“Weel may we a’ be! 
    Ill may we never see!”

Mrs. Lockhart was, of course, unable to join the festive band.  Sir David Wilkie was languid and dispirited from bad health, and my feelings were not such as to enable me to join in what seemed to me little else than a mockery of human life; but rather than “displace the mirth,” I tried, but could not long remain a passive spectator; the glee seemed forced and unnatural.  It touched no sympathetic chord; it only jarred the feelings; it was the last attempt at gaiety I witnessed within the walls of Abbotsford.

Although I had intended to confine my slight reminiscence of Sir Walter Scott to the time I had passed with him under his own roof in the country, yet I cannot refrain from noticing the great kindness I received from him during the following winter in town.

I had, when at Abbotsford in the autumn, spoken to him for the first time of my authorship and of the work on which I was then engaged.  He entered into the subject with much warmth and earnestness, shook his head at hearing how matters had hitherto been transacted, and said unless I could make a better bargain in this instance I must leave to him the disposal of Destiny. I did so, and from the much more liberal terms he made with Mr. Cadell I felt, when too late, I had acted unwisely in not having sooner consulted him or some one versant in these matters.  But secrecy at that time was all I was anxious about, and so I paid the penalty of trusting entirely to the good faith of the publishers.

I saw Sir Walter frequently during the winter, and occasionally dined en famille with Miss Scott and him, or with one or two friends, as I did not go into parties, neither indeed did he give any, but on account of the state of his affairs lived as retiredly as he possibly could.

In the month of February he sustained a paralytic shock; as soon as I heard of this I went to Miss Scott, from whom I learned the particulars.  She had seen her father in his study a short time before, apparently in his usual health.  She had returned to the drawing room when Sir Walter opened the door, came in, but stood looking at her with a most peculiar and dreadful expression of countenance.  It immediately struck her he had come to communicate some very distressing intelligence, and she exclaimed, “Oh, papa!  Is Johnnie gone?” He made no reply, but still continued standing still and regarding her with the same fearful expression.  She then cried, “Oh, papa! speak!  Tell me, is it Sophia herself?” Still he remained immovable.  Almost frantic, she then screamed, “It is Walter! it is Walter!  I know it is.”  Upon which Sir Walter fell senseless on the floor.  Medical assistance was speedily procured.  After being bled he recovered his speech, and his first words were, “It was very strange! very horrible.”  He afterwards told her he had all at once felt very queer, and as if unable to articulate; he then went upstairs in hopes of getting rid of the sensation by movement; but it would not do, he felt perfectly tongue-tied, or rather chained, till overcome by witnessing her distress.  This took place, I think, on the 15th, and on the 18th I was invited to dine with him, and found him without any trace of illness, but as cheerful and animated as usual.