July 7.—­Coming home from Lord Medwyn’s last night I fell in with Willie Clerk, and went home to drink a little shrub and water, over which we chatted of old stories until half-past eleven.  This morning I corrected two proofs of C[roftangr]y, which is getting on.  But there must be a little check with the throng of business at the close of the session.  D—–­n the session!  I wish it would close its eyes for a century.  It is too bad to be kept broiling here; but, on the other hand, we must have the instinctive gratitude of the Laird of M’Intosh, who was for the King that gave M’Intosh half-a-guinea the day and half-a-guinea the morn.  So I retract my malediction.

Received from Blackwood to account sales of Malachi L72 with some odd shillings.  This was for copies sold to Banks.  The cash comes far from ill-timed, having to clear all odds and ends before I leave Edinburgh.  This will carry me on tidily till 25th, when precepts become payable.  Well! if Malachi did me some mischief, he must also contribute quodam modo to my comfort.

July 8.—­Wrote a good task this morning.  I may be mistaken; but I do think the tale of Elspat McTavish[296] in my bettermost manner—­but J.B. roars for chivalry.  He does not quite understand that everything may be overdone in this world, or sufficiently estimate the necessity of novelty.  The Highlanders have been off the field now for some time.

Returning from Court, looked into a show of wild beasts, and saw Nero the great lion, whom they had the cruelty to bait with bull-dogs, against whom the noble creature disdained to exert his strength.  He was lying like a prince in a large cage, where you might be admitted if you wish.  I had a month’s mind—–­ but was afraid of the newspapers; I could be afraid of nothing else, for never did a creature seem more gentle and yet majestic—­I longed to caress him.  Wallace, the other lion, born in Scotland, seemed much less trustworthy.  He handled the dogs as his namesake did the southron.

Enter a confounded Dousterswivel, called Burschal, or some such name, patronised by John Lockhart, teacher of German and learner of English.

He opened the trenches by making me a present of a German work called Der Bibelische Orient, then began to talk of literature at large; and display his own pretensions.  Asked my opinion of Gray as a poet, and wished me to subscribe an attestation of his own merits for the purpose of getting him scholars.  As I hinted my want of acquaintance with his qualifications, I found I had nearly landed myself in a proof, for he was girding up his loins to repeated thundering translations by himself into German, Hebrew, until, thinking it superfluous to stand on very much ceremony with one who used so little with me, hinted at letters to write, and got him to translate himself elsewhere.

Saw a good house in Brunswick Street, which I liked.  This evening supped with Thomas Thomson about the affairs of the Bannatyne.  There was the Dean, Will Clerk, John Thomson, young Smythe of Methven; very pleasant.