April 11.—­Made calls, walked myself tired; saw Rogers, Sharp, Sotheby, and other old friends.

April 12.—­Dinner at home; a little party of Sophia’s in the evening.  Sharp told me that one evening being at Sheridan’s house with a large party, Tom S. came to him as the night drew late, and said in a whisper, “I advise you to secure a wax-light to go to bed with,” shewing him at the same time a morsel which he had stolen from a sconce.  Sharp followed his advice, and had reason to be thankful for the hint.  Tired and sleepy, I make a bad night watcher.

April 13.—­Amused myself by converting the Tale of the Mysterious Mirror into Aunt Margaret’s Mirror, designed for Heath’s what-dye-call-it.  Cadell will not like this, but I cannot afford to have my goods thrown back upon my hands.  The tale is a good one, and is said actually to have happened to Lady Primrose, my great-grandmother having attended her sister on the occasion.  Dined with Miss Dumergue.  My proofs from Edinburgh reached to-day and occupied me all the morning.

April 14.  Laboured at proofs and got them sent off, per Mr. Freeling’s cover.  So there’s an end of the Chronicles.[165] James rejoices in the conclusion, where there is battle and homicide of all kinds.  Always politic to keep a trot for the avenue, like the Irish postilions.  J.B. always calls to the boys to flog before the carriage gets out of the inn-yard.  How we have driven the stage I know not and care not—­except with a view to extricating my difficulties.  I have lost no time in beginning the second series of Grandfather’s Tales, being determined to write as much as I can even here, and deserve by industry the soft pillow I sleep on for the moment.

There is a good scene supposed to have happened between Sam Rogers and a lady of fashion—­the reporter, Lord Dudley.  Sam enters, takes a stool, creeps close to the lady’s side, who asks his opinion of the last new poem or novel.  In a pathetic voice the spectre replies—­“My opinion?  I like it very much—­but the world don’t like it; but, indeed, I begin to think the world wrong in everything, except with regard to you.”  Now, Rogers either must have said this somewhere, or he has it yet to say.  We dined at Lord Melville’s.

April 15.—­Got the lamentable news that Terry is totally bankrupt.  This is a most unexpected blow, though his carelessness about money matters was very great.  God help the poor fellow! he has been ill-advised to go abroad, but now returns to stand the storm—­old debts, it seems, with principal and interest accumulated, and all the items which load a falling man.  And wife such a good and kind creature, and children.  Alack! alack!  I sought out his solicitor.  There are L7000 or more to pay, and the only fund his share in the Adelphi Theatre, worth L5000 and upwards, and then so fine a chance of independence lost.  That comes of not being explicit with his affairs.