June 7.—­I rose at seven, and wrote to Sir Thomas Lauder a long warning on the subject of these Allans and their manuscript.[333] Proceeded to write, but found myself pulled up by the necessity of reading a little.  This occupied my whole morning.  The Lord President called very kindly to desire me to keep at home to-morrow.  I thought of being out, but it may be as well not.  I am somehow or other either listless or lazy.  My head aches cruelly.  I made a fight at reading and working till eleven, and then came sleep with a party-coloured [mantle] of fantastic hues, and wrapt me into an imaginary world.

June, 8.—­I wrote the whole morning till two o’clock.  Then I went into the gardens of Princes Street, to my great exhilaration.  I never felt better for a walk; also it is the first I have taken this whole week and more.  I visited some remote garden grounds, where I had not been since I walked there with the good Samaritan Skene, sadly enough, at the time of my misfortunes.[334] The shrubs and young trees, which were then invisible, are now of good size, and gay with leaf and blossom.  I, too, old trunk as I am, have put out tender buds of hope, which seemed checked for ever.

I may now look with fair hope to freeing myself of obligation from all men, and spending the rest of my life in ease and quiet.  God make me thankful for so cheering a prospect!

June 9.—­I wrote in the morning, set out for a walk at twelve o’clock as far as Mr. Cadell’s.  I found him hesitating about his views, and undecided about the Number plan.  He thinks the first plan answers so much beyond expectation it is a pity to interfere with it, and talks of re-engraving the plates.  This would be touchy, but nothing is resolved on.

Anne had a little party, where Lady Charlotte Bury, Lady Hopetoun, and others met the Caradori, who sung to us very kindly.  She sung Jock of Hazeldean very well, and with a peculiar expression of humour.  Sandie Ballantyne kindly came and helped us with fiddle and flageolet.  Willie Clerk was also here.  We had a lunch, and were very gay, not the less so for the want of Mr. Bury, who is a thorough-paced coxcomb, with some accomplishments, however.  I drank two glasses of champagne, which have muddled my brains for the day.  Will Clerk promised to come back and dine on the wreck of the turkey and tongue, pigeon-pie, etc.  He came, accordingly, and stayed till nine; so no time for work.  It was not a lost day, however.[335]

June 10.—­Nota bene, my complaint quite gone.  I attended the Court, and sat there till late.  Evening had its lot of labour, which is, I think, a second nature to me.  It is astonishing how little I look into a book of entertainment.  I have been reading over the Five Nights of St. Albans,—­very much extra moenia nostri mundi, and possessed of considerable merit, though the author[336] loves to play at cherry-pit with Satan.[337]