granite hills and the black morasses which stretch westward through
Galloway, almost to the Irish Sea. In this wilderness of heath and
rock, our estate stands forth a green oasis, a tract of ploughed,
partly enclosed, and planted ground, where corn ripens, and trees
afford a shade, although surrounded by sea-mews and rough-woolled
sheep. Here, with no small effort, have we built and furnished a neat,
substantial dwelling; here, in the absence of professorial or other
office, we live to cultivate literature according to our strength,
and in our own peculiar way. We wish a joyful growth to the rose and
flowers of our garden; we hope for health and peaceful thoughts to
further our aims. The roses, indeed, are still in part to be planted,
but they blossom already in anticipation. Two ponies, which carry
us everywhere, and the mountain air, are the best medicines for weak
nerves. This daily exercise--to which I am much devoted--is my only
recreation: for this nook of ours is the loneliest in Britain--six
miles removed from any one likely to visit me. Here Rousseau would
have been as happy as on his island of St. Pierre. My town friends,
indeed, ascribe my sojourn here to a similar disposition, and forbode
me no good result. But I came hither solely with the design to
simplify my way of life, and to secure the independence through which
I could be enabled to remain true to myself. This bit of earth is our
own; here we can live, write, and think, as best pleases ourselves,
even though Zoilus himself were to be crowned the monarch of
literature. Nor is the solitude of such great importance; for a
stage-coach takes us speedily to Edinburgh, which we look upon as our
British Weimar. And have I not, too, at this moment piled up upon
the table of my little library a whole cart-load of French, German,
American, and English journals and periodicals--whatever may be their
worth? Of antiquarian studies, too, there is no lack. From some of
our heights I can descry, about a day's journey to the west, the hill