ds me of the story of the adjutant birds in
Theodore Hook's novel[10]. No; I'll no Emuses!

_July 18_.--Entered this morning on the history of Sir William Wallace.
I wish I may be able to find my way between what the child can
comprehend and what shall not yet be absolutely uninteresting to the
grown readers. Uncommon facts I should think the best receipt. Learn
that Mr. Owen Rees and John Gibson have amicably settled their
differences about the last edition of _Napoleon_, the Trustees allowing
the publishers nine months' credit. My nerves have for these two or
three last days been susceptible of an acute excitement from the
slightest causes; the beauty of the evening, the sighing of the summer
breeze, brings the tears into my eyes not unpleasingly. But I must take
exercise, and caseharden myself. There is no use in encouraging these
moods of the mind. It is not the law we live on.

We had a little party with some luncheon at the lake, where Mr.
Bainbridge fished without much success. Captain Hamilton and two Messrs.
Stirling, relatives of my old friend Keir, were there, and walked with
me a long round home. I walked better than I had done for some days. Mr.
Scrope dined with us; he was complaining of gout, which is a bad
companion for the stag-shooting.

_July 19_.--I made out my task this forenoon, and a good deal more. Sent
five or six pages to James Ballantyne, _i.e._ got them ready, and wrote
till the afternoon, then I drove over to Huntly Burn, and walked through
the glens till dinner-time. After dinner read and worked till bed-time.
Yet I have written well, walked well, talked well, and have nothing to
regret.

_July 20_.--Despatched my letters to J.B., with supply of copy, and made
up more than my task--about four leaves, I think. Offered my Emuses to
the Duke of Buccleuch. I had an appointment with Captain Hamilton and
his friends the Stirlings, that they were to go up Yarrow to-day. But
the weather seems to say no.

My visitors came, however, and we went up to Newark. Here is a little
misfortune, for Spice left me, and we could not find her. As we had no
servant with us on horseback, I was compelled to leave her to her fate,
resolving to send in quest of her to-morrow morning. The keepers are my
_bonos socios_, as the host says in the Devil of Edmonton[11], and would
as soon shoot a child as a dog of mine. But there are scamps and traps,
and I am ashamed to say how reluctantly I left the poor little terri