l
balloons are sent up before a large one, to see how the wind sits. After
dinner proof-sheets.

_February_ 23.--Morning proof-sheets galore. Then to Parliament House.
After that, at one, down to Sir William MacLeod Bannatyne, who has made
some discoveries concerning Bannatyne the collector of poetry, and
furnished me with some notes to that purpose. He informs me that the
MacLeod, alias MacCruiskin, who met Dr. Johnson on the Isle of Skye, was
Mr. Alexander MacLeod, Advocate, a son of MacLeod of Muiravonside. He
was subject to fits of insanity at times, very clever at others.[137]
Sir William mentioned the old Laird of Bernera, who, summoned by his
Chief to join him with all the men he could make, when the Chief was
raising his men for Government, sent him a letter to this
purpose:--"Dear Laird,--No man would like better to be at your back
than I would; but on this occasion it cannot be. I send my men, who are
at your service; for myself, higher duties carry me elsewhere." He went
off accordingly alone, and joined Raasay as a volunteer. I returned by
the printing office and found J.B. in great feather. He tells me Cadell,
on squaring his books and making allowance for bad debts, has made
between L3000 and L4000, lodged in bank. He does nothing but with me.
Thus we stand on velvet as to finance. Met Staffa,[138] who walked with
me and gave me some Gaelic words which I wanted.

I may mention that I saw at the printing-office a part of a review on
Leigh Hunt's Anecdotes of Byron. It is written with power, apparently by
Professor Wilson, but with a degree of passion which rather diminishes
the effect; for nothing can more lessen the dignity of the satirist than
being or seeming to be in a passion. I think it may come to a bloody
arbitrament,[139] for if L.H. should take it up as a gentleman, Wilson
is the last man to flinch. I hope Lockhart will not be dragged in as
second or otherwise. Went to Jeffrey's to dinner--there were Mrs. and
Miss Sydney Smith, Lords Gillies and Corehouse, etc. etc.

_February_ 24.--I fancy I had drunk a glass or two over much last
night, for I have the heartburn this morning. But a little magnesia
salves that sore. Meantime I have had an _inspiration_ which shows me my
good angel has not left me. For these two or three days I have been at
what the "Critic" calls a dead-lock[140]--all my incidents and
personages ran into a gordian knot of confusion, to which I could devise
no possible extricati