January 24.—­Worked with Mr. Laidlaw, and, as the snow was on the ground, did so without intermission, which must be sinking to the spirits.  Held on, however.

January 25.—­Same drizzling waste, rendering my footing insecure, and leaving me no refuge but in sitting at home and working till one o’clock.  Then retired upon the Sheriff Court processes.  Bran,[423] poor fellow, lies yawning at my feet, and cannot think what is become of the daily scamper, which is all his master’s inability affords him.  This grieves me, by calling back the days of old.  But I may call them as I may,

    “Youth winna return, nor the days of lang syne.”

January 26.—­I have Skene and Mr. M’Culloch of Ardwell, to the relief of my spirits and the diminishing of my time.  Mr. Laidlaw joined us at dinner.

Bitter cold.

January 27.—­So fagged with my frozen vigils that I slept till after ten.  When I lose the first two hours in the morning I can seldom catch them again during the whole day.

A friendly visit from Ebenezer Clarkson of Selkirk, a medical gentleman in whose experience and ingenuity I have much confidence, as well as his personal regard for myself.  He is quite sensible of the hesitation of speech of which I complain, and thinks it arises from the stomach.  Recommends the wild mustard as an aperient.  But the brightest ray of hope is the chance that I may get some mechanical aid made by Fortune at Broughton Street, which may enable me to mount a pony with ease, and to walk without torture.  This would, indeed, be almost a restoration of my youth, at least of a green old age full of enjoyment.  The shutting one out from the face of living nature is almost worse than sudden death.

January 28.—­I wrote with Laidlaw.  It does not work clear; I do not know why.  The plot is, nevertheless, a good plot, and full of expectation.[424] But there is a cloud over me, I think, and interruptions are frequent.  I creep on, however.

January 29.—­Much in the same way as yesterday, rather feeling than making way.  Mr. Williams and his brother came in after dinner.  Welcome both; yet the day was not happy.  It consumed me an afternoon, which, though well employed, and pleasantly, had the disagreeable effect of my being kept from useful work.

January 30.—­Snow deep, which makes me alter my purpose of going to town to-morrow.  For to-day, my friends must amuse themselves as they can.

January 31 [to February 9, Edinburgh].—­Retain my purpose, however, and set out for Edinburgh alone—­that is, no one but my servant.  The snow became impassable, and in Edinburgh I remain immovably fixed for ten days—­that is, till Wednesday—­never once getting out of doors, save to dinner, when I went and returned in a sedan chair.  I commenced my quarantine in Mackenzie’s Hotel,[425] where I was deadly cold, and it was tolerably noisy.