And how troublesome the moon is! I
have come to grief over the moon in Prince Otto, and so soon as
that was pointed out to me, adopted a precaution which I recommend
to other men--I never write now without an almanack. With an
almanack, and the map of the country, and the plan of every house,
either actually plotted on paper or already and immediately
apprehended in the mind, a man may hope to avoid some of the
grossest possible blunders. With the map before him, he will
scarce allow the sun to set in the east, as it does in The
Antiquary. With the almanack at hand, he will scarce allow two
horsemen, journeying on the most urgent affair, to employ six days,
from three of the Monday morning till late in the Saturday night,
upon a journey of, say, ninety or a hundred miles, and before the
week is out, and still on the same nags, to cover fifty in one day,
as may be read at length in the inimitable novel of Rob Roy. And
it is certainly well, though far from necessary, to avoid such
'croppers.' But it is my contention--my superstition, if you like-
-that who is faithful to his map, and consults it, and draws from
it his inspiration, daily and hourly, gains positive support, and
not mere negative immunity from accident. The tale has a root
there; it grows in that soil; it has a spine of its own behind the
words.
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