November 23.—­I bilked the Court to-day, and worked at the review.  I wish it may not be too long, yet know not how to shorten it.  The post brought me a letter from the Duke of Buccleuch, acquainting me with his grandmother, the Duchess-Dowager’s death.[79] She was a woman of unbounded beneficence to, and even beyond, the extent of her princely fortune.  She had a masculine courage, and great firmness in enduring affliction, which pressed on her with continued and successive blows in her later years.  She was about eighty-four, and nature was exhausted; so life departed like the extinction of a lamp for lack of oil.  Our dinner on Monday is put off.  I am not superstitious, but I wish this festival had not been twice delayed by such sinister accidents—­first, the injury sustained by Lord Melville, and then this event spreading crape like the shroud of Saladin over our little festival.[80] God avert bad omens!

Dined with Archie Swinton.  Company—­Sir Alexander and Lady Keith, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, Clanronald, etc.  Clanronald told us, as an instance of Highland credulity, that a set of his kinsmen, Borradale and others, believing that the fabulous Water Cow inhabited a small lake near his house, resolved to drag the monster into day.  With this view they bivouacked by the side of the lake, in which they placed, by way of night-bait, two small anchors, such as belong to boats, each baited with the carcase of a dog slain for the purpose.  They expected the Water Cow would gorge on this bait, and were prepared to drag her ashore the next morning, when, to their confusion of face, the baits were found untouched.  It is something too late in the day for setting baits for Water Cows.[81]

November 24.—­Wrote at review in the morning.  I have made my revocation of the invitation for Monday.  For myself it will give me time to work.  I could not get home to-day till two o’clock, and was quite tired and stupid.  So I did little but sleep or dose till dressing-time.  Then went to Sir David Wedderburn’s, where I met three beauties of my own day, Margaret Brown, Maria Brown, and Jane Wedderburn, now Lady Wedderburn, Lady Hampden, and Mrs. Oliphant.  We met the pleasant Irish family of Meath.  The resemblance between the Earl of Meath and the Duke of Wellington is something remarkably striking—­it is not only the profile, but the mode of bearing the person, and the person itself.  Lady Theodora Brabazon, the Earl’s daughter, and a beautiful young lady, told me that in Paris her father was often taken for Lord Wellington.

November 25.—­This forenoon finished the review, and despatched it to Lockhart before dinner.  Will Clerk, Tom Thomson, and young Frank Scott dined with me.  We had a pleasant day.  I have wrought pretty well to-day.  But I must

    Do a little more
    And produce a little ore.

November 26.—­Corrected proof-sheets of Chronicles and Tales.  Advised Sheriff processes, and was busy.