On return home I had despatches of consequence. John Gibson writes that Lord Newton has decided most of the grand questions in our favour. Good, that! Rev. Mr. Turner writes that he is desirous, by Lord Londonderry's consent, to place in my hands a quantity of original papers concerning the public services of the late Lord Londonderry, with a view to drawing up a memoir of his life. Now this task they desire to transfer to me. It is highly complimentary; and there is this of temptation in it, that I should be able to do justice to that ill-requited statesman in those material points which demand the eternal gratitude of his country. But then for me to take this matter up would lead me too much into the hackneyed politics of the House of Commons, which odi et arceo. Besides, I would have to study the Irish question, and I detest study. Item.—I might arrive at conclusions different from those of my Lord of Londonderry, and I have a taste for expressing that which I think. Fourthly, I think it is sinking myself into a party writer. Moreover, I should not know what to say to the disputes with Canning; and, to conclude, I think my Lord Londonderry, if he desired such a thing at my hands, ought to have written to me. For all which reasons, good, bad, and indifferent, I will write declining the undertaking.

October 28.—Wrote several letters, and one to Mr. Turner, declining the task of Lord Castlereagh's Memoirs,^[64] with due acknowledgments. Had his public and European politics alone been concerned, I would have tried the task with pleasure. I wrote out my task and something more, corrected proofs, and made a handsome remittance of copy to the press.

NOVEMBER

November 1.—I waked in the night and lay two hours in feverish meditation. This is a tribute to natural feeling. But the air of a fine frosty morning gave me some elasticity of spirit. It is strange that about a week ago I was more dispirited for nothing at all than I am now for perplexities which set at defiance my conjectures concerning their issue. I suppose that I, the Chronicler of the Canongate, will have to take up my residence in the Sanctuary^[65] for a week or so, unless I prefer the more airy residence of the Calton Jail, or a trip to the Isle of Man. These furnish a pleasing choice of expedients. It is to no purpose being angry at Ehud or Ahab, or whatever name he delights in. He is seeking his own, and thinks by these harsh measures to render his road to it more speedy. And now I will trouble myself no more about the matter than I can possibly help, which will be quite enough after all. Perhaps something may turn up better for me than I now look for. Sir Adam Ferguson left Bowhill this morning for Dumfriesshire. I returned to Abbotsford to Anne, and told her this unpleasant news. She stood it remarkably well, poor body.

November 2.—I was a little bilious to-night—no wonder. Had sundry letters without any power of giving my mind to answer them—one about Gourgaud with his nonsense. I shall not trouble my head more on that score. Well, it is a hard knock on the elbow; I knew I had a life of labour before me, but I was resolved to work steadily; now they have treated me like a recusant turnspit, and put in a red-hot cinder into the wheel alongst with [me]. But of what use is philosophy—and I have always pretended to a little of a practical character—if it cannot teach us to do or suffer? The day is glorious, yet I have little will to enjoy it, but sit here ruminating upon the difference and comparative merits of the Isle of Man and of the Abbey. Small choice betwixt them. Were a twelvemonth over, I should perhaps smile at what makes me now very serious.

Smile!—No, that can never be. My present feelings cannot be recollected with cheerfulness; but I may drop a tear of gratitude. I have finished my Tales^[66] and have now nothing literary in hand. It would be an evil time to begin anything.

November 3.—Slept ill, and lay one hour longer than usual in the morning. I gained an hour's quiet by it, that is much. I feel a little shaken at the result of to-day's post. Bad it must be, whatsoever be the alternative. I am not able to go out, my poor workers wonder that I pass them without a word. I can imagine no alternative but either retreat to the Sanctuary or to the Isle of Man. Both shocking enough. But in Edinburgh I am always near the scene of action, free from uncertainty and near my poor daughter; so I think I will prefer it, and thus I rest in unrest. But I will not let this unman me. Our hope, heavenly and earthly, is poorly anchored, if the cable parts upon the strain. I believe in God who can change evil into good; and I am confident that what befalls us is always ultimately for the best. I have a letter from Mr. Gibson, purporting the opinion of the trustees and committee of creditors, that I should come to town, and interesting themselves warmly in the matter. They have intimated that they will pay Mr. Abud a composition of six shillings per pound on his debt. This is a handsome offer, but I understand he is determined to have his pound of flesh. If I can prevent it, he shall not take a shilling by his hard-hearted conduct.

Set off at twelve, firmly resolved in body and in mind. Dined at Fushie Bridge. Ah! good Mrs. Wilson, you know not you are like to lose an old customer.^[67]

But when I arrived in Edinburgh at my faithful friend, Mr. Gibson's, lo! the scene had again changed, and a new hare is started.^[68]

The trustees were clearly of opinion that the matter should be probed to the very bottom; so Cadell sets off to-morrow in quest of Robinson, whose haunts he knows. There was much talk concerning what should be done, how to protect my honour's person, and to postpone commencing a defence which must make Ahab desperate, before we can ascertain that the grounds are really tenable. This much I think I can see, that the trustees will rather pay the debt than break off the trust and go into a sequestration. They are clearly right for themselves, and I believe for me also. Whether it is in human possibility that I can clear off these obligations or not, is very doubtful. But I would rather have it written on my monument that I died at the desk than live under the recollection of having neglected it. My conscience is free and happy, and would be so if I were to be lodged in the Calton Jail. Were I shirking exertion I should lose heart, under a sense of general contempt, and so die like a poisoned rat in a hole.

Dined with Gibson and John Home. His wife is a pretty lady-like woman. Slept there at night.

November 6.—I took possession of No. 6 Shandwick Place, Mrs. Jobson's house. Mr. Cadell had taken it for me; terms £100 for four months—cheap enough, as it is a capital house. I offered £5 for immediate entrance, as I do not like to fly back to Abbotsford. So here we are established, i.e. John Nicolson^[69] and I, with good fires and all snug.

I waited on L.J.S.; an affecting meeting.^[70]

Sir William Forbes came in before dinner to me, high-spirited noble fellow as ever, and true to his friend. Agrees with my feelings to a comma. He thinks Cadell's account must turn up trumps, and is for going the vole.^[71]

November 7.—Began to settle myself this morning, after the hurry of mind, and even of body, which I have lately undergone. Commenced a review—that is, an essay, on Ornamental Gardening for the Quarterly. But I stuck fast for want of books. As I did not wish to leave the mind leisure to recoil on itself, I immediately began the Second Series of the Chronicles of Canongate, the First having been well approved. I went to make another visit, and fairly softened myself like an old fool, with recalling old stories till I was fit for nothing but shedding tears and repeating verses for the whole night. This is sad work. The very grave gives up its dead, and time rolls back thirty years to add to my perplexities. I don't care. I begin to grow over-hardened, and, like a stag turning at bay, my naturally good temper grows fierce and dangerous. Yet what a romance to tell, and told I fear it will one day be. And then my three years of dreaming and my two years of wakening will be chronicled doubtless. But the dead will feel no pain.

November 8.—Domum mansi, lanam feci. I may borrow the old sepulchral motto of the Roman matron. I stayed at home, and began the third volume of Chronicles, or rather the first volume of the Second Series.^[72] This I pursued with little intermission from morning till night, yet only finished nine pages. Like the machinery of a steam-engine, the imagination does not work freely when first set upon a new task.

November 9.—Finished my task after breakfast, at least before twelve. Then went to College to hear this most amusing good matter of the Essay read.^[73] Imprimis occurs a dispute whether the magistrates, as patrons of the University, should march in procession before the Royal visitors; and it was proposed on our side that the Provost, who is undoubtedly the first man in his own city, should go in attendance on the Principal, with the Chairman of the Commission on the Principal's right hand, and the whole Commission following, taking pas of the other Magistrates as well as of the Senatus Academicus—or whether we had not better waive all question of precedence, and let the three bodies find their way separately as they best could. This last method was just adopted when we learned that the question was not in what order of procession we should reach the place of exhibition, but whether we were to get there at all, which was presently after reported as an impossibility. The lads of the College had so effectually taken possession of the class-room where the essay was to be read, that, neither learning or law, neither Magistrates nor Magisters, neither visitors nor visited, could make way to the scene of action. So we grandees were obliged to adjourn the sederunt till Saturday the 17th—and so ended the collie-shangie.

We go out to Saint Catherine's^[74] to-day. I am glad of it, for I would not have these recollections haunt me, and society will put them out of my head.

November 11.—Sir William Rae read us prayers. Sauntered about the doors, and talked of old cavalry stories. Then drove to Melville, and saw the Lord and Lady, and family. I think I never saw anything more beautiful than the ridge of Carnethy (Pentland) against a clear frosty sky, with its peaks and varied slopes. The hills glowed like purple amethysts, the sky glowed topaz and vermilion colours. I never saw a finer screen than Pentland, considering that it is neither rocky nor highly elevated.

John Gibson, radiant with good-natured joy. He had another letter from Cadell, enclosing one from Robinson, in which the latter pledges himself to make the most explicit affidavit.

On these two last days I have written only three pages, but not from inaptitude or incapacity to labour. It is odd enough—I think it difficult to place me in a situation of danger, or disagreeable circumstances, purely personal, which would shake my powers of mind, yet they sink under mere lowness of spirits, as this Journal bears evidence in too many passages.

November 14.—A little work in the morning, but no gathering to my tackle. Went to Court, remained till nigh one. Then came through a pitiless shower; dressed and went to the christening of a boy of John Richardson's who was baptized Henry Cockburn. Read the Gazette of the great battle of Navarino, in which we have thumped the Turks very well. But as to the justice of our interference, I will only suppose some Turkish plenipotentiary, with an immense turban and long loose trousers, comes to dictate to us the mode in which we should deal with our refractory liegemen the Catholics of Ireland. We hesitate to admit his interference, on which the Moslem admiral runs into Cork Bay or Bantry Bay, alongside of a British squadron, and sends a boat to tow aside a fire-ship. A vessel fires on the boat and sinks her. Is there an aggression on the part of those who fired first, or of those whose manoeuvres occasioned the firing?

November 16.—There was little to do in Court to-day, but one's time is squandered, and his ideas broken strangely. At three we had a select meeting of the Gas Directors to consider what line we were to take in the disastrous affairs of the company. Agreed to go to Parliament a second time. James Gibson [Craig] and I to go up as our solicitors. So curiously does interest couple up individuals, though I am sure I have no objection whatever to Mr. James Gibson-Craig.^[76]

November 17.—Returned home in early time from the Court. Settled on the review of Ornamental Gardening for Lockhart, and wrote hard. Want several quotations, though—that is the bore of being totally without books. Anne and I dined quietly together, and I wrote after tea—an industrious day.

November 18.—This has been also a day of exertion. I was interrupted for a moment by a visit from young Davidoff with a present of a steel snuff-box [Tula work], wrought and lined with gold, having my arms on the top, and on the sides various scenes from the environs and principal public buildings of St. Petersburg—a joli cadeau—and I take it very kind of my young friend. I had a letter from his uncle, Denis Davidoff, the black captain of the French retreat. The Russians are certainly losing ground and men in Persia, and will not easily get out of the scrape of having engaged an active enemy in a difficult and unhealthy country. I am glad of it; it is an overgrown power; and to have them kept quiet at least is well for the rest of Europe. I concluded the evening—after writing a double task—with the trial of Malcolm Gillespie, renowned as a most venturous excise officer, but now like to lose his life for forgery. A bold man in his vocation he seems to have been, but the law seems to have got round to the wrong side of him on the present occasion.^[77]

November 19.—Corrected the last proof of Tales of my Grandfather. Received Cadell at breakfast, and conversed fully on the subject of the Chronicles and the application of the price of 2d series, say £4000, to the purchase of the moiety of the copyrights now in the market, and to be sold this day month. If I have the command of a new Edition and put it into an attractive shape, with notes, introductions, and illustrations that no one save I myself can give, I am confident it will bring home the whole purchase-money with something over, and lead to the disposal of a series of the subsequent volumes of the following works,

"What am I now when every breeze appals me?"^[78] I dozed for half-an-hour in my chair for pain and stupidity. I omitted to say yesterday that I went out to Melville Castle to inquire after my Lord Melville, who had broke his collar-bone by a fall from his horse in mounting. He is recovering well, but much bruised. I came home with Lord Chief-Commissioner Adam. He told me a dictum of old Sir Gilbert Elliot, speaking of his uncles. "No chance of opulence," he said, "is worth the risk of a competence." It was not the thought of a great man, but perhaps that of a wise one. Wrought at my review, and despatched about half or better, I should hope. I incline to longer extracts in the next sheets.

November 21.—Wrought at the review. At one o'clock I attended the general meeting of the Union Scottish Assurance Company. There was a debate arose whether the ordinary acting directors should or should not have a small sum, amounting to about a crown a piece allotted to them each day of their regular attendance. The proposal was rejected by many, and upon grounds which sound very well,—such as the shabbiness of men being influenced by a trifling consideration like this, and the absurdity of the Company volunteering a bounty to one set of men, when there are others willing to act gratuitously, and many gentlemen volunteered their own services; though I cannot help suspecting that, as in the case of ultroneous offers of service upon most occasions, it was not likely to be acceptable. The motion miscarried, however—impoliticly rejected, as I think. The sound of five shillings sounds shabby, but the fact is that it does in some sort reconcile the party to whom it is offered to leave his own house and business at an exact hour; whereas, in the common case, one man comes too late—another does not come at all—the attendance is given by different individuals upon different days, so that no one acquires the due historical knowledge of the affairs of the Company. Besides, the Directors, by taking even this trifling sum of money, render themselves the paid servants of the Company, and are bound to use a certain degree of diligence, much greater than if they continued to serve, as hitherto, gratuitously. The pay is like enlisting money which, whether great or small, subjects to engagements under the Articles of war.

November 22.—Wrought in the morning. Then made arrangements for a dinner to celebrate the Duke of Buccleuch coming of age—that which was to have been held at Melville Castle being postponed, owing to Lord M.'s accident. Sent copy of Second Series of Chronicles of Canongate to Ballantyne.

November 23.—I bilked the Court to-day, and worked at the review. I wish it may not be too long, yet know not how to shorten it. The post brought me a letter from the Duke of Buccleuch, acquainting me with his grandmother, the Duchess-Dowager's death.^[79] She was a woman of unbounded beneficence to, and even beyond, the extent of her princely fortune. She had a masculine courage, and great firmness in enduring affliction, which pressed on her with continued and successive blows in her later years. She was about eighty-four, and nature was exhausted; so life departed like the extinction of a lamp for lack of oil. Our dinner on Monday is put off. I am not superstitious, but I wish this festival had not been twice delayed by such sinister accidents—first, the injury sustained by Lord Melville, and then this event spreading crape like the shroud of Saladin over our little festival.^[80] God avert bad omens!

Dined with Archie Swinton. Company—Sir Alexander and Lady Keith, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Clanronald, etc. Clanronald told us, as an instance of Highland credulity, that a set of his kinsmen, Borradale and others, believing that the fabulous Water Cow inhabited a small lake near his house, resolved to drag the monster into day. With this view they bivouacked by the side of the lake, in which they placed, by way of night-bait, two small anchors, such as belong to boats, each baited with the carcase of a dog slain for the purpose. They expected the Water Cow would gorge on this bait, and were prepared to drag her ashore the next morning, when, to their confusion of face, the baits were found untouched. It is something too late in the day for setting baits for Water Cows.^[81]

November 24.—Wrote at review in the morning. I have made my revocation of the invitation for Monday. For myself it will give me time to work. I could not get home to-day till two o'clock, and was quite tired and stupid. So I did little but sleep or dose till dressing-time. Then went to Sir David Wedderburn's, where I met three beauties of my own day, Margaret Brown, Maria Brown, and Jane Wedderburn, now Lady Wedderburn, Lady Hampden, and Mrs. Oliphant. We met the pleasant Irish family of Meath. The resemblance between the Earl of Meath and the Duke of Wellington is something remarkably striking—it is not only the profile, but the mode of bearing the person, and the person itself. Lady Theodora Brabazon, the Earl's daughter, and a beautiful young lady, told me that in Paris her father was often taken for Lord Wellington.

November 25.—This forenoon finished the review, and despatched it to Lockhart before dinner. Will Clerk, Tom Thomson, and young Frank Scott dined with me. We had a pleasant day. I have wrought pretty well to-day. But I must

November 26.—Corrected proof-sheets of Chronicles and Tales. Advised Sheriff processes, and was busy.

November 28.—Corrected proofs and went to Court. Returned about one, and called on the Lord Chief-Baron. Dined with the Duchess of Bedford at the Waterloo, and renewed, as I may say, an old acquaintance, which began while her Grace was Lady Georgiana.^[82] She has now a fine family, two young ladies silent just now, but they will find their tongues, or they are not right Gordons, a very fine child, Alister, who shouted, sung, and spoke Gaelic with much spirit. They are from a shooting-place in the Highlands, called Invereshie, in Badenoch, which the Duke has taken to gratify the Duchess's passion for the heather.

November 29.—My course of composition is stopped foolishly enough. I have sent four leaves to London with Lockhart's review. I am very sorry for this blunder, and here is another. Forgetting I had been engaged for a long time to Lord Gillies—a first family visit too—the devil tempted me to accept of the office of President of the Antiquarian Society. And now they tell me people have come from the country to be present, and so forth, of which I may believe as much as I may. But I must positively take care of this absurd custom of confounding invitations. My conscience acquits me of doing so by malice prepense, yet one incurs the suspicion. At any rate it is uncivil and must be amended. Dined at Lord C. Commissioner's—to meet the Duchess and her party. She can be extremely agreeable, but I used to think her Grace journalière. She may have been cured of that fault, or I may have turned less jealous of my dignity. At all events let a pleasant hour go by unquestioned, and do not let us break ordinary gems to pieces because they are not diamonds. I forgot to say Edwin Landseer was in the Duchess's train. He is, in my mind, one of the most striking masters of the modern school. His expression both in man and animals is capital. He showed us many sketches of smugglers, etc., taken in the Highlands, all capital.

November 30.—Another idle morning, with letters, however. Had the great pleasure of a letter from Lord Dudley^[83] acquainting me that he had received his Majesty's commands to put down the name of my son Charles for the first vacancy that should occur in the Foreign Office, and at the same time to acquaint me with his gracious intentions, which were signified in language the most gratifying to me. This makes me really feel light and happy, and most grateful to the kind and gracious sovereign who has always shown, I may say, so much friendship towards me. Would to God the King's errand might lie in the cadger's gait, that I might have some better way of showing my gratitude than merely by a letter of thanks or this private memorandum of my gratitude. The lad is a good boy and clever, somewhat indolent I fear, yet with the capacity of exertion. Presuming his head is full enough of Greek and Latin, he has now living languages to study; so I will set him to work on French, Italian, and German, that, like the classic Cerberus, he may speak a leash of languages at once. Dined with Gillies, very pleasant; Lord Chief-Commissioner, Will Clerk, Cranstoun, and other old friends. I saw in the evening the celebrated Miss Grahame Stirling, so remarkable for her power of personifying a Scottish old lady. Unluckily she came late, and I left early in the evening, so I could not find out wherein her craft lay. She looked like a sensible woman. I had a conference with my trustees about the purchase (in company with Cadell) of the copyrights of the novels to be exposed to sale on the 19th December, and had the good luck to persuade them fully of the propriety of the project. I alone can, by notes and the like, give these works a new value, and in fact make a new edition. The price is to be made good from the Second Series Chronicles of Canongate, sold to Cadell for £4000; and it may very well happen that we shall have little to pay, as part of the copyrights will probably be declared mine by the arbiter, and these I shall have without money and without price. Cadell is most anxious on the subject. He thinks that two years hence £10,000 may be made of a new edition.

DECEMBER.

December 1.—This morning again I was idle. But I must work, and so I will to-morrow whether the missing sheets arrive, ay or no, by goles! After Court I went with Lord Wriothesley Russell,^[84] to Dalkeith House, to see the pictures; Charles K. Sharpe alongst with us. We satisfied ourselves that they have actually frames, and that, I think, was all we could be sure of. Lord Wriothesley, who is a very pleasant young man, well-informed, and with some turn for humour, dined with us, and Mr. Davidoff met him. The Misses Kerr also dined and spent the evening with us in that sort of society which I like best. Charles Sharpe came in and we laughed over oysters and sherry,

December 2.—Laboured to make lee-way, and finished nearly seven pages to eke on to the end of the missing sheets when returned. I have yoked Charles to Monsieur Surenne, an old soldier in Napoleon's Italian army, and I think a clever little fellow, with good general ideas of etymology. Signor Bugnie is a good Italian teacher; and for a German, why, I must look about. It is not the least useful language of the leash.

December 3.—A day of petty business, which killed a holiday. Finished my tale of the Mirror;^[85] went with Tom Allan to see his building at Lauriston, where he has displayed good taste—supporting instead of tearing down or destroying the old chateau, which once belonged to the famous Mississippi Law. The additions are in very good taste, and will make a most comfortable house. Mr. Burn, architect, would fain have had the old house pulled down, which I wonder at in him,^[86] though it would have been the practice of most of his brethren. When I came up to town I was just in time for the Bannatyne Club, where things are going on reasonably well. I hope we may get out some good historical documents in the course of the winter. Dined at the Royal Society Club. At the society had some essays upon the specific weight of the ore of manganese, which was caviare to the President, and I think most of the members. But it seemed extremely accurate, and I have little doubt was intelligible to those who had the requisite key. We supped at Mr. Russell's, where the conversation was as gay as usual. Lieut-Col. Ferguson was my guest at the dinner.

December 4.—Had the agreeable intelligence that Lord Newton had finally issued his decree in my favour, for all the money in the bank, amounting to £32,000. This will make a dividend of six shillings in the pound, which is presently to be paid. A meeting of the creditors was held to-day, at which they gave unanimous approbation of all that has been done, and seemed struck by the exertions which had produced £22,000 within so short a space. They all separated well pleased. So far so good. Heaven grant the talisman break not! I sent copy to Ballantyne this morning, having got back the missing sheets from John Lockhart last night. I feel a little puzzled about the character and style of the next tale. The world has had so much of chivalry. Well, I will dine merrily, and thank God, and bid care rest till to-morrow. How suddenly things are overcast, and how suddenly the sun can break out again! On the 31st October I was dreaming as little of such a thing as at present, when behold there came tidings which threatened a total interruption of the amicable settlement of my affairs, and menaced my own personal liberty. In less than a month we are enabled to turn chase on my persecutors, who seem in a fair way of losing their recourse upon us. Non nobis, Domine.

December 5.—I did a good deal in the way of preparing my new tale, and resolved to make something out of the story of Harry Wynd. The North Inch of Perth would be no bad name, and it may be possible to make a difference betwixt the old Highlander and him of modern date. The fellow that swam the Tay, and escaped, would be a good ludicrous character. But I have a mind to try him in the serious line of tragedy. Miss Baillie has made the Ethling^[87] a coward by temperament, and a hero when touched by filial affection. Suppose a man's nerves supported by feelings of honour, or say by the spur of jealousy supporting him against constitutional timidity to a certain point, then suddenly giving way,—I think something tragic might be produced. James Ballantyne's criticism is too much moulded upon the general taste of novels to admit, I fear, this species of reasoning. But what can one do? I am hard up as far as imagination is concerned, yet the world calls for novelty. Well, I'll try my brave coward or cowardly brave man. Valeat quantum. Being a teind day, remained at home, adjusting my ideas on this point until one o'clock, then walked as far as Mr. Cadell's. Finally, went to dine at Hawkhill with Lord and Lady Binning. Party were Lord Chief-Commissioner, Lord Chief-Baron, Solicitor, John Wilson, Lord Corehouse. The night was so dark and stormy that I was glad when we got upon the paved streets.

December 6.—Corrected proofs and went to Court. Bad news of Ahab's case. I hope he won't beat us after all. It would be mortifying to have them paid in full, as they must be while better men must lie by. Spero meliora.

I think that copy of Beard's Judgments is the first book which I have voluntarily purchased for nearly two years. So I am cured of one folly at least.^[88]

December 7.—Being a blank day in the rolls, I stayed at home and wrote four leaves—not very freely or happily; I was not in the vein. Plague on it! Stayed at home the whole day. There is one thing I believe peculiar to me—I work, that is, meditate for the purpose of working, best, when I have a quasi engagement with some other book for example. When I find myself doing ill, or like to come to a stand-still in writing, I take up some slight book, a novel or the like, and usually have not read far ere my difficulties are removed, and I am ready to write again. There must be two currents of ideas going on in my mind at the same time,^[89] or perhaps the slighter occupation serves like a woman's wheel or stocking to ballast the mind, as it were, by preventing the thoughts from wandering, and so give the deeper current the power to flow undisturbed. I always laugh when I hear people say, Do one thing at once. I have done a dozen things at once all my life. Dined with the family. After dinner Lockhart's proofs came in and occupied me for the evening. I wish I have not made that article too long, and Lockhart will not snip away.

December 8.—Went to Court and stayed there a good while. Made some consultations in the Advocates' Library, not furiously to the purpose.

Court in the morning. Sent off Lockhart's proof, which I hope will do him some good. A precatory letter from Gillies. I must do Molière for him, I suppose; but it is wonderful that knowing the situation I am in, the poor fellow presses so hard. Sure, I am pulling for life, and it is hard to ask me to pull another man's oar as well as my own. Yet, if I can give a little help,

Went to John Murray's, where were Sir John Dalrymple and Lady, Sir John Cayley, Mr. Hope Vere, and Lady Elizabeth Vere, a sister of the Marquis of Tweeddale, and a pleasant sensible woman. Some turn for antiquity too she shows—and spoke a good deal of the pictures at Yester. Henderland was there too. Mrs. John Murray made some very agreeable music.

December 9.—I set hard to work, and had a long day with my new tale. I did about twelve leaves. Cadell came in, and we talked upon the great project of buying in the copyrights. He is disposed to finesse a little about it, but I do not think it will do much good; all the fine arguments will fly off and people just bid or not bid as the report of the trade may represent the speculation as a good or bad one. I daresay they will reach £7000; but £8000 won't stop us, and that for books over-printed so lately and to such an extent is a pro-di-gi-ous price!

December 10.—I corrected proofs and forwarded copy. Went out for an hour to Lady J.S. Home and dozed a little, half stupefied with a cold in my head—made up this Journal, however. Settled I would go to Abbotsford on the 24th from Arniston. Before that time I trust the business of the copyrights will be finally settled. If they can be had on anything like fair terms, they will give the greatest chance I can see of extricating my affairs. Cadell seems to be quite confident in the advantage of making the purchase upon almost any terms, and truly I am of his opinion. If they get out of Scotland it will not be all I can do that will enable me to write myself a free man during the space I have to remain in this world.

December 11.—Wrote a little, and seemed to myself to get on. I went also to Court. On return, had a formal communication from Ballantyne, enclosing a letter from Cadell of an unpleasant tenor. It seems Mr. Cadell is dissatisfied with the moderate success of the First Series of Chronicles;^[91] and disapproves of about half the volume already written of the Second Series, obviously rueing his engagement. I have replied that I was not fool enough to suppose that my favour with the public could last for ever, and was neither shocked nor alarmed to find that it had ceased now, as cease it must one day soon; it might he inconvenient for me in some respects, but I would be quite contented to resign the bargain rather than that more loss should be incurred. I saw, I told them, no other receipt than lying lea for a little, while taking a fallow-break to relieve my imagination, which may be esteemed nearly cropped out. I can make shift for myself amid this failure of prospects; but I think both Cadell and J.B. will be probable sufferers. However, they are very right to speak their mind, and may be esteemed tolerably good representatives of the popular taste. So I really think their censure may be a good reason for laying aside this work, though I may preserve some part of it till another day.

December 12.—Reconsidered the probable downfall of my literary reputation. I am so constitutionally indifferent to the censure or praise of the world, that never having abandoned myself to the feelings of self-conceit which my great success was calculated to inspire, I can look with the most unshaken firmness upon the event as far as my own feelings are concerned. If there be any great advantage in literary reputation, I have had it, and I certainly do not care for losing it.

After all, may there not be, in this failure to please, some reliques of the very unfavourable matters in which I have been engaged of late,—the threat of imprisonment, the resolution to become insolvent? I cannot feel that there is. What I suffer by is the difficulty of not setting my foot upon such ground as I have trod before, and thus instead of attaining novelty I lose spirit and nature. On the other hand, who would 'thank me for "repented sheets"? Here is a good joke enough, lost to all who have not known the Clerk's table before the Jurisdiction Act.

December 13.—A letter from Lockhart announcing that Murray of Albemarle Street would willingly give me my own terms for a volume on the subject of planting and landscape gardening. This will amuse me very much indeed. Another proposal invites me, on the part of Colburn, to take charge of the Garrick papers. The papers are to be edited by Colman, and then it is proposed to me to write a life of Garrick in quarto.^[92] Lockhart refused a thousand pounds which were offered, and carte blanche was then sent. But I will not budge. My book and Colman's would run each other down. It is an attempt to get more from the public out of the subject than they will endure. Besides, my name would be only useful in the way of puff, for I really know nothing of the subject. So I will refuse; that's flat.

I missed an appointment, for which I am very sorry. It was about our Advocates' Library, which is to be rebuilt. During all my life we have mismanaged the large funds expended on the rooms of our library, totally mistaking the objects for which a library is built; and instead of taking a general and steady view of the subject, patching up disconnected and ill-sized rooms, totally unequal to answer the accommodation demanded, and bestowing an absurd degree of ornament and finery upon the internal finishing. All this should be reversed: the new library should be calculated upon a plan which ought to suffice for all the nineteenth century at least, and for that purpose should admit of being executed progressively; then there should be no ornament other than that of strict architectural proportion, and the rooms should be accessible one through another, but divided with so many partitions, as to give ample room for shelves. These small rooms would also facilitate the purposes of study. Something of a lounging room would not be amiss, which might serve for meetings of Faculty occasionally. I ought to take some interest in all this, and I do. So I will attend the next meeting of committee. Dined at Baron Hume's, and met General Campbell of Lochnell, and his lady.

December 16.—Worked hard to-day and only took a half hour's walk with Hector Macdonald! Colin Mackenzie unwell; his asthma seems rather to increase, notwithstanding his foreign trip! Alas! long-seated complaints defy Italian climate. We had a small party to dinner. Captain and Mrs. Hamilton, Davidoff, Frank Scott, Harden, and his chum Charles Baillie, second son of Mellerstain, who seems a clever young man.^[93] Two or three of the party stayed to take wine and water.

December 17.—Sent off the beginning of the Chronicles to Ballantyne. I hate cancels; they are a double labour.

Mr. Cowan, Trustee for Constable's creditors, called in the morning by appointment, and we talked about the upset price of the copyrights of Waverley, etc. I frankly told him that I was so much concerned that they should remain more or less under my control, that I was willing, with the advice of my trustees, to offer a larger upset than that of £4750, which had been fixed, and that I proposed the price set up should be £250 for the poetry, Paul's letters, etc., and £5250 for the novels, in all £5500; but that I made this proposal under the condition, that in case no bidding should ensue, then the copyrights should be mine so soon as the sale was adjourned, without any one being permitted to bid after the sale. It is to be hoped this high upset price will