em at last. I smoked away, and thought of ticklish politics
and bad novels. Skene supped with us.

_March_ 9.--Cadell came to breakfast. We resolved in Privy Council to
refer the question whether _Anne of G----n_ be sea-worthy or not to
further consideration, which, as the book cannot be published, at any
rate, during the full rage of the Catholic question, may be easily
managed. After breakfast I went to Sir William Arbuthnot's,[270] and met
there a select party of Tories, to decide whether we should act with the
Whigs by owning their petition in favour of the Catholics. I was not
free from apprehension that the petition might be put into such general
language as I, at least, was unwilling to authenticate by my
subscription. The Solicitor[271] was voucher that they would keep the
terms quite general; whereupon we subscribed the requisition for a
meeting, with a slight alteration, affirming that it was our desire not
to have intermeddled, had not the anti-Catholics pursued that course;
and so the Whigs and we are embarked in the same boat, _vogue la
galere_.

Went about one o'clock to the Castle, where we saw the auld murderess
Mons Meg brought up there in solemn procession to reoccupy her ancient
place on the Argyle battery. Lady Hopetoun was my belle. The day was
cold but serene, and I think the ladies must have been cold enough, not
to mention the Celts, who turned out upon the occasion, under the
leading of Cluny Macpherson, a fine spirited lad. Mons Meg is a monument
of our pride and poverty. The size is immense, but six smaller guns
would have been made at the same expense, and done six times as much
execution as she could have done. There was immense interest taken in
the show by the people of the town, and the numbers who crowded the
Castle-hill had a magnificent appearance. About thirty of our Celts
attended in costume; and as there was a Highland regiment on duty, with
dragoons and artillerymen, the whole made a splendid show. The
dexterity with which the last manned and wrought the windlass which
raised old Meg, weighing seven or eight tons, from her temporary
carriage to that which has been her basis for many years, was singularly
beautiful as a combined exhibition of skill and strength. My daughter
had what might have proved a frightful accident. Some rockets were let
off, one of which lighted upon her head, and set her bonnet on fire. She
neither screamed nor ran, but quietly permitted Charles K. Sharpe t