OCTOBER

_October_ 1.--Wrote my task, then walked from one till half-past four.

Dogs took a hare. They always catch one on Sunday--a Puritan would say

the devil was in them. I think I shall get more done this evening. I

would fain conclude the volume at the Treaty of Tilsit, which will make

it a pretty long one, by the by. J.B. expressed himself much pleased

with _Nap_., which gives me much courage. He is gloomy enough when

things are not well. And then I will try something at my _Canongate_.

They talk about the pitcher going to the well; but if it goes not to the

well, how shall we get water? It will bring home none when it stands on

the shelf, I trow. In literature, as in love, courage is half the

battle.

"The public born to be controlled

Stoops to the forward and the bold."

_October_ 2.--Wrote my task. Went out at one and wrought in the wood

till four. I was made happy by a letter from my nephew, little Walter,

as we used to call him, from his age and size, compared to those of his

cousin. He has been kindly received at Bombay by the Governor

Mountstuart Elphinstone, and by Sir Thomas Bradford. He is taking his

ground, I think, prudently, and is likely to get on. Already first

Lieutenant of Engineers--that is well to begin with.

Colonel Ferguson, Miss Margaret, and some ladies, friends of theirs,

dine, also Mr. and Mrs. Laidlaw, and James Laidlaw, and young Mr. N.

Milne.

_October_ 3.--I wrote my task as usual, but, strange to tell, there is a

want of paper. I expect some to-day. In the meantime, to avoid all

quarrel with Dame Duty, I cut up some other leaves into the usual

statutory size. They say of a fowl that if you draw a chalk line on a

table, and lay chick-a-diddle down with his bill upon it, the poor thing

will imagine himself opposed by an insurmountable barrier, which he will

not attempt to cross. Suchlike are one-half of the obstacles which serve

to interrupt our best resolves, and such is my pretended want of paper.

It is like Sterne's want of _sous_ when he went to relieve the _Pauvre

Honteux_.

_October_ 4.--I ought to record with gratitude to God Almighty the

continued health of body and mind, which He hath vouchsafed to grant me.

I have had of late no accesses either of bile or of nervous affection,

and by mixing exercise with literary labour, I have escaped the _tremor

cordis_ which on other occasions has annoyed me cruelly. I went to the

inspection of the Selkirkshire Yeomanry, by Colonel Thornhill, 7th

Hussars. The Colonel is a remarkably fine-looking man, and has a good

address. His brow bears token of the fatigues of war. He is a great

falconer, and has promised to fly his hawks on Friday for my amusement,

and to spend the day at Abbotsford. The young Duke of B. was on the

field looking at the corps, most of whom are his tenants. They did very

well, and are fine, smart young men, and well mounted. Too few of them

though, which is a pity. The exercise is a work which in my time I have

loved well.

Finished my task at night.

_October_ 5.--I was thinking this morning that my time glided away in a

singularly monotonous manner, like one of those dark grey days which

neither promise sunshine nor threaten rain; too melancholy for

enjoyment, too tranquil for repining. But this day has brought a change

which somewhat shakes my philosophy. I find by a letter from J. Gibson

that I _may_ go to London without danger, and if I may, I in a manner

_must_, to examine the papers in the Secretary of State's office about

_Bon_. when at Saint Helena. The opportunity having been offered must be

accepted, and yet I had much rather stay at home. Even the prospect of

seeing Sophia and Lockhart must be mingled with pain, yet this is

foolish too. Lady Hamilton[350] writes me that Pozzo di Borgo,[351] the

Russian Minister at Paris, is willing to communicate to me some

particulars of Bonaparte's early life. Query--might I not go on there?

In for a penny, in for a pound. I intend to take Anne with me, and the

pleasure will be great to her, who deserves much at my hand.

_October_ 6.--Charles and his friend Surtees left us this morning.

Went to see Colonel Thornhill's hawks fly. Some part of the amusement is

very beautiful, particularly the first flight of the hawks, when they

sweep so beautifully round the company, jingling their bells from time

to time, and throwing themselves into the most elegant positions as they

gaze about for their prey. But I do not wonder that the impatience of

modern times has renounced this expensive and precarious mode of

sporting. The hawks are liable to various misfortunes, and are besides

addicted to fly away; one of ours was fairly lost for the day, and one

or two went off without permission, but returned. We killed a crow and

frightened a snipe. There are, however, ladies and gentlemen enough to

make a gallant show on the top of Mintlaw Kipps. The falconer made a

fine figure--a handsome and active young fellow with the falcon on his

wrist. The Colonel was most courteous, and named a hawk after me, which

was a compliment. The hawks are not named till they have merited that

distinction. I walked about six miles and was not fatigued.

There dined with us Colonel Thornhill, Clifton, young Whytbank, Spencer

Stanhope, and his brother, with Miss Tod and my old friend Locker,[352]

Secretary to Greenwich Hospital. We did not break up the party till one

in the morning, and were very well amused.

_October_ 7.--A weary day of rain. Locker and I chatted from time to

time, and I wrought not at _Boney_, but upon the prose works, of which I

will have a volume ready to send in on Monday. I got a letter from John

Gibson, with an offer by Longman for _Napoleon_ of ten thousand five

hundred guineas,[353] which I have advised them to accept. Also I hear

there is some doubt of my getting to London, from the indecision of

these foolish Londoners.

I don't care whether I go or no! And yet it is unpleasant to see how

one's motions depend on scoundrels like these. Besides, I would like to

be there, were it but to see how the cat jumps. One knows nothing of the

world, if you are absent from it so long as I have been.

_October_ 8.--Locker left me this morning. He is of opinion the ministry

must soon assume another form, but that the Whigs will not come in. Lord

Liverpool holds much by Lord Melville--well in point of judgment--and by

the Duke of Wellington--still better, but then the Duke is a soldier--a

bad education for a statesman in a free country. The Chancellor is also

consulted by the Premier on all law affairs. Canning and Huskisson are

at the head of the other party, who may be said to have taken the

Cabinet by storm, through sheer dint of talent. I should like to see

how these ingredients are working; but by the grace of God, I will take

care of putting my finger into the cleft stick.

Locker has promised to get my young cousin Walter Scott on some

quarter-deck or other.

Received from Mr. Cadell the second instalment advance of cash on

_Canongate_. It is in English bills and money, in case of my going to

town.

_October_ 9.--A gracious letter from Messrs. Abud and Son, bill-brokers,

etc.; assure Mr. Gibson that they will institute no legal proceedings

against me for four or five weeks. And so I am permitted to spend my

money and my leisure to improve the means of paying them their debts,

for that is the only use of my present journey. They are Jews: I suppose

the devil baits for Jews with a pork griskin. Were I not to exert

myself, I wonder where their money is to come from.

A letter from Gillies menacing the world with a foreign miscellany. The

plan is a good one, but "he canna haud it," as John Moodie[354] says. He

will think all is done when he has got a set of names, and he will find

the difficulty consists not in that, but in getting articles. I wrote on

the prose works.

Lord and Lady Minto dined and spent the night at Abbotsford.

_October_ 10.--Well, I must prepare for going to London, and perhaps to

Paris. The morning frittered away. I slept till eight o'clock, then our

guests till twelve; then walked out to direct some alterations on the

quarry, which I think may at little expense be rendered a pretty recess.

Wordsworth swears by an old quarry, and is in some degree a supreme

authority on such points. Rain came on; returned completely wet. I had

next the displeasure to find that I had lost the conclusion of vol. v.

of Napoleon, seven or eight pages at least, which I shall have to write

over again, unless I can find it. Well, as Othello says, "that's not

much." My cousin James Scott came to dinner.

I have great unwillingness to set out on this journey; I almost think it

ominous; but

"They that look to freits, my master dear,

Their freits will follow them."[355]

I will stick to my purpose. Answered a letter from Gillies about

establishing a foreign journal; a good plan, but I fear in sorry hands.

Of those he names as his assistants they who can be useful will do

little, and the labours of those who are willing to work will rather

hold the publication down. I fear it will not do.

I am downhearted about leaving all my things, after I was quietly

settled; it is a kind of disrooting that recalls a thousand painful

ideas of former happier journeys. And to be at the mercy of these

fellows! God help--but rather God bless--man must help himself.

_October_ 11.--We are ingenious self-tormentors. This journey annoys me

more than anything of the kind in my life. My wife's figure seems to

stand before me, and her voice is in my ears--"Scott, do not go." It

half frightens me. Strong throbbing at my heart, and a disposition to be

very sick. It is just the effect of so many feelings which had been

lulled asleep by the uniformity of my life, but which awaken on any new

subject of agitation. Poor, poor Charlotte!! I cannot daub it further. I

get incapable of arranging my papers too. I will go out for

half-an-hour. God relieve me!

I quelled this _hysterica passio_ by pushing a walk towards Kaeside and

back again, but when I returned I still felt uncomfortable, and all the

papers I wanted were out of the way, and all those I did not want seemed

to place themselves under my fingers; my cash, according to the nature

of riches in general, made to itself wings and fled, I verily believe

from one hiding-place to another. To appease this insurrection of the

papers, I gave up putting my things in order till to-morrow morning.

Dined at Kippielaw with a party of neighbours. They had cigars for me,

very politely. But I must break folks off this. I would [not] willingly

be like old Dr. Parr, or any such quiz, who has his tastes and whims,

forsooth, that must be gratified. So no cigars on the journey.

_October_ 12.[356]--Reduced my rebellious papers to order. Set out after

breakfast, and reached Carlisle at eight o'clock at night.

_Rokeby Park, October_ 13.--We were off before seven, and visiting

Appleby Castle by the way (a most interesting and curious place), we got

to Morritt's[357] about half-past four, where we had as warm a welcome

as one of the warmest hearts in the world could give an old friend. I

saw his nephew's wife for the first time, a very pleasing young person.

It was great pleasure to me to see Morritt happy in the midst of his

family circle, undisturbed, as heretofore, by the sickness of any dear

to him.

On recalling my own recollections during my journey I may note that I

found great pleasure in my companion's conversation, as well as in her

mode of managing all her little concerns on the road. I am apt to judge

of character by good-humour and alacrity in these petty concerns. I

think the inconveniences of a journey seem greater to me than formerly;

while, on the other hand, the pleasures it affords are rather less. The

ascent of Stainmore seemed duller and longer than usual, and Bowes,

which used to strike me as a distinguished feature, seemed an ill-formed

mass of rubbish, a great deal lower than I had supposed; yet I have seen

it twenty times at least. On the other hand, what I lose in my own

personal feelings I gain in those of my companion, who shows an

intelligent curiosity and interest in what she sees. I enjoy therefore,

reflectively, _veluti in speculo_, the sort of pleasure to which I am

now less accessible.

_October_ 14.--Strolled about in the morning with Morritt, and saw his

new walk up the Tees, which he is just concocting. Got a pamphlet he has

written on the Catholic Question. In 1806 he had other views on that

subject, but "live and learn" as they say. One of his squibs against Fox

and Grenville's Administration concludes--

"Though they sleep with the devil, yet theirs is the hope,

On the scum of old England, to rise with the Pope."

Set off at two, and reached Wetherby to supper and bed.

It was the Corporation of Leeds that by a subscription of £80,000

brought in the anti-Catholic candidate. I remember their subscribing a

similar sum to bring in Morritt, if he would have stood.

Saw in Morritt's possession an original miniature of Milton by Cooper--a

valuable thing indeed. The pedigree seemed authentic. It was painted

for his favourite daughter--had come into possession of some of the

Davenants--was then in the Devonshire collection from which it was

stolen. Afterwards purchased by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and at his sale by

Morritt or his father.[358] The countenance handsome and dignified, with

a strong expression of genius, probably the only portrait of Milton

taken from the life excepting the drawing from which Faithorne's head is

done.

[_Grantham_,] _October_ 15.--Old England is no changeling. It is long

since I travelled this road, having come up to town chiefly by sea of

late years, but things seem much the same. One race of red-nosed

innkeepers are gone, and their widows, eldest sons, or head-waiters

exercise hospitality in their room with the same bustle and importance.

Other things seem, externally at least, much the same. The land,

however, is much better ploughed; straight ridges everywhere adopted in

place of the old circumflex of twenty years ago. Three horses, however,

or even four, are often seen in a plough yoked one before the other. Ill

habits do not go out at once. We slept at Grantham, where we met with

Captain William Lockhart and his lady, bound for London like ourselves.

[_Biggleswade_,] _October_ 16.--Visited Burleigh this morning; the first

time I ever saw that grand place, where there are so many objects of

interest and curiosity. The house is magnificent, in the style of James

I.'s reign, and consequently in mixed Gothic. Of paintings I know

nothing; so shall attempt to say nothing. But whether to connoisseurs,

or to an ignorant admirer like myself, the Salvator Mundi, by Carlo

Dolci, must seem worth a King's ransom. Lady Exeter, who was at home,

had the goodness or curiosity to wish to see us. She is a beauty after

my own heart; a great deal of liveliness in the face; an absence alike

of form and of affected ease, and really courteous after a genuine and

ladylike fashion.

We reached Biggleswade to-night at six, and paused here to wait for the

Lockharts. Spent the evening together.

[_Pall Mall_,] _October_ 17.--Here am I in this capital once more, after

an April-weather meeting with my daughter and Lockhart. Too much grief

in our first meeting to be joyful; too much pleasure to be

distressing--a giddy sensation between the painful and the pleasurable.

I will call another subject.

Read over _Sir John Chiverton_[359] and _Brambletye House_[360]--novels

in what I may surely claim as the style

"Which I was born to introduce--

Refined it first, and show'd its use."

They are both clever books; one in imitation of the days of chivalry;

the other (by Horace Smith, one of the authors of the _Rejected

Addresses_) dated in the time of the Civil Wars, and introducing

historical characters. I read both with great interest during the

journey.

I am something like Captain Bobadil[361] who trained up a hundred

gentlemen to fight very nearly, if not altogether, as well as myself.

And so far I am convinced of this, that I believe were I to publish the

_Canongate Chronicles_ without my name (_nom de guerre_, I mean) the

event would be a corollary to the fable of the peasant who made the real

pig squeak against the imitator, while the sapient audience hissed the

poor grunter as if inferior to the biped in his own language. The

peasant could, indeed, confute the long-eared multitude by showing

piggy; but were I to fail as a knight with a white and maiden shield,

and then vindicate my claim to attention by putting "By the Author of

_Waverley_" in the title, my good friend _Publicum_ would defend itself

by stating I had tilted so ill, that my course had not the least

resemblance to my former doings, when indisputably I bore away the

garland. Therefore I am as firmly and resolutely determined that I will

tilt under my own cognisance. The hazard, indeed, remains of being

beaten. But there is a prejudice (not an undue one neither) in favour of

the original patentee; and Joe Manton's name has borne out many a sorry

gun-barrel. More of this to-morrow.

Expense of journey, £4100

Anne, pocket-money, 500

Servants on journey, 200

Cash in purse (silver not reckoned), 200

____

£5000

____

This is like to be an expensive journey; but if I can sell an early copy

of the work to a French translator, it should bring me home.

Thank God, little Johnnie Hoo, as he calls himself, is looking well,

though the poor dear child is kept always in a prostrate posture.

_October_ 18.--I take up again my remarks on imitators. I am sure I mean

the gentlemen no wrong by calling them so, and heartily wish they had

followed a better model; but it serves to show me _veluti in speculo_ my

own errors, or, if you will, those of the _style_. One advantage, I

think, I still have over all of them. They may do their fooling with

better grace; but I, like Sir Andrew Aguecheek, do it more

natural.[362] They have to read old books and consult antiquarian

collections to get their knowledge; I write because I have long since

read such works, and possess, thanks to a strong memory, the information

which they have to seek for. This leads to a dragging-in historical

details by head and shoulders, so that the interest of the main piece is

lost in minute descriptions of events which do not affect its progress.

Perhaps I have sinned in this way myself; indeed, I am but too conscious

of having considered the plot only as what Bayes[363] calls the means of

bringing in fine things; so that in respect to the descriptions, it

resembled the string of the showman's box, which he pulls to show in

succession Kings, Queens, the Battle of Waterloo, Bonaparte at Saint

Helena, Newmarket Races, and White-headed Bob floored by Jemmy from

town. All this I may have done, but I have repented of it; and in my

better efforts, while I conducted my story through the agency of

historical personages, and by connecting it with historical incidents, I

have endeavoured to weave them pretty closely together, and in future I

will study this more. Must not let the background eclipse the principal

figures--the frame overpower the picture.

Another thing in my favour is, that my contemporaries steal too openly.

Mr. Smith has inserted in _Brambletye House_ whole pages from Defoe's

_Fire and Plague of London_.

"Steal! foh! a fico for the phrase--

Convey, the wise it call!"[364]

When I _convey_ an incident or so, I am at as much pains to avoid

detection as if the offence could be indicted in literal fact at the Old

Bailey.

But leaving this, hard pressed as I am by these imitators, who must put

the thing out of fashion at last, I consider, like a fox at his last

shifts, whether there be a way to dodge them, some new device to throw

them off, and have a mile or two of free ground, while I have legs and

wind left to use it. There is one way to give novelty: to depend for

success on the interest of a well-contrived story. But woe's me! that

requires thought, consideration--the writing out a regular plan or

plot--above all the adhering to one--which I never can do, for the ideas

rise as I write, and bear such a disproportioned extent to that which

each occupied at the first concoction, that (cocksnowns!) I shall never

be able to take the trouble; and yet to make the world stare, and gain a

new march ahead of them all!!! Well, something we still will do.

"Liberty's in every blow;

Let us do or die!"

Poor Rob Burns! to tack thy fine strains of sublime patriotism! Better

take Tristram Shandy's vein. Hand me my cap and bells there. So now, I

am equipped. I open my raree-show with

Ma'am, will you walk in, and fal de ral diddle?

And, sir, will you stalk in, and fal de ral diddle?

And, miss, will you pop in, and fal de ral diddle?

And, master, pray hop in, and fal de ral diddle?

Query--How long is it since I heard that strain of dulcet mood, and

where or how came I to pick it up? It is not mine, "though by your

smiling you seem to say so."[365] Here is a proper morning's work! But I

am childish with seeing them all well and happy here; and as I can

neither whistle nor sing, I must let the giddy humour run to waste on

paper.

Sallied forth in the morning; bought a hat. Met S[ir] W[illiam]

K[nighton],[366] from whose discourse I guess that _Malachi_ has done me

no prejudice in a certain quarter; with more indications of the times,

which I need not set down. Sallied again after breakfast, and visited

the Piccadilly ladies.[367] Saw Rogers and Richard Sharp, also good Dr.

and Mrs. Hughes, also the Duchess of Buckingham, and Lady Charlotte

Bury, with a most beautiful little girl. [Owen] Rees breakfasted, and

agreed I should have what the Frenchman has offered for the advantage of

translating _Napoleon_, which, being a hundred guineas, will help my

expenses to town and down again.

_October_ 19.--I rose at my usual time, but could not write; so read

Southey's _History of the Peninsular War_. It is very good

indeed,--honest English principle in every line; but there are many

prejudices, and there is a tendency to augment a work already too long

by saying all that can be said of the history of ancient times

appertaining to every place mentioned. What care we whether Saragossa be

derived from Caesarea Augusta? Could he have proved it to be Numantium,

there would have been a concatenation accordingly.[368]

Breakfasted at Rogers' with Sir Thomas Lawrence; Luttrell, the great

London wit;[369] Richard Sharp, etc. Sam made us merry with an account

of some part of Rose's _Ariosto_; proposed that the Italian should be

printed on the other side for the sake of assisting the indolent reader

to understand the English; and complained of his using more than once

the phrase of a lady having "voided her saddle," which would certainly

sound extraordinary at Apothecaries' Hall. Well, well, Rose carries a

dirk too.[370] The morning was too dark for Westminster Abbey, which we

had projected.

I went to the Foreign Office, and am put by Mr. Wilmot Horton into the

hands of a confidential clerk, Mr. Smith, who promises access to

everything. Then saw Croker, who gave me a bundle of documents. Sir

George Cockburn promises his despatches and journal. In short, I have

ample prospect of materials.

Dined with Mrs. Coutts. Tragi-comic distress of my good friend on the

marriage of her presumptive heir with a daughter of Lucien Bonaparte.

_October_ 20.--Commanded down to pass a day at Windsor. This is very

kind of His Majesty.

At breakfast, Crofton Croker, author of the _Irish Fairy Tales_--little

as a dwarf, keen-eyed as a hawk, and of very prepossessing manners.

Something like Tom Moore. There were also Terry, Allan Cunningham,

Newton, and others. Now I must go to work.

Went down to Windsor, or rather to the Lodge in the Forest, which,

though ridiculed by connoisseurs, seems to be no bad specimen of a royal

retirement, and is delightfully situated. A kind of cottage ornée--too

large perhaps for the style--but yet so managed that in the walks you

only see parts of it at once, and these well composed and grouping with

immense trees. His Majesty received me with the same mixture of kindness

and courtesy which has always distinguished his conduct towards me.

There was no company beside the royal retinue--Lady C[onyngham], her

daughter, and two or three other ladies. After we left table, there was

excellent music by the Royal Band, who lay ambushed in a green-house

adjoining the apartment. The King made me sit beside him and talk a

great deal--_too much_, perhaps--for he has the art of raising one's

spirits, and making you forget the _retenue_ which is prudent

everywhere, especially at court. But he converses himself with so much

ease and elegance, that you lose thoughts of the prince in admiring the

well-bred and accomplished gentleman. He is, in many respects, the model

of a British monarch--has little inclination to try experiments on

government otherwise than through his ministers--sincerely, I believe,

desires the good of his subjects, is kind toward the distressed, and

moves and speaks "every inch a king."[371] I am sure such a man is

fitter for us than one who would long to head armies, or be perpetually

intermeddling with _la grande politique_. A sort of reserve, which

creeps on him daily, and prevents his going to places of public resort,

is a disadvantage, and prevents his being so generally popular as is

earnestly to be desired. This, I think, was much increased by the

behaviour of the rabble in the brutal insanity of the Queen's trial,

when John Bull, meaning the best in the world, made such a beastly

figure.

_October_ 21.--Walked in the morning with Sir William Knighton, and had

much confidential chat, not fit to be here set down, in case of

accidents. He undertook most kindly to recommend Charles, when he has

taken his degree, to be attached to some of the diplomatic missions,

which I think is best for the lad after all. After breakfast went to

Windsor Castle, met by appointment my daughters and Lockhart, and

examined the improvements going on there under Mr. Wyattville, who

appears to possess a great deal of taste and feeling for Gothic

architecture. The old apartments, splendid enough in extent and

proportion, are paltry in finishing. Instead of being lined with heart

of oak, the palace of the British King is hung with paper, painted

wainscot colour. There are some fine paintings and some droll ones;

among the last are those of divers princes of the House of

Mecklenburg-Strelitz, of which Queen Charlotte was descended. They are

ill-coloured, orang-outang-looking figures, with black eyes and

hook-noses, in old-fashioned uniforms.

We returned to a hasty dinner [in Pall Mall], and then hurried away to

see honest Dan Terry's house, called the Adelphi Theatre, where we saw

the _Pilot_, from the American novel of that name. It is extremely

popular, the dramatist having seized on the whole story, and turned the

odious and ridiculous parts, assigned by the original author to the

British, against the Yankees themselves. There is a quiet effrontery in

this that is of a rare and peculiar character. The Americans were so

much displeased, that they attempted a row--which rendered the piece

doubly attractive to the seamen at Wapping, who came up and crowded the

house night after night, to support the honour of the British flag.

After all, one must deprecate whatever keeps up ill-will betwixt America

and the mother country; and we in particular should avoid awakening

painful recollections. Our high situation enables us to contemn petty

insults and to make advances towards cordiality. I was, however, glad to

see honest Dan's theatre as full seemingly as it could hold. The heat

was dreadful, and Anne was so very unwell that she was obliged to be

carried into Terry's house,--a curious dwelling, no larger than a

squirrel's cage, which he has contrived to squeeze out of the vacant

spaces of the theatre, and which is accessible by a most complicated

combination of staircases and small passages. Here we had rare good

porter and oysters after the play, and found Anne much better. She had

attempted too much; indeed I myself was much fatigued.

_October_ 22.--This morning Drs. Gooch, Shaw, and Yates breakfasted, and

had a consultation about wee Johnnie. They give us great hopes that his

health will be established, but the seaside or the country seem

indispensable. Mr. Wilmot Horton,[372] Under Secretary of State, also

breakfasted. He is full of some new plan of relieving the poor's-rates

by encouraging emigration. But John Bull will think this savours of

Botany Bay. The attempt to look the poor's-rates in the face is

certainly meritorious.

Laboured in writing and marking extracts to be copied from breakfast to

dinner, with the exception of an hour spent in telling Johnnie the

history of his namesake, Gilpin.

Mr. William and Mrs. Lockhart dined with us. Tom Moore[373] and Sir

Thomas Lawrence came in the evening, which made a pleasant _soirée_.

Smoke my French--Egad, it is time to air some of my vocabulary. It is, I

find, cursedly musty.

_October_ 23.--Sam Rogers and Moore breakfasted here, and we were very

merry fellows. Moore seemed disposed to go to France with us. I visited

the Admiralty, and got Sir George Cockburn's journal, which is

valuable.[374] Also visited Lady Elizabeth and Sir Charles Stewart. My

heart warmed to the former, on account of the old Balcarres connection.

Sir Charles and she were very kind and communicative. I foresee I will

be embarrassed with more communications than I can well use or trust to,

coloured as they must be by the passions of those who make them. Thus I

have a statement from the Duchess d'Escars, to which the Bonapartists

would, I dare say, give no credit. If Talleyrand, for example, could be

communicative, he must have ten thousand reasons for perverting the

truth, and yet a person receiving a direct communication from him would

be almost barred from disputing it.

"Sing tantararara, rogues all."

We dined at the Residentiary-house with good Dr. Hughes,[375] Allan

Cunningham, Sir Thomas Lawrence, and young Mr. Hughes. Thomas

Pringle[376] is returned from the Cape, and called in my absence. He

might have done well there, could he have scoured his brain of politics,

but he must needs publish a Whig journal at the Cape of Good Hope! He is

a worthy creature, but conceited withal--_hinc illæ lachrymæ._ He

brought me some antlers and a skin, in addition to others he had sent to

Abbotsford four years since. Crofton Croker made me a present of a small

box of curious Irish antiquities containing a gold fibula, etc. etc.

_October_ 24--Laboured in the morning. At breakfast Dr. Holland[377] and

Cohen, whom they now call Palgrave,[378] a mutation of names which

confused my recollections. Item, Moore. I worked at the Colonial Office

pretty hard. Dined with Mr. Wilmot Horton and his beautiful wife, the

original of the "_She walks in Beauty_," etc., of poor Byron.

The conversation is seldom excellent among official people. So many

topics are what Otaheitians call _taboo_. We hunted down a pun or two,

which were turned out, like the stag at the Epping Hunt, for the pursuit

of all and sundry. Came home early, and was in bed by eleven.

_October_ 25.--Good Mr. Wilson[379] and his wife at breakfast; also Sir

Thomas Lawrence. Locker[380] came in afterwards, and made a proposal to

me to give up his intended Life of George III. in my favour on cause

shown. I declined the proposal, not being of opinion that _my_ genius

lies that way, and not relishing hunting in couples. Afterwards went to

the Colonial Office, and had Robert Hay's assistance in my inquiries;

then to the French Ambassador for my passports. Picked up Sotheby, who

endeavoured to saddle me for a review of his polyglot Virgil. I fear I

shall scarce convince him that I know nothing of the Latin lingo. Sir

R.H. Inglis, Richard Sharp, and other friends called. We dined at Miss

Dumergue's, and spent a part of our soirée at Lydia White's. To-morrow,

"For France, for France, for it is more than need."[381]

[_Calais_,] _October_ 26.--- Up at five, and in the packet by six. A

fine passage--save at the conclusion, while we lay on and off the

harbour of Calais. But the tossing made no impression on my companion or

me; we ate and drank like dragons the whole way, and were able to manage

a good supper and best part of a bottle of Chablis, at the classic

Dessein's, who received us with much courtesy.

_October_ 27.--Custom House, etc., detained us till near ten o'clock,

so we had time to walk on the Boulevards, and to see the fortifications,

which must be very strong, all the country round being flat and marshy.

Lost, as all know, by the bloody papist bitch (one must be vernacular

when on French ground) Queen Mary, of red-hot memory. I would rather she

had burned a score more of bishops. If she had kept it, her sister Bess

would sooner have parted with her virginity. Charles I. had no

temptation to part with it--it might, indeed, have been shuffled out of

our hands during the Civil wars, but Noll would have as soon let

monsieur draw one of his grinders; then Charles II. would hardly have

dared to sell such an old possession, as he did Dunkirk; and after that

the French had little chance till the Revolution. Even then, I think, we

could have held a place that could be supplied from our own element, the

sea. _Cui bono?_ None, I think, but to plague the rogues.--We dined at

Cormont, and being stopped by Mr. Canning having taken up all the

post-horses, could only reach Montreuil that night. I should have liked

to have seen some more of this place, which is fortified; and as it

stands on an elevated and rocky site must present some fine points. But

as we came in late and left early, I can only bear witness to good

treatment, good supper, good _vin de Barsac_, and excellent beds.

_October_ 28.--Breakfasted at Abbeville, and saw a very handsome Gothic

church, and reached Grandvilliers at night. The house is but

second-rate, though lauded by various English travellers for the

moderation of its charges, as was recorded in a book presented to us by

the landlady. There is no great patriotism in publishing that a

traveller thinks the bills moderate; it serves usually as an intimation

to mine host or hostess that John Bull will bear a little more

squeezing. I gave my attestation too, however, for the charges of the

good lady resembled those elsewhere; and her anxiety to please was

extreme. Folks must be harder-hearted than I am to resist the

_empressement_, which may, indeed, be venal, yet has in its expression

a touch of cordiality.

[_Paris_,] _October_ 29.--Breakfasted at Beauvais, and saw its

magnificent cathedral--unfinished it has been left, and unfinished it

will remain, of course,--the fashion of cathedrals being passed away.

But even what exists is inimitable, the choir particularly, and the

grand front. Beauvais is called the _Pucelle_, yet, so far as I can see,

she wears no stays--I mean, has no fortifications. On we run, however.

_Vogue la galère; et voilà nous à Paris_, Hotel de Windsor [_Rue

Rivoli_], where we are well lodged. France, so far as I can see, which

is very little, has not undergone many changes. The image of war has,

indeed, passed away, and we no longer see troops crossing the country in

every direction; villages either ruined or hastily fortified;

inhabitants sheltered in the woods and caves to escape the rapacity of

the soldiers--all this has passed away. The inns are much amended. There

is no occasion for that rascally practice of making a bargain--or

_combien_-ing your landlady, before you unharness your horses, which

formerly was a matter of necessity. The general taste of the English

seems to regulate the travelling--naturally enough, as the hotels, of

which there are two or three in each town, chiefly subsist by them. We

did not see one French equipage on the road; the natives seem to travel

entirely in the Diligence, and doubtless _à bon marché_; the road was

thronged with English.

But in her great features France is the same as ever. An oppressive air

of solitude seems to hover over these rich and extended plains, while we

are sensible that, whatever is the motive of the desolation, it cannot

be sterility. The towns are small, and have a poor appearance, and more

frequently exhibit signs of decayed splendour than of thriving and

increasing prosperity. The château, the abode of the gentleman, and the

villa, the retreat of the thriving _négociant_, are rarely seen till you

come to Beaumont. At this place, which well deserves its name of the

fair mount, the prospect improves greatly, and country-seats are seen in

abundance; also woods, sometimes deep and extensive, at other times

scattered in groves and single trees. Amidst these the oak seldom or

never is found; England, lady of the ocean, seems to claim it

exclusively as her own. Neither are there any quantity of firs. Poplars

in abundance give a formal air to the landscape. The forests chiefly

consist of beeches, with some birches, and the roads are bordered by

elms cruelly cropped, pollarded, and switched. The demand for firewood

occasions these mutilations. If I could waft by a wish the thinnings of

Abbotsford here, it would make a little fortune of itself. But then to

switch and mutilate my trees!--not for a thousand francs. Ay, but sour

grapes, quoth the fox.

_October_ 30.--Finding ourselves snugly settled in our Hotel, we

determined to remain here at fifteen francs per day. We are in the midst

of what can be seen, and we are very comfortably fed and lodged.

This morning wet and surly. Sallied, however, by the assistance of a

hired coach, and left cards for Count Pozzo di Borgo, Lord Granville,

our ambassador, and M. Gallois, author of the _History of Venice_.[382]

Found no one at home, not even the old pirate Galignani,[383] at whose

den I ventured to call. Showed my companion the Louvre (which was

closed, unluckily), the front of the palace with its courts, and all

that splendid quarter which the fame of Paris rests upon in security. We

can never do the like in Britain. Royal magnificence can only be

displayed by despotic power. In England, were the most splendid street

or public building to be erected, the matter must be discussed in

Parliament, or perhaps some sturdy cobbler holds out, and refuses to

part with his stall, and the whole plan is disconcerted. Long may such

impediments exist! But then we should conform to circumstances, and

assume in our public works a certain sober simplicity of character,

which should point out that they were dictated by utility rather than

show. The affectation of an expensive style only places us at a

disadvantageous contrast with other nations, and our substitute of brick

and plaster for freestone resembles the mean ambition which displays

Bristol stones in default of diamonds.

We went to theatre in the evening--Comédie Française the place,

_Rosemunde_ the piece. It is the composition of a young man with a

promising name--Émile de Bonnechose; the story that of Fair Rosamond.

There were some good situations, and the actors in the French taste

seemed to me admirable, particularly Mademoiselle Bourgoin. It would be

absurd to attempt to criticise what I only half understood; but the

piece was well received, and produced a very strong effect. Two or three

ladies were carried out in hysterics; one next to our box was

frightfully ill. A Monsieur _à belles moustaches_--the husband, I trust,

though it is likely they were _en partie fine_--was extremely and

affectionately assiduous. She was well worthy of the trouble, being very

pretty indeed; the face beautiful, even amidst the involuntary

convulsions. The afterpiece was _Femme Juge et Partie_, with which I was

less amused than I had expected, because I found I understood the

language less than I did ten or eleven years since. Well, well, I am

past the age of mending.

Some of our friends in London had pretended that at Paris I might stand

some chance of being encountered by the same sort of tumultuary

reception which I met in Ireland; but for this I see no ground. It is a

point on which I am totally indifferent. As a literary man I cannot

affect to despise public applause; as a private gentleman I have always

been embarrassed and displeased with popular clamours, even when in my

favour. I know very well the breath of which such shouts are composed,

and am sensible those who applaud me to-day would be as ready to toss me

to-morrow; and I would not have them think that I put such a value on

their favour as would make me for an instant fear their displeasure. Now

all this disclamation is sincere, and yet it sounds affected. It puts me

in mind of an old woman who, when Carlisle was taken by the Highlanders

in 1745, chose to be particularly apprehensive of personal violence, and

shut herself up in a closet, in order that she might escape ravishment.

But no one came to disturb her solitude, and she began to be sensible

that poor Donald was looking out for victuals, or seeking for some small

plunder, without bestowing a thought on the fair sex; by and by she

popped her head out of her place of refuge with the petty question,

"Good folks, can you tell when the ravishing is going to begin?" I am

sure I shall neither hide myself to avoid applause, which probably no

one will think of conferring, nor have the meanness to do anything which

can indicate any desire of ravishment. I have seen, when the late Lord

Erskine entered the Edinburgh theatre, papers distributed in the boxes

to mendicate a round of applause--the natural reward of a poor player.

_October_ 31.--At breakfast visited by M. Gallois, an elderly Frenchman

(always the most agreeable class), full of information, courteous and

communicative. He had seen nearly, and remarked deeply, and spoke

frankly, though with due caution. He went with us to the Museum, where I

think the Hall of Sculpture continues to be a fine thing; that of

Pictures but tolerable, when we reflect upon 1815. A number of great

French daubs (comparatively), by David and Gerard, cover the walls once

occupied by the Italian _chefs-d'oeuvre. Fiat justitia, ruat coelum_. We

then visited Notre Dame and the Palace of Justice. The latter is

accounted the oldest building in Paris, being the work of St. Louis. It

is, however, in the interior, adapted to the taste of Louis XIV. We

drove over the Pont Neuf, and visited the fine quays, which was all we

could make out to-day, as I was afraid to fatigue Anne. When we returned

home I found Count Pozzo di Borgo waiting for me, a personable man,

inclined to be rather corpulent--handsome features, with all the

Corsican fire in his eye. He was quite kind and communicative. Lord

Granville had also called, and sent Mr. Jones [his secretary] to invite

us to dinner to-morrow. In the evening at the Odéon, where we saw

_Ivanhoe_. It was superbly got up, the Norman soldiers wearing pointed

helmets and what resembled much hauberks of mail, which looked very

well. The number of the attendants, and the skill with which they were

moved and grouped on the stage, were well worthy of notice. It was an

opera, and of course the story greatly mangled, and the dialogue in a

great part nonsense. Yet it was strange to hear anything like the words

which I (then in an agony of pain with spasms in my stomach) dictated to

William Laidlaw at Abbotsford, now recited in a foreign tongue, and for

the amusement of a strange people. I little thought to have survived the

completing of this novel.[384]