Henry Scott for birth, fortune, or political principle; and I do not see
where we could get a better representative.
_April_ 14. - Wrote to Lord M. last night. I hope they will keep the
peace in the county. I am sure it would be to me a most distressing
thing if Buccleuch and Harden were to pull different ways, being so
intimate with both families.
I did not write much yesterday, not above two pages and a half. I have
begun _Boney_, though, and _c'est toujours quelque chose_. This morning
I sent off proofs and manuscript. Had a letter from the famous Denis
Davidoff, the Black Captain, whose abilities as a partisan were so much
distinguished during the retreat from Moscow. If I can but wheedle him
out of a few anecdotes, it would be a great haul.
A kind letter from Colin Mack[enzie]; he thinks the Ministry will not
push the measure against Scotland. I fear they will; there is usually an
obstinacy in weakness. But I will think no more about it. Time draws on.
I have been here a month. Another month carries me to be a hermit in the
city instead of the country. I could scarce think I had been here a
week. I wish I was able, even at great loss, to retire from Edinburgh
entirely. Here is no bile, no visits, no routine, and yet on the whole,
things are as well perhaps as they are.
_April_ 15. - Received last night letters from Sir John Scott Douglas,
and from that daintiest of Dandies, Sir William Elliot of Stobs,
canvassing for the county. Young Harry's[247] the lad for me. But will
he be the lad for Lord Montagu? - there is the point. I should have given
him a hint to attend to Edgerston. Perhaps being at Minto, and not
there, may give offence, and a bad report from that quarter would play
the devil. It is rather too late to go down and tell them this, and, to
say truth, I don't like the air of making myself busy in the matter.
Poor Sir Alexander Don died of a disease in the heart; the body was
opened, which was very right. Odd enough, too, to have a man, probably a
friend two days before, slashing at one's heart as it were a bullock's.
I had a letter yesterday from John Gibson. The House of Longman and Co.
guarantee the sale [of _Woodstock_] to Hurst, and take the work, if
Hurst and Robinson (as is to be feared) can make no play.
Also I made up what was due of my task both for 13th and 14th. So hey
for a Swiftianism -
"I loll in my chair,
And around me I stare
With a critical air,
Like a calf at a fair;
And, say I, Mrs. Duty,
Good-morrow to your beauty,
I kiss your sweet shoe-tie,
And hope I can suit ye."
Fair words butter no parsnips, says Duty; don't keep talking then, but
get to your work again. Here is a day's task before you - the siege of
Toulon. Call you that a task? d - - me, I'll write it as fast as _Boney_
carried it on.
_April_ 16. - I am now far ahead with _Nap._ I wrote a little this
morning, but this forenoon I must write letters, a task in which I am
far behind.
"Heaven sure sent letters for some wretch's plague."[248]
Lady Scott seems to make no way, yet can scarce be said to lose any. She
suffers much occasionally, especially during the night. Sleeps a great
deal when at ease; all symptoms announce water upon the chest. A sad
prospect.
In the evening a despatch from Lord Melville, written with all the
familiarity of former times, desiring me to ride down and press Mr.
Scott of Harden to let Henry stand, and this in Lord Montagu's name as
well as his own, so that the two propositions cross each other on the
road, and Henry is as much desired by the Buccleuch interest as he
desires their support.
_Jedburgh, April_ 17. - Came over to Jedburgh this morning, to breakfast
with my good old friend Mr. Shortreed, and had my usual warm reception.
Lord Gillies held the Circuit Court, and there was no criminal trial for
any offence whatsoever. I have attended these circuits with tolerable
regularity since 1792, and though there is seldom much of importance to
be done, yet I never remember before the Porteous roll[249] being quite
blank. The judge was presented with a pair of white gloves, in
consideration of its being a maiden circuit. Harden came over and talked
about his son's preferment, naturally much pleased.
Received £100 from John Lockhart, for review of Pepys;[250] but this is
by far too much; £50 is plenty. Still I must impeticos the gratility for
the present,[251] - for Whitsunday will find me only with £300 in hand,
unless Blackwood settles a few scores of pounds for _Malachi_.
Wrote a great many letters. Dined with the Judge, where I met the
disappointed candidate, Sir John Scott Douglas, who took my excuse like
a gentleman. Sir William Elliot, on the other hand, was, being a fine
man, very much out of sorts, that having got his own consent, he could
not get that of the county. He showed none of this, however, to me.
_April_ 18. - This morning I go down to Kelso from Jedburgh to poor Don's
funeral. It is, I suppose, forty years since I saw him first. I was
staying at Sydenham, a lad of fourteen, or by 'r Lady some sixteen; and
he, a boy of six or seven, was brought to visit me on a pony, a groom
holding the leading rein - and now, I, an old grey man, am going to lay
him in his grave. Sad work. I detest funerals; there is always a want of
consistency; it is a tragedy played by strolling performers, who are
more likely to make you laugh than cry. No chance of my being made to
laugh to-day. The very road I go is a road of grave recollections. Must
write to Charles seriously on the choice of his profession, and I will
do it now.
[_Abbotsford_,] _April_ 19. - Returned last night from the house of death
and mourning to my own, now the habitation of sickness and anxious
apprehension. Found Lady S. had tried the foxglove in quantity, till it
made her so sick she was forced to desist. The result cannot yet be
judged. Wrote to Mrs. Thomas Scott to beg her to let her daughter Anne,
an uncommonly, sensible, steady, and sweet-tempered girl, come and stay
with us a season in our distress, who I trust will come forthwith.
Two melancholy things. Last night I left my pallet in our family
apartment, to make way for a female attendant, and removed to a
dressing-room adjoining, when to return, or whether ever, God only can
tell. Also my servant cut my hair, which used to be poor Charlotte's
personal task. I hope she will not observe it.
The funeral yesterday was very mournful; about fifty persons present,
and all seemed affected. The domestics in particular were very much so.
Sir Alexander was a kind, though an exact master. It was melancholy to
see those apartments, where I have so often seen him play the graceful
and kind landlord filled with those who were to carry him to his long
home.
There was very little talk of the election, at least till the funeral
was over.
_April_ 20. - Lady Scott's health in the same harassing state of
uncertainty, yet on my side with more of hope than I had two days since.
Another death; Thomas Riddell, younger of Camiston, Sergeant-Major of
the Edinburgh Troop in the sunny days of our yeomanry, and a very good
fellow.
The day was so tempting that I went out with Tom Purdie to cut some
trees, the rather that my task was very well advanced. He led me into
the wood, as the blind King of Bohemia was led by his four knights into
the thick of the battle at Agincourt or Crecy,[252] and then, like the
old King, "I struck good strokes more than one," which is manly
exercise.
_April_ 21. - This day I entertained more flattering hopes of Lady
Scott's health than late events permitted. I went down to Mertoun with
Colonel Ferguson, who returned to dine here, which consumed time so much
that I made a short day's work.
Had the grief to find Lady Scott had insisted on coming downstairs and
was the worse of it. Also a letter from Lockhart, giving a poor account
of the infant. God help us! earth cannot.
_April_ 22. - Lady Scott continues very poorly. Better news of the child.
Wrought a good deal to-day, rather correcting sheets and acquiring
information than actually composing, which is the least toilsome of the
three.
J.G.L. kindly points out some solecisms in my style, as "amid" for
"amidst," "scarce" for "scarcely." "Whose," he says, is the proper
genitive of "which" only at such times as "which" retains its quality of
impersonification. Well! I will try to remember all this, but after all
I write grammar as I speak, to make my meaning known, and a solecism in
point of composition, like a Scotch word in speaking, is indifferent to
me. I never learned grammar; and not only Sir Hugh Evans but even Mrs.
Quickly might puzzle me about Giney's case and horum harum horum.[253] I
believe the Bailiff in _The Good-natured Man_ is not far wrong when he
says, "One man has one way of expressing himself, and another another,
and that is all the difference between them."[254] Went to Huntly Burn
to-day and looked at the Colonel's projected approach. I am sure if the
kind heart can please himself he will please me.
_April_ 23. - A glorious day, bright and brilliant, and, I fancy, mild.
Lady Scott is certainly better, and has promised not to attempt quitting
her room.
Henry Scott has been here, and his canvass comes on like a moor burning.
_April_ 24. - Good news from Brighton. Sophia is confined; both she and
her baby are doing well, and the child's name is announced to be
Walter - a favourite name in our family, and I trust of no bad omen. Yet
it is no charm for life. Of my father's family I was the second Walter,
if not the third. I am glad the name came my way, for it was borne by my
father, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather; also by the
grandsire of that last-named venerable person who was the first laird of
Raeburn.
Hurst and Robinson, the Yorkshire tykes, have failed after all their
swaggering, and Longman and Co. take _Woodstock_. But if _Woodstock_ and
_Napoleon_ take with the public I shall care little about their
insolvency, and if they do not, I don't think their solvency would have
lasted long. Constable is sorely broken down.
"Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee."[255]
His conduct has not been what I deserved at his hand, but, I believe
that, walking blindfold himself, he misled me without _malice prepense_.
It is best to think so at least, unless the contrary be demonstrated. To
nourish angry passions against a man whom I really liked would be to lay
a blister on my own heart.
_April_ 25. - Having fallen behind on the 23d, I wrought pretty hard
yesterday; but I had so much reading, and so many proofs to correct,
that I did not get over the daily task, so am still a little behind,
which I shall soon make up. I have got _Nap._, d - n him, into Italy,
where with bad eyes and obscure maps, I have a little difficulty in
tracing out his victorious chess-play.
Lady Scott was better yesterday, certainly better, and was sound asleep
when I looked in this morning. Walked in the afternoon. I looked at a
hooded crow building in the thicket with great pleasure. It is a shorter
date than my neighbour Torwoodlee[256] thought of, when he told me, as
I was bragging a little of my plantations, that it would be long ere
crows built in them.
_April_ 26. - Letters from Walter and Lockharts; all well and doing well.
Lady S. continues better, so the clouds are breaking up. I made a good
day's work yesterday, and sent off proofs, letters, and copy this
morning; so, if this fine day holds good, I will take a drive at one.
There is an operation called putting to rights - _Scotticè_, _redding
up_ - which puts me into a fever. I always leave any attempt at it half
executed, and so am worse off than before, and have only embroiled the
fray. Then my long back aches with stooping into the low drawers of old
cabinets, and my neck is strained with staring up to their attics. Then
you are sure never to get the thing you want. I am certain they creep
about and hide themselves. Tom Moore[257] gave us the insurrection of
the papers. That was open war, but this is a system of privy plot and
conspiracy, by which those you seek creep out of the way, and those you
are not wanting perk themselves in your face again and again, until at
last you throw them into some corner in a passion, and then they are the
objects of research in their turn. I have read in a French Eastern tale
of an enchanted person called _L'homme qui cherche_, a sort of "Sir Guy
the Seeker," always employed in collecting the beads of a chaplet,
which, by dint of gramarye, always dispersed themselves when he was
about to fix the last upon the string. It was an awful doom;
transmogrification into the Laidleyworm of Spindlestaneheugh[258] would
have been a blessing in comparison. Now, the explanation of all this is,
that I have been all this morning seeking a parcel of sticks of sealing
wax which I brought from Edinburgh, and the "_Weel Brandt and Vast
houd_"[259] has either melted without the agency of fire or barricaded
itself within the drawers of some cabinet, which has declared itself in
a state of insurrection. A choice subject for a journal, but what better
have I?
I did not quite finish my task to-day, nay, I only did one third of it.
It is so difficult to consult the maps after candles are lighted, or to
read the Moniteur, that I was obliged to adjourn. The task is three
pages or leaves of my close writing per diem, which corresponds to about
a sheet (16 pages) of _Woodstock_, and about 12 of _Bonaparte_, which is
a more comprehensive page. But I was not idle neither, and wrote some
_Balaam_[260] for Lockhart's _Review_. Then I was in hand a leaf above
the tale, so I am now only a leaf behind it.
_April_ 27. - This is one of those abominable April mornings which
deserve the name of _Sans Cullotides_, as being cold, beggarly, coarse,
savage, and intrusive. The earth lies an inch deep with snow, to the
confusion of the worshippers of Flora. By the way, Bogie attended his
professional dinner and show of flowers at Jedburgh yesterday. Here is a
beautiful sequence to their _floralia_. It is this uncertainty in April,
and the descent of snow and frost when one thinks themselves clear of
them, and that after fine encouraging weather, that destroys our
Scottish fruits and flowers. It is as imprudent to attach yourself to
flowers in Scotland as to a caged bird; the cat, sooner or later, snaps
up one, and these - _Sans Cullotides_ - annihilate the other. It was but
yesterday I was admiring the glorious flourish of the pears and
apricots, and now hath come the killing frost.[261]
But let it freeze without, we are comfortable within. Lady Scott
continues better, and, we may hope, has got the turn of her disease.
_April_ 28. - Beautiful morning, but ice as thick as pasteboard, too
surely showing that the night has made good yesterday's threat.
Dalgleish, with his most melancholy face, conveys the most doleful
tidings from Bogie. But servants are fond of the woful, it gives such
consequence to the person who communicates bad news.
Wrote two letters, and read till twelve, and then for a stout walk among
the plantations till four. Found Lady Scott obviously better, I think,
than I had left her in the morning. In walking I am like a spavined
horse, and heat as I get on. The flourishing plantations around me are a
great argument for me to labour hard. "_Barbarus has segetes?_" I will
write my finger-ends off first.
_April_ 29. - I was always afraid, privately, that _Woodstock_ would not
stand the test. In that case my fate would have been that of the
unfortunate minstrel trumpeter Maclean at the battle of Sheriffmuir -
"By misfortune he happened to fa', man;
By saving his neck
His trumpet did break,
And came off without music at a', man."[262]
J.B. corroborated my doubts by his raven-like croaking and criticising;
but the good fellow writes me this morning that he is written down an
ass, and that the approbation is unanimous. It is but Edinburgh, to be
sure; but Edinburgh has always been a harder critic than London. It is a
great mercy, and gives encouragement for future exertion. Having written
two leaves this morning, I think I will turn out to my walk, though two
hours earlier than usual. Egad, I could not persuade myself that it was
such bad _Balaam_ after all.
_April_ 30. - I corrected this morning a quantity of proofs and copy, and
dawdled about a little, the weather of late becoming rather milder,
though not much of that. Methinks Duty looks as if she were but
half-pleased with me; but would the Pagan bitch have me work on the
Sunday?
FOOTNOTES:
[234] Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, Act IV, Sc. 5.
[235] The reader will understand that the Novel was sold for behoof of
James Ballantyne & Co.'s creditors, and that this sum includes the cost
of printing the first edition as well as paper. - J.G.L.
[236] Eident, _i.e._ eagerly diligent. - J.G.L.
[237] These lines slightly altered from Logan. - J.G.L.
[238] Lippened, _i.e._ relied upon. - J.G.L.
[239] 2 _King Henry VI_., Act IV. Sc. 10, slightly varied.
[240] In a letter of the same day he says - "My interest, as you might
have known, lies Windsor way." - J.G.L.
[241] William Coulter, Lord Provost of Edinburgh, died in office, April
1810, and was said to have been greatly consoled on his deathbed by the
prospect of so grand a funeral as must needs occur in his case. - Scott
_used to take him off_ as saying, at some public meeting, "Gentlemen,
though doomed to the trade of a stocking-weaver, I was born with the
soul of a _Sheepio_" (Scipio).
[242] _Quarterly Review_, No. 66: Lockhart's review of Sheridan's Life.
[243] It is interesting to read what James Ballantyne has recorded on
this subject. - "Sir Walter at all times laboured under the strangest
delusion, as to the merits of his own works. On this score he was not
only inaccessible to compliments, but even insensible to the truth; in
fact, at all times, he hated to talk of any of his productions; as, for
instance, he greatly preferred Mrs. Shelley's _Frankenstein_ to any of
his own romances. I remember one day, when Mr. Erskine and I were dining
with him, either immediately before or immediately after the publication
of one of the best of the latter, and were giving it the high praise we
thought it deserved, he asked us abruptly whether we had read
_Frankenstein_. We answered that we had not. 'Ah,' he said, 'have
patience, read _Frankenstein_, and you will be better able to judge
of - - .' You will easily judge of the disappointment thus prepared for
us. When I ventured, as I sometimes did, to press him on the score of
the reputation he had gained, he merely asked, as if he determined to be
done with the discussion, 'Why, what is the value of a reputation which
probably will not last above one or two generations?' One morning, I
recollect, I went into his library, shortly after the publication of the
_Lady of the Lake_, and finding Miss Scott there, who was then a very
young girl, I asked her, 'Well, Miss Sophia, how do you like the _Lady
of the Lake_, with which everybody is so much enchanted?' Her answer
was, with affecting simplicity, 'Oh, I have not read it. Papa says
there's nothing so bad for young girls as reading bad poetry.' Yet he
could not be said to be hostile to compliments in the abstract - nothing
was so easy as to flatter him about a farm or a field, and his manner on
such an occasion plainly showed that he was really open to such a
compliment, and liked it. In fact, I can recall only one instance in
which he was fairly cheated into pleasure by a tribute paid to his
literary merit, and it was a striking one. Somewhere betwixt two and
three years ago I was dining at the Rev. Dr. Brunton's, with a large and
accomplished party, of whom Dr. Chalmers was one. The conversation
turned upon Sir Walter Scott's romances generally, and the course of it
led me very shortly afterwards to call on Sir Walter, and address him as
follows - I knew the task was a bold one, but I thought I saw that I
should get well through it - 'Well, Sir Walter,' I said, 'I was dining
yesterday, where your works became the subject of very copious
conversation.' His countenance immediately became overcast - and his
answer was, 'Well, I think, I must say your party might have been better
employed.' 'I knew it would be your answer,' - the conversation
continued, - 'nor would I have mentioned it, but that Dr. Chalmers was
present, and was by far the most decided in his expressions of pleasure
and admiration of any of the party.' This instantly roused him to the
most vivid animation. 'Dr. Chalmers?' he repeated; 'that throws new
light on the subject - to have produced any effect upon the mind of such
a man as Dr. Chalmers is indeed something to be proud of. Dr. Chalmers
is a man of the truest genius. I will thank you to repeat all you can
recollect that he said on the subject.' I did so accordingly, and I can
recall no other similar instance." - _James Ballantyne's MS._
[244] For the life led by many of the _détenus_ in France before 1814,
and for anecdotes regarding Sir Alexander Don, see Sir James Campbell of
Ardkinglas' _Memoirs_, 2 vols. 8vo, London 1832, vol. ii. chaps. 7 and
8.
[245] Hugh Scott of Harden, afterwards (in 1835) Lord
Polwarth - succeeded by his son Henry, in 1841.
[246] Henry Jas. Scott, who succeeded to the Barony of Montagu on the
demise of his grandfather, the Duke of Montagu, was the son of Henry, 3d
Duke of Buccleuch. At Lord M.'s death in 1845 the Barony of Montagu
expired.
[247] Henry Scott, afterwards Lord Polwarth.
[248] Slightly altered from Pope's _Eloisa to Abelard_.
[249] The Catalogue of Criminals brought before the Circuit Courts at
one time was termed in Scotland the Portuous Roll. The name appears to
have been derived from the practice in early times of delivering to the
judges lists of Criminals for Trials _in Portu_, or in the gateway as
they entered the various towns on their circuit ayres. - Chambers's _Book
of Scotland_, p. 310.
Jamieson suggests that the word may have come from "Porteous" as
originally applied to a Breviary, or portable book of prayers, which
might easily be transferred to a portable roll of indictments.
[250] _Quarterly Review_, No. 66, Pepys' _Diary_.
[251] _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Sc. 3.
[252] See Froissart's account of the Battle of Crecy, Bk. i. cap. 129.
[253] _Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act iv. Sc. 1.
[254] See Goldsmith's Comedy, Act III.
[255] _King Lear_, Act III. Sc. 2.
[256] James Pringle, Convener of Selkirkshire for more than half a
century. For an account of the Pringles of Torwoodlee, see Mr. Craig
Brown's _History of Selkirkshire_, vol. i. pp. 459-470.
[257] "_The Insurrection of the Papers - a Dream_." _The Twopenny
Post-Bag_, 12mo, London, 1812.
[258] The well-known ballads on these two North-country legends were
published by M.G. Lewis and Mr. Lambe, of Norham. "Sir Guy," in the
_Tales of Wonder_, and "The Worm," in Ritson's _Northumberland
Garland_. - See Child's _English and Scottish Ballads_, 8 vols. 12mo,
Boston, 1857, vol. i. p. 386.
[259] _Fyn Segellak wel brand en vast houd_: old brand used by
sealing-wax makers.
[260] _Balaam_ is the cant name in a Newspaper Office for asinine
paragraphs, about monstrous productions of Nature and the like, kept
standing in type to be used whenever the real news of the day leaves an
awkward space that must be filled up somehow. - J.G.L.
[261] _Henry VIII._ Act III. Sc. 2.
[262] Ritson, _Scottish Songs_, xvi.
MAY.
_May_ 1. - I walked to-day to the western corner of the Chiefswood
plantation, and marked out a large additional plantation to be drawn
along the face of the hill. It cost me some trouble to carry the
boundaries out of the eye, for nothing is so paltry as a plantation of
almost any extent if its whole extent lies defined to the eye. By
availing myself of the undulations of the ground I think I have avoided
this for the present; only when seen from the Eildon Hills the cranks
and turns of the enclosure will seem fantastic, at least until the trees
get high.
This cost Tom and me three or four hours. Lieut.-Colonel Ferguson joined
us as we went home, and dined at Abbotsford.
My cousin, Barbara Scott of Raeburn, came here to see Lady S. I think
she was shocked with the melancholy change. She insisted upon walking
back to Lessudden House, making her walk 16 or 18 miles, and though the
carriage was ordered she would not enter it.
_May_ 2. - Yesterday was a splendid May day - to-day seems inclined to be
_soft_, as we call it; but _tant mieux_. Yesterday had a twang of frost
in it. I must get to work and finish Boaden's _Life of Kemble_, and
Kelly's _Reminiscences_,[263] for the _Quarterly_.
I wrote and read for three hours, and then walked, the day being soft
and delightful; but alas! all my walks are lonely from the absence of my
poor companion. She does not suffer, thank God, but strength must fail
at last. Since Sunday there has been a gradual change - very
gradual - but, alas! to the worse. My hopes are almost gone. But I am
determined to stand this grief as I have done others.
_May_ 3, - Another fine morning. I answered a letter from Mr. Handley,
who has taken the pains to rummage the Chancery Records until he has
actually discovered the fund due to Lady Scott's mother, £1200; it seems
to have been invested in the estates of a Mr. Owen, as it appears for
Madame Charpentier's benefit, but, she dying, the fund was lost sight of
and got into Chancery, where I suppose it must have accumulated, but I
cannot say I understand the matter; at a happier moment the news would
have given poor Charlotte much pleasure, but now - it is a day too late.
_May_ 4. - On visiting Lady Scott's sick-room this morning I found her
suffering, and I doubt if she knew me. Yet, after breakfast, she seemed
serene and composed. The worst is, she will not speak out about the
symptoms under which she labours. Sad, sad work; I am under the most
melancholy apprehension, for what constitution can hold out under these
continued and wasting attacks?
My niece, Anne Scott, a prudent, sensible, and kind young woman, arrived
to-day, having come down to assist us in our distress from so far as
Cheltenham. This is a great consolation.
_May_ 5. - Haunted by gloomy thoughts; but I corrected proofs from seven
to ten, and wrote from half-past ten to one. My old friend Sir Adam
called, and took a long walk with me, which was charity. His gaiety
rubbed me up a little. I had also a visit from the Laird and Lady of
Harden. Henry Scott carries the county without opposition.
_May_ 6. - - The same scene of hopeless (almost) and unavailing anxiety.
Still welcoming me with a smile, and asserting she is better. I fear the
disease is too deeply entwined with the principles of life. Yet the
increase of good weather, especially if it would turn more genial,
might, I think, aid her excellent constitution. Still labouring at this
_Review_, without heart or spirits to finish it. I am a tolerable Stoic,
but preach to myself in vain.
"Since these things are necessities,
Then let us meet them like necessities."[264]
And so we will.
_May_ 7. - Hammered on at the _Review_ till my backbone ached. But I
believe it was a nervous affection, for a walk cured it. Sir Adam and
the Colonel dined here. So I spent the evening as pleasantly as I well
could, considering I am so soon to leave my own house, and go like a
stranger to the town of which I have been so long a citizen, and leave
my wife lingering, without prospect of recovery, under the charge of two
poor girls. _Talia cogit dura necessitas._
_May_ 8. - I went over to the election at Jedburgh. There was a numerous
meeting; the Whigs, who did not bring ten men to the meeting, of course
took the whole matter under their patronage, which was much of a piece
with the Blue Bottle drawing the carriage. I tried to pull up once or
twice, but quietly, having no desire to disturb the quiet of the
election. To see the difference of modern times! We had a good dinner,
and excellent wine; and I had ordered my carriage at half-past seven,
almost ashamed to start so soon. Everybody dispersed at so early an
hour, however, that when Henry had left the chair, there was no carriage
for me, and Peter proved his accuracy by showing me it was but a
quarter-past seven. In the days I remember they would have kept it up
till day-light; nor do I think poor Don would have left the chair before
midnight. Well, there is a medium. Without being a veteran Vice, a grey
Iniquity, like Falstaff, I think an occasional jolly bout, if not
carried to excess, improved society; men were put into good humour; when
the good wine did its good office, the jest, the song, the speech, had
double effect; men were happy for the night, and better friends ever
after, because they had been so.
_May_ 9. - My new Liverpool neighbour, Mr. Bainbridge, breakfasts here
to-day with some of his family. They wish to try the fishing in
Cauldshields Loch, and [there is] promise of a fine soft morning. But
the season is too early.
They have had no sport accordingly after trying with Trimmers. Mr.
Bainbridge is a good cut of John Bull - plain, sensible, and downright;
the maker of his own fortune, and son of his own works.
_May_ 10. - To-morrow I leave my home. To what scene I may suddenly be
recalled, it wrings my heart to think. If she would but be guided by the
medical people, and attend rigidly to their orders, something might be
hoped, but she is impatient with the protracted suffering, and no
wonder. Anne has a severe task to perform, but the assistance of her
cousin is a great comfort. Baron Weber, the great composer, wants me
(through Lockhart) to compose something to be set to music by him, and
sung by Miss Stephens - as if I cared who set or who sung any lines of
mine. I have recommended instead Beaumont and Fletcher's unrivalled song
in the _Nice Valour_:
"Hence, all ye vain delights," etc.
[_Edinburgh_],[265] _May_ 11. -
"Der Abschiedstag ist da,
Schwer liegt er auf den Herzen - schwer."[266]
Charlotte was unable to take leave of me, being in a sound sleep, after
a very indifferent night. Perhaps it was as well. Emotion might have
hurt her; and nothing I could have expressed would have been worth the
risk. I have foreseen, for two years and more, that this menaced event
could not be far distant. I have seen plainly, within the last two
months, that recovery was hopeless. And yet to part with the companion
of twenty-nine years when so very ill - that I did not, could not
foresee.[267] It withers my heart to think of it, and to recollect that
I can hardly hope again to seek confidence and counsel from that ear to
which all might be safely confided. But in her present lethargic state,
what would my attentions have availed? and Anne has promised close and
constant intelligence. I must dine with James Ballantyne to-day _en
famille_. I cannot help it; but would rather be at home and alone.
However, I can go out too. I will not yield to the barren sense of
hopelessness which struggles to invade me. I passed a pleasant day with
honest J.B., which was a great relief from the black dog which would
have worried me at home. We were quite alone.
_[Edinburgh,] May_ 12. - Well, here I am in Arden. And I may say with
Touchstone, "When I was at home I was in a better place,"[268] and yet
this is not by any means to be complained of. Good apartments, the
people civil and apparently attentive. No appearance of smoke, and
absolute warrandice against my dreaded enemies, bugs. I must, when there
is occasion, draw to my own Bailie Nicol Jarvie's consolation, "One
cannot carry the comforts of the Saut-Market about with one." Were I at
ease in mind, I think the body is very well cared for. I have two steady
servants, a man and woman, and they seem to set out sensibly enough.
Only one lodger in the house, a Mr. Shandy, a clergyman; and despite his
name, said to be a quiet one.
_May_ 13. - The projected measure against the Scottish bank-notes has
been abandoned, the resistance being general. _Malachi_ might clap his
wings upon this, but, alas! domestic anxiety has cut his comb.
I think very lightly in general of praise; it costs men nothing, and is
usually only lip-salve. They wish to please, and must suppose that
flattery is the ready road to the good will of every professor of
literature. Some praise, however, and from some people, does at once
delight and strengthen the mind, and I insert in this place the
quotation with which Ld. C. Baron Shepherd concluded a letter concerning
me to the Chief Commissioner: "_Magna etiam illa laus et admirabilis
videri solet tulisse casus sapienter adversos, non fractum esse fortunâ,
retinuisse in rebus asperis dignitatem._"[269] I record these words, not
as meriting the high praise they imply, but to remind me that such an
opinion being partially entertained of me by a man of a character so
eminent, it becomes me to make my conduct approach as much as possible
to the standard at which he rates it.
As I must pay back to Terry some cash in London, £170, together with
other matters here, I have borrowed from Mr. Alexander Ballantyne the
sum of £500, upon a promissory note for £512, 10s. payable 15th November
to him or his order. If God should call me before that time, I request
my son Walter will, in reverence to my memory, see that Mr. Alexander
Ballantyne does not suffer for having obliged me in a sort of
exigency - he cannot afford it, and God has given my son the means to
repay him.
_May_ 14. - A fair good-morrow to you, Mr. Sun, who are shining so
brightly on these dull walls. Methinks you look as if you were looking
as bright on the banks of the Tweed; but look where you will, Sir Sun,
you look upon sorrow and suffering. Hogg was here yesterday in danger,
from having obtained an accommodation of £100 from Mr. Ballantyne, which
he is now obliged to repay. I am unable to help the poor fellow, being
obliged to borrow myself. But I long ago remonstrated against the
transaction at all, and gave him £50 out of my pocket to avoid granting
the accommodation, but it did no good.
_May_ 15. - Received the melancholy intelligence that all is over at
Abbotsford.
[_Abbotsford_,] _May_ 16. - She died at nine in the morning, after being
very ill for two days, - easy at last.
I arrived here late last night. Anne is worn out, and has had hysterics,
which returned on my arrival. Her broken accents were like those of a
child, the language, as well as the tones, broken, but in the most
gentle voice of submission. "Poor mamma - never return again - 'gone for
ever - a better place." Then, when she came to herself, she spoke with
sense, freedom, and strength of mind, till her weakness returned. It
would have been inexpressibly moving to me as a stranger - what was it
then to the father and the husband? For myself, I scarce know how I
feel, sometimes as firm as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the wave
that breaks on it.
I am as alert at thinking and deciding as I ever was in my life. Yet,
when I contrast what this place now is, with what it has been not long
since, I think my heart will break. Lonely, aged, deprived of my
family - all but poor Anne, an impoverished and embarrassed man, I am
deprived of the sharer of my thoughts and counsels, who could always
talk down my sense of the calamitous apprehensions which break the heart
that must bear them alone. Even her foibles were of service to me, by
giving me things to think of beyond my weary self-reflections.
I have seen her. The figure I beheld is, and is not, my Charlotte - my
thirty years' companion. There is the same symmetry of form, though
those limbs are rigid which were once so gracefully elastic - but that
yellow masque, with pinched features, which seems to mock life rather
than emulate it, can it be the face that was once so full of lively
expression? I will not look on it again. Anne thinks her little changed,
because the latest idea she had formed of her mother is as she appeared
under circumstances of sickness and pain. Mine go back to a period of
comparative health. If I write long in this way, I shall write down my
resolution, which I should rather write up, if I could. I wonder how I
shall do with the large portion of thoughts which were hers for thirty
years. I suspect they will be hers yet for a long time at least. But I
will not blaze cambric and crape in the public eye like a disconsolate
widower, that most affected of all characters.
_May_ 17. - - Last night Anne, after conversing with apparent ease,
dropped suddenly down as she rose from the supper-table, and lay six or
seven minutes as if dead. Clarkson, however, has no fear of these
affections.
_May_ 18. - Another day, and a bright one to the external world, again
opens on us; the air soft, and the flowers smiling, and the leaves
glittering. They cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a natural
enjoyment. Cerements of lead and of wood already hold her; cold earth
must have her soon. But it is not my Charlotte, it is not the bride of
my youth, the mother of my children, that will be laid among the ruins
of Dryburgh, which we have so often visited in gaiety and pastime. No,
no. She is sentient and conscious of my emotions somewhere - somehow;
_where_ we cannot tell; _how_ we cannot tell; yet would I not at this
moment renounce the mysterious yet certain hope that I shall see her in
a better world, for all that this world can give me. The necessity of
this separation, - that necessity which rendered it even a relief, - that
and patience must be my comfort. I do not experience those paroxysms of
grief which others do on the same occasion. I can exert myself and speak
even cheerfully with the poor girls. But alone, or if anything touches
me - the choking sensation. I have been to her room: there was no voice
in it - no stirring; the pressure of the coffin was visible on the bed,
but it had been removed elsewhere; all was neat as she loved it, but
all was calm - calm as death. I remembered the last sight of her; she
raised herself in bed, and tried to turn her eyes after me, and said,
with a sort of smile, "You all have such melancholy faces." They were
the last words I ever heard her utter, and I hurried away, for she did
not seem quite conscious of what she said. When I returned, immediately
[before] departing, she was in a deep sleep. It is deeper now. This was
but seven days since.
They are arranging the chamber of death; that which was long the
apartment of connubial happiness, and of whose arrangements (better than
in richer houses) she was so proud. They are treading fast and thick.
For weeks you could have heard a foot-fall. Oh, my God!
_May_ 19. - Anne, poor love, is ill with her exertions and
agitation - cannot walk - and is still hysterical, though less so. I
advised flesh-brush and tepid bath, which I think will bring her about.
We speak freely of her whom we have lost, and mix her name with our
ordinary conversation. This is the rule of nature. All primitive people
speak of their dead, and I think virtuously and wisely. The idea of
blotting the names of those who are gone out of the language and
familiar discourse of those to whom they were dearest is one of the