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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
97
Sunday,
7th.--A
fine
clear
frosty
morning.
The
eaves
drop
with
the
heat
of
the
sun
all
day
long.
The
ground
thinly
covered
with
snow.
The
road
black,
rocks
black.
Before
night
the
island
was
quite
green.
The
sun
had
melted
all
the
snow.
Wm.
working
at
his
poem.
We
sate
by
the
fire,
and
did
not
walk,
but
read
The
Pedlar,
thinking
it
done;
but
W.
could
find
fault
with
one
part
of
it.
It
was
uninteresting,
and
must
be
altered.
Poor
Wm.!
Monday
Morning,
8th
February
1802.--It
was
very
windy
and
rained
hard
all
the
morning.
William
worked
at
his
poem
and
I
read
a
little
in
Lessing
and
the
grammar.
A
chaise
came
past.
After
dinner
(i.e.
we
set
off
at
about
1/2
past
4)
we
went
towards
Rydale
for
letters.
It
was
a
"cauld
clash."
The
rain
had
been
so
cold
that
it
hardly
melted
the
snow.
We
stopped
at
Park's
to
get
some
straw
round
Wm.'s
shoes.
The
young
mother
was
sitting
by
a
bright
wood
fire,
with
her
youngest
child
upon
her
lap,
and
the
other
two
sate
on
each
side
of
the
chimney.
The
light
of
the
fire
made
them
a
beautiful
sight,
with
their
innocent
countenances,
their
rosy
cheeks,
and
glossy
curling
hair.
We
sate
and
talked
about
poor
Ellis,
and
our
journey
over
the
Hawes.
Before
we
had
come
to
the
shore
of
the
Lake,
we
met
our
patient
bow-bent
friend,
with
his
little
wooden
box
at
his
back.
"Where
are
you
going?"
said
he.
"To
Rydale
for
letters."
"I
have
two
for
you
in
my
box."
We
lifted
up
the
lid,
and
there
they
lay.
Poor
fellow,
he
straddled
and
pushed
on
with
all
his
might;
but
we
outstripped
him
far
away
when
we
had
turned
back
with
our
letters....
I
could
not
help
comparing
lots
with
him.
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