January 23.—­Still severe frost, annoying to sore fingers.  Nothing on the roll.  I sat at home and wrote letters to Wilkie, Landseer, Mrs. Hughes, Charles, etc.  Went out to old Mr. Ferrier’s funeral, and saw the last duty rendered to my old friend, whose age was

    “——­Like a lusty winter,
    Frosty, but kindly,"[244]

I mean in a moral as well as a physical sense.  I then went to Cadell’s for some few minutes.

I carried out Lockhart to Dalkeith, where we dined, supped, and returned through a clinking frost, with snow on the ground.  Lord Ramsay and the Miss Kerrs were at Dalkeith.  The Duke shows, for so young a man, a great deal of character, and seems to have a proper feeling of the part he has to play.  The evening was pleasant, but the thought that I was now the visitor and friend of the family in the third generation lay somewhat heavy on me.  Every thing around me seemed to say that beauty, power, wealth, honour were but things of a day.

January 24.—­Heavy fall of snow.  Lockhart is off in the mail.  I hope he will not be blockaded.  The day bitter cold.  I went to the Court, and with great difficulty returned along the slippery street.  I ought to have taken the carriage, but I have a superstitious dread of giving up the habit of walking, and would willingly stick to the last by my old hardy customs.

Little but trifles to do at the Court.  My hands are so covered with chilblains that I can hardly use a pen—­my feet ditto.

We bowled away at six o’clock to Mr. Wardlaw Ramsay’s.  Found we were a week too early, and went back as if our noses had been bleeding.

January 25.—­Worked seriously all morning, expecting the Fergusons to dinner.  Alas! instead of that, I learn that my poor innocent friend Mary is no more.  She was a person of some odd and peculiar habits, wore a singular dress, and affected wild and solitary haunts, but she was, at the same time, a woman of talent, and even genius.  She used often to take long walks with me up through the glens; and I believe her sincere good wishes attended me, as I was always glad of an opportunity to show her kindness.  I shall long think of her when at Abbotsford.  This sad event breaks up our little party.  Will Clerk came, however, and his tete-a-tete was, of course, interesting and amusing in the highest degree.  We drank some whisky and water, and smoked a cigar or two, till nine at night.

    “No after friendships ere can raise
    The endearments of our early days.”

January 26.—­I muzzed on—­I can call it little better—­with Anne of Geierstein.  The materials are excellent, but the power of using them is failing.  Yet I wrote out about three pages, sleeping at intervals.