a sweet, sea-like sound in the trees above our heads. We walked backwards and forwards some time for dear John's sake, then walked to look at Rydale. Wm. now reading in Bishop Hall, I going to read German. We have a nice singing fire, with one piece of wood. . . .
Wednesday, 24th.—A rainy morning. William returned from Rydale very wet, with letters. He brought a short one from C., a very long one from Mary. Wm. wrote to Annette, to Coleridge. . . . I wrote a little bit to Coleridge. We sent off these letters by Fletcher. It was a tremendous night of wind and rain. Poor Coleridge! a sad night for a traveller such as he. God be praised he was in safe quarters. Wm. went out. He never felt a colder night.
Thursday, 25th.—A fine, mild, gay, beautiful morning. Wm. wrote to Montagu in the morning. . . . I reached home just before dark, brought some mosses and ivy, and then got tea, and fell to work at German. I read a good deal of Lessing's Essay. Wm. came home between 9 and 10 o'clock. We sat together by the fire till bedtime. Wm. not very much tired.
Friday, 26th.—A grey morning till 10 o'clock, then the sun shone beautifully. Mrs. Lloyd's children and Mrs. Luff came in a chaise, were here at 11 o'clock, then went to Mrs. Olliff. Wm. and I accompanied them to the gate. I prepared dinner, sought out Peter Bell, gave Wm. some cold meat, and then we went to walk. We walked first to Butterlip How, where we sate and overlooked the dale, no sign of spring but the red tints of the woods and trees. Sate in the sun. Met Charles Lloyd near the Bridge. . . . Mr. and Mrs. Luff walked home, the Lloyds stayed till 8 o'clock. Wm. always gets on better with conversation at home than elsewhere. The chaise-driver brought us a letter from Mrs. H., a short one from C. We were perplexed about Sara's coming. I wrote to Mary. Wm. closed his letter to Montagu, and wrote to Calvert and Mrs. Coleridge. Birds sang divinely to-day. Wm. better.
