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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
220
[Footnote
82:
Tinto.--J.
C.
S.]
The
evening
sun
was
now
sending
a
glorious
light
through
the
street,
which
ran
from
west
to
east;
the
houses
were
of
a
fire
red,
and
the
faces
of
the
people
as
they
walked
westward
were
almost
like
a
blacksmith
when
he
is
at
work
by
night.
I
longed
to
be
out,
and
meet
with
William,
that
we
might
see
the
Falls
before
the
day
was
gone.
Poor
Coleridge
was
unwell,
and
could
not
go.
I
inquired
my
road,
and
a
little
girl
told
me
she
would
go
with
me
to
the
porter's
lodge,
where
I
might
be
admitted.
I
was
grieved
to
hear
that
the
Falls
of
the
Clyde
were
shut
up
in
a
gentleman's
grounds,
and
to
be
viewed
only
by
means
of
lock
and
key.
Much,
however,
as
the
pure
feeling
with
which
one
would
desire
to
visit
such
places
is
disturbed
by
useless,
impertinent,
or
even
unnecessary
interference
with
nature,
yet
when
I
was
there
the
next
morning
I
seemed
to
feel
it
a
less
disagreeable
thing
than
in
smaller
and
more
delicate
spots,
if
I
may
use
the
phrase.
My
guide,
a
sensible
little
girl,
answered
my
inquiries
very
prettily.
She
was
eight
years
old,
read
in
the
"Collection,"
a
book
which
all
the
Scotch
children
whom
I
have
questioned
read
in.
I
found
it
was
a
collection
of
hymns;
she
could
repeat
several
of
Dr.
Watts'.
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