In a letter, dated September 10, 1800, Miss Wordsworth thus describes their home and home-life: "We are daily more delighted with Grasmere and its neighbourhood. Our walks are perpetually varied, and we are more fond of the mountains as our acquaintance with them increases. We have a boat upon the lake, and a small orchard, and smaller garden, which, as it is the work of our own hands, we regard with pride and partiality.
Our cottage is quite large enough for us, though very small, and we have made it neat and comfortable within doors, and it looks very nice on the outside; for though the roses and honeysuckles which we have planted against it are only of this year's growth, yet it is covered all over with green leaves and scarlet flowers; for we have trained scarlet beans upon threads, which are not only exceedingly beautiful but very useful, as their produce is immense. We have made a lodging-room of the parlour below stairs, which has a stone floor, therefore we have covered it all over with matting. We sit in a room above stairs; and we have one lodging-room, with two single beds, a sort of lumber-room, and a small, low, unceiled room, which I have papered with newspapers, and in which we have put a small bed. Our servant is an old woman of sixty years of age, whom we took partly out of charity. She was very ignorant, very foolish, and very difficult to teach. But the goodness of her disposition, and the great convenience we should find, if my perseverance was successful, induced me to go on."
It is recorded in the transactions of the Wordsworth Society for 1882, that Professor Knight thus alluded to the journals of Miss Wordsworth, written during the years 1800, 1801, 1802, and 1803: "These journals were a singularly interesting record of 'plain living and high thinking;'--of very plain living, and of very lofty thought, imagination, and feeling. They were the best possible commentary on the poems belonging to that period; because they shewed the manner of life of the brother and the sister, the character of their daily work, the influences of Nature to which they were subjected, the homeliness of their ways, and the materials on which the poems were based, as well as the sources of their inspiration. One read in these journals the tales of travelling sailors and pedlars who came through the lake country, of gipsy women and beggar boys, which were afterwards, if not immediately, translated into verse. Then the whole scenery of the place and its accessories, the people of Grasmere Vale, Wordsworth's neighbours and friends, were photographed in that journal. The Church, the lake, its Island, John's Grove, White Moss Common, Point Rash Judgment, Easedale, Dunmail Raise--everything given in clearest outline and vivid colour.
Miss Wordsworth's delineations of Nature in these daily jottings were quite as subtle and minute, quite as delicate and ethereal, as anything in her brother's poems. Above all there was in these records a most interesting disclosure of Dorothy Wordsworth's friendship with Coleridge--and a very remarkable friendship it was. One also saw the sister's rare appreciation of her brother's genius, amounting almost to a reverence for it; and her continuous self-sacrifice that she might foster and develop her brother's powers. Well might Wordsworth say, 'She gave me eyes, she gave me ears,' Another very interesting fact disclosed in those journals was the very slow growth of many of the poems, such, for example, as 'Michael' and the 'Excursion,' and the constant revisions to which they were subjected."
The poem, "To a Young Lady, who had been reproached for taking long walks in the country," written about this time, was, I am informed on excellent authority, addressed to Miss Wordsworth. It will be observed that the prophecy therein contained did not in all respects meet with fulfilment:--
"Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!
--There is a nest in a green dale, A harbour and a hold; Where thou, a Wife and Friend, shalt see Thy own heart-stirring days, and be A light to young and old.
"There, healthy as a shepherd-boy, And treading among flowers of joy, Which at no season fade, Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, Shalt shew us how divine a thing A Woman may be made.
"Thy thoughts and feelings shall not die, Nor leave thee, when grey hairs are nigh, A melancholy slave; But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave."
Thus were passed, in happy converse and mutual love and help, the three years which intervened between Miss Wordsworth and her brother going to Grasmere, and the marriage of the latter. A tour which they together made on the Continent in 1802 pleasantly varied this period. A sonnet of Wordsworth's composed when on this occasion, they were, in the early morning, passing Westminster Bridge is well known. It is here repeated only that his sister's account of her impressions may be placed along with it. He says:--
"Earth hath not anything to shew more fair; Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty; This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!"
Miss Wordsworth in her almost equally graceful prose writes: "Left London between five and six o'clock of the morning, outside the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The city, St. Paul's, with the river--a multitude of boats--made a beautiful sight as we crossed Westminster Bridge; the houses not overhung by their clouds of smoke, and were spread out endlessly; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a pure light, that there was something like the purity of one of Nature's own grand spectacles." She adds: "Arrived at Calais at four in the morning of July 31st. Delightful walks in the evening; seeing, far off in the west, the coast of England, like a cloud, crested with Dover Castle, 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 for ever melting away upon the sands."
CHAPTER VII.
SOME MEMORIAL NOOKS
It may not be inopportune to mention, in this place, a few of the spots in the neighbourhood of this, their early home, with which the memory of Miss Wordsworth is more especially associated. By Wordsworth himself, indeed, the whole of the Lake district of England has been immortalised, and is more associated with his name and life than is the country of the Trossachs with that of Sir Walter Scott. In illustration of this it is only necessary to refer to his poems on the naming of places and inscriptions. This fact alone, no less than the exalted teaching and beauty of many of his works, will serve to preserve the memory of Wordsworth; and probably thousands, to whom he would otherwise be only a name, will become acquainted with him as a loved and trusted teacher. If the spirits of the departed ever return and hover over the scenes of earth which were loved and hallowed in the old-world life, it needs no force of the imagination to fancy that of this most spiritual of women, lingering by sunny noon or shady evening near the haunts, where, with her kindred companion, she walked in happy converse. Among such favoured nooks probably the next in interest to their loved "garden-orchard"
would be found the beauteous vale of Easedale. Here is a terrace walk in Lancrigg wood which Wordsworth many years after said he and his sister discovered three days after they took up their abode at Grasmere; and which long remained their favourite haunt. The late Lady Richardson, in an article in "Sharpe's London Magazine," referring at a later period to this place, says: "It was their custom to spend the fine days of summer in the open air, chiefly in the valley of Easedale. The 'Prelude' was chiefly composed in a green mountain terrace, on the Easedale side of Helm Crag, known by the name of Under Lancrigg, a place which he used to say he knew by heart. The ladies sat at their work on the hill-side, while he walked to and fro, on the smooth green mountain turf, humming out his verses to himself, and then repeating them to his sympathising and ready scribes, to be noted down on the spot and transcribed at home."
The winding path leading up to the tarn on the west of Easedale brook, on the other side of the valley, is, perhaps, still more closely identified with Miss Wordsworth. The first of his "Poems on the Naming of Places" was, he has stated, suggested on the banks of the brook that runs through Easedale, by the side of which he had composed thousands of verses. The poem is as follows:--
"It was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire, And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves seemed eager to urge on The steps of June; as if their various hues Were only hindrances that stood between Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed Such an entire contentment in the air That every naked ash, and tardy tree Yet leafless, shewed as if the countenance With which it looked on this delightful day Were native to the summer.--Up the brook I roamed in the confusion of my heart, Alive to all things, and forgetting all.
At length I to a sudden turning came In this continuous glen, where down a rock The Stream, so ardent in its course before, Sent forth such sallies of glad sound that all Which I till then had heard appeared the voice Of common pleasure: beast and bird, the lamb, The shepherd's dog, the linnet and the thrush Vied with this waterfall, and made a song Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth Or like some natural produce of the air, That could not cease to be. Green leaves were here; But 'twas the foliage of the rocks--the birch, The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn, With hanging islands of resplendent furze: And, on a summit, distant a short space, By any who should look beyond the dell, A single mountain-cottage might be seen.
I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said, 'Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook, MY EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.'
--Soon did the spot become my other home, My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode.
And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there, To whom I sometimes in our idle talk Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps, Years after we are gone and in our graves, When they have cause to speak of this wild place, May call it by the name of EMMA'S DELL."
It is hardly necessary to mention that Miss Wordsworth is more than once in the poems referred to as the poet's sister "Emma" or "Emmeline." It is, perhaps, rather difficult to determine on what precise spot they stood when this poem was composed, and to which the name of "Emma's Dell" was given. Professor Knight, in his very interesting work, "The English Lake District, as interpreted by Wordsworth," concludes that the place is where the brook takes a "sudden turning" a few hundred yards above Goody Bridge; but there are other spots in the brook a little further up the valley to which the description in the poem is probably equally applicable.
Another poem of the same series may appropriately here find a place, containing, as it does, a loving allusion to Dorothy. This time it is Miss Wordsworth herself who gives the name of _William's Peak_ to the rugged summit of Stone Arthur, situated between Green Head Ghyll (the scene of Wordsworth's pastoral poem "Michael") and Tongue Ghyll, a short distance on the right-hand, side of the road leading from Grasmere to Keswick:--
"There is an Eminence,--of these our hills The last that parleys with the setting sun; We can behold it from our orchard-seat; And, when at evening we pursue our walk Along the public way, this Peak, so high Above us, and so distant in its height, Is visible; and often seems to send Its own deep quiet to restore our hearts.
The meteors make of it a favourite haunt: The star of Jove, so beautiful and large, In the mid heavens, is never half so fair As when he shines above it. 'Tis in truth The loneliest place we have among the clouds.
_And She who dwells with me, whom I have loved With such communion, that no place on earth Can ever be a solitude to me_, Hath to this lonely Summit given my Name."
As this poem was written in the first year of their residence at Grasmere, the reference in the closing lines can be to no other person than Miss Wordsworth.
Still another poem of the series owes its origin to a walk by the poet, in the company of his sister and Coleridge. The path here referred to, by the side of the lake has, we are informed, lost its privacy and beauty, by reason of the making of the new highway from Rydal to Grasmere:--
"A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags, A rude and natural causeway, interposed Between the water and a winding slope Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: And there, myself and two beloved Friends, One calm September morning, ere the mist Had altogether yielded to the sun, Sauntered on this retired and difficult way.
--"Ill suits the road with one in haste; but we Played with our time; and, as we strolled along, It was our occupation to observe Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore-- Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough, Each on the other heaped, along the line Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood, Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard, That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake, Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand!
And starting off again with freak as sudden; In all its sportive wanderings, all the while Making report of an invisible breeze That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse, Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul.
--"And often, trifling with a privilege Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now, And now the other, to point out, perchance To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair Either to be divided from the place On which it grew, or to be left alone To its own beauty."
The poem goes on to relate how they saw in the distance, angling by the margin of the lake, a man in the garb of a peasant, while from the fields the merry noise of the reapers fell upon their ears. They somewhat hastily came to the conclusion that the man was an idler, who, instead of spending his time at the gentle craft, might have been more profitably engaged in the harvest. Upon a near approach they, however, found that he was a feeble old man, wasted by sickness, and too weak to labour, who was doing his best to gain a scanty pittance from the lake.
It concludes by alluding to the self-upbraiding of the three friends, in consequence of their too rashly formed opinion:--
"I will not say What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how The happy idleness of that sweet morn, With all its lovely images, was changed To serious musing and to self-reproach.
Nor did we fail to see within ourselves What need there is to be reserved in speech, And temper all our thoughts with charity.
--Therefore, unwilling to forget that day, My Friend, Myself, and She who then received The same admonishment, have called the place By a memorial name, uncouth indeed, As e'er by mariner was given to bay Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast; And _Point Rash-Judgment_ is the name it bears."
Another memorial of Miss Wordsworth in her prime is to be found in the "Rock of Names," which stands on the right-hand side of the road from Grasmere to Keswick, near the head of Thirlmere, and about a mile beyond "Wytheburn's modest House of Prayer." This was a meeting-place of Wordsworth and Coleridge, who was then resident at Keswick, and their friends. On the surface of this "upright mural block of stone,"
moss-crowned, smooth-faced, and lichen-patched, are cut the following letters:--
W. W.
M. H.
D. W.
S. T. C.
J. W.
S. H.
It is hardly necessary to state that the initials are those of William Wordsworth, Mary Hutchinson (afterwards his wife), Dorothy Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Wordsworth (the poet's brother), and Sarah Hutchinson (the sister of Mrs. Wordsworth). It is greatly to be regretted that on the completion of the projected reservoir of the Manchester Corporation, this rock, unless steps are taken for its preservation, will be submerged in its waters. Seldom did half-a-dozen more poetic and fervent natures meet and leave a more unique, and attractive memorial. It is to be hoped that means will be adopted not only to have the rock removed to a place of safety, but also to preserve it from further mutilation. Although these initials have withstood the storms and blasts of more than four score winters, they are yet perfectly distinct and legible, and their original character is preserved. Whilst there are, unfortunately, now other initials and marks upon the face of the rock, it is more free from them than might have been expected. The very fact of attention being called to such an interesting memento, while being a source of pleasure to the admirers of the gifted children of genius who made this their trysting-place, also arouses the puerile ambition of those whose interest centres in themselves, and to whom no associations are dear, to inscribe their own scratch. In this way there has already been added the letter J. before the original D. W. of Miss Wordsworth. Wordsworth's allusion to this rock, in a note to some editions of his poem, "The Waggoner," is as follows:--
ROCK OF NAMES!
"Light is the strain, but not unjust To Thee, and thy memorial-trust That once seemed only to express Love that was love in idleness; Tokens, as year hath followed year, How changed, alas, in character!
For they were graven on thy smooth breast By hands of those my soul loved best; Meek women, men as true and brave As ever went to a hopeful grave: Their hands and mine, when side by side, With kindred zeal and mutual pride, We worked until the Initials took Shapes that defied a scornful look.-- Long as for us a genial feeling Survives, or one in need of healing, The power, dear Rock, around thee cast, Thy monumental power, shall last For me and mine! O thought of pain, That would impair it or profane!
And fail not Thou, loved Rock! to keep Thy charge when we are laid asleep."
In this place a reference by Wordsworth to his little poem, commencing "Yes, it was the mountain echo," will be of interest. "The echo came from Nab-scar, when I was walking on the opposite side of Rydal Mere. I will here mention, for my dear sister's sake, that while she was sitting alone one day, high up on this part of Loughrigg fell, she was so affected by the voice of the cuckoo, heard from the crags at some distance, that she could not suppress a wish to have a stone inscribed with her name among the rocks from which the sound proceeded."
CHAPTER VIII.