[424] I Henry IV., Act II.  Sc. 3.

[425] No. 1 Castle Street.

[426] “His host perceived that he was unfit for any company but the quietest, and had sometimes one old friend, Mr. Thomson, Mr. Clerk, or Mr. Skene to dinner, but no more.  He seemed glad to see them, but they all observed him with pain.  He never took the lead in conversation, and often remained altogether silent.  In the mornings he wrote usually for several hours at Count Robert; and Mr. Cadell remembers in particular, that on Ballantyne’s reminding him that a motto was wanted for one of the chapters already finished, he looked out for a moment at the gloomy weather, and penned these lines—­

  ’The storm increases—­’tis no sunny shower,
  Foster’d in the moist breast of March or April,
  Or such as parched summer cools his lips with. 
  Heaven’s windows are flung wide; the inmost deeps
  Call in hoarse greeting one upon another;
  On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors,
  And where’s the dyke shall stop it?’”—­The Deluge—­a Poem.

—­Life, vol. x. p. 37.

[427] A skilful mechanist, who, by a clever piece of handiwork, gave Sir Walter great relief, but only for a brief period.—­Life, vol. x, p. 38.

FEBRUARY.

February 9,_[Abbotsford]._—­A heavy and most effective thaw coming on I got home about five at night, and found the haugh covered with water, dogs, pigs, cows, to say nothing of human beings, all who slept at the offices in danger of being drowned.  They came up to the mansion-house about midnight, with such various clamour, that Anne thought the house was attacked by Captain Swing and all the Radicals.

February 10.—­I set to work with Mr. Laidlaw, and had after that a capital ride; my pony, little used, was somewhat frisky, but I rode on to Huntly Burn.  Began my diet on my new regime, and like it well, especially porridge to supper.  It is wonderful how old tastes rise.

February 11.—­Wrought again to-day, and John Swanston walked with me.  Wrote many letters, and sent copy to Ballantyne.  Rode as usual.  It is well enough to ride every day, but confoundedly tiresome to write it down.

February 13.—­I did not ask down Mr. Laidlaw, thinking it fair to spare his Sunday.  I had a day of putting to rights, a disagreeable work which must be done.  I took the occasion to tell Mr. Cadell that Malachi will break forth again; but I will not make a point of it with him.  I do not fear there will be as many to strike up as to strike down, and I have a strong notion we may gain the day.  I have a letter from the Duchess of Wellington, asking a copy of Melville’s Memoirs.  She shall have it if it were my last.