February 24.—­Went down to printing-office after the Court, and corrected Malachi.  J.B.’s name is to be on the imprint, so he will subscribe the book.  He reproaches me with having taken much more pains on this temporary pamphlet than on works which have a greater interest on my fortunes.  I have certainly bestowed enough of revision and correction.  But the cases are different.  In a novel or poem, I run the course alone—­here I am taking up the cudgels, and may expect a drubbing in return.  Besides, I do feel that this is public matter in which the country is deeply interested; and, therefore, is far more important than anything referring to my fame or fortune alone.  The pamphlet will soon be out—­meantime Malachi prospers and excites much attention.[186] The Banks have bespoke 500 copies.  The country is taking the alarm; and I think the Ministers will not dare to press the measure.  I should rejoice to see the old red lion ramp a little, and the thistle again claim its nemo me impune.  I do believe Scotsmen will show themselves unanimous at least where their cash is concerned.  They shall not want backing.  I incline to cry with Biron in Love’s Labour’s Lost,

    “More Ates, more Ates! stir them on.”

I suppose all imaginative people feel more or less of excitation from a scene of insurrection or tumult, or of general expression of national feeling.  When I was a lad, poor Davie Douglas[187] used to accuse me of being cupidus novarum rerum, and say that I loved the stimulus of a broil.  It might be so then, and even still—­

    “Even in our ashes glow their wonted fires."[188]

Whimsical enough that when I was trying to animate Scotland against the currency bill, John Gibson brought me the deed of trust, assigning my whole estate to be subscribed by me; so that I am turning patriot, and taking charge of the affairs of the country, on the very day I was proclaiming myself incapable of managing my own.  What of that?  The eminent politician, Quidnunc,[189] was in the same condition.  Who would think of their own trumpery debts, when they are taking the support of the whole system of Scottish banking on their shoulders?  Odd enough too—­on this day, for the first time since the awful 17th January, we entertain at dinner—­Lady Anna Maria Elliot,[190] W. Clerk, John A. Murray,[191] and Thomas Thomson,[192] as if we gave a dinner on account of my cessio fori.

February 25.—­Our party yesterday went off very gaily; much laugh and fun, and I think I enjoyed it more from the rarity of the event—­I mean from having seen society at home so seldom of late.  My head aches slightly though; yet we were but a bottle of Champagne, one of Port, one of old Sherry, and two of Claret, among four gentlemen and three ladies.  I have been led from this incident to think of taking chambers near Clerk, in Rose Court.[193] Methinks the retired situation should suit me well.  There a man and woman would be my whole establishment.  My superfluous furniture might serve, and I could ask a friend or two to dinner, as I have been accustomed to do.  I will look at the place to-day.