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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
250
Wednesday,
August
24th.--As
soon
as
breakfast
was
over,
William
and
I
walked
towards
the
Castle,
a
short
mile
from
the
town.
We
overtook
two
young
men,
who,
on
our
asking
the
road,
offered
to
conduct
us,
though
it
might
seem
it
was
not
easy
to
miss
our
way,
for
the
rock
rises
singly
by
itself
from
the
plain
on
which
the
town
stands.
The
rock
of
Dumbarton
is
very
grand
when
you
are
close
to
it,
but
at
a
little
distance,
under
an
ordinary
sky,
and
in
open
day,
it
is
not
grand,
but
curiously
wild.
The
castle
and
fortifications
add
little
effect
to
the
general
view
of
the
rock,
especially
since
the
building
of
a
modern
house,
which
is
white-washed,
and
consequently
jars,
wherever
it
is
seen,
with
the
natural
character
of
the
place.
There
is
a
path
up
to
the
house,
but
it
being
low
water
we
could
walk
round
the
rock,
which
we
resolved
to
do.
On
that
side
next
the
town
green
grass
grows
to
a
considerable
height
up
the
rock,
but
wherever
the
river
borders
upon
it,
it
is
naked
stone.
I
never
saw
rock
in
nobler
masses,
or
more
deeply
stained
by
time
and
weather;
nor
is
this
to
be
wondered
at,
for
it
is
in
the
very
eye
of
sea-storms
and
land-storms,
of
mountain
winds
and
water
winds.
It
is
of
all
colours,
but
a
rusty
yellow
predominates.
As
we
walked
along,
we
could
not
but
look
up
continually,
and
the
mass
above
being
on
every
side
so
huge,
it
appeared
more
wonderful
than
when
we
saw
the
whole
together.
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