After the dinner I went to Mrs. Scott of Harden, to see and be seen by her nieces, the Herbert ladies. I don't know how their part of the entertainment turned out, but I saw two or three pretty girls.

May 4.—I breakfasted this morning with Sir Coutts Trotter, and had some Scottish talk. Visited Cooper, who kindly undertook to make my inquiries in Lyons.[187] I was at home afterwards for three hours, but too much tired to do the least right thing. The distances in London are so great that no exertions, excepting those which a bird might make, can contend with them. You return weary and exhausted, fitter for a siesta than anything else. In the evening I dined with Mr. Peel, a great Cabinet affair, and too dignified to be very amusing, though the landlord and the pretty landlady did all to make us easy.

May 5.—Breakfasted with Haydon, and sat for my head. I hope this artist is on his legs again. The King has given him a lift by buying his clever picture of the election in the Fleet prison, to which he is adding a second part, representing the chairing of the member at the moment it was interrupted by the entry of the guards. Haydon was once a great admirer and companion of the champions of the Cockney school, and is now disposed to renounce them and their opinions. To this kind of conversation I did not give much way. A painter should have nothing to do with politics. He is certainly a clever fellow, but somewhat too enthusiastic, which distress seems to have cured in some degree. His wife, a pretty woman, looked happy to see me, and that is something. Yet it was very little I could do to help them.[188]

Dined at Lord Bathurst's, in company with the Duke. There are better accounts of Johnnie. But, alas!

May 7.—Breakfasted with Lord Francis Gower, and again enjoyed the great pleasure of meeting Mrs. Arkwright, and hearing her sing. She is, I understand, quite a heaven-born genius, having scarce skill enough in music to write down the tunes she composes. I can easily believe this. There is a pedantry among great musicians that deprives their performances of much that is graceful and beautiful. It is the same in the other fine arts, where fashion always prefers cant and slang to nature and simplicity.

Dined at Mr. Watson Taylor's, where plate, etc., shone in great and somewhat ostentatious quantity. C[roker] was there, and very decisive and overbearing to a great degree. Strange so clever a fellow should let his wit outrun his judgment![189] In general, the English understand conversation well. There is that ready deference for the claims of every one who wishes to speak time about, and it is seldom now-a-days that "a la stoccata" carries it away thus.[190]

I should have gone to the Duchess of Northumberland's to hear music to-night, but I felt completely fagged, and betook myself home to bed.

I learned a curious thing from Emily, Lady Londonderry, namely, that in feeding all animals with your hand, you should never wear a glove, which always affronts them. It is good authority for this peculiarity.

May 8.—Breakfasted at Somerset House with Davies Gilbert, the new preses of the Royal Society. Tea, coffee, and bread and butter, which is poor work. Certainly a slice of ham, a plate of shrimps, some broiled fish, or a mutton chop, would have been becoming so learned a body. I was most kindly received, however, by Dr. D. Gilbert, and a number of the members. I saw Sir John Sievwright—a singular personage; he told me his uniform plan was to support Ministers, but he always found himself voting in Opposition. I told him his deference to Ministers was like that of the Frenchman to the enemy, who, being at his mercy, asked for his life:—"Anything in my power excepting that, sir," said Monsieur. Sir John has made progress in teaching animals without severity or beating. I should have liked to have heard him on this topic.

Called at Northumberland House and saw the Duke. According to his report I lost much by not hearing the two rival nightingales, Sontag and Pasta, last night, but I care not for it.

Met Sir W. K[nighton], returned from the Continent. He gives me to understand I will be commanded for Sunday. Sir W.K. asked me to sit for him to Northcote, and to meet him there at one to-morrow. I cannot refuse this, but it is a great bore.[191]

Dined with Mrs. Alexander of Ballochmyle, Lord and Lady Meath, who were kind to us in Ireland, and a Scottish party,—pleasant, from hearing the broad accents and honest thoughts of my native land. A large party in the evening. A gentleman came up to me and asked "if I had seen the 'Casket,' a curious work, the most beautiful, the most highly ornamented—and then the editor or editress—a female so interesting,—might he ask a very great favour," and out he pulled a piece of this pic-nic. I was really angry, and said for a subscription he might command me—for a contribution no; that I had given to a great many of these things last year, and finding the labour occupied some considerable portion of my time, I had done a considerable article for a single collection this year, taking a valuable consideration for it, and engaged not to support any other. This may be misrepresented, but I care not. Suppose this patron of the Muses gives five guineas to his distressed lady, he will think he does a great deal, yet takes fifty from me with the calmest air in the world, for the communication is worth that if it be worth anything. There is no equality in the proposal.

I saw to-day at Northumberland House, Bridge the jeweller, having and holding a George, richly ornamented with diamonds, being that which Queen Anne gave to the Duke of Marlborough, which his present representative pawned or sold, and which the present king bought and presented to the Duke of Wellington. His Grace seemed to think this interesting jewel was one of two which had been preserved since the first institution of that order. That, from the form and taste, I greatly doubt. Mr. Bridge put it again into his coat pocket, and walked through the street with L10,000 in his pocket. I wonder he is not hustled and robbed. I have sometimes envied rich citizens, but it was a mean and erroneous feeling. This man, who, I suppose, must be as rich as a Jew, had a shabby look in the Duke's presence, and seemed just a better sort of pedlar. Better be a poor gentleman after all.

May 9.—Grounds of Foote's farce of the Cozeners. Lady ——. A certain Mrs. Phipps audaciously set up in a fashionable quarter of the town as a person through whose influence, properly propitiated, favours and situations of importance might certainly be obtained—always for a consideration. She cheated many people, and maintained the trick for many months. One trick was to get the equipage of Lord North, and other persons of importance, to halt before her door as if the owners were within. With respect to most of them, this was effected by bribing the drivers. But a gentleman, who watched her closely, observed that Charles J. Fox actually left his carriage and went into the house, and this more than once. He was then, it must be noticed, in the Ministry. When Mrs. Phipps was blown up, this circumstance was recollected as deserving explanation, which Fox readily gave at Brooks's and elsewhere. It seems Mrs. Phipps had the art to persuade him that she had the disposal of what was then called a hyaena—that is, an heiress—an immense Jamaica heiress, in whom she was willing to give or sell her interest to Charles Fox. Without having perfect confidence in the obliging proposal, the great statesman thought the thing worth looking after, and became so earnest in it, that Mrs. Phipps was desirous to back out of it for fear of discovery. With this view she made confession one fine morning, with many professions of the deepest feelings, that the hyaena had proved a frail monster, and given birth to a girl or boy—no matter which. Even this did not make Charles quit chase of the hyaena. He intimated that if the cash was plenty and certain, the circumstance might be overlooked. Mrs. Phipps had nothing for it but to double the disgusting dose. "The poor child," she said, "was unfortunately of a mixed colour, somewhat tinged with the blood of Africa; no doubt Mr. Fox was himself very dark, and the circumstance might not draw attention," etc. etc. This singular anecdote was touched upon by Foote, and is the cause of introducing the negress into the Cozeners,[192] though no express allusion to Charles Fox was admitted. Lady ——— tells me that, in her youth, the laugh was universal so soon as the black woman appeared. It is one of the numerous hits that will be lost to posterity. Jack Fuller, celebrated for his attempt on the Speaker's wig, told me he was editing Foote, but I think he has hardly taste enough. He told me Colman was to be his assistant.[193]

Went down in the morning to Montagu House, where I found the Duke going out to suffer a recovery.[194] I had some fancy to see the ceremony, but more to get my breakfast, which I took at a coffee-house at Charing Cross.

I sat to Northcote, who is to introduce himself in the same piece in the act of painting me, like some pictures of the Venetian school. The artist is an old man, low in stature, and bent with years—fourscore at least. But the eye is quick and the countenance noble. A pleasant companion, familiar with recollections of Sir Joshua, Samuel Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, etc. His account of the last confirms all that we have heard of his oddities.

Dined with Mr. Arbuthnot, where met Duke of Rutland, Lord and Lady Londonderry, etc. etc. Went to hear Mrs. Arkwright at Lady Charlotte Greville's. Lockhart came home to-day.

May 10.—Another long sitting to the old Wizard Northcote. He really resembles an animated mummy.[195] He has altered my ideas of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whom, from the expressions used by Goldsmith, Johnson, and others, I used to think an amiable and benevolent character. But though not void of generosity, he was cold, unfeeling, and indifferent to his family: so much so that his sister, Miss Reynolds, after expressing her wonder at the general acceptance which Sir Joshua met with in society, concluded with, "For me, I only see in him a dark gloomy tyrant." I own this view of his character hurt me, by depriving me of the pleasing vision of the highest talents united with the kindest temper. But Northcote says his disagreeable points were rather negative than positive—more a want of feeling than any desire to hurt or tyrannise. They arose from his exclusive attachment to art.

Dined with a pleasant party at Lord Gower's. Lady Gower is a beautiful woman, and extremely courteous. Mrs. Arkwright was of the party. I am getting well acquainted with her, and think I can see a great deal of sense mixed with her accomplishment.

May 11.—Breakfasted with Dr. Maltby, preacher in Lincoln's Inn. He was to have been the next Bishop, if the Whigs had held their ground. His person, manners, and attainments would have suited the lawn sleeves well. I heard service in the chapel, which is a very handsome place of worship; it is upstairs, which seems extraordinary, and the space beneath forms cloisters, in which the ancient Benchers of this Society of Lincoln's Inn are entered. I met my old friend Sir William Grant,[196] and had some conversation with him. Dr. Maltby gave us a good sermon upon the introduction of the Gospel. There was only one monument in the chapel, a handsome tablet to the memory of Perceval. The circumstance that it was the only monument in the chapel of a society which had produced so many men of talents and distinction was striking—it was a tribute due to the suddenness of his strange catastrophe. There is nothing very particular in the hall of Lincoln's Inn, nor its parlour, which are like those of a college. Indeed the whole establishment has a monastic look.

Sat to Northcote, who only requires (Deo gratias) another sitting. Dined with his Majesty in a very private party—five or six only being present. I was received most kindly as usual. It is impossible to conceive a more friendly manner than his Majesty used towards me. I spoke to S.W.K. about the dedication of the collected works, and he says it will be highly well taken.[197]

I went after the party broke up to Mrs. Scott of Harden, where I made acquaintance with her beautiful kinswoman, Lady Sarah Ponsonby, whose countenance is really seraphic and totally devoid of affectation.

May 12.—Old George II. was, as is well known, extremely passionate. On these occasions his small stock of English totally failed him, and he used to express his indignation in the following form: "G—d—n me, who I am? Got d—n you, who you be?" Lockhart and I visited a Mrs. Quillinan,[198] with whom Wordsworth and his wife have pitched their tent. I was glad to see my old friend, whose conversation has so much that is fresh and manly in it. I do not at all acquiesce in his system of poetry, and I think he has injured his own fame by adhering to it. But a better or more sensible man I do not know than W.W.

Afterwards Lockhart and I called on Miss Nicolson, and from thence I wandered down into that immense hash of a city to see Heath, and fortunately caught hold on him. All this made me too late for Northcote,—who was placable, however.[199]

Dined at Sir John Shelley's, a petit couvert. Here were the Duke of Wellington, Duke of Rutland, and only one or two more, particularly Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot. The evening was very pleasant, and did not break up till twelve at night.

May 13.—Breakfasted with Sir George Philips—there was Sydney Smith, full of fun and spirit, and his daughter, who is a good-humoured agreeable girl. We had a pleasant breakfast party.

The Catholics have carried their question, which I suppose will be thrown out in the Lords. I think they had better concede this oft-disputed point, and dissolve the league which binds so many people in opposition to Government. It is a matter of great consequence that men should not acquire the habit of opposing. No earthly advantage would arise to Ireland from ceding what is retained, where so much has been already yielded up. Indeed the Catholic gentry do not pretend that the granting the immunities they require would tranquillise the country, but only that it would remove from men of honour all pretext for countenancing them. This is on the principle of the solicitor of the unhappy Rajah Nuncomar, who after extorting as much money as he could, under pretence of bribing persons to procure his pardon, facilitate his escape, etc., found himself pressed by his victim for a final answer. "The preparations for death are ready," said the Rajah; "I fear, notwithstanding all you have told me, their intention is to take my life." "By G—d," replied the trusty solicitor, "if they do I will never forgive them." So if there are further disturbances after the Catholic claims are granted, I suppose those by whom they are now advocated will never forgive their friends the Pats; and that will be all John Bull will get for it. I dined with Lady Stafford, for whom I have much regard. I recollect her ever since she stood at her aunt Lady Glenorchy's window, in George Square, reviewing her regiment of Sutherland giants. She was, as she ever is, most attentive and kind.

May 14.—I carried Lockhart to Lady Francis Gower's to hear Mrs. Arkwright sing, and I think he admired her as much as his nature permits him to love anything musical, for he certainly is not quickly moved by concord of sweet sounds. I do not understand them better than he, but the voce del petto always affects me, and Mrs. A. has it in perfection. I have received as much pleasure from that lady's music as sound could ever give me.[200] Lockhart goes off for Brighton. I had a round of men in office. I waited on the Duke at Downing St., and I think put L. right there, if he will look to himself. But I can only tee the ball; he must strike the blow with the golf club himself. I saw Mr. Renton, and he promised to look after Harper's business favourably. Good gracious, what a solicitor we are grown!

Dined with Lady Davy—a pleasant party; but I was out of spirits; I think partly on Johnnie's account, partly from fatigue. There was William Henry Lyttelton amongst others; much of his oddity has rubbed off, and he is an honoured courtly gentleman, with a great deal of wit; and not one of the fine people who perplex you by shutting their mouths if you begin to speak. I never fear quizzing, so am not afraid of this species of lying-in-wait. Lord have mercy on me if I were!

May 15.—Dined at the Roxburghe Club. Lord Spencer presided, but had a cold which limited his exertions. Lord Clive, beside whom I sat, was deaf, though intelligent and good-humoured. The Duke of Devonshire was still deafer. There were many little chirruping men who might have talked but went into committee. There was little general conversation. I should have mentioned that I breakfasted with kind, good Mr. Hughes, and met the Bishop of Llandaff—strongly intelligent. I do not understand his politics about the Catholic question. He seems disposed to concede, yet is Toryissimus. Perhaps they wish the question ended, but the present opinions of the Sovereign are too much interested to permit them to quit it.

May 16.—Breakfasted with Mr. Reynolds; a miscellaneous party. Wordsworth, right welcome unto me was there. I had also a sight of Godwin the philosopher, grown old and thin—of Douglas Kinnaird, whom I asked about Byron's statue, which is going forward—of Luttrell, and others whom I knew not. I stayed an instant at Pickering's, a young publisher's, and bought some dramatic reprints. I love them very much, but I would [not] advise a young man to undertake them. They are of course dear, and as they have not the dignity of scarcity, the bibliomaniacs pass them by as if they were plated candlesticks. They may hold as good a light for all that as if they were real silver, and therefore I buy them when I can light on them. But here I am spending money when I have more need to make it. On Monday, the 26th, it shall be Northward ho!

Dined at Lady Georgiana and Mr. Agar Ellis's.[201] There were Lord and Lady Stafford there, and others to whom I am sincerely attached.

May 17.—A day of busy idleness. Richardson came and breakfasted with me like a good fellow. Then I went to Mr. Chantrey, and sat for an hour to finish the bust.[202] Thereafter, about twelve o'clock, I went to breakfast the second, at Lady Shelley's, where there was a great morning party. A young lady[203] begged a lock of my hair, which was not worth refusing. I stipulated for a kiss, which I was permitted to take. From this I went to the Duke of Wellington, who gave me some hints or rather details. Afterwards I drove out to Chiswick, where I had never been before. A numerous and gay party were assembled to walk and enjoy the beauties of that Palladian [dome?]; the place and highly ornamented gardens belonging to it resemble a picture of Watteau. There is some affectation in the picture, but in the ensemble the original looked very well. The Duke of Devonshire received every one with the best possible manners. The scene was dignified by the presence of an immense elephant, who, under charge of a groom, wandered up and down, giving an air of Asiatic pageantry to the entertainment. I was never before sensible of the dignity which largeness of size and freedom of movement give to this otherwise very ugly animal. As I was to dine at Holland House, I did not partake in the magnificent repast which was offered to us, and took myself off about five o'clock. I contrived to make a demi-toilette at Holland House rather than drive all the way to London. Rogers came to dinner, which was very entertaining. The Duke of Manchester was there, whom I remember having seen long ago. He had left a part of his brain in Jamaica by a terrible fracture, yet, notwithstanding the accident and the bad climate, was still a fine-looking man. Lady Holland[204] pressed me to stay all night, which I did accordingly.

May 18.—The freshness of the air, the singing of the birds, the beautiful aspect of nature, the size of the venerable trees, all gave me a delightful feeling this morning. It seemed there was pleasure even in living and breathing, without anything else. We (i.e. Rogers and I) wandered into a green lane bordered with fine trees, which might have been twenty miles from a town. It will be a great pity when this ancient house must come down and give way to brick works and brick-houses. It is not that Holland House is fine as a building; on the contrary, it has a tumble-down look; and, although decorated with the bastard Gothic of James I.'s time, the front is heavy. But it resembles many respectable matrons, who, having been absolutely ugly during youth, acquire by age an air of dignity;—though one is chiefly affected by the air of deep seclusion which is spread around the domain. I called on Mr. Peel as I returned home, and after that on Lord Melville. The latter undertook for Allan Cunningham's son's cadetship, for which I am right glad.

Dined at Mr. and Lady Sarah Ponsonby's, who called on us last year at Abbotsford. The party was very pleasant, having Lord and Lady Gower, whom I like, Mr. and Lady Georgiana Ellis, and other persons of distinction. Saw Wordsworth too, and learned that Tom Moore was come to town.

May 19.—A morning of business. Breakfasted with Dumergue and one or two friends. Dined by command with the Duchess of Kent. I was very kindly recognised by Prince Leopold. I was presented to the little Princess Victoria,—I hope they will change her name,—the heir apparent to the Crown as things now stand. How strange that so large and fine a family as that of his late Majesty should have died off and decayed into old age with so few descendants! Prince George of Cumberland is, they say, a fine boy about nine years old—a bit of a pickle, swears and romps like a brat that has been bred in a barrack yard. This little lady is educated with much care, and watched so closely by the Duchess and the principal governess, that no busy maid has a moment to whisper, "You are heir of England." I suspect if we could dissect the little head, we should find that some pigeon or other bird of the air had carried the matter. She is fair, like the Royal Family, but does not look as if she would be pretty. The Duchess herself is very pleasing and affable in her manners. I sat by Mr. Spring Rice, a very agreeable man. He is a great leader among the Pro-Catholics. I saw also Charles Wynn and his lady—and the evening, for a Court evening, went agreeably off. I am commanded for two days by Prince Leopold, but will send excuses.

May 20.—I set out for Brighton this morning in a light coach, which performed the distance in six hours—otherwise the journey was uncomfortable. Three women, the very specimens of womankind,—I mean trumpery,—a child who was sick, but afterwards looked and smiled, and was the only thing like company. The road is pleasant enough till it gets into the Wealds of Sussex, a huge succession of green downs which sweep along the sea-coast for many miles. Brighton seems grown twice as large since 1815. It is a city of loiterers and invalids—a Vanity Pair for pipers, dancing of bears, and for the feats of Mr. Punch. I found all my family well excepting the poor pale Johnnie; and he is really a thing to break one's heart by looking at—yet he is better. The rest are in high kelter.

My old friend Will Rose dined with us, also a Doctor Yates and his wife—the Esculapius of Brighton, who seems a sensible man. I was entertained with the empire he exerted over him as protector of his health. I was very happy to find myself at Sophia's quiet table, and am only sorry that I must quit her so soon.

May 21.—This being a fine day, we made some visits in the morning, in the course of which I waited on Mrs. Davies, sister of Mrs. Charlotte Smith,[205] and herself the author of the Peacock at Home, one of the prettiest and liveliest jeux d'esprit in our language. She is a fine stately old lady—not a bit of a literary person,—I mean having none of the affectation of it, but like a lady of considerable rank. I am glad I have seen her. Renewed my acquaintance with Lady Charlotte Hamilton, nee Lady Charlotte Hume, and talked over some stories thirty years old at least. We then took a fly, as they call the light carriages, and drove as far as the Devil's Ditch. A rampart it is of great strength and depth, enclosing, I presume, the precincts of a British town that must have held 30,000 men at least. I could not discover where they got water.

We got home at four, and dined at five, and smoked cigars till eight. Will Rose came in with his man Hinvaes,[206] who is as much a piece of Rose as Trim was of Uncle Toby. We laughed over tales "both old and new" till ten o'clock came, and then broke up.

May 22.—Left Brighton this morning with a heavy heart. Poor Johnnie looks so very poorly that I cannot but regard his case as desperate, and then God help the child's parents! Amen!

We took the whole of one of the post-coaches, and so came rapidly to town, Sophia coming along with us about a new servant. This enabled me to dine with Mr. Adolphus, the celebrated barrister, the father to my young friend who wrote so like a gentleman on my matters.[207] I met Mr. Gurney, Archdeacon Wrangham, and a lawyer or two besides. I may be partial, but the conversation of intelligent barristers amuses me more than that of other professional persons. There is more of real life in it, with which, in all its phases, people of business get so well acquainted. Mr. Adolphus is a man of varied information, and very amusing. He told me a gipsy told him of the success he should have in life, and how it would be endangered by his own heat of temper, alluding, I believe, to a quarrel betwixt him and a brother barrister.

May 23.—I breakfasted with Chantrey, and met the celebrated Coke of Norfolk,[208] a very pleasing man, who gave me some account of his plantations. I understand from him that, like every wise man, he planted land that would not let for 5s. per acre, but which now produces L3000 a year in wood. He talked of the trees which he had planted as being so thick that a man could not fathom[209] them. Withers, he said, was never employed save upon one or two small jobs of about twenty acres on which every expense was bestowed with a view to early growth. So much for Withers. I shall have a rod in pickle for him if worth while.[210] After sitting to Chantrey for the last time, I called on Lady Shelley, P.P.C., and was sorry to find her worse than she had been. Dined with Lady Stafford, where I met the two Lochs, John and James. The former gave me his promise for a cadetship to Allan Cunningham's son; I have a similar promise from Lord Melville, and thus I am in the situation in which I have been at Gladdies Wiel,[211] where I have caught two trouts, one with the fly, the other with the bobber. I have landed both, and so I will now. Mr. Loch also promised me to get out Shortreed as a free mariner. Tom Grenville was at dinner.

May 24.—This day we dined at Richmond Park with Lord Sidmouth. Before dinner his Lordship showed me letters which passed between the great Lord Chatham and Dr. Addington, Lord Sidmouth's [father]. There was much of that familiar friendship which arises, and must arise, between an invalid, the head of an invalid family, and their medical adviser, supposing the last to be a wise and well-bred man. The character of Lord Chatham's handwriting is strong and bold, and his expressions short and manly. There are intimations of his partiality for William, whose health seems to have been precarious during boyhood. He talks of William imitating him in all he did, and calling for ale because his father was recommended to drink it. "If I should smoke," he said, "William would instantly call for a pipe;" and, he wisely infers, "I must take care what I do." The letters of the late William Pitt are of great curiosity, but as, like all real letters of business, they only allude to matters with which his correspondent is well acquainted, and do not enter into details, they would require an ample commentary. I hope Lord Sidmouth will supply this, and have urged it as much as I can. I think, though I hate letters and abominate interference, I will write to him on this subject.

I have bought a certain quantity of reprints from a bookseller in Chancery Lane, Pickering by name. I urged him to print the controversy between Greene and the Harveys. He wished me to write a third part to a fine edition of Cotton's Angler, for which I am quite incompetent.[212]

I met at Richmond my old and much esteemed friend Lord Stowell,[213] looking very frail and even comatose. Quantum mutatus! He was one of the pleasantest men I ever knew.

Respecting the letters, I picked up from those of Pitt that he was always extremely desirous of peace with France, and even reckoned upon it at a moment when he ought to have despaired. I suspect this false view of the state of France (for such it was), which induced the British Minister to look for peace when there was no chance of it, damped his ardour in maintaining the war. He wanted the lofty ideas of his father—you read it in his handwriting, great statesman as he was. I saw a letter or two of Burke's in which there is an epanchement du coeur not visible in those of Pitt, who writes like a Premier to his colleague. Burke was under the strange hallucination that his son, who predeceased him, was a man of greater talents than himself. On the contrary, he had little talent and no resolution. On moving some resolutions in favour of the Catholics, which were ill-received by the House of Commons, young Burke actually ran away, which an Orangeman compared to a cross-reading in the newspapers:—Yesterday the Catholic resolutions were moved, etc., but, the pistol missing fire, the villains ran off!

May 25.—After a morning of letter-writing, leave-taking, papers destroying, and God knows what trumpery, Sophia and I set out for Hampton Court, carrying with us the following lions and lionesses—Samuel Rogers, Tom Moore, Wordsworth, with wife and daughter. We were very kindly and properly received by Walter and his wife, and a very pleasant party.[214]

May 26.—An awful confusion with paying of bills, writing of cards, and all species of trumpery business. Southey, who is just come to town, breakfasted with us. He looks, I think, but poorly, but it may be owing to family misfortune. One is always tempted to compare Wordsworth and Southey. The latter is unquestionably the greater scholar—I mean possesses the most extensive stock of information, but there is a freshness, vivacity, and spring about Wordsworth's mind, which, if we may compare two men of uncommon powers, shows more originality. I say nothing of their poetry. Wordsworth has a system which disposes him to take the bull by the horns and offend public taste, which, right or wrong, will always be the taste of the public; yet he could be popular if he would,—witness the Feast at Brougham Castle,—Song of the Cliffords, I think, is the name.

I walked down to call, with Rogers, on Mrs. D'Arblay. She showed me some notes which she was making about her novels, which she induced me to believe had been recollected and jotted down in compliance with my suggestions on a former occasion. It is curious how she contrived to get Evelina printed and published without her father's knowledge. Her brother placed it in the hands of one Lowndes, who, after its success, bought it for L20!!! and had the magnanimity to add L10—the price, I think, of Paradise Lost. One of her sisters betrayed the secret to her father, who then eagerly lent his ears to hear what was said of the new novel, and the first opinion which saluted his delighted ears was the voice of Johnson energetically recommending it to the perusal of Mrs Thrale.[215]

At parting, Rogers gave me a gold-mounted pair of glasses, which I will not part with in a hurry. I really like Rogers, and have always found him most friendly. After many petty delays we set off at last and reached Bushy Grove to dine with my kind and worthy family friend and relative, David Haliburton. I am delighted to find him in all the enjoyment of life, with the vivacity of youth in his sentiments and enjoyments. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell Marjoribanks are the only company here, with Miss Parker.

May 27.—Well, my retreat from London is now accomplished, and I may fairly balance the advantage and loss of this London trip. It has cost me a good deal of money, and Johnnie's illness has taken away much of the pleasure I had promised myself. But if I can judge from the reception I have met with, I have the pleasure to know that I stand as fair with the public, and as high with my personal friends, as in any period of my life. And this has enabled me to forward the following objects to myself and others:—

1st. I have been able to place Lockhart on the right footing in the right quarter, leaving the improvement of his place of vantage to himself as circumstances should occur.

2d. I have put the Chancery suit in the right train, which without me could not have been done.[216]

3d. I picked up some knowledge of the state of existing matters, which is interesting and may be useful.

4th. I have succeeded in helping to get a commission for James Skene.

5th. I have got two cadetships for the sons of Allan Cunningham.

6th. I have got leave to Andrew Shortreed to go out to India.

7th. I have put John Eckford into correspondence with Mr. Loch, who thinks he can do something for his claim.

8th. I have been of material assistance to poor Terry in his affairs.

9th. I have effectually protected my Darnick neighbours and myself against the New Road Bill.

Other advantages there are, besides the great one of scouring up one's own mind a little and renewing intercourse with old friends, bringing one's-self nearer in short to the currency of the time.

All this may weigh against the expenditure of L200 or L250, when money is fortunately not very scarce with me.

We went out for a most agreeable drive through the Hertfordshire Lanes—a strange intricate combination of narrow roads passing through the country, winding and turning among oaks and other large timber, just like pathways cut through a forest. They wind and turn in so singular a manner, and resemble each other so much, that a stranger would have difficulty to make way amongst them. We visited Moor Park (not the house of Sir William Temple, but that where the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth lived). Having rather a commanding situation, you look down on the valley, which, being divided into small enclosures bordered with wood, resembles a forest when so looked down on. The house has a handsome entrance-hall, painted by Sir James Thornhill, in a very French taste, yet handsome. He was Hogarth's father-in-law, and not easily reconciled to the match. Thornhill's paintings are certainly not of the first class, yet the practice of painting the walls and roof of a dwelling-house gives, in my eyes, a warm and rich air to the apartments. Lord Grosvenor has now bought this fine place, once Lord Anson's—hence the Moor Park apricot is also called Ansoniana. After seeing Moor Park we went to the Grove, the Earl of Clarendon's country-seat. The house looks small and of little consequence, but contains many good portraits, as I was told, of the Hyde family.[217] The park has fine views and magnificent trees.

We went to Cashiobury, belonging to the Earl of Essex, an old mansion, apparently, with a fine park. The Colne runs through the grounds, or rather creeps through them.

"For the Colne Is black and swollen, Snake-like, he winds his way, Unlike the burns From Highland urns That dance by crag and brae."

Borthwick-brae[218] came to dinner from town, and we had a very pleasant evening. My excellent old friend reminded me of the old and bitter feud between the Scotts and the Haliburtons, and observed it was curious I should have united the blood of two hostile clans.

May 28.—We took leave of our kind old host after breakfast, and set out for our own land. Our elegant researches carried us out of the high-road and through a labyrinth of intricate lanes,—which seem made on purpose to afford strangers the full benefit of a dark night and a drunk driver,—in order to visit Gill's Hill, famous for the murder of Mr. Weare.

The place has the strongest title to the description of Wordsworth:—

"A merry spot, 'tis said, in days of yore, But something ails it now—- the place is cursed."

The principal part of the house has been destroyed, and only the kitchen remains standing. The garden has been dismantled, though a few laurels and garden shrubs, run wild, continue to mark the spot. The fatal pond is now only a green swamp, but so near the house that one cannot conceive how it was ever chosen as a place of temporary concealment of the murdered body. Indeed the whole history of the murder, and the scenes which ensued, are strange pictures of desperate and short-sighted wickedness. The feasting—the singing—the murderer with his hands still bloody hanging round the neck of one of the females—the watch-chain of the murdered man, argue the utmost apathy. Even Probert, the most frightened of the party, fled no further for relief than to the brandy bottle, and is found in the very lane, and at the spot of the murder, seeking for the murderous weapon, and exposing himself to the view of the passengers. Another singular mark of stupid audacity was their venturing to wear the clothes of their victim. There was a want of foresight in the whole arrangement of the deed, and the attempts to conceal it, which argued strange inconsideration, which a professed robber would not have exhibited. There was just one single shade of redeeming character about a business so brutal, perpetrated by men above the very lowest rank of life—it was the mixture of revenge which afforded some relief to the circumstances of treachery and premeditation which accompanied it. But Weare was a cheat, and had no doubt pillaged Thurtell, who therefore deemed he might take greater liberties with him than with others.

The dirt of the present habitation equalled its wretched desolation, and a truculent-looking hag, who showed us the place, and received half-a-crown, looked not unlike the natural inmate of such a mansion. She indicated as much herself, saying the landlord had dismantled the place because no respectable person would live there. She seems to live entirely alone, and fears no ghosts, she says.

One thing about this mysterious tragedy was never explained. It is said that Weare, as is the habit of such men, always carried about his person, and between his flannel waistcoat and shirt, a sum of ready money, equal to L1500 or L2000. No such money was ever recovered, and as the sum divided by Thurtell among his accomplices was only about L20, he must, in slang phrase, have bucketed his pals.[219]

We came on as far as Alconbury, where we slept comfortably.

May 29.—We travelled from Alconbury Hill to Ferry Bridge, upwards of a hundred miles, amid all the beauties of "flourish" and verdure which spring awakens at her first approach in the midland counties of England, but without any variety save those of the season's making. I do believe this great north road is the dullest in the world, as well as the most convenient for the traveller. Nothing seems to me to have been altered within twenty or thirty years, save the noses of the landlords, which have bloomed and given place to another set of proboscises as germane us the old ones to the very welcome,—please to light—'Orses forward, and ready out. The skeleton at Barnby Moor has deserted his gibbet, and that is the only change I recollect.

I have amused myself to-day with reading Lockhart's Life of Burns, which is very well written—in fact, an admirable thing. He has judiciously slurred over his vices and follies; for although Currie, I myself, and others, have not said a word more on that subject than is true, yet as the dead corpse is straightened, swathed, and made decent, so ought the character of such an inimitable genius as Burns to be tenderly handled after death. The knowledge of his vicious weaknesses or vices is only a subject of sorrow to the well-disposed, and of triumph to the profligate.

May 30.—We left Ferry Bridge at seven, and turning westwards, or rather northwestward, at Borough Bridge, we roach Rokeby at past three. A mile from the house we met Morritt looking for us. I had great pleasure at finding myself at Rokeby, and recollecting a hundred passages of past time. Morritt looks well and easy in his mind, which I am delighted to see. He is now one of my oldest, and, I believe, one of my most sincere, friends, a man unequalled in the mixture of sound good sense, high literary cultivation, and the kindest and sweetest temper that ever graced a human bosom. His nieces are much attached to him, and are deserving and elegant, as well as beautiful young women. What there is in our partiality to female beauty that commands a species of temperate homage from the aged, as well as ecstatic admiration from the young, I cannot conceive, but it is certain that a very large proportion of some other amiable quality is too little to counterbalance the absolute want of this advantage. I, to whom beauty is and shall henceforth be a picture, still look upon it with the quiet devotion of an old worshipper, who no longer offers incense on the shrine, but peaceably presents his inch of taper, taking special care in doing so not to burn his own fingers. Nothing in life can be more ludicrous or contemptible than an old man aping the passions of his youth.

Talking of youth, there was a certain professor at Cambridge who used to keep sketches of all the youths who, from their conduct at college, seemed to bid fair for distinction in life. He showed them, one day, to an old shrewd sarcastic Master of Arts, who looked over the collection, and then observed, "A promising nest of eggs; what a pity the great part will turn out addle!" And so they do; looking round amongst the young men, one sees to all appearance fine flourish—but it ripens not.

May 31.—I have finished Napier's War in the Peninsula.[220] It is written in the spirit of a Liberal, but the narrative is distinct and clear, and I should suppose accurate. He has, however, given a bad sample of accuracy in the case of Lord Strangford, where his pointed affirmation has been as pointedly repelled. It is evident he would require probing. His defence of Moore is spirited and well argued, though it is evident he defends the statesman as much as the general. As a Liberal and a military man, Colonel Napier finds it difficult to steer his course. The former character calls on him to plead for the insurgent Spaniards; the latter induces him to palliate the cruelties of the French. Good-even to him until next volume, which I shall long to see. This was a day of pleasure and nothing else. After breakfast I walked with Morritt in the new path he has made up the Tees. When last here, his poor nephew was of the party. It hangs on my mind, and perhaps on Morritt's. When we returned we took a short drive as far as Barnard Castle; and the business of eating and drinking took up the remainder of the evening, excepting a dip into the Greta Walk.

FOOTNOTES:

[183] See ante, vol. i. p. 14. Lady Francis Leveson Gower was the eldest daughter of Charles Greville.

[184] Mr. Lockhart writes:—"Among other songs Mrs. Arkwright delighted Sir Walter with her own set of—

'Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew,' etc.

He was sitting by me, at some distance from the lady, and whispered, as she closed, 'Capital words—whose are they? Byron's, I suppose, but I don't remember them.' He was astonished when I told him they were his own in The Pirate. He seemed pleased at the moment, but said next minute, 'You have distressed me—if memory goes, all is up with me, for that was always my strong point.'"—Life, vol. ix. p. 236.

[185] Milton's L'Allegro, ver. 137, 294.

[186] Afterwards second Earl Powis.

[187] Regarding the Chancery business, see infra, p. 191, n.

[188] Sir Walter had shortly before been one of the contributors to a subscription for Mr. Haydon. The imprisonment from which the subscription released the artist produced, I need scarcely say, the picture mentioned in the Diary.—J.G.L. Haydon died in June 1846. See his Life, 3 vols., 1853, edited by Tom Taylor.

[189] The Duke of Wellington, in after years, said to Lord Mahon, "He had observed on several occasions that Sir Walter was talked down by Croker and Bankes! who forgot that we might have them every day."—Notes, p. 100.

[190] Romeo and Juliet, Act III. Sc. 1.

[191] Sir W. Knighton, as a Devonshire man, naturally wished to have the portrait painted by Northcote, who was a brother Devonian. Cunningham said of tins picture that the conception was good, and reality given by the introduction of the painter, palette in hand, putting the finishing touch to the head of the poet. "The likenesses were considered good."—Cunningham's Lives, vol. vi. p. 124. It was exhibited in 1871 in Edinburgh; its size is 4 ft. 2 in. x 3 ft. 2 in. Mr. David Laing, differing from Allan Cunningham, considered that the picture presented "anything but a fortunate likeness." Northcote died July 13th, 1831, in his eighty-fifth year.

[192] Act III. Sc. 2.

[193] John Fuller, long M.P. for Surrey, an eccentric character, and looked upon as standing jester to the House of Commons. Scott first met him in Chantrey's studio in 1820.—See Life, vol. vi. pp. 206, 207. He died in his 77th year, in 1831, without apparently having carried out his intention of editing Foote.

[194] A process in English copyhold law.

[195] Hazlitt said of Northcote, that talking with him was like conversing with the dead: "You see a little old man, pale and fragile, with eyes gleaming like the lights hung in tombs. He seems little better than a ghost, and hangs wavering and trembling on the very verge of life; you would think a breath would blow him away, and yet what fine things he says!"—Conversations.

[196] Born 1752, died 1832; Master of the Rolls from 1801 to 1817.

[197] The Magnum Opus was dedicated to George IV.—J.G.L.

[198] Whose son afterwards married Dora, Wordsworth's daughter.

[199] At the last sitting Northcote remarked, "You have often sat for your portrait?"

"Yes," said Sir Walter; "my dog Maida and I have sat frequently—so often that Maida, who had little philosophy, conceived such a dislike to painters, that whenever he saw a man take out a pencil and paper, and look at him, he set up a howl, and ran off to the Eildon Hill. His unfortunate master, however well he can howl, was never able to run much; he was therefore obliged to abide the event. Yes, I have frequently sat for my picture."—Cunningham's Painters, vol. vi. pp. 125-6.

[200] See ante, May 1st, p. 170, note.

[201] Mr. Ellis, afterwards created Baron Dover, was the author of Historical Inquiries into the Character of Lord Clarendon. 8vo, Lond., 1827.

[202] Sir F. Chantrey was at this time executing his second bust of Sir Walter—that ordered by Sir Robert Peel, and which is now at Drayton.—J.G.L.

[203] Lady Shelley of Maresfield Park. Mr. Lockhart says the young lady was Miss Shelley, who became in 1834 the Hon. Mrs. George Edgcumbe.

[204] Scott had dined at Holland House in 1806, but in consequence of some remarks by Lord Holland in the House of Lords in 1810, on Thomas Scott's affairs, there had apparently been no renewal of the acquaintanceship until now.

[205] See Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. iv. p. 20.

[206] David Hinves, Mr. W. Stewart Rose's faithful and affectionate attendant, furnished Scott with some hints for his picture of Davie Gellatly in Waverley.

Mr. Lockhart tells us that Hinves was more than forty years in Mr. Rose's service; he had been a bookbinder by trade and a preacher among the Methodists.

"A sermon heard casually under a tree in the New Forest contained such touches of good feeling and broad humour that Rose promoted the preacher to be his valet on the spot. He was treated more like a friend than a servant by his master and by all his master's intimate friends. Scott presented him with all his works; and Coleridge gave him a corrected (or rather an altered) copy of Christabel with this inscription on the fly-leaf: 'Dear Hinves,—Till this book is concluded, and with it Gundimore, a poem by the same "author," accept of this corrected copy of Christabel as a small token of regard; yet such a testimonial as I would not pay to any one I did not esteem, though he were an emperor.

"'Be assured I will send you for your private library every work I have published (if there be any to be had) and whatever I shall publish. Keep steady to the FAITH. If the fountainhead be always full, the stream cannot be long empty.—Yours sincerely, S.T. COLERIDGE.

"'11 November 1816, Mudford.'"—Life, vol. iv. pp. 397-8.

Hinves died in Mr. Rose's service circa 1838, and his master followed him on the 30th April 1843, a few weeks after his friend Morritt.

[207] An analysis of these letters was published by Mr. Lockhart in the Life, vol. vi. pp. 346-386.

[208] Created Earl of Leicester in 1837.

[209] It is worth noting that Sir Walter first wrote "grasp"—and then deleted the word in favour of the technical term—"fathom."

[210] W. Withers had just published a Letter to Sir Walter Scott exposing certain fundamental errors in his late Essay on Planting,—Holt: Norfolk, 1828.

[211] A deep pool in the Tweed, in which Scott had had a singular nocturnal adventure while "burning the water" in company with Hogg and Laidlaw. Hogg records that the crazy coble went to the bottom while Scott was shouting—

"An' gin the boat were bottomless, An' seven miles to row."

The scene was not forgotten when he came to write the twenty-sixth chapter of Guy Mannering.

[212] This refers to the splendid edition of Walton and Cotton, edited by Nicolas, and illustrated by Stothard and Inskipp, published in 1836 after nearly ten years' preparation, in two vols. large 8vo.

[213] Sir William Scott, Lord Stowell, died 28th January 1836, aged ninety.

[214] Moore writes: "On our arrival at Hampton (where we found the Wordsworths), walked about,—the whole party in the gay walk where the band plays, to the infinite delight of the Hampton blues, who were all eyes after Scott. The other scribblers not coming in for a glance. The dinner odd; but being near Scott I found it agreeable, and was delighted to see him so happy, with his tall son, the Major," etc. etc,—Diary, vol. v. p. 287.

[215] The author of Evelina died at Bath in 1840, at the age of eighty-eight. Subsequent to this meeting with Scott she published memoirs of her father, Dr. Burney (in 1832). It is stated that for her novel Camilla, published in 1796, she received a subscription of 3000 guineas, and for the Wanderer, in 1814, L1500 for the copyright. This was the year in which Waverley appeared, for the copyright of which Constable did not see his way to offer more than L700.

[216] This item refers to money which had belonged to Lady Scott's parents.

[217] It contains half of Chancellor Clarendon's famous collection—the other half is at Bothwell Castle.

[218] William Elliot Lockhart of Cleghorn and Borthwick-brae, long M.P. for Selkirkshire.

[219] Weare, Thurtell, and the rest were professed gamblers. See ante, July 10, 1826, and Life, vol. viii. p. 381.

[220] The first volume had just been published in 1828. The book was completed in 6 vols. in 1840.



JUNE.

June 1.—We took leave of our friends at Rokeby after breakfast, and pursued our well-known path over Stanmore to Brough, Appleby, Penrith, and Carlisle. As I have this road by heart, I have little amusement save the melancholy task of recalling the sensations with which I have traced it in former times, all of which refer to decay of animal strength, and abatement if not of mental powers, at least of mental energy. The non est tanti grows fast at my time of life. We reached Carlisle at seven o'clock, and were housed for the night. My books being exhausted, I lighted on an odd volume of the Gentleman's Magazine, a work in which, as in a pawnbroker's shop, much of real curiosity and value are stowed away and concealed amid the frippery and trumpery of those reverend old gentlewomen who were the regular correspondents of the work.

June 2.—We intended to walk to the Castle, but were baffled by rainy weather. I was obliged to wait for a certificate from the parish register—Hei mihi!! I cannot have it till ten o'clock, or rather, as it chanced, till past eleven, when I got the paper for which I waited.[221] We lunched at Hawick, and concluded our pilgrimage at Abbotsford about nine at night, where the joyful barking of the dogs, with the sight of the kind familiar faces of our domestics, gave us welcome, and I enjoyed a sound repose on my own bed. I remark that in this journey I have never once experienced depression of spirits, or the tremor cordis of which I have sometimes such unpleasant visits. Dissipation, and a succession of trifling engagements, prevent the mind from throwing itself out in the manner calculated to exhaust the owner, and to entertain other people. There is a lesson in this.

June 3, [Abbotsford].—This was a very idle day. I waked to walk about my beautiful young woods with old Tom and the dogs. The sun shone bright, and the wind fanned my cheek as if it were a welcoming. I did not do the least right thing, except packing a few books necessary for writing the continuation of the Tales. In this merry mood I wandered as far as Huntly Burn, where I found the Miss Fergusons well and happy; then I sauntered back to Abbotsford, sitting on every bench by the way, and thus

"It grew to dinner in conclusion."

A good appetite made my simple meal relish better than the magnificent cheer which I have lately partaken of. I smoked a cigar, slept away an hour, and read Mure of Auchendrane's trial, and thus ended the day. I cannot afford to spend many such, nor would they seem so pleasant.

June 4, [Edinburgh].—The former part of this day was employed much as yesterday, but some packing was inevitable. Will Laidlaw came to dinner, of which we partook at three o'clock. Started at half-past four, and arrived at home, if we must call it so, at nine o'clock in the evening. I employed my leisure in the chaise to peruse Mure of Auchendrane's trial, out of which something might be coopered up for the public.[222] It is one of the wildest stories I ever read. Something might surely be twisted out of it.

June 5.—Cadell breakfasted; in great spirits with the success of the Fair Maid of Perth. A disappointment being always to be apprehended, I too am greatly pleased that the evil day is adjourned, for the time must come—and yet I can spin a tough yarn still with any one now going.

I was much distressed to find that the last of the Macdonald Buchanans, a fine lad of about twenty-one, is now decidedly infected by the same pulmonary complaint which carried off his four brothers in succession. This is indeed a cruel stroke, and it is melancholy to witness the undaunted Highland courage of the father.

I went to Court, and when I returned did some work upon the Tales.

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

June 6.—I have determined to work sans intermission for lost time, and to make up at least my task every day. J. Gibson called on me with good hopes that the trustees will authorise the grand opus to be set afloat.[223] They are scrupulous a little about the expense of engravings, but I fear the taste of the town will not be satisfied without them. It is time these things were settled. I wrought both before and after dinner, and finished five pages, which is two above bargain.

June 7.—Saturday was another working day, and nothing occurred to disturb me.

June 8.—I finished five sheets this day. Will Clerk and Francis Scott of Harden came to dinner, and we spent a pleasant evening.

June 9.—I laboured till about one, and was then obliged to go to attend a meeting of the Oil Gas Company,—as I devoutly hope for the last time.

After that I was obliged to go to sit to Colvin Smith, which is an atrocious bore, but cannot be helped.[224]

Cadell rendered me report of accounts paid for me with vouchers, which very nearly puts me out of all shop debts. God grant me grace to keep so!

June 10-14.—During these five days almost nothing occurred to diversify the ordinary task of the day, which, I must own, was dull enough. I rose to my task by seven, and, less or more, wrought it out in the course of the day, far exceeding the ordinary average of three leaves per day. I have attended the Parliament House with the most strict regularity, and returned to dine alone with Anne. Also, I gave three sittings to Mr. Colvin Smith, who I think has improved since I saw him.

Of important intelligence nothing occurs save the termination of all suspense on the subject of poor James Macdonald Buchanan. He died at Malta. The celebrated Dugald Stewart is also dead, famous for his intimate acquaintance with the history and philosophy of the human mind. There is much of water-painting in all metaphysics, which consist rather of words than ideas. But Stewart was most impressive and eloquent. In former days I was frequently with him, but not for many years. Latterly, I am told, he had lost not the power of thinking, but the power of expressing his thoughts by speech. This is like the Metamorphosis of Ovid, the bark binding in and hardening the living flesh.

June 15.—W. Clerk, Francis Scott, and Charles Sharpe dined with me, but my task had been concluded before dinner.

June 16.—Dined at Dalmahoy, with the young Earl and Countess of Morton. I like these young noble folks particularly well. Their manners and style of living are easy and unaffected, and I should like to see them often. Came home at night. The task finished to-day. I should mention that the plan about the new edition of the novels was considered at a meeting of trustees, and finally approved of. I trust it will answer; yet, who can warrant the continuance of popularity? Old Corri,[225] who entered into many projects, and could never set the sails of a wind-mill so as to catch the aura popularis, used to say that he believed that were he to turn baker, it would put bread out of fashion. I have had the better luck to dress my sails to every wind; and so blow on, good wind, and spin round, whirligig.

June 17.—Violent rheumatic headache all day. Wrought, however. But what difference this troublesome addition may make on the quality of the stuff produced, truly I do not know. I finished five leaves.

June 18.—Some Italian gentlemen landed here, under the conveyance of the Misses Haig of Bemerside. They were gentlemanlike men; but as I did not dare to speak bad French, I had not much to say to foreigners. Gave them and their pretty guides a good breakfast, however. The scene seemed to me to resemble Sheridan's scene in the Critic.[226] There are a number of very civil gentlemen trying to make themselves understood, and I do not know which is the interpreter. After all, it is not my fault. They who wish to see me should be able to speak my language. I called on Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie. She received me with all the kindness of former days, and I was delighted to see her. I sat about an hour with her. My head aches, for all that, and I have heavy fits of drowsiness. Well, I have finished my task, and have a right to sleep if I have a mind.

I dine to-day with Lord Mackenzie, where I hope to meet Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie again, for I love her warm heart and lively fancy. Accordingly I enjoyed this pleasure.[227]

June 19.—Scribbled away lustily. Went to the P.H. Wrote when I came home, both before and after dinner—that's all, I think. I am become a sort of writing automaton, and truly the joints of my knees, especially the left, are so stiff and painful in rising and sitting down, that I can hardly help screaming—I that was so robust and active; I get into a carriage with great difficulty. My head, too, is bothered with rheumatic headaches. Why not? I got headaches by my folly when I was young, and now I am old they come uncalled. Infirmity gives what indiscretion bought.

June 20.—My course is still the same. But I have a painful letter from Lockhart, which takes away the last hope of poor Johnnie's recovery. It is no surprise to me. The poor child, so amiable in its disposition, and so promising from its talents, was not formed to be long with us, and I have long expected that it must needs come to this. I hope I shall not outlive my children in other cases, and I think there is little chance of it. My father did not long survive the threescore and ten; it will be wonderful if I reach that goal of ordinary mortality. God send it may find me prepared; and, whatever I may have been formerly, high spirits are not now like to carry me away.

June, 21.—At Court, and called on Ballantyne on my return. I was obliged to go to the Register Office at one, where I waited nearly an hour without meeting my brethren. But I wrote a letter to Lockhart in the meantime. My niece Ann arrived, to my great satisfaction. I am glad that Anne, my daughter, has such a sensible and clever companion. Dined at Baron Hume's.

June 22.—Wrought. Had a note from Ballantyne complaining of my manuscript, and requesting me to read it over. I would give L1000 if I could; but it would take me longer to read than to write. I cannot trace my pieds de mouche but with great labour and trouble; so e'en take your own share of the burden, my old friend; and, since I cannot read, be thankful I can write. I will look at his proof, however, and then be quiet and idle for the rest of the evening. I am come to Charles the First's trial, and though I have it by heart, I must refresh myself with a reading of Clarendon. Charles Sharpe and Francis Scott came in the evening.

June 23.—This morning the two Annes and I went to Sir Robert Liston at Milburn Tower—a beautiful retreat. The travels of the venerable diplomatist are indicated by the various articles of curiosity which he has picked up in different corners of the world, and put together with much taste. The conservatory and gardens are very fine, and contain, I suppose, very curious plants;—I am sure, hard names enough. But then the little Gothic tower, embowered amid trees and bushes, surrounded by these pleasant gardens, offering many a sunny walk for winter, many a shade for summer, are inexpressibly pleasing. The good old knight and his lady are worthy of it, for they enjoy it. The artificial piece of water is a failure, like most things of the kind. The offices, without being on an extravagant scale, are most substantial; the piggery, in particular, is quite a palace, and the animals clean and comfortable. I think I have caught from them a fit of piggish obstinacy. I came at one, and cannot prevail upon myself to go to work. I answer the calls of duty as Caliban does those of Prospero, "There's wood enough within." To be sure, I have not got the Clarendon.

June 24.—It was my father's own son, as John Hielandman said, who did little both yesterday and to-day—I mean little in the way of literary work, for, as to positive work, I have been writing letters about Chancery business till I am sick of it. There was a long hearing, and while Jeffrey exerted his eloquence in the Inner House, I plied my eloquence de billet in the Library. So, on the whole, I am no bad boy. Besides, the day is not yet over.

June 25.—I was surprised to hear that our Academy Rector, Williams, has renounced the chair of Roman learning in the new London University. His alarm was excited by the interest taken by the prelates in opposing a High Church institution to that desired by Mr. Brougham. Both the Bishops and Williams have been unwise. The former have manoeuvred ill. They should, in the outset, have taken the establishment out of the hands of the Whigs, without suffering them to reinforce themselves by support from [others]. And Williams was equally precipitate in joining an institution which a small degree of foresight might have assured him would be opposed by his spiritual superiors. However, there he stands, deprived of his professorship by his resignation, and of his rectorship by our having engaged with a successor. I think it very doubtful whether the Bishops will now [admit] him into their alliance. He has in that case offended both parties. But if they are wise, they will be glad to pick up the best schoolmaster in Europe, though he comes for the present Graia ex urbe. I accomplished more than my task to-day.

June, 26.—Wrote a long letter to Lockhart about Williams' situation, saying how, by sitting betwixt two stools, he

"——- Had fallen with heavy thump Upon his reverential rump,"

and how the Bishops should pick him up if they wanted their establishment to succeed. It is an awkward position in which Williams has placed himself. He loses the Whig chair, and has perhaps no chance of favour from the High Church for having been willing to accept it. Even if they now give him promotion, there will be a great outcry on his having left one institution to join another. He would be thick-skinned if he stands the clamour. Yet he has to all appearance rather sacrificed than advanced his interest. However, I say again, the Bishops ought not to omit securing him.

Mr. Macintosh Mackay breakfasted with me, modest, intelligent, and gentle. I did my duty and more in the course of the day.

I am vexed about Mackay missing the church of Cupar in Angus. It is in the Crown's gift, and Peel, finding that two parties in the town recommended two opposite candidates, very wisely chose to disappoint them both, and was desirous of bestowing the presentation on public grounds. I heard of this, and applied to Mr. Peel for Macintosh Mackay, whose quiet patience and learning are accompanied by a most excellent character as a preacher and a clergyman, but unhappily Mr. Peel had previously put himself into the hands of Sir George Murray, who applied to Sir Peter his brother, who naturally applied to certain leaders of the Church at Edinburgh, and these reverend gentlemen have recommended that the church which the minister desired to fill up on public grounds should be bestowed on a boy,[228] the nephew of one of their number, of whom the best that can be said is that nothing is known, since he has only been a few months in orders. This comes of kith, kin, and ally, but Peel shall know of it, and may perhaps judge for himself another time.

June 27.—I came out after Court to Blair Adam, with our excellent friend the Rev. John Thomson of Duddingston, so modest and so accomplished;—delightful drive and passage at the ferry. We found at Blair Adam the C.C. and family, Admiral Adam and lady, James Thomson of Charlton, and Miss T., Will Clerk, and last, not least, Lord Chief Baron Shepherd—all in high spirits for our excursions.

Thomson described to me a fine dungeon in the old tower at Cassillis in Ayrshire. There is an outer and inner vaulted [chamber], each secured with iron doors. At the upper end of the innermost are two great stones or blocks to which the staples and chains used in securing the prisoners are still attached. Between these stone seats is an opening like the mouth of a still deeper dungeon. The entrance descends like the mouth of a draw-well or shaft of a mine, and deep below is heard the sullen roar of the river Doon, one branch of which, passing through the bottom of the shaft, has probably swept away the body of many a captive, whose body after death may have been thus summarily disposed of. I may find use for such a place—Story of [Kittleclarkie?]

June 28.—Off we go to Castle Campbell after breakfast, i.e. Will Clerk, Admiral Adam, J. Thomson, and myself. Tremendous hot is the day, and the steep ascent of the Castle, which rises for two miles up a rugged and broken path, was fatiguing enough, yet not so much so as the streets in London. Castle Campbell is unaltered; the window, of which the disjointed stone projects at an angle from the wall, and seems at the point of falling, has still found power to resist the laws of gravitation. Whoever built that tottering piece of masonry has been long in a forgotten grave, and yet what he has made seems to survive in spite of nature itself. The curious cleft called Kemp's Score, which gave the garrison access to the water in case of siege, is obviously natural, but had been improved by steps, now choked up. A girl who came with us recollected she had shown me the way down to the bottom of this terrible gulf seven years ago. I am not able for it now.

"Wont to do's awa frae me, Frae silly auld John Ochiltree."[229]

June 29.—Being Sunday we kept about the doors, and after two took the drosky and drove over the hill and round by the Kiery Craigs. I should have said Williams came out in the morning to ask my advice about staying another year in Edinburgh. I advised him if possible to gain a few days' time till I should hear from Lockhart. He has made a pretty mess for himself, but if the Bishops are wise, they may profit by it. The sound, practical advice of Williams at the first concoction would be of the last consequence. I suspect their systems of eating-houses are the most objectionable part of the college discipline. When their attentions are to be given to the departments of the cook and the butler, all zeal in the nobler paths of education is apt to decay.

Well, to return to the woods. I think, notwithstanding Lord Chief Commissioner's assiduity, they are in some places too thick. I saw a fine larch, felled seventy-two years old, value about five pounds.

Hereditary descent in the Highlands. A clergyman showed J.T. the island of Inch Mahome in the Port of Monteith, and pointed out the boatman as a remarkable person, the representative of the hereditary gardeners of the Earls of Monteith, while these Earls existed. His son, a priggish boy, follows up the theme—"Feyther, when Donald MacCorkindale dees will not the family be extinct?" Father—"No; I believe there is a man in Balquhidder who takes up the succession."

June 30.—We made our pleasant excursion to-day round the hill of Bennarty par terre, and returned par mer. Our route by land led us past Lochore, where we made a pause for a few moments. Then proceeded to Ballingray or Bingray, and so by Kirkness, where late ravages are supplied by the force of vegetation down to the shores of Lochleven. We embarked and went upon Saint Serf's Island, supposed to have been anciently a cell of the Culdees. An old pinfold, or rather a modern pinfold, constructed out of the ancient chapel, is all that attests its former sanctity. We landed on Queen Mary's Island, a miserable scene, considering the purpose for which the Castle was appointed. And yet the captivity and surrender of the Percy was even a worse tale, since it was an eternal blight on the name of Douglas. Well, we got to Blair Adam in due time, and our fine company began to separate, Lord Chief Baron going off after dinner. We had wine and wassail, and John Thomson's delightful flute to help us through the evening.

Thus end the delectations of the Blair Adam Club for this year. Mrs. Thomson of Charlton talks of Beaton's House, and other Fife wonders for the next year, but who knows what one year may bring forth? Our Club has been hitherto fortunate. It has subsisted twelve years.

FOOTNOTES:

[221] About this time Miss Anne Scott wrote to Mrs. Lockhart: "Early in the morning, before we started, papa took me with him to the Cathedral. This he had done often before; but he said he must stand once more on the spot where he married poor mamma. After that we went to the Castle, where a new showman went through the old trick of pointing out Fergus MacIvor's very dungeon. Peveril said, 'Indeed, are you quite sure, sir?' And on being told there could be no doubt, was troubled with a fit of coughing, which ended in a laugh. The man seemed exceeding indignant; so, when papa moved on, I whispered who it was. I wish you had seen the man's start, and how he stared and bowed as he parted from us; and then rammed his keys into his pocket and went off at a hand-gallop to warn the rest of the garrison. But the carriage was ready, and we escaped a row."—Life, vol. ix. pp. 256-7.

[222] See The Doom of Devorgoil: A Melo-Drama. Auchendrane: or the Ayrshire Tragedy. Published by Cadell in 8vo. 1830.

[223] Referring to the uniform edition of the Waverley Novels in 48 vols., which began to be issued in June 1829. The great cost of the publication naturally caused the Trustees much anxiety at this period.

[224] Ante, p. 120, February 2d.

[225] Natali Corri, born in Italy, but settled in Edinburgh, where, among other schemes, he tried to set up an Italian opera. In conjunction with a brother he published several musical works. He died at Trieste in 1823.

[226] See Act II. Sc. 2. The Italian family's morning call.

[227]

"And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear to thy grief For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief, Whom brief rolling moons, in six changes have left Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft; To thine ear of affection how sad is the hail That salutes thee, the heir of the line of Kintail." Poetical Works, vol. viii. p. 394.

Mary, daughter of Francis, Lord Seaforth, was born in Ross-shire in 1784, married, at Barbadoes in 1804, Sir Samuel Hood, and left a widow in 1814. She married again, in 1817, Mr. J.A. Stewart, who assumed the name of Mackenzie. Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie died at Brahan Castle in 1862; her funeral was one of the largest ever witnessed in the North.

[228] Patrick James Stevenson was licensed in 1825, and ordained in 1828.—Scott's Fasti, vol. vi. p. 746.

[229] Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany (1795), vol. i. p. 125.



JULY.

"Up in the morning's no for me."[230]

Yet here I am up at five—no horses come from the North Ferry yet.

"O Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Mitchell, Your promises and time keep stitch ill."

July I, [Edinburgh].—Got home, however, by nine, and went to the Parliament House, where we were detained till four o'clock. Miss ——— dined with us, a professed lion-huntress, who travels the country to rouse the peaceful beasts out of their lair, and insists on being hand and glove with all the leonine race. She is very plain, besides frightfully red-haired, and out-Lydia-ing even my poor friend Lydia White. An awful visitation! I think I see her with javelin raised and buskined foot, a second Diana, roaming the hills of Westmoreland in quest of the lakers. Would to God she were there or anywhere but here! Affectation is a painful thing to witness, and this poor woman has the bad taste to think direct flattery is the way to make her advances to friendship and intimacy.

July 2.—I believe I was cross yesterday. I am at any rate very ill to-day with a rheumatic headache, and a still more vile hypochondriacal affection, which fills my head with pain, my heart with sadness, and my eyes with tears. I do not wonder at the awful feelings which visited men less educated and less firm than I may call myself. It is a most hang-dog cast of feeling, but it may be chased away by study or by exercise. The last I have always found most successful, but the first is most convenient. I wrought therefore, and endured all this forenoon, being a Teind Wednesday. I am now in such a state that I would hardly be surprised at the worst news which could be brought to me. And all this without any rational cause why to-day should be sadder than yesterday.

Two things to lighten my spirits—First, Cadell comes to assure me that the stock of 12mo novels is diminished from 3800, which was the quantity in the publishers' hands in March 1827, to 600 or 700. This argues gallant room for the publication of the New Series. Second, said Cadell is setting off straight for London to set affairs a-going. If I have success in this, it will greatly assist in extricating my affairs.

My aches of the heart terminated in a cruel aching of the head—rheumatic, I suppose. But Sir Adam and Clerk came to dinner, and laughed and talked the sense of pain and oppression away. We cannot at times work ourselves into a gay humour, any more than we can tickle ourselves into a fit of laughter; foreign agency is necessary. My huntress of lions again dined with us. I have subscribed to her Album, and done what was civil.

July 3.—Corrected proofs in the morning, and wrote a little. I was forced to crop vol. i. as thirty pages too long; there is the less to write behind. We were kept late at the Court, and when I came out I bethought me, like Christian in the Castle of Giant Despair, "Wherefore should I walk along the broiling and stifling streets when I have a little key in my bosom which can open any lock in Princes Street Walks, and be thus on the Castle banks, rocks, and trees in a few minutes?" I made use of my key accordingly, and walked from the Castle Hill down to Wallace's Tower,[231] and thence to the west end of Princes Street, through a scene of grandeur and beauty perhaps unequalled, whether the foreground or distant view is considered—all down hill, too. Foolish never to think of this before. I chatted with the girls a good while after dinner, but wrote a trifle when we had tea.

July 4.—The two Annes set off to Abbotsford, though the weather was somewhat lowering for an open carriage, but the day cleared up finely. Hamilton is unwell, so we had a long hearing of his on our hands. It was four ere I got home, but I had taken my newly discovered path by rock, bush, and ruin. I question if Europe has such another path. We owe this to the taste of James Skene. But I must dress to go to Dr. Hope's, who makes chere exquise, and does not understand being kept late.

July 5.—Saturday, corrected proofs and wrought hard. Went out to dinner at Oxenfoord Castle, and returned in the company of Lord Alloway, Chief Baron, Clerk, etc., and Mr. Bouverie, the English Commissioner.

July 6.—A day of hard work. The second volume is now well advanced—wellnigh one half. Dined alone, and pursued my course after dinner. Seven pages were finished. Solitude's a fine thing for work, but then you must lie by like a spider, till you collect materials to continue your web. Began Simond's Switzerland—clever and intelligent, but rather conceited, as the manner of an American Frenchman. I hope to knock something out of him though.

July 7.—Williams seems in uncertainty again, and I can't guess what he will be at. Surely it is a misery to be so indecisive; he will certainly gain the ill word of both parties and might have had the good word of all; and, indeed, deserves it. We received his resignation to-day, but if the King's College are disposed to thrive, they will keep eyes on this very able man.

July 8.—Hard work in the Court, the sederunts turn long and burthensome. I fear they will require some abridgment of vacation.

[From July 8, 1828, to January 10, 1829, there are no entries in the Journal.]

FOOTNOTES:

[230] Burns's song.

[231] Now called Wellhouse Tower.



1829.



JANUARY.

Having omitted to carry on my Diary for two or three days, I lost heart to make it up, and left it unfilled for many a month and day. During this period nothing has happened worth particular notice. The same occupations, the same amusements, the same occasional alternations of spirits, gay or depressed, the same absence of all sensible or rational cause for the one or the other. I half grieve to take up my pen, and doubt if it is worth while to record such an infinite quantity of nothing, but hang it! I hate to be beat, so here goes for better behaviour.

January 10.—I resume my task at Abbotsford. We are here alone, except Lockhart, on a flying visit. Morritt, his niece, Sir James Stuart, Skene, and an occasional friend or two, have been my guests since 31st December. I cannot say I have been happy, for the feeling of increasing weakness in my lame leg is a great affliction. I walk now with pain and difficulty at all times, and it sinks my soul to think how soon I may be altogether a disabled cripple. I am tedious to my friends, and I doubt the sense of it makes me fretful.

Everything else goes off well enough. My cash affairs are clearing, and though last year was an expensive one, I have been paying debt. Yet I have a dull contest before me which will probably outlast my life. If well maintained, however, it will be an honourable one, and if the Magnum Opus succeed, it will afford me some repose.

January 11.—I did not write above a page yesterday; most weary, stale, and unprofitable have been my labours. Received a letter I suppose from Mad. T.——, proposing a string of historical subjects not proper for my purpose. People will not consider that a thing may already be so well told in history, that romance ought not in prudence to meddle with it.

The ground covered with snow, which, by slipperiness and the pain occasioned by my lameness, renders walking unpleasant.

January 12.—This is the third day I have not walked out, pain and lameness being the cause. This bodes very ill for my future life. I made a search yesterday and to-day for letters of Lord Byron to send to Tom Moore, but I could only find two. I had several others, and am shocked at missing them. The one which he sent me with a silver cup I regret particularly. It was stolen out of the cup itself by some vile inhospitable scoundrel, for a servant would not have thought such a theft worth while.

My spirits are low, yet I wot not why. I have been writing to my sons. Walter's majority was like to be reduced, but is spared for the present. Charles is going on well I trust at the Foreign Office, so I hope all is well.

Loitered out a useless day, half arranging half disarranging books and papers, and packing the things I shall want. Der Abschiedstag ist da.

January 13.—The day of return to Edinburgh is come. I don't know why, but I am more happy at the change than usual. I am not working hard, and it is what I ought to do, and must do. Every hour of laziness cries fie upon me. But there is a perplexing sinking of the heart which one cannot always overcome. At such times I have wished myself a clerk, quill-driving for twopence per page. You have at least application, and that is all that is necessary, whereas unless your lively faculties are awake and propitious, your application will do you as little good as if you strained your sinews to lift Arthur's Seat.

January 14, [Edinburgh].—Got home last night after a freezing journey. This morning I got back some of the last copy, and tugged as hard as ever did soutar to make ends meet. Then I will be reconciled to my task, which at present disgusts me. Visited Lady Jane, then called on Mr. Robison and instructed him to call a meeting of the Council of the Royal Society, as Mr. Knox proposes to read an essay on some dissections. A bold proposal truly from one who has had so lately the boldness of trading so deep in human flesh! I will oppose his reading in the present circumstances if I should stand alone, but I hope he will be wrought upon to withdraw his essay or postpone it at least. It is very bad taste to push himself forward just now. Lockhart dined with us, which made the evening a pleasant but an idle one. Well! I must rouse myself.

"Awake! Arise, or be for ever fallen."[232]

January 15.—Day began with beggars as usual, and John Nicolson has not sense to keep them out. I never yield, however, to this importunity, thinking it wrong that what I can spare to meritorious poverty, of which I hear and see too much, should be diverted by impudent importunity. I was detained at the Parliament House till nearly three by the great case concerning prescription, Maule v. Maule.[233] This was made up to me by hearing an excellent opinion from Lord Corehouse, with a curious discussion in apicibus juris. I disappointed Graham[234] of a sitting for my picture.

I went to the Council of the Royal Society, which was convened at my request, to consider whether we ought to hear a paper on anatomical subjects read by Mr. Knox, whose name has of late been deeply implicated in a criminal prosecution against certain wretches, who had murdered many persons and sold their bodies to professors of the anatomical science. Some thought that our declining to receive the paper would be a declaration unfavourable to Dr. Knox. I think hearing it before Mr. Knox has made any defence (as he is stated to have in view) would be an intimation of our preference of the cause of science to those of morality and common humanity. Mr. Knox's friends undertook to deal with him about suffering the paper to be omitted for the present, while adhuc coram judice lis est.[235]

January 16.—Nothing on the roll to-day, so I did not go to the Parliament House, but fagged at my desk till two.

Dr. Ross called to relieve me of a corn, which, though my lameness needs no addition, had tormented me vilely. I again met the Royal Society Council. Dr. Knox consents to withdraw his paper, or rather suffers the reading to be postponed. There is some great error in the law on the subject. If it was left to itself many bodies would be imported from France and Ireland, and doubtless many would be found in our hospitals for the service of the anatomical science. But the total and severe exclusion of foreign supplies of this kind raises the price of the "subjects," as they are called technically, to such a height, that wretches are found willing to break into "the bloody house of life,"[236] merely to supply the anatomists' table. The law which, as a deeper sentence on the guilt of murder, declares that the body of the convicted criminal should be given up to anatomy, is certainly not without effect, for criminals have been known to shrink from that part of the sentence which seems to affect them more than the doom of death itself, with all its terrors here and hereafter. On the other hand, while this idea of the infamy attending the exposition of the person is thus recognised by the law, it is impossible to adopt regulations which would effectually prevent such horrid crimes as the murder of vagrant wretches who can be snatched from society without their being missed, as in the case of the late conspiracy. For instance, if it was now to be enacted, as seems reasonable, that persons dying in hospitals and almshouses, who die without their friends claiming their remains, should be given up to the men of science, this would be subjecting poverty to the penalty of these atrocious criminals whom law distinguishes by the heaviest posthumous disgrace which it can inflict. Even cultivated minds revolt from the exposure on an anatomical table, when the case is supposed to be that of one who is dear to them. I should, I am conscious, be willing that I myself should be dissected in public, if doing so could produce any advantage to society, but when I think on relations and friends being rent from the grave the case is very different, and I would fight knee-deep to prevent or punish such an exposure. So inconsistent we are all upon matters of this nature.

I dined quietly at home with the girls, and wrote after dinner.

January 17.—Nothing in the roll; corrected proofs, and went off at 12 o'clock in the Hamilton stage to William Lockhart's at Auchinrath. My companions, Mr. Livingstone, the clergyman of Camnethan, a Bailie Hamilton, the king of trumps, I am told, in the Burgh of Hamilton, and a Mr. Davie Martin qui gaudet equis et canibus. Got to Auchinrath by six, and met Lord Douglas,[237] his brother, Captain Douglas, E.N., John G-. Lockhart also, who had a large communication from Duke of W. upon the subject of the bullion. The Duke scouts the economist's ideas about paper credit, after the proposition that all men shall be entitled to require gold.

January 18.—We went, the two Lockharts and I, to William's new purchase of Milton. We found on his ground a cottage, where a man called Greenshields,[238] a sensible, powerful-minded person, had at twenty-eight (rather too late a week)[239] taken up the art of sculpture. He had disposed of the person of the King most admirably, according to my poor thoughts, and had attained a wonderful expression of ease and majesty at the same time. He was desirous of engaging on Burns' Jolly Beggars, which I dissuaded. Caricature is not the object of sculpture.

We went to Milton on as fine a day as could consist with snow on the ground. The situation is eminently beautiful; a fine promontory round which the Clyde makes a magnificent bend. We fixed on a situation where the sitting-room should command the upper view, and, with an ornamental garden, I think it may be made the prettiest place in Scotland.

January 19.—Posted to Edinburgh with John Lockhart. We stopped at Allanton to see a tree transplanted, which was performed with great ease. Sir Henry is a sad coxcomb, and lifted beyond the solid earth by the effect of his book's success. But the book well deserves it.[240] He is in practice particularly anxious to keep the roots of the tree near the surface, and only covers them with about a foot of earth.

Note.—Lime rubbish dug in among the roots of ivy encourages it much.

The operation delayed us three hours, so it was seven o'clock before we reached our dinner and a good fire in Shandwick Place, and we were wellnigh frozen to death. During this excursion I walked very ill—with more pain, in fact, than I ever remember to have felt—and, even leaning on John Lockhart, could hardly get on. Baad that, vara baad—it might be the severe weather though, and the numbing effect of the sitting in the carriage. Be it what it will, I can't help myself.

January 20.—I had little to do at the Court, and returned home soon. Honest old Mr. Ferrier is dead, at extreme old age. I confess I should not wish to live so long. He was a man with strong passions and strong prejudices, but with generous and manly sentiments at the same time. We used to call him Uncle Adam, after that character in his gifted daughter's novel of the Heiress [Inheritance]. I wrote a long letter after I came home to my Lord Elgin about Greenshields, the sculptor.[241] I am afraid he is going into the burlesque line, to which sculpture is peculiarly ill adapted. So I have expressed my veto to his patron, valeat quantum. Also a letter to Mrs. Professor Sandford at Glasgow about reprinting Macaulay's History of St. Kilda,[242] advising them to insert the history of Lady Grange who was kidnapped and banished thither.

I corrected my proofs, moreover, and prepared to dine. After dinner we go to Euphemia Erskine's marriage. Mr. Dallas came in and presented me with an old pedigree of the M'Intoshes. The wedding took place with the usual April weather of smiles and tears. The bridegroom's name is Dawson. As he, as well as the bride, is very tall, they have every chance of bringing up a family of giants. The bridegroom has an excellent character. He is only a captain, but economy does wonders in the army, where there are many facilities for practising it. I sincerely wish them happiness.

January 21.—Went out to Dalkeith House to dine and stay all night. Found Marquis of Lothian and a family party. I liked the sense and spirit displayed by this young nobleman, who reminds me strongly of his parents, whom I valued so highly.

January 22.—Left Dalkeith after breakfast, and gained the Parliament House, where there was almost nothing to do, at eleven o'clock. Afterwards sat to Graham, who is making a good thing of it. Mr. Colvin Smith has made a better in one sense, having sold ten or twelve copies of the portrait to different friends.[243] The Solicitor came to dine with me—we drank a bottle of champagne, and two bottles of claret, which, in former days, I should have thought a very sober allowance, since, Lockhart included, there were three persons to drink it. But I felt I had drunk too much, and was uncomfortable. The young men stood it like young men. Skene and his wife and daughter looked in in the evening. I suppose I am turning to my second childhood, for not only am I filled drunk, or made stupid at least, with one bottle of wine, but I am disabled from writing by chilblains on my fingers—a most babyish complaint. They say that the character is indicated by the handwriting; if so, mine is crabbed enough.