g strangers: one, a son of my old friend Dr. Stoddart of the
_Times_, a well-mannered and intelligent youth, the other that unnatural
character, a tame Irishman, resembling a formal Englishman.

_January_ 21.--This morning I sent J.B. as far as page forty-three,
being fully two-thirds of the volume. The rest I will drive on, trusting
that, contrary to the liberated posthorse in John Gilpin, the lumber of
the wheels rattling behind me may put spirit in the poor brute who has
to drag it.

Mr. and Mrs. Moscheles were here at breakfast. She is a very pretty
little Jewess; he one of the greatest performers on the pianoforte of
the day,--certainly most surprising and, what I rather did not expect,
pleasing.

I have this day the melancholy news of Glengarry's death, and was
greatly shocked. The eccentric parts of his character, the pretensions
which he supported with violence and assumption of rank and authority,
were obvious subjects of censure and ridicule, which in some points were
not undeserved. He played the part of a chieftain too nigh the life to
be popular among an altered race, with whom he thought, felt, and acted,
I may say in right and wrong, as a chieftain of a hundred years since
would have done, while his conduct was viewed entirely by modern eyes,
and tried by modern rules.[117]

_January_ 22.--I am, I find, in serious danger of losing the habit of my
Journal; and, having carried it on so long, that would be pity. But I am
now, on the 1st February, fishing for the lost recollections of the days
since the 21st January. Luckily there is not very much to remember or
forget, and perhaps the best way would be to skip and go on.

_January_ 23.--Being a Teind day, I had a good opportunity of work. I
should have said I had given breakfast on the 21st to Mr. and Mrs.
Moscheles; she a beautiful young creature, "and one that adores me," as
Sir Toby says,[118]--that is, in my poetical capacity;--in fact, a frank
and amiable young person. I liked Mr. Moscheles' playing better than I
could have expected, considering my own bad ear. But perhaps I flatter
myself, and think I understood it better than I did. Perhaps I have not
done myself justice, and know more of music than I thought I did. But it
seems to me that his variations have a more decided style of originality
than those I have commonly heard, which have all the signs of a _da capo
rota_.

Dined at Sir Archibald Campbell's,[119] and drank rather more wine than