sfortunes, and offering me half the profits
of what, if I understand him right, is a patent medicine, to which I
suppose he expects me to stand trumpeter. He endeavours to get over my
objections to accepting his liberality (supposing me to entertain them)
by assuring me his conduct is founded on a _sage selfishness_. This is
diverting enough. I suppose the Commissioners of, Police will next send
me a letter of condolence, begging my acceptance of a broom, a shovel,
and a scavenger's greatcoat, and assuring me that they had appointed me
to all the emoluments of a well-frequented crossing. It would be doing
more than they have done of late for the cleanliness of the streets,
which, witness my shoes, are in a piteous pickle. I thanked the selfish
sage with due decorum--for what purpose can anger serve? I remember once
before, a mad woman, from about Alnwick, baited me with letters and
plans--first for charity to herself or some _protege_. I gave my guinea.
Then she wanted to have half the profit of a novel which I was to
publish under my name and auspices. She sent me the manuscript, and a
_moving_ tale it was, for some of the scenes lay in the _cabinet a
l'eau._ I declined the partnership. Lastly, my fair correspondent
insisted I was a lover of speculation, and would be much profited by
going shares in a patent medicine which she had invented for the benefit
of little babies, I believe. I dreaded to have anything to do with such
a Herod-like affair, and begged to decline the honour of her
correspondence in future. I should have thought the thing a quiz, but
that the novel was real and substantial. Anne goes to Ravelston to-day
to remain to-morrow. Sir Alexander Don called, and we had a good laugh
together.

_February_ 12.--Having ended the second volume of _Woodstock_ last
night, I have to begin the third this morning. Now I have not the
slightest idea how the story is to be wound up to a catastrophe. I am
just in the same case as I used to be when I lost myself in former days
in some country to which I was a stranger. I always pushed for the
pleasantest road, and either found or made it the nearest. It is the
same in writing, I never could lay down a plan--or, having laid it down,
I never could adhere to it; the action of composition always diluted
some passages, and abridged or omitted others; and personages were
rendered important or insignificant, not according to their agency in
the original conception of the plan, b