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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"CASTLE STREET, 23 _January_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[139] _Life of Bonaparte_. (?)

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

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

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




FEBRUARY.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clerk came in last night and drank wine and water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

[144] Coleridge's _Christabel_, Part II.

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

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

[147] See _Tranent Muir_ by Skirving.

[148] Addison, _Cato_, i. 4.

[149] See p. 83.

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

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

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

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

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

[Squib of 1811.]



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[160] Flax on her distaff.

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

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

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

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

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

"In the Odyssey there are two such visions which turn out to be
realities:--that of Nausicaa, Bk. vi. 20, etc., and that of Penelope,
Bk. xix. 535, etc. In the former case we are told that the vision
occurred just before dawn; I. 48-49, [Greek: autika d' Êôs êlthen], 'straightway
came the Dawn,' etc. In the latter, there is no special mention of the
hour. The vision, however, is said to be not a dream, but a true vision
which shall be accomplished (547, [Greek: ouk onar all' upar esthlon, o toi
tetelesmenon estai]).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[171] See below, _March_ 12.

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

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



[173]

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

--See Pope, _Epitaphs_, 9.

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

The motto to the epistle was:--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




MARCH.

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

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