[210] W. Withers had just published a _Letter to Sir Walter Scott
exposing certain fundamental errors in his late Essay on
Planting_,--Holt: Norfolk, 1828.

[211] A deep pool in the Tweed, in which Scott had had a singular
nocturnal adventure while "burning the water" in company with Hogg and
Laidlaw. Hogg records that the crazy coble went to the bottom while
Scott was shouting--

"An' gin the boat were bottomless, An' seven miles to row."

The scene was not forgotten when he came to write the twenty-sixth
chapter of _Guy Mannering_.

[212] This refers to the splendid edition of Walton and Cotton, edited
by Nicolas, and illustrated by Stothard and Inskipp, published in 1836
after nearly ten years' preparation, in two vols. large 8vo.

[213] Sir William Scott, Lord Stowell, died 28th January 1836, aged
ninety.

[214] Moore writes: "On our arrival at Hampton (where we found the
Wordsworths), walked about,--the whole party in the gay walk where the
band plays, to the infinite delight of the Hampton _blues_, who were all
_eyes_ after Scott. The other scribblers not coming in for a glance. The
dinner odd; but being near Scott I found it agreeable, and was delighted
to see him so happy, with his tall son, the Major," etc. etc,--_Diary_,
vol. v. p. 287.

[215] The author of _Evelina_ died at Bath in 1840, at the age of
eighty-eight. Subsequent to this meeting with Scott she published
memoirs of her father, Dr. Burney (in 1832). It is stated that for her
novel _Camilla_, published in 1796, she received a subscription of 3000
guineas, and for the _Wanderer_, in 1814, £1500 for the copyright. This
was the year in which _Waverley_ appeared, for the copyright of which
Constable did not see his way to offer more than £700.

[216] This item refers to money which had belonged to Lady Scott's
parents.

[217] It contains half of Chancellor Clarendon's famous collection--the
other half is at Bothwell Castle.

[218] William Elliot Lockhart of Cleghorn and Borthwick-brae, long M.P.
for Selkirkshire.

[219] Weare, Thurtell, and the rest were professed gamblers. See _ante_,
July 10, 1826, and _Life_, vol. viii. p. 381.

[220] The first volume had just been published in 1828. The book was
completed in 6 vols. in 1840.




JUNE.


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

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

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

    "It grew to dinner in conclusion."

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

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

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

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

I went to Court, and when I returned did some work upon the Tales.

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

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

_June_ 7.--Saturday was another working day, and nothing occurred to
disturb me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "----- Had fallen with heavy thump
    Upon his reverential rump,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Wont to do's awa frae me,
    Frae silly auld John Ochiltree."[229]

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[221] About this time Miss Anne Scott wrote to Mrs. Lockhart: "Early in
the morning, before we started, papa took me with him to the Cathedral.
This he had done often before; but he said he must stand once more on
the spot where he married poor mamma. After that we went to the Castle,
where a new showman went through the old trick of pointing out Fergus
MacIvor's _very_ dungeon. Peveril said, 'Indeed, are you quite sure,
sir?' And on being told there could be no doubt, was troubled with a fit
of coughing, which ended in a laugh. The man seemed exceeding indignant;
so, when papa moved on, I whispered who it was. I wish you had seen the
man's start, and how he stared and bowed as he parted from us; and then
rammed his keys into his pocket and went off at a hand-gallop to warn
the rest of the garrison. But the carriage was ready, and we escaped a
row."--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 256-7.

[222] See _The Doom of Devorgoil: A Melo-Drama. Auchendrane: or the
Ayrshire Tragedy_. Published by Cadell in 8vo. 1830.

[223] Referring to the uniform edition of the Waverley Novels in 48
vols., which began to be issued in June 1829. The great cost of the
publication naturally caused the Trustees much anxiety at this period.

[224] _Ante_, p. 120, February 2d.

[225] Natali Corri, born in Italy, but settled in Edinburgh, where,
among other schemes, he tried to set up an Italian opera. In conjunction
with a brother he published several musical works. He died at Trieste in
1823.

[226] See Act II. Sc. 2. The Italian family's morning call.

[227]

"And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear to thy grief For thy clan and thy
country the cares of a Chief, Whom brief rolling moons, in six changes
have left Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft; To thine ear
of affection how sad is the hail That salutes thee, the heir of the line
of Kintail." _Poetical Works_, vol. viii. p. 394.

Mary, daughter of Francis, Lord Seaforth, was born in Ross-shire in
1784, married, at Barbadoes in 1804, Sir Samuel Hood, and left a widow
in 1814. She married again, in 1817, Mr. J.A. Stewart, who assumed the
name of Mackenzie. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie died at Brahan Castle in 1862;
her funeral was one of the largest ever witnessed in the North.

[228] Patrick James Stevenson was licensed in 1825, and ordained in
1828.--Scott's _Fasti_, vol. vi. p. 746.

[229] Ramsay's _Tea-table Miscellany_ (1795), vol. i. p. 125.




JULY.


    "Up in the morning's no for me."[230]

Yet here I am up at five--no horses come from the North Ferry yet.

    "O Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Mitchell,
    Your promises and time keep stitch ill."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_From July_ 8, 1828, _to January_ 10, 1829, _there are no entries in
the Journal_.]

FOOTNOTES:

[230] Burns's song.

[231] Now called Wellhouse Tower.




1829.




JANUARY.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Awake! Arise, or be for ever fallen."[232]

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

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

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

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

I dined quietly at home with the girls, and wrote after dinner.

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

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

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

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

_Note_.--Lime rubbish dug in among the roots of ivy encourages it much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "----Like a lusty winter,
    Frosty, but kindly,"[244]

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "No after friendships ere can raise
    The endearments of our early days."

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

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

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

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

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

    "----- as one who in a darksome way
    Doth walk with fear and dread."

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

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

    "Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men,
    And use it as ye may."

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

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

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

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

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

    "Blow, blow, thou northern wind."[248]

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

FOOTNOTES:

[232] Milton's _Paradise Lost_, Bk. i.

[233] See Cases in Court of Session, vol. vii. S. p. 527.

[234] John Graham, who afterwards assumed the name of Gilbert; born
1794, died 1866.

He was at this time painting Sir Walter for the Royal Society of
Edinburgh. When the portrait was finished it was placed in the rooms of
the Society, where it still hangs. The artist retained in his own
collection a duplicate, with some slight variations, which his widow
presented to the National Portrait Gallery, London, in 1867.

[235] Sir Walter, in common with the majority of his contemporaries,
evidently believed that Dr. Robert Knox was partly responsible for the
West Port atrocities, but it is only just to the memory of the talented
anatomist to say that an independent and influential committee, after a
careful examination, reported on March 13th, 1829, that there was no
evidence showing that he or his assistants knew that murder had been
committed, but the committee thought that more care should have been
exercised in the reception of the bodies at the Anatomical Class-room.

Lord Cockburn, who was one of the counsel at the trial of Burke, in
writing of these events, remarks: "All our anatomists incurred a most
unjust and very alarming, though not an unnatural, odium; Dr. Knox in
particular, against whom not only the anger of the populace, but the
condemnation of more intelligent persons, was specially directed. But,
tried in reference to the invariable and the necessary practice of the
profession, our anatomists were spotlessly correct, and Knox the most
correct of them all."

At this date Dr. Knox was the most popular teacher in the Medical School
at Edinburgh, and as his class-room could not contain more than a third
of his students, he had to deliver his lectures twice or thrice daily.
The odium attached to his name might have been removed in time had his
personal character stood as high as his professional ability, but though
he remained in Edinburgh until 1841 he never recovered his position
there, and for the last twenty years of his life this once brilliant
teacher subsisted as best he could in London by his pen, and as an
itinerant lecturer. He died in 1862.

[236] _King John_, Act iv. So. 2.

[237] Archibald, second Lord Douglas, who died in 1844.

[238] John Greenshields, self-taught sculptor. See _Life_, vol. ix. p.
281-288. He died at the age of forty in 1835.

[239] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[240] Sir Henry Seton Steuart's work on _Planting_ was reviewed by Scott
in the _Quarterly_.--See _Misc. Prose Works,_ vol. xxi. Sir H. Steuart
died in March 1836.

[241] See letter in _Life_, vol. ix. pp. 281-287.

[242] Originally published in London in 8vo, 1764. This contemplated
edition does not appear to have been printed.

[243] _Ante_, p. 118 n.

[244] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 3.

[245] See Beaumont and Fletcher, _Knight of the Burning Pestle_, Act I.
Sc. 3.

[246]

Coelo supinas si tuleris manus Nascente luna, rustica Phidyle, etc.

Hor. Lib. iii _Od_. 23.--J.G.L.

[247] This letter, brimful of anecdote, is printed in Croker's
_Correspondence_, vol. ii. pp. 28-34.

[248] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 7.




FEBRUARY.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_February_ 8.--I wrought the whole day and finished about six pages of
manuscript of vol. iii. [_Anne of Geierstein_]. _Sat cito si sat bene_.
The Skenes came in to supper like the olden world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Postboy's horse, am glad to miss
    The lumber of the wheels."[251]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "It sticks like a pistol half out of its holster,
    Or rather indeed like an obstinate bolster,
    Which I think I have seen you attempting, my dear,
    In vain to cram into a small pillowbeer."

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[249] Sir Walter had written to Mr. Lockhart on October 26th, 1828, on
hearing of an impending article in the _Quarterly_, the following
letter:--

"I cannot repress the strong desire I have to express my regret at some
parts of your kind letter just received. I shall lament most truly a
_purple_ article at this moment, when a strong, plain, moderate
statement, not railing at Catholics and their religion, but reprobating
the conduct of the Irish Catholics, and pointing out the necessary
effects which that conduct must have on the Catholic Question, would
have a powerful effect, and might really serve king and country. Nothing
the agitators desire so much as to render the broil general, as a
quarrel between Catholic and Protestant; nothing so essential to the
Protestant cause as to confine it to its real causes. Southey, as much a
fanatic as e'er a Catholic of them all, will, I fear, pass this most
necessary landmark of debate. I like his person, admire his genius, and
respect his immense erudition, but--_non omnia_. In point of reasoning
and political judgment he is a perfect Harpado--nothing better than a
wild bull. The circumstances require the interference of _vir gravis
pietate et moribus_, and you bring it a Highland piper to blow a
Highland charge, the more mischievous that it possesses much wild power
of inflaming the passions.

"Your idea that you must give Southey his swing in this matter or he
will quit the _Review_,--this is just a pilot saying, If I do not give
the helm to such a passenger he will quit the ship. Let him quit and be
d--d.

"My own confidence is, you know, entirely in the D. As Bruce said to the
Lord of the Isles at Bannockburn, 'My faith is constant in thee.' Now a
hurly-burly charge may derange his line of battle, and therein be of the
most fatal consequence. For God's sake avail yourself of the
communication I opened while in town, and do not act without it. Send
this to the D. of W. If you will, he will appreciate the motives that
dictate it. If he approves of a calm, moderate, but firm statement,
stating the unreasonable course pursued by the Catholics as the great
impediment to their own wishes, write such an article _yourself_; no one
can make a more impressive appeal to common sense than you can.

"The circumstances of the times are--_must_ be--an apology for
disappointing Southey. But nothing can be an apology for indulging him
at the expense of aggravating public disturbance, which, for one, I see
with great apprehension.

"It has not yet come our length; those [to] whom you allude ought
certainly to be served, but the D. is best judge how they may be _best_
served. If the D. says nothing on the subject you can slip your
Derwentwater greyhound if you like. I write hastily, but most anxiously.
... I repeat that I think it possible to put the Catholic Question as it
now stands in a light which the most zealous of their supporters in this
country cannot but consider as fair, while the result would be that the
Question should not be granted at all under such guarantees; but I think
this is scarce to be done by inflaming the topic with all mutual
virulence of polemical discussion."

[250] _Henry VI_. Act I. Sc. 4.

[251] _John Gilpin._

[252] The _Picture of Scotland_ by Robert Chambers, author of
_Traditions of Edinburgh_, etc., 8vo, 1829.

[253] Mr. Skene remarks that at this time "Sir Walter was engaged in the
composition of the Novel of _Anne of Geierstein_, for which purpose he
wished to see a paper which I had some time before contributed to the
Memoirs of the Society of Antiquaries on the subject of the Secret
Tribunals of Germany, and upon which, accordingly, he grounded the scene
in the novel. Upon his describing to me the scheme which he had formed
for that work, I suggested to him that he might with advantage connect
the history of René, king of Provence, which would lead to many
interesting topographical details which my residence in that country
would enable me to supply, besides the opportunity of illustrating so
eccentric a character as '_le bon roi René_,' full of traits which were
admirably suited to Sir Walter's graphic style of illustration, and that
he could besides introduce the ceremonies of the _Fête Dieu_ with great
advantage, as I had fortunately seen its revival the first time it was
celebrated after the interruption of the revolution. He liked the idea
much, and, accordingly, a Journal which I had written during my
residence in Provence, with a volume of accompanying drawings and
Papon's History of Provence was forthwith sent for, and the whole
_dénouement_ of the story of _Anne o/Geierstein_ was changed, and the
Provence part woven into it, in the form in which it ultimately came
forth."--_Reminiscences_.

[254] This learned gentleman died in his house, 34 Moray Place,
Edinburgh, on the 30th August 1838, aged eighty-two. He had filled
various important situations with great ability during his long
life:--Sheriff of Berwick and West Lothian, Professor of Scots Law in
the University, and afterwards a Baron of Exchequer, which latter office
he held till the abolition of the court in 1830. He is best remembered
by his work on the Criminal Law of Scotland, published in 1797. He
bequeathed his uncle the historian's correspondence with Rousseau and
other distinguished foreigners to the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

[255] Published in four volumes, 8vo, 1829. Fauche-Borel, an agent of
the Bourbons, had just died. The book is still in the Abbotsford
library.

[256] _Ancient Metrical Tales_, edited by Rev. C.H. Hartshorne. 8vo
London, 1829.

[257] The Right Hon. William Dundas, born 1762, died 1845; appointed
Lord Clerk Register in 1821.

[258] Ben Jonson, _Every Man in his Humour,_ Act I. Sc. 4.

[259] For notices of this gigantic cannon see _ante_, vol. i. p. 43, and
_post_, pp. 247-8; also _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 86-87.

[260] Some of these fine drawings have been engraved for Colonel Tod's
_Travels in Western India_. Lond., 4to, 1839.--J.G.L.

[261] Molière, _L'Amour Médecin_, Act I. Sc. 1 (_joaillier_ for
_orfévre_).

[262] The following extract from a letter by Wilkie shows how willingly
he had responded to Scott's request:--

7 TERRACE, KENSINGTON, LONDON, _Jan_. 1829.

"DEAR SIR WALTER,--I pass over all those disastrous events that have
arrived to us both since our last, as you justly call it, melancholy
parting, to assure you how delighted I shall be if I can in the most
inconsiderable degree assist in the illustrations of the great work,
which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which
your noble spirit is at this time beset; considering it as only repaying
a debt of obligation which you yourself have laid upon me when, with an
unseen hand in the _Antiquary_, you took me up and claimed me, the
humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman."




MARCH


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

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

Dined at the Royal Society Club, and went to the Society in the evening.

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

    "Thou troubl'st me: I am not in the vein."[264]

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

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

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

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

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

    "Go tell my young lord, said this modest young man,
      If he will but invite me to dinner,
    I'll be as diverting as ever I can--
      I will, on the faith of a sinner."

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

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

    "The best o't, the warst o't,
    Is only just to die."[268]

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

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

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

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

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