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The Journal of Sir Walter Scott by Walter Scott

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_July_ 21.--To Mertoun we went accordingly. Lord and Lady Minto were
there, with part of their family, David Haliburton, etc., besides their
own large family. So my lodging was a little room which I had not
occupied since I was a bachelor, but often before in my frequent
intercourse with this kind and hospitable family. Feeling myself
returned to that celibacy, which renders many accommodations indifferent
which but lately were indispensable, my imagination drew a melancholy
contrast between the young man entering the world on fire for fame, and
restless in imagining means of coming by it, and the aged widower,
_blase_ on the point of literary reputation, deprived of the social
comforts of a married state, and looking back to regret instead of
looking forward to hope. This brought bad sleep and unpleasing dreams.
But if I cannot hope to be what I have been, I will not, if I can help
it, suffer vain repining to make me worse than I may be.

We left Mertoun after breakfast, and the two Annes and I visited Lady
Raeburn at Lessudden. My Aunt is now in her ninetieth year--so clean,
so nice, so well arranged in every respect, that it makes old age
lovely. She talks both of late and former events with perfect possession
of her faculties, and has only failed in her limbs. A great deal of kind
feeling has survived, in spite of the frost of years.

Home to dinner, and worked all the afternoon among the Moniteurs--to
little purpose, for my principal acquisition was a headache. I wrote
nothing to-day but part of a trifle for _Blackwood_.

_July_ 22.--The same severe headache attends my poor pate. But I have
worked a good deal this morning, and will do more. I wish to have half
the volume sent into town on Monday if possible. It will be a royal
effort, and more than make up for the blanks of this week.

_July_ 23.--I wrote very hard this day, and attained page 40; 45 would
be more than half the volume. Colonel Russell came about one, and
carried me out a-walking, which I was all the better of. In the evening
we expected Terry and his wife, but they did not come, which makes me
fear she may be unwell again.

_July_ 24.--A great number of proof-sheets to revise and send off, and
after that I took a fancy to give a more full account of the
Constitution framed by Sieyes--a complicated and ingenious web; it is
but far too fine and critical to be practically useful.

_July_ 25.--Terry and wife arrived yesterday. Both very well. At
dinner-time to-day came Dr. Jamieson[304] of the Scottish Dictionary, an
excellent good man, and full of auld Scottish cracks, which amuse me
well enough, but are _caviare_ to the young people. A little prolix and
heavy is the good Doctor; somewhat prosaic, and accustomed to much
attention on the Sunday from his congregation, and I hope on the six
other days from his family. So _he will_ demand full attention from all
and sundry before he begins a story, and once begun there is no chance
of his ending.

_July_ 26.--This day went to Selkirk, and held a Court. The Doctor and
Terry chose to go with me. Captain and Mrs. Hamilton came to dinner.
Desperate warm weather! Little done in the literary way except sending
off proofs. Roup of standing corn, etc., went off very indifferently.
Letter from Ballantyne wanting me to write about absentees. But I have
enough to do without burning my fingers with politics.

_July_ 27.--Up and at it this morning, and finished four pages. An
unpleasant letter from London, as if I might be troubled by some of the
creditors there, when going to town to get materials for _Nap_. I have
no wish to go,--none at all. I would even like to put off my visit, so
far as John Lockhart and my daughter are concerned, and see them when
the meeting could be more pleasant. But then, having an offer to see the
correspondence from St. Helena, I can make no doubt that I ought to go.
However, if it is to infer any danger to my personal freedom, English
wind will not blow on me. It is monstrous hard to prevent me doing what
is certainly the best for all parties.

_July_ 28.--I am well-nigh choked with the sulphurous heat of the
weather--or I am unwell, for I perspire as if I had been walking hard,
and my hand is as nervous as a paralytic's. Read through and corrected
_St. Ronan's Well_. I am no judge, but I think the language of this
piece rather good. Then I must allow the fashionable portraits are not
the true thing. I am too much out of the way to see and remark the
ridiculous in society. The story is terribly contorted and unnatural,
and the catastrophe is melancholy, which should always be avoided. No
matter; I have corrected it for the press.[305]

The worthy Lexicographer left us to-day. Somewhat ponderous he is, poor
soul! but there are excellent things about him.

Action and Reaction--Scots proverb: "the unrest (_i.e._ pendulum) of a
clock _goes aye as far the ae gait as the t'other_."

Walter's account of his various quarters per last despatch. Query if
original:--

"Loughrea is a blackguard place
To Gort I give my curse;
Athlone itself is bad enough,
But Ballinrobe is worse.
I cannot tell which is the worst,
They're all so very bad;
But of all towns I ever saw,
Bad luck to Kinnegad."

Old Mr. Haliburton dined with us, also Colonel Russell. What a man for
fourscore or thereby is Old Haly--an Indian too. He came home in 1785.

_July_ 29.--Yesterday I wrought little, and light work, almost stifled
by the smothering heat. To-day I wrought about half task in the morning,
and, as a judgment on me I think for yesterday's sloth, Mr. H. stayed
unusually late in the forenoon. He is my friend, my father's friend, and
an excellent, sensible man besides; and a man of eighty and upwards may
be allowed to talk long, because in the nature of things he cannot have
long to talk. If I do a task to-day, I hope to send a good parcel on
Monday and keep tryst pretty well.

_July_ 30.--I did better yesterday than I had hoped for--four instead of
three pages, which, considering how my time was cut up by prolonged
morning lounging with friend Haly, was pretty fair. I wrote a good task
before eleven o'clock, but then my good friends twaddled and dawdled for
near two hours before they set off. The time devoted to hospitality,
especially to those whom I can reckon upon as sincere good friends, I
never grudge, but like to "welcome the coming, speed the parting
guest." By my will every guest should part at half-past ten, or arrange
himself to stay for the day.

We had a long walk in a sweltering hot day. Met Mr. Blackwood coming to
call, and walked him on with us, so blinked his visit--_gratias,
domine_!! Asked him for breakfast to-morrow to make amends. I rather
over-walked myself--the heat considered.

_July_ 31st_.--I corrected six sheets and sent them off, with eight
leaves of copy, so I keep forward pretty well. Blackwood the bookseller
came over from Chiefswood to breakfast, and this kept me idle till
eleven o'clock. At twelve I went out with the girls in the sociable, and
called on the family at Bemerside, on Dr.[306] and Mrs. Brewster, and
Mr. Bainbridge at Gattonside House. It was five ere we got home, so
there was a day dished, unless the afternoon does something for us. I am
keeping up pretty well, however, and, after all, visitors will come, and
calls must be made. I must not let Anne forego the custom of well-bred
society.

FOOTNOTES:

[292] Thomas Hamilton, Esq. (brother of Sir William Hamilton, the
Metaphysician), author of _Cyril Thornton_, _Men and Manners in
America_, _Annals of the Peninsular Campaign_, _etc._ Died in 1842.

[293] Bryan Waller Procter, author of _Dramatic Scenes, and other
Poems_, 1819. He died in London in 1874.

[294] A favourite expression of Scott's, from _Robinson Crusoe_.

[295] John Hay Forbes (Lord Medwyn from 1825 to 1852), second son of Sir
William Forbes of Pitsligo. Lord Medwyn died at the age of seventy-eight
in 1854.

[296] _The Highland Widow_.

[297] A favourite exclamation of Sir Walter's, which he had picked up on
his Irish tour, signifying "don't mind it"--_Na-bac-leis_. Compare Sir
Boyle Roche's dream that his head was cut off and placed upon a table:
"'_Quis separabit?_' says the head; '_Naboclish_,' says I, in the same
language."

[298] That Mr. Kinloch was not singular in his opinion has been shown by
the remarks made in the House of Commons (see _ante_, March 17). Lord
Cockburn in his _Trials for Sedition_ says, "With Botany Bay before him,
and money to make himself comfortable in Paris, George Kinloch would
have been an idiot if he had stayed." Mr. Kinloch had just returned to
Scotland.

[299] His neighbour, John Archibald Murray, then living at 122 George
Street.--See p. 133.

[300] See Moliere's _l'Ecole des Femmes_.

[301] In 1827 Scott was one day heard saying, as he saw Peter guiding
the plough on the haugh:--"Egad, auld Pepe's whistling at his darg: if
things get round with me, easy will be his cushion!" Old Peter lived
until he was eighty-four. He died at Abbotsford in 1854, where he had
been well cared for, respected, and beloved by all the members of the
family since Sir Walter's death.

[302] Sheridan's _Rivals_, Act II. Sc. 1.

[303] The murder of Weare by Thurtell and Co., at Gill's-Hill in
Hertfordshire (1824). Sir Walter collected printed trials with great
assiduity, and took care always to have the contemporary ballads and
prints bound up with them. He admired particularly this verse of Mr.
Hook's broadside--

"They cut his throat from ear to ear,
His brains they battered in;
His name was Mr. William Weare,
He dwelt in Lyon's Inn."

--J.G.L.

[304] Dr. John Jamieson, formerly minister to a Secession congregation
in Forfar, removed to a like charge in Edinburgh in 1795, where he
officiated for forty-three years; he died in his house in 4 George
Square in 1838, aged seventy-nine.

[305] This novel was passing through the press in 8vo, 12mo, and 18mo,
to complete collective editions in these sizes.--J.G.I.

[306] Afterwards Sir David Brewster. He died at Allerley House on the
Tweed, aged eighty-seven, on February 10, 1868.




AUGUST.


_August_ 1.--Yesterday evening did nothing for the _idlesse_ of the
morning. I was hungry; eat and drank and became drowsy; then I took to
arranging the old plays, of which Terry had brought me about a dozen,
and dipping into them scrambled through two. One, called _Michaelmas
Term_,[307] full of traits of manners; and another a sort of bouncing
tragedy, called the _Hector of Germany, or the Palsgrave_.[308] The
last, worthless in the extreme, is, like many of the plays in the
beginning of the seventeenth century, written to a good tune. The
dramatic poets of that time seem to have possessed as joint-stock a
highly poetical and abstract tone of language, so that the worst of them
often remind you of the very best. The audience must have had a much
stronger sense of poetry in those days than now, since language was
received and applauded at the Fortune or at the Red Bull,[309] which
could not now be understood by any general audience in Great Britain.
This leads far.

This morning I wrote two hours, then out with Tom Purdie, and gave
directions about thinning all the plantations above Abbotsford properly
so called. Came in at one o'clock and now set to work. _Debout, debout,
Lyciscas, debout._[310] Finished four leaves.

_August_ 2.--Well; and to-day I finished before dinner five leaves more,
and I would crow a little about it, but here comes Duty like an old
housekeeper to an idle chambermaid. Hear her very words:--

DUTY.--Oh! you crow, do you? Pray, can you deny that your sitting so
quiet at work was owing to its raining heavily all the forenoon, and
indeed till dinner-time, so that nothing would have stirred out that
could help it, save a duck or a goose? I trow, if it had been a fine
day, by noon there would have been aching of the head, throbbing,
shaking, and so forth, to make an apology for going out.

EGOMET IPSE.--And whose head ever throbbed to go out when it rained,
Mrs. Duty?

DUTY.--_Answer not to me with a fool-born jest_, as your poor friend
Erskine used to say to you when you escaped from his good advice under
the fire of some silly pun. You smoke a cigar after dinner, and I never
check you--drink tea, too, which is loss of time; and then, instead of
writing me one other page, or correcting those you have written out, you
rollick into the woods till you have not a dry thread about you; and
here you sit writing down my words in your foolish journal instead of
minding my advice.

EGO.--Why, Mrs. Duty, I would as gladly be friends with [you] as
Crabbe's[311] tradesman fellow with his conscience; but you should have
some consideration with human frailty.

DUTY.--Reckon not on that. But, however, good-night for the present. I
would only recommend to you to think no thoughts in which I am not
mingled--to read no books in which I have no concern--to write three
sheets of botheration all the six days of the week _per diem_, and on
the seventh to send them to the printer. Thus advising, I heartily bid
you farewell.

EGO.--Farewell, madam (exit Duty) and be d--d to ye for an unreasonable
bitch! "The devil must be in this greedy gled!" as the Earl of Angus
said to his hawk; "will she never be satisfied?"[312] I believe in my
soul she is the very hag who haunted the merchant Abudah.[313]

I'll have my great chest upstairs exorcised, but first I'll take a nap
till supper, which must take place within ten minutes.

_August_ 3.--Wrote half a task in the morning. From eleven till
half-past eight in Selkirk taking precognitions about a _row_, and came
home famished and tired. Now, Mrs. Duty, do you think there is no other
Duty of the family but yourself? Or can the Sheriff-depute neglect his
Duty, that the author may mind _his_? The thing cannot be; the people of
Selkirk must have justice as well as the people of England books. So the
two Duties may go pull caps about it. My conscience is clear.

_August_ 4.--Wrote to Miss Edgeworth on her sister's marriage, which
consumed the better part of the morning. I must read for Marengo.
_Item_, I must look at the pruning. _Item_, at the otter hunt; but my
hope is constant to make up a good day's task notwithstanding. Failed in
finding the otter, and was tired and slept, and did but a poor day's
work.

_August_ 6.--Wrote to-day a very good day's work. Walked to Chiefswood,
and saw old Mrs. Tytler,[314] a friend when life was young. Her husband,
Lord Woodhouselee, was a kind, amiable, and accomplished man; and when
we lived at Lasswade Cottage, soon after my marriage, we saw a great
deal of the family, who were very kind to us as newly entered on the
world.[315] Walked home, and worked in the evening; four leaves
finished.

_August_ 7.--My niece Anne leaves us this morning, summoned back from
one scene of distress to another. Her uncle, David Macculloch, is
extremely ill--a paralytic stroke, I fancy. She is a charming girl,
lady-like in thought and action, and very pleasant in society. We are to
dine to-day with our neighbours at Gattonside. Meantime I will avail
myself of my disposition to labour, and work instead of journalising.

Mr. H. Cranstoun[316] looked in a morning call. He is become extremely
deaf. He gave me a letter from the Countess Purgstall, his sister, which
I have not the heart to open, so many reproaches I have deserved for not
writing. It is a sad thing, though, to task eyes as hard wrought as mine
to keep up correspondence. Dined at Gattonside.[317]

_August_ 8.--Wrote my task this morning, and now for walk. Dine to-day
at Chiefswood; have company to-morrow. Why, this is dissipation! But no
matter, Mrs. Duty, if the task is done. "Ay, but," says she, "you ought
to do something extra--provide against a rainy day." Not I, I'll make a
rainy day provide against a fair one, Mrs. Duty. I write twice as much
in bad weather. Seriously, I write fully as much as I ought. I do not
like this dull aching in the chest and the back, and its giving way to
exercise shows that it originates in remaining too long in a sitting
posture. So I'll take the field, while the day is good.

_August_ 9.--I wrote only two leaves to-day, but with as many additions
as might rank for three. I had a long and warm walk. Mrs. Tytler of
Woodhouselee, the Hamiltons, and Colonel Ferguson dined here. How many
early stories did the old lady's presence recall! She might almost be my
mother, yet there we sat, like two people of another generation, talking
of things and people the rest knew nothing of. When a certain period of
life is survived, the difference of years between the survivors, even
when considerable, becomes of much less consequence.

_August_ 10.--Rose early, and wrote hard till two, when I went with Anne
to Minto. The place, being new to my companion, gave her much amusement.
We found the Scotts of Harden, etc., and had a very pleasant party. I
like Lady M. particularly, but missed my facetious and lively friend,
Lady A[nna] M[aria].[318] It is the fashion for women and silly men to
abuse her as a blue-stocking. If to have wit, good sense, and
good-humour, mixed with a strong power of observing, and an equally
strong one of expressing the result, be _blue_, she shall be as blue as
they will. Such cant is the refuge of persons who fear those who they
[think] can turn them into ridicule; it is a common trick to revenge
supposed raillery with good substantial calumny. Slept at Minto.

_August_ 11.--I was up as usual, and wrote about two leaves, meaning to
finish my task at home; but found my Sheriff-substitute[319] here on my
return, which took up the evening. But I shall finish the volume on
Sunday; that is less than a month after beginning it. The same exertion
would bring the book out at Martinmas, but December is a better time.

_August_ 12.--Wrote a little in the morning; then Duty and I have
settled that this is to be a kind of holiday, providing the volume be
finished to-morrow. I went to breakfast at Chiefswood, and after that
affair was happily transacted, I wended me merrily to the Black Cock
Stripe, and there caused Tom Purdie and John Swanston cut out a
quantity of firs. Got home about two o'clock, and set to correct a set
of proofs. James Ballantyne presages well of this work, but is afraid of
inaccuracies--so am I--but things must be as they may. There is a kind
of glamour about me, which sometimes makes me read dates, etc., in the
proof-sheets, not as they actually do stand, but as they ought to stand.
I wonder if a pill of holy trefoil would dispel this fascination.

By the way, John Swanston measured a young shoot that was growing
remarkably, and found that for three days successively it grew half an
inch every day. Fine-Ear[320] used to hear the grass grow--how far off
would he have heard this extravagant rapidity of vegetation? The tree is
a silver fir or spruce in the patch at the Green-tongue park.

_August_ 13.--Yesterday I was tired of labouring in the rough ground.
Well, I must be content to feel my disabilities increase. One sure thing
is, that all wise men will soon contrive to lay aside inclination when
performance grows toilsome. I have hobbled over many a rough heugh in my
day--no wonder if I must sing at last--

"Thus says the auld man to the aik tree,
Sair failed, hinny, since I kenn'd thee."

But here are many a mile of smooth walk, just when I grow unable to face
bent and brae, and here is the garden when all fails. To a sailor the
length of his quarter-deck is a good space of exercising ground.

I wrote a good task to-day, then walked to the lake, then came back by
three o'clock, hungering and thirsting to finish the volume. I have
seldom such fits of voluntary industry, so Duty shall have the benefit.

Finished volume iv. this evening--_Deo Gratias_.

_August_ 14.--This is a morning I have not seen many a day, for it
appears to set in for a rainy day. It has not kept its word though. I
was seized by a fit of the "clevers," and finished my task by twelve
o'clock, and hope to add something in the evening. I was guilty,
however, of some waywardness, for I began volume v. of _Boney_ instead
of carrying on the _Canongate_ as I proposed. The reason, however, was
that I might not forget the information I had acquired about the Treaty
of Amiens.

_August_ 15.--The weather seems decidedly broken. Yesterday, indeed,
cleared up, but this day seems to persevere in raining. _Naboclish!_
It's a rarity nowadays. I write on, though a little afflicted with the
oppression on my chest. Sometimes I think it is something dangerous, but
as it always goes away on change of posture, it cannot be speedily so. I
want to finish my task, and then good-night. I will never relax my
labour in these affairs, either for fear of pain or love of life. I will
die a free man, if hard working will do it. Accordingly, to-day I
cleared the ninth leaf, which is the tenth part of a volume, in two
days--four and a half leaves a day. Walter and Jane, with Mrs. Jobson,
are arrived to interrupt me.

_August_ 16.--God be praised for restoring to me my dear children in
good health, which has made me happier than anything that has happened
these several months. Walter and Jane appear cordial and happy in each
other; the greatest blessing Heaven can bestow on them or me who witness
it. If we had Lockhart and Sophia, there would be a meeting of the
beings dearest to me in life. Walked to Huntly Burn, where I found a
certain lady on a visit--so youthy, so beautiful, so strong in
voice--with sense and learning--above all, so fond of good conversation,
that, in compassion to my eyes, ears, and understanding, I bolted in the
middle of a tremendous shower of rain, and rather chose to be wet to the
skin than to be bethumped with words at that rate. There seemed more
than I of the same opinion, for Col Ferguson chose the ducking rather
than the conversation. Young Mr. Surtees came this evening.

_August_ 17.--Wrote half a leaf short of my task, having proofs, etc.,
to correct, and being called early to walk with the ladies. I have
gained three leaves in the two following days, so I cannot blame myself.
_Sat cito si sat bene. Sat boni_ I am sure--I may say--a truly execrable
pun that; hope no one will find it out.

In the evening we had music from the girls, and the voice of the harp
and viol were heard in my halls once more, which have been so long
deprived of mirth. It is with a mixed sensation I hear these sounds. I
look on my children and am happy; and yet every now and then a pang
shoots across my heart. It seems so strange that my poor wife should not
be there. But enough of this. Colonel Ferguson dined.

_August_ 18.--Again I fell a half page behind, being summoned out too
early for my task, but I am still two leaves before on the whole week.
It is natural to see as much of these young people as I can. Walter
talks of the Ionian Islands. It is an awful distance. A long walk in
very warm weather. Music in the evening.

_August_ 19.--This morning wrote none, excepting extracts, etc., being
under the necessity of reading and collating a great deal, which lasted
till one o'clock or thereabouts, when Dr. and Mrs. Brewster and their
young people came to spend a day of happiness at the lake. We were met
there by Captain and Mrs. Hamilton and a full party. Since the days of
Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia,[321] these days of appointed sport and
happiness have seldom answered; but we came off indifferently well. We
did not indeed catch much fish; but we lounged about in a delightful
day, eat and drank--and the children, who are very fine infantry, were
clamorously enjoying themselves. We sounded the loch in two or three
different places--the deepest may be sixty feet. I was accustomed to
think it much more, but your deepest pools, like your deepest
politicians and philosophers, often turn out more shallow than was
expected. The whole party dine with us.

_August_ 20.--Wrote four leaves. The day wet and rainy, though not
uniformly so. No temptation, however, to play truant; so this will make
some amends for a blank day yesterday. I am far in advance of the press,
but it is necessary if I go to Drumlanrig on Wednesday as I intend, and
to Lochore next week, which I also meditate. This will be no great
interruption, however, if I can keep the _Canongate_ moving, for I shall
be more than half a volume in advance with _Napoleon_.

_August_ 21.--Wrought out my task, though much bothered with a cold in
my head and face, how caught I know not. Mrs. Crampton, wife of the
Surgeon-General[322] in Ireland, sends to say she is hereabouts, so we
ask her. Hospitality must not be neglected, and most hospitable are the
Cramptons. All the "calliachs"[323] from Huntly Burn are to be here, and
Anne wishes we may have enough of dinner. Naboclish! it is hoped there
will be a _piece de resistance_.

_August_ 22.--Mrs. and Misses Crampton departed. I was rather sorry to
give them such brief entertainment, for they were extremely kind. But
going to Eildon Hall to-day, and to Drumlanrig to-morrow, there was
nothing more could be done for them. It is raining now "_successfully_,"
as old Macfarlane of the Arroquhar used to say. What is the odds? We get
a soaking before we cross the Birkendailly--wet against dry, ten to one.

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