March 25.—­In the meantime Frank saw the necessity of doing something to keep himself independent, having, I think, too much spirit to become a Stulko,[442] drinking out the last glass of the bottle, riding the horses which the laird wishes to sell, and drawing sketches to amuse the lady and the children,—­besides a prospect on Invercauld elevating him, when realised, to the rank of the laird’s father.

March 26.—­Grant was above all this, and honourably and manfully resolved to cultivate his taste for painting, and become a professional artist.  I am no judge of painting, but I am conscious that Francis Grant possesses, with much taste, a sense of beauty derived from the best source, that of really good society, while in many modern artists, the total want of that species of feeling is so great as to be revolting.  His former acquaintances render his immediate entrance into business completely secure, and it will rest with himself to carry on his success.  He has, I think, that degree of energy and force of character which will make him keep and enlarge any reputation which he may acquire.  He has confidence too in his own powers, always a requisite for a young painter whose aristocratic pretensions must be envied by [his less fortunate brethren].

March 27.—­Frank Grant is still with me, and is well pleased—­I think very deservedly so—­with a cabinet picture of myself, armour, and so forth, together with my two noble staghounds of the greyhound race.  I wish Cadell had got it; it is far better than Watson’s—­though his is well too.  The dogs sat charmingly, but the picture took up some time.[443]

March 28.—­We went out a little ride.  The weather most tempting, the day beautiful.  We rode and walked a little.

March 29.—­We had an hour’s sitting of the dogs, and a good deal of success.  I cannot compose my mind on this public measure.  It will not please those whom it is the object to please.

March 30.—­Robert Dundas[444] and his wife—­Miss Durham that was—­came to spend a day or two.  I was heartily glad to see him, being my earliest and best friend’s son.  John Swinton came by Blucher, on the part of an anti-Reform meeting in Edinburgh; exhorting me to take up the pen, but I declined and pleaded health, which, God knows, I have a right to urge.  I might have urged also the chance of my breaking down, but there would be a cry of this kind which might very well prove real.

March 31.—­Swinton returned in the forenoon yesterday after lunch.  He took my denial very quietly, and said it would be wrong to press me.  I have not shunned anything that came fairly on me, but I do not see the sense of standing forth a champion.  It is said that the Duke of Buccleuch has been offered the title of Monmouth if he would cease to oppose.  He said there were two objections—­they would not give it him if he seriously thought of it, and he would not take it if they did.  The Dundases went off to-day.  I was glad I had seen them, although visitors rather interrupt work.