_June_ 1.--We took leave of our friends at Rokeby after breakfast, and
pursued our well-known path over Stanmore to Brough, Appleby, Penrith,
and Carlisle. As I have this road by heart, I have little amusement save
the melancholy task of recalling the sensations with which I have traced
it in former times, all of which refer to decay of animal strength, and
abatement if not of mental powers, at least of mental energy. The _non
est tanti_ grows fast at my time of life. We reached Carlisle at seven
o'clock, and were housed for the night. My books being exhausted, I
lighted on an odd volume of the _Gentleman's Magazine_, a work in which,
as in a pawnbroker's shop, much of real curiosity and value are stowed
away and concealed amid the frippery and trumpery of those reverend old
gentlewomen who were the regular correspondents of the work.
_June_ 2.--We intended to walk to the Castle, but were baffled by rainy
weather. I was obliged to wait for a certificate from the parish
register--_Hei mihi_!! I cannot have it till ten o'clock, or rather, as
it chanced, till past eleven, when I got the paper for which I
waited.[221] We lunched at Hawick, and concluded our pilgrimage at
Abbotsford about nine at night, where the joyful barking of the dogs,
with the sight of the kind familiar faces of our domestics, gave us
welcome, and I enjoyed a sound repose on my own bed. I remark that in
this journey I have never once experienced depression of spirits, or the
_tremor cordis_ of which I have sometimes such unpleasant visits.
Dissipation, and a succession of trifling engagements, prevent the mind
from throwing itself out in the manner calculated to exhaust the owner,
and to entertain other people. There is a lesson in this.
_June_ 3, [_Abbotsford_].--This was a very idle day. I waked to walk
about my beautiful young woods with old Tom and the dogs. The sun shone
bright, and the wind fanned my cheek as if it were a welcoming. I did
not do the least right thing, except packing a few books necessary for
writing the continuation of the Tales. In this merry mood I wandered as
far as Huntly Burn, where I found the Miss Fergusons well and happy;
then I sauntered back to Abbotsford, sitting on every bench by the way,
and thus
"It grew to dinner in conclusion."
A good appetite made my simple meal relish better than the magnificent
cheer which I have lately partaken of. I smoked a cigar, slept away an
hour, and read Mure of Auchendrane's trial, and thus ended the day. I
cannot afford to spend many such, nor would they seem so pleasant.
_June_ 4, [_Edinburgh_].--The former part of this day was employed much
as yesterday, but some packing was inevitable. Will Laidlaw came to
dinner, of which we partook at three o'clock. Started at half-past four,
and arrived at home, if we must call it so, at nine o'clock in the
evening. I employed my leisure in the chaise to peruse Mure of
Auchendrane's trial, out of which something might be coopered up for
the public.[222] It is one of the wildest stories I ever read. Something
might surely be twisted out of it.
_June_ 5.--Cadell breakfasted; in great spirits with the success of the
_Fair Maid of Perth_. A disappointment being always to be apprehended, I
too am greatly pleased that the evil day is adjourned, for the time must
come--and yet I can spin a tough yarn still with any one now going.
I was much distressed to find that the last of the Macdonald Buchanans,
a fine lad of about twenty-one, is now decidedly infected by the same
pulmonary complaint which carried off his four brothers in succession.
This is indeed a cruel stroke, and it is melancholy to witness the
undaunted Highland courage of the father.