Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth

by William Wordsworth

  Monday 21st, being the shortest day. Mary walked to Ambleside for letters, it was a wearisome walk for the snow lay deep upon the Roads & it was beginning to thaw. I stayed at home & clapped the small linen. Wm sate beside me & read the Pedlar, he was in good spirits & full of hope of what he should do with it. He went to meet Mary & they brought 4 letters, 2 from Coleridge, one from Sara & one from France. Coleridge’s were very melancholy letters, he had been very ill in his bowels. We were made very unhappy. Wm wrote to him & directed the letter into Somersetshire. I finished it after tea. In the afternoon Mary & I ironed — afterwards she packed her clothes up & I mended Wm’s stockings while he was reading the Pedlar. I then packed up for Mr Clarkson’s — we carried the Boxes cross the Road to Fletcher’s peat house, after Mary had written to Sara & Joanna.

  Tuesday 22nd. Still Thaw. I washed my head. Wm & I went to Rydale for letters, the road was covered with dirty snow, rough & rather slippery. We had a melancholy letter from C, for he had been very ill, tho’ he was better when he wrote. We walked home almost without speaking — Wm composed a few lines of the Pedlar. We talked about Lamb’s Tragedy as we went down the White Moss. We stopped a long time in going to watch a little bird with a salmon coloured breast — a white cross or T upon its wings, & a brownish back with faint stripes. It was pecking the scattered Dung upon the road — it began to peck at the distance of 4 yards from us & advanced nearer & nearer till it came within the length of Wm’s stick without any apparent fear of us. As we came up the White Moss we met an old man, who I saw was a beggar by his two bags hanging over his shoulder, but from a half laziness, half indifference & a wanting to try him if he would speak I let him pass. He said nothing, & my heart smote me. I turned back & said You are begging? ‘Ay’ says he — I gave him a halfpenny. William, judging from his appearance joined in I suppose you were a Sailor? ‘Ay’ he replied,’ I have been 57 years at sea, 12 of them on board a man-of-war under Sir Hugh Palmer.’ Why have you not a pension? ‘I have no pension, but I could have got into Greenwich hospital but all my officers are dead.’ He was 75 years of age, had a freshish colour in his cheeks, grey hair, a decent hat with a binding round the edge, the hat worn brown & glossy, his shoes were small thin shoes low in the quarters, pretty good — they had belonged to a gentleman. His coat was blue, frock shaped coming over his thighs, it had been joined up at the seams behind with paler blue to let it out, & there were three Bell-shaped patches of darker blue behind where the Buttons had been. His breeches were either of fustian or grey cloth, with strings hanging down, whole & tight & he had a checked shirt on, & a small coloured handkerchief tyed round his neck. His bags were hung over each shoulder & lay on each side of him, below his breast. One was brownish & of coarse stuff, the other was white with meal on the outside, & his blue waistcoat was whitened with meal. In the coarse bag I guessed he put his scraps of meat &c. He walked with a slender stick decently stout, but his legs bowed outwards. We overtook old Fleming at Rydale, leading his little Dutchman-like grandchild along the slippery road. The same pace seemed to be natural to them both, the old man & the little child, & they went hand in hand, the Grandfather cautious, yet looking proud of his charge. He had two patches of new cloth at the shoulder blades of his faded claret coloured coat, like eyes at each shoulder, not worn elsewhere. I found Mary at home in her riding-habit all her clothes being put up. We were very sad about Coleridge. Wm walked further. When he came home he cleared a path to the necessary — called me out to see it but before we got there a whole housetop full of snow had fallen from the roof upon the path & it echoed in the ground beneath like a dull beating upon it. We talked of going to Ambleside after dinner to borrow money of Luff, but we thought we would defer our visit to Eusemere a day. — Half the Seaman’s nose was reddish as if he had been in his youth somewhat used to drinking, though he was not injured by it. — We stopped to look at the Stone seat at the top of the Hill. There was a white cushion upon it round at the edge like a cushion & the Rock behind looked soft as velvet, of a vivid green & so tempting! The snow too looked as soft as a down cushion. A young Foxglove, like a Star in the Centre. There were a few green lichens about it & a few withered Brackens of Fern here & there & upon the ground near. All else was a thick snow — no foot mark to it, not the foot of a sheep. — When we were at Thomas Ashburner’s on Sunday Peggy talked about the Queen of Patterdale. She had been brought to drinking by her husband’s unkindness & Avarice. She was formerly a very nice tidy woman. She had taken to drinking but ‘that was better than if she had taken to something worse’ (by this I suppose she meant killing herself). She said that her husband used to be out all night with other women & she used to hear him come in in the morning for they never slept together—’Many a poor Body a Wife like me, has had a working heart for her, as much stuff as she had’. We sate snugly round the fire. I read to them the Tale of Custance & the Syrian Monarch, also some of the Prologues. It is the Man of Lawes Tale. We went to bed early. It snowed & thawed.

  Wednesday 23rd. A downright thaw but the snow not gone off the ground except on the steep hillsides — it was a thick black heavy air — I baked pies & bread. Mary wrote out the Tales from Chaucer for Coleridge. William worked at The Ruined Cottage & made himself very ill. I went to bed without dinner, he went to the other bed — we both slept & Mary lay on the Rug before the Fire. A broken soldier came to beg in the morning. Afterwards a tall woman, dressed somewhat in a tawdry style with a long checked Muslin apron a beaver hat, and throughout what are called good Clothes. Her Daughter had gone before with a soldier & his wife. She had buried her husband at Whitehaven & was going back into Cheshire.

  Thursday 24th. Still a thaw. We walked to Rydale, Wm Mary & I — left the patterns at Thomas Flemings for Mrs King. The Roads uncomfortable & slippery. We sate comfortably round the fire in the Evening & read Chaucer. Thoughts of last year — I took out my old journal.

  Friday 25th. Christmas day — a very bad day. We drank tea at John Fisher’s. We were unable to walk. I went to bed after dinner. The roads very slippery. We received a letter from Coleridge while we were at John Fisher’s. A terrible night — little John brought the letter. Coleridge poorly but better — his letter made us uneasy about him. I was glad I was not by myself when I received it.

  Saturday 26th. My head ached & I lay long in bed & took my breakfast there. Soon after I had breakfasted we went to call at Mr Olliff’s. They were not at home. It came on very wet. Mary went in to the house, & Wm & I went up to Tom Dawsons to speak about his Grandchild. The rain went off & we walked to Rydale — it was very pleasant — Grasmere Lake a beautiful image of stillness, clear as glass, reflecting all things — the wind was up & the waters sounding. The lake of a rich purple, the field a soft yellow, the Island yellowish-green, the copses Red Brown the mountains purple. The Church & buildings, how quiet they were! Poor Coleridge, Sara, & dear little Derwent here last year at this time. After tea we sate by the fire comfortably. I read aloud — The Miller’s Tale. Wrote to Coleridge. The Olliffs passed in chaise & gig. Wm wrote part of the poem to Coleridge.

  Sunday 27th. A fine soft beautiful, mild day with gleams of sunshine. I lay in bed till 12 o clock, Mr Clarkson’s man came, we wrote to him. We walked up within view of Rydale. William went to take in his Boat. I sate in John’s Grove a little while. Mary came home. Mary wrote some lines of the 3rd part of Wm’s poem which he brought to read to us when we came home. Mr Simpson came in at dinner-time & stayed tea. They fetched in the Boat. I lay down upon the Bed in the mean time. A sweet evening.

  Monday 28th December. William, Mary & I set off on foot to Keswick. We carried some cold mutton in our pockets, & dined at John Stanley’s where they were making Christmas pies. The sun shone, but it was coldish. We parted from Wm upon the Rays — he joined us opposite Sara’s rock — he was busy in composition & sate down upon the Wall. We did not see him again till we arrived at John Stanley’s. There we roasted apples in the oven. After we had left John Stanley’s Wm discovered that
he had lost his gloves he turned back but they were gone. We were tired & had bad head aches. We rested often — once Wm left his Spenser & Mary turned back for it & found it upon the Bank where we had last rested. We reached Greta Hall at about ½ past 5 o clock. The Children & Mrs C well. After Tea message came from Wilkinson who had passed us on the road inviting Wm to sup at the Oak — he went — met a young man (a predestined Marquis) called Johnston — he spoke to him familiarly of the LB — he had seen a copy presented by the Queen to Mrs Harcourt — said he saw them everywhere & wondered they did not sell. We all went weary to bed. My Bowels very bad.

  Tuesday 29th. A fine morning — a thin fog upon the hills which soon disappeared — the sun shone. Wilkinson went with us to the top of the hill — we turned out of the road at the 2nd mile stone & passed a pretty cluster of houses at the foot of St John’s Vale. The houses were among tall trees partly of Scotch fir, & some naked forest trees. We crossed a Bridge just below these houses & the river winded sweetly along the meadows. Our road soon led us along the sides of dreary bare hills, but we had a glorious prospect to the left of Saddleback, half way covered with snow & underneath the comfortable white houses & the village of Threlkeld. These houses & the village want trees about them. Skiddaw was behind us & dear Coleridge’s desert home —— As we ascended the hills it grew very cold & slippery. Luckily the wind was at our backs & helped us on. A sharp hail shower gathered at the head of Martindale & the view upwards was very grand — the wild cottages seen through the hurrying hail shower — the wind drove & eddied about & about & the hills looked large & swelling through the storm. We thought of Coleridge. O the bonny nooks & windings & curlings of the Beck down at the bottom of the steep green mossy Banks. We dined at the publick house on porridge, with a second course of Christmas pies. We were well received by the Landlady, & her little Jewish daughters were glad to see us again. The husband a very handsome man. While we were eating our dinners a traveller came in — he had walked over Kirkstone that morning. We were much amused by the curiosity of the Landlord & Landlady to learn who he was, & by his mysterious manner of letting out a little bit of his errand & yet telling nothing. He had business further up in the vale. He left them with this piece of information to work upon & I doubt not they discovered who he was & all his business before the next day at that hour. The woman told us of the Riches of a Mr Walker formerly of Grasmere. We said What does he do nothing for his relations? He has a sickly sister at Grasmere. ‘Why’ said the Man ‘I daresay if they had any sons to put forward he would do it for them, but he has Children of his own’. NB. — his fortune is above 6o,ooo£ & he has two children!! The Landlord went about i mile & a ½ with us to put us in the right way. The road was often very slippery, the wind high, & it was nearly dark before we got into the right Road. I was often obliged to crawl upon all fours, & Mary fell many a time. A stout young man whom we met on the hills & who knew Mr Clarkson very kindly set us into the right road & we inquired again near some houses & were directed by a miserable poverty struck looking woman, who had been fetching water, to go down a nasty miry lane. We soon got into the main Road & reached Mr Clarksons at Tea time. Mary H. spent the next day with us & we walked in Dunmallet before dinner but it snowed a little. The day following being New Year’s Eve we accompanied Mary to Stainton Bridge — met Mr Clarkson with a Calf’s head in a Basket — we turned with him & parted from Mary.

  New Year’s Day (1802). We walked Wm & I towards Martindale.

  2nd January (Saturday). It snowed all day — we walked near to Dalemain in the snow.

  3rd January Sunday. Mary brought us letters from Sara & Coleridge & we went with her homewards to Sockbridge, parted at the style on the Poolley side. Thomas Wilkinson dined with us, & stayed supper.

  I do not recollect how the rest of our time was spent exactly — we had a very sharp frost which broke on Friday the 15th January or rather on the morning of Saturday 16th. —— On Sunday the 17th we went to meet Mary it was a mild gentle Thaw she stayed with us till Friday 22nd January. She was to have left us on Thursday 23rd (21st) but it was too stormy. On Thursday we dined at Mr Myers’s & on Friday 24th (22nd) we parted from Mary. Before our parting we sate under a wall in the sun near a cottage above Stainton Bridge. The field in which we sate sloped downwards to a nearly level meadow round which the Emont flowed in a small half circle, as at Sockburn. The opposite bank is woody, steep as a wall, but not high, & above that Bank the fields slope gently & irregularly down to it. These fields are surrounded by tall hedges with trees among them, & there are Clumps or grovelets of tall trees here & there. Sheep & cattle were in the fields. Dear Mary! there we parted from her — I daresay, as often as she passes that road she will turn in at the Gate to look at this sweet prospect. There was a Barn & I think two or three cottages to be seen among the trees & slips of lawn & irregular fields. During our stay at Mr Clarksons we walked every day, except that stormy Thursday & then Wm dined at Mr Myers’s & I went after dinner on a double horse. Mrs Clarkson was poorly all the time we were there. We dined at Thomas Wilkinsons on Friday the 15th & walked to Penrith for Mary. The trees were covered with hoar frost, grasses & trees & hedges beautiful — a glorious sunset frost keener than ever — next day thaw. Mrs Clarkson amused us with many stories of her family & of persons whom she had known — I wish I had set them down as I heard them, when they were fresh in my memory. She had two old Aunts who lived at Norwich. The son of one of them (Mrs Barnard) had had a large fortune left him. The other sister rather piqued that her Child had not got it says to her ‘Well, we have one Squire in the family however’ Mrs Barnard replied with tears rushing out ‘Sister Harmer Sister Harmer there you sit. My Son’s no more a Squire than yours I take it very unkindly of you Sister Harmer.’ She used to say ‘Well I wish it may do him any good’. When her son wished to send his carriage for her she said ‘Nay I can walk to the Tabernacle, & surely I may walk to see him.’ She kept two maids yet she white-washed her kitchen herself. The two sisters lived together. She had a grand cleaning day twice a week & the sister had a fire made up stairs that all below might be thoroughly cleaned. She gave a great deal away in Charity, visited the sick & was very pious. Mrs Clarkson knew a Clergyman & his wife who brought up ten children upon a Curacy, sent 2 sons to college, & he left iooo£ when he died. The wife was very generous gave to all poor people victuals & drink. She had a passion for feeding animals, she killed a pig with feeding it over much. When it was dead she said ‘To be sure it’s a great loss but I thank God it did not die clemmed’ the Cheshire word for starved. Her husband was very fond of playing Backgammon & used to play whenever he could get any Body to play with him. She had played much in her youth & was an excellent player but her husband knew nothing of this till one day she said to him ‘You’re fond of Backgammon come play with me’. He was surprized. She told him that she had kept it to herself while she had a young family to attend to but that now she would play with him. So they began to play & played afterwards every night. Mr C told us many pleasant stories. His journey from London to Wisbech on foot when a schoolboy, Irish murderer’s knife & stick, Postboy, &c, the white horse sleeping at the turnpike gate, snoring of the turnpike man, clock ticking. The Burring story, the story of the mastiff, Bull-baitings by men at Wisbech. On Saturday January 23rd we left Eusemere at 10 o clock in the morning, I behind Wm Mr G on his Galloway. The morning not very promising the wind cold. The mountains large & dark but only thinly streaked with snow — a strong wind. We dined in Grisdale on ham bread & milk. We parted from Mr C at one o clock — it rained all the way home. We struggled with the wind & often rested as we went along — A hail-shower met us before we reached the Tarn & the way often was difficult over the snow but at the Tarn the view closed in — we saw nothing but mists & snow & at first the ice on the Tarn below us, cracked & split yet without water, a dull grey white: we lost our path & could see the Tarn no longer. We made our way out with difficulty guided by a heap of stones which we well remembered — we were afraid of
being bewildered in the mists till the Darkness should overtake us — we were long before we knew that we were in the right track but thanks to William’s skill we knew it long before we could see our way before us. There was no footmark upon the snow either of man or beast. We saw 4 sheep before we had left the snow region. The Vale of Grasmere when the mists broke away looked soft & grave, of a yellow hue — it was dark before we reached home. We were not very much tired. My inside was sore with the cold. We had both of us been much heated upon the mountains but we caught no cold —— O how comfortable & happy we felt ourselves sitting by our own fire when we had got off our wet clothes & had dressed ourselves fresh & clean. We found 5£ from Montague & 2o£ from Chrisr. We talked about the Lake of Gomo, read in the descriptive Sketches, looked about us, & felt that we were happy. We indulged all dear thoughts about home — poor Mary! we were sad to think of the contrast for her.

  Sunday 24th. We went into the orchard as soon as breakfast was over laid out the situation for our new room, & sauntered a while. We had Mr Clarkson’s turkey for dinner, the night before we had broiled the gizzard & some mutton & made a nice piece of cookery for Wms supper. Wm walked in the morning I wrote to Coleridge. After dinner I lay down till tea time. I rose fresher & better. Wm could not beat away sleep when I was gone — We went late to bed.

  Monday 25th January. We did not rise so soon as we intended. I made bread & apple pies. We walked at dusk to Rydale — no letters! it rained all the way. I wrote to Chrisr. & Mrs Clarkson & Mrs Coleridge, & sent off C’s letter to Mary. William tired with composition. We both went to bed at 10 o clock.

  Tuesday 26th. A dull morning. I have employed myself in writing this journal & reading newspapers till now (½ past 1 o’clock) we are going to walk, & I am ready & waiting by the kitchen fire for Wm. We set forward, intending to go into Easedale but the wind being rather loudish, & blowing down Easedale we turned under Silver How for a sheltered walk. We went a little beyond the Wyke — Then up to John’s Grove, where the storm of Thursday has made sad ravages, two of the finest trees are uprooted one lying with the turf about its root as if the whole together had been pared by a knife. The other is a larch, several others are blown aside, one is snapped in two. We gathered together a faggot. William had tired himself with working — he resolved to do better. We received a letter from Mary by Fletcher with an account of C’s arrival in London — I wrote to Mary before bed-time. We sate nicely together & talked by the fire till we were both tired, for Wm wrote out part of his poem & endeavoured to alter it, & so made himself ill. I copied out the rest for him. We went late to bed. Wm wrote to Annette.