traveller only determined to
see all he could see, without ever asking himself for what purpose.
Besides, the very dabbling in literature furnishes harmless topics of
conversation; for the not having such subjects at hand, though they are
often insupportably fatiguing, renders the inhabitants of little towns
prying and censorious. Idleness, rather than ill-nature, gives birth to
scandal, and to the observation of little incidents which narrows the
mind. It is frequently only the fear of being talked of which produces
that puerile scrupulosity about trifles incompatible with an enlarged
plan of usefulness, and with the basis of all moral principles--respect
for the virtues which are not merely the virtues of convention.

I am, my friend, more and more convinced that a metropolis, or an abode
absolutely solitary, is the best calculated for the improvement of the
heart, as well as the understanding; whether we desire to become
acquainted with man, nature, or ourselves. Mixing with mankind, we are
obliged to examine our prejudices, and often imperceptibly lose, as we
analyse them. And in the country, growing intimate with nature, a
thousand little circumstances, unseen by vulgar eyes, give birth to
sentiments dear to the imagination, and inquiries which expand the soul,
particularly when cultivation has not smoothed into insipidity all its
originality of character.

I love the country, yet whenever I see a picturesque situation chosen on
which to erect a dwelling I am always afraid of the improvements. It
requires uncommon taste to form a whole, and to introduce accommodations
and ornaments analogous with the surrounding-scene.

It visited, near Gothenburg, a house with improved land about it, with
which I was particularly delighted. It was close to a lake embosomed in
pine-clad rocks. In one part of the meadows your eye was directed to the
broad expanse, in another you were led into a shade, to see a part of it,
in the form of a river, rush amongst the fragments of rocks and roots of
trees; nothing seemed forced. One recess, particularly grand and solemn
amongst the towering cliffs, had a rude stone table and seat placed in
it, that might have served for a Druid's haunt, whilst a placid stream
below enlivened the flowers on its margin, where light-footed elves would
gladly have danced their airy rounds.

Here the hand of taste was conspicuous though not obtrusive, and formed a
contrast with another abode in the