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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
304
The
good
woman
had
provided,
according
to
her
promise,
a
better
fire
than
we
had
found
in
the
morning;
and
indeed
when
I
sate
down
in
the
chimney-corner
of
her
smoky
biggin,
I
thought
I
had
never
been
more
comfortable
in
my
life.
Coleridge
had
been
there
long
enough
to
have
a
pan
of
coffee
boiling
for
us,
and
having
put
our
clothes
in
the
way
of
drying,
we
all
sate
down,
thankful
for
a
shelter.
We
could
not
prevail
upon
the
man
of
the
house
to
draw
near
the
fire,
though
he
was
cold
and
wet,
or
to
suffer
his
wife
to
get
him
dry
clothes
till
she
had
served
us,
which
she
did,
though
most
willingly,
not
very
expeditiously.
A
Cumberland
man
of
the
same
rank
would
not
have
had
such
a
notion
of
what
was
fit
and
right
in
his
own
house,
or
if
he
had,
one
would
have
accused
him
of
servility;
but
in
the
Highlander
it
only
seemed
like
politeness,
however
erroneous
and
painful
to
us,
naturally
growing
out
of
the
dependence
of
the
inferiors
of
the
clan
upon
their
laird;
he
did
not,
however,
refuse
to
let
his
wife
bring
out
the
whisky-bottle
at
our
request:
"She
keeps
a
dram,"
as
the
phrase
is;
indeed,
I
believe
there
is
scarcely
a
lonely
house
by
the
wayside
in
Scotland
where
travellers
may
not
be
accommodated
with
a
dram.
We
asked
for
sugar,
butter,
barley-bread,
and
milk,
and
with
a
smile
and
a
stare
more
of
kindness
than
wonder,
she
replied,
"Ye'll
get
that,"
bringing
each
article
separately.
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