The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Journal of Sir Walter Scott, Volume II.

PORTRAIT, painted by SIR FRANCIS GRANT, P.R.A., for the Baroness Ruthven, and now in the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland. Copied by permission of the Hon. The Board of Manufactures, Frontispiece

SIR WALTER SCOTT'S JOURNAL.

JULY.

July 1, [Abbotsford].—A most delicious day, in the course of which I have not done

Before breakfast I employed myself in airing my old bibliomaniacal hobby, entering all the books lately acquired into a temporary catalogue, so as to have them shelved and marked. After breakfast I went out, the day being delightful—warm, yet cooled with a gentle breeze, all around delicious; the rich luxuriant green refreshing to the eye, soft to the tread, and perfume to the smell. Wandered about and looked at my plantations. Came home, and received a visit from Sir Adam. Loitered in the library till dinner-time. If there is anything to be done at all to-day, it must be in the evening. But I fear there will be nothing. One can't work always nowther.

July 2.—Wrote in the morning, correcting the Essay on the Highlands, which is now nearly completed. Settled accounts with Tom and Bogie. Went over to Huntly Burn at two o'clock, and reconnoitred the proposed plantation to be called Jane's Wood. Dined with the Fergusons.

July 3—- Worked in the morning upon the Introduction to the Chronicles; it may be thought egotistical. Learned a bad accident had happened yesterday. A tinker (drunk I suppose) entered the stream opposite to Faldonside with an ass bearing his children. The ass was carried down by the force of the stream, and one of the little creatures was drowned; the other was brought out alive, poor innocent, clinging to the ass. It had floated as far down as Deadwater-heugh. Poor thing, it is as well dead as to live a tinker! The Fergusons dine with us en masse; also Dr. Brewster.

July 4, [Edinburgh].—Worked a little in the morning, and took a walk after breakfast, the day so delicious as makes it heart-breaking to leave the country. Set out, however, about four o'clock, and reached Edinburgh a little after nine. Slept part of the way; read De Vere the rest.^[1] It is well written, in point of language and sentiment, but has too little action in it to be termed a pleasing novel. Everything is brought out by dialogue—or worse: through the medium of the author's reflections, which is the clumsiest of all expedients.

July 5.—This morning worked, and sent off to J.B. the Introduction to the Chronicles, containing my Confessions,^[2] and did something, but not fluently, to the Confessions themselves. Not happy, however; the black dog worries me. Bile, I suppose. "But I will rally and combat the reiver." Reiver it is, that wretched malady of the mind; got quite well in the forenoon. Went out to Portobello after dinner, and chatted with little Johnnie, and told him the history of the Field of Prestonpans. Few remain who care about these stories.

July 6.—This morning wrought a good deal, but scarce a task. The Court lasted till half-past three; exhausting work in this hot weather. I returned to dine alone, Anne going to Roslin with a party. After noon a Miss Bell broke in upon me, who bothered me some time since about a book of hers, explaining and exposing the conduct of a Methodist Tartuffe, who had broken off (by anonymous letters) a match betwixt her and an accepted admirer. Tried in vain to make her comprehend how little the Edinburgh people would care about her wrongs, since there was no knowledge of the parties to make the scandal acceptable. I believe she has suffered great wrong.^[3] Letter from Longman and Co. to J.B. grumbling about bringing out the second edition, because they have, forsooth, 700 copies in hand out of 5000, five days after the first edition ^[4] is out. What would they have? It is uncomfortable, though.

July 7.—Night dreadfully warm, and bilious; I could not be fool enough surely to be anxious for these wise men of the East's prognostication. Letters from Lockhart give a very cheerful prospect; if there had been any thundering upsetting broadside, he would have noticed it surely more or less. R. Cadell quite stout, and determined to go on with the second edition. Well, I hope all's right—thinking won't help it. Charles came down this morning penniless, poor fellow, but we will soon remedy that. Lockhart remits £100 for reviewing; I hope the next will be for Sophia, for cash affairs loom well in the offing, and if the trust funds go right, I was never so easy. I will take care how I get into debt again. I do not like this croaking of these old owls of Saint Paul's when all is done. The pitcher has gone often to the well. But—However, I worked away at the Chronicles. I will take pains with them. I will, by Jove!

July 8.—I did little to-day but arrange papers, and put bills, receipts, etc., into apple-pie order. I believe the fair prospect I have of clearing off some encumbrances, which are like thorns in my flesh, nay, in my very eye, contribute much to this. I did not even correct proof-sheets; nay, could not, for I have cancelled two sheets, instante Jacobo, and I myself being of his opinion; for, as I said yesterday, we must and will take pains. The fiddle-faddle of arranging all the things was troublesome, but they give a good account of my affairs. The money for the necessary payments is ready, and therefore there is a sort of pleasure which does not arise out of any mean source, since it has for its object the prospect of doing justice and achieving independence. J.B. dined with me, poor fellow, and talked of his views as hopeful and prosperous. God send honest industry a fair riddance.

July 9.—Wrote in the morning. At eleven went by appointment with Colin Mackenzie to the New Edinburgh Academy. In the fifth class, Mr. Mitchell's, we heard Greek, of which I am no otherwise a judge than that it was fluently read and explained. In the rector Mr. Williams's class we heard Virgil and Livy admirably translated ad aperturam libri, and, what I thought remarkable, the rector giving the English, and the pupils returning, with singular dexterity, the Latin, not exactly as in the original, but often by synonymes, which showed that the exercise referred to the judgment, and did not depend on the memory. I could not help saying, with great truth, that, as we had all long known how much the pupils were fortunate in a rector, so we were now taught that the rector was equally lucky in his pupils. Of my young friends, I saw a son of John Swinton, a son of Johnstone of Alva, and a son of Craufurd Tait.^[5] Dined at John Murray's; Mr. and Mrs. Philips of Liverpool, General and Charles Stuart of Blantyre, Lord Abercromby, Clerk and Thomson. Pleasant evening.

July 10.—Corrected proofs, but wrote nothing. To Court till two o'clock. I went to Cadell's by the Mound, a long roundabout; transacted some business. I met Baron Hume coming home, and walked with him in the Gardens. His remarkable account of his celebrated uncle's last moments is in these words:—Dr. Black called on Mr. D. Hume ^[6] on the morning on which he died. The patient complained of having suffered a great deal during the night, and expressed a fear that his struggle might be prolonged, to his great distress, for days or weeks longer. "No, sir," said Dr. Black, with the remarkable calmness and sincerity which characterised him, "I have examined the symptoms, and observe several which oblige me to conclude that dissolution is rapidly approaching." "Are you certain of that, Doctor?" "Most assuredly so," answered the physician. The dying philosopher extended his arm, and shook hands with his medical friend. "I thank you," he said, "for the news." So little reason there was for the reports of his having been troubled in mind when on his deathbed.

Dined at Lord Abercromby's, to meet Lord Melville in private. We had an interview betwixt dinner and tea. I was sorry to see my very old friend, this upright statesman and honourable gentleman, deprived of his power and his official income, which the number of his family must render a matter of importance. He was cheerful, not affectedly so, and bore his declension like a wise and brave man. I had nursed the idea that he had been hasty in his resignation; but, from the letters which he showed me confidentially, which passed betwixt him and Canning, it is clear his resignation was to be accomplished, not I suppose for personal considerations, but because it rendered the Admiralty vacant for the Duke of Clarence, as his resignation was eagerly snapped at. It cannot be doubted that if he had hesitated or hung back behind his friends, forcible means would have been used to compel to the measure, which with more dignity he took of his own accord—at least so it seemed to me. The first intimation which Lord Melville received of his successor was through Mr.——, who told him, as great news, that there was to be a new Duke of York ^[7]. Lord M. understood the allusion so little, as to inquire whether his informant meant that the Duke of Cambridge had taken the Duke of York's situation, when it was explained to refer to the Duke of Clarence getting the Admiralty. There are some few words that speak volumes. Lord Melville said that none of them suspected Canning's negotiations with the Whigs but the Duke of Wellington, who found it out through the ladies ten days before. I asked him how they came to be so unprepared, and could not help saying I thought they had acted without consideration, and that they might have shown a face even to Canning. He allowed the truth of what I said, and seemed to blame Peel's want of courage. In his place, he said, he would have proposed to form a government disclaiming any personal views for himself as being Premier and the like, but upon the principle of supporting the measures of Lord Castlereagh and Lord Liverpool. I think this would have been acceptable to the King. Mr. Peel obviously feared his great antagonist Canning, and perhaps threw the game up too soon. Canning said the office of Premier was his inheritance; he could not, from constitution, hold it above two years, and then it would descend to Peel. Such is ambition! Old friends forsaken—old principles changed—every effort used to give the vessel of the State a new direction, and all to be Palinurus for two years!

July 11, [Abbotsford].—Worked at proofs in the morning; composed nothing. Got off by one, and to this place between six and seven. Weather delicious.

July 12.—Unpacking and arranging; the urchins are stealing the cherries in the outer garden. But I can spare a thousand larch-trees to put it in order with a good fence for next year. It is not right to leave fruit exposed; for if Adam in the days of innocence fell by an apple, how much may the little gossoon Jamie Moffatt be tempted by apples of gold in an age of iron! Anne and I walked to Huntly Burn—a delicious excursion. That place is really become beautiful; the Miss Fergusons have displayed a great deal of taste.

July 13.—Two agreeable persons—Rev. Mr. Gilly ^[8], one of the prebendaries of Durham, with his wife, a pretty little woman—dined with us, and met Mr. Scrope. I heard the whole history of the discovery of St. Cuthbert's ^[9] body at Durham Cathedral. The Catholics will deny the identity, of course; but I think it is constaté by the dress and other circumstances. Made a pleasant day of it, and with a good conscience, for I had done my task this morning.

July 14.—Did task this morning, and believe that I shall get on now very well. Wrote about five leaves. I have been baking and fevering myself like a fool for these two years in a room exposed to the south; comfortable in winter, but broiling in the hot weather. Now I have removed myself into the large cool library, one of the most refreshing as well as handsomest rooms in Scotland, and will not use the study again till the heats are past. Here is an entry as solemn as if it respected the Vicar of Wakefield's removal from the yellow room to the brown. But I think my labours will advance greatly in consequence of this arrangement. Walked in the evening to the lake.

July 15.—Achieved six pages to-day, and finished volume i. of Chronicles. It is rather long; but I think the last story interesting, and it should not be split up into parts. J.B. will, I fear, think it low; and if he thinks so, others will. Yet—vamos. Drove to Huntly Burn in the evening.

July 16.—Made a good morning's work of the Tales. In the day-time corrected various proofs. J.B. thinks that in the proposed introduction I contemn too much the occupation by which I have thriven so well, and hints that I may easily lead other people to follow my opinion in vilipending my talents, and the use I have made of them. I cannot tell. I do not like, on the one hand, to suppress my own opinion of the flocci-pauci-nihili-pilification with which I regard these things; but yet, in duty to others, I cannot afford to break my own bow, or befoul my own nest, and there may be something like affectation and nolo episcopari in seeming to underrate my own labours; so, all things considered, I will erase the passage. Truth should not be spoke at all times. In the evening we had a delightful drive to Ashestiel with Colonel and Miss Ferguson.

July 17.—I wrote a laborious task; seven pages of Tales. Kept about the doors all day. Gave Bogie £10 to buy cattle to-morrow at St. Boswell's Fair. Here is a whimsical subject of affliction. Mr. Harper, a settler, who went from this country to Botany Bay, thinking himself obliged to me for a recommendation to General M'Allister and Sir Thomas Brisbane, has thought proper to bring me home a couple of Emus. I wish his gratitude had either taken a different turn, or remained as quiescent as that of others whom I have obliged more materially. I at first accepted the creatures, conceiving them, in my ignorance, to be some sort of blue and green parrot, which, though I do not admire their noise, might scream and yell at their pleasure if hung up in the hall among the armour. But your emu, it seems, stands six feet high on his stocking soles, and is little better than a kind of cassowary or ostrich. Hang them! they might [eat] up my collection of old arms for what I know. It reminds me of the story of the adjutant birds in Theodore Hook's novel ^[10]. No; I'll no Emuses!

July 18.—Entered this morning on the history of Sir William Wallace. I wish I may be able to find my way between what the child can comprehend and what shall not yet be absolutely uninteresting to the grown readers. Uncommon facts I should think the best receipt. Learn that Mr. Owen Rees and John Gibson have amicably settled their differences about the last edition of Napoleon, the Trustees allowing the publishers nine months' credit. My nerves have for these two or three last days been susceptible of an acute excitement from the slightest causes; the beauty of the evening, the sighing of the summer breeze, brings the tears into my eyes not unpleasingly. But I must take exercise, and caseharden myself. There is no use in encouraging these moods of the mind. It is not the law we live on.

We had a little party with some luncheon at the lake, where Mr. Bainbridge fished without much success. Captain Hamilton and two Messrs. Stirling, relatives of my old friend Keir, were there, and walked with me a long round home. I walked better than I had done for some days. Mr. Scrope dined with us; he was complaining of gout, which is a bad companion for the stag-shooting.

July 19.—I made out my task this forenoon, and a good deal more. Sent five or six pages to James Ballantyne, i.e. got them ready, and wrote till the afternoon, then I drove over to Huntly Burn, and walked through the glens till dinner-time. After dinner read and worked till bed-time. Yet I have written well, walked well, talked well, and have nothing to regret.

July 20.—Despatched my letters to J.B., with supply of copy, and made up more than my task—about four leaves, I think. Offered my Emuses to the Duke of Buccleuch. I had an appointment with Captain Hamilton and his friends the Stirlings, that they were to go up Yarrow to-day. But the weather seems to say no.

My visitors came, however, and we went up to Newark. Here is a little misfortune, for Spice left me, and we could not find her. As we had no servant with us on horseback, I was compelled to leave her to her fate, resolving to send in quest of her to-morrow morning. The keepers are my bonos socios, as the host says in the Devil of Edmonton ^[11], and would as soon shoot a child as a dog of mine. But there are scamps and traps, and I am ashamed to say how reluctantly I left the poor little terrier to its fate.

She came home to me, however, about an hour and a half after we were home, to my great delectation. Our visitors dined with us.

July 21.—This morning wrote five pages of children's history. Went to Minto, where we met, besides Lord M. and his delightful countess, Thomas Thomson, Kennedy of Dunure ^[12], Lord Carnarvon, and his younger son and daughter-in-law; the dowager Lady Minto also, whom I always delight to see, she is so full of spirit and intelligence. We rubbed up some recollections of twenty years ago, when I was more intimate with the family till Whig and Tory separated us for a time. By the way, nobody talks Whig or Tory just now, and the fighting men on each side go about muzzled and mute like dogs after a proclamation about canine madness. Am I sorry for this truce or not? Half and half. It is all we have left to stir the blood, this little political brawling; but better too little of it than too much.

July 22, [Abbotsford].—Rose a little later than usual, and wrote a letter to Mrs. Joanna Baillie. She is writing a tragedy ^[13] on witchcraft. I shall be curious to see it. Will it be real witchcraft—the ipsissimus diabolus—or an impostor, or the half-crazed being who believes herself an ally of condemned spirits, and desires to be so? That last is a sublime subject. We set out after breakfast, and reached this about two. I walked from two till four; chatted a long time with Charles after dinner, and thus went my day sine linea. But we will make it up. James Ballantyne dislikes my "Drovers." But it shall stand. I must have my own way sometimes.

I received news of two deaths at once: Lady Die Scott, my very old friend, and Archibald Constable, the bookseller.

July 23.—Yes! they are both for very different reasons subjects of reflection. Lady Diana Scott, widow of Walter Scott of Harden, was the last person whom I recollect so much older than myself, that she kept always at the same distance in point of years, so that she scarce seemed older to me (relatively) two years ago, when in her ninety-second year, than fifty years before. She was the daughter (alone remaining) of Pope's Earl of Marchmont, and, like her father, had an acute mind and an eager temper. She was always kind to me, remarkably so indeed when I was a boy.

Constable's death might have been a most important thing to me if it had happened some years ago, and I should then have lamented it much. He has lived to do me some injury; yet, excepting the last £5000, I think most unintentionally. He was a prince of booksellers; his views sharp, powerful, and liberal; too sanguine, however, and, like many bold and successful schemers, never knowing when to stand or stop, and not always calculating his means to his objects with mercantile accuracy. He was very vain, for which he had some reason, having raised himself to great commercial eminence, as he might also have attained great wealth with good management. He knew, I think, more of the business of a bookseller in planning and executing popular works than any man of his time. In books themselves he had much bibliographical information, but none whatever that could be termed literary. He knew the rare volumes of his library not only by the eye, but by the touch, when blindfolded. Thomas Thomson saw him make this experiment, and, that it might be complete, placed in his hand an ordinary volume instead of one of these libri rariores. He said he had over-estimated his memory; he could not recollect that volume. Constable was a violent-tempered man with those that he dared use freedom with. He was easily overawed by people of consequence, but, as usual, took it out of those whom poverty made subservient to him. Yet he was generous, and far from bad-hearted. In person good-looking, but very corpulent latterly; a large feeder, and deep drinker, till his health became weak. He died of water in the chest, which the natural strength of his constitution set long at defiance. I have no great reason to regret him; yet I do. If he deceived me, he also deceived himself.^[14]

Wrote five pages to-day, and went to see Mr. Scrope, who is fast with the gout—a bad companion to attend him

July 24.—Finished five pages before eleven o'clock, at which time Mr. Deputy Register ^[15] arrived from Minto, and we had an agreeable afternoon, talking about the old days we have had together. I was surprised to find that Thomson knew as little as I do myself how to advise Charles to a good course of Scottish History. Hailes and Pinkerton, Robertson and Laing—there is nothing else for it—and Pinkerton is poor work. Laing, besides his party spirit, has a turn for generalising, which renders him rather dull, which was not the nature of the acute Orcadian.

July 25.—Thomson left us this morning early. I finished four pages, and part of a fifth, then drove to Huntly Burn and returned through the Glen; I certainly turn heavy-footed, not in the female sense, however. I had one or two falls among the slippy heather, not having Tom Purdie to give me his arm. I suppose I shall need a go-cart one of these days; and if it must be so—so let it be. Fiat voluntas tua.

A letter from John Gibson in the evening brought me word that Lord Newton had adjudged the profits of Woodstock and Napoleon to be my own. This is a great matter, and removes the most important part of my dispute with Constable's creditors. I waked in the middle of the night. Sure I am not such a feather-headed gull as not to be able to sleep for good news. I am thankful that it is as it is. Had it been otherwise, I could have stood it. The money realised will pay one-third of all that I owe in the world—and what will pay the other two-thirds? I am as well and as capable as when those misfortunes began—January was a year. The public favour may wane, indeed, but it has not failed as yet, and I must not be too anxious about that possibility.

James B. has found fault with my tales for being too historical; formerly it was for being too infantine. He calls out for starch, and is afraid of his cravat being too stiff. O ye critics, will nothing melt ye?

July 26.—Wrote till one o'clock, and finished the first volume of Tales—about six leaves. To-morrow I resume the Chronicles, tooth and nail. They must be good, if possible. After all, works of fiction, viz., cursed lies, are easier to write, and much more popular than the best truths. Walked over to the head of the Roman road, coming round by Bauchland and the Abbot's Walk. Wrote letters in the evening.

July 27.—In the morning still busied with my correspondence. No great desire to take up the Chronicles. But it must be done. Devil take the necessity, and the folly and knavery, that occasioned it! But this is no matter now. Accordingly I set tightly to work, and got on till two, when I took a walk. Was made very happy by the arrival of Sophia and her babies, all in good health and spirits.

July 28.—Worked hard in the morning. The two Ballantynes, and Mr. Hogarth with them. Owen Rees came early in the day. Fergusons came to dinner. Rees in great kindness and good-humour, but a little drumlie, I think, about Napoleon. We heard Sandie's violin after dinner—

I do not understand or care about fine music; but there is something in his violin which goes to the very heart. Sophia sung too, and we were once more merry in hall—the first time for this many a month and many a day.

July 29.—Could not do more than undertake my proofs to-day, of which J.B. has brought out a considerable quantity. Walked at one with Hogarth and Rees—the day sultry, hot, and we hot accordingly, but crept about notwithstanding. I am sorry to see my old and feal friend James rather unable to walk—once so stout and active—so was I in my way once. Ah! that vile word, what a world of loss it involves!

July 30.—One of the most peppering thunder-storms which I have heard for some time. Routed and roared from six in the morning till eight continuously.

Time wasted, though very agreeably, after breakfast. At noon, set out for Chiefswood in the carriage, and walked home, footing it over rough and smooth, with the vigour of early days. James Ballantyne marched on too, somewhat meltingly, but without complaint. We again had beautiful music after dinner. The heart of age arose. I have often wondered whether I have a taste for music or no. My ear appears to me as dull as my voice is incapable of musical expression, and yet I feel the utmost pleasure in any such music as I can comprehend, learned pieces always excepted. I believe I may be about the pitch of Terry's connoisseurship, and that "I have a reasonable good ear for a jig, but your solos and sonatas give me the spleen."

July 31.—Employed the morning writing letters and correcting proofs; this is the second day and scarce a line written, but circumstances are so much my apology that even Duty does not murmur, at least not much. We had a drive up to Galashiels, and sent J.B. off to Edinburgh in the Mail. Music in the evening as before.

AUGUST.

August 1.—My guests left me and I thought of turning to work again seriously. Finished five pages. Dined alone, excepting Huntly Gordon, who is come on a visit, poor lad. I hope he is well fixed under Mr. Planta's ^[17] patronage. Smoked a cigar after dinner. Laughed with my daughters, and read them the review of Hoffmann's production out of Gillies's new Foreign Review.

The undertaking would do, I am convinced, in any other person's hands than those of the improvident editor; but I hear he is living as thoughtlessly as ever in London, has hired a large house, and gives Burgundy to his guests. This will hardly suit £500 a year.

August 2.—Got off my proofs. Went over to breakfast at Huntly Burn; the great object was to see my cascade in the Glen suitably repaired. I have had it put to rights by puddling and damming. What says the frog in the Fairy Tale?—

Having seen the job pretty tightly done, walked deliciously home through the woods. But no work all this while. Then for up and at it. But in spite of good resolutions I trifled with my children after dinner, and read to them in the evening, and did just nothing at all.

August 3.—Wrote five pages and upwards—scarce amends for past laziness. Huntly Gordon lent me a volume of his father's manuscript memoirs.^[18] They are not without interest, for Pryse Gordon, though a bit of a roué, is a clever fellow in his way. One thing struck me, being the story of an Irish swindler, who called himself Henry King Edgeworth, an impudent gawsey fellow, who deserted from Gordon's recruiting party, enlisted again, and became so great a favourite with the Colonel of the regiment which he joined, that he was made pay-sergeant. Here he deserted to purpose with £200 or £300, escaped to France, got a commission in the Corps sent to invade Ireland, was taken, recognised, and hanged. What would Mr. Theobald Wolfe Tone have said to such an associate in his regenerating expedition? These are thy gods, O Israel! The other was the displeasure of the present Cameron of Lochiel, on finding that the forty Camerons, with whom he joined the Duke of Gordon's Northern Fencible regiment, were to be dispersed. He had wellnigh mutinied and marched back with them. This would be a good anecdote for Garth.^[19]

August 4.—Spent the morning at Selkirk, examining people about an assault. When I returned I found Charlotte Kerr here with a clever little boy, Charles Scott, grandson of Charles of the Woll, and son of William, and grand-nephew of John of Midgehope. He seems a smart boy, and, considering that he is an only son with expectations, not too much spoiled. General Yermoloff called with a letter from a Dr. Knox, whom I do not know. If it be Vicesimus, we met nearly twenty-five years ago and did not agree. But General Yermoloff's name was luckily known to me. He is a man in the flower of life, about thirty, handsome, bold, and enthusiastic; a great admirer of poetry, and all that. He had been in the Moscow campaign, and those which followed, but must have been very young. He made not the least doubt that Moscow was burned by Rostopchin, and said that there was a general rumour before the French entered the town, and while the inhabitants were leaving it, that persons were left to destroy it. I asked him why the magazine of gunpowder had not been set fire to in the first instance. He answered that he believed the explosion of that magazine would have endangered the retreating Russians. This seemed unsatisfactory. The march of the Russians was too distant from Moscow to be annoyed by the circumstance. I pressed him as well as I could about the slowness of Koutousoff's operations; and he frankly owned that the Russians were so much rejoiced and surprised to see the French in retreat, that it was long ere they could credit the extent of the advantage which they had acquired. This has been but an idle day, so far as composition is concerned, but I was detained late at Selkirk.

August 5.—Wrote near six pages. General Yermoloff left me with many expressions of enthusiastic regard, as foreigners use to do. He is a kinsman of Princess Galitzin, whom I saw at Paris. I walked with Tom after one o'clock. Dined en famille with Miss Todd, a pretty girl, and wrote after dinner.

August 6.—This morning finished proofs and was bang up with everything. When I was about to sit down to write, I have the agreeable tidings that Henderson, the fellow who committed the assault at Selkirk, and who made his escape from the officers on Saturday, was retaken, and that it became necessary that I should go up to examine him. Returned at four, and found Mrs. George Swinton from Calcutta, to whose husband I have been much obliged, with Archie and cousin Peggie Swinton, arrived. So the evening was done up.

August 7.—Cousins still continuing, we went to Melrose. I finished, however, in the first place, a pretty smart task, which is so far well, as we expect the Skenes to-morrow. Lockhart arrived from London. The news are that Canning is dangerously ill. This is the bowl being broken at the cistern with a vengeance. If he dies now, it will be pity it was not five months ago. The time has been enough to do much evil, but not to do any-permanent good.

August 8.—Huntly Gordon proposed to me that I should give him my correspondence, which we had begun to arrange last year. I resolved not to lose the opportunity, and began to look out and arrange the letters from about 1810, throwing out letters of business and such as are private. They are of little consequence, generally speaking, yet will be one day curious. I propose to have them bound up, to save trouble. It is a sad task; how many dead, absent, estranged, and altered! I wrought till the Skenes came at four o'clock. I love them well; yet I wish their visit had been made last week, when other people were here. It kills time, or rather murders it, this company-keeping. Yet what remains on earth that I like so well as a little society? I wrote not a line to-day.

August 9.—I finished the arrangement of the letters so as to put them into Mr. Gordon's hands. It will be a great job done. But, in the meanwhile, it interrupts my work sadly, for I kept busy till one o'clock to-day with this idle man's labour. Still, however, it might have been long enough ere I got a confidential person like Gordon to arrange these confidential papers. They are all in his hands now. Walked after one.

August 10.—This is a morning of fidgety, nervous confusion. I sought successively my box of Bramah pens, my proof-sheets, and last, not least anxiously, my spectacles. I am convinced I lost a full hour in these various chases. I collected all my insubordinate movables at once, but had scarce corrected the proof and written half-a-score of lines, than enter Dalgleish, declaring the Blucher hour is come. The weather, however, is rainy, and fitted for a day of pure work, but I was able only to finish my task of three pages.

The death of the Premier is announced. Late George Canning, the witty, the accomplished, the ambitious; he who had toiled thirty years, and involved himself in the most harassing discussions to attain this dizzy height; he who had held it for three months of intrigue and obloquy—and now a heap of dust, and that is all. He was an early and familiar friend of mine, through my intimacy with George Ellis. No man possessed a gayer and more playful wit in society; no one, since Pitt's time, had more commanding sarcasm in debate; in the House of Commons he was the terror of that species of orators called the Yelpers. His lash fetched away both skin and flesh, and would have penetrated the hide of a rhinoceros. In his conduct as a statesman he had a great fault: he lent himself too willingly to intrigue. Thus he got into his quarrel with Lord Castlereagh,^[20] and lost credit with the country for want of openness. Thus too, he got involved with the Queen's party to such an extent that it fettered him upon that memorable quarrel, and obliged him to butter Sir Robert Wilson with dear friend, and gallant general, and so forth. The last composition with the Whigs was a sacrifice of principle on both sides. I have some reason to think they counted on getting rid of him in two or three years. To me Canning was always personally most kind. I saw, with pain, a great change in his health when I met him at Colonel Bolton's at Stors in 1825. In London I thought him looking better.

August 11.—Wrote nearly five pages; then walked. A visit from Henry Scott;^[21] nothing known as yet about politics. A high Tory Administration would be a great evil at this time. There are repairs in the structure of our constitution which ought to be made at this season, and without which the people will not long be silent. A pure Whig Administration would probably play the devil by attempting a thorough repair. As to a compound, or melo-dramatic, Ministry, the parts out of which such a one could be organised just now are at a terrible discount in public estimation, nor will they be at par in a hurry again. The public were generally shocked at the complete lack of principle testified by public men on the late occasion, and by some who till then had some credit with the public. The Duke of W. has risen by his firmness on the one side, Earl Grey on the other.

August 12.—Wrote my task and no more. Walked with Lockhart from one o'clock to four. Took in our way the Glen, which looks beautiful. I walked with extreme pain and feebleness until we began to turn homewards, when the relaxation of the ankle sinews seemed to be removed, and I trode merrily home. This is strange; that exercise should restore the nerves from the chill or numbness which is allied to palsy, I am well aware, but how it should restore elasticity to sinews that are too much relaxed, I for one cannot comprehend. Colonel Russell came to dinner with us, and to consult me about some family matters. He has the spirit of a gentleman; that is certain.

August 13.—A letter from booksellers at Brussels informs me of the pleasant tidings that Napoleon is a total failure; that they have lost much money on a version which they were at great expense in preparing, and modestly propose that I should write a novel to make them amends for loss on a speculation which I knew nothing about. "Have you nothing else to ask?" as Sancho says to the farmer, who asks him to stock a farm for his son, portion off his daughters, etc. etc. They state themselves to be young booksellers; certes, they must hold me to be a very young author! Napoleon, however, has failed on the Continent—and perhaps in England also; for, from the mumbling, half-grumbling tone of Longman and Co., dissatisfaction may be apprehended. Well, I can set my face to it boldly. I live not in the public opinion, not I; but egad! I live by it, and that is worse. Tu ne cede malis, sed contra, etc.

I corrected and transmitted sheets before breakfast; afterwards went and cut wood with Tom, but returned about twelve in rather a melancholy humour. I fear this failure may be followed by others; and then what chance of extricating my affairs. But they that look to freits, freits will follow them. Hussards en avant,—care killed a cat. I finished three pages—that is, a full task of the Chronicles—after I returned. Mr. and Mrs. Philips of Manchester came to dinner.

August 14.—Finished my task before breakfast. A bad rainy day, for which I should not have cared but for my guests. However, being good-humoured persons and gifted with taste, we got on very well, by dint of showing prints, curiosities; finally the house up stairs and down; and at length by undertaking a pilgrimage to Melrose in the rain, which pilgrimage we accomplished, but never entered the Abbey Church, having just had wetting enough to induce us, when we arrived at the gate, to "Turn again, Whittington."

August 15.—Wrote in the morning. After breakfast walked with Mr. Philips, who is about to build and plan himself, and therefore seemed to enter con amore into all I had been doing, asked questions, and seemed really interested to learn what I thought myself not ill-qualified to teach. The little feeling of superior information in such cases is extremely agreeable. On the contrary, it is a great scrape to find you have been boring some one who did not care a d—— about the matter, so to speak; and that you might have been as well employed in buttering a whin-stone. Mr. and Mrs. Philips left us about twelve—day bad. I wrote nearly five pages of Chronicles.

August 16.—A wet, disagreeable, sulky day, but such things may be carried to account. I wrote upwards of seven pages, and placed myself rectus in curia with Madam Duty, who was beginning to lift up her throat against me. Nothing remarkable except that Huntly Gordon left us.

August 17.—Wrote my task in the morning. After breakfast went out and cut wood with Tom and John Swanston, and hewed away with my own hand; remained on foot from eleven o'clock till past three, doing, in my opinion, a great deal of good in plantations above the house, where the firs had been permitted to predominate too much over the oak and hardwood. The day was rough and stormy—not the worst for working, and I could do it with a good conscience, all being well forward in the duty line. After tea I worked a little longer. On the whole finished four leaves and upwards—about a printed sheet—which is enough for one day.

August 18.—Finished about five leaves, and then out to the wood, where I chopped away among the trees, laying the foundation for future scenery. These woods will one day occupy a great number of hands. Four years hence they will employ ten stout woodsmen almost every day of the year. Henry and William Scott (Harden) came to dinner.

August 19.—Wrote till about one, then walked for an hour or two by myself entirely; finished five pages before dinner, when we had Captain and Mrs. Hamilton and young Davidoff, who is their guest. They remained with us all night.

August 20.—I corrected proofs and wrote one leaf before breakfast; then went up to Selkirk to try a fellow for an assault. The people there get rather riotous. This is a turbulent fierce fellow. Some of his attitudes were good during the trial. This dissipated my attention for the day, although I was back by half-past two. I did not work any more, so am behind in my reckoning.

August 21.—Wrote four pages, then set out to make a call at Sunderland Hall and Yair, but the old sociable broke down before we had got past the thicket, so we trudged all back on foot, and I wrote another page. This makes up the deficiency of yesterday.

August 22.—I wrote four or five leaves, but begin to get aground for want of Indian localities. Colonel Ferguson's absence is unlucky, and half-a-dozen Qui Hi's besides, willing to write chits,^[22] eat tiffin, and vent all their Pagan jargon when one does not want to hear it; and now that I want a touch of their slang, lo! there is not one near me. Mr. Adolphus, son of the celebrated counsel, and author of a work on the Waverley Novels,^[23] came to make me a visit. He is a modest as well as an able man, and I am obliged to him for the delicacy with which he treated a matter in which I was personally so much concerned. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton asked us to breakfast to-morrow.

August 23.—Went to breakfast at Chiefswood, which, with a circuitous walk, have consumed the day. Found, in the first place, my friend Allan, the painter, busy about a picture, into which he intends introducing living characters—a kind of revel at Abbotsford. Second, a whimsical party, consisting of John Stevenson, the bookseller, Peter Buchan from Peterhead, a quiz of a poetical creature, and a bookbinder, a friend of theirs. The plan was to consult me about publishing a great quantity of ballads which this Mr. Buchan has collected. I glanced them over. He has been very successful, for they are obviously genuine, and many of them very curious. Others are various editions of well-known ballads. I could not make the man comprehend that these last were of little value, being generally worse readings of what was already published. A small edition published by subscription may possibly succeed. It is a great pity that few of these ballads are historical, almost all being of the romantic cast. They certainly ought to be preserved, after striking out one or two which have been sophisticated, I suppose by Mr. Buchan himself, which are easily distinguishable from the genuine ballads.^[24] No one but Burns ever succeeded in patching up old Scottish songs with any good effect.

August 24.—Corrected proofs and wrote letters in the morning. Began a review upon Monteath's Planter for Lockhart.^[25] Other matters at a stand. A drive down to Mertoun, and engaged to dine there on Sunday first. This consumed the day.

August 25.—Mr. Adolphus left us this morning after a very agreeable visit. We all dined at Dr. Brewster's. Met Sir John Wright, Miss Haig, etc. Slandered our neighbours, and were good company. Major John Scott there. I did a little more at the review to-day. But I cannot go on with the tale without I could speak a little Hindostanee—a small seasoning of curry-powder. Ferguson will do it if I can screw it out of him.

August 26.—Encore review. Walked from twelve till three, then drove to Mertoun with Lockhart and Allan. Dined en famille, and home by half-past ten. We thought of adding a third volume to the Chronicles, but Gibson is afraid it would give grounds for a pretext to seize this work on the part of Constable's creditors, who seem determined to take any advantage of me, but they can only show their teeth I trust; though I wish the arbitration was ended.

August 27.—Sent off proofs in morning, revised in afternoon. Walked from one till four. What a life of uniformity! Yet I never wish to change it. I even regret I must go to town to meet Lady Compton ^[26] next week.

A singular letter from a lady, requesting I would father a novel of hers. That won't pass.^[27]

Cadell writes me, transmitting a notice from the French papers that Gourgaud has gone, or is going, to London to verify the facts alleged in my history of Napoleon, and the bibliopolist is in a great funk. I lack some part of his instinct. I have done Gourgaud no wrong: every word imputed to him exists in the papers submitted to me as historical documents ^[28], and I should have been a shameful coward if I had shunned using them. At my years it is somewhat late for an affair of honour, and as a reasonable man I would avoid such an arbitrament, but will not plead privilege of literature. The country shall not be disgraced in my person, and having stated why I think I owe him no satisfaction, I will at the same time most willingly give it to him.

I have written to Will Clerk to stand my friend if necessary. He has mettle in him, and thinks of my honour as well as my safety.

August 28.—I am still bothering with the review, but gave Lockhart fifteen leaves, which is something. Learned with regret that Williams leaves his situation of Rector of the New Academy. It is a shot in the wing of the institution; for he is a heaven-born teacher. Walked at two till four along the thicket, and by the river-side, where I go seldom; I can't say why, unless that the walk is less private than those more distant. Lockhart, Allan, and I, talk of an excursion to Kelso to-morrow. I have no friends there now. Yet once how many!

August 29.—Went on our little expedition, breakfasting at Mertoun. Called at Fleurs, where we found Sir John S. and his whole family. The great lady received us well, though we had been very remiss in our duty. From that we went to Kelso, where I saw not a soul to acknowledge former acquaintance. How should I, when my residence there was before 1783, I fancy?^[29] The little cottage in which I lived with poor Aunt Jenny is still standing, but the great garden is divided betwixt three proprietors. Its huge platanus tree withered, I was told, in the same season which was fatal to so many of the species. It was cut down. The yew-hedges, labyrinths, wildernesses, and other marks that it had once been the abode of one of the Millers connected with the author of the Gardener's Dictionary (they were a Quaker family), are all obliterated, and the place is as common and vulgar as may be. The lady the cottage belongs to was very civil. Allan, as a man of taste, was much delighted with what he saw. When we returned, we found our party at home increased by Lady Anna Maria Elliot, who had been showing Melrose to two friends, Miss Drinkwaters. Lady M.'s wit and good-humour made the evening go pleasantly off. There were also two friends of Charles's, by name Paley (a nephew of the archdeacon) and Ashworth. They seem nice young men, with modesty and good-breeding. I am glad, as my mother used to say, that his friends are so presentable. Moreover, there came my old, right trusty, and well-beloved friend, John Richardson, so we were a full party. Lady Anna Maria returned in the evening. Francis Scott also dined with us.

August 30.—Disposed of my party as I best might, and worked at my review. Walked out at one, and remained till near five. Mr. Scott of Harden and David Thomson, W.S., dined with us. Walked with Mr. Allan through Haxel Cleugh.

August 31.—Went on with my review; but I have got Sir Henry's original pamphlet,^[30] which is very cleverly written. I find I cannot touch on his mode of transplantation at all in this article. It involves many questions, and some of importance, so I will make another article for January. Walked up the Rhymer's Glen with John Richardson.^[31]

SEPTEMBER.

September 1.—Colonel Ferguson and Colonel Byers breakfasted; the latter from India, the nephew of the old antiquarian;^[32] but I had not an opportunity to speak to him about the Eastern information required for the Chronicles. Besides, my review is not finished, though I wrought hard to-day. Sir William Hamilton and his brother, Captain Hamilton, called; also young Davidoff. I am somewhat sorry for my young friend. His friends permit him to remain too long in Britain to be happy in Russia. Yet this [is a] prejudice of those who suppose that when the institutions and habits by which they are governed come to be known to strangers, they must become exclusively attached to them. This is not so. The Hottentot returns from civilisation to the wild manners of his kraal, and wherefore should not a Russian resume his despotic ideas when returned to his country?

September 2.—This was a very warm day. I remained at home, chiefly engaged in arranging papers, as I go away to-morrow. It is lucky these starts happen from time to time as I should otherwise never get my table clear. At five o'clock the air became cooler, and I sat out of doors and played with the children. Anne, who had been at Mertoun the day before, brought up Anne and Elizabeth Scott ^[33] with her, and Francis has been with us since yesterday. Richardson left us.

September 3.—Went on with my arranging of papers till twelve, when I took chaise and arrived at Melville Castle.

Found Lord and Lady M. and the two young ladies. Dr. Hope, my old school-fellow James Hope ^[34] and his son, made up our party, which was very pleasant. After they went away we had some private conversation about politics. The Whigs and Tories of the Cabinet are strangely divided, the former desiring to have Mr. Herries for Chancellor of the Exchequer, the latter to have Lord Palmerston, that Calcraft may be Secretary of War. The King has declared firmly for Herries, on which Lord Goderich with tears entreated Herries to remove the bone of contention by declining to accept. The King called him a blubbering fool. That the King does not like or trust the Whigs is obvious from his passing over Lord Lansdowne, a man who, I should suppose, is infinitely better fitted for a Premier than Goderich. But he probably looks with no greater [favour] on the return of the High Tories. I fear he may wish to govern by the system of bascule, or balancing the two parties, a perilous game ^[35]. The Advocate ^[36] also dined with us.

September 4, [Edinburgh].—Came into town after breakfast, and saw Gibson, whose account of affairs is comfortable. Also William Clerk, whom I found quite ready and willing to stand my friend if Gourgaud should come my road. He agrees with me that there is no reason why he should turn on me, but that if he does, reason or none, it is best to stand buff to him. It is clear to me that what is least forgiven in a man of any mark or likelihood is want of that article blackguardly called pluck. All the fine qualities of genius cannot make amends for it. We are told the genius of poets especially is irreconcilable with this species of grenadier accomplishment ^[37]. If so, quel chien de génie! Saw Lady Compton. I dine with her to-day, and go to Glasgow with her to-morrow.

September 5.—Dined with Lady Compton yesterday, and talked over old stories until nine, our tête-à-tête being a very agreeable one. Then hence to my good friend John Gibson's, and talked with him of sundries. I had an odd dream last night. It seemed to me that I was at a panorama, when a vulgar little man behind me was making some very clever but impudent remarks on the picture, and at the same time seemed desirous of information, which no one would give him. I turned round and saw a young fellow dressed like a common carter, with a blue coat and red waistcoat, and a whip tied across him. He was young, with a hatchet-face, which was turned to a brick colour by exposure to the weather, sharp eyes, and in manner and voice not unlike John Leyden. I was so much struck with his countenance and talents that I asked him about his situation, and expressed a wish to mend it. He followed me, from the hopes which I excited, and we had a dreadful walk among ruins, and afterwards I found myself on horseback, and in front of a roaring torrent. I plunged in as I have formerly done in good sad earnest, and got to the other side. Then I got home among my children and grandchildren, and there also was my genius. Now this would defy Daniel and the soothsayers to boot; nor do I know why I should now put it down, except that I have seldom seen a portrait in life which was more strongly marked on my memory than that man's. Perhaps my genius was Mr. Dickinson, papermaker, who has undertaken that the London creditors who hold Constable's bills will be satisfied with 10s. in the pound. This would be turning a genius to purpose, for 6s. 8d. is provided, and they can have no difficulty about 3s. 4d. These debts, for which I am legally responsible, though no party to their contraction, amount to £30,000 odds. Now if they can be cleared for £15,000 it is just so much gained. This would be a giant step to freedom. I see in my present comfortable quarters ^[38] some of my own old furniture in Castle St., which gives me rather queer feelings. I remember poor Charlotte and I having so much thought about buying these things. Well, they are in kind and friendly hands.

September 6.—Went with Lady Compton to Glasgow, and had as pleasant a journey as the kindness, wit, and accomplishment of my companion could make it. Lady C. gives an admirable account of Rome, and the various strange characters she has met in foreign parts. I was much taken with some stories out of a romance called Manuscrit trouvé à Saragosse, by a certain Count John Polowsky [Potocki?], a Pole. It seems betwixt the style of Cazotti, Count Hamilton and Le Sage. The Count was a toiler after supernatural secrets, an adept, and understood the cabbala. He put himself to death, with many odd circumstances, inferring derangement. I am to get a sight of the book if it be possible. At Glasgow (Buck's Head) we met Mrs. Maclean Clephane and her two daughters, and there was much joy. After the dinner the ladies sung, particularly Anna Jane, who has more taste and talent of every kind than half the people going with great reputations on their backs.

September 7.—This day had calls from Lord Provost and Mr. Rutherford (William) with invitations, which I declined. Read in manuscript a very clever play (comedy) by Miss A.J. Clephane in the old style, which was very happily imitated. The plot was confused—too much taking and retaking of prisoners, but the dialogue was excellent.

Took leave of these dear friends, never perhaps to meet all together again, for two of us are old. Went down by steam to Colonel Campbell's, Blythswood House, where I was most courteously received by him and his sisters. We are kinsfolk and very old acquaintance. His seat here is a fine one; the house is both grand and comfortable.

We walked to Lawrence Lockhart's of Inchinnan, within a mile of Blythswood House. It is extremely nice and comfortable, far beyond the style of a Scotch clergyman; but Lawrence is wealthy. I found John Lockhart and Sophia there, returned from Largs. We all dined at Colonel Campbell's on turtle, and all manner of good things. Miss A. and H. Walker were there. The sleep at night made amends for the Buck's Head.

September 8.—Colonel Campbell carried me to breakfast in Glasgow, and at ten I took chaise for Corehouse, where I found my old friend George Cranstoun rejoiced to see me, and glad when I told him what Lord Newton had determined in my affairs. I should observe I saw the banks of the Clyde above Hamilton much denuded of its copse, untimely cut; and the stools ill cut, and worse kept. Cranstoun and I walked before dinner. I never saw the great fall of Corehouse from this side before, and I think it the best point, perhaps; at all events, it is not that from which it is usually seen; so Lord Corehouse has the sight and escapes the tourists. Dined with him, his sister Mrs. Cunningham, and Corehouse.

I omitted to mention in yesterday's note that within Blythswood plantation, near to the Bridge of Inchinnan, the unfortunate Earl of Argyle was taken in 1685, at a stone called Argyle's Stone. Blythswood says the Highland drovers break down his fences in order to pay a visit to the place. The Earl had passed the Cart river, and was taken on the Renfrew side.

September 9.—This is a superb place of Corehouse's. Cranstoun has as much feeling about improvement as other things. Like all new improvers, he is at more expense than is necessary, plants too thick, and trenches where trenching is superfluous. But this is the eagerness of a young artist. Besides the grand lion, the Fall of Clyde, he has more than one lion's whelp; a fall of a brook in a cleugh called Mill's Gill must be superb in rainy weather. The old Castle of Corehouse is much more castle-like on this than from the other side.

Left Corehouse at eight in the morning, and reached Lanark by half-past nine. I was thus long in travelling three miles because the postilion chose to suppose I was bound for Biggar, and was two miles ere I discovered what he was doing. I thought he aimed at crossing the Clyde by some new bridge above Bonnington. Breakfasted at Lanark with the Lockharts, and reached Abbotsford this evening by nine o'clock.

Thus ends a pleasant expedition among the people I like most. Drawback only one. It has cost me £15, including two gowns for Sophia and Anne; and I have lost six days' labour. Both may be soon made up.

N.B.—We lunched (dined, videlicet) with Professor Wilson at Inverleithen, and met James Hogg,^[39]

September 10, [Abbotsford].—Gourgaud's wrath has burst forth in a very distant clap of thunder, in which he accuses me of combining with the ministry to slander his rag of a reputation. He be d——d for a fool, to make his case worse by stirring. I shall only revenge myself by publishing the whole extracts I made from the records of the Colonial Office, in which he will find enough to make him bite his nails. Still I wonder he did not come over and try his manhood otherwise. I would not have shunned him nor any Frenchman who ever kissed Bonaparte's breech.

September 11.—Went to Huntly Burn and breakfasted with Colonel Ferguson, who has promised to have some Indian memoranda ready for me. After breakfast went to choose the ground for a new plantation, to be added next week to the end of Jane's Wood. Came to dinner Lord Carnarvon and his son and daughter; also Lord Francis Leveson Gower, the translator of Faust.

September 12.—Walk with Lord Francis. When we return, behold ye! enter Lady Hampden and Lady Wedderburn. In the days of George Square, Jane and Maria Brown ^[40], beauties and toasts. There was much pleasure on my side, and some, I suppose, on theirs; and there was a riding, and a running, and a chattering, and an asking, and a showing—a real scene of confusion, yet mirth and good spirits. Our guests quit us next day.

September 13.—Fined a man for an assault at Selkirk. He pleaded guilty, which made short work. The beggarly appearance of the Jury in the new system is very worthy of note. One was a menial servant. When I returned, James Ballantyne and Mr. Cadell arrived. They bring a good account of matters in general. Cadell explained to me a plan for securing the copyright of the novels, which has a very good face. It appears they are going off fast; and if the glut of the market is once reduced by sales, the property will be excellent, and may be increased by notes. James B. brought his son. Robert Rutherford also here, and Miss Russells.

September 14.—In the morning wrote my answer to Gourgaud, rather too keen perhaps, but I owe him nothing; and as for exciting his resentment, I will neither seek nor avoid it.

Cadell's views seem fair, and he is open and explicit. His brothers support him, and he has no want of cash. He sells two or three copies of Bonaparte and one of the novels, or two, almost every day. He must soon, he says, apply to London for copies. Read a Refutation, as it calls itself, of Napoleon's history. It is so very polite and accommodating that every third word is a concession—the work of a man able to judge distinctly on specific facts, but erroneous in his general results. He will say the same of me, perhaps. Ballantyne and Cadell leave us. Enter Miss Sinclairs, two in number, also a translator, and a little Flemish woman, his wife—very good-humoured, rather a little given to compliment; name Fauconpret. They are to return at night in a gig as far as Kelso—a bold undertaking.

September 16.—The ladies went to Church; I, God forgive me, finished the Chronicles^[41] with a good deal of assistance from Colonel Ferguson's notes about Indian affairs. The patch is, I suspect, too glaring to be pleasing; but the Colonel's sketches are capitally good. I understand, too, there are one or two East Indian novels which have lately appeared. Naboclish! vogue la galère!

September 17.—Received from James B. the proofs of my reply to General Gourgaud, with some cautious balaam from mine honest friend, alarmed by a Highland Colonel, who had described Gourgaud as a mauvais garçon, famous fencer, marksman, and so forth. I wrote in answer, which is true, that I would hope all my friends would trust to my acting with proper caution and advice; but that if I were capable, in a moment of weakness, of doing anything short of what my honour demanded, I would die the death of a poisoned rat in hole, out of mere sense of my own degradation. God knows, that, though life is placid enough with me, I do not feel anything to attach me to it so strongly as to occasion my avoiding any risk which duty to my character may demand from me.

I set to work with the Tales of a Grandfather, second volume, and finished four pages.

September 18.—Wrote five pages of the Tales. Walked from Huntly Burn, having gone in the carriage. Smoked my cigar with Lockhart after dinner, and then whiled away the evening over one of Miss Austen's novels. There is a truth of painting in her writings which always delights me. They do not, it is true, get above the middle classes of society, but there she is inimitable.

September 19.—Wrote three pages, but dawdled a good deal; yet the Tales get on, although I feel bilious, and vapourish, I believe I must call it. At such times my loneliness, and the increasing inability to walk, come dark over me, but surely these mulligrubs belong to the mind more than the body.

September 22.—Captain and Colonel Ferguson, the last returned from Ireland, dined here. Prayer of the minister of the Cumbrays, two miserable islands in the mouth of the Clyde: "O Lord, bless and be gracious to the Greater and the Lesser Cumbrays, and in thy mercy do not forget the adjacent islands of Great Britain and Ireland."

September 23.—Worked in the morning; then drove over to Huntly Burn, chiefly to get from the good-humoured Colonel the accurate spelling of certain Hindu words which I have been using under his instructions. By the way, the sketches he gave me of Indian manners are highly picturesque. I have made up my Journal, which was three days in arrear. Also I wrought a little, so that the second volume of Grandfather's Tales is nearly half finished.

September 24.—Worked in the morning as usual, and sent off the proofs and copy. Something of the black dog still hanging about me; but I will shake him off. I generally affect good spirits in company of my family, whether I am enjoying them or not. It is too severe to sadden the harmless mirth of others by suffering your own causeless melancholy to be seen; and this species of exertion is, like virtue, its own reward; for the good spirits, which are at first simulated, become at length real.^[42]

September 25, [Edinburgh],—Got into town by one o'clock, the purpose being to give my deposition before Lord Newton in a case betwixt me and Constable's creditors. My oath seemed satisfactory; but new reasons were alleged for additional discussion, which is, I trust, to end this wearisome matter. I dined with Mr. Gibson, and slept there. J.B. dined with us, and we had thoughts how to save our copyright by a bargain with Cadell. I hope it will turn to good, as I could add notes to a future edition, and give them some value.

September 26, [Abbotsford].—Set off in mail coach, and my horses met me at Yair Bridge. I travelled with rather a pleasant man, an agent, I found, on Lord Seaford's ^[43] West Indian Estates. Got home by twelve o'clock, and might have been here earlier if the Tweed had not been too large for fording. I must note down my cash lest it gets out of my head; "may the foul fa' the gear, and the blathrie o't,"^[44] and yet there's no doing either with it or without it.

September 27.—The morning was damp, dripping, and unpleasant; so I even made a work of necessity, and set to the Tales like a dragon. I murdered M'Lellan of Bomby at Thrieve Castle; stabbed the Black Douglas in the town of Stirling; astonished King James before Roxburgh; and stifled the Earl of Mar in his bath in the Canongate. A wild world, my masters, this Scotland of ours must have been. No fear of want of interest; no lassitude in those days for want of work,

We dined at Gattonside with Mr. Bainbridge, who kindly presented me with six bottles of super-excellent Jamaica rum, and with a manuscript collection of poetry, said to be Swift's handwriting, which it resembles. It is, I think, poor Stella's. Nothing very new in it.

September 28.—Another dropping and busy day. I wrought hard at the Historical Tales, which get on fast.

September 29.—I went on with the little history which now (i.e. vol. ii.) doth appropinque an end. Received in the evening [Nos. 37 to 41?] of the Roxburghe publications. They are very curious, and, generally speaking, well selected. The following struck me:—An Italian poem on the subject of Floddenfield; the legend of St. Robert of Knaresborough; two plays, printed from MS. by Mr. Haslewood. It does not appear that Mr. H. fully appreciated the light which he was throwing on the theatrical history by this valuable communication. It appears that the change of place, or of scene as we term it, was intimated in the following manner.

In the middle of the stage was placed Colchester, and the sign of Pigot's tavern—called the Tarlton—intimated what part of the town was represented. The name was painted above. On one side of the stage was, in like manner, painted a town, which the name announced to be Maldon; on the other side a ranger's lodge. The scene lay through the piece in one or other of these three places, and the entrance of the characters determined where each scene lay. If they came in from Colchester, then Colchester was for the time the scene of action. When that scene was shifted to Maldon, it was intimated by the approach of the actors from the side where it was painted—a clumsy contrivance, doubtless, compared to changeable scenery; yet sufficient to impress the audience with a sense of what was meant.

September 30.—Wet, drizzling, dismal day. I finished odds and ends, scarce stirring out of my room, yet doing little to the purpose. Wrote to Sir Henry [Seton Steuart] about his queries concerning transplanted trees, and to Mr. Freeling concerning the Roxburghe Club books. I have settled to print the manuscript concerning the murder of the two Shaws by the Master of Sinclair. I dallied with the precious time rather than used it. Read the two Roxburghe plays; they are by William Percy, a son of the eighth Earl of Northumberland; worthless and very gross, but abounding with matter concerning scenery, and so forth, highly interesting to the dramatic antiquary.

OCTOBER.

October 1.—I set about work for two hours, and finished three pages; then walked for two hours; then home, adjusted sheriff processes, and cleared the table. I am to set off to-morrow for Ravensworth Castle, to meet the Duke of Wellington;^[45] a great let off, I suppose. Yet I would almost rather stay and see two days more of Lockhart and my daughter, who will be off before my return. Perhaps. But there is no end to perhaps. We must cut the rope and let the vessel drive down the tide of destiny.

October 2.—Set out in the morning at seven, and reached Kelso by a little past ten with my own horses. Then took the Wellington coach to carry me to Wellington—smart that. Nobody inside but an old lady, who proved a toy-woman in Edinburgh; her head furnished with as substantial ware as her shop, but a good soul, I'se warrant her. Heard all her debates with her landlord about a new door to the cellar, etc. etc.; propriety of paying rent on the 15th or 25th of May. Landlords and tenants have different opinions on that subject. Danger of dirty sheets in inns. We dined at Wooler, and I found out Dr. Douglas on the outside, son of my old acquaintance Dr. James Douglas of Kelso. This made us even lighter in mind till we came to Whittingham. Thence to Newcastle, where an obstreperous horse retarded us for an hour at least, to the great alarm of my friend the toy-woman. N.B.—She would have made a good feather-bed if the carriage had happened to fall, and her undermost. The heavy roads had retarded us near an hour more, so that I hesitated to go to Ravensworth so late; but my good woman's tales of dirty sheets, and certain recollections of a Newcastle inn, induced me to go on. When I arrived the family had just retired. Lord Ravensworth and Mr. Liddell came down, however, and really received me as kindly as possible.

October 3.—Rose about eight or later. My morals begin to be corrupted by travelling and fine company. Went to Durham with Lord Ravensworth betwixt one and two. Found the gentlemen of Durham county and town assembled to receive the Duke of Wellington. I saw several old friends, and with difficulty suited names to faces, and faces to names. There was Headlam, Dr. Gilly and his wife, and a world of acquaintance besides, Sir Thomas Lawrence too, with Lord Londonderry. I asked him to come on with me, but he could not. He is, from habit of coaxing his subjects I suppose, a little too fair-spoken, otherwise very pleasant. The Duke arrived very late. There were bells and cannon and drums, trumpets and banners, besides a fine troop of yeomanry. The address was well expressed, and as well answered by the Duke. The enthusiasm of the ladies and the gentry was great—the common people were lukewarm ^[46]. The Duke has lost popularity in accepting political power. He will be more useful to his country it may be than ever, but will scarce be so gracious in the people's eyes; and he will not care a curse for what outward show he has lost. But I must not talk of curses, for we are going to take our dinner with the Bishop of Durham ^[47], a man of amiable and courteous manners, who becomes his station well, but has traces of bad health on his countenance.

We dined, about one hundred and forty or fifty men, a distinguished company for rank and property. Marshal Beresford, and Sir John ^[48], amongst others, Marquis of Lothian, Lord Duncombe, Marquis Londonderry, and I know not who besides:

We dined in the rude old baronial hall, impressive from its antiquity, and fortunately free from the plaster of former improvement, as I trust it will, from the gingerbread taste of modern Gothicisers. The bright moon streaming in through the old Gothic windows, made a light which contrasted strangely with the artificial lights within; spears, banners, and armour were intermixed with the pictures of old, and the whole had a singular mixture of baronial pomp with the graver and more chastened dignity of prelacy. The conduct of our reverend entertainer suited the character remarkably well. Amid the welcome of a Count Palatine he did not for an instant forget the gravity of the Church dignitary. All his toasts were gracefully given, and his little speeches well made, and the more affecting that the failing voice sometimes reminded us that our aged host laboured under the infirmities of advanced life. To me personally the Bishop was very civil, and paid me his public compliments by proposing my health in the most gratifying manner.^[49]

The Bishop's lady received a sort of drawing-room after we rose from table, at which a great many ladies attended. I ought not to forget that the singers of the choir attended at dinner, and sung the Anthem Non nobis Domine, as they said who understood them, very well—and, as I think, who did not understand the music, with an unusual degree of spirit and interest. It is odd how this can be distinguished from the notes of fellows who use their throats with as little feeling of the notes they utter as if they were composed of the same metal as their bugle-horns.

After the drawing-room we went to the Assembly-rooms, which were crowded with company. I saw some very pretty girls dancing merrily that old-fashioned thing called a country-dance which Old England has now thrown aside, as she would do her creed, if there were some foreign frippery offered instead. We got away after midnight, a large party, and reached Ravensworth Castle—Duke of Wellington, Lord Londonderry, and about twenty besides—about half-past one. Soda water, and to bed by two.

October 4.—Slept till nigh ten—fatigued by our toils of yesterday, and the unwonted late hours. Still too early for this Castle of Indolence, for I found few of last night's party yet appearing. I had an opportunity of some talk with the Duke. He does not consider Foy's book ^[50] as written by himself, but as a thing got up perhaps from notes. Says he knew Foy very well in Spain. Mentioned that he was, like other French officers, very desirous of seeing the English papers, through which alone they could collect any idea of what was going on without their own cantonments, for Napoleon permitted no communication of that kind with France. The Duke, growing tired of this, at length told Baron Tripp, whose services he chiefly used in communication with the outposts, that he was not to give them the newspapers. "What reason shall I allege for withholding them?" said Baron Tripp. "None," replied the Duke. "Let them allege some reason why they want them." Foy was not at a loss to assign a reason. He said he had considerable sums of money in the English funds and wanted to see how Stocks fell and rose. The excuse did not, however, go down ^[51]. I remember Baron Tripp, a Dutch nobleman, and a dandy of the first water, and yet with an energy in his dandyism which made it respectable. He drove a gig as far as Dunrobin Castle, and back again, without a whip. He looked after his own horse, for he had no servant, and after all his little establishment of clothes and necessaries, with all the accuracy of a petit-maître. He was one of the best-dressed men, and his horse was in equally fine condition as if he had had a dozen of grooms. I met him at Lord Somerville's, and liked him much. But there was something exaggerated, as appeared from the conclusion of his life. Baron Tripp shot himself in Italy for no assignable cause.

What is called great society, of which I have seen a good deal in my day, is now amusing to me, because from age and indifference I have lost the habit of considering myself as a part of it, and have only the feelings of looking on as a spectator of the scene, who can neither play his part well nor ill, instead of being one of the dramatis personæ; and, careless what is thought of myself, I have full time to attend to the motions of others.

Our party went to-day to Sunderland, where the Duke was brilliantly received by an immense population, chiefly of seamen. The difficulty of getting into the rooms was dreadful, for we chanced to march in the rear of an immense Gibraltar gun, etc., all composed of glass, which is here manufactured in great quantities. The disturbance created by this thing, which by the way I never saw afterwards, occasioned an ebbing and flowing of the crowd, which nearly took me off my legs. I have seen the day I would have minded it little. The entertainment was handsome; about two hundred dined, and appeared most hearty in the cause which had convened them—some indeed so much so, that, finding themselves so far on the way to perfect happiness, they e'en ... After the dinner-party broke up there was a ball, numerously attended, where there was a prodigious anxiety discovered for shaking of hands. The Duke had enough of it, and I came in for my share; for, though as jackal to the lion, I got some part in whatever was going. We got home about half-past two in the morning, sufficiently tired. The Duke went to Seaham, a house of Lord Londonderry's. After all, this Sunderland trip might have been spared..

October 5.—A quiet day at Ravensworth Castle, giggling and making giggle among the kind and frank-hearted young people. Ravensworth Castle is chiefly modern, excepting always two towers of great antiquity. Lord Ravensworth manages his woods admirably well, and with good taste. His castle is but half-built. Elections ^[52] have come between. In the evening, plenty of fine music, with heart as well as voice and instrument. Much of the music was the spontaneous effusions of Mrs. Arkwright, who had set Hohenlinden and other pieces of poetry. Her music was of a highly-gifted character. She was the daughter of Stephen Kemble. The genius she must have inherited from her mother, who was a capital actress. The Miss Liddells and Mrs. Barrington sang the "The Campbells are coming," in a tone that might have waked the dead.

October 6.—Left Ravensworth this morning, and travelled as far as Whittingham with Marquis of Lothian. Arrived at Alnwick to dinner, where I was very kindly received. The Duke is a handsome man,^[53] who will be corpulent if he does not continue to take hard exercise. The Duchess very pretty and lively, but her liveliness is of that kind which shows at once it is connected with thorough principle, and is not liable to be influenced by fashionable caprice. The habits of the family are early and regular; I conceive they may be termed formal and old-fashioned by such visitors as claim to be the pink of the mode. The Castle is a fine old pile, with various courts and towers, and the entrance is magnificent. It wants, however, the splendid feature of a keep. The inside fitting up is an attempt at Gothic, but the taste is meagre and poor, and done over with too much gilding. It was done half a century ago, when this kind of taste was ill-understood. I found here the Bishop of [Gloucester], etc. etc.

October 7.—This morning went to church and heard an excellent sermon from the Bishop of Gloucester;^[54] he has great dignity of manner, and his accent and delivery were forcible. Drove out with the Duke in a phaeton, and saw part of the park, which is a fine one, lying along the Alne. But it has been ill-planted. It was laid out by the celebrated Brown,^[55] who substituted clumps of birch and Scottish firs for the beautiful oaks and copse which grows nowhere so freely as in Northumberland. To complete this, the late Duke did not thin, so the wood is in poor state. All that the Duke cuts down is so much waste, for the people will not buy it where coals are so cheap. Had they been oak-wood, the bark would have fetched its value; had they been grown oaks, the sea-ports would have found a market. Had they been [larch], the country demands for ruder purposes would have been unanswerable. The Duke does the best he can to retrieve his woods, but seems to despond more than a young man ought to do. It is refreshing to see a man in his situation give so much of his time and thoughts to the improvement of his estates, and the welfare of the people. The Duke tells me his people in Keeldar were all quite wild the first time his father went up to shoot there. The women had no other dress than a bed-gown and petticoat. The men were savage and could hardly be brought to rise from the heath, either from sullenness or fear. They sung a wild tune, the burden of which was Ourina, ourina, ourina. The females sung, the men danced round, and at a certain part of the tune they drew their dirks, which they always wore.

We came by the remains of the old Carmelite Monastery of Hulne, which is a very fine object in the park. It was finished by De Vesci. The gateway of Alnwick Abbey, also a fine specimen, is standing about a mile distant. The trees are much finer on the left side of the Alne, where they have been let alone by the capability-villain. Visited the enceinte of the Castle, and passed into the dungeon. There is also an armoury, but damp, and the arms in indifferent order. One odd petard-looking thing struck me.—Mem. to consult Grose. I had the honour to sit in Hotspur's seat, and to see the Bloody Gap, where the external wall must have been breached. The Duchess gave me a book of etchings of the antiquities of Alnwick and Warkworth from her own drawings.^[56] I had half a mind to stay to see Warkworth, but Anne is alone. We had prayers in the evening read by the Archdeacon.^[57]

The Marquis of Lothian on Saturday last told me a remarkable thing, which he had from good authority. Just before Bonaparte's return from Elba there was much disunion at the Congress of Vienna. Russia and Prussia, conscious of their own merits, made great demands, to which Austria, France, and Britain, were not disposed to accede. This went so far that war became probable, and the very Prussian army which was so useful at Waterloo was held in readiness to attack the English. On the other hand, England, Austria, and France entered into a private agreement to resist, beyond a certain extent, Prussia's demands of a barrier on the Rhine, etc., and, what is most singular of all, it was from Bonaparte that the Emperor Alexander first heard of this triple alliance.^[58] But the circumstance of finding Napoleon interesting himself so far in the affairs of Europe alarmed the Emperor more than the news he sent him. On the same authority, Gneisenau and most of Blücher's personal suite remained behind a house at the battle of Ligny, and sent out an officer from time to time, but did not remain even in sight of the battle, till Blücher put himself at the head of the cavalry with the zeal of an old hussar.

October 8.—Left Alnwick, where I have experienced a very kind reception, and took coach at Whittingham at eleven o'clock. I find there is a new road to be made between Alnwick and Wooler, which will make the communication much easier, and avoid Remside Moor.

Saw some fine young plantations about Whittingham suffering from neglect, which is not the case under the Duke's own eye. He has made two neat cottages at Percy's Cross, to preserve that ancient monument of the fatal battle of Hedgeley Moor. The stones marking the adjacent spot called Percy's Leap are thirty-three feet asunder. To show the uncertainty of human testimony, I measured the distance (many years since, it is true), and would have said and almost sworn that it was but eighteen feet. Dined at Wooler, and reached home about seven o'clock, having left Alnwick at half-past nine. So it would be easy to go there to dinner from Abbotsford, starting at six in the morning, or seven would do very well.

October 9, [Abbotsford].—No proofs here, which I think odd of Jas. B. But I am not sorry to have a day to write letters, and besides I have a box of books to arrange. It is a bad mizzling day, and might have been a good day for work, yet it is not quite uselessly spent.

October 10.—Breakfasted at Huntly Burn with the merry knight, Sir Adam Ferguson. When we returned we found a whole parcel of proofs which had been forgot yesterday at the toll—so here ends play and begins work. Dr. Brewster and Mr. Thornhill. The latter gave me a box, made of the real mulberry-tree.^[59] Very kind of him.

October 11.—Being a base melancholy weeping day I e'en made the best of it, and set in for work. Wrote ten leaves this day, equivalent to forty pages. But then the theme was so familiar, being Scottish history, that my pen never rested. It is more than a triple task.

October 12.—Sent off proofs and copy, a full task of three pages. At one Anne drove me to Huntly Burn, and I examined the earthen fence intended for the new planting, and altered the line in some points. This employed me till near four, the time of my walking home being included.

October 13.—Wrote in the forenoon. Lord Bessborough and Mr. and Mrs. Ponsonby called to see the place. His lady used to be civil to me in London—an accomplished and pleasing woman. They only stayed an hour. At dinner we had Lord and Lady Bathurst, and my friend Lady Georgiana—also Marquis of Lothian and Lord Castlereagh, plenty of fine folks. Expected also the Lord Register and Mrs. Dundas, but they could not come. Lord Bathurst told me that Gourgaud had negotiated with the French Government to the last moment of his leaving London, and that he had been told so by the French Ambassador. Lord B. refused to see him, because he understood he talked disrespectfully of Napoleon.

October 14.—I read prayers to the company of yesterday, and we took a drive round by Drygrange Bridge. Lord B. told me that the late king made it at one time a point of conscience to read every word of every act of parliament before giving his assent to it. There was a mixture of principle and nonsense in this. Lord Lothian left us. I did a full task to-day, which is much, considering I was a good deal occupied.

October 15.—My noble guests departed, pleased I believe with their visit. I have had to thank Lord Bathurst for former kindness. I respect him too, as one who being far from rich, has on the late occasion preferred political consistency to a love of office and its emoluments. He seems to expect no opposition of a formal kind this next session. What is wonderful, no young man of talents seems to spring up in the House of Commons. I wonder what comes of all the clever lads whom we see at college. The fruit apparently does not ripen as formerly. Lord Castlereagh remained with us. I bestowed a little advice on him. He is a warm-hearted young fellow, with some of the fashionable affectations of the age about him, but with good feelings and an inclination to come forward.

October 16.—With all this racketing the work advances fast. The third volume of the Tales is now half finished, and will, I think, be a useful work. Some drizzling days have been of great use to its progress. This visiting has made some dawdling, but not much, perhaps not more than there ought to be for such a task.

I walked from Huntly Burn up the little Glen, which was in all the melancholy beauty of autumn, the little brook brawling and bickering in fine style over its falls and currents.

October 17.—Drove down to Mertoun and brought up Elizabeth Scott to be our guest for some days or so. Various chance guests arrived. One of the most welcome was Captain MacKenzie of the Celtic Society and the 72d regiment, a picture of a Highlander in his gigantic person and innocent and generous disposition. Poor fellow, he is going to retreat to Brittany, to make his half-pay support a wife and family. I did not dare to ask how many. God send I may have the means of serving him.

He told me a Maclean story which was new to me. At the battle of Sheriffmuir that clan was commanded by a chief called Hector. In the action, as the chief rushed forward, he was frequently in situations of peril. His foster-father followed him with seven sons, whom he reserved as a body-guard, whom he threw forward into the battle as he saw his chief pressed. The signal he gave was, "Another for Hector!" The youths replied, "Death for Hector!" and were all successively killed. These words make the sign and countersign at this day of the clan Gillian.^[60]

Young Shortreed dined with us and the two Fergusons, Sir Adam and the Colonel. We had a pleasant evening.

October 19.—Wrought out my task, and better—as I have done for these several days past. Lady Anna Maria Elliot arrived unexpectedly to dinner, and though she had a headache, brought her usual wit and good-humour to enliven us.

October 20.—The day being basely muggy, I had no walk, which I was rather desirous to secure. I wrought, however; and two-thirds of the last volume of Tales of my Grandfather are finished. I received a large packet of proofs, etc., which for some reason had been delayed. We had two of Dr. Brewster's boys to dinner—fine children; they are spirited, promising, and very well-behaved.

October 21.—Wrought till one o'clock, then walked out for two hours, though with little comfort, the bushes being loaded with rain; but exercise is very necessary to me, and I have no mind to die of my arm-chair. A letter from Skene, acquainting me that the Censors of the French press have prohibited the insertion of my answer to the man Gourgaud. This is their freedom of the press! The fact is there is an awkward "composition" between the Government and the people of France, that the latter will endure the former so long as they will allow them to lull themselves asleep with recollections of their past glory, and neither the one nor the other sees that truth and honesty and freedom of discussion are the best policy. He knows, though, there is an answer; and that is all I care about.

October 22.—Another vile damp drizzling day. I do not know any morning in my life so fit for work, on which I nevertheless, while desirous of employing it to purpose, make less progress. A hang-dog drowsy feeling wrought against me, and I was obliged to lay down the pen and indulge myself in a drumly sleep.

The Haigs of Bemerside, Captain Hamilton, Mr. Bainbridge and daughter, with young Nicol Milne and the Fergusons, dined here. Miss Haig sings Italian music better than any person I ever heard out of the Opera-house. But I am neither a judge nor admirer of the science. I do not know exactly what is aimed at, and therefore cannot tell what is attained. Had a letter from Colin Mackenzie, who has proposed himself for the little situation in the Register House. I have written, him, begging him to use the best interest in his own behalf, and never mind me.

October 23.—Another sullen rainy day. "Hazy weather, Mr. Noah," as Punch says in the puppet-show.^[61] I worked slow, however, and untowardly, and fell one leaf short of my task.

Went to Selkirk, and dined with the forest Club, for the first time I have been there this season. It was the collar-day, but being extremely rainy, I did not go to see them course. N.B.—Of all things, the greatest bore is to hear a dull and bashful man sing a facetious song.

October 24.—Vilely low in spirits. I have written a page and a half, and doubt whether I can write more to-day. A thick throbbing at my heart, and fancies thronging on me. A disposition to sleep, or to think on things melancholy and horrible while I wake. Strange that one's nerves should thus master them, for nervous the case is, as I know too well. I am beginning to tire of my Journal, and no wonder, faith, if I have only such trash as this to record. But the best is, a little exertion or a change of the current of thought relieves me.

God, who subjects us to these strange maladies, whether of mind or body I cannot say, has placed the power within our own reach, and we should be grateful. I wrestled myself so far out of the Slough of Despond as to take a good long walk, and my mind is restored to its elasticity. I did not attempt to work, especially as we were going down to Mertoun, and set off at five o'clock.

October 25.—We arrived at Mertoun yesterday, and heard with some surprise that George had gone up in an air balloon, and ascended two miles and a half above this sublunary earth. I should like to have an account of his sensations, but his letters said nothing serious about them. Honest George, I certainly did not suspect him of being so flighty! I visited the new plantations on the river-side with Mrs. Scott; I wish her lord and master had some of her taste for planting. When I came home I walked through the Rhymer's Glen, and I thought how the little fall would look if it were heightened. When I came home a surprise amounting nearly to a shock reached me in another letter from L.J.S.^[62] Methinks this explains the gloom which hung about me yesterday. I own that the recurrence to these matters seems like a summons from the grave. It fascinates me. I ought perhaps to have stopped it at once, but I have not nerve to do so. Alas! alas!—But why alas? Humana perpessi sumus.

October 26.—Sent off copy to Ballantyne. Drove over to Huntly Burn at breakfast, and walked up to the dike they are building for the new plantation. Returned home. The Fergusons dined; and we had the kirn Supper.^[63] I never saw a set of finer lads and lasses, and blithely did they ply their heels till five in the morning. It did me good to see them, poor things.

October 27.—This morning went again to Huntly Burn to breakfast. There picked up Sir Adam and the Colonel, and drove down to old Melrose to see the hounds cast off upon the Gateheugh, the high rocky amphitheatre which encloses the peninsula of old Melrose, the Tweed pouring its dark and powerful current between them. The galloping of the riders and hallooing of the huntsmen, the cry of the hounds and the sight of sly Reynard stealing away through the brakes, waked something of the old spirit within me—

On return home I had despatches of consequence. John Gibson writes that Lord Newton has decided most of the grand questions in our favour. Good, that! Rev. Mr. Turner writes that he is desirous, by Lord Londonderry's consent, to place in my hands a quantity of original papers concerning the public services of the late Lord Londonderry, with a view to drawing up a memoir of his life. Now this task they desire to transfer to me. It is highly complimentary; and there is this of temptation in it, that I should be able to do justice to that ill-requited statesman in those material points which demand the eternal gratitude of his country. But then for me to take this matter up would lead me too much into the hackneyed politics of the House of Commons, which odi et arceo. Besides, I would have to study the Irish question, and I detest study. Item.—I might arrive at conclusions different from those of my Lord of Londonderry, and I have a taste for expressing that which I think. Fourthly, I think it is sinking myself into a party writer. Moreover, I should not know what to say to the disputes with Canning; and, to conclude, I think my Lord Londonderry, if he desired such a thing at my hands, ought to have written to me. For all which reasons, good, bad, and indifferent, I will write declining the undertaking.

October 28.—Wrote several letters, and one to Mr. Turner, declining the task of Lord Castlereagh's Memoirs,^[64] with due acknowledgments. Had his public and European politics alone been concerned, I would have tried the task with pleasure. I wrote out my task and something more, corrected proofs, and made a handsome remittance of copy to the press.

October 31.—Just as I was merrily cutting away among my trees, arrives Mr. Gibson with a melancholy look, and indeed the news he brought was shocking enough. It seems Mr. Abud, the same Jew broker who formerly was disposed to disturb me in London, has given the most positive orders to take out diligence against me for his debt of £1500. This breaks all the measures we had resolved on, and prevents the dividend from taking place, by which many poor persons will be great sufferers. For me the alternative will be more painful to my feelings than prejudicial to my interest. To take out a sequestration and allow the persons to take what they can get will be the inevitable consequence. This will cut short my labour by several years, which I might spend and spend in vain in labouring to meet their demands. No doubt they may in the interim sell the liferent of this place, with the books and furniture. But, perhaps, it may be possible to achieve some composition which may save these articles, as I would make many sacrifices for that purpose. Gibson strongly advises taking a sequestration at all events. But if the creditors choose to let Mr. Abud have his pound of flesh out of the first cut, my mind will not be satisfied with the plan of deranging, for the pleasure of disappointing him, a plan of payment to which all the others had consented. We will know more on Saturday, and not sooner. I went to Bowhill with Sir Adam Ferguson to dinner, and maintained as good a countenance in the midst of my perplexities as a man need desire. It is not bravado; I literally feel myself firm and resolute.

NOVEMBER

November 1.—I waked in the night and lay two hours in feverish meditation. This is a tribute to natural feeling. But the air of a fine frosty morning gave me some elasticity of spirit. It is strange that about a week ago I was more dispirited for nothing at all than I am now for perplexities which set at defiance my conjectures concerning their issue. I suppose that I, the Chronicler of the Canongate, will have to take up my residence in the Sanctuary ^[65] for a week or so, unless I prefer the more airy residence of the Calton Jail, or a trip to the Isle of Man. These furnish a pleasing choice of expedients. It is to no purpose being angry at Ehud or Ahab, or whatever name he delights in. He is seeking his own, and thinks by these harsh measures to render his road to it more speedy. And now I will trouble myself no more about the matter than I can possibly help, which will be quite enough after all. Perhaps something may turn up better for me than I now look for. Sir Adam Ferguson left Bowhill this morning for Dumfriesshire. I returned to Abbotsford to Anne, and told her this unpleasant news. She stood it remarkably well, poor body.

November 2.—I was a little bilious to-night—no wonder. Had sundry letters without any power of giving my mind to answer them—one about Gourgaud with his nonsense. I shall not trouble my head more on that score. Well, it is a hard knock on the elbow; I knew I had a life of labour before me, but I was resolved to work steadily; now they have treated me like a recusant turnspit, and put in a red-hot cinder into the wheel alongst with [me]. But of what use is philosophy—and I have always pretended to a little of a practical character—if it cannot teach us to do or suffer? The day is glorious, yet I have little will to enjoy it, but sit here ruminating upon the difference and comparative merits of the Isle of Man and of the Abbey. Small choice betwixt them. Were a twelvemonth over, I should perhaps smile at what makes me now very serious.

Smile!—No, that can never be. My present feelings cannot be recollected with cheerfulness; but I may drop a tear of gratitude. I have finished my Tales^[66] and have now nothing literary in hand. It would be an evil time to begin anything.

November 3.—Slept ill, and lay one hour longer than usual in the morning. I gained an hour's quiet by it, that is much. I feel a little shaken at the result of to-day's post. Bad it must be, whatsoever be the alternative. I am not able to go out, my poor workers wonder that I pass them without a word. I can imagine no alternative but either retreat to the Sanctuary or to the Isle of Man. Both shocking enough. But in Edinburgh I am always near the scene of action, free from uncertainty and near my poor daughter; so I think I will prefer it, and thus I rest in unrest. But I will not let this unman me. Our hope, heavenly and earthly, is poorly anchored, if the cable parts upon the strain. I believe in God who can change evil into good; and I am confident that what befalls us is always ultimately for the best. I have a letter from Mr. Gibson, purporting the opinion of the trustees and committee of creditors, that I should come to town, and interesting themselves warmly in the matter. They have intimated that they will pay Mr. Abud a composition of six shillings per pound on his debt. This is a handsome offer, but I understand he is determined to have his pound of flesh. If I can prevent it, he shall not take a shilling by his hard-hearted conduct.

November 4.—Put my papers in some order, and prepared for my journey. It is in the style of the Emperors of Abyssinia who proclaim—Cut down the Kantuffa in the four quarters of the world,—for I know not where I am going. Yet, were it not for poor Anne's doleful looks, I would feel firm as a piece of granite. Even the poor dogs seem to fawn on me with anxious meaning, as if there were something going on they could not comprehend. They probably notice the packing of the clothes, and other symptoms of a journey.

Set off at twelve, firmly resolved in body and in mind. Dined at Fushie Bridge. Ah! good Mrs. Wilson, you know not you are like to lose an old customer.^[67]

But when I arrived in Edinburgh at my faithful friend, Mr. Gibson's, lo! the scene had again changed, and a new hare is started.^[68]

The trustees were clearly of opinion that the matter should be probed to the very bottom; so Cadell sets off to-morrow in quest of Robinson, whose haunts he knows. There was much talk concerning what should be done, how to protect my honour's person, and to postpone commencing a defence which must make Ahab desperate, before we can ascertain that the grounds are really tenable. This much I think I can see, that the trustees will rather pay the debt than break off the trust and go into a sequestration. They are clearly right for themselves, and I believe for me also. Whether it is in human possibility that I can clear off these obligations or not, is very doubtful. But I would rather have it written on my monument that I died at the desk than live under the recollection of having neglected it. My conscience is free and happy, and would be so if I were to be lodged in the Calton Jail. Were I shirking exertion I should lose heart, under a sense of general contempt, and so die like a poisoned rat in a hole.

Dined with Gibson and John Home. His wife is a pretty lady-like woman. Slept there at night.

November 6.—I took possession of No. 6 Shandwick Place, Mrs. Jobson's house. Mr. Cadell had taken it for me; terms £100 for four months—cheap enough, as it is a capital house. I offered £5 for immediate entrance, as I do not like to fly back to Abbotsford. So here we are established, i.e. John Nicolson ^[69] and I, with good fires and all snug.

Sir William Forbes came in before dinner to me, high-spirited noble fellow as ever, and true to his friend. Agrees with my feelings to a comma. He thinks Cadell's account must turn up trumps, and is for going the vole.^[71]

November 7.—Began to settle myself this morning, after the hurry of mind, and even of body, which I have lately undergone. Commenced a review—that is, an essay, on Ornamental Gardening for the Quarterly. But I stuck fast for want of books. As I did not wish to leave the mind leisure to recoil on itself, I immediately began the Second Series of the Chronicles of Canongate, the First having been well approved. I went to make another visit, and fairly softened myself like an old fool, with recalling old stories till I was fit for nothing but shedding tears and repeating verses for the whole night. This is sad work. The very grave gives up its dead, and time rolls back thirty years to add to my perplexities. I don't care. I begin to grow over-hardened, and, like a stag turning at bay, my naturally good temper grows fierce and dangerous. Yet what a romance to tell, and told I fear it will one day be. And then my three years of dreaming and my two years of wakening will be chronicled doubtless. But the dead will feel no pain.

November 8.—Domum mansi, lanam feci. I may borrow the old sepulchral motto of the Roman matron. I stayed at home, and began the third volume of Chronicles, or rather the first volume of the Second Series.^[72] This I pursued with little intermission from morning till night, yet only finished nine pages. Like the machinery of a steam-engine, the imagination does not work freely when first set upon a new task.

November 9.—Finished my task after breakfast, at least before twelve. Then went to College to hear this most amusing good matter of the Essay read.^[73] Imprimis occurs a dispute whether the magistrates, as patrons of the University, should march in procession before the Royal visitors; and it was proposed on our side that the Provost, who is undoubtedly the first man in his own city, should go in attendance on the Principal, with the Chairman of the Commission on the Principal's right hand, and the whole Commission following, taking pas of the other Magistrates as well as of the Senatus Academicus—or whether we had not better waive all question of precedence, and let the three bodies find their way separately as they best could. This last method was just adopted when we learned that the question was not in what order of procession we should reach the place of exhibition, but whether we were to get there at all, which was presently after reported as an impossibility. The lads of the College had so effectually taken possession of the class-room where the essay was to be read, that, neither learning or law, neither Magistrates nor Magisters, neither visitors nor visited, could make way to the scene of action. So we grandees were obliged to adjourn the sederunt till Saturday the 17th—and so ended the collie-shangie.

November 10.—Wrote out my task and little more. At twelve o'clock I went to poor Lady J.S. to talk over old stories. I am not clear that it is right or healthful indulgence to be ripping up old sorrows, but it seems to give her deep-seated sorrow words, and that is a mental bloodletting. To me these things are now matter of calm and solemn recollection, never to be forgotten, yet scarce to be remembered with pain.

We go out to Saint Catherine's ^[74] to-day. I am glad of it, for I would not have these recollections haunt me, and society will put them out of my head.

November 11.—Sir William Rae read us prayers. Sauntered about the doors, and talked of old cavalry stories. Then drove to Melville, and saw the Lord and Lady, and family. I think I never saw anything more beautiful than the ridge of Carnethy (Pentland) against a clear frosty sky, with its peaks and varied slopes. The hills glowed like purple amethysts, the sky glowed topaz and vermilion colours. I never saw a finer screen than Pentland, considering that it is neither rocky nor highly elevated.

November 12.—I cannot say I lost a minute's sleep on account of what the day might bring forth; though it was that on which we must settle with Abud in his Jewish demand, or stand to the consequences. I breakfasted with an excellent appetite, laughed in real genuine easy fun, and went to Edinburgh, resolved to do what should best become me. When I came home I found Walter, poor fellow, who had come down on the spur, having heard from John Lockhart how things stand. Gibson having taken out a suspension makes us all safe for the present. So we dined merrily. He has good hopes of his Majesty, and I must support his interest as well as I can. Wrote letters to Lady Shelley, John L., and one or two chance correspondents. One was singular. A gentleman, writing himself James Macturk, tells me his friends have identified him with Captain Macturk of St. Ronan's Well, and finding himself much inconvenienced by this identification, he proposes I should apply to the King to forward his restoration and advance in the service (he writes himself late Lieutenant 4th Dragoon Guards) as an atonement for having occasioned him (though unintentionally no doubt) so great an injury. This is one road to promotion, to be sure. Lieutenant Macturk is, I suppose, tolerably mad.

We dined together, Anne, Walter, and I, and were happy at our reunion, when, as I was despatching my packet to London,

John Gibson, radiant with good-natured joy. He had another letter from Cadell, enclosing one from Robinson, in which the latter pledges himself to make the most explicit affidavit.

On these two last days I have written only three pages, but not from inaptitude or incapacity to labour. It is odd enough—I think it difficult to place me in a situation of danger, or disagreeable circumstances, purely personal, which would shake my powers of mind, yet they sink under mere lowness of spirits, as this Journal bears evidence in too many passages.

November 13.—Wrote a little in the morning, but not above a page. Went to the Court about one, returned, and made several visits with Anne and Walter. Cadell came, glorious with the success of his expedition, but a little allayed by the prospect of competition for the copyrights, on which he and I have our eyes as joint purchasers. We must have them if possible, for I can give new value to an edition corrected with notes. Nous verrons! Captain Musgrave, of the house of Edenhall, dined with us. After dinner, while we were over our whisky and water and cigars, enter the merry knight. Misses Kerr came to tea, and we had fun and singing in the evening.

November 14.—A little work in the morning, but no gathering to my tackle. Went to Court, remained till nigh one. Then came through a pitiless shower; dressed and went to the christening of a boy of John Richardson's who was baptized Henry Cockburn. Read the Gazette of the great battle of Navarino, in which we have thumped the Turks very well. But as to the justice of our interference, I will only suppose some Turkish plenipotentiary, with an immense turban and long loose trousers, comes to dictate to us the mode in which we should deal with our refractory liegemen the Catholics of Ireland. We hesitate to admit his interference, on which the Moslem admiral runs into Cork Bay or Bantry Bay, alongside of a British squadron, and sends a boat to tow aside a fire-ship. A vessel fires on the boat and sinks her. Is there an aggression on the part of those who fired first, or of those whose manoeuvres occasioned the firing?

November 15.—Wrote a little in the morning. Detained in Court till two; then returned home wet enough. Met with Chambers, and complimented him about his making a clever book of the 1745 for Constable's Miscellany. It is really a lively work, and must have a good sale. Before dinner enter Cadell, and we anxiously renewed our plan for buying the copyrights on 19th December. It is most essential that the whole of the Waverley Novels should be kept under our management, as it is called. I may then give them a new impulse by a preface and notes; and if an edition, of say 30 volumes, were to be published monthly to the tune of 5000, which may really be expected if the shops were once cleared of the over-glut, it would bring in £10,000 clear profit, over all outlay, and so pay any sum of copy-money that might be ventured. I must urge these things to Gibson, for except these copyrights be saved our plans will go to nothing.

Walter and Anne went to hear Madame Pasta sing after dinner. I remained at home; wrote to Sir William Knighton, and sundry other letters of importance.

November 16.—There was little to do in Court to-day, but one's time is squandered, and his ideas broken strangely. At three we had a select meeting of the Gas Directors to consider what line we were to take in the disastrous affairs of the company. Agreed to go to Parliament a second time. James Gibson [Craig] and I to go up as our solicitors. So curiously does interest couple up individuals, though I am sure I have no objection whatever to Mr. James Gibson-Craig.^[76]

November 17.—Returned home in early time from the Court. Settled on the review of Ornamental Gardening for Lockhart, and wrote hard. Want several quotations, though—that is the bore of being totally without books. Anne and I dined quietly together, and I wrote after tea—an industrious day.

November 18.—This has been also a day of exertion. I was interrupted for a moment by a visit from young Davidoff with a present of a steel snuff-box [Tula work], wrought and lined with gold, having my arms on the top, and on the sides various scenes from the environs and principal public buildings of St. Petersburg—a joli cadeau—and I take it very kind of my young friend. I had a letter from his uncle, Denis Davidoff, the black captain of the French retreat. The Russians are certainly losing ground and men in Persia, and will not easily get out of the scrape of having engaged an active enemy in a difficult and unhealthy country. I am glad of it; it is an overgrown power; and to have them kept quiet at least is well for the rest of Europe. I concluded the evening—after writing a double task—with the trial of Malcolm Gillespie, renowned as a most venturous excise officer, but now like to lose his life for forgery. A bold man in his vocation he seems to have been, but the law seems to have got round to the wrong side of him on the present occasion.^[77]

November 19.—Corrected the last proof of Tales of my Grandfather. Received Cadell at breakfast, and conversed fully on the subject of the Chronicles and the application of the price of 2d series, say £4000, to the purchase of the moiety of the copyrights now in the market, and to be sold this day month. If I have the command of a new Edition and put it into an attractive shape, with notes, introductions, and illustrations that no one save I myself can give, I am confident it will bring home the whole purchase-money with something over, and lead to the disposal of a series of the subsequent volumes of the following works,

make a series of 7 vols.! The two series of the Chronicles and others will be ready about the same time.

November 20.—Wrought in the morning at the review, which I fear will be lengthy. Called on Hector as I came home from the Court, and found him better, and keeping a Highland heart. I came home like a crow through the mist, half dead with a rheumatic headache caused by the beastly north-east wind.

"What am I now when every breeze appals me?"^[78] I dozed for half-an-hour in my chair for pain and stupidity. I omitted to say yesterday that I went out to Melville Castle to inquire after my Lord Melville, who had broke his collar-bone by a fall from his horse in mounting. He is recovering well, but much bruised. I came home with Lord Chief-Commissioner Adam. He told me a dictum of old Sir Gilbert Elliot, speaking of his uncles. "No chance of opulence," he said, "is worth the risk of a competence." It was not the thought of a great man, but perhaps that of a wise one. Wrought at my review, and despatched about half or better, I should hope. I incline to longer extracts in the next sheets.

November 21.—Wrought at the review. At one o'clock I attended the general meeting of the Union Scottish Assurance Company. There was a debate arose whether the ordinary acting directors should or should not have a small sum, amounting to about a crown a piece allotted to them each day of their regular attendance. The proposal was rejected by many, and upon grounds which sound very well,—such as the shabbiness of men being influenced by a trifling consideration like this, and the absurdity of the Company volunteering a bounty to one set of men, when there are others willing to act gratuitously, and many gentlemen volunteered their own services; though I cannot help suspecting that, as in the case of ultroneous offers of service upon most occasions, it was not likely to be acceptable. The motion miscarried, however—impoliticly rejected, as I think. The sound of five shillings sounds shabby, but the fact is that it does in some sort reconcile the party to whom it is offered to leave his own house and business at an exact hour; whereas, in the common case, one man comes too late—another does not come at all—the attendance is given by different individuals upon different days, so that no one acquires the due historical knowledge of the affairs of the Company. Besides, the Directors, by taking even this trifling sum of money, render themselves the paid servants of the Company, and are bound to use a certain degree of diligence, much greater than if they continued to serve, as hitherto, gratuitously. The pay is like enlisting money which, whether great or small, subjects to engagements under the Articles of war.

A china-merchant spoke,—a picture of an orator with bandy legs, squinting eyes, and a voice like an ungreased cart-wheel—a liberty boy, I suppose. The meeting was somewhat stormy, but I preserved order by listening with patience to each in turn; determined that they should weary out the patience of the meeting before I lost mine. An orator is like a top. Let him alone and he must stop one time or another—flog him, and he may go on for ever.

Dined with Directors, of whom I only knew the Manager, Sutherland Mackenzie, Sir David Milne, and Wauchope, besides one or two old Oil Gas friends. It went off well enough.

November 22.—Wrought in the morning. Then made arrangements for a dinner to celebrate the Duke of Buccleuch coming of age—that which was to have been held at Melville Castle being postponed, owing to Lord M.'s accident. Sent copy of Second Series of Chronicles of Canongate to Ballantyne.

November 23.—I bilked the Court to-day, and worked at the review. I wish it may not be too long, yet know not how to shorten it. The post brought me a letter from the Duke of Buccleuch, acquainting me with his grandmother, the Duchess-Dowager's death.^[79] She was a woman of unbounded beneficence to, and even beyond, the extent of her princely fortune. She had a masculine courage, and great firmness in enduring affliction, which pressed on her with continued and successive blows in her later years. She was about eighty-four, and nature was exhausted; so life departed like the extinction of a lamp for lack of oil. Our dinner on Monday is put off. I am not superstitious, but I wish this festival had not been twice delayed by such sinister accidents—first, the injury sustained by Lord Melville, and then this event spreading crape like the shroud of Saladin over our little festival.^[80] God avert bad omens!

Dined with Archie Swinton. Company—Sir Alexander and Lady Keith, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Clanronald, etc. Clanronald told us, as an instance of Highland credulity, that a set of his kinsmen, Borradale and others, believing that the fabulous Water Cow inhabited a small lake near his house, resolved to drag the monster into day. With this view they bivouacked by the side of the lake, in which they placed, by way of night-bait, two small anchors, such as belong to boats, each baited with the carcase of a dog slain for the purpose. They expected the Water Cow would gorge on this bait, and were prepared to drag her ashore the next morning, when, to their confusion of face, the baits were found untouched. It is something too late in the day for setting baits for Water Cows.^[81]

November 24.—Wrote at review in the morning. I have made my revocation of the invitation for Monday. For myself it will give me time to work. I could not get home to-day till two o'clock, and was quite tired and stupid. So I did little but sleep or dose till dressing-time. Then went to Sir David Wedderburn's, where I met three beauties of my own day, Margaret Brown, Maria Brown, and Jane Wedderburn, now Lady Wedderburn, Lady Hampden, and Mrs. Oliphant. We met the pleasant Irish family of Meath. The resemblance between the Earl of Meath and the Duke of Wellington is something remarkably striking—it is not only the profile, but the mode of bearing the person, and the person itself. Lady Theodora Brabazon, the Earl's daughter, and a beautiful young lady, told me that in Paris her father was often taken for Lord Wellington.

November 25.—This forenoon finished the review, and despatched it to Lockhart before dinner. Will Clerk, Tom Thomson, and young Frank Scott dined with me. We had a pleasant day. I have wrought pretty well to-day. But I must

November 26.—Corrected proof-sheets of Chronicles and Tales. Advised Sheriff processes, and was busy.

November 27.—Corrected proofs in the morning, and attended the Court till one or two o'clock, Mr. Hamilton being again ill. I visited Lady S. on my return. Came home too fagged to do anything to purpose.

Anecdote from George Bell. In the days of Charles II. or his brother, flourished an old Lady Elphinstone, so old that she reached the extraordinary period of 103. She was a keen Whig, so did not relish Graham of Clavers. At last, having a curiosity to see so aged a person, he obtained or took permission to see her, and asked her of the remarkable things she had seen. "Indeed," said she, "I think one of the most remarkable is, that when I entered the world there was one Knox deaving us a' with his clavers, and now that I am going out of it, there is one Clavers deaving us with his knocks."

November 28.—Corrected proofs and went to Court. Returned about one, and called on the Lord Chief-Baron. Dined with the Duchess of Bedford at the Waterloo, and renewed, as I may say, an old acquaintance, which began while her Grace was Lady Georgiana.^[82] She has now a fine family, two young ladies silent just now, but they will find their tongues, or they are not right Gordons, a very fine child, Alister, who shouted, sung, and spoke Gaelic with much spirit. They are from a shooting-place in the Highlands, called Invereshie, in Badenoch, which the Duke has taken to gratify the Duchess's passion for the heather.

November 29.—My course of composition is stopped foolishly enough. I have sent four leaves to London with Lockhart's review. I am very sorry for this blunder, and here is another. Forgetting I had been engaged for a long time to Lord Gillies—a first family visit too—the devil tempted me to accept of the office of President of the Antiquarian Society. And now they tell me people have come from the country to be present, and so forth, of which I may believe as much as I may. But I must positively take care of this absurd custom of confounding invitations. My conscience acquits me of doing so by malice prepense, yet one incurs the suspicion. At any rate it is uncivil and must be amended. Dined at Lord C. Commissioner's—to meet the Duchess and her party. She can be extremely agreeable, but I used to think her Grace journalière. She may have been cured of that fault, or I may have turned less jealous of my dignity. At all events let a pleasant hour go by unquestioned, and do not let us break ordinary gems to pieces because they are not diamonds. I forgot to say Edwin Landseer was in the Duchess's train. He is, in my mind, one of the most striking masters of the modern school. His expression both in man and animals is capital. He showed us many sketches of smugglers, etc., taken in the Highlands, all capital.

November 30.—Another idle morning, with letters, however. Had the great pleasure of a letter from Lord Dudley ^[83] acquainting me that he had received his Majesty's commands to put down the name of my son Charles for the first vacancy that should occur in the Foreign Office, and at the same time to acquaint me with his gracious intentions, which were signified in language the most gratifying to me. This makes me really feel light and happy, and most grateful to the kind and gracious sovereign who has always shown, I may say, so much friendship towards me. Would to God the King's errand might lie in the cadger's gait, that I might have some better way of showing my gratitude than merely by a letter of thanks or this private memorandum of my gratitude. The lad is a good boy and clever, somewhat indolent I fear, yet with the capacity of exertion. Presuming his head is full enough of Greek and Latin, he has now living languages to study; so I will set him to work on French, Italian, and German, that, like the classic Cerberus, he may speak a leash of languages at once. Dined with Gillies, very pleasant; Lord Chief-Commissioner, Will Clerk, Cranstoun, and other old friends. I saw in the evening the celebrated Miss Grahame Stirling, so remarkable for her power of personifying a Scottish old lady. Unluckily she came late, and I left early in the evening, so I could not find out wherein her craft lay. She looked like a sensible woman. I had a conference with my trustees about the purchase (in company with Cadell) of the copyrights of the novels to be exposed to sale on the 19th December, and had the good luck to persuade them fully of the propriety of the project. I alone can, by notes and the like, give these works a new value, and in fact make a new edition. The price is to be made good from the Second Series Chronicles of Canongate, sold to Cadell for £4000; and it may very well happen that we shall have little to pay, as part of the copyrights will probably be declared mine by the arbiter, and these I shall have without money and without price. Cadell is most anxious on the subject. He thinks that two years hence £10,000 may be made of a new edition.

DECEMBER.

December 1.—This morning again I was idle. But I must work, and so I will to-morrow whether the missing sheets arrive, ay or no, by goles! After Court I went with Lord Wriothesley Russell,^[84] to Dalkeith House, to see the pictures; Charles K. Sharpe alongst with us. We satisfied ourselves that they have actually frames, and that, I think, was all we could be sure of. Lord Wriothesley, who is a very pleasant young man, well-informed, and with some turn for humour, dined with us, and Mr. Davidoff met him. The Misses Kerr also dined and spent the evening with us in that sort of society which I like best. Charles Sharpe came in and we laughed over oysters and sherry,

December 2.—Laboured to make lee-way, and finished nearly seven pages to eke on to the end of the missing sheets when returned. I have yoked Charles to Monsieur Surenne, an old soldier in Napoleon's Italian army, and I think a clever little fellow, with good general ideas of etymology. Signor Bugnie is a good Italian teacher; and for a German, why, I must look about. It is not the least useful language of the leash.

December 3.—A day of petty business, which killed a holiday. Finished my tale of the Mirror;^[85] went with Tom Allan to see his building at Lauriston, where he has displayed good taste—supporting instead of tearing down or destroying the old chateau, which once belonged to the famous Mississippi Law. The additions are in very good taste, and will make a most comfortable house. Mr. Burn, architect, would fain have had the old house pulled down, which I wonder at in him,^[86] though it would have been the practice of most of his brethren. When I came up to town I was just in time for the Bannatyne Club, where things are going on reasonably well. I hope we may get out some good historical documents in the course of the winter. Dined at the Royal Society Club. At the society had some essays upon the specific weight of the ore of manganese, which was caviare to the President, and I think most of the members. But it seemed extremely accurate, and I have little doubt was intelligible to those who had the requisite key. We supped at Mr. Russell's, where the conversation was as gay as usual. Lieut-Col. Ferguson was my guest at the dinner.

December 4.—Had the agreeable intelligence that Lord Newton had finally issued his decree in my favour, for all the money in the bank, amounting to £32,000. This will make a dividend of six shillings in the pound, which is presently to be paid. A meeting of the creditors was held to-day, at which they gave unanimous approbation of all that has been done, and seemed struck by the exertions which had produced £22,000 within so short a space. They all separated well pleased. So far so good. Heaven grant the talisman break not! I sent copy to Ballantyne this morning, having got back the missing sheets from John Lockhart last night. I feel a little puzzled about the character and style of the next tale. The world has had so much of chivalry. Well, I will dine merrily, and thank God, and bid care rest till to-morrow. How suddenly things are overcast, and how suddenly the sun can break out again! On the 31st October I was dreaming as little of such a thing as at present, when behold there came tidings which threatened a total interruption of the amicable settlement of my affairs, and menaced my own personal liberty. In less than a month we are enabled to turn chase on my persecutors, who seem in a fair way of losing their recourse upon us. Non nobis, Domine.

December 5.—I did a good deal in the way of preparing my new tale, and resolved to make something out of the story of Harry Wynd. The North Inch of Perth would be no bad name, and it may be possible to make a difference betwixt the old Highlander and him of modern date. The fellow that swam the Tay, and escaped, would be a good ludicrous character. But I have a mind to try him in the serious line of tragedy. Miss Baillie has made the Ethling ^[87] a coward by temperament, and a hero when touched by filial affection. Suppose a man's nerves supported by feelings of honour, or say by the spur of jealousy supporting him against constitutional timidity to a certain point, then suddenly giving way,—I think something tragic might be produced. James Ballantyne's criticism is too much moulded upon the general taste of novels to admit, I fear, this species of reasoning. But what can one do? I am hard up as far as imagination is concerned, yet the world calls for novelty. Well, I'll try my brave coward or cowardly brave man. Valeat quantum. Being a teind day, remained at home, adjusting my ideas on this point until one o'clock, then walked as far as Mr. Cadell's. Finally, went to dine at Hawkhill with Lord and Lady Binning. Party were Lord Chief-Commissioner, Lord Chief-Baron, Solicitor, John Wilson, Lord Corehouse. The night was so dark and stormy that I was glad when we got upon the paved streets.

December 6.—Corrected proofs and went to Court. Bad news of Ahab's case. I hope he won't beat us after all. It would be mortifying to have them paid in full, as they must be while better men must lie by. Spero meliora.

I think that copy of Beard's Judgments is the first book which I have voluntarily purchased for nearly two years. So I am cured of one folly at least.^[88]

December 7.—Being a blank day in the rolls, I stayed at home and wrote four leaves—not very freely or happily; I was not in the vein. Plague on it! Stayed at home the whole day. There is one thing I believe peculiar to me—I work, that is, meditate for the purpose of working, best, when I have a quasi engagement with some other book for example. When I find myself doing ill, or like to come to a stand-still in writing, I take up some slight book, a novel or the like, and usually have not read far ere my difficulties are removed, and I am ready to write again. There must be two currents of ideas going on in my mind at the same time,^[89] or perhaps the slighter occupation serves like a woman's wheel or stocking to ballast the mind, as it were, by preventing the thoughts from wandering, and so give the deeper current the power to flow undisturbed. I always laugh when I hear people say, Do one thing at once. I have done a dozen things at once all my life. Dined with the family. After dinner Lockhart's proofs came in and occupied me for the evening. I wish I have not made that article too long, and Lockhart will not snip away.

December 8.—Went to Court and stayed there a good while. Made some consultations in the Advocates' Library, not furiously to the purpose.

Court in the morning. Sent off Lockhart's proof, which I hope will do him some good. A precatory letter from Gillies. I must do Molière for him, I suppose; but it is wonderful that knowing the situation I am in, the poor fellow presses so hard. Sure, I am pulling for life, and it is hard to ask me to pull another man's oar as well as my own. Yet, if I can give a little help,

Went to John Murray's, where were Sir John Dalrymple and Lady, Sir John Cayley, Mr. Hope Vere, and Lady Elizabeth Vere, a sister of the Marquis of Tweeddale, and a pleasant sensible woman. Some turn for antiquity too she shows—and spoke a good deal of the pictures at Yester. Henderland was there too. Mrs. John Murray made some very agreeable music.

December 9.—I set hard to work, and had a long day with my new tale. I did about twelve leaves. Cadell came in, and we talked upon the great project of buying in the copyrights. He is disposed to finesse a little about it, but I do not think it will do much good; all the fine arguments will fly off and people just bid or not bid as the report of the trade may represent the speculation as a good or bad one. I daresay they will reach £7000; but £8000 won't stop us, and that for books over-printed so lately and to such an extent is a pro-di-gi-ous price!

December 10.—I corrected proofs and forwarded copy. Went out for an hour to Lady J.S. Home and dozed a little, half stupefied with a cold in my head—made up this Journal, however. Settled I would go to Abbotsford on the 24th from Arniston. Before that time I trust the business of the copyrights will be finally settled. If they can be had on anything like fair terms, they will give the greatest chance I can see of extricating my affairs. Cadell seems to be quite confident in the advantage of making the purchase upon almost any terms, and truly I am of his opinion. If they get out of Scotland it will not be all I can do that will enable me to write myself a free man during the space I have to remain in this world.

I smoked a couple of cigars for the first time since I came from the country; and as Anne and Charles went to the play, I muddled away the evening over my Sheriff-Court processes, and despatched a hugeous parcel to Will Scott at Selkirk. It is always something off hand.

December 11.—Wrote a little, and seemed to myself to get on. I went also to Court. On return, had a formal communication from Ballantyne, enclosing a letter from Cadell of an unpleasant tenor. It seems Mr. Cadell is dissatisfied with the moderate success of the First Series of Chronicles;^[91] and disapproves of about half the volume already written of the Second Series, obviously rueing his engagement. I have replied that I was not fool enough to suppose that my favour with the public could last for ever, and was neither shocked nor alarmed to find that it had ceased now, as cease it must one day soon; it might he inconvenient for me in some respects, but I would be quite contented to resign the bargain rather than that more loss should be incurred. I saw, I told them, no other receipt than lying lea for a little, while taking a fallow-break to relieve my imagination, which may be esteemed nearly cropped out. I can make shift for myself amid this failure of prospects; but I think both Cadell and J.B. will be probable sufferers. However, they are very right to speak their mind, and may be esteemed tolerably good representatives of the popular taste. So I really think their censure may be a good reason for laying aside this work, though I may preserve some part of it till another day.

December 12.—Reconsidered the probable downfall of my literary reputation. I am so constitutionally indifferent to the censure or praise of the world, that never having abandoned myself to the feelings of self-conceit which my great success was calculated to inspire, I can look with the most unshaken firmness upon the event as far as my own feelings are concerned. If there be any great advantage in literary reputation, I have had it, and I certainly do not care for losing it.

They cannot say but what I had the crown. It is unhappily inconvenient for my affairs to lay by my [work] just now, and that is the only reason why I do not give up literary labour; but, at least, I will not push the losing game of novel-writing. I will take back the sheets now objected to, but it cannot be expected that I am to write upon return. I cannot but think that a little thought will open some plan of composition which may promise novelty at the least. I suppose I shall hear from or see these gentlemen to-day; if not, I must send for them to-morrow. How will this affect the plan of going shares with Cadell in the novels of earlier and happier date? Very-much, I doubt, seeing I cannot lay down the cash. But surely the trustees may find some mode of providing this, or else with cash to secure these copyrights. At any rate, I will gain a little time for thought and discussion.

Went to Court. At returning settled with Chief-Commissioner that I should receive him on 26th December at Abbotsford.

After all, may there not be, in this failure to please, some reliques of the very unfavourable matters in which I have been engaged of late,—the threat of imprisonment, the resolution to become insolvent? I cannot feel that there is. What I suffer by is the difficulty of not setting my foot upon such ground as I have trod before, and thus instead of attaining novelty I lose spirit and nature. On the other hand, who would 'thank me for "repented sheets"? Here is a good joke enough, lost to all who have not known the Clerk's table before the Jurisdiction Act.

My two learned Thebans are arrived, and departed after a long consultation. They deprecated a fallow-break as ruin. I set before them my own sense of the difficulties and risks in which I must be involved by perseverance, and showed them I could occupy my own time as well for six months or a twelvemonth, and let the public gather an appetite. They replied (and therein was some risk) that the expectation would in that case be so much augmented that it would be impossible for any mortal to gratify it. To this is to be added what they did not touch upon—the risk of being thrust aside altogether, which is the case with the horses that neglect keeping the lead when once they have got it. Finally, we resolved the present work should go on, leaving out some parts of the Introduction which they object to. They are good specimens of the public taste in general; and it is far best to indulge and yield to them, unless I was very, very certain that I was right and they wrong. Besides, I am not afraid of their being hypercritical in the circumstances, being both sensible men, and not inclined to sacrifice chance of solid profit to the vagaries of critical taste. So the word is "as you were."

December 13.—A letter from Lockhart announcing that Murray of Albemarle Street would willingly give me my own terms for a volume on the subject of planting and landscape gardening. This will amuse me very much indeed. Another proposal invites me, on the part of Colburn, to take charge of the Garrick papers. The papers are to be edited by Colman, and then it is proposed to me to write a life of Garrick in quarto.^[92] Lockhart refused a thousand pounds which were offered, and carte blanche was then sent. But I will not budge. My book and Colman's would run each other down. It is an attempt to get more from the public out of the subject than they will endure. Besides, my name would be only useful in the way of puff, for I really know nothing of the subject. So I will refuse; that's flat.

Having turned over my thoughts with some anxiety about the important subject of yesterday, I think we have done for the best. If I can rally this time, as I did in the Crusaders, why, there is the old trade open yet. If not, retirement will come gracefully after my failure. I must get the return of the sales of the three or four last novels so as to judge what style of composition has best answered. Add to this, giving up just now loses £4000 to the trustees, which they would not understand, whatever may be my nice authorial feelings. And moreover, it ensures the purchase of the copyrights—i.e. almost ensures them.

December 14.—Summoned to pay arrears of our unhappy Oil Gas concern—£140—which I performed by draft on Mr. Cadell. This will pinch a little close, but it is a debt of honour, and must be paid. The public will never bear a public man who shuns either to draw his purse or his sword when there is an open and honest demand on him.

December 15.—Worked in the morning on the sheets which are to be cancelled, and on the Tale of St. Valentine's Eve—a good title, by the way. Had the usual quantum sufficit of the Court, which, if it did not dissipate one's attention so much, is rather an amusement than otherwise. But the plague is to fix one's attention to the sticking point, after it has been squandered about for two or three hours in such a way. It keeps one, however, in the course and stream of actual life, which is a great advantage to a literary man.

I missed an appointment, for which I am very sorry. It was about our Advocates' Library, which is to be rebuilt. During all my life we have mismanaged the large funds expended on the rooms of our library, totally mistaking the objects for which a library is built; and instead of taking a general and steady view of the subject, patching up disconnected and ill-sized rooms, totally unequal to answer the accommodation demanded, and bestowing an absurd degree of ornament and finery upon the internal finishing. All this should be reversed: the new library should be calculated upon a plan which ought to suffice for all the nineteenth century at least, and for that purpose should admit of being executed progressively; then there should be no ornament other than that of strict architectural proportion, and the rooms should be accessible one through another, but divided with so many partitions, as to give ample room for shelves. These small rooms would also facilitate the purposes of study. Something of a lounging room would not be amiss, which might serve for meetings of Faculty occasionally. I ought to take some interest in all this, and I do. So I will attend the next meeting of committee. Dined at Baron Hume's, and met General Campbell of Lochnell, and his lady.

December 16.—Worked hard to-day and only took a half hour's walk with Hector Macdonald! Colin Mackenzie unwell; his asthma seems rather to increase, notwithstanding his foreign trip! Alas! long-seated complaints defy Italian climate. We had a small party to dinner. Captain and Mrs. Hamilton, Davidoff, Frank Scott, Harden, and his chum Charles Baillie, second son of Mellerstain, who seems a clever young man.^[93] Two or three of the party stayed to take wine and water.

December 17.—Sent off the beginning of the Chronicles to Ballantyne. I hate cancels; they are a double labour.

Mr. Cowan, Trustee for Constable's creditors, called in the morning by appointment, and we talked about the upset price of the copyrights of Waverley, etc. I frankly told him that I was so much concerned that they should remain more or less under my control, that I was willing, with the advice of my trustees, to offer a larger upset than that of £4750, which had been fixed, and that I proposed the price set up should be £250 for the poetry, Paul's letters, etc., and £5250 for the novels, in all £5500; but that I made this proposal under the condition, that in case no bidding should ensue, then the copyrights should be mine so soon as the sale was adjourned, without any one being permitted to bid after the sale. It is to be hoped this high upset price will

This speculation may be for good or for evil, but it tends incalculably to increase the value of such copyrights as remain in my own person; and, if a handsome and cheap edition of the whole, with notes, can be instituted in conformity with Cadell's plan, it must prove a mine of wealth, three-fourths of which will belong to me or my creditors. It is possible, no doubt, that the works may lose their effect on the public mind; but this must be risked, and I think the chances are greatly in our favour. Death (my own I mean) would improve the property, since an edition with a Life would sell like wildfire. Perhaps those who read this prophecy may shake their heads and say, "Poor fellow, he little thought how he should see the public interest in him and his extinguished even during his natural existence." It may be so, but I will hope better. This I know, that no literary speculation ever succeeded with me but where my own works were concerned; and that, on the other hand, these have rarely failed. And so—Vogue la galère!

Dined with the Lord Chief-Commissioner, and met Lord and Lady Binning, Lord and Lady Abercromby, Sir Robert O'Callaghan, etc. These dinners put off time well enough, and I write so painfully by candle-light that they do not greatly interfere with business.

December 18.—Poor Huntly Gordon writes me in despair about £180 of debt which he has incurred. He wishes to publish two sermons which I wrote for him when he was taking orders; but he would get little money for them without my name, and that is at present out of the question. People would cry out against the undesired and unwelcome zeal of him who stretched out his hands to help the ark with the best intentions, and cry sacrilege. And yet they would do me gross injustice, for I would, if called upon, die a martyr for the Christian religion, so completely is (in my poor opinion) its divine origin proved by its beneficial effects on the state of society. Were we but to name the abolition of slavery and of polygamy, how much has in these two words been granted to mankind by the lessons of our Saviour!^[94]

December 19.—Wrought upon an introduction to the notices which have been recovered of George Bannatyne,^[95] author, or rather transcriber, of the famous Repository of Scottish Poetry, generally known by the Bannatyne MS. They are very jejune these same notices—a mere record of matters of business, putting forth and calling in of sums of money, and such like. Yet it is a satisfaction to learn that this great benefactor to the literature of Scotland lived a prosperous life, and enjoyed the pleasures of domestic society, and, in a time peculiarly perilous, lived unmolested and died in quiet.

At eleven o'clock I had an appointment with a person unknown. A youth had written me, demanding an audience. I excused myself by alleging the want of leisure, and my dislike to communicate with a person perfectly unknown on unknown business. The application was renewed, and with an ardour which left me no alternative, so I named eleven this day. I am too much accustomed to the usual cant of the followers of the muses who endeavour by flattery to make their bad stale butter make amends for their stinking fish. I am pretty well acquainted with that sort of thing. I have had madmen on my hands too, and once nearly was Kotzebued by a lad of the name of Sharpe. All this gave me some curiosity, but it was lost in attending to the task I was engaged in; when the door opened and in walked a young woman of middling rank and rather good address, but something resembling our secretary David Laing, if dressed in female habiliments. There was the awkwardness of a moment in endeavouring to make me understand that she was the visitor to whom I had given the assignation. Then there were a few tears and sighs. "I fear, Madam, this relates to some tale of great distress." "By no means, sir;" and her countenance cleared up. Still there was a pause; at last she asked if it were possible for her to see the king. I apprehended then that she was a little mad, and proceeded to assure her that the king's secretary received all such applications as were made to his Majesty, and disposed of them. Then came the mystery. She wished to relieve herself from a state of bondage, and to be rendered capable of maintaining herself by acquiring knowledge. I inquired what were her immediate circumstances, and found she resided with an uncle and aunt. Not thinking the case without hope, I preached the old doctrine of patience and resignation, I suppose with the usual effect.

Went to the Bannatyne Club; and on the way met Cadell out of breath, coming to say he had bought the copyrights after a smart contention. Of this to-morrow. There was little to do at the club.

Afterwards dined with Lord and Lady Abercromby, where I met my old and kind friend, Major Buchanan of Cambusmore. His father was one of those from whom I gained much information about the old Highlanders, and at whose house I spent many merry days in my youth.^[96] The last time I saw old Cambusmore was in——. He sat up an hour later on the occasion, though then eighty-five. I shall never forget him, and was delighted to see the Major, who comes seldom to town.

December 20.—Anent the copyrights—the pock-puds were not frightened by our high price. They came on briskly, four or five bidders abreast, and went on till the lot was knocked down to Cadell at £8400; a very large sum certainly, yet he has been offered profit on it already. For my part I think the loss would have been very great had we suffered these copyrights to go from those which we possessed. They would have been instantly stereotyped and forced on the market to bring home the price, and by this means depreciated for ever, and all ours must have shared the same fate. Whereas, husbanded and brought out with care, they cannot fail to draw in the others in the same series, and thus to be a sure and respectable source of profit. Considered in this point of view, even if they were worth only the £8400 to others, they were £10,000 to us. The largeness of the price arising from the activity of the contest only serves to show the value of the property.^[97] Had at the same time the agreeable intelligence that the octavo sets, which were bought by Hurst and Company at a depreciated rate, are now rising in the market, and that instead of 1500 sold, they have sold upwards of 2000 copies. This mass will therefore in all probability be worn away in a few months and then our operations may commence. On the whole, I am greatly pleased with the acquisition. If this first series be worth £8400, the remaining books must be worth £10,000, and then there is Napoleon, which is gliding away daily, for which I would not take the same sum, which would come to £24,200 in all for copyrights; besides £20,000 payable by insurance.^[98] Add the value of my books and furniture, plate, etc., there would be £50,000. So this may be considered my present progress. There will still remain upwards of £35,000.

Dine at James Ballantyne's, and happy man is he at the result of the sale; indeed it must have been the making or marring of him. Sir Henry Steuart there, who "fooled me to the top of my bent."

December 21.—A very sweet pretty-looking young lady, the Prima Donna of the Italian Opera, now performing here, by name Miss Ayton,^[100] came to breakfast this morning, with her father, (a bore, after the manner of all fathers, mothers, aunts, and other chaperons of pretty actresses)! Miss Ayton talks very prettily, and, I dare say, sings beautifully, though too much in the Italian manner, I fear, to be a great favourite of mine. But I did not hear her, being called away by the Clerk's coach. I am like Jeremy in Love for Love^[101]—have a reasonable good ear for a jig, but your solos and sonatas give me the spleen.

Called at Cadell's, who is still enamoured of his bargain, and with good reason, as the London booksellers were offering him £1000 or £2000 to give it up to them. He also ascertained that all the copies with which Hurst and Robinson loaded the market would be off in a half year. Make us thankful! the weather is clearing to windward. Cadell is cautious, steady, and hears good counsel; and Gibson quite inclined, were I too confident, to keep a good look-out ahead.

December 22.—Public affairs look awkward. The present Ministry are neither Whig nor Tory, and, divested of the support of either of the great parties of the State, stand supported by the will of the sovereign alone. This is not constitutional, and though it may be a temporary augmentation of the sovereign's personal influence, yet it cannot but prove hurtful to the Crown upon the whole, by tending to throw that responsibility on the Sovereign of which the law has deprived him. I pray to God I may be wrong, but an attempt to govern par bascule—by trimming betwixt the opposite parties—is equally unsafe for the crown and detrimental to the country, and cannot do for a long time. The fact seems to be that Lord Goderich, a well-meaning and timid man, finds himself on a precipice—that his head is grown dizzy and he endeavours to cling to the person next him. This person is Lord Lansdowne, who he hopes may support him in the House of Lords against Lord Grey, so he proposes to bring Lord Lansdowne into the Cabinet. Lord G. resigns, and his resignation is accepted. Lord Harrowby is then asked to place himself at the head of a new Administration,—declines. The tried abilities of Marquis Wellesley are next applied to; it seems he also declines, and then Lord Goderich comes back, his point about Lord Lansdowne having failed, and his threatened resignation goes for nothing. This must lower the Premier in the eyes of every one. It is plain the K. will not accept the Whigs; it is equally plain that he has not made a move towards the Tories, and that with a neutral administration, this country, hard ruled at anytime, can he long governed, I, for one, cannot believe. God send the good King, to whom I owe so much, as safe and honourable extrication as the circumstances render possible.^[102]

After Court Anne set out for Abbotsford with the Miss Kerrs. I came off at three o'clock to Arniston, where I found Lord Register and lady, R. Dundas and lady, Robt. Adam Dundas, Durham of Calderwood and lady, old and young friends. Charles came with me.

December 23.—Went to church to Borthwick with the family, and heard a well-composed, well-delivered, sensible discourse from Mr. Wright,^[103] the clergyman—a different sort of person, I wot, from my old half-mad, half-drunken, little hump-back acquaintance Clunie,^[104] renowned for singing "The Auld Man's Mear's dead," and from the circumstance of his being once interrupted in his minstrelsy by the information that his own horse had died in the stable.

After sermon we looked at the old castle, which made me an old man. The castle was not a bit older for the twenty-five years which had passed away, but the ruins of the visitor were very apparent; to climb up round staircases, to creep through vaults and into dungeons, were not the easy labours but the positive sports of my younger years; but that time is gone by, and I thought it convenient to attempt no more than the access to the large and beautiful hall in which, as it is somewhere described, an armed horseman might brandish his lance. The feeling of growing and increasing inability is painful to one like me, who boasted, in spite of my infirmity, great boldness and dexterity in such feats; the boldness remains, but hand and foot, grip and accuracy of step, have altogether failed me; the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and so I must retreat into the invalided corps and tell them of my former exploits, which may very likely pass for lies. We drove to Dalhousie Castle, where the gallant Earl, who had done so much to distinguish the British name in all and every quarter of the globe, is repairing the castle of his ancestors, which of yore stood a siege against John of Gaunt. I was Lord Dalhousie's companion at school, where he was as much beloved by his companions as he has been ever respected by his companions-in-arms, and the people over whom he has been deputed to exercise the authority of his sovereign. He was always steady, wise, and generous. The old Castle of Dalhousie—potius Dalwolsey—was mangled by a fellow called, I believe, Douglas, who destroyed, as far as in him lay, its military and baronial character, and roofed it after the fashion of a poor-house. The architect, Burn, is now restoring and repairing in the old taste, and I think creditably to his own feeling. God bless the roof-tree!

We returned home through the Temple banks by the side of the South Esk, where I had the pleasure to see that Robert Dundas is laying out his woods with taste, and managing them with care. His father and uncle took notice of me when I was a "fellow of no mark or likelihood," and I am always happy in finding myself in the old oak room at Arniston, where I have drunk many a merry bottle, and in the fields where I have seen many a hare killed.

December 24.—Left Arniston after breakfast and arrived to dinner at Abbotsford.

My reflections on entering my own gate were of a very different and more pleasing cast than those with which I left my house about six weeks ago. I was then in doubt whether I should fly my country or become avowedly bankrupt, and surrender my library and household furniture, with the liferent of my estate, to sale. A man of the world will say I had better done so. No doubt had I taken this course at once, I might have employed the £25,000 which I made since the insolvency of Constable and Robinson's houses in compounding my debts. But I could not have slept sound as I now can, under the comfortable impression of receiving the thanks of my creditors and the conscious feeling of discharging my duty like a man of honour and honesty. I see before me a long tedious and dark path, but it leads to true fame and stainless reputation. If I die in the harrows, as is very likely, I shall die with honour; if I achieve my task I shall have the thanks of all concerned, and the approbation of my own conscience. And so I think I can fairly face the return of Christmas Day.

December 25.—- I drove over to Huntly Burn, and saw the plantation which is to be called Janeswood, in honour of my daughter-in-law. All looking well and in order. Before dinner, arrived Mrs. George Ellis and her nephew and niece, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Ellis, whom I was delighted to see, as there are a thousand kind recollections of old days. Mrs. George Ellis is less changed in manner and appearance than any one I know. The gay and light-hearted have in that respect superiority over those who are of a deeper mould and a heavier. There is something even in the slightness and elasticity of person which outlasts the ponderous strength which is borne down by its own weight. Colonel Ellis is an enthusiastic soldier: and, though young, served in Spain and at Waterloo.

December 26.—Colonel Ellis and I took a pretty long walk round by the glen, etc., where I had an extraordinary escape from the breaking down of a foot-bridge as I put my foot upon it. I luckily escaped either breaking my leg by its passing through the bridge in so awkward a manner, or tearing it by some one of the hundred rusty nails through which it fell. However, I was not, thanks to Heaven, hurt in the slightest degree. Tom Purdie, who had orders to repair the bridge long since, was so scandalised at the consequence of his negligence that the bridge is repaired by the time I am writing this. But how the noiseless step of Fate dogs us in our most seeming safe and innocent sports.

On returning home we were joined by the Lord Chief-Commissioner, the Lord Chief Baron, and William Clerk, of gentlemen; and of ladies, Miss Adam and young Miss Thomson of Charlton. Also the two Miss Kerrs, Lord Robert's daughters, and so behold us a gallant Christmas party, full of mirth and harmony. Moreover, Captain John Ferguson came over from Huntly Burn, so we spent the day jocundly. I intend to take a holiday or two while these friends are about us. I have worked hard enough to merit it, and

December 27.—This morning we took a drive up the Yarrow in great force, and perambulated the Duchess's Walk with all the force of our company. The weather was delightful, the season being considered; and Newark Castle, amid its leafless trees, resembled a dear old man who smiles upon the ruins which time has spread around him. It is looking more venerable than formerly, for the repairs judiciously undertaken have now assumed colouring congenial with the old walls; formerly, they had a raw and patchy appearance. I have seldom seen the scene look better even when summer smiled upon it.

I have a letter from James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, asking me to intercede with the Duke of Buccleuch about his farm.^[106] He took this burthen upon himself without the advice of his best friends, and certainly contrary to mine. From the badness of the times it would have been a poor speculation in any hands, especially in those of a man of letters, whose occupation, as well as the society in which it involves him, [are so different]. But I hope this great family will be kind to him; if not, cela ne vaudra pas à moi. But I cannot and ought not to look for having the same interest with this gentleman which I exercised in the days of Duke Charles.

December 28.—A demand from Cadell to prepare a revised copy of the Tales of my Grandfather for the press.^[107] I received it with great pleasure, for I always had private hopes of that work. If I have a knack for anything it is for selecting the striking and interesting points out of dull details, and hence, I myself receive so much pleasure and instruction from volumes which are generally reputed dull and uninteresting. Give me facts, I will find fancy for myself. The first two volumes of these little tales are shorter than the third by seventy or eighty pages. Cadell proposes to equalise them by adding part of vol. ii. to vol. i., and of vol. iii. to vol. ii. But then vol. i. ends with the reign of Robert Bruce, vol. ii. with the defeat of Flodden; happy points of pause which I cannot think of disturbing, the first in particular, for surely we ought to close one volume at least of Scottish history at a point which leaves the kingdom triumphant and happy; and, alas! where do her annals present us with such an era excepting after Bannockburn? So I will set about to fill up the volumes, which are too short, with some additional matter, and so diminish at least, if we cannot altogether remove, their unsightly inequality in size. The rest of the party went to Dryburgh—too painful a place of pilgrimage for me.^[108] I walked with the Lord Chief Commissioner through our grounds at Huntly Burn, and by taking the carriage now and then I succeeded in giving my excellent old friend enough of exercise without any fatigue. We made our visit at Huntly Burn.

December 29.—Lord Chief-Baron, Lord Chief-Commissioner, Miss Adam, Miss Anstruther Thomson, and William Clerk left us. We read prayers, and afterwards walked round the terrace.

I had also time to work hard on the additions to the Tales of a Grandfather, vols. 1 and 2. The day passed pleasantly over.

December 30.—The Fergusons came over, and we welcomed in the New Year with the usual forms of song and flagon.

Looking back to the conclusion of 1826, I observe that the last year ended in trouble and sickness, with pressures for the present and gloomy prospects for the future. The sense of a great privation so lately sustained, together with the very doubtful and clouded nature of my private affairs, pressed hard upon my mind. I am now perfectly well in constitution; and though I am still on troubled waters, yet I am rowing with the tide, and less than the continuation of my exertions of 1827 may, with God's blessing, carry me successfully through 1828, when we may gain a more open sea, if not exactly a safe port. Above all, my children are well. Sophia's situation excites some natural anxiety; but it is only the accomplishment of the burthen imposed on her sex. Walter is happy in the view of his majority, on which matter we have favourable hopes from the Duke of Wellington. Anne is well and happy. Charles's entry upon life under the highest patronage, and in a line for which I hope he is qualified, is about to take place presently.

For all these great blessings it becomes me well to be thankful to God, who in his good time and good pleasure sends us good as well as evil.

1828.

JANUARY.

January 1.—Since the 20th November 1825, for two months that is, and two years, I have kept this custom of a diary. That it has made me wiser or better I dare not say, but it shows by its progress that I am capable of keeping a resolution. Perhaps I should not congratulate myself on this; perhaps it only serves to show I am more a man of method and less a man of originality, and have no longer that vivacity of fancy that is inconsistent with regular labour. Still, should this be the case, I should, having lost the one, be happy to find myself still possessed of the other.

January 2.—Cæcæ mentes hominum.—My last entry records my punctuality in keeping up my diary hitherto; my present labour, commenced notwithstanding the date, upon the 9th January, is to make up my little record betwixt the second and that latter date. In a word, I have been several days in arrear without rhyme or reason,—days too when there was so little to write down that the least jotting would have done it. This must not be in future.

January 3.—Our friends begin to disperse. Mrs. Ellis, who has been indisposed for the last two days, will I hope bear her journey to London well. She is the relict of my dear old friend George Ellis,^[109] who had more wit, learning, and knowledge of the world than would fit out twenty literati. The Hardens remained to-day, and I had a long walk with the laird up the Glen, and so forth. He seemed a little tired, and, with all due devotion to my Chief, I was not sorry to triumph over some one in point of activity at my time of day.

January 4.—Visited by Mr. Stewart of Dalguise, who came to collect materials for a description of Abbotsford, to be given with a drawing in a large work, Views of Gentlemen's Seats. Mr. Stewart is a well-informed gentleman-like young man, grave and quiet, yet possessed of a sense of humour. I must take care he does not in civility over-puff my little assemblage of curiosities. Scarce anything can be meaner than the vanity which details the contents of China closets,—basins, ewers, and chamberpots. Horace Walpole, with all his talents, makes a silly figure when he gives an upholsterer's catalogue of his goods and chattels at Strawberry Hill.

January 5.—This day I began to review Taschereau's Life of Molière for Mr. Gillies, who is crying help for God's sake. Messrs. Treuttel and Wurtz offer guerdon. I shall accept, because it is doing Gillies no good to let him have my labour for nothing, and an article is about £100. In my pocket it may form a fund to help this poor gentleman or others at a pinch; in his, I fear it would only encourage a neglect of sober economy. When in his prosperity he asked me whether there was not, in my opinion, something interesting in a man of genius being in embarrassed circumstances. God knows he has had enough of them since, poor fellow; and it should be remembered that if he thus dallied with his good fortune, his benevolence to others was boundless.

We had the agreeable intelligence of Sophia being safely delivered of a girl; the mother and child doing well. Praised be God!

January 6.—I have a letter from the Duke of Wellington, making no promises, but assuring me of a favourable consideration of Walter's case, should an opening occur for the majority. This same step is represented as the most important, but so in their time were the lieutenancy and the troop. Each in its turn was the step par excellence. It appears that these same steps are those of a treadmill, where the party is always ascending and never gains the top. But the same simile would suit most pursuits in life.

The Misses Kerr left us on Friday—two charming young persons, well-looked, well-mannered, and well-born; above all, well-principled. They sing together in a very delightful manner, and our evenings are the duller without them.

I am annoyed beyond measure with the idle intrusion of voluntary correspondents; each man who has a pen, ink, and sheet of foolscap to spare, flies a letter at me. I believe the postage costs me £100 [a year], besides innumerable franks; and all the letters regard the writer's own hopes or projects, or are filled with unasked advice or extravagant requests. I think this evil increases rather than diminishes. On the other hand, I must fairly own that I have received many communications in this way worth all the trouble and expense that the others cost me, so I must "lay the head of the sow to the tail of the grice," as the proverb elegantly expresses itself.

News again of Sophia and baby. Mrs. Hughes thinks the infant a beauty. Johnnie opines that it is not very pretty, and grandpapa supposes it to be like other new-born children, which are as like as a basket of oranges.

January 7.—Wrought at the review, and finished a good lot of it. Mr. Stewart left us, amply provided with the history of Abbotsford and its contents. It is a kind of Conundrum Castle to be sure, and I have great pleasure in it, for while it pleases a fantastic person in the style and manner of its architecture and decoration, it has all the comforts of a commodious habitation.

Besides the review, I have been for this week busily employed in revising for the press the Tales of a Grandfather. Cadell rather wished to rush it out by employing three different presses, but this I repressed (smoke the pun!). I will not have poor James Ballantyne driven off the plank to which we are all three clinging.^[110] I have made great additions to volume first, and several of these Tales; and I care not who knows it, I think well of them. Nay, I will hash history with anybody, be he who he will.^[111] I do not know but it would be wise to let romantic composition rest, and turn my mind to the history of England, France, and Ireland, to be da capo rota'd, as well as that of Scotland. Men would laugh at me as an author for Mr. Newbery's shop in Paul's Churchyard. I should care little for that. Virginibus puerisque. I would as soon compose histories for boys and girls, which may be useful, as fictions for children of a larger growth, which can at best be only idle folk's entertainment. But write what I will, or to whom I will, I am doggedly determined to write myself out of the present scrape by any labour that is fair and honest.

January 8.—Despatched my review (in part), and in the morning walked from Chiefswood, all about the shearing flats, and home by the new walk, which I have called the Bride's Walk, because Jane was nearly stuck fast in the bog there, just after her marriage, in the beginning of 1825.

My post brings serious intelligence to-day, and of a very pleasing description. Longman and Company, with a reserve which marks all their proceedings, suddenly inform Mr. Gibson that they desire 1000 of the 8vo edition of St. Ronan's Well, and the subsequent series of Novels thereunto belonging, for that they have only seven remaining, and wish it to be sent to their printers, and pushed out in three months. Thus this great house, without giving any previous notice of the state of the sale, expect all to be boot and saddle, horse and away, whenever they give the signal. In the present case this may do, because I will make neither alteration nor addition till our grand opus, the Improved Edition, goes to press. But ought we to go to press with this 1000 copies knowing that our project will supersede and render equivalent to waste paper such of them as may not reach the public before our plan is publicly known and begins to operate? I have, I acknowledge, doubt as to this. No doubt I feel perfectly justified in letting Longman and Co. look to their own interest, since they have neither consulted me nor attended to mine. But the loss might extend to the retail booksellers; and to hurt the men through whom my works are ultimately to find their way to the public would be both unjust and impolitic. On the contrary, if the St. Ronan Series be hurried out immediately, there is time enough perhaps to sell it off before the Improved Edition appears. In the meantime it appears that the popularity of these works is increasing rather than diminishing, that the measure of securing the copyrights was most judicious, and that, with proper management, things will work themselves round. Successful first editions are good, but they require exertion and imply fresh risk of reputation. But repeated editions tell only to the agreeable part of literature.^[112]

Longman and Company have also at length opened their oracular jaws on the subject of Bonaparte, and acknowledged its rapid sale, and the probable exhaustion of the present edition.

These tidings, with the success of the Tales, "speak of Africa and golden joys."^[113] But the tidings arriving after dinner rather discomposed me. In the evening I wrote to Cadell and Ballantyne at length, proposing a meeting at my house on Tuesday first, to hold a privy council.

January 9.—My first reflection was on Napoleon. I will not be hurried in my corrections of that work; and that I may not be so, I will begin them the instant that I have finished the review. It makes me tremble to think of the mass of letters I have to look through in order to select all those which affect the subject of Napoleon, and which, in spite of numerous excellent resolutions, I have never separated from the common file from which they are now to be selected. Confound them! but they are confounded already. Indolence is a delightful indulgence, but at what a rate we purchase it! To-day we go to Mertoun, and having spent some time in making up my Journal to this length, and in a chat with Captain John, who dropped in, I will presently set to the review—knock it off, if possible, before we start at five o'clock. To-morrow, when I return, we will begin the disagreeable task of a thorough rummage of papers, books, and documents. My character as a man of letters, and as a man of honour, depends on my making that work as correct as possible. It has succeeded, notwithstanding every effort here and in France ^[114] to put it down, and it shall not lose ground for want of backing. We went to dine and pass the night at Mertoun, where we met Sir John Pringle, Mr. and Mrs. Baillie Mellerstain, and their daughters.

January 10.—When I rose this morning the weather was changed and the ground covered with snow. I am sure it's winter fairly. We returned from Mertoun after breakfast through an incipient snowstorm, coming on partially, and in great flakes, the sun bursting at intervals through the clouds. At last Die Wolken laufen zusammen. We made a slow journey of it through the swollen river and heavy roads, but here we are at last.

I am rather sorry we expect friends to-day, though these friends be the good Fergusons. I have a humour for work, to which the sober, sad uniformity of a snowy day always particularly disposes me, and I am sure I will get poor Gillies off my hand, at least if I had morning and evening. Then I would set to work with arranging everything for these second editions of Napoleon, The Romances, etc., which must be soon got afloat. I must say "the wark gangs bonnily on."^[115] Well, I will ring for coals, mend my pen, and try what can be done.

I wrought accordingly on Gillies's review for the Life of Molière, a gallant subject. I am only sorry I have not time to do it justice. It would have required a complete re-perusal of his works, for which, alas! I have no leisure.

January 11.—Renewed my labour, finished the review, talis qualis, and sent it off. Commenced then my infernal work of putting to rights. Much cry and little woo', as the deil said when he shore the sow. But I have detected one or two things that had escaped me, and may do more to-morrow. I observe by a letter from Mr. Cadell that I had somewhat misunderstood his last. It is he, not Longman, that wishes to publish the thousand copies of St. Ronan's Series, and there is no immediate call for Napoleon. This makes little difference in my computation. The pressing necessity of correction is put off for two or three months probably, and I have time to turn myself to the Chronicles. I do not much like the task, but when did I ever like labour of any kind? My hands were fully occupied to-day with writing letters and adjusting papers—both a great bore.

The news from London assure a change of Ministry. The old Tories come in play. But I hope they will compromise nothing. There is little danger since Wellington takes the lead.

January 12.—My expenses have been considerably more than I expected; but I think that, having done so much, I need not undergo the mortification of giving up Abbotsford and parting with my old habits and servants.^[116]

January 13, [Edinburgh].—We had a slow and tiresome retreat from Abbotsford through the worst of weather, half-sleet, half-snow. Dined with the Royal Society Club, and, being an anniversary, sat till nine o'clock, instead of half-past seven.

January 14.—I read Cooper's new novel, The Red Rover; the current of it rolls entirely upon the ocean. Something there is too much of nautical language; in fact, it overpowers everything else. But, so people once take an interest in a description, they will swallow a great deal which they do not understand. The sweet word "Mesopotamia" has its charm in other compositions as well as in sermons. He has much genius, a powerful conception of character, and force of execution. The same ideas, I see, recur upon him that haunt other folks. The graceful form of the spars, and the tracery of the ropes and cordage against the sky, is too often dwelt upon.

January 15.—This day the Court sat down. I missed my good friend Colin Mackenzie, who proposes to retire, from indifferent health. A better man never lived—eager to serve every one—a safeguard over all public business which came through his hands. As Deputy-Keeper of the Signet he will be much missed. He had a patience in listening to every one which is of the [highest consequence] in the management of a public body; for many men care less to gain their point than they do to play the orator, and be listened to for a certain time. This done, and due quantity of personal consideration being gained, the individual orator is usually satisfied with the reasons of the civil listener, who has suffered him to enjoy his hour of consequence. I attended the Court, but there was very little for me to do. The snowy weather has annoyed my fingers with chilblains, and I have a threatening of rheumatism—which Heaven avert!

James Ballantyne and Mr. Cadell dined with me to-day and talked me into a good humour with my present task, which I had laid aside in disgust. It must, however, be done, though I am loth to begin to it again.

January 16.—Again returned early, and found my way home with some difficulty. The weather—a black frost powdered with snow, my fingers suffering much and my knee very stiff. When I came home, I set to work, but not to the Chronicles. I found a less harassing occupation in correcting a volume or two of Napoleon in a rough way. My indolence, if I can call it so, is of a capricious kind. It never makes me absolutely idle, but very often inclines me—as it were from mere contradiction's sake—to exchange the task of the day for something which I am not obliged to do at the moment, or perhaps not at all.

January 17.—My knee so swelled and the weather so cold that I stayed from Court. I nibbled for an hour or two at Napoleon, then took handsomely to my gear, and wrote with great ease and fluency six pages of the Chronicles. If they are but tolerable I shall be satisfied. In fact, such as they are, they must do, for I shall get warm as I work, as has happened on former occasions. The fact is, I scarce know what is to succeed or not; but this is the consequence of writing too much and too often. I must get some breathing space. But how is that to be managed? There is the rub.

January 18-19.—Remained still at home, and wrought hard. The fountain trickles free enough, but God knows whether the waters will be worth drinking. However, I have finished a good deal of hard work,—that's the humour of it.

January 20.—Wrought hard in the forenoon. At dinner we had Helen Erskine,—whom circumstances lead to go to India in search of the domestic affection which she cannot find here,—Mrs. George Swinton, and two young strangers: one, a son of my old friend Dr. Stoddart of the Times, a well-mannered and intelligent youth, the other that unnatural character, a tame Irishman, resembling a formal Englishman.

January 21.—This morning I sent J.B. as far as page forty-three, being fully two-thirds of the volume. The rest I will drive on, trusting that, contrary to the liberated posthorse in John Gilpin, the lumber of the wheels rattling behind me may put spirit in the poor brute who has to drag it.

Mr. and Mrs. Moscheles were here at breakfast. She is a very pretty little Jewess; he one of the greatest performers on the pianoforte of the day,—certainly most surprising and, what I rather did not expect, pleasing.

I have this day the melancholy news of Glengarry's death, and was greatly shocked. The eccentric parts of his character, the pretensions which he supported with violence and assumption of rank and authority, were obvious subjects of censure and ridicule, which in some points were not undeserved. He played the part of a chieftain too nigh the life to be popular among an altered race, with whom he thought, felt, and acted, I may say in right and wrong, as a chieftain of a hundred years since would have done, while his conduct was viewed entirely by modern eyes, and tried by modern rules.^[117]

January 22.—I am, I find, in serious danger of losing the habit of my Journal; and, having carried it on so long, that would be pity. But I am now, on the 1st February, fishing for the lost recollections of the days since the 21st January. Luckily there is not very much to remember or forget, and perhaps the best way would be to skip and go on.

January 23.—Being a Teind day, I had a good opportunity of work. I should have said I had given breakfast on the 21st to Mr. and Mrs. Moscheles; she a beautiful young creature, "and one that adores me," as Sir Toby says,^[118]—that is, in my poetical capacity;—in fact, a frank and amiable young person. I liked Mr. Moscheles' playing better than I could have expected, considering my own bad ear. But perhaps I flatter myself, and think I understood it better than I did. Perhaps I have not done myself justice, and know more of music than I thought I did. But it seems to me that his variations have a more decided style of originality than those I have commonly heard, which have all the signs of a da capo rota.

Dined at Sir Archibald Campbell's,^[119] and drank rather more wine than usual in a sober way. To be sure, it was excellent, and some old acquaintances proved a good excuse for the glass.

January 24.—I took a perverse fit to-day, and went off to write notes, et cetera, on Guy Mannering. This was perverse enough; but it was a composition between humour and duty; and as such, let it pass.

January 25.—I went on working, sometimes at my legitimate labours, sometimes at my jobs of Notes, but still working faithfully, in good spirits, and contented.

Huntly Gordon has disposed of the two sermons ^[120] to the bookseller Colburn for £250—well sold, I think—and is to go forth immediately. The man is a puffing quack; but though I would rather the thing had not gone there, and far rather that it had gone nowhere, yet, hang it! if it makes the poor lad easy, what needs I fret about it? After all, there would be little gain in doing a kind thing, if you did not suffer pain or inconvenience upon the score.

January 26.—Being Saturday, attended Mr. Moscheles' concert, and was amused; the more so that I had Mrs. M. herself to flirt a little with. To have so much beauty as she really possesses, and to be accomplished and well-read, she is an unaffected and pleasant person. Mr. Moscheles gives lessons at two guineas by the hour, and he has actually found scholars in this poor country. One of them at least (Mrs. John Murray) may derive advantage from his instructions; for I observe his mode of fingering is very peculiar, as he seems to me to employ the fingers of the same hand in playing the melody and managing the bass at the same time, which is surely most uncommon.

I presided at the Celtic Society's dinner to-day, and proposed Glengarry's memory, which, although there had been a rough dispute with the Celts and the poor Chief, was very well received. I like to see men think and bear themselves like men. There were fewer in the tartan than usual—which was wrong.

January 27.—Wrought manfully at the Chronicles all this day and have nothing to jot down; only I forgot that I lost my lawsuit some day last week or the week before. The fellow therefore gets his money, plack and bawbee, but it's always a troublesome claim settled,^[121] and there can be no other of the same kind, as every other creditor has accepted the composition of 7s. in the £, which my exertions have enabled me to pay them. About £20,000 of the fund had been created by my own exertions since the bankruptcy took place, and I had a letter from Donald Horne, by commission of the creditors, to express their sense of my exertions in their behalf. All this is consolatory.

January 28.—I am in the scrape of sitting for my picture, and had to repair for two hours to-day to Mr. Colvin Smith—Lord Gillies's nephew. The Chief Baron ^[122] had the kindness to sit with me great part of the time, as the Chief Commissioner had done on a late occasion. The picture is for the Chief Commissioner, and the Chief Baron desires a copy. I trust it will he a good one. At home in the evening, and wrote. I am well on before the press, notwithstanding late hours, lassitude, and laziness. I have read Cooper's Prairie—better, I think, than his Red Rover, in which you never get foot on shore, and to understand entirely the incidents of the story it requires too much knowledge of nautical language. It's very clever, though.^[123]

January 29.—This day at the Court, and wrote letters at home, besides making a visit or two—rare things with me. I have an invitation from Messrs Saunders and Otley, booksellers, offering me from £1500 to £2000 annually to conduct a journal; but I am their humble servant. I am too indolent to stand to that sort of work, and I must preserve the undisturbed use of my leisure, and possess my soul in quiet. A large income is not my object; I must clear my debts; and that is to be done by writing things of which I can retain the property. Made my excuses accordingly.

January 30.—After Court hours I had a visit from Mr. Charles Heath, the engraver, accompanied by a son of Reynolds the dramatist. His object was to engage me to take charge as editor of a yearly publication called The Keepsake, of which the plates are beyond comparison beautiful, but the letter-press indifferent enough. He proposed £800 a year if I would become editor, and £400 if I would contribute from seventy to one hundred pages. I declined both, but told him I might give him some trifling thing or other, and asked the young men to breakfast the next day. Worked away in the evening and completed, "in a way and in a manner," the notes on Guy Mannering. The first volume of the Chronicles is now in Ballantyne's hands, all but a leaf or two. Am I satisfied with my exertions? So so. Will the public be pleased with them? Umph! I doubt the bubble will burst. While it is current, however, it is clear I should stand by it. Each novel of three volumes brings £4000, and I remain proprietor of the mine when the first ore is cropped out. This promises a good harvest, from what we have experienced. Now, to become a stipendiary editor of a New-Year's Gift-Book is not to be thought of, nor could I agree to work for any quantity of supply to such a publication. Even the pecuniary view is not flattering, though these gentlemen meant it should be so. But one hundred of their close-printed pages, for which they offer £400, is not nearly equal to one volume of a novel, for which I get £1300, and have the reversion of the copyright. No, I may give them a trifle for nothing, or sell them an article for a round price, but no permanent engagement will I make. Being the Martyrdom, there was no Court. I wrought away with what appetite I could.

January 31.—I received the young gentlemen to breakfast and expressed my resolution, which seemed to disappoint them, as perhaps they expected I should have been glad of such an offer. However, I have since thought there are these rejected parts of the Chronicles, which Cadell and Ballantyne criticised so severely, which might well enough make up a trifle of this kind, and settle the few accounts which, will I nill I, have crept in this New Year. So I have kept the treaty open. If I give them 100 pages I should expect £500.

I was late at the Court and had little time to write any till after dinner, and then was not in the vein; so commentated.

FEBRUARY.

February 1.—I had my two youths again to breakfast, but I did not say more about my determination, save that I would help them if I could make it convenient. The Chief Commissioner has agreed to let Heath have his pretty picture of a Study at Abbotsford, by Edwin Landseer, in which old Maida occurs. The youth Reynolds is what one would suppose his father's son to be, smart and forward, and knows the world. I suppose I was too much fagged with sitting in the Court to-day to write hard after dinner, but I did work, however.

February 2.—Corrected proofs, which are now nearly up with me. This day was an idle one, for I remained in Court till one, and sat for my picture till half-past three to Mr. Smith. He has all the steadiness and sense in appearance which his cousin R.P.G. lacks.^[124] Whether he has genius or no, I am no judge. My own portrait is like, but I think too broad about the jowls, a fault which they all fall into, as I suppose, by placing their subject upon a high stage and looking upwards to them, which must foreshorten the face. The Chief Baron and Chief Commissioner had the goodness to sit with me.

Dressed and went with Anne to dine at Pinkie House, where I met the President,^[125] Lady Charlotte, etc.; above all, Mrs. Scott of Gala, whom I had not seen for some time. We had much fun, and I was, as Sir Andrew Aguecheek says, in good fooling.^[126] A lively French girl, a governess I think, but very pretty and animated, seemed much amused with the old gentleman. Home at eleven o'clock.

By the by, Sir John Hope had found a Roman eagle on his estate in Fife with sundry of those pots and coffeepots, so to speak, which are so common: but the eagle was mislaid, so I did not see it.

February 3.—I corrected proofs and wrote this morning,—but slowly, heavily, lazily. There was a mist on my mind which my exertions could not dispel. I did not get two pages finished, but I corrected proofs and commentated.

February 4.—Wrote a little and was obliged to correct the Molière affair for R.P.G. I think his plan cannot go on much longer with so much weakness at the helm. A clever fellow would make it take the field with a vengeance, but poor G. will run in debt with the booksellers and let all go to the devil. I sent a long letter to Lockhart, received from Horace Smith, very gentlemanlike and well-written, complaining that Mr. Leigh Hunt had mixed him up, in his Life of Byron, with Shelley as if he had shared his irreligious opinions. Leigh Hunt afterwards at the request of Smith published a swaggering contradiction of the inference to be derived from the way in which he has named them together. Horatio Smith seems not to have relied upon his disclamation, as he has requested me to mention the thing to John Lockhart, and to some one influential about Ebony, which I have done accordingly.

February 5.—Concluded the first volume before breakfast. I am but indifferently pleased; either the kind of thing is worn out, or I am worn out myself, or, lastly, I am stupid for the time. The book must be finished, however. Cadell is greatly pleased with annotations intended for the new edition of the Waverley series. I believe that work must be soon sent to press, which would put a powerful wheel in motion to clear the ship. I went to the Parliament House, and in return strolled into Cadell's, being rather anxious to prolong my walk, for I fear the constant sitting for so many hours. When I returned, the Duke of Buccleuch came in. He is looking very well, and stout, but melancholy about his sister, Lady Charlotte Stopford. He is fitting up a part of Bowhill and intends to shoot there this year. God send him life and health, for it is of immense consequence.

February 6.—This and visits wasted my time till past two, and then I slept half-an-hour from mere exhaustion. Went in the evening to the play, and saw that good old thing, an English tragedy, well got up. It was Venice Preserved. Mrs. H. Siddons played Belvidera with much truth, feeling, and tenderness, though short of her mother-in-law's uncommon majesty, which is a thing never to be forgotten. Mr. Young played Pierre very well, and a good Jaffier was supplied by a Mr. Vandenhoff. And so the day glided by; only three pages written, which, however, is a fair task.

February 7.—It was a Teind day, so no Court, but very little work. I wrote this morning till the boy made his appearance for proofs; then I had letters to write. Item, at five o'clock I set out with Charles for Dalkeith to present him to the young Duke.

I asked the Duke about poor Hogg. I think he has decided to take Mr. Riddell's opinion; it is unlucky the poor fellow has ever taken that large and dear farm.^[127] Altogether Dalkeith was melancholy to-night, and I could not raise my spirits at all.

February 8.—I had a little work before dinner, but we are only seven pages into volume second. It is always a beginning, however; perhaps not a good one—I cannot tell. I went out to call on Gala and Jack Rutherfurd of Edgerstoun; saw the former, not the latter. Gala is getting much better. He talked as if the increase of his village was like to drive him over the hill to the Abbotsford side, which would greatly beautify that side and certainly change his residence for the better, only that he must remain some time without any appearance of plantation. The view would be enchanting.

I was tempted to buy a picture of Nell Gywnne,^[128] which I think has merit; at least it pleases me. Seven or eight years ago Graham of Gartmore bid for it against me, and I gave it up at twenty-five guineas. I have now bought it for £18, 18s. Perhaps there was folly in this, but I reckoned it a token of good luck that I should succeed in a wish I had formerly harboured in vain. I love marks of good luck even in trifles.

February 9.—Sent off three leaves of copy; this is using the press like the famished sailor who was fed by a comrade with shell-fish by one at a time. But better anything than stop, for the devil is to get set a-going again. I know no more than my old boots whether I am right or wrong, but have no very favourable anticipations.

As I came home from the Court about twelve I stepped into the Exhibition. It makes a very good show; the portraits are better than last year, those of Colvin Smith and Watson Gordon especially improve. Landseer's Study at Abbotsford is in a capital light, and generally admired. I particularly distinguished John Thomson's picture of Turnberry, which is of first-rate excellence. A picture by Scrope was also generally distinguished. It is a view in Calabria.

There is a rival Exhibition which does not hurt the earlier foundation, but rather excites emulation. I am told there are good paintings there. I came home with little good-will to work, but I will compel myself to do something. Unluckily, I have again to go out to dinner to-day, being President of the Bannatyne.

The dinner was a pleasant one; about thirty members attended. I kept the chair till near eleven, and the company were very joyous.

February 10.—I set myself doggedly to work, and turned off six leaves before dinner. Had to dinner Sir John Pringle, my dear Gala and his lady, and young Mackenzie and Miss Jardine. I was quite pleased to see Gala so well recovered of the consequences of his frightful fall, which hung about him so long. He is one of the kindest and best-informed men whom I know.

February 11.—I had Charles Young ^[129] to breakfast with us, who gave us some striking anecdotes of Talma during the Reign of Terror, which may figure in Napoleon to great advantage.

My son Charles left us this morning to take possession of his situation in the Foreign Office. He has been very lucky. Correcting sheets, etc., took up the morning hours. I wrote three leaves before two o'clock. Day bitter cold—with snow, a strong contrast to the mild weather we had last week.

Salutation of two old Scottish lairds:—"Ye're maist obedient hummil servant, Tannachy Tulloh."—"Your nain man, Kilspindie."

Finished six pages, twenty-five pages of print that is, or about the thirteenth part of a volume. That would be a volume in a fortnight, with a holiday to boot. It would be possible enough for a little while.

February 12.—I wrought hard this morning. Ballantyne blames the Ossianic monotony of my principal characters. Now they are not Ossianic. The language of the Ossianic poetry is highly figurative; that of the knights of chivalry may be monotonous, and probably is, but it cannot be Ossianic. Sooth to say, this species of romance of chivalry is an exhaustible subject. It affords materials for splendid description for once or twice, but they are too unnatural and formal to bear repetition. We must go on with our present work, however, valeat quantum. Mr. Cadell, less critical than J.B., seems pleased. The world will soon decide if I get on at this rate; for I have finished four leaves to-day, notwithstanding my attendance on the Court.

February 13.—Mr. Macintosh Mackay, minister of Laggan, breakfasted with us this morning. This reverend gentleman is completing the Highland Dictionary,^[130] and seems very competent for the task. He left in my hands some papers of Cluny Macpherson, concerning the affair of 1745, from which I have extracted an account of the battle of Clifton for Waverley. He has few prejudices (for a Highlander), and is a mild, well-mannered young man. We had much talk on Highland matters.

The Children's Tales continue in demand. Cadell expects a new edition of 10,000 about next year, which may be £750 or £800 in pouch, besides constituting a fine property.

February 14.—Mr. Edwards, a candidate for the situation of Rector in the Edinburgh Academy, a pleasant, gentlemanlike man, and recommended highly for experience and learning; but he is himself afraid of wanting bodily strength for the work, which requires all the nerve and muscle of Williams. I wish he had been three inches taller, and stout in proportion. I went to Mr. John Russell's, where there was an Academical party at dinner. Home at nine, a cigar, and to bed.

February 15.—Rose this morning about seven and wrote at the desk till breakfast; finished about a page and a half. I was fagged at Court till near two. Then called on Cadell, and so home, tired enough.

February 16.—There dined with me to-day Tom Thomson, Will Clerk, Mr. Edwards, and my Celtic friend Mr. Mackay of Laggan.

February 17.—A day of hard work, being I think eight pages ^[131] before dinner. I cannot, I am sure, tell if it is worth marking down, that yesterday at dinner-time I was strangely haunted by what I would call the sense of pre-existence,—videlicet, a confused idea that nothing that passed was said for the first time, that the same topics had been discussed, and the same persons had stated the same opinions on the same subjects. It is true there might have been some ground for recollections, considering that three at least of the company were old friends, and kept much company together: that is, Justice-Clerk,^[132] [Lord] Abercromby, and I. But the sensation was so strong as to resemble what is called a mirage in the desert, or a calenture on board ship, when lakes are seen in the desert, and silvan landscapes in the sea. It was very distressing yesterday, and brought to my mind the fancies of Bishop Berkeley about an ideal world. There was a vile sense of want of reality in all I did and said. It made me gloomy and out of spirits, though I flatter myself it was not observed. The bodily feeling which most resembles this unpleasing hallucination is the giddy state which follows profuse bleeding, when one feels as if walking on feather-beds and could not find a secure footing. I think the stomach has something to do with it. I drank several glasses of wine, but these only augmented the disorder. I did not find the in vino veritas of the philosophers. Something of this insane feeling remains to-day, but a trifle only.

February 18.—I had other work to do this day. In the morning corrected proofs. After breakfast, made a visit or two, and met Sandie Buchanan, whom it joys me to see. Then despatched all my sheriff processes, save one, which hitches for want of some papers. Lastly, here I am, before dinner, with my journal. I sent all the county money to Andrew Lang. Wrote to Mr. Reynolds too; methinks I will let them have the Tales which Jem Ballantyne and Cadell quarrelled with.^[133] I have asked £500 for them—pretty well that. I suppose they will be fools enough to give it me. In troth she'll no pe cheaper.

February 19.—A day of hard and continued work, the result being eight pages. But then I hardly ever quitted the table save at meal-time. So eight pages of my manuscript may be accounted the maximum of my literary labour. It is equal to forty printed pages of the novels. I had the whole of this day at my own disposal, by the voluntary kindness of Sir Robert Dundas interfering to take up my duty at the Court. The proofs of my Sermons are arrived, but I have had no time, saving to blot out some flummery, which poor Gordon had put into the preface.^[134]

February 20.—Another day of labour; but not so hard. I worked from eight till three with little intermission, but only accomplished four pages. Then I went out and made a visit or two, and looked in on Cadell. If I get two pages in the evening I will be satisfied, for volume II. may be concluded with the week, or run over to Sunday at most. Will it tell, this work? I doubt it, but there is no standing still.

A certain Mr. Mackay from Ireland called on me, an active agent, it would seem, about the reform of prisons. He exclaims, justly I have no doubt, about the state of our Lock-up House. For myself, I have some distrust of the fanaticism—even of philanthropy. A good part of it arises in general from mere vanity and love of distinction, gilded over to others and to themselves with some show of benevolent sentiment. The philanthropy of Howard, mingled with his ill-usage of his son, seems to have risen to a pitch of insanity. Yet without such extraordinary men, who call attention to the subject by their own peculiarities, prisons would have remained the same dungeons which they were forty or fifty years ago. I do not see the propriety of making them dandy places of detention. They should be a place of punishment, and that can hardly be if men are lodged better, and fed better, than when they are at large. The separation of ranks is an excellent distinction, and is nominally provided for in all modern prisons. But the size of most of them is inadequate to the great increase of crime, and so the pack is shuffled together again for want of room to keep them separate. There are several prisons constructed on excellent principles, the economy of which becomes deranged so soon as the death takes place of some keen philanthropist who had the business of a whole committee, which, having lost him, remained like a carcass without a head. But I have never seen a plan for keeping in order these resorts of guilt and misery, without presupposing a superintendence of a kind which might perhaps be exercised, could we turn out upon the watch a guard of angels. But, alas! jailors and turnkeys are rather like angels of a different livery, nor do I see how it is possible to render them otherwise. Superintendence is all you can trust to, and superintendence, save in some rare cases, is hard to come by, where it is to be vigilantly and constantly exercised. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? As to reformation, I have no great belief in it, when the ordinary class of culprits, who are vicious from ignorance or habit, are the subjects of the experiment. "A shave from a broken loaf" is thought as little of by the male set of delinquents as by the fair frail. The state of society now leads so much to great accumulations of humanity, that we cannot wonder if it ferment and reek like a compost dunghill. Nature intended that population should be diffused over the soil in proportion to its extent. We have accumulated in huge cities and smothering manufactories the numbers which should be spread over the face of a country; and what wonder that they should be corrupted? We have turned healthful and pleasant brooks into morasses and pestiferous lakes,—what wonder the soil should be unhealthy? A great deal, I think, might be done by executing the punishment of death, without a chance of escape, in all cases to which it should be found properly applicable; of course these occasions being diminished to one out of twenty to which capital punishment is now assigned. Our ancestors brought the country to order by kilting ^[135] thieves and banditti with strings. So did the French when at Naples, and bandits became for the time unheard of. When once the evil habit is altered—when men are taught a crime of a certain character is connected inseparably with death, the moral habits of a population become altered, and you may in the next age remit the punishment which in this it has been necessary to inflict with stern severity. I think whoever pretends to reform a corrupted nation, or a disorderly regiment, or an ill-ordered ship of war, must begin by severity, and only resort to gentleness when he has acquired the complete mastery by terror—the terror being always attached to the law; and, the impression once made, he can afford to govern with mildness, and lay the iron rule aside.

Mr. Mackay talked big of the excellent state of prisons in Ireland. J'en doute un peu. That the warm-hearted and generous Irish would hurry eagerly into any scheme which had benevolence for its motive, I readily believe; but that Pat should have been able to maintain that calm, all-seeing, all-enduring species of superintendence necessary to direct the working of the best plan of prison discipline, I greatly hesitate to believe.

Well, leaving all this, I wish Mr. Mackay good luck, with some little doubt of his success, but none of his intentions. I am come in my work to that point where a lady who works a stocking must count by threads, and bring the various loose ends of my story together. They are too many.

February 21.—Last night after dinner I rested from my work, and read third part of [Theodore Hook's] Sayings and Doings, which shows great knowledge of life in a certain sphere, and very considerable powers of wit, which somewhat damages the effect of the tragic parts. But he is an able writer, and so much of his work is well said, that it will carry through what is manqué. I hope the same good fortune for other folks.

I am watching and waiting till I hit on some quaint and clever mode of extricating, but do not see a glimpse of any one. James B., too, discourages me a good deal by his silence, waiting, I suppose, to be invited to disgorge a full allowance of his critical bile. But he may wait long enough, for I am discouraged enough. Now here is the advantage of Edinburgh. In the country, if a sense of inability once seizes me, it haunts me from morning to night; but in Edinburgh the time is so occupied and frittered away by official duties and chance occupation, that you have not time to play Master Stephen and be gentlemanlike and melancholy.^[136] On the other hand, you never feel in town those spirit-stirring influences—those glances of sunshine that make amends for clouds and mist. The country is said to be quieter life; not to me, I am sure. In the town the business I have to do hardly costs me more thought than just occupies my mind, and I have as much of gossip and ladylike chat as consumes the time pleasantly enough. In the country I am thrown entirely on my own resources, and there is no medium betwixt happiness and the reverse.

February 22.—Went to Court, and remained there until one o'clock. Then to Mr. Colvin Smith's and sat to be stared at till three o'clock. This is a great bore even when you have a companion, sad when you are alone and can only disturb the painter by your chatter. After dinner I had proofs to the number of four. J.B. is outrageous about the death of Oliver Proudfoot, one of the characters; but I have a humour to be cruel.

Received a present from a Mr. Dobie of a candlestick said to be that of the Rev. Mr. Guthrie, minister of Fenwick in the seventeenth century,—very civil of a gentleman unknown, if there comes no request to look over poems, or to get made a gauger, or the like, for I have seen that kind of compliment made on the principle on which small balloons are sent up before a large one, to see how the wind sits. After dinner proof-sheets.

February 23.—Morning proof-sheets galore. Then to Parliament House. After that, at one, down to Sir William MacLeod Bannatyne, who has made some discoveries concerning Bannatyne the collector of poetry, and furnished me with some notes to that purpose. He informs me that the MacLeod, alias MacCruiskin, who met Dr. Johnson on the Isle of Skye, was Mr. Alexander MacLeod, Advocate, a son of MacLeod of Muiravonside. He was subject to fits of insanity at times, very clever at others.^[137] Sir William mentioned the old Laird of Bernera, who, summoned by his Chief to join him with all the men he could make, when the Chief was raising his men for Government, sent him a letter to this purpose:—"Dear Laird,—No man would like better to be at your back than I would; but on this occasion it cannot be. I send my men, who are at your service; for myself, higher duties carry me elsewhere." He went off accordingly alone, and joined Raasay as a volunteer. I returned by the printing office and found J.B. in great feather. He tells me Cadell, on squaring his books and making allowance for bad debts, has made between £3000 and £4000, lodged in bank. He does nothing but with me. Thus we stand on velvet as to finance. Met Staffa,^[138] who walked with me and gave me some Gaelic words which I wanted.

I may mention that I saw at the printing-office a part of a review on Leigh Hunt's Anecdotes of Byron. It is written with power, apparently by Professor Wilson, but with a degree of passion which rather diminishes the effect; for nothing can more lessen the dignity of the satirist than being or seeming to be in a passion. I think it may come to a bloody arbitrament,^[139] for if L.H. should take it up as a gentleman, Wilson is the last man to flinch. I hope Lockhart will not be dragged in as second or otherwise. Went to Jeffrey's to dinner—there were Mrs. and Miss Sydney Smith, Lords Gillies and Corehouse, etc. etc.

February 24.—I fancy I had drunk a glass or two over much last night, for I have the heartburn this morning. But a little magnesia salves that sore. Meantime I have had an inspiration which shows me my good angel has not left me. For these two or three days I have been at what the "Critic" calls a dead-lock ^[140]—all my incidents and personages ran into a gordian knot of confusion, to which I could devise no possible extrication. I had thought on the subject several days with something like the despair which seized the fair princess, commanded by her ugly step-mother to assort a whole garret full of tangled silk threads of every kind and colour, when in comes Prince Percinet with a wand, whisks it over the miscellaneous mass, and lo! all the threads are as nicely arranged as in a seamstress' housewife. It has often happened to me that when I went to bed with my head as ignorant as my shoulders what I was to do next, I have waked in the morning with a distinct and accurate conception of the mode, good or bad, in which the plot might be extricated. It seems to me that the action of the intellect, on such occasions, is rather accelerated by the little fever which an extra glass of wine produces on the system. Of course excess is out of the question. Now this may seem strange, but it is quite true; and it is no less so that I have generally written to the middle of one of these novels, without having the least idea how it was to end, in short in the hab nab at a venture style of composition. So now, this hitch being over, I fold my paper, lock up my journal, and proceed to labour with good hope.

February 25.—This being Monday, I carried on my work according to the new model. Dined at home and in quiet. But I may notice that yesterday Mr. Williams, the learned Rector of our new Academy, who now leaves us, took his dinner here. We had a long philological tête-à-tête. He is opinionative, as he has some title to be, but very learned, and with a juster view of his subject than is commonly entertained, for he traces words to the same source—not from sound but sense. He casts backwards thus to the root, while many compare the ends of the twigs without going further.

This night I went to the funeral of Mr. Henderson, late of Eildon Hall, a kind-hearted man, who rose to great wealth by honest means, and will be missed and regretted.

In the evening I went to the promenade in the Exhibition of Pictures, which was splendidly lighted up and filled with fashionable company. I think there was a want of beauty,—or perhaps the gas-lights were unfavourable to the ladies' looks.

February 26.—Business filled up the day till one, when I sat to Mr. Smith. Tedious work, even though Will Clerk chaperoned me. We dined at Archie Swinton's. Met Lord Lothian, Lord Cringletie, etc. This day I have wrought almost nothing, but I am nearly half a volume before the press. Lord Morton,^[141] married to a daughter of my friend Sir George Rose, is come to Edinburgh. He seems a very gentlemanlike man, and she pleasing and willing to be pleased. I had the pleasure to be of some little use to him in his election as one of the Scottish Peers. I owe Sir George Rose much for his attention to Walter at Berlin.

February 27.—At Court till half-past two. Then to the Waterloo Tavern, where we had a final and totally unfructuous meeting with the Committee of the Coal Gas people. So now my journey to London is resolved on. I shall lose at least £500 by the job, and get little thanks from those I make the sacrifice for. But the sacrifice shall be made. Anything is better than to break one's word, or desert a sinking vessel. Heartily do I wish these "Colliers" had seen the matter in the best light for their own interest. But there is no help. One thing is certain, that I shall see my whole family once more around me, and that is worth the £500. Anne too starts at the idea of the sea. I am horribly vexed, however. Gibson always expected they would come in, but there seemed to me little chance of it; perhaps they thought we were not serious in our proposal to push through the Act. Wrought a little in the evening, not much.

February 28.—At Court till four. When I came home I did work a little, but as we expected company it was not to much purpose. Lord Chief Commissioner dined with us with Miss Adam; Mr. Hutchinson, brother of Lord Donoughmore, and Miss Jones, Will Clerk and John Thomson made up the party, and we had a pleasant evening, as such a handful always secures. Stayed till wine-and-water time. Thus flew another day.

February 29.—I had my proof-sheets as usual in the morning and the Court as usual till two. Then one or two visits and corrected the discourses for Gordon. This is really a foolish scrape, but what could I do? It involved the poor lad's relief from something very like ruin. I got a letter from the young man Reynolds accepting on Heath's part my terms for article to The Keepsake, namely £500,—I to be at liberty to reprint the article in my works after three years. Mr. Heath to print it in The Keepsake as long and often as he pleases, but not in any other form. I shall close with them. If I make my proposed bargain with Murray, all pecuniary matters will be easy in an unusual degree. Dined at Robert Hamilton's with Lord and Lady Belhaven, Walter Campbell, and a number of Westlanders.

MARCH.

March 1.—Wrought a little this morning; always creeping on. We had a hard pull at the Court, and after it I walked a little for exercise, as I fear indigestion from dining out so often.

Dined to-day with the bankers who went as delegates to London in Malachi Malagrowther's days. Sir John Hay Kinnear and Tom Allan were my only acquaintances of the party; the rest seemed shrewd capable men. I particularly remarked a Mr. Sandeman with as intellectual a head as I ever witnessed.

March 2.—A day of hard work with little interruption, and completed volume second. I am not much pleased with it. It wants what I desire it to have, and that is passion.

The two Ballantynes and Mr. Cadell dined with me quietly. Heard from London; all well.

March 3.—I set about clearing my desk of unanswered letters, which I had suffered to accumulate to an Augean heap. I daresay I wrote twenty cards that might have been written at the time without half-a-minute being lost. To do everything when it ought to be done is the soul of expedition. But then, if you are interrupted eternally with these petty avocations, the current of the mind is compelled to flow in shallows, and you lose the deep intensity of thought which alone can float plans of depth and magnitude. I sometimes wish I were one of those formalists who can assign each hour of the day its special occupations, not to be encroached upon; but it always returns upon my mind that I do better à la débandade, than I could with rules of regular study. A work begun is with me a stone turned over with the purpose of rolling it down hill. The first revolutions are made with difficulty—but vires acquirit eundo. Now, were the said stone arrested in its progress, the whole labour would be to commence again. To take a less conceited simile: I am like a spavined horse, who sets out lame and stiff, but when he warms in his gear makes a pretty good trot of it, so that it is better to take a good stage of him while you can get it. Besides, after all, I have known most of those formalists, who were not men of business or of office to whom hours are prescribed as a part of duty, but who voluntarily make themselves

General Ainslie looked in, and saddened me by talking of poor Don. The General is a medallist, and entertains an opinion that the bonnet-piece of James V. is the work of some Scottish artist who died young, and never did anything else. It is far superior to anything which the Mint produced since the Roman denarii. He also told me that the name of Andrea de Ferrara is famous in Italy as an armourer.

Dined at home, and went to the Royal Society in the evening after sending off my processes for the Sheriff Court. Also went after the Society to Mr. James Russell's symposium.

March 4.—A letter from Italy signed J.S. with many acute remarks on inaccuracies in the life of Bonaparte.

His tone is hostile decidedly, but that shall not prevent my making use of all his corrections where just.

The wretched publication of Leigh Hunt on the subject of Byron is to bring forward Tom Moore's life of that distinguished poet, and I am honoured and flattered by the information that he means to dedicate it to me.^[143]

A great deal of worry in the Court to-day, and I lost my spectacles, and was a dark and perplexed man—found them again though. Wrote to Lockhart and to Charles, and will do more if I can, but am sadly done up. An old friend came and pressed unmercifully some selfish request of his own to ask somebody to do something for his son. I shall be glad to be at Abbotsford to get rid of this town, where I have not, in the proper and social sense of the word, a single friend whose company pleases me. In the country I have always Tom Purdie.

Dined at the Lord Chief Commissioner's, where I met, the first time for thirty years, my old friend and boon companion, with whom I shared the wars of Bacchus, Venus, and sometimes of Mars. The past rushed on me like a flood and almost brought tears into my eyes. It is no very laudable exploit to record, but I once drank three bottles of wine with this same rogue—Sir William Forbes and Sir Alexander Wood being of the party. David Erskine of Cardross keeps his looks better than most of our contemporaries. I hope we shall meet for a longer time.

March 5.—I corrected sheets, and, being a Teind Wednesday, began the second volume and proceeded as far as page fourth.

We dined at Hector Macdonald's with several Highlanders, most of whom were in their garb, intending to go to a great fancy ball in the evening. There were young Cluny Macpherson, Campbell Airds, Campbell Saddell, and others of the race of Diarmid. I went for an hour to the ball, where there were many gay and some grotesque figures. A dressed ball is, for the first half-hour, a splendid spectacle; you see youth and beauty dressed in their gayest attire, unlimited, save by their own taste, and enjoying the conscious power of charming, which gives such life and alacrity to the features. But the charm ceases in this like everything else. The want of masks takes away the audacity with which the disguised parties conduct themselves at a masquerade, and [leaves] the sullen sheepishness which makes them, I suppose, the worst maskers in Europe. At the only real masquerade which I have known in Edinburgh there were many, if not most, of those who had determined to sustain characters, who had more ill-breeding than facetiousness. The jests were chiefly calculated to give pain, and two or three quarrels were with difficulty prevented from ripening into duels. A fancy ball has no offence in it, therefore cannot be wrecked on this rock. But, on the other hand, it is horribly dull work when the first coup d'œil is over.

There were some good figures, and some grossly absurd. A very gay cavalier with a broad bright battle-axe was pointed out to me as an eminent distiller, and another knight in the black coarse armour of a cuirassier of the 17th century stalked about as if he thought himself the very mirror of chivalry. He was the son of a celebrated upholsterer, so might claim the broad axe from more titles than one. There was some good dancing; Cluny Macpherson footed it gallantly.

March 6.—Wrote two pages this morning before breakfast. Went to the Court, where I learned that the "Colliers" are in alarm at the determination shown by our Committee, and are willing to give better terms. I hope this is so—but Cogan na Shie—peace or war, I care not. I never felt less anxiety about where I went and what I did. A feather just lighted on the ground can scarce be less concerned where the next blast may carry it. If I go, I shall see my children—if I stay, I shall mend my fortune. Dined at home and went to the play in the evening. Lady Torphichen had commanded the play, and there were all my Swinton cousins young and old. The play was "A Bold Stroke for a Wife,"^[144]—Charles Kemble acting as Feignwell. The plot is extravagant nonsense, but with lively acting the ludicrousness of the situation bears it through, and few comedies act better. After this came Rob Roy, where the Bailie played with his usual excellence. The piece was not over until near one in the morning, yet I did not feel tired—which is much.

March 7.—To-day I wrought and corrected proof-sheets; went to the Court, and had a worry at the usual trashy small wares which are presented at the end of a Session. An official predecessor of mine, the facetious Robert Sinclair, was wont to say the three last days of the Session should be abolished by Act of Parliament.^[145] Came home late, and was a good deal broken in upon by visitors. Amongst others, John Swinton, now of Swinton, brought me the skull of his ancestor, Sir Allan Swinton, who flourished five hundred years ago. I will get a cast made of the stout old carle. It is rare to see a genuine relic of the mortal frame drawing so far back. Went to my Lord Gillies's to dinner, and witnessed a singular exhibition of personification.

Miss Stirling Grame,^[146] a lady of the Duntroon family, from which Clavers was descended, looks like thirty years old, and has a face of the Scottish cast, with a good expression in point of good sense and good humour. Her conversation, so far as I have had the advantage of hearing it, is shrewd and sensible, but no ways brilliant. She dined with us, went off as to the play, and returned in the character of an old Scottish lady. Her dress and behaviour were admirable, and the conversation unique. I was in the secret, of course, did my best to keep up the ball, but she cut me out of all feather. The prosing account she gave of her son, the antiquary, who found an auld wig in a slate quarry, was extremely ludicrous, and she puzzled the Professor of Agriculture with a merciless account of the succession of crops in the parks around her old mansion-house. No person to whom the secret was not intrusted had the least guess of an impostor, except one shrewd young lady present, who observed the hand narrowly and saw it was plumper than the age of the lady seemed to warrant. This lady, and Miss Bell ^[147] of Coldstream, have this gift of personification to a much higher degree than any person I ever saw.

March 8.—Wrote in the morning, then to Court, where we had a sederunt till nigh two o'clock. From thence to the Coal Gas Committee, with whom we held another, and, thank God, a final meeting. Gibson went with me. They had Mr. Munro, Trotter, Tom Burns, and Inglis. The scene put me in mind of Chichester Cheyne's story of a Shawnee Indian and himself, dodging each other from behind trees, for six or seven hours, each in the hope of a successful shot. There was bullying on both sides, but we bullied to best purpose, for we must have surrendered at discretion, notwithstanding the bold face we put on it. On the other hand, I am convinced they have got a capital bargain.

March 9.—I set about arranging my papers, a task which I always take up with the greatest possible ill-will and which makes me cruelly nervous. I don't know why it should be so, for I have nothing particularly disagreeable to look at; far from it, I am better than I was at this time last year, my hopes firmer, my health stronger, my affairs bettered and bettering. Yet I feel an inexpressible nervousness in consequence of this employment. The memory, though it retains all that has passed, has closed sternly over it; and this rummaging, like a bucket dropped suddenly into a well, deranges and confuses the ideas which slumbered on the mind. I am nervous, and I am bilious, and, in a word, I am unhappy. This is wrong, very wrong; and it is reasonably to be apprehended that something of serious misfortune will be the deserved punishment of this pusillanimous lowness of spirits. Strange that one who, in most things, may be said to have enough of the 'care na by', should be subject to such vile weakness! Well, having written myself down an ass, I will daub it no farther, but e'en trifle till the humour of work comes.

Before the humour came I had two or three long visits. Drummond Hay, the antiquary and lyon-herald, came in.^[148] I do not know anything which relieves the mind so much from the sullens as trifling discussion about antiquarian old-womanries. It is like knitting a stocking, diverting the mind without occupying it; or it is like, by Our Lady, a mill-dam, which leads one's thoughts gently and imperceptibly out of the channel in which they are chafing and boiling. To be sure, it is only conducting them to turn a child's mill; what signifies that?—the diversion is a relief, though the object is of little importance. I cannot tell what we talked of; but I remember we concluded with a lamentation on the unlikelihood that Government would give the Museum £2000 to purchase the bronze Apollo lately discovered in France, although the God of Delos stands six feet two in his stocking-soles, and is perfectly entire, saving that on the right side he wants half a hip, and the leg from the knee, and that on the left his heel is much damaged. Colonel Ferguson just come to town—dines with us.

March 10.—I had a world of trumpery to do this morning: cards to write, and business to transact, visits to make, etc. Received letters from the youth who is to conduct The Keepsake, with blarney on a £200 Bank note. No blarney in that. I must set about doing something for these worthies. I was obliged to go alone to dine at Mr. Scott Gala's. Met the Sinclair family. Lady Sinclair told me a singular story of a decrepit man keeping a lonely toll at a place called the Rowan-tree, on the frontiers, as I understood, between Ayrshire and Dumfriesshire [Wigtownshire?]. It was a wild, lonely spot, and was formerly inhabited by robbers and assassins, who murdered passengers. They were discovered by a boy whom they had taken into the cottage as a menial. He had seen things which aroused his attention, and was finally enlightened as to the trade of his masters by hearing one of them, as he killed a goat, remark that the cries of the creature resembled those of the last man they had dealt with. The boy fled from the house, lodged an information, and the whole household was seized and executed. The present inhabitants Lady Sinclair described as interesting. The man's feet and legs had been frost-bitten while herding the cattle, and never recovered the strength of natural limbs. Yet he had acquired some education, and was a country schoolmaster for some time, till the distance and loneliness of the spot prevented pupils from attending. His daughter was a reader, and begged for some old magazines, newspapers, or any printed book, that she might enjoy reading. They might have been better had they been allowed to keep a cow. But if they had been in comfortable circumstances, they would have had visitors and lodgers, who might have carried guns to destroy the gentleman's creation, i.e. game; and for this risk the wretches were kept in absolute and abject poverty. I would rather be—himself than this brutal Earl. The daughter showed Lady Sinclair a well in the midst of a small bog, of great depth, into which, like Thurtell and Probert, they used to thrust the bodies of their victims till they had an opportunity of burying them. Lady Sinclair stooped to taste the water, but the young woman said, with a strong expression of horror, "You would not drink it?" Such an impression had the tale, probably two centuries old, made upon the present inhabitants of this melancholy spot. The whole legend is curious; I will try to get hold of it.^[149]

March 11.—I sent Reynolds a sketch of two Scottish stories for subjects of art for his Keepsake—the death of the Laird's Jock the one, the other the adventure of Duncan Stuart with the stag.

Mr. Drummond Hay breakfasted with me—a good fellow, but a considerable bore. He brought me a beautiful bronze statue of Hercules, about ten inches or a foot in height, beautifully wrought. He bought it in France for 70 francs, and refused £300 from Payne Knight. It is certainly a most beautiful piece of art. The lion's hide which hung over the shoulders had been of silver, and, to turn it to account, the arm over which it hung was cut off; otherwise the statue was perfect and extremely well wrought. Allan Swinton's skull sent back to Archibald Swinton.

March 12.—The boy got four leaves of copy to-day, and I wrote three more. Received by Mr. Cadell from Treuttel and Wurtz for articles in Foreign Review £52, 10s., which is at my credit with him. Poor Gillies has therefore kept his word so far, but it is enough to have sacrificed £100 to him already in literary labour, which I make him welcome to. I cannot spare him more—which, besides, would do him no good.

March 13, [Abbotsford].—I wrote a little in the morning and sent off some copy. We came off from Edinburgh at ten o'clock, and got to Abbotsford by four, where everything looks unusually advanced; the birds singing and the hedges budding, and all other prospects of spring too premature to be rejoiced in.

I found that, like the foolish virgins, the servants had omitted to get oil for my lamp, so I was obliged to be idle all the evening. But though I had a diverting book, the Tales of the Munster Festivals,^[150] yet an evening without writing hung heavy on my hands. The Tales are admirable. But they have one fault, that the crisis is in more cases than one protracted after a keen interest has been excited, to explain and to resume parts of the story which should have been told before. Scenes of mere amusement are often introduced betwixt the crisis of the plot and the final catastrophe. This is impolitic. But the scenes and characters are traced by a firm, bold, and true pencil, and my very criticism shows that the catastrophe is interesting,—otherwise who would care for its being interrupted?

March [14 to] 16.—The same record applies to these three days. From seven to half-past nine writing—from half-past nine to a quarter past ten a hearty breakfast. From eleven or thereby, to one or two, wrote again, and from one or two ride, drive, or walk till dinner-time—for two or three hours—five till seven, dine and rest yourself—seven till nine, wrote two pages more, from nine to quarter past ten lounge, read the papers, and then go to bed. If your story is tolerably forward you may, I think, keep at this rate for twelve days, which would be a volume. But no brain could hold it out longer. Wrote two additional leaves in the evening.

March 17.—Sent away copy this morning to J.B. with proofs. I then wrote all the day till two o'clock, walked round the thicket and by the water-side, and returning set to work again. So that I have finished five leaves before dinner, and may discuss two more if I can satisfy myself with the way of winding up the story. There are always at the end such a plaguey number of stitches to take up, which usually are never so well done but they make a botch. I will try if the cigar will inspire me. Hitherto I have been pretty clear, and I see my way well enough, only doubt of making others see it with sufficient simplicity. But it is near five, and I am too hungry to write more.^[151]

March 18.—I was sorely worried by the black dog this morning, that vile palpitation of the heart—that tremor cordis—that hysterical passion which forces unbidden sighs and tears, and falls upon a contented life like a drop of ink on white paper, which is not the less a stain because it conveys no meaning. I wrought three leaves, however, and the story goes on. I dined at the Club of the Selkirkshire yeomanry, now disbanded.

The dissolution of the Yeomanry was the act of the last ministry. The present did not alter the measure on account of the expense saved. I am one of the oldest, if not the very oldest Yeoman in Scotland, and have seen the rise, progress, and now the fall of this very constitutional part of the national force. Its efficacy, on occasions of insurrection, was sufficiently proved in the Radical time. But besides, it kept up a spirit of harmony between the proprietors of land and the occupiers, and made them known to and beloved by each other; and it gave to the young men a sort of military and high-spirited character, which always does honour to a country. The manufacturers are in great glee on this occasion. I wish Parliament, as they have turned the Yeoman adrift somewhat scornfully, may not have occasion to roar them in again.^[152]

March 19.—I applied myself again to my labour, my mind flowing in a less, gloomy current than yesterday. I laboured with little interruption, excepting a walk as far as Faldonside with the dogs, and at night I had not finished more than three leaves. But, indeed, it is pretty fair; I must not work my brains too hard, in case of provoking the hypochondria which extreme exertion or entire indolence are equally unfavourable to.

March 20.—Thomson breakfasted. I left him soon, being desirous to finish my labours. The volume is finished, all but one fourth or somewhat shorter; four days should despatch it easily, but I have letters to write and things are getting into disorder. I took a drive with my daughter, for exercise, and called at Huntly Burn. This evening went on with work as usual; there was not above four pages finished, but my conscience is quiet on my exertions.

March 21.—I received young Whytbank to breakfast, and talked genealogy, which he understands well; I have not a head for it. I only value it as interspersed with anecdote. Whytbank's relationship and mine exists by the Shaws. A younger brother of Shaw of Sauchie, afterwards Greenock, chief of the name, was minister of the Kirk of Selkirk. My great-grandfather, John Rutherford, minister of the gospel at Yarrow, married one of this reverend gentleman's daughters; and John Pringle, rector of Fogo, great-grandfather of the present Whytbank, married another. It was Christian Shaw, my grandmother, who possessed the manuscript respecting the murder of the Shaws by the Master of Sinclair.^[153] She could not, according to the reckoning of that age, be a distant relation. Whytbank parted, agreeing to return to dinner to meet the bride and bridegroom. I had little time to write, for Colonel Russell, my cousin, called between one and two, and he also agreed to stay dinner; so I had a walk of three hours with him in the plantations. At dinner we had Mr. and Mrs. Bruce, Mr. Scrope, Mrs. and Dr. Brewster, Whytbank, Russell, and young Nicol Milne, who will be a pleasant lad if he had a little polish. I was glad of the society, as I had rather felt the besoin de parler, which was perhaps one cause of my recent dumps. Scrope and Colonel Russell stayed all night; the rest went home.

March 22.—Had a packet from James—low about the novel; but I had another from Cadell equally uppish. He proposes for three novels in eighteen months, which would be £12,600. Well, I like the bookseller's predictions better than the printer's. Neither are bad judges; but James, who is the best, is not sensible of historical descriptions, and likes your novel style out and out.

Cadell's letter also contained a state of cash matters, since much improved. I will arrange them a day or two hence. I wrote to-day and took a long walk. The thought more than once passed over me, Why go to London? I shall but throw away £150 or £200 which were better saved. Then on the other hand, it is such a gratification to see all the children that I must be tempted. If I were alone, I could scrub it, but there's no doing that with Anne.

March 23.—I wrought regularly till one, and then took the wood and marked out to Tom the places I would have thinned, particularly at the Carlin's hole, which will require much thinning. I had a letter from Cadell stating that 3000 Tales of a Grandfather must go to press, bringing a return to me of £240, the price being £80 per thousand. This is snug enough, and will prettily cover my London journey, and I really think ought in fairness to silence my prudential remorse. With my usual delight in catching an apology for escaping the regular task of the day, I threw by the novel of St. Valentine's Eve and began to run through and correct the Grandfather's Tales for the press. If I live to finish them, they will be a good thing for my younger children. If I work to the amount of £10,000 a year for the creditors, I think I may gain a few hundreds for my own family at by-hours.

March 24.—Sent copy and proof to J.B.^[154] I continued my revision of the Tales of a Grandfather till half-past one. Then went to Torwoodlee to wait on George Pringle and his bride. We did not see the young people, but the old Laird and Miss Pringle gave us a warm reception, and seemed very happy on the occasion. We had friends to dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Theobald, Charles Kerr and his wife, my old acquaintance Magdalen Hepburn, whose whole [kin] was known to me and mine. I have now seen the fifth generation of the family in Mrs. Kerr's little girl, who travels with them. Well—I partly wish we had been alone. Yet it is perhaps better. We made our day out tolerably well, having the advantage of Mr. Davidoff and his friend Mr. Collyer to assist us.

March 25.—Mr. and Mrs. Kerr left us, Mr. Davidoff and Mr. Collyer also. Mr. Davidoff showed himself a good deal affected. I hope well of this young nobleman, and trust the result will justify my expectations, but it may be doubted if his happiness be well considered by those who send a young person, destined to spend his life under a despotic government, to receive the ideas and opinions of such a people as we are:

We drove as far as Yair with Mr. and Mrs. Theobald. The lady read after dinner—and read well.

March 26.—The Theobalds left us, giving me time to work a little. A walk of two hours diversified my day. I received Cadell's scheme for the new edition. I fear the trustees will think Cadell's plan expensive in the execution. Yet he is right; for, to ensure a return of speedy sale, the new edition should be both handsome and cheap. He proposes size a Royal 12mo, with a capital engraving to each volume from a design by the best artists. This infers a monstrous expense, but in the present humour of the public ensures the sale. The price will be 5s. per volume, and the whole set, 32 volumes, from Waverley to Woodstock included, will be £8.

March 27.—This also was a day of labour, affording only my usual interval of a walk. Five or six sheets was the result. We now appropinque an end. My story has unhappily a divided interest; there are three distinct strands of the rope, and they are not well twisted together. "Ah, Sirs, a foul fawt," as Captain Tommy says.

March 28.—The days have little to distinguish each other, very little. The morning study, the noontide walk, all monotonous and inclined to be melancholy; God help me! But I have not had any nervous attack. Read Tales of an Antiquary,^[156] one of the chime of bells which I have some hand in setting a-ringing. He is really entitled to the name of an antiquary; but he has too much description in proportion to the action. There is a capital wardrobe of properties, but the performers do not act up to their character.

March 29.—Finished volume third this morning. I have let no grass grow beneath my heels this bout.

Mr. Cadell with J. and A. Ballantyne came to dinner. Mr. and Mrs. George Pringle, new married, dined with us and old Torwoodlee. Sandy's music made the evening go sweetly down.

March 30.—A long discourse with Cadell, canvassing his scheme. He proposes I should go on immediately with the new novel. This will furnish a fund from which may be supplied the advances necessary for the new work, which are considerable, and may reach from £4000 to £8000—the last sum quite improbable—before it makes returns. Thus we can face the expenditure necessary to set on foot our great work. I have written to recommend the plan to John Gibson. This theme renewed from time to time during the forenoon. Dr. Clarkson ^[157] dined with us. We smoked and had whisky and water after.

March 31.—The Ballantynes and Cadell left us in high spirits, expecting much from the new undertaking, and I believe they are not wrong. As for me, I became torpid after a great influx of morning visitors.

I was quite reluctant to write letters, or do anything whatsoever, and yet I should surely write to Sir Cuthbert Sharp and Surtees. We dined alone. I was main stupid, indeed, and much disposed to sleep, though my dinner was very moderate.

APRIL.

April 1.—All Fools' day, the only Saint that keeps up some degree of credit in the world; for fools we are with a vengeance. On this memorable festival we played the fool with great decorum at Colonel Ferguson's, going to visit them in a cold morning. In the evening I had a distressing letter from Mrs. MacBarnet, or some such name, the daughter of Captain Macpherson, smothered in a great snow storm. They are very angry at the Review for telling a raw-head and bloody bones story about him. I have given the right version of the tale willingly, but this does not satisfy. I almost wish they would turn out a clansman to be free of the cumber. The vexation of having to do with ladies, who on such a point must be unreasonable, is very great. With a man it would be soon ended or mended. It really hurts my sleep.

April 2.—I wrote the lady as civilly as I could, explaining why I made no further apology, which may do some good. Then a cursed morning of putting to rights, which drives me well-nigh mad. At two or three I must go to a funeral—a happy and interesting relief from my employment. It is a man I am sorry for, who married my old servant, Bell Ormiston. He was an excellent person in his way, and a capital mason—a great curler.

April 3.—Set off at eight o'clock, and fought forward to Carlisle—a sad place in my domestic remembrances, since here I married my poor Charlotte. She is gone, and I am following faster, perhaps, than I wot of. It is something to have lived and loved; and our poor children are so hopeful and affectionate, that it chastens the sadness attending the thoughts of our separation. We slept at Carlisle. I have not forgiven them for destroying their quiet old walls, and building two lumpy things like mad-houses. The old gates had such a respectable appearance once,

Come, I'll write down the whole stanza, which is all that was known to exist of David Hume's poetry, as it was written on a pane of glass in the inn:—

The poetical works of David Hume, Esq., might, as bookmakers know now, be driven out to a handsome quarto. Line 1st admits of a descant upon eggs roasted, boiled or poached; 2d, a history of Carlisle Cathedral with some reasons why the choir there has been proverbially execrable; 3d, the whole history of 1745 with minute memoirs of such as mounted guard on the Scotch gate. I remember the spikes the heads stood upon; lastly, a description of Corby Castle with a plan, and the genealogy of the Howards. Gad, the booksellers would give me £500 for it. I have a mind to print it for the Bannatynians.

April 4.—In our stage to Penrith I introduced Anne to the ancient Petreia, called Old Penrith, and also to the grave of Sir Ewain Cæsarias,^[158] that knight with the puzzling name, which has got more indistinct. We breakfasted at Buchanan's Inn, Penrith, one of the best on the road, and a fine stanch fellow owned it. He refused passage to some of the delegates who traversed the country during the Radical row, and when the worthies threatened him with popular vengeance, answered gallantly that he had not lived so long by the Crown to desert it at a pinch. The Crown is the sign of his inn. Slept at Garstang, an indifferent house. As a petty grievance, my ink-holder broke loose in the case, and spilt some of the ink on Anne's pelisse. Misfortunes seldom come single. "'Tis not alone the inky cloak, good daughter," but I forgot at Garstang my two breastpins; one with Walter and Jane's hair, another a harp of pure Irish gold, the gift of the ladies of Llangollen.^[159]

April 5.—Breakfasted at Chorley, and slept at Leek. We were in the neighbourhood of some fine rock-scenery, but the day was unfavourable; besides, I did not come from Scotland to see rocks, I trow.

April 6.—Easter Sunday. We breakfasted at Ashbourne and went from thence to Derby; and set off from thence to Drycot Hall (five miles) to visit Hugh Scott. But honest Hugh was, like ourselves, on the ramble; so we had nothing to do but to drive back to Derby, and from thence to Tamworth, where we slept.

April 7.—We visited the Castle in the morning. It is inhabited by a brother-in-law of the proprietor; and who is the proprietor? "Why, Mr. Robbins," said the fat housekeeper. This was not a name quite according with the fine chivalrous old hall, in which there was no small quantity of armour, and odds and ends, which I would have been glad to possess. "Well, but madam, before Mr. Robbins bought the place, who was the proprietor?" "Lord Charles Townshend, sir." This would not do neither; but a genealogy hanging above the chimney-piece informed me that the Ferrars were the ancient possessors of the mansion, which, indeed, the horseshoes in the shield over the Castle gate might have intimated. Tamworth is a fine old place, neglected, but, therefore, more like hoar antiquity. The keep is round. The apartments appear to have been modernised tempore Jac. I^mi*. There was a fine demipique saddle, said to have been that of James II. The pommel rose, and finished off in the form of a swan's crest, capital for a bad horseman to hold on by.

To show Anne what was well worth seeing, we visited Kenilworth. The relentless rain only allowed us a glimpse of this memorable ruin. Well, the last time I was here, in 1815,^[160] these trophies of time were quite neglected. Now they approach so much nearer the splendour of Thunder-ten-tronckh, as to have a door at least, if not windows. They are, in short, preserved and protected. So much for the novels. I observed decent children begging here, a thing uncommon in England: and I recollect the same unseemly practice formerly.

We went to Warwick Castle. The neighbourhood of Leamington, a watering-place of some celebrity, has obliged the family to decline showing the Castle after ten o'clock. I tried the virtue of an old acquaintance with Lord Warwick and wrote to him, he being in the Courthouse where the assizes were sitting. After some delay we were admitted, and I found my old friend Mrs. Hume, in the most perfect preservation, though, as she tells me, now eighty-eight. She went through her duty wonderfully, though now and then she complained of her memory. She has laid aside a mass of black plumes which she wore on her head, and which resembled the casque in the Castle of Otranto. Warwick Castle is still the noblest sight in England. Lord and Lady Warwick came home from the Court, and received us most kindly. We lunched with them, but declined further hospitality. When I was last here, and for many years before, the unfortunate circumstances of the late Lord W. threw an air of neglect about everything. I believe the fine collection of pictures would have been sold by distress, if Mrs. Hume, my friend, had not redeemed them at her own cost.^[161] I was pleased to see Lord Warwick show my old friend kindness and attention. We visited the monuments of the Nevilles and Beauchamps, names which make the heart thrill. The monuments are highly preserved. We concluded the day at Stratford-upon-Avon.

April 8.—We visited the tomb of the mighty wizard. It is in the bad taste of James the First's reign; but what a magic does the locality possess! There are stately monuments of forgotten families; but when you have seen Shakspeare's what care we for the rest. All around is Shakspeare's exclusive property. I noticed the monument of his friend John a Combe immortalised as drawing forth a brief satirical notice of four lines.

After breakfast I asked after Mrs. Ormsby, the old mad woman who was for some time tenant of Shakspeare's house, and conceived herself to be descended from the immortal poet. I learned she was dying. I thought to send her a sovereign; but this extension of our tour has left me no more than will carry me through my journey, and I do not like to run short upon the road. So I take credit for my good intention, and—keep my sovereign—a cheap and not unusual mode of giving charity.

Learning from Washington Irving's description of Stratford that the hall of Sir Thomas Lucy, the justice who rendered Warwickshire too hot for Shakspeare, and drove him to London, was still extant, we went in quest of it.

Charlcote is in high preservation, and inhabited by Mr. Lucy, descendant of the worshipful Sir Thomas. The Hall is about three hundred years old, an old brick structure with a gate-house in advance. It is surrounded by venerable oaks, realising the imagery which Shakspeare loved so well to dwell upon; rich verdant pastures extend on every side, and numerous herds of deer were reposing in the shade. All showed that the Lucy family had retained their "land and beeves." While we were surveying the antlered old hall, with its painted glass and family pictures, Mr. Lucy came to welcome us in person, and to show the house, with the collection of paintings, which seems valuable, and to which he had made many valuable additions.

He told me the park from which Shakspeare stole the buck was not that which surrounds Charlcote, but belonged to a mansion at some distance where Sir Thomas Lucy resided at the time of the trespass. The tradition went that they hid the buck in a barn, part of which was standing a few years ago, but now totally decayed. This park no longer belongs to the Lucys. The house bears no marks of decay, but seems the abode of ease and opulence. There were some fine old books, and I was told of many more which were not in order. How odd if a folio Shakspeare should be found amongst them! Our early breakfast did not prevent my taking advantage of an excellent repast offered by the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Lucy, the last a lively Welshwoman. This visit gave me great pleasure; it really brought Justice Shallow freshly before my eyes; the luces in his arms "which do become an old coat well"^[162] were not more plainly portrayed in his own armorials in the hall-window than was his person in my mind's eye. There is a picture shown as that of the old Sir Thomas, but Mr. Lucy conjectures it represents his son. There were three descents of the same name of Thomas. The party hath "the eye severe, and beard of formal cut," which fills up with judicial austerity the otherwise social physiognomy of the worshipful presence, with his "fair round belly with fat capon lined."^[163]

We resumed our journey. I may mention among the pictures at Charlcote one called a Roman Knight, which seemed to me very fine; Teniers' marriage, in which, contrary to the painter's wont, only persons of distinction are represented, but much in the attitude in which he delights to present his boors; two hawking pieces by Wouvermans, very fine specimens, cum aliis.

We took our way by Edgehill, and looked over the splendid richness of the fine prospect from a sort of gazeeboo or modern antique tower, the place of a Mr. Miller. It is not easy to conceive a richer and more peaceful scene than that which stretched before us, and [one with which] strife, or the memory of strife, seems to have nothing to do.

We got on to Buckingham, an ugly though I suppose an ancient town. Thence to Aylesbury through the wealth of England, in the scene of the old ballad—

We slept at Aylesbury. The landlord, who seemed sensible, told me that the land round the town, being the richest in England, lets at £3, or £3, 10s. and some so high as £4 per acre. But the poor-rates are 13s. to the pound. Now, my Whitehaugh at Huntly Burn yielded at last set £4 per acre.

April 9, [London],—We got to town about mid-day, and found Sophia, Lockhart, and the babies quite well—delighted with their companion Charles, and he enchanted with his occupation in the Foreign Office. I looked into my cash and found £53 had diminished on the journey down to about £3. In former days a journey to London cost about £30 or thirty guineas. It may now cost one-fourth more. But I own I like to pay postilions and waiters rather more liberally than perhaps is right. I hate grumbling and sour faces; and the whole saving will not exceed a guinea or two for being cursed and damned from Dan to Beersheba. We had a joyful meeting, I promise you.^[164]

April 10.—I spent the morning in bringing up my journal; interrupted by two of these most sedulous visitants who had objects of their own to serve, and smelled out my arrival as the raven scents carrion—a vile comparison, though what better is an old fellow, mauled with rheumatism and other deplorables? Went out at two and saw Miss Dumergue and other old friends; Sotheby in particular, less changed than any one I have seen. Looked in at Murray's and renewed old habits. This great city seems almost a waste to me, so many of my friends are gone; Walter and Jane coming up, the whole family dined together, and were very happy. The children joined in our festivity. My name-son, a bright and blue-eyed rogue, with flaxen hair, screams and laughs like an April morning; and the baby is that species of dough which is called a fine baby. I care not for children till they care a little for me.

April 11.—Made calls, walked myself tired; saw Rogers, Sharp, Sotheby, and other old friends.

April 12.—Dinner at home; a little party of Sophia's in the evening. Sharp told me that one evening being at Sheridan's house with a large party, Tom S. came to him as the night drew late, and said in a whisper, "I advise you to secure a wax-light to go to bed with," shewing him at the same time a morsel which he had stolen from a sconce. Sharp followed his advice, and had reason to be thankful for the hint. Tired and sleepy, I make a bad night watcher.

April 13.—Amused myself by converting the Tale of the Mysterious Mirror into Aunt Margaret's Mirror, designed for Heath's what-dye-call-it. Cadell will not like this, but I cannot afford to have my goods thrown back upon my hands. The tale is a good one, and is said actually to have happened to Lady Primrose, my great-grandmother having attended her sister on the occasion. Dined with Miss Dumergue. My proofs from Edinburgh reached to-day and occupied me all the morning.

April 14. Laboured at proofs and got them sent off, per Mr. Freeling's cover. So there's an end of the Chronicles.^[165] James rejoices in the conclusion, where there is battle and homicide of all kinds. Always politic to keep a trot for the avenue, like the Irish postilions. J.B. always calls to the boys to flog before the carriage gets out of the inn-yard. How we have driven the stage I know not and care not—except with a view to extricating my difficulties. I have lost no time in beginning the second series of Grandfather's Tales, being determined to write as much as I can even here, and deserve by industry the soft pillow I sleep on for the moment.

There is a good scene supposed to have happened between Sam Rogers and a lady of fashion—the reporter, Lord Dudley. Sam enters, takes a stool, creeps close to the lady's side, who asks his opinion of the last new poem or novel. In a pathetic voice the spectre replies—"My opinion? I like it very much—but the world don't like it; but, indeed, I begin to think the world wrong in everything, except with regard to you." Now, Rogers either must have said this somewhere, or he has it yet to say. We dined at Lord Melville's.

April 15.—Got the lamentable news that Terry is totally bankrupt. This is a most unexpected blow, though his carelessness about money matters was very great. God help the poor fellow! he has been ill-advised to go abroad, but now returns to stand the storm—old debts, it seems, with principal and interest accumulated, and all the items which load a falling man. And wife such a good and kind creature, and children. Alack! alack! I sought out his solicitor. There are £7000 or more to pay, and the only fund his share in the Adelphi Theatre, worth £5000 and upwards, and then so fine a chance of independence lost. That comes of not being explicit with his affairs. The theatre was a most flourishing concern. I looked at the books, and since have seen Yates. The ruin is inevitable, but I think they will not keep him in prison, but let him earn his bread by his very considerable talents. I shall lose the whole or part of £500 which I lent him, but that is the least of my concern. I hope the theatre is quite good for guaranteeing certain payments in 1829 and 1830. I judge they are in no danger.

I should have gone to the Club to-day, but Sir James Mackintosh had mistaken the day. I was glad of it, so stayed at home.

It is written that nothing shall flourish under my shadow—the Ballantynes, Terry, Nelson, Weber, all came to distress. Nature has written on my brow, "Your shade shall be broad, but there shall be no protection derived from it to aught you favour."

April 16.—We dined at Dr. Young's; saw Captain Parry, a handsome and pleasant man. In the evening at Mr. Cunliffe's, where I met sundry old friends—grown older.

April 17.—Made up my "Gurnal," which had fallen something behind. In this phantasmagorial place the objects of the day come and depart like shadows.^[166] Made calls. Gave [C.K.] Sharpe's memorial to Lord Leveson Gower. Went to Murray's, where I met a Mr. Jacob, a great economist. He is proposing a mode of supporting the poor, by compelling them to labour by military force, and under a species of military discipline. I see no objection to it, only it will make a rebellion to a certainty; and the tribes of Jacob will certainly cut Jacob's throat.^[167]

Canning's conversion from popular opinions was strangely brought round. While he was studying at the Temple, and rather entertaining revolutionary opinions, Godwin sent to say that he was coming to breakfast with him, to speak on a subject of the highest importance. Canning knew little of him, but received his visit, and learned to his astonishment, that in expectation of a new order of things, the English Jacobins desired to place him, Canning, at the head of their expected revolution. He was much struck, and asked time to think what course he should take—and, having thought the matter over, he went to Mr. Pitt and made the Anti-Jacobin confession of faith, in which he persevered until——. Canning himself mentioned this to Sir W. Knighton, upon occasion of giving a place in the Charter-house, of some ten pounds a year, to Godwin's brother. He could scarce do less for one who had offered him the dictator's curule chair.

Dined with Rogers with all my own family, and met Sharp, Lord John Russell, Jekyll, and others. The conversation flagged as usual, and jokes were fired like minute guns, producing an effect not much less melancholy,—a wit should always have an atmosphere congenial to him, otherwise he will not shine. Went to Lady Davy's, where I saw the kind face, and heard the no less friendly greeting, of Lady Selkirk,^[168] who introduced all her children to me.

April 18.—Breakfasted with Joanna Baillie, and found that gifted person extremely well, and in the display of all her native knowledge of character and benevolence. She looks more aged, however. I would give as much to have a capital picture of her as for any portrait in the world. She gave me a manuscript play to read upon Witchcraft.^[169] Dined with the Dean of Chester, Dr. Phillpotts.^[170]

There were the amiable Bishop of London (Howley ^[172]), Coplestone, whom I remember a first man at Oxford, now Bishop of Llandaff, the Dean of St. Paul's, and other dignitaries of whom I knew less. It was a very pleasant day—the wigs against the wits for a guinea in point of conversation. Anne looked queer, and much disposed to laugh at finding herself placed betwixt two prelates [in black petticoats].

April 19.—Breakfasted with Sir George Philips. Had his receipt against the blossoms being injured by frost. It consists in watering them plentifully before sunrise. This is like the mode of thawing beef. We had a pleasant morning, much the better that Morritt was with us. He has agreed to go to Hampton Court with us to-morrow.

Mr. Reynolds called on me about the drawing of the Laird's Jock; he is assiduous and attentive, but a little forward. Poor Gillies also called. Both asked me to dinner, but I refused. I do not incline to make what is called literary acquaintances; and as for poor G., it is wild to talk about his giving dinner to others, when he can hardly get credit for his own.

Acland, my old and kind friend. I was happy to see him. He may be considered now as the head of the religious party in the House of Commons, a powerful body which Wilberforce long commanded. It is a difficult situation; for the adaptation of religious motives to earthly policy is apt—among the infinite delusions of the human heart—to be a snare. But I could confide much in Sir T. Acland's honour and integrity. Bishop Blomfield [of Chester],^[173] one of the most learned prelates of the church, also dined.

Coming home, an Irish coachman drove us into a cul de sac, near Battersea Bridge. We were obliged to get out in the rain. The people admitted us into their houses, where they were having their bit of supper, assisted with lights, etc., and, to the honour of London, neither asked nor expected gratification.

April 20.—We went to Walter's quarters in a body, and saw Hampton Court, with which I was more struck than when I saw it for the first time, about 1806. The pictures are not very excellent, but they are curious, which is as interesting, except to connoisseurs. Two I particularly remarked, of James I. and Charles I. eating in public. The old part of the palace, built by Wolsey, is extremely fine. Two handsome halls are still preserved: one, the ceiling of which is garnished, at the crossing and combining of the arches, with the recurring heads of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn—great stinginess in Henry, for these ornaments must have been put up after Wolsey's fall. He could surely afford a diversity of this species of ornament if any man could. Formerly, when the palace was completely a fishing-house, it extended into, or rather over, the river. We had a good dinner from Walter, and wended merrily home.

April 21.—Dining is the principal act of the day in London. We took ours at Kensington with Croker. There were Theodore Hook and other witty men. He looks unhealthy and bloated. There was something, I know not what, awanting to the cheerfulness of the party. And

If the general report of Croker's retiring be accurate, it may account for this.

April 22.—Sophia left this to take down poor Johnnie to Brighton. I fear—I fear—but we must hope the best. Anne went with her sister.

Lockhart and I dined with Sotheby, where we met a large dining party, the orator of which was that extraordinary man Coleridge. After eating a hearty dinner, during which he spoke not a word, he began a most learned harangue on the Samothracian Mysteries, which he considered as affording the germ of all tales about fairies past, present, and to come. He then diverged to Homer, whose Iliad he considered as a collection of poems by different authors, at different times during a century. There was, he said, the individuality of an age, but not of a country. Morritt, a zealous worshipper of the old bard, was incensed at a system which would turn him into a polytheist, gave battle with keenness, and was joined by Sotheby, our host. Mr. Coleridge behaved with the utmost complaisance and temper, but relaxed not from his exertions. "Zounds! I was never so bethumped with words." Morritt's impatience; must have cost him an extra sixpence worth of snuff.^[174]

April 23.—- Dined at Lady Davy's with Lord and Lady Lansdowne, and several other fashionable folks. My keys were sent to Bramah's with my desk, so I have not had the means of putting matters down regularly for several days; but who cares for the whipp'd cream of London society? Our poor little Johnnie is extremely ill. My fears have been uniform for this engaging child. We are in God's hands. But the comfortable and happy object of my journey is ended,—Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia,^[175] was right after all.

April 24.—Spent the day in rectifying a road bill which drew a turnpike road through all the Darnickers' cottages, and a good field of my own. I got it put to rights. I was in some apprehension of being obliged to address the Committee. I did not fear them, for I suppose they are no wiser or better in their capacity of legislators than I find them every day at dinner. But I feared for my reputation. They would have expected something better than the occasion demanded, or the individual could produce, and there would have been a failure.

April 25.—Threatened to be carried down to vote at the election of a Collector of the Cess.^[176] Resolved if I did go to carry my son with me, which would give me a double vote.

Had some disagreeable correspondence about this with Lord Minto and the Sheriff.

We had one or two persons at home in great wretchedness to dinner. Lockhart's looks showed the misery he felt. I was not able to make any fight, and the evening went off as heavily as any I ever spent in the course of my life.

Finished my Turnpike business by getting the exceptionable clauses omitted, which would be good news to Darnick. Put all the Mirror in proof and corrected it. This is the contribution (part of it) to Mr. Reynolds' and Heath's Keepsake. We dined at Richardson's with the two chief Barons of England ^[177] and Scotland.^[178] Odd enough, the one being a Scotsman and the other an Englishman. Far the pleasantest day we have had; I suppose I am partial, but I think the lawyers beat the bishops, and the bishops beat the wits.

April 26.—This morning I went to meet a remarkable man, Mr. Boyd of the house of Boyd, Benfield & Co., which broke for a very large sum at the beginning of the war. Benfield went to the devil, I believe. Boyd, a man of a very different stamp, went over to Paris to look after some large claims which his house had over the French Government. They were such as it seems they could not disavow, however they might be disposed to do so. But they used every effort, by foul means and fair, to induce Mr. Boyd to depart. He was reduced to poverty; he was thrown into prison; and the most flattering prospects were, on the other hand, held out to him if he would compromise his claims. His answer was uniform. It was the property, he said, of his creditors, and he would die ere he resigned it. His distresses were so great that a subscription was made among his Scottish friends, to which I was a contributor, through the request of poor Will Erskine. After the peace of Paris the money was restored, and, faithful to the last, Boyd laid the whole at his creditors' disposal; stating, at the same time, that he was penniless unless they consented to allow him a moderate sum in name of percentage, in consideration of twenty years of danger, poverty, and [exile], all of which evils he might have escaped by surrendering their right to the money. Will it be believed that a muck-worm was base enough to refuse his consent to this deduction, alleging he had promised to his father, on his death-bed, never to compromise this debt. The wretch, however, was overpowered by the execrations of all around him, and concurred, with others, in setting apart for Mr. Boyd a sum of £40,000 or £50,000 out of half a million of money.^[179] This is a man to whom statues should be erected, and pilgrims should go to see him. He is good-looking, but old and infirm. Bright dark eyes and eyebrows contrast with his snowy hair, and all his features mark vigour of principle and resolution. Mr. Morritt dined with us, and we did as well as in the circumstances could be expected.

Released from the alarm of being summoned down to the election by a civil letter from Lord Minto. I am glad both of the relief and of the manner. I hate civil war amongst neighbours.

April 27.—Breakfasted this day with Charles Dumergue on a poulet à la tartare, and saw all his family, specially my godson. Called on Lady Stafford and others, and dined at Croker's in the Admiralty, with the Duke of Wellington, Huskisson, Wilmot Horton, and others, outs and ins. No politics of course, and every man disguising serious thoughts with a light brow. The Duke alone seemed open, though not letting out a word. He is one of the few whose lips are worth watching. I heard him say to-day that the best troops would run now and then. He thought nothing of men running, he said, provided they came back again. In war he had always his reserves. Poor Terry was here when I returned. He seems to see his matters in a delusive light.

April 28.—An attack this day or yesterday from poor Gillies, boring me hard to apply to Menzies of Pitfoddels to entreat him to lend him money. I could not get him to understand that I was decidedly averse to write to another gentleman, with whom I was hardly acquainted, to do that which I would not do myself. Tom Campbell ^[180] is in miserable distress—his son insane—his wife on the point of becoming so. I nunc, et versus tecum meditare canoros.^[181]

We, i.e. Charles and I, dined at Sir Francis Freeling's with Colonel Harrison of the Board of Green Cloth, Dr. [Maltby] of Lincoln's Inn, and other pleasant people. Doctor Dibdin too, and Utterson, all old Roxburghe men. Pleasant party, were it not for a bad cold, which makes me bark like a dog.

April 29.—Anne and Lockhart are off with the children this morning at seven, and Charles and I left behind; and this is the promised meeting of my household! I went to Dr. Gilly's to-day to breakfast. Met Sir Thomas Acland, who is the youngest man of his age I ever saw. I was so much annoyed with cough, that, on returning, I took to my bed and had a siesta, to my considerable refreshment. Dr. Fergusson called, and advised caution in eating and drinking, which I will attend to.

Dined accordingly. Duke of Sussex had cold and did not come. A Mr. or Dr. Pettigrew made me speeches on his account, and invited me to see his Royal Highness's library, which I am told is a fine one. Sir Peter Laurie, late Sheriff, and in nomination to be Lord Mayor, bored me close, and asked more questions than would have been thought warrantable at the west end of the town.

April 30.—We had Mr. Adolphus and his father, the celebrated lawyer, to breakfast, and I was greatly delighted with the information of the latter. A barrister of extended practice, if he has any talents at all, is the best companion in the world.^[182]

Dined with Lord Alvanley and a fashionable party, Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Marquis and Marchioness of Worcester, etc. Lord Alvanley's wit made the party very pleasant, as well as the kind reception of my friends the Misses Arden.

MAY.

May 1.—Breakfasted with Lord and Lady Leveson Gower,^[183] and enjoyed the splendid treat of hearing Mrs. Arkwright sing her own music,^[184] which is of the highest order—no forced vagaries of the voice, no caprices of tone, but all telling upon and increasing the feeling the words require. This is "marrying music to immortal verse."^[185] Most people place them on separate maintenance.

I met the Roxburghe Club, and settled to dine with them on 15th curt. Lord Spencer in the chair. We voted Lord Olive ^[186] a member.

May 2.—I breakfasted with a Mr. Bell, Great Ormond Street, a lawyer, and narrowly escaped Mr. Irving, the celebrated preacher. The two ladies of the house seemed devoted to his opinions, and quoted him at every word. Mr. Bell himself made some apologies for the Millennium. He is a smart little antiquary, who thinks he ought to have been a man of letters, and that his genius has been mis-directed in turning towards the law. I endeavoured to combat this idea, which his handsome house and fine family should have checked. Compare his dwelling, his comforts, with poor Tom Campbell's!

I dined with the Literary Society; rather heavy work, though some excellent men were there. I saw, for the first time, Archdeacon Nares, long conductor of the British Critic, a gentlemanlike and pleasing man. Sir Henry Robert Inglis presided.

May 3.—Breakfasted at my old friend Gally Knight's, with whom, in former days, I used to make little parties to see poor Monk Lewis. After breakfast I drove to Lee and Kennedy's, and commissioned seeds and flowers for about £10, including some specimens of the Corsican and other pines. Their collection is very splendid, but wants, I think, the neatness that I would have expected in the first nursery-garden in or near London. The essentials were admirably cared for. I saw one specimen of the Norfolk Island pine, the only one, young Lee said, which has been raised from all the seed that was sent home. It is not treated conformably to its dignity, for they cut the top off every year to prevent its growing out at the top of the conservatory. Sure it were worth while to raise the house alongst with the plant.

Looked in at Murray's—wrote some letters, etc., and walked home with the Dean of Chester, who saw me to my own door. I had but a few minutes to dress, and go to the Royal Academy, to which I am attached in capacity of Professor of Antiquities. I was too late to see the paintings, but in perfect time to sit half-an-hour waiting for dinner, as the President, Sir Thomas Lawrence, expected a prince of the blood. He came not, but there were enough of grandees besides. Sir Thomas Lawrence did the honours very well, and compliments flew about like sugar-plums at an Italian carnival. I had my share, and pleaded the immunities of a sinecurist for declining to answer.

After the dinner I went to Mrs. Scott of Harden, to see and be seen by her nieces, the Herbert ladies. I don't know how their part of the entertainment turned out, but I saw two or three pretty girls.

May 4.—I breakfasted this morning with Sir Coutts Trotter, and had some Scottish talk. Visited Cooper, who kindly undertook to make my inquiries in Lyons.^[187] I was at home afterwards for three hours, but too much tired to do the least right thing. The distances in London are so great that no exertions, excepting those which a bird might make, can contend with them. You return weary and exhausted, fitter for a siesta than anything else. In the evening I dined with Mr. Peel, a great Cabinet affair, and too dignified to be very amusing, though the landlord and the pretty landlady did all to make us easy.

May 5.—Breakfasted with Haydon, and sat for my head. I hope this artist is on his legs again. The King has given him a lift by buying his clever picture of the election in the Fleet prison, to which he is adding a second part, representing the chairing of the member at the moment it was interrupted by the entry of the guards. Haydon was once a great admirer and companion of the champions of the Cockney school, and is now disposed to renounce them and their opinions. To this kind of conversation I did not give much way. A painter should have nothing to do with politics. He is certainly a clever fellow, but somewhat too enthusiastic, which distress seems to have cured in some degree. His wife, a pretty woman, looked happy to see me, and that is something. Yet it was very little I could do to help them.^[188]

Dined at Lord Bathurst's, in company with the Duke. There are better accounts of Johnnie. But, alas!

May 7.—Breakfasted with Lord Francis Gower, and again enjoyed the great pleasure of meeting Mrs. Arkwright, and hearing her sing. She is, I understand, quite a heaven-born genius, having scarce skill enough in music to write down the tunes she composes. I can easily believe this. There is a pedantry among great musicians that deprives their performances of much that is graceful and beautiful. It is the same in the other fine arts, where fashion always prefers cant and slang to nature and simplicity.

Dined at Mr. Watson Taylor's, where plate, etc., shone in great and somewhat ostentatious quantity. C[roker] was there, and very decisive and overbearing to a great degree. Strange so clever a fellow should let his wit outrun his judgment!^[189] In general, the English understand conversation well. There is that ready deference for the claims of every one who wishes to speak time about, and it is seldom now-a-days that "a la stoccata" carries it away thus.^[190]

I should have gone to the Duchess of Northumberland's to hear music to-night, but I felt completely fagged, and betook myself home to bed.

I learned a curious thing from Emily, Lady Londonderry, namely, that in feeding all animals with your hand, you should never wear a glove, which always affronts them. It is good authority for this peculiarity.

May 8.—Breakfasted at Somerset House with Davies Gilbert, the new preses of the Royal Society. Tea, coffee, and bread and butter, which is poor work. Certainly a slice of ham, a plate of shrimps, some broiled fish, or a mutton chop, would have been becoming so learned a body. I was most kindly received, however, by Dr. D. Gilbert, and a number of the members. I saw Sir John Sievwright—a singular personage; he told me his uniform plan was to support Ministers, but he always found himself voting in Opposition. I told him his deference to Ministers was like that of the Frenchman to the enemy, who, being at his mercy, asked for his life:—"Anything in my power excepting that, sir," said Monsieur. Sir John has made progress in teaching animals without severity or beating. I should have liked to have heard him on this topic.

Called at Northumberland House and saw the Duke. According to his report I lost much by not hearing the two rival nightingales, Sontag and Pasta, last night, but I care not for it.

Met Sir W. K[nighton], returned from the Continent. He gives me to understand I will be commanded for Sunday. Sir W.K. asked me to sit for him to Northcote, and to meet him there at one to-morrow. I cannot refuse this, but it is a great bore.^[191]

Dined with Mrs. Alexander of Ballochmyle, Lord and Lady Meath, who were kind to us in Ireland, and a Scottish party,—pleasant, from hearing the broad accents and honest thoughts of my native land. A large party in the evening. A gentleman came up to me and asked "if I had seen the 'Casket,' a curious work, the most beautiful, the most highly ornamented—and then the editor or editress—a female so interesting,—might he ask a very great favour," and out he pulled a piece of this pic-nic. I was really angry, and said for a subscription he might command me—for a contribution no; that I had given to a great many of these things last year, and finding the labour occupied some considerable portion of my time, I had done a considerable article for a single collection this year, taking a valuable consideration for it, and engaged not to support any other. This may be misrepresented, but I care not. Suppose this patron of the Muses gives five guineas to his distressed lady, he will think he does a great deal, yet takes fifty from me with the calmest air in the world, for the communication is worth that if it be worth anything. There is no equality in the proposal.

I saw to-day at Northumberland House, Bridge the jeweller, having and holding a George, richly ornamented with diamonds, being that which Queen Anne gave to the Duke of Marlborough, which his present representative pawned or sold, and which the present king bought and presented to the Duke of Wellington. His Grace seemed to think this interesting jewel was one of two which had been preserved since the first institution of that order. That, from the form and taste, I greatly doubt. Mr. Bridge put it again into his coat pocket, and walked through the street with £10,000 in his pocket. I wonder he is not hustled and robbed. I have sometimes envied rich citizens, but it was a mean and erroneous feeling. This man, who, I suppose, must be as rich as a Jew, had a shabby look in the Duke's presence, and seemed just a better sort of pedlar. Better be a poor gentleman after all.

May 9.—Grounds of Foote's farce of the Cozeners. Lady ——. A certain Mrs. Phipps audaciously set up in a fashionable quarter of the town as a person through whose influence, properly propitiated, favours and situations of importance might certainly be obtained—always for a consideration. She cheated many people, and maintained the trick for many months. One trick was to get the equipage of Lord North, and other persons of importance, to halt before her door as if the owners were within. With respect to most of them, this was effected by bribing the drivers. But a gentleman, who watched her closely, observed that Charles J. Fox actually left his carriage and went into the house, and this more than once. He was then, it must be noticed, in the Ministry. When Mrs. Phipps was blown up, this circumstance was recollected as deserving explanation, which Fox readily gave at Brooks's and elsewhere. It seems Mrs. Phipps had the art to persuade him that she had the disposal of what was then called a hyæna—that is, an heiress—an immense Jamaica heiress, in whom she was willing to give or sell her interest to Charles Fox. Without having perfect confidence in the obliging proposal, the great statesman thought the thing worth looking after, and became so earnest in it, that Mrs. Phipps was desirous to back out of it for fear of discovery. With this view she made confession one fine morning, with many professions of the deepest feelings, that the hyæna had proved a frail monster, and given birth to a girl or boy—no matter which. Even this did not make Charles quit chase of the hyæna. He intimated that if the cash was plenty and certain, the circumstance might be overlooked. Mrs. Phipps had nothing for it but to double the disgusting dose. "The poor child," she said, "was unfortunately of a mixed colour, somewhat tinged with the blood of Africa; no doubt Mr. Fox was himself very dark, and the circumstance might not draw attention," etc. etc. This singular anecdote was touched upon by Foote, and is the cause of introducing the negress into the Cozeners,^[192] though no express allusion to Charles Fox was admitted. Lady ——— tells me that, in her youth, the laugh was universal so soon as the black woman appeared. It is one of the numerous hits that will be lost to posterity. Jack Fuller, celebrated for his attempt on the Speaker's wig, told me he was editing Foote, but I think he has hardly taste enough. He told me Colman was to be his assistant.^[193]

Went down in the morning to Montagu House, where I found the Duke going out to suffer a recovery.^[194] I had some fancy to see the ceremony, but more to get my breakfast, which I took at a coffee-house at Charing Cross.

I sat to Northcote, who is to introduce himself in the same piece in the act of painting me, like some pictures of the Venetian school. The artist is an old man, low in stature, and bent with years—fourscore at least. But the eye is quick and the countenance noble. A pleasant companion, familiar with recollections of Sir Joshua, Samuel Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, etc. His account of the last confirms all that we have heard of his oddities.

Dined with Mr. Arbuthnot, where met Duke of Rutland, Lord and Lady Londonderry, etc. etc. Went to hear Mrs. Arkwright at Lady Charlotte Greville's. Lockhart came home to-day.

May 10.—Another long sitting to the old Wizard Northcote. He really resembles an animated mummy.^[195] He has altered my ideas of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom, from the expressions used by Goldsmith, Johnson, and others, I used to think an amiable and benevolent character. But though not void of generosity, he was cold, unfeeling, and indifferent to his family: so much so that his sister, Miss Reynolds, after expressing her wonder at the general acceptance which Sir Joshua met with in society, concluded with, "For me, I only see in him a dark gloomy tyrant." I own this view of his character hurt me, by depriving me of the pleasing vision of the highest talents united with the kindest temper. But Northcote says his disagreeable points were rather negative than positive—more a want of feeling than any desire to hurt or tyrannise. They arose from his exclusive attachment to art.

Dined with a pleasant party at Lord Gower's. Lady Gower is a beautiful woman, and extremely courteous. Mrs. Arkwright was of the party. I am getting well acquainted with her, and think I can see a great deal of sense mixed with her accomplishment.

May 11.—Breakfasted with Dr. Maltby, preacher in Lincoln's Inn. He was to have been the next Bishop, if the Whigs had held their ground. His person, manners, and attainments would have suited the lawn sleeves well. I heard service in the chapel, which is a very handsome place of worship; it is upstairs, which seems extraordinary, and the space beneath forms cloisters, in which the ancient Benchers of this Society of Lincoln's Inn are entered. I met my old friend Sir William Grant,^[196] and had some conversation with him. Dr. Maltby gave us a good sermon upon the introduction of the Gospel. There was only one monument in the chapel, a handsome tablet to the memory of Perceval. The circumstance that it was the only monument in the chapel of a society which had produced so many men of talents and distinction was striking—it was a tribute due to the suddenness of his strange catastrophe. There is nothing very particular in the hall of Lincoln's Inn, nor its parlour, which are like those of a college. Indeed the whole establishment has a monastic look.

Sat to Northcote, who only requires (Deo gratias) another sitting. Dined with his Majesty in a very private party—five or six only being present. I was received most kindly as usual. It is impossible to conceive a more friendly manner than his Majesty used towards me. I spoke to S.W.K. about the dedication of the collected works, and he says it will be highly well taken.^[197]

I went after the party broke up to Mrs. Scott of Harden, where I made acquaintance with her beautiful kinswoman, Lady Sarah Ponsonby, whose countenance is really seraphic and totally devoid of affectation.

May 12.—Old George II. was, as is well known, extremely passionate. On these occasions his small stock of English totally failed him, and he used to express his indignation in the following form: "G—d—n me, who I am? Got d—n you, who you be?" Lockhart and I visited a Mrs. Quillinan,^[198] with whom Wordsworth and his wife have pitched their tent. I was glad to see my old friend, whose conversation has so much that is fresh and manly in it. I do not at all acquiesce in his system of poetry, and I think he has injured his own fame by adhering to it. But a better or more sensible man I do not know than W.W.

Afterwards Lockhart and I called on Miss Nicolson, and from thence I wandered down into that immense hash of a city to see Heath, and fortunately caught hold on him. All this made me too late for Northcote,—who was placable, however.^[199]

Dined at Sir John Shelley's, à petit couvert. Here were the Duke of Wellington, Duke of Rutland, and only one or two more, particularly Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot. The evening was very pleasant, and did not break up till twelve at night.

May 13.—Breakfasted with Sir George Philips—there was Sydney Smith, full of fun and spirit, and his daughter, who is a good-humoured agreeable girl. We had a pleasant breakfast party.

The Catholics have carried their question, which I suppose will be thrown out in the Lords. I think they had better concede this oft-disputed point, and dissolve the league which binds so many people in opposition to Government. It is a matter of great consequence that men should not acquire the habit of opposing. No earthly advantage would arise to Ireland from ceding what is retained, where so much has been already yielded up. Indeed the Catholic gentry do not pretend that the granting the immunities they require would tranquillise the country, but only that it would remove from men of honour all pretext for countenancing them. This is on the principle of the solicitor of the unhappy Rajah Nuncomar, who after extorting as much money as he could, under pretence of bribing persons to procure his pardon, facilitate his escape, etc., found himself pressed by his victim for a final answer. "The preparations for death are ready," said the Rajah; "I fear, notwithstanding all you have told me, their intention is to take my life." "By G—d," replied the trusty solicitor, "if they do I will never forgive them." So if there are further disturbances after the Catholic claims are granted, I suppose those by whom they are now advocated will never forgive their friends the Pats; and that will be all John Bull will get for it. I dined with Lady Stafford, for whom I have much regard. I recollect her ever since she stood at her aunt Lady Glenorchy's window, in George Square, reviewing her regiment of Sutherland giants. She was, as she ever is, most attentive and kind.

May 14.—I carried Lockhart to Lady Francis Gower's to hear Mrs. Arkwright sing, and I think he admired her as much as his nature permits him to love anything musical, for he certainly is not quickly moved by concord of sweet sounds. I do not understand them better than he, but the voce del petto always affects me, and Mrs. A. has it in perfection. I have received as much pleasure from that lady's music as sound could ever give me.^[200] Lockhart goes off for Brighton. I had a round of men in office. I waited on the Duke at Downing St., and I think put L. right there, if he will look to himself. But I can only tee the ball; he must strike the blow with the golf club himself. I saw Mr. Renton, and he promised to look after Harper's business favourably. Good gracious, what a solicitor we are grown!

Dined with Lady Davy—a pleasant party; but I was out of spirits; I think partly on Johnnie's account, partly from fatigue. There was William Henry Lyttelton amongst others; much of his oddity has rubbed off, and he is an honoured courtly gentleman, with a great deal of wit; and not one of the fine people who perplex you by shutting their mouths if you begin to speak. I never fear quizzing, so am not afraid of this species of lying-in-wait. Lord have mercy on me if I were!

May 15.—Dined at the Roxburghe Club. Lord Spencer presided, but had a cold which limited his exertions. Lord Clive, beside whom I sat, was deaf, though intelligent and good-humoured. The Duke of Devonshire was still deafer. There were many little chirruping men who might have talked but went into committee. There was little general conversation. I should have mentioned that I breakfasted with kind, good Mr. Hughes, and met the Bishop of Llandaff—strongly intelligent. I do not understand his politics about the Catholic question. He seems disposed to concede, yet is Toryissimus. Perhaps they wish the question ended, but the present opinions of the Sovereign are too much interested to permit them to quit it.

May 16.—Breakfasted with Mr. Reynolds; a miscellaneous party. Wordsworth, right welcome unto me was there. I had also a sight of Godwin the philosopher, grown old and thin—of Douglas Kinnaird, whom I asked about Byron's statue, which is going forward—of Luttrell, and others whom I knew not. I stayed an instant at Pickering's, a young publisher's, and bought some dramatic reprints. I love them very much, but I would [not] advise a young man to undertake them. They are of course dear, and as they have not the dignity of scarcity, the bibliomaniacs pass them by as if they were plated candlesticks. They may hold as good a light for all that as if they were real silver, and therefore I buy them when I can light on them. But here I am spending money when I have more need to make it. On Monday, the 26th, it shall be Northward ho!

Dined at Lady Georgiana and Mr. Agar Ellis's.^[201] There were Lord and Lady Stafford there, and others to whom I am sincerely attached.

May 17.—A day of busy idleness. Richardson came and breakfasted with me like a good fellow. Then I went to Mr. Chantrey, and sat for an hour to finish the bust.^[202] Thereafter, about twelve o'clock, I went to breakfast the second, at Lady Shelley's, where there was a great morning party. A young lady ^[203] begged a lock of my hair, which was not worth refusing. I stipulated for a kiss, which I was permitted to take. From this I went to the Duke of Wellington, who gave me some hints or rather details. Afterwards I drove out to Chiswick, where I had never been before. A numerous and gay party were assembled to walk and enjoy the beauties of that Palladian [dome?]; the place and highly ornamented gardens belonging to it resemble a picture of Watteau. There is some affectation in the picture, but in the ensemble the original looked very well. The Duke of Devonshire received every one with the best possible manners. The scene was dignified by the presence of an immense elephant, who, under charge of a groom, wandered up and down, giving an air of Asiatic pageantry to the entertainment. I was never before sensible of the dignity which largeness of size and freedom of movement give to this otherwise very ugly animal. As I was to dine at Holland House, I did not partake in the magnificent repast which was offered to us, and took myself off about five o'clock. I contrived to make a demi-toilette at Holland House rather than drive all the way to London. Rogers came to dinner, which was very entertaining. The Duke of Manchester was there, whom I remember having seen long ago. He had left a part of his brain in Jamaica by a terrible fracture, yet, notwithstanding the accident and the bad climate, was still a fine-looking man. Lady Holland ^[204] pressed me to stay all night, which I did accordingly.

May 18.—The freshness of the air, the singing of the birds, the beautiful aspect of nature, the size of the venerable trees, all gave me a delightful feeling this morning. It seemed there was pleasure even in living and breathing, without anything else. We (i.e. Rogers and I) wandered into a green lane bordered with fine trees, which might have been twenty miles from a town. It will be a great pity when this ancient house must come down and give way to brick works and brick-houses. It is not that Holland House is fine as a building; on the contrary, it has a tumble-down look; and, although decorated with the bastard Gothic of James I.'s time, the front is heavy. But it resembles many respectable matrons, who, having been absolutely ugly during youth, acquire by age an air of dignity;—though one is chiefly affected by the air of deep seclusion which is spread around the domain. I called on Mr. Peel as I returned home, and after that on Lord Melville. The latter undertook for Allan Cunningham's son's cadetship, for which I am right glad.

Dined at Mr. and Lady Sarah Ponsonby's, who called on us last year at Abbotsford. The party was very pleasant, having Lord and Lady Gower, whom I like, Mr. and Lady Georgiana Ellis, and other persons of distinction. Saw Wordsworth too, and learned that Tom Moore was come to town.

May 19.—A morning of business. Breakfasted with Dumergue and one or two friends. Dined by command with the Duchess of Kent. I was very kindly recognised by Prince Leopold. I was presented to the little Princess Victoria,—I hope they will change her name,—the heir apparent to the Crown as things now stand. How strange that so large and fine a family as that of his late Majesty should have died off and decayed into old age with so few descendants! Prince George of Cumberland is, they say, a fine boy about nine years old—a bit of a pickle, swears and romps like a brat that has been bred in a barrack yard. This little lady is educated with much care, and watched so closely by the Duchess and the principal governess, that no busy maid has a moment to whisper, "You are heir of England." I suspect if we could dissect the little head, we should find that some pigeon or other bird of the air had carried the matter. She is fair, like the Royal Family, but does not look as if she would be pretty. The Duchess herself is very pleasing and affable in her manners. I sat by Mr. Spring Rice, a very agreeable man. He is a great leader among the Pro-Catholics. I saw also Charles Wynn and his lady—and the evening, for a Court evening, went agreeably off. I am commanded for two days by Prince Leopold, but will send excuses.

May 20.—I set out for Brighton this morning in a light coach, which performed the distance in six hours—otherwise the journey was uncomfortable. Three women, the very specimens of womankind,—I mean trumpery,—a child who was sick, but afterwards looked and smiled, and was the only thing like company. The road is pleasant enough till it gets into the Wealds of Sussex, a huge succession of green downs which sweep along the sea-coast for many miles. Brighton seems grown twice as large since 1815. It is a city of loiterers and invalids—a Vanity Pair for pipers, dancing of bears, and for the feats of Mr. Punch. I found all my family well excepting the poor pale Johnnie; and he is really a thing to break one's heart by looking at—yet he is better. The rest are in high kelter.

My old friend Will Rose dined with us, also a Doctor Yates and his wife—the Esculapius of Brighton, who seems a sensible man. I was entertained with the empire he exerted over him as protector of his health. I was very happy to find myself at Sophia's quiet table, and am only sorry that I must quit her so soon.

May 21.—This being a fine day, we made some visits in the morning, in the course of which I waited on Mrs. Davies, sister of Mrs. Charlotte Smith,^[205] and herself the author of the Peacock at Home, one of the prettiest and liveliest jeux d'esprit in our language. She is a fine stately old lady—not a bit of a literary person,—I mean having none of the affectation of it, but like a lady of considerable rank. I am glad I have seen her. Renewed my acquaintance with Lady Charlotte Hamilton, née Lady Charlotte Hume, and talked over some stories thirty years old at least. We then took a fly, as they call the light carriages, and drove as far as the Devil's Ditch. A rampart it is of great strength and depth, enclosing, I presume, the precincts of a British town that must have held 30,000 men at least. I could not discover where they got water.

We got home at four, and dined at five, and smoked cigars till eight. Will Rose came in with his man Hinvaes,^[206] who is as much a piece of Rose as Trim was of Uncle Toby. We laughed over tales "both old and new" till ten o'clock came, and then broke up.

May 22.—Left Brighton this morning with a heavy heart. Poor Johnnie looks so very poorly that I cannot but regard his case as desperate, and then God help the child's parents! Amen!

We took the whole of one of the post-coaches, and so came rapidly to town, Sophia coming along with us about a new servant. This enabled me to dine with Mr. Adolphus, the celebrated barrister, the father to my young friend who wrote so like a gentleman on my matters.^[207] I met Mr. Gurney, Archdeacon Wrangham, and a lawyer or two besides. I may be partial, but the conversation of intelligent barristers amuses me more than that of other professional persons. There is more of real life in it, with which, in all its phases, people of business get so well acquainted. Mr. Adolphus is a man of varied information, and very amusing. He told me a gipsy told him of the success he should have in life, and how it would be endangered by his own heat of temper, alluding, I believe, to a quarrel betwixt him and a brother barrister.

May 23.—I breakfasted with Chantrey, and met the celebrated Coke of Norfolk,^[208] a very pleasing man, who gave me some account of his plantations. I understand from him that, like every wise man, he planted land that would not let for 5s. per acre, but which now produces £3000 a year in wood. He talked of the trees which he had planted as being so thick that a man could not fathom ^[209] them. Withers, he said, was never employed save upon one or two small jobs of about twenty acres on which every expense was bestowed with a view to early growth. So much for Withers. I shall have a rod in pickle for him if worth while.^[210] After sitting to Chantrey for the last time, I called on Lady Shelley, P.P.C., and was sorry to find her worse than she had been. Dined with Lady Stafford, where I met the two Lochs, John and James. The former gave me his promise for a cadetship to Allan Cunningham's son; I have a similar promise from Lord Melville, and thus I am in the situation in which I have been at Gladdies Wiel,^[211] where I have caught two trouts, one with the fly, the other with the bobber. I have landed both, and so I will now. Mr. Loch also promised me to get out Shortreed as a free mariner. Tom Grenville was at dinner.

May 24.—This day we dined at Richmond Park with Lord Sidmouth. Before dinner his Lordship showed me letters which passed between the great Lord Chatham and Dr. Addington, Lord Sidmouth's [father]. There was much of that familiar friendship which arises, and must arise, between an invalid, the head of an invalid family, and their medical adviser, supposing the last to be a wise and well-bred man. The character of Lord Chatham's handwriting is strong and bold, and his expressions short and manly. There are intimations of his partiality for William, whose health seems to have been precarious during boyhood. He talks of William imitating him in all he did, and calling for ale because his father was recommended to drink it. "If I should smoke," he said, "William would instantly call for a pipe;" and, he wisely infers, "I must take care what I do." The letters of the late William Pitt are of great curiosity, but as, like all real letters of business, they only allude to matters with which his correspondent is well acquainted, and do not enter into details, they would require an ample commentary. I hope Lord Sidmouth will supply this, and have urged it as much as I can. I think, though I hate letters and abominate interference, I will write to him on this subject.

I have bought a certain quantity of reprints from a bookseller in Chancery Lane, Pickering by name. I urged him to print the controversy between Greene and the Harveys. He wished me to write a third part to a fine edition of Cotton's Angler, for which I am quite incompetent.^[212]

I met at Richmond my old and much esteemed friend Lord Stowell,^[213] looking very frail and even comatose. Quantum mutatus! He was one of the pleasantest men I ever knew.

Respecting the letters, I picked up from those of Pitt that he was always extremely desirous of peace with France, and even reckoned upon it at a moment when he ought to have despaired. I suspect this false view of the state of France (for such it was), which induced the British Minister to look for peace when there was no chance of it, damped his ardour in maintaining the war. He wanted the lofty ideas of his father—you read it in his handwriting, great statesman as he was. I saw a letter or two of Burke's in which there is an épanchement du cœur not visible in those of Pitt, who writes like a Premier to his colleague. Burke was under the strange hallucination that his son, who predeceased him, was a man of greater talents than himself. On the contrary, he had little talent and no resolution. On moving some resolutions in favour of the Catholics, which were ill-received by the House of Commons, young Burke actually ran away, which an Orangeman compared to a cross-reading in the newspapers:—Yesterday the Catholic resolutions were moved, etc., but, the pistol missing fire, the villains ran off!

May 25.—After a morning of letter-writing, leave-taking, papers destroying, and God knows what trumpery, Sophia and I set out for Hampton Court, carrying with us the following lions and lionesses—Samuel Rogers, Tom Moore, Wordsworth, with wife and daughter. We were very kindly and properly received by Walter and his wife, and a very pleasant party.^[214]

May 26.—An awful confusion with paying of bills, writing of cards, and all species of trumpery business. Southey, who is just come to town, breakfasted with us. He looks, I think, but poorly, but it may be owing to family misfortune. One is always tempted to compare Wordsworth and Southey. The latter is unquestionably the greater scholar—I mean possesses the most extensive stock of information, but there is a freshness, vivacity, and spring about Wordsworth's mind, which, if we may compare two men of uncommon powers, shows more originality. I say nothing of their poetry. Wordsworth has a system which disposes him to take the bull by the horns and offend public taste, which, right or wrong, will always be the taste of the public; yet he could be popular if he would,—witness the Feast at Brougham Castle,—Song of the Cliffords, I think, is the name.

I walked down to call, with Rogers, on Mrs. D'Arblay. She showed me some notes which she was making about her novels, which she induced me to believe had been recollected and jotted down in compliance with my suggestions on a former occasion. It is curious how she contrived to get Evelina printed and published without her father's knowledge. Her brother placed it in the hands of one Lowndes, who, after its success, bought it for £20!!! and had the magnanimity to add £10—the price, I think, of Paradise Lost. One of her sisters betrayed the secret to her father, who then eagerly lent his ears to hear what was said of the new novel, and the first opinion which saluted his delighted ears was the voice of Johnson energetically recommending it to the perusal of Mrs Thrale.^[215]

At parting, Rogers gave me a gold-mounted pair of glasses, which I will not part with in a hurry. I really like Rogers, and have always found him most friendly. After many petty delays we set off at last and reached Bushy Grove to dine with my kind and worthy family friend and relative, David Haliburton. I am delighted to find him in all the enjoyment of life, with the vivacity of youth in his sentiments and enjoyments. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell Marjoribanks are the only company here, with Miss Parker.

May 27.—Well, my retreat from London is now accomplished, and I may fairly balance the advantage and loss of this London trip. It has cost me a good deal of money, and Johnnie's illness has taken away much of the pleasure I had promised myself. But if I can judge from the reception I have met with, I have the pleasure to know that I stand as fair with the public, and as high with my personal friends, as in any period of my life. And this has enabled me to forward the following objects to myself and others:—

1st. I have been able to place Lockhart on the right footing in the right quarter, leaving the improvement of his place of vantage to himself as circumstances should occur.

2d. I have put the Chancery suit in the right train, which without me could not have been done.^[216]

3d. I picked up some knowledge of the state of existing matters, which is interesting and may be useful.

7th. I have put John Eckford into correspondence with Mr. Loch, who thinks he can do something for his claim.

9th. I have effectually protected my Darnick neighbours and myself against the New Road Bill.

Other advantages there are, besides the great one of scouring up one's own mind a little and renewing intercourse with old friends, bringing one's-self nearer in short to the currency of the time.

All this may weigh against the expenditure of £200 or £250, when money is fortunately not very scarce with me.

We went out for a most agreeable drive through the Hertfordshire Lanes—a strange intricate combination of narrow roads passing through the country, winding and turning among oaks and other large timber, just like pathways cut through a forest. They wind and turn in so singular a manner, and resemble each other so much, that a stranger would have difficulty to make way amongst them. We visited Moor Park (not the house of Sir William Temple, but that where the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth lived). Having rather a commanding situation, you look down on the valley, which, being divided into small enclosures bordered with wood, resembles a forest when so looked down on. The house has a handsome entrance-hall, painted by Sir James Thornhill, in a very French taste, yet handsome. He was Hogarth's father-in-law, and not easily reconciled to the match. Thornhill's paintings are certainly not of the first class, yet the practice of painting the walls and roof of a dwelling-house gives, in my eyes, a warm and rich air to the apartments. Lord Grosvenor has now bought this fine place, once Lord Anson's—hence the Moor Park apricot is also called Ansoniana. After seeing Moor Park we went to the Grove, the Earl of Clarendon's country-seat. The house looks small and of little consequence, but contains many good portraits, as I was told, of the Hyde family.^[217] The park has fine views and magnificent trees.

We went to Cashiobury, belonging to the Earl of Essex, an old mansion, apparently, with a fine park. The Colne runs through the grounds, or rather creeps through them.

Borthwick-brae ^[218] came to dinner from town, and we had a very pleasant evening. My excellent old friend reminded me of the old and bitter feud between the Scotts and the Haliburtons, and observed it was curious I should have united the blood of two hostile clans.

May 28.—We took leave of our kind old host after breakfast, and set out for our own land. Our elegant researches carried us out of the high-road and through a labyrinth of intricate lanes,—which seem made on purpose to afford strangers the full benefit of a dark night and a drunk driver,—in order to visit Gill's Hill, famous for the murder of Mr. Weare.

The principal part of the house has been destroyed, and only the kitchen remains standing. The garden has been dismantled, though a few laurels and garden shrubs, run wild, continue to mark the spot. The fatal pond is now only a green swamp, but so near the house that one cannot conceive how it was ever chosen as a place of temporary concealment of the murdered body. Indeed the whole history of the murder, and the scenes which ensued, are strange pictures of desperate and short-sighted wickedness. The feasting—the singing—the murderer with his hands still bloody hanging round the neck of one of the females—the watch-chain of the murdered man, argue the utmost apathy. Even Probert, the most frightened of the party, fled no further for relief than to the brandy bottle, and is found in the very lane, and at the spot of the murder, seeking for the murderous weapon, and exposing himself to the view of the passengers. Another singular mark of stupid audacity was their venturing to wear the clothes of their victim. There was a want of foresight in the whole arrangement of the deed, and the attempts to conceal it, which argued strange inconsideration, which a professed robber would not have exhibited. There was just one single shade of redeeming character about a business so brutal, perpetrated by men above the very lowest rank of life—it was the mixture of revenge which afforded some relief to the circumstances of treachery and premeditation which accompanied it. But Weare was a cheat, and had no doubt pillaged Thurtell, who therefore deemed he might take greater liberties with him than with others.

The dirt of the present habitation equalled its wretched desolation, and a truculent-looking hag, who showed us the place, and received half-a-crown, looked not unlike the natural inmate of such a mansion. She indicated as much herself, saying the landlord had dismantled the place because no respectable person would live there. She seems to live entirely alone, and fears no ghosts, she says.

One thing about this mysterious tragedy was never explained. It is said that Weare, as is the habit of such men, always carried about his person, and between his flannel waistcoat and shirt, a sum of ready money, equal to £1500 or £2000. No such money was ever recovered, and as the sum divided by Thurtell among his accomplices was only about £20, he must, in slang phrase, have bucketed his pals.^[219]

May 29.—We travelled from Alconbury Hill to Ferry Bridge, upwards of a hundred miles, amid all the beauties of "flourish" and verdure which spring awakens at her first approach in the midland counties of England, but without any variety save those of the season's making. I do believe this great north road is the dullest in the world, as well as the most convenient for the traveller. Nothing seems to me to have been altered within twenty or thirty years, save the noses of the landlords, which have bloomed and given place to another set of proboscises as germane us the old ones to the very welcome,—please to light—'Orses forward, and ready out. The skeleton at Barnby Moor has deserted his gibbet, and that is the only change I recollect.

I have amused myself to-day with reading Lockhart's Life of Burns, which is very well written—in fact, an admirable thing. He has judiciously slurred over his vices and follies; for although Currie, I myself, and others, have not said a word more on that subject than is true, yet as the dead corpse is straightened, swathed, and made decent, so ought the character of such an inimitable genius as Burns to be tenderly handled after death. The knowledge of his vicious weaknesses or vices is only a subject of sorrow to the well-disposed, and of triumph to the profligate.

May 30.—We left Ferry Bridge at seven, and turning westwards, or rather northwestward, at Borough Bridge, we roach Rokeby at past three. A mile from the house we met Morritt looking for us. I had great pleasure at finding myself at Rokeby, and recollecting a hundred passages of past time. Morritt looks well and easy in his mind, which I am delighted to see. He is now one of my oldest, and, I believe, one of my most sincere, friends, a man unequalled in the mixture of sound good sense, high literary cultivation, and the kindest and sweetest temper that ever graced a human bosom. His nieces are much attached to him, and are deserving and elegant, as well as beautiful young women. What there is in our partiality to female beauty that commands a species of temperate homage from the aged, as well as ecstatic admiration from the young, I cannot conceive, but it is certain that a very large proportion of some other amiable quality is too little to counterbalance the absolute want of this advantage. I, to whom beauty is and shall henceforth be a picture, still look upon it with the quiet devotion of an old worshipper, who no longer offers incense on the shrine, but peaceably presents his inch of taper, taking special care in doing so not to burn his own fingers. Nothing in life can be more ludicrous or contemptible than an old man aping the passions of his youth.

Talking of youth, there was a certain professor at Cambridge who used to keep sketches of all the youths who, from their conduct at college, seemed to bid fair for distinction in life. He showed them, one day, to an old shrewd sarcastic Master of Arts, who looked over the collection, and then observed, "A promising nest of eggs; what a pity the great part will turn out addle!" And so they do; looking round amongst the young men, one sees to all appearance fine flourish—but it ripens not.

May 31.—I have finished Napier's War in the Peninsula.^[220] It is written in the spirit of a Liberal, but the narrative is distinct and clear, and I should suppose accurate. He has, however, given a bad sample of accuracy in the case of Lord Strangford, where his pointed affirmation has been as pointedly repelled. It is evident he would require probing. His defence of Moore is spirited and well argued, though it is evident he defends the statesman as much as the general. As a Liberal and a military man, Colonel Napier finds it difficult to steer his course. The former character calls on him to plead for the insurgent Spaniards; the latter induces him to palliate the cruelties of the French. Good-even to him until next volume, which I shall long to see. This was a day of pleasure and nothing else. After breakfast I walked with Morritt in the new path he has made up the Tees. When last here, his poor nephew was of the party. It hangs on my mind, and perhaps on Morritt's. When we returned we took a short drive as far as Barnard Castle; and the business of eating and drinking took up the remainder of the evening, excepting a dip into the Greta Walk.

JUNE.

June 1.—We took leave of our friends at Rokeby after breakfast, and pursued our well-known path over Stanmore to Brough, Appleby, Penrith, and Carlisle. As I have this road by heart, I have little amusement save the melancholy task of recalling the sensations with which I have traced it in former times, all of which refer to decay of animal strength, and abatement if not of mental powers, at least of mental energy. The non est tanti grows fast at my time of life. We reached Carlisle at seven o'clock, and were housed for the night. My books being exhausted, I lighted on an odd volume of the Gentleman's Magazine, a work in which, as in a pawnbroker's shop, much of real curiosity and value are stowed away and concealed amid the frippery and trumpery of those reverend old gentlewomen who were the regular correspondents of the work.

June 2.—We intended to walk to the Castle, but were baffled by rainy weather. I was obliged to wait for a certificate from the parish register—Hei mihi!! I cannot have it till ten o'clock, or rather, as it chanced, till past eleven, when I got the paper for which I waited.^[221] We lunched at Hawick, and concluded our pilgrimage at Abbotsford about nine at night, where the joyful barking of the dogs, with the sight of the kind familiar faces of our domestics, gave us welcome, and I enjoyed a sound repose on my own bed. I remark that in this journey I have never once experienced depression of spirits, or the tremor cordis of which I have sometimes such unpleasant visits. Dissipation, and a succession of trifling engagements, prevent the mind from throwing itself out in the manner calculated to exhaust the owner, and to entertain other people. There is a lesson in this.

June 3, [Abbotsford].—This was a very idle day. I waked to walk about my beautiful young woods with old Tom and the dogs. The sun shone bright, and the wind fanned my cheek as if it were a welcoming. I did not do the least right thing, except packing a few books necessary for writing the continuation of the Tales. In this merry mood I wandered as far as Huntly Burn, where I found the Miss Fergusons well and happy; then I sauntered back to Abbotsford, sitting on every bench by the way, and thus

A good appetite made my simple meal relish better than the magnificent cheer which I have lately partaken of. I smoked a cigar, slept away an hour, and read Mure of Auchendrane's trial, and thus ended the day. I cannot afford to spend many such, nor would they seem so pleasant.

June 4, [Edinburgh].—The former part of this day was employed much as yesterday, but some packing was inevitable. Will Laidlaw came to dinner, of which we partook at three o'clock. Started at half-past four, and arrived at home, if we must call it so, at nine o'clock in the evening. I employed my leisure in the chaise to peruse Mure of Auchendrane's trial, out of which something might be coopered up for the public.^[222] It is one of the wildest stories I ever read. Something might surely be twisted out of it.

June 5.—Cadell breakfasted; in great spirits with the success of the Fair Maid of Perth. A disappointment being always to be apprehended, I too am greatly pleased that the evil day is adjourned, for the time must come—and yet I can spin a tough yarn still with any one now going.

I was much distressed to find that the last of the Macdonald Buchanans, a fine lad of about twenty-one, is now decidedly infected by the same pulmonary complaint which carried off his four brothers in succession. This is indeed a cruel stroke, and it is melancholy to witness the undaunted Highland courage of the father.

June 6.—I have determined to work sans intermission for lost time, and to make up at least my task every day. J. Gibson called on me with good hopes that the trustees will authorise the grand opus to be set afloat.^[223] They are scrupulous a little about the expense of engravings, but I fear the taste of the town will not be satisfied without them. It is time these things were settled. I wrought both before and after dinner, and finished five pages, which is two above bargain.

June 7.—Saturday was another working day, and nothing occurred to disturb me.

June 8.—I finished five sheets this day. Will Clerk and Francis Scott of Harden came to dinner, and we spent a pleasant evening.

June 9.—I laboured till about one, and was then obliged to go to attend a meeting of the Oil Gas Company,—as I devoutly hope for the last time.

After that I was obliged to go to sit to Colvin Smith, which is an atrocious bore, but cannot be helped.^[224]

Cadell rendered me report of accounts paid for me with vouchers, which very nearly puts me out of all shop debts. God grant me grace to keep so!

June 10-14.—During these five days almost nothing occurred to diversify the ordinary task of the day, which, I must own, was dull enough. I rose to my task by seven, and, less or more, wrought it out in the course of the day, far exceeding the ordinary average of three leaves per day. I have attended the Parliament House with the most strict regularity, and returned to dine alone with Anne. Also, I gave three sittings to Mr. Colvin Smith, who I think has improved since I saw him.

Of important intelligence nothing occurs save the termination of all suspense on the subject of poor James Macdonald Buchanan. He died at Malta. The celebrated Dugald Stewart is also dead, famous for his intimate acquaintance with the history and philosophy of the human mind. There is much of water-painting in all metaphysics, which consist rather of words than ideas. But Stewart was most impressive and eloquent. In former days I was frequently with him, but not for many years. Latterly, I am told, he had lost not the power of thinking, but the power of expressing his thoughts by speech. This is like the Metamorphosis of Ovid, the bark binding in and hardening the living flesh.

June 15.—W. Clerk, Francis Scott, and Charles Sharpe dined with me, but my task had been concluded before dinner.

June 16.—Dined at Dalmahoy, with the young Earl and Countess of Morton. I like these young noble folks particularly well. Their manners and style of living are easy and unaffected, and I should like to see them often. Came home at night. The task finished to-day. I should mention that the plan about the new edition of the novels was considered at a meeting of trustees, and finally approved of. I trust it will answer; yet, who can warrant the continuance of popularity? Old Corri,^[225] who entered into many projects, and could never set the sails of a wind-mill so as to catch the aura popularis, used to say that he believed that were he to turn baker, it would put bread out of fashion. I have had the better luck to dress my sails to every wind; and so blow on, good wind, and spin round, whirligig.

June 17.—Violent rheumatic headache all day. Wrought, however. But what difference this troublesome addition may make on the quality of the stuff produced, truly I do not know. I finished five leaves.

June 18.—Some Italian gentlemen landed here, under the conveyance of the Misses Haig of Bemerside. They were gentlemanlike men; but as I did not dare to speak bad French, I had not much to say to foreigners. Gave them and their pretty guides a good breakfast, however. The scene seemed to me to resemble Sheridan's scene in the Critic.^[226] There are a number of very civil gentlemen trying to make themselves understood, and I do not know which is the interpreter. After all, it is not my fault. They who wish to see me should be able to speak my language. I called on Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie. She received me with all the kindness of former days, and I was delighted to see her. I sat about an hour with her. My head aches, for all that, and I have heavy fits of drowsiness. Well, I have finished my task, and have a right to sleep if I have a mind.

I dine to-day with Lord Mackenzie, where I hope to meet Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie again, for I love her warm heart and lively fancy. Accordingly I enjoyed this pleasure.^[227]

June 19.—Scribbled away lustily. Went to the P.H. Wrote when I came home, both before and after dinner—that's all, I think. I am become a sort of writing automaton, and truly the joints of my knees, especially the left, are so stiff and painful in rising and sitting down, that I can hardly help screaming—I that was so robust and active; I get into a carriage with great difficulty. My head, too, is bothered with rheumatic headaches. Why not? I got headaches by my folly when I was young, and now I am old they come uncalled. Infirmity gives what indiscretion bought.

June 20.—My course is still the same. But I have a painful letter from Lockhart, which takes away the last hope of poor Johnnie's recovery. It is no surprise to me. The poor child, so amiable in its disposition, and so promising from its talents, was not formed to be long with us, and I have long expected that it must needs come to this. I hope I shall not outlive my children in other cases, and I think there is little chance of it. My father did not long survive the threescore and ten; it will be wonderful if I reach that goal of ordinary mortality. God send it may find me prepared; and, whatever I may have been formerly, high spirits are not now like to carry me away.

June, 21.—At Court, and called on Ballantyne on my return. I was obliged to go to the Register Office at one, where I waited nearly an hour without meeting my brethren. But I wrote a letter to Lockhart in the meantime. My niece Ann arrived, to my great satisfaction. I am glad that Anne, my daughter, has such a sensible and clever companion. Dined at Baron Hume's.

June 22.—Wrought. Had a note from Ballantyne complaining of my manuscript, and requesting me to read it over. I would give £1000 if I could; but it would take me longer to read than to write. I cannot trace my pieds de mouche but with great labour and trouble; so e'en take your own share of the burden, my old friend; and, since I cannot read, be thankful I can write. I will look at his proof, however, and then be quiet and idle for the rest of the evening. I am come to Charles the First's trial, and though I have it by heart, I must refresh myself with a reading of Clarendon. Charles Sharpe and Francis Scott came in the evening.

June 23.—This morning the two Annes and I went to Sir Robert Liston at Milburn Tower—a beautiful retreat. The travels of the venerable diplomatist are indicated by the various articles of curiosity which he has picked up in different corners of the world, and put together with much taste. The conservatory and gardens are very fine, and contain, I suppose, very curious plants;—I am sure, hard names enough. But then the little Gothic tower, embowered amid trees and bushes, surrounded by these pleasant gardens, offering many a sunny walk for winter, many a shade for summer, are inexpressibly pleasing. The good old knight and his lady are worthy of it, for they enjoy it. The artificial piece of water is a failure, like most things of the kind. The offices, without being on an extravagant scale, are most substantial; the piggery, in particular, is quite a palace, and the animals clean and comfortable. I think I have caught from them a fit of piggish obstinacy. I came at one, and cannot prevail upon myself to go to work. I answer the calls of duty as Caliban does those of Prospero, "There's wood enough within." To be sure, I have not got the Clarendon.

June 24.—It was my father's own son, as John Hielandman said, who did little both yesterday and to-day—I mean little in the way of literary work, for, as to positive work, I have been writing letters about Chancery business till I am sick of it. There was a long hearing, and while Jeffrey exerted his eloquence in the Inner House, I plied my eloquence de billet in the Library. So, on the whole, I am no bad boy. Besides, the day is not yet over.

June 25.—I was surprised to hear that our Academy Rector, Williams, has renounced the chair of Roman learning in the new London University. His alarm was excited by the interest taken by the prelates in opposing a High Church institution to that desired by Mr. Brougham. Both the Bishops and Williams have been unwise. The former have manoeuvred ill. They should, in the outset, have taken the establishment out of the hands of the Whigs, without suffering them to reinforce themselves by support from [others]. And Williams was equally precipitate in joining an institution which a small degree of foresight might have assured him would be opposed by his spiritual superiors. However, there he stands, deprived of his professorship by his resignation, and of his rectorship by our having engaged with a successor. I think it very doubtful whether the Bishops will now [admit] him into their alliance. He has in that case offended both parties. But if they are wise, they will be glad to pick up the best schoolmaster in Europe, though he comes for the present Graiâ ex urbe. I accomplished more than my task to-day.

June, 26.—Wrote a long letter to Lockhart about Williams' situation, saying how, by sitting betwixt two stools, he

and how the Bishops should pick him up if they wanted their establishment to succeed. It is an awkward position in which Williams has placed himself. He loses the Whig chair, and has perhaps no chance of favour from the High Church for having been willing to accept it. Even if they now give him promotion, there will be a great outcry on his having left one institution to join another. He would be thick-skinned if he stands the clamour. Yet he has to all appearance rather sacrificed than advanced his interest. However, I say again, the Bishops ought not to omit securing him.

Mr. Macintosh Mackay breakfasted with me, modest, intelligent, and gentle. I did my duty and more in the course of the day.

I am vexed about Mackay missing the church of Cupar in Angus. It is in the Crown's gift, and Peel, finding that two parties in the town recommended two opposite candidates, very wisely chose to disappoint them both, and was desirous of bestowing the presentation on public grounds. I heard of this, and applied to Mr. Peel for Macintosh Mackay, whose quiet patience and learning are accompanied by a most excellent character as a preacher and a clergyman, but unhappily Mr. Peel had previously put himself into the hands of Sir George Murray, who applied to Sir Peter his brother, who naturally applied to certain leaders of the Church at Edinburgh, and these reverend gentlemen have recommended that the church which the minister desired to fill up on public grounds should be bestowed on a boy,^[228] the nephew of one of their number, of whom the best that can be said is that nothing is known, since he has only been a few months in orders. This comes of kith, kin, and ally, but Peel shall know of it, and may perhaps judge for himself another time.

June 27.—I came out after Court to Blair Adam, with our excellent friend the Rev. John Thomson of Duddingston, so modest and so accomplished;—delightful drive and passage at the ferry. We found at Blair Adam the C.C. and family, Admiral Adam and lady, James Thomson of Charlton, and Miss T., Will Clerk, and last, not least, Lord Chief Baron Shepherd—all in high spirits for our excursions.

Thomson described to me a fine dungeon in the old tower at Cassillis in Ayrshire. There is an outer and inner vaulted [chamber], each secured with iron doors. At the upper end of the innermost are two great stones or blocks to which the staples and chains used in securing the prisoners are still attached. Between these stone seats is an opening like the mouth of a still deeper dungeon. The entrance descends like the mouth of a draw-well or shaft of a mine, and deep below is heard the sullen roar of the river Doon, one branch of which, passing through the bottom of the shaft, has probably swept away the body of many a captive, whose body after death may have been thus summarily disposed of. I may find use for such a place—Story of [Kittleclarkie?]

June 28.—Off we go to Castle Campbell after breakfast, i.e. Will Clerk, Admiral Adam, J. Thomson, and myself. Tremendous hot is the day, and the steep ascent of the Castle, which rises for two miles up a rugged and broken path, was fatiguing enough, yet not so much so as the streets in London. Castle Campbell is unaltered; the window, of which the disjointed stone projects at an angle from the wall, and seems at the point of falling, has still found power to resist the laws of gravitation. Whoever built that tottering piece of masonry has been long in a forgotten grave, and yet what he has made seems to survive in spite of nature itself. The curious cleft called Kemp's Score, which gave the garrison access to the water in case of siege, is obviously natural, but had been improved by steps, now choked up. A girl who came with us recollected she had shown me the way down to the bottom of this terrible gulf seven years ago. I am not able for it now.

June 29.—Being Sunday we kept about the doors, and after two took the drosky and drove over the hill and round by the Kiery Craigs. I should have said Williams came out in the morning to ask my advice about staying another year in Edinburgh. I advised him if possible to gain a few days' time till I should hear from Lockhart. He has made a pretty mess for himself, but if the Bishops are wise, they may profit by it. The sound, practical advice of Williams at the first concoction would be of the last consequence. I suspect their systems of eating-houses are the most objectionable part of the college discipline. When their attentions are to be given to the departments of the cook and the butler, all zeal in the nobler paths of education is apt to decay.

Well, to return to the woods. I think, notwithstanding Lord Chief Commissioner's assiduity, they are in some places too thick. I saw a fine larch, felled seventy-two years old, value about five pounds.

Hereditary descent in the Highlands. A clergyman showed J.T. the island of Inch Mahome in the Port of Monteith, and pointed out the boatman as a remarkable person, the representative of the hereditary gardeners of the Earls of Monteith, while these Earls existed. His son, a priggish boy, follows up the theme—"Feyther, when Donald MacCorkindale dees will not the family be extinct?" Father—"No; I believe there is a man in Balquhidder who takes up the succession."

June 30.—We made our pleasant excursion to-day round the hill of Bennarty par terre, and returned par mer. Our route by land led us past Lochore, where we made a pause for a few moments. Then proceeded to Ballingray or Bingray, and so by Kirkness, where late ravages are supplied by the force of vegetation down to the shores of Lochleven. We embarked and went upon Saint Serf's Island, supposed to have been anciently a cell of the Culdees. An old pinfold, or rather a modern pinfold, constructed out of the ancient chapel, is all that attests its former sanctity. We landed on Queen Mary's Island, a miserable scene, considering the purpose for which the Castle was appointed. And yet the captivity and surrender of the Percy was even a worse tale, since it was an eternal blight on the name of Douglas. Well, we got to Blair Adam in due time, and our fine company began to separate, Lord Chief Baron going off after dinner. We had wine and wassail, and John Thomson's delightful flute to help us through the evening.

Thus end the delectations of the Blair Adam Club for this year. Mrs. Thomson of Charlton talks of Beaton's House, and other Fife wonders for the next year, but who knows what one year may bring forth? Our Club has been hitherto fortunate. It has subsisted twelve years.

JULY.

July I, [Edinburgh].—Got home, however, by nine, and went to the Parliament House, where we were detained till four o'clock. Miss ——— dined with us, a professed lion-huntress, who travels the country to rouse the peaceful beasts out of their lair, and insists on being hand and glove with all the leonine race. She is very plain, besides frightfully red-haired, and out-Lydia-ing even my poor friend Lydia White. An awful visitation! I think I see her with javelin raised and buskined foot, a second Diana, roaming the hills of Westmoreland in quest of the lakers. Would to God she were there or anywhere but here! Affectation is a painful thing to witness, and this poor woman has the bad taste to think direct flattery is the way to make her advances to friendship and intimacy.

July 2.—I believe I was cross yesterday. I am at any rate very ill to-day with a rheumatic headache, and a still more vile hypochondriacal affection, which fills my head with pain, my heart with sadness, and my eyes with tears. I do not wonder at the awful feelings which visited men less educated and less firm than I may call myself. It is a most hang-dog cast of feeling, but it may be chased away by study or by exercise. The last I have always found most successful, but the first is most convenient. I wrought therefore, and endured all this forenoon, being a Teind Wednesday. I am now in such a state that I would hardly be surprised at the worst news which could be brought to me. And all this without any rational cause why to-day should be sadder than yesterday.

Two things to lighten my spirits—First, Cadell comes to assure me that the stock of 12mo novels is diminished from 3800, which was the quantity in the publishers' hands in March 1827, to 600 or 700. This argues gallant room for the publication of the New Series. Second, said Cadell is setting off straight for London to set affairs a-going. If I have success in this, it will greatly assist in extricating my affairs.

My aches of the heart terminated in a cruel aching of the head—rheumatic, I suppose. But Sir Adam and Clerk came to dinner, and laughed and talked the sense of pain and oppression away. We cannot at times work ourselves into a gay humour, any more than we can tickle ourselves into a fit of laughter; foreign agency is necessary. My huntress of lions again dined with us. I have subscribed to her Album, and done what was civil.

July 3.—Corrected proofs in the morning, and wrote a little. I was forced to crop vol. i. as thirty pages too long; there is the less to write behind. We were kept late at the Court, and when I came out I bethought me, like Christian in the Castle of Giant Despair, "Wherefore should I walk along the broiling and stifling streets when I have a little key in my bosom which can open any lock in Princes Street Walks, and be thus on the Castle banks, rocks, and trees in a few minutes?" I made use of my key accordingly, and walked from the Castle Hill down to Wallace's Tower,^[231] and thence to the west end of Princes Street, through a scene of grandeur and beauty perhaps unequalled, whether the foreground or distant view is considered—all down hill, too. Foolish never to think of this before. I chatted with the girls a good while after dinner, but wrote a trifle when we had tea.

July 4.—The two Annes set off to Abbotsford, though the weather was somewhat lowering for an open carriage, but the day cleared up finely. Hamilton is unwell, so we had a long hearing of his on our hands. It was four ere I got home, but I had taken my newly discovered path by rock, bush, and ruin. I question if Europe has such another path. We owe this to the taste of James Skene. But I must dress to go to Dr. Hope's, who makes chère exquise, and does not understand being kept late.

July 5.—Saturday, corrected proofs and wrought hard. Went out to dinner at Oxenfoord Castle, and returned in the company of Lord Alloway, Chief Baron, Clerk, etc., and Mr. Bouverie, the English Commissioner.

July 6.—A day of hard work. The second volume is now well advanced—wellnigh one half. Dined alone, and pursued my course after dinner. Seven pages were finished. Solitude's a fine thing for work, but then you must lie by like a spider, till you collect materials to continue your web. Began Simond's Switzerland—clever and intelligent, but rather conceited, as the manner of an American Frenchman. I hope to knock something out of him though.

July 7.—Williams seems in uncertainty again, and I can't guess what he will be at. Surely it is a misery to be so indecisive; he will certainly gain the ill word of both parties and might have had the good word of all; and, indeed, deserves it. We received his resignation to-day, but if the King's College are disposed to thrive, they will keep eyes on this very able man.

July 8.—Hard work in the Court, the sederunts turn long and burthensome. I fear they will require some abridgment of vacation.

[From July 8, 1828, to January 10, 1829, there are no entries in the Journal.]

1829.

JANUARY.

Having omitted to carry on my Diary for two or three days, I lost heart to make it up, and left it unfilled for many a month and day. During this period nothing has happened worth particular notice. The same occupations, the same amusements, the same occasional alternations of spirits, gay or depressed, the same absence of all sensible or rational cause for the one or the other. I half grieve to take up my pen, and doubt if it is worth while to record such an infinite quantity of nothing, but hang it! I hate to be beat, so here goes for better behaviour.

January 10.—I resume my task at Abbotsford. We are here alone, except Lockhart, on a flying visit. Morritt, his niece, Sir James Stuart, Skene, and an occasional friend or two, have been my guests since 31st December. I cannot say I have been happy, for the feeling of increasing weakness in my lame leg is a great affliction. I walk now with pain and difficulty at all times, and it sinks my soul to think how soon I may be altogether a disabled cripple. I am tedious to my friends, and I doubt the sense of it makes me fretful.

Everything else goes off well enough. My cash affairs are clearing, and though last year was an expensive one, I have been paying debt. Yet I have a dull contest before me which will probably outlast my life. If well maintained, however, it will be an honourable one, and if the Magnum Opus succeed, it will afford me some repose.

January 11.—I did not write above a page yesterday; most weary, stale, and unprofitable have been my labours. Received a letter I suppose from Mad. T.——, proposing a string of historical subjects not proper for my purpose. People will not consider that a thing may already be so well told in history, that romance ought not in prudence to meddle with it.

The ground covered with snow, which, by slipperiness and the pain occasioned by my lameness, renders walking unpleasant.

January 12.—This is the third day I have not walked out, pain and lameness being the cause. This bodes very ill for my future life. I made a search yesterday and to-day for letters of Lord Byron to send to Tom Moore, but I could only find two. I had several others, and am shocked at missing them. The one which he sent me with a silver cup I regret particularly. It was stolen out of the cup itself by some vile inhospitable scoundrel, for a servant would not have thought such a theft worth while.

My spirits are low, yet I wot not why. I have been writing to my sons. Walter's majority was like to be reduced, but is spared for the present. Charles is going on well I trust at the Foreign Office, so I hope all is well.

Loitered out a useless day, half arranging half disarranging books and papers, and packing the things I shall want. Der Abschiedstag ist da.

January 13.—The day of return to Edinburgh is come. I don't know why, but I am more happy at the change than usual. I am not working hard, and it is what I ought to do, and must do. Every hour of laziness cries fie upon me. But there is a perplexing sinking of the heart which one cannot always overcome. At such times I have wished myself a clerk, quill-driving for twopence per page. You have at least application, and that is all that is necessary, whereas unless your lively faculties are awake and propitious, your application will do you as little good as if you strained your sinews to lift Arthur's Seat.

January 14, [Edinburgh].—Got home last night after a freezing journey. This morning I got back some of the last copy, and tugged as hard as ever did soutar to make ends meet. Then I will be reconciled to my task, which at present disgusts me. Visited Lady Jane, then called on Mr. Robison and instructed him to call a meeting of the Council of the Royal Society, as Mr. Knox proposes to read an essay on some dissections. A bold proposal truly from one who has had so lately the boldness of trading so deep in human flesh! I will oppose his reading in the present circumstances if I should stand alone, but I hope he will be wrought upon to withdraw his essay or postpone it at least. It is very bad taste to push himself forward just now. Lockhart dined with us, which made the evening a pleasant but an idle one. Well! I must rouse myself.

January 15.—Day began with beggars as usual, and John Nicolson has not sense to keep them out. I never yield, however, to this importunity, thinking it wrong that what I can spare to meritorious poverty, of which I hear and see too much, should be diverted by impudent importunity. I was detained at the Parliament House till nearly three by the great case concerning prescription, Maule v. Maule.^[233] This was made up to me by hearing an excellent opinion from Lord Corehouse, with a curious discussion in apicibus juris. I disappointed Graham ^[234] of a sitting for my picture.

I went to the Council of the Royal Society, which was convened at my request, to consider whether we ought to hear a paper on anatomical subjects read by Mr. Knox, whose name has of late been deeply implicated in a criminal prosecution against certain wretches, who had murdered many persons and sold their bodies to professors of the anatomical science. Some thought that our declining to receive the paper would be a declaration unfavourable to Dr. Knox. I think hearing it before Mr. Knox has made any defence (as he is stated to have in view) would be an intimation of our preference of the cause of science to those of morality and common humanity. Mr. Knox's friends undertook to deal with him about suffering the paper to be omitted for the present, while adhuc coram judice lis est.^[235]

January 16.—Nothing on the roll to-day, so I did not go to the Parliament House, but fagged at my desk till two.

Dr. Ross called to relieve me of a corn, which, though my lameness needs no addition, had tormented me vilely. I again met the Royal Society Council. Dr. Knox consents to withdraw his paper, or rather suffers the reading to be postponed. There is some great error in the law on the subject. If it was left to itself many bodies would be imported from France and Ireland, and doubtless many would be found in our hospitals for the service of the anatomical science. But the total and severe exclusion of foreign supplies of this kind raises the price of the "subjects," as they are called technically, to such a height, that wretches are found willing to break into "the bloody house of life,"^[236] merely to supply the anatomists' table. The law which, as a deeper sentence on the guilt of murder, declares that the body of the convicted criminal should be given up to anatomy, is certainly not without effect, for criminals have been known to shrink from that part of the sentence which seems to affect them more than the doom of death itself, with all its terrors here and hereafter. On the other hand, while this idea of the infamy attending the exposition of the person is thus recognised by the law, it is impossible to adopt regulations which would effectually prevent such horrid crimes as the murder of vagrant wretches who can be snatched from society without their being missed, as in the case of the late conspiracy. For instance, if it was now to be enacted, as seems reasonable, that persons dying in hospitals and almshouses, who die without their friends claiming their remains, should be given up to the men of science, this would be subjecting poverty to the penalty of these atrocious criminals whom law distinguishes by the heaviest posthumous disgrace which it can inflict. Even cultivated minds revolt from the exposure on an anatomical table, when the case is supposed to be that of one who is dear to them. I should, I am conscious, be willing that I myself should be dissected in public, if doing so could produce any advantage to society, but when I think on relations and friends being rent from the grave the case is very different, and I would fight knee-deep to prevent or punish such an exposure. So inconsistent we are all upon matters of this nature.

January 17.—Nothing in the roll; corrected proofs, and went off at 12 o'clock in the Hamilton stage to William Lockhart's at Auchinrath. My companions, Mr. Livingstone, the clergyman of Camnethan, a Bailie Hamilton, the king of trumps, I am told, in the Burgh of Hamilton, and a Mr. Davie Martin qui gaudet equis et canibus. Got to Auchinrath by six, and met Lord Douglas,^[237] his brother, Captain Douglas, E.N., John G-. Lockhart also, who had a large communication from Duke of W. upon the subject of the bullion. The Duke scouts the economist's ideas about paper credit, after the proposition that all men shall be entitled to require gold.

January 18.—We went, the two Lockharts and I, to William's new purchase of Milton. We found on his ground a cottage, where a man called Greenshields,^[238] a sensible, powerful-minded person, had at twenty-eight (rather too late a week)^[239] taken up the art of sculpture. He had disposed of the person of the King most admirably, according to my poor thoughts, and had attained a wonderful expression of ease and majesty at the same time. He was desirous of engaging on Burns' Jolly Beggars, which I dissuaded. Caricature is not the object of sculpture.

We went to Milton on as fine a day as could consist with snow on the ground. The situation is eminently beautiful; a fine promontory round which the Clyde makes a magnificent bend. We fixed on a situation where the sitting-room should command the upper view, and, with an ornamental garden, I think it may be made the prettiest place in Scotland.

January 19.—Posted to Edinburgh with John Lockhart. We stopped at Allanton to see a tree transplanted, which was performed with great ease. Sir Henry is a sad coxcomb, and lifted beyond the solid earth by the effect of his book's success. But the book well deserves it.^[240] He is in practice particularly anxious to keep the roots of the tree near the surface, and only covers them with about a foot of earth.

The operation delayed us three hours, so it was seven o'clock before we reached our dinner and a good fire in Shandwick Place, and we were wellnigh frozen to death. During this excursion I walked very ill—with more pain, in fact, than I ever remember to have felt—and, even leaning on John Lockhart, could hardly get on. Baad that, vara baad—it might be the severe weather though, and the numbing effect of the sitting in the carriage. Be it what it will, I can't help myself.

January 20.—I had little to do at the Court, and returned home soon. Honest old Mr. Ferrier is dead, at extreme old age. I confess I should not wish to live so long. He was a man with strong passions and strong prejudices, but with generous and manly sentiments at the same time. We used to call him Uncle Adam, after that character in his gifted daughter's novel of the Heiress [Inheritance]. I wrote a long letter after I came home to my Lord Elgin about Greenshields, the sculptor.^[241] I am afraid he is going into the burlesque line, to which sculpture is peculiarly ill adapted. So I have expressed my veto to his patron, valeat quantum. Also a letter to Mrs. Professor Sandford at Glasgow about reprinting Macaulay's History of St. Kilda,^[242] advising them to insert the history of Lady Grange who was kidnapped and banished thither.

I corrected my proofs, moreover, and prepared to dine. After dinner we go to Euphemia Erskine's marriage. Mr. Dallas came in and presented me with an old pedigree of the M'Intoshes. The wedding took place with the usual April weather of smiles and tears. The bridegroom's name is Dawson. As he, as well as the bride, is very tall, they have every chance of bringing up a family of giants. The bridegroom has an excellent character. He is only a captain, but economy does wonders in the army, where there are many facilities for practising it. I sincerely wish them happiness.

January 21.—Went out to Dalkeith House to dine and stay all night. Found Marquis of Lothian and a family party. I liked the sense and spirit displayed by this young nobleman, who reminds me strongly of his parents, whom I valued so highly.

January 22.—Left Dalkeith after breakfast, and gained the Parliament House, where there was almost nothing to do, at eleven o'clock. Afterwards sat to Graham, who is making a good thing of it. Mr. Colvin Smith has made a better in one sense, having sold ten or twelve copies of the portrait to different friends.^[243] The Solicitor came to dine with me—we drank a bottle of champagne, and two bottles of claret, which, in former days, I should have thought a very sober allowance, since, Lockhart included, there were three persons to drink it. But I felt I had drunk too much, and was uncomfortable. The young men stood it like young men. Skene and his wife and daughter looked in in the evening. I suppose I am turning to my second childhood, for not only am I filled drunk, or made stupid at least, with one bottle of wine, but I am disabled from writing by chilblains on my fingers—a most babyish complaint. They say that the character is indicated by the handwriting; if so, mine is crabbed enough.

January 23.—Still severe frost, annoying to sore fingers. Nothing on the roll. I sat at home and wrote letters to Wilkie, Landseer, Mrs. Hughes, Charles, etc. Went out to old Mr. Ferrier's funeral, and saw the last duty rendered to my old friend, whose age was

I mean in a moral as well as a physical sense. I then went to Cadell's for some few minutes.

I carried out Lockhart to Dalkeith, where we dined, supped, and returned through a clinking frost, with snow on the ground. Lord Ramsay and the Miss Kerrs were at Dalkeith. The Duke shows, for so young a man, a great deal of character, and seems to have a proper feeling of the part he has to play. The evening was pleasant, but the thought that I was now the visitor and friend of the family in the third generation lay somewhat heavy on me. Every thing around me seemed to say that beauty, power, wealth, honour were but things of a day.

January 24.—Heavy fall of snow. Lockhart is off in the mail. I hope he will not be blockaded. The day bitter cold. I went to the Court, and with great difficulty returned along the slippery street. I ought to have taken the carriage, but I have a superstitious dread of giving up the habit of walking, and would willingly stick to the last by my old hardy customs.

Little but trifles to do at the Court. My hands are so covered with chilblains that I can hardly use a pen—my feet ditto.

We bowled away at six o'clock to Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay's. Found we were a week too early, and went back as if our noses had been bleeding.

January 25.—Worked seriously all morning, expecting the Fergusons to dinner. Alas! instead of that, I learn that my poor innocent friend Mary is no more. She was a person of some odd and peculiar habits, wore a singular dress, and affected wild and solitary haunts, but she was, at the same time, a woman of talent, and even genius. She used often to take long walks with me up through the glens; and I believe her sincere good wishes attended me, as I was always glad of an opportunity to show her kindness. I shall long think of her when at Abbotsford. This sad event breaks up our little party. Will Clerk came, however, and his tête-à-tête was, of course, interesting and amusing in the highest degree. We drank some whisky and water, and smoked a cigar or two, till nine at night.

January 26.—I muzzed on—I can call it little better—with Anne of Geierstein. The materials are excellent, but the power of using them is failing. Yet I wrote out about three pages, sleeping at intervals.

January 27.—A great and general thaw, the streets afloat, the snow descending on one's head from the roofs. Went to the Court. There was little to do. Left about twelve, and took a sitting with Graham, who begs for another. Sir James Stuart stood bottle-holder on this occasion. Had rather an unfavourable account of the pictures of James Stuart of Dunearn, which are to be sold. I had promised to pick up one or two for the Duke of Buccleuch. Came home and wrote a leaf or two. I shall be soon done with the second volume of Anne of Geierstein. I cannot persuade myself to the obvious risk of satisfying the public, although I cannot so well satisfy myself. I am like Beaumont and Fletcher's old Merrythought who could not be persuaded that there was a chance of his wanting meat. I never came into my parlour, said he, but I found the cloth laid and dinner ready; surely it will be always thus. Use makes perfectness.^[245]

My reflections are of the same kind; and if they are unlogical they are perhaps not the less comfortable. Fretting and struggling does no good. Wrote to Miss Margaret Ferguson a letter of condolence.

January 28.—Breakfasted, for a wonder, abroad with Hay Drummond, whose wife appears a pretty and agreeable little woman. We worshipped his tutelar deity, the Hercules, and saw a good model of the Hercules Bibax, or the drunken Hercules. Graham and Sir James Stuart were there. Home-baked bread and soldier's coffee were the treat. I came home; and Sir Robert Dundas having taken my duty at the Court, I wrote for some time, but not much. Burke the murderer hanged this morning. The mob, which was immense, demanded Knox and Hare, but though greedy for more victims, received with shouts the solitary wretch who found his way to the gallows out of five or six who seem not less guilty than he. But the story begins to be stale, although I believe a doggerel ballad upon it would be popular, how brutal soever the wit. This is the progress of human passions. We ejaculate, exclaim, hold up to Heaven our hand, like the rustic Phidyle ^[246]—next morning the mood changes, and we dance a jig to the tune which moved us to tears. Mr. Bell sends me a specimen of a historical novel, but he goes not the way to write it; he is too general, and not sufficiently minute. It is not easy to convey this to an author, with the necessary attention to his feelings; and yet, in good faith and sincerity, it must be done.

January 29.—I had a vacant day once more by the kindness of Sir Robert, unasked, but most kindly afforded. I have not employed it to much purpose. I wrote six pages to Croker,^[247] who is busied with a new edition of Boswell's Life of Johnson, to which most entertaining book he hopes to make large additions from Mrs. Piozzi, Hawkins and other sources. I am bound by many obligations to do as much for him as I can, which can only respect the Scottish Tour. I wrote only two or three pages of Anne. I am

But walk I must, and walk forward too, or I shall be benighted with a vengeance. After dinner, to compromise matters with my conscience, I wrote letters to Mr. Bell, Mrs. Hughes, and so forth; thus I concluded the day with a sort of busy idleness. This will not do. By cock and pye it will not.

January 30.—Mr. Stuart breakfasted with me, a grand-nephew of Lady Louisa's, a very pleasing young gentleman. The coach surprised me by not calling. Will it be for the Martyrdom? I trow it will, yet, strange to say, I cannot recollect if it is a regular holiday or not.

I wrote in the morning, and went at one o'clock to a meeting of country gentlemen, about bringing the direct road from London down by Jedburgh, said to be the nearest line by fifty miles. It is proposed the pleasant men of Teviotdale should pay, not only their own share,—that is, the expense of making the road through our own country, but also the expense of making the road under the Ellsdon Trust in Northumberland, where the English would positively do nothing. I stated this to the meeting as an act of Quixotry. If it be an advantage, which, unless to individuals, may be doubted, it is equally one to Northumberland as to Roxburgh, therefore I am clear that we should go "acquals."

I think I have maybe put a spoke in the wheel. The raising the statute labour of Roxburgh to an oppressive extent, to make roads in England, is, I think, jimp legal, and will be much complained of by the poorer heritors. Henry of Harden dines with me tête-à-tête, excepting the girls.

January 31.—I thought I had opened a vein this morning and that it came freely, but the demands of art have been more than I can bear. I corrected proofs before breakfast, went to Court after that meal; was busy till near one o'clock. Then I went to Cadell's, where they are preparing to circulate the prospectus of the magnum, which will have all the effect of surprise on most people. I sat to Mr. Graham till I was quite tired, then went to Lady Jane, who is getting better. Then here at four, but fit for nothing but to bring up this silly Diary.

The corpse of the murderer Burke is now lying in state at the College, in the anatomical class, and all the world flock to see him. Who is he that says that we are not ill to please in our objects of curiosity? The strange means by which the wretch made money are scarce more disgusting than the eager curiosity with which the public have licked up all the carrion details of this business.

I trifled with my work. I wonder how Johnson set himself doggedly to it—to a work of imagination it seems quite impossible, and one's brain is at times fairly addled. And yet I have felt times when sudden and strong exertion would throw off all this mistiness of mind, as a north wind would disperse it.

Nothing more than about two or three pages. I went to the Parliament House to-day, but had little to do. I sat to Mr. Graham the last time, Heaven be praised! If I be not known in another age, it will not be for want of pictures. We dined with Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay and Lady Anne—a fine family. There was little done in the way of work except correcting proofs. The bile affects me, and makes me vilely drowsy when I should be most awake. Met at Mr. Wardlaw's several people I did not know. Looked over Cumnor Hall by Mr. Usher Tighe of Oxford. I see from the inscription on Tony Foster's tomb that he was a skilful planter, amongst other fashionable accomplishments.

FEBRUARY.

February 1.—Domum mansi, lanam feci,—stayed at home videlicet, and laboured without interruption except from intolerable drowsiness; finished eight leaves, however, the best day's work I have made this long time. No interruption, and I got pleased with my work, which ends the second volume of Anne of Geierstein. After dinner had a letter from Lockhart, with happy tidings about the probability of the commission on the Stewart papers being dissolved. The Duke of W. says commissions never either did or will do any good. John will in that case be sole editor of these papers with an apartment at St. James's cum plurimis aliis. It will be a grand coup if it takes place.

February 2.—Sent off yesterday's work with proofs. Could I do as toughly for a week—and many a day I have done more—I should be soon out of the scrape. I wrote letters, and put over the day till one, when I went down with Sir James Stuart to see Stuart of Dunearn's pictures now on sale. I did not see much which my poor taste covets; a Hobbema much admired is, I think, as tame a piece of work as I ever saw. I promised to try to get a good picture or two for the young Duke.

Dined with the old Club, instituted forty years ago. There were present Lord Justice-Clerk, Lord Advocate, Sir Peter Murray, John Irving, William Clerk, and I. It was a party such as the meeting of fellow scholars and fellow students alone could occasion. We told old stories; laughed and quaffed, and resolved, rashly perhaps, that we would hold the Club at least once a year, if possible twice. We will see how this will fudge. Our mirth was more unexpected as Sir Adam, our first fiddle, was wanting, owing to his family loss.

February 3.—Rose at eight—felt my revel a little in my head. The Court business light, returned by Cadell, and made one or two calls, at Skene's especially. Dinner and evening at home; laboriously employed.

February 4.—To-day I was free from duty, and made good use of my leisure at home, finishing the second volume of Anne, and writing several letters, one to recommend Captain Pringle to Lord Beresford, which I send to-morrow through Morritt. "My mother whips me and I whip the top." The girls went to the play.

February 5.—Attended the Court as usual, got dismissed about one. Finished and sent off volume ii. of Anne. Dined with Robert Rutherford, my cousin, and the whole clan of Swinton.

February 6.—Corrected proofs in the morning, then to the Court; thence to Cadell's, where I found some business cut out for me, in the way of notes, which delayed me. Walked home, the weary way giving my feet the ancient twinges of agony: such a journey is as severe a penance as if I had walked the same length with peas in my shoes to atone for some horrible crime by beating my toes into a jelly. I wrote some and corrected a good deal. We dined alone, and I partly wrought partly slept in the evening. It's now pretty clear that the Duke of W. intends to have a Catholic Bill.^[249] He probably expects to neutralise and divide the Catholic body by bringing a few into Parliament, where they will probably be tractable enough, rather than a large proportion of them rioting in Ireland, where they will be to a certain degree unanimous.

February 7.—Up and wrought a little. I had at breakfast a son of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, a very quick, smart-looking young fellow, who is on his way to the Continent with a tutor. Dined at Mrs. George Swinton's with the whole clan.

February 8.—I wrought the whole day and finished about six pages of manuscript of vol. iii. [Anne of Geierstein]. Sat cito si sat bene. The Skenes came in to supper like the olden world.

February 9.—Was up in good time (say half-past seven), and employed the morning in correcting proofs. At twelve I went to Stuart of Dunearn's sale of pictures. This poor man fell, like myself, a victim to speculation. And though I had no knowledge of him personally, and disliked him as the cause of poor Sir Alexander Boswell's death, yet "had he been slaughterman to all my kin,"^[250] I could but pity the miserable sight of his splendid establishment broken up, and his treasures of art exposed to public and unsparing sale. I wanted a picture of the Earl of Rothes for the Duke of Buccleuch, a fine Sir Joshua, but Balfour of Balbirnie fancied it also, and followed it to 160 guineas. Charles Sharpe's account is, that I may think myself in luck, for the face has been repainted. There is, he says, a print taken from the picture at Leslie House which has quite a different countenance from the present.

This job, however, took me up the whole morning to little purpose. Captain and Mrs. Hall dined with us, also Sir James Stuart, Charles Sharpe, John Scott of Gala, etc.

February 10.—I was up at seven this morning, and will continue the practice, but the shoal of proofs took up all my leisure. I will not, I think, go after these second-rate pictures again to-day. If I could get a quiet day or two I would make a deep dint in the third volume; but hashed and smashed as my time is, who can make anything of it? I read over Henry's History of Henry VI. and Edward IV.; he is but a stupid historian after all. This took me up the whole day.

February 11.—Up as usual and wrought at proofs. Mr. Hay Drummond and Macintosh Mackay dined. The last brought me his history of the Blara Leine or White Battle (battle of the shirts). To the Court, and remained there till two, when we had some awkward business in the Council of the Royal Society.

February 12.—W. Lockhart came to breakfast, full of plans for his house, which will make a pretty and romantic habitation. After breakfast the Court claimed its vassal.

As I came out Mr. Chambers introduced a pretty little romantic girl to me who possessed a laudable zeal to know a live poet. I went with my fair admirer as far as the new rooms on the Mound, where I looked into the Royal Society's Rooms, then into the Exhibition, in mere unwillingness to work and desire to dawdle away time. Learned that Lord Haddington had bought the Sir Joshua. I wrought hard to-day and made out five pages.

February 13.—This morning Col. Hunter Blair breakfasted here with his wife, a very pretty woman, with a good deal of pleasant conversation. She had been in India, and had looked about her to purpose. I wrote for several hours in the forenoon, but was nervous and drumlie; also I bothered myself about geography; in short, there was trouble, as miners say when the vein of metal is interrupted. Went out at two, and walked, thank God, better than in the winter, which gives me hopes that the failure of the unfortunate limb is only temporary, owing to severe weather. We dined at John Murray's with the Mansfield family. Lady Caroline Murray possesses, I think, the most pleasing taste for music, and is the best singer I ever heard. No temptation to display a very brilliant voice ever leads her aside from truth and simplicity, and besides, she looks beautiful when she sings.

February 14.—Wrote in the morning, which begins to be a regular act of duty. It was late ere I got home, and I did not do much. The letters I received were numerous and craved answers, yet the third volume is getting on hooly and fairly. I am twenty leaves before the printers; but Ballantyne's wife is ill, and it is his nature to indulge apprehensions of the worst, which incapacitates him for labour. I cannot help regarding this amiable weakness of the mind with something too nearly allied to contempt. I keep the press behind me at a good distance, and I, like the

February 15.—I wrought to-day, but not much—rather dawdled, and took to reading Chambers's Beauties of Scotland,^[252] which would be admirable if they were more accurate. He is a clever young fellow, but hurts himself by too much haste. I am not making too much myself I know, and I know, too, it is time I were making it. Unhappily there is such a thing as more haste and less speed. I can very seldom think to purpose by lying perfectly idle, but when I take an idle book, or a walk, my mind strays back to its task out of contradiction as it were; the things I read become mingled with those I have been writing, and something is concocted. I cannot compare this process of the mind to anything save that of a woman to whom the mechanical operation of spinning serves as a running bass to the songs she sings, or the course of ideas she pursues. The phrase Hoc age, often quoted by my father, does not jump with my humour. I cannot nail my mind to one subject of contemplation, and it is by nourishing two trains of ideas that I can bring one into order.

Colin Mackenzie came in to see me, poor fellow. He looks well in his retirement. Partly I envy him—partly I am better pleased as it is.

February 16.—Stayed at home and laboured all the forenoon. Young Invernahyle called to bid me interest myself about getting a lad of the house of Scott a commission—how is this possible? The last I tried for, there was about 3000 on the list—and they say the boy is too old, being twenty-four. I scribbled three or four pages, forbore smoking and whisky and water, and went to the Royal Society. There Sir William Hamilton read an essay, the result of some anatomical investigations, which contained a masked battery against the phrenologists.

February 17.—In the morning I sent off copy and proof. I received the melancholy news that James Ballantyne has lost his wife. With his domestic habits the blow is irretrievable. What can he do, poor fellow, at the head of such a family of children! I should not be surprised if he were to give way to despair.

I was at the Court, where there was little to do, but it diddled away my time till two. I went to the library, but not a book could I get to look at. It is, I think, a wrong system the lending books to private houses at all, and leads to immense annual losses. I called on Skene, and borrowed a volume of his Journal, to get some information about Burgundy and Provence. Something may be made out of King René, but I wish I had thought of him sooner.^[253] Dined alone with the girls.

February 18.—This being Teind Wednesday I had a holiday. Worked the whole day, interrupted by calls from Dr. Ross, Sir Hugh Palliser, Sir David Hunter Blair, and Colonel Blair. I made out about six pages before dinner, and go to Lord Gillies's to dine with a good conscience. Hay Drummond came in, and discharged a volley at me which Mons Meg could hardly have equalled. I will go to work with Skene's Journal. My head aches violently, and has done so several days. It is cold, I think.

At Lord Gillies's we found Sir John Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple, and Miss Ferguson, Mr. Hope Vere of Craigiehall, and Lady Elizabeth, a sister of Lord Tweeddale, Sir Robert O'Callaghan, Captain Cathcart, and others—a gay party.

February 19.—An execrable day—half frost, half fresh, half sleet, half rain, and wholly abominable. Having made up my packet for the printing-house, and performed my duty at the Court, I had the firmness to walk round by the North Bridge, and face the weather for two miles, by way of exercise. Called on Skene, and saw some of his drawings of Aix. It was near two before I got home, and now I hear three strike; part of this hour has been consumed in a sound sleep by the fireside after putting on dry things. I met Baron Hume,^[254] and we praised each other's hardihood for daring to take exercise in such weather, agreeing that if a man relax the custom of his exercise in Scotland for a bad day he is not likely to resume it in a hurry. The other moiety of the time was employed in looking over the Mémoires de Fauche-Borel.^[255]

February 20.—The Court duly took me up from eleven till about three, but left some time for labour, which I employed to purpose, at least I hope so. I declined going to the exhibition of paintings to-night; neither the beauties of art nor of nature have their former charms for me. I finished, however, about seven pages of manuscript, which is a fair half of volume III. I wish I could command a little more time and I would soon find you something or other, but the plague is that time is wanting when I feel an aptitude to work, and when time abounds, the will, at least the real efficient power of the faculties, is awanting. Still, however, we make way by degrees. I glanced over some metrical romances published by Hartshorne, several of which have not seen the light. They are considerably curious, but I was surprised to see them mingled with Blanchefleur and Florês and one or two others which might have been spared. There is no great display of notes or prolegomena, and there is, moreover, no glossary. But the work is well edited.^[256]

February 21.—Colonel Ferguson breakfasted with us. I was detained at the Parliament House till the hour of poor Mrs. Ballantyne's funeral, then attended that melancholy ceremony. The husband was unable to appear; the sight of the poor children was piteous enough. James Ballantyne has taken his brother Sandy into the house, I mean the firm, about which there had formerly been some misunderstanding.

I attended the Bannatyne Club. We made a very good election, bringing in Lord Dalhousie and the Lord Clerk Register.^[257] Our dinner went pretty well off, but I have seen it merrier. To be sure old Dr. J., like an immense featherbed, was burking me, as the phrase now goes, during the whole time. I am sure that word will stick in the language for one while.

February 22.—Very rheumatic. I e'en turned my table to the fire and feagued it away, as Bayes says. Neither did I so much as cast my eyes round to see what sort of a day it was—the splashing on the windows gave all information that was necessary. Yet, with all my leisure, during the whole day I finished only four leaves of copy—somewhat of the least, master Matthew.^[258]

There was no interruption during the whole day, though the above is a poor account of it.

February 23.—Up and at it. After breakfast Mr. Hay Drummond came in enchanted about Mons Meg,^[259] and roaring as loud as she could have done for her life when she was in perfect voice.

James Ballantyne came in, to my surprise, about twelve o'clock. He was very serious, and spoke as if he had some idea of sudden and speedy death. He mentioned that he had named Cadell, Cowan, young Hughes, and his brother to be his trustees with myself. He has settled to go to the country, poor fellow, to Timpendean, as I think.

We dined at Skene's, where we met Mr. and Mrs. George Forbes, Colonel and Mrs. Blair, George Bell, etc. The party was a pleasant one. Colonel Blair said, that during the Battle of Waterloo there was at the commencement some trouble necessary to prevent the men from breaking their ranks. He expostulated with one man: "Why, my good fellow, you cannot propose to beat the French alone?—better keep your ranks." The man, who was one of the 71st, returned to his ranks, saying, "I believe you are very right, sir, but I am a man of very hot temper." There was much bonhomie in the reply.

February 24.—Snowy miserable morning. I corrected my proofs, but had no time to write anything. We, i.e. myself and the two Annes, went to breakfast with Mr. Drummond Hay, where we again met Colonel and Mrs. Blair, with Thomas Thomson. We looked over some most beautiful drawings ^[260] which Mrs. Blair had made in different parts of India, exhibiting a species of architecture so gorgeous, and on a scale so extensive, as to put to shame the magnificence of Europe. And yet, in most cases, as little is known of the people who wrought these wonders as of the kings who built the Pyramids. Fame depends on literature, not on architecture. We are more eager to see a broken column of Cicero's villa, than all those mighty labours of barbaric power. Mrs. Blair is full of enthusiasm. She told me that when she worked with her pencil she was glad to have some one to read to her as a sort of sedative, otherwise her excitement made her tremble, and burst out a-crying. I can understand this very well, having often found the necessity of doing two things at once. She is a very pretty, dark woman too, and has been compared to Rebecca, daughter of the Jew, Isaac of York.

Detained in the Court till half-past two bothering about Lady Essex Kerr's will without coming to a conclusion. I then got home too late to do anything, as I must prepare to go to Dalmahoy. Mr. Gibson came in for a little while; no news.

I went to Dalmahoy, where we were most kindly received. It is a point of friendship, however, to go eight miles to dinner and return in the evening; and my day has been cut up without a brush of work. Smoked a cigar on my return, being very cold.

February 25.—This morning I corrected my proofs. We get on, as John Ferguson said when they put him on a hunter. I fear there is too much historical detail, and the catastrophe will be vilely huddled up. "And who can help it, Dick?" Visited James Ballantyne, and found him bearing his distress sensibly and like a man. I called in at Cadell's, and also inquired after Lady Jane Stuart, who is complaining. Three o'clock placed me at home, and from that hour till ten, deduct two hours for dinner, I was feaguing it away.

February 26.—Sent off ten pages this morning, with a revise; we spy land, but how to get my catastrophe packed into the compass allotted for it—

There is no help for it—I must make a tour de force, and annihilate both time and space. Dined at home; nevertheless made small progress. But I must prepare my dough before I can light my oven. I would fain think I am in the right road.

February 27.—The last post brought a letter from Mr. Heath, proposing to set off his engravings for the Magnum Opus against my contributions for the Keepsake. A pretty mode of accounting that would be; he be——. I wrote him declining his proposal; and, as he says I am still in his debt, I will send him the old drama of the House of Aspen, which I wrote some thirty years ago, and offered to the stage. This will make up my contribution, and a good deal more, if, as I recollect, there are five acts. Besides, it will save me further trouble about Heath and his Annual. Secondly, There are several manuscript copies of the play abroad, and some of them will be popping out one of these days in a contraband manner. Thirdly, If I am right as to the length of the piece, there is £100 extra work at least which will not be inconvenient at all.

Dined at Sir John Hay's with Ramsay of Barnton and his young bride, Sir David and Lady Hunter Blair, etc.

I should mention that Cadell breakfasted with me, and entirely approved of my rejecting Heath's letter. There was one funny part of it, in which he assured me that the success of the new edition of the Waverley Novels depended entirely on the excellence of the illustrations—vous êtes joaillier, Mons. Josse.^[261] He touches a point which alarms me; he greatly undervalues the portrait which Wilkie has prepared to give me for this edition. If it is as little of a likeness as he says, it is a scrape. But a scrape be it. Wilkie behaved in the kindest way, considering his very bad health, in agreeing to work for me at all, and I will treat him with due delicacy, and not wound his feelings by rejecting what he has given in such kindness.^[262] And so farewell to Mr. Heath, and the conceited vulgar Cockney his Editor.

February 28.—Finished my proofs this morning, and read part of a curious work, called Memoirs of Vidocq; a fellow who was at the head of Bonaparte's police. It is a pickaresque tale; in other words, a romance of roguery. The whole seems much exaggerated, and got up; but I suppose there is truth au fond. I came home about two o'clock, and wrought hard and fast till night.

MARCH

March 1.—I laboured hard the whole day, and, between hands, refreshed myself with Vidocq's Memoirs. No one called except Hay Drummond, who had something to say about Mons Meg. So I wrote before and after dinner, till no less than ten pages were finished.

March 2.—I wrought but little to-day. I was not in the vein, and felt sleepy. I thought to go out, but disgust of the pavement kept me at home, O rus, etc. It is pleasant to think that the 11th March sets us on the route for Abbotsford. I shall be done long before with this confounded novel. I wish I were, for I find trouble in bringing it to a conclusion. People compliment me sometimes on the extent of my labour; but if I could employ to purpose the hours that indolence and lassitude steal away from me, they would have cause to wonder indeed. But day must have night, vigilance must have sleep, and labour, bodily or mental, must have rest. As Edgar says, I cannot fool it further.^[263] Anne is gone to Hopetoun House for two days.

March 3.—Began this day with labour as usual, and made up my packet. Then to the Court, where there is a deal of business. Hamilton, having now a serious fit of the gout, is not expected to aid any more this season. I wrote a little both before and after dinner. Niece Anne and I dined alone. Three poets called, each bawling louder than the other—subscribe, subscribe! I generally do, if the work be under 10s.; but the wares were every one so much worse than another, that I declined in the three instances before me. I got cross at the repeated demands, and could have used Richard's apology—

March 4.—Being Teind Wednesday, I settled myself at my desk and laboured the whole forenoon. Got on to page seventy-two, so there cannot be more than twenty pages wanted. Mr. Drummond Hay, who has an alertness in making business out of nothing, came to call once more about Mons Meg. He is a good-humoured gentlemanlike man, but I would Meg were in his belly or he in hers. William Laidlaw also called, whom I asked to dinner. At four o'clock arrives Mr. Cadell, with his horn charged with good news. The prospectus of the Magnum, already issued only a week, has produced such a demand among the trade, that he thinks he must add a large number of copies, that the present edition of 7000 may be increased to the demand; he talks of raising it to 10,000 or 12,000. If so, I shall have a constant income to bear on my unfortunate debts to a large amount yearly, and may fairly hope to put them in a secure way of payment, even if I should be cut off in life, or in health, and the power of labour. I hope to be able, in a year or two, to make proposals for eating with my own spoons, and using my own books, which, if I can give value for them, can hardly, I think, be refused to me.^[265] In the meantime I have enough, and something to bequeath to my poor children. This is a great mercy, but I must prepare for disappointment, and I will not be elated.

Laidlaw dined with me, and, poor fellow, was as much elated with the news as I am, for it is not of a nature to be kept secret. I hope I shall have him once more at Kaeside to debate, as we used to do, on religion and politics. Meanwhile, patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards.

I must do what I can to get Cadell's discharge from his creditors; this I have always done, and so far effectually, but it would be most inconvenient to be at the mercy of creditors who may at any moment make inquiry into his affairs and so stop his operations. The Old Bank of Scotland are the only parties whose consent has not been obtained to his discharge, and they must see their interest in consenting to it for the expediting of my affairs; since to what purpose oppose it, for they have not the least chance of mending their own by refusing it.

March 5.—Proofs arranged in the morning. Sir Patrick Walker, that Solomon the second, came to propose to me that some benefit society, which he patronises, should attend upon Mons Meg; but, with the Celts at my disposal, I have every reason to think they would be affronted at being marched along with Sir Peter and his tail of trades' lads. I went to the Court, which detained me till two, then to poor old Lady Seaforth's funeral,^[266] which was numerously attended. It was near four ere I got home, bringing Skene with me. We called at Cadell's; the edition of the Magnum is raised from 7000 to 10,000. There will really be a clearance in a year or two if R.C. is not too sanguine. I never saw so much reason for indulging hope. By the bye, I am admitted a member of the Maitland Club, a Society on the principle of the Roxburghe and Bannatyne. What a tail of the alphabet I should draw after me were I to sign with the indications of the different societies I belong to, beginning with President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and ended with umpire of the Six-foot-high Club!^[267] Dined at home, and in quiet, with the girls.

March 6.—Made some considerable additions to the Appendix to General Preface. I am in the sentiments towards the public that the buffoon player expresses towards his patron—

I will multiply the notes, therefore, when there is a chance of giving pleasure and variety. There is a stronger gleam of hope on my affairs than has yet touched on them; it is not steady or certain, but it is bright and conspicuous. Ten years may last with me, though I have little chance of it. At the end of this time these works will have operated a clearance of debt, especially as Cadell offers to accommodate with such money as their house can save to pay off what presses. I hope to save, rather than otherwise, and if I leave my literary property to my children, it will make a very good thing for them, and Abbotsford must in any event go to my family, so, on the whole, I have only to pray for quiet times, for how can men mind their serious business—that is, according to Cadell's views—buying Waverley Novels when they are going mad about the Catholic question. Dined at Mr. Nairne's, where there was a great meeting of Bannatynians, rather too numerous, being on the part of our host an Election dinner.

March 7.—Sent away proofs. This extrication of my affairs, though only a Pisgah prospect, occupies my mind more than is fitting; but without some such hope I must have felt like one of the victims of the wretch Burke, struggling against a smothering weight on my bosom, till nature could endure it no longer. No; I will not be the sport of circumstances. Come of it what will, "I'll bend my brows like Highland trows" and make a bold fight of it.

And die I think I shall, though I am not such a coward as mortem conscire me ipso. But I 'gin to grow aweary of the sun, and when the plant no longer receives nourishment from light and air, there is a speedy prospect of its withering.

Dined with the Banking Club of Scotland, in virtue of Sir Malachi Malagrowther; splendid entertainment, of course. Sir John Hay in the chair.

March 8.—Spent the morning in reading proofs and additions to Magnum. I got a note from Cadell, in which Ballantyne, by a letter enclosed, totally condemns Anne of Geierstein—three volumes nearly finished—a pretty thing, truly, for I will be expected to do it all over again. Great dishonour in this, as Trinculo says,^[269] besides an infinite loss. Sent for Cadell to attend me next morning that we may consult about this business. Peel has made his motion on the Catholic question, with a speech of three hours. It is almost a complete surrender to the Catholics, and so it should be, for half measures do but linger out the feud. This will, or rather ought to, satisfy all men who sincerely love peace, and therefore all men of property. But will this satisfy Pat, who, with all his virtues, is certainly not the most sensible person in the world? Perhaps not; and if not, it is but fighting them at last. I smoked away, and thought of ticklish politics and bad novels. Skene supped with us.

March 9.—Cadell came to breakfast. We resolved in Privy Council to refer the question whether Anne of G——n be sea-worthy or not to further consideration, which, as the book cannot be published, at any rate, during the full rage of the Catholic question, may be easily managed. After breakfast I went to Sir William Arbuthnot's,^[270] and met there a select party of Tories, to decide whether we should act with the Whigs by owning their petition in favour of the Catholics. I was not free from apprehension that the petition might be put into such general language as I, at least, was unwilling to authenticate by my subscription. The Solicitor ^[271] was voucher that they would keep the terms quite general; whereupon we subscribed the requisition for a meeting, with a slight alteration, affirming that it was our desire not to have intermeddled, had not the anti-Catholics pursued that course; and so the Whigs and we are embarked in the same boat, vogue la galère.

Went about one o'clock to the Castle, where we saw the auld murderess Mons Meg brought up there in solemn procession to reoccupy her ancient place on the Argyle battery. Lady Hopetoun was my belle. The day was cold but serene, and I think the ladies must have been cold enough, not to mention the Celts, who turned out upon the occasion, under the leading of Cluny Macpherson, a fine spirited lad. Mons Meg is a monument of our pride and poverty. The size is immense, but six smaller guns would have been made at the same expense, and done six times as much execution as she could have done. There was immense interest taken in the show by the people of the town, and the numbers who crowded the Castle-hill had a magnificent appearance. About thirty of our Celts attended in costume; and as there was a Highland regiment on duty, with dragoons and artillerymen, the whole made a splendid show. The dexterity with which the last manned and wrought the windlass which raised old Meg, weighing seven or eight tons, from her temporary carriage to that which has been her basis for many years, was singularly beautiful as a combined exhibition of skill and strength. My daughter had what might have proved a frightful accident. Some rockets were let off, one of which lighted upon her head, and set her bonnet on fire. She neither screamed nor ran, but quietly permitted Charles K. Sharpe to extinguish the fire, which he did with great coolness and dexterity. All who saw her, especially the friendly Celts, gave her merit for her steadiness, and said she came of good blood. I was very glad and proud of her presence of mind. My own courage was not put to the test, for being at some distance, escorting the beautiful and lively Countess of Hopetoun, I did not hear of the accident till it was over. We lunched with the regiment (73d) now in the Castle. The little entertainment gave me an opportunity of observing what I have often before remarked—the improvement in the character of the young and subaltern officers in the army, which in the course of a long and bloody war had been, in point of rank and manners, something deteriorated. The number of persons applying for commissions (3000 being now on the lists) gives an opportunity of selection, and officers should certainly be gentlemen, with a complete opening to all who can rise by merit. The style in which duty, and the knowledge of their profession, is enforced, prevents fainéants from long remaining in the profession.

In the evening I presided at the Celtic Club, who received me with their usual partiality. I like this society, and willingly give myself to be excited by the sight of handsome young men with plaids and claymores, and all the alertness and spirit of Highlanders in their native garb. There was the usual degree of excitation—excellent dancing, capital songs, a general inclination to please and to be pleased. A severe cold, caught on the battlements of the Castle, prevented me from playing first fiddle so well as usual, but what I could do was received with the usual partiality of the Celts. I got home, fatigued and vino gravatus, about eleven o'clock. We had many guests, some of whom, English officers, seemed both amused and surprised at our wild ways, especially at the dancing without ladies, and the mode of drinking favourite toasts, by springing up with one foot on the bench and one on the table, and the peculiar shriek of applause so unlike English cheering.

March 10.—This may be a short day in the diary, though a busy one to me. I arranged books and papers in the morning, and went to Court after breakfast, where, as Sir Robert Dundas and I had the whole business to discharge, I remained till two or three. Then visited Cadell, and transacted some pecuniary matters.

March 11, [Abbotsford].—I had, as usual, a sort of levée the day I was to leave town, all petty bills and petty business being reserved to the last by those who might as well have applied any one day of the present month. But I need not complain of what happens to my betters, for on the last day of the Session there pours into the Court a succession of trifles which give the Court, and especially the Clerks, much trouble, insomuch that a ci-devant brother of mine proposed that the last day of the Session should be abolished by Statute. We got out of Court at a quarter-past one, and got to Abbotsford at half-past seven, cold and hungry enough to make Scots broth, English roast beef, and a large fire very acceptable.

March 12.—I set apart this day for trifles and dawdling; yet I meditate doing something on the Popish and Protestant affray. I think I could do some good, and I have the sincere wish to do it. I heard the merry birds sing, reviewed my dogs, and was cheerful. I also unpacked books. Deuce take arrangement! I think it the most complete bore in the world; but I will try a little of it. I afterwards went out and walked till dinner-time. I read Reginald Heber's Journal ^[272] after dinner. I spent some merry days with him at Oxford when he was writing his prize poem. He was then a gay young fellow, a wit, and a satirist, and burning for literary fame. My laurels were beginning to bloom, and we were both madcaps. Who would have foretold our future lot?

March 13.—Wrought at a review of Fraser Tytler's History of Scotland. It is somewhat saucy towards Lord Hailes. I had almost stuck myself into the controversy Slough of Despond—the controversy, that is, between the Gothic and Celtic system—but cast myself, like Christian, with a strong struggle or two to the further side of this Slough; and now will I walk on my way rejoicing—not on my article, however, but to the fields. Came home and rejoiced at dinner. After tea I worked a little more. I began to warm in my gear, and am about to awake the whole controversy of Goth and Celt. I wish I may not make some careless blunders.^[274]

March 14.—Up at eight, rather of the latest—then fagged at my review, both before and after breakfast. I walked from one o'clock till near three. I make it out, I think, rather better than of late I have been able to do in the streets of Edinburgh, where I am ashamed to walk so slow as would suit me. Indeed nothing but a certain suspicion, that once drawn up on the beach I would soon break up, prevents me renouncing pedestrian exercises altogether, for it is positive suffering, and of an acute kind too.

March 15.—Altogether like yesterday. Wrote in the morning—breakfasted—wrote again till one—out and walked about two hours—to the quills once more—dinner—smoked a brace of cigars and looked on the fire—a page of writing, and so to bed.

March 16.—Day sullen and bitter cold. I fear it brings chilblains on its wings. A dashing of snow, in thin flakes, wandering from the horizon, and threatening a serious fall. As the murderer says to Banquo, "Let it come down!"—we shall have the better chance of fair weather hereafter. It cleared up, however, and I walked from one, or thereabout, till within a quarter of four. A card from Mr. Dempster of Skibo,^[275] whose uncle, George Dempster, I knew many years since, a friend of Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and all that set—a fine good-humoured old gentleman. Young Mrs. Dempster is a daughter of my early friend and patron, Robert Dundas of Arniston, Lord Advocate, and I like her for his sake. Mr. Dempster is hunting, and I should have liked to have given his wife and sister refuge during the time he must spend over moss and moor. But the two Annes going to Edinburgh to a fancy ball makes it impossible till they return on Friday night.

March 17.—The Annes went off at eight, morning. After breakfast I drove down to Melrose and waited on Mrs. and Miss Dempster, and engaged them for Saturday. Weather bitter cold; yea, atrociously so. Naboclish—the better for work. Ladies whose husbands love fox-hunting are in a poor way. Here are two pleasant and pretty women pegged up the whole day

for the whole twenty-four hours without interruption. They manage the matter otherwise in France, where ladies are the lords of the ascendant. I returned from my visit to my solitary work and solitary meal. I eked out the last two hours' length by dint of smoking, which I find a sedative without being a stimulant.

March 18.—I like the hermit life indifferent well, nor would, I sometimes think, break my heart, were I to be in that magic mountain where food was regularly supplied by ministering genii,^[277] and plenty of books were accessible without the least intervention of human society. But this is thinking like a fool. Solitude is only agreeable when the power of having society is removed to a short space, and can be commanded at pleasure. "It is not good for man to be alone." It blunts our faculties and freezes our active virtues. And now, my watch pointing to noon, I think after four hours' work I may indulge myself with a walk. The dogs see me about to shut my desk, and intimate their happiness by caresses and whining. By your leave, Messrs. Genii of the Mountain library, if I come to your retreat I'll bring my dogs with me.

The day was showery, but not unpleasant—soft dropping rains, attended by a mild atmosphere, that spoke of flowers in their seasons, and a chirping of birds that had a touch of Spring in it. I had the patience to get fully wet, and the grace to be thankful for it.

Come! a leetle flourish on the trumpet. Let us rouse the genius of this same red mountain, so called because it is all the year covered with roses. There can be no difficulty in finding it, for it lies towards the Caspian, and is quoted in the Persian tales. Well, I open my Ephemerides, form my scheme under the suitable planet, and the genie obeys the invocation and appears.

Genie is a misshapen dwarf, with a huge jolter-head like that of Boerhave on the Bridge,^[278] his limbs and body marvellously shrunk and disproportioned.

"Sir Dwarf," said I, undauntedly, "thy head is very large, and thy feet and limbs somewhat small in proportion."

Genie. "I have crammed my head, even to the overflowing, with knowledge; I have starved my limbs by disuse of exercise and denial of sustenance!"

G. "Renounce all gross and fleshly pleasure, eat pulse and drink water, converse with none but the wise and learned, alive and dead!"

G. "If you desire to draw from our library only the advantage of seeming wise, you may have it consistent with all your favourite enjoyments!"

G. "Two, if you please; but you must not seem to care for them—cigars in loads, whisky in lashings; but they must be taken with an air of contempt, a floccipaucinihilipilification of all that can gratify the outward man."

A. "I am about to ask you a serious question—When you have stuffed your stomach, drunk your bottle, smoked your cigar, how are you to keep yourself awake?"

A. "I reckon myself one of the best aërial architects now living, and nil me pænitet hujus."

G. "Nec est cur te pæniteat; most of your novels have previously been subjects for airy castles."

A. "You have me—and moreover a man of imagination derives experience from such imaginary situations. There are few situations in which I have not in fancy figured, and there are few, of course, which I am not previously prepared to take some part in."

G. "True, but I am afraid your having fancied yourself victorious in many a fight would be of little use were you suddenly called to the field, and your personal infirmities and nervous agitations both rushing upon you and incapacitating you."

A. "My nervous agitations!—away with thee! Down, down to Limbo and the burning lake! False fiend, avoid!"

March 19.—The above was written yesterday before dinner, though appearances are to the contrary. I only meant that the studious solitude I have sometimes dreamed of, unless practised with rare stoicism and privation, was apt to degenerate into secret sensual indulgences of coarser appetites, which, when the cares and restraints of social life are removed, are apt to make us think, with Dr. Johnson, our dinner the most important event of the day. So much in the way of explanation—a humour which I love not. Go to.

March 20.—We spent this day on the same terms as formerly. I wrought, walked, dined, drank, and smoked upon the same pattern.

March 21.—To-day brought Mrs. Dempster and her sister-in-law. To dinner came Robert Dundas of Arniston from the hunting-field, and with him Mr. Dempster of Skibo, both favourites of mine. Mr. Stuart, the grand-nephew of my dear friend Lady Louisa, also dined with us, together with the Lyons from Gattonside, and the day passed over in hospitality and social happiness.

March 22.—Being Sunday, I read prayers to our guests, then went a long walk by the lake to Huntly Burn. It is somewhat uncomfortable to feel difficulties increase and the strength to meet them diminish. But why should man fret? While iron is dissolved by rust, and brass corrodes, can our dreams be of flesh and blood enduring? But I will not dwell on this depressing subject. My liking to my two young guests is founded on "things that are long enough ago." The first statesman of celebrity whom I personally knew was Mr. Dempster's grand-uncle, George Dempster of Dunnichen, celebrated in his time, and Dundas's father was, when Lord Advocate, the first man of influence who showed kindness to me.

March 23.—Arrived to breakfast one of the Courland nobility, Baron A. von Meyersdorff, a fine, lively, spirited young man, fond of his country and incensed at its degradation under Russia. He talked much of the orders of chivalry who had been feudal lords of Livonia, especially the order of Porte Glaive, to which his own ancestors had belonged. If he report correctly, there is a deep principle of action at work in Germany, Poland, Russia, etc., which, if it does "not die in thinking," will one day make an explosion. The Germans are a nation, however, apt to exhaust themselves in speculation. The Baron has enthusiasm, and is well read in English and foreign literature. I kept my state till one, and wrote notes to Croker upon Boswell's Scottish tour. It was an act of friendship, for time is something of a scarce article with me. But Croker has been at all times personally kind and actively serviceable to me, and he must always command my best assistance. Then I walked with the Baron as far as the Lake. Our sportsmen came in good time to dinner, and our afternoon was pleasant.

March 24.—This morning our sportsmen took leave, and their ladykind (to renchérir on Anthony a-Wood and Mr. Oldbuck) followed after breakfast, and I went to my work till one, and at that hour treated the Baron to another long walk, with which he seemed highly delighted. He tells me that my old friend the Princess Galitzin ^[279] is dead. After dinner I had a passing visit from Kinnear, to bid me farewell. This very able and intelligent young man, so able to throw a grace over commercial pursuits, by uniting them with literature, is going with his family to settle in London. I do not wonder at it. His parts are of a kind superior to the confined sphere in which he moves in Scotland. In London, he says, there is a rapid increase of business and its opportunities. Thus London licks the butter off our bread, by opening a better market for ambition. Were it not for the difference of the religion and laws, poor Scotland could hardly keep a man that is worth having; and yet men will not see this. I took leave of Kinnear, with hopes for his happiness and fortune, but yet with some regret for the sake of the country which loses him. The Baron agreed to go with Kinnear to Kelso: and exit with the usual demonstrations of German enthusiasm.

March 25.—I worked in the morning, and think I have sent Croker a packet which may be useful, and to Lockhart a critique on rather a dry topic, viz.: the ancient Scottish History. I remember E. Ainslie, commonly called the plain man, who piqued himself on his powers of conversation, striving to strike fire from some old flinty wretch whom he found in a corner of a public coach, at length addressed him: "Friend, I have tried you on politics, literary matters, religion, fashionable news, etc. etc., and all to no purpose." The dry old rogue, twisting his muzzle into an infernal grin, replied, "Can you claver about bend leather?" The man, be it understood, was a leather merchant. The early history of Caledonia is almost as hopeless a subject, but off it goes. I walked up the Glen with Tom for my companion. Dined, heard Anne reading a paper of anecdotes about Cluny Macpherson, and so to bed.

March 26.—As I have been so lately Johnsonizing, I should derive, if possible, some personal use. Johnson advises Boswell to keep a diary, and to omit registers of the weather, and like trumpery. I am resolved in future not to register what is yet more futile—my gleams of bright and clouded temper. Boswell—whose nerves were, one half madness, and half affectation—has thrummed upon this topic till it is threadbare. I have at this moment forty things to do, and great inclination to do none of them. I ended by working till two, walking till five, writing letters, and so to bed.

March 27.—Letters again. Let me see. I wrote to Lord Montagu about Scott of Beirlaw's commission, in which Invernahyle interests himself. Item, to a lady who is pestering me about a Miss Campbell sentenced to transportation for stealing a silver spoon. Item, to John Eckford. Item, to James Loch, to get an appointment for Sandie Ballantyne's son. Not one, as Dangle says,^[280] about any business of my own. My correspondence is on a most disinterested footing. This lasts till past eleven, then enters my cousin R., and remains for two hours, till politics, family news, talk of the neighbourhood are all exhausted, and two or three reputations torn to pieces in the scouring of them. At length I walk him out about a mile, and come back from that empêchement. But it is only to find Mr. [Henry] C[ranstoun],^[281] my neighbour, in the parlour with the girls, and there is another sederunt of an hour. Well, such things must be, and our friends mean them as civility, and we must take and give the currency of the country. But I am diddled out of a day all the same. The ladies came from Huntly Burn, and cut off the evening.^[282]

March 28.—In spite of the temptation of a fine morning, I toiled manfully at the review till two o'clock, commencing at seven. I fear it will be uninteresting, but I like the muddling work of antiquities, and, besides, wish to record my sentiments with regard to the Gothic question. No one that has not laboured as I have done on imaginary topics can judge of the comfort afforded by walking on all-fours, and being grave and dull. I dare say, when the clown of the pantomime escapes from his nightly task of vivacity, it is his special comfort to smoke a pipe and be prosy with some good-natured fellow, the dullest of his acquaintance. I have seen such a tendency in Sir Adam Ferguson, the gayest man I ever knew; and poor Tom Sheridan has complained to me of the fatigue of supporting the character of an agreeable companion.

March 29.—I wrote, read, and walked with the most stoical regularity. This muddling among old books has the quality of a sedative, and saves the tear and wear of an overwrought brain. I wandered on the hills pleasantly enough and concluded a pleasant and laborious day.

March 30.—I finished the remainder of the criticism and sent it off. Pray Heaven it break not the mail coach down.

Lord and Lady Dalhousie, and their relation, Miss Hawthorne, came to dinner, to meet whom we had Dr. and Mrs. Brewster. Lord Dalhousie has more of the Caledonian prisca fides than any man I know now alive. He has served his country in all quarters of the world and in every climate; yet, though my contemporary, looks ten years my junior. He laughed at the idea of rigid temperance, and held an occasional skirmish no bad thing even in the West Indies, thinking, perhaps, with Armstrong, of "the rare debauch"^[283]. In all incidents of life he has been the same steady, honest, true-hearted Lord Dalhousie, that Lordie Ramsay promised to be when at the High School. How few such can I remember, and how poorly have honesty and valour been rewarded! Here, at the time when most men think of repose, he is bundled off to command in India.^[284] Would it had been the Chief Governorship! But to have remained at home would have been bare livelihood, and that is all. I asked him what he thought of "strangling a nabob, and rifling his jewel closet," and he answered, "No, no, an honest man." I fear we must add, a poor one. Lady Dalhousie, formerly Miss Brown of Coalstoun, is an amiable, intelligent, and lively woman, who does not permit society to "cream and mantle like a standing pool."^[285]

The weather, drifting and surly, does not permit us to think of Melrose, and I could only fight round the thicket with Dr. Brewster and his lordship. Lord Dalhousie gave me some interesting accounts of the American Indians. They are, according to his lordship, decaying fast in numbers and principle. Lord Selkirk's property now makes large returns, from the stock of the North West Company and Hudson's Bay Companies having united. I learned from Lord Dalhousie that he had been keeping a diary since the year 1800. Should his narrative ever see the light, what a contrast will it form to the flourishing vapouring accounts of most of the French merchants! Mr. and Mrs. Skene with their daughter Kitty, who has been indisposed, came to dinner, and the party was a well-assorted one.

APRIL.

April 1.—A pretty first of April truly; the hills white with snow, I myself as bilious as a dog. My noble guests left about noon. I wrote letters, as if I had not bile enough in my bosom already, and did not go out to face the snow wreaths till half-past two, when I am resolved to make a brush for exercise. There will be fine howling among the dogs, for I am about to shut my desk. Found Mrs. Skene disposed to walk, so I had the advantage of her company. The snow lay three inches thick on the ground; but we had the better appetite for dinner, after which we talked and read without my lifting a pen.

April 2.—Begins with same brilliant prospect of snow and sunshine dazzling to the eyes and chilling to the fingers, a beastly disagreeable coldness in the air. I stuck by the pen till one, then took a drive with the ladies as far as Chiefswood and walked home. Young William Forbes ^[286] came, and along with him a Southron, Mr. Cleasby.

April 3.—Still the same party. I fagged at writing letters to Lockhart, to Charles, and to John Gibson, to Mr. Cadell, Croker, Lord Haddington, and others. Lockhart has had an overture through Croker requesting him to communicate with some newspaper on the part of the Government, which he has wisely declined. Nothing but a thorough-going blackguard ought to attempt the daily press, unless it is some quiet country diurnal. Lockhart has also a wicked wit which would make an office of this kind more dangerous to him than to downright dulness. I am heartily glad he has refused it.^[287]

Sir James Mackintosh and Lord Haddington have spoken very handsomely of my accession to the Catholic Petition, and I think it has done some good; yet I am not confident that the measure will disarm the Catholic spleen.^[288] And I was not entirely easy at finding myself allied to the Whigs, even in this instance, where I agree with them. This is witless prejudice, however.

My walk to-day was up the Rhymer's Glen with Skene. Colonel Ferguson dined with us.

April 4.—Mr. Cleasby left this morning. He has travelled much, and is a young man of copious conversation and ready language, aiming I suppose at Parliament.^[289] William Forbes is singing like an angel in the next room, but he sings only Italian music, which says naught to me. I have a letter from one David Patterson, who was Dr. Knox's jackal for buying murdered bodies, suggesting that I should write on the subject of Burke and Hare, and offering me his invaluable collection of anecdotes! "Curse him imperance and him dam insurance,"^[290] as Mungo says in the farce. Did ever one hear the like? The scoundrel has been the companion and patron of such atrocious murderers and kidnappers, and he has the impudence to write to any decent man!

April 5.—Read prayers to what remains of our party: being Anne, my niece Anne, the four Skenes, and William Forbes. We then walked, and I returned time enough to work a little at the criticism. Thus it drew towards dinner in conclusion, after which we smoked, told stories, and drank tea.

April 6.—Worked at the review for three or four hours; yet hang it, I can't get on. I wonder if I am turning clumsy in other matters; certainly I cannot write against time as I used to do. My thoughts will not be duly regulated; my pen declares for itself, will neither write nor spell, and goes under independent colours. I went out with the child Kitty Skene on her pony. I don't much love children, I suppose from want of habit, but this is a fine merry little girl.

William Forbes sang in the evening with a feeling and taste indescribably fine, but as he had no Scottish or English songs, my ears were not much gratified. I have no sense beyond Mungo: "What signify me hear if me no understand!"

William Forbes leaves us. As to the old story, scribble till two, then walk for exercise till four. Deil hae it else, for company eats up the afternoon, so nothing can be done that is not achieved in the forenoon.

April 7.—We had a gay scene this morning—the foxhounds and merry hunters in my little base court, which rung with trampling steeds, and rejoiced in scarlet jackets and ringing horns. I have seen the day worlds would not have bribed me to stay behind them; but that is over, and I walked a sober pace up to the Abbot's Knowe, from which I saw them draw my woods, but without finding a fox. I watched them with that mixture of interest, affection, and compassion which old men feel at looking on the amusements of the young. I was so far interested in the chase itself as to be sorry they did not find. I had so far the advantage of the visit, that it gave me an object for the morning exercise, which I would otherwise only have been prompted to by health and habit. It is pleasant to have one's walk,—as heralds say, with a difference. By the way, the foxhunters hunted the cover far too fast. When they found a path they ran through it pell-mell without beating at all. They had hardly left the hare-hole cover, when a fox, which they had over-run, stole away. This is the consequence of breeding dogs too speedy.

April 8.—We have the news of the Catholic question being carried in the House of Lords, by a majority of 105 upon the second reading. This is decisive, and the balsam of Fierabras must be swallowed.^[291] It remains to see how it will work. Since it was indubitably necessary, I am glad the decision on the case has been complete. On these last three days I have finished my review of Tytler for Lockhart and sent it off by this post. I may have offended Peter by censuring him for a sort of petulance towards his predecessor Lord Hailes. This day visited by Mr. Carr, who is a sensible, clever young man, and by his two sisters ^[292]—beautiful singer the youngest—and to my taste, and English music.

April 9.—Laboured correcting proofs and revising; the day infinitely bad. Worked till three o'clock; then tried a late walk, and a wet one.

I hear bad news of James Ballantyne. Hypochondriac I am afraid, and religiously distressed in mind.

I got a book from the Duke de Lévis, the same gentleman with whom I had an awkward meeting at Abbotsford, owing to his having forgot his credentials, which left me at an unpleasant doubt as to his character and identity.^[293] His book is inscribed to me with hyperbolical praises. Now I don't like to have, like the Persian poets who have the luck to please the Sun of the Universe, my mouth crammed with sugar-candy, which politeness will not permit me to spit out, and my stomach is indisposed to swallow. The book is better than would be expected from the exaggerated nonsense of the dedication.

April 10.—Left Abbotsford at seven to attend the Circuit. Nota bene—half-past six is the better hour; waters are extremely flooded. Lord Meadowbank at the Circuit. Nothing tried but a few trumpery assaults. Meadowbank announces he will breakfast with me to-morrow, so I shall return to-night. Promised to my cousin Charles Scott to interest myself about his getting the farm of Milsington upon Borthwick Water and mentioned him to Colonel Riddell as a proposed offerer. The tender was well received. I saw James the piper and my cousin Anne; sent to James Veitch the spyglass of Professor Ferguson to be repaired. Dined with the Judge and returned in the evening.

April 11.—Meadowbank breakfasted with us, and then went on to Edinburgh, pressed by bad news of his family. His wife (daughter of my early patron, President Blair) is very ill; indeed I fear fatally so. I am sorry to think it is so. When the King was here she was the finest woman I saw at Holyrood. My proofs kept me working till two; then I had a fatiguing and watery walk. After dinner we smoked, and I talked with Mr. Carr over criminal jurisprudence, the choicest of conversation to an old lawyer; and the delightful music of Miss Isabella Carr closed the day. Still, I don't get to my task; but I will, to-morrow or next day.

April 12.—Read prayers, put my books in order and made some progress in putting papers in order which have been multiplying on my table. I have a letter from that impudent lad Reynolds about my contribution to the Keepsake. Sent to him the House of Aspen, as I had previously determined. This will give them a lumping pennyworth in point of extent, but that's the side I would have the bargain rest upon. It shall be a warning after this to keep out of such a scrape.

April 13.—In the morning before breakfast I corrected the proof of the critique on the life of Lord Pitsligo in Blackwood's Magazine.^[294] After breakfast Skene and his lady and family, and Mr. Carr and his sisters, took their departure. Time was dawdled away till nearly twelve o'clock and then I could not work much. I finished, however, a painful letter to J. Ballantyne, which I hope will have effect upon the nervous disorder he complains of. He must "awake, arise, or be for ever fallen." I walked happily and pleasantly from two o'clock till four. And now I must look to Anne of Geierstein. Hang it! it is not so bad after all, though I fear it will not be popular. In fact, I am almost expended; but while I exhort others to exertion I will not fail to exert myself. I have a letter from R.P. G[illies] proposing to subscribe to assist him from £25 to £50. It will do no good, but yet I cannot help giving him something.

April 14.—I sent off proofs of the review of Tytler for John Lockhart. Then set a stout heart to a stay brae, and took up Anne of Geierstein. I had five sheets standing by me, which I read with care, and satisfied myself that worse had succeeded, but it was while the fashion of the thing was new. I retrenched a good deal about the Troubadours, which was really hors de place. As to King René, I retained him as a historical character. In short, I will let the sheets go nearly as they are, for though J.B. be an excellent judge of this species of composition, he is not infallible, and has been in circumstances which may cross his mind. I might have taken this determination a month since, and I wish I had. But I thought I might strike out something better by the braes and burn-sides. Alas! I walk along them with painful and feeble steps, and invoke their influence in vain. But my health is excellent, and it were ungrateful to complain either of mental or bodily decay. We called at Elliston to-day and made up for some ill-bred delay. In the evening I corrected two sheets of the Magnum, as we call it.

April 15.—I took up Anne, and wrote, with interruption of a nap (in which my readers may do well to imitate me), till two o'clock. I wrote with care, having digested Comines. Whether I succeed or not, it would be dastardly to give in. A bold countenance often carries off an indifferent cause, but no one will defend him who shows the white feather. At two I walked till near four. Dined with the girls, smoked two cigars, and to work again till supper-time. Slept like a top. Amount of the day's work, eight pages—a round task.

April 16.—I meant to go out with Bogie to plant some shrubs in front of the old quarry, but it rains cats and dogs as they say, a rare day for grinding away at the old mill of imagination, yet somehow I have no great will to the task. After all, however, the morning proved a true April one, sunshine and shower, and I both worked to some purpose, and moreover walked and directed about planting the quarry.

The post brought matter for a May or April morning—a letter from Sir James Mackintosh, telling me that Moore and he were engaged as contributors to Longman's Encyclopædia, and asking me to do a volume at £1000, the subject to be the History of Scotland in one volume. This would be very easy work. I have the whole stuff in my head, and could write currente calamo. The size is as I compute it about one-third larger than The Tales of my Grandfather. There is much to be said on both sides. Let me balance pros and cons after the fashion of honest Robinson Crusoe. Pro.—It is the sum I have been wishing for, sufficient to enable me to break the invisible but magic circle which petty debts of myself and others have traced round me. With common prudence I need no longer go from hand to mouth, or what is worse, anticipate my means. I may also pay off some small shop debts, etc., belonging to the Trust, clear off all Anne's embarrassment, and even make some foundation of a purse for her. N.B.—I think this whacking reason is like to prove the gallon of Cognac brandy, which a lady recommended as the foundation of a Liqueur. "Stop, dear madam, if you please," said my grandfather, Dr. Rutherford, "you can [add] nothing to that; it is flaconnadé with £1000," and a capital hit, egad. Contra.—It is terribly like a hack author to make an abridgement of what I have written so lately. Pro.—But a difference may be taken. A history may be written of the same country on a different plan, general where the other is detailed, and philosophical where it is popular. I think I can do this, and do it with unwashed hands too. For being hacked, what is it but another word for being an author? I will take care of my name doubtless, but the five letters which form it must take care of me in turn. I never knew name or fame burn brighter by over chary keeping of it. Besides, there are two gallant hacks to pull with me. Contra.—I have a monstrous deal on hand. Let me see: Life of Argyll,^[296] and Life of Peterborough for Lockhart.^[297] Third series Tales of my Grandfather—review for Gillies—new novel—end of Anne of Geierstein. Pro.—But I have just finished too long reviews for Lockhart. The third series is soon discussed. The review may be finished in three or four days, and the novel is within a week and less of conclusion. For the next, we must first see how this goes off. In fine, within six weeks, I am sure I can do the work and secure the independence I sigh for. Must I not make hay while the sun shines? Who can tell what leisure, health, and life may be destined to me?

April 17.—I resumed the discussion of the bargain about the history. The ayes to the right, the noes to the left. The ayes have it—so I will write to Sir James of this date. But I will take a walk first, that I will. A little shaken with the conflict, for after all were I as I have been——. "My poverty but not my will consents."^[298]

I have been out in a most delicious real spring day. I returned with my nerves strung and my mind determined. I will make this plunge, and with little doubt of coming off no loser in character. What is given in detail may be suppressed, general views may be enlarged upon, and a bird's-eye prospect given, not the less interesting, that we have seen its prominent points nearer and in detail. I have been of late in a great degree free from wafered letters, sums to make up, notes of hand wanted, and all the worry of an embarrassed man's life. This last struggle will free me entirely, and so help me Heaven it shall be made! I have written to Sir James, stating that I apprehend the terms to be £1000, namely, for one volume containing about one-third more than one of the volumes of Tales of my Grandfather, and agreeing to do so. Certes, few men can win a thousand pounds so readily.

April 18.—Corrected proofs. I find J.B. has not returned to his business, though I wrote him how necessary it was. My pity begins to give way to anger. Must he sit there and squander his thoughts and senses upon cloudy metaphysics and abstruse theology till he addles his brains entirely, and ruins his business? I have written to him again, letter third and, I am determined, last.

Wrote also to the fop Reynolds, with preface to the House of Aspen, then to honest Joseph Train desiring he would give me some notion how to serve him with Messrs. Carr, and to take care to make his ambition moderate and feasible.

My neighbour, Mr. Kerr of Kippielaw, struck with a palsy while he was looking at the hounds; his pony remained standing by his side. A sudden call if a final one.

That strange desire to leave a prescribed task and set about something else seized me irresistibly. I yielded to it, and sat down to try at what speed and in what manner I could execute this job of Sir James Mackintosh's, and I wrote three leaves before rising, well enough, I think. The girls made a round with me. We drove to Chiefswood, and from that to Janeswood, up the Rhymer's Glen, and so home. This occupied from one to four. In the evening I heard Anne read Mr. Peel's excellent Bill on the Police of the Metropolis, which goes to disband the whole generation of Dogberry and Verges. Wrote after tea.

April 19.—I made this a busy day. I wrote on at the history until two o'clock, then took a gallant walk, then began reading for Gillies's article. James Ferguson dined with us. We smoked and I became woundy sleepy. Now I have taken collar to this arrangement, I find an open sea before me which I could not have anticipated, for though I should get through well enough with my expectations during the year, yet it is a great thing to have a certainty to be clear as a new pin of every penny of debt. There is no being obliged or asking favours or getting loans from some grudging friend who can never look at you after but with fear of losing his cash, or you at him without the humiliating sense of having extorted an obligation. Besides my large debts, I have paid since I was in trouble at least £2000 of personal encumbrances, so no wonder my nose is still under water. I really believe the sense of this apparently unending struggle, schemes for retrenchment in which I was unseconded, made me low-spirited, for the sun seems to shine brighter upon me as a free man. Nevertheless, devil take the necessity which makes me drudge like a very hack of Grub Street.

I walked out with Tom's assistance, came home, went through the weary work of cramming, and so forth; wrought after tea, and then to bed.

April 20.—As yesterday till two—sixteen pages of the History written, and not less than one-fifth of the whole book. What if they should be off? I were finely holp'd for throwing my time away. A toy! They dare not.

Lord Buchan is dead, a person whose immense vanity, bordering upon insanity, obscured, or rather eclipsed, very considerable talents. His imagination was so fertile that he seemed really to believe the extraordinary fictions which he delighted in telling. His economy, most laudable in the early part of his life, when it enabled him, from a small income, to pay his father's debts, became a miserable habit, and led him to do mean things. He had a desire to be a great man, and a Mæcenas bon marché. The two celebrated lawyers, his brothers, were not more gifted by nature than I think he was, but the restraints of a profession kept the eccentricity of the family in order. Henry Erskine was the best-natured man I ever knew, thoroughly a gentleman, and with but one fault: he could not say no, and thus sometimes misled those who trusted him. Tom Erskine was positively mad. I have heard him tell a cock-and-a-bull story of having seen the ghost of his father's servant, John Burnet, with as much sincerity as if he believed every word he was saying. Both Henry and Thomas were saving men, yet both died very poor. The one at one time possessed £200,000; the other had a considerable fortune. The Earl alone has died wealthy. It is saving, not getting, that is the mother of riches. They all had wit. The Earl's was crack-brained and sometimes caustic; Henry's was of the very kindest, best-humoured, and gayest that ever cheered society; that of Lord Erskine was moody and maddish. But I never saw him in his best days.

Went to Haining. Time has at last touched the beautiful Mrs. Pringle. I wonder he was not ashamed of himself for spoiling so fine a form. But what cares he? Corrected proofs after dinner. James B. is at last at work again.

April 21.—Spent the whole morning at writing, still the History, such is my wilful whim. Twenty pages now finished—I suppose the clear fourth part of a volume. I went out, but the day being sulky I sat in the Conservatory, after trying a walk! I have been glancing over the works for Gillies's review, and I think on them between-hands while I compose the History,—an odd habit of doing two things at once, but it has always answered with me well enough.

April 22.—Another hard day's work at the History, now increased to the Bruce and Baliol period, and threatening to be too lengthy for the Cyclopædia. But I will make short work with wars and battles. I wrote till two o'clock, and strolled with old Tom and my dogs ^[300] till half-past four, hours of pleasure and healthful exercise, and to-day taken with ease. A letter from J.B., stating an alarm that he may lose the printing of a part of the Magnum. But I shall write him he must be his own friend, set shoulder to the wheel, and remain at the head of his business; and of that I must make him aware. And so I set to my proofs. "Better to work," says the inscription on Hogarth's Bridewell, "than stand thus."

April 23.—A cold blustering day—bad welcome for the poor lambs. I made my walk short and my task long, my work turning entirely on the History—all on speculation. But the post brought me a letter from Dr. Lardner, the manager of the Cyclopædia, agreeing to my terms; so all is right there, and no labour thrown away. The volume is to run to 400 pages; so much the better; I love elbow-room, and will have space to do something to purpose. I replied agreeing to his terms, and will send him copy as soon as I have corrected it. The Colonel and Miss Ferguson dined with us. I think I drank rather a cheerful glass with my good friend. Smoked an extra cigar, so no more at present.

April 25.—After writing to Mr. Cochrane,^[301] to Cadell and J.B., also to Mr. Pitcairn,^[302] it was time to set out for Lord Buchan's funeral. The funeral letters were signed by Mr. H. David Erskine, his lordship's natural son. His nephew, the young Earl, was present, but neither of them took the head of the coffin. His lordship's funeral took place in a chapel amongst the ruins. His body was in the grave with its feet pointing westward. My cousin, Maxpopple,^[303] was for taking notice of it, but I assured him that a man who had been wrong in the head all his life would scarce become right-headed after death. I felt something at parting with this old man, though but a trumpery body. He gave me the first approbation I ever obtained from a stranger. His caprice had led him to examine Dr. Adam's class when I, a boy twelve years old, and then in disgrace for some aggravated case of negligence, was called up from a low bench, and recited my lesson with some spirit and appearance of feeling the poetry—it was the apparition of Hector's ghost in the Æneid—of which called forth the noble Earl's applause. I was very proud of this at the time.

I was sad on another account—it was the first time I had been among these ruins since I left a very valued pledge there. My next visit may be involuntary. Even so, God's will be done! at least I have not the mortification of thinking what a deal of patronage and fuss Lord Buchan would bestow on my funeral.^[304] Maxpopple dined and slept here with four of his family, much amused with what they heard and saw. By good fortune a ventriloquist and partial juggler came in, and we had him in the library after dinner. He was a half-starved wretched-looking creature, who seemed to have ate more fire than bread. So I caused him to be well stuffed, and gave him a guinea, rather to his poverty than to his skill—and now to finish Anne of Geierstein.

April 26.—But not a finger did I lay on the jacket of Anne. Looking for something, I fell in with the little drama, long missing, called the Doom of Devorgoil. I believe it was out of mere contradiction that I sat down to read and correct it, merely because I would not be bound to do aught that seemed compulsory. So I scribbled at a piece of nonsense till two o'clock, and then walked to the lake. At night I flung helve after hatchet, and spent the evening in reading the Doom of Devorgoil to the girls, who seemed considerably interested. Anne objects to the mingling the goblinry, which is comic, with the serious, which is tragic. After all, I could greatly improve it, and it would not be a bad composition of that odd kind to some picnic receptacle of all things.

April 27.—This day must not be wasted. I breakfast with the Fergusons, and dine with the Brewsters. But, by Heaven, I will finish Anne of Geierstein this day betwixt the two engagements. I don't know why nor wherefore, but I hate Anne, I mean Anne of Geierstein; the other two Annes are good girls. Accordingly I well nigh accomplished my work, but about three o'clock my story fell into a slough, and in getting it out I lost my way, and was forced to postpone the conclusion till to-morrow. Wrote a good day's work notwithstanding.

April 28.—I have slept upon my puzzle, and will now finish it, Jove bless my pia mater, as I see not further impediment before me. The story will end, and shall end, because it must end, and so here goes. After this doughty resolution, I went doggedly to work, and finished five leaves by the time when they should meet the coach. But the misfortune of writing fast is that one cannot at the same time write concisely. I wrote two pages more in the evening. Stayed at home all day. Indeed, the weather—sleety, rainy, stormy—forms no tempting prospect. Bogie, too, who sees his flourish going to wreck, is looking as spiteful as an angry fiend towards the unpropitious heavens. So I made a day of work of it,

April 29.—This morning I finished and sent off three pages more, and still there is something to write; but I will take the broad axe to it, and have it ended before noon.

This has proved impossible, and the task lasted me till nine, when it was finished, tant bien que mal. Now, will people say this expresses very little respect for the public? In fact, I have very little respect for that dear publicum whom I am doomed to amuse, like Goody Trash in Bartholomew Fair, with rattles and gingerbread; and I should deal very uncandidly with those who may read my confessions were I to say I knew a public worth caring for or capable of distinguishing the nicer beauties of composition. They weigh good and evil qualities by the pound. Get a good name and you may write trash. Get a bad one and you may write like Homer, without pleasing a single reader. I am, perhaps, l'enfant gâté de succés, but I am brought to the stake,^[305] and must perforce stand the course.

Having finished Anne^[306] I began and revised fifteen leaves of the History, and sent them to Dr. Lardner. I think they read more trashy than I expected. But when could I ever please myself, even when I have most pleased others? Then I walked about two hours by the thicket and river-side, watching the appearance of spring, which, as Coleridge says—

After dinner and tea I resumed the task of correction, which is an odious one, but must be attempted, ay, and accomplished too. P/

April 30.—Dr. Johnson enjoins Bozzy to leave out of his diary all notices of the weather as insignificant. It may be so to an inhabitant of Bolt Court, in Fleet Street, who need care little whether it rains or snows, except the shilling which it may cost him for a Jarvie; but when I wake and find a snow shower sweeping along, and destroying hundreds perhaps of young lambs, and famishing their mothers, I must consider it as worth noting. For my own poor share, I am as indifferent as any Grub Streeter of them all—

I have accordingly been busy. The weather did not permit me to go beyond the courtyard, for it continued cold and rainy. I have employed the day in correcting the history for Cyclopædia as far as page 35, exclusive, and have sent it off, or shall to-morrow. I wish I knew how it would run out. Dr. Lardner's measure is a large one, but so much the better. I like to have ample verge and space enough, and a mere abridgment would be discreditable. Well, nobody can say I eat the bread of idleness. Why should I? Those who do not work from necessity take violent labour from choice, and were necessity out of the question I would take the same sort of literary labour from choice—something more leisurely though.

MAY.

May 1.—Weather more tolerable. I commenced my review on the Duke of Guise's Expedition,^[307] for my poor correspondent Gillies, with six leaves. What a curious tale that is of Masaniello! I went to Huntly Burn in the sociable, and returned on foot, to my great refreshment. Evening as usual. Ate, drank, smoked, and wrote.

May 2.—A pitiful day of rain and wind. Laboured the whole morning at Gillies's review. It is a fine subject—the Duke of Guise at Naples—and I think not very much known, though the story of Masaniello is.

I have a letter from Dr. Lardner proposing to me to publish the history in June. But I dare not undertake it in so short a space, proof-sheets and all considered; it must be October—no help for it.^[308] Worked after dinner as usual.

May 3.—The very same diary might serve this day as the last. I sent off to Gillies half his review, and I wish the other half at Old Nick.

May 4.—A poor young woman came here this morning, well-dressed and well-behaved, with a strong northern accent. She talked incoherently a long story of a brother and a lover both dead. I would have kept her here till I wrote to her friends, particularly to Mr. Sutherland (an Aberdeen bookseller), to inform them where she is, but my daughter and her maidens were frightened, as indeed there might be room for it, and so I sent her in one of Davidson's chaises to the Castle at Jedburgh, and wrote to Mr. Shortreed to see she is humanely treated. I have written also to her brother.

May 5.—A moist rainy day, mild, however, and promising good weather. I sat at my desk the whole day, and worked at Gillies's review. So was the day exhausted.

May 6.—I sent off the review. Received the sheets of the Secret Tribunal from Master Reynolds. Keith Scott, a grandson of James Scott, my father's cousin-german, came here, a fine lively boy with good spirits and amiable manners. Just when I had sent off the rest of Gillies's manuscript, W. Laidlaw came, so I had him for my companion in a walk which the late weather has prevented for one or two days. Colonel and Mrs. Ferguson, and Margaret Ferguson, came to dinner, and so passed the evening.

May 7.—Captain Percy, brother of Lord Lovaine, and son of Lord Beverley, came out to dinner. Dr. and Mrs. Brewster met him. He is like his brother, Lord Lovaine, an amiable, easy, and accomplished man, who has seen a great deal of service, and roamed about with tribes of Western Indians.

May 8.—Went up Yarrow with Captain Percy, which made a complete day's idleness, for which I have little apology to offer. I heard at the same time from the President ^[309] that Sir Robert Dundas is very unwell, so I must be in Edinburgh on Monday 11th. Very disagreeable, now the weather is becoming pleasant.

May 9.—Captain Percy left us at one o'clock. He has a sense of humour, and aptness of comprehension which renders him an agreeable companion. I am sorry his visit has made me a little idle, but there is no help for it.

I have done everything to-day previous to my going away, but—que faut-il faire? one must see society now and then, and this is really an agreeable man. And so, transeat ille. I walked, and was so fatigued as to sleep, and now I will attack John Lockhart's proof-sheets, of which he has sent me a revise. In the evening I corrected proofs for the review.

May 10.—This must be a day of preparation, which I hate; yet it is but laying aside a few books, and arranging a few papers, and yet my nerves are fluttered, and I make blunders, and mislay my pen and my keys, and make more confusion than I can repair. After all, I will try for once to do it steadily.

Well! I have toiled through it; it is like a ground swell in the sea that brings up all that is disgusting from the bottom—admonitory letters—unpaid bills—few of these, thank my stars!—all that one would wish to forget perks itself up in your face at a thorough redding up—devil take it, I will get out and cool the fever that this turmoil has made in my veins! The delightful spring weather conjured down the evil spirit. I sat a long time with my nerves shaking like a frightened child, and then laughed at it all by the side of the river, coming back by the thicket.

May 11, [Edinburgh].—We passed the morning in the little arrangements previous to our departure, and then returned at night to Edinburgh, bringing Keith Scott along. This boy's grandfather, James Scott by name, very clever and particularly well acquainted with Indian customs and manners. He was one of the first settlers in Prince of Wales Island. He was an active-minded man, and therefore wrote a great deal. I have seen a trunkful of his MSS. Unhappily, instead of writing upon some subject on which he might have conveyed information he took to writing on metaphysics, and lost both his candles and his labour. I was consulted about publishing some part of his works; but could not recommend it. They were shallow essays, with a good deal of infidelity exhibited. Yet James Scott was a very clever man. He only fell into the common mistake of supposing that arguments new to him were new to all others. His son, when I knew him long since in this country, was an ordinary man enough. This boy seems smart and clever. We reached the house in the evening; it was comfortable enough considering it had been shut up for two months. I found a letter from Cadell asserting his continued hope in the success of the Magnum. I begin to be jealous on the subject, but I will know to-morrow.

May 12.—Went to Parliament House. Sir Robert Dundas very unwell. Poor Hamilton on his back with the gout. So was obliged to have the assistance of Rolland ^[310] from the Second Division. Saw Cadell on the way home. I was right: he had been disappointed in his expectations from Glasgow and other mercantile places where trade is low at present. But

The Magnum has taken extremely in Ireland, which was little counted on, and elsewhere. Hence he proposes a new edition of Tales of my Grandfather, First Series; also an enlargement of the Third Series. All this drives poverty and pinch, which is so like poverty, from the door.

I visited Lady J.S., and had the pleasure to find her well. I wrote a little, and got over a place that bothered me. Cadell has apprehensions of A[nne] of G[eierstein], so have I. Well, the worst of it is, we must do something better.^[311]

May 13.—Attended the Court, which took up a good deal of time. On my return saw Sir Robert Dundas, who is better—and expects to be out on Tuesday. I went to the Highland Society to present Miss Grahame Stirling's book, being a translation of Gelieu's work on bees,^[312] which was well received. Went with the girls to dine at Dalhousie Castle, where we were very kindly received. I saw the Edgewell Tree,^[313] too fatal, says Allan Ramsay, to the family from which he was himself descended. I also saw the fatal Coalston Pear,^[314] said to have been preserved many hundred years. It is certainly a pear either petrified or turned into wood, with a bit out of one side of it.

It is a pity to see my old school-companion, this fine true-hearted nobleman of such an ancient and noble descent, after having followed the British flag through all quarters of the world, again obliged to resume his wanderings at a time of life equal, I suppose, to my own. He has not, however, a grey hair in his head.

May 14.—Left Dalhousie at eight to return here to breakfast, where we received cold tidings. Walter has had an inflammatory attack, and I fear it will be necessary to him to return without delay to the Continent. I have letters from Sophia and Sir Andrew Halliday. The last has been of the utmost service, by bleeding and advising active measures. How little one knows to whom they are to be obliged! I wrote to him and to Jane, recommending the Ionian Islands, where Sir Frederick Adam would, I am sure, give Walter a post on his staff. The kind old Chief Commissioner at once interested himself in the matter. It makes me inexpressibly anxious, yet I have kept up my determination not to let the chances of fate overcome me like a summer's-cloud.^[315] I wrote four or five pages of the History to-day, notwithstanding the agitation of my feelings.

May 15.—Attended the Court, where Mr. Rolland and I had the duty of the First Division; Sir Robert and Hamilton being both laid up. Dined at Granton and met Lord and Lady Dalhousie, Sir John Hope, etc. I have spelled out some work this day, though I have been rather knocked about.

May 16.—After the Court this day I went to vote at the Archers' Hall, where some of the members had become restive. They were outvoted two to one. There had been no division in the Royal Body Guard since its commencement, but these times make divisions everywhere. A letter from Lockhart brings better news of Walter, but my heart is heavy on the subject. I went on with my History, however, for the point in this world is to do what we ought, and bear what we must.

May 17.—I never stirred from my seat all this day. My reflections, as suggested by Walter's illness, were highly uncomfortable; and to divert it I wrought the whole day, save when I was obliged to stop and lean my head on my hand. Real affliction, however, has something in it by which it is sanctified. It is a weight which, however oppressive, may like a bar of iron be conveniently disposed on the sufferer's person. But the insubstantiality of a hypochondriac affection is one of its greatest torments. You have a huge featherbed on your shoulders, which rather encumbers and oppresses you than calls forth strength and exertion to bear it. There is something like madness in that opinion, and yet it has a touch of reality. Heaven help me!

May 18.—I resolved to take exercise to-day, so only wrought till twelve. I sent off some sheets and copy to Dr. Lardner. I find my written page goes as better than one to two of his print, so a little more than one hundred and ninety of my writing will make up the sum wanted. I sent him off as far as page sixty-two. Went to Mr. Colvin Smith's at one, and sat for my picture to three. There must be an end of this sitting. It devours my time.

I wrote in the evening to Walter, James MacCulloch, to Dr. Lardner, and others, and settled some other correspondence.

May 19.—I went to the Court, and abode there till about one, and in the Library from one to two, when I was forced to attend a public meeting about the King's statue. I have no turn for these committees, and yet I get always jamm'd into them. They take up a cruel deal of time in a way very unsatisfactory. Dined at home, and wrought hard. I shall be through the Bruce's reign. It is lengthy; but, hang it, it was our only halcyon period. I shall be soon done with one-half of the thousand pound's worth.

May 20.—Mr. Cadell breakfasted with us, with a youngster for whom he wants a letter to the Commander or Governor of Bombay. After breakfast C. and I had some talk of business. His tidings, like those of ancient Pistol, are of Africa and golden joys. He is sure of selling at the starting 8000 copies of the Magnum, at a profit of £70 per 1000—that is, per month. This seems certain. But he thinks the sale will rise to 12,000, which will be £280 more, or £840 in all. This will tell out a gross divisible profit of upwards of £25,000. This is not unlikely, but after this comes a series of twenty volumes at least, which produce only half that quantity indeed; but then the whole profits, save commissions, are the author's. That will come to as much as the former, say £50,000 in all. This supposes I carry on the works of fiction for two or three novels more. But besides all this, Cadell entertains a plan of selling a cheaper edition by numbers and numbermen, on which he gives half the selling price. One man, Mr. Ireland, offers to take 10,000 copies of the Magnum and talks of 25,000. This allows a profit of £50 per thousand copies, not much worse than the larger copy, and Cadell thinks to carry on both. I doubt this. I have great apprehension that these interlopers would disgust the regular trade, with whom we are already deeply engaged. I also foresee selling the worst copies at the higher price. All this must be thought and cared for. In the meantime, I see a fund, from which large payments may be made to the Trustees, capable of extinguishing the debt, large as it is, in ten years or earlier, and leaving a reversion to my family of the copyrights. Sweet bodements ^[316]—good—but we must not reckon our chickens before they are hatched, though they are chipping the shell now. We will see how the stream takes.

Dined at a public dinner given to the excellent Lord Dalhousie before his departure for India. An odd way of testifying respect to public characters, by eating, drinking, and roaring. The names, however, will make a good show in the papers. Home at ten. Good news from Sophia and Walter. I am zealous for the Mediterranean when the season comes, which may be the beginning of September.

May 21.—This is only the 23d on which I write, yet I have forgotten anything that has passed on the 21st worthy of note. I wrote a good deal, I know, and dined at home. The step of time is noiseless as it passes over an old man. The non est tanti mingles itself with everything.

May 22.—I was detained long in the Court, though Ham. had returned to his labour. We dined with Captain Basil Hall, and met a Mr. Codman, or some such name, with his lady from Boston. The last a pleasant and well-mannered woman, the husband Bostonian enough. We had Sir William Arbuthnot, besides, and his lady.

By-the-bye, I should have remembered that I called on my old friend, Lady Charlotte Campbell, and found her in her usual good-humour, though miffed a little—I suspect at the history of Gillespie Grumach in the Legend of Montrose. I saw Haining also, looking thin and pale. These should have gone to the memorandum of yesterday.

May 23.—Went to-day to call on the Commissioner,^[317] and saw, at his Grace's Levee, the celebrated divine, soi-disant prophet, Irving.^[318] He is a fine-looking man (bating a diabolical squint), with talent on his brow and madness in his eye. His dress, and the arrangement of his hair, indicated that much attention had been bestowed on his externals, and led me to suspect a degree of self-conceit, consistent both with genius and insanity.

Came home by Cadell's, who persists in his visions of El Dorado. He insists that I will probably bring £60,000 within six years to rub off all Constable's debts, which that sum will do with a vengeance. Cadell talks of offering for the Poetry to Longman. I fear they will not listen to him. The Napoleon he can command when he likes by purchasing their stock in hand. The Lives of the Novelists may also be had. Pleasant schemes all these, but dangerous to build upon. Yet in looking at the powerful machine which we have put in motion, it must be owned "as broken ships have come to land."

Waited on the Commissioner at five o'clock, and had the pleasure to remain till eight, when the debate in the Assembly was over. The question which employed their eloquence was whether the celebrated Mr. Irving could sit there as a ruling elder.^[319] It was settled, I think justly, that a divine, being of a different order of officers in the Kirk, cannot assume the character of a ruling elder, seeing he cannot discharge its duties.

Mr. Irving dined with us. I could hardly keep my eyes off him while we were at table. He put me in mind of the devil disguised as an angel of light, so ill did that horrible obliquity of vision harmonise with the dark tranquil features of his face, resembling that of our Saviour in Italian pictures, with the hair carefully arranged in the same manner. There was much real or affected simplicity in the manner in which he spoke. He rather made play, and spoke much across the table to the Solicitor, and seemed to be good-humoured. But he spoke with that kind of unction which is nearly [allied] to cajolerie. He boasted much of the tens of thousands that attended his ministry at the town of Annan, his native place, till he wellnigh provoked me to say he was a distinguished exception to the rule that a prophet was not esteemed in his own country. But time and place were not fitting.

May 24.—I wrote or wrought all the morning, yea, even to dinner-time. Miss Kerr, and Mrs. Skene, and Will Clerk dined. Skene came from the Commissioner's at seven o'clock. We had a merry evening. Clerk exults in the miscarriage of the Bill for the augmentation of the judges' salaries. He and the other clerks in the Jury Court had hoped to have had a share in the proposed measure, but the Court had considered it as being nos poma natamus. I kept our friends quiet by declining to move in a matter which was to expose us to the insult of a certain refusal. Clerk, with his usual felicity of quotation, said they should have remembered the Clown's exhortation to Lear, "Good nuncle, tarry and take the fool with you."^[320]

May 25.—Wrote in the morning. Dr. Macintosh Mackay came to breakfast, and brought with him, to show me, the Young Chevalier's target, purse, and snuff-box, the property of Cluny MacPherson. The pistols are for holsters, and no way remarkable; a good serviceable pair of weapons silver mounted. The targe is very handsome indeed, studded with ornaments of silver, chiefly emblematic, chosen with much taste of device and happily executed. There is a contrast betwixt the shield and purse, the targe being large and heavy, the purse, though very handsome, unusually small and light. After one o'clock I saw the Duke and Duchess of Gordon; then went to Mr. Smith's to finish a painting for the last time. The Duchess called with a Swiss lady, to introduce me to her friend, while I was doing penance. I was heartily glad to see her Grace once more. Called in at Cadell's. His orders continue so thick that he must postpone the delivery for several days, to get new engravings thrown off, etc. Vogue la galère! From all that now appears, I shall be much better off in two or three years than if my misfortunes had never taken place. Periissem ni periissem.

Dined at a dinner given by the Antiquarian Society to Mr. Hay Drummond, Secretary to the Society, now going Consul to Tangiers. It was an excellent dinner—turtle, champagne, and all the agrémens of a capital meal, for £1, 6s. a-head. How Barry managed I can't say. The object of this compliment spoke and drank wine incessantly; good-naturedly delighted with the compliment, which he repeatedly assured me he valued more than a hundred pounds. I take it that after my departure, which was early, it would be necessary to "carry Mr. Silence to bed."^[321]

May 26.—The business at the Court heavy. Dined at Gala's, and had the pleasure to see him in amended health. Sir John and Lady Hope were there, and the evening was lively and pleasant. George Square is always a melancholy place for me. I was dining next door to my father's former house.^[322]

May 27.—I got up the additional notes for the Waverley Novels. They seem to be setting sail with a favourable wind. I had to-day a most kind and friendly letter from the Duke of Wellington, which is a thing to be vain of. He is a most wonderful man to have climbed to such a height without ever slipping his foot. Who would have said in 1815 that the Duke would stand still higher in 1829, and yet it indubitably is so. We dined with Lady Charlotte Campbell, now Lady Charlotte Bury, and her husband, who is an egregious fop but a fine draughtsman. Here is another day gone without work in the evening.

May 28.—The Court as usual till one o'clock. But I forgot to say Mr. Macintosh Mackay breakfasted, and inspected my curious Irish MS., which Dr. Brinkley gave me.^[323] Mr. Mackay, I should say Doctor, who well deserved the name, reads it with tolerable ease, so I hope to knock the marrow out of the bone with his assistance. I came home and despatched proof-sheets and revises for Dr. Lardner. I saw kind John Gibson, and made him happy with the fair prospects of the Magnum. He quite agrees in my views. A young clergyman, named M'Combie, from Aberdeenshire, also called to-day. I have had some consideration about the renewal or re-translation of the Psalmody. I had peculiar views adverse to such an undertaking.^[324] In the first place, it would be highly unpopular with the lower and more ignorant rank, many of whom have no idea of the change which those spiritual poems have suffered in translation, but consider their old translations as the very songs which David composed. At any rate, the lower class think that our fathers were holier and better men than we, and that to abandon their old hymns of devotion, in order to grace them with newer and more modish expression, would be a kind of sacrilege. Even the best informed, who think on the subject, must be of opinion that even the somewhat bald and rude language and versification of the Psalmody gives them an antique and venerable air, and their want of the popular graces of modish poetry shows they belong to a style where ornaments are not required. They contain, besides, the very words which were spoken and sung by the fathers of the Reformation, sometimes in the wilderness, sometimes in fetters, sometimes at the stake. If a Church possessed the vessels out of which the original Reformers partook of the Eucharist, it would be surely bad taste to melt them down and exchange them for more modern. No, no. Let them write hymns and paraphrases if they will, but let us have still

Law and devotion must lose some of their dignity as often as they adopt new fashions.

May 30.—The Skenes came in to supper last night. Dr. Scott of Haslar Hospital came to breakfast. He is a nephew of Scott of Scalloway, who is one of the largest proprietors in Shetland. I have an agreeable recollection of the kindness and hospitality of these remote isles, and of this gentleman's connections in particular, who welcomed me both as a stranger and a Scott, being duly tenacious of their clan. This young gentleman is high in the medical department of the navy. He tells me that the Ultima Thule is improving rapidly. The old clumsy plough is laid aside. They have built several stout sloops to go to the deep-sea fishing, instead of going thither in open boats, which consumed so much time between the shore and the haaf or fishing spot. Pity but they would use a steam-boat to tow them out! I have a real wish to hear of Zetland's advantage. I often think of its long isles, its towering precipices, its capes covered with sea-fowl of every class and description that ornithology can find names for, its deep caves, its smoked geese, and its sour sillocks. I would like to see it again. After the Court I came round by Cadell, who is like Jemmy Taylor,

for which he has good reason, having raised the impression of the Magnum to 12,000 copies, and yet the end is not, for the only puzzle now is how to satisfy the delivery fast enough.^[326]

May 31.—We dined at Craigcrook with Jeffrey. It is a most beautiful place, tastefully planted with shrubs and trees, and so sequestered, that after turning into the little avenue, all symptoms of the town are left behind you. He positively gives up the Edinburgh Review.^[327] A very pleasant evening. Rather a glass of wine too much, for I was heated during the night. Very good news of Walter.

JUNE.

June 1.—Being Sunday I remained to work the whole day, and finished half of the proposed volume of History. I was not disturbed the whole day, a thing rather unusual.

June 2.—Received Mr. Rees of London and Col. Ferguson to breakfast. Mr. Rees is clearly of opinion our scheme (the Magnum) must answer.^[328] I got to letter-writing after breakfast, and cleared off old scores in some degree. Dr. Ross called and would hardly hear of my going out. I was obliged, however, to attend the meeting of the trustees for the Theatre.^[329] The question to be decided was, whether we should embrace an option left to us of taking the old Theatre at a valuation, or whether we should leave it to Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Murray to make the best of it. There were present Sir Patrick Murray, Baron Hume, Lord Provost, Sir John Hay, Mr. Gilbert Innes, and myself. We were all of opinion that personally we ought to have nothing to do with it. But I thought as trustees for the public, we were bound to let the public know how the matter stood, and that they might, if they pleased, have the theatrical property for £16,000, which is dog cheap. They were all clear to give it up (the right of reversion) to Mrs. Siddons. I am glad she should have it, for she is an excellent person, and so is her brother. But I think it has been a little jobbish. There is a clause providing the new patentees may redeem. I desired that the circumstance should be noted, that we were only exercising our own judgment, leaving the future trustees to exercise theirs. I rather insisted that there should be some saving clause of this kind, even for the sake of our honour. But I could not prevail upon my colleagues to put such a saving clause on the minutes, though they agreed to the possibility of the new patentees redeeming on behalf of the public. I do not think we have done right.

I called on Mr. Cadell, whose reports of the Magnum might fill up the dreams of Alnaschar should he sleep as long as the seven sleepers. The rest was labour and letters till bed-time.

June 3.—The ugly symptoms still continue. Dr. Ross does not make much of it, and I think he is apt to look grave.^[330] I wrote in the morning. Dr. Macintosh Mackay came to breakfast, and brought a Gaelic book, which he has published—the Poetry of Rob Donn—some of which seems pretty as he explained it. Court kept me till near two, and then home comes I. Afternoon and evening was spent as usual. In the evening Dr. Ross ordered me to be cupped, an operation which I only knew from its being practised by that eminent medical practitioner the barber of Bagdad. It is not painful; and, I think, resembles a giant twisting about your flesh between his finger and thumb.

June 4.—I was obliged to absent myself from the Court on Dr. Ross's positive instance; and, what is worse, I was compelled to send an apology to Hopetoun House, where I expected to see Madame Caradori, who was to sing Jock of Hazeldean. I wrote the song for Sophia; and I find my friends here still prefer her to the foreign syren.

June 5.—Cadell came to dine with me tête-à-tête, for the girls are gone to Hopetoun House. We had ample matter to converse upon, for his horn was full of good news. While we were at dinner we had letters from London and Ireland, which decided him to raise the impression of Waverley to 15,000. This, with 10,000 on the number line which Ireland is willing to take, will make £18,000 a year of divisible profit. This leads to a further speculation, as I said, of great importance. Longman & Co. have agreed to sell their stock on hand of the Poetry, in which they have certain shares, their shares included, for £8000. Cadell thinks he could, by selling off at cheap rates, sorting, making waste, etc., get rid of the stock for about £5000, leaving £3000 for the purchase of the copyrights, and proposes to close the bargain as much cheaper as he can, but at all events to close it. Whatever shall fall short of the price returned by the stock, the sale of which shall be entirely at his risk, shall be reckoned as the price of the copyright, and we shall pay half of that balance. I had no hesitation in authorising him to proceed in his bargain with Owen Rees of Longman's house upon that principle. For supposing, according to Cadell's present idea, the loss on the stock shall amount to £2000 or £3000, the possession of the entire copyright undivided would enable us, calculating upon similar success to that of the Novels, to make at least £500 per cent. Longman & Co. have indeed an excellent bargain, but then so will we. We pay dear indeed for what the ostensible subject of sale is, but if it sets free almost the whole of our copyrights, and places them in our own hands, we get a most valuable quid pro quo. There is only one-fourth, I think, of Marmion in Mr. Murray's hands, and it must be the deuce if that cannot be [secured].^[331] Mr. Cadell proposed that, as he took the whole books on his risk, he ought to have compensation, and that it should consist in the sum to be given to me for arranging and making additions to the volumes of Poetry thus to be republished. I objected to this, for in the first place he may suffer no loss, for the books may go off more rapidly than he thinks or expects. In the second place, I do not know what my labours in the Poetry may be. In either case it is a blind bargain; but if he should be a sufferer beyond the clear half of the loss, which we agree to share with him, I agreed to make him some compensation, and he is willing to take what I shall think just; so stands our bargain. Remained at home and wrote about four pages of Tales. I should have done more, but my head, as Squire Sullen says, "aiked consumedly."^[332] Rees has given Cadell a written offer to be binding till the twelfth; meantime I have written to Lockhart to ask John Murray if he will treat for the fourth share of Marmion, which he possesses. It can be worth but little to him, and gives us all the copyrights. I have a letter from Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, touching a manuscript of Messrs. Hay Allan called the Vestiarium Scotiæ by a Sir Richard Forrester. If it is an imposition it is cleverly done, but I doubt the quarter it comes from. These Hay Allans are men of warm imaginations. It makes the strange averment that all the Low-Country gentlemen and border clans wore tartan, and gives sets of them all. I must see the manuscript before I believe in it. The Allans are singular men, of much accomplishment but little probity—that is, in antiquarian matters. Cadell lent me £10,—funny enough, after all our grand expectations, for Croesus to want such a gratility!

June 7.—I rose at seven, and wrote to Sir Thomas Lauder a long warning on the subject of these Allans and their manuscript.^[333] Proceeded to write, but found myself pulled up by the necessity of reading a little. This occupied my whole morning. The Lord President called very kindly to desire me to keep at home to-morrow. I thought of being out, but it may be as well not. I am somehow or other either listless or lazy. My head aches cruelly. I made a fight at reading and working till eleven, and then came sleep with a party-coloured [mantle] of fantastic hues, and wrapt me into an imaginary world.

June, 8.—I wrote the whole morning till two o'clock. Then I went into the gardens of Princes Street, to my great exhilaration. I never felt better for a walk; also it is the first I have taken this whole week and more. I visited some remote garden grounds, where I had not been since I walked there with the good Samaritan Skene, sadly enough, at the time of my misfortunes.^[334] The shrubs and young trees, which were then invisible, are now of good size, and gay with leaf and blossom. I, too, old trunk as I am, have put out tender buds of hope, which seemed checked for ever.

I may now look with fair hope to freeing myself of obligation from all men, and spending the rest of my life in ease and quiet. God make me thankful for so cheering a prospect!

June 9.—I wrote in the morning, set out for a walk at twelve o'clock as far as Mr. Cadell's. I found him hesitating about his views, and undecided about the Number plan. He thinks the first plan answers so much beyond expectation it is a pity to interfere with it, and talks of re-engraving the plates. This would be touchy, but nothing is resolved on.

Anne had a little party, where Lady Charlotte Bury, Lady Hopetoun, and others met the Caradori, who sung to us very kindly. She sung Jock of Hazeldean very well, and with a peculiar expression of humour. Sandie Ballantyne kindly came and helped us with fiddle and flageolet. Willie Clerk was also here. We had a lunch, and were very gay, not the less so for the want of Mr. Bury, who is a thorough-paced coxcomb, with some accomplishments, however. I drank two glasses of champagne, which have muddled my brains for the day. Will Clerk promised to come back and dine on the wreck of the turkey and tongue, pigeon-pie, etc. He came, accordingly, and stayed till nine; so no time for work. It was not a lost day, however.^[335]

June 10.—Nota bene, my complaint quite gone. I attended the Court, and sat there till late. Evening had its lot of labour, which is, I think, a second nature to me. It is astonishing how little I look into a book of entertainment. I have been reading over the Five Nights of St. Albans,—very much extra mœnia nostri mundi, and possessed of considerable merit, though the author ^[336] loves to play at cherry-pit with Satan.^[337]

June 11.—I was kept at Court by a hearing till near three. Then sat to Mr. Graham for an hour and a half. When I came home, behold a letter from Mr. Murray, very handsomely yielding up the fourth share of Marmion, which he possessed.^[338] Afterwards we went to the theatre, where St. Ronan's Well was capitally acted by Murray and the Bailie,—the part of Clara Mowbray being heavy for want of Mrs. Siddons. Poor old Mrs. Renaud, once the celebrated Mrs. Powell, took leave of the stage. As I was going to bed at twelve at night, in came R.P.Gillies like a tobacco cask. I shook him off with some difficulty, pleading my having been lately ill, but he is to call to-morrow morning.

June 12.—Gillies made his appearance. I told him frankly I thought he conducted his affairs too irregularly for any one to assist him, and I could not in charity advise any one to encourage subscriptions, but that I should subscribe myself, so I made over to him about £50, which the Foreign Review owes me, and I will grow hard-hearted and do no more. I was not long in the Court, but I had to look at the controversy about the descent of the Douglas family, then I went to Cadell and found him still cock-a-hoop. He has raised the edition to 17,000, a monstrous number, yet he thinks it will clear the 20,000, but we must be quiet in case people jalouse the failure of the plates. I called on Lady J.S.^[339] When I came home I was sleepy and over-walked. By the way, I sat till Graham finished my picture.^[340] I fell fast asleep before dinner, and slept for an hour. After dinner I wrote to Walter, Charles, Lockhart, and John Murray, and took a screed of my novel; so concluded the evening idly enough.

June 13.—We hear of Sophia's motions. She is to set sail by steam-boat on the 16th, Tuesday, and Charles is to make a run down with her. But, alas! my poor Johnnie is, I fear, come to lay his bones in his native land. Sophia can no longer disguise it from herself, that as his strength weakens the disease increases. The poor child is so much bent on coming to see Abbotsford and grandpapa, that it would be cruel not to comply with his wish—and if affliction comes, we will bear it best together.

[Abbotsford.]—This day was fixed for a start to Abbotsford, where we arrived about six o'clock, evening. To my thinking, I never saw a prettier place; and even the trees and flowers seemed to say to me, We are your own again. But I must not let imagination jade me thus. It would be to make disappointment doubly bitter: and, God knows, I have in my child's family matter enough to check any exuberant joy.

June 14.—A delicious day—threatening rain; but with the languid and affecting manner in which beauty demands sympathy when about to weep. I wandered about the banks and braes all morning, and got home about three, and saw everything in tolerable order, excepting that there was a good number of branches left in the walks. There is a great number of trees cut, and bark collected. Colonel Ferguson dined with us, and spent the afternoon.

June 15.—Another charming day. Up and despatched packets for Ballantyne and Cadell; neither of them was furiously to the purpose, but I had a humour to be alert. I walked over to Huntly Burn, and round by Chiefswood and Janeswood, where I saw Captain Hamilton. He is busy finishing his Peninsular campaigns.^[341] He will not be cut out by Napier, whose work has a strong party cast; and being, besides, purely abstract and professional, to the public seems very dull. I read General Miller's account of the South American War.^[342] I liked it the better that Basil Hall brought the author to breakfast with me in Edinburgh. A fine, tall, military figure, his left hand withered like the prophet's gourd, and plenty of scars on him. There have been rare doings in that vast continent; but the strife is too distant, the country too unknown, to have the effect upon the imagination which European wars produce.

This evening I indulged in the far niente—a rare event with me, but which I enjoy proportionally.

June 16.—Made up parcel for Dr. Lardner; and now I propose to set forth my memoranda of Byron for Moore's acceptance, which ought in civility to have been done long since.^[343] I will have a walk, however, in the first place.

I did not get on with Byron so far as I expected—began it though, and that is always something. I went to see the woods at Huntly Burn, and Mars Lea, etc. Met Captain Hamilton, who tells me a shocking thing. Two Messrs. Stirling of Drumpellier came here and dined one day, and seemed spirited young men. The younger is murdered by pirates. An Indian vessel in which he sailed was boarded by these miscreants, who behaved most brutally; and he, offering resistance I suppose, was shockingly mangled and flung into the sea. He was afterwards taken up alive, but died soon after. Such horrid accidents lie in wait for those whom we see "all joyous and unthinking,"^[344] sweeping along the course of life; and what end may be waiting ourselves? Who can tell?

June 17.—Must take my leave of sweet Abbotsford, and my leisure hour, my eve of repose. To go to town will take up the morning.

[Edinburgh.]—We set out about eleven o'clock, got to Edinburgh about four, where I dined with Baron Clerk and a few Exchequer friends—Lord Chief Baron, Sir Patrick Murray, Sir Henry Jardine, etc. etc.

June 18.—Corrected proofs for Dr. Dionysius Lardner. Cadell came to breakfast. Poor fellow, he looks like one who had been overworked; and the difficulty of keeping paper-makers up to printers, printers up to draughtsmen, artists to engravers, and the whole party to time, requires the utmost exertion. He has actually ordered new plates, although the steel ones which we employ are supposed to throw off 30,000 without injury. But I doubt something of this. Well, since they will buckle fortune on our back we must bear it scholarly and wisely.^[345] I went to Court. Called on my return on J.B. and Cadell. At home I set to correct Ivanhoe. I had twenty other things more pressing; but, after all, these novels deserve a preference. Poor Terry is totally prostrated by a paralytic affection. Continuance of existence not to be wished for.

June 19.—Sophia, and Charles who acted as her escort, arrived at nine o'clock morning, fresh from the steamboat. They were in excellent health—also the little boy and girl; but poor Johnnie seems very much changed indeed, and I should not be surprised if the scene shortly closes. There is obviously a great alteration in strength and features. At dinner we had our family chat on a scale that I had not enjoyed for many years. The Skenes supped with us.

June 20.—Corrected proof-sheets in the morning for Dr. Lardner. Then I had the duty of the Court to perform.

As I came home I recommended young Shortreed to Mr. Cadell for a printing job now and then when Ballantyne is over-loaded, which Mr. Cadell promised accordingly.

Lady Anna Maria Elliot's company at dinner. Helped on our family party, and passed the evening pleasantly enough, my anxiety considering.

June 21.—A very wet Sunday. I employed it to good purpose, bestowing much labour on the History, ten pages of which are now finished. Were it not for the precarious health of poor Johnnie I would be most happy in this reunion with my family, but, poor child, this is a terrible drawback.

June 22.—I keep working, though interruptedly. But the heat in the midst of the day makes me flag and grow irresistibly drowsy. Mr. and Mrs. Skene came to supper this evening. Skene has engaged himself in drawing illustrations to be etched by himself for Waverley. I wish it may do.^[346]

June 23.—I was detained in the Court till half-past [three]. Captain William Lockhart dined with Skene. The Captain's kind nature had brought him to Edinburgh to meet his sister-in-law.

June 24.—I was detained late in the Court, but still had time to go with Adam Wilson and call upon a gentlemanlike East Indian officer, called Colonel Francklin, who appears an intelligent and respectable man. He writes the History of Captain Thomas,^[347] a person of the condition of a common seaman, who raised himself to the rank of a native prince, and for some time waged a successful war with the powers around him. The work must be entertaining.

June 25.—Finished correcting proofs for Tales, 3d Series. The Court was over soon, but I was much exhausted. On the return home quite sleepy and past work. I looked in on Cadell, whose hand is in his housewife's cap, driving and pushing to get all the works forward in due order, and cursing the delays of artists and engravers. I own I wish we had not hampered ourselves with such causes of delay.

June 26.—Mr. Ellis, missionary from the South Sea Islands, breakfasted, introduced by Mr. Fletcher, minister of the parish of Stepney.

Mr. Ellis's account of the progress of civilisation, as connected with religion, is very interesting. Knowledge of every kind is diffused—reading, writing, printing, abundantly common. Polygamy abolished. Idolatry is put down; the priests, won over by the chiefs, dividing among them the consecrated lands which belonged to their temples. Great part of the population are still without religion, but willing to be instructed. Wars are become infrequent; and there is in each state a sort of representative body, or senate, who are a check on the despotism of the chief. All this has come hand in hand with religion. Mr. Ellis tells me that the missionaries of different sects avoided carefully letting the natives know that there were points of disunion between them. Not so some Jesuits who had lately arrived, and who taught their own ritual as the only true one. Mr. Ellis described their poetry to me, and gave some examples; it had an Ossianic character, and was composed of metaphor. He gave me a small collection of hymns printed in the islands. If this gentleman is sincere, which I have no doubt of, he is an illustrious character. He was just about to return to the Friendly Islands, having come here for his wife's health.

[Blairadam.]—After the Court we set off (the two Thomsons and I) for Blair-Adam, where we held our Macduff Club for the twelfth anniversary. We met the Chief Baron, Lord Sydney Osborne, Will Clerk, the merry knight Sir Adam Ferguson, with our venerable host the Lord Chief Commissioner, and merry men were we.

June 27.—I ought not, where merry men convene, to omit our jovial son of Neptune, Admiral Adam. The morning proving delightful, we set out for the object of the day, which was Falkland. We passed through Lochore, but without stopping, and saw on the road eastward, two or three places, as Balbedie, Strathendry, and some others known to me by name. Also we went through the town of Leslie, and saw what remains of the celebrated rendezvous of rustic gallantry called Christ's Kirk on the Green.^[348] It is now cut up with houses, one of the most hideous of which is a new church, having the very worst and most offensive kind of Venetian windows. This, I am told, has replaced a quiet lowly little Gothic building, coeval, perhaps, with the royal poet who celebrated the spot. Next we went to Falkland, where we found Mr. Howden, factor of Mr. Tyndall Bruce, waiting to show us the palace.

Falkland has most interesting remains. A double entrance-tower, and a side building running east from it, is roofed, and in some degree habitable; a corresponding building running northward from the eastern corner is totally ruinous, having been destroyed by fire. The architecture is highly ornamented, in the style of the Palace at Stirling. Niches with statues, with projections, cornices, etc, are lavished throughout. Many cornice medallions exhibited such heads as those procured from the King's room at Stirling, the originals, perhaps, being the same. The repeated cypher of James V. and Mary of Guise attest the builder of this part of the palace. When complete it had been a quadrangle. There is as much of it as remained when Slezer published his drawings. Some part of the interior has been made what is called habitable, that is, a half-dozen of bad rooms have been gotten out of it. Am clear in my own mind a ruin should be protected, but never repaired. The proprietor has a beautiful place called Nut-hill, within ten minutes' walk of Falkland, and commanding some fine views of it and of the Lomond Hill. This should be the residence. But Mr. Bruce and his predecessor, my old professor, John Bruce,^[349] deserve great credit for their attention to prevent dilapidation, which was doing its work fast upon the ancient palace. The only remarkable apartment was a large and well-proportioned gallery with a painted roof—tempore Jacobi Sexti—and built after his succession to the throne of England. I noticed a curious thing,—a hollow column concealed the rope which rung the Castle bell, keeping it safe from injury and interruption.

The town of Falkland is old, with very narrow streets. The arrival of two carriages and a gig was an event important enough to turn out the whole population. They are said to be less industrious, more dissipated, and readier to become soldiers than their neighbours. So long a court retains its influence!

We dined at Wellfield with my Mend George Cheape, with whom I rode in the cavalry some thirty years ago. Much mirth and good wine made us return in capital tune. The Chief Baron and Admiral Adam did not go on this trip. When we returned it was time to go to bed by a candle.

June 28.—Being Sunday, we lounged about in the neighbourhood of the crags called Kiery Craigs, etc. The Sheriff-substitute of Kinross came to dinner, and brought a gold signet ^[350] which had been found in that town. It was very neat work, about the size of a shilling. It bore in a shield the arms of Scotland and England, parti per pale, those of Scotland occupying the dexter side. The shield is of the heater or triangular shape. There is no crown nor legend of any kind; a slip of gold folds upwards on the back of the hinge, and makes the handle neatly enough. It is too well wrought for David II.'s time, and James IV. is the only monarch of the Scottish line who, marrying a daughter of England, may carry the arms of both countries parti per pale. Mr. Skelton is the name of the present possessor.

Two reported discoveries. One, that the blaeberry shrub contains the tanning quality as four to one compared to the oak—which may be of great importance, as it grows so commonly on our moors.

The other, that the cutting of an apple-tree, or other fruit-tree, may be preserved by sticking it into a potato and planting both together. Curious, if true.

June 29 [Edinburgh].—We dined together at Blair-Adam, having walked in the woods in the morning, and seen a beautiful new walk made through the woody hill behind the house. In a fine evening, after an early dinner, our party returned to Edinburgh, and there each dispersed to his several home and resting-place. I had the pleasure of finding my family all well, except Johnnie.

June 30.—After my short sniff of country air, here am I again at the receipt of custom. The sale with Longman & Co., for stock and copyrights of my [Poetical] Works, is completed, for £7000, at dates from twelve to thirty-six months. There are many sets out of which we may be able to clear the money, and then we shall make something to clear the copyright. I am sure this may be done, and that the bargain will prove a good one in the long run.

Dined at home with my family, whom, as they disperse to-morrow, I have dedicated the evening to.

JULY.

July 1.—This morning wrote letters and sent them off by Charles. It was Teind Wednesday, so I was at home to witness the departure of my family, which was depressing. My two daughters, with the poor boy Johnnie, went off at ten o'clock, my son Charles, with my niece, about twelve. The house, filled with a little bustle attendant on such a removal, then became silent as the grave. The voices of the children, which had lately been so clamorous with their joyous shouts, are now hushed and still. A blank of this kind is somewhat depressing, and I find it impossible to resume my general tone of spirits. A lethargy has crept on me which no efforts can dispel; and as the day is rainy, I cannot take exercise. I have read therefore the whole morning, and have endeavoured to collect ideas instead of expending them. I have not been very successful. In short, diem perdidi.

July 2.—I made up for my deficiencies yesterday, and besides attending the Court wrote five close pages, which I think is very near double task. I was alone the whole day and without interruption. I have little doubt I will make my solitude tell upon my labours, especially since they promise to prove so efficient. I was so languid yesterday that I did not record that J. Ballantyne, his brother Sandy, and Mr. Cadell dined here on a beef-steak, and smoked a cigar, and took a view of our El Dorado.

July 3.—Laboured at Court, where I was kept late, and wrought on my return home, finishing about five pages. I had the great pleasure to learn that the party with the infantry got safe to Abbotsford.

July 4.—After Court I came home and set to work, still on the Tales. When I had finished my bit of dinner, and was in a quiet way smoking my cigar over a glass of negus, Adam Ferguson comes with a summons to attend him to the Justice-Clerk's, where, it seems, I was engaged. I was totally out of case to attend his summons, redolent as I was of tobacco. But I am vexed at the circumstance. It looks careless, and, what is worse, affected; and the Justice is an old friend moreover.^[351] I rather think I have been guilty towards him in this respect before. Devil take my stupidity! I will call on Monday and say, Here is my sabre and here is my heart.

July 5.—Sir Adam came to breakfast, and with him Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone of Bordeaux, the lady his cousin. I could not give them a right Scottish breakfast, being on a Sunday morning. Laboured on the Tales the whole morning.

The post brought two letters of unequal importance. One from a person calling himself Haval, announcing to me the terrific circumstance that he had written against the Waverley Novels in a publication called La Belle Assemblée, at which doubtless, he supposes, I must be much annoyed. He be d——, and that's plain speaking. The other from Lord Aberdeen, announcing that Lockhart, Dr. Gooch, and myself, are invested with the power of examining the papers of the Cardinal Duke of York, and reporting what is fit for publication. This makes it plain that the Invisible ^[352] neither slumbers nor sleeps. The toil and remuneration must be Lockhart's, and to any person understanding that sort of work the degree of trust reposed holds out hope of advantage. At any rate, it is a most honourable trust, and I have written in suitable terms to Lord Aberdeen to express my acceptance of it, adverting to my necessary occupations here, and expressing my willingness to visit London occasionally to superintend the progress of the work. Treated myself, being considerably fagged, with a glass of poor Glengarry's super-excellent whisky and a cigar, made up my Journal, wrote to the girls, and so to roost upon a crust of bread and a glass of small beer, my usual supper.

July 6.—I laboured all the morning without anything unusual, save a call from my cousin, Mary Scott of Jedburgh, whom I persuaded to take part of my chaise to Abbotsford on Saturday. At two o'clock I walked to Cadell's, and afterwards to a committee of the Bannatyne Club. Thereafter I went to Leith, where we had fixed a meeting of The Club, now of forty-one years' standing.^[353] I was in the chair, and Sir Adam croupier. We had the Justice-Clerk, Lord Abercromby, Lord Pitmilly, Lord Advocate, James Ferguson, John Irving, and William Clerk, and passed a merry day for old fellows. It is a curious thing that only three have died of this club since its formation. These were the Earl of Selkirk; James Clerk, Lieutenant in the Navy; and Archibald Miller, W.S. Sir Patrick Murray was an unwilling absentee. There were absent—Professor Davidson of Glasgow, besides Glassford, who has cut our society, and poor James Edmonstoune, whose state of health precludes his ever joining society again. We took a fair but moderate allowance of wine, sung our old songs, and were much refreshed with a hundred old stories, which would have seemed insignificant to any stranger. The most important of these were old college adventures of love and battle.

July 7.—I was rather apprehensive that I might have felt my unusual dissipation this morning, but not a whit; I rose as cool as a cucumber, and set about to my work till breakfast-time. I am to dine with Ballantyne to-day. To-morrow with John Murray. This sounds sadly like idleness, except what may be done either in the morning before breakfast, or in the broken portion of the day between attendance on the Court and my dinner meal,—a vile, drowsy, yawning, fagged portion of existence, which resembles one's day, as a portion of the shirt, escaping betwixt one's waistcoat and breeches, indicates his linen.

Dined with James Ballantyne, who gave us a very pleasant party. There was a great musician, Mr. Neukomm, a German, a pupil of Haydn, a sensible, pleasant man.

July 8.—This morning I had an ample dose of proofs and could do nothing but read them. The Court kept me till two; I was then half tempted to go to hear Mr. Neukomm perform on the organ, which is said to be a most masterly exhibition, but I reflected how much time I should lose by giving way to temptation, and how little such ears as mine would be benefited by the exhibition, and so I resolved to return to my proofs, having not a little to do. I was so unlucky as to meet my foreigner along with Mr. Laine, the French Consul, and his lady, who all invited me to go with them, but I pleaded business, and was set down, doubtless, for a Goth, as I deserved. However, I got my proofs settled before dinner-time, and began to pack up books, etc.

I dined at John Murray's, and met, amongst others, Mr. Schutze, the brother-in-law of poor George Ellis. We conversed about our mutual friend, and about the life Canning was to have written about him, and which he would have done con amore. He gave me two instances of poor George's neatness of expression, and acuteness of discrimination. Having met, for the first time, "one Perceval, a young lawyer," he records him as a person who, with the advantages of life and opportunity, would assuredly rise to the head of affairs. Another gentleman is briefly characterised as "a man of few words, and fewer ideas." Schutze himself is a clever man, with something dry in his manner, owing, perhaps, to an imperfection of hearing. Murray's parties are always agreeable and well chosen.

July 9.—I began an immense arrangement of my papers, but was obliged to desist by the approach of four o'clock. Having been enabled to shirk the Court, I had the whole day to do what I wished, and as I made some progress I hope I will be strengthened to resume the task when at Abbotsford.

Heard of the death of poor Bob Shortreed,^[354] the companion of many a long ride among the hills in quest of old ballads. He was a merry companion, a good singer and mimic, and full of Scottish drollery. In his company, and under his guidance, I was able to see much of rural society in the mountains which I could not otherwise have attained, and which I have made my use of. He was, in addition, a man of worth and character. I always burdened his hospitality while at Jedburgh on the Circuit, and have been useful to some of his family. Poor fellow! He died at a most interesting period for his family, when his eldest daughter was about to make an advantageous marriage. So glide our friends from us—Haec poena diu viventibus. Many recollections die with him and with poor Terry.^[355] I dined with the Skenes in a family way.

July 10,—Had a hard day's work at the Court till about two, and then came home to prepare for the country. I made a talis qualis arrangement of my papers, which I trust I shall be able to complete at Abbotsford, for it will do much good. I wish I had a smart boy like Red Robin the tinker. Wrote also a pack of letters.

Abbotsford, July 11.—I was detained in the Court till nearly one o'clock, then set out and reached Abbotsford in five or six hours. Found all well, and Johnnie rather better. He sleeps, by virtue of being in the open air, a good deal.

July 12.—The day excessively rainy, or, as we call it, soft. I e'en unpacked my books and did a great deal to put them in order, but I was sick of the labour by two o'clock and left several of my books and all of my papers at sixes and sevens. Sir Adam and the Colonel dined with us. A Spanish gentleman with his wife, whom I had seen at the French Consul's, also dropped in. He was a handsome, intelligent, and sensible man; his name I have forgot. We had a pleasant evening.

July 13.—This day I wrote till one, resuming the History, and making out a day's task. Then went to Chiefswood, and had the pleasure of a long walk with a lady, well known in the world of poetry, Mrs. Hemans. She is young and pretty, though the mother of five children, as she tells me. There is taste and spirit in her conversation. My daughters are critical, and call her blue, but I think they are hypercritical. I will know better when we meet again. I was home at four. Had an evening walk with little Walter, who held me by the finger, gabbling eternally much that I did, and more that I did not, understand. Then I had a long letter to write to Lockhart,^[356] correct and read, and despatch proofs, etc.; and to bed heartily tired, though with no great exertion.

July 14.—A rainy forenoon broke the promise of a delightful morning. I wrote four and a half pages, to make the best of a bad bargain. If I can double the daily task, I will be something in hand. But I am resolved to stick to my three pages a day at least. The twelfth of August will then complete my labours.

July 15.—This day two very pretty and well-bred boys came over to breakfast with us. I finished my task of three pages and better, and went to walk with the little fellows round the farm, by the lake, etc., etc. They were very good companions. Tom has been busy thinning the terrace this day or two, and is to go on.

July 16.—I made out my task-work and betook myself to walk about twelve. I feel the pen turn heavy after breakfast; perhaps my solemn morning meal is too much for my intellectual powers, but I won't abridge a single crumb for all that. I eat very little at dinner, and can't abide to be confined in my hearty breakfast. The work goes on as task-work must, slow, sure, and I trust not drowsy, though the author is. I sent off to Dionysius Lardner (Goodness be with us, what a name!) as far as page thirty-eight inclusive, but I will wait to add to-morrow's quota. I had a long walk with Tom.^[357] I am walking with more pleasure and comfort to myself than I have done for many a day. May Heaven continue this great mercy, which I have so much reason to be thankful for!

July 17.—- We called at Chiefswood and asked Captain Hamilton, and Mrs. H., and Mrs. Hemans, to dinner on Monday. She is a clever person, and has been pretty. I had a long walk with her tête-à-tête. She told me of the peculiar melancholy attached to the words no more. I could not help telling, as a different application of the words, how an old dame riding home along Cockenzie Sands, pretty bowsy, fell off the pillion, and her husband, being in good order also, did not miss her till he came to Prestonpans. He instantly returned with some neighbours, and found the good woman seated amidst the advancing tide, which began to rise, with her lips ejaculating to her cummers, who she supposed were still pressing her to another cup, "Nae ae drap mair, I thank you kindly." We dined in family, and all well.

July 18.—- A Sunday with alternate showers and sunshine. Wrote double task, which brings me to page forty-six inclusive. I read the Spae-wife of Galt. There is something good in it, and the language is occasionally very forcible, but he has made his story difficult to understand, by adopting a region of history little known, and having many heroes of the same name, whom it is not easy to keep separate in one's memory. Some of the traits of the Spae-wife, who conceits herself to be a changeling or twin, are very good indeed. His Highland Chief is a kind of Caliban, and speaks, like Caliban, a jargon never spoken on earth, but full of effect for all that.

July 19.—I finished two leaves this morning, and received the Hamiltons and Mrs. Hemans to breakfast. Afterwards we drove to Yarrow and showed Mrs. Hemans the lions. The party dined with us, and stayed till evening. Of course no more work.

July 20.—A rainy day, and I am very drowsy and would give the world to ——^[358]. [**Note: dash is a blank space] I wrote four leaves, however, and then my understanding dropped me. I have made up for yesterday's short task.

1830.

MAY.

May 23, [Abbotsford.]—About a year ago I took the pet at my Diary, chiefly because I thought it made me abominably selfish; and that by recording my gloomy fits I encouraged their recurrence, whereas out of sight, out of mind, is the best way to get rid of them; and now I hardly know why I take it up again; but here goes. I came here to attend Raeburn's funeral. I am near of his kin, my great-grandfather, Walter Scott, being the second son or first cadet of this small family. My late kinsman was also married to my aunt, a most amiable old lady. He was never kind to me, and at last utterly ungracious. Of course I never liked him, and we kept no terms. He had forgot, though, an infantine cause of quarrel, which I always remembered. When I was four or five years old I was staying at Lessudden House, an old mansion, the abode of this Raeburn. A large pigeon-house was almost destroyed with starlings, then a common bird, though now seldom seen. They were seized in their nests and put in a bag, and I think drowned, or threshed to death, or put to some such end. The servants gave one to me, which I in some degree tamed, and the brute of a laird seized and wrung its neck. I flew at his throat like a wild cat, and was torn from him with no little difficulty. Long afterwards I did him the mortal offence to recall some superiority which my father had lent to the laird to make up a qualification, which he meant to exercise by voting for Lord Minto's interest against poor Don. This made a total breach between two relations who had never been friends, and though I was afterwards of considerable service to his family, he kept his ill-humour, alleging justly enough that I did these kind actions for the sake of his wife and family, not for his benefit. I now saw him at the age of eighty-two or three deposited in the ancestral grave. Dined with my cousins, and returned to Abbotsford about eight o'clock.

May 24, [Edinburgh].—Called on my neighbour Nicol Milne of Faldonside, to settle something about the road to Selkirk. Afterwards went to Huntly Burn and made my compliments to the family. Lunched at half-past two and drove to town, calling at George Square on Gala. He proposed to give up the present road to Selkirk in favour of another on the north side of the river, to be completed by two bridges. This is an object for Abbotsford. In the evening came to town. Letter from Mr. H[aydon] soliciting £20. Wait till Lockhart comes.

May 25.—Got into the old mill this morning, and grind away. Walked in very bad day to George Square from the Parliament House, through paths once familiar, but not trod for twenty years. Met Scott of Woll and Scott of Gala, and consulted about the new road between Galashiels and Selkirk. I am in hopes to rid myself of the road to Selkirk, which goes too near me at Abbotsford. Dined at Lord Chief Commissioner's, where we met the new Chief Baron Abercromby ^[361] and his lady. I thought it was the first time we had met for above forty years, but he put me in mind we had dined one day at John Richardson's.

May 26.—Wrought with proofs, etc., at the Demonology, which is a cursed business to do neatly. I must finish it though, for I need money. I went to the Court; from that came home, and scrambled on with half writing, half reading, half idleness till evening. I have laid aside smoking much; and now, unless tempted by company, rarely take a cigar. I was frightened by a species of fit which I had in February, which took from me my power of speaking. I am told it is from the stomach. It looked woundy like palsy or apoplexy. Well, be it what it will, I can stand it.^[362]

May 27.—Court as usual. I am agitating a proposed retirement from the Court. As they are only to have four instead of six Clerks of Session in Scotland, it will be their interest to let me retire on a superannuation. Probably I shall make a bad bargain, and get only two-thirds of the salary, instead of three-fourths. This would be hard, but I could save between two and three hundred pounds by giving up town residence; and surely I could do enough with my time at reviews and other ways, so as to make myself comfortable at Abbotsford. At any rate, jacta est aha; Sir Robert Peel and the Advocate seem to acquiesce in the arrangement, and Sir Robert Dundas retires alongst with me. I think the difference will be infinite in point of health and happiness.

May 28.—Wrought in the morning, then the Court, then Cadell's. My affairs go on up to calculation, and the Magnum keeps its ground. If this can last for five or six years longer we may clear our hands of debt; but perhaps I shall have paid that of Nature before that time come. They will have the books, and Cadell to manage them, who is a faithful pilot. The poetry which we purchased for [£7000], payable in two years, is melting off our hands; and we will feed our Magnum in that way when we have sold the present stock, by which we hope to pay the purchase-money, and so go on velvet with the continuation. So my general affairs look well. I expect Lockhart and Sophia to arrive this evening in the Roads, and breakfast with us to-morrow. This is very reviving.

May 29.—The Lockharts were to appear at nine o'clock, but it is past four, and they come not. There has been easterly wind, and a swell of the sea at the mouth of the Firth, but nevertheless I wish they would come. The machinery is liable to accidents, and they may be delayed thus.

Mr. Piper, the great contractor for the mail coaches, one of the sharpest men in his line, called here to-day to give his consent to our line of road. He pays me the compliment of saying he wishes my views on the subject. That is perhaps fudge, but at least I know enough to choose the line that is most for my own advantage. I have written to make Gala acquainted that my subscription depends on their taking the Gala foot road; no other would suit me. After dinner I began to tease myself about the children and their parents, and night went down on our uncertainty.

May 30.—Our travellers appeared early in the morning, cum tota sequela. Right happy were we all. Poor Johnnie looks well. His deformity is confirmed, poor fellow; but he may be a clever lad for all that. An imposthume in his neck seems to be the crisis of his complaint. He is a gentle, placid creature. Walter is remarkably handsome, and so is little Whippety Stourie,^[363] as I call her. After breakfast I had a chat with Lockhart about affairs in general, which, as far as our little interests are concerned, are doing very well. Lockhart is now established in his reputation and literary prospects.^[364] I wrote some more in his Demonology, which is a scrape, I think.

May 31.—Set to work early, and did a good day's work without much puffing and blowing. Had Lockhart at dinner, and a tête-à-tête over our cigar. He has got the right ideas for getting to the very head of the literary world and now stands very high as well for taste and judgment as for genius. I think there is no fear now of his letting a love of fun run away with him. At home the whole day, except a walk to Cadell's, who is enlarging his sale. As he comes upon heavy months, and is come now to the Abbot, the Monastery, and the less profitable or popular of the novels, this is a fortunate circumstance. The management seems very judicious.

JUNE.

June, 1.—Proofs and Court, the inevitable employment of the day. Louisa Kerr dined with us, and Williams looked in. We talked a good deal on Celtic witchery and fairy lore. I was glad to renew my acquaintance with this able and learned man.

June 2.—The Lockharts left us again this morning, and although three masons are clanking at their work to clear a well, the noise is mitigated, now the poor babies' clang of tongues is removed. I set myself to write, determining to avoid reasoning, and to bring in as many stories as possible. Being a Teind Wednesday, I may work undisturbed, and I will try to get so far ahead as may permit a journey to Abbotsford on Saturday. At nine o'clock was as far ahead as page 57. It runs out well, and 150 pages will do.

June 3.—Finished my proofs, and sent them off with copy. I saw Mr. Dickinson ^[365] on Tuesday: a right plain sensible man. He is so confident in my matters, that, being a large creditor himself, he offers to come down, with the support of all the London creditors, to carry through any measure that can be devised for my behoof. Mr. Cadell showed him that we are four years forward in matter prepared for the press. Got Heath's illustrations, which, I dare say, are finely engraved, but commonplace enough in point of art.

June 4.—Court as usual, and not long detained. Visited Cadell. All right, and his reports favourable, it being the launch of our annual volume, now traversing a year, with unblemished reputation and success uninterrupted. I should have said I overhauled proofs and furnished copy in the morning between seven and ten o'clock.

After coming from the Court I met Woll and Gala, and agreed upon the measures to be attempted at Selkirk on the eighth at the meeting of trustees. In the evening smoked an extra cigar (none since Tuesday), and dedicated the rest to putting up papers, etc., for Abbotsford. Anne wants me to go to hear the Tyrolese Minstrels, but though no one more esteems that bold and high-spirited people, I cannot but think their yodelling, if this be the word, is a variation, or set of variations, upon the tones of a jackass, so I remain to dribble and scribble at home.

June 5.—I rose at seven as usual, and, to say truth, dawdled away my time in putting things to rights, which is a vile amusement, and writing letters to people who write to ask my opinion of their books, which is as much as to say—"Tom, come tickle me." This is worse than the other pastime, but either may serve for a broken day, and both must be done sometimes.

[Abbotsford.]—After the Court, started for Abbotsford at half-past twelve at noon, and here we are at half-past five impransi. The country looks beautiful, though the foliage, larches in particular, have had a blight. Yet they can hardly be said to lose foliage since they have but a sort of brushes at best.

June 6.—Went through a good deal of duty as to proofs, and the like. At two set out and reached by four Chiefswood, where I had the happiness to find the Lockharts all in high spirits, well and happy. Johnnie must be all his life a weakly child, but he may have good health, and possesses an admirable temper. We dined with the Lockharts, and were all very happy.

June 7.—Same duty carefully performed. I continued working till about one, when Lockhart came to walk. We took our course round by the Lake. I was a good deal fagged, and must have tired my companion by walking slow. The Fergusons came over—Sir Adam in all his glory—and "the night drave on wi' sangs and clatter."^[366]

June 8.—Had not time to do more than correct a sheet or two. About eleven set off for Selkirk, where there was a considerable meeting of road trustees. The consideration of the new road was intrusted to a committee which in some measure blinks the question; yet I think it must do in the end. I dined with the Club, young Chesters president. It is but bad fun, but I might be father of most of them, and must have patience. At length

June 9.—In the morning I advised Sheriff Court processes, carried on the Demonology till twelve, then put books, etc., in some order to leave behind me. Will it be ordered that I come back not like a stranger, or sojourner, but to inhabit here? I do not know; I shall be happy either way. It is perhaps a violent change in the end of life to quit the walk one has trod so long, and the cursed splenetic temper, which besets all men, makes you value opportunities and circumstances when one enjoys them no longer. Well! things must be as they may, as says that great philosopher Corporal Nym.^[368]

[Edinburgh.]—I had my walk, and on my return found the Lockharts come to take luncheon, and leave of us. Reached Edinburgh at nine o'clock. Found, among less interesting letters, two from Lord Northampton on the death of the poor Marchioness,^[369] and from Anna Jane Clephane on the same melancholy topic. Hei mihi!

June 10.—Corrected proofs, prepared some copy, and did all that was right. Dined and wrought in the evening, yet I did not make much way after all.

June 11.—In the morning, the usual labour of two hours. God bless that habit of being up at seven! I could do nothing without it, but it keeps me up to the scratch, as they say. I had a letter this morning with deep mourning paper and seal; the mention of my nephew in the first line made me sick, fearing it had related to Walter. It was from poor Sir Thomas Bradford, who has lost his lady, but was indeed an account of Walter,^[370] and a good one.

June 14.—And of this, only I went out for an hour and a half to Mr. Colvin Smith, to conclude a picture for Lord Gillies. This is a sad relief from labour.

But Lord Gillies has been so kind and civil that I must have his picture as like as possible.

June 15.—I had at breakfast the son of Mr. Fellenburg ^[372] of Hofwyll, Switzerland, a modest young man. I used to think his father something of a quack, in proposing to discover how a boy's natural genius lies, with a view to his education. How would they have made me a scholar, is a curious question. Whatever was forced on me as a task I should have detested. There was also a gentlemanlike little man, the Chevalier de——, silent, and speaks no English. Poor George Scott, Harden, is dead of the typhus fever. Poor dear boy! I am sorry for him, and yet more for his parents. I have a letter from Henry on the subject.

June 16.—I wrote this forenoon till I completed the 100 pages, which is well done. I had a call from Colin Mackenzie, whom I had not seen for nearly two years. He has not been so well, and looks ghastly, but I think not worse than I have seen him of late years. We are very old acquaintances. I remember he was one of a small party at college, that formed ourselves into a club called the Poetical Society. The other members were Charles Kerr of Abbotrule (a singular being), Colin M'Laurin (insane), Colin, and I, who have luckily kept our wits. I also saw this morning a Mr. Low, a youth of great learning, who has written a good deal on the early history of Scotland.^[373] He is a good-looking, frank, gentlemanlike lad; with these good gifts only a parish schoolmaster in Aberdeenshire. Having won a fair holiday I go to see Miss Kemble for the first time. It is two or three years since I have been in a theatre, once my delight.

June 17.—Went last night to theatre, and saw Miss Fanny Kemble's Isabella,^[374] which was a most creditable performance. It has much of the genius of Mrs. Siddons, her aunt. She wants her beautiful countenance, her fine form, and her matchless dignity of step and manner. On the other hand, Miss Fanny Kemble has very expressive, though not regular, features, and what is worth it all, great energy mingled with and chastened by correct taste. I suffered by the heat, lights, and exertion, and will not go back to-night, for it has purchased me a sore headache this theatrical excursion. Besides, the play is Mrs. Beverley,^[375] and I hate to be made miserable about domestic distress, so I keep my gracious presence at home to-night, though Ive and respect Miss Kemble for giving her active support to her father in his need, and preventing Covent Garden from coming down about their ears. I corrected proofs before breakfast, attended Court, but was idle in the forenoon, the headache annoying me much. Dinner will make me better. And so it did. I wrote in the evening three pages, and tolerably well, though I may say with the Emperor Titus (not Titus Oates) that I have lost a day.

June 18, [Blair-Adam].—Young John Colquhoun of Killermont and his wife breakfasted with us,—a neat custom that, and saves wine and wassail. Then to Court, and arranged for our departure for Blair-Adam, it being near midsummer when the club meets. Anne with me, and Sir Adam Ferguson. The day was execrable. Our meeting at Blair-Adam was cordial, but our numbers diminished; the good and very clever Lord Chief Baron ^[376] is returned to his own country, with more regrets than in Scotland usually attend a stranger. Will Clerk has a bad cold, [Thomas] Thomson is detained, but the Chief Commissioner, Admiral Adam, Sir Adam, John Thomson and I, make an excellent concert. I only hope our venerable host will not fatigue himself. To-morrow we go to Culross, which Sir Robert Preston is repairing, and the wise are asking for whose future enjoyment. He is upwards of ninety, but still may enjoy the bustle of life.

June 19.—Arose and expected to work a little, but a friend's house is not favourable; you are sure to want the book you have not brought, and are in short out of sorts, like the minister who could not preach out of his own pulpit. There is something fanciful in this, and something real too, and I have forgot my watch and left half my glasses at home.

Off we set at half-past eight o'clock, Lord Chief Commissioner being left at home owing to a cold. We breakfasted at Luscar, a place belonging to Adam Rolland, but the gout had arrested him at Edinburgh, so we were hospitably received by his family. The weather most unpropitious, very cold and rainy. After breakfast to Culross, where the veteran, Sir Robert Preston,^[377] showed us his curiosities. Life has done as much for him as most people. In his ninety-second year he has an ample fortune, a sound understanding, not the least decay of eyes, ears, or taste; is as big as two men, and eats like three. Yet he too experiences the singula prædantur anni, and has lost something since I last saw him. If his appearance renders old age tolerable, it does not make it desirable. But I fear when death comes we shall be unwilling for all that to part with our bundle of sticks. Sir Robert amuses himself with repairing the old House of Culross, built by the Lord Bruce of Kinloss. To what use it is destined is not very evident to me. It is too near his own comfortable mansion of Valleyfield to be useful as a residence, if indeed it could be formed into a comfortable modern house. But it is rather like a banqueting house. Well, he follows his own fancy. We had a sumptuous cold dinner. Adam grieves it was not hot, so little can war and want break a man to circumstances. We returned to Blair-Adam in the evening, through "the wind but and the rain." For June weather it is the most ungenial I have seen. The beauty of Culross consists in magnificent terraces rising on the sea-beach, and commanding the opposite shore of Lothian; the house is repairing in the style of James the Sixth. The windows have pediments like Heriot's Work.^[378] There are some fine relics of the old Monastery, with large Saxon arches. At Luscar I saw with pleasure the painting by Raeburn, of my old friend Adam Rolland, Esq.,^[379] who was in the external circumstances, but not in frolic or fancy, my prototype for Paul Pleydell.^[380]

June 20.—We settled this morning to go to church at Lochore, that is, at Ballingray; but when we came to the earthly paradise so called, we were let off for there was no sermon, for which I could not in my heart be sorry. So, after looking at Lochore, back we came to lounge and loiter about till dinner-time. The rest of the day was good company, good cheer, and good conversation. Yet to be idle here is not the thing, and to be busy is impossible, so I wish myself home again in spite of good entertainment. We leave to-night after an early dinner, and I will get to work again.

June 21, [Edinburgh].—Wrote to Walter a long letter. The day continued dropping occasionally, but Sir Adam was in high fooling, and we had an amazing deal of laughing. We stole a look at the Kiery Craigs between showers. In the meantime George Cheape and his son came in. We dined at half-past three, but it was seven ere we set off, and did not reach the house in Shandwick Place till eleven at night. Thus ended our Club for the year 1830, its thirteenth anniversary. Its numbers were diminished by absence and indisposition, but its spirit was unabated.

June 22.—Finished proofs and some copy in the morning. Returned at noon, and might have laboured a good day's work, but was dull, drowsy, and indolent, and could not, at least did not, write above half a page. It was a day lost, and indeed it is always with me the consequence of mental indolence for a day or two, so I had a succession of eating and dozing, which I am ashamed of, for there was nothing to hinder me but "thick-coming fancies." Pshaw, rabbit un!

June 23.—Worked well this morning, and then to Court. At two called on Mr. Gibson, and find him disposed for an instalment. Cadell has £10,000, and Gibson thinks £12,000 will pay 2s. 6d. I wish it could be made three shillings, which would be £15,000.

Presided at a meeting of the Bannatyne Club. The Whigs made a strong party to admit Kennedy of Dunure, which set aside Lord Medwyn, who had been longer on the roll of candidates. If politics get into this Club it will ruin the literary purpose of the meeting, and the general good-humour with which it has gone on. I think it better to take the thing good-humouredly, and several of them volunteered to say that Medwyn must be the next, which will finish all à l'aimable. If it come to party-work I will cut and run. Confound it! my eyes are closing now, even now, at half-past four.

Dined with Lord Medwyn, a pleasant party. The guest of importance, Mrs. Peter Latouche from Dublin, a fine old dame, who must have been beautiful when young, being pleasant and comely at seventy,—saintly it appears.

June 24.—Hard work with Ballantyne's proofs and revises, but got them accomplished. I am at the twelfth hour, but I think I shall finish this silly book before the tenth of July.

Notwithstanding this sage resolution I did not write half a page of the said Demonology this day. I went to the Court, called on Mr. Cadell, returned dog-tired, and trifled my time with reading the trial of Corder. What seemed most singular was his love to talk of the young woman he had murdered, in such a manner as to insinuate the circumstances of his own crime, which is a kind of necessity which seems to haunt conscience-struck men. Charles Sharpe came in at night and supped with us.

June 25.—Slept little later than I should. The proofs occupied the morning. The Court and walk home detained me till two. When I returned, set to work and reached page 210 of copy. There is little or nothing else to say. Skene was with me for a few minutes. I called at Cadell's also, who thinks a dividend of 3s. per pound will be made out.^[381] This will be one-half of the whole debts, and leave a sinking fund for the rest about £10,000 a year "if the beast live and the branks bide hale."^[382]

June 26.—Miss Kemble and her father breakfasted here, with Sir Adam and Lady Ferguson. I like the young lady very much, respecting both her talents and the use she has made of them. She seems merry, unaffected, and good-humoured. She said she did not like the apathy of the Scottish audiences, who are certain not to give applause upon credit. I went to the Court, but soon returned; a bad cold in my head makes me cough and sneeze like the Dragon of Wantley. The Advocates' Bill ^[383] is read a third time. I hardly know whether to wish it passed or no, and am therefore in utrumque paratus.

June 27.—In the morning worked as usual at proofs and copy of my infernal Demonology—a task to which my poverty and not my will consents. About twelve o'clock I went to the country to take a day's relaxation. We (i.e. Mr. Cadell, James Ballantyne, and I) went to Prestonpans, and, getting there about one, surveyed the little village, where my aunt and I were lodgers for the sake of sea-bathing in 1778, I believe. I knew the house of Mr. Warroch, where we lived,—a poor cottage, of which the owners and their family are extinct. I recollected my juvenile ideas of dignity attendant on the large gate, a black arch which lets out upon the sea. I saw the church where I yawned under the inflictions of a Dr. M'Cormick, a name in which dulness seems to have been hereditary. I saw the Links where I arranged my shells upon the turf, and swam my little skiffs in the pools. Many comparisons between the man, and the recollections of my kind aunt, of old George Constable, who, I think, dangled after her; of Dalgetty, a veteran half-pay lieutenant, who swaggered his solitary walk on the parade, as he called a little open space before the same pool. We went to Preston, and took refuge from a thunder-plump in the old tower. I remembered the little garden where I was crammed with gooseberries, and the fear I had of Blind Harry's spectre of Fawdon showing his headless trunk at one of the windows. I remembered also a very good-natured pretty girl (my Mary Duff), whom I laughed and romped with and loved as children love. She was a Miss Dalrymple, daughter of Lord Westhall,^[384] a Lord of Session; was afterwards married to Anderson of Winterfield, and her daughter is now [the spouse] of my colleague Robert Hamilton. So strangely are our cards shuffled. I was a mere child, and could feel none of the passion which Byron alleges, yet the recollection of this good-humoured companion of my childhood is like that of a morning dream, nor should I now greatly like to dispel it by seeing the original, who must now be sufficiently time-honoured.

Well, we walked over the field of battle, saw the Prince's Park, Cope's Loan, marked by slaughter in his disastrous retreat, the thorn-tree which marks the centre of the battle, and all besides that was to be seen or supposed. We saw two broadswords, found on the field of battle, one a Highlander's, an Andrew Ferrara, another the dragoon's sword of that day. Lastly, we came to Cockenzie, where Mr. Francis Cadell, my publisher's brother, gave us a kind reception. I was especially glad to see the mother of the family, a fine old lady, who was civil to my aunt and me, and, I recollect well, used to have us to tea at Cockenzie. Curious that I should long afterwards have an opportunity to pay back this attention to her son Robert. Once more, what a kind of shuffling of the hand dealt us at our nativity. There was Mrs. F. Cadell, and one or two young ladies, and some fine fat children. I should be a bastard to the time ^[385] did I not tell our fare. We had a tiled whiting,^[386] a dish unknown elsewhere, so there is a bone for the gastronomers to pick. Honest John Wood,^[387] my old friend, dined with us. I only regret I cannot understand him, as he has a very powerful memory, and much curious information. The whole day of pleasure was damped by the news of the King's death; it was fully expected, however, as the termination of his long illness. But he was very good to me personally, and a kind sovereign. The common people and gentry join in their sorrow. Much is owing to a kindly recollection of his visit to this country, which gave all men an interest in him.

June 29.—The business of the Court was suspended, so back I came, without stop or stay, and to work went I. As I had risen early I was sadly drowsy; however, I fought and fagged away the day. I am still in hope to send my whole manuscript to Ballantyne before the 10th July. Well, I must devise something to myself; I must do something better than this Demonological trash. It is nine o'clock, and I am weary, yea, my very spirit's tired.^[388] After ten o'clock Mr. Daveis,^[389] an American barrister of eminence, deputed to represent the American States in a dispute concerning the boundaries of Nova Scotia and New England, with an introduction to me from Mr. Ticknor, called. I was unable to see him, and put him off till to-morrow morning at breakfast.

June 30.—The new King was proclaimed, and the College of Justice took the oaths. I assisted Mr. Daveis, who is a pleasant and well-informed man, to see the ceremony, which, probably, he would hardly witness in his own country. A day of noise and bustle. We dined at Mr. and Mrs. Strange, chère exquise I suppose. Many friends of the Arniston family. I thought there was some belief of Lord Melville losing his place. That he may exchange it for another is very likely, but I think the Duke will not desert him who adhered to him so truly.

JULY.

July 1.—Mr. Daveis breakfasted with me. On nearer acquaintance, I was more galled by some portion of continental manners than I had been at first, so difficult is it for an American to correct his manner to our ideas of perfect good-breeding.^[390] I did all that was right, however, and asked Miss Ferrier, whom he admires prodigiously, to meet him at dinner. Hither came also a young friend, so I have done the polite thing every way. Thomson also dined with us. After dinner I gave my strangers an airing round the Corstorphine hills, and returned by the Cramond road. I sent to Mr. Gibson, Cadell's project for Lammas, which raises £15,000 for a dividend of 3s. to be then made. I think the trustees should listen to this, which is paying one-half of my debt.

July 2.—Have assurances from John Gibson that £15,000 should be applied as I proposed. If this can be repeated yearly up to 1835 the matter is ended, and well ended; yet, woe's me! the public change their taste, and their favourites get old. Yet if I was born in 1771, I shall only be sixty in 1831, and, by the same reasoning, sixty-four in 1835, so I may rough it out, yet be no Sir Robert Preston. At any rate, it is all I have to trust to.

I did a morning's task, and was detained late at the Court; came home, ate a hearty dinner, slumbered after it in spite of my teeth, and made a poor night's work of it. One's mind gets so dissipated by the fagging, yet insignificant, business of the offices; my release comes soon, but I fear for a term only, for I doubt if they will carry through the Court Bill.

July 3.—My day began at seven as usual. Sir Adam came to breakfast. I read Southey's edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, and think of reviewing the same. I would I had books at hand. To the Court, and remained till two; then went to look at the drawings for repairing Murthly, the house of Sir John or James Stewart, now building by Gillespie Graham, and which he has planned after the fashion of James VI.'s reign, a kind of bastard Grecian ^[391]—very fanciful and pretty though. Read Hone's Every-day Book, and with a better opinion of him than I expected from his anti-religious frenzy. We are to dine with the Skenes to-day.

Which we did accordingly, meeting Mr. and Mrs. Strange, Lord Forbes, and other friends.

July 4.—Was a complete and serious day of work, only interrupted in the evening by——, who, with all the freedom and ease of continental manners, gratified me with his gratuitous presence. Yet it might have been worse, for his conversation is well enough, but it is strange want of tact to suppose one must be alike welcome to a stranger at all hours of the day; but I have stuffed the portfolio, so do not grudge half-an-hour.

July 5.—I was up before seven and resumed my labours, and by breakfast-time I had reached p. 133; it may reach to 160 or 170 as I find space and matter. Buchanan ^[392] came and wrote about fifteen of his pages, equal to mine in proportion of three to one. We are therefore about p. 138, and in sight of land. At two o'clock went to bury poor George Burnet, the son of Gilbert Innes, in as heavy a rain as I ever saw. Was in Shandwick Place again by four and made these entries. I dine to-day with the Club; grant Heaven it fair before six o'clock!

We met at Barry's,^[393] and had a gallant dinner, but only few of our number was present. Alas! sixty does not rally to such meetings with the alacrity of sixteen, and our Club has seen the space between these terms. I was home and abed when Charles arrived and waked me. Poor fellow! he is doing very well with his rheumatic limbs.

July 6.—I did little this morning but correct some sheets, and was at the Court all morning. About two I called at Mr. Cadell's, and I learned the dividend was arranged. Sir Adam fell in with us, and laid anchors to windward to get an invitation to Cockenzie for next year, being struck with my life-like description of a tiled haddock. I came home much fagged, slept for half-an-hour (I don't like this lethargy), read I Promessi Sposi, and was idle. Miss Kerr dined and gave us music.

July 7.—This morning corrected proofs, with which J.B. proceeds lazily enough, and alleges printing reasons, of which he has plenty at hand. Though it was the Teind Wednesday the devil would have it that this was a Court of Session day also for a cause of mine; so there I sat hearing a dozen cases of augmentation of stipend pleaded, and wondering within myself whether anything can be predicated of a Scottish parish, in which there cannot be discovered a reason for enlarging the endowments of the minister. I returned after two, with a sousing shower for companion; I got very wet and very warm. But shall we go mourn for that, my dear?^[394] I rather like a flaw of weather; it shows something of the old man is left. I had Mr. Buchanan to help pack my papers and things, and got through part of that unpleasant business.

July 8.—I had my letters as usual, but no proofs till I was just going out. Returning from the Court met Skene, who brought me news that our visit was at an end for Saturday, poor Colin having come to town very unwell. I called to see him, and found him suffering under a degree of slow palsy, his spirits depressed, and his looks miserable, worse a great deal than when I last saw him. His wife and daughter were in the room, dreadfully distressed. We spoke but a few words referring to recovery and better days, which, I suspect, neither of us hoped.^[395] For I looked only on the ghost of my friend of many a long day; and he, while he said to see me did him good, must have had little thought of our meeting under better auspices. We shall, of course, go straight to Abbotsford, instead of travelling by Harcus as we intended.

July 9.—Two distressed damsels on my hands, one, a friend of Harriet Swinton, translates from the Italian a work on the plan of I Promessi Sposi, but I fear she must not expect much from the trade. A translation with them is a mere translation—that is, a thing which can be made their own at a guinea per sheet, and they will not have an excellent one at a higher rate. Second is Miss Young, daughter of the excellent Dr. Young of Hawick. If she can, from her father's letters and memoranda, extract materials for a fair simple account of his life, I would give my name as editor, and I think it might do, but for a large publication—Palabras, neighbour Dogberry,^[396] the time is by. Dined with the Bannatyne, where we had a lively party. Touching the songs, an old roué must own an improvement in the times, when all paw-paw words are omitted, and naughty innuendos gazés. One is apt to say—

July 10.—Rose rather late: the champagne and turtle, I suppose, for our reform includes no fasting. Then poor Ardwell came to breakfast; then Dr. Young's daughter. I have projected with Cadell a plan of her father's life, to be edited by me.^[398] If she does but tolerably, she may have a fine thing of it. Next came the Court, where sixty judgments were pronounced and written by the Clerks, I hope all correctly, though an error might well happen in such a crowd, and——, one of the best men possible, is beastly stupid. Be that as it may, off came Anne, Charles, and I for Abbotsford. We started about two, and the water being too deep didn't arrive till past seven; dinner, etc., filled up the rest of the day.

July 11, Abbotsford.—Corrected my proofs and the lave of it till about one o'clock. Then started for a walk to Chiefswood, which I will take from station to station,^[399] with a book in my pouch. I have begun Lawrie Todd, which ought, considering the author's undisputed talents, to have been better. He might have laid Cooper aboard, but he follows far behind. No wonder: Galt, poor fellow, was in the King's Bench when he wrote it. No whetter of genius is necessity, though said to be the mother of invention.

July 12.—Another wet day, but I walked twice up and down the terrace, and also wrote a handsome scrap of copy, though mystified by the want of my books, and so forth. Dr. and Mrs. Lockhart and Violet came to luncheon and left us to drive on to Peebles. I read and loitered and longed to get my things in order. Got to work, however, at seven in the morning.

July 13.—Now "what a thing it is to be an ass!"^[400] I have a letter from a certain young man, of a sapient family, announcing that his sister had so far mistaken my attentions as to suppose I was only prevented by modesty from stating certain wishes and hopes, etc. The party is a woman of rank: so far my vanity may be satisfied. But to think I would wish to appropriate a grim grenadier made to mount guard at St. James's! The Lord deliver me! I excused myself with little picking upon the terms, and there was no occasion for much delicacy in repelling such an attack.

July 14.—The Court of Session Bill is now committed in the House of Lords, so it fairly goes on this season, and I have, I suppose, to look for my congé. I can hardly form a notion of the possibility that I am not to return to Edinburgh. My clerk Buchanan came here, and assists me to finish the Demonology Letters, and be d—d to them. But it is done to their hand. Two ladies, Mrs. Latouche of Dublin, and her niece, Miss Boyle, came to spend a day or two. The aunt is a fine old lady; the conversation that of a serious person frightened out of her wits by the violence and superstition of our workers of miracles in the west.^[401] Miss Boyle is a pretty young woman, rather quiet for an Irish lass.

July 16.—We visited at Lessudden yesterday, and took Mrs. Latouche thither. To-day, as they had left us, we went alone to Major John's house of Ravenswood and engaged a large party of cousins to dine to-morrow.

In the evening a party of foreigners came around the door, and going out I found Le Comte Ladislaus de Potocki, a great name in Poland, with his lady and brother-in-law, so offered wine, coffee, tea, etc. The lady is strikingly pretty. If such a woman as she had taken an affection for a lame baronet, nigh sixty years old, it would be worth speaking about! I have finished the Demonology.^[402]

July 17.—Another bad day, wet past all efforts to walk, and threatening a very bad harvest. Persecuted with begging letters; an author's Pegasus is like a post-chaise leaving the door of the inn: the number of beggars is uncountable. The language they hold of my character for charity makes my good reputation as troublesome as that of Joseph Surface.^[403] A dinner of cousins, the young Laird of Raeburn, so he must be called, though nearly as old as I am, at their head. His brother Robert, who has been in India for forty years, excepting one short visit: a fine manly fellow, who has belled the cat with fortune, and held her at bay as a man of mould may. Being all kinsmen and friends, we made a merry day of our re-union. All left at night.

Here am I beginning the second week of my vacation—though what needs me note that?—vacation and session will probably be the same to me in the future. The long remove must then be looked to, for the final signal to break up, and that is a serious thought.

I have corrected two sets of proofs, one for the mail, another for the Blucher to-morrow.

SEPTEMBER

September 5.—In spite of resolution I have left my Diary for some weeks, I cannot tell why. We have had the usual number of travelling Counts and Countesses, Yankees male and female, and a Yankee-Doodle-Dandy into the bargain, a smart young Virginia man. We have had friends of our own also, the Miss Ardens, young Mrs. Morritt and Anne Morritt, most agreeable visitors.^[404] Cadell came out here yesterday with his horn filled with good news. This will in effect put an end to the trust; only the sales and produce must be pledged to insure the last £15,000 and the annuity interest of £600. In this way Mr. Cadell will become half-partner in the remaining volumes of the books following St. Ronan's; with all my heart, but he must pay well for it, for it is good property. Neither is any value stated for literary profits; yet, four years should have four novels betwixt 1830-4. This at £2500 per volume might be £8000, which would diminish Mr. Cadell's advance considerably. All this seems feasible enough, so my fits of sullen alarm are ill placed. It makes me care less about the terms I retire upon. The efforts by which we have advanced thus far are new in literature, and what is gained is secure.

DECEMBER.

December 20.—From September 5 to December 20 is a long gap, and I have seen plenty of things worth recollecting, had I marked them down when they were gliding past. But the time has gone by. When I feel capable of taking it up, I will.

Little self will jostle out everything else, and my affairs, which in some respects are excellent, in others, like the way of the world, are far from being pleasant.

Of good I have the pleasure of saying I have my children well, and in good health. The dividend of 3s. in the pound has been made to the creditors, and the creditors have testified their sense of my labours by surrendering my books, furniture, plate, and curiosities. I see some friends of mine think this is not handsomely done. In my opinion it is extremely so. There are few things so [easy] as to criticise the good things one does, and to show that we ourselves would have done [more] handsomely. But those who know the world and their own nature are always better pleased with one kind action carried through and executed, than with twenty that only glide through their minds, while perhaps they tickle the imagination of the benevolent Barmecide who supposes both the entertainment and the eater. These articles do not amount to less than £10,000 at least, and, without dispensing with them entirely, might furnish me with a fund for my younger children.^[405] Now, suppose these creditors had not seriously carried their purpose into execution, the transaction might have been afterwards challenged, and the ease of mind which it produced to me must have been uncertain in comparison. Well! one-half of these claims are cleared off, furnished in a great measure by one-half issue of the present edition of the Waverley Novels, which had reached the 20th of the series.

It cannot be expected that twenty more will run off so fast; the later volumes are less favourites, and are really less interesting. Yet when I read them over again since their composition, I own I found them considerably better than I expected, and I think, if other circumstances do not crush them and blight their popularity, they will make their way. Mr. Cadell is still desirous to acquire one-half of the property of this part of the work, which is chiefly my own. He proposes assembling all my detached works of fiction and articles in Annuals, so that the whole, supposing I write, as is proposed, six new volumes, will run the collection to fifty, when it is time to close it. Between cash advanced on this property, and a profit on the sale of the second part, Mr. Cadell thinks, having taken a year or two years' time, to gather a little wind into the bag, I will be able to pay, on my part, a further sum of £30,000, or the moiety remaining of the whole debts, amounting now to less than £60,000.

Should this happy period arrive in or about the year 1832 the heavy work will be wellnigh finished. Tor, although £30,000 will still remain, yet there is £20,000 actually secured upon my life, and the remaining £10,000 is set against the sale of Waverley, which shall have been issued; besides which there is the whole Poetry, Bonaparte, and several other articles, equally [available] in a short time to pay up the balance, and afford a very large reversion.

This view cannot be absolutely certain, but it is highly probable, and is calculated in the manner in which Building Schemes [are dealt with], and is not merely visionary. The year 1833 may probably see me again in possession of my estate.

A circumstance of great consequence to my habits and comforts was my being released from the Court of Session on November 1830 (18th day). My salary, which was £1300, was reduced to £840. My friends, just then leaving office, were desirous to patch up the deficiency with a pension. I do not see well how they could do this without being exposed to obloquy, which they shall not be on my account. Besides, though £500 a year is a round sum, yet I would rather be independent than I would have it.

My kind friend the Lord Chief Commissioner offered to interfere to have me named a Privy Councillor; but besides that when one is poor he ought to avoid taking rank, I would be much happier if I thought any act of kindness was done to help forward Charles; and, having said so much, I made my bow, and declared my purpose of remaining satisfied with the article of my knighthood. And here I am, for the rest of my life I suppose, with a competent income, which I can [increase].

All this is rather pleasing, nor have I the least doubt that I could make myself easy by literary labour. But much of it looks like winding up my bottom for the rest of my life. But there is a worse symptom of settling accounts, of which I have felt some signs.

Last spring, Miss Young, the daughter of Dr. Young, had occasion to call on me on some business, in which I had hopes of serving her. As I endeavoured to explain to her what I had to say, I had the horror to find I could not make myself understood. I stammered, stuttered, said one word in place of another—did all but speak; Miss Young went away frightened enough, poor thing; and Anne and Violet Lockhart were much alarmed. I was bled with cupping-glasses, took medicine, and lived on panada; but in two or three days I was well again. The physicians thought, or said at least, that the evil was from the stomach. It is very certain that I have seemed to speak with an impediment, and I was, or it might be fancied myself, troubled with a mispronouncing and hesitation. I felt this particularly at the Election, and sometimes in society. This went on till last November, when Lord ——— came out to make me a visit. I had for a long time taken only one tumbler of whisky and water without the slightest reinforcement. This night I took a very little drop, not so much as a bumper glass, of whisky altogether. It made no difference on my head that I could discover, but when I went to the dressing-room I sank stupefied on the floor. I lay a minute or two—was not found, luckily, gathered myself up, and got to my bed. I was alarmed at this second warning, consulted Abercrombie and Ross, and got a few restrictive orders as to diet. I am forced to attend to them; for, as Mrs. Cole says, "Lack-a-day! a thimbleful oversets me."

To add to these feelings I have the constant increase of my lameness: the thigh-joint, knee-joint, and ankle-joint.

December 21.—I walk with great pain in the whole limb, and am at every minute, during an hour's walk, reminded of my mortality. I should not care for all this, if I was sure of dying handsomely. Cadell's calculations would be sufficiently firm though the author of Waverly had pulled on his last nightcap. Nay, they might be even more trustworthy, if Remains, and Memoirs, and such like, were to give a zest to the posthumous. But the fear is the blow be not sufficient to destroy life, and that I should linger on an idiot and a show.^[406]....

We parted on good terms and hopes.^[407] But, fall back, fall edge, nothing shall induce me to publish what I do not think advantageous to the community, or suppress what is.

December 23.—To add for this day to the evil thereof, I am obliged to hold a Black-fishing Court at Selkirk. This is always a very unpopular matter in one of our counties, as the salmon never do get up to the heads of the waters in wholesome season, and are there in numbers in spawning-time. So that for several years during the late period, the gentry, finding no advantage from preserving the spawning fish, neglected the matter altogether in a kind of dudgeon, and the peasantry laid them waste at their will. As the property is very valuable, the proprietors down the country agreed to afford some additional passage for fish when the river is open, providing they will protect the spawning fish during close-time. A new Act has been passed, with heavy penalties and summary powers of recovery. Some persons are cited under it to-day; and a peculiar licence of poaching having distinguished the district of late years, we shall be likely to have some disturbance. They have been holding a meeting for reform in Selkirk, and it will be difficult to teach them that this consists in anything else save the privilege of obeying only such laws as please them. We shall see, but I would have counselled the matter to have been delayed for a little season. I shall do my duty, however. Do what is right, come what will.

Six black-fishers were tried, four were condemned. All went very quietly till the conclusion, when one of the criminals attempted to break out. I stopped him for the time with my own hand.^[408] But after removing him from the Court-house to the jail he broke from the officers, who are poor feeble old men, the very caricature of peace officers.

December 24.—This morning my old acquaintance and good friend Miss Bell Ferguson died after a short illness: an old friend, and a woman of the most excellent condition. The last two or almost three years were very sickly.

A bitter cold day. Anne drove me over to Huntly Burn to see the family. I found Colonel Ferguson and Captain John, R.N., in deep affliction, expecting Sir Adam hourly. Anne sets off to Mertoun, and I remain alone. I wrote to Walter about the project of making my succession in movables. J.B. sent me praises of the work I am busy with.^[409] But I suspect a little supercherie, though he protests not. He is going to the country without sending me the political article. But he shall either set up or return it, as I won't be tutored by any one in what I do or forbear.

December 25.—I have sketched a political article on a union of Tories and an Income Tax. But I will not show my teeth if I find I cannot bite. Arrived at Mertoun, and found with the family Sir John Pringle, Major Pringle, and Charles Baillie. Very pleasant music by the Miss Pringles.

December 26, [Mertoun].—Prayers after breakfast, being Sunday. Afterwards I shut myself up in Mr. Scott's room.

He has lately become purchaser of his grandfather's valuable library, which was collected by Pope's Lord Marchmont. Part of it is a very valuable collection of tracts during the great Civil War. I spent several hours in turning them over, but I could not look them through with any accuracy. I passed my time very pleasantly, and made some extracts, however, and will resume my research another day.

I had never a more decided inclination to go loose, yet I know I had better keep quiet.

December 27, [Abbotsford].—Commences snow, and extremely bitter cold. When I returned from Mertoun, half-frozen, I took up the Magnum, and began to notify the romance called Woodstock, in which I got some assistance from Harden's ancient tracts. I ought rather to get on with Robert of Paris; but I have had all my life a longing to do something else when I am called to particular labour,—a vile contradictory humour which I cannot get rid of. Well, I can work at something, so at the Magnum work I. The day was indeed broken, great part having been employed in the return from Mertoun.

December 28.—Drove down to Huntly Burn. Sir Adam very melancholy, the death of his sister having come with a particular and shocking surprise upon him. After half-an-hour's visit I returned and resumed the Magnum.

December 29.—Attended poor Miss Bell Ferguson's funeral. I sat by the Rev. Mr. Thomson. Though ten years younger than me, I found the barrier between him and me much broken down. We remember it though with more or less accuracy. We took the same old persons for subjects of correspondence of feeling and sentiment. The difference of ten years is little after sixty has passed. In a cold day I saw poor Bell laid in her cold bed. Life never parted with a less effort. Letter from Cadell offering to advance on second series French Tales. This will come in good time, and keep me easy. He proposes views for the Magnum. I fear politics may disappoint them.

December 30.—Meeting at Selkirk to-day about the new road to Galashiels. It was the largest meeting I ever saw in Selkirkshire. We gain the victory by no less than 14 to 4. I was named one of the committee to carry the matter on, so in gaining my victory I think I have caught a Tartar, for I have taken on trouble enough. Some company,—Lord Napier, Scotts of Harden, Johnstone of Alva, Major Pringle. In the evening had some private conversation with H.F.S. and R.J., and think there is life in a mussel. More of this hereafter.

December 31.—My two young friends left this morning, but not without renewing our conversation of last night. We carried on the little amusements of the day, and spent our Hogmanay pleasantly enough, in spite of very bad auguries.

1831.

JANUARY.

January 1, 1831.—I cannot say the world opens pleasantly with me this new year. I will strike the balance. There are many things for which I have reason to be thankful.

First.—Cadell's plans seem to have succeeded, and he augurs well as to the next two years, reckoning £30,000 on the stuff now on hand, and £20,000 on the insurance money, and £10,000 to be borrowed somehow. This will bring us wonderfully home.

Second.—Cadell is of opinion if I meddle in politics, and I am strongly tempted to do so, I shall break the milk-pail, and threatens me with the fate of Basil Hall, who, as he says, destroyed his reputation by writing impolitic politics. Well, it would be my risk, and if I can do some good, which I rather think I can, is it right or manly to keep myself back?

Third.—I feel myself decidedly weaker in point of health, and am now confirmed I have had a paralytic touch. I speak and read with embarrassment, and even my handwriting seems to stammer. This general failure

I am not solicitous about this, only if I were worthy I would pray God for a sudden death, and no interregnum between I cease to exercise reason and I cease to exist.

The Scotts of Harden, Pringles of Stitchill, and Russells of Ashestiel, are all here; I am scarce fit for company though.

I find my language apt to fail me; but this is very like to be fancy, and I must be cautious of giving way to it. This cautions me against public exertion much more than Cadell's prognostications, which my blood rises against, and which are ill calculated to keep me in restraint. We dozed through a gloomy day, being the dullest of all possible thaws.

January 3.—I had a letter from the Lord Chief Commissioner, mentioning the King's intention to take care of Charles's interests and promotion in the Foreign Office, an additional reason why I should not plunge rashly into politics, yet not one which I can understand as putting a padlock on my lips neither. I may write to L.C.C. that I may be called on to express an opinion on the impending changes, that I have an opinion, and a strong one, and that I hope this fresh favour [may not be regarded] as padlocking my lips at a time when it would otherwise be proper to me to speak or write. I am shocked to find that I have not the faculty of delivering myself with facility—an embarrassment which may be fanciful, but is altogether as annoying as if real.

January 4.—A base, gloomy day, and dispiriting in proportion. I walked out with Swanston ^[411] for about an hour: everything gloomy as the back of the chimney when there is no fire in it. My walk was a melancholy one, feeling myself weaker at every step and not very able to speak. This surely cannot be fancy, yet it looks something like it. If I knew but the extent at which my inability was like to stop, but every day is worse than another. I have trifled much time, too much; I must try to get afloat to-morrow, perhaps getting an amanuensis might spur me on, for one-half is nerves. It is a sad business though.

January 5.—Very indifferent, with more awkward feelings than I can well bear up against. My voice sunk and my head strangely confused. When I begin to form my ideas for conversation expressions fail me, even in private conversation, yet in solitude they are sufficiently arranged. I incline to hold that these ugly symptoms are the work of imagination; but, as Dr. Adam Ferguson,^[412] a firm man if ever there was one in the world, said on such an occasion, What is worse than imagination? As Anne was vexed and frightened, I allowed her to send for young Clarkson. Of course he could tell but little, save what I knew before.

January 6.—A letter from Henry Scott about the taking ground for keeping the reform in Scotland upon the Scottish principles. I will write him my private sentiments, but avoid being a boute-feu.

Go this day to Selkirk, where I found about 120 and more persons of that burgh and Galashiels, who were sworn in as special constables, enough to maintain the peace. What shocked me particularly was the weakness of my voice and the confusion of my head attempting to address them, which was really a poor affair. On my return I found the Rev. Mr. Milne of Quebec, a friend of my sister-in-law. Another time would have been better for company, but Captain John Ferguson and Mr. Laidlaw coming in to dinner, we got over the day well enough.

January 7.—A fine frosty day, and my spirits lighter. I have a letter of great comfort from Walter, who in a manly, handsome, and dutiful manner expressed his desire to possess the library and movables of every kind at Abbotsford, with such a valuation laid upon them as I choose to impose. This removes the only delay to making my will. Supposing the literary property to clear the debts by aid of insurances and other things, about 1835 it will come into my person, and I will appoint the whole to work off the heritable debt of £10,000. If the literary property can produce that sum, besides what it has already done, I would convey it to the three younger children.

January 8.—Spent much time in writing instructions for my last will and testament. Sent off parcel by Dr. Milne, who leaves to-day. Have up two boys for shop-lifting. Remained at Galashiels till four o'clock, and returned starved. Could work none, and was idle all evening—try to-morrow for a work-day; so loiter on.

January 10.—Went over to Galashiels, and was busied the whole time till three o'clock about a petty thieving affair, and had before me a pair of gallows'-birds, to whom I could say nothing for total want of proof, except, like the sapient Elbow, Thou shalt continue there; know thou, thou shalt continue.^[413] A little gallow brood they were, and their fate will catch them. Sleepy, idle, and exhausted on this. Wrought little or none in the evening.

Wrote a long letter to Henry [Scott], who is a fine fellow, and what I call a heart of gold. He has sound parts, good sense, and is a true man. Also, I wrote to my excellent friend the Lord Chief [Commissioner]. I thought it right to say that I accepted with gratitude his Majesty's goodness, but trusted it was not to bind me to keep my fingers from pen and ink should a notion impress me that I could help the country. I walked a little, to my exceeding refreshment. I am using that family ungratefully. But I will not, for a punctilio, avoid binding, if I can, a strong party together for the King and country, and if I see I can do anything, or have a chance of it, I will not fear for the skin-cutting. It is the selfishness of this generation that drives me mad.

January 11.—Wrote and sent off three of my own pages in the morning, then walked with Swanston. I tried to write before dinner, but, with drowsiness and pain in my head, made little way. My friend Will Laidlaw came in to dinner, and after dinner kindly offered his services as amanuensis. Too happy was I, and I immediately plunged him into the depths of Count Robert, so we got on three or four pages, worth perhaps double the number of print. I hope it did not take him too short, but after all to keep the press going without an amanuensis is impossible, and the publishers may well pay a sponsible person. He comes back to-morrow. It eases many of my anxieties, and I will stick to it. I really think Mr. Laidlaw is pleased with the engagement for the time. Sent off six close pages.

January 12.—I have a visit from Mr. Macdonald the sculptor, who wishes to model a head of me. He is a gentlemanlike man, and pleasant as most sculptors and artists of reputation are, yet it is an awful tax upon time. I must manage to dictate while he models, which will do well enough.

So there we sat for three hours or four, I sitting on a stool mounted on a packing-box, for the greater advantage; Macdonald modelling and plastering away, and I dictating, without interval, to good-natured Will Laidlaw, who wrought without intermission. It is natural to ask, Do I progress? but this is too feverish a question. A man carries no scales about him to ascertain his own value. I always remember the prayer of Virgil's sailor in extremity:—

We must to our oar; but I think this and another are all that even success would prompt me to write; and surely those that have been my defenders

January 13.—Went to Selkirk on the business of the new high road. I perceive Whytbank and my cousin Colonel Russell of Ashestiel are disposed to peep into the expenses of next year's outlay, which must be provided by loan. This will probably breed strife. Wrote a hint of this to Charles Balfour. Agreed with Smith so far as contracting for the Bridges at £1200 each. I suspect we are something like the good manager who distressed herself with buying bargains.

January 15.—Gave the morning from ten till near two to Mr. Macdonald, who is proceeding admirably with his bust. It is bloody cold work, but he is an enthusiast and much interested; besides, I can sit and dictate owing to Mr. Laidlaw, and so get forward, while I am advancing Lorenzo di Guasco, which is his travelling name. I wrote several letters too, and got through some business. Walked, and took some exercise between one and three.

January 16.—Being Sunday, read prayers. Mr. and Mrs. James ^[416] go to look for a house, which they desire to take in this country. As Anne is ill, the presence of strangers, though they are pleasant, is rather annoying. Macdonald continues working to form a new bust out of my old scalp. I think it will be the last sitting which I will be enticed to. Thanks to Heaven, the work finishes to-morrow.^[417]

January 17.—This morning, when I came down-stairs, I found Mr. Macdonald slabbering away at the model. He has certainly great enthusiasm about his profession, which is a sine qua non. It was not till twelve that a post-chaise carried off my three friends.

I had wrote two hours when Dr. Turner came in, and I had to unfold my own complaints. I was sick of these interruptions, and dismissed Mr. Laidlaw, having no hope of resuming my theme with spirit. God send me more leisure and fewer friends to peck it away by tea-spoonfuls!

Another fool sends to entreat an autograph, which he should be ashamed in civility to ask, as I am to deny it. I got notice of poor Henry Mackenzie's death. He has long maintained a niche in Scottish Literature—gayest of the gay, though most sensitive of the sentimental.

January 18.—Came down from my bedroom at eight, and took a rummage in the way of putting things to rights. Dictated to Laidlaw till about one o'clock, during which time it was rainy. Afterwards I walked, sliding about in the mud, and very uncomfortable. In fact, there is no mistaking the three sufficients,^[418] and Fate is now straitening its circumvallations round me. Little likely to be better than I am. I am heart-whole as a biscuit, and may last on as now for eight or ten years; the thing is not uncommon, considering I am only in my sixtieth year. I cannot walk; but the intense cold weather may be to blame in this. My riding is but a scramble, but it may do well enough for exercise; and though it is unpleasant to find one's enjoyment of hill and vale so much abridged, yet still when I enjoy my books, and am without acute pain, I have but little to complain of, considering the life I have led so long.

Mr. Laidlaw came down at ten, and we wrought till one. This should be a good thing for an excellent man, and is an important thing to me, as it saves both my eyesight and nerves, which last are cruelly affected by finding those "who look out of the windows" grow gradually darker and darker.^[420] Rode out, or more properly, was carried out, into the woods to see the course of a new road, which may serve to carry off the thinnings of the trees, and for rides. It is very well lined, and will serve both for beauty and convenience. Mr. Laidlaw engages to come back to dinner, and finish two or three more pages. Met my agreeable and lady-like neighbour, Mrs. Brewster, on my pony, and I was actually ashamed to be seen by her.

I believe detestable folly of this kind is the very last that leaves us. One would have thought I ought to have little vanity at this time o' day; but it is an abiding appurtenance of the old Adam, and I write for penance what, like a fool, I actually felt.

January 19.—Wrote on by Mr. Laidlaw's assistance. Things go bobbishly enough; we have a good deal finished before dinner. Henry Scott comes to dine with me vis-à-vis, and we have a grand dish of politics. The friends of old Scotland want but a signal. A certain great lawyer says that if Sir W.S. wrote another Malachi it would set more men on fire than a dozen associations. This almost tempts me. But the canny lad says moreover that to appeal to national partiality, i.e. that you should call on Scotsmen to act like Scotsmen, is unfair, and he would be sorry it was known he, late and future placeman, should encourage such paw-paw doings. Yet if Sir W.S. could be got to stand forlorn hope, the legal gentleman would suggest, etc. etc. Suggest and be d—d. Sir W.S. knows when to [doff] his bonnet, and when to cock it in the face of all and sundry. Moreover, he will not be made a cat's-paw of, look you now.

January 20.—Wrought all morning; a monstrous packet of letters at mid-day. Borrow honest Laidlaw's fingers in the evening. I hope his pay will recompense him: it is better than "grieve-ing" or playing Triptolemus.^[422] Should be, if I am hard-working, 100 guineas, which, with his house, cow, and free rent, would save, I believe, some painful thoughts to him and his amiable wife and children. We will see how the matter fudges. Almost finished the first volume.

January 21.—James Ballantyne in ecstasies at our plan of an amanuensis. I myself am sensible that my fingers begin to stammer—that is, to write one word instead of another very often. I impute this to fancy, the terrible agency of which is too visible in my illness, and it encourages me to hope the fatal warning is yet deferred. I feel lighter by a million ton since I made this discovery. If I can dictate freely, and without hesitation, my fear to speak at the meeting about the road was vain terror, and so Andiamo Caracci. Wrote some letters this afternoon.

January 22.—Mr. Laidlaw rather late of coming. One of his daughters has been ill, and he is an approved physician. Pity when one so gifted employs his skill on himself and family for all patients. We got on, however, to page 46.

January 23.—I wrought a little to-day. Walked to Chiefswood, or rather from it, as far only as Habbie's Howe. Came home, cold indeed, but hearty. Slept after dinner. I think the peep, real or imaginary, at the gates of death has given me firmness not to mind little afflictions. I have jumbled this and the preceding day strangely, when I went to Chiefswood and Huntly Burn. I thought this a week-day.

January 24.—Worked with Mr. Laidlaw, and, as the snow was on the ground, did so without intermission, which must be sinking to the spirits. Held on, however.

January 25.—Same drizzling waste, rendering my footing insecure, and leaving me no refuge but in sitting at home and working till one o'clock. Then retired upon the Sheriff Court processes. Bran,^[423] poor fellow, lies yawning at my feet, and cannot think what is become of the daily scamper, which is all his master's inability affords him. This grieves me, by calling back the days of old. But I may call them as I may,

January 26.—I have Skene and Mr. M'Culloch of Ardwell, to the relief of my spirits and the diminishing of my time. Mr. Laidlaw joined us at dinner.

January 27.—So fagged with my frozen vigils that I slept till after ten. When I lose the first two hours in the morning I can seldom catch them again during the whole day.

A friendly visit from Ebenezer Clarkson of Selkirk, a medical gentleman in whose experience and ingenuity I have much confidence, as well as his personal regard for myself. He is quite sensible of the hesitation of speech of which I complain, and thinks it arises from the stomach. Recommends the wild mustard as an aperient. But the brightest ray of hope is the chance that I may get some mechanical aid made by Fortune at Broughton Street, which may enable me to mount a pony with ease, and to walk without torture. This would, indeed, be almost a restoration of my youth, at least of a green old age full of enjoyment. The shutting one out from the face of living nature is almost worse than sudden death.

January 28.—I wrote with Laidlaw. It does not work clear; I do not know why. The plot is, nevertheless, a good plot, and full of expectation.^[424] But there is a cloud over me, I think, and interruptions are frequent. I creep on, however.

January 29.—Much in the same way as yesterday, rather feeling than making way. Mr. Williams and his brother came in after dinner. Welcome both; yet the day was not happy. It consumed me an afternoon, which, though well employed, and pleasantly, had the disagreeable effect of my being kept from useful work.

January 30.—Snow deep, which makes me alter my purpose of going to town to-morrow. For to-day, my friends must amuse themselves as they can.

January 31 [to February 9, Edinburgh].—Retain my purpose, however, and set out for Edinburgh alone—that is, no one but my servant. The snow became impassable, and in Edinburgh I remain immovably fixed for ten days—that is, till Wednesday—never once getting out of doors, save to dinner, when I went and returned in a sedan chair. I commenced my quarantine in Mackenzie's Hotel,^[425] where I was deadly cold, and it was tolerably noisy. The second day Mr. Cadell made a point of my coming to his excellent house, where I had no less excellent an apartment and the most kind treatment—- that is, not making a show of me, for which I was in but bad tune.^[426] The physical folks, Abercrombie and Ross, bled me with cupping-glasses, purged me confoundedly, and restricted me of all creature comforts. But they did me good, as I am sure they meant to do sincerely; and I got rid of a giddy feeling, which I have been plagued with, and have certainly returned much better. I did not neglect my testamentary affairs. I executed my last will, leaving Walter burdened, by his own choice, with £1000 to Sophia, and another received at her marriage, and £2000 to Anne, and the same to Charles. He is to advance them money if they want it; if not, to pay them interest, which is his own choice, otherwise I would have sold the books and rattletraps. I have made provisions for clearing my estate by my publications, should it be possible; and should that prove possible, from the time of such clearance being effected, to be a fund available to all my children who shall be alive or leave representatives. My bequests must, many of them, seem hypothetical; but the thing, being uncertain, must be so stated.

Besides, during the unexpected stay in town, I employed Mr. Fortune, an ingenious artist,^[427] to make a machine to assist my lame leg,—an odd enough purchase to be made at this time of day, yet who would not purchase ease? I dined with the Lord Chief Commissioner, with the Skenes twice, with Lord Medwyn, and was as happy as anxiety about my daughter would permit me.

The appearance of the streets was most desolate: the hackney-coaches, with four horses, strolling about like ghosts, the foot-passengers few but the lowest of the people.

I wrote a good deal of Count Robert, yet I cannot tell why my pen stammers egregiously, and I write horridly incorrect. I long to have friend Laidlaw's assistance.

FEBRUARY.

February 9,[Abbotsford].—A heavy and most effective thaw coming on I got home about five at night, and found the haugh covered with water, dogs, pigs, cows, to say nothing of human beings, all who slept at the offices in danger of being drowned. They came up to the mansion-house about midnight, with such various clamour, that Anne thought the house was attacked by Captain Swing and all the Radicals.

February 10.—I set to work with Mr. Laidlaw, and had after that a capital ride; my pony, little used, was somewhat frisky, but I rode on to Huntly Burn. Began my diet on my new régime, and like it well, especially porridge to supper. It is wonderful how old tastes rise.

February 11.—Wrought again to-day, and John Swanston walked with me. Wrote many letters, and sent copy to Ballantyne. Rode as usual. It is well enough to ride every day, but confoundedly tiresome to write it down.

February 13.—I did not ask down Mr. Laidlaw, thinking it fair to spare his Sunday. I had a day of putting to rights, a disagreeable work which must be done. I took the occasion to tell Mr. Cadell that Malachi will break forth again; but I will not make a point of it with him. I do not fear there will be as many to strike up as to strike down, and I have a strong notion we may gain the day. I have a letter from the Duchess of Wellington, asking a copy of Melville's Memoirs. She shall have it if it were my last.

February 14.—I had hardly begun my letter to Mr. Cadell than I began also to "pull in resolution."^[428] I considered that I had no means of retreat; and that in all my sober moments, meaning my unpassionate ones, for the doctors have taken from me the means of producing Dutch courage, I have looked on political writing as a false step, and especially now when I have a good deal at stake. So, upon the whole, I cancelled the letter announcing the publication. If this was actually meanness it is a foible nobody knows of. Anne set off for Edinburgh after breakfast. Poor girl, she is very nervous. I wrote with Mr. L. till one—then had a walk till three—then wrote this diary till four. Must try to get something for Mr. Laidlaw, for I am afraid I am twaddling. I do not think my head is weakened, but a strange vacillation makes me suspect. Is it not thus that men begin to fail, becoming, as it were, infirm of purpose,

February 15.—I wrote and corrected through the long day till one o'clock; then rode out as far as Dr. Scott's, and called on him. Got a fresh dose of proofs at Mathieson's, and returned home. At nine o'clock at night had a card from Miss Bell [Maclachlan], wishing to speak to me about some Highland music. Wrote for answer I knew nothing of the matter, but would be happy to see Mrs. and Miss Bell to breakfast. I had a letter of introduction by Robert Chambers, which I declined, being then unwell. But as Trotter of Braid said, "The ladies maun come."

February 16.—Mrs. and Miss Bell Maclachlan of the West Highlands, mother and daughter, made their way to me to breakfast. I did not wish to see them, being strangers; but she is very pretty—that is, the daughter—and enthusiastic, and that is always flattering to an old gentleman. She wishes to have words to Celtic melodies, and I have promised her some, to the air of Crochallan, and incline to do her good, perhaps, to the extent of getting her words from Lord Francis Leveson Gower, Lockhart, and one or two others. We parted, she pleased with my willing patronage, and I with an uncommon handsome countenance she showed me.

This detained Mr. Laidlaw re infecta, and before I had written a page the pony came to the door; but wrote something after dinner.

February 17 and 18.—We had the usual course of food, study, and exercise in the forenoon. Was extremely sleepy in the afternoon, which made, I fear, but bad work. We progress, however. In riding met Sir Adam Ferguson, and asked him and his brother the Colonel to dinner to-morrow. Wrote in the meantime as usual.

February 19.—Plagued by the stay for leg starting a screw bolt, which is very inconvenient. Sent off, this morning, proofs as far as end of first volume, and 20 manuscript pages, equal to about a quarter of the second. Is it good or not? I cannot say. I think it better as it goes on; and so far so good. I am certain I have written worse abomination, as John Ballantyne, poor fellow, used to say.

February 20.—Wrote five pages this morning; then rode out to the hill and looked at some newly planted, rather transplanted, trees. Mr. Laidlaw gone for the day. I trust I shall have proofs to correct. In the meantime I may suck my paws and prepare some copy, or rather assemble the raw material.

February 21.—I made up parcels by mail-coach and Blucher to go to-morrow—second volume Redgauntlet. At one fetched a walk through wet and dry, looking at the ravages of the late flood. After I came in, till two hours after tea-time, busied with the Sheriff Court processes, which I have nearly finished. After this I will lounge over my annotating. The Tales of the Crusades come next.

February 22.—Wrought with Mr. L. from ten to three, then took the pony carriage, with the purpose of going to Chiefswood, but a heavy squall came on with snow, so we put about-ship and returned. Read Lyttelton's History of England to get some notes for Crusaders, vol. i. After dinner Mr. Laidlaw from six to eight. Sent off six pages.

February 23, 24, 25.—These three days I can hardly be said to have varied from my ordinary.

Rose at seven, dressed before eight, wrote letters, or did any little business till a quarter past nine. Then breakfast. Mr. Laidlaw comes from ten till one. Then take the pony, and ride quantum mutatus two or three miles, John Swanston walking by my bridle-rein lest I fall off. Come home about three or four. Then to dinner on a single plain dish and half a tumbler, or by'r lady three-fourths of a tumbler, of whisky and water. Then sit till six o'clock, when enter Mr. Laidlaw again, and work commonly till eight. After this, work usually alone till half-past nine, then sup on porridge and milk, and so to bed. The work is half done. If any [one] asks what time I take to think on the composition, I might say, in one point of view, it was seldom five minutes out of my head the whole day. In another light, it was never the serious subject of consideration at all, for it never occupied my thoughts entirely for five minutes together, except when I was dictating to Mr. Laidlaw.

February 26.—Went through the same routine, only, being Saturday, Mr. Laidlaw does not come in the evening. I think there is truth in the well-known phrase, Aurora musis amica. I always have a visit of invention between six and seven—that is, if anything has been plaguing me, in the way of explanation, I find it in my head when I wake. I have need of it to-night.

February 27.—Being Saturday, no Mr. Laidlaw came yesterday evening, nor to-day, being Sunday. Truth is, I begin to fear I was working too hard, and gave myself to putting things in order, and working at the Magnum, and reading stupid German novels in hopes a thought will strike me when I am half occupied with other things. In fact, I am like the servant in the Clandestine Marriage,^[430] who assures his mistress he always watches best with his eyes shut.

February 28.—Past ten, and Mr. Laidlaw, the model of a clerk in other respects, is not come yet. He has never known the value of time, so is not quite accurate in punctuality; but that, I hope, will come if I can drill him to it without hurting him. I think I hear him coming. I am like the poor wizard who is first puzzled how to raise the devil and then how to employ him. But vogue la galère. Worked till one, then walked with great difficulty and pain till half-past two. I think I can hardly stir without my pony, which is a sad pity. Mr. Laidlaw dines here.

MARCH.

March 1, 2, 3.—All these three days I wrote forenoon and fagged afternoon. Kept up the ball indifferent well, but began to tire on the third, and suspected that I was flat—a dreary suspicion, not easily chased away when once it takes root.

March 4.—Laid aside the novel, and began with vigour a review of Robson's Essay on Heraldry;^[431] but I missed some quotations which I could not get on without. I gave up, and took such a rash ride nowadays. Returned home, and found Colonel Russell there on a visit. Then we had dinner, and afterwards the making up this miserable Journal.

March 5.—I have a letter from our member, Whytbank, adjuring me to assist the gentlemen of the county with an address against the Reform Bill, which menaces them with being blended with Peeblesshire, and losing of consequence one half of their franchise. Mr. Pringle conjures me not to be very nice in choosing my epithets. Mr. Pringle, Torwoodlee, comes over and speaks to the same purpose, adding, it will be the greatest service I can do the county, etc. This, in a manner, drives me out of a resolution to keep myself clear of politics, and "let them fight dog, fight bear." But I am too easy to be persuaded to bear a hand. The young Duke of Buccleuch comes to visit me also; so I promised to shake my duds and give them a cast of my calling, fall back, fall edge.

March 7-10.—In these four days I drew up, with much anxiety, an address reprobatory of the Bill, both with respect to Selkirkshire, and in its general purport. I was not mealy-mouthed, and those who heard the beginning could hardly avoid listening to the end. It was certainly in my best style, and would have made a deal of noise. From the uncompromising style it would have attracted attention. Mr. Laidlaw, though he is on t'other side on the subject, thinks it the best thing I ever wrote; and I myself am happy to find that it cannot be said to smell of the apoplexy. The pointed passages were, on the contrary, clever and well put. But it was too declamatory, too much like a pamphlet, and went far too generally into opposition to please the country gentlemen, who are timidly inclined to dwell on their own grievances rather than the public wrongs.

March 11.—This day we had our meeting at Selkirk. I found Borthwickbrae (late member) had sent the form of an address, which was finished by Mr. Andrew Lang.^[432] It was the reverse of mine in every respect. It was short, and to the point. It only contained a remonstrance against the incorporation with [Peebles]shire, and left it to be inferred that they approved the Bill in other respects.^[433] As I saw that it met the ideas of the meeting (six in number) better by far than such an address as mine, I instantly put it in my pocket. But I endeavoured to add to their complaint of a private wrong a general clause, stating their sense of the hazard of passing a Bill full of such violent innovations at once on the public. But though Harden, Alva, and Torwoodlee voted for this measure, it was refused by the rest of the meeting, to my disappointment; since in its present state it will not be attended to, and is in fact too milk-and-water to attract notice. I am, however, personally out of the scrape; I was a fool to stir such a mess of skimmed milk with so honourable an action.^[434] If some of the gentlemen of the press get hold of this story, what would they make of it, and how little would I care! One thing is clear: it gives me a right to decline future interference, and let the world wag, Sessa.^[435]

March 12.—Wrote the history of my four days' labour in vain to Sandy Pringle, Whytbank, and so transeat with cæteris erroribus. I only gave way to one jest. A ratcatcher was desirous to come and complete his labours in my house, and I, who thought he only talked and laughed with the servants, recommended him to go to the head courts and meetings of freeholders, where he would find rats in plenty.

March 13.—I have finally arranged a thorny transaction. Mr. Cadell has an interest in some of the Novels, amounting to one-half; but the following are entirely my own, viz.:—

In all, twenty-four volumes, which will begin printing after Quentin Durward, and concludes the year 1831. For half the property he proposes to pay 6000 guineas on 2d February 1831 [1832?]. I think that with this sum, and others coming in, I may reduce the debt to £45,000.

But I do not see clearly enough through this affair to accept this offer. First, I cannot see that there is wisdom in engaging Mr. Cadell in deep speculations, unless they served him very much. I am, in this respect, a burnt child: I have not forgotten the fire, or rather the furnace. Second, I think the property worth more, if publicly sold. Third, I cannot see any reasons which should render it advantageous for me to sell one half of this property, it being admittedly at the same [time] highly judicious to keep the other half. This does not fadge. Fourth, As to the immediate command of the money, I am not pressed for it, not having any advantage by paying it a year or two sooner or later. The actual proceeds of the sales will come in about 1834, and I daresay will not be far behind in amount the sum of £6000.

In short, I will not sell on a rainy day, as our proverb says. I have communicated my resolution to Cadell, to whom, no doubt, it will be a disappointment, for which I am sorry, but cannot help it.

March 14.—Had a very sensible and good-humoured answer from Mr. Cadell, readily submitting to my decision. He mentions, what I am conscious of, the great ease of accomplishing, if the whole is divided into two halves. But this is not an advantage to me, but to them who keep the books, and therefore I cannot be moved by it. It is the great advantage of uniformity, of which Malachi Malagrowther tells so much. I do not fear that Mr. Cadell will neglect the concern because he has not the large share in it which he had in the other. He is, I think, too honest a man. He has always shown himself every way willing and ready to help me, and verily he hath his reward; and I can afford him on that property a handsome percentage for the management. But if his fate was to lose considerably by this transaction, I must necessarily be a sufferer; if he be a great gainer, it is at my expense, so it is like the children's game of "Odds I win, evens you lose"—so will say no more about it. I think I will keep my ground nearly, so these cursed politics do not ruin the country. I am unable to sit at good men's boards, and Anne has gone to Mertoun to-day without me. I cannot walk or ride but for a mile or two. Naboclish! never mind. I am satisfied that I am heart-whole as a biscuit, and I may live to see the end of those affairs yet. I am driving on the Count of Paris right merrily. I have plenty of leisure, and vive la plume! I have arranged matters as I think for the best, so will think no more about it.

March 16.—The affair with Mr. Cadell being settled, I have only to arrange a set of regular employment for my time, without over-fatiguing myself. What I at present practise seems active enough for my capacity, and even if I should reach the threescore and ten, from which I am thrice three years distant, or nearer ten, the time may pass honourably, usefully, and profitably, both to myself and other people. My ordinary runs thus:—Rise at a quarter before seven; at a quarter after nine breakfast, with eggs, or in the singular number, at least; before breakfast private letters, etc.; after breakfast Mr. Laidlaw comes at ten, and we write together till one. I am greatly helped by this excellent man, who takes pains to write a good hand, and supplies the want of my own fingers as far as another person can. We work seriously at the task of the day till one o'clock, when I sometimes walk—not often, however, having failed in strength, and suffering great pain even from a very short walk. Oftener I take the pony for an hour or two and ride about the doors; the exercise is humbling enough, for I require to be lifted on horseback by two servants, and one goes with me to take care I do not fall off and break my bones, a catastrophe very like to happen. My proud promenade à pied or à cheval, as it happens, concludes by three o'clock. An hour intervenes for making up my Journal and such light work. At four comes dinner,—a plate of broth or soup, much condemned by the doctors, a bit of plain meat, no liquors stronger than small beer, and so I sit quiet to six o'clock, when Mr. Laidlaw returns, and remains with me till nine or three quarters past, as it happens. Then I have a bowl of porridge and milk, which I eat with the appetite of a child. I forgot to say that after dinner I am allowed half a glass of whisky or gin made into weak grog. I never wish for any more, nor do I in my secret soul long for cigars, though once so fond of them. About six hours per day is good working, if I can keep at it.

March 17.—Little of this day, but that it was so uncommonly windy that I was almost blown off my pony, and was glad to grasp the mane to prevent its actually happening. Rode round by Brigends. I began the third volume of Count Robert of Paris, which has been on the anvil during all these vexatious circumstances of politics and health. But "the blue heaven bends over all." It may be ended in a fortnight if I keep my scheme. But I will take time enough. This would be on Thursday. I would like it much.

March 18.—We get well on. Count Robert is finished so far as the second goes, and some twenty [pages] of the third. Blackwood's Magazine, after long bedaubing me with compliment, has began to bedaub Lockhart for my sake, or perhaps me for Lockhart's sake, with abuse. Lockhart's chief offence seems to have been explaining the humbug of showing up Hogg as a fool and blackguard in what he calls the Noctes.^[436] For me I care wonderfully little either for his flattery or his abuse.^[437]

March 19.—I made a hard working day—almost equal to twenty pages, but there was some reason for it, for Ballantyne writes me that the copy sent will not exceed 265 pages when the end of volume ii. is reached; so 45 more pages must be furnished to run it out to page 329. This is an awful cast back; so the gap is to be made up.

March 20.—I thought I was done with politics, but it is easy getting into the mess, and difficult and sometimes disgraceful to get out. I have a letter from Sheriff Oliver, desiring me to go [to Jedburgh] on Monday (to-morrow) and show countenance by adhering to a set of propositions, being a resolution. Though not well drawn, they are uncompromising enough; so I will not part company. Had a letter, too, from Henry Scott. He still expects to refuse the Bill. I wrote him that would but postpone the evil day, unless they could bring forward a strong Administration, and, what is most essential, a system of finance; otherwise it won't do. Henry has also applied to me for the rejected address. But this I shall decline.

March 22.—Went to-day at nine o'clock to the meeting. A great number present, with a tribune full of Reformers, who showed their sense of propriety by hissing, hooting, and making all sorts of noises; and these unwashed artificers are from henceforth to select our legislators. There was some speaking, but not good. I said something, for I could not sit quiet.^[438]

We did not get home till about nine, having fasted the whole time. James, the blockhead, lost my poor Spice, a favourite terrier. The fool shut her in a stable, and somebody, [he] says, opened the door and let her out. I suspect she is lost for aye, for she was carried to Jedburgh in a post-chaise.

March 23.—The measure carried by a single vote.^[439] In other circumstances one would hope for the interference of the House of Lords, but it is all hab-nab at a venture. The worst is that there is a popular party who want personal power, and are highly unfitted to enjoy it. It has fallen easily, the old Constitution; no bullying Mirabeau to assail, no eloquent Maury to defend. It has been thrown away like a child's broken toy. Well trained, the good sense of the people is much trusted to; we will see what it will do for us.^[440]

The curse of Cromwell on those whose conceit brought us to this pass. Sed transeat. It is vain to mourn what cannot be mended.

March 24.—Frank Grant and his lady came here. Frank will, I believe, and if he attends to his profession, be one of the celebrated men of the age. He is well known to me as the companion of my sons and the partner of my daughters. In youth, that is in extreme youth, he was passionately fond of fox-hunting and other sports, but not of any species of gambling. He had also a strong passion for painting, and made a little collection. As he had sense enough to feel that a younger brother's fortune would not last long under the expenses of a good stud and a rare collection of chef-d'œuvres, he used to avow his intention to spend his patrimony, about £10,000, and then again to make his fortune by the law. The first he soon accomplished. But the law is not a profession so easily acquired, nor did Frank's talents lie in that direction. His passion for painting turned out better. Nature had given him the rare power of judging soundly of painting, and in a remarkable degree the power of imitating it. Connoisseurs approved of his sketches, both in pencil and oils, but not without the sort of criticisms made on these occasions—that they were admirable for an amateur; but it could not be expected that he should submit to the technical drudgery absolutely necessary for a profession, and all that species of criticism which gives way before natural genius and energy of character.

Meantime Frank Grant, who was remarkably handsome, and very much the man of fashion, married a young lady with many possibilities, as Sir Hugh Evans says.^[441] She was eldest sister of Farquharson of Invercauld, chief of that clan; and the young man himself having been almost paralysed by the malaria in Italy, Frank's little boy by this match becomes heir to the estate and chieftainship. In the meantime fate had another chance for him in the matrimonial line. At Melton-Mowbray, during the hunting season, he had become acquainted (even before his first marriage) with a niece of the Duke of Rutland, a beautiful and fashionable young woman, with whom he was now thrown into company once more. It was a natural consequence that they should marry. The lady had not much wealth, but excellent connections in society, to whom Grant's good looks and good breeding made him very acceptable.

March 25.—In the meantime Frank saw the necessity of doing something to keep himself independent, having, I think, too much spirit to become a Stulko,^[442] drinking out the last glass of the bottle, riding the horses which the laird wishes to sell, and drawing sketches to amuse the lady and the children,—besides a prospect on Invercauld elevating him, when realised, to the rank of the laird's father.

March 26.—Grant was above all this, and honourably and manfully resolved to cultivate his taste for painting, and become a professional artist. I am no judge of painting, but I am conscious that Francis Grant possesses, with much taste, a sense of beauty derived from the best source, that of really good society, while in many modern artists, the total want of that species of feeling is so great as to be revolting. His former acquaintances render his immediate entrance into business completely secure, and it will rest with himself to carry on his success. He has, I think, that degree of energy and force of character which will make him keep and enlarge any reputation which he may acquire. He has confidence too in his own powers, always a requisite for a young painter whose aristocratic pretensions must be envied by [his less fortunate brethren].

March 27.—Frank Grant is still with me, and is well pleased—I think very deservedly so—with a cabinet picture of myself, armour, and so forth, together with my two noble staghounds of the greyhound race. I wish Cadell had got it; it is far better than Watson's—though his is well too. The dogs sat charmingly, but the picture took up some time.^[443]

March 28.—We went out a little ride. The weather most tempting, the day beautiful. We rode and walked a little.

March 29.—We had an hour's sitting of the dogs, and a good deal of success. I cannot compose my mind on this public measure. It will not please those whom it is the object to please.

March 30.—Robert Dundas ^[444] and his wife—Miss Durham that was—came to spend a day or two. I was heartily glad to see him, being my earliest and best friend's son. John Swinton came by Blucher, on the part of an anti-Reform meeting in Edinburgh; exhorting me to take up the pen, but I declined and pleaded health, which, God knows, I have a right to urge. I might have urged also the chance of my breaking down, but there would be a cry of this kind which might very well prove real.

March 31.—Swinton returned in the forenoon yesterday after lunch. He took my denial very quietly, and said it would be wrong to press me. I have not shunned anything that came fairly on me, but I do not see the sense of standing forth a champion. It is said that the Duke of Buccleuch has been offered the title of Monmouth if he would cease to oppose. He said there were two objections—they would not give it him if he seriously thought of it, and he would not take it if they did. The Dundases went off to-day. I was glad I had seen them, although visitors rather interrupt work.

APRIL.

April 2.—Mr. Henry Liddell, eldest son of Lord Ravensworth, arrived here. I like him and his brother Tom very much. They are what may be termed fine men. Young Mackenzie of Cromarty came with him, who is a fine lad and sings very beautifully. I knew his father and mother, and was very glad to see him. They had been at Mertoun fishing salmon, with little sport.

April 3.—A letter from the Lord Chief Commissioner, reporting Lord Palmerston and Sir Herbert Taylor's letters in Charles's favour. Wrote a grateful answer, and resolved, that as I have made my opinion public at every place where I could be called on or expected to appear, I will not throw myself forward when I have nothing to say. May the Lord have mercy upon us and incline our hearts to keep this vow!

April 4.—Mr. Liddell and Hay Mackenzie left us this morning. Liddell showed me yesterday a very good poem, worthy of Pope or Churchill, in old-fashioned hexameters, called the [illegible]. He has promised me a copy, for it is still being printed. There are some characters very well drawn. The force of it belies the character of a Dandie, too hastily ascribed to the author. He is accomplished as an artist and musician, and certainly has a fine taste for poetry, though he may never cultivate it.^[445] He promises to bring his lady—who is very clever, but pretty high, they say, in the temper—to spend a day or two with us after leaving Edinburgh.

April 5.—This fifth day of April is the March fair at Selkirk. Almost every one of the family goes there, Mr. Laidlaw among others. I have a hideous paralytic custom of stuttering with my pen, and cannot write without strange blunders; yet I cannot find any failure in my intellect. Being unable to write to purpose with my own hand, this forenoon was a sort of holiday to me. The third volume of Count Robert is fairly begun, but I fear I shall want stuff to fill it, for I would not willingly bombast it with things inappropriate. If I could fix my mind to the task to-day, my temper, notwithstanding my oath, sets strong towards politics, where I would be sure of making a figure, and feel I could carry with me a great part of the middle-class, who wait for a shot between wind and water—half comic, half serious, which is a better argument than most which are going. The regard of my health is what chiefly keeps me in check. The provoking odium I should mind much less; for there will always be as many for as against me, but it would be a foolish thing to take flight to the next world in a political gale of wind. If Cadell gave me the least encouragement I would give way to the temptation. Meantime I am tugging at the chain for very eagerness. I have done enough to incense people against me, without, perhaps, doing so much as I could, would, or should have done.

April 6.—I have written to Alva and Lord Elgin, explaining why I cannot, as they encourage me to do, take upon me the cause of the public, and bell-the-cat with the reformers. I think I have done enough for an individual.

I have more than half dictated the third volume to Mr. Laidlaw; but I feel the subject wants action, and that a little repose will be very necessary. Resolve to-morrow shall be a resting-day. I have not had one this long time. I had a letter from Croker, advising a literary adventure—the personal history of Charles Edward.^[446] I think it will do. Rode to Melrose and brought home the letters from the post-office.

April 8,—I took leave of poor Major John Scott,^[447] who, being afflicted with a distressing asthma, has resolved upon selling his house in Ravenswood, which he had dressed up with much neatness, and going abroad to Jamaica. Without having been intimate friends, we were always affectionate relations, and now we part, probably never to meet in this world. He has a good deal of the character said to belong to the family. Our parting with mutual feeling may be easily supposed.

April 9.—This being Saturday, I expect the bibliopolist and typographer about two o'clock, I suppose, when I shall have much to journalise. Failures among the trade are alarming, yet not if we act with prudence. Nous verrons.

Mr. Cadell and J. Ballantyne, with the son of the latter. Their courage is much stouter than I apprehended. Cadell says he has lost £1000 by bad debts, which is less than he expected, by bad times coming on at this time. We have been obliged to publish the less popular part of the Waverley Novels. At present I incline to draw a period after 48 volumes, and so close the publication. About nine or ten volumes will then conclude our Magnum Opus, so called, and Mr. Cadell thinks we shall then begin the Poetical Works, in twelve volumes, with illustrations by Turner, which he expects to rise as far as 12,000. The size is to be that of the Waverley Novels.

Constable's creditors, telling that the manuscripts of the Waverley Novels had been adjudged to him, and offering them to me, or rather asking my advice about the disposal of them. Answered that I considered myself as swindled out of my property, and therefore will give no consent to any sale of the pillage.^[448] Cadell says he is determined to get the MSS. from Cowan. I told him I would give him the rest of the MSS., which are in my own hand, for Mr. Cadell has been very friendly to me in not suffering me to want money in difficult times. We are not pushed by our creditors, so can take our own time; and as our plans prosper, we can pay off debt. About two o'clock enter two gentlemen in an open carriage, both from Makerstoun, and both Captains in the Navy. Captain Blair, a son of the member for Ayrshire, my old friend the Laird of Blair. Just as they retreat, Mr. Pontey is announced. I was glad to see this great forester. He is a little man, and gets along with an air of talent, something like Gifford, the famous editor of the Quarterly. As in his case mental acuteness gave animation to that species of countenance which attends personal deformity. The whole of his face was bizarre and odd, yet singularly impressive. We walked round, I with great pain, by the Hooded Corbies' seat, and this great Lord of the woodland gave the plantation great approbation. He seems rather systematic in pruning, yet he is in a great measure right. He is tolerably obstinate in his opinions. He dined, leaving me flattered with his applause, and pleased with having seen him.

April 11.—This day I went, with Anne and Miss Jane Erskine,^[449] to see the laying of the stones of foundation of two bridges in my neighbourhood over Tweed and the Ettrick. There was a great many people assembled. The day was beautiful, the scene romantic, and the people in good spirits and good-humour. Mr. Paterson ^[450] of Galashiels made a most excellent prayer; Mr. Smith ^[451] gave a proper repast to the workmen, and we subscribed sovereigns apiece to provide for any casualty. I laid the foundation-stone of the bridge over Tweed, and Mr. C.B. Scott ^[452] of Woll that of Ettrick. The general spirit of good-humour made the scene, though without parade, extremely interesting.

April 12.—We breakfasted with the Fergusons, after which Anne and Miss Erskine walked up the Rhymer's Glen. I could as easily have made a pilgrimage to Rome with pease in my shoes unboiled. I drove home, and began to work about ten o'clock. At one o'clock I rode, and sent off what I had finished. Mr. Laidlaw dined with me. In the afternoon we wrote five or six pages more. I am, I fear, sinking a little, from having too much space to fill, and a want of the usual inspiration which makes me, like the chariot wheels of Pharaoh in the sands of the Red Sea, drive heavily. It is the less matter if this prove, as I suspect, the last of this fruitful family.

April 13.—Corrected a proof in the morning. At ten o'clock began where I had left off at my romance. Mr. Laidlaw agrees as to the portion of what we are presently busy with. Laidlaw begins to smite the rock for not giving forth the water in quantity sufficient. I remarked to him that this would not profit much. Doing, perhaps, twelve pages a day will easily finish us, and if it prove dull, why, dull it must be. I shall, perhaps, have half a dozen to make up this night. I have against me the disadvantage of being called the Just, and every one of course is willing to worry me. But they have been long at it, and even those works which have been worst received at their appearance now keep their ground fairly enough. So we'll try our old luck another voyage.

It is a close, thick rain, and I cannot ride, and I am too dead lame to walk in the house. So, feeling really exhausted, I will try to sleep a little.

My nap was a very short one, and was agreeably replaced by Basil Hall's Fragments of Voyages. Everything about the inside of a vessel is interesting, and my friend has the great sense to know this is the case. I remember when my eldest brother took the humour of going to sea, James Watson ^[453] used to be invited to George Square to tell him such tales of hardships as might disgust him with the service. Such were my poor mother's instructions. But Captain Watson could not render a sea life disgusting to the young midshipman or to his brother, who looked on and listened. The account of assistance given to the Spaniards at Cape Finisterre, and the absurd behaviour of the Junta, are highly interesting—a more inefficient, yet a more resolved class of men than the Spaniards were never conceived.

April 14.—Advised by Mr. Cadell that he has agreed with Mr. Turner, the first draughtsman of the period, to furnish to the poetical works two decorations to each of the proposed twelve volumes, to wit, a frontispiece and vignette to each, at the rate of £25 for each, which is cheap enough considering these are the finest specimens of art going. The difficulty is to make him come here to take drawings. I have written to the man of art, inviting him to my house, though, if I remember, he is not very agreeable, and offered to transport him to the places where he is to exercise his pencil. His method is to take various drawings of remarkable places and towns and stick them all together. He can therefore derive his subjects from good accurate drawings, so with Skene's assistance we can equip him. We can put him at home on all the subjects. Lord Meadowbank and his son, Skene and his son, Colonel Russell and his sister, dined with us.^[454]

April 15.—Lord Meadowbank, etc., went to Newark with me, and returned to dine with the foregoing. Charming day.

April 16.—Lord Meadowbank went to the circuit and our party to their various homes. By the bye, John Pringle and his brother of Haining dined with us yesterday. Skene walks with me and undertakes readily to supply Turner with subjects. Weather enchanting. About 100 leaves will now complete Robert of Paris. Query, will it answer? Not knowing, can't say. I think it will.

Sunday 16th [17th] April to Sunday 24th of the same month unpleasantly occupied by ill [health], and its consequences, a distinct shock of paralysis affecting both my nerves and spine, though beginning only on Monday with a very bad cold. Dr. [Abercrombie] was brought out by the friendly care of Cadell, but young Clarkson had already done the needful—that is, had bled and blistered severely, and placed me on a very restricted diet. Whether these precautions have been taken in time I cannot tell. I think they have, though severe in themselves, beat the disease. But I am alike prepared,

I only know that to live as I am just now is a gift little worth having. I think I will be in the Secret next week unless I recruit greatly.

April 27.—They have cut me off from animal food and fermented liquor of every kind, and would press upon me such trash as panada and the like, which affect my stomach.

This I will none of, but quietly wait till my ordinary diet is permitted, and thank God I can fast with any one. I walked out and found the day delightful; the woods are looking charming, just bursting forth to the tune of the birds. I have been whistling on my wits like so many chickens, and cannot miss any of them. I feel, on the whole, better than I have yet done. I believe I have fined and recovered, and so may be thankful.

April 28 and 29.—Walter made his appearance, well and stout, and completely recovered of his stomach complaints by abstinence. He has youth on his side, and I in age must submit to be a Lazarus. The medical men persist in recommending a seton. I am no friend to these risky remedies, and will be sure of the necessity before I yield consent. The dying like an Indian under torture is no joke, and, as Commodore Trunnion says, I feel heart-whole as a biscuit. My mind turns to politics. I feel better just now, and so I am. I will wait till Lockhart comes, but that may be too late.

MAY.

April 30 and May 1.—To meet Sandy Pringle to settle the day of election on Monday. Go on with Count Robert half-a-dozen leaves per day. I am not much pleased with my handiwork. The Chancery money seems like to be paid. This will relieve me of poor Charles, who is at present my chief burthen. The task of pumping my brains becomes inevitably harder when "both chain-pumps are choked below;"^[456] and though this may not be the case literally, yet the apprehension is wellnigh as bad.

May 2.—The day passed as usual in dictating (too little) and riding a good deal. I must get finished with Count Robert, who is progressing, as the Transatlantics say, at a very slow pace indeed. By the bye, I have a letter from Nathan T. Rossiter, Williamstown, New York City, offering me a collection of poems by Byron, which are said to have been found in Italy some years since by a friend of Mr. Rossiter. I don't see I can at all be entitled to these, so shall write to decline them. If Mr. Rossiter chooses to publish them in Italy or America he may, but, published here, they must be the property of Lord Byron's executors.

May 3.—Sophia arrives—with all the children looking well and beautiful, except poor Johnnie, who looks very pale. But it is no wonder, poor thing!

May 4.—I have a letter from Lockhart, promising to be down by next Wednesday, that is, to-day. I will consult him about Byron's Exec., and as to these poems said to be his Lordship's. They are very probably first copies thrown aside, or may not be genuine at all. I will be glad to see Lockhart. My pronunciation is a good deal improved. My time glides away ill employed, but I am afraid of the palsy. I should not like to be pinned to my chair. But I believe even that kind of life is more endurable than we could suppose. Your wishes are limited to your little circle—yet the idea is terrible to a man who has been active. My own circle in bodily matters is daily narrowing; not so in intellectual matters, but I am perhaps a bad judge. The plough is coming to the end of the furrow, so it is likely I shall not reach the common goal of mortal life by a few years. I am now in my sixtieth year only, and

May 5.—A fleece of letters, which must be answered, I suppose—all from persons, my zealous admirers, of course, and expecting a degree of generosity, which will put to rights all their maladies, physical and mental; and expecting that I can put to rights whatever losses have been their lot, raise them to a desirable rank, and [stand] their protector and patron. I must, they take it for granted, be astonished at having an address from a stranger; on the contrary, I would be astonished if any of these extravagant epistles were from any one who had the least title to enter into correspondence with me. I have all the plague of answering these teasing people.

Mr. Burn, the architect, came in, struck by the appearance of my house from the road. He approved my architecture greatly. He tells me the edifice for Jeanie Deans—that is, her prototype—is nigh finished, so I must get the inscription ready.^[458] Mr. Burn came to meet with Pringle of Haining; but, alas! it is two nights since this poor young man, driving in from his own lake, where he had been fishing, an ill-broken horse ran away with him, and, at his own stable-door, overturned the vehicle and fractured poor Pringle's skull; he died yesterday morning. A sad business; so young a man, the proprietor of a good estate, and a well-disposed youth. His politics were, I think, mistaken, being the reverse of his father's; but that is nothing at such a time. Burn went on to Richardson's place of Kirklands, where he is to meet the proprietor, whom I too would wish to see, but I can hardly make it out. Here is a world of arrangements. I think we will soon hit upon something. My son Walter takes leave of me to-day to return to Sheffield. At his entreaty I have agreed to put in a seton, which they seem all to recommend. My own opinion is, this addition to my tortures will do me no good; but I cannot hold out against my son. So, when the present blister is well over, let them try their seton as they call it.

May 6 and 7.—Here is a precious job. I have a formal remonstrance from these critical persons, Ballantyne and Cadell, against the last volume of Count Robert, which is within a sheet of being finished. I suspect their opinion will be found to coincide with that of the public; at least it is not very different from my own. The blow is a stunning one I suppose, for I scarcely feel it. It is singular, but it comes with as little surprise as if I had a remedy ready. Yet God knows, I am at sea in the dark, and the vessel leaky, I think, into the bargain. I cannot conceive that I should have tied a knot with my tongue which my teeth cannot untie. We will see. I am determined to write a political pamphlet coûte que coûte; ay,—should it cost me my life.

I will right and left at these unlucky proof-sheets, and alter at least what I cannot mend.

May 8.—I have suffered terribly, that is the truth, rather in body than in mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep without waking. But I will fight it out if I can. It would argue too great an attachment of consequence to my literary labours to sink under. Did I know how to begin, I would begin this very day, although I knew I should sink at the end. After all, this is but fear and faintness of heart, though of another kind from that which trembleth at a loaded pistol. My bodily strength is terribly gone; perhaps my mental too?

May 9.—The weather uncommonly beautiful and I am very eager to get on thinning woods while the peeling season lasts. We made about £200 off wood last season, and this is a sum worth looking at.

May 10.—Some repairs on the mill-dam still keep the people employed, and we cannot get to the thinning. Yet I have been urging them for a month. It's a great fault of Scottish servants that they cannot be taught to time their turns.

May 11.—By old practice I should be going into town to-day, the Court sitting to-morrow. Am I happier that I am free from this charge? Perhaps I am; that is certain, time begins to make my literary labour more precious than usual. Very weak, scarce able to crawl about without the pony—lifted on and off—and unable to walk half a mile save with great pain.

May 12.—Resolved to lay by Robert of Paris, and take it up when I can work. Thinking on it really makes my head swim, and that is not safe. Miss Ferrier comes out to us. This gifted personage, besides having great talents, has conversation the least exigeante of any author, female at least, whom I have ever seen among the long list I have encountered,—simple, full of humour, and exceedingly ready at repartee; and all this without the least affectation of the blue stocking.^[459]

May 13.—Mr., or more properly Dr., Macintosh Mackay comes out to see me, a simple learned man, and a Highlander who weighs his own nation justly—a modest and estimable person.

I was beat up at midnight to sign a warrant against some delinquents. I afterwards heard that the officers were pursued by a mob from Galashiels, with purpose of deforcing them as far as St. Boswell's Green, but the men were lodged in Jedburgh Castle.

Reports of mobs at all the elections, which, I fear, will prove too true. They have much to answer for who in gaiety of heart have brought a peaceful and virtuous population to such a pass.

May 14.—Rode with Lockhart and Mr. Mackay through the plantations, and spent a pleasanter day than of late months. Story of a haunted glen in Laggan:—A chieftain's daughter or cousin loved a man of low degree. Her kindred discovered the intrigue and punished the lover's presumption by binding the unhappy man, and laying him naked in one of the large ants' nests common in a Highland forest. He died in agony of course, and his mistress became distracted, roamed wildly in the glen till she died, and her phantom, finding no repose, haunted it after her death to such a degree that the people shunned the road by day as well as night. Mrs. Grant of Laggan tells the story, with the addition, that her husband, then minister of Laggan, fixed a religious meeting in the place, and, by the exercise of public worship there, overcame the popular terror of the Red Woman. Dr. Mackay seems to think that she was rather banished by a branch of the Parliamentary road running up the glen than by the prayers of his predecessor. Dr. Mackay, it being Sunday, favoured us with an excellent discourse on the Socinian controversy, which I wish my friend Mr. Laidlaw had heard.

May 15.—Dr. M. left us early this morning; and I rode and studied as usual, working at the Tales of My Grandfather. Our good and learned Doctor wishes to go down the Tweed to Berwick. It is a laudable curiosity, and I hope will be agreeably satisfied.

May 16 and 17.—I wrote and rode as usual, and had the pleasure of Miss Ferrier's company in my family hours, which was a great satisfaction; she has certainly less affectation than any female I have known that has stood so high—Joanna Baillie hardly excepted. By the way, she [Mrs. Baillie] has entered on the Socinian controversy, for which I am very sorry; she has published a number of texts on which she conceives the controversy to rest, but it escapes her that she can only quote them through a translation. I am sorry this gifted woman is hardly doing herself justice, and doing what is not required at her hands. Mr. Laidlaw of course thinks it the finest thing in the world.^[460]

May 18.—Went to Jedburgh to the election, greatly against the wishes of my daughters. The mob were exceedingly vociferous and brutish, as they usually are now-a-days. But the Sheriff had two troops of dragoons at Ancrum Bridge, and all went off quietly. The populace gathered in formidable numbers—a thousand from Hawick alone; they were sad blackguards, and the day passed with much clamour and no mischief. Henry Scott was re-elected—for the last time, I suppose. Troja fuit.

I left the burgh in the midst of abuse and the gentle hint of "Burke Sir Walter." Much obliged to the brave lads of Jeddart. Upwards of forty freeholders voted for Henry Scott, and only fourteen for the puppy that opposed him. Even of this party he gained far the greater number by the very awkward coalition with Sir William Scott of Ancrum. I came home at seven at night.

May 20.—This is the Selkirk election, which I supposed would be as tumultuous as the Jedburgh one, but the soutars of Selkirk had got a new light, and saw in the proposed Reform Bill nothing but a mode of disfranchising their ancient burgh. Although the crowd was great, yet there was a sufficient body of special constables, hearty in their useful office, and the election passed as quietly as I ever witnessed one. I came home before dinner, very quiet. I am afraid there is something serious in Galashiels; Jeffrey is fairly funked about it, and has written letters to the authorities of Roxburghshire and Selkirkshire to caution us against making the precognitions public, which looks ill. Yet I think he would have made arrests when the soldiers were in the country. The time at which I settled at Abbotsford, Whitsunday 1811, I broke up a conspiracy of the weavers. It will look like sympathising with any renewal if another takes place just now. Incendiary letters have been sent, and the householders are in a general state of alarm. The men at Jedburgh Castle are said to be disposed to make a clean breast; if so, we shall soon know more of the matter. Lord William Graham has been nearly murdered at Dumbarton. Why should he not have brought down 50 or 100 lads with the kilts, each with a good kent ^[461] in his hand fit to call the soul out of the body of these weavers? They would have kept order, I warrant you.

May 21.—Little more than my usual work and my usual exercise. I rode out through the plantations and saw the woodmen getting down what was to be felled. It seems there will be as much for sale as last year of bark: I think about £40 worth. A very nice additional pond to the sawmill has been executed. As for my Tales, they go on well, and are amusing to myself at least. The History of France is very entertaining.

May 22.—I have a letter from my friend John Thomson of Duddingston. I had transmitted him an order for the Duke of Buccleuch for his best picture, at his best price, leaving the choice of the subject and everything else to himself. He expresses the wish to do, at an ordinary price, a picture of common size. The declining to put himself forward will, I fear, be thought like shrinking from his own reputation, which nobody has less need to do. The Duke may wish a large picture for a large price for furnishing a large apartment, and the artist should not shrink from it. I have written him my opinion. The feeling is no doubt an amiable, though a false one. He is modest in proportion to his talents. But what brother of the finer arts ever approached [excellence] so as to please himself?

May 23, 24, and 25.—Worked and exercised regularly. I do not feel that I care twopence about the change of diet as to taste, but I feel my strength much decayed. On horseback my spine feels remarkably sore, and I am tired with a few miles' ride. We expect Walter coming down for the Fife election.

OCTOBER.

I have been very ill, and if not quite unable to write, I have been unfit to do so. I have wrought, however, at two Waverley things, but not well, and, what is worse, past mending. A total prostration of bodily strength is my chief complaint. I cannot walk half a mile. There is, besides, some mental confusion, with the extent of which I am not perhaps fully acquainted. I am perhaps setting. I am myself inclined to think so, and, like a day that has been admired as a fine one, the light of it sets down amid mists and storms. I neither regret nor fear the approach of death if it is coming. I would compound for a little pain instead of this heartless muddiness of mind which renders me incapable of anything rational. The expense of my journey will be something considerable, which I can provide against by borrowing £500 from Mr. Gibson. To Mr. Cadell I owe already, with the cancels on these apoplectic books, about £200, and must run it up to £500 more at least; yet this heavy burthen would be easily borne if I were to be the Walter Scott I once was; but the change is great. This would be nothing, providing that I could count on these two books having a sale equal to their predecessors; but as they do not deserve the same countenance, they will not and cannot have such a share of favour, and I have only to hope that they will not involve the Waverley, which are now selling 30,000 volumes a month, in their displeasure. Something of a Journal and the Reliquiae Trotcosienses will probably be moving articles, and I have in short no fears in pecuniary matters. The ruin which I fear involves that of my King and country. Well says Colin Mackenzie:—

I fear that the great part of the memorialists are bartering away the dignity of their rank by seeking to advance themselves by a job, which is a melancholy sight. The ties between democrat and aristocrat are sullen discontent with each other. The former are regarded as a house-dog which has manifested incipient signs of canine madness, and is not to be trusted. Walter came down to-day to join our party.

[September 20?]—Yesterday, Wordsworth, his son [nephew ^[466]] and daughter, came to see us, and we went up to Yarrow. The eldest son of Lord Ravensworth also came to see us, with his accomplished lady. We had a pleasant party, and to-day were left by the Liddells, manent the three Wordsworths, cum cæteris, a German or Hungarian Count Erdödy, or some such name.

We arrived in London [September 28,] after a long and painful journey, the weakness of my limbs palpably increasing, and the physic prescribed making me weaker every day. Lockhart, poor fellow, is as attentive as possible, and I have, thank God, no pain whatever; could the end be as easy it would be too happy. I fancy the instances of Euthanasia are not very uncommon. Instances there certainly are among the learned and the unlearned—Dr.

Black, Tom Purdie. I should wish, if it please God, to sleep off in such a quiet way; but we must take what Fate sends. I have not warm hopes of being myself again.

Wordsworth and his daughter, a fine girl, were with us on the last day. I tried to write in her diary, and made an ill-favoured botch—no help for it. "Stitches will wear, and ill ones will out," as the tailor says.^[467]

[October 8, London.]—The King has located me on board the Barham, with my suite, consisting of my eldest son, youngest daughter, and perhaps my daughter-in-law, which, with poor Charles, will make a goodly tail. I fancy the head of this tail cuts a poor figure, scarce able to stir about.

The town is in a foam with politics. The report is that the Lords will throw out the Bill, and now, morning of 8th October, I learn it is quoited downstairs like a shovel-board shilling, with a plague to it, as the most uncalled-for attack upon a free constitution, under which men lived happily, which ever was ventured in my day. Well, it would have been pleasing to have had some share in so great a victory, yet even now I am glad I have been quiet. I believe I should only have made a bad figure. Well, I will have time enough to think of all this.

October 9.—The report to-day is that the Chancellor ^[468] will unite with the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel to bring in a Bill of his own concocting, modified to the taste of the other two, with which some think they will be satisfied. This is not very unlikely, for Lord Brougham has been displeased with not having been admitted to Lord John Russell's task of bill-drawing. He is a man of unbounded ambition, as well as unbounded talent and [uncertain] temper. There have been hosts of people here, particularly the Duke of Buccleuch, to ask me to the christening of his son and heir, when the King stands godfather. I am asked as an ally and friend of the family, which makes the compliment greater. Singular that I should have stood godfather to this Duke himself, representing some great man.

October 10.—Yesterday we dined alone, so I had an opportunity of speaking seriously to John; but I fear procrastination. It is the cry of Friar Bacon's Brazen head, time is—time was; but the time may soon come—time shall be no more. The Whigs are not very bold, not much above a hundred met to support Lord Grey to the last. Their resolutions are moderate, probably because they could not have carried stronger. I went to breakfast at Sir Robert Henry Inglis', and coming home about twelve found the mob rising in the Regent's Park, and roaring for Reform as rationally as a party of Angusshire cattle would have done.

Sophia seemed to act as the jolly host in the play. "These are my windows," and, shutting the shutters, "let them batter—I care not serving the good Duke of Norfolk." After a time they passed out of our sight, hurrying doubtless to seek a more active scene of reformation. As the night closed, the citizens who had hitherto contented themselves with shouting, became more active, and when it grew dark set forth to make work for the glaziers.

October 11, Tuesday.—We set out in the morning to breakfast with Lady Gifford. We passed several glorious specimens of the last night's feats of the reformers. The Duke of Newcastle's and Lord Dudley's houses were sufficiently broken. The maidens, however, had resisted, and from the top of the house with coals, which had greatly embarrassed the assembled mob. Surely if the people are determined on using a right so questionable, and the Government resolved to consider it as too sacred to be resisted, some modes of resistance might be resorted to of a character more ludicrous than firearms,—coals, for example, scalding oil, boiling water, or some other mode of defence against a sudden attack. We breakfasted with a very pleasant party at Lady Gifford's. I was particularly happy to meet Lord Sidmouth; at seventy-five, he tells me, as much in health and spirits as at sixty. I also met Captain Basil Hall, to whom I owe so much for promoting my retreat in so easy a manner. I found my appointment to the Barham had been pointed out by Captain Henry Duncan, R.N., as being a measure which would be particularly agreeable to the officers of the service. This is too high a compliment. In returning I called to see the repairs at Lambeth, which are proceeding under the able direction of Blore, who met me there. They are in the best Gothic taste, and executed at the expense of a large sum, to be secured by way of mortgage, payable in fifty years; each incumbent within the time paying a proportion of about £4000 a year. I was pleased to see this splendour of church architecture returning again.

Lord Mahon, a very amiable as well as a clever young man, comes to dinner with Mr. Croker; Lady Louisa Stuart in the afternoon, or, more properly, at night.

October 12.—Misty morning—looks like a yellow fog, which is the curse of London. I would hardly take my share of it for a share of its wealth and its curiosity—a vile double-distilled fog of the most intolerable kind. Children scarce stirring yet, but baby and the Macaw beginning their Macaw notes. Among other feats of the mob on Monday, a gentleman who saw the onslaught told me two men got on Lord Londonderry's carriage and struck him; the chief constable came to the rescue and belaboured the rascals, who ran and roared. I should have liked to have seen the onslaught—Dry beating, and plenty of it, is a great operator of a reform among these gentry. At the same time Lord Londonderry is a brain-sick man, very unlike his brother. He horsewhipped a sentinel under arms at Vienna for obeying his consigne, which was madness. On the other side all seems to be prepared. Heavy bodies of the police are stationed in all the squares and places supporting each other regularly. The men themselves say that their numbers amount to 3000, and that they are supported by troops in still greater numbers, so that the Conservative force is sufficiently strong. Four o'clock—a letter from the Duke saying the party is put off by command of the King, and probably the day will be put off until the Duke's return from Scotland, so our hopes of seeing the fine ceremony are all ended.

October 13.—Nocte pluit tota—an excellent recipe for a mob, so they have been quiet accordingly, as we are informed. Two or three other wet nights would do much to weary them out with inactivity. Milman, whom I remember a fine gentlemanlike young man, dined here yesterday. He says the fires have never ceased in his country, but that the oppressions and sufferings occasioned by the poor's rates are very great, and there is no persuading the English farmer that an amended system is comfortable both for rich and poor. The plan of ministers is to keep their places maugre Peers and Commons both, while they have the countenance of the crown; but if a Prince shelters, by authority of the prerogative, ministers against the will of the other authority of the state, does he not quit the defence which supposes he can do no wrong? This doctrine would make a curious change of parties. Will they attempt to legitimize the Fitz Clarences? God forbid! Yet it may end in that,—it would be Paris all over. The family is said to have popular qualities. Then what would be the remedy? Marry! seize on the person of the Princess Victoria, carrying her north and setting up the banner of England with the Duke of W. as dictator! Well, I am too old to fight, and therefore should keep the windy side of the law; besides, I shall be buried before times come to a decision. In the meantime the King dare not go to stand godfather to the son of one of his most powerful peers, a party of his own making, lest his loving subjects pull the house about the ears of his noble host and the company invited to meet him. Their loyalty has a pleasant way of displaying itself. I will go to Westminster after breakfast and see what people are saying, and whether the Barham is likely to sail, or whether its course is not altered to the coast of the Low Countries instead of the Mediterranean.

October 14.—Tried to walk to Lady Louisa Stuart's, but took a little vertigo and came back. Much disturbed by a letter from Walter. He is like to be sent on an obnoxious service with very inadequate force, little prospect of thanks if he does his duty, and much of blame if he is unable to accomplish it. I have little doubt he will ware his mother's calf-skin on them.

The manufacturing districts are in great danger. London seems pretty secure. Sent off the revise of introduction to Mr. Cadell.^[469]

October 16.—A letter from Walter with better news. He has been at hard-heads with the rogues and come off with advantage; in short, practised with success the art of drawing two souls out of one weaver.^[470] All seems quiet now, and I suppose the Major will get his leave as proposed. Two ladies—[one] Byron's Mary Chaworth—have been frightened to death while the mob tore the dying creatures from their beds and proposed to throw them into the flames, drank the wine, destroyed the furniture, and committed other excesses of a jacquerie.^[471] They have been put down, however, by a strong force of yeomanry and regulars. Walter says the soldiers fired over the people's heads, whereas if they had levelled low, the bullets must have told more among the multitude. I cannot approve of this, for in such cases severity is ultimate mercy.^[472] However, if they have made a sufficient impression to be striking—why, enough is as good as a feast.

There is a strange story about town of ghost-seeing vouched by Lord Prudhoe, a near relation of the Duke of Northumberland, and whom I know as an honourable man. A colonel described as a cool-headed sensible man of worth and honour, Palgrave, who dined with us yesterday, told us twice over the story as vouched by Lord Prudhoe, and Lockhart gave us Colonel Felix's edition, which coincided exactly. I will endeavour to extract the essence of both. While at Grand Cairo they were attracted by the report of a physician who could do the most singular magical feats, and was in the habit not only of relieving the living, but calling up the dead. This sage was the member of a tribe in the interior part of Africa. They were some time (two years) in finding him out, for he by no means pressed himself on the curious, nor did he on the other hand avoid them; but when he came to Grand Cairo readily agreed to gratify them by a sight of his wonders. The scenes exhibited were not visible to the operator himself, nor to the person for whose satisfaction they were called up, but, as in the case of Dr. Dee and other adepts, by means of a viewer, an ignorant Nubian boy, whom, to prevent imposition, the English gentlemen selected for the purpose, and, as they thought, without any risk of imposture by confederacy betwixt him and the physician. The process was as follows:—A black square was drawn in the palm of the boy's hand, or rather a kind of pentacle with an Arabic character inscribed at each angle. The figures evoked were seen through this space as if the substance of the hand had been removed. Magic rites, and particularly perfumes, were liberally resorted to. After some fumigation the magician declared that they could not proceed until the seven flags should become visible. The boy declared he saw nothing, then said he saw a flag, then two; often hesitated at the number for a certain time, and on several occasions the spell did not work and the operation went no further, but in general the boy saw the seven flags through the aperture in his hand. The magician then said they must call the Sultan, and the boy said he saw a splendid tent fixed, surrounded by immense hosts, Eblis no doubt, and his angels. The person evoked was then named, and appeared accordingly. The only indispensable requisite was that he was named speedily, for the Sultan did not like to be kept waiting. Accordingly, William Shakespeare being named, the boy declared that he saw a Frank in a dress which he described as that of the reign of Elizabeth or her successor, having a singular countenance, a high forehead, and a very little beard. Another time a brother of the Colonel was named. The boy said he saw a Frank in his uniform dress and a black groom behind him leading a superb horse. The dress was a red jacket and white pantaloons; and the principal figure turning round, the boy announced that he wanted his arm, as was the case with Felix's brother. The ceremony was repeated fourteen times; successfully in twelve instances, and in two it failed from non-appearance of the seven banners in the first instance. The apparent frankness of the operator was not the least surprising part of the affair. He made no mystery, said he possessed this power by inheritance, as a family gift; yet that he could teach it, and was willing to do so, for no enormous sum—nay, one which seemed very moderate. I think two gentlemen embraced the offer. One of them is dead and the other still abroad. The sage also took a price for the exhibition of his skill, but it was a moderate one, being regulated by the extent of the perfumes consumed in the ceremony.

There remains much more to ask I understood the witnesses do not like to bother about, which is very natural. One would like to know a little more of the Sultan, of the care taken to secure the fidelity of the boy who was the viewer and on whom so much depended; whether another sage practising the same feat, as it was said to be hereditary, was ever known to practise in the city. The truth of a story irreconcilable with the common course of nature must depend on cross-examination. If we should find, while at Malta, that we had an opportunity of expiscating this matter, though at the expense of a voyage to Alexandria, it would hardly deter me.^[473] The girls go to the Chapel Royal this morning at St. James's. A visit from the Honourable John Forbes, son of my old and early friend Lord Forbes, who is our fellow-passenger. The ship expects presently to go to sea. I was very glad to see this young officer and to hear his news. Drummond and I have been Mends from our infancy.

October 17.—The morning beautiful. To-day I go to look after the transcripts in the Museum and have a card to see a set of chessmen ^[474] thrown up by the sea on the coast of Scotland, which were offered to sale for £100. The King, Queen, Knights, etc., were in the costume of the 14th century, the substance ivory or rather the tusk of the morse, somewhat injured by the salt water in which they had been immersed for some time.

Sir John Malcolm told us a story about Garrick and his wife. The lady admired her husband greatly, but blamed him for a taste for low life, and insisted that he loved better to play Scrub to a low-lifed audience than one of his superior characters before an audience of taste. On one particular occasion she was in her box in the theatre. Richard III. was the performance, and Garrick's acting, especially in the night scene, drew down universal applause. After the play was over Mrs. G. proposed going home, which Garrick declined, alleging he had some business in the green-room, which must detain him. In short, the lady was obliged to acquiesce, and wait the beginning of a new entertainment, in which was introduced a farmer giving his neighbours an account of the wonders seen on a visit to London. This character was received with such peals of applause that Mrs. Garrick began to think it rivalled those which had been so lately lavished on Richard the Third. At last she observed her little spaniel dog was making efforts to get towards the balcony which separated him from the facetious farmer. Then she became aware of the truth. "How strange," she said, "that a dog should know his master, and a woman, in the same circumstances, should not recognise her husband!"

October 18.—Sophia had a small but lively party last night, as indeed she has had every night since we were here—Ladies—[Lady Stafford,] Lady Louisa Stuart, Lady Montagu, Miss Montagu, Lady [Davy], [Mrs.] Macleod, and two or three others; Gentlemen—Lord Montagu, Macleod, Lord Dudley, Rogers [Mackintosh]. A good deal of singing. If Sophia keeps to early hours she may beat London for small parties as poor Miss White did, and without much expense. A little address is all that is necessary. Sir John ^[475] insists on my meeting this Rammohun Roy;^[476] I am no believer in his wandering knight, so far. The time is gone of sages who travelled to collect wisdom as well as heroes to reap honour. Men think and fight for money. I won't see the man if I can help it. Flatterers are difficult enough to keep at a distance though they be no renegades. I hate a fellow who begins with throwing away his own religion, and then affects a prodigious respect for another.

October 19.—Captain H. Duncan called with Captain Pigot, a smart-looking gentlemanlike man, and announces his purpose of sailing on Monday. I have made my preparations for being on board on Sunday, which is the day appointed. Captain Duncan told me jocularly never to take a naval captain's word on shore, and quoted Sir William Scott, who used to say, waggishly, that there was nothing so accommodating as a naval captain on shore; but when on board he became a peremptory lion. Henry Duncan has behaved very kindly, and says he only discharges the wishes of his service in making me as easy as possible, which is very handsome. No danger of feud, except about politics, which would be impolite on my part, and though it bars out one great subject of discourse, it leaves enough besides. That I might have nothing doubtful, Walter arrives with his wife, ready to sail, so what little remains must be done without loss of time. This is our last morning, so I have money to draw for and pay away. To see our dear Lord Montagu too. The Duchess came yesterday. I suppose £50 will clear me, with some balance for Gibraltar.

I leave this country uncertain if it has got a total pardon or only a reprieve. I won't think of it, as I can do no good. It seems to be in one of those crises by which Providence reduces nations to their original elements.^[477] If I had my health, I should take no worldly fee, not to be in the bustle; but I am as weak as water, and I shall be glad when I have put the Mediterranean between the island and me.

October 21 and 22.—Spent in taking of farewell and adieus, which had been put off till now. A melancholy ceremonial, with some a useless one; yet there are friends whom it sincerely touches one to part with. It is the cement of life giving way in a moment. Another unpleasant circumstance is—one is called upon to recollect those whom death or estrangement has severed, after starting merrily together in the voyage of life.

October 23.—Portsmouth; arrived here in the evening. Found the Barham will not sail till 26th October, that is Wednesday next. The girls break loose, mad with the craze of seeing sights, and run the risk of our losing some of our things and deranging the naval officers, who offer their services with their natural gallantry. Captain Pigot came to breakfast, with several other officials. The girls contrived to secure a sight of the Block manufactory, together with that of the Biscuit, also invented by Brunel. I think that I have seen the first of these wonderful [sights] in 1816, or about that time.^[478] Sir Thomas Foley gives an entertainment to the Admiralty, and sends to invite [me]; but I pleaded health, and remained at home. Neither will I go out sight-seeing, which madness seems to have seized my womankind. This ancient town is one of the few in England which is fortified, and which gives it a peculiar appearance. It is much surrounded with heaths or thin poor muirs covered with heather, very barren, yet capable of being converted into rich arable and pasturage. I would [not] desire a better estate than to have 2000 acres which would be worth 40 shillings an acre.

October 24.—My womankind are gone out with Walter and Captain Hall. I wish they would be moderate in their demands on people's complaisance. They little know how inconvenient are such seizures. A sailor is in particular a bad refuser, and before he can turn three times round, he is bound with a triple knot to all kinds of [engagements]. The wind is west, that is to say contrary, so our sailing on the day after to-morrow is highly doubtful.

October 25.—A gloomy October day, the wind inflexibly constant in the west, which is fatal. Sir James Graham proposes to wait upon us after breakfast. A trouble occurs about my taking an oath before a master-extraordinary in Chancery; but such cannot easily be found, as they reside in chambers in town, and rusticate after business, so they are difficult to catch as an eel. At ten my children set off to the dockyard, which is a most prodigious effort of machinery, and they are promised the sight of an anchor in the act of being forged, a most cyclopean sight. Walter is to call upon the solicitor and appoint him to be with [me] by twelve.

About the reign of Henry VIII. the French took the pile, as it was called, of——,^[479] but were beat off. About the end of the American war, an individual named John Aitken, or John the Painter, undertook to set the dockyard on fire, and in some degree accomplished his purpose. He had no accomplice, and to support himself committed solitary robberies. Being discovered, he long hung in chains near the outward fortifications. Last night a deputation of the Literary and Philosophical Society of [Portsmouth] came to present me with the honorary freedom of their body, which I accepted with becoming gratitude. There is little credit in gathering the name of a disabled invalid. Here I am, going a long and curious tour without ability to walk a quarter of a mile; quere, what hope of recovery? I think and think in vain, when attempting to trace the progress of this disease and so gradually has my health declined, that I believe it has been acting upon me for ten years, gradually diminishing my strength. My mental faculties may perhaps recover; my bodily strength cannot return unless climate has an effect on the human frame which I cannot possibly believe or comprehend. The safe resolution is, to try no foolish experiments, but make myself as easy as I can, without suffering myself to be vexed about what I cannot help. If I sit on the deck and look at Vesuvius, it will be all I ought to think of.

Having mentioned John the Painter, I may add that it was in this town of Portsmouth that the Duke of Buckingham was stabbed to death by Felton, a fanatic of the same kind with the Incendiary, though perpetrator of a more manly crime. This monster-breeding age can afford both Feltons and John Aitkens in abundance. Every village supplies them, while in fact a deep feeling of the coarsest selfishness furnishes the ruling motive, instead of an affectation of public spirit—that hackneyed affectation of patriotism, as like the reality as a Birmingham halfpenny to a guinea.

The girls, I regret to see, have got a senseless custom of talking politics in all weathers and in all sorts of company. This can do no good, and may give much offence. Silence can offend no one, and there are pleasanter or less irritating subjects to talk of. I gave them both a hint of this, and bid them both remember they were among ordinary strangers. How little young people reflect what they may win or lose by a smart reflection imprudently fired off at a venture!

Mr. Barrow of the Admiralty came and told us the whole fleet, Barham excepted, were ordered to the North Sea to help to bully the King of Holland, and that Captain Pigot, whose motions are of more importance to us than those of the whole British Navy, sails, as certainly as these things can be prophesied, on Thursday, 27th October.

October 26.—Here we still are, fixed by the inexorable wind. Yesterday we asked a few old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Osborne, and two or three others, to tea and talk. I engaged in a new novel, by Mr. Smith,^[480] called New Forest. It is written in an old style, calculated to meet the popular ideas—somewhat like "Man as he is not"^[481] and that class. The author's opinions seem rather to sit loose upon him and to be adopted for the nonce and not very well brought out. His idea of a hero is an American philosopher with all the affected virtues of a Republican which no man believes in.

This is very tiresome—not to be able to walk abroad for an instant, but to be kept in this old house which they call "The Fountain," a mansion made of wood in imitation of a ship. The timbers were well tried last night during the squall. The barometer has sunk an inch very suddenly, which seems to argue a change, and probably a deliverance from port. Sir Michael Seymour, Mr. Harris, Captain Lawrence came to greet us after breakfast; also Sir James Graham. They were all learned on this change of weather which seems to be generally expected. I had a good mess of Tory chat with Mr. Harris. We hope to see his daughters in the evening. He keeps his courage amid the despair of too many of his party. About one o'clock our Kofle, as Mungo Park words it, set out, self excluded, to witness the fleet sailing from the ramparts.

October 27.—The weather is more moderate and there is a chance of our sailing. We whiled away our time as we could, relieved by several kind visits. We realised the sense of hopeless expectation described by Fielding in his Voyage to Lisbon, which identical tract Captain Hall, who in his eagerness to be kind seems in possession of the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, was able to provide for us. To-morrow is spoken of as certainly a day to move.

October 28.—But the wind is as unfavourable as ever and I take a hobbling morning walk upon the rampart, where I am edified by a good-natured officer who shows me the place, marked by a buoy, where the Royal George went down "with twice four hundred men."^[482] Its hull forms a shoal which is still in existence, a neglect scarcely reconcilable with the splendour of our proceedings where our navy is concerned. Saw a battle on the rampart between two sailor boys, who fought like game-cocks. Returned to "The Fountain," to a voluminous breakfast. Captain Pigot calls, with little hope of sailing to-day. I made my civil affidavit yesterday to a master extraordinary in Chancery, which I gave to Sophia last night.

October 29 (The Barham).—The weather is changed and I think we shall sail. Captain Forbes comes with offer of the Admiral Sir Michael Seymour's barge, but we must pause on our answer. I have had a very disturbed night. Captain Pigot's summons is at length brought by his own announcement, and the same time the Admiral's barge attends for our accommodation and puts us and our baggage on board the Barham, a beautiful ship, a 74 cut down to a 50, and well deserving all the commendations bestowed on her. The weather a calm which is almost equal to a favourable wind, so we glide beautifully along by the Isle of Wight and the outside of the island. We landsfolk feel these queerish sensations, when, without being in the least sick, we are not quite well. We dine enormously and take our cot at nine o'clock, when we sleep undisturbed till seven.

October 30.—Find the Bill of Portland in sight, having run about forty miles during the night. About the middle of the day turn sea-sick and retire to my berth for the rest of the evening.

October 31.—A sleepless night and a bilious morning, yet not so very uncomfortable as the phrase may imply. The bolts clashed, and made me dream of poor Bran. The wind being nearly completely contrary, we have by ten o'clock gained Plymouth and of course will stand westward for Cape Finisterre; terrible tossing and much sea-sickness, beating our passage against the turn. I may as well say we had a parting visit from Lady Graham, who came off in a steamer, saluted us in the distance and gave us by signal her "bon voyage." On Sunday we had prayers and Service from Mr. Marshall, our Chaplain, a Trinity College youth, who made a very respectable figure.

NOVEMBER.

November 1.—The night was less dismal than yesterday, and we hold our course, though with an unfavourable wind, and make, it is said, about forty miles progress. After all, this sort of navigation recommends the steamer, which forces its way whether the breeze will or no.

November 2.—Wind as cross as two sticks, with nasty squalls of wind and rain. We keep dodging about the Lizard and Land's End without ever getting out of sight of these interesting terminations of Old England. Keep the deck the whole day though bitter cold. Betake myself to my berth at nine, though it is liker to my coffin.

November 3.—Sea-sickness has pretty much left us, but the nights are far from voluptuous, as Lord Stowell says. After breakfast I established myself in the after-cabin to read and write as well as I can, whereof this is a bad specimen.

November 4.—The current unfavourable, and the ship pitching a great deal; yet the vessel on the whole keeps her course, and we get on our way with hope of reaching Cape Finisterre when it shall please God.

November 5.—We still creep on this petty pace from day to day without being able to make way, but also without losing any. Meanwhile, Fröhlich! we become freed from the nausea and disgust of the sea-sickness and are chirruping merrily. Spend the daylight chiefly on deck, where the sailors are trained in exercising the great guns on a new sort of carriage called, from the inventor, Marshall's, which seems ingenious.

November 6.—No progress to-day; the ship begins to lay her course but makes no great way. Appetite of the passengers excellent, which we amuse at the expense of the sea stock. Cold beef and biscuit. I feel myself very helpless on board, but everybody is ready to assist me.

November 7.—The wind still holds fair, though far from blowing steadily, but by fits and variably. No object to look at—

There are neither birds in the air, fish in the sea, nor objects on face of the waters. It is odd that though once so great a smoker I now never think on a cigar; so much the better.

November 8.—As we begin to get southward we feel a milder and more pleasing temperature, and the wind becomes decidedly favourable when we have nearly traversed the famous Bay of Biscay. We now get into a sort of trade wind blowing from the East.

November 9.—This morning run seventy miles from twelve at night. This is something like going. Till now, bating the rolling and pitching, we lay

November 10.—Wind changes and is both mild and favourable. We pass Cape Ortegal, see a wild cluster of skerries or naked rocks called Berlingas rising out of the sea like M'Leod's Maidens off the Isle of Skye.

November 11.—Wind still more moderate and fair, yet it is about eleven knots an hour. We pass Oporto and Lisbon in the night. See the coast of Portugal: a bare wild country, with here and there a church or convent. If it keeps fair this evening we [make] Gibraltar, which would be very desirable. Our sailors have been exercised at a species of sword exercise, which recalls many recollections.

November 12.—The favourable wind gets back to its quarters in the south-west, and becomes what the Italians call the Sirocco, abominated for its debilitating qualities. I cannot say I feel them, but I dreamt dreary dreams all night, which are probably to be imputed to the Sirocco. After all, it is not an uncomfortable wind to a Caledonian wild and stern. Ink won't serve.

November 13.—The wind continues unaccommodating all night, and we see nothing, although we promised ourselves to have seen Gibraltar, or at least Tangiers, this morning, but we are disappointed of both. Tangiers reminded me of my old Antiquarian friend Auriol Hay Drummond, who is Consul there.^[484] Certainly if a human voice could have made its hail heard through a league or two of contending wind and wave, it must have been Auriol Drummond's. I remember him at a dinner given by some of his friends when he left Edinburgh, where he discharged a noble part "self pulling like Captain Crowe 'for dear life, for dear life' against the whole boat's crew," speaking, that is, against 30 members of a drunken company and maintaining the predominance. Mons Meg was at that time his idol. He had a sort of avarice of proper names, and, besides half a dozen which were his legitimately, he had a claim to be called Garvadh, which uncouth appellation he claimed on no very good authority to be the ancient name of the Hays—a tale. I loved him dearly; he had high spirits, a zealous faith, good-humour, and enthusiasm, and it grieves me that I must pass within ten miles of him and leave him unsaluted; for mercy-a-ged what a yell of gratitude would there be! I would put up with a good rough gale which would force us into Tangiers and keep us there for a week, but the wind is only in gentle opposition, like a well-drilled spouse. Gibraltar we shall see this evening, Tangiers becomes out of the question. Captain says we will lie by during the night, sooner than darkness shall devour such an object of curiosity, so we must look sharp for the old rock.

November 14.—The horizon is this morning full of remembrances. Cape St. Vincent, Cape Spartel, Tarifa, Trafalgar—all spirit-stirring sounds, are within our ken, and recognised with enthusiasm both by the old sailors whose memory can reinvest them with their terrors, and by the naval neophytes who hope to emulate the deeds of their fathers. Even a non-combatant like myself feels his heart beat faster and fuller, though it is only with the feeling of the unworthy boast of the substance in the fable, nos poma natamus.

I begin to ask myself, Do I feel any symptoms of getting better from the climate?—which is delicious,—and I cannot reply with the least consciousness of certainty; I cannot in reason expect it should be otherwise: the failure of my limbs has been gradual, and it cannot be expected that an infirmity which at least a year's bad weather gradually brought on should diminish before a few mild and serene days, but I think there is some change to the better; I certainly write easier and my spirits are better. The officers compliment me on this, and I think justly. The difficulty will be to abstain from working hard, but we will try. I wrote to Mr. Cadell to-day, and will send my letter ashore to be put into Gibraltar with the officer who leaves us at that garrison. In the evening we saw the celebrated fortress, which we had heard of all our lives, and which there is no possibility of describing well in words, though the idea I had formed of it from prints, panoramas, and so forth, proved not very inaccurate. Gibraltar, then, is a peninsula having a tremendous precipice on the Spanish side—that is, upon the north, where it is united to the mainland by a low slip of land called the neutral ground. The fortifications which rise on the rock are innumerable, and support each other in a manner accounted a model of modern art; the northern face of the rock itself is hewn into tremendous subterranean batteries called the hall of Saint George, and so forth, mounted with guns of a large calibre. But I have heard it would be difficult to use them, from the effect of the report on the artillerymen. The west side of the fortress is not so precipitous as the north, and it is on this it has been usually assailed. It bristles with guns and batteries, and has at its northern extremity the town of Gibraltar, which seems from the sea a thriving place, and from thence declines gradually to Cape Europa, where there is a great number of remains of old caverns and towers, formerly the habitation or refuge of the Moors. At a distance, and curving into a bay, lie Algeciras, and the little Spanish town of Saint Roque, where the Spanish lines were planted during the siege.^[485] From Europa Point the eastern frontier of Gibraltar runs pretty close to the sea, and arises in a perpendicular face, and it is called the back of the rock. No thought could be entertained of attacking it, although every means were used to make the assault as general as possible. The efforts sustained by such extraordinary means as the floating batteries were entirely directed against the defences on the west side, which, if they could have been continued for a few days with the same fury with which they commenced, must have worn out the force of the garrison. The assault had continued for several hours without success on either side, when a private man of the artillery, his eye on the floating batteries, suddenly called with ecstasy, "She burns, by G——!";^[486] and first that vessel and then others were visibly discovered to be on fire, and the besiegers' game was decidedly up.

We stood into the Bay of Gibraltar and approached the harbour firing a gun and hoisting a signal for a boat: one accordingly came off—a man-of-war's boat—but refused to have any communication with us on account of the quarantine, so we can send no letters ashore, and after some pourparlers, Mr. L——, instead of joining his regiment, must remain on board. We learned an unpleasant piece of news. There has been a tumult at Bristol and some rioters shot, it is said fifty or sixty. I would flatter myself that this is rather good news, since it seems to be no part of a formed insurrection, but an accidental scuffle in which the mob have had the worst, and which, like Tranent, Manchester, and Bonnymoor, have always had the effect of quieting the people and alarming men of property.^[487] The Whigs will find it impossible to permit men to be plundered by a few blackguards called by them the people, and education and property probably will recover an ascendency which they have only lost by faintheartedness.

We backed out of the Bay by means of a current to the eastward, which always runs thence, admiring in our retreat the lighting up the windows in the town and the various barracks or country seats visible on the rock. Far as we are from home, the general lighting up of the windows in the evening reminds us we are still in merry old England, where in reverse of its ancient law of the curfew, almost every individual, however humble his station, takes as of right a part of the evening for enlarging the scope of his industry or of his little pleasures. He trims his lamp to finish at leisure some part of his task, which seems in such circumstances almost voluntary, while his wife prepares the little meal which is to be its legitimate reward. But this happy privilege of English freemen has ceased. One happiness it is, they will soon learn their error.

November 15.—I had so much to say about Gibraltar that I omitted all mention of the Strait, and more distant shores of Spain and Barbary, which form the extreme of our present horizon; they are highly interesting. A chain of distant mountains sweep round Gibraltar, bold peaked, well defined, and deeply indented; the most distinguishable points occasionally garnished with an old watch-tower to afford protection against a corsair. The mountains seemed like those of the first formation, liker, in other words, to the Highlands than those of the South of Scotland. The chains of hills in Barbary are of the same character, but more lofty and much more distant, being, I conceive, a part of the celebrated ridge of Atlas.

Gibraltar is one of the pillars of Hercules, Ceuta on the Moorish side is well known to be the other; to the westward of a small fortress garrisoned by the Spaniards is the Hill of Apes, the corresponding pillar to Gibraltar. There is an extravagant tradition that there was once a passage under the sea from the one fortress to the other, and that an adventurous governor, who puzzled his way to Ceuta and back again, left his gold watch as a prize to him who had the courage to go to seek it.

We are soon carried by the joint influence of breeze and current to the African side of the straits, and coast nearly along a wild shore formed of mountains, like those of Spain, of varied form and outline. No churches, no villages, no marks of human hand are seen. The chain of hills show a mockery of cultivation, but it is only wild heath intermingled with patches of barren sand. I look in vain for cattle or flocks of sheep, and Anne as vainly entertains hopes of seeing lions and tigers on a walk to the sea-shore. The land of this wild country seems to have hardly a name. The Cape which we are doubling has one, however—the Cape of the Three Points. That we might not be totally disappointed we saw one or two men engaged apparently in ploughing, distinguished by their turbans and the long pikes which they carried. Dr. Liddell says that on former occasions he has seen flocks and shepherds, but the war with France has probably laid the country waste.

November 16.—When I waked about seven found that we had the town of Oran twelve or fourteen miles off astern. It is a large place on the sea-beach, near the bottom of a bay, built close and packed together as Moorish [towns], from Fez to Timbuctoo, usually are. A considerable hill runs behind the town, which seems capable of holding 10,000 inhabitants. The hill up to its eastern summit is secured by three distinct lines of fortification, made probably by the Spanish when Oran was in their possession; latterly it belonged to the State of Algiers; but whether it has yielded to the French or not we have no means of knowing. A French schooner of eighteen guns seems to blockade the harbour. We show our colours, and she displays hers, and then resumes her cruise, looking as if she resumed her blockade. This would infer that the place is not yet in French hands. However, we have in any event no business with Oran, whether African or French. Bristol is a more important subject of consideration, but I cannot learn there are papers on board. One or two other towns we saw on this dreary coast, otherwise nothing but a hilly coast covered with shingle and gum cistus.

November 17.—In the morning we are off Algiers, of which Captain Pigot's complaisance afforded a very satisfactory sight. It is built on a sloping hill, running down to the sea, and on the water side is extremely strong; a very strong mole or causeway enlarges the harbour, by enabling them to include a little rocky island, and mount immense batteries, with guns of great number and size. It is a wonder, in the opinion of all judges, that Lord Exmouth's fleet was not altogether cut to pieces. The place is of little strength to the land; a high turreted wall of the old fashion is its best defence. When Charles V. attacked Algiers, he landed in the bay to the east of the town, and marched behind it. He afterwards reached what is still called the Emperor's fort, a building more highly situated than any part of the town, and commanding the wall which surrounds it. The Moors did not destroy this. When Bourmont landed with the French, unlike Charles V., that general disembarked to the westward of Algiers, and at the mouth of a small river; he then marched into the interior, and, fetching a circuit, presented himself on the northern side of the town. Here the Moors had laid a simple stratagem for the destruction of the invading army. The natives had conceived they would rush at once to the fort of the Emperor, which they therefore mined, and expected to destroy a number of the enemy by its explosion. This obvious device of war was easily avoided, and General Bourmont, in possession of the heights, from which Algiers is commanded, had no difficulty in making himself master of the place. The French are said now to hold their conquests with difficulty, owing to a general commotion among the Moorish chiefs, of whom the Bey was the nominal sovereign. To make war on these wild tribes would be to incur the disaster of the Emperor Julian; to neglect their aggressions is scarcely possible.

Algiers has at first an air of diminutiveness inferior to its fame in ancient and modern times. It rises up from the shore like a wedge, composed of a large mass of close-packed white houses, piled as thick on each other as they can stand; white-terraced roofs, and without windows, so the number of its inhabitants must be immense, in comparison to the ground the buildings occupy—not less, perhaps, than 30,000 men. Even from the distance we view it, the place has a singular Oriental look, very dear to the imagination. The country around Algiers is [of] the same hilly description with the ground on which the town is situated—a bold hilly tract. The shores of the bay are studded with villas, and exhibit enclosures: some used for agriculture, some for gardens, one for a mosque, with a cemetery around it. It is said they are extremely fertile; the first example we have seen of the exuberance of the African soil. The villas, we are told, belong to the Consular Establishment. We saw our own, who, if at home, put no remembrance upon us. Like the Cambridge Professor and the elephant, "We were a paltry beast," and he would not see us, though we drew within cannon [shot], and our fifty 36-pounders might have attracted some attention. The Moors showed their old cruelty on a late occasion. The crews of two foreign vessels having fallen into their hands by shipwreck, they murdered two-thirds of them in cold blood. There are reports of a large body of French cavalry having shown itself without the town. It is also reported by Lieutenant Walker,^[488] that the Consul hoisted, comme de raison, a British flag at his country house, so our vanity is safe.

We leave Algiers and run along the same kind of heathy, cliffy, barren reach of hills, terminating in high lines of serrated ridges, and scarce showing an atom of cultivation, but where the mouth of a river or a sheltering bay has encouraged the Moors to some species of fortification.

November 18.—Still we are gliding along the coast of Africa, with a steady and unruffled gale; the weather delicious. Talk of an island of wild goats, by name Golita; this species of deer-park is free to every one for shooting upon—belongs probably to the Algerines or Tunisians, whom circumstances do not permit to be very scrupulous in asserting their right of dominion; but Dr. Liddell has himself been present at a grand chasse of the goats, so the thing is true.

The wild sinuosities of the land make us each moment look to see a body of Arabian cavalry wheel at full gallop out of one of these valleys, scour along the beach, and disappear up some other recess of the hills. In fact we see a few herds, but a red cow is the most formidable monster we have seen.

A general day of exercise on board, as well great guns as small arms. It was very entertaining to see the men take to their quarters with the unanimity of an individual. The marines shot a target to pieces, the boarders scoured away to take their position on the yards with cutlass and pistol. The exhibition continued two hours, and was loud enough to have alarmed the shores, where the Algerines might, if they had thought fit, have imputed the firing to an opportune quarrel between the French and British, and have shouted "Allah Kerim"—God is merciful! This was the Dey's remark when he heard that Charles X. was dethroned by the Parisians.

We are near an African Cape called Bugiaroni, where, in the last war, the Toulon fleet used to trade for cattle.

November 19.—Wind favourable during night, dies away in the morning, and blows in flurries rather contrary. The steamboat packet, which left Portsmouth at the same time with us, passes us about seven o'clock, and will reach a day or two before us. We are now off the coast of Tunis: not so high and rocky as that of Algiers, and apparently much more richly cultivated. A space of considerable length along shore, between a conical hill called Mount Baluty and Cape Bon, which we passed last night, is occupied by the French as a coral fishery. They drop heavy shot by lines on the coral rocks and break off fragments which they fish up with nets. The Algerines, seizing about 200 Neapolitans thus employed gave rise to the bombardment of their town by Lord Exmouth. All this coast is picturesquely covered with enclosures and buildings and is now clothed with squally weather. One hill has a smoky umbrella displayed over its peak, which is very like a volcano—many islets and rocks bearing the Italian names of sisters, brothers, dogs, and suchlike epithets. The view is very striking, with varying rays of light and of shade mingling and changing as the wind rises and falls. About one o'clock we pass the situation of ancient Carthage, but saw no ruins, though such are said to exist. A good deal of talk about two ancient lakes called——; I knew the name, but little more. We passed in the evening two rocky islands, or skerries, rising straight out of the water, called Gli Fratelli or The Brothers.

November 20.—A fair wind all night, running at the merry rate of nine knots an hour. In the morning we are in sight of the highest island, Pantellaria, which the Sicilians use as a state prison, a species of Botany Bay. We are about thirty miles from the burning island—I mean Graham's—but neither that nor Etna make their terrors visible. At noon Graham's Island appears, greatly diminished since last accounts. We got out the boats and surveyed this new production of the earth with great interest. Think I have got enough to make a letter to our Royal Society and friends at Edinburgh.^[489] Lat. 37° 10' 31" N., long. 12° 40' 15" E., lying north and south by compass, by Mr. Bokely, the Captain's clerk['s measurements]. Returned on board at dinner-time.

November 21.—Indifferent night. In the morning we are running off Gozo, a subordinate island to Malta, intersected with innumerable enclosures of dry-stone dykes similar to those used in Selkirkshire, and this likeness is increased by the appearance of sundry square towers of ancient days. In former times this was believed to be Calypso's island, and the cave of the enchantress is still shown. We saw the entrance from the deck, as rude a cavern as ever opened out of a granite rock. The place of St. Paul's shipwreck is also shown, no doubt on similarly respectable authority.

At last we opened Malta, an island, or rather a city, like no other in the world. The seaport, formerly the famous Valetta, comes down to the sea-shore. On the one side lay the [Knights], on the other side lay the Turks, who finally got entire possession of it, while the other branch remained in the power of the Christians. Mutual cruelties were exercised; the Turks, seizing on the survivors of the knights who had so long defended St. Elmo, cut the Maltese cross on the bodies of the slain, and, tying them to planks, let them drift with the receding tide into the other branch of the harbour still defended by the Christians. The Grand-Master, in resentment of this cruelty, caused his Turkish prisoners to be decapitated and their heads thrown from mortars into the camp of the infidels.^[490]

November 22.—To-day we entered Malta harbour, to quarantine, which is here very strict. We are condemned by the Board of Quarantine to ten days' imprisonment or sequestration, and go in the Barham's boat to our place of confinement, built by a Grand-Master named Manuel ^[491] for a palace for himself and his retinue. It is spacious and splendid, but not comfortable; the rooms connected one with another by an arcade, into which they all open, and which forms a delightful walk. If I was to live here a sufficient time I think I could fit the apartments up so as to be handsome, and even imposing, but at present they are only kept as barracks for the infirmary or lazaretto. A great number of friends come to see me, who are not allowed to approach nearer than a yard. This, as the whole affair is a farce, is ridiculous enough. We are guarded by the officers of health in a peculiar sort of livery or uniform with yellow neck, who stroll up and down with every man that stirs—and so mend the matter.^[492] My friends Captain and Mrs. Dawson, the daughter and son-in-law of the late Lord Kinnedder, occupying as military quarters one end of the Manuel palace, have chosen to remain, though thereby subjected to quarantine, and so become our fellows in captivity. Our good friend Captain Pigot, hearing some exaggerated report of our being uncomfortably situated, came himself in his barge with the purpose of reclaiming his passengers rather than we should be subjected to the least inconvenience. We returned our cordial thanks, but felt we had already troubled him sufficiently. We dine with Captain and Mrs. Dawson, sleep in our new quarters, and, notwithstanding mosquito curtains and iron bedsteads, are sorely annoyed by vermin, the only real hardship we have to complain of since the tossing on the Bay of Biscay, and which nothing could save us from.

Les Maltois ne se mariaient jamais dans le mois de mai. Ils espérèrent si mal des ouvrages de tout genre commencé durant son cours qu'ils ne se faisaient pas couper d'habits pendant ce mois.

November 23.—This is a splendid town. The sea penetrates it in several places with creeks formed into harbours, surrounded by buildings, and these again covered with fortifications. The streets are of very unequal height, and as there has been no attempt at lowering them, the greatest variety takes place between them; and the singularity of the various buildings, leaning on each other in such a bold, picturesque, and uncommon manner, suggests to me ideas for finishing Abbotsford by a screen on the west side of the old barn and with a fanciful wall decorated with towers, to enclose the bleaching green—watch-towers such as these, of which I can get drawings while I am here. Employed the forenoon in writing to Lockhart. I am a little at a loss what account to give of myself. Better I am decidedly in spirit, but rather hampered by my companions, who are neither desirous to follow my amusements, nor anxious that I should adopt theirs. I am getting on with this Siege of Malta very well. I think if I continue, it will be ready in a very short time, and I will get the opinion of others, and if my charm hold I will be able to get home through Italy—and take up my own trade again.

November 24.—We took the quarantine boat and visited the outer harbour or great port, in which the ships repose when free from their captivity. The British ships of war are there,—a formidable spectacle, as they all carry guns of great weight. If they go up the Levant as reported, they are a formidable weight in the bucket. I was sensible while looking at them of the truth of Cooper's description of the beauty of their build, their tapering rigging and masts, and how magnificent it looks as

We had some pride in looking at the Barham, once in a particular manner our own abode. Captain Pigot and some of his officers dined with us at our house of captivity. By a special grace our abode here is to be shortened one day, so we leave on Monday first, which is an indulgence. To-day we again visit Dragut's Point. The guardians who attend to take care that we quarantines do not kill the people whom we meet, tell some stories of this famous corsair, but I scarce can follow their Arabic. I must learn it, though, for the death of Dragut ^[493] would be a fine subject for a poem, but in the meantime I will proceed with my Knights.

[November 25-30.]^[494]—By permission of the quarantine board we were set at liberty, and lost no time in quitting the dreary fort of Don Manuel, with all its mosquitoes and its thousands of lizards which [stand] shaking their heads at you like their brother in the new Arabian tale of Daft Jock. My son and daughter are already much tired of the imprisonment. I myself cared less about it, but it is unpleasant to be thought so very unclean and capable of poisoning a whole city. We took our guardians' boat and again made a round of the harbour; were met by Mrs. Bathurst's ^[495] carriage, and carried to my very excellent apartment at Beverley's Hotel. In passing I saw something of the city, and very comical it was; but more of that hereafter. At or about four o'clock we went to our old habitation the Barham, having promised again to dine in the Ward room, where we had a most handsome dinner, and were dismissed at half-past six, after having the pleasure to receive and give a couple hours of satisfaction. I took the boat from the chair, and was a little afraid of the activity of my assistants, but it all went off capitally; went to Beverley's and bed in quiet.

At two o'clock Mrs. Col. Bathurst transported me to see the Metropolitan Church of St. John, by far the most magnificent place I ever saw in my life; its huge and ample vaults are of the Gothic order. The floor is of marble, each stone containing the inscription of some ancient knight adorned with a patent of mortality and an inscription recording his name and family. For instance, one knight I believe had died in the infidels' prison; to mark his fate, one stone amid the many-coloured pavement represents a door composed of grates (iron grates I mean), displaying behind them an interior which a skeleton is in vain attempting to escape from by bursting the bars. If you conceive he has pined in his fetters there for centuries till dried in the ghastly image of death himself, it is a fearful imagination. The roof which bends over this scene of death is splendidly adorned with carving and gilding, while the varied colours and tinctures both above and beneath, free from the tinselly effect which might have been apprehended, [acquire a] solemnity in the dim religious light, which they probably owe to the lapse of time. Besides the main aisle, which occupies the centre, there is added a chapter-house in which the knights were wont to hold their meetings. At the upper end of this chapter-house is the fine Martyrdom of St. John the Baptist, by Caravaggio, though this has been disputed. On the left hand of the body of the church lie a series of subordinate aisles or chapels, built by the devotion of the different languages,^[496] and where some of the worthies inhabit the vaults beneath. The other side of the church is occupied in the same manner; one chapel in which the Communion was imparted is splendidly adorned by a row of silver pillars, which divided the worshippers from the priest. Immense riches had been taken from this chapel of the Holy Sacrament by the French; a golden lamp of great size, and ornaments to the value of 50,000 crowns are mentioned in particular; the rich railing had not escaped the soldiers' rapacity had it not been painted to resemble wood. I must visit this magnificent church another time. To-day I have done it at the imminent risk of a bad fall. We drove out to see a Maltese village, highly ornamented in the usual taste. Mrs. Bathurst was so good as to take me in her carriage. We dined with Colonel Bathurst.

November 26.—I visited my old and much respected friend, Mr. John Hookham Frere,^[497] and was much gratified to see him the same man I had always known him,—perhaps a little indolent; but that's not much. A good Tory as ever, when the love of many is waxed cold. At night a grand ball in honour of your humble servant—about four hundred gentlemen and ladies. The former mostly British officers of army, navy, and civil service. Of the ladies, the island furnished a fair proportion—- I mean viewed in either way. I was introduced to a mad Italian improvisatore, who was with difficulty prevented from reciting a poem in praise of the King, and imposing a crown upon my head, nolens volens. Some of the officers, easily conceiving how disagreeable this must have been to a quiet man, got me out of the scrape, and I got home about midnight; but remain unpoetised and unspeeched.

November 28.—I have made some minutes, some observations, and could do something at my Siege; but I do not find my health gaining ground. I visited Frere at Sant' Antonio: a beautiful place with a splendid garden, which Mr. Frere will never tire of, unless some of his family come to carry him home by force.

November 29.—Lady Hotham was kind enough to take me a drive, and we dined with them—a very pleasant party. I picked up some anecdotes of the latter siege.

Make another pilgrimage, escorted by Captain Pigot and several of his officers. We took a more accurate view of this splendid structure [Church of St. John]. I went down into the vaults and made a visiting acquaintance with La Valette,^[498] whom, greatly to my joy, I found most splendidly provided with a superb sepulchre of bronze, on which he reclines in the full armour of a Knight of Chivalrie.

DECEMBER

December 1.—There are two good libraries, on a different plan and for different purposes—a modern subscription library that lends its own books, and an ancient foreign library which belonged to the Knights, but does not lend books. Its value is considerable, but the funds unfortunately are shamefully small; I may do this last some good. I have got in a present from Frere the prints of the Siege of Malta, very difficult to understand, and on loan from Mr. Murray, Agent of the Navy Office, the original of Boiardo, to be returned through Mr. Murray, Albemarle Street. Mr. Murray is very good-natured about it.

December 2.—My chief occupation has been driving with Frere. Dr. Liddell declines a handsome fee. I will want to send some oranges to the children. I am to go with Col. Bathurst to-day as far as to wait on the bishop. My old friend Sir John Stoddart's daughter is to be married to a Captain Atkinson. Rode with Frere. Much recitation.

December 6.—Captain Pigot inclines to take me on with him to Naples, after which he goes to Tunis on Government service. This is an offer not to be despised, though at the expense of protracting the news from Scotland, which I engage to provide for in case of the worst, by offering Mr. Cadell a new romance, to be called The Siege of Malta, which if times be as they were when I came off, should be thankful[ly received] at a round sum, paying back not only what is overdrawn, but supplying finances during the winter.

December 10, [Naples].—I ought to say that before leaving Malta I went to wait on the Archbishop: a fine old gentleman, very handsome, and one of the priests who commanded the Maltese in their insurrection against the French. I took the freedom to hint that as he had possessed a journal of this blockade, it was but due to his country and himself to give it to the public, and offered my assistance. He listened to my suggestion, and seemed pleased with the proposal, which I repeated more than once, and apparently with success. Next day the Bishop returned my visit in full state, attended by his clergy, and superbly dressed in costume, the pearls being very fine. (The name of this fine old dignitary of the Romish Church is Don Francis Caruana, Bishop of Malta.)

The last night we were at Malta we experienced a rude shock of an earthquake, which alarmed me, though I did not know what it was. It was said to foretell that the ocean, which had given birth to Graham's Island, had, like Pelops, devoured its own offspring, and we are told it is not now visible, and will be, perhaps, hid from those who risk the main; but as we did not come near its latitude we cannot say from our own knowledge that the news is true. I found my old friend Frere as fond as ever of old ballads. He took me out almost every day, and favoured me with recitations of the Cid and the continuation of Whistlecraft. He also acquainted me that he had made up to Mr. Coleridge the pension of £200 from the Board of Literature ^[499] out of his own fortune.

December 13, [Naples].—We left Malta on this day, and after a most picturesque voyage between the coast of Sicily and Malta arrived here on the 17th, where we were detained for quarantine, whence we were not dismissed till the day before Christmas. I saw Charles, to my great joy, and agreed to dine with his master, Right Hon. Mr. Hill,^[500] resolving it should be my first and last engagement at Naples. Next morning much struck with the beauty of the Bay of Naples. It is insisted that my arrival has been a signal for the greatest eruption from Vesuvius which that mountain has favoured us with for many a day. I can only say, as the Frenchman said of the comet supposed to foretell his own death, "Ah, messieurs, la comète me fait trop d'honneur." Of letters I can hear nothing. There are many English here, of most of whom I have some knowledge.

December 25, [Bay of Naples].—We are once more fairly put into quarantine. Captain Pigot does not, I think, quite understand the freedom his flag is treated with, and could he find law for so doing would try his long thirty-six pounders on the town of Naples and its castles; not to mention a sloop of ten guns which has ostentatiously entered the Bay to assist them. Lord knows we would make ducks and drakes of the whole party with the Barham's terrible battery!

There is a new year like to begin and no news from Britain. By and by I will be in the condition of those who are sick and in prison, and entitled to visits and consolation on principles of Christianity.

December 26, [Strada Nuova].—Went ashore; admitted to pratique, and were received here.^[501] Walter has some money left, which we must use or try a begging-box, for I see no other resource, since they seem to have abandoned me so. Go ashore each day to sight-seeing. Have the pleasure to meet Mr.^[502] and Mrs. Laing-Meason of Lindertis, and have their advice and assistance and company in our wanderings almost every day. Mr. Meason has made some valuable remarks on the lava where the villas of the middle ages are founded: the lava shows at least upon the ancient maritime villas of the Romans; so the boot of the moderns galls the kibe of the age preceding them; the reason seems to be the very great durability with which the Romans finished their domestic architecture of maritime arches, by which they admitted the sea into their lower houses.^[503]

We were run away with, into the grotto very nearly, but luckily stopped before we entered, and so saved our lives. We have seen the Strada Nuova—a new access of extreme beauty which the Italians owe to Murat.

The Bay of Naples is one of the finest things I ever saw. Vesuvius controls it on the opposite side of the town.

I never go out in the evening, but take airings in the day-time almost daily. The day after Christmas I went to see some old parts of the city, amongst the rest a tower called Torre del Carmine, which figured during the Duke of Guise's adventure, and the gallery of as old a church, where Masaniello was shot at the conclusion of his career.^[504] I marked down the epitaph of a former Empress,^[505] which is striking and affecting. It would furnish matter for my Tour if I wanted it.

So is King Alphonso made to sum up the praises of this princely town, with the losses which he had sustained in making himself master of it. I looked on it with something of the same feelings, and I may adopt the same train of thought when I recall Lady Northampton, Lady Abercorn, and other friends much beloved who have met their death in or near this city.

1832.

JANUARY.

January 5.—Went by invitation to wait upon a priest, who almost rivals my fighting bishop of Malta. He is the old Bishop of Tarentum,^[507] and, notwithstanding his age, eighty and upwards, is still a most interesting man. A face formed to express an interest in whatever passes; caressing manners, and a total absence of that rigid stiffness which hardens the heart of the old and converts them into a sort of petrifaction. Apparently his foible was a fondness for cats; one of them, a superb brindled Persian cat, is a great beauty, and seems a particular favourite. I think we would have got on well together if he could have spoken English, or I French or Latin; but hélas! I once saw at Lord Yarmouth's house a Persian cat, but not quite so fine as that of the Bishop. He gave me a Latin devotional poem and an engraving of himself, and I came home about two o'clock.

January 6 to 12.—We reach the 12th January, amusing ourselves as we can, generally seeing company and taking airings in the forenoon in this fine country. Sir William Gell, a very pleasant man, one of my chief cicerones. Lord Hertford comes to Naples. I am glad to keep up an old acquaintance made in the days of George IV.

He has got a breed from Maida, of which I gave him a puppy. There was a great crowd at the Palazzo, which all persons attended, being the King's birthday. The apartments are magnificent, and the various kinds of persons who came to pay court were splendid. I went with the boys as Brigadier-General of the Archers' Guard, wore a very decent green uniform, laced at the cuffs, and pantaloons, and looked as well as sixty could make it out when sworded and feathered comme il faut. I passed well enough. Very much afraid of a fall on the slippery floor, but escaped that disgrace. The ceremony was very long. I was introduced to many distinguished persons, and, but for the want of language, got on well enough. The King spoke to me about five minutes, of which I hardly understood five words. I answered him in a speech of the same length, and I'll be bound equally unintelligible. We made the general key-tone of the harangue la belle langue et le beau ciel of sa majesté. Very fine dresses, very many diamonds....

A pretty Spanish ambassadress, Countess da Costa, and her husband. Saw the Countess de Lebzeltern, who has made our acquaintance, and seems to be very clever. I will endeavour to see her again. Introduced to another Russian Countess of the diplomacy. Got from Court about two o'clock. I should have mentioned that I had a letter from Skene ^[508] and one from Cadell, dated as far back as 2d December, a monstrous time ago, [which] yet puts a period to my anxiety. I have written to Cadell for particulars and supplies, and, besides, have written a great many pages of the Siege of Malta, which I think will succeed.

[January 16-23].—I think £200 a month, or thereby, will do very well, and it is no great advance.

Another piece of intelligence was certainly to be expected, but now it has come afflicts us much. Poor Johnny Lockhart! The boy is gone whom we have made so much of. I could not have borne it better than I now do, and I might have borne it much worse.^[509]

I went one evening to the Opera to see that amusement in its birthplace, which is now so widely received over Europe. The Opera House is superb, but can seldom be quite full. On this night, however, it was; the guards, citizens, and all persons dependent on the Court, or having anything to win or lose by it, are expected to take places liberally, and applaud with spirit. The King bowed much on entrance, and was received in a popular manner, which he has no doubt deserved, having relaxed many of his father's violent persecutions against the Liberals, made in some degree an amnesty, and employed many of this character. He has made efforts to lessen his expenses; but then he deals in military affairs, and that swallows up his savings, and Heaven only knows whether he will bring [Neapolitans] to fight, which the Martinet system alone will never do. His health is undermined by epileptic fits, which, with his great corpulence, make men throw their thoughts on his brother Prince Charles. It is a pity. The King is only two-and-twenty years old.

The Opera bustled off without any remarkable music, and, so far as I understand the language, no poetry; and except the coup d'œil, which was magnificent, it was poor work. It was on the subject of Constantine and Crispus—marvellous good matter, I assure you. I came home at half-past nine, without waiting the ballet, but I was dog-sick of the whole of it. Went to the Studij to-day. I had no answer to my memorial to the Minister of the Interior, which it seems is necessary to make any copies from the old romances. I find it is an affair of State, and Monsieur ——- can only hope it will be granted in two or three days;—to a man that may leave Naples to-morrow! He offers me a loan of what books I need, Annals included, but this is also a delay of two or three days. I think really the Italian men of letters do not know the use of time made by those of other places, but I must have patience. In the course of my return home I called, by advice of my valet de place, at a bookseller's, where he said all the great messieurs went for books. It had very little the air of a place of such resort, being kept in a garret above a coach-house. Here some twenty or thirty odd volumes were produced by an old woman, but nothing that was mercantile, so I left them for Lorenzo's learned friends. And yet I was sorry too, for the lady who showed them to me was very [civil], and, understanding that I was the famous Chevalier, carried her kindness as far as I could desire. The Italians understand nothing of being in a hurry, but perhaps it is their way.^[510]

January 24.—The King grants the favour asked. To be perfect I should have the books [out] of the room, but this seems to [hurt?] Monsieur Delicteriis as he, kind and civil as he is, would hardly [allow] me to take my labours out of the Studij, where there are hosts of idlers and echoes and askers and no understanders of askers. I progress, however, as the Americans say. I have found that Sir William Gell's amanuensis is at present disengaged, and that he is quite the man for copying the romances, which is a plain black letter of 1377, at the cheap and easy rate of 3 quattrons a day. I am ashamed at the lowness of the remuneration, but it will dine him capitally, with a share of a bottle of wine, or, by 'r lady, a whole one if he likes it; and thrice the sum would hardly do that in England. But we dawdle, and that there is no avoiding. I have found another object in the Studij—the language of Naples.

Jany. 2[5?].—One work in this dialect, for such it is, was described to me as a history of ancient Neapolitan legends—quite in my way; and it proves to be a dumpy fat 12mo edition of Mother Goose's Tales,^[511] with my old friends Puss in Boots, Bluebeard, and almost the whole stock of this very collection. If this be the original of this charming book, it is very curious, for it shows the right of Naples to the authorship, but there are French editions very early also;—for there are two—whether French or Italian, I am uncertain—of different dates, both having claims to the original edition, each omitting some tales which the other has.

To what common original we are to refer them the Lord knows. I will look into [this] very closely, and if this same copiator is worth his ears he can help me. My friend Mr. D. will aid me, but I doubt he hardly likes my familiarity with the department of letters in which he has such an extensive and valuable charge. Yet he is very kind and civil, and promises me the loan of a Neapolitan vocabulary, which will set me up for the attack upon Mother Goose. Spirit of Tom Thumb assist me! I could, I think, make a neat thing of this, obnoxious to ridicule perhaps;—what then! The author of Ma Sœur Anne was a clever man, and his tale will remain popular in spite of all gibes and flouts soever. So Vamos Caracci! If it was not for the trifling and dawdling peculiar to this country, I should have time enough, but their trifling with time is the devil. I will try to engage Mr. Gell in two researches in his way and more in mine, namely, the Andrea Ferrara and the Bonnet piece.^[512] Mr. Keppel Craven says Andrea de Ferraras ^[513] are frequent in Italy. Plenty to do if we had alert assistance, but Gell and Laing Meason have both their own matters to puzzle out, and why should they mind my affairs? The weather is very cold, and I am the reverse of the idiot boy—

Of this I am distinctly sensible, and thank God that the mist attending this whoreson apoplexy is wearing off.

I went to the Studij and copied Bevis of Hampton, about two pages, for a pattern. From thence to Sir William Gell, and made an appointment at the Studij with his writer to-morrow at ten, when, I trust, I shall find Delicteriis there, but the gentleman with the classical name is rather kind and friendly in his neighbour's behalf.^[515]

January 26.—This day arrived (for the first time indeed) answer to last post end of December, an epistle from Cadell full of good tidings.^[516] Castle Dangerous and Sir Robert of Paris, neither of whom I deemed seaworthy, have performed two voyages—that is, each sold about 3400, and the same of the current year. It proves what I have thought almost impossible, that I might write myself [out], but as yet my spell holds fast.

I have besides two or three good things on which I may advance with spirit, and with palmy hopes on the part of Cadell and myself. He thinks he will soon cry victoria on the bet about his hat. He was to get a new one when I had paid off all my debts. I can hardly, now that I am assured all is well again, form an idea to myself that I could think it was otherwise.

And yet I think it is the public that are mad for passing those two volumes; but I will not be the first to cry them down in the market, for I have others in hand, which, judged with equal favour, will make fortunes of themselves. Let me see what I have on the stocks—

I have returned to my old hopes, and think of giving Milne an offer for his estate.^[517]

FEBRUARY.

February 10.—We went to Pompeii to-day: a large party, all disposed to enjoy the sight in this fine weather. We had Sir Frederick and Lady Adam, Sir William Gell, the coryphæus of our party, who played his part very well. Miss de la Ferronays,^[518] daughter of Monsieur le Duc de la Ferronays, the head, I believe, of the constitutional Royalists, very popular in France, and likely to be called back to the ministry, with two or three other ladies, particularly Mrs. Ashley, born Miss Baillie,^[519] very pretty indeed, and lives in the same house. The Countess de la Ferronays has a great deal of talent both musical and dramatic.

February 16.—Sir William Gell called and took me out to-night to a bookseller whose stock was worth looking over.

We saw, among the old buildings of the city, an ancient palace called the Vicaría, which is changed into a prison. Then a new palace was honoured with royal residence instead of the old dungeon. I saw also a fine arch called the Capuan gate, formerly one of the city towers, and a very pretty one. We advanced to see the ruins of a palace said to be a habitation of Queen Joan, and where she put her lovers to death chiefly by potions, thence into a well, smothering them, etc., and other little tenderly trifling matters of gallantry.

MARCH.

March.—Embarked on an excursion to Paestum, with Sir William Gell and Mr. Laing-Meason, in order to see the fine ruins. We went out by Pompeii, which we had visited before, and which fully maintains its character as one of the most striking pieces of antiquity, where the furniture treasure and household are preserved in the excavated houses, just as found by the labourers appointed by Government. The inside of the apartments is adorned with curious paintings, if I may call them such, in mosaic. A meeting between Darius and Alexander is remarkably fine.^[520] A street, called the street of Tombs, reaches a considerable way out of the city, having been flanked by tombs on each side as the law directed. The entrance into the town affords an interesting picture of the private life of the Romans. We came next to the vestiges of Herculaneum, which is destroyed like Pompeii but by the lava or molten stone, which cannot be removed, whereas the tufa or volcanic ashes can be with ease removed from Pompeii, which it has filled up lightly. After having refreshed in a cottage in the desolate town, we proceed on our journey eastward, flanked by one set of heights stretching from Vesuvius, and forming a prolongation of that famous mountain. Another chain of mountains seems to intersect our course in an opposite direction and descends upon the town of Castellamare. Different from the range of heights which is prolonged from Vesuvius, this second, which runs to Castellamare, is entirely composed of granite, and, as is always the case with mountains of this formation, betrays no trace of volcanic agency. Its range was indeed broken and split up into specimens of rocks of most romantic appearance and great variety, displaying granite rock as the principal part of its composition. The country on which these hills border is remarkable for its powers of vegetation, and produces vast groves of vine, elm, chestnut, and similar trees, which grow when stuck in by cuttings. The vines produce Lacryma Christi in great quantities—not a bad wine, though the stranger requires to be used to it. The sea-shore of the Bay of Naples forms the boundary on the right of the country through which our journey lies, and we continue to approach to the granite chain of eminences which stretch before us, as if to bar our passage.

As we advanced to meet the great barrier of cliffs, a feature becomes opposed to us of a very pronounced character, which seems qualified to interrupt our progress. A road leading straight across the branch of hills is carried up the steepest part of the mountain, ascending by a succession of zig-zags, which the French laid by scale straight up the hill. The tower is situated upon an artificial eminence, worked to a point and placed in a defensible position between two hills about the same height, the access to which the defenders of the pass could effectually prohibit.

Sir William Gell, whose knowledge of the antiquities of this country is extremely remarkable, acquainted us with the history.

In the middle ages the pasturages on the slope of these hills, especially on the other side, belonged to the rich republic of Amain, who built this tower as an exploratory gazeeboo from which they could watch the motions of the Saracens who were wont to annoy them with plundering excursions; but after this fastness [was built] the people of Amalfi usually defeated and chastised them. The ride over the opposite side of the mountain was described as so uncommonly pleasant as made me long to ride it with assistance of a pony. That, however, was impossible. We arrived at a country house, near a large town situated in a ravine or hollow, which was called La Cava from some concavities which it exhibited.

We were received by Miss Whyte, an English lady who has settled at La Cava, and she afforded us the warmest hospitality that is consistent with a sadly cold chilling house. They may say what they like of the fine climate of Naples—unquestionably they cannot say too much in its favour, but yet when a day or two of cold weather does come, the inhabitants are without the means of parrying the temporary inclemency, which even a Scotsman would scorn to submit to. However, warm or cold, to bed we went, and rising next morning at seven we left La Cava, and, making something like a sharp turn backwards, but keeping nearer to the Gulf of Salerno than in yesterday's journey, and nearer to its shore. We had a good road towards Paestum, and in defiance of a cold drizzling day we went on at a round pace. The country through which we travelled was wooded and stocked with wild animals towards the fall of the hills, and we saw at a nearer distance a large swampy plain, pastured by a singularly bizarre but fierce-looking buffalo, though it might maintain a much preferable stock. This palace of Barranco was anciently kept up for the King's sport, but any young man having a certain degree of interest is allowed to share in the chase, which it is no longer an object to preserve. The guest, however, if he shoots a deer, or a buffalo, or wild boar, must pay the keeper at a certain fixed price, not much above its price in the market, which a sportsman would hardly think above its worth for game of his own killing. The town of Salerno is a beautiful seaport town, and it is, as it were, wrapt in an Italian cloak hanging round the limbs, or, to speak common sense, the new streets which they are rebuilding. We made no stop at Salerno, but continued to traverse the great plain of that name, within sight of the sea, which is chiefly pastured by that queer-looking brute, the buffalo, concerning which they have a notion that it returns its value sooner, and with less expense of feeding, than any other animal.

At length we came to two streams which join their forces, and would seem to flow across the plain to the bottom of the hills. One, however, flows so flat as almost scarcely to move, and sinking into a kind of stagnant pool is swallowed up by the earth, without proceeding any further until, after remaining buried for two or three [miles?] underground, it again bursts forth to the light, and resumes its course. When we crossed this stream by a bridge, which they are now repairing, we entered a spacious plain, very like that which we had [left] and displaying a similar rough and savage cultivation. Here savage herds were under the guardianship of shepherds as wild as they were themselves, clothed in a species of sheepskins, and carrying a sharp spear with which they herd and sometimes kill their buffaloes. Their farmhouses are in very poor order, and with every mark of poverty, and they have the character of being moved to dishonesty by anything like opportunity; of this there was a fatal instance, but so well avenged that it is not like to be repeated till it has long faded out of memory. The story, I am assured, happened exactly as follows:—A certain Mr. Hunt, lately married to a lady of his own age, and, seeming to have had what is too often the Englishman's characteristic of more money than wit, arrived at Naples a year or two ago en famille, and desirous of seeing all the sights in the vicinity of this celebrated place. Among others Paestum was not forgot. At one of the poor farmhouses where they stopped, the inhabitant set her eyes on a toilet apparatus which was composed of silver and had the appearance of great value. The woman who spread this report addressed herself to a youth who had been [under] arms, and undoubtedly he and his companions showed no more hesitation than the person with whom the idea had originated. Five fellows, not known before this time for any particular evil, agreed to rob the English gentleman of the treasure of which he had made such an imprudent display. They were attacked by the banditti in several parties, but the principal attack was directed to Mr. Hunt's carriage, a servant of that gentleman being, as well as himself, pulled out of the carriage and watched by those who had undertaken to conduct this bad deed. The man who had been the soldier, probably to keep up his courage, began to bully, talk violently, and strike the valet de place, who screamed out in a plaintive manner, "Do not injure me." His master, hoping to make some impression, said, "Do not hurt my servant," to which the principal brigand replied, "If he dares to resist, shoot him." The man who stood over Mr. Hunt unfortunately took the captain at the word, and his shot mortally wounded the unfortunate gentleman and his wife, who both died next day at our landlady's, Miss Whyte, who had the charity to receive them that they might hear their own language on their deathbed. The Neapolitan Government made the most uncommon exertions. The whole of the assassins were taken within a fortnight, and executed within a week afterwards. In this wild spot, rendered unpleasing by the sad remembrance of so inhuman an accident, and the cottages which served for refuge for so wretched and wild a people, exist the celebrated ruins of Paestum. Being without arms of any kind, the situation was a dreary one, and though I can scarce expect now to defend myself effectually, yet the presence of [illegible] would have been an infinite cordial. The ruins are of very great antiquity, which for a very long time has not been suspected, as it was never supposed that the Sybarites, a luxurious people, were early possessed of a style of architecture simple, chaste, and inconceivably grand, which was lost before the time of Augustus, who is said by Suetonius to have undertaken a journey on purpose to visit these remains of an architecture, the most simple and massive of which Italy at least has any other specimen. The Greeks have specimens of the same kind, but they are composed not of stone, like Paestum, but of marble. All this has been a discovery of recent date. The ruins, which exist without exhibiting much demolition, are three in number. The first is a temple of immense size, having a portico of the largest columns of the most awful species of classic architecture. The roof, which was composed of immense stones, was destroyed, but there are remains of the Cella, contrived for the sacrifices to which the priests and persons of high office were alone [admitted].

A piece of architecture more massive, without being cumbrous or heavy, was never invented by a mason.

A second temple in the same style was dedicated to Ceres as the large one was to Neptune, on whose dominion they looked, and who was the tutelar deity of Paestum, and so called from one of his Greek names. The fane of Ceres is finished with the greatest accuracy and beauty of proportion and taste, and in looking upon it I forgot all the unpleasant feelings which at first oppressed me. The third was not a temple, but a Basilica, or species of town-house, as it was called, having a third row of pillars running up the middle, between the two which surrounded the sides, and were common to the Basilica and temple both. These surprising public edifices have therefore all a resemblance to each other, though also points of distinction. If Sir William Gell makes clear his theory he will throw a most precious light on the origin of civilisation, proving that the sciences have not sprung at once into light and life, but rose gradually with extreme purity, and continued to be practised best by those who first invented them. Full of these reflections, we returned to our hospitable Miss Whyte in a drizzling evening, but unassassinated, and our hearts completely filled with the magnificence of what we had seen. Miss Whyte had in the meanwhile, by her interest at La Trinità with the Abbot, obtained us permission to pay a visit to him, and an invitation indeed to dinner, which only the weather and the health of Sir William Gell and myself prevented our accepting. After breakfast, therefore, on the 18th of March, we set out for the convent, situated about two or three miles from the town in a very large ravine, not unlike the bed of the Rosslyn river, and traversed by roads which from their steepness and precipitancy are not at all laudable, but the views were beautiful and changing incessantly, while the spring advancing was spreading her green mantle over rock and tree, and making that beautiful which was lately a blighted and sterile thicket. The convent of Trinità itself holds a most superb situation on the projection of an ample rock. It is a large edifice, but not a handsome one—the monks reserving their magnificence for their churches—but was surrounded by a circuit of fortifications, which, when there was need, were manned by the vassals of the convent in the style of the Feudal system. This was in some degree the case at the present day. The Abbot, a gentlemanlike and respectable-looking man, attended by several of his monks, received us with the greatest politeness, and conducted us to the building, where we saw two great sculptured vases, or more properly sarcophagi, of [marble?], well carved in the antique style, and adorned with the story of Meleager. They were in the shape of a large bath, and found, I think, at Paestum. The old church had passed to decay about a hundred years ago, when the present fabric was built; it is very beautifully arranged, and worthy of the place, which is eminently beautiful, and of the community, who are Benedictines—the most gentlemanlike order in the Roman Church.

We were conducted to the private repertory of the chapel, which contains a number of interesting deeds granted by sovereigns of the Grecian, Norman, and even Saracen descent. One from Roger, king of Sicily, extended His Majesty's protection to some half dozen men of consequence whose names attested their Saracenism.

In all the society I have been since I commenced this tour, I chiefly regretted on the present occasion the not having refreshed my Italian for the purpose of conversation. I should like to have conversed with the Churchmen very much, and they seem to have the same inclination, but it is too late to be thought of, though I could read Italian well once. The church might boast of a grand organ, with fifty-seven stops, all which we heard played by the ingenious organist. We then returned to Miss Whyte's for the evening, ate a mighty dinner, and battled cold weather as we might.

In further remarks on Paestum I may say there is a city wall in wonderful preservation, one of the gates of which is partly entire and displays the figure of a Syren under the architrave, but the antiquity of the sculpture is doubted, though not that of the inner part of the gate—so at least thinks Sir William, our best authority on such matters. Many antiquities have been, and many more probably will be, discovered. Paestum is a place which adds dignity to the peddling trade of the ordinary antiquarian.

March 19.—This morning we set off at seven for Naples; we observed remains of an aqueduct in a narrow, apparently designed for the purpose of leading water to La Cava, but had no time to conjecture on the subject, and took our road back to Pompeii, and passed through two towns of the same name, Nocera dei [Cristiani] and Nocera dei Pagani.^[521] In the latter village the Saracens obtained a place of refuge, from which it takes the name. It is also said that the circumstance is kept in memory by the complexion and features of this second Nocera, which are peculiarly of the African caste and tincture. After we passed Pompeii, where the continued severity of the weather did not permit us, according to our purpose, to take another survey, we saw in the adjacent village between us and Portici the scene of two assassinations, still kept in remembrance. The one I believe was from the motive of plunder. The head of the assassin was set up after his execution upon a pillar, which still exists, and it remained till the skull rotted to pieces. The other was a story less in the common style, and of a more interesting character:—A farmer of an easy fortune, and who might be supposed to leave to his daughter, a very pretty girl and an only child, a fortune thought in the village very considerable. She was, under the hope of sharing such a prize, made up to by a young man in the neighbourhood, handsome, active, and of a very good general character. He was of that sort of person who are generally successful among women, and the girl was supposed to have encouraged his addresses; but her father, on being applied to, gave him a direct and positive refusal. The gallant resolved to continue his addresses in hopes of overcoming this obstacle by his perseverance, but the father's opposition seemed only to increase by the lover's pertinacity. At length, as the father walked one evening smoking his pipe upon the terrace before his door, the lover unhappily passed by, and, struck with the instant thought that the obstacle to the happiness of his life was now entirely in his own power, he rushed upon the father, pierced him with three mortal stabs of his knife, and killed him dead on the spot, and made his escape to the mountains. What was most remarkable was that he was protected against the police, who went, as was their duty, in quest of him, by the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who afforded him both shelter and such food as he required, looking on him less as a wilful criminal than an unfortunate man, who had been surprised by a strong and almost irresistible temptation. So congenial, at this moment, is the love of vengeance to an Italian bosom, and though chastised in general by severe punishment, so much are criminals sympathised with by the community.

March 20.—I went with Miss Talbot and Mr. Lushington and his sister to the great and celebrated church of San Domenico Maggiore, which is the most august of the Dominican churches. They once possessed eighteen shrines in this part of Naples. It contains the tomb of St. Thomas Aquinas, and also the tombs of the royal family, which remain in the vestry. There are some large boxes covered with yellow velvet which contain their remains, and which stand ranged on a species of shelf, formed by the heads of a set of oaken presses which contain the vestments of the monks. The pictures of the kings are hung above their respective boxes, containing their bones, without any other means of preserving them. At the bottom of the lofty and narrow room is the celebrated Marquis di [Pescara], one of Charles V.'s most renowned generals, who commanded at the battle of Pavia.... The church itself is very large and extremely handsome, with many fine marble tombs in a very good style of architecture. The time being now nearly the second week in Lent, the church was full of worshippers.

APRIL.

April 15, Naples.—I am on the eve of leaving Naples after a residence of three or four months, my strength strongly returning, though the weather has been very uncertain. What with the interruption occasioned by the cholera and other inconveniences, I have not done much. I have sent home only the letters by L.L. Stuart and three volumes of the Siege of Malta. I sent them by Lord Cowper's son—Mr. Cowper returning, his leave being out—and two chests of books by the Messrs. Turner, Malta, who are to put them on board a vessel, to be forwarded to Mr. Cadell through Whittaker. I have hopes they will come to hand safe. I have bought a small closing carriage, warranted new and English, cost me £200, for the convenience of returning home. It carries Anne, Charles, and the two servants, and we start to-morrow morning for Rome, after which we shall be starting homeward, for the Greek scheme is blown up, as Sir Frederick Adam is said to be going to Madras, so he will be unable to send a frigate as promised. I have spent on the expenses of medical persons and books, etc., a large sum, yet not excessive.

Meantime we [may] have to add a curious journey of it. The brigands, of whom there are so many stories, are afloat once more, and many carriages stopped. A curious and popular work would be a history of these ruffians. Washington Irving has attempted something of the kind, but the person attempting this should be an Italian, perfectly acquainted with his country, character, and manners. Mr. R——, an apothecary, told me a singular [occurrence] which happened in Calabria about six years ago, and which I may set down just now as coming from a respectable authority, though I do not [vouch it].

This man was called, from his wily but inexorable temper, Il Bizarro, i.e. the Bizar. He was captain of a gang of banditti, whom he governed by his own authority, till he increased them to 1000 men, both on foot and horseback, whom he maintained in the mountains of Calabria, between the French and Neapolitans, both of which he defied, and pillaged the country. High rewards were set upon his head, to very little purpose, as he took care to guard himself against being betrayed by his own gang, the common fate of those banditti who become great in their vocation. At length a French colonel, whose name I have forgot, occupied the country of Bizarro, with such success that he formed a cordon around him and his party, and included him between the folds of a military column. Well-nigh driven to submit himself, the robber with his wife, a very handsome woman, and a child of a few months old, took a position beneath the arch of an old bridge, and, by an escape almost miraculous, were not perceived by a strong party whom the French maintained on the top of the arch. Night at length came without a discovery, which every moment might have made. When it became quite dark, the brigand, enjoining strictest silence on the female and child, resolved to steal from his place of shelter, and as they issued forth, kept his hand on the child's throat. But as, when they began to move, the child naturally cried, its father in a rage stiffened his grip so relentlessly that the poor infant never offended more in the same manner. This horrid [act] led to the conclusion of the robber's life.

His wife had never been very fond of him, though he trusted her more than any who approached him. She had been originally the wife of another man, murdered by her second husband, which second marriage she was compelled to undergo, and to affect at least the conduct of an affectionate wife. In their wanderings she alone knew where he slept for the night. He left his men in a body upon the top of an open hill, round which they set watches. He then went apart into the woods with his wife, and having chosen a glen—an obscure and deep thicket of the woods, there took up his residence for the night. A large Calabrian sheepdog, his constant attendant, was then tied to a tree at some distance to secure his slumbers, and having placed his carabine within reach of his lair, he consigned himself to such sleep as belongs to his calling. By such precautions he had secured his rest for many years.

But after the death of the child, the measure of his offence towards the unhappy mother was full to the brim, and her thoughts became determined on revenge. One evening he took up his quarters for the night with these precautions, but without the usual success. He had laid his carabine near him, and betaken himself to rest as usual, when his partner arose from his side, and ere he became sensible she had done so, she seized [his carabine], and discharging [it] in his bosom, ended at once his life and crimes. She finished her work by cutting off the brigand's head, and carrying it to the principal town of the province, where she delivered it to the police, and claimed the reward attached to his head, which was paid accordingly. This female still lives, a stately, dangerous-looking woman, yet scarce ill thought of, considering the provocation.

The dog struggled extremely to get loose on hearing the shot. Some say the female shot it; others that, in its rage, it very nearly gnawed through the stout young tree to which it was tied. He was worthy of a better master.

The distant encampment of the band was disturbed by the firing of the Bizarro's carabine at midnight. They ran through the woods to seek the captain, but finding him lifeless and headless, they became so much surprised that many of them surrendered to the government, and relinquished their trade, and the band of Bizarro, as it lived by his ingenuity, broke up by his death.

A story is told nearly as horrible as the above, respecting the cruelty of this bandit, which seems to entitle him to be called one of the most odious wretches of his name. A French officer, who had been active in the pursuit of him, fell into his hands, and was made to die [the death] of Marsyas or Saint Polycarp—that is, the period being the middle of summer, he was flayed alive, and, being smeared with honey, was exposed to all the intolerable insects of a southern sky. The corps were also informed where they might find their officer if they thought proper to send for him. As more than two days elapsed before the wretched man was found, nothing save his miserable relics could be discovered.

[Tour from Naples to Rome], April 16.—Having remained several months at Naples, we resolved to take a tour to Rome during the Holy Week and view the ecclesiastical shows which take place, although diminished in splendour by the Pope's poverty. So on the 15th we set out from Naples, my children unwell. We passed through the Champ de Mars,^[522] and so on by the Terra di Lavoro, a rich and fertile country, and breakfasted at St. Agatha, a wretched place, but we had a disagreeable experience. I had purchased a travelling carriage, assured that it was English-built and all that. However, when we were half a mile on our journey, a bush started and a wheel came off, but by dint of contrivances we fought our way back to Agatha, where we had a miserable lodging and wretched dinner. The people were civil, however, and no bandits abroad, being kept in awe by the escort of the King of Westphalia,^[523] who was on his road to Naples. The wheel was effectually repaired, and at seven in the morning we started with some apprehension of suffering from crossing the very moist marshes called the Pontine Bogs, which lie between Naples and Rome. This is not the time when these exhalations are most dangerous, though they seem to be safe at no time. We remarked the celebrated Capua, which is distinguished into the new and old. The new Capua is on the banks of the river Volturno, which conducts its waters into the moats. It is still a place of some strength in modern war. The approach to the old Capua is obstructed by an ancient bridge of a singular construction, and consists of a number of massive towers half ruined. We did not pass very near to them, but the site seems very strong. We passed Sinuessa or Sessa, an ancient Greek town, situated not far from shore. The road from Naples to Capua resembles an orchard on both sides, but, alas! it runs through these infernal marshes, which there is no shunning, and which the example of many of my friends proves to be exceeding dangerous. The road, though it has the appearance of winding among hills, is in fact, on the left side, limited by the sea-coast running northward. It comes into its more proper line at a celebrated sea-marsh called Cameria,^[524] concerning which the oracle said "Ne moveas Camarinam," and the transgression of which precept brought on a pestilence. The road here is a wild pass bounded by a rocky precipice; on one hand covered with wild shrubs, flowers, and plants, and on the other by the sea. After this we came to a military position, where Murat used to quarter a body of troops and cannonade the English gunboats, which were not slow in returning the compliment. The English then garrisoned Italy and Sicily under Sir [John Stuart]. We supped at this place, half fitted up as a barrack, half as an inn. (The place is now called Terracina.) Near this a round tower is shown, termed the tomb of Cicero, which may be doubted. I ought, before quitting Terracina, to have mentioned the view of the town and castle of Gaeta from the Pass. It is a castle of great strength. I should have mentioned Aversa, remarkable for a house for insane persons, on the humane plan of not agitating their passions. After a long pilgrimage on this beastly road we fell asleep in spite of warnings to the contrary, and before we beat the reveille were within twenty miles of the city of Rome. I think I felt the effects of the bad air and damp in a very bad headache.

After a steep climb up a slippery ill-paved road Velletri received us, and accommodated us in an ancient villa or château, the original habitation of an old noble. I would have liked much to have taken a look at it; but I am tired by my ride. I fear my time for such researches is now gone. Monte Albano, a pleasant place, should also be mentioned, especially a forest of grand oaks, which leads you pretty directly into the vicinity of Rome. My son Charles had requested the favour of our friend Sir William Gell to bespeak a lodging, which, considering his bad health, was scarcely fair. My daughter had imposed the same favour, but they had omitted to give precise direction how to correspond with their friends concerning the execution of their commission. So there we were, as we had reason to think, possessed of two apartments and not knowing the [way] to any of them. We entered Rome by a gate ^[525] renovated 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.

APPENDIX

No. II.

Letter from Mr. Carlyle referred to in vol. ii. p. 160.^[526]

SIR,—In February last I had the honour to receive a letter from Von Goethe, announcing the speedy departure, from Weimar, of a Packet for me, in which, among other valuables, should be found "two medals," to be delivered "mit verbindlichsten Grüssen" to Sir Walter Scott. By a slow enough conveyance this Kästchen, with its medals in perfect safety, has at length yesterday come to hand, and now lays on me the enviable duty of addressing you.

Among its multifarious contents, the Weimar Box failed not to include a long letter—considerable portion of which, as it virtually belongs to yourself, you will now allow me to transcribe. Perhaps it were thriftier in me to reserve this for another occasion; but considering how seldom such a Writer obtains such a Critic, I cannot but reckon it pity that this friendly intercourse between them should be anywise delayed.

With regard to the medals, which are, as I expected, the two well-known likenesses of Goethe himself, it could be no hard matter to dispose of them safely here, or transmit them to you, if you required it, without delay: but being in this curious fashion appointed as it were Ambassador between two Kings of Poetry, I would willingly discharge my mission with the solemnity that beseems such a business, and naturally it must flatter my vanity and love of the marvellous, to think that, by means of a Foreigner whom I have never seen, I might now have access to my native Sovereign, whom I have so often seen in public and so often wished that I had claim to see and know in private and near at hand.—Till Whitsunday I continue to reside here; and shall hope that some time before that period I may have opportunity to wait on you, and, as my commission bore, to hand you these memorials in person.

Meanwhile I abide your further orders in this matter; and so, with all the regard which belongs to one to whom I in common with other millions owe so much,—I have the honour to be,

Besides the two medals specially intended for you, there have come four more, which I am requested generally to dispose of amongst "Wohlwollenden," Perhaps Mr. Lockhart, whose merits in respect of German Literature, and just appreciation of this its Patriarch and Guide, are no secret, will do me the honour to accept of one and direct me through your means how I am to have it conveyed?

"Should you see Sir Walter Scott, be so kind as return to him my most grateful thanks for his dear and cheerful letter,—a letter written in just that beautiful temper which makes one man feel himself to be worth something to another. Say, too, that I received his Life of Napoleon, and have read it this winter—in the evening and at night—with attention from beginning to end. To me it was full of meaning to observe how the first novelist of the century took upon himself a task and business, so apparently foreign to him, and passed under review with rapid stroke those important events of which it had been our fate to be eye-witnesses. The division into chapters, embracing masses of intimately connected events, gives a clearness to the historical sequence that otherwise might have been only too easily confused, while, at the same time, the individual events in each chapter are described with a clearness and a vividness quite invaluable.

I read the work in the original, and the impression it made upon me was thus free from the disturbing influence of a foreign medium. I found myself listening to the words of a patriotic Briton, who finds it impossible to regard the actions of the enemy with a favourable eye,—an honest citizen this, whose desire is, that while political considerations shall always receive due weight, the demands of morality shall never be overlooked; one who, while the enemy is borne along in his wanton course of good fortune, cannot forbear to point with warning finger to the inevitable consequences, and in his bitterest disaster can with difficulty find him worthy of a tear.

The book was in yet another respect of the greatest importance to me, in that it brought back to my remembrance events through which I had lived—now showing me much that I had overlooked, now transplanting me to some unexpected standpoint, thus forcing me to reconsider a question which I had looked upon as settled, and in a special manner putting me in a position to pass judgment upon the unfavourable critics of this book—for these cannot fail—and to estimate at their true value the objections which are sure to be made from their side. From all this you will understand how the end of last year could have brought with it no gift more welcome to me than this book. The work has become to me as it were a golden net, wherewith I can recover from out the waves of Lethe the shadowy pictures of my past life, and in that rich draught I am finding my present employment.

I intend making a few remarks to the same purpose in the next number of Kunst und Alterthum.^[527]

No. III.

Contents of the Volume of Irish Manuscript referred to, vol. ii. p. 289.

2. The Book of Rights; giving an account of ye rents and subsidies of the kings and princes of Ireland. It is said to have (been) written by Beinin MacSescnen, the Psalmist of Saint Patrick. It is entirely in verse, except a few sentences of prose taken from ye booke of Glandelogh.

3. A short poem giving an account of ye disciples and favourites of St. Patrick.

4. A poem of Eochy O Flyn's; giving an account of the followers of Partholan, the first invader of Ireland after the flood.

5. A poem written by Macliag, Brian Boruay's poet Laureat. It gives an account of the twelve sons of Kennedy, son of Lorcan, Brian's father; and of ye Dalcassian race in general.

6. A book of annals from the year 976 to 1014, including a good account of the battle of Clontarf, etc.

7. A collection of Historical poems by different authors, such as O Dugan, etc., and some extracts, as they seem, from the psalter of Cashill, written by Cormac-mac-Cuilinan, Archbishop and King of Leath Mogha, towards the beginning or middle of the ninth century; Cobhach O Carmon and O Heagusa have their part in these poems. In them are interspersed many other miscellaneous tracts, among which is one called Sgeul-an-Erin, but deficient, wherein mention is made of Garbh mac Stairn, said to be slain by Cuchullin; a treatise explaining the Ogham manner of writing which is preserved in this book; the privileges of the several kings and princes of Ireland, in making their tours of the Kingdom, and taking their seats at the Feis of Tara; and an antient moral and political poem as an advice to princes and chieftains, other poems and prophecies, etc., chronological and religious, disposed in no certain order.

10. The death of Cuchullin, an antient story interspersed with poems, which, if collected, would contain the entire substance of the composition, which is very good (except in one instance) and founded on real fact.

11. The bloody revenge of Conall Cearnach for the death of Cuchullin. This may be considered as the sequel of the preceding story, and of equal authority and antiquity. It is written in the very same style, and contains a beautiful elegy on Cuchullin by his wife Eimhir.

12. The death of Cormac Con luings, written in the same style with the foregoing stories.

13. The genealogies of all ye principal Irish and Anglo-Norman families of Ireland to the end.

The above table of contents is in the handwriting of Dr. Matthew Young, late Bishop of Clonfert, a man possessing the highest talents and learning, and who had been acquainted with the Irish language from his infancy. J.B.

No. IV.

"A Former Empress."—p. 451.

The Church of Santa Maria del Carmine contains relics dear alike to the romance of democracy and empire. It was from this church that Masaniello harangued the fickle populace in vain; it was here that he was despatched by three bandits in the pay of the Duke of Maddaloni; and here he found an honourable interment during a rapid reflux of popular favour. In this church, too, lies Conradin the last prince of the great house of Suabia, with his companion in arms and in death, Frederic, son of the Margrave of Baden, with pretensions, through his mother, to the Dukedom of Austria. The features of the mediæval building have long since been obliterated by reconstructions of the 17th and 18th centuries, while round the tomb of Conradin a tissue of fictions has been woven by the piety and fondness of after times. The sceptics of modern research do not, however, forbid us to believe that there may be an element of truth in the beautiful legend of the visit and benefactions of Elizabeth Margaret of Bavaria, the widowed mother of Conradin, erroneously dignified with the title of Empress, to the resting-place of her son. Her statue in the convent, with a purse in her hand, seems to attest the tale, which was no doubt related to the Scottish Poet, and may well have stirred his fancy. What the epitaph was which he copied we cannot now determine. It is not pretended that the unhappy lady was buried here, but two inscriptions commemorate the ferocity of Charles of Anjou, and the vicissitudes of fortune which befell his victims. One, believed to be of great antiquity, is attached to a cross or pillar erected at the place of execution. It breathes the insolence of the conqueror mingled with a barbarous humour embodied in a play on words—for "Asturis" has a double reference to the kite and to the place "Astura," at which the fugitive Princes were captured:

The other lines, in the Church, of more modern date, are conceived in a humaner spirit, and may possibly be those which touched the heart of the old worshipper of chivalry.

(For the details of the death of Conradin and the stories connected with his memory see Summonte, Storia di Napoli, vol. ii. Celano, Notizie di Napoli Giornata Quarta, and St. Priest, Histoire de la Conquête de Naples, vol. iii.)

No. V.

"Mother Goose's Tales," p. 459. The following note by a distinguished authority on Nursery Tales, will be read with interest.

"It is unfortunate that Sir Walter Scott did not record in his Diary the dates of the Neapolitan collection of 'Mother Goose's Tales,' and of the early French editions with which he was acquainted. He may possibly have meant Basile's Lo Cunto de li cunti (Naples, 1637-44 and 1645), which contains some stories analogous to those which Scott mentions. There can be no doubt, however, that France, not Italy, can claim the shapes of Blue Beard, The Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots, and the other 'Tales of Mother Goose,' which are known best in England. Other forms of these nursery traditions exist, indeed, not only in Italian, but in most European and some Asiatic and African languages. But their classical shape in literature is that which Charles Perrault gave them, in his Contes de ma Mère l'Oie, of 1697. Among the 'early French editions' which Sir Walter knew, probably none were older than Dr. Douce's copy of 1707, now in the Bodleian. The British Museum has no early copy. There was an example of the First Edition sold in the Hamilton sale: another, or the same, in blue morocco, belonged to Charles Nodier, and is described in his Mélanges. The only specimen in the Public Libraries of Paris is in the Bibliothèque Victor Cousin. It is probable that the 'dumpy duodecimo' in the Neapolitan dialect, seen by Scott, was a translation of Perrault's famous little work. The stories in it, which are not in the early French editions, may be L'Adroite Princesse, by a lady friend of Perrault's, and Peau d'Ane in prose, a tale which Perrault told only in verse. These found their way into French and Flemish editions after 1707. Our earliest English translation seems to be that of 1729, and the name of 'Mother Goose' does not appear to occur in English literature before that date. It is probably a translation of 'Ma Mère l'Oie,' who gave her name to such old wives' fables in France long before Perrault's time, as the spider, Ananzi, gives his name to the 'Nancy Stories' of the negroes in the West Indies. Among Scott's Century of Inventions, unfulfilled projects for literary work, few are more to be regretted than his intended study of the origin of Popular Tales, a topic no longer thought 'obnoxious to ridicule.'"—A.L.

No. VI.

DESCENDANTS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

INDEX.

FOOTNOTES.

Written by R. Plumer Ward, author of Tremaine and other works. Mr. Ward's Political Life, including a Diary to 1820, was published in 1850. in two vols. 8vo, edited by Hon. E. Phipps.

See post, p. 60, note.

See ante, vol. i. pp. 101-2.

Archibald Campbell Tait, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury.

David Hume, the historian, died August 25, 1776.

To please the king, Canning appointed the Duke of Clarence as first Lord of the Admiralty, but Greville says it was a most judicious stroke of policy, and nothing served so much to disconcert his opponents. Lord Melville had held the office from March 25, 1812, to April 13, 1827. The Duke resigned in the following year.—See Croker's Correspondence, vol. i. pp. 264 (letter to Blomfield), 427, 429; also ante, vol. i. p. 262. Lord Melville was President of the India Board in the Duke of Wellington's administration in 1828, and again First Lord from Sept. 17 of the same year until Nov. 22, 1830.

The Rev. William Stephen Gilly, D.D., Vicar of Norham, author of Narrative of an Excursion to the Mountains of Piemont, 1823; Researches among the Vaudois or Waldenses, 1827-31.

See Raine's St. Cuthbert, 4to, Durham, 1828.

See Danvers in First Series of Sayings and Doings.

The Merry Devil of Edmonton, a play by "T.B.," which has also been attributed to Anthony Brewer.

Right Hon. Thomas Francis Kennedy, M.P. for Ayr Burghs, 1818-34. Died at the age of ninety at Dalquharran in 1879.

This powerful drama, entitled Witchcraft: a Tragedy in Prose, was suggested, as the author says in her preface, by reading a scene in The Bride of Lammermoor.

Did Constable ruin Scott, as has been generally supposed? It is right to say that such a charge was not made during the lifetime of either. Immediately after Scott's death Miss Edgeworth wrote to Sir James Gibson-Craig and asked him for authentic information as to Sir Walter's connection with Constable. Sir James in reply stated that to his personal knowledge Mr. Constable had, in his anxiety to save Scott, about 1814 [1813], commenced a system of accommodation bills which could not fail to produce, and actually did produce, the ruin of both parties. To another correspondent, some years later, he wrote still more strongly (Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 457).

Scott appears to have been aware of the facts so far, as he says to Laidlaw, in a letter of December 16, 1825, "The confusion of 1814 is a joke to this ... but it arises out of the nature of the same connection which gives, and has given, me a fortune;" and Mr. Lockhart says that the firm of J.B. & Co. "had more than once owed its escape from utter ruin and dishonour" through Constable's exertions.—Life, vol. v. p. 150.

On reading the third volume of Constable's Memoirs (3 vols. 8vo, 1873), one cannot fail to see that all the three parties—printer, publisher, and author—were equal sharers in the imprudences that led to the disaster in 1826. Whether Mr. Constable was right in recommending further advances to the London house is doubtful; but if it was an error of judgment, it was one which appears to have been shared by Mr. Cadell and Mr. James Ballantyne. It must be admitted that the three firms were equally culpable in maintaining for so many years a system of fictitious credit. Constable, at least, from a letter to Scott, printed in vol. iii. p. 274, had become seriously alarmed as early as August 8, 1823.

That Constable was correct in his estimate of the value of the literary property has been shown by the large sums realised from the sale of Scott's works since 1829; and that his was the brain ("the pendulum of the clock" as Scott termed it) to plan is also shown by the fact that the so-called "favourite" edition, the magnum opus, appears to have been Constable's idea (Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 255), although, according to the Annual Register of 1849, Mr. Cadell claimed the merit of a scheme which he had "quietly and privately matured."

Thomas Thomson, Depute-Clerk Register for Scotland under Lord Frederick Campbell.

Johnson's Epitaph on Claude Phillips.

Right Hon. Joseph Planta (son of Joseph Planta, Principal Librarian of the British Museum from 1799) was at this time one of the Secretaries to the Treasury. He died in 1847.

Personal Memoirs by P.L. Gordon, 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1830.

General David Stewart of Garth, author of Sketches of the Highlanders. 2 vols. 8vo, Edin. 1822. General Stewart died in St. Lucia in 1829. Sir Walter said of him that no man was "more regretted, or perhaps by a wider circle of friends and acquaintance."

Resulting in the duel of 21st September 1809.—See Croker's Correspondence, vol. i. p. 20; and Life, vol. iii. ch. xix.

Afterwards Lord Polwarth.

Persian chitty = a short note.

Letters to Richard Heber, Esq., containing Critical Remarks on the Series of Novels beginning with "Waverley," and an Attempt to ascertain their Author. 8vo, London, 1821.

They were published under the title Ancient Ballads and Songs, 2 vols. 8vo, 1828.

The Forester's Guide and Profitable Planter, reviewed in the Quarterly, Oct. 1827. See also "On Planting Waste Lands," in Misc. Prose Works, vol. xxi. pp. 1-76.

Daughter of Mrs. Maclean Clephane, and afterwards Marchioness of Northampton.

Scott's indorsation of this letter is characteristic—"Prodigious, bold request, Tom Thumb."

Among the documents laid before Scott in the Colonial Office, when he was in London at the close of 1826, "were some which represented one of Bonaparte's attendants at St. Helena, General Gourgaud, as having been guilty of gross unfairness, giving the English Government private information that the Emperor's complaints of ill-usage were utterly unfounded, and yet then and afterwards aiding and assisting the delusion in France as to the harshness of Sir Hudson Lowe's conduct towards his captive. Sir Walter, when using these remarkable documents, guessed that Gourgaud might be inclined to fix a personal quarrel on himself; and there now appeared in the newspapers a succession of hints that the General was seriously bent on this purpose. He applied as Colonel Grogg would have done forty years before to The Baronet" [W. Clerk].—Life, vol. ix. pp. 142-3.

A short time previously Gourgaud had had a quarrel with Count Ségur regarding the latter's History of the Russian Campaign, to which he wrote a reply in 1825, and then fought a duel with the author in support of his allegations. In Scott's case, however, it came to nothing beyond a paper war, which Sir Walter declined to prolong, leaving the question to be decided by the general public. It is due to Gourgaud to state that on two occasions he saved Napoleon's life, though his subsequent information to the British Government did not tend to increase his popularity with the Bonapartists. He died at Paris in his sixty-ninth year on July 25th, 1852.

Life, vol. i. pp. 47, 155-156.

The Planters' Guide, by Sir Henry Seton Steuart.

In the North British Review, No. 82, there is an extremely interesting sketch of this learned Peerage lawyer. He died in his 85th year, in 1864, at his country seat, Kirklands in Roxburghshire, which he had purchased by Sir Walter's advice.

The following amusing narrative of what took place on Tweedside when these two old friends were in their prime is given in Mr. Richardson's own words:—

"On a beautiful morning in September 1810 I started with Sir Walter from Ashiestiel. We began nearly under the ruins of Elibank, and in sight of the 'Hanging Tree.' I only had a rod, but Sir Walter walked by my side, now quoting Izaak Walton, as, 'Fish me this stream by inches,' and now delighting me with a profusion of Border stories. After the capture of numerous fine trout, I hooked something greater and unseen, which powerfully ran out my line. Sir Walter got into a state of great excitement, exclaiming, 'It's a fish! It's a fish! Hold up your rod! Give him line!' and so on. The rod, which belonged to one of his boys, broke, and put us both into great alarm; but I contrived, by ascending the steep bank and holding down the rod, still to give play to the reel, till, after a good quarter of an hour's struggle, a trout, for so it turned out to be, was conducted round a little peninsula. Sir Walter jumped into the water, seized him, and threw him out on the grass. Tom Purdie came up a little time after, and was certainly rather discomposed at my success. 'It will be some sea brute,' he observed; but he became satisfied that it was a fine river-trout, and such as, he afterwards admitted, had not been killed in Tweed for twenty years; and when I moved down the water, he went, as Sir Walter afterwards observed, and gave it a kick on the head, exclaiming, 'To be ta'en by the like o' him frae Lunnon!'"

James Byers, 1733-1817.

Anne Scott of Harden, afterwards wife of Lord Jerviswoode, and Elizabeth of Colonel Charles Wyndham.

James Hope, W.S., Scott's school-fellow, died in Edinburgh 14th November 1842.

Greville, vol. i. pp. 110-113.

Sir W. Rae, who was Lord Advocate from 1819 to 1830.

See letter to Duke of Buccleuch on James Hogg at p. 40.

No. 10 Walker Street.

Scott's unwearied interest in James Hogg, despite the waywardness of this imaginative genius, is one of the most beautiful traits in his character. Readers of Mr. Lockhart's Life, do not require to be reminded of the active part he took in promoting the welfare of the "Ettrick Shepherd" on many occasions, from the outset of their acquaintance in 1801 until the end of his life.

Hogg was a strange compound of boisterous roughness and refinement in expression, and these odd contrasts surprised strangers such as Moore and Ticknor. The former was shocked, and the latter said his conversation was a perpetual contradiction to the exquisite delicacy of Kilmeny.

The critics of the day, headed by Professor Wilson, declared he was Burns's rival as a song-writer, and his superior in anything relating to external nature! indeed they wrote of him as unsurpassed by poet or painter in his fairy tales of ancient time, dubbing him Poet Laureate to the Queen of Elfland; and yet his unrefined manner tempted these friends to speak of him familiarly as the greatest hog in all Apollo's herd, or the Boar of the Forest, etc. etc.

Wordsworth, however, on November 21, 1835, when his brother bard had just left the sunshine for the sunless land, wrote from his heart the noble lines ending—

"Death upon the Braes of Yarrow
Closed the Poet Shepherd's eyes."

Another, sister Georgiana, married General the Honourable Sir Alexander Hope, G.C.B., grandfather of Mrs. Maxwell Scott.

Chronicles of the Canongate. First Series, ending with the story of The Surgeon's Daughter.

Mr. Lockhart justly remarks that this entry "paints the man in his tenderness, his fortitude, and happy wisdom."

Charles Rose Ellis had been created Baron Seaford in 1826.

See Cromek's Reliques of Burns, p. 210.

"The Duke was then making a progress in the North of England, to which additional importance was given by the uncertain state of political arrangements; the chance of Lord Goderich's being able to maintain himself as Canning's successor seeming very precarious, and the opinion that his Grace must soon be called to a higher station than that of Commander of the Forces, which he had accepted under the new Premier, gaining ground every day. Sir Walter, who felt for the great Captain the pure and exalted devotion that might have been expected from some honoured soldier of his banners, accepted this invitation, and witnessed a scene of enthusiasm with which its principal object could hardly have been more gratified than he was."—Life, vol. ix. pp. 156-7.

See Correspondence of Princess Lieven and Earl Grey for Lord Grey's opinion, vol. i. p. 60.

Dr. William Van Mildert had been appointed to the See of Durham in 1826 on the death of Dr. Shute Barrington. He died in 1836.

Admiral Sir John Beresford had some few years before this commanded on the Leith Station—when Sir Walter and he saw a great deal of each other—"and merry men were they."—J.G.L.

An eye-witness writes:—"The manner in which Bishop Van Mildert proceeded on this occasion will never be forgotten by those who know how to appreciate scholarship without pedantry, and dignity without ostentation. Sir Walter had been observed throughout the day with extraordinary interest—I should say enthusiasm. The Bishop gave his health with peculiar felicity, remarking that he could reflect upon the labours of a long literary life, with the consciousness that everything he had written tended to the practice of virtue, and to the improvement of the human race."—Hon. Henry Liddell. Life, vol. ix. p. 160.

Histoire de la guerre de la Péninsule sous Napoléon, etc. Publiée par Madame la Comtesse Foy. Paris, 4 vols. 8vo, 1827. See Croker, vol. i. p. 352.

This story is told also in Lord Stanhope's Conversations with the Duke of Wellington. 8vo, London, 1888, p. 54.

The present generation are apt to forget the enormous sums spent in Parliamentary elections; e.g., Mme. de Lieven tells Earl Grey (Cor. ii. p. 215) that Lord Ravensworth's neighbour, the Duke of Northumberland, will subscribe £100,000 towards the election of 1831.

Hugh, third Duke of Northumberland.

Dr. Bethell, who had been tutor to the Duke of Northumberland, held at this time the See of Gloucester.—J.G.L.

Launcelot Brown, 1715-1782.

A quarto volume, containing 39 etchings (privately printed in 1823), still preserved at Abbotsford.

Mr. Archdeacon Singleton.—J.G.L.

Stanhope's Notes, p. 24; and Croker, vol. ii. p. 233.

From Stratford-on-Avon.

For the utilisation of this story, see Fair Maid of Perth, published in the following year.

See M.G. Lewis's Journal of a West Indian Proprietor. 8vo, Lond., 1834, p. 47; and Introduction to Fair Maid of Perth, p. 16.

On the 13th of October Sir Walter had received a letter from "one who had in former happy days been no stranger," and on turning to the signature he found to his astonishment that it was from Lady Jane Stuart, with whom he had had no communication since the memorable visit he had made to Invermay in the autumn of 1796. The letter was simply a formal request on behalf of a friend for permission to print some ballads in Scott's handwriting which were in an album that had apparently belonged to her daughter, yet it stirred his nature to its depths. The substance of his reply may be gathered from the second letter, which he had just read before making this sad entry in his Journal.—Lady Jane tells him that she would convey to him the Manuscript Book

—,"as a secret and sacred Treasure, could I but know that you would take it as I give it without a drawback or misconstruction of my intentions;"

and she adds—

"Were I to lay open my heart (of which you know little indeed) you would find how it has and ever shall be warm towards you. My age [she was then seventy-four] encourages me, and I have longed to tell you. Not the mother who bore you followed you more anxiously (though secretly) with her blessing than I! Age has tales to tell and sorrows to unfold."

As is seen by his Journal Sir Walter resumed his personal intercourse with his venerable friend on November 6th and continued it until her death, which took place in the winter of 1829.—Ante, vol. i. p. 404, and Life, vol. i. pp. 329-336.

Kirn, the feast at the end of the harvest in Scotland.

The correspondence of Robert, second Marquis of Londonderry, was edited by his brother in 1850, but there was no memoir published until Alison wrote the Lives of Lord Castlereagh and Sir Charles Stewart, Second and Third Marquesses of Londonderry. 3 vols. 8vo, Edinburgh, 1861.

Holyrood remained an asylum for civil debtors until 1880, when by the Act 43 & 44 Victoria, cap. 34 imprisonment for debt was abolished. For description of bounds see Chronicles of the Canongate, p. 7. (vol. xli.).

The book was published during November, under the following title, Chronicles of the Canongate (First Series). By the author of Waverley, etc.—SIC ITUR AD ASTRA, motto of Canongate arms. In two vols. The Two Drovers, The Highland Widow, The Surgeon's Daughter. Edinburgh, printed for Cadell and Co., and Simpkin Marshall. London 1827.

The introduction to this work contains sketches of Scott's own life, with portraits of his friends, unsurpassed in any of his earlier writings; for example, what could be better than the description of his ancestors the Scotts of Raeburn, vol. xli. p. 61:—

"They werena ill to them, sir, and that is aye something; they were just decent bien bodies. Ony poor creature that had face to beg got an awmous and welcome; they that were shamefaced gaed by, and twice as welcome. But they keepit an honest walk before God and man, the Croftangrys, and as I said before, if they did little good, they did as little ill. They lifted their rents and spent them; called in their kain and eat them; gaed to the kirk of a Sunday, bowed civilly if folk took aff their bannets as they gaed by, and lookit as black as sin at them that keepit them on."

Mrs. Wilson, landlady of the inn at Fushie, one stage from Edinburgh,—an old dame of some humour, with whom Sir Walter always had a friendly colloquy in passing. I believe the charm was, that she had passed her childhood among the Gipsies of the Border. But her fiery Radicalism latterly was another source of high merriment.—J.G.L.

The "new hare" was this: "It transpired in the very nick of time, that a suspicion of usury attached to these Israelites without guile, in a transaction with Hurst and Robinson, as to one or more of the bills for which the house of Ballantyne had become responsible. This suspicion, upon investigation, assumed a shape sufficiently tangible to justify Ballantyne's trustees in carrying the point before the Court of Session; but they failed to establish their allegation."—Life, vol. ix. pp. 178-9.

A favourite domestic at Abbotsford, whose name was never to be mentioned by any of Scott's family without respect and gratitude.—Life, vol. x. p. 3.

Lady Jane Stuart's house was No. 12 Maitland Street, opposite Shandwick Place. Mrs. Skene told Mr. Lockhart that at Sir Walter's first meeting with his old friend a very painful scene occurred, and she added—"I think it highly probable that it was on returning from this call that he committed to writing the verses, To Time, by his early favourite."—Life, vol. ix, p. 183.

The lines referred to are given below—

Friend of the wretch oppress'd with grief.
Whose lenient hand, though slow, supplies
The balm that lends to care relief,
That wipes her tears—that checks her sighs!

'Tis thine the wounded soul to heal
That hopeless bleeds for sorrow's smart,
From stern misfortune's shaft to steal
The barb that rankles in the heart.

What though with thee the roses fly,
And jocund youth's gay reign is o'er;
Though dimm'd the lustre of the eye,
And hope's vain dreams enchant no more.

Yet in thy train come dove-eyed peace,
Indifference with her heart of snow;
At her cold couch, lo! sorrows cease,
No thorns beneath her roses grow.

O haste to grant thy suppliant's prayer,
To me thy torpid calm impart:
Rend from my brow youth's garland fair,
But take the thorn that's in my heart.

Ah! why do fabling poets tell
That thy fleet wings outstrip the wind?
Why feign thy course of joy the knell,
And call thy slowest pace unkind?

To me thy tedious feeble pace
Comes laden with the weight of years;
With sighs I view morn's blushing face,
And hail mild evening with my tears.

mdash;Life, vol. i. pp. 334-336.

Sir William Forbes crowned his generous efforts for Scott's relief by privately paying the whole of Abud's demand (nearly £2000) out of his own pocket—ranking as an ordinary creditor for the amount; and taking care at the same time that his old friend should be allowed to believe that the affair had merged quietly in the general measures of the trustees. In fact it was not until some time after Sir William's death (in the following year) that Sir Walter learned what he had done.—Life, vol. ix. p. 179.

St. Valentine's Day or Fair Maid of Perth.

A Royal Commission, of which Sir Walter was a member, had been appointed in 1826 to visit the Universities of Scotland. At the suggestion of Lord Aberdeen, a hundred guinea prize had been offered for the best essay on the national character of the Athenians. This prize, which excited great interest among the Edinburgh students, was won by John Brown Patterson, and ordered to be read before the Commissioners, and the other public bodies, with the result described by Sir Walter. It was read on the 17th November before a distinguished audience.

Sir William Rae's house, in Liberton parish, near Edinburgh.

From the old song Andrew and his Cutty Gun.

Sir James Gibson-Craig, one of the Whig leaders, and a prominent advocate of reform at the end of last century.

Gillespie was tried at Aberdeen before Lord Alloway on September 26, and sentenced to be executed on Friday, 16th November 1827.

Slightly altered from Macbeth, Act II. Sc. 2.

Lady Elizabeth Montagu, daughter of George Duke of Montagu.

Saladin's shroud, which was said to have been displayed as a standard "to admonish the East of the instability of human greatness."—GIBBON.

The belief in the existence of the 'Water Cow' is not even yet extinct in the Highlands. In Mr. J.H. Dixon's book on Gairloch, 8vo, 1886, it is said the monster lives or did live in Loch na Beiste! Some years ago the proprietor, moved by the entreaties of the people, and on the positive testimony of two elders of the Free Church, that the creature was hiding in his loch, attempted its destruction by pumping and running off the water; this plan having failed owing to the smallness of the pumps, though it was persevered in for two years, he next tried poisoning the water by emptying into the loch a quantity of quick lime!!—Whatever harm was thus done to the trout none was experienced by the Beast, which it is rumoured has been seen in the neighbourhood as late as 1884 (p. 162). This transaction formed an element in a case before the Crofters' Commission at Aultbea in May 1888.

Daughter of Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon.

Lord Dudley, then Secretary of State for the Foreign Department, was an early friend of Scott's. He had been partly educated in Edinburgh, under Dugald Stewart's care.

The Duchess of Bedford's eldest son.

My Aunt Margaret's Mirror.

Sir Walter need have expressed no surprise at this architect's desire to pull down the old house of Lauriston! The present generation can judge of Mr. Burn's appreciation of ancient Architecture by looking at the outside of St. Giles, Edinburgh.—It was given over to his tender mercies in 1829, a picturesque old building, and it left his hands in 1834 a bit of solid well-jointed mason-work with all Andrew Fairservice's "whigmaleeries, curliewurlies, and open steek hems" most thoroughly removed!—Rob Roy, vol. viii. pp. 29-30. Fortunately the tower and crown were untouched, and the interior, which was injured in a less degree, has, through the liberality and good taste of the late William Chambers, been restored to its original stateliness.

See Ethwald, Plays on the Passions, vol. ii., Lond. 1802.

Alluding to an entry in the Journal, that he had expended 30s. in the purchase of the Theatre of God's Judgment, 1612, a book which is still in the Abbotsford Library.

See note to May 30, 1827, vol. i. p. 398.

Burns's lines To a Mouse.

Ante, p. 60. The book had only been published two months. "The Second Series," when published in the following year, contained St. Valentine's Eve, or the Fair Maid of Perth; the two stories objected to, viz.: My Aunt Margaret's Mirror and the Laird's Jock appeared in the Keepsake of 1828, and were afterwards included in vol. xli. of the Magnum Opus.

The Garrick papers were published under the title Private Correspondence, of David Garrick, illustrated with notes and Memoir. 2 vols. 4to, London, 1831-32. [Edited by James Boaden.]

Afterwards Judge in the Court of Session under the title of Lord Jerviswoode.

A few days later, however, the following reply was sent:—"Dear Gordon,—As I have no money to spare at present, I find it necessary to make a sacrifice of my own scruples to relieve you from serious difficulties. The enclosed will entitle you to deal with any respectable bookseller. You must tell the history in your own way as shortly as possible. All that is necessary to say is that the discourses were written to oblige a young friend. It is understood my name is not to be put in the title-page, or blazed at full length in the preface. You may trust that to the newspapers.

"Pray do not think of returning any thanks about this; it is enough that I know it is likely to serve your purpose. But use the funds arising from this unexpected source with prudence, for such fountains do not spring up at every place of the desert. I am, in haste, ever yours most truly, Walter Scott"—Life, vol. ix. p. 205.

Issued in 1829 as No. 33 of the Bannatyne Club Books. Memorials of George Bannatyne, 1545-1608, with Memoir by Sir Walter Scott.

It was thus that the scenery of Loch Katrine came to be so associated with the recollection of many a dear friend and merry expedition of former days, that to compose the Lady of the Lake was a labour of love, and no less so to recall the manners and incidents introduced.—Life, vol. i. p. 296.

See note, Jan. 8, 1828, pp. 107-8.

See Henry V., Act IV. Sc. 3.

The Edinburgh play-bills of the day intimate the "Second appearance of Miss Fanny Ayton, Prima Donna of the King's Theatre."

By Congreve—Act II. Sc. 7.

The dissolution of the Goderich Cabinet confirmed very soon these shrewd guesses; and Sir Walter anticipated nothing but good from the Premiership of the Duke of Wellington.—Life, vol. ix. p. 188.

The Rev. Thomas Wright was minister of Borthwick from 1817 to 1841, when he was deposed on the ground of alleged heresy. His works, The True Plan of a Living Temple, Morning and Evening Sacrifice, Farewell to Time, My Old House, etc., were published anonymously. Mr. Wright lived in Edinburgh for fourteen years after his deposition, much beloved and respected; he died on 13th March 1855 in his seventy-first year.

Rev. John Clunie, Mr. Wright's predecessor in the parish, of whom, many absurd stories were told, appears to have been an enthusiastic lover of Scottish songs, as Burns in 1794 says it was owing to his singing Ca' the yowes to the knowes so charmingly that he took it down from his voice, and sent it to Mr. Thomson.—Currie's Burns, vol. iv. p. 100, and Chambers's Scottish Songs, 2 vols. Edin. 1829, p. 269.

See Burns's "Auld Farmer's New-year Salutation."

"Mount Benger," of which Hogg had taken a lease on his marriage, in 1820, and found that he could not make it pay.

The first series had just been published under the following title: Tales of a Grandfather, being stories taken from Scottish History. Humbly inscribed to Hugh Littlejohn, Esq., in three volumes. Printed for Cadell and Co., Edinburgh, Simpkin and Marshall, London, and John Cumming, Dublin, 1828.

During Sir Walter's illness in 1818-19 Mr. Skene was with him at Abbotsford, and he records a curious incident regarding Dryburgh which may be given here:—"For nearly two years he had to struggle for his life with that severe illness, which the natural strength of his constitution at length proved sufficient to throw off. With its disappearance, although restored to health, disappeared also much of his former vigour of body, activity, and power of undergoing fatigue, while in personal appearance he had advanced twenty years in the downward course of life; his hair had become bleached to pure white and scanty locks; the fire of his eye quenched; and his step, more uncertain, had lost the vigorous swinging gait with which he was used to proceed; in fact, old age had by many years anticipated its usual progress and marked how severely he had suffered. The complaint, that of gall-stones, was one of extreme bodily suffering. During his severest attack he had been alone at Abbotsford with his daughter Sophia, before her marriage to Mr. Lockhart, and had sent to say that he was desirous I should come to him, which I did, and remained for ten days till the attack had subsided. During its course the extreme violence of the pain end spasmodic contraction of the muscles of the stomach were such that I scarcely expected the powers of endurance could sustain him through the trial, and so much at times was he exhausted by it as to leave us in alarm as to what the result had actually been. One night I shall not soon forget: he had been frequently and severely ill during the day, and having been summoned to his room in the middle of the night, where his daughter was already standing, the picture of deep despair, at his bed-side, the attack seemed intense, and we followed the directions left by the physician to assuage it. At length it seemed to subside, and he fell back exhausted on the pillow, his eyes were closed, and his countenance wan and livid. Apparently with corresponding misgivings, his daughter at one side of the bed and I at the other gazed for some time intently and in silence on his countenance, and then glanced with anxious inquiring looks to each other, till, at length, having placed my finger on his pulse, to ascertain whether it had actually ceased to throb, I shall never forget the sudden beam which again brightened his daughter's countenance, and for a moment dispelled the intense expression of anxiety which had for some time overspread it, when Sir Walter, aware of my feeling his pulse, and the probable purpose, whispered, with a faint voice, but without opening his eyes, 'I am not yet gone.' After some time he revived, and gave us a proof of the mastery of his mind over the sufferings of the body. 'Do you recollect,' he said to me, 'a small round turret near the gate of the Monastery of Aberbrothwick, and placed so as to overhang the street?' Upon answering that I did perfectly, and that a picturesque little morsel it was, he said, 'Well, I was over there when a mob had assembled, excited by some purpose, which I do not recollect, but failing of their original intention, they took umbrage at the little venerable emblem of aristocracy, which still bore its weather-stained head so conspicuously aloft, and, resolving to humble it with the dust, they got a stout hawser from a vessel in the adjoining harbour, which a sailor lad, climbing up, coiled round the body of the little turret, and the rabble seizing the rope by both ends tugged and pulled, and laboured long to strangle and overthrow the poor old turret, but in vain, for it withstood all their endeavours. Now that is exactly the condition of my poor stomach: there is a rope twisted round it, and the malicious devils are straining and tugging at it, and, faith, I could almost think that I sometimes hear them shouting and cheering each other to their task, and when they are at it I always have the little turret and its tormentors before my eyes.' He complained that particular ideas fixed themselves down upon his mind, which he had not the power of shaking off; but this was, in fact, the obvious consequence of the quantity of laudanum which it was necessary for him to swallow to allay the spasms.

"After he had got some repose, and had become rather better in the morning, he said, with a smile on his countenance, 'If you will promise not to laugh at me I have a favour to ask. Do you know I have taken a childish desire to see the place where I am to be laid when I go home, which there is some probability may not now be long delayed. Now, as I cannot go to Dryburgh Abbey—that is out of the question at present—it would give me much pleasure if you would take a ride down and bring me a drawing of that spot, which he minutely described the position of, and mentioned the exact point where he wished it drawn, that the site of his future grave might appear. His wish was accordingly complied with."—Reminiscences.

To whom Scott addressed the fifth canto of Marmion.

See letter to R. Cadell, Life, vol. ix. p. 209.

"The first Tales of a Grandfather [as has already been said] appeared early in December, and their reception was more rapturous than that of any one of his works since Ivanhoe. He had solved for the first time the problem of narrating history, so as at once to excite and gratify the curiosity of youth, and please and instruct the wisest of mature minds. The popularity of the book has grown with every year that has since elapsed; it is equally prized in the library, the boudoir, the schoolroom, and the nursery; it is adopted as the happiest of manuals, not only in Scotland, but wherever the English tongue is spoken; nay, it is to be seen in the hands of old and young all over the civilised world, and has, I have little doubt, extended the knowledge of Scottish history in quarters where little or no interest had ever before been awakened as to any other parts of that subject except those immediately connected with Mary Stuart and the Chevalier."—Life, vol. ix. pp. 186-7.

It may be remarked at this point how the value of these works has been sustained by the public demand during the term of legal copyright and since that date. That of Waverley expired in 1856, and the others at forty-two years from the date of publication.

On December 19, 1827, the copyright of the Novels from Waverley to Quentin Durward was acquired, as mentioned in the text, for £8400 as a joint purchase. Five years later, viz., in 1832, Mr. Cadell purchased from Sir Walter's representatives, for about £40,000, the author's share in stock and entire copyrights!

Nineteen years afterwards, viz., on the 26th March 1851 (after Mr. Cadell's death), the stock and copyrights were exposed for sale by auction in London, regarding which a Trade Journal of the date says—

"Mr. Hodgson offered for sale the whole of the copyrights of Sir Walter Scott's works, including stereotypes, steels, woodcuts, etc., to a very large meeting of the publishers of this country. After one or two of our leading firms had retired from the contest, the lot was bought in for, we believe, £15,500. This sum did not include the stock on hand, valued at £10,000. However, the fact is that the Trustees have virtually refused £25,000 for the stock, copyrights, etc., of Scott's works."

Messrs. A. & C. Black in 1851 purchased the property at nearly the same price, viz.:—Copyright, £17,000; stock, £10,000—in all, £27,000. Mr. Francis Black, who has kindly given me information regarding the sale of these works, tells me that of the volumes of one of the cheaper issues about three millions have been sold since 1851. This, of course, is independent of other publishers' editions in Great Britain, the Continent, and America.

In Henry IV., Act v. Sc. 3.

In an interesting letter to Scott from Fenimore Cooper, dated Sept. 12th, 1827, he tells him "that the French abuse you a little, but as they began to do this, to my certain knowledge, five months before the book was published, you have no great reason to regard their criticism.

It would be impossible to write the truth on such a subject and please this nation. One frothy gentleman denounced you in my presence as having a low, vulgar style, very much such an one as characterised the pen of Shakespeare!"

A proverb having its rise from an exclamation made by Mr. David Dick, a Covenanter, on witnessing the execution of some of Montrose's followers.—Wishart's Montrose, quoting from Guthrie's Memoirs, p. 182.

Scott's biographer records his admiration for the manner in which all his dependants met the reverse of their master's fortunes. The butler, instead of being the easy chief of a large establishment, was now doing half the work of the house at probably half his former wages. Old Peter, who had been for five-and-twenty years a dignified coachman, was now ploughman in ordinary; only putting his horses to the carriage on high and rare occasions; and so on with all that remained of the ancient train, and all seemed happier.

Ante, vol. i. p. 120.

Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc. 3.

Sir Archibald Campbell of Succoth. He lived at 1 Park Place.

The circumstances under which these sermons were written are fully detailed in the Life, vol. ix. pp. 193, 206. They were issued in a thin octavo vol. under the title Religious Discourses, by a Layman, with a short Preface signed W.S. There were more editions than one published during 1828.

Sir Samuel Shepherd.

Mr. Cooper did not relax his efforts to secure Scott an interest in his works reprinted in America, but he was not successful, and he writes to Scott in the autumn of 1827: "This, sir, is a pitiful account of a project from which I expected something more just to you and creditable to my country."

Mr. Colvin Smith painted in all about twenty portraits of Sir Walter, for seven of which he obtained occasional sittings. A list of the persons who commissioned them is given at p. 73 of the Centenary Catalogue.

The Right Hon. Charles Hope.

Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc. 2.

Mount Benger, which he had taken in 1820.—See ante, page 96.

It now hangs in the Drawing-room at Abbotsford.—See Sharpe's Letters, vol. ii. p. 408.

Charles Mayne Young, Tragedian, had been a visitor at Abbotsford in the autumn of 1821. Of this visit his son Julian gives a pleasant account in a Memoir of his father, pp. 88-96. London, 1871. Mr. Young died in June 1856.

This enthusiastic Gaelic scholar, then parish minister of Laggan, joined the Free Church of Scotland in 1843, and was elected Moderator of its General Assembly in 1849. As a clergyman, he had afterwards a varied experience in this country and in Australia, before he finally settled in the island of Harris; he died at Portobello in 1873.

The Gaelic dictionary of the Highland Society was completed and published in 2 vols. 4to, 1828. The editor was Dr. Macleod of Dundonald, assisted by other Gaelic scholars. Dr. Mackay edited the poems of Rob Donn in 1829.—See Quarterly Review, July 1831.

See next page, under Feb. 19.

The Right Hon. David Boyle.

My Aunt Margaret's Mirror, etc.

See Jan. 25, 1828 (p. 114).

To kilt, i.e. to elevate or lift up anything quickly; this applied, ludicrously, to tucking by a halter.—Jamieson's Dictionary.

"Their bare preaching now
Makes the thrush bush keep the cow
Better than Scots or English kings
Could do by kilting them with strings."

CLELAND.

See Jonson's Every Man in his Humour, Act I. Sc. 3.

See Boswell's Johnson, Croker's ed. imp. 8vo, p. 318.

Sir Reginald Steuart Seton of Staffa, for many years Secretary to the Highland and Agricultural Society; died at Edinburgh in 1838.

On reading the savage article on Hunt's Byron published in Blackwood, for March 1828, Sir Walter's thoughts must have gone back not only to Gourgaud's affair of the previous year, and to the more serious matter of the Beacon newspaper in 1821,—when, to use Lord Cockburn's words, "it was dreadful to think that a life like Scott's was for a moment in peril in such a cause"—but he must also have had very sad recollections of the bloody results of the two melancholy duels arising from the same party rancour in February 1821 (Scott and Christie) and in March 1822 (Stuart and Boswell), with all the untold domestic miseries accompanying them. It is satisfactory to think that this was about the last of these uncalled for literary onslaughts, as one finds, in turning over the pages of Blackwood, that in 1834 Professor Wilson in the Noctes rebukes some one for reviving "forgotten falsehoods," praises Leigh Hunt's London Journal, and adds the ecstatic words, which he also addressed later on to Lord Jeffrey, "The animosities are mortal, but the humanities live for ever."

Sholto Douglas, eighteenth Earl of Morton.

Oldham—"Lines addressed to a friend about to leave the University."—Poems and Translations, 8vo. Lond. 1694.

On the 20th April Moore writes to Scott: "I am delighted you do not reject my proffered dedication, though between two such names as yours and Byron's I shall but realise the description in the old couplet of Wisdom and Wit,

'With folly at full length between.'

However, never mind; in cordial feeling and good fellowship I flatter myself I am a match for either of you."

See Life, vol. viii. p. 257 n.

Miss Graham tells us in her Mystifications (Edin. 1864) that Sir Walter, on leaving the room, whispered in her ear, "Awa, awa, the Deil's ower grit wi' you." "To meet her in company," wrote Dr. John Brown half a century later, when she was still the charm and the delight as well as the centre of a large circle of friends, "one saw a quiet, unpretending, sensible, shrewd, kindly little lady; perhaps you would not remark anything extraordinary in her, but let her put on the old lady; it was as if a warlock spell had passed over her; not merely her look but her nature was changed: her spirit had passed into the character she represented; and jest, quick retort, whimsical fancy, the wildest nonsense flowed from her lips, with a freedom and truth to nature which appeared to be impossible in her own personality."

With this faculty for satire and imitation, Miss Graham never used it to give pain. She was as much at home, too, with old Scotch sayings as Sir Walter himself. For example, speaking of a field of cold, wet land she said, "It grat a' winter and girned a' simmer," and of herself one morning at breakfast when she thought she was getting too much attention from her guests (she was at this time over ninety) she exclaimed, "I'm like the bride in the old song:—

'Twa were blawing at her nose
And three were buckling at her shoon.'"

Miss Graham's friends will never forget the evenings they have spent at 29 Forth Street, Edinburgh, or their visits at Duntrune, where the venerable lady died in her ninety-sixth year in September 1877.

Miss Elizabeth Bell, daughter of the Rev. James Bell, minister of the parish of Coldstream from 1778 to 1794. This lady lived all her life in her native county, and died at a great age at a house on the Tweed, named Springhill, in 1876.

Ante, vol. i. p. 253.

The Murder Hole, a story founded on the tradition and under this name, was printed in Blackwood's Mag., vol. xxv. p. 189: 1829.

Written by Gerald Griffin

St. Valentine's Eve, or The Fair Maid of Perth.

Coriolanus, Act VI. Sc. 6.

It may have been with this packet that the following admonitory note was sent to Ballantyne:—"DEAR JAMES,—I return the sheets of Tales with some waste of Napoleon for ballast. Pray read like a lynx, for with all your devoted attention things will escape. Imagine your printing that the Douglases after James II. had dirked the Earl, trailed the royal safe-conduct at the TAIL of a serving man, instead of the tail of a starved Mare.—Yours truly, however, W.S." So printed in first edition, vol. ii. p. 129, but corrected in the subsequent editions to "a miserable cart jade."

Gray's Ode on Eton.

By Richard Thomson, author of Chronicles of London Bridge, etc. He died in 1865.

Dr. Ebenezer Clarkson, a Surgeon of distinguished merit at Selkirk and through life a trusty friend and crony of the Sheriffs.—J.G.L.

"In Mr. Gideon Gray, in The Surgeon's Daughter, Sir Walter's neighbours on Tweedside saw a true picture—a portrait from life of Scott's hard-riding and sagacious old friend to all the country dear."—Life, vol. ix. p. 181.

For an account of this monument see Nicolson and Burns's History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, vol. ii. p. 410, and "Notabilia of Penrith," by George Watson, C. and W. Transactions, No. xiv.

Lady Eleanor Butler and the Hon. Miss Ponsonby. An amusing account of Sir Walter's visit to them in 1825 is given by Mr. Lockhart in the Life, vol. viii. pp. 47-50.

The visit to Kenilworth in 1815 is not noticed in the Life, but as Scott was in London for some weeks in the spring of that year he may have gone there on his return journey. Mr. Charles Knight, writing in 1842, says that Mr. Bonnington, the venerable occupant of the Gate House, told him that he remembered the visit and the visitor! It was "about twenty-five years ago"—and after examining some carving in the interior of the Gate House and putting many suggestive questions, the middle-aged active stranger slightly lame, and with keen grey eye, passed through the court and remained among the ruins silent and alone for about two hours. (Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 89.) The famous romance did not appear until six years later, viz. in January 1821, and in the autumn of that year it is somewhat singular to find that Scott and his friend Mr. Stewart Rose are at Stratford-on-Avon writing their names on the wall of Shakespeare's birthplace—and yet leaving Kenilworth unvisited.—Perhaps the reason was that Mr. Stewart Rose was not in the secret of the authorship of the Novels.

In the Annual Register for July 1834 is the following notice: "Lately at Warwick Castle, aged ninety-three, Mrs. Home, for upwards of seventy years a servant of the Warwick family. She had the privilege of showing the Castle, by which she realised upwards of £30,000."

Merry Wives, Act I. Sc. 1.

As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 7.

Sir Walter remained at this time six weeks in London. His eldest son's regiment was stationed at Hampton Court; his second son had recently taken his desk at the Foreign Office, and was living at his sister's in Regent's Park. He had thus looked forward to a happy meeting with all his family—but he encountered scenes of sickness and distress.—Life, vol. ix. pp. 226-7.

The book was published early in April under the following title: Chronicles of the Canongate, Second Series, by the Author of Waverley, etc., "SIC ITUR AD ASTRA" Motto of Canongate Arms, in three volumes. (St. Valentine's Day; or The Fair Maid of Perth.) Edinburgh: Printed for Cadell and Co., Edinburgh, and Simpkin and Marshall, London, 1828; (at the end) Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Co.

Among the "objects that came and departed like shadows" in this phantasmagoria of London life was a deeply interesting letter from Thomas Carlyle, and but for the fact that it bears Sir Walter's London address, and the post-mark of this day, one could not imagine he had ever seen it, as it remained unacknowledged and unnoticed in either Journal or Correspondence.

It is dated 13th April 1828; and one of the latest letters he indited from "21 Comely Bank, Edinburgh." After advising Scott that "Goethe has sent two medals which he is to deliver into his own hand," he gives an extract from Goethe's letter containing a criticism on Napoleon, with the apology that "it is seldom such a writer obtains such a critic," and in conclusion he adds, "Being in this curious fashion appointed, as it were, ambassador between two kings of poetry, I would willingly discharge my mission with the solemnity that beseems such a business; and naturally it must flatter my vanity and love of the marvellous to think that by means of a foreigner whom I have never seen, I might soon have access to my native sovereign, whom I have so often seen in public, and so often wished that I had claim to see and know in private and near at hand. ... Meanwhile, I abide your further orders in this matter, and so with all the regard which belongs to one to whom I in common with other millions owe so much, I have the honour to be, sir, most respectfully, your servant.—T.C."

William Jacob, author of Travels in Spain in 1810-11, and several works on Political Economy. Among others "some tracts concerning the Poor Colonies instituted by the King of the Netherlands, which had marked influence in promoting the scheme of granting small allotments of land on easy terms to our cottagers; a scheme which, under the superintendence of Lord Braybrooke and other noblemen and gentlemen in various districts of England, appears to have been attended with most beneficent results."—Life, vol. ix. p. 229. Mr. Jacob died in 1852 aged eighty-eight.

The widow of his old school-fellow, the Hon. Thomas Douglas, afterwards Earl of Selkirk.—See Life, vol. i. p. 77, and 208 n.

Ante, p. 10. Afterwards included in her Poetical and Dramatic Works, Lond. 1851.

Dr. Henry Phillpotts, consecrated Bishop of Exeter in 1830.

Crabbe's Tale of the Dumb Orators.—J.G.L.

Dr. Howley, raised in 1828 to the Archbishopric of Canterbury.—J.G.L.

Translated to the see of London in 1828, where he remained until his death in 1859.

Mr. Lockhart gives an account of another dinner party at which Coleridge distinguished himself:—"The first time I ever witnessed it [Hook's improvisation] was at a gay young bachelor's villa near Highgate, when the other lion was one of a very different breed, Mr. Coleridge. Much claret had been shed before the Ancient Mariner proclaimed that he could swallow no more of anything, unless it were punch. The materials were forthwith produced; the bowl was planted before the poet, and as he proceeded in his concoction, Hook, unbidden, took his place at the piano. He burst into a bacchanal of egregious luxury, every line of which had reference to the author of the Lay Sermons and the Aids to Reflection. The room was becoming excessively hot: the first specimen of the new compound was handed to Hook, who paused to quaff it, and then, exclaiming that he was stifled, flung his glass through the window. Coleridge rose with the aspect of a benignant patriarch and demolished another pane—the example was followed generally—the window was a sieve in an instant—the kind host was furthest from the mark, and his goblet made havoc of the chandelier. The roar of laughter was drowned in Theodore's resumption of the song—and window and chandelier and the peculiar shot of each individual destroyer had apt, in many cases exquisitely witty, commemoration. In walking home with Mr. Coleridge, he entertained ——— and me with a most excellent lecture on the distinction between talent and genius, and declared that Hook was as true a genius as Dante—that was his example."—Theodore Hook, Lond. 1853, p. 23-4.

Johnson's Rambler.

The County Land Tax.

The Right Hon. Sir W. Alexander of Airdrie, called to the English Bar 1782, Chief Baron 1824; died in London in his eighty-eighth year, 1842.

Walter Boyd at this time was M.P. for Lymington; he had been a banker in Paris and in London; was the author of several well-known tracts on finance, and died in 1837.

Campbell died at Boulogne in 1844, aged sixty-seven; he was buried in Westminster, next Southey.

Hor. Epp. ii. 2, 76.

The elder Mr. Adolphus distinguished himself early in life by his History of the Reign of George III.—J.G.L.

See ante, vol. i. p. 14. Lady Francis Leveson Gower was the eldest daughter of Charles Greville.

Mr. Lockhart writes:—"Among other songs Mrs. Arkwright delighted Sir Walter with her own set of—

'Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear
Has left its last soft tone with you;
Its next must join the seaward cheer,
And shout among the shouting crew,' etc.

He was sitting by me, at some distance from the lady, and whispered, as she closed, 'Capital words—whose are they? Byron's, I suppose, but I don't remember them.' He was astonished when I told him they were his own in The Pirate. He seemed pleased at the moment, but said next minute, 'You have distressed me—if memory goes, all is up with me, for that was always my strong point.'"—Life, vol. ix. p. 236.

Milton's L'Allegro, ver. 137, 294.

Afterwards second Earl Powis.

Regarding the Chancery business, see infra, p. 191, n.

Sir Walter had shortly before been one of the contributors to a subscription for Mr. Haydon. The imprisonment from which the subscription released the artist produced, I need scarcely say, the picture mentioned in the Diary.—J.G.L. Haydon died in June 1846. See his Life, 3 vols., 1853, edited by Tom Taylor.

The Duke of Wellington, in after years, said to Lord Mahon, "He had observed on several occasions that Sir Walter was talked down by Croker and Bankes! who forgot that we might have them every day."—Notes, p. 100.

Romeo and Juliet, Act III. Sc. 1.

Sir W. Knighton, as a Devonshire man, naturally wished to have the portrait painted by Northcote, who was a brother Devonian. Cunningham said of tins picture that the conception was good, and reality given by the introduction of the painter, palette in hand, putting the finishing touch to the head of the poet. "The likenesses were considered good."—Cunningham's Lives, vol. vi. p. 124. It was exhibited in 1871 in Edinburgh; its size is 4 ft. 2 in. x 3 ft. 2 in. Mr. David Laing, differing from Allan Cunningham, considered that the picture presented "anything but a fortunate likeness." Northcote died July 13th, 1831, in his eighty-fifth year.

John Fuller, long M.P. for Surrey, an eccentric character, and looked upon as standing jester to the House of Commons. Scott first met him in Chantrey's studio in 1820.—See Life, vol. vi. pp. 206, 207. He died in his 77th year, in 1831, without apparently having carried out his intention of editing Foote.

A process in English copyhold law.

Hazlitt said of Northcote, that talking with him was like conversing with the dead: "You see a little old man, pale and fragile, with eyes gleaming like the lights hung in tombs. He seems little better than a ghost, and hangs wavering and trembling on the very verge of life; you would think a breath would blow him away, and yet what fine things he says!"—Conversations.

Born 1752, died 1832; Master of the Rolls from 1801 to 1817.

The Magnum Opus was dedicated to George IV.—J.G.L.

Whose son afterwards married Dora, Wordsworth's daughter.

At the last sitting Northcote remarked, "You have often sat for your portrait?"

"Yes," said Sir Walter; "my dog Maida and I have sat frequently—so often that Maida, who had little philosophy, conceived such a dislike to painters, that whenever he saw a man take out a pencil and paper, and look at him, he set up a howl, and ran off to the Eildon Hill. His unfortunate master, however well he can howl, was never able to run much; he was therefore obliged to abide the event. Yes, I have frequently sat for my picture."—Cunningham's Painters, vol. vi. pp. 125-6.

See ante, May 1st, p. 170, note.

Mr. Ellis, afterwards created Baron Dover, was the author of Historical Inquiries into the Character of Lord Clarendon. 8vo, Lond., 1827.

Sir F. Chantrey was at this time executing his second bust of Sir Walter—that ordered by Sir Robert Peel, and which is now at Drayton.—J.G.L.

Lady Shelley of Maresfield Park. Mr. Lockhart says the young lady was Miss Shelley, who became in 1834 the Hon. Mrs. George Edgcumbe.

Scott had dined at Holland House in 1806, but in consequence of some remarks by Lord Holland in the House of Lords in 1810, on Thomas Scott's affairs, there had apparently been no renewal of the acquaintanceship until now.

See Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. iv. p. 20.

David Hinves, Mr. W. Stewart Rose's faithful and affectionate attendant, furnished Scott with some hints for his picture of Davie Gellatly in Waverley.

Mr. Lockhart tells us that Hinves was more than forty years in Mr. Rose's service; he had been a bookbinder by trade and a preacher among the Methodists.

"A sermon heard casually under a tree in the New Forest contained such touches of good feeling and broad humour that Rose promoted the preacher to be his valet on the spot. He was treated more like a friend than a servant by his master and by all his master's intimate friends. Scott presented him with all his works; and Coleridge gave him a corrected (or rather an altered) copy of Christabel with this inscription on the fly-leaf: 'Dear Hinves,—Till this book is concluded, and with it Gundimore, a poem by the same "author," accept of this corrected copy of Christabel as a small token of regard; yet such a testimonial as I would not pay to any one I did not esteem, though he were an emperor.

"'Be assured I will send you for your private library every work I have published (if there be any to be had) and whatever I shall publish. Keep steady to the FAITH. If the fountainhead be always full, the stream cannot be long empty.—Yours sincerely, S.T. COLERIDGE.

"'11 November 1816, Mudford.'"—Life, vol. iv. pp. 397-8.

Hinves died in Mr. Rose's service circa 1838, and his master followed him on the 30th April 1843, a few weeks after his friend Morritt.

An analysis of these letters was published by Mr. Lockhart in the Life, vol. vi. pp. 346-386.

Created Earl of Leicester in 1837.

It is worth noting that Sir Walter first wrote "grasp"—and then deleted the word in favour of the technical term—"fathom."

W. Withers had just published a Letter to Sir Walter Scott exposing certain fundamental errors in his late Essay on Planting,—Holt: Norfolk, 1828.

A deep pool in the Tweed, in which Scott had had a singular nocturnal adventure while "burning the water" in company with Hogg and Laidlaw. Hogg records that the crazy coble went to the bottom while Scott was shouting—

"An' gin the boat were bottomless,
An' seven miles to row."

The scene was not forgotten when he came to write the twenty-sixth chapter of Guy Mannering.

This refers to the splendid edition of Walton and Cotton, edited by Nicolas, and illustrated by Stothard and Inskipp, published in 1836 after nearly ten years' preparation, in two vols. large 8vo.

Sir William Scott, Lord Stowell, died 28th January 1836, aged ninety.

Moore writes: "On our arrival at Hampton (where we found the Wordsworths), walked about,—the whole party in the gay walk where the band plays, to the infinite delight of the Hampton blues, who were all eyes after Scott. The other scribblers not coming in for a glance. The dinner odd; but being near Scott I found it agreeable, and was delighted to see him so happy, with his tall son, the Major," etc. etc,—Diary, vol. v. p. 287.

The author of Evelina died at Bath in 1840, at the age of eighty-eight. Subsequent to this meeting with Scott she published memoirs of her father, Dr. Burney (in 1832). It is stated that for her novel Camilla, published in 1796, she received a subscription of 3000 guineas, and for the Wanderer, in 1814, £1500 for the copyright. This was the year in which Waverley appeared, for the copyright of which Constable did not see his way to offer more than £700.

This item refers to money which had belonged to Lady Scott's parents.

It contains half of Chancellor Clarendon's famous collection—the other half is at Bothwell Castle.

William Elliot Lockhart of Cleghorn and Borthwick-brae, long M.P. for Selkirkshire.

Weare, Thurtell, and the rest were professed gamblers. See ante, July 10, 1826, and Life, vol. viii. p. 381.

The first volume had just been published in 1828. The book was completed in 6 vols. in 1840.

About this time Miss Anne Scott wrote to Mrs. Lockhart: "Early in the morning, before we started, papa took me with him to the Cathedral. This he had done often before; but he said he must stand once more on the spot where he married poor mamma. After that we went to the Castle, where a new showman went through the old trick of pointing out Fergus MacIvor's very dungeon. Peveril said, 'Indeed, are you quite sure, sir?' And on being told there could be no doubt, was troubled with a fit of coughing, which ended in a laugh. The man seemed exceeding indignant; so, when papa moved on, I whispered who it was. I wish you had seen the man's start, and how he stared and bowed as he parted from us; and then rammed his keys into his pocket and went off at a hand-gallop to warn the rest of the garrison. But the carriage was ready, and we escaped a row."—Life, vol. ix. pp. 256-7.

See The Doom of Devorgoil: A Melo-Drama. Auchendrane: or the Ayrshire Tragedy. Published by Cadell in 8vo. 1830.

Referring to the uniform edition of the Waverley Novels in 48 vols., which began to be issued in June 1829. The great cost of the publication naturally caused the Trustees much anxiety at this period.

Ante, p. 120, February 2d.

Natali Corri, born in Italy, but settled in Edinburgh, where, among other schemes, he tried to set up an Italian opera. In conjunction with a brother he published several musical works. He died at Trieste in 1823.

See Act II. Sc. 2. The Italian family's morning call.

"And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear to thy grief
For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief,
Whom brief rolling moons, in six changes have left
Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft;
To thine ear of affection how sad is the hail
That salutes thee, the heir of the line of Kintail."
Poetical Works, vol. viii. p. 394.

Mary, daughter of Francis, Lord Seaforth, was born in Ross-shire in 1784, married, at Barbadoes in 1804, Sir Samuel Hood, and left a widow in 1814. She married again, in 1817, Mr. J.A. Stewart, who assumed the name of Mackenzie. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie died at Brahan Castle in 1862; her funeral was one of the largest ever witnessed in the North.

Patrick James Stevenson was licensed in 1825, and ordained in 1828.—Scott's Fasti, vol. vi. p. 746.

Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany (1795), vol. i. p. 125.

Now called Wellhouse Tower.

Milton's Paradise Lost, Bk. i.

See Cases in Court of Session, vol. vii. S. p. 527.

John Graham, who afterwards assumed the name of Gilbert; born 1794, died 1866.

He was at this time painting Sir Walter for the Royal Society of Edinburgh. When the portrait was finished it was placed in the rooms of the Society, where it still hangs. The artist retained in his own collection a duplicate, with some slight variations, which his widow presented to the National Portrait Gallery, London, in 1867.

Sir Walter, in common with the majority of his contemporaries, evidently believed that Dr. Robert Knox was partly responsible for the West Port atrocities, but it is only just to the memory of the talented anatomist to say that an independent and influential committee, after a careful examination, reported on March 13th, 1829, that there was no evidence showing that he or his assistants knew that murder had been committed, but the committee thought that more care should have been exercised in the reception of the bodies at the Anatomical Class-room.

Lord Cockburn, who was one of the counsel at the trial of Burke, in writing of these events, remarks: "All our anatomists incurred a most unjust and very alarming, though not an unnatural, odium; Dr. Knox in particular, against whom not only the anger of the populace, but the condemnation of more intelligent persons, was specially directed. But, tried in reference to the invariable and the necessary practice of the profession, our anatomists were spotlessly correct, and Knox the most correct of them all."

At this date Dr. Knox was the most popular teacher in the Medical School at Edinburgh, and as his class-room could not contain more than a third of his students, he had to deliver his lectures twice or thrice daily. The odium attached to his name might have been removed in time had his personal character stood as high as his professional ability, but though he remained in Edinburgh until 1841 he never recovered his position there, and for the last twenty years of his life this once brilliant teacher subsisted as best he could in London by his pen, and as an itinerant lecturer. He died in 1862.

King John, Act iv. So. 2.

Archibald, second Lord Douglas, who died in 1844.

John Greenshields, self-taught sculptor. See Life, vol. ix. p. 281-288. He died at the age of forty in 1835.

As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 3.

Sir Henry Seton Steuart's work on Planting was reviewed by Scott in the Quarterly.—See Misc. Prose Works, vol. xxi. Sir H. Steuart died in March 1836.

See letter in Life, vol. ix. pp. 281-287.

Originally published in London in 8vo, 1764. This contemplated edition does not appear to have been printed.

As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 3.

See Beaumont and Fletcher, Knight of the Burning Pestle, Act I. Sc. 3.

Coelo supinas si tuleris manus
Nascente luna, rustica Phidyle, etc.

Hor. Lib. iii Od. 23.—J.G.L.

This letter, brimful of anecdote, is printed in Croker's Correspondence, vol. ii. pp. 28-34.

As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 7.

Sir Walter had written to Mr. Lockhart on October 26th, 1828, on hearing of an impending article in the Quarterly, the following letter:—

"I cannot repress the strong desire I have to express my regret at some parts of your kind letter just received. I shall lament most truly a purple article at this moment, when a strong, plain, moderate statement, not railing at Catholics and their religion, but reprobating the conduct of the Irish Catholics, and pointing out the necessary effects which that conduct must have on the Catholic Question, would have a powerful effect, and might really serve king and country. Nothing the agitators desire so much as to render the broil general, as a quarrel between Catholic and Protestant; nothing so essential to the Protestant cause as to confine it to its real causes. Southey, as much a fanatic as e'er a Catholic of them all, will, I fear, pass this most necessary landmark of debate. I like his person, admire his genius, and respect his immense erudition, but—non omnia. In point of reasoning and political judgment he is a perfect Harpado—nothing better than a wild bull. The circumstances require the interference of vir gravis pietate et moribus, and you bring it a Highland piper to blow a Highland charge, the more mischievous that it possesses much wild power of inflaming the passions.

"Your idea that you must give Southey his swing in this matter or he will quit the Review,—this is just a pilot saying, If I do not give the helm to such a passenger he will quit the ship. Let him quit and be d—d.

"My own confidence is, you know, entirely in the D. As Bruce said to the Lord of the Isles at Bannockburn, 'My faith is constant in thee.' Now a hurly-burly charge may derange his line of battle, and therein be of the most fatal consequence. For God's sake avail yourself of the communication I opened while in town, and do not act without it. Send this to the D. of W. If you will, he will appreciate the motives that dictate it. If he approves of a calm, moderate, but firm statement, stating the unreasonable course pursued by the Catholics as the great impediment to their own wishes, write such an article yourself; no one can make a more impressive appeal to common sense than you can.

"The circumstances of the times are—must be—an apology for disappointing Southey. But nothing can be an apology for indulging him at the expense of aggravating public disturbance, which, for one, I see with great apprehension.

"It has not yet come our length; those [to] whom you allude ought certainly to be served, but the D. is best judge how they may be best served. If the D. says nothing on the subject you can slip your Derwentwater greyhound if you like. I write hastily, but most anxiously. ... I repeat that I think it possible to put the Catholic Question as it now stands in a light which the most zealous of their supporters in this country cannot but consider as fair, while the result would be that the Question should not be granted at all under such guarantees; but I think this is scarce to be done by inflaming the topic with all mutual virulence of polemical discussion."

Henry VI. Act I. Sc. 4.

The Picture of Scotland by Robert Chambers, author of Traditions of Edinburgh, etc., 8vo, 1829.

Mr. Skene remarks that at this time "Sir Walter was engaged in the composition of the Novel of Anne of Geierstein, for which purpose he wished to see a paper which I had some time before contributed to the Memoirs of the Society of Antiquaries on the subject of the Secret Tribunals of Germany, and upon which, accordingly, he grounded the scene in the novel. Upon his describing to me the scheme which he had formed for that work, I suggested to him that he might with advantage connect the history of René, king of Provence, which would lead to many interesting topographical details which my residence in that country would enable me to supply, besides the opportunity of illustrating so eccentric a character as 'le bon roi René,' full of traits which were admirably suited to Sir Walter's graphic style of illustration, and that he could besides introduce the ceremonies of the Fête Dieu with great advantage, as I had fortunately seen its revival the first time it was celebrated after the interruption of the revolution. He liked the idea much, and, accordingly, a Journal which I had written during my residence in Provence, with a volume of accompanying drawings and Papon's History of Provence was forthwith sent for, and the whole dénouement of the story of Anne o/Geierstein was changed, and the Provence part woven into it, in the form in which it ultimately came forth."—Reminiscences.

This learned gentleman died in his house, 34 Moray Place, Edinburgh, on the 30th August 1838, aged eighty-two. He had filled various important situations with great ability during his long life:—Sheriff of Berwick and West Lothian, Professor of Scots Law in the University, and afterwards a Baron of Exchequer, which latter office he held till the abolition of the court in 1830. He is best remembered by his work on the Criminal Law of Scotland, published in 1797. He bequeathed his uncle the historian's correspondence with Rousseau and other distinguished foreigners to the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

Published in four volumes, 8vo, 1829. Fauche-Borel, an agent of the Bourbons, had just died. The book is still in the Abbotsford library.

Ancient Metrical Tales, edited by Rev. C.H. Hartshorne. 8vo London, 1829.

The Right Hon. William Dundas, born 1762, died 1845; appointed Lord Clerk Register in 1821.

Ben Jonson, Every Man in his Humour, Act I. Sc. 4.

For notices of this gigantic cannon see ante, vol. i. p. 43, and post, pp. 247-8; also Life, vol. vii. pp. 86-87.

Some of these fine drawings have been engraved for Colonel Tod's Travels in Western India. Lond., 4to, 1839.—J.G.L.

Molière, L'Amour Médecin, Act I. Sc. 1 (joaillier for orfévre).

The following extract from a letter by Wilkie shows how willingly he had responded to Scott's request:—

7 TERRACE, KENSINGTON,
LONDON, Jan. 1829.

"DEAR SIR WALTER,—I pass over all those disastrous events that have arrived to us both since our last, as you justly call it, melancholy parting, to assure you how delighted I shall be if I can in the most inconsiderable degree assist in the illustrations of the great work, which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which your noble spirit is at this time beset; considering it as only repaying a debt of obligation which you yourself have laid upon me when, with an unseen hand in the Antiquary, you took me up and claimed me, the humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman."

See Lear, Act IV. Sc. 1.

Richard III., Act IV. Sc. 2.

See letter to George Forbes from Sir Walter, dated Dec. 18th, 1830.—Life, vol. X. pp. 19-20.

Widow of Francis, Lord Seaforth, last Baron of Kintail, and mother of the Hon. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie.

A sportive association of young athletes. Hogg, I think, was their Poet Laureate.—J.G.L.

Mair spier na, no fear na,
Auld age ne'er mind a feg;
The last o't, the warst o't.
Is only for to beg.—BURNS'S Ep. to Davie.

Tempest, Act IV. Sc. 1. (Stephano).

This gentleman was a favourite with Sir Walter—a special point of communion being the antiquities of the British drama. He was Provost of Edinburgh in 1816-17, and again in 1822, and the king gracefully surprised him by proposing his health at the civic banquet in the Parliament House, as "Sir William Arbuthnot, Baronet."—J.G.L.

John Hope, afterwards Lord Justice-Clerk.

Narrative of a Journey through the Upper Provinces of India, 2 vols. 4to, 1828.

Old Ballad (known as "Marie Hamilton") quoted by Burns in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop regarding Falconer, author of The Shipwreck.—Currie's Burns, vol. ii. p. 290.

See Quart. Rev., Nov. 1829, or Misc. Prose Works, xxi. 152-198.

George Dempster of Skibo, one of the few men connecting Scott with this generation, died in Edinburgh on the 6th of February 1889. This accomplished Scottish gentleman had for many years made his home at Ormiston, where, in the old mansion-house, rich in associations of Knox, Wishart, and Buchanan, he was the gracious host to a large circle of friends.

Pope's Moral Essays, iii.

Ante, vol. i. p. 312, n.

Mr. Lockhart says, writing in 1839:—"This head may still be seen over a laboratory at No. 100 South Bridge, Edinburgh. [It has since been removed.] N.B. There is a tradition that the venerable bust in question was once dislodged by 'Colonel Grogg' and some of his companions, and waggishly placed in a very inappropriate position."

Fenimore Cooper told Scott that the Princess had had Sir Walter's portrait engraved in 1827 from the picture taken in Paris. [Mme. Mirbel's miniature?]

See Sheridan's Critic.

Lord Corehouse's brother.

Room may be made for part of one of the letters received by this morning's mail, in which, after much interesting family detail, his son-in-law describes the duel which took place between the Duke of Wellington and Lord Winchelsea:—"There is no reason to expect a duel every day, and all has been very quiet since Saturday.—The letter was utterly forgotten till this recalled it to remembrance. Ergo, there was no sort of call on the Duke after beating Buonaparte to go to war with a booby. But he could not stand the fling at the fair. His correspondence seems admirable every way, and the whole affair was gone through in excellent taste,—the Duke and Hardinge trotting out, the two peaceful lords rumbling down in a coach and four. The Duke had no half-pence and was followed and bothered for some time by the tollman on Battersea Bridge, when Hardinge fished out some silver or a groom came up. There were various market gardeners on the road, who, when Lord Winchelsea's equipage stopped, stopped also and looked on. One of them advised a turn up with nature's weapons. The moment all was done the Duke clapped spars to his horse and was back in Downing Street within the two hours, breakfasted, and off to Windsor, where he transacted business for an hour or so, and then said, 'By-the-by, I was forgetting I have had a field-day with Lord W. this morning.' They say the King rowed Arthur much for exposing himself at such a crisis."

Art of Preserving Health, book ii.

George Ramsay, Earl of Dalhousie, had just been appointed Commander-in-Chief in the East Indies; which office he held till 1832. He died in 1838.

Merchant of Venice, Act I. Sc. 1.

Son of Lord Medwyn. Mr. Forbes had lately returned from Italy, where he had had as travelling companion Mr. Cleasby, and it was owing to Mr. Forbes's recommendation that Mr. Cleasby came to Edinburgh to pursue his studies. Mr. Forbes possessed a fine tenor voice, and his favourite songs at that time were the Neapolitan and Calabrian canzonetti, to which Sir Walter alludes under April 4.

Mr. Lockhart's own account of the overture is sufficiently amusing and characteristic of the men and the times:—

"I had not time to write more than a line the other day under Croker's cover, having received it just at post time. He sent for me; I found him in his nightcap at the Admiralty, colded badly, but in audacious spirits. His business was this. The Duke of W[ellingto]n finds himself without one newspaper he can depend on. He wishes to buy up some evening print, such as the dull Star; and could I do anything for it? I said I was as well inclined to serve the Duke as he could be, but it must be in other fashion. He then said he agreed with me—but there was a second question: Could I find them an editor, and undertake to communicate between them and him—in short, save the Treasury the inconvenience of maintaining an avowed intercourse with the Newspaper press? He said he himself had for some years done this—then others. I said I would endeavour to think of a man for their turn and would call on him soon again.

"I have considered the matter at leisure, and resolve to have nothing to do with it. They CAN only want me as a writer. Any understrapper M.P. would do well enough for carrying hints to a newspaper office, and I will not, even to secure the Duke, mix myself up with the newspapers. That work it is which has damned Croker, and I can't afford to sacrifice the advantage which I feel I have gained in these later years by abstaining altogether from partisan scribbling, or to subject the Quarterly to risk of damage. The truth is, I don't admire, after all that has come and gone, being applied to through the medium of friend Crokey. I hope you will approve of my resolution."

Peel, in writing to Scott, says, "The mention of your name [in Parliament] as attached to the Edinburgh petition was received with loud cheers."

Richard Cleasby, afterwards the well-known scholar who spent many years in gathering materials for an Icelandic Dictionary. Mr. Cleasby died in 1847, but the work he had planned was not published until 1874, when it appeared under the editorship of Mr. Vigfusson,^[A] assisted by Sir George Dasent.

Bickerstaff's Padlock, Act I. Sc. 6.

An Icelandic-English Dictionary based on the MS. collections of the late Richard Cleasby, enlarged and completed by G. Vigfusson. 4to, Oxford, 1874.

Don Quixote, Pt. I. Bk. II. Cap. 2.

Friends of Joanna Baillie's and John Richardson's.

This must have been an unusual experience for the head of a family that considered itself to be the oldest in Christendom. Their château contained, it was said, two pictures: one of the Deluge, in which Noah is represented going into the Ark, carrying under his arm a small trunk, on which was written "Papiers de la maison de Lévis;" the other a portrait of the founder of the house bowing reverently to the Virgin, who is made to say, "Couvrez-vous, mon cousin."—See Walpole's Letters. The book referred to by Sir Walter is The Carbonaro: a Piedmontese Tale, by the Duke de Lévis. 2 vols. London, 1829.

No. 152—May, 1829.

Burns's Lines to a Mouse: "a daimen-icker in a thrave," that is, an ear of corn out of two dozen sheaves.

John, Duke of Argyll and Greenwich.

These biographies, intended for The Family Library, were never written.

Romeo and Juliet, Act v. Sc. 1.

"When I think on the world's pelf
May the shame fa' and the blethrie o 't."
Burden of old Scottish Song.

That these afternoon rambles with the dogs were not always so tranquil may be gathered from an incident described by Mr. Adolphus, in which an unsuspecting cat at a cottage door was demolished by Nimrod in one of his gambols.—Life, vol. ix. p. 362. This deer-hound was an old offender. Sir Walter tells his friend Richardson, à propos of a story he had just heard of Joanna Baillie's cat having worried a dog: "It is just like her mistress, who beats the male race of authors out of the pit in describing the higher passions that are more proper to their sex than hers. Alack-a-day! my poor cat Hinse, my acquaintance, and in some sort my friend of fifteen years, was snapped at even by the paynim Nimrod. What could I say to him but what Brantôme said to some ferrailleur who had been too successful in a duel, 'Ah! mon grand ami, vous avez tué mon autre grand ami.'"

Manager of the Foreign Review.

Robert Pitcairn, author of Criminal Trials in Scotland, 3 vols. 4to.

William Scott, Esq., afterwards Laird of Raeburn, was commonly thus designated from a minor possession, during his father's lifetime. Whatever, in things of this sort, used to be practised among the French noblesse, might be traced, till very lately, in the customs of the Scottish provincial gentry.—- J.G.L.

Life, vol. vi. p. 90.

"They have ty'd me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But bear-like I must fight the course."—Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 7.

The work was published in May under the following title:—"Anne of Geierstein, or The Maiden of the Mist. By the Author of Waverley, etc.

What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? SHAKESPEARE.

In three volumes. Edinburgh: Printed for Cadell & Co., Edinburgh; and Simpkin & Marshall, London, 1829. (At the end) Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne & Company, Paul's Work, Canongate."

See Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. iv. p. 355.

This short History of Scotland, it was found, could not be comprised in a single volume, and the publishers handsomely agreed to give the author £1500 for two volumes, forming the first and fourth issues of their own Cabinet Cyclopædia, the publication of which was commenced before the end of the year.

Right Hon. Charles Hope.

Adam Rolland, Principal Clerk of Session, a nephew of Adam Rolland of Gask, who was in some respects the prototype of Pleydell, and whose face and figure have been made familiar to the present generation by Raeburn's masterpiece of portraiture, now in the possession of Miss Abercrombie, Edinburgh.

Sir Walter had written to Mr. Lockhart on 8th May:—"Anne of Geierstein is concluded; but as I do not like her myself, I do not expect she will be popular."

As a contrast to the criticisms of the printer and publisher, and a comment upon the author's own apprehensions, the subjoined extract from a letter written by Mr. G.P.R. James may be given:—"When I first read Anne of Geierstein I will own that the multitude of surpassing beauties which it contained frightened me, but I find that after having read it the public mind required to be let gently down from the tone of excitement to which it had been raised, and was contented to pause at my book (Richelieu), as a man who has been enjoying a fine prospect from a high hill stops before he reaches the valley to take another look, though half the beauty be already lost.... You cannot think how I long to acquit myself of the obligations which I lie under towards you, but I am afraid that fortune, who has given you both the will and the power to confer such great favours upon me, has not in any degree enabled me to aid or assist you in return."

The Bee Preserver, or Practical Directions for the Management and Preservation of Hives. Translated from the French of J. De Gelieu. 1829.

"An oak tree which grows by the side of a fine spring near the Castle of Dalhousie; very much observed by the country people, who give out that before any of the family died a branch fell from the Edgewell Tree. The old tree some few years ago fell altogether, but another sprang from the same root, which is now [1720] tall and flourishing; and lang be it sae."—Allan Ramsay's Works, vol. i. p. 329: "Stocks in 1720." 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1800.

The tree is still flourishing [1889], and the belief in its sympathy with the family is not yet extinct, as an old forester, on seeing a large branch fall from it on a quiet still day in July 1874, exclaimed, "The laird's deed noo!" and accordingly news came soon after that Fox Maule, 11th Earl of Dalhousie, had died.

The Coalstoun Pear was removed from Dalhousie to Coalstoun House in 1861.

Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 4.

Macbeth, Act IV. Sc. 1.

Lord Forbes was at this time His Majesty's High Commissioner to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland: he had been appointed in 1826.

Rev. Edward Irving, minister of the Scottish Church in London, was deposed March 1833, and died Dec. 1834, aged forty-two.

That is as a lay-member of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland.

Lear, Act I. Sc. 4.

2d Henry IV., Act V. Sc. 3.

The manuscript referred to is now at Abbotsford. It is a small quarto of 8-3/4 x 6-1/2 inches, bound in old mottled leather, and consisting of 251 leaves of paper, written on both sides in the Irish character, apparently in the reign of James VI. It bears the following inscription in Sir Walter's hand:—"The kind donor of this book is the Right Rev. Bishop of Cloyne, famed for his skill in science, and especially as an astronomer." For contents of vol. see Appendix. Dr. John Brinkley, Bishop of Cloyne, was Astronomer Royal for Ireland.

See letter to Principal Baird, ante, vol, i, p. 412 n.

The first line of the Scottish metrical version of the hundredth Psalm. Mr. Lockhart tells us, in his affecting account of Sir Walter's illness, that his love for the old metrical version of the Psalms continued unabated to the end. A story has been told, on the authority of the nurse in attendance, that on the morning of the day on which he died, viz., on the 21st Sept. 1832, he opened his eyes once more, quite conscious, and calmly asked her to read to him a psalm. She proceeded to do so, when he gently interposed, saying, "No! no! the Scotch Psalms." After reading to him a little while, he expressed a wish to be moved nearer the window, through which he looked long and earnestly up and down the valley and towards the sky, and then on the woman's face, saying: "I'll know it all before night." This story will find some confirmation from the entry in the Journal under September 24, 1830: "I think I will be in the secret next week; unless I recruit greatly."

In a letter to his son at this time he says the "sale of the Novels is pro-di-gi-ous. If it last but a few years it will clear my feet of old encumbrances."—Life, vol. ix. p. 32.

Jeffrey, who had just retired from the editorship of the Edinburgh Review, was succeeded by Macvey Napier, whose first No. was published in October 1829.

The first volume had just been issued with a dedication to the King. The series was completed in 48 vols., published at the beginning of each month, between 1829-33, and the circulation went on increasing until it reached 35,000 monthly.

Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, which stood at that time in Shakespeare Square, the site of the present General Post-Office.

Mr. Lockhart remarks that, besides the usual allowance of rheumatism, and other lesser ailments, Sir Walter had an attack that season of a nature which gave his family great alarm, and which for some days he himself regarded with the darkest prognostications. After some weeks, during which he complained of headache and nervous irritation, certain hæmorrhages indicated the sort of relief required, and he obtained it from copious cupping.—Life, vol. ix. p. 327-8.

See infra, p. 299.

The Beaux's Stratagem, Farquhar.

Through the courtesy of Miss Dick Lauder I am enabled to give the letter referred to:—

"My DEAR SIR THOMAS,—I received your kind letter and interesting communication yesterday, and hasten to reply. I am ashamed of the limited hospitality I was able to offer Mr. Lauder, but circumstances permitted me no more. I was much pleased with his lively and intelligent manners, and hope he will live to be a comfort and a credit to Lady Lauder and you.

"I need not say I have the greatest interest in the MS. which you mention. In case it shall really prove an authentic document, there would not be the least difficulty in getting the Bannatyne Club to take, perhaps, 100 copies, or obtaining support enough so as, at the least, to preclude the possibility of loss to the ingenious Messrs. Hay Allan. But I think it indispensable that the original MS. should be sent for a month or so to the Register House under the charge of the Deputy Register, Mr. Thomson, that its antiquity be closely scrutinised by competent persons. The art of imitating ancient writing has got to a considerable perfection, and it has been the bane of Scottish literature, and disgrace of her antiquities, that we have manifested an eager propensity to believe without inquiry and propagate the errors which we adopt too hastily ourselves. The general proposition that the Lowlanders ever wore plaids is difficult to swallow. They were of twenty different races, and almost all distinctly different from the Scots Irish, who are the proper Scots, from which the Royal Family are descended. For instance, there is scarce a great family in the Lowlands of Scotland that is not to be traced to the Normans, the proudest as well as most civilised race in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Is it natural to think that holding the Scots in the contempt in which they did, they would have adopted their dress? If you will look at Bruce's speech to David I., as the historian Ælred tells the story, you will see he talks of the Scots as a British officer would do of Cherokees. Or take our country, the central and western part of the border: it was British, Welsh if you please, with the language and manners of that people who certainly wore no tartan. It is needless to prosecute this, though I could show, I think, that there is no period in Scottish History when the manners, language, or dress of the Highlanders were adopted in the Low Country. They brought them with them from Ireland, as you will see from the very curious prints in Derrick's picture of Ireland, where you see the chiefs and followers of the wild Irish in the ordinary Highland dress, tempore Queen Elizabeth. Besides this, where has slept this universal custom that nowhere, unless in this MS., is it even heard of? Lesley knew it not, though the work had been in his possession, and his attention must have been called to it when writing concerning the three races of Scots—Highlanders, Lowlanders, and Bordermen, and treating of their dress in particular. Andrew Borde knows nothing of it, nor the Frenchman who published the geographical work from which Pinkerton copied the prints of the Highlander and Lowlander, the former in a frieze plaid or mantle, while the Lowlander struts away in a cloak and trunk hose, liker his neighbour the Fleming. I will not state other objections, though so many occur, that the authenticity of the MS. being proved, I would rather suppose the author had been some tartan-weaver zealous for his craft, who wished to extend the use of tartan over the whole kingdom. I have been told, and believe till now, that the use of tartan was never general in Scotland (Lowlands) until the Union, when the detestation of that measure led it to be adopted as the national colour, and the ladies all affected tartan screens or mantles.

"Now, a word to your own private ear, my dear Sir Thomas. I have understood that the Messrs. Hay Allan are young men of talent, great accomplishments, enthusiasm for Scottish manners, and an exaggerating imagination, which possibly deceives even themselves. I myself saw one of these gentlemen wear the Badge of High Constable of Scotland, which he could have no more right to wear than the Crown. Davidoff used also to amuse us with stories of knighthoods and orders which he saw them wear at Sir William Cumming Gordon's. Now this is all very well, and I conceive people may fall into such dreaming habits easily enough, and be very agreeable and talented men in other respects, and may be very amusing companions in the country, but their authority as antiquaries must necessarily be a little apocryphal when the faith of MSS. rests upon their testimony. An old acquaintance of mine, Captain Watson of the navy, told me he knew these gentlemen's father, and had served with him; he was lieutenant, and of or about Captain Watson's age, between sixty I suppose, and seventy at present. Now what chance was there that either from age or situation he should be receiving gifts from the young Chevalier of Highland Manuscripts.

"All this, my dear Sir Thomas, you will make your own, but I cannot conceal from you my reasons, because I would wish you to know my real opinion. If it is an imitation, it is a very good one, but the title 'Liber Vestiarium' is false Latin I should think not likely to occur to a Scotsman of Buchanan's age. Did you look at the watermark of the MS.? If the Manuscript be of undeniable antiquity, I consider it as a great curiosity, and most worthy to be published. But I believe nothing else than ocular inspection will satisfy most cautious antiquaries....—Yours, my dear Sir Thomas, always,

WALTER SCOTT."

"EDINBURGH, 5 June 1829."

The Messrs. Hay Allan subsequently took the names of John Sobieski Stuart (who assumed the title of Comte d'Albanie) and Charles Edward Stuart. John Sobieski died in 1872, and Charles Edward in 1880. The "original" of Sir Richard Forrester's manuscript was never submitted to the inspection of the Deputy Register, as suggested by Scott; but it was published in a very handsome shape a dozen years later, and furnished a text for an article in the Quarterly, in which the authenticity of the book, and the claims of the author and his brother, were unsparingly criticised by the late Professor Skene of Glasgow.—See "The Heirs of the Stuarts" in Quarterly Review, vol. lxxxii.

Ante, vol. i. p. 91, 92.

There are so few of "Darsie Latimer's" letters preserved that the following may be given relating to the Bride of Lammermoor:—

"EDIN. Sept. 1, 1829.
"MY DEAR SIR WALTER,—I greet you well (which, by the way, is the proper mode of salutation in this cursed weather, that is enough to make us all greet). But to come to my proposal, which is to forward to you a communication I had within these few days from Sir Robert Horne Dalrymple Elphinstone.
"After expressing the great pleasure the perusal of your notes to the new edition of the Novels had given him, he adds: 'I wish you would give him a hint of what I formerly mentioned to you regarding my great-grandaunt and your own relative, the unfortunate Bride of Lammermoor. It was first mentioned to me by Miss Maitland, the daughter of Lady Rothes (they were the nearest neighbours of the Stair family in Wigtownshire), and I afterwards heard the tradition from others in that country. It was to the following effect, that when, after the noise and violent screaming in the bridal chamber, comparative stillness succeeded, and the door was forced, the window was found open, and it was supposed by many that the lover (Lord Rutherford) had, by the connivance of some of the servants, found means, during the bustle of the marriage feast, to secrete himself within the apartment, and that soon after the entry of the married pair, or at least as soon as the parents and others retreated and the door was made fast, he had come out from his concealment, attacked and desperately wounded the bridegroom, and then made his escape by the window through the garden. As the unfortunate bride never spoke after having uttered the words mentioned by Sir Walter, no light could be thrown on the matter by them. But it was thought that Bucklaw's obstinate silence on the subject favoured the supposition of the chastisement having been inflicted by his rival. It is but fair to give the unhappy victim (who was by all accounts a most gentle and feminine creature) the benefit of an explanation on a doubtful point.'
"So far my worthy friend, who seems a little jealous of the poor bride's reputation. I send you his note, and you can make what you like of it. I am intending a little jaunt to his country, and we mean to visit sundry old castles in Aberdeenshire, and wish you were of the party. I have heard nothing of Linton [cognomen for Sir Adam Ferguson] this summer. I hope you have been passing your time agreeably.—With best compliments to all friends, I remain, my dear Sir Walter, ever yours,
"WM. CLERK."

Written by William Mudford, born 1782, died 1848.

Twelfth Night, Act III. Sc. 4

See Life, vol ix. pp. 325-6.

The last reference in the Journal to his old friend Lady Jane Stuart, who died on the following October.

Now in the rooms of the Royal Society, Edinburgh.

Annals of the Peninsular War. 3 vols. 8vo, 1829.

Memoirs of General Miller in the Service of the Republic of Peru. 2 vols. 8vo, 1829.

Mr. Lockhart had written on June 6:—"Moore is at my elbow and says he has not the face to bother you, but he has come exactly to the part where your reminiscences of Lord Byron would come in; so he is waiting for a week or so in case they should be forthcoming." And Moore himself had previously reminded Sir Walter of his promise.

April 25th, 1829.
"My DEAR SCOTT,—It goes to my heart to bother you, knowing how bravely and gloriously you are employed for that task-mistress—Posterity. But you may thank your stars that I have let you off so long. All that you promised me about Mrs. Gordon and Gicht, and a variety of other things, is remitted to you; but I positively must have something from you of your recollections personally of Byron—and that as soon as possible, for I am just coming to the period of your acquaintance with him, which was, I think, in the year 1814. Tell me all the particulars of the presents you exchanged, and if his letters to you are really all lost (which I will still hope is not the case); try, as much as possible, with your memory
'To lure the tassel gentles back again.'

"You will have seen by the newspapers the sad loss my little circle of home has experienced, a loss never to be made up to us in this world, whatever it may be the will of God in another. Mrs. Moore's own health is much broken, and she is about to try what Cheltenham can do for her, while I proceed to finish my printing in town. It would be far better for me to remain in my present quiet retreat, where I am working quite alone, but the devils beckon me nearer them, and I must begin in a few days. Direct to me, under cover to Croker—you see I take for granted you will have a packet to send—and he will always know where to find me.
"My kindest remembrances to Miss Scott, and believe me ever, my very dear friend, your truly and affectionate,
"THOS. MOORE."

The "memoranda" were not acknowledged by Moore till Oct. 31, when he wrote Scott as follows:—

"MY DEAR SCOTT,—I ought to blush 'terrestrial rosy-red, shame's proper hue' for not sooner acknowledging your precious notes about Byron. One conclusion, however, you might have drawn from my silence, namely, that I was satisfied, and had all that I asked for. Your few pages indeed will be the best ornament of my book. Murray wished me to write to you (immediately on receipt of the last MS. you sent me) to press your asking Hobhouse for the letter of your own (in 1812) that produced Byron's reply. But I was doubtful whether you would like to authorise the publication of this letter, and besides it would be now too late, as the devils are in full hue and cry after my heels.
"Health and prosperity to you, my dear friend, and believe me, ever yours most truly,
"THOMAS MOORE."

Merry Wives, Act I. Sc. 3.

Mr. Skene at this time was engaged upon a series of etchings, regarding which he had several letters from Sir Walter, one of which may be given here:—

"MY DEAR SKENE,—I enclose you Basil Hall's letter, which is very interesting to me; but I would rather decline fixing the attention of the public further on my old friend George Constable. You know the modern rage for publication, and it might serve some newsmen's purpose by publishing something about my old friend, who was an humourist, which may be unpleasing to his friends and surviving relations.
"I did not think on Craignethan in writing about Tillietudlem, and I believe it differs in several respects from my Chateau en Espagne. It is not on the Clyde in particular, and, if I recollect, the view is limited and wooded. But that can be no objection to adopting it as that which public taste has adopted as coming nearest to the ideal of the place. Of the places in the Black Dwarf, Meiklestane Moor, Ellislie, Earnscliffe, are all and each vox et, praeterea nihil. Westburnflat once was a real spot, now there is no subject for the pencil. The vestiges of a tower at the junction of two wild brooks with a rude hillside, are all that are subjects for the pencil, and they are very poor ones. Earnscliffe and Ganderscleuch are also visions.
"I hope your work is afloat ^[B] and sailing bobbishly. I have not heard of or seen it.
"Rob Roy has some good and real subjects, as the pass at Loch Ard, the beautiful fall at Ledeard, near the head of the lake. Let me know all you desire to be informed without fear of bothering. Kindest compliments to Mrs. Skene and the young folks.—Always yours entirely, WALTER SCOTT."

Twenty numbers of this work were published in 1828 and 1829 under the title of "A Series of Sketches of the existing Localities alluded to in the Waverley Novels," etched from original drawings by James Skene, Esq.

A copy of this rather rare book is still in the Abbotsford Library. Its title is "Colonel Wm. Francklin's Military Memoirs of George Thomas, who by extraordinary talents and enterprise rose from an obscure situation to the rank of General in the service of the Native Powers in the N.W. of India," 4to, Calcutta, 1803.

The poem of this name is attributed to King James I. of Scotland, but Dr. Irving in his History of Scottish Poetry says the earliest edition known to him dates only from 1663.

Professor of Logic in the University of Edinburgh from 1775 till 1792, when he resigned his chair and became Keeper of the State Paper Office, and Historiographer to the East India Company in London. He wrote several elaborate and valuable reports for the Government, which, though printed, were never published; among others, one in 1799, in 2 vols. 8vo, "On the Union between England and Scotland: its causes, effects, and influence of Great Britain in Europe." In the previous year he also prepared another on the arrangements made for repelling the Armada, and their application to the crisis of 1798. This able man returned to Scotland, and died in Falkland about two years before Scott visited the place.

An account of the finding of this seal (which was thought to be that of Joan of Beaufort, wife of James I.) at Kinross, in April 1829, is given in the Archæologia Scotica, vol. iv. p. 420.

Right Hon. David Boyle.

5 The familiar name applied to Sir William Knighton, sometimes also the Great Unseen.

For list of the members of The Club, which was formed in 1788, see Life, vol. i. p. 208.

Some little time before his death, the worthy Sheriff-substitute of Roxburghshire received a set of his friend's works, with this inscription:—"To Robert Shortreed, Esq., the friend of the author from youth to age, and his guide and companion upon many an expedition among the Border hills, in quest of the materials of legendary lore which have at length filled so many volumes, this collection of the results of their former rambles is presented by his sincere friend, Walter Scott."—J.G.L.

Who had died on the 22d June 1829.

Mr. Skene in his Reminiscences records that—"Tom Purdie identified himself with all his master's pursuits and concerns; he had in early life been a shepherd, and came into Sir Walter's service upon his first taking up his abode at Ashiestiel, of which he became at last the farm manager; and upon the family removing to Abbotsford continued that function, to which was added gamekeeper, forester, librarian, and henchman to his master in all his rambles about the property. He used to talk of Sir Walter's publications as our books, and said that the reading of them was the greatest comfort to him, for whenever he was off his sleep, which sometimes happened to him, he had only to take one of the novels, and before he read two pages it was sure to set him asleep. Tom, with the usual shrewdness common to his countrymen in that class of life, joined a quaintness and drollery in his notions and mode of expressing himself that was very amusing; he was familiar, but at the same time perfectly respectful, although he was sometimes tempted to deal sharp cuts, particularly at Sir Adam Ferguson, whom he seemed to take a pleasure in assailing. When Sir Walter obtained the honour of knighthood for Sir Adam, upon the plea of his being Custodier of the Regalia of Scotland, Tom was very indignant, because he said, 'It would take some of the shine out of us,' meaning Sir Walter. Tom was very fond of salmon fishing, which from an accordance of taste contributed much to elevate my merits in his eyes, and I believe I was his greatest favourite of all Sir Walter's friends, which he used occasionally to testify by imparting to me in confidence some secret about fishing, which he concluded that no one knew but himself. He was remarkably fastidious in his care of the Library, and it was exceedingly amusing to see a clodhopper (for he was always in the garb of a ploughman) moving about in the splendid apartment which had been fitted up for the Library, scrutinising the state of the books, putting derangement to rights, remonstrating when he observed anything that indicated carelessness."

Abbotsford Notanda, p. 175.

Eldest daughter of David, sixth Earl of Leven and fifth of Melville, and widow of Sir John Wishart Belsches Stuart, Bart., of Fettercairn. See ante, vol. i. p. 404; vol. ii. pp. 55, 62.

James Abercromby, who succeeded Sir Samuel Shepherd as Chief Baron, was the third son of Sir Ralph Abercromby. He was afterwards elected member for Edinburgh in 1832, and Speaker of the House of Commons in 1835. On Mr. Abercromby's retirement in 1839, he was raised to the Peerage as Lord Dunfermline. He died at Colinton House on April 17th, 1858, aged 81.

Of this illness, Sir Walter had written the following account to Mr. Lockhart, a week after its occurrence:—

"Anne would tell you of an awkward sort of fit I had on Monday last; it lasted about five minutes, during which I lost the power of articulation, or rather of speaking what I wished to say. I revived instantly, but submitted to be bled, and to keep the house for a week, except exercising walks. They seem to say it is from the stomach. It may or may not be a paralytic affection. We must do the best we can in either event. I think by hard work I will have all my affairs regulated within five or six years, and leave the means of clearing them in case of my death. I hope there will be enough for all, and provision besides for my own family. The present return of the novels to me is about £8000 a year, which moves fast on to clear off old scores.

"This awkward turn of health makes my motions very uncertain. On the one hand I want to save money and push forward work, both which motives urge me to stay at home this spring. On the other, besides my great wish to see you all, and besides my desire to look at the 'forty-five' affairs, I am also desirous to put in for my interest upon the changes at the Court.... It must be very much as health and weather shall determine, for if I see the least chance of a return of this irritation, my own house will be the only fit place for me. Do not suppose I am either low-spirited or frightened at the possibilities I calculate upon, but there is no harm in looking at what may be as what needs must be. I really believe the ugly symptoms proceed from the stomach particularly. I feel, thank God, no mental injury, which is most of all to be deprecated. Still, I am a good deal failed in body within these two or three last years, and the singula praedantur come by degrees to make up a sum. They say, 'Do not work,' but my habits are such that it is not easily managed, for I would be driven mad with idleness.... Adieu. Love to all. The odds are greatly against my seeing you till you come down here, but I will have the cottage in such order for you; and as Will Laidlaw comes back at Whitsunday, I will have him to lend me an arm to Chiefswood, and I have no doubt to do gallantly.

"EDINBURGH, 22d February [1830]."

His grand-daughter, Charlotte, whom he playfully named after the fairy in the old Scottish Nursery story.

Mr. Lockhart had some thoughts of entering Parliament, at this time, and Sir Walter had expressed his opinion a few days before their meeting:—

"Your letter, this day received, namely Wednesday, gave me the greatest pleasure on account of the prosperous intelligence which it gives me of your own advancing prospects.... I take it for granted that you have looked to the income of future years before thinking of disposing of the profits of a successful one in a manner which cannot be supposed to produce positive Or direct advantage, but may rather argue some additional degree of expense.

"But this being premeesed, I cannot help highly approving of your going into Parliament, especially as a member entirely unfettered and left to act according to the weal of the public, or what you conceive such. It is the broad turnpike to importance and consequence which you, as a man of talents in the full vigour of your youth, ought naturally to be ambitious of. The present times threaten to bring in many occasions when there will and must be opportunities of a man distinguishing himself and serving his country.

"To go into the House without speaking would be useless. I will frankly tell you that when I heard you speak you seemed always sufficiently up to the occasion both in words and matter, but too indifferent in the manner in which you pressed your argument, and therefore far less likely to attract attention than if you had seemed more earnestly persuaded of the truth and importance of what you have been saying. I think you may gain advantage from taking this hint. No one is disposed to weigh any man's arguments more favourably than he himself does, and if you are not considered as gravely interested in what you say, and conscious of its importance, your audience will not be so....

"EDINBURGH, 20th May 1830."

Mr. John Dickinson of Nash Mill, Herts, the eminent papermaker.—J.G.L. Ante, p. 31.

Burns's Tam o' Shanter.

See Johnson's Musical Museum Illustrations, Pt. v. No. 454.

Henry V. Act II. Sc. 1.

Daughter of his old friend, Mrs. Maclean Clephane of Torloisk.

"Little Walter," Thomas Scott's son, who went to India in 1826, ante, vol. i. p. 103. He became a General in the Indian Army, and died in 1873.

Emanuel de Fellenburg, who died in 1844.

"The History of Scotland from the Earliest Period to the Middle of the Ninth Century," by the Rev. Alex. Low. 8vo, Edinburgh, 1826.—See Misc. Prose Works, vol. xx. pp. 374-6.

Southerne's Fatal Marriage.

In the Gamester by Moore.

Sir Samuel Shepherd.—See ante, vol. i. p. 51 n.

Sir Robert Preston, Bart., died in May 1834, aged ninety-five.—- J.G.L.

Heriot's Hospital, Edinburgh.

See ante, p. 279 note, and for sketch of Adam Rolland of Gask, Cockburn's Memorials, pp. 360-3.

The "frolic and fancy" of Councillor Pleydell were commonly supposed to have been found in Andrew Crosbie, Advocate, but as Crosbie died when Scott was only fourteen, and had retired from the bar for some years, the latter could scarcely have known him personally. See p. 281 n.

A second dividend of 3s. was declared on December 17, 1830.

An old Galloway proverb. Branks, "a sort of bridle used by country people in riding."—Jamieson. Burns in a Scotch letter to Nicol of June 1, 1787, says, "I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the fore and the branks bide hale."—Cromek's Reliques, p. 29.

Relating to the changes in the Court of Session.

David Dalrymple of Westhall was a judge of the Court of Session from 1777 till his death in 1784.

King John, Act I. Sc. 1.

A whiting dried in the sun; but "tiled haddocks" and "tiled whitings" are now unknown to the fisher-folk of Cockenzie.

John Philip Wood, editor of Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, etc., was deaf and dumb; he died in 1838 in his seventy-fourth year.

Coriolanus, Act I. Sc. 9.

Charles S. Daveis of Portland, a friend of Mr. George Ticknor, in whose Life (2 vols. 8vo, Boston, 1876) he is often mentioned.

An amusing illustration of the difficulty of seeing ourselves as others see us may be found written twenty-five years later by Nathaniel Hawthorne, where the author of the Scarlet Letter expresses in like manner his surprise at the want of refinement in Englishmen:—"I had been struck by the very rough aspect of these John Bulls in their morning garb, their coarse frock-coats, grey hats, check trousers, and stout shoes; at dinner-table it was not at first easy to recognise the same individuals.... But after a while, 'you see the same rough figure through all the finery, and become sensible that John Bull cannot make himself fine, whatever he may put on. He is a rough animal, and his female is well adapted to him.'"—Hawthorne and His Wife, vol. ii. p. 70. 2 vols. 8vo. Cambridge, U.S.A., 1884.

Architects style it Elizabethan, but Sir Walter's term is not inappropriate.

An amanuensis who was employed by Scott at this time.

British Hotel, 70 Queen St.

See Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 2.

See ante, January 15, 1828, p. 111. Mr. Mackenzie of Portmore died in September 1830, when Sir Walter wrote Mr. Skene the following letter:—

"DEAR SKENE,—I observe from the papers that our invaluable friend is no more. I have reason to think, that as I surmised when I saw him last, the interval has been a melancholy one, at least to those who had to watch the progress. I never expected to see his kind face more, after I took leave of him in Charlotte Square; yet the certainty that such must be the case is still a painful shock, as I can never hope again to meet, during the remaining span of my own life, a friend in whom high talents for the business of life were more happily mingled with all those affections which form the dearest part of human intercourse. In that respect I believe his like hardly is to be found. I hope Mrs. Skene and you will make my assurance of deep sympathy, of which they know it is expressed by a friend of poor Colin of fifty years' standing.

"I hope my young friend, his son, will keep his father's example before his eyes. His best friend cannot wish him a better model.

"I am just setting off to the West for a long-promised tour of a week. I shall be at Abbotsford after Monday, 27th current, and I hope Mrs. Skene and you, with some of our young friends, will do us the pleasure to come here for a few days. We see how separations may happen among friends, and should not neglect the opportunity of being together while we can. Besides, entre nous, it is time to think what is to be done about the Society, as the time of my retirement draws nigh, and I am determined, at whatever loss, not to drag out the last sands of my life in that sand-cart of a place, the Parliament House. I think it hurt poor Colin. This is, however, subject for future consideration, as I have not breathed a syllable about resigning the Chair to any one, but it must soon follow as a matter of course.^[C]

"Should you think of writing to let me know how the distressed family are, you may direct, during the beginning of next week, to Drumlanrig, Thornhill, Dumfriesshire.

"My kind love attends my dear Mrs. Skene, girls, boys, and all the family, and I am, always yours,

"WALTER SCOTT.

"ABBOTSFORD, 18th September [1830]."

Sir Walter had been President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh for some years; his resignation was not accepted, and he retained the office until he died.

Much Ado about Nothing, Act III. Sc. 5.

1 King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 1.

The biography here spoken of was not published.

Sir Walter had seats placed at suitable distances between the house and Chiefswood.

Titus Andronicus, Act IV. Sc. 2.

For an account of these "miracles" see Peace in Believing—a memoir of Isabella Campbell of Fernicarry. Roseneath, 8vo, 1829.

Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft, addressed to J.G. Lockhart, Esq., was published before the end of the year in Murray's Family Library.

School for Scandal.

Sir Walter had written to Morritt on his retirement from the Court of Session, and his old friend responded in the following cordial letter:—

"November, 1830.

"MY DEAR SCOTT,—... I am sorry to read what you tell me of your lameness, but legs are not so obedient to many of us at our age as they were twenty years ago, non immunes ab illis malis sumus, as the learned Partridge and Lilly's Grammar tells us. I find mine swell, and am forced to bandage, and should not exert them with impunity in walking as I used to do, either in long walks or in rough ground. I am glad, however, you have escaped from the Court of Session, even at the risk of sometimes feeling the want you allude to of winter society. You think you shall tire of solitude in these months: and in spite of books and the love of them, I have discovered by experience the possibility of such a feeling; but can we not in some degree remedy this? Why should we both be within two days' march of each other and not sometimes together, as of old? How I have enjoyed in your house the summum bonum of Sir Wm. Temple's philosophy, 'something which is not Home and yet with the liberty of Home, which is not Solitude, and yet hath the ease of Solitude, and which is only found in the house of an old friend.' Our summer months are well provided with summer friends. You have plenty and to spare of sightseers, Lions, and their hunters, and I have travellers, moor-shooters, etc., in equal abundance, but now when the country is abandoned, and Walter is leaving you, how I wish you would bring dear Anne and partake for a while our little circle here—we stir not till Christmas—if before that time such a pleasure could be attainable. Well, then, for auld lang syne, will you not, now that the Session has no claim on you, combine our forces against the possibility of ennui. If you will do this, I will positively, and in good faith, hold myself in readiness to do as much by you in the next November, and in every alternate November, nor shall the month ever pass without bringing us together. Do not tell me, as Wm. Rose would not fail to do if I gave him so good an opportunity, that my proposal would be a greater bore than the solitude it destroyed. It shall be no such thing, but only the trouble of a journey. I feel too, as I grow older, the vis inertiæ, and fancy that locomotion is more difficult, but let us abjure the doctrine, for it baulks much pleasure. Pray—pray as the children say—come to us, think of it first as not impossible, then weigh fairly the objections, and if they resolve themselves into mere aversion to change, overcome them by an assurance that the very change will give value to the resumption of your home avocations. If I plead thus strongly, perhaps it is because I feel the advantage to myself. Time has made gaps in the list of old friends as in yours; young ones, though very cheering and useful, are not, and cannot be, the same. I enjoy them too when present, but in absence I regret the others. What remains but to make the most of those we have still left when both body and mind permit us [to enjoy] them. I have books; also a room that shall [be your own], and a [pony] off which I can shoot, which I will engage shall neither tumble himself or allow you to tumble in any excursion on which you may venture. Dear Anne will find and make my womenkind as happy as you will make me, and we have only to beg you to stay long and be most cordially welcome. ... Adieu, dear Scott. I fear you will not come for all I can say. I could almost lose a tooth or a finger (if it were necessary) to find myself mistaken. Come, and come soon; stay long; be assured of welcome.

"All unite in this and in love to you and Anne, with your assured friend,

J.B. MORRITT."

See Life, vol. x. pp. 10-25.

"From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow,
And Swift expires a driveller and a show."
—Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.

Mr. Cadell and Mr. Ballantyne had arrived at Abbotsford on the 18th, bringing with them the good news from Edinburgh of the payment of the second dividend, and of the handsome conduct of the creditors. There had been a painful discussion between them and Sir Walter during the early part of the winter on Count Robert of Paris, particulars of which are given in the Life (vol. x. pp. 6, 10-17, 21-23), but they found their host much better than they had ventured to anticipate, and he made the gift of his library the chief subject of conversation during the evening. Next morning Mr. Ballantyne was asked to read aloud a political essay on Reform—intended to be a Fourth Epistle of Malachi. After careful consideration, the critical arbiters concurred in condemning the production, but suggested a compromise. His friends left him on the 21st, and the essay, though put in type, was never published. Proof and MS. were finally consigned to the flames!—Life, vol. x. pp. 21-25.

An account of this incident is given by an eye-witness, Mr. Peter Rodger, Procurator-Fiscal, who says: "The prisoner, thinking it a good chance of escaping, made a movement in direction of the door. This Sir Walter detected in time to descend from the Bench and place himself in the desperate man's path. 'Never!' said he; 'if you do, it will be over the body of an old man.' Whereupon the other officials of the Court came to the Sheriff's assistance and the prisoner was secured."—Craig-Brown's Selkirkshire, vol. ii. p. 141.

Count Robert of Paris.

John Swanston, a forester at Abbotsford, who did all he could to replace Tom Purdie.—Life, vol. x. p. 66.

Dr. Ferguson, Sir Adam's father, died in 1816.—See Misc. Prose Works, vol. xix. pp. 331-33.

See Measure for Measure, Act II. Sc. 1.

Æneid v. 194-7: thus rendered in English by Professor Conington:—

'Tis not the palm that Mnestheus seeks:
No hope of Victory fires his cheeks:
Yet, O that thought!—but conquer they
To whom great Neptune wills the day:
Not to be last make that your aim,
And triumph by averting shame.

King Richard the Third, Act IV. Sc. 2.

Mr. G.P.R. James, author of Richelieu, etc. He afterwards took Maxpopple for the season.

Mr. Skene tells us that when No. 39 Castle Street was "displenished" in 1826, Scott sent him the full-length portrait of himself by Raeburn, now at Abbotsford, saying that he did not hesitate to claim his protection for the picture, which was threatened to be paraded under the hammer of the auctioneer, and he felt that his interposition to turn aside that buffet might admit of being justified. "As a piece of successful art, many might fancy the acquisition, but for the sake of the original he knew no refuge where it was likely to find a truer welcome. The picture accordingly remained many years in my possession, but when his health had begun to break, and the plan of his going abroad was proposed, I thought it would be proper to return the picture, for which purpose I had a most successful copy made of it, an absolute facsimile, for when the two were placed beside each, other it was almost impossible to determine which was the original and which the copy."—Reminiscences. Thus forestalling the wish expressed in the affecting letter now given, which belongs to this day. See ante, vol. i. p. 136 n.

"MY DEAR SKENE,—I have had no very pleasant news to send you, as I know it will give Mrs. Skene and you pain to know that I am suffering under a hundred little ailments which have greatly encroached upon the custom of the season which I used to take. On this I could say much, but it is better to leave alone what must be said with painful feeling, and you would be vexed with reading.

"One thing I will put to rights with all others respecting my little personal affairs. I am putting [in order] this house with what it contains, and as Walter will probably be anxious to have a memorial of my better days, I intend to beg you and my dear Mrs. Skene ... to have it [the picture] copied by such an artist as you should approve of, to supply the blank which must then be made on your hospitable walls with the shadow of a shade. If the opportunity should occur of copying the picture to your mind, I will be happy to have the copy as soon as possible. You must not think that I am nervous or foolishly apprehensive that I take these precautions. They are necessary and right, and if one puts off too long, we sometimes are unfit for the task when we desire to take it up....

"When the weather becomes milder, I hope Mrs. Skene and you, and some of the children, will come out to brighten the chain of friendship with your truly faithful,

WALTER SCOTT.

"ABBOTSFORD, 16 January 1831."

Sir W. alludes to Mrs. Piozzi's Tale of The Three Warnings.—J.G.L.

Macbeth, Act I. Sc. 3.

Crabbe's Borough, Letter xiii.—J.G.L.

The deer-hound Bran which was presented by Macpherson of Cluny; Nimrod was Glengarry's gift.—See letter to Miss Edgeworth, printed in Life, vol. ix. p. 345.

I Henry IV., Act II. Sc. 3.

No. 1 Castle Street.

"His host perceived that he was unfit for any company but the quietest, and had sometimes one old friend, Mr. Thomson, Mr. Clerk, or Mr. Skene to dinner, but no more. He seemed glad to see them, but they all observed him with pain. He never took the lead in conversation, and often remained altogether silent. In the mornings he wrote usually for several hours at Count Robert; and Mr. Cadell remembers in particular, that on Ballantyne's reminding him that a motto was wanted for one of the chapters already finished, he looked out for a moment at the gloomy weather, and penned these lines—

'The storm increases—'tis no sunny shower,
Foster'd in the moist breast of March or April,
Or such as parched summer cools his lips with.
Heaven's windows are flung wide; the inmost deeps
Call in hoarse greeting one upon another;
On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors,
And where's the dyke shall stop it?'"—The Deluge—a Poem.

—Life, vol. x. p. 37.

A skilful mechanist, who, by a clever piece of handiwork, gave Sir Walter great relief, but only for a brief period.—Life, vol. x, p. 38.

Macbeth, Act V. Sc. 5.

Lear, Act III. Sc. 4.

The British Herald, by Thomas Robson, 3 vols. 4to, 1830. Mr. Lockhart says this review never was published.

Mr. Andrew Lang, Sheriff and Commissary Clerk, and Clerk of Peace, for Selkirkshire, grandfather of Mr. Andrew Lang, the accomplished poet and man of letters of the present time. The tact and ability of the grandfather are noticed by Sir Walter in his letter to Lord Montagu of Oct. 3, 1819, describing Prince Leopold at Selkirk.—Life, vol. vi. p. 131.

This proposal, resisted successfully in 1832, has since been put in force so far as Parliament is concerned.

I Henry IV., Act II. Sc. 3.

Taming of the Shrew, Introd.

As this is the last reference to the Ettrick Shepherd in the Journal, it may be noted that Sir Walter, as late as March 23d, 1832, was still desirous to promote Hogg's welfare. In writing from Naples he says, in reference to the Shepherd's social success in London, "I am glad Hogg has succeeded so well. I hope he will make hay while the sun shines; but he must be aware that the Lion of this season always becomes the Boar of the next.... I will subscribe the proper sum, i.e. what you think right, for Hogg, by all means; and I pray God, keep farms and other absurd temptations likely to beset him out of his way. He has another chance for comfort if he will use common sense with his very considerable genius."

This expression of irritation can easily be understood after reading the passages referred to in the twenty-ninth volume of Blackwood's Magazine, pp. 30-35, and 535-544. Readers of this Journal have seen what uphill work these "Letters on Demonology" were to the author, but the unsparing criticism of Christopher North must have appeared to the author as a very unfriendly act, more especially, he thought, if the critic really knew the conditions under which the book had been written.

Mr. Lockhart says:—"He proposed one of the Tory resolutions in a speech of some length, but delivered in a tone so low, and with such hesitation in utterance, that only a few detached passages were intelligible to the bulk of the audience."—See Life, vol. x. pp. 46-8.

The passing of the great Reform Bill in the House of Commons on the 22d March.

His friend Richardson, who was a Whig, writes him from London on February 14:—"What a singular feeling it was to me to find Brougham Lord Chancellor, and Jeffrey and Cockburn in their present stations! I am afraid that the spirit of reform goes at present beyond the limits to which even the Government will go—and but for the large stock of good sense and feeling which I think yet pervades the country, I should tremble for the future."

Merry Wives, Act I. Sc. 1.

Stulko or Stulk (? Stocaire, in Irish), a word formerly in common use among the Irish, signifying an idle, lazy, good-for-nothing fellow.

Mary Campbell, Lady Ruthven, for whom the picture was painted, was not only the friend of Scott, but she held relations more or less close with nearly every one famous in Art and Literature during the greater part of the nineteenth century. No mean artist herself, and though, perhaps, not a clever letter-writer, she had among her correspondents some of the most brilliant men of her day. She survived all her early friends, but had the gift of being attractive to the young, and for three generations was the delight of their children and grandchildren. Those who were privileged to share in the refined hospitality of Winton, never forgot either the picturesque old house (the supposed Ravenswood Castle of the Bride of Lammermoor), or its venerable mistress as she sat of an evening in her unique drawing-room, the walls of which were adorned with pictures of Grecian temple and landscape, her own handiwork in days long gone by when she was styled by her friends Queen of Athens. Her conversation, after she was ninety, was fresh and vigorous; and, despite blindness and imperfect hearing, she kept herself well acquainted with the affairs of the day. The last great speech in Parliament, or the newest bon mot, were equally acceptable and equally relished. Her sense of humour and fun made her, at times, forget her own sufferings, and her splendid memory enabled her to while away many a sleepless hour by repeating long passages from the Bible or Milton. The former she had so much in her heart that it was scarcely possible to believe she was not reading from the Book. Above all was her truly divine gift of charity, the practical application of which, in her every-day life, was only bounded by her means.

It was said of her by one who knew her well—

"She lived to a great age, dispensing kindness and benevolence to the last, and cheered in the sore infirmities of her later years by the love of friends of all ranks, and all parties of all ages.
"The Living Lamp of Lothian, which from Winton, has so long shed its beneficent lustre, has been extinguished, but not so will be lost the memory of the gifted lady, for by not a few will still be cherished the recollection of her noble nature, and of her Christian life."

Lady Ruthven prized the picture referred to. She would not, as Sir Francis Grant relates,^[D] permit him to touch the canvas after it left the Abbotsford studio; and it remained a cherished possession which she took pride in showing to appreciative guests, pointing out the details of face and form which she still saw with that inner eye, which time had not darkened.

It is now in the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland—bequeathed to the nation with other pictures, as well as the magnificent collection of Greek archaeological objects gathered by herself and Lord Ruthven in their early married life. She was born in 1789, and died in 1885.

Robert Dundas of Arniston, Esq., the worthy representative of an illustrious lineage, died at his paternal seat in June 1838.—J.G.L. See Arniston Memoirs—Three Centuries of a Scottish House, 1571-1838. Edin. 8vo, 1887.

See long and interesting letter of June 5, 1872, from Sir Francis to Sir W.S. Maxwell.—Laing's Catalogue, pp. 72-81.

Henry Liddell, second Baron Ravensworth, author of a translation of the Odes of Horace, a volume of Latin Poems, etc.

In a letter from Sir Walter to his son-in-law, of April 11th, he says:—

"When you can take an hour to think of this, I will be glad to hear from you.... I am in possession of five or six manuscripts, copies, or large extracts, taken under my own eyes. Croker thinks, and I am of his opinion, that if there was room for a personal narrative of the character, it would answer admirably."

This gentleman, a brother to the Laird of Raeburn, had made some fortune in the East Indies, and bestowed the name of Ravenswood on a villa which he built near Melrose. He died in 1831.—J.G.L.

The Manuscripts were sold by auction in London on August 19th, 1831, and the prices realised fell far short of what might have been expected, e.g. (1) Monastery, £18; (2) Guy Mannering, £27, 10s.; (3) Old Mortality, £33; (4) Antiquary, £42; (5) Rob Roy, £50; (6) Peveril of the Peak, £42; (7) Waverley, £18; (8) Abbot, £14; (9) Ivanhoe, £12; (10) Pirate, £12; (11) Nigel, £16, 16s.; (12) Kenilworth, £17; (13) Bride of Lammermoor, £14, 14s.—Total £317.—See David Laing's Catalogue, pp. 99-108, for an account of the dispersion and sales of the original MSS., prose and poetry.

Miss J. Erskine, a daughter of Lord Kinnedder's. She died in 1838.—J.G.L.

The Rev. N. Paterson, author of The Manse Garden; afterwards minister of St. Andrew's, Glasgow. He died in 1871. Mr. Paterson was a grandson of Robert Paterson, "Old Mortality," and brother of the Rev. Walter Paterson, minister of Kirkurd, author of the Legend of Iona—a poem written in imitation of the style of Scott, and in which he recognises his obligations to Sir Walter in the following terms:—"From him I derived courage to persevere in an undertaking on which I had often reflected with terror and distrust."—Legend, notes, p. 305.

Mr. John Smith of Darnick, the builder of Abbotsford, and architect of these bridges.—J.G.L.

This gentleman died in Edinburgh on the 4th February 1838.—J.G.L.

The late Captain Watson, R.N., was distantly related to Sir Walter's mother. His son, Sir John Watson Gordon, rose to great eminence as a painter; and his portraits of Scott and Hogg rank among his best pieces. He became President of the Royal Scottish Academy in 1850, died in 1864, leaving funds to endow a Chair of Fine Arts in the Edinburgh University.

Mr. W.F. Skene, Historiographer Royal for Scotland, and son of Scott's dear friend, has been good enough to give me his recollections of these days:—

"On referring to my Diary for the year 1831 I find the following entry: 'This Spring, on 31st April, I went with my father to Abbotsford and left on Sir Walter Scott being taken ill.' The date here given for my visit does not correspond with that in Sir Walter's Diary, but, as there are only thirty days in April it has evidently been written by mistake for the 13th. I had just attained my twenty-first year, and as such a visit at that early age was a great event in my life, I retain a very distinct recollection of the main features of it. I recollect that Lord Meadowbank and his eldest son Alan came at the same time, and the dinner party, at which Mr. Pringle of the Haining and his brother were present. The day after our arrival Sir Walter asked me to drive with him. We went in his open carriage to the Yarrow, where we got out, and Sir Walter, leaning on my arm, walked up the side of the river, pouring forth a continuous stream of anecdotes, traditions, and scraps of ballads. I was in the seventh heaven of delight, and thought I had never spent such a day. On Sunday Sir Walter did not come down to breakfast, but sent a message to say that he had caught cold and had taken some medicine for it the night before, which had made him ill, and would remain in bed. When we sat at either lunch or dinner, I do not recollect which, Sir Walter walked into the room and sat down near the table, but ate nothing. He seemed in a dazed state, and took no notice of any one, but after a few minutes' silence, during which his daughter Anne, who was at table, and was watching him with some anxiety, motioned to us to take no notice, he began in a quiet voice to tell us a story of a pauper lunatic, who, fancying he was a rich man, and was entertaining all sorts of high persons to the most splendid banquets, communicated to his doctor in confidence that there was one thing that troubled him much, and which he could not account for, and that was that all these exquisite dishes seemed to him to taste of oatmeal porridge. Sir Walter told this with much humour, and after a few minutes' silence began again, and told the same story over a second time, and then again a third time.^[E] His daughter, who was watching him with increasing anxiety, then motioned to us to rise from table, and persuaded her father to return to his bedroom. Next day the doctor, who had been sent for, told us that he was seriously ill, and advised that his guests should leave at once, so that the house might be kept quiet and his daughter devote herself entirely to the care of her father. We accordingly left at once, and I never saw Sir Walter again. I still, however, retain a memorial of my visit. I had fallen into indifferent health in the previous year, and been recommended Highland air. By Sir Walter's advice I was sent to live with a friend of his, the Reverend Doctor Macintosh Mackay, then minister of Laggan, in the Inverness-shire Highlands, and had passed my time learning from him the Gaelic language. This excited in me a taste for Celtic Antiquities, and finding in Sir Walter's Library a copy of O'Connor's Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores veteres, I sat up one night transcribing from it the Annals of Tighernac. This transcript is still in my library.—WILLIAM F. SKENE.

"27 INVERLEITH ROW,
Sept. 1890."

An echo of one of his own singular illustrations (see Letters on Demonology) of the occasional collision between a disturbed imagination and the organs of sense.

Falconer's Shipwreck, p. 162—"The Storm." 12mo ed. London, Albion Press, 1810.

Scotch Metrical Version of the 90th Psalm.

On the 18th October Sir Walter sent Mr. Burn the following inscription for the monument he had commissioned, and which now stands in the churchyard of Irongray:—

"This stone was erected by the Author of Waverley to the memory of Helen Walker, who died in the year of God 1791. This humble individual practised in real life the virtues with which fiction has invested the imaginary character of Jeanie Deans; refusing the slightest departure from veracity, even to save the life of a sister, she nevertheless showed her kindness and fortitude, in rescuing her from the severity of the law, at the expense of personal exertions, which the time rendered as difficult as the motive was laudable. Respect the grave of Poverty when combined with the love of Truth and dear affection."

It is well known that on the publication of Old Mortality many people were offended by what was considered a caricature of the Covenanters, and that Dr. M'Crie, the biographer of Knox, wrote a series of papers in the Edinburgh Christian Instructor, which Scott affected to despise, and said he would not read. He not only was obliged to read the articles, but found it necessary to inspire or write an elaborate defence of the truth of his own picture of the Covenanters in the Number for January 1817 of the Quarterly Review.

In June 1818, however, he made ample amends, and won the hearts of all classes of his countrymen by his beautiful pictures of national character in the Heart of Midlothian.

It is worth noticing also that ten years later, viz., in December 1828, his friend Richardson having written that in the Tales of a Grandfather "You have paid a debt which you owed to the manes of the Covenanters for the flattering picture which you drew of Claverhouse in Old Mortality. His character is inconceivable to me: the atrocity of his murder of those peasants, as undauntedly devoted to their own good cause as himself to his, his personal (almost hangman-like) superintendence of their executions, are wholly irreconcilable with a chivalrous spirit, which, however scornful of the lowly, could never, in my mind, be cruel," Scott, in reply, gave his matured opinion in the following words:—

"As to Covenanters and Malignants, they were both a set of cruel and bloody bigots, and had, notwithstanding, those virtues with which bigotry is sometimes allied. Their characters were of a kind much more picturesque than beautiful; neither had the least idea either of toleration or humanity, so that it happens that, so far as they can be distinguished from each other, one is tempted to hate most the party which chances to be uppermost for the time."

See Miss Ferrier's account of this visit prefixed to Mr. Bentley's choice edition of her works, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, London, 1881.

Mr. Carruthers remarks in his Abbotsford Notanda:—"Joanna Baillie published a thin volume of selections from the New Testament 'regarding the nature and dignity of Jesus Christ.' The tendency of the work was Socinian, or at least Arian, and Scott was indignant that his friend should have meddled with such a subject. 'What had she to do with questions of that sort?' He refused to add the book to his library and gave it to Laidlaw."—p. 179.

See Crabbe's Sir Eustace Grey.

Life, vol. x. pp. 100-1.

See Life, vol. x. pp. 76-106.

See "Ellandonan Castle," in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Scott's Poetical Works, vol. iv. p. 361.

Now the Bishop of St. Andrews. As has been already said, Wordsworth arrived on the 19th and left on the 22d September, i.e. the visit lasted from Monday till Thursday. There are no dates in the Journal between May 25 and October 8, but Wordsworth says, "At noon on Thursday we left Abbotsford, and on the morning of that day Sir Walter and I had a serious conversation tête-à-tête, when he spoke with gratitude of the happy life which upon the whole he had led."—Knight's Wordsworth, vol. iii. p. 201.

Wordsworth notes that on placing the volume in his daughter's hand, Sir Walter said, "I should not have done anything of this kind but for your father's sake; they are probably the last verses I shall ever write."—Knight's Wordsworth, vol. iii. p. 201.

The introductory address to Count Robert of Paris bears the date October 15th, 1831.

Twelfth Night, Act II. Sc. 3.

See Moore's edition of Byron's Works, vol. vii. pp. 43-44, note.

Scott's views received strong confirmation a few days later at Bristol, where the authorities, through mistaken humanity, hesitated to order the military to act.

At Malta, accordingly, we find Sir Walter making inquiry regarding this Arabian conjurer, and writing to Mr. Lockhart, on Nov. 1831, in the following terms:—

"I have got a key to the conjuring story of Alexandria and Grand Cairo. I have seen very distinct letters of Sir John Stoddart's son, who attended three of the formal exhibitions which broke down, though they were repeated afterwards with success. Young Stoddart is an excellent Arabian scholar—an advantage which I understand is more imperfectly enjoyed by Lord Prudhoe and Colonel Felix. Much remains to be explained, but the boldness of the attempt exceeds anything since the days of the Automaton chess-player, or the Bottle conjurer. The first time Shakespeare was evoked he appeared in the complexion of an Arab. This seems to have been owing to the first syllable of his name, which resembled the Arabian word Sheik, and suggested the idea of an Arabian chief to the conjurer. A gentleman named Galloway has bought the secret, and talks of being frightened. There can be little doubt that, having so far interested himself, it would become his interest to put the conjurer more up to the questions likely to be asked. So he was more perfect when consulted by Lord Prudhoe than at first, when he made various blunders, and when we must needs say falsum in uno falsum in omnibus. As all this will come out one day, I have no wish to mingle in the controversy.... There are still many things to explain, but I think the mystery is unearthed completely."

See also Lane's Egyptians for an account of what appears to be the same man in 1837. Also Quarterly Review, No. 117, pp. 196-208, for an examination of this "Magic Mirror" exhibition.

THE JOURNAL OF

SIR WALTER SCOTT

FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

AT ABBOTSFORD

VOLUME II

BURT FRANKLIN

NEW YORK

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.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

VOL. II.

SIR WALTER SCOTT'S JOURNAL.

JULY.

AUGUST.

SEPTEMBER.

OCTOBER.

NOVEMBER

DECEMBER.

1828.

JANUARY.

FEBRUARY.

MARCH.

APRIL.

MAY.

JUNE.

JULY.

1829.

JANUARY.

FEBRUARY.

MARCH

APRIL.

MAY.

JUNE.

JULY.

1830.

MAY.

JUNE.

JULY.

SEPTEMBER

DECEMBER.

1831.

JANUARY.

FEBRUARY.

MARCH.

APRIL.

MAY.

OCTOBER.

NOVEMBER.

DECEMBER

1832.

JANUARY.

FEBRUARY.

MARCH.

APRIL.

APPENDIX

No. II.

Letter from Mr. Carlyle referred to in vol. ii. p. 160.[526]

No. III.

Contents of the Volume of Irish Manuscript referred to, vol. ii. p. 289.

No. IV.

"A Former Empress."—p. 451.

No. V.

"Mother Goose's Tales," p. 459. The following note by a distinguished authority on Nursery Tales, will be read with interest.

No. VI.

DESCENDANTS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT.

INDEX.

FOOTNOTES.

Letter from Mr. Carlyle referred to in vol. ii. p. 160.^[526]