CHAPTER XII. 



HOMELY TRAGEDY. 

 I. 



IN our summer fishings, one of the spots to which 

 we used to resort was a quaint cottage in the 

 vale of Duddon the Duddon that Wordsworth 

 has immortalised in his series of sonnets. The 

 cottage stood hard by the stream, and in it lived 

 a widow woman, the daughter of a hill " states- 

 man." During trout-time the house was em- 

 bowered in greenery. Deliciously cool was its 

 whitewashed porch and clean sanded floor, a 

 great tree standing over all. In the grate of her 

 parlour in summer, where Mr. Wordsworth often 

 used to sit, she invariably had a thick sod of 

 purple heather in full bloom. To the stream 

 many anglers came, and drew from their holds 

 the pink-spotted trout. The dipper and king- 

 fisher darted by the door, and those who drank 

 in the quiet and pastoral peace of Duddon never 

 forgot it. The woman of the cottage, by great 

 industry and exertion, had reared and settled 

 comfortably in life a large family. She was 

 respected by all about her. Out of her small 



