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_.

_April_ 26.--But not a finger did I lay on the jacket of _Anne_. Looking
for something, I fell in with the little drama, long missing, called the
_Doom of Devorgoil_. I believe it was out of mere contradiction that I
sat down to read and correct it, merely because I would not be bound to
do aught that seemed compulsory. So I scribbled at a piece of nonsense
till two o'clock, and then walked to the lake. At night I flung helve
after hatchet, and spent the evening in reading the _Doom of Devorgoil_
to the girls, who seemed considerably interested. Anne objects to the
mingling the goblinry, which is comic, with the serious, which is
tragic. After all, I could greatly improve it, and it would not be a bad
composition of that odd kind to some picnic receptacle of all things.

_April_ 27.--This day must not be wasted. I breakfast with the
Fergusons, and dine with the Brewsters. But, by Heaven, I will finish
_Anne of Geierstein_ this day betwixt the two engagements. I don't know
why nor wherefore, but I hate _Anne_, I mean _Anne of Geierstein_; the
other two Annes are good girls. Accordingly I well nigh accomplished my
work, but about three o'clock my story fell into a slough, and in
getting it out I lost my way, and was forced to postpone the conclusion
till to-morrow. Wrote a good day's work notwithstanding.

_April_ 28.--I have slept upon my puzzle, and will now finish it, Jove
bless my _pia mater_, as I see not further impediment before me. The
story will end, and shall end, because it must end, and so here goes.
After this doughty resolution, I went doggedly to work, and finished
five leaves by the time when they should meet the coach. But the
misfortune of writing fast is that one cannot at the same time write
concisely. I wrote two pages more in the evening. Stayed at home all
day. Indeed, the weather--sleety, rainy, stormy--forms no tempting
prospect. Bogie, too, who sees his flourish going to wreck, is looking
as spiteful as an angry fiend towards the un