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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
275
There
was
a
pretty
stone
house
before
(i.e.
towards
the
lake)
some
huts,
scattered
trees,
two
or
three
green
fields
with
hedgerows,
and
a
little
brook
making
its
way
towards
the
lake;
the
fields
are
almost
flat,
and
screened
on
that
side
nearest
the
head
of
the
lake
by
a
hill,
which,
pushing
itself
out,
forms
the
bay
of
Tarbet,
and,
towards
the
foot,
by
a
gentle
slope
and
trees.
The
lake
is
narrow,
and
Ben
Lomond
shuts
up
the
prospect,
rising
directly
from
the
water.
We
could
have
believed
ourselves
to
be
by
the
side
of
Ulswater,
at
Glenridden,
or
in
some
other
of
the
inhabited
retirements
of
that
lake.
We
were
in
a
sheltered
place
among
mountains;
it
was
not
an
open
joyous
bay,
with
a
cheerful
populous
village,
like
Luss;
but
a
pastoral
and
retired
spot,
with
a
few
single
dwellings.
The
people
of
the
inn
stared
at
us
when
we
spoke,
without
giving
us
an
answer
immediately,
which
we
were
at
first
disposed
to
attribute
to
coarseness
of
manners,
but
found
afterwards
that
they
did
not
understand
us
at
once,
Erse
being
the
language
spoken
in
the
family.
Nothing
but
salt
meat
and
eggs
for
dinner--no
potatoes;
the
house
smelt
strongly
of
herrings,
which
were
hung
to
dry
over
the
kitchen
fire.
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