July 5.—­This morning worked, and sent off to J.B. the Introduction to the Chronicles, containing my Confessions,[2] and did something, but not fluently, to the Confessions themselves.  Not happy, however; the black dog worries me.  Bile, I suppose.  “But I will rally and combat the reiver.”  Reiver it is, that wretched malady of the mind; got quite well in the forenoon.  Went out to Portobello after dinner, and chatted with little Johnnie, and told him the history of the Field of Prestonpans.  Few remain who care about these stories.

July 6.—­This morning wrought a good deal, but scarce a task.  The Court lasted till half-past three; exhausting work in this hot weather.  I returned to dine alone, Anne going to Roslin with a party.  After noon a Miss Bell broke in upon me, who bothered me some time since about a book of hers, explaining and exposing the conduct of a Methodist Tartuffe, who had broken off (by anonymous letters) a match betwixt her and an accepted admirer.  Tried in vain to make her comprehend how little the Edinburgh people would care about her wrongs, since there was no knowledge of the parties to make the scandal acceptable.  I believe she has suffered great wrong.[3] Letter from Longman and Co. to J.B. grumbling about bringing out the second edition, because they have, forsooth, 700 copies in hand out of 5000, five days after the first edition[4] is out.  What would they have?  It is uncomfortable, though.

July 7.—­Night dreadfully warm, and bilious; I could not be fool enough surely to be anxious for these wise men of the East’s prognostication.  Letters from Lockhart give a very cheerful prospect; if there had been any thundering upsetting broadside, he would have noticed it surely more or less.  R. Cadell quite stout, and determined to go on with the second edition.  Well, I hope all’s right—­thinking won’t help it.  Charles came down this morning penniless, poor fellow, but we will soon remedy that.  Lockhart remits L100 for reviewing; I hope the next will be for Sophia, for cash affairs loom well in the offing, and if the trust funds go right, I was never so easy.  I will take care how I get into debt again.  I do not like this croaking of these old owls of Saint Paul’s when all is done.  The pitcher has gone often to the well.  But—­However, I worked away at the Chronicles.  I will take pains with them.  I will, by Jove!

July 8.—­I did little to-day but arrange papers, and put bills, receipts, etc., into apple-pie order.  I believe the fair prospect I have of clearing off some encumbrances, which are like thorns in my flesh, nay, in my very eye, contribute much to this.  I did not even correct proof-sheets; nay, could not, for I have cancelled two sheets, instante Jacobo, and I myself being of his opinion; for, as I said yesterday, we must and will take pains.  The fiddle-faddle of arranging all the things was troublesome, but they give a good account of my affairs.  The money for the necessary payments is ready, and therefore there is a sort of pleasure which does not arise out of any mean source, since it has for its object the prospect of doing justice and achieving independence.  J.B. dined with me, poor fellow, and talked of his views as hopeful and prosperous.  God send honest industry a fair riddance.