“When once life’s day is near the gloaming."[349]

We dined at Huntly Burn.  Kind and comfortable as usual.

September 24.—­I made a rally to-day and wrote four pages, or nearly.  Never stirred abroad the whole day, but was made happy after dinner by the return of Charles and Surtees full of their Irish jaunt, and happy as young men are with the change of scene.  To-morrow I must go to Melville Castle.  I wonder what I can do or say about these Universities.  One thing occurs—­the distribution of bursaries only ex meritis.  That is, I would have the presentations continue in the present patrons, but exact that those presented should be qualified by success in their literary attainments and distinction acquired at school to hold these scholarships.  This seems to be following out the idea of the founders, who, doubtless, intended the furthering of good literature.  To give education to dull mediocrity is a flinging of the children’s bread to dogs—­it is sharpening a hatchet on a razor-strop, which renders the strop useless, and does no good to the hatchet.  Well, something we will do.

September 25.—­Morning spent in making up proofs and copy.  Set out for Melville Castle with Jane, who goes on to her mother at Edinburgh.

Found Lord and Lady M. in great distress.  Their son Robert is taken ill at a Russian town about 350 miles from Moscow—­dangerously ill.  The distance increases the extreme distress of the parents, who, however, bore it like themselves.  I was glad to spend a day upon the old terms with such old friends, and believe my being with them, even in this moment of painful suspense, as it did not diminish the kindness of my reception, certainly rather seemed to divert them from the cruel subject.

Dr. Nicoll, Principal of St. Andrews, dined—­a very gentlemanlike sensible man.  We spoke of the visitation, of granting degrees, of public examinations, of abolishing the election of professors by the Senatus Academicus (a most pregnant source of jobs), and much beside—­but all desultory—­and Lord M. had either nothing particular to say to me, or was too much engrossed with his family distress to enter upon it.  He proposes to be here in the end of October.

September 26.—­Returned to Abbotsford after breakfast.  Here is a cool thing of my friend J.W.  C[roker].  The Duke of Clarence, dining at the Pavilion with the King, happened by choice or circumstance to sit lower than usual at the table, and being at that time on bad terms with the Board of Admiralty, took an opportunity to say, that were he king he would do all that away, and assume the office of Lord High Admiral.  “Your R.H. may act with great prudence,” said C[roker].  “The last monarch who did so was James II.”  Presently after H.M. asked what they were talking of.  “It’s only his R.H. of C,” answered C[roker], “who is so condescending as to tell us what he will do when he is king.”