dedicated to him. Enjoined, however, not to make this public, till the
draft of dedication shall be approved. This letter tarried so long, I
thought some one had insinuated the proposal was _infra dig_. I don't
think so. The purpose is to bring all the standard works, both in
sciences and the liberal arts, within the reach of the lower classes,
and enable them thus to use with advantage the education which is given
them at every hand. To make boys learn to read, and then place no good
books within their reach, is to give men an appetite, and leave nothing
in the pantry save unwholesome and poisonous food, which, depend upon
it, they will eat rather than starve. Sir William, it seems, has been in
Germany.
Mighty dark this morning; it is past ten, and I am using my lamp. The
vast number of houses built beneath us to the north certainly render our
street darker during the days when frost or haze prevents the smoke from
rising. After all, it may be my older eyes. I remember two years ago,
when Lord H. began to fail somewhat in his limbs, he observed that Lord
S.[59] came to Court at a more early hour than usual, whereas it was he
himself who took longer time to walk the usual distance betwixt his
house and the Parliament Square. I suspect old gentlemen often make such
mistakes. A letter from Southey in a very pleasant strain as to Lockhart
and myself. Of Murray he has perhaps ground to complain as well for
consulting him late in the business, as for the manner in which he
intimated to young Coleridge, who had no reason to think himself
handsomely treated, though he has acquiesced in the arrangement in a
very gentlemanlike tone. With these matters we, of course, have nothing
to do; having no doubt that the situation was vacant when M. offered it
as such. Southey says, in alteration of Byron's phrase, that M. is the
most timorous, not of God's, but of the devil's, booksellers. The truth
I take to be that Murray was pushed in the change of Editor (which was
really become necessary) probably by Gifford, Canning, Ellis, etc.; and
when he had fixed with Lockhart by their advice his constitutional
nervousness made him delay entering upon a full explanation with
Coleridge. But it is all settled now - I hope Lockhart will be able to
mitigate their High Church bigotry. It is not for the present day,
savouring too much of _jure divino_.
Dined quiet with Lady S. and Anne. Anne is practising Scots songs, which
I take as a kind compliment to my own taste, as hers leads her chiefly
to foreign music. I think the good girl sees that I want and must miss
her sister's peculiar talent in singing the airs of our native country,
which, imperfect as my musical ear is, make, and always have made, the
most pleasing impression on me. And so if she puts a constraint on
herself for my sake, I can only say, in requital, God bless her.
I have much to comfort me in the present aspect of my family. My eldest
son, independent in fortune, united to an affectionate wife - and of good
hopes in his profession; my second, with a good deal of talent, and in
the way, I trust, of cultivating it to good purpose; Anne, an honest,
downright, good Scots lass, in whom I would only wish to correct a
spirit of satire; and Lockhart is Lockhart, to whom I can most willingly
confide the happiness of the daughter who chose him, and whom he has
chosen. My dear wife, the partner of early cares and successes, is, I
fear, frail in health - though I trust and pray she may see me out.
Indeed, if this troublesome complaint goes on - it bodes no long
existence. My brother was affected with the same weakness, which, before
he was fifty, brought on mortal symptoms. The poor Major had been rather
a free liver. But my father, the most abstemious of men, save when the
duties of hospitality required him to be very moderately free with his
bottle, and that was very seldom, had the same weakness which now annoys
me, and he, I think, was not above seventy when cut off. Square the
odds, and good-night Sir Walter about sixty. I care not, if I leave my
name unstained, and my family properly settled. _Sat est vixisse_.
_December 8._ - Talking of the _vixisse_, it may not be impertinent to
notice that Knox, a young poet of considerable talent, died here a week
or two since. His father was a respectable yeoman, and he himself,
succeeding to good farms under the Duke of Buccleuch, became too soon
his own master, and plunged into dissipation and ruin. His poetical
talent, a very fine one, then showed itself in a fine strain of pensive
poetry, called, I think, _The Lonely Hearth_, far superior to those of
Michael Bruce, whose consumption, by the way, has been the _life_ of his
verses. But poetry, nay, good poetry, is a drug in the present day. I am
a wretched patron. I cannot go with a subscription-paper, like a
pocket-pistol about me, and draw unawares on some honest
country-gentleman, who has as much alarm as if I had used the phrase
"stand and deliver," and parts with his money with a grimace, indicating
some suspicion that the crown-piece thus levied goes ultimately into the
collector's own pocket. This I see daily done; and I have seen such
collectors, when they have exhausted Papa and Mamma, continue their
trade among the misses, and conjure out of their pockets those little
funds which should carry them to a play or an assembly. It is well
people will go through this - it does some good, I suppose, and they have
great merit who can sacrifice their pride so far as to attempt it in
this way. For my part I am a bad promoter of subscriptions; but I wished
to do what I could for this lad, whose talent I really admired; and I am
not addicted to admire heaven-born poets, or poetry that is reckoned
very good _considering_. I had him, Knox,[60] at Abbotsford, about ten
years ago, but found him unfit for that sort of society. I tried to help
him, but there were temptations he could never resist. He scrambled on,
writing for the booksellers and magazines, and living like the Otways,
and Savages, and Chattertons of former days, though I do not know that
he was in actual want. His connection with me terminated in begging a
subscription or a guinea now and then. His last works were spiritual
hymns, and which he wrote very well. In his own line of society he was
said to exhibit infinite humour; but all his works are grave and
pensive, a style perhaps, like Master Stephen's melancholy,[61]
affected for the nonce.
Mrs. G[rant] of L. intimates that she will take her pudding - her
pension, I mean (see 30th November), and is contrite, as H[enry]
M[ackenzie] vouches. I am glad the stout old girl is not foreclosed;
faith, cabbing a pension in these times is like hunting a pig with a
soap'd tail, monstrous apt to slip through your fingers.[62] Dined at
home with Lady S. and Anne.
_December_ 9. - Yesterday I read and wrote the whole day and evening.
To-day I shall not be so happy. Having Gas-Light Company to attend at
two, I must be brief in journalising.
The gay world has been kept in hot water lately by the impudent
publication of the celebrated Harriet Wilson, - - from earliest
possibility, I suppose, who lived with half the gay world at hack and
manger, and now obliges such as will not pay hush-money with a history
of whatever she knows or can invent about them. She must have been
assisted in the style, spelling, and diction, though the attempt at wit
is very poor, that at pathos sickening. But there is some good retailing
of conversations, in which the style of the speakers, so far as known to
me, is exactly imitated, and some things told, as said by individuals of
each other, which will sound unpleasantly in each other's ears. I admire
the address of Lord A - - y, himself very severely handled from time to
time. Some one asked him if H.W. had been pretty correct on the whole.
"Why, faith," he replied, "I believe so" - when, raising his eyes, he saw
Quentin Dick, whom the little jilt had treated atrociously - "what
concerns the present company always excepted, you know," added Lord
A - - y, with infinite presence of mind. As he was _in pari casu_ with
Q.D. no more could be said. After all, H.W. beats Con Philips, Anne
Bellamy, and all former demireps out and out. I think I supped once in
her company, more than twenty years since, at Mat Lewis's in Argyle
Street, where the company, as the Duke says to Lucio, chanced to be
"fairer than honest."[63] She was far from beautiful, if it be the same
_chiffonne_, but a smart saucy girl, with good eyes and dark hair, and
the manners of a wild schoolboy. I am glad this accidental meeting has
escaped her memory - or, perhaps, is not accurately recorded in
mine - for, being a sort of French falconer, who hawk at all they see, I
might have had a distinction which I am far from desiring.
Dined at Sir John Hay's - a large party; Skenes there, the Newenhams and
others, strangers. In the morning a meeting of Oil Gas Committee. The
concern lingers a little;
"It may do weel, for ought it's done yet,
But only - it's no just begun yet."[64]
_December 10._ - A stormy and rainy day. Walked from the Court through
the rain. I don't dislike this. Egad, I rather like it; for no man that
ever stepped on heather has less dread than I of catch-cold; and I seem
to regain, in buffeting with the wind, a little of the high spirit with
which, in younger days, I used to enjoy a Tam-o'-Shanter ride through
darkness, wind, and rain, - the boughs groaning and cracking over my
head, the good horse free to the road and impatient for home, and
feeling the weather as little as I did.
"The storm around might roar and rustle,
We didna mind the storm a whistle."
Answered two letters - one, answer to a schoolboy, who writes himself
Captain of Giggleswick School (a most imposing title), entreating the
youngster not to commence editor of a magazine to be entitled the
"Yorkshire Muffin," I think, at seventeen years old; second, to a
soldier of the 79th, showing why I cannot oblige him by getting his
discharge, and exhorting him rather to bear with the wickedness and
profanity of the service, than take the very precarious step of
desertion. This is the old receipt of Durandarte - _Patience, cousin, and
shuffle the cards_;[65] and I suppose the correspondents will think I
have been too busy in offering my counsel where I was asked for
assistance.
A third rogue writes to tell me - rather of the latest, if the matter was
of consequence - that he approves of the first three volumes of the
_H[eart] of Midlothian_, but totally condemns the fourth. Doubtless he
thinks his opinion worth the sevenpence sterling which his letter costs.
However, authors should be reasonably well pleased when three-fourths of
their work are acceptable to the reader. The knave demands of me in a
postscript, to get back the sword of Sir W[illiam] Wallace from England,
where it was carried from Dumbarton Castle. I am not Master-General of
the Ordnance, that I know. It was wrong, however, to take away that and
Mons Meg. If I go to town this spring, I will renew my negotiation with
the Great Duke for recovery of Mons Meg.
There is no theme more awful than to attempt to cast a glance among the
clouds and mists which hide the broken extremity of the celebrated
bridge of Mirza.[66] Yet, when every day brings us nearer that
termination, one would almost think that our views should become
clearer, as the regions we are approaching are brought nigher. Alas! it
is not so: there is a curtain to be withdrawn, a veil to be rent, before
we shall see things as they really are. There are few, I trust, who
disbelieve the existence of a God; nay, I doubt if at all times, and in
all moods, any single individual ever adopted that hideous creed, though
some have professed it. With the belief of a Deity, that of the
immortality of the soul and of the state of future rewards and
punishments is indissolubly linked. More we are not to know; but neither
are we prohibited from our attempts, however vain, to pierce the solemn
sacred gloom. The expressions used in Scripture are doubtless
metaphorical, for penal fires and heavenly melody are only applicable to
bodies endowed with senses; and, at least till the period of the
resurrection of the body, the spirits of men, whether entering into the
perfection of the just, or committed to the regions of punishment, are
incorporeal. Neither is it to be supposed that the glorified bodies
which shall arise in the last day will be capable of the same gross
indulgences with which they are now solaced. That the idea of Mahomet's
paradise is inconsistent with the purity of our heavenly religion will
be readily granted; and see Mark xii. 25. Harmony is obviously chosen as
the least corporeal of all gratifications of the sense, and as the type
of love, unity, and a state of peace and perfect happiness. But they
have a poor idea of the Deity, and the rewards which are destined for
the just made perfect, who can only adopt the literal sense of an
eternal concert - a never-ending Birthday Ode. I rather suppose there
should be understood some commission from the Highest, some duty to
discharge with the applause of a satisfied conscience. That the Deity,
who himself must be supposed to feel love and affection for the beings
he has called into existence, should delegate a portion of those powers,
I for one cannot conceive altogether so wrong a conjecture. We would
then find reality in Milton's sublime machinery of the guardian saints
or genii of kingdoms. Nay, we would approach to the Catholic idea of the
employment of saints, though without approaching the absurdity of
saint-worship, which degrades their religion. There would be, we must
suppose, in these employments difficulties to be overcome, and exertions
to be made, for all which the celestial beings employed would have
certain appropriate powers. I cannot help thinking that a life of active
benevolence is more consistent with my ideas than an eternity of music.
But it is all speculation, and it is impossible even to guess what we
shall [do], unless we could ascertain the equally difficult previous
question, what we are to be. But there is a God, and a just God - a
judgment and a future life - and all who own so much let them act
according to the faith that is in them. I would [not], of course, limit
the range of my genii to this confined earth. There is the universe,
with all its endless extent of worlds.
Company at home - Sir Adam Ferguson and his Lady; Colonel and Miss
Russell; Count Davidoff, and Mr. Collyer. By the by, I observe that all
men whose names are obviously derived from some mechanical trade,
endeavour to disguise and antiquate, as it were, their names, by
spelling them after some quaint manner or other. Thus we have Collyer,
Smythe, Tailleure; as much as to say, My ancestor was indeed a mechanic,
but it was a world of time ago, when the word was spelled very
[differently]. Then we had young Whytbank and Will Allan the artist[67],
a very agreeable, simple-mannered, and pleasant man.
_December_ 11. - A touch of the _morbus eruditorum_, to which I am as
little subject as most folks, and have it less now than when young. It
is a tremor of the heart, the pulsation of which becomes painfully
sensible - a disposition to causeless alarm - much lassitude - and decay of
vigour of mind and activity of intellect. The reins feel weary and
painful, and the mind is apt to receive and encourage gloomy
apprehensions and causeless fears. Fighting with this fiend is not
always the best way to conquer him. I have always found exercise and the
open air better than reasoning. But such weather as is now without doors
does not encourage _la petite guerre_, so we must give him battle in
form, by letting both mind and body know that, supposing one the House
of Commons and the other the House of Peers, my will is sovereign over
both. There is a good description of this species of mental weakness in
the fine play of Beaumont and Fletcher called _The Lover's Progress_,
where the man, warned that his death is approaching, works himself into
an agony of fear, and calls for assistance, though there is no apparent
danger. The apparition of the innkeeper's ghost, in the same play,
hovers between the ludicrous and [the terrible]. To me the touches of
the former quality which it contains seem to augment the effect of the
latter - - they seem to give reality to the supernatural, as being
circumstances with which an inventor would hardly have garnished his
story.[68]
Will Clerk says he has a theory on the vitrified forts. I wonder if he
and I agree. I think accidental conflagration is the cause.
_December_ 12. - Hogg came to breakfast this morning, having taken and
brought for his companion the Galashiels bard, David Thomson,[69] as to
a meeting of "huzz Tividale poets." The honest grunter opines with a
delightful _naïveté_ that Moore's verses are far owre sweet - answered by
Thomson that Moore's ear or notes, I forget which, were finely strung.
"They are far owre finely strung," replied he of the Forest, "for mine
are just reeght." It reminded me of Queen Bess, when questioning
Melville sharply and closely whether Queen [Mary] was taller than her,
and, extracting an answer in the affirmative, she replied, "Then your
Queen is too tall, for I am just the proper height."
Was engaged the whole day with Sheriff Court processes. There is
something sickening in seeing poor devils drawn into great expense
about trifles by interested attorneys. But too cheap access to
litigation has its evils on the other hand, for the proneness of the
lower class to gratify spite and revenge in this way would be a dreadful
evil were they able to endure the expense. Very few cases come before
the Sheriff-court of Selkirkshire that ought to come anywhere. Wretched
wranglings about a few pounds, begun in spleen, and carried on from
obstinacy, and at length from fear of the conclusion to the banquet of
ill-humour, "D - n - n of expenses."[70] I try to check it as well as I
can; "but so 'twill be when I am gone."
_December_ 12. - Dined at home, and spent the evening in writing - Anne
and Lady Scott at the theatre to see Mathews; a very clever man my
friend Mathews; but it is tiresome to be funny for a whole evening, so I
was content and stupid at home.
An odd optical delusion has amused me these two last nights. I have been
of late, for the first time, condemned to the constant use of
spectacles. Now, when I have laid them aside to step into a room dimly
lighted, out of the strong light which I use for writing, I have seen,
or seemed to see, through the rims of the same spectacles which I have
left behind me. At first the impression was so lively that I put my hand
to my eyes believing I had the actual spectacles on at the moment. But
what I saw was only the eidolon or image of said useful servants. This
fortifies some of Dr. Hibbert's positions about spectral appearances.
_December_ 13. - Letter from Lady Stafford - kind and friendly after the
wont of Banzu-Mohr-ar-chat.[71] This is wrong spelled, I know. Her
countenance is something for Sophia, whose company should be - as ladies
are said to choose their liquor - little and good. To be acquainted with
persons of mere _ton_ is a nuisance and a scrape - to be known to persons
of real fashion and fortune is in London a very great advantage. She is
besides sure of the hereditary and constant friendship of the Buccleuch
ladies, as well as those of Montagu and of the Harden family, of the
Marchioness of Northampton, Lady Melville, and others, also the Miss
Ardens, upon whose kind offices I have some claim, and would count upon
them whether such claim existed or no. So she is well enough established
among the Right-hand file, which is very necessary in London where
second-rate fashion is like false jewels.
Went to the yearly court of the Edinburgh Assurance Company, to which I
am one of those graceful and useless appendages, called Directors
Extraordinary - an extraordinary director I should prove had they elected
me an ordinary one. There were there moneyers and great oneyers[72], men
of metal - discounters and counters - sharp, grave, prudential faces - eyes
weak with ciphering by lamplight - men who say to gold, Be thou paper,
and to paper, Be thou turned into fine gold. Many a bustling,
sharp-faced, keen-eyed writer too - some perhaps speculating with their
clients' property. My reverend seigniors had expected a motion for
printing their contract, which I, as a piece of light artillery, was
brought down and got into battery to oppose. I should certainly have
done this on the general ground, that while each partner could at any
time obtain sight of the contract at a call on the directors or
managers, it would be absurd to print it for the use of the Company - and
that exposing it to the world at large was in all respects unnecessary,
and might teach novel companies to avail themselves of our rules and
calculations - if false, for the purpose of exposing our errors - if
correct, for the purpose of improving their own schemes on our model.
But my eloquence was not required, no one renewing the motion under
question; so off I came, my ears still ringing with the sounds of
thousands and tens of thousands, and my eyes dazzled with the golden
gleam offered by so many capitalists.
Walked home with the Solicitor[73] - decidedly the most hopeful young man
of his time; high connection, great talent, spirited ambition, a ready
and prompt elocution, with a good voice and dignified manner, prompt and
steady courage, vigilant and constant assiduity, popularity with the
young men, and the good opinion of the old, will, if I mistake not,
carry him as [high as] any man who has been since the days of old Hal
Dundas.[74] He is hot though, and rather hasty: this should be amended.
They who would play at single-stick must bear with patience a rap over
the knuckles. Dined quietly with Lady Scott and Anne.
_December_ 14. - Affairs very bad in the money-market in London. It must
come here, and I have far too many engagements not to feel it. To end
the matter at once, I intend to borrow £10,000, with which my son's
marriage-contract allows me to charge my estate. At Whitsunday and
Martinmas I will have enough to pay up the incumbrance of £3000 due to
old Moss's daughter, and £5000 to Misses Ferguson, in whole or part.
This will enable us to dispense in a great measure with bank assistance,
and sleep in spite of thunder. I do not know whether it is this business
which makes me a little bilious, or rather the want of exercise during
the season of late, and change of the weather to too much heat. Thank
God, my circumstances are good, - upon a fair balance which I have made,
certainly not less than £40,000 or nearly £50,000 above the world. But
the sun and moon shall dance on the green ere carelessness, or hope of
gain, or facility of getting cash, shall make me go too deep again, were
it but for the disquiet of the thing. Dined: Lady Scott and Anne
quietly.
_December_ 15. - R.P. G[illies] came _sicut mos est_ at five o'clock to
make me confidant of the extremities of his distress. It is clear all he
has to do is to make the best agreement he can with his creditors. I
remember many years since the poor fellow told me he thought there was
something interesting in having difficulties. Poor lad, he will have
enough of them now. He talks about writing translations for the
booksellers from the German to the amount of five or six hundred pounds,
but this is like a man proposing to run a whole day at top speed. Yet,
if he had good subjects, R.P.G. is one of the best translators I know,
and something must be done for him certainly, though, I fear, it will be
necessary to go to the bottom of the ulcer; palliatives won't do. He is
terribly imprudent, yet a worthy and benevolent creature - a great bore
withal. Dined alone with family. I am determined not to stand mine host
to all Scotland and England as I have done. This shall be a saving,
since it must be a borrowing, year. We heard from Sophia; they are got
safe to town; but as Johnnie had a little bag of meal with him, to make
his porridge on the road, the whole inn-yard assembled to see the
operation. Junor, his maid, was of opinion that England was an "awfu'
country to make parritch in." God bless the poor baby, and restore his
perfect health!
_December_ 16. - R.P.G. and his friend Robert Wilson[75] came - the former
at five, as usual - the latter at three, as appointed. R[obert] W[ilson]
frankly said that R.P.G.'s case was quite desperate, that he was
insolvent, and that any attempt to save him at present would be just so
much cash thrown away. God knows, at this moment I have none to throw
away uselessly. For poor Gillies there was a melancholy mixture of
pathos and affectation in his statement, which really affected me; while
it told me that it would be useless to help him to money on such very
empty plans. I endeavoured to persuade him to make a virtue of
necessity, resign all to his creditors, and begin the world on a new
leaf. I offered him Chiefswood for a temporary retirement. Lady Scott
thinks I was wrong, and nobody could less desire such a neighbour, all
his affectations being caviare to me. But then the wife and children!
Went again to the Solicitor on a wrong night, being asked for to-morrow.
Lady Scott undertakes to keep my engagements recorded in future. _Sed
quis custodiet ipsam custodem_?
_December_ 17. - Dined with the Solicitor - Lord Chief-Baron[76] - Sir
William Boothby, nephew of old Sir Brooke, the dandy poet, etc. Annoyed
with anxious presentiments, which the night's post must dispel or
confirm - all in London as bad as possible.
_December_ 18. - Ballantyne called on me this morning. _Venit illa
suprema dies_. My extremity is come. Cadell has received letters from
London which all but positively announce the failure of Hurst and
Robinson, so that Constable & Co. must follow, and I must go with poor
James Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all. But if
they leave me £500, I can still make it £1000 or £1200 a year. And if
they take my salaries of £1300 and £300, they cannot but give me
something out of them. I have been rash in anticipating funds to buy
land, but then I made from £5000 to £10,000 a year, and land was my
temptation. I think nobody can lose a penny - that is one comfort. Men
will think pride has had a fall. Let them indulge their own pride in
thinking that my fall makes them higher, or seems so at least. I have
the satisfaction to recollect that my prosperity has been of advantage
to many, and that some at least will forgive my transient wealth on
account of the innocence of my intentions, and my real wish to do good
to the poor. This news will make sad hearts at Darnick, and in the
cottages of Abbotsford, which I do not nourish the least hope of
preserving. It has been my Delilah, and so I have often termed it; and
now the recollection of the extensive woods I planted, and the walks I
have formed, from which strangers must derive both the pleasure and
profit, will excite feelings likely to sober my gayest moments. I have
half resolved never to see the place again. How could I tread my hall
with such a diminished crest? How live a poor indebted man where I was
once the wealthy, the honoured? My children are provided; thank God for
that. I was to have gone there on Saturday in joy and prosperity to
receive my friends. My dogs will wait for me in vain. It is foolish - but
the thoughts of parting from these dumb creatures have moved me more
than any of the painful reflections I have put down. Poor things, I must
get them kind masters; there may be yet those who loving me may love my
dog because it has been mine. I must end this, or I shall lose the tone
of mind with which men should meet distress.
* * * * *
I find my dogs' feet on my knees. I hear them whining and seeking me
everywhere - this is nonsense, but it is what they would do could they
know how things are. Poor Will Laidlaw! poor Tom Purdie! this will be
news to wring your heart, and many a poor fellow's besides to whom my
prosperity was daily bread.
Ballantyne behaves like himself, and sinks his own ruin in contemplating
mine. I tried to enrich him indeed, and now all - all is gone. He will
have the "Journal" still, that is a comfort, for sure they cannot find a
better Editor. _They_ - alas! who will _they_ be - the _unbekannten Obern_
who are to dispose of my all as they will? Some hard-eyed banker; some
of those men of millions whom I described. Cadell showed more kind and
personal feeling to me than I thought he had possessed. He says there
are some properties of works that will revert to me, the copy-money not
being paid, but it cannot be any very great matter, I should think.
Another person did not afford me all the sympathy I expected, perhaps
because I seemed to need little support, yet that is not her nature,
which is generous and kind. She thinks I have been imprudent, trusting
men so far. Perhaps so - but what could I do? I must sell my books to
some one, and these folks gave me the largest price; if they had kept
their ground I could have brought myself round fast enough by the plan
of 14th December. I now view matters at the very worst, and suppose that
my all must go to supply the deficiencies of Constable. I fear it must
be so. His connections with Hurst and Robinson have been so intimate
that they must be largely involved. This is the worst of the concern;
our own is comparatively plain sailing.
Poor Gillies called yesterday to tell me he was in extremity. God knows
I had every cause to have returned him the same answer. I must think his
situation worse than mine, as through his incoherent, miserable tale, I
could see that he had exhausted each access to credit, and yet fondly
imagines that, bereft of all his accustomed indulgences, he can work
with a literary zeal unknown to his happier days. I hope he may labour
enough to gain the mere support of his family. For myself, the magic
wand of the Unknown is shivered in his grasp. He must henceforth be
termed the Too-well-known. The feast of fancy is over with the feeling
of independence. I can no longer have the delight of waking in the
morning with bright ideas in my mind, haste to commit them to paper, and
count them monthly, as the means of planting such groves, and purchasing
such wastes; replacing my dreams of fiction by other prospective visions
of walks by
"Fountain heads, and pathless groves
Places which pale passion loves."[77]
[Sidenote: Footnote to page 44 in the original MS.: - "Turn back to page
41 and 42. I turned the page accidentally, and the partner of a bankrupt
concern ought not to waste two leaves of paper."]
This cannot be; but I may work substantial husbandry, work history, and
such concerns. They will not be received with the same enthusiasm; at
least I much doubt the general knowledge that an author must write for
his bread, at least for improving his pittance, degrades him and his
productions in the public eye. He falls into the second-rate rank of
estimation:
"While the harness sore galls, and the spurs his sides goad,
The high-mettled racer's a hack on the road."[78]
It is a bitter thought; but if tears start at it, let them flow. I am so
much of this mind, that if any one would now offer to relieve all my
embarrassments on condition I would continue the exertions which brought
it there, dear as the place is to me, I hardly think I could undertake
the labour on which I entered with my usual alacrity only this morning,
though not without a boding feeling of my exertions proving useless. Yet
to save Abbotsford I would attempt all that was possible. My heart
clings to the place I have created. There is scarce a tree on it that
does not owe its being to me, and the pain of leaving it is greater than
I can tell. I have about £10,000 of Constable's, for which I am bound to
give literary value, but if I am obliged to pay other debts for him, I
will take leave to retain this sum at his credit. We shall have made
some _kittle_ questions of literary property amongst us. Once more,
"Patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards."
I have endeavoured at times to give vent to thoughts naturally so
painful, by writing these notices, partly to keep them at bay by busying
myself with the history of the French Convention. I thank God I can do
both with reasonable composure. I wonder how Anne will bear this
affliction? She is passionate, but stout-hearted and courageous in
important matters, though irritable in trifles. I am glad Lockhart and
his wife are gone. Why? I cannot tell; but I _am_ pleased to be left to
my own regrets without being melted by condolences, though of the most
sincere and affectionate kind.
* * * * *
Anne bears her misfortune gallantly and well, with a natural feeling, no
doubt, of the rank and consideration she is about to lose. Lady Scott is
incredulous, and persists in cherishing hope where there is no ground
for hope. I wish it may not bring on the gloom of spirits which has
given me such distress. If she were the active person she once was that
would not be. Now I fear it more than what Constable or Cadell will tell
me this evening, so that my mind is made up.
Oddly enough, it happened. Mine honest friend Hector came in before
dinner to ask a copy of my seal of Arms, with a sly kindliness of
intimation that it was for some agreeable purpose.
_Half-past Eight_. - I closed this book under the consciousness of
impending ruin, I open it an hour after, thanks be to God, with the
strong hope that matters may be got over safely and honourably, in a
mercantile sense. Cadell came at eight to communicate a letter from
Hurst and Robinson, intimating they had stood the storm, and though
clamorous for assistance from Scotland, saying they had prepared their
strongholds without need of the banks.
[Sidenote: This was a mistake.]
This is all so far well, but I will not borrow any money on my estate
till I see things reasonably safe. Stocks have risen from - - to - - ,
a strong proof that confidence is restored. But I will yield to no
delusive hopes, and fall back fall edge, my resolutions hold.
I shall always think the better of Cadell for this, not merely because
his feet are beautiful on the mountains who brings good tidings, but
because he showed feeling - deep feeling, poor fellow - he who I thought
had no more than his numeration table, and who, if he had had his whole
counting-house full of sensibility, had yet his wife and children to
bestow it upon - I will not forget this if I get through. I love the
virtues of rough and round men; the others are apt to escape in salt
rheum, sal-volatile, and a white pocket-handkerchief. An odd thought
strikes me: when I die will the Journal of these days be taken out of
the ebony cabinet at Abbotsford, and read as the transient pout of a man
worth £60,000, with wonder that the well-seeming Baronet should ever
have experienced such a hitch? Or will it be found in some obscure
lodging-house, where the decayed son of chivalry has hung up his
scutcheon for some 20s. a week, and where one or two old friends will
look grave and whisper to each other, "Poor gentleman," "A well-meaning
man," "Nobody's enemy but his own," "Thought his parts could never wear
out," "Family poorly left," "Pity he took that foolish title"? Who can
answer this question?
* * * * *
What a life mine has been! - half educated, almost wholly neglected or
left to myself, stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and
undervalued in society for a time by most of my companions, getting
forward and held a bold and clever fellow, contrary to the opinion of
all who thought me a mere dreamer, broken-hearted for two years, my
heart handsomely pieced again, but the crack will remain to my dying
day. Rich and poor four or five times, once on the verge of ruin, yet
opened new sources of wealth almost overflowing. Now taken in my pitch
of pride, and nearly winged (unless the good news hold), because London
chooses to be in an uproar, and in the tumult of bulls and bears, a poor
inoffensive lion like myself is pushed to the wall. And what is to be
the end of it? God knows. And so ends the catechism.
_December_ 19. - Ballantyne here before breakfast. He looks on Cadell's
last night's news with more confidence than I do; but I must go to work
be my thoughts sober or lively. Constable came in and sat an hour. The
old gentleman is firm as a rock, and scorns the idea of Hurst and
Robinson's stopping. He talks of going up to London next week and making
sales of our interest in W[oodstock] and _Boney_, which would put a
hedge round his finances. He is a very clever fellow, and will, I think,
bear us through.
Dined at Lord Chief-Baron's.[79] Lord Justice-Clerk; Lord President;[80]
Captain Scarlett,[81] a gentlemanlike young man, the son of the great
Counsel,[82] and a friend of my son Walter; Lady Charlotte Hope, and
other woman-kind; R. Dundas of Arniston, and his pleasant and
good-humoured little wife, whose quick intelligent look pleases me more,
though her face be plain, than a hundred mechanical beauties.
_December_ 20. - I like Ch. Ba. Shepherd very much - - as much, I think,
as any man I have learned to know of late years. There is a neatness and
precision, a closeness and truth, in the tone of his conversation, which
shows what a lawyer he must have been. Perfect good-humour and suavity
of manner, with a little warmth of temper on suitable occasions. His
great deafness alone prevented him from being Lord Chief-Justice. I
never saw a man so patient under such a malady. He loves society, and
converses excellently; yet is often obliged, in a mixed company
particularly, to lay aside his trumpet, retire into himself, and
withdraw from the talk. He does this with an expression of patience on
his countenance which touches one much. He has occasion for patience
otherwise, I should think, for Lady S. is fine and fidgety, and too
anxious to have everything _pointe devise_.
Constable's licence for the Dedication is come, which will make him
happy.[83]
Dined with James Ballantyne, and met my old friend Mathews, the
comedian, with his son, now grown up a clever, rather forward lad, who
makes songs in the style of James Smith or Colman, and sings them with
spirit; rather lengthy though.
_December 21._ - There have been odd associations attending my two last
meetings with Mathews. The last time I saw him, before yesterday
evening, he dined with me in company with poor Sir Alexander Boswell,
who was killed within two or three months.[84] I never saw Sir Alexander
more.[85] The time before was in 1815, when John Scott of Gala and I
were returning from France, and passed through London, when we brought
Mathews down as far as Leamington. Poor Byron lunched, or rather made an
early dinner, with us at Long's, and a most brilliant day we had of it.
I never saw Byron so full of fun, frolic, wit, and whim: he was as
playful as a kitten. Well, I never saw him again.[86] So this man of
mirth, with his merry meetings, has brought me no luck. I like better
that he should throw in his talent of mimicry and humour into the
present current tone of the company, than that he should be required to