February 20.—­Wrote five pages this morning; then rode out to the hill and looked at some newly planted, rather transplanted, trees.  Mr. Laidlaw gone for the day.  I trust I shall have proofs to correct.  In the meantime I may suck my paws and prepare some copy, or rather assemble the raw material.

February 21.—­I made up parcels by mail-coach and Blucher to go to-morrow—­second volume Redgauntlet.  At one fetched a walk through wet and dry, looking at the ravages of the late flood.  After I came in, till two hours after tea-time, busied with the Sheriff Court processes, which I have nearly finished.  After this I will lounge over my annotating.  The Tales of the Crusades come next.

February 22.—­Wrought with Mr. L. from ten to three, then took the pony carriage, with the purpose of going to Chiefswood, but a heavy squall came on with snow, so we put about-ship and returned.  Read Lyttelton’s History of England to get some notes for Crusaders, vol. i.  After dinner Mr. Laidlaw from six to eight.  Sent off six pages.

February 23, 24, 25.—­These three days I can hardly be said to have varied from my ordinary.

Rose at seven, dressed before eight, wrote letters, or did any little business till a quarter past nine.  Then breakfast.  Mr. Laidlaw comes from ten till one.  Then take the pony, and ride quantum mutatus two or three miles, John Swanston walking by my bridle-rein lest I fall off.  Come home about three or four.  Then to dinner on a single plain dish and half a tumbler, or by’r lady three-fourths of a tumbler, of whisky and water.  Then sit till six o’clock, when enter Mr. Laidlaw again, and work commonly till eight.  After this, work usually alone till half-past nine, then sup on porridge and milk, and so to bed.  The work is half done.  If any [one] asks what time I take to think on the composition, I might say, in one point of view, it was seldom five minutes out of my head the whole day.  In another light, it was never the serious subject of consideration at all, for it never occupied my thoughts entirely for five minutes together, except when I was dictating to Mr. Laidlaw.

February 26.—­Went through the same routine, only, being Saturday, Mr. Laidlaw does not come in the evening.  I think there is truth in the well-known phrase, Aurora musis amica.  I always have a visit of invention between six and seven—­that is, if anything has been plaguing me, in the way of explanation, I find it in my head when I wake.  I have need of it to-night.

February 27.—­Being Saturday, no Mr. Laidlaw came yesterday evening, nor to-day, being Sunday.  Truth is, I begin to fear I was working too hard, and gave myself to putting things in order, and working at the Magnum, and reading stupid German novels in hopes a thought will strike me when I am half occupied with other things.  In fact, I am like the servant in the Clandestine Marriage,[430] who assures his mistress he always watches best with his eyes shut.