_May_ 25.--After a morning of letter-writing, leave-taking, papers destroying, and G.o.d knows what trumpery, Sophia and I set out for Hampton Court, carrying with us the following lions and lionesses--Samuel Rogers, Tom Moore, Wordsworth, with wife and daughter.

We were very kindly and properly received by Walter and his wife, and a very pleasant party.[214]

_May_ 26.--An awful confusion with paying of bills, writing of cards, and all species of trumpery business. Southey, who is just come to town, breakfasted with us. He looks, I think, but poorly, but it may be owing to family misfortune. One is always tempted to compare Wordsworth and Southey. The latter is unquestionably the greater scholar--I mean possesses the most extensive stock of information, but there is a freshness, vivacity, and spring about Wordsworth's mind, which, if we may compare two men of uncommon powers, shows more originality. I say nothing of their poetry. Wordsworth has a system which disposes him to take the bull by the horns and offend public taste, which, right or wrong, will always be the taste of the public; yet he could be popular if he would,--witness the Feast at Brougham Castle,--Song of the Cliffords, I think, is the name.

I walked down to call, with Rogers, on Mrs. D'Arblay. She showed me some notes which she was making about her novels, which she induced me to believe had been recollected and jotted down in compliance with my suggestions on a former occasion. It is curious how she contrived to get _Evelina_ printed and published without her father's knowledge. Her brother placed it in the hands of one Lowndes, who, after its success, bought it for 20!!! and had the magnanimity to add 10--the price, I think, of _Paradise Lost_. One of her sisters betrayed the secret to her father, who then eagerly lent his ears to hear what was said of the new novel, and the first opinion which saluted his delighted ears was the voice of Johnson energetically recommending it to the perusal of Mrs Thrale.[215]

At parting, Rogers gave me a gold-mounted pair of gla.s.ses, which I will not part with in a hurry. I really like Rogers, and have always found him most friendly. After many petty delays we set off at last and reached Bushy Grove to dine with my kind and worthy family friend and relative, David Haliburton. I am delighted to find him in all the enjoyment of life, with the vivacity of youth in his sentiments and enjoyments. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell Marjoribanks are the only company here, with Miss Parker.

_May 27_.--Well, my retreat from London is now accomplished, and I may fairly balance the advantage and loss of this London trip. It has cost me a good deal of money, and Johnnie's illness has taken away much of the pleasure I had promised myself. But if I can judge from the reception I have met with, I have the pleasure to know that I stand as fair with the public, and as high with my personal friends, as in any period of my life. And this has enabled me to forward the following objects to myself and others:--

1st. I have been able to place Lockhart on the right footing in the right quarter, leaving the improvement of his place of vantage to himself as circ.u.mstances should occur.

2d. I have put the Chancery suit in the right train, which without me could not have been done.[216]

3d. I picked up some knowledge of the state of existing matters, which is interesting and may be useful.

4th. I have succeeded in helping to get a commission for James Skene.

5th. I have got two cadetships for the sons of Allan Cunningham.

6th. I have got leave to Andrew Shortreed to go out to India.

7th. I have put John Eckford into correspondence with Mr. Loch, who thinks he can do something for his claim.

8th. I have been of material a.s.sistance to poor Terry in his affairs.

9th. I have effectually protected my Darnick neighbours and myself against the New Road Bill.

Other advantages there are, besides the great one of scouring up one's own mind a little and renewing intercourse with old friends, bringing one's-self nearer in short to the currency of the time.

All this may weigh against the expenditure of 200 or 250, when money is fortunately not very scarce with me.

We went out for a most agreeable drive through the Hertfordshire Lanes--a strange intricate combination of narrow roads pa.s.sing through the country, winding and turning among oaks and other large timber, just like pathways cut through a forest. They wind and turn in so singular a manner, and resemble each other so much, that a stranger would have difficulty to make way amongst them. We visited Moor Park (not the house of Sir William Temple, but that where the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Monmouth lived). Having rather a commanding situation, you look down on the valley, which, being divided into small enclosures bordered with wood, resembles a forest when so looked down on. The house has a handsome entrance-hall, painted by Sir James Thornhill, in a very French taste, yet handsome. He was Hogarth's father-in-law, and not easily reconciled to the match. Thornhill's paintings are certainly not of the first cla.s.s, yet the practice of painting the walls and roof of a dwelling-house gives, in my eyes, a warm and rich air to the apartments.

Lord Grosvenor has now bought this fine place, once Lord Anson's--hence the Moor Park apricot is also called Ansoniana. After seeing Moor Park we went to the Grove, the Earl of Clarendon's country-seat. The house looks small and of little consequence, but contains many good portraits, as I was told, of the Hyde family.[217] The park has fine views and magnificent trees.

We went to Cashiobury, belonging to the Earl of Ess.e.x, an old mansion, apparently, with a fine park. The Colne runs through the grounds, or rather creeps through them.

"For the Colne Is black and swollen, Snake-like, he winds his way, Unlike the burns From Highland urns That dance by crag and brae."

Borthwick-brae[218] came to dinner from town, and we had a very pleasant evening. My excellent old friend reminded me of the old and bitter feud between the Scotts and the Haliburtons, and observed it was curious I should have united the blood of two hostile clans.

_May_ 28.--We took leave of our kind old host after breakfast, and set out for our own land. Our elegant researches carried us out of the high-road and through a labyrinth of intricate lanes,--which seem made on purpose to afford strangers the full benefit of a dark night and a drunk driver,--in order to visit Gill's Hill, famous for the murder of Mr. Weare.

The place has the strongest t.i.tle to the description of Wordsworth:--

"A merry spot, 'tis said, in days of yore, But something ails it now--- the place is cursed."

The princ.i.p.al part of the house has been destroyed, and only the kitchen remains standing. The garden has been dismantled, though a few laurels and garden shrubs, run wild, continue to mark the spot. The fatal pond is now only a green swamp, but so near the house that one cannot conceive how it was ever chosen as a place of temporary concealment of the murdered body. Indeed the whole history of the murder, and the scenes which ensued, are strange pictures of desperate and short-sighted wickedness. The feasting--the singing--the murderer with his hands still b.l.o.o.d.y hanging round the neck of one of the females--the watch-chain of the murdered man, argue the utmost apathy. Even Probert, the most frightened of the party, fled no further for relief than to the brandy bottle, and is found in the very lane, and at the spot of the murder, seeking for the murderous weapon, and exposing himself to the view of the pa.s.sengers. Another singular mark of stupid audacity was their venturing to wear the clothes of their victim. There was a want of foresight in the whole arrangement of the deed, and the attempts to conceal it, which argued strange inconsideration, which a professed robber would not have exhibited. There was just one single shade of redeeming character about a business so brutal, perpetrated by men above the very lowest rank of life--it was the mixture of revenge which afforded some relief to the circ.u.mstances of treachery and premeditation which accompanied it. But Weare was a cheat, and had no doubt pillaged Thurtell, who therefore deemed he might take greater liberties with him than with others.

The dirt of the present habitation equalled its wretched desolation, and a truculent-looking hag, who showed us the place, and received half-a-crown, looked not unlike the natural inmate of such a mansion.

She indicated as much herself, saying the landlord had dismantled the place because no respectable person would live there. She seems to live entirely alone, and fears no ghosts, she says.

One thing about this mysterious tragedy was never explained. It is said that Weare, as is the habit of such men, always carried about his person, and between his flannel waistcoat and shirt, a sum of ready money, equal to 1500 or 2000. No such money was ever recovered, and as the sum divided by Thurtell among his accomplices was only about 20, he must, in slang phrase, have _bucketed his pals_.[219]

We came on as far as Alconbury, where we slept comfortably.

_May_ 29.--We travelled from Alconbury Hill to Ferry Bridge, upwards of a hundred miles, amid all the beauties of "flourish" and verdure which spring awakens at her first approach in the midland counties of England, but without any variety save those of the season's making. I do believe this great north road is the dullest in the world, as well as the most convenient for the traveller. Nothing seems to me to have been altered within twenty or thirty years, save the noses of the landlords, which have bloomed and given place to another set of proboscises as germane us the old ones to the _very welcome_,--_please to light_--_'Orses forward,_ and _ready out_. The skeleton at Barnby Moor has deserted his gibbet, and that is the only change I recollect.

I have amused myself to-day with reading Lockhart's _Life of Burns_, which is very well written--in fact, an admirable thing. He has judiciously slurred over his vices and follies; for although Currie, I myself, and others, have not said a word more on that subject than is true, yet as the dead corpse is straightened, swathed, and made decent, so ought the character of such an inimitable genius as Burns to be tenderly handled after death. The knowledge of his vicious weaknesses or vices is only a subject of sorrow to the well-disposed, and of triumph to the profligate.

_May_ 30.--We left Ferry Bridge at seven, and turning westwards, or rather northwestward, at Borough Bridge, we roach Rokeby at past three.

A mile from the house we met Morritt looking for us. I had great pleasure at finding myself at Rokeby, and recollecting a hundred pa.s.sages of past time. Morritt looks well and easy in his mind, which I am delighted to see. He is now one of my oldest, and, I believe, one of my most sincere, friends, a man unequalled in the mixture of sound good sense, high literary cultivation, and the kindest and sweetest temper that ever graced a human bosom. His nieces are much attached to him, and are deserving and elegant, as well as beautiful young women. What there is in our partiality to female beauty that commands a species of temperate homage from the aged, as well as ecstatic admiration from the young, I cannot conceive, but it is certain that a very large proportion of some other amiable quality is too little to counterbalance the absolute want of this advantage. I, to whom beauty is and shall henceforth be a picture, still look upon it with the quiet devotion of an old worshipper, who no longer offers incense on the shrine, but peaceably presents his inch of taper, taking special care in doing so not to burn his own fingers. Nothing in life can be more ludicrous or contemptible than an old man aping the pa.s.sions of his youth.

Talking of youth, there was a certain professor at Cambridge who used to keep sketches of all the youths who, from their conduct at college, seemed to bid fair for distinction in life. He showed them, one day, to an old shrewd sarcastic Master of Arts, who looked over the collection, and then observed, "A promising nest of eggs; what a pity the great part will turn out addle!" And so they do; looking round amongst the young men, one sees to all appearance fine flourish--but it ripens not.

_May_ 31.--I have finished Napier's _War in the Peninsula_.[220] It is written in the spirit of a Liberal, but the narrative is distinct and clear, and I should suppose accurate. He has, however, given a bad sample of accuracy in the case of Lord Strangford, where his pointed affirmation has been as pointedly repelled. It is evident he would require probing. His defence of Moore is spirited and well argued, though it is evident he defends the statesman as much as the general. As a Liberal and a military man, Colonel Napier finds it difficult to steer his course. The former character calls on him to plead for the insurgent Spaniards; the latter induces him to palliate the cruelties of the French. Good-even to him until next volume, which I shall long to see. This was a day of pleasure and nothing else. After breakfast I walked with Morritt in the new path he has made up the Tees. When last here, his poor nephew was of the party. It hangs on my mind, and perhaps on Morritt's. When we returned we took a short drive as far as Barnard Castle; and the business of eating and drinking took up the remainder of the evening, excepting a dip into the Greta Walk.

FOOTNOTES:

[183] See _ante_, vol. i. p. 14. Lady Francis Leveson Gower was the eldest daughter of Charles Greville.

[184] Mr. Lockhart writes:--"Among other songs Mrs. Arkwright delighted Sir Walter with her own set of--

'Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew,' etc.

He was sitting by me, at some distance from the lady, and whispered, as she closed, 'Capital words--whose are they? Byron's, I suppose, but I don't remember them.' He was astonished when I told him they were his own in _The Pirate_. He seemed pleased at the moment, but said next minute, 'You have distressed me--if memory goes, all is up with me, for that was always my strong point.'"--_Life_, vol. ix. p. 236.

[185] Milton's _L'Allegro,_ ver. 137, 294.

[186] Afterwards second Earl Powis.

[187] Regarding the Chancery business, see _infra_, p. 191, _n_.

[188] Sir Walter had shortly before been one of the contributors to a subscription for Mr. Haydon. The imprisonment from which the subscription released the artist produced, I need scarcely say, the picture mentioned in the Diary.--J.G.L. Haydon died in June 1846. See his _Life_, 3 vols., 1853, edited by Tom Taylor.

[189] The Duke of Wellington, in after years, said to Lord Mahon, "He had observed on several occasions that Sir Walter was talked down by Croker and Bankes! who forgot that we might have them every day."--_Notes_, p. 100.

[190] _Romeo and Juliet_, Act III. Sc. 1.

[191] Sir W. Knighton, as a Devonshire man, naturally wished to have the portrait painted by Northcote, who was a brother Devonian. Cunningham said of tins picture that the conception was good, and reality given by the introduction of the painter, palette in hand, putting the finishing touch to the head of the poet. "The likenesses were considered good."--_Cunningham's Lives_, vol. vi. p. 124. It was exhibited in 1871 in Edinburgh; its size is 4 ft. 2 in. x 3 ft. 2 in. Mr. David Laing, differing from Allan Cunningham, considered that the picture presented "anything but a fortunate likeness." Northcote died July 13th, 1831, in his eighty-fifth year.

[192] Act III. Sc. 2.

[193] John Fuller, long M.P. for Surrey, an eccentric character, and looked upon as standing jester to the House of Commons. Scott first met him in Chantrey's studio in 1820.--See _Life_, vol. vi. pp. 206, 207. He died in his 77th year, in 1831, without apparently having carried out his intention of editing Foote.

[194] A process in English copyhold law.

[195] Hazlitt said of Northcote, that talking with him was like conversing with the dead: "You see a little old man, pale and fragile, with eyes gleaming like the lights hung in tombs. He seems little better than a ghost, and hangs wavering and trembling on the very verge of life; you would think a breath would blow him away, and yet what fine things he says!"--_Conversations_.