February 22.—­Went to Court, and remained there until one o’clock.  Then to Mr. Colvin Smith’s and sat to be stared at till three o’clock.  This is a great bore even when you have a companion, sad when you are alone and can only disturb the painter by your chatter.  After dinner I had proofs to the number of four.  J.B. is outrageous about the death of Oliver Proudfoot, one of the characters; but I have a humour to be cruel.

    “His business ’tis to die.”

Received a present from a Mr. Dobie of a candlestick said to be that of the Rev. Mr. Guthrie, minister of Fenwick in the seventeenth century,—­very civil of a gentleman unknown, if there comes no request to look over poems, or to get made a gauger, or the like, for I have seen that kind of compliment made on the principle on which small balloons are sent up before a large one, to see how the wind sits.  After dinner proof-sheets.

February 23.—­Morning proof-sheets galore.  Then to Parliament House.  After that, at one, down to Sir William MacLeod Bannatyne, who has made some discoveries concerning Bannatyne the collector of poetry, and furnished me with some notes to that purpose.  He informs me that the MacLeod, alias MacCruiskin, who met Dr. Johnson on the Isle of Skye, was Mr. Alexander MacLeod, Advocate, a son of MacLeod of Muiravonside.  He was subject to fits of insanity at times, very clever at others.[137] Sir William mentioned the old Laird of Bernera, who, summoned by his Chief to join him with all the men he could make, when the Chief was raising his men for Government, sent him a letter to this purpose:—­“Dear Laird,—­No man would like better to be at your back than I would; but on this occasion it cannot be.  I send my men, who are at your service; for myself, higher duties carry me elsewhere.”  He went off accordingly alone, and joined Raasay as a volunteer.  I returned by the printing office and found J.B. in great feather.  He tells me Cadell, on squaring his books and making allowance for bad debts, has made between L3000 and L4000, lodged in bank.  He does nothing but with me.  Thus we stand on velvet as to finance.  Met Staffa,[138] who walked with me and gave me some Gaelic words which I wanted.

I may mention that I saw at the printing-office a part of a review on Leigh Hunt’s Anecdotes of Byron.  It is written with power, apparently by Professor Wilson, but with a degree of passion which rather diminishes the effect; for nothing can more lessen the dignity of the satirist than being or seeming to be in a passion.  I think it may come to a bloody arbitrament,[139] for if L.H. should take it up as a gentleman, Wilson is the last man to flinch.  I hope Lockhart will not be dragged in as second or otherwise.  Went to Jeffrey’s to dinner—­there were Mrs. and Miss Sydney Smith, Lords Gillies and Corehouse, etc. etc.