The Journal of Sir Walter Scott by Walter Scott

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We drove as far as Yair with Mr. and Mrs. Theobald. The lady read after
dinner--and read well.

_March_ 26.--The Theobalds left us, giving me time to work a little. A
walk of two hours diversified my day. I received Cadell's scheme for the
new edition. I fear the trustees will think Cadell's plan expensive in
the execution. Yet he is right; for, to ensure a return of speedy sale,
the new edition should be both handsome and cheap. He proposes size a
Royal 12mo, with a capital engraving to each volume from a design by the
best artists. This infers a monstrous expense, but in the present humour
of the public ensures the sale. The price will be 5s. per volume, and
the whole set, 32 volumes, from _Waverley_ to _Woodstock_ included, will
be L8.

_March_ 27.--This also was a day of labour, affording only my usual
interval of a walk. Five or six sheets was the result. We now
appropinque an end. My story has unhappily a divided interest; there are
three distinct strands of the rope, and they are not well twisted
together. "Ah, Sirs, a foul fawt," as Captain Tommy says.

_March_ 28.--The days have little to distinguish each other, very
little. The morning study, the noontide walk, all monotonous and
inclined to be melancholy; God help me! But I have not had any nervous
attack. Read _Tales of an Antiquary_,[156] one of the chime of bells
which I have some hand in setting a-ringing. He is really entitled to
the name of an antiquary; but he has too much description in proportion
to the action. There is a capital wardrobe of properties, but the
performers do not act up to their character.

_March_ 29.--Finished volume third this morning. I have let no grass
grow beneath my heels this bout.

Mr. Cadell with J. and A. Ballantyne came to dinner. Mr. and Mrs. George
Pringle, new married, dined with us and old Torwoodlee. Sandy's music
made the evening go sweetly down.

_March_ 30.--A long discourse with Cadell, canvassing his scheme. He
proposes I should go on immediately with the new novel. This will
furnish a fund from which may be supplied the advances necessary for the
new work, which are considerable, and may reach from L4000 to L8000--the
last sum quite improbable--before it makes returns. Thus we can face the
expenditure necessary to set on foot our great work. I have written to
recommend the plan to John Gibson. This theme renewed from time to time
during the forenoon. Dr. Clarkson[157] dined with us. We smoked and had
whisky and water after.

_March_ 31.--The Ballantynes and Cadell left us in high spirits,
expecting much from the new undertaking, and I believe they are not
wrong. As for me, I became torpid after a great influx of morning
visitors.

"I grew vapourish and odd,
And would not do the least right thing,
Neither for goddess nor for god--
Nor paint nor jest nor laugh, nor sing."

I was quite reluctant to write letters, or do anything whatsoever, and
yet I should surely write to Sir Cuthbert Sharp and Surtees. We dined
alone. I was main stupid, indeed, and much disposed to sleep, though my
dinner was very moderate.

FOOTNOTES:

[142] Oldham--"Lines addressed to a friend about to leave the
University."--_Poems and Translations_, 8vo. Lond. 1694.

[143] On the 20th April Moore writes to Scott: "I am delighted you do
not reject my proffered dedication, though between two such names as
yours and Byron's I shall but realise the description in the old couplet
of Wisdom and Wit,

'With folly at full length between.'

However, never mind; in cordial feeling and good fellowship I flatter
myself I am a match for either of you."

[144] By Mrs. Centlivre.

[145] See _Life_, vol. viii. p. 257 _n_.

[146] Miss Graham tells us in her _Mystifications_ (Edin. 1864) that Sir
Walter, on leaving the room, whispered in her ear, "Awa, awa, the Deil's
ower grit wi' you." "To meet her in company," wrote Dr. John Brown half
a century later, when she was still the charm and the delight as well as
the centre of a large circle of friends, "one saw a quiet, unpretending,
sensible, shrewd, kindly little lady; perhaps you would not remark
anything extraordinary in her, but let her _put on the old lady_; it was
as if a warlock spell had passed over her; not merely her look but her
nature was changed: her spirit had passed into the character she
represented; and jest, quick retort, whimsical fancy, the wildest
nonsense flowed from her lips, with a freedom and truth to nature which
appeared to be impossible in her own personality."

With this faculty for satire and imitation, Miss Graham never used it to
give pain. She was as much at home, too, with old Scotch sayings as Sir
Walter himself. For example, speaking of a field of cold, wet land she
said, "It grat a' winter and girned a' simmer," and of herself one
morning at breakfast when she thought she was getting too much attention
from her guests (she was at this time over ninety) she exclaimed, "I'm
like the bride in the old song:--

'Twa were blawing at her nose And three were buckling at her shoon.'"

Miss Graham's friends will never forget the evenings they have spent at
29 Forth Street, Edinburgh, or their visits at Duntrune, where the
venerable lady died in her ninety-sixth year in September 1877.

[147] Miss Elizabeth Bell, daughter of the Rev. James Bell, minister of
the parish of Coldstream from 1778 to 1794. This lady lived all her life
in her native county, and died at a great age at a house on the Tweed,
named Springhill, in 1876.

[148] _Ante_, vol. i. p. 253.

[149] _The Murder Hole_, a story founded on the tradition and under this
name, was printed in _Blackwood's Mag_., vol. xxv. p. 189: 1829.

[150] Written by Gerald Griffin

[151] _St. Valentine's Eve_, or _The Fair Maid of Perth_.

[152] _Coriolanus_, Act VI. Sc. 6.

[153] _Ante_, p. 40.

[154] It may have been with this packet that the following admonitory
note was sent to Ballantyne:--"DEAR JAMES,--I return the sheets of
_Tales_ with some waste of _Napoleon_ for ballast. Pray read like a
lynx, for with all your devoted attention things will escape. Imagine
your printing that the Douglases after James II. had dirked the Earl,
trailed the royal safe-conduct at the TAIL of a _serving man_, instead
of the _tail_ of a _starved Mare_.--Yours truly, however, W.S." So
printed in first edition, vol. ii. p. 129, but corrected in the
subsequent editions to "a miserable cart jade."

[155] Gray's _Ode on Eton_.

[156] By Richard Thomson, author of _Chronicles of London Bridge_, etc.
He died in 1865.

[157] Dr. Ebenezer Clarkson, a Surgeon of distinguished merit at Selkirk
and through life a trusty friend and crony of the Sheriffs.--J.G.L.

"In Mr. Gideon Gray, in _The Surgeon's Daughter_, Sir Walter's
neighbours on Tweedside saw a true picture--a portrait from life of
Scott's hard-riding and sagacious old friend to all the country
dear."--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 181.

APRIL.

_April_ 1.--All Fools' day, the only Saint that keeps up some degree of
credit in the world; for fools we are with a vengeance. On this
memorable festival we played the fool with great decorum at Colonel
Ferguson's, going to visit them in a cold morning. In the evening I had
a distressing letter from Mrs. MacBarnet, or some such name, the
daughter of Captain Macpherson, smothered in a great snow storm. They
are very angry at the _Review_ for telling a raw-head and bloody bones
story about him. I have given the right version of the tale willingly,
but this does not satisfy. I almost wish they would turn out a clansman
to be free of the cumber. The vexation of having to do with ladies, who
on such a point must be unreasonable, is very great. With a man it would
be soon ended or mended. It really hurts my sleep.

_April_ 2.--I wrote the lady as civilly as I could, explaining why I
made no further apology, which may do some good. Then a cursed morning
of putting to rights, which drives me well-nigh mad. At two or three I
must go to a funeral--a happy and interesting relief from my employment.
It is a man I am sorry for, who married my old servant, Bell Ormiston.
He was an excellent person in his way, and a capital mason--a great
curler.

_April_ 3.--Set off at eight o'clock, and fought forward to Carlisle--a
sad place in my domestic remembrances, since here I married my poor
Charlotte. She is gone, and I am following faster, perhaps, than I wot
of. It is something to have lived and loved; and our poor children are
so hopeful and affectionate, that it chastens the sadness attending the
thoughts of our separation. We slept at Carlisle. I have not forgiven
them for destroying their quiet old walls, and building two lumpy things
like mad-houses. The old gates had such a respectable appearance once,

"When Scotsmen's heads did guard the wall."

Come, I'll write down the whole stanza, which is all that was known to
exist of David Hume's poetry, as it was written on a pane of glass in
the inn:--

"Here chicks in eggs for breakfast sprawl,
Here godless boys God's glories squall,
Here Scotsmen's heads do guard the wall,
But Corby's walks atone for all."

The poetical works of David Hume, Esq., might, as bookmakers know now,
be driven out to a handsome quarto. Line 1st admits of a descant upon
eggs roasted, boiled or poached; 2d, a history of Carlisle Cathedral
with some reasons why the choir there has been proverbially execrable;
3d, the whole history of 1745 with minute memoirs of such as mounted
guard on the Scotch gate. I remember the spikes the heads stood upon;
lastly, a description of Corby Castle with a plan, and the genealogy of
the Howards. Gad, the booksellers would give me L500 for it. I have a
mind to print it for the Bannatynians.

_April_ 4.--In our stage to Penrith I introduced Anne to the ancient
Petreia, called Old Penrith, and also to the grave of Sir Ewain
Caesarias,[158] that knight with the puzzling name, which has got more
indistinct. We breakfasted at Buchanan's Inn, Penrith, one of the best
on the road, and a fine stanch fellow owned it. He refused passage to
some of the delegates who traversed the country during the Radical row,
and when the worthies threatened him with popular vengeance, answered
gallantly that he had not lived so long by the Crown to desert it at a
pinch. The Crown is the sign of his inn. Slept at Garstang, an
indifferent house. As a petty grievance, my ink-holder broke loose in
the case, and spilt some of the ink on Anne's pelisse. Misfortunes
seldom come single. "'Tis not alone the inky cloak, good daughter," but
I forgot at Garstang my two breastpins; one with Walter and Jane's hair,
another a harp of pure Irish gold, the gift of the ladies of
Llangollen.[159]

_April_ 5.--Breakfasted at Chorley, and slept at Leek. We were in the
neighbourhood of some fine rock-scenery, but the day was unfavourable;
besides, I did not come from Scotland to see rocks, I trow.

_April_ 6.--Easter Sunday. We breakfasted at Ashbourne and went from
thence to Derby; and set off from thence to Drycot Hall (five miles) to
visit Hugh Scott. But honest Hugh was, like ourselves, on the ramble; so
we had nothing to do but to drive back to Derby, and from thence to
Tamworth, where we slept.

_April 7_.--We visited the Castle in the morning. It is inhabited by a
brother-in-law of the proprietor; and who is the proprietor? "Why, Mr.
Robbins," said the fat housekeeper. This was not a name quite according
with the fine chivalrous old hall, in which there was no small quantity
of armour, and odds and ends, which I would have been glad to possess.
"Well, but madam, before Mr. Robbins bought the place, who was the
proprietor?" "Lord Charles Townshend, sir." This would not do neither;
but a genealogy hanging above the chimney-piece informed me that the
Ferrars were the ancient possessors of the mansion, which, indeed, the
horseshoes in the shield over the Castle gate might have intimated.
Tamworth is a fine old place, neglected, but, therefore, more like hoar
antiquity. The keep is round. The apartments appear to have been
modernised _tempore_ Jac. I'mi. There was a fine demipique saddle,
said to have been that of James II. The pommel rose, and finished off in
the form of a swan's crest, capital for a bad horseman to hold on by.

To show Anne what was well worth seeing, we visited Kenilworth. The
relentless rain only allowed us a glimpse of this memorable ruin. Well,
the last time I was here, in 1815,[160] these trophies of time were
quite neglected. Now they approach so much nearer the splendour of
Thunder-ten-tronckh, as to have a door at least, if not windows. They
are, in short, preserved and protected. So much for the novels. I
observed decent children begging here, a thing uncommon in England: and
I recollect the same unseemly practice formerly.

We went to Warwick Castle. The neighbourhood of Leamington, a
watering-place of some celebrity, has obliged the family to decline
showing the Castle after ten o'clock. I tried the virtue of an old
acquaintance with Lord Warwick and wrote to him, he being in the
Courthouse where the assizes were sitting. After some delay we were
admitted, and I found my old friend Mrs. Hume, in the most perfect
preservation, though, as she tells me, now eighty-eight. She went
through her duty wonderfully, though now and then she complained of her
memory. She has laid aside a mass of black plumes which she wore on her
head, and which resembled the casque in the Castle of Otranto. Warwick
Castle is still the noblest sight in England. Lord and Lady Warwick came
home from the Court, and received us most kindly. We lunched with them,
but declined further hospitality. When I was last here, and for many
years before, the unfortunate circumstances of the late Lord W. threw an
air of neglect about everything. I believe the fine collection of
pictures would have been sold by distress, if Mrs. Hume, my friend, had
not redeemed them at her own cost.[161] I was pleased to see Lord
Warwick show my old friend kindness and attention. We visited the
monuments of the Nevilles and Beauchamps, names which make the heart
thrill. The monuments are highly preserved. We concluded the day at
Stratford-upon-Avon.

_April_ 8.--We visited the tomb of the mighty wizard. It is in the bad
taste of James the First's reign; but what a magic does the locality
possess! There are stately monuments of forgotten families; but when you
have seen Shakspeare's what care we for the rest. All around is
Shakspeare's exclusive property. I noticed the monument of his friend
John a Combe immortalised as drawing forth a brief satirical notice of
four lines.

After breakfast I asked after Mrs. Ormsby, the old mad woman who was for
some time tenant of Shakspeare's house, and conceived herself to be
descended from the immortal poet. I learned she was dying. I thought to
send her a sovereign; but this extension of our tour has left me no more
than will carry me through my journey, and I do not like to run short
upon the road. So I take credit for my good intention, and--keep my
sovereign--a cheap and not unusual mode of giving charity.

Learning from Washington Irving's description of Stratford that the hall
of Sir Thomas Lucy, the justice who rendered Warwickshire too hot for
Shakspeare, and drove him to London, was still extant, we went in quest
of it.

Charlcote is in high preservation, and inhabited by Mr. Lucy, descendant
of the worshipful Sir Thomas. The Hall is about three hundred years old,
an old brick structure with a gate-house in advance. It is surrounded by
venerable oaks, realising the imagery which Shakspeare loved so well to
dwell upon; rich verdant pastures extend on every side, and numerous
herds of deer were reposing in the shade. All showed that the Lucy
family had retained their "land and beeves." While we were surveying the
antlered old hall, with its painted glass and family pictures, Mr. Lucy
came to welcome us in person, and to show the house, with the collection
of paintings, which seems valuable, and to which he had made many
valuable additions.

He told me the park from which Shakspeare stole the buck was not that
which surrounds Charlcote, but belonged to a mansion at some distance
where Sir Thomas Lucy resided at the time of the trespass. The tradition
went that they hid the buck in a barn, part of which was standing a few
years ago, but now totally decayed. This park no longer belongs to the
Lucys. The house bears no marks of decay, but seems the abode of ease
and opulence. There were some fine old books, and I was told of many
more which were not in order. How odd if a folio Shakspeare should be
found amongst them! Our early breakfast did not prevent my taking
advantage of an excellent repast offered by the kindness of Mr. and Mrs.
Lucy, the last a lively Welshwoman. This visit gave me great pleasure;
it really brought Justice Shallow freshly before my eyes; the luces in
his arms "which do become an old coat well"[162] were not more plainly
portrayed in his own armorials in the hall-window than was his person in
my mind's eye. There is a picture shown as that of the old Sir Thomas,
but Mr. Lucy conjectures it represents his son. There were three
descents of the same name of Thomas. The party hath "the eye severe, and
beard of formal cut," which fills up with judicial austerity the
otherwise social physiognomy of the worshipful presence, with his "fair
round belly with fat capon lined."[163]

We resumed our journey. I may mention among the pictures at Charlcote
one called a Roman Knight, which seemed to me very fine; Teniers'
marriage, in which, contrary to the painter's wont, only persons of
distinction are represented, but much in the attitude in which he
delights to present his boors; two hawking pieces by Wouvermans, very
fine specimens, _cum aliis_.

We took our way by Edgehill, and looked over the splendid richness of
the fine prospect from a sort of gazeeboo or modern antique tower, the
place of a Mr. Miller. It is not easy to conceive a richer and more
peaceful scene than that which stretched before us, and [one with which]
strife, or the memory of strife, seems to have nothing to do.

"But man records his own disgrace,
And Edgehill lives in history."

We got on to Buckingham, an ugly though I suppose an ancient town.
Thence to Aylesbury through the wealth of England, in the scene of the
old ballad--

"Neither drunk nor sober, but neighbour to both,
I met with a man in Aylesbury vale;
I saw by his face that he was in good case,
To speak no great harm of a pot of good ale."

We slept at Aylesbury. The landlord, who seemed sensible, told me that
the land round the town, being the richest in England, lets at L3, or
L3, 10s. and some so high as L4 per acre. _But_ the poor-rates are 13s.
to the pound. Now, my Whitehaugh at Huntly Burn yielded at last set L4
per acre.

_April_ 9, [_London_],--We got to town about mid-day, and found Sophia,
Lockhart, and the babies quite well--delighted with their companion
Charles, and he enchanted with his occupation in the Foreign Office. I
looked into my cash and found L53 had diminished on the journey down to
about L3. In former days a journey to London cost about L30 or thirty
guineas. It may now cost one-fourth more. But I own I like to pay
postilions and waiters rather more liberally than perhaps is right. I
hate grumbling and sour faces; and the whole saving will not exceed a
guinea or two for being cursed and damned from Dan to Beersheba. We had
a joyful meeting, I promise you.[164]

_April_ 10.--I spent the morning in bringing up my journal; interrupted
by two of these most sedulous visitants who had objects of their own to
serve, and smelled out my arrival as the raven scents carrion--a vile
comparison, though what better is an old fellow, mauled with rheumatism
and other deplorables? Went out at two and saw Miss Dumergue and other
old friends; Sotheby in particular, less changed than any one I have
seen. Looked in at Murray's and renewed old habits. This great city
seems almost a waste to me, so many of my friends are gone; Walter and
Jane coming up, the whole family dined together, and were very happy.
The children joined in our festivity. My name-son, a bright and
blue-eyed rogue, with flaxen hair, screams and laughs like an April
morning; and the baby is that species of dough which is called a fine
baby. I care not for children till they care a little for me.

_April_ 11.--Made calls, walked myself tired; saw Rogers, Sharp,
Sotheby, and other old friends.

_April_ 12.--Dinner at home; a little party of Sophia's in the evening.
Sharp told me that one evening being at Sheridan's house with a large
party, Tom S. came to him as the night drew late, and said in a whisper,
"I advise you to secure a wax-light to go to bed with," shewing him at
the same time a morsel which he had stolen from a sconce. Sharp followed
his advice, and had reason to be thankful for the hint. Tired and
sleepy, I make a bad night watcher.

_April_ 13.--Amused myself by converting the _Tale of the Mysterious
Mirror_ into _Aunt Margaret's Mirror_, designed for Heath's
what-dye-call-it. Cadell will not like this, but I cannot afford to have
my goods thrown back upon my hands. The tale is a good one, and is said
actually to have happened to Lady Primrose, my great-grandmother having
attended her sister on the occasion. Dined with Miss Dumergue. My proofs
from Edinburgh reached to-day and occupied me all the morning.

_April_ 14. Laboured at proofs and got them sent off, per Mr. Freeling's
cover. So there's an end of the _Chronicles_.[165] James rejoices in the
conclusion, where there is battle and homicide of all kinds. Always
politic to keep a trot for the avenue, like the Irish postilions. J.B.
always calls to the boys to flog before the carriage gets out of the
inn-yard. How we have driven the stage I know not and care not--except
with a view to extricating my difficulties. I have lost no time in
beginning the second series of _Grandfather's Tales_, being determined
to write as much as I can even here, and deserve by industry the soft
pillow I sleep on for the moment.

There is a good scene supposed to have happened between Sam Rogers and a
lady of fashion--the reporter, Lord Dudley. Sam enters, takes a stool,
creeps close to the lady's side, who asks his opinion of the last new
poem or novel. In a pathetic voice the spectre replies--"My opinion? I
like it very much--but the world don't like it; but, indeed, I begin to
think the world wrong in everything, except with regard to _you_." Now,
Rogers either must have said this somewhere, or he has it yet to say. We
dined at Lord Melville's.

_April_ 15.--Got the lamentable news that Terry is totally bankrupt.
This is a most unexpected blow, though his carelessness about money
matters was very great. God help the poor fellow! he has been
ill-advised to go abroad, but now returns to stand the storm--old debts,
it seems, with principal and interest accumulated, and all the items
which load a falling man. And wife such a good and kind creature, and
children. Alack! alack! I sought out his solicitor. There are L7000 or
more to pay, and the only fund his share in the Adelphi Theatre, worth
L5000 and upwards, and then so fine a chance of independence lost. That
comes of not being explicit with his affairs. The theatre was a most
flourishing concern. I looked at the books, and since have seen Yates.
The ruin is inevitable, but I think they will not keep him in prison,
but let him earn his bread by his very considerable talents. I shall
lose the whole or part of L500 which I lent him, but that is the least
of my concern. I hope the theatre is quite good for guaranteeing certain
payments in 1829 and 1830. I judge they are in no danger.

I should have gone to the Club to-day, but Sir James Mackintosh had
mistaken the day. I was glad of it, so stayed at home.

It is written that nothing shall flourish under my shadow--the
Ballantynes, Terry, Nelson, Weber, all came to distress. Nature has
written on my brow, "Your shade shall be broad, but there shall be no
protection derived from it to aught you favour."

Sat and smoked and grumbled with Lockhart.

_April_ 16.--We dined at Dr. Young's; saw Captain Parry, a handsome and
pleasant man. In the evening at Mr. Cunliffe's, where I met sundry old
friends--grown older.

_April_ 17.--Made up my "Gurnal," which had fallen something behind. In
this phantasmagorial place the objects of the day come and depart like
shadows.[166] Made calls. Gave [C.K.] Sharpe's memorial to Lord Leveson
Gower. Went to Murray's, where I met a Mr. Jacob, a great economist. He
is proposing a mode of supporting the poor, by compelling them to labour
by military force, and under a species of military discipline. I see no
objection to it, only it will make a rebellion to a certainty; and the
tribes of Jacob will certainly cut Jacob's throat.[167]

Canning's conversion from popular opinions was strangely brought round.
While he was studying at the Temple, and rather entertaining
revolutionary opinions, Godwin sent to say that he was coming to
breakfast with him, to speak on a subject of the highest importance.
Canning knew little of him, but received his visit, and learned to his
astonishment, that in expectation of a new order of things, the English
Jacobins desired to place him, Canning, at the head of their expected
revolution. He was much struck, and asked time to think what course he
should take--and, having thought the matter over, he went to Mr. Pitt
and made the Anti-Jacobin confession of faith, in which he persevered
until----. Canning himself mentioned this to Sir W. Knighton, upon
occasion of giving a place in the Charter-house, of some ten pounds a
year, to Godwin's brother. He could scarce do less for one who had
offered him the dictator's curule chair.