But in her great features France is the same as ever. An oppressive air
of solitude seems to hover over these rich and extended plains, while we
are sensible that, whatever is the motive of the desolation, it cannot
be sterility. The towns are small, and have a poor appearance, and more
frequently exhibit signs of decayed splendour than of thriving and
increasing prosperity. The château, the abode of the gentleman, and the
villa, the retreat of the thriving _négociant_, are rarely seen till you
come to Beaumont. At this place, which well deserves its name of the
fair mount, the prospect improves greatly, and country-seats are seen in
abundance; also woods, sometimes deep and extensive, at other times
scattered in groves and single trees. Amidst these the oak seldom or
never is found; England, lady of the ocean, seems to claim it
exclusively as her own. Neither are there any quantity of firs. Poplars
in abundance give a formal air to the landscape. The forests chiefly
consist of beeches, with some birches, and the roads are bordered by
elms cruelly cropped, pollarded, and switched. The demand for firewood
occasions these mutilations. If I could waft by a wish the thinnings of
Abbotsford here, it would make a little fortune of itself. But then to
switch and mutilate my trees!--not for a thousand francs. Ay, but sour
grapes, quoth the fox.

_October_ 30.--Finding ourselves snugly settled in our Hotel, we
determined to remain here at fifteen francs per day. We are in the midst
of what can be seen, and we are very comfortably fed and lodged.

This morning wet and surly. Sallied, however, by the assistance of a
hired coach, and left cards for Count Pozzo di Borgo, Lord Granville,
our ambassador, and M. Gallois, author of the _History of Venice_.[382]
Found no one at home, not even the old pirate Galignani,[383] at whose
den I ventured to call. Showed my companion the Louvre (which was
closed, unluckily), the front of the palace with its courts, and all
that splendid quarter which the fame of Paris rests upon in security. We
can never do the like in Britain. Royal magnificence can only be
displayed by despotic power. In England, were the most splendid street
or public building to be erected, the matter must be discussed in
Parliament, or perhaps some sturdy cobbler holds out, and refuses to
part with his stall, and the whole plan is disconcerted. Long may such
impediments exist! But then we should conform to circumstances, and
assume in our public works a certain sober simplicity of character,
which should point out that they were dictated by utility rather than
show. The affectation of an expensive style only places us at a
disadvantageous contrast with other nations, and our substitute of brick
and plaster for freestone resembles the mean ambition which displays
Bristol stones in default of diamonds.

We went to theatre in the evening--Comédie Française the place,
_Rosemunde_ the piece. It is the composition of a young man with a
promising name--Émile de Bonnechose; the story that of Fair Rosamond.
There were some good situations, and the actors in the French taste
seemed to me admirable, particularly Mademoiselle Bourgoin. It would be
absurd to attempt to criticise what I only half understood; but the
piece was well received, and produced a very strong effect. Two or three
ladies were carried out in hysterics; one next to our box was
frightfully ill. A Monsieur _à belles moustaches_--the husband, I trust,
though it is likely they were _en partie fine_--was extremely and
affectionately assiduous. She was well worthy of the trouble, being very
pretty indeed; the face beautiful, even amidst the involuntary
convulsions. The afterpiece was _Femme Juge et Partie_, with which I was
less amused than I had expected, because I found I understood the
language less than I did ten or eleven years since. Well, well, I am
past the age of mending.

Some of our friends in London had pretended that at Paris I might stand
some chance of being encountered by the same sort of tumultuary
reception which I met in Ireland; but for this I see no ground. It is a
point on which I am totally indifferent. As a literary man I cannot
affect to despise public applause; as a private gentleman I have always
been embarrassed and displeased with popular clamours, even when in my
favour. I know very well the breath of which such shouts are composed,
and am sensible those who applaud me to-day would be as ready to toss me
to-morrow; and I would not have them think that I put such a value on
their favour as would make me for an instant fear their displeasure. Now
all this disclamation is sincere, and yet it sounds affected. It puts me
in mind of an old woman who, when Carlisle was taken by the Highlanders
in 1745, chose to be particularly apprehensive of personal violence, and
shut herself up in a closet, in order that she might escape ravishment.
But no one came to disturb her solitude, and she began to be sensible
that poor Donald was looking out for victuals, or seeking for some small
plunder, without bestowing a thought on the fair sex; by and by she
popped her head out of her place of refuge with the petty question,
"Good folks, can you tell when the ravishing is going to begin?" I am
sure I shall neither hide myself to avoid applause, which probably no
one will think of conferring, nor have the meanness to do anything which
can indicate any desire of ravishment. I have seen, when the late Lord
Erskine entered the Edinburgh theatre, papers distributed in the boxes
to mendicate a round of applause--the natural reward of a poor player.

_October_ 31.--At breakfast visited by M. Gallois, an elderly Frenchman
(always the most agreeable class), full of information, courteous and
communicative. He had seen nearly, and remarked deeply, and spoke
frankly, though with due caution. He went with us to the Museum, where I
think the Hall of Sculpture continues to be a fine thing; that of
Pictures but tolerable, when we reflect upon 1815. A number of great
French daubs (comparatively), by David and Gerard, cover the walls once
occupied by the Italian _chefs-d'oeuvre. Fiat justitia, ruat coelum_. We
then visited Notre Dame and the Palace of Justice. The latter is
accounted the oldest building in Paris, being the work of St. Louis. It
is, however, in the interior, adapted to the taste of Louis XIV. We
drove over the Pont Neuf, and visited the fine quays, which was all we
could make out to-day, as I was afraid to fatigue Anne. When we returned
home I found Count Pozzo di Borgo waiting for me, a personable man,
inclined to be rather corpulent--handsome features, with all the
Corsican fire in his eye. He was quite kind and communicative. Lord
Granville had also called, and sent Mr. Jones [his secretary] to invite
us to dinner to-morrow. In the evening at the Odéon, where we saw
_Ivanhoe_. It was superbly got up, the Norman soldiers wearing pointed
helmets and what resembled much hauberks of mail, which looked very
well. The number of the attendants, and the skill with which they were
moved and grouped on the stage, were well worthy of notice. It was an
opera, and of course the story greatly mangled, and the dialogue in a
great part nonsense. Yet it was strange to hear anything like the words
which I (then in an agony of pain with spasms in my stomach) dictated to
William Laidlaw at Abbotsford, now recited in a foreign tongue, and for
the amusement of a strange people. I little thought to have survived the
completing of this novel.[384]

FOOTNOTES:

[350] Eldest daughter of the illustrious Admiral Lord Duncan, wife of
Sir Hew Hamilton Dalrymple. She died in 1852.

[351] This implacable enemy of Napoleon,--a Corsican, died in his
seventy-fourth year in 1842.

[352] E.H. Locker, Esq., then Secretary, afterwards one of the
Commissioners of Greenwich Hospital--an old and dear friend of
Scott's.--See Oct. 25.

[353] As an illustration of Constable's accuracy in gauging the value of
literary property, it may be stated that in his formal declaration,
after sequestration, he said:--"I was so sanguine as to the success of
the _Memoirs of Napoleon_ that I did not hesitate to express it as my
opinion that I had much confidence in it producing him at least £10,000,
and this I observed, as my expectation, to Sir W. Scott." This opinion
was expressed not only before the sale of the work, but before it was
all written.--_A. Constable and his Correspondents_, vol. iii. p. 313.

[354] Another of the Abbotsford labourers.

[355] See Ballad of _Edom of Gordon_.

[356] "On the 12th of October, Sir Walter left Abbotsford for London,
where he had been promised access to the papers in the Government
offices; and thence he proceeded to Paris, in the hope of gathering from
various eminent persons authentic anecdotes concerning Napoleon. His
Diary shows that he was successful in obtaining many valuable materials
for the completion of his historical work; and reflects, with sufficient
distinctness, the very brilliant reception he on this occasion
experienced both in London and Paris. The range of his society is
strikingly (and unconsciously) exemplified in the record of one day,
when we find him breakfasting at the Royal Lodge in Windsor Park, and
supping on oysters and porter in "honest Dan Terry's house, like a
squirrel's cage," above the Adelphi Theatre in the Strand. There can be
no doubt that this expedition was in many ways serviceable in his _Life
of Napoleon_; and I think as little that it was chiefly so by renewing
his spirits. The deep and respectful sympathy with which his
misfortunes, and gallant behaviour under them, had been regarded by all
classes of men at home and abroad, was brought home to his perception in
a way not to be mistaken. He was cheered and gratified, and returned to
Scotland with renewed hope and courage for the prosecution of his
marvellous course of industry."--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 2, 3.

[357] John B. Saurey Morritt of Rokeby, a friend of twenty years'
standing, and "one of the most accomplished men that ever shared Scott's
confidence."

He had published, before making Scott's acquaintance, a _Vindication of
Homer_, in 1798, a treatise on _The Topography of Troy_, 1800, and
translations and imitations of the minor Greek Poets in 1802.

Mr. Morritt survived his friend till February 12th, 1843, when he died
at Rokeby Park, Yorkshire, in his seventy-second year.--See _Life_
throughout.

[358] _MS. note on margin of Journal_ by Mr. Morritt: "No--it was left
by Reynolds to Mason, by Mason to Burgh, and given to me by Mr. Burgh's
widow."

[359] _Chiverton_ was the first publication (anonymous) of Mr. W.
Harrison Ainsworth, the author of _Rookwood_ and other popular
romances.--J.G.L.

[360] It is interesting to know that Scott would not read this book
until _Woodstock_ was fairly off his hands.

See _ante_, p. 167, and the introduction to the original edition written
in March 1826, in which the author says:--"Some accidental collision
there must be, when works of a similar character are finished on the
same general system of historical manners, and the same historical
personages are introduced. Of course, if such have occurred, I shall be
probably the sufferer. But my intentions have been at least innocent,
since I look on it as one of the advantages attending the conclusion of
_Woodstock_, that the finishing of my own task will permit me to have
the pleasure of reading BRAMBLETYE-HOUSE, from which I have hitherto
conscientiously abstained."--_Novels_, vol. xxxix. pp. lxxv-vi.

[361] Ben Jonson, _Every Man in his Humour_.

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

[363] _Rehearsal_, Act III. Sc. 1.

[364] _Merry Wives_, Act I. Sc. 3.

[365] _Hamlet_, Act II. Sc. 2.

[366] Sir Walter had made his acquaintance in August 1822, and ever
afterwards they corresponded with each other--sometimes very
confidentially.--J.G.L.

[367] The Dumergues, at 15 Piccadilly West--early friends of Lady
Scott's.--See _Life_., vol. ii. p. 120.

[368] It is amusing to compare this criticism with Sir Walter's own
anxiety to identify his daughter-in-law's place, _Lochore_, with the
_Urbs Orrea_ of the Roman writers. See _Life_, vol. vii. p. 352.--J.G.L.

[369] This brilliant conversationalist was the author of several airy
and graceful productions in verse, which were published anonymously,
such as _Lines written at Ampthill Park_, in 1818; _Advice to Julia, a
letter in Rhyme_, in which he sketched high life in London, in 1820. He
also published _Crockford House_: a rhapsody, in 1827. Moore in his
_Diary_ has embalmed numerous examples of his satiric wit. Henry
Luttrell died in 1851.

[370] The _Orlando Furioso_, by Mr. Stewart Rose, was published in 8
vols. 8vo, London 1823-1831.

[371] _King Lear_, Act IV. Sc. 6.--J.G.L.

[372] Afterwards the Right Hon. Sir Robert Wilmot Horton, Governor of
Ceylon.

[373] Moore, on hearing of Scott's arrival, hastened to London from
Sloperton, and had several pleasant meetings, particulars of which are
given in his _Diary_ (vol. v. pp. 121 to 126). He would, as Scott says
on the 23d, have gone to Paris with them--"seemed disposed to go"; but
between that date and 25th fancied that he saw something in Scott's
manner that made him hesitate, and then finally give up the idea. He
adds that Scott's friends had thrown out hints as to the impropriety of
such a political reprobate forming one of the party. This suspicion on
Moore's part shows how he had misunderstood Scott's real character. If
Scott thought it right to ask the Bard of Ireland to be his companion,
no hints from Mr. Wilmot Horton, or any members of the Court party,
would have influenced him, even though they had urged that "this
political reprobate" was author of _The Fudge Family in Paris_ and the
_Twopenny Post-Bag._

[374] Sir George died in 1853. His journal does not appear to have been
published.

[375] Dr. Hughes, who died Jan. 6, 1833, aged seventy-seven, was one of
the Canons-residentiary of St. Paul's, London. He and Mrs. Hughes were
old friends of Sir Walter, who had been godfather to one of their
grandchildren.--See _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 259-260. Their son was John
Hughes, Esq., of Oriel College, whose "Itinerary of the Rhone" is
mentioned with praise in the introduction to _Quentin Durward_.--See
letter to Charles Scott, in _Life_, vol. vii. p. 275.

[376] Mr. Pringle was a Roxburghshire farmer's son who in youth
attracted Sir Walter's notice by his poem called _The Autumnal
Excursion; or, Sketches in Teviotdale_. He was for a short time Editor
of _Blackwood's Magazine_, but the publisher and he had different
politics, quarrelled, and parted. Sir Walter then gave Pringle strong
recommendations to the late Lord Charles Somerset, Governor of the Cape
of Good Hope in which colony he settled, and for some years throve under
the Governor's protection; but the newspaper alluded to in the text
ruined his prospects at the Cape; he returned to England, became
Secretary to the Anti-Slavery Society, published a charming little
volume entitled _African Sketches_, and died in December 1834. He was a
man of amiable feelings and elegant genius.

[377] An esteemed friend of Sir Walter's, who attended on him during his
illness in October 1831, and in June 1832.

[378] Afterwards Sir Francis Palgrave, Deputy-Keeper of the public
records, and author of the _History of Normandy and England_, 4 vols.
8vo, 1851-1864, and other works.

[379] William Wilson of Wandsworth Common, formerly of Wilsontown, in
Lanarkshire.--J.G.L.

[380] E.H. Locker, then Secretary of Greenwich Hospital.--See _ante_,
Oct. 7.

[381] _King John_, Act I. Sc. 1.

[382] There were two well-known Frenchmen of this name at the time of
Scott's visit to Paris: (1) Jean-Antoine-Gauvain Gallois, who was born
about 1755 and died in 1828; (2) Charles-André-Gustave-Léonard Gallois,
born 1789, died 1851. It was the latter of these who translated from the
Italian of Colletta _Cinq jours de l'histoire de Naples_, 8vo, Paris,
1820. But at this date he was only thirty-seven, and it can scarcely be
of him that Scott writes (p. 288) as an "elderly" man. The probability
is that it was the elder Gallois whom Scott saw, and that he ascribed to
him, though the title is misquoted, a work written by the younger.

[383] "When he was in Paris," Hazlitt writes, "and went to Galignani's,
he sat down in an outer room to look at some book he wanted to see; none
of the clerks had the least suspicion who he was. When it was found out,
the place was in a commotion."--From Mr. Alexander Ireland's excellent
_Selections from Hazlitt's writings,_ 8vo, Lond. 1889, p. 482.

[384] _Ivanhoe_ might have borne a motto somewhat analogous to the
inscription which Frederick the Great's predecessor used to affix to his
attempts at portrait-painting when he had the gout: "Fredericus I. in
tormentis pinxit."--_Recollections of Sir Walter Scott_, p. 240. Lond.
1837.




NOVEMBER


_November_ 1.--I suppose the ravishing is going to begin, for we have
had the Dames des Halles, with a bouquet like a maypole, and a speech
full of honey and oil, which cost me ten francs; also a small
worshipper, who would not leave his name, but came _seulement pour avoir
le plaisir, la félicité_ etc. etc. All this jargon I answer with
corresponding _blarney_ of my own, for "have I not licked the black
stone of that ancient castle?" As to French, I speak it as it comes, and
like Doeg in _Absalom and Achitophel_--

    "----dash on through thick and thin,
    Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in."

We went this morning with M. Gallois to the Church of St. Genevieve, and
thence to the College Henri IV., where I saw once more my old friend
Chevalier.[385] He was unwell, swathed in a turban of nightcaps and a
multiplicity of _robes de chambre_; but he had all the heart and the
vivacity of former times. I was truly glad to see the kind old man. We
were unlucky in our day for sights, this being a high festival--All
Souls' Day. We were not allowed to scale the steeple of St. Genevieve,
neither could we see the animals at the Jardin des Plantes, who, though
they have no souls, it is supposed, and no interest of course in the
devotions of the day, observe it in strict retreat, like the nuns of
Kilkenny. I met, however, one lioness walking at large in the Jardin,
and was introduced. This was Madame de Souza,[386] the authoress of some
well-known French romances of a very classical character, I am told,
for I have never read them. She must have been beautiful, and is still
well-looked. She is the mother of the handsome Count de Flahault, and
had a very well-looking daughter with her, besides a son or two. She was
very agreeable. We are to meet again. The day becoming decidedly rainy,
we returned along the Boulevards by the Bridge of Austerlitz, but the
weather was so indifferent as to spoil the fine show.

We dined at the Ambassador's--Lord Granville, formerly Lord Leveson
Gower. He inhabits the same splendid house which Lord Castlereagh had in
1815, namely, Numero 30, Rue du Fauxbourg St. Honoré. It once belonged
to Pauline Borghese, and if its walls could speak, they might tell us
mighty curious stories. Without their having any tongue, they spoke to
my feelings "with most miraculous organ."[387] In these halls I had
often seen and conversed familiarly with many of the great and powerful,
who won the world by their swords, and divided it by their counsel.

Here I saw very much of poor Lord Castlereagh--a man of sense, presence
of mind, courage, and fortitude, which carried him through many an
affair of critical moment, when finer talents might have stuck in the
mire. He had been, I think, indifferently educated, and his mode of
speaking being far from logical or correct, he was sometimes in danger
of becoming almost ridiculous, in spite of his lofty presence, which had
all the grace of the Seymours, and his determined courage.[388] But then
he was always up to the occasion, and upon important matters was an
orator to convince, if not to delight, his hearers. He is gone, and my
friend Stanhope also, whose kindness this town so strongly recalls. It
is remarkable they were the only persons of sense and credibility who
both attested supernatural appearances on their own evidence, and both
died in the same melancholy manner. I shall always tremble when any
friend of mine becomes visionary.[389]

I have seen in these rooms the Emperor Alexander, Platoff,
Schwarzenberg, old Blucher, Fouché, and many a maréchal whose truncheon
had guided armies--all now at peace, without subjects, without dominion,
and where their past life, perhaps, seems but the recollection of a
feverish dream. What a group would this band have made in the gloomy
regions described in the Odyssey! But to lesser things. We were most
kindly received by Lord and Lady Granville, and met many friends, some
of them having been guests at Abbotsford; among these were Lords Ashley
and Morpeth--there were also Charles Ellis (Lord Seaford now), _cum
plurimis aliis_. Anne saw for the first time an entertainment _à la mode
de France_, where the gentlemen left the parlour with the ladies. In
diplomatic houses it is a good way of preventing political discussion,
which John Bull is always apt to introduce with the second bottle. We
left early, and came home at ten, much pleased with Lord and Lady
Granville's kindness, though it was to be expected, as our
recommendations came from Windsor.

_November_ 2.--Another gloomy day--a pize upon it!--and we have settled
to go to Saint Cloud, and dine, if possible, with the Drummonds at
Auteuil. Besides, I expect poor W.R. S[pencer] to breakfast. There is
another thought which depresses me.

Well--but let us jot down a little politics, as my book has a pretty
firm lock. The Whigs may say what they please, but I think the Bourbons
will stand. Gallois, no great Royalist, says that the Duke of Orleans
lives on the best terms with the reigning family, which is wise on his
part, for the golden fruit may ripen and fall of itself, but it would be
dangerous to

    "Lend the crowd his arm to shake the tree."[390]

The army, which was Bonaparte's strength, is now very much changed by
the gradual influence of time, which has removed many, and made invalids
of many more. The citizens are neutral, and if the King will govern
according to the Charte, and, what is still more, according to the
habits of the people, he will sit firm enough, and the constitution will
gradually attain more and more reverence as age gives it authority, and
distinguishes it from those temporary and ephemeral governments, which
seemed only set up to be pulled down. The most dangerous point in the
present state of France is that of religion. It is, no doubt, excellent
in the Bourbons to desire to make France a religious country; but they
begin, I think, at the wrong end. To press the observances and ritual of
religion on those who are not influenced by its doctrines is planting
the growing tree with its head downwards. Rites are sanctified by
belief; but belief can never arise out of an enforced observance of
ceremonies; it only makes men detest what is imposed on them by
compulsion. Then these Jesuits, who constitute emphatically an _imperium
in imperio_, labouring first for the benefit of their own order, and
next for that of the Roman See--what is it but the introduction into
France of a foreign influence, whose interest may often run counter to
the general welfare of the kingdom?

We have enough of ravishment. M. Meurice writes me that he is ready to
hang himself that we did not find accommodation at his hotel; and Madame
Mirbel came almost on her knees to have permission to take my portrait.
I was cruel; but, seeing her weeping-ripe, consented she should come
to-morrow and work while I wrote. A Russian Princess Galitzin, too,
demands to see me in the heroic vein; "_Elle vouloit traverser les mers
pour aller voir S.W.S_.," and offers me a rendezvous at my hotel. This
is precious tomfoolery; however, it is better than being neglected like
a fallen sky-rocket, which seemed like to be my fate last year.

We went to Saint Cloud with my old friend Mr. Drummond, now at a pretty
_maison de campagne_ at Auteuil. Saint Cloud, besides its unequalled
views, is rich in remembrances. I did not fail to revisit the
_Orangerie_, out of which Bon. expelled the Council of [Five Hundred]. I
thought I saw the scoundrels jumping the windows, with the bayonets at
their rumps. What a pity the house was not two stories high! I asked the
Swiss some questions on the _locale_, which he answered with becoming
caution, saying, however, that "he was not present at the time." There
are also new remembrances. A separate garden, laid out as a playground
for the royal children, is called Il Trocadero,[391] from the siege of
Cadiz [1823]. But the Bourbons should not take military ground--it is
firing a pop-gun in answer to a battery of cannon.

All within the house is changed. Every trace of Nap. or his reign
totally done away, as if traced in sand over which the tide has passed.
Moreau and Pichegru's portraits hang in the royal ante-chamber. The
former has a mean look; the latter has been a strong and stern-looking
man. I looked at him, and thought of his death-struggles. In the
guard-room were the heroes of La Vendée--Charette with his white bonnet,
the two La Rochejacqueleins, Lescure, in an attitude of prayer,
Stofflet, the gamekeeper, with others.

We dined at Auteuil. Mrs. Drummond, formerly the beautiful Cecilia
Telfer, has lost her looks, but kept her kind heart. On our return, went
to the Italian opera, and saw _Figaro_. Anne liked the music; to me it
was all caviare. A Mr. ------ dined with us; sensible, liberal in his
politics, but well informed and candid.

_November_ 3.--Sat to Mad. Mirbel--Spencer at breakfast. Went out and
had a long interview with Marshal Macdonald, the purport of which I have
put down elsewhere. Visited Princess Galitzin, and also Cooper, the
American novelist. This man, who has shown so much genius, has a good
deal of the manner, or want of manner, peculiar to his countrymen.[392]
He proposed to me a mode of publishing in America by entering the book
as [the] property of a citizen. I will think of this. Every little
helps, as the tod says, when, etc. At night at the Theatre de Madame,
where we saw two _petit_ pieces, _Le Mariage de Raison_, and _Le plus
beau jour de ma vie_--both excellently played. Afterwards at Lady
Granville's rout, which was as splendid as any I ever saw--and I have
seen _beaucoup dans ce genre_. A great number of ladies of the first
rank were present, and if honeyed words from pretty lips could surfeit,
I had enough of them. One can swallow a great deal of whipped cream, to
be sure, and it does not hurt an old stomach.

_November_ 4.--- Anne goes to sit to Mad. Mirbel. I called after ten,
Mr. Cooper and Gallois having breakfasted with me. The former seems
quite serious in desiring the American attempt. I must, however, take
care not to give such a monopoly as to prevent the American public from
receiving the works at the prices they are accustomed to. I think I may
as well try if the thing can be done.

After ten I went with Anne to the Tuileries, where we saw the royal
family pass through the Glass Gallery as they went to Chapel. We were
very much looked at in our turn, and the King, on passing out, did me
the honour to say a few civil words, which produced a great sensation.
Mad. la Dauphine and Mad. de Berri curtsied, smiled, and looked
extremely gracious; and smiles, bows, and curtsies rained on us like
odours, from all the courtiers and court ladies of the train. We were
conducted by an officer of the Royal Gardes du Corps to a convenient
place in chapel, where we had the pleasure of hearing the grand mass
performed with excellent music.

I had a perfect view of the King and royal family. The King is the same
in age as I knew him in youth at Holyrood House--debonair and courteous
in the highest degree. Mad. Dauphine resembles very much the prints of
Marie Antoinette, in the profile especially. She is not, however,
beautiful, her features being too strong, but they announce a great deal
of character, and the princess whom Bonaparte used to call the _man_ of
the family. She seemed very attentive to her devotions. The Duchess of
Berri seemed less immersed in the ceremony, and yawned once or twice.
She is a lively-looking blonde--looks as if she were good-humoured and
happy, by no means pretty, and has a cast with her eyes; splendidly
adorned with diamonds, however. After this gave Mad. Mirbel a sitting,
where I encountered _le général_, her uncle,[393] who was _chef de
l'état major_ to Bonaparte. He was very communicative, and seemed an
interesting person, by no means over much prepossessed in favour of his
late master, whom he judged impartially, though with affection.

We came home and dined in quiet, having refused all temptations to go
out in the evening; this on Anne's account as well as my own. It is not
quite gospel, though Solomon says it--the eye _can_ be tired with
seeing, whatever he may allege in the contrary. And then there are so
many compliments. I wish for a little of the old Scotch causticity. I am
something like the bee that sips treacle.

_November_ 5.--I believe I must give up my Journal till I leave Paris.
The French are literally outrageous in their civilities--bounce in at
all hours, and drive one half mad with compliments. I am ungracious not
to be so entirely thankful as I ought to this kind and merry people. We
breakfasted with Mad. Mirbel, where were the Dukes of Fitz-James, and, I
think, Duras,[394] goodly company--but all's one for that. I made rather
an impatient sitter, wishing to talk much more than was agreeable to
Madame. Afterwards we went to the Champs Elysées, where a balloon was
let off, and all sorts of frolics performed for the benefit of the _bons
gens de Paris_--besides stuffing them with victuals. I wonder how such a
civic festival would go off in London or Edinburgh, or especially in
Dublin. To be sure, they would not introduce their shillelahs! But in
the classic taste of the French, there were no such gladiatorial doings.
To be sure, they have a natural good-humour and gaiety which inclines
them to be pleased with themselves, and everything about them.

We dined at the Ambassador's, where was a large party, Lord Morpeth, the
Duke of Devonshire, and others--all were very kind. Pozzo di Borgo
there, and disposed to be communicative. A large soirée. Home at eleven.
These hours are early, however.

_November_ 6.--Cooper came to breakfast, but we were _obsédés partout_.
Such a number of Frenchmen bounced in successively, and exploded, I mean
discharged, their compliments, that I could hardly find an opportunity
to speak a word, or entertain Mr. Cooper at all. After this we sat again
for our portraits. Mad. Mirbel took care not to have any one to divert
my attention, but I contrived to amuse myself with some masons finishing
a façade opposite to me, who placed their stones, not like Inigo Jones,
but in the most lubberly way in the world, with the help of a large
wheel, and the application of strength of hand. John Smith of Darnick,
and two of his men, would have done more with a block and pulley than
the whole score of them. The French seem far behind in machinery.--We
are almost eaten up with kindness, but that will have its end. I have
had to parry several presents of busts, and so forth. The funny thing
was the airs of my little friend. We had a most affectionate
parting--wet, wet cheeks on the lady's side.[395] The pebble-hearted cur
shed as few tears as Crab of dogged memory.[396]

Went to Galignani's, where the brothers, after some palaver, offered me
£105 for the sheets of Napoleon, to be reprinted at Paris in English. I
told them I would think of it. I suppose Treuttel and Wurtz had
apprehended something of this kind, for they write me that they had made
a bargain with my publisher (Cadell, I suppose) for the publishing of my
book in all sorts of ways. I must look into this.

Dined with Marshal Macdonald and a splendid party;[397] amongst others,
Marshal Marmont--middle size, stout-made, dark complexion, and looks
sensible. The French hate him much for his conduct in 1814, but it is
only making him the scape-goat. Also, I saw Mons. de Molé, but
especially the Marquis de Lauriston, who received me most kindly. He is
personally like my cousin Colonel Russell. I learned that his brother,
Louis Law,[398] my old friend, was alive, and the father of a large
family. I was most kindly treated, and had my vanity much flattered by
the men who had acted such important parts talking to me in the most
frank manner.

In the evening to Princess Galitzin, where were a whole covey of
Princesses of Russia arrayed in tartan! with music and singing to boot.
The person in whom I was most interested was Mad. de Boufflers,[399]
upwards of eighty, very polite, very pleasant, and with all the
_agrémens_ of a French Court lady of the time of Mad. Sévigné, or of the
correspondent rather of Horace Walpole. Cooper was there, so the Scotch
and American lions took the field together.--Home, and settled our
affairs to depart.

_November_ 7.--Off at seven; breakfasted at Beaumont, and pushed on to
Airaines. This being a forced march, we had bad lodgings, wet wood,
uncomfortable supper, damp beds, and an extravagant charge. I was never
colder in my life than when I waked with the sheets clinging round me
like a shroud.

_November_ 8.--- We started at six in the morning, having no need to be
called twice, so heartily was I weary of my comfortless couch.
Breakfasted at Abbeville; then pushed on to Boulogne, expecting to find
the packet ready to start next morning, and so to have had the advantage
of the easterly tide. But, lo ye! the packet was not to sail till next
day. So after shrugging our shoulders--being the solace _à la mode de
France_--and recruiting ourselves with a pullet and a bottle of Chablis
_à la mode d'Angleterre_, we set off for Calais after supper, and it was
betwixt three and four in the morning before we got to Dessein's, when
the house was full, or reported to be so. We could only get two wretched
brick-paved garrets, as cold and moist as those of Airaines, instead of
the comforts which we were received with at our arrival. But I was
better prepared. Stripped off the sheets, and lay down in my
dressing-gown, and so roughed it out--_tant bien que mal_.

_November_ 9.--At four in the morning we were called; at six we got on
board the packet, where I found a sensible and conversible man--a very
pleasant circumstance. The day was raw and cold, the wind and tide surly
and contrary, the passage slow, and Anne, contrary to her wont,
excessively sick. We had little trouble at the Custom House, thanks to
the secretary of the Embassy, Mr. Jones, who gave me a letter to Mr.
Ward. [At Dover] Mr. Ward came with the Lieutenant-Governor of the
castle, and wished us to visit that ancient fortress. I regretted much
that our time was short, and the weather did not admit of our seeing
views, so we could only thank the gentlemen in declining their civility.

The castle, partly ruinous, seems to have been very fine. The Cliff, to
which Shakespeare gave his immortal name, is, as all the world knows, a
great deal lower than his description implies. Our Dover friends, justly
jealous of the reputation of their cliff, impute this diminution of its
consequence to its having fallen in repeatedly since the poet's time. I
think it more likely that the imagination of Shakespeare, writing
perhaps at a period long after he may have seen the rock, had described
it such as he conceived it to have been. Besides, Shakespeare was born
in a flat country, and Dover Cliff is at least lofty enough to have
suggested the exaggerated features to his fancy. At all events, it has
maintained its reputation better than the Tarpeian Rock;--no man could
leap from it and live.

Left Dover after a hot luncheon about four o'clock, and reached London
at half-past three in the morning. So adieu to _la belle France_, and
welcome merry England.[400]

[_Pall Mall_,] _November_ 10.--Ere I leave _la belle France_, however,
it is fit I should express my gratitude for the unwontedly kind
reception which I met with at all hands. It would be an unworthy piece
of affectation did I not allow that I have been pleased--highly
pleased--to find a species of literature intended only for my own
country has met such an extensive and favourable reception in a foreign
land where there was so much _a priori_ to oppose its progress.

For my work I think I have done a good deal; but, above all, I have been
confirmed strongly in the impressions I had previously formed of the
character of Nap., and may attempt to draw him with a firmer hand.

The succession of new people and unusual incidents has had a favourable
effect [on my mind], which was becoming rutted like an ill-kept highway.
My thoughts have for some time flowed in another and pleasanter channel
than through the melancholy course into which my solitary and deprived
state had long driven them, and which gave often pain to be endured
without complaint, and without sympathy. "For this relief," as Francisco
says in Hamlet, "much thanks."

To-day I visited the public offices, and prosecuted my researches. Left
inquiries for the Duke of York, who has recovered from a most desperate
state. His legs had been threatened with mortification; but he was saved
by a critical discharge; also visited the Duke of Wellington, Lord
Melville, and others, besides the ladies in Piccadilly. Dined and spent
the evening quietly in Pall Mall.

_November_ 11.--Croker came to breakfast, and we were soon after joined
by Theodore Hook, _alias_ "John Bull"[401]; he has got as fat as the
actual monarch of the herd. Lockhart sat still with us, and we had, as
Gil Blas says, a delicious morning, spent in abusing our neighbours, at
which my three neighbours are no novices any more than I am myself,
though (like Puss in Boots, who only caught mice for his amusement) I
am only a chamber counsel in matters of scandal. The fact is, I have
refrained, as much as human frailty will permit, from all satirical
composition. Here is an ample subject for a little black-balling in the
case of Joseph Hume, the great Æconomist, who has [managed] the Greek
loan so egregiously. I do not lack personal provocation (see 13th March
last), yet I won't attack him--at present at least--but _qu'il se garde
de moi_:

    "I'm not a king, nor nae sic thing,
      My word it may not stand;
    And Joseph may a buffet bide,
      Come he beneath my brand."

At dinner we had a little blow-out on Sophia's part: Lord Dudley, Mr.
Hay, Under Secretary of State, [Sir Thomas Lawrence, etc.] _Mistress_
(as she now calls herself) Joanna Baillie, and her sister, came in the
evening. The whole went off pleasantly.

_November_ 12.--Went to sit to Sir T.L. to finish the picture for his
Majesty, which every one says is a very fine one. I think so myself; and
wonder how Sir Thomas has made so much out of an old weather-beaten
block. But I believe the hard features of old Dons like myself are more
within the compass of the artist's skill than the lovely face and
delicate complexion of females. Came home after a heavy shower. I had a
long conversation about ------ with Lockhart. All that was whispered is
true--a sign how much better our domestics are acquainted with the
private affairs of our neighbours than we are. A dreadful tale of incest
and seduction, and nearly of blood also--horrible beyond expression in
its complications and events--"And yet the end is not;"--and this man
was amiable, and seemed the soul of honour--laughed, too, and was the
soul of society. It is a mercy our own thoughts are concealed from each
other. Oh! if, at our social table, we could see what passes in each
bosom around, we would seek dens and caverns to shun human society! To
see the projector trembling for his falling speculations; the voluptuary
rueing the event of his debauchery; the miser wearing out his soul for
the loss of a guinea--all--all bent upon vain hopes and vainer
regrets--we should not need to go to the hall of the Caliph Vathek to
see men's hearts broiling under their black veils.[402] Lord keep us
from all temptation, for we cannot be our own shepherd!

We dined to-day at Lady Stafford's [at West-hill].[403] Lord S. looks
very poorly, but better than I expected. No company, excepting Sam
Rogers and Mr. Grenville,[404]--the latter is better known by the name
of Tom Grenville--a very amiable and accomplished man, whom I knew
better about twenty years since. Age has touched him, as it has
doubtless affected me. The great lady received us with the most cordial
kindness, and expressed herself, I am sure, sincerely, desirous to be of
service to Sophia.

_November_ 13.--I consider Charles's business as settled by a private
intimation which I had to that effect from Sir W.K.; so I need negotiate
no further, but wait the event. Breakfasted at home, and somebody with
us, but the whirl of visits so great that I have already forgot the
party. Lockhart and I dined at an official person's, where there was a
little too much of that sort of flippant wit, or rather smartness, which
becomes the parochial Joe Miller of boards and offices. You must not be
grave, because it might lead to improper discussions; and to laugh
without a joke is a hard task. Your professed wags are treasures to this
species of company. Gil Blas was right in censuring the literary society
of his friend Fabricio; but nevertheless one or two of the mess would
greatly have improved the conversation of his _Commis_.

Went to poor Lydia White's, and found her extended on a couch,
frightfully swelled, unable to stir, rouged, jesting, and dying. She has
a good heart, and is really a clever creature, but unhappily, or rather
happily, she has set up the whole staff of her rest in keeping literary
society about her. The world has not neglected her. It is not always so
bad as it is called. She can always make up her soirée, and generally
has some people of real talent and distinction. She is wealthy, to be
sure, and gives _petit_ dinners, but not in a style to carry the point
_à force d'argent_. In her case the world is good-natured, and perhaps
it is more frequently so than is generally supposed.

_November_ 14.--We breakfasted at honest Allan Cunningham's--honest
Allan--a leal and true Scotsman of the old cast. A man of genius,
besides, who only requires the tact of knowing when and where to stop,
to attain the universal praise which ought to follow it. I look upon the
alteration of "It's hame and it's hame," and "A wet sheet and a flowing
sea," as among the best songs going. His prose has often admirable
passages; but he is obscure, and overlays his meaning, which will not do
now-a-days, when he who runs must read.

Dined at Croker's, at Kensington, with his family, the Speaker,[405] and
the facetious Theodore Hook.

We came away rather early, that Anne and I might visit Mrs. Arbuthnot to
meet the Duke of Wellington. In all my life I never saw him better. He
has a dozen of campaigns in his body--and tough ones. Anne was delighted
with the frank manners of this unequalled pride of British war, and me
he received with all his usual kindness. He talked away about Bonaparte,
Russia, and France.

_November_ 15.--At breakfast a conclave of medical men about poor
little Johnnie Lockhart. They give good words, but I cannot help fearing
the thing is very precarious, and I feel a miserable anticipation of
what the parents are to undergo. It is wrong, however, to despair. I was
myself a very weak child, and certainly am one of the strongest men of
my age in point of constitution. Sophia and Anne went to the Tower, I to
the Colonial Office, where I laboured hard.

Dined with the Duke of Wellington. Anne with me, who could not look
enough at the _vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre_. The party were Mr.
and Mrs. Peel, and Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot,[406] Vesey Fitzgerald,
Bankes, and Croker, with Lady Bathurst and Lady Georgina. One gentleman
took much of the conversation, and gave us, with unnecessary emphasis,
and at superfluous length, his opinion of a late gambling transaction.
This spoiled the evening. I am sorry for the occurrence though, for Lord
------ is fetlock deep in it, and it looks like a vile bog. This
misfortune, with the foolish incident at ------, will not be suffered to
fall to the ground, but will be used as a counterpoise to the Greek
loan. Peel asked me, in private, my opinion of three candidates for the
Scotch gown, and I gave it him candidly. We will see if it has
weight.[407]

I begin to tire of my gaieties; and the late hours and constant feasting
disagree with me. I wish for a sheep's head and whisky toddy against all
the French cookery and champagne in the world.

Well, I suppose I might have been a Judge of Session this
term--attained, in short, the grand goal proposed to the ambition of a
Scottish lawyer. It is better, however, as it is, while, at least, I can
maintain my literary reputation.

I had some conversation to-day with Messrs. Longman and Co. They agreed
to my deriving what advantage I could in America, and that very
willingly.

_November_ 16.--Breakfasted with Rogers, with my daughters and Lockhart.
R. was exceedingly entertaining, in his dry, quiet, sarcastic manner. At
eleven to the Duke of Wellington, who gave me a bundle of remarks on
Bonaparte's Russian campaign, written in his carriage during his late
mission to St. Petersburg.[408] It is furiously scrawled, and the
Russian names hard to distinguish, but it _shall_ do me yeoman's
service. Then went to Pentonville, to old Mr. Handley, a solicitor of
the old school, and manager of the Devonshire property. Had an account
of the claim arising on the estate of one Mrs. Owen, due to the
representatives of my poor wife's mother. He was desperately excursive,
and spoke almost for an hour, but the prospect of £4000 to my children
made me a patient auditor. Thence I passed to the Colonial Office, where
I concluded my extracts. [Lockhart and I] dined with Croker at the
Admiralty _au grand couvert_. No less than five Cabinet Ministers were
present--Canning, Huskisson, Melville, [Peel,] and Wellington, with
sub-secretaries by the bushel. The cheer was excellent, but the presence
of too many men of distinguished rank and power always freezes the
conversation. Each lamp shines brightest when placed by itself; when too
close, they neutralise each other.[409]

_November_ 17.--My morning here began with the arrival of Bahauder Jah;
soon after Mr. Wright;[410] then I was called out to James Scott the
young painter. I greatly fear this modest and amiable creature is
throwing away his time. Next came an animal who is hunting out a fortune
in Chancery, which has lain _perdu_ for thirty years. The fellow, who is
in figure and manner the very essence of the creature called a sloth,
has attached himself to this pursuit with the steadiness of a
well-scented beagle. I believe he will actually get the prize.

Sir John Malcolm acknowledges and recommends my Persian visitor Bruce.

Saw the Duke of York. The change on H.R.H. is most wonderful. From a
big, burly, stout man, with a thick and sometimes an inarticulate mode
of speaking, he has sunk into a thin-faced, slender-looking old man, who
seems diminished in his very size. I could hardly believe I saw the same
person, though I was received with his usual kindness. He speaks much
more distinctly than formerly; his complexion is clearer; in short,
H.R.H. seems, on the whole, more healthy after this crisis than when in
the stall-fed state, for such it seemed to be, in which I remember him.
God grant it! his life is of infinite value to the King and country--it
is a breakwater behind the throne.

_November_ 18.--Was introduced by Rogers to Mad. D'Arblay, the
celebrated authoress of _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_,--an elderly lady, with
no remains of personal beauty, but with a gentle manner and a pleasing
expression of countenance. She told me she had wished to see two
persons--myself, of course, being one; the other George Canning. This
was really a compliment to be pleased with--a nice little handsome pat
of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis[411] of a dairymaid, instead
of the grease, fit only for cart-wheels, which one is dosed with by the
pound. Mad. D'Arblay told us the common story of Dr. Burney, her
father, having brought home her own first work, and recommended it to
her perusal, was erroneous. Her father was in the secret of _Evelina_
being printed. But the following circumstances may have given rise to
the story:--Dr. Burney was at Streatham soon after the publication,
where he found Mrs. Thrale recovering from her confinement, low at the
moment, and out of spirits. While they were talking together, Johnson,
who sat beside in a kind of reverie, suddenly broke out, "You should
read this new work, madam--you should read _Evelina_; every one says it
is excellent, and they are right." The delighted father obtained a
commission from Mrs. Thrale to purchase his daughter's work, and retired
the happiest of men. Mad. D'Arblay said she was wild with joy at this
decisive evidence of her literary success, and that she could only give
vent to her rapture by dancing and skipping round a mulberry-tree in the
garden. She was very young at this time. I trust I shall see this lady
again. She has simple and apparently amiable manners, with quick
feelings.

Dined at Mr. Peel's with Lord Liverpool, Duke of Wellington, Croker,
Bankes, etc. The conversation very good--Peel taking the lead in his own
house, which he will not do elsewhere. We canvassed the memorable
criminal case of _Ashford_,[412] Peel almost convinced of the man's
innocence. Should have been at the play, but sat too late at Mr. Peel's.

So ends my campaign among these magnificoes and potent signiors,[413]
with whom I have found, as usual, the warmest acceptation. I wish I
could turn a little of my popularity amongst them to Lockhart's
advantage, who cannot bustle for himself. He is out of spirits just
now, and views things _au noir_. I fear Johnnie's precarious state is
the cause.

I finished my sittings to Lawrence, and am heartily sorry there should
be another picture of me except that which he has finished. The person
is remarkably like, and conveys the idea of the stout blunt carle that
cares for few things, and fears nothing. He has represented the author
as in the act of composition, yet has effectually discharged all
affectation from the manner and attitude. He seems pleased with it
himself. He dined with us at Peel's yesterday, where, by the way, we saw
the celebrated Chapeau de Paille, which is not a Chapeau de Paille at
all.

_November_ 19.--Saw this morning Duke of Wellington and Duke of York;
the former so communicative that I regretted extremely the length of
time,[414] but have agreed on a correspondence with him. _Trop d'honneur
pour moi_. The Duke of York saw me by appointment. He seems still
mending, and spoke of state affairs as a high Tory. Were his health
good, his spirit is as strong as ever. H.R.H. has a devout horror of the
liberals. Having the Duke of Wellington, the Chancellor, and (perhaps) a
still greater person on his side, he might make a great fight when they
split, as split they will. But Canning, Huskisson, and a mitigated party
of Liberaux will probably beat them. Canning's will and eloquence are
almost irresistible. But then the Church, justly alarmed for their
property, which is plainly struck at, and the bulk of the landed
interest, will scarce brook a mild infusion of Whiggery into the
Administration. Well, time will show.

We visited our friends Peel, Lord Gwydyr, Arbuthnot, etc., and left our
tickets of adieu. In no instance, during my former visits to London, did
I ever meet with such general attention and respect on all sides.

Lady Louisa Stuart dined--also Wright and Mr. and Mrs. Christie. Dr. and
Mrs. Hughes came in the evening; so ended pleasantly our last night in
London.

[_Oxford_,] _November_ 20.--Left London after a comfortable breakfast,
and an adieu to the Lockhart family. If I had had but comfortable hopes
of their poor, pale, prostrate child, so clever and so interesting, I
should have parted easily on this occasion, but these misgivings
overcloud the prospect. We reached Oxford by six o'clock, and found
Charles and his friend young Surtees waiting for us, with a good fire in
the chimney, and a good dinner ready to be placed on the table. We had
struggled through a cold, sulky, drizzly day, which deprived of all
charms even the beautiful country near Henley. So we came from cold and
darkness into light and warmth and society. _N.B._--We had neither
daylight nor moonlight to see the view of Oxford from the Maudlin
Bridge, which I used to think one of the most beautiful in the world.

Upon finance I must note that the expense of travelling has mounted
high. I am too old to rough it, and scrub it, nor could I have saved
fifty pounds by doing so. I have gained, however, in health, spirits, in
a new stock of ideas, new combinations, and new views. My
self-consequence is raised, I hope not unduly, by the many flattering
circumstances attending my reception in the two capitals, and I feel
confident in proportion. In Scotland I shall find time for labour and
for economy.

[_Cheltenham_,] _November_ 21.--Breakfasted with Charles in his chambers
[at Brasenose], where he had everything very neat. How pleasant it is
for a father to sit at his child's board! It is like an aged man
reclining under the shadow of the oak which he has planted. My poor
plant has some storms to undergo, but were this expedition conducive to
no more than his entrance into life under suitable auspices, I should
consider the toil and the expense well bestowed. We then sallied out to
see the lions--guides being Charles, and friend Surtees, Mr. John
Hughes, young Mackenzie (Fitz-Colin), and a young companion or two of
Charles's. Remembering the ecstatic feelings with which I visited Oxford
more than twenty-five years since, I was surprised at the comparative
indifference with which I revisited the same scenes. Reginald Heber,
then composing his Prize Poem, and imping his wings for a long flight of
honourable distinction, is now dead in a foreign land--Hodgson and other
able men all entombed. The towers and halls remain, but the voices which
fill them are of modern days. Besides, the eye becomes satiated with
sights, as the full soul loathes the honeycomb. I admired indeed, but my
admiration was void of the enthusiasm which I formerly felt. I remember
particularly having felt, while in the Bodleian, like the Persian
magician who visited the enchanted library in the bowels of the
mountain, and willingly suffered himself to be enclosed in its
recesses,[415] while less eager sages retired in alarm. Now I had some
base thoughts concerning luncheon, which was most munificently supplied
by Surtees [at his rooms in University College], with the aid of the
best ale I ever drank in my life, the real wine of Ceres, and worth that
of Bacchus. Dr. Jenkyns,[416] the vice-chancellor, did me the honour to
call, but I saw him not. I called on Charles Douglas at All-Souls, and
had a chat of an hour with him.[417]

Before three set out for Cheltenham, a long and uninteresting drive,
which we achieved by nine o'clock. My sister-in-law [Mrs. Thomas Scott]
and her daughter instantly came to the hotel, and seem in excellent
health and spirits.

_November_ 22.--Breakfasted and dined with Mrs. Scott, and leaving
Cheltenham at seven, pushed on to Worcester to sleep.

_November_ 23.--Breakfasted at Birmingham, and slept at Macclesfield. As
we came in between ten and eleven, the people of the inn expressed
surprise at our travelling so late, as the general distress of the
manufacturers has rendered many of the lower class desperately
outrageous. The inn was guarded by a special watchman, who alarmed us by
giving his signal of turn out, but it proved to be a poor deserter who
had taken refuge among the carriages, and who was reclaimed by his
sergeant. The people talk gloomily of winter, when the distress of the
poor will be increased.

_November_ 24.--Breakfasted at Manchester. Ere we left, the senior
churchwarden came to offer us his services, to show us the town,
principal manufactures, etc. We declined his polite offer, pleading
haste. I found his opinion about the state of trade more agreeable than
I had ventured to expect. He said times were mending gradually but
steadily, and that the poor-rates were decreasing, of which none can be
so good a judge as the churchwarden. Some months back the people had
been in great discontent on account of the power engines, which they
conceived diminished the demand for operative labour. There was no
politics in their discontent, however, and at present it was
diminishing. We again pressed on--and by dint of exertion reached Kendal
to sleep; thus getting out of the region of the stern, sullen, unwashed
artificers, whom you see lounging sulkily along the streets of the towns
in Lancashire, cursing, it would seem by their looks, the stop of trade
which gives them leisure, and the laws which prevent them employing
their spare time. God's justice is requiting, and will yet further
requite those who have blown up this country into a state of
unsubstantial opulence, at the expense of the health and morals of the
lower classes.

_November_ 25.--Took two pair of horses over the Shap Fells, which are
covered with snow, and by dint of exertion reached Penrith to breakfast.
Then rolled on till we found our own horses at Hawick, and returned to
our own home at Abbotsford about three in the morning. It is well we
made a forced march of about one hundred miles, for I think the snow
would have stopped us had we lingered.

[_Abbotsford_,] _November_ 26.--Consulting my purse, found my good £60
diminished to Quarter less Ten. In purse £8. Naturally reflected how
much expense has increased since I first travelled. My uncle's servant,
during the jaunts we made together while I was a boy, used to have his
option of a shilling per diem for board wages, and usually preferred it
to having his charges borne. A servant nowadays, to be comfortable on
the road, should have 4s. or 4s. 6d. board wages, which before 1790
would have maintained his master. But if this be pitiful, it is still
more so to find the alteration in my own temper. When young, on
returning from such a trip as I have just had, my mind would have loved
to dwell on all I had seen that was rich and rare, or have been placing,
perhaps in order, the various additions with which I had supplied my
stock of information--and now, like a stupid boy blundering over an
arithmetical question half obliterated on his slate, I go stumbling on
upon the audit of pounds, shillings, and pence. Why, the increase of
charge I complain of must continue so long as the value of the thing
represented by cash continues to rise, or as the value of the thing
representing continues to decrease--let the economists settle which is
the right way of expressing the process when groats turn plenty and eggs
grow dear--

    "And so 'twill be when I am gone,
    The increasing charge will still go on,
    And other bards shall climb these hills,
    And curse your charge, _dear_ evening bills."

Well, the skirmish has cost me £200. I wished for information--and I
have had to pay for it. The information is got, the money is spent, and
so this is the only mode of accounting amongst friends.

I have packed my books, etc., to go by cart to Edinburgh to-morrow. I
idled away the rest of the day, happy to find myself at home, which is
home, though never so homely. And mine is not so homely neither; on the
contrary, I have seen in my travels none I liked so well--fantastic in
architecture and decoration if you please--but no real comfort
sacrificed to fantasy. "Ever gramercy my own purse," saith the
song;[418] "Ever gramercy my own house," quoth I.

_November_ 27.--We set off after breakfast, but on reaching Fushie
Bridge at three, found ourselves obliged to wait for horses, all being
gone to the smithy to be roughshod in this snowy weather. So we stayed
dinner, and Peter, coming up with his horses, bowled us into town about
eight. Walter came and supped with us, which diverted some heavy
thoughts. It is impossible not to compare this return to Edinburgh with
others in more happy times. But we should rather recollect under what
distress of mind I took up my lodgings in Mrs. Brown's last summer, and
then the balance weighs deeply on the favourable side. This house is
comfortable and convenient.[419]

[_Edinburgh_,] _November_ 28.--Went to Court and resumed old habits.
Dined with Walter and Jane at Mrs. Jobson's. When we returned were
astonished at the news of ----'s death, and the manner of it; a quieter,
more inoffensive, mild, and staid mind I never knew. He was free from
all these sinkings of the imagination which render those who are liable
to them the victims of occasional low spirits. All belonging to this
gifted, as it is called, but often unhappy, class, must have felt at
times that, but for the dictates of religion, or the natural recoil of
the mind from the idea of dissolution, there have been times when they
would have been willing to throw away life as a child does a broken toy.
But poor ------ was none of these: he was happy in his domestic
relations; and on the very day on which the rash deed was committed was
to have embarked for rejoining his wife and child, whom I so lately saw
anxious to impart to him their improved prospects.

O Lord, what are we--lords of nature? Why, a tile drops from a housetop,
which an elephant would not feel more than the fall of a sheet of
pasteboard, and there lies his lordship. Or something of inconceivably
minute origin, the pressure of a bone, or the inflammation of a particle
of the brain takes place, and the emblem of the Deity destroys himself
or some one else. We hold our health and our reason on terms slighter
than one would desire were it in their choice to hold an Irish cabin.

_November_ 29.--Awaked from horrid dreams to reconsideration of the sad
reality; he was such a kind, obliging, assiduous creature. I thought he
came to my bedside to expostulate with me how I could believe such a
scandal, and I thought I detected that it was but a spirit who spoke, by
the paleness of his look and the blood flowing from his cravat. I had
the nightmare in short, and no wonder.

I felt stupefied all this day, but wrote the necessary letters
notwithstanding. Walter, Jane, and Mrs. Jobson dined with us--but I
could not gather my spirits. But it is nonsense, and contrary to my
system, which is of the stoic school, and I think pretty well
maintained. It is the only philosophy I know or can practise, but it
cannot always keep the helm.

_November_ 30.--I went to the Court, and on my return set in order a
sheet or two of copy. We came back about two--the new form of hearing
counsel makes our sederunt a long one. Dined alone, and worked in the
evening.

FOOTNOTES:

[385] For an account of M. Chevalier, and an interview in 1815 with
David "of the blood-stained brush," see _Life_, vol. v. p. 87.

[386] Madame de Souza-Botelho, author of _Adèle de Senanges_, and other
works, which formed the subject of an article in the _Edinburgh_, No.
68, written by Moore. At the time Scott met her she had just lost her
second husband, who is remembered by his magnificent editions of
Camoens' _Lusiad_, on which it is said he spent about £4000. Mme. de
Souza died in 1836.

[387] _Hamlet_, Act II. Sc. 2.

[388] The following mixed metaphor is said to have been taken from one
of his speeches:--"Ministers were not to look on like Crocodiles, with
their hands in their breeches' pockets, doing nothing."

[389] The story regarding Castlereagh's Radiant Boy, is that one night,
when he was in barracks and alone, he saw a figure glide from the
fireplace, the face becoming brighter as it approached him. On Lord
Castlereagh stepping forward to meet it, the figure retired again, and
as he advanced it gradually faded from his view. Sir Walter does not
tell us of his friend Stanhope's ghostly experience.

[390] Dryden's _Absalom and Achitophel_--Character of
Shaftesbury.--J.G.L.

[391] The name has since been bestowed on the high ground on the bank of
the Seine, on which was built the Palace in connection with the
International Exhibition of 1878.

[392] It should be noted that Scott wrote "manner" not "manners," as in
all previous editions the word is printed. Of Cooper, his latest
American biographer, Mr. Lounsbury, says there was in his manner at
times "a self-assertion that often bordered, or seemed to border, on
arrogance" (p. 79).

Of this interview, Cooper is said to have recorded in after years that
Scott was so obliging as to make him a number of flattering speeches,
which, however, he did not repay in kind, giving, as a reason for has
silence, the words of Dr. Johnson regarding his meeting with George
III.: "It was not for me to bandy compliments with my sovereign." These
two "lions" met on four occasions, viz., on the 3d, 4th, and 6th
November, Scott leaving Paris next day.

It cannot be too widely known that if Scott never derived any profits
from the enormous sale of his works in America, it was not the fault of
his brother author, who urged him repeatedly to try the plan here
proposed. Whether the attempt was made is unknown, but it is amusing to
see one cause of Scott's hesitation was the fear that the American
public would not get his works at the low prices to which they had been
accustomed.

[393] General Monthion.

[394] Fitz-James was great-grandson of James II., and Duras was related
to Feversham, James's general at Sedgemoor. Both died in the same year,
1835.

[395] Madame Mirbel, who painted Scott at this time, continued to be a
favourite artist with the French (Bonapartist, Bourbon, and Orleanist)
for the next twenty years. Among her latest sitters (1841) was Scott's
angry correspondent of four months later--General Gourgaud. Madame
Mirbel died in 1849. The portrait alluded to was probably a miniature
which has been engraved at least once--by J.T.Wedgwood.

[396] _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, Act II. Sc. 3.--J.G.L.

[397] The Marshal had visited Scotland in 1825--and Scott saw a good
deal of him under the roof of his kinsman, Mr. Macdonald
Buchanan.--J.G.L.

[398] Lauriston, the ancient seat of the Laws, so famous in French
history, is very near Edinburgh, and the estate was in their possession
at the time of the Revolution. Two or three cadets of the family were of
the first emigration, and one of them (M. Louis Law) was a frequent
guest of the Poet's father, and afterwards corresponded during many
years with himself. I am not sure whether it was M. Louis Law whose
French designation so much amused the people of Edinburgh. One brother
of the Marquis de Lauriston, however, was styled _Le Chevalier de
Mutton-hole_, this being the name of a village on the Scotch
property.--J.G.L.

[399] The Madame de Boufflers best known to the world [Hippolyte de
Saujon Comtesse de Boufflers], the correspondent not only of Walpole,
but of David Hume, must have been nearer a hundred than eighty years of
age at this date, if we are to believe the _Biographie Universelle_,
which gives 1724 as the date of her birth. It does not record her death.
It is known that she took refuge in England during the Revolution; but
Count Paul de Rémusat, who has been consulted on the subject, has kindly
pointed out that the lady of whom Scott speaks must have been the widow
of the Chevalier de Boufflers-Remencourt, known by his poems and
stories. Her maiden name was de Jean de Manville, and her first husband
was a Comte de Sabran. She died in 1827.--See _Correspondance inédite de
la Comtesse de Sabran_, Paris, 8vo, 1875.

[400] Readers who may wish to compare with the visit of 1826 Scott's
impressions of Paris in 1815 will find a brilliant record of the latter
in _Paul's Letters_, xii.-xvi.

[401] A Sunday newspaper started in 1820, to advocate the cause of
George IV., and to vilify the Queen and her friends, male and female.
The first number was published on December 17th, and "told at once from
the convulsed centre to the extremity of the Kingdom. There was talent
of every sort in the paper that could have been desired or devised for
such a purpose. It seemed as if a legion of sarcastic devils had brooded
in Synod over the elements of withering derision." Hook, however, was
the master spirit, the majority of the lampoons in prose, and all the
original poetry in the early volumes from the "Hunting the Hare," were
from his own pen, except, perhaps, "Michael's Dinner," which has been
laid at Canning's door.

Oddly enough Scott appears to have been the indirect means of placing
Hook in the editorial chair. When he was in London, in April 1820, a
nobleman called upon him, and asked if he could find him in Edinburgh
some clever fellow to undertake the editorship of a paper about to be
established. Sir Walter suggested that his Lordship need not go so far
a-field, described Hook's situation, and the impression he had received
of him from his table talk, and his Magazine, the _Arcadian_. This was
all that occurred, but when, towards the end of the year, _John Bull_
electrified London, Sir Walter confessed that he could not help fancying
that his mentioning this man's name had had its consequences.

Hook, in spite of his £2000 per annum for several years from _John
Bull_, and large prices received for his novels, died in poverty in
1841, a prematurely aged man. His sad story may be read in a most
powerful sketch in the _Quarterly Review_, attributed to Mr. Lockhart.

[402] See Beckford's _Vathek_, Hall of Eblis.

[403] Lady Stafford says: "We were so lucky as to have Sir W. Scott here
for a day, and were glad to see him look well, and though perfectly
unaltered by his successes, yet enjoying the satisfaction they must have
given him."--Sharpe's _Letters_, vol. ii. p. 379.

[404] The Right Hon. Thomas Grenville died in 1846 at the age of
ninety-one. He left his noble collection of books to the nation.

[405] The Right Hon. Charles Manners Sutton, afterwards Viscount
Canterbury. He died in 1845.

[406] Mrs. Arbuthnot was Harriet, third daughter of the Hon. H. Fane,
and wife of Charles Arbuthnot, a great friend of the Duke of Wellington.
She died in 1838, Mr. Arbuthnot in 1850.

[407] Sir Walter had recommended George Cranstoun, his early friend, one
of the brethren of _the mountain_, who succeeded Lord Hermand, and took
his seat on the Scotch bench before the end of the month. The
appointment satisfied both political parties, though Cockburn said that
"his removal was a great loss to the bar which he had long adorned, and
where he had the entire confidence of the public." An admirable sketch
of Cranstoun is given in No. 32 of _Peter's Letters_. He retired in
1839, and died at Corehouse, his picturesque seat on the Clyde, in 1850.

[408] This striking paper was afterwards printed in full under the
title, "Memorandum on the War in Russia in 1812," in the _Despatches_
edited by his Son (Dec. 1823 to May 1827), Murray, 1868, vol. i. 8vo,
pp. 1-53. Sir Walter Scott's letter to the Duke on the subject is given
at p. 590 of the same volume, and see this Journal under Feb. 15, 1827.

[409] In returning from this dinner Sir Walter said, "I have seen some
of these great men at the same table _for the last time_."--J.G.L.

[410] Mr. William Wright, Barrister, Lincoln's Inn.--See _Life_, vol.
viii. p. 84.

[411] Milton's _L'Allegro._--J.G.L.

[412] A murder committed in 1817. The accused claimed the privilege of
_Wager of Battle_, which was allowed by the Court for the last time, as
the law was abolished in 1819.--See _Notes and Queries_, 2d series, vol.
xi. pp. 88, 259, 317, and p. 431 for a curious account of the
bibliography of this very singular case.

[413] _Othello_,--J.G.L.

[414] Sir Walter no doubt means that he regretted not having seen the
Duke at an earlier period of his historical labours.--J.G.L.

[415] See Weber's _Tales of the East_, 3 vols. 8vo, Edin. 1812. _History
of Avicene_, vol. ii. pp. 452-457.

[416] Dr. Richard Jenkyns, Master of Balliol College.--J.G.L.

[417] Charles Douglas succeeded his brother, Baron Douglas of Douglas,
in 1844.

[418]

  "But of all friends in field or town, Ever gramercy," etc.

    _Dame Juliana Berners_.


[419] A furnished house in Walker Street which he had taken for the
winter (No. 3).




DECEMBER


_December_ 1[420].--The Court again very long in its sitting, and I
obliged to remain till the last. This is the more troublesome, as in
winter, with my worn-out eyes, I cannot write so well by candle-light.
Naboclish! when I am quite blind, _good-night to you_, as the one-eyed
fellow said when a tennis ball knocked out his remaining luminary. My
short residue of time before dinner was much cut up by calls--all old
friends, too, and men whom I love; but this makes the loss of time more
galling, that one cannot and dare not growl at those on whom it has been
bestowed. However, I made out two hours better than I expected. I am now
once more at my oar, and I will row hard.

_December_ 2.--Returned early from Court, but made some calls by the
way. Dined alone with Anne, and meant to have worked, but--I don't know
how--this horrid story stuck by me, so I e'en read Boutourlin's account
of the Moscow campaign to eschew the foul fiend.

_December_ 3.--Wrote five pages before dinner. Sir Thomas Brisbane and
Sir William Arbuthnot called, also John A. Murray. William dined with
us, all vivid with his Italian ideas, only Jane besides. Made out five
pages, I think, or nearly.

_December_ 4.--Much colded, which is no usual complaint of mine, but
worked about five leaves, so I am quite up with my task-work and better.
But my books from Abbotsford have not arrived. Dined with the Royal
Society Club--about thirty members present--too many for company. After
coffee, the Society were like _Mungo_ in _The Padlock_.[421] I listened,
without understanding a single word, to two scientific papers; one about
the tail of a comet, and the other about a chucky-stone; besides hearing
Basil Hall describe, and seeing him exhibit, a new azimuth. I have half
a mind to cut the whole concern; and yet the situation is honourable,
and, as Bob Acres says, one should think of their honour. We took
possession of our new rooms on the Mound, which are very handsome and
gentlemanlike.

_December_ 5.--Annoyed with the cold and its consequences all night, and
wish I could shirk the Court this morning. But it must not be. Was kept
late, and my cold increased. I have had a regular attack of this for
many years past whenever I return to the sedentary life and heated rooms
of Edinburgh, which are so different from the open air and constant
exercise of the country. Odd enough that during cold weather and cold
nocturnal journeys the cold never touched me, yet I am no sooner settled
in comfortable quarters and warm well-aired couches, but _la voilà_. I
made a shift to finish my task, however, and even a leaf more, so we
are bang up. We dined and supped alone, and I went to bed early.

_December_ 6.--A bad and disturbed night with fever, headache, and some
touch of cholera morbus, which greatly disturbed my slumbers. But I
fancy Nature was scouring the gun after her own fashion. I slept little
till morning, and then lay abed, contrary to my wont, until half-past
nine o'clock, when I came down to breakfast. Went to Court, and returned
time enough to write about five leaves. Dined at Skene's, where we met
Lord Elgin and Mr. Stewart, a son of Sir M. Shaw Stewart, whom I knew
and liked, poor man. Talked among other things and persons of Sir J.
Campbell of Ardkinglas, who is now here.[422] He is happy in escaping
from his notorious title of Callander of Craigforth. In my youth he was
a black-leg and swindler of the first water, and like Pistol did

    "Somewhat lean to cut-purse of quick hand."[423]

He was obliged to give up his estate to his son Colonel Callander, a
gentleman of honour, and as Dad went to the Continent in the midst of
the French Revolution, he is understood to have gone through many
scenes. At one time, Lord Elgin assured us, he seized upon the island of
Zante, as he pretended, by direct authority from the English Government,
and reigned there very quietly for some months, until, to appease the
jealousy of the Turks, Lord Elgin despatched a frigate to dethrone the
new sovereign. Afterwards he traversed India in the dress of a fakir. He
is now eighty and upwards.

I should like to see what age and adventures have done upon him. I
recollect him a very handsome, plausible man. Of all good breeding, that
of a swindler (of good education, be it understood) is the most perfect.

_December_ 7.--Again a very disturbed night, scarce sleeping an hour,
yet well when I rose in the morning. I did not do above a leaf to-day,
because I had much to read. But I am up to one-fourth of the volume, of
400 pages, which I began on the first December current; the 31st must
and shall see the end of vol. vi. We dined alone. I had a book sent me
by a very clever woman, in defence of what she calls the rights of her
sex. Clever, though. I hope she will publish it.

_December_ 8.--Another restless and deplorable Knight--night I should
say--faith, either spelling will suit. Returned early, but much done up
with my complaint and want of sleep last night. I wrought however, but
with two or three long interruptions, my drowsiness being irresistible.
Went to dine with John Murray, where met his brother Henderland,
Jeffrey, Harry Cockburn, Rutherfurd, and others of that file. Very
pleasant--capital good cheer and excellent wine--much laugh and fun.

_December_ 9.--I do not know why it is that when I am with a party of my
Opposition friends, the day is often merrier than when with our own set.
Is it because they are cleverer? Jeffrey and Harry Cockburn are, to be
sure, very extraordinary men, yet it is not owing to that entirely. I
believe both parties meet with the feeling of something like novelty. We
have not worn out our jests in daily contact. There is also a
disposition on such occasions to be courteous, and of course to be
pleased. Wrought all day, but rather dawdled, being abominably drowsy. I
fancy it is bile, a visitor I have not had this long time.

_December_ 10.--An uncomfortable and sleepless night; and the lime water
assigned to cure me seems far less pleasant, and about as inefficacious
as lime punch would be in the circumstances. I felt main stupid the
whole forenoon, and though I wrote my task, yet it was with great
intervals of drowsiness and fatigue which made me, as we Scots says,
dover away in my arm-chair. Walter and Jane came to dinner, also my Coz
Colonel Russell, and above and attour[424] James Ballantyne, poor
fellow. We had a quiet and social evening, I acting on prescription.
Well, I have seen the day--but no matter.

_December_ 11.--Slept indifferent well with a feverish halo about me,
but no great return of my complaint. It paid it off this morning,
however, but the difference was of such consequence that I made an ample
day's work, getting over six pages, besides what I may do. On this, the
11th December, I shall have more than one-third of vol. vi. finished,
which was begun on the first of this current month. Dined quiet and at
home. I must take no more frisks till this fit is over.

    "When once life's day draws near the gloaming,
    Then farewell careless social roaming;
    And farewell cheerful tankards foaming,
                          And social noise;
    And farewell dear deluding woman,
                          The joy of joys!"[425]

Long life to thy fame and peace to thy soul, Rob Burns! When I want to
express a sentiment which I feel strongly, I find the phrase in
Shakespeare--or thee. The blockheads talk of my being like
Shakespeare--not fit to tie his brogues.[426]

_December_ 12.--Did not go to the Parliament House, but drove with
Walter to Dalkeith, where we missed the Duke, and found Mr. Blakeney.
One thing I saw there which pleased me much, and that was my own
picture, painted twenty years ago by Raeburn for Constable, and which
was to have been brought to sale among the rest of the wreck, hanging
quietly up in the dining-room at Dalkeith.[427] I do not care much about
these things, yet it would have been annoying to have been knocked down
to the best bidder even in effigy; and I am obliged to the friendship
and delicacy which placed the portrait where it now is. Dined at Archie
Swinton's, with all the cousins of that honest clan, and met Lord
Cringletie,[428] his wife, and others. Finished my task this day.

_December_ 13.--Went to the Court this morning early, and remained till
past three. Then attended a meeting of the Edinburgh Academy Directors
on account of some discussion about flogging. I am an enemy to corporal
punishment, but there are many boys who will not attend without it. It
is an instant and irresistible motive, and I love boys' heads too much
to spoil them at the expense of their opposite extremity. Then, when
children feel an emancipation on this point, we may justly fear they
will loosen the bonds of discipline altogether. The master, I fear, must
be something of a despot at the risk of his becoming something like a
tyrant. He governs subjects whose keen sense of the present is not
easily ruled by any considerations that are not pressing and immediate.
I was indifferently well beaten at school; but I am now quite certain
that twice as much discipline would have been well bestowed.

Dined at home with Walter and Jane; they with Anne went out in the
evening, I remained, but not I fear to work much. I feel sorely fagged.
I am sadly fagged. Then I cannot get ----'s fate out of my head. I see
that kind, social, beneficent face never turned to me without respect
and complacence, and--I see it in the agonies of death. This is
childish; I tell myself so, and I trust the feeling to no one else. But
here it goes down like the murderer who could not cease painting the
ideal vision of the man he had murdered, and who he supposed haunted
him. A thousand fearful images and dire suggestions glance along the
mind when it is moody and discontented with itself. Command them to
stand and show themselves, and you presently assert the power of reason
over imagination. But if by any strange alterations in one's nervous
system you lost for a moment the talisman which controls these fiends,
would they not terrify into obedience with their mandates, rather than
we would dare longer to endure their presence?

_December_ 14.--Annoyed with this cursed complaint, though I live like a
hermit on pulse and water. Bothered, too, with the Court, which leaves
me little room for proof-sheets, and none for copy. They sat to-day till
past two, so before I had walked home, and called for half an hour on
the Chief Commissioner, the work part of the day was gone; and then my
lassitude--I say lassitude--not indolence--is so great that it costs me
an hour's nap after I come home. We dined to-day with R. Dundas of
Arniston--Anne and I. There was a small cabal about Cheape's election
for Professor of Civil Law, which it is thought we can carry for him. He
deserves support, having been very indifferently used in the affair of
the _Beacon_,[429] where certain high Tories showed a great desire to
leave him to the mercy of the enemy; as _Feeble_ says, "I will never
bear a base mind."[430] We drank some "victorious Burgundy," contrary to
all prescription.

_December_ 15.--Egad! I think I am rather better for my good cheer! I
have passed one quiet night at least, and that is something gained. A
glass of good wine is a gracious creature, and reconciles poor mortality
to itself, and that is what few things can do.

Our election went off very decently; no discussions or aggravating
speeches. Sir John Jackass seconded the Whig's nominee. So much they
will submit to to get a vote. The numbers stood--Cheape,[431] 138; Bell,
132. Majority, 6--mighty hard run. The Tory interest was weak among the
old stagers, where I remember it so strong, but preferment, country
residence, etc., has thinned them. Then it was strong in the younger
classes. The new Dean, James Moncreiff,[432] presided with strict
propriety and impartiality. Walter and Jane dined with us.

_December_ 16.--Another bad night. I remember I used to think a slight
illness was a luxurious thing. My pillow was then softened by the hand
of affection, and all the little cares which were put in exercise to
soothe the languor or pain were more flattering and pleasing than the
consequences of the illness were disagreeable. It was a new sense to be
watched and attended, and I used to think that the _Malade imaginaire_
gained something by his humour. It is different in the latter stages.
The old post-chaise gets more shattered and out of order at every turn;
windows will not be pulled up; doors refuse to open, or being open will
not shut again--which last is rather my case. There is some new subject
of complaint every moment; your sicknesses come thicker and thicker;
your comforting or sympathising friends fewer and fewer; for why should
they sorrow for the course of nature? The recollection of youth, health,
and uninterrupted powers of activity, neither improved nor enjoyed, is a
poor strain of comfort. The best is, the long halt will arrive at last,
and cure all.

We had a long sitting in the Court. Came home through a cold easterly
rain without a greatcoat, and was well wet. A goodly medicine for my
aching bones.[433] Dined at Mr. Adam Wilson's, and had some good singing
in the evening. Saw Dr. Stokoe, who attended Boney in Saint Helena, a
plain, sensible sort of man.[434]

_December_ 17.--This was a day of labour, agreeably varied by a pain
which rendered it scarce possible to sit upright. My Journal is getting
a vile chirurgical aspect.

I begin to be afraid of the odd consequences complaints in the _post
equitem_ are said to produce. Walter and Jane dined. Mrs. Skene came in
the evening.

_December_ 18.--Almost sick with pain, and it stops everything. I shall
tire of my Journal if it is to contain nothing but biles and plasters
and unguents. In my better days I had stories to tell; but death has
closed the long dark avenue upon loves and friendships; and I can only
look at them as through the grated door of a long burial-place filled
with monuments of those who were once dear to me, with no insincere wish
that it may open for me at no distant period, provided such be the will
of God. My pains were those of the heart, and had something flattering
in their character; if in the head, it was from the blow of a bludgeon
gallantly received and well paid back.

I went to the meeting of the Commissioners;[435] there was none to-day.
The carriage had set me down; so I walked from the college in one of the
sourest and most unsocial days which I ever felt. Why should I have
liked this? I do not know; it is my dogged humour to yield little to
external circumstances. Sent an excuse to the Royal Society, however.

_December_ 19.--Went to Court. No, I lie; I had business there. Wrote a
task; no more; could not. Went out to Dalkeith, and dined with the Duke.
It delights me to hear this hopeful young nobleman talk with sense and
firmness about his plans for improving his estate, and employing the
poor. If God and the world spare him, he will be far known as a true
Scots lord.[436]

_December_ 20.--Being a Teind day, I had a little repose. We dined at
Hector Macdonald's with William Clerk and some youngsters. Highland
hospitality as usual. I got some work done to-day.

_December_ 21.--In the house till two o'clock nearly. Came home,
corrected proof-sheets, etc., mechanically. All well, would the machine
but keep in order, but "The spinning wheel is auld and stiff."

I think I shall not live to the usual verge of human existence. I shall
never see the threescore and ten, and shall be summed up at a discount.
No help for it, and no matter either.

_December_ 22.--Poor old Honour and Glory dead--once Lord Moira, more
lately Lord Hastings. He was a man of very considerable talents, but had
an overmastering degree of vanity of the grossest kind. It followed of
course that he was gullible. In fact the propensity was like a ring in
his nose into which any rogue might put a string. He had a high
reputation for war, but it was after the pettifogging hostilities in
America where he had done some clever things. He died, having the
credit, or rather having had the credit, to leave more debt than any man
since Caesar's time. £1,200,000 is said to be the least. There was a
time that I knew him well, and regretted the foibles which mingled with
his character, so as to make his noble qualities sometimes questionable,
sometimes ridiculous. He was always kind to me. Poor Plantagenet! Young
Percival went out to dine at Dalkeith with me.

_December_ 24.--To add to my other grievances I have this day a proper
fit of rheumatism in my best knee. I pushed to Abbotsford, however,
after the Court rose, though compelled to howl for pain as they helped
me out of the carriage.

[_Abbotsford_,] _December_ 25.--By dint of abstinence and opodeldoc I
passed a better night than I could have hoped for; but took up my
lodging in the chapel room, as it is called, for going upstairs was
impossible.

To-day I have been a mere wretch. I lay in bed till past eleven,
thinking to get rid of the rheumatism; then I walked as far as Turnagain
with much pain, and since that time I have just roasted myself like a
potato by the fireside in my study, slumbering away my precious time,
and unable to keep my eyes open or my mind intent on anything, if I
would have given my life for it. I seemed to sleep tolerably, too, last
night, but I suppose Nature had not her dues properly paid; neither has
she for some time.

I saw the filling up of the quarry on the terrace walk, and was pleased.
Anne and I dined at Mertoun, as has been my old wont and use as
Christmas day comes about. We were late in setting out, and I have
rarely seen so dark a night. The mist rolled like volumes of smoke on
the road before us.

_December_ 26.--Returned to Abbotsford this morning. I heard it reported
that Lord B. is very ill. If that be true it affords ground for hope
that Sir John ------ is not immortal. Both great bores. But the Earl has
something of wild cleverness, far exceeding the ponderous stupidity of
the Cavaliero Jackasso.

_December_ 27.--Still weak with this wasting illness, but it is clearly
going off. Time it should, quoth Sancho. I began my work again, which
had slumbered betwixt pain and weakness. In fact I could not write or
compose at all.

_December_ 28.--Stuck to my work. Mr. Scrope came to dinner, and
remained next day. We were expecting young Percival and his wife, once
my favourite and beautiful Nancy M'Leod, and still a very fine woman;
but they came not.

In bounced G. T[homson], alarmed by an anonymous letter, which
acquainted him that thirty tents full of Catholics were coming to
celebrate high mass in the Abbey church; and to consult me on such a
precious document he came prancing about seven at night. I hope to get
him a kirk before he makes any extraordinary explosion of simplicity.

_December_ 29.--Mr. and Mrs. Percival came to-day. He is son of the late
lamented statesman, equally distinguished by talents and integrity. The
son is a clever young man, and has read a good deal; pleasant, too, in
society; but tampers with phrenology, which is unworthy of his father's
son. There is a certain kind of cleverish men, either half educated or
cock-brained by nature, who are attached to that same turnipology. I am
sorry this gentleman should take such whims--sorry even for his name's
sake. Walter and Jane arrived; so our Christmas party thickens. Sir Adam
and Colonel Ferguson dined.

_December_ 30.--Wrote and wrought hard, then went out a drive with Mr.
and Mrs. Percival; and went round by the lake. If my days of good
fortune should ever return I will lay out some pretty rides at
Abbotsford.

Last day of an eventful year; much evil and some good; but especially
the courage to endure what Fortune sends without becoming a pipe for her
fingers.[437]

It is _not_ the last day of the year, but to-morrow being Sunday we hold
our festival of neighbours to-day instead. The Fergusons came _en
masse_, and we had all the usual appliances of mirth and good cheer. Yet
our party, like the chariot-wheels of Pharaoh in the Red Sea, dragged
heavily.

Some of the party grow old and infirm; others thought of the absence of
the hostess, whose reception of her guests was always kind. We did as
well as we could, however.