sessed. All day long I sit down before a mountain and try to copy its outlines, and never leave oft till the drawing is hopelessly spoilt; my great idea is to get at least one landscape daily into my book…. It is a strange thing with the mountains here as the greatest books, they seem to change with oneself, and display a new aspect of themselves to one’s own altered temperament, and always rise above one in the same glory. Now that I come to see them with my wife, my whole impression is quite different from what it was; then I cared for nothing but to rush up every craggy peak and green meadow-slope, and now I should like to stop in every place, and live there quietly for months. I can give no assurance that some fine spring I won’t pack off here with all my household goods, and never return to the North till the very last leaves are off the trees……
