The Complete Autobiographical Writings of Sir Walter Scott. Walter Scott
round, whirligig.
June 17. — Violent rheumatic headache all day. Wrought, however. But what difference this troublesome addition may make on the quality of the stuff produced, truly I do not know. I finished five leaves.
June 18. — Some Italian gentlemen landed here, under the conveyance of the Misses Haig of Bemerside. They were gentlemanlike men; but as I did not dare to speak bad French, I had not much to say to foreigners. Gave them and their pretty guides a good breakfast, however. The scene seemed to me to resemble Sheridan’s scene in the Critic. There are a number of very civil gentlemen trying to make themselves understood, and I do not know which is the interpreter. After all, it is not my fault. They who wish to see me should be able to speak my language. I called on Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie. She received me with all the kindness of former days, and I was delighted to see her. I sat about an hour with her. My head aches, for all that, and I have heavy fits of drowsiness. Well, I have finished my task, and have a right to sleep if I have a mind.
I dine to-day with Lord Mackenzie, where I hope to meet Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie again, for I love her warm heart and lively fancy. Accordingly I enjoyed this pleasure.
June 19. — Scribbled away lustily. Went to the P.H. Wrote when I came home, both before and after dinner — that’s all, I think. I am become a sort of writing automaton, and truly the joints of my knees, especially the left, are so stiff and painful in rising and sitting down, that I can hardly help screaming — I that was so robust and active; I get into a carriage with great difficulty. My head, too, is bothered with rheumatic headaches. Why not? I got headaches by my folly when I was young, and now I am old they come uncalled. Infirmity gives what indiscretion bought.
June 20. — My course is still the same. But I have a painful letter from Lockhart, which takes away the last hope of poor Johnnie’s recovery. It is no surprise to me. The poor child, so amiable in its disposition, and so promising from its talents, was not formed to be long with us, and I have long expected that it must needs come to this. I hope I shall not outlive my children in other cases, and I think there is little chance of it. My father did not long survive the threescore and ten; it will be wonderful if I reach that goal of ordinary mortality. God send it may find me prepared; and, whatever I may have been formerly, high spirits are not now like to carry me away.
June, 21. — At Court, and called on Ballantyne on my return. I was obliged to go to the Register Office at one, where I waited nearly an hour without meeting my brethren. But I wrote a letter to Lockhart in the meantime. My niece Ann arrived, to my great satisfaction. I am glad that Anne, my daughter, has such a sensible and clever companion. Dined at Baron Hume’s.
June 22. — Wrought. Had a note from Ballantyne complaining of my manuscript, and requesting me to read it over. I would give £1000 if I could; but it would take me longer to read than to write. I cannot trace my pieds de mouche but with great labour and trouble; so e’en take your own share of the burden, my old friend; and, since I cannot read, be thankful I can write. I will look at his proof, however, and then be quiet and idle for the rest of the evening. I am come to Charles the First’s trial, and though I have it by heart, I must refresh myself with a reading of Clarendon. Charles Sharpe and Francis Scott came in the evening.
June 23. — This morning the two Annes and I went to Sir Robert Liston at Milburn Tower — a beautiful retreat. The travels of the venerable diplomatist are indicated by the various articles of curiosity which he has picked up in different corners of the world, and put together with much taste. The conservatory and gardens are very fine, and contain, I suppose, very curious plants; — I am sure, hard names enough. But then the little Gothic tower, embowered amid trees and bushes, surrounded by these pleasant gardens, offering many a sunny walk for winter, many a shade for summer, are inexpressibly pleasing. The good old knight and his lady are worthy of it, for they enjoy it. The artificial piece of water is a failure, like most things of the kind. The offices, without being on an extravagant scale, are most substantial; the piggery, in particular, is quite a palace, and the animals clean and comfortable. I think I have caught from them a fit of piggish obstinacy. I came at one, and cannot prevail upon myself to go to work. I answer the calls of duty as Caliban does those of Prospero, “There’s wood enough within.” To be sure, I have not got the Clarendon.
June 24. — It was my father’s own son, as John Hielandman said, who did little both yesterday and to-day — I mean little in the way of literary work, for, as to positive work, I have been writing letters about Chancery business till I am sick of it. There was a long hearing, and while Jeffrey exerted his eloquence in the Inner House, I plied my eloquence de billet in the Library. So, on the whole, I am no bad boy. Besides, the day is not yet over.
June 25. — I was surprised to hear that our Academy Rector, Williams, has renounced the chair of Roman learning in the new London University. His alarm was excited by the interest taken by the prelates in opposing a High Church institution to that desired by Mr. Brougham. Both the Bishops and Williams have been unwise. The former have manoeuvred ill. They should, in the outset, have taken the establishment out of the hands of the Whigs, without suffering them to reinforce themselves by support from [others]. And Williams was equally precipitate in joining an institution which a small degree of foresight might have assured him would be opposed by his spiritual superiors. However, there he stands, deprived of his professorship by his resignation, and of his rectorship by our having engaged with a successor. I think it very doubtful whether the Bishops will now [admit] him into their alliance. He has in that case offended both parties. But if they are wise, they will be glad to pick up the best schoolmaster in Europe, though he comes for the present Graiâ ex urbe. I accomplished more than my task to-day.
June, 26. — Wrote a long letter to Lockhart about Williams’ situation, saying how, by sitting betwixt two stools, he
“ — — - Had fallen with heavy thump
Upon his reverential rump,”
and how the Bishops should pick him up if they wanted their establishment to succeed. It is an awkward position in which Williams has placed himself. He loses the Whig chair, and has perhaps no chance of favour from the High Church for having been willing to accept it. Even if they now give him promotion, there will be a great outcry on his having left one institution to join another. He would be thick-skinned if he stands the clamour. Yet he has to all appearance rather sacrificed than advanced his interest. However, I say again, the Bishops ought not to omit securing him.
Mr. Macintosh Mackay breakfasted with me, modest, intelligent, and gentle. I did my duty and more in the course of the day.
I am vexed about Mackay missing the church of Cupar in Angus. It is in the Crown’s gift, and Peel, finding that two parties in the town recommended two opposite candidates, very wisely chose to disappoint them both, and was desirous of bestowing the presentation on public grounds. I heard of this, and applied to Mr. Peel for Macintosh Mackay, whose quiet patience and learning are accompanied by a most excellent character as a preacher and a clergyman, but unhappily Mr. Peel had previously put himself into the hands of Sir George Murray, who applied to Sir Peter his brother, who naturally applied to certain leaders of the Church at Edinburgh, and these reverend gentlemen have recommended that the church which the minister desired to fill up on public grounds should be bestowed on a boy, the nephew of one of their number, of whom the best that can be said is that nothing is known, since he has only been a few months in orders. This comes of kith, kin, and ally, but Peel shall know of it, and may perhaps judge for himself another time.
June 27. — I came out after Court to Blair Adam, with our excellent friend the Rev. John Thomson of Duddingston, so modest and so accomplished; — delightful drive and passage at the ferry. We found at Blair Adam the C.C. and family, Admiral Adam and lady, James Thomson of Charlton, and Miss T., Will Clerk, and last, not least, Lord Chief Baron Shepherd — all in high spirits for our excursions.
Thomson described to me a fine dungeon in the old tower at Cassillis in Ayrshire. There is an outer and inner vaulted [chamber], each secured with iron doors. At the upper end of the innermost are two great stones