"The Auld Man's Mear's dead," and from the circumstance of his
being once interrupted in his minstrelsy by the information that his own
horse had died in the stable.

After sermon we looked at the old castle, which made me an old man. The
castle was not a bit older for the twenty-five years which had passed
away, but the ruins of the visitor were very apparent; to climb up round
staircases, to creep through vaults and into dungeons, were not the
easy labours but the positive sports of my younger years; but that time
is gone by, and I thought it convenient to attempt no more than the
access to the large and beautiful hall in which, as it is somewhere
described, an armed horseman might brandish his lance. The feeling of
growing and increasing inability is painful to one like me, who boasted,
in spite of my infirmity, great boldness and dexterity in such feats;
the boldness remains, but hand and foot, grip and accuracy of step, have
altogether failed me; the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, and
so I must retreat into the invalided corps and tell them of my former
exploits, which may very likely pass for lies. We drove to Dalhousie
Castle, where the gallant Earl, who had done so much to distinguish the
British name in all and every quarter of the globe, is repairing the
castle of his ancestors, which of yore stood a siege against John of
Gaunt. I was Lord Dalhousie's companion at school, where he was as much
beloved by his companions as he has been ever respected by his
companions-in-arms, and the people over whom he has been deputed to
exercise the authority of his sovereign. He was always steady, wise, and
generous. The old Castle of Dalhousie--_potius Dalwolsey_--was mangled
by a fellow called, I believe, Douglas, who destroyed, as far as in him
lay, its military and baronial character, and roofed it after the
fashion of a poor-house. The architect, Burn, is now restoring and
repairing in the old taste, and I think creditably to his own feeling.
God bless the roof-tree!

We returned home through the Temple banks by the side of the South Esk,
where I had the pleasure to see that Robert Dundas is laying out his
woods with taste, and managing them with care. His father and uncle took
notice of me when I was a "fellow of no mark or likelihood," and I am
always happy in finding myself in the old oak room at Arniston, where I
have drunk many a merry bottle, and in the fields where I have seen many
a hare killed.

_D