propitious heavens. So I
made a day of work of it,

"And yet the end was not."

_April_ 29.--This morning I finished and sent off three pages more, and
still there is something to write; but I will take the broad axe to it,
and have it ended before noon.

This has proved impossible, and the task lasted me till nine, when it
was finished, _tant bien que mal_. Now, will people say this expresses
very little respect for the public? In fact, I have very little respect
for that dear _publicum_ whom I am doomed to amuse, like Goody Trash in
_Bartholomew Fair_, with rattles and gingerbread; and I should deal very
uncandidly with those who may read my confessions were I to say I knew a
public worth caring for or capable of distinguishing the nicer beauties
of composition. They weigh good and evil qualities by the pound. Get a
good name and you may write trash. Get a bad one and you may write like
Homer, without pleasing a single reader. I am, perhaps, _l'enfant gate
de succes_, but I am brought to the stake,[305] and must perforce stand
the course.

Having finished _Anne_[306] I began and revised fifteen leaves of the
History, and sent them to Dr. Lardner. I think they read more trashy
than I expected. But when could I ever please myself, even when I have
most pleased others? Then I walked about two hours by the thicket and
river-side, watching the appearance of spring, which, as Coleridge
says--

"Comes slowly up this way."

After dinner and tea I resumed the task of correction, which is an
odious one, but must be attempted, ay, and accomplished too.

_April_ 30.--Dr. Johnson enjoins Bozzy to leave out of his diary all
notices of the weather as insignificant. It may be so to an inhabitant
of Bolt Court, in Fleet Street, who need care little whether it rains or
snows, except the shilling which it may cost him for a Jarvie; but when
I wake and find a snow shower sweeping along, and destroying hundreds
perhaps of young lambs, and famishing their mothers, I must consider it
as worth noting. For my own poor share, I am as indifferent as any Grub
Streeter of them all--

"--And since 'tis a bad day,
Rise up, rise up, my merry men,
And use it as you may."

I have accordingly been busy. The weather did not permit me to go beyond
the courtyard, for it continued cold and rainy. I have employed the day
in correcting the history for Cyclopaedia as far as page 35, exclusive,
and have sent it off, or shall to