for, having accomplished a revolution in the sixteenth century, they adopted a Tanist, or Captain—­that is, a Chief not in the direct line of succession, a certain Ian Moidart, or John of Moidart, who took the title of Captain of Clanranald, with all the powers of Chief, and even Glengarry’s ancestor recognised them as chiefs de facto if not de jure.  The fact is, that this elective power was, in cases of insanity, imbecility, or the like, exercised by the Celtic tribes; and though Ian Moidart was no chief by birth, yet by election he became so, and transmitted his power to his descendants, as would King William III., if he had had any.  So it is absurd to set up the jus sanguinis now, which Glengarry’s ancestors did not, or could not, make good, when it was a right worth combating for.  I wrought out my full task yesterday.

Saw Cadell as I returned from the Court.  He seems dejected, apprehensive of another trustee being preferred to Cowan, and gloomy about the extent of stock of novels, etc., on hand.  He infected me with his want of spirits, and I almost wish my wife had not asked Mr. Scrope and Charles K. Sharpe for this day.  But the former sent such loads of game that Lady Scott’s gratitude became ungovernable.  I have not seen a creature at dinner since the direful 17th January, except my own family and Mr. Laidlaw.  The love of solitude increases by indulgence; I hope it will not diverge into misanthropy.  It does not mend the matter that this is the first day that a ticket for sale is on my house.  Poor No. 39.[170] One gets accustomed even to stone walls, and the place suited me very well.  All our furniture, too, is to go—­a hundred little articles that seemed to me connected with all the happier years of my life.  It is a sorry business.  But sursum corda.

My two friends came as expected, also Missie, and stayed till half-past ten.  Promised Sharpe the set of Piranesi’s views in the dining-parlour.  They belonged to my uncle, so I do not like to sell them.[171]

February 15.—­Yesterday I did not write a line of Woodstock.  Partly, I was a little out of spirits, though that would not have hindered.  Partly, I wanted to wait for some new ideas—­a sort of collecting of straw to make bricks of.  Partly, I was a little too far beyond the press.  I cannot pull well in long traces, when the draught is too far behind me.  I love to have the press thumping, clattering, and banging in my rear; it creates the necessity which almost always makes me work best.  Needs must when the devil drives—­and drive he does even according to the letter.  I must work to-day, however.  Attended a meeting of the Faculty about our new library.  I spoke—­saying that I hoped we would now at length act upon a general plan, and look forward to commencing upon such a scale as would secure us at least for a century against the petty and partial management, which we have hitherto thought sufficient, of fitting up one room after another.