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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
98
He
goes
at
that
slow
pace
every
morning,
and
after
having
wrought
a
hard
day's
work
returns
at
night,
however
weary
he
may
be,
takes
it
all
quietly,
and,
though
perhaps
he
neither
feels
thankfulness
nor
pleasure,
when
he
eats
his
supper,
and
has
nothing
to
look
forward
to
but
falling
asleep
in
bed,
yet
I
daresay
he
neither
murmurs
nor
thinks
it
hard.
He
seems
mechanised
to
labour.
We
broke
the
seal
of
Coleridge's
letters,
and
I
had
light
enough
just
to
see
that
he
was
not
ill.
I
put
it
in
my
pocket.
At
the
top
of
the
White
Moss
I
took
it
to
my
bosom,--a
safer
place
for
it.
The
sight
was
wild.
There
was
a
strange
mountain
lightness,
when
we
were
at
the
top
of
the
White
Moss.
I
have
often
observed
it
there
in
the
evenings,
being
between
the
two
valleys.
There
is
more
of
the
sky
there
than
any
other
place.
It
has
a
strange
effect.
Sometimes,
along
with
the
obscurity
of
evening,
or
night,
it
seems
almost
like
a
peculiar
sort
of
light.
There
was
not
much
wind
till
we
came
to
John's
Grove,
then
it
roared
right
out
of
the
grove,
all
the
trees
were
tossing
about.
Coleridge's
letter
somewhat
damped
us.
It
spoke
with
less
confidence
about
France.
Wm.
wrote
to
him.
The
other
letter
was
from
Montagu,
with
£8.
Wm.
was
very
unwell,
tired
when
he
had
written.
He
went
to
bed
and
left
me
to
write
to
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