April 3.—­I have from Ballantyne and Gibson the extraordinary and gratifying news that Woodstock is sold for L8228 in all, ready money—­a matchless sum for less than three months’ work[235].  If Napoleon does as well, or near it, it will put the trust affairs in high flourish.  Four or five years of leisure and industry would, with [such] success, amply replace my losses, and put me on a steadier footing than ever.  I have a curious fancy:  I will go set two or three acorns, and judge by their success in growing whether I will succeed in clearing my way or not.  I have a little toothache keeps me from working much to-day, besides I sent off, per Blucher, copy for Napoleon, as well as the d—­d proofs.

A blank forenoon!  But how could I help it, Madam Duty?  I was not lazy; on my soul I was not.  I did not cry for half holiday for the sale of Woodstock.  But in came Colonel Ferguson with Mrs. Stewart of Blackhill, or hall, or something, and I must show her the garden, pictures, etc.  This lasts till one; and just as they are at their lunch, and about to go off, guard is relieved by the Laird and Lady Harden, and Miss Eliza Scott—­and my dear Chief, whom I love very much, though a little obsidional or so, remains till three.  That same crown, composed of the grass which grew on the walls of besieged places, should be offered to visitors who stay above an hour in any eident[236] person’s house.  Wrote letters this evening.

April 4.—­Wrote two pages in the morning.  Then went to Ashestiel in the sociable, with Colonel Ferguson.  Found my cousin Russell settled kindly to his gardening and his projects.  He seems to have brought home with him the enviable talent of being interested and happy in his own place.  Ashestiel looks worst, I think, at this period of the year; but is a beautiful place in summer, where I passed nine happy years.  Did I ever pass unhappy years anywhere?  None that I remember, save those at the High School, which I thoroughly detested on account of the confinement.  I disliked serving in my father’s office, too, from the same hatred to restraint.  In other respects, I have had unhappy days—­unhappy weeks—­even, on one or two occasions, unhappy months; but Fortune’s finger has never been able to play a dirge on me for a quarter of a year together.

I am sorry to see the Peel-wood, and other natural coppice, decaying and abridged about Ashestiel—­

    ’The horrid plough has razed the green,
      Where once my children play’d;
    The axe has fell’d the hawthorn screen,
      The schoolboy’s summer shade.’[237]