hardly be said to have varied from my ordinary.
Rose at seven, dressed before eight, wrote letters, or did any little business till a quarter past nine. Then breakfast. Mr. Laidlaw comes from ten till one. Then take the pony, and ride quantum mutatus two or three miles, John Swanston walking by my bridle-rein lest I fall off. Come home about three or four. Then to dinner on a single plain dish and half a tumbler, or by’r lady three-fourths of a tumbler, of whisky and water. Then sit till six o’clock, when enter Mr. Laidlaw again, and work commonly till eight. After this, work usually alone till halfpast nine, then sup on porridge and milk, and so to bed. The work is half done. If any [one] asks what time I take to think on the composition, I might say, in one point of view, it was seldom five minutes out of my head the whole day. In another light, it was never the serious subject of consideration at all, for it never occupied my thoughts entirely for five minutes together, except when I was dictating to Mr. Laidlaw.
February 26. — Went through the same routine, only, being Saturday, Mr. Laidlaw does not come in the evening. I think there is truth in the wellknown phrase, Aurora musis amica. I always have a visit of invention between six and seven — that is, if anything has been plaguing me, in the way of explanation, I find it in my head when I wake. I have need of it tonight.
February 27. — Being Saturday, no Mr. Laidlaw came yesterday evening, nor to-day, being Sunday. Truth is, I begin to fear I was working too hard, and gave myself to putting things in order, and working at the Magnum, and reading stupid German novels in hopes a thought will strike me when I am half occupied with other things. In fact, I am like the servant in the Clandestine Marriage, who assures his mistress he always watches best with his eyes shut.
February 28. — Past ten, and Mr. Laidlaw, the model of a clerk in other respects, is not come yet. He has never known the value of time, so is not quite accurate in punctuality; but that, I hope, will come if I can drill him to it without hurting him. I think I hear him coming. I am like the poor wizard who is first puzzled how to raise the devil and then how to employ him. But vogue la galère. Worked till one, then walked with great difficulty and pain till halfpast two. I think I can hardly stir without my pony, which is a sad pity. Mr. Laidlaw dines here.
March
March 1, 2, 3. — All these three days I wrote forenoon and fagged afternoon. Kept up the ball indifferent well, but began to tire on the third, and suspected that I was flat — a dreary suspicion, not easily chased away when once it takes root.
March 4. — Laid aside the novel, and began with vigour a review of Robson’s Essay on Heraldry; but I missed some quotations which I could not get on without. I gave up, and took such a rash ride nowadays. Returned home, and found Colonel Russell there on a visit. Then we had dinner, and afterwards the making up this miserable Journal.
March 5. — I have a letter from our member, Whytbank, adjuring me to assist the gentlemen of the county with an address against the Reform Bill, which menaces them with being blended with Peeblesshire, and losing of consequence one half of their franchise. Mr. Pringle conjures me not to be very nice in choosing my epithets. Mr. Pringle, Torwoodlee, comes over and speaks to the same purpose, adding, it will be the greatest service I can do the county, etc. This, in a manner, drives me out of a resolution to keep myself clear of politics, and “let them fight dog, fight bear.” But I am too easy to be persuaded to bear a hand. The young Duke of Buccleuch comes to visit me also; so I promised to shake my duds and give them a cast of my calling, fall back, fall edge.
March 7-10. — In these four days I drew up, with much anxiety, an address reprobatory of the Bill, both with respect to Selkirkshire, and in its general purport. I was not mealy-mouthed, and those who heard the beginning could hardly avoid listening to the end. It was certainly in my best style, and would have made a deal of noise. From the uncompromising style it would have attracted attention. Mr. Laidlaw, though he is on t’other side on the subject, thinks it the best thing I ever wrote; and I myself am happy to find that it cannot be said to smell of the apoplexy. The pointed passages were, on the contrary, clever and well put. But it was too declamatory, too much like a pamphlet, and went far too generally into opposition to please the country gentlemen, who are timidly inclined to dwell on their own grievances rather than the public wrongs.
March 11. — This day we had our meeting at Selkirk. I found Borthwickbrae (late member) had sent the form of an address, which was finished by Mr. Andrew Lang. It was the reverse of mine in every respect. It was short, and to the point. It only contained a remonstrance against the incorporation with [Peebles]shire, and left it to be inferred that they approved the Bill in other respects. As I saw that it met the ideas of the meeting (six in number) better by far than such an address as mine, I instantly put it in my pocket. But I endeavoured to add to their complaint of a private wrong a general clause, stating their sense of the hazard of passing a Bill full of such violent innovations at once on the public. But though Harden, Alva, and Torwoodlee voted for this measure, it was refused by the rest of the meeting, to my disappointment; since in its present state it will not be attended to, and is in fact too milk-and-water to attract notice. I am, however, personally out of the scrape; I was a fool to stir such a mess of skimmed milk with so honourable an action. If some of the gentlemen of the press get hold of this story, what would they make of it, and how little would I care! One thing is clear: it gives me a right to decline future interference, and let the world wag, Sessa.
March 12. — Wrote the history of my four days’ labour in vain to Sandy Pringle, Whytbank, and so transeat with cæteris erroribus. I only gave way to one jest. A ratcatcher was desirous to come and complete his labours in my house, and I, who thought he only talked and laughed with the servants, recommended him to go to the head courts and meetings of freeholders, where he would find rats in plenty.
March 13. — I have finally arranged a thorny transaction. Mr. Cadell has an interest in some of the Novels, amounting to onehalf; but the following are entirely my own, viz.: —
St. Ronan’s Well, 3 vols.
Tales of Crusaders, 4 “
First Chronicles, 2 “
Anne of Geierstein, 3 “
Redgauntlet, 3 “
Woodstock, 3 “
Second Chronicles, 3 “
Count Robert, 3 “
In all, twentyfour volumes, which will begin printing after Quentin Durward, and concludes the year 1831. For half the property he proposes to pay 6000 guineas on 2d February 1831 . I think that with this sum, and others coming in, I may reduce the debt to £45,000.
But I do not see clearly enough through this affair to accept this offer. First, I cannot see that there is wisdom in engaging Mr. Cadell in deep speculations, unless they served him very much. I am, in this respect, a burnt child: I have not forgotten the fire, or rather the furnace. Second, I think the property worth more, if publicly sold. Third, I cannot see any reasons which should render it advantageous for me to sell one half of this property, it being admittedly at the same [time] highly judicious to keep the other half. This does not fadge. Fourth, As to the immediate command of the money, I am not pressed for it, not having any advantage by paying it a year or two sooner or later. The actual proceeds of the sales will come in about 1834, and I daresay will not be far behind in amount the sum of £6000.
In short, I will not sell on a rainy day, as our proverb says. I have communicated my resolution to Cadell, to whom, no doubt, it will be a disappointment, for which I am sorry, but cannot help it.
March 14. — Had a very sensible and good-humoured answer from Mr. Cadell, readily submitting to my decision. He mentions, what I am conscious of, the great ease of accomplishing, if the whole is divided into two halves. But this is not an advantage to me, but to them who keep the books, and therefore I cannot be moved by it. It is the great advantage