_April 1_.--A pretty first of April truly; the hills white with snow, I
myself as bilious as a dog. My noble guests left about noon. I wrote
letters, as if I had not bile enough in my bosom already, and did not go
out to face the snow wreaths till half-past two, when I am resolved to
make a brush for exercise. There will be fine howling among the dogs,
for I am about to shut my desk. Found Mrs. Skene disposed to walk, so I
had the advantage of her company. The snow lay three inches thick on the
ground; but we had the better appetite for dinner, after which we talked
and read without my lifting a pen.
_April 2_.--Begins with same brilliant prospect of snow and sunshine
dazzling to the eyes and chilling to the fingers, a beastly disagreeable
coldness in the air. I stuck by the pen till one, then took a drive with
the ladies as far as Chiefswood and walked home. Young William
Forbes[286] came, and along with him a Southron, Mr. Cleasby.
_April 3_.--Still the same party. I fagged at writing letters to
Lockhart, to Charles, and to John Gibson, to Mr. Cadell, Croker, Lord
Haddington, and others. Lockhart has had an overture through Croker
requesting him to communicate with some newspaper on the part of the
Government, which he has wisely declined. Nothing but a thorough-going
blackguard ought to attempt the daily press, unless it is some quiet
country diurnal. Lockhart has also a wicked wit which would make an
office of this kind more dangerous to him than to downright dulness. I
am heartily glad he has refused it.[287]
Sir James Mackintosh and Lord Haddington have spoken very handsomely of
my accession to the Catholic Petition, and I think it has done some
good; yet I am not confident that the measure will disarm the Catholic
spleen.[288] And I was not entirely easy at finding myself allied to the
Whigs, even in this instance, where I agree with them. This is witless
prejudice, however.
My walk to-day was up the Rhymer's Glen with Skene. Colonel Ferguson
dined with us.
_April_ 4.--Mr. Cleasby left this morning. He has travelled much, and is
a young man of copious conversation and ready language, aiming I suppose
at Parliament.[289] William Forbes is singing like an angel in the next
room, but he sings only Italian music, which says naught to me. I have a
letter from one David Patterson, who was Dr. Knox's jackal for buying
murdered bodies, suggesting that I should write on the subject of Burke
and Hare, and offering me his invaluable collection of anecdotes! "Curse
him imperance and him dam insurance,"[290] as Mungo says in the farce.
Did ever one hear the like? The scoundrel has been the companion and
patron of such atrocious murderers and kidnappers, and he has the
impudence to write to any decent man!
Corrected proof-sheets and dedication of the _Magnum_ and sent them off.
_April_ 5.--Read prayers to what remains of our party: being Anne, my
niece Anne, the four Skenes, and William Forbes. We then walked, and I
returned time enough to work a little at the criticism. Thus it drew
towards dinner in conclusion, after which we smoked, told stories, and
drank tea.
_April_ 6.--Worked at the _review_ for three or four hours; yet hang it,
I can't get on. I wonder if I am turning clumsy in other matters;
certainly I cannot write against time as I used to do. My thoughts will
not be duly regulated; my pen declares for itself, will neither write
nor spell, and goes under independent colours. I went out with the child
Kitty Skene on her pony. I don't much love children, I suppose from want
of habit, but this is a fine merry little girl.
William Forbes sang in the evening with a feeling and taste
indescribably fine, but as he had no Scottish or English songs, my ears
were not much gratified. I have no sense beyond Mungo: "What signify me
hear if me no understand!"
William Forbes leaves us. As to the old story, scribble till two, then
walk for exercise till four. Deil hae it else, for company eats up the
afternoon, so nothing can be done that is not achieved in the forenoon.
_April_ 7.--We had a gay scene this morning--the foxhounds and merry
hunters in my little base court, which rung with trampling steeds, and
rejoiced in scarlet jackets and ringing horns. I have seen the day
worlds would not have bribed me to stay behind them; but that is over,
and I walked a sober pace up to the Abbot's Knowe, from which I saw them
draw my woods, but without finding a fox. I watched them with that
mixture of interest, affection, and compassion which old men feel at
looking on the amusements of the young. I was so far interested in the
chase itself as to be sorry they did not find. I had so far the
advantage of the visit, that it gave me an object for the morning
exercise, which I would otherwise only have been prompted to by health
and habit. It is pleasant to have one's walk,--as heralds say, with a
difference. By the way, the foxhunters hunted the cover far too fast.
When they found a path they ran through it pell-mell without beating at
all. They had hardly left the hare-hole cover, when a fox, which they
had over-run, stole away. This is the consequence of breeding dogs too
speedy.
_April_ 8.--We have the news of the Catholic question being carried in
the House of Lords, by a majority of 105 upon the second reading. This
is decisive, and the balsam of Fierabras must be swallowed.[291] It
remains to see how it will work. Since it was indubitably necessary, I
am glad the decision on the case has been complete. On these last three
days I have finished my review of Tytler for Lockhart and sent it off by
this post. I may have offended Peter by censuring him for a sort of
petulance towards his predecessor Lord Hailes. This day visited by Mr.
Carr, who is a sensible, clever young man, and by his two
sisters[292]--beautiful singer the youngest--and to my taste, and
English music.
_April_ 9.--Laboured correcting proofs and revising; the day infinitely
bad. Worked till three o'clock; then tried a late walk, and a wet one.
I hear bad news of James Ballantyne. Hypochondriac I am afraid, and
religiously distressed in mind.
I got a book from the Duke de Lévis, the same gentleman with whom I had
an awkward meeting at Abbotsford, owing to his having forgot his
credentials, which left me at an unpleasant doubt as to his character
and identity.[293] His book is inscribed to me with hyperbolical
praises. Now I don't like to have, like the Persian poets who have the
luck to please the Sun of the Universe, my mouth crammed with
sugar-candy, which politeness will not permit me to spit out, and my
stomach is indisposed to swallow. The book is better than would be
expected from the exaggerated nonsense of the dedication.
_April_ 10.--Left Abbotsford at seven to attend the Circuit. _Nota
bene_--half-past six is the better hour; waters are extremely flooded.
Lord Meadowbank at the Circuit. Nothing tried but a few trumpery
assaults. Meadowbank announces he will breakfast with me to-morrow, so I
shall return to-night. Promised to my cousin Charles Scott to interest
myself about his getting the farm of Milsington upon Borthwick Water
and mentioned him to Colonel Riddell as a proposed offerer. The tender
was well received. I saw James the piper and my cousin Anne; sent to
James Veitch the spyglass of Professor Ferguson to be repaired. Dined
with the Judge and returned in the evening.
_April_ 11.--Meadowbank breakfasted with us, and then went on to
Edinburgh, pressed by bad news of his family. His wife (daughter of my
early patron, President Blair) is very ill; indeed I fear fatally so. I
am sorry to think it is so. When the King was here she was the finest
woman I saw at Holyrood. My proofs kept me working till two; then I had
a fatiguing and watery walk. After dinner we smoked, and I talked with
Mr. Carr over criminal jurisprudence, the choicest of conversation to an
old lawyer; and the delightful music of Miss Isabella Carr closed the
day. Still, I don't get to my task; but I will, to-morrow or next day.
_April_ 12.--Read prayers, put my books in order and made some progress
in putting papers in order which have been multiplying on my table. I
have a letter from that impudent lad Reynolds about my contribution to
the _Keepsake_. Sent to him the _House of Aspen_, as I had previously
determined. This will give them a lumping pennyworth in point of extent,
but that's the side I would have the bargain rest upon. It shall be a
warning after this to keep out of such a scrape.
_April_ 13.--In the morning before breakfast I corrected the proof of
the critique on the life of Lord Pitsligo in Blackwood's Magazine.[294]
After breakfast Skene and his lady and family, and Mr. Carr and his
sisters, took their departure. Time was dawdled away till nearly twelve
o'clock and then I could not work much. I finished, however, a painful
letter to J. Ballantyne, which I hope will have effect upon the nervous
disorder he complains of. He must "awake, arise, or be for ever fallen."
I walked happily and pleasantly from two o'clock till four. And now I
must look to _Anne of Geierstein_. Hang it! it is not so bad after all,
though I fear it will not be popular. In fact, I am almost expended; but
while I exhort others to exertion I will not fail to exert myself. I
have a letter from R.P. G[illies] proposing to subscribe to assist him
from £25 to £50. It will do no good, but yet I cannot help giving him
something.
"A daimen-icker in a thrave's a sma' request:
I'll get a blessing wi' the lave, and never miss't."[295]