April 2.—­Another letter from R.P.G.  I shall begin to wish, like S., that he had been murthered and robbed in his walks between Wimbledon and London.  John [Archibald] Murray and his young wife came to dinner, and in good time.  I like her very much, and think he has been very lucky.  She is not in the vaward of youth, but John is but two or three years my junior.  She is pleasing in her manners, and totally free from affectation; a beautiful musician, and willingly exerts her talents in that way; is said to be very learned, but shows none of it.  A large fortune is no bad addition to such a woman’s society.

April 3.—­I had processes to decide; and though I arose at my usual hour, I could not get through above two of five proofs.  After breakfast I walked with John Murray, and at twelve we went for Melrose, where I had to show the lions.  We came back by Huntly Burn, where the carriage broke down, and gave us a pretty long walk home.  Mr. Scrope dined with his two artists, and John [Thomson?].  The last is not only the best landscape-painter of his age and country, but is, moreover, one of the warmest-hearted men living, with a keen and unaffected feeling of poetry.  Poor fellow! he has had many misfortunes in his family.  I drank a glass or two of wine more than usual, got into good spirits, and came from Tripoli for the amusement of the good company.  I was in good fooling.

April 4.—­I think I have a little headache this morning; however, as Othello says, “That’s not much.”  I saw our guests go off by seven in the morning, but was not in time to give them good-bye.

    “And now again, boys, to the oar.”

I did not go to the oar though, but walked a good deal.

April 5.—­Heard from Lockhart; the Duke of W[ellington] and Croker are pleased with my historical labours; so far well—­for the former, as a soldier said of him, “I would rather have his long nose on my side than a whole brigade.”  Well! something good may come of it, and if it does it will be good luck, for, as you and I know, Mother Duty, it has been a rummily written work.  I wrote hard to-day.

April 6.—­Do.  Do.  I only took one turn about the thicket, and have nothing to put down but to record my labours.

April 7.—­The same history occurs; my desk and my exercise.  I am a perfect automaton. Bonaparte runs in my head from seven in the morning till ten at night without intermission.  I wrote six leaves to-day and corrected four proofs.

April 8.—­Ginger, being in my room, was safely delivered in her basket of four puppies; the mother and children all doing well.  Faith! that is as important an entry as my Journal could desire.  The day is so beautiful that I long to go out.  I won’t, though, till I have done something.  A letter from Mr. Gibson about the trust affairs.  If the infernal bargain with Constable go on well, there will be a pretty sop in the pan to the creditors; L35,000 at least.  If I could work as effectually for three years more, I shall stand on my feet like a man.  But who can assure success with the public?