I think very lightly in general of praise; it costs men nothing, and is usually only lip-salve.  They wish to please, and must suppose that flattery is the ready road to the good will of every professor of literature.  Some praise, however, and from some people, does at once delight and strengthen the mind, and I insert in this place the quotation with which Ld.  C. Baron Shepherd concluded a letter concerning me to the Chief Commissioner:  “Magna etiam illa laus et admirabilis videri solet tulisse casus sapienter adversos, non fractum esse fortuna, retinuisse in rebus asperis dignitatem."[269] I record these words, not as meriting the high praise they imply, but to remind me that such an opinion being partially entertained of me by a man of a character so eminent, it becomes me to make my conduct approach as much as possible to the standard at which he rates it.

As I must pay back to Terry some cash in London, L170, together with other matters here, I have borrowed from Mr. Alexander Ballantyne the sum of L500, upon a promissory note for L512, 10s. payable 15th November to him or his order.  If God should call me before that time, I request my son Walter will, in reverence to my memory, see that Mr. Alexander Ballantyne does not suffer for having obliged me in a sort of exigency—­he cannot afford it, and God has given my son the means to repay him.

May 14.—­A fair good-morrow to you, Mr. Sun, who are shining so brightly on these dull walls.  Methinks you look as if you were looking as bright on the banks of the Tweed; but look where you will, Sir Sun, you look upon sorrow and suffering.  Hogg was here yesterday in danger, from having obtained an accommodation of L100 from Mr. Ballantyne, which he is now obliged to repay.  I am unable to help the poor fellow, being obliged to borrow myself.  But I long ago remonstrated against the transaction at all, and gave him L50 out of my pocket to avoid granting the accommodation, but it did no good.

May 15.—­Received the melancholy intelligence that all is over at Abbotsford.

[Abbotsford,] May 16.—­She died at nine in the morning, after being very ill for two days,—­easy at last.

I arrived here late last night.  Anne is worn out, and has had hysterics, which returned on my arrival.  Her broken accents were like those of a child, the language, as well as the tones, broken, but in the most gentle voice of submission.  “Poor mamma—­never return again—­’gone for ever—­a better place.”  Then, when she came to herself, she spoke with sense, freedom, and strength of mind, till her weakness returned.  It would have been inexpressibly moving to me as a stranger—­what was it then to the father and the husband?  For myself, I scarce know how I feel, sometimes as firm as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the wave that breaks on it.