July 9.—­Two distressed damsels on my hands, one, a friend of Harriet Swinton, translates from the Italian a work on the plan of I Promessi Sposi, but I fear she must not expect much from the trade.  A translation with them is a mere translation—­that is, a thing which can be made their own at a guinea per sheet, and they will not have an excellent one at a higher rate.  Second is Miss Young, daughter of the excellent Dr. Young of Hawick.  If she can, from her father’s letters and memoranda, extract materials for a fair simple account of his life, I would give my name as editor, and I think it might do, but for a large publication—­Palabras, neighbour Dogberry,[396] the time is by.  Dined with the Bannatyne, where we had a lively party.  Touching the songs, an old roue must own an improvement in the times, when all paw-paw words are omitted, and naughty innuendos gazes.  One is apt to say—­

    “Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
    A good mouth-filling oath, and leave ‘in sooth,’
    And such protest of pepper-gingerbread."[397]

I think there is more affectation than improvement in the new mode.

July 10.—­Rose rather late:  the champagne and turtle, I suppose, for our reform includes no fasting.  Then poor Ardwell came to breakfast; then Dr. Young’s daughter.  I have projected with Cadell a plan of her father’s life, to be edited by me.[398] If she does but tolerably, she may have a fine thing of it.  Next came the Court, where sixty judgments were pronounced and written by the Clerks, I hope all correctly, though an error might well happen in such a crowd, and——­, one of the best men possible, is beastly stupid.  Be that as it may, off came Anne, Charles, and I for Abbotsford.  We started about two, and the water being too deep didn’t arrive till past seven; dinner, etc., filled up the rest of the day.

July 11, Abbotsford.—­Corrected my proofs and the lave of it till about one o’clock.  Then started for a walk to Chiefswood, which I will take from station to station,[399] with a book in my pouch.  I have begun Lawrie Todd, which ought, considering the author’s undisputed talents, to have been better.  He might have laid Cooper aboard, but he follows far behind.  No wonder:  Galt, poor fellow, was in the King’s Bench when he wrote it.  No whetter of genius is necessity, though said to be the mother of invention.

July 12.—­Another wet day, but I walked twice up and down the terrace, and also wrote a handsome scrap of copy, though mystified by the want of my books, and so forth.  Dr. and Mrs. Lockhart and Violet came to luncheon and left us to drive on to Peebles.  I read and loitered and longed to get my things in order.  Got to work, however, at seven in the morning.