Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by a quick keen frost. Tonight, we'll read the final excerpt in our series from Dorothy Wordsworth's personal journals. This was one which she kept in the year 1805. It was published a century later in 1897.

Wordsworth was an English author, poet, and diarist. This particular journal was from a mountainous ramble her and her brother took around the Lake District of Cumbria, England. The story of this rambul, written by Dorothy, was afterwards incorporated in part by her brother William in his prose, description of the scenery of the lakes, another instance of their literary co-partnery. If you enjoy this episode, please check out the winter, spring, and summer journal episodes that aired recently, and our other episode featuring this author titled, First Steps, a Scottish Tour that we rebroadcast on January of 2023. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Wednesday, November 7th. On a damp and gloomy morning we set forward, William on foot, and I upon the pony, with William's great coat slung over the saddle-crutch, and a wallet containing our bundle of needments. As we went along the mish-gathered upon the valleys and it even rained all the way to the head of Paterdale, but there was never a drop upon my habit larger than the smallest pearls upon a lady's ring. The trees of the larger island upon Rydale Lake, were of the most gorgeous colors. The whole island reflected in the water, as I remember once in particular, to have seen it with deer cold-rige, when either he or William observed that the rocky shore spotted

and streaked with purplish brown heath and its image in the water. Together we're like an immense caterpillar, such as when we were children, we used to call wooly boys from their hairy coats. As the mist thickened, our enjoyment increased and my hopes grew bolder. And when we were at the top of Kirkstone, though we could not see fifty yards before us, we were as happy travelers as ever paced side by side on a holiday ramble. At such a time and in such a place, every scattered stone the size of one's head becomes a companion. There is a fragment of an old wall at the top of Kirkstone, which magnified yet obscured as it was by the mist, was scarcely less interesting to us when we cast our eyes upon it than the view of a noble monument of ancient grandeur has been. Yet this same pile of stones we had never before observed. When we had descended considerably, the fields of heart-sop below brothers' water were first seen like a lake, colored by the reflection of yellow clouds. I mistook them for the water, but soon after we saw the lake itself gleaming faintly with a grey, steely brightness, then appeared the brown oaks and the birches of splendid color. And when we came still nearer to the valley, the cottages under their tuffs of trees,

and the old hall of heart-sop with its long, irregular front and elegant chimneys. Thursday, November 8th, incessant rain till 11 o'clock when it became fair, and William and I walked to Blowick, left joined us by the way, the wind was strong and drove the clouds forward along the side of the hill above our heads. Four or five goats were bounding among the rocks. The sheep moved about more quietly or coward in their sheltering places. The two storm stiffens black euthreys on the crag above Love's house were striking objects, close under or seen through the flying mists. When we stood upon the naked crag upon the common,

overlooking the woods and bush-besprinkled fields of blouac, the lake, clouds, and mists were all in motion to the sound of sweeping winds. The church and cottages of patterdale scare sleep visible from the brightness of the thin mist. Looking backwards towards the foot of the water, the scene less visionary. Place fell steady and bold as a lion.

The whole lake driving down like a great river waves dancing round the small islands. We walked to the house. The owner was salving sheep in the barn and appearance of poverty and decay everywhere. He asked us if we wanted to purchase the estate. We could not but stop frequently, both in going and returning to look at the exquisite beauty of the woods opposite.

The general color of the trees was dark brown, rather that of ripe hazelnuts. But towards the water there were yet beds of green, and in some of the hollow places in the highest part of the woods, the trees were of a yellow color, and through the glittering light they looked like masses of clouds, as you see them gathered together in the west, and tinged with the golden light of the sun. After dinner, we walked with Mrs. Love up the veil. I'd never had an idea of the extent and width of it, in passing through along the road on the other side. We walked along the path which leads from house to house. Two or three times it took us through some of the corpses or groves that cover every little hillock in the middle of the lower part of the veil, making an intricate and beautiful intermixture of lawn and woodland. We left William to prolong his walk, and when he came into the house, he told us that he had pitched upon the spot where he should like to build a house better than in any other he had ever yet seen. This. Lough went with him by moonlight to view it. The veil looked as if it were filled with white light when the moon had climbed up to the middle of the sky. long before we could see her face a while, all the eastern hills were in black shade. Those on the opposite side were almost as bright as snow. Mrs. Love's large white dog lay in the moonshine upon the round knoll under the old utree, a beautiful and romantic image, the dark tree with its dark shadow, and the elegant creature as fair as a spirit. Friday, November 9th. It rained till near 10 o'clock, but a little after that time, it being likely for a tolerably fine day, we packed up and with love's servant to help us row, set forward in the boat. As we proceeded the day grew finer, clouds and sunny gleams on the mountains. In a grand bay under place fell, we saw three fishermen with a boat dragging a net and rode up to them. They had just brought the net ashore, and hundreds of fish were leaping in their prison. They were all of one kind, what are called, skellies. had left them, the fishermen continued their work. A picturesque group under the lofty and bare crags. The whole scene was very grand, a raven croaking on the mountain above our heads. And did it, Sandwwick. When we landed, the man took the boat home, and we pursued our journey towards the village along a beautiful summer path. At first, through a copse, by the lake side, then through green fields. The village and Brook very pretty, shut out from mountains and lake. Pass by Harry Hepsins house, I long to go in for the sake of former times. William went up one side of the veil, and we the other, and he joined us after having crossed the one arched bridge above the church. A beautiful view of the church with its base ring of mossy wall and single eutree. At the last house in the veil we were kindly greeted by the master. We were well prepared to face the mountain which we began to climb almost immediately. Martin Dale divides itself into two Dale's at the head. In one of these, that to the left, there is no house to be seen, nor any building, but a cattle shed on the side of a hill which is sprinkled over with wood. Evidently, the remains of a forest, formerly a very extensive one. At the bottom of the other valley is the house of which I have spoken, and beyond the enclosures of this man's farm, there are no other. A few old trees remain. Relics of the forest. A little stream passes in serpentine winding through the uncultivated valley, where many cattle were feeding. The cattle of this country are generally white, or light-colored, but those were mostly dark brown or black, which made the scene resemble many parts of Scotland. When we sat on the hillside, though we were well-contented with the quiet everyday sounds, the lowing of cattle, bleeding of sheep,

and the very gentle murmuring of the valley stream,

yet we could not but think what a grand effect the sound of the buglehorn would have among these mountains.

It is still heard once a year at the chase, a day of festivity for all the inhabitants of the district, except the poor deer, the most ancient of them all. The ascent, even to the top of the mountain, is very easy. When we had accomplished it, we had some exceedingly fine mountain views. Some of the mountains being resplendent with sunshine. Others partly hid in by clouds. water was of a dazzling brightness bordered by black hills, the plain beyond penroth, smooth and bright, or rather gleamy as the sea or sea sands. into bore dail up of Sandwick. deep and bare, a stream winding down it. After having walked a considerable way on the tops of the hills, came in view of Glen Riding and the mountains above Grizzdale. then took us aside before we had begun to descend, to a small ruin, which was formerly a chapel or place of worship where the inhabitants of Martindale and Patterdale were accustomed to meet on Sundays. There are now no traces by which you could discover that the building had been different from a common sheepfold. The loose stones and the few which yet remain piled up at the same as those which lie about on the mountain. But the shape of the building, being all-blong, is not that of a common sheepfold, and it stands east and west. Whether it was ever consecrated ground or not, I know not, but the place may be kept holy in the memory of some now living in Patirdale. For it was the means of preserving the life of a poor old man last summer, who, having gone up the mountain to gather peets,

had been overtaken by a storm, and could not find his way down again.

He happened to be near the remains of the old chapel, and in a corner of it, he contrived by laying turf and lign and stones from one wall to the other to make a shelter from the wind, and there he lay all night. The woman who had sent him on his errand began to grow uneasy towards night, and the neighbors went out to seek him. At that time the old man had housed himself in his nest, and he heard the voices of the men, but could not make them hear the wind so loud, and he was afraid to leave the spot, lest he should not be able to find it again. So he remained there all night, and they returned to their homes. But the next morning the same persons discovered him huddled up cozy in the sheltered knock. He was at first stupified and unable to move, but after he had eaten and drunk well and recollected himself a little, he walked down the mountain and did not afterwards have any problem. As we descend, the veil of Patardale appears very simple and grand with its two heads, deep dale and brothers water or heart-sop. Saturday, November 10th. A beautiful morning. When we were at breakfast, we heard suddenly the tidings of Lord Nelson's death and the victory of Trafalgar. Went to the inn to make further inquiries, returned by Williams' rock and grove, and were so much pleased with the spot that William determined to buy it if possible. Therefore, we prepared to set off to Park House that William might apply to Thomas Wilkinson to negotiate for him with the owner. We went down that side of the lake opposite to Stibarro Crag. I dismounted, and we sat some time under the same rock as before, above Bloach. Owing to the brightness of the sunshine, the church and other buildings were even more concealed from us than by the mists the other day. It had been a sharp frost in the night, and the grass and trees were yet wet. We observed the lemon-colored leaves of the birches in the wood below, as the wind turned them to the sun, sparkle, or rather flash like diamonds. The day continued, unclouded to the end. Monday, November 12th. The morning being fine, we resolved to go to loathor, across the fort at Yonworth, found Thomas Wilkinson at work in one of his fields. He cheerfully laid down the spade and walked by our side with William. We left our horses at the mill and walked through the woods till we came to the quarry where the road ends. The very place which has been the boundary of some of the happiest walks of my youth. The sun did not shine when we met there, and it was midday. Therefore, if it had shown, the light could not have been the same. Yet so vividly did I call to mind those walks that, when I was in the wood, I almost seem to see the same rich light of evening upon the trees which I had seen in those happy hours. Tuesday, November 13th, a very wet morning, no hope of being able to return home, Will Yum Red in a book lent

him by Thomas Wilkinson, I read Castle Rackrent, The day cleared at one o'clock, and after dinner, a little before three we set forward. Before we reached Ulzwater, the sun rose, and only a few scattered clouds remained on the hills, except at the tops of the very highest. The lake perfectly calm. We had a delightful journey. The trees were very beautiful. The Hawthorns leafless. Their round heads covered with rich red berries and adorned with arches of green brambles. Hanging with glossy hips, Many birches yet tricked out in full foliage of bright yellow, oaks brown or leafless, the smooth branches of the ashes bear, most of the alder's green as in spring.

At the end of the park a large troop of deer were moving slowly or standing still among the fern. I was grieved when our companions startled them with a whistle disturbing a beautiful image of simplicity and thoughtful enjoyment. For I could have fancied that even they were partaking with me, a sensation of the solemnity of the closing day. I think I have more pleasure in looking at deer than any other animals, perhaps chiefly from their living in a more natural state. The sun had been set some time, though we could only just perceive that the daylight was partly gone, and the lake was more brilliant than before. A delightful evening, the seven stars close to the hill tops, all the stars seemed brighter than usual. The steeps were reflected in the lake, and above the lake appeared like enormous black perpendicular walls. The torrents of Kirkstone had been swollen by the rains and filled the mountain paths with their roaring, which added greatly to the solemnity of our walk. the stars in succession took their stations on the mountain tops. Behind us, when we had climbed very high, we saw one light in the veil at a great distance, like a large star, a solitary one in the gloomy region, all the cheerfulness of the scene was in the sky above us. Monday the 11th, a beautiful day. We walk to the Eastdale Hills to hunt waterfalls. William and Mary left me sitting on a stone on the solitary mountains and went to Eastdale Tarn. The approach to the Tarn, is very beautiful. We expected to have found Colredge at home, but he did not come till after dinner. He was well, but did not look so. Tuesday the 12th. walked with cold ridge to ride-dale. Wednesday the 13th set forwards with him towards Keswick and he prevailed us to go on. The day was delightful. Saturday the 16th. Came home, Mary and I. William returned to Coleridge before we reached the 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, the 17th, we had 13 of our neighbors to tea. William came in just as we began tea. Saturday, the 30th, William is gone to Kezak. Mary went with him to the top. 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

tranquility.

Stately and beautiful in their decaying, the lake is a perfect mirror. Mia. Yn yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n y