te.

[229] Hudibras.--J.G.L.

[230] One of Sir Walter's kindly "_weird sisters_" and neighbours,
daughters of Professor Ferguson. They had occupied the house at
Toftfield (on which Scott at the ladies' request bestowed the name of
Huntly Burn) from the spring of 1818. Miss Margaret has been described
as extremely like her brother Sir Adam in the turn of thought and of
humour.--See _Life_, vol. vi. p. 322.

[231] _Fortune in her Wits, and the Hour of all Men_, Quevedo's Works,
Edin. 1798, vol. iii. p. 107.

[232] _Don Quixote_, Pt. II. cap. 47.

[233] _Granby_ was written by a young man, Thos. H. Lister, some years
afterwards known as the author of _The Life and Administration of the
First Earl of Clarendon_, 3 vols. 8vo, 1837-38. Mr. Lister died in his
41st year in 1842.

APRIL.

_April_ 1.--_Ex uno die disce omnes._ Rose at seven or sooner, studied,
and wrote till breakfast with Anne, about a quarter before ten. Lady
Scott seldom able to rise till twelve or one. Then I write or study
again till one. At that hour to-day I drove to Huntly Burn, and walked
home by one of the hundred and one pleasing paths which I have made
through the woods I have planted--now chatting with Tom Purdie, who
carries my plaid, and speaks when he pleases, telling long stories of
hits and misses in shooting twenty years back--sometimes chewing the cud
of sweet and bitter fancy--and sometimes attending to the humours of two
curious little terriers of the Dandie Dinmont breed, together with a
noble wolf-hound puppy which Glengarry has given me to replace Maida.
This brings me down to the very moment I do tell--the rest is prophetic.
I will feel sleepy when this book is locked, and perhaps sleep until
Dalgleish brings the dinner summons. Then I will have a chat with Lady
S. and Anne; some broth or soup, a slice of plain meat--and man's chief
business, in Dr. Johnson's estimation, is briefly despatched. Half an
hour with my family, and half an hour's coquetting with a cigar, a
tumbler of weak whisky and water, and a novel perhaps, lead on to tea,
which sometimes consumes another half hour of chat; then write and read
in my own room till ten o'clock at night; a little bread and then a
glass of porter, and to bed.

And this, very rarely varied by a visit from some one, is the tenor of
my daily life--and a very pleasant one indeed, were it not for
apprehensions about Lady S. and poor Johnnie Hugh. The former will, I
think, do well--f