VI

DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL

WRITTEN AT GRASMERE

(9TH JULY 1802 TO 11TH JANUARY 1803)

EXTRACTS FROM DOROTHY WORDSWORTH'S JOURNAL (9TH JULY 1802 TO 11TH

JANUARY 1803)

On Friday morning, July 9th, William and I set forward to Keswick on

our road to Gallow Hill. We had a pleasant ride, though the day was

showery.... Coleridge met us at Sara's Rock.... We had been told by a

handsome man, an inhabitant of Wytheburn, with whom he had been talking

(and who seemed, by the bye, much pleased with his companion), that C.

was waiting for us. We reached Keswick against tea-time. We called at

Calvert's on the Saturday evening.... On Monday, 12th July, we went to

Eusemere. Coleridge walked with us six or seven miles. He was not well,

and we had a melancholy parting after having sate together in silence by

the road-side. We turned aside to explore the country near Hutton-John,

and had a new and delightful walk. The valley, which is subject to the

decaying mansion that stands at its head, seems to join its testimony to

that of the house, to the falling away of the family greatness, and the

hedges are in bad condition. The land wants draining, and is overrun

with brackens; yet there is a something everywhere that tells of its

former possessors. The trees are left scattered about as if intended to

be like a park, and these are very interesting, standing as they do upon

the sides of the steep hills that slope down to the bed of the river, a

little stony-bedded stream that spreads out to a considerable breadth at

the village of Dacre. A little above Dacre we came into the right road

to Mr. Clarkson's, after having walked through woods and fields, never

exactly knowing whether we were right or wrong. We learnt, however, that

we had saved half-a-mile. We sate down by the river-side to rest, and

saw some swallows flying about and under the bridge, and two little

schoolboys were loitering among the scars seeking after their nests. We

reached Mr. Clarkson's at about eight o'clock after a sauntering walk,

having lingered and loitered and sate down together that we might be

alone. Mr. and Mrs. C. were just come from Luff's. We spent Tuesday, the

13th of July, at Eusemere; and on Wednesday morning, the 14th, we walked

to Emont Bridge, and mounted the coach between Bird's Nest and Hartshorn

Tree.... At Greta Bridge the sun shone cheerfully, and a glorious ride

we had over Gaterly Moor. Every building was bathed in golden light. The

trees were more bright than earthly trees, and we saw round us miles

beyond miles--Darlington spire, etc. etc. We reached Leeming Lane at

about nine o'clock: supped comfortably, and enjoyed our fire.

On Thursday morning, at a little before seven, being the 15th July, we

got into a post-chaise and went to Thirsk to breakfast. We were well

treated, but when the landlady understood that we were going to _walk_

off, and leave our luggage behind, she threw out some saucy words in our

hearing. The day was very hot, and we rested often and long before we

reached the foot of the Hambledon Hills, and while we were climbing

them, still oftener.... We were almost overpowered with thirst, when I

heard the trickling of a little stream of water. I was before William,

and I stopped till he came up to me. We sate a long time by this water,

and climbed the hill slowly. I was footsore; the sun shone hot; the

little Scotch cattle panted and tossed fretfully about. The view was

hazy, and we could see nothing from the top of the hill but an

undistinct wide-spreading country, full of trees, but the buildings,

towns, and houses were lost. We stopped to examine that curious stone,

then walked along the flat common.... Arrived very hungry at Rivaux.

Nothing to eat at the Millers, as we expected, but at an exquisitely

neat farm-house we got some boiled milk and bread. This strengthened us,

and I went down to look at the ruins. Thrushes were singing; cattle

feeding among green-grown hillocks about the ruins. The hillocks were

scattered over with _grovelets_ of wild roses and other shrubs, and

covered with wild flowers. I could have stayed in this solemn quiet spot

till evening, without a thought of moving, but William was waiting for

me, so in a quarter of an hour I went away. We walked upon Mr.

Duncombe's terrace and looked down upon the Abbey. It stands in a larger

valley among a brotherhood of valleys, of different length and

breadth,--all woody, and running up into the hills in all directions. We

reached Helmsly just at dusk. We had a beautiful view of the castle from

the top of the hill, and slept at a very nice inn, and were well

treated; floors as smooth as ice. On Friday morning, 16th July, we

walked to Kirby. Met people coming to Helmsly fair. Were misdirected,

and walked a mile out of our way.... A beautiful view above

Pickering.... Met Mary and Sara seven miles from G. H. Sheltered from

the rain; beautiful glen, spoiled by the large house; sweet church and

churchyard. Arrived at Gallow Hill at seven o'clock.

_Friday Evening, 16th July._-- ... Sara, Tom, and I rode up Bedale.

Wm., Mary, Sara, and I went to Scarborough, and we walked in the Abbey

pasture, and to Wykeham; and on Monday, the 26th, we went off with Mary

in a post-chaise. We had an interesting ride over the Wolds, though it

rained all the way. Single thorn bushes were scattered about on the

turf, sheep-sheds here and there, and now and then a little hut.

Swelling grounds, and sometimes a single tree or a clump of trees.... We

passed through one or two little villages, embosomed in tall trees.

After we had parted from Mary, there were gleams of sunshine, but with

showers. We saw Beverley in a heavy rain, and yet were much pleased with

the beauty of the town. Saw the minster--a pretty, clean building, but

injured very much with Grecian architecture. The country between

Beverley and Hull very rich, but miserably flat--brick houses,

windmills, houses again--dull and endless. Hull a frightful, dirty,

brickhousey, tradesmanlike, rich, vulgar place; yet the river--though

the shores are so low that they can hardly be seen--looked beautiful

with the evening lights upon it, and boats moving about. We walked a

long time, and returned to our dull day-room but quiet evening one, to

supper.

_Tuesday, 20th._--Market day. Streets dirty, very rainy, did not leave

Hull till four o'clock, and left Barton at about six; rained all the way

almost. A beautiful village at the foot of a hill with trees. A

gentleman's house converted into a lady's boarding-school.... We left

Lincoln on Wednesday morning, 27th July, at six o'clock. It rained

heavily, and we could see nothing but the antientry of some of the

buildings as we passed along. The night before, however, we had seen

enough to make us regret this. The minster stands at the edge of a hill

overlooking an immense plain. The country very flat as we went along;

the day mended. We went to see the outside of the minster while the

passengers were dining at Peterborough; the west end very grand....

On Thursday morning, 29th, we arrived in London. Wm. left me at the

Sun.... After various troubles and disasters, we left London on Saturday

morning at half-past five or six, the 31st of July. We mounted the Dover

coach at Charing Cross. It was a beautiful morning. The city, St.

Paul's, with the river, and a multitude of little boats, made a most

beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge. The houses were not

overhung by their cloud of smoke, and they were spread out endlessly,

yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a fierce light, that there was

even something like the purity of one of nature's own grand

spectacles.[72]

[Footnote 72: Compare the sonnet _Composed upon Westminster Bridge,

September 3, 1802_, in vol. ii. p. 328.--ED.]

We rode on cheerfully, now with the Paris diligence before us, now

behind. We walked up the steep hills, a beautiful prospect everywhere,

till we even reached Dover. At first the rich, populous, wide-spreading,

woody country about London, then the River Thames, ships sailing, chalk

cliffs, trees, little villages. Afterwards Canterbury, situated on a

plain, rich and woody, but the city and cathedral disappointed me. Hop

grounds on each side of the road some miles from Canterbury; then we

came to a common, the race ground, an elevated plain, villages among

trees in the bed of a valley at our right, and, rising above this

valley, green hills scattered over with wood, neat gentlemen's houses.

One white house, almost hid with green trees, which we longed for, and

the parson's house, as neat a place as could be, which would just have

suited Coleridge. No doubt we may have found one for Tom Hutchinson and

Sara, and a good farm too. We halted at a half-way house--fruit carts

under the shade of trees, seats for guests, a tempting place to the

weary traveller. Still, as we went along, the country was beautiful and

hilly, with cottages lurking under the hills, and their little plots of

hop ground like vineyards. It was a bad hop year. A woman on the top of

the coach said to me, "It is a sad thing for the poor people, for the

hop-gathering is the woman's harvest; there is employment about the hops

for women and children."

We saw the castle of Dover, and the sea beyond, four or five miles

before we reached it. We looked at it through a long vale, the castle

being upon an eminence, as it seemed, at the end of this vale, which

opened to the sea. The country now became less fertile, but near Dover

it seemed more rich again. Many buildings stand on the flat fields,

sheltered with tall trees. There is one old chapel that might have been

there just in the same state in which it now is when this vale was as

retired, and as little known to travellers as our own Cumberland

mountain wilds thirty years ago. There was also a very old building on

the other side of the road, which had a strange effect among the many

new ones that are springing up everywhere. It seemed odd that it could

have kept itself pure in its ancientry among so many upstarts. It was

near dark when we reached Dover. We were told that a packet was about to

sail, so we went down to the custom-house in half-an-hour--had our

luggage examined, etc. etc., and then we drank tea with the Honourable

Mr. Knox and his tutor. We arrived at Calais at four o'clock on Sunday

morning, the 31st of July. We stayed in the vessel till half-past seven;

then William went for letters at about half-past eight or nine. We found

out Annette and C. chez Madame Avril dans la Rue de la Tête d'or. We

lodged opposite two ladies, in tolerably decent-sized rooms, but badly

furnished.... The weather was very hot. We walked by the sea-shore

almost every evening with Annette and Caroline, or William and I alone.

I had a bad cold, and could not bathe at first, but William did. It was

a pretty sight to see as we walked upon the sands when the tide was low,

perhaps a hundred people bathing about a quarter of a mile distant from

us. And we had delightful walks after the heat of the day was

passed--seeing far off in the west the coast of England like a cloud

crested with Dover castle, which was but like the summit of the

cloud--the evening star and the glory of the sky,[73] the reflections in

the water were more beautiful than the sky itself, purple waves brighter

than precious stones, for ever melting away upon the sands. The fort, a

wooden building, at the entrance of the harbour at Calais, when the

evening twilight was coming on, and we could not see anything of the

building but its shape, which was far more distinct than in perfect

daylight, seemed to be reared upon pillars of ebony, between which

pillars the sea was seen in the most beautiful colours that can be

conceived. Nothing in romance was ever half so beautiful. Now came in

view, as the evening star sunk down, and the colours of the west faded

away, the two lights of England, lighted up by Englishmen in our country

to warn vessels off rocks or sands. These we used to see from the pier,

when we could see no other distant objects but the clouds, the sky, and

the sea itself--all was dark behind. The town of Calais seemed deserted

of the light of heaven, but there was always light, and life, and joy

upon the sea. One night I shall never forget--the day had been very hot,

and William and I walked alone together upon the pier. The sea was

gloomy, for there was a blackness over all the sky, except when it was

overspread with lightning, which often revealed to us a distant vessel

near, as the waves roared and broke against the pier, and they were

interfused with greenish fiery light. The more distant sea always black

and gloomy. It was also beautiful, on the calm hot night, to see the

little boats row out of harbour with wings of fire, and the sail boats

with the fiery track which they cut as they went along, and which closed

up after them with a hundred thousand sparkles, and streams of glow-worm

light. Caroline was delighted.

[Footnote 73: Compare the sonnet ("Poetical Works," vol. ii. p. 330)

beginning--