icence of Europe. And yet, in
most cases, as little is known of the people who wrought these wonders
as of the kings who built the Pyramids. Fame depends on literature, not
on architecture. We are more eager to see a broken column of Cicero's
villa, than all those mighty labours of barbaric power. Mrs. Blair is
full of enthusiasm. She told me that when she worked with her pencil she
was glad to have some one to read to her as a sort of sedative,
otherwise her excitement made her tremble, and burst out a-crying. I can
understand this very well, having often found the necessity of doing two
things at once. She is a very pretty, dark woman too, and has been
compared to Rebecca, daughter of the Jew, Isaac of York.

Detained in the Court till half-past two bothering about Lady Essex
Kerr's will without coming to a conclusion. I then got home too late to
do anything, as I must prepare to go to Dalmahoy. Mr. Gibson came in for
a little while; no news.

I went to Dalmahoy, where we were most kindly received. It is a point of
friendship, however, to go eight miles to dinner and return in the
evening; and my day has been cut up without a brush of work. Smoked a
cigar on my return, being very cold.

_February_ 25.--This morning I corrected my proofs. We get on, as John
Ferguson said when they put him on a hunter. I fear there is too much
historical detail, and the catastrophe will be vilely huddled up. "And
who can help it, Dick?" Visited James Ballantyne, and found him bearing
his distress sensibly and like a man. I called in at Cadell's, and also
inquired after Lady Jane Stuart, who is complaining. Three o'clock
placed me at home, and from that hour till ten, deduct two hours for
dinner, I was feaguing it away.

_February_ 26.--Sent off ten pages this morning, with a revise; we spy
land, but how to get my catastrophe packed into the compass allotted for
it--

"It sticks like a pistol half out of its holster,
Or rather indeed like an obstinate bolster,
Which I think I have seen you attempting, my dear,
In vain to cram into a small pillowbeer."

There is no help for it--I must make a _tour de force_, and annihilate
both time and space. Dined at home; nevertheless made small progress.
But I must prepare my dough before I can light my oven. I would fain
think I am in the right road.

_February_ 27.--The last post brought a letter from Mr. Heath, proposing
to set off his engravings for the _Magnum Opus_ again