July 4.—­The two Annes set off to Abbotsford, though the weather was somewhat lowering for an open carriage, but the day cleared up finely.  Hamilton is unwell, so we had a long hearing of his on our hands.  It was four ere I got home, but I had taken my newly discovered path by rock, bush, and ruin.  I question if Europe has such another path.  We owe this to the taste of James Skene.  But I must dress to go to Dr. Hope’s, who makes chere exquise, and does not understand being kept late.

July 5.—­Saturday, corrected proofs and wrought hard.  Went out to dinner at Oxenfoord Castle, and returned in the company of Lord Alloway, Chief Baron, Clerk, etc., and Mr. Bouverie, the English Commissioner.

July 6.—­A day of hard work.  The second volume is now well advanced—­wellnigh one half.  Dined alone, and pursued my course after dinner.  Seven pages were finished.  Solitude’s a fine thing for work, but then you must lie by like a spider, till you collect materials to continue your web.  Began Simond’s Switzerland—­clever and intelligent, but rather conceited, as the manner of an American Frenchman.  I hope to knock something out of him though.

July 7.—­Williams seems in uncertainty again, and I can’t guess what he will be at.  Surely it is a misery to be so indecisive; he will certainly gain the ill word of both parties and might have had the good word of all; and, indeed, deserves it.  We received his resignation to-day, but if the King’s College are disposed to thrive, they will keep eyes on this very able man.

July 8.—­Hard work in the Court, the sederunts turn long and burthensome.  I fear they will require some abridgment of vacation.

[From July 8, 1828, to January 10, 1829, there are no entries in the Journal.]

FOOTNOTES: 

[230] Burns’s song.

[231] Now called Wellhouse Tower.

1829.

JANUARY.

Having omitted to carry on my Diary for two or three days, I lost heart to make it up, and left it unfilled for many a month and day.  During this period nothing has happened worth particular notice.  The same occupations, the same amusements, the same occasional alternations of spirits, gay or depressed, the same absence of all sensible or rational cause for the one or the other.  I half grieve to take up my pen, and doubt if it is worth while to record such an infinite quantity of nothing, but hang it!  I hate to be beat, so here goes for better behaviour.

January 10.—­I resume my task at Abbotsford.  We are here alone, except Lockhart, on a flying visit.  Morritt, his niece, Sir James Stuart, Skene, and an occasional friend or two, have been my guests since 31st December.  I cannot say I have been happy, for the feeling of increasing weakness in my lame leg is a great affliction.  I walk now with pain and difficulty at all times, and it sinks my soul to think how soon I may be altogether a disabled cripple.  I am tedious to my friends, and I doubt the sense of it makes me fretful.