The Journal of Sir Walter Scott by Walter Scott

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Yesterday I agreed to let Cadell have the new work,[291] edition 1500,
he paying all charges, and paying also L500--two hundred and fifty at
Lammas, to pay J. Gibson money advanced on the passage of young Walter,
my nephew, to India. It is like a thorn in one's eye this sort of debt,
and Gibson is young in business, and somewhat involved in my affairs
besides. Our plan is, that this same _Miscellany_ or _Chronicle_ shall
be committed quietly to the public, and we hope it will attract
attention. If it does not, we must turn public attention to it
ourselves. About one half of vol. i. is written, and there is worse
abomination, or I mistake the matter.

I was detained in Court till four; dreadfully close, and obliged to
drink water for refreshment, which formerly I used to scorn, even on the
moors, with a burning August sun, the heat of exercise, and a hundred
springs gushing around me.

Corrected proofs, etc., on my return. I think I have conquered the
trustees' objections to carry on the small edition of novels. Got
Cadell's letter about the _Chronicle_.

FOOTNOTES:

[278] Sheridan's _Critic_, Act IV. Sc. 2.

[279] Buckingham's _Rehearsal_.--The expression "To Feague" does not
occur in the first edition, where the passage stands thus:--

"_Phys._--When a knotty point comes, I lay my head close to it, with a
pipe of tobacco in my mouth and then _whew_ it away. I' faith.

"_Bayes_.--I do just so, i' gad, always." Act II. Sc. 4.

In some subsequent editions the words are:--"I lay my head close to it
with a _snuff-box in my hand_, and I _feague_ it away. I' faith."

I am indebted to Dr. Murray for this reference, which he kindly
furnished me with from the materials collected for his great English
Dictionary.

[280] This alludes to the claim advanced by the creditors of Constable
and Co. to the copyright of _Woodstock_ and the _Life of Napoleon_. The
Dean of the Faculty of Advocates was at that time George Cranstoun,
afterwards a judge on the Scottish Bench under the title; of Lord
Corehouse, from 1826 until 1839, when he retired; he died 1850.

[281] _i.e._ spending.

[282] The eldest son of "_The Man of Feeling_." He had been a judge from
1822; he died at the age of seventy-four in 1851.

[283] Baron Gifford died a few months later, viz., in Sept. 1826; he had
been Attorney-General in 1819, and Chief-Justice in 1824. Lord and Lady
Gifford had visited Abbotsford in the autumn of 1825.

[284] Speech of Lord Chancellor Seafield on the ratification of the
Scottish Union.--See _Miscell. Prose Works_, vol. xxv. p. 93.

[285] See Moreri's _Dictionnaire_, Art. "Tanneguy du Chatel."

[286] An example of Scott's wonderful patience, and his power of
utilising hints gathered from the most unpromising materials. Apropos of
this Mr. Skene relates:--"In one of our frequent walks to the pier of
Leith, to which the freshness of the sea breeze offered a strong
inducement to those accustomed to pass a few of the morning hours within
the close and impure atmosphere of the Court of Session, I happened to
meet with, and to recognise, the Master of a vessel in which I had
sailed in the Mediterranean. Our recognition of each other seemed to
give mutual satisfaction, as the cordial grasp of the seaman's hard fist
effectually indicated. It was some years since we had been shipmates, he
had since visited almost every quarter of the globe, but he shook his
head, and looked serious when he came to mention his last trip. He had
commanded a whaler, and having been for weeks exposed to great stress of
weather in the polar regions, finally terminated in the total loss of
his vessel, with most of her equipage, in the course of a dark
tempestuous night. When thrown on her beam-ends, my friend had been
washed overboard, and in his struggles to keep himself above water had
got hold of a piece of ice, on the top of which he at length succeeded
in raising himself--'and there I was, sir, on a cursed dark dirty night,
squatted on a round lump of floating ice, for all the world like a
tea-table adrift in the middle of a stormy sea, without being able to
see whether there was any hope within sight, and having enough ado to
hold on, cold as my seat was, with sometimes one end of me in the water,
and sometimes the other, as the ill-fashioned crank thing kept whirling,
and whomeling about all night. However, praised be God, daylight had not
been long in, when a boat's crew on the outlook hove in sight, and
taking me for a basking seal, and maybe I was not unlike that same, up
they came of themselves, for neither voice nor hand had I to signal
them, and if they lost their blubber, faith, sir, they did get a willing
prize on board; so, after just a little bit gliff of a prayer for the
mercy that sent them to my help, I soon came to myself again, and now
that I am landed safe and sound, I am walking about, ye see, like a
gentleman, till I get some new craft to try the trade again.'--Sir
Walter, who was leaning on my arm during this narrative, had not taken
any share in the dialogue, and kept gazing to seaward, with his usual
heavy, absorbed expression, and only joined in wishing the seaman better
success in his next trip as we parted. However, the detail had by no
means escaped his notice, but dropping into the fertile soil of his
mind, speedily yielded fruit, quite characteristic of his habits. We
happened that evening to dine in company together; I was not near Sir
Walter at table, but in the course of the evening my attention was
called to listen to a narrative with which he was entertaining those
around him, and he seemed as usual to have excited the eager interest of
his hearers. The commencement of the story I had not heard, but soon
perceived that a shipwreck was the theme, which he described with all
the vivid touches of his fancy, marshalling the incidents and striking
features of the situation with a degree of dexterity that seemed to
bring all the horrors of a polar storm home to every one's mind, and
although it occurred to me that our rencontre in the morning with the
shipwrecked Whaler might have recalled a similar story to his
recollection, it was not until he came to mention _the tea-table of ice_
that I recognised the identity of my friend's tale, which had luxuriated
to such an extent in the fertile soil of the poet's imagination, as to
have left the original germ in comparative insignificance. He cast a
glance towards me at the close, and observed, with a significant nod,
'You see, you did not hear one-half of that honest seaman's story this
morning.' It was such slender hints, which in the common intercourse of
life must have hourly dropped on the soil of his retentive memory, that
fed the exuberance of Sir Walter's invention, and supplied the seemingly
inexhaustible stream of fancy, from which he drew forth at pleasure the
ground-work of romance."--_Reminiscences_.

[287] Painted for Lord Montagu in 1822.--See _Life_, vol. vii. p. 13.

Raeburn apparently executed two "half lengths" of Scott almost identical
at this time, giving Lord Montagu his choice. The picture chosen
remained at Ditton, near Windsor, until 1845, when at Lord Montagu's
death it became the property of his son-in-law, the Earl of Home, and it
is now (1889) at the Hirsel, Coldstream. The engraving referred to was
made from the replica, which remained in the artist's possession, by Mr.
Walker, and published in 1826. Sir Henry Raeburn died in July 1823, and
I do not know what became of the original, which may be identified by an
official chain round the neck, not introduced in the Montagu picture.

[288] Song of _The Hunting of the Hare_.--J.G.L.

[289] This entry reminds one of Hannah More's account of Mrs. Garrick's
conduct after her husband's funeral. "She told me," says Mrs. More,
"that she prayed with great composure, then went and kissed the dear
bed, and got into it with a sad pleasure."--See _Memoirs of Mrs. More_,
vol. i. p. 135.--J.G.L.

[290] Campbell's _Turkish Lady_, slightly altered. The poet was then
editor of the _New Monthly Magazine_, but he soon gave it up.--J.G.L.

[291] Viz.: the first series of _Chronicles of the Canongate_, which was
published in 1827. The title originally proposed was _The Canongate
Miscellany_ or _Traditions of the Sanctuary_.

_Woodstock_ had just been launched under the following
title:--_Woodstock, or the Cavalier; a Tale of the Year Sixteen Hundred
and Fifty-one_, by the author of _Waverley, Tales of the Crusaders_,
etc. "He was a very perfect gentle knight" (Chaucer). Edinburgh: Printed
for Archibald Constable and Co., Edinburgh; and Longman, Rees, Orme,
Brown, and Green, London, 1826. (At the end) Edinburgh: Printed by James
Ballantyne and Co. 3 vols. post 8vo.

JULY.

[_Edinburgh_,] _July 1st._--Another sunny day. This threatens absolutely
Syrian drought. As the Selkirk election comes on Monday, I go out to-day
to Abbotsford, and carry young Davidoff and his tutor with me, to see
our quiet way of managing the choice of a national representative.

I wrote a page or two last night slumbrously.

[_Abbotsford_,] _July_ 2.--Late at Court. Got to Abbotsford last night
with Count Davidoff about eight o'clock. I worked a little this morning,
then had a long and warm walk. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton from Chiefswood,
the present inhabitants of Lockhart's cottage, dined with us, which made
the society pleasant. He is a fine, soldierly-looking man[292]--though
affected with paralysis--his wife a sweet good-humoured little woman. He
is supposed to be a writer in Blackwood's _Magazine_. Since we were to
lose the Lockharts, we could scarce have had more agreeable folks.

At Selkirk, where Borthwickbrae was elected with the usual unanimity of
the Forest freeholders. This was a sight to my young Muscovite. We
walked in the evening to the lake.

_July_ 5.--Still very hot, but with thunder showers. Wrote till
breakfast, then walked and signed the death-warrant of a number of old
firs at Abbotstown. I hope their deaths will prove useful. Their lives
are certainly not ornamental. Young Mr. Davidoff entered upon the cause
of the late discontents in Russia, which he imputes to a deep-seated
Jacobin conspiracy to overthrow the state and empire and establish a
government by consuls.

[_Edinburgh_,] _July_ 6.--Returned last night with my frozen Muscovites
to the Capital, and suffered as usual from the incursions of the black
horse during the night. It was absolute fever. A bunch of letters, but
little interesting. Mr. Barry Cornwall[293] writes to condole with me. I
think our acquaintance scarce warranted this; but it is well meant and
modestly done. I cannot conceive the idea of forcing myself on strangers
in distress, and I have half a mind to turn sharp round on some of my
consolers. Came home from Court. R.P. Gillies called; he is writing a
satire. He has a singular talent of aping the measure and tone of Byron,
and this poem goes to the tune of _Don Juan_, but it is the Champagne
after it has stood two days with the cork drawn. Thereafter came Charles
K. Sharpe and Will Clerk, as Robinson sayeth, to my exceeding
refreshment.[294] And last, not least, Mr. Jollie, one of the triumvirs
who manage my poor matters. He consents to going on with the small
edition of novels, which he did not before comprehend. All this has
consumed the day, but we will make up tide-way presently. I must dress
to go to Lord Medwyn[295] to dinner, and it is near time.

_July_ 7.--Coming home from Lord Medwyn's last night I fell in with
Willie Clerk, and went home to drink a little shrub and water, over
which we chatted of old stories until half-past eleven. This morning I
corrected two proofs of C[roftangr]y, which is getting on. But there
must be a little check with the throng of business at the close of the
session. D---n the session! I wish it would close its eyes for a
century. It is too bad to be kept broiling here; but, on the other
hand, we must have the instinctive gratitude of the Laird of M'Intosh,
who was for the King that gave M'Intosh half-a-guinea the day and
half-a-guinea the morn. So I retract my malediction.

Received from Blackwood to account sales of _Malachi_ L72 with some odd
shillings. This was for copies sold to Banks. The cash comes far from
ill-timed, having to clear all odds and ends before I leave Edinburgh.
This will carry me on tidily till 25th, when precepts become payable.
Well! if _Malachi_ did me some mischief, he must also contribute _quodam
modo_ to my comfort.

_July_ 8.--Wrote a good task this morning. I may be mistaken; but I do
think the tale of Elspat McTavish[296] in my bettermost manner--but J.B.
roars for chivalry. He does not quite understand that everything may be
overdone in this world, or sufficiently estimate the necessity of
novelty. The Highlanders have been off the field now for some time.

Returning from Court, looked into a show of wild beasts, and saw Nero
the great lion, whom they had the cruelty to bait with bull-dogs,
against whom the noble creature disdained to exert his strength. He was
lying like a prince in a large cage, where you might be admitted if you
wish. I had a month's mind--- but was afraid of the newspapers; I could
be afraid of nothing else, for never did a creature seem more gentle and
yet majestic--I longed to caress him. Wallace, the other lion, born in
Scotland, seemed much less trustworthy. He handled the dogs as his
namesake did the southron.

Enter a confounded Dousterswivel, called Burschal, or some such name,
patronised by John Lockhart, teacher of German and learner of English.

He opened the trenches by making me a present of a German work called
_Der Bibelische Orient_, then began to talk of literature at large; and
display his own pretensions. Asked my opinion of Gray as a poet, and
wished me to subscribe an attestation of his own merits for the purpose
of getting him scholars. As I hinted my want of acquaintance with his
qualifications, I found I had nearly landed myself in a proof, for he
was girding up his loins to repeated thundering translations by himself
into German, Hebrew, until, thinking it superfluous to stand on very
much ceremony with one who used so little with me, hinted at letters to
write, and got him to translate himself elsewhere.

Saw a good house in Brunswick Street, which I liked. This evening supped
with Thomas Thomson about the affairs of the Bannatyne. There was the
Dean, Will Clerk, John Thomson, young Smythe of Methven; very pleasant.

_July_ 9.--Rather slumbrous to-day from having sat up till twelve last
night. We settled, or seemed to settle, on an election for the Bannatyne
Club. There are people who would wish to confine it much to one party.
But those who were together last night saw it in the true and liberal
point of view, as a great national institution, which may do much good
in the way of publishing our old records, providing we do not fall into
the usual habit of antiquarians, and neglect what is useful for things
that are merely curious. Thomson is a host for such an undertaking. I
wrote a good day's work at the Canongate matter, notwithstanding the
intervention of two naps. I get sleepy oftener than usual. It is the
weather I suppose--_Naboclish!_[297] I am near the end of the first
volume, and every step is one out of difficulty.

_July_ 10.--Slept too long this morning. It was eight before I
rose--half-past eight ere I came into the parlour. Terry and J.
Ballantyne dined with me yesterday, and I suppose the wassail, though
there was little enough of it, had stuck to my pillow.

This morning I was visited by a Mr. Lewis, a smart Cockney, whose object
is to amend the handwriting. He uses as a mechanical aid a sort of
puzzle of wire and ivory, which is put upon the fingers to keep them in
the desired position, like the muzzle on a dog's nose to make him bear
himself right in the field. It is ingenious, and may be useful. If the
man comes here, as he proposes, in winter, I will take lessons. Bear
witness, good reader, that if W.S. writes a cramp hand, as is the case,
he is desirous to mend it.

Dined with John Swinton _en famille_. He told me an odd circumstance.
Coming from Berwickshire in the mail coach he met with a passenger who
seemed more like a military man than anything else. They talked on all
sorts of subjects, at length on politics. _Malachi's_ letters were
mentioned, when the stranger observed they were much more seditious than
some expressions for which he had three or four years ago been nearly
sent to Botany Bay. And perceiving John Swinton surprised at this
avowal, he added, "I am Kinloch of Kinloch." This gentleman had got
engaged in the radical business (the only real gentleman by the way who
did), and harangued the weavers of Dundee with such emphasis that he
would have been tried and sent to Botany Bay had he not fled abroad. He
was outlawed, and only restored to his status on a composition with
Government. It seems to have escaped Mr. Kinloch that the conduct of a
man who places a lighted coal in the middle of combustibles, and upon
the floor, is a little different from that of one who places the same
quantity of burning fuel in a fire-grate![298]

_July_ 11.--The last day of the session, and as toilsome a one as I ever
saw. There were about 100 or 120 cases on the roll, and most of them of
an incidental character, which gives us Clerks the greatest trouble, for
it is the grasshopper that is a burthen to us. Came home about four,
tired and hungry. I wrought little or none; indeed I could not, having
books and things to pack. Went in the evening to sup with John
Murray,[299] where I met Will Clerk, Thomson, Henderland, and Charles
Stuart Blantyre, and had of course a pleasant party. I came late home,
though, for me, and was not in bed till past midnight; it would not do
for me to do this often.

_July_ 12.--I have the more reason to eschew evening parties that I
slept two mornings till past eight; these vigils would soon tell on my
utility, as the divines call it, but this is the last day in town, and
the world shall be amended. I have been trying to mediate between the
unhappy R.P. G[illies] and his uncle Lord G. The latter talks like a man
of sense and a good relation, and would, I think, do something for
E.P.G., if he would renounce temporary expedients and bring his affairs
to a distinct crisis. But this E.P. will not hear of, but flatters
himself with ideas which seem to me quite visionary. I could make
nothing of him; but, I conclude, offended him by being of his uncle's
opinion rather than his, as to the mode of extricating his affairs.

I am to dine out to-day, and I would fain shirk and stay at home; never,
Shylock-like, had I less will to feasting forth, but I must go or be
thought sulky. Lord M. and Lady Abercromby called this morning, and a
world of people besides, among others honest Mr. Wilson, late of
Wilsontown, who took so much care of me at London, sending fresh eggs
and all sorts of good things. Well, I have dawdled and written letters
sorely against the grain all day. Also I have been down to see Will
Allan's picture of the Landing of Queen Mary, which he has begun in a
great style; also I have put my letters and papers to rights, which only
happens when I am about to move, and now, having nothing left to do, I
_must_ go and dress myself.

_July_ 13.--Dined yesterday with Lord Abercromby at a party he gave to
Lord Melville and some old friends, who formed the Contemporary Club.
Lord M. and I met with considerable feeling on both sides, and all our
feuds were forgotten and forgiven; I conclude so at least, because one
or two people, whom I know to be sharp observers of the weatherglass on
occasion of such squalls, have been earnest with me to meet Lord M. at
parties--which I am well assured they would not have been (had I been
Horace come to life again[300]) were they not sure the breeze was over.
For myself, I am happy that our usual state of friendship should be
restored, though I could not have _come down proud stomach_ to make
advances, which is, among friends, always the duty of the richer and
more powerful of the two.

To-day I leave Mrs. Brown's lodgings. Altogether I cannot complain, but
the insects were voracious, even until last night when the turtle-soup
and champagne ought to have made me sleep like a top. But I have done a
monstrous sight of work here notwithstanding the indolence of this last
week, which must and shall be amended.

"So good-by, Mrs. Brown,
I am going out of town,
Over dale, over down,
Where bugs bite not,
Where lodgers fight not,
Where below you chairmen drink not,
Where beside you gutters stink not;
But all is fresh, and clean, and gay,
And merry lambkins sport and play,
And they toss with rakes uncommonly short hay,
Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day,
And where oats are at twenty-five shillings a boll, they say,
But all's one for that, since I must and will away."

_July_ 14, ABBOTSFORD.--Arrived here yesterday before five o'clock.
Anybody would think, from the fal-de-ral conclusion of my journal of
yesterday, that I left town in a very gay humour--_cujus contrarium
verum est_. But nature has given me a kind of buoyancy, I know not what
to call it, that mingles even with my deepest afflictions and most
gloomy hours. I have a secret pride--I fancy it will be so most truly
termed--which impels me to mix with my distresses strange snatches of
mirth "which have no mirth in them." In fact, the journey hither, the
absence of the affectionate friend that used to be my companion on the
journey, and many mingled thoughts of bitterness, have given me a fit of
the bile.

_July_ 15.--This day I did not attempt to work, but spent my time in the
morning in making the necessary catalogue and distribution of two or
three chests of books which I have got home from the binder, Niece Anne
acting as my Amanuensis. In the evening we drove to Huntly Burn, and
took tea there. Returning home we escaped a considerable danger. The
iron screw bolts of the driving-seat suddenly giving way, the servants
were very nearly precipitated upon the backs of the horses. Had it been
down hill instead of being on the level, the horses must have taken
fright, and the consequences might have been fatal. Indeed, they had
almost taken fright as it was, had not Peter Matheson,[301] who, in Mr.
Fag's phrase, I take to be, "the discreetest of whips,"[302] kept his
presence of mind, when losing his equilibrium, so that he managed to
keep the horses in hand until we all got out. I must say it is not the
first imminent danger on which I have seen Peter (my Automedon for near
twenty-five years) behave with the utmost firmness.

_July_ 16.--Very unsatisfactory to-day. Sleepy, stupid,
indolent--finished arranging the books, and after that was totally
useless--unless it can be called study that I slumbered for three or
four hours over a variorum edition of the Gill's-Hill's tragedy.[303]
Admirable recipe for low spirits--for, not to mention the brutality of
so extraordinary a murder, it led John Bull into one of his uncommon
fits of gambols, until at last he become so maudlin as to weep for the
pitiless assassin, Thurtell, and treasure up the leaves and twigs of the
hedge and shrubs in the fatal garden as valuable relics--nay, thronged
the minor theatres to see the very roan horse and yellow gig in which
the body was transported from one place to another. I have not stept
over the threshold to-day, so very stupid have I been.

_July_ 17.--_Desidiae longum valedixi._ Our time is like our money. When
we change a guinea, the shillings escape as things of small account;
when we break a day by idleness in the morning, the rest of the hours
lose their importance in our eye. I set stoutly to work about seven this
morning to _Boney_--

And long ere dinner-time, I have
Full eight close pages wrote;
What, Duty, hast thou now to crave?
Well done, Sir Walter Scott!

_July_ 18.--This, as yesterday, has been a day of unremitting labour,
though I only got through half the quantity of manuscript, owing to
drowsiness, a most disarming annoyance. I walked a little before dinner
and after tea, but was unable to go with the girls and Charles to the
top of Cauldshiels Hill. I fear my walking powers are diminishing, but
why not? They have been wonderfully long efficient, all things
considered, only I fear I shall get fat and fall into diseases. Well,
things must be as they may. Let us use the time and faculties which God
has left us, and trust futurity to his guidance. Amen.

This is the day of St. Boswell's Fair. That watery saint has for once
had a dry festival.

_July_ 19.--Wrote a page this morning, but no more. Corrected proofs
however, and went to Selkirk to hold Sheriff Court; this consumed the
forenoon. Colonel and Miss Ferguson, with Mr. and Mrs. Laidlaw, dined
and occupied the evening. The rain seemed to set in this night.

_July_ 20.--To-day rainy. A morning and forenoon of hard work. About
five pages, which makes up for yesterday's lee way. I am sadly tired
however. But as I go to Mertoun at four, and spend the night there, the
exertion was necessary.