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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
230
We
turned
back,
crossed
the
valley,
went
through
the
orchard
and
plantations
belonging
to
the
gentleman's
house.
By
the
bye,
we
observed
to
our
guide
that
the
echo
must
bring
many
troublesome
visitors
to
disturb
the
quiet
of
the
owner
of
that
house,
"Oh
no,"
said
he,
"he
glories
in
much
company."
He
was
a
native
of
that
neighbourhood,
had
made
a
moderate
fortune
abroad,
purchased
an
estate,
built
the
house,
and
raised
the
plantations;
and
further,
had
made
a
convenient
walk
through
his
woods
to
the
Cartland
Crags.
The
house
was
modest
and
neat,
and
though
not
adorned
in
the
best
taste,
and
though
the
plantations
were
of
fir,
we
looked
at
it
with
great
pleasure,
there
was
such
true
liberality
and
kind-heartedness
in
leaving
his
orchard
path
open,
and
his
walks
unobstructed
by
gates.
I
hope
this
goodness
is
not
often
abused
by
plunderers
of
the
apple-trees,
which
were
hung
with
tempting
apples
close
to
the
path.
At
the
termination
of
the
little
valley,
we
descended
through
a
wood
along
a
very
steep
path
to
a
muddy
stream
running
over
limestone
rocks;
turned
up
to
the
left
along
the
bed
of
the
stream,
and
soon
we
were
closed
in
by
rocks
on
each
side.
They
were
very
lofty--of
limestone,
trees
starting
out
of
them,
high
and
low,
overhanging
the
stream
or
shooting
up
towards
the
sky.
No
place
of
the
kind
could
be
more
beautiful
if
the
stream
had
been
clear,
but
it
was
of
a
muddy
yellow
colour;
had
it
been
a
large
river,
one
might
have
got
the
better
of
the
unpleasantness
of
the
muddy
water
in
the
grandeur
of
its
roaring,
the
boiling
up
of
the
foam
over
the
rocks,
or
the
obscurity
of
its
pools.
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