Sir Patrick Murray, Baron Hume, Lord Provost, Sir John Hay, Mr. Gilbert Innes, and myself.  We were all of opinion that personally we ought to have nothing to do with it.  But I thought as trustees for the public, we were bound to let the public know how the matter stood, and that they might, if they pleased, have the theatrical property for L16,000, which is dog cheap.  They were all clear to give it up (the right of reversion) to Mrs. Siddons.  I am glad she should have it, for she is an excellent person, and so is her brother.  But I think it has been a little jobbish.  There is a clause providing the new patentees may redeem.  I desired that the circumstance should be noted, that we were only exercising our own judgment, leaving the future trustees to exercise theirs.  I rather insisted that there should be some saving clause of this kind, even for the sake of our honour.  But I could not prevail upon my colleagues to put such a saving clause on the minutes, though they agreed to the possibility of the new patentees redeeming on behalf of the public.  I do not think we have done right.

I called on Mr. Cadell, whose reports of the Magnum might fill up the dreams of Alnaschar should he sleep as long as the seven sleepers.  The rest was labour and letters till bed-time.

June 3.—­The ugly symptoms still continue.  Dr. Ross does not make much of it, and I think he is apt to look grave.[330] I wrote in the morning.  Dr. Macintosh Mackay came to breakfast, and brought a Gaelic book, which he has published—­the Poetry of Rob Donn—­some of which seems pretty as he explained it.  Court kept me till near two, and then home comes I. Afternoon and evening was spent as usual.  In the evening Dr. Ross ordered me to be cupped, an operation which I only knew from its being practised by that eminent medical practitioner the barber of Bagdad.  It is not painful; and, I think, resembles a giant twisting about your flesh between his finger and thumb.

June 4.—­I was obliged to absent myself from the Court on Dr. Ross’s positive instance; and, what is worse, I was compelled to send an apology to Hopetoun House, where I expected to see Madame Caradori, who was to sing Jock of Hazeldean.  I wrote the song for Sophia; and I find my friends here still prefer her to the foreign syren.

    “However, Madame Caradori,
    To miss you I am very sorry,
    I should have taken it for glory
    To have heard you sing my Border story.”

I worked at the Tales of my Grandfather, but leisurely.

June 5.—­Cadell came to dine with me tete-a-tete, for the girls are gone to Hopetoun House.  We had ample matter to converse upon, for his horn was full of good news.  While we were at dinner we had letters from London and Ireland, which decided him to raise the impression of Waverley to 15,000.  This, with 10,000 on the number line which Ireland is willing to take, will make L18,000