_January_ 17.--Nothing in the roll; corrected proofs, and went off at 12
o'clock in the Hamilton stage to William Lockhart's at Auchinrath. My
companions, Mr. Livingstone, the clergyman of Camnethan, a Bailie
Hamilton, the king of trumps, I am told, in the Burgh of Hamilton, and a
Mr. Davie Martin _qui gaudet equis et canibus_. Got to Auchinrath by
six, and met Lord Douglas,[237] his brother, Captain Douglas, E.N., John
G-. Lockhart also, who had a large communication from Duke of W. upon
the subject of the bullion. The Duke scouts the economist's ideas about
paper credit, after the proposition that all men shall be entitled to
require gold.
_January_ 18.--We went, the two Lockharts and I, to William's new
purchase of Milton. We found on his ground a cottage, where a man called
Greenshields,[238] a sensible, powerful-minded person, had at
twenty-eight (rather too late a week)[239] taken up the art of
sculpture. He had disposed of the person of the King most admirably,
according to my poor thoughts, and had attained a wonderful expression
of ease and majesty at the same time. He was desirous of engaging on
Burns' Jolly Beggars, which I dissuaded. Caricature is not the object of
sculpture.
We went to Milton on as fine a day as could consist with snow on the
ground. The situation is eminently beautiful; a fine promontory round
which the Clyde makes a magnificent bend. We fixed on a situation where
the sitting-room should command the upper view, and, with an ornamental
garden, I think it may be made the prettiest place in Scotland.
_January_ 19.--Posted to Edinburgh with John Lockhart. We stopped at
Allanton to see a tree transplanted, which was performed with great
ease. Sir Henry is a sad coxcomb, and lifted beyond the solid earth by
the effect of his book's success. But the book well deserves it.[240] He
is in practice particularly anxious to keep the roots of the tree near
the surface, and only covers them with about a foot of earth.
_Note_.--Lime rubbish dug in among the roots of ivy encourages it much.
The operation delayed us three hours, so it was seven o'clock before we
reached our dinner and a good fire in Shandwick Place, and we were
wellnigh frozen to death. During this excursion I walked very ill--with
more pain, in fact, than I ever remember to have felt--and, even leaning
on John Lockhart, could hardly get on. _Baad that, vara baad_--it might
be the severe weather though, and the numbing effect of the sitting in
the carriage. Be it what it will, I can't help myself.
_January_ 20.--I had little to do at the Court, and returned home soon.
Honest old Mr. Ferrier is dead, at extreme old age. I confess I should
not wish to live so long. He was a man with strong passions and strong
prejudices, but with generous and manly sentiments at the same time. We
used to call him Uncle Adam, after that character in his gifted
daughter's novel of the _Heiress_ [Inheritance]. I wrote a long letter
after I came home to my Lord Elgin about Greenshields, the
sculptor.[241] I am afraid he is going into the burlesque line, to
which sculpture is peculiarly ill adapted. So I have expressed my veto
to his patron, _valeat quantum_. Also a letter to Mrs. Professor
Sandford at Glasgow about reprinting Macaulay's _History of St.
Kilda_,[242] advising them to insert the history of Lady Grange who was
kidnapped and banished thither.
I corrected my proofs, moreover, and prepared to dine. After dinner we
go to Euphemia Erskine's marriage. Mr. Dallas came in and presented me
with an old pedigree of the M'Intoshes. The wedding took place with the
usual April weather of smiles and tears. The bridegroom's name is
Dawson. As he, as well as the bride, is very tall, they have every
chance of bringing up a family of giants. The bridegroom has an
excellent character. He is only a captain, but economy does wonders in
the army, where there are many facilities for practising it. I sincerely
wish them happiness.
_January_ 21.--Went out to Dalkeith House to dine and stay all night.
Found Marquis of Lothian and a family party. I liked the sense and
spirit displayed by this young nobleman, who reminds me strongly of his
parents, whom I valued so highly.
_January_ 22.--Left Dalkeith after breakfast, and gained the Parliament
House, where there was almost nothing to do, at eleven o'clock.
Afterwards sat to Graham, who is making a good thing of it. Mr. Colvin
Smith has made a better in one sense, having sold ten or twelve copies
of the portrait to different friends.[243] The Solicitor came to dine
with me--we drank a bottle of champagne, and two bottles of claret,
which, in former days, I should have thought a very sober allowance,
since, Lockhart included, there were three persons to drink it. But I
felt I had drunk too much, and was uncomfortable. The young men stood it
like young men. Skene and his wife and daughter looked in in the
evening. I suppose I am turning to my second childhood, for not only am
I filled drunk, or made stupid at least, with one bottle of wine, but I
am disabled from writing by chilblains on my fingers--a most babyish
complaint. They say that the character is indicated by the handwriting;
if so, mine is crabbed enough.
_January_ 23.--Still severe frost, annoying to sore fingers. Nothing on
the roll. I sat at home and wrote letters to Wilkie, Landseer, Mrs.
Hughes, Charles, etc. Went out to old Mr. Ferrier's funeral, and saw the
last duty rendered to my old friend, whose age was
"----Like a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly,"[244]
I mean in a moral as well as a physical sense. I then went to Cadell's
for some few minutes.
I carried out Lockhart to Dalkeith, where we dined, supped, and returned
through a clinking frost, with snow on the ground. Lord Ramsay and the
Miss Kerrs were at Dalkeith. The Duke shows, for so young a man, a great
deal of character, and seems to have a proper feeling of the part he has
to play. The evening was pleasant, but the thought that I was now the
visitor and friend of the family in the third generation lay somewhat
heavy on me. Every thing around me seemed to say that beauty, power,
wealth, honour were but things of a day.
_January_ 24.--Heavy fall of snow. Lockhart is off in the mail. I hope
he will not be blockaded. The day bitter cold. I went to the Court, and
with great difficulty returned along the slippery street. I ought to
have taken the carriage, but I have a superstitious dread of giving up
the habit of walking, and would willingly stick to the last by my old
hardy customs.
Little but trifles to do at the Court. My hands are so covered with
chilblains that I can hardly use a pen--my feet ditto.
We bowled away at six o'clock to Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay's. Found we were a
week too early, and went back as if our noses had been bleeding.
_January_ 25.--Worked seriously all morning, expecting the Fergusons to
dinner. Alas! instead of that, I learn that my poor innocent friend Mary
is no more. She was a person of some odd and peculiar habits, wore a
singular dress, and affected wild and solitary haunts, but she was, at
the same time, a woman of talent, and even genius. She used often to
take long walks with me up through the glens; and I believe her sincere
good wishes attended me, as I was always glad of an opportunity to show
her kindness. I shall long think of her when at Abbotsford. This sad
event breaks up our little party. Will Clerk came, however, and his
_tête-à-tête_ was, of course, interesting and amusing in the highest
degree. We drank some whisky and water, and smoked a cigar or two, till
nine at night.
"No after friendships ere can raise
The endearments of our early days."
_January_ 26.--I muzzed on--I can call it little better--with _Anne of
Geierstein_. The materials are excellent, but the power of using them is
failing. Yet I wrote out about three pages, sleeping at intervals.
_January_ 27.--A great and general thaw, the streets afloat, the snow
descending on one's head from the roofs. Went to the Court. There was
little to do. Left about twelve, and took a sitting with Graham, who
begs for another. Sir James Stuart stood bottle-holder on this occasion.
Had rather an unfavourable account of the pictures of James Stuart of
Dunearn, which are to be sold. I had promised to pick up one or two for
the Duke of Buccleuch. Came home and wrote a leaf or two. I shall be
soon done with the second volume of _Anne of Geierstein_. I cannot
persuade myself to the obvious risk of satisfying the public, although I
cannot so well satisfy myself. I am like Beaumont and Fletcher's old
Merrythought who could not be persuaded that there was a chance of his
wanting meat. I never came into my parlour, said he, but I found the
cloth laid and dinner ready; surely it will be always thus. Use makes
perfectness.[245]
My reflections are of the same kind; and if they are unlogical they are
perhaps not the less comfortable. Fretting and struggling does no good.
Wrote to Miss Margaret Ferguson a letter of condolence.
_January_ 28.--Breakfasted, for a wonder, abroad with Hay Drummond,
whose wife appears a pretty and agreeable little woman. We worshipped
his tutelar deity, the Hercules, and saw a good model of the Hercules
Bibax, or the drunken Hercules. Graham and Sir James Stuart were there.
Home-baked bread and soldier's coffee were the treat. I came home; and
Sir Robert Dundas having taken my duty at the Court, I wrote for some
time, but not much. Burke the murderer hanged this morning. The mob,
which was immense, demanded Knox and Hare, but though greedy for more
victims, received with shouts the solitary wretch who found his way to
the gallows out of five or six who seem not less guilty than he. But the
story begins to be stale, although I believe a doggerel ballad upon it
would be popular, how brutal soever the wit. This is the progress of
human passions. We ejaculate, exclaim, hold up to Heaven our hand, like
the rustic Phidyle[246]--next morning the mood changes, and we dance a
jig to the tune which moved us to tears. Mr. Bell sends me a specimen of
a historical novel, but he goes not the way to write it; he is too
general, and not sufficiently minute. It is not easy to convey this to
an author, with the necessary attention to his feelings; and yet, in
good faith and sincerity, it must be done.
_January_ 29.--I had a vacant day once more by the kindness of Sir
Robert, unasked, but most kindly afforded. I have not employed it to
much purpose. I wrote six pages to Croker,[247] who is busied with a new
edition of Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, to which most entertaining book
he hopes to make large additions from Mrs. Piozzi, Hawkins and other
sources. I am bound by many obligations to do as much for him as I can,
which can only respect the Scottish Tour. I wrote only two or three
pages of _Anne_. I am
"----- as one who in a darksome way
Doth walk with fear and dread."
But walk I must, and walk forward too, or I shall be benighted with a
vengeance. After dinner, to compromise matters with my conscience, I
wrote letters to Mr. Bell, Mrs. Hughes, and so forth; thus I concluded
the day with a sort of busy idleness. This will not do. By cock and pye
it will not.
_January_ 30.--Mr. Stuart breakfasted with me, a grand-nephew of Lady
Louisa's, a very pleasing young gentleman. The coach surprised me by not
calling. _Will_ it be for the Martyrdom? I trow it will, yet, strange to
say, I cannot recollect if it is a regular holiday or not.
"Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men,
And use it as ye may."
I wrote in the morning, and went at one o'clock to a meeting of country
gentlemen, about bringing the direct road from London down by Jedburgh,
said to be the nearest line by fifty miles. It is proposed the pleasant
men of Teviotdale should pay, not only their own share,--that is, the
expense of making the road through our own country, but also the expense
of making the road under the Ellsdon Trust in Northumberland, where the
English would positively do nothing. I stated this to the meeting as an
act of Quixotry. If it be an advantage, which, unless to individuals,
may be doubted, it is equally one to Northumberland as to Roxburgh,
therefore I am clear that we should go "acquals."
I think I have maybe put a spoke in the wheel. The raising the statute
labour of Roxburgh to an oppressive extent, to make roads in England,
is, I think, jimp legal, and will be much complained of by the poorer
heritors. Henry of Harden dines with me _tête-à-tête_, excepting the
girls.
_January_ 31.--I thought I had opened a vein this morning and that it
came freely, but the demands of art have been more than I can bear. I
corrected proofs before breakfast, went to Court after that meal; was
busy till near one o'clock. Then I went to Cadell's, where they are
preparing to circulate the prospectus of the magnum, which will have all
the effect of surprise on most people. I sat to Mr. Graham till I was
quite tired, then went to Lady Jane, who is getting better. Then here at
four, but fit for nothing but to bring up this silly Diary.
The corpse of the murderer Burke is now lying in state at the College,
in the anatomical class, and all the world flock to see him. Who is he
that says that we are not ill to please in our objects of curiosity? The
strange means by which the wretch made money are scarce more disgusting
than the eager curiosity with which the public have licked up all the
carrion details of this business.
I trifled with my work. I wonder how Johnson set himself doggedly to
it--to a work of imagination it seems quite impossible, and one's brain
is at times fairly addled. And yet I have felt times when sudden and
strong exertion would throw off all this mistiness of mind, as a north
wind would disperse it.
"Blow, blow, thou northern wind."[248]
Nothing more than about two or three pages. I went to the Parliament
House to-day, but had little to do. I sat to Mr. Graham the last time,
Heaven be praised! If I be not known in another age, it will not be for
want of pictures. We dined with Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay and Lady Anne--a fine
family. There was little done in the way of work except correcting
proofs. The bile affects me, and makes me vilely drowsy when I should be
most awake. Met at Mr. Wardlaw's several people I did not know. Looked
over Cumnor Hall by Mr. Usher Tighe of Oxford. I see from the
inscription on Tony Foster's tomb that he was a skilful planter, amongst
other fashionable accomplishments.