have been writing, and something is
concocted. I cannot compare this process of the mind to anything save
that of a woman to whom the mechanical operation of spinning serves as a
running bass to the songs she sings, or the course of ideas she pursues.
The phrase _Hoc age_, often quoted by my father, does not jump with my
humour. I cannot nail my mind to one subject of contemplation, and it is
by nourishing two trains of ideas that I can bring one into order.

Colin Mackenzie came in to see me, poor fellow. He looks well in his
retirement. Partly I envy him--partly I am better pleased as it is.

_February_ 16.--Stayed at home and laboured all the forenoon. Young
Invernahyle called to bid me interest myself about getting a lad of the
house of Scott a commission--how is this possible? The last I tried
for, there was about 3000 on the list--and they say the boy is too old,
being twenty-four. I scribbled three or four pages, forbore smoking and
whisky and water, and went to the Royal Society. There Sir William
Hamilton read an essay, the result of some anatomical investigations,
which contained a masked battery against the phrenologists.

_February_ 17.--In the morning I sent off copy and proof. I received the
melancholy news that James Ballantyne has lost his wife. With his
domestic habits the blow is irretrievable. What can he do, poor fellow,
at the head of such a family of children! I should not be surprised if
he were to give way to despair.

I was at the Court, where there was little to do, but it diddled away my
time till two. I went to the library, but not a book could I get to look
at. It is, I think, a wrong system the lending books to private houses
at all, and leads to immense annual losses. I called on Skene, and
borrowed a volume of his Journal, to get some information about Burgundy
and Provence. Something may be made out of King Rene, but I wish I had
thought of him sooner.[253] Dined alone with the girls.

_February_ 18.--This being Teind Wednesday I had a holiday. Worked the
whole day, interrupted by calls from Dr. Ross, Sir Hugh Palliser, Sir
David Hunter Blair, and Colonel Blair. I made out about six pages before
dinner, and go to Lord Gillies's to dine with a good conscience. Hay
Drummond came in, and discharged a volley at me which Mons Meg could
hardly have equalled. I will go to work with Skene's Journal. My head
aches violently, and has done so several days. It is cold, I think.

At Lord Gillies