In coming from Parkgate here I intended to accomplish a purpose which I have for some years entertained, of visiting Lochwood, the ancient seat of the Johnstones, of which King James said, when he visited it, that the man who built it must have been a thief in his heart.  It rained heavily, however, which prevented my making this excursion, and indeed I rather overwalked myself yesterday, and have occasion for rest.

     “So sit down, Robin, and rest thee.”

Abbotsford, August 27.—­To-day we journeyed through the hills and amongst the storms; the weather rather bullying than bad.  We viewed the Grey Mare’s Tail, and I still felt confident in crawling along the ghastly bank by which you approach the fall.  I will certainly get some road of application to Mr. Hope Johnstone, to pray him to make the place accessible.  We got home before half-past five, having travelled forty miles.

Blair-Adam, August 28.—­Set off with Walter and Jane at seven o’clock, and reached this place in the middle of dinner-time.  By some of my not unusual blunders we had come a day before we were expected.  Luckily, in this ceremonious generation, there are still houses where such blunders only cause a little raillery, and Blair-Adam is one of them.  My excellent friend is in high health and spirits, to which the presence of Sir Frederick adds not a little.[331] His lady is here—­a beautiful woman, whose countenance realises all the poetic dreams of Byron.  There is certainly [a] something of full maturity of beauty which seems framed to be adoring and adored, and it is to be found in the full dark eye, luxuriant tresses, and rich complexion of Greece, and not among the pale unripened beauties of the north.  What sort of a mind this exquisite casket may contain is not so easily known.  She is anxious to please, and willing to be pleased, and, with her striking beauty, cannot fail to succeed.

August 29.—­To-day we designed to go to Lochore.  But “heigho! the wind and the rain.”  Besides Mrs. and Admiral Adam, Mrs. Loch, and Miss Adam, I find here Mr. Impey, son of that Sir Elijah celebrated in Indian history.  He has himself been in India, but has, with a great deal of sense and observation, much better address than always falls to the share of the Eastern adventurer.  The art of quiet and entertaining conversation, which is always easy as well as entertaining, is chiefly known in England.  In Scotland we are pedantic and wrangle, or we run away with the harrows on some topic we chance to be discursive upon.  In Ireland they have too much vivacity, and are too desirous to make a show, to preserve the golden mean.  They are the Gascons of Britain.  George Ellis was the best converser I ever knew; his patience and good breeding made me often ashamed of myself going off at score upon some favourite topic.  Richard Sharp is so celebrated for this peculiar gift as to be generally called Conversation Sharp.[332] The worst of this