VOLUME II

BURT FRANKLIN NEW YORK

Published by BURT FRANKLIN

235 East 44th St., New York, N.Y. 10017

Originally Published: 1890

Reprinted: 1970

Printed in the U.S.A.

S.B.N. 32110

Library of Congress Card Catalog No.: 73-123604

Burt Franklin: Research and Source Works Series 535

Essays in Literature and Criticism 82

[Illustration: ΝΥΞ ΓΑΡ ΕΡΧΕΤΑΙ.

"_I must home to work while it is called day; for the night cometh when

no man can work. I put that text, many a year ago, on my dial-stone; but

it often preached in vain_."--Scott's _Life_, x. 88.]

"_The evening sky of life does not reflect those brilliant flashes

of light that shot across its morning and noon, yet I think God it

is neither gloomy nor disconsolately lowering--a sober

twilight--that is all_."

ILLUSTRATIONS.

VOL. II.

Portrait, painted by Sir Francis Grant, P.R.A., for the Baroness

Ruthven, and now in the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland. Copied by

permission of the Hon. The Board of Manufactures, _Frontispiece_

Vignette on Title-page

"The Dial-Stone" in the Garden, from drawing made at Abbotsford by

George Reid, R.S.A.

"THE NIGHT COMETH."

ΝΥΞ ΓΑΡ ΕΡΧΕΤΑΙ.

"_I must home to work while it is called day; for the night cometh

when no man can work. I put that text, many years ago, on my

dial-stone; but it often preached in vain_."--Scott's _Life_, x.

88.

SIR WALTER SCOTT'S JOURNAL.

JULY.

_July_ 1, [_Abbotsford_].--A most delicious day, in the course of which

I have not done

"The least right thing."

Before breakfast I employed myself in airing my old bibliomaniacal

hobby, entering all the books lately acquired into a temporary

catalogue, so as to have them shelved and marked. After breakfast I went

out, the day being delightful--warm, yet cooled with a gentle breeze,

all around delicious; the rich luxuriant green refreshing to the eye,

soft to the tread, and perfume to the smell. Wandered about and looked

at my plantations. Came home, and received a visit from Sir Adam.

Loitered in the library till dinner-time. If there is anything to be

done at all to-day, it must be in the evening. But I fear there will be

nothing. One can't work always _nowther_.

"_Neque semper arcum tendit Apollo_."

There's warrant for it.

_July_ 2.--Wrote in the morning, correcting the Essay on the Highlands,

which is now nearly completed. Settled accounts with Tom and Bogie. Went

over to Huntly Burn at two o'clock, and reconnoitred the proposed

plantation to be called Jane's Wood. Dined with the Fergusons.

_July_ 3--- Worked in the morning upon the Introduction to the

_Chronicles_; it may be thought egotistical. Learned a bad accident had

happened yesterday. A tinker (drunk I suppose) entered the stream

opposite to Faldonside with an ass bearing his children. The ass was

carried down by the force of the stream, and one of the little

creatures was drowned; the other was brought out alive, poor innocent,

clinging to the ass. It had floated as far down as Deadwater-heugh. Poor

thing, it is as well dead as to live a tinker! The Fergusons dine with

us _en masse_; also Dr. Brewster.

_July_ 4, [_Edinburgh_].--Worked a little in the morning, and took a

walk after breakfast, the day so delicious as makes it heart-breaking to

leave the country. Set out, however, about four o'clock, and reached

Edinburgh a little after nine. Slept part of the way; read _De Vere_ the

rest.[1] It is well written, in point of language and sentiment, but has

too little action in it to be termed a pleasing novel. Everything is

brought out by dialogue--or worse: through the medium of the author's

reflections, which is the clumsiest of all expedients.

_July_ 5.--This morning worked, and sent off to J.B. the Introduction to

the _Chronicles_, containing my Confessions,[2] and did something, but

not fluently, to the Confessions themselves. Not happy, however; the

black dog worries me. Bile, I suppose. "But I will rally and combat the

reiver." Reiver it is, that wretched malady of the mind; got quite well

in the forenoon. Went out to Portobello after dinner, and chatted with

little Johnnie, and told him the history of the Field of Prestonpans.

Few remain who care about these stories.

_July_ 6.--This morning wrought a good deal, but scarce a task. The

Court lasted till half-past three; exhausting work in this hot weather.

I returned to dine alone, Anne going to Roslin with a party. After noon

a Miss Bell broke in upon me, who bothered me some time since about a

book of hers, explaining and exposing the conduct of a Methodist

Tartuffe, who had broken off (by anonymous letters) a match betwixt her

and an accepted admirer. Tried in vain to make her comprehend how little

the Edinburgh people would care about her wrongs, since there was no

knowledge of the parties to make the scandal acceptable. I believe she

has suffered great wrong.[3] Letter from Longman and Co. to J.B.

grumbling about bringing out the second edition, because they have,

forsooth, 700 copies in hand out of 5000, five days after the first

edition[4] is out. What would they have? It is uncomfortable, though.

_July_ 7.--Night dreadfully warm, and bilious; I could not be fool

enough surely to be anxious for these wise men of the East's

prognostication. Letters from Lockhart give a very cheerful prospect; if

there had been any thundering upsetting broadside, he would have noticed

it surely more or less. R. Cadell quite stout, and determined to go on

with the second edition. Well, I hope all's right--thinking won't help

it. Charles came down this morning penniless, poor fellow, but we will

soon remedy that. Lockhart remits £100 for reviewing; I hope the next

will be for Sophia, for cash affairs loom well in the offing, and if the

trust funds go right, I was never so easy. I will take care how I get

into debt again. I do not like this croaking of these old owls of Saint

Paul's when all is done. The pitcher has gone often to the well.

But--However, I worked away at the _Chronicles_. I will take pains with

them. I will, by Jove!

_July_ 8.--I did little to-day but arrange papers, and put bills,

receipts, etc., into apple-pie order. I believe the fair prospect I have

of clearing off some encumbrances, which are like thorns in my flesh,

nay, in my very eye, contribute much to this. I did not even correct

proof-sheets; nay, could not, for I have cancelled two sheets, _instante

Jacobo_, and I myself being of his opinion; for, as I said yesterday, we

must and will take pains. The fiddle-faddle of arranging all the things

was troublesome, but they give a good account of my affairs. The money

for the necessary payments is ready, and therefore there is a sort of

pleasure which does not arise out of any mean source, since it has for

its object the prospect of doing justice and achieving independence.

J.B. dined with me, poor fellow, and talked of his views as hopeful and

prosperous. God send honest industry a fair riddance.

_July_ 9.--Wrote in the morning. At eleven went by appointment with

Colin Mackenzie to the New Edinburgh Academy. In the fifth class, Mr.

Mitchell's, we heard Greek, of which I am no otherwise a judge than that

it was fluently read and explained. In the rector Mr. Williams's class

we heard Virgil and Livy admirably translated _ad aperturam libri_, and,

what I thought remarkable, the rector giving the English, and the pupils

returning, with singular dexterity, the Latin, not exactly as in the

original, but often by synonymes, which showed that the exercise

referred to the judgment, and did not depend on the memory. I could not

help saying, with great truth, that, as we had all long known how much

the pupils were fortunate in a rector, so we were now taught that the

rector was equally lucky in his pupils. Of my young friends, I saw a son

of John Swinton, a son of Johnstone of Alva, and a son of Craufurd

Tait.[5] Dined at John Murray's; Mr. and Mrs. Philips of Liverpool,

General and Charles Stuart of Blantyre, Lord Abercromby, Clerk and

Thomson. Pleasant evening.

_July_ 10.--Corrected proofs, but wrote nothing. To Court till two

o'clock. I went to Cadell's by the Mound, a long roundabout; transacted

some business. I met Baron Hume coming home, and walked with him in the

Gardens. His remarkable account of his celebrated uncle's last moments

is in these words:--Dr. Black called on Mr. D. Hume[6] on the morning on

which he died. The patient complained of having suffered a great deal

during the night, and expressed a fear that his struggle might be

prolonged, to his great distress, for days or weeks longer. "No, sir,"

said Dr. Black, with the remarkable calmness and sincerity which

characterised him, "I have examined the symptoms, and observe several

which oblige me to conclude that dissolution is rapidly approaching."

"Are you certain of that, Doctor?" "Most assuredly so," answered the

physician. The dying philosopher extended his arm, and shook hands with

his medical friend. "I thank you," he said, "for the news." So little

reason there was for the reports of his having been troubled in mind

when on his deathbed.

Dined at Lord Abercromby's, to meet Lord Melville in private. We had an

interview betwixt dinner and tea. I was sorry to see my very old friend,

this upright statesman and honourable gentleman, deprived of his power

and his official income, which the number of his family must render a

matter of importance. He was cheerful, not affectedly so, and bore his

declension like a wise and brave man. I had nursed the idea that he had

been hasty in his resignation; but, from the letters which he showed me

confidentially, which passed betwixt him and Canning, it is clear his

resignation was to be accomplished, not I suppose for personal

considerations, but because it rendered the Admiralty vacant for the

Duke of Clarence, as his resignation was eagerly snapped at. It cannot

be doubted that if he had hesitated or hung back behind his friends,

forcible means would have been used to compel to the measure, which with

more dignity he took of his own accord--at least so it seemed to me. The

first intimation which Lord Melville received of his successor was

through Mr.----, who told him, as great news, that there was to be a new

Duke of York[7]. Lord M. understood the allusion so little, as to

inquire whether his informant meant that the Duke of Cambridge had taken

the Duke of York's situation, when it was explained to refer to the Duke

of Clarence getting the Admiralty. There are some few words that speak

volumes. Lord Melville said that none of them suspected Canning's

negotiations with the Whigs but the Duke of Wellington, who found it out

through the ladies ten days before. I asked him how they came to be so

unprepared, and could not help saying I thought they had acted without

consideration, and that they might have shown a face even to Canning. He

allowed the truth of what I said, and seemed to blame Peel's want of

courage. In his place, he said, he would have proposed to form a

government disclaiming any personal views for himself as being Premier

and the like, but upon the principle of supporting the measures of Lord

Castlereagh and Lord Liverpool. I think this would have been acceptable

to the King. Mr. Peel obviously feared his great antagonist Canning, and

perhaps threw the game up too soon. Canning said the office of Premier

was his inheritance; he could not, from constitution, hold it above two

years, and then it would descend to Peel. Such is ambition! Old friends

forsaken--old principles changed--every effort used to give the vessel

of the State a new direction, and all to be Palinurus for two years!

_July_ 11, [_Abbotsford_].--Worked at proofs in the morning; composed

nothing. Got off by one, and to this place between six and seven.

Weather delicious.

_July 12_.--Unpacking and arranging; the urchins are stealing the

cherries in the outer garden. But I can spare a thousand larch-trees to

put it in order with a good fence for next year. It is not right to

leave fruit exposed; for if Adam in the days of innocence fell by an

apple, how much may the little _gossoon_ Jamie Moffatt be tempted by

apples of gold in an age of iron! Anne and I walked to Huntly Burn--a

delicious excursion. That place is really become beautiful; the Miss

Fergusons have displayed a great deal of taste.

_July_ 13.--Two agreeable persons--Rev. Mr. Gilly[8], one of the

prebendaries of Durham, with his wife, a pretty little woman--dined with

us, and met Mr. Scrope. I heard the whole history of the discovery of

St. Cuthbert's[9] body at Durham Cathedral. The Catholics will deny the

identity, of course; but I think it is _constaté_ by the dress and other

circumstances. Made a pleasant day of it, and with a good conscience,

for I had done my task this morning.

_July_ 14.--Did task this morning, and believe that I shall get on now

very well. Wrote about five leaves. I have been baking and fevering

myself like a fool for these two years in a room exposed to the south;

comfortable in winter, but broiling in the hot weather. Now I have

removed myself into the large cool library, one of the most refreshing

as well as handsomest rooms in Scotland, and will not use the study

again till the heats are past. Here is an entry as solemn as if it

respected the Vicar of Wakefield's removal from the yellow room to the

brown. But I think my labours will advance greatly in consequence of

this arrangement. Walked in the evening to the lake.

_July_ 15.--Achieved six pages to-day, and finished volume i. of

_Chronicles_. It is rather long; but I think the last story interesting,

and it should not be split up into parts. J.B. will, I fear, think it

low; and if he thinks so, others will. Yet--vamos. Drove to Huntly Burn

in the evening.

_July_ 16.--Made a good morning's work of the _Tales_. In the day-time

corrected various proofs. J.B. thinks that in the proposed introduction

I contemn too much the occupation by which I have thriven so well, and

hints that I may easily lead other people to follow my opinion in

vilipending my talents, and the use I have made of them. I cannot tell.

I do not like, on the one hand, to suppress my own opinion of the

_flocci-pauci-nihili-pilification_ with which I regard these things; but

yet, in duty to others, I cannot afford to break my own bow, or befoul

my own nest, and there may be something like affectation and _nolo

episcopari_ in seeming to underrate my own labours; so, all things

considered, I will erase the passage. Truth should not be spoke at all

times. In the evening we had a delightful drive to Ashestiel with

Colonel and Miss Ferguson.

_July 17_.--I wrote a laborious task; seven pages of _Tales_. Kept about

the doors all day. Gave Bogie £10 to buy cattle to-morrow at St.

Boswell's Fair. Here is a whimsical subject of affliction. Mr. Harper, a

settler, who went from this country to Botany Bay, thinking himself

obliged to me for a recommendation to General M'Allister and Sir Thomas

Brisbane, has thought proper to bring me home a couple of Emus. I wish

his gratitude had either taken a different turn, or remained as

quiescent as that of others whom I have obliged more materially. I at

first accepted the creatures, conceiving them, in my ignorance, to be

some sort of blue and green parrot, which, though I do not admire their

noise, might scream and yell at their pleasure if hung up in the hall

among the armour. But your emu, it seems, stands six feet high on his

stocking soles, and is little better than a kind of cassowary or

ostrich. Hang them! they might [eat] up my collection of old arms for

what I know. It reminds me of the story of the adjutant birds in

Theodore Hook's novel[10]. No; I'll no Emuses!

_July 18_.--Entered this morning on the history of Sir William Wallace.

I wish I may be able to find my way between what the child can

comprehend and what shall not yet be absolutely uninteresting to the

grown readers. Uncommon facts I should think the best receipt. Learn

that Mr. Owen Rees and John Gibson have amicably settled their

differences about the last edition of _Napoleon_, the Trustees allowing

the publishers nine months' credit. My nerves have for these two or

three last days been susceptible of an acute excitement from the

slightest causes; the beauty of the evening, the sighing of the summer

breeze, brings the tears into my eyes not unpleasingly. But I must take

exercise, and caseharden myself. There is no use in encouraging these

moods of the mind. It is not the law we live on.

We had a little party with some luncheon at the lake, where Mr.

Bainbridge fished without much success. Captain Hamilton and two Messrs.

Stirling, relatives of my old friend Keir, were there, and walked with

me a long round home. I walked better than I had done for some days. Mr.

Scrope dined with us; he was complaining of gout, which is a bad

companion for the stag-shooting.

_July 19_.--I made out my task this forenoon, and a good deal more. Sent

five or six pages to James Ballantyne, _i.e._ got them ready, and wrote

till the afternoon, then I drove over to Huntly Burn, and walked through

the glens till dinner-time. After dinner read and worked till bed-time.

Yet I have written well, walked well, talked well, and have nothing to

regret.

_July 20_.--Despatched my letters to J.B., with supply of copy, and made

up more than my task--about four leaves, I think. Offered my Emuses to

the Duke of Buccleuch. I had an appointment with Captain Hamilton and

his friends the Stirlings, that they were to go up Yarrow to-day. But

the weather seems to say no.

My visitors came, however, and we went up to Newark. Here is a little

misfortune, for Spice left me, and we could not find her. As we had no

servant with us on horseback, I was compelled to leave her to her fate,

resolving to send in quest of her to-morrow morning. The keepers are my

_bonos socios_, as the host says in the Devil of Edmonton[11], and would

as soon shoot a child as a dog of mine. But there are scamps and traps,

and I am ashamed to say how reluctantly I left the poor little terrier

to its fate.

She came home to me, however, about an hour and a half after we were

home, to my great delectation. Our visitors dined with us.

_July_ 21.--This morning wrote five pages of children's history. Went to

Minto, where we met, besides Lord M. and his delightful countess, Thomas

Thomson, Kennedy of Dunure[12], Lord Carnarvon, and his younger son and

daughter-in-law; the dowager Lady Minto also, whom I always delight to

see, she is so full of spirit and intelligence. We rubbed up some

recollections of twenty years ago, when I was more intimate with the

family till Whig and Tory separated us for a time. By the way, nobody

talks Whig or Tory just now, and the fighting men on each side go about

muzzled and mute like dogs after a proclamation about canine madness. Am

I sorry for this truce or not? Half and half. It is all we have left to

stir the blood, this little political brawling; but better too little of

it than too much.

_July_ 22, [_Abbotsford_].--Rose a little later than usual, and wrote a

letter to Mrs. Joanna Baillie. She is writing a tragedy[13] on

witchcraft. I shall be curious to see it. Will it be real

witchcraft--the _ipsissimus diabolus_--or an impostor, or the

half-crazed being who believes herself an ally of condemned spirits, and

desires to be so? That last is a sublime subject. We set out after

breakfast, and reached this about two. I walked from two till four;

chatted a long time with Charles after dinner, and thus went my day

_sine linea_. But we will make it up. James Ballantyne dislikes my

"Drovers." But it shall stand. I must have my own way sometimes.

I received news of two deaths at once: Lady Die Scott, my very old

friend, and Archibald Constable, the bookseller.

_July_ 23.--Yes! they are both for very different reasons subjects of

reflection. Lady Diana Scott, widow of Walter Scott of Harden, was the

last person whom I recollect so much older than myself, that she kept

always at the same distance in point of years, so that she scarce seemed

older to me (relatively) two years ago, when in her ninety-second year,

than fifty years before. She was the daughter (alone remaining) of

Pope's Earl of Marchmont, and, like her father, had an acute mind and an

eager temper. She was always kind to me, remarkably so indeed when I was

a boy.

Constable's death might have been a most important thing to me if it had

happened some years ago, and I should then have lamented it much. He has

lived to do me some injury; yet, excepting the last £5000, I think most

unintentionally. He was a prince of booksellers; his views sharp,

powerful, and liberal; too sanguine, however, and, like many bold and

successful schemers, never knowing when to stand or stop, and not always

calculating his means to his objects with mercantile accuracy. He was

very vain, for which he had some reason, having raised himself to great

commercial eminence, as he might also have attained great wealth with

good management. He knew, I think, more of the business of a bookseller

in planning and executing popular works than any man of his time. In

books themselves he had much bibliographical information, but none

whatever that could be termed literary. He knew the rare volumes of his

library not only by the eye, but by the touch, when blindfolded. Thomas

Thomson saw him make this experiment, and, that it might be complete,

placed in his hand an ordinary volume instead of one of these _libri

rariores_. He said he had over-estimated his memory; he could not

recollect that volume. Constable was a violent-tempered man with those

that he dared use freedom with. He was easily overawed by people of

consequence, but, as usual, took it out of those whom poverty made

subservient to him. Yet he was generous, and far from bad-hearted. In

person good-looking, but very corpulent latterly; a large feeder, and

deep drinker, till his health became weak. He died of water in the

chest, which the natural strength of his constitution set long at

defiance. I have no great reason to regret him; yet I do. If he deceived

me, he also deceived himself.[14]

Wrote five pages to-day, and went to see Mr. Scrope, who is fast with

the gout--a bad companion to attend him

"to Athole Braes,

To shoot the dun deer down, down--

To shoot the dun deer down."

_July_ 24.--Finished five pages before eleven o'clock, at which time Mr.

Deputy Register[15] arrived from Minto, and we had an agreeable

afternoon, talking about the old days we have had together. I was

surprised to find that Thomson knew as little as I do myself how to

advise Charles to a good course of Scottish History. Hailes and

Pinkerton, Robertson and Laing--there is nothing else for it--and

Pinkerton is poor work. Laing, besides his party spirit, has a turn for

generalising, which renders him rather dull, which was not the nature of

the acute Orcadian.

_July_ 25.--Thomson left us this morning early. I finished four pages,

and part of a fifth, then drove to Huntly Burn and returned through the

Glen; I certainly turn _heavy-footed_, not in the female sense, however.

I had one or two falls among the slippy heather, not having Tom Purdie

to give me his arm. I suppose I shall need a go-cart one of these days;

and if it must be so--so let it be. _Fiat voluntas tua_.

A letter from John Gibson in the evening brought me word that Lord

Newton had adjudged the profits of _Woodstock_ and _Napoleon_ to be my

own. This is a great matter, and removes the most important part of my

dispute with Constable's creditors. I waked in the middle of the night.

Sure I am not such a feather-headed gull as not to be able to sleep for

good news. I am thankful that it is as it is. Had it been otherwise, I

could have stood it. The money realised will pay one-third of all that I

owe in the world--and what will pay the other two-thirds? I am as well

and as capable as when those misfortunes began--January was a year. The

public favour may wane, indeed, but it has not failed as yet, and I must

not be too anxious about that possibility.

James B. has found fault with my tales for being too historical;

formerly it was for being too infantine. He calls out for starch, and is

afraid of his cravat being too stiff. O ye critics, will nothing melt

ye?

_July_ 26.--Wrote till one o'clock, and finished the first volume of

_Tales_--about six leaves. To-morrow I resume the _Chronicles_, tooth

and nail. They must be good, if possible. After all, works of fiction,

viz., cursed lies, are easier to write, and much more popular than the

best truths. Walked over to the head of the Roman road, coming round by

Bauchland and the Abbot's Walk. Wrote letters in the evening.

_July_ 27.--In the morning still busied with my correspondence. No great

desire to take up the _Chronicles_. But it must be done. Devil take the

necessity, and the folly and knavery, that occasioned it! But this is no

matter now. Accordingly I set tightly to work, and got on till two, when

I took a walk. Was made very happy by the arrival of Sophia and her

babies, all in good health and spirits.

_July_ 28.--Worked hard in the morning. The two Ballantynes, and Mr.

Hogarth with them. Owen Rees came early in the day. Fergusons came to

dinner. Rees in great kindness and good-humour, but a little drumlie, I

think, about _Napoleon_. We heard Sandie's violin after dinner--

"----Whose touch harmonious can remove

The pangs of guilty power and hopeless love."[16]

I do not understand or care about fine music; but there is something in

his violin which goes to the very heart. Sophia sung too, and we were

once more merry in hall--the first time for this many a month and many a

day.

_July_ 29.--Could not do more than undertake my proofs to-day, of which

J.B. has brought out a considerable quantity. Walked at one with Hogarth

and Rees--the day sultry, hot, and we hot accordingly, but crept about

notwithstanding. I am sorry to see my old and feal friend James rather

unable to walk--once so stout and active--so was I in my way _once_. Ah!

that vile word, what a world of loss it involves!

_July_ 30.--One of the most peppering thunder-storms which I have heard

for some time. Routed and roared from six in the morning till eight

continuously.

"The thunder ceased not, nor the fire reposed;

Well done, old Botherby."

Time wasted, though very agreeably, after breakfast. At noon, set out

for Chiefswood in the carriage, and walked home, footing it over rough

and smooth, with the vigour of early days. James Ballantyne marched on

too, somewhat meltingly, but without complaint. We again had beautiful

music after dinner. The heart of age arose. I have often wondered

whether I have a taste for music or no. My ear appears to me as dull as

my voice is incapable of musical expression, and yet I feel the utmost

pleasure in any such music as I can comprehend, learned pieces always

excepted. I believe I may be about the pitch of Terry's connoisseurship,

and that "I have a reasonable good ear for a jig, but your solos and

sonatas give me the spleen."

_July_ 31.--Employed the morning writing letters and correcting proofs;

this is the second day and scarce a line written, but circumstances are

so much my apology that even Duty does not murmur, at least not _much_.

We had a drive up to Galashiels, and sent J.B. off to Edinburgh in the

Mail. Music in the evening as before.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Written by R. Plumer Ward, author of _Tremaine_ and other works. Mr.

Ward's _Political Life_, including a _Diary_ to 1820, was published in

1850. in two vols. 8vo, edited by Hon. E. Phipps.

[2] See _post_, p. 60, note.

[3] See _ante_, vol. i. pp. 101-2.

[4] _Napoleon_.

[5] Archibald Campbell Tait, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.

[6] David Hume, the historian, died August 25, 1776.

[7] To please the king, Canning appointed the Duke of Clarence as first

Lord of the Admiralty, but Greville says it was a most judicious stroke

of policy, and nothing served so much to disconcert his opponents. Lord

Melville had held the office from March 25, 1812, to April 13, 1827. The

Duke resigned in the following year.--See Croker's _Correspondence_,

vol. i. pp. 264 (letter to Blomfield), 427, 429; also _ante_, vol. i. p.

262. Lord Melville was President of the India Board in the Duke of

Wellington's administration in 1828, and again First Lord from Sept. 17

of the same year until Nov. 22, 1830.

[8] The Rev. William Stephen Gilly, D.D., Vicar of Norham, author of

_Narrative of an Excursion to the Mountains of Piemont_, 1823;

_Researches among the Vaudois or Waldenses_, 1827-31.

[9] See Raine's _St. Cuthbert_, 4to, Durham, 1828.

[10] See _Danvers_ in First Series of _Sayings and Doings_.

[11] _The Merry Devil of Edmonton_, a play by "T.B.," which has also

been attributed to Anthony Brewer.

[12] Right Hon. Thomas Francis Kennedy, M.P. for Ayr Burghs, 1818-34.

Died at the age of ninety at Dalquharran in 1879.

[13] This powerful drama, entitled _Witchcraft: a Tragedy in Prose_, was

suggested, as the author says in her preface, by reading a scene in _The

Bride of Lammermoor_.

[14] Did Constable ruin Scott, as has been generally supposed? It is

right to say that such a charge was not made during the lifetime of

either. Immediately after Scott's death Miss Edgeworth wrote to Sir

James Gibson-Craig and asked him for authentic information as to Sir

Walter's connection with Constable. Sir James in reply stated that to

his personal knowledge Mr. Constable had, in his anxiety to save Scott,

about 1814 [1813], commenced a system of accommodation bills which could

not fail to produce, and actually did produce, the ruin of both parties.

To another correspondent, some years later, he wrote still more strongly

(_Memoirs,_ vol. iii. p. 457).

Scott appears to have been aware of the facts so far, as he says to

Laidlaw, in a letter of December 16, 1825, "The confusion of 1814 is a

joke to this ... but it arises out of the nature of the same connection

which gives, and has given, me a fortune;" and Mr. Lockhart says that

the firm of J.B. & Co. "had more than once owed its escape from utter

ruin and dishonour" through Constable's exertions.--_Life_, vol. v. p.

150.

On reading the third volume of Constable's Memoirs (3 vols. 8vo, 1873),

one cannot fail to see that all the three parties--printer, publisher,

and author--were equal sharers in the imprudences that led to the

disaster in 1826. Whether Mr. Constable was right in recommending

further advances to the London house is doubtful; but if it was an error

of judgment, it was one which appears to have been shared by Mr. Cadell

and Mr. James Ballantyne. It must be admitted that the three firms were

equally culpable in maintaining for so many years a system of fictitious

credit. Constable, at least, from a letter to Scott, printed in vol.

iii. p. 274, had become seriously alarmed as early as August 8, 1823.

That Constable was correct in his estimate of the value of the literary

property has been shown by the large sums realised from the sale of

Scott's works since 1829; and that his was the brain ("the pendulum of

the clock" as Scott termed it) to plan is also shown by the fact that

the so-called "favourite" edition, the _magnum opus_, appears to have

been Constable's idea (_Memoirs_, vol. iii. p. 255), although, according

to the _Annual Register_ of 1849, Mr. Cadell claimed the merit of a

scheme which he had "quietly and privately matured."

[15] Thomas Thomson, Depute-Clerk Register for Scotland under Lord

Frederick Campbell.

[16] Johnson's _Epitaph on Claude Phillips_.

AUGUST.

_August_ 1.--My guests left me and I thought of turning to work again

seriously. Finished five pages. Dined alone, excepting Huntly Gordon,

who is come on a visit, poor lad. I hope he is well fixed under Mr.

Planta's[17] patronage. Smoked a cigar after dinner. Laughed with my

daughters, and read them the review of Hoffmann's production out of

Gillies's new _Foreign Review_.

The undertaking would do, I am convinced, in any other person's hands

than those of the improvident editor; but I hear he is living as

thoughtlessly as ever in London, has hired a large house, and gives

Burgundy to his guests. This will hardly suit £500 a year.

_August_ 2.--Got off my proofs. Went over to breakfast at Huntly Burn;

the great object was to see my cascade in the Glen suitably repaired. I

have had it put to rights by puddling and damming. What says the frog in

the Fairy Tale?--

"Stuff with moss, and clog with clay,

And that will weize the water away."

Having seen the job pretty tightly done, walked deliciously home through

the woods. But no work all this while. Then for up and at it. But in

spite of good resolutions I trifled with my children after dinner, and

read to them in the evening, and did just nothing at all.

_August_ 3.--Wrote five pages and upwards--scarce amends for past

laziness. Huntly Gordon lent me a volume of his father's manuscript

memoirs.[18] They are not without interest, for Pryse Gordon, though a

bit of a _roué_, is a clever fellow in his way. One thing struck me,

being the story of an Irish swindler, who called himself Henry King

Edgeworth, an impudent gawsey fellow, who deserted from Gordon's

recruiting party, enlisted again, and became so great a favourite with

the Colonel of the regiment which he joined, that he was made

pay-sergeant. Here he deserted to purpose with £200 or £300, escaped to

France, got a commission in the Corps sent to invade Ireland, was taken,

recognised, and hanged. What would Mr. Theobald Wolfe Tone have said to

such an associate in his regenerating expedition? These are thy gods, O

Israel! The other was the displeasure of the present Cameron of Lochiel,

on finding that the forty Camerons, with whom he joined the Duke of

Gordon's Northern Fencible regiment, were to be dispersed. He had

wellnigh mutinied and marched back with them. This would be a good

anecdote for Garth.[19]

_August_ 4.--Spent the morning at Selkirk, examining people about an

assault. When I returned I found Charlotte Kerr here with a clever

little boy, Charles Scott, grandson of Charles of the Woll, and son of

William, and grand-nephew of John of Midgehope. He seems a smart boy,

and, considering that he is an only son with expectations, not _too_

much spoiled. General Yermoloff called with a letter from a Dr. Knox,

whom I do not know. If it be Vicesimus, we met nearly twenty-five years

ago and did not agree. But General Yermoloff's name was luckily known to

me. He is a man in the flower of life, about thirty, handsome, bold, and

enthusiastic; a great admirer of poetry, and all that. He had been in

the Moscow campaign, and those which followed, but must have been very

young. He made not the least doubt that Moscow was burned by Rostopchin,

and said that there was a general rumour before the French entered the

town, and while the inhabitants were leaving it, that persons were left

to destroy it. I asked him why the magazine of gunpowder had not been

set fire to in the first instance. He answered that he believed the

explosion of that magazine would have endangered the retreating

Russians. This seemed unsatisfactory. The march of the Russians was too

distant from Moscow to be annoyed by the circumstance. I pressed him as

well as I could about the slowness of Koutousoff's operations; and he

frankly owned that the Russians were so much rejoiced and surprised to

see the French in retreat, that it was long ere they could credit the

extent of the advantage which they had acquired. This has been but an

idle day, so far as composition is concerned, but I was detained late at

Selkirk.

_August_ 5.--Wrote near six pages. General Yermoloff left me with many

expressions of enthusiastic regard, as foreigners use to do. He is a

kinsman of Princess Galitzin, whom I saw at Paris. I walked with Tom

after one o'clock. Dined _en famille_ with Miss Todd, a pretty girl, and

wrote after dinner.

_August_ 6.--This morning finished proofs and was _bang up_ with

everything. When I was about to sit down to write, I have the agreeable

tidings that Henderson, the fellow who committed the assault at Selkirk,

and who made his escape from the officers on Saturday, was retaken, and

that it became necessary that I should go up to examine him. Returned at

four, and found Mrs. George Swinton from Calcutta, to whose husband I

have been much obliged, with Archie and cousin Peggie Swinton, arrived.

So the evening was done up.

_August_ 7.--Cousins still continuing, we went to Melrose. I finished,

however, in the first place, a pretty smart task, which is so far well,

as we expect the Skenes to-morrow. Lockhart arrived from London. The

news are that Canning is dangerously ill. This is the bowl being broken

at the cistern with a vengeance. If he dies now, it will be pity it was

not five months ago. The time has been enough to do much evil, but not

to do any-permanent good.

_August_ 8.--Huntly Gordon proposed to me that I should give him my

correspondence, which we had begun to arrange last year. I resolved not

to lose the opportunity, and began to look out and arrange the letters

from about 1810, throwing out letters of business and such as are

private. They are of little consequence, generally speaking, yet will be

one day curious. I propose to have them bound up, to save trouble. It is

a sad task; how many dead, absent, estranged, and altered! I wrought

till the Skenes came at four o'clock. I love them well; yet I wish their

visit had been made last week, when other people were here. It kills

time, or rather murders it, this company-keeping. Yet what remains on

earth that I like so well as a little society? I wrote not a line

to-day.

_August_ 9.--I finished the arrangement of the letters so as to put them

into Mr. Gordon's hands. It will be a great job done. But, in the

meanwhile, it interrupts my work sadly, for I kept busy till one o'clock

to-day with this idle man's labour. Still, however, it might have been

long enough ere I got a confidential person like Gordon to arrange these

confidential papers. They are all in his hands now. Walked after one.

_August_ 10.--This is a morning of fidgety, nervous confusion. I sought

successively my box of Bramah pens, my proof-sheets, and last, not least

anxiously, my spectacles. I am convinced I lost a full hour in these

various chases. I collected all my insubordinate movables at once, but

had scarce corrected the proof and written half-a-score of lines, than

enter Dalgleish, declaring the Blucher hour is come. The weather,

however, is rainy, and fitted for a day of pure work, but I was able

only to finish my task of three pages.

The death of the Premier is announced. Late George Canning, the witty,

the accomplished, the ambitious; he who had toiled thirty years, and

involved himself in the most harassing discussions to attain this dizzy

height; he who had held it for three months of intrigue and obloquy--and

now a heap of dust, and that is all. He was an early and familiar friend

of mine, through my intimacy with George Ellis. No man possessed a gayer

and more playful wit in society; no one, since Pitt's time, had more

commanding sarcasm in debate; in the House of Commons he was the terror

of that species of orators called the Yelpers. His lash fetched away

both skin and flesh, and would have penetrated the hide of a rhinoceros.

In his conduct as a statesman he had a great fault: he lent himself too

willingly to intrigue. Thus he got into his quarrel with Lord

Castlereagh,[20] and lost credit with the country for want of openness.

Thus too, he got involved with the Queen's party to such an extent that

it fettered him upon that memorable quarrel, and obliged him to butter

Sir Robert Wilson with dear friend, and gallant general, and so forth.

The last composition with the Whigs was a sacrifice of principle on both

sides. I have some reason to think they counted on getting rid of him in

two or three years. To me Canning was always personally most kind. I

saw, with pain, a great change in his health when I met him at Colonel

Bolton's at Stors in 1825. In London I thought him looking better.

_August_ 11.--Wrote nearly five pages; then walked. A visit from Henry

Scott;[21] nothing known as yet about politics. A high Tory

Administration would be a great evil at this time. There are repairs in

the structure of our constitution which ought to be made at this season,

and without which the people will not long be silent. A pure Whig

Administration would probably play the devil by attempting a thorough

repair. As to a compound, or melo-dramatic, Ministry, the parts out of

which such a one could be organised just now are at a terrible discount

in public estimation, nor will they be at par in a hurry again. The

public were generally shocked at the complete lack of principle

testified by public men on the late occasion, and by some who till then

had some credit with the public. The Duke of W. has risen by his

firmness on the one side, Earl Grey on the other.

_August_ 12.--Wrote my task and no more. Walked with Lockhart from one

o'clock to four. Took in our way the Glen, which looks beautiful. I

walked with extreme pain and feebleness until we began to turn

homewards, when the relaxation of the ankle sinews seemed to be removed,

and I trode merrily home. This is strange; that exercise should restore

the nerves from the chill or numbness which is allied to palsy, I am

well aware, but how it should restore elasticity to sinews that are too

much relaxed, I for one cannot comprehend. Colonel Russell came to

dinner with us, and to consult me about some family matters. He has the

spirit of a gentleman; that is certain.

_August_ 13.--A letter from booksellers at Brussels informs me of the

pleasant tidings that _Napoleon_ is a total failure; that they have lost

much money on a version which they were at great expense in preparing,

and modestly propose that I should write a novel to make them amends for

loss on a speculation which I knew nothing about. "Have you nothing else

to ask?" as Sancho says to the farmer, who asks him to stock a farm for

his son, portion off his daughters, etc. etc. They state themselves to

be young booksellers; certes, they must hold me to be a _very_ young

author! Napoleon, however, has failed on the Continent--and perhaps in

England also; for, from the mumbling, half-grumbling tone of Longman and

Co., dissatisfaction may be apprehended. Well, I can set my face to it

boldly. I live not in the public opinion, not I; but egad! I live _by_

it, and that is worse. _Tu ne cede malis, sed contra_, etc.

I corrected and transmitted sheets before breakfast; afterwards went and

cut wood with Tom, but returned about twelve in rather a melancholy

humour. I fear this failure may be followed by others; and then what

chance of extricating my affairs. But they that look to freits, freits

will follow them. _Hussards en avant_,--care killed a cat. I finished

three pages--that is, a full task of the _Chronicles_--after I returned.

Mr. and Mrs. Philips of Manchester came to dinner.

_August 14._--Finished my task before breakfast. A bad rainy day, for

which I should not have cared but for my guests. However, being

good-humoured persons and gifted with taste, we got on very well, by

dint of showing prints, curiosities; finally the house up stairs and

down; and at length by undertaking a pilgrimage to Melrose in the rain,

which pilgrimage we accomplished, but never entered the Abbey Church,

having just had wetting enough to induce us, when we arrived at the

gate, to "Turn again, Whittington."

_August_ 15.--Wrote in the morning. After breakfast walked with Mr.

Philips, who is about to build and plan himself, and therefore seemed to

enter _con amore_ into all I had been doing, asked questions, and seemed

really interested to learn what I thought myself not ill-qualified to

teach. The little feeling of superior information in such cases is

extremely agreeable. On the contrary, it is a great scrape to find you

have been boring some one who did not care a d---- about the matter, so

to speak; and that you might have been as well employed in buttering a

whin-stone. Mr. and Mrs. Philips left us about twelve--day bad. I wrote

nearly five pages of _Chronicles_.

_August_ 16.--A wet, disagreeable, sulky day, but such things may be

carried to account. I wrote upwards of seven pages, and placed myself

_rectus in curia_ with Madam Duty, who was beginning to lift up her

throat against me. Nothing remarkable except that Huntly Gordon left

us.

_August 17._--Wrote my task in the morning. After breakfast went out and

cut wood with Tom and John Swanston, and hewed away with my own hand;

remained on foot from eleven o'clock till past three, doing, in my

opinion, a great deal of good in plantations above the house, where the

firs had been permitted to predominate too much over the oak and

hardwood. The day was rough and stormy--not the worst for working, and I

could do it with a good conscience, all being well forward in the duty

line. After tea I worked a little longer. On the whole finished four

leaves and upwards--about a printed sheet--which is enough for one day.

_August_ 18.--Finished about five leaves, and then out to the wood,

where I chopped away among the trees, laying the foundation for future

scenery. These woods will one day occupy a great number of hands. Four

years hence they will employ ten stout woodsmen almost every day of the

year. Henry and William Scott (Harden) came to dinner.

_August_ 19.--Wrote till about one, then walked for an hour or two by

myself entirely; finished five pages before dinner, when we had Captain

and Mrs. Hamilton and young Davidoff, who is their guest. They remained

with us all night.

_August_ 20.--I corrected proofs and wrote one leaf before breakfast;

then went up to Selkirk to try a fellow for an assault. The people there

get rather riotous. This is a turbulent fierce fellow. Some of his

attitudes were good during the trial. This dissipated my attention for

the day, although I was back by half-past two. I did not work any more,

so am behind in my reckoning.

_August_ 21.--Wrote four pages, then set out to make a call at

Sunderland Hall and Yair, but the old sociable broke down before we had

got past the thicket, so we trudged all back on foot, and I wrote

another page. This makes up the deficiency of yesterday.

_August_ 22.--I wrote four or five leaves, but begin to get aground for

want of Indian localities. Colonel Ferguson's absence is unlucky, and

half-a-dozen Qui Hi's besides, willing to write chits,[22] eat tiffin,

and vent all their Pagan jargon when one does not want to hear it; and

now that I want a touch of their slang, lo! there is not one near me.

Mr. Adolphus, son of the celebrated counsel, and author of a work on the

_Waverley Novels_,[23] came to make me a visit. He is a modest as well

as an able man, and I am obliged to him for the delicacy with which he

treated a matter in which I was personally so much concerned. Mr. and

Mrs. Hamilton asked us to breakfast to-morrow.

_August_ 23.--Went to breakfast at Chiefswood, which, with a circuitous

walk, have consumed the day. Found, in the first place, my friend Allan,

the painter, busy about a picture, into which he intends introducing

living characters--a kind of revel at Abbotsford. Second, a whimsical

party, consisting of John Stevenson, the bookseller, Peter Buchan from

Peterhead, a quiz of a poetical creature, and a bookbinder, a friend of

theirs. The plan was to consult me about publishing a great quantity of

ballads which this Mr. Buchan has collected. I glanced them over. He has

been very successful, for they are obviously genuine, and many of them

very curious. Others are various editions of well-known ballads. I could

not make the man comprehend that these last were of little value, being

generally worse readings of what was already published. A small edition

published by subscription may possibly succeed. It is a great pity that

few of these ballads are historical, almost all being of the romantic

cast. They certainly ought to be preserved, after striking out one or

two which have been sophisticated, I suppose by Mr. Buchan himself,

which are easily distinguishable from the genuine ballads.[24] No one

but Burns ever succeeded in patching up old Scottish songs with any good

effect.

_August_ 24.--Corrected proofs and wrote letters in the morning. Began a

review upon Monteath's Planter for Lockhart.[25] Other matters at a

stand. A drive down to Mertoun, and engaged to dine there on Sunday

first. This consumed the day.

_August_ 25.--Mr. Adolphus left us this morning after a very agreeable

visit. We all dined at Dr. Brewster's. Met Sir John Wright, Miss Haig,

etc. Slandered our neighbours, and were good company. Major John Scott

there. I did a little more at the review to-day. But I cannot go on with

the tale without I could speak a little Hindostanee--a small seasoning

of curry-powder. Ferguson will do it if I can screw it out of him.

_August_ 26.--Encore review. Walked from twelve till three, then drove

to Mertoun with Lockhart and Allan. Dined _en famille_, and home by

half-past ten. We thought of adding a third volume to the _Chronicles_,

but Gibson is afraid it would give grounds for a pretext to seize this

work on the part of Constable's creditors, who seem determined to take

any advantage of me, but they can only show their teeth I trust; though

I wish the arbitration was ended.

_August_ 27.--Sent off proofs in morning, revised in afternoon. Walked

from one till four. What a life of uniformity! Yet I never wish to

change it. I even regret I must go to town to meet Lady Compton[26] next

week.

A singular letter from a lady, requesting I would father a novel of

hers. That won't pass.[27]

Cadell writes me, transmitting a notice from the French papers that

Gourgaud has gone, or is going, to London to verify the facts alleged in

my history of Napoleon, and the bibliopolist is in a great funk. I lack

some part of his instinct. I have done Gourgaud no wrong: every word

imputed to him exists in the papers submitted to me as historical

documents[28], and I should have been a shameful coward if I had shunned

using them. At my years it is somewhat late for an affair of honour, and

as a reasonable man I would avoid such an arbitrament, but will not

plead privilege of literature. The country shall not be disgraced in my

person, and having stated why I think I owe him no satisfaction, I will

at the same time most willingly give it to him.

"Il sera reçu,

Biribi,

A la façon de Barbaru,

Mon ami."

I have written to Will Clerk to stand my friend if necessary. He has

mettle in him, and thinks of my honour as well as my safety.

_August_ 28.--I am still bothering with the review, but gave Lockhart

fifteen leaves, which is something. Learned with regret that Williams

leaves his situation of Rector of the New Academy. It is a shot in the

wing of the institution; for he is a heaven-born teacher. Walked at two

till four along the thicket, and by the river-side, where I go seldom; I

can't say why, unless that the walk is less private than those more

distant. Lockhart, Allan, and I, talk of an excursion to Kelso

to-morrow. I have no friends there now. Yet once how many!

_August_ 29.--Went on our little expedition, breakfasting at Mertoun.

Called at Fleurs, where we found Sir John S. and his whole family. The

great lady received us well, though we had been very remiss in our duty.

From that we went to Kelso, where I saw not a soul to acknowledge former

acquaintance. How should I, when my residence there was before 1783, I

fancy?[29] The little cottage in which I lived with poor Aunt Jenny is

still standing, but the great garden is divided betwixt three

proprietors. Its huge platanus tree withered, I was told, in the same

season which was fatal to so many of the species. It was cut down. The

yew-hedges, labyrinths, wildernesses, and other marks that it had once

been the abode of one of the Millers connected with the author of the

_Gardener's Dictionary_ (they were a Quaker family), are all

obliterated, and the place is as common and vulgar as may be. The lady

the cottage belongs to was very civil. Allan, as a man of taste, was

much delighted with what he saw. When we returned, we found our party at

home increased by Lady Anna Maria Elliot, who had been showing Melrose

to two friends, Miss Drinkwaters. Lady M.'s wit and good-humour made the

evening go pleasantly off. There were also two friends of Charles's, by

name Paley (a nephew of the archdeacon) and Ashworth. They seem nice

young men, with modesty and good-breeding. I am glad, as my mother used

to say, that his friends are so presentable. Moreover, there came my

old, right trusty, and well-beloved friend, John Richardson, so we were

a full party. Lady Anna Maria returned in the evening. Francis Scott

also dined with us.

_August_ 30.--Disposed of my party as I best might, and worked at my

review. Walked out at one, and remained till near five. Mr. Scott of

Harden and David Thomson, W.S., dined with us. Walked with Mr. Allan

through Haxel Cleugh.

_August_ 31.--Went on with my review; but I have got Sir Henry's

original pamphlet,[30] which is very cleverly written. I find I cannot

touch on his mode of transplantation at all in this article. It involves

many questions, and some of importance, so I will make another article

for January. Walked up the Rhymer's Glen with John Richardson.[31]

FOOTNOTES:

[17] Right Hon. Joseph Planta (son of Joseph Planta, Principal Librarian

of the British Museum from 1799) was at this time one of the Secretaries

to the Treasury. He died in 1847.

[18] _Personal Memoirs_ by P.L. Gordon, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1830.

[19] General David Stewart of Garth, author of _Sketches of the

Highlanders_. 2 vols. 8vo, Edin. 1822. General Stewart died in St. Lucia

in 1829. Sir Walter said of him that no man was "more regretted, or

perhaps by a wider circle of friends and acquaintance."

[20] Resulting in the duel of 21st September 1809.--See Croker's

_Correspondence_, vol. i. p. 20; and _Life_, vol. iii. ch. xix.

[21] Afterwards Lord Polwarth.

[22] Persian _chitty_ = a short note.

[23] _Letters to Richard Heber, Esq., containing Critical Remarks on the

Series of Novels beginning with_ "Waverley," _and an Attempt to

ascertain their Author_. 8vo, London, 1821.

[24] They were published under the title _Ancient Ballads and Songs_, 2

vols. 8vo, 1828.

[25] _The Forester's Guide and Profitable Planter_, reviewed in the

_Quarterly_, Oct. 1827. See also "On Planting Waste Lands," in _Misc.

Prose Works_, vol. xxi. pp. 1-76.

[26] Daughter of Mrs. Maclean Clephane, and afterwards Marchioness of

Northampton.

[27] Scott's indorsation of this letter is characteristic--"Prodigious,

bold request, Tom Thumb."

[28] Among the documents laid before Scott in the Colonial Office, when

he was in London at the close of 1826, "were some which represented one

of Bonaparte's attendants at St. Helena, General Gourgaud, as having

been guilty of gross unfairness, giving the English Government private

information that the Emperor's complaints of ill-usage were utterly

unfounded, and yet then and afterwards aiding and assisting the delusion

in France as to the harshness of Sir Hudson Lowe's conduct towards his

captive. Sir Walter, when using these remarkable documents, guessed that

Gourgaud might be inclined to fix a personal quarrel on himself; and

there now appeared in the newspapers a succession of hints that the

General was seriously bent on this purpose. He applied as _Colonel

Grogg_ would have done forty years before to _The Baronet_" [W.

Clerk].--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 142-3.

A short time previously Gourgaud had had a quarrel with Count Ségur

regarding the latter's _History of the Russian Campaign_, to which he

wrote a reply in 1825, and then fought a duel with the author in support

of his allegations. In Scott's case, however, it came to nothing beyond

a paper war, which Sir Walter declined to prolong, leaving the question

to be decided by the general public. It is due to Gourgaud to state that

on two occasions he saved Napoleon's life, though his subsequent

information to the British Government did not tend to increase his

popularity with the Bonapartists. He died at Paris in his sixty-ninth

year on July 25th, 1852.

[29] _Life_, vol. i. pp. 47, 155-156.

[30] _The Planters' Guide_, by Sir Henry Seton Steuart.

[31] In the _North British Review_, No. 82, there is an extremely

interesting sketch of this learned Peerage lawyer. He died in his 85th

year, in 1864, at his country seat, Kirklands in Roxburghshire, which he

had purchased by Sir Walter's advice.

The following amusing narrative of what took place on Tweedside when

these two old friends were in their prime is given in Mr. Richardson's

own words:--

"On a beautiful morning in September 1810 I started with Sir Walter from

Ashiestiel. We began nearly under the ruins of Elibank, and in sight of

the 'Hanging Tree.' I only had a rod, but Sir Walter walked by my side,

now quoting Izaak Walton, as, 'Fish me this stream by inches,' and now

delighting me with a profusion of Border stories. After the capture of

numerous fine trout, I hooked something greater and unseen, which

powerfully ran out my line. Sir Walter got into a state of great

excitement, exclaiming, 'It's a fish! It's a fish! Hold up your rod!

Give him line!' and so on. The rod, which belonged to one of his boys,

broke, and put us both into great alarm; but I contrived, by ascending

the steep bank and holding down the rod, still to give play to the reel,

till, after a good quarter of an hour's struggle, a trout, for so it

turned out to be, was conducted round a little peninsula. Sir Walter

jumped into the water, seized him, and threw him out on the grass. Tom

Purdie came up a little time after, and was certainly rather discomposed

at my success. 'It will be some sea brute,' he observed; but he became

satisfied that it was a fine river-trout, and such as, he afterwards

admitted, had not been killed in Tweed for twenty years; and when I

moved down the water, he went, as Sir Walter afterwards observed, and

gave it a kick on the head, exclaiming, 'To be ta'en by the like o' him

frae Lunnon!'"

SEPTEMBER.

_September_ 1.--Colonel Ferguson and Colonel Byers breakfasted; the

latter from India, the nephew of the old antiquarian;[32] but I had not

an opportunity to speak to him about the Eastern information required

for the _Chronicles_. Besides, my review is not finished, though I

wrought hard to-day. Sir William Hamilton and his brother, Captain

Hamilton, called; also young Davidoff. I am somewhat sorry for my young

friend. His friends permit him to remain too long in Britain to be happy

in Russia. Yet this [is a] prejudice of those who suppose that when the

institutions and habits by which they are governed come to be known to

strangers, they must become exclusively attached to them. This is not

so. The Hottentot returns from civilisation to the wild manners of his

kraal, and wherefore should not a Russian resume his despotic ideas when

returned to his country?

_September_ 2.--This was a very warm day. I remained at home, chiefly

engaged in arranging papers, as I go away to-morrow. It is lucky these

starts happen from time to time as I should otherwise never get my table

clear. At five o'clock the air became cooler, and I sat out of doors and

played with the children. Anne, who had been at Mertoun the day before,

brought up Anne and Elizabeth Scott[33] with her, and Francis has been

with us since yesterday. Richardson left us.

_September_ 3.--Went on with my arranging of papers till twelve, when I

took chaise and arrived at Melville Castle.

Found Lord and Lady M. and the two young ladies. Dr. Hope, my old

school-fellow James Hope[34] and his son, made up our party, which was

very pleasant. After they went away we had some private conversation

about politics. The Whigs and Tories of the Cabinet are strangely

divided, the former desiring to have Mr. Herries for Chancellor of the

Exchequer, the latter to have Lord Palmerston, that Calcraft may be

Secretary of War. The King has declared firmly for Herries, on which

Lord Goderich with _tears_ entreated Herries to remove the bone of

contention by declining to accept. The King called him a blubbering

fool. That the King does not like or trust the Whigs is obvious from his

passing over Lord Lansdowne, a man who, I should suppose, is infinitely

better fitted for a Premier than Goderich. But he probably looks with no

greater [favour] on the return of the High Tories. I fear he may wish to

govern by the system of _bascule_, or balancing the two parties, a

perilous game[35]. The Advocate[36] also dined with us.

_September 4, [Edinburgh]_.--Came into town after breakfast, and saw

Gibson, whose account of affairs is comfortable. Also William Clerk,

whom I found quite ready and willing to stand my friend if Gourgaud

should come my road. He agrees with me that there is no reason why he

should turn on me, but that if he does, reason or none, it is best to

stand buff to him. It is clear to me that what is least forgiven in a

man of any mark or likelihood is want of that article blackguardly

called _pluck_. All the fine qualities of genius cannot make amends for

it. We are told the genius of poets especially is irreconcilable with

this species of grenadier accomplishment[37]. If so, _quel chien de

génie_! Saw Lady Compton. I dine with her to-day, and go to Glasgow with

her to-morrow.

_September 5_.--Dined with Lady Compton yesterday, and talked over old

stories until nine, our _tête-à-tête_ being a very agreeable one. Then

hence to my good friend John Gibson's, and talked with him of sundries.

I had an odd dream last night. It seemed to me that I was at a panorama,

when a vulgar little man behind me was making some very clever but

impudent remarks on the picture, and at the same time seemed desirous of

information, which no one would give him. I turned round and saw a young

fellow dressed like a common carter, with a blue coat and red waistcoat,

and a whip tied across him. He was young, with a hatchet-face, which was

turned to a brick colour by exposure to the weather, sharp eyes, and in

manner and voice not unlike John Leyden. I was so much struck with his

countenance and talents that I asked him about his situation, and

expressed a wish to mend it. He followed me, from the hopes which I

excited, and we had a dreadful walk among ruins, and afterwards I found

myself on horseback, and in front of a roaring torrent. I plunged in as

I have formerly done in good sad earnest, and got to the other side.

Then I got home among my children and grandchildren, and there also was

my genius. Now this would defy Daniel and the soothsayers to boot; nor

do I know why I should now put it down, except that I have seldom seen a

portrait in life which was more strongly marked on my memory than that

man's. Perhaps my genius was Mr. Dickinson, papermaker, who has

undertaken that the London creditors who hold Constable's bills will be

satisfied with 10s. in the pound. This would be turning a genius to

purpose, for 6s. 8d. is provided, and they can have no difficulty about

3s. 4d. These debts, for which I am legally responsible, though no party

to their contraction, amount to £30,000 odds. Now if they can be cleared

for £15,000 it is just so much gained. This would be a giant step to

freedom. I see in my present comfortable quarters[38] some of my own

old furniture in Castle St., which gives me rather queer feelings. I

remember poor Charlotte and I having so much thought about buying these

things. Well, they are in kind and friendly hands.

_September 6_.--Went with Lady Compton to Glasgow, and had as pleasant a

journey as the kindness, wit, and accomplishment of my companion could

make it. Lady C. gives an admirable account of Rome, and the various

strange characters she has met in foreign parts. I was much taken with

some stories out of a romance called _Manuscrit trouvé à Saragosse_, by

a certain Count John Polowsky [Potocki?], a Pole. It seems betwixt the

style of Cazotti, Count Hamilton and Le Sage. The Count was a toiler

after supernatural secrets, an adept, and understood the cabbala. He put

himself to death, with many odd circumstances, inferring derangement. I

am to get a sight of the book if it be possible. At Glasgow (Buck's

Head) we met Mrs. Maclean Clephane and her two daughters, and there was

much joy. After the dinner the ladies sung, particularly Anna Jane, who

has more taste and talent of every kind than half the people going with

great reputations on their backs.

A very pleasant day was paid for by a restless night.

_September_ 7.--This day had calls from Lord Provost and Mr. Rutherford

(William) with invitations, which I declined. Read in manuscript a very

clever play (comedy) by Miss A.J. Clephane in the old style, which was

very happily imitated. The plot was confused--too much taking and

retaking of prisoners, but the dialogue was excellent.

Took leave of these dear friends, never perhaps to meet all together

again, for two of us are old. Went down by steam to Colonel Campbell's,

Blythswood House, where I was most courteously received by him and his

sisters. We are kinsfolk and very old acquaintance. His seat here is a

fine one; the house is both grand and comfortable.

We walked to Lawrence Lockhart's of Inchinnan, within a mile of

Blythswood House. It is extremely nice and comfortable, far beyond the

style of a Scotch clergyman; but Lawrence is wealthy. I found John

Lockhart and Sophia there, returned from Largs. We all dined at Colonel

Campbell's on turtle, and all manner of good things. Miss A. and H.

Walker were there. The sleep at night made amends for the Buck's Head.

_September_ 8.--Colonel Campbell carried me to breakfast in Glasgow, and

at ten I took chaise for Corehouse, where I found my old friend George

Cranstoun rejoiced to see me, and glad when I told him what Lord Newton

had determined in my affairs. I should observe I saw the banks of the

Clyde above Hamilton much denuded of its copse, _untimely cut_; and the

stools ill cut, and worse kept. Cranstoun and I walked before dinner. I

never saw the great fall of Corehouse from this side before, and I think

it the best point, perhaps; at all events, it is not that from which it

is usually seen; so Lord Corehouse has the sight and escapes the

tourists. Dined with him, his sister Mrs. Cunningham, and Corehouse.

I omitted to mention in yesterday's note that within Blythswood

plantation, near to the Bridge of Inchinnan, the unfortunate Earl of

Argyle was taken in 1685, at a stone called Argyle's Stone. Blythswood

says the Highland drovers break down his fences in order to pay a visit

to the place. The Earl had passed the Cart river, and was taken on the

Renfrew side.

_September_ 9.--This is a superb place of Corehouse's. Cranstoun has as

much feeling about improvement as other things. Like all new improvers,

he is at more expense than is necessary, plants too thick, and trenches

where trenching is superfluous. But this is the eagerness of a young

artist. Besides the grand lion, the Fall of Clyde, he has more than one

lion's whelp; a fall of a brook in a cleugh called Mill's Gill must be

superb in rainy weather. The old Castle of Corehouse is much more

castle-like on this than from the other side.

Left Corehouse at eight in the morning, and reached Lanark by half-past

nine. I was thus long in travelling three miles because the postilion

chose to suppose I was bound for Biggar, and was two miles ere I

discovered what he was doing. I thought he aimed at crossing the Clyde

by some new bridge above Bonnington. Breakfasted at Lanark with the

Lockharts, and reached Abbotsford this evening by nine o'clock.

Thus ends a pleasant expedition among the people I like most. Drawback

only one. It has cost me £15, including two gowns for Sophia and Anne;

and I have lost six days' labour. Both may be soon made up.

_N.B._--We lunched (dined, _videlicet_) with Professor Wilson at

Inverleithen, and met James Hogg,[39]

_September 10, [Abbotsford]_.--Gourgaud's wrath has burst forth in a

very distant clap of thunder, in which he accuses me of combining with

the ministry to slander his rag of a reputation. He be d----d for a

fool, to make his case worse by stirring. I shall only revenge myself

by publishing the whole extracts I made from the records of the Colonial

Office, in which he will find enough to make him bite his nails. Still I

wonder he did not come over and try his manhood otherwise. I would not

have shunned him nor any Frenchman who ever kissed Bonaparte's breech.

_September_ 11.--Went to Huntly Burn and breakfasted with Colonel

Ferguson, who has promised to have some Indian memoranda ready for me.

After breakfast went to choose the ground for a new plantation, to be

added next week to the end of Jane's Wood. Came to dinner Lord Carnarvon

and his son and daughter; also Lord Francis Leveson Gower, the

translator of _Faust_.

_September_ 12.--Walk with Lord Francis. When we return, behold ye!

enter Lady Hampden and Lady Wedderburn. In the days of George Square,

Jane and Maria Brown[40], beauties and toasts. There was much pleasure

on my side, and some, I suppose, on theirs; and there was a riding, and

a running, and a chattering, and an asking, and a showing--a real scene

of confusion, yet mirth and good spirits. Our guests quit us next day.

_September_ 13.--Fined a man for an assault at Selkirk. He pleaded

guilty, which made short work. The beggarly appearance of the Jury in

the new system is very worthy of note. One was a menial servant. When I

returned, James Ballantyne and Mr. Cadell arrived. They bring a good

account of matters in general. Cadell explained to me a plan for

securing the copyright of the novels, which has a very good face. It

appears they are going off fast; and if the glut of the market is once

reduced by sales, the property will be excellent, and may be increased

by notes. James B. brought his son. Robert Rutherford also here, and

Miss Russells.

_September_ 14.--In the morning wrote my answer to Gourgaud, rather too

keen perhaps, but I owe him nothing; and as for exciting his resentment,

I will neither seek nor avoid it.

Cadell's views seem fair, and he is open and explicit. His brothers

support him, and he has no want of cash. He sells two or three copies of

Bonaparte and one of the novels, or two, almost every day. He must soon,

he says, apply to London for copies. Read a Refutation, as it calls

itself, of Napoleon's history. It is so very polite and accommodating

that every third word is a concession--the work of a man able to judge

distinctly on specific facts, but erroneous in his general results. He

will say the same of me, perhaps. Ballantyne and Cadell leave us. Enter

Miss Sinclairs, two in number, also a translator, and a little Flemish

woman, his wife--very good-humoured, rather a little given to

compliment; name Fauconpret. They are to return at night in a gig as far

as Kelso--a bold undertaking.

_September_ 16.--The ladies went to Church; I, God forgive me, finished

the _Chronicles_[41] with a good deal of assistance from Colonel

Ferguson's notes about Indian affairs. The patch is, I suspect, too

glaring to be pleasing; but the Colonel's sketches are capitally good. I

understand, too, there are one or two East Indian novels which have

lately appeared. Naboclish! _vogue la galère_!

_September_ 17.--Received from James B. the proofs of my reply to

General Gourgaud, with some cautious balaam from mine honest friend,

alarmed by a Highland Colonel, who had described Gourgaud as a _mauvais

garçon_, famous fencer, marksman, and so forth. I wrote in answer, which

is true, that I would hope all my friends would trust to my acting with

proper caution and advice; but that if I were capable, in a moment of

weakness, of doing anything short of what my honour demanded, I would

die the death of a poisoned rat in hole, out of mere sense of my own

degradation. God knows, that, though life is placid enough with me, I do

not feel anything to attach me to it so strongly as to occasion my

avoiding any risk which duty to my character may demand from me.

I set to work with the _Tales of a Grandfather_, second volume, and

finished four pages.

_September_ 18.--Wrote five pages of the _Tales_. Walked from Huntly

Burn, having gone in the carriage. Smoked my cigar with Lockhart after

dinner, and then whiled away the evening over one of Miss Austen's

novels. There is a truth of painting in her writings which always

delights me. They do not, it is true, get above the middle classes of

society, but there she is inimitable.

_September_ 19.--Wrote three pages, but dawdled a good deal; yet the

_Tales_ get on, although I feel bilious, and vapourish, I believe I must

call it. At such times my loneliness, and the increasing inability to

walk, come dark over me, but surely these mulligrubs belong to the mind

more than the body.

_September_ 22.--Captain and Colonel Ferguson, the last returned from

Ireland, dined here. Prayer of the minister of the Cumbrays, two

miserable islands in the mouth of the Clyde: "O Lord, bless and be

gracious to the Greater and the Lesser Cumbrays, and in thy mercy do not

forget the adjacent islands of Great Britain and Ireland."

_September_ 23.--Worked in the morning; then drove over to Huntly Burn,

chiefly to get from the good-humoured Colonel the accurate spelling of

certain Hindu words which I have been using under his instructions. By

the way, the sketches he gave me of Indian manners are highly

picturesque. I have made up my Journal, which was three days in arrear.

Also I wrought a little, so that the second volume of _Grandfather's

Tales_ is nearly half finished.

_September_ 24.--Worked in the morning as usual, and sent off the

proofs and copy. Something of the black dog still hanging about me; but

I will shake him off. I generally affect good spirits in company of my

family, whether I am enjoying them or not. It is too severe to sadden

the harmless mirth of others by suffering your own causeless melancholy

to be seen; and this species of exertion is, like virtue, its own

reward; for the good spirits, which are at first simulated, become at

length real.[42]

_September 25, [Edinburgh]_,--Got into town by one o'clock, the purpose

being to give my deposition before Lord Newton in a case betwixt me and

Constable's creditors. My oath seemed satisfactory; but new reasons were

alleged for additional discussion, which is, I trust, to end this

wearisome matter. I dined with Mr. Gibson, and slept there. J.B. dined

with us, and we had thoughts how to save our copyright by a bargain with

Cadell. I hope it will turn to good, as I could add notes to a future

edition, and give them some value.

_September 26, [Abbotsford]_.--Set off in mail coach, and my horses met

me at Yair Bridge. I travelled with rather a pleasant man, an agent, I

found, on Lord Seaford's[43] West Indian Estates. Got home by twelve

o'clock, and might have been here earlier if the Tweed had not been too

large for fording. I must note down my cash lest it gets out of my head;

"may the foul fa' the gear, and the blathrie o't,"[44] and yet there's

no doing either with it or without it.

_September_ 27.--The morning was damp, dripping, and unpleasant; so I

even made a work of necessity, and set to the _Tales_ like a dragon. I

murdered M'Lellan of Bomby at Thrieve Castle; stabbed the Black Douglas

in the town of Stirling; astonished King James before Roxburgh; and

stifled the Earl of Mar in his bath in the Canongate. A wild world, my

masters, this Scotland of ours must have been. No fear of want of

interest; no lassitude in those days for want of work,

"For treason, d' ye see,

Was to them a dish of tea,

And murther bread and butter."

We dined at Gattonside with Mr. Bainbridge, who kindly presented me with

six bottles of super-excellent Jamaica rum, and with a manuscript

collection of poetry, said to be Swift's handwriting, which it

resembles. It is, I think, poor Stella's. Nothing very new in it.

_September_ 28.--Another dropping and busy day. I wrought hard at the

_Historical Tales_, which get on fast.

_September_ 29.--I went on with the little history which now (_i.e._

vol. ii.) doth appropinque an end. Received in the evening [Nos. 37 to

41?] of the Roxburghe publications. They are very curious, and,

generally speaking, well selected. The following struck me:--An Italian

poem on the subject of Floddenfield; the legend of St. Robert of

Knaresborough; two plays, printed from MS. by Mr. Haslewood. It does not

appear that Mr. H. fully appreciated the light which he was throwing on

the theatrical history by this valuable communication. It appears that

the change of place, or of scene as we term it, was intimated in the

following manner.

In the middle of the stage was placed Colchester, and the sign of

Pigot's tavern--called the Tarlton--intimated what part of the town was

represented. The name was painted above. On one side of the stage was,

in like manner, painted a town, which the name announced to be Maldon;

on the other side a ranger's lodge. The scene lay through the piece in

one or other of these three places, and the entrance of the characters

determined where each scene lay. If they came in from Colchester, then

Colchester was for the time the scene of action. When that scene was

shifted to Maldon, it was intimated by the approach of the actors from

the side where it was painted--a clumsy contrivance, doubtless, compared

to changeable scenery; yet sufficient to impress the audience with a

sense of what was meant.

_September_ 30.--Wet, drizzling, dismal day. I finished odds and ends,

scarce stirring out of my room, yet doing little to the purpose. Wrote

to Sir Henry [Seton Steuart] about his queries concerning transplanted

trees, and to Mr. Freeling concerning the Roxburghe Club books. I have

settled to print the manuscript concerning the murder of the two Shaws

by the Master of Sinclair. I dallied with the precious time rather than

used it. Read the two Roxburghe plays; they are by William Percy, a son

of the eighth Earl of Northumberland; worthless and very gross, but

abounding with matter concerning scenery, and so forth, highly

interesting to the dramatic antiquary.

NOTE _on the "grenadier accomplishment" mentioned in_ p. 30.

In a letter to the Duke of Buccleuch, of May 1818, Scott gives the

following amusing account of an incident in the life of the Ettrick

Shepherd:--

"Our poor friend Hogg has had an _affair of honour_.... Two

mornings ago, about seven in the morning, my servant announced,

while I was shaving in my dressing-room, that Mr. Hogg wished

earnestly to speak with me. He was ushered in, and I cannot

describe the half-startled, half-humorous air with which he said,

scratching his head most vehemently, 'Odd, Scott, here's twae

fo'k's come frae Glasgow to provoke mey to fecht a duel.' 'A duel,'

answered I, in great astonishment, 'and what do you intend to do?'

'Odd, I just locket them up in my room and sent the lassie for twae

o' the police, and just gie'd the men ower to their chairge, and I

thocht I wad come and ask you what I should do....' He had already

settled for himself the question whether he was to fight or not,

and all that he had to do was to go to the Police Office and tell

the charge he had to bring against the two Glasgow gentlemen....

The Glaswegians were greatly too many for him [in Court].... They

returned in all triumph and glory, and Hogg took the wings of the

morning and fled to his cottage at Altrive, not deeming himself

altogether safe in the streets of Edinburgh! Now, although I do not

hold valour to be an essential article in the composition of a man

like Hogg, yet I heartily wish he could have prevailed on himself

to swagger a little.... But considering his failure in the field

and the Sheriff Office, I am afraid we must apply to Hogg the

apology which is made for Waller by his biographer: 'Let us not

condemn him with untempered severity because he was not such a

prodigy as the world has seldom seen--because his character

included not the poet, the orator, and the hero.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[32] James Byers, 1733-1817.

[33] Anne Scott of Harden, afterwards wife of Lord Jerviswoode, and

Elizabeth of Colonel Charles Wyndham.

[34] James Hope, W.S., Scott's school-fellow, died in Edinburgh 14th

November 1842.

[35] _Greville_, vol. i. pp. 110-113.

[36] Sir W. Rae, who was Lord Advocate from 1819 to 1830.

[37] See letter to Duke of Buccleuch on James Hogg at p. 40.

[38] No. 10 Walker Street.

[39] Scott's unwearied interest in James Hogg, despite the waywardness

of this imaginative genius, is one of the most beautiful traits in his

character. Readers of Mr. Lockhart's _Life_, do not require to be

reminded of the active part he took in promoting the welfare of the

"Ettrick Shepherd" on many occasions, from the outset of their

acquaintance in 1801 until the end of his life.

Hogg was a strange compound of boisterous roughness and refinement in

expression, and these odd contrasts surprised strangers such as Moore

and Ticknor. The former was shocked, and the latter said his

conversation was a perpetual contradiction to the exquisite delicacy of

_Kilmeny_.

The critics of the day, headed by Professor Wilson, declared he was

Burns's rival as a song-writer, and his superior in anything relating to

external nature! indeed they wrote of him as unsurpassed by poet or

painter in his fairy tales of ancient time, dubbing him Poet Laureate to

the Queen of Elfland; and yet his unrefined manner tempted these friends

to speak of him familiarly as the greatest hog in all Apollo's herd, or

the Boar of the Forest, etc. etc.

Wordsworth, however, on November 21, 1835, when his brother bard had

just left the sunshine for the sunless land, wrote from his heart the

noble lines ending--

"Death upon the Braes of Yarrow Closed the Poet Shepherd's eyes."

[40] Another, sister Georgiana, married General the Honourable Sir

Alexander Hope, G.C.B., grandfather of Mrs. Maxwell Scott.

[41] _Chronicles of the Canongate_. First Series, ending with the story

of _The Surgeon's Daughter_.

[42] Mr. Lockhart justly remarks that this entry "paints the man in his

tenderness, his fortitude, and happy wisdom."

[43] Charles Rose Ellis had been created Baron Seaford in 1826.

[44] See Cromek's _Reliques of Burns_, p. 210.

OCTOBER.

_October_ 1.--I set about work for two hours, and finished three pages;

then walked for two hours; then home, adjusted sheriff processes, and

cleared the table. I am to set off to-morrow for Ravensworth Castle, to

meet the Duke of Wellington;[45] a great let off, I suppose. Yet I would

almost rather stay and see two days more of Lockhart and my daughter,

who will be off before my return. Perhaps. But there is no end to

perhaps. We must cut the rope and let the vessel drive down the tide of

destiny.

_October_ 2.--Set out in the morning at seven, and reached Kelso by a

little past ten with my own horses. Then took the Wellington coach to

carry me to Wellington--smart that. Nobody inside but an old lady, who

proved a toy-woman in Edinburgh; her head furnished with as substantial

ware as her shop, but a good soul, I'se warrant her. Heard all her

debates with her landlord about a new door to the cellar, etc. etc.;

propriety of paying rent on the 15th or 25th of May. Landlords and

tenants have different opinions on that subject. Danger of dirty sheets

in inns. We dined at Wooler, and I found out Dr. Douglas on the outside,

son of my old acquaintance Dr. James Douglas of Kelso. This made us even

lighter in mind till we came to Whittingham. Thence to Newcastle, where

an obstreperous horse retarded us for an hour at least, to the great

alarm of my friend the toy-woman. _N.B._--She would have made a good

feather-bed if the carriage had happened to fall, and her undermost. The

heavy roads had retarded us near an hour more, so that I hesitated to go

to Ravensworth so late; but my good woman's tales of dirty sheets, and

certain recollections of a Newcastle inn, induced me to go on. When I

arrived the family had just retired. Lord Ravensworth and Mr. Liddell

came down, however, and really received me as kindly as possible.

_October_ 3.--Rose about eight or later. My morals begin to be corrupted

by travelling and fine company. Went to Durham with Lord Ravensworth

betwixt one and two. Found the gentlemen of Durham county and town

assembled to receive the Duke of Wellington. I saw several old friends,

and with difficulty suited names to faces, and faces to names. There was

Headlam, Dr. Gilly and his wife, and a world of acquaintance besides,

Sir Thomas Lawrence too, with Lord Londonderry. I asked him to come on

with me, but he could not. He is, from habit of coaxing his subjects I

suppose, a little too fair-spoken, otherwise very pleasant. The Duke

arrived very late. There were bells and cannon and drums, trumpets and

banners, besides a fine troop of yeomanry. The address was well

expressed, and as well answered by the Duke. The enthusiasm of the

ladies and the gentry was great--the common people were lukewarm[46].

The Duke has lost popularity in accepting political power. He will be

more useful to his country it may be than ever, but will scarce be so

gracious in the people's eyes; and he will not care a curse for what

outward show he has lost. But I must not talk of curses, for we are

going to take our dinner with the Bishop of Durham[47], a man of amiable

and courteous manners, who becomes his station well, but has traces of

bad health on his countenance.

We dined, about one hundred and forty or fifty men, a distinguished

company for rank and property. Marshal Beresford, and Sir John[48],

amongst others, Marquis of Lothian, Lord Duncombe, Marquis Londonderry,

and I know not who besides:

"Lords and Dukes and noble Princes,

All the pride and flower of Spain."

We dined in the rude old baronial hall, impressive from its antiquity,

and fortunately free from the plaster of former improvement, as I trust

it will, from the gingerbread taste of modern Gothicisers. The bright

moon streaming in through the old Gothic windows, made a light which

contrasted strangely with the artificial lights within; spears, banners,

and armour were intermixed with the pictures of old, and the whole had a

singular mixture of baronial pomp with the graver and more chastened

dignity of prelacy. The conduct of our reverend entertainer suited the

character remarkably well. Amid the welcome of a Count Palatine he did

not for an instant forget the gravity of the Church dignitary. All his

toasts were gracefully given, and his little speeches well made, and the

more affecting that the failing voice sometimes reminded us that our

aged host laboured under the infirmities of advanced life. To me

personally the Bishop was very civil, and paid me his public

compliments by proposing my health in the most gratifying manner.[49]

The Bishop's lady received a sort of drawing-room after we rose from

table, at which a great many ladies attended. I ought not to forget that

the singers of the choir attended at dinner, and sung the Anthem _Non

nobis Domine_, as they said who understood them, very well--and, as I

think, who did not understand the music, with an unusual degree of

spirit and interest. It is odd how this can be distinguished from the

notes of fellows who use their throats with as little feeling of the

notes they utter as if they were composed of the same metal as their

bugle-horns.

After the drawing-room we went to the Assembly-rooms, which were crowded

with company. I saw some very pretty girls dancing merrily that

old-fashioned thing called a country-dance which Old England has now

thrown aside, as she would do her creed, if there were some foreign

frippery offered instead. We got away after midnight, a large party, and

reached Ravensworth Castle--Duke of Wellington, Lord Londonderry, and

about twenty besides--about half-past one. Soda water, and to bed by

two.

_October_ 4.--Slept till nigh ten--fatigued by our toils of yesterday,

and the unwonted late hours. Still too early for this Castle of

Indolence, for I found few of last night's party yet appearing. I had an

opportunity of some talk with the Duke. He does not consider Foy's

book[50] as written by himself, but as a thing _got up_ perhaps from

notes. Says he knew Foy very well in Spain. Mentioned that he was, like

other French officers, very desirous of seeing the English papers,

through which alone they could collect any idea of what was going on

without their own cantonments, for Napoleon permitted no communication

of that kind with France. The Duke, growing tired of this, at length

told Baron Tripp, whose services he chiefly used in communication with

the outposts, that he was not to give them the newspapers. "What reason

shall I allege for withholding them?" said Baron Tripp. "None," replied

the Duke. "Let them allege some reason why they want them." Foy was not

at a loss to assign a reason. He said he had considerable sums of money

in the English funds and wanted to see how Stocks fell and rose. The

excuse did not, however, go down[51]. I remember Baron Tripp, a Dutch

nobleman, and a dandy of the first water, and yet with an energy in his

dandyism which made it respectable. He drove a gig as far as Dunrobin

Castle, and back again, _without a whip_. He looked after his own horse,

for he had no servant, and after all his little establishment of clothes

and necessaries, with all the accuracy of a _petit-maître_. He was one

of the best-dressed men, and his horse was in equally fine condition as

if he had had a dozen of grooms. I met him at Lord Somerville's, and

liked him much. But there was something exaggerated, as appeared from

the conclusion of his life. Baron Tripp shot himself in Italy for no

assignable cause.

What is called great society, of which I have seen a good deal in my

day, is now amusing to me, because from age and indifference I have lost

the habit of considering myself as a part of it, and have only the

feelings of looking on as a spectator of the scene, who can neither play

his part well nor ill, instead of being one of the _dramatis personæ_;

and, careless what is thought of myself, I have full time to attend to

the motions of others.

Our party went to-day to Sunderland, where the Duke was brilliantly

received by an immense population, chiefly of seamen. The difficulty of

getting into the rooms was dreadful, for we chanced to march in the rear

of an immense Gibraltar gun, etc., all composed of glass, which is here

manufactured in great quantities. The disturbance created by this thing,

which by the way I never saw afterwards, occasioned an ebbing and

flowing of the crowd, which nearly took me off my legs. I have seen the

day I would have minded it little. The entertainment was handsome; about

two hundred dined, and appeared most hearty in the cause which had

convened them--some indeed so much so, that, finding themselves so far

on the way to perfect happiness, they e'en ... After the dinner-party

broke up there was a ball, numerously attended, where there was a

prodigious anxiety discovered for shaking of hands. The Duke had enough

of it, and I came in for my share; for, though as jackal to the lion, I

got some part in whatever was going. We got home about half-past two in

the morning, sufficiently tired. The Duke went to Seaham, a house of

Lord Londonderry's. After all, this Sunderland trip might have been

spared..

_October 5_.--A quiet day at Ravensworth Castle, giggling and making

giggle among the kind and frank-hearted young people. Ravensworth Castle

is chiefly modern, excepting always two towers of great antiquity. Lord

Ravensworth manages his woods admirably well, and with good taste. His

castle is but half-built. Elections[52] have come between. In the

evening, plenty of fine music, with heart as well as voice and

instrument. Much of the music was the spontaneous effusions of Mrs.

Arkwright, who had set Hohenlinden and other pieces of poetry. Her music

was of a highly-gifted character. She was the daughter of Stephen

Kemble. The genius she must have inherited from her mother, who was a

capital actress. The Miss Liddells and Mrs. Barrington sang the "The

Campbells are coming," in a tone that might have waked the dead.

_October_ 6.--Left Ravensworth this morning, and travelled as far as

Whittingham with Marquis of Lothian. Arrived at Alnwick to dinner, where

I was very kindly received. The Duke is a handsome man,[53] who will be

corpulent if he does not continue to take hard exercise. The Duchess

very pretty and lively, but her liveliness is of that kind which shows

at once it is connected with thorough principle, and is not liable to be

influenced by fashionable caprice. The habits of the family are early

and regular; I conceive they may be termed formal and old-fashioned by

such visitors as claim to be the pink of the mode. The Castle is a fine

old pile, with various courts and towers, and the entrance is

magnificent. It wants, however, the splendid feature of a keep. The

inside fitting up is an attempt at Gothic, but the taste is meagre and

poor, and done over with too much gilding. It was done half a century

ago, when this kind of taste was ill-understood. I found here the Bishop

of [Gloucester], etc. etc.

_October 7_.--This morning went to church and heard an excellent sermon

from the Bishop of Gloucester;[54] he has great dignity of manner, and

his accent and delivery were forcible. Drove out with the Duke in a

phaeton, and saw part of the park, which is a fine one, lying along the

Alne. But it has been ill-planted. It was laid out by the celebrated

Brown,[55] who substituted clumps of birch and Scottish firs for the

beautiful oaks and copse which grows nowhere so freely as in

Northumberland. To complete this, the late Duke did not thin, so the

wood is in poor state. All that the Duke cuts down is so much waste, for

the people will not buy it where coals are so cheap. Had they been

oak-wood, the bark would have fetched its value; had they been grown

oaks, the sea-ports would have found a market. Had they been [larch],

the country demands for ruder purposes would have been unanswerable. The

Duke does the best he can to retrieve his woods, but seems to despond

more than a young man ought to do. It is refreshing to see a man in his

situation give so much of his time and thoughts to the improvement of

his estates, and the welfare of the people. The Duke tells me his people

in Keeldar were all quite wild the first time his father went up to

shoot there. The women had no other dress than a bed-gown and petticoat.

The men were savage and could hardly be brought to rise from the heath,

either from sullenness or fear. They sung a wild tune, the burden of

which was Ourina, ourina, ourina. The females sung, the men danced

round, and at a certain part of the tune they drew their dirks, which

they always wore.

We came by the remains of the old Carmelite Monastery of Hulne, which is

a very fine object in the park. It was finished by De Vesci. The gateway

of Alnwick Abbey, also a fine specimen, is standing about a mile

distant. The trees are much finer on the left side of the Alne, where

they have been let alone by the capability-villain. Visited the enceinte

of the Castle, and passed into the dungeon. There is also an armoury,

but damp, and the arms in indifferent order. One odd petard-looking

thing struck me.--_Mem_. to consult Grose. I had the honour to sit in

Hotspur's seat, and to see the Bloody Gap, where the external wall must

have been breached. The Duchess gave me a book of etchings of the

antiquities of Alnwick and Warkworth from her own drawings.[56] I had

half a mind to stay to see Warkworth, but Anne is alone. We had prayers

in the evening read by the Archdeacon.[57]

The Marquis of Lothian on Saturday last told me a remarkable thing,

which he had from good authority. Just before Bonaparte's return from

Elba there was much disunion at the Congress of Vienna. Russia and

Prussia, conscious of their own merits, made great demands, to which

Austria, France, and Britain, were not disposed to accede. This went so

far that war became probable, and the very Prussian army which was so

useful at Waterloo was held in readiness to attack the English. On the

other hand, England, Austria, and France entered into a private

agreement to resist, beyond a certain extent, Prussia's demands of a

barrier on the Rhine, etc., and, what is most singular of all, it was

from Bonaparte that the Emperor Alexander first heard of this triple

alliance.[58] But the circumstance of finding Napoleon interesting

himself so far in the affairs of Europe alarmed the Emperor more than

the news he sent him. On the same authority, Gneisenau and most of

Blücher's personal suite remained behind a house at the battle of Ligny,

and sent out an officer from time to time, but did not remain even in

sight of the battle, till Blücher put himself at the head of the cavalry

with the zeal of an old hussar.

_October_ 8.--Left Alnwick, where I have experienced a very kind

reception, and took coach at Whittingham at eleven o'clock. I find there

is a new road to be made between Alnwick and Wooler, which will make the

communication much easier, and avoid Remside Moor.

Saw some fine young plantations about Whittingham suffering from

neglect, which is not the case under the Duke's own eye. He has made

two neat cottages at Percy's Cross, to preserve that ancient monument of

the fatal battle of Hedgeley Moor. The stones marking the adjacent spot

called Percy's Leap are thirty-three feet asunder. To show the

uncertainty of human testimony, I measured the distance (many years

since, it is true), and would have said and almost sworn that it was but

eighteen feet. Dined at Wooler, and reached home about seven o'clock,

having left Alnwick at half-past nine. So it would be easy to go there

to dinner from Abbotsford, starting at six in the morning, or seven

would do very well.

_October 9, [Abbotsford]_.--No proofs here, which I think odd of Jas. B.

But I am not sorry to have a day to write letters, and besides I have a

box of books to arrange. It is a bad mizzling day, and might have been a

good day for work, yet it is not quite uselessly spent.

_October_ 10.--Breakfasted at Huntly Burn with the merry knight, Sir

Adam Ferguson. When we returned we found a whole parcel of proofs which

had been forgot yesterday at the toll--so here ends play and begins

work. Dr. Brewster and Mr. Thornhill. The latter gave me a box, made of

the real mulberry-tree.[59] Very kind of him.

_October_ 11.--Being a base melancholy weeping day I e'en made the best

of it, and set in for work. Wrote ten leaves this day, equivalent to

forty pages. But then the theme was so familiar, being Scottish history,

that my pen never rested. It is more than a triple task.

_October_ 12.--Sent off proofs and copy, a full task of three pages. At

one Anne drove me to Huntly Burn, and I examined the earthen fence

intended for the new planting, and altered the line in some points. This

employed me till near four, the time of my walking home being included.

_October_ 13.--Wrote in the forenoon. Lord Bessborough and Mr. and Mrs.

Ponsonby called to see the place. His lady used to be civil to me in

London--an accomplished and pleasing woman. They only stayed an hour. At

dinner we had Lord and Lady Bathurst, and my friend Lady Georgiana--also

Marquis of Lothian and Lord Castlereagh, plenty of fine folks. Expected

also the Lord Register and Mrs. Dundas, but they could not come. Lord

Bathurst told me that Gourgaud had negotiated with the French Government

to the last moment of his leaving London, and that he had been told so

by the French Ambassador. Lord B. refused to see him, because he

understood he talked disrespectfully of Napoleon.

_October_ 14.--I read prayers to the company of yesterday, and we took a

drive round by Drygrange Bridge. Lord B. told me that the late king made

it at one time a point of conscience to read every word of every act of

parliament before giving his assent to it. There was a mixture of

principle and nonsense in this. Lord Lothian left us. I did a full task

to-day, which is much, considering I was a good deal occupied.

_October_ 15.--My noble guests departed, pleased I believe with their

visit. I have had to thank Lord Bathurst for former kindness. I respect

him too, as one who being far from rich, has on the late occasion

preferred political consistency to a love of office and its emoluments.

He seems to expect no opposition of a formal kind this next session.

What is wonderful, no young man of talents seems to spring up in the

House of Commons. I wonder what comes of all the clever lads whom we see

at college. The fruit apparently does not ripen as formerly. Lord

Castlereagh remained with us. I bestowed a little advice on him. He is a

warm-hearted young fellow, with some of the fashionable affectations of

the age about him, but with good feelings and an inclination to come

forward.

_October_ 16.--With all this racketing the work advances fast. The third

volume of the _Tales_ is now half finished, and will, I think, be a

useful work. Some drizzling days have been of great use to its progress.

This visiting has made some dawdling, but not much, perhaps not more

than there ought to be for such a task.

I walked from Huntly Burn up the little Glen, which was in all the

melancholy beauty of autumn, the little brook brawling and bickering in

fine style over its falls and currents.

_October_ 17.--Drove down to Mertoun and brought up Elizabeth Scott to

be our guest for some days or so. Various chance guests arrived. One of

the most welcome was Captain MacKenzie of the Celtic Society and the 72d

regiment, a picture of a Highlander in his gigantic person and innocent

and generous disposition. Poor fellow, he is going to retreat to

Brittany, to make his half-pay support a wife and family. I did not dare

to ask how many. God send I may have the means of serving him.

He told me a Maclean story which was new to me. At the battle of

Sheriffmuir that clan was commanded by a chief called Hector. In the

action, as the chief rushed forward, he was frequently in situations of

peril. His foster-father followed him with seven sons, whom he reserved

as a body-guard, whom he threw forward into the battle as he saw his

chief pressed. The signal he gave was, "Another for Hector!" The youths

replied, "Death for Hector!" and were all successively killed. These

words make the sign and countersign at this day of the clan Gillian.[60]

Young Shortreed dined with us and the two Fergusons, Sir Adam and the

Colonel. We had a pleasant evening.

_October_ 19.--Wrought out my task, and better--as I have done for these

several days past. Lady Anna Maria Elliot arrived unexpectedly to

dinner, and though she had a headache, brought her usual wit and

good-humour to enliven us.

_October_ 20.--The day being basely muggy, I had no walk, which I was

rather desirous to secure. I wrought, however; and two-thirds of the

last volume of _Tales of my Grandfather_ are finished. I received a

large packet of proofs, etc., which for some reason had been delayed. We

had two of Dr. Brewster's boys to dinner--fine children; they are

spirited, promising, and very well-behaved.

_October_ 21.--Wrought till one o'clock, then walked out for two hours,

though with little comfort, the bushes being loaded with rain; but

exercise is very necessary to me, and I have no mind to die of my

arm-chair. A letter from Skene, acquainting me that the Censors of the

French press have prohibited the insertion of my answer to the man

Gourgaud. This is their freedom of the press! The fact is there is an

awkward "composition" between the Government and the people of France,

that the latter will endure the former so long as they will allow them

to lull themselves asleep with recollections of their past glory, and

neither the one nor the other sees that truth and honesty and freedom of

discussion are the best policy. He knows, though, there _is_ an answer;

and that is all I care about.

_October_ 22.--Another vile damp drizzling day. I do not know any

morning in my life so fit for work, on which I nevertheless, while

desirous of employing it to purpose, make less progress. A hang-dog

drowsy feeling wrought against me, and I was obliged to lay down the pen

and indulge myself in a drumly sleep.

The Haigs of Bemerside, Captain Hamilton, Mr. Bainbridge and daughter,

with young Nicol Milne and the Fergusons, dined here. Miss Haig sings

Italian music better than any person I ever heard out of the

Opera-house. But I am neither a judge nor admirer of the science. I do

not know exactly what is aimed at, and therefore cannot tell what is

attained. Had a letter from Colin Mackenzie, who has proposed himself

for the little situation in the Register House. I have written, him,

begging him to use the best interest in his own behalf, and never mind

me.

_October_ 23.--Another sullen rainy day. "Hazy weather, Mr. Noah," as

Punch says in the puppet-show.[61] I worked slow, however, and

untowardly, and fell one leaf short of my task.

Went to Selkirk, and dined with the forest Club, for the first time I

have been there this season. It was the collar-day, but being extremely

rainy, I did not go to see them course. _N.B._--Of all things, the

greatest bore is to hear a dull and bashful man sing a facetious song.

_October_ 24.--Vilely low in spirits. I have written a page and a half,

and doubt whether I can write more to-day. A thick throbbing at my

heart, and fancies thronging on me. A disposition to sleep, or to think

on things melancholy and horrible while I wake. Strange that one's

nerves should thus master them, for nervous the case is, as I know too

well. I am beginning to tire of my Journal, and no wonder, faith, if I

have only such trash as this to record. But the best is, a little

exertion or a change of the current of thought relieves me.

God, who subjects us to these strange maladies, whether of mind or body

I cannot say, has placed the power within our own reach, and we should

be grateful. I wrestled myself so far out of the Slough of Despond as to

take a good long walk, and my mind is restored to its elasticity. I did

not attempt to work, especially as we were going down to Mertoun, and

set off at five o'clock.

_October_ 25.--We arrived at Mertoun yesterday, and heard with some

surprise that George had gone up in an air balloon, and ascended two

miles and a half above this sublunary earth. I should like to have an

account of his sensations, but his letters said nothing serious about

them. Honest George, I certainly did not suspect him of being so

flighty! I visited the new plantations on the river-side with Mrs.

Scott; I wish her lord and master had some of her taste for planting.

When I came home I walked through the Rhymer's Glen, and I thought how

the little fall would look if it were heightened. When I came home a

surprise amounting nearly to a shock reached me in another letter from

L.J.S.[62] Methinks this explains the gloom which hung about me

yesterday. I own that the recurrence to these matters seems like a

summons from the grave. It fascinates me. I ought perhaps to have

stopped it at once, but I have not nerve to do so. Alas! alas!--But why

alas? _Humana perpessi sumus_.

_October 26._--Sent off copy to Ballantyne. Drove over to Huntly Burn at

breakfast, and walked up to the dike they are building for the new

plantation. Returned home. The Fergusons dined; and we had the kirn

Supper.[63] I never saw a set of finer lads and lasses, and blithely did

they ply their heels till five in the morning. It did me good to see

them, poor things.

_October 27._--This morning went again to Huntly Burn to breakfast.

There picked up Sir Adam and the Colonel, and drove down to old Melrose

to see the hounds cast off upon the Gateheugh, the high rocky

amphitheatre which encloses the peninsula of old Melrose, the Tweed

pouring its dark and powerful current between them. The galloping of the

riders and hallooing of the huntsmen, the cry of the hounds and the

sight of sly Reynard stealing away through the brakes, waked something

of the old spirit within me--

"Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires."

On return home I had despatches of consequence. John Gibson writes that

Lord Newton has decided most of the grand questions in our favour. Good,

that! Rev. Mr. Turner writes that he is desirous, by Lord Londonderry's

consent, to place in my hands a quantity of original papers concerning

the public services of the late Lord Londonderry, with a view to drawing

up a memoir of his life. Now this task they desire to transfer to me. It

is highly complimentary; and there is this of temptation in it, that I

should be able to do justice to that ill-requited statesman in those

material points which demand the eternal gratitude of his country. But

then for me to take this matter up would lead me too much into the

hackneyed politics of the House of Commons, which _odi et arceo_.

Besides, I would have to study the Irish question, and I detest study.

_Item_.--I might arrive at conclusions different from those of my Lord

of Londonderry, and I have a taste for expressing that which I think.

Fourthly, I think it is sinking myself into a party writer. Moreover, I

should not know what to say to the disputes with Canning; and, to

conclude, I think my Lord Londonderry, if he desired such a thing at my

hands, ought to have written to me. For all which reasons, good, bad,

and indifferent, I will write declining the undertaking.

_October_ 28.--Wrote several letters, and one to Mr. Turner, declining

the task of Lord Castlereagh's Memoirs,[64] with due acknowledgments.

Had his public and European politics alone been concerned, I would have

tried the task with pleasure. I wrote out my task and something more,

corrected proofs, and made a handsome remittance of copy to the press.

_October 31._--Just as I was merrily cutting away among my trees,

arrives Mr. Gibson with a melancholy look, and indeed the news he

brought was shocking enough. It seems Mr. Abud, the same Jew broker who

formerly was disposed to disturb me in London, has given the most

positive orders to take out diligence against me for his debt of £1500.

This breaks all the measures we had resolved on, and prevents the

dividend from taking place, by which many poor persons will be great

sufferers. For me the alternative will be more painful to my feelings

than prejudicial to my interest. To take out a sequestration and allow

the persons to take what they can get will be the inevitable

consequence. This will cut short my labour by several years, which I

might spend and spend in vain in labouring to meet their demands. No

doubt they may in the interim sell the liferent of this place, with the

books and furniture. But, perhaps, it may be possible to achieve some

composition which may save these articles, as I would make many

sacrifices for that purpose. Gibson strongly advises taking a

sequestration at all events. But if the creditors choose to let Mr. Abud

have his pound of flesh out of the first cut, my mind will not be

satisfied with the plan of deranging, for the pleasure of disappointing

him, a plan of payment to which all the others had consented. We will

know more on Saturday, and not sooner. I went to Bowhill with Sir Adam

Ferguson to dinner, and maintained as good a countenance in the midst of

my perplexities as a man need desire. It is not bravado; I literally

feel myself firm and resolute.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] "The Duke was then making a progress in the North of England, to

which additional importance was given by the uncertain state of

political arrangements; the chance of Lord Goderich's being able to

maintain himself as Canning's successor seeming very precarious, and the

opinion that his Grace must soon be called to a higher station than that

of Commander of the Forces, which he had accepted under the new Premier,

gaining ground every day. Sir Walter, who felt for the great Captain the

pure and exalted devotion that might have been expected from some

honoured soldier of his banners, accepted this invitation, and witnessed

a scene of enthusiasm with which its principal object could hardly have

been more gratified than he was."--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 156-7.

[46] See _Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey_ for Lord

Grey's opinion, vol. i. p. 60.

[47] Dr. William Van Mildert had been appointed to the See of Durham in

1826 on the death of Dr. Shute Barrington. He died in 1836.

[48] Admiral Sir John Beresford had some few years before this commanded

on the Leith Station--when Sir Walter and he saw a great deal of each

other--"and merry men were they."--J.G.L.

[49] An eye-witness writes:--"The manner in which Bishop Van Mildert

proceeded on this occasion will never be forgotten by those who know how

to appreciate scholarship without pedantry, and dignity without

ostentation. Sir Walter had been observed throughout the day with

extraordinary interest--I should say enthusiasm. The Bishop gave his

health with peculiar felicity, remarking that he could reflect upon the

labours of a long literary life, with the consciousness that everything

he had written tended to the practice of virtue, and to the improvement

of the human race."--Hon. Henry Liddell. _Life_, vol. ix. p. 160.

[50] _Histoire de la guerre de la Péninsule sous Napoléon_, etc. Publiée

par Madame la Comtesse Foy. Paris, 4 vols. 8vo, 1827. See _Croker_, vol.

i. p. 352.

[51] This story is told also in Lord Stanhope's _Conversations with the

Duke of Wellington_. 8vo, London, 1888, p. 54.

[52] The present generation are apt to forget the enormous sums spent in

Parliamentary elections; _e.g._, Mme. de Lieven tells Earl Grey (_Cor._

ii. p. 215) that Lord Ravensworth's neighbour, the Duke of

Northumberland, will subscribe £100,000 towards the election of 1831.

[53] Hugh, third Duke of Northumberland.

[54] Dr. Bethell, who had been tutor to the Duke of Northumberland, held

at this time the See of Gloucester.--J.G.L.

[55] Launcelot Brown, 1715-1782.

[56] A quarto volume, containing 39 etchings (privately printed in

1823), still preserved at Abbotsford.

[57] Mr. Archdeacon Singleton.--J.G.L.

[58] Stanhope's _Notes_, p. 24; and _Croker_, vol. ii. p. 233.

[59] From Stratford-on-Avon.

[60] For the utilisation of this story, see _Fair Maid of Perth_,

published in the following year.

[61] See M.G. Lewis's _Journal of a West Indian Proprietor_. 8vo, Lond.,

1834, p. 47; and Introduction to _Fair Maid of Perth_, p. 16.

[62] On the 13th of October Sir Walter had received a letter from "one

who had in former happy days been no stranger," and on turning to the

signature he found to his astonishment that it was from Lady Jane

Stuart, with whom he had had no communication since the memorable visit

he had made to Invermay in the autumn of 1796. The letter was simply a

formal request on behalf of a friend for permission to print some

ballads in Scott's handwriting which were in an album that had

apparently belonged to her daughter, yet it stirred his nature to its

depths. The substance of his reply may be gathered from the second

letter, which he had just read before making this sad entry in his

Journal.--Lady Jane tells him that she would convey to him the

Manuscript Book

--,"as a _secret_ and _sacred_ Treasure, could I but know that you

would take it as I give it without a drawback or misconstruction of

my intentions;"

and she adds--

"Were I to lay open my heart (of which you know little indeed) you

would find how it has and ever shall be warm towards you. My age

[she was then seventy-four] encourages me, and I have longed to tell

you. Not the mother who bore you followed you more anxiously (though

secretly) with her blessing than I! Age has tales to tell and

sorrows to unfold."

As is seen by his Journal Sir Walter resumed his personal intercourse

with his venerable friend on November 6th and continued it until her

death, which took place in the winter of 1829.--_Ante_, vol. i. p. 404,

and _Life_, vol. i. pp. 329-336.

[63] Kirn, the feast at the end of the harvest in Scotland.

[64] The correspondence of Robert, second Marquis of Londonderry, was

edited by his brother in 1850, but there was no memoir published until

Alison wrote the _Lives of Lord Castlereagh and Sir Charles Stewart,

Second and Third Marquesses of Londonderry_. 3 vols. 8vo, Edinburgh,

1861.

NOVEMBER

_November_ 1.--I waked in the night and lay two hours in feverish

meditation. This is a tribute to natural feeling. But the air of a fine

frosty morning gave me some elasticity of spirit. It is strange that

about a week ago I was more dispirited for nothing at all than I am now

for perplexities which set at defiance my conjectures concerning their

issue. I suppose that I, the Chronicler of the Canongate, will have to

take up my residence in the Sanctuary[65] for a week or so, unless I

prefer the more airy residence of the Calton Jail, or a trip to the Isle

of Man. These furnish a pleasing choice of expedients. It is to no

purpose being angry at Ehud or Ahab, or whatever name he delights in. He

is seeking his own, and thinks by these harsh measures to render his

road to it more speedy. And now I will trouble myself no more about the

matter than I can possibly help, which will be quite enough after all.

Perhaps something may turn up better for me than I now look for. Sir

Adam Ferguson left Bowhill this morning for Dumfriesshire. I returned to

Abbotsford to Anne, and told her this unpleasant news. She stood it

remarkably well, poor body.

_November_ 2.--I was a little bilious to-night--no wonder. Had sundry

letters without any power of giving my mind to answer them--one about

Gourgaud with his nonsense. I shall not trouble my head more on that

score. Well, it is a hard knock on the elbow; I knew I had a life of

labour before me, but I was resolved to work steadily; now they have

treated me like a recusant turnspit, and put in a red-hot cinder into

the wheel alongst with [me]. But of what use is philosophy--and I have

always pretended to a little of a practical character--if it cannot

teach us to do or suffer? The day is glorious, yet I have little will to

enjoy it, but sit here ruminating upon the difference and comparative

merits of the Isle of Man and of the Abbey. Small choice betwixt them.

Were a twelvemonth over, I should perhaps smile at what makes me now

very serious.

Smile!--No, that can never be. My present feelings cannot be recollected

with cheerfulness; but I may drop a tear of gratitude. I have finished

my _Tales_[66] and have now nothing literary in hand. It would be an

evil time to begin anything.

_November_ 3.--Slept ill, and lay one hour longer than usual in the

morning. I gained an hour's quiet by it, that is much. I feel a little

shaken at the result of to-day's post. Bad it must be, whatsoever be the

alternative. I am not able to go out, my poor workers wonder that I pass

them without a word. I can imagine no alternative but either retreat to

the Sanctuary or to the Isle of Man. Both shocking enough. But in

Edinburgh I am always near the scene of action, free from uncertainty

and near my poor daughter; so I think I will prefer it, and thus I rest

in unrest. But I will not let this unman me. Our hope, heavenly and

earthly, is poorly anchored, if the cable parts upon the strain. I

believe in God who can change evil into good; and I am confident that

what befalls us is always ultimately for the best. I have a letter from

Mr. Gibson, purporting the opinion of the trustees and committee of

creditors, that I should come to town, and interesting themselves warmly

in the matter. They have intimated that they will pay Mr. Abud a

composition of six shillings per pound on his debt. This is a handsome

offer, but I understand he is determined to have his pound of flesh. If

I can prevent it, he shall not take a shilling by his hard-hearted

conduct.

_November_ 4.--Put my papers in some order, and prepared for my journey.

It is in the style of the Emperors of Abyssinia who proclaim--Cut down

the Kantuffa in the four quarters of the world,--for I know not where I

am going. Yet, were it not for poor Anne's doleful looks, I would feel

firm as a piece of granite. Even the poor dogs seem to fawn on me with

anxious meaning, as if there were something going on they could not

comprehend. They probably notice the packing of the clothes, and other

symptoms of a journey.

Set off at twelve, firmly resolved in body and in mind. Dined at Fushie

Bridge. Ah! good Mrs. Wilson, you know not you are like to lose an old

customer.[67]

But when I arrived in Edinburgh at my faithful friend, Mr. Gibson's,

lo! the scene had again changed, and a new hare is started.[68]

The trustees were clearly of opinion that the matter should be probed to

the very bottom; so Cadell sets off to-morrow in quest of Robinson,

whose haunts he knows. There was much talk concerning what should be

done, how to protect my honour's person, and to postpone commencing a

defence which must make Ahab desperate, before we can ascertain that the

grounds are really tenable. This much I think I can see, that the

trustees will rather pay the debt than break off the trust and go into a

sequestration. They are clearly right for themselves, and I believe for

me also. Whether it is in human possibility that I can clear off these

obligations or not, is very doubtful. But I would rather have it written

on my monument that I died at the desk than live under the recollection

of having neglected it. My conscience is free and happy, and would be so

if I were to be lodged in the Calton Jail. Were I shirking exertion I

should lose heart, under a sense of general contempt, and so die like a

poisoned rat in a hole.

Dined with Gibson and John Home. His wife is a pretty lady-like woman.

Slept there at night.

_November_ 6.--I took possession of No. 6 Shandwick Place, Mrs. Jobson's

house. Mr. Cadell had taken it for me; terms £100 for four months--cheap

enough, as it is a capital house. I offered £5 for immediate entrance,

as I do not like to fly back to Abbotsford. So here we are established,

_i.e._ John Nicolson[69] and I, with good fires and all snug.

I waited on L.J.S.; an affecting meeting.[70]

Sir William Forbes came in before dinner to me, high-spirited noble

fellow as ever, and true to his friend. Agrees with my feelings to a

comma. He thinks Cadell's account must turn up trumps, and is for going

the vole.[71]

_November_ 7.--Began to settle myself this morning, after the hurry of

mind, and even of body, which I have lately undergone. Commenced a

review--that is, an essay, on Ornamental Gardening for the _Quarterly_.

But I stuck fast for want of books. As I did not wish to leave the mind

leisure to recoil on itself, I immediately began the Second Series of

the _Chronicles of Canongate_, the First having been well approved. I

went to make another visit, and fairly softened myself like an old fool,

with recalling old stories till I was fit for nothing but shedding

tears and repeating verses for the whole night. This is sad work. The

very grave gives up its dead, and time rolls back thirty years to add to

my perplexities. I don't care. I begin to grow over-hardened, and, like

a stag turning at bay, my naturally good temper grows fierce and

dangerous. Yet what a romance to tell, and told I fear it will one day

be. And then my three years of dreaming and my two years of wakening

will be chronicled doubtless. But the dead will feel no pain.

_November_ 8.--_Domum mansi, lanam feci_. I may borrow the old

sepulchral motto of the Roman matron. I stayed at home, and began the

third volume of _Chronicles_, or rather the first volume of the Second

Series.[72] This I pursued with little intermission from morning till

night, yet only finished nine pages. Like the machinery of a

steam-engine, the imagination does not work freely when first set upon a

new task.

_November_ 9.--Finished my task after breakfast, at least before twelve.

Then went to College to hear this most amusing good matter of the Essay

read.[73] _Imprimis_ occurs a dispute whether the magistrates, as

patrons of the University, should march in procession before the Royal

visitors; and it was proposed on our side that the Provost, who is

undoubtedly the first man in his own city, should go in attendance on

the Principal, with the Chairman of the Commission on the Principal's

right hand, and the whole Commission following, taking _pas_ of the

other Magistrates as well as of the Senatus Academicus--or whether we

had not better waive all question of precedence, and let the three

bodies find their way separately as they best could. This last method

was just adopted when we learned that the question was not in what order

of procession we should reach the place of exhibition, but whether we

were to get there at all, which was presently after reported as an

impossibility. The lads of the College had so effectually taken

possession of the class-room where the essay was to be read, that,

neither learning or law, neither Magistrates nor Magisters, neither

visitors nor visited, could make way to the scene of action. So we

grandees were obliged to adjourn the sederunt till Saturday the

17th--and so ended the collie-shangie.

_November_ 10.--Wrote out my task and little more. At twelve o'clock I

went to poor Lady J.S. to talk over old stories. I am not clear that it

is right or healthful indulgence to be ripping up old sorrows, but it

seems to give her deep-seated sorrow words, and that is a mental

bloodletting. To me these things are now matter of calm and solemn

recollection, never to be forgotten, yet scarce to be remembered with

pain.

We go out to Saint Catherine's[74] to-day. I am glad of it, for I would

not have these recollections haunt me, and society will put them out of

my head.

_November_ 11.--Sir William Rae read us prayers. Sauntered about the

doors, and talked of old cavalry stories. Then drove to Melville, and

saw the Lord and Lady, and family. I think I never saw anything more

beautiful than the ridge of Carnethy (Pentland) against a clear frosty

sky, with its peaks and varied slopes. The hills glowed like purple

amethysts, the sky glowed topaz and vermilion colours. I never saw a

finer screen than Pentland, considering that it is neither rocky nor

highly elevated.

_November_ 12.--I cannot say I lost a minute's sleep on account of what

the day might bring forth; though it was that on which we must settle

with Abud in his Jewish demand, or stand to the consequences. I

breakfasted with an excellent appetite, laughed in real genuine easy

fun, and went to Edinburgh, resolved to do what should best become me.

When I came home I found Walter, poor fellow, who had come down on the

spur, having heard from John Lockhart how things stand. Gibson having

taken out a suspension makes us all safe for the present. So we dined

merrily. He has good hopes of his Majesty, and I must support his

interest as well as I can. Wrote letters to Lady Shelley, John L., and

one or two chance correspondents. One was singular. A gentleman, writing

himself James Macturk, tells me his friends have identified him with

Captain Macturk of St. Ronan's Well, and finding himself much

inconvenienced by this identification, he proposes I should apply to the

King to forward his restoration and advance in the service (he writes

himself late Lieutenant 4th Dragoon Guards) as an atonement for having

occasioned him (though unintentionally no doubt) so great an injury.

This is one road to promotion, to be sure. Lieutenant Macturk is, I

suppose, tolerably mad.

We dined together, Anne, Walter, and I, and were happy at our reunion,

when, as I was despatching my packet to London,

In started to heeze up our howp[75]

John Gibson, radiant with good-natured joy. He had another letter from

Cadell, enclosing one from Robinson, in which the latter pledges himself

to make the most explicit affidavit.

On these two last days I have written only three pages, but not from

inaptitude or incapacity to labour. It is odd enough--I think it

difficult to place me in a situation of danger, or disagreeable

circumstances, purely personal, which would shake my powers of mind, yet

they sink under mere lowness of spirits, as this Journal bears evidence

in too many passages.

_November_ 13.--Wrote a little in the morning, but not above a page.

Went to the Court about one, returned, and made several visits with Anne

and Walter. Cadell came, glorious with the success of his expedition,

but a little allayed by the prospect of competition for the copyrights,

on which he and I have our eyes as joint purchasers. We must have them

if possible, for I can give new value to an edition corrected with

notes. _Nous verrons!_ Captain Musgrave, of the house of Edenhall, dined

with us. After dinner, while we were over our whisky and water and

cigars, enter the merry knight. Misses Kerr came to tea, and we had fun

and singing in the evening.

_November_ 14.--A little work in the morning, but no gathering to my

tackle. Went to Court, remained till nigh one. Then came through a

pitiless shower; dressed and went to the christening of a boy of John

Richardson's who was baptized Henry Cockburn. Read the _Gazette_ of the

great battle of Navarino, in which we have thumped the Turks very well.

But as to the justice of our interference, I will only suppose some

Turkish plenipotentiary, with an immense turban and long loose trousers,

comes to dictate to us the mode in which we should deal with our

refractory liegemen the Catholics of Ireland. We hesitate to admit his

interference, on which the Moslem admiral runs into Cork Bay or Bantry

Bay, alongside of a British squadron, and sends a boat to tow aside a

fire-ship. A vessel fires on the boat and sinks her. Is there an

aggression on the part of those who fired first, or of those whose

manoeuvres occasioned the firing?

Dined at Henry Cockburn's with the christening party.

_November_ 15.--Wrote a little in the morning. Detained in Court till

two; then returned home wet enough. Met with Chambers, and complimented

him about his making a clever book of the 1745 for Constable's

_Miscellany_. It is really a lively work, and must have a good sale.

Before dinner enter Cadell, and we anxiously renewed our plan for buying

the copyrights on 19th December. It is most essential that the whole of

the Waverley Novels should be kept under our management, as it is

called. I may then give them a new impulse by a preface and notes; and

if an edition, of say 30 volumes, were to be published monthly to the

tune of 5000, which may really be expected if the shops were once

cleared of the over-glut, it would bring in £10,000 clear profit, over

all outlay, and so pay any sum of copy-money that might be ventured. I

must urge these things to Gibson, for except these copyrights be saved

our plans will go to nothing.

Walter and Anne went to hear Madame Pasta sing after dinner. I remained

at home; wrote to Sir William Knighton, and sundry other letters of

importance.

_November_ 16.--There was little to do in Court to-day, but one's time

is squandered, and his ideas broken strangely. At three we had a select

meeting of the Gas Directors to consider what line we were to take in

the disastrous affairs of the company. Agreed to go to Parliament a

second time. James Gibson [Craig] and I to go up as our solicitors. So

curiously does interest couple up individuals, though I am sure I have

no objection whatever to Mr. James Gibson-Craig.[76]

_November_ 17.--Returned home in early time from the Court. Settled on

the review of Ornamental Gardening for Lockhart, and wrote hard. Want

several quotations, though--that is the bore of being totally without

books. Anne and I dined quietly together, and I wrote after tea--an

industrious day.

_November_ 18.--This has been also a day of exertion. I was interrupted

for a moment by a visit from young Davidoff with a present of a steel

snuff-box [Tula work], wrought and lined with gold, having my arms on

the top, and on the sides various scenes from the environs and principal

public buildings of St. Petersburg--a _joli cadeau_--and I take it very

kind of my young friend. I had a letter from his uncle, Denis Davidoff,

the black captain of the French retreat. The Russians are certainly

losing ground and men in Persia, and will not easily get out of the

scrape of having engaged an active enemy in a difficult and unhealthy

country. I am glad of it; it is an overgrown power; and to have them

kept quiet at least is well for the rest of Europe. I concluded the

evening--after writing a double task--with the trial of Malcolm

Gillespie, renowned as a most venturous excise officer, but now like to

lose his life for forgery. A bold man in his vocation he seems to have

been, but the law seems to have got round to the wrong side of him on

the present occasion.[77]

_November_ 19.--Corrected the last proof of _Tales of my Grandfather_.

Received Cadell at breakfast, and conversed fully on the subject of the

_Chronicles_ and the application of the price of 2d series, say £4000,

to the purchase of the moiety of the copyrights now in the market, and

to be sold this day month. If I have the command of a new Edition and

put it into an attractive shape, with notes, introductions, and

illustrations that no one save I myself can give, I am confident it will

bring home the whole purchase-money with something over, and lead to

the disposal of a series of the subsequent volumes of the following

works,

St. Ronan's Well, 3 vols.

Redgauntlet, 3 "

Tales of Crusaders, 4 "

Woodstock, 3 "

-----

13

make a series of 7 vols.! The two series of the _Chronicles_ and others

will be ready about the same time.

_November_ 20.--Wrought in the morning at the review, which I fear will

be lengthy. Called on Hector as I came home from the Court, and found

him better, and keeping a Highland heart. I came home like a crow

through the mist, half dead with a rheumatic headache caused by the

beastly north-east wind.

"What am I now when every breeze appals me?"[78] I dozed for

half-an-hour in my chair for pain and stupidity. I omitted to say

yesterday that I went out to Melville Castle to inquire after my Lord

Melville, who had broke his collar-bone by a fall from his horse in

mounting. He is recovering well, but much bruised. I came home with Lord

Chief-Commissioner Adam. He told me a dictum of old Sir Gilbert Elliot,

speaking of his uncles. "No chance of opulence," he said, "is worth the

risk of a competence." It was not the thought of a great man, but

perhaps that of a wise one. Wrought at my review, and despatched about

half or better, I should hope. I incline to longer extracts in the next

sheets.

_November_ 21.--Wrought at the review. At one o'clock I attended the

general meeting of the Union Scottish Assurance Company. There was a

debate arose whether the ordinary acting directors should or should not

have a small sum, amounting to about a crown a piece allotted to them

each day of their regular attendance. The proposal was rejected by many,

and upon grounds which sound very well,--such as the shabbiness of men

being influenced by a trifling consideration like this, and the

absurdity of the Company volunteering a bounty to one set of men, when

there are others willing to act gratuitously, and many gentlemen

volunteered their own services; though I cannot help suspecting that, as

in the case of ultroneous offers of service upon most occasions, it was

not likely to be acceptable. The motion miscarried, however--impoliticly

rejected, as I think. The sound of five shillings sounds shabby, but the

fact is that it does in some sort reconcile the party to whom it is

offered to leave his own house and business at an exact hour; whereas,

in the common case, one man comes too late--another does not come at

all--the attendance is given by different individuals upon different

days, so that no one acquires the due historical knowledge of the

affairs of the Company. Besides, the Directors, by taking even this

trifling sum of money, render themselves the paid servants of the

Company, and are bound to use a certain degree of diligence, much

greater than if they continued to serve, as hitherto, gratuitously. The

pay is like enlisting money which, whether great or small, subjects to

engagements under the Articles of war.

A china-merchant spoke,--a picture of an orator with bandy legs,

squinting eyes, and a voice like an ungreased cart-wheel--a liberty boy,

I suppose. The meeting was somewhat stormy, but I preserved order by

listening with patience to each in turn; determined that they should

weary out the patience of the meeting before I lost mine. An orator is

like a top. Let him alone and he must stop one time or another--flog

him, and he may go on for ever.

Dined with Directors, of whom I only knew the Manager, Sutherland

Mackenzie, Sir David Milne, and Wauchope, besides one or two old Oil Gas

friends. It went off well enough.

_November_ 22.--Wrought in the morning. Then made arrangements for a

dinner to celebrate the Duke of Buccleuch coming of age--that which was

to have been held at Melville Castle being postponed, owing to Lord M.'s

accident. Sent copy of Second Series of _Chronicles of Canongate_ to

Ballantyne.

_November_ 23.--I bilked the Court to-day, and worked at the review. I

wish it may not be too long, yet know not how to shorten it. The post

brought me a letter from the Duke of Buccleuch, acquainting me with his

grandmother, the Duchess-Dowager's death.[79] She was a woman of

unbounded beneficence to, and even beyond, the extent of her princely

fortune. She had a masculine courage, and great firmness in enduring

affliction, which pressed on her with continued and successive blows in

her later years. She was about eighty-four, and nature was exhausted; so

life departed like the extinction of a lamp for lack of oil. Our dinner

on Monday is put off. I am not superstitious, but I wish this festival

had not been twice delayed by such sinister accidents--first, the injury

sustained by Lord Melville, and then this event spreading crape like the

shroud of Saladin over our little festival.[80] God avert bad omens!

Dined with Archie Swinton. Company--Sir Alexander and Lady Keith, Mr.

and Mrs. Anderson, Clanronald, etc. Clanronald told us, as an instance

of Highland credulity, that a set of his kinsmen, Borradale and others,

believing that the fabulous Water Cow inhabited a small lake near his

house, resolved to drag the monster into day. With this view they

bivouacked by the side of the lake, in which they placed, by way of

night-bait, two small anchors, such as belong to boats, each baited with

the carcase of a dog slain for the purpose. They expected the Water Cow

would gorge on this bait, and were prepared to drag her ashore the next

morning, when, to their confusion of face, the baits were found

untouched. It is something too late in the day for setting baits for

Water Cows.[81]

_November_ 24.--Wrote at review in the morning. I have made my

revocation of the invitation for Monday. For myself it will give me time

to work. I could not get home to-day till two o'clock, and was quite

tired and stupid. So I did little but sleep or dose till dressing-time.

Then went to Sir David Wedderburn's, where I met three beauties of my

own day, Margaret Brown, Maria Brown, and Jane Wedderburn, now Lady

Wedderburn, Lady Hampden, and Mrs. Oliphant. We met the pleasant Irish

family of Meath. The resemblance between the Earl of Meath and the Duke

of Wellington is something remarkably striking--it is not only the

profile, but the mode of bearing the person, and the person itself. Lady

Theodora Brabazon, the Earl's daughter, and a beautiful young lady, told

me that in Paris her father was often taken for Lord Wellington.

_November_ 25.--This forenoon finished the review, and despatched it to

Lockhart before dinner. Will Clerk, Tom Thomson, and young Frank Scott

dined with me. We had a pleasant day. I have wrought pretty well to-day.

But I must

Do a little more

And produce a little ore.

_November_ 26.--Corrected proof-sheets of _Chronicles_ and _Tales_.

Advised Sheriff processes, and was busy.

Dined with Robert Dundas of Arniston, Lord Register, etc. An agreeable

evening.

_November_ 27.--Corrected proofs in the morning, and attended the Court

till one or two o'clock, Mr. Hamilton being again ill. I visited Lady S.

on my return. Came home too fagged to do anything to purpose.

Anecdote from George Bell. In the days of Charles II. or his brother,

flourished an old Lady Elphinstone, so old that she reached the

extraordinary period of 103. She was a keen Whig, so did not relish

Graham of Clavers. At last, having a curiosity to see so aged a person,

he obtained or took permission to see her, and asked her of the

remarkable things she had seen. "Indeed," said she, "I think one of the

most remarkable is, that when I entered the world there was one Knox

deaving us a' with his clavers, and now that I am going out of it, there

is one Clavers deaving us with his knocks."

_November_ 28.--Corrected proofs and went to Court. Returned about one,

and called on the Lord Chief-Baron. Dined with the Duchess of Bedford at

the Waterloo, and renewed, as I may say, an old acquaintance, which

began while her Grace was Lady Georgiana.[82] She has now a fine family,

two young ladies silent just now, but they will find their tongues, or

they are not right Gordons, a very fine child, Alister, who shouted,

sung, and spoke Gaelic with much spirit. They are from a shooting-place

in the Highlands, called Invereshie, in Badenoch, which the Duke has

taken to gratify the Duchess's passion for the heather.

_November_ 29.--My course of composition is stopped foolishly enough. I

have sent four leaves to London with Lockhart's review. I am very sorry

for this blunder, and here is another. Forgetting I had been engaged for

a long time to Lord Gillies--a first family visit too--the devil

tempted me to accept of the office of President of the Antiquarian

Society. And now they tell me people have come from the country to be

present, and so forth, of which I may believe as much as I may. But I

must positively take care of this absurd custom of confounding

invitations. My conscience acquits me of doing so by malice _prepense_,

yet one incurs the suspicion. At any rate it is uncivil and must be

amended. Dined at Lord C. Commissioner's--to meet the Duchess and her

party. She can be extremely agreeable, but I used to think her Grace

_journalière_. She may have been cured of that fault, or I may have

turned less jealous of my dignity. At all events let a pleasant hour go

by unquestioned, and do not let us break ordinary gems to pieces because

they are not diamonds. I forgot to say Edwin Landseer was in the

Duchess's train. He is, in my mind, one of the most striking masters of

the modern school. His expression both in man and animals is capital. He

showed us many sketches of smugglers, etc., taken in the Highlands, all

capital.

"Some gaed there, and some gaed here,

And a' the town was in a steer,

And Johnnie on his brocket mear,

He raid to fetch the howdie."

_November_ 30.--Another idle morning, with letters, however. Had the

great pleasure of a letter from Lord Dudley[83] acquainting me that he

had received his Majesty's commands to put down the name of my son

Charles for the first vacancy that should occur in the Foreign Office,

and at the same time to acquaint me with his gracious intentions, which

were signified in language the most gratifying to me. This makes me

really feel light and happy, and most grateful to the kind and gracious

sovereign who has always shown, I may say, so much friendship towards

me. Would to God _the King's errand might lie in the cadger's gait_,

that I might have some better way of showing my gratitude than merely

by a letter of thanks or this private memorandum of my gratitude. The

lad is a good boy and clever, somewhat indolent I fear, yet with the

capacity of exertion. Presuming his head is full enough of Greek and

Latin, he has now living languages to study; so I will set him to work

on French, Italian, and German, that, like the classic Cerberus, he may

speak a leash of languages at once. Dined with Gillies, very pleasant;

Lord Chief-Commissioner, Will Clerk, Cranstoun, and other old friends. I

saw in the evening the celebrated Miss Grahame Stirling, so remarkable

for her power of personifying a Scottish old lady. Unluckily she came

late, and I left early in the evening, so I could not find out wherein

her craft lay. She looked like a sensible woman. I had a conference with

my trustees about the purchase (in company with Cadell) of the

copyrights of the novels to be exposed to sale on the 19th December, and

had the good luck to persuade them fully of the propriety of the

project. I alone can, by notes and the like, give these works a new

value, and in fact make a new edition. The price is to be made good from

the Second Series _Chronicles of Canongate_, sold to Cadell for £4000;

and it may very well happen that we shall have little to pay, as part of

the copyrights will probably be declared mine by the arbiter, and these

I shall have without money and without price. Cadell is most anxious on

the subject. He thinks that two years hence £10,000 may be made of a new

edition.

FOOTNOTES:

[65] Holyrood remained an asylum for civil debtors until 1880, when by

the Act 43 & 44 Victoria, cap. 34 imprisonment for debt was abolished.

For description of bounds see _Chronicles of the Canongate,_ p. 7. (vol.

xli.).

[66] The book was published during November, under the following title,

_Chronicles of the Canongate_ (First Series). By the author of

_Waverley_, etc.--SIC ITUR AD ASTRA, motto of Canongate arms. In two

vols. _The Two Drovers_, _The Highland Widow_, _The Surgeon's Daughter_.

Edinburgh, printed for Cadell and Co., and Simpkin Marshall. London

1827.

The introduction to this work contains sketches of Scott's own life,

with portraits of his friends, unsurpassed in any of his earlier

writings; for example, what could be better than the description of his

ancestors the Scotts of Raeburn, vol. xli. p. 61:--

"_They werena ill to them, sir, and that is aye something; they were

just decent bien bodies. Ony poor creature that had face to beg got an

awmous and welcome; they that were shamefaced gaed by, and twice as

welcome. But they keepit an honest walk before God and man, the

Croftangrys, and as I said before, if they did little good, they did as

little ill. They lifted their rents and spent them; called in their kain

and eat them; gaed to the kirk of a Sunday, bowed civilly if folk took

aff their bannets as they gaed by, and lookit as black as sin at them

that keepit them on_."

[67] Mrs. Wilson, landlady of the inn at Fushie, one stage from

Edinburgh,--an old dame of some humour, with whom Sir Walter always had

a friendly colloquy in passing. I believe the charm was, that she had

passed her childhood among the Gipsies of the Border. But her fiery

Radicalism latterly was another source of high merriment.--J.G.L.

[68] The "new hare" was this: "It transpired in the very nick of time,

that a suspicion of usury attached to these Israelites without guile, in

a transaction with Hurst and Robinson, as to one or more of the bills

for which the house of Ballantyne had become responsible. This

suspicion, upon investigation, assumed a shape sufficiently tangible to

justify Ballantyne's trustees in carrying the point before the Court of

Session; but they failed to establish their allegation."--_Life_, vol.

ix. pp. 178-9.

[69] A favourite domestic at Abbotsford, whose name was never to be

mentioned by any of Scott's family without respect and

gratitude.--_Life_, vol. x. p. 3.

[70] Lady Jane Stuart's house was No. 12 Maitland Street, opposite

Shandwick Place. Mrs. Skene told Mr. Lockhart that at Sir Walter's first

meeting with his old friend a very painful scene occurred, and she

added--"I think it highly probable that it was on returning from this

call that he committed to writing the verses, _To Time_, by his early

favourite."--_Life_, vol. ix, p. 183.

The lines referred to are given below--

Friend of the wretch oppress'd with grief. Whose lenient hand, though

slow, supplies The balm that lends to care relief, That wipes her

tears--that checks her sighs!

'Tis thine the wounded soul to heal That hopeless bleeds for sorrow's

smart, From stern misfortune's shaft to steal The barb that rankles in

the heart.

What though with thee the roses fly, And jocund youth's gay reign is

o'er; Though dimm'd the lustre of the eye, And hope's vain dreams

enchant no more.

Yet in thy train come dove-eyed peace, Indifference with her heart of

snow; At her cold couch, lo! sorrows cease, No thorns beneath her roses

grow.

O haste to grant thy suppliant's prayer, To me thy torpid calm impart:

Rend from my brow youth's garland fair, But take the thorn that's in my

heart.

Ah! why do fabling poets tell That thy fleet wings outstrip the wind?

Why feign thy course of joy the knell, And call thy slowest pace unkind?

To me thy tedious feeble pace Comes laden with the weight of years; With

sighs I view morn's blushing face, And hail mild evening with my tears.

_--Life,_ vol. i. pp. 334-336.

[71] Sir William Forbes crowned his generous efforts for Scott's relief

by privately paying the whole of Abud's demand (nearly £2000) out of his

own pocket--ranking as an ordinary creditor for the amount; and taking

care at the same time that his old friend should be allowed to believe

that the affair had merged quietly in the general measures of the

trustees. In fact it was not until some time after Sir William's death

(in the following year) that Sir Walter learned what he had

done.--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 179.

[72] _St. Valentine's Day_ or _Fair Maid of Perth_.

[73] A Royal Commission, of which Sir Walter was a member, had been

appointed in 1826 to visit the Universities of Scotland. At the

suggestion of Lord Aberdeen, a hundred guinea prize had been offered for

the best essay on the national character of the Athenians. This prize,

which excited great interest among the Edinburgh students, was won by

John Brown Patterson, and ordered to be read before the Commissioners,

and the other public bodies, with the result described by Sir Walter. It

was read on the 17th November before a distinguished audience.

[74] Sir William Rae's house, in Liberton parish, near Edinburgh.

[75] From the old song _Andrew and his Cutty Gun_.

[76] Sir James Gibson-Craig, one of the Whig leaders, and a prominent

advocate of reform at the end of last century.

[77] Gillespie was tried at Aberdeen before Lord Alloway on September

26, and sentenced to be executed on Friday, 16th November 1827.

[78] Slightly altered from _Macbeth_, Act II. Sc. 2.

[79] Lady Elizabeth Montagu, daughter of George Duke of Montagu.

[80] Saladin's shroud, which was said to have been displayed as a

standard "to admonish the East of the instability of human

greatness."--GIBBON.

[81] The belief in the existence of the 'Water Cow' is not even yet

extinct in the Highlands. In Mr. J.H. Dixon's book on _Gairloch_, 8vo,

1886, it is said the monster lives or did live in Loch na Beiste! Some

years ago the proprietor, moved by the entreaties of the people, and on

the positive testimony of two elders of the Free Church, that the

creature was hiding in his loch, attempted its destruction by pumping

and running off the water; this plan having failed owing to the

smallness of the pumps, though it was persevered in for two years, he

next tried poisoning the water by emptying into the loch a quantity of

quick lime!!--Whatever harm was thus done to the trout none was

experienced by _the Beast_, which it is rumoured has been seen in the

neighbourhood as late as 1884 (p. 162). This transaction formed an

element in a case before the Crofters' Commission at Aultbea in May

1888.

[82] Daughter of Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon.

[83] Lord Dudley, then Secretary of State for the Foreign Department,

was an early friend of Scott's. He had been partly educated in

Edinburgh, under Dugald Stewart's care.

DECEMBER.

_December_ 1.--This morning again I was idle. But I must work, and so I

will to-morrow whether the missing sheets arrive, ay or no, by goles!

After Court I went with Lord Wriothesley Russell,[84] to Dalkeith House,

to see the pictures; Charles K. Sharpe alongst with us. We satisfied

ourselves that they have actually frames, and that, I think, was all we

could be sure of. Lord Wriothesley, who is a very pleasant young man,

well-informed, and with some turn for humour, dined with us, and Mr.

Davidoff met him. The Misses Kerr also dined and spent the evening with

us in that sort of society which I like best. Charles Sharpe came in and

we laughed over oysters and sherry,

"And a fig for your Sultan and Sophi."

_December_ 2.--Laboured to make lee-way, and finished nearly seven pages

to eke on to the end of the missing sheets when returned. I have yoked

Charles to Monsieur Surenne, an old soldier in Napoleon's Italian army,

and I think a clever little fellow, with good general ideas of

etymology. Signor Bugnie is a good Italian teacher; and for a German,

why, I must look about. It is not the least useful language of the

leash.

_December_ 3.--A day of petty business, which killed a holiday. Finished

my tale of the Mirror;[85] went with Tom Allan to see his building at

Lauriston, where he has displayed good taste--supporting instead of

tearing down or destroying the old chateau, which once belonged to the

famous Mississippi Law. The additions are in very good taste, and will

make a most comfortable house. Mr. Burn, architect, would fain have had

the old house pulled down, which I wonder at in him,[86] though it would

have been the practice of most of his brethren. When I came up to town I

was just in time for the Bannatyne Club, where things are going on

reasonably well. I hope we may get out some good historical documents in

the course of the winter. Dined at the Royal Society Club. At the

society had some essays upon the specific weight of the ore of

manganese, which was caviare to the President, and I think most of the

members. But it seemed extremely accurate, and I have little doubt was

intelligible to those who had the requisite key. We supped at Mr.

Russell's, where the conversation was as gay as usual. Lieut-Col.

Ferguson was my guest at the dinner.

_December_ 4.--Had the agreeable intelligence that Lord Newton had

finally issued his decree in my favour, for all the money in the bank,

amounting to £32,000. This will make a dividend of six shillings in the

pound, which is presently to be paid. A meeting of the creditors was

held to-day, at which they gave unanimous approbation of all that has

been done, and seemed struck by the exertions which had produced £22,000

within so short a space. They all separated well pleased. So far so

good. Heaven grant the talisman break not! I sent copy to Ballantyne

this morning, having got back the missing sheets from John Lockhart last

night. I feel a little puzzled about the character and style of the next

tale. The world has had so much of chivalry. Well, I will dine merrily,

and thank God, and bid care rest till to-morrow. How suddenly things are

overcast, and how suddenly the sun can break out again! On the 31st

October I was dreaming as little of such a thing as at present, when

behold there came tidings which threatened a total interruption of the

amicable settlement of my affairs, and menaced my own personal liberty.

In less than a month we are enabled to turn chase on my persecutors, who

seem in a fair way of losing their recourse upon us. _Non nobis,

Domine_.

_December_ 5.--I did a good deal in the way of preparing my new tale,

and resolved to make something out of the story of Harry Wynd. The North

Inch of Perth would be no bad name, and it may be possible to make a

difference betwixt the old Highlander and him of modern date. The fellow

that swam the Tay, and escaped, would be a good ludicrous character. But

I have a mind to try him in the serious line of tragedy. Miss Baillie

has made the Ethling[87] a coward by temperament, and a hero when

touched by filial affection. Suppose a man's nerves supported by

feelings of honour, or say by the spur of jealousy supporting him

against constitutional timidity to a certain point, then suddenly giving

way,--I think something tragic might be produced. James Ballantyne's

criticism is too much moulded upon the general taste of novels to admit,

I fear, this species of reasoning. But what can one do? I am hard up as

far as imagination is concerned, yet the world calls for novelty. Well,

I'll try my brave coward or cowardly brave man. _Valeat quantum_. Being

a teind day, remained at home, adjusting my ideas on this point until

one o'clock, then walked as far as Mr. Cadell's. Finally, went to dine

at Hawkhill with Lord and Lady Binning. Party were Lord

Chief-Commissioner, Lord Chief-Baron, Solicitor, John Wilson, Lord

Corehouse. The night was so dark and stormy that I was glad when we got

upon the paved streets.

_December_ 6.--Corrected proofs and went to Court. Bad news of Ahab's

case. I hope he won't beat us after all. It would be mortifying to have

them paid in full, as they must be while better men must lie by. _Spero

meliora_.

I think that copy of Beard's _Judgments_ is the first book which I have

voluntarily purchased for nearly two years. So I am cured of one folly

at least.[88]

_December_ 7.--Being a blank day in the rolls, I stayed at home and

wrote four leaves--not very freely or happily; I was not in the vein.

Plague on it! Stayed at home the whole day. There is one thing I believe

peculiar to me--I work, that is, meditate for the purpose of working,

best, when I have a _quasi_ engagement with some other book for example.

When I find myself doing ill, or like to come to a stand-still in

writing, I take up some slight book, a novel or the like, and usually

have not read far ere my difficulties are removed, and I am ready to

write again. There must be two currents of ideas going on in my mind at

the same time,[89] or perhaps the slighter occupation serves like a

woman's wheel or stocking to ballast the mind, as it were, by preventing

the thoughts from wandering, and so give the deeper current the power to

flow undisturbed. I always laugh when I hear people say, Do one thing at

once. I have done a dozen things at once all my life. Dined with the

family. After dinner Lockhart's proofs came in and occupied me for the

evening. I wish I have not made that article too long, and Lockhart will

not snip away.

_December_ 8.--Went to Court and stayed there a good while. Made some

consultations in the Advocates' Library, not furiously to the purpose.

Court in the morning. Sent off Lockhart's proof, which I hope will do

him some good. A precatory letter from Gillies. I must do Molière for

him, I suppose; but it is wonderful that knowing the situation I am in,

the poor fellow presses so hard. Sure, I am pulling for life, and it is

hard to ask me to pull another man's oar as well as my own. Yet, if I

can give a little help,

"We'll get a blessing wi' the lave,

And never miss 't."[90]

Went to John Murray's, where were Sir John Dalrymple and Lady, Sir John

Cayley, Mr. Hope Vere, and Lady Elizabeth Vere, a sister of the Marquis

of Tweeddale, and a pleasant sensible woman. Some turn for antiquity too

she shows--and spoke a good deal of the pictures at Yester. Henderland

was there too. Mrs. John Murray made some very agreeable music.

_December_ 9.--I set hard to work, and had a long day with my new tale.

I did about twelve leaves. Cadell came in, and we talked upon the great

project of buying in the copyrights. He is disposed to _finesse_ a

little about it, but I do not think it will do much good; all the fine

arguments will fly off and people just bid or not bid as the report of

the trade may represent the speculation as a good or bad one. I daresay

they will reach £7000; but £8000 won't stop us, and that for books

over-printed so lately and to such an extent is a pro-di-gi-ous price!

_December_ 10.--I corrected proofs and forwarded copy. Went out for an

hour to Lady J.S. Home and dozed a little, half stupefied with a cold in

my head--made up this Journal, however. Settled I would go to Abbotsford

on the 24th from Arniston. Before that time I trust the business of the

copyrights will be finally settled. If they can be had on anything like

fair terms, they will give the greatest chance I can see of extricating

my affairs. Cadell seems to be quite confident in the advantage of

making the purchase upon almost any terms, and truly I am of his

opinion. If they get out of Scotland it will not be all I can do that

will enable me to write myself a free man during the space I have to

remain in this world.

I smoked a couple of cigars for the first time since I came from the

country; and as Anne and Charles went to the play, I muddled away the

evening over my Sheriff-Court processes, and despatched a hugeous parcel

to Will Scott at Selkirk. It is always something off hand.

_December_ 11.--Wrote a little, and seemed to myself to get on. I went

also to Court. On return, had a formal communication from Ballantyne,

enclosing a letter from Cadell of an unpleasant tenor. It seems Mr.

Cadell is dissatisfied with the moderate success of the First Series of

_Chronicles;_[91] and disapproves of about half the volume already

written of the Second Series, obviously rueing his engagement. I have

replied that I was not fool enough to suppose that my favour with the

public could last for ever, and was neither shocked nor alarmed to find

that it had ceased now, as cease it must one day soon; it might he

inconvenient for me in some respects, but I would be quite contented to

resign the bargain rather than that more loss should be incurred. I saw,

I told them, no other receipt than lying lea for a little, while taking

a fallow-break to relieve my imagination, which may be esteemed nearly

cropped out. I can make shift for myself amid this failure of prospects;

but I think both Cadell and J.B. will be probable sufferers. However,

they are very right to speak their mind, and may be esteemed tolerably

good representatives of the popular taste. So I really think their

censure may be a good reason for laying aside this work, though I may

preserve some part of it till another day.

_December_ 12.--Reconsidered the probable downfall of my literary

reputation. I am so constitutionally indifferent to the censure or

praise of the world, that never having abandoned myself to the feelings

of self-conceit which my great success was calculated to inspire, I can

look with the most unshaken firmness upon the event as far as my own

feelings are concerned. If there be any great advantage in literary

reputation, I have had it, and I certainly do not care for losing it.

They cannot say but what I _had_ the _crown_. It is unhappily

inconvenient for my affairs to lay by my [work] just now, and that is

the only reason why I do not give up literary labour; but, at least, I

will not push the losing game of novel-writing. I will take back the

sheets now objected to, but it cannot be expected that I am to write

upon return. I cannot but think that a little thought will open some

plan of composition which may promise novelty at the least. I suppose I

shall hear from or see these gentlemen to-day; if not, I must send for

them to-morrow. How will this affect the plan of going shares with

Cadell in the novels of earlier and happier date? Very-much, I doubt,

seeing I cannot lay down the cash. But surely the trustees may find some

mode of providing this, or else with cash to secure these copyrights. At

any rate, I will gain a little time for thought and discussion.

Went to Court. At returning settled with Chief-Commissioner that I

should receive him on 26th December at Abbotsford.

After all, may there not be, in this failure to please, some reliques of

the very unfavourable matters in which I have been engaged of late,--the

threat of imprisonment, the resolution to become insolvent? I cannot

feel that there is. What I suffer by is the difficulty of not setting my

foot upon such ground as I have trod before, and thus instead of

attaining novelty I lose spirit and nature. On the other hand, who

would 'thank me for "repented sheets"? Here is a good joke enough, lost

to all who have not known the Clerk's table before the Jurisdiction Act.

My two learned Thebans are arrived, and departed after a long

consultation. They deprecated a fallow-break as ruin. I set before them

my own sense of the difficulties and risks in which I must be involved

by perseverance, and showed them I could occupy my own time as well for

six months or a twelvemonth, and let the public gather an appetite. They

replied (and therein was some risk) that the expectation would in that

case be so much augmented that it would be impossible for any mortal to

gratify it. To this is to be added what they did not touch upon--the

risk of being thrust aside altogether, which is the case with the horses

that neglect keeping the lead when once they have got it. Finally, we

resolved the present work should go on, leaving out some parts of the

Introduction which they object to. They are good specimens of the public

taste in general; and it is far best to indulge and yield to them,

unless I was very, _very_ certain that I was right and they wrong.

Besides, I am not afraid of their being hypercritical in the

circumstances, being both sensible men, and not inclined to sacrifice

chance of solid profit to the vagaries of critical taste. So the word is

"as you were."

_December_ 13.--A letter from Lockhart announcing that Murray of

Albemarle Street would willingly give me my own terms for a volume on

the subject of planting and landscape gardening. This will amuse me very

much indeed. Another proposal invites me, on the part of Colburn, to

take charge of the Garrick papers. The papers are to be edited by

Colman, and then it is proposed to me to write a life of Garrick in

quarto.[92] Lockhart refused a thousand pounds which were offered, and

_carte blanche_ was then sent. But I will not budge. My book and

Colman's would run each other down. It is an attempt to get more from

the public out of the subject than they will endure. Besides, my name

would be only useful in the way of _puff_, for I really know nothing of

the subject. So I will refuse; that's flat.

Having turned over my thoughts with some anxiety about the important

subject of yesterday, I think we have done for the best. If I can rally

this time, as I did in the Crusaders, why, there is the old trade open

yet. If not, retirement will come gracefully after my failure. I must

get the return of the sales of the three or four last novels so as to

judge what style of composition has best answered. Add to this, giving

up just now loses £4000 to the trustees, which they would not

understand, whatever may be my nice authorial feelings. And moreover, it

ensures the purchase of the copyrights--_i.e._ almost ensures them.

_December_ 14.--Summoned to pay arrears of our unhappy Oil Gas

concern--£140--which I performed by draft on Mr. Cadell. This will pinch

a little close, but it is a debt of honour, and must be paid. The public

will never bear a public man who shuns either to draw his purse or his

sword when there is an open and honest demand on him.

_December_ 15.--Worked in the morning on the sheets which are to be

cancelled, and on the Tale of _St. Valentine's Eve_--a good title, by

the way. Had the usual _quantum sufficit_ of the Court, which, if it did

not dissipate one's attention so much, is rather an amusement than

otherwise. But the plague is to fix one's attention to the sticking

point, after it has been squandered about for two or three hours in such

a way. It keeps one, however, in the course and stream of actual life,

which is a great advantage to a literary man.

I missed an appointment, for which I am very sorry. It was about our

Advocates' Library, which is to be rebuilt. During all my life we have

mismanaged the large funds expended on the rooms of our library,

totally mistaking the objects for which a library is built; and instead

of taking a general and steady view of the subject, patching up

disconnected and ill-sized rooms, totally unequal to answer the

accommodation demanded, and bestowing an absurd degree of ornament and

finery upon the internal finishing. All this should be reversed: the new

library should be calculated upon a plan which ought to suffice for all

the nineteenth century at least, and for that purpose should admit of

being executed progressively; then there should be no ornament other

than that of strict architectural proportion, and the rooms should be

accessible one through another, but divided with so many partitions, as

to give ample room for shelves. These small rooms would also facilitate

the purposes of study. Something of a lounging room would not be amiss,

which might serve for meetings of Faculty occasionally. I ought to take

some interest in all this, and I do. So I will attend the next meeting

of committee. Dined at Baron Hume's, and met General Campbell of

Lochnell, and his lady.

_December_ 16.--Worked hard to-day and only took a half hour's walk with

Hector Macdonald! Colin Mackenzie unwell; his asthma seems rather to

increase, notwithstanding his foreign trip! Alas! long-seated complaints

defy Italian climate. We had a small party to dinner. Captain and Mrs.

Hamilton, Davidoff, Frank Scott, Harden, and his chum Charles Baillie,

second son of Mellerstain, who seems a clever young man.[93] Two or

three of the party stayed to take wine and water.

_December_ 17.--Sent off the beginning of the _Chronicles_ to

Ballantyne. I hate cancels; they are a double labour.

Mr. Cowan, Trustee for Constable's creditors, called in the morning by

appointment, and we talked about the upset price of the copyrights of

Waverley, etc. I frankly told him that I was so much concerned that

they should remain more or less under my control, that I was willing,

with the advice of my trustees, to offer a larger upset than that of

£4750, which had been fixed, and that I proposed the price set up should

be £250 for the poetry, Paul's letters, etc., and £5250 for the novels,

in all £5500; but that I made this proposal under the condition, that in

case no bidding should ensue, then the copyrights should be mine so soon

as the sale was adjourned, without any one being permitted to bid after

the sale. It is to be hoped this high upset price will

"Fright the fuds

Of the pock-puds."

This speculation may be for good or for evil, but it tends incalculably

to increase the value of such copyrights as remain in my own person;

and, if a handsome and cheap edition of the whole, with notes, can be

instituted in conformity with Cadell's plan, it must prove a mine of

wealth, three-fourths of which will belong to me or my creditors. It is

possible, no doubt, that the works may lose their effect on the public

mind; but this must be risked, and I think the chances are greatly in

our favour. Death (my own I mean) would improve the property, since an

edition with a Life would sell like wildfire. Perhaps those who read

this prophecy may shake their heads and say, "Poor fellow, he little

thought how he should see the public interest in him and his

extinguished even during his natural existence." It may be so, but I

will hope better. This I know, that no literary speculation ever

succeeded with me but where my own works were concerned; and that, on

the other hand, these have rarely failed. And so--_Vogue la galère!_

Dined with the Lord Chief-Commissioner, and met Lord and Lady Binning,

Lord and Lady Abercromby, Sir Robert O'Callaghan, etc. These dinners put

off time well enough, and I write so painfully by candle-light that they

do not greatly interfere with business.

_December_ 18.--Poor Huntly Gordon writes me in despair about £180 of

debt which he has incurred. He wishes to publish two sermons which I

wrote for him when he was taking orders; but he would get little money

for them without my name, and that is at present out of the question.

People would cry out against the undesired and unwelcome zeal of him who

stretched out his hands to help the ark with the best intentions, and

cry sacrilege. And yet they would do me gross injustice, for I would, if

called upon, die a martyr for the Christian religion, so completely is

(in my poor opinion) its divine origin proved by its beneficial effects

on the state of society. Were we but to name the abolition of slavery

and of polygamy, how much has in these two words been granted to mankind

by the lessons of our Saviour![94]

_December_ 19.--Wrought upon an introduction to the notices which have

been recovered of George Bannatyne,[95] author, or rather transcriber,

of the famous Repository of Scottish Poetry, generally known by the

Bannatyne MS. They are very _jejune_ these same notices--a mere record

of matters of business, putting forth and calling in of sums of money,

and such like. Yet it is a satisfaction to learn that this great

benefactor to the literature of Scotland lived a prosperous life, and

enjoyed the pleasures of domestic society, and, in a time peculiarly

perilous, lived unmolested and died in quiet.

At eleven o'clock I had an appointment with a person unknown. A youth

had written me, demanding an audience. I excused myself by alleging the

want of leisure, and my dislike to communicate with a person perfectly

unknown on unknown business. The application was renewed, and with an

ardour which left me no alternative, so I named eleven this day. I am

too much accustomed to the usual cant of the followers of the muses who

endeavour by flattery to make their bad stale butter make amends for

their stinking fish. I am pretty well acquainted with that sort of

thing. I have had madmen on my hands too, and once nearly was Kotzebued

by a lad of the name of Sharpe. All this gave me some curiosity, but it

was lost in attending to the task I was engaged in; when the door opened

and in walked a young woman of middling rank and rather good address,

but something resembling our secretary David Laing, if dressed in female

habiliments. There was the awkwardness of a moment in endeavouring to

make me understand that she was the visitor to whom I had given the

assignation. Then there were a few tears and sighs. "I fear, Madam, this

relates to some tale of great distress." "By no means, sir;" and her

countenance cleared up. Still there was a pause; at last she asked if it

were possible for her to see the king. I apprehended then that she was a

little mad, and proceeded to assure her that the king's secretary

received all such applications as were made to his Majesty, and disposed

of them. Then came the mystery. She wished to relieve herself from a

state of bondage, and to be rendered capable of maintaining herself by

acquiring knowledge. I inquired what were her immediate circumstances,

and found she resided with an uncle and aunt. Not thinking the case

without hope, I preached the old doctrine of patience and resignation, I

suppose with the usual effect.

Went to the Bannatyne Club; and on the way met Cadell out of breath,

coming to say he had bought the copyrights after a smart contention. Of

this to-morrow. There was little to do at the club.

Afterwards dined with Lord and Lady Abercromby, where I met my old and

kind friend, Major Buchanan of Cambusmore. His father was one of those

from whom I gained much information about the old Highlanders, and at

whose house I spent many merry days in my youth.[96] The last time I saw

old Cambusmore was in----. He sat up an hour later on the occasion,

though then eighty-five. I shall never forget him, and was delighted to

see the Major, who comes seldom to town.

_December_ 20.--Anent the copyrights--the pock-puds were not frightened

by our high price. They came on briskly, four or five bidders abreast,

and went on till the lot was knocked down to Cadell at £8400; a very

large sum certainly, yet he has been offered profit on it already. For

my part I think the loss would have been very great had we suffered

these copyrights to go from those which we possessed. They would have

been instantly stereotyped and forced on the market to bring home the

price, and by this means depreciated for ever, and all ours must have

shared the same fate. Whereas, husbanded and brought out with care, they

cannot fail to draw in the others in the same series, and thus to be a

sure and respectable source of profit. Considered in this point of view,

even if they were worth only the £8400 to others, they were £10,000 to

us. The largeness of the price arising from the activity of the contest

only serves to show the value of the property.[97] Had at the same time

the agreeable intelligence that the octavo sets, which were bought by

Hurst and Company at a depreciated rate, are now rising in the market,

and that instead of 1500 sold, they have sold upwards of 2000 copies.

This mass will therefore in all probability be worn away in a few months

and then our operations may commence. On the whole, I am greatly pleased

with the acquisition. If this first series be worth £8400, the remaining

books must be worth £10,000, and then there is _Napoleon_, which is

gliding away daily, for which I would not take the same sum, which would

come to £24,200 in all for copyrights; besides £20,000 payable by

insurance.[98] Add the value of my books and furniture, plate, etc.,

there would be £50,000. So this may be considered my present progress.

There will still remain upwards of £35,000.

"Heaven's arm strike with us--'tis a fearful odds."[99]

Yet with health and continued popularity there are chances in my favour.

Dine at James Ballantyne's, and happy man is he at the result of the

sale; indeed it must have been the making or marring of him. Sir Henry

Steuart there, who "fooled me to the top of my bent."

_December_ 21.--A very sweet pretty-looking young lady, the Prima Donna

of the Italian Opera, now performing here, by name Miss Ayton,[100] came

to breakfast this morning, with her father, (a bore, after the manner of

all fathers, mothers, aunts, and other chaperons of pretty actresses)!

Miss Ayton talks very prettily, and, I dare say, sings beautifully,

though too much in the Italian manner, I fear, to be a great favourite

of mine. But I did not hear her, being called away by the Clerk's coach.

I am like Jeremy in _Love for Love_[101]--have a reasonable good ear for

a jig, but your solos and sonatas give me the spleen.

Called at Cadell's, who is still enamoured of his bargain, and with

good reason, as the London booksellers were offering him £1000 or £2000

to give it up to them. He also ascertained that all the copies with

which Hurst and Robinson loaded the market would be off in a half year.

Make us thankful! the weather is clearing to windward. Cadell is

cautious, steady, and hears good counsel; and Gibson quite inclined,

were I too confident, to keep a good look-out ahead.

_December_ 22.--Public affairs look awkward. The present Ministry are

neither Whig nor Tory, and, divested of the support of either of the

great parties of the State, stand supported by the will of the sovereign

alone. This is not constitutional, and though it may be a temporary

augmentation of the sovereign's personal influence, yet it cannot but

prove hurtful to the Crown upon the whole, by tending to throw that

responsibility on the Sovereign of which the law has deprived him. I

pray to God I may be wrong, but an attempt to govern _par bascule_--by

trimming betwixt the opposite parties--is equally unsafe for the crown

and detrimental to the country, and cannot do for a long time. The fact

seems to be that Lord Goderich, a well-meaning and timid man, finds

himself on a precipice--that his head is grown dizzy and he endeavours

to cling to the person next him. This person is Lord Lansdowne, who he

hopes may support him in the House of Lords against Lord Grey, so he

proposes to bring Lord Lansdowne into the Cabinet. Lord G. resigns, and

his resignation is accepted. Lord Harrowby is then asked to place

himself at the head of a new Administration,--declines. The tried

abilities of Marquis Wellesley are next applied to; it seems he also

declines, and then Lord Goderich comes back, his point about Lord

Lansdowne having failed, and his threatened resignation goes for

nothing. This must lower the Premier in the eyes of every one. It is

plain the K. will not accept the Whigs; it is equally plain that he has

not made a move towards the Tories, and that with a neutral

administration, this country, hard ruled at anytime, can he long

governed, I, for one, cannot believe. God send the good King, to whom I

owe so much, as safe and honourable extrication as the circumstances

render possible.[102]

After Court Anne set out for Abbotsford with the Miss Kerrs. I came off

at three o'clock to Arniston, where I found Lord Register and lady, R.

Dundas and lady, Robt. Adam Dundas, Durham of Calderwood and lady, old

and young friends. Charles came with me.

_December_ 23.--Went to church to Borthwick with the family, and heard a

well-composed, well-delivered, sensible discourse from Mr. Wright,[103]

the clergyman--a different sort of person, I wot, from my old half-mad,

half-drunken, little hump-back acquaintance Clunie,[104] renowned for

singing "The Auld Man's Mear's dead," and from the circumstance of his

being once interrupted in his minstrelsy by the information that his own

horse had died in the stable.

After sermon we looked at the old castle, which made me an old man. The

castle was not a bit older for the twenty-five years which had passed

away, but the ruins of the visitor were very apparent; to climb up round

staircases, to creep through vaults and into dungeons, were not the

easy labours but the positive sports of my younger years; but that time

is gone by, and I thought it convenient to attempt no more than the

access to the large and beautiful hall in which, as it is somewhere

described, an armed horseman might brandish his lance. The feeling of

growing and increasing inability is painful to one like me, who boasted,

in spite of my infirmity, great boldness and dexterity in such feats;

the boldness remains, but hand and foot, grip and accuracy of step, have

altogether failed me; the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and

so I must retreat into the invalided corps and tell them of my former

exploits, which may very likely pass for lies. We drove to Dalhousie

Castle, where the gallant Earl, who had done so much to distinguish the

British name in all and every quarter of the globe, is repairing the

castle of his ancestors, which of yore stood a siege against John of

Gaunt. I was Lord Dalhousie's companion at school, where he was as much

beloved by his companions as he has been ever respected by his

companions-in-arms, and the people over whom he has been deputed to

exercise the authority of his sovereign. He was always steady, wise, and

generous. The old Castle of Dalhousie--_potius Dalwolsey_--was mangled

by a fellow called, I believe, Douglas, who destroyed, as far as in him

lay, its military and baronial character, and roofed it after the

fashion of a poor-house. The architect, Burn, is now restoring and

repairing in the old taste, and I think creditably to his own feeling.

God bless the roof-tree!

We returned home through the Temple banks by the side of the South Esk,

where I had the pleasure to see that Robert Dundas is laying out his

woods with taste, and managing them with care. His father and uncle took

notice of me when I was a "fellow of no mark or likelihood," and I am

always happy in finding myself in the old oak room at Arniston, where I

have drunk many a merry bottle, and in the fields where I have seen many

a hare killed.

_December_ 24.--Left Arniston after breakfast and arrived to dinner at

Abbotsford.

My reflections on entering my own gate were of a very different and more

pleasing cast than those with which I left my house about six weeks ago.

I was then in doubt whether I should fly my country or become avowedly

bankrupt, and surrender my library and household furniture, with the

liferent of my estate, to sale. A man of the world will say I had better

done so. No doubt had I taken this course at once, I might have employed

the £25,000 which I made since the insolvency of Constable and

Robinson's houses in compounding my debts. But I could not have slept

sound as I now can, under the comfortable impression of receiving the

thanks of my creditors and the conscious feeling of discharging my duty

like a man of honour and honesty. I see before me a long tedious and

dark path, but it leads to true fame and stainless reputation. If I die

in the harrows, as is very likely, I shall die with honour; if I achieve

my task I shall have the thanks of all concerned, and the approbation of

my own conscience. And so I think I can fairly face the return of

Christmas Day.

_December_ 25.--- I drove over to Huntly Burn, and saw the plantation

which is to be called Janeswood, in honour of my daughter-in-law. All

looking well and in order. Before dinner, arrived Mrs. George Ellis and

her nephew and niece, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Ellis, whom I was delighted

to see, as there are a thousand kind recollections of old days. Mrs.

George Ellis is less changed in manner and appearance than any one I

know. The gay and light-hearted have in that respect superiority over

those who are of a deeper mould and a heavier. There is something even

in the slightness and elasticity of person which outlasts the ponderous

strength which is borne down by its own weight. Colonel Ellis is an

enthusiastic soldier: and, though young, served in Spain and at

Waterloo.

"And so we held our Christmastide

With mirth and burly cheer."

_December_ 26.--Colonel Ellis and I took a pretty long walk round by the

glen, etc., where I had an extraordinary escape from the breaking down

of a foot-bridge as I put my foot upon it. I luckily escaped either

breaking my leg by its passing through the bridge in so awkward a

manner, or tearing it by some one of the hundred rusty nails through

which it fell. However, I was not, thanks to Heaven, hurt in the

slightest degree. Tom Purdie, who had orders to repair the bridge long

since, was so scandalised at the consequence of his negligence that the

bridge is repaired by the time I am writing this. But how the noiseless

step of Fate dogs us in our most seeming safe and innocent sports.

On returning home we were joined by the Lord Chief-Commissioner, the

Lord Chief Baron, and William Clerk, of gentlemen; and of ladies, Miss

Adam and young Miss Thomson of Charlton. Also the two Miss Kerrs, Lord

Robert's daughters, and so behold us a gallant Christmas party, full of

mirth and harmony. Moreover, Captain John Ferguson came over from Huntly

Burn, so we spent the day jocundly. I intend to take a holiday or two

while these friends are about us. I have worked hard enough to merit it,

and

"... Maggie will not sleep

For that, ere summer."[105]

_December_ 27.--This morning we took a drive up the Yarrow in great

force, and perambulated the Duchess's Walk with all the force of our

company. The weather was delightful, the season being considered; and

Newark Castle, amid its leafless trees, resembled a dear old man who

smiles upon the ruins which time has spread around him. It is looking

more venerable than formerly, for the repairs judiciously undertaken

have now assumed colouring congenial with the old walls; formerly, they

had a raw and patchy appearance. I have seldom seen the scene look

better even when summer smiled upon it.

I have a letter from James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, asking me to

intercede with the Duke of Buccleuch about his farm.[106] He took this

burthen upon himself without the advice of his best friends, and

certainly contrary to mine. From the badness of the times it would have

been a poor speculation in any hands, especially in those of a man of

letters, whose occupation, as well as the society in which it involves

him, [are so different]. But I hope this great family will be kind to

him; if not, _cela ne vaudra pas à moi_. But I cannot and ought not to

look for having the same interest with this gentleman which I exercised

in the days of Duke Charles.

_December_ 28.--A demand from Cadell to prepare a revised copy of the

_Tales of my Grandfather_ for the press.[107] I received it with great

pleasure, for I always had private hopes of that work. If I have a knack

for anything it is for selecting the striking and interesting points out

of dull details, and hence, I myself receive so much pleasure and

instruction from volumes which are generally reputed dull and

uninteresting. Give me facts, I will find fancy for myself. The first

two volumes of these little tales are shorter than the third by seventy

or eighty pages. Cadell proposes to equalise them by adding part of vol.

ii. to vol. i., and of vol. iii. to vol. ii. But then vol. i. ends with

the reign of Robert Bruce, vol. ii. with the defeat of Flodden; happy

points of pause which I cannot think of disturbing, the first in

particular, for surely we ought to close one volume at least of Scottish

history at a point which leaves the kingdom triumphant and happy; and,

alas! where do her annals present us with such an era excepting after

Bannockburn? So I will set about to fill up the volumes, which are too

short, with some additional matter, and so diminish at least, if we

cannot altogether remove, their unsightly inequality in size. The rest

of the party went to Dryburgh--too painful a place of pilgrimage for

me.[108] I walked with the Lord Chief Commissioner through our grounds

at Huntly Burn, and by taking the carriage now and then I succeeded in

giving my excellent old friend enough of exercise without any fatigue.

We made our visit at Huntly Burn.

_December_ 29.--Lord Chief-Baron, Lord Chief-Commissioner, Miss Adam,

Miss Anstruther Thomson, and William Clerk left us. We read prayers, and

afterwards walked round the terrace.

I had also time to work hard on the additions to the _Tales of a

Grandfather_, vols. 1 and 2. The day passed pleasantly over.

_December_ 30.--The Fergusons came over, and we welcomed in the New Year

with the usual forms of song and flagon.

Looking back to the conclusion of 1826, I observe that the last year

ended in trouble and sickness, with pressures for the present and gloomy

prospects for the future. The sense of a great privation so lately

sustained, together with the very doubtful and clouded nature of my

private affairs, pressed hard upon my mind. I am now perfectly well in

constitution; and though I am still on troubled waters, yet I am rowing

with the tide, and less than the continuation of my exertions of 1827

may, with God's blessing, carry me successfully through 1828, when we

may gain a more open sea, if not exactly a safe port. Above all, my

children are well. Sophia's situation excites some natural anxiety; but

it is only the accomplishment of the burthen imposed on her sex. Walter

is happy in the view of his majority, on which matter we have favourable

hopes from the Duke of Wellington. Anne is well and happy. Charles's

entry upon life under the highest patronage, and in a line for which I

hope he is qualified, is about to take place presently.

For all these great blessings it becomes me well to be thankful to God,

who in his good time and good pleasure sends us good as well as evil.

FOOTNOTES:

[84] The Duchess of Bedford's eldest son.

[85] _My Aunt Margaret's Mirror_.

[86] Sir Walter need have expressed no surprise at this architect's

desire to pull down the old house of Lauriston! The present generation

can judge of Mr. Burn's appreciation of ancient Architecture by looking

at the outside of St. Giles, Edinburgh.--It was given over to his tender

mercies in 1829, a picturesque old building, and it left his hands in

1834 a bit of solid well-jointed mason-work with all Andrew

Fairservice's "whigmaleeries, curliewurlies, and open steek hems" most

thoroughly removed!--_Rob Roy_, vol. viii. pp. 29-30. Fortunately the

tower and crown were untouched, and the interior, which was injured in a

less degree, has, through the liberality and good taste of the late

William Chambers, been restored to its original stateliness.

[87] See Ethwald, _Plays on the Passions_, vol. ii., Lond. 1802.

[88] Alluding to an entry in the _Journal_, that he had expended 30s. in

the purchase of the _Theatre of God's Judgment_, 1612, a book which is

still in the Abbotsford Library.

[89] See note to May 30, 1827, vol. i. p. 398.

[90] Burns's lines _To a Mouse_.

[91] _Ante_, p. 60. The book had only been published two months. "The

Second Series," when published in the following year, contained _St.

Valentine's Eve, or the Fair Maid of Perth_; the two stories objected

to, viz.: _My Aunt Margaret's Mirror_ and the _Laird's Jock_ appeared in

the _Keepsake_ of 1828, and were afterwards included in vol. xli. of the

_Magnum Opus_.

[92] The Garrick papers were published under the title _Private

Correspondence, of David Garrick, illustrated with notes and Memoir_. 2

vols. 4to, London, 1831-32. [Edited by James Boaden.]

[93] Afterwards Judge in the Court of Session under the title of Lord

Jerviswoode.

[94] A few days later, however, the following reply was sent:--"Dear

Gordon,--As I have no money to spare at present, I find it necessary to

make a sacrifice of my own scruples to relieve you from serious

difficulties. The enclosed will entitle you to deal with any respectable

bookseller. You must tell the history in your own way as shortly as

possible. All that is necessary to say is that the discourses were

written to oblige a young friend. It is understood my name is not to be

put in the title-page, or blazed at full length in the preface. You may

trust that to the newspapers.

"Pray do not think of returning any thanks about this; it is enough that

I know it is likely to serve your purpose. But use the funds arising

from this unexpected source with prudence, for such fountains do not

spring up at every place of the desert. I am, in haste, ever yours most

truly, Walter Scott"--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 205.

[95] Issued in 1829 as No. 33 of the Bannatyne Club Books. _Memorials of

George Bannatyne_, 1545-1608, with Memoir by Sir Walter Scott.

[96] It was thus that the scenery of Loch Katrine came to be so

associated with the recollection of many a dear friend and merry

expedition of former days, that to compose the _Lady of the Lake_ was a

labour of love, and no less so to recall the manners and incidents

introduced.--_Life_, vol. i. p. 296.

[97] See note, Jan. 8, 1828, pp. 107-8.

[98] On his own life.

[99] See _Henry V._, Act IV. Sc. 3.

[100] The Edinburgh play-bills of the day intimate the "Second

appearance of Miss Fanny Ayton, Prima Donna of the King's Theatre."

[101] By Congreve--Act II. Sc. 7.

[102] The dissolution of the Goderich Cabinet confirmed very soon these

shrewd guesses; and Sir Walter anticipated nothing but good from the

Premiership of the Duke of Wellington.--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 188.

[103] The Rev. Thomas Wright was minister of Borthwick from 1817 to

1841, when he was deposed on the ground of alleged heresy. His works,

_The True Plan of a Living Temple_, _Morning and Evening Sacrifice_,

_Farewell to Time_, _My Old House_, etc., were published anonymously.

Mr. Wright lived in Edinburgh for fourteen years after his deposition,

much beloved and respected; he died on 13th March 1855 in his

seventy-first year.

[104] Rev. John Clunie, Mr. Wright's predecessor in the parish, of whom,

many absurd stories were told, appears to have been an enthusiastic

lover of Scottish songs, as Burns in 1794 says it was owing to his

singing _Ca' the yowes to the knowes_ so charmingly that he took it down

from his voice, and sent it to Mr. Thomson.--Currie's _Burns_, vol. iv.

p. 100, and Chambers's _Scottish Songs_, 2 vols. Edin. 1829, p. 269.

[105] See Burns's "Auld Farmer's New-year Salutation."

[106] "Mount Benger," of which Hogg had taken a lease on his marriage,

in 1820, and found that he could not make it pay.

[107] The first series had just been published under the following

title: _Tales of a Grandfather, being stories taken from Scottish

History_. Humbly inscribed to Hugh Littlejohn, Esq., in three volumes.

Printed for Cadell and Co., Edinburgh, Simpkin and Marshall, London, and

John Cumming, Dublin, 1828.

[108] During Sir Walter's illness in 1818-19 Mr. Skene was with him at

Abbotsford, and he records a curious incident regarding Dryburgh which

may be given here:--"For nearly two years he had to struggle for his

life with that severe illness, which the natural strength of his

constitution at length proved sufficient to throw off. With its

disappearance, although restored to health, disappeared also much of his

former vigour of body, activity, and power of undergoing fatigue, while

in personal appearance he had advanced twenty years in the downward

course of life; his hair had become bleached to pure white and scanty

locks; the fire of his eye quenched; and his step, more uncertain, had

lost the vigorous swinging gait with which he was used to proceed; in

fact, old age had by many years anticipated its usual progress and

marked how severely he had suffered. The complaint, that of gall-stones,

was one of extreme bodily suffering. During his severest attack he had

been alone at Abbotsford with his daughter Sophia, before her marriage

to Mr. Lockhart, and had sent to say that he was desirous I should come

to him, which I did, and remained for ten days till the attack had

subsided. During its course the extreme violence of the pain end

spasmodic contraction of the muscles of the stomach were such that I

scarcely expected the powers of endurance could sustain him through the

trial, and so much at times was he exhausted by it as to leave us in

alarm as to what the result had actually been. One night I shall not

soon forget: he had been frequently and severely ill during the day, and

having been summoned to his room in the middle of the night, where his

daughter was already standing, the picture of deep despair, at his

bed-side, the attack seemed intense, and we followed the directions left

by the physician to assuage it. At length it seemed to subside, and he

fell back exhausted on the pillow, his eyes were closed, and his

countenance wan and livid. Apparently with corresponding misgivings, his

daughter at one side of the bed and I at the other gazed for some time

intently and in silence on his countenance, and then glanced with

anxious inquiring looks to each other, till, at length, having placed my

finger on his pulse, to ascertain whether it had actually ceased to

throb, I shall never forget the sudden beam which again brightened his

daughter's countenance, and for a moment dispelled the intense

expression of anxiety which had for some time overspread it, when Sir

Walter, aware of my feeling his pulse, and the probable purpose,

whispered, with a faint voice, but without opening his eyes, 'I am not

_yet_ gone.' After some time he revived, and gave us a proof of the

mastery of his mind over the sufferings of the body. 'Do you recollect,'

he said to me, 'a small round turret near the gate of the Monastery of

Aberbrothwick, and placed so as to overhang the street?' Upon answering

that I did perfectly, and that a picturesque little morsel it was, he

said, 'Well, I was over there when a mob had assembled, excited by some

purpose, which I do not recollect, but failing of their original

intention, they took umbrage at the little venerable emblem of

aristocracy, which still bore its weather-stained head so conspicuously

aloft, and, resolving to humble it with the dust, they got a stout

hawser from a vessel in the adjoining harbour, which a sailor lad,

climbing up, coiled round the body of the little turret, and the rabble

seizing the rope by both ends tugged and pulled, and laboured long to

strangle and overthrow the poor old turret, but in vain, for it

withstood all their endeavours. Now that is exactly the condition of my

poor stomach: there is a rope twisted round it, and the malicious devils

are straining and tugging at it, and, faith, I could almost think that I

sometimes hear them shouting and cheering each other to their task, and

when they are at it I always have the little turret and its tormentors

before my eyes.' He complained that particular ideas fixed themselves

down upon his mind, which he had not the power of shaking off; but this

was, in fact, the obvious consequence of the quantity of laudanum which

it was necessary for him to swallow to allay the spasms.

"After he had got some repose, and had become rather better in the

morning, he said, with a smile on his countenance, 'If you will promise

not to laugh at me I have a favour to ask. Do you know I have taken a

childish desire to see the place where I am to be laid when I go home,

which there is some probability may not now be long delayed. Now, as I

cannot go to Dryburgh Abbey--that is out of the question at present--it

would give me much pleasure if you would take a ride down and bring me a

drawing of that spot, which he minutely described the position of, and

mentioned the exact point where he wished it drawn, that the site of his

future grave might appear. His wish was accordingly complied

with."--_Reminiscences_.

1828.

JANUARY.

"As I walked by myself,

I talked to myself,

And thus myself said to me."

_January_ 1.--Since the 20th November 1825, for two months that is, and

two years, I have kept this custom of a diary. That it has made me wiser

or better I dare not say, but it shows by its progress that I am capable

of keeping a resolution. Perhaps I should not congratulate myself on

this; perhaps it only serves to show I am more a man of method and less

a man of originality, and have no longer that vivacity of fancy that is

inconsistent with regular labour. Still, should this be the case, I

should, having lost the one, be happy to find myself still possessed of

the other.

_January_ 2.--_Cæcæ mentes hominum_.--My last entry records my

punctuality in keeping up my diary hitherto; my present labour,

commenced notwithstanding the date, upon the 9th January, is to make up

my little record betwixt the second and that latter date. In a word, I

have been several days in arrear without rhyme or reason,--days too when

there was so little to write down that the least jotting would have done

it. This must not be in future.

_January_ 3.--Our friends begin to disperse. Mrs. Ellis, who has been

indisposed for the last two days, will I hope bear her journey to London

well. She is the relict of my dear old friend George Ellis,[109] who had

more wit, learning, and knowledge of the world than would fit out twenty

_literati_. The Hardens remained to-day, and I had a long walk with the

laird up the Glen, and so forth. He seemed a little tired, and, with all

due devotion to my Chief, I was not sorry to triumph over some one in

point of activity at my time of day.

_January_ 4.--Visited by Mr. Stewart of Dalguise, who came to collect

materials for a description of Abbotsford, to be given with a drawing in

a large work, _Views of Gentlemen's Seats._ Mr. Stewart is a

well-informed gentleman-like young man, grave and quiet, yet possessed

of a sense of humour. I must take care he does not in civility over-puff

my little assemblage of curiosities. Scarce anything can be meaner than

the vanity which details the contents of China closets,--basins, ewers,

and chamberpots. Horace Walpole, with all his talents, makes a silly

figure when he gives an upholsterer's catalogue of his goods and

chattels at Strawberry Hill.

_January_ 5.--This day I began to review Taschereau's _Life of Molière_

for Mr. Gillies, who is crying help for God's sake. Messrs. Treuttel and

Wurtz offer guerdon. I shall accept, because it is doing Gillies no good

to let him have my labour for nothing, and an article is about £100. In

my pocket it may form a fund to help this poor gentleman or others at a

pinch; in his, I fear it would only encourage a neglect of sober

economy. When in his prosperity he asked me whether there was not, in my

opinion, something interesting in a man of genius being in embarrassed

circumstances. God knows he has had enough of them since, poor fellow;

and it should be remembered that if he thus dallied with his good

fortune, his benevolence to others was boundless.

We had the agreeable intelligence of Sophia being safely delivered of a

girl; the mother and child doing well. Praised be God!

_January_ 6.--I have a letter from the Duke of Wellington, making no

promises, but assuring me of a favourable consideration of Walter's

case, should an opening occur for the majority. This same _step_ is

represented as the most important, but so in their time were the

lieutenancy and the troop. Each in its turn was _the_ step _par

excellence_. It appears that these same steps are those of a treadmill,

where the party is always ascending and never gains the top. But the

same simile would suit most pursuits in life.

The Misses Kerr left us on Friday--two charming young persons,

well-looked, well-mannered, and well-born; above all, well-principled.

They sing together in a very delightful manner, and our evenings are the

duller without them.

I am annoyed beyond measure with the idle intrusion of voluntary

correspondents; each man who has a pen, ink, and sheet of foolscap to

spare, flies a letter at me. I believe the postage costs me £100 [a

year], besides innumerable franks; and all the letters regard the

writer's own hopes or projects, or are filled with unasked advice or

extravagant requests. I think this evil increases rather than

diminishes. On the other hand, I must fairly own that I have received

many communications in this way worth all the trouble and expense that

the others cost me, so I must "lay the head of the sow to the tail of

the grice," as the proverb elegantly expresses itself.

News again of Sophia and baby. Mrs. Hughes thinks the infant a beauty.

Johnnie opines that it is not _very_ pretty, and grandpapa supposes it

to be like other new-born children, which are as like as a basket of

oranges.

_January_ 7.--Wrought at the review, and finished a good lot of it. Mr.

Stewart left us, amply provided with the history of Abbotsford and its

contents. It is a kind of Conundrum Castle to be sure, and I have great

pleasure in it, for while it pleases a fantastic person in the style and

manner of its architecture and decoration, it has all the comforts of a

commodious habitation.

Besides the review, I have been for this week busily employed in

revising for the press the _Tales of a Grandfather_. Cadell rather

wished to rush it out by employing three different presses, but this _I

repressed_ (smoke the pun!). I will not have poor James Ballantyne

driven off the plank to which we are all three clinging.[110] I have

made great additions to volume first, and several of these _Tales_; and

I care not who knows it, I think well of them. Nay, I will hash history

with anybody, be he who he will.[111] I do not know but it would be wise

to let romantic composition rest, and turn my mind to the history of

England, France, and Ireland, to be _da capo rota'd,_ as well as that of

Scotland. Men would laugh at me as an author for Mr. Newbery's shop in

Paul's Churchyard. I should care little for that. _Virginibus

puerisque._ I would as soon compose histories for boys and girls, which

may be useful, as fictions for children of a larger growth, which can at

best be only idle folk's entertainment. But write what I will, or to

whom I will, I am doggedly determined to write myself out of the present

scrape by any labour that is fair and honest.

_January_ 8.--Despatched my review (in part), and in the morning walked

from Chiefswood, all about the shearing flats, and home by the new walk,

which I have called the Bride's Walk, because Jane was nearly stuck fast

in the bog there, just after her marriage, in the beginning of 1825.

My post brings serious intelligence to-day, and of a very pleasing

description. Longman and Company, with a reserve which marks all their

proceedings, suddenly inform Mr. Gibson that they desire 1000 of the 8vo

edition of _St. Ronan's Well,_ and the subsequent series of Novels

thereunto belonging, for that they have only _seven_ remaining, and wish

it to be sent to their printers, and pushed out in three months. Thus

this great house, without giving any previous notice of the state of the

sale, expect all to be boot and saddle, horse and away, whenever they

give the signal. In the present case this may do, because I will make

neither alteration nor addition till our grand _opus_, the Improved

Edition, goes to press. But ought we to go to press with this 1000

copies knowing that our project will supersede and render equivalent to

waste paper such of them as may not reach the public before our plan is

publicly known and begins to operate? I have, I acknowledge, doubt as to

this. No doubt I feel perfectly justified in letting Longman and Co.

look to their own interest, since they have neither consulted me nor

attended to mine. But the loss might extend to the retail booksellers;

and to hurt the men through whom my works are ultimately to find their

way to the public would be both unjust and impolitic. On the contrary,

if the _St. Ronan_ Series be hurried out immediately, there is time

enough perhaps to sell it off before the Improved Edition appears. In

the meantime it appears that the popularity of these works is increasing

rather than diminishing, that the measure of securing the copyrights was

most judicious, and that, with proper management, things will work

themselves round. Successful first editions are good, but they require

exertion and imply fresh risk of reputation. But repeated editions tell

only to the agreeable part of literature.[112]

Longman and Company have also at length opened their oracular jaws on

the subject of _Bonaparte_, and acknowledged its rapid sale, and the

probable exhaustion of the present edition.

These tidings, with the success of the _Tales_, "speak of Africa and

golden joys."[113] But the tidings arriving after dinner rather

discomposed me. In the evening I wrote to Cadell and Ballantyne at

length, proposing a meeting at my house on Tuesday first, to hold a

privy council.

_January_ 9.--My first reflection was on Napoleon. I will not be hurried

in my corrections of that work; and that I may not be so, I will begin

them the instant that I have finished the review. It makes me tremble to

think of the mass of letters I have to look through in order to select

all those which affect the subject of _Napoleon_, and which, in spite of

numerous excellent resolutions, I have never separated from the common

file from which they are now to be selected. Confound them! but they

_are_ confounded already. Indolence is a delightful indulgence, but at

what a rate we purchase it! To-day we go to Mertoun, and having spent

some time in making up my Journal to this length, and in a chat with

Captain John, who dropped in, I will presently set to the review--knock

it off, if possible, before we start at five o'clock. To-morrow, when I

return, we will begin the disagreeable task of a thorough rummage of

papers, books, and documents. My character as a man of letters, and as a

man of honour, depends on my making that work as correct as possible. It

has succeeded, notwithstanding every effort here and in France[114] to

put it down, and it shall not lose ground for want of backing. We went

to dine and pass the night at Mertoun, where we met Sir John Pringle,

Mr. and Mrs. Baillie Mellerstain, and their daughters.

_January_ 10.--When I rose this morning the weather was changed and the

ground covered with snow. I am sure it's winter fairly. We returned from

Mertoun after breakfast through an incipient snowstorm, coming on

partially, and in great flakes, the sun bursting at intervals through

the clouds. At last _Die Wolken laufen zusammen_. We made a slow journey

of it through the swollen river and heavy roads, but here we are at

last.

I am rather sorry we expect friends to-day, though these friends be the

good Fergusons. I have a humour for work, to which the sober, sad

uniformity of a snowy day always particularly disposes me, and I am sure

I will get poor Gillies off my hand, at least if I had morning and

evening. Then I would set to work with arranging everything for these

second editions of _Napoleon, The Romances_, etc., which must be soon

got afloat. I must say "the wark gangs bonnily on."[115] Well, I will

ring for coals, mend my pen, and try what can be done.

I wrought accordingly on Gillies's review for the _Life of Molière_, a

gallant subject. I am only sorry I have not time to do it justice. It

would have required a complete re-perusal of his works, for which, alas!

I have no leisure.

"For long, though pleasant, is the way,

And life, alas! allows but one ill winter's day."

Which is too literally my own case.

_January_ 11.--Renewed my labour, finished the review, _talis qualis_,

and sent it off. Commenced then my infernal work of putting to rights.

Much cry and little woo', as the deil said when he shore the sow. But I

have detected one or two things that had escaped me, and may do more

to-morrow. I observe by a letter from Mr. Cadell that I had somewhat

misunderstood his last. It is he, not Longman, that wishes to publish

the thousand copies of _St. Ronan's_ Series, and there is no immediate

call for _Napoleon_. This makes little difference in my computation. The

pressing necessity of correction is put off for two or three months

probably, and I have time to turn myself to the _Chronicles_. I do not

much like the task, but when did I ever like labour of any kind? My

hands were fully occupied to-day with writing letters and adjusting

papers--both a great bore.

The news from London assure a change of Ministry. The old Tories come in

play. But I hope they will compromise nothing. There is little danger

since Wellington takes the lead.

_January_ 12.--My expenses have been considerably more than I expected;

but I think that, having done so much, I need not undergo the

mortification of giving up Abbotsford and parting with my old habits and

servants.[116]

_January_ 13, _[Edinburgh]._--We had a slow and tiresome retreat from

Abbotsford through the worst of weather, half-sleet, half-snow. Dined

with the Royal Society Club, and, being an anniversary, sat till nine

o'clock, instead of half-past seven.

_January_ 14.--I read Cooper's new novel, _The Red Rover_; the current

of it rolls entirely upon the ocean. Something there is too much of

nautical language; in fact, it overpowers everything else. But, so

people once take an interest in a description, they will swallow a great

deal which they do not understand. The sweet word "Mesopotamia" has its

charm in other compositions as well as in sermons. He has much genius, a

powerful conception of character, and force of execution. The same

ideas, I see, recur upon him that haunt other folks. The graceful form

of the spars, and the tracery of the ropes and cordage against the sky,

is too often dwelt upon.

_January_ 15.--This day the Court sat down. I missed my good friend

Colin Mackenzie, who proposes to retire, from indifferent health. A

better man never lived--eager to serve every one--a safeguard over all

public business which came through his hands. As Deputy-Keeper of the

Signet he will be much missed. He had a patience in listening to every

one which is of the [highest consequence] in the management of a public

body; for many men care less to gain their point than they do to play

the orator, and be listened to for a certain time. This done, and due

quantity of personal consideration being gained, the individual orator

is usually satisfied with the reasons of the civil listener, who has

suffered him to enjoy his hour of consequence. I attended the Court, but

there was very little for me to do. The snowy weather has annoyed my

fingers with chilblains, and I have a threatening of rheumatism--which

Heaven avert!

James Ballantyne and Mr. Cadell dined with me to-day and talked me into

a good humour with my present task, which I had laid aside in disgust.

It must, however, be done, though I am loth to begin to it again.

_January_ 16.--Again returned early, and found my way home with some

difficulty. The weather--a black frost powdered with snow, my fingers

suffering much and my knee very stiff. When I came home, I set to work,

but not to the _Chronicles_. I found a less harassing occupation in

correcting a volume or two of _Napoleon_ in a rough way. My indolence,

if I can call it so, is of a capricious kind. It never makes me

absolutely idle, but very often inclines me--as it were from mere

contradiction's sake--to exchange the task of the day for something

which I am not obliged to do at the moment, or perhaps not at all.

_January_ 17.--My knee so swelled and the weather so cold that I stayed

from Court. I nibbled for an hour or two at _Napoleon_, then took

handsomely to my gear, and wrote with great ease and fluency six pages

of the _Chronicles_. If they are but tolerable I shall be satisfied. In

fact, such as they are, they must do, for I shall get warm as I work, as

has happened on former occasions. The fact is, I scarce know what is to

succeed or not; but this is the consequence of writing too much and too

often. I must get some breathing space. But how is that to be managed?

There is the rub.

_January_ 18-19.--Remained still at home, and wrought hard. The fountain

trickles free enough, but God knows whether the waters will be worth

drinking. However, I have finished a good deal of hard work,--that's the

humour of it.

_January_ 20.--Wrought hard in the forenoon. At dinner we had Helen

Erskine,--whom circumstances lead to go to India in search of the

domestic affection which she cannot find here,--Mrs. George Swinton, and

two young strangers: one, a son of my old friend Dr. Stoddart of the

_Times_, a well-mannered and intelligent youth, the other that unnatural

character, a tame Irishman, resembling a formal Englishman.

_January_ 21.--This morning I sent J.B. as far as page forty-three,

being fully two-thirds of the volume. The rest I will drive on, trusting

that, contrary to the liberated posthorse in John Gilpin, the lumber of

the wheels rattling behind me may put spirit in the poor brute who has

to drag it.

Mr. and Mrs. Moscheles were here at breakfast. She is a very pretty

little Jewess; he one of the greatest performers on the pianoforte of

the day,--certainly most surprising and, what I rather did not expect,

pleasing.

I have this day the melancholy news of Glengarry's death, and was

greatly shocked. The eccentric parts of his character, the pretensions

which he supported with violence and assumption of rank and authority,

were obvious subjects of censure and ridicule, which in some points were

not undeserved. He played the part of a chieftain too nigh the life to

be popular among an altered race, with whom he thought, felt, and acted,

I may say in right and wrong, as a chieftain of a hundred years since

would have done, while his conduct was viewed entirely by modern eyes,

and tried by modern rules.[117]

_January_ 22.--I am, I find, in serious danger of losing the habit of my

Journal; and, having carried it on so long, that would be pity. But I am

now, on the 1st February, fishing for the lost recollections of the days

since the 21st January. Luckily there is not very much to remember or

forget, and perhaps the best way would be to skip and go on.

_January_ 23.--Being a Teind day, I had a good opportunity of work. I

should have said I had given breakfast on the 21st to Mr. and Mrs.

Moscheles; she a beautiful young creature, "and one that adores me," as

Sir Toby says,[118]--that is, in my poetical capacity;--in fact, a frank

and amiable young person. I liked Mr. Moscheles' playing better than I

could have expected, considering my own bad ear. But perhaps I flatter

myself, and think I understood it better than I did. Perhaps I have not

done myself justice, and know more of music than I thought I did. But it

seems to me that his variations have a more decided style of originality

than those I have commonly heard, which have all the signs of a _da capo

rota_.

Dined at Sir Archibald Campbell's,[119] and drank rather more wine than

usual in a sober way. To be sure, it was excellent, and some old

acquaintances proved a good excuse for the glass.

_January_ 24.--I took a perverse fit to-day, and went off to write

notes, et cetera, on _Guy Mannering_. This was perverse enough; but it

was a composition between humour and duty; and as such, let it pass.

_January_ 25.--I went on working, sometimes at my legitimate labours,

sometimes at my jobs of Notes, but still working faithfully, in good

spirits, and contented.

Huntly Gordon has disposed of the two sermons[120] to the bookseller

Colburn for £250--well sold, I think--and is to go forth immediately.

The man is a puffing quack; but though I would rather the thing had not

gone there, and far rather that it had gone nowhere, yet, hang it! if it

makes the poor lad easy, what needs I fret about it? After all, there

would be little gain in doing a kind thing, if you did not suffer pain

or inconvenience upon the score.

_January_ 26.--Being Saturday, attended Mr. Moscheles' concert, and was

amused; the more so that I had Mrs. M. herself to flirt a little with.

To have so much beauty as she really possesses, and to be accomplished

and well-read, she is an unaffected and pleasant person. Mr. Moscheles

gives lessons at two guineas by the hour, and he has actually found

scholars in this poor country. One of them at least (Mrs. John Murray)

may derive advantage from his instructions; for I observe his mode of

fingering is very peculiar, as he seems to me to employ the fingers of

the same hand in playing the melody and managing the bass at the same

time, which is surely most uncommon.

I presided at the Celtic Society's dinner to-day, and proposed

Glengarry's memory, which, although there had been a rough dispute with

the Celts and the poor Chief, was very well received. I like to see men

think and bear themselves like men. There were fewer in the tartan than

usual--which was wrong.

_January_ 27.--Wrought manfully at the _Chronicles_ all this day and

have nothing to jot down; only I forgot that I lost my lawsuit some day

last week or the week before. The fellow therefore gets his money, plack

and bawbee, but it's always a troublesome claim settled,[121] and there

can be no other of the same kind, as every other creditor has accepted

the composition of _7s._ in the £, which my exertions have enabled me to

pay them. About £20,000 of the fund had been created by my own exertions

since the bankruptcy took place, and I had a letter from Donald Horne,

by commission of the creditors, to express their sense of my exertions

in their behalf. All this is consolatory.

_January_ 28.--I am in the scrape of sitting for my picture, and had to

repair for two hours to-day to Mr. Colvin Smith--Lord Gillies's nephew.

The Chief Baron[122] had the kindness to sit with me great part of the

time, as the Chief Commissioner had done on a late occasion. The picture

is for the Chief Commissioner, and the Chief Baron desires a copy. I

trust it will he a good one. At home in the evening, and wrote. I am

well on before the press, notwithstanding late hours, lassitude, and

laziness. I have read Cooper's _Prairie_--better, I think, than his _Red

Rover_, in which you never get foot on shore, and to understand entirely

the incidents of the story it requires too much knowledge of nautical

language. It's very clever, though.[123]

_January_ 29.--This day at the Court, and wrote letters at home, besides

making a visit or two--rare things with me. I have an invitation from

Messrs Saunders and Otley, booksellers, offering me from £1500 to £2000

annually to conduct a journal; but I am their humble servant. I am too

indolent to stand to that sort of work, and I must preserve the

undisturbed use of my leisure, and possess my soul in quiet. A large

income is not my object; I must clear my debts; and that is to be done

by writing things of which I can retain the property. Made my excuses

accordingly.

_January_ 30.--After Court hours I had a visit from Mr. Charles Heath,

the engraver, accompanied by a son of Reynolds the dramatist. His object

was to engage me to take charge as editor of a yearly publication called

_The Keepsake,_ of which the plates are beyond comparison beautiful, but

the letter-press indifferent enough. He proposed £800 a year if I would

become editor, and £400 if I would contribute from seventy to one

hundred pages. I declined both, but told him I might give him some

trifling thing or other, and asked the young men to breakfast the next

day. Worked away in the evening and completed, "in a way and in a

manner," the notes on _Guy Mannering_. The first volume of the

_Chronicles_ is now in Ballantyne's hands, all but a leaf or two. Am I

satisfied with my exertions? So so. Will the public be pleased with

them? Umph! I doubt the bubble will burst. While it is current, however,

it is clear I should stand by it. Each novel of three volumes brings

£4000, and I remain proprietor of the mine when the first ore is cropped

out. This promises a good harvest, from what we have experienced. Now,

to become a stipendiary editor of a New-Year's Gift-Book is not to be

thought of, nor could I agree to work for any quantity of supply to such

a publication. Even the pecuniary view is not flattering, though these

gentlemen meant it should be so. But one hundred of their close-printed

pages, for which they offer £400, is not nearly equal to one volume of a

novel, for which I get £1300, and have the reversion of the copyright.

No, I may give them a trifle for nothing, or sell them an article for a

round price, but no permanent engagement will I make. Being the

Martyrdom, there was no Court. I wrought away with what appetite I

could.

_January_ 31.--I received the young gentlemen to breakfast and expressed

my resolution, which seemed to disappoint them, as perhaps they expected

I should have been glad of such an offer. However, I have since thought

there are these rejected parts of the _Chronicles_, which Cadell and

Ballantyne criticised so severely, which might well enough make up a

trifle of this kind, and settle the few accounts which, will I nill I,

have crept in this New Year. So I have kept the treaty open. If I give

them 100 pages I should expect £500.

I was late at the Court and had little time to write any till after

dinner, and then was not in the vein; so commentated.

FOOTNOTES:

[109] To whom Scott addressed the fifth canto of _Marmion_.

[110] See letter to R. Cadell, _Life_, vol. ix. p. 209.

[111] "The first _Tales of a Grandfather_ [as has already been said]

appeared early in December, and their reception was more rapturous than

that of any one of his works since _Ivanhoe_. He had solved for the

first time the problem of narrating history, so as at once to excite and

gratify the curiosity of youth, and please and instruct the wisest of

mature minds. The popularity of the book has grown with every year that

has since elapsed; it is equally prized in the library, the boudoir, the

schoolroom, and the nursery; it is adopted as the happiest of manuals,

not only in Scotland, but wherever the English tongue is spoken; nay, it

is to be seen in the hands of old and young all over the civilised

world, and has, I have little doubt, extended the knowledge of Scottish

history in quarters where little or no interest had ever before been

awakened as to any other parts of that subject except those immediately

connected with Mary Stuart and the Chevalier."--_Life_, vol. ix. pp.

186-7.

[112] It may be remarked at this point how the value of these works has

been sustained by the public demand during the term of legal copyright

and since that date. That of _Waverley_ expired in 1856, and the others

at forty-two years from the date of publication.

On December 19, 1827, the copyright of the Novels from _Waverley_ to

_Quentin Durward_ was acquired, as mentioned in the text, for £8400 as a

joint purchase. Five years later, viz., in 1832, Mr. Cadell purchased

from Sir Walter's representatives, for about £40,000, the author's share

in stock and entire copyrights!

Nineteen years afterwards, viz., on the 26th March 1851 (after Mr.

Cadell's death), the stock and copyrights were exposed for sale by

auction in London, regarding which a Trade Journal of the date says--

"Mr. Hodgson offered for sale the whole of the copyrights of Sir Walter

Scott's works, including stereotypes, steels, woodcuts, etc., to a very

large meeting of the publishers of this country. After one or two of our

leading firms had retired from the contest, the lot was bought in for,

we believe, £15,500. This sum did not include the stock on hand, valued

at £10,000. However, the fact is that the Trustees have virtually

refused £25,000 for the stock, copyrights, etc., of Scott's works."

Messrs. A. & C. Black in 1851 purchased the property at nearly the same

price, viz.:--Copyright, £17,000; stock, £10,000--in all, £27,000. Mr.

Francis Black, who has kindly given me information regarding the sale of

these works, tells me that of the volumes of one of the cheaper issues

about three millions have been sold since 1851. This, of course, is

independent of other publishers' editions in Great Britain, the

Continent, and America.

[113] In _Henry IV._, Act v. Sc. 3.

[114] In an interesting letter to Scott from Fenimore Cooper, dated

Sept. 12th, 1827, he tells him "that the French abuse you a little, but

as they began to do this, to my certain knowledge, five months before

the book was published, you have no great reason to regard their

criticism.

It would be impossible to write the truth on such a subject and please

this nation. One frothy gentleman denounced you in my presence as having

a low, vulgar style, very much such an one as characterised the pen of

Shakespeare!"

[115] A proverb having its rise from an exclamation made by Mr. David

Dick, a Covenanter, on witnessing the execution of some of Montrose's

followers.--Wishart's _Montrose_, quoting from Guthrie's _Memoirs_, p.

182.

[116] Scott's biographer records his admiration for the manner in which

all his dependants met the reverse of their master's fortunes. The

butler, instead of being the easy chief of a large establishment, was

now doing half the work of the house at probably half his former wages.

Old Peter, who had been for five-and-twenty years a dignified coachman,

was now ploughman in ordinary; only putting his horses to the carriage

on high and rare occasions; and so on with all that remained of the

ancient train, and all seemed happier.

[117] _Ante_, vol. i. p. 120.

[118] _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[119] Sir Archibald Campbell of Succoth. He lived at 1 Park Place.

[120] The circumstances under which these sermons were written are fully

detailed in the _Life_, vol. ix. pp. 193, 206. They were issued in a

thin octavo vol. under the title _Religious Discourses,_ by a Layman,

with a short Preface signed W.S. There were more editions than one

published during 1828.

[121] _Ante_, p. 65.

[122] Sir Samuel Shepherd.

[123] Mr. Cooper did not relax his efforts to secure Scott an interest

in his works reprinted in America, but he was not successful, and he

writes to Scott in the autumn of 1827: "This, sir, is a pitiful account

of a project from which I expected something more just to you and

creditable to my country."

FEBRUARY.

_February_ 1.--I had my two youths again to breakfast, but I did not say

more about my determination, save that I would help them if I could make

it convenient. The Chief Commissioner has agreed to let Heath have his

pretty picture of a Study at Abbotsford, by Edwin Landseer, in which old

Maida occurs. The youth Reynolds is what one would suppose his father's

son to be, smart and forward, and knows the world. I suppose I was too

much fagged with sitting in the Court to-day to write hard after dinner,

but I did work, however.

_February_ 2.--Corrected proofs, which are now nearly up with me. This

day was an idle one, for I remained in Court till one, and sat for my

picture till half-past three to Mr. Smith. He has all the steadiness and

sense in appearance which his cousin R.P.G. lacks.[124] Whether he has

genius or no, I am no judge. My own portrait is like, but I think too

broad about the jowls, a fault which they all fall into, as I suppose,

by placing their subject upon a high stage and looking upwards to them,

which must foreshorten the face. The Chief Baron and Chief Commissioner

had the goodness to sit with me.

Dressed and went with Anne to dine at Pinkie House, where I met the

President,[125] Lady Charlotte, etc.; above all, Mrs. Scott of Gala,

whom I had not seen for some time. We had much fun, and I was, as Sir

Andrew Aguecheek says, in good fooling.[126] A lively French girl, a

governess I think, but very pretty and animated, seemed much amused with

the old gentleman. Home at eleven o'clock.

By the by, Sir John Hope had found a Roman eagle on his estate in Fife

with sundry of those pots and coffeepots, so to speak, which are so

common: but the eagle was mislaid, so I did not see it.

_February_ 3.--I corrected proofs and wrote this morning,--but slowly,

heavily, lazily. There was a mist on my mind which my exertions could

not dispel. I did not get two pages finished, but I corrected proofs and

commentated.

_February_ 4.--Wrote a little and was obliged to correct the Molière

affair for R.P.G. I think his plan cannot go on much longer with so much

weakness at the helm. A clever fellow would make it take the field with

a vengeance, but poor G. will run in debt with the booksellers and let

all go to the devil. I sent a long letter to Lockhart, received from

Horace Smith, very gentlemanlike and well-written, complaining that Mr.

Leigh Hunt had mixed him up, in his Life of Byron, with Shelley as if he

had shared his irreligious opinions. Leigh Hunt afterwards at the

request of Smith published a swaggering contradiction of the inference

to be derived from the way in which he has named them together. Horatio

Smith seems not to have relied upon his disclamation, as he has

requested me to mention the thing to John Lockhart, and to some one

influential about Ebony, which I have done accordingly.

_February_ 5.--Concluded the first volume before breakfast. I am but

indifferently pleased; either the kind of thing is worn out, or I am

worn out myself, or, lastly, I am stupid for the time. The book must be

finished, however. Cadell is greatly pleased with annotations intended

for the new edition of the Waverley series. I believe that work must be

soon sent to press, which would put a powerful wheel in motion to clear

the ship. I went to the Parliament House, and in return strolled into

Cadell's, being rather anxious to prolong my walk, for I fear the

constant sitting for so many hours. When I returned, the Duke of

Buccleuch came in. He is looking very well, and stout, but melancholy

about his sister, Lady Charlotte Stopford. He is fitting up a part of

Bowhill and intends to shoot there this year. God send him life and

health, for it is of immense consequence.

_February_ 6.--This and visits wasted my time till past two, and then I

slept half-an-hour from mere exhaustion. Went in the evening to the

play, and saw that good old thing, an English tragedy, well got up. It

was _Venice Preserved_. Mrs. H. Siddons played Belvidera with much

truth, feeling, and tenderness, though short of her mother-in-law's

uncommon majesty, which is a thing never to be forgotten. Mr. Young

played Pierre very well, and a good Jaffier was supplied by a Mr.

Vandenhoff. And so the day glided by; only three pages written, which,

however, is a fair task.

_February_ 7.--It was a Teind day, so no Court, but very little work. I

wrote this morning till the boy made his appearance for proofs; then I

had letters to write. Item, at five o'clock I set out with Charles for

Dalkeith to present him to the young Duke.

I asked the Duke about poor Hogg. I think he has decided to take Mr.

Riddell's opinion; it is unlucky the poor fellow has ever taken that

large and dear farm.[127] Altogether Dalkeith was melancholy to-night,

and I could not raise my spirits at all.

_February_ 8.--I had a little work before dinner, but we are only seven

pages into volume second. It is always a beginning, however; perhaps not

a good one--I cannot tell. I went out to call on Gala and Jack

Rutherfurd of Edgerstoun; saw the former, not the latter. Gala is

getting much better. He talked as if the increase of his village was

like to drive him over the hill to the Abbotsford side, which would

greatly beautify that side and certainly change his residence for the

better, only that he must remain some time without any appearance of

plantation. The view would be enchanting.

I was tempted to buy a picture of Nell Gywnne,[128] which I think has

merit; at least it pleases me. Seven or eight years ago Graham of

Gartmore bid for it against me, and I gave it up at twenty-five guineas.

I have now bought it for £18, 18s. Perhaps there was folly in this, but

I reckoned it a token of good luck that I should succeed in a wish I had

formerly harboured in vain. I love marks of good luck even in trifles.

_February_ 9.--Sent off three leaves of copy; this is using the press

like the famished sailor who was fed by a comrade with shell-fish by one

at a time. But better anything than stop, for the devil is to get set

a-going again. I know no more than my old boots whether I am right or

wrong, but have no very favourable anticipations.

As I came home from the Court about twelve I stepped into the

Exhibition. It makes a very good show; the portraits are better than

last year, those of Colvin Smith and Watson Gordon especially improve.

Landseer's Study at Abbotsford is in a capital light, and generally

admired. I particularly distinguished John Thomson's picture of

Turnberry, which is of first-rate excellence. A picture by Scrope was

also generally distinguished. It is a view in Calabria.

There is a rival Exhibition which does not hurt the earlier foundation,

but rather excites emulation. I am told there are good paintings there.

I came home with little good-will to work, but I will compel myself to

do something. Unluckily, I have again to go out to dinner to-day, being

President of the Bannatyne.

The dinner was a pleasant one; about thirty members attended. I kept

the chair till near eleven, and the company were very joyous.

_February_ 10.--I set myself doggedly to work, and turned off six leaves

before dinner. Had to dinner Sir John Pringle, my dear Gala and his

lady, and young Mackenzie and Miss Jardine. I was quite pleased to see

Gala so well recovered of the consequences of his frightful fall, which

hung about him so long. He is one of the kindest and best-informed men

whom I know.

_February_ 11.--I had Charles Young[129] to breakfast with us, who gave

us some striking anecdotes of Talma during the Reign of Terror, which

may figure in _Napoleon_ to great advantage.

My son Charles left us this morning to take possession of his situation

in the Foreign Office. He has been very lucky. Correcting sheets, etc.,

took up the morning hours. I wrote three leaves before two o'clock. Day

bitter cold--with snow, a strong contrast to the mild weather we had

last week.

Salutation of two old Scottish lairds:--"Ye're maist obedient hummil

servant, Tannachy Tulloh."--"Your nain man, Kilspindie."

Finished six pages, twenty-five pages of print that is, or about the

thirteenth part of a volume. That would be a volume in a fortnight, with

a holiday to boot. It would be possible enough for a little while.

_February_ 12.--I wrought hard this morning. Ballantyne blames the

Ossianic monotony of my principal characters. Now they are not Ossianic.

The language of the Ossianic poetry is highly figurative; that of the

knights of chivalry may be monotonous, and probably is, but it cannot be

Ossianic. Sooth to say, this species of romance of chivalry is an

exhaustible subject. It affords materials for splendid description for

once or twice, but they are too unnatural and formal to bear repetition.

We must go on with our present work, however, _valeat quantum_. Mr.

Cadell, less critical than J.B., seems pleased. The world will soon

decide if I get on at this rate; for I have finished four leaves to-day,

notwithstanding my attendance on the Court.

_February_ 13.--Mr. Macintosh Mackay, minister of Laggan, breakfasted

with us this morning. This reverend gentleman is completing the Highland

Dictionary,[130] and seems very competent for the task. He left in my

hands some papers of Cluny Macpherson, concerning the affair of 1745,

from which I have extracted an account of the battle of Clifton for

_Waverley_. He has few prejudices (for a Highlander), and is a mild,

well-mannered young man. We had much talk on Highland matters.

The Children's Tales continue in demand. Cadell expects a new edition of

10,000 about next year, which may be £750 or £800 in pouch, besides

constituting a fine property.

_February_ 14.--Mr. Edwards, a candidate for the situation of Rector in

the Edinburgh Academy, a pleasant, gentlemanlike man, and recommended

highly for experience and learning; but he is himself afraid of wanting

bodily strength for the work, which requires all the nerve and muscle of

Williams. I wish he had been three inches taller, and stout in

proportion. I went to Mr. John Russell's, where there was an Academical

party at dinner. Home at nine, a cigar, and to bed.

_February_ 15.--Rose this morning about seven and wrote at the desk

till breakfast; finished about a page and a half. I was fagged at Court

till near two. Then called on Cadell, and so home, tired enough.

_February_ 16.--There dined with me to-day Tom Thomson, Will Clerk, Mr.

Edwards, and my Celtic friend Mr. Mackay of Laggan.

_February_ 17.--A day of hard work, being I think eight pages[131]

before dinner. I cannot, I am sure, tell if it is worth marking down,

that yesterday at dinner-time I was strangely haunted by what I would

call the sense of pre-existence,--videlicet, a confused idea that

nothing that passed was said for the first time, that the same topics

had been discussed, and the same persons had stated the same opinions on

the same subjects. It is true there might have been some ground for

recollections, considering that three at least of the company were old

friends, and kept much company together: that is, Justice-Clerk,[132]

[Lord] Abercromby, and I. But the sensation was so strong as to resemble

what is called a _mirage_ in the desert, or a calenture on board ship,

when lakes are seen in the desert, and silvan landscapes in the sea. It

was very distressing yesterday, and brought to my mind the fancies of

Bishop Berkeley about an ideal world. There was a vile sense of want of

reality in all I did and said. It made me gloomy and out of spirits,

though I flatter myself it was not observed. The bodily feeling which

most resembles this unpleasing hallucination is the giddy state which

follows profuse bleeding, when one feels as if walking on feather-beds

and could not find a secure footing. I think the stomach has something

to do with it. I drank several glasses of wine, but these only augmented

the disorder. I did not find the _in vino veritas_ of the philosophers.

Something of this insane feeling remains to-day, but a trifle only.

_February_ 18.--I had other work to do this day. In the morning

corrected proofs. After breakfast, made a visit or two, and met Sandie

Buchanan, whom it joys me to see. Then despatched all my sheriff

processes, save one, which hitches for want of some papers. Lastly, here

I am, before dinner, with my journal. I sent all the county money to

Andrew Lang. Wrote to Mr. Reynolds too; methinks I will let them have

the Tales which Jem Ballantyne and Cadell quarrelled with.[133] I have

asked £500 for them--pretty well that. I suppose they will be fools

enough to give it me. In troth she'll no pe cheaper.

_February_ 19.--A day of hard and continued work, the result being eight

pages. But then I hardly ever quitted the table save at meal-time. So

eight pages of my manuscript may be accounted the maximum of my literary

labour. It is equal to forty printed pages of the novels. I had the

whole of this day at my own disposal, by the voluntary kindness of Sir

Robert Dundas interfering to take up my duty at the Court. The proofs of

my Sermons are arrived, but I have had no time, saving to blot out some

flummery, which poor Gordon had put into the preface.[134]

_February_ 20.--Another day of labour; but not so hard. I worked from

eight till three with little intermission, but only accomplished four

pages. Then I went out and made a visit or two, and looked in on Cadell.

If I get two pages in the evening I will be satisfied, for volume II.

may be concluded with the week, or run over to Sunday at most. Will it

tell, this work? I doubt it, but there is no standing still.

A certain Mr. Mackay from Ireland called on me, an active agent, it

would seem, about the reform of prisons. He exclaims, justly I have no

doubt, about the state of our Lock-up House. For myself, I have some

distrust of the fanaticism--even of philanthropy. A good part of it

arises in general from mere vanity and love of distinction, gilded over

to others and to themselves with some show of benevolent sentiment. The

philanthropy of Howard, mingled with his ill-usage of his son, seems to

have risen to a pitch of insanity. Yet without such extraordinary men,

who call attention to the subject by their own peculiarities, prisons

would have remained the same dungeons which they were forty or fifty

years ago. I do not see the propriety of making them dandy places of

detention. They should be a place of punishment, and that can hardly be

if men are lodged better, and fed better, than when they are at large.

The separation of ranks is an excellent distinction, and is nominally

provided for in all modern prisons. But the size of most of them is

inadequate to the great increase of crime, and so the pack is shuffled

together again for want of room to keep them separate. There are several

prisons constructed on excellent principles, the economy of which

becomes deranged so soon as the death takes place of some keen

philanthropist who had the business of a whole committee, which, having

lost him, remained like a carcass without a head. But I have never seen

a plan for keeping in order these resorts of guilt and misery, without

presupposing a superintendence of a kind which might perhaps be

exercised, could we turn out upon the watch a guard of angels. But,

alas! jailors and turnkeys are rather like angels of a different livery,

nor do I see how it is possible to render them otherwise.

Superintendence is all you can trust to, and superintendence, save in

some rare cases, is hard to come by, where it is to be vigilantly and

constantly exercised. _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?_ As to

reformation, I have no great belief in it, when the ordinary class of

culprits, who are vicious from ignorance or habit, are the subjects of

the experiment. "A shave from a broken loaf" is thought as little of by

the male set of delinquents as by the fair frail. The state of society

now leads so much to great accumulations of humanity, that we cannot

wonder if it ferment and reek like a compost dunghill. Nature intended

that population should be diffused over the soil in proportion to its

extent. We have accumulated in huge cities and smothering manufactories

the numbers which should be spread over the face of a country; and what

wonder that they should be corrupted? We have turned healthful and

pleasant brooks into morasses and pestiferous lakes,--what wonder the

soil should be unhealthy? A great deal, I think, might be done by

executing the punishment of _death_, without a chance of escape, in all

cases to which it should be found properly applicable; of course these

occasions being diminished to one out of twenty to which capital

punishment is now assigned. Our ancestors brought the country to order

by kilting[135] thieves and banditti with strings. So did the French

when at Naples, and bandits became for the time unheard of. When once

the evil habit is altered--when men are taught a crime of a certain

character is connected inseparably with death, the moral habits of a

population become altered, and you may in the next age remit the

punishment which in this it has been necessary to inflict with stern

severity. I think whoever pretends to reform a corrupted nation, or a

disorderly regiment, or an ill-ordered ship of war, must begin by

severity, and only resort to gentleness when he has acquired the

complete mastery by terror--the terror being always attached to the law;

and, the impression once made, he can afford to govern with mildness,

and lay the iron rule aside.

Mr. Mackay talked big of the excellent state of prisons in Ireland.

_J'en doute un peu._ That the warm-hearted and generous Irish would

hurry eagerly into any scheme which had benevolence for its motive, I

readily believe; but that Pat should have been able to maintain that

calm, all-seeing, all-enduring species of superintendence necessary to

direct the working of the best plan of prison discipline, I greatly

hesitate to believe.

Well, leaving all this, I wish Mr. Mackay good luck, with some little

doubt of his success, but none of his intentions. I am come in my work

to that point where a lady who works a stocking must count by threads,

and bring the various loose ends of my story together. They are too

many.

_February_ 21.--Last night after dinner I rested from my work, and read

third part of [Theodore Hook's] _Sayings and Doings_, which shows great

knowledge of life in a certain sphere, and very considerable powers of

wit, which somewhat damages the effect of the tragic parts. But he is an

able writer, and so much of his work is well said, that it will carry

through what is _manqué_. I hope the same good fortune for other folks.

I am watching and waiting till I hit on some quaint and clever mode of

extricating, but do not see a glimpse of any one. James B., too,

discourages me a good deal by his silence, waiting, I suppose, to be

invited to disgorge a full allowance of his critical bile. But he may

wait long enough, for I am discouraged enough. Now here is the advantage

of Edinburgh. In the country, if a sense of inability once seizes me, it

haunts me from morning to night; but in Edinburgh the time is so

occupied and frittered away by official duties and chance occupation,

that you have not time to play Master Stephen and be gentlemanlike and

melancholy.[136] On the other hand, you never feel in town those

spirit-stirring influences--those glances of sunshine that make amends

for clouds and mist. The country is said to be quieter life; not to me,

I am sure. In the town the business I have to do hardly costs me more

thought than just occupies my mind, and I have as much of gossip and

ladylike chat as consumes the time pleasantly enough. In the country I

am thrown entirely on my own resources, and there is no medium betwixt

happiness and the reverse.

_February_ 22.--Went to Court, and remained there until one o'clock.

Then to Mr. Colvin Smith's and sat to be stared at till three o'clock.

This is a great bore even when you have a companion, sad when you are

alone and can only disturb the painter by your chatter. After dinner I

had proofs to the number of four. J.B. is outrageous about the death of

Oliver Proudfoot, one of the characters; but I have a humour to be

cruel.

"His business 'tis to die."

Received a present from a Mr. Dobie of a candlestick said to be that of

the Rev. Mr. Guthrie, minister of Fenwick in the seventeenth

century,--very civil of a gentleman unknown, if there comes no request

to look over poems, or to get made a gauger, or the like, for I have

seen that kind of compliment made on the principle on which small

balloons are sent up before a large one, to see how the wind sits. After

dinner proof-sheets.

_February_ 23.--Morning proof-sheets galore. Then to Parliament House.

After that, at one, down to Sir William MacLeod Bannatyne, who has made

some discoveries concerning Bannatyne the collector of poetry, and

furnished me with some notes to that purpose. He informs me that the

MacLeod, alias MacCruiskin, who met Dr. Johnson on the Isle of Skye, was

Mr. Alexander MacLeod, Advocate, a son of MacLeod of Muiravonside. He

was subject to fits of insanity at times, very clever at others.[137]

Sir William mentioned the old Laird of Bernera, who, summoned by his

Chief to join him with all the men he could make, when the Chief was

raising his men for Government, sent him a letter to this

purpose:--"Dear Laird,--No man would like better to be at your back

than I would; but on this occasion it cannot be. I send my men, who are

at your service; for myself, higher duties carry me elsewhere." He went

off accordingly alone, and joined Raasay as a volunteer. I returned by

the printing office and found J.B. in great feather. He tells me Cadell,

on squaring his books and making allowance for bad debts, has made

between £3000 and £4000, lodged in bank. He does nothing but with me.

Thus we stand on velvet as to finance. Met Staffa,[138] who walked with

me and gave me some Gaelic words which I wanted.

I may mention that I saw at the printing-office a part of a review on

Leigh Hunt's Anecdotes of Byron. It is written with power, apparently by

Professor Wilson, but with a degree of passion which rather diminishes

the effect; for nothing can more lessen the dignity of the satirist than

being or seeming to be in a passion. I think it may come to a bloody

arbitrament,[139] for if L.H. should take it up as a gentleman, Wilson

is the last man to flinch. I hope Lockhart will not be dragged in as

second or otherwise. Went to Jeffrey's to dinner--there were Mrs. and

Miss Sydney Smith, Lords Gillies and Corehouse, etc. etc.

_February_ 24.--I fancy I had drunk a glass or two over much last

night, for I have the heartburn this morning. But a little magnesia

salves that sore. Meantime I have had an _inspiration_ which shows me my

good angel has not left me. For these two or three days I have been at

what the "Critic" calls a dead-lock[140]--all my incidents and

personages ran into a gordian knot of confusion, to which I could devise

no possible extrication. I had thought on the subject several days with

something like the despair which seized the fair princess, commanded by

her ugly step-mother to assort a whole garret full of tangled silk

threads of every kind and colour, when in comes Prince Percinet with a

wand, whisks it over the miscellaneous mass, and lo! all the threads are

as nicely arranged as in a seamstress' housewife. It has often happened

to me that when I went to bed with my head as ignorant as my shoulders

what I was to do next, I have waked in the morning with a distinct and

accurate conception of the mode, good or bad, in which the plot might be

extricated. It seems to me that the action of the intellect, on such

occasions, is rather accelerated by the little fever which an extra

glass of wine produces on the system. Of course excess is out of the

question. Now this may seem strange, but it is quite true; and it is no

less so that I have generally written to the middle of one of these

novels, without having the least idea how it was to end, in short in the

_hab nab at a venture_ style of composition. So now, this hitch being

over, I fold my paper, lock up my journal, and proceed to labour with

good hope.

_February_ 25.--This being Monday, I carried on my work according to the

new model. Dined at home and in quiet. But I may notice that yesterday

Mr. Williams, the learned Rector of our new Academy, who now leaves us,

took his dinner here. We had a long philological tête-à-tête. He is

opinionative, as he has some title to be, but very learned, and with a

juster view of his subject than is commonly entertained, for he traces

words to the same source--not from sound but sense. He casts backwards

thus to the root, while many compare the ends of the twigs without going

further.

This night I went to the funeral of Mr. Henderson, late of Eildon Hall,

a kind-hearted man, who rose to great wealth by honest means, and will

be missed and regretted.

In the evening I went to the promenade in the Exhibition of Pictures,

which was splendidly lighted up and filled with fashionable company. I

think there was a want of beauty,--or perhaps the gas-lights were

unfavourable to the ladies' looks.

_February_ 26.--Business filled up the day till one, when I sat to Mr.

Smith. Tedious work, even though Will Clerk chaperoned me. We dined at

Archie Swinton's. Met Lord Lothian, Lord Cringletie, etc. This day I

have wrought almost nothing, but I am nearly half a volume before the

press. Lord Morton,[141] married to a daughter of my friend Sir George

Rose, is come to Edinburgh. He seems a very gentlemanlike man, and she

pleasing and willing to be pleased. I had the pleasure to be of some

little use to him in his election as one of the Scottish Peers. I owe

Sir George Rose much for his attention to Walter at Berlin.

_February_ 27.--At Court till half-past two. Then to the Waterloo

Tavern, where we had a final and totally unfructuous meeting with the

Committee of the Coal Gas people. So now my journey to London is

resolved on. I shall lose at least £500 by the job, and get little

thanks from those I make the sacrifice for. But the sacrifice shall be

made. Anything is better than to break one's word, or desert a sinking

vessel. Heartily do I wish these "Colliers" had seen the matter in the

best light for their own interest. But there is no help. One thing is

certain, that I shall see my whole family once more around me, and that

is worth the £500. Anne too starts at the idea of the sea. I am

horribly vexed, however. Gibson always expected they would come in, but

there seemed to me little chance of it; perhaps they thought we were not

serious in our proposal to push through the Act. Wrought a little in the

evening, not much.

_February_ 28.--At Court till four. When I came home I did work a

little, but as we expected company it was not to much purpose. Lord

Chief Commissioner dined with us with Miss Adam; Mr. Hutchinson, brother

of Lord Donoughmore, and Miss Jones, Will Clerk and John Thomson made up

the party, and we had a pleasant evening, as such a handful always

secures. Stayed till wine-and-water time. Thus flew another day.

_February_ 29.--I had my proof-sheets as usual in the morning and the

Court as usual till two. Then one or two visits and corrected the

discourses for Gordon. This is really a foolish scrape, but what could I

do? It involved the poor lad's relief from something very like ruin. I

got a letter from the young man Reynolds accepting on Heath's part my

terms for article to _The Keepsake_, namely £500,--I to be at liberty to

reprint the article in my works after three years. Mr. Heath to print it

in _The Keepsake_ as long and often as he pleases, but not in any other

form. I shall close with them. If I make my proposed bargain with

Murray, all pecuniary matters will be easy in an unusual degree. Dined

at Robert Hamilton's with Lord and Lady Belhaven, Walter Campbell, and a

number of Westlanders.

FOOTNOTES:

[124] Mr. Colvin Smith painted in all about twenty portraits of Sir

Walter, for seven of which he obtained occasional sittings. A list of

the persons who commissioned them is given at p. 73 of the _Centenary

Catalogue_.

[125] The Right Hon. Charles Hope.

[126] _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Sc. 2.

[127] Mount Benger, which he had taken in 1820.--See _ante_, page 96.

[128] It now hangs in the Drawing-room at Abbotsford.--See Sharpe's

_Letters_, vol. ii. p. 408.

[129] Charles Mayne Young, Tragedian, had been a visitor at Abbotsford

in the autumn of 1821. Of this visit his son Julian gives a pleasant

account in a Memoir of his father, pp. 88-96. London, 1871. Mr. Young

died in June 1856.

[130] This enthusiastic Gaelic scholar, then parish minister of Laggan,

joined the Free Church of Scotland in 1843, and was elected Moderator of

its General Assembly in 1849. As a clergyman, he had afterwards a varied

experience in this country and in Australia, before he finally settled

in the island of Harris; he died at Portobello in 1873.

The Gaelic dictionary of the Highland Society was completed and

published in 2 vols. 4to, 1828. The editor was Dr. Macleod of Dundonald,

assisted by other Gaelic scholars. Dr. Mackay edited the poems of Rob

Donn in 1829.--See _Quarterly Review_, July 1831.

[131] See next page, under _Feb_. 19.

[132] The Right Hon. David Boyle.

[133] _My Aunt Margaret's Mirror_, etc.

[134] See Jan. 25, 1828 (p. 114).

[135] To _kilt, i.e._ to elevate or lift up anything quickly; this

applied, ludicrously, to tucking by a halter.--Jamieson's _Dictionary_.

"Their bare preaching now Makes the thrush bush keep the cow Better than

Scots or English kings Could do by kilting them with strings."

CLELAND.

[136] See Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, Act I. Sc. 3.

[137] See Boswell's _Johnson_, Croker's ed. imp. 8vo, p. 318.

[138] Sir Reginald Steuart Seton of Staffa, for many years Secretary to

the Highland and Agricultural Society; died at Edinburgh in 1838.

[139] On reading the savage article on Hunt's Byron published in

Blackwood, for March 1828, Sir Walter's thoughts must have gone back not

only to Gourgaud's affair of the previous year, and to the more serious

matter of the _Beacon_ newspaper in 1821,--when, to use Lord Cockburn's

words, "it was dreadful to think that a life like Scott's was for a

moment in peril in such a cause"--but he must also have had very sad

recollections of the bloody results of the two melancholy duels arising

from the same party rancour in February 1821 (Scott and Christie) and in

March 1822 (Stuart and Boswell), with all the untold domestic miseries

accompanying them. It is satisfactory to think that this was about the

last of these uncalled for literary onslaughts, as one finds, in turning

over the pages of _Blackwood_, that in 1834 Professor Wilson in the

_Noctes_ rebukes some one for reviving "forgotten falsehoods," praises

Leigh Hunt's _London Journal_, and adds the ecstatic words, which he

also addressed later on to Lord Jeffrey, "The animosities are mortal,

but the humanities live for ever."

[140] Act III. Sc. 1.

[141] Sholto Douglas, eighteenth Earl of Morton.

MARCH.

_March_ 1.--Wrought a little this morning; always creeping on. We had a

hard pull at the Court, and after it I walked a little for exercise, as

I fear indigestion from dining out so often.

Dined to-day with the bankers who went as delegates to London in Malachi

Malagrowther's days. Sir John Hay Kinnear and Tom Allan were my only

acquaintances of the party; the rest seemed shrewd capable men. I

particularly remarked a Mr. Sandeman with as intellectual a head as I

ever witnessed.

_March_ 2.--A day of hard work with little interruption, and completed

volume second. I am not much pleased with it. It wants what I desire it

to have, and that is passion.

The two Ballantynes and Mr. Cadell dined with me quietly. Heard from

London; all well.

_March_ 3.--I set about clearing my desk of unanswered letters, which I

had suffered to accumulate to an Augean heap. I daresay I wrote twenty

cards that might have been written at the time without half-a-minute

being lost. To do everything when it ought to be done is the soul of

expedition. But then, if you are interrupted eternally with these petty

avocations, the current of the mind is compelled to flow in shallows,

and you lose the deep intensity of thought which alone can float plans

of depth and magnitude. I sometimes wish I were one of those formalists

who can assign each hour of the day its special occupations, not to be

encroached upon; but it always returns upon my mind that I do better _à

la débandade_, than I could with rules of regular study. A work begun is

with me a stone turned over with the purpose of rolling it down hill.

The first revolutions are made with difficulty--but _vires acquirit

eundo_. Now, were the said stone arrested in its progress, the whole

labour would be to commence again. To take a less conceited simile: I am

like a spavined horse, who sets out lame and stiff, but when he warms in

his gear makes a pretty good trot of it, so that it is better to take a

good stage of him while you can get it. Besides, after all, I have known

most of those formalists, who were not men of business or of office to

whom hours are prescribed as a part of duty, but who voluntarily make

themselves

"Slaves to an hour, and vassals to a bell,"[142]--

to be what I call very poor creatures.

General Ainslie looked in, and saddened me by talking of poor Don. The

General is a medallist, and entertains an opinion that the bonnet-piece

of James V. is the work of some Scottish artist who died young, and

never did anything else. It is far superior to anything which the Mint

produced since the Roman denarii. He also told me that the name of

Andrea de Ferrara is famous in Italy as an armourer.

Dined at home, and went to the Royal Society in the evening after

sending off my processes for the Sheriff Court. Also went after the

Society to Mr. James Russell's symposium.

_March_ 4.--A letter from Italy signed J.S. with many acute remarks on

inaccuracies in the life of Bonaparte.

His tone is hostile decidedly, but that shall not prevent my making use

of all his corrections where just.

The wretched publication of Leigh Hunt on the subject of Byron is to

bring forward Tom Moore's life of that distinguished poet, and I am

honoured and flattered by the information that he means to dedicate it

to me.[143]

A great deal of worry in the Court to-day, and I lost my spectacles, and

was a dark and perplexed man--found them again though. Wrote to Lockhart

and to Charles, and will do more if I can, but am sadly done up. An old

friend came and pressed unmercifully some selfish request of his own to

ask somebody to do something for his son. I shall be glad to be at

Abbotsford to get rid of this town, where I have not, in the proper and

social sense of the word, a single friend whose company pleases me. In

the country I have always Tom Purdie.

Dined at the Lord Chief Commissioner's, where I met, the first time for

thirty years, my old friend and boon companion, with whom I shared the

wars of Bacchus, Venus, and sometimes of Mars. The past rushed on me

like a flood and almost brought tears into my eyes. It is no very

laudable exploit to record, but I once drank three bottles of wine with

this same rogue--Sir William Forbes and Sir Alexander Wood being of the

party. David Erskine of Cardross keeps his looks better than most of our

contemporaries. I hope we shall meet for a longer time.

_March_ 5.--I corrected sheets, and, being a Teind Wednesday, began the

second volume and proceeded as far as page fourth.

We dined at Hector Macdonald's with several Highlanders, most of whom

were in their garb, intending to go to a great fancy ball in the

evening. There were young Cluny Macpherson, Campbell Airds, Campbell

Saddell, and others of the race of Diarmid. I went for an hour to the

ball, where there were many gay and some grotesque figures. A dressed

ball is, for the first half-hour, a splendid spectacle; you see youth

and beauty dressed in their gayest attire, unlimited, save by their own

taste, and enjoying the conscious power of charming, which gives such

life and alacrity to the features. But the charm ceases in this like

everything else. The want of masks takes away the audacity with which

the disguised parties conduct themselves at a masquerade, and [leaves]

the sullen sheepishness which makes them, I suppose, the worst maskers

in Europe. At the only real masquerade which I have known in Edinburgh

there were many, if not most, of those who had determined to sustain

characters, who had more ill-breeding than facetiousness. The jests were

chiefly calculated to give pain, and two or three quarrels were with

difficulty prevented from ripening into duels. A fancy ball has no

offence in it, therefore cannot be wrecked on this rock. But, on the

other hand, it is horribly dull work when the first _coup d'œil_ is

over.

There were some good figures, and some grossly absurd. A very gay

cavalier with a broad bright battle-axe was pointed out to me as an

eminent distiller, and another knight in the black coarse armour of a

cuirassier of the 17th century stalked about as if he thought himself

the very mirror of chivalry. He was the son of a celebrated upholsterer,

so might claim the broad axe from more titles than one. There was some

good dancing; Cluny Macpherson footed it gallantly.

_March_ 6.--Wrote two pages this morning before breakfast. Went to the

Court, where I learned that the "Colliers" are in alarm at the

determination shown by our Committee, and are willing to give better

terms. I hope this is so--but _Cogan na Shie_--peace or war, I care not.

I never felt less anxiety about where I went and what I did. A feather

just lighted on the ground can scarce be less concerned where the next

blast may carry it. If I go, I shall see my children--if I stay, I

shall mend my fortune. Dined at home and went to the play in the

evening. Lady Torphichen had commanded the play, and there were all my

Swinton cousins young and old. The play was "A Bold Stroke for a

Wife,"[144]--Charles Kemble acting as Feignwell. The plot is extravagant

nonsense, but with lively acting the ludicrousness of the situation

bears it through, and few comedies act better. After this came _Rob

Roy_, where the Bailie played with his usual excellence. The piece was

not over until near one in the morning, yet I did not feel tired--which

is much.

_March_ 7.--To-day I wrought and corrected proof-sheets; went to the

Court, and had a worry at the usual trashy small wares which are

presented at the end of a Session. An official predecessor of mine, the

facetious Robert Sinclair, was wont to say the three last days of the

Session should be abolished by Act of Parliament.[145] Came home late,

and was a good deal broken in upon by visitors. Amongst others, John

Swinton, now of Swinton, brought me the skull of his ancestor, Sir Allan

Swinton, who flourished five hundred years ago. I will get a cast made

of the stout old carle. It is rare to see a genuine relic of the mortal

frame drawing so far back. Went to my Lord Gillies's to dinner, and

witnessed a singular exhibition of personification.

Miss Stirling Grame,[146] a lady of the Duntroon family, from which

Clavers was descended, looks like thirty years old, and has a face of

the Scottish cast, with a good expression in point of good sense and

good humour. Her conversation, so far as I have had the advantage of

hearing it, is shrewd and sensible, but no ways brilliant. She dined

with us, went off as to the play, and returned in the character of an

old Scottish lady. Her dress and behaviour were admirable, and the

conversation unique. I was in the secret, of course, did my best to keep

up the ball, but she cut me out of all feather. The prosing account she

gave of her son, the antiquary, who found an auld wig in a slate quarry,

was extremely ludicrous, and she puzzled the Professor of Agriculture

with a merciless account of the succession of crops in the parks around

her old mansion-house. No person to whom the secret was not intrusted

had the least guess of an impostor, except one shrewd young lady

present, who observed the hand narrowly and saw it was plumper than the

age of the lady seemed to warrant. This lady, and Miss Bell[147] of

Coldstream, have this gift of personification to a much higher degree

than any person I ever saw.

_March_ 8.--Wrote in the morning, then to Court, where we had a sederunt

till nigh two o'clock. From thence to the Coal Gas Committee, with whom

we held another, and, thank God, a final meeting. Gibson went with me.

They had Mr. Munro, Trotter, Tom Burns, and Inglis. The scene put me in

mind of Chichester Cheyne's story of a Shawnee Indian and himself,

dodging each other from behind trees, for six or seven hours, each in

the hope of a successful shot. There was bullying on both sides, but we

bullied to best purpose, for we must have surrendered at discretion,

notwithstanding the bold face we put on it. On the other hand, I am

convinced they have got a capital bargain.

_March_ 9.--I set about arranging my papers, a task which I always take

up with the greatest possible ill-will and which makes me cruelly

nervous. I don't know why it should be so, for I have nothing

particularly disagreeable to look at; far from it, I am better than I

was at this time last year, my hopes firmer, my health stronger, my

affairs bettered and bettering. Yet I feel an inexpressible nervousness

in consequence of this employment. The memory, though it retains all

that has passed, has closed sternly over it; and this rummaging, like a

bucket dropped suddenly into a well, deranges and confuses the ideas

which slumbered on the mind. I am nervous, and I am bilious, and, in a

word, I am unhappy. This is wrong, very wrong; and it is reasonably to

be apprehended that something of serious misfortune will be the deserved

punishment of this pusillanimous lowness of spirits. Strange that one

who, in most things, may be said to have enough of the 'care na by',

should be subject to such vile weakness! Well, having written myself

down an ass, I will daub it no farther, but e'en trifle till the humour

of work comes.

Before the humour came I had two or three long visits. Drummond Hay, the

antiquary and lyon-herald, came in.[148] I do not know anything which

relieves the mind so much from the sullens as trifling discussion about

_antiquarian old-womanries_. It is like knitting a stocking, diverting

the mind without occupying it; or it is like, by Our Lady, a mill-dam,

which leads one's thoughts gently and imperceptibly out of the channel

in which they are chafing and boiling. To be sure, it is only

conducting them to turn a child's mill; what signifies that?--the

diversion is a relief, though the object is of little importance. I

cannot tell what we talked of; but I remember we concluded with a

lamentation on the unlikelihood that Government would give the Museum

£2000 to purchase the _bronze Apollo_ lately discovered in France,

although the God of Delos stands six feet two in his stocking-soles, and

is perfectly entire, saving that on the right side he wants half a hip,

and the leg from the knee, and that on the left his heel is much

damaged. Colonel Ferguson just come to town--dines with us.

_March_ 10.--I had a world of trumpery to do this morning: cards to

write, and business to transact, visits to make, etc. Received letters

from the youth who is to conduct _The Keepsake_, with blarney on a £200

Bank note. No blarney in that. I must set about doing something for

these worthies. I was obliged to go alone to dine at Mr. Scott Gala's.

Met the Sinclair family. Lady Sinclair told me a singular story of a

decrepit man keeping a lonely toll at a place called the Rowan-tree, on

the frontiers, as I understood, between Ayrshire and Dumfriesshire

[Wigtownshire?]. It was a wild, lonely spot, and was formerly inhabited

by robbers and assassins, who murdered passengers. They were discovered

by a boy whom they had taken into the cottage as a menial. He had seen

things which aroused his attention, and was finally enlightened as to

the trade of his masters by hearing one of them, as he killed a goat,

remark that the cries of the creature resembled those of the last man

they had dealt with. The boy fled from the house, lodged an information,

and the whole household was seized and executed. The present inhabitants

Lady Sinclair described as interesting. The man's feet and legs had been

frost-bitten while herding the cattle, and never recovered the strength

of natural limbs. Yet he had acquired some education, and was a country

schoolmaster for some time, till the distance and loneliness of the spot

prevented pupils from attending. His daughter was a reader, and begged

for some old magazines, newspapers, or any printed book, that she might

enjoy reading. They might have been better had they been allowed to keep

a cow. But if they had been in comfortable circumstances, they would

have had visitors and lodgers, who might have carried guns to destroy

the gentleman's creation, _i.e._ game; and for this risk the wretches

were kept in absolute and abject poverty. I would rather be--himself

than this brutal Earl. The daughter showed Lady Sinclair a well in the

midst of a small bog, of great depth, into which, like Thurtell and

Probert, they used to thrust the bodies of their victims till they had

an opportunity of burying them. Lady Sinclair stooped to taste the

water, but the young woman said, with a strong expression of horror,

"You would not drink it?" Such an impression had the tale, probably two

centuries old, made upon the present inhabitants of this melancholy

spot. The whole legend is curious; I will try to get hold of it.[149]

_March_ 11.--I sent Reynolds a sketch of two Scottish stories for

subjects of art for his _Keepsake_--the death of the Laird's Jock the

one, the other the adventure of Duncan Stuart with the stag.

Mr. Drummond Hay breakfasted with me--a good fellow, but a considerable

bore. He brought me a beautiful bronze statue of Hercules, about ten

inches or a foot in height, beautifully wrought. He bought it in France

for 70 francs, and refused £300 from Payne Knight. It is certainly a

most beautiful piece of art. The lion's hide which hung over the

shoulders had been of silver, and, to turn it to account, the arm over

which it hung was cut off; otherwise the statue was perfect and

extremely well wrought. Allan Swinton's skull sent back to Archibald

Swinton.

_March_ 12.--The boy got four leaves of copy to-day, and I wrote three

more. Received by Mr. Cadell from Treuttel and Wurtz for articles in

_Foreign Review_ £52, 10s., which is at my credit with him. Poor Gillies

has therefore kept his word so far, but it is enough to have sacrificed

£100 to him already in literary labour, which I make him welcome to. I

cannot spare him more--which, besides, would do him no good.

_March_ 13, [_Abbotsford_].--I wrote a little in the morning and sent

off some copy. We came off from Edinburgh at ten o'clock, and got to

Abbotsford by four, where everything looks unusually advanced; the birds

singing and the hedges budding, and all other prospects of spring too

premature to be rejoiced in.

I found that, like the foolish virgins, the servants had omitted to get

oil for my lamp, so I was obliged to be idle all the evening. But though

I had a diverting book, the _Tales of the Munster Festivals,_[150] yet

an evening without writing hung heavy on my hands. The _Tales_ are

admirable. But they have one fault, that the crisis is in more cases

than one protracted after a keen interest has been excited, to explain

and to resume parts of the story which should have been told before.

Scenes of mere amusement are often introduced betwixt the crisis of the

plot and the final catastrophe. This is impolitic. But the scenes and

characters are traced by a firm, bold, and true pencil, and my very

criticism shows that the catastrophe is interesting,--otherwise who

would care for its being interrupted?

_March_ [14 to] 16.--The same record applies to these three days. From

seven to half-past nine writing--from half-past nine to a quarter past

ten a hearty breakfast. From eleven or thereby, to one or two, wrote

again, and from one or two ride, drive, or walk till dinner-time--for

two or three hours--five till seven, dine and rest yourself--seven till

nine, wrote two pages more, from nine to quarter past ten lounge, read

the papers, and then go to bed. If your story is tolerably forward you

may, I think, keep at this rate for twelve days, which would be a

volume. But no brain could hold it out longer. Wrote two additional

leaves in the evening.

_March_ 17.--Sent away copy this morning to J.B. with proofs. I then

wrote all the day till two o'clock, walked round the thicket and by the

water-side, and returning set to work again. So that I have finished

five leaves before dinner, and may discuss two more if I can satisfy

myself with the way of winding up the story. There are always at the end

such a plaguey number of stitches to take up, which usually are never so

well done but they make a botch. I will try if the cigar will inspire

me. Hitherto I have been pretty clear, and I see my way well enough,

only doubt of making others see it with sufficient simplicity. But it is

near five, and I am too hungry to write more.[151]

"Ego nunquam potui scribere jejunus."

_March_ 18.--I was sorely worried by the black dog this morning, that

vile palpitation of the heart--that _tremor cordis_--that hysterical

passion which forces unbidden sighs and tears, and falls upon a

contented life like a drop of ink on white paper, which is not the less

a stain because it conveys no meaning. I wrought three leaves, however,

and the story goes on. I dined at the Club of the Selkirkshire yeomanry,

now disbanded.

"The Eldrich knight gave up his arms

With many a sorrowful sigh."

The dissolution of the Yeomanry was the act of the last ministry. The

present did not alter the measure on account of the expense saved. I am

one of the oldest, if not the very oldest Yeoman in Scotland, and have

seen the rise, progress, and now the fall of this very constitutional

part of the national force. Its efficacy, on occasions of insurrection,

was sufficiently proved in the Radical time. But besides, it kept up a

spirit of harmony between the proprietors of land and the occupiers, and

made them known to and beloved by each other; and it gave to the young

men a sort of military and high-spirited character, which always does

honour to a country. The manufacturers are in great glee on this

occasion. I wish Parliament, as they have turned the Yeoman adrift

somewhat scornfully, may not have occasion to roar them in again.[152]

_March_ 19.--I applied myself again to my labour, my mind flowing in a

less, gloomy current than yesterday. I laboured with little

interruption, excepting a walk as far as Faldonside with the dogs, and

at night I had not finished more than three leaves. But, indeed, it is

pretty fair; I must not work my brains too hard, in case of provoking

the hypochondria which extreme exertion or entire indolence are equally

unfavourable to.

_March_ 20.--Thomson breakfasted. I left him soon, being desirous to

finish my labours. The volume is finished, all but one fourth or

somewhat shorter; four days should despatch it easily, but I have

letters to write and things are getting into disorder. I took a drive

with my daughter, for exercise, and called at Huntly Burn. This evening

went on with work as usual; there was not above four pages finished, but

my conscience is quiet on my exertions.

_March_ 21.--I received young Whytbank to breakfast, and talked

genealogy, which he understands well; I have not a head for it. I only

value it as interspersed with anecdote. Whytbank's relationship and mine

exists by the Shaws. A younger brother of Shaw of Sauchie, afterwards

Greenock, chief of the name, was minister of the Kirk of Selkirk. My

great-grandfather, John Rutherford, minister of the gospel at Yarrow,

married one of this reverend gentleman's daughters; and John Pringle,

rector of Fogo, great-grandfather of the present Whytbank, married

another. It was Christian Shaw, my grandmother, who possessed the

manuscript respecting the murder of the Shaws by the Master of

Sinclair.[153] She could not, according to the reckoning of that age, be

a distant relation. Whytbank parted, agreeing to return to dinner to

meet the bride and bridegroom. I had little time to write, for Colonel

Russell, my cousin, called between one and two, and he also agreed to

stay dinner; so I had a walk of three hours with him in the plantations.

At dinner we had Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, Mr. Scrope, Mrs. and Dr. Brewster,

Whytbank, Russell, and young Nicol Milne, who will be a pleasant lad if

he had a little polish. I was glad of the society, as I had rather felt

the _besoin de parler_, which was perhaps one cause of my recent dumps.

Scrope and Colonel Russell stayed all night; the rest went home.

_March_ 22.--Had a packet from James--low about the novel; but I had

another from Cadell equally uppish. He proposes for three novels in

eighteen months, which would be £12,600. Well, I like the bookseller's

predictions better than the printer's. Neither are bad judges; but

James, who is the best, is not sensible of historical descriptions, and

likes your novel style out and out.

Cadell's letter also contained a state of cash matters, since much

improved. I will arrange them a day or two hence. I wrote to-day and

took a long walk. The thought more than once passed over me, Why go to

London? I shall but throw away £150 or £200 which were better saved.

Then on the other hand, it is such a gratification to see all the

children that I must be tempted. If I were alone, I could scrub it, but

there's no doing that with Anne.

_March_ 23.--I wrought regularly till one, and then took the wood and

marked out to Tom the places I would have thinned, particularly at the

Carlin's hole, which will require much thinning. I had a letter from

Cadell stating that 3000 _Tales of a Grandfather_ must go to press,

bringing a return to me of £240, the price being £80 per thousand. This

is snug enough, and will prettily cover my London journey, and I really

think ought in fairness to silence my prudential remorse. With my usual

delight in catching an apology for escaping the regular task of the day,

I threw by the novel of St. Valentine's Eve and began to run through and

correct the _Grandfather's Tales_ for the press. If I live to finish

them, they will be a good thing for my younger children. If I work to

the amount of £10,000 a year for the creditors, I think I may gain a few

hundreds for my own family at by-hours.

_March_ 24.--Sent copy and proof to J.B.[154] I continued my revision of

the _Tales of a Grandfather_ till half-past one. Then went to Torwoodlee

to wait on George Pringle and his bride. We did not see the young

people, but the old Laird and Miss Pringle gave us a warm reception, and

seemed very happy on the occasion. We had friends to dinner, Mr. and

Mrs. Theobald, Charles Kerr and his wife, my old acquaintance Magdalen

Hepburn, whose whole [kin] was known to me and mine. I have now seen the

fifth generation of the family in Mrs. Kerr's little girl, who travels

with them. Well--I partly wish we had been alone. Yet it is perhaps

better. We made our day out tolerably well, having the advantage of Mr.

Davidoff and his friend Mr. Collyer to assist us.

_March_ 25.--Mr. and Mrs. Kerr left us, Mr. Davidoff and Mr. Collyer

also. Mr. Davidoff showed himself a good deal affected. I hope well of

this young nobleman, and trust the result will justify my expectations,

but it may be doubted if his happiness be well considered by those who

send a young person, destined to spend his life under a despotic

government, to receive the ideas and opinions of such a people as we

are:

"where ignorance is bliss,

'Tis folly to be wise."[155]

We drove as far as Yair with Mr. and Mrs. Theobald. The lady read after

dinner--and read well.

_March_ 26.--The Theobalds left us, giving me time to work a little. A

walk of two hours diversified my day. I received Cadell's scheme for the

new edition. I fear the trustees will think Cadell's plan expensive in

the execution. Yet he is right; for, to ensure a return of speedy sale,

the new edition should be both handsome and cheap. He proposes size a

Royal 12mo, with a capital engraving to each volume from a design by the

best artists. This infers a monstrous expense, but in the present humour

of the public ensures the sale. The price will be 5s. per volume, and

the whole set, 32 volumes, from _Waverley_ to _Woodstock_ included, will

be £8.

_March_ 27.--This also was a day of labour, affording only my usual

interval of a walk. Five or six sheets was the result. We now

appropinque an end. My story has unhappily a divided interest; there are

three distinct strands of the rope, and they are not well twisted

together. "Ah, Sirs, a foul fawt," as Captain Tommy says.

_March_ 28.--The days have little to distinguish each other, very

little. The morning study, the noontide walk, all monotonous and

inclined to be melancholy; God help me! But I have not had any nervous

attack. Read _Tales of an Antiquary_,[156] one of the chime of bells

which I have some hand in setting a-ringing. He is really entitled to

the name of an antiquary; but he has too much description in proportion

to the action. There is a capital wardrobe of properties, but the

performers do not act up to their character.

_March_ 29.--Finished volume third this morning. I have let no grass

grow beneath my heels this bout.

Mr. Cadell with J. and A. Ballantyne came to dinner. Mr. and Mrs. George

Pringle, new married, dined with us and old Torwoodlee. Sandy's music

made the evening go sweetly down.

_March_ 30.--A long discourse with Cadell, canvassing his scheme. He

proposes I should go on immediately with the new novel. This will

furnish a fund from which may be supplied the advances necessary for the

new work, which are considerable, and may reach from £4000 to £8000--the

last sum quite improbable--before it makes returns. Thus we can face the

expenditure necessary to set on foot our great work. I have written to

recommend the plan to John Gibson. This theme renewed from time to time

during the forenoon. Dr. Clarkson[157] dined with us. We smoked and had

whisky and water after.

_March_ 31.--The Ballantynes and Cadell left us in high spirits,

expecting much from the new undertaking, and I believe they are not

wrong. As for me, I became torpid after a great influx of morning

visitors.

"I grew vapourish and odd,

And would not do the least right thing,

Neither for goddess nor for god--

Nor paint nor jest nor laugh, nor sing."

I was quite reluctant to write letters, or do anything whatsoever, and

yet I should surely write to Sir Cuthbert Sharp and Surtees. We dined

alone. I was main stupid, indeed, and much disposed to sleep, though my

dinner was very moderate.

FOOTNOTES:

[142] Oldham--"Lines addressed to a friend about to leave the

University."--_Poems and Translations_, 8vo. Lond. 1694.

[143] On the 20th April Moore writes to Scott: "I am delighted you do

not reject my proffered dedication, though between two such names as

yours and Byron's I shall but realise the description in the old couplet

of Wisdom and Wit,

'With folly at full length between.'

However, never mind; in cordial feeling and good fellowship I flatter

myself I am a match for either of you."

[144] By Mrs. Centlivre.

[145] See _Life_, vol. viii. p. 257 _n_.

[146] Miss Graham tells us in her _Mystifications_ (Edin. 1864) that Sir

Walter, on leaving the room, whispered in her ear, "Awa, awa, the Deil's

ower grit wi' you." "To meet her in company," wrote Dr. John Brown half

a century later, when she was still the charm and the delight as well as

the centre of a large circle of friends, "one saw a quiet, unpretending,

sensible, shrewd, kindly little lady; perhaps you would not remark

anything extraordinary in her, but let her _put on the old lady_; it was

as if a warlock spell had passed over her; not merely her look but her

nature was changed: her spirit had passed into the character she

represented; and jest, quick retort, whimsical fancy, the wildest

nonsense flowed from her lips, with a freedom and truth to nature which

appeared to be impossible in her own personality."

With this faculty for satire and imitation, Miss Graham never used it to

give pain. She was as much at home, too, with old Scotch sayings as Sir

Walter himself. For example, speaking of a field of cold, wet land she

said, "It grat a' winter and girned a' simmer," and of herself one

morning at breakfast when she thought she was getting too much attention

from her guests (she was at this time over ninety) she exclaimed, "I'm

like the bride in the old song:--

'Twa were blawing at her nose And three were buckling at her shoon.'"

Miss Graham's friends will never forget the evenings they have spent at

29 Forth Street, Edinburgh, or their visits at Duntrune, where the

venerable lady died in her ninety-sixth year in September 1877.

[147] Miss Elizabeth Bell, daughter of the Rev. James Bell, minister of

the parish of Coldstream from 1778 to 1794. This lady lived all her life

in her native county, and died at a great age at a house on the Tweed,

named Springhill, in 1876.

[148] _Ante_, vol. i. p. 253.

[149] _The Murder Hole_, a story founded on the tradition and under this

name, was printed in _Blackwood's Mag_., vol. xxv. p. 189: 1829.

[150] Written by Gerald Griffin

[151] _St. Valentine's Eve_, or _The Fair Maid of Perth_.

[152] _Coriolanus_, Act VI. Sc. 6.

[153] _Ante_, p. 40.

[154] It may have been with this packet that the following admonitory

note was sent to Ballantyne:--"DEAR JAMES,--I return the sheets of

_Tales_ with some waste of _Napoleon_ for ballast. Pray read like a

lynx, for with all your devoted attention things will escape. Imagine

your printing that the Douglases after James II. had dirked the Earl,

trailed the royal safe-conduct at the TAIL of a _serving man_, instead

of the _tail_ of a _starved Mare_.--Yours truly, however, W.S." So

printed in first edition, vol. ii. p. 129, but corrected in the

subsequent editions to "a miserable cart jade."

[155] Gray's _Ode on Eton_.

[156] By Richard Thomson, author of _Chronicles of London Bridge_, etc.

He died in 1865.

[157] Dr. Ebenezer Clarkson, a Surgeon of distinguished merit at Selkirk

and through life a trusty friend and crony of the Sheriffs.--J.G.L.

"In Mr. Gideon Gray, in _The Surgeon's Daughter_, Sir Walter's

neighbours on Tweedside saw a true picture--a portrait from life of

Scott's hard-riding and sagacious old friend to all the country

dear."--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 181.

APRIL.

_April_ 1.--All Fools' day, the only Saint that keeps up some degree of

credit in the world; for fools we are with a vengeance. On this

memorable festival we played the fool with great decorum at Colonel

Ferguson's, going to visit them in a cold morning. In the evening I had

a distressing letter from Mrs. MacBarnet, or some such name, the

daughter of Captain Macpherson, smothered in a great snow storm. They

are very angry at the _Review_ for telling a raw-head and bloody bones

story about him. I have given the right version of the tale willingly,

but this does not satisfy. I almost wish they would turn out a clansman

to be free of the cumber. The vexation of having to do with ladies, who

on such a point must be unreasonable, is very great. With a man it would

be soon ended or mended. It really hurts my sleep.

_April_ 2.--I wrote the lady as civilly as I could, explaining why I

made no further apology, which may do some good. Then a cursed morning

of putting to rights, which drives me well-nigh mad. At two or three I

must go to a funeral--a happy and interesting relief from my employment.

It is a man I am sorry for, who married my old servant, Bell Ormiston.

He was an excellent person in his way, and a capital mason--a great

curler.

_April_ 3.--Set off at eight o'clock, and fought forward to Carlisle--a

sad place in my domestic remembrances, since here I married my poor

Charlotte. She is gone, and I am following faster, perhaps, than I wot

of. It is something to have lived and loved; and our poor children are

so hopeful and affectionate, that it chastens the sadness attending the

thoughts of our separation. We slept at Carlisle. I have not forgiven

them for destroying their quiet old walls, and building two lumpy things

like mad-houses. The old gates had such a respectable appearance once,

"When Scotsmen's heads did guard the wall."

Come, I'll write down the whole stanza, which is all that was known to

exist of David Hume's poetry, as it was written on a pane of glass in

the inn:--

"Here chicks in eggs for breakfast sprawl,

Here godless boys God's glories squall,

Here Scotsmen's heads do guard the wall,

But Corby's walks atone for all."

The poetical works of David Hume, Esq., might, as bookmakers know now,

be driven out to a handsome quarto. Line 1st admits of a descant upon

eggs roasted, boiled or poached; 2d, a history of Carlisle Cathedral

with some reasons why the choir there has been proverbially execrable;

3d, the whole history of 1745 with minute memoirs of such as mounted

guard on the Scotch gate. I remember the spikes the heads stood upon;

lastly, a description of Corby Castle with a plan, and the genealogy of

the Howards. Gad, the booksellers would give me £500 for it. I have a

mind to print it for the Bannatynians.

_April_ 4.--In our stage to Penrith I introduced Anne to the ancient

Petreia, called Old Penrith, and also to the grave of Sir Ewain

Cæsarias,[158] that knight with the puzzling name, which has got more

indistinct. We breakfasted at Buchanan's Inn, Penrith, one of the best

on the road, and a fine stanch fellow owned it. He refused passage to

some of the delegates who traversed the country during the Radical row,

and when the worthies threatened him with popular vengeance, answered

gallantly that he had not lived so long by the Crown to desert it at a

pinch. The Crown is the sign of his inn. Slept at Garstang, an

indifferent house. As a petty grievance, my ink-holder broke loose in

the case, and spilt some of the ink on Anne's pelisse. Misfortunes

seldom come single. "'Tis not alone the inky cloak, good daughter," but

I forgot at Garstang my two breastpins; one with Walter and Jane's hair,

another a harp of pure Irish gold, the gift of the ladies of

Llangollen.[159]

_April_ 5.--Breakfasted at Chorley, and slept at Leek. We were in the

neighbourhood of some fine rock-scenery, but the day was unfavourable;

besides, I did not come from Scotland to see rocks, I trow.

_April_ 6.--Easter Sunday. We breakfasted at Ashbourne and went from

thence to Derby; and set off from thence to Drycot Hall (five miles) to

visit Hugh Scott. But honest Hugh was, like ourselves, on the ramble; so

we had nothing to do but to drive back to Derby, and from thence to

Tamworth, where we slept.

_April 7_.--We visited the Castle in the morning. It is inhabited by a

brother-in-law of the proprietor; and who is the proprietor? "Why, Mr.

Robbins," said the fat housekeeper. This was not a name quite according

with the fine chivalrous old hall, in which there was no small quantity

of armour, and odds and ends, which I would have been glad to possess.

"Well, but madam, before Mr. Robbins bought the place, who was the

proprietor?" "Lord Charles Townshend, sir." This would not do neither;

but a genealogy hanging above the chimney-piece informed me that the

Ferrars were the ancient possessors of the mansion, which, indeed, the

horseshoes in the shield over the Castle gate might have intimated.

Tamworth is a fine old place, neglected, but, therefore, more like hoar

antiquity. The keep is round. The apartments appear to have been

modernised _tempore_ Jac. I'mi. There was a fine demipique saddle,

said to have been that of James II. The pommel rose, and finished off in

the form of a swan's crest, capital for a bad horseman to hold on by.

To show Anne what was well worth seeing, we visited Kenilworth. The

relentless rain only allowed us a glimpse of this memorable ruin. Well,

the last time I was here, in 1815,[160] these trophies of time were

quite neglected. Now they approach so much nearer the splendour of

Thunder-ten-tronckh, as to have a door at least, if not windows. They

are, in short, preserved and protected. So much for the novels. I

observed decent children begging here, a thing uncommon in England: and

I recollect the same unseemly practice formerly.

We went to Warwick Castle. The neighbourhood of Leamington, a

watering-place of some celebrity, has obliged the family to decline

showing the Castle after ten o'clock. I tried the virtue of an old

acquaintance with Lord Warwick and wrote to him, he being in the

Courthouse where the assizes were sitting. After some delay we were

admitted, and I found my old friend Mrs. Hume, in the most perfect

preservation, though, as she tells me, now eighty-eight. She went

through her duty wonderfully, though now and then she complained of her

memory. She has laid aside a mass of black plumes which she wore on her

head, and which resembled the casque in the Castle of Otranto. Warwick

Castle is still the noblest sight in England. Lord and Lady Warwick came

home from the Court, and received us most kindly. We lunched with them,

but declined further hospitality. When I was last here, and for many

years before, the unfortunate circumstances of the late Lord W. threw an

air of neglect about everything. I believe the fine collection of

pictures would have been sold by distress, if Mrs. Hume, my friend, had

not redeemed them at her own cost.[161] I was pleased to see Lord

Warwick show my old friend kindness and attention. We visited the

monuments of the Nevilles and Beauchamps, names which make the heart

thrill. The monuments are highly preserved. We concluded the day at

Stratford-upon-Avon.

_April_ 8.--We visited the tomb of the mighty wizard. It is in the bad

taste of James the First's reign; but what a magic does the locality

possess! There are stately monuments of forgotten families; but when you

have seen Shakspeare's what care we for the rest. All around is

Shakspeare's exclusive property. I noticed the monument of his friend

John a Combe immortalised as drawing forth a brief satirical notice of

four lines.

After breakfast I asked after Mrs. Ormsby, the old mad woman who was for

some time tenant of Shakspeare's house, and conceived herself to be

descended from the immortal poet. I learned she was dying. I thought to

send her a sovereign; but this extension of our tour has left me no more

than will carry me through my journey, and I do not like to run short

upon the road. So I take credit for my good intention, and--keep my

sovereign--a cheap and not unusual mode of giving charity.

Learning from Washington Irving's description of Stratford that the hall

of Sir Thomas Lucy, the justice who rendered Warwickshire too hot for

Shakspeare, and drove him to London, was still extant, we went in quest

of it.

Charlcote is in high preservation, and inhabited by Mr. Lucy, descendant

of the worshipful Sir Thomas. The Hall is about three hundred years old,

an old brick structure with a gate-house in advance. It is surrounded by

venerable oaks, realising the imagery which Shakspeare loved so well to

dwell upon; rich verdant pastures extend on every side, and numerous

herds of deer were reposing in the shade. All showed that the Lucy

family had retained their "land and beeves." While we were surveying the

antlered old hall, with its painted glass and family pictures, Mr. Lucy

came to welcome us in person, and to show the house, with the collection

of paintings, which seems valuable, and to which he had made many

valuable additions.

He told me the park from which Shakspeare stole the buck was not that

which surrounds Charlcote, but belonged to a mansion at some distance

where Sir Thomas Lucy resided at the time of the trespass. The tradition

went that they hid the buck in a barn, part of which was standing a few

years ago, but now totally decayed. This park no longer belongs to the

Lucys. The house bears no marks of decay, but seems the abode of ease

and opulence. There were some fine old books, and I was told of many

more which were not in order. How odd if a folio Shakspeare should be

found amongst them! Our early breakfast did not prevent my taking

advantage of an excellent repast offered by the kindness of Mr. and Mrs.

Lucy, the last a lively Welshwoman. This visit gave me great pleasure;

it really brought Justice Shallow freshly before my eyes; the luces in

his arms "which do become an old coat well"[162] were not more plainly

portrayed in his own armorials in the hall-window than was his person in

my mind's eye. There is a picture shown as that of the old Sir Thomas,

but Mr. Lucy conjectures it represents his son. There were three

descents of the same name of Thomas. The party hath "the eye severe, and

beard of formal cut," which fills up with judicial austerity the

otherwise social physiognomy of the worshipful presence, with his "fair

round belly with fat capon lined."[163]

We resumed our journey. I may mention among the pictures at Charlcote

one called a Roman Knight, which seemed to me very fine; Teniers'

marriage, in which, contrary to the painter's wont, only persons of

distinction are represented, but much in the attitude in which he

delights to present his boors; two hawking pieces by Wouvermans, very

fine specimens, _cum aliis_.

We took our way by Edgehill, and looked over the splendid richness of

the fine prospect from a sort of gazeeboo or modern antique tower, the

place of a Mr. Miller. It is not easy to conceive a richer and more

peaceful scene than that which stretched before us, and [one with which]

strife, or the memory of strife, seems to have nothing to do.

"But man records his own disgrace,

And Edgehill lives in history."

We got on to Buckingham, an ugly though I suppose an ancient town.

Thence to Aylesbury through the wealth of England, in the scene of the

old ballad--

"Neither drunk nor sober, but neighbour to both,

I met with a man in Aylesbury vale;

I saw by his face that he was in good case,

To speak no great harm of a pot of good ale."

We slept at Aylesbury. The landlord, who seemed sensible, told me that

the land round the town, being the richest in England, lets at £3, or

£3, 10s. and some so high as £4 per acre. _But_ the poor-rates are 13s.

to the pound. Now, my Whitehaugh at Huntly Burn yielded at last set £4

per acre.

_April_ 9, [_London_],--We got to town about mid-day, and found Sophia,

Lockhart, and the babies quite well--delighted with their companion

Charles, and he enchanted with his occupation in the Foreign Office. I

looked into my cash and found £53 had diminished on the journey down to

about £3. In former days a journey to London cost about £30 or thirty

guineas. It may now cost one-fourth more. But I own I like to pay

postilions and waiters rather more liberally than perhaps is right. I

hate grumbling and sour faces; and the whole saving will not exceed a

guinea or two for being cursed and damned from Dan to Beersheba. We had

a joyful meeting, I promise you.[164]

_April_ 10.--I spent the morning in bringing up my journal; interrupted

by two of these most sedulous visitants who had objects of their own to

serve, and smelled out my arrival as the raven scents carrion--a vile

comparison, though what better is an old fellow, mauled with rheumatism

and other deplorables? Went out at two and saw Miss Dumergue and other

old friends; Sotheby in particular, less changed than any one I have

seen. Looked in at Murray's and renewed old habits. This great city

seems almost a waste to me, so many of my friends are gone; Walter and

Jane coming up, the whole family dined together, and were very happy.

The children joined in our festivity. My name-son, a bright and

blue-eyed rogue, with flaxen hair, screams and laughs like an April

morning; and the baby is that species of dough which is called a fine

baby. I care not for children till they care a little for me.

_April_ 11.--Made calls, walked myself tired; saw Rogers, Sharp,

Sotheby, and other old friends.

_April_ 12.--Dinner at home; a little party of Sophia's in the evening.

Sharp told me that one evening being at Sheridan's house with a large

party, Tom S. came to him as the night drew late, and said in a whisper,

"I advise you to secure a wax-light to go to bed with," shewing him at

the same time a morsel which he had stolen from a sconce. Sharp followed

his advice, and had reason to be thankful for the hint. Tired and

sleepy, I make a bad night watcher.

_April_ 13.--Amused myself by converting the _Tale of the Mysterious

Mirror_ into _Aunt Margaret's Mirror_, designed for Heath's

what-dye-call-it. Cadell will not like this, but I cannot afford to have

my goods thrown back upon my hands. The tale is a good one, and is said

actually to have happened to Lady Primrose, my great-grandmother having

attended her sister on the occasion. Dined with Miss Dumergue. My proofs

from Edinburgh reached to-day and occupied me all the morning.

_April_ 14. Laboured at proofs and got them sent off, per Mr. Freeling's

cover. So there's an end of the _Chronicles_.[165] James rejoices in the

conclusion, where there is battle and homicide of all kinds. Always

politic to keep a trot for the avenue, like the Irish postilions. J.B.

always calls to the boys to flog before the carriage gets out of the

inn-yard. How we have driven the stage I know not and care not--except

with a view to extricating my difficulties. I have lost no time in

beginning the second series of _Grandfather's Tales_, being determined

to write as much as I can even here, and deserve by industry the soft

pillow I sleep on for the moment.

There is a good scene supposed to have happened between Sam Rogers and a

lady of fashion--the reporter, Lord Dudley. Sam enters, takes a stool,

creeps close to the lady's side, who asks his opinion of the last new

poem or novel. In a pathetic voice the spectre replies--"My opinion? I

like it very much--but the world don't like it; but, indeed, I begin to

think the world wrong in everything, except with regard to _you_." Now,

Rogers either must have said this somewhere, or he has it yet to say. We

dined at Lord Melville's.

_April_ 15.--Got the lamentable news that Terry is totally bankrupt.

This is a most unexpected blow, though his carelessness about money

matters was very great. God help the poor fellow! he has been

ill-advised to go abroad, but now returns to stand the storm--old debts,

it seems, with principal and interest accumulated, and all the items

which load a falling man. And wife such a good and kind creature, and

children. Alack! alack! I sought out his solicitor. There are £7000 or

more to pay, and the only fund his share in the Adelphi Theatre, worth

£5000 and upwards, and then so fine a chance of independence lost. That

comes of not being explicit with his affairs. The theatre was a most

flourishing concern. I looked at the books, and since have seen Yates.

The ruin is inevitable, but I think they will not keep him in prison,

but let him earn his bread by his very considerable talents. I shall

lose the whole or part of £500 which I lent him, but that is the least

of my concern. I hope the theatre is quite good for guaranteeing certain

payments in 1829 and 1830. I judge they are in no danger.

I should have gone to the Club to-day, but Sir James Mackintosh had

mistaken the day. I was glad of it, so stayed at home.

It is written that nothing shall flourish under my shadow--the

Ballantynes, Terry, Nelson, Weber, all came to distress. Nature has

written on my brow, "Your shade shall be broad, but there shall be no

protection derived from it to aught you favour."

Sat and smoked and grumbled with Lockhart.

_April_ 16.--We dined at Dr. Young's; saw Captain Parry, a handsome and

pleasant man. In the evening at Mr. Cunliffe's, where I met sundry old

friends--grown older.

_April_ 17.--Made up my "Gurnal," which had fallen something behind. In

this phantasmagorial place the objects of the day come and depart like

shadows.[166] Made calls. Gave [C.K.] Sharpe's memorial to Lord Leveson

Gower. Went to Murray's, where I met a Mr. Jacob, a great economist. He

is proposing a mode of supporting the poor, by compelling them to labour

by military force, and under a species of military discipline. I see no

objection to it, only it will make a rebellion to a certainty; and the

tribes of Jacob will certainly cut Jacob's throat.[167]

Canning's conversion from popular opinions was strangely brought round.

While he was studying at the Temple, and rather entertaining

revolutionary opinions, Godwin sent to say that he was coming to

breakfast with him, to speak on a subject of the highest importance.

Canning knew little of him, but received his visit, and learned to his

astonishment, that in expectation of a new order of things, the English

Jacobins desired to place him, Canning, at the head of their expected

revolution. He was much struck, and asked time to think what course he

should take--and, having thought the matter over, he went to Mr. Pitt

and made the Anti-Jacobin confession of faith, in which he persevered

until----. Canning himself mentioned this to Sir W. Knighton, upon

occasion of giving a place in the Charter-house, of some ten pounds a

year, to Godwin's brother. He could scarce do less for one who had

offered him the dictator's curule chair.

Dined with Rogers with all my own family, and met Sharp, Lord John

Russell, Jekyll, and others. The conversation flagged as usual, and

jokes were fired like minute guns, producing an effect not much less

melancholy,--a wit should always have an atmosphere congenial to him,

otherwise he will not shine. Went to Lady Davy's, where I saw the kind

face, and heard the no less friendly greeting, of Lady Selkirk,[168] who

introduced all her children to me.

_April_ 18.--Breakfasted with Joanna Baillie, and found that gifted

person extremely well, and in the display of all her native knowledge of

character and benevolence. She looks more aged, however. I would give as

much to have a capital picture of her as for any portrait in the world.

She gave me a manuscript play to read upon Witchcraft.[169] Dined with

the Dean of Chester, Dr. Phillpotts.[170]

"Where all above us was a solemn row

Of priest and deacons, so were all below."[171]

There were the amiable Bishop of London (Howley[172]), Coplestone, whom

I remember a first man at Oxford, now Bishop of Llandaff, the Dean of

St. Paul's, and other dignitaries of whom I knew less. It was a very

pleasant day--the wigs against the wits for a guinea in point of

conversation. Anne looked queer, and much disposed to laugh at finding

herself placed betwixt two prelates [in black petticoats].

_April_ 19.--Breakfasted with Sir George Philips. Had his receipt

against the blossoms being injured by frost. It consists in watering

them plentifully before sunrise. This is like the mode of thawing beef.

We had a pleasant morning, much the better that Morritt was with us. He

has agreed to go to Hampton Court with us to-morrow.

Mr. Reynolds called on me about the drawing of the Laird's Jock; he is

assiduous and attentive, but a little forward. Poor Gillies also called.

Both asked me to dinner, but I refused. I do not incline to make what is

called literary acquaintances; and as for poor G., it is wild to talk

about his giving dinner to others, when he can hardly get credit for his

own.

Dined with Sir Robert Henry Inglis, and met Sir Thomas

Acland, my old and kind friend. I was happy to see him. He may be

considered now as the head of the religious party in the House of

Commons, a powerful body which Wilberforce long commanded. It is a

difficult situation; for the adaptation of religious motives to earthly

policy is apt--among the infinite delusions of the human heart--to be a

snare. But I could confide much in Sir T. Acland's honour and integrity.

Bishop Blomfield [of Chester],[173] one of the most learned prelates of

the church, also dined.

Coming home, an Irish coachman drove us into a _cul de sac_, near

Battersea Bridge. We were obliged to get out in the rain. The people

admitted us into their houses, where they were having their bit of

supper, assisted with lights, etc., and, to the honour of London,

neither asked nor expected gratification.

_April_ 20.--We went to Walter's quarters in a body, and saw Hampton

Court, with which I was more struck than when I saw it for the first

time, about 1806. The pictures are not very excellent, but they are

curious, which is as interesting, except to connoisseurs. Two I

particularly remarked, of James I. and Charles I. eating in public. The

old part of the palace, built by Wolsey, is extremely fine. Two handsome

halls are still preserved: one, the ceiling of which is garnished, at

the crossing and combining of the arches, with the recurring heads of

Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn--great stinginess in Henry, for these

ornaments must have been put up after Wolsey's fall. He could surely

afford a diversity of this species of ornament if any man could.

Formerly, when the palace was completely a fishing-house, it extended

into, or rather over, the river. We had a good dinner from Walter, and

wended merrily home.

_April_ 21.--Dining is the principal act of the day in London. We took

ours at Kensington with Croker. There were Theodore Hook and other

witty men. He looks unhealthy and bloated. There was something, I know

not what, awanting to the cheerfulness of the party. And

"Silence like a heavy cloud,

O'er all the warriors hung."

If the general report of Croker's retiring be accurate, it may account

for this.

_April_ 22.--Sophia left this to take down poor Johnnie to Brighton. I

fear--I fear--but we must hope the best. Anne went with her sister.

Lockhart and I dined with Sotheby, where we met a large dining party,

the orator of which was that extraordinary man Coleridge. After eating a

hearty dinner, during which he spoke not a word, he began a most learned

harangue on the Samothracian Mysteries, which he considered as affording

the germ of all tales about fairies past, present, and to come. He then

diverged to Homer, whose Iliad he considered as a collection of poems by

different authors, at different times during a century. There was, he

said, the individuality of an age, but not of a country. Morritt, a

zealous worshipper of the old bard, was incensed at a system which would

turn him into a polytheist, gave battle with keenness, and was joined by

Sotheby, our host. Mr. Coleridge behaved with the utmost complaisance

and temper, but relaxed not from his exertions. "Zounds! I was never so

bethumped with words." Morritt's impatience; must have cost him an extra

sixpence worth of snuff.[174]

We went to Lady Davy's in the evening, where there was a fashionable

party.

_April_ 23.--- Dined at Lady Davy's with Lord and Lady Lansdowne, and

several other fashionable folks. My keys were sent to Bramah's with my

desk, so I have not had the means of putting matters down regularly for

several days; but who cares for the whipp'd cream of London society? Our

poor little Johnnie is extremely ill. My fears have been uniform for

this engaging child. We are in God's hands. But the comfortable and

happy object of my journey is ended,--Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia,[175]

was right after all.

_April_ 24.--Spent the day in rectifying a road bill which drew a

turnpike road through all the Darnickers' cottages, and a good field of

my own. I got it put to rights. I was in some apprehension of being

obliged to address the Committee. I did not fear them, for I suppose

they are no wiser or better in their capacity of legislators than I find

them every day at dinner. But I feared for my reputation. They would

have expected something better than the occasion demanded, or the

individual could produce, and there would have been a failure.

_April_ 25.--Threatened to be carried down to vote at the election of a

Collector of the Cess.[176] Resolved if I did go to carry my son with

me, which would give me a double vote.

Had some disagreeable correspondence about this with Lord Minto and the

Sheriff.

We had one or two persons at home in great wretchedness to dinner.

Lockhart's looks showed the misery he felt. I was not able to make any

fight, and the evening went off as heavily as any I ever spent in the

course of my life.

Finished my Turnpike business by getting the exceptionable clauses

omitted, which would be good news to Darnick. Put all the _Mirror_ in

proof and corrected it. This is the contribution (part of it) to Mr.

Reynolds' and Heath's _Keepsake_. We dined at Richardson's with the two

chief Barons of England[177] and Scotland.[178] Odd enough, the one

being a Scotsman and the other an Englishman. Far the pleasantest day we

have had; I suppose I am partial, but I think the lawyers beat the

bishops, and the bishops beat the wits.

_April_ 26.--This morning I went to meet a remarkable man, Mr. Boyd of

the house of Boyd, Benfield & Co., which broke for a very large sum at

the beginning of the war. Benfield went to the devil, I believe. Boyd, a

man of a very different stamp, went over to Paris to look after some

large claims which his house had over the French Government. They were

such as it seems they could not disavow, however they might be disposed

to do so. But they used every effort, by foul means and fair, to induce

Mr. Boyd to depart. He was reduced to poverty; he was thrown into

prison; and the most flattering prospects were, on the other hand, held

out to him if he would compromise his claims. His answer was uniform. It

was the property, he said, of his creditors, and he would die ere he

resigned it. His distresses were so great that a subscription was made

among his Scottish friends, to which I was a contributor, through the

request of poor Will Erskine. After the peace of Paris the money was

restored, and, faithful to the last, Boyd laid the whole at his

creditors' disposal; stating, at the same time, that he was penniless

unless they consented to allow him a moderate sum in name of percentage,

in consideration of twenty years of danger, poverty, and [exile], all of

which evils he might have escaped by surrendering their right to the

money. Will it be believed that a muck-worm was base enough to refuse

his consent to this deduction, alleging he had promised to his father,

on his death-bed, never to compromise this debt. The wretch, however,

was overpowered by the execrations of all around him, and concurred,

with others, in setting apart for Mr. Boyd a sum of £40,000 or £50,000

out of half a million of money.[179] This is a man to whom statues

should be erected, and pilgrims should go to see him. He is

good-looking, but old and infirm. Bright dark eyes and eyebrows contrast

with his snowy hair, and all his features mark vigour of principle and

resolution. Mr. Morritt dined with us, and we did as well as in the

circumstances could be expected.

Released from the alarm of being summoned down to the election by a

civil letter from Lord Minto. I am glad both of the relief and of the

manner. I hate civil war amongst neighbours.

_April_ 27.--Breakfasted this day with Charles Dumergue on a _poulet à

la tartare_, and saw all his family, specially my godson. Called on Lady

Stafford and others, and dined at Croker's in the Admiralty, with the

Duke of Wellington, Huskisson, Wilmot Horton, and others, outs and ins.

No politics of course, and every man disguising serious thoughts with a

light brow. The Duke alone seemed open, though not letting out a word.

He is one of the few whose lips are worth watching. I heard him say

to-day that the best troops would run now and then. He thought nothing

of men running, he said, provided they came back again. In war he had

always his reserves. Poor Terry was here when I returned. He seems to

see his matters in a delusive light.

_April_ 28.--An attack this day or yesterday from poor Gillies, boring

me hard to apply to Menzies of Pitfoddels to entreat him to lend him

money. I could not get him to understand that I was decidedly averse to

write to another gentleman, with whom I was hardly acquainted, to do

that which I would not do myself. Tom Campbell[180] is in miserable

distress--his son insane--his wife on the point of becoming so. _I nunc,

et versus tecum meditare canoros._[181]

We, _i.e._ Charles and I, dined at Sir Francis Freeling's with Colonel

Harrison of the Board of Green Cloth, Dr. [Maltby] of Lincoln's Inn, and

other pleasant people. Doctor Dibdin too, and Utterson, all old

Roxburghe men. Pleasant party, were it not for a bad cold, which makes

me bark like a dog.

_April_ 29.--Anne and Lockhart are off with the children this morning at

seven, and Charles and I left behind; and this is the promised meeting

of my household! I went to Dr. Gilly's to-day to breakfast. Met Sir

Thomas Acland, who is the youngest man of his age I ever saw. I was so

much annoyed with cough, that, on returning, I took to my bed and had a

siesta, to my considerable refreshment. Dr. Fergusson called, and

advised caution in eating and drinking, which I will attend to.

Dined accordingly. Duke of Sussex had cold and did not come. A Mr. or

Dr. Pettigrew made me speeches on his account, and invited me to see his

Royal Highness's library, which I am told is a fine one. Sir Peter

Laurie, late Sheriff, and in nomination to be Lord Mayor, bored me

close, and asked more questions than would have been thought warrantable

at the west end of the town.

_April_ 30.--We had Mr. Adolphus and his father, the celebrated lawyer,

to breakfast, and I was greatly delighted with the information of the

latter. A barrister of extended practice, if he has any talents at all,

is the best companion in the world.[182]

Dined with Lord Alvanley and a fashionable party, Lord Fitzroy Somerset,

Marquis and Marchioness of Worcester, etc. Lord Alvanley's wit made the

party very pleasant, as well as the kind reception of my friends the

Misses Arden.

FOOTNOTES:

[158] For an account of this monument see Nicolson and Burns's _History

of Westmoreland and Cumberland_, vol. ii. p. 410, and "Notabilia of

Penrith," by George Watson, _C. and W. Transactions_, No. xiv.

[159] Lady Eleanor Butler and the Hon. Miss Ponsonby. An amusing account

of Sir Walter's visit to them in 1825 is given by Mr. Lockhart in the

_Life_, vol. viii. pp. 47-50.

[160] The visit to Kenilworth in 1815 is not noticed in the _Life_, but

as Scott was in London for some weeks in the spring of that year he may

have gone there on his return journey. Mr. Charles Knight, writing in

1842, says that Mr. Bonnington, the venerable occupant of the Gate

House, told him that he remembered the visit and the visitor! It was

"about twenty-five years ago"--and after examining some carving in the

interior of the Gate House and putting many suggestive questions, the

middle-aged active stranger slightly lame, and with keen grey eye,

passed through the court and remained among the ruins silent and alone

for about two hours. (_Shakspeare_, vol. i. p. 89.) The famous romance

did not appear until six years later, viz. in January 1821, and in the

autumn of that year it is somewhat singular to find that Scott and his

friend Mr. Stewart Rose are at Stratford-on-Avon writing their names on

the wall of Shakespeare's birthplace--and yet leaving Kenilworth

unvisited.--Perhaps the reason was that Mr. Stewart Rose was not in the

secret of the authorship of the Novels.

[161] In the _Annual Register_ for July 1834 is the following notice:

"Lately at Warwick Castle, aged ninety-three, Mrs. Home, for upwards of

seventy years a servant of the Warwick family. She had the privilege of

showing the Castle, by which she realised upwards of £30,000."

[162] _Merry Wives_, Act I. Sc. 1.

[163] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 7.

[164] Sir Walter remained at this time six weeks in London. His eldest

son's regiment was stationed at Hampton Court; his second son had

recently taken his desk at the Foreign Office, and was living at his

sister's in Regent's Park. He had thus looked forward to a happy meeting

with all his family--but he encountered scenes of sickness and

distress.--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 226-7.

[165] The book was published early in April under the following title:

_Chronicles of the Canongate_, Second Series, by the Author of

_Waverley_, etc., "SIC ITUR AD ASTRA" _Motto of Canongate Arms_, in

three volumes. (_St. Valentine's Day; or The Fair Maid of Perth_.)

Edinburgh: Printed for Cadell and Co., Edinburgh, and Simpkin and

Marshall, London, 1828; (at the end) Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne

and Co.

[166] Among the "objects that came and departed like shadows" in this

phantasmagoria of London life was a deeply interesting letter from

Thomas Carlyle, and but for the fact that it bears Sir Walter's London

address, and the post-mark of this day, one could not imagine he had

ever seen it, as it remained unacknowledged and unnoticed in either

Journal or Correspondence.

It is dated 13th April 1828; and one of the latest letters he indited

from "21 Comely Bank, Edinburgh." After advising Scott that "Goethe has

sent two medals which he is to deliver into his own hand," he gives an

extract from Goethe's letter containing a criticism on _Napoleon_, with

the apology that "it is seldom such a writer obtains such a critic," and

in conclusion he adds, "Being in this curious fashion appointed, as it

were, ambassador between two kings of poetry, I would willingly

discharge my mission with the solemnity that beseems such a business;

and naturally it must flatter my vanity and love of the marvellous to

think that by means of a foreigner whom I have never seen, I might soon

have access to my native sovereign, whom I have so often seen in public,

and so often wished that I had claim to see and know in private and near

at hand. ... Meanwhile, I abide your further orders in this matter, and

so with all the regard which belongs to one to whom I in common with

other millions owe so much, I have the honour to be, sir, most

respectfully, your servant.--T.C."

[167] William Jacob, author of _Travels in Spain_ in 1810-11, and

several works on Political Economy. Among others "some tracts concerning

the Poor Colonies instituted by the King of the Netherlands, which had

marked influence in promoting the scheme of granting small _allotments_

of land on easy terms to our cottagers; a scheme which, under the

superintendence of Lord Braybrooke and other noblemen and gentlemen in

various districts of England, appears to have been attended with most

beneficent results."--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 229. Mr. Jacob died in 1852

aged eighty-eight.

[168] The widow of his old school-fellow, the Hon. Thomas Douglas,

afterwards Earl of Selkirk.--See _Life_, vol. i. p. 77, and 208 _n_.

[169] _Ante_, p. 10. Afterwards included in her _Poetical and Dramatic

Works,_ Lond. 1851.

[170] Dr. Henry Phillpotts, consecrated Bishop of Exeter in 1830.

[171] Crabbe's _Tale of the Dumb Orators._--J.G.L.

[172] Dr. Howley, raised in 1828 to the Archbishopric of

Canterbury.--J.G.L.

[173] Translated to the see of London in 1828, where he remained until

his death in 1859.

[174] Mr. Lockhart gives an account of another dinner party at which

Coleridge distinguished himself:--"The first time I ever witnessed it

[Hook's improvisation] was at a gay young bachelor's villa near

Highgate, when the other lion was one of a very different breed, Mr.

Coleridge. Much claret had been shed before the _Ancient Mariner_

proclaimed that he could swallow no more of anything, unless it were

punch. The materials were forthwith produced; the bowl was planted

before the poet, and as he proceeded in his concoction, Hook, unbidden,

took his place at the piano. He burst into a bacchanal of egregious

luxury, every line of which had reference to the author of the _Lay

Sermons_ and the _Aids to Reflection_. The room was becoming excessively

hot: the first specimen of the new compound was handed to Hook, who

paused to quaff it, and then, exclaiming that he was stifled, flung his

glass through the window. Coleridge rose with the aspect of a benignant

patriarch and demolished another pane--the example was followed

generally--the window was a sieve in an instant--the kind host was

furthest from the mark, and his goblet made havoc of the chandelier. The

roar of laughter was drowned in Theodore's resumption of the song--and

window and chandelier and the peculiar shot of each individual destroyer

had apt, in many cases exquisitely witty, commemoration. In walking home

with Mr. Coleridge, he entertained ------ and me with a most excellent

lecture on the distinction between talent and genius, and declared that

Hook was as true a genius as Dante--_that_ was his example."--_Theodore

Hook_, Lond. 1853, p. 23-4.

[175] Johnson's _Rambler_.

[176] The County Land Tax.

[177] The Right Hon. Sir W. Alexander of Airdrie, called to the English

Bar 1782, Chief Baron 1824; died in London in his eighty-eighth year,

1842.

[178] Sir Samuel Shepherd

[179] Walter Boyd at this time was M.P. for Lymington; he had been a

banker in Paris and in London; was the author of several well-known

tracts on finance, and died in 1837.

[180] Campbell died at Boulogne in 1844, aged sixty-seven; he was buried

in Westminster, next Southey.

[181] Hor. _Epp_. ii. 2, 76.

[182] The elder Mr. Adolphus distinguished himself early in life by his

_History of the Reign of George III_.--J.G.L.

MAY.

_May_ 1.--Breakfasted with Lord and Lady Leveson Gower,[183] and enjoyed

the splendid treat of hearing Mrs. Arkwright sing her own music,[184]

which is of the highest order--no forced vagaries of the voice, no

caprices of tone, but all telling upon and increasing the feeling the

words require. This is "marrying music to immortal verse."[185] Most

people place them on separate maintenance.

I met the Roxburghe Club, and settled to dine with them on 15th curt.

Lord Spencer in the chair. We voted Lord Olive[186] a member.

_May_ 2.--I breakfasted with a Mr. Bell, Great Ormond Street, a lawyer,

and narrowly escaped Mr. Irving, the celebrated preacher. The two ladies

of the house seemed devoted to his opinions, and quoted him at every

word. Mr. Bell himself made some apologies for the Millennium. He is a

smart little antiquary, who thinks he ought to have been a man of

letters, and that his genius has been mis-directed in turning towards

the law. I endeavoured to combat this idea, which his handsome house and

fine family should have checked. Compare his dwelling, his comforts,

with poor Tom Campbell's!

I dined with the Literary Society; rather heavy work, though some

excellent men were there. I saw, for the first time, Archdeacon Nares,

long conductor of the _British Critic_, a gentlemanlike and pleasing

man. Sir Henry Robert Inglis presided.

_May_ 3.--Breakfasted at my old friend Gally Knight's, with whom, in

former days, I used to make little parties to see poor Monk Lewis. After

breakfast I drove to Lee and Kennedy's, and commissioned seeds and

flowers for about £10, including some specimens of the Corsican and

other pines. Their collection is very splendid, but wants, I think, the

neatness that I would have expected in the first nursery-garden in or

near London. The essentials were admirably cared for. I saw one specimen

of the Norfolk Island pine, the only one, young Lee said, which has been

raised from all the seed that was sent home. It is not treated

conformably to its dignity, for they cut the top off every year to

prevent its growing out at the top of the conservatory. Sure it were

worth while to raise the house alongst with the plant.

Looked in at Murray's--wrote some letters, etc., and walked home with

the Dean of Chester, who saw me to my own door. I had but a few minutes

to dress, and go to the Royal Academy, to which I am attached in

capacity of Professor of Antiquities. I was too late to see the

paintings, but in perfect time to sit half-an-hour waiting for dinner,

as the President, Sir Thomas Lawrence, expected a prince of the blood.

He came not, but there were enough of grandees besides. Sir Thomas

Lawrence did the honours very well, and compliments flew about like

sugar-plums at an Italian carnival. I had my share, and pleaded the

immunities of a sinecurist for declining to answer.

After the dinner I went to Mrs. Scott of Harden, to see and be seen by

her nieces, the Herbert ladies. I don't know how their part of the

entertainment turned out, but I saw two or three pretty girls.

_May_ 4.--I breakfasted this morning with Sir Coutts Trotter, and had

some Scottish talk. Visited Cooper, who kindly undertook to make my

inquiries in Lyons.[187] I was at home afterwards for three hours, but

too much tired to do the least right thing. The distances in London are

so great that no exertions, excepting those which a bird might make, can

contend with them. You return weary and exhausted, fitter for a siesta

than anything else. In the evening I dined with Mr. Peel, a great

Cabinet affair, and too dignified to be very amusing, though the

landlord and the pretty landlady did all to make us easy.

_May_ 5.--Breakfasted with Haydon, and sat for my head. I hope this

artist is on his legs again. The King has given him a lift by buying his

clever picture of the election in the Fleet prison, to which he is

adding a second part, representing the chairing of the member at the

moment it was interrupted by the entry of the guards. Haydon was once a

great admirer and companion of the champions of the Cockney school, and

is now disposed to renounce them and their opinions. To this kind of

conversation I did not give much way. A painter should have nothing to

do with politics. He is certainly a clever fellow, but somewhat too

enthusiastic, which distress seems to have cured in some degree. His

wife, a pretty woman, looked happy to see me, and that is something. Yet

it was very little I could do to help them.[188]

Dined at Lord Bathurst's, in company with the Duke. There are better

accounts of Johnnie. But, alas!

_May_ 7.--Breakfasted with Lord Francis Gower, and again enjoyed the

great pleasure of meeting Mrs. Arkwright, and hearing her sing. She is,

I understand, quite a heaven-born genius, having scarce skill enough in

music to write down the tunes she composes. I can easily believe this.

There is a pedantry among great musicians that deprives their

performances of much that is graceful and beautiful. It is the same in

the other fine arts, where fashion always prefers cant and slang to

nature and simplicity.

Dined at Mr. Watson Taylor's, where plate, etc., shone in great and

somewhat ostentatious quantity. C[roker] was there, and very decisive

and overbearing to a great degree. Strange so clever a fellow should let

his wit outrun his judgment![189] In general, the English understand

conversation well. There is that ready deference for the claims of every

one who wishes to speak time about, and it is seldom now-a-days that "a

la stoccata" carries it away thus.[190]

I should have gone to the Duchess of Northumberland's to hear music

to-night, but I felt completely fagged, and betook myself home to bed.

I learned a curious thing from Emily, Lady Londonderry, namely, that in

feeding all animals with your hand, you should never wear a glove, which

always affronts them. It is good authority for this peculiarity.

_May_ 8.--Breakfasted at Somerset House with Davies Gilbert, the new

preses of the Royal Society. Tea, coffee, and bread and butter, which is

poor work. Certainly a slice of ham, a plate of shrimps, some broiled

fish, or a mutton chop, would have been becoming so learned a body. I

was most kindly received, however, by Dr. D. Gilbert, and a number of

the members. I saw Sir John Sievwright--a singular personage; he told me

his uniform plan was to support Ministers, but he always found himself

voting in Opposition. I told him his deference to Ministers was like

that of the Frenchman to the enemy, who, being at his mercy, asked for

his life:--"Anything in my power excepting that, sir," said Monsieur.

Sir John has made progress in teaching animals without severity or

beating. I should have liked to have heard him on this topic.

Called at Northumberland House and saw the Duke. According to his report

I lost much by not hearing the two rival nightingales, Sontag and Pasta,

last night, but I care not for it.

Met Sir W. K[nighton], returned from the Continent. He gives me to

understand I will be commanded for Sunday. Sir W.K. asked me to sit for

him to Northcote, and to meet him there at one to-morrow. I cannot

refuse this, but it is a great bore.[191]

Dined with Mrs. Alexander of Ballochmyle, Lord and Lady Meath, who were

kind to us in Ireland, and a Scottish party,--pleasant, from hearing the

broad accents and honest thoughts of my native land. A large party in

the evening. A gentleman came up to me and asked "if I had seen the

'Casket,' a curious work, the most beautiful, the most highly

ornamented--and then the editor or editress--a female so

interesting,--might he ask a very great favour," and out he pulled a

piece of this pic-nic. I was really angry, and said for a subscription

he might command me--for a contribution no; that I had given to a great

many of these things last year, and finding the labour occupied some

considerable portion of my time, I had done a considerable article for a

single collection this year, taking a valuable consideration for it,

and engaged not to support any other. This may be misrepresented, but I

care not. Suppose this patron of the Muses gives five guineas to his

distressed lady, he will think he does a great deal, yet takes fifty

from me with the calmest air in the world, for the communication is

worth that if it be worth anything. There is no equality in the

proposal.

I saw to-day at Northumberland House, Bridge the jeweller, having and

holding a George, richly ornamented with diamonds, being that which

Queen Anne gave to the Duke of Marlborough, which his present

representative pawned or sold, and which the present king bought and

presented to the Duke of Wellington. His Grace seemed to think this

interesting jewel was one of two which had been preserved since the

first institution of that order. That, from the form and taste, I

greatly doubt. Mr. Bridge put it again into his coat pocket, and walked

through the street with £10,000 in his pocket. I wonder he is not

hustled and robbed. I have sometimes envied rich citizens, but it was a

mean and erroneous feeling. This man, who, I suppose, must be as rich as

a Jew, had a shabby look in the Duke's presence, and seemed just a

better sort of pedlar. Better be a poor gentleman after all.

_May_ 9.--Grounds of Foote's farce of the Cozeners. Lady ----. A certain

Mrs. Phipps audaciously set up in a fashionable quarter of the town as a

person through whose influence, properly propitiated, favours and

situations of importance might certainly be obtained--always for a

consideration. She cheated many people, and maintained the trick for

many months. One trick was to get the equipage of Lord North, and other

persons of importance, to halt before her door as if the owners were

within. With respect to most of them, this was effected by bribing the

drivers. But a gentleman, who watched her closely, observed that Charles

J. Fox actually left his carriage and went into the house, and this

more than once. He was then, it must be noticed, in the Ministry. When

Mrs. Phipps was blown up, this circumstance was recollected as deserving

explanation, which Fox readily gave at Brooks's and elsewhere. It seems

Mrs. Phipps had the art to persuade him that she had the disposal of

what was then called a hyæna--that is, an heiress--an immense Jamaica

heiress, in whom she was willing to give or sell her interest to Charles

Fox. Without having perfect confidence in the obliging proposal, the

great statesman thought the thing worth looking after, and became so

earnest in it, that Mrs. Phipps was desirous to back out of it for fear

of discovery. With this view she made confession one fine morning, with

many professions of the deepest feelings, that the hyæna had proved a

frail monster, and given birth to a girl or boy--no matter which. Even

this did not make Charles quit chase of the hyæna. He intimated that if

the cash was plenty and certain, the circumstance might be overlooked.

Mrs. Phipps had nothing for it but to double the disgusting dose. "The

poor child," she said, "was unfortunately of a mixed colour, somewhat

tinged with the blood of Africa; no doubt Mr. Fox was himself very dark,

and the circumstance might not draw attention," etc. etc. This singular

anecdote was touched upon by Foote, and is the cause of introducing the

negress into the _Cozeners_,[192] though no express allusion to Charles

Fox was admitted. Lady ------ tells me that, in her youth, the laugh was

universal so soon as the black woman appeared. It is one of the numerous

hits that will be lost to posterity. Jack Fuller, celebrated for his

attempt on the Speaker's wig, told me he was editing Foote, but I think

he has hardly taste enough. He told me Colman was to be his

assistant.[193]

Went down in the morning to Montagu House, where I found the Duke going

out to suffer a recovery.[194] I had some fancy to see the ceremony, but

more to get my breakfast, which I took at a coffee-house at Charing

Cross.

I sat to Northcote, who is to introduce himself in the same piece in the

act of painting me, like some pictures of the Venetian school. The

artist is an old man, low in stature, and bent with years--fourscore at

least. But the eye is quick and the countenance noble. A pleasant

companion, familiar with recollections of Sir Joshua, Samuel Johnson,

Burke, Goldsmith, etc. His account of the last confirms all that we have

heard of his oddities.

Dined with Mr. Arbuthnot, where met Duke of Rutland, Lord and Lady

Londonderry, etc. etc. Went to hear Mrs. Arkwright at Lady Charlotte

Greville's. Lockhart came home to-day.

_May_ 10.--Another long sitting to the old Wizard Northcote. He really

resembles an animated mummy.[195] He has altered my ideas of Sir Joshua

Reynolds, whom, from the expressions used by Goldsmith, Johnson, and

others, I used to think an amiable and benevolent character. But though

not void of generosity, he was cold, unfeeling, and indifferent to his

family: so much so that his sister, Miss Reynolds, after expressing her

wonder at the general acceptance which Sir Joshua met with in society,

concluded with, "For me, I only see in him a dark gloomy tyrant." I own

this view of his character hurt me, by depriving me of the pleasing

vision of the highest talents united with the kindest temper. But

Northcote says his disagreeable points were rather negative than

positive--more a want of feeling than any desire to hurt or tyrannise.

They arose from his exclusive attachment to art.

Dined with a pleasant party at Lord Gower's. Lady Gower is a beautiful

woman, and extremely courteous. Mrs. Arkwright was of the party. I am

getting well acquainted with her, and think I can see a great deal of

sense mixed with her accomplishment.

_May_ 11.--Breakfasted with Dr. Maltby, preacher in Lincoln's Inn. He

was to have been the next Bishop, if the Whigs had held their ground.

His person, manners, and attainments would have suited the lawn sleeves

well. I heard service in the chapel, which is a very handsome place of

worship; it is upstairs, which seems extraordinary, and the space

beneath forms cloisters, in which the ancient Benchers of this Society

of Lincoln's Inn are entered. I met my old friend Sir William

Grant,[196] and had some conversation with him. Dr. Maltby gave us a

good sermon upon the introduction of the Gospel. There was only one

monument in the chapel, a handsome tablet to the memory of Perceval. The

circumstance that it was the only monument in the chapel of a society

which had produced so many men of talents and distinction was

striking--it was a tribute due to the suddenness of his strange

catastrophe. There is nothing very particular in the hall of Lincoln's

Inn, nor its parlour, which are like those of a college. Indeed the

whole establishment has a monastic look.

Sat to Northcote, who only requires (_Deo gratias_) another sitting.

Dined with his Majesty in a very private party--five or six only being

present. I was received most kindly as usual. It is impossible to

conceive a more friendly manner than his Majesty used towards me. I

spoke to S.W.K. about the dedication of the collected works, and he says

it will be highly well taken.[197]

I went after the party broke up to Mrs. Scott of Harden, where I made

acquaintance with her beautiful kinswoman, Lady Sarah Ponsonby, whose

countenance is really seraphic and totally devoid of affectation.

_May_ 12.--Old George II. was, as is well known, extremely passionate.

On these occasions his small stock of English totally failed him, and he

used to express his indignation in the following form: "G--d--n me, who

I am? Got d--n you, who you be?" Lockhart and I visited a Mrs.

Quillinan,[198] with whom Wordsworth and his wife have pitched their

tent. I was glad to see my old friend, whose conversation has so much

that is fresh and manly in it. I do not at all acquiesce in his system

of poetry, and I think he has injured his own fame by adhering to it.

But a better or more sensible man I do not know than W.W.

Afterwards Lockhart and I called on Miss Nicolson, and from thence I

wandered down into that immense hash of a city to see Heath, and

fortunately caught hold on him. All this made me too late for

Northcote,--who was placable, however.[199]

Dined at Sir John Shelley's, _à petit couvert_. Here were the Duke of

Wellington, Duke of Rutland, and only one or two more, particularly Mr.

and Mrs. Arbuthnot. The evening was very pleasant, and did not break up

till twelve at night.

_May_ 13.--Breakfasted with Sir George Philips--there was Sydney Smith,

full of fun and spirit, and his daughter, who is a good-humoured

agreeable girl. We had a pleasant breakfast party.

The Catholics have carried their question, which I suppose will be

thrown out in the Lords. I think they had better concede this

oft-disputed point, and dissolve the league which binds so many people

in opposition to Government. It is a matter of great consequence that

men should not acquire the habit of opposing. No earthly advantage would

arise to Ireland from ceding what is retained, where so much has been

already yielded up. Indeed the Catholic gentry do not pretend that the

granting the immunities they require would tranquillise the country, but

only that it would remove from men of honour all pretext for

countenancing them. This is on the principle of the solicitor of the

unhappy Rajah Nuncomar, who after extorting as much money as he could,

under pretence of bribing persons to procure his pardon, facilitate his

escape, etc., found himself pressed by his victim for a final answer.

"The preparations for death are ready," said the Rajah; "I fear,

notwithstanding all you have told me, their intention is to take my

life." "By G--d," replied the trusty solicitor, "if they do I will never

forgive them." So if there are further disturbances after the Catholic

claims are granted, I suppose those by whom they are now advocated will

never forgive their friends the Pats; and that will be all John Bull

will get for it. I dined with Lady Stafford, for whom I have much

regard. I recollect her ever since she stood at her aunt Lady

Glenorchy's window, in George Square, reviewing her regiment of

Sutherland giants. She was, as she ever is, most attentive and kind.

_May_ 14.--I carried Lockhart to Lady Francis Gower's to hear Mrs.

Arkwright sing, and I think he admired her as much as his nature permits

him to love anything musical, for he certainly is not quickly moved by

concord of sweet sounds. I do not understand them better than he, but

the _voce del petto_ always affects me, and Mrs. A. has it in

perfection. I have received as much pleasure from that lady's music as

sound could ever give me.[200] Lockhart goes off for Brighton. I had a

round of men in office. I waited on the Duke at Downing St., and I think

put L. right there, if he will look to himself. But I can only tee the

ball; he must strike the blow with the golf club himself. I saw Mr.

Renton, and he promised to look after Harper's business favourably. Good

gracious, what a solicitor we are grown!

Dined with Lady Davy--a pleasant party; but I was out of spirits; I

think partly on Johnnie's account, partly from fatigue. There was

William Henry Lyttelton amongst others; much of his oddity has rubbed

off, and he is an honoured courtly gentleman, with a great deal of wit;

and not one of the fine people who perplex you by shutting their mouths

if you begin to speak. I never fear quizzing, so am not afraid of this

species of lying-in-wait. Lord have mercy on me if I were!

_May_ 15.--Dined at the Roxburghe Club. Lord Spencer presided, but had a

cold which limited his exertions. Lord Clive, beside whom I sat, was

deaf, though intelligent and good-humoured. The Duke of Devonshire was

still deafer. There were many little chirruping men who might have

talked but went into committee. There was little general conversation. I

should have mentioned that I breakfasted with kind, good Mr. Hughes, and

met the Bishop of Llandaff--strongly intelligent. I do not understand

his politics about the Catholic question. He seems disposed to concede,

yet is Toryissimus. Perhaps they wish the question ended, but the

present opinions of the Sovereign are too much interested to permit them

to quit it.

_May_ 16.--Breakfasted with Mr. Reynolds; a miscellaneous party.

Wordsworth, right welcome unto me was there. I had also a sight of

Godwin the philosopher, grown old and thin--of Douglas Kinnaird, whom I

asked about Byron's statue, which is going forward--of Luttrell, and

others whom I knew not. I stayed an instant at Pickering's, a young

publisher's, and bought some dramatic reprints. I love them very much,

but I would [not] advise a young man to undertake them. They are of

course dear, and as they have not the dignity of scarcity, the

bibliomaniacs pass them by as if they were plated candlesticks. They may

hold as good a light for all that as if they were real silver, and

therefore I buy them when I can light on them. But here I am spending

money when I have more need to make it. On Monday, the 26th, it shall be

Northward ho!

Dined at Lady Georgiana and Mr. Agar Ellis's.[201] There were Lord and

Lady Stafford there, and others to whom I am sincerely attached.

_May_ 17.--A day of busy idleness. Richardson came and breakfasted with

me like a good fellow. Then I went to Mr. Chantrey, and sat for an hour

to finish the bust.[202] Thereafter, about twelve o'clock, I went to

breakfast the second, at Lady Shelley's, where there was a great morning

party. A young lady[203] begged a lock of my hair, which was not worth

refusing. I stipulated for a kiss, which I was permitted to take. From

this I went to the Duke of Wellington, who gave me some hints or rather

details. Afterwards I drove out to Chiswick, where I had never been

before. A numerous and gay party were assembled to walk and enjoy the

beauties of that Palladian [dome?]; the place and highly ornamented

gardens belonging to it resemble a picture of Watteau. There is some

affectation in the picture, but in the _ensemble_ the original looked

very well. The Duke of Devonshire received every one with the best

possible manners. The scene was dignified by the presence of an immense

elephant, who, under charge of a groom, wandered up and down, giving an

air of Asiatic pageantry to the entertainment. I was never before

sensible of the dignity which largeness of size and freedom of movement

give to this otherwise very ugly animal. As I was to dine at Holland

House, I did not partake in the magnificent repast which was offered to

us, and took myself off about five o'clock. I contrived to make a

demi-toilette at Holland House rather than drive all the way to London.

Rogers came to dinner, which was very entertaining. The Duke of

Manchester was there, whom I remember having seen long ago. He had left

a part of his brain in Jamaica by a terrible fracture, yet,

notwithstanding the accident and the bad climate, was still a

fine-looking man. Lady Holland[204] pressed me to stay all night, which

I did accordingly.

_May_ 18.--The freshness of the air, the singing of the birds, the

beautiful aspect of nature, the size of the venerable trees, all gave me

a delightful feeling this morning. It seemed there was pleasure even in

living and breathing, without anything else. We (_i.e._ Rogers and I)

wandered into a green lane bordered with fine trees, which might have

been twenty miles from a town. It will be a great pity when this ancient

house must come down and give way to brick works and brick-houses. It is

not that Holland House is fine as a building; on the contrary, it has a

tumble-down look; and, although decorated with the bastard Gothic of

James I.'s time, the front is heavy. But it resembles many respectable

matrons, who, having been absolutely ugly during youth, acquire by age

an air of dignity;--though one is chiefly affected by the air of deep

seclusion which is spread around the domain. I called on Mr. Peel as I

returned home, and after that on Lord Melville. The latter undertook for

Allan Cunningham's son's cadetship, for which I am right glad.

Dined at Mr. and Lady Sarah Ponsonby's, who called on us last year at

Abbotsford. The party was very pleasant, having Lord and Lady Gower,

whom I like, Mr. and Lady Georgiana Ellis, and other persons of

distinction. Saw Wordsworth too, and learned that Tom Moore was come to

town.

_May_ 19.--A morning of business. Breakfasted with Dumergue and one or

two friends. Dined by command with the Duchess of Kent. I was very

kindly recognised by Prince Leopold. I was presented to the little

Princess Victoria,--I hope they will change her name,--the heir apparent

to the Crown as things now stand. How strange that so large and fine a

family as that of his late Majesty should have died off and decayed into

old age with so few descendants! Prince George of Cumberland is, they

say, a fine boy about nine years old--a bit of a pickle, swears and

romps like a brat that has been bred in a barrack yard. This little lady

is educated with much care, and watched so closely by the Duchess and

the principal governess, that no busy maid has a moment to whisper, "You

are heir of England." I suspect if we could dissect the little head, we

should find that some pigeon or other bird of the air had carried the

matter. She is fair, like the Royal Family, but does not look as if she

would be pretty. The Duchess herself is very pleasing and affable in her

manners. I sat by Mr. Spring Rice, a very agreeable man. He is a great

leader among the Pro-Catholics. I saw also Charles Wynn and his

lady--and the evening, for a Court evening, went agreeably off. I am

commanded for two days by Prince Leopold, but will send excuses.

_May_ 20.--I set out for Brighton this morning in a light coach, which

performed the distance in six hours--otherwise the journey was

uncomfortable. Three women, the very specimens of womankind,--I mean

trumpery,--a child who was sick, but afterwards looked and smiled, and

was the only thing like company. The road is pleasant enough till it

gets into the Wealds of Sussex, a huge succession of green downs which

sweep along the sea-coast for many miles. Brighton seems grown twice as

large since 1815. It is a city of loiterers and invalids--a Vanity Pair

for pipers, dancing of bears, and for the feats of Mr. Punch. I found

all my family well excepting the poor pale Johnnie; and he is really a

thing to break one's heart by looking at--yet he is better. The rest are

in high kelter.

My old friend Will Rose dined with us, also a Doctor Yates and his

wife--the Esculapius of Brighton, who seems a sensible man. I was

entertained with the empire he exerted over him as protector of his

health. I was very happy to find myself at Sophia's quiet table, and am

only sorry that I must quit her so soon.

_May_ 21.--This being a fine day, we made some visits in the morning, in

the course of which I waited on Mrs. Davies, sister of Mrs. Charlotte

Smith,[205] and herself the author of the _Peacock at Home_, one of the

prettiest and liveliest _jeux d'esprit_ in our language. She is a fine

stately old lady--not a bit of a literary person,--I mean having none of

the affectation of it, but like a lady of considerable rank. I am glad I

have seen her. Renewed my acquaintance with Lady Charlotte Hamilton,

_née_ Lady Charlotte Hume, and talked over some stories thirty years old

at least. We then took a fly, as they call the light carriages, and

drove as far as the Devil's Ditch. A rampart it is of great strength and

depth, enclosing, I presume, the precincts of a British town that must

have held 30,000 men at least. I could not discover where they got

water.

We got home at four, and dined at five, and smoked cigars till eight.

Will Rose came in with his man Hinvaes,[206] who is as much a piece of

Rose as Trim was of Uncle Toby. We laughed over tales "both old and new"

till ten o'clock came, and then broke up.

_May_ 22.--Left Brighton this morning with a heavy heart. Poor Johnnie

looks so very poorly that I cannot but regard his case as desperate, and

then God help the child's parents! Amen!

We took the whole of one of the post-coaches, and so came rapidly to

town, Sophia coming along with us about a new servant. This enabled me

to dine with Mr. Adolphus, the celebrated barrister, the father to my

young friend who wrote so like a gentleman on my matters.[207] I met Mr.

Gurney, Archdeacon Wrangham, and a lawyer or two besides. I may be

partial, but the conversation of intelligent barristers amuses me more

than that of other professional persons. There is more of real life in

it, with which, in all its phases, people of business get so well

acquainted. Mr. Adolphus is a man of varied information, and very

amusing. He told me a gipsy told him of the success he should have in

life, and how it would be endangered by his own heat of temper,

alluding, I believe, to a quarrel betwixt him and a brother barrister.

_May_ 23.--I breakfasted with Chantrey, and met the celebrated Coke of

Norfolk,[208] a very pleasing man, who gave me some account of his

plantations. I understand from him that, like every wise man, he planted

land that would not let for 5s. per acre, but which now produces £3000 a

year in wood. He talked of the trees which he had planted as being so

thick that a man could not fathom[209] them. Withers, he said, was never

employed save upon one or two small jobs of about twenty acres on which

every expense was bestowed with a view to early growth. So much for

Withers. I shall have a rod in pickle for him if worth while.[210] After

sitting to Chantrey for the last time, I called on Lady Shelley, P.P.C.,

and was sorry to find her worse than she had been. Dined with Lady

Stafford, where I met the two Lochs, John and James. The former gave me

his promise for a cadetship to Allan Cunningham's son; I have a similar

promise from Lord Melville, and thus I am in the situation in which I

have been at Gladdies Wiel,[211] where I have caught two trouts, one

with the fly, the other with the bobber. I have landed both, and so I

will now. Mr. Loch also promised me to get out Shortreed as a free

mariner. Tom Grenville was at dinner.

_May_ 24.--This day we dined at Richmond Park with Lord Sidmouth. Before

dinner his Lordship showed me letters which passed between the great

Lord Chatham and Dr. Addington, Lord Sidmouth's [father]. There was much

of that familiar friendship which arises, and must arise, between an

invalid, the head of an invalid family, and their medical adviser,

supposing the last to be a wise and well-bred man. The character of Lord

Chatham's handwriting is strong and bold, and his expressions short and

manly. There are intimations of his partiality for William, whose health

seems to have been precarious during boyhood. He talks of William

imitating him in all he did, and calling for ale because his father was

recommended to drink it. "If I should smoke," he said, "William would

instantly call for a pipe;" and, he wisely infers, "I must take care

what I do." The letters of the late William Pitt are of great curiosity,

but as, like all real letters of business, they only _allude_ to matters

with which his correspondent is well acquainted, and do not enter into

details, they would require an ample commentary. I hope Lord Sidmouth

will supply this, and have urged it as much as I can. I think, though I

hate letters and abominate interference, I will write to him on this

subject.

I have bought a certain quantity of reprints from a bookseller in

Chancery Lane, Pickering by name. I urged him to print the controversy

between Greene and the Harveys. He wished me to write a third part to a

fine edition of Cotton's _Angler_, for which I am quite

incompetent.[212]

I met at Richmond my old and much esteemed friend Lord Stowell,[213]

looking very frail and even comatose. _Quantum mutatus!_ He was one of

the pleasantest men I ever knew.

Respecting the letters, I picked up from those of Pitt that he was

always extremely desirous of peace with France, and even reckoned upon

it at a moment when he ought to have despaired. I suspect this false

view of the state of France (for such it was), which induced the British

Minister to look for peace when there was no chance of it, damped his

ardour in maintaining the war. He wanted the lofty ideas of his

father--you read it in his handwriting, great statesman as he was. I saw

a letter or two of Burke's in which there is an _épanchement du cœur_

not visible in those of Pitt, who writes like a Premier to his

colleague. Burke was under the strange hallucination that his son, who

predeceased him, was a man of greater talents than himself. On the

contrary, he had little talent and no resolution. On moving some

resolutions in favour of the Catholics, which were ill-received by the

House of Commons, young Burke actually ran away, which an Orangeman

compared to a cross-reading in the newspapers:--Yesterday the Catholic

resolutions were moved, etc., but, the pistol missing fire, the villains

ran off!

_May_ 25.--After a morning of letter-writing, leave-taking, papers

destroying, and God knows what trumpery, Sophia and I set out for

Hampton Court, carrying with us the following lions and

lionesses--Samuel Rogers, Tom Moore, Wordsworth, with wife and daughter.

We were very kindly and properly received by Walter and his wife, and a

very pleasant party.[214]

_May_ 26.--An awful confusion with paying of bills, writing of cards,

and all species of trumpery business. Southey, who is just come to town,

breakfasted with us. He looks, I think, but poorly, but it may be owing

to family misfortune. One is always tempted to compare Wordsworth and

Southey. The latter is unquestionably the greater scholar--I mean

possesses the most extensive stock of information, but there is a

freshness, vivacity, and spring about Wordsworth's mind, which, if we

may compare two men of uncommon powers, shows more originality. I say

nothing of their poetry. Wordsworth has a system which disposes him to

take the bull by the horns and offend public taste, which, right or

wrong, will always be the taste of the public; yet he could be popular

if he would,--witness the Feast at Brougham Castle,--Song of the

Cliffords, I think, is the name.

I walked down to call, with Rogers, on Mrs. D'Arblay. She showed me some

notes which she was making about her novels, which she induced me to

believe had been recollected and jotted down in compliance with my

suggestions on a former occasion. It is curious how she contrived to get

_Evelina_ printed and published without her father's knowledge. Her

brother placed it in the hands of one Lowndes, who, after its success,

bought it for £20!!! and had the magnanimity to add £10--the price, I

think, of _Paradise Lost_. One of her sisters betrayed the secret to her

father, who then eagerly lent his ears to hear what was said of the new

novel, and the first opinion which saluted his delighted ears was the

voice of Johnson energetically recommending it to the perusal of Mrs

Thrale.[215]

At parting, Rogers gave me a gold-mounted pair of glasses, which I will

not part with in a hurry. I really like Rogers, and have always found

him most friendly. After many petty delays we set off at last and

reached Bushy Grove to dine with my kind and worthy family friend and

relative, David Haliburton. I am delighted to find him in all the

enjoyment of life, with the vivacity of youth in his sentiments and

enjoyments. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell Marjoribanks are the only company

here, with Miss Parker.

_May 27_.--Well, my retreat from London is now accomplished, and I may

fairly balance the advantage and loss of this London trip. It has cost

me a good deal of money, and Johnnie's illness has taken away much of

the pleasure I had promised myself. But if I can judge from the

reception I have met with, I have the pleasure to know that I stand as

fair with the public, and as high with my personal friends, as in any

period of my life. And this has enabled me to forward the following

objects to myself and others:--

1st. I have been able to place Lockhart on the right footing in the

right quarter, leaving the improvement of his place of vantage to

himself as circumstances should occur.

2d. I have put the Chancery suit in the right train, which without me

could not have been done.[216]

3d. I picked up some knowledge of the state of existing matters, which

is interesting and may be useful.

4th. I have succeeded in helping to get a commission for James Skene.

5th. I have got two cadetships for the sons of Allan Cunningham.

6th. I have got leave to Andrew Shortreed to go out to India.

7th. I have put John Eckford into correspondence with Mr. Loch, who

thinks he can do something for his claim.

8th. I have been of material assistance to poor Terry in his affairs.

9th. I have effectually protected my Darnick neighbours and myself

against the New Road Bill.

Other advantages there are, besides the great one of scouring up one's

own mind a little and renewing intercourse with old friends, bringing

one's-self nearer in short to the currency of the time.

All this may weigh against the expenditure of £200 or £250, when money

is fortunately not very scarce with me.

We went out for a most agreeable drive through the Hertfordshire

Lanes--a strange intricate combination of narrow roads passing through

the country, winding and turning among oaks and other large timber, just

like pathways cut through a forest. They wind and turn in so singular a

manner, and resemble each other so much, that a stranger would have

difficulty to make way amongst them. We visited Moor Park (not the house

of Sir William Temple, but that where the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth

lived). Having rather a commanding situation, you look down on the

valley, which, being divided into small enclosures bordered with wood,

resembles a forest when so looked down on. The house has a handsome

entrance-hall, painted by Sir James Thornhill, in a very French taste,

yet handsome. He was Hogarth's father-in-law, and not easily reconciled

to the match. Thornhill's paintings are certainly not of the first

class, yet the practice of painting the walls and roof of a

dwelling-house gives, in my eyes, a warm and rich air to the apartments.

Lord Grosvenor has now bought this fine place, once Lord Anson's--hence

the Moor Park apricot is also called Ansoniana. After seeing Moor Park

we went to the Grove, the Earl of Clarendon's country-seat. The house

looks small and of little consequence, but contains many good portraits,

as I was told, of the Hyde family.[217] The park has fine views and

magnificent trees.

We went to Cashiobury, belonging to the Earl of Essex, an old mansion,

apparently, with a fine park. The Colne runs through the grounds, or

rather creeps through them.

"For the Colne

Is black and swollen,

Snake-like, he winds his way,

Unlike the burns

From Highland urns

That dance by crag and brae."

Borthwick-brae[218] came to dinner from town, and we had a very pleasant

evening. My excellent old friend reminded me of the old and bitter feud

between the Scotts and the Haliburtons, and observed it was curious I

should have united the blood of two hostile clans.

_May_ 28.--We took leave of our kind old host after breakfast, and set

out for our own land. Our elegant researches carried us out of the

high-road and through a labyrinth of intricate lanes,--which seem made

on purpose to afford strangers the full benefit of a dark night and a

drunk driver,--in order to visit Gill's Hill, famous for the murder of

Mr. Weare.

The place has the strongest title to the description of Wordsworth:--

"A merry spot, 'tis said, in days of yore,

But something ails it now--- the place is cursed."

The principal part of the house has been destroyed, and only the kitchen

remains standing. The garden has been dismantled, though a few laurels

and garden shrubs, run wild, continue to mark the spot. The fatal pond

is now only a green swamp, but so near the house that one cannot

conceive how it was ever chosen as a place of temporary concealment of

the murdered body. Indeed the whole history of the murder, and the

scenes which ensued, are strange pictures of desperate and short-sighted

wickedness. The feasting--the singing--the murderer with his hands

still bloody hanging round the neck of one of the females--the

watch-chain of the murdered man, argue the utmost apathy. Even Probert,

the most frightened of the party, fled no further for relief than to the

brandy bottle, and is found in the very lane, and at the spot of the

murder, seeking for the murderous weapon, and exposing himself to the

view of the passengers. Another singular mark of stupid audacity was

their venturing to wear the clothes of their victim. There was a want of

foresight in the whole arrangement of the deed, and the attempts to

conceal it, which argued strange inconsideration, which a professed

robber would not have exhibited. There was just one single shade of

redeeming character about a business so brutal, perpetrated by men above

the very lowest rank of life--it was the mixture of revenge which

afforded some relief to the circumstances of treachery and premeditation

which accompanied it. But Weare was a cheat, and had no doubt pillaged

Thurtell, who therefore deemed he might take greater liberties with him

than with others.

The dirt of the present habitation equalled its wretched desolation, and

a truculent-looking hag, who showed us the place, and received

half-a-crown, looked not unlike the natural inmate of such a mansion.

She indicated as much herself, saying the landlord had dismantled the

place because no respectable person would live there. She seems to live

entirely alone, and fears no ghosts, she says.

One thing about this mysterious tragedy was never explained. It is said

that Weare, as is the habit of such men, always carried about his

person, and between his flannel waistcoat and shirt, a sum of ready

money, equal to £1500 or £2000. No such money was ever recovered, and as

the sum divided by Thurtell among his accomplices was only about £20, he

must, in slang phrase, have _bucketed his pals_.[219]

We came on as far as Alconbury, where we slept comfortably.

_May_ 29.--We travelled from Alconbury Hill to Ferry Bridge, upwards of

a hundred miles, amid all the beauties of "flourish" and verdure which

spring awakens at her first approach in the midland counties of England,

but without any variety save those of the season's making. I do believe

this great north road is the dullest in the world, as well as the most

convenient for the traveller. Nothing seems to me to have been altered

within twenty or thirty years, save the noses of the landlords, which

have bloomed and given place to another set of proboscises as germane us

the old ones to the _very welcome_,--_please to light_--_'Orses

forward,_ and _ready out_. The skeleton at Barnby Moor has deserted his

gibbet, and that is the only change I recollect.

I have amused myself to-day with reading Lockhart's _Life of Burns_,

which is very well written--in fact, an admirable thing. He has

judiciously slurred over his vices and follies; for although Currie, I

myself, and others, have not said a word more on that subject than is

true, yet as the dead corpse is straightened, swathed, and made decent,

so ought the character of such an inimitable genius as Burns to be

tenderly handled after death. The knowledge of his vicious weaknesses or

vices is only a subject of sorrow to the well-disposed, and of triumph

to the profligate.

_May_ 30.--We left Ferry Bridge at seven, and turning westwards, or

rather northwestward, at Borough Bridge, we roach Rokeby at past three.

A mile from the house we met Morritt looking for us. I had great

pleasure at finding myself at Rokeby, and recollecting a hundred

passages of past time. Morritt looks well and easy in his mind, which I

am delighted to see. He is now one of my oldest, and, I believe, one of

my most sincere, friends, a man unequalled in the mixture of sound good

sense, high literary cultivation, and the kindest and sweetest temper

that ever graced a human bosom. His nieces are much attached to him,

and are deserving and elegant, as well as beautiful young women. What

there is in our partiality to female beauty that commands a species of

temperate homage from the aged, as well as ecstatic admiration from the

young, I cannot conceive, but it is certain that a very large proportion

of some other amiable quality is too little to counterbalance the

absolute want of this advantage. I, to whom beauty is and shall

henceforth be a picture, still look upon it with the quiet devotion of

an old worshipper, who no longer offers incense on the shrine, but

peaceably presents his inch of taper, taking special care in doing so

not to burn his own fingers. Nothing in life can be more ludicrous or

contemptible than an old man aping the passions of his youth.

Talking of youth, there was a certain professor at Cambridge who used to

keep sketches of all the youths who, from their conduct at college,

seemed to bid fair for distinction in life. He showed them, one day, to

an old shrewd sarcastic Master of Arts, who looked over the collection,

and then observed, "A promising nest of eggs; what a pity the great part

will turn out addle!" And so they do; looking round amongst the young

men, one sees to all appearance fine flourish--but it ripens not.

_May_ 31.--I have finished Napier's _War in the Peninsula_.[220] It is

written in the spirit of a Liberal, but the narrative is distinct and

clear, and I should suppose accurate. He has, however, given a bad

sample of accuracy in the case of Lord Strangford, where his pointed

affirmation has been as pointedly repelled. It is evident he would

require probing. His defence of Moore is spirited and well argued,

though it is evident he defends the statesman as much as the general. As

a Liberal and a military man, Colonel Napier finds it difficult to steer

his course. The former character calls on him to plead for the

insurgent Spaniards; the latter induces him to palliate the cruelties of

the French. Good-even to him until next volume, which I shall long to

see. This was a day of pleasure and nothing else. After breakfast I

walked with Morritt in the new path he has made up the Tees. When last

here, his poor nephew was of the party. It hangs on my mind, and perhaps

on Morritt's. When we returned we took a short drive as far as Barnard

Castle; and the business of eating and drinking took up the remainder of

the evening, excepting a dip into the Greta Walk.

FOOTNOTES:

[183] See _ante_, vol. i. p. 14. Lady Francis Leveson Gower was the

eldest daughter of Charles Greville.

[184] Mr. Lockhart writes:--"Among other songs Mrs. Arkwright delighted

Sir Walter with her own set of--

'Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with

you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting

crew,' etc.

He was sitting by me, at some distance from the lady, and whispered, as

she closed, 'Capital words--whose are they? Byron's, I suppose, but I

don't remember them.' He was astonished when I told him they were his

own in _The Pirate_. He seemed pleased at the moment, but said next

minute, 'You have distressed me--if memory goes, all is up with me, for

that was always my strong point.'"--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 236.

[185] Milton's _L'Allegro,_ ver. 137, 294.

[186] Afterwards second Earl Powis.

[187] Regarding the Chancery business, see _infra_, p. 191, _n_.

[188] Sir Walter had shortly before been one of the contributors to a

subscription for Mr. Haydon. The imprisonment from which the

subscription released the artist produced, I need scarcely say, the

picture mentioned in the Diary.--J.G.L. Haydon died in June 1846. See

his _Life_, 3 vols., 1853, edited by Tom Taylor.

[189] The Duke of Wellington, in after years, said to Lord Mahon, "He

had observed on several occasions that Sir Walter was talked down by

Croker and Bankes! who forgot that we might have them every

day."--_Notes_, p. 100.

[190] _Romeo and Juliet_, Act III. Sc. 1.

[191] Sir W. Knighton, as a Devonshire man, naturally wished to have the

portrait painted by Northcote, who was a brother Devonian. Cunningham

said of tins picture that the conception was good, and reality given by

the introduction of the painter, palette in hand, putting the finishing

touch to the head of the poet. "The likenesses were considered

good."--_Cunningham's Lives_, vol. vi. p. 124. It was exhibited in 1871

in Edinburgh; its size is 4 ft. 2 in. x 3 ft. 2 in. Mr. David Laing,

differing from Allan Cunningham, considered that the picture presented

"anything but a fortunate likeness." Northcote died July 13th, 1831, in

his eighty-fifth year.

[192] Act III. Sc. 2.

[193] John Fuller, long M.P. for Surrey, an eccentric character, and

looked upon as standing jester to the House of Commons. Scott first met

him in Chantrey's studio in 1820.--See _Life_, vol. vi. pp. 206, 207. He

died in his 77th year, in 1831, without apparently having carried out

his intention of editing Foote.

[194] A process in English copyhold law.

[195] Hazlitt said of Northcote, that talking with him was like

conversing with the dead: "You see a little old man, pale and fragile,

with eyes gleaming like the lights hung in tombs. He seems little better

than a ghost, and hangs wavering and trembling on the very verge of

life; you would think a breath would blow him away, and yet what fine

things he says!"--_Conversations_.

[196] Born 1752, died 1832; Master of the Rolls from 1801 to 1817.

[197] The _Magnum Opus_ was dedicated to George IV.--J.G.L.

[198] Whose son afterwards married Dora, Wordsworth's daughter.

[199] At the last sitting Northcote remarked, "You have often sat for

your portrait?"

"Yes," said Sir Walter; "my dog Maida and I have sat frequently--so

often that Maida, who had little philosophy, conceived such a dislike to

painters, that whenever he saw a man take out a pencil and paper, and

look at him, he set up a howl, and ran off to the Eildon Hill. His

unfortunate master, however well he can howl, was never able to run

much; he was therefore obliged to abide the event. Yes, I have

frequently sat for my picture."--Cunningham's _Painters_, vol. vi. pp.

125-6.

[200] See _ante_, May 1st, p. 170, note.

[201] Mr. Ellis, afterwards created Baron Dover, was the author of

_Historical Inquiries into the Character of Lord Clarendon_. 8vo, Lond.,

1827.

[202] Sir F. Chantrey was at this time executing his _second_ bust of

Sir Walter--that ordered by Sir Robert Peel, and which is now at

Drayton.--J.G.L.

[203] Lady Shelley of Maresfield Park. Mr. Lockhart says the young lady

was Miss Shelley, who became in 1834 the Hon. Mrs. George Edgcumbe.

[204] Scott had dined at Holland House in 1806, but in consequence of

some remarks by Lord Holland in the House of Lords in 1810, on Thomas

Scott's affairs, there had apparently been no renewal of the

acquaintanceship until now.

[205] See _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, vol. iv. p. 20.

[206] David Hinves, Mr. W. Stewart Rose's faithful and affectionate

attendant, furnished Scott with some hints for his picture of Davie

Gellatly in _Waverley_.

Mr. Lockhart tells us that Hinves was more than forty years in Mr.

Rose's service; he had been a bookbinder by trade and a preacher among

the Methodists.

"A sermon heard casually under a tree in the New Forest contained such

touches of good feeling and broad humour that Rose promoted the preacher

to be his valet on the spot. He was treated more like a friend than a

servant by his master and by all his master's intimate friends. Scott

presented him with all his works; and Coleridge gave him a corrected (or

rather an altered) copy of _Christabel_ with this inscription on the

fly-leaf: 'Dear Hinves,--Till this book is concluded, and with it

_Gundimore_, a poem by the same "author," accept of this _corrected_

copy of _Christabel_ as a _small_ token of regard; yet such a

testimonial as I would not pay to any one I did not esteem, though he

were an emperor.

"'Be assured I will send you for your private library every work I have

published (if there be any to be had) and whatever I shall publish. Keep

steady to the FAITH. If the fountainhead be always full, the stream

cannot be long empty.--Yours sincerely, S.T. COLERIDGE.

"'11 _November_ 1816, _Mudford.'"--Life,_ vol. iv. pp. 397-8.

Hinves died in Mr. Rose's service _circa_ 1838, and his master followed

him on the 30th April 1843, a few weeks after his friend Morritt.

[207] An analysis of these letters was published by Mr. Lockhart in the

_Life_, vol. vi. pp. 346-386.

[208] Created Earl of Leicester in 1837.

[209] It is worth noting that Sir Walter first wrote "grasp"--and then

deleted the word in favour of the technical term--"fathom."

[210] W. Withers had just published a _Letter to Sir Walter Scott

exposing certain fundamental errors in his late Essay on

Planting_,--Holt: Norfolk, 1828.

[211] A deep pool in the Tweed, in which Scott had had a singular

nocturnal adventure while "burning the water" in company with Hogg and

Laidlaw. Hogg records that the crazy coble went to the bottom while

Scott was shouting--

"An' gin the boat were bottomless, An' seven miles to row."

The scene was not forgotten when he came to write the twenty-sixth

chapter of _Guy Mannering_.

[212] This refers to the splendid edition of Walton and Cotton, edited

by Nicolas, and illustrated by Stothard and Inskipp, published in 1836

after nearly ten years' preparation, in two vols. large 8vo.

[213] Sir William Scott, Lord Stowell, died 28th January 1836, aged

ninety.

[214] Moore writes: "On our arrival at Hampton (where we found the

Wordsworths), walked about,--the whole party in the gay walk where the

band plays, to the infinite delight of the Hampton _blues_, who were all

_eyes_ after Scott. The other scribblers not coming in for a glance. The

dinner odd; but being near Scott I found it agreeable, and was delighted

to see him so happy, with his tall son, the Major," etc. etc,--_Diary_,

vol. v. p. 287.

[215] The author of _Evelina_ died at Bath in 1840, at the age of

eighty-eight. Subsequent to this meeting with Scott she published

memoirs of her father, Dr. Burney (in 1832). It is stated that for her

novel _Camilla_, published in 1796, she received a subscription of 3000

guineas, and for the _Wanderer_, in 1814, £1500 for the copyright. This

was the year in which _Waverley_ appeared, for the copyright of which

Constable did not see his way to offer more than £700.

[216] This item refers to money which had belonged to Lady Scott's

parents.

[217] It contains half of Chancellor Clarendon's famous collection--the

other half is at Bothwell Castle.

[218] William Elliot Lockhart of Cleghorn and Borthwick-brae, long M.P.

for Selkirkshire.

[219] Weare, Thurtell, and the rest were professed gamblers. See _ante_,

July 10, 1826, and _Life_, vol. viii. p. 381.

[220] The first volume had just been published in 1828. The book was

completed in 6 vols. in 1840.

JUNE.

_June_ 1.--We took leave of our friends at Rokeby after breakfast, and

pursued our well-known path over Stanmore to Brough, Appleby, Penrith,

and Carlisle. As I have this road by heart, I have little amusement save

the melancholy task of recalling the sensations with which I have traced

it in former times, all of which refer to decay of animal strength, and

abatement if not of mental powers, at least of mental energy. The _non

est tanti_ grows fast at my time of life. We reached Carlisle at seven

o'clock, and were housed for the night. My books being exhausted, I

lighted on an odd volume of the _Gentleman's Magazine_, a work in which,

as in a pawnbroker's shop, much of real curiosity and value are stowed

away and concealed amid the frippery and trumpery of those reverend old

gentlewomen who were the regular correspondents of the work.

_June_ 2.--We intended to walk to the Castle, but were baffled by rainy

weather. I was obliged to wait for a certificate from the parish

register--_Hei mihi_!! I cannot have it till ten o'clock, or rather, as

it chanced, till past eleven, when I got the paper for which I

waited.[221] We lunched at Hawick, and concluded our pilgrimage at

Abbotsford about nine at night, where the joyful barking of the dogs,

with the sight of the kind familiar faces of our domestics, gave us

welcome, and I enjoyed a sound repose on my own bed. I remark that in

this journey I have never once experienced depression of spirits, or the

_tremor cordis_ of which I have sometimes such unpleasant visits.

Dissipation, and a succession of trifling engagements, prevent the mind

from throwing itself out in the manner calculated to exhaust the owner,

and to entertain other people. There is a lesson in this.

_June_ 3, [_Abbotsford_].--This was a very idle day. I waked to walk

about my beautiful young woods with old Tom and the dogs. The sun shone

bright, and the wind fanned my cheek as if it were a welcoming. I did

not do the least right thing, except packing a few books necessary for

writing the continuation of the Tales. In this merry mood I wandered as

far as Huntly Burn, where I found the Miss Fergusons well and happy;

then I sauntered back to Abbotsford, sitting on every bench by the way,

and thus

"It grew to dinner in conclusion."

A good appetite made my simple meal relish better than the magnificent

cheer which I have lately partaken of. I smoked a cigar, slept away an

hour, and read Mure of Auchendrane's trial, and thus ended the day. I

cannot afford to spend many such, nor would they seem so pleasant.

_June_ 4, [_Edinburgh_].--The former part of this day was employed much

as yesterday, but some packing was inevitable. Will Laidlaw came to

dinner, of which we partook at three o'clock. Started at half-past four,

and arrived at home, if we must call it so, at nine o'clock in the

evening. I employed my leisure in the chaise to peruse Mure of

Auchendrane's trial, out of which something might be coopered up for

the public.[222] It is one of the wildest stories I ever read. Something

might surely be twisted out of it.

_June_ 5.--Cadell breakfasted; in great spirits with the success of the

_Fair Maid of Perth_. A disappointment being always to be apprehended, I

too am greatly pleased that the evil day is adjourned, for the time must

come--and yet I can spin a tough yarn still with any one now going.

I was much distressed to find that the last of the Macdonald Buchanans,

a fine lad of about twenty-one, is now decidedly infected by the same

pulmonary complaint which carried off his four brothers in succession.

This is indeed a cruel stroke, and it is melancholy to witness the

undaunted Highland courage of the father.

I went to Court, and when I returned did some work upon the Tales.

"And now again, boys, to the oar."

_June_ 6.--I have determined to work sans intermission for lost time,

and to make up at least my task every day. J. Gibson called on me with

good hopes that the trustees will authorise the _grand opus_ to be set

afloat.[223] They are scrupulous a little about the expense of

engravings, but I fear the taste of the town will not be satisfied

without them. It is time these things were settled. I wrought both

before and after dinner, and finished five pages, which is two above

bargain.

_June_ 7.--Saturday was another working day, and nothing occurred to

disturb me.

_June_ 8.--I finished five sheets this day. Will Clerk and Francis Scott

of Harden came to dinner, and we spent a pleasant evening.

_June_ 9.--I laboured till about one, and was then obliged to go to

attend a meeting of the Oil Gas Company,--as I devoutly hope for the

last time.

After that I was obliged to go to sit to Colvin Smith, which is an

atrocious bore, but cannot be helped.[224]

Cadell rendered me report of accounts paid for me with vouchers, which

very nearly puts me out of all shop debts. God grant me grace to keep

so!

_June_ 10-14.--During these five days almost nothing occurred to

diversify the ordinary task of the day, which, I must own, was dull

enough. I rose to my task by seven, and, less or more, wrought it out in

the course of the day, far exceeding the ordinary average of three

leaves per day. I have attended the Parliament House with the most

strict regularity, and returned to dine alone with Anne. Also, I gave

three sittings to Mr. Colvin Smith, who I think has improved since I saw

him.

Of important intelligence nothing occurs save the termination of all

suspense on the subject of poor James Macdonald Buchanan. He died at

Malta. The celebrated Dugald Stewart is also dead, famous for his

intimate acquaintance with the history and philosophy of the human mind.

There is much of water-painting in all metaphysics, which consist rather

of words than ideas. But Stewart was most impressive and eloquent. In

former days I was frequently with him, but not for many years. Latterly,

I am told, he had lost not the power of thinking, but the power of

expressing his thoughts by speech. This is like the Metamorphosis of

Ovid, the bark binding in and hardening the living flesh.

_June_ 15.--W. Clerk, Francis Scott, and Charles Sharpe dined with me,

but my task had been concluded before dinner.

_June_ 16.--Dined at Dalmahoy, with the young Earl and Countess of

Morton. I like these young noble folks particularly well. Their manners

and style of living are easy and unaffected, and I should like to see

them often. Came home at night. The task finished to-day. I should

mention that the plan about the new edition of the novels was considered

at a meeting of trustees, and finally approved of. I trust it will

answer; yet, who can warrant the continuance of popularity? Old

Corri,[225] who entered into many projects, and could never set the

sails of a wind-mill so as to catch the _aura popularis_, used to say

that he believed that were he to turn baker, it would put bread out of

fashion. I have had the better luck to dress my sails to every wind; and

so blow on, good wind, and spin round, whirligig.

_June_ 17.--Violent rheumatic headache all day. Wrought, however. But

what difference this troublesome addition may make on the quality of the

stuff produced, truly I do not know. I finished five leaves.

_June_ 18.--Some Italian gentlemen landed here, under the conveyance of

the Misses Haig of Bemerside. They were gentlemanlike men; but as I did

not dare to speak bad French, I had not much to say to foreigners. Gave

them and their pretty guides a good breakfast, however. The scene seemed

to me to resemble Sheridan's scene in the _Critic_.[226] There are a

number of very civil gentlemen trying to make themselves understood, and

I do not know which is the interpreter. After all, it is not my fault.

They who wish to see me should be able to speak my language. I called on

Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie. She received me with all the kindness of former

days, and I was delighted to see her. I sat about an hour with her. My

head aches, for all that, and I have heavy fits of drowsiness. Well, I

have finished my task, and have a right to sleep if I have a mind.

I dine to-day with Lord Mackenzie, where I hope to meet Mrs. Stewart

Mackenzie again, for I love her warm heart and lively fancy. Accordingly

I enjoyed this pleasure.[227]

_June_ 19.--Scribbled away lustily. Went to the P.H. Wrote when I came

home, both before and after dinner--that's all, I think. I am become a

sort of writing automaton, and truly the joints of my knees, especially

the left, are so stiff and painful in rising and sitting down, that I

can hardly help screaming--I that was so robust and active; I get into a

carriage with great difficulty. My head, too, is bothered with rheumatic

headaches. Why not? I got headaches by my folly when I was young, and

now I am old they come uncalled. Infirmity gives what indiscretion

bought.

_June_ 20.--My course is still the same. But I have a painful letter

from Lockhart, which takes away the last hope of poor Johnnie's

recovery. It is no surprise to me. The poor child, so amiable in its

disposition, and so promising from its talents, was not formed to be

long with us, and I have long expected that it must needs come to this.

I hope I shall not outlive my children in other cases, and I think there

is little chance of it. My father did not long survive the threescore

and ten; it will be wonderful if I reach that goal of ordinary

mortality. God send it may find me prepared; and, whatever I may have

been formerly, high spirits are not now like to carry me away.

_June_, 21.--At Court, and called on Ballantyne on my return. I was

obliged to go to the Register Office at one, where I waited nearly an

hour without meeting my brethren. But I wrote a letter to Lockhart in

the meantime. My niece Ann arrived, to my great satisfaction. I am glad

that Anne, my daughter, has such a sensible and clever companion. Dined

at Baron Hume's.

_June_ 22.--Wrought. Had a note from Ballantyne complaining of my

manuscript, and requesting me to read it over. I would give £1000 if I

could; but it would take me longer to read than to write. I cannot trace

my _pieds de mouche_ but with great labour and trouble; so e'en take

your own share of the burden, my old friend; and, since I cannot read,

be thankful I can write. I will look at his proof, however, and then be

quiet and idle for the rest of the evening. I am come to Charles the

First's trial, and though I have it by heart, I must refresh myself with

a reading of Clarendon. Charles Sharpe and Francis Scott came in the

evening.

_June_ 23.--This morning the two Annes and I went to Sir Robert Liston

at Milburn Tower--a beautiful retreat. The travels of the venerable

diplomatist are indicated by the various articles of curiosity which he

has picked up in different corners of the world, and put together with

much taste. The conservatory and gardens are very fine, and contain, I

suppose, very curious plants;--I am sure, hard names enough. But then

the little Gothic tower, embowered amid trees and bushes, surrounded by

these pleasant gardens, offering many a sunny walk for winter, many a

shade for summer, are inexpressibly pleasing. The good old knight and

his lady are worthy of it, for they enjoy it. The artificial piece of

water is a failure, like most things of the kind. The offices, without

being on an extravagant scale, are most substantial; the piggery, in

particular, is quite a palace, and the animals clean and comfortable. I

think I have caught from them a fit of piggish obstinacy. I came at one,

and cannot prevail upon myself to go to work. I answer the calls of

duty as Caliban does those of Prospero, "There's wood enough within." To

be sure, I have not got the Clarendon.

_June_ 24.--It was my father's own son, as John Hielandman said, who did

little both yesterday and to-day--I mean little in the way of literary

work, for, as to positive work, I have been writing letters about

Chancery business till I am sick of it. There was a long _hearing_, and

while Jeffrey exerted his eloquence in the Inner House, I plied my

eloquence _de billet_ in the Library. So, on the whole, I am no bad boy.

Besides, the day is not yet over.

_June_ 25.--I was surprised to hear that our Academy Rector, Williams,

has renounced the chair of Roman learning in the new London University.

His alarm was excited by the interest taken by the prelates in opposing

a High Church institution to that desired by Mr. Brougham. Both the

Bishops and Williams have been unwise. The former have manoeuvred ill.

They should, in the outset, have taken the establishment out of the

hands of the Whigs, without suffering them to reinforce themselves by

support from [others]. And Williams was equally precipitate in joining

an institution which a small degree of foresight might have assured him

would be opposed by his spiritual superiors. However, there he stands,

deprived of his professorship by his resignation, and of his rectorship

by our having engaged with a successor. I think it very doubtful whether

the Bishops will now [admit] him into their alliance. He has in that

case offended both parties. But if they are wise, they will be glad to

pick up the best schoolmaster in Europe, though he comes for the present

_Graiâ ex urbe_. I accomplished more than my task to-day.

_June_, 26.--Wrote a long letter to Lockhart about Williams' situation,

saying how, by sitting betwixt two stools, he

"----- Had fallen with heavy thump

Upon his reverential rump,"

and how the Bishops should pick him up if they wanted their

establishment to succeed. It is an awkward position in which Williams

has placed himself. He loses the Whig chair, and has perhaps no chance

of favour from the High Church for having been willing to accept it.

Even if they now give him promotion, there will be a great outcry on his

having left one institution to join another. He would be thick-skinned

if he stands the clamour. Yet he has to all appearance rather sacrificed

than advanced his interest. However, I say again, the Bishops ought not

to omit securing him.

Mr. Macintosh Mackay breakfasted with me, modest, intelligent, and

gentle. I did my duty and more in the course of the day.

I am vexed about Mackay missing the church of Cupar in Angus. It is in

the Crown's gift, and Peel, finding that two parties in the town

recommended two opposite candidates, very wisely chose to disappoint

them both, and was desirous of bestowing the presentation on public

grounds. I heard of this, and applied to Mr. Peel for Macintosh Mackay,

whose quiet patience and learning are accompanied by a most excellent

character as a preacher and a clergyman, but unhappily Mr. Peel had

previously put himself into the hands of Sir George Murray, who applied

to Sir Peter his brother, who naturally applied to certain leaders of

the Church at Edinburgh, and these reverend gentlemen have recommended

that the church which the minister desired to fill up on public grounds

should be bestowed on a boy,[228] the nephew of one of their number, of

whom the best that can be said is that nothing is known, since he has

only been a few months in orders. This comes of kith, kin, and ally, but

Peel shall know of it, and may perhaps judge for himself another time.

_June_ 27.--I came out after Court to Blair Adam, with our excellent

friend the Rev. John Thomson of Duddingston, so modest and so

accomplished;--delightful drive and passage at the ferry. We found at

Blair Adam the C.C. and family, Admiral Adam and lady, James Thomson of

Charlton, and Miss T., Will Clerk, and last, not least, Lord Chief Baron

Shepherd--all in high spirits for our excursions.

Thomson described to me a fine dungeon in the old tower at Cassillis in

Ayrshire. There is an outer and inner vaulted [chamber], each secured

with iron doors. At the upper end of the innermost are two great stones

or blocks to which the staples and chains used in securing the prisoners

are still attached. Between these stone seats is an opening like the

mouth of a still deeper dungeon. The entrance descends like the mouth of

a draw-well or shaft of a mine, and deep below is heard the sullen roar

of the river Doon, one branch of which, passing through the bottom of

the shaft, has probably swept away the body of many a captive, whose

body after death may have been thus summarily disposed of. I may find

use for such a place--Story of [_Kittleclarkie_?]

_June_ 28.--Off we go to Castle Campbell after breakfast, _i.e._ Will

Clerk, Admiral Adam, J. Thomson, and myself. Tremendous hot is the day,

and the steep ascent of the Castle, which rises for two miles up a

rugged and broken path, was fatiguing enough, yet not so much so as the

streets in London. Castle Campbell is unaltered; the window, of which

the disjointed stone projects at an angle from the wall, and seems at

the point of falling, has still found power to resist the laws of

gravitation. Whoever built that tottering piece of masonry has been long

in a forgotten grave, and yet what he has made seems to survive in spite

of nature itself. The curious cleft called Kemp's Score, which gave the

garrison access to the water in case of siege, is obviously natural,

but had been improved by steps, now choked up. A girl who came with us

recollected she had shown me the way down to the bottom of this terrible

gulf seven years ago. I am not able for it now.

"Wont to do's awa frae me,

Frae silly auld John Ochiltree."[229]

_June_ 29.--Being Sunday we kept about the doors, and after two took the

drosky and drove over the hill and round by the Kiery Craigs. I should

have said Williams came out in the morning to ask my advice about

staying another year in Edinburgh. I advised him if possible to gain a

few days' time till I should hear from Lockhart. He has made a pretty

mess for himself, but if the Bishops are wise, they may profit by it.

The sound, practical advice of Williams at the first concoction would be

of the last consequence. I suspect their systems of eating-houses are

the most objectionable part of the college discipline. When their

attentions are to be given to the departments of the cook and the

butler, all zeal in the nobler paths of education is apt to decay.

Well, to return to the woods. I think, notwithstanding Lord Chief

Commissioner's assiduity, they are in some places too thick. I saw a

fine larch, felled seventy-two years old, value about five pounds.

Hereditary descent in the Highlands. A clergyman showed J.T. the island

of Inch Mahome in the Port of Monteith, and pointed out the boatman as a

remarkable person, the representative of the hereditary gardeners of the

Earls of Monteith, while these Earls existed. His son, a priggish boy,

follows up the theme--"Feyther, when Donald MacCorkindale dees will not

the family be extinct?" Father--"No; I believe there is a man in

Balquhidder who takes up the _succession_."

_June_ 30.--We made our pleasant excursion to-day round the hill of

Bennarty _par terre_, and returned _par mer_. Our route by land led us

past Lochore, where we made a pause for a few moments. Then proceeded to

Ballingray or Bingray, and so by Kirkness, where late ravages are

supplied by the force of vegetation down to the shores of Lochleven. We

embarked and went upon Saint Serf's Island, supposed to have been

anciently a cell of the Culdees. An old pinfold, or rather a modern

pinfold, constructed out of the ancient chapel, is all that attests its

former sanctity. We landed on Queen Mary's Island, a miserable scene,

considering the purpose for which the Castle was appointed. And yet the

captivity and surrender of the Percy was even a worse tale, since it was

an eternal blight on the name of Douglas. Well, we got to Blair Adam in

due time, and our fine company began to separate, Lord Chief Baron going

off after dinner. We had wine and wassail, and John Thomson's delightful

flute to help us through the evening.

Thus end the delectations of the Blair Adam Club for this year. Mrs.

Thomson of Charlton talks of Beaton's House, and other Fife wonders for

the next year, but who knows what one year may bring forth? Our Club has

been hitherto fortunate. It has subsisted twelve years.

FOOTNOTES:

[221] About this time Miss Anne Scott wrote to Mrs. Lockhart: "Early in

the morning, before we started, papa took me with him to the Cathedral.

This he had done often before; but he said he must stand once more on

the spot where he married poor mamma. After that we went to the Castle,

where a new showman went through the old trick of pointing out Fergus

MacIvor's _very_ dungeon. Peveril said, 'Indeed, are you quite sure,

sir?' And on being told there could be no doubt, was troubled with a fit

of coughing, which ended in a laugh. The man seemed exceeding indignant;

so, when papa moved on, I whispered who it was. I wish you had seen the

man's start, and how he stared and bowed as he parted from us; and then

rammed his keys into his pocket and went off at a hand-gallop to warn

the rest of the garrison. But the carriage was ready, and we escaped a

row."--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 256-7.

[222] See _The Doom of Devorgoil: A Melo-Drama. Auchendrane: or the

Ayrshire Tragedy_. Published by Cadell in 8vo. 1830.

[223] Referring to the uniform edition of the Waverley Novels in 48

vols., which began to be issued in June 1829. The great cost of the

publication naturally caused the Trustees much anxiety at this period.

[224] _Ante_, p. 120, February 2d.

[225] Natali Corri, born in Italy, but settled in Edinburgh, where,

among other schemes, he tried to set up an Italian opera. In conjunction

with a brother he published several musical works. He died at Trieste in

1823.

[226] See Act II. Sc. 2. The Italian family's morning call.

[227]

"And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear to thy grief For thy clan and thy

country the cares of a Chief, Whom brief rolling moons, in six changes

have left Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft; To thine ear

of affection how sad is the hail That salutes thee, the heir of the line

of Kintail." _Poetical Works_, vol. viii. p. 394.

Mary, daughter of Francis, Lord Seaforth, was born in Ross-shire in

1784, married, at Barbadoes in 1804, Sir Samuel Hood, and left a widow

in 1814. She married again, in 1817, Mr. J.A. Stewart, who assumed the

name of Mackenzie. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie died at Brahan Castle in 1862;

her funeral was one of the largest ever witnessed in the North.

[228] Patrick James Stevenson was licensed in 1825, and ordained in

1828.--Scott's _Fasti_, vol. vi. p. 746.

[229] Ramsay's _Tea-table Miscellany_ (1795), vol. i. p. 125.

JULY.

"Up in the morning's no for me."[230]

Yet here I am up at five--no horses come from the North Ferry yet.

"O Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Mitchell,

Your promises and time keep stitch ill."

_July_ I, _[Edinburgh]._--Got home, however, by nine, and went to the

Parliament House, where we were detained till four o'clock. Miss ------

dined with us, a professed lion-huntress, who travels the country to

rouse the peaceful beasts out of their lair, and insists on being hand

and glove with all the leonine race. She is very plain, besides

frightfully red-haired, and out-Lydia-ing even my poor friend Lydia

White. An awful visitation! I think I see her with javelin raised and

buskined foot, a second Diana, roaming the hills of Westmoreland in

quest of the lakers. Would to God she were there or anywhere but here!

Affectation is a painful thing to witness, and this poor woman has the

bad taste to think direct flattery is the way to make her advances to

friendship and intimacy.

_July_ 2.--I believe I was cross yesterday. I am at any rate very ill

to-day with a rheumatic headache, and a still more vile hypochondriacal

affection, which fills my head with pain, my heart with sadness, and my

eyes with tears. I do not wonder at the awful feelings which visited men

less educated and less firm than I may call myself. It is a most

hang-dog cast of feeling, but it may be chased away by study or by

exercise. The last I have always found most successful, but the first is

most convenient. I wrought therefore, and endured all this forenoon,

being a Teind Wednesday. I am now in such a state that I would hardly be

surprised at the worst news which could be brought to me. And all this

without any rational cause why to-day should be sadder than yesterday.

Two things to lighten my spirits--First, Cadell comes to assure me that

the stock of 12mo novels is diminished from 3800, which was the quantity

in the publishers' hands in March 1827, to 600 or 700. This argues

gallant room for the publication of the New Series. Second, said Cadell

is setting off straight for London to set affairs a-going. If I have

success in this, it will greatly assist in extricating my affairs.

My aches of the heart terminated in a cruel aching of the

head--rheumatic, I suppose. But Sir Adam and Clerk came to dinner, and

laughed and talked the sense of pain and oppression away. We cannot at

times work ourselves into a gay humour, any more than we can tickle

ourselves into a fit of laughter; foreign agency is necessary. My

huntress of lions again dined with us. I have subscribed to her Album,

and done what was civil.

_July_ 3.--Corrected proofs in the morning, and wrote a little. I was

forced to crop vol. i. as thirty pages too long; there is the less to

write behind. We were kept late at the Court, and when I came out I

bethought me, like Christian in the Castle of Giant Despair, "Wherefore

should I walk along the broiling and stifling streets when I have a

little key in my bosom which can open any lock in Princes Street Walks,

and be thus on the Castle banks, rocks, and trees in a few minutes?" I

made use of my key accordingly, and walked from the Castle Hill down to

Wallace's Tower,[231] and thence to the west end of Princes Street,

through a scene of grandeur and beauty perhaps unequalled, whether the

foreground or distant view is considered--all down hill, too. Foolish

never to think of this before. I chatted with the girls a good while

after dinner, but wrote a trifle when we had tea.

_July_ 4.--The two Annes set off to Abbotsford, though the weather was

somewhat lowering for an open carriage, but the day cleared up finely.

Hamilton is unwell, so we had a long hearing of his on our hands. It was

four ere I got home, but I had taken my newly discovered path by rock,

bush, and ruin. I question if Europe has such another path. We owe this

to the taste of James Skene. But I must dress to go to Dr. Hope's, who

makes _chère exquise_, and does not understand being kept late.

_July_ 5.--Saturday, corrected proofs and wrought hard. Went out to

dinner at Oxenfoord Castle, and returned in the company of Lord Alloway,

Chief Baron, Clerk, etc., and Mr. Bouverie, the English Commissioner.

_July_ 6.--A day of hard work. The second volume is now well

advanced--wellnigh one half. Dined alone, and pursued my course after

dinner. Seven pages were finished. Solitude's a fine thing for work, but

then you must lie by like a spider, till you collect materials to

continue your web. Began Simond's Switzerland--clever and intelligent,

but rather conceited, as the manner of an American Frenchman. I hope to

knock something out of him though.

_July_ 7.--Williams seems in uncertainty again, and I can't guess what

he will be at. Surely it is a misery to be so indecisive; he will

certainly gain the ill word of both parties and might have had the good

word of all; and, indeed, deserves it. We received his resignation

to-day, but if the King's College are disposed to thrive, they will keep

eyes on this very able man.

_July_ 8.--Hard work in the Court, the sederunts turn long and

burthensome. I fear they will require some abridgment of vacation.

[_From July_ 8, 1828, _to January_ 10, 1829, _there are no entries in

the Journal_.]

FOOTNOTES:

[230] Burns's song.

[231] Now called Wellhouse Tower.

1829.

JANUARY.

Having omitted to carry on my Diary for two or three days, I lost heart

to make it up, and left it unfilled for many a month and day. During

this period nothing has happened worth particular notice. The same

occupations, the same amusements, the same occasional alternations of

spirits, gay or depressed, the same absence of all sensible or rational

cause for the one or the other. I half grieve to take up my pen, and

doubt if it is worth while to record such an infinite quantity of

nothing, but hang it! I hate to be beat, so here goes for better

behaviour.

_January_ 10.--I resume my task at Abbotsford. We are here alone, except

Lockhart, on a flying visit. Morritt, his niece, Sir James Stuart,

Skene, and an occasional friend or two, have been my guests since 31st

December. I cannot say I have been happy, for the feeling of increasing

weakness in my lame leg is a great affliction. I walk now with pain and

difficulty at all times, and it sinks my soul to think how soon I may be

altogether a disabled cripple. I am tedious to my friends, and I doubt

the sense of it makes me fretful.

Everything else goes off well enough. My cash affairs are clearing, and

though last year was an expensive one, I have been paying debt. Yet I

have a dull contest before me which will probably outlast my life. If

well maintained, however, it will be an honourable one, and if the

_Magnum Opus_ succeed, it will afford me some repose.

_January_ 11.--I did not write above a page yesterday; most weary,

stale, and unprofitable have been my labours. Received a letter I

suppose from Mad. T.----, proposing a string of historical subjects not

proper for my purpose. People will not consider that a thing may already

be so well told in history, that romance ought not in prudence to meddle

with it.

The ground covered with snow, which, by slipperiness and the pain

occasioned by my lameness, renders walking unpleasant.

_January_ 12.--This is the third day I have not walked out, pain and

lameness being the cause. This bodes very ill for my future life. I made

a search yesterday and to-day for letters of Lord Byron to send to Tom

Moore, but I could only find two. I had several others, and am shocked

at missing them. The one which he sent me with a silver cup I regret

particularly. It was stolen out of the cup itself by some vile

inhospitable scoundrel, for a servant would not have thought such a

theft worth while.

My spirits are low, yet I wot not why. I have been writing to my sons.

Walter's majority was like to be reduced, but is spared for the present.

Charles is going on well I trust at the Foreign Office, so I hope all is

well.

Loitered out a useless day, half arranging half disarranging books and

papers, and packing the things I shall want. _Der Abschiedstag ist da_.

_January_ 13.--The day of return to Edinburgh is come. I don't know why,

but I am more happy at the change than usual. I am not working hard, and

it is what I ought to do, and must do. Every hour of laziness cries fie

upon me. But there is a perplexing sinking of the heart which one cannot

always overcome. At such times I have wished myself a clerk,

quill-driving for twopence per page. You have at least application, and

that is all that is necessary, whereas unless your lively faculties are

awake and propitious, your application will do you as little good as if

you strained your sinews to lift Arthur's Seat.

_January_ 14, [_Edinburgh_].--Got home last night after a freezing

journey. This morning I got back some of the last copy, and tugged as

hard as ever did soutar to make ends meet. Then I will be reconciled to

my task, which at present disgusts me. Visited Lady Jane, then called on

Mr. Robison and instructed him to call a meeting of the Council of the

Royal Society, as Mr. Knox proposes to read an essay on some

dissections. A bold proposal truly from one who has had so lately the

boldness of trading so deep in human flesh! I will oppose his reading in

the present circumstances if I should stand alone, but I hope he will be

wrought upon to withdraw his essay or postpone it at least. It is very

bad taste to push himself forward just now. Lockhart dined with us,

which made the evening a pleasant but an idle one. Well! I must rouse

myself.

"Awake! Arise, or be for ever fallen."[232]

_January_ 15.--Day began with beggars as usual, and John Nicolson has

not sense to keep them out. I never yield, however, to this importunity,

thinking it wrong that what I can spare to meritorious poverty, of which

I hear and see too much, should be diverted by impudent importunity. I

was detained at the Parliament House till nearly three by the great case

concerning prescription, Maule _v_. Maule.[233] This was made up to me

by hearing an excellent opinion from Lord Corehouse, with a curious

discussion _in apicibus juris._ I disappointed Graham[234] of a sitting

for my picture.

I went to the Council of the Royal Society, which was convened at my

request, to consider whether we ought to hear a paper on anatomical

subjects read by Mr. Knox, whose name has of late been deeply implicated

in a criminal prosecution against certain wretches, who had murdered

many persons and sold their bodies to professors of the anatomical

science. Some thought that our declining to receive the paper would be a

declaration unfavourable to Dr. Knox. I think hearing it before Mr. Knox

has made any defence (as he is stated to have in view) would be an

intimation of our preference of the cause of science to those of

morality and common humanity. Mr. Knox's friends undertook to deal with

him about suffering the paper to be omitted for the present, while

_adhuc coram judice lis est_.[235]

_January_ 16.--Nothing on the roll to-day, so I did not go to the

Parliament House, but fagged at my desk till two.

Dr. Ross called to relieve me of a corn, which, though my lameness

needs no addition, had tormented me vilely. I again met the Royal

Society Council. Dr. Knox consents to withdraw his paper, or rather

suffers the reading to be postponed. There is some great error in the

law on the subject. If it was left to itself many bodies would be

imported from France and Ireland, and doubtless many would be found in

our hospitals for the service of the anatomical science. But the total

and severe exclusion of foreign supplies of this kind raises the price

of the "subjects," as they are called technically, to such a height,

that wretches are found willing to break into "the bloody house of

life,"[236] merely to supply the anatomists' table. The law which, as a

deeper sentence on the guilt of murder, declares that the body of the

convicted criminal should be given up to anatomy, is certainly not

without effect, for criminals have been known to shrink from that part

of the sentence which seems to affect them more than the doom of death

itself, with all its terrors here and hereafter. On the other hand,

while this idea of the infamy attending the exposition of the person is

thus recognised by the law, it is impossible to adopt regulations which

would effectually prevent such horrid crimes as the murder of vagrant

wretches who can be snatched from society without their being missed, as

in the case of the late conspiracy. For instance, if it was now to be

enacted, as seems reasonable, that persons dying in hospitals and

almshouses, who die without their friends claiming their remains, should

be given up to the men of science, this would be subjecting poverty to

the penalty of these atrocious criminals whom law distinguishes by the

heaviest posthumous disgrace which it can inflict. Even cultivated minds

revolt from the exposure on an anatomical table, when the case is

supposed to be that of one who is dear to them. I should, I am

conscious, be willing that I myself should be dissected in public, if

doing so could produce any advantage to society, but when I think on

relations and friends being rent from the grave the case is very

different, and I would fight knee-deep to prevent or punish such an

exposure. So inconsistent we are all upon matters of this nature.

I dined quietly at home with the girls, and wrote after dinner.

_January_ 17.--Nothing in the roll; corrected proofs, and went off at 12

o'clock in the Hamilton stage to William Lockhart's at Auchinrath. My

companions, Mr. Livingstone, the clergyman of Camnethan, a Bailie

Hamilton, the king of trumps, I am told, in the Burgh of Hamilton, and a

Mr. Davie Martin _qui gaudet equis et canibus_. Got to Auchinrath by

six, and met Lord Douglas,[237] his brother, Captain Douglas, E.N., John

G-. Lockhart also, who had a large communication from Duke of W. upon

the subject of the bullion. The Duke scouts the economist's ideas about

paper credit, after the proposition that all men shall be entitled to

require gold.

_January_ 18.--We went, the two Lockharts and I, to William's new

purchase of Milton. We found on his ground a cottage, where a man called

Greenshields,[238] a sensible, powerful-minded person, had at

twenty-eight (rather too late a week)[239] taken up the art of

sculpture. He had disposed of the person of the King most admirably,

according to my poor thoughts, and had attained a wonderful expression

of ease and majesty at the same time. He was desirous of engaging on

Burns' Jolly Beggars, which I dissuaded. Caricature is not the object of

sculpture.

We went to Milton on as fine a day as could consist with snow on the

ground. The situation is eminently beautiful; a fine promontory round

which the Clyde makes a magnificent bend. We fixed on a situation where

the sitting-room should command the upper view, and, with an ornamental

garden, I think it may be made the prettiest place in Scotland.

_January_ 19.--Posted to Edinburgh with John Lockhart. We stopped at

Allanton to see a tree transplanted, which was performed with great

ease. Sir Henry is a sad coxcomb, and lifted beyond the solid earth by

the effect of his book's success. But the book well deserves it.[240] He

is in practice particularly anxious to keep the roots of the tree near

the surface, and only covers them with about a foot of earth.

_Note_.--Lime rubbish dug in among the roots of ivy encourages it much.

The operation delayed us three hours, so it was seven o'clock before we

reached our dinner and a good fire in Shandwick Place, and we were

wellnigh frozen to death. During this excursion I walked very ill--with

more pain, in fact, than I ever remember to have felt--and, even leaning

on John Lockhart, could hardly get on. _Baad that, vara baad_--it might

be the severe weather though, and the numbing effect of the sitting in

the carriage. Be it what it will, I can't help myself.

_January_ 20.--I had little to do at the Court, and returned home soon.

Honest old Mr. Ferrier is dead, at extreme old age. I confess I should

not wish to live so long. He was a man with strong passions and strong

prejudices, but with generous and manly sentiments at the same time. We

used to call him Uncle Adam, after that character in his gifted

daughter's novel of the _Heiress_ [Inheritance]. I wrote a long letter

after I came home to my Lord Elgin about Greenshields, the

sculptor.[241] I am afraid he is going into the burlesque line, to

which sculpture is peculiarly ill adapted. So I have expressed my veto

to his patron, _valeat quantum_. Also a letter to Mrs. Professor

Sandford at Glasgow about reprinting Macaulay's _History of St.

Kilda_,[242] advising them to insert the history of Lady Grange who was

kidnapped and banished thither.

I corrected my proofs, moreover, and prepared to dine. After dinner we

go to Euphemia Erskine's marriage. Mr. Dallas came in and presented me

with an old pedigree of the M'Intoshes. The wedding took place with the

usual April weather of smiles and tears. The bridegroom's name is

Dawson. As he, as well as the bride, is very tall, they have every

chance of bringing up a family of giants. The bridegroom has an

excellent character. He is only a captain, but economy does wonders in

the army, where there are many facilities for practising it. I sincerely

wish them happiness.

_January_ 21.--Went out to Dalkeith House to dine and stay all night.

Found Marquis of Lothian and a family party. I liked the sense and

spirit displayed by this young nobleman, who reminds me strongly of his

parents, whom I valued so highly.

_January_ 22.--Left Dalkeith after breakfast, and gained the Parliament

House, where there was almost nothing to do, at eleven o'clock.

Afterwards sat to Graham, who is making a good thing of it. Mr. Colvin

Smith has made a better in one sense, having sold ten or twelve copies

of the portrait to different friends.[243] The Solicitor came to dine

with me--we drank a bottle of champagne, and two bottles of claret,

which, in former days, I should have thought a very sober allowance,

since, Lockhart included, there were three persons to drink it. But I

felt I had drunk too much, and was uncomfortable. The young men stood it

like young men. Skene and his wife and daughter looked in in the

evening. I suppose I am turning to my second childhood, for not only am

I filled drunk, or made stupid at least, with one bottle of wine, but I

am disabled from writing by chilblains on my fingers--a most babyish

complaint. They say that the character is indicated by the handwriting;

if so, mine is crabbed enough.

_January_ 23.--Still severe frost, annoying to sore fingers. Nothing on

the roll. I sat at home and wrote letters to Wilkie, Landseer, Mrs.

Hughes, Charles, etc. Went out to old Mr. Ferrier's funeral, and saw the

last duty rendered to my old friend, whose age was

"----Like a lusty winter,

Frosty, but kindly,"[244]

I mean in a moral as well as a physical sense. I then went to Cadell's

for some few minutes.

I carried out Lockhart to Dalkeith, where we dined, supped, and returned

through a clinking frost, with snow on the ground. Lord Ramsay and the

Miss Kerrs were at Dalkeith. The Duke shows, for so young a man, a great

deal of character, and seems to have a proper feeling of the part he has

to play. The evening was pleasant, but the thought that I was now the

visitor and friend of the family in the third generation lay somewhat

heavy on me. Every thing around me seemed to say that beauty, power,

wealth, honour were but things of a day.

_January_ 24.--Heavy fall of snow. Lockhart is off in the mail. I hope

he will not be blockaded. The day bitter cold. I went to the Court, and

with great difficulty returned along the slippery street. I ought to

have taken the carriage, but I have a superstitious dread of giving up

the habit of walking, and would willingly stick to the last by my old

hardy customs.

Little but trifles to do at the Court. My hands are so covered with

chilblains that I can hardly use a pen--my feet ditto.

We bowled away at six o'clock to Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay's. Found we were a

week too early, and went back as if our noses had been bleeding.

_January_ 25.--Worked seriously all morning, expecting the Fergusons to

dinner. Alas! instead of that, I learn that my poor innocent friend Mary

is no more. She was a person of some odd and peculiar habits, wore a

singular dress, and affected wild and solitary haunts, but she was, at

the same time, a woman of talent, and even genius. She used often to

take long walks with me up through the glens; and I believe her sincere

good wishes attended me, as I was always glad of an opportunity to show

her kindness. I shall long think of her when at Abbotsford. This sad

event breaks up our little party. Will Clerk came, however, and his

_tête-à-tête_ was, of course, interesting and amusing in the highest

degree. We drank some whisky and water, and smoked a cigar or two, till

nine at night.

"No after friendships ere can raise

The endearments of our early days."

_January_ 26.--I muzzed on--I can call it little better--with _Anne of

Geierstein_. The materials are excellent, but the power of using them is

failing. Yet I wrote out about three pages, sleeping at intervals.

_January_ 27.--A great and general thaw, the streets afloat, the snow

descending on one's head from the roofs. Went to the Court. There was

little to do. Left about twelve, and took a sitting with Graham, who

begs for another. Sir James Stuart stood bottle-holder on this occasion.

Had rather an unfavourable account of the pictures of James Stuart of

Dunearn, which are to be sold. I had promised to pick up one or two for

the Duke of Buccleuch. Came home and wrote a leaf or two. I shall be

soon done with the second volume of _Anne of Geierstein_. I cannot

persuade myself to the obvious risk of satisfying the public, although I

cannot so well satisfy myself. I am like Beaumont and Fletcher's old

Merrythought who could not be persuaded that there was a chance of his

wanting meat. I never came into my parlour, said he, but I found the

cloth laid and dinner ready; surely it will be always thus. Use makes

perfectness.[245]

My reflections are of the same kind; and if they are unlogical they are

perhaps not the less comfortable. Fretting and struggling does no good.

Wrote to Miss Margaret Ferguson a letter of condolence.

_January_ 28.--Breakfasted, for a wonder, abroad with Hay Drummond,

whose wife appears a pretty and agreeable little woman. We worshipped

his tutelar deity, the Hercules, and saw a good model of the Hercules

Bibax, or the drunken Hercules. Graham and Sir James Stuart were there.

Home-baked bread and soldier's coffee were the treat. I came home; and

Sir Robert Dundas having taken my duty at the Court, I wrote for some

time, but not much. Burke the murderer hanged this morning. The mob,

which was immense, demanded Knox and Hare, but though greedy for more

victims, received with shouts the solitary wretch who found his way to

the gallows out of five or six who seem not less guilty than he. But the

story begins to be stale, although I believe a doggerel ballad upon it

would be popular, how brutal soever the wit. This is the progress of

human passions. We ejaculate, exclaim, hold up to Heaven our hand, like

the rustic Phidyle[246]--next morning the mood changes, and we dance a

jig to the tune which moved us to tears. Mr. Bell sends me a specimen of

a historical novel, but he goes not the way to write it; he is too

general, and not sufficiently minute. It is not easy to convey this to

an author, with the necessary attention to his feelings; and yet, in

good faith and sincerity, it must be done.

_January_ 29.--I had a vacant day once more by the kindness of Sir

Robert, unasked, but most kindly afforded. I have not employed it to

much purpose. I wrote six pages to Croker,[247] who is busied with a new

edition of Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, to which most entertaining book

he hopes to make large additions from Mrs. Piozzi, Hawkins and other

sources. I am bound by many obligations to do as much for him as I can,

which can only respect the Scottish Tour. I wrote only two or three

pages of _Anne_. I am

"----- as one who in a darksome way

Doth walk with fear and dread."

But walk I must, and walk forward too, or I shall be benighted with a

vengeance. After dinner, to compromise matters with my conscience, I

wrote letters to Mr. Bell, Mrs. Hughes, and so forth; thus I concluded

the day with a sort of busy idleness. This will not do. By cock and pye

it will not.

_January_ 30.--Mr. Stuart breakfasted with me, a grand-nephew of Lady

Louisa's, a very pleasing young gentleman. The coach surprised me by not

calling. _Will_ it be for the Martyrdom? I trow it will, yet, strange to

say, I cannot recollect if it is a regular holiday or not.

"Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men,

And use it as ye may."

I wrote in the morning, and went at one o'clock to a meeting of country

gentlemen, about bringing the direct road from London down by Jedburgh,

said to be the nearest line by fifty miles. It is proposed the pleasant

men of Teviotdale should pay, not only their own share,--that is, the

expense of making the road through our own country, but also the expense

of making the road under the Ellsdon Trust in Northumberland, where the

English would positively do nothing. I stated this to the meeting as an

act of Quixotry. If it be an advantage, which, unless to individuals,

may be doubted, it is equally one to Northumberland as to Roxburgh,

therefore I am clear that we should go "acquals."

I think I have maybe put a spoke in the wheel. The raising the statute

labour of Roxburgh to an oppressive extent, to make roads in England,

is, I think, jimp legal, and will be much complained of by the poorer

heritors. Henry of Harden dines with me _tête-à-tête_, excepting the

girls.

_January_ 31.--I thought I had opened a vein this morning and that it

came freely, but the demands of art have been more than I can bear. I

corrected proofs before breakfast, went to Court after that meal; was

busy till near one o'clock. Then I went to Cadell's, where they are

preparing to circulate the prospectus of the magnum, which will have all

the effect of surprise on most people. I sat to Mr. Graham till I was

quite tired, then went to Lady Jane, who is getting better. Then here at

four, but fit for nothing but to bring up this silly Diary.

The corpse of the murderer Burke is now lying in state at the College,

in the anatomical class, and all the world flock to see him. Who is he

that says that we are not ill to please in our objects of curiosity? The

strange means by which the wretch made money are scarce more disgusting

than the eager curiosity with which the public have licked up all the

carrion details of this business.

I trifled with my work. I wonder how Johnson set himself doggedly to

it--to a work of imagination it seems quite impossible, and one's brain

is at times fairly addled. And yet I have felt times when sudden and

strong exertion would throw off all this mistiness of mind, as a north

wind would disperse it.

"Blow, blow, thou northern wind."[248]

Nothing more than about two or three pages. I went to the Parliament

House to-day, but had little to do. I sat to Mr. Graham the last time,

Heaven be praised! If I be not known in another age, it will not be for

want of pictures. We dined with Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay and Lady Anne--a fine

family. There was little done in the way of work except correcting

proofs. The bile affects me, and makes me vilely drowsy when I should be

most awake. Met at Mr. Wardlaw's several people I did not know. Looked

over Cumnor Hall by Mr. Usher Tighe of Oxford. I see from the

inscription on Tony Foster's tomb that he was a skilful planter, amongst

other fashionable accomplishments.

FOOTNOTES:

[232] Milton's _Paradise Lost_, Bk. i.

[233] See Cases in Court of Session, vol. vii. S. p. 527.

[234] John Graham, who afterwards assumed the name of Gilbert; born

1794, died 1866.

He was at this time painting Sir Walter for the Royal Society of

Edinburgh. When the portrait was finished it was placed in the rooms of

the Society, where it still hangs. The artist retained in his own

collection a duplicate, with some slight variations, which his widow

presented to the National Portrait Gallery, London, in 1867.

[235] Sir Walter, in common with the majority of his contemporaries,

evidently believed that Dr. Robert Knox was partly responsible for the

West Port atrocities, but it is only just to the memory of the talented

anatomist to say that an independent and influential committee, after a

careful examination, reported on March 13th, 1829, that there was no

evidence showing that he or his assistants knew that murder had been

committed, but the committee thought that more care should have been

exercised in the reception of the bodies at the Anatomical Class-room.

Lord Cockburn, who was one of the counsel at the trial of Burke, in

writing of these events, remarks: "All our anatomists incurred a most

unjust and very alarming, though not an unnatural, odium; Dr. Knox in

particular, against whom not only the anger of the populace, but the

condemnation of more intelligent persons, was specially directed. But,

tried in reference to the invariable and the necessary practice of the

profession, our anatomists were spotlessly correct, and Knox the most

correct of them all."

At this date Dr. Knox was the most popular teacher in the Medical School

at Edinburgh, and as his class-room could not contain more than a third

of his students, he had to deliver his lectures twice or thrice daily.

The odium attached to his name might have been removed in time had his

personal character stood as high as his professional ability, but though

he remained in Edinburgh until 1841 he never recovered his position

there, and for the last twenty years of his life this once brilliant

teacher subsisted as best he could in London by his pen, and as an

itinerant lecturer. He died in 1862.

[236] _King John_, Act iv. So. 2.

[237] Archibald, second Lord Douglas, who died in 1844.

[238] John Greenshields, self-taught sculptor. See _Life_, vol. ix. p.

281-288. He died at the age of forty in 1835.

[239] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[240] Sir Henry Seton Steuart's work on _Planting_ was reviewed by Scott

in the _Quarterly_.--See _Misc. Prose Works,_ vol. xxi. Sir H. Steuart

died in March 1836.

[241] See letter in _Life_, vol. ix. pp. 281-287.

[242] Originally published in London in 8vo, 1764. This contemplated

edition does not appear to have been printed.

[243] _Ante_, p. 118 n.

[244] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[245] See Beaumont and Fletcher, _Knight of the Burning Pestle_, Act I.

Sc. 3.

[246]

Coelo supinas si tuleris manus Nascente luna, rustica Phidyle, etc.

Hor. Lib. iii _Od_. 23.--J.G.L.

[247] This letter, brimful of anecdote, is printed in Croker's

_Correspondence_, vol. ii. pp. 28-34.

[248] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 7.

FEBRUARY.

_February_ 1.--_Domum mansi, lanam feci_,--stayed at home _videlicet_,

and laboured without interruption except from intolerable drowsiness;

finished eight leaves, however, the best day's work I have made this

long time. No interruption, and I got pleased with my work, which ends

the second volume of _Anne of Geierstein_. After dinner had a letter

from Lockhart, with happy tidings about the probability of the

commission on the Stewart papers being dissolved. The Duke of W. says

commissions never either did or will do any good. John will in that case

be sole editor of these papers with an apartment at St. James's _cum

plurimis aliis_. It will be a grand coup if it takes place.

_February_ 2.--Sent off yesterday's work with proofs. Could I do as

toughly for a week--and many a day I have done more--I should be soon

out of the scrape. I wrote letters, and put over the day till one, when

I went down with Sir James Stuart to see Stuart of Dunearn's pictures

now on sale. I did not see much which my poor taste covets; a Hobbema

much admired is, I think, as tame a piece of work as I ever saw. I

promised to try to get a good picture or two for the young Duke.

Dined with the old Club, instituted forty years ago. There were present

Lord Justice-Clerk, Lord Advocate, Sir Peter Murray, John Irving,

William Clerk, and I. It was a party such as the meeting of fellow

scholars and fellow students alone could occasion. We told old stories;

laughed and quaffed, and resolved, rashly perhaps, that we would hold

the Club at least once a year, if possible twice. We will see how this

will fudge. Our mirth was more unexpected as Sir Adam, our first

fiddle, was wanting, owing to his family loss.

_February_ 3.--Rose at eight--felt my revel a little in my head. The

Court business light, returned by Cadell, and made one or two calls, at

Skene's especially. Dinner and evening at home; laboriously employed.

_February_ 4.--To-day I was free from duty, and made good use of my

leisure at home, finishing the second volume of _Anne_, and writing

several letters, one to recommend Captain Pringle to Lord Beresford,

which I send to-morrow through Morritt. "My mother whips me and I whip

the top." The girls went to the play.

_February_ 5.--Attended the Court as usual, got dismissed about one.

Finished and sent off volume ii. of _Anne_. Dined with Robert

Rutherford, my cousin, and the whole clan of Swinton.

_February_ 6.--Corrected proofs in the morning, then to the Court;

thence to Cadell's, where I found some business cut out for me, in the

way of notes, which delayed me. Walked home, the weary way giving my

feet the ancient twinges of agony: such a journey is as severe a penance

as if I had walked the same length with peas in my shoes to atone for

some horrible crime by beating my toes into a jelly. I wrote some and

corrected a good deal. We dined alone, and I partly wrought partly slept

in the evening. It's now pretty clear that the Duke of W. intends to

have a Catholic Bill.[249] He probably expects to neutralise and divide

the Catholic body by bringing a few into Parliament, where they will

probably be tractable enough, rather than a large proportion of them

rioting in Ireland, where they will be to a certain degree unanimous.

_February_ 7.--Up and wrought a little. I had at breakfast a son of Sir

Thomas Dick Lauder, a very quick, smart-looking young fellow, who is on

his way to the Continent with a tutor. Dined at Mrs. George Swinton's

with the whole clan.

_February_ 8.--I wrought the whole day and finished about six pages of

manuscript of vol. iii. [_Anne of Geierstein_]. _Sat cito si sat bene_.

The Skenes came in to supper like the olden world.

_February_ 9.--Was up in good time (say half-past seven), and employed

the morning in correcting proofs. At twelve I went to Stuart of

Dunearn's sale of pictures. This poor man fell, like myself, a victim to

speculation. And though I had no knowledge of him personally, and

disliked him as the cause of poor Sir Alexander Boswell's death, yet

"had he been slaughterman to all my kin,"[250] I could but pity the

miserable sight of his splendid establishment broken up, and his

treasures of art exposed to public and unsparing sale. I wanted a

picture of the Earl of Rothes for the Duke of Buccleuch, a fine Sir

Joshua, but Balfour of Balbirnie fancied it also, and followed it to 160

guineas. Charles Sharpe's account is, that I may think myself in luck,

for the face has been repainted. There is, he says, a print taken from

the picture at Leslie House which has quite a different countenance from

the present.

This job, however, took me up the whole morning to little purpose.

Captain and Mrs. Hall dined with us, also Sir James Stuart, Charles

Sharpe, John Scott of Gala, etc.

_February_ 10.--I was up at seven this morning, and will continue the

practice, but the shoal of proofs took up all my leisure. I will not, I

think, go after these second-rate pictures again to-day. If I could get

a quiet day or two I would make a deep dint in the third volume; but

hashed and smashed as my time is, who can make anything of it? I read

over Henry's History of Henry VI. and Edward IV.; he is but a stupid

historian after all. This took me up the whole day.

_February_ 11.--Up as usual and wrought at proofs. Mr. Hay Drummond and

Macintosh Mackay dined. The last brought me his history of the _Blara

Leine_ or White Battle (battle of the shirts). To the Court, and

remained there till two, when we had some awkward business in the

Council of the Royal Society.

_February_ 12.--W. Lockhart came to breakfast, full of plans for his

house, which will make a pretty and romantic habitation. After breakfast

the Court claimed its vassal.

As I came out Mr. Chambers introduced a pretty little romantic girl to

me who possessed a laudable zeal to know a live poet. I went with my

fair admirer as far as the new rooms on the Mound, where I looked into

the Royal Society's Rooms, then into the Exhibition, in mere

unwillingness to work and desire to dawdle away time. Learned that Lord

Haddington had bought the Sir Joshua. I wrought hard to-day and made out

five pages.

_February_ 13.--This morning Col. Hunter Blair breakfasted here with his

wife, a very pretty woman, with a good deal of pleasant conversation.

She had been in India, and had looked about her to purpose. I wrote for

several hours in the forenoon, but was nervous and drumlie; also I

bothered myself about geography; in short, there was trouble, as miners

say when the vein of metal is interrupted. Went out at two, and walked,

thank God, better than in the winter, which gives me hopes that the

failure of the unfortunate limb is only temporary, owing to severe

weather. We dined at John Murray's with the Mansfield family. Lady

Caroline Murray possesses, I think, the most pleasing taste for music,

and is the best singer I ever heard. No temptation to display a very

brilliant voice ever leads her aside from truth and simplicity, and

besides, she looks beautiful when she sings.

_February_ 14.--Wrote in the morning, which begins to be a regular act

of duty. It was late ere I got home, and I did not do much. The letters

I received were numerous and craved answers, yet the third volume is

getting on hooly and fairly. I am twenty leaves before the printers;

but Ballantyne's wife is ill, and it is his nature to indulge

apprehensions of the worst, which incapacitates him for labour. I cannot

help regarding this amiable weakness of the mind with something too

nearly allied to contempt. I keep the press behind me at a good

distance, and I, like the

"Postboy's horse, am glad to miss

The lumber of the wheels."[251]

_February_ 15.--I wrought to-day, but not much--rather dawdled, and took

to reading Chambers's Beauties of Scotland,[252] which would be

admirable if they were more accurate. He is a clever young fellow, but

hurts himself by too much haste. I am not making too much myself I know,

and I know, too, it is time I were making it. Unhappily there is such a

thing as more haste and less speed. I can very seldom think to purpose

by lying perfectly idle, but when I take an idle book, or a walk, my

mind strays back to its task out of contradiction as it were; the things

I read become mingled with those I have been writing, and something is

concocted. I cannot compare this process of the mind to anything save

that of a woman to whom the mechanical operation of spinning serves as a

running bass to the songs she sings, or the course of ideas she pursues.

The phrase _Hoc age_, often quoted by my father, does not jump with my

humour. I cannot nail my mind to one subject of contemplation, and it is

by nourishing two trains of ideas that I can bring one into order.

Colin Mackenzie came in to see me, poor fellow. He looks well in his

retirement. Partly I envy him--partly I am better pleased as it is.

_February_ 16.--Stayed at home and laboured all the forenoon. Young

Invernahyle called to bid me interest myself about getting a lad of the

house of Scott a commission--how is this possible? The last I tried

for, there was about 3000 on the list--and they say the boy is too old,

being twenty-four. I scribbled three or four pages, forbore smoking and

whisky and water, and went to the Royal Society. There Sir William

Hamilton read an essay, the result of some anatomical investigations,

which contained a masked battery against the phrenologists.

_February_ 17.--In the morning I sent off copy and proof. I received the

melancholy news that James Ballantyne has lost his wife. With his

domestic habits the blow is irretrievable. What can he do, poor fellow,

at the head of such a family of children! I should not be surprised if

he were to give way to despair.

I was at the Court, where there was little to do, but it diddled away my

time till two. I went to the library, but not a book could I get to look

at. It is, I think, a wrong system the lending books to private houses

at all, and leads to immense annual losses. I called on Skene, and

borrowed a volume of his Journal, to get some information about Burgundy

and Provence. Something may be made out of King René, but I wish I had

thought of him sooner.[253] Dined alone with the girls.

_February_ 18.--This being Teind Wednesday I had a holiday. Worked the

whole day, interrupted by calls from Dr. Ross, Sir Hugh Palliser, Sir

David Hunter Blair, and Colonel Blair. I made out about six pages before

dinner, and go to Lord Gillies's to dine with a good conscience. Hay

Drummond came in, and discharged a volley at me which Mons Meg could

hardly have equalled. I will go to work with Skene's Journal. My head

aches violently, and has done so several days. It is cold, I think.

At Lord Gillies's we found Sir John Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple, and Miss

Ferguson, Mr. Hope Vere of Craigiehall, and Lady Elizabeth, a sister of

Lord Tweeddale, Sir Robert O'Callaghan, Captain Cathcart, and others--a

gay party.

_February_ 19.--An execrable day--half frost, half fresh, half sleet,

half rain, and wholly abominable. Having made up my packet for the

printing-house, and performed my duty at the Court, I had the firmness

to walk round by the North Bridge, and face the weather for two miles,

by way of exercise. Called on Skene, and saw some of his drawings of

Aix. It was near two before I got home, and now I hear three strike;

part of this hour has been consumed in a sound sleep by the fireside

after putting on dry things. I met Baron Hume,[254] and we praised each

other's hardihood for daring to take exercise in such weather, agreeing

that if a man relax the custom of his exercise in Scotland for a bad

day he is not likely to resume it in a hurry. The other moiety of the

time was employed in looking over the _Mémoires de Fauche-Borel._[255]

_February_ 20.--The Court duly took me up from eleven till about three,

but left some time for labour, which I employed to purpose, at least I

hope so. I declined going to the exhibition of paintings to-night;

neither the beauties of art nor of nature have their former charms for

me. I finished, however, about seven pages of manuscript, which is a

fair half of volume III. I wish I could command a little more time and I

would soon find you something or other, but the plague is that time is

wanting when I feel an aptitude to work, and when time abounds, the

will, at least the real efficient power of the faculties, is awanting.

Still, however, we make way by degrees. I glanced over some metrical

romances published by Hartshorne, several of which have not seen the

light. They are considerably curious, but I was surprised to see them

mingled with _Blanchefleur_ and _Florês_ and one or two others which

might have been spared. There is no great display of notes or

prolegomena, and there is, moreover, no glossary. But the work is well

edited.[256]

_February_ 21.--Colonel Ferguson breakfasted with us. I was detained at

the Parliament House till the hour of poor Mrs. Ballantyne's funeral,

then attended that melancholy ceremony. The husband was unable to

appear; the sight of the poor children was piteous enough. James

Ballantyne has taken his brother Sandy into the house, I mean the firm,

about which there had formerly been some misunderstanding.

I attended the Bannatyne Club. We made a very good election, bringing in

Lord Dalhousie and the Lord Clerk Register.[257] Our dinner went pretty

well off, but I have seen it merrier. To be sure old Dr. J., like an

immense featherbed, was _burking_ me, as the phrase now goes, during the

whole time. I am sure that word will stick in the language for one

while.

_February_ 22.--Very rheumatic. I e'en turned my table to the fire and

feagued it away, as Bayes says. Neither did I so much as cast my eyes

round to see what sort of a day it was--the splashing on the windows

gave all information that was necessary. Yet, with all my leisure,

during the whole day I finished only four leaves of copy--somewhat of

the least, master Matthew.[258]

There was no interruption during the whole day, though the above is a

poor account of it.

_February_ 23.--Up and at it. After breakfast Mr. Hay Drummond came in

enchanted about Mons Meg,[259] and roaring as loud as she could have

done for her life when she was in perfect voice.

James Ballantyne came in, to my surprise, about twelve o'clock. He was

very serious, and spoke as if he had some idea of sudden and speedy

death. He mentioned that he had named Cadell, Cowan, young Hughes, and

his brother to be his trustees with myself. He has settled to go to the

country, poor fellow, to Timpendean, as I think.

We dined at Skene's, where we met Mr. and Mrs. George Forbes, Colonel

and Mrs. Blair, George Bell, etc. The party was a pleasant one. Colonel

Blair said, that during the Battle of Waterloo there was at the

commencement some trouble necessary to prevent the men from breaking

their ranks. He expostulated with one man: "Why, my good fellow, you

cannot propose to beat the French alone?--better keep your ranks." The

man, who was one of the 71st, returned to his ranks, saying, "I believe

you are very right, sir, but I am a man of very _hot temper_." There

was much _bonhomie_ in the reply.

_February_ 24.--Snowy miserable morning. I corrected my proofs, but had

no time to write anything. We, _i.e._ myself and the two Annes, went to

breakfast with Mr. Drummond Hay, where we again met Colonel and Mrs.

Blair, with Thomas Thomson. We looked over some most beautiful

drawings[260] which Mrs. Blair had made in different parts of India,

exhibiting a species of architecture so gorgeous, and on a scale so

extensive, as to put to shame the magnificence of Europe. And yet, in

most cases, as little is known of the people who wrought these wonders

as of the kings who built the Pyramids. Fame depends on literature, not

on architecture. We are more eager to see a broken column of Cicero's

villa, than all those mighty labours of barbaric power. Mrs. Blair is

full of enthusiasm. She told me that when she worked with her pencil she

was glad to have some one to read to her as a sort of sedative,

otherwise her excitement made her tremble, and burst out a-crying. I can

understand this very well, having often found the necessity of doing two

things at once. She is a very pretty, dark woman too, and has been

compared to Rebecca, daughter of the Jew, Isaac of York.

Detained in the Court till half-past two bothering about Lady Essex

Kerr's will without coming to a conclusion. I then got home too late to

do anything, as I must prepare to go to Dalmahoy. Mr. Gibson came in for

a little while; no news.

I went to Dalmahoy, where we were most kindly received. It is a point of

friendship, however, to go eight miles to dinner and return in the

evening; and my day has been cut up without a brush of work. Smoked a

cigar on my return, being very cold.

_February_ 25.--This morning I corrected my proofs. We get on, as John

Ferguson said when they put him on a hunter. I fear there is too much

historical detail, and the catastrophe will be vilely huddled up. "And

who can help it, Dick?" Visited James Ballantyne, and found him bearing

his distress sensibly and like a man. I called in at Cadell's, and also

inquired after Lady Jane Stuart, who is complaining. Three o'clock

placed me at home, and from that hour till ten, deduct two hours for

dinner, I was feaguing it away.

_February_ 26.--Sent off ten pages this morning, with a revise; we spy

land, but how to get my catastrophe packed into the compass allotted for

it--

"It sticks like a pistol half out of its holster,

Or rather indeed like an obstinate bolster,

Which I think I have seen you attempting, my dear,

In vain to cram into a small pillowbeer."

There is no help for it--I must make a _tour de force_, and annihilate

both time and space. Dined at home; nevertheless made small progress.

But I must prepare my dough before I can light my oven. I would fain

think I am in the right road.

_February_ 27.--The last post brought a letter from Mr. Heath, proposing

to set off his engravings for the _Magnum Opus_ against my contributions

for the _Keepsake_. A pretty mode of accounting that would be; he

be----. I wrote him declining his proposal; and, as he says I am still

in his debt, I will send him the old drama of the _House of Aspen_,

which I wrote some thirty years ago, and offered to the stage. This will

make up my contribution, and a good deal more, if, as I recollect, there

are five acts. Besides, it will save me further trouble about Heath and

his Annual. Secondly, There are several manuscript copies of the play

abroad, and some of them will be popping out one of these days in a

contraband manner. Thirdly, If I am right as to the length of the

piece, there is £100 extra work at least which will not be inconvenient

at all.

Dined at Sir John Hay's with Ramsay of Barnton and his young bride, Sir

David and Lady Hunter Blair, etc.

I should mention that Cadell breakfasted with me, and entirely approved

of my rejecting Heath's letter. There was one funny part of it, in which

he assured me that the success of the new edition of the _Waverley

Novels_ depended entirely on the excellence of the illustrations--_vous

êtes joaillier, Mons. Josse.[261]_ He touches a point which alarms me;

he greatly undervalues the portrait which Wilkie has prepared to give me

for this edition. If it is as little of a likeness as he says, it is a

scrape. But a scrape be it. Wilkie behaved in the kindest way,

considering his very bad health, in agreeing to work for me at all, and

I will treat him with due delicacy, and not wound his feelings by

rejecting what he has given in such kindness.[262] And so farewell to

Mr. Heath, and the conceited vulgar Cockney his Editor.

_February_ 28.--Finished my proofs this morning, and read part of a

curious work, called _Memoirs of Vidocq_; a fellow who was at the head

of Bonaparte's police. It is a pickaresque tale; in other words, a

romance of roguery. The whole seems much exaggerated, and got up; but I

suppose there is truth _au fond._ I came home about two o'clock, and

wrought hard and fast till night.

FOOTNOTES:

[249] Sir Walter had written to Mr. Lockhart on October 26th, 1828, on

hearing of an impending article in the _Quarterly_, the following

letter:--

"I cannot repress the strong desire I have to express my regret at some

parts of your kind letter just received. I shall lament most truly a

_purple_ article at this moment, when a strong, plain, moderate

statement, not railing at Catholics and their religion, but reprobating

the conduct of the Irish Catholics, and pointing out the necessary

effects which that conduct must have on the Catholic Question, would

have a powerful effect, and might really serve king and country. Nothing

the agitators desire so much as to render the broil general, as a

quarrel between Catholic and Protestant; nothing so essential to the

Protestant cause as to confine it to its real causes. Southey, as much a

fanatic as e'er a Catholic of them all, will, I fear, pass this most

necessary landmark of debate. I like his person, admire his genius, and

respect his immense erudition, but--_non omnia_. In point of reasoning

and political judgment he is a perfect Harpado--nothing better than a

wild bull. The circumstances require the interference of _vir gravis

pietate et moribus_, and you bring it a Highland piper to blow a

Highland charge, the more mischievous that it possesses much wild power

of inflaming the passions.

"Your idea that you must give Southey his swing in this matter or he

will quit the _Review_,--this is just a pilot saying, If I do not give

the helm to such a passenger he will quit the ship. Let him quit and be

d--d.

"My own confidence is, you know, entirely in the D. As Bruce said to the

Lord of the Isles at Bannockburn, 'My faith is constant in thee.' Now a

hurly-burly charge may derange his line of battle, and therein be of the

most fatal consequence. For God's sake avail yourself of the

communication I opened while in town, and do not act without it. Send

this to the D. of W. If you will, he will appreciate the motives that

dictate it. If he approves of a calm, moderate, but firm statement,

stating the unreasonable course pursued by the Catholics as the great

impediment to their own wishes, write such an article _yourself_; no one

can make a more impressive appeal to common sense than you can.

"The circumstances of the times are--_must_ be--an apology for

disappointing Southey. But nothing can be an apology for indulging him

at the expense of aggravating public disturbance, which, for one, I see

with great apprehension.

"It has not yet come our length; those [to] whom you allude ought

certainly to be served, but the D. is best judge how they may be _best_

served. If the D. says nothing on the subject you can slip your

Derwentwater greyhound if you like. I write hastily, but most anxiously.

... I repeat that I think it possible to put the Catholic Question as it

now stands in a light which the most zealous of their supporters in this

country cannot but consider as fair, while the result would be that the

Question should not be granted at all under such guarantees; but I think

this is scarce to be done by inflaming the topic with all mutual

virulence of polemical discussion."

[250] _Henry VI_. Act I. Sc. 4.

[251] _John Gilpin._

[252] The _Picture of Scotland_ by Robert Chambers, author of

_Traditions of Edinburgh_, etc., 8vo, 1829.

[253] Mr. Skene remarks that at this time "Sir Walter was engaged in the

composition of the Novel of _Anne of Geierstein_, for which purpose he

wished to see a paper which I had some time before contributed to the

Memoirs of the Society of Antiquaries on the subject of the Secret

Tribunals of Germany, and upon which, accordingly, he grounded the scene

in the novel. Upon his describing to me the scheme which he had formed

for that work, I suggested to him that he might with advantage connect

the history of René, king of Provence, which would lead to many

interesting topographical details which my residence in that country

would enable me to supply, besides the opportunity of illustrating so

eccentric a character as '_le bon roi René_,' full of traits which were

admirably suited to Sir Walter's graphic style of illustration, and that

he could besides introduce the ceremonies of the _Fête Dieu_ with great

advantage, as I had fortunately seen its revival the first time it was

celebrated after the interruption of the revolution. He liked the idea

much, and, accordingly, a Journal which I had written during my

residence in Provence, with a volume of accompanying drawings and

Papon's History of Provence was forthwith sent for, and the whole

_dénouement_ of the story of _Anne o/Geierstein_ was changed, and the

Provence part woven into it, in the form in which it ultimately came

forth."--_Reminiscences_.

[254] This learned gentleman died in his house, 34 Moray Place,

Edinburgh, on the 30th August 1838, aged eighty-two. He had filled

various important situations with great ability during his long

life:--Sheriff of Berwick and West Lothian, Professor of Scots Law in

the University, and afterwards a Baron of Exchequer, which latter office

he held till the abolition of the court in 1830. He is best remembered

by his work on the Criminal Law of Scotland, published in 1797. He

bequeathed his uncle the historian's correspondence with Rousseau and

other distinguished foreigners to the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

[255] Published in four volumes, 8vo, 1829. Fauche-Borel, an agent of

the Bourbons, had just died. The book is still in the Abbotsford

library.

[256] _Ancient Metrical Tales_, edited by Rev. C.H. Hartshorne. 8vo

London, 1829.

[257] The Right Hon. William Dundas, born 1762, died 1845; appointed

Lord Clerk Register in 1821.

[258] Ben Jonson, _Every Man in his Humour,_ Act I. Sc. 4.

[259] For notices of this gigantic cannon see _ante_, vol. i. p. 43, and

_post_, pp. 247-8; also _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 86-87.

[260] Some of these fine drawings have been engraved for Colonel Tod's

_Travels in Western India_. Lond., 4to, 1839.--J.G.L.

[261] Molière, _L'Amour Médecin_, Act I. Sc. 1 (_joaillier_ for

_orfévre_).

[262] The following extract from a letter by Wilkie shows how willingly

he had responded to Scott's request:--

7 TERRACE, KENSINGTON, LONDON, _Jan_. 1829.

"DEAR SIR WALTER,--I pass over all those disastrous events that have

arrived to us both since our last, as you justly call it, melancholy

parting, to assure you how delighted I shall be if I can in the most

inconsiderable degree assist in the illustrations of the great work,

which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which

your noble spirit is at this time beset; considering it as only repaying

a debt of obligation which you yourself have laid upon me when, with an

unseen hand in the _Antiquary_, you took me up and claimed me, the

humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman."

MARCH

_March_ 1.--I laboured hard the whole day, and, between hands, refreshed

myself with Vidocq's _Memoirs_. No one called except Hay Drummond, who

had something to say about Mons Meg. So I wrote before and after dinner,

till no less than ten pages were finished.

_March_ 2.--I wrought but little to-day. I was not in the vein, and felt

sleepy. I thought to go out, but disgust of the pavement kept me at

home, _O rus_, etc. It is pleasant to think that the 11th March sets us

on the route for Abbotsford. I shall be done long before with this

confounded novel. I wish I were, for I find trouble in bringing it to a

conclusion. People compliment me sometimes on the extent of my labour;

but if I could employ to purpose the hours that indolence and lassitude

steal away from me, they would have cause to wonder indeed. But day must

have night, vigilance must have sleep, and labour, bodily or mental,

must have rest. As Edgar says, I cannot fool it further.[263] Anne is

gone to Hopetoun House for two days.

Dined at the Royal Society Club, and went to the Society in the evening.

_March_ 3.--Began this day with labour as usual, and made up my packet.

Then to the Court, where there is a deal of business. Hamilton, having

now a serious fit of the gout, is not expected to aid any more this

season. I wrote a little both before and after dinner. Niece Anne and I

dined alone. Three poets called, each bawling louder than the

other--subscribe, subscribe! I generally do, if the work be under 10s.;

but the wares were every one so much worse than another, that I declined

in the three instances before me. I got cross at the repeated demands,

and could have used Richard's apology--

"Thou troubl'st me: I am not in the vein."[264]

_March_ 4.--Being Teind Wednesday, I settled myself at my desk and

laboured the whole forenoon. Got on to page seventy-two, so there cannot

be more than twenty pages wanted. Mr. Drummond Hay, who has an alertness

in making business out of nothing, came to call once more about Mons

Meg. He is a good-humoured gentlemanlike man, but I would Meg were in

his belly or he in hers. William Laidlaw also called, whom I asked to

dinner. At four o'clock arrives Mr. Cadell, with his horn charged with

good news. The prospectus of the _Magnum_, already issued only a week,

has produced such a demand among the trade, that he thinks he must add a

large number of copies, that the present edition of 7000 may be

increased to the demand; he talks of raising it to 10,000 or 12,000. If

so, I shall have a constant income to bear on my unfortunate debts to a

large amount yearly, and may fairly hope to put them in a secure way of

payment, even if I should be cut off in life, or in health, and the

power of labour. I hope to be able, in a year or two, to make proposals

for eating with my own spoons, and using my own books, which, if I can

give value for them, can hardly, I think, be refused to me.[265] In the

meantime I have enough, and something to bequeath to my poor children.

This is a great mercy, but I must prepare for disappointment, and I will

not be elated.

Laidlaw dined with me, and, poor fellow, was as much elated with the

news as I am, for it is not of a nature to be kept secret. I hope I

shall have him once more at Kaeside to debate, as we used to do, on

religion and politics. Meanwhile, patience, cousin, and shuffle the

cards.

I must do what I can to get Cadell's discharge from his creditors; this

I have always done, and so far effectually, but it would be most

inconvenient to be at the mercy of creditors who may at any moment make

inquiry into his affairs and so stop his operations. The Old Bank of

Scotland are the only parties whose consent has not been obtained to his

discharge, and they must see their interest in consenting to it for the

expediting of my affairs; since to what purpose oppose it, for they have

not the least chance of mending their own by refusing it.

_March_ 5.--Proofs arranged in the morning. Sir Patrick Walker, that

Solomon the second, came to propose to me that some benefit society,

which he patronises, should attend upon Mons Meg; but, with the Celts at

my disposal, I have every reason to think they would be affronted at

being marched along with Sir Peter and his tail of trades' lads. I went

to the Court, which detained me till two, then to poor old Lady

Seaforth's funeral,[266] which was numerously attended. It was near four

ere I got home, bringing Skene with me. We called at Cadell's; the

edition of the _Magnum_ is raised from 7000 to 10,000. There will really

be a clearance in a year or two if R.C. is not too sanguine. I never saw

so much reason for indulging hope. By the bye, I am admitted a member of

the Maitland Club, a Society on the principle of the Roxburghe and

Bannatyne. What a tail of the alphabet I should draw after me were I to

sign with the indications of the different societies I belong to,

beginning with President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and ended

with umpire of the Six-foot-high Club![267] Dined at home, and in quiet,

with the girls.

_March_ 6.--Made some considerable additions to the Appendix to General

Preface. I am in the sentiments towards the public that the buffoon

player expresses towards his patron--

"Go tell my young lord, said this modest young man,

If he will but invite me to dinner,

I'll be as diverting as ever I can--

I will, on the faith of a sinner."

I will multiply the notes, therefore, when there is a chance of giving

pleasure and variety. There is a stronger gleam of hope on my affairs

than has yet touched on them; it is not steady or certain, but it is

bright and conspicuous. Ten years may last with me, though I have little

chance of it. At the end of this time these works will have operated a

clearance of debt, especially as Cadell offers to accommodate with such

money as their house can save to pay off what presses. I hope to save,

rather than otherwise, and if I leave my literary property to my

children, it will make a very good thing for them, and Abbotsford must

in any event go to my family, so, on the whole, I have only to pray for

quiet times, for how can men mind their serious business--that is,

according to Cadell's views--buying _Waverley Novels_ when they are

going mad about the Catholic question. Dined at Mr. Nairne's, where

there was a great meeting of Bannatynians, rather too numerous, being on

the part of our host an Election dinner.

_March_ 7.--Sent away proofs. This extrication of my affairs, though

only a Pisgah prospect, occupies my mind more than is fitting; but

without some such hope I must have felt like one of the victims of the

wretch Burke, struggling against a smothering weight on my bosom, till

nature could endure it no longer. No; I will not be the sport of

circumstances. Come of it what will, "I'll bend my brows like Highland

trows" and make a bold fight of it.

"The best o't, the warst o't,

Is only just to die."[268]

And die I think I shall, though I am not such a coward as _mortem

conscire me ipso_. But I 'gin to grow aweary of the sun, and when the

plant no longer receives nourishment from light and air, there is a

speedy prospect of its withering.

Dined with the Banking Club of Scotland, in virtue of Sir Malachi

Malagrowther; splendid entertainment, of course. Sir John Hay in the

chair.

_March_ 8.--Spent the morning in reading proofs and additions to

_Magnum_. I got a note from Cadell, in which Ballantyne, by a letter

enclosed, totally condemns _Anne of Geierstein_--three volumes nearly

finished--a pretty thing, truly, for I will be expected to do it all

over again. Great dishonour in this, as Trinculo says,[269] besides an

infinite loss. Sent for Cadell to attend me next morning that we may

consult about this business. Peel has made his motion on the Catholic

question, with a speech of three hours. It is almost a complete

surrender to the Catholics, and so it should be, for half measures do

but linger out the feud. This will, or rather ought to, satisfy all men

who sincerely love peace, and therefore all men of property. But will

this satisfy Pat, who, with all his virtues, is certainly not the most

sensible person in the world? Perhaps not; and if not, it is but

fighting them at last. I smoked away, and thought of ticklish politics

and bad novels. Skene supped with us.

_March_ 9.--Cadell came to breakfast. We resolved in Privy Council to

refer the question whether _Anne of G----n_ be sea-worthy or not to

further consideration, which, as the book cannot be published, at any

rate, during the full rage of the Catholic question, may be easily

managed. After breakfast I went to Sir William Arbuthnot's,[270] and met

there a select party of Tories, to decide whether we should act with the

Whigs by owning their petition in favour of the Catholics. I was not

free from apprehension that the petition might be put into such general

language as I, at least, was unwilling to authenticate by my

subscription. The Solicitor[271] was voucher that they would keep the

terms quite general; whereupon we subscribed the requisition for a

meeting, with a slight alteration, affirming that it was our desire not

to have intermeddled, had not the anti-Catholics pursued that course;

and so the Whigs and we are embarked in the same boat, _vogue la

galère_.

Went about one o'clock to the Castle, where we saw the auld murderess

Mons Meg brought up there in solemn procession to reoccupy her ancient

place on the Argyle battery. Lady Hopetoun was my belle. The day was

cold but serene, and I think the ladies must have been cold enough, not

to mention the Celts, who turned out upon the occasion, under the

leading of Cluny Macpherson, a fine spirited lad. Mons Meg is a monument

of our pride and poverty. The size is immense, but six smaller guns

would have been made at the same expense, and done six times as much

execution as she could have done. There was immense interest taken in

the show by the people of the town, and the numbers who crowded the

Castle-hill had a magnificent appearance. About thirty of our Celts

attended in costume; and as there was a Highland regiment on duty, with

dragoons and artillerymen, the whole made a splendid show. The

dexterity with which the last manned and wrought the windlass which

raised old Meg, weighing seven or eight tons, from her temporary

carriage to that which has been her basis for many years, was singularly

beautiful as a combined exhibition of skill and strength. My daughter

had what might have proved a frightful accident. Some rockets were let

off, one of which lighted upon her head, and set her bonnet on fire. She

neither screamed nor ran, but quietly permitted Charles K. Sharpe to

extinguish the fire, which he did with great coolness and dexterity. All

who saw her, especially the friendly Celts, gave her merit for her

steadiness, and said she came of good blood. I was very glad and proud

of her presence of mind. My own courage was not put to the test, for

being at some distance, escorting the beautiful and lively Countess of

Hopetoun, I did not hear of the accident till it was over. We lunched

with the regiment (73d) now in the Castle. The little entertainment gave

me an opportunity of observing what I have often before remarked--the

improvement in the character of the young and subaltern officers in the

army, which in the course of a long and bloody war had been, in point of

rank and manners, something deteriorated. The number of persons applying

for commissions (3000 being now on the lists) gives an opportunity of

selection, and officers should certainly be _gentlemen_, with a complete

opening to all who can rise by merit. The style in which duty, and the

knowledge of their profession, is enforced, prevents _fainéants_ from

long remaining in the profession.

In the evening I presided at the Celtic Club, who received me with their

usual partiality. I like this society, and willingly give myself to be

excited by the sight of handsome young men with plaids and claymores,

and all the alertness and spirit of Highlanders in their native garb.

There was the usual degree of excitation--excellent dancing, capital

songs, a general inclination to please and to be pleased. A severe

cold, caught on the battlements of the Castle, prevented me from playing

first fiddle so well as usual, but what I could do was received with the

usual partiality of the Celts. I got home, fatigued and _vino gravatus_,

about eleven o'clock. We had many guests, some of whom, English

officers, seemed both amused and surprised at our wild ways, especially

at the dancing without ladies, and the mode of drinking favourite

toasts, by springing up with one foot on the bench and one on the table,

and the peculiar shriek of applause so unlike English cheering.

_March_ 10.--This may be a short day in the diary, though a busy one to

me. I arranged books and papers in the morning, and went to Court after

breakfast, where, as Sir Robert Dundas and I had the whole business to

discharge, I remained till two or three. Then visited Cadell, and

transacted some pecuniary matters.

_March_ 11, [_Abbotsford_].--I had, as usual, a sort of levée the day I

was to leave town, all petty bills and petty business being reserved to

the last by those who might as well have applied any one day of the

present month. But I need not complain of what happens to my betters,

for on the last day of the Session there pours into the Court a

succession of trifles which give the Court, and especially the Clerks,

much trouble, insomuch that a _ci-devant_ brother of mine proposed that

the last day of the Session should be abolished by Statute. We got out

of Court at a quarter-past one, and got to Abbotsford at half-past

seven, cold and hungry enough to make Scots broth, English roast beef,

and a large fire very acceptable.

_March_ 12.--I set apart this day for trifles and dawdling; yet I

meditate doing something on the Popish and Protestant affray. I think I

could do some good, and I have the sincere wish to do it. I heard the

merry birds sing, reviewed my dogs, and was cheerful. I also unpacked

books. Deuce take arrangement! I think it the most complete bore in the

world; but I will try a little of it. I afterwards went out and walked

till dinner-time. I read Reginald Heber's Journal[272] after dinner. I

spent some merry days with him at Oxford when he was writing his prize

poem. He was then a gay young fellow, a wit, and a satirist, and burning

for literary fame. My laurels were beginning to bloom, and we were both

madcaps. Who would have foretold our future lot?

"Oh, little did my mither ken

The day she cradled me

The land I was to travel in,

Or the death I was to die."[273]

_March_ 13.--Wrought at a review of Fraser Tytler's _History of

Scotland_. It is somewhat saucy towards Lord Hailes. I had almost stuck

myself into the controversy Slough of Despond--the controversy, that is,

between the Gothic and Celtic system--but cast myself, like Christian,

with a strong struggle or two to the further side of this Slough; and

now will I walk on my way rejoicing--not on my article, however, but to

the fields. Came home and rejoiced at dinner. After tea I worked a

little more. I began to warm in my gear, and am about to awake the whole

controversy of Goth and Celt. I wish I may not make some careless

blunders.[274]

_March_ 14.--Up at eight, rather of the latest--then fagged at my

review, both before and after breakfast. I walked from one o'clock till

near three. I make it out, I think, rather better than of late I have

been able to do in the streets of Edinburgh, where I am ashamed to walk

so slow as would suit me. Indeed nothing but a certain suspicion, that

once drawn up on the beach I would soon break up, prevents me renouncing

pedestrian exercises altogether, for it is positive suffering, and of an

acute kind too.

_March_ 15.--Altogether like yesterday. Wrote in the

morning--breakfasted--wrote again till one--out and walked about two

hours--to the quills once more--dinner--smoked a brace of cigars and

looked on the fire--a page of writing, and so to bed.

_March_ 16.--Day sullen and bitter cold. I fear it brings chilblains on

its wings. A dashing of snow, in thin flakes, wandering from the

horizon, and threatening a serious fall. As the murderer says to Banquo,

"Let it come down!"--we shall have the better chance of fair weather

hereafter. It cleared up, however, and I walked from one, or thereabout,

till within a quarter of four. A card from Mr. Dempster of Skibo,[275]

whose uncle, George Dempster, I knew many years since, a friend of

Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and all that set--a fine good-humoured old

gentleman. Young Mrs. Dempster is a daughter of my early friend and

patron, Robert Dundas of Arniston, Lord Advocate, and I like her for his

sake. Mr. Dempster is hunting, and I should have liked to have given his

wife and sister refuge during the time he must spend over moss and moor.

But the two Annes going to Edinburgh to a fancy ball makes it impossible

till they return on Friday night.

_March_ 17.--The Annes went off at eight, morning. After breakfast I

drove down to Melrose and waited on Mrs. and Miss Dempster, and engaged

them for Saturday. Weather bitter cold; yea, atrociously so.

Naboclish--the better for work. Ladies whose husbands love fox-hunting

are in a poor way. Here are two pleasant and pretty women pegged up the

whole day

"In the worst inn's worst room"[276]

for the whole twenty-four hours without interruption. They manage the

matter otherwise in France, where ladies are the lords of the ascendant.

I returned from my visit to my solitary work and solitary meal. I eked

out the last two hours' length by dint of smoking, which I find a

sedative without being a stimulant.

_March_ 18.--I like the hermit life indifferent well, nor would, I

sometimes think, break my heart, were I to be in that magic mountain

where food was regularly supplied by ministering genii,[277] and plenty

of books were accessible without the least intervention of human

society. But this is thinking like a fool. Solitude is only agreeable

when the power of having society is removed to a short space, and can be

commanded at pleasure. "It is not good for man to be alone." It blunts

our faculties and freezes our active virtues. And now, my watch pointing

to noon, I think after four hours' work I may indulge myself with a

walk. The dogs see me about to shut my desk, and intimate their

happiness by caresses and whining. By your leave, Messrs. Genii of the

Mountain library, if I come to your retreat I'll bring my dogs with me.

The day was showery, but not unpleasant--soft dropping rains, attended

by a mild atmosphere, that spoke of flowers in their seasons, and a

chirping of birds that had a touch of Spring in it. I had the patience

to get fully wet, and the grace to be thankful for it.

Come! a leetle flourish on the trumpet. Let us rouse the genius of this

same red mountain, so called because it is all the year covered with

roses. There can be no difficulty in finding it, for it lies towards the

Caspian, and is quoted in the Persian tales. Well, I open my

Ephemerides, form my scheme under the suitable planet, and the genie

obeys the invocation and appears.

Genie is a misshapen dwarf, with a huge jolter-head like that of

Boerhave on the Bridge,[278] his limbs and body marvellously shrunk and

disproportioned.

"Sir Dwarf," said I, undauntedly, "thy head is very large, and thy feet

and limbs somewhat small in proportion."

_Genie_. "I have crammed my head, even to the overflowing, with

knowledge; I have starved my limbs by disuse of exercise and denial of

sustenance!"

_Author_. "Can I acquire wisdom in thy solitary library?"

_G_. "Thou mayest!"

_A_. "On what conditions?"

_G_. "Renounce all gross and fleshly pleasure, eat pulse and drink

water, converse with none but the wise and learned, alive and dead!"

_A_. "Why, this were to die in the cause of wisdom."

_G_. "If you desire to draw from our library only the advantage of

seeming wise, you may have it consistent with all your favourite

enjoyments!"

_A_. "How much sleep?"

_G_. "A Lapland night--eight months out of the twelve!"

_A_. "Enough for a dormouse, most generous Genius.--A bottle of wine?"

_G_. "Two, if you please; but you must not seem to care for them--cigars

in loads, whisky in lashings; but they must be taken with an air of

contempt, a _floccipaucinihilipilification_ of all that can gratify the

outward man."

_A_. "I am about to ask you a serious question--When you have stuffed

your stomach, drunk your bottle, smoked your cigar, how are you to keep

yourself awake?"

_G_. "Either by cephalic snuff or castle-building!"

_A._ "Do you approve of castle-building as a frequent exercise?"

_G._ "Life were not life without it!

'Give me the joy that sickens not the heart,

Give me the wealth that has no wings to fly.'"

_A._ "I reckon myself one of the best aërial architects now living, and

_nil me pænitet hujus_."

_G._ "_Nec est cur te pæniteat_; most of your novels have previously

been subjects for airy castles."

_A._ "You have me--and moreover a man of imagination derives experience

from such imaginary situations. There are few situations in which I have

not in fancy figured, and there are few, of course, which I am not

previously prepared to take some part in."

_G._ "True, but I am afraid your having fancied yourself victorious in

many a fight would be of little use were you suddenly called to the

field, and your personal infirmities and nervous agitations both rushing

upon you and incapacitating you."

_A._ "My nervous agitations!--away with thee! Down, down to Limbo and

the burning lake! False fiend, avoid!"

So there ends the tale,

With a hey, with a hoy,

So there ends the tale,

With a ho.

There is a moral. If you fail

To seize it by the tail,

Its import will exhale,

You must know.

_March_ 19.--The above was written yesterday before dinner, though

appearances are to the contrary. I only meant that the studious solitude

I have sometimes dreamed of, unless practised with rare stoicism and

privation, was apt to degenerate into secret sensual indulgences of

coarser appetites, which, when the cares and restraints of social life

are removed, are apt to make us think, with Dr. Johnson, our dinner the

most important event of the day. So much in the way of explanation--a

humour which I love not. Go to.

My girls returned from Edinburgh with full news of their _bal paré_.

_March_ 20.--We spent this day on the same terms as formerly. I wrought,

walked, dined, drank, and smoked upon the same pattern.

_March_ 21.--To-day brought Mrs. Dempster and her sister-in-law. To

dinner came Robert Dundas of Arniston from the hunting-field, and with

him Mr. Dempster of Skibo, both favourites of mine. Mr. Stuart, the

grand-nephew of my dear friend Lady Louisa, also dined with us, together

with the Lyons from Gattonside, and the day passed over in hospitality

and social happiness.

_March_ 22.--Being Sunday, I read prayers to our guests, then went a

long walk by the lake to Huntly Burn. It is somewhat uncomfortable to

feel difficulties increase and the strength to meet them diminish. But

why should man fret? While iron is dissolved by rust, and brass

corrodes, can our dreams be of flesh and blood enduring? But I will not

dwell on this depressing subject. My liking to my two young guests is

founded on "things that are long enough ago." The first statesman of

celebrity whom I personally knew was Mr. Dempster's grand-uncle, George

Dempster of Dunnichen, celebrated in his time, and Dundas's father was,

when Lord Advocate, the first man of influence who showed kindness to

me.

_March_ 23.--Arrived to breakfast one of the Courland nobility, Baron A.

von Meyersdorff, a fine, lively, spirited young man, fond of his country

and incensed at its degradation under Russia. He talked much of the

orders of chivalry who had been feudal lords of Livonia, especially the

order of Porte Glaive, to which his own ancestors had belonged. If he

report correctly, there is a deep principle of action at work in

Germany, Poland, Russia, etc., which, if it does "not die in thinking,"

will one day make an explosion. The Germans are a nation, however, apt

to exhaust themselves in speculation. The Baron has enthusiasm, and is

well read in English and foreign literature. I kept my state till one,

and wrote notes to Croker upon Boswell's Scottish tour. It was an act of

friendship, for time is something of a scarce article with me. But

Croker has been at all times personally kind and actively serviceable to

me, and he must always command my best assistance. Then I walked with

the Baron as far as the Lake. Our sportsmen came in good time to dinner,

and our afternoon was pleasant.

_March_ 24.--This morning our sportsmen took leave, and their _ladykind_

(to _renchérir_ on Anthony a-Wood and Mr. Oldbuck) followed after

breakfast, and I went to my work till one, and at that hour treated the

Baron to another long walk, with which he seemed highly delighted. He

tells me that my old friend the Princess Galitzin[279] is dead. After

dinner I had a passing visit from Kinnear, to bid me farewell. This very

able and intelligent young man, so able to throw a grace over commercial

pursuits, by uniting them with literature, is going with his family to

settle in London. I do not wonder at it. His parts are of a kind

superior to the confined sphere in which he moves in Scotland. In

London, he says, there is a rapid increase of business and its

opportunities. Thus London licks the butter off our bread, by opening a

better market for ambition. Were it not for the difference of the

religion and laws, poor Scotland could hardly keep a man that is worth

having; and yet men will not see this. I took leave of Kinnear, with

hopes for his happiness and fortune, but yet with some regret for the

sake of the country which loses him. The Baron agreed to go with

Kinnear to Kelso: and _exit_ with the usual demonstrations of German

enthusiasm.

_March_ 25.--I worked in the morning, and think I have sent Croker a

packet which may be useful, and to Lockhart a critique on rather a dry

topic, viz.: the ancient Scottish History. I remember E. Ainslie,

commonly called the plain man, who piqued himself on his powers of

conversation, striving to strike fire from some old flinty wretch whom

he found in a corner of a public coach, at length addressed him:

"Friend, I have tried you on politics, literary matters, religion,

fashionable news, etc. etc., and all to no purpose." The dry old rogue,

twisting his muzzle into an infernal grin, replied, "Can you claver

about bend leather?" The man, be it understood, was a leather merchant.

The early history of Caledonia is almost as hopeless a subject, but off

it goes. I walked up the Glen with Tom for my companion. Dined, heard

Anne reading a paper of anecdotes about Cluny Macpherson, and so to bed.

_March_ 26.--As I have been so lately Johnsonizing, I should derive, if

possible, some personal use. Johnson advises Boswell to keep a diary,

and to omit registers of the weather, and like trumpery. I am resolved

in future not to register what is yet more futile--my gleams of bright

and clouded temper. Boswell--whose nerves were, one half madness, and

half affectation--has thrummed upon this topic till it is threadbare. I

have at this moment forty things to do, and great inclination to do none

of them. I ended by working till two, walking till five, writing

letters, and so to bed.

_March_ 27.--Letters again. Let me see. I wrote to Lord Montagu about

Scott of Beirlaw's commission, in which Invernahyle interests himself.

Item, to a lady who is pestering me about a Miss Campbell sentenced to

transportation for stealing a silver spoon. Item, to John Eckford.

Item, to James Loch, to get an appointment for Sandie Ballantyne's son.

Not one, as Dangle says,[280] about any business of my own. My

correspondence is on a most disinterested footing. This lasts till past

eleven, then enters my cousin R., and remains for two hours, till

politics, family news, talk of the neighbourhood are all exhausted, and

two or three reputations torn to pieces in the scouring of them. At

length I walk him out about a mile, and come back from that

_empêchement_. But it is only to find Mr. [Henry] C[ranstoun],[281] my

neighbour, in the parlour with the girls, and there is another sederunt

of an hour. Well, such things must be, and our friends mean them as

civility, and we must take and give the currency of the country. But I

am _diddled_ out of a day all the same. The ladies came from Huntly

Burn, and cut off the evening.[282]

_March_ 28.--In spite of the temptation of a fine morning, I toiled

manfully at the _review_ till two o'clock, commencing at seven. I fear

it will be uninteresting, but I like the muddling work of antiquities,

and, besides, wish to record my sentiments with regard to the Gothic

question. No one that has not laboured as I have done on imaginary

topics can judge of the comfort afforded by walking on all-fours, and

being grave and dull. I dare say, when the clown of the pantomime

escapes from his nightly task of vivacity, it is his special comfort to

smoke a pipe and be prosy with some good-natured fellow, the dullest of

his acquaintance. I have seen such a tendency in Sir Adam Ferguson, the

gayest man I ever knew; and poor Tom Sheridan has complained to me of

the fatigue of supporting the character of an agreeable companion.

_March_ 29.--I wrote, read, and walked with the most stoical regularity.

This muddling among old books has the quality of a sedative, and saves

the tear and wear of an overwrought brain. I wandered on the hills

pleasantly enough and concluded a pleasant and laborious day.

_March_ 30.--I finished the remainder of the criticism and sent it off.

Pray Heaven it break not the mail coach down.

Lord and Lady Dalhousie, and their relation, Miss Hawthorne, came to

dinner, to meet whom we had Dr. and Mrs. Brewster. Lord Dalhousie has

more of the Caledonian _prisca fides_ than any man I know now alive. He

has served his country in all quarters of the world and in every

climate; yet, though my contemporary, looks ten years my junior. He

laughed at the idea of rigid temperance, and held an occasional skirmish

no bad thing even in the West Indies, thinking, perhaps, with Armstrong,

of "the rare debauch"[283]. In all incidents of life he has been the

same steady, honest, true-hearted Lord Dalhousie, that Lordie Ramsay

promised to be when at the High School. How few such can I remember, and

how poorly have honesty and valour been rewarded! Here, at the time when

most men think of repose, he is bundled off to command in India.[284]

Would it had been the Chief Governorship! But to have remained at home

would have been bare livelihood, and that is all. I asked him what he

thought of "strangling a nabob, and rifling his jewel closet," and he

answered, "No, no, an honest man." I fear we must add, a poor one. Lady

Dalhousie, formerly Miss Brown of Coalstoun, is an amiable, intelligent,

and lively woman, who does not permit society to "cream and mantle like

a standing pool."[285]

The weather, drifting and surly, does not permit us to think of Melrose,

and I could only fight round the thicket with Dr. Brewster and his

lordship. Lord Dalhousie gave me some interesting accounts of the

American Indians. They are, according to his lordship, decaying fast in

numbers and principle. Lord Selkirk's property now makes large returns,

from the stock of the North West Company and Hudson's Bay Companies

having united. I learned from Lord Dalhousie that he had been keeping a

diary since the year 1800. Should his narrative ever see the light, what

a contrast will it form to the flourishing vapouring accounts of most of

the French merchants! Mr. and Mrs. Skene with their daughter Kitty, who

has been indisposed, came to dinner, and the party was a well-assorted

one.

FOOTNOTES:

[263] See _Lear_, Act IV. Sc. 1.

[264] _Richard III_., Act IV. Sc. 2.

[265] See letter to George Forbes from Sir Walter, dated Dec. 18th,

1830.--_Life_, vol. X. pp. 19-20.

[266] Widow of Francis, Lord Seaforth, last Baron of Kintail, and mother

of the Hon. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie.

[267] A sportive association of young athletes. Hogg, I think, was their

Poet Laureate.--J.G.L.

[268]

Mair spier na, no fear na, Auld age ne'er mind a feg; The last o't, the

warst o't. Is only for to beg.--BURNS'S _Ep. to Davie_.

[269] _Tempest_, Act IV. Sc. 1. (Stephano).

[270] This gentleman was a favourite with Sir Walter--a special point of

communion being the antiquities of the British drama. He was Provost of

Edinburgh in 1816-17, and again in 1822, and the king gracefully

surprised him by proposing his health at the civic banquet in the

Parliament House, as "Sir William Arbuthnot, Baronet."--J.G.L.

[271] John Hope, afterwards Lord Justice-Clerk.

[272] _Narrative of a Journey through the Upper Provinces of India_, 2

vols. 4to, 1828.

[273] Old Ballad (known as "Marie Hamilton") quoted by Burns in a letter

to Mrs. Dunlop regarding Falconer, author of _The Shipwreck_.--Currie's

_Burns_, vol. ii. p. 290.

[274] See _Quart. Rev._, Nov. 1829, or _Misc. Prose Works_, xxi.

152-198.

[275] George Dempster of Skibo, one of the few men connecting Scott with

this generation, died in Edinburgh on the 6th of February 1889. This

accomplished Scottish gentleman had for many years made his home at

Ormiston, where, in the old mansion-house, rich in associations of Knox,

Wishart, and Buchanan, he was the gracious host to a large circle of

friends.

[276] Pope's _Moral Essays_, iii.

[277] _Ante_, vol. i. p. 312, _n._

[278] Mr. Lockhart says, writing in 1839:--"This head may still be seen

over a laboratory at No. 100 South Bridge, Edinburgh. [It has since been

removed.] N.B. There is a tradition that the venerable bust in question

was once dislodged by 'Colonel Grogg' and some of his companions, and

waggishly placed in a very inappropriate position."

[279] Fenimore Cooper told Scott that the Princess had had Sir Walter's

portrait engraved in 1827 from the picture taken in Paris. [Mme.

Mirbel's miniature?]

[280] See Sheridan's _Critic_.

[281] Lord Corehouse's brother.

[282] Room may be made for part of one of the letters received by this

morning's mail, in which, after much interesting family detail, his

son-in-law describes the duel which took place between the Duke of

Wellington and Lord Winchelsea:--"There is no reason to expect a duel

every day, and all has been very quiet since Saturday.--The letter was

utterly forgotten till this recalled it to remembrance. _Ergo_, there

was no sort of call on the Duke after beating Buonaparte to go to war

with a booby. But he could not stand the fling at the fair. His

correspondence seems admirable every way, and the whole affair was gone

through in excellent taste,--the Duke and Hardinge trotting out, the two

peaceful lords rumbling down in a coach and four. The Duke had no

half-pence and was followed and bothered for some time by the tollman on

Battersea Bridge, when Hardinge fished out some silver or a groom came

up. There were various market gardeners on the road, who, when Lord

Winchelsea's equipage stopped, stopped also and looked on. One of them

advised a turn up with nature's weapons. The moment all was done the

Duke clapped spars to his horse and was back in Downing Street within

the two hours, breakfasted, and off to Windsor, where he transacted

business for an hour or so, and then said, 'By-the-by, I was forgetting

I have had a field-day with Lord W. this morning.' They say the King

rowed Arthur much for exposing himself at such a crisis."

[283] _Art of Preserving Health_, book ii.

[284] George Ramsay, Earl of Dalhousie, had just been appointed

Commander-in-Chief in the East Indies; which office he held till 1832.

He died in 1838.

[285] _Merchant of Venice_, Act I. Sc. 1.

APRIL.

_April 1_.--A pretty first of April truly; the hills white with snow, I

myself as bilious as a dog. My noble guests left about noon. I wrote

letters, as if I had not bile enough in my bosom already, and did not go

out to face the snow wreaths till half-past two, when I am resolved to

make a brush for exercise. There will be fine howling among the dogs,

for I am about to shut my desk. Found Mrs. Skene disposed to walk, so I

had the advantage of her company. The snow lay three inches thick on the

ground; but we had the better appetite for dinner, after which we talked

and read without my lifting a pen.

_April 2_.--Begins with same brilliant prospect of snow and sunshine

dazzling to the eyes and chilling to the fingers, a beastly disagreeable

coldness in the air. I stuck by the pen till one, then took a drive with

the ladies as far as Chiefswood and walked home. Young William

Forbes[286] came, and along with him a Southron, Mr. Cleasby.

_April 3_.--Still the same party. I fagged at writing letters to

Lockhart, to Charles, and to John Gibson, to Mr. Cadell, Croker, Lord

Haddington, and others. Lockhart has had an overture through Croker

requesting him to communicate with some newspaper on the part of the

Government, which he has wisely declined. Nothing but a thorough-going

blackguard ought to attempt the daily press, unless it is some quiet

country diurnal. Lockhart has also a wicked wit which would make an

office of this kind more dangerous to him than to downright dulness. I

am heartily glad he has refused it.[287]

Sir James Mackintosh and Lord Haddington have spoken very handsomely of

my accession to the Catholic Petition, and I think it has done some

good; yet I am not confident that the measure will disarm the Catholic

spleen.[288] And I was not entirely easy at finding myself allied to the

Whigs, even in this instance, where I agree with them. This is witless

prejudice, however.

My walk to-day was up the Rhymer's Glen with Skene. Colonel Ferguson

dined with us.

_April_ 4.--Mr. Cleasby left this morning. He has travelled much, and is

a young man of copious conversation and ready language, aiming I suppose

at Parliament.[289] William Forbes is singing like an angel in the next

room, but he sings only Italian music, which says naught to me. I have a

letter from one David Patterson, who was Dr. Knox's jackal for buying

murdered bodies, suggesting that I should write on the subject of Burke

and Hare, and offering me his invaluable collection of anecdotes! "Curse

him imperance and him dam insurance,"[290] as Mungo says in the farce.

Did ever one hear the like? The scoundrel has been the companion and

patron of such atrocious murderers and kidnappers, and he has the

impudence to write to any decent man!

Corrected proof-sheets and dedication of the _Magnum_ and sent them off.

_April_ 5.--Read prayers to what remains of our party: being Anne, my

niece Anne, the four Skenes, and William Forbes. We then walked, and I

returned time enough to work a little at the criticism. Thus it drew

towards dinner in conclusion, after which we smoked, told stories, and

drank tea.

_April_ 6.--Worked at the _review_ for three or four hours; yet hang it,

I can't get on. I wonder if I am turning clumsy in other matters;

certainly I cannot write against time as I used to do. My thoughts will

not be duly regulated; my pen declares for itself, will neither write

nor spell, and goes under independent colours. I went out with the child

Kitty Skene on her pony. I don't much love children, I suppose from want

of habit, but this is a fine merry little girl.

William Forbes sang in the evening with a feeling and taste

indescribably fine, but as he had no Scottish or English songs, my ears

were not much gratified. I have no sense beyond Mungo: "What signify me

hear if me no understand!"

William Forbes leaves us. As to the old story, scribble till two, then

walk for exercise till four. Deil hae it else, for company eats up the

afternoon, so nothing can be done that is not achieved in the forenoon.

_April_ 7.--We had a gay scene this morning--the foxhounds and merry

hunters in my little base court, which rung with trampling steeds, and

rejoiced in scarlet jackets and ringing horns. I have seen the day

worlds would not have bribed me to stay behind them; but that is over,

and I walked a sober pace up to the Abbot's Knowe, from which I saw them

draw my woods, but without finding a fox. I watched them with that

mixture of interest, affection, and compassion which old men feel at

looking on the amusements of the young. I was so far interested in the

chase itself as to be sorry they did not find. I had so far the

advantage of the visit, that it gave me an object for the morning

exercise, which I would otherwise only have been prompted to by health

and habit. It is pleasant to have one's walk,--as heralds say, with a

difference. By the way, the foxhunters hunted the cover far too fast.

When they found a path they ran through it pell-mell without beating at

all. They had hardly left the hare-hole cover, when a fox, which they

had over-run, stole away. This is the consequence of breeding dogs too

speedy.

_April_ 8.--We have the news of the Catholic question being carried in

the House of Lords, by a majority of 105 upon the second reading. This

is decisive, and the balsam of Fierabras must be swallowed.[291] It

remains to see how it will work. Since it was indubitably necessary, I

am glad the decision on the case has been complete. On these last three

days I have finished my review of Tytler for Lockhart and sent it off by

this post. I may have offended Peter by censuring him for a sort of

petulance towards his predecessor Lord Hailes. This day visited by Mr.

Carr, who is a sensible, clever young man, and by his two

sisters[292]--beautiful singer the youngest--and to my taste, and

English music.

_April_ 9.--Laboured correcting proofs and revising; the day infinitely

bad. Worked till three o'clock; then tried a late walk, and a wet one.

I hear bad news of James Ballantyne. Hypochondriac I am afraid, and

religiously distressed in mind.

I got a book from the Duke de Lévis, the same gentleman with whom I had

an awkward meeting at Abbotsford, owing to his having forgot his

credentials, which left me at an unpleasant doubt as to his character

and identity.[293] His book is inscribed to me with hyperbolical

praises. Now I don't like to have, like the Persian poets who have the

luck to please the Sun of the Universe, my mouth crammed with

sugar-candy, which politeness will not permit me to spit out, and my

stomach is indisposed to swallow. The book is better than would be

expected from the exaggerated nonsense of the dedication.

_April_ 10.--Left Abbotsford at seven to attend the Circuit. _Nota

bene_--half-past six is the better hour; waters are extremely flooded.

Lord Meadowbank at the Circuit. Nothing tried but a few trumpery

assaults. Meadowbank announces he will breakfast with me to-morrow, so I

shall return to-night. Promised to my cousin Charles Scott to interest

myself about his getting the farm of Milsington upon Borthwick Water

and mentioned him to Colonel Riddell as a proposed offerer. The tender

was well received. I saw James the piper and my cousin Anne; sent to

James Veitch the spyglass of Professor Ferguson to be repaired. Dined

with the Judge and returned in the evening.

_April_ 11.--Meadowbank breakfasted with us, and then went on to

Edinburgh, pressed by bad news of his family. His wife (daughter of my

early patron, President Blair) is very ill; indeed I fear fatally so. I

am sorry to think it is so. When the King was here she was the finest

woman I saw at Holyrood. My proofs kept me working till two; then I had

a fatiguing and watery walk. After dinner we smoked, and I talked with

Mr. Carr over criminal jurisprudence, the choicest of conversation to an

old lawyer; and the delightful music of Miss Isabella Carr closed the

day. Still, I don't get to my task; but I will, to-morrow or next day.

_April_ 12.--Read prayers, put my books in order and made some progress

in putting papers in order which have been multiplying on my table. I

have a letter from that impudent lad Reynolds about my contribution to

the _Keepsake_. Sent to him the _House of Aspen_, as I had previously

determined. This will give them a lumping pennyworth in point of extent,

but that's the side I would have the bargain rest upon. It shall be a

warning after this to keep out of such a scrape.

_April_ 13.--In the morning before breakfast I corrected the proof of

the critique on the life of Lord Pitsligo in Blackwood's Magazine.[294]

After breakfast Skene and his lady and family, and Mr. Carr and his

sisters, took their departure. Time was dawdled away till nearly twelve

o'clock and then I could not work much. I finished, however, a painful

letter to J. Ballantyne, which I hope will have effect upon the nervous

disorder he complains of. He must "awake, arise, or be for ever fallen."

I walked happily and pleasantly from two o'clock till four. And now I

must look to _Anne of Geierstein_. Hang it! it is not so bad after all,

though I fear it will not be popular. In fact, I am almost expended; but

while I exhort others to exertion I will not fail to exert myself. I

have a letter from R.P. G[illies] proposing to subscribe to assist him

from £25 to £50. It will do no good, but yet I cannot help giving him

something.

"A daimen-icker in a thrave's a sma' request:

I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, and never miss't."[295]

I will try a review for the _Foreign_ and he shall have the proceeds.

_April_ 14.--I sent off proofs of the review of Tytler for John