[347] A copy of this rather rare book is still in the Abbotsford Library. Its title is "Colonel Wm. Francklin's Military Memoirs of George Thomas, who by extraordinary talents and enterprise rose from an obscure situation to the rank of General in the service of the Native Powers in the N.W. of India," 4to, Calcutta, 1803.

[348] The poem of this name is attributed to King James I. of Scotland, but Dr. Irving in his History of Scottish Poetry says the earliest edition known to him dates only from 1663.

[349] Professor of Logic in the University of Edinburgh from 1775 till 1792, when he resigned his chair and became Keeper of the State Paper Office, and Historiographer to the East India Company in London. He wrote several elaborate and valuable reports for the Government, which, though printed, were never published; among others, one in 1799, in 2 vols. 8vo, "On the Union between England and Scotland: its causes, effects, and influence of Great Britain in Europe." In the previous year he also prepared another on the arrangements made for repelling the Armada, and their application to the crisis of 1798. This able man returned to Scotland, and died in Falkland about two years before Scott visited the place.

[350] An account of the finding of this seal (which was thought to be that of Joan of Beaufort, wife of James I.) at Kinross, in April 1829, is given in the Archaeologia Scotica, vol. iv. p. 420.



JULY.

July 1.—This morning wrote letters and sent them off by Charles. It was Teind Wednesday, so I was at home to witness the departure of my family, which was depressing. My two daughters, with the poor boy Johnnie, went off at ten o'clock, my son Charles, with my niece, about twelve. The house, filled with a little bustle attendant on such a removal, then became silent as the grave. The voices of the children, which had lately been so clamorous with their joyous shouts, are now hushed and still. A blank of this kind is somewhat depressing, and I find it impossible to resume my general tone of spirits. A lethargy has crept on me which no efforts can dispel; and as the day is rainy, I cannot take exercise. I have read therefore the whole morning, and have endeavoured to collect ideas instead of expending them. I have not been very successful. In short, diem perdidi.

Localities at Blair-Adam:—

Lochornie and Lochornie Moss, The Loutingstane and Dodgell's Cross, Craigen Cat and Craigen Crow, Craiggaveral, the King's Cross, and Dunglow.

July 2.—I made up for my deficiencies yesterday, and besides attending the Court wrote five close pages, which I think is very near double task. I was alone the whole day and without interruption. I have little doubt I will make my solitude tell upon my labours, especially since they promise to prove so efficient. I was so languid yesterday that I did not record that J. Ballantyne, his brother Sandy, and Mr. Cadell dined here on a beef-steak, and smoked a cigar, and took a view of our El Dorado.

July 3.—Laboured at Court, where I was kept late, and wrought on my return home, finishing about five pages. I had the great pleasure to learn that the party with the infantry got safe to Abbotsford.

July 4.—After Court I came home and set to work, still on the Tales. When I had finished my bit of dinner, and was in a quiet way smoking my cigar over a glass of negus, Adam Ferguson comes with a summons to attend him to the Justice-Clerk's, where, it seems, I was engaged. I was totally out of case to attend his summons, redolent as I was of tobacco. But I am vexed at the circumstance. It looks careless, and, what is worse, affected; and the Justice is an old friend moreover.[351] I rather think I have been guilty towards him in this respect before. Devil take my stupidity! I will call on Monday and say, Here is my sabre and here is my heart.

July 5.—Sir Adam came to breakfast, and with him Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone of Bordeaux, the lady his cousin. I could not give them a right Scottish breakfast, being on a Sunday morning. Laboured on the Tales the whole morning.

The post brought two letters of unequal importance. One from a person calling himself Haval, announcing to me the terrific circumstance that he had written against the Waverley Novels in a publication called La Belle Assemblee, at which doubtless, he supposes, I must be much annoyed. He be d——, and that's plain speaking. The other from Lord Aberdeen, announcing that Lockhart, Dr. Gooch, and myself, are invested with the power of examining the papers of the Cardinal Duke of York, and reporting what is fit for publication. This makes it plain that the Invisible[352] neither slumbers nor sleeps. The toil and remuneration must be Lockhart's, and to any person understanding that sort of work the degree of trust reposed holds out hope of advantage. At any rate, it is a most honourable trust, and I have written in suitable terms to Lord Aberdeen to express my acceptance of it, adverting to my necessary occupations here, and expressing my willingness to visit London occasionally to superintend the progress of the work. Treated myself, being considerably fagged, with a glass of poor Glengarry's super-excellent whisky and a cigar, made up my Journal, wrote to the girls, and so to roost upon a crust of bread and a glass of small beer, my usual supper.

July 6.—I laboured all the morning without anything unusual, save a call from my cousin, Mary Scott of Jedburgh, whom I persuaded to take part of my chaise to Abbotsford on Saturday. At two o'clock I walked to Cadell's, and afterwards to a committee of the Bannatyne Club. Thereafter I went to Leith, where we had fixed a meeting of The Club, now of forty-one years' standing.[353] I was in the chair, and Sir Adam croupier. We had the Justice-Clerk, Lord Abercromby, Lord Pitmilly, Lord Advocate, James Ferguson, John Irving, and William Clerk, and passed a merry day for old fellows. It is a curious thing that only three have died of this club since its formation. These were the Earl of Selkirk; James Clerk, Lieutenant in the Navy; and Archibald Miller, W.S. Sir Patrick Murray was an unwilling absentee. There were absent—Professor Davidson of Glasgow, besides Glassford, who has cut our society, and poor James Edmonstoune, whose state of health precludes his ever joining society again. We took a fair but moderate allowance of wine, sung our old songs, and were much refreshed with a hundred old stories, which would have seemed insignificant to any stranger. The most important of these were old college adventures of love and battle.

July 7.—I was rather apprehensive that I might have felt my unusual dissipation this morning, but not a whit; I rose as cool as a cucumber, and set about to my work till breakfast-time. I am to dine with Ballantyne to-day. To-morrow with John Murray. This sounds sadly like idleness, except what may be done either in the morning before breakfast, or in the broken portion of the day between attendance on the Court and my dinner meal,—a vile, drowsy, yawning, fagged portion of existence, which resembles one's day, as a portion of the shirt, escaping betwixt one's waistcoat and breeches, indicates his linen.

Dined with James Ballantyne, who gave us a very pleasant party. There was a great musician, Mr. Neukomm, a German, a pupil of Haydn, a sensible, pleasant man.

July 8.—This morning I had an ample dose of proofs and could do nothing but read them. The Court kept me till two; I was then half tempted to go to hear Mr. Neukomm perform on the organ, which is said to be a most masterly exhibition, but I reflected how much time I should lose by giving way to temptation, and how little such ears as mine would be benefited by the exhibition, and so I resolved to return to my proofs, having not a little to do. I was so unlucky as to meet my foreigner along with Mr. Laine, the French Consul, and his lady, who all invited me to go with them, but I pleaded business, and was set down, doubtless, for a Goth, as I deserved. However, I got my proofs settled before dinner-time, and began to pack up books, etc.

I dined at John Murray's, and met, amongst others, Mr. Schutze, the brother-in-law of poor George Ellis. We conversed about our mutual friend, and about the life Canning was to have written about him, and which he would have done con amore. He gave me two instances of poor George's neatness of expression, and acuteness of discrimination. Having met, for the first time, "one Perceval, a young lawyer," he records him as a person who, with the advantages of life and opportunity, would assuredly rise to the head of affairs. Another gentleman is briefly characterised as "a man of few words, and fewer ideas." Schutze himself is a clever man, with something dry in his manner, owing, perhaps, to an imperfection of hearing. Murray's parties are always agreeable and well chosen.

July 9.—I began an immense arrangement of my papers, but was obliged to desist by the approach of four o'clock. Having been enabled to shirk the Court, I had the whole day to do what I wished, and as I made some progress I hope I will be strengthened to resume the task when at Abbotsford.

Heard of the death of poor Bob Shortreed,[354] the companion of many a long ride among the hills in quest of old ballads. He was a merry companion, a good singer and mimic, and full of Scottish drollery. In his company, and under his guidance, I was able to see much of rural society in the mountains which I could not otherwise have attained, and which I have made my use of. He was, in addition, a man of worth and character. I always burdened his hospitality while at Jedburgh on the Circuit, and have been useful to some of his family. Poor fellow! He died at a most interesting period for his family, when his eldest daughter was about to make an advantageous marriage. So glide our friends from us—Haec poena diu viventibus. Many recollections die with him and with poor Terry.[355] I dined with the Skenes in a family way.

July 10,—Had a hard day's work at the Court till about two, and then came home to prepare for the country. I made a talis qualis arrangement of my papers, which I trust I shall be able to complete at Abbotsford, for it will do much good. I wish I had a smart boy like Red Robin the tinker. Wrote also a pack of letters.

Abbotsford, July 11.—I was detained in the Court till nearly one o'clock, then set out and reached Abbotsford in five or six hours. Found all well, and Johnnie rather better. He sleeps, by virtue of being in the open air, a good deal.

July 12.—The day excessively rainy, or, as we call it, soft. I e'en unpacked my books and did a great deal to put them in order, but I was sick of the labour by two o'clock and left several of my books and all of my papers at sixes and sevens. Sir Adam and the Colonel dined with us. A Spanish gentleman with his wife, whom I had seen at the French Consul's, also dropped in. He was a handsome, intelligent, and sensible man; his name I have forgot. We had a pleasant evening.

July 13.—This day I wrote till one, resuming the History, and making out a day's task. Then went to Chiefswood, and had the pleasure of a long walk with a lady, well known in the world of poetry, Mrs. Hemans. She is young and pretty, though the mother of five children, as she tells me. There is taste and spirit in her conversation. My daughters are critical, and call her blue, but I think they are hypercritical. I will know better when we meet again. I was home at four. Had an evening walk with little Walter, who held me by the finger, gabbling eternally much that I did, and more that I did not, understand. Then I had a long letter to write to Lockhart,[356] correct and read, and despatch proofs, etc.; and to bed heartily tired, though with no great exertion.

July 14.—A rainy forenoon broke the promise of a delightful morning. I wrote four and a half pages, to make the best of a bad bargain. If I can double the daily task, I will be something in hand. But I am resolved to stick to my three pages a day at least. The twelfth of August will then complete my labours.

July 15.—This day two very pretty and well-bred boys came over to breakfast with us. I finished my task of three pages and better, and went to walk with the little fellows round the farm, by the lake, etc., etc. They were very good companions. Tom has been busy thinning the terrace this day or two, and is to go on.

July 16.—I made out my task-work and betook myself to walk about twelve. I feel the pen turn heavy after breakfast; perhaps my solemn morning meal is too much for my intellectual powers, but I won't abridge a single crumb for all that. I eat very little at dinner, and can't abide to be confined in my hearty breakfast. The work goes on as task-work must, slow, sure, and I trust not drowsy, though the author is. I sent off to Dionysius Lardner (Goodness be with us, what a name!) as far as page thirty-eight inclusive, but I will wait to add to-morrow's quota. I had a long walk with Tom.[357] I am walking with more pleasure and comfort to myself than I have done for many a day. May Heaven continue this great mercy, which I have so much reason to be thankful for!

July 17.—- We called at Chiefswood and asked Captain Hamilton, and Mrs. H., and Mrs. Hemans, to dinner on Monday. She is a clever person, and has been pretty. I had a long walk with her tete-a-tete. She told me of the peculiar melancholy attached to the words no more. I could not help telling, as a different application of the words, how an old dame riding home along Cockenzie Sands, pretty bowsy, fell off the pillion, and her husband, being in good order also, did not miss her till he came to Prestonpans. He instantly returned with some neighbours, and found the good woman seated amidst the advancing tide, which began to rise, with her lips ejaculating to her cummers, who she supposed were still pressing her to another cup, "Nae ae drap mair, I thank you kindly." We dined in family, and all well.

July 18.—- A Sunday with alternate showers and sunshine. Wrote double task, which brings me to page forty-six inclusive. I read the Spae-wife of Galt. There is something good in it, and the language is occasionally very forcible, but he has made his story difficult to understand, by adopting a region of history little known, and having many heroes of the same name, whom it is not easy to keep separate in one's memory. Some of the traits of the Spae-wife, who conceits herself to be a changeling or twin, are very good indeed. His Highland Chief is a kind of Caliban, and speaks, like Caliban, a jargon never spoken on earth, but full of effect for all that.

July 19.—I finished two leaves this morning, and received the Hamiltons and Mrs. Hemans to breakfast. Afterwards we drove to Yarrow and showed Mrs. Hemans the lions. The party dined with us, and stayed till evening. Of course no more work.

July 20.—A rainy day, and I am very drowsy and would give the world to ———[358]. [Transcriber's Note: In original, there was a blank space instead of the dashes.] I wrote four leaves, however, and then my understanding dropped me. I have made up for yesterday's short task.

* * * * *

NOTE.—From July 20th, 1329, to May 23d, 1830, there are no entries in the Journal, but during that time Sir Walter met with a sad loss. He was deprived of his humble friend and staunch henchman, Thomas Purdie. The following little note to Laidlaw shows how keenly he felt his death:—

"MY DEAR WILLIE,—I write to tell you the shocking news of poor Tom Purdie's death, by which I have been greatly affected. He had complained, or rather spoken, of a sore throat; and the day before yesterday, as it came on a shower of rain, I wanted him to walk fast on to Abbotsford before me, but you know well how impossible that was. He took some jelly, or trifle of that kind, but made no complaint. This morning he rose from bed as usual, and sat down by the table with his head on his hand; and when his daughter spoke to him, life had passed away without a sigh or groan. Poor fellow! There is a heart cold that loved me well, and, I am sure, thought of my interest more than his own. I have seldom been so much shocked. I wish you would take a ride down and pass the night. There is much I have to say, and this loss adds to my wish to see you. We dine at four. The day is indifferent, but the sooner the better.—Yours very truly,

"WALTER SCOTT.[359]

"31st (sic) October," Qy. 29th.

To Mr. Cadell, a few days later, he says, "I have lost my old and faithful servant, my factotum, and am so much shocked that I really wish to be quit of the country. I have this day laid him in the grave."

On coming to Edinburgh, Sir Walter found that his old friend and neighbour Lady Jane Stuart[360] was no longer there to welcome him. She also had died somewhat suddenly on October 28th, and was buried at Invermay on November 4th.

FOOTNOTES:

[351] Right Hon. David Boyle.

[352] 5 The familiar name applied to Sir William Knighton, sometimes also the Great Unseen.

[353] For list of the members of The Club, which was formed in 1788, see Life, vol. i. p. 208.

[354] Some little time before his death, the worthy Sheriff-substitute of Roxburghshire received a set of his friend's works, with this inscription:—"To Robert Shortreed, Esq., the friend of the author from youth to age, and his guide and companion upon many an expedition among the Border hills, in quest of the materials of legendary lore which have at length filled so many volumes, this collection of the results of their former rambles is presented by his sincere friend, Walter Scott."—J.G.L.

[355] Who had died on the 22d June 1829.

[356] See p. 329 n.

[357] Mr. Skene in his Reminiscences records that—"Tom Purdie identified himself with all his master's pursuits and concerns; he had in early life been a shepherd, and came into Sir Walter's service upon his first taking up his abode at Ashiestiel, of which he became at last the farm manager; and upon the family removing to Abbotsford continued that function, to which was added gamekeeper, forester, librarian, and henchman to his master in all his rambles about the property. He used to talk of Sir Walter's publications as our books, and said that the reading of them was the greatest comfort to him, for whenever he was off his sleep, which sometimes happened to him, he had only to take one of the novels, and before he read two pages it was sure to set him asleep. Tom, with the usual shrewdness common to his countrymen in that class of life, joined a quaintness and drollery in his notions and mode of expressing himself that was very amusing; he was familiar, but at the same time perfectly respectful, although he was sometimes tempted to deal sharp cuts, particularly at Sir Adam Ferguson, whom he seemed to take a pleasure in assailing. When Sir Walter obtained the honour of knighthood for Sir Adam, upon the plea of his being Custodier of the Regalia of Scotland, Tom was very indignant, because he said, 'It would take some of the shine out of us,' meaning Sir Walter. Tom was very fond of salmon fishing, which from an accordance of taste contributed much to elevate my merits in his eyes, and I believe I was his greatest favourite of all Sir Walter's friends, which he used occasionally to testify by imparting to me in confidence some secret about fishing, which he concluded that no one knew but himself. He was remarkably fastidious in his care of the Library, and it was exceedingly amusing to see a clodhopper (for he was always in the garb of a ploughman) moving about in the splendid apartment which had been fitted up for the Library, scrutinising the state of the books, putting derangement to rights, remonstrating when he observed anything that indicated carelessness."

[358] Blank in original

[359] Abbotsford Notanda, p. 175.

[360] Eldest daughter of David, sixth Earl of Leven and fifth of Melville, and widow of Sir John Wishart Belsches Stuart, Bart., of Fettercairn. See ante, vol. i. p. 404; vol. ii. pp. 55, 62.



1830.



MAY.

May 23, [Abbotsford.]—About a year ago I took the pet at my Diary, chiefly because I thought it made me abominably selfish; and that by recording my gloomy fits I encouraged their recurrence, whereas out of sight, out of mind, is the best way to get rid of them; and now I hardly know why I take it up again; but here goes. I came here to attend Raeburn's funeral. I am near of his kin, my great-grandfather, Walter Scott, being the second son or first cadet of this small family. My late kinsman was also married to my aunt, a most amiable old lady. He was never kind to me, and at last utterly ungracious. Of course I never liked him, and we kept no terms. He had forgot, though, an infantine cause of quarrel, which I always remembered. When I was four or five years old I was staying at Lessudden House, an old mansion, the abode of this Raeburn. A large pigeon-house was almost destroyed with starlings, then a common bird, though now seldom seen. They were seized in their nests and put in a bag, and I think drowned, or threshed to death, or put to some such end. The servants gave one to me, which I in some degree tamed, and the brute of a laird seized and wrung its neck. I flew at his throat like a wild cat, and was torn from him with no little difficulty. Long afterwards I did him the mortal offence to recall some superiority which my father had lent to the laird to make up a qualification, which he meant to exercise by voting for Lord Minto's interest against poor Don. This made a total breach between two relations who had never been friends, and though I was afterwards of considerable service to his family, he kept his ill-humour, alleging justly enough that I did these kind actions for the sake of his wife and family, not for his benefit. I now saw him at the age of eighty-two or three deposited in the ancestral grave. Dined with my cousins, and returned to Abbotsford about eight o'clock.

May 24, [Edinburgh].—Called on my neighbour Nicol Milne of Faldonside, to settle something about the road to Selkirk. Afterwards went to Huntly Burn and made my compliments to the family. Lunched at half-past two and drove to town, calling at George Square on Gala. He proposed to give up the present road to Selkirk in favour of another on the north side of the river, to be completed by two bridges. This is an object for Abbotsford. In the evening came to town. Letter from Mr. H[aydon] soliciting L20. Wait till Lockhart comes.

May 25.—Got into the old mill this morning, and grind away. Walked in very bad day to George Square from the Parliament House, through paths once familiar, but not trod for twenty years. Met Scott of Woll and Scott of Gala, and consulted about the new road between Galashiels and Selkirk. I am in hopes to rid myself of the road to Selkirk, which goes too near me at Abbotsford. Dined at Lord Chief Commissioner's, where we met the new Chief Baron Abercromby[361] and his lady. I thought it was the first time we had met for above forty years, but he put me in mind we had dined one day at John Richardson's.

May 26.—Wrought with proofs, etc., at the Demonology, which is a cursed business to do neatly. I must finish it though, for I need money. I went to the Court; from that came home, and scrambled on with half writing, half reading, half idleness till evening. I have laid aside smoking much; and now, unless tempted by company, rarely take a cigar. I was frightened by a species of fit which I had in February, which took from me my power of speaking. I am told it is from the stomach. It looked woundy like palsy or apoplexy. Well, be it what it will, I can stand it.[362]

May 27.—Court as usual. I am agitating a proposed retirement from the Court. As they are only to have four instead of six Clerks of Session in Scotland, it will be their interest to let me retire on a superannuation. Probably I shall make a bad bargain, and get only two-thirds of the salary, instead of three-fourths. This would be hard, but I could save between two and three hundred pounds by giving up town residence; and surely I could do enough with my time at reviews and other ways, so as to make myself comfortable at Abbotsford. At any rate, jacta est aha; Sir Robert Peel and the Advocate seem to acquiesce in the arrangement, and Sir Robert Dundas retires alongst with me. I think the difference will be infinite in point of health and happiness.

May 28.—Wrought in the morning, then the Court, then Cadell's. My affairs go on up to calculation, and the Magnum keeps its ground. If this can last for five or six years longer we may clear our hands of debt; but perhaps I shall have paid that of Nature before that time come. They will have the books, and Cadell to manage them, who is a faithful pilot. The poetry which we purchased for [L7000], payable in two years, is melting off our hands; and we will feed our Magnum in that way when we have sold the present stock, by which we hope to pay the purchase-money, and so go on velvet with the continuation. So my general affairs look well. I expect Lockhart and Sophia to arrive this evening in the Roads, and breakfast with us to-morrow. This is very reviving.

May 29.—The Lockharts were to appear at nine o'clock, but it is past four, and they come not. There has been easterly wind, and a swell of the sea at the mouth of the Firth, but nevertheless I wish they would come. The machinery is liable to accidents, and they may be delayed thus.

Mr. Piper, the great contractor for the mail coaches, one of the sharpest men in his line, called here to-day to give his consent to our line of road. He pays me the compliment of saying he wishes my views on the subject. That is perhaps fudge, but at least I know enough to choose the line that is most for my own advantage. I have written to make Gala acquainted that my subscription depends on their taking the Gala foot road; no other would suit me. After dinner I began to tease myself about the children and their parents, and night went down on our uncertainty.

May 30.—Our travellers appeared early in the morning, cum tota sequela. Right happy were we all. Poor Johnnie looks well. His deformity is confirmed, poor fellow; but he may be a clever lad for all that. An imposthume in his neck seems to be the crisis of his complaint. He is a gentle, placid creature. Walter is remarkably handsome, and so is little Whippety Stourie,[363] as I call her. After breakfast I had a chat with Lockhart about affairs in general, which, as far as our little interests are concerned, are doing very well. Lockhart is now established in his reputation and literary prospects.[364] I wrote some more in his Demonology, which is a scrape, I think.

May 31.—Set to work early, and did a good day's work without much puffing and blowing. Had Lockhart at dinner, and a tete-a-tete over our cigar. He has got the right ideas for getting to the very head of the literary world and now stands very high as well for taste and judgment as for genius. I think there is no fear now of his letting a love of fun run away with him. At home the whole day, except a walk to Cadell's, who is enlarging his sale. As he comes upon heavy months, and is come now to the Abbot, the Monastery, and the less profitable or popular of the novels, this is a fortunate circumstance. The management seems very judicious.

FOOTNOTES:

[361] James Abercromby, who succeeded Sir Samuel Shepherd as Chief Baron, was the third son of Sir Ralph Abercromby. He was afterwards elected member for Edinburgh in 1832, and Speaker of the House of Commons in 1835. On Mr. Abercromby's retirement in 1839, he was raised to the Peerage as Lord Dunfermline. He died at Colinton House on April 17th, 1858, aged 81.

[362] Of this illness, Sir Walter had written the following account to Mr. Lockhart, a week after its occurrence:—

"Anne would tell you of an awkward sort of fit I had on Monday last; it lasted about five minutes, during which I lost the power of articulation, or rather of speaking what I wished to say. I revived instantly, but submitted to be bled, and to keep the house for a week, except exercising walks. They seem to say it is from the stomach. It may or may not be a paralytic affection. We must do the best we can in either event. I think by hard work I will have all my affairs regulated within five or six years, and leave the means of clearing them in case of my death. I hope there will be enough for all, and provision besides for my own family. The present return of the novels to me is about L8000 a year, which moves fast on to clear off old scores.

"This awkward turn of health makes my motions very uncertain. On the one hand I want to save money and push forward work, both which motives urge me to stay at home this spring. On the other, besides my great wish to see you all, and besides my desire to look at the 'forty-five' affairs, I am also desirous to put in for my interest upon the changes at the Court.... It must be very much as health and weather shall determine, for if I see the least chance of a return of this irritation, my own house will be the only fit place for me. Do not suppose I am either low-spirited or frightened at the possibilities I calculate upon, but there is no harm in looking at what may be as what needs must be. I really believe the ugly symptoms proceed from the stomach particularly. I feel, thank God, no mental injury, which is most of all to be deprecated. Still, I am a good deal failed in body within these two or three last years, and the singula praedantur come by degrees to make up a sum. They say, 'Do not work,' but my habits are such that it is not easily managed, for I would be driven mad with idleness.... Adieu. Love to all. The odds are greatly against my seeing you till you come down here, but I will have the cottage in such order for you; and as Will Laidlaw comes back at Whitsunday, I will have him to lend me an arm to Chiefswood, and I have no doubt to do gallantly.

"EDINBURGH, 22d February [1830]."

[363] His grand-daughter, Charlotte, whom he playfully named after the fairy in the old Scottish Nursery story.

[364] Mr. Lockhart had some thoughts of entering Parliament, at this time, and Sir Walter had expressed his opinion a few days before their meeting:—

"Your letter, this day received, namely Wednesday, gave me the greatest pleasure on account of the prosperous intelligence which it gives me of your own advancing prospects.... I take it for granted that you have looked to the income of future years before thinking of disposing of the profits of a successful one in a manner which cannot be supposed to produce positive Or direct advantage, but may rather argue some additional degree of expense.

"But this being premeesed, I cannot help highly approving of your going into Parliament, especially as a member entirely unfettered and left to act according to the weal of the public, or what you conceive such. It is the broad turnpike to importance and consequence which you, as a man of talents in the full vigour of your youth, ought naturally to be ambitious of. The present times threaten to bring in many occasions when there will and must be opportunities of a man distinguishing himself and serving his country.

"To go into the House without speaking would be useless. I will frankly tell you that when I heard you speak you seemed always sufficiently up to the occasion both in words and matter, but too indifferent in the manner in which you pressed your argument, and therefore far less likely to attract attention than if you had seemed more earnestly persuaded of the truth and importance of what you have been saying. I think you may gain advantage from taking this hint. No one is disposed to weigh any man's arguments more favourably than he himself does, and if you are not considered as gravely interested in what you say, and conscious of its importance, your audience will not be so....

"EDINBURGH, 20th May 1830."



JUNE.

June, 1.—Proofs and Court, the inevitable employment of the day. Louisa Kerr dined with us, and Williams looked in. We talked a good deal on Celtic witchery and fairy lore. I was glad to renew my acquaintance with this able and learned man.

June 2.—The Lockharts left us again this morning, and although three masons are clanking at their work to clear a well, the noise is mitigated, now the poor babies' clang of tongues is removed. I set myself to write, determining to avoid reasoning, and to bring in as many stories as possible. Being a Teind Wednesday, I may work undisturbed, and I will try to get so far ahead as may permit a journey to Abbotsford on Saturday. At nine o'clock was as far ahead as page 57. It runs out well, and 150 pages will do.

June 3.—Finished my proofs, and sent them off with copy. I saw Mr. Dickinson[365] on Tuesday: a right plain sensible man. He is so confident in my matters, that, being a large creditor himself, he offers to come down, with the support of all the London creditors, to carry through any measure that can be devised for my behoof. Mr. Cadell showed him that we are four years forward in matter prepared for the press. Got Heath's illustrations, which, I dare say, are finely engraved, but commonplace enough in point of art.

June 4.—Court as usual, and not long detained. Visited Cadell. All right, and his reports favourable, it being the launch of our annual volume, now traversing a year, with unblemished reputation and success uninterrupted. I should have said I overhauled proofs and furnished copy in the morning between seven and ten o'clock.

After coming from the Court I met Woll and Gala, and agreed upon the measures to be attempted at Selkirk on the eighth at the meeting of trustees. In the evening smoked an extra cigar (none since Tuesday), and dedicated the rest to putting up papers, etc., for Abbotsford. Anne wants me to go to hear the Tyrolese Minstrels, but though no one more esteems that bold and high-spirited people, I cannot but think their yodelling, if this be the word, is a variation, or set of variations, upon the tones of a jackass, so I remain to dribble and scribble at home.

June 5.—I rose at seven as usual, and, to say truth, dawdled away my time in putting things to rights, which is a vile amusement, and writing letters to people who write to ask my opinion of their books, which is as much as to say—"Tom, come tickle me." This is worse than the other pastime, but either may serve for a broken day, and both must be done sometimes.

[Abbotsford.]—After the Court, started for Abbotsford at half-past twelve at noon, and here we are at half-past five impransi. The country looks beautiful, though the foliage, larches in particular, have had a blight. Yet they can hardly be said to lose foliage since they have but a sort of brushes at best.

June 6.—Went through a good deal of duty as to proofs, and the like. At two set out and reached by four Chiefswood, where I had the happiness to find the Lockharts all in high spirits, well and happy. Johnnie must be all his life a weakly child, but he may have good health, and possesses an admirable temper. We dined with the Lockharts, and were all very happy.

June 7.—Same duty carefully performed. I continued working till about one, when Lockhart came to walk. We took our course round by the Lake. I was a good deal fagged, and must have tired my companion by walking slow. The Fergusons came over—Sir Adam in all his glory—and "the night drave on wi' sangs and clatter."[366]

June 8.—Had not time to do more than correct a sheet or two. About eleven set off for Selkirk, where there was a considerable meeting of road trustees. The consideration of the new road was intrusted to a committee which in some measure blinks the question; yet I think it must do in the end. I dined with the Club, young Chesters president. It is but bad fun, but I might be father of most of them, and must have patience. At length

"Hame cam our gudeman at e'en, And hame cam he."[367]

June 9.—In the morning I advised Sheriff Court processes, carried on the Demonology till twelve, then put books, etc., in some order to leave behind me. Will it be ordered that I come back not like a stranger, or sojourner, but to inhabit here? I do not know; I shall be happy either way. It is perhaps a violent change in the end of life to quit the walk one has trod so long, and the cursed splenetic temper, which besets all men, makes you value opportunities and circumstances when one enjoys them no longer. Well! things must be as they may, as says that great philosopher Corporal Nym.[368]

[Edinburgh.]—I had my walk, and on my return found the Lockharts come to take luncheon, and leave of us. Reached Edinburgh at nine o'clock. Found, among less interesting letters, two from Lord Northampton on the death of the poor Marchioness,[369] and from Anna Jane Clephane on the same melancholy topic. Hei mihi!

June 10.—Corrected proofs, prepared some copy, and did all that was right. Dined and wrought in the evening, yet I did not make much way after all.

June 11.—In the morning, the usual labour of two hours. God bless that habit of being up at seven! I could do nothing without it, but it keeps me up to the scratch, as they say. I had a letter this morning with deep mourning paper and seal; the mention of my nephew in the first line made me sick, fearing it had related to Walter. It was from poor Sir Thomas Bradford, who has lost his lady, but was indeed an account of Walter,[370] and a good one.

June 12.—A day of general labour and much weariness.

June 13.—The same may be said of this day.

June 14.—And of this, only I went out for an hour and a half to Mr. Colvin Smith, to conclude a picture for Lord Gillies. This is a sad relief from labour.

"... Sedet aeternumque sedebit Infelix Theseus."[371]

But Lord Gillies has been so kind and civil that I must have his picture as like as possible.

June 15.—I had at breakfast the son of Mr. Fellenburg[372] of Hofwyll, Switzerland, a modest young man. I used to think his father something of a quack, in proposing to discover how a boy's natural genius lies, with a view to his education. How would they have made me a scholar, is a curious question. Whatever was forced on me as a task I should have detested. There was also a gentlemanlike little man, the Chevalier de——, silent, and speaks no English. Poor George Scott, Harden, is dead of the typhus fever. Poor dear boy! I am sorry for him, and yet more for his parents. I have a letter from Henry on the subject.

June 16.—I wrote this forenoon till I completed the 100 pages, which is well done. I had a call from Colin Mackenzie, whom I had not seen for nearly two years. He has not been so well, and looks ghastly, but I think not worse than I have seen him of late years. We are very old acquaintances. I remember he was one of a small party at college, that formed ourselves into a club called the Poetical Society. The other members were Charles Kerr of Abbotrule (a singular being), Colin M'Laurin (insane), Colin, and I, who have luckily kept our wits. I also saw this morning a Mr. Low, a youth of great learning, who has written a good deal on the early history of Scotland.[373] He is a good-looking, frank, gentlemanlike lad; with these good gifts only a parish schoolmaster in Aberdeenshire. Having won a fair holiday I go to see Miss Kemble for the first time. It is two or three years since I have been in a theatre, once my delight.

June 17.—Went last night to theatre, and saw Miss Fanny Kemble's Isabella,[374] which was a most creditable performance. It has much of the genius of Mrs. Siddons, her aunt. She wants her beautiful countenance, her fine form, and her matchless dignity of step and manner. On the other hand, Miss Fanny Kemble has very expressive, though not regular, features, and what is worth it all, great energy mingled with and chastened by correct taste. I suffered by the heat, lights, and exertion, and will not go back to-night, for it has purchased me a sore headache this theatrical excursion. Besides, the play is Mrs. Beverley,[375] and I hate to be made miserable about domestic distress, so I keep my gracious presence at home to-night, though Ive and respect Miss Kemble for giving her active support to her father in his need, and preventing Covent Garden from coming down about their ears. I corrected proofs before breakfast, attended Court, but was idle in the forenoon, the headache annoying me much. Dinner will make me better. And so it did. I wrote in the evening three pages, and tolerably well, though I may say with the Emperor Titus (not Titus Oates) that I have lost a day.

June 18, [Blair-Adam].—Young John Colquhoun of Killermont and his wife breakfasted with us,—a neat custom that, and saves wine and wassail. Then to Court, and arranged for our departure for Blair-Adam, it being near midsummer when the club meets. Anne with me, and Sir Adam Ferguson. The day was execrable. Our meeting at Blair-Adam was cordial, but our numbers diminished; the good and very clever Lord Chief Baron[376] is returned to his own country, with more regrets than in Scotland usually attend a stranger. Will Clerk has a bad cold, [Thomas] Thomson is detained, but the Chief Commissioner, Admiral Adam, Sir Adam, John Thomson and I, make an excellent concert. I only hope our venerable host will not fatigue himself. To-morrow we go to Culross, which Sir Robert Preston is repairing, and the wise are asking for whose future enjoyment. He is upwards of ninety, but still may enjoy the bustle of life.

June 19.—Arose and expected to work a little, but a friend's house is not favourable; you are sure to want the book you have not brought, and are in short out of sorts, like the minister who could not preach out of his own pulpit. There is something fanciful in this, and something real too, and I have forgot my watch and left half my glasses at home.

Off we set at half-past eight o'clock, Lord Chief Commissioner being left at home owing to a cold. We breakfasted at Luscar, a place belonging to Adam Rolland, but the gout had arrested him at Edinburgh, so we were hospitably received by his family. The weather most unpropitious, very cold and rainy. After breakfast to Culross, where the veteran, Sir Robert Preston,[377] showed us his curiosities. Life has done as much for him as most people. In his ninety-second year he has an ample fortune, a sound understanding, not the least decay of eyes, ears, or taste; is as big as two men, and eats like three. Yet he too experiences the singula praedantur anni, and has lost something since I last saw him. If his appearance renders old age tolerable, it does not make it desirable. But I fear when death comes we shall be unwilling for all that to part with our bundle of sticks. Sir Robert amuses himself with repairing the old House of Culross, built by the Lord Bruce of Kinloss. To what use it is destined is not very evident to me. It is too near his own comfortable mansion of Valleyfield to be useful as a residence, if indeed it could be formed into a comfortable modern house. But it is rather like a banqueting house. Well, he follows his own fancy. We had a sumptuous cold dinner. Adam grieves it was not hot, so little can war and want break a man to circumstances. We returned to Blair-Adam in the evening, through "the wind but and the rain." For June weather it is the most ungenial I have seen. The beauty of Culross consists in magnificent terraces rising on the sea-beach, and commanding the opposite shore of Lothian; the house is repairing in the style of James the Sixth. The windows have pediments like Heriot's Work.[378] There are some fine relics of the old Monastery, with large Saxon arches. At Luscar I saw with pleasure the painting by Raeburn, of my old friend Adam Rolland, Esq.,[379] who was in the external circumstances, but not in frolic or fancy, my prototype for Paul Pleydell.[380]

June 20.—We settled this morning to go to church at Lochore, that is, at Ballingray; but when we came to the earthly paradise so called, we were let off for there was no sermon, for which I could not in my heart be sorry. So, after looking at Lochore, back we came to lounge and loiter about till dinner-time. The rest of the day was good company, good cheer, and good conversation. Yet to be idle here is not the thing, and to be busy is impossible, so I wish myself home again in spite of good entertainment. We leave to-night after an early dinner, and I will get to work again.

June 21, [Edinburgh].—Wrote to Walter a long letter. The day continued dropping occasionally, but Sir Adam was in high fooling, and we had an amazing deal of laughing. We stole a look at the Kiery Craigs between showers. In the meantime George Cheape and his son came in. We dined at half-past three, but it was seven ere we set off, and did not reach the house in Shandwick Place till eleven at night. Thus ended our Club for the year 1830, its thirteenth anniversary. Its numbers were diminished by absence and indisposition, but its spirit was unabated.

June 22.—Finished proofs and some copy in the morning. Returned at noon, and might have laboured a good day's work, but was dull, drowsy, and indolent, and could not, at least did not, write above half a page. It was a day lost, and indeed it is always with me the consequence of mental indolence for a day or two, so I had a succession of eating and dozing, which I am ashamed of, for there was nothing to hinder me but "thick-coming fancies." Pshaw, rabbit un!

June 23.—Worked well this morning, and then to Court. At two called on Mr. Gibson, and find him disposed for an instalment. Cadell has L10,000, and Gibson thinks L12,000 will pay 2s. 6d. I wish it could be made three shillings, which would be L15,000.

Presided at a meeting of the Bannatyne Club. The Whigs made a strong party to admit Kennedy of Dunure, which set aside Lord Medwyn, who had been longer on the roll of candidates. If politics get into this Club it will ruin the literary purpose of the meeting, and the general good-humour with which it has gone on. I think it better to take the thing good-humouredly, and several of them volunteered to say that Medwyn must be the next, which will finish all a l'aimable. If it come to party-work I will cut and run. Confound it! my eyes are closing now, even now, at half-past four.

Dined with Lord Medwyn, a pleasant party. The guest of importance, Mrs. Peter Latouche from Dublin, a fine old dame, who must have been beautiful when young, being pleasant and comely at seventy,—saintly it appears.

June 24.—Hard work with Ballantyne's proofs and revises, but got them accomplished. I am at the twelfth hour, but I think I shall finish this silly book before the tenth of July.

Notwithstanding this sage resolution I did not write half a page of the said Demonology this day. I went to the Court, called on Mr. Cadell, returned dog-tired, and trifled my time with reading the trial of Corder. What seemed most singular was his love to talk of the young woman he had murdered, in such a manner as to insinuate the circumstances of his own crime, which is a kind of necessity which seems to haunt conscience-struck men. Charles Sharpe came in at night and supped with us.

June 25.—Slept little later than I should. The proofs occupied the morning. The Court and walk home detained me till two. When I returned, set to work and reached page 210 of copy. There is little or nothing else to say. Skene was with me for a few minutes. I called at Cadell's also, who thinks a dividend of 3s. per pound will be made out.[381] This will be one-half of the whole debts, and leave a sinking fund for the rest about L10,000 a year "if the beast live and the branks bide hale."[382]

June 26.—Miss Kemble and her father breakfasted here, with Sir Adam and Lady Ferguson. I like the young lady very much, respecting both her talents and the use she has made of them. She seems merry, unaffected, and good-humoured. She said she did not like the apathy of the Scottish audiences, who are certain not to give applause upon credit. I went to the Court, but soon returned; a bad cold in my head makes me cough and sneeze like the Dragon of Wantley. The Advocates' Bill[383] is read a third time. I hardly know whether to wish it passed or no, and am therefore in utrumque paratus.

June 27.—In the morning worked as usual at proofs and copy of my infernal Demonology—a task to which my poverty and not my will consents. About twelve o'clock I went to the country to take a day's relaxation. We (i.e. Mr. Cadell, James Ballantyne, and I) went to Prestonpans, and, getting there about one, surveyed the little village, where my aunt and I were lodgers for the sake of sea-bathing in 1778, I believe. I knew the house of Mr. Warroch, where we lived,—a poor cottage, of which the owners and their family are extinct. I recollected my juvenile ideas of dignity attendant on the large gate, a black arch which lets out upon the sea. I saw the church where I yawned under the inflictions of a Dr. M'Cormick, a name in which dulness seems to have been hereditary. I saw the Links where I arranged my shells upon the turf, and swam my little skiffs in the pools. Many comparisons between the man, and the recollections of my kind aunt, of old George Constable, who, I think, dangled after her; of Dalgetty, a veteran half-pay lieutenant, who swaggered his solitary walk on the parade, as he called a little open space before the same pool. We went to Preston, and took refuge from a thunder-plump in the old tower. I remembered the little garden where I was crammed with gooseberries, and the fear I had of Blind Harry's spectre of Fawdon showing his headless trunk at one of the windows. I remembered also a very good-natured pretty girl (my Mary Duff), whom I laughed and romped with and loved as children love. She was a Miss Dalrymple, daughter of Lord Westhall,[384] a Lord of Session; was afterwards married to Anderson of Winterfield, and her daughter is now [the spouse] of my colleague Robert Hamilton. So strangely are our cards shuffled. I was a mere child, and could feel none of the passion which Byron alleges, yet the recollection of this good-humoured companion of my childhood is like that of a morning dream, nor should I now greatly like to dispel it by seeing the original, who must now be sufficiently time-honoured.

Well, we walked over the field of battle, saw the Prince's Park, Cope's Loan, marked by slaughter in his disastrous retreat, the thorn-tree which marks the centre of the battle, and all besides that was to be seen or supposed. We saw two broadswords, found on the field of battle, one a Highlander's, an Andrew Ferrara, another the dragoon's sword of that day. Lastly, we came to Cockenzie, where Mr. Francis Cadell, my publisher's brother, gave us a kind reception. I was especially glad to see the mother of the family, a fine old lady, who was civil to my aunt and me, and, I recollect well, used to have us to tea at Cockenzie. Curious that I should long afterwards have an opportunity to pay back this attention to her son Robert. Once more, what a kind of shuffling of the hand dealt us at our nativity. There was Mrs. F. Cadell, and one or two young ladies, and some fine fat children. I should be a bastard to the time[385] did I not tell our fare. We had a tiled whiting,[386] a dish unknown elsewhere, so there is a bone for the gastronomers to pick. Honest John Wood,[387] my old friend, dined with us. I only regret I cannot understand him, as he has a very powerful memory, and much curious information. The whole day of pleasure was damped by the news of the King's death; it was fully expected, however, as the termination of his long illness. But he was very good to me personally, and a kind sovereign. The common people and gentry join in their sorrow. Much is owing to a kindly recollection of his visit to this country, which gave all men an interest in him.

June 29.—The business of the Court was suspended, so back I came, without stop or stay, and to work went I. As I had risen early I was sadly drowsy; however, I fought and fagged away the day. I am still in hope to send my whole manuscript to Ballantyne before the 10th July. Well, I must devise something to myself; I must do something better than this Demonological trash. It is nine o'clock, and I am weary, yea, my very spirit's tired.[388] After ten o'clock Mr. Daveis,[389] an American barrister of eminence, deputed to represent the American States in a dispute concerning the boundaries of Nova Scotia and New England, with an introduction to me from Mr. Ticknor, called. I was unable to see him, and put him off till to-morrow morning at breakfast.

June 30.—The new King was proclaimed, and the College of Justice took the oaths. I assisted Mr. Daveis, who is a pleasant and well-informed man, to see the ceremony, which, probably, he would hardly witness in his own country. A day of noise and bustle. We dined at Mr. and Mrs. Strange, chere exquise I suppose. Many friends of the Arniston family. I thought there was some belief of Lord Melville losing his place. That he may exchange it for another is very likely, but I think the Duke will not desert him who adhered to him so truly.

FOOTNOTES:

[365] Mr. John Dickinson of Nash Mill, Herts, the eminent papermaker.—J.G.L. Ante, p. 31.

[366] Burns's Tam o' Shanter.

[367] See Johnson's Musical Museum Illustrations, Pt. v. No. 454.

[368] Henry V. Act II. Sc. 1.

[369] Daughter of his old friend, Mrs. Maclean Clephane of Torloisk.

[370] "Little Walter," Thomas Scott's son, who went to India in 1826, ante, vol. i. p. 103. He became a General in the Indian Army, and died in 1873.

[371] AEneid VI. 617.

[372] Emanuel de Fellenburg, who died in 1844.

[373] "The History of Scotland from the Earliest Period to the Middle of the Ninth Century," by the Rev. Alex. Low. 8vo, Edinburgh, 1826.—See Misc. Prose Works, vol. xx. pp. 374-6.

[374] Southerne's Fatal Marriage.

[375] In the Gamester by Moore.

[376] Sir Samuel Shepherd.—See ante, vol. i. p. 51 n.

[377] Sir Robert Preston, Bart., died in May 1834, aged ninety-five.—- J.G.L.

[378] Heriot's Hospital, Edinburgh.

[379] See ante, p. 279 note, and for sketch of Adam Rolland of Gask, Cockburn's Memorials, pp. 360-3.

[380] The "frolic and fancy" of Councillor Pleydell were commonly supposed to have been found in Andrew Crosbie, Advocate, but as Crosbie died when Scott was only fourteen, and had retired from the bar for some years, the latter could scarcely have known him personally. See p. 281 n.

[381] A second dividend of 3s. was declared on December 17, 1830.

[382] An old Galloway proverb. Branks, "a sort of bridle used by country people in riding."—Jamieson. Burns in a Scotch letter to Nicol of June 1, 1787, says, "I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the fore and the branks bide hale."—Cromek's Reliques, p. 29.

[383] Relating to the changes in the Court of Session.

[384] David Dalrymple of Westhall was a judge of the Court of Session from 1777 till his death in 1784.

[385] King John, Act I. Sc. 1.

[386] A whiting dried in the sun; but "tiled haddocks" and "tiled whitings" are now unknown to the fisher-folk of Cockenzie.

[387] John Philip Wood, editor of Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, etc., was deaf and dumb; he died in 1838 in his seventy-fourth year.

[388] Coriolanus, Act I. Sc. 9.

[389] Charles S. Daveis of Portland, a friend of Mr. George Ticknor, in whose Life (2 vols. 8vo, Boston, 1876) he is often mentioned.



JULY.

July 1.—Mr. Daveis breakfasted with me. On nearer acquaintance, I was more galled by some portion of continental manners than I had been at first, so difficult is it for an American to correct his manner to our ideas of perfect good-breeding.[390] I did all that was right, however, and asked Miss Ferrier, whom he admires prodigiously, to meet him at dinner. Hither came also a young friend, so I have done the polite thing every way. Thomson also dined with us. After dinner I gave my strangers an airing round the Corstorphine hills, and returned by the Cramond road. I sent to Mr. Gibson, Cadell's project for Lammas, which raises L15,000 for a dividend of 3s. to be then made. I think the trustees should listen to this, which is paying one-half of my debt.

July 2.—Have assurances from John Gibson that L15,000 should be applied as I proposed. If this can be repeated yearly up to 1835 the matter is ended, and well ended; yet, woe's me! the public change their taste, and their favourites get old. Yet if I was born in 1771, I shall only be sixty in 1831, and, by the same reasoning, sixty-four in 1835, so I may rough it out, yet be no Sir Robert Preston. At any rate, it is all I have to trust to.

I did a morning's task, and was detained late at the Court; came home, ate a hearty dinner, slumbered after it in spite of my teeth, and made a poor night's work of it. One's mind gets so dissipated by the fagging, yet insignificant, business of the offices; my release comes soon, but I fear for a term only, for I doubt if they will carry through the Court Bill.

July 3.—My day began at seven as usual. Sir Adam came to breakfast. I read Southey's edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, and think of reviewing the same. I would I had books at hand. To the Court, and remained till two; then went to look at the drawings for repairing Murthly, the house of Sir John or James Stewart, now building by Gillespie Graham, and which he has planned after the fashion of James VI.'s reign, a kind of bastard Grecian[391]—very fanciful and pretty though. Read Hone's Every-day Book, and with a better opinion of him than I expected from his anti-religious frenzy. We are to dine with the Skenes to-day.

Which we did accordingly, meeting Mr. and Mrs. Strange, Lord Forbes, and other friends.

July 4.—Was a complete and serious day of work, only interrupted in the evening by——, who, with all the freedom and ease of continental manners, gratified me with his gratuitous presence. Yet it might have been worse, for his conversation is well enough, but it is strange want of tact to suppose one must be alike welcome to a stranger at all hours of the day; but I have stuffed the portfolio, so do not grudge half-an-hour.

July 5.—I was up before seven and resumed my labours, and by breakfast-time I had reached p. 133; it may reach to 160 or 170 as I find space and matter. Buchanan[392] came and wrote about fifteen of his pages, equal to mine in proportion of three to one. We are therefore about p. 138, and in sight of land. At two o'clock went to bury poor George Burnet, the son of Gilbert Innes, in as heavy a rain as I ever saw. Was in Shandwick Place again by four and made these entries. I dine to-day with the Club; grant Heaven it fair before six o'clock!

We met at Barry's,[393] and had a gallant dinner, but only few of our number was present. Alas! sixty does not rally to such meetings with the alacrity of sixteen, and our Club has seen the space between these terms. I was home and abed when Charles arrived and waked me. Poor fellow! he is doing very well with his rheumatic limbs.

July 6.—I did little this morning but correct some sheets, and was at the Court all morning. About two I called at Mr. Cadell's, and I learned the dividend was arranged. Sir Adam fell in with us, and laid anchors to windward to get an invitation to Cockenzie for next year, being struck with my life-like description of a tiled haddock. I came home much fagged, slept for half-an-hour (I don't like this lethargy), read I Promessi Sposi, and was idle. Miss Kerr dined and gave us music.

July 7.—This morning corrected proofs, with which J.B. proceeds lazily enough, and alleges printing reasons, of which he has plenty at hand. Though it was the Teind Wednesday the devil would have it that this was a Court of Session day also for a cause of mine; so there I sat hearing a dozen cases of augmentation of stipend pleaded, and wondering within myself whether anything can be predicated of a Scottish parish, in which there cannot be discovered a reason for enlarging the endowments of the minister. I returned after two, with a sousing shower for companion; I got very wet and very warm. But shall we go mourn for that, my dear?[394] I rather like a flaw of weather; it shows something of the old man is left. I had Mr. Buchanan to help pack my papers and things, and got through part of that unpleasant business.

July 8.—I had my letters as usual, but no proofs till I was just going out. Returning from the Court met Skene, who brought me news that our visit was at an end for Saturday, poor Colin having come to town very unwell. I called to see him, and found him suffering under a degree of slow palsy, his spirits depressed, and his looks miserable, worse a great deal than when I last saw him. His wife and daughter were in the room, dreadfully distressed. We spoke but a few words referring to recovery and better days, which, I suspect, neither of us hoped.[395] For I looked only on the ghost of my friend of many a long day; and he, while he said to see me did him good, must have had little thought of our meeting under better auspices. We shall, of course, go straight to Abbotsford, instead of travelling by Harcus as we intended.

July 9.—Two distressed damsels on my hands, one, a friend of Harriet Swinton, translates from the Italian a work on the plan of I Promessi Sposi, but I fear she must not expect much from the trade. A translation with them is a mere translation—that is, a thing which can be made their own at a guinea per sheet, and they will not have an excellent one at a higher rate. Second is Miss Young, daughter of the excellent Dr. Young of Hawick. If she can, from her father's letters and memoranda, extract materials for a fair simple account of his life, I would give my name as editor, and I think it might do, but for a large publication—Palabras, neighbour Dogberry,[396] the time is by. Dined with the Bannatyne, where we had a lively party. Touching the songs, an old roue must own an improvement in the times, when all paw-paw words are omitted, and naughty innuendos gazes. One is apt to say—

"Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath, and leave 'in sooth,' And such protest of pepper-gingerbread."[397]

I think there is more affectation than improvement in the new mode.

July 10.—Rose rather late: the champagne and turtle, I suppose, for our reform includes no fasting. Then poor Ardwell came to breakfast; then Dr. Young's daughter. I have projected with Cadell a plan of her father's life, to be edited by me.[398] If she does but tolerably, she may have a fine thing of it. Next came the Court, where sixty judgments were pronounced and written by the Clerks, I hope all correctly, though an error might well happen in such a crowd, and——, one of the best men possible, is beastly stupid. Be that as it may, off came Anne, Charles, and I for Abbotsford. We started about two, and the water being too deep didn't arrive till past seven; dinner, etc., filled up the rest of the day.

July 11, Abbotsford.—Corrected my proofs and the lave of it till about one o'clock. Then started for a walk to Chiefswood, which I will take from station to station,[399] with a book in my pouch. I have begun Lawrie Todd, which ought, considering the author's undisputed talents, to have been better. He might have laid Cooper aboard, but he follows far behind. No wonder: Galt, poor fellow, was in the King's Bench when he wrote it. No whetter of genius is necessity, though said to be the mother of invention.

July 12.—Another wet day, but I walked twice up and down the terrace, and also wrote a handsome scrap of copy, though mystified by the want of my books, and so forth. Dr. and Mrs. Lockhart and Violet came to luncheon and left us to drive on to Peebles. I read and loitered and longed to get my things in order. Got to work, however, at seven in the morning.

July 13.—Now "what a thing it is to be an ass!"[400] I have a letter from a certain young man, of a sapient family, announcing that his sister had so far mistaken my attentions as to suppose I was only prevented by modesty from stating certain wishes and hopes, etc. The party is a woman of rank: so far my vanity may be satisfied. But to think I would wish to appropriate a grim grenadier made to mount guard at St. James's! The Lord deliver me! I excused myself with little picking upon the terms, and there was no occasion for much delicacy in repelling such an attack.

July 14.—The Court of Session Bill is now committed in the House of Lords, so it fairly goes on this season, and I have, I suppose, to look for my conge. I can hardly form a notion of the possibility that I am not to return to Edinburgh. My clerk Buchanan came here, and assists me to finish the Demonology Letters, and be d—d to them. But it is done to their hand. Two ladies, Mrs. Latouche of Dublin, and her niece, Miss Boyle, came to spend a day or two. The aunt is a fine old lady; the conversation that of a serious person frightened out of her wits by the violence and superstition of our workers of miracles in the west.[401] Miss Boyle is a pretty young woman, rather quiet for an Irish lass.

July 16.—We visited at Lessudden yesterday, and took Mrs. Latouche thither. To-day, as they had left us, we went alone to Major John's house of Ravenswood and engaged a large party of cousins to dine to-morrow.

In the evening a party of foreigners came around the door, and going out I found Le Comte Ladislaus de Potocki, a great name in Poland, with his lady and brother-in-law, so offered wine, coffee, tea, etc. The lady is strikingly pretty. If such a woman as she had taken an affection for a lame baronet, nigh sixty years old, it would be worth speaking about! I have finished the Demonology.[402]

July 17.—Another bad day, wet past all efforts to walk, and threatening a very bad harvest. Persecuted with begging letters; an author's Pegasus is like a post-chaise leaving the door of the inn: the number of beggars is uncountable. The language they hold of my character for charity makes my good reputation as troublesome as that of Joseph Surface.[403] A dinner of cousins, the young Laird of Raeburn, so he must be called, though nearly as old as I am, at their head. His brother Robert, who has been in India for forty years, excepting one short visit: a fine manly fellow, who has belled the cat with fortune, and held her at bay as a man of mould may. Being all kinsmen and friends, we made a merry day of our re-union. All left at night.

July 18.—

"Time runs, I know not how, away."

Here am I beginning the second week of my vacation—though what needs me note that?—vacation and session will probably be the same to me in the future. The long remove must then be looked to, for the final signal to break up, and that is a serious thought.

I have corrected two sets of proofs, one for the mail, another for the Blucher to-morrow.

[No entry between July 18 and September 5.]

[Mr. Lockhart remarks that it was during this interval that the highest point of his recovery was reached. The following little note accompanied the review of Southey's Bunyan to Chiefswood on August 6th:—-

"Dear Lockhart, I send you the enclosed. I intended to have brought it myself with help of 'Daddy Dun,' but I find the weather is making a rain of it to purpose.

"I suppose you are all within doors, and the little gardeners all off work.—Yours, W.S."]

A playful yet earnest petition, showing Sir Walter's continued solicitude for the welfare of the good 'Dominie Sampson,' was also written at this time to the Duke of Buccleuch:—

"ABBOTSFORD, 20th August.

"The minister of ——— having fallen among other black cocks of the season, emboldens me once more to prefer my humble request in favour of George Thomson, long tutor in this family. His case is so well known to your Grace that I would be greatly to blame if I enlarged upon it. His morals are irreproachable, his talents very respectable. He has some oddity of manner, but it is far from attaching to either the head or the heart....

"It would be felt by me among one of the deepest obligations of the many which I owe to the house of Buccleuch. I daresay your Grace has shot a score of black game to-day. Pray let your namesake bag a parson."

FOOTNOTES:

[390] An amusing illustration of the difficulty of seeing ourselves as others see us may be found written twenty-five years later by Nathaniel Hawthorne, where the author of the Scarlet Letter expresses in like manner his surprise at the want of refinement in Englishmen:—"I had been struck by the very rough aspect of these John Bulls in their morning garb, their coarse frock-coats, grey hats, check trousers, and stout shoes; at dinner-table it was not at first easy to recognise the same individuals.... But after a while, 'you see the same rough figure through all the finery, and become sensible that John Bull cannot make himself fine, whatever he may put on. He is a rough animal, and his female is well adapted to him.'"—Hawthorne and His Wife, vol. ii. p. 70. 2 vols. 8vo. Cambridge, U.S.A., 1884.

[391] Architects style it Elizabethan, but Sir Walter's term is not inappropriate.

[392] An amanuensis who was employed by Scott at this time.

[393] British Hotel, 70 Queen St.

[394] See Winter's Tale, Act IV. Sc. 2.

[395] See ante, January 15, 1828, p. 111. Mr. Mackenzie of Portmore died in September 1830, when Sir Walter wrote Mr. Skene the following letter:—

"DEAR SKENE,—I observe from the papers that our invaluable friend is no more. I have reason to think, that as I surmised when I saw him last, the interval has been a melancholy one, at least to those who had to watch the progress. I never expected to see his kind face more, after I took leave of him in Charlotte Square; yet the certainty that such must be the case is still a painful shock, as I can never hope again to meet, during the remaining span of my own life, a friend in whom high talents for the business of life were more happily mingled with all those affections which form the dearest part of human intercourse. In that respect I believe his like hardly is to be found. I hope Mrs. Skene and you will make my assurance of deep sympathy, of which they know it is expressed by a friend of poor Colin of fifty years' standing.

"I hope my young friend, his son, will keep his father's example before his eyes. His best friend cannot wish him a better model.

"I am just setting off to the West for a long-promised tour of a week. I shall be at Abbotsford after Monday, 27th current, and I hope Mrs. Skene and you, with some of our young friends, will do us the pleasure to come here for a few days. We see how separations may happen among friends, and should not neglect the opportunity of being together while we can. Besides, entre nous, it is time to think what is to be done about the Society, as the time of my retirement draws nigh, and I am determined, at whatever loss, not to drag out the last sands of my life in that sand-cart of a place, the Parliament House. I think it hurt poor Colin. This is, however, subject for future consideration, as I have not breathed a syllable about resigning the Chair to any one, but it must soon follow as a matter of course.[C]

"Should you think of writing to let me know how the distressed family are, you may direct, during the beginning of next week, to Drumlanrig, Thornhill, Dumfriesshire.

"My kind love attends my dear Mrs. Skene, girls, boys, and all the family, and I am, always yours,

"WALTER SCOTT.

"ABBOTSFORD, 18th September [1830]."

[C] Sir Walter had been President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh for some years; his resignation was not accepted, and he retained the office until he died.

[396] Much Ado about Nothing, Act III. Sc. 5.

[397] 1 King Henry IV., Act III. Sc. 1.

[398] The biography here spoken of was not published.

[399] Sir Walter had seats placed at suitable distances between the house and Chiefswood.

[400] Titus Andronicus, Act IV. Sc. 2.

[401] For an account of these "miracles" see Peace in Believing—a memoir of Isabella Campbell of Fernicarry. Roseneath, 8vo, 1829.

[402] Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft, addressed to J.G. Lockhart, Esq., was published before the end of the year in Murray's Family Library.

[403] School for Scandal.



SEPTEMBER

September 5.—In spite of resolution I have left my Diary for some weeks, I cannot tell why. We have had the usual number of travelling Counts and Countesses, Yankees male and female, and a Yankee-Doodle-Dandy into the bargain, a smart young Virginia man. We have had friends of our own also, the Miss Ardens, young Mrs. Morritt and Anne Morritt, most agreeable visitors.[404] Cadell came out here yesterday with his horn filled with good news. This will in effect put an end to the trust; only the sales and produce must be pledged to insure the last L15,000 and the annuity interest of L600. In this way Mr. Cadell will become half-partner in the remaining volumes of the books following St. Ronan's; with all my heart, but he must pay well for it, for it is good property. Neither is any value stated for literary profits; yet, four years should have four novels betwixt 1830-4. This at L2500 per volume might be L8000, which would diminish Mr. Cadell's advance considerably. All this seems feasible enough, so my fits of sullen alarm are ill placed. It makes me care less about the terms I retire upon. The efforts by which we have advanced thus far are new in literature, and what is gained is secure.

[No entry between September 5 and December 20.]

FOOTNOTES:

[404] Sir Walter had written to Morritt on his retirement from the Court of Session, and his old friend responded in the following cordial letter:—

"November, 1830.

"MY DEAR SCOTT,—... I am sorry to read what you tell me of your lameness, but legs are not so obedient to many of us at our age as they were twenty years ago, non immunes ab illis malis sumus, as the learned Partridge and Lilly's Grammar tells us. I find mine swell, and am forced to bandage, and should not exert them with impunity in walking as I used to do, either in long walks or in rough ground. I am glad, however, you have escaped from the Court of Session, even at the risk of sometimes feeling the want you allude to of winter society. You think you shall tire of solitude in these months: and in spite of books and the love of them, I have discovered by experience the possibility of such a feeling; but can we not in some degree remedy this? Why should we both be within two days' march of each other and not sometimes together, as of old? How I have enjoyed in your house the summum bonum of Sir Wm. Temple's philosophy, 'something which is not Home and yet with the liberty of Home, which is not Solitude, and yet hath the ease of Solitude, and which is only found in the house of an old friend.' Our summer months are well provided with summer friends. You have plenty and to spare of sightseers, Lions, and their hunters, and I have travellers, moor-shooters, etc., in equal abundance, but now when the country is abandoned, and Walter is leaving you, how I wish you would bring dear Anne and partake for a while our little circle here—we stir not till Christmas—if before that time such a pleasure could be attainable. Well, then, for auld lang syne, will you not, now that the Session has no claim on you, combine our forces against the possibility of ennui. If you will do this, I will positively, and in good faith, hold myself in readiness to do as much by you in the next November, and in every alternate November, nor shall the month ever pass without bringing us together. Do not tell me, as Wm. Rose would not fail to do if I gave him so good an opportunity, that my proposal would be a greater bore than the solitude it destroyed. It shall be no such thing, but only the trouble of a journey. I feel too, as I grow older, the vis inertiae, and fancy that locomotion is more difficult, but let us abjure the doctrine, for it baulks much pleasure. Pray—pray as the children say—come to us, think of it first as not impossible, then weigh fairly the objections, and if they resolve themselves into mere aversion to change, overcome them by an assurance that the very change will give value to the resumption of your home avocations. If I plead thus strongly, perhaps it is because I feel the advantage to myself. Time has made gaps in the list of old friends as in yours; young ones, though very cheering and useful, are not, and cannot be, the same. I enjoy them too when present, but in absence I regret the others. What remains but to make the most of those we have still left when both body and mind permit us [to enjoy] them. I have books; also a room that shall [be your own], and a [pony] off which I can shoot, which I will engage shall neither tumble himself or allow you to tumble in any excursion on which you may venture. Dear Anne will find and make my womenkind as happy as you will make me, and we have only to beg you to stay long and be most cordially welcome. ... Adieu, dear Scott. I fear you will not come for all I can say. I could almost lose a tooth or a finger (if it were necessary) to find myself mistaken. Come, and come soon; stay long; be assured of welcome.

"All unite in this and in love to you and Anne, with your assured friend,

J.B. MORRITT."



DECEMBER.

December 20.—From September 5 to December 20 is a long gap, and I have seen plenty of things worth recollecting, had I marked them down when they were gliding past. But the time has gone by. When I feel capable of taking it up, I will.

Little self will jostle out everything else, and my affairs, which in some respects are excellent, in others, like the way of the world, are far from being pleasant.

Of good I have the pleasure of saying I have my children well, and in good health. The dividend of 3s. in the pound has been made to the creditors, and the creditors have testified their sense of my labours by surrendering my books, furniture, plate, and curiosities. I see some friends of mine think this is not handsomely done. In my opinion it is extremely so. There are few things so [easy] as to criticise the good things one does, and to show that we ourselves would have done [more] handsomely. But those who know the world and their own nature are always better pleased with one kind action carried through and executed, than with twenty that only glide through their minds, while perhaps they tickle the imagination of the benevolent Barmecide who supposes both the entertainment and the eater. These articles do not amount to less than L10,000 at least, and, without dispensing with them entirely, might furnish me with a fund for my younger children.[405] Now, suppose these creditors had not seriously carried their purpose into execution, the transaction might have been afterwards challenged, and the ease of mind which it produced to me must have been uncertain in comparison. Well! one-half of these claims are cleared off, furnished in a great measure by one-half issue of the present edition of the Waverley Novels, which had reached the 20th of the series.

It cannot be expected that twenty more will run off so fast; the later volumes are less favourites, and are really less interesting. Yet when I read them over again since their composition, I own I found them considerably better than I expected, and I think, if other circumstances do not crush them and blight their popularity, they will make their way. Mr. Cadell is still desirous to acquire one-half of the property of this part of the work, which is chiefly my own. He proposes assembling all my detached works of fiction and articles in Annuals, so that the whole, supposing I write, as is proposed, six new volumes, will run the collection to fifty, when it is time to close it. Between cash advanced on this property, and a profit on the sale of the second part, Mr. Cadell thinks, having taken a year or two years' time, to gather a little wind into the bag, I will be able to pay, on my part, a further sum of L30,000, or the moiety remaining of the whole debts, amounting now to less than L60,000.

Should this happy period arrive in or about the year 1832 the heavy work will be wellnigh finished. Tor, although L30,000 will still remain, yet there is L20,000 actually secured upon my life, and the remaining L10,000 is set against the sale of Waverley, which shall have been issued; besides which there is the whole Poetry, Bonaparte, and several other articles, equally [available] in a short time to pay up the balance, and afford a very large reversion.

This view cannot be absolutely certain, but it is highly probable, and is calculated in the manner in which Building Schemes [are dealt with], and is not merely visionary. The year 1833 may probably see me again in possession of my estate.

A circumstance of great consequence to my habits and comforts was my being released from the Court of Session on November 1830 (18th day). My salary, which was L1300, was reduced to L840. My friends, just then leaving office, were desirous to patch up the deficiency with a pension. I do not see well how they could do this without being exposed to obloquy, which they shall not be on my account. Besides, though L500 a year is a round sum, yet I would rather be independent than I would have it.

My kind friend the Lord Chief Commissioner offered to interfere to have me named a Privy Councillor; but besides that when one is poor he ought to avoid taking rank, I would be much happier if I thought any act of kindness was done to help forward Charles; and, having said so much, I made my bow, and declared my purpose of remaining satisfied with the article of my knighthood. And here I am, for the rest of my life I suppose, with a competent income, which I can [increase].

All this is rather pleasing, nor have I the least doubt that I could make myself easy by literary labour. But much of it looks like winding up my bottom for the rest of my life. But there is a worse symptom of settling accounts, of which I have felt some signs.

Last spring, Miss Young, the daughter of Dr. Young, had occasion to call on me on some business, in which I had hopes of serving her. As I endeavoured to explain to her what I had to say, I had the horror to find I could not make myself understood. I stammered, stuttered, said one word in place of another—did all but speak; Miss Young went away frightened enough, poor thing; and Anne and Violet Lockhart were much alarmed. I was bled with cupping-glasses, took medicine, and lived on panada; but in two or three days I was well again. The physicians thought, or said at least, that the evil was from the stomach. It is very certain that I have seemed to speak with an impediment, and I was, or it might be fancied myself, troubled with a mispronouncing and hesitation. I felt this particularly at the Election, and sometimes in society. This went on till last November, when Lord ——— came out to make me a visit. I had for a long time taken only one tumbler of whisky and water without the slightest reinforcement. This night I took a very little drop, not so much as a bumper glass, of whisky altogether. It made no difference on my head that I could discover, but when I went to the dressing-room I sank stupefied on the floor. I lay a minute or two—was not found, luckily, gathered myself up, and got to my bed. I was alarmed at this second warning, consulted Abercrombie and Ross, and got a few restrictive orders as to diet. I am forced to attend to them; for, as Mrs. Cole says, "Lack-a-day! a thimbleful oversets me."

To add to these feelings I have the constant increase of my lameness: the thigh-joint, knee-joint, and ankle-joint.

December 21.—I walk with great pain in the whole limb, and am at every minute, during an hour's walk, reminded of my mortality. I should not care for all this, if I was sure of dying handsomely. Cadell's calculations would be sufficiently firm though the author of Waverly had pulled on his last nightcap. Nay, they might be even more trustworthy, if Remains, and Memoirs, and such like, were to give a zest to the posthumous. But the fear is the blow be not sufficient to destroy life, and that I should linger on an idiot and a show.[406]....

We parted on good terms and hopes.[407] But, fall back, fall edge, nothing shall induce me to publish what I do not think advantageous to the community, or suppress what is.

December 23.—To add for this day to the evil thereof, I am obliged to hold a Black-fishing Court at Selkirk. This is always a very unpopular matter in one of our counties, as the salmon never do get up to the heads of the waters in wholesome season, and are there in numbers in spawning-time. So that for several years during the late period, the gentry, finding no advantage from preserving the spawning fish, neglected the matter altogether in a kind of dudgeon, and the peasantry laid them waste at their will. As the property is very valuable, the proprietors down the country agreed to afford some additional passage for fish when the river is open, providing they will protect the spawning fish during close-time. A new Act has been passed, with heavy penalties and summary powers of recovery. Some persons are cited under it to-day; and a peculiar licence of poaching having distinguished the district of late years, we shall be likely to have some disturbance. They have been holding a meeting for reform in Selkirk, and it will be difficult to teach them that this consists in anything else save the privilege of obeying only such laws as please them. We shall see, but I would have counselled the matter to have been delayed for a little season. I shall do my duty, however. Do what is right, come what will.

Six black-fishers were tried, four were condemned. All went very quietly till the conclusion, when one of the criminals attempted to break out. I stopped him for the time with my own hand.[408] But after removing him from the Court-house to the jail he broke from the officers, who are poor feeble old men, the very caricature of peace officers.

December 24.—This morning my old acquaintance and good friend Miss Bell Ferguson died after a short illness: an old friend, and a woman of the most excellent condition. The last two or almost three years were very sickly.

A bitter cold day. Anne drove me over to Huntly Burn to see the family. I found Colonel Ferguson and Captain John, R.N., in deep affliction, expecting Sir Adam hourly. Anne sets off to Mertoun, and I remain alone. I wrote to Walter about the project of making my succession in movables. J.B. sent me praises of the work I am busy with.[409] But I suspect a little supercherie, though he protests not. He is going to the country without sending me the political article. But he shall either set up or return it, as I won't be tutored by any one in what I do or forbear.

December 25.—I have sketched a political article on a union of Tories and an Income Tax. But I will not show my teeth if I find I cannot bite. Arrived at Mertoun, and found with the family Sir John Pringle, Major Pringle, and Charles Baillie. Very pleasant music by the Miss Pringles.

December 26, [Mertoun].—Prayers after breakfast, being Sunday. Afterwards I shut myself up in Mr. Scott's room.

He has lately become purchaser of his grandfather's valuable library, which was collected by Pope's Lord Marchmont. Part of it is a very valuable collection of tracts during the great Civil War. I spent several hours in turning them over, but I could not look them through with any accuracy. I passed my time very pleasantly, and made some extracts, however, and will resume my research another day.

Major Pringle repeated some pretty verses of his own composing.

I had never a more decided inclination to go loose, yet I know I had better keep quiet.

December 27, [Abbotsford].—Commences snow, and extremely bitter cold. When I returned from Mertoun, half-frozen, I took up the Magnum, and began to notify the romance called Woodstock, in which I got some assistance from Harden's ancient tracts. I ought rather to get on with Robert of Paris; but I have had all my life a longing to do something else when I am called to particular labour,—a vile contradictory humour which I cannot get rid of. Well, I can work at something, so at the Magnum work I. The day was indeed broken, great part having been employed in the return from Mertoun.

December 28.—Drove down to Huntly Burn. Sir Adam very melancholy, the death of his sister having come with a particular and shocking surprise upon him. After half-an-hour's visit I returned and resumed the Magnum.

December 29.—Attended poor Miss Bell Ferguson's funeral. I sat by the Rev. Mr. Thomson. Though ten years younger than me, I found the barrier between him and me much broken down. We remember it though with more or less accuracy. We took the same old persons for subjects of correspondence of feeling and sentiment. The difference of ten years is little after sixty has passed. In a cold day I saw poor Bell laid in her cold bed. Life never parted with a less effort. Letter from Cadell offering to advance on second series French Tales. This will come in good time, and keep me easy. He proposes views for the Magnum. I fear politics may disappoint them.

December 30.—Meeting at Selkirk to-day about the new road to Galashiels. It was the largest meeting I ever saw in Selkirkshire. We gain the victory by no less than 14 to 4. I was named one of the committee to carry the matter on, so in gaining my victory I think I have caught a Tartar, for I have taken on trouble enough. Some company,—Lord Napier, Scotts of Harden, Johnstone of Alva, Major Pringle. In the evening had some private conversation with H.F.S. and R.J., and think there is life in a mussel. More of this hereafter.

December 31.—My two young friends left this morning, but not without renewing our conversation of last night. We carried on the little amusements of the day, and spent our Hogmanay pleasantly enough, in spite of very bad auguries.

FOOTNOTES:

[405] See Life, vol. x. pp. 10-25.

[406]

"From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, And Swift expires a driveller and a show."—Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.



[407] Mr. Cadell and Mr. Ballantyne had arrived at Abbotsford on the 18th, bringing with them the good news from Edinburgh of the payment of the second dividend, and of the handsome conduct of the creditors. There had been a painful discussion between them and Sir Walter during the early part of the winter on Count Robert of Paris, particulars of which are given in the Life (vol. x. pp. 6, 10-17, 21-23), but they found their host much better than they had ventured to anticipate, and he made the gift of his library the chief subject of conversation during the evening. Next morning Mr. Ballantyne was asked to read aloud a political essay on Reform—intended to be a Fourth Epistle of Malachi. After careful consideration, the critical arbiters concurred in condemning the production, but suggested a compromise. His friends left him on the 21st, and the essay, though put in type, was never published. Proof and MS. were finally consigned to the flames!—Life, vol. x. pp. 21-25.

[408] An account of this incident is given by an eye-witness, Mr. Peter Rodger, Procurator-Fiscal, who says: "The prisoner, thinking it a good chance of escaping, made a movement in direction of the door. This Sir Walter detected in time to descend from the Bench and place himself in the desperate man's path. 'Never!' said he; 'if you do, it will be over the body of an old man.' Whereupon the other officials of the Court came to the Sheriff's assistance and the prisoner was secured."—Craig-Brown's Selkirkshire, vol. ii. p. 141.

[409] Count Robert of Paris.



1831.



JANUARY.

January 1, 1831.—I cannot say the world opens pleasantly with me this new year. I will strike the balance. There are many things for which I have reason to be thankful.

First.—Cadell's plans seem to have succeeded, and he augurs well as to the next two years, reckoning L30,000 on the stuff now on hand, and L20,000 on the insurance money, and L10,000 to be borrowed somehow. This will bring us wonderfully home.

Second.—Cadell is of opinion if I meddle in politics, and I am strongly tempted to do so, I shall break the milk-pail, and threatens me with the fate of Basil Hall, who, as he says, destroyed his reputation by writing impolitic politics. Well, it would be my risk, and if I can do some good, which I rather think I can, is it right or manly to keep myself back?