I cannot conceive what possesses me, over every person besides, to mislay papers.  I received a letter Saturday at e’en, enclosing a bill for L750; no deaf nuts.  Well, I read it, and note the contents; and this day, as if it had been a wind-bill in the literal sense of the words, I search everywhere, and lose three hours of my morning—­turn over all my confusion in the writing-desk—­break open one or two letters, lest I should have enclosed the sweet and quickly convertible document in them,—­send for a joiner, and disorganise my scrutoire, lest it should have fallen aside by mistake.  I find it at last—­the place where is of little consequence; but this trick must be amended.

Dined at the Royal Society Club, where, as usual, was a pleasant meeting of from twenty to twenty-five.  It is a very good institution; we pay two guineas only for six dinners in the year, present or absent.  Dine at five, or rather half-past five, at the Royal Hotel, where we have an excellent dinner, with soups, fish, etc., and all in good order; port and sherry till half-past seven, then coffee, and we go to the Society.  This has great influence in keeping up the attendance, it being found that this preface of a good dinner, to be paid for whether you partake or not, brings out many a philosopher who might not otherwise have attended the Society.  Harry Mackenzie, now in his eighty-second or third year, read part of an Essay on Dreams.  Supped at Dr. Russell’s usual party,[56] which shall serve for one while.

December 6.—­A rare thing this literature, or love of fame or notoriety which accompanies it.  Here is Mr. H[enry] M[ackenzie] on the very brink of human dissolution, as actively anxious about it as if the curtain must not soon be closed on that and everything else.[57] He calls me his literary confessor; and I am sure I am glad to return the kindnesses which he showed me long since in George Square.  No man is less known from his writings.  We would suppose a retired, modest, somewhat affected man, with a white handkerchief, and a sigh ready for every sentiment.  No such thing:  H.M. is alert as a contracting tailor’s needle in every sort of business—­a politician and a sportsman—­shoots and fishes in a sort even to this day—­and is the life of the company with anecdote and fun.  Sometimes, his daughter tells me, he is in low spirits at home, but really I never see anything of it in society.

There is a maxim almost universal in Scotland, which I should like much to see controlled.  Every youth, of every temper and almost every description of character, is sent either to study for the bar, or to a writer’s office as an apprentice.  The Scottish seem to conceive Themis the most powerful of goddesses.  Is a lad stupid, the law will sharpen him;—­is he too mercurial, the law will make him sedate;—­has he an estate, he may get a sheriffdom;—­is he poor, the richest lawyers have emerged from poverty;—­is