March 27.—­Wrote two leaves this morning, and gave the day after breakfast to my visitor, who is a country gentleman of the best description; knows the world, having been a good deal attached both to the turf and the field; is extremely good-humoured, and a good deal of a local antiquary.  I showed him the plantations, going first round the terrace, then to the lake, then came down by the Rhymer’s Glen, and took carriage at Huntly Burn, almost the grand tour, only we did not walk from Huntly Burn.  The Fergusons dined with us.

March 28.—­Mr Thomson left us about twelve for Minto, parting a pleased guest, I hope, from a pleased landlord.  When I see a “gemman as is a gemman,” as the blackguards say, why, I know how to be civil.  After he left I set doggedly to work with Bonaparte, who had fallen a little into arrear.  I can clear the ground better now by mashing up my old work in the Edinburgh Register with my new matter, a species of colcannen, where cold potatoes are mixed with hot cabbage.  After all, I think Ballantyne is right, and that I have some talents for history-writing after all.  That same history in the Register reads prettily enough. Coragio, cry Claymore.  I finished five pages, but with additions from Register they will run to more than double I hope; like Puff in the Critic, be luxuriant.[498]

Here is snow back again, a nasty, comfortless, stormy sort of a day, and I will work it off at Boney.  What shall I do when Bonaparte is done?  He engrosses me morning, noon, and night.  Never mind; Komt Zeit komt Rath, as the German says.  I did not work longer than twelve, however, but went out in as rough weather as I have seen, and stood out several snow blasts.

March 29, 30.—­

    “He walk’d and wrought, poor soul!  What then? 
    Why, then he walk’d and wrought again.”

March 31.—­Day varied by dining with Mr. Scrope, where we found Mr. Williams and Mr. Simson,[499] both excellent artists.  We had not too much of the palette, but made a very agreeable day out.  I contrived to mislay the proof-sheets sent me this morning, so that I must have a revise.  This frequent absence of mind becomes very exceeding troublesome.  I have the distinct recollection of laying them carefully aside after I dressed to go to the Pavilion.  Well, I have a head—­the proverb is musty.

FOOTNOTES: 

[481] See Townley’s Farce.

[482] Hamesucken.—­The crime of beating or assaulting a person in his own house.  A Scotch law term.

[483] King had retired from the stage in 1801.  He died four years later.

[484] Cramond Brig is said to have been written by Mr. W.H.  Murray, the manager of the Theatre, and is still occasionally acted in Edinburgh.

[485] Marginal Note in Original MSS.  “I never saw it—­not mine.—­J.G.L.”