_May_ 26.--A rough morning, and makes me think of St. George's Channel, which Walter must cross to-night or to-morrow to get to Athlone. The wind is almost due east, however, and the channel at the narrowest point between Port-Patrick and Donaghadee. His absence is a great blank in our circle, especially, I think, to his sister Anne, to whom he shows invariably much kindness. But indeed they do so without exception each towards the other; and in weal or woe have shown themselves a family of love. No persuasion could force on Walter any of his poor mother's ornaments for his wife. He undid a reading-gla.s.s from the gold chain to which it was suspended, and agreed to give the gla.s.s to Jane, but would on no account retain the chain. I will go to town on Monday and resume my labours. Being of a grave nature, they cannot go against the general temper of my feelings, and in other respects the exertion, as far as I am concerned, will do me good; besides, I must re-establish my fortune for the sake of the children, and of my own character. I have not leisure to indulge the disabling and discouraging thoughts that press on me. Were an enemy coming upon my house, would I not do my best to fight, although oppressed in spirits, and shall a similar despondency prevent me from mental exertion? It shall not, by Heaven! This day and to-morrow I give to the currency of the ideas which have of late occupied my mind, and with Monday they shall be mingled at least with other thoughts and cares. Last night Charles and I walked late on the terrace at Kaeside, when the clouds seemed acc.u.mulating in the wildest ma.s.ses both on the Eildon Hills and other mountains in the distance. This rough morning reads the riddle.

Dull, drooping, cheerless has the day been. I cared not to carry my own gloom to the girls, and so sate in my own room, dawdling with old papers, which awakened as many stings as if they had been the nest of fifty scorpions. Then the solitude seemed so absolute--my poor Charlotte would have been in the room half-a-score of times to see if the fire burned, and to ask a hundred kind questions. Well, that is over--and if it cannot be forgotten, must be remembered with patience.

_May_ 27.--A sleepless night. It is time I should be up and be doing, and a sleepless night sometimes furnishes good ideas. Alas! I have no companion now with whom I can communicate to relieve the loneliness of these watches of the night. But I must not fail myself and my family--and the necessity of exertion becomes apparent. I must try a _hors d'oeuvre_, something that can go on between the necessary intervals of _Nap._ Mrs. M[urray] K[eith's] Tale of the Deserter, with her interview with the lad's mother, may be made most affecting, but will hardly endure much expansion.[274] The framework may be a Highland tour, under the guardianship of the sort of postilion, whom Mrs. M.K.

described to me--a species of conductor who regulated the motions of his company, made their halts, and was their cicerone.

_May_ 28.--I wrote a few pages yesterday, and then walked. I believe the description of the old Scottish lady may do, but the change has been unceasingly rung upon Scottish subjects of late, and it strikes me that the introductory matter may be considered as an imitation of Washington Irving. Yet not so neither. In short, I will go on, to-day make a dozen of close pages ready, and take J.B.'s advice. I intend the work as an _olla podrida_, into which any species of narrative or discussion may be thrown.

I wrote easily. I think the exertion has done me good. I slept sound last night, and at waking, as is usual with me, I found I had some clear views and thoughts upon the subject of this trifling work. I wonder if others find so strongly as I do the truth of the Latin proverb, _Aurora musis amica_. If I forget a thing over-night, I am sure to recollect it as my eyes open in the morning. The same if I want an idea, or am enc.u.mbered by some difficulty, the moment of waking always supplies the deficiency, or gives me courage to endure the alternative.[275]

_May_ 29.--To-day I leave for Edinburgh this house of sorrow. In the midst of such distress, I have the great pleasure to see Anne regaining her health, and showing both patience and steadiness of mind. G.o.d continue this, for my own sake as well as hers. Much of my future comfort must depend upon her.

[_Edinburgh_,] _May_ 30.--Returned to town last night with Charles. This morning resume ordinary habits of rising early, working in the morning, and attending the Court. All will come easily round. But it is at first as if men looked strange on me, and bit their lip when they wring my hand, and indicated suppressed feelings. It is natural this should be--undoubtedly it has been so with me. Yet it is strange to find one's-self resemble a cloud which darkens gaiety wherever it interposes its chilling shade. Will it be better when, left to my own feelings, I see the whole world pipe and dance around me? I think it will. Thus sympathy intrudes on my private affliction.

I finished correcting the proofs for the _Quarterly_; it is but a flimsy article, but then the circ.u.mstances were most untoward.

This has been a melancholy day, most melancholy. I am afraid poor Charles found me weeping. I do not know what other folks feel, but with me the hysterical pa.s.sion that impels tears is of terrible violence--a sort of throttling sensation--then succeeded by a state of dreaming stupidity, in which I ask if my poor Charlotte can actually be dead. I think I feel my loss more than at the first blow.

Poor Charles wishes to come back to study here when his term ends at Oxford. I can see the motive.

_May_ 31.--The melancholy hours of yesterday must not return. To encourage that dreamy state of incapacity is to resign all authority over the mind, and I have been wont to say--

"My mind to me a kingdom is."[276]

I am rightful monarch; and, G.o.d to aid, I will not be dethroned by any rebellious pa.s.sion that may rear its standard against me. Such are morning thoughts, strong as carle-hemp--says Burns--

"Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van, Thou stalk of carle-hemp in man."

Charles went by the steam-boat this morning at six. We parted last night mournfully on both sides. Poor boy, this is his first serious sorrow.

Wrote this morning a Memorial on the Claims which Constable's people prefer as to the copyrights of _Woodstock_ and _Napoleon_.[277]

FOOTNOTES:

[263] See _Miscellaneous Prose Works_, vol. xx. pp. 152-244, or _Quarterly Review_ No. 67, Kelly's _Reminiscences_.

[264] 2 _Henry IV_., Act III. Sc. I, slightly altered.

[265] [Mrs. Brown's Lodgings, No. 6 North St. David Street.]

[266] This is the opening couplet of a German trooper's song, alluded to in _Life_, vol. ii. p. 13. The literal translation is:--

"The day of departure is come; Heavy lies it on the hearts--heavy."--J.G.L.

[267] Scott had written:--"and yet to part with the companion of twenty years just six," and had then deleted the three words, "years just six,"

and written "nine" above them. It looks as if he had meant at first to refer to the change in his fortunes, "just six" MONTHS before, and had afterwards thought it better to refrain. This would account for a certain obscurity of meaning.

[268] _As You Like It_, Act II. Sc. 4.

[269] Cicero, _de Orat._ ii. p. 346.--J.G.L.

[270] Walter Scott Lockhart, died at Versailles in 1853, and was buried in the Cemetery of Notre-Dame there.

[271] The Rev. Edward Bannerman Ramsay, A.M., St. John's College, Cambridge, inc.u.mbent St. John's, Edinburgh, afterwards Dean of the Diocese in the Scots Episcopal Church, and still more widely known as the much-loved "Dean Ramsay," author of _Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character_. This venerable Scottish gentleman was for many years the delight of all who had the privilege of knowing him. He died at the age of eighty-three in his house, 23 Ainslie Place, Edinburgh, Dec. 27th, 1872.

[272] See _Life_, vol. iv. p. 2.

[273] Mr. Skene has preserved the following note written on this day:--"I take the advantage of Mr. Ramsay's return to Edinburgh to answer your kind letter. It would have done no good to have brought you here when I could not have enjoyed your company, and there were enough friends here to ensure everything being properly adjusted. Anne, contrary to a natural weakness of temper, is quite quiet and resigned to her distress, but has been visited by many fainting fits, the effect, I am told, of weakness, over-exertion, and distress of mind. Her brothers are both here--Walter having arrived from Ireland yesterday in time to a.s.sist at the _munus inane_; their presence will do her much good, but I cannot think of leaving her till Monday next, nor could I do my brethren much good by coming to town, having still that stunned and giddy feeling which great calamities necessarily produce. It will soon give way to my usual state of mind, and my friends will not find me much different from what I have usually been.

"Mr. Ramsay, who I find is a friend of yours, appears an excellent young man.--My kind love to Mrs. Skene, and am always, yours truly,

"WALTER SCOTT. ABBOTSFORD, _23d May_."

[274] _The Highland Widow_, Waverley Novels, vol. xli.

[275] See February 10, 1826.

[276] This excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century.--Percy's _Reliques_, vol. i. 307.--J.G.L.

[277] See June 2.

JUNE.

_June_ 1.--Yesterday I also finished a few trifling memoranda on a book called _The Omen_, at Blackwood's request. There is something in the work which pleases me, and the style is good, though the story is not artfully conducted. I dined yesterday in family with Skene, and had a visit from Lord Chief-Commissioner; we met as mourners under a common calamity. There is something extremely kind in his disposition.

Sir R. D[undas] offers me three days of the country next week, which tempts me strongly were it but the prospect of seeing Anne. But I think I must resist and say with Tilburina,

"Duty, I'm all thine own."[278]

If I do this I shall deserve a holiday about the 15th June, and I think it is best to wait till then.

_June_ 2.--A pleasant letter from Sophia, poor girl; all doing well there, for which G.o.d be praised.

I wrote a good task yesterday, five pages, which is nearly double the usual stint.

I am settled that I will not go to Abbotsford till to-morrow fortnight.

I might have spared myself the trouble of my self-denial, for go I cannot, Hamilton having a fit of gout.

Gibson seems in high spirits on the views I have given to him on the nature of Constable and Co.'s claim. It amounts to this, that being no longer accountable as publishers, they cannot claim the character of such, or plead upon any claim arising out of the contracts entered into while they held that capacity.

_June_ 3.--I was much disturbed this morning by bile and its consequences, and lost so much sleep that I have been rather late in rising by way of indemnification. I must go to the map and study the Italian campaigns instead of scribbling.