ished foreigners to the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

[255] Published in four volumes, 8vo, 1829. Fauche-Borel, an agent of
the Bourbons, had just died. The book is still in the Abbotsford
library.

[256] _Ancient Metrical Tales_, edited by Rev. C.H. Hartshorne. 8vo
London, 1829.

[257] The Right Hon. William Dundas, born 1762, died 1845; appointed
Lord Clerk Register in 1821.

[258] Ben Jonson, _Every Man in his Humour,_ Act I. Sc. 4.

[259] For notices of this gigantic cannon see _ante_, vol. i. p. 43, and
_post_, pp. 247-8; also _Life_, vol. vii. pp. 86-87.

[260] Some of these fine drawings have been engraved for Colonel Tod's
_Travels in Western India_. Lond., 4to, 1839.--J.G.L.

[261] Moliere, _L'Amour Medecin_, Act I. Sc. 1 (_joaillier_ for
_orfevre_).

[262] The following extract from a letter by Wilkie shows how willingly
he had responded to Scott's request:--

7 TERRACE, KENSINGTON, LONDON, _Jan_. 1829.

"DEAR SIR WALTER,--I pass over all those disastrous events that have
arrived to us both since our last, as you justly call it, melancholy
parting, to assure you how delighted I shall be if I can in the most
inconsiderable degree assist in the illustrations of the great work,
which we all hope may lighten or remove that load of troubles by which
your noble spirit is at this time beset; considering it as only repaying
a debt of obligation which you yourself have laid upon me when, with an
unseen hand in the _Antiquary_, you took me up and claimed me, the
humble painter of domestic sorrow, as your countryman."

MARCH

_March_ 1.--I laboured hard the whole day, and, between hands, refreshed
myself with Vidocq's _Memoirs_. No one called except Hay Drummond, who
had something to say about Mons Meg. So I wrote before and after dinner,
till no less than ten pages were finished.

_March_ 2.--I wrought but little to-day. I was not in the vein, and felt
sleepy. I thought to go out, but disgust of the pavement kept me at
home, _O rus_, etc. It is pleasant to think that the 11th March sets us
on the route for Abbotsford. I shall be done long before with this
confounded novel. I wish I were, for I find trouble in bringing it to a
conclusion. People compliment me sometimes on the extent of my labour;
but if I could employ to purpose the hours that indolence and lassitude
steal away from me, they would have cause to wonder indeed. But day must
have night, vigilance must have sleep, and labour, bodily or