After Court Anne set out for Abbotsford with the Miss Kerrs.  I came off at three o’clock to Arniston, where I found Lord Register and lady, R. Dundas and lady, Robt.  Adam Dundas, Durham of Calderwood and lady, old and young friends.  Charles came with me.

December 23.—­Went to church to Borthwick with the family, and heard a well-composed, well-delivered, sensible discourse from Mr. Wright,[103] the clergyman—­a different sort of person, I wot, from my old half-mad, half-drunken, little hump-back acquaintance Clunie,[104] renowned for singing “The Auld Man’s Mear’s dead,” and from the circumstance of his being once interrupted in his minstrelsy by the information that his own horse had died in the stable.

After sermon we looked at the old castle, which made me an old man.  The castle was not a bit older for the twenty-five years which had passed away, but the ruins of the visitor were very apparent; to climb up round staircases, to creep through vaults and into dungeons, were not the easy labours but the positive sports of my younger years; but that time is gone by, and I thought it convenient to attempt no more than the access to the large and beautiful hall in which, as it is somewhere described, an armed horseman might brandish his lance.  The feeling of growing and increasing inability is painful to one like me, who boasted, in spite of my infirmity, great boldness and dexterity in such feats; the boldness remains, but hand and foot, grip and accuracy of step, have altogether failed me; the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and so I must retreat into the invalided corps and tell them of my former exploits, which may very likely pass for lies.  We drove to Dalhousie Castle, where the gallant Earl, who had done so much to distinguish the British name in all and every quarter of the globe, is repairing the castle of his ancestors, which of yore stood a siege against John of Gaunt.  I was Lord Dalhousie’s companion at school, where he was as much beloved by his companions as he has been ever respected by his companions-in-arms, and the people over whom he has been deputed to exercise the authority of his sovereign.  He was always steady, wise, and generous.  The old Castle of Dalhousie—­potius Dalwolsey—­was mangled by a fellow called, I believe, Douglas, who destroyed, as far as in him lay, its military and baronial character, and roofed it after the fashion of a poor-house.  The architect, Burn, is now restoring and repairing in the old taste, and I think creditably to his own feeling.  God bless the roof-tree!

We returned home through the Temple banks by the side of the South Esk, where I had the pleasure to see that Robert Dundas is laying out his woods with taste, and managing them with care.  His father and uncle took notice of me when I was a “fellow of no mark or likelihood,” and I am always happy in finding myself in the old oak room at Arniston, where I have drunk many a merry bottle, and in the fields where I have seen many a hare killed.