Broomielaw, January 1867.
You tell me to describe our daily home-life and domestic
surroundings. I dare say it: will appear to be a monotonous and
insignificant existence enough when put on paper, but it suits me
exactly; and, for the first time in my life, I have enough to do,
and also the satisfaction of feeling that I am of some little use to
my fellow-creatures. A lady's influence out here appears to be very
great, and capable of indefinite expansion. She represents
refinement and culture (in Mr. Arnold's sense of the words), and her
footsteps on a new soil such as this should be marked by a trail of
light. Of course every improvement must be the work of time, but I
find my neighbours very willing to help me in my attempts.

A few lines will be sufficient to sketch a day's routine. The first
of my duties is one I especially delight in. I am out very early
with a large tin dish of scraps mixed with a few handfuls of wheat,
and my appearance is the signal for a great commotion among all my
fowls and ducks and pigeons. Such waddling and flying and running
with outstretched wings to me: in fact, I receive a morning greeting
from all the live-stock about the place. I am nearly knocked down
by the big sheep-dogs; the calves come rushing with awkward gambols
towards me for a bit of the fowls' bread, whilst the dogs look out
for a bone; but, in the midst of the confusion, the poultry hold
their own; indeed, an anxious hen eager to secure a breakfast for
her chicks will fly at a big dog, and beat him away from a savoury
morsel. I think I ought not to omit mentioning the devotion of a
small pig; it is an exact illustration of the French proverb which
speaks of the inequality of love, for I am quite passive and do not
respond in the least to the little beastie's affection, which is the