On Sunday, the 29th of August, we left Calais at twelve o'clock in the
morning, and landed at Dover at one on Monday the 30th.... It was very
pleasant to me, when we were in the harbour at Dover, to breathe the
fresh air, and to look up, and see the stars among the ropes of the
vessel. The next day was very hot. We ... bathed, and sate upon the
Dover Cliffs, and looked upon France with many a melancholy and tender
thought. We could see the shores almost as plain as if it were but an
English lake. We mounted the coach, and arrived in London at six, the
30th August. It was misty, and we could see nothing. We stayed in London
till Wednesday the 22nd of September, and arrived at Gallow Hill on
Friday.
_September 24th._--Mary first met us in the avenue. She looked so fat
and well that we were made very happy by the sight of her; then came
Sara, and last of all Joanna. Tom was forking corn, standing upon the
corn cart. We dressed ourselves immediately and got tea. The garden
looked gay with asters and sweet peas. Jack and George came on Friday
evening, 1st October. On Saturday, 2nd, we rode to Hackness, William,
Jack, George, and Sara single. I behind Tom. On Sunday 3rd, Mary and
Sara were busy packing.
On Monday, 4th October 1802, my brother William was married to Mary
Hutchinson.[74] I slept a good deal of the night, and rose fresh and
well in the morning. At a little after eight o'clock, I saw them go down
the avenue towards the church. William had parted from me upstairs. When
they were absent, my dear little Sara prepared the breakfast. I kept
myself as quiet as I could, but when I saw the two men running up the
walk, coming to tell us it was over, I could stand it no longer, and
threw myself on the bed, where I lay in stillness, neither hearing nor
seeing anything till Sara came upstairs to me, and said, "They are
coming." This forced me from the bed where I lay, and I moved, I knew
not how, straight forward, faster than my strength could carry me, till
I met my beloved William, and fell upon his bosom. He and John
Hutchinson led me to the house, and there I stayed to welcome my dear
Mary. As soon as we had breakfasted, we departed. It rained when we set
off. Poor Mary was much agitated, when she parted from her brothers and
sisters, and her home. Nothing particular occurred till we reached
Kirby. We had sunshine and showers, pleasant talk, love and
cheerfulness. We were obliged to stay two hours at K. while the horses
were feeding. We wrote a few lines to Sara, and then walked out; the sun
shone, and we went to the churchyard after we had put a letter into the
post-office for the _York Herald_. We sauntered about, and read the
grave-stones. There was one to the memory of five children, who had all
died within five years, and the longest lived had only lived four
years....
[Footnote 74: It may not be a too trivial detail to note that
Coleridge's _Dejection, an Ode_, appeared in _The Morning Post_ on
Wordsworth's marriage day.--ED.]
We left Kirby at about half-past two. There is not much variety of
prospect from K. to Helmsley, but the country is very pleasant, being
rich and woody, and Helmsley itself stands very sweetly at the foot of
the rising grounds of Duncombe Park, which is scattered over with tall
woods; and, lifting itself above the common buildings of the town,
stands Helmsley Castle, now a ruin, formerly inhabited by the gay Duke
of Buckingham. Every foot of the road was of itself interesting to us,
for we had travelled along it on foot, William and I, when we went to
fetch our dear Mary, and had sate upon the turf by the roadside more
than once. Before we reached Helmsley, our driver told us that he could
not take us any further, so we stopped at the same inn where we had
slept before. My heart danced at the sight of its cleanly outside,
bright yellow walls, casements overshadowed with jasmine, and its low,
double gavel-ended front.... Mary and I warmed ourselves at the kitchen
fire. We then walked into the garden, and looked over a gate, up to the
old ruin which stands at the top of the mount, and round about it the
moats are grown up into soft green cradles, hollows surrounded with
green grassy hillocks, and these are overshadowed by old trees, chiefly
ashes. I prevailed upon William to go up with me to the ruins.... The
sun shone, it was warm and very pleasant. One part of the castle seems
to be inhabited. There was a man mowing nettles in the open space which
had most likely once been the castle-court. There is one gateway
exceedingly beautiful. Children were playing upon the sloping ground. We
came home by the street. After about an hour's delay, we set forward
again; had an excellent driver, who opened the gates so dexterously that
the horses never stopped. Mary was very much delighted with the view of
the castle from the point where we had seen it before. I was pleased to
see again the little path which we had walked upon, the gate I had
climbed over, and the road down which we had seen the two little boys
drag a log of wood, and a team of horses struggle under the weight of a
great load of timber. We had felt compassion for the poor horses that
were under the governance of oppression and ill-judging drivers, and for
the poor boys, who seemed of an age to have been able to have dragged
the log of wood merely out of the love of their own activity, but from
poverty and bad food they panted for weakness, and were obliged to fetch
their father from the town to help them. Duncombe house looks well from
the road--a large building, though I believe only two-thirds of the
original design are completed. We rode down a very steep hill to Rivaux
valley, with woods all round us. We stopped upon the bridge to look at
the Abbey, and again when we had crossed it. Dear Mary had never seen a
ruined abbey before except Whitby. We recognised the cottages, houses,
and the little valleys as we went along. We walked up a long hill, the
road carrying us up the cleft or valley with woody hills on each side of
us. When we went to G. H. I had walked down the valley alone. William
followed me.
Before we had crossed the Hambledon Hill, and reached the point
overlooking Yorkshire, it was quite dark. We had not wanted, however,
fair prospects before us, as we drove along the flat plain of the high
hill. Far far off from us, in the western sky, we saw shapes of castles,
ruins among groves, a great spreading wood, rocks, and single trees, a
minster with its tower unusually distinct, minarets in another quarter,
and a round Grecian Temple also; the colours of the sky of a bright
grey, and the forms of a sober grey, with a dome. As we descended the
hill there was no distinct view, but of a great space; only near us we
saw the wild (and as the people say) bottomless tarn in the hollow at
the side of the hill. It seemed to be made visible to us only by its own
light, for all the hill about us was dark. Before we reached Thirsk we
saw a light before us, which we at first thought was the moon, then
lime-kilns; but when we drove into the market-place it proved a large
bonfire, with lads dancing round it, which is a sight I dearly love. The
inn was like an illuminated house--every room full. We asked the cause,
and were told by the girl that it was "Mr. John Bell's birthday, that he
had heired his estate." The landlady was very civil. She did not
recognise the despised foot-travellers. We rode on in the dark, and
reached Leeming Lane at eleven o'clock....
The next morning we set off at about half-past eight o'clock. It was a
cheerful, sunny morning.... We had a few showers, but when we came to
the green fields of Wensley, the sun shone upon them all, and the Ure in
its many windings glittered as it flowed along under the green slopes of
Middleham Castle. Mary looked about for her friend Mr. Place, and
thought she had him sure on the contrary side of the vale from that on
which we afterwards found he lived. We went to a new built house at
Leyburn, the same village where William and I had dined on our road to
Grasmere two years and three-quarters ago, but not the same house. The
landlady was very civil, giving us cake and wine, but the horses being
out we were detained at least two hours, and did not set off till two
o'clock. We paid for thirty-five miles, _i.e._ to Sedbergh, but the
landlady did not encourage us to hope to get beyond Hawes.... When we
passed through the village of Wensley my heart melted away, with dear
recollections--the bridge, the little waterspout, the steep hill, the
church. They are among the most vivid of my own inner visions, for they
were the first objects that I saw after we were left to ourselves, and
had turned our whole hearts to Grasmere as a home in which we were to
rest. The vale looked most beautiful each way. To the left the bright
silver stream inlaid the flat and very green meadows, winding like a
serpent. To the right, we did not see it so far, it was lost among trees
and little hills. I could not help observing, as we went along, how much
more varied the prospects of Wensley Dale are in the summer time than I
could have thought possible in the winter. This seemed to be in great
measure owing to the trees being in leaf, and forming groves and
screens, and thence little openings upon recesses and concealed
retreats, which in winter only made a part of the one great vale. The
beauty of the summer time here as much excels that of the winter, as the
variety (owing to the excessive greenness) of the fields, and the trees
in leaf half concealing, and--where they do not conceal--softening the
hard bareness of the limey white roofs. One of our horses seemed to grow
a little restive as we went through the first village, a long village on
the side of a hill. It grew worse and worse, and at last we durst not go
on any longer. We walked a while, and then the post boy was obliged to
take the horse out, and go back for another. We seated ourselves again
snugly in the post-chaise. The wind struggled about us and rattled the
window, and gave a gentle motion to the chaise, but we were warm and at
our ease within. Our station was at the top of a hill, opposite Bolton
Castle, the Ure flowing beneath. William has since written a sonnet on
this our imprisonment. Hard was thy durance, poor Queen Mary! compared
with ours....[75]
[Footnote 75: This sonnet was not thought worthy of being
preserved.--ED.]
We had a sweet ride till we came to a public-house on the side of a
hill, where we alighted and walked down to see the waterfalls. The sun
was not set, and the woods and fields were spread over with the yellow
light of evening, which made their greenness a thousand times more
green. There was too much water in the river for the beauty of the
falls, and even the banks were less interesting than in winter. Nature
had entirely got the better in her struggles against the giants who
first cast the mould of these works; for, indeed, it is a place that did
not in winter remind one of God, but one could not help feeling as if
there had been the agency of some "mortal instruments," which Nature had
been struggling against without making a perfect conquest. There was
something so wild and new in this feeling, knowing, as we did in the
inner man, that God alone had laid his hand upon it, that I could not
help regretting the want of it; besides, it is a pleasure to a real
lover of Nature to give winter all the glory he can, for summer _will_
make its own way, and speak its own praises. We saw the pathway which
William and I took at the close of evening, the path leading to the
rabbit warren where we lost ourselves. Sloe farm, with its holly hedges,
was lost among the green hills and hedgerows in general, but we found it
out, and were glad to look at it again. William left us to seek the
waterfalls....
At our return to the inn, we found new horses and a new driver, and we
went on nicely to Hawes, where we arrived before it was quite dark....
We rose at six o'clock--a rainy morning.... There was a very fine view
about a mile from Hawes, where we crossed a bridge; bare and very green
fields with cattle, a glittering stream, cottages, a few ill-grown
trees, and high hills. The sun shone now. Before we got upon the bare
hills, there was a hunting lodge on our right, exactly like Greta Hill,
with fir plantations about it. We were very fortunate in the day, gleams
of sunshine, passing clouds, that travelled with their shadows below
them. Mary was much pleased with Garsdale. It was a dear place to
William and me. We noted well the public-house (Garsdale Hall) where we
had baited, ... and afterwards the mountain which had been adorned by
Jupiter in his glory when we were here before. It was midday when we
reached Sedbergh, and market day. We were in the same room where we had
spent the evening together in our road to Grasmere. We had a pleasant
ride to Kendal, where we arrived at two o'clock. The day favoured us. M.
and I went to see the house where dear Sara had lived.... I am always
glad to see Staveley; it is a place I dearly love to think of--the first
mountain village that I came to with William when we first began our
pilgrimage together.... Nothing particular occurred till we reached Ings
chapel. The door was open, and we went in. It is a neat little place,
with a marble floor and marble communion table, with a painting over it
of the last supper, and Moses and Aaron on each side. The woman told us
that "they had painted them as near as they could by the dresses as they
are described in the Bible," and gay enough they are. The marble had
been sent by Richard Bateman from Leghorn. The woman told us that a man
had been at her house a few days before, who told her he had helped to
bring it down the Red Sea, and she believed him gladly!... We ...
arrived at Grasmere at about six o'clock on Wednesday evening, the 6th
of October 1802.... I cannot describe what I felt.... We went by candle
light into the garden, and were astonished at the growth of the brooms,
Portugal laurels, etc. etc. etc. The next day, Thursday, we unpacked the
boxes. On Friday, 8th, ... Mary and I walked first upon the hill-side,
and then in John's Grove, then in view of Rydale, the first walk that I
had taken with my sister.
* * * * * *
_Monday, 11th._--A beautiful day. We walked to the Easedale hills to
hunt waterfalls. William and Mary left me sitting on a stone on the
solitary mountains, and went to Easedale tarn.... The approach to the
tarn is very beautiful. We expected to have found Coleridge at home, but
he did not come till after dinner. He was well, but did not look so.
_Tuesday, 12th October._--We walked with Coleridge to Rydale.
_Wednesday, 13th._--Set forwards with him towards Keswick, and he
prevailed us to go on. We consented, Mrs. C. not being at home. The day
was delightful....
_Thursday, 14th._--We went in the evening to Calvert's. Moonlight.
Stayed supper.
* * * * * *
_Saturday, 16th._--Came home, Mary and I. William returned to Coleridge
before we reached Nadel Fell. Mary and I had a pleasant walk. The day
was very bright; the people busy getting in their corn. Reached home at
about five o'clock....
_Sunday, 17th._--We had thirteen of our neighbours to tea. William came
in just as we began tea.
* * * * * *
_Saturday, 30th October._--William is gone to Keswick. Mary went with
him to the top of the Raise. She is returned, and is now sitting near me
by the fire. It is a breathless, grey day, that leaves the golden woods
of autumn quiet in their own tranquillity, stately and beautiful in
their decaying. The lake is a perfect mirror.
William met Stoddart at the bridge at the foot of Legberthwaite dale....
They surprised us by their arrival at four o'clock in the afternoon....
After tea, S. read Chaucer to us.
_Monday, 31st October._[76]-- ... William and S. went to Keswick. Mary
and I walked to the top of the hill and looked at Rydale. I was much
affected when I stood upon the second bar of Sara's gate. The lake was
perfectly still, the sun shone on hill and vale, the distant birch trees
looked like large golden flowers. Nothing else in colour was distinct
and separate, but all the beautiful colours seemed to be melted into one
another, and joined together in one mass, so that there were no
differences, though an endless variety, when one tried to find it out.
The fields were of one sober yellow brown....
[Footnote 76: This should have been entered 1st November.--ED.]
* * * * * *
_Tuesday, 2nd November._--William returned from Keswick.
* * * * * *
_Friday, 5th._-- ... I wrote to Montagu, ... and sent off letters to
Miss Lamb and Coleridge....
* * * * * *
_Sunday, 7th._--Fine weather. Letters from Coleridge that he was gone to
London. Sara at Penrith. I wrote to Mrs. Clarkson. William began to
translate Ariosto.
_Monday, 8th._--A beautiful day. William got to work again at Ariosto,
and so continued all the morning, though the day was so delightful that
it made my very heart long to be out of doors, and see and feel the
beauty of the autumn in freedom. The trees on the opposite side of the
lake are of a yellow brown, but there are one or two trees opposite our
windows (an ash tree, for instance) quite green, as in spring. The
fields are of their winter colour, but the island is as green as ever it
was.... William is writing out his stanzas from Ariosto.... The evening
is quiet. Poor Coleridge! Sara is at Keswick, I hope.... I have read one
canto of Ariosto to-day....
* * * * * *
_24th December._--Christmas Eve. William is now sitting by me, at
half-past ten o'clock. I have been ... repeating some of his sonnets to
him, listening to his own repeating, reading some of Milton's, and the
_Allegro_ and _Penseroso_. It is a quick, keen frost.... Coleridge came
this morning with Wedgwood. We all turned out ... one by one, to meet
him. He looked well. We had to tell him of the birth of his little girl,
born yesterday morning at six o'clock. William went with them to
Wytheburn in the chaise, and M. and I met W. on the Raise. It was not an
unpleasant morning.... The sun shone now and then, and there was no
wind, but all things looked cheerless and distinct; no meltings of sky
into mountains, the mountains like stone work wrought up with huge
hammers. Last Sunday was as mild a day as I ever remember.... Mary and I
went round the lakes. There were flowers of various kinds--the topmost
bell of a foxglove, geraniums, daisies, a buttercup in the water (but
this I saw two or three days before), small yellow flowers (I do not
know their name) in the turf. A large bunch of strawberry blossoms....
It is Christmas Day, Saturday, 25th December 1802. I am thirty-one years
of age. It is a dull, frosty day.
... On Thursday, 30th December, I went to Keswick. William rode before
me to the foot of the hill nearest K. There we parted close to a little
watercourse, which was then noisy with water, but on my return a dry
channel.... We stopped our horse close to the ledge, opposite a tuft of
primroses, three flowers in full blossom and a bud. They reared
themselves up among the green moss. We debated long whether we should
pluck them, and at last left them to live out their day, which I was
right glad of at my return the Sunday following; for there they
remained, uninjured either by cold or wet. I stayed at Keswick over New
Year's Day, and returned on Sunday, the 2nd January.... William was
alarmed at my long delay, and came to within three miles of Keswick....
Coleridge stayed with us till Tuesday, January 4th. W. and I ... walked
with him to Ambleside. We parted with him at the turning of the lane, he
going on horseback to the top of Kirkstone. On Thursday 6th, C.
returned, and on Friday, the 7th, he and Sara went to Keswick. W.
accompanied them to the foot of Wytheburn.... It was a gentle day, and
when William and I returned home just before sunset, it was a heavenly
evening. A soft sky was among the hills, and a summer sunshine above,
and blending with this sky, for it was more like sky than clouds; the
turf looked warm and soft.
* * * * * *
_Monday, January 10th 1803._--I lay in bed to have a drench of sleep
till one o'clock. Worked all day.... Ominously cold.
_Tuesday, January 11th._--A very cold day, ... but the blackness of the
cold made us slow to put forward, and we did not walk at all. Mary read
the Prologue to Chaucer's tales to me in the morning. William was
working at his poem to C. Letter from Keswick and from Taylor on
William's marriage. C. poorly, in bad spirits.... Read part of _The
Knights Tale_ with exquisite delight. Since tea Mary has been down
stairs copying out Italian poems for Stuart. William has been working
beside me, and here ends this imperfect summary....