We resumed our journey.  I may mention among the pictures at Charlcote one called a Roman Knight, which seemed to me very fine; Teniers’ marriage, in which, contrary to the painter’s wont, only persons of distinction are represented, but much in the attitude in which he delights to present his boors; two hawking pieces by Wouvermans, very fine specimens, cum aliis.

We took our way by Edgehill, and looked over the splendid richness of the fine prospect from a sort of gazeeboo or modern antique tower, the place of a Mr. Miller.  It is not easy to conceive a richer and more peaceful scene than that which stretched before us, and [one with which] strife, or the memory of strife, seems to have nothing to do.

    “But man records his own disgrace,
    And Edgehill lives in history.”

We got on to Buckingham, an ugly though I suppose an ancient town.  Thence to Aylesbury through the wealth of England, in the scene of the old ballad—­

    “Neither drunk nor sober, but neighbour to both,
    I met with a man in Aylesbury vale;
    I saw by his face that he was in good case,
    To speak no great harm of a pot of good ale.”

We slept at Aylesbury.  The landlord, who seemed sensible, told me that the land round the town, being the richest in England, lets at L3, or L3, 10s. and some so high as L4 per acre. But the poor-rates are 13s. to the pound.  Now, my Whitehaugh at Huntly Burn yielded at last set L4 per acre.

April 9, [London],—­We got to town about mid-day, and found Sophia, Lockhart, and the babies quite well—­delighted with their companion Charles, and he enchanted with his occupation in the Foreign Office.  I looked into my cash and found L53 had diminished on the journey down to about L3.  In former days a journey to London cost about L30 or thirty guineas.  It may now cost one-fourth more.  But I own I like to pay postilions and waiters rather more liberally than perhaps is right.  I hate grumbling and sour faces; and the whole saving will not exceed a guinea or two for being cursed and damned from Dan to Beersheba.  We had a joyful meeting, I promise you.[164]

April 10.—­I spent the morning in bringing up my journal; interrupted by two of these most sedulous visitants who had objects of their own to serve, and smelled out my arrival as the raven scents carrion—­a vile comparison, though what better is an old fellow, mauled with rheumatism and other deplorables?  Went out at two and saw Miss Dumergue and other old friends; Sotheby in particular, less changed than any one I have seen.  Looked in at Murray’s and renewed old habits.  This great city seems almost a waste to me, so many of my friends are gone; Walter and Jane coming up, the whole family dined together, and were very happy.  The children joined in our festivity.  My name-son, a bright and blue-eyed rogue, with flaxen hair, screams and laughs like an April morning; and the baby is that species of dough which is called a fine baby.  I care not for children till they care a little for me.