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 The Dell Romantic. Tonight we'll read from Dorothy Wordsworth's personal journal, which she kept in the year 1798. It was published 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. Dorothy Wordsworth had no ambitions to be a public author, yet she left behind numerous letters, diary entries, topographical descriptions, poems, and other writings. Dorothy Wordsworth's works came to light just as literary critics were beginning to reexamine women's role in literature.

Her observations and descriptions have been considered to be as poetic, if not more so, than those of her brother. If you enjoy this episode, please look for our other episode featuring this author titled, First steps, a 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. Alphoxden, January 20th, 1798 The green paths down the hill sides are channels for streams. The young wheat is streaked by silver lines of water running between the riches. The sheep are gathered together on the slopes. After the wet dark days, the country seems more populous. It peoples itself in the sunbeams. The garden, mimic of spring, is gay with flowers. The purple-starred hepatica spreads itself in the sun, and the clustering snow drops put forth their white heads, at first upright, ribbed with green, and like a rosebud when completely opened, hanging their heads downwards, but slowly lengthening their slender stems. The slanting woods of an unvarying brown, showing the light through the thin network of their upper boughs. Upon the highest ridge of that round hill covered with planted oaks, the shafts of the trees show in the light like the columns of a ruin. 21st. Walked on the hilltops, a warm day sat under the furs in the park. The tops of the beaches of a brown red or crimson, those oaks fanned by the sea breeze, thick with feathery sea-green moss, as a grove not stripped of its leaves. Moss cups more proper than acorns for fairy goblets. The twenty-second walked through the wood to Hulford, ivy twisting round the oaks like bristled serpents, the day cold, a warm shelter in the hallies, capriciously bearing berries. Query are the male and female flowers on separate trees. The 23rd. Bright sunshine went out at 3 o'clock. The sea perfectly calm blue, streaked with deeper color by the clouds, and tongues or points of sand, on our return of a gloomy red. The sun gone down, the crescent moon, Jupiter and Venus. The sound of the sea distinctly heard on the tops of the hills, which we could never hear in summer. We attribute this partly to the beariness of the trees, but chiefly to the absence of the singing of birds, the hum of insects, that noiseless noise which lives in the summer air. The villages marked out by beautiful beds of smoke, the turf fading into the mountain

road, the scarlet flowers of the moss. The 24th.

Walked between half past three and half past five.

The evening cold and clear, the sea of a sober grey, streaked by the deeper grey clouds. The half dead sound of the near sheep bell, in the hollow of the sloping, coom, exquisitely soothing. The twenty-fifth went to pools after tea. The sky spread over with one continuous cloud, whiteened by the light of the moon, which, though her dim shape was seen, did not throw forth so strong a light as to checker the earth with shadows. At once the clouds seemed to cleave a sunder, and left her in the center of a black blue vault.

She sailed along, followed by multitudes of stars, small and bright and sharp. Their brightness seemed concentrated, a half moon. The 26th. Walked upon the hilltops, followed the sheep tracks till we overlooked the larger coom, sat in the sunshine, the distant sheep bells, the sound of the stream, the woodmen winding along the half-marked road with his laden pony. Locks of wool still spangled with the dew-drops. The blue grey sea shaded with immense masses of cloud, not streaked. The sheep glittering in the sunshine, returned through the wood. The trees skirting the wood, being exposed more directly to the action of the sea breeze, stripped of the network of their upper boughs, which are stiff and erect, like black skeletons, the ground struded with the red berries of the holly. Set forward before two o'clock, returned a little after four. 27th, walked from seven o'clock till half past eight upon the whole and uninteresting evening. Only once while we were in the wood, the moon burst through the invisible veil which enveloped her. the shadows of the oaks blackened, and their lines became more strongly marked.

The withered leaves were colored with a deeper yellow. A brighter gloss spotted the The hallies again her form became dimmer.

The sky flat, unmarked by distances, a white thin cloud. The manufacturer's dog makes a strange uncouth howl, which it continues many minutes after there is no noise near it but that of the brook. It howls at the murmur of the village stream. The twenty-eighth walked only to the mill. The twenty-ninth, a very stormy day, William walk to the top of the hill to see the sea. Nothing distinguishable but a heavy blackness, An immense bow riven with one of the furtries. The 30th, William called me into the garden to observe a singular appearance about the moon. A perfect rainbow within the bow one star, only of colors more vivid. The semi-circle soon became a complete circle, and in the course of three or four minutes, whole faded away. Walked to the blacksmiths and the bakers, an uninteresting evening. The 31st set forward to Stowe at half past five. a violent storm in the wood sheltered under the hallies. When we left home the moon immensely large, the sky scattered over with clouds. These soon closed in, contracting the dimensions of the moon without concealing her. The sound of the pattering shower and the gust of wind very grand. Left the wood when nothing remained of the storm but the driving wind and a few scattering drops of rain. Presently all clear, Venus first showing herself between the struggling clouds. Afterwards Jupiter appeared. The Hawthorne hedges, black and pointed, glittering with millions of diamond drops. The holly's shining with broader patches of light. The road to the village of Hulford glittered like another stream. On our return, the wind high, a violent storm of hail and rain at the castle of comfort. All the heavens seemed in one perpetual motion when the rain ceased. The moon appearing, now half-failed, and now retired behind heavy clouds, the stars still moving, the roads very dirty. February 1st. About two hours before dinner set forward towards Mr. Bartholomew's. The wind blew so keen in our faces that we felt ourselves inclined to seek the covert of the wood. There we had a warm shelter, gathered a berthin of large rotten boughs blown down by the wind of the preceding night. The sun shown clear, but all at once a heavy blackness hung over the sea. The trees almost roared, and the ground seemed in motion with the multitudes of dancing leaves, which made a rustling sound distinct from that of the trees. Still, the asses pastured in quietness under the hallies undisturbed by these four runners of the storm. The wind beat furiously against us as we returned. Full Moon, she rose in uncommon majesty over the sea, slowly ascending through the clouds, sat with the window open an hour in the moonlight. The second, walked through the wood and on to the downs before dinner, a warm pleasant air. The sun shone but was often obscured by straggling clouds. The red breasts made a ceaseless song in the woods. The wind rose very high in the evening. The room smoked so that we were obliged to quit it. Young lambs in the green pasture in the womb, thick legs, large heads, black staring eyes. The third. A mild morning, the windows open at breakfast, the red breasts singing in the garden, walked with cold ridge over the hills, the sea at first obscured by vapor. That vapor afterward slid in one mighty mass along the seashore. The islands and one point of land clear beyond it. The distant country, which was purple in the clear dull air, overhung by straggling clouds that sailed over it, appeared like the dark clouds, which are often seen at a great distance, apparently motionless, while the nearer ones pass quickly over them, driven by the lower winds. I never saw such a union of earth, sky, and sea. The clouds beneath our feet spread themselves to the water, and the clouds of the sky almost join them. gathered sticks in the wood, a perfect stillness. The red breasts sang upon the leafless boughs of a great number of sheep in the field, only one standing. Return to dinner at five o'clock. The moonlight still and warm as a summer's night at 9 o'clock. The fourth. Walked a great part of the way to Stowe with Colbridge.

The morning warm and sunny,

the young lassies seen on the hilltops

in the villages and roads in their summer holiday clothes,

pink petticoats and blue,

mothers with their children in arms

and the little ones that could just walk tottering by their side. Nidges are small flies spinning in the sunshine, the songs of the lark and the red breast, daisies upon the turf, and hazels in blossom, honey-suckles budding. I saw one solitary strawberry flower under hedge, the furs gay with blossom, the moss rubbed from the palings by the sheep that leave locks of wool and the red marks with which they are spotted upon the wood. The Fifth. Walk to Stowe with Colrich, returned by Woodlands, a very warm day. In the continued singing of birds distinguish the notes of a blackbird or th thrush. The sea overshadowed by a thick dark mist, the land in sunshine. The sheltered oaks and beaches still retaining their brown leaves. Observe some trees putting out red shoots. Query.

What trees are they?

Sixth.

Walk to Stowe over the hills, return to tea.

A cold and clear evening.

The roads in some parts frozen hard.

The sea hit by mist all the day. The seventh turned towards Potstem, but finding the way dirty changed our course. Cottage gardens, the object of our walk, went up the smaller coom to woodlands, to the blacksmiths, the bakers, and through the village of Halford. Still misty over the sea, the air very delightful. We saw nothing very new or interesting. The eighth went up the park and over the tops of the hills till we came to a new and very delicious pathway, which conducted us to the womb. Sat a considerable time upon the heath, its surface restless and glittering with the motion of the scattered piles of withered grass, and the waving of the spider's threads. On our return the mist still hanging over the sea, but the opposite coast clear, and the rocky cliffs distinguishable. In the deep coom as we stood upon the sunless hill, We saw miles of grass, light and glittering, And the insects passing. The ninth, William gathered sticks. The tenth, walked woodlands and to the waterfall. The adders tongue and the ferns green in the low damped hill. These plants now in perpetual motion from the current of the air in summer only moved by the drippings of the rocks, a cloudy day. 11th. Walked with cool ridge near to Stowe, the day pleasant but cloudy. the twelfth, walked alone to Stoey, returned in the evening with Coleridge, a mild pleasant cloudy day. The thirteenth walked with Coleridge through the wood, a mild and pleasant morning, the near prospect clear. The ridges of the hills fringed with wood, showing the sea through them like the white sky, and still beyond the dim horizon of the distant hills, hanging as it were in one undetermined line between sea and sky. The 14th gathered sticks with William in the wood, he being unwell and not able to go further. The young birch trees of a bright red through which gleams a shade of purple. Sat down in a thick part of the wood, the near trees still, even to their topmost boughs, but a perpetual motion in those that skirt the wood. The breeze rose gently, its path distinctly marked, till it came to the very spot where we were. The fifteenth gathered sticks in the further wood, the del green with moss and brambles, and the tall and slender pillars of the unbranchching oaks. I cross the water with letters, returned to William and Basil, a shower met us in the wood, and a ruffling breeze. The 16th went for eggs into the womb, and to the bakers, a hail shower, brought home large berthins of sticks, a starlight evening, the sky closed in, and the ground white with snow before we went to bed. the 17th, a deep snow upon the ground. William and Colbridge walked to Mr. Bartholomew's and to Stowe. William returned and we walked through the wood into the womb to fetch some eggs. The sun shone bright and clear. A deep stillness in the thickest part of the wood, undisturbed except for the occasional dropping of the snow from the hollybounds. No other sound but that of the water, and the slender notes of a red breast, which sang at intervals on the outskirts of the southern side of the wood. There the bright green moss was bear at the roots of the trees and the little birds were upon it. The whole appearance of the wood was enchanting and and each tree, taken singly, was beautiful. The branches of the Hollies penned in with their white burden, but still showing their bright red berries and their glossy green leaves. The bear branches of the oaks thickened by the snow. 18th, walked after dinner beyond the woodlands, a sharp and very cold evening. First observed the crescent moon, a silvery line, a thready bow, attended by Jupiter and Venus in their paleest hues. The 19th. I walked a stowa before dinner, William unable to go all the way, returned alone, a fine sunny, clear frosty day. The sea still and blue and broad and smooth. The 20th, walked after dinner towards Woodlands. The 21st. Coleridge came in the morning, which prevented our walking. William went through the wood with him towards Stowe, a very stormy night. The 22nd. Coleridge came in the morning to dinner. William and I walked after dinner to Woodlands, the moon and two planets, sharp and frosty. Met a razor grinder with a soldier's jacket on, a knapsack on his back, and a boy to drag his wheel.

The sea very black, and making a loud noise as we came through the wood, loud as if disturbed, and the wind was silent. The 23rd, William walked with Coleridge in the morning.

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