[498] Sheridan's Play, Act II. Sc. 1.

[499] William Simson, R.S.A., landscape painter. He died in London,
1847.




APRIL.


_April_ 1.--The proofs are not to be found. Applications from R.P.
G[illies]. I must do something for him; yet have the melancholy
conviction that nothing will do him any good. Then he writes letters and
expects answers. Then they are bothering me about writing in behalf of
the oil-gas light, which is going to the devil very fast. I cannot be
going a-begging for them or anybody. Please to look down with an eye of
pity--a poor distressed creature! No, not for the last morsel of bread.
A dry ditch and a speedy death is worth it all.

_April_ 2.--Another letter from R.P.G. I shall begin to wish, like S.,
that he had been murthered and robbed in his walks between Wimbledon and
London. John [Archibald] Murray and his young wife came to dinner, and
in good time. I like her very much, and think he has been very lucky.
She is not in the vaward of youth, but John is but two or three years my
junior. She is pleasing in her manners, and totally free from
affectation; a beautiful musician, and willingly exerts her talents in
that way; is said to be very learned, but shows none of it. A large
fortune is no bad addition to such a woman's society.

_April_ 3.--I had processes to decide; and though I arose at my usual
hour, I could not get through above two of five proofs. After breakfast
I walked with John Murray, and at twelve we went for Melrose, where I
had to show the lions. We came back by Huntly Burn, where the carriage
broke down, and gave us a pretty long walk home. Mr. Scrope dined with
his two artists, and John [Thomson?]. The last is not only the best
landscape-painter of his age and country, but is, moreover, one of the
warmest-hearted men living, with a keen and unaffected feeling of
poetry. Poor fellow! he has had many misfortunes in his family. I drank
a glass or two of wine more than usual, got into good spirits, and _came
from Tripoli_ for the amusement of the good company. I was in good
fooling.

_April_ 4.--I think I have a little headache this morning; however, as
Othello says, "That's not much." I saw our guests go off by seven in the
morning, but was not in time to give them good-bye.

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

I did not go to the oar though, but walked a good deal.

_April_ 5.--Heard from Lockhart; the Duke of W[ellington] and Croker are
pleased with my historical labours; so far well--for the former, as a
soldier said of him, "I would rather have his long nose on my side than
a whole brigade." Well! something good may come of it, and if it does it
will be good luck, for, as you and I know, Mother Duty, it has been a
rummily written work. I wrote hard to-day.

_April_ 6.--Do. Do. I only took one turn about the thicket, and have
nothing to put down but to record my labours.

_April_ 7.--The same history occurs; my desk and my exercise. I am a
perfect automaton. _Bonaparte_ runs in my head from seven in the morning
till ten at night without intermission. I wrote six leaves to-day and
corrected four proofs.

_April_ 8.--Ginger, being in my room, was safely delivered in her basket
of four puppies; the mother and children all doing well. Faith! that is
as important an entry as my Journal could desire. The day is so
beautiful that I long to go out. I won't, though, till I have done
something. A letter from Mr. Gibson about the trust affairs. If the
infernal bargain with Constable go on well, there will be a pretty sop
in the pan to the creditors; £35,000 at least. If I could work as
effectually for three years more, I shall stand on my feet like a man.
But who can assure success with the public?

_April_ 9.--I wrote as hard to-day as need be, finished my neat eight
pages, and, notwithstanding, drove out and visited at Gattonside. The
devil must be in it if the matter drags out longer now.

_April_ 10.--Some incivility from the Leith Bank, which I despise with
my heels. I have done for settling my affairs all that any man--much
more than most men--could have done, and they refuse a draught of £20,
because, in mistake, it was £8 overdrawn. But what can be expected of a
_sow_ but a _grumph_? Wrought hard, hard.

_April_ 11.--The parks were rouped for £100 a year more than they
brought last year. Poor Abbotsford will come to good after all. In the
meantime it is _Sic vos non vobis_--but who cares a farthing? If _Boney_
succeeds, we will give these affairs a blue eye, and I will wrestle
stoutly with them, although

    "My _banks_ they are covered with _bees_,"[500]

or rather with wasps. A very tough day's work.

_April_ 12.--_Ha-a-lt_--as we used to say, my proof-sheets being still
behind. Very unhandsome conduct on the part of the Blucher[501] while I
was lauding it so profusely. It is necessary to halt and close up our
files--of correspondence I mean. So it is a chance if, except for
contradiction's sake, or upon getting the proof-sheets, I write a line
to-day at _Boney_. I did, however, correct five revised sheets and one
proof, which took me up so much of the day that I had but one turn
through the courtyard. Owing to this I had some of my flutterings, my
trembling exies, as the old people called the ague. Wrote a great many
letters--but no "copy."

_April_ 13.--I have sometimes wondered with what regularity--that is,
for a shrew of my impatient temper--I have been able to keep this
Journal. The use of the first person being, of course, the very essence
of a diary, I conceive it is chiefly vanity, the dear pleasure of
writing about the best of good fellows, Myself, which gives me
perseverance to continue this idle task. This morning I wrote till
breakfast, then went out and marked trees to be cut for paling, and am
just returned--and what does any one care? Ay, but, Gad! I care myself,
though. We had at dinner to-day Mr. and Mrs. Cranstoun (Burns's Maria of
Ballochmyle[502]), Mr. Bainbridge and daughters, and Colonel Russell.

_April_ 14.--Went to Selkirk to try a fellow for an assault on Dr.
Clarkson--fined him seven guineas, which, with his necessary expenses,
will amount to ten guineas. It is rather too little; but as his income
does not amount to £30 a year, it will pinch him severely enough, and is
better than sending him to an ill-kept jail, where he would be idle and
drunk from morning to night. I had a dreadful headache while sitting in
the Court--rheumatism in perfection. It did not last after I got warm by
the fireside.

_April_ 15.--Delightful soft morning, with mild rain. Walked out and got
wet, as a sovereign cure for the rheumatism. Was quite well, though, and
scribbled away.

_April_ 16.--A day of work and exercise. In the evening a letter from
L[ockhart], with the wonderful news that the Ministry has broken up, and
apparently for no cause that any one can explain. The old grudge, I
suppose, betwixt Peel and Canning, which has gone on augmenting like a
crack in the side of a house, which enlarges from day to day, till down
goes the whole. Mr. Canning has declared himself fully satisfied with
J.L., and sent Barrow to tell him so. His suspicions were indeed most
erroneous, but they were repelled with no little spirit both by L. and
myself, and Canning has not been like another Great Man I know to whom
I showed demonstrably that he had suspected an individual unjustly. "It
may be so," he said, "but his mode of defending himself was
offensive."[503]

_April_ 17.--Went to dinner to-day to Mr. Bainbridge's Gattonside House,
and had fireworks in the evening, made by Captain Burchard, a
good-humoured kind of Will Wimble.[504] One nice little boy announced to
us everything that was going to be done, with the importance of a
prologue. Some of the country folks assembled, and our party was
enlivened by the squeaks of the wenches and the long-protracted Eh,
eh's! by which a Teviotdale tup testifies his wonder.

_April_ 18.--I felt the impatience of news so much that I walked up to
Mr. Laidlaw, surely for no other purpose than to talk politics. This
interrupted _Boney_ a little. After I returned, about twelve or one,
behold Tom Tack; he comes from Buenos Ayres with a parcel of little
curiosities he had picked up for me. As Tom Tack spins a _tough yarn_, I
lost the morning almost entirely--what with one thing, what with
t'other, as my friend the Laird of Raeburn says. Nor have I much to say
for the evening, only I smoked a cigar more than usual to get the box
ended, and give up the custom for a little.

_April_ 19.--Another letter from Lockhart.[505] I am sorry when I think
of the goodly fellowship of vessels which are now scattered on the
ocean. There is the Duke of Wellington, the Lord Chancellor, Lord
Melville, Mr. Peel, and I wot not who besides, all turned out of office
or resigned! I wonder what they can do in the House of Lords when all
the great Tories are on the wrong side of the House. Canning seems quite
serious in his views of helping Lockhart. I hope it will come to
something.

_April_ 20.--A surly sort of day. I walked for two hours, however, and
then returned chiefly to _Nap_. Egad! I believe it has an end at last,
this blasted work. I have the fellow at Plymouth, or near about it.
Well, I declare, I thought the end of these beastly big eight volumes
was like the end of the world, which is always talked of and never
comes.

_April_. 21.--Here is a vile day--downright rain, which disconcerts an
inroad of bairns from Gattonside, and, of course, annihilates a part of
the stock of human happiness. But what says the proverb of your true
rainy day--

    "'Tis good for book, 'tis good for work,
    For cup and can, or knife and fork."

_April_ 22.--Wrote till twelve o'clock, then sallied forth, and walked
to Huntly Burn with Tom; and so, look you, sir, I drove home in the
carriage. Wrought in the afternoon, and tried to read _De Vere_, a
sensible but heavy book, written by an able hand--but a great bore for
all that.[506] Wrote in the evening.

_April 23._--Snowy morning. White as my shirt. The little Bainbridges
came over; invited to see the armoury, etc., which I stood showman to.
It is odd how much less cubbish the English boys are than the Scotch.
Well-mannered and sensible are the southern boys. I suppose the sun
brings them forward. Here comes six o'clock at night, and it is snowing
as if it had not snowed these forty years before. Well, I'll work away a
couple of chapters--three at most will finish _Napoleon_.

_April 24._--Still deep snow--a foot thick in the courtyard, I dare say.
Severe welcome to the poor lambs now coming into the world. But what
signifies whether they die just now, or a little while after to be
united with salad at luncheon-time? It signifies a good deal too. There
is a period, though a short one, when they dance among the gowans, and
seem happy. As for your aged sheep or wether, the sooner they pass to
the Norman side of the vocabulary the better. They are like some old
dowager ladies and gentlemen of my acquaintance,--no one cares about
them till they come to be _cut up_, and then we see how the tallow lies
on the kidneys and the chine.

_April 25._--Snow yet, and it prevents my walking, and I grow bilious. I
wrote hard though. I have now got _Boney_ pegg'd up in the knotty
entrails of Saint Helena, and may make a short pause.

So I finished the review of John Home's works, which, after all, are
poorer than I thought them. Good blank verse and stately sentiment, but
something lukewarmish, excepting Douglas, which is certainly a
masterpiece. Even that does not stand the closet. Its merits are for the
stage; but it is certainly one of the best acting plays going. Perhaps a
play, to act well, should not be too poetical.

There is a talk in London of bringing in the Marquis of Lansdowne, then
Lauderdale will perhaps come in here. It is certain the old Tory party
is down the wind, not from political opinions, but from personal
aversion to Canning. Perhaps his satirical temper has partly occasioned
this; but I rather consider emulation as the source of it, the head and
front of the offending. Croker no longer rhymes to joker. He has made a
good _coup_, it is said, by securing Lord Hertford for the new
administration. D.W. calls him their viper. After all, I cannot
sympathise with that delicacy which throws up office, because the most
eloquent man in England, and certainly the only man who can manage the
House of Commons, is named Minister.[507]

_April_ 26.--The snow still profusely distributed, and the surface, as
our hair used to be in youth, after we had played at some active game,
half black, half white, all in large patches. I finished the criticism
on Home, adding a string of Jacobite anecdotes, like that which boys put
to a kite's tail. Sent off the packet to Lockhart; at the same time sent
Croker a volume of French tracts, containing _La Portefeuille de
Bonaparte_, which he wished to see. Received a great cargo of papers
from Bernadotte, some curious, and would have been inestimable two
months back, but now my siege is almost made. Still my feelings for poor
Count Itterburg,[508] the lineal and legitimate, make me averse to have
much to do with this child of the revolution.

_April_ 27.--This hand of mine gets to be like a kitten's scratch, and
will require much deciphering, or, what may be as well for the writer,
cannot be deciphered at all. I am sure I cannot read it myself. Weather
better, which is well, as I shall get a walk. I have been a little
nervous, having been confined to the house for three days. Well, I may
be disabled from duty, but my tamed spirits and sense of dejection have
quelled all that freakishness of humour which made me a voluntary idler.
I present myself to the morning task, as the hack-horse patiently
trudges to the pole of his chaise, and backs, however reluctantly, to
have the traces fixed. Such are the uses of adversity.

_April_ 28.--Wrought at continuing the Works, with some criticism on
Defoe.[509] I have great aversion, I cannot tell why, to stuffing the
"Border Antiquities" into what they call the Prose Works.

There is no encouragement, to be sure, for doing better, for nobody
seems to care. I cannot get an answer from J. Ballantyne, whether he
thinks the review on the Highlands would be a better substitution.

_April_ 29.--Colonel and Captain Ferguson dined here with Mr. Laidlaw. I
wrote all the morning, then cut some wood. I think the weather gets too
warm for hard work with the axe, or I get too stiff and easily tired.

_April_ 30.--Went to Jedburgh to circuit, where found my old friend and
schoolfellow, D. Monypenny.[510] Nothing to-day but a pack of riff-raff
cases of petty larceny and trash. Dined as usual with the Judge, and
slept at my old friend Mr. Shortreed's.

FOOTNOTES:

[500] See Shenstone's _Pastoral Ballad_, Part ii., Hope.

[501] The coach to Edinburgh.

[502] See "The Braes of Ballochmyle;" Currie's _Burns_, vol. iv. p. 294.

[503] The conduct of the _Quarterly_ at this time was in after years
thus commented upon by John Wilson.

"_North._--While we were defending the principles of the British
constitution, bearding its enemies, and administering to them the knout,
the _Quarterly Review_ was meek and mum as a mouse.

"_Tickler._--Afraid to lose the countenance and occasional assistance of
Mr. Canning.

"_North._--There indeed, James, was a beautiful exhibition of party
politics, a dignified exhibition of personal independence."--_Noctes
Ambrosianae._

It is understood that Canning, who had received the King's commands in
April 10, felt keenly the loneliness of his position--estranged from his
old comrades, and deterred by the remembrance of many bitter satires
against them from having close intimacy with his new co-adjutors.

[504] See _Spectator_.

[505] "... Your letter has given me the vertigo--my head turns round
like a chariot wheel, and I am on the point of asking--

'Why, how now? Am I Giles, or am I not?'

"The Duke of Wellington out?--bad news at home, and worse abroad. Lord
Anglesea in his situation?--does not much mend the matter. Duke of
Clarence in the Navy?--wild work. Lord Melville, I suppose, falls of
course--perhaps _cum totâ sequelâ_, about which _sequela_, unless Sir W.
Rae and the Solicitor, I care little. The whole is glamour to one who
reads no papers, and has none to read. I must get one, though, if this
work is to go on, for it is quite bursting in ignorance. Canning is
haughty and prejudiced--but, I think, honourable as well as able: _nous
verrons_. I fear Croker will shake, and heartily sorry I should feel for
that...."--Scott to Lockhart: _Life_, vol. ix. p. 99.

[506] R. Plumer Ward.--See July 4.

[507] A fuller statement of Scott's views at this crisis will be found
in his letters to Lockhart and Morritt in _Life_, vol. ix. (April, May,
and June, 1827).

[508] Count Itterburg, then in his 20th year, was the name under which
Gustavus, the ex-Crown Prince of Sweden, visited Scotland in 1819. It
was his intention to study at the University of Edinburgh during the
winter session, but, his real name becoming known, this was rendered
impracticable by the curiosity and attention of the public. He devoted
himself mainly to the study of military matters, and out-door exercises,
roughing it in all sorts of weather, sometimes,--to his mentor Baron
Polier's uneasiness,--setting out on dark and stormy nights, and making
his way across country from point to point. This self-imposed training
was no doubt with the secret hope that he might some day be called upon
by the Swedes to oust Bernadotte, and mount the throne of the great
Gustavus. Mr. Skene saw a good deal of him, and gives many interesting
details of his life in Edinburgh, such as the following account of a
meeting at his own house. "He was interested with a set of portraits of
the two last generations of the Royal Family of Scotland, which hung in
my dining-room, and which had been presented to my grandfather by Prince
Charles Edward, in consideration of the sacrifices he had made for the
Prince's service during the unfortunate enterprise of the year 1745,
having raised and commanded one of the battalions of Lord Lewis Gordon's
brigade. The portrait of Prince Charles Edward, taken about the same age
as Comte Itterburg, and no doubt also the marked analogy existing in the
circumstances to which they had been each reduced, seemed much to engage
his notice; and when the ladies had retired he begged me to give him
some account of the rebellion, and of the various endeavours of the
Stewarts to regain the Scottish crown. The subject was rather a
comprehensive one, but having done my best to put him in possession of
the leading features, it seemed to have taken very strong hold of his
mind, as he frequently, at our subsequent meetings, reverted to the
subject. Upon another occasion by degrees the topic of conversation
slipped into its wonted channel--the rebellion of 1745, its final
disaster, and the singular escape of the Prince from the pursuit of his
enemies. The Comte inquired what effect the failure of the enterprise
had produced upon the Prince's character, with whose gallant bearing and
enthusiasm, in the conduct of his desperate enterprise, he evinced the
strongest interest and sympathy. I stated briefly the mortifying
disappointments to which Charles Edward was exposed in France, the
hopelessness of his cause, and the indifference generally shown to him
by the continental courts, which so much preyed on his mind as finally
to stifle every spark of his former character, so that he gave himself
up to a listless indifference, which terminated in his becoming a sot
during the latter years of his life. On turning round to the Prince, who
had been listening to these details, I perceived the big drops chasing
each other down his cheeks and therefore changed the subject, and he
never again recurred to it."--_Reminiscences_.

Count Itterburg, or Prince Gustavus Vasa, to give him the title of an
old family dignity which he assumed in 1829, entered the Austrian army,
in which he attained the rank of Lieutenant Field-Marshal. His services,
it is needless to say, were never required by the Swedes, though he
never relinquished his pretensions, and claimed the throne at his
father's death in 1837. He died at Pillnitz on the 4th August 1877,
leaving one daughter, the present Queen of Saxony.

Notices of his visits to 39 Castle Street and Abbotsford are given in
the 6th vol. of _Life_.

[509] This refers to the _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, forming 24 vols.,
the publication of which did not commence until May 1834, although, as
is shown by the Journal, the author was busy in its preparation. The
"criticism on Defoe" will be found in the fourth volume, pp. 247-296,
forming a supplement to John Ballantyne's Biographical Notice of Defoe
in the same volume. The "Essay on Border Antiquities" appeared,
notwithstanding Scott's misgivings, in the seventh volume.

[510] Lord Pitmilly.--See _ante_, p. 125.




MAY.


_May_ 1.--Brought Andrew Shortreed to copy some things I want. Maxpopple
came with us as far as Lessudden, and we stopped and made a pilgrimage
to Fair Maiden Lilliard's Stone, which has been restored lately, to the
credit of Mr. Walker of Muirhouselaw.[511] Set my young clerk to work
when we came home, and did some laborious business. A letter from Sir
Thomas Lawrence informed me I am chosen Professor of Antiquities to the
Royal Academy--a beautiful professor to be sure!

_May_ 2.--Did nothing but proofs this morning. At ten went to Selkirk to
arrange about the new measures, which, like all new things, will throw
us into confusion for a little at least. The weather was so exquisitely
good that I walked after tea to half-past eight, and enjoyed a sort of
half-lazy, half-sulky humour--like Caliban's, "There's wood enough
within."[512] Well, I may be the bear, but I must mount the ragged staff
all the same. I set my myself to labour for R.P.G.[513] The Germanic
Horrors are my theme, and I think something may be yet made of them.

_May_ 3.--An early visit from Mr. Thomas Stewart, nephew of Duchess of
Wellington, with a letter from his aunt. He seems a well-behaved and
pleasant young man. I walked him through the Glen. Colonel Ferguson came
to help us out at dinner, and then we had our wine and wassail.

_May_ 4.--Corrected proofs in the morning. Mr. Stewart still here, which
prevented work; however, I am far beforehand with everything. We walked
a good deal; asked Mr. Alexander Pringle, Whytbank, to dinner. This is
rather losing time, though.

_May_ 5.--Worked away upon those wild affairs of Hoffmann for Gillies. I
think I have forgot my German very much, and then the stream of
criticism does not come freely at all: I cannot tell why. I gave it up
in despair at half-past one, and walked out.

Had a letter from R.P.G. He seems in spirits about his work. I wish it
may answer. Under good encouragement it certainly might. But--

Maxpopple came to dinner, and Mr. Laidlaw after dinner, so that broke up
a day, which I can ill spare. Mr. Stewart left us this day.

_May_ 6.--Wrought again at Hoffmann--unfructuously I fear--unwillingly I
am certain; but how else can I do a little good in my generation? I will
try a walk. I would fain catch myself in good-humour with my task, but
that will not be easy.

_May_ 7.--Finished Hoffmann, _talis qualis_. I don't like it; but then I
have been often displeased with things that have proved successful. Our
own labours become disgusting in our eyes, from the ideas having been
turned over and over in our own minds. To others, to whom they are
presented for the first time, they have a show of novelty. God grant it
may prove so. I would help the poor fellow if I could, for I am poor
myself.

_May_ 8.--Corrected Hoffmann with a view to send him off, which,
however, I could not accomplish. I finished a criticism on Defoe's
Writings.[514] His great forte is his power of _vraisemblance_. This I
have instanced in the story of Mrs. Veal's Ghost. Ettrick Shepherd
arrived.

_May_ 9.--This day we went to dinner at Mr. Scrope's, at the Pavilion,
where were the Haigs of Bemerside, Isaac Haig, Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge,
etc. Warm dispute whether par are or are not salmon trout. "Fleas are
not lobsters, d--n their souls."

Mr. Scrope has made a painting of Tivoli, which, when mellowed a little
by time, will be a fine one. Letters from Lockhart, with news concerning
the beautiful mess they are making in London. Henry Scott will be
threatened in Roxburghshire. This would be bad policy, as it would drive
the young Duke to take up his ground, which, unless pressed, he may be
in no hurry to do. Personally, I do not like to be driven to a point, as
I think Canning may do much for the country, provided he does not stand
committed to his new Whig counsellors. But if the push does come, I will
not quit my old friends--_that_ I am freely resolved, and _dissolutely_,
as Slender says.[515]

_May_ 10.--We went to breakfast at Huntly Burn, and I wandered all the
morning in the woods to avoid an English party who came to see the
house. When I came home I found my cousin Col. Russell, and his sister,
so I had no work to-day but my labour at proofs in the morning. To-day I
dismiss my aide-de-camp, Shortreed--a fine lad. The Boar of the Forest
left us after breakfast. Had a present of a medal forming one of a
series from Chantrey's busts. But this is not for nothing: the donor
wants a motto for the reverse of the King's medal. I am a bad hand to
apply to.

_May_ 11.--Hogg called this morning to converse about trying to get him
on the pecuniary list of the Royal Literary Society. Certainly he
deserves it, if genius and necessity could do so. But I do not belong to
the society, nor do I propose to enter it as a coadjutor. I don't like
your royal academies of this kind; they almost always fall into jobs,
and the members are seldom those who do credit to the literature of a
country. It affected, too, to comprehend those men of letters who are
specially attached to the Crown, and though I love and honour my King as
much as any of them can, yet I hold it best, in this free country, to
preserve the exterior of independence, that my loyalty may be the more
impressive, and tell more effectually. Yet I wish sincerely to help poor
Hogg, and have written to Lockhart about it. It may be my own desolate
feelings--it may be the apprehension of evil from this political
hocus-pocus, but I have seldom felt more moody and uncomfortable than
while writing these lines. I have walked, too, but without effect. W.
Laidlaw, whose very ingenious mind is delighted with all novelties,
talked nonsense about the new government, in which men are to resign
principle, I fear, on both sides.

_May_ 12.--Wrote Lockhart on what I think the upright and honest
principle, and am resolved to vex myself no more about it. Walked with
my cousin, Colonel Russell, for three hours in the woods, and enjoyed
the sublime and delectable pleasure of being well,--and listened to on
the subject of my favourite themes of laying out ground and plantation.
Russel seems quite to follow such an excellent authority, and my spirits
mounted while I found I was haranguing to a willing and patient pupil.
To be sure, Ashestiel, planting the high knolls, and drawing woodland
through the pasture, could be made one of the most beautiful forest
things in the world. I have often dreamed of putting it in high order;
and, judging from what I have been able to do here, I think I should
have succeeded. At any rate, my blue devils are flown at the sense of
retaining some sort of consequence. Lord, what fools we are!

_May_ 13.--A most idle and dissipated day. I did not rise till half-past
eight o'clock. Col. and Capt. Ferguson came to breakfast. I walked
half-way home with them, then turned back and spent the day, which was
delightful, wandering from place to place in the woods, sometimes
reading the new and interesting volumes of _Cyril Thornton_,[516]
sometimes chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy which strangely
alternated in my mind, idly stirred by the succession of a thousand
vague thoughts and fears, the gay thoughts strangely mingled with those
of dismal melancholy; tears, which seemed ready to flow unbidden;
smiles, which approached to those of insanity; all that wild variety of
mood which solitude engenders. I scribbled some verses, or rather
composed them in my memory. The contrast at leaving Abbotsford to former
departures is of an agitating and violent description. Assorting papers
and so forth. I never could help admiring the concatenation between
Ahitophel's setting his house in order and hanging himself. The one
seems to me to follow the other as a matter of course. I don't mind the
trouble, though my head swims with it. I do not mind meeting accounts,
which unpaid remind you of your distress, or paid serve to show you you
have been throwing away money you would be glad to have back again. I do
not mind the strange contradictory mode of papers hiding themselves that
you wish to see, and others thrusting themselves into your hand to
confuse and bewilder you. There is a clergyman's letter about the
Scottish pronunciation, to which I had written an answer some weeks
since (the person is an ass, by the by). But I had laid aside my answer,
being unable to find the letter which bore his address; and, in the
course of this day, both his letter with the address, and my answer
which wanted the address, fell into my hands half-a-dozen times, but
separately always. This was the positive malice of some hobgoblin, and I
submit to it as such. But what frightens and disgusts me is those
fearful letters from those who have been long dead, to those who linger
on their wayfare through this valley of tears. These fine lines of
Spencer came into my head--

    "When midnight o'er the pathless skies."[517]

Ay, and can I forget the author!--the frightful moral of his own vision.
What is this world? A dream within a dream--as we grow older each step
is an awakening. The youth awakes as he thinks from childhood--the
full-grown man despises the pursuits of youth as visionary--the old man
looks on manhood as a feverish dream. The Grave the last sleep?--no; it
is the last and final awakening.

_May_ 14.--To town per Blucher coach, well stowed and crushed, but saved
cash, coming off for less than £2; posting costs nearly five, and you
don't get on so fast by one-third. Arrived in my old lodgings here with
a stouter heart than I expected. Dined with Mr. and Mrs. Skene, and met
Lord Medwyn and lady.

_May_ 15.--Parliament House a queer sight. Looked as if people were
singing to each other the noble song of "The sky's falling--chickie
diddle." Thinks I to myself, I'll keep a calm sough.

    "Betwixt both sides I unconcerned stand by;
    Hurt, can I laugh, and honest, need I cry?"

I wish the old Government had kept together, but their personal dislike
to Canning seems to have rendered that impossible.

I dined at a great dinner given by Sir George Clerk to his electors,
the freeholders of Midlothian; a great attendance of Whig and Tory,
huzzaing each other's toasts. _If_ is a good peacemaker, but quarter-day
is a better. I have a guess the best gamecocks would call a truce if a
handful or two of oats were scattered among them.

_May_ 16.--Mr. John Gibson says the Trustees are to allow my expense in
travelling--£300, with £50 taken in in Longman's bill. This will place
me _rectus in curia_, and not much more, faith!

There is a fellow bawling out a ditty in the street, the burthen of
which is

    "There's nothing but poverty everywhere."

He shall not be a penny richer for telling me what I know but too well
without him.

_May_ 17.--Learned with great distress the death of poor Richard
Lockhart, the youngest brother of my son-in-law. He had an exquisite
talent for acquiring languages, and was under the patronage of my
kinsman, George Swinton, who had taken him into his own family at
Calcutta, and now he is drowned in a foolish bathing party.

_May_ 18.--Heard from Abbotsford; all well. Wrought to-day but
awkwardly. Tom Campbell called, warm from his Glasgow Rectorship; he is
looking very well. He seemed surprised that I did not know anything
about the contentions of Tories, Whigs, and Radicals, in the great
commercial city. I have other eggs on the spit. He stayed but a few
minutes.[518]

_May_ 19.--Went out to-day to Sir John Dalrymple's,[519] at Oxenford, a
pretty place; the lady a daughter of Lord Duncan. Will Clerk and Robert
Graeme went with me. A good dinner and pleasant enough party; but ten
miles going and ten miles coming make twenty, and that is something of a
journey. Got a headache too by jolting about after dinner.

_May_ 20.--Wrote a good deal at Appendix [to Bonaparte], or perhaps I
should say tried to write. Got myself into a fever when I had finished
four pages, and went out at eight o'clock at night to cool myself if
possible. Walked with difficulty as far as Skene's,[520] and there sat
and got out of my fidgety feeling. Learned that the Princes Street
people intend to present me with the key of their gardens, which will be
a great treat, as I am too tender-hoofed for the stones. We must now get
to work in earnest.

_May_ 21.--Accordingly this day I wrought tightly, and though not in my
very best mood I got on in a very businesslike manner. Was at the Gas
Council, where I found things getting poorly on. The Treasury have
remitted us to the Exchequer. The Committee want me to make private
interest with the L.C. Baron. That I won't do, but I will state their
cause publicly any way they like.

_May_ 22.--At Court--home by two, walking through the Princes Street
Gardens for the first time. Called on Mrs. Jobson. Worked two hours.
Must dress to dine at Mr. John Borthwick's, with the _young folk_, now
Mr. and Mrs. Dempster.[521] Kindly and affectionately received by my
good young friends, who seem to have succeeded to their parents' regard
for me.

_May_ 23.--Got some books, etc., which I wanted to make up the Saint
Helena affair. Set about making up the Appendix, but found I had mislaid
a number of the said postliminary affair. Had Hogg's nephew here as a
transcriber, a modest and well-behaved young man--clever, too, I
think.[522] Being Teind Wednesday I was not obliged to go to the Court,
and am now _bang up_, and shall soon finish Mr. Nappy. And how then? Ay,
marry, sir, that's the question.

    "Lord, what will all the people say,
    Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor!"

"The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people!"[523] as Coriolanus
says. I live not in their report, I hope.

_May_ 24.--Mr. Gibson paid me £70 more of my London journey. A good
thought came into my head: to write stories for little Johnnie Lockhart
from the History of Scotland, like those taken from the History of
England. I will not write mine quite so simply as Croker has done. I am
persuaded both children and the lower class of readers hate books which
are written _down_ to their capacity, and love those that are more
composed for their elders and betters. I will make, if possible, a book
that a child will understand, yet a man will feel some temptation to
peruse should he chance to take it up. It will require, however, a
simplicity of style not quite my own. The grand and interesting consists
in ideas, not in words. A clever thing of this kind will have a run--

    "Little to say,
    But wrought away,
    And went out to dine with the Skenes to-day."

Rather too many dinner engagements on my list. Must be hard-hearted. I
cannot say I like my solitary days the worst by any means. I dine, when
I like, on soup or broth, and drink a glass of porter or ginger-beer; a
single tumbler of whisky and water concludes the _debauch_. This agrees
with me charmingly. At ten o'clock bread and cheese, a single draught
of small beer, porter, or ginger-beer, and to bed.

_May_ 26.--I went the same dull and weary round out to the Parliament
House, which bothers one's brains for the day. Nevertheless, I get on.
Pages vanish from under my hand, and find their way to J. Ballantyne,
who is grinding away with his presses. I think I may say, now I begin to
get rid of the dust raised about me by so many puzzling little facts,
that it is plain sailing to the end.

Dined at Skene's with George Forbes and lady. But that was yesterday.

_May_ 27.--I got ducked in coming home from the Court. Naboclish!--I
thank thee, Pat, for teaching me the word. Made a hard day of it. Scarce
stirred from one room to another, but at bed-time finished a handsome
handful of copy. I have quoted Gourgaud's evidence; I suppose he will be
in a rare passion, and may be addicted to vengeance, like a
long-moustached son of a French bitch as he is. Naboclish! again for
that.

    "Frenchman, Devil, or Don,
     Damn him, let him come on,
       He shan't scare a son of the Island."[524]

_May_ 28.--Another day of uninterrupted study; two such would finish the
work with a murrain. I have several engagements next week; I wonder how
I was such a fool as to take them. I think I shall be done, however,
before Saturday. What shall I have to think of when I lie down at night
and awake in the morning? What will be my plague and my pastime, my
curse and my blessing, as ideas come and the pulse rises, or as they
flag and something like a snow haze covers my whole imagination? I have
my _Highland Tales_--and then--never mind, sufficient for the day is the
evil thereof.

_May_ 29.--Detained at the House till near three. Made a call on Mrs.
Jobson and others; also went down to the printing-office. I hope James
Ballantyne will do well. I think and believe he will. Wrought in the
evening.

_May_ 30.--Having but a trifle on the roll to-day, I set hard to work,
and brought myself in for a holiday, or rather played truant. At two
o'clock went to a Mr. Mackenzie in my old house at Castle Street, to
have some touches given to Walker's print.[525] Afterwards, having young
Hogg with me as an amanuensis, I took to the oar till near ten
o'clock.[526]

_May_ 31.--Being a Court day I was engaged very late. Then I called at
the printing-house, but got no exact calculation how we come on. Met Mr.
Cadell, who bids, as the author's copy [money] 1s. profit on each book
of _Hugh Little-john_. I thought this too little. My general calculation
is on such profits, that, supposing the book to sell to the public for
7s. 6d., the price ought to go in three shares--one to the trade, one to
the expense of print and paper, and one to the author and publisher
between them, which of course would be 1s. 3d., not 1s. to the author.
But in stating this rule I omitted to observe that books for young
persons are half bound before they go out into the trade. This comes to
about 9d. for two volumes. The allowance to the trade is also heavy, so
that 1s. a book is very well on great numbers. There may besides be a
third volume.

Dined at James Ballantyne's, and heard his brother Sandy sing and play
on the violin, beautifully as usual. James himself sang the Reel of
Tullochgorum, with hearty cheer and uplifted voice. When I came home I
learned that we had beat the Coal Gas Company, which is a sort of
triumph.

FOOTNOTES:

[511] The rude inscription on the stone placed over the grave of this
Border amazon, slain at Ancrum Moor, A.D. 1545, ran thus--

  "Fair maiden Lilliard lies under this stane,
  Little was her stature but great was her fame,
  Upon the English louns she laid many thumps,
  And when her legs were cuttet off she fought upon her stumps."

_See New Stat. Account Scot._, "Roxburgh," p. 244.

[512] _Tempest_, Act I. Sc. 2.

[513] An article for the _Foreign Quarterly Review_, regarding which Mr.
Lockhart says:--"It had then been newly started under the Editorship of
Mr. R.P. Gillies. This article, it is proper to observe, was a
benefaction to Mr. Gillies, whose pecuniary affairs rendered such
assistance very desirable. Scott's generosity in this matter--for it was
exactly giving a poor brother author £100 at the expense of considerable
time and drudgery to himself--I think it necessary to mention; the date
of the exertion requires it of me."--_Life_, vol. ix. pp. 72-3; see
_Misc. Prose Works_, vol. xviii. p. 270.

[514] See note 1, p. 387.

[515] _Merry Wives_, Act I. Sc. 1.

[516] _The Youth and Manhood of Cyril Thornton_, by Captain Thomas
Hamilton, had just been published anonymously.

[517] Mr. Lockhart adds the following lines:--

  "The shade of youthful hope is there,
  That lingered long, and latest died;
  Ambitions all dissolved to air,
  With phantom honours by his side.

  "What empty shadows glimmer nigh?
  They once were friendship, truth, and love!
  Oh, die to thought, to memory die,
  Since lifeless to my heart ye prove."

(Poems by the Hon. W.R. Spencer, London, 1811, p. 68.) "The best writer
of _vers de société_ in our time, and one of the most charming of
companions, was exactly Sir Walter's contemporary, and, like him, first
attracted notice by a version of Bürger's _Lenore_. Like him, too, this
remarkable man fell into pecuniary distress in the disastrous year 1825,
and he was now (1826) an involuntary resident in Paris, where he died in
October 1834, _anno ætat_. 65."--J.G.L.

[518] The following note to Mr. and Mrs. Skene belongs to this day:--

My dear Friends,--I am just returned from Court dreeping like the Water
Kelpy when he had finished the Laird of Morphey's Bridge, and am, like
that ill-used drudge, disposed to sing--

Sair back and sair banes.[D]

In fact I have the rheumatism in head and shoulders, and am obliged to
deprive myself of the pleasure of waiting upon you to-day to dinner, to
my great mortification.--Always yours, WALTER SCOTT.

WALKER STREET,

_Friday, 18th May, 1827_.

--_Skene's Reminiscences_.

[D]

  Sair back and sair banes
  Carrying the Lord of Morphey's stanes.

_Border Minstrelsy_, vol. iii. pp. 360, 365.

[519] Afterwards (in 1840) eighth Karl of Stair.

[520] 126 Princes Street.

[521] George Dempster of Skibo had just married a daughter of the House
of Arniston. This lady has had the singular gratification of listening
to these pleasant impressions of a dinner party given in her honour
sixty-two years ago, and which she never forgot, nor Sir Walter's talk
as he sat next her at table, and with unfeigned kindness devoted himself
to her entertainment.

[522] See _Life_, vol. ix. p. 114.

[523] _Coriolanus_, Act III. Sc. 3.

[524] Sir Walter _varies_ a verse of _The tight little Island_.--J.G.L.

[525] The engraving from Raeburn's picture.--See _ante_, p. 212.

[526] Mr. Robert Hogg relates that during these few days Sir W. and he
laboured from six in the morning till the same hour in the evening, with
the exception of the intervals allowed for breakfast and lunch, which
were served in the room to save time. He noted a striking peculiarity in
Scott's dictation, that with the greatest ease he was able to carry on
two trains of thought at one time, "one of which was already arranged,
and in the act of being spoken, while at the same time he was in advance
considering what was afterwards to be said."--See his interesting letter
to Mr. Lockhart, _Life_, vol. ix. pp. 115-117.




JUNE.


_June_ 1.--Settled my household-book. Sophia does not set out till the
middle of the week, which is unlucky, our antiquarian skirmish beginning
in Fife just about the time she is to arrive. Letter from John touching
public affairs; don't half like them, and am afraid we shall have the
Whig alliance turn out like the calling in of the Saxons. I told this to
Jeffrey, who said they would convert us, as the Saxons did the British.
I shall die in my Paganism for one. I don't like a bone of them as a
party. Ugly reports of the King's health; God pity this poor country
should that be so, but I think it a thing devised by the enemy. Anne
arrived from Abbotsford. I dined at Sir Robert Dundas's, with Mrs.
Dundas, Arniston, and other friends. Worked a little, not much.

_June_ 2.--Do. Do. Dined at Baron Hume's. These dinners are cruelly in
the way, but _que faut-il faire_? the business of the Court must be
done, and it is impossible absolutely to break off all habits of
visiting. Besides, the correcting of proof-sheets in itself is now
become burdensome. Three or four a day is hard work.

_June_ 3.--Wrought hard. I think I have but a trifle more to do, but new
things cast up; we get beyond the life, however, for I have killed him
to-day. The newspapers are very saucy; _The Sun_ says I have got £4000
for suffering a Frenchman to look over my manuscript. Here is a proper
fellow for you! I wonder what he thinks Frenchmen are made of--walking
money-bags, doubtless. Now as Sir Fretful Plagiary[527] says, another
man would be mad at this, but I care not one brass farthing.

_June_ 4.--The birthday of our good old king. It was wrong not to keep
up the thing as it was of yore with dinners, and claret, and squibs, and
crackers, and saturnalia. The thoughts of the subjects require sometimes
to be turned to the sovereign, were it but only that they may remember
there is such a person.

The Bannatyne edition of Melville's _Memoirs_ is out, and beats all
print. Gad, it is a fine institution that; a rare one, by Jove! beats
the Roxburghe. Wrought very bobbishly to-day, but went off at
dinner-time to Thomas Thomson, where we had good cheer and good fun. By
the way, we have lost our Coal Gas Bill. Sorry for it, but I can't cry.

_June_ 5.--Proofs. Parliament House till two. Commenced the character of
_Bonaparte_. To-morrow being a Teind-day I will hope to get it finished.
Meantime I go out to-night to see _Frankenstein_ at the theatre.

_June_ 6.--_Frankenstein_ is entertaining for once--considerable art in
the man that plays the Monster, to whom he gave great effect. Cooper is
his name; played excellently in the farce too, as a sailor--a more
natural one, I think, than my old friend Jack Bannister, though he has
not quite Jack's richness of humour. I had seven proof-sheets to correct
this morning, by Goles. So I did not get to composition till nine; work
on with little interruption (save that Mr. Verplanck, an American,
breakfasted with us) until seven, and then walked, for fear of the black
dog or devil that worries me when I work too hard.

_June_ 7.--This morning finished _Boney_. And now, as Dame Fortune says,
in Quevedo's Visions, _Go, wheel, and the devil drive thee_.[528] It was
high time I brought up some reinforcements, for my pound was come to
half-crowns, and I had nothing to keep house when the Lockharts come.
Credit enough to be sure, but I have been taught by experience to make
short reckonings. Some great authors now will think it a degradation to
write a child's book; I cannot say I feel it such. It is to be inscribed
to my grandson, and I will write it not only without a sense of its
being _infra dig_. but with a grandfather's pleasure.

I arranged with Mr. Cadell for the property of _Tales of a Grandfather_,
10,000 copies for £787, 10s.

_June_ 8.--A Mr. Maywood, much protected by poor Alister Dhu, brought me
a letter from the late Colonel Huxley. His connection and approach to me
is through the grave, but I will not be the less disposed to assist him
if an opportunity offers. I made a long round to-day, going to David
Laing's about forwarding the books of the Bannatyne Club to Sir George
Rose and Duke of Buckingham. Then I came round by the printing-office,
where the presses are groaning upon _Napoleon_, and so home through the
gardens. I have done little to-day save writing a letter or two, for I
was fatigued and sleepy when I got home, and nodded, I think, over Sir
James Melville's _Memoirs_. I will do something, though, when I have
dined. By the way, I corrected the proofs for Gillies; they read better
than I looked for.

_June_ 9.--Corrected proofs in the morning. When I came home from Court
I found that John Lockhart and Sophia were arrived by the steam-boat at
Portobello, where they have a small lodging. I went down with a bottle
of Champagne, and a flask of Maraschino, and made buirdly cheer with
them for the rest of the day. Had the great pleasure to find them all in
high health. Poor Johnny is decidedly improved in his general health,
and the injury on the spine is got no worse. Walter is a very fine
child.

_June_ 10.--Rose with the odd consciousness of being free of my daily
task. I have heard that the fish-women go to church of a Sunday with
their creels new washed, and a few stones in them for ballast, just
because they cannot walk steadily without their usual load. I feel
somewhat like this, and rather inclined to pick up some light task, than
to be altogether idle. I have my proof-sheets, to be sure; but what are
these to a whole day? Fortunately my thoughts are agreeable; cash
difficulties, etc., all provided for, as far as I can see, so that we go
on hooly and fairly. Betwixt and August 1st I should receive £750, and I
cannot think I have more than the half of it to pay away. Cash, to be
sure, seems to burn in my pocket. "He wasna gien to great misguiding,
but coin his pouches wouldna bide in."[529] By goles, this shall be
corrected, though! Lockhart gives a sad account of Gillies's
imprudences. Lockhart dined with us. Day idle.

_June_ 11.--The attendance on the Committee, and afterwards the general
meeting of the Oil Gas Company took up my morning, and the rest dribbled
away in correcting proofs and trifling; reading, among the rest, an odd
volume of _Vivian Grey_;[530] clever, but not so much so as to make me,
in this sultry weather, go up-stairs to the drawing-room to seek the
other volumes. Ah! villain, but you smoked when you read.--Well, Madam,
perhaps I think the better of the book for that reason. Made a
blunder,--went to Ravelston on the wrong day. This Anne's fault, but I
did not reproach her, knowing it might as well have been my own.

_June_ 12.--At Court, a long hearing. Got home only about three.
Corrected proofs, etc. Dined with Baron Clerk, and met several old
friends; Will Clerk in particular.

_June_ 13.--Another long seat at Court. Almost overcome by the heat in
walking home, and rendered useless for the day. Let me be thankful,
however; my lameness is much better, and the nerves of my unfortunate
ankle are so much strengthened that I walk with comparatively little
pain. Dined at John Swinton's; a large party. These festive occasions
consume much valuable time, besides trying the stomach a little by late
hours, and some wine shed, though that's not much.

_June_ 14.--Anne and Sophia dined. Could not stay at home with them
alone. We had the Skenes and Allan, and amused ourselves till ten
o'clock.

_June_ 15.--This being the day long since appointed for our cruise to
Fife, Thomas Thomson, Sir A. Ferguson, Will Clerk, and I, set off with
Miss Adam, and made our journey successfully to Charlton, where met Lord
Chief-Baron and Lord Chief-Commissioner, all in the humour to be happy,
though time is telling with us all. Our good-natured host, Mr. A.
Thomson, his wife, and his good-looking daughters, received us most
kindly, and the conversation took its old roll, in spite of woes and
infirmities. Charlton is a good house, in the midst of highly-cultivated
land, and immediately surrounded with gardens and parterres, together
with plantations, partly in the old, partly in the new, taste; I like it
very much; though, as a residence, it is perhaps a little too much
finished. Not even a bit of bog to amuse one, as Mr. Elphinstone said.

_June_ 16.--This day we went off in a body to St. Andrews, which Thomas
Thomson had never seen. On the road beyond Charlton saw a small cottage
said to have been the heritable appanage of a family called the _Keays_
[?]. He had a right to feed his horse for a certain time on the
adjoining pasture. This functionary was sent to Falkland with the fish
for the royal table. The ruins at St. Andrews have been lately cleared
out. They had been chiefly magnificent from their size--not their extent
of ornament. I did not go up to St. Rule's Tower as on former occasions;
this is a falling off, for when before did I remain sitting below when
there was a steeple to be ascended? But the rheumatism has begun to
change that vein for some time past, though I think this is the first
decided sign of acquiescence in my lot. I sat down on a grave-stone, and
recollected the first visit I made to St. Andrews, now thirty-four years
ago. What changes in my feeling and my fortune have since then taken
place! some for the better, many for the worse. I remembered the name I
then carved in Runic characters on the turf beside the castle-gate, and
I asked why it should still agitate my heart. But my friends came down
from the tower, and the foolish idea was chased away.[531]

_June_ 17.--Lounged about while the good family went to church. The day
is rather cold and disposed to rain. The papers say that the Corn Bill
is given up in consequence of the Duke of Wellington having carried the
amendment in the House of Lords. All the party here--Sir A.F. perhaps
excepted--are Ministerialists on the present double bottom. They say the
names of Whig and Tory are now to exist no longer. Why have they existed
at all?

In the forenoon we went off to explore the environs; we visited two
ancient manor-houses, those of Elie and Balcaskie. Large roomy mansions,
with good apartments, two or three good portraits, and a collection of
most extraordinary frights, prodigiously like the mistresses of King
George I., who "came for all the goods and chattels" of old England.
There are at Elie House two most ferocious-looking Ogresses of this
cast. There are noble trees about the house. Balcaskie put me in mind of
poor Philip Anstruther, dead and gone many a long year since. He was a
fine, gallant, light-hearted young sailor. I remember the story of his
drawing on his father for some cash, which produced an angry letter from
old Sir Robert, to which Philip replied, that if he did not know how to
write like a gentleman, he did not desire any more of his
correspondence. Balcaskie is much dilapidated; but they are restoring
the house in the good old style, with its terraces and yew-hedges. The
beastly fashion of bringing a bare ill-kept park up to your very doors
seems going down. We next visited with great pleasure the Church of St.
Monans, which is under repair, designed to correspond strictly with the
ancient plan, which is the solid, gloomy, but impressive Gothic It was
built by David II., in the fulfilment of a vow made to St. Monan on the
field of battle at Neville's Cross. One would have judged the king to be
thankful for small mercies, for certainly St. Monan proved but an
ineffective patron.

Mr. Hugh Cleghorn[532] dined at Charlton, and I saw him for the first
time, having heard of him all my life. He is an able man, has seen much,
and speaks well. Age has clawed him in his clutch, and he has become
deaf. There is also Captain Black of the navy, second lieutenant of the
Mars at Trafalgar. Villeneuve was brought on board that ship after the
debate. He had no expectation that the British fleet would have fought
till they had formed a regular line. Captain Black disowns the idea of
the French and Spaniards being drawn up chequer form for resisting the
British attack, and imputes the appearance of that array to sheer
accident of weather.

_June_ 18.--We visited Wemyss Castle on our return to Kinghorn. On the
left, before descending to the coast, are considerable remains of a
castle, called popularly the old castle, or Macduff's Castle. That of
the Thane was situated at Kennochquay, at no great distance. The front
of Wemyss Castle, to the land, has been stripped entirely of its
castellated appearance, and narrowly escaped a new front. To the sea it
has a noble situation, overhanging the red rocks; but even there the
structure has been much modernised and tamed. Interior is a good old
house, with large oak staircases, family pictures, etc. We were received
by Captain Wemyss--a gallant sea-captain, who could talk against a
north-wester,--by his wife Lady Emma, and her sister Lady
Isabella--beautiful women of the house of Errol, and vindicating its
title to the _handsome Hays_. We reached the Pettycur about half-past
one, crossed to Edinburgh, and so ended our little excursion. Of
casualties we had only one: Triton, the house-dog at Charlton, threw
down Thomson and he had his wrist sprained. A restive horse threatened
to demolish our landau, but we got off for the fright. Happily L.C.B.
was not in our carriage.

Dined at William M'Kenzie's to meet the Marquis and Marchioness of
Stafford, who are on their road to Dunrobin. Found them both very well.

_June_ 19.--Lord Stafford desires to be a member of the Bannatyne
Club--also Colin M'Kenzie. Sent both names up accordingly.

The day furnishes a beggarly record of trumpery. From eight o'clock till
nine wrote letters, then Parliament House, where I had to wait on
without anything to do till near two, when rain forced me into the
Antiquarian museum. Lounged there till a meeting of the Oil Gas
Committee at three o'clock. There remained till near five. Home and
smoked a cheroot after dinner. Called on Thomson, who is still disabled
by his sprain. _Pereat inter hæc_. We must do better to-morrow.

_June_ 20.--Kept my word, being Teind Wednesday. Two young Frenchmen,
friends of Gallois, rather interrupted me. I had asked them to
breakfast, but they stayed till twelve o'clock, which is scarce fair,
and plagued me with compliments. Their names are Rémusat and
Guyzard.[533] Pleasant, good-humoured young men. Notwithstanding this
interruption I finished near six pages, three being a good Session-day's
work. _Allons, vogue la galère_. Dined at the Solicitor's with Lord
Hopetoun, and a Parliament House party.

_June_ 21.--Finished five leaves--that is, betwixt morning and
dinner-time. The Court detained me till two o'clock. About nine leaves
will make the volume quite large enough.

By the way, the booksellers have taken courage to print up 2000 more of
the first edition [of Napoleon]; which, after the second volume, they
curtailed from 8000 to 6000. This will be £1000 more in my way, at
least, and that is a good help. We dine with the Skenes to-day, Lockhart
being with us.[534]

_June_ 22.--Wrought in the morning as usual. Received to breakfast Dr.
Bishop, a brother of Bishop the composer. He tells me his brother was
very ill when he wrote "The Chough and Crow," and other music for Guy
Mannering. Singular! but I do think illness, if not too painful, unseals
the mental eye, and renders the talents more acute, in the study of the
fine arts at least.[535]

I find the difference on 2000 additional copies will be £3000 instead of
£1000 in favour of the author. My good friend Publicum is impatient.
Heaven grant his expectations be not disappointed! _Coragio, andiamos_!
Such another year of labour and success would do much towards making me
a free man of the forest. But I must to work since we have to dine with
Lord and Lady Gray. By the way, I forgot an engagement to my old friend,
Lord Justice-Clerk. This is shockingly ill-bred. But the invitation was
a month old, and that is some defence.

_June_ 23.--I corrected proofs and played the grandfather in the
morning. After Court saw Lady Wedderburn, who asked my advice about
printing some verses of Mrs. Hemans in honour of the late Lord James
Murray, who died in Greece. Also Lord Gray, who wishes me to write some
preliminary matter to his ancestor, the Master of Gray's correspondence.
I promised. But ancestor was a great rogue, and if I am to write about
him at all, I must take my will of him. Anne and I dined at home. She
went to the play, and I had some mind to go too. But Miss Foote was the
sole attraction, and Miss Foote is only a very pretty woman, and if she
played Rosalind better than I think she can, it is a bore to see
Touchstone and Jacques murdered. I have a particular respect for _As You
Like It_. It was the first play I ever saw, and that was at Bath in 1776
or 1777. That is not yesterday, yet I remember the piece very well. So I
remained at home, smoked a cigar, and worked leisurely upon the review
of the Culloden Papers, which, by dint of vamping and turning, may make
up the lacking copy for the "Works" better, I think, than that lumbering
Essay on Border Antiquities.

_June_ 24.--I don't care who knows it, I was lazy this morning. But I
cheated my laziness capitally, as you shall hear. My good friend, Sir
Watt, said I to my esteemed friend, it is hard you should be obliged to
work when you are so disinclined to it. Were I you, I would not be quite
idle though. I would do something that you are not obliged to do, just
as I have seen a cowardly dog willing to fight with any one save that
which his master would have desired him to yoke with. So I went over the
review of the Culloden Papers, and went a great way to convert it into
the Essay on Clanship, etc., which I intend for the Prose Works. I wish
I had thought of it before correcting that beastly border essay.
Naboclish!

_June_ 25.--Wrote five pages of the _Chronicles_, and hope to conquer
one or two more ere night to fetch up the leeway. Went and saw Allan's
sketch of a picture for Abbotsford, which is promising; a thing on the
plan of Watteau. He intends to introduce some interesting characters,
and some, I suspect, who have little business there. Yesterday I dined
with the Lockharts at Portobello.[536] To-day at home with Anne and Miss
Erskine. They are gone to walk. I have a mind to go to trifle, so I do
not promise to write more to-night, having begun the dedication
(advertisement I mean) to the _Chronicles_. I have pleasant subjects of
reflection. The fund in Gibson's hands will approach £40,000, I think.

Lord Melville writes desiring to be a candidate for the Bannatyne Club.

I made a balance of my affairs, and stuck it into my book: it should
answer very well, but still

    "I am not given to great misguiding,
     But coin my pouches will na bide in,
     With me it ne'er was under hiding,
       I dealt it free."

I must, however, and will, be independent.

_June_ 26.--Well, if ever I saw such another thing since my mother bound
up my head![537] Here is nine of clock strucken and I am still fast
asleep abed. I have not done the like of this many a day. However, it
cannot be helped. Went to Court, which detained me till two o'clock. A
walk home consumed the hour to three! Wrote in the Court, however, to
the Duke of Wellington and Lord Bloomfield. and that is a good job over.

I have a letter from a member of the Commission of the Psalmody of the
Kirk, zealous and pressing. I shall answer him, I think.[538] One from
Sir James Stuart,[539] on fire with Corfe Castle, with a drawing of King
Edward, occupying one page, as he hurries down the steep, mortally
wounded by the assassin. Singular power of speaking at once to the eye
and the ear. Dined at home. After dinner sorted papers. Rather idle.

_June_ 27.--Corrected proofs and wrote till breakfast. Then the Court.
Called on Skene and Charles K. Sharpe, and did not get home until three
o'clock, and then so wet as to require a total change. We dine at Hector
Buchanan Macdonald's, where there are sometimes many people and little
conversation. Sent a little chest of books by the carrier to Abbotsford.

A visit from a smart young man, Gustavus Schwab of Königsberg; he gives
a flattering picture of Prussia, which is preparing for freedom. The
King must keep his word, though, or the people may chance to tire of
waiting. Dined at H.B. Macdonald's with rather a young party for Colin
M'Kenzie and me.

_June_ 28.--Wrote a little and corrected proofs. How many things have I
unfinished at present?

Chronicles, first volume not ended.

do., second volume begun.

Introduction to ditto.

Tales of My Grandfather.

Essay on Highlands. This unfinished, owing to certain causes, chiefly
want of papers and books to fill up blanks, which I will get at
Abbotsford. Came home through rain about two, and commissioned John
Stevenson to call at three about binding some books. Dined with Sophia;
visited, on invitation, a fine old little Commodore Trunnion, who, on
reading a part of Napoleon's history, with which he had himself been
interested, as commanding a flotilla, thought he had detected a mistake,
but was luckily mistaken, to my great delight.

    "I fear thee, ancient mariner."

To be cross-examined by those who have seen the true thing is the devil.
And yet these eye-witnesses are not all right in what they repeat
neither, indeed cannot be so, since you will have dozens of
contradictions in their statements.

_June_ 29.--A distressing letter from Haydon; imprudent, probably, but
who is not? A man of rare genius. What a pity I gave that £10 to Craig!
But I have plenty of ten pounds sure, and I may make it something. I
will get £100 at furthest when I come back from the country. Wrote at
proofs, but no copy; I fear I shall wax fat and kick against Madam Duty,
but I augur better things.

Just as we were sitting down to dinner, Cadell burst in in high spirits
with the sale of _Napoleon_[540] the orders for which pour in, and the
public report is favourable. Detected two gross blunders though, which I
have ordered for cancel. Supped (for a wonder) with Colin Mackenzie and
a bachelor party. Mr. Williams[541] was there, whose extensive
information, learning, and lively talent makes him always pleasant
company. Up till twelve--a debauch for me nowadays.

_June_ 30.--_Redd up_ my things for moving,[542] which will clear my
hands a little on the next final flitting. Corrected proof-sheets.
Williams told me an English bull last night. A fellow of a college,
deeply learned, sitting at a public entertainment beside a foreigner,
tried every means to enter into conversation, but the stranger could
speak no dead language, the Doctor no living one but his own. At last
the scholar, in great extremity, was enlightened by a happy "_Nonne
potes loqui cum digitis_?"--said as if the difficulty was solved at
once.

_Abbotsford_.--Reached this about six o'clock.[543]

[Illustration: MAP OF ABBOTS FORD FROM THE ORDNANCE SURVEY 1858.]

FOOTNOTES:

[527] Sheridan's _Critic_, Act I. Sc, 1.

[528] "No sooner had the Sun uttered these words than Fortune, as if she
had been playing on a cymbal, began to unwind her wheel, which, whirling
about like a hurricane, huddled all the world into an unparalleled
confusion. Fortune gave a mighty squeak, saying, 'Fly, wheel, and the
devil drive thee.'"--_Fortune in her Wits_, Quevedo. English trans.
(1798), vol. iii. p. 107.

[529] Burns: "On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies."

[530] _Vivian Grey_, by Benjamin Disraeli, was published anonymously in
5 vols. 12mo, 1826-7.

[531] If the reader turns to December 18, 1825, he will see that this is
not the first allusion in the Journal to his "first love,"--an innocent
attachment, to which we owe the tenderest pages, not only of
_Redgauntlet_ (1824), but of the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_ (1805), and
of _Rokeby_ (1813). In all these works the heroine has certain
distinctive features drawn from one and the same haunting dream. The
lady was "Williamina Belches, sole child and heir of a gentleman who was
a cadet of the ancient family of Invermay, and who afterwards became Sir
John Stuart of Fettercairn." She married Sir William Forbes in 1797 and
died in 1810.--_Life_, vol. i. p. 333; Shairp's _Memoirs of Principal
Forbes_, pp. 4, 5, 8vo, London, 1873, where her portrait, engraved from
a miniature, is given.

[532] Hugh Cleghorn had been Professor of Civil History in St. Andrews
for ten years, afterwards becoming tutor to the Earl of Home, and
subsequently employed by our Government in various foreign missions. A
glimpse of his work is obtainable in Southey's _Life, of Dr. Andrew
Bell_. Mr. Cleghorn died in 1833, aged 83.

[533] Count Paul de Rémusat has been good enough to give me another view
of this visit which will be read with interest:--"118 Faubourg St.
Honoré, February 10, 1890.--.... My father has often spoken to me of
this visit to Sir Walter Scott--for it was indeed my father, Charles de
Rémusat, member of the French Academy, and successively Minister of the
Interior and for Foreign Affairs, who went at the age of thirty to
Abbotsford, and he retained to the last days of his life a most lively
remembrance of the great novelist who did not acknowledge the authorship
of his novels, and to whom it was thus impossible otherwise than
indirectly to pay any compliment. It gives me great pleasure to learn
that the visit of those young men impressed him favourably. My father's
companion was his contemporary and friend, M. Louis de Guizard, who,
like my father, was a contributor at that time to the Liberal press of
the Restoration, the _Globe_ and _La Revue Française,_ and who, after
the Revolution of 1830, entered, as did my father likewise, upon
political life. M. de Guizard was first _préfet_, then _député_, and
after 1848 became Directeur-général des Beaux Arts. He died about 1877
or 1878, after his retirement from public life."

[534] "_Woodstock_ placed upwards of £8000 in the hands of Sir Walter's
creditors. The _Napoleon_ (first and second editions) produced for them
a sum which it even now startles me to mention--£18,000. As by the time
the historical work was published nearly half of the First Series of
_Chronicles of the Canongate_ had been written, it is obvious that the
amount to which Scott's literary industry, from the close of 1825 to the
10th of June 1827, had diminished his debt, cannot be stated at less
than £28,000. Had health been spared him, how soon must he have freed
himself from all his encumbrances!"--J.G.L.

[535] See _Life_, vol. vi. p. 89. In Mr. Ballantyne's _Memorandum_,
there is a fuller account of the mode in which _The Bride of
Lammermoor_, _The Legend of Montrose_, and almost the whole of _Ivanhoe_
were produced, and the mental phenomenon which accompanied the
preparation of the first-named work:--

"During the progress of composing _The Heart of Midlothian_, _The Bride
of Lammermoor_, and _Legend of Montrose_--a period of many months--Mr.
Scott's health had become extremely indifferent, and was often supposed
to place him in great danger. But it would hardly be credited, were it
not for the notoriety of the fact, that although one of the symptoms of
his illness was pain of the most acute description, yet he never allowed
it to interrupt his labours. The only difference it produced, that I am
aware of, was its causing him to employ the hand of an amanuensis in
place of his own. Indeed, during the greater part of the day at this
period he was confined to his bed. The person employed for this purpose
was the respectable and intelligent Mr. Wm. Laidlaw, who acted for him
in this capacity in the country, and I think also attended him to town.
I have often been present with Mr. Laidlaw during the short intervals of
his labour, and it was deeply affecting to hear the account he gave of
his patron's severe sufferings, and the indomitable spirit which enabled
him to overmaster them. He told me that very often the dictation of
Caleb Balderston's and the old cooper's best jokes was mingled with
groans extorted from him by pains; but that when he, Mr. L., endeavoured
to prevail upon him to take a little respite, the only answer he could
obtain from Mr. Scott was a request that he would see that the doors
were carefully shut, so that the expressions of his agony might not
reach his family--'As to stopping work, Laidlaw,' he said, 'you know
that is wholly out of the question.' What followed upon these exertions,
made in circumstances so very singular, appears to me to exhibit one of
the most singular chapters in the history of the human intellect. The
book having been published before Mr. Scott was able to rise from his
bed, he assured me that, when it was put into his hands, he did not
recollect one single incident, character, or conversation it contained.
He by no means desired me to understand, nor did I understand, that his
illness had erased from his memory all or any of the original family
facts with which he had been acquainted from the period probably of his
boyhood. These of course remained rooted where they had ever been, or,
to speak more explicitly, where explicitness is so entirely important,
he remembered the existence of the father and mother, the son and
daughter, the rival lovers, the compulsory marriage, and the attack made
by his bride upon the unhappy bridegroom, with the general catastrophe
of the whole. All these things he recollected, just as he did before he
took to his bed, but the marvel is that he recollected literally nothing
else--not a single character woven by the Romancer--not one of the many
scenes and points of exquisite humour, nor anything with which he was
connected as writer of the work. 'For a long time I felt myself very
uneasy,' he said, 'in the course of my reading, always kept on the _qui
vive_ lest I should be startled by something altogether glaring and
fantastic; however, I recollected that the printing had been performed
by James Ballantyne, who I was sure would not have permitted anything of
this sort to pass.' 'Well,' I said, 'upon the whole, how did you like
it?' 'Oh,' he said, 'I felt it monstrous gross and grotesque, to be
sure, but still the worst of it made me laugh, and I trusted therefore
the good-natured public would not be less indulgent.' I do not think
that I ever ventured to lead to this singular subject again. But you may
depend upon it, that what I have said is as distinctly reported as if it
had been taken down at the moment in shorthand. I should not otherwise
have imparted the phenomenon at all."--_Mr. Ballantyne's MSS_.

[536] Mr. Lockhart says:--"My wife and I spent the summer of 1827 partly
at a sea-bathing place near Edinburgh, and partly in Roxburghshire. The
arrival of his daughter and her children at Portobello was a source of
constant refreshment to him during June, for every other day he came
down and dined there, and strolled about afterwards on the beach, thus
interrupting, beneficially for his health, and I doubt not for the
result of his labours also, the new custom of regular night-work, or, as
he called it, serving double tides."

[537] See Swift, "Mary the cook to Dr. Sheridan."

[538] The answer is printed in the _Scott Centenary Catalogue_ by David
Laing, from which the following extracts are given:--

"The expression of the old metrical translation, though homely, is
plain, forcible, and intelligible, and very often possesses a rude sort
of majesty, which perhaps would be ill-exchanged for mere elegance."
"They are the very words and accents of our early Reformers--sung by
them in woe and gratitude, in the fields, in the churches, and on the
scaffold." "The parting with this very association of ideas is a serious
loss to the cause of devotion, and scarce to be incurred without the
certainty of corresponding advantages. But if these recollections are
valuable to persons of education, they are almost indispensable to the
edification of the lower ranks whose prejudices do not permit them to
consider as the words of the inspired poetry, the versions of living or
modern poets, but persist, however absurdly, in identifying the original
with the ancient translation."--p. 158.

[539] Sir James Stuart, the last baronet of Allanbank.

[540] "The _Life of Bonaparte_, then, was at last published about the
middle of June 1827."--_Life_, ix. 117.

[541] Archdeacon Williams, Rector of the New Edinburgh Academy from 1824
to 1847.

[542] Among the letters which Sir Walter found time to write before
leaving Edinburgh, was one to congratulate his old and true friend Mrs.
Coutts on her marriage, which took place on the 16th of June. That
letter has not been preserved, but it drew from her Grace the following
reply:--

"My dear Sir Walter Scott,--Your most welcome letter has 'wandered mony
a weary mile after me.' Thanks, many thanks for all your kind
congratulations. I am a Duchess at last, that is certain, but whether I
am the better for it remains to be proved. The Duke is very amiable,
gentle, and well-disposed, and I am sure he has taken pains enough to
accomplish what he says has been the first wish of his heart for the
last three years. All this is very flattering to an old lady, and we
lived so long in friendship with each other that I was afraid I should
be unhappy if I did not say I _will_--yet (whisper it, dear Sir Walter)
the name of Coutts--and a right good one it is--is, and ever will be,
dear to my heart. What a strange, eventful life has mine been, from a
poor little player child, with just food and clothes to cover me,
dependent on a very precarious profession, without talent or a friend in
the world! 'to have seen what I have seen, seeing what I see.' Is it not
wonderful? is it true? can I believe it?--first the wife of the best,
the most perfect, being that ever breathed, his love and unbounded
confidence in me, his immense fortune so honourably acquired by his own
industry, all at my command, ... and now the wife of a Duke. You must
write my life; the History of Tom Thumb, Jack the Giant Killer, and
Goody Two Shoes, will sink compared with my true history written by the
Author of _Waverley_; and that you may do it well I have sent you an
inkstand. Pray give it a place on your table in kind remembrance of your
affectionate friend,

"HARRIETT ST. ALBANS.

"STRATTON STREET, _July 16th, 1827_."



[543] Next morning the following pleasant little billet was despatched
to Kaeside:--

"My dear Mr. Laidlaw, I would be happy if you would come at _kail-time_
to-day. _Napoleon_ (6000 copies) is sold for £11,000.--Yours truly,

"_Sunday._ W.S."

--_Abbotsford Notanda_, by R. Carruthers, Edin. 1871.




APPENDIX.

SCOTT'S LETTERS TO ERSKINE.--P. 61.


Sir Walter was in the habit of consulting him in those matters more than
any of his other friends, having great reliance upon his critical skill.
The manuscripts of all his poems, and also of the earlier of his prose
works, were submitted to Kinnedder's judgment, and a considerable
correspondence on these subjects had taken place betwixt them, which
would, no doubt, have constituted one of the most interesting series of
letters Sir Walter had left.

Lord Kinnedder was a man of retired habits, but little known except to
those with whom he lived on terms of intimacy, and by whom he was much
esteemed, and being naturally of a remarkably sensitive mind, he was
altogether overthrown by the circumstance of a report having got abroad
of some alleged indiscretions on his part in which a lady was also
implicated. Whether the report had any foundation in truth or not, I am
altogether ignorant, but such an allegation affecting a person in his
situation in life as a judge, and doing such violence to the
susceptibility of his feelings, had the effect of bringing a severe
illness which in a few days terminated his life. I never saw Sir Walter
so much affected by any event, and at the funeral, which he attended, he
was quite unable to suppress his feelings, but wept like a child. The
family, suddenly bereft of their protector, were young, orphans, their
mother, daughter of Professor John Robertson, having previously died,
found also that they had to struggle against embarrassed circumstances;
neither had they any near relative in Scotland to take charge of their
affairs. But a lady, a friend of the family, Miss M----, was active in
their service, and it so happened, in the course of arranging their
affairs, the packet of letters from Sir Walter Scott, containing the
whole of his correspondence with Lord Kinnedder, came into her hands.
She very soon discovered that the correspondence laid open the secret of
the authorship of the Waverley Novels, at that period the subject of
general and intense interest, and as yet unacknowledged by Sir Walter.

Considering what under these circumstances it was her duty to do,
whether to replace the letters and suffer any accident to bring to light
what the author seemed anxious might remain unknown, or to seal them up,
and keep them in her own custody undivulged--or finally to destroy them
in order to preserve the secret,--with, no doubt, the best and most
upright motives, so far as her own judgment enabled her to decide in the
matter, in which she was unable to take advice, without betraying what
it was her object to respect, she came to the resolution, most
unfortunately for the world, of destroying the letters. And,
accordingly, the whole of them were committed to the flames; depriving
the descendants of Lord Kinnedder of a possession which could not fail
to be much valued by them, and which, in connection with Lord
Kinnedder's letters to Sir Walter, which are doubtless preserved, would
have been equally valuable to the public, as containing the contemporary
opinions, prospects, views, and sentiments under which these works were
sent forth into the world. It would also have been curious to learn the
unbiased impression which the different works created on the mind of
such a man as Lord Kinnedder, before the collision of public opinion had
suffused its influence over the opinions of people in general in this
matter.--_Skene's Reminiscences_.


END OF VOLUME I.




THE JOURNAL OF

SIR WALTER SCOTT

FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT

AT ABBOTSFORD

[Illustration]

VOLUME II

BURT FRANKLIN NEW YORK




Published by BURT FRANKLIN
235 East 44th St., New York, N.Y. 10017
Originally Published: 1890
Reprinted: 1970
Printed in the U.S.A.

S.B.N. 32110
Library of Congress Card Catalog No.: 73-123604
Burt Franklin: Research and Source Works Series 535
Essays in Literature and Criticism 82



[Illustration: [Greek: NUX GAR ERCHETAI.]

"_I must home to work while it is called day; for the night cometh when
no man can work. I put that text, many a year ago, on my dial-stone; but
it often preached in vain_."--Scott's _Life_, x. 88.]




     "_The evening sky of life does not reflect those brilliant flashes
     of light that shot across its morning and noon, yet I think God it
     is neither gloomy nor disconsolately lowering--a sober
     twilight--that is all_."




ILLUSTRATIONS.

VOL. II.


Portrait, painted by Sir Francis Grant, P.R.A., for the Baroness
Ruthven, and now in the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland. Copied by
permission of the Hon. The Board of Manufactures, _Frontispiece_

Vignette on Title-page

     "The Dial-Stone" in the Garden, from drawing made at Abbotsford by
     George Reid, R.S.A.

     "THE NIGHT COMETH."

     [Greek: NUX GAR ERCHETAI.]

     "_I must home to work while it is called day; for the night cometh
     when no man can work. I put that text, many years ago, on my
     dial-stone; but it often preached in vain_."--Scott's _Life_, x.
     88.




SIR WALTER SCOTT'S JOURNAL.




JULY.


_July_ 1, [_Abbotsford_].--A most delicious day, in the course of which
I have not done

    "The least right thing."

Before breakfast I employed myself in airing my old bibliomaniacal
hobby, entering all the books lately acquired into a temporary
catalogue, so as to have them shelved and marked. After breakfast I went
out, the day being delightful--warm, yet cooled with a gentle breeze,
all around delicious; the rich luxuriant green refreshing to the eye,
soft to the tread, and perfume to the smell. Wandered about and looked
at my plantations. Came home, and received a visit from Sir Adam.
Loitered in the library till dinner-time. If there is anything to be
done at all to-day, it must be in the evening. But I fear there will be
nothing. One can't work always _nowther_.

    "_Neque semper arcum tendit Apollo_."

There's warrant for it.

_July_ 2.--Wrote in the morning, correcting the Essay on the Highlands,
which is now nearly completed. Settled accounts with Tom and Bogie. Went
over to Huntly Burn at two o'clock, and reconnoitred the proposed
plantation to be called Jane's Wood. Dined with the Fergusons.

_July_ 3--- Worked in the morning upon the Introduction to the
_Chronicles_; it may be thought egotistical. Learned a bad accident had
happened yesterday. A tinker (drunk I suppose) entered the stream
opposite to Faldonside with an ass bearing his children. The ass was
carried down by the force of the stream, and one of the little
creatures was drowned; the other was brought out alive, poor innocent,
clinging to the ass. It had floated as far down as Deadwater-heugh. Poor
thing, it is as well dead as to live a tinker! The Fergusons dine with
us _en masse_; also Dr. Brewster.

_July_ 4, [_Edinburgh_].--Worked a little in the morning, and took a
walk after breakfast, the day so delicious as makes it heart-breaking to
leave the country. Set out, however, about four o'clock, and reached
Edinburgh a little after nine. Slept part of the way; read _De Vere_ the
rest.[1] It is well written, in point of language and sentiment, but has
too little action in it to be termed a pleasing novel. Everything is
brought out by dialogue--or worse: through the medium of the author's
reflections, which is the clumsiest of all expedients.

_July_ 5.--This morning worked, and sent off to J.B. the Introduction to
the _Chronicles_, containing my Confessions,[2] and did something, but
not fluently, to the Confessions themselves. Not happy, however; the
black dog worries me. Bile, I suppose. "But I will rally and combat the
reiver." Reiver it is, that wretched malady of the mind; got quite well
in the forenoon. Went out to Portobello after dinner, and chatted with
little Johnnie, and told him the history of the Field of Prestonpans.
Few remain who care about these stories.

_July_ 6.--This morning wrought a good deal, but scarce a task. The
Court lasted till half-past three; exhausting work in this hot weather.
I returned to dine alone, Anne going to Roslin with a party. After noon
a Miss Bell broke in upon me, who bothered me some time since about a
book of hers, explaining and exposing the conduct of a Methodist
Tartuffe, who had broken off (by anonymous letters) a match betwixt her
and an accepted admirer. Tried in vain to make her comprehend how little
the Edinburgh people would care about her wrongs, since there was no
knowledge of the parties to make the scandal acceptable. I believe she
has suffered great wrong.[3] Letter from Longman and Co. to J.B.
grumbling about bringing out the second edition, because they have,
forsooth, 700 copies in hand out of 5000, five days after the first
edition[4] is out. What would they have? It is uncomfortable, though.

_July_ 7.--Night dreadfully warm, and bilious; I could not be fool
enough surely to be anxious for these wise men of the East's
prognostication. Letters from Lockhart give a very cheerful prospect; if
there had been any thundering upsetting broadside, he would have noticed
it surely more or less. R. Cadell quite stout, and determined to go on
with the second edition. Well, I hope all's right--thinking won't help
it. Charles came down this morning penniless, poor fellow, but we will
soon remedy that. Lockhart remits £100 for reviewing; I hope the next
will be for Sophia, for cash affairs loom well in the offing, and if the
trust funds go right, I was never so easy. I will take care how I get
into debt again. I do not like this croaking of these old owls of Saint
Paul's when all is done. The pitcher has gone often to the well.
But--However, I worked away at the _Chronicles_. I will take pains with
them. I will, by Jove!

_July_ 8.--I did little to-day but arrange papers, and put bills,
receipts, etc., into apple-pie order. I believe the fair prospect I have
of clearing off some encumbrances, which are like thorns in my flesh,
nay, in my very eye, contribute much to this. I did not even correct
proof-sheets; nay, could not, for I have cancelled two sheets, _instante
Jacobo_, and I myself being of his opinion; for, as I said yesterday, we
must and will take pains. The fiddle-faddle of arranging all the things
was troublesome, but they give a good account of my affairs. The money
for the necessary payments is ready, and therefore there is a sort of
pleasure which does not arise out of any mean source, since it has for
its object the prospect of doing justice and achieving independence.
J.B. dined with me, poor fellow, and talked of his views as hopeful and
prosperous. God send honest industry a fair riddance.

_July_ 9.--Wrote in the morning. At eleven went by appointment with
Colin Mackenzie to the New Edinburgh Academy. In the fifth class, Mr.
Mitchell's, we heard Greek, of which I am no otherwise a judge than that
it was fluently read and explained. In the rector Mr. Williams's class
we heard Virgil and Livy admirably translated _ad aperturam libri_, and,
what I thought remarkable, the rector giving the English, and the pupils
returning, with singular dexterity, the Latin, not exactly as in the
original, but often by synonymes, which showed that the exercise
referred to the judgment, and did not depend on the memory. I could not
help saying, with great truth, that, as we had all long known how much
the pupils were fortunate in a rector, so we were now taught that the
rector was equally lucky in his pupils. Of my young friends, I saw a son
of John Swinton, a son of Johnstone of Alva, and a son of Craufurd
Tait.[5] Dined at John Murray's; Mr. and Mrs. Philips of Liverpool,
General and Charles Stuart of Blantyre, Lord Abercromby, Clerk and
Thomson. Pleasant evening.

_July_ 10.--Corrected proofs, but wrote nothing. To Court till two
o'clock. I went to Cadell's by the Mound, a long roundabout; transacted
some business. I met Baron Hume coming home, and walked with him in the
Gardens. His remarkable account of his celebrated uncle's last moments
is in these words:--Dr. Black called on Mr. D. Hume[6] on the morning on
which he died. The patient complained of having suffered a great deal
during the night, and expressed a fear that his struggle might be
prolonged, to his great distress, for days or weeks longer. "No, sir,"
said Dr. Black, with the remarkable calmness and sincerity which
characterised him, "I have examined the symptoms, and observe several
which oblige me to conclude that dissolution is rapidly approaching."
"Are you certain of that, Doctor?" "Most assuredly so," answered the
physician. The dying philosopher extended his arm, and shook hands with
his medical friend. "I thank you," he said, "for the news." So little
reason there was for the reports of his having been troubled in mind
when on his deathbed.

Dined at Lord Abercromby's, to meet Lord Melville in private. We had an
interview betwixt dinner and tea. I was sorry to see my very old friend,
this upright statesman and honourable gentleman, deprived of his power
and his official income, which the number of his family must render a
matter of importance. He was cheerful, not affectedly so, and bore his
declension like a wise and brave man. I had nursed the idea that he had
been hasty in his resignation; but, from the letters which he showed me
confidentially, which passed betwixt him and Canning, it is clear his
resignation was to be accomplished, not I suppose for personal
considerations, but because it rendered the Admiralty vacant for the
Duke of Clarence, as his resignation was eagerly snapped at. It cannot
be doubted that if he had hesitated or hung back behind his friends,
forcible means would have been used to compel to the measure, which with
more dignity he took of his own accord--at least so it seemed to me. The
first intimation which Lord Melville received of his successor was
through Mr.----, who told him, as great news, that there was to be a new
Duke of York[7]. Lord M. understood the allusion so little, as to
inquire whether his informant meant that the Duke of Cambridge had taken
the Duke of York's situation, when it was explained to refer to the Duke
of Clarence getting the Admiralty. There are some few words that speak
volumes. Lord Melville said that none of them suspected Canning's
negotiations with the Whigs but the Duke of Wellington, who found it out
through the ladies ten days before. I asked him how they came to be so
unprepared, and could not help saying I thought they had acted without
consideration, and that they might have shown a face even to Canning. He
allowed the truth of what I said, and seemed to blame Peel's want of
courage. In his place, he said, he would have proposed to form a
government disclaiming any personal views for himself as being Premier
and the like, but upon the principle of supporting the measures of Lord
Castlereagh and Lord Liverpool. I think this would have been acceptable
to the King. Mr. Peel obviously feared his great antagonist Canning, and
perhaps threw the game up too soon. Canning said the office of Premier
was his inheritance; he could not, from constitution, hold it above two
years, and then it would descend to Peel. Such is ambition! Old friends
forsaken--old principles changed--every effort used to give the vessel
of the State a new direction, and all to be Palinurus for two years!