
in
the
poem
on
our
going
for
Mary,
which
I
convinced
him
did
not
need
altering.
We
sate
in
the
house
after
dinner.
In
the
evening
walked
on
our
favourite
path.
A
short
letter
from
Coleridge.
William
added
a
little
to
the
Ode
he
is
writing.[70]
[Footnote
70:
Doubtless
the
Ode,
Intimations
of
Immortality.--ED.]
Friday,
18th
June.--When
we
were
sitting
after
breakfast
...
Luff
came
in.
He
had
rode
over
the
Fells.
He
brought
news
about
Lord
Lowther's
intention
to
pay
all
debts,
etc.,
and
a
letter
from
Mr.
Clarkson.
He
saw
our
garden,
was
astonished
at
the
scarlet
beans,
etc.
etc.
etc.
When
he
was
gone,
we
wrote
to
Coleridge,
M.
H.,
and
my
brother
Richard
about
the
affair.
William
determined
to
go
to
Eusemere
on
Monday....
Saturday,
19th.--The
swallows
were
very
busy
under
my
window
this
morning....
Coleridge,
when
he
was
last
here,
told
us
that
for
many
years,
there
being
no
Quaker
meeting
at
Keswick,
a
single
old
Quaker
woman
used
to
go
regularly
alone
every
Sunday
to
attend
the
meeting-house,
and
there
used
to
sit
and
perform
her
worship
alone,
in
that
beautiful
place
among
those
fir
trees,
in
that
spacious
vale,
under
the
great
mountain
Skiddaw!!!...
On
Thursday
morning
Miss
Hudson
of
Workington
called.
She
said,
"...
I
sow
flowers
in
the
parks
several
miles
from
home,
and
my
mother
and
I
visit
them,
and
watch
them
how
they
grow."
This
may
show
that
botanists
may
be
often
deceived
when
they
find
rare
flowers
growing
far
from
houses.
This
was
a
very
ordinary
young
woman,
such
as
in
any
town
in
the
North
of
England
one
may
find
a
score.
I
sate
up
a
while
after
William.
He
then
called
me
down
to
him.
(I
was
writing
to
Mary
H.)
I
read
Churchill's
Rosciad.
Returned
again
to
my
writing,
and
did
not
go
to
bed
till
he
called
to
me.
The
shutters
were
closed,
but
I
heard
the
birds
singing.
There
was
our
own
thrush,
shouting
with
an
impatient
shout;
so
it
sounded
to
me.
The
morning
was
still,
the
twittering
of
the
little
birds
was
very
gloomy.
The
owls
had
hooted
a
quarter
of
an
hour
before,
now
the
cocks
were
crowing,
it
was
near
daylight,
I
put
out
my
candle,
and
went
to
bed....
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