"A daimen-icker in a thrave's a sma' request: I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, and never miss't."[295]

I will try a review for the Foreign and he shall have the proceeds.

April 14.—I sent off proofs of the review of Tytler for John Lockhart. Then set a stout heart to a stay brae, and took up Anne of Geierstein. I had five sheets standing by me, which I read with care, and satisfied myself that worse had succeeded, but it was while the fashion of the thing was new. I retrenched a good deal about the Troubadours, which was really hors de place. As to King Rene, I retained him as a historical character. In short, I will let the sheets go nearly as they are, for though J.B. be an excellent judge of this species of composition, he is not infallible, and has been in circumstances which may cross his mind. I might have taken this determination a month since, and I wish I had. But I thought I might strike out something better by the braes and burn-sides. Alas! I walk along them with painful and feeble steps, and invoke their influence in vain. But my health is excellent, and it were ungrateful to complain either of mental or bodily decay. We called at Elliston to-day and made up for some ill-bred delay. In the evening I corrected two sheets of the Magnum, as we call it.

April 15.—I took up Anne, and wrote, with interruption of a nap (in which my readers may do well to imitate me), till two o'clock. I wrote with care, having digested Comines. Whether I succeed or not, it would be dastardly to give in. A bold countenance often carries off an indifferent cause, but no one will defend him who shows the white feather. At two I walked till near four. Dined with the girls, smoked two cigars, and to work again till supper-time. Slept like a top. Amount of the day's work, eight pages—a round task.

April 16.—I meant to go out with Bogie to plant some shrubs in front of the old quarry, but it rains cats and dogs as they say, a rare day for grinding away at the old mill of imagination, yet somehow I have no great will to the task. After all, however, the morning proved a true April one, sunshine and shower, and I both worked to some purpose, and moreover walked and directed about planting the quarry.

The post brought matter for a May or April morning—a letter from Sir James Mackintosh, telling me that Moore and he were engaged as contributors to Longman's Encyclopaedia, and asking me to do a volume at L1000, the subject to be the History of Scotland in one volume. This would be very easy work. I have the whole stuff in my head, and could write currente calamo. The size is as I compute it about one-third larger than The Tales of my Grandfather. There is much to be said on both sides. Let me balance pros and cons after the fashion of honest Robinson Crusoe. Pro.—It is the sum I have been wishing for, sufficient to enable me to break the invisible but magic circle which petty debts of myself and others have traced round me. With common prudence I need no longer go from hand to mouth, or what is worse, anticipate my means. I may also pay off some small shop debts, etc., belonging to the Trust, clear off all Anne's embarrassment, and even make some foundation of a purse for her. N.B.—I think this whacking reason is like to prove the gallon of Cognac brandy, which a lady recommended as the foundation of a Liqueur. "Stop, dear madam, if you please," said my grandfather, Dr. Rutherford, "you can [add] nothing to that; it is flaconnade with L1000," and a capital hit, egad. Contra.—It is terribly like a hack author to make an abridgement of what I have written so lately. Pro.—But a difference may be taken. A history may be written of the same country on a different plan, general where the other is detailed, and philosophical where it is popular. I think I can do this, and do it with unwashed hands too. For being hacked, what is it but another word for being an author? I will take care of my name doubtless, but the five letters which form it must take care of me in turn. I never knew name or fame burn brighter by over chary keeping of it. Besides, there are two gallant hacks to pull with me. Contra.—I have a monstrous deal on hand. Let me see: Life of Argyll,[296] and Life of Peterborough for Lockhart.[297] Third series Tales of my Grandfather—review for Gillies—new novel—end of Anne of Geierstein. Pro.—But I have just finished too long reviews for Lockhart. The third series is soon discussed. The review may be finished in three or four days, and the novel is within a week and less of conclusion. For the next, we must first see how this goes off. In fine, within six weeks, I am sure I can do the work and secure the independence I sigh for. Must I not make hay while the sun shines? Who can tell what leisure, health, and life may be destined to me?

Adjourned the debate till to-morrow morning.

April 17.—I resumed the discussion of the bargain about the history. The ayes to the right, the noes to the left. The ayes have it—so I will write to Sir James of this date. But I will take a walk first, that I will. A little shaken with the conflict, for after all were I as I have been——. "My poverty but not my will consents."[298]

I have been out in a most delicious real spring day. I returned with my nerves strung and my mind determined. I will make this plunge, and with little doubt of coming off no loser in character. What is given in detail may be suppressed, general views may be enlarged upon, and a bird's-eye prospect given, not the less interesting, that we have seen its prominent points nearer and in detail. I have been of late in a great degree free from wafered letters, sums to make up, notes of hand wanted, and all the worry of an embarrassed man's life. This last struggle will free me entirely, and so help me Heaven it shall be made! I have written to Sir James, stating that I apprehend the terms to be L1000, namely, for one volume containing about one-third more than one of the volumes of Tales of my Grandfather, and agreeing to do so. Certes, few men can win a thousand pounds so readily.

We dine with the Fergusons to-day at four. So off we went and safely returned.

April 18.—Corrected proofs. I find J.B. has not returned to his business, though I wrote him how necessary it was. My pity begins to give way to anger. Must he sit there and squander his thoughts and senses upon cloudy metaphysics and abstruse theology till he addles his brains entirely, and ruins his business? I have written to him again, letter third and, I am determined, last.

Wrote also to the fop Reynolds, with preface to the House of Aspen, then to honest Joseph Train desiring he would give me some notion how to serve him with Messrs. Carr, and to take care to make his ambition moderate and feasible.

My neighbour, Mr. Kerr of Kippielaw, struck with a palsy while he was looking at the hounds; his pony remained standing by his side. A sudden call if a final one.

That strange desire to leave a prescribed task and set about something else seized me irresistibly. I yielded to it, and sat down to try at what speed and in what manner I could execute this job of Sir James Mackintosh's, and I wrote three leaves before rising, well enough, I think. The girls made a round with me. We drove to Chiefswood, and from that to Janeswood, up the Rhymer's Glen, and so home. This occupied from one to four. In the evening I heard Anne read Mr. Peel's excellent Bill on the Police of the Metropolis, which goes to disband the whole generation of Dogberry and Verges. Wrote after tea.

April 19.—I made this a busy day. I wrote on at the history until two o'clock, then took a gallant walk, then began reading for Gillies's article. James Ferguson dined with us. We smoked and I became woundy sleepy. Now I have taken collar to this arrangement, I find an open sea before me which I could not have anticipated, for though I should get through well enough with my expectations during the year, yet it is a great thing to have a certainty to be clear as a new pin of every penny of debt. There is no being obliged or asking favours or getting loans from some grudging friend who can never look at you after but with fear of losing his cash, or you at him without the humiliating sense of having extorted an obligation. Besides my large debts, I have paid since I was in trouble at least L2000 of personal encumbrances, so no wonder my nose is still under water. I really believe the sense of this apparently unending struggle, schemes for retrenchment in which I was unseconded, made me low-spirited, for the sun seems to shine brighter upon me as a free man. Nevertheless, devil take the necessity which makes me drudge like a very hack of Grub Street.

"May the foul fa' the gear and the bletherie o 't."[299]

I walked out with Tom's assistance, came home, went through the weary work of cramming, and so forth; wrought after tea, and then to bed.

April 20.—As yesterday till two—sixteen pages of the History written, and not less than one-fifth of the whole book. What if they should be off? I were finely holp'd for throwing my time away. A toy! They dare not.

Lord Buchan is dead, a person whose immense vanity, bordering upon insanity, obscured, or rather eclipsed, very considerable talents. His imagination was so fertile that he seemed really to believe the extraordinary fictions which he delighted in telling. His economy, most laudable in the early part of his life, when it enabled him, from a small income, to pay his father's debts, became a miserable habit, and led him to do mean things. He had a desire to be a great man, and a Maecenas bon marche. The two celebrated lawyers, his brothers, were not more gifted by nature than I think he was, but the restraints of a profession kept the eccentricity of the family in order. Henry Erskine was the best-natured man I ever knew, thoroughly a gentleman, and with but one fault: he could not say no, and thus sometimes misled those who trusted him. Tom Erskine was positively mad. I have heard him tell a cock-and-a-bull story of having seen the ghost of his father's servant, John Burnet, with as much sincerity as if he believed every word he was saying. Both Henry and Thomas were saving men, yet both died very poor. The one at one time possessed L200,000; the other had a considerable fortune. The Earl alone has died wealthy. It is saving, not getting, that is the mother of riches. They all had wit. The Earl's was crack-brained and sometimes caustic; Henry's was of the very kindest, best-humoured, and gayest that ever cheered society; that of Lord Erskine was moody and maddish. But I never saw him in his best days.

Went to Haining. Time has at last touched the beautiful Mrs. Pringle. I wonder he was not ashamed of himself for spoiling so fine a form. But what cares he? Corrected proofs after dinner. James B. is at last at work again.

April 21.—Spent the whole morning at writing, still the History, such is my wilful whim. Twenty pages now finished—I suppose the clear fourth part of a volume. I went out, but the day being sulky I sat in the Conservatory, after trying a walk! I have been glancing over the works for Gillies's review, and I think on them between-hands while I compose the History,—an odd habit of doing two things at once, but it has always answered with me well enough.

April 22.—Another hard day's work at the History, now increased to the Bruce and Baliol period, and threatening to be too lengthy for the Cyclopaedia. But I will make short work with wars and battles. I wrote till two o'clock, and strolled with old Tom and my dogs[300] till half-past four, hours of pleasure and healthful exercise, and to-day taken with ease. A letter from J.B., stating an alarm that he may lose the printing of a part of the Magnum. But I shall write him he must be his own friend, set shoulder to the wheel, and remain at the head of his business; and of that I must make him aware. And so I set to my proofs. "Better to work," says the inscription on Hogarth's Bridewell, "than stand thus."

April 23.—A cold blustering day—bad welcome for the poor lambs. I made my walk short and my task long, my work turning entirely on the History—all on speculation. But the post brought me a letter from Dr. Lardner, the manager of the Cyclopaedia, agreeing to my terms; so all is right there, and no labour thrown away. The volume is to run to 400 pages; so much the better; I love elbow-room, and will have space to do something to purpose. I replied agreeing to his terms, and will send him copy as soon as I have corrected it. The Colonel and Miss Ferguson dined with us. I think I drank rather a cheerful glass with my good friend. Smoked an extra cigar, so no more at present.

April 25.—After writing to Mr. Cochrane,[301] to Cadell and J.B., also to Mr. Pitcairn,[302] it was time to set out for Lord Buchan's funeral. The funeral letters were signed by Mr. H. David Erskine, his lordship's natural son. His nephew, the young Earl, was present, but neither of them took the head of the coffin. His lordship's funeral took place in a chapel amongst the ruins. His body was in the grave with its feet pointing westward. My cousin, Maxpopple,[303] was for taking notice of it, but I assured him that a man who had been wrong in the head all his life would scarce become right-headed after death. I felt something at parting with this old man, though but a trumpery body. He gave me the first approbation I ever obtained from a stranger. His caprice had led him to examine Dr. Adam's class when I, a boy twelve years old, and then in disgrace for some aggravated case of negligence, was called up from a low bench, and recited my lesson with some spirit and appearance of feeling the poetry—it was the apparition of Hector's ghost in the AEneid—of which called forth the noble Earl's applause. I was very proud of this at the time.

I was sad on another account—it was the first time I had been among these ruins since I left a very valued pledge there. My next visit may be involuntary. Even so, God's will be done! at least I have not the mortification of thinking what a deal of patronage and fuss Lord Buchan would bestow on my funeral.[304] Maxpopple dined and slept here with four of his family, much amused with what they heard and saw. By good fortune a ventriloquist and partial juggler came in, and we had him in the library after dinner. He was a half-starved wretched-looking creature, who seemed to have ate more fire than bread. So I caused him to be well stuffed, and gave him a guinea, rather to his poverty than to his skill—and now to finish Anne of Geierstein.

April 26.—But not a finger did I lay on the jacket of Anne. Looking for something, I fell in with the little drama, long missing, called the Doom of Devorgoil. I believe it was out of mere contradiction that I sat down to read and correct it, merely because I would not be bound to do aught that seemed compulsory. So I scribbled at a piece of nonsense till two o'clock, and then walked to the lake. At night I flung helve after hatchet, and spent the evening in reading the Doom of Devorgoil to the girls, who seemed considerably interested. Anne objects to the mingling the goblinry, which is comic, with the serious, which is tragic. After all, I could greatly improve it, and it would not be a bad composition of that odd kind to some picnic receptacle of all things.

April 27.—This day must not be wasted. I breakfast with the Fergusons, and dine with the Brewsters. But, by Heaven, I will finish Anne of Geierstein this day betwixt the two engagements. I don't know why nor wherefore, but I hate Anne, I mean Anne of Geierstein; the other two Annes are good girls. Accordingly I well nigh accomplished my work, but about three o'clock my story fell into a slough, and in getting it out I lost my way, and was forced to postpone the conclusion till to-morrow. Wrote a good day's work notwithstanding.

April 28.—I have slept upon my puzzle, and will now finish it, Jove bless my pia mater, as I see not further impediment before me. The story will end, and shall end, because it must end, and so here goes. After this doughty resolution, I went doggedly to work, and finished five leaves by the time when they should meet the coach. But the misfortune of writing fast is that one cannot at the same time write concisely. I wrote two pages more in the evening. Stayed at home all day. Indeed, the weather—sleety, rainy, stormy—forms no tempting prospect. Bogie, too, who sees his flourish going to wreck, is looking as spiteful as an angry fiend towards the unpropitious heavens. So I made a day of work of it,

"And yet the end was not."

April 29.—This morning I finished and sent off three pages more, and still there is something to write; but I will take the broad axe to it, and have it ended before noon.

This has proved impossible, and the task lasted me till nine, when it was finished, tant bien que mal. Now, will people say this expresses very little respect for the public? In fact, I have very little respect for that dear publicum whom I am doomed to amuse, like Goody Trash in Bartholomew Fair, with rattles and gingerbread; and I should deal very uncandidly with those who may read my confessions were I to say I knew a public worth caring for or capable of distinguishing the nicer beauties of composition. They weigh good and evil qualities by the pound. Get a good name and you may write trash. Get a bad one and you may write like Homer, without pleasing a single reader. I am, perhaps, l'enfant gate de succes, but I am brought to the stake,[305] and must perforce stand the course.

Having finished Anne[306] I began and revised fifteen leaves of the History, and sent them to Dr. Lardner. I think they read more trashy than I expected. But when could I ever please myself, even when I have most pleased others? Then I walked about two hours by the thicket and river-side, watching the appearance of spring, which, as Coleridge says—

"Comes slowly up this way."

After dinner and tea I resumed the task of correction, which is an odious one, but must be attempted, ay, and accomplished too.

April 30.—Dr. Johnson enjoins Bozzy to leave out of his diary all notices of the weather as insignificant. It may be so to an inhabitant of Bolt Court, in Fleet Street, who need care little whether it rains or snows, except the shilling which it may cost him for a Jarvie; but when I wake and find a snow shower sweeping along, and destroying hundreds perhaps of young lambs, and famishing their mothers, I must consider it as worth noting. For my own poor share, I am as indifferent as any Grub Streeter of them all—

"—And since 'tis a bad day, Rise up, rise up, my merry men, And use it as you may."

I have accordingly been busy. The weather did not permit me to go beyond the courtyard, for it continued cold and rainy. I have employed the day in correcting the history for Cyclopaedia as far as page 35, exclusive, and have sent it off, or shall to-morrow. I wish I knew how it would run out. Dr. Lardner's measure is a large one, but so much the better. I like to have ample verge and space enough, and a mere abridgment would be discreditable. Well, nobody can say I eat the bread of idleness. Why should I? Those who do not work from necessity take violent labour from choice, and were necessity out of the question I would take the same sort of literary labour from choice—something more leisurely though.

FOOTNOTES:

[286] Son of Lord Medwyn. Mr. Forbes had lately returned from Italy, where he had had as travelling companion Mr. Cleasby, and it was owing to Mr. Forbes's recommendation that Mr. Cleasby came to Edinburgh to pursue his studies. Mr. Forbes possessed a fine tenor voice, and his favourite songs at that time were the Neapolitan and Calabrian canzonetti, to which Sir Walter alludes under April 4.

[287] Mr. Lockhart's own account of the overture is sufficiently amusing and characteristic of the men and the times:—

"I had not time to write more than a line the other day under Croker's cover, having received it just at post time. He sent for me; I found him in his nightcap at the Admiralty, colded badly, but in audacious spirits. His business was this. The Duke of W[ellingto]n finds himself without one newspaper he can depend on. He wishes to buy up some evening print, such as the dull Star; and could I do anything for it? I said I was as well inclined to serve the Duke as he could be, but it must be in other fashion. He then said he agreed with me—but there was a second question: Could I find them an editor, and undertake to communicate between them and him—in short, save the Treasury the inconvenience of maintaining an avowed intercourse with the Newspaper press? He said he himself had for some years done this—then others. I said I would endeavour to think of a man for their turn and would call on him soon again.

"I have considered the matter at leisure, and resolve to have nothing to do with it. They CAN only want me as a writer. Any understrapper M.P. would do well enough for carrying hints to a newspaper office, and I will not, even to secure the Duke, mix myself up with the newspapers. That work it is which has damned Croker, and I can't afford to sacrifice the advantage which I feel I have gained in these later years by abstaining altogether from partisan scribbling, or to subject the Quarterly to risk of damage. The truth is, I don't admire, after all that has come and gone, being applied to through the medium of friend Crokey. I hope you will approve of my resolution."

[288] Peel, in writing to Scott, says, "The mention of your name [in Parliament] as attached to the Edinburgh petition was received with loud cheers."

[289] Richard Cleasby, afterwards the well-known scholar who spent many years in gathering materials for an Icelandic Dictionary. Mr. Cleasby died in 1847, but the work he had planned was not published until 1874, when it appeared under the editorship of Mr. Vigfusson,[A] assisted by Sir George Dasent.

[290] Bickerstaff's Padlock, Act I. Sc. 6.

[A] An Icelandic-English Dictionary based on the MS. collections of the late Richard Cleasby, enlarged and completed by G. Vigfusson. 4to, Oxford, 1874.

[291] Don Quixote, Pt. I. Bk. II. Cap. 2.

[292] Friends of Joanna Baillie's and John Richardson's.

[293] This must have been an unusual experience for the head of a family that considered itself to be the oldest in Christendom. Their chateau contained, it was said, two pictures: one of the Deluge, in which Noah is represented going into the Ark, carrying under his arm a small trunk, on which was written "Papiers de la maison de Levis;" the other a portrait of the founder of the house bowing reverently to the Virgin, who is made to say, "Couvrez-vous, mon cousin."—See Walpole's Letters. The book referred to by Sir Walter is The Carbonaro: a Piedmontese Tale, by the Duke de Levis. 2 vols. London, 1829.

[294] No. 152—May, 1829.

[295] Burns's Lines to a Mouse: "a daimen-icker in a thrave," that is, an ear of corn out of two dozen sheaves.

[296] John, Duke of Argyll and Greenwich.

[297] These biographies, intended for The Family Library, were never written.

[298] Romeo and Juliet, Act v. Sc. 1.

[299]

"When I think on the world's pelf May the shame fa' and the blethrie o 't." Burden of old Scottish Song.



[300] That these afternoon rambles with the dogs were not always so tranquil may be gathered from an incident described by Mr. Adolphus, in which an unsuspecting cat at a cottage door was demolished by Nimrod in one of his gambols.—Life, vol. ix. p. 362. This deer-hound was an old offender. Sir Walter tells his friend Richardson, a propos of a story he had just heard of Joanna Baillie's cat having worried a dog: "It is just like her mistress, who beats the male race of authors out of the pit in describing the higher passions that are more proper to their sex than hers. Alack-a-day! my poor cat Hinse, my acquaintance, and in some sort my friend of fifteen years, was snapped at even by the paynim Nimrod. What could I say to him but what Brantome said to some ferrailleur who had been too successful in a duel, 'Ah! mon grand ami, vous avez tue mon autre grand ami.'"

[301] Manager of the Foreign Review.

[302] Robert Pitcairn, author of Criminal Trials in Scotland, 3 vols. 4to.

[303] William Scott, Esq., afterwards Laird of Raeburn, was commonly thus designated from a minor possession, during his father's lifetime. Whatever, in things of this sort, used to be practised among the French noblesse, might be traced, till very lately, in the customs of the Scottish provincial gentry.—- J.G.L.

[304] Life, vol. vi. p. 90.

[305]

"They have ty'd me to a stake; I cannot fly, But bear-like I must fight the course."—Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 7.

[306] The work was published in May30 under the following title:—"Anne of Geierstein, or The Maiden of the Mist. By the Author of Waverley, etc.

What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? SHAKESPEARE.

In three volumes. Edinburgh: Printed for Cadell & Co., Edinburgh; and Simpkin & Marshall, London, 1829. (At the end) Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne & Company, Paul's Work, Canongate."



MAY.

May 1.—Weather more tolerable. I commenced my review on the Duke of Guise's Expedition,[307] for my poor correspondent Gillies, with six leaves. What a curious tale that is of Masaniello! I went to Huntly Burn in the sociable, and returned on foot, to my great refreshment. Evening as usual. Ate, drank, smoked, and wrote.

May 2.—A pitiful day of rain and wind. Laboured the whole morning at Gillies's review. It is a fine subject—the Duke of Guise at Naples—and I think not very much known, though the story of Masaniello is.

I have a letter from Dr. Lardner proposing to me to publish the history in June. But I dare not undertake it in so short a space, proof-sheets and all considered; it must be October—no help for it.[308] Worked after dinner as usual.

May 3.—The very same diary might serve this day as the last. I sent off to Gillies half his review, and I wish the other half at Old Nick.

May 4.—A poor young woman came here this morning, well-dressed and well-behaved, with a strong northern accent. She talked incoherently a long story of a brother and a lover both dead. I would have kept her here till I wrote to her friends, particularly to Mr. Sutherland (an Aberdeen bookseller), to inform them where she is, but my daughter and her maidens were frightened, as indeed there might be room for it, and so I sent her in one of Davidson's chaises to the Castle at Jedburgh, and wrote to Mr. Shortreed to see she is humanely treated. I have written also to her brother.

"Long shall I see these things forlorn, And long again their sorrows feel."

The rest was write, walk, eat, smoke; smoke, and write again.

May 5.—A moist rainy day, mild, however, and promising good weather. I sat at my desk the whole day, and worked at Gillies's review. So was the day exhausted.

May 6.—I sent off the review. Received the sheets of the Secret Tribunal from Master Reynolds. Keith Scott, a grandson of James Scott, my father's cousin-german, came here, a fine lively boy with good spirits and amiable manners. Just when I had sent off the rest of Gillies's manuscript, W. Laidlaw came, so I had him for my companion in a walk which the late weather has prevented for one or two days. Colonel and Mrs. Ferguson, and Margaret Ferguson, came to dinner, and so passed the evening.

May 7.—Captain Percy, brother of Lord Lovaine, and son of Lord Beverley, came out to dinner. Dr. and Mrs. Brewster met him. He is like his brother, Lord Lovaine, an amiable, easy, and accomplished man, who has seen a great deal of service, and roamed about with tribes of Western Indians.

May 8.—Went up Yarrow with Captain Percy, which made a complete day's idleness, for which I have little apology to offer. I heard at the same time from the President[309] that Sir Robert Dundas is very unwell, so I must be in Edinburgh on Monday 11th. Very disagreeable, now the weather is becoming pleasant.

May 9.—Captain Percy left us at one o'clock. He has a sense of humour, and aptness of comprehension which renders him an agreeable companion. I am sorry his visit has made me a little idle, but there is no help for it.

I have done everything to-day previous to my going away, but—que faut-il faire? one must see society now and then, and this is really an agreeable man. And so, transeat ille. I walked, and was so fatigued as to sleep, and now I will attack John Lockhart's proof-sheets, of which he has sent me a revise. In the evening I corrected proofs for the review.

May 10.—This must be a day of preparation, which I hate; yet it is but laying aside a few books, and arranging a few papers, and yet my nerves are fluttered, and I make blunders, and mislay my pen and my keys, and make more confusion than I can repair. After all, I will try for once to do it steadily.

Well! I have toiled through it; it is like a ground swell in the sea that brings up all that is disgusting from the bottom—admonitory letters—unpaid bills—few of these, thank my stars!—all that one would wish to forget perks itself up in your face at a thorough redding up—devil take it, I will get out and cool the fever that this turmoil has made in my veins! The delightful spring weather conjured down the evil spirit. I sat a long time with my nerves shaking like a frightened child, and then laughed at it all by the side of the river, coming back by the thicket.

May 11, [Edinburgh].—We passed the morning in the little arrangements previous to our departure, and then returned at night to Edinburgh, bringing Keith Scott along. This boy's grandfather, James Scott by name, very clever and particularly well acquainted with Indian customs and manners. He was one of the first settlers in Prince of Wales Island. He was an active-minded man, and therefore wrote a great deal. I have seen a trunkful of his MSS. Unhappily, instead of writing upon some subject on which he might have conveyed information he took to writing on metaphysics, and lost both his candles and his labour. I was consulted about publishing some part of his works; but could not recommend it. They were shallow essays, with a good deal of infidelity exhibited. Yet James Scott was a very clever man. He only fell into the common mistake of supposing that arguments new to him were new to all others. His son, when I knew him long since in this country, was an ordinary man enough. This boy seems smart and clever. We reached the house in the evening; it was comfortable enough considering it had been shut up for two months. I found a letter from Cadell asserting his continued hope in the success of the Magnum. I begin to be jealous on the subject, but I will know to-morrow.

May 12.—Went to Parliament House. Sir Robert Dundas very unwell. Poor Hamilton on his back with the gout. So was obliged to have the assistance of Rolland[310] from the Second Division. Saw Cadell on the way home. I was right: he had been disappointed in his expectations from Glasgow and other mercantile places where trade is low at present. But

"Tidings did he bring of Africa and golden joys."

The Magnum has taken extremely in Ireland, which was little counted on, and elsewhere. Hence he proposes a new edition of Tales of my Grandfather, First Series; also an enlargement of the Third Series. All this drives poverty and pinch, which is so like poverty, from the door.

I visited Lady J.S., and had the pleasure to find her well. I wrote a little, and got over a place that bothered me. Cadell has apprehensions of A[nne] of G[eierstein], so have I. Well, the worst of it is, we must do something better.[311]

May 13.—Attended the Court, which took up a good deal of time. On my return saw Sir Robert Dundas, who is better—and expects to be out on Tuesday. I went to the Highland Society to present Miss Grahame Stirling's book, being a translation of Gelieu's work on bees,[312] which was well received. Went with the girls to dine at Dalhousie Castle, where we were very kindly received. I saw the Edgewell Tree,[313] too fatal, says Allan Ramsay, to the family from which he was himself descended. I also saw the fatal Coalston Pear,[314] said to have been preserved many hundred years. It is certainly a pear either petrified or turned into wood, with a bit out of one side of it.

It is a pity to see my old school-companion, this fine true-hearted nobleman of such an ancient and noble descent, after having followed the British flag through all quarters of the world, again obliged to resume his wanderings at a time of life equal, I suppose, to my own. He has not, however, a grey hair in his head.

May 14.—Left Dalhousie at eight to return here to breakfast, where we received cold tidings. Walter has had an inflammatory attack, and I fear it will be necessary to him to return without delay to the Continent. I have letters from Sophia and Sir Andrew Halliday. The last has been of the utmost service, by bleeding and advising active measures. How little one knows to whom they are to be obliged! I wrote to him and to Jane, recommending the Ionian Islands, where Sir Frederick Adam would, I am sure, give Walter a post on his staff. The kind old Chief Commissioner at once interested himself in the matter. It makes me inexpressibly anxious, yet I have kept up my determination not to let the chances of fate overcome me like a summer's-cloud.[315] I wrote four or five pages of the History to-day, notwithstanding the agitation of my feelings.

May 15.—Attended the Court, where Mr. Rolland and I had the duty of the First Division; Sir Robert and Hamilton being both laid up. Dined at Granton and met Lord and Lady Dalhousie, Sir John Hope, etc. I have spelled out some work this day, though I have been rather knocked about.

May 16.—After the Court this day I went to vote at the Archers' Hall, where some of the members had become restive. They were outvoted two to one. There had been no division in the Royal Body Guard since its commencement, but these times make divisions everywhere. A letter from Lockhart brings better news of Walter, but my heart is heavy on the subject. I went on with my History, however, for the point in this world is to do what we ought, and bear what we must.

Dined at home and wrote in the evening.

May 17.—I never stirred from my seat all this day. My reflections, as suggested by Walter's illness, were highly uncomfortable; and to divert it I wrought the whole day, save when I was obliged to stop and lean my head on my hand. Real affliction, however, has something in it by which it is sanctified. It is a weight which, however oppressive, may like a bar of iron be conveniently disposed on the sufferer's person. But the insubstantiality of a hypochondriac affection is one of its greatest torments. You have a huge featherbed on your shoulders, which rather encumbers and oppresses you than calls forth strength and exertion to bear it. There is something like madness in that opinion, and yet it has a touch of reality. Heaven help me!

May 18.—I resolved to take exercise to-day, so only wrought till twelve. I sent off some sheets and copy to Dr. Lardner. I find my written page goes as better than one to two of his print, so a little more than one hundred and ninety of my writing will make up the sum wanted. I sent him off as far as page sixty-two. Went to Mr. Colvin Smith's at one, and sat for my picture to three. There must be an end of this sitting. It devours my time.

I wrote in the evening to Walter, James MacCulloch, to Dr. Lardner, and others, and settled some other correspondence.

May 19.—I went to the Court, and abode there till about one, and in the Library from one to two, when I was forced to attend a public meeting about the King's statue. I have no turn for these committees, and yet I get always jamm'd into them. They take up a cruel deal of time in a way very unsatisfactory. Dined at home, and wrought hard. I shall be through the Bruce's reign. It is lengthy; but, hang it, it was our only halcyon period. I shall be soon done with one-half of the thousand pound's worth.

May 20.—Mr. Cadell breakfasted with us, with a youngster for whom he wants a letter to the Commander or Governor of Bombay. After breakfast C. and I had some talk of business. His tidings, like those of ancient Pistol, are of Africa and golden joys. He is sure of selling at the starting 8000 copies of the Magnum, at a profit of L70 per 1000—that is, per month. This seems certain. But he thinks the sale will rise to 12,000, which will be L280 more, or L840 in all. This will tell out a gross divisible profit of upwards of L25,000. This is not unlikely, but after this comes a series of twenty volumes at least, which produce only half that quantity indeed; but then the whole profits, save commissions, are the author's. That will come to as much as the former, say L50,000 in all. This supposes I carry on the works of fiction for two or three novels more. But besides all this, Cadell entertains a plan of selling a cheaper edition by numbers and numbermen, on which he gives half the selling price. One man, Mr. Ireland, offers to take 10,000 copies of the Magnum and talks of 25,000. This allows a profit of L50 per thousand copies, not much worse than the larger copy, and Cadell thinks to carry on both. I doubt this. I have great apprehension that these interlopers would disgust the regular trade, with whom we are already deeply engaged. I also foresee selling the worst copies at the higher price. All this must be thought and cared for. In the meantime, I see a fund, from which large payments may be made to the Trustees, capable of extinguishing the debt, large as it is, in ten years or earlier, and leaving a reversion to my family of the copyrights. Sweet bodements[316]—good—but we must not reckon our chickens before they are hatched, though they are chipping the shell now. We will see how the stream takes.

Dined at a public dinner given to the excellent Lord Dalhousie before his departure for India. An odd way of testifying respect to public characters, by eating, drinking, and roaring. The names, however, will make a good show in the papers. Home at ten. Good news from Sophia and Walter. I am zealous for the Mediterranean when the season comes, which may be the beginning of September.

May 21.—This is only the 23d on which I write, yet I have forgotten anything that has passed on the 21st worthy of note. I wrote a good deal, I know, and dined at home. The step of time is noiseless as it passes over an old man. The non est tanti mingles itself with everything.

May 22.—I was detained long in the Court, though Ham. had returned to his labour. We dined with Captain Basil Hall, and met a Mr. Codman, or some such name, with his lady from Boston. The last a pleasant and well-mannered woman, the husband Bostonian enough. We had Sir William Arbuthnot, besides, and his lady.

By-the-bye, I should have remembered that I called on my old friend, Lady Charlotte Campbell, and found her in her usual good-humour, though miffed a little—I suspect at the history of Gillespie Grumach in the Legend of Montrose. I saw Haining also, looking thin and pale. These should have gone to the memorandum of yesterday.

May 23.—Went to-day to call on the Commissioner,[317] and saw, at his Grace's Levee, the celebrated divine, soi-disant prophet, Irving.[318] He is a fine-looking man (bating a diabolical squint), with talent on his brow and madness in his eye. His dress, and the arrangement of his hair, indicated that much attention had been bestowed on his externals, and led me to suspect a degree of self-conceit, consistent both with genius and insanity.

Came home by Cadell's, who persists in his visions of El Dorado. He insists that I will probably bring L60,000 within six years to rub off all Constable's debts, which that sum will do with a vengeance. Cadell talks of offering for the Poetry to Longman. I fear they will not listen to him. The Napoleon he can command when he likes by purchasing their stock in hand. The Lives of the Novelists may also be had. Pleasant schemes all these, but dangerous to build upon. Yet in looking at the powerful machine which we have put in motion, it must be owned "as broken ships have come to land."

Waited on the Commissioner at five o'clock, and had the pleasure to remain till eight, when the debate in the Assembly was over. The question which employed their eloquence was whether the celebrated Mr. Irving could sit there as a ruling elder.[319] It was settled, I think justly, that a divine, being of a different order of officers in the Kirk, cannot assume the character of a ruling elder, seeing he cannot discharge its duties.

Mr. Irving dined with us. I could hardly keep my eyes off him while we were at table. He put me in mind of the devil disguised as an angel of light, so ill did that horrible obliquity of vision harmonise with the dark tranquil features of his face, resembling that of our Saviour in Italian pictures, with the hair carefully arranged in the same manner. There was much real or affected simplicity in the manner in which he spoke. He rather made play, and spoke much across the table to the Solicitor, and seemed to be good-humoured. But he spoke with that kind of unction which is nearly [allied] to cajolerie. He boasted much of the tens of thousands that attended his ministry at the town of Annan, his native place, till he wellnigh provoked me to say he was a distinguished exception to the rule that a prophet was not esteemed in his own country. But time and place were not fitting.

May 24.—I wrote or wrought all the morning, yea, even to dinner-time. Miss Kerr, and Mrs. Skene, and Will Clerk dined. Skene came from the Commissioner's at seven o'clock. We had a merry evening. Clerk exults in the miscarriage of the Bill for the augmentation of the judges' salaries. He and the other clerks in the Jury Court had hoped to have had a share in the proposed measure, but the Court had considered it as being nos poma natamus. I kept our friends quiet by declining to move in a matter which was to expose us to the insult of a certain refusal. Clerk, with his usual felicity of quotation, said they should have remembered the Clown's exhortation to Lear, "Good nuncle, tarry and take the fool with you."[320]

May 25.—Wrote in the morning. Dr. Macintosh Mackay came to breakfast, and brought with him, to show me, the Young Chevalier's target, purse, and snuff-box, the property of Cluny MacPherson. The pistols are for holsters, and no way remarkable; a good serviceable pair of weapons silver mounted. The targe is very handsome indeed, studded with ornaments of silver, chiefly emblematic, chosen with much taste of device and happily executed. There is a contrast betwixt the shield and purse, the targe being large and heavy, the purse, though very handsome, unusually small and light. After one o'clock I saw the Duke and Duchess of Gordon; then went to Mr. Smith's to finish a painting for the last time. The Duchess called with a Swiss lady, to introduce me to her friend, while I was doing penance. I was heartily glad to see her Grace once more. Called in at Cadell's. His orders continue so thick that he must postpone the delivery for several days, to get new engravings thrown off, etc. Vogue la galere! From all that now appears, I shall be much better off in two or three years than if my misfortunes had never taken place. Periissem ni periissem.

Dined at a dinner given by the Antiquarian Society to Mr. Hay Drummond, Secretary to the Society, now going Consul to Tangiers. It was an excellent dinner—turtle, champagne, and all the agremens of a capital meal, for L1, 6s. a-head. How Barry managed I can't say. The object of this compliment spoke and drank wine incessantly; good-naturedly delighted with the compliment, which he repeatedly assured me he valued more than a hundred pounds. I take it that after my departure, which was early, it would be necessary to "carry Mr. Silence to bed."[321]

May 26.—The business at the Court heavy. Dined at Gala's, and had the pleasure to see him in amended health. Sir John and Lady Hope were there, and the evening was lively and pleasant. George Square is always a melancholy place for me. I was dining next door to my father's former house.[322]

May 27.—I got up the additional notes for the Waverley Novels. They seem to be setting sail with a favourable wind. I had to-day a most kind and friendly letter from the Duke of Wellington, which is a thing to be vain of. He is a most wonderful man to have climbed to such a height without ever slipping his foot. Who would have said in 1815 that the Duke would stand still higher in 1829, and yet it indubitably is so. We dined with Lady Charlotte Campbell, now Lady Charlotte Bury, and her husband, who is an egregious fop but a fine draughtsman. Here is another day gone without work in the evening.

May 28.—The Court as usual till one o'clock. But I forgot to say Mr. Macintosh Mackay breakfasted, and inspected my curious Irish MS., which Dr. Brinkley gave me.[323] Mr. Mackay, I should say Doctor, who well deserved the name, reads it with tolerable ease, so I hope to knock the marrow out of the bone with his assistance. I came home and despatched proof-sheets and revises for Dr. Lardner. I saw kind John Gibson, and made him happy with the fair prospects of the Magnum. He quite agrees in my views. A young clergyman, named M'Combie, from Aberdeenshire, also called to-day. I have had some consideration about the renewal or re-translation of the Psalmody. I had peculiar views adverse to such an undertaking.[324] In the first place, it would be highly unpopular with the lower and more ignorant rank, many of whom have no idea of the change which those spiritual poems have suffered in translation, but consider their old translations as the very songs which David composed. At any rate, the lower class think that our fathers were holier and better men than we, and that to abandon their old hymns of devotion, in order to grace them with newer and more modish expression, would be a kind of sacrilege. Even the best informed, who think on the subject, must be of opinion that even the somewhat bald and rude language and versification of the Psalmody gives them an antique and venerable air, and their want of the popular graces of modish poetry shows they belong to a style where ornaments are not required. They contain, besides, the very words which were spoken and sung by the fathers of the Reformation, sometimes in the wilderness, sometimes in fetters, sometimes at the stake. If a Church possessed the vessels out of which the original Reformers partook of the Eucharist, it would be surely bad taste to melt them down and exchange them for more modern. No, no. Let them write hymns and paraphrases if they will, but let us have still

"All people that on earth do dwell."[325]

Law and devotion must lose some of their dignity as often as they adopt new fashions.

May 30.—The Skenes came in to supper last night. Dr. Scott of Haslar Hospital came to breakfast. He is a nephew of Scott of Scalloway, who is one of the largest proprietors in Shetland. I have an agreeable recollection of the kindness and hospitality of these remote isles, and of this gentleman's connections in particular, who welcomed me both as a stranger and a Scott, being duly tenacious of their clan. This young gentleman is high in the medical department of the navy. He tells me that the Ultima Thule is improving rapidly. The old clumsy plough is laid aside. They have built several stout sloops to go to the deep-sea fishing, instead of going thither in open boats, which consumed so much time between the shore and the haaf or fishing spot. Pity but they would use a steam-boat to tow them out! I have a real wish to hear of Zetland's advantage. I often think of its long isles, its towering precipices, its capes covered with sea-fowl of every class and description that ornithology can find names for, its deep caves, its smoked geese, and its sour sillocks. I would like to see it again. After the Court I came round by Cadell, who is like Jemmy Taylor,

"Full of mirth and full of glee,"

for which he has good reason, having raised the impression of the Magnum to 12,000 copies, and yet the end is not, for the only puzzle now is how to satisfy the delivery fast enough.[326]

May 31.—We dined at Craigcrook with Jeffrey. It is a most beautiful place, tastefully planted with shrubs and trees, and so sequestered, that after turning into the little avenue, all symptoms of the town are left behind you. He positively gives up the Edinburgh Review.[327] A very pleasant evening. Rather a glass of wine too much, for I was heated during the night. Very good news of Walter.

FOOTNOTES:

[307] See Foreign Quarterly Review, vol. iv. p. 355.

[308] This short History of Scotland, it was found, could not be comprised in a single volume, and the publishers handsomely agreed to give the author L1500 for two volumes, forming the first and fourth issues of their own Cabinet Cyclopaedia, the publication of which was commenced before the end of the year.

[309] Right Hon. Charles Hope.

[310] Adam Rolland, Principal Clerk of Session, a nephew of Adam Rolland of Gask, who was in some respects the prototype of Pleydell, and whose face and figure have been made familiar to the present generation by Raeburn's masterpiece of portraiture, now in the possession of Miss Abercrombie, Edinburgh.

[311] Sir Walter had written to Mr. Lockhart on 8th May:—"Anne of Geierstein is concluded; but as I do not like her myself, I do not expect she will be popular."

As a contrast to the criticisms of the printer and publisher, and a comment upon the author's own apprehensions, the subjoined extract from a letter written by Mr. G.P.R. James may be given:—"When I first read Anne of Geierstein I will own that the multitude of surpassing beauties which it contained frightened me, but I find that after having read it the public mind required to be let gently down from the tone of excitement to which it had been raised, and was contented to pause at my book (Richelieu), as a man who has been enjoying a fine prospect from a high hill stops before he reaches the valley to take another look, though half the beauty be already lost.... You cannot think how I long to acquit myself of the obligations which I lie under towards you, but I am afraid that fortune, who has given you both the will and the power to confer such great favours upon me, has not in any degree enabled me to aid or assist you in return."

[312] The Bee Preserver, or Practical Directions for the Management and Preservation of Hives. Translated from the French of J. De Gelieu. 1829.

[313] "An oak tree which grows by the side of a fine spring near the Castle of Dalhousie; very much observed by the country people, who give out that before any of the family died a branch fell from the Edgewell Tree. The old tree some few years ago fell altogether, but another sprang from the same root, which is now [1720] tall and flourishing; and lang be it sae."—Allan Ramsay's Works, vol. i. p. 329: "Stocks in 1720." 2 vols. 8vo, Lond. 1800.

The tree is still flourishing [1889], and the belief in its sympathy with the family is not yet extinct, as an old forester, on seeing a large branch fall from it on a quiet still day in July 1874, exclaimed, "The laird's deed noo!" and accordingly news came soon after that Fox Maule, 11th Earl of Dalhousie, had died.

[314] The Coalstoun Pear was removed from Dalhousie to Coalstoun House in 1861.

[315] Macbeth, Act III. Sc. 4.

[316] Macbeth, Act IV. Sc. 1.

[317] Lord Forbes was at this time His Majesty's High Commissioner to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland: he had been appointed in 1826.

[318] Rev. Edward Irving, minister of the Scottish Church in London, was deposed March 1833, and died Dec. 1834, aged forty-two.

[319] That is as a lay-member of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland.

[320] Lear, Act I. Sc. 4.

[321] 2d Henry IV., Act V. Sc. 3.

[322] No. 25.

[323] The manuscript referred to is now at Abbotsford. It is a small quarto of 8-3/4 x 6-1/2 inches, bound in old mottled leather, and consisting of 251 leaves of paper, written on both sides in the Irish character, apparently in the reign of James VI. It bears the following inscription in Sir Walter's hand:—"The kind donor of this book is the Right Rev. Bishop of Cloyne, famed for his skill in science, and especially as an astronomer." For contents of vol. see Appendix. Dr. John Brinkley, Bishop of Cloyne, was Astronomer Royal for Ireland.

[324] See letter to Principal Baird, ante, vol, i, p. 412 n.

[325] The first line of the Scottish metrical version of the hundredth Psalm. Mr. Lockhart tells us, in his affecting account of Sir Walter's illness, that his love for the old metrical version of the Psalms continued unabated to the end. A story has been told, on the authority of the nurse in attendance, that on the morning of the day on which he died, viz., on the 21st Sept. 1832, he opened his eyes once more, quite conscious, and calmly asked her to read to him a psalm. She proceeded to do so, when he gently interposed, saying, "No! no! the Scotch Psalms." After reading to him a little while, he expressed a wish to be moved nearer the window, through which he looked long and earnestly up and down the valley and towards the sky, and then on the woman's face, saying: "I'll know it all before night." This story will find some confirmation from the entry in the Journal under September 24, 1830: "I think I will be in the secret next week; unless I recruit greatly."

[326] In a letter to his son at this time he says the "sale of the Novels is pro-di-gi-ous. If it last but a few years it will clear my feet of old encumbrances."—Life, vol. ix. p. 32.

[327] Jeffrey, who had just retired from the editorship of the Edinburgh Review, was succeeded by Macvey Napier, whose first No. was published in October 1829.



JUNE.

June 1.—Being Sunday I remained to work the whole day, and finished half of the proposed volume of History. I was not disturbed the whole day, a thing rather unusual.

June 2.—Received Mr. Rees of London and Col. Ferguson to breakfast. Mr. Rees is clearly of opinion our scheme (the Magnum) must answer.[328] I got to letter-writing after breakfast, and cleared off old scores in some degree. Dr. Ross called and would hardly hear of my going out. I was obliged, however, to attend the meeting of the trustees for the Theatre.[329] The question to be decided was, whether we should embrace an option left to us of taking the old Theatre at a valuation, or whether we should leave it to Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Murray to make the best of it. There were present Sir Patrick Murray, Baron Hume, Lord Provost, Sir John Hay, Mr. Gilbert Innes, and myself. We were all of opinion that personally we ought to have nothing to do with it. But I thought as trustees for the public, we were bound to let the public know how the matter stood, and that they might, if they pleased, have the theatrical property for L16,000, which is dog cheap. They were all clear to give it up (the right of reversion) to Mrs. Siddons. I am glad she should have it, for she is an excellent person, and so is her brother. But I think it has been a little jobbish. There is a clause providing the new patentees may redeem. I desired that the circumstance should be noted, that we were only exercising our own judgment, leaving the future trustees to exercise theirs. I rather insisted that there should be some saving clause of this kind, even for the sake of our honour. But I could not prevail upon my colleagues to put such a saving clause on the minutes, though they agreed to the possibility of the new patentees redeeming on behalf of the public. I do not think we have done right.

I called on Mr. Cadell, whose reports of the Magnum might fill up the dreams of Alnaschar should he sleep as long as the seven sleepers. The rest was labour and letters till bed-time.

June 3.—The ugly symptoms still continue. Dr. Ross does not make much of it, and I think he is apt to look grave.[330] I wrote in the morning. Dr. Macintosh Mackay came to breakfast, and brought a Gaelic book, which he has published—the Poetry of Rob Donn—some of which seems pretty as he explained it. Court kept me till near two, and then home comes I. Afternoon and evening was spent as usual. In the evening Dr. Ross ordered me to be cupped, an operation which I only knew from its being practised by that eminent medical practitioner the barber of Bagdad. It is not painful; and, I think, resembles a giant twisting about your flesh between his finger and thumb.

June 4.—I was obliged to absent myself from the Court on Dr. Ross's positive instance; and, what is worse, I was compelled to send an apology to Hopetoun House, where I expected to see Madame Caradori, who was to sing Jock of Hazeldean. I wrote the song for Sophia; and I find my friends here still prefer her to the foreign syren.

"However, Madame Caradori, To miss you I am very sorry, I should have taken it for glory To have heard you sing my Border story."

I worked at the Tales of my Grandfather, but leisurely.

June 5.—Cadell came to dine with me tete-a-tete, for the girls are gone to Hopetoun House. We had ample matter to converse upon, for his horn was full of good news. While we were at dinner we had letters from London and Ireland, which decided him to raise the impression of Waverley to 15,000. This, with 10,000 on the number line which Ireland is willing to take, will make L18,000 a year of divisible profit. This leads to a further speculation, as I said, of great importance. Longman & Co. have agreed to sell their stock on hand of the Poetry, in which they have certain shares, their shares included, for L8000. Cadell thinks he could, by selling off at cheap rates, sorting, making waste, etc., get rid of the stock for about L5000, leaving L3000 for the purchase of the copyrights, and proposes to close the bargain as much cheaper as he can, but at all events to close it. Whatever shall fall short of the price returned by the stock, the sale of which shall be entirely at his risk, shall be reckoned as the price of the copyright, and we shall pay half of that balance. I had no hesitation in authorising him to proceed in his bargain with Owen Rees of Longman's house upon that principle. For supposing, according to Cadell's present idea, the loss on the stock shall amount to L2000 or L3000, the possession of the entire copyright undivided would enable us, calculating upon similar success to that of the Novels, to make at least L500 per cent. Longman & Co. have indeed an excellent bargain, but then so will we. We pay dear indeed for what the ostensible subject of sale is, but if it sets free almost the whole of our copyrights, and places them in our own hands, we get a most valuable quid pro quo. There is only one-fourth, I think, of Marmion in Mr. Murray's hands, and it must be the deuce if that cannot be [secured].[331] Mr. Cadell proposed that, as he took the whole books on his risk, he ought to have compensation, and that it should consist in the sum to be given to me for arranging and making additions to the volumes of Poetry thus to be republished. I objected to this, for in the first place he may suffer no loss, for the books may go off more rapidly than he thinks or expects. In the second place, I do not know what my labours in the Poetry may be. In either case it is a blind bargain; but if he should be a sufferer beyond the clear half of the loss, which we agree to share with him, I agreed to make him some compensation, and he is willing to take what I shall think just; so stands our bargain. Remained at home and wrote about four pages of Tales. I should have done more, but my head, as Squire Sullen says, "aiked consumedly."[332] Rees has given Cadell a written offer to be binding till the twelfth; meantime I have written to Lockhart to ask John Murray if he will treat for the fourth share of Marmion, which he possesses. It can be worth but little to him, and gives us all the copyrights. I have a letter from Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, touching a manuscript of Messrs. Hay Allan called the Vestiarium Scotiae by a Sir Richard Forrester. If it is an imposition it is cleverly done, but I doubt the quarter it comes from. These Hay Allans are men of warm imaginations. It makes the strange averment that all the Low-Country gentlemen and border clans wore tartan, and gives sets of them all. I must see the manuscript before I believe in it. The Allans are singular men, of much accomplishment but little probity—that is, in antiquarian matters. Cadell lent me L10,—funny enough, after all our grand expectations, for Croesus to want such a gratility!

June 7.—I rose at seven, and wrote to Sir Thomas Lauder a long warning on the subject of these Allans and their manuscript.[333] Proceeded to write, but found myself pulled up by the necessity of reading a little. This occupied my whole morning. The Lord President called very kindly to desire me to keep at home to-morrow. I thought of being out, but it may be as well not. I am somehow or other either listless or lazy. My head aches cruelly. I made a fight at reading and working till eleven, and then came sleep with a party-coloured [mantle] of fantastic hues, and wrapt me into an imaginary world.

June, 8.—I wrote the whole morning till two o'clock. Then I went into the gardens of Princes Street, to my great exhilaration. I never felt better for a walk; also it is the first I have taken this whole week and more. I visited some remote garden grounds, where I had not been since I walked there with the good Samaritan Skene, sadly enough, at the time of my misfortunes.[334] The shrubs and young trees, which were then invisible, are now of good size, and gay with leaf and blossom. I, too, old trunk as I am, have put out tender buds of hope, which seemed checked for ever.

I may now look with fair hope to freeing myself of obligation from all men, and spending the rest of my life in ease and quiet. God make me thankful for so cheering a prospect!

June 9.—I wrote in the morning, set out for a walk at twelve o'clock as far as Mr. Cadell's. I found him hesitating about his views, and undecided about the Number plan. He thinks the first plan answers so much beyond expectation it is a pity to interfere with it, and talks of re-engraving the plates. This would be touchy, but nothing is resolved on.

Anne had a little party, where Lady Charlotte Bury, Lady Hopetoun, and others met the Caradori, who sung to us very kindly. She sung Jock of Hazeldean very well, and with a peculiar expression of humour. Sandie Ballantyne kindly came and helped us with fiddle and flageolet. Willie Clerk was also here. We had a lunch, and were very gay, not the less so for the want of Mr. Bury, who is a thorough-paced coxcomb, with some accomplishments, however. I drank two glasses of champagne, which have muddled my brains for the day. Will Clerk promised to come back and dine on the wreck of the turkey and tongue, pigeon-pie, etc. He came, accordingly, and stayed till nine; so no time for work. It was not a lost day, however.[335]

June 10.—Nota bene, my complaint quite gone. I attended the Court, and sat there till late. Evening had its lot of labour, which is, I think, a second nature to me. It is astonishing how little I look into a book of entertainment. I have been reading over the Five Nights of St. Albans,—very much extra moenia nostri mundi, and possessed of considerable merit, though the author[336] loves to play at cherry-pit with Satan.[337]

June 11.—I was kept at Court by a hearing till near three. Then sat to Mr. Graham for an hour and a half. When I came home, behold a letter from Mr. Murray, very handsomely yielding up the fourth share of Marmion, which he possessed.[338] Afterwards we went to the theatre, where St. Ronan's Well was capitally acted by Murray and the Bailie,—the part of Clara Mowbray being heavy for want of Mrs. Siddons. Poor old Mrs. Renaud, once the celebrated Mrs. Powell, took leave of the stage. As I was going to bed at twelve at night, in came R.P.Gillies like a tobacco cask. I shook him off with some difficulty, pleading my having been lately ill, but he is to call to-morrow morning.

June 12.—Gillies made his appearance. I told him frankly I thought he conducted his affairs too irregularly for any one to assist him, and I could not in charity advise any one to encourage subscriptions, but that I should subscribe myself, so I made over to him about L50, which the Foreign Review owes me, and I will grow hard-hearted and do no more. I was not long in the Court, but I had to look at the controversy about the descent of the Douglas family, then I went to Cadell and found him still cock-a-hoop. He has raised the edition to 17,000, a monstrous number, yet he thinks it will clear the 20,000, but we must be quiet in case people jalouse the failure of the plates. I called on Lady J.S.[339] When I came home I was sleepy and over-walked. By the way, I sat till Graham finished my picture.[340] I fell fast asleep before dinner, and slept for an hour. After dinner I wrote to Walter, Charles, Lockhart, and John Murray, and took a screed of my novel; so concluded the evening idly enough.

June 13.—We hear of Sophia's motions. She is to set sail by steam-boat on the 16th, Tuesday, and Charles is to make a run down with her. But, alas! my poor Johnnie is, I fear, come to lay his bones in his native land. Sophia can no longer disguise it from herself, that as his strength weakens the disease increases. The poor child is so much bent on coming to see Abbotsford and grandpapa, that it would be cruel not to comply with his wish—and if affliction comes, we will bear it best together.

"Not more the schoolboy who expires Far from his native home desires To see some friend's familiar face, Or meet a parent's last embrace."

It must be all as God wills it. Perhaps his native air may be of service.

More news from Cadell. He deems it necessary to carry up the edition to 20,000.

[Abbotsford.]—This day was fixed for a start to Abbotsford, where we arrived about six o'clock, evening. To my thinking, I never saw a prettier place; and even the trees and flowers seemed to say to me, We are your own again. But I must not let imagination jade me thus. It would be to make disappointment doubly bitter: and, God knows, I have in my child's family matter enough to check any exuberant joy.

June 14.—A delicious day—threatening rain; but with the languid and affecting manner in which beauty demands sympathy when about to weep. I wandered about the banks and braes all morning, and got home about three, and saw everything in tolerable order, excepting that there was a good number of branches left in the walks. There is a great number of trees cut, and bark collected. Colonel Ferguson dined with us, and spent the afternoon.

June 15.—Another charming day. Up and despatched packets for Ballantyne and Cadell; neither of them was furiously to the purpose, but I had a humour to be alert. I walked over to Huntly Burn, and round by Chiefswood and Janeswood, where I saw Captain Hamilton. He is busy finishing his Peninsular campaigns.[341] He will not be cut out by Napier, whose work has a strong party cast; and being, besides, purely abstract and professional, to the public seems very dull. I read General Miller's account of the South American War.[342] I liked it the better that Basil Hall brought the author to breakfast with me in Edinburgh. A fine, tall, military figure, his left hand withered like the prophet's gourd, and plenty of scars on him. There have been rare doings in that vast continent; but the strife is too distant, the country too unknown, to have the effect upon the imagination which European wars produce.

This evening I indulged in the far niente—a rare event with me, but which I enjoy proportionally.

June 16.—Made up parcel for Dr. Lardner; and now I propose to set forth my memoranda of Byron for Moore's acceptance, which ought in civility to have been done long since.[343] I will have a walk, however, in the first place.

I did not get on with Byron so far as I expected—began it though, and that is always something. I went to see the woods at Huntly Burn, and Mars Lea, etc. Met Captain Hamilton, who tells me a shocking thing. Two Messrs. Stirling of Drumpellier came here and dined one day, and seemed spirited young men. The younger is murdered by pirates. An Indian vessel in which he sailed was boarded by these miscreants, who behaved most brutally; and he, offering resistance I suppose, was shockingly mangled and flung into the sea. He was afterwards taken up alive, but died soon after. Such horrid accidents lie in wait for those whom we see "all joyous and unthinking,"[344] sweeping along the course of life; and what end may be waiting ourselves? Who can tell?

June 17.—Must take my leave of sweet Abbotsford, and my leisure hour, my eve of repose. To go to town will take up the morning.

[Edinburgh.]—We set out about eleven o'clock, got to Edinburgh about four, where I dined with Baron Clerk and a few Exchequer friends—Lord Chief Baron, Sir Patrick Murray, Sir Henry Jardine, etc. etc.

June 18.—Corrected proofs for Dr. Dionysius Lardner. Cadell came to breakfast. Poor fellow, he looks like one who had been overworked; and the difficulty of keeping paper-makers up to printers, printers up to draughtsmen, artists to engravers, and the whole party to time, requires the utmost exertion. He has actually ordered new plates, although the steel ones which we employ are supposed to throw off 30,000 without injury. But I doubt something of this. Well, since they will buckle fortune on our back we must bear it scholarly and wisely.[345] I went to Court. Called on my return on J.B. and Cadell. At home I set to correct Ivanhoe. I had twenty other things more pressing; but, after all, these novels deserve a preference. Poor Terry is totally prostrated by a paralytic affection. Continuance of existence not to be wished for.

To-morrow I expect Sophia and her family by steam.

June 19.—Sophia, and Charles who acted as her escort, arrived at nine o'clock morning, fresh from the steamboat. They were in excellent health—also the little boy and girl; but poor Johnnie seems very much changed indeed, and I should not be surprised if the scene shortly closes. There is obviously a great alteration in strength and features. At dinner we had our family chat on a scale that I had not enjoyed for many years. The Skenes supped with us.

June 20.—Corrected proof-sheets in the morning for Dr. Lardner. Then I had the duty of the Court to perform.

As I came home I recommended young Shortreed to Mr. Cadell for a printing job now and then when Ballantyne is over-loaded, which Mr. Cadell promised accordingly.

Lady Anna Maria Elliot's company at dinner. Helped on our family party, and passed the evening pleasantly enough, my anxiety considering.

June 21.—A very wet Sunday. I employed it to good purpose, bestowing much labour on the History, ten pages of which are now finished. Were it not for the precarious health of poor Johnnie I would be most happy in this reunion with my family, but, poor child, this is a terrible drawback.

June 22.—I keep working, though interruptedly. But the heat in the midst of the day makes me flag and grow irresistibly drowsy. Mr. and Mrs. Skene came to supper this evening. Skene has engaged himself in drawing illustrations to be etched by himself for Waverley. I wish it may do.[346]

June 23.—I was detained in the Court till half-past [three]. Captain William Lockhart dined with Skene. The Captain's kind nature had brought him to Edinburgh to meet his sister-in-law.

June 24.—I was detained late in the Court, but still had time to go with Adam Wilson and call upon a gentlemanlike East Indian officer, called Colonel Francklin, who appears an intelligent and respectable man. He writes the History of Captain Thomas,[347] a person of the condition of a common seaman, who raised himself to the rank of a native prince, and for some time waged a successful war with the powers around him. The work must be entertaining.

June 25.—Finished correcting proofs for Tales, 3d Series. The Court was over soon, but I was much exhausted. On the return home quite sleepy and past work. I looked in on Cadell, whose hand is in his housewife's cap, driving and pushing to get all the works forward in due order, and cursing the delays of artists and engravers. I own I wish we had not hampered ourselves with such causes of delay.

June 26.—Mr. Ellis, missionary from the South Sea Islands, breakfasted, introduced by Mr. Fletcher, minister of the parish of Stepney.

Mr. Ellis's account of the progress of civilisation, as connected with religion, is very interesting. Knowledge of every kind is diffused—reading, writing, printing, abundantly common. Polygamy abolished. Idolatry is put down; the priests, won over by the chiefs, dividing among them the consecrated lands which belonged to their temples. Great part of the population are still without religion, but willing to be instructed. Wars are become infrequent; and there is in each state a sort of representative body, or senate, who are a check on the despotism of the chief. All this has come hand in hand with religion. Mr. Ellis tells me that the missionaries of different sects avoided carefully letting the natives know that there were points of disunion between them. Not so some Jesuits who had lately arrived, and who taught their own ritual as the only true one. Mr. Ellis described their poetry to me, and gave some examples; it had an Ossianic character, and was composed of metaphor. He gave me a small collection of hymns printed in the islands. If this gentleman is sincere, which I have no doubt of, he is an illustrious character. He was just about to return to the Friendly Islands, having come here for his wife's health.

[Blairadam.]—After the Court we set off (the two Thomsons and I) for Blair-Adam, where we held our Macduff Club for the twelfth anniversary. We met the Chief Baron, Lord Sydney Osborne, Will Clerk, the merry knight Sir Adam Ferguson, with our venerable host the Lord Chief Commissioner, and merry men were we.

June 27.—I ought not, where merry men convene, to omit our jovial son of Neptune, Admiral Adam. The morning proving delightful, we set out for the object of the day, which was Falkland. We passed through Lochore, but without stopping, and saw on the road eastward, two or three places, as Balbedie, Strathendry, and some others known to me by name. Also we went through the town of Leslie, and saw what remains of the celebrated rendezvous of rustic gallantry called Christ's Kirk on the Green.[348] It is now cut up with houses, one of the most hideous of which is a new church, having the very worst and most offensive kind of Venetian windows. This, I am told, has replaced a quiet lowly little Gothic building, coeval, perhaps, with the royal poet who celebrated the spot. Next we went to Falkland, where we found Mr. Howden, factor of Mr. Tyndall Bruce, waiting to show us the palace.

Falkland has most interesting remains. A double entrance-tower, and a side building running east from it, is roofed, and in some degree habitable; a corresponding building running northward from the eastern corner is totally ruinous, having been destroyed by fire. The architecture is highly ornamented, in the style of the Palace at Stirling. Niches with statues, with projections, cornices, etc, are lavished throughout. Many cornice medallions exhibited such heads as those procured from the King's room at Stirling, the originals, perhaps, being the same. The repeated cypher of James V. and Mary of Guise attest the builder of this part of the palace. When complete it had been a quadrangle. There is as much of it as remained when Slezer published his drawings. Some part of the interior has been made what is called habitable, that is, a half-dozen of bad rooms have been gotten out of it. Am clear in my own mind a ruin should be protected, but never repaired. The proprietor has a beautiful place called Nut-hill, within ten minutes' walk of Falkland, and commanding some fine views of it and of the Lomond Hill. This should be the residence. But Mr. Bruce and his predecessor, my old professor, John Bruce,[349] deserve great credit for their attention to prevent dilapidation, which was doing its work fast upon the ancient palace. The only remarkable apartment was a large and well-proportioned gallery with a painted roof—tempore Jacobi Sexti—and built after his succession to the throne of England. I noticed a curious thing,—a hollow column concealed the rope which rung the Castle bell, keeping it safe from injury and interruption.

The town of Falkland is old, with very narrow streets. The arrival of two carriages and a gig was an event important enough to turn out the whole population. They are said to be less industrious, more dissipated, and readier to become soldiers than their neighbours. So long a court retains its influence!

We dined at Wellfield with my Mend George Cheape, with whom I rode in the cavalry some thirty years ago. Much mirth and good wine made us return in capital tune. The Chief Baron and Admiral Adam did not go on this trip. When we returned it was time to go to bed by a candle.

June 28.—Being Sunday, we lounged about in the neighbourhood of the crags called Kiery Craigs, etc. The Sheriff-substitute of Kinross came to dinner, and brought a gold signet[350] which had been found in that town. It was very neat work, about the size of a shilling. It bore in a shield the arms of Scotland and England, parti per pale, those of Scotland occupying the dexter side. The shield is of the heater or triangular shape. There is no crown nor legend of any kind; a slip of gold folds upwards on the back of the hinge, and makes the handle neatly enough. It is too well wrought for David II.'s time, and James IV. is the only monarch of the Scottish line who, marrying a daughter of England, may carry the arms of both countries parti per pale. Mr. Skelton is the name of the present possessor.

Two reported discoveries. One, that the blaeberry shrub contains the tanning quality as four to one compared to the oak—which may be of great importance, as it grows so commonly on our moors.

The other, that the cutting of an apple-tree, or other fruit-tree, may be preserved by sticking it into a potato and planting both together. Curious, if true.

June 29 [Edinburgh].—We dined together at Blair-Adam, having walked in the woods in the morning, and seen a beautiful new walk made through the woody hill behind the house. In a fine evening, after an early dinner, our party returned to Edinburgh, and there each dispersed to his several home and resting-place. I had the pleasure of finding my family all well, except Johnnie.

June 30.—After my short sniff of country air, here am I again at the receipt of custom. The sale with Longman & Co., for stock and copyrights of my [Poetical] Works, is completed, for L7000, at dates from twelve to thirty-six months. There are many sets out of which we may be able to clear the money, and then we shall make something to clear the copyright. I am sure this may be done, and that the bargain will prove a good one in the long run.

Dined at home with my family, whom, as they disperse to-morrow, I have dedicated the evening to.

FOOTNOTES:

[328] The first volume had just been issued with a dedication to the King. The series was completed in 48 vols., published at the beginning of each month, between 1829-33, and the circulation went on increasing until it reached 35,000 monthly.

[329] Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, which stood at that time in Shakespeare Square, the site of the present General Post-Office.

[330] Mr. Lockhart remarks that, besides the usual allowance of rheumatism, and other lesser ailments, Sir Walter had an attack that season of a nature which gave his family great alarm, and which for some days he himself regarded with the darkest prognostications. After some weeks, during which he complained of headache and nervous irritation, certain haemorrhages indicated the sort of relief required, and he obtained it from copious cupping.—Life, vol. ix. p. 327-8.

[331] See infra, p. 299.

[332] The Beaux's Stratagem, Farquhar.

[333] Through the courtesy of Miss Dick Lauder I am enabled to give the letter referred to:—

"My DEAR SIR THOMAS,—I received your kind letter and interesting communication yesterday, and hasten to reply. I am ashamed of the limited hospitality I was able to offer Mr. Lauder, but circumstances permitted me no more. I was much pleased with his lively and intelligent manners, and hope he will live to be a comfort and a credit to Lady Lauder and you.

"I need not say I have the greatest interest in the MS. which you mention. In case it shall really prove an authentic document, there would not be the least difficulty in getting the Bannatyne Club to take, perhaps, 100 copies, or obtaining support enough so as, at the least, to preclude the possibility of loss to the ingenious Messrs. Hay Allan. But I think it indispensable that the original MS. should be sent for a month or so to the Register House under the charge of the Deputy Register, Mr. Thomson, that its antiquity be closely scrutinised by competent persons. The art of imitating ancient writing has got to a considerable perfection, and it has been the bane of Scottish literature, and disgrace of her antiquities, that we have manifested an eager propensity to believe without inquiry and propagate the errors which we adopt too hastily ourselves. The general proposition that the Lowlanders ever wore plaids is difficult to swallow. They were of twenty different races, and almost all distinctly different from the Scots Irish, who are the proper Scots, from which the Royal Family are descended. For instance, there is scarce a great family in the Lowlands of Scotland that is not to be traced to the Normans, the proudest as well as most civilised race in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Is it natural to think that holding the Scots in the contempt in which they did, they would have adopted their dress? If you will look at Bruce's speech to David I., as the historian AElred tells the story, you will see he talks of the Scots as a British officer would do of Cherokees. Or take our country, the central and western part of the border: it was British, Welsh if you please, with the language and manners of that people who certainly wore no tartan. It is needless to prosecute this, though I could show, I think, that there is no period in Scottish History when the manners, language, or dress of the Highlanders were adopted in the Low Country. They brought them with them from Ireland, as you will see from the very curious prints in Derrick's picture of Ireland, where you see the chiefs and followers of the wild Irish in the ordinary Highland dress, tempore Queen Elizabeth. Besides this, where has slept this universal custom that nowhere, unless in this MS., is it even heard of? Lesley knew it not, though the work had been in his possession, and his attention must have been called to it when writing concerning the three races of Scots—Highlanders, Lowlanders, and Bordermen, and treating of their dress in particular. Andrew Borde knows nothing of it, nor the Frenchman who published the geographical work from which Pinkerton copied the prints of the Highlander and Lowlander, the former in a frieze plaid or mantle, while the Lowlander struts away in a cloak and trunk hose, liker his neighbour the Fleming. I will not state other objections, though so many occur, that the authenticity of the MS. being proved, I would rather suppose the author had been some tartan-weaver zealous for his craft, who wished to extend the use of tartan over the whole kingdom. I have been told, and believe till now, that the use of tartan was never general in Scotland (Lowlands) until the Union, when the detestation of that measure led it to be adopted as the national colour, and the ladies all affected tartan screens or mantles.

"Now, a word to your own private ear, my dear Sir Thomas. I have understood that the Messrs. Hay Allan are young men of talent, great accomplishments, enthusiasm for Scottish manners, and an exaggerating imagination, which possibly deceives even themselves. I myself saw one of these gentlemen wear the Badge of High Constable of Scotland, which he could have no more right to wear than the Crown. Davidoff used also to amuse us with stories of knighthoods and orders which he saw them wear at Sir William Cumming Gordon's. Now this is all very well, and I conceive people may fall into such dreaming habits easily enough, and be very agreeable and talented men in other respects, and may be very amusing companions in the country, but their authority as antiquaries must necessarily be a little apocryphal when the faith of MSS. rests upon their testimony. An old acquaintance of mine, Captain Watson of the navy, told me he knew these gentlemen's father, and had served with him; he was lieutenant, and of or about Captain Watson's age, between sixty I suppose, and seventy at present. Now what chance was there that either from age or situation he should be receiving gifts from the young Chevalier of Highland Manuscripts.

"All this, my dear Sir Thomas, you will make your own, but I cannot conceal from you my reasons, because I would wish you to know my real opinion. If it is an imitation, it is a very good one, but the title 'Liber Vestiarium' is false Latin I should think not likely to occur to a Scotsman of Buchanan's age. Did you look at the watermark of the MS.? If the Manuscript be of undeniable antiquity, I consider it as a great curiosity, and most worthy to be published. But I believe nothing else than ocular inspection will satisfy most cautious antiquaries....—Yours, my dear Sir Thomas, always,

WALTER SCOTT."

"EDINBURGH, 5 June 1829."

The Messrs. Hay Allan subsequently took the names of John Sobieski Stuart (who assumed the title of Comte d'Albanie) and Charles Edward Stuart. John Sobieski died in 1872, and Charles Edward in 1880. The "original" of Sir Richard Forrester's manuscript was never submitted to the inspection of the Deputy Register, as suggested by Scott; but it was published in a very handsome shape a dozen years later, and furnished a text for an article in the Quarterly, in which the authenticity of the book, and the claims of the author and his brother, were unsparingly criticised by the late Professor Skene of Glasgow.—See "The Heirs of the Stuarts" in Quarterly Review, vol. lxxxii.

[334] Ante, vol. i. p. 91, 92.

[335] There are so few of "Darsie Latimer's" letters preserved that the following may be given relating to the Bride of Lammermoor:—

"EDIN. Sept. 1, 1829.

"MY DEAR SIR WALTER,—I greet you well (which, by the way, is the proper mode of salutation in this cursed weather, that is enough to make us all greet). But to come to my proposal, which is to forward to you a communication I had within these few days from Sir Robert Horne Dalrymple Elphinstone.

"After expressing the great pleasure the perusal of your notes to the new edition of the Novels had given him, he adds: 'I wish you would give him a hint of what I formerly mentioned to you regarding my great-grandaunt and your own relative, the unfortunate Bride of Lammermoor. It was first mentioned to me by Miss Maitland, the daughter of Lady Rothes (they were the nearest neighbours of the Stair family in Wigtownshire), and I afterwards heard the tradition from others in that country. It was to the following effect, that when, after the noise and violent screaming in the bridal chamber, comparative stillness succeeded, and the door was forced, the window was found open, and it was supposed by many that the lover (Lord Rutherford) had, by the connivance of some of the servants, found means, during the bustle of the marriage feast, to secrete himself within the apartment, and that soon after the entry of the married pair, or at least as soon as the parents and others retreated and the door was made fast, he had come out from his concealment, attacked and desperately wounded the bridegroom, and then made his escape by the window through the garden. As the unfortunate bride never spoke after having uttered the words mentioned by Sir Walter, no light could be thrown on the matter by them. But it was thought that Bucklaw's obstinate silence on the subject favoured the supposition of the chastisement having been inflicted by his rival. It is but fair to give the unhappy victim (who was by all accounts a most gentle and feminine creature) the benefit of an explanation on a doubtful point.'

"So far my worthy friend, who seems a little jealous of the poor bride's reputation. I send you his note, and you can make what you like of it. I am intending a little jaunt to his country, and we mean to visit sundry old castles in Aberdeenshire, and wish you were of the party. I have heard nothing of Linton [cognomen for Sir Adam Ferguson] this summer. I hope you have been passing your time agreeably.—With best compliments to all friends, I remain, my dear Sir Walter, ever yours,

"WM. CLERK."



[336] Written by William Mudford, born 1782, died 1848.

[337] Twelfth Night, Act III. Sc. 4

[338] See Life, vol ix. pp. 325-6.

[339] The last reference in the Journal to his old friend Lady Jane Stuart, who died on the following October.

[340] Now in the rooms of the Royal Society, Edinburgh.

[341] Annals of the Peninsular War. 3 vols. 8vo, 1829.

[342] Memoirs of General Miller in the Service of the Republic of Peru. 2 vols. 8vo, 1829.

[343] Mr. Lockhart had written on June 6:—"Moore is at my elbow and says he has not the face to bother you, but he has come exactly to the part where your reminiscences of Lord Byron would come in; so he is waiting for a week or so in case they should be forthcoming." And Moore himself had previously reminded Sir Walter of his promise.

April 25th, 1829.

"My DEAR SCOTT,—It goes to my heart to bother you, knowing how bravely and gloriously you are employed for that task-mistress—Posterity. But you may thank your stars that I have let you off so long. All that you promised me about Mrs. Gordon and Gicht, and a variety of other things, is remitted to you; but I positively must have something from you of your recollections personally of Byron—and that as soon as possible, for I am just coming to the period of your acquaintance with him, which was, I think, in the year 1814. Tell me all the particulars of the presents you exchanged, and if his letters to you are really all lost (which I will still hope is not the case); try, as much as possible, with your memory

'To lure the tassel gentles back again.'

"You will have seen by the newspapers the sad loss my little circle of home has experienced, a loss never to be made up to us in this world, whatever it may be the will of God in another. Mrs. Moore's own health is much broken, and she is about to try what Cheltenham can do for her, while I proceed to finish my printing in town. It would be far better for me to remain in my present quiet retreat, where I am working quite alone, but the devils beckon me nearer them, and I must begin in a few days. Direct to me, under cover to Croker—you see I take for granted you will have a packet to send—and he will always know where to find me.

"My kindest remembrances to Miss Scott, and believe me ever, my very dear friend, your truly and affectionate,

"THOS. MOORE."

The "memoranda" were not acknowledged by Moore till Oct. 31, when he wrote Scott as follows:—

"MY DEAR SCOTT,—I ought to blush 'terrestrial rosy-red, shame's proper hue' for not sooner acknowledging your precious notes about Byron. One conclusion, however, you might have drawn from my silence, namely, that I was satisfied, and had all that I asked for. Your few pages indeed will be the best ornament of my book. Murray wished me to write to you (immediately on receipt of the last MS. you sent me) to press your asking Hobhouse for the letter of your own (in 1812) that produced Byron's reply. But I was doubtful whether you would like to authorise the publication of this letter, and besides it would be now too late, as the devils are in full hue and cry after my heels.

"Health and prosperity to you, my dear friend, and believe me, ever yours most truly,

"THOMAS MOORE."



[344] Burns.

[345] Merry Wives, Act I. Sc. 3.

[346] Mr. Skene at this time was engaged upon a series of etchings, regarding which he had several letters from Sir Walter, one of which may be given here:—

"MY DEAR SKENE,—I enclose you Basil Hall's letter, which is very interesting to me; but I would rather decline fixing the attention of the public further on my old friend George Constable. You know the modern rage for publication, and it might serve some newsmen's purpose by publishing something about my old friend, who was an humourist, which may be unpleasing to his friends and surviving relations.

"I did not think on Craignethan in writing about Tillietudlem, and I believe it differs in several respects from my Chateau en Espagne. It is not on the Clyde in particular, and, if I recollect, the view is limited and wooded. But that can be no objection to adopting it as that which public taste has adopted as coming nearest to the ideal of the place. Of the places in the Black Dwarf, Meiklestane Moor, Ellislie, Earnscliffe, are all and each vox et, praeterea nihil. Westburnflat once was a real spot, now there is no subject for the pencil. The vestiges of a tower at the junction of two wild brooks with a rude hillside, are all that are subjects for the pencil, and they are very poor ones. Earnscliffe and Ganderscleuch are also visions.

"I hope your work is afloat[B] and sailing bobbishly. I have not heard of or seen it.

"Rob Roy has some good and real subjects, as the pass at Loch Ard, the beautiful fall at Ledeard, near the head of the lake. Let me know all you desire to be informed without fear of bothering. Kindest compliments to Mrs. Skene and the young folks.—Always yours entirely, WALTER SCOTT."



[B] Twenty numbers of this work were published in 1828 and 1829 under the title of "A Series of Sketches of the existing Localities alluded to in the Waverley Novels," etched from original drawings by James Skene, Esq.