Wednesday 27th. A beautiful mild morning — the sun shone, the lake was still, & all the shores reflected in it. I finished my letter to Mary, Wm wrote to Stuart. I copied out sonnets for him. Mr Olliff called & asked us to tea tomorrow. We stayed in the house till the sun shone more dimly & we thought the afternoon was closing in but, though the calmness of the Lake was gone with the bright sunshine, yet it was delightfully pleasant. We found no letter from Coleridge. One from Sara, which we sate upon the wall to read — a sweet long letter, with a most interesting account of Mr Patrick. We had ate up the cold turkey before we walked so we cooked no dinner — sate a while by the fire & then drank tea at Frank Batys. As we went past the Nab, I was surprized to see the youngest child amongst the rest of them running about by itself with a canny round fat face, & rosy cheeks. I called in. They gave me some nuts — everybody surprized that we should come over Gris-dale. Paid £1–3-3 for letters come since December 1st — paid also about 8 shillings at Penrith. The Bees were humming about the hive. William raked a few stones off the garden, his first garden labour this year. I cut the shrubs. When we returned from Franks William wasted his mind in the Magazines. I wrote to Coleridge & Mrs C, closed the letters up to Ianson. Then we sate by the fire & were happy only our tender thoughts became painful — went to bed at ½ past 11.
Thursday 28th. A downright rain, a wet night. Wm slept better — better this morning — he had (written an) epitaph & altered one that he wrote when he was a Boy. It cleared up after dinner. We were both in miserable spirits, & very doubtful about keeping our engagement to the Olliffs. We walked first within view of Rydale, then to Lewthwaites then we went to Mr Olliffs. We talked a while. William was tired, we then played at Cards. Came home in the rain — very dark, came with a Lantern. William out of spirits & tired. After we went to bed I heard him continually he called at ¼ past 3 to know the hour.
Friday 29th January. William was very unwell, worn out with his bad nights rest — he went to bed, I read to him to endeavour to make him sleep. Then I came into the other room, & read the 1st Book of Paradise Lost. After dinner we walked to Ambleside, found Lloyds at Luffs — we stayed & drank tea by ourselves — A heart-rending letter from Coleridge — we were sad as we could be. Wm wrote to him. We talked about Wms going to London. It was a mild afternoon — there was an unusual softness in the prospects as we went — a rich yellow upon the fields, & a soft grave purple on the waters. When we returned, many stars were out, the clouds were moveless, in the sky soft purple, the Lake of Rydale calm, Jupiter behind, Jupiter at least we call him, but William says we always call the largest star Jupiter. When we came home we both wrote to C — I was stupefied.
Saturday January 30th. A cold dark morning. William chopped wood — I brought it in in a basket — a cold wind — Wm slept better but he thinks he looks ill — he is shaving now. He asks me to set down the story of Barbara Wilkinsons Turtle Dove. Barbara is an old maid. She had 2 turtle Doves. One of them died the first year I think. The other bird continued to live alone in its cage for 9 years, but for one whole year it had a companion & daily visitor, a little mouse that used to come & feed with it, & the Dove would caress it, & cower over it with its wings, & make a loving noise to it. The mouse though it did not testify equal delight in the Dove’s company yet it was at perfect ease. The poor mouse disappeared & the Dove was left solitary till its death. It died of a short sickness & was buried under a tree with funeral ceremony by Barbara & her maiden & one or two others.
On Saturday 30th, William worked at the Pedlar all the morning, he kept the dinner waiting till 4 o clock — he was much tired. We were preparing to walk when a heavy rain came on.
Sunday 31st. William had slept very ill, he was tired & had a bad headache. We walked round the two lakes — Grasmere was very soft & Rydale was extremely beautiful from the pasture side. Nab Scar was just topped by a cloud which cutting it off as high as it could be cut off made the mountain look uncommonly lofty. We sate down a long time in different places. I always love to walk that way because it is the way I first came to Rydale & Grasmere, & because our dear Coleridge did also. When I came with Wm 6½ years ago it was just at sunset. There was a rich yellow light on the waters & the Islands were reflected there. Today it was grave & soft but not perfectly calm. William says it was much such a day as when Coleridge came with him. The sun shone out before we reached Grasmere. We sate by the roadside at the foot of the Lake close to Mary’s dear name which she had cut herself upon the stone. William employed cut at it with his knife to make it plainer. We amused ourselves for a long time in watching the Breezes some as if they came from the bottom of the lake spread in a circle, brushing along the surface of the water, & growing more delicate, as it were thinner & of a paler colour till they died away — others spread out like a peacocks tail, & some went right forward this way & that in all directions. The lake was still where these breezes were not, but they made it all alive. I found a strawberry blossom in a rock, the little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for they were but half expanded & half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, & I felt as if I had been committing an outrage, so I planted it again — it will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can. We found Calvert here. I brought a handkerchief full of mosses which I placed on the chimneypiece when C was gone — he dined with us & carried away the Encyclopaedias. After they were gone I spent some time in trying to reconcile myself to the change, & in rummaging out & arranging some other books in their places. One good thing is this — there is a nice Elbow place for William, & he may sit for the picture of John Bunyan any day. Mr Simpson drank tea with us. We payed our rent to Benson. William’s head bad after Mr S was gone I petted him on the carpet & began a letter to Sara.
Monday February Ist. Wm slept badly. I baked pies & bread. William worked hard at the Pedlar & tired himself — he walked up with me towards Mr Simpsons. There was a purplish light upon Mr Olliff’s house which made me look to the other side of the vale when I saw a strange stormy mist coming down the side of Silver How of a reddish purple colour. It soon came on a heavy rain. We parted presently. Wm went to Rydale — I drank tea with Mrs S, the two Mr Simpsons both tipsy. I came home with Jenny as far as the Swan — a cold night, dry & windy — Jupiter above the Forest Side. Wm pretty well, but he worked a little. In the morning a Box of clothes with Books came from London. I sate by his bedside, & read in the Pleasures of Hope to him, which came in the Box — he could not fall asleep, but I found in the morning that he had slept better than he expected. No letters.
Tuesday 2nd February. A fine clear morning but sharp & cold. William went into the orchard after breakfast to chop wood. I walked backwards & forwards on the platform. Molly called me down to Charles Lloyd, he brought me flower seeds from his Brother. William not quite well — we walked into Easedale — were turned back in the open field by the sight of a cow. Every horned cow puts me in terror. We walked as far as we could having crossed the foot-bridge, but it was dirty, & we turned back — walked backwards & forwards between Goody Bridge & Butterlip How. William wished to break off composition, & was unable, & so did himself harm. The sun shone but it was cold. After dinner Wm worked at The Pedlar. After tea I read aloud the 11 th Book of Paradise Lost we were much impressed & also melted into tears. The papers came in soon after I had laid aside the Book — a good thing for my William. I worked a little today at putting the Linen into repair that came in the Box. Molly washing.
Wednesday 3rd. A rainy morning. We walked to Rydal for letters, found one from Mrs Cookson & Mary H — it snowed upon the hills. We sate down on the wall at the foot of White Moss. Sate by the fire in the evening — William tired & did not compose he went to bed soon & could not sleep. I wrote to Mary H, sent off the letter by Fletcher. Wrote also to Coleridge, read Wm to sleep after dinner, & read to him in bed till ½ past one.
Thursday 4th. I was very sick, bad headach & unwell — I lay in bed till 3 o clock that is I lay down as
soon as breakfast was over. It was a terribly wet day. William sate in the house all day. Fletchers Boy did not come home. I worked at Montagu’s shirts. William thought a little about the Pedlar. I slept in the sitting room read Smollets life.
Friday 5th. A cold snowy morning. Snow & hail showers — we did not walk. William cut wood a little. I read the story of Snell in Wanly Penson. Sara’s parcel came with waistcoat. The Chaucer not only misbound but a leaf or two wanting. I wrote about it to Mary & wrote to Soulby. We received the waistcoats, shoes & gloves from Sara by the Waggon. William not well — sate up late at the pedlar.
Saturday 6th February. William had slept badly — it snowed in the night, & was, on Saturday, as Molly expressed it, a Cauld Clash. William went to Rydale for letters, he came home with two very affecting letters from Coleridge — resolved to try another Climate. I was stopped in my writing, & made ill by the letters. William a bad headach — he made up a bed on the floor, but could not sleep — I went to his bed & slept not, better when I rose. Wrote again after tea & translated 2 or 3 of Lessing’s Fables.
Sunday 7th. A fine clear frosty morning. The Eaves drop with the heat of the sun all day long. The ground thinly covered with snow — the Road Black, rocks black — Before night the Island was quite green, the sun had melted all the snow upon it. Mr Simpson called before William had done shaving — William had had a bad night & was working at his poem. We sate by the fire & did not walk, but read the pedlar thinking it done but lo, though Wm could find fault with no one part of it — it was uninteresting & must be altered. Poor William!
Monday Morning 8th February 1802. It was very windy & rained very hard all the morning. William worked at his poem & I read a little in Lessing & the Grammar. A chaise came past to fetch Ellis the Carrier who had hurt his head. After dinner (i.e we set off at about ½ past 4) we went towards Rydale for letters it was a cold ‘Cauld Clash’ — the Rain had been so cold that it hardly melted the snow. We stopped at Park’s to get some straw in William’s shoes. The young mother was sitting by a bright wood fire with her youngest child upon her lap & the other two sate on each side of the chimney. The light of the fire made them a beautiful sight, with their innocent countenances, their rosy cheeks & glossy curling hair. We sate & talked about poor Ellis, & our journey over the Hawes. It had been reported that we came over in the night. Willy told us of 3 men who were once lost in crossing that way in the night, they had carried a lantern with them — the lantern went out at the Tarn & they all perished. Willy had seen their cloaks drying at the public house in Patterdale the day before their funeral. We walked on very wet through the clashy cold roads in bad spirits at the idea of having to go as far as Rydale, but before we had come again to the shore of the Lake, we met our patient, bow-bent Friend with his little wooden box at his Back. ‘Where are you going?’ said he, ‘To Rydale for letters’—’I have two for you in my Box.’ We lifted up the Lid & there they lay — Poor Fellow, he straddled & pushed on with all his might but we soon out-stripped him far away when we had turned back with our letters. We were very thankful that we had not to go on, for we should have been sadly tired. In thinking of this I could not help comparing lots with him! he goes at that slow pace every morning, & after having wrought a hard days work returns at night, however weary he may be, takes it all quietly, & though perhaps he neither feels thankfulness, nor pleasure when he eats his supper, & has no luxury to look forward to but falling asleep in bed, yet I daresay he neither murmurs nor thinks it hard. He seems mechanized to labour. We broke the seal of Coleridge’s letter, & I had light enough just to see that he was not ill. I put it in my pocket but at the top of the White Moss I took it to my bosom, a safer place for it. The night was wild. There was a strange Mountain lightness when we were at the top of the White Moss. I have often observed it there in the evenings, being between the two valleys. There is more of the sky there than any other place. It has a strange effect sometimes along with the obscurity of evening or night. It seems almost like a peculiar sort of light. There was not much wind till we came to John’s Grove, then it roared right out of the grove, all the trees were tossing about. C’s letter somewhat damped us, it spoke with less confidence about France. William wrote to him. The other letter was from Montagu with 8£. William was very unwell, tired when he had written, he went to bed, & left me to write to MH, Montagu & Calvert, & 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 & 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 & it froze very hard. I collected together all the clothes I could find (for I durst not go into the pantry for fear of waking William). 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 & bread in the morning. Coleridge’s letter contained prescriptions.
NB. The moon came out suddenly when we were at Johns Grove & ‘a star or two beside’.
Tuesday (9th). William had slept better. He fell to work, & made himself unwell. We did not walk. The 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 & she but an indifferent wife. However this was she had only been married to him last Whitsuntide & had had very indifferent health ever since. She had got up in the night & drowned herself in the pond. She had requested to be buried beside her Mother & so she was brought in a hearse. She was followed by several decent-looking men on horseback, her Sister, Thomas Flemings wife, in a Chaise, & some others with her, & 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 & I was downright stupid. We went to bed but not till William had tired himself.
Wednesday 10th. A very snowy morning — it cleared up a little however for a while but we did not walk. We sent for our letters by Fletcher & for some writing paper &c — he brought us word there were none. This was strange for I depended upon Mary. While I was writing out the Poem as we hope for a final writing, a letter was brought me by John Dawsons Daughter, the letter written at Eusemere. — I paid Wm Jackson’s Bill by John Fisher. Sent off a letter to Montagu by Fletcher. After Molly went we read the first part of the poem & were delighted with it — but Wm afterwards got to some ugly places & went to bed tired out. A wild, moonlight night.
Thursday 11th. A very fine clear sunny frost the ground white with snow — William rose before Molly was ready for him. I rose at a little after nine. William sadly tired & working still at the Pedlar. Miss Simpson called when he was worn out — he escaped & sate in his own room till she went. She was very faint & ill, had had a tooth drawn & had suffered greatly. I walked up with her past Goans — the sun was very warm till we got past Lewthwaites, then it had little power, & had not melted the roads. As I came back again I felt the vale like a different Climate. The vale was bright & beautiful. Molly had linen hung out. We had pork to dinner sent us by Mrs Simpson. William still poorly — we made up a good fire after dinner, & William brought his Mattrass out, & lay down on the floor I read to him the life of Ben Johnson & some short Poems of his which were too interesting for him, & would not let him go to sleep. I had begun with Fletcher, but he was too dull for me. Fuller says in his life of Jonson, (speaking of his plays) ‘If his latter be not so spriteful & vigorous as his first pieces all that are old, & all who desire to be old, should excuse him therein’. He says he had ‘beheld’ wit combats between Shakespeare & Jonson, & compares Shakespeare to an English man of war, Jonson to a Spanish great Galleon. There is one affecting line in Jonson’s Epitaph on his first Daughter
Here lies to each her Parents ruth,
Mary the Daughter of th
eir youth
At six months end she parted hence
In safety of her Innocence.
I have been writing this journal while Wm has had a nice little sleep. Once he was waked by Charles Lloyd who had come to see about Lodgings for his children in the hooping cough. It is now 7 o’clock — I have a nice coal fire — Wm is still on his bed — 2 beggars today. I continued to read to him — we were much delighted with the Poem of Penshurst. William rose better. I was chearful & happy but he got to work again & went to bed unwell.
Friday 12th. A very fine bright clear hard frost — William working again. I recopied the Pedlar, but poor William all the time at work. Molly tells me ‘What! little Sally’s gone to visit at Mr Simpsons. They say she’s very smart she’s got on a new bed-gown that her Cousin gave her. Its a very bonny one they tell me, but I’ve not seen it. Sally & me’s in Luck.’ In the afternoon a poor woman came, she said to beg some rags for her husbands leg which had been wounded by a slate from the Roof in the great wind — but she has been used to go a-begging, for she has often come here. Her father lived to the age of 105. She is a woman of strong bones with a complexion that has been beautiful, & remained very fresh last year, but now she looks broken, & her little Boy, a pretty little fellow, & whom I have loved for the sake of Basil, looks thin & pale. I observed this to her. Aye says she we have all been ill. Our house was unroofed in the storm recently & so we lived in it for more than a week. The Child wears a ragged drab coat & a fur cap, poor little fellow, I think he seems scarcely at all grown since the first time I saw him. William was with me — we met him in a lane going to Skelwith Bridge he looked very pretty, he was walking lazily in the deep narrow lane, overshadowed with the hedge-rows, his meal poke hung over his shoulder. He said he was going ‘a laiting’. He now wears the same coat he had on at that time. Poor creatures! When the woman was gone, I could not help thinking that we are not half thankful enough that we are placed in that condition of life in which we are. We do not so often bless god for this as we wish for this 5o£ that ioo£ &c &c. We have not, however to reproach ourselves with ever breathing a murmur. This woman’s was but a common case. — The snow still lies upon the ground. Just at the closing in of the Day I heard a cart pass the door, & at the same time the dismal sound of a crying Infant. I went to the window & had light enough to see that a man was driving a cart which seemed not to be very full, & that a woman with an infant in her arms was following close behind & a dog close to her. It was a wild & melancholy sight. — William rubbed his Table after candles were lighted, & we sate a long time with the windows unclosed. I almost finished writing The Pedlar, but poor William wore himself & me out with Labour. We had an affecting conversation. Went to bed at 12 o clock.
Delphi Complete Works of William Wordsworth Page 478