March 24.—­This morning our sportsmen took leave, and their ladykind (to rencherir on Anthony a-Wood and Mr. Oldbuck) followed after breakfast, and I went to my work till one, and at that hour treated the Baron to another long walk, with which he seemed highly delighted.  He tells me that my old friend the Princess Galitzin[279] is dead.  After dinner I had a passing visit from Kinnear, to bid me farewell.  This very able and intelligent young man, so able to throw a grace over commercial pursuits, by uniting them with literature, is going with his family to settle in London.  I do not wonder at it.  His parts are of a kind superior to the confined sphere in which he moves in Scotland.  In London, he says, there is a rapid increase of business and its opportunities.  Thus London licks the butter off our bread, by opening a better market for ambition.  Were it not for the difference of the religion and laws, poor Scotland could hardly keep a man that is worth having; and yet men will not see this.  I took leave of Kinnear, with hopes for his happiness and fortune, but yet with some regret for the sake of the country which loses him.  The Baron agreed to go with Kinnear to Kelso:  and exit with the usual demonstrations of German enthusiasm.

March 25.—­I worked in the morning, and think I have sent Croker a packet which may be useful, and to Lockhart a critique on rather a dry topic, viz.:  the ancient Scottish History.  I remember E. Ainslie, commonly called the plain man, who piqued himself on his powers of conversation, striving to strike fire from some old flinty wretch whom he found in a corner of a public coach, at length addressed him:  “Friend, I have tried you on politics, literary matters, religion, fashionable news, etc. etc., and all to no purpose.”  The dry old rogue, twisting his muzzle into an infernal grin, replied, “Can you claver about bend leather?” The man, be it understood, was a leather merchant.  The early history of Caledonia is almost as hopeless a subject, but off it goes.  I walked up the Glen with Tom for my companion.  Dined, heard Anne reading a paper of anecdotes about Cluny Macpherson, and so to bed.

March 26.—­As I have been so lately Johnsonizing, I should derive, if possible, some personal use.  Johnson advises Boswell to keep a diary, and to omit registers of the weather, and like trumpery.  I am resolved in future not to register what is yet more futile—­my gleams of bright and clouded temper.  Boswell—­whose nerves were, one half madness, and half affectation—­has thrummed upon this topic till it is threadbare.  I have at this moment forty things to do, and great inclination to do none of them.  I ended by working till two, walking till five, writing letters, and so to bed.