Mathews assures me that Sheridan was generally very dull in society, and sate sullen and silent, swallowing glass after glass, rather a hindrance than a help.  But there was a time when he broke out with a resumption of what had been going on, done with great force, and generally attacking some person in the company, or some opinion which he had expressed.  I never saw Sheridan but in large parties.  He had a Bardolph countenance, with heavy features, but his eye possessed the most distinguished brilliancy.  Mathews says it is very simple in Tom Moore to admire how Sheridan came by the means of paying the price of Drury Lane Theatre, when all the world knows he never paid it at all; and that Lacy, who sold it, was reduced to want by his breach of faith.[119] Dined quiet with Anne, Lady Scott, and Gordon.

January 14.—­An odd mysterious letter from Constable, who is gone post to London, to put something to rights which is wrong betwixt them, their banker, and another moneyed friend.  It strikes me to be that sort of letter which I have seen men write when they are desirous that their disagreeable intelligence should be rather apprehended than avowed.  I thought he had been in London a fortnight ago, disposing of property to meet this exigence, and so I think he should.  Well, I must have patience.  But these terrors and frights are truly annoying.  Luckily the funny people are gone, and I shall not have the task of grinning when I am serious enough.  Dined as yesterday.

A letter from J.B. mentioning Constable’s journey, but without expressing much, if any, apprehension.  He knows C. well, and saw him before his departure, and makes no doubt of his being able easily to extricate whatever may be entangled.  I will not, therefore, make myself uneasy.  I can help doing so surely, if I will.  At least, I have given up cigars since the year began, and have now no wish to return to the habit, as it is called.  I see no reason why one should not be able to vanquish, with God’s assistance, these noxious thoughts which foretell evil but cannot remedy it.

January 15.—­Like yesterday, a hard frost.  Thermometer at 10; water in my dressing-room frozen to flint; yet I had a fine walk yesterday, the sun dancing delightfully on “grim Nature’s visage hoar."[120] Were it not the plague of being dragged along by another person, I should like such weather as well as summer; but having Tom Purdie to do this office reconciles me to it. I cannot cleik with John, as old Mrs. Mure [of Caldwell] used to say.  I mean, that an ordinary menial servant thus hooked to your side reminds me of the twin bodies mentioned by Pitscottie, being two trunks on the same waist and legs.  One died before the other, and remained a dead burden on the back of its companion.[121] Such is close union with a person whom you cannot well converse with, and whose presence is yet indispensable to your getting on.  An actual companion, whether