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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
191
Is
there
a
man
whose
judgment
clear
Can
others
teach
the
course
to
steer,
Yet
runs
himself
life's
mad
career
Wild
as
the
wave?--
Here
let
him
pause,
and
through
a
tear
Survey
this
grave.
The
poor
Inhabitant
below
Was
quick
to
learn,
and
wise
to
know
And
keenly
felt
the
friendly
glow
And
softer
flame;
But
thoughtless
follies
laid
him
low,
And
stain'd
his
name.
The
churchyard
is
full
of
grave-stones
and
expensive
monuments
in
all
sorts
of
fantastic
shapes--obelisk-wise,
pillar-wise,
etc.
In
speaking
of
Gretna
Green,
I
forgot
to
mention
that
we
visited
the
churchyard.
The
church
is
like
a
huge
house;
indeed,
so
are
all
the
churches,
with
a
steeple,
not
a
square
tower
or
spire,--a
sort
of
thing
more
like
a
glass-house
chimney
than
a
Church
of
England
steeple;
grave-stones
in
abundance,
few
verses,
yet
there
were
some--no
texts.
Over
the
graves
of
married
women
the
maiden
name
instead
of
that
of
the
husband,
"spouse"
instead
of
"wife,"
and
the
place
of
abode
preceded
by
"in"
instead
of
"of."
When
our
guide
had
left
us,
we
turned
again
to
Burns's
house.
Mrs.
Burns
was
gone
to
spend
some
time
by
the
sea-shore
with
her
children.
We
spoke
to
the
servant-maid
at
the
door,
who
invited
us
forward,
and
we
sate
down
in
the
parlour.
The
walls
were
coloured
with
a
blue
wash;
on
one
side
of
the
fire
was
a
mahogany
desk,
opposite
to
the
window
a
clock,
and
over
the
desk
a
print
from
the
Cotter's
Saturday
Night,
which
Burns
mentions
in
one
of
his
letters
having
received
as
a
present.
The
house
was
cleanly
and
neat
in
the
inside,
the
stairs
of
stone,
scoured
white,
the
kitchen
on
the
right
side
of
the
passage,
the
parlour
on
the
left.
In
the
room
above
the
parlour
the
poet
died,
and
his
son
after
him
in
the
same
room.
The
servant
told
us
she
had
lived
five
years
with
Mrs.
Burns,
who
was
now
in
great
sorrow
for
the
death
of
"Wallace."
She
said
that
Mrs.
Burns's
youngest
son
was
at
Christ's
Hospital.
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