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The Journal of Sir Walter Scott by Walter Scott

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Some months since I joined with other literary folks in subscribing a
petition for a pension to Mrs. G. of L.,[49] which we thought was a
tribute merited by her works as an authoress, and, in my opinion, much
more by the firmness and elasticity of mind with which she had borne a
succession of great domestic calamities. Unhappily there was only about
L100 open on the pension list, and this the minister assigned in equal
portions to Mrs. G---- and a distressed lady, grand-daughter of a
forfeited Scottish nobleman. Mrs. G----, proud as a Highland-woman, vain
as a poetess, and absurd as a bluestocking, has taken this partition _in
malam partem_, and written to Lord Melville about her merits, and that
her friends do not consider her claims as being fairly canvassed, with
something like a demand that her petition be submitted to the King. This
is not the way to make her _plack_ a _bawbee_, and Lord M., a little
_miffed_ in turn, sends the whole correspondence to me to know whether
Mrs. G----will accept the L50 or not. Now, hating to deal with ladies
when they are in an unreasonable humour, I have got the good-humoured
"Man of Feeling" to find out the lady's mind, and I take on myself the
task of making her peace with Lord M. There is no great doubt how it
will end, for your scornful dog will always eat your dirty pudding.[50]
After all, the poor lady is greatly to be pitied;--her sole remaining
daughter, deep and far gone in a decline, has been seized with
alienation of mind.

Dined with my cousin, R[obert] R[utherford], being the first invitation
since my uncle's death, and our cousin Lieutenant-Colonel Russell[51] of
Ashestiel, with his sister Anne--the former newly returned from India--a
fine gallant fellow, and distinguished as a cavalry officer. He came
overland from India and has observed a good deal. General L---- of
L----, in Logan's orthography a _fowl_, Sir William Hamilton, Miss
Peggie Swinton, William Keith, and others. Knight Marischal not well, so
unable to attend the convocation of kith and kin.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _An Essay on Naval Tactics, Systematical and Historical, with
explanatory plates_. In four parts. By John Clerk. 4to. Lond. 1790.

[2] William Clerk of Eldin, the prototype of Darsie Latimer in
_Redgauntlet_, "admired through life for talents and learning of which
he has left no monument," died at Edinburgh in January 1847.

[3] _Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland from the
Restoration to the year_ 1678. 4to. Edin. 1817.

[4] _Anecdotes, Biographical Sketches, and Memoirs_, collected by
Laetitia Matilda Hawkins. 8vo. Lond. 1822.

[5] Miss Macdonald Buchanan of Drummakill.--J.G.L.

[6] Mr. Sharpe, whose _Letters_ and _Memoir_ were published in two
volumes 8vo, Edin. 1888, survived Sir Walter till the year 1851. In the
Sir Mungo Malagrowther of _The Fortunes of Nigel_ some of Sharpe's
peculiarities are not unfaithfully mirrored.

[7] One of the numerous joint-stock adventures which were so common in
Edinburgh at this time. There had already been formed a Gas-light
Company in 1818, for the manufacture of gas from coal, but the
projectors of this new venture believed they could produce a purer and
more powerful light by the use of oil. It was not successful
commercially, and, as is told in the Journal, the rival company acquired
the stock and plant a few years after the formation of this "Oil Gas
Co.," of which Sir Walter had been Chairman from 1823.

See _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 141, 144, 197, 251, 374; and viii. p. 113;
Cockburn's _Memorials_ (for 1825).

[8] Sir Robert Dundas of Beechwood, one of Scott's colleagues at the
"Clerks' Table,"--son of the parish minister of Humbie, and kinsman of
Lord and Lady Melville; he died in 1835. Some of the other gentlemen
with whom the duties of his office brought Scott into close daily
connection were David Hume, Hector Macdonald Buchanan, and Colin
Mackenzie of Portmore. With these families, says Mr. Lockhart, "he and
his lived in such constant familiarity of kindness, that the children
all called their father's colleagues _uncles_, and the mothers of their
little friends _aunts_; and in truth the establishment was a
brotherhood."

[9] Mrs. Thomas Scott's brother.

[10] George L. Sanders, born at Kinghorn, 1774; died in London, 1846.

[11] Sir Walter told Moore that Lewis was the person who first set him
upon trying his talent at poetry, adding that "he had passed the early
part of his life with a set of clever, rattling, drinking fellows, whose
thoughts and talents lay wholly out of the region of poetry." Thirty
years after having met Lewis in Edinburgh for the first time in 1798, he
said to Allan Cunningham, "that he thought he had never felt such
elation as when 'the monk' invited him to dine with him at his hotel."
Lewis died in 1818, and Scott says of him, "He did much good by stealth,
and was a most generous creature--fonder of great people than he ought
to have been, either as a man of talent or as a man of fashion. He had
always ladies and duchesses in his mouth, and was pathetically fond of
any one that had a title. Mat had queerish eyes--they projected like
those of some insects, and were flattish on the orbit."

[12] Moore's friends seem to have recognised his thorough manliness and
independence of character. Lord John Russell testifies: "Never did he
make wife or family a pretext for political shabbiness--never did he
imagine that to leave a disgraced name as an inheritance to his children
was a duty as a father" (_Memoirs_, vol. i. pp. xiii and xiv), and when
Rogers urged this plea of family as a reason why he should accept the
money, Moore said, "More mean things have been done in this world under
the shelter of 'wife and children' than under any pretext
worldly-mindedness can resort to." To which S.R. only said, "Well, your
life may be a good poem, but it is a ---- bad matter of fact."--Clayden,
_Rogers and his Contemporaries_, vol. i. p. 378.

[13] Moore's _Life of Byron_ was published in two vols. 4to in 1830, and
dedicated to Sir Walter Scott by "his affectionate friend, T.M." See
this Journal under March 4 1828.

[14] "I parted from Scott," says Moore, "with the feeling that all the
world might admire him in his works, but that those only could learn to
love him as he deserved who had seen him at Abbotsford." Moore died
February 26, 1852; see Moore's _Life_, vol. iv. pp. 329-42, and vol. v.
pp. 13-14.

[15] Hurst and Robinson, Booksellers, London.

[16] _Woodstock_ was at this time nearly completed.

[17] Probably Sir Walter's dog-Italian for "great donkey."

[18] _Cymbeline_, Act II. Sc. 5.

[19] "My Jo Janet," _Tea-Table Miscellany_.

[20] The Right Hon. David Boyle, who was at the time residing at 28
Charlotte Square.

[21] A quarterly journal edited by Leigh Hunt, "_The Liberal--Verse and
Prose from the South_," of which four numbers only were published.
1822-1823.

[22] See Dowden's _Life of Shelley_, vol. ii. pp. 448-9, 507-8; also
Moore's _Byron_, vol. v. pp. 313-321, and Russell's _Moore_, vol. iii.
p. 353.

[23] William Bankes, of whom Rogers said, "Witty as Sydney Smith was, I
have seen him at my own house absolutely overpowered by the superior
facetiousness of W.B." Mr. Bankes died in Venice in 1855.

[24] Lord Leveson Gower, afterwards first Earl of Ellesmere, had already
published his translation of _Faust_ in 1823, and a volume of "original
poems," and "translations," in the following year.

[25] Henry J.G. Herbert, Lord Porchester, afterwards third Earl of
Carnarvon, had published _The Moor_ in 1825, and _Don Pedro_ in 1826.

[26] St. Catherine's, the seat of Sir William Rae, Bart., then Lord
Advocate, is about three miles from Edinburgh.--J.G.L. Sir William Rae's
refusal of a legal appointment to Mr. Lockhart (on the ground that as a
just patron he could not give it to the son-in-law of his old friend!!)
was understood to be the cause of Mr. Lockhart's quitting the Bar and
devoting himself entirely to literature. Sir William Rae died at St.
Catherine's on the 19th October 1842.

[27] David Boyle of Shewalton, L.J.C. from 1811, and Lord President from
1841 till 1852. He died in 1853.

[28] See _Autobiography_, 1787, in _Life_, vol. i. pp. 39, 40.

[29] Virg. _AEn._ i. 122.

[30] M. Davidoff has, in his mature life, amply justified Sir Walter's
prognostications. He has, I understand, published in the Russian
language a tribute to the memory of Scott. But his travels in Greece and
Asia Minor are well known, and considered as in a high degree honourable
to his taste and learning.--[1839.]--J.G.L.

[31] _King Richard III_., Act III. Sc. 1. Count Orloff Davidoff lived to
falsify this "saying." He revisited England in 1872, and had the
pleasure of meeting with Scott's great-granddaughter, and talking to her
of these old happy Abbotsford days.

[32] _Combinations of Workmen_. Substance of a speech by Francis
Jeffrey. 8vo. Edin. 1825.

[33 33] Mr. Robert Cockburn, Lord Cockburn's brother, was then living at
No. 7 Atholl Crescent.

[34] This alludes to a strange old woman, keeper of a public-house among
the Wicklow mountains, who, among a world of oddities, cut short every
word ending in _tion_, by the omission of the termination. _Consola_ for
consolation--_bothera_ for botheration, etc. etc. Lord Plunkett had
taken care to parade Judy and all her peculiarities.--J.C.L.

[35] See the Duchess's Letter, p. 414.

[36] The Rev. John Logan, minister of South Leith, 1748-1788. The
"Sermons" were not published until 1790-91.

[37] For an account of her visit to Abbotsford, see _Life_, vol. viii.
pp. 72-76. The marriage took place on June 16, 1827, the lady having
previously asked the consent of George IV.!! A droll account of the
reception of her _Mercure galant_ at Windsor is given in the _North
British Review_, vol. xxxix. p. 349.

[38] Sir John Barrow, the well-known Secretary to the Admiralty, who
died in 1848 in his eighty-fifth year.

[39] Benjamin Disraeli, afterwards Lord Beaconsfield.

[40] In after years Sir John Taylor Coleridge (1790-1876), one of the
Judges of the Court of Queen's Bench.

[41] Storrs, Windermere.

[42] John Cay, member of the Scotch Bar, Sheriff of Linlithgow. He was
one of Mr. Lockhart's oldest friends; he died in 1865.

[43] Moore records that Scott told him "Lockhart was about to undertake
the _Quarterly_, has agreed for five years; salary L1200 a year; and if
he writes a certain number of articles it will be L1500 a year to him,"
Moore's _Diary_, under Oct. 29, vol. iv. p. 334. Jeffrey had L700 a year
as Editor of the _Edinburgh_, and L2800 for contributors: June 1823, see
Moore's _Diary_, vol. iv. p. 89.

[44] Sheridan's _Critic_, Act I. Sc. 2.

[45] George Abercromby, eldest son of Sir Ralph, the hero of the battle
of Alexandria.

[46] The following extract from a letter to Professor Wilson, urgently
claiming his aid, shows that the new editor had lost no time in looking
after his "first Number":--

"Mr. Coleridge has yesterday transferred to me the treasures of the
_Quarterly Review_; and I must say, my dear Wilson, that his whole stock
is not worth five shillings. Thank God, other and better hands are at
work for my first Number or I should be in a pretty hobble. My belief is
that he has been living on the stock bequeathed by Gifford, and the
contributions of a set of H----es and other d----d idiots of Oriel. But
mind now, Wilson, I am sure to have a most hard struggle to get up a
very good first Number, and if I do not, it will be the Devil." This
letter was quoted in an abridged form in the Life of Professor Wilson by
Mrs. Gordon.

[47] This probably refers to Archibald, Lord Douglas, who had married
the Lady Frances Scott, sister of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch. Lord Douglas
died on the 26th December 1827. For notices of these valued friends see
_Life_, vol. ii. pp. 27-8; iv. pp. 22, 70; and v. p. 230.

[48] Robert Macqueen--Lord Braxfield--Justice Clerk from 1788; he died
in 1799.

[49] Mrs. Grant of Laggan, author of _Letters from the Mountains_,
_Superstitions of the Highlanders_, etc. Died at Edin. in 1838, aged 83.

[50] Scott had not the smallest hesitation in applying this unsavoury
proverb to himself a few months later, when he unwillingly "impeticosed
the gratillity" for the critique on Galt's _Omen_. See this Journal,
June 24, 1826.

[51] Afterwards Major-General Sir James Russell, G.C.B. He died at
Ashestiel in 1859 in his 78th year.




DECEMBER.


_December 1st._--Colonel R[ussell] told me that the European Government
had discovered an ingenious mode of diminishing the number of burnings
of widows. It seems the Shaster positively enjoins that the pile shall
be so constructed that, if the victim should repent even at the moment
when it is set on fire, she may still have the means of saving herself.
The Brahmins soon found it was necessary to assist the resolution of the
sufferers, by means of a little pit into which they contrive to let the
poor widow sink, so as to prevent her reaping any benefit from a late
repentance. But the Government has brought them back to the regard of
their law, and only permit the burning to go on when the pile is
constructed with full opportunity of a _locus penitentiae_. Yet the widow
is so degraded if she dare to survive, that the number of burnings is
still great. The quantity of female children destroyed by the Rajput
tribes Colonel R. describes as very great indeed. They are strangled by
the mother. The principle is the aristocratic pride of these high
castes, who breed up no more daughters than they can reasonably hope to
find matches for in their own tribe. Singular how artificial systems of
feeling can be made to overcome that love of offspring which seems
instinctive in the females, not of the human race only, but of the lower
animals. This is the reverse of our system of increasing game by
shooting the old cock-birds. It is a system would aid Malthus rarely.

_Nota bene_, the day before yesterday I signed the bond for L5000, with
Constable, for relief of Robinson's house.[52] I am to be secured by
good bills.

I think this journal will suit me well. If I can coax myself into an
idea that it is purely voluntary, it may go on--_Nulla dies sine linea_.
But never a being, from my infancy upwards, hated task-work as I hate
it; and yet I have done a great deal in my day. It is not that I am idle
in my nature neither. But propose to me to do one thing, and it is
inconceivable the desire I have to do something else--not that it is
more easy or more pleasant, but just because it is escaping from an
imposed task. I cannot trace this love of contradiction to any distinct
source, but it has haunted me all my life. I could almost suppose it was
mechanical, and that the imposition of a piece of duty-labour operated
on me like the mace of a bad billiard-player, which gives an impulse to
the ball indeed, but sends it off at a tangent different from the course
designed by the player. Now, if I expend such eccentric movements on
this journal, it will be turning this wretched propensity to some
tolerable account. If I had thus employed the hours and half-hours which
I have whiled away in putting off something that must needs be done at
last, "My Conscience!" I should have had a journal with a witness.
Sophia and Lockhart came to Edinburgh to-day and dined with us, meeting
Hector Macdonald Buchanan, his lady, and Missie, James Skene and his
lady, Lockhart's friend Cay, etc. They are lucky to be able to assemble
so many real friends, whose good wishes, I am sure, will follow them in
their new undertaking.

_December_ 2.--Rather a blank day for the _Gurnal_. Correcting proofs in
the morning. Court from half-past ten till two; poor dear Colin
Mackenzie, one of the wisest, kindest, and best men of his time, in the
country,--I fear with very indifferent health. From two till three
transacting business with J.B.; all seems to go smoothly. Sophia dined
with us alone, Lockhart being gone to the west to bid farewell to his
father and brothers. Evening spent in talking with Sophia on their
future prospects. God bless her, poor girl! she never gave me a moment's
reason to complain of her. But, O my God! that poor delicate child, so
clever, so animated, yet holding by this earth with so fearfully slight
a tenure. Never out of his mother's thoughts, almost never out of his
father's arms when he has but a single moment to give to anything. _Deus
providebit._

_December_ 3.--R.P.G.[53] came to call last night to excuse himself from
dining with Lockhart's friends to-day. I really fear he is near an
actual standstill. He has been extremely improvident. When I first knew
him he had an excellent estate, and now he is deprived, I fear, of the
whole reversion of the price, and this from no vice or extreme, except a
wasteful mode of buying pictures and other costly trifles at high
prices, and selling them again for nothing, besides an extravagant
housekeeping and profuse hospitality. An excellent disposition, with a
considerable fund of acquired knowledge, would have rendered him an
agreeable companion, had he not affected singularity, and rendered
himself accordingly singularly affected. He was very near being a
poet--but a miss is as good as a mile, and he always fell short of the
mark. I knew him first, many years ago, when he was desirous of my
acquaintance; but he was too poetical for me, or I was not poetical
enough for him, so that we continued only ordinary acquaintance, with
goodwill on either side, which R.P.G. really deserves, as a more
friendly, generous creature never lived. Lockhart hopes to get something
done for him, being sincerely attached to him, but says he has no hopes
till he is utterly ruined. That point, I fear, is not far distant; but
what Lockhart can do for him _then_ I cannot guess. His last effort
failed, owing to a curious reason. He had made some translations from
the German, which he does extremely [well]--for give him ideas and he
never wants choice of good words--and Lockhart had got Constable to
offer some sort of terms for them. R.P.G. has always, though possessing
a beautiful power of handwriting, had some whim or other about imitating
that of some other person, and has written for months in the imitation
of one or other of his friends. At present he has renounced this
amusement, and chooses to write with a brush upon large cartridge paper,
somewhat in the Chinese fashion,--so when his work, which was only to
extend to one or two volumes, arrived on the shoulders of two porters,
in immense bales, our jolly bibliopolist backed out of the treaty, and
would have nothing more to do with R.P.[54] He is a creature that is, or
would be thought, of imagination all compact, and is influenced by
strange whims. But he is a kind, harmless, friendly soul, and I fear has
been cruelly plundered of money, which he now wants sadly.

Dined with Lockhart's friends, about fifty in number, who gave him a
parting entertainment. John Hope, Solicitor-General, in the chair, and
Robert Dundas [of Arniston], croupier. The company most highly
respectable, and any man might be proud of such an indication of the
interest they take in his progress in life. Tory principles rather too
violently upheld by some speakers. I came home about ten; the party sat
late.

_December_ 4.--Lockhart and Sophia, with his brother William, dined with
us, and talked over our separation, and the mode of their settling in
London, and other family topics.

_December 5._--This morning Lockhart and Sophia left us early, and
without leave-taking; when I rose at eight o'clock they were _gone_.
This was very right. I hate red eyes and blowing of noses. _Agere et
pati Romanum est_. Of all schools commend me to the Stoics. We cannot
indeed overcome our affections, nor ought we if we could, but we may
repress them within due bounds, and avoid coaxing them to make fools of
those who should be their masters. I have lost some of the comforts to
which I chiefly looked for enjoyment. Well, I must make the more of such
as remain--God bless them. And so "I will unto my holy work again,"[55]
which at present is the description of that _heilige Kleeblatt_, that
worshipful triumvirate, Danton, Robespierre, and Marat.

I cannot conceive what possesses me, over every person besides, to
mislay papers. I received a letter Saturday at _e'en,_ enclosing a bill
for L750; _no deaf nuts_. Well, I read it, and note the contents; and
this day, as if it had been a wind-bill in the literal sense of the
words, I search everywhere, and lose three hours of my morning--turn
over all my confusion in the writing-desk--break open one or two
letters, lest I should have enclosed the sweet and quickly convertible
document in them,--send for a joiner, and disorganise my scrutoire, lest
it should have fallen aside by mistake. I find it at last--the place
where is of little consequence; but this trick must be amended.

Dined at the Royal Society Club, where, as usual, was a pleasant meeting
of from twenty to twenty-five. It is a very good institution; we pay two
guineas only for six dinners in the year, present or absent. Dine at
five, or rather half-past five, at the Royal Hotel, where we have an
excellent dinner, with soups, fish, etc., and all in good order; port
and sherry till half-past seven, then coffee, and we go to the Society.
This has great influence in keeping up the attendance, it being found
that this preface of a good dinner, to be paid for whether you partake
or not, brings out many a philosopher who might not otherwise have
attended the Society. Harry Mackenzie, now in his eighty-second or third
year, read part of an Essay on Dreams. Supped at Dr. Russell's usual
party,[56] which shall serve for one while.

_December_ 6.--A rare thing this literature, or love of fame or
notoriety which accompanies it. Here is Mr. H[enry] M[ackenzie] on the
very brink of human dissolution, as actively anxious about it as if the
curtain must not soon be closed on that and everything else.[57] He
calls me his literary confessor; and I am sure I am glad to return the
kindnesses which he showed me long since in George Square. No man is
less known from his writings. We would suppose a retired, modest,
somewhat affected man, with a white handkerchief, and a sigh ready for
every sentiment. No such thing: H.M. is alert as a contracting tailor's
needle in every sort of business--a politician and a sportsman--shoots
and fishes in a sort even to this day--and is the life of the company
with anecdote and fun. Sometimes, his daughter tells me, he is in low
spirits at home, but really I never see anything of it in society.

There is a maxim almost universal in Scotland, which I should like much
to see controlled. Every youth, of every temper and almost every
description of character, is sent either to study for the bar, or to a
writer's office as an apprentice. The Scottish seem to conceive Themis
the most powerful of goddesses. Is a lad stupid, the law will sharpen
him;--is he too mercurial, the law will make him sedate;--has he an
estate, he may get a sheriffdom;--is he poor, the richest lawyers have
emerged from poverty;--is he a Tory, he may become a
depute-advocate;--is he a Whig, he may with far better hope expect to
become, in reputation at least, that rising counsel Mr.----, when in
fact he only rises at tavern dinners. Upon some such wild views lawyers
and writers multiply till there is no life for them, and men give up the
chase, hopeless and exhausted, and go into the army at five-and-twenty,
instead of eighteen, with a turn for expense perhaps--almost certainly
for profligacy, and with a heart embittered against the loving parents
or friends who compelled them to lose six or seven years in dusting the
rails of the stair with their black gowns, or scribbling nonsense for
twopence a page all day, and laying out twice their earnings at night in
whisky-punch. Here is R.L. now. Four or five years ago, from certain
indications, I assured his friends he would never be a writer.
Good-natured lad, too, when Bacchus is out of the question; but at other
times so pugnacious, that it was wished he could only be properly placed
where fighting was to be a part of his duty, regulated by time and
place, and paid for accordingly. Well, time, money, and instruction have
been thrown away, and now, after fighting two regular boxing matches and
a duel with pistols in the course of one week, he tells them roundly he
will be no writer, which common-sense might have told them before. He
has now perhaps acquired habits of insubordination, unfitting him for
the army, where he might have been tamed at an earlier period. He is too
old for the navy, and so he must go to India, a guinea-pig on board a
Chinaman, with what hope or view it is melancholy to guess. His elder
brother did all man could to get his friends to consent to his going
into the army in time. The lad has good-humour, courage, and most
gentlemanlike feelings, but he is incurably dissipated, I hear; so goes
to die in youth in a foreign land. Thank God, I let Walter take his own
way; and I trust he will be a useful, honoured soldier, being, for his
time, high in the service; whereas at home he would probably have been a
wine-bibbing, moorfowl-shooting, fox-hunting Fife squire--living at
Lochore without either aim or end--and well if he were no worse. Dined
at home with Lady S. and Anne. Wrote in the evening.

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