I thank you with all my heart for the little timeous supply you have lent me at present. I did intend shortly to have asked from you what little you could spare from the copies of ‘The Wake’ sold, but I had no thought that the final payment of ‘The Pilgrims’ would have been made to me sooner than November. You are the prince of booksellers, if people would but leave you to your own judgment and natural generous disposition.
I leave Edinburgh on Thursday for my little farm on Yarrow. I will have a confused summer, for I have as yet no home that I can dwell in; but I hope by-and-by to have some fine fun there with you, fishing in Saint Mary’s Loch and the Yarrow, eating bull-trout, singing songs, and drinking whisky. This little possession is what I stood much in need of—a habitation among my native hills was what of all the world I desired; and if I had a little more money at command, I would just be as happy a man as I know of; but that is an article of which I am ever in want. I wish you or Mrs. Murray would speer me out a good wife with a few thousands. I dare say there is many a romantic girl about London who would think it a fine ploy to become a Yarrow Shepherdess!
