31 May 1802 – 6 June 1802

... We sat out all the day.... I wrote out the poem on "Our Departure," which he seemed to have finished. In the evening Miss Simpson brought us a letter from M. H., and a complimentary and critical letter to W. from John Wilson of Glasgow....

In the morning we observed that the scarlet beans were drooping in the leaves in great numbers, owing, we guess, to an insect.... Yesterday an old man called, a grey-headed man, above seventy years of age. He said he had been a soldier, that his wife and children had died in Jamaica. He had a beggar's wallet over his shoulders; a coat of shreds and patches, altogether of a drab colour; he was tall, and though his body was bent, he had the look of one used to have been upright. I talked a while, and then gave him a piece of cold bacon and some money. Said he, "You're a fine woman!" I could not help smiling; I suppose he meant, "You're a kind woman." Afterwards a woman called, travelling to Glasgow. After dinner we went into Frank's field, crawled up the little glen, and planned a seat; ... found a beautiful shell-like purple fungus in Frank's field. After tea we walked to Butterlip How, and backwards and forwards there. All the young oak tree leaves are dry as powder. A cold south wind, portending rain....

A very fine rain. I lay in my bed till ten o'clock. William much better than yesterday. We walked into Easedale.... The cuckoo sang, and we watched the little birds as we sate at the door of the cow-house. The oak copses are brown, as in autumn, with the late frosts.... We have been reading the life and some of the writings of poor Logan since dinner. There are many affecting lines and passages in his poem, e.g. And everlasting longings for the lost. ... William is now sleeping with the window open, lying on the window seat. The thrush is singing. There are, I do believe, a thousand buds on the honeysuckle tree, all small and far from blowing, save one that is retired behind the twigs close to the wall, and as snug as a bird nest. John's rose tree is very beautiful, blended with the honeysuckle. Yesterday morning William walked as far as the Swan with Aggy Fisher, who was going to attend upon Goan's dying infant. She said, "There are many heavier crosses than the death of an infant;" and went on, "There was a woman in this vale who buried four grown-up children in one year, and I have heard her say, when many years were gone by, that she had more pleasure in thinking of those four than of her living children, for as children get up and have families of their own, their duty to their parents wears out and weakens. She could trip lightly by the graves of those who died when they were young ... as she went to church on a Sunday." ... A very affecting letter came from M. H., while I was sitting in the window reading Milton's Penseroso to William. I answered this letter before I went to bed.

A fine showery morning. I made both pies and bread; but we first walked into Easedale, and sate under the oak trees, upon the mossy stones. There were one or two slight showers. The gowans were flourishing along the banks of the stream. The strawberry flower hanging over the brook; all things soft and green. In the afternoon William sate in the orchard. I went there; was tired, and fell asleep. William began a letter to John Wilson.

A showery morning. We were writing the letter to John Wilson when Ellen came.... After dinner I walked into John Fisher's intake with Ellen. He brought us letters from Coleridge, Mrs. Clarkson, and Sara Hutchinson....