Note.—­Lime rubbish dug in among the roots of ivy encourages it much.

The operation delayed us three hours, so it was seven o’clock before we reached our dinner and a good fire in Shandwick Place, and we were wellnigh frozen to death.  During this excursion I walked very ill—­with more pain, in fact, than I ever remember to have felt—­and, even leaning on John Lockhart, could hardly get on. Baad that, vara baad—­it might be the severe weather though, and the numbing effect of the sitting in the carriage.  Be it what it will, I can’t help myself.

January 20.—­I had little to do at the Court, and returned home soon.  Honest old Mr. Ferrier is dead, at extreme old age.  I confess I should not wish to live so long.  He was a man with strong passions and strong prejudices, but with generous and manly sentiments at the same time.  We used to call him Uncle Adam, after that character in his gifted daughter’s novel of the Heiress [Inheritance].  I wrote a long letter after I came home to my Lord Elgin about Greenshields, the sculptor.[241] I am afraid he is going into the burlesque line, to which sculpture is peculiarly ill adapted.  So I have expressed my veto to his patron, valeat quantum.  Also a letter to Mrs. Professor Sandford at Glasgow about reprinting Macaulay’s History of St. Kilda,[242] advising them to insert the history of Lady Grange who was kidnapped and banished thither.

I corrected my proofs, moreover, and prepared to dine.  After dinner we go to Euphemia Erskine’s marriage.  Mr. Dallas came in and presented me with an old pedigree of the M’Intoshes.  The wedding took place with the usual April weather of smiles and tears.  The bridegroom’s name is Dawson.  As he, as well as the bride, is very tall, they have every chance of bringing up a family of giants.  The bridegroom has an excellent character.  He is only a captain, but economy does wonders in the army, where there are many facilities for practising it.  I sincerely wish them happiness.

January 21.—­Went out to Dalkeith House to dine and stay all night.  Found Marquis of Lothian and a family party.  I liked the sense and spirit displayed by this young nobleman, who reminds me strongly of his parents, whom I valued so highly.

January 22.—­Left Dalkeith after breakfast, and gained the Parliament House, where there was almost nothing to do, at eleven o’clock.  Afterwards sat to Graham, who is making a good thing of it.  Mr. Colvin Smith has made a better in one sense, having sold ten or twelve copies of the portrait to different friends.[243] The Solicitor came to dine with me—­we drank a bottle of champagne, and two bottles of claret, which, in former days, I should have thought a very sober allowance, since, Lockhart included, there were three persons to drink it.  But I felt I had drunk too much, and was uncomfortable.  The young men stood it like young men.  Skene and his wife and daughter looked in in the evening.  I suppose I am turning to my second childhood, for not only am I filled drunk, or made stupid at least, with one bottle of wine, but I am disabled from writing by chilblains on my fingers—­a most babyish complaint.  They say that the character is indicated by the handwriting; if so, mine is crabbed enough.