[256] Ancient Metrical Tales, edited by Rev. C.H.  Hartshorne. 8vo London, 1829.

[257] The Right Hon. William Dundas, born 1762, died 1845; appointed Lord Clerk Register in 1821.

[258] Ben Jonson, Every Man in his Humour, Act I. Sc. 4.

[259] For notices of this gigantic cannon see ante, vol. i. p. 43, and post, pp. 247-8; also Life, vol. vii. pp. 86-87.

[260] Some of these fine drawings have been engraved for Colonel Tod’s Travels in Western India.  Lond., 4to, 1839.—­J.G.L.

[261] Moliere, L’Amour Medecin, Act I. Sc. 1 (joaillier for orfevre).

[262] The following extract from a letter by Wilkie shows how willingly he had responded to Scott’s request:—­

7 TERRACE, KENSINGTON, LONDON, Jan. 1829.

“DEAR SIR WALTER,—­I pass over all those disastrous events that have arrived to us both since our last, as you justly call it, melancholy parting, to assure you how delighted I shall be if I can in the most inconsiderable degree assist in the illustrations of the great work, which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which your noble spirit is at this time beset; considering it as only repaying a debt of obligation which you yourself have laid upon me when, with an unseen hand in the Antiquary, you took me up and claimed me, the humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman.”

MARCH

March 1.—­I laboured hard the whole day, and, between hands, refreshed myself with Vidocq’s Memoirs.  No one called except Hay Drummond, who had something to say about Mons Meg.  So I wrote before and after dinner, till no less than ten pages were finished.

March 2.—­I wrought but little to-day.  I was not in the vein, and felt sleepy.  I thought to go out, but disgust of the pavement kept me at home, O rus, etc.  It is pleasant to think that the 11th March sets us on the route for Abbotsford.  I shall be done long before with this confounded novel.  I wish I were, for I find trouble in bringing it to a conclusion.  People compliment me sometimes on the extent of my labour; but if I could employ to purpose the hours that indolence and lassitude steal away from me, they would have cause to wonder indeed.  But day must have night, vigilance must have sleep, and labour, bodily or mental, must have rest.  As Edgar says, I cannot fool it further.[263] Anne is gone to Hopetoun House for two days.

Dined at the Royal Society Club, and went to the Society in the evening.

March 3.—­Began this day with labour as usual, and made up my packet.  Then to the Court, where there is a deal of business.  Hamilton, having now a serious fit of the gout, is not expected to aid any more this season.  I wrote a little both before and after dinner.  Niece Anne and I dined alone.  Three poets called, each bawling louder than the other—­subscribe, subscribe!  I generally do, if the work be under 10s.; but the wares were every one so much worse than another, that I declined in the three instances before me.  I got cross at the repeated demands, and could have used Richard’s apology—­