Mighty dark this morning; it is past ten, and I am using my lamp.  The vast number of houses built beneath us to the north certainly render our street darker during the days when frost or haze prevents the smoke from rising.  After all, it may be my older eyes.  I remember two years ago, when Lord H. began to fail somewhat in his limbs, he observed that Lord S.[59] came to Court at a more early hour than usual, whereas it was he himself who took longer time to walk the usual distance betwixt his house and the Parliament Square.  I suspect old gentlemen often make such mistakes.  A letter from Southey in a very pleasant strain as to Lockhart and myself.  Of Murray he has perhaps ground to complain as well for consulting him late in the business, as for the manner in which he intimated to young Coleridge, who had no reason to think himself handsomely treated, though he has acquiesced in the arrangement in a very gentlemanlike tone.  With these matters we, of course, have nothing to do; having no doubt that the situation was vacant when M. offered it as such.  Southey says, in alteration of Byron’s phrase, that M. is the most timorous, not of God’s, but of the devil’s, booksellers.  The truth I take to be that Murray was pushed in the change of Editor (which was really become necessary) probably by Gifford, Canning, Ellis, etc.; and when he had fixed with Lockhart by their advice his constitutional nervousness made him delay entering upon a full explanation with Coleridge.  But it is all settled now—­I hope Lockhart will be able to mitigate their High Church bigotry.  It is not for the present day, savouring too much of jure divino.

Dined quiet with Lady S. and Anne.  Anne is practising Scots songs, which I take as a kind compliment to my own taste, as hers leads her chiefly to foreign music.  I think the good girl sees that I want and must miss her sister’s peculiar talent in singing the airs of our native country, which, imperfect as my musical ear is, make, and always have made, the most pleasing impression on me.  And so if she puts a constraint on herself for my sake, I can only say, in requital, God bless her.

I have much to comfort me in the present aspect of my family.  My eldest son, independent in fortune, united to an affectionate wife—­and of good hopes in his profession; my second, with a good deal of talent, and in the way, I trust, of cultivating it to good purpose; Anne, an honest, downright, good Scots lass, in whom I would only wish to correct a spirit of satire; and Lockhart is Lockhart, to whom I can most willingly confide the happiness of the daughter who chose him, and whom he has chosen.  My dear wife, the partner of early cares and successes, is, I fear, frail in health—­though I trust and pray she may see me out.  Indeed, if this troublesome complaint goes on—­it bodes no long existence.  My brother was affected with the same weakness, which, before he was fifty, brought on mortal symptoms.  The poor Major had been rather