Wordsworth, Dora (1804-1847). - Letter, from Rydal Mount, to Edward Quillinan (1791-1851), at Sur Le Rampart, Bologne, dated 20 February 1834. WLL / Wordsworth, Dora / 1 / 57

Rydal Mount

Feby 20th

My dear Mr Quillinan

"Ten thousand thanks in coins of air" or ink rather is all alas that can be made for your delightful & long long looked for letter of the 12th I am a little at a loss how to answer your many questions for on that very day I sent off a long letter to dear Rotha which may or may not reach her as it was enclosed in one from my Father to Mr Henderson thro' the foreign-office - I who am very impudent when I have any thing much at heart requested Mr Henderson to put my letter if he could into the Ambassador's bag - if he could not into the fire. by the way this Mr H is the very gentleman for whose dinner the Poet & his son William had a fruitless hunt of so many hours - you remember it well I doubt not & the Poets wrath against you. Mr Henderson is living with his family in Boulogne but is just come over to England.

I fear I cannot send you the extracts you wish for. We have not Campbell's Poem of the Rainbow - It & its counterpart were transcribed for my Father by Mr Archer & I have hunted the house round & cannot find them & he is not in the country. We are right well pleased to hear that mischief is finished indeed your whole letter gave us sincere pleasure as we gather from the tone of it that you are more tranquil in mind & body than you have been for months past. Your Darlings too must be so very happy than even we who mourned over the departure from the shores of old England would mourn over their return if that return were to separate them from their Father. As I have nothing but good news to tell I must e'en run the risk of giving you a second edition of the Rydal bulletin - but it shall be abridged. My Aunt has kept for her quite well. Our winter, a fellow to yours, has agreed well with her - of course she never quits her own room - but there she passes her days comfortably & cheerfully as possible. My Father has had no return of inflammation in his eyes & they are very very much better tho' not strong enough to allow of his using them for reading or writing - lately he has employed his mind a little & without any material injury which is a great step gained he sends you a sonnet or two in return for the elegant verses you so kindly transcribed for us - no indeed I dont agree with you in thinking you [[-?-]] have a trick of sending coals to Newcastle - Rydal at least is not your Newcastle for I am sure you are chary towards us of your verses & not contented with being so you make the matter worse by telling us of things we are not to see again & again.

We had heard of your being in Cambridge from Chris who past a part of his Xmas Vacation at Rydal much to poor Aunty's satisfaction he did indeed diffuse sunshine & gladness over her sick room & he must have felt himself amply rewarded for this little sacrifice of his valuable time. But all this I know I told to Rotha I wish now I had not troubled the Darling with that letter but I felt so very anxious at your silence I could not wait any longer. Aunt Sarah is at Leamington I fancy she will be with Mrs Gee sometime in April - she goes first to Cambridge then to the Clarksons who I doubt not will keep her as long as she will stay with them. poor Mr C- is almost blind. They expect the eyes will be ready in May to operate upon

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& the oculists speak very favorably as to the result. Aunt left them all well at Brinsop. My Uncle has taken a Nephew of Sir R: Peels as a pupil in farming - a disagreeable addition to a fireside circle I should think. & Aunt Hutchinson felt it so I believe in expectation. As for Mr Monkhouse he seems to be so full of his Sheep & Sheep Shows that I suspect he is a little out of Aunt Sarah's good graces as she names him but seldom in her letters. Tom & George are both returned to Sedbergh we shall have them I hope at Midsummer - You ask after Willy he is quite well & seems in better spirits than heretofore - tho' his Love affair in statu quo - Cupid smiling - but Fortune frowning still. An intimate friend of his goes up to town in April to bring home his bride & much wishes Willy to accompany him thither to officiate as bridegroom's Man - but Willy is poor & cant afford to go & William the Elder thinks the younger has been somewhat extravagant in the spending of his little income & therefore declines forwarding his wishes on this occasion thinking the lesson which the staying at home must teach will do him more good than the any pleasure which the going abroad could produce. this is a little cruel I think.

John & Isabella & their little one are quite well. They go to Workington after Easter - John has consented to hold the Living for three years when his brother-in-law will be ready to be presented to it - Workington is considered the best living in the two counties & John is looked upon by the world as "a lucky fellow" - but we who see behind the scenes know he will be a much richer & a thousand times happier man when he quits this "fat Rectory" for his pretty little quiet vicarage at Brigham: the new house is getting on I understand tho' slowly. he has resigned Moresby so our interest in that place will fade away I suppose by degrees tho' it must ever be dear to our better nature - as the scene of my brother's first labours in his high & holy calling:- & as dear little Janey's birth place it can never be forgotten by any one of us.

You ask after Mrs Luff - she I believe is quite well. I say believe as she is now at Greystone she left Fox Ghyll the day your letter arrived & means to remain with the Askews till Spring. Lady Farquhar as we see by the papers was married to Mr Hamilton last Saturday - Mrs Luff heard from the Lady a few days ago they were going first to Cheltenham & then coming to the Ivy Cottage where they expected to be in about a fortnight. My opinion is that they wont long remain in this country tho' I have no grounds but my own opinion for thinking so. The house as it is cannot do for them - he has no love for the country he neither cares nor indeed professes to care for beautiful scenery - & none of either his or her old friends, Mrs Luff excepted, are in the neighbourhood or at all within reach

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Our Keswick friends are quite well. The Flower of that Flock is at last married & gone - I was at her wedding & a doleful wedding it was to me Edith was the last of my old friends that was left to me - dear E. Cookson excepted who I dare hardly even think of as belonging to this world. You ask after her certainly her health has been much better this winter than last but the cough continues & the pain in the side is still there & she neither eats nor sleeps how she lives is my astonishment - her Sisters are well & their Mother joined them a few days ago - more happy & cheerful than we dared to expect. I send you a sonnet which my Father composed after he parting from Mr Cookson at the Isle of Man where he was living so happily - a very short time after this was composed we received tidings of his death from Cholera.

* Ballasalla Abbey Isle of Man Broken in fortune but of mind entire And sound in principle I seek repose Where ancient trees this convent pile enclose In ruin beautiful. When vain desire Intrudes on peace I pray the eternal Sire To cast a soul-subduing Shade on me A grey-haired, pensive thankful Refugee; A shade but with such sparks of holy fire As once were cherished here. And when I note The old tower's brow yellowed as with the beams Of sunset ever there albeit that streams Of stormy weather - stains that semblance wrought I thank the silent Monitor and say Shine so my aged brow at all hours of the day

* near to which Mr Cookson's cottage stood

Burn's Daisy "There" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed "Is Mosgiel Farm, & that's the very field "Where Burns ploughed up the daisy." Far & wide A plain below stretched seaward while descried Above sea clouds the Peaks of Arran rose And by that simple notice the repose Of earth sky sea & air was vivified. Beneath "the random field of clod or stone" Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the larks nest & in their natural hour Have past away less happy than the One That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of Poetry & Love

I will give you some more sonnets which will are to make a part of a series of a "Tour in Scotland" or whatever he may call it they will amuse you much more & be a far better return for your letter that was so grateful to us than any twice told or even once told gossip I might send. He has given four to Staffa the one I transcribe he considers the most poetical

Staffa Ye shadowy Beings, that have rights & claims In every cell of Fingall's mystic Grot, Where are ye? Driven or venturing to the spot, Our Father's glimpses caught of your thin Frames, And by your mien & bearing knew your names; And they could hear his ghostly song who trod Earth till till the flesh lay on him like a load While he struck his desolate Harp without hopes or aims. Vanished ye are, but subject to recall Why keep we else the instincts whose dread law Ruled here of yore, till what man felt they saw, Not by black Arts but magic natural. If eyes be still sworn Vassals of belief Yon Light shapes forth a Bard, that Shade a Chief

The Spirit of Cockermouth Castle to the Author Thou lookst upon me & dost fondly think Poet! that stricken as both are by years We differing once so much, are now compeers Prepared when each has stood his time to sink Into the dust. Erewhile a sterner link United us, when thou, in boyish play Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey To soul appalling darkness: not a blink Of light was there, & thus did I thy Tutor Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave While thou wert chasing the winged butterfly Thro' my green courts, or climbing, a bold suitor, Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave

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Pastor & Patriot at whose bidding rise These modest walls amid a Flock who need For One who comes to watch them & to feed A fixed Abode keep down foreboding sighs. Threats which the unthinking only can despise Perplex the Church - but be thou [[-?-]] firm - be true To thy first hope, & this good work pursue Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice To Him who dwells in Heaven will be the smoke Of thy new Hearth; & sooner shall its wreaths Mounting while Earth her morning incense breathes From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke And staitway cease to aspire - that God disadain This humble tribute as ill timed or vain.

The Flower Love lies Bleeding They call it Love lies bleeding rather say That in this crimson flower Love bleeding droops A Flower how rich in Sadness! thus it stoops With languid head unpropped from day to day From month to month, life passing not away Even so the dying Gladiator leans On Mother earth & from his patience gleans Relics of tenderest thought regrets that stay A moment & are gone - O fate bowed flower Fair as Adonis bathed in sanguine dew Of his death wound, that Lover's heart was true As heaven, who pierced by scorn in some lone bower Could press thy semblance of unpitied smart Into the service of his constant heart

This was addressed to John whose spirit failed him somewhat on finding he should be obliged to lay out so much money on his parsonage which might be taken from him any day by the reformed parliament. but it will do for any poor parson who is building for his parish.

I have been again to hunt for Archers M.S. but grieve to say I cannot find it - I have found the Andes passage & I have sent far & wide to try to procure the Journey's Rainbow but cannot succeed. Pleasures of Hope in the Ist Part.

"Angel of life' thy glittering wings explore "Earth's loneliest bounds, & Ocean's wildest shore. "Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields "His bulk careering o'er unfathomed fields; "Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar "Where Andes, giant of the western star. "With meteor - standard to the winds unfurl'd, 'looks form his throne of clouds o'er half the world!"

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Father bids me say if you want one of Tom's most bare faced Plagiarisms here it is - in Blairs "Grave" - "Alas! too well he sped: the good he scorn'd "Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost "Not to return; or if it did, its visits "Like those of Angels short, & far between" -

Now for Tom: Pleasures of Hope Part II Cease, every joy to glimmer on my mind But leave oh! leave the light of Hope behind What though my winged hours of bliss have been Like Angel visits, few & far between" &c &c

We have none of the old Poet Henry Vaughan's Verses he was born in 1614 died 1695.

I am quite ashamed to send such a dirty blundering letter in return for yours which has neither spot nor blot nor erasure of any kind I wish you would not be so very tidy -

Best love to your Darlings one bit of intelligence which your last letter contained did comfort a God mothers heart & thank you kindly for it - Best love & best wishes from all

Ever yours faithfully & affectionately

Dora Wordsworth.

Hartley Coleridge is quite well & going on as usual now at home for a week or two now off on the ramble. At present he is at Kendal on a visit to the Editor of the Kendal radical Paper as vile & low a paper as comes from the press -

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his Sister is much the same.

Pray never be so long in letting us hear from you - I dare say it is very foolish but I cannot help being anxious - thinking one or the other of you must be ill -

I am sorry I can procure no paper thinner than this - Cyril promised me some but he forgot to give it me before he left home - indeed Love ran away with his Memory completely when he was to dine with us we had always to send after him when dinner ought to have been on the table.

Edward Quillinan Esqe

No. 9 Sur le Rempart

Boulogne sur Mer

<Received at Boulogne February 24. 1834>

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Object summary: WLL / Wordsworth, Dora / 1 / 57