eundo_. Now, were the said stone arrested in its progress, the whole
labour would be to commence again. To take a less conceited simile: I am
like a spavined horse, who sets out lame and stiff, but when he warms in
his gear makes a pretty good trot of it, so that it is better to take a
good stage of him while you can get it. Besides, after all, I have known
most of those formalists, who were not men of business or of office to
whom hours are prescribed as a part of duty, but who voluntarily make
themselves

"Slaves to an hour, and vassals to a bell,"[142]--

to be what I call very poor creatures.

General Ainslie looked in, and saddened me by talking of poor Don. The
General is a medallist, and entertains an opinion that the bonnet-piece
of James V. is the work of some Scottish artist who died young, and
never did anything else. It is far superior to anything which the Mint
produced since the Roman denarii. He also told me that the name of
Andrea de Ferrara is famous in Italy as an armourer.

Dined at home, and went to the Royal Society in the evening after
sending off my processes for the Sheriff Court. Also went after the
Society to Mr. James Russell's symposium.

_March_ 4.--A letter from Italy signed J.S. with many acute remarks on
inaccuracies in the life of Bonaparte.

His tone is hostile decidedly, but that shall not prevent my making use
of all his corrections where just.

The wretched publication of Leigh Hunt on the subject of Byron is to
bring forward Tom Moore's life of that distinguished poet, and I am
honoured and flattered by the information that he means to dedicate it
to me.[143]

A great deal of worry in the Court to-day, and I lost my spectacles, and
was a dark and perplexed man--found them again though. Wrote to Lockhart
and to Charles, and will do more if I can, but am sadly done up. An old
friend came and pressed unmercifully some selfish request of his own to
ask somebody to do something for his son. I shall be glad to be at
Abbotsford to get rid of this town, where I have not, in the proper and
social sense of the word, a single friend whose company pleases me. In
the country I have always Tom Purdie.

Dined at the Lord Chief Commissioner's, where I met, the first time for
thirty years, my old friend and boon companion, with whom I shared the
wars of Bacchus, Venus, and sometimes of Mars. The past rushed on me
like a flood and almost brought tears into my eyes. It is no very
lauda