Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)Wordsworth, Dorothy
General
Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Wordsworth, Dorothy
Authors, English -- 19th century -- Diaries; Wordsworth, Dorothy, 1771-1855 -- Diaries; Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850 -- Family
There was a pretty stone house before (_i.e._ towards the lake) some
huts, scattered trees, two or three green fields with hedgerows, and a
little brook making its way towards the lake; the fields are almost
flat, and screened on that side nearest the head of the lake by a hill,
which, pushing itself out, forms the bay of Tarbet, and, towards the
foot, by a gentle slope and trees. The lake is narrow, and Ben Lomond
shuts up the prospect, rising directly from the water. We could have
believed ourselves to be by the side of Ulswater, at Glenridden, or in
some other of the inhabited retirements of that lake. We were in a
sheltered place among mountains; it was not an open joyous bay, with a
cheerful populous village, like Luss; but a pastoral and retired spot,
with a few single dwellings. The people of the inn stared at us when we
spoke, without giving us an answer immediately, which we were at first
disposed to attribute to coarseness of manners, but found afterwards
that they did not understand us at once, Erse being the language spoken
in the family. Nothing but salt meat and eggs for dinner--no potatoes;
the house smelt strongly of herrings, which were hung to dry over the
kitchen fire.
Walked in the evening towards the head of the lake; the road was steep
over the hill, and when we had reached the top of it we had long views
up and down the water. Passed a troop of women who were resting
themselves by the roadside, as if returning from their day's labour.
Amongst them was a man, who had walked with us a considerable way in the
morning, and told us he was just come from America, where he had been
for some years,--was going to his own home, and should return to
America. He spoke of emigration as a glorious thing for them who had
money. Poor fellow! I do not think that he had brought much back with
him, for he had worked his passage over: I much suspected that a bundle,
which he carried upon a stick, tied in a pocket-handkerchief, contained
his all. He was almost blind, he said, as were many of the crew. He
intended crossing the lake at the ferry; but it was stormy, and he
thought he should not be able to get over that day. I could not help
smiling when I saw him lying by the roadside with such a company about
him, not like a wayfaring man, but seeming as much at home and at his
ease as if he had just stepped out of his hut among them, and they had
been neighbours all their lives. Passed one pretty house, a large
thatched dwelling with out-houses, but the prospect above and below was
solitary.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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