I should like to see what age and adventures have done upon him.  I recollect him a very handsome, plausible man.  Of all good breeding, that of a swindler (of good education, be it understood) is the most perfect.

December 7.—­Again a very disturbed night, scarce sleeping an hour, yet well when I rose in the morning.  I did not do above a leaf to-day, because I had much to read.  But I am up to one-fourth of the volume, of 400 pages, which I began on the first December current; the 31st must and shall see the end of vol. vi.  We dined alone.  I had a book sent me by a very clever woman, in defence of what she calls the rights of her sex.  Clever, though.  I hope she will publish it.

December 8.—­Another restless and deplorable Knight—­night I should say—­faith, either spelling will suit.  Returned early, but much done up with my complaint and want of sleep last night.  I wrought however, but with two or three long interruptions, my drowsiness being irresistible.  Went to dine with John Murray, where met his brother Henderland, Jeffrey, Harry Cockburn, Rutherfurd, and others of that file.  Very pleasant—­capital good cheer and excellent wine—­much laugh and fun.

December 9.—­I do not know why it is that when I am with a party of my Opposition friends, the day is often merrier than when with our own set.  Is it because they are cleverer?  Jeffrey and Harry Cockburn are, to be sure, very extraordinary men, yet it is not owing to that entirely.  I believe both parties meet with the feeling of something like novelty.  We have not worn out our jests in daily contact.  There is also a disposition on such occasions to be courteous, and of course to be pleased.  Wrought all day, but rather dawdled, being abominably drowsy.  I fancy it is bile, a visitor I have not had this long time.

December 10.—­An uncomfortable and sleepless night; and the lime water assigned to cure me seems far less pleasant, and about as inefficacious as lime punch would be in the circumstances.  I felt main stupid the whole forenoon, and though I wrote my task, yet it was with great intervals of drowsiness and fatigue which made me, as we Scots says, dover away in my arm-chair.  Walter and Jane came to dinner, also my Coz Colonel Russell, and above and attour[424] James Ballantyne, poor fellow.  We had a quiet and social evening, I acting on prescription.  Well, I have seen the day—­but no matter.

December 11.—­Slept indifferent well with a feverish halo about me, but no great return of my complaint.  It paid it off this morning, however, but the difference was of such consequence that I made an ample day’s work, getting over six pages, besides what I may do.  On this, the 11th December, I shall have more than one-third of vol. vi. finished, which was begun on the first of this current month.  Dined quiet and at home.  I must take no more frisks till this fit is over.

“When once life’s day draws near the gloaming,
Then farewell careless social roaming;
And farewell cheerful tankards foaming,
And social noise;
And farewell dear deluding woman,
The joy of joys!"[425]