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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
287
When
he
was
gone
we
again
debated
whether
we
should
go
back
to
Tarbet,
or
throw
ourselves
upon
the
mercy
of
one
of
the
two
gentlemen
for
a
night's
lodging.
What
we
had
seen
of
the
main
body
of
the
lake
made
us
little
desire
to
see
more
of
it;
the
Highlander
upon
the
naked
heath,
in
his
Highland
dress,
upon
his
careful-going
horse,
with
the
boy
following
him,
was
worth
it
all;
but
after
a
little
while
we
resolved
to
go
on,
ashamed
to
shrink
from
an
adventure.
Pursued
the
horse-track,
and
soon
came
in
sight
of
the
other
gentleman's
house,
which
stood
on
the
opposite
side
of
the
vale,
a
little
above
the
lake.
It
was
a
white
house;
no
trees
near
it
except
a
new
plantation
of
firs;
but
the
fields
were
green,
sprinkled
over
with
hay-cocks,
and
the
brook
which
comes
down
the
valley
and
falls
into
the
lake
ran
through
them.
It
was
like
a
new-made
farm
in
a
mountain
vale,
and
yet
very
pleasing
after
the
depressing
prospect
which
had
been
before
us.
Our
road
was
rough,
and
not
easy
to
be
kept.
It
was
between
five
and
six
o'clock
when
we
reached
the
brook
side,
where
Coleridge
and
I
stopped,
and
William
went
up
towards
the
house,
which
was
in
a
field,
where
about
half
a
dozen
people
were
at
work.
He
addressed
himself
to
one
who
appeared
like
the
master,
and
all
drew
near
him,
staring
at
William
as
nobody
could
have
stared
but
out
of
sheer
rudeness,
except
in
such
a
lonely
place.
He
told
his
tale,
and
inquired
about
boats;
there
were
no
boats,
and
no
lodging
nearer
than
Callander,
ten
miles
beyond
the
foot
of
the
lake.
A
laugh
was
on
every
face
when
William
said
we
were
come
to
see
the
Trossachs;
no
doubt
they
thought
we
had
better
have
stayed
at
our
own
homes.
William
endeavoured
to
make
it
appear
not
so
very
foolish,
by
informing
them
that
it
was
a
place
much
celebrated
in
England,
though
perhaps
little
thought
of
by
them,
and
that
we
only
differed
from
many
of
our
countrymen
in
having
come
the
wrong
way
in
consequence
of
an
erroneous
direction.
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