After a good night's rest, we breakfasted at our leisure. We talked of
Goldsmith's Traveller, of which Dr Johnson spoke highly; and, while I
was helping him on with his great coat, he repeated from it the
character of the British nation, which he did with such energy, that
the tear started into his eye:
'"Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state.
With daring aims irregularly great,
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of humankind pass by,
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd; fresh from nature's hand;
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
True to imagin'd right, above control,
While ev'n the peasant boasts these rights to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man."'
We could get but one bridle here, which, according to the maxim detur
digniori, was appropriated to Dr Johnson's sheltie. I and Joseph rode
with halters. We crossed in a ferry-boat a pretty wide lake, and on
the farther side of it, close by the shore, found a hut for our inn.
We were much wet. I changed my clothes in part, and was at pains to
get myself well dried. Dr Johnson resolutely kept on all his clothes,
wet as they were, letting them steam before the smoky turf fire. I
thought him in the wrong; but his firmness was, perhaps, a species of
heroism.
I remember but little of our conversation. I mentioned Shenstone's
saying of Pope, that he had the art of condensing sense more than any
body. Dr Johnson said, 'It is not true, sir. There is more sense in a
line of Cowley than in a page' (or a sentence of ten lines--I am not
quite certain of the very phrase) 'of Pope.' He maintained that
Archibald, Duke of Argyle, was a narrow man. I wondered at this; and
observed, that his building so great a house at Inveraray was not like
a narrow man. 'Sir,' said he, 'when a narrow man has resolved to build
a house, he builds it like another man. But Archibald, Duke of Argyle,
was narrow in his ordinary expences, in his quotidian expences.'
The distinction is very just. It is in the ordinary expences of life
that a man's liberality or narrowness is to be discovered. I never
heard the word quotidian in this sense, and I imagined it to be a word
of Dr Johnson's own fabrication; but I have since found it in Young's
Night Thoughts (Night fifth):
Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey.
and in my friend's Dictionary, supported by the authorities of Charles
I and Dr Donne.
It rained very hard as we journied on after dinner. The roar of
torrents from the mountains, as we passed along in the dusk, and the
other circumstances attending our ride this evening, have been
mentioned with so much animation by Dr Johnson, that I shall not
attempt to say any thing on the subject.
We got at night to Inveraray, where we found an excellent inn. Even
here, Dr Johnson would not change his wet clothes.
The prospect of good accommodation cheered us much. We supped well;
and after supper, Dr Johnson, whom I had not seen taste any fermented
liquor during all our travels, called for a gill of whisky. 'Come,'
said he, 'let me know what it is that makes a Scotchman happy!' He
drank it all but a drop, which I begged leave to pour into my glass,
that I might say we had drunk whisky together. I proposed Mrs Thrale
should be our toast. He would not have HER drunk in whisky, but rather
'some insular lady', so we drank one of the ladies whom we had lately
left. He owned tonight, that he got as good a room and bed as at an
English inn.
I had here the pleasure of finding a letter from home, which relieved
me from the anxiety I had suffered, in consequence of not having
received any account of my family for many weeks. I also found a
letter from Mr Garrick, which was a regale as agreeable as a pineapple
would be in a desert. He had favoured me with his correspondence for
many years; and when Dr Johnson and I were at Inverness, I had written
to him as follows:
Inverness,
My dear Sir,
Sunday, 29 August, 1773
Here I am, and Mr Samuel Johnson actually with me. We were a night at
Fores, in coming to which, in the dusk of the evening, we passed over
a bleak and blasted heath where Macbeth met the witches. Your old
preceptor repeated, with much solemnity, the speech
How far is't called to Fores? What are these
So wither'd and so wild in their attire, etc.
This day we visited the ruins of Macbeth's castle at Inverness. I have
had great romantick satisfaction in seeing Johnson upon the classical
scenes of Shakspeare in Scotland; which I really looked upon as almost
as improbable as that 'Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane'. Indeed,
as I have always been accustomed to view him as a permanent London
object, it would not be much more wonderful to me to see St Paul's
church moving along where we now are. As yet we have travelled in
postchaises; but to-morrow we are to mount on horseback, and ascend
into the mountains by Fort Augustus, and so on to the ferry, where we
are to cross to Sky. We shall see that island fully, and then visit
some more of the Hebrides; after which we are to land in Argyleshire,
proceed by Glasgow to Auchinleck, repose there a competent time, and
then return to Edinburgh, from whence the Rambler will depart for old
England again, as soon as he finds it convenient. Hitherto we have had
a very prosperous expedition. I flatter myself servetur ad imum,
qualis ab incepto processerit. He is in excellent spirits, and I have
a rich Journal of his conversation. Look back, Davy, [Footnote: I took
the liberty of giving this familiar appellation to my celebrated
friend, to bring in a more lively manner to his remembrance the period
when he was Dr Johnson's pupil.] to Litchfield; run up through the
time that has elapsed since you first knew Mr Johnson, and enjoy with
me his present extraordinary tour. I could not resist the impulse of
writing to you from this place. The situation of the old castle
corresponds exactly to Shakspeare's description. While we were there
to-day, it happened oddly, that a raven perched upon one of the
chimney-tops, and croaked. Then I in my turn repeated,
'The raven himself is hoarse.
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan,
Under my battlements.'
I wish you had been with us. Think what enthusiastick happiness I
shall have to see Mr Samuel Johnson walking among the romantick rocks
and woods of my ancestors at Auchinleck! Write to me at Edinburgh. You
owe me his verses on great George and tuneful Cibber, and the bad
verses which led him to make his fine ones on Philips the musician.
Keep your promise, and let me have them. I offer my very best
compliments to Mrs Garrick, and ever am
Your warm admirer and friend,
JAMES BOSWELL.
To David Garrick, Esq;
London.
His answer was as follows.
Hampton,
September 14, 1773,
Dear Sir,
You stole away from London, and left us all in the lurch; for we
expected you one night at the club, and knew nothing of your
departure. Had I payed you what I owed you, for the book you bought
for me, I should only have grieved for the loss of your company, and
slept with a quiet conscience; but, wounded as it is, it must remain
so till I see you again, though I am sure our good friend Mr Johnson
will discharge the debt for me, if you will let him. Your account of
your journey to Fores, the RAVEN, OLD CASTLE, &c. &c. made me half
mad. Are you not rather too late in the year for fine weather, which
is the life and soul of seeing places? I hope your pleasure will
continue qualis ab incepto, &c.
Your friend---[Footnote: I have suppressed my Mend's name from an
apprehension of wounding his sensibility; but I would not withhold
from my readers a passage which shews Mr Gamck's mode of writing as
the Manager of a Theatre, and contains a pleasing trait of his
domestick life. His judgment of dramatick pieces, so far as concerns
their exhibition on the stage, must be allowed to have considerable
weight. But from the effect which a perusal of the tragedy here
condemned had upon myself, and from the opinions of some eminent
criticks. I venture to pronounce that it has much poetical merit; and
Its author has distinguished himself by several performances which
shew that the epithet poetaster was, in the present Instance, much
misapplied.] threatens me much. I only wish that he would put his
threats in execution, and, if he prints his play, I will forgive him.
I remember he complained to you, that his bookseller called for the
money for some copies of his--, which I subscribed for, and that I
desired him to call again. The truth is, that my wife was not at home,
and that for weeks together I have not ten shillings in my pocket.
However, had it been otherwise, it was not so great a crime to draw
his poetical vengeance upon me. I despise all that he can do, and am
glad that I can so easily get rid of him and his ingratitude. I am
hardened both to abuse and ingratitude.
You, I am sure, will no more recommend your poetasters to my civility
and good offices.
Shall I recommend to you a play of Eschylus (the Prometheus),
published and translated by poor old Morel], who is a good scholar,
and an acquaintance of mine. It will be but half a guinea, and your
name shall be put in the list I am making for him. You will be in very
good company.
Now for the Epitaphs!
(These, together with the verses on George the Second, and Colley
Gibber, as his Poet Laureat, of which imperfect copies are gone about,
will appear in my Life of Dr Johnson.)
I have no more paper, or I should have said more to you. My love and
respects to Mr Johnson.
Yours ever,
D. GARRICK.
I can't write. I have the gout in my hand.
To James Boswell, Esq., Edinburgh.