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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
82
We
overtook
old
Fleming
at
Rydale,
leading
his
little
Dutchman-like
grandchild
along
the
slippery
road.
The
same
face
seemed
to
be
natural
to
them
both--the
old
man
and
the
little
child--and
they
went
hand
in
hand,
the
grandfather
cautious,
yet
looking
proud
of
his
charge.
He
had
two
patches
of
new
cloth
at
the
shoulder-blades
of
his
faded
claret-coloured
coat,
like
eyes
at
each
shoulder,
not
worn
elsewhere.
I
found
Mary
at
home
in
her
riding-habit,
all
her
clothes
being
put
up.
We
were
very
sad
about
Coleridge....
We
stopped
to
look
at
the
stone
seat
at
the
top
of
the
hill.
There
was
a
white
cushion
upon
it,
round
at
the
edge
like
a
cushion,
and
the
rock
behind
looked
soft
as
velvet,
of
a
vivid
green,
and
so
tempting!
The
snow
too
looked
as
soft
as
a
down
cushion.
A
young
foxglove,
like
a
star,
in
the
centre.
There
were
a
few
green
lichens
about
it,
and
a
few
withered
brackens
of
fern
here
and
there
upon
the
ground
near,
all
else
was
a
thick
snow;
no
footmark
to
it,
not
the
foot
of
a
sheep....
We
sate
snugly
round
the
fire.
I
read
to
them
the
Tale
of
Constance
and
the
Syrian
monarch,
in
the
Man
of
Lawe's
Tale,
also
some
of
the
Prologue....
Wednesday,
23rd.--
...
Mary
wrote
out
the
Tales
from
Chaucer
for
Coleridge.
William
worked
at
The
Ruined
Cottage
and
made
himself
very
ill....
A
broken
soldier
came
to
beg
in
the
morning.
Afterwards
a
tall
woman,
dressed
somewhat
in
a
tawdry
style,
with
a
long
checked
muslin
apron,
a
beaver
hat,
and
throughout
what
are
called
good
clothes.
Her
daughter
had
gone
before,
with
a
soldier
and
his
wife.
She
had
buried
her
husband
at
Whitehaven,
and
was
going
back
into
Cheshire.
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