When Robert reached Ellisland the evening sun was flaming over the distant western hills. Not a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for a poet’s heart. He stopped his horse by the door of the cottage and stood silently regarding his future home. He had secured from Mr. Miller in Dumfries, the owner of the farm, the keys, and declining the company of several, who offered to show him the way to his new possession, he set out on his journey in gloomy solitude. For a few moments he listened to the birds pouring their harmony on every hand, as if to welcome the wanderer, then with a sigh he unlocked the door and went within. A few weeks passed uneventfully. Upon his arrival he had immediately begun to rebuild the dwelling house, which was inadequate to accommodate his family. It afforded his jaded senses much pleasure to survey the grounds he was about to cultivate, and in rearing a building that should give shelter to his wife and children (who were with Squire Armour in Mauchline, the stern old man having relented upon a bed of sickness), and, as he fondly hoped, to his own gray hairs; sentiments of independence buoyed up his mind; pictures of domestic content and peace rose in his imagination; and a few weeks passed away, the most tranquil, if not the happiest, which he had experienced for some time. His fame naturally drew upon him the attention of his neighbors in the district in which he lived, and he was received at the table of the gentlemen of Nithdale with welcome, with kindness and respect. It is to be lamented that at this critical period of his life he was without the restraining influences of the society of his wife, for a great change had taken place in his situation; his old habits were broken, and he brooded in melancholy abstraction upon his past glories in Edinburgh and his wrongs, while thoughts of Highland Mary constantly filled his waking hours, and caused him to forget the good resolutions he had formed, in his desire to drown recollections. The social parties to which he was invited too often seduced him from his rustic labor and his plain rustic food, and overthrew the unsteady fabric of his resolutions, inflaming those propensities which temperance might have weakened, and prudence finally suppressed. It was not long, therefore, before Robert began to view his farm with dislike and despondence, if not with disgust. Before his advent into Edinburgh society, and during his sojourn there, he had refrained from the habitual use of strong liquors. But in Dumfries the sins that so easily beset him continually presented themselves, and though he clearly foresaw the consequences of yielding to them, his appetite and sensations, which could not prevent the dictates of his judgment, finally triumphed over the power of his will.