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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
217
After
dinner,
William
and
I
sat
by
a
little
mill-race
in
the
garden.
We
had
left
Leadhills
and
Wanlockhead
far
above
us,
and
now
were
come
into
a
warmer
climate;
but
there
was
no
richness
in
the
face
of
the
country.
The
shrubs
looked
cold
and
poor,
and
yet
there
were
some
very
fine
trees
within
a
little
distance
of
Douglas
Mill,
so
that
the
reason,
perhaps,
why
the
few
low
shrubs
and
trees
which
were
growing
in
the
gardens
seemed
to
be
so
unluxuriant,
might
be,
that
there
being
no
hedgerows,
the
general
appearance
of
the
country
was
naked,
and
I
could
not
help
seeing
the
same
coldness
where,
perhaps,
it
did
not
exist
in
itself
to
any
great
degree,
for
the
corn
crops
are
abundant,
and
I
should
think
the
soil
is
not
bad.
While
we
were
sitting
at
the
door,
two
of
the
landlady's
children
came
out;
the
elder,
a
boy
about
six
years
old,
was
running
away
from
his
little
brother,
in
petticoats;
the
ostler
called
out,
"Sandy,
tak'
your
wee
brither
wi'
you";
another
voice
from
the
window,
"Sawny,
dinna
leave
your
wee
brither";
the
mother
then
came,
"Alexander,
tak'
your
wee
brother
by
the
hand";
Alexander
obeyed,
and
the
two
went
off
in
peace
together.
We
were
charged
eightpence
for
hay
at
this
inn,
another
symptom
of
our
being
in
Scotland.
Left
Douglas
Mill
at
about
three
o'clock;
travelled
through
an
open
corn
country,
the
tracts
of
corn
large
and
unenclosed.
We
often
passed
women
or
children
who
were
watching
a
single
cow
while
it
fed
upon
the
slips
of
grass
between
the
corn.
William
asked
a
strong
woman,
about
thirty
years
of
age,
who
looked
like
the
mistress
of
a
family--I
suppose
moved
by
some
sentiment
of
compassion
for
her
being
so
employed,--if
the
cow
would
eat
the
corn
if
it
were
left
to
itself:
she
smiled
at
his
simplicity.
It
is
indeed
a
melancholy
thing
to
see
a
full-grown
woman
thus
waiting,
as
it
were,
body
and
soul
devoted
to
the
poor
beast;
yet
even
this
is
better
than
working
in
a
manufactory
the
day
through.
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