A letter from Croker of a very friendly tone and tenor, which I will answer accordingly, not failing, however, to let him know that if I do not reply it is not for fear of his arguments or raillery, far less from diffidence in my cause.  I hope and trust it will do good.[227]

Maxpopple[228] and two of his boys arrived to take part of my poor dinner.  I fear the little fellows had little more than the needful, but they had all I had to give them.

I wrote a good deal to-day notwithstanding heavy thoughts.

March 20.—­Despatched proofs and copy this morning; and Swanston, the carpenter, coming in, I made a sort of busy idle day of it with altering and hanging pictures and prints, to find room for those which came from Edinburgh, and by dint of being on foot from ten to near five, put all things into apple-pie order.  What strange beings we are!  The serious duties I have on hand cannot divert my mind from the most melancholy thoughts; and yet the talking with these workmen, and the trifling occupation which they give me, serves to dissipate my attention.  The truth is, I fancy that a body under the impulse of violent motion cannot be stopped or forced back, but may indirectly be urged into a different channel.  In the evening I read, and sent off my Sheriff-Court processes.

I have a sort of grudging to give reasons why Malachi does not reply to the answers which have been sent forth.  I don’t know—­I am strongly tempted—­but I won’t.  To drop the tone might seem mean, and perhaps to maintain it would only exasperate the quarrel, without producing any beneficial results, and might be considered as a fresh insult by my alienated friends, so on the whole I won’t.

The thing has certainly had more effect than it deserves; and I suspect my Ministerial friends, if they love me less, will not hold me cheaper for the fight I have made.  I am far from saying oderint dum emerint, but there is a great difference betwixt that and being a mere protege, a poor broken-down man, who was to be assisted when existing circumstances, that most convenient of all apologies and happiest of all phrases, would permit.

March 21.—­Perused an attack on myself, done with as much ability as truth, by no less a man than Joseph Hume, the night-work man of the House of Commons, who lives upon petty abuses, and is a very useful man by so doing.  He has had the kindness to say that I am interested in keeping up the taxes; I wish I had anything else to do with them than to pay them.  But he lies, and is an ass, and not worth a man’s thinking about.  Joseph Hume, indeed!—­I say Joseph Hum,—­and could add a Swiftian rhyme, but forbear.

Busy in unpacking and repacking.  I wrote five pages of Woodstock, which work begins

    “To appropinque an end."[229]

March 22.—­A letter from Lord Downshire’s man of business about funds supposed to belong to my wife, or to the estate of my late brother-in-law.  The possessor of the secret wants some reward.  If any is granted, it should be a percentage on the net sum received, with the condition no cure—­no pay.  I expect Lady S., and from Anne’s last letter hope to find her better than the first anticipation led me to dread.