April 22.—­Another hard day’s work at the History, now increased to the Bruce and Baliol period, and threatening to be too lengthy for the Cyclopaedia.  But I will make short work with wars and battles.  I wrote till two o’clock, and strolled with old Tom and my dogs[300] till half-past four, hours of pleasure and healthful exercise, and to-day taken with ease.  A letter from J.B., stating an alarm that he may lose the printing of a part of the Magnum.  But I shall write him he must be his own friend, set shoulder to the wheel, and remain at the head of his business; and of that I must make him aware.  And so I set to my proofs.  “Better to work,” says the inscription on Hogarth’s Bridewell, “than stand thus.”

April 23.—­A cold blustering day—­bad welcome for the poor lambs.  I made my walk short and my task long, my work turning entirely on the History—­all on speculation.  But the post brought me a letter from Dr. Lardner, the manager of the Cyclopaedia, agreeing to my terms; so all is right there, and no labour thrown away.  The volume is to run to 400 pages; so much the better; I love elbow-room, and will have space to do something to purpose.  I replied agreeing to his terms, and will send him copy as soon as I have corrected it.  The Colonel and Miss Ferguson dined with us.  I think I drank rather a cheerful glass with my good friend.  Smoked an extra cigar, so no more at present.

April 25.—­After writing to Mr. Cochrane,[301] to Cadell and J.B., also to Mr. Pitcairn,[302] it was time to set out for Lord Buchan’s funeral.  The funeral letters were signed by Mr. H. David Erskine, his lordship’s natural son.  His nephew, the young Earl, was present, but neither of them took the head of the coffin.  His lordship’s funeral took place in a chapel amongst the ruins.  His body was in the grave with its feet pointing westward.  My cousin, Maxpopple,[303] was for taking notice of it, but I assured him that a man who had been wrong in the head all his life would scarce become right-headed after death.  I felt something at parting with this old man, though but a trumpery body.  He gave me the first approbation I ever obtained from a stranger.  His caprice had led him to examine Dr. Adam’s class when I, a boy twelve years old, and then in disgrace for some aggravated case of negligence, was called up from a low bench, and recited my lesson with some spirit and appearance of feeling the poetry—­it was the apparition of Hector’s ghost in the AEneid—­of which called forth the noble Earl’s applause.  I was very proud of this at the time.

I was sad on another account—­it was the first time I had been among these ruins since I left a very valued pledge there.  My next visit may be involuntary.  Even so, God’s will be done! at least I have not the mortification of thinking what a deal of patronage and fuss Lord Buchan would bestow on my funeral.[304] Maxpopple dined and slept here with four of his family, much amused with what they heard and saw.  By good fortune a ventriloquist and partial juggler came in, and we had him in the library after dinner.  He was a half-starved wretched-looking creature, who seemed to have ate more fire than bread.  So I caused him to be well stuffed, and gave him a guinea, rather to his poverty than to his skill—­and now to finish Anne of Geierstein.