[261] Henry VIII. Act III.  Sc. 2.

[262] Ritson, Scottish Songs, xvi.

MAY.

May 1.—­I walked to-day to the western corner of the Chiefswood plantation, and marked out a large additional plantation to be drawn along the face of the hill.  It cost me some trouble to carry the boundaries out of the eye, for nothing is so paltry as a plantation of almost any extent if its whole extent lies defined to the eye.  By availing myself of the undulations of the ground I think I have avoided this for the present; only when seen from the Eildon Hills the cranks and turns of the enclosure will seem fantastic, at least until the trees get high.

This cost Tom and me three or four hours.  Lieut.-Colonel Ferguson joined us as we went home, and dined at Abbotsford.

My cousin, Barbara Scott of Raeburn, came here to see Lady S. I think she was shocked with the melancholy change.  She insisted upon walking back to Lessudden House, making her walk 16 or 18 miles, and though the carriage was ordered she would not enter it.

May 2.—­Yesterday was a splendid May day—­to-day seems inclined to be soft, as we call it; but tant mieux.  Yesterday had a twang of frost in it.  I must get to work and finish Boaden’s Life of Kemble, and Kelly’s Reminiscences,[263] for the Quarterly.

I wrote and read for three hours, and then walked, the day being soft and delightful; but alas! all my walks are lonely from the absence of my poor companion.  She does not suffer, thank God, but strength must fail at last.  Since Sunday there has been a gradual change—­very gradual—­but, alas! to the worse.  My hopes are almost gone.  But I am determined to stand this grief as I have done others.

May 3,—­Another fine morning.  I answered a letter from Mr. Handley, who has taken the pains to rummage the Chancery Records until he has actually discovered the fund due to Lady Scott’s mother, L1200; it seems to have been invested in the estates of a Mr. Owen, as it appears for Madame Charpentier’s benefit, but, she dying, the fund was lost sight of and got into Chancery, where I suppose it must have accumulated, but I cannot say I understand the matter; at a happier moment the news would have given poor Charlotte much pleasure, but now—­it is a day too late.

May 4.—­On visiting Lady Scott’s sick-room this morning I found her suffering, and I doubt if she knew me.  Yet, after breakfast, she seemed serene and composed.  The worst is, she will not speak out about the symptoms under which she labours.  Sad, sad work; I am under the most melancholy apprehension, for what constitution can hold out under these continued and wasting attacks?

My niece, Anne Scott, a prudent, sensible, and kind young woman, arrived to-day, having come down to assist us in our distress from so far as Cheltenham.  This is a great consolation.