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THE EUROPEAN JOURNALS 



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Sunday, November 2G. I went to a Scotch church this 

 morning, but it was cold and the services seemed to me 

 cold also, but it may have been that I was unaccustomed 

 to them. Snow lay thick on the ground and my lodgings 

 looked cheerless, all but my picture, at which I worked on 

 my return. I had put my work on the floor, and was 

 standing on a chair to see the effect at a good distance, 

 when Mrs. Lizars entered with her husband ; they had 

 come to invite me to dine with them on roasted sheep's- 

 head (a Scotch dish), and I was glad to accept, for I was 

 on the verge of a fit of depression, one of those severe 

 ones when I am almost afraid to be alone in my lodgings ; 

 alonfe indeed I am, without one soul to whom I can open 

 my heart. True, I have been alone before, but that was 

 in beloved America, where the ocean did not roll between 

 me and my wife and sons. At four, therefore, I reached 

 James' Square and dined with these good people without 

 pomp or ostentation ; it is the only true way to live. Found 

 the sheep's-head delicious, and spent the evening most 

 agreeably. I was shown many beautiful sketches, and two 

 plates of my birds well advanced. Mr. Lizars walked 

 home with me ; the weather was intensely cold, and the 

 wind blew a gale; on turning a corner it almost threw me 

 down, and although warmly dressed I felt the chill keenly. 

 This morning seems a long way off, so many things have I 

 thought of this day. 



Monday y November 27. As soon as it dawned I was up 

 and at work, and quite finished my drawing before break- 

 fast. Mr. Syme came to see me, and was surprised to 

 find it done. I had also outlined my favorite subject, the 

 Otter in a trap. At twelve I went to stand up for my 

 picture, and sick enough I was of it by two ; at the request 

 of Mr. Lizars I wear my wolf-skin coat, and if the head is 

 not a strong likeness, perhaps the coat may be ; but this is 

 discourteous of me, even to my journal. Mr. Lizars 

 brought a Mr. Key, an artist, to throw a sky over my 



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