d rain. Yesterday
the rain poured powerfully all morning, and having some arrears of
sleep to make up, I slumbered as long as it continued. Adieu, my
dear.--Yours,

"J.H. BURTON."

During this summer, Dr Burton and his eldest son walked from Morton to
North Berwick and back in the same day, a walk of at least fifty miles.
In former years sixty was an ordinary day's work. Once during Captain
Speke's stay at Craighouse, Dr Burton traversed a distance within
twenty-four hours, which Captain Speke computed at seventy miles.

CHAPTER VII.

THE END.

_Sale of library--Letters from Shetland and Aberdeen--Winter
illness--Charities--Recovery--Magazine articles again--Literary
executorship of late Mr Edward Ellice--Rev. James White of
Methlick--Last illness and death--Concluding remarks--Burial at
Dalmeny._

Would that in biography, as in romance, the story might end at its
brightest point! But the true tale must follow its subject through the
valley of the shadow of death, and on to his grave.

The remainder of '79 and beginning of '80 were spent at Morton in
finishing the 'History of the Reign of Queen Anne;' but the work did not
go on with the ease and pleasure of former works, and on its conclusion,
Dr Burton formed the resolution to sell his library. This determination
was combated by his family and friends, as well as by his friendly
publisher, with all the arguments in their power, but in vain. Dr Burton
never would allow that parting with his treasured volumes, the
collection of which had been the pride of his life, cost him a pang. He
had done with his books, he said. They were no book-hunter's library,
but a collection made for use, and, that use over, had better be again
turned into money. Dr Burton did not contemplate undertaking any other
great work; and the possession of so extensive a library forced him to
live in a larger house than was convenient, and rendered leaving it very
troublesome. In the proceeds of its sale Dr Burton was again
disappointed. But before it could be brought to sale, while he was
engaged in the laborious task of cataloguing his books for sale, he
refreshed himself by a summer trip to Shetland, taking Aberdeen on his
return journey, where he had the gratification of being present at the
baptism of his little grandchild, the daughter of Dr and Mrs Rodger.

He wrote from Lerwick, 8th July 1880:--

"MY DEAR LOVE,--I am not in what might be called an i