m; and in childhood, in the first practice and exercise of their
senses, they must have been not the nourishers merely, but often the
fathers of their passions. There cannot be a doubt that in tracts of
country where images of danger, melancholy, grandeur, or loveliness,
softness, and ease prevail, that they will make themselves felt
powerfully in forming the characters of the people, so as to produce an
uniformity or national character, where the nation is small and is not
made up of men who, inhabiting different soils, climates, &c., by their
civil usages and relations materially interfere with each other. It was
so formerly, no doubt, in the Highlands of Scotland; but we cannot
perhaps observe much of it in our own island at the present day,
because, even in the most sequestered places, by manufactures, traffic,
religion, law, interchange of inhabitants, &c., distinctions are done
away, which would otherwise have been strong and obvious. This complex
state of society does not, however, prevent the characters of
individuals from frequently receiving a strong bias, not merely from the
impressions of general Nature, but also from local objects and images.
But it seems that to produce these effects, in the degree in which we
frequently find them to be produced, there must be a peculiar
sensibility of original organisation combining with moral accidents, as
is exhibited in 'The Brothers' and in 'Ruth;' I mean, to produce this in
a marked degree; not that I believe that any man was ever brought up in
the country without loving it, especially in his better moments, or in a
district of particular grandeur or beauty without feeling some stronger
attachment to it on that account than he would otherwise have felt. I
include, you will observe, in these considerations, the influence of
climate, changes in the atmosphere and elements, and the labours and
occupations which particular districts require.

[45] Parts of this letter have been torn, and words have been lost; some
of which are here conjecturally supplied between brackets.

You begin what you say upon the 'Idiot Boy,' with this observation, that
nothing is a fit subject for poetry which does not please. But here
follows a question, Does not please whom? Some have little knowledge of
natural imagery of any kind, and, of course, little relish for it; some
are disgusted with the very mention of the words pastoral poetry, sheep
or shepherds; some cannot tolerate a poem with