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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
99
H.,
Montagu,
and
Calvert,
and
Mrs.
Coleridge.
I
had
written
in
his
letter
to
Coleridge.
We
wrote
to
Calvert
to
beg
him
not
to
fetch
us
on
Sunday.
Wm.
left
me
with
a
little
peat
fire.
It
grew
less.
I
wrote
on,
and
was
starved.
At
2
o'clock
I
went
to
put
my
letters
under
Fletcher's
door.
I
never
felt
such
a
cold
night.
There
was
a
strong
wind
and
it
froze
very
hard.
I
gathered
together
all
the
clothes
I
could
find
(for
I
durst
not
go
into
the
pantry
for
fear
of
waking
Wm.).
At
first
when
I
went
to
bed
I
seemed
to
be
warm.
I
suppose
because
the
cold
air,
which
I
had
just
left,
no
longer
touched
my
body;
but
I
soon
found
that
I
was
mistaken.
I
could
not
sleep
from
sheer
cold.
I
had
baked
pies
and
bread
in
the
morning.
Coleridge's
letter
contained
prescriptions.
N.B.--The
moon
came
out
suddenly
when
we
were
at
John's
Grove,
and
a
star
or
two
besides.
Tuesday.--Wm.
had
slept
better.
He
fell
to
work,
and
made
himself
unwell.
We
did
not
walk.
A
funeral
came
by
of
a
poor
woman
who
had
drowned
herself,
some
say
because
she
was
hardly
treated
by
her
husband;
others
that
he
was
a
very
decent
respectable
man,
and
she
but
an
indifferent
wife.
However
this
was,
she
had
only
been
married
to
him
last
Whitsuntide
and
had
had
very
indifferent
health
ever
since.
She
had
got
up
in
the
night,
and
drowned
herself
in
the
pond.
She
had
requested
to
be
buried
beside
her
mother,
and
so
she
was
brought
in
a
hearse.
She
was
followed
by
some
very
decent-looking
men
on
horseback,
her
sister--Thomas
Fleming's
wife--in
a
chaise,
and
some
others
with
her,
and
a
cart
full
of
women.
Molly
says
folks
thinks
o'
their
mothers.
Poor
body,
she
has
been
little
thought
of
by
any
body
else.
We
did
a
little
of
Lessing.
I
attempted
a
fable,
but
my
head
ached;
my
bones
were
sore
with
the
cold
of
the
day
before,
and
I
was
downright
stupid.
We
went
to
bed,
but
not
till
Wm.
had
tired
himself.
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