May 26.—­A rough morning, and makes me think of St. George’s Channel, which Walter must cross to-night or to-morrow to get to Athlone.  The wind is almost due east, however, and the channel at the narrowest point between Port-Patrick and Donaghadee.  His absence is a great blank in our circle, especially, I think, to his sister Anne, to whom he shows invariably much kindness.  But indeed they do so without exception each towards the other; and in weal or woe have shown themselves a family of love.  No persuasion could force on Walter any of his poor mother’s ornaments for his wife.  He undid a reading-glass from the gold chain to which it was suspended, and agreed to give the glass to Jane, but would on no account retain the chain.  I will go to town on Monday and resume my labours.  Being of a grave nature, they cannot go against the general temper of my feelings, and in other respects the exertion, as far as I am concerned, will do me good; besides, I must re-establish my fortune for the sake of the children, and of my own character.  I have not leisure to indulge the disabling and discouraging thoughts that press on me.  Were an enemy coming upon my house, would I not do my best to fight, although oppressed in spirits, and shall a similar despondency prevent me from mental exertion?  It shall not, by Heaven!  This day and to-morrow I give to the currency of the ideas which have of late occupied my mind, and with Monday they shall be mingled at least with other thoughts and cares.  Last night Charles and I walked late on the terrace at Kaeside, when the clouds seemed accumulating in the wildest masses both on the Eildon Hills and other mountains in the distance.  This rough morning reads the riddle.

Dull, drooping, cheerless has the day been.  I cared not to carry my own gloom to the girls, and so sate in my own room, dawdling with old papers, which awakened as many stings as if they had been the nest of fifty scorpions.  Then the solitude seemed so absolute—­my poor Charlotte would have been in the room half-a-score of times to see if the fire burned, and to ask a hundred kind questions.  Well, that is over—­and if it cannot be forgotten, must be remembered with patience.

May 27.—­A sleepless night.  It is time I should be up and be doing, and a sleepless night sometimes furnishes good ideas.  Alas!  I have no companion now with whom I can communicate to relieve the loneliness of these watches of the night.  But I must not fail myself and my family—­and the necessity of exertion becomes apparent.  I must try a hors d’oeuvre, something that can go on between the necessary intervals of Nap. Mrs. M[urray] K[eith’s] Tale of the Deserter, with her interview with the lad’s mother, may be made most affecting, but will hardly endure much expansion.[274] The framework may be a Highland tour, under the guardianship of the sort of postilion, whom Mrs. M.K. described to me—­a species of conductor who regulated the motions of his company, made their halts, and was their cicerone.