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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
57
Wednesday,
3rd
September.--Coleridge,
Wm.,
and
John
went
from
home,
to
go
upon
Helvellyn
with
Mr.
Simpson.
They
set
out
after
breakfast.
I
accompanied
them
up
near
the
blacksmith's....
I
then
went
to
a
funeral
at
John
Dawson's.
About
10
men
and
4
women.
Bread,
cheese,
and
ale.
They
talked
sensibly
and
cheerfully
about
common
things.
The
dead
person,
56
years
of
age,
buried
by
the
parish.
The
coffin
was
neatly
lettered
and
painted
black,
and
covered
with
a
decent
cloth.
They
set
the
corpse
down
at
the
door;
and,
while
we
stood
within
the
threshold,
the
men,
with
their
hats
off,
sang,
with
decent
and
solemn
countenances,
a
verse
of
a
funeral
psalm.
The
corpse
was
then
borne
down
the
hill,
and
they
sang
till
they
had
passed
the
Town-End.
I
was
affected
to
tears
while
we
stood
in
the
house,
the
coffin
lying
before
me.
There
were
no
near
kindred,
no
children.
When
we
got
out
of
the
dark
house
the
sun
was
shining,
and
the
prospect
looked
as
divinely
beautiful
as
I
ever
saw
it.
It
seemed
more
sacred
than
I
had
ever
seen
it,
and
yet
more
allied
to
human
life.
The
green
fields,
in
the
neighbourhood
of
the
churchyard,
were
as
green
as
possible;
and,
with
the
brightness
of
the
sunshine,
looked
quite
gay.
I
thought
she
was
going
to
a
quiet
spot,
and
I
could
not
help
weeping
very
much.
When
we
came
to
the
bridge,
they
began
to
sing
again,
and
stopped
during
four
lines
before
they
entered
the
churchyard....
Wm.
and
John
came
home
at
10
o'clock.
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