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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
213
Some
were
extensive
farms,
yet
in
so
large
a
waste
they
did
but
look
small,
with
farm-houses,
barns,
etc.,
others
like
little
cottages,
with
enough
to
feed
a
cow,
and
supply
the
family
with
vegetables.
In
looking
at
these
farms
we
had
always
one
feeling.
Why
did
the
plough
stop
there?
Why
might
not
they
as
well
have
carried
it
twice
as
far?
There
were
no
hedgerows
near
the
farms,
and
very
few
trees.
As
we
were
passing
along,
we
saw
an
old
man,
the
first
we
had
seen
in
a
Highland
bonnet,
walking
with
a
staff
at
a
very
slow
pace
by
the
edge
of
one
of
the
moorland
corn-fields;
he
wore
a
grey
plaid,
and
a
dog
was
by
his
side.
There
was
a
scriptural
solemnity
in
this
man's
figure,
a
sober
simplicity
which
was
most
impressive.
Scotland
is
the
country
above
all
others
that
I
have
seen,
in
which
a
man
of
imagination
may
carve
out
his
own
pleasures.
There
are
so
many
inhabited
solitudes,
and
the
employments
of
the
people
are
so
immediately
connected
with
the
places
where
you
find
them,
and
their
dresses
so
simple,
so
much
alike,
yet,
from
their
being
folding
garments,
admitting
of
an
endless
variety,
and
falling
often
so
gracefully.
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