But his characterization of the place—­a glen, the charm of which is little known—­in the stillness of an autumn afternoon, is as true to nature as any of his interpretations of the spirit of the hills and vales of Westmoreland.  As yet there is no farm-house, scarcely even a sheiling, to “break the silence of this Dell.”

The following is Dorothy Wordsworth’s account of their walk through it on Friday, September 9th, 1803: 

“Entered the glen at a small hamlet at some distance from the head, and, turning aside a few steps, ascended a hillock which commanded a view to the top of it—­a very sweet scene, a green valley, not very narrow, with a few scattered trees and huts, almost invisible in a misty green of afternoon light.  At this hamlet we crossed a bridge, and the road led us down the glen, which had become exceedingly narrow, and so continued to the end:  the hills on both sides heathy and rocky, very steep, but continuous; the rock not single or overhanging, not scooped into caverns, or sounding with torrents; there are no trees, no houses, no traces of cultivation, not one outstanding object.  It is truly a solitude, the road even making it appear still more so; the bottom of the valley is mostly smooth and level, the brook not noisy:  everything is simple and undisturbed, and while we passed through it the whole place was shady, cool, clear, and solemn.  At the end of the long valley we ascended a hill to a great height, and reached the top, when the sun, on the point of setting, shed a soft yellow light upon every eminence.  The prospect was very extensive; over hollows and plains, no towns, and few houses visible—­a prospect, extensive as it was, in harmony with the secluded dell, and fixing its own peculiar character of removedness from the world, and the secure possession of the quiet of nature more deeply in our minds.  The following poem was written by William on hearing of a tradition relating to it, which we did not know when we were there.”

Ed.

[Footnote B:  In the Statistical Account of Scotland, however—­drawn up by the parish ministers of the county, and edited by Sir John Sinclair—­both the river and the glen are spelt Almon, by the Rev. Mr. Erskine, who wrote the account of Monzie Parish in Perthshire.  This was in 1795.  A recent authority states: 

“‘Glenamon,’ in Ayrshire, and ‘Glenalmond,’ in Perthshire, are both from the corrupted spelling of the word ‘Avon,’ which derives from its being very nearly the pronunciation of the Gaelic word for ‘a river.’  These names are from ‘Gleann-abhuinn,’ that is,’the valley of the river.’”

(See the ‘Gaelic Topography of Scotland’, by James A. Robertson, Edinburgh, 1859.)—­Ed.]

* * * * *

STEPPING WESTWARD

Composed between 1803 and 1805.—­Published 1807

While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sun-set, in our road to a Hut where in the course of our Tour we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, “What, you are stepping westward?”—­W.  W. 1807.