July 5.—­I was up before seven and resumed my labours, and by breakfast-time I had reached p. 133; it may reach to 160 or 170 as I find space and matter.  Buchanan[392] came and wrote about fifteen of his pages, equal to mine in proportion of three to one.  We are therefore about p. 138, and in sight of land.  At two o’clock went to bury poor George Burnet, the son of Gilbert Innes, in as heavy a rain as I ever saw.  Was in Shandwick Place again by four and made these entries.  I dine to-day with the Club; grant Heaven it fair before six o’clock!

We met at Barry’s,[393] and had a gallant dinner, but only few of our number was present.  Alas! sixty does not rally to such meetings with the alacrity of sixteen, and our Club has seen the space between these terms.  I was home and abed when Charles arrived and waked me.  Poor fellow! he is doing very well with his rheumatic limbs.

July 6.—­I did little this morning but correct some sheets, and was at the Court all morning.  About two I called at Mr. Cadell’s, and I learned the dividend was arranged.  Sir Adam fell in with us, and laid anchors to windward to get an invitation to Cockenzie for next year, being struck with my life-like description of a tiled haddock.  I came home much fagged, slept for half-an-hour (I don’t like this lethargy), read I Promessi Sposi, and was idle.  Miss Kerr dined and gave us music.

July 7.—­This morning corrected proofs, with which J.B. proceeds lazily enough, and alleges printing reasons, of which he has plenty at hand.  Though it was the Teind Wednesday the devil would have it that this was a Court of Session day also for a cause of mine; so there I sat hearing a dozen cases of augmentation of stipend pleaded, and wondering within myself whether anything can be predicated of a Scottish parish, in which there cannot be discovered a reason for enlarging the endowments of the minister.  I returned after two, with a sousing shower for companion; I got very wet and very warm.  But shall we go mourn for that, my dear?[394] I rather like a flaw of weather; it shows something of the old man is left.  I had Mr. Buchanan to help pack my papers and things, and got through part of that unpleasant business.

July 8.—­I had my letters as usual, but no proofs till I was just going out.  Returning from the Court met Skene, who brought me news that our visit was at an end for Saturday, poor Colin having come to town very unwell.  I called to see him, and found him suffering under a degree of slow palsy, his spirits depressed, and his looks miserable, worse a great deal than when I last saw him.  His wife and daughter were in the room, dreadfully distressed.  We spoke but a few words referring to recovery and better days, which, I suspect, neither of us hoped.[395] For I looked only on the ghost of my friend of many a long day; and he, while he said to see me did him good, must have had little thought of our meeting under better auspices.  We shall, of course, go straight to Abbotsford, instead of travelling by Harcus as we intended.