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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
291
[Footnote
94:
She
means
that
they
stop
work
before
they
are
tired.--ED.]
Saturday,
August
27th.--Before
I
rose,
Mrs.
Macfarlane
came
into
my
room
to
see
if
I
wanted
anything,
and
told
me
she
should
send
the
servant
up
with
a
basin
of
whey,
saying,
"We
make
very
good
whey
in
this
country";
indeed,
I
thought
it
the
best
I
had
ever
tasted;
but
I
cannot
tell
how
this
should
be,
for
they
only
make
skimmed-milk
cheeses.
I
asked
her
for
a
little
bread
and
milk
for
our
breakfast,
but
she
said
it
would
be
no
trouble
to
make
tea,
as
she
must
make
it
for
the
family;
so
we
all
breakfasted
together.
The
cheese
was
set
out,
as
before,
with
plenty
of
butter
and
barley-cakes,
and
fresh
baked
oaten
cakes,
which,
no
doubt,
were
made
for
us:
they
had
been
kneaded
with
cream,
and
were
excellent.
All
the
party
pressed
us
to
eat,
and
were
very
jocose
about
the
necessity
of
helping
out
their
coarse
bread
with
butter,
and
they
themselves
ate
almost
as
much
butter
as
bread.
In
talking
of
the
French
and
the
present
times,
their
language
was
what
most
people
would
call
Jacobinical.
They
spoke
much
of
the
oppressions
endured
by
the
Highlanders
further
up,
of
the
absolute
impossibility
of
their
living
in
any
comfort,
and
of
the
cruelty
of
laying
so
many
restraints
on
emigration.
Then
they
spoke
with
animation
of
the
attachment
of
the
clans
to
their
lairds:
"The
laird
of
this
place,
Glengyle,
where
we
live,
could
have
commanded
so
many
men
who
would
have
followed
him
to
the
death;
and
now
there
are
none
left."
It
appeared
that
Mr.
Macfarlane,
and
his
wife's
brother,
Mr.
Macalpine,
farmed
the
place,
inclusive
of
the
whole
vale
upwards
to
the
mountains,
and
the
mountains
themselves,
under
the
lady
of
Glengyle,
the
mother
of
the
young
laird,
a
minor.
It
was
a
sheep-farm.
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