July 18.—­Entered this morning on the history of Sir William Wallace.  I wish I may be able to find my way between what the child can comprehend and what shall not yet be absolutely uninteresting to the grown readers.  Uncommon facts I should think the best receipt.  Learn that Mr. Owen Rees and John Gibson have amicably settled their differences about the last edition of Napoleon, the Trustees allowing the publishers nine months’ credit.  My nerves have for these two or three last days been susceptible of an acute excitement from the slightest causes; the beauty of the evening, the sighing of the summer breeze, brings the tears into my eyes not unpleasingly.  But I must take exercise, and caseharden myself.  There is no use in encouraging these moods of the mind.  It is not the law we live on.

We had a little party with some luncheon at the lake, where Mr. Bainbridge fished without much success.  Captain Hamilton and two Messrs. Stirling, relatives of my old friend Keir, were there, and walked with me a long round home.  I walked better than I had done for some days.  Mr. Scrope dined with us; he was complaining of gout, which is a bad companion for the stag-shooting.

July 19.—­I made out my task this forenoon, and a good deal more.  Sent five or six pages to James Ballantyne, i.e. got them ready, and wrote till the afternoon, then I drove over to Huntly Burn, and walked through the glens till dinner-time.  After dinner read and worked till bed-time.  Yet I have written well, walked well, talked well, and have nothing to regret.

July 20.—­Despatched my letters to J.B., with supply of copy, and made up more than my task—­about four leaves, I think.  Offered my Emuses to the Duke of Buccleuch.  I had an appointment with Captain Hamilton and his friends the Stirlings, that they were to go up Yarrow to-day.  But the weather seems to say no.

My visitors came, however, and we went up to Newark.  Here is a little misfortune, for Spice left me, and we could not find her.  As we had no servant with us on horseback, I was compelled to leave her to her fate, resolving to send in quest of her to-morrow morning.  The keepers are my bonos socios, as the host says in the Devil of Edmonton[11], and would as soon shoot a child as a dog of mine.  But there are scamps and traps, and I am ashamed to say how reluctantly I left the poor little terrier to its fate.

She came home to me, however, about an hour and a half after we were home, to my great delectation.  Our visitors dined with us.

July 21.—­This morning wrote five pages of children’s history.  Went to Minto, where we met, besides Lord M. and his delightful countess, Thomas Thomson, Kennedy of Dunure[12], Lord Carnarvon, and his younger son and daughter-in-law; the dowager Lady Minto also, whom I always delight to see, she is so full of spirit and intelligence.  We rubbed up some recollections of twenty years ago, when I was more intimate with the family till Whig and Tory separated us for a time.  By the way, nobody talks Whig or Tory just now, and the fighting men on each side go about muzzled and mute like dogs after a proclamation about canine madness.  Am I sorry for this truce or not?  Half and half.  It is all we have left to stir the blood, this little political brawling; but better too little of it than too much.