June 4.—­The birthday of our good old king.  It was wrong not to keep up the thing as it was of yore with dinners, and claret, and squibs, and crackers, and saturnalia.  The thoughts of the subjects require sometimes to be turned to the sovereign, were it but only that they may remember there is such a person.

The Bannatyne edition of Melville’s Memoirs is out, and beats all print.  Gad, it is a fine institution that; a rare one, by Jove! beats the Roxburghe.  Wrought very bobbishly to-day, but went off at dinner-time to Thomas Thomson, where we had good cheer and good fun.  By the way, we have lost our Coal Gas Bill.  Sorry for it, but I can’t cry.

June 5.—­Proofs.  Parliament House till two.  Commenced the character of Bonaparte.  To-morrow being a Teind-day I will hope to get it finished.  Meantime I go out to-night to see Frankenstein at the theatre.

June 6.—­Frankenstein is entertaining for once—­considerable art in the man that plays the Monster, to whom he gave great effect.  Cooper is his name; played excellently in the farce too, as a sailor—­a more natural one, I think, than my old friend Jack Bannister, though he has not quite Jack’s richness of humour.  I had seven proof-sheets to correct this morning, by Goles.  So I did not get to composition till nine; work on with little interruption (save that Mr. Verplanck, an American, breakfasted with us) until seven, and then walked, for fear of the black dog or devil that worries me when I work too hard.

June 7.—­This morning finished Boney.  And now, as Dame Fortune says, in Quevedo’s Visions, Go, wheel, and the devil drive thee.[528] It was high time I brought up some reinforcements, for my pound was come to half-crowns, and I had nothing to keep house when the Lockharts come.  Credit enough to be sure, but I have been taught by experience to make short reckonings.  Some great authors now will think it a degradation to write a child’s book; I cannot say I feel it such.  It is to be inscribed to my grandson, and I will write it not only without a sense of its being infra dig. but with a grandfather’s pleasure.

I arranged with Mr. Cadell for the property of Tales of a Grandfather, 10,000 copies for L787, 10s.

June 8.—­A Mr. Maywood, much protected by poor Alister Dhu, brought me a letter from the late Colonel Huxley.  His connection and approach to me is through the grave, but I will not be the less disposed to assist him if an opportunity offers.  I made a long round to-day, going to David Laing’s about forwarding the books of the Bannatyne Club to Sir George Rose and Duke of Buckingham.  Then I came round by the printing-office, where the presses are groaning upon Napoleon, and so home through the gardens.  I have done little to-day save writing a letter or two, for I was fatigued and sleepy when I got home, and nodded, I think, over Sir James Melville’s Memoirs.  I will do something, though, when I have dined.  By the way, I corrected the proofs for Gillies; they read better than I looked for.