August 21.—­Wrote four pages, then set out to make a call at Sunderland Hall and Yair, but the old sociable broke down before we had got past the thicket, so we trudged all back on foot, and I wrote another page.  This makes up the deficiency of yesterday.

August 22.—­I wrote four or five leaves, but begin to get aground for want of Indian localities.  Colonel Ferguson’s absence is unlucky, and half-a-dozen Qui Hi’s besides, willing to write chits,[22] eat tiffin, and vent all their Pagan jargon when one does not want to hear it; and now that I want a touch of their slang, lo! there is not one near me.  Mr. Adolphus, son of the celebrated counsel, and author of a work on the Waverley Novels,[23] came to make me a visit.  He is a modest as well as an able man, and I am obliged to him for the delicacy with which he treated a matter in which I was personally so much concerned.  Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton asked us to breakfast to-morrow.

August 23.—­Went to breakfast at Chiefswood, which, with a circuitous walk, have consumed the day.  Found, in the first place, my friend Allan, the painter, busy about a picture, into which he intends introducing living characters—­a kind of revel at Abbotsford.  Second, a whimsical party, consisting of John Stevenson, the bookseller, Peter Buchan from Peterhead, a quiz of a poetical creature, and a bookbinder, a friend of theirs.  The plan was to consult me about publishing a great quantity of ballads which this Mr. Buchan has collected.  I glanced them over.  He has been very successful, for they are obviously genuine, and many of them very curious.  Others are various editions of well-known ballads.  I could not make the man comprehend that these last were of little value, being generally worse readings of what was already published.  A small edition published by subscription may possibly succeed.  It is a great pity that few of these ballads are historical, almost all being of the romantic cast.  They certainly ought to be preserved, after striking out one or two which have been sophisticated, I suppose by Mr. Buchan himself, which are easily distinguishable from the genuine ballads.[24] No one but Burns ever succeeded in patching up old Scottish songs with any good effect.

August 24.—­Corrected proofs and wrote letters in the morning.  Began a review upon Monteath’s Planter for Lockhart.[25] Other matters at a stand.  A drive down to Mertoun, and engaged to dine there on Sunday first.  This consumed the day.

August 25.—­Mr. Adolphus left us this morning after a very agreeable visit.  We all dined at Dr. Brewster’s.  Met Sir John Wright, Miss Haig, etc.  Slandered our neighbours, and were good company.  Major John Scott there.  I did a little more at the review to-day.  But I cannot go on with the tale without I could speak a little Hindostanee—­a small seasoning of curry-powder.  Ferguson will do it if I can screw it out of him.