May 5.—­Haunted by gloomy thoughts; but I corrected proofs from seven to ten, and wrote from half-past ten to one.  My old friend Sir Adam called, and took a long walk with me, which was charity.  His gaiety rubbed me up a little.  I had also a visit from the Laird and Lady of Harden.  Henry Scott carries the county without opposition.

May 6.—–­ The same scene of hopeless (almost) and unavailing anxiety.  Still welcoming me with a smile, and asserting she is better.  I fear the disease is too deeply entwined with the principles of life.  Yet the increase of good weather, especially if it would turn more genial, might, I think, aid her excellent constitution.  Still labouring at this Review, without heart or spirits to finish it.  I am a tolerable Stoic, but preach to myself in vain.

    “Since these things are necessities,
    Then let us meet them like necessities."[264]

And so we will.

May 7.—­Hammered on at the Review till my backbone ached.  But I believe it was a nervous affection, for a walk cured it.  Sir Adam and the Colonel dined here.  So I spent the evening as pleasantly as I well could, considering I am so soon to leave my own house, and go like a stranger to the town of which I have been so long a citizen, and leave my wife lingering, without prospect of recovery, under the charge of two poor girls. Talia cogit dura necessitas.

May 8.—­I went over to the election at Jedburgh.  There was a numerous meeting; the Whigs, who did not bring ten men to the meeting, of course took the whole matter under their patronage, which was much of a piece with the Blue Bottle drawing the carriage.  I tried to pull up once or twice, but quietly, having no desire to disturb the quiet of the election.  To see the difference of modern times!  We had a good dinner, and excellent wine; and I had ordered my carriage at half-past seven, almost ashamed to start so soon.  Everybody dispersed at so early an hour, however, that when Henry had left the chair, there was no carriage for me, and Peter proved his accuracy by showing me it was but a quarter-past seven.  In the days I remember they would have kept it up till day-light; nor do I think poor Don would have left the chair before midnight.  Well, there is a medium.  Without being a veteran Vice, a grey Iniquity, like Falstaff, I think an occasional jolly bout, if not carried to excess, improved society; men were put into good humour; when the good wine did its good office, the jest, the song, the speech, had double effect; men were happy for the night, and better friends ever after, because they had been so.

May 9.—­My new Liverpool neighbour, Mr. Bainbridge, breakfasts here to-day with some of his family.  They wish to try the fishing in Cauldshields Loch, and [there is] promise of a fine soft morning.  But the season is too early.

They have had no sport accordingly after trying with Trimmers.  Mr. Bainbridge is a good cut of John Bull—­plain, sensible, and downright; the maker of his own fortune, and son of his own works.