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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

[Sidenote: This was a mistake.]

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life could not be endured were it seen in reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[79] Sir Samuel Shepherd.

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

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

[82] Sir James Scarlett, first Lord Abinger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[104] _Woodstock_--contracted for in 1823.

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

[106] George Huntly Gordon, amanuensis to Scott.




1826




1826.--JANUARY.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The snow begins to fall thick this morning--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "And lay my bones far from the _Tweed_."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane Russell drank tea with us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

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

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