sauntering moodily in thin checkered woods, galloping about, once
daily, by old lanes and roads, oftenest latterly on the wide
expanses of Solway shore (when the tide is _out!_) where I see
bright busy Cottages far off, houses over even in Cumberland, and
the beautifulest amphitheatre of eternal Hills,--but meet no
living creature; and have endless thoughts as loving and as sad
and sombre as I like. My youngest Brother (whom on the whole I
like best, a rustic man, the express image of my Father in his
ways of living and thinking) is within ten miles of me; Brother
John "the Doctor" has come down to Dumfries to a sister (twelve
miles off), and runs over to me by rail now and then in few
minutes. I have Books; but can hardly be troubled with them.
Pitiful temporary babble and balderdash, in comparison to what
the Silences can say to one. Enough of all that: you perceive
me sufficiently at this point of my Pilgrimage, as withdrawn to
_Hades_ for the time being; intending a month's walk there, till
the muddy semi-solutions settle into sediment according to what
laws they have, and there be perhaps a partial restoration of
clearness. I have to go deeper into Scotland by and by, perhaps
to try _sailing,_ which generally agrees with me; but till the
end of September I hope there will be no London farther. My poor
Wife, who is again poorly since I left (and has had frightful
sufferings, last year especially) will probably join me in this
region before I leave it. And see here, This is authentically
the way we figure in the eye of the Sun; and something like what
your spectacles, could they reach across the Ocean into these
nooks, would teach you of us. There are three Photographs which
I reckon fairly _like;_ _these_ are properly what I had to send
you today,--little thinking that so much surplusage would
accumulate about them; to which I now at once put an end. Your