2–8 June 1828

We intended to walk to the Castle, but were baffled by rainy weather. I was obliged to wait for a certificate from the parish register—Hei mihi!! I cannot have it till ten o'clock, or rather, as it chanced, till past eleven, when I got the paper for which I waited. We lunched at Hawick, and concluded our pilgrimage at Abbotsford about nine at night, where the joyful barking of the dogs, with the sight of the kind familiar faces of our domestics, gave us welcome, and I enjoyed a sound repose on my own bed. I remark that in this journey I have never once experienced depression of spirits, or the tremor cordis of which I have sometimes such unpleasant visits. Dissipation, and a succession of trifling engagements, prevent the mind from throwing itself out in the manner calculated to exhaust the owner, and to entertain other people. There is a lesson in this.

This was a very idle day. I waked to walk about my beautiful young woods with old Tom and the dogs. The sun shone bright, and the wind fanned my cheek as if it were a welcoming. I did not do the least right thing, except packing a few books necessary for writing the continuation of the Tales. In this merry mood I wandered as far as Huntly Burn, where I found the Miss Fergusons well and happy; then I sauntered back to Abbotsford, sitting on every bench by the way, and thus "It grew to dinner in conclusion." A good appetite made my simple meal relish better than the magnificent cheer which I have lately partaken of. I smoked a cigar, slept away an hour, and read Mure of Auchendrane's trial, and thus ended the day. I cannot afford to spend many such, nor would they seem so pleasant.

The former part of this day was employed much as yesterday, but some packing was inevitable. Will Laidlaw came to dinner, of which we partook at three o'clock. Started at half-past four, and arrived at home, if we must call it so, at nine o'clock in the evening. I employed my leisure in the chaise to peruse Mure of Auchendrane's trial, out of which something might be coopered up for the public. It is one of the wildest stories I ever read. Something might surely be twisted out of it.

Cadell breakfasted; in great spirits with the success of the Fair Maid of Perth. A disappointment being always to be apprehended, I too am greatly pleased that the evil day is adjourned, for the time must come—and yet I can spin a tough yarn still with any one now going. I was much distressed to find that the last of the Macdonald Buchanans, a fine lad of about twenty-one, is now decidedly infected by the same pulmonary complaint which carried off his four brothers in succession. This is indeed a cruel stroke, and it is melancholy to witness the undaunted Highland courage of the father. I went to Court, and when I returned did some work upon the Tales. "And now again, boys, to the oar."

I have determined to work sans intermission for lost time, and to make up at least my task every day. J. Gibson called on me with good hopes that the trustees will authorise the grand opus to be set afloat. They are scrupulous a little about the expense of engravings, but I fear the taste of the town will not be satisfied without them. It is time these things were settled. I wrought both before and after dinner, and finished five pages, which is two above bargain.

Saturday was another working day, and nothing occurred to disturb me.

I finished five sheets this day. Will Clerk and Francis Scott of Harden came to dinner, and we spent a pleasant evening.