We go out to Saint Catherine’s[74] to-day.  I am glad of it, for I would not have these recollections haunt me, and society will put them out of my head.

November 11.—­Sir William Rae read us prayers.  Sauntered about the doors, and talked of old cavalry stories.  Then drove to Melville, and saw the Lord and Lady, and family.  I think I never saw anything more beautiful than the ridge of Carnethy (Pentland) against a clear frosty sky, with its peaks and varied slopes.  The hills glowed like purple amethysts, the sky glowed topaz and vermilion colours.  I never saw a finer screen than Pentland, considering that it is neither rocky nor highly elevated.

November 12.—­I cannot say I lost a minute’s sleep on account of what the day might bring forth; though it was that on which we must settle with Abud in his Jewish demand, or stand to the consequences.  I breakfasted with an excellent appetite, laughed in real genuine easy fun, and went to Edinburgh, resolved to do what should best become me.  When I came home I found Walter, poor fellow, who had come down on the spur, having heard from John Lockhart how things stand.  Gibson having taken out a suspension makes us all safe for the present.  So we dined merrily.  He has good hopes of his Majesty, and I must support his interest as well as I can.  Wrote letters to Lady Shelley, John L., and one or two chance correspondents.  One was singular.  A gentleman, writing himself James Macturk, tells me his friends have identified him with Captain Macturk of St. Ronan’s Well, and finding himself much inconvenienced by this identification, he proposes I should apply to the King to forward his restoration and advance in the service (he writes himself late Lieutenant 4th Dragoon Guards) as an atonement for having occasioned him (though unintentionally no doubt) so great an injury.  This is one road to promotion, to be sure.  Lieutenant Macturk is, I suppose, tolerably mad.

We dined together, Anne, Walter, and I, and were happy at our reunion, when, as I was despatching my packet to London,

    In started to heeze up our howp[75]

John Gibson, radiant with good-natured joy.  He had another letter from Cadell, enclosing one from Robinson, in which the latter pledges himself to make the most explicit affidavit.

On these two last days I have written only three pages, but not from inaptitude or incapacity to labour.  It is odd enough—­I think it difficult to place me in a situation of danger, or disagreeable circumstances, purely personal, which would shake my powers of mind, yet they sink under mere lowness of spirits, as this Journal bears evidence in too many passages.

November 13.—­Wrote a little in the morning, but not above a page.  Went to the Court about one, returned, and made several visits with Anne and Walter.  Cadell came, glorious with the success of his expedition, but a little allayed by the prospect of competition for the copyrights, on which he and I have our eyes as joint purchasers.  We must have them if possible, for I can give new value to an edition corrected with notes. Nous verrons! Captain Musgrave, of the house of Edenhall, dined with us.  After dinner, while we were over our whisky and water and cigars, enter the merry knight.  Misses Kerr came to tea, and we had fun and singing in the evening.