By the way, John Swanston measured a young shoot that was growing remarkably, and found that for three days successively it grew half an inch every day.  Fine-Ear[320] used to hear the grass grow—­how far off would he have heard this extravagant rapidity of vegetation?  The tree is a silver fir or spruce in the patch at the Green-tongue park.

August 13.—­Yesterday I was tired of labouring in the rough ground.  Well, I must be content to feel my disabilities increase.  One sure thing is, that all wise men will soon contrive to lay aside inclination when performance grows toilsome.  I have hobbled over many a rough heugh in my day—­no wonder if I must sing at last—­

    “Thus says the auld man to the aik tree,
    Sair failed, hinny, since I kenn’d thee.”

But here are many a mile of smooth walk, just when I grow unable to face bent and brae, and here is the garden when all fails.  To a sailor the length of his quarter-deck is a good space of exercising ground.

I wrote a good task to-day, then walked to the lake, then came back by three o’clock, hungering and thirsting to finish the volume.  I have seldom such fits of voluntary industry, so Duty shall have the benefit.

Finished volume iv. this evening—­Deo Gratias.

August 14.—­This is a morning I have not seen many a day, for it appears to set in for a rainy day.  It has not kept its word though.  I was seized by a fit of the “clevers,” and finished my task by twelve o’clock, and hope to add something in the evening.  I was guilty, however, of some waywardness, for I began volume v. of Boney instead of carrying on the Canongate as I proposed.  The reason, however, was that I might not forget the information I had acquired about the Treaty of Amiens.

August 15.—­The weather seems decidedly broken.  Yesterday, indeed, cleared up, but this day seems to persevere in raining. Naboclish! It’s a rarity nowadays.  I write on, though a little afflicted with the oppression on my chest.  Sometimes I think it is something dangerous, but as it always goes away on change of posture, it cannot be speedily so.  I want to finish my task, and then good-night.  I will never relax my labour in these affairs, either for fear of pain or love of life.  I will die a free man, if hard working will do it.  Accordingly, to-day I cleared the ninth leaf, which is the tenth part of a volume, in two days—­four and a half leaves a day.  Walter and Jane, with Mrs. Jobson, are arrived to interrupt me.

August 16.—­God be praised for restoring to me my dear children in good health, which has made me happier than anything that has happened these several months.  Walter and Jane appear cordial and happy in each other; the greatest blessing Heaven can bestow on them or me who witness it.  If we had Lockhart and Sophia, there would be a meeting of the beings dearest to me in life.  Walked to Huntly Burn,