e wheel alongst with [me]. But of what use is philosophy--and I have
always pretended to a little of a practical character--if it cannot
teach us to do or suffer? The day is glorious, yet I have little will to
enjoy it, but sit here ruminating upon the difference and comparative
merits of the Isle of Man and of the Abbey. Small choice betwixt them.
Were a twelvemonth over, I should perhaps smile at what makes me now
very serious.

Smile!--No, that can never be. My present feelings cannot be recollected
with cheerfulness; but I may drop a tear of gratitude. I have finished
my _Tales_[66] and have now nothing literary in hand. It would be an
evil time to begin anything.

_November_ 3.--Slept ill, and lay one hour longer than usual in the
morning. I gained an hour's quiet by it, that is much. I feel a little
shaken at the result of to-day's post. Bad it must be, whatsoever be the
alternative. I am not able to go out, my poor workers wonder that I pass
them without a word. I can imagine no alternative but either retreat to
the Sanctuary or to the Isle of Man. Both shocking enough. But in
Edinburgh I am always near the scene of action, free from uncertainty
and near my poor daughter; so I think I will prefer it, and thus I rest
in unrest. But I will not let this unman me. Our hope, heavenly and
earthly, is poorly anchored, if the cable parts upon the strain. I
believe in God who can change evil into good; and I am confident that
what befalls us is always ultimately for the best. I have a letter from
Mr. Gibson, purporting the opinion of the trustees and committee of
creditors, that I should come to town, and interesting themselves warmly
in the matter. They have intimated that they will pay Mr. Abud a
composition of six shillings per pound on his debt. This is a handsome
offer, but I understand he is determined to have his pound of flesh. If
I can prevent it, he shall not take a shilling by his hard-hearted
conduct.

_November_ 4.--Put my papers in some order, and prepared for my journey.
It is in the style of the Emperors of Abyssinia who proclaim--Cut down
the Kantuffa in the four quarters of the world,--for I know not where I
am going. Yet, were it not for poor Anne's doleful looks, I would feel
firm as a piece of granite. Even the poor dogs seem to fawn on me with
anxious meaning, as if there were something going on they could not
comprehend. They probably notice the packing of the clothes, and other
symptoms of a jou