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Title: The Journal of Sir Walter Scott
       From the Original Manuscript at Abbotsford

Author: Walter Scott

Release Date: February 1, 2005 [EBook #14860]

Language: English

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THE JOURNAL OF

SIR WALTER SCOTT

FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

AT ABBOTSFORD

[Illustration]

VOLUME I

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.]



     "_I shall have a peep at Bothwell Castle if it is only for
     half-an-hour. It is a place of many recollections to me, for I
     cannot but think how changed I am from the same Walter Scott who
     was so passionately ambitious of fame when I wrote the song of
     Young Lochinvar at Bothwell; and if I could recall the same
     feelings, where was I to find an audience so kind and patient, and
     whose applause was at the same time so well worth having, as Lady
     Dalkeith and Lady Douglas? When one thinks of these things, there
     is no silencing one's regret but by Corporal Nym's philosophy_:
     Things must be as they may. _One generation goeth and another
     cometh_."--To LORD MONTAGU, _June 28th,_ 1825.




PREFACE.


On the death of Sir Walter Scott in 1832, his entire literary remains
were placed at the disposal of his son-in-law, Mr. John Gibson Lockhart.
Among these remains were two volumes of a Journal which had been kept by
Sir Walter from 1825 to 1832. Mr. Lockhart made large use of this
Journal in his admirable life of his father-in-law. Writing, however, so
short a time after Scott's death, he could not use it so freely as he
might have wished, and, according to his own statement, it was "by
regard for the feelings of living persons" that he both omitted and
altered; and indeed he printed no chapter of the Diary in full.

There is no longer any reason why the Journal should not be published in
its entirety, and by the permission of the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott it
now appears exactly as Scott left it--but for the correction of obvious
slips of the pen and the omission of some details chiefly of family and
domestic interest.

The original Journal consists of two small 4to volumes, 9 inches by 8,
bound in vellum and furnished with strong locks. The manuscript is
closely written on both sides, and towards the end shows painful
evidence of the physical prostration of the writer. The Journal abruptly
closes towards the middle of the second volume with the following
entry--probably the last words ever penned by Scott--

[Illustration: by one of the old Pontiffs, but which, I forget, and so
paraded the streets by moonlight to discover, if possible, some appearance
of the learned Sir William Gell or the pretty Mrs. Ashley. At length we
found our old servant who guided us to the lodgings taken by Sir
William Gell, where all was comfortable, a good fire included, which
our fatigue and the chilliness of the night required. We dispersed as
soon as we had taken some food, wine, and water.

We slept reasonably, but on the next morning]

In the annotations, it seemed most satisfactory to follow as closely as
possible the method adopted by Mr. Lockhart. In the case of those parts
of the Journal that have been already published, almost all Mr.
Lockhart's notes have been reproduced, and these are distinguished by
his initials. Extracts from the Life, from James Skene of Rubislaw's
unpublished Reminiscences, and from unpublished letters of Scott himself
and his contemporaries, have been freely used wherever they seemed to
illustrate particular passages in the Journal.

With regard to Scott's quotations a certain difficulty presented itself.
In his Journal he evidently quoted from memory, and he not unfrequently
makes considerable variations from the originals. Occasionally, indeed,
it would seem that he deliberately made free with the exact words of his
author, to adapt them more pertinently to his own mood or the impulse of
the moment. In any case it seemed best to let Scott's quotations appear
as he wrote them. His reading lay in such curious and unfrequented
quarters that to verify all the sources is a nearly impossible task. It
is to be remembered, also, that he himself held very free notions on the
subject of quotation.

I have to thank the Hon. Mrs. Maxwell-Scott for permitting me to retain
for the last three years the precious volumes in which the Journal is
contained, and for granting me access to the correspondence of Sir
Walter preserved at Abbotsford, and I have likewise to acknowledge the
courtesy of His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch for allowing me the use of
the Scott letters at Dalkeith. To Mr. W.F. Skene, Historiographer Royal
for Scotland, my thanks are warmly rendered for intrusting me with his
precious heirloom, the volume which contains Sir Walter's letters to his
father, and the Reminiscences that accompany them--one of many kind
offices towards me during the last thirty years in our relations as
author and publisher. I am also obliged to Mr. Archibald Constable for
permitting me to use the interesting Memorandum by James Ballantyne.

Finally, I have to express my obligation to many other friends, who
never failed cordially to respond to any call I made upon them.

D.D.

     EDINBURGH, 22 DRUMMOND PLACE, _October_ 1, 1890.




ILLUSTRATIONS.


VOL. I.

PORTRAIT, painted by JOHN GRAHAM GILBERT, R.S.A., for the Royal Society,
Edinburgh. Copied by permission of the Council of the Society,
_Frontispiece_

VIGNETTE on Title-page

"The Dial-Stone" in the Garden, from drawing made at Abbotsford by
GEORGE REID, R.S.A.

"WORK WHILE IT IS DAY."

       *       *       *       *       *

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.

MAP OF ABBOTSFORD, from the Ordnance Survey, 1858, _to face_ p. 414.


       *       *       *       *       *


SIR WALTER SCOTT'S JOURNAL.


       *       *       *       *       *




NOVEMBER.


[_Edinburgh_,] _November_ 20, 1825.--I have all my life regretted that I
did not keep a regular Journal. I have myself lost recollection of much
that was interesting, and I have deprived my family and the public of
some curious information, by not carrying this resolution into effect. I
have bethought me, on seeing lately some volumes of Byron's notes, that
he probably had hit upon the right way of keeping such a
memorandum-book, by throwing aside all pretence to regularity and order,
and marking down events just as they occurred to recollection. I will
try this plan; and behold I have a handsome locked volume, such as might
serve for a lady's album. _Nota bene_, John Lockhart, and Anne, and I
are to raise a Society for the suppression of Albums. It is a most
troublesome shape of mendicity. Sir, your autograph--a line of
poetry--or a prose sentence!--Among all the sprawling sonnets, and
blotted trumpery that dishonours these miscellanies, a man must have a
good stomach that can swallow this botheration as a compliment.

I was in Ireland last summer, and had a most delightful tour. It cost me
upwards of £500, including £100 left with Walter and Jane, for we
travelled a large party and in style. There is much less exaggerated
about the Irish than is to be expected. Their poverty is not
exaggerated; it is on the extreme verge of human misery; their cottages
would scarce serve for pig-styes, even in Scotland, and their rags seem
the very refuse of a rag-shop, and are disposed on their bodies with
such ingenious variety of wretchedness that you would think nothing but
some sort of perverted taste could have assembled so many shreds
together. You are constantly fearful that some knot or loop will give,
and place the individual before you in all the primitive simplicity of
Paradise. Then for their food, they have only potatoes, and too few of
them. Yet the men look stout and healthy, the women buxom and
well-coloured.

Dined with us, being Sunday, Will. Clerk and Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.
W.C. is the second son of the celebrated author of _Naval Tactics_.[1] I
have known him intimately since our college days; and, to my thinking,
never met a man of greater powers, or more complete information on all
desirable subjects. In youth he had strongly the Edinburgh _pruritus
disputandi_; but habits of society have greatly mellowed it, and though
still anxious to gain your suffrage to his views, he endeavours rather
to conciliate your opinion than conquer it by force. Still there is
enough of tenacity of sentiment to prevent, in London society, where all
must go slack and easy, W.C. from rising to the very top of the tree as
a conversation man, who must not only wind the thread of his argument
gracefully, but also know when to let go. But I like the Scotch taste
better; there is more matter, more information, above all, more spirit
in it. Clerk will, I am afraid, leave the world little more than the
report of his fame. He is too indolent to finish any considerable
work.[2] Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe is another very remarkable man. He
was bred a clergyman, but did not take orders, owing I believe to a
peculiar effeminacy of voice which must have been unpleasant in reading
prayers. Some family quarrels occasioned his being indifferently
provided for by a small annuity from his elder brother, extorted by an
arbitral decree. He has infinite wit and a great turn for antiquarian
lore, as the publications of _Kirkton_,[3] etc., bear witness. His
drawings are the most fanciful and droll imaginable--a mixture between
Hogarth and some of those foreign masters who painted temptations of St.
Anthony, and such grotesque subjects. As a poet he has not a very strong
touch. Strange that his finger-ends can describe so well what he cannot
bring out clearly and firmly in words. If he were to make drawing a
resource, it might raise him a large income. But though a lover of
antiquities, and therefore of expensive trifles, C.K.S. is too
aristocratic to use his art to assist his revenue. He is a very complete
genealogist, and has made many detections in _Douglas_ and other books
on pedigree, which our nobles would do well to suppress if they had an
opportunity. Strange that a man should be curious after scandal of
centuries old! Not but Charles loves it fresh and fresh also, for, being
very much a fashionable man, he is always master of the reigning report,
and he tells the anecdote with such gusto that there is no helping
sympathising with him--the peculiarity of voice adding not a little to
the general effect. My idea is that C.K.S., with his oddities, tastes,
satire, and high aristocratic feelings, resembles Horace
Walpole--perhaps in his person also, in a general way.--See Miss
Hawkins' _Anecdotes_[4] for a description of the author of _The Castle
of Otranto_.

No other company at dinner except my cheerful and good-humoured friend
_Missie_ Macdonald,[5] so called in fondness. One bottle of champagne
with the ladies' assistance, two of claret. I observe that both these
great connoisseurs were very nearly, if not quite, agreed, that there
are _no_ absolutely undoubted originals of Queen Mary. But how then
should we be so very distinctly informed as to her features? What has
become of all the originals which suggested these innumerable copies?
Surely Mary must have been as unfortunate in this as in other
particulars of her life.[6]

_November_ 21.--I am enamoured of my journal. I wish the zeal may but
last. Once more of Ireland. I said their poverty was not exaggerated;
neither is their wit--nor their good-humour--nor their whimsical
absurdity--nor their courage.

_Wit_.--I gave a fellow a shilling on some occasion when sixpence was
the fee. "Remember you owe me sixpence, Pat." "May your honour live till
I pay you!" There was courtesy as well as wit in this, and all the
clothes on Pat's back would have been dearly bought by the sum in
question.

_Good-humour_.--There is perpetual kindness in the Irish cabin;
butter-milk, potatoes, a stool is offered, or a stone is rolled that
your honour may sit down and be out of the smoke, and those who beg
everywhere else seem desirous to exercise free hospitality in their own
houses. Their natural disposition is turned to gaiety and happiness;
while a Scotchman is thinking about the term-day, or, if easy on that
subject, about hell in the next world--while an Englishman is making a
little hell of his own in the present, because his muffin is not well
roasted--Pat's mind is always turned to fun and ridicule. They are
terribly excitable, to be sure, and will murther you on slight
suspicion, and find out next day that it was all a mistake, and that it
was not yourself they meant to kill at all at all.

_Absurdity_.--They were widening the road near Lord Claremont's seat as
we passed. A number of cars were drawn up together at a particular
point, where we also halted, as we understood they were blowing a rock,
and the _shot_ was expected presently to go off. After waiting two
minutes or so, a fellow called out something, and our carriage as a
planet, and the cars for satellites, started all forward at once, the
Irishmen whooping and crying, and the horses galloping. Unable to learn
the meaning of this, I was only left to suppose that they had delayed
firing the intended _shot_ till we should pass, and that we were passing
quickly to make the delay as short as possible. No such thing. By dint
of making great haste, we got within ten yards of the rock when the
blast took place, throwing dust and gravel on our carriage, and had our
postillion brought us a little nearer (it was not for want of hallooing
and flogging that he did not), we should have had a still more serious
share of the explosion. The explanation I received from the drivers was,
that they had been told by the overseer that as the _mine_ had been so
long in _going off_, he dared say we would have time to pass it--so we
just waited long enough to make the danger imminent. I have only to add
that two or three people got behind the carriage, just for nothing but
to see how our honours got past.

Went to the Oil Gas Committee[7] this morning, of which concern I am
president, or chairman. It has amused me much by bringing me into
company with a body of active, business-loving, money-making citizens of
Edinburgh, chiefly Whigs by the way, whose sentiments and proceedings
amuse me. The stock is rather low in the market, 35s. premium instead
of £5. It must rise, however, for the advantages of the light are
undeniable, and folks will soon become accustomed to idle apprehensions
or misapprehensions. From £20 to £25 should light a house capitally,
supposing you leave town in the vacation. The three last quarters cost
me £10, 10s., and the first, £8, was greatly overcharged. We will see
what this, the worst and darkest quarter, costs.

Dined with Sir Robert Dundas,[8] where we met Lord and Lady Melville. My
little _nieces_ (_ex officio_) gave us some pretty music. I do not know
and cannot utter a note of music; and complicated harmonies seem to me a
babble of confused though pleasing sounds. Yet songs and simple
melodies, especially if connected with words and ideas, have as much
effect on me as on most people. But then I hate to hear a young person
sing without feeling and expression suited to the song. I cannot bear a
voice that has no more life in it than a pianoforte or a bugle-horn.
There is something about all the fine arts, of soul and spirit, which,
like the vital principle in man, defies the research of the most
critical anatomist. You feel where it is not, yet you cannot describe
what it is you want. Sir Joshua, or some other great painter, was
looking at a picture on which much pains had been bestowed--"Why, yes,"
he said, in a hesitating manner, "it is very clever--very well
done--can't find fault; but it wants something; it wants--it wants, damn
me--it wants THAT"--throwing his hand over his head and snapping his
fingers. Tom Moore's is the most exquisite warbling I ever heard. Next
to him, David Macculloch[9] for Scots songs. The last, when a boy at
Dumfries, was much admired by Burns, who used to get him to try over the
words which he composed to new melodies. He is brother of Macculloch of
Ardwell.

_November_ 22.--MOORE. I saw Moore (for the first time, I may say) this
season. We had indeed met in public twenty years ago. There is a manly
frankness, and perfect ease and good breeding about him which is
delightful. Not the least touch of the poet or the pedant. A
little--very little man. Less, I think, than Lewis, and somewhat like
him in person; God knows, not in conversation, for Matt, though a clever
fellow, was a bore of the first description. Moreover, he looked always
like a schoolboy. I remember a picture of him being handed about at
Dalkeith House. It was a miniature I think by Sanders,[10] who had
contrived to muffle Lewis's person in a cloak, and placed some poignard
or dark lanthorn appurtenance (I think) in his hand, so as to give the
picture the cast of a bravo. "That like Mat Lewis?" said Duke Henry, to
whom it had passed in turn; "why, that is like a MAN!" Imagine the
effect! Lewis was at his elbow.[11] Now Moore has none of this
insignificance; to be sure his person is much stouter than that of
M.G.L., his countenance is decidedly plain, but the expression is so
very animated, especially in speaking or singing, that it is far more
interesting than the finest features could have rendered it.

I was aware that Byron had often spoken, both in private society and in
his Journal, of Moore and myself in the same breath, and with the same
sort of regard; so I was curious to see what there could be in common
betwixt us, Moore having lived so much in the gay world, I in the
country, and with people of business, and sometimes with politicians;
Moore a scholar, I none; he a musician and artist, I without knowledge
of a note; he a democrat, I an aristocrat--with many other points of
difference; besides his being an Irishman, I a Scotchman, and both
tolerably national. Yet there is a point of resemblance, and a strong
one. We are both good-humoured fellows, who rather seek to enjoy what is
going forward than to maintain our dignity as lions; and we have both
seen the world too widely and too well not to contemn in our souls the
imaginary consequence of literary people, who walk with their noses in
the air, and remind me always of the fellow whom Johnson met in an
alehouse, and who called himself "the _great_ Twalmley--inventor of the
floodgate iron for smoothing linen." He also enjoys the _mot pour rire_,
and so do I.

Moore has, I think, been ill-treated about Byron's Memoirs; he
surrendered them to the family (Lord Byron's executors) and thus lost
£2000 which he had raised upon them at a most distressing moment of his
life. It is true they offered and pressed the money on him afterwards,
but they ought to have settled it with the booksellers and not put poor
Tom's spirit in arms against his interest.[12] I think at least it
might have been so managed. At any rate there must be an authentic life
of Byron by somebody. Why should they not give the benefit of their
materials to Tom Moore, whom Byron had made the depositary of his own
Memoirs?--but T.M. thinks that Cam Hobhouse has the purpose of writing
Byron's life himself. He and Moore were at sharp words during the
negotiation, and there was some explanation necessary before the affair
ended. It was a pity that nothing save the total destruction of Byron's
Memoirs would satisfy his executors.[13] But there was a reason--_Premat
nox alta_.

It would be a delightful addition to life, if T.M. had a cottage within
two miles of one. We went to the theatre together, and the house, being
luckily a good one, received T.M. with rapture. I could have hugged
them, for it paid back the debt of the kind reception I met with in
Ireland.[14]

Here is a matter for a May morning, but much fitter for a November one.
The general distress in the city has affected H. and R.,[15] Constable's
great agents. Should they _go_, it is not likely that Constable can
stand, and such an event would lead to great distress and perplexity on
the part of J.B. and myself. Thank God, I have enough at least to pay
forty shillings in the pound, taking matters at the very worst. But much
distress and inconvenience must be the consequence. I had a lesson in
1814 which should have done good upon me, but success and abundance
erased it from my mind. But this is no time for journalising or
moralising either. Necessity is like a sour-faced cook-maid, and I a
turn-spit whom she has flogged ere now, till he mounted his wheel. If
W-st-k[16] can be out by 25th January it will do much, and it is
possible.

------'s son has saved his comrade on shipboard by throwing himself
overboard and keeping the other afloat--a very gallant thing. But the
_Gran giag' Asso_[17] asks me to write a poem on the _civic crown_, of
which he sends me a description quoted from Adam's _Antiquities_, which
mellifluous performance is to persuade the Admiralty to give the young
conservator promotion. Oh! he is a rare head-piece, an admirable Merron.
I do not believe there is in nature such a full-acorned Boar.[18]

Could not write to purpose for thick-coming fancies; the wheel would not
turn easily, and cannot be forced.

    "My spinning-wheel is auld and stiff,
      The rock o't winna stand, sir;
    To keep the temper-pin in tiff
      Employs aft my hand, sir."[19]

Went to dine at the L[ord] J[ustice]-C[lerk's][20] as I thought by
invitation, but it was for Tuesday se'nnight. Returned very well
pleased, not being exactly in the humour for company, and had a
beef-steak. My appetite is surely, excepting in quantity, that of a
farmer; for, eating moderately of anything, my Epicurean pleasure is in
the most simple diet. Wine I seldom taste when alone, and use instead a
little spirits and water. I have of late diminished the quantity, for
fear of a weakness inductive to a diabetes--a disease which broke up my
father's health, though one of the most temperate men who ever lived. I
smoke a couple of cigars instead, which operates equally as a
sedative--

    "Just to drive the cold winter away,
    And drown the fatigues of the day."

I smoked a good deal about twenty years ago when at Ashestiel; but,
coming down one morning to the parlour, I found, as the room was small
and confined, that the smell was unpleasant, and laid aside the use of
the _Nicotian weed_ for many years; but was again led to use it by the
example of my son, a hussar officer, and my son-in-law, an Oxford
student. I could lay it aside to-morrow; I laugh at the dominion of
custom in this and many things.

    "We make the giants first, and then--_do not_ kill them."

_November_ 23.--On comparing notes with Moore, I was confirmed in one or
two points which I had always laid down in considering poor Byron. One
was, that like Rousseau he was apt to be very suspicious, and a plain
downright steadiness of manner was the true mode to maintain his good
opinion. Will Rose told me that once, while sitting with Byron, he fixed
insensibly his eyes on his feet, one of which, it must be remembered,
was deformed. Looking up suddenly, he saw Byron regarding him with a
look of concentrated and deep displeasure, which wore off when he
observed no consciousness or embarrassment in the countenance of Rose.
Murray afterwards explained this, by telling Rose that Lord Byron was
very jealous of having this personal imperfection noticed or attended
to. In another point, Moore confirmed my previous opinion, namely, that
Byron loved mischief-making. Moore had written to him cautioning him
against the project of establishing the paper called the _Liberal_, in
communion with such men as P.B. Shelley and Hunt,[21] on whom he said
the world had set its mark. Byron showed this to the parties. Shelley
wrote a modest and rather affecting expostulation to Moore.[22] These
two peculiarities of extreme suspicion and love of mischief are both
shades of the malady which certainly tinctured some part of the
character of this mighty genius; and, without some tendency towards
which, genius--I mean that kind which depends on the imaginative
power--perhaps cannot exist to great extent. The wheels of a machine, to
play rapidly, must not fit with the utmost exactness, else the attrition
diminishes the impetus.

Another of Byron's peculiarities was the love of mystifying; which
indeed may be referred to that of mischief. There was no knowing how
much or how little to believe of his narratives. Instance:--Mr.
Bankes[23] expostulating with him upon a dedication which he had written
in extravagant terms of praise to Cam Hobhouse, Byron told him that Cam
had teased him into the dedication till he had said, "Well; it shall be
so,--providing you will write the dedication yourself"; and affirmed
that Cam Hobhouse did write the high-coloured dedication accordingly. I
mentioned this to Murray, having the report from Will Rose, to whom
Bankes had mentioned it. Murray, in reply, assured me that the
dedication was written by Lord Byron himself, and showed it me in his
own hand. I wrote to Rose to mention the thing to Bankes, as it might
have made mischief had the story got into the circle. Byron was disposed
to think all men of imagination were addicted to mix fiction (or poetry)
with their prose. He used to say he dared believe the celebrated
courtezan of Venice, about whom Rousseau makes so piquante a story, was,
if one could see her, a draggle-tailed wench enough. I believe that he
embellished his own amours considerably, and that he was, in many
respects, _le fanfaron de vices qu'il n'avoit pas_. He loved to be
thought awful, mysterious, and gloomy, and sometimes hinted at strange
causes. I believe the whole to have been the creation and sport of a
wild and powerful fancy. In the same manner he _crammed_ people, as it
is termed, about duels, etc., which never existed, or were much
exaggerated.

Constable has been here as lame as a duck upon his legs, but his heart
and courage as firm as a cock. He has convinced me we will do well to
support the London House. He has sent them about £5000, and proposes we
should borrow on our joint security £5000 for their accommodation. J.B.
and R. Cadell present. I must be guided by them, and hope for the best.
Certainly to part company would be to incur an awful risk.

What I liked about Byron, besides his boundless genius, was his
generosity of spirit as well as purse, and his utter contempt of all the
affectations of literature, from the school-magisterial style to the
lackadaisical. Byron's example has formed a sort of upper house of
poetry. There is Lord Leveson Gower, a very clever young man.[24] Lord
Porchester too,[25] nephew to Mrs. Scott of Harden, a young man who lies
on the carpet and looks poetical and dandyish--fine lad too, but--

    "There will be many peers
    Ere such another Byron."

Talking of Abbotsford, it begins to be haunted by too much company of
every kind, but especially foreigners. I do not like them. I hate fine
waistcoats and breast-pins upon dirty shirts. I detest the impudence
that pays a stranger compliments, and harangues about his works in the
author's house, which is usually ill-breeding. Moreover, they are seldom
long of making it evident that they know nothing about what they are
talking of, except having seen the Lady of the Lake at the Opera.

Dined at St. Catherine's[26] with Lord Advocate, Lord and Lady Melville,
Lord Justice-Clerk,[27] Sir Archibald Campbell of Succoth, all class
companions and acquainted well for more than forty years. All except
Lord J.C. were at Fraser's class, High School.[28] Boyle joined us at
college. There are, besides, Sir Adam Ferguson, Colin Mackenzie, James
Hope, Dr. James Buchan, Claud Russell, and perhaps two or three more of
and about the same period--but

     "Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vasto."[29]

_November 24._--Talking of strangers, London held, some four or five
years since, one of those animals who are lions at first, but by
transmutation of two seasons become in regular course Boars!--Ugo
Foscolo by name, a haunter of Murray's shop and of literary parties.
Ugly as a baboon, and intolerably conceited, he spluttered, blustered,
and disputed, without even knowing the principles upon which men of
sense render a reason, and screamed all the while like a pig when they
cut its throat. Another such Animaluccio is a brute of a Sicilian
Marquis de ---- who wrote something about Byron. He inflicted two days
on us at Abbotsford. They never know what to make of themselves in the
forenoon, but sit tormenting the women to play at proverbs and such
trash.

_Foreigner of a different cast_,--Count Olonym (Olonyne--that's it), son
of the President of the Royal Society and a captain in the Imperial
Guards. He is mean-looking and sickly, but has much sense, candour, and
general information. There was at Abbotsford, and is here, for education
just now, a young Count Davidoff, with a tutor Mr. Collyer. He is a
nephew of the famous Orloffs. It is quite surprising how much sense and
sound thinking this youth has at the early age of sixteen, without the
least self-conceit or forwardness. On the contrary, he seems kind,
modest, and ingenuous.[30] To questions which I asked about the state of
Russia he answered with the precision and accuracy of twice his years. I
should be sorry the saying were verified in him--

    "So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live long."[31]

Saw also at Abbotsford two Frenchmen whom I liked, friends of Miss
Dumergue. One, called Le Noir, is the author of a tragedy which he had
the grace never to quote, and which I, though poked by some malicious
persons, had _not_ the grace even to hint at. They were disposed at
first to be complimentary, but I convinced them it was not the custom
here, and they took it well, and were agreeable.

A little bilious this morning, for the first time these six months. It
cannot be the London matters which stick on my stomach, for that is
mending, and may have good effects on myself and others.

Dined with Robert Cockburn. Company, Lord Melville and family; Sir John
and Lady Hope; Lord and Lady R. Kerr, and so forth. Combination of
colliers general, and coals up to double price; the men will not work,
_although_, or rather _because_, they can make from thirty to forty
shillings per week. Lord R.K. told us that he had a letter from Lord
Forbes (son of Earl Granard, Ireland), that he was asleep in his house
at Castle Forbes, when awakened by a sense of suffocation which deprived
him of the power of stirring a limb, yet left him the consciousness that
the house was on fire. At this moment, and while his apartment was in
flames, his large dog jumped on the bed, seized his shirt, and dragged
him to the staircase, where the fresh air restored his powers of
exertion and of escape. This is very different from most cases of
preservation of life by the canine race, when the animal generally jumps
into the water, in which [element] he has force and skill. That of fire
is as hostile to him as to mankind.

_November_ 25.--Read Jeffrey's neat and well-intended address[32] to the
mechanics upon their combinations. Will it do good? Umph. It takes only
the hand of a Lilliputian to light a fire, but would require the
diuretic powers of Gulliver to extinguish it. The Whigs will live and
die in the heresy that the world is ruled by little pamphlets and
speeches, and that if you can sufficiently demonstrate that a line of
conduct is most consistent with men's interest, you have therefore and
thereby demonstrated that they will at length, after a few speeches on
the subject, adopt it of course. In this case we would have [no] need of
laws or churches, for I am sure there is no difficulty in proving that
moral, regular, and steady habits conduce to men's best interest, and
that vice is not sin merely, but folly. But of these men each has
passions and prejudices, the gratification of which he prefers, not only
to the general weal, but to that of himself as an individual. Under the
action of these wayward impulses a man drinks to-day though he is sure
of starving to-morrow. He murders to-morrow though he is sure to be
hanged on Wednesday; and people are so slow to believe that which makes
against their own predominant passions, that mechanics will combine to
raise the price for one week, though they destroy the manufacture for
ever. The best remedy seems to be the probable supply of labourers from
other trades. Jeffrey proposes each mechanic shall learn some other
trade than his own, and so have two strings to his bow. He does not
consider the length of a double apprenticeship. To make a man a good
weaver and a good tailor would require as much time as the patriarch
served for his two wives, and after all, he would be but a poor workman
at either craft. Each mechanic has, indeed, a second trade, for he can
dig and do rustic work. Perhaps the best reason for breaking up the
association will prove to be the expenditure of the money which they
have been simple enough to levy from the industrious for the support of
the idle. How much provision for the sick and the aged, the widow and
the orphan, has been expended in the attempt to get wages which the
manufacturer cannot afford them, with any profitable chance of selling
his commodity?

I had a bad fall last night coming home. There were unfinished houses at
the east end of Atholl Place,[33] and as I was on foot, I crossed the
street to avoid the material which lay about; but, deceived by the
moonlight, I stepped ankle-deep in a sea of mud (honest earth and water,
thank God), and fell on my hands. Never was there such a representative
of _Wall_ in Pyramus and Thisbe--I was absolutely rough-cast. Luckily
Lady S. had retired when I came home; so I enjoyed my tub of water
without either remonstrance or condolences. Cockburn's hospitality will
get the benefit and renown of my downfall, and yet has no claim to it.
In future though, I must take a coach at night--a control on one's
freedom, but it must be submitted to. I found a letter from [R.]
C[adell], giving a cheering account of things in London. Their
correspondent is getting into his strength. Three days ago I would have
been contented to buy this _consola_, as Judy says,[34] dearer than by a
dozen falls in the mud. For had the great Constable fallen, O my
countrymen, what a fall were there!

[Sidenote: _N.B._ Within eight weeks after recording this graceful act
of submission, I found I was unable to keep a carriage at all.]

Mrs. Coutts, with the Duke of St. Albans and Lady Charlotte Beauclerk,
called to take leave of us. When at Abbotsford his suit throve but
coldly. She made me, I believe, her confidant in sincerity.[35] She had
refused him twice, and decidedly. He was merely on the footing of
friendship. I urged it was akin to love. She allowed she might marry the
Duke, only she had at present not the least intention that way. Is this
frank admission more favourable for the Duke than an absolute
protestation against the possibility of such a marriage? I think not. It
is the fashion to attend Mrs. Coutts' parties and to abuse her. I have
always found her a kind, friendly woman, without either affectation or
insolence in the display of her wealth, and most willing to do good if
the means be shown to her. She can be very entertaining too, as she
speaks without scruple of her stage life. So much wealth can hardly be
enjoyed without some ostentation. But what then? If the Duke marries
her, he ensures an immense fortune; if she marries him, she has the
first rank. If he marries a woman older than himself by twenty years,
she marries a man younger in wit by twenty degrees. I do not think he
will dilapidate her fortune--he seems quiet and gentle. I do not think
that she will abuse his softness--of disposition, shall I say, or of
heart? The disparity of ages concerns no one but themselves; so they
have my consent to marry, if they can get each other's. Just as this is
written, enter my Lord of St. Albans and Lady Charlotte, to beg I would
recommend a book of sermons to Mrs. Coutts. Much obliged for her good
opinion: recommended Logan's[36]--one poet should always speak for
another. The mission, I suppose, was a little display on the part of
good Mrs. Coutts of authority over her high aristocratic suitor. I do
not suspect her of turning _dévote_, and retract my consent given as
above, unless she remains "lively, brisk, and jolly."[37]

Dined quiet with wife and daughter. R[obert] Cadell looked in in the
evening on business.

I here register my purpose to practise economics. I have little
temptation to do otherwise. Abbotsford is all that I can make it, and
too large for the property; so I resolve--

No more building;

No purchases of land till times are quite safe;

No buying books or expensive trifles--I mean to any extent; and

Clearing off encumbrances, with the returns of this year's labour;--

Which resolutions, with health and my habits of industry, will make me
"sleep in spite of thunder."

After all, it is hard that the vagabond stock-jobbing Jews should, for
their own purposes, make such a shake of credit as now exists in London,
and menace the credit of men trading on sure funds like H[urst] and
R[obinson]. It is just like a set of pickpockets, who raise a mob, in
which honest folks are knocked down and plundered, that they may pillage
safely in the midst of the confusion they have excited.

[Sidenote: I was obliged to give this up in consequence of my own
misfortunes.]

_November_ 26.--The court met late, and sat till _one_; detained from
that hour till four o'clock, being engaged in the perplexed affairs of
Mr. James Stewart of Brugh. This young gentleman is heir to a property
of better than £1000 a year in Orkney. His mother married very young,
and was wife, mother, and widow in the course of the first year. Being
unfortunately under the direction of a careless agent, she was unlucky
enough to embarrass her own affairs by many transactions with this
person. I was asked to accept the situation of one of the son's
curators; and trust to clear out his affairs and hers--at least I will
not fail for want of application. I have lent her £300 on a second (and
therefore doubtful) security over her house in Newington, bought for
£1000, and on which £600 is already secured. I have no connection with
the family except that of compassion, and may not be rewarded even by
thanks when the young man comes of age. I have known my father often so
treated by those whom he had laboured to serve. But if we do not run
some hazard in our attempts to do good, where is the merit of them? So I
will bring through my Orkney laird if I can. Dined at home quiet with
Lady S. and Anne.

_November_ 27.--Some time since John Murray entered into a contract with
my son-in-law, John G. Lockhart, giving him on certain ample conditions
the management and editorship of the _Quarterly Review_, for which they
could certainly scarcely find a fitter person, both from talents and
character. It seems that Barrow[38] and one or two stagers have taken
alarm at Lockhart's character as a satirist, and his supposed accession
to some of the freaks in _Blackwood's Magazine_, and down comes young
D'Israeli[39] to Scotland imploring Lockhart to make interest with my
friends in London to remove objections, and so forth. I have no idea of
telling all and sundry that my son-in-law is not a slanderer, or a silly
thoughtless lad, although he was six or seven years ago engaged in some
light satires. I only wrote to Heber and to Southey--the first upon the
subject of the reports which had startled Murray, (the most timorous, as
Byron called him, of all God's booksellers), and such a letter as he may
show Barrow if he judges proper. To Southey I wrote more generally,
acquainting him of my son's appointment to the Editorship, and
mentioning his qualifications, touching, at the same time, on his very
slight connection with _Blackwood's Magazine_, and his innocence as to
those gambades which may have given offence, and which, I fear, they may
ascribe too truly to an eccentric neighbour of their own. I also
mentioned that I had heard nothing of the affair until the month of
October. I am concerned that Southey should know this; for, having been
at the Lakes in September, I would not have him suppose that I had been
using interest with Canning or Ellis to supersede young Mr.
Coleridge,[40] their editor, and place my son-in-law in the situation;
indeed I was never more surprised than when this proposal came upon us.
I suppose it had come from Canning originally, as he was sounding Anne
when at Colonel Bolton's[41] about Lockhart's views, etc. To me he never
hinted anything on the subject. Other views are held out to Lockhart
which may turn to great advantage. Only one person (John Cay[42] of
Charlton) knows their object, and truly I wish it had not been confided
to any one. Yesterday I had a letter from Murray in answer to one I had
written in something a determined style, for I had no idea of permitting
him to start from the course after my son giving up his situation and
profession, merely because a contributor or two chose to suppose
gratuitously that Lockhart was too imprudent for the situation. My
physic has wrought well, for it brought a letter from Murray saying all
was right, that D'Israeli was sent to me, not to Lockhart, and that I
was only invited to write two confidential letters, and other
incoherencies--which intimate his fright has got into another quarter.
It is interlined and franked by Barrow, which shows that all is well,
and that John's induction into his office will be easy and pleasant. I
have not the least fear of his success; his talents want only a worthy
sphere of exertion. He must learn, however, to despise petty
adversaries. No good sportsman ought to shoot at crows unless for some
special purpose. To take notice of such men as Hazlitt and Hunt in the
_Quarterly_ would be to introduce them into a world which is scarce
conscious of their existence. It is odd enough that many years since I
had the principal share in erecting this _Review_ which has been since
so prosperous, and now it is placed under the management of my
son-in-law upon the most honourable principle of _detur digniori_. Yet
there are sad drawbacks so far as family comfort is concerned. To-day is
Sunday, when they always dined with us, and generally met a family
friend or two, but we are no longer to expect them. In the country,
where their little cottage was within a mile or two of Abbotsford, we
shall miss their society still more, for Chiefswood was the perpetual
object of our walks, rides, and drives. Lockhart is such an excellent
family man, so fond of his wife and child, that I hope all will go
well. A letter from Lockhart in the evening. All safe as to his
unanimous reception in London; his predecessor, young [Coleridge],
handsomely, and like a gentleman, offers his assistance as a
contributor, etc.

_November_ 28.--I have the less dread, or rather the less anxiety, about
the consequences of this migration, that I repose much confidence in
Sophia's tact and good sense. Her manners are good, and have the
appearance of being perfectly natural. She is quite conscious of the
limited range of her musical talents, and never makes them common or
produces them out of place,--a rare virtue; moreover she is proud
enough, and will not be easily netted and patronised by any of that
class of ladies who may be called Lion-providers for town and country.
She is domestic besides, and will not be disposed to gad about. Then she
seems an economist, and on £3000,[43] living quietly, there should be
something to save. Lockhart must be liked where his good qualities are
known, and where his fund of information has room to be displayed. But,
notwithstanding a handsome exterior and face, I am not sure he will
succeed in London Society; he sometimes reverses the proverb, and gives
the _volte strette e pensiere sciolti_, withdraws his attention from the
company, or attaches himself to some individual, gets into a corner, and
seems to be quizzing the rest. This is the want of early habits of being
in society, and a life led much at college. Nothing is, however, so
popular, and so deservedly so, as to take an interest in whatever is
going forward in society. A wise man always finds his account in it, and
will receive information and fresh views of life even in the society of
fools. Abstain from society altogether when you are not able to play
some part in it. This reserve, and a sort of Hidalgo air joined to his
character as a satirist, have done the best-humoured fellow in the world
some injury in the opinion of Edinburgh folks. In London it is of less
consequence whether he please in general society or not, since if he can
establish himself as a genius it will only be called "Pretty Fanny's
Way."

People make me the oddest requests. It is not unusual for an Oxonian or
Cantab, who has outrun his allowance, and of whom I know nothing, to
apply to me for the loan of £20, £50, or £100. A captain of the Danish
naval service writes to me, that being in distress for a sum of money by
which he might transport himself to Columbia, to offer his services in
assisting to free that province, he had dreamed I generously made him a
present of it. I can tell him his dream by contraries. I begin to find,
like Joseph Surface, that too good a character is inconvenient. I don't
know what I have done to gain so much credit for generosity, but I
suspect I owe it to being supposed, as Puff[44] says, one of those "whom
Heaven has blessed with affluence." Not too much of that neither, my
dear petitioners, though I may thank myself that your ideas are not
correct.

Dined at Melville Castle, whither I went through a snow-storm. I was
glad to find myself once more in a place connected with many happy days.
Met Sir R. Dundas and my old friend George, now Lord Abercromby,[45]
with his lady, and a beautiful girl, his daughter. He is what he always
was--the best-humoured man living; and our meetings, now more rare than
usual, are seasoned with a recollection of old frolics and old friends.
I am entertained to see him just the same he has always been, never
yielding up his own opinion in fact, and yet in words acquiescing in all
that could be said against it. George was always like a willow--he never
offered resistance to the breath of argument, but never moved from his
rooted opinion, blow as it listed. Exaggeration might make these
peculiarities highly dramatic: Conceive a man who always seems to be
acquiescing in your sentiments, yet never changes his own, and this with
a sort of _bonhomie_ which shows there is not a particle of deceit
intended. He is only desirous to spare you the trouble of contradiction.

_November_ 29.--A letter from Southey, malcontent about Murray having
accomplished the change in the _Quarterly_ without speaking to him, and
quoting the twaddle of some old woman, male or female, about Lockhart's
earlier _jeux d'esprit_, but concluding most kindly that in regard to my
daughter and me he did not mean to withdraw. That he has done yeoman's
service to the _Review_ is certain, with his genius, his universal
reading, his powers of regular industry, and at the outset a name which,
though less generally popular than it deserves, is still too respectable
to be withdrawn without injury. I could not in reply point out to him
what is the truth, that his rigid Toryism and High Church prejudices
rendered him an unsafe counsellor in a matter where the spirit of the
age must be consulted; but I pointed out to him what I am sure is true,
that Murray, apprehensive of his displeasure, had not ventured to write
to him out of mere timidity and not from any [intention to offend]. I
treated [lightly] his old woman's apprehensions and cautions, and all
that gossip about friends and enemies, to which a splendid number or two
will be a sufficient answer, and I accepted with due acknowledgment his
proposal of continued support. I cannot say I was afraid of his
withdrawing. Lockhart will have hard words with him, for, great as
Southey's powers are, he has not the art to make them work popularly; he
is often diffuse, and frequently sets much value on minute and
unimportant facts, and useless pieces of abstruse knowledge. Living too
exclusively in a circle where he is idolised both for his genius and the
excellence of his disposition, he has acquired strong prejudices,
though all of an upright and honourable cast. He rides his High Church
hobby too hard, and it will not do to run a tilt upon it against all the
world. Gifford used to crop his articles considerably, and they bear
mark of it, being sometimes _décousues._ Southey said that Gifford cut
out his _middle joints_. When John comes to use the carving-knife I fear
Dr. Southey will not be so tractable. _Nous verrons_. I will not show
Southey's letter to Lockhart, for there is to him personally no friendly
tone, and it would startle the Hidalgo's pride. It is to be wished they
may draw kindly together. Southey says most truly that even those who
most undervalue his reputation would, were he to withdraw from the
_Review_, exaggerate the loss it would thereby sustain. The bottom of
all these feuds, though not named, is _Blackwood's Magazine_; all the
squibs of which, which have sometimes exploded among the Lakers,
Lockhart is rendered accountable for. He must now exert himself at once
with spirit and prudence.[46] He has good backing--Canning, Bishop
Blomfield, Gifford, Wright, Croker, Will Rose,--and is there not besides
the Douglas?[47] An excellent plot, excellent friends, and full of
preparations? It was no plot of my making, I am sure, yet men will say
and believe that [it was], though I never heard a word of the matter
till first a hint from Wright, and then the formal proposal of Murray to
Lockhart announced. I believe Canning and Charles Ellis were the prime
movers. I'll puzzle my brains no more about it.

Dined at Justice-Clerk's--the President--Captain Smollett, etc.,--our
new Commander-in-chief, Hon. Sir Robert O'Callaghan, brother to Earl of
Lismore, a fine soldierly-looking man, with orders and badges;--his
brother, an agreeable man, whom I met at Lowther Castle this season. He
composes his own music and sings his own poetry--has much humour,
enhanced by a strong touch of national dialect, which is always a rich
sauce to an Irishman's good things. Dandyish, but not offensively, and
seems to have a warm feeling for the credit of his country--rather
inconsistent with the trifling and selfish quietude of a mere man of
society.

_November_ 30.--I am come to the time when those who look out of the
windows shall be darkened. I must now wear spectacles constantly in
reading and writing, though till this winter I have made a shift by
using only their occasional assistance. Although my health cannot be
better, I feel my lameness becomes sometimes painful, and often
inconvenient. Walking on the pavement or causeway gives me trouble, and
I am glad when I have accomplished my return on foot from the Parliament
House to Castle Street, though I can (taking a competent time, as old
Braxie[48] said on another occasion) walk five or six miles in the
country with pleasure. Well--such things must come, and be received with
cheerful submission. My early lameness considered, it was impossible for
a man labouring under a bodily impediment to have been stronger or more
active than I have been, and that for twenty or thirty years. Seams
will slit, and elbows will out, quoth the tailor; and as I was
fifty-four on 15th August last, my mortal vestments are none of the
newest. Then Walter, Charles, and Lockhart are as active and handsome
young fellows as you can see; and while they enjoy strength and activity
I can hardly be said to want it. I have perhaps all my life set an undue
value on these gifts. Yet it does appear to me that high and independent
feelings are naturally, though not uniformly or inseparably, connected
with bodily advantages. Strong men are usually good-humoured, and active
men often display the same elasticity of mind as of body. These are
superiorities, however, that are often misused. But even for these
things God shall call us to judgment.

Some months since I joined with other literary folks in subscribing a
petition for a pension to Mrs. G. of L.,[49] which we thought was a
tribute merited by her works as an authoress, and, in my opinion, much
more by the firmness and elasticity of mind with which she had borne a
succession of great domestic calamities. Unhappily there was only about
£100 open on the pension list, and this the minister assigned in equal
portions to Mrs. G---- and a distressed lady, grand-daughter of a
forfeited Scottish nobleman. Mrs. G----, proud as a Highland-woman, vain
as a poetess, and absurd as a bluestocking, has taken this partition _in
malam partem_, and written to Lord Melville about her merits, and that
her friends do not consider her claims as being fairly canvassed, with
something like a demand that her petition be submitted to the King. This
is not the way to make her _plack_ a _bawbee_, and Lord M., a little
_miffed_ in turn, sends the whole correspondence to me to know whether
Mrs. G----will accept the £50 or not. Now, hating to deal with ladies
when they are in an unreasonable humour, I have got the good-humoured
"Man of Feeling" to find out the lady's mind, and I take on myself the
task of making her peace with Lord M. There is no great doubt how it
will end, for your scornful dog will always eat your dirty pudding.[50]
After all, the poor lady is greatly to be pitied;--her sole remaining
daughter, deep and far gone in a decline, has been seized with
alienation of mind.

Dined with my cousin, R[obert] R[utherford], being the first invitation
since my uncle's death, and our cousin Lieutenant-Colonel Russell[51] of
Ashestiel, with his sister Anne--the former newly returned from India--a
fine gallant fellow, and distinguished as a cavalry officer. He came
overland from India and has observed a good deal. General L---- of
L----, in Logan's orthography a _fowl_, Sir William Hamilton, Miss
Peggie Swinton, William Keith, and others. Knight Marischal not well, so
unable to attend the convocation of kith and kin.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _An Essay on Naval Tactics, Systematical and Historical, with
explanatory plates_. In four parts. By John Clerk. 4to. Lond. 1790.

[2] William Clerk of Eldin, the prototype of Darsie Latimer in
_Redgauntlet_, "admired through life for talents and learning of which
he has left no monument," died at Edinburgh in January 1847.

[3] _Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland from the
Restoration to the year_ 1678. 4to. Edin. 1817.

[4] _Anecdotes, Biographical Sketches, and Memoirs_, collected by
Lætitia Matilda Hawkins. 8vo. Lond. 1822.

[5] Miss Macdonald Buchanan of Drummakill.--J.G.L.

[6] Mr. Sharpe, whose _Letters_ and _Memoir_ were published in two
volumes 8vo, Edin. 1888, survived Sir Walter till the year 1851. In the
Sir Mungo Malagrowther of _The Fortunes of Nigel_ some of Sharpe's
peculiarities are not unfaithfully mirrored.

[7] One of the numerous joint-stock adventures which were so common in
Edinburgh at this time. There had already been formed a Gas-light
Company in 1818, for the manufacture of gas from coal, but the
projectors of this new venture believed they could produce a purer and
more powerful light by the use of oil. It was not successful
commercially, and, as is told in the Journal, the rival company acquired
the stock and plant a few years after the formation of this "Oil Gas
Co.," of which Sir Walter had been Chairman from 1823.

See _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 141, 144, 197, 251, 374; and viii. p. 113;
Cockburn's _Memorials_ (for 1825).

[8] Sir Robert Dundas of Beechwood, one of Scott's colleagues at the
"Clerks' Table,"--son of the parish minister of Humbie, and kinsman of
Lord and Lady Melville; he died in 1835. Some of the other gentlemen
with whom the duties of his office brought Scott into close daily
connection were David Hume, Hector Macdonald Buchanan, and Colin
Mackenzie of Portmore. With these families, says Mr. Lockhart, "he and
his lived in such constant familiarity of kindness, that the children
all called their father's colleagues _uncles_, and the mothers of their
little friends _aunts_; and in truth the establishment was a
brotherhood."

[9] Mrs. Thomas Scott's brother.

[10] George L. Sanders, born at Kinghorn, 1774; died in London, 1846.

[11] Sir Walter told Moore that Lewis was the person who first set him
upon trying his talent at poetry, adding that "he had passed the early
part of his life with a set of clever, rattling, drinking fellows, whose
thoughts and talents lay wholly out of the region of poetry." Thirty
years after having met Lewis in Edinburgh for the first time in 1798, he
said to Allan Cunningham, "that he thought he had never felt such
elation as when 'the monk' invited him to dine with him at his hotel."
Lewis died in 1818, and Scott says of him, "He did much good by stealth,
and was a most generous creature--fonder of great people than he ought
to have been, either as a man of talent or as a man of fashion. He had
always ladies and duchesses in his mouth, and was pathetically fond of
any one that had a title. Mat had queerish eyes--they projected like
those of some insects, and were flattish on the orbit."

[12] Moore's friends seem to have recognised his thorough manliness and
independence of character. Lord John Russell testifies: "Never did he
make wife or family a pretext for political shabbiness--never did he
imagine that to leave a disgraced name as an inheritance to his children
was a duty as a father" (_Memoirs_, vol. i. pp. xiii and xiv), and when
Rogers urged this plea of family as a reason why he should accept the
money, Moore said, "More mean things have been done in this world under
the shelter of 'wife and children' than under any pretext
worldly-mindedness can resort to." To which S.R. only said, "Well, your
life may be a good poem, but it is a ---- bad matter of fact."--Clayden,
_Rogers and his Contemporaries_, vol. i. p. 378.

[13] Moore's _Life of Byron_ was published in two vols. 4to in 1830, and
dedicated to Sir Walter Scott by "his affectionate friend, T.M." See
this Journal under March 4 1828.

[14] "I parted from Scott," says Moore, "with the feeling that all the
world might admire him in his works, but that those only could learn to
love him as he deserved who had seen him at Abbotsford." Moore died
February 26, 1852; see Moore's _Life_, vol. iv. pp. 329-42, and vol. v.
pp. 13-14.

[15] Hurst and Robinson, Booksellers, London.

[16] _Woodstock_ was at this time nearly completed.

[17] Probably Sir Walter's dog-Italian for "great donkey."

[18] _Cymbeline_, Act II. Sc. 5.

[19] "My Jo Janet," _Tea-Table Miscellany_.

[20] The Right Hon. David Boyle, who was at the time residing at 28
Charlotte Square.

[21] A quarterly journal edited by Leigh Hunt, "_The Liberal--Verse and
Prose from the South_," of which four numbers only were published.
1822-1823.

[22] See Dowden's _Life of Shelley_, vol. ii. pp. 448-9, 507-8; also
Moore's _Byron_, vol. v. pp. 313-321, and Russell's _Moore_, vol. iii.
p. 353.

[23] William Bankes, of whom Rogers said, "Witty as Sydney Smith was, I
have seen him at my own house absolutely overpowered by the superior
facetiousness of W.B." Mr. Bankes died in Venice in 1855.

[24] Lord Leveson Gower, afterwards first Earl of Ellesmere, had already
published his translation of _Faust_ in 1823, and a volume of "original
poems," and "translations," in the following year.

[25] Henry J.G. Herbert, Lord Porchester, afterwards third Earl of
Carnarvon, had published _The Moor_ in 1825, and _Don Pedro_ in 1826.

[26] St. Catherine's, the seat of Sir William Rae, Bart., then Lord
Advocate, is about three miles from Edinburgh.--J.G.L. Sir William Rae's
refusal of a legal appointment to Mr. Lockhart (on the ground that as a
just patron he could not give it to the son-in-law of his old friend!!)
was understood to be the cause of Mr. Lockhart's quitting the Bar and
devoting himself entirely to literature. Sir William Rae died at St.
Catherine's on the 19th October 1842.

[27] David Boyle of Shewalton, L.J.C. from 1811, and Lord President from
1841 till 1852. He died in 1853.

[28] See _Autobiography_, 1787, in _Life_, vol. i. pp. 39, 40.

[29] Virg. _Æn._ i. 122.

[30] M. Davidoff has, in his mature life, amply justified Sir Walter's
prognostications. He has, I understand, published in the Russian
language a tribute to the memory of Scott. But his travels in Greece and
Asia Minor are well known, and considered as in a high degree honourable
to his taste and learning.--[1839.]--J.G.L.

[31] _King Richard III_., Act III. Sc. 1. Count Orloff Davidoff lived to
falsify this "saying." He revisited England in 1872, and had the
pleasure of meeting with Scott's great-granddaughter, and talking to her
of these old happy Abbotsford days.

[32] _Combinations of Workmen_. Substance of a speech by Francis
Jeffrey. 8vo. Edin. 1825.

[33 33] Mr. Robert Cockburn, Lord Cockburn's brother, was then living at
No. 7 Atholl Crescent.

[34] This alludes to a strange old woman, keeper of a public-house among
the Wicklow mountains, who, among a world of oddities, cut short every
word ending in _tion_, by the omission of the termination. _Consola_ for
consolation--_bothera_ for botheration, etc. etc. Lord Plunkett had
taken care to parade Judy and all her peculiarities.--J.C.L.

[35] See the Duchess's Letter, p. 414.

[36] The Rev. John Logan, minister of South Leith, 1748-1788. The
"Sermons" were not published until 1790-91.

[37] For an account of her visit to Abbotsford, see _Life_, vol. viii.
pp. 72-76. The marriage took place on June 16, 1827, the lady having
previously asked the consent of George IV.!! A droll account of the
reception of her _Mercure galant_ at Windsor is given in the _North
British Review_, vol. xxxix. p. 349.

[38] Sir John Barrow, the well-known Secretary to the Admiralty, who
died in 1848 in his eighty-fifth year.

[39] Benjamin Disraeli, afterwards Lord Beaconsfield.

[40] In after years Sir John Taylor Coleridge (1790-1876), one of the
Judges of the Court of Queen's Bench.

[41] Storrs, Windermere.

[42] John Cay, member of the Scotch Bar, Sheriff of Linlithgow. He was
one of Mr. Lockhart's oldest friends; he died in 1865.

[43] Moore records that Scott told him "Lockhart was about to undertake
the _Quarterly_, has agreed for five years; salary £1200 a year; and if
he writes a certain number of articles it will be £1500 a year to him,"
Moore's _Diary_, under Oct. 29, vol. iv. p. 334. Jeffrey had £700 a year
as Editor of the _Edinburgh_, and £2800 for contributors: June 1823, see
Moore's _Diary_, vol. iv. p. 89.

[44] Sheridan's _Critic_, Act I. Sc. 2.

[45] George Abercromby, eldest son of Sir Ralph, the hero of the battle
of Alexandria.

[46] The following extract from a letter to Professor Wilson, urgently
claiming his aid, shows that the new editor had lost no time in looking
after his "first Number":--

"Mr. Coleridge has yesterday transferred to me the treasures of the
_Quarterly Review_; and I must say, my dear Wilson, that his whole stock
is not worth five shillings. Thank God, other and better hands are at
work for my first Number or I should be in a pretty hobble. My belief is
that he has been living on the stock bequeathed by Gifford, and the
contributions of a set of H----es and other d----d idiots of Oriel. But
mind now, Wilson, I am sure to have a most hard struggle to get up a
very good first Number, and if I do not, it will be the Devil." This
letter was quoted in an abridged form in the Life of Professor Wilson by
Mrs. Gordon.

[47] This probably refers to Archibald, Lord Douglas, who had married
the Lady Frances Scott, sister of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch. Lord Douglas
died on the 26th December 1827. For notices of these valued friends see
_Life_, vol. ii. pp. 27-8; iv. pp. 22, 70; and v. p. 230.

[48] Robert Macqueen--Lord Braxfield--Justice Clerk from 1788; he died
in 1799.

[49] Mrs. Grant of Laggan, author of _Letters from the Mountains_,
_Superstitions of the Highlanders_, etc. Died at Edin. in 1838, aged 83.

[50] Scott had not the smallest hesitation in applying this unsavoury
proverb to himself a few months later, when he unwillingly "impeticosed
the gratillity" for the critique on Galt's _Omen_. See this Journal,
June 24, 1826.

[51] Afterwards Major-General Sir James Russell, G.C.B. He died at
Ashestiel in 1859 in his 78th year.




DECEMBER.


_December 1st._--Colonel R[ussell] told me that the European Government
had discovered an ingenious mode of diminishing the number of burnings
of widows. It seems the Shaster positively enjoins that the pile shall
be so constructed that, if the victim should repent even at the moment
when it is set on fire, she may still have the means of saving herself.
The Brahmins soon found it was necessary to assist the resolution of the
sufferers, by means of a little pit into which they contrive to let the
poor widow sink, so as to prevent her reaping any benefit from a late
repentance. But the Government has brought them back to the regard of
their law, and only permit the burning to go on when the pile is
constructed with full opportunity of a _locus penitentiæ_. Yet the widow
is so degraded if she dare to survive, that the number of burnings is
still great. The quantity of female children destroyed by the Rajput
tribes Colonel R. describes as very great indeed. They are strangled by
the mother. The principle is the aristocratic pride of these high
castes, who breed up no more daughters than they can reasonably hope to
find matches for in their own tribe. Singular how artificial systems of
feeling can be made to overcome that love of offspring which seems
instinctive in the females, not of the human race only, but of the lower
animals. This is the reverse of our system of increasing game by
shooting the old cock-birds. It is a system would aid Malthus rarely.

_Nota bene_, the day before yesterday I signed the bond for £5000, with
Constable, for relief of Robinson's house.[52] I am to be secured by
good bills.

I think this journal will suit me well. If I can coax myself into an
idea that it is purely voluntary, it may go on--_Nulla dies sine lineâ_.
But never a being, from my infancy upwards, hated task-work as I hate
it; and yet I have done a great deal in my day. It is not that I am idle
in my nature neither. But propose to me to do one thing, and it is
inconceivable the desire I have to do something else--not that it is
more easy or more pleasant, but just because it is escaping from an
imposed task. I cannot trace this love of contradiction to any distinct
source, but it has haunted me all my life. I could almost suppose it was
mechanical, and that the imposition of a piece of duty-labour operated
on me like the mace of a bad billiard-player, which gives an impulse to
the ball indeed, but sends it off at a tangent different from the course
designed by the player. Now, if I expend such eccentric movements on
this journal, it will be turning this wretched propensity to some
tolerable account. If I had thus employed the hours and half-hours which
I have whiled away in putting off something that must needs be done at
last, "My Conscience!" I should have had a journal with a witness.
Sophia and Lockhart came to Edinburgh to-day and dined with us, meeting
Hector Macdonald Buchanan, his lady, and Missie, James Skene and his
lady, Lockhart's friend Cay, etc. They are lucky to be able to assemble
so many real friends, whose good wishes, I am sure, will follow them in
their new undertaking.

_December_ 2.--Rather a blank day for the _Gurnal_. Correcting proofs in
the morning. Court from half-past ten till two; poor dear Colin
Mackenzie, one of the wisest, kindest, and best men of his time, in the
country,--I fear with very indifferent health. From two till three
transacting business with J.B.; all seems to go smoothly. Sophia dined
with us alone, Lockhart being gone to the west to bid farewell to his
father and brothers. Evening spent in talking with Sophia on their
future prospects. God bless her, poor girl! she never gave me a moment's
reason to complain of her. But, O my God! that poor delicate child, so
clever, so animated, yet holding by this earth with so fearfully slight
a tenure. Never out of his mother's thoughts, almost never out of his
father's arms when he has but a single moment to give to anything. _Deus
providebit._

_December_ 3.--R.P.G.[53] came to call last night to excuse himself from
dining with Lockhart's friends to-day. I really fear he is near an
actual standstill. He has been extremely improvident. When I first knew
him he had an excellent estate, and now he is deprived, I fear, of the
whole reversion of the price, and this from no vice or extreme, except a
wasteful mode of buying pictures and other costly trifles at high
prices, and selling them again for nothing, besides an extravagant
housekeeping and profuse hospitality. An excellent disposition, with a
considerable fund of acquired knowledge, would have rendered him an
agreeable companion, had he not affected singularity, and rendered
himself accordingly singularly affected. He was very near being a
poet--but a miss is as good as a mile, and he always fell short of the
mark. I knew him first, many years ago, when he was desirous of my
acquaintance; but he was too poetical for me, or I was not poetical
enough for him, so that we continued only ordinary acquaintance, with
goodwill on either side, which R.P.G. really deserves, as a more
friendly, generous creature never lived. Lockhart hopes to get something
done for him, being sincerely attached to him, but says he has no hopes
till he is utterly ruined. That point, I fear, is not far distant; but
what Lockhart can do for him _then_ I cannot guess. His last effort
failed, owing to a curious reason. He had made some translations from
the German, which he does extremely [well]--for give him ideas and he
never wants choice of good words--and Lockhart had got Constable to
offer some sort of terms for them. R.P.G. has always, though possessing
a beautiful power of handwriting, had some whim or other about imitating
that of some other person, and has written for months in the imitation
of one or other of his friends. At present he has renounced this
amusement, and chooses to write with a brush upon large cartridge paper,
somewhat in the Chinese fashion,--so when his work, which was only to
extend to one or two volumes, arrived on the shoulders of two porters,
in immense bales, our jolly bibliopolist backed out of the treaty, and
would have nothing more to do with R.P.[54] He is a creature that is, or
would be thought, of imagination all compact, and is influenced by
strange whims. But he is a kind, harmless, friendly soul, and I fear has
been cruelly plundered of money, which he now wants sadly.

Dined with Lockhart's friends, about fifty in number, who gave him a
parting entertainment. John Hope, Solicitor-General, in the chair, and
Robert Dundas [of Arniston], croupier. The company most highly
respectable, and any man might be proud of such an indication of the
interest they take in his progress in life. Tory principles rather too
violently upheld by some speakers. I came home about ten; the party sat
late.

_December_ 4.--Lockhart and Sophia, with his brother William, dined with
us, and talked over our separation, and the mode of their settling in
London, and other family topics.

_December 5._--This morning Lockhart and Sophia left us early, and
without leave-taking; when I rose at eight o'clock they were _gone_.
This was very right. I hate red eyes and blowing of noses. _Agere et
pati Romanum est_. Of all schools commend me to the Stoics. We cannot
indeed overcome our affections, nor ought we if we could, but we may
repress them within due bounds, and avoid coaxing them to make fools of
those who should be their masters. I have lost some of the comforts to
which I chiefly looked for enjoyment. Well, I must make the more of such
as remain--God bless them. And so "I will unto my holy work again,"[55]
which at present is the description of that _heilige Kleeblatt_, that
worshipful triumvirate, Danton, Robespierre, and Marat.

I cannot conceive what possesses me, over every person besides, to
mislay papers. I received a letter Saturday at _e'en,_ enclosing a bill
for £750; _no deaf nuts_. Well, I read it, and note the contents; and
this day, as if it had been a wind-bill in the literal sense of the
words, I search everywhere, and lose three hours of my morning--turn
over all my confusion in the writing-desk--break open one or two
letters, lest I should have enclosed the sweet and quickly convertible
document in them,--send for a joiner, and disorganise my scrutoire, lest
it should have fallen aside by mistake. I find it at last--the place
where is of little consequence; but this trick must be amended.

Dined at the Royal Society Club, where, as usual, was a pleasant meeting
of from twenty to twenty-five. It is a very good institution; we pay two
guineas only for six dinners in the year, present or absent. Dine at
five, or rather half-past five, at the Royal Hotel, where we have an
excellent dinner, with soups, fish, etc., and all in good order; port
and sherry till half-past seven, then coffee, and we go to the Society.
This has great influence in keeping up the attendance, it being found
that this preface of a good dinner, to be paid for whether you partake
or not, brings out many a philosopher who might not otherwise have
attended the Society. Harry Mackenzie, now in his eighty-second or third
year, read part of an Essay on Dreams. Supped at Dr. Russell's usual
party,[56] which shall serve for one while.

_December_ 6.--A rare thing this literature, or love of fame or
notoriety which accompanies it. Here is Mr. H[enry] M[ackenzie] on the
very brink of human dissolution, as actively anxious about it as if the
curtain must not soon be closed on that and everything else.[57] He
calls me his literary confessor; and I am sure I am glad to return the
kindnesses which he showed me long since in George Square. No man is
less known from his writings. We would suppose a retired, modest,
somewhat affected man, with a white handkerchief, and a sigh ready for
every sentiment. No such thing: H.M. is alert as a contracting tailor's
needle in every sort of business--a politician and a sportsman--shoots
and fishes in a sort even to this day--and is the life of the company
with anecdote and fun. Sometimes, his daughter tells me, he is in low
spirits at home, but really I never see anything of it in society.

There is a maxim almost universal in Scotland, which I should like much
to see controlled. Every youth, of every temper and almost every
description of character, is sent either to study for the bar, or to a
writer's office as an apprentice. The Scottish seem to conceive Themis
the most powerful of goddesses. Is a lad stupid, the law will sharpen
him;--is he too mercurial, the law will make him sedate;--has he an
estate, he may get a sheriffdom;--is he poor, the richest lawyers have
emerged from poverty;--is he a Tory, he may become a
depute-advocate;--is he a Whig, he may with far better hope expect to
become, in reputation at least, that rising counsel Mr.----, when in
fact he only rises at tavern dinners. Upon some such wild views lawyers
and writers multiply till there is no life for them, and men give up the
chase, hopeless and exhausted, and go into the army at five-and-twenty,
instead of eighteen, with a turn for expense perhaps--almost certainly
for profligacy, and with a heart embittered against the loving parents
or friends who compelled them to lose six or seven years in dusting the
rails of the stair with their black gowns, or scribbling nonsense for
twopence a page all day, and laying out twice their earnings at night in
whisky-punch. Here is R.L. now. Four or five years ago, from certain
indications, I assured his friends he would never be a writer.
Good-natured lad, too, when Bacchus is out of the question; but at other
times so pugnacious, that it was wished he could only be properly placed
where fighting was to be a part of his duty, regulated by time and
place, and paid for accordingly. Well, time, money, and instruction have
been thrown away, and now, after fighting two regular boxing matches and
a duel with pistols in the course of one week, he tells them roundly he
will be no writer, which common-sense might have told them before. He
has now perhaps acquired habits of insubordination, unfitting him for
the army, where he might have been tamed at an earlier period. He is too
old for the navy, and so he must go to India, a guinea-pig on board a
Chinaman, with what hope or view it is melancholy to guess. His elder
brother did all man could to get his friends to consent to his going
into the army in time. The lad has good-humour, courage, and most
gentlemanlike feelings, but he is incurably dissipated, I hear; so goes
to die in youth in a foreign land. Thank God, I let Walter take his own
way; and I trust he will be a useful, honoured soldier, being, for his
time, high in the service; whereas at home he would probably have been a
wine-bibbing, moorfowl-shooting, fox-hunting Fife squire--living at
Lochore without either aim or end--and well if he were no worse. Dined
at home with Lady S. and Anne. Wrote in the evening.

_December_ 7.--Teind day;[58]--at home of course. Wrote answers to one
or two letters which have been lying on my desk like snakes, hissing at
me for my dilatoriness. Bespoke a tun of palm-oil for Sir John Forbes.
Received a letter from Sir W. Knighton, mentioning that the King
acquiesced in my proposal that Constable's Miscellany should be
dedicated to him. Enjoined, however, not to make this public, till the
draft of dedication shall be approved. This letter tarried so long, I
thought some one had insinuated the proposal was _infra dig_. I don't
think so. The purpose is to bring all the standard works, both in
sciences and the liberal arts, within the reach of the lower classes,
and enable them thus to use with advantage the education which is given
them at every hand. To make boys learn to read, and then place no good
books within their reach, is to give men an appetite, and leave nothing
in the pantry save unwholesome and poisonous food, which, depend upon
it, they will eat rather than starve. Sir William, it seems, has been in
Germany.

Mighty dark this morning; it is past ten, and I am using my lamp. The
vast number of houses built beneath us to the north certainly render our
street darker during the days when frost or haze prevents the smoke from
rising. After all, it may be my older eyes. I remember two years ago,
when Lord H. began to fail somewhat in his limbs, he observed that Lord
S.[59] came to Court at a more early hour than usual, whereas it was he
himself who took longer time to walk the usual distance betwixt his
house and the Parliament Square. I suspect old gentlemen often make such
mistakes. A letter from Southey in a very pleasant strain as to Lockhart
and myself. Of Murray he has perhaps ground to complain as well for
consulting him late in the business, as for the manner in which he
intimated to young Coleridge, who had no reason to think himself
handsomely treated, though he has acquiesced in the arrangement in a
very gentlemanlike tone. With these matters we, of course, have nothing
to do; having no doubt that the situation was vacant when M. offered it
as such. Southey says, in alteration of Byron's phrase, that M. is the
most timorous, not of God's, but of the devil's, booksellers. The truth
I take to be that Murray was pushed in the change of Editor (which was
really become necessary) probably by Gifford, Canning, Ellis, etc.; and
when he had fixed with Lockhart by their advice his constitutional
nervousness made him delay entering upon a full explanation with
Coleridge. But it is all settled now--I hope Lockhart will be able to
mitigate their High Church bigotry. It is not for the present day,
savouring too much of _jure divino_.

Dined quiet with Lady S. and Anne. Anne is practising Scots songs, which
I take as a kind compliment to my own taste, as hers leads her chiefly
to foreign music. I think the good girl sees that I want and must miss
her sister's peculiar talent in singing the airs of our native country,
which, imperfect as my musical ear is, make, and always have made, the
most pleasing impression on me. And so if she puts a constraint on
herself for my sake, I can only say, in requital, God bless her.

I have much to comfort me in the present aspect of my family. My eldest
son, independent in fortune, united to an affectionate wife--and of good
hopes in his profession; my second, with a good deal of talent, and in
the way, I trust, of cultivating it to good purpose; Anne, an honest,
downright, good Scots lass, in whom I would only wish to correct a
spirit of satire; and Lockhart is Lockhart, to whom I can most willingly
confide the happiness of the daughter who chose him, and whom he has
chosen. My dear wife, the partner of early cares and successes, is, I
fear, frail in health--though I trust and pray she may see me out.
Indeed, if this troublesome complaint goes on--it bodes no long
existence. My brother was affected with the same weakness, which, before
he was fifty, brought on mortal symptoms. The poor Major had been rather
a free liver. But my father, the most abstemious of men, save when the
duties of hospitality required him to be very moderately free with his
bottle, and that was very seldom, had the same weakness which now annoys
me, and he, I think, was not above seventy when cut off. Square the
odds, and good-night Sir Walter about sixty. I care not, if I leave my
name unstained, and my family properly settled. _Sat est vixisse_.

_December 8._--Talking of the _vixisse_, it may not be impertinent to
notice that Knox, a young poet of considerable talent, died here a week
or two since. His father was a respectable yeoman, and he himself,
succeeding to good farms under the Duke of Buccleuch, became too soon
his own master, and plunged into dissipation and ruin. His poetical
talent, a very fine one, then showed itself in a fine strain of pensive
poetry, called, I think, _The Lonely Hearth_, far superior to those of
Michael Bruce, whose consumption, by the way, has been the _life_ of his
verses. But poetry, nay, good poetry, is a drug in the present day. I am
a wretched patron. I cannot go with a subscription-paper, like a
pocket-pistol about me, and draw unawares on some honest
country-gentleman, who has as much alarm as if I had used the phrase
"stand and deliver," and parts with his money with a grimace, indicating
some suspicion that the crown-piece thus levied goes ultimately into the
collector's own pocket. This I see daily done; and I have seen such
collectors, when they have exhausted Papa and Mamma, continue their
trade among the misses, and conjure out of their pockets those little
funds which should carry them to a play or an assembly. It is well
people will go through this--it does some good, I suppose, and they have
great merit who can sacrifice their pride so far as to attempt it in
this way. For my part I am a bad promoter of subscriptions; but I wished
to do what I could for this lad, whose talent I really admired; and I am
not addicted to admire heaven-born poets, or poetry that is reckoned
very good _considering_. I had him, Knox,[60] at Abbotsford, about ten
years ago, but found him unfit for that sort of society. I tried to help
him, but there were temptations he could never resist. He scrambled on,
writing for the booksellers and magazines, and living like the Otways,
and Savages, and Chattertons of former days, though I do not know that
he was in actual want. His connection with me terminated in begging a
subscription or a guinea now and then. His last works were spiritual
hymns, and which he wrote very well. In his own line of society he was
said to exhibit infinite humour; but all his works are grave and
pensive, a style perhaps, like Master Stephen's melancholy,[61]
affected for the nonce.

Mrs. G[rant] of L. intimates that she will take her pudding--her
pension, I mean (see 30th November), and is contrite, as H[enry]
M[ackenzie] vouches. I am glad the stout old girl is not foreclosed;
faith, cabbing a pension in these times is like hunting a pig with a
soap'd tail, monstrous apt to slip through your fingers.[62] Dined at
home with Lady S. and Anne.

_December_ 9.--Yesterday I read and wrote the whole day and evening.
To-day I shall not be so happy. Having Gas-Light Company to attend at
two, I must be brief in journalising.

The gay world has been kept in hot water lately by the impudent
publication of the celebrated Harriet Wilson, ---- from earliest
possibility, I suppose, who lived with half the gay world at hack and
manger, and now obliges such as will not pay hush-money with a history
of whatever she knows or can invent about them. She must have been
assisted in the style, spelling, and diction, though the attempt at wit
is very poor, that at pathos sickening. But there is some good retailing
of conversations, in which the style of the speakers, so far as known to
me, is exactly imitated, and some things told, as said by individuals of
each other, which will sound unpleasantly in each other's ears. I admire
the address of Lord A----y, himself very severely handled from time to
time. Some one asked him if H.W. had been pretty correct on the whole.
"Why, faith," he replied, "I believe so"--when, raising his eyes, he saw
Quentin Dick, whom the little jilt had treated atrociously--"what
concerns the present company always excepted, you know," added Lord
A----y, with infinite presence of mind. As he was _in pari casu_ with
Q.D. no more could be said. After all, H.W. beats Con Philips, Anne
Bellamy, and all former demireps out and out. I think I supped once in
her company, more than twenty years since, at Mat Lewis's in Argyle
Street, where the company, as the Duke says to Lucio, chanced to be
"fairer than honest."[63] She was far from beautiful, if it be the same
_chiffonne_, but a smart saucy girl, with good eyes and dark hair, and
the manners of a wild schoolboy. I am glad this accidental meeting has
escaped her memory--or, perhaps, is not accurately recorded in
mine--for, being a sort of French falconer, who hawk at all they see, I
might have had a distinction which I am far from desiring.

Dined at Sir John Hay's--a large party; Skenes there, the Newenhams and
others, strangers. In the morning a meeting of Oil Gas Committee. The
concern lingers a little;

    "It may do weel, for ought it's done yet,
    But only--it's no just begun yet."[64]

_December 10._--A stormy and rainy day. Walked from the Court through
the rain. I don't dislike this. Egad, I rather like it; for no man that
ever stepped on heather has less dread than I of catch-cold; and I seem
to regain, in buffeting with the wind, a little of the high spirit with
which, in younger days, I used to enjoy a Tam-o'-Shanter ride through
darkness, wind, and rain,--the boughs groaning and cracking over my
head, the good horse free to the road and impatient for home, and
feeling the weather as little as I did.

    "The storm around might roar and rustle,
    We didna mind the storm a whistle."

Answered two letters--one, answer to a schoolboy, who writes himself
Captain of Giggleswick School (a most imposing title), entreating the
youngster not to commence editor of a magazine to be entitled the
"Yorkshire Muffin," I think, at seventeen years old; second, to a
soldier of the 79th, showing why I cannot oblige him by getting his
discharge, and exhorting him rather to bear with the wickedness and
profanity of the service, than take the very precarious step of
desertion. This is the old receipt of Durandarte--_Patience, cousin, and
shuffle the cards_;[65] and I suppose the correspondents will think I
have been too busy in offering my counsel where I was asked for
assistance.

A third rogue writes to tell me--rather of the latest, if the matter was
of consequence--that he approves of the first three volumes of the
_H[eart] of Midlothian_, but totally condemns the fourth. Doubtless he
thinks his opinion worth the sevenpence sterling which his letter costs.
However, authors should be reasonably well pleased when three-fourths of
their work are acceptable to the reader. The knave demands of me in a
postscript, to get back the sword of Sir W[illiam] Wallace from England,
where it was carried from Dumbarton Castle. I am not Master-General of
the Ordnance, that I know. It was wrong, however, to take away that and
Mons Meg. If I go to town this spring, I will renew my negotiation with
the Great Duke for recovery of Mons Meg.

There is no theme more awful than to attempt to cast a glance among the
clouds and mists which hide the broken extremity of the celebrated
bridge of Mirza.[66] Yet, when every day brings us nearer that
termination, one would almost think that our views should become
clearer, as the regions we are approaching are brought nigher. Alas! it
is not so: there is a curtain to be withdrawn, a veil to be rent, before
we shall see things as they really are. There are few, I trust, who
disbelieve the existence of a God; nay, I doubt if at all times, and in
all moods, any single individual ever adopted that hideous creed, though
some have professed it. With the belief of a Deity, that of the
immortality of the soul and of the state of future rewards and
punishments is indissolubly linked. More we are not to know; but neither
are we prohibited from our attempts, however vain, to pierce the solemn
sacred gloom. The expressions used in Scripture are doubtless
metaphorical, for penal fires and heavenly melody are only applicable to
bodies endowed with senses; and, at least till the period of the
resurrection of the body, the spirits of men, whether entering into the
perfection of the just, or committed to the regions of punishment, are
incorporeal. Neither is it to be supposed that the glorified bodies
which shall arise in the last day will be capable of the same gross
indulgences with which they are now solaced. That the idea of Mahomet's
paradise is inconsistent with the purity of our heavenly religion will
be readily granted; and see Mark xii. 25. Harmony is obviously chosen as
the least corporeal of all gratifications of the sense, and as the type
of love, unity, and a state of peace and perfect happiness. But they
have a poor idea of the Deity, and the rewards which are destined for
the just made perfect, who can only adopt the literal sense of an
eternal concert--a never-ending Birthday Ode. I rather suppose there
should be understood some commission from the Highest, some duty to
discharge with the applause of a satisfied conscience. That the Deity,
who himself must be supposed to feel love and affection for the beings
he has called into existence, should delegate a portion of those powers,
I for one cannot conceive altogether so wrong a conjecture. We would
then find reality in Milton's sublime machinery of the guardian saints
or genii of kingdoms. Nay, we would approach to the Catholic idea of the
employment of saints, though without approaching the absurdity of
saint-worship, which degrades their religion. There would be, we must
suppose, in these employments difficulties to be overcome, and exertions
to be made, for all which the celestial beings employed would have
certain appropriate powers. I cannot help thinking that a life of active
benevolence is more consistent with my ideas than an eternity of music.
But it is all speculation, and it is impossible even to guess what we
shall [do], unless we could ascertain the equally difficult previous
question, what we are to be. But there is a God, and a just God--a
judgment and a future life--and all who own so much let them act
according to the faith that is in them. I would [not], of course, limit
the range of my genii to this confined earth. There is the universe,
with all its endless extent of worlds.

Company at home--Sir Adam Ferguson and his Lady; Colonel and Miss
Russell; Count Davidoff, and Mr. Collyer. By the by, I observe that all
men whose names are obviously derived from some mechanical trade,
endeavour to disguise and antiquate, as it were, their names, by
spelling them after some quaint manner or other. Thus we have Collyer,
Smythe, Tailleure; as much as to say, My ancestor was indeed a mechanic,
but it was a world of time ago, when the word was spelled very
[differently]. Then we had young Whytbank and Will Allan the artist[67],
a very agreeable, simple-mannered, and pleasant man.

_December_ 11.--A touch of the _morbus eruditorum_, to which I am as
little subject as most folks, and have it less now than when young. It
is a tremor of the heart, the pulsation of which becomes painfully
sensible--a disposition to causeless alarm--much lassitude--and decay of
vigour of mind and activity of intellect. The reins feel weary and
painful, and the mind is apt to receive and encourage gloomy
apprehensions and causeless fears. Fighting with this fiend is not
always the best way to conquer him. I have always found exercise and the
open air better than reasoning. But such weather as is now without doors
does not encourage _la petite guerre_, so we must give him battle in
form, by letting both mind and body know that, supposing one the House
of Commons and the other the House of Peers, my will is sovereign over
both. There is a good description of this species of mental weakness in
the fine play of Beaumont and Fletcher called _The Lover's Progress_,
where the man, warned that his death is approaching, works himself into
an agony of fear, and calls for assistance, though there is no apparent
danger. The apparition of the innkeeper's ghost, in the same play,
hovers between the ludicrous and [the terrible]. To me the touches of
the former quality which it contains seem to augment the effect of the
latter--- they seem to give reality to the supernatural, as being
circumstances with which an inventor would hardly have garnished his
story.[68]

Will Clerk says he has a theory on the vitrified forts. I wonder if he
and I agree. I think accidental conflagration is the cause.

_December_ 12.--Hogg came to breakfast this morning, having taken and
brought for his companion the Galashiels bard, David Thomson,[69] as to
a meeting of "huzz Tividale poets." The honest grunter opines with a
delightful _naïveté_ that Moore's verses are far owre sweet--answered by
Thomson that Moore's ear or notes, I forget which, were finely strung.
"They are far owre finely strung," replied he of the Forest, "for mine
are just reeght." It reminded me of Queen Bess, when questioning
Melville sharply and closely whether Queen [Mary] was taller than her,
and, extracting an answer in the affirmative, she replied, "Then your
Queen is too tall, for I am just the proper height."

Was engaged the whole day with Sheriff Court processes. There is
something sickening in seeing poor devils drawn into great expense
about trifles by interested attorneys. But too cheap access to
litigation has its evils on the other hand, for the proneness of the
lower class to gratify spite and revenge in this way would be a dreadful
evil were they able to endure the expense. Very few cases come before
the Sheriff-court of Selkirkshire that ought to come anywhere. Wretched
wranglings about a few pounds, begun in spleen, and carried on from
obstinacy, and at length from fear of the conclusion to the banquet of
ill-humour, "D--n--n of expenses."[70] I try to check it as well as I
can; "but so 'twill be when I am gone."

_December_ 12.--Dined at home, and spent the evening in writing--Anne
and Lady Scott at the theatre to see Mathews; a very clever man my
friend Mathews; but it is tiresome to be funny for a whole evening, so I
was content and stupid at home.

An odd optical delusion has amused me these two last nights. I have been
of late, for the first time, condemned to the constant use of
spectacles. Now, when I have laid them aside to step into a room dimly
lighted, out of the strong light which I use for writing, I have seen,
or seemed to see, through the rims of the same spectacles which I have
left behind me. At first the impression was so lively that I put my hand
to my eyes believing I had the actual spectacles on at the moment. But
what I saw was only the eidolon or image of said useful servants. This
fortifies some of Dr. Hibbert's positions about spectral appearances.

_December_ 13.--Letter from Lady Stafford--kind and friendly after the
wont of Banzu-Mohr-ar-chat.[71] This is wrong spelled, I know. Her
countenance is something for Sophia, whose company should be--as ladies
are said to choose their liquor--little and good. To be acquainted with
persons of mere _ton_ is a nuisance and a scrape--to be known to persons
of real fashion and fortune is in London a very great advantage. She is
besides sure of the hereditary and constant friendship of the Buccleuch
ladies, as well as those of Montagu and of the Harden family, of the
Marchioness of Northampton, Lady Melville, and others, also the Miss
Ardens, upon whose kind offices I have some claim, and would count upon
them whether such claim existed or no. So she is well enough established
among the Right-hand file, which is very necessary in London where
second-rate fashion is like false jewels.

Went to the yearly court of the Edinburgh Assurance Company, to which I
am one of those graceful and useless appendages, called Directors
Extraordinary--an extraordinary director I should prove had they elected
me an ordinary one. There were there moneyers and great oneyers[72], men
of metal--discounters and counters--sharp, grave, prudential faces--eyes
weak with ciphering by lamplight--men who say to gold, Be thou paper,
and to paper, Be thou turned into fine gold. Many a bustling,
sharp-faced, keen-eyed writer too--some perhaps speculating with their
clients' property. My reverend seigniors had expected a motion for
printing their contract, which I, as a piece of light artillery, was
brought down and got into battery to oppose. I should certainly have
done this on the general ground, that while each partner could at any
time obtain sight of the contract at a call on the directors or
managers, it would be absurd to print it for the use of the Company--and
that exposing it to the world at large was in all respects unnecessary,
and might teach novel companies to avail themselves of our rules and
calculations--if false, for the purpose of exposing our errors--if
correct, for the purpose of improving their own schemes on our model.
But my eloquence was not required, no one renewing the motion under
question; so off I came, my ears still ringing with the sounds of
thousands and tens of thousands, and my eyes dazzled with the golden
gleam offered by so many capitalists.

Walked home with the Solicitor[73]--decidedly the most hopeful young man
of his time; high connection, great talent, spirited ambition, a ready
and prompt elocution, with a good voice and dignified manner, prompt and
steady courage, vigilant and constant assiduity, popularity with the
young men, and the good opinion of the old, will, if I mistake not,
carry him as [high as] any man who has been since the days of old Hal
Dundas.[74] He is hot though, and rather hasty: this should be amended.
They who would play at single-stick must bear with patience a rap over
the knuckles. Dined quietly with Lady Scott and Anne.

_December_ 14.--Affairs very bad in the money-market in London. It must
come here, and I have far too many engagements not to feel it. To end
the matter at once, I intend to borrow £10,000, with which my son's
marriage-contract allows me to charge my estate. At Whitsunday and
Martinmas I will have enough to pay up the incumbrance of £3000 due to
old Moss's daughter, and £5000 to Misses Ferguson, in whole or part.
This will enable us to dispense in a great measure with bank assistance,
and sleep in spite of thunder. I do not know whether it is this business
which makes me a little bilious, or rather the want of exercise during
the season of late, and change of the weather to too much heat. Thank
God, my circumstances are good,--upon a fair balance which I have made,
certainly not less than £40,000 or nearly £50,000 above the world. But
the sun and moon shall dance on the green ere carelessness, or hope of
gain, or facility of getting cash, shall make me go too deep again, were
it but for the disquiet of the thing. Dined: Lady Scott and Anne
quietly.

_December_ 15.--R.P. G[illies] came _sicut mos est_ at five o'clock to
make me confidant of the extremities of his distress. It is clear all he
has to do is to make the best agreement he can with his creditors. I
remember many years since the poor fellow told me he thought there was
something interesting in having difficulties. Poor lad, he will have
enough of them now. He talks about writing translations for the
booksellers from the German to the amount of five or six hundred pounds,
but this is like a man proposing to run a whole day at top speed. Yet,
if he had good subjects, R.P.G. is one of the best translators I know,
and something must be done for him certainly, though, I fear, it will be
necessary to go to the bottom of the ulcer; palliatives won't do. He is
terribly imprudent, yet a worthy and benevolent creature--a great bore
withal. Dined alone with family. I am determined not to stand mine host
to all Scotland and England as I have done. This shall be a saving,
since it must be a borrowing, year. We heard from Sophia; they are got
safe to town; but as Johnnie had a little bag of meal with him, to make
his porridge on the road, the whole inn-yard assembled to see the
operation. Junor, his maid, was of opinion that England was an "awfu'
country to make parritch in." God bless the poor baby, and restore his
perfect health!

_December_ 16.--R.P.G. and his friend Robert Wilson[75] came--the former
at five, as usual--the latter at three, as appointed. R[obert] W[ilson]
frankly said that R.P.G.'s case was quite desperate, that he was
insolvent, and that any attempt to save him at present would be just so
much cash thrown away. God knows, at this moment I have none to throw
away uselessly. For poor Gillies there was a melancholy mixture of
pathos and affectation in his statement, which really affected me; while
it told me that it would be useless to help him to money on such very
empty plans. I endeavoured to persuade him to make a virtue of
necessity, resign all to his creditors, and begin the world on a new
leaf. I offered him Chiefswood for a temporary retirement. Lady Scott
thinks I was wrong, and nobody could less desire such a neighbour, all
his affectations being caviare to me. But then the wife and children!
Went again to the Solicitor on a wrong night, being asked for to-morrow.
Lady Scott undertakes to keep my engagements recorded in future. _Sed
quis custodiet ipsam custodem_?

_December_ 17.--Dined with the Solicitor--Lord Chief-Baron[76]--Sir
William Boothby, nephew of old Sir Brooke, the dandy poet, etc. Annoyed
with anxious presentiments, which the night's post must dispel or
confirm--all in London as bad as possible.

_December_ 18.--Ballantyne called on me this morning. _Venit illa
suprema dies_. My extremity is come. Cadell has received letters from
London which all but positively announce the failure of Hurst and
Robinson, so that Constable & Co. must follow, and I must go with poor
James Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all. But if
they leave me £500, I can still make it £1000 or £1200 a year. And if
they take my salaries of £1300 and £300, they cannot but give me
something out of them. I have been rash in anticipating funds to buy
land, but then I made from £5000 to £10,000 a year, and land was my
temptation. I think nobody can lose a penny--that is one comfort. Men
will think pride has had a fall. Let them indulge their own pride in
thinking that my fall makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have
the satisfaction to recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage
to many, and that some at least will forgive my transient wealth on
account of the innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good
to the poor. This news will make sad hearts at Darnick, and in the
cottages of Abbotsford, which I do not nourish the least hope of
preserving. It has been my Delilah, and so I have often termed it; and
now the recollection of the extensive woods I planted, and the walks I
have formed, from which strangers must derive both the pleasure and
profit, will excite feelings likely to sober my gayest moments. I have
half resolved never to see the place again. How could I tread my hall
with such a diminished crest? How live a poor indebted man where I was
once the wealthy, the honoured? My children are provided; thank God for
that. I was to have gone there on Saturday in joy and prosperity to
receive my friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish--but
the thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more
than any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things, I must
get them kind masters; there may be yet those who loving me may love my
dog because it has been mine. I must end this, or I shall lose the tone
of mind with which men should meet distress.

       *       *       *       *       *

I find my dogs' feet on my knees. I hear them whining and seeking me
everywhere--this is nonsense, but it is what they would do could they
know how things are. Poor Will Laidlaw! poor Tom Purdie! this will be
news to wring your heart, and many a poor fellow's besides to whom my
prosperity was daily bread.

Ballantyne behaves like himself, and sinks his own ruin in contemplating
mine. I tried to enrich him indeed, and now all--all is gone. He will
have the "Journal" still, that is a comfort, for sure they cannot find a
better Editor. _They_--alas! who will _they_ be--the _unbekannten Obern_
who are to dispose of my all as they will? Some hard-eyed banker; some
of those men of millions whom I described. Cadell showed more kind and
personal feeling to me than I thought he had possessed. He says there
are some properties of works that will revert to me, the copy-money not
being paid, but it cannot be any very great matter, I should think.

Another person did not afford me all the sympathy I expected, perhaps
because I seemed to need little support, yet that is not her nature,
which is generous and kind. She thinks I have been imprudent, trusting
men so far. Perhaps so--but what could I do? I must sell my books to
some one, and these folks gave me the largest price; if they had kept
their ground I could have brought myself round fast enough by the plan
of 14th December. I now view matters at the very worst, and suppose that
my all must go to supply the deficiencies of Constable. I fear it must
be so. His connections with Hurst and Robinson have been so intimate
that they must be largely involved. This is the worst of the concern;
our own is comparatively plain sailing.

Poor Gillies called yesterday to tell me he was in extremity. God knows
I had every cause to have returned him the same answer. I must think his
situation worse than mine, as through his incoherent, miserable tale, I
could see that he had exhausted each access to credit, and yet fondly
imagines that, bereft of all his accustomed indulgences, he can work
with a literary zeal unknown to his happier days. I hope he may labour
enough to gain the mere support of his family. For myself, the magic
wand of the Unknown is shivered in his grasp. He must henceforth be
termed the Too-well-known. The feast of fancy is over with the feeling
of independence. I can no longer have the delight of waking in the
morning with bright ideas in my mind, haste to commit them to paper, and
count them monthly, as the means of planting such groves, and purchasing
such wastes; replacing my dreams of fiction by other prospective visions
of walks by

    "Fountain heads, and pathless groves
    Places which pale passion loves."[77]

[Sidenote: Footnote to page 44 in the original MS.:--"Turn back to page
41 and 42. I turned the page accidentally, and the partner of a bankrupt
concern ought not to waste two leaves of paper."]

This cannot be; but I may work substantial husbandry, work history, and
such concerns. They will not be received with the same enthusiasm; at
least I much doubt the general knowledge that an author must write for
his bread, at least for improving his pittance, degrades him and his
productions in the public eye. He falls into the second-rate rank of
estimation:

    "While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad,
    The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road."[78]

It is a bitter thought; but if tears start at it, let them flow. I am so
much of this mind, that if any one would now offer to relieve all my
embarrassments on condition I would continue the exertions which brought
it there, dear as the place is to me, I hardly think I could undertake
the labour on which I entered with my usual alacrity only this morning,
though not without a boding feeling of my exertions proving useless. Yet
to save Abbotsford I would attempt all that was possible. My heart
clings to the place I have created. There is scarce a tree on it that
does not owe its being to me, and the pain of leaving it is greater than
I can tell. I have about £10,000 of Constable's, for which I am bound to
give literary value, but if I am obliged to pay other debts for him, I
will take leave to retain this sum at his credit. We shall have made
some _kittle_ questions of literary property amongst us. Once more,
"Patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards."

I have endeavoured at times to give vent to thoughts naturally so
painful, by writing these notices, partly to keep them at bay by busying
myself with the history of the French Convention. I thank God I can do
both with reasonable composure. I wonder how Anne will bear this
affliction? She is passionate, but stout-hearted and courageous in
important matters, though irritable in trifles. I am glad Lockhart and
his wife are gone. Why? I cannot tell; but I _am_ pleased to be left to
my own regrets without being melted by condolences, though of the most
sincere and affectionate kind.

       *       *       *       *       *

Anne bears her misfortune gallantly and well, with a natural feeling, no
doubt, of the rank and consideration she is about to lose. Lady Scott is
incredulous, and persists in cherishing hope where there is no ground
for hope. I wish it may not bring on the gloom of spirits which has
given me such distress. If she were the active person she once was that
would not be. Now I fear it more than what Constable or Cadell will tell
me this evening, so that my mind is made up.

Oddly enough, it happened. Mine honest friend Hector came in before
dinner to ask a copy of my seal of Arms, with a sly kindliness of
intimation that it was for some agreeable purpose.

_Half-past Eight_.--I closed this book under the consciousness of
impending ruin, I open it an hour after, thanks be to God, with the
strong hope that matters may be got over safely and honourably, in a
mercantile sense. Cadell came at eight to communicate a letter from
Hurst and Robinson, intimating they had stood the storm, and though
clamorous for assistance from Scotland, saying they had prepared their
strongholds without need of the banks.

[Sidenote: This was a mistake.]

This is all so far well, but I will not borrow any money on my estate
till I see things reasonably safe. Stocks have risen from ---- to ----,
a strong proof that confidence is restored. But I will yield to no
delusive hopes, and fall back fall edge, my resolutions hold.

I shall always think the better of Cadell for this, not merely because
his feet are beautiful on the mountains who brings good tidings, but
because he showed feeling--deep feeling, poor fellow--he who I thought
had no more than his numeration table, and who, if he had had his whole
counting-house full of sensibility, had yet his wife and children to
bestow it upon--I will not forget this if I get through. I love the
virtues of rough and round men; the others are apt to escape in salt
rheum, sal-volatile, and a white pocket-handkerchief. An odd thought
strikes me: when I die will the Journal of these days be taken out of
the ebony cabinet at Abbotsford, and read as the transient pout of a man
worth £60,000, with wonder that the well-seeming Baronet should ever
have experienced such a hitch? Or will it be found in some obscure
lodging-house, where the decayed son of chivalry has hung up his
scutcheon for some 20s. a week, and where one or two old friends will
look grave and whisper to each other, "Poor gentleman," "A well-meaning
man," "Nobody's enemy but his own," "Thought his parts could never wear
out," "Family poorly left," "Pity he took that foolish title"? Who can
answer this question?

       *       *       *       *       *

What a life mine has been!--half educated, almost wholly neglected or
left to myself, stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and
undervalued in society for a time by most of my companions, getting
forward and held a bold and clever fellow, contrary to the opinion of
all who thought me a mere dreamer, broken-hearted for two years, my
heart handsomely pieced again, but the crack will remain to my dying
day. Rich and poor four or five times, once on the verge of ruin, yet
opened new sources of wealth almost overflowing. Now taken in my pitch
of pride, and nearly winged (unless the good news hold), because London
chooses to be in an uproar, and in the tumult of bulls and bears, a poor
inoffensive lion like myself is pushed to the wall. And what is to be
the end of it? God knows. And so ends the catechism.

_December_ 19.--Ballantyne here before breakfast. He looks on Cadell's
last night's news with more confidence than I do; but I must go to work
be my thoughts sober or lively. Constable came in and sat an hour. The
old gentleman is firm as a rock, and scorns the idea of Hurst and
Robinson's stopping. He talks of going up to London next week and making
sales of our interest in W[oodstock] and _Boney_, which would put a
hedge round his finances. He is a very clever fellow, and will, I think,
bear us through.

Dined at Lord Chief-Baron's.[79] Lord Justice-Clerk; Lord President;[80]
Captain Scarlett,[81] a gentlemanlike young man, the son of the great
Counsel,[82] and a friend of my son Walter; Lady Charlotte Hope, and
other woman-kind; R. Dundas of Arniston, and his pleasant and
good-humoured little wife, whose quick intelligent look pleases me more,
though her face be plain, than a hundred mechanical beauties.

_December_ 20.--I like Ch. Ba. Shepherd very much--- as much, I think,
as any man I have learned to know of late years. There is a neatness and
precision, a closeness and truth, in the tone of his conversation, which
shows what a lawyer he must have been. Perfect good-humour and suavity
of manner, with a little warmth of temper on suitable occasions. His
great deafness alone prevented him from being Lord Chief-Justice. I
never saw a man so patient under such a malady. He loves society, and
converses excellently; yet is often obliged, in a mixed company
particularly, to lay aside his trumpet, retire into himself, and
withdraw from the talk. He does this with an expression of patience on
his countenance which touches one much. He has occasion for patience
otherwise, I should think, for Lady S. is fine and fidgety, and too
anxious to have everything _pointe devise_.

Constable's licence for the Dedication is come, which will make him
happy.[83]

Dined with James Ballantyne, and met my old friend Mathews, the
comedian, with his son, now grown up a clever, rather forward lad, who
makes songs in the style of James Smith or Colman, and sings them with
spirit; rather lengthy though.

_December 21._--There have been odd associations attending my two last
meetings with Mathews. The last time I saw him, before yesterday
evening, he dined with me in company with poor Sir Alexander Boswell,
who was killed within two or three months.[84] I never saw Sir Alexander
more.[85] The time before was in 1815, when John Scott of Gala and I
were returning from France, and passed through London, when we brought
Mathews down as far as Leamington. Poor Byron lunched, or rather made an
early dinner, with us at Long's, and a most brilliant day we had of it.
I never saw Byron so full of fun, frolic, wit, and whim: he was as
playful as a kitten. Well, I never saw him again.[86] So this man of
mirth, with his merry meetings, has brought me no luck. I like better
that he should throw in his talent of mimicry and humour into the
present current tone of the company, than that he should be required to
give this, that, and t'other _bit_ selected from his public recitations.
They are good certainly--excellent; but then you _must_ laugh, and that
is always severe to me. When I do laugh in sincerity, the joke must be
or seem unpremeditated. I could not help thinking, in the midst of the
glee, what gloom had lately been over the minds of three of the company,
Cadell, J.B., and the Journalist. What a strange scene if the surge of
conversation could suddenly ebb like the tide, and [show] us the state
of people's real minds! Savary[87] might have been gay in such a party
with all his forgeries in his heart.

    "No eyes the rooks discover
    Which lurk beneath the deep."[88]

Life could not be endured were it seen in reality.

Things are mending in town, and H[urst] and R[obinson] write with
confidence, and are, it would seem, strongly supported by wealthy
friends. Cadell and Constable are confident of their making their way
through the storm, and the impression of their stability is general in
London. I hear the same from Lockhart. Indeed, I now believe that they
wrote gloomy letters to Constable, chiefly to get as much money out of
them as they possibly could. But they had well-nigh overdone it. This
being Teind Wednesday must be a day of leisure and labour. Sophia has
got a house, 25 Pall Mall. Dined at home with Lady Scott and Anne.

_December_ 22.--I wrote six of my close pages yesterday, which is about
twenty-four pages in print. What is more, I think it comes off
twangingly. The story is so very interesting in itself, that there is no
fear of the book answering.[89] Superficial it must be, but I do not
disown the charge. Better a superficial book, which brings well and
strikingly together the known and acknowledged facts, than a dull boring
narrative, pausing to see further into a mill-stone at every moment than
the nature of the mill-stone admits. Nothing is so tiresome as walking
through some beautiful scene with a _minute philosopher_, a botanist, or
pebble-gatherer, who is eternally calling your attention from the grand
features of the natural scenery to look at grasses and chucky-stones.
Yet, in their way, they give useful information; and so does the minute
historian. Gad, I think that will look well in the preface. My bile is
quite gone. I really believe it arose from mere anxiety. What a
wonderful connection between the mind and body!

The air of "Bonnie Dundee" running in my head to-day, I [wrote] a few
verses to it before dinner, taking the key-note from the story of
Clavers leaving the Scottish Convention of Estates in 1688-9.[90] I
wonder if they are good. Ah! poor Will Erskine![91] thou couldst and
wouldst have told me. I must consult J.B., who is as honest as was W.E.
But then, though he has good taste too, there is a little of Big Bow-wow
about it. Can't say what made me take a frisk so uncommon of late years,
as to write verses of freewill. I suppose the same impulse which makes
birds sing when the storm seems blown over.

Dined at Lord Minto's. There were Lord and Lady Ruthven, Will Clerk, and
Thomas Thomson,--a right choice party. There was also my very old friend
Mrs. Brydone, the relict of the traveller,[92] and daughter of Principal
Robertson, and really worthy of such a connection--Lady Minto, who is
also peculiarly agreeable--and her sister, Mrs. Admiral Adam, in the
evening.

_December_ 23.--The present Lord Minto is a very agreeable,
well-informed, and sensible man, but he possesses neither the high
breeding, ease of manner, nor eloquence of his father, the first Earl.
That Sir Gilbert was indeed a man among a thousand. I knew him very
intimately in the beginning of the century, and, which was very
agreeable, was much at his house on very easy terms. He loved the Muses,
and worshipped them in secret, and used to read some of his poetry,
which was but middling.

Tom Campbell lived at Minto, but it was in a state of dependence which
he brooked very ill. He was kindly treated, but would not see it in the
right view, and suspected slights, and so on, where no such thing was
meant. There was a turn of Savage about Tom though without his
blackguardism--a kind of waywardness of mind and irritability that must
have made a man of his genius truly unhappy. Lord Minto, with the
mildest manners, was very tenacious of his opinions, although he changed
them twice in the crisis of politics. He was the early friend of Fox,
and made a figure towards the end of the American war, or during the
struggles betwixt Fox and Pitt. Then came the Revolution, and he joined
the Anti-Gallican party so keenly, that he declared against Addington's
peace with France, and was for a time, I believe, a Wyndhamite. He was
reconciled to the Whigs on the Fox and Grenville coalition; but I have
heard that Fox, contrary to his wont, retained such personal feelings as
made him object to Sir Gilbert Elliot's having a seat in the Cabinet; so
he was sent as Governor-General to India--a better thing, I take it, for
his fortune. He died shortly after his return,[93] at Hatfield or
Barnet, on his way down to his native country. He was a most pleasing
and amiable man. I was very sorry for his death, though I do not know
how we should have met, for the contested election in 1805 [in
Roxburghshire] had placed some coldness betwixt the present Lord and me.
I was certainly anxious for Sir Alexander Don, both as friend of my most
kind friend Charles, Duke of Buccleuch, and on political accounts; and
those thwartings are what men in public life do not like to endure.
After a cessation of friendship for some years, we have come about
again. We never had the slightest personal dispute or disagreement. But
politics are the blowpipe beneath whose influence the best cemented
friendships too often dissever; and ours, after all, was only a very
familiar acquaintance.

It is very odd that the common people at Minto and the neighbourhood
will not believe to this hour that the first Earl is dead. They think he
had done something in India which he could not answer for--that the
house was rebuilt on a scale unusually large to give him a suite of
secret apartments, and that he often walks about the woods and crags of
Minto at night, with a white nightcap, and long white beard. The
circumstance of his having died on the road down to Scotland is the sole
foundation of this absurd legend, which shows how willing the vulgar are
to gull themselves when they can find no one else to take the trouble. I
have seen people who could read, write, and cipher, shrug their
shoulders and look mysterious when this subject was mentioned. One very
absurd addition was made on occasion of a great ball at Minto House,
which it was said was given to draw all people away from the grounds,
that the concealed Earl might have leisure for his exercise. This was on
the principle in the German play,[94] where, to hide their conspiracy,
the associates join in a chorus song.

We dined at home; Mr. Davidoff and his tutor kept an engagement with us
to dinner notwithstanding the death of the Emperor Alexander. They went
to the play with the womankind; I stayed at home to write.

_December_ 24.--Wrote Walter and Jane, and gave the former an account of
how things had been in the money market, and the loan of £10,000.
Constable has a scheme of publishing the works of the Author of
W[averley] in a superior style, at £1, 1s. volume. He says he will
answer for making £20,000 of this, and liberally offered me any share of
the profit. I have no great claim to any, as I have only to contribute
the notes, which are light work; yet a few thousands coming in will be a
good thing--besides the P[rinting] Office. Constable, though
valetudinary, and cross with his partner, is certainly as good a pilot
in these rough seas as ever man put faith in. His rally has put me in
mind of the old song:--

    "The tailor raise and shook his duds,
    He gar'd the BILLS flee aff in cluds,
    And they that stayed gat fearfu' thuds--
    The tailor proved a man, O."[95]

We are for Abbotsford to-day, with a light heart.

_Abbotsford, December_ 25.--Arrived here last night at seven. Our halls
are silent compared to last year, but let us be thankful--when we think
how near the chance appeared but a week since that these halls would
have been ours no longer. _Barbarus has segetes? Nullum numen abest, si
sit prudentia_. There shall be no lack of wisdom. But come--_il faut
cultiver notre jardin_.[96] Let us see: I will write out the "Bonnets of
Bonnie Dundee"; I will sketch a preface to _La Rochejacquelin_ for
_Constable's Miscellany,_ and try about a specimen of notes for the
W[averley Novels]. Together with letters and by-business, it will be a
good day's work.

    "I make a vow,
    And keep it true."

I will accept no invitation for dinner, save one to Newton-Don, and
Mertoun to-morrow, instead of Christmas Day. On this day of general
devotion I have a particular call for gratitude!!

       *       *       *       *       *

My God! what poor creatures we are! After all my fair proposals
yesterday, I was seized with a most violent pain in the right kidney and
parts adjacent, which, joined to deadly sickness which it brought on,
forced me instantly to go to bed and send for Clarkson.[97] He came and
inquired, pronouncing the complaint to be gravel augmented by bile. I
was in great agony till about two o'clock, but awoke with the pain gone.
I got up, had a fire in my dressing-closet, and had Dalgleish to shave
me--two trifles, which I only mention, because they are contrary to my
hardy and independent personal habits. But although a man cannot be a
hero to his valet, his valet in sickness becomes of great use to him. I
cannot expect that this first will be the last visit of this cruel
complaint; but shall we receive good at the hand of God, and not receive
evil?

_December 27th_.--Slept twelve hours at a stretch, being much exhausted.
Totally without pain to-day, but uncomfortable from the effects of
calomel, which, with me at least, is like the assistance of an auxiliary
army, just one degree more tolerable than the enemy it chases away.
Calomel contemplations are not worth recording. I wrote an introduction
and a few notes to the _Memoirs of Madame La Rochejacquelin_,[98] being
all that I was equal to.

Sir Adam Ferguson came over and tried to marry my verses to the tune of
"Bonnie Dundee." They seem well adapted to each other. Dined with Lady
Scott and Anne.

Worked at Pepys in the evening, with the purpose of review for
Lockhart.[99] Notwithstanding the depressing effects of the calomel, I
feel the pleasure of being alone and uninterrupted. Few men, leading a
quiet life, and without any strong or highly varied change of
circumstances, have seen more variety of society than I--few have
enjoyed it more, or been _bored_, as it is called, less by the company
of tiresome people. I have rarely, if ever, found any one, out of whom I
could not extract amusement or edification; and were I obliged to
account for hints afforded on such occasions, I should make an ample
deduction from my inventive powers. Still, however, from the earliest
time I can remember, I preferred the pleasure of being alone to waiting
for visitors, and have often taken a bannock and a bit of cheese to the
wood or hill, to avoid dining with company. As I grew from boyhood to
manhood I saw this would not do; and that to gain a place in men's
esteem I must mix and bustle with them. Pride and an excitation of
spirits supplied the real pleasure which others seem to feel in society,
and certainly upon many occasions it was real. Still, if the question
was, eternal company, without the power of retiring within yourself, or
solitary confinement for life, I should say, "Turnkey, lock the cell!"
My life, though not without its fits of waking and strong exertion, has
been a sort of dream, spent in

    "Chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy."[100]

I have worn a wishing-cap, the power of which has been to divert present
griefs by a touch of the wand of imagination, and gild over the future
prospect by prospects more fair than can ever be realised. Somewhere it
is said that this castle-building--this wielding of the aërial
trowel--is fatal to exertions in actual life. I cannot tell, I have not
found it so. I cannot, indeed, say like Madame Genlis, that in the
imaginary scenes in which I have acted a part I ever prepared myself for
anything which actually befell me; but I have certainly fashioned out
much that made the present hour pass pleasantly away, and much that has
enabled me to contribute to the amusement of the public. Since I was
five years old I cannot remember the time when I had not some ideal part
to play for my own solitary amusement.

_December_ 28.--Somehow I think the attack on Christmas Day has been of
a critical kind, and, having gone off so well, may be productive rather
of health than continued indisposition. If one is to get a renewal of
health in his fifty-fourth year, he must look to pay fine for it. Last
night George Thomson[101] came to see how I was, poor fellow. He has
talent, is well informed, and has an excellent heart; but there is an
eccentricity about him that defies description. I wish to God I saw him
provided in a country kirk. That, with a rational wife--that is, if
there is such a thing to be gotten for him,--would, I think, bring him
to a steady temper. At present he is between the tyning and the winning.
If I could get him to set to any hard study, he would do something
clever.

_How to make a critic_.--A sly rogue, sheltering himself under the
generic name of Mr. Campbell, requested of me, through the penny-post,
the loan of £50 for two years, having an impulse, as he said, to make
this demand. As I felt no corresponding impulse, I begged to decline a
demand which might have been as reasonably made by any Campbell on
earth; and another impulse has determined the man of fifty pounds to
send me anonymous abuse of my works and temper and selfish disposition.
The severity of the joke lies in 14d. for postage, to avoid which his
next epistle shall go back to the clerks of the Post Office, as not for
S.W.S. How the severe rogue would be disappointed, if he knew I never
looked at more than the first and last lines of his satirical effusion!

When I first saw that a literary profession was to be my fate, I
endeavoured by all efforts of stoicism to divest myself of that
irritable degree of sensibility--or, to speak plainly, of vanity--which
makes the poetical race miserable and ridiculous. The anxiety of a poet
for praise and for compliments I have always endeavoured [to keep down].


_December_ 29.--Base feelings this same calomel gives one--mean, poor,
and abject--a wretch, as Will Rose says:--

    "Fie, fie, on silly coward man,
    That he should be the slave o't."[102]

Then it makes one "wofully dogged and snappish," as Dr. Rutty, the
Quaker, says in his _Gurnal._[103]

Sent Lockhart four pages on Sheridan's plays; not very good, I think,
but the demand came sudden. Must go to W----k![104] yet am vexed by that
humour of contradiction which makes me incline to do anything else in
preference. Commenced preface for new edition of my Novels. The city of
Cork send my freedom in a silver box. I thought I was out of their grace
for going to see Blarney rather than the Cove, for which I was attacked
and defended in the papers when in Ireland. I am sure they are so civil
that I would have gone wherever they wished me to go if I had had any
one to have told me what I ought to be most inquisitive about.

    "For if I should as lion come in strife
    Into such place, 't were pity of my life."[105]

_December_ 30.--Spent at home and in labour--with the weight of
unpleasant news from Edinburgh. J.B. is like to be pinched next week
unless the loan can be brought forward. I must and have endeavoured to
supply him. At present the result of my attempts is uncertain. I am even
more anxious about C[onstable] & Co., unless they can get assistance
from their London friends to whom they gave much. All is in God's hands.
The worst can only be what I have before anticipated. But I must, I
think, renounce the cigars. They brought back (using two this evening)
the irritation of which I had no feelings while abstaining from them.
Dined alone with Gordon,[106] Lady S., and Anne. James Curle, Melrose,
has handsomely lent me £600; he has done kindly. I have served him
before and will again if in my power.

_December 31_.--Took a good sharp walk the first time since my illness,
and found myself the better in health and spirits. Being Hogmanay, there
dined with us Colonel Russell and his sisters, Sir Adam Ferguson and
Lady, Colonel Ferguson, with Mary and Margaret; an auld-warld party, who
made themselves happy in the auld fashion. I felt so tired about eleven
that I was forced to steal to bed.

FOOTNOTES:

[52] See _ante_, p. 12. Mr. James Ballantyne and Mr. Cadell concurred
with Mr. Constable and Sir Walter in the propriety of assisting
Robinson.

[53] Robert Pierce Gillies, once proprietor of a good estate in
Kincardineshire, and member of the Scotch Bar. It is pleasant to find
Mr. Gillies expressing his gratitude for what Sir Walter had done for
him more than twenty-five years after this paragraph was written. "He
was," says R.P.G., "not only among the earliest but most persevering of
my friends--persevering in spite of my waywardness."--_Memoirs of a
Literary Veteran_, including Sketches and Anecdotes of the most
distinguished Literary Characters from 1794 to 1849 (3 vols., London,
1851), vol. i. p. 321. Mr. Gillies died in 1861.

[54] Mr. Gillies was, however, warmly welcomed by another publisher in
Edinburgh, who paid him £100 for his bulky MSS., and issued the book in
1825 under the title of _The Magic Ring_, 3 vols. Its failure with the
public prevented a repetition of the experiment!

[55] _King Richard III._, Act III. Sc. 7.--J.G.L.

[56] Of the many Edinburgh suppers of this period, commemorated by Lord
Cockburn, not the least pleasant were the friendly gatherings in 30
Abercromby Place, the town house of Dr. James Russell, Professor of
Clinical Surgery. They were given fortnightly after the meetings of the
Royal Society during the Session, and are occasionally mentioned in the
Journal. Dr. Russell died in 1836.

[57] Mr. Mackenzie had been consulting Sir Walter about collecting his
own juvenile poetry.--J.G.L. Though the venerable author of _The Man of
Feeling_ did not die till 1831, he does not appear to have carried out
his intention.

[58] Every alternate Wednesday during the Winter and Summer sessions,
the Lords Commissioners of Teinds (Tithes), consisting of a certain
number of the judges, held a "Teind Court"--for hearing cases relating
to the secular affairs of the Church of Scotland. As the Teind Court has
a separate establishment of clerks and officers, Sir Walter was freed
from duty at the Parliament House on these days. The Court now sits on
alternate Mondays only.

[59] Mr. Lockhart suggests Lords Hermand and Succoth, the former living
at 124 George Street, and the latter at 1 Park Place.

[60] William Knox died 12th November. He had published _Songs of
Israel_, 1824, _A Visit to Dublin_, 1824, _The Harp of Zion_, 1825,
etc., besides _The Lonely Hearth_. His publisher (Mr. Anderson, junior,
of Edinburgh) remembers that Sir Walter occasionally wrote to Knox and
sent him money--£10 at a time.--J.G.L.

[61] In Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_.

[62] Providence was kinder to the venerable lady than the Government, as
at this juncture a handsome legacy came to her from an unexpected
quarter. _Memoir and Correspondence_, Lond. 1845, vol. iii. p. 71.

[63] _Measure for Measure_, Act iv. Sc. 3.--J.G.L.

[64] Burns's _Dedication to Gavin Hamilton_.--J.G.L.

[65] _Don Quixote_, Pt. II. ch. 23.

[66] _Spectator_, No. 159.--J.G.L.

[67] Sir William Allan, President of the Royal Scottish Academy from
1838: he died at Edinburgh in 1850.

[68] _Beaumont and Fletcher_, 8vo, Lond. 1788, vol. v. pp.
410-413,419-426.

[69] For notices of David Thomson, see _Life_, October 1822, and T.
Craig Brown's _History of Selkirkshire_, 2 vols. 4to, Edin. 1886, vol.
i. pp. 505, 507, and 519.

[70] Burns's _Address to the Unco Guid_.--J.G.L.

[71] Banamhorar-Chat, _i.e._ the Great Lady of the Cat, is the Gaelic
title of the Countess-Duchess of Sutherland. The county of Sutherland
itself is in that dialect _Cattey_, and in the English name of the
neighbouring one, _Caithness_, we have another trace of the early
settlement of the _Clan Chattan_, whose chiefs bear the cognisance of a
Wild Cat. The Duchess-Countess died in 1838.--J.G.L.

[72] See 1 _King Henry IV_., Act II. Sc. 1.

[73] John Hope, Esq., was at this time Solicitor-General for Scotland,
afterwards Lord Justice-Clerk from 1841 until his death in 1858.

[74] Henry Dundas, the first Viscount Melville, first appeared in
Parliament as Lord Advocate of Scotland.--J.G.L.

[75] Robert Sym Wilson, Esq., W.S., Secretary to the Royal Bank of
Scotland.--J.G.L.

[76] The Right Hon. Sir Samuel Shepherd, who had been at the head of the
Court of Exchequer since 1819, was then living at 16 Coates Crescent; he
retired in 1830, and resided afterwards in England, where he died, aged
80, on the 30th November 1840. Before coming to Scotland, Sir Samuel had
been Solicitor-General in 1814, and Attorney-General in 1817.

[77] See _Nice Valour_, by John Fletcher; Beaumont and Fletcher's
_Works_.

[78] From Charles Dibdin's song, _The Racehorse_.

[79] Sir Samuel Shepherd.

[80] The Right Hon. Charles Hope, who held the office of Lord President
of the Court of Session for thirty years; he died in 1851 aged
eighty-nine.

[81] Afterwards Sir James Yorke Scarlett, G.C.B.

[82] Sir James Scarlett, first Lord Abinger.

[83] The Dedication of _Constable's Miscellany_ was penned by Sir
Walter--"To His Majesty King George IV., the most generous Patron even
of the most humble attempts towards the advantage of his subjects, this
_Miscellany_, designed to extend useful knowledge and elegant
literature, by placing works of standard merit within the attainment of
every class of readers, is most humbly inscribed by His Majesty's
dutiful and devoted subject--Archibald Constable."--J.G.L.

[84] Probably a slip of the pen for "weeks," as Mathews was in London in
March (1822), and we know that he dined with Scott in Castle Street on
the 10th of February. _Memoirs_, vol. iii. p. 262. Mr. Lockhart says,
"within a week," and at p. 33 vol. vii. gives an account of a dinner
party. Writing so many years after the event he may have mistaken the
date. James Boswell died in London 24th February 1822; his brother, Sir
Alexander, was at the funeral, and did not return to Edinburgh till
Saturday 23d March. James Stuart of Dunearn challenged him on Monday;
they fought on Tuesday, and Boswell died on the following day, March 27.
Mr. Lockhart says that "several circumstances of Sir Alexander's death
are exactly reproduced in the duel scene in _St. Ronan's Well_."

[85] In a letter to Skene written late in 1821, Scott, in expressing his
regret at not being able to meet Boswell, adds, "I hope J. Boz comes to
make some stay, but I shall scarce forgive him for not coming at the
fine season." The brothers Boswell had been Mr. Skene's schoolfellows
and intimate friends; and he had lived much with them both in England
and Scotland.

Mr. Skene says, in a note to Letter 28, that "they were men of
remarkable talents, and James of great learning, both evincing a dash of
their father's eccentricity, but joined to greater talent. Sir Walter
took great pleasure in their society, but James being resident in
London, the opportunity of enjoying his company had of late been rare.
Upon the present occasion he had dined with me in the greatest health
and spirits the evening before his departure for London, and in a week
we had accounts of his having been seized by a sudden illness which
carried him off. In a few weeks more his brother, Sir Alexander, was
killed in a duel occasioned by a foolish political lampoon which he had
written, and in a thoughtless manner suffered to find its way to a
newspaper."--_Reminiscences_.

[86] See _Life_, vol. v. p. 87.

[87] Henry Savary, son of a banker in Bristol, had been tried for
forgery a few months before.

[88] From _What d'ye call it?_ by John Gay.

[89] _Life of Napoleon_.--J.G.L.

[90] See Scott's _Poetical Works_, vol. xii. pp. 194-97.--J.G.L.

[91] William Erskine of Kinnedder was Scott's senior by two years at the
bar, having passed Advocate in 1790. He became Sheriff of Orkney in
1809, and took his seat on the Bench as Lord Kinnedder, 29 January 1822;
he died on the 14th of August following. Scott and he met first in 1792,
and, as is well known, he afterwards "became the nearest and most
confidential of all his Edinburgh associates." In 1796 he arranged with
the publishers for Scott's earliest literary venture, a thin 4to of some
48 pages entitled _The Chase_, etc. See _Life_ throughout, more
particularly vol. i. pp. 279-80, 333-4, 338-9; ii. pp. 103-4; iv. pp.
12, 166, 369; v. p. 174; vi. p. 393; vii. pp. 1, 5, 6, 70-74. See
Appendix for Mr. Skene's account of the destruction of the letters from
Scott to Erskine.

[92] Patrick Brydone, author of _A Tour through Sicily and Malta_, 2
vols. 8vo, 1773.

[93] Gilbert, Earl of Minto, died in June 1814.--J.G.L.

[94] See Canning's _German Play_, in the _Anti-Jacobin_.--J.G.L.

[95] See Johnson's _Musical Museum_, No. 490, slightly altered.

[96] See _Candide_.--J.G.L.

[97] James Clarkson, Esq., surgeon, Melrose, son to Scott's old friend,
Dr. Clarkson of Selkirk.--J.G.L.

[98] See _Constable's Miscellany_, vol. v.--J.G.L.

[99] See the _Quarterly Review_ for January 1820--or Scott's
_Miscellaneous Prose Works_.--J.G.L.

[100] _As You Like it_, Act IV. Sc. 3.--J.G.L.

[101] Formerly tutor at Abbotsford. Mr. Lockhart says: "I observe, as
the sheet is passing through the press, the death of the Rev. George
Thomson--the happy 'Dominie Thomson' of the happy days of Abbotsford: he
died at Edinburgh on the 8th of January 1838."

[102] Burns's "O poortith cauld and restless love."

[103] John Rutty, M.D., a physician of some eminence in Dublin, died in
1775, and his executors published his very curious and absurd "Spiritual
Diary and Soliloquies." Boswell describes Johnson as being much amused
with the Quaker doctor's minute confessions. See the Life of Johnson
_sub anno_ 1777.--J.G.L.

[104] _Woodstock_--contracted for in 1823.

[105] _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act III. Sc. 1.

[106] George Huntly Gordon, amanuensis to Scott.




1826




1826.--JANUARY.


_January_ 1.--A year has passed--another has commenced. These solemn
divisions of time influence our feelings as they recur. Yet there is
nothing in it; for every day in the year closes a twelvemonth as well as
the 31st December. The latter is only the solemn pause, as when a guide,
showing a wild and mountainous road, calls on a party to pause and look
back at the scenes which they have just passed. To me this new year
opens sadly. There are these troublesome pecuniary difficulties, which
however, I think, this week should end. There is the absence of all my
children, Anne excepted, from our little family festival. There is,
besides, that ugly report of the 15th Hussars going to India. Walter, I
suppose, will have some step in view, and will go, and I fear Jane will
not dissuade him.

A hard, frosty day--cold, but dry and pleasant under foot. Walked into
the plantations with Anne and Anne Russell. A thought strikes me,
alluding to this period of the year. People say that the whole human
frame in all its parts and divisions is gradually in the act of decaying
and renewing. What a curious timepiece it would be that could indicate
to us the moment this gradual and insensible change had so completely
taken place, that no atom was left of the original person who had
existed at a certain period, but there existed in his stead another
person having the same limbs, thews, and sinews, the same face and
lineaments, the same consciousness--a new ship built on an old plank--a
pair of transmigrated stockings, like those of Sir John Cutler,[107]
all green silk, without one thread of the original black silk left!
Singular--to be at once another and the same.

_January_ 2.--Weather clearing up in Edinburgh once more, and all will,
I believe, do well. I am pressed to get on with _Woodstock_, and must
try. I wish I could open a good vein of interest which would breathe
freely. I must take my old way, and write myself into good-humour with
my task. It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back, and
aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these
cold sinkings of the heart. All men I suppose do, less or more. They are
like the sensation of a sailor when the ship is cleared for action, and
all are at their places--gloomy enough; but the first broadside puts all
to rights. Dined at Huntly Burn with the Fergusons _en masse_.

_January_ 3.--Promises a fair day, and I think the progress of my
labours will afford me a little exercise, which I greatly need to help
off the calomel feeling. Walked with Colonel Russell from eleven till
two--the first good day's exercise I have had since coming here. We went
through all the Terrace, the Roman Planting,[108] over by the Stiel and
Haxellcleuch, and so by the Rhymer's Glen to Chiefswood,[109] which gave
my heart a twinge, so disconsolate it seemed. Yet all is for the best.
Called at Huntly Burn, and shook hands with Sir Adam and his Lady just
going off. When I returned, signed the bond for £10,000, which will
disencumber me of all pressing claims;[110] when I get forward W----k
and Nap. there will be £12,000 and upwards, and I hope to add £3000
against this time next year, or the devil must hold the dice. J.B.
writes me seriously on the carelessness of my style. I do not think I am
more careless than usual; but I dare say he is right. I will be more
cautious.

_January_ 4.--Despatched the deed yesterday executed. Mr. and Mrs.
Skene, my excellent friends, came to us from Edinburgh. Skene,
distinguished for his attainments as a draughtsman, and for his highly
gentlemanlike feelings and character, is Laird of Rubislaw, near
Aberdeen. Having had an elder brother, his education was somewhat
neglected in early life, against which disadvantage he made a most
gallant [fight], exerting himself much to obtain those accomplishments
which he has since possessed. Admirable in all exercises, there entered
a good deal of the cavalier into his early character. Of late he has
given himself much to the study of antiquities. His wife, a most
excellent person, was tenderly fond of Sophia. They bring so much
old-fashioned kindness and good-humour with them, besides the
recollections of other times, that they must be always welcome guests.
Letter from Mr. Scrope,[111] announcing a visit.

_January_ 5.--Got the desired accommodation with Coutts, which will put
J.B. quite straight, but am a little anxious still about Constable. He
has immense stock, to be sure, and most valuable, but he may have
sacrifices to make to convert a large proportion of it into ready money.
The accounts from London are most disastrous. Many wealthy persons
totally ruined, and many, many more have been obliged to purchase their
safety at a price they will feel all their lives. I do not hear things
are so bad in Edinburgh; and J.B.'s business has been transacted by the
banks with liberality.

Colonel Russell told us last night that the last of the Moguls, a
descendant of Kubla-Khan, though having no more power than his effigies
at the back of a set of playing-cards, refused to meet Lord Hastings,
because the Governor-General would not agree to remain standing in his
presence. Pretty well for the blood of Timur in these degenerate days!

Much alarmed. I had walked till twelve with Skene and Col. Russell, and
then sat down to my work. To my horror and surprise I could neither
write nor spell, but put down one word for another, and wrote nonsense.
I was much overpowered at the same time, and could not conceive the
reason. I fell asleep, however, in my chair, and slept for two hours. On
waking my head was clearer, and I began to recollect that last night I
had taken the anodyne left for the purpose by Clarkson, and being
disturbed in the course of the night, I had not slept it off.

Obliged to give up writing to-day--read Pepys instead. The Scotts of
Harden were to have dined, but sent an apology,--storm coming on.
Russells left us this morning to go to Haining.

_January 6_.--This seems to be a feeding storm, coming on by little and
little. Wrought all day, and dined quiet. My disorder is wearing off,
and the quiet society of the Skenes suits with my present humour. I
really thought I was in for some very bad illness. Curious expression of
an Indian-born boy just come from Bengal, a son of my cousin George
Swinton. The child saw a hare run across the fields, and exclaimed,
"See, there is a little tiger!"

_January_ 7, _Sunday_.--Knight, a young artist, son of the performer,
came to paint my picture at the request of Terry. This is very far from
being agreeable, as I submitted to this distressing state of constraint
last year to Newton, at request of Lockhart; to Leslie at request of my
American friend;[112] to Wilkie, for his picture of the King's arrival
at Holyrood House; and some one besides. I am as tired of the operation
as old Maida, who had been so often sketched that he got up and went
away with signs of loathing whenever he saw an artist unfurl his paper
and handle his brushes. But this young man is civil and modest; and I
have agreed he shall sit in the room while I work, and take the best
likeness he can, without compelling me into fixed attitudes or the
yawning fatigues of an actual sitting. I think, if he has talent, he may
do more my way than in the customary mode; at least I can't have the
hang-dog look which the unfortunate Theseus has who is doomed to sit for
what seems an eternity.[113]

I wrought till two o'clock--indeed till I was almost nervous with
correcting and scribbling. I then walked, or rather was dragged, through
the snow by Tom Purdie, while Skene accompanied. What a blessing there
is in a man like Tom, whom no familiarity can spoil, whom you may scold
and praise and joke with, knowing the quality of the man is unalterable
in his love and reverence to his master. Use an ordinary servant in the
same way and he will be your master in a month. We should thank God for
the snow as well as summer flowers. This brushing exercise has put all
my nerves into tone again, which were really jarred with fatigue until
my very backbone seemed breaking. This comes of trying to do too much.
J.B.'s news are as good as possible.--Prudence, prudence, and all will
do excellently.

_January_ 8.--Frost and snow still. Write to excuse myself from
attending the funeral of my aunt, Mrs. Curle, which takes place
to-morrow at Kelso. She was a woman of the old Sandy-Knowe breed, with
the strong sense, high principle, and indifferent temper which belonged
to my father's family. She lived with great credit on a moderate income,
and, I believe, gave away a great deal of it.[114]

_January_ 9.--Mathews the comedian and his son came to spend a day at
Abbotsford. The last is a clever young man, with much of his father's
talent for mimicry. Rather forward though.[115] Mr. Scrope also came
out, which fills our house.

_January_ 10.--Bodily health, the mainspring of the microcosm, seems
quite restored. No more flinching or nervous fits, but the sound mind in
the sound body. What poor things does a fever-fit or an overflowing of
the bile make of the masters of creation!

The snow begins to fall thick this morning--

    "The landlord then aloud did say,
    As how he wished they would go away."

To have our friends shut up here would be rather too much of a good
thing.

The day cleared up and was very pleasant. Had a good walk and looked at
the curling. Mr. Mathews made himself very amusing in the evening. He
has the good-nature to show his accomplishments without pressing, and
without the appearance of feeling pain. On the contrary, I dare say he
enjoys the pleasure he communicates.

_January_ 11.--I got proof-sheets, in which it seems I have repeated a
whole passage of history which had been told before. James is in an
awful stew, and I cannot blame him; but then he should consider the
_hyoscyamus_ which I was taking, and the anxious botheration about the
money-market. However, as Chaucer says:--

    "There is na workeman
    That can bothe worken wel and hastilie;
    This must be done at leisure parfitly."[116]

_January_ 12.--Mathews last night gave us a very perfect imitation of
old Cumberland, who carried the poetic jealousy and irritability further
than any man I ever saw. He was a great flatterer too, the old rogue.
Will Erskine used to admire him. I think he wanted originality. A very
high-bred man in point of manners in society.

My little artist, Knight, gets on better with his portrait--the features
are, however, too pinched, I think.

Upon the whole, the days pass pleasantly enough--work till one or two,
then an hour or two's walk in the snow, then lighter work, or reading.
Late dinner, and singing or chat in the evening. Mathews has really all
the will, as well as the talent, to be amusing. He confirms my idea of
ventriloquism (which is an absurd word), as being merely the art of
imitating sounds at a greater or less distance, assisted by some little
points of trick to influence the imagination of the audience--the vulgar
idea of a peculiar organisation (beyond fineness of ear and of
utterance) is nonsense.

_January_ 13.--Our party are about to disperse--

    "Like youthful steers unyoked, east, north, and south."[117]

I am not sorry, being one of those whom too much mirth always inclines
to sadness. The missing so many of my own family, together with the
serious inconveniences to which I have been exposed, gave me at present
a desire to be alone. The Skenes return to Edinburgh, so does Mr.
Scrope--_item_, the little artist; Mathews to Newcastle; his son to
Liverpool. So _exeunt omnes._[118]

Mathews assures me that Sheridan was generally very dull in society, and
sate sullen and silent, swallowing glass after glass, rather a hindrance
than a help. But there was a time when he broke out with a resumption of
what had been going on, done with great force, and generally attacking
some person in the company, or some opinion which he had expressed. I
never saw Sheridan but in large parties. He had a Bardolph countenance,
with heavy features, but his eye possessed the most distinguished
brilliancy. Mathews says it is very simple in Tom Moore to admire how
Sheridan came by the means of paying the price of Drury Lane Theatre,
when all the world knows he never paid it at all; and that Lacy, who
sold it, was reduced to want by his breach of faith.[119] Dined quiet
with Anne, Lady Scott, and Gordon.

_January_ 14.--An odd mysterious letter from Constable, who is gone post
to London, to put something to rights which is wrong betwixt them, their
banker, and another moneyed friend. It strikes me to be that sort of
letter which I have seen men write when they are desirous that their
disagreeable intelligence should be rather apprehended than avowed. I
thought he had been in London a fortnight ago, disposing of property to
meet this exigence, and so I think he should. Well, I must have
patience. But these terrors and frights are truly annoying. Luckily the
funny people are gone, and I shall not have the task of grinning when I
am serious enough. Dined as yesterday.

A letter from J.B. mentioning Constable's journey, but without
expressing much, if any, apprehension. He knows C. well, and saw him
before his departure, and makes no doubt of his being able easily to
extricate whatever may be entangled. I will not, therefore, make myself
uneasy. I can help doing so surely, if I will. At least, I have given up
cigars since the year began, and have now no wish to return to the
habit, as it is called. I see no reason why one should not be able to
vanquish, with God's assistance, these noxious thoughts which foretell
evil but cannot remedy it.

_January_ 15.--Like yesterday, a hard frost. Thermometer at 10; water in
my dressing-room frozen to flint; yet I had a fine walk yesterday, the
sun dancing delightfully on "grim Nature's visage hoar."[120] Were it
not the plague of being dragged along by another person, I should like
such weather as well as summer; but having Tom Purdie to do this office
reconciles me to it. _I cannot cleik with John_, as old Mrs. Mure [of
Caldwell] used to say. I mean, that an ordinary menial servant thus
hooked to your side reminds me of the twin bodies mentioned by
Pitscottie, being two trunks on the same waist and legs. One died before
the other, and remained a dead burden on the back of its companion.[121]
Such is close union with a person whom you cannot well converse with,
and whose presence is yet indispensable to your getting on. An actual
companion, whether humble or your equal, is still worse. But Tom Purdie
is just the thing, kneaded up between the friend and servant, as well as
Uncle Toby's bowling-green between sand and clay. You are certain he is
proud as well as patient under his burthen, and you are under no more
constraint than with a pony. I must ride him to-day if the weather holds
up. Meantime I will correct that curious fellow Pepys' Diary,--I mean
the article I have made of it for the _Quarterly_.

_Edinburgh, January_ 16.--Came through cold roads to as cold news. Hurst
and Robinson have suffered a bill of £1000 to come back upon Constable,
which I suppose infers the ruin of both houses. We shall soon see.
Constable, it seems, who was to have set off in the last week of
December, dawdled here till in all human probability his going or
staying became a matter of mighty little consequence. He could not be
there till Monday night, and his resources must have come too late.
Dined with the Skenes.[122]

_January_ 17.--James Ballantyne this morning--good honest fellow, with a
visage as black as the crook.[123] He hopes no salvation; has indeed
taken measures to stop. It is hard, after having fought such a battle.
Have apologised for not attending the Royal Society Club, who have a
_gaudeamus_ on this day, and seemed to count much on my being the
preses.

My old acquaintance, Miss Elizabeth Clerk, sister of Willie, died
suddenly. I cannot choose but wish it had been S.W.S., and yet the
feeling is unmanly. I have Anne, my wife, and Charles to look after. I
felt rather sneaking as I came home from the Parliament House--felt as
if I were liable _monstrari digito_ in no very pleasant way. But this
must be borne _cum caeteris_; and, thank God, however uncomfortable, I
do not feel despondent.

I have seen Cadell, Ballantyne, and Hogarth. All advise me to execute a
trust of my property for payment of my obligations. So does John
Gibson,[124] and so I resolve to do. My wife and daughter are gloomy,
but yet patient. I trust by my hold on the works to make it every man's
interest to be very gentle with me. Cadell makes it plain that by
prudence they will, in six months, realise £20,000, which can be
attainable by no effort of their own.

_January_ 18.--He that sleeps too long in the morning, let him borrow
the pillow of a debtor. So says the Spaniard, and so say I. I had of
course an indifferent night of it. I wish these two days were over; but
the worst _is_ over. The Bank of Scotland has behaved very well;
expressing a resolution to serve Constable's house and me to the
uttermost; but as no one can say to what extent Hurst and Robinson's
failure may go, borrowing would but linger it out.

_January_ 19.--During yesterday I received formal visits from my
friends, Skene and Colin Mackenzie (who, I am glad to see, looks well),
with every offer of service. The Royal Bank also sent Sir John Hope and
Sir Henry Jardine[125] to offer to comply with my wishes. The Advocate
came on the same errand. But I gave all the same answer--that my
intention was to put the whole into the hands of a trustee, and to be
contented with the event, and that all I had to ask was time to do so,
and to extricate my affairs. I was assured of every accommodation in
this way. From all quarters I have had the same kindness. Letters from
Constable and Robinson have arrived. The last persist in saying they
will pay all and everybody. They say, moreover, in a postscript, that
had Constable been in town ten days sooner, all would have been well.
When I saw him on 24th December, he proposed starting in three days, but
dallied, God knows why, in a kind of infatuation, I think, till things
had got irretrievably wrong. There would have been no want of support
then, and his stock under his own management would have made a return
immensely greater than it can under any other. _Now_ I fear the loss
must be great, as his fall will involve many of the country dealers who
traded with him.

I feel quite composed and determined to labour. There is no remedy. I
_guess_ (as Mathews makes his Yankees say) that we shall not be troubled
with visitors, and I _calculate_ that I will not go out at all; so what
can I do better than labour? Even yesterday I went about making notes on
_Waverley_, according to Constable's plan. It will do good one day.
To-day, when I lock this volume, I go to W[oodstock]. Heigho!

Knight came to stare at me to complete his portrait. He must have read a
tragic page, compared to what he saw at Abbotsford.[126]

We dined of course at home, and before and after dinner I finished about
twenty printed pages of _Woodstock_, but to what effect others must
judge. A painful scene after dinner, and another after supper,
endeavouring to convince these poor dear creatures that they must not
look for miracles, but consider the misfortune as certain, and only to
be lessened by patience and labour.

_January_ 20.--Indifferent night--very bilious, which may be want of
exercise. A letter from Sir J. Sinclair, whose absurd vanity bids him
thrust his finger into every man's pie, proposing that Hurst and
Robinson should sell their prints, of which he says they have a large
collection, by way of lottery like Boydell.

    "In scenes like these which break our heart
    Comes Punch, like you and----"

_Mais pourtant, cultivons notre jardin_. The public favour is my only
lottery. I have long enjoyed the foremost prize, and something in my
breast tells me my evil genius will not overwhelm me if I stand by
myself. Why should I not? I have no enemies--many attached friends. The
popular ascendency which I have maintained is of the kind which is
rather improved by frequent appearances before the public. In fact,
critics may say what they will, but "_hain_ your reputation, and _tyne_
your reputation," is a true proverb.[127]

Sir William Forbes called--the same kind, honest friend as ever, with
all offers of assistance,[128] etc. etc. All anxious to serve me, and
careless about their own risk of loss. And these are the cold, hard,
money-making men whose questions and control I apprehended.

Lord Chief Commissioner Adam also came to see me, and the meeting,
though pleasing, was melancholy. It is the first time we have met since
the _break up_ of his hopes in the death of his eldest son on his return
from India, where he was Chief in Council and highly esteemed.[129] The
Commissioner is not a very early friend of mine, for I scarce knew him
till his settlement in Scotland with his present office.[130] But I have
since lived much with him, and taken kindly to him as one of the most
pleasant, kind-hearted, benevolent, and pleasing men I have ever known.
It is high treason among the Tories to express regard for him, or
respect for the Jury Court in which he presides. I was against that
experiment as much as any one. But it is an experiment, and the
establishment (which the fools will not perceive) is the only thing
which I see likely to give some prospects of ambition to our bar, which
has been otherwise so much diminished. As for the Chief Commissioner, I
dare say he jobs, as all other people of consequence do, in elections,
and so forth. But he is the personal friend of the King, and the decided
enemy of whatever strikes at the constitutional rights of the Monarch.
Besides, I love him for the various changes which he has endured through
life, and which have been so great as to make him entitled to be
regarded in one point of view as the most fortunate--in the other, the
most unfortunate--man in the world. He has gained and lost two fortunes
by the same good luck, and the same rash confidence, which raised, and
now threatens, my _peculium_. And his quiet, honourable, and generous
submission under circumstances more painful than mine,--for the loss of
world's wealth was to him aggravated by the death of his youngest and
darling son in the West Indies,--furnished me at the time and now with a
noble example. So the Tories and Whigs may go be d----d together, as
names that have disturbed old Scotland, and torn asunder the most kindly
feelings since the first day they were invented. Yes, ----- them, they
are spells to rouse all our angry passions, and I dare say,
notwithstanding the opinion of my private and calm moments, I will open
on the cry again so soon as something occurs to chafe my mood; and yet,
God knows, I would fight in honourable contest with word or blow for my
political opinions; but I cannot permit that strife to "mix its waters
with my daily meal," those waters of bitterness which poison all mutual
love and confidence betwixt the well-disposed on either side, and
prevent them, if need were, from making mutual concessions and balancing
the constitution against the ultras of both parties. The good man seems
something broken by these afflictions.

_January_ 21.--Susannah in _Tristram Shandy_ thinks death is best met in
bed. I am sure trouble and vexation are not. The watches of the night
pass wearily when disturbed by fruitless regrets and disagreeable
anticipations. But let it pass.

    "Well, Goodman Time, or blunt, or keen,
    Move thou quick, or take thy leisure,
    Longest day will have its e'en,
    Weariest life but treads a measure."

I have seen Cadell, who is very much downcast for the risk of their
copyrights being thrown away by a hasty sale. I suggested that if they
went very cheap, some means might be fallen on to keep up their value or
purchase them in. I fear the split betwixt Constable and Cadell will
render impossible what might otherwise be hopeful enough. It is the
Italian race-horses, I think, which, instead of riders, have spurs tied
to their sides, so as to prick them into a constant gallop. Cadell tells
me their gross profit was sometimes £10,000 a year, but much swallowed
up with expenses, and his partner's draughts, which came to £4000
yearly. What there is to show for this, God knows. Constable's apparent
expenses were very much within bounds.

Colin Mackenzie entered, and with his usual kindness engages to use his
influence to recommend some moderate proceeding to Constable's
creditors, such as may permit him to go on and turn that species of
property to account, which no man alive can manage so well as he.

Followed Mr. Gibson with a most melancholy tale. Things are so much
worse with Constable than I apprehended that I shall neither save
Abbotsford nor anything else. Naked we entered the world, and naked we
leave it--blessed be the name of the Lord!

_January_ 22.--I feel neither dishonoured nor broken down by the
bad--now really bad news I have received. I have walked my last on the
domains I have planted--sate the last time in the halls I have built.
But death would have taken them from me if misfortune had spared them.
My poor people whom I loved so well! There is just another die to turn
up against me in this run of ill-luck; _i.e._ if I should break my magic
wand in the fall from this elephant, and lose my popularity with my
fortune. Then _Woodstock_ and _Bony_ may both go to the paper-maker, and
I may take to smoking cigars and drinking grog, or turn devotee, and
intoxicate the brain another way. In prospect of absolute ruin, I wonder
if they would let me leave the Court of Session. I would like, methinks,
to go abroad,

    "And lay my bones far from the _Tweed_."

But I find my eyes moistening, and that will not do. I will not yield
without a fight for it. It is odd, when I set myself to work _doggedly_,
as Dr. Johnson would say, I am exactly the same man that I ever was,
neither low-spirited nor _distrait_. In prosperous times I have
sometimes felt my fancy and powers of language flag, but adversity is to
me at least a tonic and bracer; the fountain is awakened from its inmost
recesses, as if the spirit of affliction had troubled it in his passage.

Poor Mr. Pole the harper sent to offer me £500 or £600, probably his
all.[131] There is much good in the world, after all. But I will
involve no friend, either rich or poor. My own right hand shall do
it--else will I be _done_ in the slang language, and _undone_ in common
parlance.

I am glad that, beyond my own family, who are, excepting L.S., young and
able to bear sorrow, of which this is the first taste to some of them,
most of the hearts are past aching which would have once been
inconsolable on this occasion. I do not mean that many will not
seriously regret, and some perhaps lament, my misfortunes. But my dear
mother, my almost sister, Christy R[utherfor]d,[132] poor Will
Erskine--these would have been mourners indeed.

Well--exertion--exertion. O Invention, rouse thyself! May man be kind!
May God be propitious! The worst is, I never quite know when I am right
or wrong; and Ballantyne, who does know in some degree, will fear to
tell me. Lockhart would be worth gold just now, but he too would be too
diffident to speak broad out. All my hope is in the continued indulgence
of the public. I have a funeral-letter to the burial of the Chevalier
Yelin, a foreigner of learning and talent, who has died at the Royal
Hotel. He wished to be introduced to me, and was to have read a paper
before the Royal Society when this introduction was to have taken place.
I was not at the Society that evening, and the poor gentleman was taken
ill at the meeting and unable to proceed. He went to his bed and never
rose again; and now his funeral will be the first public place I shall
appear at. He dead, and I ruined; this is what you call a meeting.[133]

_January_ 23.--Slept ill, not having been abroad these eight
days--_splendida bilis_. Then a dead sleep in the morning, and when the
awakening comes, a strong feeling how well I could dispense with it for
once and for ever. This passes away, however, as better and more dutiful
thoughts arise in my mind. I know not if my imagination has flagged;
probably it has; but at least my powers of labour have not diminished
during the last melancholy week. On Monday and Tuesday my exertions were
suspended. Since Wednesday inclusive I have written thirty-eight of my
close manuscript pages, of which seventy make a volume of the usual
Novel size.

Wrote till twelve A.M., finishing half of what I call a good day's
work--ten pages of print, or rather twelve. Then walked in Princes
Street pleasure-grounds with good Samaritan James Skene, the only one
among my numerous friends who can properly be termed _amicus curarum
mearum,_ others being too busy or too gay, and several being estranged
by habit.[134]

The walks have been conducted on the whole with much taste, though Skene
has undergone much criticism, the usual reward of public exertions, on
account of his plans. It is singular to walk close beneath the grim old
Castle, and to think what scenes it must have seen, and how many
generations of three score and ten have risen and passed away. It is a
place to cure one of too much sensation over earthly subjects of
mutation. My wife and girl's tongues are chatting in a lively manner in
the drawing-room. It does me good to hear them.

_January_ 24.--Constable came yesterday, and saw me for half an hour. He
seemed irritable, but kept his temper under command. Was a little
shocked when I intimated that I was disposed to regard the present works
in progress as my own. I think I saw two things:--(1) That he is
desirous to return into the management of his own affairs without
Cadell, if he can. (2) That he relies on my connection as the way of
helping us out of the slough. Indeed he said he was ruined utterly
without my countenance. I certainly will befriend him if I can, but
Constable without Cadell is like getting the clock without the
pendulum--the one having the ingenuity, the other the caution of the
business. I will see my way before making any bargain, and I will help
them, I am sure, if I can, without endangering my last cast for freedom.
Worked out my task yesterday. My kind friend Mrs. Coutts has got the
cadet-ship for Pringle Shortreed, in which he was peculiarly interested.

I went to the Court for the first time to-day, and, like the man with
the large nose, thought everybody was thinking of me and my mishaps.
Many were, undoubtedly, and all rather regrettingly; some obviously
affected. It is singular to see the difference of men's manner whilst
they strive to be kind or civil in their way of addressing me. Some
smile as they wish me good-day, as if to say, "Think nothing about it,
my lad; it is quite out of our thoughts." Others greeted me with the
affected gravity which one sees and despises at a funeral. The best
bred--all, I believe, meaning equally well--just shook hands and went
on. A foolish puff in the papers, calling on men and gods to assist a
popular author, who, having choused the public of many thousands, had
not the sense to keep wealth when he had it. If I am hard pressed, and
measures used against me, I must use all means of legal defence, and
subscribe myself bankrupt in a petition for sequestration. It is the
course I would have advised a client to take, and would have the effect
of saving my land, which is secured by my son's contract of marriage. I
might save my library, etc., by assistance of friends, and bid my
creditors defiance. But for this I would, in a court of honour, deserve
to lose my spurs. No, if they permit me, I will be their vassal for
life, and dig in the mine of my imagination to find diamonds (or what
may sell for such) to make good my engagements, not to enrich myself.
And this from no reluctance to allow myself to be called the Insolvent,
which I probably am, but because I will not put out of the [power] of my
creditors the resources, mental or literary, which yet remain to me.

Went to the funeral of Chevalier Yelin, the literary foreigner mentioned
on 22d. How many and how various are the ways of affliction! Here is
this poor man dying at a distance from home, his proud heart broken, his
wife and family anxiously expecting letters, and doomed only to learn
they have lost a husband and father for ever. He lies buried on the
Calton Hill, near learned and scientific dust--the graves of David Hume
and John Playfair being side by side.

_January_ 25.--Anne is ill this morning. May God help us! If it should
prove serious, as I have known it in such cases, where am I to find
courage or comfort? A thought has struck me--Can we do nothing for
creditors with the goblin drama, called _Fortunes of Devorgoil_? Could
it not be added to _Woodstock_ as a fourth volume? Terry refused a gift
of it, but he was quite and entirely wrong; it is not good, but it may
be made so. Poor Will Erskine liked it much.[135] Gave my wife her £12
allowance. £24 to last till Wednesday fortnight. _January_ 26.--Spoke
to J.B. last night about _Devorgoil_, who does not seem to relish the
proposal, alleging the comparative failure of _Halidon Hill_. Ay, says
Self-Conceit, but he has not read it; and when he does, it is the sort
of wild fanciful work betwixt heaven and earth, which men of solid parts
do not estimate. Pepys thought Shakespeare's _Midsummer Night's Dream_
the most silly play he had ever seen, and Pepys was probably judging on
the same grounds with J.B., though presumptuous enough to form
conclusions against a very different work from any of mine. How if I
send it to Lockhart by and by?

I called to-day at Constable's; both partners seemed secure that Hurst
and Robinson were to go on and pay. Strange that they should have
stopped. Constable very anxious to have husbanding of the books. I told
him the truth that I would be glad to have his assistance, and that he
should have the benefit of the agency, but that he was not to consider
past transactions as a rule for selling them in future, since I must
needs make the most out of the labours I could: _item_, that I, or
whoever might act for me, would of course, after what has happened, look
especially to the security. He said if Hurst and Robinson were to go on,
bank notes would be laid down. I conceive indeed that they would take
_Woodstock_ and _Napoleon_ almost at loss rather than break the
connection in the public eye. Sir William Arbuthnot and Mr. Kinnear were
very kind. But _cui bono_?[136]

Gibson comes with a joyful face announcing all the creditors had
unanimously agreed to a private trust. This is handsome and
confidential, and must warm my best efforts to get them out of the
scrape. I will not doubt--to doubt is to lose. Sir William Forbes took
the chair, and behaved as he has ever done, with the generosity of
ancient faith and early friendship. They[137] are deeper concerned than
most. In what scenes have Sir William and I not borne share
together--desperate, and almost bloody affrays, rivalries, deep
drinking-matches, and, finally, with the kindest feelings on both sides,
somewhat separated by his retiring much within the bosom of his family,
and I moving little beyond mine. It is fated our planets should cross
though, and that at the periods most interesting for me. Down--down--a
hundred thoughts.

Jane Russell drank tea with us.

I hope to sleep better to-night. If I do not I shall get ill, and then I
cannot keep my engagements. Is it not odd? I can command my eyes to be
awake when toil and weariness sit on my eyelids, but to draw the curtain
of oblivion is beyond my power. I remember some of the wild Buccaneers,
in their impiety, succeeded pretty well by shutting hatches and burning
brimstone and assafœtida in making a tolerable imitation of _hell_--but
the pirates' _heaven_ was a wretched affair. It is one of the worst
things about this system of ours, that it is a hundred times more easy
to inflict pain than to create pleasure.

_January_ 27.--Slept better and less bilious, owing doubtless to the
fatigue of the preceding night, and the more comfortable news. I drew my
salaries of various kinds amounting to £300 and upwards and sent, with
John Gibson's consent, £200 to pay off things at Abbotsford which must
be paid. Wrote Laidlaw with the money, directing him to make all
preparations for reduction.[138] Anne ill of rheumatism: I believe
caught cold by vexation and exposing herself to bad weather.

The Celtic Society present me with the most splendid broadsword I ever
saw; a beautiful piece of art, and a most noble weapon. Honourable Mr.
Stuart (second son of the Earl of Moray), General Graham Stirling, and
MacDougal, attended as a committee to present it. This was very kind of
my friends the Celts, with whom I have had so many merry meetings. It
will be a rare legacy to Walter;--for myself, good lack! it is like Lady
Dowager Don's prize in a lottery of hardware; she--a venerable lady who
always wore a haunch-hoop, silk négligé, and triple ruffles at the
elbow--having the luck to gain a pair of silver spurs and a whip to
correspond.

_January_ 28.--Ballantyne and Cadell wish that Mr. Alex. Cowan should be
Constable's Trustee instead of J.B.'s. Gibson is determined to hold by
Cowan. I will not interfere, although I think Cowan's services might do
us more good as Constable's Trustee than as our own, but I will not
begin with thwarting the managers of my affairs, or even exerting strong
influence; it is not fair. These last four or five days I have wrought
little; to-day I set on the steam and ply my paddles.

_January_ 29.--The proofs of vol. i.[139] came so thick in yesterday
that much was not done. But I began to be hard at work to-day, and must
not _gurnalise_ much.

Mr. Jollie, who is to be my trustee, in conjunction with Gibson, came to
see me:--a, pleasant and good-humoured man, and has high reputation as a
man of business. I told him, and I will keep my word, that he would at
least have no trouble by my interfering and thwarting their management,
which is the not unfrequent case of trusters and trustees.[140]

Constable's business seems unintelligible. No man thought the house
worth less than £150,000. Constable told me when he was making his will
that he was worth £80,000. Great profits on almost all the adventures.
No bad speculations--yet neither stock nor debt to show: Constable might
have eaten up his share; but Cadell was very frugal. No doubt trading
almost entirely on accommodation is dreadfully expensive.[141]

_January_ 30.--_False delicacy_. Mr. Gibson, Mr. Cowan, Mr. J.B., were
with me last night to talk over important matters, and suggest an
individual for a certain highly confidential situation. I was led to
mention a person of whom I knew nothing but that he was an honest and
intelligent man. All seemed to acquiesce, and agreed to move the thing
to the party concerned this morning, and so Mr. G. and Mr. C. left me,
when J.B. let out that it was their unanimous opinion that we should be
in great trouble were the individual appointed, from faults of temper,
etc., which would make it difficult to get on with him. With a hearty
curse I hurried J.B. to let them know that I had no partiality for the
man whatever, and only named him because he had been proposed for a
similar situation elsewhere. This is provoking enough, that they would
let me embarrass my affairs with a bad man (an unfit one, I mean)
rather than contradict me. I dare say great men are often used so.

I laboured freely yesterday. The stream rose fast--if clearly, is
another question; but there is bulk for it, at least--about thirty
printed pages.

    "And now again, boys, to the oar."

_January_ 31.--There being nothing in the roll to-day, I stay at home
from the Court, and add another day's perfect labour to _Woodstock_,
which is worth five days of snatched intervals, when the current of
thought and invention is broken in upon, and the mind shaken and
diverted from its purpose by a succession of petty interruptions. I have
now no pecuniary provisions to embarrass me, and I think, now the shock
of the discovery is past and over, I am much better off on the whole; I
am as if I had shaken off from my shoulders a great mass of garments,
rich, indeed, but cumbrous, and always more a burden than a comfort. I
am free of an hundred petty public duties imposed on me as a man of
consideration--of the expense of a great hospitality--and, what is
better, of the great waste of time connected with it. I have known, in
my day, all kinds of society, and can pretty well estimate how much or
how little one loses by retiring from all but that which is very
intimate. I sleep and eat, and work as I was wont; and if I could see
those about me as indifferent to the loss of rank as I am, I should be
completely happy. As it is, Time must salve that sore, and to Time I
trust it.

Since the 14th of this month no guest has broken bread in my house save
G.H. Gordon[142] one morning at breakfast. This happened never before
since I had a house of my own. But I have played Abou Hassan long
enough; and if the Caliph came I would turn him back again.

FOOTNOTES:

[107] The parsimonious yet liberal London merchant, whose miserly habits
gave Arbuthnot the materials of the story. See Professor Brown's
_Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind_, vol i. p. 244, and
Martin Scriblerns, cap. xii., Pope, vol. iv. p. 54, Edin. 1776.

[108] This plantation now covers the remains of an old Roman road from
the Great Camp on the Eildon Hills to the ford below Scott's
house.--J.G.L.

[109] The residence for several years of Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart.

[110] When settling his estate on his eldest son, Sir Walter had
retained the power of burdening it with £10,000 for behoof of his
younger children; he now raised the sum for the assistance of the
struggling firms.--J.G.L. See Dec. 14, 1825.

[111] William Scrope, author of _Days of Deer Stalking_, roy. 8vo, 1839;
and _Days and Nights of Salmon Fishing_, roy. 8vo, 1843; died in his
81st year in 1852. Mr. Lockhart says of this enthusiastic sportsman that
at this time "he had a lease of Lord Somerville's pavilion opposite
Melrose, and lived on terms of affectionate intimacy with Sir Walter
Scott."

[112] Mr. George Ticknor of Boston. He saw much of Scott and his family
in the spring of 1819 in Edinburgh and at Abbotsford; and was again in
Scotland in 1838. Both visits are well described in his journals,
published in Boston in 1876.

Mrs. Lockhart was of opinion that Leslie's portrait of her father was
the best extant, "and nothing equals it except Chantrey's
bust."--Ticknor's _Life_, vol. i. p. 107.

Leslie himself thought Chantrey's was the best of all the portraits.
"The gentle turn of the head, inclined a little forward and down, and
the lurking humour in the eye and about the mouth, are Scott's
own."--_Autobiographical Recollections of Leslie_, edited by Taylor,
vol. i. p. 118.

[113] ... sedet, eternumque sedebit Infelix Theseus ... VIRGIL.--J.G.L.

[114] In a letter of this date to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Thomas Scott,
Sir Walter says:--"Poor aunt Curle died like a Roman, or rather like one
of the Sandy-Knowe bairns, the most stoical race I ever knew. She turned
every one out of the room, and drew her last breath alone. So did my
uncle, Captain Robert Scott, and several others of that family."--J.G.L.

[115] See letter addressed by C.J. Mathews to his mother, in which he
says, "I took particular notice of everything in the room (Sir Walter's
sanctum), and _if he had left me there, should certainly have read all
his notes_." _Memoirs_, edited by Dickens, 2 vols., London, 1879, vol.
i. p. 284.

[116] _Merchant's Tale_, lines 9706-8, slightly altered.

[117] 2 _King Henry IV_., Act iv. Sc. 2.--J.G.L.

[118] "I had long been in the habit of passing the Christmas with Sir
Walter in the country, when he had great pleasure in assembling what he
called 'a fireside party,' where he was always disposed to indulge in
the free and unrestrained outpouring of his cheerful and convivial
disposition. Upon one of these occasions the Comedian Mathews and his
son were at Abbotsford, and most entertaining they were, giving us a
full display of all their varied powers in scenic representations,
narrations, songs, ventriloquism, and frolic of every description, as
well as a string of most amusing anecdote, connected with the
professional adventures of the elder, and the travels of the son, who
seemed as much a genius as his father. He has never appeared on the
stage, although abundantly fit to distinguish himself in that
department, but has taken to the profession of architecture.
Notwithstanding that the snow lay pretty deep on the ground, Sir Walter,
old Mathews, and myself set out with the deerhounds and terriers to have
a large range through the woods and high grounds; and a most amusing
excursion it was, from the difficulties which Mathews, unused to that
sort of scrambling, had to encounter, being also somewhat lame from an
accident he had met with in being thrown out of a gig,--the
good-humoured manner with which each of my two lame companions strove to
get over the bad passes, their jokes upon it, alternately shouting for
my assistance to help them through, and with all the liveliness of their
conversation, as every anecdote which one told was in emulation tried to
be outdone by the other by some incident equally if not more
entertaining,--and it may be well supposed that the healthful exercise
of a walk of this description disposed every one to enjoy the festivity
which was to close the day."--_Mr. Skene's Reminiscences_.

[119] See Moore's _Life of Sheridan_, vol. i. p. 191. This work was
published late in 1825.--J.G.L.

[120] Burns's _Vision_.--J.G.L.

[121] Lindsay's _Chronicles of Scotland_ 2 vols. Edin. 1814, pp. 246-7.

[122] Mr. Skene in his _Reminiscences_ says:--"The family had been at
Abbotsford, and it had long been their practice the day they came to
town to take a family dinner at my house, which had accordingly been
complied with upon the present occasion, and I never had seen Sir Walter
in better spirits or more agreeable. The fatal intimation of his
bankruptcy, however, awaited him at home, and next morning early I was
surprised by a verbal message to come to him as soon as I had got up.
Fearful that he had got a fresh attack of the complaint from which he
had now for some years been free, or that he had been involved in some
quarrel, I went to see him by seven o'clock, and found him already by
candle-light seated at his writing-table, surrounded by papers which he
was examining, holding out his hand to me as I entered, he said, "Skene,
this is the hand of a beggar. Constable has failed, and I am ruined _de
fond en comble_. It's a hard blow, but I must just bear up; the only
thing which wrings me is poor Charlotte and the bairns.""

[123] _Crook_. The chain and hook hanging from the crook-tree over the
fire in Scottish cottages.

[124] [Sir Walter's private law-agent.] Mr. John Gibson, Junr., W.S.,
Mr. James Jollie, W.S., and Mr. Alexander Monypenny, W.S., were the
three gentlemen who ultimately agreed to take charge, as trustees, of
Sir Walter Scott's affairs; and certainly no gentlemen ever acquitted
themselves of such an office in a manner more honourable to themselves,
or more satisfactory to a client and his creditors.--J.G.L. Mr. Gibson
wrote a little volume of _Reminiscences of Scott_, which was published
in 1871. This old friend died in 1879. "In the month of January 1826,"
says Mr. Gibson, "Sir Walter called upon me, and explained how matters
stood with the two houses referred to, adding that he himself was a
partner in one of them--that bills were falling due and dishonoured--and
that some immediate arrangement was indispensably necessary. In such
circumstances, only two modes of proceeding could be thought of--either
that he should avail himself of the Bankrupt Act, and allow his estate
to be sequestrated, or that he should execute a trust conveyance for
behoof of his creditors. The latter course was preferred for various
reasons, but chiefly out of regard for his own feeling."
_Reminiscences_, p. 12. See entry in Journal under Jan. 24.

[125] Sir John Hope of Pinkie and Craighall, 11th Baronet; Sir Henry
Jardine, King's Remembrancer from 1820 to 1837; and Sir William Rae,
Lord Advocate, son of Lord Eskgrove, were all Directors of the Royal
Bank of Scotland.

[126] John Prescott Knight, the young artist referred to, afterwards
R.A., and Secretary to the Academy, wrote (in 1871) to Sir William
Stirling Maxwell, an interesting account of the picture and its
accidental destruction on the very day of Sir Walter's death. _Scott
Exhibition Catalogue_, 4to, Edin. p. 199. Mr. Knight died in 1881.

[127] To _hain_ anything is, _Anglicè_, to deal very carefully,
penuriously about it--_tyne_, to lose. Scott often used to say "hain a
pen and tyne a pen," which is nearer the proverb alluded to.--J.G.L.

[128] The late Sir William Forbes, Baronet, succeeded his father (the
biographer of Beattie) as chief of the head private banking-house in
Edinburgh. Scott's amiable friend died 24th Oct. 1828.--J.G.L.

[129] John Adam, Esq., died on shipboard on his passage homewards from
Calcutta, 4th June 1825.--J.G.L.

[130] The Right Hon. W. Adam of Blairadam, born in 1751. When trial by
Jury in civil cases was introduced into Scotland in 1815, he was made
Chief Commissioner of the Jury Court, which office he held till 1830.

Mr. Lockhart adds (_Life_, vol. v. p. 46): "This most amiable and
venerable gentleman, my dear and kind friend, died at Edinburgh, on the
17th February 1839, in the 89th year of his age. He retained his strong
mental faculties in their perfect vigour to the last days of this long
life, and with them all the warmth of social feelings which had endeared
him to all who were so happy as to have any opportunity of knowing him."

[131] Mr. Pole had long attended Sir Walter Scott's daughters as teacher
of the harp. In the end Scott always spoke of his conduct as the most
affecting circumstance that accompanied his disasters.--J.G.L. For Mr.
Pole's letter see _Life_, vol. viii. p. 205. Mr. Pole went to live in
England and died at Kensington.

[132] Scott's mother's sister. See _Life_, vols. i., iii., v., and vi.

[133] Chevalier Yelin, the friend and travelling companion of Baron
D'Eichthal, was a native of Bavaria. His wife had told him playfully
that he must not leave Scotland without having seen the great bard; and
he prolonged his stay in Edinburgh until Scott's return, hoping to meet
him at the Royal Society on this evening.

[134] On the morning of this day Sir Walter wrote the following note to
his friend:--

"DEAR SKENE,--If you are disposed for a walk in your gardens any time
this morning, I would gladly accompany you for an hour, since keeping
the house so long begins rather to hurt me, and you, who supported the
other day the weight of my body, are perhaps best disposed to endure the
gloom of my mind.--Yours ever, W.S.

"CASTLE STREET, 23 _January_.

"I will call when you please: all hours after twelve are the same to
me."

On his return from this walk, Mr. Skene wrote out his recollections of
the conversation that had taken place. Of his power to rebuild his
shattered fortunes, Scott said, "'But woe's me, I much mistrust my
vigour, for the best of my energies are already expended. You have seen,
my dear Skene, the Roman coursers urged to their speed by a loaded spur
attached to their backs to whet the rusty metal of their ager--ay! it is
a leaden spur indeed, and it goads hard.'

"I added, 'But what do you think, Scott, of the bits of flaming paper
that are pasted on the flanks of the poor jades? If we could but stick
certain small documents on your back, and set fire to them, I think you
might submit for a time to the pricking of the spur.' He laughed, and
said, 'Ay! Ay!--these weary bills, if they were but as the thing that is
not--come, cheer me up with an account of the Roman Carnival.' And,
accordingly, with my endeavour to do so, he seemed as much interested as
if nothing had happened to discompose the usual tenor of his mind, but
still our conversation ever and anon dropt back into the same subject,
in the course of which he said to me, 'Do you know I experience a sort
of determined pleasure in confronting the very worst aspect of this
sudden reverse,--in standing, as it were, in the breach that has
overthrown my fortunes, and saying, Here I stand, at least an honest
man. And God knows, if I have enemies, this I may at least with truth
say, that I have never wittingly given cause of enmity in the whole
course of my life, for even the burnings of political hate seemed to
find nothing in my nature to feed the flame. I am not conscious of
having borne a grudge towards any man, and at this moment of my
overthrow, so help me God, I wish well and feel kindly to every one. And
if I thought that any of my works contained a sentence hurtful to any
one's feelings, I would burn it. I think even my novels (for he did not
disown any of them) are free from that blame.'

"He had been led to make this protestation from my having remarked to
him the singularly general feeling of goodwill and sympathy towards him
which every one was anxious to testify upon the present occasion. The
sentiments of resignation and of cheerful acquiescence in the
dispensation of the Almighty which he expressed were those of a
Christian thankful for the blessings left, and willing, without
ostentation, to do his best. It was really beautiful to see the workings
of a strong and upright mind under the first lash of adversity calmly
reposing upon the consolation afforded by his own integrity and manful
purposes. 'Lately,' he said, 'you saw me under the apprehension of the
decay of my mental faculties, and I confess that I was under mortal fear
when I found myself writing one word for another, and misspelling every
word, but that wore off, and was perhaps occasioned by the effects of
the medicine I had been taking, but have I not reason to be thankful
that that misfortune did not assail me?--Ay! few have more reason to
feel grateful to the Disposer of all events than I have.'"--_Mr. Skene's
Reminiscences._

[135] "The energy with which Sir Walter had set about turning his
resources, both present and past, to immediate account, with a view to
prove to his creditors, with as little delay as possible, that all that
could depend upon himself should be put in operation to retrieve his
affairs, made him often reluctant to quit his study however much he
found himself exhausted. However, the employment served to occupy his
mind, and prevent its brooding over the misfortune which had befallen
him, and joined to the natural contentedness of his disposition
prevented any approach of despondency. 'Here is an old effort of mine to
compose a melo-drama' (showing me one day a bundle of papers which he
had found in his repositories). 'This trifle would have been long ago
destroyed had it not been for our poor friend Kinnedder, who arrested my
hand as he thought it not bad, and for his sake it was kept. I have just
read it over, and, do you know, with some satisfaction. Faith, I have
known many worse things make their way very well in the world, so, God
willing, it shall e'en see the light, if it can do aught in the hour of
need to help the hand that fashioned it.' Upon asking the name of this
production, he said, 'I suspect I must change it, having already
forestalled it by the _Fortunes of Nigel_. I had called it the _Fortunes
of Devorgoil_, but we must not begin to double up in that way, for if
you leave anything hanging loose, you may be sure that some malicious
devil will tug at it. I think I shall call it _The Doom of Devorgoil_.
It will make a volume of itself, and I do not see why it should not come
out by particular desire as a fourth volume to _Woodstock_. They have
some sort of connection, and it would not be a difficult matter to bind
the connection a little closer. As the market goes, I have no doubt of
the Bibliopolist pronouncing it worth £1000, or £1500.' I asked him if
he meant it for the stage. 'No, no; the stage is a sorry job, that
course will not do for these hard days; besides, there is too much
machinery in the piece for the stage.' I observed that I was not sure of
that, for pageant and machinery was the order of the day, and had
Shakespeare been of this date he might have been left to die a
deer-stealer. 'Well, then, with all my heart, if they can get the beast
to lead or to drive, they may bring it on the stage if they like. It is
a sort of goblin tale, and so was the _Castle Spectre_, which had its
run.' I asked him if the _Castle Spectre_ had yielded Lewis much.
'Little of that, in fact to its author absolutely nothing, and yet its
merits ought to have brought something handsome to poor Mat. But
Sheridan, then manager, you know, generally paid jokes instead of cash,
and the joke that poor Mat got was, after all, not a bad one. Have you
heard it? Don't let me tell you a story you know.' As I had not heard
it, he proceeded. 'Well, they were disputing about something, and Lewis
had clenched his argument by proposing to lay a bet about it. I shall
lay what you ought long ago to have paid me for my _Castle, Spectre_.'
"No, no, Mat," said Sheridan, "I never lay large bets; but come, I will
bet a trifle with you--I'll bet what the _Castle Spectre_ was worth."
Now Constable managed differently; he paid well and promptly, but devil
take him, it was all spectral together. Moonshine and no merriment. He
sowed my field with one hand, and as liberally scattered the tares with
the other.'"--_Mr. Skene's Reminiscences._

[136] These two gentlemen were at this time Directors of the Bank of
Scotland.

[137] Sir W. Forbes and Co.'s Banking House.

[138] An extract from what is probably the letter to Laidlaw written on
this day was printed in _Chambers's Journal_ for July 1845. The italics
are the editor's:--

"For you, my dear friend, we must part--that is, as laird and
factor--and it rejoices me to think that your patience and endurance,
which set me so good an example, are like to bring round better days.
You never flattered my prosperity, and in my adversity it is not the
least painful consideration that I cannot any longer be useful to you.
But Kaeside, I hope, will still be your residence, and I will have the
advantage of your company and advice, and probably your service as
amanuensis. Observe, I am not in indigence, though no longer in
affluence, and if I am to exert myself in the common behalf, I must have
honorable and easy means of life, although it will be my inclination to
observe the most strict privacy, the better to save expense, and also
time. Lady Scott's spirits were affected at first, but she is getting
better. _For myself, I feel_ _like the Eildon Hills--quite firm, though
a little cloudy._

"I do not dislike the path which lies before me. I have seen all that
society can show, and enjoyed all that wealth can give me, and I am
satisfied much is vanity, if not vexation of spirit. What can I say
more, except that I will write to you the instant I know what is to be
done."

[139] _Life of Bonaparte_. (?)

[140] "In the management of his Trust," Mr. Gibson remarks, "everything
went on harmoniously--the chief labour devolving upon myself, but my
co-Trustees giving their valuable aid and advice when
required."--_Reminiscences_, p. 16.

[141] The total liabilities of the three firms amounted in round numbers
to nearly half-a-million sterling. Sir Walter, as the partner of
Ballantyne and Co., was held responsible for about £130,000;--this large
sum was ultimately paid in full by Scott and his representatives. The
other two firms paid their creditors about 10 per cent, of the amounts
due. It must be kept in mind, however, as far as Constable's house was
concerned, that their property appears to have been foolishly sacrificed
by forced sales of copyrights and stock.

[142] Mr. Gordon was at this time Scott's amanuensis; he _copied_, that
is to say, the MS. for press.--J.G.L.




FEBRUARY.


_February_ 1.--A most generous letter (though not more so than I
expected) from Walter and Jane, offering to interpose with their
fortune, etc. God Almighty forbid! that were too unnatural in me to
accept, though dutiful and affectionate in them to offer. They talk of
India still. With my damaged fortune I cannot help them to remain by
exchange, and so forth. He expects, if they go, to go out eldest
Captain, when, by staying two or three years, he will get the step of
Major. His whole thoughts are with his profession, and I understand that
when you quit or exchange, when a regiment goes on distant or
disagreeable service, you are not accounted as serious in your
profession; God send what is for the best! Remitted Charles a bill for
£40--£35 advance at Christmas makes £75. He must be frugal.

Attended the Court, and saw J.B. and Cadell as I returned. Both very
gloomy. Came home to work, etc., about two.

_February_ 2.--An odd visit this morning from Miss Jane Bell of North
Shields, whose law-suit with a Methodist parson of the name of Hill made
some noise. The worthy divine had in the basest manner interfered to
prevent this lady's marriage by two anonymous letters, in which he
contrived to refer the lover, to whom they were addressed, for further
corroboration to _himself_. The whole imposition makes the subject of a
little pamphlet published by Marshall, Newcastle. The lady ventured for
redress into the thicket of English law--lost one suit--gained another,
with £300 damages, and was ruined. The appearance and person of Miss
Bell are prepossessing. She is about thirty years old, a brunette, with
regular and pleasing features, marked with melancholy,--an enthusiast in
literature, and probably in religion. She had been at Abbotsford to see
me, and made her way to me here, in the vain hope that she could get her
story worked up into a novel; and certainly the thing is capable of
interesting situations. It throws a curious light upon the aristocratic
or rather hieratic influence exercised by the Methodist preachers within
the _connection_, as it is called. Admirable food this would be for the
_Quarterly_, or any other reviewers who might desire to feed fat their
grudge against these sectarians. But there are two reasons against such
a publication. First, it would do the poor sufferer no good. Secondly,
it might hurt the Methodistic connection very much, which I for one
would not like to injure. They have their faults, and are peculiarly
liable to those of hypocrisy, and spiritual ambition, and priestcraft.
On the other hand, they do infinite good, carrying religion into classes
in society where it would scarce be found to penetrate, did it rely
merely upon proof of its doctrines, upon calm reasoning, and upon
rational argument. Methodists add a powerful appeal to the feelings and
passions; and though I believe this is often exaggerated into absolute
enthusiasm, yet I consider upon the whole they do much to keep alive a
sense of religion, and the practice of morality necessarily connected
with it. It is much to the discredit of the Methodist clergy, that when
this calumniator was actually convicted of guilt morally worse than many
men are hanged for, they only degraded him from the _first_ to the
_second_ class of their preachers,--leaving a man who from mere hatred
at Miss Bell's brother, who was a preacher like himself, had proceeded
in such a deep and infamous scheme to ruin the character and destroy the
happiness of an innocent person, in possession of the pulpit, and an
authorised teacher of others. If they believed him innocent they did too
much--if guilty, far too little.[143]

I wrote to my nephew Walter to-day, cautioning him against a little
disposition which he has to satire or _méchanceté_, which may be a great
stumbling-block in his course in life. Otherwise I presage well of him.
He is lieutenant of engineers, with high character for mathematical
science--is acute, very well-mannered, and, I think, good-hearted. He
has seen enough of the world too, to regulate his own course through
life, better than most lads at his age.

_February_ 3.--This is the first morning since my troubles that I felt
at awaking

    "I had drunken deep
    Of all the blessedness of sleep."[144]

I made not the slightest pause, nor dreamed a single dream, nor even
changed my side. This is a blessing to be grateful for. There is to be a
meeting of the creditors to-day, but I care not for the issue. If they
drag me into the Court, _obtorto collo_, instead of going into this
scheme of arrangement, they would do themselves a great injury, and,
perhaps, eventually do me good, though it would give me much pain. James
Ballantyne is severely critical on what he calls imitations of Mrs.
Radcliffe in _Woodstock_. Many will think with him, yet I am of opinion
he is quite wrong, or, as friend J. F[errier] says, _vrong_[145] In the
first place, I am to look on the mere fact of another author having
treated a subject happily as a bird looks on a potato-bogle which scares
it away from a field otherwise as free to its depredations as any one's
else! In 2d place, I have taken a wide difference: my object is not to
excite fear of supernatural tilings in my reader, but to show the effect
of such fear upon the agents in the story--one a man of sense and
firmness--one a man unhinged by remorse--one a stupid uninquiring
clown--one a learned and worthy, but superstitious divine. In the third
place, the book turns on this hinge, and cannot want it. But I will try
to insinuate the refutation of Aldiboronti's exception into the
prefatory matter.

From the 19th January to the 2d February inclusive is exactly fifteen
days, during which time, with the intervention of some days' idleness,
to let imagination brood on the task a little, I have written a volume.
I think, for a bet, I could have done it in ten days. Then I must have
had no Court of Session to take me up two or three hours every morning,
and dissipate my attention and powers of working for the rest of the
day. A volume, at cheapest, is worth £1000. This is working at the rate
of £24,000 a year; but then we must not bake buns faster than people
have appetite to eat them. They are not essential to the market, like
potatoes.

John Gibson came to tell me in the evening that a meeting to-day had
approved of the proposed trust. I know not why, but the news gives me
little concern. I heard it as a party indifferent. I remember hearing
that Mandrin[146] testified some horror when he found himself bound
alive on the wheel, and saw an executioner approach with a bar of iron
to break his limbs. After the second and third blow he fell a-laughing,
and being asked the reason by his confessor, said he laughed at his own
folly which had anticipated increased agony at every blow, when it was
obvious that the _first_ must have jarred and confounded the system of
the nerves so much as to render the succeeding blows of little
consequence. I suppose it is so with the moral feelings; at least I
could not bring myself to be anxious whether these matters were settled
one way or another.

_February_ 4.--Wrote to Mr. Laidlaw to come to town upon Monday and see
the trustees. To farm or not to farm, that is the question. With our
careless habits, it were best, I think, to risk as little as possible.
Lady Scott will not exceed with ready money in her hand; but calculating
on the produce of a farm is different, and neither she nor I are capable
of that minute economy. Two cows should be all we should keep. But I
find Lady S. inclines much for the four. If she had her youthful
activity, and could manage things, it would be well, and would amuse
her. But I fear it is too late a week.

Returned from Court by Constable's, and found Cadell had fled to the
sanctuary, being threatened with ultimate diligence by the Bank of
Scotland. If this be a vindictive movement, it is harsh, useless, and
bad of them, and flight, on the contrary, seems no good sign on his
part. I hope he won't prove his father or grandfather at Prestonpans:--

    "Cadell dressed among the rest,
      Wi' gun and good claymore, man,
    On gelding grey he rode that day,
      Wi' pistols set before, man.
    The cause was gude, he'd spend his blude
      Before that he would yield, man,
    But the night before he left the corps,
      And never faced the field, man."[147]

Harden and Mrs. Scott called on Mamma. I was abroad. Henry called on me.
Wrote only two pages (of manuscript) and a half to-day. As the boatswain
said, one can't dance always _nowther_, but, were we sure of the
quality of the stuff, what opportunities for labour does this same
system of retreat afford us! I am convinced that in three years I could
do more than in the last ten, but for the mine being, I fear, exhausted.
Give me my popularity--_an awful postulate!_--and all my present
difficulties shall be a joke in five years; and it is _not_ lost yet, at
least.

_February_ 5.--Rose after a sound sleep, and here am I without bile or
anything to perturb my inward man. It is just about three weeks since so
great a change took place in my relations in society, and already I am
indifferent to it. But I have been always told my feelings of joy and
sorrow, pleasure and pain, enjoyment and privation, are much colder than
those of other people.

     "I think the Romans call it stoicism."[148]

Missie was in the drawing-room, and overheard William Clerk and me
laughing excessively at some foolery or other in the back-room, to her
no small surprise, which she did not keep to herself. But do people
suppose that he was less sorry for his poor sister,[149] or I for my
lost fortune? If I have a very strong passion in the world, it is
_pride_, and that never hinged upon world's gear, which was always with
me--Light come, light go.

_February_ 6.--Letters received yesterday from Lord Montagu, John
Morritt, and Mrs. Hughes--kind and dear friends all--with solicitous
inquiries. But it is very tiresome to tell my story over again, and I
really hope I have few more friends intimate enough to ask me for it. I
dread letter-writing, and envy the old hermit of Prague, who never saw
pen or ink. What then? One must write; it is a part of the law we live
on. Talking of writing, I finished my six pages, neat and handsome,
yesterday. _N.B._ At night I fell asleep, and the oil dropped from the
lamp upon my manuscript. Will this extreme unction make it go smoothly
down with the public?

    Thus idly we "profane the sacred time"
    By silly prose, light jest, and lighter rhyme.[150]

I have a song to write, too, and I am not thinking of it. I trust it
will come upon me at once--a sort of catch it should be.[151] I walked
out, feeling a little overwrought. Saw Constable and turned over
Clarendon. Cadell not yet out of hiding. This is simple work. Obliged to
borrow £240, to be refunded in spring, from John Gibson, to pay my
nephew's outfit and passage to Bombay. I wish I could have got this
money otherwise, but I must not let the orphan boy, and such a clever
fellow, miscarry through my fault. His education, etc., has been at my
expense ever since he came from America.

_February_ 7.--Had letters yesterday from Lady Davy and Lady Louisa
Stuart,[152] two very different persons. Lady Davy, daughter and
co-heiress of a wealthy Antigua merchant, has been known to me all my
life. Her father was a relation of ours of a Scotch calculation. He was
of a good family, Kerr of Bloodielaws, but decayed. Miss Jane Kerr
married first Mr. Apreece, son of a Welsh Baronet. The match was not
happy. I had lost all acquaintance with her for a long time, when about
twenty years ago we renewed it in London. She was then a widow, gay,
clever, and most actively ambitious to play a distinguished part in
London society. Her fortune, though handsome and easy, was not large
enough to make way by dint of showy entertainments, and so forth. So she
took the _blue_ line, and by great tact and management actually
established herself as a leader of literary fashion. Soon after, she
visited Edinburgh for a season or two, and studied the Northern Lights.
One of the best of them, poor Jack Playfair,[153] was disposed "to shoot
madly from his sphere,"[154] and, I believe, asked her, but he was a
little too old. She found a fitter husband in every respect in Sir
Humphry Davy, to whom she gave a handsome fortune, and whose splendid
talents and situation as President of the Royal Society gave her
naturally a distinguished place in the literary society of the
Metropolis. Now this is a very curious instance of an active-minded
woman forcing her way to the point from which she seemed furthest
excluded. For, though clever and even witty, she had no peculiar
accomplishment, and certainly no good taste either for science or
letters naturally. I was once in the Hebrides with her, and I admired to
observe how amidst sea-sickness, fatigue, some danger, and a good deal
of indifference as to what she saw, she gallantly maintained her
determination to see everything.[155] It marked her strength of
character, and she joined to it much tact, and always addressed people
on the right side. So she stands high, and deservedly so, for to these
active qualities, more French I think than English, and partaking of the
Creole vivacity and suppleness of character, she adds, I believe,
honourable principles and an excellent heart. As a lion-catcher, I could
pit her against the world. She flung her lasso (see Hall's _South
America_) over Byron himself. But then, poor soul, she is not happy. She
has a temper, and Davy has a temper, and these tempers are not one
temper, but two tempers, and they quarrel like cat and dog, which may
be good for stirring up the stagnation of domestic life, but they let
the world see it, and that is not so well. Now in all this I may be
thought a little harsh on my friend, but it is between my _Gurnal_ and
me, and, moreover, I would cry heartily if anything were to ail my
little cousin, though she be addicted to rule the Cerulean
atmosphere.[156] Then I suspect the cares of this as well as other
empires overbalance its pleasures. There must be difficulty in being
always in the right humour to hold a court. There are usurpers to be
encountered, and insurrections to be put down, an incessant troop,
_bienséances_ to be discharged, a sort of etiquette which is the curse
of all courts. An old lion cannot get hamstrung quietly at four hundred
miles distance, but the Empress must send him her condolence and a pot
of lipsalve. To be sure the monster is consanguinean, as Sir Toby
says.[157]

Looked in at Constable's coming home; Cadell emerged from Alsatia;
borrowed Clarendon. Home by half-past twelve.

My old friend Sir Peter Murray[158] called to offer his own assistance,
Lord Justice-Clerk's, and Abercromby's, to negotiate for me a seat upon
the Bench [of the Court of Session] instead of my Sheriffdom and
Clerkship. I explained to him the use which I could make of my pen was
not, I thought, consistent with that situation; and that, besides, I had
neglected the law too long to permit me to think of it; but this was
kindly and honourably done. I can see people think me much worse off
than I think myself. They may be right; but I will not be beat till I
have tried a rally, and a bold one.

_February_ 8.--Slept ill, and rather bilious in the morning. Many of the
Bench now are my juniors. I will not seek _ex eleemosynâ_ a place
which, had I turned my studies that way, I might have aspired to long
ago _ex meritis_. My pen should do much better for me than the odd £1000
a year. If it fails, I will lean on what they leave me. Another chance
might be, if it fails, in the patronage which might, after a year or
two, place me in Exchequer. But I do not count on this unless, indeed,
the D[uke] of B[uccleuch], when he comes of age, should choose to make
play.

Got to my work again, and wrote easier than the two last days.

Mr. Laidlaw[159] came in from Abbotsford and dined with us. We spent the
evening in laying down plans for the farm, and deciding whom we should
keep and whom dismiss among the people. This we did on the true
negro-driving principle of self-interest, the only principle I know
which _never_ swerves from its objects. We chose all the active, young,
and powerful men, turning old age and infirmity adrift. I cannot help
this, for a guinea cannot do the work of five; but I will contrive to
make it easier to the sufferers.

_February_ 9.--A stormy morning, lowering and blustering, like our
fortunes. _Mea virtute me involvo._ But I must say to the Muse of
fiction, as the Earl of Pembroke said to the ejected nuns of Wilton, "Go
spin, you jades, go spin!" Perhaps she has no _tow_ on her _rock_.[160]
When I was at Kilkenny last year we went to see a nunnery, but could not
converse with the sisters because they were in strict retreat. I was
delighted with the red-nosed Padre, who showed us the place with a sort
of proud, unctuous humiliation, and apparent dereliction of the world,
that had to me the air of a complete Tartuffe; a strong, sanguine,
square-shouldered son of the Church, whom a Protestant would be apt to
warrant against any sufferings he was like to sustain by privation. My
purpose, however, just now was to talk of the "strict retreat," which
did not prevent the nuns from walking in their little garden, breviary
in hand, peeping at us, and allowing us to peep at them. Well, now, _we_
are in _strict retreat_; and if we had been so last year, instead of
gallivanting to Ireland, this affair might not have befallen--if
literary labour could have prevented it. But who could have suspected
Constable's timbers to have been rotten from the beginning?

Visited the Exhibition on my way home from the Court. The new rooms are
most splendid, and several good pictures. The Institution has subsisted
but five years, and it is astonishing how much superior the worst of the
present collection are to the teaboard-looking things which first
appeared. John Thomson, of Duddingston, has far the finest picture in
the Exhibition, of a large size--subject _Dunluce_, a ruinous castle of
the Antrim family, near the Giant's Causeway, with one of those terrible
seas and skies which only Thomson can paint. Found Scrope there
improving a picture of his own, an Italian scene in Calabria. He is, I
think, greatly improved, and one of the very best amateur painters I
ever saw--Sir George Beaumont scarcely excepted. Yet, hang it, _I do_
except Sir George.

I would not write to-day after I came home. I will not say could not,
for it is not true; but I was lazy; felt the desire _far niente_, which
is the sign of one's mind being at ease. I read _The English in
Italy_,[161] which is a clever book.

Byron used to kick and frisk more contemptuously against the literary
gravity and slang than any one I ever knew who had climbed so high.
Then, it is true, I never knew any one climb so high; and before you
despise the eminence, carrying people along with you, as convinced that
you are not playing the fox and the grapes, you must be at the top.
Moore told me some delightful stories of him. One was that while they
stood at the window of Byron's Palazzo in Venice, looking at a beautiful
sunset, Moore was naturally led to say something of its beauty, when
Byron answered in a tone that I can easily conceive, "Oh! come, d--n me,
Tom, don't be poetical." Another time, standing with Moore on the
balcony of the same Palazzo, a gondola passed with two English
gentlemen, who were easily distinguished by their appearance. They cast
a careless look at the balcony and went on. Byron crossed his arms, and
half stooping over the balcony said, "Ah! d--n ye, if ye had known what
two fellows you were staring at, you would have taken a longer look at
us." This was the man, quaint, capricious, and playful, with all his
immense genius. He wrote from impulse, never from effort; and therefore
I have always reckoned Burns and Byron the most genuine poetical
geniuses of my time, and half a century before me. We have, however,
many men of high poetical talent, but none, I think, of that
ever-gushing and perennial fountain of natural water.

Mr. Laidlaw dined with us. Says Mr. Gibson told him he would dispose of
my affairs, were it any but S.W.S.[162] No doubt, so should I, and am
wellnigh doing so at any rate. But, _fortuna juvante!_ much may be
achieved. At worst, the prospect is not very discouraging to one who
wants little. Methinks I have been like Burns's poor labourer,

    "So constantly in Ruin's sight,
    The view o't gives me little fright."

_[Edinburgh,] February_ 10.--Went through, for a new day, the task of
buttoning, which seems to me somehow to fill up more of my morning than
usual--not, certainly, that such is really the case, but that my mind
attends to the process, having so little left to hope or fear. The half
hour between waking and rising has all my life proved propitious to any
task which was exercising my invention.[163] When I get over any knotty
difficulty in a story, or have had in former times to fill up a passage
in a poem, it was always when I first opened my eyes that the desired
ideas thronged upon me. This is so much the case that I am in the habit
of relying upon it, and saying to myself, when I am at a loss, "Never
mind, we shall have it at seven o'clock to-morrow morning." If I have
forgot a circumstance, or a name, or a copy of verses, it is the same
thing. There is a passage about this sort of matutinal inspiration in
the Odyssey,[164] which would make a handsome figure here if I could
read or write Greek. I will look into Pope for it, who, ten to one, will
not tell me the real translation. I think the first hour of the morning
is also favourable to the bodily strength. Among other feats, when I was
a young man, I was able at times to lift a smith's anvil with one hand,
by what is called the _horn_, or projecting piece of iron on which
things are beaten to turn them round. But I could only do this before
breakfast, and shortly after rising. It required my full strength,
undiminished by the least exertion, and those who choose to try it will
find the feat no easy one. This morning I had some good ideas respecting
_Woodstock_ which will make the story better. The devil of a difficulty
is, that one puzzles the skein in order to excite curiosity, and then
cannot disentangle it for the satisfaction of the prying fiend they have
raised. A letter from Sir James Mackintosh of condolence, prettily
expressed, and which may be sung to the old tune of "Welcome, welcome,
brother Debtor." A brother son of chivalry dismounted by mischance is
sure to excite the compassion of one laid on the arena before him.

Yesterday I had an anecdote from old Sir James Steuart Denham,[165]
which is worth writing down. His uncle, Lord Elcho, was, as is well
known, engaged in the affair of 1745. He was dissatisfied with the
conduct of matters from beginning to end. But after the left wing of the
Highlanders was repulsed and broken at Culloden, Elcho rode up to the
Chevalier and told him all was lost, and that nothing remained except to
charge at the head of two thousand men, who were still unbroken, and
either turn the fate of the day or die sword in hand, as became his
pretensions. The Chevalier gave him some evasive answer, and, turning
his horse's head, rode off the field. Lord Elcho called after him (I
write the very words), "There you go for a damned cowardly Italian," and
never would see him again, though he lost his property and remained an
exile in the cause. Lord Elcho left two copies of his memoirs, one with
Sir James Steuart's family, one with Lord Wemyss. This is better
evidence than the romance of Chevalier Johnstone; and I have little
doubt it is true. Yet it is no proof of the Prince's cowardice, though
it shows him to have been no John of Gaunt. Princes are constantly
surrounded with people who hold up their own _life_ and _safety_ to them
as by far the most important stake in any contest; and this is a
doctrine in which conviction is easily received. Such an eminent person
finds everybody's advice, save here and there that of a desperate Elcho,
recommend obedience to the natural instinct of self-preservation, which
very often men of inferior situations find it difficult to combat, when
all the world are crying to them to get on and be damned, instead of
encouraging them to run away. At Prestonpans the Chevalier offered to
lead the van, and he was with the second line, which, during that brief
affair, followed the first very close. Johnstone's own account,
carefully read, brings him within a pistol-shot of the first line. At
the same time, Charles Edward had not a head or heart for great things,
notwithstanding his daring adventure; and the Irish officers, by whom he
was guided, were poor creatures. Lord George Murray was the soul of the
undertaking.[166]

_February 11_.--Court sat till half-past one. I had but a trifle to do,
so wrote letters to Mrs. Maclean Clephane and nephew Walter. Sent the
last, £40 in addition to £240 sent on the 6th, making his full equipment
£280. A man, calling himself Charles Gray of Carse, wrote to me,
expressing sympathy for my misfortunes, and offering me half the profits
of what, if I understand him right, is a patent medicine, to which I
suppose he expects me to stand trumpeter. He endeavours to get over my
objections to accepting his liberality (supposing me to entertain them)
by assuring me his conduct is founded on a _sage selfishness_. This is
diverting enough. I suppose the Commissioners of, Police will next send
me a letter of condolence, begging my acceptance of a broom, a shovel,
and a scavenger's greatcoat, and assuring me that they had appointed me
to all the emoluments of a well-frequented crossing. It would be doing
more than they have done of late for the cleanliness of the streets,
which, witness my shoes, are in a piteous pickle. I thanked the selfish
sage with due decorum--for what purpose can anger serve? I remember once
before, a mad woman, from about Alnwick, baited me with letters and
plans--first for charity to herself or some _protégé_. I gave my guinea.
Then she wanted to have half the profit of a novel which I was to
publish under my name and auspices. She sent me the manuscript, and a
_moving_ tale it was, for some of the scenes lay in the _cabinet à
l'eau._ I declined the partnership. Lastly, my fair correspondent
insisted I was a lover of speculation, and would be much profited by
going shares in a patent medicine which she had invented for the benefit
of little babies, I believe. I dreaded to have anything to do with such
a Herod-like affair, and begged to decline the honour of her
correspondence in future. I should have thought the thing a quiz, but
that the novel was real and substantial. Anne goes to Ravelston to-day
to remain to-morrow. Sir Alexander Don called, and we had a good laugh
together.

_February_ 12.--Having ended the second volume of _Woodstock_ last
night, I have to begin the third this morning. Now I have not the
slightest idea how the story is to be wound up to a catastrophe. I am
just in the same case as I used to be when I lost myself in former days
in some country to which I was a stranger. I always pushed for the
pleasantest road, and either found or made it the nearest. It is the
same in writing, I never could lay down a plan--or, having laid it down,
I never could adhere to it; the action of composition always diluted
some passages, and abridged or omitted others; and personages were
rendered important or insignificant, not according to their agency in
the original conception of the plan, but according to the success, or
otherwise, with which I was able to bring them out. I only tried to make
that which I was actually writing diverting and interesting, leaving the
rest to fate. I have been often amused with the critics distinguishing
some passages as particularly laboured, when the pen passed over the
whole as fast as it could move, and the eye never again saw them, except
in proof. Verse I write twice, and sometimes three times over. This may
be called in Spanish the _Dar donde diere_ mode of composition, in
English _hab nab at a venture_; it is a perilous style, I grant, but I
cannot help it. When I chain my mind to ideas which are purely
imaginative--for argument is a different thing--it seems to me that the
sun leaves the landscape, that I think away the whole vivacity and
spirit of my original conception, and that the results are cold, tame,
and spiritless. It is the difference between a written oration and one
bursting from the unpremeditated exertions of the speaker, which have
always something the air of enthusiasm and inspiration. I would not have
young authors imitate my carelessness, however; _consilium non currum
eape_.

Read a few pages of Will D'Avenant, who was fond of having it supposed
that Shakespeare intrigued with his mother. I think the pretension can
only be treated as Phaeton's was, according to Fielding's farce--

    "Besides, by all the village boys I'm shamed,
    You, the sun's son, you rascal?--you be damn'd."

Egad--I'll put that into _Woodstock_.[167] It might come well from the
old admirer of Shakespeare. Then Fielding's lines were not written. What
then?--it is an anachronism for some sly rogue to detect. Besides, it is
easy to swear they were written, and that Fielding adopted them from
tradition. Walked with Skene on the Calton Hill.

_February_ 13.--The Institution for the Encouragment of the Fine Arts
opens to-day, with a handsome entertainment in the Exhibition-room, as
at Somerset House. It strikes me that the direction given by amateurs
and professors to their _protégés_ and pupils, who aspire to be artists,
is upon a pedantic and false principle. All the Fine Arts have it for
their highest and more legitimate end and purpose, to affect the human
passions, or smooth and alleviate for a time the more unquiet feelings
of the mind--to excite wonder, or terror, or pleasure, or emotion of
some kind or other. It often happens that, in the very rise and origin
of these arts, as in the instance of Homer, the principal object is
obtained in a degree not equalled by his successors. But there is a
degree of execution which, in more refined times, the poet or musician
begins to study, which gives a value of its own to their productions of
a different kind from the rude strength of their predecessors. Poetry
becomes complicated in its rules--music learned in its cadences and
harmonies--rhetoric subtle in its periods. There is more given to the
labour of executing--less attained by the effect produced. Still the
nobler and popular end of these arts is not forgotten; and if we have
some productions too learned, too _recherchés_ for public feeling, we
have, every now and then, music that electrifies a whole assembly,
eloquence which shakes the forum, and poetry which carries men up to the
third heaven. But in painting it is different; it is all become a
mystery, the secret of which is lodged in a few connoisseurs, whose
object is not to praise the works of such painters as produce effect on
mankind at large, but to class them according to their proficiency in
the inferior rules of the art, which, though most necessary to be taught
and learned, should yet only be considered as the _Gradus ad
Parnassum_--the steps by which the higher and ultimate object of a great
popular effect is to be attained. They have all embraced the very style
of criticism which induced Michael Angelo to call some Pope a poor
creature, when, turning his attention from the general effect of a noble
statue, his Holiness began to criticise the hem of the robe. This seems
to me the cause of the decay of this delightful art, especially in
history, its noblest branch. As I speak to myself, I may say that a
painting should, to be excellent, have something to say to the mind of a
man, like myself, well-educated, and susceptible of those feelings which
anything strongly recalling natural emotion is likely to inspire. But
how seldom do I see anything that moves me much! Wilkie, the far more
than Teniers of Scotland, certainly gave many new ideas. So does Will
Allan, though overwhelmed with their rebukes about colouring and
grouping, against which they are not willing to place his general and
original merits. Landseer's dogs were the most magnificent things I ever
saw--leaping, and bounding, and grinning on the canvas. Leslie has great
powers; and the scenes from Moliere by [Newton] are excellent. Yet
painting wants a regenerator--some one who will sweep the cobwebs out of
his head before he takes the palette, as Chantrey has done in the sister
art. At present we are painting pictures from the ancients, as authors
in the days of Louis Quatorze wrote epic poems according to the recipe
of Madame Dacier and Co. The poor reader or spectator has no remedy; the
compositions are _secundum artem_, and if he does not like them, he is
no judge--that's all.

_February 14_--I had a call from Glengarry[168] yesterday, as kind and
friendly as usual. This gentleman is a kind of Quixote in our age,
having retained, in their full extent, the whole feelings of clanship
and chieftainship, elsewhere so long abandoned. He seems to have lived a
century too late, and to exist, in a state of complete law and order,
like a Glengarry of old, whose will was law to his sept. Warmhearted,
generous, friendly, he is beloved by those who know him, and his efforts
are unceasing to show kindness to those of his clan who are disposed
fully to admit his pretensions. To dispute them is to incur his
resentment, which has sometimes broken out in acts of violence which
have brought him into collision with the law. To me he is a treasure, as
being full of information as to the history of his own clan, and the
manners and customs of the Highlanders in general. Strong, active, and
muscular, he follows the chase of the deer for days and nights together,
sleeping in his plaid when darkness overtakes him in the forest. He was
fortunate in marrying a daughter of Sir William Forbes, who, by yielding
to his peculiar ideas in general, possesses much deserved influence with
him. The number of his singular exploits would fill a volume[169]; for,
as his pretensions are high, and not always willingly yielded to, he is
every now and then giving rise to some rumour. He is, on many of these
occasions, as much sinned against as sinning; for men, knowing his
temper, sometimes provoke him, conscious that Glengarry, from his
character for violence, will always be put in the wrong by the public. I
have seen him behave in a very manly manner when thus tempted. He has of
late prosecuted a quarrel, ridiculous enough in the present day, to have
himself admitted and recognised as Chief of the whole Clan Ranald, or
surname of Macdonald. The truth seems to be, that the present Clanranald
is not descended from a legitimate Chieftain of the tribe; for, having
accomplished a revolution in the sixteenth century, they adopted a
Tanist, or Captain--that is, a Chief not in the direct line of
succession, a certain Ian Moidart, or John of Moidart, who took the
title of Captain of Clanranald, with all the powers of Chief, and even
Glengarry's ancestor recognised them as chiefs _de facto_ if not _de
jure_. The fact is, that this elective power was, in cases of insanity,
imbecility, or the like, exercised by the Celtic tribes; and though Ian
Moidart was no chief by birth, yet by election he became so, and
transmitted his power to his descendants, as would King William III., if
he had had any. So it is absurd to set up the _jus sanguinis_ now, which
Glengarry's ancestors did not, or could not, make good, when it was a
right worth combating for. I wrought out my full task yesterday.

Saw Cadell as I returned from the Court. He seems dejected, apprehensive
of another trustee being preferred to Cowan, and gloomy about the extent
of stock of novels, etc., on hand. He infected me with his want of
spirits, and I almost wish my wife had not asked Mr. Scrope and Charles
K. Sharpe for this day. But the former sent such loads of game that Lady
Scott's gratitude became ungovernable. I have not seen a creature at
dinner since the direful 17th January, except my own family and Mr.
Laidlaw. The love of solitude increases by indulgence; I hope it will
not diverge into misanthropy. It does not mend the matter that this is
the first day that a ticket for sale is on my house. Poor No. 39.[170]
One gets accustomed even to stone walls, and the place suited me very
well. All our furniture, too, is to go--a hundred little articles that
seemed to me connected with all the happier years of my life. It is a
sorry business. But _sursum corda_.

My two friends came as expected, also Missie, and stayed till half-past
ten. Promised Sharpe the set of Piranesi's views in the dining-parlour.
They belonged to my uncle, so I do not like to sell them.[171]

_February_ 15.--Yesterday I did not write a line of _Woodstock_. Partly,
I was a little out of spirits, though that would not have hindered.
Partly, I wanted to wait for some new ideas--a sort of collecting of
straw to make bricks of. Partly, I was a little too far beyond the
press. I cannot pull well in long traces, when the draught is too far
behind me. I love to have the press thumping, clattering, and banging in
my rear; it creates the necessity which almost always makes me work
best. Needs must when the devil drives--and drive he does even according
to the letter. I must work to-day, however. Attended a meeting of the
Faculty about our new library. I spoke--saying that I hoped we would now
at length act upon a general plan, and look forward to commencing upon
such a scale as would secure us at least for a century against the petty
and partial management, which we have hitherto thought sufficient, of
fitting up one room after another. Disconnected and distant, these have
been costing large sums of money from time to time, all now thrown away.
We are now to have space enough for a very large range of buildings,
which we may execute in a simple taste, leaving Government to ornament
them if they shall think proper--otherwise, to be plain, modest, and
handsome, and capable of being executed by degrees, and in such
portions as convenience may admit of.

Poor James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, came to advise with me about his
affairs,--he is sinking under the times; having no assistance to give
him, my advice, I fear, will be of little service. I am sorry for him if
that would help him, especially as, by his own account, a couple of
hundred pounds would carry him on.

_February_ 16.---"Misfortune's gowling bark"[172] comes louder and
louder. By assigning my whole property to trustees for behoof of
creditors, with two works in progress and nigh publication, and with all
my future literary labours, I conceived I was bringing into the field a
large fund of payment, which could not exist without my exertions, and
that thus far I was entitled to a corresponding degree of indulgence. I
therefore supposed, on selling this house, and various other property,
and on receiving the price of _Woodstock_ and _Napoleon_, that they
would give me leisure to make other exertions, and be content with the
rents of Abbotsford, without attempting a sale. This would have been the
more reasonable, as the very printing of these works must amount to a
large sum, of which they will reap the profits. In the course of this
delay I supposed I was to have the chance of getting some insight both
into Constable's affairs and those of Hurst and Robinson. Nay, employing
these houses, under precautions, to sell the works, the publisher's
profit would have come in to pay part of their debts. But Gibson last
night came in after dinner, and gave me to understand that the Bank of
Scotland see this in a different point of view, and consider my
contribution of the produce of past, present, and future labours, as
compensated in full by their accepting of the trust-deed, instead of
pursuing the mode of sequestration, and placing me in the _Gazette_.
They therefore expected the trustees instantly to commence a law-suit
to reduce the marriage settlement, which settles the estate upon Walter,
thus loading me with a most expensive suit, and, I suppose, selling
library and whatever they can lay hold on.

Now this seems unequal measure, and would besides of itself totally
destroy any power of fancy or genius, if it deserves the name, which may
remain to me. A man cannot write in the House of Correction; and this
species of _peine forte et dure_ which is threatened would render it
impossible for one to help himself or others. So I told Gibson I had my
mind made up as far back as the 24th of January, not to suffer myself to
be harder pressed than law would press me. If this great commercial
company, through whose hands I have directed so many thousands, think
they are right in taking every advantage and giving none, it must be my
care to see that they take none but what law gives them. If they take
the sword of the law, I must lay hold of the shield. If they are
determined to consider me as an irretrievable bankrupt, they have no
title to object to my settling upon the usual terms which the Statute
requires. They probably are of opinion that I will be ashamed to do this
by applying publicly for a sequestration. Now, my feelings are
different. I am ashamed to owe debts I cannot pay; but I am not ashamed
of being classed with those to whose rank I belong. The disgrace is in
being an actual bankrupt, not in being made a legal one. I had like to
have been too hasty in this matter. I must have a clear understanding
that I am to be benefited or indulged in some way, if I bring in two
such funds as those works in progress, worth certainly from £10,000 to
£15,000.

Clerk came in last night and drank wine and water.

Slept ill, and bilious in the morning. _N.B._--I smoked a cigar, the
first for this present year, yesterday evening.

_February_ 17.--Slept sound, for Nature repays herself for the vexation
the mind sometimes gives her. This morning put interlocutors on several
Sheriff-Court processes from Selkirkshire. Gibson came to-night to say
that he had spoken at full length with Alexander Monypenny, proposed as
trustee on the part of the Bank of Scotland, and found him decidedly in
favour of the most moderate measures, and taking burthen on himself for
the Bank of Scotland proceeding with such lenity as might enable me to
have some time and opportunity to clear these affairs out. I repose
trust in Mr. M. entirely. His father, old Colonel Monypenny, was my
early friend, kind and hospitable to me when I was a mere boy. He had
much of old Withers about him, as expressed in Pope's epitaph--

    "O youth in arms approved!
    O soft humanity in age beloved."[173]

His son David, and a younger brother, Frank, a soldier who perished by
drowning on a boating party from Gibraltar, were my school-fellows; and
with the survivor, now Lord Pitmilly,[174] I have always kept up a
friendly intercourse. Of this gentleman, on whom my fortunes are to
depend, I know little. He was Colin Mackenzie's partner in business
while my friend pursued it, and he speaks highly of him: that's a great
deal. He is secretary to the Pitt Club, and we have had all our lives
the habit _idem sentire de republica_: that's much too. Lastly, he is a
man of perfect honour and reputation; and I have nothing to ask which
such a man would not either grant or convince me was unreasonable. I
have, to be sure, some of my constitutional and hereditary obstinacy;
but it is in me a dormant quality. Convince my understanding, and I am
perfectly docile; stir my passions by coldness or affronts, and the
devil would not drive me from my purpose. Let me record, I have striven
against this besetting sin. When I was a boy, and on foot expeditions,
as we had many, no creature could be so indifferent which way our course
was directed, and I acquiesced in what any one proposed; but if I was
once driven to make a choice, and felt piqued in honour to maintain my
proposition, I have broken off from the whole party, rather than yield
to any one. Time has sobered this pertinacity of mind; but it still
exists, and I must be on my guard against it.

It is the same with me in politics. In general I care very little about
the matter, and from year's end to year's end have scarce a thought
connected with them, except to laugh at the fools who think to make
themselves great men out of little, by swaggering in the rear of a
party. But either actually important events, or such as seemed so by
their close neighbourhood to me, have always hurried me off my feet, and
made me, as I have sometimes afterwards regretted, more forward and more
violent than those who had a regular jog-trot way of busying themselves
in public matters. Good luck; for had I lived in troublesome times, and
chanced to be on the unhappy side, I had been hanged to a certainty.
What I have always remarked has been, that many who have hallooed me on
at public meetings, and so forth, have quietly left me to the odium
which a man known to the public always has more than his own share of;
while, on the other hand, they were easily successful in pressing before
me, who never pressed forward at all, when there was any distribution of
public favours or the like. I am horribly tempted to interfere in this
business of altering the system of banks in Scotland; and yet I know
that if I can attract any notice, I will offend my English friends
without propitiating one man in Scotland. I will think of it till
to-morrow. It is making myself of too much importance after all.

_February_ 18.--I set about Malachi Malagrowther's Letter on the late
disposition to change everything in Scotland to an English model, but
without resolving about the publication. They do treat us very
provokingly.

    "O Land of Cakes! said the Northern bard,
      Though all the world betrays thee,
    One faithful pen thy rights shall guard,
      One faithful harp shall praise thee."[175]

Called on the Lord Chief Commissioner, who, understanding there was a
hitch in our arrangements, had kindly proposed to execute an arrangement
for my relief. I could not, I think, have thought of it at any rate. But
it is unnecessary.

_February_ 19.--Finished my letter (Malachi Malagrowther) this morning,
and sent it to James B., who is to call with the result this forenoon. I
am not very anxious to get on with _Woodstock_. I want to see what
Constable's people mean to do when they have their trustee. For an
unfinished work they must treat with the author. It is the old story of
the varnish spread over the picture, which nothing but the artist's own
hand could remove. A finished work might be seized under some legal
pretence.

Being troubled with thick-coming fancies, and a slight palpitation of
the heart, I have been reading the Chronicle of the Good Knight Messire
Jacques de Lalain--curious, but dull, from the constant repetition of
the same species of combats in the same style and phrase. It is like
washing bushels of sand for a grain of gold. It passes the time,
however, especially in that listless mood when your mind is half on your
book, half on something else. You catch something to arrest the
attention every now and then, and what you miss is not worth going back
upon; idle man's studies, in short. Still things occur to one. Something
might be made out of the Pass or Fountain of Tears,[176] a tale of
chivalry,--taken from the Passages of Arms, which Jacques de Lalain
maintained for the first day of every month for a twelvemonth.[177] The
first mention perhaps of red-hot balls appears in the siege of Oudenarde
by the citizens of Ghent. _Chronique_, p. 293. This would be light
summer work.

J.B. came and sat an hour. I led him to talk of _Woodstock_; and, to say
truth, his approbation did me much good. I am aware it _may_--nay,
_must_--be partial; yet is he Tom Tell-truth, and totally unable to
disguise his real feelings.[178] I think I make no habit of feeding on
praise, and despise those whom I see greedy for it, as much as I should
an under-bred fellow, who, after eating a cherry-tart, proceeded to lick
the plate. But when one is flagging, a little praise (if it can be had
genuine and unadulterated by flattery, which is as difficult to come by
as the genuine mountain-dew) is a cordial after all. So now--_vamos
corazon_--let us atone for the loss of the morning.

_February_ 20.--Yesterday, though late in beginning, I nearly finished
my task, which is six of my close pages, about thirty pages of print,
to a full and uninterrupted day's work. To-day I have already written
four, and with some confidence. Thus does flattery or praise oil the
wheels. It is but two o'clock. Skene was here remonstrating against my
taking apartments at the Albyn Club,[179] and recommending that I should
rather stay with them.[180] I told him that was altogether impossible; I
hoped to visit them often, but for taking a permanent residence I was
altogether the country mouse, and voted for

    "--A hollow tree,
    A crust of bread and liberty."[181]

The chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of
constant close contact.

_February_ 21.--Corrected the proofs of _Malachi_[182] this morning; it
may fall dead, and there will be a squib lost; it may chance to light on
some ingredients of national feeling and set folk's beards in a
blaze--and so much the better if it does. I mean better for
Scotland--not a whit for me. Attended the hearing in P[arliament] House
till near four o'clock, so I shall do little to-night, for I am tired
and sleepy. One person talking for a long time, whether in pulpit or at
the bar, or anywhere else, unless the interest be great, and the
eloquence of the highest character, always sets me to sleep. I
impudently lean my head on my hand in the Court and take my nap without
shame. The Lords may keep awake and mind their own affairs. _Quod supra
nos nihil ad nos._ These clerks' stools are certainly as easy seats as
are in Scotland, those of the Barons of Exchequer always excepted.

_February_ 22.--Paid Lady Scott her fortnight's allowance, £24.

Ballantyne breakfasted, and is to negotiate about _Malachi_ with
Constable and Blackwood. It reads not amiss; and if I can get a few
guineas for it I shall not be ashamed to take them; for paying Lady
Scott, I have just left between £3 and £4 for any necessary occasion
and my salary does not become due until 20th March, and the expense of
removing, etc., is to be provided for:

    "But shall we go mourn for that, my dear?
      The cold moon shines by night,
    And when we wander here and there,
      We then do go most right."[183]

The mere scarcity of money (so that actual wants are provided) is not
poverty--it is the bitter draft to owe money which we cannot pay.
Laboured fairly at _Woodstock_ to-day, but principally in revising and
adding to _Malachi_, of which an edition as a pamphlet is anxiously
desired. I have lugged in my old friend Cardrona[184]--I hope it will
not be thought unkindly. The Banks are anxious to have it published.
They were lately exercising lenity towards me, and if I can benefit
them, it will be an instance of the "King's errand lying in the cadger's
gate."

_February_ 23.--Corrected two sheets of _Woodstock_ this morning. These
are not the days of idleness. The fact is, that the not seeing company
gives me a command of my time which I possessed at no other period in my
life, at least since I knew how to make some use of my leisure. There is
a great pleasure in sitting down to write with the consciousness that
nothing will occur during the day to break the spell. Detained in the
Court till past three, and came home just in time to escape a terrible
squall. I am a good deal jaded, and will not work till after dinner.
There is a sort of drowsy vacillation of mind attends fatigue with me. I
can command my pen as the school copy recommends, but cannot equally
command my thought, and often write one word for another. Read a little
volume called _The_ _Omen_[185]--very well written--deep and powerful
language. _Aut Erasmus aut Diabolus_, it is Lockhart or I am strangely
deceived. It is passed for Wilson's though, but Wilson has more of the
falsetto of assumed sentiment, less of the depth of gloomy and powerful
feeling.

_February_ 24.--Went down to printing-office after the Court, and
corrected _Malachi_. J.B.'s name is to be on the imprint, so he will
subscribe the book. He reproaches me with having taken much more pains
on this temporary pamphlet than on works which have a greater interest
on my fortunes. I have certainly bestowed enough of revision and
correction. But the cases are different. In a novel or poem, I run the
course alone--here I am taking up the cudgels, and may expect a drubbing
in return. Besides, I do feel that this is public matter in which the
country is deeply interested; and, therefore, is far more important than
anything referring to my fame or fortune alone. The pamphlet will soon
be out--meantime _Malachi_ prospers and excites much attention.[186] The
Banks have bespoke 500 copies. The country is taking the alarm; and I
think the Ministers will not dare to press the measure. I should rejoice
to see the old red lion ramp a little, and the thistle again claim its
_nemo me impune_. I do believe Scotsmen will show themselves unanimous
at least where their cash is concerned. They shall not want backing. I
incline to cry with Biron in _Love's Labour's Lost_,

    "More Atés, more Atés! stir them on."

I suppose all imaginative people feel more or less of excitation from a
scene of insurrection or tumult, or of general expression of national
feeling. When I was a lad, poor Davie Douglas[187] used to accuse me of
being _cupidus novarum rerum_, and say that I loved the stimulus of a
broil. It might be so then, and even still--

    "Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires."[188]

Whimsical enough that when I was trying to animate Scotland against the
currency bill, John Gibson brought me the deed of trust, assigning my
whole estate to be subscribed by me; so that I am turning patriot, and
taking charge of the affairs of the country, on the very day I was
proclaiming myself incapable of managing my own. What of that? The
eminent politician, _Quidnunc_,[189] was in the same condition. Who
would think of their own trumpery debts, when they are taking the
support of the whole system of Scottish banking on their shoulders? Odd
enough too--on this day, for the first time since the awful 17th
January, we entertain at dinner--Lady Anna Maria Elliot,[190] W. Clerk,
John A. Murray,[191] and Thomas Thomson,[192] as if we gave a dinner on
account of my _cessio fori_.

_February_ 25.--Our party yesterday went off very gaily; much laugh and
fun, and I think I enjoyed it more from the rarity of the event--I mean
from having seen society at home so seldom of late. My head aches
slightly though; yet we were but a bottle of Champagne, one of Port, one
of old Sherry, and two of Claret, among four gentlemen and three ladies.
I have been led from this incident to think of taking chambers near
Clerk, in Rose Court.[193] Methinks the retired situation should suit me
well. There a man and woman would be my whole establishment. My
superfluous furniture might serve, and I could ask a friend or two to
dinner, as I have been accustomed to do. I will look at the place
to-day.

I must set now to a second epistle of _Malachi_ to the Athenians. If I
can but get the sulky Scottish spirit set up, the devil won't turn them.

    "Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu' sprush;
    We'll over the Border, and give them a brush;
    There's somebody there we'll teach better behaviour;
    Hey, Johnnie lad, cock up your beaver."[194]

_February_ 26.--Spent the morning and till dinner on _Malachi's_ second
epistle to the Athenians. It is difficult to steer betwixt the natural
impulse of one's national feelings setting in one direction, and the
prudent regard to the interests of the empire and its internal peace and
quiet, recommending less vehement expression. I will endeavour to keep
sight of both. But were my own interests alone concerned, d--n me but I
would give it them hot! Had some valuable communications from Colin
Mackenzie and Lord Medwyn, which will supply my plentiful lack of facts.

Received an anonymous satire in doggrel, which, having read the first
verse and last, I committed to the flames. Peter Murray, son of the
clever Lord Elibank, called and sat half-an-hour--an old friend, and
who, from the peculiarity and originality of his genius, is one of the
most entertaining companions I have ever known.[195] But I must finish
_Malachi_.

_February_ 27.--_Malachi_ is getting on; I must finish him to-night. I
dare say some of my London friends will be displeased--Canning perhaps,
for he is _engoué_ of Huskisson. Can't help it.

The place I looked at won't do; but I really must get some lodging, for,
reason or none, Dalgleish[196] will not leave me, and cries and makes a
scene. Now if I stayed alone in a little set of chambers, he would serve
greatly for my accommodation. There are some nice places of the kind in
the. New Buildings, but they are distant from the Court, and I cannot
walk well on the pavement. It is odd enough that just when I had made a
resolution to use my coach frequently I ceased to keep one--in town at
least.

_February_ 28.--Completed _Malachi_ to-day. It is more serious than the
first, and in some places perhaps too peppery. Never mind, if you would
have a horse kick, make a crupper out of a whin-cow,[197] and I trust to
see Scotland kick and fling to some purpose. _Woodstock_ lies back for
this. But _quid non pro patria_?

FOOTNOTES:

[143] _Cause of Truth defended_, etc. Two Trials of the Rev. T. Hill,
Methodist Preacher, for defamation of the character of Miss Bell, etc.
etc. 8vo. Hull and London, 1827.

[144] Coleridge's _Christabel_, Part II.

[145] James Ferrier, one of the Clerks of Session,--the father of the
authoress of _Marriage, The Inheritance_, and _Destiny_. Mr. Ferrier was
born in 1744, and died in 1829.

[146] "Authentic Memoirs of the remarkable Life and surprising Exploits
of Mandrin, Captain-General of the French Smugglers, who for the space
of nine months resolutely stood in defiance of the whole army of
France," etc. 8vo, Lond. 1755. See _Waverley Novels_, vol. xxxvii. p.
434, Note.--J.G.L.

[147] See _Tranent Muir_ by Skirving.

[148] Addison, _Cato_, i. 4.

[149] See p. 83.

[150] Variation from 2 _Henry IV._, Act II. Sc. 4.

[151] _See_ "Glee for King Charles," _Waverley Novels_, vol. xl. p.
40.--J.G.L.

[152] Lady Louisa Stuart, youngest daughter of John, third Earl of Bute,
and grand-daughter of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.

[153] The well-known Mathematician and Natural Philosopher. Professor
Playfair died in 1819 in his seventy-second year.

  Have you seen the famed Bas bleu, the gentle dame Apreece,
  Who at a glance shot through and through the Scots Review,
    And changed its swans to geese?
  Playfair forgot his mathematics, astronomy, and hydrostatics,
  And in her presence often swore, he knew not two and two made four.

[Squib of 1811.]



[154] See _Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act II. Sc. 2.

[155] This journey was made in 1810.--_See Life_, Chapter xxi. vol. iii.
p. 271.

[156] Lady Davy survived her distinguished husband for more than a
quarter of a century; she died in London, May 1855.

[157] _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[158] Sir Patrick Murray of Ochtertyre, then a baron of the Court of
Exchequer in Scotland; he died in June 1837.

[159] This cherished and confidential friend had been living at Kaeside
from 1817, and acting as steward on the estate. Mr. Laidlaw died in
Ross-shire in 1845.

Mr. Lockhart says, "I have the best reason to believe that the kind and
manly character of Dandie [Dinmont in _Guy Mannering_], the gentle and
delicious one of his wife, and some at least of the most picturesque
peculiarities of the _ménage_ at Charlieshope were filled up from
Scott's observation, years after this period [1792], of a family, with
one of whose members he had, through the best part of his life, a close
and affectionate connection. To those who were familiar with him, I have
perhaps already sufficiently indicated the early home of his dear
friend, William Laidlaw." _Life_, vol. i. p. 268. See also vol. ii. p.
59; v. pp. 210-15, 251; vii. p. 168; viii. p. 68, etc.

[160] Flax on her distaff.

[161] _The English in Italy_, 3 vols., Lond. 1825, ascribed to the
Marquis of Normanby.

[162] "S.W.S." Scott, in writing of himself, often uses these three
letters in playful allusion to a freak of his trusty henchman Tom
Purdie, who, in his joy on hearing of the baronetcy, proceeded to mark
every sheep on the estate with a large letter "S" in addition to the
owner's initials, W.S., which, according to custom, had already been
stamped on their backs.

[163] Moore also felt that the morning was his happiest time for work,
but he preferred "composing" in bed! He says somewhere that he would
have passed half his days in bed for the purpose of composition had he
not found it too relaxing.

Macaulay, too, when engaged in his _History_, was in the habit of
writing three hours before breakfast daily.

[164] I am assured by Professor Butcher that there is no such passage in
the Odyssey, but he suggests "that what Scott had in his mind was merely
the Greek idea of a _waking vision_ being a true one. They spoke of it
as a ὕπαρ opposed to an ὄναρ, a mere dream. These waking visions are
usually said to be seen towards morning.

"In the Odyssey there are two such visions which turn out to be
realities:--that of Nausicaa, Bk. vi. 20, etc., and that of Penelope,
Bk. xix. 535, etc. In the former case we are told that the vision
occurred just before dawn; I. 48-49, αὐτίκα δ' Ἠὼςἦλθεν, 'straightway
came the Dawn,' etc. In the latter, there is no special mention of the
hour. The vision, however, is said to be not a dream, but a true vision
which shall be accomplished (547, οὐκ ὂναρ ἀλλ' ὕπαρ ἐσθλὸν, ὅ τοι
τετελεσμένον ἔσται).

"Such passages as these, which are frequent in Greek literature, might
easily have given rise to the notion of a 'matutinal inspiration,' of
which Scott speaks."

[165] General Sir James Steuart Denham of Coltness, Baronet, Colonel of
the Scots Greys. His father, the celebrated political economist, took
part in the Rebellion of 1745, and was long afterwards an exile. The
reader is no doubt acquainted with "Lady Mary Wortley Montagu's Letters"
addressed to him and his wife, Lady Frances.--J.G.L. See also Mrs.
Calderwood's _Letters_, 8vo. Edin. 1884. Sir James died in 1839.

[166] "Had Prince Charles slept during the whole of the expedition,"
says the Chevalier Johnstone, "and allowed Lord George Murray to act for
him according to his own judgment, there is every reason for supposing
he would have found the crown of Great Britain on his head when he
awoke."--_Memoirs of the Rebellion of 1745_, etc. 4to, p. 140. London,
1810.--J.G.L.

[167] The lines are given in _Woodstock_, with the following apology:
"We observe this couplet in Fielding's farce of _Tumbledown Dick_,
founded on the same classical story. As it was current in the time of
the Commonwealth, it must have reached the author of _Tom Jones_ by
tradition, for no one will suspect the present author of making the
anachronism."

[168] Colonel Ranaldson Macdonell of Glengarry. He died in January
1828.--J.G.L.

[169] "We have had Maréchal Macdonald here. We had a capital account of
Glengarry visiting the interior of a convent in the ancient Highland
garb, and the effect of such an apparition on the nuns, who fled in all
directions."--Scott to Skene, Edinburgh, 24th June 1825.

[170] No. 39 Castle Street, which had been occupied by him from 1802,
when he removed from No. 10 in the same street. The situation suited
him, as the houses of nearly all his friends were within a circle of a
few hundred yards. For description see _Life_, vol. v. pp. 321, 333-4,
etc.

[171] See below, _March_ 12.

[172] Burns's _Dedication_ to Gavin Hamilton--

  "May ne'er misfortune's gowling bark Howl through the dwelling o' the
_Clerk_."



[173]

  "O born to arms! O worth in youth approved, O soft humanity in age
beloved!"

--See Pope, _Epitaphs_, 9.

[174] David Monypenny had been on the Bench from 1813; he retired in
1830, and died at the age of eighty-one in 1850.

[175] Parody on Moore's _Minstrel Boy_.--J.G.L.

[176] "Le Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs."--_Chroniques Nationales_.

[177] This hint was taken up in _Count Robert of Paris_.--J.G.L.

[178] James Ballantyne gives an interesting account of an interview a
dozen years before this time, when "Tom Telltruth" had a somewhat
delicate task to perform:--

"_The Lord of the Isles_ was by far the least popular of the series, and
Mr. Scott was very prompt at making such discoveries. In about a week
after its publication he took me into his library, and asked me what the
people were saying about _The Lord of the Isles_. I hesitated, much in
the same manner that Gil Blas might be supposed to do when a similar
question was put by the Archbishop of Grenada, but he very speedily
brought the matter to a point--'Come, speak out, my good fellow, what
has put it in your head to be on ceremony with me? But the result is in
one word--disappointment!' My silence admitted his inference to its
fullest extent. His countenance certainly did look rather blank for a
few seconds (for it is a singular fact, that before the public, or
rather the booksellers, gave _their_ decision he no more knew whether he
had written well or ill, than whether a die, which he threw out of a
box, was to turn out a sise or an ace). However, he almost instantly
resumed his spirits and expressed his wonder rather that his popularity
had lasted so long, than that it should have given way at last. At
length, with a perfectly cheerful manner, he said, 'Well, well, James,
but you know we must not droop--for you know we can't and won't give
over--we must just try something else, and the question is, what it's to
be?' Nor was it any wonder he spoke thus, for he could not fail to be
unconsciously conscious, if I dare use such a term, of his own gigantic,
and as yet undeveloped, powers, and was somewhat under forty years old.
I am by no means sure whether he then alluded to _Waverley_, as if he
had mentioned it to me for the first time, for my memory has greatly
failed me touching this, or whether he alluded to it, as in fact appears
to have been the case, as having been commenced and laid aside several
years before, but I well recollect that he consulted me with his usual
openness and candour respecting his probability of succeeding as a
novelist, and I confess my expectations were not very sanguine. He saw
this and said, 'Well, I don't see why I should not succeed as well as
other people. Come, faint heart never won fair lady--let us try.' I
remember when the work was put into my hands, I could not get myself to
think much, of the Waverley Honour scenes, but to my shame be it spoken,
when he had reached the exquisite scenes of Scottish manners at
Tully-Veolan, I thought them, and pronounced them, vulgar! When the
success of the book so utterly knocked me down as a man of taste, all
that the good-natured Author observed was, 'Well, I really thought you
might be wrong about the Scotch. Why, Burns had already attracted
universal attention to all about Scotland, and I confess I could not see
why I should not be able to keep the flame alive, merely because I wrote
in prose in place of rhyme.'"--_Memorandum_.



[179] This was a club-house on the London plan, in Princes Street [No.
54], a little eastward from the Mound. On its dissolution soon
afterwards, Sir W. was elected by acclamation into the elder Society,
called the _New Club_, who had then their house in St. Andrew Square
[No. 3], and since 1837 in Princes Street [No. 85].

[180] Mr. Skene's house was No. 126 Princes Street. Scott's written
answer has been preserved:--

"MY DEAR SKENE,--A thousand thanks for your kind proposal. But I am a
solitary monster by temper, and must necessarily couch in a den of my
own. I should not, I assure you, have made any ceremony in accepting
your offer had it at all been like to suit me.

"But I must make an arrangement which is to last for years, and perhaps
for my lifetime; therefore the sooner I place myself on my footing it
will be so much the better.--Always, dear Skene, your obliged and
faithful, W. SCOTT."



[181] Pope's _Imitation of Horace_, Bk. ii Sat. 6.--J.G.L.

[182] These Letters appeared in the _Edinburgh Weekly Journal_ in
February and March 1826. "They were then collected into a pamphlet, and
ran through numerous editions; in the subsequent discussions in
Parliament, they were frequently referred to; and although an elaborate
answer by the then Secretary of the Admiralty, Mr. Croker, attracted
much notice, and was, by the Government of the time, expected to
neutralise the effect of the northern lucubrations--the proposed
measure, as regarded Scotland, was ultimately abandoned, and that result
was universally ascribed to Malachi Malagrowther."--Scott's _Misc.
Works_, vol. xxi.

[183] _Winter's Tale_, Act iv. Sc. 2, slightly altered.

[184] The late Mr. Williamson of Cardrona in Peeblesshire, was a strange
humorist, of whom Sir Walter told many stories. The allusion here is to
the anecdote of the _Leetle Anderson_ in the first of _Malachi_'s
Epistles.:--See Scott's _Prose Miscellanies_, vol. xxi. p.
289.--_J.G.L._

[185] _The Omen_, by Galt, had just been published.--See Sir Walter's
review of this novel in the _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, vol. xviii. p.
333. John Gait died at Greenock in April 1839.--J.G.L.

[186] "A Letter from Malachi Malagrowther, Esq., to the Editor of the
_Edinburgh Weekly Journal_, on the proposed Change of Currency, and
other late alterations as they affect, or are intended to affect, the
Kingdom of Scotland. 8 vo, Edin. 1826."

The motto to the epistle was:--

  "When the pipes begin to play
  _Tutti taittie_ to the drum,
  Out claymore and down wi' gun,
  And to the rogues again."

In the next edition it was suppressed, as some friends thought it might
be misunderstood. Mr. Croker in his reply had urged that if the author
appealed to the edge of the claymore at Prestonpans, he might refer him
to the point of the bayonet at Culloden.--See Croker's _Correspondence_,
vol. i. pp. 317-320, and Scott's _Life_, vol. viii. pp. 301-5.

[187] Lord Reston, who died at Gladsmuir in 1819. He was one of Scott's
companions at the High School.--See _Life_., vol. i. p. 40.

[188] See Gray's _Elegy_.--J.G.L.

[189] In Arthur Murphy's farce of _The Upholsterer, or What News_?

[190] Lady Anna Maria Elliot, daughter of the first Earl of Minto. She
married Sir Rufane Donkin in 1832.

[191] Afterwards Lord Advocate, 1834 and 1835, and Judge under the title
of Lord Murray from 1839; he died in 1859.

[192] The learned editor of the Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland, in
10 vols. folio, Edin. 1814-24; he succeeded Sir Walter as President of
the Bannatyne Club in 1832, and died in 1852.

[193] Rose Court, where Mr. Clerk had a bachelor's establishment, was
situated immediately behind St. Andrew's Church, George Street. The name
disappeared from our Street Directories shortly after Mr. Clerk's death
in 1847.

[194] Burns, in Johnson's _Musical Museum_, No. 319.

[195] One of the nineteen original members of _The Club_.--See Mr.
Irving's letter with names, _Life_, vol. i. pp. 207-8, and Scott's
joyous visit in 1793 to Meigle, pp. 292-4.

[196] Dalgleish was Sir Walter's butler. He said he cared not how much
his wages were reduced--but go he would not.--J.G.L.

[197] Whin-cow--_Anglicè_, a bush of furze.--J.G.L.




MARCH.

_March_ 1.--_Malachi_ is in the _Edinburgh Journal_ to-day, and reads
like the work of an uncompromising right-forward Scot of the old school.
Some of the cautious and pluckless instigators will be afraid of their
confederate; for if a man of some energy and openness of character
happens to be on the same side with these truckling jobbers, they stand
as much in awe of his vehemence as doth the inexperienced conjurer who
invokes a fiend whom he cannot manage. Came home, in a heavy shower with
the Solicitor. I tried him on the question, but found him reserved and
cautious. The future Lord Advocate must be cautious; but I can tell my
good friend John Hope that, if he acts the part of a firm and resolute
Scottish patriot, both his own country and England will respect him the
more. Ah! Hal Dundas, there was no such truckling in thy day!

Looked out a quantity of things to go to Abbotsford; for we are
flitting, if you please.[198] It is with a sense of pain that I leave
behind a parcel of trumpery prints and little ornaments, once the pride
of Lady S----'s heart, but which she sees consigned with indifference to
the chance of an auction. Things that have had their day of importance
with me I cannot forget, though the merest trifles. But I am glad that
she, with bad health and enough to vex her, has not the same useless
mode of associating recollections with this unpleasant business. The
best part of it is the necessity of leaving behind, viz., setting rid
of, a set of most wretched daubs of landscapes, in great gilded frames,
of which I have often been heartily ashamed. The history of them was
curious. An amateur artist (a lady) happened to fall into misfortunes,
upon which her landscapes, the character of which had been buoyed up far
beyond their proper level, sank even beneath it, and it was low enough.
One most amiable and accomplished old lady continued to encourage her
pencil, and to order picture after picture, which she sent in presents
to her friends. I suppose I have eight or ten of them, which I could not
avoid accepting. There will be plenty of laughing when they come to be
sold. It would be a good joke enough to cause it to be circulated that
they were performances of my own in early youth, and they would be
looked on and bought up as curiosities. True it is that I took lessons
of oil-painting in youth from a little Jew animalcule, a smouch called
Burrell, a clever sensible creature though; but I could make no progress
either in painting or drawing. Nature denied me correctness of eye and
neatness of hand, yet I was very desirous to be a draughtsman at least,
and laboured harder to attain that point than at any other in my
recollection, to which I did not make some approaches. My oil-paintings
were to Miss ------ above commemorated what hers are to Claude Lorraine.
Yet Burrell was not useless to me altogether neither; he was a Prussian,
and I got from him many a long story of the battles of Frederic, in
whose armies his father had been a commissary, or perhaps a spy. I
remember his picturesque account of seeing a party of the Black Hussars
bringing in some forage carts which they had taken from a body of the
Cossacks, whom he described as lying on the top of the carts of hay,
mortally wounded, and, like the Dying Gladiator, eyeing their own blood
as it ran down through the straw. I afterwards took lessons from Walker,
whom we used to call Blue-beard. He was one of the most conceited
persons in the world, but a good teacher--one of the ugliest
countenances he had too--enough, as we say, to spean weans.[199] The
man was always extremely precise in the quality of everything about him,
his dress, accommodations, and everything else. He became insolvent,
poor man, and for some reason or other I attended the meeting of those
concerned in his affairs. Instead of ordinary accommodations for
writing, each of the persons present was equipped with a large sheet of
drawing paper and a swan's quill. It was mournfully ridiculous enough.
Skirving[200] made an admirable likeness of Walker, not a single scar or
mark of the smallpox which seamed his countenance, but the too accurate
brother of the brush had faithfully laid it down in longitude and
latitude. Poor Walker destroyed it (being in crayons) rather than let
the caricature of his ugliness appear at the sale of his effects. I did
learn myself to take some vile views from Nature. When Will Clerk and I
lived very much together, I used sometimes to make them under his
instruction. He to whom, as to all his family, art is a familiar
attribute, wondered at me as a Newfoundland dog would at a greyhound
which showed fear of the water.

Going down to Liddesdale once, I drew the castle of Hermitage in my
fashion, and sketched it so accurately that with a few verbal
instructions Clerk put it into regular form, Williams[201] (the Grecian)
copied over Clerk's, and _his_ drawing was engraved as the frontispiece
of the first volume of the Kelso edition, _Minstrelsy of the Scottish
Border_.[202] Do you know why you have written all this down, Sir W.?
Because it pleases me to record that this thrice-transmitted drawing,
though taken originally from a sketch of mine, was extremely like
Hermitage, which neither of my colleagues in the task had ever seen? No,
that's not the reason. You want to put off writing _Woodstock_, just as
easily done as these memoranda, but which it happens your duty and your
prudence recommend, and therefore you are loath to begin.

            "Heigho,
            I can't say no;
        But this piece of task-work off I can stave, O,
        For Malachi's posting into an octavo;
    To correct the proof-sheets only this night I have, O,
    So, Madame Conscience, you've gotten as good as you gave, O
    But to-morrow's a new day and we'll better behave, O,
    So I lay down the pen, and your pardon I crave, O."

In the evening Mr. Gibson called and transacted business.

_March_ 2.--I have a letter from Colin Mackenzie, approving
_Malachi_,--"Cold men may say it is too strong; but from the true men of
Scotland you are sure of the warmest gratitude." I never have yet found,
nor do I expect it on this occasion, that ill-will dies in debt, or what
is called gratitude distresses herself by frequent payments. The one is
like a ward-holding and pays its reddendo in hard blows. The other a
blanch-tenure, and is discharged for payment of a red rose or a
peppercorn. He that takes the forlorn hope in an attack, is often
deserted by those that should support him, and who generally throw the
blame of their own cowardice upon his rashness. We shall see this will
end in the same way. But I foresaw it from the beginning. The bankers
will be persuaded that it is a squib which may burn their own fingers,
and will curse the poor pyrotechnist that compounded it; if they do,
they be d--d. Slept indifferently, and dreamed of Napoleon's last
moments, of which I was reading a medical account last night, by Dr.
Arnott. Horrible death--a cancer on the pylorus. I would have given
something to have lain still this morning and made up for lost time. But
_desidiae valedixi_. If you once turn on your side after the hour at
which you ought to rise, it is all over. Bolt up at once. Bad night
last--the next is sure to be better.

    "When the drum beats, make ready;
    When the fife plays, march away--
    To the roll-call, to the roll-call, to the roll-call,
    Before the break of day."

Dined with Chief-Commissioner, Admiral Adam, W. Clerk, Thomson, and I.
The excellent old man was cheerful at intervals--at times sad, as was
natural. A good blunder he told us, occurred in the Annandale case,
which was a question partly of domicile. It was proved that leaving
Lochwood, the Earl had given up his _kain_ and _carriages_;[203] this an
English Counsel contended was the best of all possible proofs that the
noble Earl designed an absolute change of residence, since he laid aside
his _walking-stick_ and his _coach_.

First epistle of _Malachi_ is getting out of print, or rather is out of
print already.

_March_ 3.--Could not get the last sheets of _Malachi_, Second Epistle,
last night, so they must go out to the world uncorrected--a great loss,
for the last touches are always most effectual; and I expect misprints
in the additional matter. We were especially obliged to have it out this
morning, that it may operate as a gentle preparative for the meeting of
inhabitants at two o'clock. _Vogue la galère_--we shall see if Scotsmen
have any pluck left. If not, they may kill the next Percy themselves. It
is ridiculous enough for me, in a state of insolvency for the present,
to be battling about gold and paper currency. It is something like the
humorous touch in Hogarth's _Distressed Poet_, where the poor starveling
of the Muses is engaged, when in the abyss of poverty, in writing an
Essay on payment of the National Debt; and his wall is adorned with a
plan of the mines of Peru. Nevertheless, even these fugitive attempts,
from the success which they have had, and the noise they are making,
serve to show the truth of the old proverb--

    "When house and land are gone and spent,
    Then learning is most excellent."

On the whole, I am glad of this brulzie, as far as I am concerned;
people will not dare talk of me as an object of pity--no more
"poor-manning." Who asks how many punds Scots the old champion had in
his pocket when

    "He set a bugle to his mouth,
      And blew so loud and shrill,
    The trees in greenwood shook thereat,
      Sae loud rang ilka hill"?[204]

This sounds conceited enough, yet is not far from truth.

The meeting was very numerous, 500 or 600 at least, and unanimous, save
in one Mr. Howden, who having been all his life, as I am told, in bitter
opposition to Ministers, proposed on the present occasion that the whole
contested measure should be trusted to their wisdom. I suppose he chose
the opportunity of placing his own opinion in opposition, single
opposition too, to that of a large assembly. The speaking was very
moderate. Report had said that Jeffrey, J.A. Murray, and other sages of
the economical school, were to unbuckle their mails, and give us their
opinions. But no such great guns appeared. If they had, having the
multitude on my side, I would have tried to break a lance with them. A
few short but well-expressed resolutions were adopted unanimously. These
were proposed by Lord Rollo, and seconded by Sir James Fergusson, Bart.
I was named one of a committee to encourage all sorts of opposition to
the measure. So I have already broken through two good and wise
resolutions--one, that I would not write on political controversy;
another, that I would not be named on public committees. If my good
resolves go this way, like _snaw aff a dyke_--the Lord help me!

_March_ 4.--Last night I had a letter from Lockhart, who, speaking of
_Malachi_, says, "The Ministers are sore beyond imagination at present;
and some of them, I hear, have felt this new whip on the raw to some
purpose." I conclude he means Canning is offended. I can't help it, as I
said before--_fiat justitia, ruat coelum_. No cause in which I had the
slightest personal interest should have made me use my pen 'gainst them,
blunt or pointed as it may be. But as they are about to throw this
country into distress and danger, by a measure of useless and
uncalled-for experiment, they must hear the opinion of the Scotsmen, to
whom it is of no other consequence than as a general measure affecting
the country at large,--and mine they _shall_ hear. I had determined to
lay down the pen. But now they shall have another of _Malachi_,
beginning with buffoonery, and ending as seriously as I can write it. It
is like a frenzy that they will agitate the upper and middling classes
of society, so very friendly to them, with unnecessary and hazardous
[projects],

    "Oh, thus it was they loved them dear,
      And sought how to requite 'em,
    And having no friends left but they,
      They did resolve to fight them."

The country is very high just now. England may carry the measure if she
will, doubtless. But what will be the consequence of the distress
ensuing, God only can foretell.

Lockhart, moreover, inquires about my affairs anxiously, and asks what
he is to say about them; says, "He has inquiries every day; kind, most
kind all, and among the most interested and anxious, Sir William
Knighton,[205] who told me the king was quite melancholy all the evening
he heard of it." _This_ I can well believe, for the king, educated as a
prince, has, nevertheless, as true and kind a heart as any subject in
his dominions. He goes on: "I do think they would give you a Baron's
gown as soon as possible," etc. I have written to him in answer, showing
I have enough to carry me on, and can dedicate my literary efforts to
clear my land. The preferment would suit me well, and the late Duke of
Buccleuch gave me his interest for it. I dare say the young duke would
do the same, for the unvaried love I have borne his house; and by and by
he will have a voice potential. But there is Sir William Rae in the
meantime, whose prevailing claim I would never place my own in
opposition to, even were it possible by a _tour de force_, such as L.
points at, to set it aside. Meantime, I am building a barrier betwixt me
and promotion. Any prospect of the kind is very distant and very
uncertain. _Come time, come, rath_, as the German says.

In the meanwhile, now I am not pulled about for money, etc., methinks I
am happier without my wealth than with it. Everything is paid. I have no
one wishing to _make up a sum_ of money, and writing for his account to
be paid. Since 17th January I have not laid out a guinea, out of my own
hand, save two or three in charity, and six shillings for a pocket-book.
But the cash with which I set out having run short for family expenses I
drew on Blackwood, through Ballantyne, which was honoured, for £25, to
account of _Malachi's Letters_, of which another edition of 1000 is
ordered, and gave it to Lady Scott, because our removal will require
that in hand. This is for a fortnight succeeding Wednesday next, being
the 8th March current. On the 20th my quarter comes in, and though I
have something to pay out of it, I shall be on velvet for expense--and
regular I will be. Methinks all trifling objects of expenditure seem to
grow light in my eyes. That I may regain independence, I must be saving.
But ambition awakes, as love of quiet indulgence dies and is mortified
within me. "Dark Cuthullin will be renowned or dead."[206]

_March_ 5.--Something of toddy and cigar in that last quotation, I
think. Yet I only smoked two, and liquified with one glass of spirits
and water. I have sworn I will not blot out what I have once written
here.

_Malachi_ goes on, but I am dubious about the commencement--it must be
mended at least--reads prosy.

Had letters from Walter and Jane, the dears. All well. Regiment about to
move from Dublin.

_March_ 6.--Finished third _Malachi_, which I don't much like. It
respects the difficulty of finding gold to replace the paper
circulation. Now this should have been considered first. The admitting
that the measure may be imposed is yielding up the question, and
_Malachi_ is like a commandant who should begin to fire from interior
defences before his outworks were carried. If Ballantyne be of my own
opinion I will suppress it. We are all in a bustle shifting things to
Abbotsford. I believe we shall stay here till the beginning of next
week. It is odd, but I don't feel the impatience for the country which I
have usually experienced.

_March_ 7.--Detained in the Court till _three_ by a hearing. Then to the
Committee appointed at the meeting on Friday, to look after the
small-note business. A pack of old _fainéants_, incapable of managing
such a business, and who will lose the day from mere coldness of heart.
There are about a thousand names at the petition. They have added no
designations--a great blunder; for _testimonia sunt ponderanda, non
numeranda_ should never be lost sight of. They are disconcerted and
helpless; just as in the business of the King's visit, when everybody
threw the weight on me, for which I suffered much in my immediate
labour, and after bad health it brought on a violent eruption on my
skin, which saved me from a fever at the time, but has been troublesome
more or less ever since. I was so disgusted with seeing them sitting in
ineffectual helplessness spitting on the hot iron that lay before them,
and touching it with a timid finger, as if afraid of being scalded,
that at another time I might have dashed in and taken up the hammer,
summoned the deacons and other heads of public bodies, and by consulting
them have carried them with me. But I cannot waste my time, health, and
spirits in fighting thankless battles. I left them in a quarter of an
hour, and presage, unless the country make an alarm, the cause is lost.
The philosophical reviewers manage their affairs better--hold off--avoid
committing themselves, but throw their _vis inertiæ_ into the opposite
scale, and neutralise the feelings which they cannot combat. To force
them to fight on disadvantageous ground is our policy. But we have more
sneakers after Ministerial favour than men who love their country, and
who upon a liberal scale would serve their party. For to force the Whigs
to avow an unpopular doctrine in popular assemblies, or to wrench the
government of such bodies from them, would be a _coup de maître_. But
they are alike destitute of manly resolution and sound policy. D--n the
whole nest of them! I have corrected the last of _Malachi_, and let the
thing take its chance. I have made enemies enough, and indisposed enough
of friends.

_March_ 8.--At the Court, though a teind day. A foolish thing happened
while the Court were engaged with the teinds. I amused myself with
writing on a sheet of paper notes on Frederick Maitland's account of the
capture of Bonaparte; and I have lost these notes--shuffled in perhaps
among my own papers, or those of the teind clerks. What a curious
document to be found in a process of valuation!

Being jaded and sleepy, I took up Le Due de Guise on Naples.[207] I
think this, with the old Memoires on the same subject which I have at
Abbotsford, would enable me to make a pretty essay for the _Quarterly_.
We must take up _Woodstock_ now in good earnest. Mr. Cowan, a good and
able man, is chosen trustee in Constable's affairs, with full power.
From what I hear, the poor man is not sensible of the nature of his own
situation; for myself, I have succeeded in putting the matters perfectly
out of my mind since I cannot help them, and have arrived at a
_flocci-pauci-nihili-pili-_fication of money, and I thank Shenstone for
inventing that long word.[208] They are removing the wine, etc., to the
carts, and you will judge if our flitting is not making a noise in the
world--or in the street at least.

_March_ 9.--I foresaw justly,

    "When first I set this dangerous stone a-rolling,
    'Twould fall upon myself."[209]

Sir Robert Dundas to-day put into my hands a letter of between thirty
and forty pages, in angry and bitter reprobation of _Malachi_, full of
general averments and very untenable arguments, all written at me by
name, but of which I am to have no copy, and which is to be shown to me
_in extenso_, and circulated to other special friends, to whom it may be
necessary to "give the sign to hate."[210] I got it at two o'clock, and
returned [it] with an answer four hours afterwards, in which I have
studied not to be tempted into either sarcastic or harsh
expressions.[211] A quarrel it is however, in all the forms, between my
old friend and myself, and his lordship's reprimand is to be _read out
in order_ to all our friends. They all know what I have said is true,
but that will be nothing to the purpose if they are desired to consider
it as false. As for Lord Melville, I do not wonder that he is angry,
though he has little reason, for he, our _watchman stented_, has from
time to time suffered all manner of tampering to go on under his nose
with the institutions and habits of Scotland. As for myself, I was quite
prepared for my share of displeasure. It is very curious that I should
have foreseen all this so distinctly as far back as 17th February.
Nobody at least can plague me for interest with Lord Melville as they
used to do. By the way, from the tone of his letter, I think his
lordship will give up the measure, and I will be the peace-offering. All
will agree to condemn me as too warm--too rash--and get rich on
privileges which they would not have been able to save but for a little
rousing of spirit, which will not perhaps fall asleep again.[212] A
gentleman called on the part of a Captain [Rutherford], to make inquiry
about the Border Rutherfords. Not being very _cleever_, as John Fraser
used to say, at these pedigree matters, referred him to Mrs. Dr. Russell
and Robt. Rutherford. The noble Captain conceits he has some title to
the honours of Lord Rutherford. Very odd--when there is a vacant or
dormant title in a Scottish family or _name_, everybody, and all
connected with the clan, conceive they have _quodam modo_ a right to it.
Not being engrossed by any individual, it communicates part of its
lustre to every individual in the tribe, as if it remained in common
stock for that purpose.

_March_ 10.--I am not made entirely in the same mould of passions like
other people. Many men would deeply regret a breach with so old a friend
as Lord Melville, and many men would be in despair at losing the good
graces of a Minister of State for Scotland, and all pretty visions about
what might be done for myself and my sons, especially Charles. But I
think my good lord doth ill to be angry, like the patriarch of old, and
I have, in my odd sans souciance character, a good handful of meal from
the grist of the Jolly Miller, who

                      "Once
    Dwelled on the river Dee;
    I care for nobody, no, not I,
    Since nobody cares for me."

Breakfasted with me Mr. Franks, a young Irishman from Dublin, who
brought letters from Walter and Captain Longmore of the Royal Staff. He
has written a book of poetry, _Tales of Chivalry and Romance_, far from
bad, yet wants spirit. He talks of publishing his recollections in the
Peninsula, which must be interesting, for he has, I think, sense and
reflection.

Sandie Young[213] came in at breakfast-time with a Monsieur Brocque of
Montpelier.

Saw Sir Robert Dundas at Court, who condemns Lord Melville, and says he
will not show his letter to any one; in fact it would be exactly
placarding me in a private and confidential manner. He is to send my
letter to Lord Melville. Colin Mackenzie concurs in thinking Lord
Melville quite wrong. "_He must cool in the skin he het in._"

On coming home from the Court a good deal fatigued, I took a nap in my
easy-chair, then packed my books, and committed the refuse to Jock
Stevenson--

    "Left not a limb on which a Dane could triumph."

Gave Mr. Gibson my father's cabinet, which suits a man of business well.
Gave Jock Stevenson the picture of my old favourite dog Camp, mentioned
in one of the introductions to _Marmion_, and a little crow-quill
drawing of Melrose Abbey by Nelson, whom I used to call the Admiral.
Poor fellow! he had some ingenuity, and was, in a moderate way, a good
penman and draughtsman. He left his situation of amanuensis to go into
Lord Home's militia regiment, but his dissipated habits got the better
of a strong constitution, and he fell into bad ways and poverty, and
died, I believe, in the hospital at Liverpool. Strange enough that Henry
Weber, who acted afterwards as my amanuensis for many years, had also a
melancholy fate ultimately. He was a man of very superior attainments,
an excellent linguist and geographer, and a remarkable antiquary. He
published a collection of ancient Romances, superior, I think, to the
elaborate Ritson. He also published an edition of Beaumont and Fletcher,
but too carelessly done to be reputable. He was a violent Jacobin, which
he thought he disguised from me, while I, who cared not a fig about the
poor young man's politics, used to amuse myself with teasing him. He was
an excellent and affectionate creature, but unhappily was afflicted with
partial insanity, especially if he used strong liquors, to which, like
others with that unhappy tendency, he was occasionally addicted. In
1814[214] he became quite insane, and, at the risk of my life, I had to
disarm him of a pair of loaded pistols, which I did by exerting the sort
of authority which, I believe, gives an effectual control in such cases.
His friends, who were respectable, placed him in the York Asylum, where
he pined away and died, I think, in 1814 or 1815.[215] My patronage in
this way has not been lucky to the parties protected. I hope poor George
Huntly Gordon will escape the influence of the evil star. He has no
vice, poor fellow, but his total deafness makes him helpless.

_March_ 11.--This day the Court rose after a long and laborious
sederunt. I employed the remainder of the day in completing a set of
notes on Captain Maitland's manuscript narrative of the reception of
Napoleon Bonaparte on board the _Bellerophon_. It had been previously in
the hands of my friend Basil Hall, who had made many excellent
corrections in point of style; but he had been hypercritical in wishing
(in so important a matter where everything depends on accuracy) this
expression to be altered for delicacy's sake,--that to be omitted for
fear of giving offence,--and that other to be abridged for fear of being
tedious. The plain sailor's narrative for me, written on the spot, and
bearing in its minuteness the evidence of its veracity.

Lord Elgin sent me, some time since, a curious account of his
imprisonment in France, and the attempts which were made to draw him
into some intrigue which might authorise treating him with rigour[216].
He called to-day and communicated some curious circumstances, on the
authority of Fouché, Denon, and others, respecting Bonaparte and the
empress Maria Louise, whom Lord Elgin had conversed with on the subject
in Italy. His conduct towards her was something like that of Ethwald to
Elburga, in Joanna Baillie's fine tragedy[217], making her postpone her
high rank by birth to the authority which he had acquired by his
talents. Dinner was usually announced for a particular hour, and
Napoleon's business often made him late. She was not permitted to sit
down to table, an etiquette which was reasonable enough. But from the
hour of dinner till the Emperor appeared she was to be in the act of
sitting down; that is to say, he was displeased if he found her engaged
with a book, with work, or with anything else. She was obliged to be in
a state of absolute "being about to sit down." She seemed a good deal
_gênée_ by something of that kind, though remembering with pride she had
been Empress, it might almost be said of the world. The rest for
to-morrow.

_March_ 12.--Resumed _Woodstock_, and wrote my task of six pages. I was
interrupted by a slumberous feeling which made me obliged to stop once
or twice. I shall soon have a remedy in the country, which affords the
pleasanter resource of a walk when such feelings come on. I hope I am
the reverse of the well-known line, "sleepy myself, to give my readers
sleep." I cannot _gurnalise_ at any rate, having wrought my eyes nearly
out.[218]

_March_ 13.--Wrote to the end of a chapter, and knowing no more than the
man in the moon what comes next, I will put down a few of Lord Elgin's
remembrances, and something may occur to me in the meanwhile. When
M[aria] Louise first saw B[onaparte], she was in the carriage with his
representative general, when she saw a horseman ride forward at the
gallop, passing and repassing the carriage in a manner which, joined to
the behaviour of her companion, convinced her who it was, especially as
he endeavoured, with a curiosity which would not have been tolerated in
another, to peep into the windows. When she alighted at the inn at----,
Napoleon presented himself, pulled her by the ear, and kissed her
forehead.

Bonaparte's happiest days passed away when he dismissed from about him
such men as Talleyrand and Fouché, whose questions and objections
compelled him to recur upon, modify, and render practicable the great
plans which his ardent conception struck out at a heat. When he had
Murat and such persons about him, who marvelled and obeyed, his
schemes, equally magnificent, were not so well matured, and ended in the
projector's ruin.

I have hinted in these notes that I am not entirely free from a sort of
gloomy fits, with a fluttering of the heart and depression of spirits,
just as if I knew not what was going to befall me. I can sometimes
resist this successfully, but it is better to evade than to combat it.
The hang-dog spirit may have originated in the confusion and chucking
about of our old furniture, the stripping of walls of pictures, and
rooms of ornaments; the leaving a house we have so long called our home
is altogether melancholy enough. I am glad Lady S. does not mind it, and
yet I wonder, too. She insists on my remaining till Wednesday, not
knowing what I suffer. Meanwhile, to make my recusant spirit do penance,
I have set to work to clear away papers and pack them for my journey.
What a strange medley of thoughts such a task produces! There lie
letters which made the heart throb when received, now lifeless and
uninteresting--as are perhaps their owners. Riddles which time has
read--schemes which he has destroyed or brought to maturity--memorials
of friendships and enmities which are now alike faded. Thus does the
ring of Saturn consume itself. To-day annihilates yesterday, as the old
tyrant swallowed his children, and the snake its tail. But I must say to
my _Gurnal_ as poor Byron did to Moore, "Damn it, Tom, don't be
poetical."

_Memorandum_.--I received some time since from Mr. Riddoch, of Falkirk,
a sort of iron mallet, said to have been found in the ruins of Grame's
Dike; there it was reclaimed about three months since by the gentleman
on whose lands it was found, a Doctor--by a very polite letter from his
man of business. Having unluckily mislaid his letter, and being totally
unable either to recollect the name of the proprietor or the
professional gentleman, I returned this day the piece of antiquity to
Mr. Riddoch, who sent it to me. Wrote at the same time to Tom Grahame
of Airth, mentioning what I had done. "Touch my honour, touch my
life--there is the spoon."[219]

_March_ 14.--J.B. called this morning to take leave, and receive
directions about proofs, etc. Talks of the uproar about _Malachi_; but I
am tired of _Malachi_--the humour is off, and I have said what I wanted
to say, and put the people of Scotland on their guard, as well as
Ministers, if they like to be warned. They are gradually destroying what
remains of nationality, and making the country _tabula rasa_ for
doctrines of bold innovation. Their loosening and grinding down all
those peculiarities which distinguished us as Scotsmen will throw the
country into a state in which it will be universally turned to
democracy, and instead of canny Saunders, they will have a very
dangerous North British neighbourhood.

Some [English] lawyer expressed to Lord Elibank an opinion, that at the
Union the English law should have been extended all over Scotland. "I
cannot say how that might have answered our purpose," said Lord Patrick,
who was never nonsuited for want of an answer, "but it would scarce have
suited _yours_, since by this time the _Aberdeen Advocates_[220] would
have possessed themselves of all the business in Westminster Hall."

What a detestable feeling this fluttering of the heart is! I know it is
nothing organic, and that it is entirely nervous; but the sickening
effects of it are dispiriting to a degree. Is it the body brings it on
the mind, or the mind that inflicts it upon the body? I cannot tell; but
it is a severe price to pay for the _Fata Morgana_ with which Fancy
sometimes amuses men of warm imaginations. As to body and mind, I fancy
I might as well inquire whether the fiddle or fiddlestick makes the
tune. In youth this complaint used to throw me into involuntary passions
of causeless tears. But I will drive it away in the country by exercise.
I wish I had been a mechanic: a turning-lathe or a chest of tools would
have been a God-send; for thought makes the access of melancholy rather
worse than better. I have it seldom, thank God, and, I believe, lightly,
in comparison of others.

It was the fiddle after all was out of order, not the fiddlestick; the
body, not the mind. I walked out; met Mrs. Skene, who took a turn with
me in Princes Street. Bade Constable and Cadell farewell, and had a
brisk walk home, which enables me to face the desolation here with more
spirit. News from Sophia. She has had the luck to get an anti-druggist
in a Dr. Gooch, who prescribes care for Johnnie instead of drugs, and a
little home-brewed ale instead of wine; and, like a liberal physician,
supplies the medicine he prescribes. As for myself, while I have scarce
stirred to take exercise for four or five days, no wonder I had the
mulligrubs. It is an awful sensation though, and would have made an
enthusiast of me, had I indulged my imagination on devotional subjects.
I have been always careful to place my mind in the most tranquil posture
which it can assume during my private exercises of devotion.

I have amused myself occasionally very pleasantly during the last few
days, by reading over Lady Morgan's novel of _O'Donnel_,[221] which has
some striking and beautiful passages of situation and description, and
in the comic part is very rich and entertaining. I do not remember being
so much pleased with it at first. There is a want of story, always fatal
to a book the first reading--and it is well if it gets a chance of a
second. Alas! poor novel! Also read again, and for the third time at
least, Miss Austen's very finely written novel of _Pride and Prejudice_.
That young lady had a talent for describing the involvements and
feelings and characters of ordinary life, which is to me the most
wonderful I ever met with. The Big Bow-wow strain I can do myself like
any now going; but the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary
commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth of the
description and the sentiment, is denied to me. What a pity such a
gifted creature died so early![222]

_March_ 15.--This morning I leave No. 39 Castle Street, for the last
time. "The cabin was convenient," and habit had made it agreeable to me.
I never reckoned upon a change in this particular so long as I held an
office in the Court of Session. In all my former changes of residence it
was from good to better; this is retrograding. I leave this house for
sale, and I cease to be an Edinburgh citizen, in the sense of being a
proprietor, which my father and I have been for sixty years at least. So
farewell, poor 39, and may you never harbour worse people than those who
now leave you! Not to desert the Lares all at once, Lady S. and Anne
remain till Sunday. As for me, I go, as aforesaid, this morning.

    "Ha til mi tulidh'!--"[223]

_Abbotsford_, 9 _at night_.--The naturally unpleasant feelings which
influenced me in my ejectment, for such it is virtually, readily
evaporated in the course of the journey, though I had no pleasanter
companions than Mrs. Mackay, the housekeeper, and one of the maids; and
I have a shyness of disposition, which looks like pride, but it is not,
which makes me awkward in speaking to my household domestics. With an
out-of-doors labourer, or an old woman gathering sticks, I can talk for
ever. I was welcomed here on my arrival by the tumult, great of men and
dogs, all happy to see me. One of my old labourers killed by the fall of
a stone working at Gattonside Bridge. Old Will Straiton, my man of
wisdom and proverbs, also dead. He was entertaining from his importance
and self-conceit, but really a sensible old man. When he heard of my
misfortunes, he went to bed, and said he would not rise again, and kept
his word. He was very infirm when I last saw him. Tom Purdie in great
glory, being released from all farm duty, and destined to attend the
woods, and be my special assistant. The gardener Bogie is to take care
of what small farm we have left, which little would make me give up
entirely.

_March_ 16.--Pleasant days make short Journals, and I have little to say
to-day. I wrote in the morning at _Woodstock_; walked from one till
four; was down at Huntly Burn and paid my respects to the ladies. The
spring seems promising, and everything in great order. Visited Will
Straiton's widow, who squeezed out among many tears a petition for a
house. I do not think I shall let her have one, as she has a bad temper,
but I will help her otherwise; she is greedy besides, as was the defunct
philosopher William. In a year or two I shall have on the toft field a
gallant show of extensive woodland, sweeping over the hill, and its
boundaries carefully concealed. In the evening, after dinner, read Mrs.
Charlotte Smith's novel of _Desmond_[224]--decidedly the worst of her
compositions.

_March_ 17.--Sent off a packet to J.B.; only three pages copy, so must
work hard for a day or two. I wish I could wind up my bottom
handsomely--an odd but accredited phrase. The conclusion will be
luminous; we must try to make it dashing. Go spin, you jade, go spin.
Have a good deal to do between-hands in sorting up the newly arrived
accession of books.

I need not have exulted so soon in having attained ease and quiet. I am
robbed of both with a vengeance. A letter from Lockhart, with one
enclosed from Sophia, announces the medical people think the child is
visibly losing strength, that its walking becomes more difficult, and,
in short, that the spine seems visibly affected. They recommend tepid
baths in sea-water, so Sophia has gone down to Brighton, leaving
Lockhart in town, who is to visit her once a week. Here is my worst
augury verified.[225] The bitterness of this probably impending calamity
is extreme. The child was almost too good for this world; beautiful in
features; and, though spoiled by every one, having one of the sweetest
tempers, as well as the quickest intellect I ever saw; a sense of humour
quite extraordinary in a child, and, owing to the general notice which
was taken of him, a great deal more information than suited his years.
He was born in the eighth month, and such children are never
strong--seldom long-lived. I look on this side and that, and see nothing
but protracted misery, a crippled frame, and decayed constitution,
occupying the attention of his parents for years, and dying at the end
of that period, when their hearts were turned on him; or the poor child
may die before Sophia's confinement, and that may again be a dangerous
and bad affair; or she may, by increase of attention to him, injure her
own health. In short, to trace into how many branches such a misery may
flow is impossible. The poor dear love had so often a slow fever, that
when it pressed its little lips to mine, I always foreboded to my own
heart what all I fear are now aware of.

Lockhart writes me that Croker is the author of the Letters in the
_Courier_ against _Malachi_, and that Canning is to make another attack
on me in the House of Commons.[226] These things would make a man proud.
I will not answer, because I must show up Sir William Rae, and even Lord
Melville, and I have done enough to draw public attention, which is all
I want. Let them call me ungrateful, unkind, and all sorts of names, so
they keep their own fingers free of this most threatening measure. It is
very curious that each of these angry friends--Melville, Canning, and
Croker--has in former days appealed to me in confidence against each
other.

While I smoked my cigar after dinner, my mind has been running into four
threads of bitter fancies, or rather into three decidedly bitter, and
one that is indifferent. There is the distress incumbent on the country
by these most untimely proceedings, which I would stop with my life were
that adequate to prevent them. 2d, there is the unpleasant feeling of
seeing a number of valued friends pass from me; that I cannot help. 3d,
there is the gnawing misery about that sweet child and its parents. 4th,
there is the necessity of pursuing my own labours, for which perhaps I
ought to be thankful, since it always wrenches one's mind aside from
what it must dwell on with pain. It is odd that the state of excitation
with me rather increases than abates the power of labour, I must finish
_Woodstock_ well if I can: otherwise how the Philistines will rejoice!

_March_ 18.--Slept indifferently, and under the influence of Queen Mab,
seldom auspicious to me, dreamed of reading the tale of the Prince of
the Black Marble Islands to little Johnnie, extended on a paralytic
chair, and yet telling all his pretty stories about Ha-papa, as he calls
me, and Chiefswood--and waked to think I should see the little darling
no more, or see him as a thing that had better never have existed. Oh,
misery! misery! that the best I can wish for him is early death, with
all the wretchedness to his parents that is like to ensue! I intended to
have stayed at home to-day; but Tom more wisely had resolved that I
should walk, and hung about the window with his axe and my own in his
hand till I turned out with him, and helped to cut some fine paling.

_March_ 19.--I have a most melancholy letter from Anne. Lady S., the
faithful and true companion of my fortunes, good and bad, for so many
years, has, but with difficulty, been prevailed on to see Dr.
Abercrombie, and his opinion is far from favourable. Her asthmatic
complaints are fast terminating in hydropsy, as I have long suspected;
yet the avowal of the truth and its probable consequences are
overwhelming. They are to stay a little longer in town to try the
effects of a new medicine. On Wednesday they propose to return hither--a
new affliction, where there was enough before; yet her constitution is
so good that if she will be guided by advice, things may be yet
ameliorated. God grant it! for really these misfortunes come too close
upon each other.

A letter from Croker of a very friendly tone and tenor, which I will
answer accordingly, not failing, however, to let him know that if I do
not reply it is not for fear of his arguments or raillery, far less from
diffidence in my cause. I hope and trust it will do good.[227]

Maxpopple[228] and two of his boys arrived to take part of my poor
dinner. I fear the little fellows had little more than the needful, but
they had all I had to give them.

I wrote a good deal to-day notwithstanding heavy thoughts.

_March_ 20.--Despatched proofs and copy this morning; and Swanston, the
carpenter, coming in, I made a sort of busy idle day of it with altering
and hanging pictures and prints, to find room for those which came from
Edinburgh, and by dint of being on foot from ten to near five, put all
things into apple-pie order. What strange beings we are! The serious
duties I have on hand cannot divert my mind from the most melancholy
thoughts; and yet the talking with these workmen, and the trifling
occupation which they give me, serves to dissipate my attention. The
truth is, I fancy that a body under the impulse of violent motion cannot
be stopped or forced back, but may indirectly be urged into a different
channel. In the evening I read, and sent off my Sheriff-Court processes.

I have a sort of grudging to give reasons why _Malachi_ does not reply
to the answers which have been sent forth. I don't know--I am strongly
tempted--but I won't. To drop the tone might seem mean, and perhaps to
maintain it would only exasperate the quarrel, without producing any
beneficial results, and might be considered as a fresh insult by my
alienated friends, so on the whole I won't.

The thing has certainly had more effect than it deserves; and I suspect
my Ministerial friends, if they love me less, will not hold me cheaper
for the fight I have made. I am far from saying _oderint dum emerint_,
but there is a great difference betwixt that and being a mere protégé, a
poor broken-down man, who was to be assisted when existing
circumstances, that most convenient of all apologies and happiest of all
phrases, would permit.

_March_ 21.--Perused an attack on myself, done with as much ability as
truth, by no less a man than Joseph Hume, the night-work man of the
House of Commons, who lives upon petty abuses, and is a very useful man
by so doing. He has had the kindness to say that I am interested in
keeping up the taxes; I wish I had anything else to do with them than to
pay them. But he lies, and is an ass, and not worth a man's thinking
about. Joseph Hume, indeed!--I say Joseph Hum,--and could add a Swiftian
rhyme, but forbear.

Busy in unpacking and repacking. I wrote five pages of _Woodstock_,
which work begins

    "To appropinque an end."[229]

_March_ 22.--A letter from Lord Downshire's man of business about funds
supposed to belong to my wife, or to the estate of my late
brother-in-law. The possessor of the secret wants some reward. If any is
granted, it should be a percentage on the net sum received, with the
condition no cure--no pay. I expect Lady S., and from Anne's last letter
hope to find her better than the first anticipation led me to dread.

Sent off proofs and copy, and shall indulge a little leisure to-day to
collect my ideas and stretch my limbs. I am again far before the press.

_March_ 23.--Lady Scott arrived yesterday to dinner. She was better than
I expected, but Anne, poor soul, looked very poorly, and had been much
worried with the fatigue and discomfort of the last week. Lady S. takes
the digitalis, and, as she thinks, with advantage, though the medicine
makes her very sick. Yet, on the whole, things are better than my gloomy
apprehensions had anticipated.

I wrote to Lockhart and to Lord Downshire's Agent,--G. Handley, Esq.,
Pentonville, London.

Took a good brushing walk, but not till I had done a good task.

_March_ 24.--Sent off copy, proofs, etc. J.B. clamorous for a motto.

It is foolish to encourage people to expect mottoes and such-like
decoraments. You have no credit for success in finding them, and there
is a disgrace in wanting them. It is like being in the habit of showing
feats of strength, which you at length gain praise by accomplishing,
while some shame occurs in failure.

_March_ 25.--The end winds out well enough. I have almost finished
to-night; indeed I might have done so had I been inclined, but I had a
walk in a hurricane of snow for two hours and feel a little tired. Miss
Margaret Ferguson came to dinner with us.[230]

_March_ 26.--Here is a disagreeable morning, snowing and hailing, with
gleams of bright sunshine between, and all the ground white, and all the
air frozen. I don't like this jumbling of weather. It is ungenial, and
gives chilblains. Besides, with its whiteness, and its coldness, and its
glister, and its discomfort, it resembles that most disagreeable of all
things, a vain, cold, empty, beautiful woman, who has neither mind nor
heart, but only features like a doll. I do not know what is so like this
disagreeable day, when the sun is so bright, and yet so uninfluential,
that

    "One may gaze upon its beams
    Till he is starved with cold."

No matter, it will serve as well as another day to finish _Woodstock_.
Walked out to the lake, and coquetted with this disagreeable weather,
whereby I catch chilblains in my fingers and cold in my head. Fed the
swans.

Finished _Woodstock_, however, _cum tota sequela_ of title-page,
introduction, etc., and so, as Dame Fortune says in _Quevedo_,

    "Go wheel, and may the devil drive thee."[231]


_March_ 27.--Another bright cold day. I answered two modest requests
from widow ladies. One, whom I had already assisted in some law
business, on the footing of her having visited my mother, requested me
to write to Mr. Peel, saying, on her authority, that her second son, a
youth of infinite merit and accomplishment, was fit for any situation in
a public office, and that I requested he might be provided accordingly.
Another widowed dame, whose claim is having read _Marmion_ and the _Lady
of the Lake_, besides a promise to read all my other works--Gad, it is a
rash engagement!--demands that I shall either pay £200 to get her cub
into some place or other, or settle him in a seminary of education.
Really this is very much after the fashion of the husbandman of Miguel
Turra's requests of Sancho when Governor.[232] "Have you anything else
to ask, honest man?" quoth Sancho. But what are the demands of an honest
man to those of an honest woman, and she a widow to boot? I do believe
your destitute widow, especially if she hath a charge of children, and
one or two fit for patronage, is one of the most impudent animals
living.

Went to Galashiels and settled the dispute about Sandie's wall.

_March_ 28.--We have now been in solitude for some time--myself nearly
totally so, excepting at meals, or on a call as yesterday from Henry and
William Scott of Harden. One is tempted to ask himself, knocking at the
door of his own heart, Do you love this extreme loneliness? I can answer
conscientiously, _I do_. The love of solitude was with me a passion of
early youth; when in my teens, I used to fly from company to indulge in
visions and airy castles of my own, the disposal of ideal wealth, and
the exercise of imaginary power. This feeling prevailed even till I was
eighteen, when love and ambition awakening with other passions threw me
more into society, from which I have, however, at times withdrawn
myself, and have been always even glad to do so. I have risen from a
feast satiated; and unless it be one or two persons of very strong
intellect, or whose spirits and good-humour amuse me, I wish neither to
see the high, the low, nor the middling class of society. This is a
feeling without the least tinge of misanthropy, which I always consider
as a kind of blasphemy of a shocking description. If God bears with the
very worst of us, we may surely endure each other. If thrown into
society, I always have, and always will endeavour to bring pleasure with
me, at least to show willingness to please. But for all this "I had
rather live alone," and I wish my appointment, so convenient otherwise,
did not require my going to Edinburgh. But this must be, and in my
little lodging I will be lonely enough.

Had a very kind letter from Croker disowning the least idea of personal
attack in his answer to _Malachi_.

Reading at intervals a novel called _Granby_; one of that very difficult
class which aspires to describe the actual current of society, whose
colours are so evanescent that it is difficult to fix them on the
canvas. It is well written, but over-laboured--too much attempt to put
the reader exactly up to the thoughts and sentiments of the parties. The
women do this better: Edgeworth, Ferrier, Austen have all had their
portraits of real society, far superior to anything man, vain man, has
produced of the like nature.[233]

_March_ 29.--Worked in the morning. Had two visits from Colonels Russell
and Ferguson. Walked from one till half-past four. A fine, flashy,
disagreeable day; snow-clouds sweeping past among sunshine, driving down
the valley, and whitening the country behind them.

Mr. Gibson came suddenly in after dinner. Brought very indifferent news
from Constable's house. It is not now hoped that they will pay above
three or four shillings in the pound. Robinson supposed not to be much
better.

Mr. G. goes to London immediately, and is to sell _Woodstock_ to
Robinson if he can, otherwise to those who will, John Murray, etc. This
work may fail, perhaps, though better than some of its predecessors. If
so, we must try some new manner. I think I could catch the dogs yet.

A beautiful and perfect lunar rainbow to-night.

_March_ 30.--Mr. Gibson looks unwell, and complains of cold--bitter bad
weather for his travelling, and he looks but frail.

These indifferent news he brought me affect me but to a little degree.
It is being too confident to hope to ensure success in the long series
of successive struggles which lie before me. But somehow, I do fully
entertain the hope of doing a good deal.

_March_ 31.--

    "He walked and wrote poor soul, what then?
    Why then, he wrote and walked again."

But I am begun _Nap. Bon._ again, which is always a change, because it
gives a good deal of reading and research, whereas _Woodstock_ and such
like, being extempore from my mother-wit, is a sort of spinning of the
brains, of which a man tires. The weather seems milder to-day.

FOOTNOTES:

[198] The full-length picture of Sir Walter (with, the two dogs, Camp
and the deerhound) by Raeburn, painted in 1809, was at this time given
to Mr. Skene, and remained in his possession till 1831, when it was sent
to Abbotsford, where it now hangs.--See Letter, Scott to Skene, under
January 16th, 1831.

[199] Spean a wean, _i.e._ wean a child.

[200] Archibald Skirving (1749-1819), well known as a portrait-painter
in chalk and crayons in Edinburgh in the early part of this century.

[201] H.W. Williams, a native of Wales, who settled in Edinburgh at the
beginning of this century. His _Travels in Italy and Greece_ were
published in 1820, and the _Views in Greece_ in 1827. This work was
completed in 1829, the year in which he died.

[202] Vols. i. and ii. were published in 1802.

[203] _Kain_ in Scotch law means payment in _kind. Carriages_ in the
same phraseology stands for services in driving with horse and cart.

[204] Ballad of _Hardyknute_, slightly altered.--J.G.L.

[205] Sir W. Knighton was Physician and Private Secretary to George IV.
Rogers (_Table-Talk_, p. 289) says no one had more influence with the
King. Sir William died in 1836; his _Memoirs_ were published in 1838,
edited by his widow.

[206] Ossian.--J.G.L.

[207] Pastoret: _Le Duc de Guise à Naples, etc., en_ 1647 _et_ 1648.
8vo, 1825; also _Memoires relating his passage to Naples and heading the
Second Revolt of that people_. Englished, sm. 8vo, 1669.

"The Reviewal then meditated was afterwards published in _Foreign
Quarterly Review_, vol. iv. p 355, but not included in the _Misc. Prose
Works."_--_Abbotsford Library Catalogue_, p. 36.

[208] W. Shenstone's _Essays_ (1765), p. 115, or _Works_ (1764-69), vol.
iii. p. 49.

I am indebted to Dr. J.A.H. Murray for this reference, which he kindly
supplied from the materials for his great English Dictionary on
Historical Principles.

[209] _King Henry VIII._, Act v. Sc. 2, slightly altered.--J.G.L.

[210] "Watch the sign to hate."--Johnson's _Vanity of Human Wishes_.

[211] See _Arniston Memoirs_, 8vo, Edin. 1888, for text of Lord
Melville's letter and Sir Walter's reply, pp. 315-326.

[212] "Seldom has any political measure called forth so strong and so
universal an expression of public opinion. In every city and in every
county public meetings were held to deprecate the destruction of the one
pound and guinea notes."--_Annual Register_ (1826), p. 24.

[213] Alex. Young of Harburn, a steady Whig of the old school, and a
steady and esteemed friend of Sir Walter's.--J.G.L.

[214] See _Life_, vol. iv. pp. 146-148.

[215] Henry Weber died in 1818.

[216] See Life of Bonaparte. _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, vol. xi. pp.
346-351.--J.G.L.

[217] _Plays on the Passions_, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1802, vol. ii. pp.
211-215.

[218] He had, however, snatched a moment to write the following playful
note to Mr. Sharpe, little dreaming that the sportive allusion to his
return in May would be so sadly realised:--

"MY DEAR CHARLES,--You promised when I _displenished_ this house that
you would accept of the prints of Roman antiquities, which I now send. I
believe they were once in some esteem, though now so detestably smoked
that they will only suit your suburban villa in the Cowgate when you
remove to that classical residence. I also send a print which is an old
favourite of mine, from the humorous correspondence between Mr.
Mountebank's face and the monkey's. I leave town to-day or to-morrow at
furthest. When I return in May I shall be

  Bachelor Bluff, bachelor Bluff,
  Hey for a heart that's rugged and tough.

I shall have a beefsteak and a bottle of wine of a Sunday, which I hope
you will often take share of,--Being with warm regard always yours,
WALTER SCOTT."--Sharpe's _Correspondence_, vol. ii. pp. 359-60.

[219] Apropos of the old Scotch lady who had surreptitiously pocketed a
silver spoon, one of a set of a dozen which were being passed round for
examination in an auction room. Suspicion resting on her, she was asked
to allow her person to be searched, but she indignantly produced the
article, with "Touch my honour," etc.

[220] The _Attorneys_ of Aberdeen are styled _advocates_. This valuable
privilege is said to have been bestowed at an early period by some
(sportive) monarch.--J.G.L.

[221] This clever book was published in 1814: at the same time as
_Waverley_. Had it contained nothing else than the sketch of Bran, the
great Irish wolf-hound, it would have commended itself to Scott. The
authoress died in 1859.

[222] It is worth noting that a quarter of a century after Sir Walter
had written these lines, we find Macaulay stating that, in his opinion,
"there are in the world no compositions which approach nearer
perfection." Scott had already criticised Miss Austen in the 27th No. of
the _Quarterly_. She died in 1817.

[223] "I return no more,"--see _Mackrimmon's Lament_ by
Scott.--_Poetical Works_, vol. xi. p. 332.

[224] Published as far back as 1792. An appreciative criticism on Mrs.
Smith's works will be found in Scott's _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, vol.
iv. pp. 58-70.

[225] See this Journal, 2 December last.

[226] The letters of _Malachi_ were treated by some members of the House
of Commons as incentives to rebellion, and senators gravely averred that
not many years ago they would have subjected the author to condign
punishment.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer, however, declared that he did not dread
"the flashing of that Highland claymore though evoked from its scabbard
by the incantations of the mightiest magician of the age."--Speech of
Rt. Hon. F.J. Robinson.

[227] Both letters are quoted in Lockhart's _Life_, vol. viii. pp.
299-305. See also _Croker's Correspondence and Diaries_, edited by Louis
J. Jennings, 3 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1884, vol. i. pp. 315-319.

[228] W. Scott, Esq., afterwards of Raeburn, Sir Walter's
Sheriff-substitute.

[229] Hudibras.--J.G.L.

[230] One of Sir Walter's kindly "_weird sisters_" and neighbours,
daughters of Professor Ferguson. They had occupied the house at
Toftfield (on which Scott at the ladies' request bestowed the name of
Huntly Burn) from the spring of 1818. Miss Margaret has been described
as extremely like her brother Sir Adam in the turn of thought and of
humour.--See _Life_, vol. vi. p. 322.

[231] _Fortune in her Wits, and the Hour of all Men_, Quevedo's Works,
Edin. 1798, vol. iii. p. 107.

[232] _Don Quixote_, Pt. II. cap. 47.

[233] _Granby_ was written by a young man, Thos. H. Lister, some years
afterwards known as the author of _The Life and Administration of the
First Earl of Clarendon_, 3 vols. 8vo, 1837-38. Mr. Lister died in his
41st year in 1842.




APRIL.

_April_ 1.--_Ex uno die disce omnes._ Rose at seven or sooner, studied,
and wrote till breakfast with Anne, about a quarter before ten. Lady
Scott seldom able to rise till twelve or one. Then I write or study
again till one. At that hour to-day I drove to Huntly Burn, and walked
home by one of the hundred and one pleasing paths which I have made
through the woods I have planted--now chatting with Tom Purdie, who
carries my plaid, and speaks when he pleases, telling long stories of
hits and misses in shooting twenty years back--sometimes chewing the cud
of sweet and bitter fancy--and sometimes attending to the humours of two
curious little terriers of the Dandie Dinmont breed, together with a
noble wolf-hound puppy which Glengarry has given me to replace Maida.
This brings me down to the very moment I do tell--the rest is prophetic.
I will feel sleepy when this book is locked, and perhaps sleep until
Dalgleish brings the dinner summons. Then I will have a chat with Lady
S. and Anne; some broth or soup, a slice of plain meat--and man's chief
business, in Dr. Johnson's estimation, is briefly despatched. Half an
hour with my family, and half an hour's coquetting with a cigar, a
tumbler of weak whisky and water, and a novel perhaps, lead on to tea,
which sometimes consumes another half hour of chat; then write and read
in my own room till ten o'clock at night; a little bread and then a
glass of porter, and to bed.

And this, very rarely varied by a visit from some one, is the tenor of
my daily life--and a very pleasant one indeed, were it not for
apprehensions about Lady S. and poor Johnnie Hugh. The former will, I
think, do well--for the latter--I fear--I fear--

_April_ 2.--I am in a wayward mood this morning. I received yesterday
the last proof-sheets of _Woodstock_, and I ought to correct them. Now,
this _ought_ sounds as like as possible to _must_, and _must_ I cannot
abide. I would go to Prester John's country of free good-will, sooner
than I would _must_ it to Edinburgh. Yet this is all folly, and silly
folly too; and so _must_ shall be for once obeyed after I have thus
written myself out of my aversion to its peremptory sound. Corrected the
said proofs till twelve o'clock--when I think I will treat resolution,
not to a dram, as the drunken fellow said after he had passed the
dram-shop, but to a walk, the rather that my eyesight is somewhat
uncertain and wavering. I think it must be from the stomach. The whole
page waltzes before my eyes. J.B. writes gloomily about _Woodstock_; but
commends the conclusion. I think he is right. Besides, my manner is
nearly caught, and, like Captain Bobadil[234], I have taught nearly a
hundred gentlemen to fence very nearly, if not altogether, as well as
myself. I will strike out something new.

_April_ 3.--I have from Ballantyne and Gibson the extraordinary and
gratifying news that _Woodstock_ is sold for £8228 in all, ready
money--a matchless sum for less than three months' work[235]. If
Napoleon does as well, or near it, it will put the trust affairs in high
flourish. Four or five years of leisure and industry would, with [such]
success, amply replace my losses, and put me on a steadier footing than
ever. I have a curious fancy: I will go set two or three acorns, and
judge by their success in growing whether I will succeed in clearing my
way or not. I have a little toothache keeps me from working much
to-day, besides I sent off, per Blucher, copy for _Napoleon_, as well as
the d--d proofs.

A blank forenoon! But how could I help it, Madam Duty? I was not lazy;
on my soul I was not. I did not cry for half holiday for the sale of
_Woodstock_. But in came Colonel Ferguson with Mrs. Stewart of
Blackhill, or hall, or something, and I must show her the garden,
pictures, etc. This lasts till one; and just as they are at their lunch,
and about to go off, guard is relieved by the Laird and Lady Harden, and
Miss Eliza Scott--and my dear Chief, whom I love very much, though a
little obsidional or so, remains till three. That same crown, composed
of the grass which grew on the walls of besieged places, should be
offered to visitors who stay above an hour in any eident[236] person's
house. Wrote letters this evening.

_April_ 4.--Wrote two pages in the morning. Then went to Ashestiel in
the sociable, with Colonel Ferguson. Found my cousin Russell settled
kindly to his gardening and his projects. He seems to have brought home
with him the enviable talent of being interested and happy in his own
place. Ashestiel looks worst, I think, at this period of the year; but
is a beautiful place in summer, where I passed nine happy years. Did I
ever pass unhappy years anywhere? None that I remember, save those at
the High School, which I thoroughly detested on account of the
confinement. I disliked serving in my father's office, too, from the
same hatred to restraint. In other respects, I have had unhappy
days--unhappy weeks--even, on one or two occasions, unhappy months; but
Fortune's finger has never been able to play a dirge on me for a quarter
of a year together.

I am sorry to see the Peel-wood, and other natural coppice, decaying and
abridged about Ashestiel--

    'The horrid plough has razed the green,
      Where once my children play'd;
    The axe has fell'd the hawthorn screen,
      The schoolboy's summer shade.'[237]

There was a very romantic pasturage called the Cow-park, which I was
particularly attached to, from its wild and sequestered character.
Having been part of an old wood which had been cut down, it was full of
copse--hazel, and oak, and all sorts of young trees, irregularly
scattered over fine pasturage, and affording a hundred intricacies so
delicious to the eye and the imagination. But some misjudging friend had
cut down and cleared away without mercy, and divided the varied and
sylvan scene, which was divided by a little rivulet, into the two most
formal things in nature--a thriving plantation, many-angled as usual,
and a park laid down in grass; wanting therefore the rich graminivorous
variety which Nature gives its carpet, and having instead a braird of
six days' growth--lean and hungry growth too--of ryegrass and clover. As
for the rill, it stagnates in a deep square ditch, which silences its
prattle, and restrains its meanders with a witness. The original scene
was, of course, imprinted still deeper on Russell's mind than mine, and
I was glad to see he was intensely sorry for the change.

_April_ 5.--Rose late in the morning, past eight, to give the cold and
toothache time to make themselves scarce, which they have obligingly
done. Yesterday every tooth on the right side of my head was absolutely
waltzing. I would have drawn by the half dozen, but country dentists are
not to be lippened to.[238] To-day all is quiet, but a little swelling
and stiffness in the jaw. Went to Chiefswood at one, and marked with
regret forty trees indispensably necessary for paling--much like drawing
a tooth; they _are_ wanted and will never be better, but I am
avaricious of grown trees, having so few.

Worked a fair task; dined, and read Clapperton's journey and Denham's
into Bornou. Very entertaining, and less botheration about mineralogy,
botany, and so forth, than usual. Pity Africa picks up so many brave
men, however. Work in the evening.

_April_ 6.--Wrote in the morning. Went at one to Huntly Burn, where I
had the great pleasure to hear, through a letter from Sir Adam, that
Sophia was in health, and Johnnie gaining strength. It is a fine
exchange from deep and aching uncertainty on so interesting a subject,
to the little spitfire feeling of "Well, but they might have taken the
trouble to write"; but so wretched a correspondent as myself has not
much to say, so I will just grumble sufficiently to maintain the
patriarchal dignity.

I returned in time to work, and to receive a shoal of things from J.B.
Among others, a letter from an Irish lady, who, for the _beaux yeux_,
which I shall never look upon, desires I will forthwith send her all the
Waverley Novels, which are published, with an order to furnish her with
all others in course as they appear, which she assures me will be an
_era_ in her life. She may find out some other epocha.

_April_ 7.--Made out my morning's task; at one drove to Chiefswood, and
walked home by the Rhymer's Glen, Mar's Lee, and Haxell-Cleugh. Took me
three hours. The heath gets somewhat heavier for me every year--but
never mind, I like it altogether as well as the day I could tread it
best. My plantations are getting all into green leaf, especially the
larches, if theirs may be called leaves, which are only a sort of hair,
and from the number of birds drawn to these wastes, I may congratulate
myself on having literally made the desert to sing. As I returned, there
was, in the phraseology of that most precise of prigs in a white
collarless coat and _chapeau bas_, Mister Commissary Ramsay--"a rather
dense inspissation of rain." Deil care.

    "Lord, who would live turmoiled in the Court,
    That might enjoy such quiet walks as these?"[239]

Yet misfortune comes our way too. Poor Laidlaw lost a fine prattling
child of five years old yesterday.

It is odd enough--Iden, the Kentish Esquire, has just made the
ejaculation which I adopted in the last page, when he kills Cade, and
posts away up to Court to get the price set upon his head. Here is a
letter come from Lockhart, full of Court news, and all sort of
news,--best is his wife is well, and thinks the child gains in health.

Lockhart erroneously supposes that I think of applying to Ministers
about Charles, and that notwithstanding Croker's terms of pacification I
should find _Malachi_ stick in my way. I would not make such an
application for millions; I think if I were to ask patronage it would
[not] be through them, for some time at least, and I might have better
access.[240]

_April_ 8.--We expect _a raid_ of folks to visit us this morning, whom
we must have _dined_ before our misfortunes. Save time, wine, and money,
these misfortunes--and so far are convenient things. Besides, there is a
dignity about them when they come only like the gout in its mildest
shape, to authorise diet and retirement, the night-gown and the velvet
shoe; when the one comes to chalkstones, and the other to prison,
though, there would be the devil. Or compare the effects of Sieur Gout
and absolute poverty upon the stomach--the necessity of a bottle of
laudanum in the one case, the want of a morsel of meat in the other.

Laidlaw's infant, which died on Wednesday, is buried to-day. The people
coming to visit prevent my going, and I am glad of it. I hate
funerals--always did. There is such a mixture of mummery with real
grief--the actual mourner perhaps heart-broken, and all the rest making
solemn faces, and whispering observations on the weather and public
news, and here and there a greedy fellow enjoying the cake and wine. To
me it is a farce full of most tragical mirth, and I am not sorry (like
Provost Coulter[241]) but glad that I shall not see my own. This is a
most unfilial tendency of mine, for my father absolutely loved a
funeral; and as he was a man of a fine presence, and looked the mourner
well, he was asked to every interment of distinction. He seemed to
preserve the list of a whole bead-roll of cousins, merely for the
pleasure of being at their funerals, which he was often asked to
superintend, and I suspect had sometimes to pay for. He carried me with
him as often as he could to these mortuary ceremonies; but feeling I was
not, like him, either useful or ornamental, I escaped as often as I
could.

I saw the poor child's funeral from a distance. Ah, that Distance! What
a magician for conjuring up scenes of joy or sorrow, smoothing all
asperities, reconciling all incongruities, veiling all absurdness,
softening every coarseness, doubling every effect by the influence of
the imagination. A Scottish wedding should be seen at a distance; the
gay band of the dancers just distinguished amid the elderly group of the
spectators,--the glass held high, and the distant cheers as it is
swallowed, should be only a sketch, not a finished Dutch picture, when
it becomes brutal and boorish. Scotch psalmody, too, should be heard
from a distance. The grunt and the snuffle, and the whine and the
scream, should be all blended in that deep and distant sound, which,
rising and falling like the Eolian harp, may have some title to be
called the praise of our Maker. Even so the distant funeral: the few
mourners on horseback, with their plaids wrapped around them--the father
heading the procession as they enter the river, and pointing out the
ford by which his darling is to be carried on the last long road--not
one of the subordinate figures in discord with the general tone of the
incident--seeming just accessories, and no more--this _is_ affecting.

_April_ 9.--I worked at correcting proofs in the morning, and, what is
harder, at correcting manuscript, which fags me excessively. I was dead
sick of it by two o'clock, the rather as my hand, O revered "Gurnal," be
it said between ourselves, gets daily worse.

Lockhart's _Review_.[242] Don't like his article on Sheridan's life.
There is no breadth in it, no general views, the whole flung away in
smart but party criticism. Now, no man can take more general and liberal
views of literature than J.G.L. But he lets himself too easily into that
advocatism of style, which is that of a pleader, not a judge or a
critic, and is particularly unsatisfactory to the reader. Lieut.-Col.
Ferguson dined here.

_April_ 10.--Sent off proofs and copy galore before breakfast, and might
be able to give idleness a day if I liked. But it is as well reading for
_Boney_ as for anything else, and I have a humour to make my amusement
useful. Then the day is changeable, with gusts of wind, and I believe a
start to the garden will be my best out-of-doors exercise. No thorough
hill-expedition in this gusty weather.

_April_ 11.--Wrought out my task, although I have been much affected
this morning by the Morbus, as I call it. Aching pain in the back,
rendering one posture intolerable, fluttering of the heart, idle fears,
gloomy thoughts and anxieties, which if not unfounded are at least
bootless. I have been out once or twice, but am driven in by the rain.
Mercy on us, what poor devils we are! I shook this affection off,
however. Mr. Scrope and Col. Ferguson came to dinner, and we twaddled
away the evening well enough.

_April_ 12.--I have finished my task this morning at half-past
eleven--easily and early--and, I think, not amiss. I hope J.B. will make
some great points of admiration!!!--otherwise I will be disappointed. If
this work answers--if it _but_ answers, it must set us on our legs; I am
sure worse trumpery of mine has had a great run. Well, I will console
myself and do my best! But fashion changes, and I am getting old, and
may become unpopular, but it is time to cry out when I am hurt. I
remember with what great difficulty I was brought to think myself
something better than common,[243]--and now I will not in mere faintness
of heart give up good hopes. So Fortune protect the bold. I have
finished the whole introductory sketch of the Revolution--too long for
an introduction. But I think I may now go to my solitary walk.

_April_ 13.--On my return from my walk yesterday I learnt with great
concern the death of my old friend, Sir Alexander Don. He cannot have
been above six-or seven-and-forty. Without being much together, we had,
considering our different habits, lived in much friendship, and I
sincerely regret his death. His habits were those of a gay man, much
connected with the turf; but he possessed strong natural parts, and in
particular few men could speak better in public when he chose. He had
tact, wit, power of sarcasm, and that indescribable something which
marks the gentleman. His manners in society were extremely pleasing, and
as he had a taste for literature and the fine arts, there were few more
pleasant companions, besides being a highly-spirited, steady, and
honourable man. His indolence prevented his turning these good parts
towards acquiring the distinction he might have attained. He was among
the _détenus_ whom Bonaparte's iniquitous commands confined so long in
France;[244] and coming there into possession of a large estate in right
of his mother, the heiress of the Glencairn family, he had the means of
being very expensive, and probably then acquired those gay habits which
rendered him averse to serious business. Being our member for
Roxburghshire, his death will make a stir amongst us. I prophesy
Harden[245] will be here to talk about starting his son Henry.

Accordingly the Laird and Lady called. I exhorted him to write to Lord
Montagu[246] instantly. I do not see what they can do better, and unless
some pickthank intervene to insinuate certain irritating suspicions, I
suppose Lord M. will make no objection. There can be no objection to
Henry Scott for birth, fortune, or political principle; and I do not see
where we could get a better representative.

_April_ 14.--Wrote to Lord M. last night. I hope they will keep the
peace in the county. I am sure it would be to me a most distressing
thing if Buccleuch and Harden were to pull different ways, being so
intimate with both families.

I did not write much yesterday, not above two pages and a half. I have
begun _Boney_, though, and _c'est toujours quelque chose_. This morning
I sent off proofs and manuscript. Had a letter from the famous Denis
Davidoff, the Black Captain, whose abilities as a partisan were so much
distinguished during the retreat from Moscow. If I can but wheedle him
out of a few anecdotes, it would be a great haul.

A kind letter from Colin Mack[enzie]; he thinks the Ministry will not
push the measure against Scotland. I fear they will; there is usually an
obstinacy in weakness. But I will think no more about it. Time draws on.
I have been here a month. Another month carries me to be a hermit in the
city instead of the country. I could scarce think I had been here a
week. I wish I was able, even at great loss, to retire from Edinburgh
entirely. Here is no bile, no visits, no routine, and yet on the whole,
things are as well perhaps as they are.

_April_ 15.--Received last night letters from Sir John Scott Douglas,
and from that daintiest of Dandies, Sir William Elliot of Stobs,
canvassing for the county. Young Harry's[247] the lad for me. But will
he be the lad for Lord Montagu?--there is the point. I should have given
him a hint to attend to Edgerston. Perhaps being at Minto, and not
there, may give offence, and a bad report from that quarter would play
the devil. It is rather too late to go down and tell them this, and, to
say truth, I don't like the air of making myself busy in the matter.

Poor Sir Alexander Don died of a disease in the heart; the body was
opened, which was very right. Odd enough, too, to have a man, probably a
friend two days before, slashing at one's heart as it were a bullock's.
I had a letter yesterday from John Gibson. The House of Longman and Co.
guarantee the sale [of _Woodstock_] to Hurst, and take the work, if
Hurst and Robinson (as is to be feared) can make no play.

Also I made up what was due of my task both for 13th and 14th. So hey
for a Swiftianism--

    "I loll in my chair,
    And around me I stare
    With a critical air,
    Like a calf at a fair;
    And, say I, Mrs. Duty,
    Good-morrow to your beauty,
    I kiss your sweet shoe-tie,
    And hope I can suit ye."


Fair words butter no parsnips, says Duty; don't keep talking then, but
get to your work again. Here is a day's task before you--the siege of
Toulon. Call you that a task? d---- me, I'll write it as fast as _Boney_
carried it on.

_April_ 16.--I am now far ahead with _Nap._ I wrote a little this
morning, but this forenoon I must write letters, a task in which I am
far behind.

    "Heaven sure sent letters for some wretch's plague."[248]

Lady Scott seems to make no way, yet can scarce be said to lose any. She
suffers much occasionally, especially during the night. Sleeps a great
deal when at ease; all symptoms announce water upon the chest. A sad
prospect.

In the evening a despatch from Lord Melville, written with all the
familiarity of former times, desiring me to ride down and press Mr.
Scott of Harden to let Henry stand, and this in Lord Montagu's name as
well as his own, so that the two propositions cross each other on the
road, and Henry is as much desired by the Buccleuch interest as he
desires their support.

_Jedburgh, April_ 17.--Came over to Jedburgh this morning, to breakfast
with my good old friend Mr. Shortreed, and had my usual warm reception.
Lord Gillies held the Circuit Court, and there was no criminal trial for
any offence whatsoever. I have attended these circuits with tolerable
regularity since 1792, and though there is seldom much of importance to
be done, yet I never remember before the Porteous roll[249] being quite
blank. The judge was presented with a pair of white gloves, in
consideration of its being a maiden circuit. Harden came over and talked
about his son's preferment, naturally much pleased.

Received £100 from John Lockhart, for review of Pepys;[250] but this is
by far too much; £50 is plenty. Still I must impeticos the gratility for
the present,[251]--for Whitsunday will find me only with £300 in hand,
unless Blackwood settles a few scores of pounds for _Malachi_.

Wrote a great many letters. Dined with the Judge, where I met the
disappointed candidate, Sir John Scott Douglas, who took my excuse like
a gentleman. Sir William Elliot, on the other hand, was, being a fine
man, very much out of sorts, that having got his own consent, he could
not get that of the county. He showed none of this, however, to me.

_April_ 18.--This morning I go down to Kelso from Jedburgh to poor Don's
funeral. It is, I suppose, forty years since I saw him first. I was
staying at Sydenham, a lad of fourteen, or by 'r Lady some sixteen; and
he, a boy of six or seven, was brought to visit me on a pony, a groom
holding the leading rein--and now, I, an old grey man, am going to lay
him in his grave. Sad work. I detest funerals; there is always a want of
consistency; it is a tragedy played by strolling performers, who are
more likely to make you laugh than cry. No chance of my being made to
laugh to-day. The very road I go is a road of grave recollections. Must
write to Charles seriously on the choice of his profession, and I will
do it now.

[_Abbotsford_,] _April_ 19.--Returned last night from the house of death
and mourning to my own, now the habitation of sickness and anxious
apprehension. Found Lady S. had tried the foxglove in quantity, till it
made her so sick she was forced to desist. The result cannot yet be
judged. Wrote to Mrs. Thomas Scott to beg her to let her daughter Anne,
an uncommonly, sensible, steady, and sweet-tempered girl, come and stay
with us a season in our distress, who I trust will come forthwith.

Two melancholy things. Last night I left my pallet in our family
apartment, to make way for a female attendant, and removed to a
dressing-room adjoining, when to return, or whether ever, God only can
tell. Also my servant cut my hair, which used to be poor Charlotte's
personal task. I hope she will not observe it.

The funeral yesterday was very mournful; about fifty persons present,
and all seemed affected. The domestics in particular were very much so.
Sir Alexander was a kind, though an exact master. It was melancholy to
see those apartments, where I have so often seen him play the graceful
and kind landlord filled with those who were to carry him to his long
home.

There was very little talk of the election, at least till the funeral
was over.

_April_ 20.--Lady Scott's health in the same harassing state of
uncertainty, yet on my side with more of hope than I had two days since.

Another death; Thomas Riddell, younger of Camiston, Sergeant-Major of
the Edinburgh Troop in the sunny days of our yeomanry, and a very good
fellow.

The day was so tempting that I went out with Tom Purdie to cut some
trees, the rather that my task was very well advanced. He led me into
the wood, as the blind King of Bohemia was led by his four knights into
the thick of the battle at Agincourt or Crecy,[252] and then, like the
old King, "I struck good strokes more than one," which is manly
exercise.

_April_ 21.--This day I entertained more flattering hopes of Lady
Scott's health than late events permitted. I went down to Mertoun with
Colonel Ferguson, who returned to dine here, which consumed time so much
that I made a short day's work.

Had the grief to find Lady Scott had insisted on coming downstairs and
was the worse of it. Also a letter from Lockhart, giving a poor account
of the infant. God help us! earth cannot.

_April_ 22.--Lady Scott continues very poorly. Better news of the child.

Wrought a good deal to-day, rather correcting sheets and acquiring
information than actually composing, which is the least toilsome of the
three.

J.G.L. kindly points out some solecisms in my style, as "amid" for
"amidst," "scarce" for "scarcely." "Whose," he says, is the proper
genitive of "which" only at such times as "which" retains its quality of
impersonification. Well! I will try to remember all this, but after all
I write grammar as I speak, to make my meaning known, and a solecism in
point of composition, like a Scotch word in speaking, is indifferent to
me. I never learned grammar; and not only Sir Hugh Evans but even Mrs.
Quickly might puzzle me about Giney's case and horum harum horum.[253] I
believe the Bailiff in _The Good-natured Man_ is not far wrong when he
says, "One man has one way of expressing himself, and another another,
and that is all the difference between them."[254] Went to Huntly Burn
to-day and looked at the Colonel's projected approach. I am sure if the
kind heart can please himself he will please me.

_April_ 23.--A glorious day, bright and brilliant, and, I fancy, mild.
Lady Scott is certainly better, and has promised not to attempt quitting
her room.

Henry Scott has been here, and his canvass comes on like a moor burning.


_April_ 24.--Good news from Brighton. Sophia is confined; both she and
her baby are doing well, and the child's name is announced to be
Walter--a favourite name in our family, and I trust of no bad omen. Yet
it is no charm for life. Of my father's family I was the second Walter,
if not the third. I am glad the name came my way, for it was borne by my
father, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather; also by the
grandsire of that last-named venerable person who was the first laird of
Raeburn.

Hurst and Robinson, the Yorkshire tykes, have failed after all their
swaggering, and Longman and Co. take _Woodstock_. But if _Woodstock_ and
_Napoleon_ take with the public I shall care little about their
insolvency, and if they do not, I don't think their solvency would have
lasted long. Constable is sorely broken down.

    "Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
    That's sorry yet for thee."[255]

His conduct has not been what I deserved at his hand, but, I believe
that, walking blindfold himself, he misled me without _malice prepense_.
It is best to think so at least, unless the contrary be demonstrated. To
nourish angry passions against a man whom I really liked would be to lay
a blister on my own heart.

_April_ 25.--Having fallen behind on the 23d, I wrought pretty hard
yesterday; but I had so much reading, and so many proofs to correct,
that I did not get over the daily task, so am still a little behind,
which I shall soon make up. I have got _Nap._, d--n him, into Italy,
where with bad eyes and obscure maps, I have a little difficulty in
tracing out his victorious chess-play.

Lady Scott was better yesterday, certainly better, and was sound asleep
when I looked in this morning. Walked in the afternoon. I looked at a
hooded crow building in the thicket with great pleasure. It is a shorter
date than my neighbour Torwoodlee[256] thought of, when he told me, as
I was bragging a little of my plantations, that it would be long ere
crows built in them.

_April_ 26.--Letters from Walter and Lockharts; all well and doing well.
Lady S. continues better, so the clouds are breaking up. I made a good
day's work yesterday, and sent off proofs, letters, and copy this
morning; so, if this fine day holds good, I will take a drive at one.

There is an operation called putting to rights--_Scotticè_, _redding
up_--which puts me into a fever. I always leave any attempt at it half
executed, and so am worse off than before, and have only embroiled the
fray. Then my long back aches with stooping into the low drawers of old
cabinets, and my neck is strained with staring up to their attics. Then
you are sure never to get the thing you want. I am certain they creep
about and hide themselves. Tom Moore[257] gave us the insurrection of
the papers. That was open war, but this is a system of privy plot and
conspiracy, by which those you seek creep out of the way, and those you
are not wanting perk themselves in your face again and again, until at
last you throw them into some corner in a passion, and then they are the
objects of research in their turn. I have read in a French Eastern tale
of an enchanted person called _L'homme qui cherche_, a sort of "Sir Guy
the Seeker," always employed in collecting the beads of a chaplet,
which, by dint of gramarye, always dispersed themselves when he was
about to fix the last upon the string. It was an awful doom;
transmogrification into the Laidleyworm of Spindlestaneheugh[258] would
have been a blessing in comparison. Now, the explanation of all this is,
that I have been all this morning seeking a parcel of sticks of sealing
wax which I brought from Edinburgh, and the "_Weel Brandt and Vast
houd_"[259] has either melted without the agency of fire or barricaded
itself within the drawers of some cabinet, which has declared itself in
a state of insurrection. A choice subject for a journal, but what better
have I?

I did not quite finish my task to-day, nay, I only did one third of it.
It is so difficult to consult the maps after candles are lighted, or to
read the Moniteur, that I was obliged to adjourn. The task is three
pages or leaves of my close writing per diem, which corresponds to about
a sheet (16 pages) of _Woodstock_, and about 12 of _Bonaparte_, which is
a more comprehensive page. But I was not idle neither, and wrote some
_Balaam_[260] for Lockhart's _Review_. Then I was in hand a leaf above
the tale, so I am now only a leaf behind it.

_April_ 27.--This is one of those abominable April mornings which
deserve the name of _Sans Cullotides_, as being cold, beggarly, coarse,
savage, and intrusive. The earth lies an inch deep with snow, to the
confusion of the worshippers of Flora. By the way, Bogie attended his
professional dinner and show of flowers at Jedburgh yesterday. Here is a
beautiful sequence to their _floralia_. It is this uncertainty in April,
and the descent of snow and frost when one thinks themselves clear of
them, and that after fine encouraging weather, that destroys our
Scottish fruits and flowers. It is as imprudent to attach yourself to
flowers in Scotland as to a caged bird; the cat, sooner or later, snaps
up one, and these--_Sans Cullotides_--annihilate the other. It was but
yesterday I was admiring the glorious flourish of the pears and
apricots, and now hath come the killing frost.[261]

But let it freeze without, we are comfortable within. Lady Scott
continues better, and, we may hope, has got the turn of her disease.

_April_ 28.--Beautiful morning, but ice as thick as pasteboard, too
surely showing that the night has made good yesterday's threat.
Dalgleish, with his most melancholy face, conveys the most doleful
tidings from Bogie. But servants are fond of the woful, it gives such
consequence to the person who communicates bad news.

Wrote two letters, and read till twelve, and then for a stout walk among
the plantations till four. Found Lady Scott obviously better, I think,
than I had left her in the morning. In walking I am like a spavined
horse, and heat as I get on. The flourishing plantations around me are a
great argument for me to labour hard. "_Barbarus has segetes?_" I will
write my finger-ends off first.

_April_ 29.--I was always afraid, privately, that _Woodstock_ would not
stand the test. In that case my fate would have been that of the
unfortunate minstrel trumpeter Maclean at the battle of Sheriffmuir--

    "By misfortune he happened to fa', man;
      By saving his neck
      His trumpet did break,
    And came off without music at a', man."[262]

J.B. corroborated my doubts by his raven-like croaking and criticising;
but the good fellow writes me this morning that he is written down an
ass, and that the approbation is unanimous. It is but Edinburgh, to be
sure; but Edinburgh has always been a harder critic than London. It is a
great mercy, and gives encouragement for future exertion. Having written
two leaves this morning, I think I will turn out to my walk, though two
hours earlier than usual. Egad, I could not persuade myself that it was
such bad _Balaam_ after all.

_April_ 30.--I corrected this morning a quantity of proofs and copy, and
dawdled about a little, the weather of late becoming rather milder,
though not much of that. Methinks Duty looks as if she were but
half-pleased with me; but would the Pagan bitch have me work on the
Sunday?

FOOTNOTES:

[234] Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, Act IV, Sc. 5.

[235] The reader will understand that the Novel was sold for behoof of
James Ballantyne & Co.'s creditors, and that this sum includes the cost
of printing the first edition as well as paper.--J.G.L.

[236] Eident, _i.e._ eagerly diligent.--J.G.L.

[237] These lines slightly altered from Logan.--J.G.L.

[238] Lippened, _i.e._ relied upon.--J.G.L.

[239] 2 _King Henry VI_., Act IV. Sc. 10, slightly varied.

[240] In a letter of the same day he says--"My interest, as you might
have known, lies Windsor way."--J.G.L.

[241] William Coulter, Lord Provost of Edinburgh, died in office, April
1810, and was said to have been greatly consoled on his deathbed by the
prospect of so grand a funeral as must needs occur in his case.--Scott
_used to take him off_ as saying, at some public meeting, "Gentlemen,
though doomed to the trade of a stocking-weaver, I was born with the
soul of a _Sheepio_" (Scipio).

[242] _Quarterly Review_, No. 66: Lockhart's review of Sheridan's Life.

[243] It is interesting to read what James Ballantyne has recorded on
this subject.--"Sir Walter at all times laboured under the strangest
delusion, as to the merits of his own works. On this score he was not
only inaccessible to compliments, but even insensible to the truth; in
fact, at all times, he hated to talk of any of his productions; as, for
instance, he greatly preferred Mrs. Shelley's _Frankenstein_ to any of
his own romances. I remember one day, when Mr. Erskine and I were dining
with him, either immediately before or immediately after the publication
of one of the best of the latter, and were giving it the high praise we
thought it deserved, he asked us abruptly whether we had read
_Frankenstein_. We answered that we had not. 'Ah,' he said, 'have
patience, read _Frankenstein_, and you will be better able to judge
of----.' You will easily judge of the disappointment thus prepared for
us. When I ventured, as I sometimes did, to press him on the score of
the reputation he had gained, he merely asked, as if he determined to be
done with the discussion, 'Why, what is the value of a reputation which
probably will not last above one or two generations?' One morning, I
recollect, I went into his library, shortly after the publication of the
_Lady of the Lake_, and finding Miss Scott there, who was then a very
young girl, I asked her, 'Well, Miss Sophia, how do you like the _Lady
of the Lake_, with which everybody is so much enchanted?' Her answer
was, with affecting simplicity, 'Oh, I have not read it. Papa says
there's nothing so bad for young girls as reading bad poetry.' Yet he
could not be said to be hostile to compliments in the abstract--nothing
was so easy as to flatter him about a farm or a field, and his manner on
such an occasion plainly showed that he was really open to such a
compliment, and liked it. In fact, I can recall only one instance in
which he was fairly cheated into pleasure by a tribute paid to his
literary merit, and it was a striking one. Somewhere betwixt two and
three years ago I was dining at the Rev. Dr. Brunton's, with a large and
accomplished party, of whom Dr. Chalmers was one. The conversation
turned upon Sir Walter Scott's romances generally, and the course of it
led me very shortly afterwards to call on Sir Walter, and address him as
follows--I knew the task was a bold one, but I thought I saw that I
should get well through it--'Well, Sir Walter,' I said, 'I was dining
yesterday, where your works became the subject of very copious
conversation.' His countenance immediately became overcast--and his
answer was, 'Well, I think, I must say your party might have been better
employed.' 'I knew it would be your answer,'--the conversation
continued,--'nor would I have mentioned it, but that Dr. Chalmers was
present, and was by far the most decided in his expressions of pleasure
and admiration of any of the party.' This instantly roused him to the
most vivid animation. 'Dr. Chalmers?' he repeated; 'that throws new
light on the subject--to have produced any effect upon the mind of such
a man as Dr. Chalmers is indeed something to be proud of. Dr. Chalmers
is a man of the truest genius. I will thank you to repeat all you can
recollect that he said on the subject.' I did so accordingly, and I can
recall no other similar instance."--_James Ballantyne's MS._

[244] For the life led by many of the _détenus_ in France before 1814,
and for anecdotes regarding Sir Alexander Don, see Sir James Campbell of
Ardkinglas' _Memoirs_, 2 vols. 8vo, London 1832, vol. ii. chaps. 7 and
8.

[245] Hugh Scott of Harden, afterwards (in 1835) Lord
Polwarth--succeeded by his son Henry, in 1841.

[246] Henry Jas. Scott, who succeeded to the Barony of Montagu on the
demise of his grandfather, the Duke of Montagu, was the son of Henry, 3d
Duke of Buccleuch. At Lord M.'s death in 1845 the Barony of Montagu
expired.

[247] Henry Scott, afterwards Lord Polwarth.

[248] Slightly altered from Pope's _Eloisa to Abelard_.

[249] The Catalogue of Criminals brought before the Circuit Courts at
one time was termed in Scotland the Portuous Roll. The name appears to
have been derived from the practice in early times of delivering to the
judges lists of Criminals for Trials _in Portu_, or in the gateway as
they entered the various towns on their circuit ayres.--Chambers's _Book
of Scotland_, p. 310.

Jamieson suggests that the word may have come from "Porteous" as
originally applied to a Breviary, or portable book of prayers, which
might easily be transferred to a portable roll of indictments.

[250] _Quarterly Review_, No. 66, Pepys' _Diary_.

[251] _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[252] See Froissart's account of the Battle of Crecy, Bk. i. cap. 129.

[253] _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act iv. Sc. 1.

[254] See Goldsmith's Comedy, Act III.

[255] _King Lear_, Act III. Sc. 2.

[256] James Pringle, Convener of Selkirkshire for more than half a
century. For an account of the Pringles of Torwoodlee, see Mr. Craig
Brown's _History of Selkirkshire_, vol. i. pp. 459-470.

[257] "_The Insurrection of the Papers--a Dream_." _The Twopenny
Post-Bag_, 12mo, London, 1812.

[258] The well-known ballads on these two North-country legends were
published by M.G. Lewis and Mr. Lambe, of Norham. "Sir Guy," in the
_Tales of Wonder_, and "The Worm," in Ritson's _Northumberland
Garland_.--See Child's _English and Scottish Ballads_, 8 vols. 12mo,
Boston, 1857, vol. i. p. 386.

[259] _Fyn Segellak wel brand en vast houd_: old brand used by
sealing-wax makers.

[260] _Balaam_ is the cant name in a Newspaper Office for asinine
paragraphs, about monstrous productions of Nature and the like, kept
standing in type to be used whenever the real news of the day leaves an
awkward space that must be filled up somehow.--J.G.L.

[261] _Henry VIII._ Act III. Sc. 2.

[262] Ritson, _Scottish Songs_, xvi.




MAY.


_May_ 1.--I walked to-day to the western corner of the Chiefswood
plantation, and marked out a large additional plantation to be drawn
along the face of the hill. It cost me some trouble to carry the
boundaries out of the eye, for nothing is so paltry as a plantation of
almost any extent if its whole extent lies defined to the eye. By
availing myself of the undulations of the ground I think I have avoided
this for the present; only when seen from the Eildon Hills the cranks
and turns of the enclosure will seem fantastic, at least until the trees
get high.

This cost Tom and me three or four hours. Lieut.-Colonel Ferguson joined
us as we went home, and dined at Abbotsford.

My cousin, Barbara Scott of Raeburn, came here to see Lady S. I think
she was shocked with the melancholy change. She insisted upon walking
back to Lessudden House, making her walk 16 or 18 miles, and though the
carriage was ordered she would not enter it.

_May_ 2.--Yesterday was a splendid May day--to-day seems inclined to be
_soft_, as we call it; but _tant mieux_. Yesterday had a twang of frost
in it. I must get to work and finish Boaden's _Life of Kemble_, and
Kelly's _Reminiscences_,[263] for the _Quarterly_.

I wrote and read for three hours, and then walked, the day being soft
and delightful; but alas! all my walks are lonely from the absence of my
poor companion. She does not suffer, thank God, but strength must fail
at last. Since Sunday there has been a gradual change--very
gradual--but, alas! to the worse. My hopes are almost gone. But I am
determined to stand this grief as I have done others.

_May_ 3,--Another fine morning. I answered a letter from Mr. Handley,
who has taken the pains to rummage the Chancery Records until he has
actually discovered the fund due to Lady Scott's mother, £1200; it seems
to have been invested in the estates of a Mr. Owen, as it appears for
Madame Charpentier's benefit, but, she dying, the fund was lost sight of
and got into Chancery, where I suppose it must have accumulated, but I
cannot say I understand the matter; at a happier moment the news would
have given poor Charlotte much pleasure, but now--it is a day too late.

_May_ 4.--On visiting Lady Scott's sick-room this morning I found her
suffering, and I doubt if she knew me. Yet, after breakfast, she seemed
serene and composed. The worst is, she will not speak out about the
symptoms under which she labours. Sad, sad work; I am under the most
melancholy apprehension, for what constitution can hold out under these
continued and wasting attacks?

My niece, Anne Scott, a prudent, sensible, and kind young woman, arrived
to-day, having come down to assist us in our distress from so far as
Cheltenham. This is a great consolation.

_May_ 5.--Haunted by gloomy thoughts; but I corrected proofs from seven
to ten, and wrote from half-past ten to one. My old friend Sir Adam
called, and took a long walk with me, which was charity. His gaiety
rubbed me up a little. I had also a visit from the Laird and Lady of
Harden. Henry Scott carries the county without opposition.

_May_ 6.--- The same scene of hopeless (almost) and unavailing anxiety.
Still welcoming me with a smile, and asserting she is better. I fear the
disease is too deeply entwined with the principles of life. Yet the
increase of good weather, especially if it would turn more genial,
might, I think, aid her excellent constitution. Still labouring at this
_Review_, without heart or spirits to finish it. I am a tolerable Stoic,
but preach to myself in vain.

    "Since these things are necessities,
    Then let us meet them like necessities."[264]

And so we will.

_May_ 7.--Hammered on at the _Review_ till my backbone ached. But I
believe it was a nervous affection, for a walk cured it. Sir Adam and
the Colonel dined here. So I spent the evening as pleasantly as I well
could, considering I am so soon to leave my own house, and go like a
stranger to the town of which I have been so long a citizen, and leave
my wife lingering, without prospect of recovery, under the charge of two
poor girls. _Talia cogit dura necessitas._

_May_ 8.--I went over to the election at Jedburgh. There was a numerous
meeting; the Whigs, who did not bring ten men to the meeting, of course
took the whole matter under their patronage, which was much of a piece
with the Blue Bottle drawing the carriage. I tried to pull up once or
twice, but quietly, having no desire to disturb the quiet of the
election. To see the difference of modern times! We had a good dinner,
and excellent wine; and I had ordered my carriage at half-past seven,
almost ashamed to start so soon. Everybody dispersed at so early an
hour, however, that when Henry had left the chair, there was no carriage
for me, and Peter proved his accuracy by showing me it was but a
quarter-past seven. In the days I remember they would have kept it up
till day-light; nor do I think poor Don would have left the chair before
midnight. Well, there is a medium. Without being a veteran Vice, a grey
Iniquity, like Falstaff, I think an occasional jolly bout, if not
carried to excess, improved society; men were put into good humour; when
the good wine did its good office, the jest, the song, the speech, had
double effect; men were happy for the night, and better friends ever
after, because they had been so.

_May_ 9.--My new Liverpool neighbour, Mr. Bainbridge, breakfasts here
to-day with some of his family. They wish to try the fishing in
Cauldshields Loch, and [there is] promise of a fine soft morning. But
the season is too early.

They have had no sport accordingly after trying with Trimmers. Mr.
Bainbridge is a good cut of John Bull--plain, sensible, and downright;
the maker of his own fortune, and son of his own works.

_May_ 10.--To-morrow I leave my home. To what scene I may suddenly be
recalled, it wrings my heart to think. If she would but be guided by the
medical people, and attend rigidly to their orders, something might be
hoped, but she is impatient with the protracted suffering, and no
wonder. Anne has a severe task to perform, but the assistance of her
cousin is a great comfort. Baron Weber, the great composer, wants me
(through Lockhart) to compose something to be set to music by him, and
sung by Miss Stephens--as if I cared who set or who sung any lines of
mine. I have recommended instead Beaumont and Fletcher's unrivalled song
in the _Nice Valour_:

    "Hence, all ye vain delights," etc.

[_Edinburgh_],[265] _May_ 11.--

    "Der Abschiedstag ist da,
    Schwer liegt er auf den Herzen--schwer."[266]

Charlotte was unable to take leave of me, being in a sound sleep, after
a very indifferent night. Perhaps it was as well. Emotion might have
hurt her; and nothing I could have expressed would have been worth the
risk. I have foreseen, for two years and more, that this menaced event
could not be far distant. I have seen plainly, within the last two
months, that recovery was hopeless. And yet to part with the companion
of twenty-nine years when so very ill--that I did not, could not
foresee.[267] It withers my heart to think of it, and to recollect that
I can hardly hope again to seek confidence and counsel from that ear to
which all might be safely confided. But in her present lethargic state,
what would my attentions have availed? and Anne has promised close and
constant intelligence. I must dine with James Ballantyne to-day _en
famille_. I cannot help it; but would rather be at home and alone.
However, I can go out too. I will not yield to the barren sense of
hopelessness which struggles to invade me. I passed a pleasant day with
honest J.B., which was a great relief from the black dog which would
have worried me at home. We were quite alone.

_[Edinburgh,] May_ 12.--Well, here I am in Arden. And I may say with
Touchstone, "When I was at home I was in a better place,"[268] and yet
this is not by any means to be complained of. Good apartments, the
people civil and apparently attentive. No appearance of smoke, and
absolute warrandice against my dreaded enemies, bugs. I must, when there
is occasion, draw to my own Bailie Nicol Jarvie's consolation, "One
cannot carry the comforts of the Saut-Market about with one." Were I at
ease in mind, I think the body is very well cared for. I have two steady
servants, a man and woman, and they seem to set out sensibly enough.
Only one lodger in the house, a Mr. Shandy, a clergyman; and despite his
name, said to be a quiet one.

_May_ 13.--The projected measure against the Scottish bank-notes has
been abandoned, the resistance being general. _Malachi_ might clap his
wings upon this, but, alas! domestic anxiety has cut his comb.

I think very lightly in general of praise; it costs men nothing, and is
usually only lip-salve. They wish to please, and must suppose that
flattery is the ready road to the good will of every professor of
literature. Some praise, however, and from some people, does at once
delight and strengthen the mind, and I insert in this place the
quotation with which Ld. C. Baron Shepherd concluded a letter concerning
me to the Chief Commissioner: "_Magna etiam illa laus et admirabilis
videri solet tulisse casus sapienter adversos, non fractum esse fortunâ,
retinuisse in rebus asperis dignitatem._"[269] I record these words, not
as meriting the high praise they imply, but to remind me that such an
opinion being partially entertained of me by a man of a character so
eminent, it becomes me to make my conduct approach as much as possible
to the standard at which he rates it.

As I must pay back to Terry some cash in London, £170, together with
other matters here, I have borrowed from Mr. Alexander Ballantyne the
sum of £500, upon a promissory note for £512, 10s. payable 15th November
to him or his order. If God should call me before that time, I request
my son Walter will, in reverence to my memory, see that Mr. Alexander
Ballantyne does not suffer for having obliged me in a sort of
exigency--he cannot afford it, and God has given my son the means to
repay him.

_May_ 14.--A fair good-morrow to you, Mr. Sun, who are shining so
brightly on these dull walls. Methinks you look as if you were looking
as bright on the banks of the Tweed; but look where you will, Sir Sun,
you look upon sorrow and suffering. Hogg was here yesterday in danger,
from having obtained an accommodation of £100 from Mr. Ballantyne, which
he is now obliged to repay. I am unable to help the poor fellow, being
obliged to borrow myself. But I long ago remonstrated against the
transaction at all, and gave him £50 out of my pocket to avoid granting
the accommodation, but it did no good.

_May_ 15.--Received the melancholy intelligence that all is over at
Abbotsford.

[_Abbotsford_,] _May_ 16.--She died at nine in the morning, after being
very ill for two days,--easy at last.

I arrived here late last night. Anne is worn out, and has had hysterics,
which returned on my arrival. Her broken accents were like those of a
child, the language, as well as the tones, broken, but in the most
gentle voice of submission. "Poor mamma--never return again--'gone for
ever--a better place." Then, when she came to herself, she spoke with
sense, freedom, and strength of mind, till her weakness returned. It
would have been inexpressibly moving to me as a stranger--what was it
then to the father and the husband? For myself, I scarce know how I
feel, sometimes as firm as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the wave
that breaks on it.

I am as alert at thinking and deciding as I ever was in my life. Yet,
when I contrast what this place now is, with what it has been not long
since, I think my heart will break. Lonely, aged, deprived of my
family--all but poor Anne, an impoverished and embarrassed man, I am
deprived of the sharer of my thoughts and counsels, who could always
talk down my sense of the calamitous apprehensions which break the heart
that must bear them alone. Even her foibles were of service to me, by
giving me things to think of beyond my weary self-reflections.

I have seen her. The figure I beheld is, and is not, my Charlotte--my
thirty years' companion. There is the same symmetry of form, though
those limbs are rigid which were once so gracefully elastic--but that
yellow masque, with pinched features, which seems to mock life rather
than emulate it, can it be the face that was once so full of lively
expression? I will not look on it again. Anne thinks her little changed,
because the latest idea she had formed of her mother is as she appeared
under circumstances of sickness and pain. Mine go back to a period of
comparative health. If I write long in this way, I shall write down my
resolution, which I should rather write up, if I could. I wonder how I
shall do with the large portion of thoughts which were hers for thirty
years. I suspect they will be hers yet for a long time at least. But I
will not blaze cambric and crape in the public eye like a disconsolate
widower, that most affected of all characters.

_May_ 17.--- Last night Anne, after conversing with apparent ease,
dropped suddenly down as she rose from the supper-table, and lay six or
seven minutes as if dead. Clarkson, however, has no fear of these
affections.

_May_ 18.--Another day, and a bright one to the external world, again
opens on us; the air soft, and the flowers smiling, and the leaves
glittering. They cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a natural
enjoyment. Cerements of lead and of wood already hold her; cold earth
must have her soon. But it is not my Charlotte, it is not the bride of
my youth, the mother of my children, that will be laid among the ruins
of Dryburgh, which we have so often visited in gaiety and pastime. No,
no. She is sentient and conscious of my emotions somewhere--somehow;
_where_ we cannot tell; _how_ we cannot tell; yet would I not at this
moment renounce the mysterious yet certain hope that I shall see her in
a better world, for all that this world can give me. The necessity of
this separation,--that necessity which rendered it even a relief,--that
and patience must be my comfort. I do not experience those paroxysms of
grief which others do on the same occasion. I can exert myself and speak
even cheerfully with the poor girls. But alone, or if anything touches
me--the choking sensation. I have been to her room: there was no voice
in it--no stirring; the pressure of the coffin was visible on the bed,
but it had been removed elsewhere; all was neat as she loved it, but
all was calm--calm as death. I remembered the last sight of her; she
raised herself in bed, and tried to turn her eyes after me, and said,
with a sort of smile, "You all have such melancholy faces." They were
the last words I ever heard her utter, and I hurried away, for she did
not seem quite conscious of what she said. When I returned, immediately
[before] departing, she was in a deep sleep. It is deeper now. This was
but seven days since.

They are arranging the chamber of death; that which was long the
apartment of connubial happiness, and of whose arrangements (better than
in richer houses) she was so proud. They are treading fast and thick.
For weeks you could have heard a foot-fall. Oh, my God!

_May_ 19.--Anne, poor love, is ill with her exertions and
agitation--cannot walk--and is still hysterical, though less so. I
advised flesh-brush and tepid bath, which I think will bring her about.
We speak freely of her whom we have lost, and mix her name with our
ordinary conversation. This is the rule of nature. All primitive people
speak of their dead, and I think virtuously and wisely. The idea of
blotting the names of those who are gone out of the language and
familiar discourse of those to whom they were dearest is one of the
rules of ultra-civilisation which, in so many instances, strangle
natural feeling by way of avoiding a painful sensation. The Highlanders
speak of their dead children as freely as of their living, and mention
how poor Colin or Robert would have acted in such or such a situation.
It is a generous and manly tone of feeling; and, so far as it may be
adopted without affectation or contradicting the general habits of
society, I reckon on observing it.

_May_ 20.--To-night, I trust, will bring Charles or Lockhart, or both;
at least I must hear from them. A letter from Violet [Lockhart] gave us
the painful intelligence that she had not mentioned to Sophia the
dangerous state in which her mother was. Most kindly meant, but
certainly not so well judged. I have always thought that truth, even
when painful, is a great duty on such occasions, and it is seldom that
concealment is justifiable.

Sophia's baby was christened on Sunday, 14th May, at Brighton, by the
name of Walter Scott.[270] May God give him life and health to wear it
with credit to himself and those belonging to him. Melancholy to think
that the next morning after this ceremony deprived him of so near a
relation. Sent Mr. Curle £11 to remit Mrs. Bohn, York Street, Covent
Garden, for books--I thought I had paid the poor woman before.

_May_ 21.--Our sad preparations for to-morrow continue. A letter from
Lockhart; doubtful if Sophia's health or his own state of business will
let him be here. If things permit he comes to-night. From Charles not a
word; but I think I may expect him. I wish to-morrow were over; not that
I fear it, for my nerves are pretty good, but it will be a day of many
recollections.

_May_ 22.--Charles arrived last night, much affected of course. Anne had
a return of her fainting-fits on seeing him, and again upon seeing Mr.
Ramsay, the gentleman who performs the service.[271] I heard him do so
with the utmost propriety for my late friend, Lady Alvanley,[272] the
arrangement of whose funeral devolved upon me. How little I could guess
when, where, and with respect to whom I should next hear those solemn
words. Well, I am not apt to shrink from that which is my duty, merely
because it is painful; but I wish this day over. A kind of cloud of
stupidity hangs about me, as if all were unreal that men seem to be
doing and talking about.

_May_ 23.--About an hour before the mournful ceremony of yesterday,
Walter arrived, having travelled express from Ireland on receiving the
news. He was much affected, poor fellow, and no wonder. Poor Charlotte
nursed him, and perhaps for that reason she was ever partial to him. The
whole scene floats as a sort of dream before me--the beautiful day, the
grey ruins covered and hidden among clouds of foliage and flourish,
where the grave, even in the lap of beauty, lay lurking and gaped for
its prey. Then the grave looks, the hasty important bustle of men with
spades and mattocks--the train of carriages--the coffin containing the
creature that was so long the dearest on earth to me, and whom I was to
consign to the very spot which in pleasure-parties we so frequently
visited. It seems still as if this could not be really so. But it is
so--and duty to God and to my children must teach me patience.

Poor Anne has had longer fits since our arrival from Dryburgh than
before, but yesterday was the crisis. She desired to hear prayers read
by Mr. Ramsay, who performed the duty in a most solemn manner. But her
strength could not carry it through. She fainted before the service was
concluded.[273]

_May_ 24.--Slept wretchedly, or rather waked wretchedly, all night, and
was very sick and bilious in consequence, and scarce able to hold up my
head with pain. A walk, however, with my sons did me a great deal of
good; indeed their society is the greatest support the world can afford
me. Their ideas of everything are so just and honourable, kind towards
their sisters, and affectionate to me, that I must be grateful to God
for sparing them to me, and continue to battle with the world for their
sakes, if not for my own.

_May_ 25.--I had sound sleep to-night, and waked with little or nothing
of the strange, dreamy feeling which made me for some days feel like one
bewildered in a country where mist or snow has disguised those features
of the landscape which are best known to him.

Walter leaves me to-day; he seems disposed to take interest in country
affairs, which will be an immense resource, supposing him to tire of the
army in a few years. Charles, he and I, went up to Ashestiel to call
upon the Misses Russell, who have kindly promised to see Anne on
Tuesday. This evening Walter left us, being anxious to return to his
wife as well as to his regiment. We expect he will be here early in
autumn, with his household.

_May_ 26.--A rough morning, and makes me think of St. George's Channel,
which Walter must cross to-night or to-morrow to get to Athlone. The
wind is almost due east, however, and the channel at the narrowest point
between Port-Patrick and Donaghadee. His absence is a great blank in our
circle, especially, I think, to his sister Anne, to whom he shows
invariably much kindness. But indeed they do so without exception each
towards the other; and in weal or woe have shown themselves a family of
love. No persuasion could force on Walter any of his poor mother's
ornaments for his wife. He undid a reading-glass from the gold chain to
which it was suspended, and agreed to give the glass to Jane, but would
on no account retain the chain. I will go to town on Monday and resume
my labours. Being of a grave nature, they cannot go against the general
temper of my feelings, and in other respects the exertion, as far as I
am concerned, will do me good; besides, I must re-establish my fortune
for the sake of the children, and of my own character. I have not
leisure to indulge the disabling and discouraging thoughts that press on
me. Were an enemy coming upon my house, would I not do my best to fight,
although oppressed in spirits, and shall a similar despondency prevent
me from mental exertion? It shall not, by Heaven! This day and to-morrow
I give to the currency of the ideas which have of late occupied my mind,
and with Monday they shall be mingled at least with other thoughts and
cares. Last night Charles and I walked late on the terrace at Kaeside,
when the clouds seemed accumulating in the wildest masses both on the
Eildon Hills and other mountains in the distance. This rough morning
reads the riddle.

Dull, drooping, cheerless has the day been. I cared not to carry my own
gloom to the girls, and so sate in my own room, dawdling with old
papers, which awakened as many stings as if they had been the nest of
fifty scorpions. Then the solitude seemed so absolute--my poor Charlotte
would have been in the room half-a-score of times to see if the fire
burned, and to ask a hundred kind questions. Well, that is over--and if
it cannot be forgotten, must be remembered with patience.

_May_ 27.--A sleepless night. It is time I should be up and be doing,
and a sleepless night sometimes furnishes good ideas. Alas! I have no
companion now with whom I can communicate to relieve the loneliness of
these watches of the night. But I must not fail myself and my
family--and the necessity of exertion becomes apparent. I must try a
_hors d'oeuvre_, something that can go on between the necessary
intervals of _Nap._ Mrs. M[urray] K[eith's] Tale of the Deserter, with
her interview with the lad's mother, may be made most affecting, but
will hardly endure much expansion.[274] The framework may be a Highland
tour, under the guardianship of the sort of postilion, whom Mrs. M.K.
described to me--a species of conductor who regulated the motions of his
company, made their halts, and was their cicerone.

_May_ 28.--I wrote a few pages yesterday, and then walked. I believe the
description of the old Scottish lady may do, but the change has been
unceasingly rung upon Scottish subjects of late, and it strikes me that
the introductory matter may be considered as an imitation of Washington
Irving. Yet not so neither. In short, I will go on, to-day make a dozen
of close pages ready, and take J.B.'s advice. I intend the work as an
_olla podrida_, into which any species of narrative or discussion may be
thrown.

I wrote easily. I think the exertion has done me good. I slept sound
last night, and at waking, as is usual with me, I found I had some clear
views and thoughts upon the subject of this trifling work. I wonder if
others find so strongly as I do the truth of the Latin proverb, _Aurora
musis amica_. If I forget a thing over-night, I am sure to recollect it
as my eyes open in the morning. The same if I want an idea, or am
encumbered by some difficulty, the moment of waking always supplies the
deficiency, or gives me courage to endure the alternative.[275]

_May_ 29.--To-day I leave for Edinburgh this house of sorrow. In the
midst of such distress, I have the great pleasure to see Anne regaining
her health, and showing both patience and steadiness of mind. God
continue this, for my own sake as well as hers. Much of my future
comfort must depend upon her.

[_Edinburgh_,] _May_ 30.--Returned to town last night with Charles. This
morning resume ordinary habits of rising early, working in the morning,
and attending the Court. All will come easily round. But it is at first
as if men looked strange on me, and bit their lip when they wring my
hand, and indicated suppressed feelings. It is natural this should
be--undoubtedly it has been so with me. Yet it is strange to find
one's-self resemble a cloud which darkens gaiety wherever it interposes
its chilling shade. Will it be better when, left to my own feelings, I
see the whole world pipe and dance around me? I think it will. Thus
sympathy intrudes on my private affliction.

I finished correcting the proofs for the _Quarterly_; it is but a flimsy
article, but then the circumstances were most untoward.

This has been a melancholy day, most melancholy. I am afraid poor
Charles found me weeping. I do not know what other folks feel, but with
me the hysterical passion that impels tears is of terrible violence--a
sort of throttling sensation--then succeeded by a state of dreaming
stupidity, in which I ask if my poor Charlotte can actually be dead. I
think I feel my loss more than at the first blow.

Poor Charles wishes to come back to study here when his term ends at
Oxford. I can see the motive.

_May_ 31.--The melancholy hours of yesterday must not return. To
encourage that dreamy state of incapacity is to resign all authority
over the mind, and I have been wont to say--

    "My mind to me a kingdom is."[276]
I am rightful monarch; and, God to aid, I will not be dethroned by any
rebellious passion that may rear its standard against me. Such are
morning thoughts, strong as carle-hemp--says Burns--

    "Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van,
    Thou stalk of carle-hemp in man."

Charles went by the steam-boat this morning at six. We parted last night
mournfully on both sides. Poor boy, this is his first serious sorrow.
Wrote this morning a Memorial on the Claims which Constable's people
prefer as to the copyrights of _Woodstock_ and _Napoleon_.[277]

FOOTNOTES:

[263] See _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, vol. xx. pp. 152-244, or
_Quarterly Review_ No. 67, Kelly's _Reminiscences_.

[264] 2 _Henry IV_., Act III. Sc. I, slightly altered.

[265] [Mrs. Brown's Lodgings, No. 6 North St. David Street.]

[266] This is the opening couplet of a German trooper's song, alluded to
in _Life_, vol. ii. p. 13. The literal translation is:--

  "The day of departure is come;
  Heavy lies it on the hearts--heavy."--J.G.L.



[267] Scott had written:--"and yet to part with the companion of twenty
years just six," and had then deleted the three words, "years just six,"
and written "nine" above them. It looks as if he had meant at first to
refer to the change in his fortunes, "just six" MONTHS before, and had
afterwards thought it better to refrain. This would account for a
certain obscurity of meaning.

[268] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 4.

[269] Cicero, _de Orat._ ii. p. 346.--J.G.L.

[270] Walter Scott Lockhart, died at Versailles in 1853, and was buried
in the Cemetery of Notre-Dame there.

[271] The Rev. Edward Bannerman Ramsay, A.M., St. John's College,
Cambridge, incumbent St. John's, Edinburgh, afterwards Dean of the
Diocese in the Scots Episcopal Church, and still more widely known as
the much-loved "Dean Ramsay," author of _Reminiscences of Scottish Life
and Character_. This venerable Scottish gentleman was for many years the
delight of all who had the privilege of knowing him. He died at the age
of eighty-three in his house, 23 Ainslie Place, Edinburgh, Dec. 27th,
1872.

[272] See _Life_, vol. iv. p. 2.

[273] Mr. Skene has preserved the following note written on this
day:--"I take the advantage of Mr. Ramsay's return to Edinburgh to
answer your kind letter. It would have done no good to have brought you
here when I could not have enjoyed your company, and there were enough
friends here to ensure everything being properly adjusted. Anne,
contrary to a natural weakness of temper, is quite quiet and resigned to
her distress, but has been visited by many fainting fits, the effect, I
am told, of weakness, over-exertion, and distress of mind. Her brothers
are both here--Walter having arrived from Ireland yesterday in time to
assist at the _munus inane_; their presence will do her much good, but I
cannot think of leaving her till Monday next, nor could I do my brethren
much good by coming to town, having still that stunned and giddy feeling
which great calamities necessarily produce. It will soon give way to my
usual state of mind, and my friends will not find me much different from
what I have usually been.

"Mr. Ramsay, who I find is a friend of yours, appears an excellent young
man.--My kind love to Mrs. Skene, and am always, yours truly,

"WALTER SCOTT. ABBOTSFORD, _23d May_."



[274] _The Highland Widow_, Waverley Novels, vol. xli.

[275] See February 10, 1826.

[276] This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in
the sixteenth century.--Percy's _Reliques_, vol. i. 307.--J.G.L.

[277] See June 2.




JUNE.


_June_ 1.--Yesterday I also finished a few trifling memoranda on a book
called _The Omen_, at Blackwood's request. There is something in the
work which pleases me, and the style is good, though the story is not
artfully conducted. I dined yesterday in family with Skene, and had a
visit from Lord Chief-Commissioner; we met as mourners under a common
calamity. There is something extremely kind in his disposition.

Sir R. D[undas] offers me three days of the country next week, which
tempts me strongly were it but the prospect of seeing Anne. But I think
I must resist and say with Tilburina,

    "Duty, I'm all thine own."[278]

If I do this I shall deserve a holiday about the 15th June, and I think
it is best to wait till then.

_June_ 2.--A pleasant letter from Sophia, poor girl; all doing well
there, for which God be praised.

I wrote a good task yesterday, five pages, which is nearly double the
usual stint.

I am settled that I will not go to Abbotsford till to-morrow fortnight.

I might have spared myself the trouble of my self-denial, for go I
cannot, Hamilton having a fit of gout.

Gibson seems in high spirits on the views I have given to him on the
nature of Constable and Co.'s claim. It amounts to this, that being no
longer accountable as publishers, they cannot claim the character of
such, or plead upon any claim arising out of the contracts entered into
while they held that capacity.

_June_ 3.--I was much disturbed this morning by bile and its
consequences, and lost so much sleep that I have been rather late in
rising by way of indemnification. I must go to the map and study the
Italian campaigns instead of scribbling.

_June_ 4.--I wrote a good task yesterday, and to-day a great one, scarce
stirring from the desk the whole day, except a few minutes when Lady Rae
called. I was glad to see my wife's old friend, with whom in early life
we had so many liaisons. I am not sure it is right to work so hard; but
a man must take himself, as well as other people, when he is in the
humour. A man will do twice as much at one time and in half the time,
and twice as well as he will be able to do at another. People are always
crying out about method, and in some respects it is good, and shows to
great advantage among men of business, but I doubt if men of method, who
can lay aside or take up the pen just at the hour appointed, will ever
be better than poor creatures. Lady L[ouisa] S[tuart] used to tell me of
Mr. Hoole, the translator of _Tasso_ and _Ariosto_, and in that capacity
a noble transmuter of gold into lead, that he was a clerk in the India
House, with long ruffles and a snuff-coloured suit of clothes, who
occasionally visited her father [John, Earl of Bute]. She sometimes
conversed with him, and was amused to find that he _did_ exactly so many
couplets day by day, neither more or less; and habit had made it light
to him, however heavy it might seem to the reader.

Well, but if I lay down the pen, as the pain in my breast hints that I
should, what am I to do? If I think, why, I shall weep--and that's
nonsense; and I have no friend now--none--to receive my tediousness for
half-an-hour of the gloaming. Let me be grateful--I have good news from
Abbotsford.

_June_ 5.--Though this be Monday, I am not able to feague it away, as
Bayes says.[279] Between correcting proofs and writing letters, I have
got as yet but two pages written, and that with labour and a sensation
of pain in the chest. I may be bringing on some serious disease by
working thus hard; if I had once justice done to other folks, I do not
much care, only I would not like to suffer long pain. Harden made me a
visit. He argued with me that Lord M. affichéd his own importance, too
much at the election, and says Henry is anxious about it. I hinted to
him the necessity of counter-balancing it the next time, which will be
soon.

Thomson also called about the Bannatyne Club.

These two interruptions did me good, though I am still a poor wretch.

After all, I have fagged through six pages; and made poor Wurmser lay
down his sword on the glacis of Mantua--and my head aches--my eyes
ache--my back aches--so does my breast--and I am sure my heart aches,
and what can Duty ask more?

_June_ 6.--I arose much better this morning, having taken some medicine,
which has removed the strange and aching feeling in my back and breast.
I believe it is from the diaphragm; it must be looked to, however. I
have not yet breakfasted, yet have cleared half my day's work holding it
at the ordinary stint.

Worked hard. John Swinton, my kinsman, came to see me,--very kind and
affectionate in his manner; my heart always warms to that Swinton
connection, so faithful to old Scottish feelings. Harden was also with
me. I talked with him about what Lord M. did at the election; I find
that he disapproves--I see these visits took place on the 5th.

_June_ 7.--Again a day of hard work, only at half-past eight I went to
the Dean of Faculty's to a consultation about Constable,[280] and met
with said Dean and Mr. [J.S.] More and J. Gibson. I find they have as
high hope of success as lawyers ought to express; and I think I know how
our profession speak when sincere. I cannot interest myself deeply in
it. When I had come home from such a business, I used to carry the news
to poor Charlotte, who dressed her face in sadness or mirth as she saw
the news affect me; this hangs lightly about me. I had almost forgot the
appointment, if J.G. had not sent me a card, I passed a piper in the
street as I went to the Dean's and could not help giving him a shilling
to play _Pibroch a Donuil Dhu_ for luck's sake--what a child I am!

_June_ 8.--Bilious and headache this morning. A dog howl'd all night and
left me little sleep. Poor cur! I dare say he had his distresses, as I
have mine. I was obliged to make Dalgleish shut the windows when he
appeared at half-past six, as usual, and did not rise till nine, when
_me voici_. I have often deserved a headache in my younger days without
having one, and Nature is, I suppose, paying off old scores. Ay, but
then the want of the affectionate care that used to be ready, with
lowered voice and stealthy pace, to smooth the pillow--and offer
condolence and assistance,--gone--gone--for ever--ever--ever. Well,
there is another world, and we'll meet free from the mortal sorrows and
frailties which beset us here. Amen, so be it. Let me change the topic
with hand and head, and the heart must follow.

I think that sitting so many days and working so hard may have brought
on this headache. I must inflict a walk on myself to-day. Strange that
what is my delight in the country is _here_ a sort of penance! Well, but
now I think on it, I will go to the Chief-Baron and try to get his
Lordship's opinion about the question with Constable; if I carry it, as
there is, I trust, much hope I shall, Mr. Gibson says there will be
funds to divide 6s. in the pound, without counting upon getting anything
from Constable or Hurst, but sheer hard cash of my own. Such another
pull is possible, especially if _Boney_ succeeds, and the rogue had a
knack at success. Such another, I say, and we touch ground I believe,
for surely Constable, Robinson, etc., must pay something; the struggle
is worth waring[281] a headache upon.

I finished five pages to-day, headache, laziness, and all.

_June_ 9.--Corrected a stubborn proof this morning. These battles have
been the death of many a man--I think they will be mine. Well but it
clears to windward; so we will fag on.

Slept well last night. By the way, how intolerably selfish this Journal
makes me seem--so much attention to one's naturals and non-naturals!
Lord Mackenzie[282] called, and we had much chat about business. The
late regulations for preparing cases in the Outer-House do not work
well, and thus our old machinery, which was very indifferent, is
succeeded by a kind that will hardly move at all. Mackenzie says his
business is trebled, and that he cannot keep it up. I question whether
the extreme strictness of rules of court be advisable in practice they
are always evaded, upon an equitable showing. I do not, for instance,
lodge a paper _debito tempore_, and for an accident happening, perhaps
through the blunder of a Writer's apprentice, I am to lose my cause. The
penalty is totally disproportioned to the delict, and the consequence
is, that means are found out of evasion by legal fictions and the like.
The judges listen to these; they become frequent, and the rule of Court
ends by being a scarecrow merely. Formerly, delays of this kind were
checked by corresponding _amendes_. But the Court relaxed this petty
fine too often. Had they been more strict, and levied the mulct on the
agents, with _no recourse_ upon their clients, the abuse might have been
remedied. I fear the present rule is too severe to do much good.

One effect of running causes fast through the Courts below is, that they
go by scores to appeal, and Lord Gifford[283] has hitherto decided them
with such judgment, and so much rapidity, as to give great satisfaction.
The consequence will in time be, that the Scottish Supreme Court will be
in effect situated in London. Then down fall--as national objects of
respect and veneration--the Scottish Bench, the Scottish Bar, the
Scottish Law herself, and--and--"there is an end of an auld sang."[284]
Were I as I have been, I would fight knee-deep in blood ere it came to
that. But it is a catastrophe which the great course of events brings
daily nearer--

    "And who can help it, Dick?"

I shall always be proud of _Malachi_ as having headed back the Southron,
or helped to do so, in one instance at least.

_June_ 10.--This was an unusual teind-day at Court. In the morning and
evening I corrected proofs--four sheets in number; and I wrote my task
of three pages and a little more. Three pages a day will come, at
Constable's rate, to about £12,000 to £15,000 per year. They have sent
their claim; it does not frighten me a bit.

_June_ 11.--Bad dreams about poor Charlotte. Woke, thinking my old and
inseparable friend beside me; and it was only when I was fully awake
that I could persuade myself that she was dark, low, and distant, and
that my bed was widowed. I believe the phenomena of dreaming are in a
great measure occasioned by the _double touch_, which takes place when
one hand is crossed in sleep upon another. Each gives and receives the
impression of touch to and from the other, and this complicated
sensation our sleeping fancy ascribes to the agency of another being,
when it is in fact produced by our own limbs acting on each other. Well,
here goes--_incumbite remis_.

_June_ 12.--Finished volume third of _Napoleon_. I resumed it on the 1st
of June, the earliest period that I could bend my mind to it after my
great loss. Since that time I have lived, to be sure, the life of a
hermit, except attending the Court five days in the week for about three
hours on an average. Except at that time I have been reading or writing
on the subject of _Boney_, and have finished last night, and sent to
printer this morning the last sheets of fifty-two written since 1st
June. It is an awful screed; but grief makes me a house-keeper, and to
labour is my only resource. Ballantyne thinks well of the work--very
well, but I shall [expect] inaccuracies. An' it were to do again, I
would get some one to look it over. But who could that some one be? Whom
is there left of human race that I could hold such close intimacy with?
No one. "_Tanneguy du Châtel, ou es-tu!_"[285]. Worked five pages.

_June_ 13.--I took a walk out last evening after tea, and called on Lord
Chief-Commissioner and the Macdonald Buchanans, that kind and friendly
clan. The heat is very great, and the wrath of the bugs in proportion.
Two hours last night I was kept in an absolute fever. I must make some
arrangement for winter. Great pity my old furniture was sold in such a
hurry! The wiser way would have been to have let the house furnished.
But it's all one in the Greek.

"_Peccavi, peccavi, dies quidem sine lineâ!_" I walked to make calls;
got cruelly hot; drank ginger-beer; wrote letters. Then as I was going
to dinner, enter a big splay-footed, trifle-headed, old pottering
minister, who came to annoy me about a claim which one of his
parishioners has to be Earl of Annandale, and which he conceits to be
established out of the Border Minstrelsy. He mentioned a curious
thing--that three brothers of the Johnstone family, on whose descendants
the male representative of these great Border chiefs devolved, were
forced to fly to the north in consequence of their feuds with the
Maxwells, and agreed to change their names. They slept on the side of
the Soutra Hills, and asking a shepherd the name of the place, agreed in
future to call themselves Sowtra or Sowter Johnstones. The old
pudding-headed man could not comprehend a word I either asked him or
told him, and maundered till I wished him in the Annandale
beef-stand.[286] Mr. Gibson came in after tea, and we talked business.
Then I was lazy and stupid, and dosed over a book instead of writing. So
on the whole, _Confiteor, confiteor, culpa mea, culpa mea_!

_June_ 14.--In the morning I began with a page and a half before
breakfast. This is always the best way. You stand like a child going to
be bathed, shivering and shaking till the first pitcherful is flung
about your ears, and then are as blithe as a water-wagtail. I am just
come home from Parliament House; and now, my friend _Nap._, have at you
with a down-right blow! Methinks I would fain make peace with my
conscience by doing six pages to-night. Bought a little bit of Gruyère
cheese, instead of our domestic choke-dog concern. When did I ever
purchase anything for my own eating? But I will say no more of that. And
now to the bread-mill.

_June_ 15.--I laboured all the evening, but made little way. There were
many books to consult; and so all I could really do was to make out my
task of three pages. I will try to make up the deficit of Tuesday to-day
and to-morrow. Letters from Walter--all well. A visit yesterday from
Charles Sharpe.

_June_ 16.--Yesterday sate in the Court till nearly four. I had, of
course, only time for my task. I fear I will have little more to-day,
for I have accepted to dine at Hector's. I got, yesterday, a present of
two engravings from Sir Henry Raeburn's portrait of me, which (poor
fellow!) was the last he ever painted, and certainly not his worst.[287]
I had the pleasure to give one to young Mr. Davidoff for his uncle, the
celebrated Black Captain of the campaign of 1812. Curious that he should
be interested in getting the resemblance of a person whose mode of
attaining some distinction has been very different. But I am sensible,
that if there be anything good about my poetry or prose either, it is a
hurried frankness of composition which pleases soldiers, sailors, and
young people of bold and active disposition. I have been no sigher in
shades--no writer of

    "Songs and sonnets and rustical roundelays,
    Framed on fancies, and whistled on reeds."[288]

[_Abbotsford, Saturday_,] _June_ 17.--Left Edinburgh to-day after
Parliament House to come [here]. My two girls met me at Torsonce, which
was a pleasant surprise, and we returned in the sociable all together.
Found everything right and well at Abbotsford under the new regime. I
again took possession of the family bedroom and my widowed couch. This
was a sore trial, but it was necessary not to blink such a resolution.
Indeed, I do not like to have it thought that there is any way in which
I can be beaten.[289]

_June_ 18.--This morning wrote till half-twelve--good day's work--at
_Canongate Chronicles_. Methinks I can make this work answer. Then drove
to Huntly Burn and called at Chiefswood. Walked home. The country crying
for rain; yet on the whole the weather delicious, dry, and warm, with a
fine air of wind. The young woods are rising in a kind of profusion I
never saw elsewhere. Let me once clear off these encumbrances, and they
shall wave broader and deeper yet. But to attain this I _must work_.

Wrought very fair accordingly till two; then walked; after dinner out
again with the girls. Smoked two cigars, first time these two months.

_June_ 19.--Wrought very fair indeed, and the day being scorching we
dined _al fresco_ in the hall among the armour, and went out early in
the evening. Walked to the lake and back again by the Marle pool; very
delightful evening.

_June_ 20.--This is also a hard-working day. Hot weather is favourable
for application, were it not that it makes the composer sleepy. Pray God
the reader may not partake the sensation! But days of hard work make
short journals. To-day we again dine in the hall, and drive to Ashestiel
in the evening _pour prendre le frais_.

_June_ 21--We followed the same course we proposed. For a party of
pleasure I have attended to business well. Twenty pages of Croftangry,
five printed pages each, attest my diligence, and I have had a
delightful variation by the company of the two Annes. Regulated my
little expenses here.

[_Edinburgh_,] _June_ 22.--Returned to my Patmos. Heard good news from
Lockhart. Wife well, and John Hugh better. He mentions poor Southey
testifying much interest for me, even to tears. It is odd--am I so
hard-hearted a man? I could not have wept for him, though in distress I
would have gone any length to serve him. I sometimes think I do not
deserve people's good opinion, for certainly my feelings are rather
guided by reflection than impulse. But everybody has his own mode of
expressing interest, and mine is stoical even in bitterest grief. _Agere
atque pati, Romanum est._ I hope I am not the worse for wanting the
tenderness that I see others possess, and which is so amiable. I think
it does not cool my wish to be of use where I can. But the truth is, I
am better at enduring or acting than at consoling. From childhood's
earliest hour my heart rebelled against the influence of external
circumstances in myself and others. _Non est tanti!_

To-day I was detained in the Court from half-past ten till near four;
yet I finished and sent off a packet to Cadell, which will finish
one-third of the _Chronicles_, vol. 1st.

Henry Scott came in while I was at dinner, and sat while I ate my
beef-steak. A gourmand would think me much at a loss, coming back to my
ploughman's meal of boiled beef and Scotch broth, from the rather
_recherché_ table at Abbotsford, but I have no philosophy in my
carelessness on that score. It is natural--though I am no ascetic, as my
father was.

_June_ 23.--The heat tremendous, and the drought threatening the hay and
barley crop. Got from the Court at half-twelve, and walked to the
extremity of Heriot Row to see poor Lady Don; left my card as she does
not receive any one. I am glad this painful meeting is adjourned. I
received to-day £10 from Blackwood for the article on _The Omen_. Time
was I would not have taken these small tithes of mint and cummin, but
scornful dogs will eat dirty puddings, and I, with many depending on me,
must do the best I can with my time--God help me!

[_Blair-Adam_,] _June_ 24.--Left Edinburgh yesterday after the Court,
half-past twelve, and came over here with the Lord Chief-Baron and
William Clerk, to spend as usual a day or two at Blair-Adam. In general,
this is a very gay affair. We hire a light coach-and-four, and scour the
country in every direction in quest of objects of curiosity. But the
Lord Chief-Commissioner's family misfortunes and my own make our holiday
this year of a more quiet description than usual, and a sensible degree
of melancholy hangs on the reunion of our party. It was wise, however,
not to omit it, for to slacken your hold on life in any agreeable point
of connection is the sooner to reduce yourself to the indifference and
passive vegetation of old age.

_June_ 25.--Another melting day; thermometer at 78° even here. 80° was
the height yesterday at Edinburgh. If we attempt any active proceeding
we dissolve ourselves into a dew. We have lounged away the morning
creeping about the place, sitting a great deal, and walking as little as
might be on account of the heat.

Blair-Adam has been successively in possession of three generations of
persons attached to and skilled in the art of embellishment, and may be
fairly taken as a place where art and taste have done a great deal to
improve nature. A long ridge of varied ground sloping to the foot of the
hill called Benarty, and which originally was of a bare, mossy, boggy
character, has been clothed by the son, father, and grandfather; while
the undulations and hollows, which seventy or eighty years since must
have looked only like wrinkles in the black morasses, being now drained
and limed, are skirted with deep woods, particularly of spruce, which
thrives wonderfully, and covered with excellent grass. We drove in the
droskie and walked in the evening.

_June_, 26.--Another day of unmitigated heat; thermometer 82; must be
higher in Edinburgh, where I return to-night, when the decline of the
sun makes travelling practicable. It will be well for my work to be
there--not quite so well for me; there is a difference between the
clean, nice arrangement of Blair-Adam and Mrs. Brown's accommodations,
though he who is insured against worse has no right to complain of them.
But the studious neatness of poor Charlotte has perhaps made me
fastidious. She loved to see things clean, even to Oriental
scrupulosity. So oddly do our deep recollections of other kinds
correspond with the most petty occurrences of our life.

Lord Chief-Baron told us a story of the ruling passion strong in death.
A Master in Chancery was on his deathbed--a very wealthy man. Some
occasion of great urgency occurred in which it was necessary to make an
affidavit, and the attorney, missing one or two other Masters, whom he
inquired after, ventured to ask if Mr. ------ would be able to receive
the deposition. The proposal seemed to give him momentary strength; his
clerk sent for, and the oath taken in due form, the Master was lifted up
in bed, and with difficulty subscribed the paper; as he sank down again,
he made a signal to his clerk--"Wallace."--"Sir?"--"Your
ear--lower--lower. Have you got the _half-crown_?" He was dead before
morning.

[_Edinburgh_,] _June_ 27.--Returned to Edinburgh late last night, and
had a most sweltering night of it. This day also cruel hot. However, I
made a task or nearly so, and read a good deal about the Egyptian
Expedition. Had comfortable accounts of Anne, and through her of Sophia.
Dr. Shaw doubts if anything is actually the matter with poor Johnnie's
back. I hope the dear child will escape deformity, and the infirmities
attending that helpless state. I have myself been able to fight up very
well, notwithstanding my lameness, but it has cost great efforts, and I
am besides very strong. Dined with Colin Mackenzie; a fine family all
growing up about him, turning men and women, and treading fast on our
heels. Some thunder and showers which I fear will be but partial.
Hot--hot--hot.

_June_, 28.--Another hot morning, and something like an idle day, though
I have read a good deal. But I have slept also, corrected proofs, and
prepared for a great start, by filling myself with facts and ideas.

_June_ 29.--I walked out for an hour last night, and made one or two
calls--the evening was delightful--

    "Day its sultry fires had wasted,
      Calm and cool the moonbeam rose;
    Even a captive's bosom tasted
      Half oblivion of his woes."[290]

I wonder often how Tom Campbell, with so much real genius, has not
maintained a greater figure in the public eye than he has done of late.
The _Magazine_ seems to have paralysed him. The author, not only of the
_Pleasures of Hope_, but of _Hohenlinden, Lochiel_, etc., should have
been at the very top of the tree. Somehow he wants audacity, fears the
public, and, what is worse, fears the shadow of his own reputation. He
is a great corrector too, which succeeds as ill in composition as in
education. Many a clever boy is flogged into a dunce, and many an
original composition corrected into mediocrity. Yet Tom Campbell ought
to have done a great deal more. His youthful promise was great. John
Leyden introduced me to him. They afterwards quarrelled. When I repeated
_Hohenlinden_ to Leyden, he said, "Dash it, man, tell the fellow that I
hate him, but, dash him, he has written the finest verses that have been
published these fifty years." I did mine errand as faithfully as one of
Homer's messengers, and had for answer, "Tell Leyden that I detest him,
but I know the value of his critical approbation." This feud was
therefore in the way of being taken up. "When Leyden comes back from
India," said Tom Campbell, "what cannibals he will have eaten and what
tigers he will have torn to pieces!"

Gave a poor poetess £1. Gibson writes me that £2300 is offered for the
poor house; it is worth £300 more, but I will not oppose my own opinion,
or convenience to good and well-meant counsel: so farewell, poor No. 39.
What a portion of my life has been spent there! It has sheltered me from
the prime of life to its decline; and now I must bid good-bye to it. I
have bid good-bye to my poor wife, so long its courteous and kind
mistress,--and I need not care about the empty rooms; yet it gives me a
turn. I have been so long a citizen of Edinburgh, now an indweller only.
Never mind; all in the day's work.

J. Ballantyne and B. Cadell dined with me, and, as Pepys would say, all
was very handsome. Drank amongst us one bottle of champagne, one of
claret, a glass or two of port, and each a tumbler of whisky toddy. J.B.
had courage to drink his with _hot_ water; mine was iced.

_June_ 30.--Here is another dreadful warm day, fit for nobody but the
flies. And then one is confined to town.

Yesterday I agreed to let Cadell have the new work,[291] edition 1500,
he paying all charges, and paying also £500--two hundred and fifty at
Lammas, to pay J. Gibson money advanced on the passage of young Walter,
my nephew, to India. It is like a thorn in one's eye this sort of debt,
and Gibson is young in business, and somewhat involved in my affairs
besides. Our plan is, that this same _Miscellany_ or _Chronicle_ shall
be committed quietly to the public, and we hope it will attract
attention. If it does not, we must turn public attention to it
ourselves. About one half of vol. i. is written, and there is worse
abomination, or I mistake the matter.

I was detained in Court till four; dreadfully close, and obliged to
drink water for refreshment, which formerly I used to scorn, even on the
moors, with a burning August sun, the heat of exercise, and a hundred
springs gushing around me.

Corrected proofs, etc., on my return. I think I have conquered the
trustees' objections to carry on the small edition of novels. Got
Cadell's letter about the _Chronicle_.

FOOTNOTES:

[278] Sheridan's _Critic_, Act IV. Sc. 2.

[279] Buckingham's _Rehearsal_.--The expression "To Feague" does not
occur in the first edition, where the passage stands thus:--

"_Phys._--When a knotty point comes, I lay my head close to it, with a
pipe of tobacco in my mouth and then _whew_ it away. I' faith.

"_Bayes_.--I do just so, i' gad, always." Act II. Sc. 4.

In some subsequent editions the words are:--"I lay my head close to it
with a _snuff-box in my hand_, and I _feague_ it away. I' faith."

I am indebted to Dr. Murray for this reference, which he kindly
furnished me with from the materials collected for his great English
Dictionary.

[280] This alludes to the claim advanced by the creditors of Constable
and Co. to the copyright of _Woodstock_ and the _Life of Napoleon_. The
Dean of the Faculty of Advocates was at that time George Cranstoun,
afterwards a judge on the Scottish Bench under the title; of Lord
Corehouse, from 1826 until 1839, when he retired; he died 1850.

[281] _i.e._ spending.

[282] The eldest son of "_The Man of Feeling_." He had been a judge from
1822; he died at the age of seventy-four in 1851.

[283] Baron Gifford died a few months later, viz., in Sept. 1826; he had
been Attorney-General in 1819, and Chief-Justice in 1824. Lord and Lady
Gifford had visited Abbotsford in the autumn of 1825.

[284] Speech of Lord Chancellor Seafield on the ratification of the
Scottish Union.--See _Miscell. Prose Works_, vol. xxv. p. 93.

[285] See Moréri's _Dictionnaire_, Art. "Tanneguy du Châtel."

[286] An example of Scott's wonderful patience, and his power of
utilising hints gathered from the most unpromising materials. Apropos of
this Mr. Skene relates:--"In one of our frequent walks to the pier of
Leith, to which the freshness of the sea breeze offered a strong
inducement to those accustomed to pass a few of the morning hours within
the close and impure atmosphere of the Court of Session, I happened to
meet with, and to recognise, the Master of a vessel in which I had
sailed in the Mediterranean. Our recognition of each other seemed to
give mutual satisfaction, as the cordial grasp of the seaman's hard fist
effectually indicated. It was some years since we had been shipmates, he
had since visited almost every quarter of the globe, but he shook his
head, and looked serious when he came to mention his last trip. He had
commanded a whaler, and having been for weeks exposed to great stress of
weather in the polar regions, finally terminated in the total loss of
his vessel, with most of her equipage, in the course of a dark
tempestuous night. When thrown on her beam-ends, my friend had been
washed overboard, and in his struggles to keep himself above water had
got hold of a piece of ice, on the top of which he at length succeeded
in raising himself--'and there I was, sir, on a cursed dark dirty night,
squatted on a round lump of floating ice, for all the world like a
tea-table adrift in the middle of a stormy sea, without being able to
see whether there was any hope within sight, and having enough ado to
hold on, cold as my seat was, with sometimes one end of me in the water,
and sometimes the other, as the ill-fashioned crank thing kept whirling,
and whomeling about all night. However, praised be God, daylight had not
been long in, when a boat's crew on the outlook hove in sight, and
taking me for a basking seal, and maybe I was not unlike that same, up
they came of themselves, for neither voice nor hand had I to signal
them, and if they lost their blubber, faith, sir, they did get a willing
prize on board; so, after just a little bit gliff of a prayer for the
mercy that sent them to my help, I soon came to myself again, and now
that I am landed safe and sound, I am walking about, ye see, like a
gentleman, till I get some new craft to try the trade again.'--Sir
Walter, who was leaning on my arm during this narrative, had not taken
any share in the dialogue, and kept gazing to seaward, with his usual
heavy, absorbed expression, and only joined in wishing the seaman better
success in his next trip as we parted. However, the detail had by no
means escaped his notice, but dropping into the fertile soil of his
mind, speedily yielded fruit, quite characteristic of his habits. We
happened that evening to dine in company together; I was not near Sir
Walter at table, but in the course of the evening my attention was
called to listen to a narrative with which he was entertaining those
around him, and he seemed as usual to have excited the eager interest of
his hearers. The commencement of the story I had not heard, but soon
perceived that a shipwreck was the theme, which he described with all
the vivid touches of his fancy, marshalling the incidents and striking
features of the situation with a degree of dexterity that seemed to
bring all the horrors of a polar storm home to every one's mind, and
although it occurred to me that our rencontre in the morning with the
shipwrecked Whaler might have recalled a similar story to his
recollection, it was not until he came to mention _the tea-table of ice_
that I recognised the identity of my friend's tale, which had luxuriated
to such an extent in the fertile soil of the poet's imagination, as to
have left the original germ in comparative insignificance. He cast a
glance towards me at the close, and observed, with a significant nod,
'You see, you did not hear one-half of that honest seaman's story this
morning.' It was such slender hints, which in the common intercourse of
life must have hourly dropped on the soil of his retentive memory, that
fed the exuberance of Sir Walter's invention, and supplied the seemingly
inexhaustible stream of fancy, from which he drew forth at pleasure the
ground-work of romance."--_Reminiscences_.

[287] Painted for Lord Montagu in 1822.--See _Life_, vol. vii. p. 13.

Raeburn apparently executed two "half lengths" of Scott almost identical
at this time, giving Lord Montagu his choice. The picture chosen
remained at Ditton, near Windsor, until 1845, when at Lord Montagu's
death it became the property of his son-in-law, the Earl of Home, and it
is now (1889) at the Hirsel, Coldstream. The engraving referred to was
made from the replica, which remained in the artist's possession, by Mr.
Walker, and published in 1826. Sir Henry Raeburn died in July 1823, and
I do not know what became of the original, which may be identified by an
official chain round the neck, not introduced in the Montagu picture.

[288] Song of _The Hunting of the Hare_.--J.G.L.

[289] This entry reminds one of Hannah More's account of Mrs. Garrick's
conduct after her husband's funeral. "She told me," says Mrs. More,
"that she prayed with great composure, then went and kissed the dear
bed, and got into it with a sad pleasure."--See _Memoirs of Mrs. More_,
vol. i. p. 135.--J.G.L.

[290] Campbell's _Turkish Lady_, slightly altered. The poet was then
editor of the _New Monthly Magazine_, but he soon gave it up.--J.G.L.

[291] Viz.: the first series of _Chronicles of the Canongate_, which was
published in 1827. The title originally proposed was _The Canongate
Miscellany_ or _Traditions of the Sanctuary_.

_Woodstock_ had just been launched under the following
title:--_Woodstock, or the Cavalier; a Tale of the Year Sixteen Hundred
and Fifty-one_, by the author of _Waverley, Tales of the Crusaders_,
etc. "He was a very perfect gentle knight" (Chaucer). Edinburgh: Printed
for Archibald Constable and Co., Edinburgh; and Longman, Rees, Orme,
Brown, and Green, London, 1826. (At the end) Edinburgh: Printed by James
Ballantyne and Co. 3 vols. post 8vo.




JULY.


[_Edinburgh_,] _July 1st._--Another sunny day. This threatens absolutely
Syrian drought. As the Selkirk election comes on Monday, I go out to-day
to Abbotsford, and carry young Davidoff and his tutor with me, to see
our quiet way of managing the choice of a national representative.

I wrote a page or two last night slumbrously.

[_Abbotsford_,] _July_ 2.--Late at Court. Got to Abbotsford last night
with Count Davidoff about eight o'clock. I worked a little this morning,
then had a long and warm walk. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton from Chiefswood,
the present inhabitants of Lockhart's cottage, dined with us, which made
the society pleasant. He is a fine, soldierly-looking man[292]--though
affected with paralysis--his wife a sweet good-humoured little woman. He
is supposed to be a writer in Blackwood's _Magazine_. Since we were to
lose the Lockharts, we could scarce have had more agreeable folks.

At Selkirk, where Borthwickbrae was elected with the usual unanimity of
the Forest freeholders. This was a sight to my young Muscovite. We
walked in the evening to the lake.

_July_ 5.--Still very hot, but with thunder showers. Wrote till
breakfast, then walked and signed the death-warrant of a number of old
firs at Abbotstown. I hope their deaths will prove useful. Their lives
are certainly not ornamental. Young Mr. Davidoff entered upon the cause
of the late discontents in Russia, which he imputes to a deep-seated
Jacobin conspiracy to overthrow the state and empire and establish a
government by consuls.

[_Edinburgh_,] _July_ 6.--Returned last night with my frozen Muscovites
to the Capital, and suffered as usual from the incursions of the black
horse during the night. It was absolute fever. A bunch of letters, but
little interesting. Mr. Barry Cornwall[293] writes to condole with me. I
think our acquaintance scarce warranted this; but it is well meant and
modestly done. I cannot conceive the idea of forcing myself on strangers
in distress, and I have half a mind to turn sharp round on some of my
consolers. Came home from Court. R.P. Gillies called; he is writing a
satire. He has a singular talent of aping the measure and tone of Byron,
and this poem goes to the tune of _Don Juan_, but it is the Champagne
after it has stood two days with the cork drawn. Thereafter came Charles
K. Sharpe and Will Clerk, as Robinson sayeth, to my exceeding
refreshment.[294] And last, not least, Mr. Jollie, one of the triumvirs
who manage my poor matters. He consents to going on with the small
edition of novels, which he did not before comprehend. All this has
consumed the day, but we will make up tide-way presently. I must dress
to go to Lord Medwyn[295] to dinner, and it is near time.

_July_ 7.--Coming home from Lord Medwyn's last night I fell in with
Willie Clerk, and went home to drink a little shrub and water, over
which we chatted of old stories until half-past eleven. This morning I
corrected two proofs of C[roftangr]y, which is getting on. But there
must be a little check with the throng of business at the close of the
session. D---n the session! I wish it would close its eyes for a
century. It is too bad to be kept broiling here; but, on the other
hand, we must have the instinctive gratitude of the Laird of M'Intosh,
who was for the King that gave M'Intosh half-a-guinea the day and
half-a-guinea the morn. So I retract my malediction.

Received from Blackwood to account sales of _Malachi_ £72 with some odd
shillings. This was for copies sold to Banks. The cash comes far from
ill-timed, having to clear all odds and ends before I leave Edinburgh.
This will carry me on tidily till 25th, when precepts become payable.
Well! if _Malachi_ did me some mischief, he must also contribute _quodam
modo_ to my comfort.

_July_ 8.--Wrote a good task this morning. I may be mistaken; but I do
think the tale of Elspat McTavish[296] in my bettermost manner--but J.B.
roars for chivalry. He does not quite understand that everything may be
overdone in this world, or sufficiently estimate the necessity of
novelty. The Highlanders have been off the field now for some time.

Returning from Court, looked into a show of wild beasts, and saw Nero
the great lion, whom they had the cruelty to bait with bull-dogs,
against whom the noble creature disdained to exert his strength. He was
lying like a prince in a large cage, where you might be admitted if you
wish. I had a month's mind--- but was afraid of the newspapers; I could
be afraid of nothing else, for never did a creature seem more gentle and
yet majestic--I longed to caress him. Wallace, the other lion, born in
Scotland, seemed much less trustworthy. He handled the dogs as his
namesake did the southron.

Enter a confounded Dousterswivel, called Burschal, or some such name,
patronised by John Lockhart, teacher of German and learner of English.

He opened the trenches by making me a present of a German work called
_Der Bibelische Orient_, then began to talk of literature at large; and
display his own pretensions. Asked my opinion of Gray as a poet, and
wished me to subscribe an attestation of his own merits for the purpose
of getting him scholars. As I hinted my want of acquaintance with his
qualifications, I found I had nearly landed myself in a proof, for he
was girding up his loins to repeated thundering translations by himself
into German, Hebrew, until, thinking it superfluous to stand on very
much ceremony with one who used so little with me, hinted at letters to
write, and got him to translate himself elsewhere.

Saw a good house in Brunswick Street, which I liked. This evening supped
with Thomas Thomson about the affairs of the Bannatyne. There was the
Dean, Will Clerk, John Thomson, young Smythe of Methven; very pleasant.

_July_ 9.--Rather slumbrous to-day from having sat up till twelve last
night. We settled, or seemed to settle, on an election for the Bannatyne
Club. There are people who would wish to confine it much to one party.
But those who were together last night saw it in the true and liberal
point of view, as a great national institution, which may do much good
in the way of publishing our old records, providing we do not fall into
the usual habit of antiquarians, and neglect what is useful for things
that are merely curious. Thomson is a host for such an undertaking. I
wrote a good day's work at the Canongate matter, notwithstanding the
intervention of two naps. I get sleepy oftener than usual. It is the
weather I suppose--_Naboclish!_[297] I am near the end of the first
volume, and every step is one out of difficulty.

_July_ 10.--Slept too long this morning. It was eight before I
rose--half-past eight ere I came into the parlour. Terry and J.
Ballantyne dined with me yesterday, and I suppose the wassail, though
there was little enough of it, had stuck to my pillow.

This morning I was visited by a Mr. Lewis, a smart Cockney, whose object
is to amend the handwriting. He uses as a mechanical aid a sort of
puzzle of wire and ivory, which is put upon the fingers to keep them in
the desired position, like the muzzle on a dog's nose to make him bear
himself right in the field. It is ingenious, and may be useful. If the
man comes here, as he proposes, in winter, I will take lessons. Bear
witness, good reader, that if W.S. writes a cramp hand, as is the case,
he is desirous to mend it.

Dined with John Swinton _en famille_. He told me an odd circumstance.
Coming from Berwickshire in the mail coach he met with a passenger who
seemed more like a military man than anything else. They talked on all
sorts of subjects, at length on politics. _Malachi's_ letters were
mentioned, when the stranger observed they were much more seditious than
some expressions for which he had three or four years ago been nearly
sent to Botany Bay. And perceiving John Swinton surprised at this
avowal, he added, "I am Kinloch of Kinloch." This gentleman had got
engaged in the radical business (the only real gentleman by the way who
did), and harangued the weavers of Dundee with such emphasis that he
would have been tried and sent to Botany Bay had he not fled abroad. He
was outlawed, and only restored to his status on a composition with
Government. It seems to have escaped Mr. Kinloch that the conduct of a
man who places a lighted coal in the middle of combustibles, and upon
the floor, is a little different from that of one who places the same
quantity of burning fuel in a fire-grate![298]

_July_ 11.--The last day of the session, and as toilsome a one as I ever
saw. There were about 100 or 120 cases on the roll, and most of them of
an incidental character, which gives us Clerks the greatest trouble, for
it is the grasshopper that is a burthen to us. Came home about four,
tired and hungry. I wrought little or none; indeed I could not, having
books and things to pack. Went in the evening to sup with John
Murray,[299] where I met Will Clerk, Thomson, Henderland, and Charles
Stuart Blantyre, and had of course a pleasant party. I came late home,
though, for me, and was not in bed till past midnight; it would not do
for me to do this often.

_July_ 12.--I have the more reason to eschew evening parties that I
slept two mornings till past eight; these vigils would soon tell on my
utility, as the divines call it, but this is the last day in town, and
the world shall be amended. I have been trying to mediate between the
unhappy R.P. G[illies] and his uncle Lord G. The latter talks like a man
of sense and a good relation, and would, I think, do something for
E.P.G., if he would renounce temporary expedients and bring his affairs
to a distinct crisis. But this E.P. will not hear of, but flatters
himself with ideas which seem to me quite visionary. I could make
nothing of him; but, I conclude, offended him by being of his uncle's
opinion rather than his, as to the mode of extricating his affairs.

I am to dine out to-day, and I would fain shirk and stay at home; never,
Shylock-like, had I less will to feasting forth, but I must go or be
thought sulky. Lord M. and Lady Abercromby called this morning, and a
world of people besides, among others honest Mr. Wilson, late of
Wilsontown, who took so much care of me at London, sending fresh eggs
and all sorts of good things. Well, I have dawdled and written letters
sorely against the grain all day. Also I have been down to see Will
Allan's picture of the Landing of Queen Mary, which he has begun in a
great style; also I have put my letters and papers to rights, which only
happens when I am about to move, and now, having nothing left to do, I
_must_ go and dress myself.

_July_ 13.--Dined yesterday with Lord Abercromby at a party he gave to
Lord Melville and some old friends, who formed the Contemporary Club.
Lord M. and I met with considerable feeling on both sides, and all our
feuds were forgotten and forgiven; I conclude so at least, because one
or two people, whom I know to be sharp observers of the weatherglass on
occasion of such squalls, have been earnest with me to meet Lord M. at
parties--which I am well assured they would not have been (had I been
Horace come to life again[300]) were they not sure the breeze was over.
For myself, I am happy that our usual state of friendship should be
restored, though I could not have _come down proud stomach_ to make
advances, which is, among friends, always the duty of the richer and
more powerful of the two.

To-day I leave Mrs. Brown's lodgings. Altogether I cannot complain, but
the insects were voracious, even until last night when the turtle-soup
and champagne ought to have made me sleep like a top. But I have done a
monstrous sight of work here notwithstanding the indolence of this last
week, which must and shall be amended.

    "So good-by, Mrs. Brown,
    I am going out of town,
    Over dale, over down,
    Where bugs bite not,
    Where lodgers fight not,
    Where below you chairmen drink not,
    Where beside you gutters stink not;
    But all is fresh, and clean, and gay,
    And merry lambkins sport and play,
    And they toss with rakes uncommonly short hay,
    Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day,
    And where oats are at twenty-five shillings a boll, they say,
    But all's one for that, since I must and will away."

_July_ 14, ABBOTSFORD.--Arrived here yesterday before five o'clock.
Anybody would think, from the fal-de-ral conclusion of my journal of
yesterday, that I left town in a very gay humour--_cujus contrarium
verum est_. But nature has given me a kind of buoyancy, I know not what
to call it, that mingles even with my deepest afflictions and most
gloomy hours. I have a secret pride--I fancy it will be so most truly
termed--which impels me to mix with my distresses strange snatches of
mirth "which have no mirth in them." In fact, the journey hither, the
absence of the affectionate friend that used to be my companion on the
journey, and many mingled thoughts of bitterness, have given me a fit of
the bile.

_July_ 15.--This day I did not attempt to work, but spent my time in the
morning in making the necessary catalogue and distribution of two or
three chests of books which I have got home from the binder, Niece Anne
acting as my Amanuensis. In the evening we drove to Huntly Burn, and
took tea there. Returning home we escaped a considerable danger. The
iron screw bolts of the driving-seat suddenly giving way, the servants
were very nearly precipitated upon the backs of the horses. Had it been
down hill instead of being on the level, the horses must have taken
fright, and the consequences might have been fatal. Indeed, they had
almost taken fright as it was, had not Peter Matheson,[301] who, in Mr.
Fag's phrase, I take to be, "the discreetest of whips,"[302] kept his
presence of mind, when losing his equilibrium, so that he managed to
keep the horses in hand until we all got out. I must say it is not the
first imminent danger on which I have seen Peter (my Automedon for near
twenty-five years) behave with the utmost firmness.

_July_ 16.--Very unsatisfactory to-day. Sleepy, stupid,
indolent--finished arranging the books, and after that was totally
useless--unless it can be called study that I slumbered for three or
four hours over a variorum edition of the Gill's-Hill's tragedy.[303]
Admirable recipe for low spirits--for, not to mention the brutality of
so extraordinary a murder, it led John Bull into one of his uncommon
fits of gambols, until at last he become so maudlin as to weep for the
pitiless assassin, Thurtell, and treasure up the leaves and twigs of the
hedge and shrubs in the fatal garden as valuable relics--nay, thronged
the minor theatres to see the very roan horse and yellow gig in which
the body was transported from one place to another. I have not stept
over the threshold to-day, so very stupid have I been.

_July_ 17.--_Desidiæ longum valedixi._ Our time is like our money. When
we change a guinea, the shillings escape as things of small account;
when we break a day by idleness in the morning, the rest of the hours
lose their importance in our eye. I set stoutly to work about seven this
morning to _Boney_--

    And long ere dinner-time, I have
      Full eight close pages wrote;
    What, Duty, hast thou now to crave?
      Well done, Sir Walter Scott!

_July_ 18.--This, as yesterday, has been a day of unremitting labour,
though I only got through half the quantity of manuscript, owing to
drowsiness, a most disarming annoyance. I walked a little before dinner
and after tea, but was unable to go with the girls and Charles to the
top of Cauldshiels Hill. I fear my walking powers are diminishing, but
why not? They have been wonderfully long efficient, all things
considered, only I fear I shall get fat and fall into diseases. Well,
things must be as they may. Let us use the time and faculties which God
has left us, and trust futurity to his guidance. Amen.

This is the day of St. Boswell's Fair. That watery saint has for once
had a dry festival.

_July_ 19.--Wrote a page this morning, but no more. Corrected proofs
however, and went to Selkirk to hold Sheriff Court; this consumed the
forenoon. Colonel and Miss Ferguson, with Mr. and Mrs. Laidlaw, dined
and occupied the evening. The rain seemed to set in this night.

_July_ 20.--To-day rainy. A morning and forenoon of hard work. About
five pages, which makes up for yesterday's lee way. I am sadly tired
however. But as I go to Mertoun at four, and spend the night there, the
exertion was necessary.

_July_ 21.--To Mertoun we went accordingly. Lord and Lady Minto were
there, with part of their family, David Haliburton, etc., besides their
own large family. So my lodging was a little room which I had not
occupied since I was a bachelor, but often before in my frequent
intercourse with this kind and hospitable family. Feeling myself
returned to that celibacy, which renders many accommodations indifferent
which but lately were indispensable, my imagination drew a melancholy
contrast between the young man entering the world on fire for fame, and
restless in imagining means of coming by it, and the aged widower,
_blasé_ on the point of literary reputation, deprived of the social
comforts of a married state, and looking back to regret instead of
looking forward to hope. This brought bad sleep and unpleasing dreams.
But if I cannot hope to be what I have been, I will not, if I can help
it, suffer vain repining to make me worse than I may be.

We left Mertoun after breakfast, and the two Annes and I visited Lady
Raeburn at Lessudden. My Aunt is now in her ninetieth year--so clean,
so nice, so well arranged in every respect, that it makes old age
lovely. She talks both of late and former events with perfect possession
of her faculties, and has only failed in her limbs. A great deal of kind
feeling has survived, in spite of the frost of years.

Home to dinner, and worked all the afternoon among the Moniteurs--to
little purpose, for my principal acquisition was a headache. I wrote
nothing to-day but part of a trifle for _Blackwood_.

_July_ 22.--The same severe headache attends my poor pate. But I have
worked a good deal this morning, and will do more. I wish to have half
the volume sent into town on Monday if possible. It will be a royal
effort, and more than make up for the blanks of this week.

_July_ 23.--I wrote very hard this day, and attained page 40; 45 would
be more than half the volume. Colonel Russell came about one, and
carried me out a-walking, which I was all the better of. In the evening
we expected Terry and his wife, but they did not come, which makes me
fear she may be unwell again.

_July_ 24.--A great number of proof-sheets to revise and send off, and
after that I took a fancy to give a more full account of the
Constitution framed by Sieyès--a complicated and ingenious web; it is
but far too fine and critical to be practically useful.

_July_ 25.--Terry and wife arrived yesterday. Both very well. At
dinner-time to-day came Dr. Jamieson[304] of the Scottish Dictionary, an
excellent good man, and full of auld Scottish cracks, which amuse me
well enough, but are _caviare_ to the young people. A little prolix and
heavy is the good Doctor; somewhat prosaic, and accustomed to much
attention on the Sunday from his congregation, and I hope on the six
other days from his family. So _he will_ demand full attention from all
and sundry before he begins a story, and once begun there is no chance
of his ending.

_July_ 26.--This day went to Selkirk, and held a Court. The Doctor and
Terry chose to go with me. Captain and Mrs. Hamilton came to dinner.
Desperate warm weather! Little done in the literary way except sending
off proofs. Roup of standing corn, etc., went off very indifferently.
Letter from Ballantyne wanting me to write about absentees. But I have
enough to do without burning my fingers with politics.

_July_ 27.--Up and at it this morning, and finished four pages. An
unpleasant letter from London, as if I might be troubled by some of the
creditors there, when going to town to get materials for _Nap_. I have
no wish to go,--none at all. I would even like to put off my visit, so
far as John Lockhart and my daughter are concerned, and see them when
the meeting could be more pleasant. But then, having an offer to see the
correspondence from St. Helena, I can make no doubt that I ought to go.
However, if it is to infer any danger to my personal freedom, English
wind will not blow on me. It is monstrous hard to prevent me doing what
is certainly the best for all parties.

_July_ 28.--I am well-nigh choked with the sulphurous heat of the
weather--or I am unwell, for I perspire as if I had been walking hard,
and my hand is as nervous as a paralytic's. Read through and corrected
_St. Ronan's Well_. I am no judge, but I think the language of this
piece rather good. Then I must allow the fashionable portraits are not
the true thing. I am too much out of the way to see and remark the
ridiculous in society. The story is terribly contorted and unnatural,
and the catastrophe is melancholy, which should always be avoided. No
matter; I have corrected it for the press.[305]

The worthy Lexicographer left us to-day. Somewhat ponderous he is, poor
soul! but there are excellent things about him.

Action and Reaction--Scots proverb: "the unrest (_i.e._ pendulum) of a
clock _goes aye as far the ae gait as the t'other_."

Walter's account of his various quarters per last despatch. Query if
original:--

    "Loughrea is a blackguard place
      To Gort I give my curse;
    Athlone itself is bad enough,
      But Ballinrobe is worse.
    I cannot tell which is the worst,
      They're all so very bad;
    But of all towns I ever saw,
      Bad luck to Kinnegad."

Old Mr. Haliburton dined with us, also Colonel Russell. What a man for
fourscore or thereby is Old Haly--an Indian too. He came home in 1785.

_July_ 29.--Yesterday I wrought little, and light work, almost stifled
by the smothering heat. To-day I wrought about half task in the morning,
and, as a judgment on me I think for yesterday's sloth, Mr. H. stayed
unusually late in the forenoon. He is my friend, my father's friend, and
an excellent, sensible man besides; and a man of eighty and upwards may
be allowed to talk long, because in the nature of things he cannot have
long to talk. If I do a task to-day, I hope to send a good parcel on
Monday and keep tryst pretty well.

_July_ 30.--I did better yesterday than I had hoped for--four instead of
three pages, which, considering how my time was cut up by prolonged
morning lounging with friend Haly, was pretty fair. I wrote a good task
before eleven o'clock, but then my good friends twaddled and dawdled for
near two hours before they set off. The time devoted to hospitality,
especially to those whom I can reckon upon as sincere good friends, I
never grudge, but like to "welcome the coming, speed the parting
guest." By my will every guest should part at half-past ten, or arrange
himself to stay for the day.

We had a long walk in a sweltering hot day. Met Mr. Blackwood coming to
call, and walked him on with us, so blinked his visit--_gratias,
domine_!! Asked him for breakfast to-morrow to make amends. I rather
over-walked myself--the heat considered.

_July_ 31st_.--I corrected six sheets and sent them off, with eight
leaves of copy, so I keep forward pretty well. Blackwood the bookseller
came over from Chiefswood to breakfast, and this kept me idle till
eleven o'clock. At twelve I went out with the girls in the sociable, and
called on the family at Bemerside, on Dr.[306] and Mrs. Brewster, and
Mr. Bainbridge at Gattonside House. It was five ere we got home, so
there was a day dished, unless the afternoon does something for us. I am
keeping up pretty well, however, and, after all, visitors will come, and
calls must be made. I must not let Anne forego the custom of well-bred
society.

FOOTNOTES:

[292] Thomas Hamilton, Esq. (brother of Sir William Hamilton, the
Metaphysician), author of _Cyril Thornton_, _Men and Manners in
America_, _Annals of the Peninsular Campaign_, _etc._ Died in 1842.

[293] Bryan Waller Procter, author of _Dramatic Scenes, and other
Poems_, 1819. He died in London in 1874.

[294] A favourite expression of Scott's, from _Robinson Crusoe_.

[295] John Hay Forbes (Lord Medwyn from 1825 to 1852), second son of Sir
William Forbes of Pitsligo. Lord Medwyn died at the age of seventy-eight
in 1854.

[296] _The Highland Widow_.

[297] A favourite exclamation of Sir Walter's, which he had picked up on
his Irish tour, signifying "don't mind it"--_Na-bac-leis_. Compare Sir
Boyle Roche's dream that his head was cut off and placed upon a table:
"'_Quis separabit?_' says the head; '_Naboclish_,' says I, in the same
language."

[298] That Mr. Kinloch was not singular in his opinion has been shown by
the remarks made in the House of Commons (see _ante_, March 17). Lord
Cockburn in his _Trials for Sedition_ says, "With Botany Bay before him,
and money to make himself comfortable in Paris, George Kinloch would
have been an idiot if he had stayed." Mr. Kinloch had just returned to
Scotland.

[299] His neighbour, John Archibald Murray, then living at 122 George
Street.--See p. 133.

[300] See Molière's _l'École des Femmes_.

[301] In 1827 Scott was one day heard saying, as he saw Peter guiding
the plough on the haugh:--"Egad, auld Pepe's whistling at his darg: if
things get round with me, easy will be his cushion!" Old Peter lived
until he was eighty-four. He died at Abbotsford in 1854, where he had
been well cared for, respected, and beloved by all the members of the
family since Sir Walter's death.

[302] Sheridan's _Rivals_, Act II. Sc. 1.

[303] The murder of Weare by Thurtell and Co., at Gill's-Hill in
Hertfordshire (1824). Sir Walter collected printed trials with great
assiduity, and took care always to have the contemporary ballads and
prints bound up with them. He admired particularly this verse of Mr.
Hook's broadside--

  "They cut his throat from ear to ear,
  His brains they battered in;
  His name was Mr. William Weare,
  He dwelt in Lyon's Inn."

--J.G.L.

[304] Dr. John Jamieson, formerly minister to a Secession congregation
in Forfar, removed to a like charge in Edinburgh in 1795, where he
officiated for forty-three years; he died in his house in 4 George
Square in 1838, aged seventy-nine.

[305] This novel was passing through the press in 8vo, 12mo, and 18mo,
to complete collective editions in these sizes.--J.G.I.

[306] Afterwards Sir David Brewster. He died at Allerley House on the
Tweed, aged eighty-seven, on February 10, 1868.




AUGUST.


_August_ 1.--Yesterday evening did nothing for the _idlesse_ of the
morning. I was hungry; eat and drank and became drowsy; then I took to
arranging the old plays, of which Terry had brought me about a dozen,
and dipping into them scrambled through two. One, called _Michaelmas
Term_,[307] full of traits of manners; and another a sort of bouncing
tragedy, called the _Hector of Germany, or the Palsgrave_.[308] The
last, worthless in the extreme, is, like many of the plays in the
beginning of the seventeenth century, written to a good tune. The
dramatic poets of that time seem to have possessed as joint-stock a
highly poetical and abstract tone of language, so that the worst of them
often remind you of the very best. The audience must have had a much
stronger sense of poetry in those days than now, since language was
received and applauded at the Fortune or at the Red Bull,[309] which
could not now be understood by any general audience in Great Britain.
This leads far.

This morning I wrote two hours, then out with Tom Purdie, and gave
directions about thinning all the plantations above Abbotsford properly
so called. Came in at one o'clock and now set to work. _Debout, debout,
Lyciscas, debout._[310] Finished four leaves.

_August_ 2.--Well; and to-day I finished before dinner five leaves more,
and I would crow a little about it, but here comes Duty like an old
housekeeper to an idle chambermaid. Hear her very words:--

DUTY.--Oh! you crow, do you? Pray, can you deny that your sitting so
quiet at work was owing to its raining heavily all the forenoon, and
indeed till dinner-time, so that nothing would have stirred out that
could help it, save a duck or a goose? I trow, if it had been a fine
day, by noon there would have been aching of the head, throbbing,
shaking, and so forth, to make an apology for going out.

EGOMET IPSE.--And whose head ever throbbed to go out when it rained,
Mrs. Duty?

DUTY.--_Answer not to me with a fool-born jest_, as your poor friend
Erskine used to say to you when you escaped from his good advice under
the fire of some silly pun. You smoke a cigar after dinner, and I never
check you--drink tea, too, which is loss of time; and then, instead of
writing me one other page, or correcting those you have written out, you
rollick into the woods till you have not a dry thread about you; and
here you sit writing down my words in your foolish journal instead of
minding my advice.

EGO.--Why, Mrs. Duty, I would as gladly be friends with [you] as
Crabbe's[311] tradesman fellow with his conscience; but you should have
some consideration with human frailty.

DUTY.--Reckon not on that. But, however, good-night for the present. I
would only recommend to you to think no thoughts in which I am not
mingled--to read no books in which I have no concern--to write three
sheets of botheration all the six days of the week _per diem_, and on
the seventh to send them to the printer. Thus advising, I heartily bid
you farewell.

EGO.--Farewell, madam (exit Duty) and be d--d to ye for an unreasonable
bitch! "The devil must be in this greedy gled!" as the Earl of Angus
said to his hawk; "will she never be satisfied?"[312] I believe in my
soul she is the very hag who haunted the merchant Abudah.[313]

I'll have my great chest upstairs exorcised, but first I'll take a nap
till supper, which must take place within ten minutes.

_August_ 3.--Wrote half a task in the morning. From eleven till
half-past eight in Selkirk taking precognitions about a _row_, and came
home famished and tired. Now, Mrs. Duty, do you think there is no other
Duty of the family but yourself? Or can the Sheriff-depute neglect his
Duty, that the author may mind _his_? The thing cannot be; the people of
Selkirk must have justice as well as the people of England books. So the
two Duties may go pull caps about it. My conscience is clear.

_August_ 4.--Wrote to Miss Edgeworth on her sister's marriage, which
consumed the better part of the morning. I must read for Marengo.
_Item_, I must look at the pruning. _Item_, at the otter hunt; but my
hope is constant to make up a good day's task notwithstanding. Failed in
finding the otter, and was tired and slept, and did but a poor day's
work.

_August_ 6.--Wrote to-day a very good day's work. Walked to Chiefswood,
and saw old Mrs. Tytler,[314] a friend when life was young. Her husband,
Lord Woodhouselee, was a kind, amiable, and accomplished man; and when
we lived at Lasswade Cottage, soon after my marriage, we saw a great
deal of the family, who were very kind to us as newly entered on the
world.[315] Walked home, and worked in the evening; four leaves
finished.

_August_ 7.--My niece Anne leaves us this morning, summoned back from
one scene of distress to another. Her uncle, David Macculloch, is
extremely ill--a paralytic stroke, I fancy. She is a charming girl,
lady-like in thought and action, and very pleasant in society. We are to
dine to-day with our neighbours at Gattonside. Meantime I will avail
myself of my disposition to labour, and work instead of journalising.

Mr. H. Cranstoun[316] looked in a morning call. He is become extremely
deaf. He gave me a letter from the Countess Purgstall, his sister, which
I have not the heart to open, so many reproaches I have deserved for not
writing. It is a sad thing, though, to task eyes as hard wrought as mine
to keep up correspondence. Dined at Gattonside.[317]

_August_ 8.--Wrote my task this morning, and now for walk. Dine to-day
at Chiefswood; have company to-morrow. Why, this is dissipation! But no
matter, Mrs. Duty, if the task is done. "Ay, but," says she, "you ought
to do something extra--provide against a rainy day." Not I, I'll make a
rainy day provide against a fair one, Mrs. Duty. I write twice as much
in bad weather. Seriously, I write fully as much as I ought. I do not
like this dull aching in the chest and the back, and its giving way to
exercise shows that it originates in remaining too long in a sitting
posture. So I'll take the field, while the day is good.

_August_ 9.--I wrote only two leaves to-day, but with as many additions
as might rank for three. I had a long and warm walk. Mrs. Tytler of
Woodhouselee, the Hamiltons, and Colonel Ferguson dined here. How many
early stories did the old lady's presence recall! She might almost be my
mother, yet there we sat, like two people of another generation, talking
of things and people the rest knew nothing of. When a certain period of
life is survived, the difference of years between the survivors, even
when considerable, becomes of much less consequence.

_August_ 10.--Rose early, and wrote hard till two, when I went with Anne
to Minto. The place, being new to my companion, gave her much amusement.
We found the Scotts of Harden, etc., and had a very pleasant party. I
like Lady M. particularly, but missed my facetious and lively friend,
Lady A[nna] M[aria].[318] It is the fashion for women and silly men to
abuse her as a blue-stocking. If to have wit, good sense, and
good-humour, mixed with a strong power of observing, and an equally
strong one of expressing the result, be _blue_, she shall be as blue as
they will. Such cant is the refuge of persons who fear those who they
[think] can turn them into ridicule; it is a common trick to revenge
supposed raillery with good substantial calumny. Slept at Minto.

_August_ 11.--I was up as usual, and wrote about two leaves, meaning to
finish my task at home; but found my Sheriff-substitute[319] here on my
return, which took up the evening. But I shall finish the volume on
Sunday; that is less than a month after beginning it. The same exertion
would bring the book out at Martinmas, but December is a better time.

_August_ 12.--Wrote a little in the morning; then Duty and I have
settled that this is to be a kind of holiday, providing the volume be
finished to-morrow. I went to breakfast at Chiefswood, and after that
affair was happily transacted, I wended me merrily to the Black Cock
Stripe, and there caused Tom Purdie and John Swanston cut out a
quantity of firs. Got home about two o'clock, and set to correct a set
of proofs. James Ballantyne presages well of this work, but is afraid of
inaccuracies--so am I--but things must be as they may. There is a kind
of glamour about me, which sometimes makes me read dates, etc., in the
proof-sheets, not as they actually do stand, but as they ought to stand.
I wonder if a pill of holy trefoil would dispel this fascination.

By the way, John Swanston measured a young shoot that was growing
remarkably, and found that for three days successively it grew half an
inch every day. Fine-Ear[320] used to hear the grass grow--how far off
would he have heard this extravagant rapidity of vegetation? The tree is
a silver fir or spruce in the patch at the Green-tongue park.

_August_ 13.--Yesterday I was tired of labouring in the rough ground.
Well, I must be content to feel my disabilities increase. One sure thing
is, that all wise men will soon contrive to lay aside inclination when
performance grows toilsome. I have hobbled over many a rough heugh in my
day--no wonder if I must sing at last--

    "Thus says the auld man to the aik tree,
    Sair failed, hinny, since I kenn'd thee."

But here are many a mile of smooth walk, just when I grow unable to face
bent and brae, and here is the garden when all fails. To a sailor the
length of his quarter-deck is a good space of exercising ground.

I wrote a good task to-day, then walked to the lake, then came back by
three o'clock, hungering and thirsting to finish the volume. I have
seldom such fits of voluntary industry, so Duty shall have the benefit.

Finished volume iv. this evening--_Deo Gratias_.

_August_ 14.--This is a morning I have not seen many a day, for it
appears to set in for a rainy day. It has not kept its word though. I
was seized by a fit of the "clevers," and finished my task by twelve
o'clock, and hope to add something in the evening. I was guilty,
however, of some waywardness, for I began volume v. of _Boney_ instead
of carrying on the _Canongate_ as I proposed. The reason, however, was
that I might not forget the information I had acquired about the Treaty
of Amiens.

_August_ 15.--The weather seems decidedly broken. Yesterday, indeed,
cleared up, but this day seems to persevere in raining. _Naboclish!_
It's a rarity nowadays. I write on, though a little afflicted with the
oppression on my chest. Sometimes I think it is something dangerous, but
as it always goes away on change of posture, it cannot be speedily so. I
want to finish my task, and then good-night. I will never relax my
labour in these affairs, either for fear of pain or love of life. I will
die a free man, if hard working will do it. Accordingly, to-day I
cleared the ninth leaf, which is the tenth part of a volume, in two
days--four and a half leaves a day. Walter and Jane, with Mrs. Jobson,
are arrived to interrupt me.

_August_ 16.--God be praised for restoring to me my dear children in
good health, which has made me happier than anything that has happened
these several months. Walter and Jane appear cordial and happy in each
other; the greatest blessing Heaven can bestow on them or me who witness
it. If we had Lockhart and Sophia, there would be a meeting of the
beings dearest to me in life. Walked to Huntly Burn, where I found a
certain lady on a visit--so youthy, so beautiful, so strong in
voice--with sense and learning--above all, so fond of good conversation,
that, in compassion to my eyes, ears, and understanding, I bolted in the
middle of a tremendous shower of rain, and rather chose to be wet to the
skin than to be bethumped with words at that rate. There seemed more
than I of the same opinion, for Col Ferguson chose the ducking rather
than the conversation. Young Mr. Surtees came this evening.

_August_ 17.--Wrote half a leaf short of my task, having proofs, etc.,
to correct, and being called early to walk with the ladies. I have
gained three leaves in the two following days, so I cannot blame myself.
_Sat cito si sat bene. Sat boni_ I am sure--I may say--a truly execrable
pun that; hope no one will find it out.

In the evening we had music from the girls, and the voice of the harp
and viol were heard in my halls once more, which have been so long
deprived of mirth. It is with a mixed sensation I hear these sounds. I
look on my children and am happy; and yet every now and then a pang
shoots across my heart. It seems so strange that my poor wife should not
be there. But enough of this. Colonel Ferguson dined.

_August_ 18.--Again I fell a half page behind, being summoned out too
early for my task, but I am still two leaves before on the whole week.
It is natural to see as much of these young people as I can. Walter
talks of the Ionian Islands. It is an awful distance. A long walk in
very warm weather. Music in the evening.

_August_ 19.--This morning wrote none, excepting extracts, etc., being
under the necessity of reading and collating a great deal, which lasted
till one o'clock or thereabouts, when Dr. and Mrs. Brewster and their
young people came to spend a day of happiness at the lake. We were met
there by Captain and Mrs. Hamilton and a full party. Since the days of
Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia,[321] these days of appointed sport and
happiness have seldom answered; but we came off indifferently well. We
did not indeed catch much fish; but we lounged about in a delightful
day, eat and drank--and the children, who are very fine infantry, were
clamorously enjoying themselves. We sounded the loch in two or three
different places--the deepest may be sixty feet. I was accustomed to
think it much more, but your deepest pools, like your deepest
politicians and philosophers, often turn out more shallow than was
expected. The whole party dine with us.

_August_ 20.--Wrote four leaves. The day wet and rainy, though not
uniformly so. No temptation, however, to play truant; so this will make
some amends for a blank day yesterday. I am far in advance of the press,
but it is necessary if I go to Drumlanrig on Wednesday as I intend, and
to Lochore next week, which I also meditate. This will be no great
interruption, however, if I can keep the _Canongate_ moving, for I shall
be more than half a volume in advance with _Napoleon_.

_August_ 21.--Wrought out my task, though much bothered with a cold in
my head and face, how caught I know not. Mrs. Crampton, wife of the
Surgeon-General[322] in Ireland, sends to say she is hereabouts, so we
ask her. Hospitality must not be neglected, and most hospitable are the
Cramptons. All the "calliachs"[323] from Huntly Burn are to be here, and
Anne wishes we may have enough of dinner. Naboclish! it is hoped there
will be a _pièce de résistance_.

_August_ 22.--Mrs. and Misses Crampton departed. I was rather sorry to
give them such brief entertainment, for they were extremely kind. But
going to Eildon Hall to-day, and to Drumlanrig to-morrow, there was
nothing more could be done for them. It is raining now "_successfully_,"
as old Macfarlane of the Arroquhar used to say. What is the odds? We get
a soaking before we cross the Birkendailly--wet against dry, ten to one.

_August_ 23 [_Bittock's Bridge_].--Set off cheerily with Walter,
Charles, and Surtees in the sociable, to make our trip to Drumlanrig. We
breakfasted at Mr. Boyd's, Broadmeadows, and were received with Yarrow
hospitality. From thence climbed the Yarrow, and skirted Saint Mary's
Lake, and ascended the Birkhill path, under the moist and misty
influence of the _genius loci_. Never mind; my companions were merry and
I cheerful. When old people can be with the young without fatiguing them
or themselves, their tempers derive the same benefits which some
fantastic physicians of old supposed accrued to their constitutions from
the breath of the young and healthy. You have not, cannot again have,
their gaiety of pleasure in seeing sights, but still it reflects itself
upon you, and you are cheered and comforted. Our luncheon eaten in the
herd's cottage; but the poor woman saddened me unawares, by asking for
poor Charlotte, whom she had often seen there with me. She put me in
mind that I had come twice over those hills and bogs with a
wheeled-carriage, before the road, now an excellent one, was made. I
knew it was true; but, on my soul, looking where we must have gone, I
could hardly believe I had been such a fool. For riding, pass if you
will; but to put one's neck in such a venture with a wheeled-carriage
was too silly. Here we are, however, at Bittock's Inn for this night.

_Drumlanrig, August_ 24.--This morning lunched at Parkgate under a very
heavy shower, and then pushed on to Drumlanrig, where I was pleased to
see the old Castle, and old servants solicitous and anxious to be civil.
What visions does not this magnificent old house bring back to me! The
exterior is much improved since I first knew it. It was then in the
state of dilapidation to which it had been abandoned by the celebrated
old Q.,[324] and was indeed scarce wind and water tight. Then the whole
wood had been felled, and the outraged castle stood in the midst of
waste and desolation, excepting a few scattered old stumps, not judged
worth the cutting. Now, the whole has been, ten or twelve years since,
completely replanted, and the scattered seniors look as graceful as
fathers surrounded by their children. The face of this immense estate
has been scarcely less wonderfully changed. The scrambling tenants, who
held a precarious tenure of lease under the Duke of Queensberry, at the
risk (as actually took place) of losing their possession at his death,
have given room to skilful and labouring men, working their farms
regularly, and enjoying comfortable houses and their farms at a fair
rent, which is enough to forbid idleness, but not enough to overpower
industry.

_August_ 25.--Here are Lord and Lady Home,[325] Charles Douglas,[326]
Lord and Lady Charlotte Stopford.[327] I grieve to say the last, though
as beautiful as ever, is extremely thin, and looks delicate. The Duke
himself has grown up into a graceful and apparently strong young man,
and received us most kindly. I think he will be well qualified to
sustain his difficult and important task. The heart is excellent, so are
the talents,--good sense and knowledge of the world, picked up at one of
the great English schools (and it is one of their most important
results), will prevent him from being deceived; and with perfect
good-nature, he has a natural sense of his own situation, which will
keep him from associating with unworthy companions. God bless him! His
father and I loved each other well, and his beautiful mother had as much
of the angel as is permitted to walk this earth. I see the balcony from
which they welcomed poor Charlotte and me, long ere the ascent was
surmounted, streaming out their white handkerchiefs from the
battlements. There were _four_ merry people that day--now one sad
individual is all that remains. _Singula praedantur anni_. I had a long
walk to-day through the new plantation, the Duchess's Walk by the Nith,
etc. (formed by Prior's _Kitty young and gay_[328]); fell in with the
ladies, but their donkeys outwalked me--a flock of sheep afterwards
outwalked me, and I begin to think, on my conscience, that a snail put
in training might soon outwalk me. I must lay the old salve to the old
sore, and be thankful for being able to walk at all.

Nothing was written to-day, my writing-desk having been forgot at
Parkgate, but Tom Crighton kindly fetched it up to-day, so something
more or less may be done to-morrow morning--and now to dress.

[_Bittock's Bridge_,] _August_ 26.--We took our departure from the
friendly halls of Drumlanrig this morning after breakfast and
leave-taking. I trust this young nobleman will be

    "A hedge about his friends,
    A hackle to his foes."[329]

I would have him not quite so soft-natured as his grandfather, whose
kindness sometimes mastered his excellent understanding. His father had
a temper which better lumped with my humour. Enough of ill-nature to
keep your good-nature from being abused is no bad ingredient in their
disposition who have favours to bestow.[330]

In coming from Parkgate here I intended to accomplish a purpose which I
have for some years entertained, of visiting Lochwood, the ancient seat
of the Johnstones, of which King James said, when he visited it, that
the man who built it must have been a thief in his heart. It rained
heavily, however, which prevented my making this excursion, and indeed I
rather overwalked myself yesterday, and have occasion for rest.

     "So sit down, Robin, and rest thee."

_Abbotsford, August_ 27.--To-day we journeyed through the hills and
amongst the storms; the weather rather bullying than bad. We viewed the
Grey Mare's Tail, and I still felt confident in crawling along the
ghastly bank by which you approach the fall. I will certainly get some
road of application to Mr. Hope Johnstone, to pray him to make the place
accessible. We got home before half-past five, having travelled forty
miles.

_Blair-Adam, August_ 28.--Set off with Walter and Jane at seven o'clock,
and reached this place in the middle of dinner-time. By some of my not
unusual blunders we had come a day before we were expected. Luckily, in
this ceremonious generation, there are still houses where such blunders
only cause a little raillery, and Blair-Adam is one of them. My
excellent friend is in high health and spirits, to which the presence of
Sir Frederick adds not a little.[331] His lady is here--a beautiful
woman, whose countenance realises all the poetic dreams of Byron. There
is certainly [a] something of full maturity of beauty which seems framed
to be adoring and adored, and it is to be found in the full dark eye,
luxuriant tresses, and rich complexion of Greece, and not among the
pale unripened beauties of the north. What sort of a mind this exquisite
casket may contain is not so easily known. She is anxious to please, and
willing to be pleased, and, with her striking beauty, cannot fail to
succeed.

_August_ 29.--To-day we designed to go to Lochore. But "heigho! the wind
and the rain." Besides Mrs. and Admiral Adam, Mrs. Loch, and Miss Adam,
I find here Mr. Impey, son of that Sir Elijah celebrated in Indian
history. He has himself been in India, but has, with a great deal of
sense and observation, much better address than always falls to the
share of the Eastern adventurer. The art of quiet and entertaining
conversation, which is always easy as well as entertaining, is chiefly
known in England. In Scotland we are pedantic and wrangle, or we run
away with the harrows on some topic we chance to be discursive upon. In
Ireland they have too much vivacity, and are too desirous to make a
show, to preserve the golden mean. They are the Gascons of Britain.
George Ellis was the best converser I ever knew; his patience and good
breeding made me often ashamed of myself going off at score upon some
favourite topic. Richard Sharp is so celebrated for this peculiar gift
as to be generally called Conversation Sharp.[332] The worst of this
talent is that it seems to lack sincerity. You never know what are the
real sentiments of a good converser, or at least it is very difficult to
discover to what extent he entertains them. His politeness is
inconsistent with energy. For forming a good converser, good taste and
extensive information and accomplishment are the principal requisites,
to which must be added an easy and elegant delivery and a well-toned
voice. I think the higher order of genius is not favourable to this
talent.

Mrs. Impey, an intelligent person, likes music, and particularly Scotch
airs, which few people play better than Mrs. Lockhart and Miss Louisa
Adam. Had a letter from Mr. William Upcott, London Institution,
proposing to me to edit an edition of Garrick's Correspondence, which I
declined by letter of this day. Thorough decided downfall of rain.
Nothing for it but patience and proof-sheets.

_August_ 30.--The weather scarce permitted us more licence than
yesterday, yet we went down to Lochore, and Walter and I perambulated
the property, and discussed the necessity of a new road from the
south-west, also that of planting some willows along the ditches in the
low grounds. Returned to Blair-Adam to dinner.

_Abbotsford, August_ 31.--Left Blair at seven in the morning. Transacted
business with Cadell and Ballantyne, but our plans will, I think, be
stopped or impeded by the operations before the Arbiter, Mr. Irving, who
leans more to the side of the opposite [party] than I expected. I have a
letter from Gibson, found on my arrival at Abbotsford, which gives
rather a gloomy account of that matter. It seems strange that I am to be
bound to write for men who have broken every bargain with me.

Arrived at Abbotsford at eight o'clock at night.

FOOTNOTES:

[307] By Middleton, 1697.

[308] The Hector of Germanie, or the Palsgrave Prime Elector. An
Honourable History by William Smith. 4to, 1615.

[309] Two London playhouses.--See Knight's _Biography of Shakespeare_.

[310] Molière's _La Princesse d'Élide_ (Prologue).

[311] See Crabbe's Tale of _The Struggles of Conscience_.--J.G.L.

[312] _Tales of a Grandfather_, Miscell. Prose Works, vol. xxiii. p. 72.

[313] See _Tales of the Genii_. _The Talisman of Oromanes_.

[314] Eldest daughter of William Fraser of Balnain.--See Burgon's _Life
of P.F. Tytler_, 8vo, Lond. 1859. Mrs. Tytler died in London, aged
eighty-four, in 1837.

[315] Alexr. Fraser Tytler, 1747-1813. Besides his acknowledged works,
Lord Woodhouselee published anonymously a translation of Schiller's
_Robbers_ as early as 1792.

[316] Henry Cranstoun, elder brother of Lord Corehouse and Countess
Purgstall. He resided for some years near Abbotsford, at the Pavilion on
the Tweed, where he died in 1843, aged eighty-six. An interesting
account of Countess Purgstall is given by Basil Hall, who was with her
in Styria at her death in 1835. This very early friend of Scott's was
thought by Captain Hall to have been the prototype of Diana
Vernon--"that safest of secret keepers."--See _Schloss Hainfeld_, 8vo,
Lond. 1836.

[317] The property of Gattonside had been purchased in 1824 by George
Bainbridge of Liverpool, a keen angler, author of _The Fly Fisher's
Guide_, 8vo, Liverpool, 1816.

[318] Lady Anna Maria Elliot, see _ante_, p. 133.

[319] W. Scott of Maxpopple.

[320] In the fairy tale of Countess D'Aulnoy--_Fortunio_.

[321] See Johnson's _Rambler_, Nos. 204 and 205.

[322] Afterwards Sir Philip Crampton. "The Surgeon-General struck Sir
Walter as being more like Sir Humphry Davy than any man he had met, not
in person only, but in the liveliness and range of his talk."--_Life_,
vol. viii. p. 23.

[323] Gaelic for "old women."

[324] William Douglas, fourth Duke of Queensberry, succeeded, on the
death of his kinsman, Duke Charles, in 1778. He died in 1810 at the age
of eighty-six, when his titles and estates were divided between the Duke
of Buccleuch, Lord Douglas, the Marquis of Queensberry, and the Earl of
Wemyss.

See Wordsworth's indignant lines beginning:

  "Degenerate Douglas, oh the unworthy Lord";

also _George Selwyn and his Contemporaries_, 4 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1843-4.

[325] Alexander, tenth Earl of Home, and his wife, Lady Elizabeth,
daughter of Henry, third Duke of Buccleuch.

[326] Charles, second son of Archibald Lord Douglas.

[327] James Thomas, Viscount Stopford, afterwards fourth Earl of
Courtown, and his wife, Lady Charlotte, sister of the then Duke of
Buccleuch, at that time still in his minority. Lady Charlotte died
within eighteen months of this date.

[328]

  "Thus Kitty, beautiful and young,
   And wild as colt untamed."

Prior's _Female Phaeton_.

Catherine Hyde, daughter of Henry Earl of Clarendon, and wife of Charles
Duke of Queensberry. She was the friend of Gay, and her beauty, wit, and
oddities have been celebrated in prose and rhyme by the wits and poets
of two generations. Fifty-six years after Prior had sung her "mad
Grace's" praises, Walpole added those two lines to the Female Phaeton--

  "To many a Kitty Love his car, will for a day engage,
   But Prior's Kitty, ever fair, obtained it for an age."

She died at a great age in 1777. For her letter to George II. when
forbid the Court, see Agar Ellis, _Historical Inquiries_, Lond. 1827, p.
40.

[329] Ballad on young Rob Roy's abduction of Jean Key, Cromek's
_Collections_.--J.G.L.

[330] See Letter to C.K. Sharpe, from Drumlanrig, vol. ii. pp. 369-71.

[331] Sir Frederick Adam, son of the Chief Commissioner--a distinguished
soldier, afterwards High Commissioner of the Ionian Islands, and
subsequently Governor of Madras; he died in 1853.

[332] Mr. Richard Sharp published in 1834 a very elegant and interesting
little volume of _Letters and Essays, in Prose and Verse_.--See
_Quarterly Review_, 102.--J.G.L. He had been Member of Parliament from
1806 to 1820, and died on the 30th of March 1835 at the age of
seventy-six.




SEPTEMBER


_September_ 1.--Awaked with a headache, which the reconsideration of
Gibson's news did not improve. We save _Bonaparte_ however, and that is
a great thing. I will not be downcast about it, let the worst come that
can; but I wish I saw that worst. It is the devil to be struggling
forward, like a man in the mire, and making not an inch by your
exertions, and such seems to be my fate. Well! I have much to comfort
me, and I will take comfort. If there be further wrath to come, I shall
be glad that I bear it alone. Poor Charlotte was too much softened by
prosperity to look adverse circumstances courageously in the face. Anne
is young, and has Sophia and Jane to trust to for assistance.

_September_ 2.--Wrote this morning, but only two pages or thereabouts.
At twelve o'clock set out with Anne and Walter to visit at Makerstoun,
but the road between Makerstoun and Merton being very bad, we drove, I
dare say, thirty miles in going and coming, by a circuitous route, and
only got home at half-past seven at night. Saw Lady Brisbane Makdougall,
but not Sir Thomas.[333] Thought of old Sir Henry and his older father
Sir George. Received a box of Australian seeds, forwarded by Andrew
Murray, now head-gardener to the Governor, whom I detected a clever boy,
among my labourers in 1812, and did a little for him. It is pleasant to
see men thrive and be grateful at the same time, so good luck to "Andrew
Mora," as we called him.

_September_ 3.--Made up my necessary task for yesterday and to-day also,
but not more, writing very heavily. Cousin Archie Swinton came to
dinner. We had a dish of cousinred of course--and _of auld lang
syne_.[334]

_September_ 4.--Archie Swinton left us this morning early. I wrote from
seven to half-past two; but, partly that I had five proof-sheets to
correct, partly that like old John Fraser[335] "I was not very cleever
to-day." I made out but a page and a half.

_September_ 5.--Wrote task and half a page more. Terry arrived and
brought with him a Mr. Bruce, from Persia, with an introduction,
forsooth, from Mr. Blackwood. I will move a _quo warranto_ against this
species of introduction; and the good gentleman is to be here, he
informs me, for two days. He is a dark, foreign-looking man, of small
stature, and rather blunt manners, which may be easily accounted for by
his having been in the East for thirty years. He has a considerable
share of information, and made good play after dinner.

_September_ 6.--Walter being to return to Ireland for three weeks set
off to-day, and has taken Surtees and Charles with him. I fear this is
but a wild plan, but the prospect seemed to make them so happy that I
could not find in my heart to say "No" sufficiently peremptorily. So
away they all went this morning to be as happy as they can. Youth is a
fine carver and gilder. Went down to Huntly Burn, and dawdled about
while waiting for the carriage to bring me back. Mr. Bruce and Colonel
Ferguson pottered away about Persia and India, and I fell asleep by the
fireside. Here is a fine spate of work--a day diddled away, and nothing
to show for it! I must write letters now, there is nothing else for it.
But--yaw--yaw--I must take a nap first. I had a letter from Jem
Ballantyne, plague on him! full of remonstrance, deep and solemn, upon
the carelessness of _Bonaparte_. The rogue is right too. But as to
correcting my style to the

    "Jemmy jemmy linkum feedle"

tune of what is called fine writing, I'll be d----d if I do. Drew £12 in
favour of Charles for his Irish jaunt; same time exhorted him to make
himself as expensive to Walter, in the way of eating and drinking, as he
could. Mr. and Mrs. Impey arrived to dinner.

_September_ 7.--Mr. Bruce, the bastinadoed, left us this morning
promising wine from Shiraz and arms from India. From our joint
observation he must be a half-caste, probably half an Arab. He told us
of his having been taken by pirates in the Arabian Gulf, and having
received two thousand bastinadoes on the soles of his feet, after which
he was buried in a heap of dung by way of cure. Though the matter was
certainly serious enough to the sufferer, yet it excited our suppressed,
or scarce suppressed, mirth. Alas! let never traveller tell any distress
which borders on the ludicrous if he desires to excite the sympathy of
the audience.

Another thing he mentioned was the mode of seasoning timber for
shipbuilding in the Arabian Gulf. They bury it in the sand within
water-mark, and leave it exposed to the flux and reflux of the tide for
six months at least, but often for twelve or eighteen. The tendency to
vegetation which produces the dry-rot is thus prevented effectually, and
the ships built of this wood last for twenty years.

We drove to Ashestiel in the morning, after I had written a good task,
or nearly so (nay, I lie, it wanted half a page), and passed a pleasant
day. Terry read _Bobadil_ in the evening, which he has, I think,
improved.

_September_ 8.--I have rubbed up, by collation with Mr. Impey, Sir
Frederick Adam's idea of the Greeks. He deeply regrets the present war
as premature, undertaken before knowledge and rational education had
extended themselves sufficiently. The neighbourhood of the Ionian
Islands was fast producing civilisation; and as knowledge is power, it
is clear that the example of Europeans, and the opportunities of
education thereby afforded, must soon have given them an immense
superiority over the Turk. This premature war has thrown all back into a
state of barbarism. It was precipitated by the agents of Russia. Sir
Frederick spoke most highly of Byron, the soundness of his views, the
respect in which he was held--his just ideas of the Grecian cause and
character, and the practical and rational wishes which he formed for
them. Singular that a man whose conduct in his own personal affairs had
been anything but practical should be thus able to stand by the helm of
a sinking state! Sir Frederick thinks he might have done much for them
if he had lived. The rantipole friends of liberty, who go about freeing
nations with the same success which Don Quixote had in redressing
wrongs, have, of course, blundered everything which they touched. The
Impeys left us to-day, and Captain Hugh Scott and his lady arrived. Task
is bang-up.

_September_ 9.--I begin to fear _Nap_. will swell to seven volumes. I
have a long letter from James B. threatening me with eight; but that is
impossible. The event of his becoming Emperor is the central point of
his history. Now I have just attained it, and it is the centre of the
third volume. Two volumes and a half may be necessary to complete the
whole. Walked with Hugh Scott up the Rhymer's Glen, and round by the
lake. Mr. Bainbridge of Gattonside House dined, also Colonel Ferguson.
Was bang up to my task again this day.

_September_ 10.--Corrected proof-sheets in the morning, then immured
myself to write, the more willingly that the day seemed showery; but I
found myself obliged to read and study the map so much that I did not
get over half a sheet written. Walked with Hugh Scott through Haxell
Cleuch. Great pleasure to show the young wood to any who understands
them well.

_September_ 11.--Jane and her mother go into town this morning, and Anne
with them, to look out a lodging for us during the time we must pass in
town. It seems strange to have this to do, having had always my father's
house or my own to go to. But--_Sic transit gloria mundi_.

Well, it is half-past twelve o'clock, and at length having regulated all
disappointments as to post-horses, and sent three or four servants three
or four miles to remedy blunders, which a little forethought might have
prevented, my family and guests are separated--

    "Like youthful steers let loose, east, north, and south."[336]

Miss Miln goes to Stirling; the Scotts to Lessudden; Anne and Jane to
Edinburgh; and I am left alone. I must needs go up and see some
operations about the spring which supplies us with water, though I
calculate my presence is not very necessary. So now--to work--to work.

But I reckoned without my host, or, I should rather say, without my
_guest_. Just as I had drawn in my chair, fitted a new "Bramah" on the
stick, and was preparing to feague it away, I had a call from the son of
an old friend, Mr. Waldie of Henderland. As he left me, enter young
Whytbank and Mr. Auriol Hay[337] of the Lyon Office, and we had a long
armorial chat together, which lasted for some time--then the library was
to be looked at, etc. So, when they went away, I had little better to do
than to walk up to the spring which they are digging, and to go to my
solitary dinner on my return.

_September_ 12.--Notwithstanding what is above said, I made out my task
yesterday, or nearly so, by working after dinner. After all, these
interruptions are not such bad things; they make a man keen of the work
which he is withheld from, and differ in that point much from the
indulgence of an indisposition to labour in your own mind, which
increases by indulgence. _Les fâcheux_ seldom interrupt your purpose
absolutely and entirely--you stick to it for contradiction's sake.

Well, I visited the spring in the morning, and completed my task
afterwards. As I slept for a few minutes in my chair, to which I am more
addicted than I could wish, I heard, as I thought, my poor wife call me
by the familiar name of fondness which she gave me. My recollections on
waking were melancholy enough. These be

    "The airy tongues that syllable men's names."[338]

All, I believe, have some natural desire to consider these unusual
impressions as bodements of good or evil to come. But alas! this is a
prejudice of our own conceit. They are the empty echoes of what is past,
not the foreboding voice of what is to come.

I dined at the Club to-day at Selkirk, and acted as croupier. There were
eighteen dined; young men chiefly, and of course young talk. But so it
has been, will be, and must be.

_September_ 13.--Wrote my task in the morning, and thereafter had a
letter from that sage Privy Councillor and booby of a Baronet,----. This
unutterable idiot proposes to me that I shall propose to the Dowager
Duchess of ----, and offers his own right honourable intervention to
bring so beautiful a business to bear. I am struck dumb with the
assurance of his folly--absolutely mute and speechless--and how to
prevent him making me further a fool is not easy, for the wretch has
left me no time to assure him of the absurdity of what he proposes; and
if he should ever hint at such a piece of d----d impertinence, what must
the lady think of my conceit or of my feelings! I will write to his
present quarters, however, that he may, if possible, have warning not to
continue this absurdity.[339]

Dined at Major Scott, my cousin's, where was old Lord Buchan. He, too,
is a prince of Bores, but age has tamed him a little, and like the giant
Pope in the _Pilgrim's Progress_, he can only sit and grin at Pilgrims
as they go past, and is not able to cast a fank[340] over them as
formerly. A few quiet puns seem his most formidable infliction nowadays.

_September_ 14.--I should not have forgotten, among the memorabilia of
yesterday, that Mr. Nasmyth, the dentist, and his family called, and I
showed them the lions, for truly he that has rid a man of the toothache
is well entitled to command a part of his time. _Item_, two young
Frenchmen made their way to our sublime presence in guerdon of a
laudatory copy of French verses sent up the evening before, by way of
"Open Sesame," I suppose. I have not read them, nor shall I. No man that
ever wrote a line despised the _pap_ of praise so heartily as I do.
There is nothing I scorn more, except those who think the ordinary sort
of praise or censure is matter of the least consequence. People have
almost always some private view of distinguishing themselves, or of
gratifying their curiosity--some point, in short, to carry, with which
you have no relation, when they take the trouble to praise you. In
general, it is their purpose to get the person praised to puff away in
return. To me their rank praises no more make amends for their bad
poetry than tainted butter would pass off stale fish.

_September_ 15.--Many proofs to correct and dates to compare. What
signify dates in a true story? I was fidgety after breakfast, owing to
perusing some advices from J. Gibson, poor fellow. I will not be
discouraged, come of things what will. However, I could not write
continuously, but went out by starts, and amused myself by cutting trees
in the avenue. Thus I dawdled till Anne and Jane came home with merry
faces, and raised my spirits of course. After tea I e'en took heart of
grace and finished my task, as I now do this day's journal.

_September_ 16.--Worked hard to-day, and in morning and evening made out
five pages and a half, as much perhaps as one should attempt, yet I was
not overworked. On the contrary, went out with Tom about one o'clock and
cut trees, etc., to clear the avenue; and favour the growth of such
trees as are designed for standards. I received visits too--the Laird of
Bemerside,[341] who had been for nine years in Italy with his
family--also the Laird of Kippielaw. Anne and Jane drove up and called
at the Haining.

I expected James Ballantyne to dinner as he proposed, but the worthy
typographer appeared not. He is sometimes inaccurate in keeping such
appointments, which is not according to the "Academy of compliments."
But in the letter which announced his intended visit, he talked of
having received himself a visit from the Cholera Morbus. I shall be very
sorry if so unwelcome a guest be the cause of the breach of his
appointment.

_September_ 17.--Rather surprised with a letter from Lord Melville,
informing me that he and Mr. Peel had put me into the Commission for
inquiring into the condition of the Colleges in Scotland. I know little
on the subject, but I dare say as much as some of the official persons
who are inserted of course. The want of efficient men is the reason
alleged. I must of course do my best, though I have little hope of being
useful, and the time it will occupy is half ruinous to me, to whom time
is everything. Besides, I suppose the honour is partly meant as an act
of grace for _Malachi_. I shall never repent of that escapade, although
it offended persons for the time whose good opinion I value. J.B.
continues ill at Teviot Grove, as they call it. I am a little anxious
about him.

I finished my task and an extra page--hope to do another before supper.
Accomplished the said diligent purpose.

_September_ 18.--Rainy and gloomy--that small sifting rain driving on an
eastern gale which intermits not. Wrote letters to Lord Melville, etc,
and agreed to act under the Commission. Settled to be at Melville
Castle, Saturday 24th. I fear this will interfere consumedly with
business. I corrected proof-sheets, and wrote a good deal, but intend to
spend the rest of the day in reading and making notes. No bricks to be
made without straw.

[_Jedburgh_,] _September_ 19.--Circuit. Went to poor Mr. Shortreed's,
and regretted bitterly the distress of the family, though they
endeavoured to bear it bravely, and to make my reception as comfortable
and even cheerful as possible. My old friend R.S. gave me a ring found
in a grave at the Abbey, to be kept in memory of his son. I will
certainly preserve it with especial care.[342]

Many trifles at circuit, chiefly owing to the cheap whisky, as they were
almost all riots. One case of assault on a deaf and dumb woman. She was
herself the chief evidence; but being totally without education, and
having, from her situation, very imperfect notions of a Deity, and a
future state, no oath could be administered. Mr. Kinniburgh, teacher of
the deaf and dumb, was sworn interpreter, together with another person,
a neighbour, who knew the accidental or conventional signs which the
poor thing had invented for herself, as Mr. K. was supposed to
understand the more general or natural signs common to people in such a
situation. He went through the task with much address, and it was
wonderful to see them make themselves intelligible to each other by mere
pantomime. Still I did [not] consider such evidence as much to be
trusted to in a criminal case. Several previous interviews had been
necessary between the interpreter and the witness, and this is very much
like getting up a story. Some of the signs, brief in themselves, of
which Mr. K. gave long interpretations, put m