rgh, where I am ashamed to walk
so slow as would suit me. Indeed nothing but a certain suspicion, that
once drawn up on the beach I would soon break up, prevents me renouncing
pedestrian exercises altogether, for it is positive suffering, and of an
acute kind too.

_March_ 15.--Altogether like yesterday. Wrote in the
morning--breakfasted--wrote again till one--out and walked about two
hours--to the quills once more--dinner--smoked a brace of cigars and
looked on the fire--a page of writing, and so to bed.

_March_ 16.--Day sullen and bitter cold. I fear it brings chilblains on
its wings. A dashing of snow, in thin flakes, wandering from the
horizon, and threatening a serious fall. As the murderer says to Banquo,
"Let it come down!"--we shall have the better chance of fair weather
hereafter. It cleared up, however, and I walked from one, or thereabout,
till within a quarter of four. A card from Mr. Dempster of Skibo,[275]
whose uncle, George Dempster, I knew many years since, a friend of
Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and all that set--a fine good-humoured old
gentleman. Young Mrs. Dempster is a daughter of my early friend and
patron, Robert Dundas of Arniston, Lord Advocate, and I like her for his
sake. Mr. Dempster is hunting, and I should have liked to have given his
wife and sister refuge during the time he must spend over moss and moor.
But the two Annes going to Edinburgh to a fancy ball makes it impossible
till they return on Friday night.

_March_ 17.--The Annes went off at eight, morning. After breakfast I
drove down to Melrose and waited on Mrs. and Miss Dempster, and engaged
them for Saturday. Weather bitter cold; yea, atrociously so.
Naboclish--the better for work. Ladies whose husbands love fox-hunting
are in a poor way. Here are two pleasant and pretty women pegged up the
whole day

"In the worst inn's worst room"[276]

for the whole twenty-four hours without interruption. They manage the
matter otherwise in France, where ladies are the lords of the ascendant.
I returned from my visit to my solitary work and solitary meal. I eked
out the last two hours' length by dint of smoking, which I find a
sedative without being a stimulant.

_March_ 18.--I like the hermit life indifferent well, nor would, I
sometimes think, break my heart, were I to be in that magic mountain
where food was regularly supplied by ministering genii,[277] and plenty
of books were accessible without the least intervention of huma