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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
200
The
man
gave
us
an
account
of
his
farm
where
he
had
lived,
which
was
so
cheap
and
pleasant
that
we
thought
we
should
have
liked
to
have
had
it
ourselves.
Soon
after
leaving
the
turnpike
house
we
turned
up
a
hill
to
the
right,
the
road
for
a
little
way
very
steep,
bare
hills,
with
sheep.
After
ascending
a
little
while
we
heard
the
murmur
of
a
stream
far
below
us,
and
saw
it
flowing
downwards
on
our
left,
towards
the
Nith,
and
before
us,
between
steep
green
hills,
coming
along
a
winding
valley.
The
simplicity
of
the
prospect
impressed
us
very
much.
There
was
a
single
cottage
by
the
brook
side;
the
dell
was
not
heathy,
but
it
was
impossible
not
to
think
of
Peter
Bell's
Highland
Girl.
We
now
felt
indeed
that
we
were
in
Scotland;
there
was
a
natural
peculiarity
in
this
place.
In
the
scenes
of
the
Nith
it
had
not
been
the
same
as
England,
but
yet
not
simple,
naked
Scotland.
The
road
led
us
down
the
hill,
and
now
there
was
no
room
in
the
vale
but
for
the
river
and
the
road;
we
had
sometimes
the
stream
to
the
right,
sometimes
to
the
left.
The
hills
were
pastoral,
but
we
did
not
see
many
sheep;
green
smooth
turf
on
the
left,
no
ferns.
On
the
right
the
heath-plant
grew
in
abundance,
of
the
most
exquisite
colour;
it
covered
a
whole
hill-side,
or
it
was
in
streams
and
patches.
We
travelled
along
the
vale
without
appearing
to
ascend
for
some
miles;
all
the
reaches
were
beautiful,
in
exquisite
proportion,
the
hills
seeming
very
high
from
being
so
near
to
us.
It
might
have
seemed
a
valley
which
nature
had
kept
to
herself
for
pensive
thoughts
and
tender
feelings,
but
that
we
were
reminded
at
every
turning
of
the
road
of
something
beyond
by
the
coal-carts
which
were
travelling
towards
us.
Though
these
carts
broke
in
upon
the
tranquillity
of
the
glen,
they
added
much
to
the
picturesque
effect
of
the
different
views,
which
indeed
wanted
nothing,
though
perfectly
bare,
houseless,
and
treeless.
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