Mr. Donald M'Leod, our original guide, who had parted from us at
Dunvegan, joined us again to-day. The weather was still so bad that we
could not travel. I found a closet here, with a good many books, beside
those that were lying about. Dr. Johnson told me, he found a library in
his room at Talisker; and observed, that it was one of the remarkable
things of Sky, that there were so many books in it.
Though we had here great abundance of provisions, it is remarkable that
Corrichatachin has literally no garden: not even a turnip, a carrot, or
a cabbage. After dinner, we talked of the crooked spade used in Sky,
already described, and they maintained that it was better than the usual
garden-spade, and that there was an art in tossing it, by which those
who were accustomed to it could work very easily with it. 'Nay, (said
Dr. Johnson,) it may be useful in land where there are many stones to
raise; but it certainly is not a good instrument for digging good land.
A man may toss it, to be sure; but he will toss a light spade much
better: its weight makes it an incumbrance. A man _may_ dig any land
with it; but he has no occasion for such a weight in digging good land.
You may take a field piece to shoot sparrows; but all the sparrows you
can bring home will not be worth the charge.' He was quite social and
easy amongst them; and, though he drank no fermented liquor, toasted
Highland beauties with great readiness. His conviviality engaged them so
much, that they seemed eager to shew their attention to him, and vied
with each other in crying out, with a strong Celtick pronunciation,
'Toctor Shonson, Toctor Shonson, your health!'
This evening one of our married ladies, a lively pretty little woman,
good-humouredly sat down upon Dr. Johnson's knee, and, being encouraged
by some of the company, put her hands round his neck, and kissed him.
'Do it again, (said he,) and let us see who will tire first.' He kept
her on his knee some time, while he and she drank tea. He was now like a
_buck_[712] indeed. All the company were much entertained to find him so
easy and pleasant. To me it was highly comick, to see the grave
philosopher,--the Rambler,-toying with a Highland beauty[713]!--But what
could he do? He must have been surly, and weak too, had he not behaved
as he did. He would have been laughed at, and not more respected, though
less loved.
He read to-night, to himself, as he sat in company, a great deal of my
Journal, and said to me, 'The more I read of this, I think the more
highly of you.' The gentlemen sat a long time at their punch, after he
and I had retired to our chambers. The manner in which they were
attended struck me as singular:--The bell being broken, a smart lad lay
on a table in the corner of the room, ready to spring up and bring the
kettle, whenever it was wanted. They continued drinking, and singing
Erse songs, till near five in the morning, when they all came into my
room, where some of them had beds. Unluckily for me, they found a bottle
of punch in a corner, which they drank; and Corrichatachin went for
another, which they also drank. They made many apologies for disturbing
me. I told them, that, having been kept awake by their mirth, I had once
thoughts of getting up, and joining them again. Honest Corrichatachin
said, 'To have had you done so, I would have given a cow.'