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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
303
We
returned,
of
course,
by
the
same
road.
Our
guide
repeated
over
and
over
again
his
lamentations
that
the
day
was
so
bad,
though
we
had
often
told
him--not
indeed
with
much
hope
that
he
would
believe
us--that
we
were
glad
of
it.
As
we
walked
along
he
pulled
a
leafy
twig
from
a
birch-tree,
and,
after
smelling
it,
gave
it
to
me,
saying,
how
"sweet
and
halesome"
it
was,
and
that
it
was
pleasant
and
very
halesome
on
a
fine
summer's
morning
to
sail
under
the
banks
where
the
birks
are
growing.
This
reminded
me
of
the
old
Scotch
songs,
in
which
you
continually
hear
of
the
"pu'ing
the
birks."
Common
as
birches
are
in
the
north
of
England,
I
believe
their
sweet
smell
is
a
thing
unnoticed
among
the
peasants.
We
returned
again
to
the
huts
to
take
a
farewell
look.
We
had
shared
our
food
with
the
ferryman
and
a
traveller
whom
we
had
met
here,
who
was
going
up
the
lake,
and
wished
to
lodge
at
the
ferry-house,
so
we
offered
him
a
place
in
the
boat.
Coleridge
chose
to
walk.
We
took
the
same
side
of
the
lake
as
before,
and
had
much
delight
in
visiting
the
bays
over
again;
but
the
evening
began
to
darken,
and
it
rained
so
heavily
before
we
had
gone
two
miles
that
we
were
completely
wet.
It
was
dark
when
we
landed,
and
on
entering
the
house
I
was
sick
with
cold.
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