May 9.—­This day we went to dinner at Mr. Scrope’s, at the Pavilion, where were the Haigs of Bemerside, Isaac Haig, Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge, etc.  Warm dispute whether par are or are not salmon trout.  “Fleas are not lobsters, d—­n their souls.”

Mr. Scrope has made a painting of Tivoli, which, when mellowed a little by time, will be a fine one.  Letters from Lockhart, with news concerning the beautiful mess they are making in London.  Henry Scott will be threatened in Roxburghshire.  This would be bad policy, as it would drive the young Duke to take up his ground, which, unless pressed, he may be in no hurry to do.  Personally, I do not like to be driven to a point, as I think Canning may do much for the country, provided he does not stand committed to his new Whig counsellors.  But if the push does come, I will not quit my old friends—­that I am freely resolved, and dissolutely, as Slender says.[515]

May 10.—­We went to breakfast at Huntly Burn, and I wandered all the morning in the woods to avoid an English party who came to see the house.  When I came home I found my cousin Col.  Russell, and his sister, so I had no work to-day but my labour at proofs in the morning.  To-day I dismiss my aide-de-camp, Shortreed—­a fine lad.  The Boar of the Forest left us after breakfast.  Had a present of a medal forming one of a series from Chantrey’s busts.  But this is not for nothing:  the donor wants a motto for the reverse of the King’s medal.  I am a bad hand to apply to.

May 11.—­Hogg called this morning to converse about trying to get him on the pecuniary list of the Royal Literary Society.  Certainly he deserves it, if genius and necessity could do so.  But I do not belong to the society, nor do I propose to enter it as a coadjutor.  I don’t like your royal academies of this kind; they almost always fall into jobs, and the members are seldom those who do credit to the literature of a country.  It affected, too, to comprehend those men of letters who are specially attached to the Crown, and though I love and honour my King as much as any of them can, yet I hold it best, in this free country, to preserve the exterior of independence, that my loyalty may be the more impressive, and tell more effectually.  Yet I wish sincerely to help poor Hogg, and have written to Lockhart about it.  It may be my own desolate feelings—­it may be the apprehension of evil from this political hocus-pocus, but I have seldom felt more moody and uncomfortable than while writing these lines.  I have walked, too, but without effect.  W. Laidlaw, whose very ingenious mind is delighted with all novelties, talked nonsense about the new government, in which men are to resign principle, I fear, on both sides.