"It's useless to murmur and pout--
    There's no good in making ado;
    'Tis well the old year is out,
    And time to begin a new."

_December_ 31.--It must be allowed that the regular recurrence of annual
festivals among the same individuals has, as life advances, something in
it that is melancholy. We meet on such occasions like the survivors of
some perilous expedition, wounded and weakened ourselves, and looking
through the diminished ranks of those who remain, while we think of
those who are no more. Or they are like the feasts of the Caribs, in
which they held that the pale and speechless phantoms of the deceased
appeared and mingled with the living. Yet where shall we fly from vain
repining? Or why should we give up the comfort of seeing our friends,
because they can no longer be to us, or we to them, what we once were to
each other?

FOOTNOTES:

[420] During the winter of 1826-7 Sir Walter suffered great pain (enough
to have disturbed effectually any other man's labours, whether official
or literary) from successive attacks of rheumatism, which seems to have
been fixed on him by the wet sheets of one of his French inns; and his
Diary contains, besides, various indications that his constitution was
already shaking under the fatigue to which he had subjected it.
Formerly, however great the quantity of work he put through his hands,
his evenings were almost all reserved for the light reading of an
elbow-chair, or the enjoyment of his family and friends. Now he seemed
to grudge every minute that was not spent at his desk. The little that
he read of new books, or for mere amusement, was done by snatches in the
course of his meals; and to walk, when he could walk at all, to the
Parliament House, and back again through the Princes Street Gardens, was
his only exercise and his only relaxation. Every ailment, of whatever
sort, ended in aggravating his lameness; and, perhaps, the severest test
his philosophy encountered was the feeling of bodily helplessness that
from week to week crept upon him. The winter, to make bad worse, was a
very cold and stormy one. The growing sluggishness of his blood showed
itself in chilblains, not only on the feet but the fingers, and his
handwriting becomes more and more cramped and confused.--_Life_, vol.
ix. pp. 58-9.

[421] See Bickerstaff's Comic Opera, _The Padlock_.

[422] This gentleman published his own Memoirs (2 vols. 8vo, Lond.
1832). They read like chapters from the _Arabian Nights_. He gives a
somewhat different account of his occupation of Zante, which he says was
effected at Nelson's suggestion, and by Lord Keith's authority. Sir
James died in 1832 at a very great age.

[423] _Henry V_. Act v. Sc. 1.

[424] For _By and attour_, i.e. over and above.

[425] Burns's lines to J. Smith.

[426] Delta's lines on Leslie's portrait of Scott may be recorded
here:--

  Brother of Homer and of him
  On Avon's shore, mid twilight dim,
  Who dreamed immortal dreams, and took
  From Nature's hand her picture book;
  Time hath not seen, Time may not see,
  Till ends his reign, a third like thee.


[427] Now at Bowhill.

[428] James Wolfe Murray succeeded Lord Meadowbank on the Bench as Lord
Cringletie, in November 1816, and died in 1836.

[429] A Party Newspaper started by the Tories in Edinburgh at the
beginning of 1821. It was suppressed in the month of August, but during
the interval contrived to give great offence to the Whig leaders by its
personality. Lockhart says of it that "a more pitiable mass of blunders
and imbecility was never heaped together than the whole of this affair
exhibited;" and Scott, who was one of its founders, along with the Lord
Advocate and other official persons, wrote to Erskine, "I am terribly
malcontent about the _Beacon_. I was dragged into the bond against all
reasons I could make, and now they have allowed me no vote regarding
standing or flying. _Entre nous_, our friends went into the thing like
fools, and came out very like cowards." The wretched libels it contained
cost Sir A. Boswell his life, and for a moment endangered that of
Scott.--See _Life_, vol. vi. pp. 426-429, and Cockburn's _Memorials_, p.
312.

[430] _2 Henry IV_. Act III. Sc. 2.

[431] Douglas Cheape, whose Introductory Lecture was published in 1827.
Mr. Cheape died in 1861.

[432] James Moncreiff, son of the Rev. Sir Henry Wellwood. The new Dean
succeeded Lord Alloway on the Scotch Bench in 1829, and died in 1851.
Cockburn writes of him thus:--"During the twenty-one years he was on the
civil and criminal benches, he performed all his duties admirably.
Law-learning and law-reasoning, industry, honesty, and high-minded
purity could do no more for any judge. After forty years of unbroken
friendship, it is a pleasure to record my love of the man, and my
admiration of his character."--_Journals_, vol. ii, p. 264.

[433] _Troilus and Cressida_, Act v. Sc. 2.

[434] Dr. Stokoe, who had settled at Durham, died suddenly at York in
1852. He had been surgeon in the fleet at Trafalgar, and was afterwards
appointed to St. Helena.

[435] The University Commission.--See _ante_, pp. 256, 257.

[436] The long life of Walter, fifth Duke of Buccleuch, more than
fulfilled the hopes and prognostics of his friend. A "true Scots lord,"
he carried with him to the grave in 1884 the love and respect of his
countrymen.

[437] _Hamlet_, Act III. Sc. 2.--J.G.L.



1827




JANUARY.


_January_ 1.--God make this a happy year to the King and country, and to
all honest men!

I went with all our family to-day to dine as usual at the kind house of
Huntly Burn; but the same cloud which hung over us on Saturday still had
its influence. The effect of grief upon [those] who, like myself and Sir
A.F., are highly susceptible of humour, has, I think, been finely
touched by Wordsworth in the character of the merry village teacher
Matthew, whom Jeffrey profanely calls the hysterical schoolmaster.[438]
But, with my friend Jeffrey's pardon, I think he loves to see
imagination best when it is bitted and managed and ridden upon, the
_grand pas_. He does not make allowance for starts and sallies and
bounds when Pegasus is beautiful to behold, though sometimes perilous to
his rider. Not that I think the amiable bard of Rydal shows judgment in
choosing such subjects as the popular mind cannot sympathise in. It is
unwise and unjust to himself. I do not compare myself, in point of
imagination, with Wordsworth--far from it; for [his] is naturally
exquisite, and highly cultivated by constant exercise. But I can see as
many castles in the clouds as any man, as many genii in the curling
smoke of a steam engine, as perfect a Persepolis in the embers of a
sea-coal fire. My life has been spent in such day-dreams. But I cry no
roast-meat. There are times a man should remember what Rousseau used to
say: _Tais-toi, Jean-Jacques, car on ne t'entend pas_![439]

_January 2_.--I had resolved to mark down no more griefs and groans,
but I must needs briefly state that I am nailed to my chair like the
unhappy Theseus. The rheumatism, exasperated by my sortie of yesterday,
has seized on my only serviceable knee--and I am, by Proserpine,
motionless as an anvil. Leeches and embrocations are all I have for it.
_Diable_! there was a twinge. The Russells and Fergusons here; but I was
fairly driven off the pit after dinner, and compelled to retreat to my
own bed, there to howl till morning like a dog in his solitary cabin.

_January_ 3.--Mending slowly. Two things are comfortable--1_st_, I lose
no good weather out of doors, for the ground is covered with snow; 2_d_,
That, by exerting a little stoicism, I can make my illness promote the
advance of _Nap_. As I can scarcely stand, however, I am terribly
awkward at consulting books, maps, etc. The work grows under my hand,
however; vol. vi. [_Napoleon_] will be finished this week, I believe.
Russells being still with us, I was able by dint of handing and chairing
to get to the dining-room and the drawing-room in the evening.

Talking of Wordsworth, he told Anne and me a story, the object of which
was to show that Crabbe had not imagination. He, Sir George Beaumont,
and Wordsworth were sitting together in Murray the bookseller's
back-room. Sir George, after sealing a letter, blew out the candle,
which had enabled him to do so, and, exchanging a look with Wordsworth,
began to admire in silence the undulating thread of smoke which slowly
arose from the expiring wick, when Crabbe put on the extinguisher. Anne
laughed at the instance, and inquired if the taper was wax, and being
answered in the negative, seemed to think that there was no call on Mr.
Crabbe to sacrifice his sense of smell to their admiration of beautiful
and evanescent forms. In two other men I should have said "this is
affectations,"[440] with Sir Hugh Evans; but Sir George is the man in
the world most void of affectation; and then he is an exquisite painter,
and no doubt saw where the _incident_ would have succeeded in painting.
The error is not in you yourself receiving deep impressions from slight
hints, but in supposing that precisely the same sort of impression must
arise in the mind of men otherwise of kindred feeling, or that the
commonplace folks of the world can derive such inductions at any time or
under any circumstances.

_January_ 4.--My enemy gained some strength during the watches of the
night, but has again succumbed under scalding fomentations of camomile
flowers. I still keep my state, for my knee, though it has ceased to
pain me, is very feeble. We began to fill the ice-house to-day. Dine
alone--_en famille_, that is, Jane, Anne, Walter, and I. Why, this makes
up for _aiches_, as poor John Kemble used to call them. After tea I
broke off work, and read my young folks the farce of the _Critic_, and
"merry folks were we."

_January_ 5.--I waked, or _aked_ if you please, for five or six hours I
think, then fevered a little. I am better though, God be thanked, and
can now shuffle about and help myself to what I want without ringing
every quarter of an hour. It is a fine clear sunny day; I should like to
go out, but flannel and poultices cry nay. So I drudge away with the
assisting of Pelet, who has a real French head, believing all he desires
should be true, and affirming all he wishes should be believed. Skenes
(Mr. and Mrs., with Miss Jardine) arrived about six o'clock. Skene very
rheumatic, as well as I am.

_January_ 6.--Worked till dusk, but not with much effect; my head and
mind not clear somehow. W. Laidlaw at dinner. In the evening read
Foote's farce of the _Commissary,_ said to have been levelled at Sir
Lawrence Dundas; but Sir Lawrence was a man of family. Walter and Jane
dined at Mertoun.

_January_ 7.--Wrought till twelve, then sallied and walked with Skene
for two miles; home and corrected proofs, and to a large amount. Mr.
Scrope and George Thomson dined.

_January_ 8.--Slept well last night in consequence I think of my walk,
which I will, God willing, repeat to-day. I wrote some letters too long
delayed, and sent off my packets to J.B. Letter from C. Sharpe very
pressing. I should employ my interest at Windsor to oppose the
alterations on the town of Edinburgh. "One word from you, and all that."
I don't think I shall speak that word though. I hate the alterations,
that is certain; but then _ne accesseris in consilium nisi
vocatus_,--what is the use of my volunteering an opinion? Again, the
value of many people's property may depend on this plan going forward.
Have I a right from mere views of amenity to interfere with those
serious interests? I something doubt it. Then I have always said that I
never meddle in such work, and ought I _sotto voce_ now to begin it? By
my faith I won't; there are enough to state the case besides me.[441]

The young Duke of B. came in to bid us good-bye, as he is going off to
England. God bless him! He is a hawk of a good nest. Afterwards I walked
to the Welsh pool, Skene declining to go, for I

    "-----not over stout of limb,
    Seem stronger of the two."

_January_ 9.--This morning received the long-expected news of the Duke
of York's death.[442] I am sorry both on public and private accounts.
His R.H. was, while he occupied the situation of next in the royal
succession, a _Breakwater_ behind the throne. I fear his brother of
Clarence's opinions may be different, and that he will hoist a standard
under which will rendezvous men of desperate hopes and evil designs. I
am sorry, too, on my own account. The Duke of York was uniformly kind to
me, and though I never tasked his friendship deeply, yet I find a
powerful friend is gone. His virtues were honour, good sense, integrity;
and by exertion of these qualities he raised the British army from a
very low ebb to be the pride and dread of Europe. His errors were those
of a sanguine and social temper; he could not resist the temptation of
deep play, which was fatally allied with a disposition to the bottle.
This last is incident to his complaint, which vinous influence soothes
for the time, while it insidiously increases it in the end.

Here blows a gale of wind. I was to go to Galashiels to settle some
foolish lawsuit, and afterwards to have been with Mr. Kerr of Kippilaw
to treat about a march-dike. I shall content myself with the first duty,
for this day does not suit Bowden-moor.

Went over to Galashiels like the devil in a gale of wind, and found a
writer contesting with half-a-dozen unwashed artificers the possession
of a piece of ground the size and shape of a three-cornered
pocket-handkerchief. Tried to "gar them gree," and if I succeed, I shall
think I deserve something better than the _touch of rheumatism_, which
is like to be my only reward.

Scotts of Harden and John Pringle of Clifton dined, and we got on very
well.

_January_ 10.--Enter rheumatism, and takes me by the knee. So much for
playing the peacemaker in a shower of rain. Nothing for it but patience,
cataplasm of camomile, and labour in my own room the whole day till
dinner-time--then company and reading in the evening.

_January_ 11.--Ditto repeated. I should have thought I would have made
more of these solitary days than I find I can do. A morning, or two or
three hours before dinner, have often done more efficient work than six
or seven of these hours of languor, I cannot say of illness, can
produce. A bow that is slackly strung will never send an arrow very far.
Heavy snow. We are engaged at Mr. Scrope's, but I think I shall not be
able to go. I remained at home accordingly, and, having nothing else to
do, worked hard and effectively. I believe my sluggishness was partly
owing to the gnawing rheumatic pain in my knee, for after all I am of
opinion pain is an evil, let Stoics say what they will. Thank God, it is
an evil which is mending with me.

_January_ 12.--All this day occupied with camomile poultices and pen and
ink. It is now four o'clock, and I have written yesterday and to-day ten
of my pages--that is, one-tenth of one of these large volumes--moreover,
I have corrected three proof-sheets. I wish it may not prove fool's
haste, yet I take as much pains too as is in my nature.

_January_ 13.--The Fergusons, with my neighbours Mr. Scrope and Mr.
Bainbridge and young Hume, eat a haunch of venison from Drummond Castle,
and seemed happy. We had music and a little dancing, and enjoyed in
others the buoyancy of spirit that we no longer possess ourselves. Yet I
do not think the young people of this age so gay as we were. There is a
turn for persiflage, a fear of ridicule among them, which stifles the
honest emotions of gaiety and lightness of spirit; and people, when they
give in the least to the expansion of their natural feelings, are always
kept under by the fear of becoming ludicrous. To restrain your feelings
and check your enthusiasm in the cause even of pleasure is now a rule
among people of fashion, as much as it used to be among philosophers.

_January_ 14.--Well--my holidays are out--and I may count my gains and
losses as honest Robinson Crusoe used to balance his accounts of good
and evil.

I have not been able, during three weeks, to stir above once or twice
from the house. But then I have executed a great deal of work, which
would be otherwise unfinished.

Again I have sustained long and sleepless nights and much pain. True;
but no one is the worse of the thoughts which arise in the watches of
the night; and for pain, the complaint which brought on this rheumatism
was not so painful perhaps, but was infinitely more disagreeable and
depressing.

Something there has been of dulness in our little reunions of society
which did not use to cloud them. But I have seen all my own old and kind
friends, with my dear children (Charles alone excepted); and if we did
not rejoice with perfect joy, it was overshadowed from the same sense of
regret.

Again, this new disorder seems a presage of the advance of age with its
infirmities. But age is but the cypress avenue which terminates in the
tomb, where the weary are at rest.

I have been putting my things to rights to go off to-morrow. Though I
always wonder why it should be so, I feel a dislike to order and to
task-work of all kinds--a predominating foible in my disposition. I do
not mean that it influences me in morals; for even in youth I had a
disgust at gross irregularities of any kind, and such as I ran into were
more from compliance with others and a sort of false shame, than any
pleasure I sought or found in dissipation. But what I mean is a
detestation of precise order in petty matters--in reading or answering
letters, in keeping my papers arranged and in order, and so on. Weber,
and then Gordon, used to keep my things in some order--now they are
verging to utter confusion. And then I have let my cash run ahead since
I came from the Continent--I must slump the matter as I can.

_[Shandwick Place,] January_ 15.--- Off we came, and despite of
rheumatism I got through the journey comfortably. Greeted on my arrival
by a number of small accounts whistling like grape-shot; they are of no
great avail, and incurred, I see, chiefly during the time of illness.
But I believe it will take me some hard work till I pay them, and how to
get the time to work? It will be hard purchased if, as I think not
unlikely, this bitch of a rheumatism should once more pin me to my
chair. Coming through Galashiels, we met the Laird of Torwoodlee, who,
on hearing how long I had been confined, asked how I bore it, observing
that he had once in his life (Torwoodlee must be between sixty and
seventy) been confined for five days to the house, and was like to hang
himself. I regret God's free air as much as any man, but I could amuse
myself were it in the Bastile.

_January_ 16.--Went to Court, and returned through a curious atmosphere,
half mist, half rain, famous for rheumatic joints. Yet I felt no
increase of my plaguey malady, but, on the contrary, am rather better. I
had need, otherwise a pair of crutches for life were my prettiest help.

Walter dined with us to-day, Jane remaining with her mother. The good
affectionate creatures leave us to-morrow. God send them a quick passage
through the Irish Channel! They go to Gort, where Walter's troop is
lying--a long journey for winter days.

_January_ 17.--Another proper day of mist, sleet, and rain, through
which I navigated homeward. I imagine the distance to be a mile and a
half. It is a good thing to secure as much exercise.

I observed in the papers my old friend Gifford's funeral. He was a man
of rare attainments and many excellent qualities. The translation of
Juvenal is one of the best versions ever made of a classical author, and
his satire of the Baviad and Maeviad squabashed at one blow a set of
coxcombs who might have humbugged the world long enough.

As a commentator he was capital, could he but have suppressed his
rancour against those who had preceded him in the task, but a
misconstruction or misinterpretation, nay, the misplacing of a comma,
was in Gifford's eyes a crime worthy of the most severe animadversion.
The same fault of extreme severity went through his critical labours,
and in general he flagellated with so little pity, that people lost
their sense of the criminal's guilt in dislike of the savage pleasure
which the executioner seemed to take in inflicting the punishment.

This lack of temper probably arose from indifferent health, for he was
very valetudinary, and realised two verses, wherein he says fortune
assigned him--

      "----- One eye not over good,
    Two sides that to their cost have stood
            A ten years' hectic cough,
    Aches, stitches, all the various ills
    That swell the dev'lish doctor's bills,
    And sweep poor mortals off."

But he might also justly claim, as his gift, the moral qualities
expressed in the next fine stanza--

                  "------A soul
    That spurns the crowd's malign control,
             A firm contempt of wrong:
    Spirits above afflictions' power,
    And skill to soothe the lingering hour
             With no inglorious song."[443]

_January_ 18.--To go on with my subject--Gifford was a little man,
dumpled up together, and so ill-made as to seem almost deformed, but
with a singular expression of talent in his countenance. Though so
little of an athlete, he nevertheless beat off Dr. Wolcot, when that
celebrated person, the most unsparing calumniator of his time, chose to
be offended with Gifford for satirising him in his turn. Peter Pindar
made a most vehement attack, but Gifford had the best of the affray, and
remained, I think, in triumphant possession of the field of action, and
of the assailant's cane. Gifford had one singular custom. He used always
to have a duenna of a housekeeper to sit in his study with him while he
wrote. This female companion died when I was in London, and his distress
was extreme. I afterwards heard he got her place supplied. I believe
there was no scandal in all this.[444]

This is another vile day of darkness and rain, with a heavy yellow mist
that might become Charing Cross--one of the benefits of our extended
city; for that in our atmosphere was unknown till the extent of the
buildings below Queen Street. M'Culloch of Ardwell called.

Wrought chiefly on a critique of Mrs. Charlotte Smith's novels,[445] and
proofs.

_January_ 19.--Uncle Adam,[446] _vide Inheritance_, who retired last
year from an official situation at the age of eighty-four, although
subject to fits of giddiness, and although carefully watched by his
accomplished daughter, is still in the habit of walking by himself if he
can by possibility make an escape. The other day, in one of these
excursions, he fell against a lamp-post, cut himself much, bled a good
deal, and was carried home by two gentlemen. What said old
Rugged-and-Tough? Why, that his fall against the post was the luckiest
thing could have befallen him, for the bleeding was exactly the remedy
for his disorder.

    "Lo! stout hearts of men!"
Called on said "uncle," also on David Hume, Lord Chief-Commissioner,
Will Clerk, Mrs. Jobson, and others. My knee made no allowance for my
politeness, but has begun to swell again, and to burn like a scorpion's
bite.

_January_ 20.--Scarce slept all night; scarce able to stand or move this
morning; almost an absolute fixture.

    "A sleepless knight,
    A weary knight,
          God be the guide."[447]

This is at the Court a blank day, being that of the poor Duke of York's
funeral. I can sit at home, luckily, and fag hard.

And so I have, pretty well; six leaves written, and four or five
proof-sheets corrected. Cadell came to breakfast, and proposes an eighth
volume for _Napoleon_. I told him he might write to Longman for their
opinion. Seven is an awkward number, and will extremely cramp the work.
Eight, too, would go into six octavos, should it ever be called for in
that shape. But it shall be as they list to have it.

_January_ 21.--A long day of some pain relieved by labour. Dr. Ross came
in and recommended some stuff, which did little good. I would like ill
to lose the use of my precious limbs. Meanwhile, Patience, cousin, and
shuffle the cards.

Missie dined with us to-day--an honest Scotch lass, lady-like and frank.
I finished about six leaves, doing indeed little else.

_January_ 22.--Work, varied with camomile; we get on, though. A visit
from Basil Hall, with Mr. Audubon the ornithologist, who has followed
that pursuit by many a long wandering in the American forests. He is an
American by naturalisation, a Frenchman by birth;[448] but less of a
Frenchman than I have ever seen--no dash, or glimmer, or shine about
him, but great simplicity of manners and behaviour; slight in person,
and plainly dressed; wears long hair, which time has not yet tinged; his
countenance acute, handsome, and interesting, but still simplicity is
the predominant characteristic. I wish I had gone to see his drawings;
but I had heard so much about them that I resolved not to see them--"a
crazy way of mine, your honour."--Five more leaves finished.

_January_ 23.--I have got a piece of armour, a knee-cap of chamois
leather, which I think does my unlucky rheumatism some good. I begin,
too, to sleep at night, which is a great comfort. Spent this day
completely in labour; only betwixt dinner and tea, while husbanding a
tumbler of whisky and water, I read the new novel, _Elizabeth de
Bruce_[449]--part of it, that is.

_January_ 24.--Visit from Mr. Audubon, who brings some of his birds. The
drawings are of the first order--the attitudes of the birds of the most
animated character, and the situations appropriate; one of a snake
attacking a bird's nest, while the birds (the parents) peck at the
reptile's eyes--they usually, in the long-run, destroy him, says the
naturalist. The feathers of these gay little sylphs, most of them from
the Southern States, are most brilliant, and are represented with what,
were it [not] connected with so much spirit in the attitude, I would
call a laborious degree of execution. This extreme correctness is of
the utmost consequence to the naturalist, [but] as I think (having no
knowledge of _virtu_), rather gives a stiffness to the drawings. This
sojourner in the desert had been in the woods for months together. He
preferred associating with the Indians to the company of the Back
Settlers; very justly, I daresay, for a civilised man of the lower
order--that is, the dregs of civilisation--when thrust back on the
savage state becomes worse than a savage. They are Wordsworth's
adventurer,

    "Deliberate and undeceived
    The wild men's vices who received,
    And gave them back his own."[450]

The Indians, he says, are dying fast; they seem to pine and die whenever
the white population approaches them. The Shawanese, who amounted, Mr.
Audubon says, to some thousands within his memory, are almost extinct,
and so are various other tribes. Mr. Audubon could never hear any
tradition about the mammoth, though he made anxious inquiries. He gives
no countenance to the idea that the Red Indians were ever a more
civilised people than at this day, or that a more civilised people had
preceded them in North America. He refers the bricks, etc., occasionally
found, and appealed to in support of this opinion, to the earlier
settlers,--or, where kettles and other utensils may have been found, to
the early trade between the Indians and the Spaniards.

John Russell[451] and Leonard Horner[452] came to consult me about the
propriety and possibility of retaining the northern pronunciation of the
Latin in the new Edinburgh Academy.[453] I will think of it until
to-morrow, being no great judge. We had our solitary dinner; indeed, it
is only remarkable nowadays when we have a guest.

_January_ 25.--Thought during the watches of the night and a part of the
morning about the question of Latin pronunciation, and came to the
following conclusions. That the mode of pronunciation approved by
Buchanan and by Milton, and practised by all nations, excepting the
English, assimilated in sound, too, to the Spanish, Italian, and other
languages derived from the Latin, is certainly the best, and is likewise
useful as facilitating the acquisition of sounds which the Englishman
attempts in vain. Accordingly I wish the cockneyfied pedant who first
disturbed it by reading _Emo_ for _Amo_, and _quy_ for _qui_, had choked
in the attempt. But the question is, whether a youth who has been taught
in a manner different from that used all over England will be heard, if
he presumes to use his Latin at the bar or the senate; and if he is to
be unintelligible or ludicrous, the question [arises] whether his
education is not imperfect under one important view. I am very unwilling
to sacrifice our _sumpsimus_ to their old _mumpsimus_--still more to
humble ourselves before the Saxons while we can keep an inch of the
Scottish flag flying. But this is a question which must be decided not
on partialities or prejudices.

I got early from the Court to-day, and settled myself to work hard.

_January_ 26.--My rheumatism is almost gone. I can walk without Major
Weir, which is the name Anne gives my cane, because it is so often out
of the way that it is suspected, like the staff of that famous
wizard,[454] to be capable of locomotion. Went to Court, and tarried
till three o'clock, after which transacted business with Mr. Gibson and
Dr. Inglis as one of Miss Hume's trustees. Then was introduced to young
Mr. Rennie,[455] or he to me, by [Sir] James Hall, a genteel-looking
young man, and speaks well. He was called into public notice by having,
many years before, made a draught of a plan of his father's for London
Bridge. It was sought for when the building was really about to take
place, and the assistance which young Mr. Rennie gave to render it
useful raised his character so high, that his brother and he are now in
first-rate practice as civil engineers.

_January_ 27.--Read _Elizabeth de Bruce_; it is very clever, but does
not show much originality. The characters, though very entertaining, are
in the manner of other authors, and the finished and filled up portraits
of which the sketches are to be found elsewhere. One is too apt to feel
on such occasions the pettish resentment that you might entertain
against one who had poached on your manor. But the case is quite
different, and a claim set up on having been the first who betook
himself to the illustration of some particular class of characters, or
department of life, is no more a right of monopoly than that asserted by
the old buccaneers by setting up a wooden cross, and killing an Indian
or two on some new discovered island. If they can make anything of their
first discovery, the better luck theirs; if not, let others come,
penetrate further into the country, write descriptions, make drawings or
settlements at their pleasure.

We were kept in Parliament House till three. Called to return thanks to
Mr. Menzies of Pitfoddels, who lent some pamphlets about the unhappy
Duke d'Enghien. Read in the evening _Boutourlin_ and _Ségur_, to
prepare for my Russian campaign.

_January_ 28.--Continued my reading with the commentary of the D. of
W.[456] If his broad shoulders cannot carry me through, the devil must
be in the dice. Longman and Company agree to the eight volumes. It will
make the value of the book more than £12,000. Wrought indifferent hard.

_January_ 29.--Mr. Gibson breakfasted with Dr. Marshman,[457] the head
of the missionaries at Serampore, a great Oriental scholar. He is a
thin, dark-featured, middle-sized man, about fifty or upwards, his eye
acute, his hair just beginning to have a touch of the grey. He spoke
well and sensibly, and seemed liberal in his ideas. He was clearly of
opinion that general information must go hand in hand, or even ought to
precede religious instruction. Thinks the influence of European manners
is gradually making changes in India. The natives, so far as their
religion will allow them, are become fond of Europeans, and invite them
to their great festivals. He has a conceit that the Afghans are the
remains of the Ten Tribes. I cannot find he has a better reason than
their own tradition, which calls them Ben-Israel, and says they are not
Ben-Judah. They have Jewish rites and ceremonies, but so have all
Mahometans; neither could I understand that their language has anything
peculiar. The worship of Bhoodah he conceives to have [been] an
original, or rather the original, of Hindu religion, until the Brahmins
introduced the doctrines respecting caste and other peculiarities. But
it would require strong proof to show that the superstition of caste
could be introduced into a country which had been long peopled, and
where society had long existed without such restriction. It is more like
to be adopted in the early history of a tribe, when there are but few
individuals, the descent of whom is accurately preserved. How could the
castes be distinguished or _told off_ in a populous nation? Dr. Marshman
was an old friend of poor John Leyden.

_January_ 30.--Blank day at Court, being the Martyrdom. Wrought hard at
_Bon._ all day, though I had settled otherwise. I ought to have been at
an article for John Lockhart, and one for poor Gillies; but there is
something irresistible in contradiction, even when it consists in doing
a thing equally laborious, but not the thing you are especially called
upon to do. It is a kind of cheating the devil, which a self-willed
monster like me is particularly addicted to. Not to make myself worse
than I am though, I was full of information about the Russian campaign,
which might evaporate unless used, like lime, as soon after it was
wrought up as possible. About three, Pitfoddels called. A bauld crack
that auld papist body, and well informed. We got on religion. He is very
angry with the Irish demagogues, and a sound well-thinking man.[458]
Heard of Walter and Jane; all well, God be praised!

By a letter from Gibson I see the gross proceeds of

_Bonaparte_, at eight volumes, are     £12,600 0 0
Discount, five months,                          210 0 0
                                            -----------
                                            £12,390 0 0
                                            ===========

I question if more was ever made by a single work, or by a single
author's labours, in the same time. But whether it is deserved or not is
the question.

_January_ 31.--Young Murray, son of Mr. M., in Albemarle Street,
breakfasted with me. English boys have this advantage, that they are
well-bred, and can converse when ours are regular-built cubs. I am not
sure if it is an advantage in the long-run. It is a temptation to
premature display.

Wet to the skin coming from the Court. Called on Skene, to give him, for
the Antiquarian Society, a heart, human apparently, stuck full of pins.
It was found lying opposite to the threshold of an old tenement, in
[Dalkeith], a little below the surface; it is in perfect preservation.
Dined at the Bannatyne Club, where I am chairman. We admitted a batch of
new members, chiefly noblemen and men connected with the public offices
and records in London, such as Palgrave, Petrie, etc. We drank to our
old Scottish heroes, poets, historians, and printers, and were funny
enough, though, like Shylock, I had no will to go abroad. I was
supported by Lord Minto and Lord Eldin.

FOOTNOTES:

[438] "A half-crazy sentimental person."--_Edin. Rev_. No. xxiii. p.
135.--J.G.L.

[439] Mme. de Boufflers's saying to the author of _Julie_.

[440] _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act I. Sc. 1.--J.G.L.

[441] Mr. Sharpe was doing what he could by voice and pen to prevent the
destruction of many historic buildings in Edinburgh, which the craze for
"improvements" caused at this time. St. Giles' Church was unfortunately
left to its fate. Witness its external condition at the present day!

The immediate cause of Mr. Sharpe's letter was a hint to him from the
Court, "that one person is all-powerful in everything regarding
Scotland, I mean Sir W.S." This was not the only appeal made to Scott to
interpose, and that he had done so at least in one case effectually may
be seen by referring to Sharpe's _Letters_, vol. ii. pp. 380, 388, 389.

[442] Scott sent a biographical notice of the Duke of York to the
_Weekly Journal_ on this day. It is now included in the _Misc. Prose
Works_, vol. iv. pp. 400-416.

[443] Gifford's _Mæviad_, 12mo, Lond. 1797; Ode to Rev. John Ireland,
slightly altered.

[444] William Gifford, editor of the _Anti-Jacobin_ in 1797, and the
_Quarterly_ from 1809 to 1824. His political opponent, Leigh Hunt, wrote
of him in 1812:--

  'William Gifford's a name, I think, pretty well known.
  Oh! now I remember,' said Phoebus;--'ah true--
  My thanks to that name are undoubtedly due.
  The rod that got rid of the Cruscas and Lauras,
  That plague of the butterflies saved me the horrors,
  The Juvenal too stops a gap in my shelf,
  At least in what Dryden has not done himself,
  _And there's something which even, distaste must respect
  In the self-taught example that conquered neglect_.'--_Feast of the Poets_.


[445] See _Miscell. Prose Works_, vol. iv. pp. 120-70.

[446] James Ferrier, Esq.--See p. 103, February 3. 1826.

[447] _See Midsummer Night's Dream_; a parody on Helena's

  "O weary night O long and tedious night."



[448] John James Audubon was born in Louisiana in the United States in
1780, but educated in France.--Buchanan's _Life of Audubon_, p. 4.

[449] Written by Mrs. J. Johnstone, in after years editor of _Tait's
Magazine_, well known also as the author of _Meg Dods' Cookery Book_,
which Sir Walter refers to in _St. Ronan's Well_. Her sense of humour
and power of delineating character are shown in her stories and sketches
in _Tait_, and a good example of her ready wit has been told by Mr.
Alexander Russel, editor of the _Scotsman_. On a visit to Altrive Mrs.
Johnstone and her party were kindly received by the Ettrick Shepherd,
who did the honours of the district, and among other places took them to
a Fairy Well, from which he drew a glass of sparkling water. Handing it
to the lady the bard of Kilmeny said, "Hae, Mrs. Johnstone, ony merrit
wumman wha drinks a tumbler of this will hae twuns in a twalmont'!" "In
that case, Mr. Hogg," replied the lady, "I shall only take half a
tumbler."

Mrs. Johnstone died in Edinburgh in 1857.

[450] Slightly varied from the lines in _Ruth_,--Poems, vol. ii. p. 112,
Edinburgh, 1836.

[451] John Russell (a grandson of Principal Robertson), long Chief Clerk
in the Jury Court, and Treasurer to the Royal Society and the Edinburgh
Academy. He took a keen interest in education, and published in October
1855 some curious _Statistics of a Class_ [Christison's] _in the High
School_ [of Edinburgh] from 1787 to 1791, of which he had been a member.
Mr. Russell died on January 30, 1862.

[452] Leonard Horner, editor in after years of the Memoirs of his
brother Francis (2 vols. 8vo, London, 1843). He died in 1864.

[453] See _Report by the Directors to the Proprietors of the Edinburgh
Academy on the Pronunciation of Latin_, Edin. 1827. Sir Walter always
took a warm interest in the school. His speech as Chairman at the
opening ceremony, on the 1st October 1824, is quoted in the _Life_, vol.
vii. p. 268.

[454] Burnt at Edinburgh in 1670.--See Arnot's _Crim. Trials_. 4to,
Edin. 1785.

[455] Afterwards Sir John Rennie, knighted on the completion of the
Bridge.

[456] See _ante_, p. 307, and _post_, p. 359.

[457] Dr. Marshman died in 1837. See Marshman's _Lives of Carey,
Marshman, and Ward_. London, 2 vols. 8vo, 1859.

[458] John Menzies of Pitfoddels, the last of an old Aberdeenshire
family, of whom it was said that for thirty-seven years he never became
aware of distress or difficulty without exerting himself to relieve it.
In 1828 he gave the estate of Blairs, near Aberdeen, for the foundation
of the Roman Catholic College established there, and was also a
munificent benefactor to the Convent of St. Margaret, Edinburgh, opened
in 1835. Mr. Menzies died in 1843.




FEBRUARY.


_February_ 1.--I feel a return of the cursed rheumatism. How could it
miss, with my wetting? Also feverish, and a slight headache. So much for
claret and champagne. I begin to be quite unfit for a good fellow. Like
Mother Cole in the _Minor_, a thimbleful upsets me,[459]--I mean, annoys
my stomach, for my brains do not suffer. Well, I have had my time of
these merry doings.

    "The haunch of the deer, and the wine's red dye,
    Never bard loved them better than I."

But it was for the sake of sociality; never either for the flask or the
venison. That must end--is ended. The evening sky of life does not
reflect those brilliant flashes of light that shot across its morning
and noon. Yet I thank God it is neither gloomy nor disconsolately
lowering; a sober twilight--that is all.

I am in great hopes that the Bannatyne Club, by the assistance of
Thomson's wisdom, industry, and accuracy, will be something far superior
to the Dilettanti model on which it started. The _Historie of K. James
VI._, _Melville's Memoirs_, and other works, executed or in hand, are
decided boons to Scottish history and literature.

_February_ 2.--In confirmation of that which is above stated, I see in
Thorpe's sale-catalogue a set of the Bannatyne books, lacking five,
priced £25. Had a dry walk from the Court by way of dainty, and made it
a long one. Anne went at night to Lady Minto's.

Hear of Miss White's death. Poor Lydia! she had a party at dinner on the
Friday before, and had written with her own hand invitations for
another party. Twenty years ago she used to tease me with her youthful
affectations--her dressing like the Queen of Chimney-sweeps on May-day
morning, and sometimes with rather a free turn in conversation, when she
let her wit run wild. But she was a woman of much wit, and had a feeling
and kind heart. She made her point good, a _bas-bleu_ in London to a
point not easily attained, and contrived to have every evening a very
good literary _mêlée_, and little dinners which were very entertaining.
She had also the newest lions upon town. In a word, she was not and
would not be forgotten, even when disease obliged her, as it did for
years, to confine herself to her couch; and the world, much abused for
hard-heartedness, was kind in her case--so she lived in the society she
liked. No great expenditure was necessary for this. She had an easy
fortune, but not more. Poor Lydia! I saw the Duke of York and her in
London, when Death, it seems, was brandishing his dart over them.[460]

    "The view o't gave them little fright."[461]

Did not get quite a day's work finished to-day, thanks to my walk.

_February_ 3.--There is nought but care on every hand. James Hogg writes
that he is to lose his farm,[462] on which he laid out, or rather threw
away, the profit of all his publications.

Then Terry has been pressed by Gibson for my debt to him. That I may get
managed.

I sometimes doubt if I am in what the good people call the right way.
Not to sing my own praises, I have been willing always to do my friends
what good was in my power, and have not shunned personal responsibility.
But then that was in money matters, to which I am naturally indifferent,
unless when the consequences press on me. But then I am a bad comforter
in case of inevitable calamity; and feeling proudly able to endure in my
own case, I cannot sympathise with those whose nerves are of a feebler
texture.

Dined at Jeffrey's, with Lord and Lady Minto, John Murray and his
lady,[463] a Mr. Featherstone, an Americo-Yorkshireman, and some others.
Mrs. Murray is a very amiable person, and seems highly accomplished;
plays most brilliantly.

_February_ 4.--R.R. These two letters, you must understand, do not
signify, as in Bibliomania phrase, a double degree of rarity, but,
chirurgically, a double degree of rheumatism. The wine gets to weak
places, Ross says. I have a letter from no less a person than that pink
of booksellers, Sir Richard Phillips, who, it seems, has been ruined,
and as he sees me floating down the same dark tide, sings out his _nos
poma natamus_.

_February_ 5.--R. One R. will do to-day. If this cursed rheumatism gives
way to February weather, I will allow she has some right to be called a
spring month, to which otherwise her pretensions are slender. I worked
this morning till two o'clock, and visited Mr. Grant's[464] pictures,
who has them upon sale. They seem, to my inexperienced eye, genuine, or
at least, good paintings. But I fear picture-buying, like
horse-jockeyship, is a profession a gentleman cannot make much of
without laying aside some of his attributes. The pictures are too
high-priced, I should think, for this market. There is a very knowing
catalogue by Frank Grant himself. Next went to see a show of wild
beasts; it was a fine one. I think they keep them much cleaner than
formerly, when the strong smell generally gave me a headache for the
day. The creatures are also much tamer, which I impute to more knowledge
of their habits and kind treatment. A lion and tigress went through
their exercise like poodles--jumping, standing, and lying down at the
word of command. This is rather degrading. I would have the Lord
Chancellor of Beasts good-humoured, not jocose. I treated the elephant,
who was a noble fellow, to a shilling's worth of cakes. I wish I could
have enlarged the space in which so much bulk and wisdom is confined. He
kept swinging his head from side to side, looking as if he marvelled why
all the fools that gaped at him were at liberty, and he cooped up in the
cage.

Dined at the Royal Society Club--about thirty present. Went to the
Society in the evening, and heard an essay by Peter Tytler[465] on the
first encourager of Greek learning in England.[466]

_February_ 6.--Was at Court till two; afterwards wrote a good deal,
which has become a habit with me. Dined at Sir John Hay's, where met the
Advocate and a pleasant party. There had been a Justiciary trial
yesterday, in which something curious had occurred. A woman of rather
the better class, a farmer's wife, had been tried on the 5th for
poisoning her maid-servant. There seems to have been little doubt of her
guilt, but the motive was peculiar. The unfortunate girl had an intrigue
with her son, which this Mrs. Smith (I think that is the name) was
desirous to conceal, from some ill-advised puritanic notions, and also
for fear of her husband. She could find no better way of hiding the
shame than giving the girl (with her own knowledge and consent, I
believe) potions to cause abortion, which she afterwards changed for
arsenic, as the more effectual silencing medicine. In the course of the
trial one of the jury fell down in an epileptic fit, and on his recovery
was far too much disordered to permit the trial to proceed. With only
fourteen jurymen it was impossible to go on. But the Advocate, Sir
William Rae, says she shall be tried anew, since she has not tholed an
assize. _Sic Paulus ait_--_et recte quidem._ But, having been half
tried, I think she should have some benefit of it, as far as saving her
life, if convicted on the second indictment. The Advocate declares,
however, she shall be hanged, as certainly she deserves. But it looks
something like hanging up a man who has been recovered by the surgeons,
which has always been accounted harsh justice.

_February_ 7.--Wrote six leaves to-day, and am tired--that's all.

_February_ 8.--I lost much time to-day. I got from the Court about
half-past twelve, therefore might have reckoned on four hours, or three
at least, before dinner. But I had to call on Dr. Shortt at two, which
made me lounge till that hour came. Then I missed him, and, too tired to
return, went to see the exhibition, where Skene was hanging up the
pictures, and would not let me in. Then to the Oil Gas Company, who
propose to send up counsel to support their new bill. As I thought the
choice unadvisedly made, I fairly opposed the mission, which, I suppose,
will give much offence; but I have no notion of being shamefaced in
doing my duty, and I do not think I should permit forward persons to
press into situations for which their vanity alone renders them
competent. Had many proof-sheets to correct in the evening.

_February_ 9.--We had a long day of it at Court, but I whipped you off
half-a-dozen of letters, for, as my cases stood last on the roll, I
could do what I liked in the interim. This carried me on till two
o'clock. Called on Baron Hume, and found him, as usual, in high spirits,
notwithstanding his late illness. Then crept home--my rheumatism much
better, though. Corrected lives of Lord Somerville and the King [George
III.][467] for the Prose Works, which took a long time; but I had the
whole evening to myself, as Anne dined with the Swintons, and went to a
ball at the Justice-Clerk's. _N.B._--It is the first and only ball which
has been given this season--a sign the times are pinching.

_February_ 10.--I got a present of Lord Francis Gower's printed but
unpublished _Tale of the Mill._[468] It is a fine tale of terror in
itself, and very happily brought out. He has certainly a true taste for
poetry. I do not know why, but from my childhood I have seen something
fearful, or melancholy at least, about a mill. Whether I had been
frightened at the machinery when very young, of which I think I have
some shadowy recollection--whether I had heard the stories of the miller
of Thirlestane[469] and similar molendinar tragedies, I cannot tell; but
not even recollection of the Lass of Patie's Mill, or the Miller of
Mansfield, or he who "dwelt on the river Dee," have ever got over my
inclination to connect gloom with a mill, especially when sun is
setting. So I entered into the spirit of the terror with which Lord
Francis has invested his haunted spot. I dine with the Solicitor to-day,
so _quoad_ labour 'tis a blank. But then to-morrow is a new day.

    "To-morrow to fresh meads and pastures new."[470]

_February_ 11.--Wrought a good deal in the morning, and landed Boney at
Smolensk. But I have him to bring off again; and, moreover, I must
collate the authorities on the movements of the secondary armies of
Witgenstein and the Admiral with the break-tooth name. Dined with Lord
Minto, where I met Thomson, Cranstoun, and other gay folks. These dinner
parties narrow my working hours; yet they must sometimes be, or one
would fall out of the line of society, and go to leeward entirely, which
is not right to venture. This is the high time for parties in Edinburgh;
no wonder one cannot keep clear.

_February_ 12.--I was obliged to read instead of writing, and the
infernal Russian names, which everybody spells _ad libitum,_ makes it
difficult to trace the operations on a better map than mine. I called
to-day on Dr. Shortt, principal surgeon at Saint Helena, and who
presided at the opening of Bonaparte's body. He mentions as certain the
falsehood of a number of the assertions concerning his usage, the
unhealthy state of the island, and so forth. I have jotted down his
evidence elsewhere. I could not write when I came home. Nervous a
little, I think, and not yet up to the motions of Tchitchagoff, as I
must be before I can write. Will [Clerk] and Sir A. Ferguson dine here
to-day--the first time any one has had that honour for long enough,
unless at Abbotsford. The good Lord Chief-Commissioner invited himself,
and I asked his son, Admiral Adam. Col. Ferguson is of the party.

_February_ 13.--The dining parties come thick, and interfere with work
extremely. I am, however, beforehand very far. Yet, as James B.
says--the tortoise comes up with the hare. So Puss must make a new
start; but not this week. Went to see the exhibition--certainly a good
one for Scotland--and less trash than I have seen at Somerset-House
(begging pardon of the pockpuddings). There is a beautiful thing by
Landseer--a Highlander and two stag-hounds engaged with a deer. Very
spirited, indeed. I forgot my rheumatism, and could have wished myself
of the party. There were many fine folks, and there was a collation,
chocolate, and so forth. We dine at Sir H. Jardine's, with Lord
Ch.-Com., Lord Chief-Baron, etc.

_February_ 14.--"Death's gi'en the art an unco devel."[471] Sir George
Beaumont's dead; by far the most sensible and pleasing man I ever knew;
kind, too, in his nature, and generous; gentle in society, and of those
mild manners which tend to soften the causticity of the general London
[tone] of persiflage and personal satire. As an amateur, he was a
painter of the very highest rank. Though I know nothing of the matter,
yet I should hold him a perfect critic on painting, for he always made
his criticisms intelligible, and used no slang. I am very sorry, as much
as is in my nature to be, for one whom I could see but seldom. He was
the great friend of Wordsworth, and understood his poetry, which is a
rare thing, for it is more easy to see his peculiarities than to feel
his great merit, or follow his abstract ideas. I dined to-day at Lord
Ch.-Commissioner's--Lord Minto, and Lord Ch.-Baron, also Harden. Little
done to-day.

_February_ 15.--Rheumatism returns with the snow. I had thoughts of
going to Abbotsford on Saturday, but if this lasts, it will not do; and,
sooth to speak, it ought not to do; though it would do me much pleasure
if it would do.

I have a letter from Baron Von Goethe,[472] which I must have read to
me; for though I know German, I have forgot their written hand. I make
it a rule seldom to read, and never to answer, foreign letters from
literary folks. It leads to nothing but the battle-dore and shuttle-cock
intercourse of compliments, as light as cork and feathers. But Goethe is
different, and a wonderful fellow, the Ariosto at once, and almost the
Voltaire of Germany. Who could have told me thirty years ago I should
correspond, and be on something like an equal footing, with the author
of _Goetz_? Ay, and who could have told me fifty things else that have
befallen me?[473]

_February_ 16.--R. Still snow; and, alas! no time for work, so hard am I
fagged by the Court and the good company of Edinburgh. I almost wish my
rheumatics were bad enough to give me an apology for staying a week at
home. But we have Sunday and Monday clear. If not better, I will cribb
off Tuesday; and Wednesday is Teind day. We dined to-day with Mr.
Borthwick, younger of Crookston.

_February_ 17.--James Ferguson ill of the rheumatism in head and neck,
and Hector B. Macdonald in neck and shoulders. I wonder, as Commodore
Trunnion says, what the blackguard hell's-baby has to say to the Clerks
of Session.[474] Went to the Second Division to assist Hector.
_N.B._--Don't like it half so well as my own, for the speeches are much
longer. Home at dinner, and wrought in the evening.

_February_ 18.--Very cold weather. I am rather glad I am not in the
country. What says Dean Swift--

    "When frost and snow come both together,
    Then sit by the fire and save shoe leather."
Wrought all morning and finished five pages. Missie dined with us.

_February_ 19.--As well I give up Abbotsford, for Hamilton is laid up
with the gout. The snow, too, continues, with a hard frost. I have seen
the day I would have liked it all the better. I read and wrote at the
bitter account of the French retreat from Moscow, in 1812, till the
little room and coal fire seemed snug by comparison. I felt cold in its
rigour in my childhood and boyhood, but not since. In youth and advanced
life we get less sensible to it, but I remember thinking it worse than
hunger. Uninterrupted to-day, and did eight leaves.[475]

_February_ 20.--At Court, and waited to see the poisoning woman. She is
clearly guilty, but as one or two witnesses said the poor wench hinted
an intention to poison herself, the jury gave that bastard verdict, _Not
proven_. I hate that Caledonian _medium quid_. One who is not _proven
guilty_ is innocent in the eye of law. It was a face to do or die, or
perhaps to do to die. Thin features, which had been handsome, a flashing
eye, an acute and aquiline nose, lips much marked, as arguing decision,
and, I think, bad temper--they were thin, and habitually compressed,
rather turned down at the corners, as one of a rather melancholy
disposition. There was an awful crowd; but, sitting within the bar, I
had the pleasure of seeing much at my ease; the constables knocking the
other folks about, which was of course very entertaining.[476]

Lord Liverpool is ill of an apoplexy. I am sorry for it. He will be
missed. Who will be got for Premier? Not B---- certainly;[477] he wants
weight. If Peel would consent to be made a peer, he would do better; but
I doubt his ambition will prefer the House of Commons. Wrought a a good
deal.

_February_ 21.--Being the vacant Wednesday I wrote all the morning. Had
an answer from D. of W., unsuccessful in getting young Skene put upon
the engineer list; he is too old. Went out at two with Anne, and visited
the exhibition; also called on the Mansfield family and on Sydney Smith.
Jeffrey unwell from pleading so long and late for the poisoning woman.
He has saved her throat and taken a quinsey in his own. Adam Ferguson
has had a fall with his horse.

_February_ 22.--Was at Court till two, then lounged till Will
Murray[478] came to speak about a dinner for the Theatrical Fund, in
order to make some arrangements. There are 300 tickets given out.[479] I
fear it will be uncomfortable; and whatever the stoics may say, a bad
dinner throws cold water on the charity. I have agreed to preside, a
situation in which I have been rather felicitous, not by much
superiority of wit or wisdom, far less of eloquence; but by two or three
simple rules which I put down here for the benefit of posterity.

1st. Always hurry the bottle round for five or six rounds without
prosing yourself or permitting others to prose. A slight fillip of wine
inclines people to be pleased, and removes the nervousness which
prevents men from speaking--disposes them, in short, to be amusing and
to be amused.

2d. Push on, keep moving, as Punch says. Do not think of saying fine
things--nobody cares for them any more than for fine music, which is
often too liberally bestowed on such occasions. Speak at all ventures,
and attempt the _mot pour rire._ You will find people satisfied with
wonderfully indifferent jokes if you can but hit the taste of the
company, which depends much on its character. Even a very high party,
primed with all the cold irony and _non est tanti_ feelings, or no
feelings, of fashionable folks, may be stormed by a jovial, rough,
round, and ready preses. Choose your texts with discretion, the sermon
may be as you like. If a drunkard or an ass breaks in with anything out
of joint, if you can parry it with a jest, good and well--if not, do not
exert your serious authority, unless it is something very bad. The
authority even of a chairman ought to be very cautiously exercised. With
patience you will have the support of every one.

When you have drunk a few glasses to play the good fellow, and banish
modesty if you are unlucky enough, to have such a troublesome companion,
then beware of the cup too much. Nothing is so ridiculous as a drunken
preses.

Lastly. Always speak short, and _Skeoch doch na skiel_--cut a tale with
a drink.

    "This is the purpose and intent
    Of gude Schir Walter's testament."[480]

We dined to-day at Mrs. Dundas of Arniston, Dowager.

_February_ 24.--I carried my own instructions into effect the best I
could, and if our jests were not good, our laugh was abundant. I think I
will hardly take the chair again when the company is so miscellaneous;
though they all behaved perfectly well. Meadowbank taxed me with the
novels, and to end that farce at once I pleaded guilty, so that splore
is ended. As to the collection, it was much cry and little woo', as the
deil said when he shore the sow. Only £280 from 300 people, but many
were to send money to-morrow. They did not open books, which was
impolitic, but circulated a box, where people might put in what they
pleased--and some gave shillings, which gives but a poor idea of the
company. Yet there were many respectable people and handsome donations.
But this fashion of not letting your right hand see what your left hand
doeth is no good mode of raising a round sum. Your penny-pig collections
don't succeed. I got away at ten at night. The performers performed very
like gentlemen, especially Will Murray. They attended as stewards with
white rods, and never thought of sitting down till after dinner, taking
care that the company was attended to.

_February_ 25.--Very bad report of the speeches in the papers. We dined
at Jeffrey's with Sydney Smith--funny and good-natured as usual. One of
his daughters is very pretty indeed; both are well-mannered, agreeable,
and sing well. The party was pleasant.

_February_ 26.--At home, and settled to work; but I know not why I was
out of spirits--quite Laird of Humdudgeon, and did all I could to shake
it off, and could not. James Ballantyne dined with me.

_February_ 27.--Humdudgeonish still; hang it, what fools we are! I
worked, but coldly and ill. Yet something is done. I wonder if other
people have these strange alternations of industry and incapacity. I am
sure I do not indulge myself in fancies, but it is accompanied with
great drowsiness--bile, I suppose, and terribly jaded spirits. I
received to-day Dr. Shortt and Major Crocket, who was orderly-officer on
Boney at the time of his death.

_February_ 28.--Sir Adam breakfasted. One of the few old friends left
out of the number of my youthful companions. In youth we have many
companions, few friends perhaps; in age companionship is ended, except
rarely, and by appointment. Old men, by a kind of instinct, seek younger
companions who listen to their stories, honour their grey hairs while
present, and mimic and laugh at them when their backs are turned. At
least that was the way in our day, and I warrant our chicks of the
present day crow to the same tune. Of all the friends that I have left I
have none who has any decided attachment to literature. So either I must
talk on that subject to young people--in other words, turn proser, or I
must turn tea-table talker and converse with ladies. I am too old and
too proud for either character, so I'll live alone and be contented.
Lockhart's departure for London was a loss to me in this way. Came home
late from the Court, but worked tightly in the evening. I think
discontinuing smoking, as I have done for these two months past, leaves
me less muzzy after dinner. At any rate, it breaks a custom--I despise
custom.

FOOTNOTES:

[459] Foote's Comedy, Act I. Sc. 1.

[460] Scott, who had accompanied this lady to the Highlands in the
summer of 1808, wrote from Edinburgh on 19th January:--"We have here a
very diverting lion and sundry wild beasts; but the most meritorious is
Miss Lydia White, who is what Oxonians call a lioness of the first
order, with stockings nineteen times dyed blue; very lively, very
good-humoured, and extremely absurd. It is very diverting to see the
sober Scotch ladies staring at this phenomenon."--_Life_, vol. iii. pp.
38, 95, 96.

[461] Burns's "Twa Dogs."--J.G.L.

[462] Mount Benger.

[463] John Archibald Murray, whose capital bachelors' dinner on Dec. 8
Scott so pleasantly describes (on page 320), had married in the interval
Miss Rigby, a Lancashire lady, who was long known in Edinburgh for her
hospitality and fine social qualities as Lady Murray. (See page 378,
April 2, 1827.) Miss Martineau celebrated her parliamentary Tea-Table in
London, when her husband was Lord Advocate, and Lord Cockburn, the
delights of Strachur on Loch Fyne.

[464] Mr. (afterwards Sir Francis) Grant became a member of the Scottish
Academy in 1830, an associate of Royal Academy in 1842, and Academician
in 1851. His successful career as a painter secured his elevation to the
Presidentship of the Academy in 1866. Sir Francis died at Melton-Mowbray
in October 1878, aged 75.

[465] Patrick Fraser Tytler, the Scottish historian. He died on
Christmas-day 1849, aged fifty-eight.--See Burgon's _Memoirs_, 8vo,
Lond. 1859.

[466] Audubon says in his Journal of the same date:--"Captain Hall led
me to a seat immediately opposite to Sir Walter Scott, the President,
where I had a perfect view of the great man, and studied Nature from
Nature's noblest work."

The publication of Audubon's great work, _The Birds of America_,
commenced in 1827, and was completed in 1839, forming 4 vols. in the
largest folio size, and containing 435 plates. It shows the indomitable
courage of the author, that even when the work was completed, he had
only 161 subscribers, 82 of whom were in America. The price of the book
was two guineas for each part with 5 coloured plates. During the last
dozen years its price at auctions runs about £250 to £300. Audubon died
in New York in 1851.--See _Life_, by Buchanan, 8vo, London, 1866.

[467] Biographical Notices had been sent to the _Weekly Journal_ in
1826, and are now included in the _Miscell. Prose Works_, vol. iv. pp.
322-342.

[468] Afterwards included in _The Pilgrimage and other Poems_, Lond.
1856.

[469] See Craig Brown's _Selkirkshire_, vol. i. pp. 285-86.

[470] Milton's _Lycidas,_ varied.

[471]

  "Death's gi'en the Lodge an unco devel, Tam Samson's dead."

_Burns._--J.G.L.

[472] For letter and reply see _Life_, vol. ix. pp. 92, 98.

[473] Sir Walter at this date returned the valuable MSS. lent him by the
Duke of Wellington in Nov. 1826 (see _ante_, p. 306) with the following
letter:--

"EDINBURGH, 15_th February_ 1827.

"My dear Lord Duke,--The two manuscripts safely packed leave this by
post to-day, as I am informed your Grace's franks carry any weight. * *
* "I have been reading with equal instruction and pleasure the memoir on
the Russian campaign, which demonstrates as plainly as possible that the
French writers have taken advantage of the snow to cover under it all
their General's blunders, and impute to it all their losses. This I
observe is Bonaparte's general practice, and that of his admirers.
Whenever they can charge anything upon the elements or upon accident, he
and they combine in denying all bravery and all wisdom to their enemies.
The conduct of Kutusow on more than one occasion in the retreat seems to
have been singularly cautious, or rather timorous. For it is impossible
to give credit to the immense superiority claimed by Ségur, Beauchamp,
etc., for the French troops over the Russians. Surely they were the same
Russians who had fought so bravely against superior force, and how
should the twentieth part of the French army have been able to clear
their way without cavalry or artillery in a great measure? and it seems
natural to suppose that we must impute to tardy and inactive conduct on
the part of their General what we cannot account for on the idea of the
extremely superior valour or discipline claimed for the French soldiers
by their country. The snow seems to have become serious on the 6th
November, when Napoleon was within two marches of Smolensk, which he
soon after reached, and by that time it appears to me that his army was
already mouldered away from 100,000 men who left Moscow, to about 35,000
only, so that his great loss was incurred before the snow began.

"I am afraid your Grace has done me an unparalleled injury in one
respect, that the clearness, justice, and precision of your Grace's
reasoning puts me out of all patience with my own attempts. I dare
hardly hope in this increase of business for a note or two on Waterloo;
but if your Grace had any, however hasty, which could be copied by a
secretary, the debt would be never to be forgotten.

"I am going to mention a circumstance, which I do with great
apprehension, lest I should be thought to intrude upon your Grace's
goodness. It respects a youth, the son of one of my most intimate
friends, a gentleman of good family and fortune, who is extremely
desirous of being admitted a cadet of artillery. His father is the best
draughtsman in Scotland, and the lad himself shows a great deal of
talent both in science and the ordinary branches of learning. I enclose
a note of the youth's age, studies, and progress, in case your Grace
might think it possible to place on your list for the Engineer service
the name of a poor Scots Hidalgo; your Grace knows Scotland is a
breeding not a feeding country, and we must send our sons abroad, as we
send our black cattle to England; and, as old Lady Campbell of
Ardkinglas proposed to dispose of her nine sons, we have a strong
tendency to put our young folks 'a' to the sword.'

"I have too long detained you, my Lord Duke, from the many high
occupations which have been redoubled upon your Grace's head, and beg
your Grace to believe me, with an unusually deep sense of respect and
obligation, my dear Lord Duke, your Grace's much honoured and grateful,
humble servant, WALTER SCOTT."--_Wellington's Despatches_, etc.
(Continuation), vol. iii. pp. 590-1. London, 8vo, 1868.

[474] Smollett's _Peregrine Pickle_, VOL. i. cap. 13.

[475] One page of his MS. answers to four or five of the close printed
pages of the original edition of his _Bonaparte_.--J.G.L.

[476] Lord Cockburn says:--"Scott's description of the woman is very
correct; she was like a vindictive masculine witch. I remember him
sitting within the bar looking at her. As we were moving out, Sir
Walter's remark upon the acquittal was, 'Well, sirs, all I can say is
that if that woman was my wife I should take good care to be my own
cook.'"--_Circuit Journeys_, 8vo, Edinburgh, 1888, p. 12.

[477] This can scarcely be taken to refer to Brougham, though at the
time

  "Canning calls Brougham his _Learned_ Friend.
  'My honours come and share 'em.
  Reformers their assistance give
  To countenance old Sarum."

  _Annus Mirabilis_.

It may, however, stand for Lord Bathurst, who became President of the
Council shortly afterwards in Wellington's Administration.

[478] Mr. W.H. Murray, Manager of the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh. This
excellent actor retired from the stage with a competency, and spent the
last years of his life in St. Andrews, where he died in March 1852, aged
61.

[479] This was the dinner at which the veil was publicly withdrawn from
the authorship of _Waverley_; it took place on Friday, 23d February
1827, and a full account of the proceedings is given in the _Life_, vol.
ix. pp. 79-84.

[480] Sir Walter parodies the conclusion of King Robert the Bruce's
"Maxims or Political Testament."--See Hailes' _Annals_, A.D.
1311.--J.G.L.




MARCH.


_March_ 1.--At Court until two--wrote letters under cover of the
lawyers' long speeches, so paid up some of my correspondents, which I
seldom do upon any other occasion. I sometimes let letters lie for days
unopened, as if that would postpone the necessity of answering them.
Here I am at home, and to work we go--not for the first time to-day, for
I wrought hard before breakfast. So glides away Thursday 1st. By the by,
it is the anniversary of Bosworth Field. In former days _Richard III._
was always acted at London on this day; now the custom, I fancy, is
disused. Walpole's _Historic Doubts_ threw a mist about this reign. It
is very odd to see how his mind dwells upon it at first as the mere
sport of imagination, till at length they become such Delilahs of his
imagination that he deems it far worse than infidelity to doubt his
Doubts. After all, the popular tradition is so very strong and pointed
concerning the character of Richard, that it is I think in vain to doubt
the general truth of the outline. Shakespeare, we may be sure, wrote his
drama in the tone that was to suit the popular belief, although where
that did Richard wrong, his powerful scene was sure to augment the
impression. There was an action and a reaction.

_March_ 2.--Clerk walked home with me from the Court. I was scarce able
to keep up with him; could once have done it well enough. Funny thing at
the Theatre. Among the discourse in "High Life below Stairs,"[481] one
of the ladies' ladies asks who wrote Shakespeare. One says, "Ben
Jonson," another, "Finis." "No," said Will Murray, "it is Sir Walter
Scott; he confessed it at a public meeting the other day." _March_
3.--Very severe weather, came home covered with snow. White as a
frosted-plum-cake, by jingo! No matter; I am not sorry to find I can
stand a brush of weather yet; I like to see Arthur's Seat and the stern
old Castle with their white watch-cloaks on. But, as Byron said to
Moore, "d---n it, Tom, don't be poetical." I settled to _Boney_, and
wrote right long and well.

_March_ 4.--I sat in by the chimney-neuk with no chance of interruption,
and "feagued it away." Sir Adam came, and had half an hour's chat and
laugh. My jaws ought to be sore, if the unwontedness of the motion could
do it. But I have little to laugh at but myself, and my own bizarreries
are more like to make me cry. Wrought hard, though--there's sense in
that.

_March_ 5.--Our young men of first fashion, in whom tranquillity is the
prime merit, a sort of quietism of foppery, if one can use the
expression, have one capital name for a fellow that _outrés_ and
outroars the fashion, a sort of high-buck as they were called in my
days. They hold him a vulgarian, and call him a tiger. Mr. Gibson came
in, and we talked over my affairs; very little to the purpose I doubt.
Dined at home with Anne as usual, and despatched half-a-dozen Selkirk
processes; among others one which savours of Hamesucken.[482] I think
to-day I have finished a quarter of vol. viii., and last. Shall I be
happy when it is done?--Umph! I think not.

_March_ 6.--A long seat at Court, and an early dinner, as we went to the
play. John Kemble's brother acted Benedick. He is a fine-looking man,
and a good actor, but not superior. He reminds you eternally that he is
acting; and he had got, as the devil directed it, hold of my favourite
Benedick, for which he has no power. He had not the slightest idea of
the part, particularly of the manner in which Benedick should conduct
himself in the quarrelling scene with the Prince and Claudio, in which
his character rises almost to the dignity of tragedy. The laying aside
his light and fantastic humour, and showing himself the man of feeling
and honour, was finely marked of yore by old Tom King.[483] I remember
particularly the high strain of grave moral feeling which he threw upon
the words--"in a false quarrel there is no true valour"--which, spoken
as he did, checked the very brutal levity of the Prince and Claudio.
There were two farces; one I wished to see, and that being the last, was
obliged to tarry for it. Perhaps the headache I contracted made me a
severe critic on Cramond Brig,[484] a little piece ascribed to Lockhart.
Perhaps I am unjust, but I cannot think it his;[485] there are so few
good things in it, and so much prosing transferred from that mine of
marrowless morality called the _Miller of Mansfield_.[486] Yet it
pleases.

_March_ 7.--We are kept working hard during the expiring days of the
Session, but this being a blank day I wrote hard till dressing time,
when I went to Will Clerk's to dinner. As a bachelor, and keeping a
small establishment, he does not do these things often, but they are
proportionally pleasant when they come round. He had trusted Sir Adam to
bespeak his dinner, who did it _con amore_; so we had excellent cheer,
and the wines were various and capital. As I before hinted, it is not
every day that M'Nab[487] mounts on horseback, and so our landlord had a
little of that solicitude that the party should go off well, which is
very flattering to the guests. We had a very pleasant evening. The
Chief-Commissioner was there, Admiral Adam, Jo. Murray, and Thomson,
etc. etc. Sir Adam predominating at the head, and dancing what he calls
his "merry andrada" in great style. In short, we really laughed, and
real laughter is a thing as rare as real tears. I must say, too, there
was a _heart_,--a kindly feeling prevailed over the party. Can London
give such a dinner? It may, but I never saw one; they are too cold and
critical to be so easily pleased. In the evening I went with some others
to see the exhibition lit up for a promenade, where there were all the
fashionable folks about town; the appearance of the rooms was very gay
indeed.

_March_ 8.--It snowed all night, which must render the roads impassable,
and will detain me here till Monday. Hard work at Court, as Hammie is
done up with the gout. We dine with Lord Corehouse--that's not true by
the by, for I have mistaken the day. It's to-morrow we dine there.
Wrought, but not too hard.

_March_ 9.--An idle morning. Dalgleish being set to pack my books. Wrote
notes upon a Mr. Kinloch's Collection of Scottish Ballads,[488] which I
communicated to the young author in the Court this present morning. We
were detained till half-past three o'clock, so when I came home I was
fatigued and slept. I walk slow, heavily, and with pain; but perhaps the
good weather may banish the Fiend of the joints. At any rate, impatience
will do nae good at a', man. Letter from Charles for £50. Silver and
gold have I none; but that which I have I will give unto him. We dined
at the Cranstouns,--I beg his pardon, Lord Corehouse; Ferguson, Thomson,
Will Clerk, etc., were there, also the Smiths and John Murray, so we had
a pleasant evening.

_March_ 10.--The business at the Court was not so heavy as I have seen
it the last day of the Session, yet sharp enough. About three o'clock I
got to a meeting of the Bannatyne Club. I hope this institution will be
really useful and creditable. Thomson is superintending a capital
edition of Sir James Melville's Memoirs.[489] It is brave to see how he
wags his Scots tongue, and what a difference there is in the force and
firmness of the language, compared to the mincing English edition in
which he has hitherto been alone known. Nothing to-day but correcting
proofs; Anne went to the play, I remained at home.

_March_ 11.--All my books packed this morning, and this and to-morrow
will be blank days, or nearly such; but I am far ahead of the printer,
who is not done with vol. vii., while I am deep in volume viii. I hate
packing; but my servants never pack books quite to please me. James
Ballantyne dined with us. He kept up my heart about _Bonaparte_, which
sometimes flags; and he is such a grumbler that I think I may trust him
when he is favourable. There must be sad inaccuracies, some which might
certainly have been prevented by care; but as the Lazaroni used to say,
"Did you but know how lazy I am!"

[_Abbotsford_,] _March_ 12.--Away we set, and came safely to Abbotsford
amid all the dulness of a great thaw, which has set the rivers
a-streaming in full tide. The wind is wintry, but for my part

    "I like this rocking of the battlements."[490]

I was received by old Tom and the dogs, with the unsophisticated
feelings of goodwill. I have been trying to read a new novel which I
have heard praised. It is called _Almacks_, and the author has so well
succeeded in describing the cold selfish fopperies of the time, that the
copy is almost as dull as the original. I think I will take up my bundle
of Sheriff-Court processes instead of _Almacks_, as the more
entertaining avocation of the two.

_March_ 13.--Before breakfast, prepared and forwarded the processes to
Selkirk. As I had the loan of £250 at March from Cadell I am now verging
on to the £500 which he promised to allow me in advance on second series
_Canongate Chronicles_. I do not like this, but unless I review or write
to some other purpose, what else can I do? My own expenses are as
limited as possible, but my house expenses are considerable, and every
now and then starts up something of old scores which I cannot turn over
to Mr. Gibson and his co-trustees. Well--time and the hour--money is the
smallest consideration.

Had a pleasant walk to the thicket, though my ideas were
olla-podrida-ish, curiously checkered between pleasure and melancholy. I
have cause enough for both humours, God knows. I expect this will not be
a day of work but of idleness, for my books are not come. Would to God I
could make it light thoughtless idleness, such as I used to have when
the silly smart fancies ran in my brain like the bubbles in a glass of
champagne,--as brilliant to my thinking, as intoxicating as evanescent.
But the wine is somewhat on the lees. Perhaps it was but indifferent
cider after all. Yet I am happy in this place, where everything looks
friendly, from old Tom to young Nym.[491] After all, he has little to
complain of who has left so many things that like him.

_March_ 14.--All yesterday spent in putting to rights books, and so
forth. Not a word written except interlocutors. But this won't do. I
have tow on the rock, and it must be spun off. Let us see our present
undertakings. 1. Napoleon. 2. Review Home, Cranbourne Chase,[492] and
the Mysteries. 3. Something for that poor faineant Gillies. 4. Essay on
Ballad and Song. 5. Something on the modern state of France. These two
last for the Prose Works. But they may

    "--do a little more,
    And produce a little ore."

Come, we must up and be doing. There is a rare scud without, which says,
"Go spin, you jade, go spin." I loitered on, and might have answered,

    "My spinning-wheel is auld and stiff."

Smoked a brace of cigars after dinner as a sedative. This is the first
time I have smoked these two months. I was afraid the custom would
master me. Went to work in the afternoon, and reviewed for Lockhart
Mackenzie's edition of Home's Works.[493] Proceeded as far as the eighth
page.

_March_ 15.--Kept still at the review till two o'clock; not that there
is any hurry, but because I should lose my ideas, which are not worth
preserving. Went on therefore. I drove over to Huntly Burn with Anne,
then walked through the plantations, with Tom's help to pull me through
the snow-wreaths. Returned in a glow of heat and spirits. Corrected
proof-sheets in the evening.

_March_ 16.--

    "A trifling day we have had here,
    Begun with trifle and ended."

But I hope no otherwise so ended than to meet the rubrick of the ballad,
for it is but three o'clock. In the morning I was _l'homme qui
cherche_--everything fell aside,--the very pens absconded, and crept in
among a pack of letters and trumpery, where I had the devil's work
finding them. Thus the time before breakfast was idled, or rather
fidgeted, away. Afterwards it was rather worse. I had settled to finish
the review, when, behold, as I am apt to do at a set task, I jibb'd, and
my thoughts would rather have gone with Waterloo. So I dawdled, as the
women say, with both, now writing a page or two of the review, now
reading a few pages of the Battle of Waterloo by Captain Pringle, a
manuscript which is excellently-written.[494] Well, I will find the
advantage of it by and by. So now I will try to finish this accursed
review, for there is nothing to prevent me, save the untractable
character that hates to work on compulsion, whether of individuals or
circumstances.

_March 17._--I wrought away at the review and nearly finished it. Was
interrupted, however, by a note from Ballantyne, demanding copy, which
brought me back from Home and Mackenzie to _Boney_. I had my walk as
usual, and worked nevertheless very fairly. Corrected proofs.

_March 18._--Took up _Boney_ again. I am now at writing, as I used to be
at riding, slow, heavy, and awkward at mounting, but when I did get
fixed in my saddle, could screed away with any one. I have got six pages
ready for my learned Theban[495] to-morrow morning. William Laidlaw and
his brother George dined with me, but I wrote in the evening all the
same.

_March 19._--Set about my labours, but enter Captain John Ferguson from
the Spanish Main, where he has been for three years. The honest tar sat
about two hours, and I was heartily glad to see him again. I had a
general sketch of his adventures, which we will hear more in detail when
we can meet at kail-time. Notwithstanding this interruption I have
pushed far into the seventh page. Well done for one day. Twenty days
should finish me at this rate, and I read hard too. But allowance must
be made for interruptions.

_March 20._--To-day worked till twelve o'clock, then went with Anne on a
visit of condolence to Mrs. Pringle of Yair and her family. Mr. Pringle
was the friend both of my father and grandfather; the acquaintance of
our families is at least a century old.

_March_ 21.--Wrote till twelve, then out upon the heights though the day
was stormy, and faced the gale bravely. Tom Purdie was not with me. He
would have obliged me to keep the sheltered ground. But, I don't know--

    "Even in our ashes live our wonted fires."

There is a touch of the old spirit in me yet that bids me brave the
tempest,--the spirit that, in spite of manifold infirmities, made me a
roaring boy in my youth, a desperate climber, a bold rider, a deep
drinker, and a stout player at single-stick, of all which valuable
qualities there are now but slender remains. I worked hard when I came
in, and finished five pages.

_March_ 22.--Yesterday I wrote to James Ballantyne, acquiescing in his
urgent request to extend the two last volumes to about 600 each. I
believe it will be no more than necessary after all, but makes one feel
like a dog in a wheel, always moving and never advancing.

_March_ 23.--When I was a child, and indeed for some years after, my
amusement was in supposing to myself a set of persons engaged in various
scenes which contrasted them with each other, and I remember to this day
the accuracy of my childish imagination. This might be the effect of a
natural turn to fictitious narrative, or it might be the cause of it, or
there might be an action and reaction, or it does not signify a pin's
head how it is. But with a flash of this remaining spirit, I imagine my
mother Duty to be a sort of old task-mistress, like the hag of the
merchant Abudah, in the Tales of the Genii--not a hag though, by any
means; on the contrary, my old woman wears a rich old-fashioned gown of
black silk, with ruffles of triple blonde-lace, and a coif as rich as
that of Pearling Jean;[496] a figure and countenance something like Lady
D.S.'s twenty years ago; a clear blue eye, capable of great severity of
expression, and conforming in that with a wrinkled brow, of which the
ordinary expression is a serious approach to a frown--a cautionary and
nervous shake of the head; in her withered hand an ebony staff with a
crutch head,--a Tompion gold watch, which annoys all who know her by
striking the quarters as regularly as if one wished to hear them.
Occasionally she has a small scourge of nettles, which I feel her lay
across my fingers at this moment, and so _Tace_ is Latin for a
candle.[497] I have 150 pages to write yet.

_March_ 24.--Does Duty not wear a pair of round old-fashioned silver
buckles? Buckles she has, but they are square ones. All belonging to
Duty is rectangular. Thus can we poor children of imagination play with
the ideas we create, like children with soap-bubbles. Pity that we pay
for it at other times by starting at our shadows.

    "Man but a rush against Othello's breast."

The hard work still proceeds, varied only by a short walk.

_March_ 25.--Hard work still, but went to Huntly Burn on foot, and
returned in the carriage. Walked well and stoutly--God be praised!--and
prepared a whole bundle of proofs and copy for the Blucher to morrow;
that damned work will certainly end some time or other. As it drips and
dribbles out on the paper, I think of the old drunken Presbyterian
under the spout.

_March 26._--Despatched packets. Colonel and Captain Ferguson arrived to
breakfast. I had previously determined to give myself a day to write
letters; and, as I expect John Thomson to dinner, this day will do as
well as another. I cannot keep up with the world without shying a letter
now and then. It is true the greatest happiness I could think of would
be to be rid of the world entirely. Excepting my own family, I have
little pleasure in the world, less business in it, and am heartily
careless about all its concerns. Mr. Thomson came accordingly--not John
Thomson of Duddingston, whom the letter led me to expect, but John
Anstruther Thomson of Charlton [Fifeshire], the son-in-law of Lord
Ch.-Commissioner.

_March 27._--Wrote two leaves this morning, and gave the day after
breakfast to my visitor, who is a country gentleman of the best
description; knows the world, having been a good deal attached both to
the turf and the field; is extremely good-humoured, and a good deal of a
local antiquary. I showed him the plantations, going first round the
terrace, then to the lake, then came down by the Rhymer's Glen, and took
carriage at Huntly Burn, almost the grand tour, only we did not walk
from Huntly Burn. The Fergusons dined with us.

_March 28._--Mr Thomson left us about twelve for Minto, parting a
pleased guest, I hope, from a pleased landlord. When I see a "gemman as
_is_ a gemman," as the blackguards say, why, I know how to be civil.
After he left I set doggedly to work with _Bonaparte_, who had fallen a
little into arrear. I can clear the ground better now by mashing up my
old work in the Edinburgh Register with my new matter, a species of
_colcannen_, where cold potatoes are mixed with hot cabbage. After all,
I think Ballantyne is right, and that I have some talents for
history-writing after all. That same history in the Register reads
prettily enough. _Coragio_, cry Claymore. I finished five pages, but
with additions from Register they will run to more than double I hope;
like Puff in the Critic, be luxuriant.[498]

Here is snow back again, a nasty, comfortless, stormy sort of a day, and
I will work it off at _Boney_. What shall I do when _Bonaparte_ is done?
He engrosses me morning, noon, and night. Never mind; _Komt Zeit komt
Rath_, as the German says. I did not work longer than twelve, however,
but went out in as rough weather as I have seen, and stood out several
snow blasts.

_March 29, 30._--

    "He walk'd and wrought, poor soul! What then?
    Why, then he walk'd and wrought again."

_March 31._--Day varied by dining with Mr. Scrope, where we found Mr.
Williams and Mr. Simson,[499] both excellent artists. We had not too
much of the palette, but made a very agreeable day out. I contrived to
mislay the proof-sheets sent me this morning, so that I must have a
revise. This frequent absence of mind becomes very exceeding
troublesome. I have the distinct recollection of laying them carefully
aside after I dressed to go to the Pavilion. Well, I have a head--the
proverb is musty.

FOOTNOTES:

[481] See Townley's _Farce_.

[482] _Hamesucken_.--The crime of beating or assaulting a person in his
own house. A Scotch law term.

[483] King had retired from the stage in 1801. He died four years later.

[484] _Cramond Brig_ is said to have been written by Mr. W.H. Murray,
the manager of the Theatre, and is still occasionally acted in
Edinburgh.

[485] Marginal Note in Original MSS. "I never saw it--not mine.--J.G.L."

[486] By Dodsley.

[487] That singular personage, the late M'Nab of _that ilk_, spent his
life almost entirely in a district where a boat was the usual
conveyance.--J.G.L.

[488] _Ancient Scottish Ballads, recovered from tradition, with notes_,
etc., by George R. Kinloch, 8vo, London, 1827.

[489] Issued by the Club, June 4, 1827.

[490] Zanga in _The Revenge_, Act I. Sc. 1.--J.G.L.

[491] Nimrod, a staghound.--J.G.L.

[492] _Anecdotes of Cranbourne Chase_, etc., by Chafin. 8vo, London,
1818. Mr. Lockhart says, "I am sorry Sir Walter never redeemed his
promise to make it the subject of an article in the _Quarterly
Review_."--See _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 43-44.

[493] The article appeared in the Number for June 1827, and is now
included in the _Prose Misc. Works_, vol. xix. pp. 283-367.

[494] See Captain John Pringle's remarks on the campaign of 1815 in App.
to Scott's _Napoleon_, vol. ix. pp. 115-160.

[495] _Lear_, Act III. Sc. 4.

[496] "Pearling Jean," the name of the ghost of the Spanish Nun at
Allanbank, Berwickshire. See Sharpe's _Letters_, vol. i. pp. 303-5, and
Ingram's _Haunted Homes_, Lond. 1884, vol. i. pp. 1-4.

[497] This quaint saying, arising out of some forgotten joke, has been
thought to be Scott's own, as it was a favourite with him and his
intimates, and he introduces it in more than one of his works.[A] But
though its origin cannot be traced, Swift uses it in that very curious
collection of proverbs and saws, which he strung together under the
title of _Polite Conversation_, and published about 1738.[B] Fielding
also introduces it in _Amelia_,[C] 1752. See _Notes and Queries_, first
series, vol. i. p. 385; ii. p. 45; iv. p. 450; x. p. 173; sixth series,
vol. iii. p. 213; iv. p. 157.

[A] e.g. _Redgauntlet_, ch. xii. Pate-in-Peril at Dumfries.

[B] _Lord Smart_--"Well, Tom, can you tell me what's Latin for a
candle?"

_Neverout_--"O, my Lord, I know that [answer]: Brandy is Latin for a
goose! and _Tace_ is Latin for a candle."--SCOTT'S _Swift_, vol. ix. p.
457.

[C] "_Tace_, Madam," added Murphy, "is Latin for a candle."--_Amelia_,
Bk. 1. cap. xi.