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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
254
When
we
had
reached
the
bottom
of
the
rock
along
the
same
road
by
which
we
had
ascended,
we
made
our
way
over
the
rough
stones
left
bare
by
the
tide,
round
the
bottom
of
the
rock,
to
the
point
where
we
had
set
off.
This
is
a
wild
and
melancholy
walk
on
a
blustering
cloudy
day:
the
naked
bed
of
the
river,
scattered
over
with
sea-weed;
grey
swampy
fields
on
the
other
shore;
sea-birds
flying
overhead;
the
high
rock
perpendicular
and
bare.
We
came
to
two
very
large
fragments,
which
had
fallen
from
the
main
rock;
Coleridge
thought
that
one
of
them
was
as
large
as
Bowder-Stone,[89]
William
and
I
did
not;
but
it
is
impossible
to
judge
accurately;
we
probably,
without
knowing
it,
compared
them
with
the
whole
mass
from
which
they
had
fallen,
which,
from
its
situation,
we
consider
as
one
rock
or
stone,
and
there
is
no
object
of
the
kind
for
comparison
with
the
Bowder-Stone.
When
we
leave
the
shore
of
the
Clyde
grass
begins
to
show
itself
on
the
rock;
go
a
considerable
way--still
under
the
rock--along
a
flat
field,
and
pass
immediately
below
the
white
house,
which
wherever
seen
looks
so
ugly.
[Footnote
89:
A
rock
in
Borrowdale,
Cumberland.--ED.]
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