Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snewscast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is brought to you by Groflitz of Wild Roses. Tonight we'll read another excerpt from Dorothy Wordsworth's personal journals, which she kept in the year 1802. It was published almost a century later in 1897. Wordsworth was an English author, poet, and diarist. She was the sister of the romantic poet William Wordsworth, and the two were close all their adult lives. This particular journal was from a period that the siblings were staying in the village of Grasmer, England. The words' worth, part of the Lake Poets group known for living near Grasmer Lake, lived in Grasmer for 14 years and called it the loveliest spot that man had ever found. Another of the Lake Poets is mentioned frequently in this journal.

They're friend the poet Samuel Taylor Colvitch. If you enjoy this episode, please check out the Winter and Spring journal episodes that aired recently and our other episode featuring this author titled First Steps of 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. Friday morning, July 9th, William and I set forward to Kezwek on our road to Gallo Hill. We had a pleasant ride, though the day was showery. Courage Met us at Sarah's Rock. We had been told by handsome man, whom he had been talking and who seemed by the by, much pleased with his companion, that sea was waiting for us. We reached Kezwick against tea time. We called at Cal Calverts on the Saturday evening. On Monday, 12 July, Co-Ridge walked with us six or seven miles. He was not well, and we had a melancholy parting after having stayed together in silence by the roadside. We turned aside to explore the country near Hutton, John, and had a new and delightful walk. The valley, which is subject to the decaying mansion that stands at its head, seems to join its testimony to that of the house, to the falling away of the family greatness, and the hedges are in bad condition. The land wants draining, and is overrun with brackets, yet there is a something everywhere that tells of its former possessors. The trees are left scattered about as if intended to be like a park. And these are very interesting, standing as they do upon the sides of the steep hills that slope down to the bed of the river. A little stony, bedded stream that spreads out to a considerable breath at the village. We came into the right road to Mr. Clarkson's after having walked through woods and fields, never exactly knowing whether we were right or wrong.

We learned, however, that we had saved half a mile.

We sat down by the riverside to rest

and saw some swallows flying about and under the bridge.

And two little school boys were loitering among the scars seeking after their nests. We reached Mr. Clarkson's at about eight o'clock after a sontering walk, having lingered and loitered and sat down together that we might be alone. Mr. and Mrs. C were just come from loves. We spent Tuesday, the 13th of July, at Yusmir. And on Wednesday morning, the 14th, we walked to Emmont Bridge and mounted the coach between birds nest and heart-shorn tree. At Greta Bridge, the sun shone cheerfully, and a glorious ride we had over Gatterley more. Every building was bathed in golden light. The trees were more bright than earthly trees, and we saw round us miles beyond miles. Darlington's spire, etc., etc. We reached Leaming Lane at about 9 o'clock, subbed comfortably and enjoyed our fire. Thursday morning at little before 7, being the 15th of July, we went to Thursk to breakfast. We were well treated, but when the land lady understood that we were going to walk off and leave our luggage behind, she threw out some saucy words in our hearing. The day was very hot, and we rested often and long before we reached the foot of the hamble tin hills. And while we were climbing them, still off in her, we were almost overpowered with thirst, when I heard the trickling of a little stream of water. I was before William and I stopped till he came up to me. We sat a long time by this water and climbed the hill slowly. I was foot sore, the sun shone hot, the little scotch cattle panted and tossed fretfully about. The view was hazy, and we could see nothing from the top of the hill, but an undistinct,

wide-spreading country, full of trees, but the buildings, towns, and houses were lost. We stopped to examine that curious stone, then walked along the flat common, arrived very hungry, nothing to eat at the millers as we expected. But at an exquisitely neat farmhouse, we got some boiled milk and bread. us, and I went down to look at the ruins. Thrushes were singing, cattle feeding among green-grown hillocks about the ruins. The hillocks were scattered over with grovelets of wild roses and other shrubs, and covered with wild flowers. I could have stayed in this solemn quiet spot till evening without a thought of moving, but William was waiting for me. So in a quarter of an hour I went away. We walked upon Mr. Duncombe's terrace and looked down upon the abbey. It stands in a larger valley among a brotherhood of valleys, of different length and breadth, all woody, and running up into the hills in all directions.

We reached Helmsley just at dusk. We had a beautiful view of the castle from the top of the hill and slept at a very nice in and were well treated, floors as smooth as ice. On Friday morning, the 16th of July, we walked to Kirby, met people coming to Helmsley Fair, were mistrusted, and walked a mile out of our way. A beautiful view above Pickering. Met Mary and Sarah, seven miles from GH, sheltered from the rain. Beautiful Glen, spoiled by the large house, sweet church and churchyard. Arrived at Gallo Hill at seven o'clock. Friday evening, the 16th of July, Sarah, Tom and I rode up B. Dale. William, Mary, Sarah and I went to Scarborough and we walked in the Abbey, and on Monday the 26th we went off with Mary in a post-shaze. We had an interesting ride over the walls, though it rained all the way. Single thorn bushes were scattered about on the turf. Sheep sheds here and there, and now and then a little hut. Swelling grounds, and sometimes a single tree or a clump of trees. We pass through one or two little villages and and boosomed in tall trees. After we had parted from Mary, there were gleams of sunshine, but with showers. We saw Beverly in a heavy rain, and yet were much pleased with the beauty of the town. Saw the minster, a pretty clean building, but injured very much from greation architecture. The country between Beverly and Hull very rich, but miserably flat. Brick houses, windmills, houses again, dull and endless. Hall, a dirty, brick housey tradesmen-like rich vulgar place. Yet the river, though the shores are so low that they can hardly be seen, looked beautiful with the evening lights upon it, and boats moving about. We walked a long time and returned to our dull day room, but quiet evening one, to supper. Tuesday, the 20th, market day, streets very rainy, did not leave hull till four o'clock, and left Barton at about six, rained all the way almost, a beautiful village at the foot of a hill with trees. A gentleman's house converted into a lady's boarding school. We left Lincoln on Wednesday morning, the 27th of July, at 6 o'clock. It rained heavily, and we could see nothing but the entryway of some of the buildings as we passed along. The night before, however, we had seen enough to make us regret this. The minster stands at the edge of a hill overlooking in a men's plane. The country very We flat as we went along, the day mended.

We went to see... looking in a men's plane. The country very flat as we went along, the day mended.

We went to see the outside of the minster,

while the passengers were dining at Peterborough,

the West End very grand.

On Thursday morning, the 29th, we arrived in London.

William left me at the sun. After various troubles and disasters, we left London on Saturday morning at half past five or six, the 31st of July. We mounted the Dover Coach at Charring Cross. It was a beautiful morning.

The city, St. Paul's with the river, and a multitude of little boats made a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge. The houses were not overhung by their cloud of smoke, and they were spread out, and endlessly, yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a fierce light that there was even something like the purity of one of nature's own grand spectacles. We rode on cheerfully, now with the Paris diligence before us, now behind. We walked up the steep hills, a beautiful prospect everywhere, till we even reached over. At first the rich, populous, widespreading, woody country about London, then the river Thames, ship sailing, chalk cliffs, trees, little villages. Afterwards, Canterbury, situated on a plain, rich and woody, but the city and cathedral disappointed me. Hot grounds on each side of the road some miles from Canterbury, then we came to a common, the raceground, an elevated plain, villages among trees in the bed of a valley at our right, and rising above this valley, green hills scattered over with wood, neat gentleman's houses. One white house almost hid with green trees which we longed for. And the Parsons house, as neat a place as could be, which would just have suited Colrich. No doubt we may have found one for Tom Hutchinson and Sarah, and a good farm too. We halted at a halfway house. Fruit carts under the shade of trees, seats for guests, attempting place to the weary traveler. Still, as we went along, the country was beautiful and hilly, with cottages lurking under the hills, and their little plots of hop-ground like vineyards. It was a bad hop-year. A woman on the top of the coach said to me, It is a sad thing for the poor people, for the hop-gather woman's harvest. There is employment about the hops for women and children. We saw the castle of Dover and the sea beyond four or five miles before we reached it. We looked at it through a long veil, the castle being upon an eminence, as it seemed at the end of this veil, which opened to the sea. The country now became less fertile, but near Dover it seemed more rich again. Many buildings stand on the flat fields sheltered with tall trees.

There is one old chapel that might have been there just in the same state in which it now is when this veil was as retired and as little known to travelers as our own Cumberland mountain wilds 30 years ago. There was also a very old building on the other side of the road, which had a strange effect among the many new ones that are springing up everywhere. It seemed odd that it could have kept itself pure in its ancient tree among so many upstarts. It was near dark when we reached over. We were told that a packet was about to sail, so we went down to the custom house in half an hour, had our luggage examined, and then we drank tea with the honorable Mr. Knox and his tutor. We arrived at Calais at 4 o'clock on Sunday morning, the 31st of July. We stayed in the vessel till half past seven, then William went for letters at about half-past eight or nine. We lodged opposite two ladies, intolerably decent sized rooms, but badly furnished. The weather was very hot. We walked by the seashore almost every evening with a net and Caroline, or William and Dylone. I had a cold and could not be that first, but William did. It was a pretty sight to see as we walked upon the sands when the tide was low. Perhaps a hundred people bathing about a quarter of a mile distant from us. And we had delightful walks after the heat of the day was passed, seeing far off in the west, coast of England like a cloud crested with dover castle, which was but like the summit of the cloud, the evening star and the glory of the sky. The reflections in the water were more beautiful than the sky itself, Purple waves brighter than precious stones forever melting away upon the sands. The fort, a wooden building, at the entrance of the harbor at Calais, when the evening twilight was coming on, and we could not see anything of the building, but its shape, which was far more distinct than in perfect daylight, seemed to be reared upon pillars of Ebony, between which pillars the sea was seen in the most beautiful colors that can be conceived. Nothing in romance was ever half so beautiful. Now came in view as the evening star sunk down and the colors of the west faded away, the two lights of England lighted up by Englishmen in our country to warn vessels off rocks or sands. These we used to see from the pier when we could see no other distant objects but the clouds, the sky, and the sea itself, all was dark behind. The town of Calais seemed deserted of the light of heaven, but there was always light and life and joy upon the sea. One night I shall never forget. The day had been very hot, and William and I walked alone together upon the pier. The sea was gloomy, for there was a blackness over all the sky, except when it was overspread with lightning, which often revealed to us a distant vessel near, as the waves roared and broke against the pier,

and they were interfused with greenish fiery light. The more distant sea, always black and gloomy, it was also beautiful on the calm hot night, to see the little boats row out of harbor with wings of fire. And the sailboats with the fiery track which they cut as they went along, and which closed up after them with a hundred thousand sparkles, and streams of glow-worm light. Caroline was delighted. On Sunday, the 29th of August, we left Calais at 12 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 harbor 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 sat 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 6, the 30th of August. It was misty, and we could see nothing. We stayed in London till Wednesday the 22nd of September, and arrived at Gallo 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 Sarah 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 asterisk and sweet peas. Jack and George came on Friday evening, October the 1st. On Saturday the second, we rode to Hackness, William, Jack, George, and Sarah single, I behind Tom. On Sunday the third, Mary and Sarah were busy packing. On Monday the 4th of October 1802, my brother William was married to Mary Hutchinson. I slept a good deal of the night, and rose fresh and well in the morning. At a little after 8 o'clock, I saw them go down the avenue towards the church. William had parted from the upstairs. When they were absent, my dear little Sarah 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 through myself on the bed, where I lay in stillness, neither hearing nor seeing anything till Sarah 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 Kirby while the horses were feeding. We rode a few lines to Sarah and then walked out. the sun shone and we went to the church yard after we had put a letter into the post office for the York Carol. We sontered about and left Kirby at about half past two. There's not much variety of prospect from Kirby to tomsley, but the country is very pleasant, being rich and woody, and Helmsley itself stands very sweetly at the foot of the rising grounds of Duncom Park, which is scattered over with tall woods, and lifting itself above the common buildings of the town, stands helmsly 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 traveled along it on foot, William and I, when we went to fetch our dear Mary, and had sat 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 gate 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 who have dragged the log of wood merely out of the love of their own activity. Duncombe House looks well from the road. A large building, though I believe only two-thirds of the original design are complete head, 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.

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