_January_ 1.--A year has passed--another has commenced. These solemn
divisions of time influence our feelings as they recur. Yet there is
nothing in it; for every day in the year closes a twelvemonth as well as
the 31st December. The latter is only the solemn pause, as when a guide,
showing a wild and mountainous road, calls on a party to pause and look
back at the scenes which they have just passed. To me this new year
opens sadly. There are these troublesome pecuniary difficulties, which
however, I think, this week should end. There is the absence of all my
children, Anne excepted, from our little family festival. There is,
besides, that ugly report of the 15th Hussars going to India. Walter, I
suppose, will have some step in view, and will go, and I fear Jane will
not dissuade him.
A hard, frosty day--cold, but dry and pleasant under foot. Walked into
the plantations with Anne and Anne Russell. A thought strikes me,
alluding to this period of the year. People say that the whole human
frame in all its parts and divisions is gradually in the act of decaying
and renewing. What a curious timepiece it would be that could indicate
to us the moment this gradual and insensible change had so completely
taken place, that no atom was left of the original person who had
existed at a certain period, but there existed in his stead another
person having the same limbs, thews, and sinews, the same face and
lineaments, the same consciousness--a new ship built on an old plank--a
pair of transmigrated stockings, like those of Sir John Cutler,[107]
all green silk, without one thread of the original black silk left!
Singular--to be at once another and the same.
_January_ 2.--Weather clearing up in Edinburgh once more, and all will,
I believe, do well. I am pressed to get on with _Woodstock_, and must
try. I wish I could open a good vein of interest which would breathe
freely. I must take my old way, and write myself into good-humour with
my task. It is only when I dally with what I am about, look back, and
aside, instead of keeping my eyes straight forward, that I feel these
cold sinkings of the heart. All men I suppose do, less or more. They are
like the sensation of a sailor when the ship is cleared for action, and
all are at their places--gloomy enough; but the first broadside puts all
to rights. Dined at Huntly Burn with the Fergusons _en masse_.
_January_ 3.--Promises a fair day, and I think the progress of my
labours will afford me a little exercise, which I greatly need to help
off the calomel feeling. Walked with Colonel Russell from eleven till
two--the first good day's exercise I have had since coming here. We went
through all the Terrace, the Roman Planting,[108] over by the Stiel and
Haxellcleuch, and so by the Rhymer's Glen to Chiefswood,[109] which gave
my heart a twinge, so disconsolate it seemed. Yet all is for the best.
Called at Huntly Burn, and shook hands with Sir Adam and his Lady just
going off. When I returned, signed the bond for £10,000, which will
disencumber me of all pressing claims;[110] when I get forward W----k
and Nap. there will be £12,000 and upwards, and I hope to add £3000
against this time next year, or the devil must hold the dice. J.B.
writes me seriously on the carelessness of my style. I do not think I am
more careless than usual; but I dare say he is right. I will be more
cautious.
_January_ 4.--Despatched the deed yesterday executed. Mr. and Mrs.
Skene, my excellent friends, came to us from Edinburgh. Skene,
distinguished for his attainments as a draughtsman, and for his highly
gentlemanlike feelings and character, is Laird of Rubislaw, near
Aberdeen. Having had an elder brother, his education was somewhat
neglected in early life, against which disadvantage he made a most
gallant [fight], exerting himself much to obtain those accomplishments
which he has since possessed. Admirable in all exercises, there entered
a good deal of the cavalier into his early character. Of late he has
given himself much to the study of antiquities. His wife, a most
excellent person, was tenderly fond of Sophia. They bring so much
old-fashioned kindness and good-humour with them, besides the
recollections of other times, that they must be always welcome guests.
Letter from Mr. Scrope,[111] announcing a visit.
_January_ 5.--Got the desired accommodation with Coutts, which will put
J.B. quite straight, but am a little anxious still about Constable. He
has immense stock, to be sure, and most valuable, but he may have
sacrifices to make to convert a large proportion of it into ready money.
The accounts from London are most disastrous. Many wealthy persons
totally ruined, and many, many more have been obliged to purchase their
safety at a price they will feel all their lives. I do not hear things
are so bad in Edinburgh; and J.B.'s business has been transacted by the
banks with liberality.
Colonel Russell told us last night that the last of the Moguls, a
descendant of Kubla-Khan, though having no more power than his effigies
at the back of a set of playing-cards, refused to meet Lord Hastings,
because the Governor-General would not agree to remain standing in his
presence. Pretty well for the blood of Timur in these degenerate days!
Much alarmed. I had walked till twelve with Skene and Col. Russell, and
then sat down to my work. To my horror and surprise I could neither
write nor spell, but put down one word for another, and wrote nonsense.
I was much overpowered at the same time, and could not conceive the
reason. I fell asleep, however, in my chair, and slept for two hours. On
waking my head was clearer, and I began to recollect that last night I
had taken the anodyne left for the purpose by Clarkson, and being
disturbed in the course of the night, I had not slept it off.
Obliged to give up writing to-day--read Pepys instead. The Scotts of
Harden were to have dined, but sent an apology,--storm coming on.
Russells left us this morning to go to Haining.
_January 6_.--This seems to be a feeding storm, coming on by little and
little. Wrought all day, and dined quiet. My disorder is wearing off,
and the quiet society of the Skenes suits with my present humour. I
really thought I was in for some very bad illness. Curious expression of
an Indian-born boy just come from Bengal, a son of my cousin George
Swinton. The child saw a hare run across the fields, and exclaimed,
"See, there is a little tiger!"
_January_ 7, _Sunday_.--Knight, a young artist, son of the performer,
came to paint my picture at the request of Terry. This is very far from
being agreeable, as I submitted to this distressing state of constraint
last year to Newton, at request of Lockhart; to Leslie at request of my
American friend;[112] to Wilkie, for his picture of the King's arrival
at Holyrood House; and some one besides. I am as tired of the operation
as old Maida, who had been so often sketched that he got up and went
away with signs of loathing whenever he saw an artist unfurl his paper
and handle his brushes. But this young man is civil and modest; and I
have agreed he shall sit in the room while I work, and take the best
likeness he can, without compelling me into fixed attitudes or the
yawning fatigues of an actual sitting. I think, if he has talent, he may
do more my way than in the customary mode; at least I can't have the
hang-dog look which the unfortunate Theseus has who is doomed to sit for
what seems an eternity.[113]
I wrought till two o'clock--indeed till I was almost nervous with
correcting and scribbling. I then walked, or rather was dragged, through
the snow by Tom Purdie, while Skene accompanied. What a blessing there
is in a man like Tom, whom no familiarity can spoil, whom you may scold
and praise and joke with, knowing the quality of the man is unalterable
in his love and reverence to his master. Use an ordinary servant in the
same way and he will be your master in a month. We should thank God for
the snow as well as summer flowers. This brushing exercise has put all
my nerves into tone again, which were really jarred with fatigue until
my very backbone seemed breaking. This comes of trying to do too much.
J.B.'s news are as good as possible.--Prudence, prudence, and all will
do excellently.
_January_ 8.--Frost and snow still. Write to excuse myself from
attending the funeral of my aunt, Mrs. Curle, which takes place
to-morrow at Kelso. She was a woman of the old Sandy-Knowe breed, with
the strong sense, high principle, and indifferent temper which belonged
to my father's family. She lived with great credit on a moderate income,
and, I believe, gave away a great deal of it.[114]
_January_ 9.--Mathews the comedian and his son came to spend a day at
Abbotsford. The last is a clever young man, with much of his father's
talent for mimicry. Rather forward though.[115] Mr. Scrope also came
out, which fills our house.
_January_ 10.--Bodily health, the mainspring of the microcosm, seems
quite restored. No more flinching or nervous fits, but the sound mind in
the sound body. What poor things does a fever-fit or an overflowing of
the bile make of the masters of creation!