We reached York, however, that night; I was much disordered with old

complaints. Next morning we saw the minster, an edifice of loftiness and

elegance, equal to the highest hopes of architecture. I remember

nothing, but the dome of St. Paul's, that can be compared with the

middle walk. The chapter-house is a circular building, very stately,

but, I think, excelled by the chapter-house of Lincoln.

I then went to see the ruins of the abbey, which are almost vanished,

and I remember nothing of them distinct. The next visit was to the gaol,

which they call the castle; a fabrick built lately, such is terrestrial

mutability, out of the materials of the ruined abbey. The under gaoler

was very officious to show his fetters, in which there was no

contrivance. The head gaoler came in, and seeing me look, I suppose,

fatigued, offered me wine, and, when I went away, would not suffer his

servant to take money. The gaol is accounted the best in the kingdom,

and you find the gaoler deserving of his dignity.

We dined at York, and went on to Northallerton, a place of which I know

nothing, but that it afforded us a lodging on Monday night, and about

two hundred and seventy years ago gave birth to Roger Ascham.

Next morning we changed our horses at Darlington, where Mr. Cornelius

Harrison, a cousin-german of mine, was perpetual curate. He was the only

one of my relations who ever rose in fortune above penury, or in

character above neglect.

The church is built crosswise, with a fine spire, and might invite a

traveller to survey it; but I, perhaps, wanted vigour, and thought I

wanted time.

The next stage brought us to Durham, a place of which Mr. Thrale bade me

take particular notice. The bishop's palace has the appearance of an old

feudal castle, built upon an eminence, and looking down upon the river,

upon which was formerly thrown a drawbridge, as I suppose, to be raised

at night, lest the Scots should pass it.

The cathedral has a massiness and solidity, such as I have seen in no

other place; it rather awes than pleases, as it strikes with a kind of

gigantick dignity, and aspires to no other praise than that of rocky

solidity and indeterminate duration. I had none of my friends resident,

and, therefore, saw but little. The library is mean and scanty.

At Durham, beside all expectation, I met an old friend: Miss Fordyce is

married there to a physician. We met, I think, with honest kindness on

both sides. I thought her much decayed, and having since heard that the

banker had involved her husband in his extensive ruin, I cannot forbear

to think, that I saw in her withered features more impression of sorrow

than that of time--

"Qua terra patet, sera regnat Erinnys."

He that wanders about the world sees new forms of human misery, and if

he chances to meet an old friend, meets a face darkened with troubles.

On Tuesday night we came hither; yesterday I took some care of myself,

and to-day I am _quite polite_. I have been taking a view of all that

could be shown me, and find that all very near to nothing. You have

often heard me complain of finding myself disappointed by books of

travels; I am afraid travel itself will end likewise in disappointment.

One town, one country, is very like another: civilized nations have the

same customs, and barbarous nations have the same nature: there are,

indeed, minute discriminations both of places and manners, which,

perhaps, are not wanting of curiosity, but which a traveller seldom

stays long enough to investigate and compare. The dull utterly neglect

them; the acute see a little, and supply the rest with fancy and

conjecture.

I shall set out again to-morrow; but I shall not, I am afraid, see

Alnwick, for Dr. Percy is not there. I hope to lodge to-morrow night at

Berwick, and the next at Edinburgh, where I shall direct Mr. Drummond,

bookseller at Ossian's head, to take care of my letters.

I hope the little dears are all well, and that my dear master and

mistress may go somewhither; but, wherever you go, do not forget, madam,

your most humble servant.

I am pretty well.

August 15.

Thus far I had written at Newcastle. I forgot to send it. I am now at

Edinburgh; and have been this day running about. I run pretty well.

XVII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Edinburgh, August 17, 1773.

DEAR MADAM,--On the 13th, I left Newcastle, and, in the afternoon, came

to Alnwick, where we were treated with great civility by the duke: I

went through the apartments, walked on the wall, and climbed the towers.

That night we lay at Belford, and, on the next night, came to Edinburgh.

On Sunday (15th) I went to the English chapel. After dinner, Dr.

Robertson came in, and promised to show me the place. On Monday I saw

their publick buildings: the cathedral, which I told Robertson I wished

to see, because it had once been a church; the courts of justice, the

parliament-house, the advocates' library, the repository of records, the

college, and its library, and the palace, particularly the old tower,

where the king of Scotland seized David Rizzio in the queen's presence.

Most of their buildings are very mean; and the whole town bears some

resemblance to the old part of Birmingham.

Boswell has very handsome and spacious rooms, level with the ground, on

one side of the house, and, on the other, four stories high.

At dinner, on Monday, were the dutchess of Douglas, an old lady, who

talks broad Scotch with a paralytick voice, and is scarcely understood

by her own countrymen; the lord chief baron, sir Adolphus Oughton, and

many more. At supper there was such a conflux of company, that I could

scarcely support the tumult. I have never been well in the whole

journey, and am very easily disordered.

This morning I saw, at breakfast, Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, who

does not remember to have seen light, and is read to, by a poor scholar,

in Latin, Greek, and French. He was, originally, a poor scholar himself.

I looked on him with reverence. Tomorrow our journey begins; I know not

when I shall write again. I am but poorly. I am, &c.

XVIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Bamff, August 25, 1773.

Dear Madam,--It has so happened, that, though I am perpetually thinking

on you, I could seldom find opportunity to write; I have, in fourteen

days, sent only one letter; you must consider the fatigues of travel,

and the difficulties encountered in a strange country.

August 18th. I passed, with Boswell, the frith of Forth, and began our

journey; in the passage we observed an island, which I persuaded my

companions to survey. We found it a rock somewhat troublesome to climb,

about a mile long, and half a mile broad; in the middle were the ruins

of an old fort, which had, on one of the stones,--"Maria Re. 1564." It

had been only a blockhouse, one story high. I measured two apartments,

of which the walls were entire, and found them twenty-seven feet long,

and twenty-three broad. The rock had some grass and many thistles; both

cows and sheep were grazing. There was a spring of water. The name is

Inchkeith. Look on your maps. This visit took about an hour. We pleased

ourselves with being in a country all our own, and then went back to the

boat, and landed at Kinghorn, a mean town; and, travelling through

Kirkaldie, a very long town, meanly built, and Cowpar, which I could not

see, because it was night, we came late to St. Andrew's, the most

ancient of the Scotch universities, and once the see of the primate of

Scotland. The inn was full; but lodgings were provided for us at the

house of the professor of rhetorick, a man of elegant manners, who

showed us, in the morning, the poor remains of a stately cathedral,

demolished in Knox's reformation, and now only to be imagined, by

tracing its foundation, and contemplating the little ruins that are

left. Here was once a religious house. Two of the vaults or cellars of

the sub-prior are even yet entire. In one of them lives an old woman,

who claims an hereditary residence in it, boasting that her husband was

the sixth tenant of this gloomy mansion, in a lineal descent, and

claims, by her marriage with this lord of the cavern, an alliance with

the Bruces. Mr. Boswell staid awhile to interrogate her, because he

understood her language; she told him, that she and her cat lived

together; that she had two sons somewhere, who might, perhaps, be dead;

that, when there were quality in the town, notice was taken of her, and

that now she was neglected, but did not trouble them. Her habitation

contained all that she had; her turf, for fire, was laid in one place,

and her balls of coal-dust in another, but her bed seemed to be clean.

Boswell asked her, if she never heard any noises; but she could tell him

of nothing supernatural, though she often wandered in the night among

the graves and ruins; only she had, sometimes, notice, by dreams, of the

death of her relations. We then viewed the remains of a castle, on the

margin of the sea, in which the archbishops resided, and in which

cardinal Beatoun was killed.

The professors, who happened to be readout in the vacation, made a

publick dinner, and treated us very kindly and respectfully. They showed

us their colleges, in one of which there is a library that, for

luminousness and elegance, may vie, at least, with the new edifice at

Streatham. But learning seems not to prosper among them; one of their

colleges has been lately alienated, and one of their churches lately

deserted. An experiment was made of planting a shrubbery in the church,

but it did not thrive.

Why the place should thus fall to decay, I know not; for education, such

as is here to be had, is sufficiently cheap. The term, or, as they call

it, their session, lasts seven months in the year, which the students of

the highest rank and greatest expense, may pass here for twenty pounds,

in which are included board, lodging, books, and the continual

instruction of three professors.

20th. We left St. Andrew's, well satisfied with our reception, and,

crossing the frith of Tay, came to Dundee, a dirty, despicable town. We

passed, afterwards, through Aberbrothick, famous once for an abbey, of

which there are only a few fragments left; but those fragments testify

that the fabrick was once of great extent, and of stupendous

magnificence. Two of the towers are yet standing, though shattered; into

one of them Boswell climbed, but found the stairs broken: the way into

the other we did not see, and had not time to search; I believe it might

be ascended, but the top, I think, is open.

We lay at Montrose, a neat place, with a spacious area for the market,

and an elegant town-house.

21st. We travelled towards Aberdeen, another university, and, in the

way, dined at lord Monboddo's, the Scotch judge, who has lately written

a strange book about the origin of language, in which he traces monkeys

up to men, and says that, in some countries, the human species have

tails like other beasts. He inquired for these long-tailed men of Banks,

and was not well pleased, that they had not been found in all his

peregrination. He talked nothing of this to me, and I hope we parted

friends; for we agreed pretty well, only we disputed in adjusting the

claims of merit between a shopkeeper of London, and a savage of the

American wildernesses. Our opinions were, I think, maintained, on both

sides, without full conviction: Monboddo declared boldly for the savage;

and I, perhaps, for that reason, sided with the citizen.

We came late to Aberdeen, where I found my dear mistress's letter, and

learned that all our little people were happily recovered of the

measles. Every part of your letter was pleasing.

There are two cities of the name of Aberdeen: the old town, built about

a mile inland, once the see of a bishop, which contains the king's

college, and the remains of the cathedral; and the new town, which

stands, for the sake of trade, upon a frith or arm of the sea, so that

ships rest against the quay.

The two cities have their separate magistrates; and the two colleges

are, in effect, two universities, which confer degrees independently of

each other.

New Aberdeen is a large town, built almost wholly of that granite which

is used for the new pavement in London, which, hard as it is, they

square with very little difficulty. Here I first saw the women in

plaids. The plaid makes, at once, a hood and cloak, without cutting or

sewing, merely by the manner of drawing the opposite sides over the

shoulders. The maids, at the inns, run over the house barefoot; and

children, not dressed in rags, go without shoes or stockings. Shoes are,

indeed, not yet in universal use; they came late into this country. One

of the professors told us, as we were mentioning a fort, built by

Cromwell, that the country owed much of its present industry to

Cromwell's soldiers. They taught us, said he, to raise cabbage, and make

shoes. How they lived without shoes may yet be seen; but, in the passage

through villages, it seems to him, that surveys their gardens, that when

they had not cabbage, they had nothing.

Education is here of the same price as at St. Andrew's, only the session

is but from the 1st of November to the 1st of April. The academical

buildings seem rather to advance than decline. They showed their

libraries, which were not very splendid, but some manuscripts were so

exquisitely penned, that I wished my dear mistress to have seen them. I

had an unexpected pleasure, by finding an old acquaintance, now

professor of physick, in the king's college: we were, on both sides,

glad of the interview, having not seen, nor, perhaps, thought on one

another, for many years; but we had no emulation, nor had either of us

risen to the other's envy, and our old kindness was easily renewed. I

hope we shall never try the effect of so long an absence, and that I

shall always be, madam your, &c.

XIX.--To MRS. THRALE.

Inverness, August 28, 1773.

DEAR MADAM,--August 23rd, I had the honour of attending the lord provost

of Aberdeen, and was presented with the freedom of the city, not in a

gold box, but in good Latin. Let me pay Scotland one just praise! there

was no officer gaping for a fee; this could have been said of no city on

the English side of the Tweed. I wore my patent of freedom, _pro more_,

in my hat, from the new town to the old, about a mile. I then dined with

my friend, the professor of physick, at his house, and saw the king's

college. Boswell was very angry, that the Aberdeen professors would not

talk. When I was at the English church, in Aberdeen, I happened to be

espied by lady Di. Middleton, whom I had sometime seen in London; she

told what she had seen to Mr. Boyd, lord Errol's brother, who wrote us

an invitation to lord Errol's house, called Slane's castle We went

thither on the next day, (24th of August,) and found a house, not old,

except but one tower, built on the margin of the sea, upon a rock,

scarce accessible from the sea; at one corner, a tower makes a

perpendicular continuation of the lateral surface of the rock, so that

it is impracticable to walk round; the house inclosed a square court,

and on all sides within the court is a piazza, or gallery, two stories

high. We came in, as we were invited to dinner, and, after dinner,

offered to go; but lady Errol sent us word by Mr. Boyd, that if we went

before lord Errol came home, we must never be forgiven, and ordered out

the coach to show us two curiosities. We were first conducted, by Mr.

Boyd, to Dunbuys, or the yellow rock. Dunbuys is a rock, consisting of

two protuberances, each, perhaps, one hundred yards round, joined

together by a narrow neck, and separated from the land by a very narrow

channel or gully. These rocks are the haunts of seafowl, whose clang,

though this is not their season, we heard at a distance. The eggs and

the young are gathered here, in great numbers, at the time of breeding.

There is a bird here, called a coot, which, though not much bigger than

a duck, lays a larger egg than a goose. We went then to see the Buller,

or Bouilloir, of Buchan: Buchan is the name of the district, and the

Buller is a small creek, or gulf, into which the sea flows through an

arch of the rock. We walked round it, and saw it black, at a great

depth. It has its name from the violent ebullition of the water, when

high winds or high tides drive it up the arch into the basin. Walking a

little farther, I spied some boats, and told my companions that we would

go into the Buller and examine it. There was no danger; all was calm; we

went through the arch, and found ourselves in a narrow gulf, surrounded

by craggy rocks, of height not stupendous, but, to a mediterranean

visitor, uncommon. On each side was a cave, of which the fisherman knew

not the extent, in which smugglers hide their goods, and sometimes

parties of pleasure take a dinner. I am, &c.

XX.--To MRS. THRALE.

Skie, September 6, 1773.

DEAREST MADAM,--I am now looking on the sea, from a house of sir

Alexander Macdonald, in the isle of Skie. Little did I once think of

seeing this region of obscurity, and little did you once expect a

salutation from this verge of European life. I have now the pleasure of

going where nobody goes, and seeing what nobody sees. Our design is to

visit several of the smaller islands, and then pass over to the south-west

of Scotland.

I returned from the sight of Buller's Buchan to lord Errol's, and,

having seen his library, had, for a time, only to look upon the sea,

which rolled between us and Norway. Next morning, August 25th, we

continued our journey through a country not uncultivated, but so denuded

of its woods, that, in all this journey, I had not travelled a hundred

yards between hedges, or seen five trees fit for the carpenter. A few

small plantations may be found, but I believe scarcely any thirty years

old; at least, they are all posterior to the union. This day we dined

with a country-gentleman, who has in his grounds the remains of a

Druid's temple, which, when it is complete, is nothing more than a

circle, or double circle, of stones, placed at equal distances, with a

flat stone, perhaps an altar, at a certain point, and a stone, taller

than the rest, at the opposite point. The tall stone is erected, I

think, at the south. Of these circles, there are many in all the

unfrequented parts of the island. The inhabitants of these parts respect

them as memorials of the sculpture of some illustrious person. Here I

saw a few trees. We lay at Bamff.

August 26th. We dined at Elgin, where we saw the ruins of a noble

cathedral; the chapter-house is yet standing. A great part of Elgin is

built with small piazzas to the lower story. We went on to Foris, over

the heath where Macbeth met the witches, but had no adventure; only in

the way we saw, for the first time, some houses with fruit-trees about

them. The improvements of the Scotch are for immediate profit; they do

not yet think it quite worth their while to plant what will not produce

something to be eaten, or sold, in a very little time. We rested at

Foris.

A very great proportion of the people are barefoot; shoes are not yet

considered as necessaries of life. It is still the custom to send out

the sons of gentlemen without them into the streets and ways. There are

more beggars than I have ever seen in England; they beg, if not

silently, yet very modestly.

Next day we came to Nairn, a miserable town, but a royal burgh, of which

the chief annual magistrate is styled lord provost. In the neighbourhood

we saw the castle of the old thane of Cawdor. There is one ancient

tower, with its battlements and winding stairs, yet remaining; the rest

of the house is, though not modern, of later erection.

On the 28th we went to Fort George, which is accounted the most regular

fortification in the island. The major of artillery walked with us round

the walls, and showed us the principles upon which every part was

constructed, and the way in which it could be defended. We dined with

the governour, sir Eyre Coote, and his officers. It was a very pleasant

and instructive day; but nothing puts my honoured mistress out of my

mind.

At night we came to Inverness, the last considerable town in the north,

where we staid all the next day, for it was Sunday, and saw the ruins of

what is called Macbeth's castle. It never was a large house, but was

strongly situated. From Inverness we were to travel on horseback.

August 30th. We set out with four horses. We had two highlanders to run

by us, who were active, officious, civil, and hardy. Our journey was,

for many miles, along a military way, made upon the banks of Lough Ness,

a water about eighteen miles long, but not, I think, half a mile broad.

Our horses were not bad, and the way was very pleasant; the rock, out of

which the road was cut, was covered with birch-trees, fern, and heath.

The lake below was beating its bank by a gentle wind, and the rocks

beyond the water, on the right, stood sometimes horrid, and wild, and

sometimes opened into a kind of bay, in which there was a spot of

cultivated ground, yellow with corn. In one part of the way we had trees

on both sides, for, perhaps, half a mile. Such a length of shade,

perhaps Scotland cannot show in any other place.

You are not to suppose, that here are to be any more towns or inns. We

came to a cottage, which they call the General's Hut, where we alighted

to dine, and had eggs and bacon, and mutton, with wine, rum, and

whiskey. I had water.

At a bridge over the river, which runs into the Ness the rocks rise on

three sides, with a direction almost perpendicular, to a great height;

they are, in part, covered with trees, and exhibit a kind of dreadful

magnificence:--standing like the barriers of nature, placed to keep

different orders of being in perpetual separation. Near this bridge is

the fall of Fiers, a famous cataract, of which, by clambering over the

rocks, we obtained a view. The water was low, and, therefore, we had

only the pleasure of knowing that rain would make it, at once, pleasing

and formidable; there will then be a mighty flood, foaming along a rocky

channel, frequently obstructed by protuberances, and exasperated by

reverberation, at last precipitated with a sudden descent, and lost in

the depth of a gloomy chasm.

We came, somewhat late, to Fort Augustus, where the lieutenant-governour

met us beyond the gates, and apologized that, at that hour, he could

not, by the rules of a garrison, admit us, otherwise than at a narrow

door, which only one can enter at a time. We were well entertained and

well lodged, and, next morning, after having viewed the fort, we pursued

our journey.

Our way now lay over the mountains, which are not to be passed by

climbing them directly, but by traversing; so that, as we went forward,

we saw our baggage following us below, in a direction exactly contrary.

There is, in these ways, much labour, but little danger, and, perhaps,

other places, of which very terrifick representations are made, are not,

in themselves, more formidable. These roads have all been made by hewing

the rock away with pickaxes, or bursting it with gunpowder. The stones,

so separated, are often piled loose, as a wall by the wayside. We saw an

inscription, importing the year in which one of the regiments made two

thousand yards of the road eastward.

After tedious travel of some hours, we came to what, I believe, we must

call a village, a place where there were three huts built of turf; at

one of which we were to have our dinner and our bed, for we could not

reach any better place that night. This place is called Enoch in

Glenmorrison. The house, in which we lodged, was distinguished by a

chimney, the rest had only a hole for the smoke. Here we had eggs, and

mutton, and a chicken, and a sausage, and rum. In the afternoon tea was

made by a very decent girl in a printed linen: she engaged me so much,

that I made her a present of Cocker's arithmetick. I am, &c.

XXI.--To MRS. THRALE.

Skie, Sept. 14,1773.

DEAREST MADAM,--The post, which comes but once a week into these parts,

is so soon to go, that I have not time to go on where I left off in my

last letter. I have been several days in the island of Raarsa, and am

now again in the isle of Skie, but at the other end of it.

Skie is almost equally divided between the two great families of

Macdonald and Macleod, other proprietors having only small districts.

The two great lords do not know, within twenty square miles, the

contents of their own territories.

--kept up but ill the reputation of highland hospitality; we are now

with Macleod, quite at the other end of the island, where there is a

fine young gentleman and fine ladies. The ladies are studying Erse. I

have a cold, and am miserably deaf, and am troublesome to lady Macleod;

I force her to speak loud, but she will seldom speak loud enough.

Raarsa is an island about fifteen miles long and two broad, under the

dominion of one gentleman, who has three sons and ten daughters; the

eldest is the beauty of this part of the world, and has been polished at

Edinburgh: they sing and dance, and, without expense, have upon their

table most of what sea, air, or earth can afford. I intended to have

written about Raarsa, but the post will not wait longer than while I

send my compliments to my dear master and little mistresses. I am, &c.

XXII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Skie, Sept. 21, 1773.

DEAREST MADAM,--I am so vexed at the necessity of sending yesterday so

short a letter, that I purpose to get a long letter beforehand, by

writing something every day, which I may the more easily do, as a cold

makes me now too deaf to take the usual pleasure in conversation. Lady

Macleod is very good to me; and the place, at which we now are, is

equal, in strength of situation, in the wildness of the adjacent

country, and in the plenty and elegance of the domestick entertainment,

to a castle in Gothick romances. The sea, with a little island, is

before us; cascades play within view. Close to the house is the

formidable skeleton of an old castle, probably Danish; and the whole

mass of building stands upon a protuberance of rock, inaccessible till

of late, but by a pair of stairs on the seaside, and secure, in ancient

times, against any enemy that was likely to invade the kingdom of Skie.

Macleod has offered me an island; if it were not too far off, I should

hardly refuse it: my island would be pleasanter than Brighthelmstone, if

you and my master could come to it; but I cannot think it pleasant to

live quite alone,

"Oblitusque meorum, obliviscendus et illis."

That I should be elated, by the dominion of an island to forgetfulness

of my friends at Streatham, I cannot believe, and I hope never to

deserve that they should be willing to forget me.

It has happened, that I have been often recognised in my journey, where

I did not expect it. At Aberdeen, I found one of my acquaintance

professor of physick: turning aside to dine with a country-gentleman, I

was owned, at table, by one who had seen me at a philosophical lecture:

at Macdonald's I was claimed by a naturalist, who wanders about the

islands to pick up curiosities: and I had once, in London, attracted the

notice of lady Macleod. I will now go on with my account.

The highland girl made tea, and looked and talked not inelegantly; her

father was by no means an ignorant or a weak man; there were books in

the cottage, among which were some volumes of Prideaux's Connexion: this

man's conversation we were glad of while we staid. He had been out, as

they call it, in forty-five, and still retained his old opinions. He was

going to America, because his rent was raised beyond what he thought

himself able to pay.

At night our beds were made, but we had some difficulty in persuading

ourselves to lie down in them, though we had put on our own sheets; at

last we ventured, and I slept very soundly in the vale of Glenmorrison,

amidst the rocks and mountains. Next morning our landlord liked us so

well, that he walked some miles with us for our company, through a

country so wild and barren, that the proprietor does not, with all his

pressure upon his tenants, raise more than four hundred pounds a year

for near one hundred square miles, or sixty thousand acres. He let us

know, that he had forty head of black cattle, a hundred goats, and a

hundred sheep, upon a farm that he remembered let at five pounds a year,

but for which he now paid twenty. He told us some stories of their march

into England. At last, he left us, and we went forward, winding among

mountains, sometimes green and sometimes naked, commonly so steep, as

not easily to be climbed by the greatest vigour and activity: our way

was often crossed by little rivulets, and we were entertained with small

streams trickling from the rocks, which, after heavy rains, must be

tremendous torrents.

About noon we came to a small glen, so they call a valley, which,

compared with other places, appeared rich and fertile; here our guides

desired us to stop, that the horses might graze, for the journey was

very laborious, and no more grass would be found. We made no difficulty

of compliance, and I sat down to take notes on a green bank, with a

small stream running at my feet, in the midst of savage solitude, with

mountains before me, and, on either hand, covered with heath. I looked

around me, and wondered, that I was not more affected, but the mind is

not at all times equally ready to be put in motion; if my mistress, and

master, and Queeney had been there, we should have produced some

reflections among us, either poetical or philosophical; for though

"solitude be the nurse of woe," conversation is often the parent of

remarks and discoveries.

In about an hour we remounted, and pursued our journey. The lake, by

which we had travelled for some time, ended in a river, which we passed

by a bridge, and came to another glen, with a collection of huts, called

Auknashealds; the huts were, generally, built of clods of earth, held

together by the intertexture of vegetable fibres, of which earth there

are great levels in Scotland, which they call mosses. Moss in Scotland

is bog in Ireland, and moss-trooper is bog-trotter; there was, however,

one hut built of loose stones, piled up, with great thickness, into a

strong, though not solid wall. From this house we obtained some great

pails of milk, and having brought bread with us, we were liberally

regaled. The inhabitants, a very coarse tribe, ignorant of any language

but Erse, gathered so fast about us, that, if we had not had highlanders

with us, they might have caused more alarm than pleasure; they are

called the clan of Macrae.

We had been told, that nothing gratified the highlanders so much as

snuff and tobacco, and had, accordingly, stored ourselves with both at

Fort Augustus. Boswell opened his treasure, and gave them each a piece

of tobacco roll. We had more bread than we could eat for the present,

and were more liberal than provident. Boswell cut it in slices, and gave

them an opportunity of tasting wheaten bread, for the first time. I then

got some half-pence for a shilling, and made up the deficiencies of

Boswell's distribution, who had given some money among the children. We

then directed, that the mistress of the stone-house should be asked,

what we must pay her. She, who, perhaps, had never before sold any thing

but cattle, knew not, I believe, well what to ask, and referred herself

to us: we obliged her to make some demand, and one of the Highlanders

settled the account with her at a shilling. One of the men advised her,

with the cunning that clowns never can be without, to ask more; but she

said that a shilling was enough. We gave her half-a-crown, and she

offered part of it again. The Macraes were so well pleased with our

behaviour, that they declared it the best day they had seen, since the

time of the old laird of Macleod, who, I suppose, like us, stopped in

their valley, as he was travelling to Skie.

We were mentioning this view of the highlander's life at Macdonald's,

and mentioning the Macraes, with some degree of pity, when a highland

lady informed us, that we might spare our tenderness, for she doubted

not but the woman, who supplied us with milk, was mistress of thirteen

or fourteen milch cows.

I cannot forbear to interrupt my narrative. Boswell, with some of his

troublesome kindness, has informed this family, and reminded me, that

the 18th of September is my birthday. The return of my birthday, if I

remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general

care of humanity to escape. I can now look back upon threescore and four

years, in which little has been done, and little has been enjoyed; a

life, diversified by misery, spent part in the sluggishness of penury,

and part under the violence of pain, in gloomy discontent, or

importunate distress. But, perhaps, I am better than I should have been,

if I had been less afflicted. With this I will try to be content.

In proportion as there is less pleasure in retrospective considerations,

the mind is more disposed to wander forward into futurity; but, at

sixty-four, what promises, however liberal, of imaginary good can

futurity venture to make? yet something will be always promised, and

some promises will be always credited. I am hoping, and I am praying,

that I may live better in the time to come, whether long or short, than

I have yet lived, and, in the solace of that hope, endeavour to repose.

Dear Queeney's day is next: I hope she, at sixty-four, will have less to

regret.

I will now complain no more, but tell my mistress of my travels.

After we left the Macraes, we travelled on through a country like that

which we passed in the morning. The highlands are very uniform, for

there is little variety in universal barrenness; the rocks, however, are

not all naked, for some have grass on their sides, and birches and

alders on their tops, and in the valleys are often broad and clear

streams, which have little depth, and commonly run very quick; the

channels are made by the violence of the wintry floods; the quickness of

the stream is in proportion to the declivity of the descent, and the

breadth of the channel makes the water shallow in a dry season.

There are red deer and roe bucks in the mountains, but we found only

goats in the road, and had very little entertainment, as we travelled,

either for the eye or ear. There are, I fancy, no singing birds in the

highlands.

Towards night we came to a very formidable hill, called Rattiken, which

we climbed with more difficulty than we had yet experienced, and, at

last, came to Glanelg, a place on the seaside, opposite to Skie. We

were, by this time, weary and disgusted, nor was our humour much mended

by our inn, which, though it was built of lime and slate, the

highlander's description of a house, which he thinks magnificent, had

neither wine, bread, eggs, nor any thing that we could eat or drink.

When we were taken up stairs, a dirty fellow bounced out of the bed,

where one of us was to lie. Boswell blustered, but nothing could be got.

At last, a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who heard of our arrival,

sent us rum and white sugar. Boswell was now provided for, in part, and

the landlord prepared some mutton chops, which we could not eat, and

killed two hens, of which Boswell made his servant broil a limb; with

what effect I know not. We had a lemon and a piece of bread, which

supplied me with my supper. When the repast was ended, we began to

deliberate upon bed: Mrs. Boswell had warned us, that we should _catch

something_, and had given us _sheets_, for our _security_, for--and--,

she said, came back from Skie, so scratching themselves. I thought

sheets a slender defence against the confederacy with which we were

threatened, and, by this time, our Highlanders had found a place, where

they could get some hay: I ordered hay to be laid thick upon the bed,

and slept upon it in my great coat: Boswell laid sheets upon his bed,

and reposed in linen, like a gentleman. The horses were turned out to

grass, with a man to watch them. The hill Rattiken, and the inn at

Glanelg, were the only things of which we, or travellers yet more

delicate, could find any pretensions to complain.

Sept. 2nd. I rose, rustling from the hay, and went to tea, which I

forget, whether we found or brought. We saw the isle of Skie before us,

darkening the horizon with its rocky coast. A boat was procured, and we

lanched into one of the straits of the Atlantick ocean. We had a passage

of about twelve miles to the point where--resided, having come from his

seat in the middle of the island, to a small house on the shore, as we

believe, that he might, with less reproach, entertain us meanly. If he

aspired to meanness, his retrograde ambition was completely gratified,

but he did not succeed equally in escaping reproach. He had no cook,

nor, I suppose, much provision, nor had the lady the common decencies of

her tea-table; we picked up our sugar with our fingers. Boswell was very

angry, and reproached him with his improper parsimony; I did not much

reflect upon the conduct of a man with whom I was not likely to converse

as long at any other time.

You will now expect that I should give you some account of the isle of

Skie, of which, though I have been twelve days upon it, I have little to

say. It is an island, perhaps, fifty miles long, so much indented by

inlets of the sea, that there is no part of it removed from the water

more than six miles. No part, that I have seen, is plain; you are always

climbing or descending, and every step is upon rock or mire. A walk upon

ploughed ground in England is a dance upon carpets, compared to the

toilsome drudgery of wandering in Skie. There is neither town nor

village in the island, nor have I seen any house but Macleod's, that is

not much below your habitation at Brighthelmstone. In the mountains

there are stags and roe bucks, but no hares, and few rabbits; nor have I

seen any thing that interested me, as a zoologist, except an otter,

bigger than I thought an otter could have been.

You are, perhaps, imagining that I am withdrawing from the gay and the

busy world, into regions of peace and pastoral felicity, and am enjoying

the relicks of the golden age; that I am surveying nature's magnificence

from a mountain, or remarking her minuter beauties on the flowery bank

of a winding rivulet; that I am invigorating myself in the sunshine, or

delighting my imagination with being hidden from the invasion of human

evils and human passions, in the darkness of a thicket; that I am busy

in gathering shells and pebbles on the shore, or contemplative on a

rock, from which I look upon the water, and consider how many waves are

rolling between me and Streatham.

The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by reality, and,

instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are. Here are

mountains which I should once have climbed; but to climb steeps is now

very laborious, and to descend them, dangerous; and I am now content

with knowing, that, by scrambling up a rock, I shall only see other

rocks, and a wider circuit of barren desolation. Of streams, we have

here a sufficient number; but they murmur not upon pebbles, but upon

rocks. Of flowers, if Chloris herself were here, I could present her

only with the bloom of heath. Of lawns and thickets, he must read that

would know them, for here is little sun, and no shade. On the sea I look

from my window, but am not much tempted to the shore; for since I came

to this island, almost every breath of air has been a storm, and, what

is worse, a storm with all its severity, but without its magnificence,

for the sea is here so broken into channels, that there is not a

sufficient volume of water either for lofty surges, or a loud roar.

On Sept. 6th, we left--to visit Raarsa, the island which I have already

mentioned. We were to cross part of Skie on horseback; a mode of

travelling very uncomfortable, for the road is so narrow, where any road

can be found, that only one can go, and so craggy, that the attention

can never be remitted; it allows, therefore, neither the gaiety of

conversation, nor the laxity of solitude; nor has it, in itself, the

amusement of much variety, as it affords only all the possible

transpositions of bog, rock, and rivulet. Twelve miles, by computation,

make a reasonable journey for a day.

At night we came to a tenant's house, of the first rank of tenants,

where we were entertained better than at the landlord's. There were

books, both English and Latin. Company gathered about us, and we heard

some talk of the second sight, and some talk of the events of forty-five;

a year which will not soon be forgotten among the islanders. The

next day we were confined by a storm. The company, I think, increased,

and our entertainment was not only hospitable, but elegant. At night, a

minister's sister, in very fine brocade, sung Erse songs; I wished to

know the meaning; but the highlanders are not much used to scholastick

questions, and no translations could be obtained.

Next day, Sept. 8th, the weather allowed us to depart; a good boat was

provided us, and we went to Raarsa, under the conduct of Mr. Malcolm

Macleod, a gentleman who conducted prince Charles through the mountains

in his distresses. The prince, he says, was more active than himself;

they were, at least, one night without any shelter.

The wind blew enough to give the boat a kind of dancing agitation, and,

in about three or four hours, we arrived at Raarsa, where we were met by

the laird, and his friends, upon the shore. Raarsa, for such is his

title, is master of two islands; upon the smaller of which, called Rona,

he has only flocks and herds. Rona gives title to his eldest son. The

money which he raises annually by rent from all his dominions, which

contain, at least, fifty thousand acres, is not believed to exceed two

hundred and fifty pounds; but, as he keeps a large farm in his own

hands, he sells, every year, great numbers of cattle, which add to his

revenue, and his table is furnished from the farm and from the sea, with

very little expense, except for those things this country does not

produce, and of those he is very liberal. The wine circulates

vigorously; and the tea, chocolate, and coffee, however they are got,

are always at hand. I am, &c.

We are this morning trying to get out of Skie.

XXIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Skie, Sept. 24, 1773.

DEAR MADAM,--I am still in Skie. Do you remember the song,

"Every island is a prison,

Strongly guarded by the sea."

We have, at one time, no boat, and, at another, may have too much wind;

but, of our reception here, we have no reason to complain. We are now

with colonel Macleod, in a more pleasant place than I thought Skie could

afford. Now to the narrative.

We were received at Raarsa on the seaside, and after clambering, with

some difficulty, over the rocks, a labour which the traveller, wherever

he reposes himself on land, must, in these islands, be contented to

endure; we were introduced into the house, which one of the company

called the court of Raarsa, with politeness, which not the court of

Versailles could have thought defective. The house is not large, though

we were told, in our passage, that it had eleven fine rooms, nor

magnificently furnished; but our utensils were, most commonly, silver.

We went up into a dining-room, about as large as your blue room, where

we had something given us to eat, and tea and coffee.

Raarsa himself is a man of no inelegant appearance, and of manners

uncommonly refined. Lady Raarsa makes no very sublime appearance for a

sovereign, but is a good housewife, and a very prudent and diligent

conductress of her family. Miss Flora Macleod is a celebrated beauty;

has been admired at Edinburgh; dresses her head very high; and has

manners so lady-like, that I wish her head-dress was lower. The rest of

the nine girls are all pretty; the youngest is between Queeney and Lucy.

The youngest boy, of four years old, runs barefoot, and wandered with us

over the rocks to see a mill: I believe he would walk on that rough

ground, without shoes, ten miles in a day.

The laird of Raarsa has sometimes disputed the chieftainry of the clan

with Macleod of Skie, but, being much inferiour in extent of

possessions, has, I suppose, been forced to desist. Raarsa, and its

provinces, have descended to its present possessour, through a

succession of four hundred years, without any increase or diminution. It

was, indeed, lately in danger of forfeiture, but the old laird joined

some prudence with his zeal, and when prince Charles landed in Scotland,

made over his estate to this son, the present laird, and led one hundred

men of Raarsa into the field, with officers of his own family. Eighty-six

only came back after the last battle. The prince was hidden, in his

distress, two nights at Raarsa, and the king's troops burnt the whole

country, and killed some of the cattle.

You may guess at the opinions that prevail in this country; they are,

however, content with fighting for their king; they do not drink for

him. We had no foolish healths. At night, unexpectedly to us, who were

strangers, the carpet was taken up; the fiddler of the family came up,

and a very vigorous and general dance was begun. As I told you, we were

two and thirty at supper; there were full as many dancers; for, though

all who supped did not dance, some danced of the young people who did

not sup. Raarsa himself danced with his children, and old Malcolm, in

his fillibeg, was as nimble, as when he led the prince over the

mountains. When they had danced themselves weary, two tables were

spread, and, I suppose, at least twenty dishes were upon them. In this

country, some preparations of milk are always served up at supper, and

sometimes, in the place of tarts, at dinner. The table was not coarsely

heaped, but, at once, plentiful and elegant. They do not pretend to make

a loaf; there are only cakes, commonly of oats or barley, but they made

me very nice cakes of wheat flour. I always sat at the left hand of lady

Raarsa; and young Macleod of Skie, the chieftain of the clan, sat on the

right.

After supper, a young lady, who was visiting, sung Erse songs, in which

lady Raarsa joined, prettily enough, but not gracefully; the young

ladies sustained the chorus better. They are very little used to be

asked questions, and not well prepared with answers. When one of the

songs was over, I asked the princess, that sat next to me, "What is that

about?" I question if she conceived that I did not understand it. "For

the entertainment of the company," said she. "But, madam, what is the

meaning of it?" "It is a love song." This was all the intelligence that

I could obtain; nor have I been able to procure the translation of a

single line of Erse.

At twelve it was bed-time. I had a chamber to myself, which, in eleven

rooms to forty people, was more than my share. How the company and the

family were distributed, is not easy to tell. Macleod, the chieftain,

and Boswell, and I, had all single chambers, on the first floor. There

remained eight rooms only, for, at least, seven and thirty lodgers. I

suppose they put up temporary beds in the dining-room, where they stowed

all the young ladies. There was a room above stairs with six beds, in

which they put ten men. The rest in my next.

XXIV.--To MRS. THRALE.

Ostich in Skie, Sept. 30, 1773.

DEAREST MADAM,--I am still confined in Skie. We were unskilful

travellers, and imagined that the sea was an open road, which we could

pass at pleasure; but we have now learned, with some pain, that we may

still wait, for a long time, the caprices of the equinoctial winds, and

sit reading or writing, as I now do, while the tempest is rolling the

sea, or roaring in the mountains. I am now no longer pleased with the

delay; you can hear from me but seldom, and I cannot at all hear from

you. It comes into my mind, that some evil may happen, or that I might

be of use while I am away. But these thoughts are vain; the wind is

violent and adverse, and our boat cannot yet come. I must content myself

with writing to you, and hoping that you will sometime receive my

letter. Now to my narrative.

Sept. 9th. Having passed the night as is usual, I rose, and found the

dining-room full of company; we feasted and talked, and when the evening

came it brought musick and dancing. Young Macleod, the great proprietor

of Skie, and head of his clan, was very distinguishable; a young man of

nineteen, bred awhile at St. Andrew's, and afterwards at Oxford, a pupil

of G. Strahan. He is a young man of a mind, as much advanced as I have

ever known; very elegant of manners, and very graceful in his person. He

has the full spirit of a feudal chief; and I was very ready to accept

his invitation to Dunvegan. All Raarsa's children are beautiful. The

ladies, all, except the eldest, are in the morning dressed in their

hair. The true highlander never wears more than a riband on her head,

till she is married.

On the third day Boswell went out, with old Malcolm, to see a ruined

castle, which he found less entire than was promised, but he saw the

country. I did not go, for the castle was, perhaps, ten miles off, and

there is no riding at Raarsa, the whole island being rock or mountain,

from which the cattle often fall, and are destroyed. It is very barren,

and maintains, as near as I could collect, about seven hundred

inhabitants, perhaps ten to a square mile. In these countries you are

not to suppose that you shall find villages or inclosures. The traveller

wanders through a naked desert, gratified sometimes, but rarely, with

the sight of cows, and now and then finds a heap of loose stones and

turf, in a cavity between rocks, where a being, born with all those

powers which education expands, and all those sensations which culture

refines, is condemned to shelter itself from the wind and rain.

Philosophers there are, who try to make themselves believe, that this

life is happy; but they believe it only while they are saying it, and

never yet produced conviction in a single mind; he whom want of words or

images sunk into silence still thought, as he thought before, that

privation of pleasure can never please, and that content is not to be

much envied, when it has no other principle than ignorance of good.

This gloomy tranquillity, which some may call fortitude, and others,

wisdom, was, I believe, for a long time, to be very frequently found in

these dens of poverty; every man was content to live like his

neighbours, and, never wandering from home, saw no mode of life

preferable to his own, except at the house of the laird, or the laird's

nearest relations, whom he considered as a superiour order of beings, to

whose luxuries or honours he had no pretensions. But the end of this

reverence and submission seems now approaching; the highlanders have

learned, that there are countries less bleak and barren than their own,

where, instead of working for the laird, every man will till his own

ground, and eat the produce of his own labour. Great numbers have been

induced, by this discovery, to go, every year, for some time past, to

America. Macdonald and Macleod, of Skie, have lost many tenants and many

labourers; but Raarsa has not yet been forsaken by a single inhabitant.

Rona is yet more rocky and barren than Raarsa, and, though it contains,

perhaps, four thousand acres, is possessed only by a herd of cattle and

the keepers.

I find myself not very able to walk upon the mountains, but one day I

went out to see the walls, yet standing, of an ancient chapel. In almost

every island the superstitious votaries of the Romish church erected

places of worship, in which the drones of convents, or cathedrals,

performed the holy offices; but, by the active zeal of protestant

devotion, almost all of them have sunk into ruin. The chapel at Raarsa

is now only considered as the burying-place of the family, and, I

suppose, of the whole island.

We would now have gone away, and left room for others to enjoy the

pleasures of this little court; but the wind detained us till the 12th,

when, though it was Sunday, we thought it proper to snatch the

opportunity of a calm day. Raarsa accompanied us in his six-oared boat,

which, he said, was his coach and six. It is, indeed, the vehicle in

which the ladies take the air, and pay their visits, but they have taken

very little care for accommodations. There is no way, in or out of the

boat, for a woman, but by being carried; and in the boat thus dignified

with a pompous name, there is no seat, but an occasional bundle of

straw. Thus we left Raarsa; the seat of plenty, civility, and

cheerfulness.

We dined at a publick house at Port Re; so called, because one of the

Scottish kings landed there, in a progress through the western isles.

Raarsa paid the reckoning privately. We then got on horseback, and, by a

short, but very tedious journey, came to Kingsburgh, at which the same

king lodged, after he landed. Here I had the honour of saluting the

far-famed Miss Flora Macdonald, who conducted the prince, dressed as her

maid, through the English forces, from the island of Lewes; and, when

she came to Skie, dined with the English officers, and left her maid

below. She must then have been a very young lady; she is now not old; of

a pleasing person, and elegant behaviour. She told me, that she thought

herself honoured by my visit; and, I am sure, that whatever regard she

bestowed on me was liberally repaid. "If thou likest her opinions, thou

wilt praise her virtue." She was carried to London, but dismissed

without a trial, and came down with Malcolm Macleod, against whom

sufficient evidence could not be procured. She and her husband are poor,

and are going to try their fortune in America:

"Sic rerum volvitur orbis."

At Kingsburgh we were very liberally feasted, and I slept in the bed in

which the prince reposed in his distress; the sheets which he used were

never put to any meaner offices, but were wrapped up by the lady of the

house, and at last, according to her desire, were laid round her in her

grave. These are not whigs.

On the 13th, travelling partly on horseback, where we could not row, and

partly on foot, where we could not ride, we came to Dunvegan, which I

have described already. Here, though poor Macleod had been left by his

grandfather overwhelmed with debts, we had another exhibition of feudal

hospitality. There were two stags in the house, and venison came to the

table every day in its various forms. Macleod, besides his estate in

Skie, larger, I suppose, than some English counties, is proprietor of

nine inhabited isles; and, of his islands uninhabited, I doubt if he

very exactly knows the number. I told him that he was a mighty monarch.

Such dominions fill an Englishman with envious wonder; but, when he

surveys the naked mountains, and treads the quaking moor, and wanders

over the wild regions of gloomy barrenness, his wonder may continue, but

his envy ceases. The unprofitableness of these vast domains can be

conceived only by the means of positive instances. The heir of Col, an

island not far distant, has lately told me, how wealthy he should be, if

he could let Rum, another of his islands, for twopence halfpenny an

acre; and Macleod has an estate, which the surveyor reports to contain

eighty thousand acres, rented at six hundred pounds a year.

While we were at Dunvegan, the wind was high, and the rain violent, so

that we were not able to put forth a boat to fish in the sea, or to

visit the adjacent islands, which may be seen from the house; but we

filled up the time, as we could, sometimes by talk, sometimes by

reading. I have never wanted books in the isle of Skie.

We were invited one day by the laird and lady of Muck, one of the

western islands, two miles long, and three quarters of a mile high. He

has half his island in his own culture, and upon the other half live one

hundred and fifty dependants, who not only live upon the product, but

export corn sufficient for the payment of their rent.

Lady Macleod has a son and four daughters; they have lived long in

England, and have the language and manners of English ladies. We lived

with them very easily. The hospitality of this remote region is like

that of the golden age. We have found ourselves treated, at every house,

as if we came to confer a benefit.

We were eight days at Dunvegan, but we took the first opportunity which

the weather afforded, after the first days, of going away, and, on the

21st, went to Ulinish, where we were well entertained, and wandered a

little after curiosities. In the afternoon, an interval of calm sunshine

courted us out, to see a cave on the shore, famous for its echo. When we

went into the boat, one of our companions was asked, in Erse, by the

boatmen, who they were, that came with him. He gave us characters, I

suppose, to our advantage, and was asked, in the spirit of the

highlands, whether I could recite a long series of ancestors. The

boatmen said, as I perceived afterwards, that they heard the cry of an

English ghost. This, Boswell says, disturbed him. We came to the cave,

and, clambering up the rocks, came to an arch, open at one end, one

hundred and eighty feet long, thirty broad, in the broadest part, and

about thirty high. There was no echo: such is the fidelity of report;

but I saw, what I had never seen before, muscles and whilks, in their

natural state. There was another arch in the rock, open at both ends.

September 23rd. We removed to Talisker, a house occupied by Mr. Macleod,

a lieutenant colonel in the Dutch service. Talisker has been long in the

possession of gentlemen, and, therefore, has a garden well cultivated,

and, what is here very rare, is shaded by trees; a place where the

imagination is more amused cannot easily be found. The mountains about

it are of great height, with waterfalls succeeding one another so fast,

that as one ceases to be heard, another begins. Between the mountains

there is a small valley, extending to the sea, which is not far off,

beating upon a coast, very difficult of access.

Two nights before our arrival, two boats were driven upon this coast by

the tempest; one of them had a pilot that knew the passage; the second

followed, but a third missed the true course, and was driven forward,

with great danger of being forced into the vast ocean, but, however,

gained, at last, some other island. The crews crept to Talisker, almost

lifeless with wet, cold, fatigue, and terrour, but the lady took care of

them. She is a woman of more than common qualifications; having

travelled with her husband, she speaks four languages.

You find, that all the islanders, even in these recesses of life, are

not barbarous. One of the ministers, who has adhered to us almost all

the time, is an excellent scholar. We have now with us the young laird

of Col, who is heir, perhaps, to two hundred square miles of land. He

has first studied at Aberdeen, and afterwards gone to Hertfordshire, to

learn agriculture, being much impressed with desire of improvement; he,

likewise, has the notions of a chief, and keeps a piper. At Macleod's

the bagpipe always played, while we were dining.

Col has undertaken, by permission of the waves and wind, to carry us

about several of the islands, with which he is acquainted enough to show

us whatever curious is given by nature, or left by antiquity; but we

grew afraid of deviating from our way home, lest we should be shut up

for months upon some little protuberance of rock, that just appears

above the sea, and, perhaps, is scarcely marked upon a map.

You remember the doge of Genoa, who being asked, what struck him most at

the French court, answered, "myself." I cannot think many things here

more likely to affect the fancy, than to see Johnson ending his

sixty-fourth year in the wilderness of the Hebrides. But now I am here, it

will gratify me very little to return without seeing, or doing my best

to see, what those places afford. I have a desire to instruct myself in

the whole system of pastoral life, but I know not whether I shall be

able to perfect the idea. However, I have many pictures in my mind,

which I could not have had without this journey, and should have passed

it with great pleasure, had you, and master, and Queeney, been in the

party. We should have excited the attention, and enlarged the

observation of each other, and obtained many pleasing topicks of future

conversation. As it is, I travel with my mind too much at home, and,

perhaps, miss many things worthy of observation, or pass them with

transient notice; so that the images, for want of that reimpression

which discussion and comparison produce, easily fade away; but I keep a

book of remarks, and Boswell writes a regular journal of our travels,

which, I think, contains as much of what I say and do, as of all other

occurrences together; "for such a faithful chronicler as Griffith."

I hope, dearest madam, you are equally careful to reposit proper

memorials of all that happens to you and your family, and then, when we

meet, we shall tell our stories. I wish you had gone this summer, in

your usual splendour, to Brighthelmstone.

Mr. Thrale probably wonders, how I live all this time without sending to

him for money. Travelling in Scotland is dear enough, dearer, in

proportion to what the country affords, than in England, but residence

in the isles is unexpensive. Company is, I think, considered as a supply

of pleasure, and a relief of that tediousness of life which is felt in

every place, elegant or rude. Of wine and punch they are very liberal,

for they get them cheap; but as there is no custom-house on the island,

they can hardly be considered as smugglers. Their punch is made without

lemons, or any substitute.

Their tables are very plentiful; but a very nice man would not be

pampered. As they have no meat but as they kill it, they are obliged to

live, while it lasts, upon the same flesh. They kill a sheep, and set

mutton boiled and roast on the table together. They have fish, both of

the sea and of the brooks; but they can hardly conceive that it requires

any sauce. To sauce, in general, they are strangers: now and then butter

is melted, but I dare not always take, lest I should offend by disliking

it. Barley broth is a constant dish, and is made well in every house. A

stranger, if he is prudent, will secure his share, for it is not certain

that he will be able to eat any thing else.

Their meat, being often newly killed, is very tough, and, as nothing is

sufficiently subdued by the fire, is not easily to be eaten. Carving is

here a very laborious employment, for the knives are never whetted.

Table knives are not of long subsistence in the highlands: every man,

while arms were a regular part of dress, had his knife and fork

appendant to his dirk. Knives they now lay upon the table, but the

handles are apt to show that they have been in other hands, and the

blades have neither brightness nor edge.

Of silver, there is no want, and it will last long, for it is never

cleaned. They are a nation just rising from barbarity: long contented

with necessaries, now somewhat studious of convenience, but not yet

arrived at delicate discriminations. Their linen is, however, both clean

and fine. Bread, such as we mean by that name, I have never seen in the

isle of Skie. They have ovens, for they bake their pies; but they never

ferment their meal, nor mould a loaf. Cakes of oats and barley are

brought to the table, but I believe wheat is reserved for strangers.

They are commonly too hard for me, and, therefore, I take potatoes to my

meat, and am sure to find them on almost every table.

They retain so much of the pastoral life, that some preparation of milk

is commonly one of the dishes, both at dinner and supper. Tea is always

drunk at the usual times; but, in the morning, the table is polluted

with a plate of slices of strong cheese. This is peculiar to the

highlands; at Edinburgh there are always honey and sweetmeats on the

morning tea-table.

Strong liquors they seem to love. Every man, perhaps, woman, begins the

day with a dram; and the punch is made both at dinner and supper.

They have neither wood nor coal for fuel, but burn peat or turf in their

chimneys. It is dug out of the moors or mosses, and makes a strong and

lasting fire, not always very sweet, and somewhat apt to smoke the pot.

The houses of inferiour gentlemen are very small, and every room serves

many purposes. In the bed-rooms, perhaps, are laid up stores of

different kinds; and the parlour of the day is a bed-room at night. In

the room which I inhabited last, about fourteen feet square, there were

three chests of drawers, a long chest for larger clothes, two

closet-cupboards, and the bed. Their rooms are commonly dirty, of which

they seem to have little sensibility, and if they had more, clean floors

would be difficultly kept, where the first step from the door is into

the dirt. They are very much inclined to carpets, and seldom fail to lay

down something under their feet, better or worse, as they happen to be

furnished.

The highland dress, being forbidden by law, is very little used;

sometimes it may be seen, but the English traveller is struck with

nothing so much as the _nudité des pieds_ of the common people.

Skie is the greatest island, or the greatest but one, among the

Hebrides. Of the soil, I have already given some account: it is

generally barren, but some spots are not wholly unfruitful. The gardens

have apples and pears, cherries, strawberries, raspberries, currants,

and gooseberries, but all the fruit, that I have seen, is small. They

attempt to sow nothing but oats and barley. Oats constitute the bread-corn

of the place. Their harvest is about the beginning of October; and,

being so late, is very much subject to disappointments from the rains

that follow the equinox. This year has been particularly disastrous.

Their rainy season lasts from autumn to spring. They have seldom very

hard frosts; nor was it ever known that a lake was covered with ice

strong enough to bear a skater. The sea round them is always open. The

snow falls, but soon melts; only in 1771, they had a cold spring, in

which the island was so long covered with it, that many beasts, both

wild and domestick, perished, and the whole country was reduced to

distress, from which I know not if it is even yet recovered.

The animals here are not remarkably small; perhaps they recruit their

breed from the mainland. The cows are sometimes without horns. The

horned and unhorned cattle are not accidental variations, but different

species: they will, however, breed together.

October 3rd. The wind is now changed, and if we snatch the moment of

opportunity, an escape from this island is become practicable; I have no

reason to complain of my reception, yet I long to be again at home.

You and my master may, perhaps, expect, after this description of Skie,

some account of myself. My eye is, I am afraid, not fully recovered; my

ears are not mended; my nerves seem to grow weaker, and I have been

otherwise not as well as I sometimes am, but think myself, lately,

better. This climate, perhaps, is not within my degree of healthy

latitude.

Thus I have given my most honoured mistress the story of me and my

little ramble. We are now going to some other isle, to what we know not;

the wind will tell us. I am, &c.

XXV.--To MRS. THRALE.

Mull, Oct. 15, 1773.

DEAR MADAM,--Though I have written to Mr. Thrale, yet having a little

more time than was promised me, I would not suffer the messenger to go

without some token of my duty to my mistress, who, I suppose, expects

the usual tribute of intelligence, a tribute which I am not very able to

pay.

October 3rd. After having been detained, by storms, many days in Skie,

we left it, as we thought, with a fair wind; but a violent gust, which

Bos. had a great mind to call a tempest, forced us into Col, an obscure

island; on which

--"nulla campis Arbor aestiva recreatur aura."

There is literally no tree upon the island, part of it is a sandy waste,

over which it would be really dangerous to travel in dry weather, and

with a high wind. It seems to be little more than one continued rock,

covered, from space to space, with a thin layer of earth. It is,

however, according to the highland notion, very populous, and life is

improved beyond the manners of Skie; for the huts are collected into

little villages, and every one has a small garden of roots and cabbage.

The laird has a new house built by his uncle, and an old castle

inhabited by his ancestors. The young laird entertained us very

liberally; he is heir, perhaps, to three hundred square miles of land,

which, at ten shillings an acre, would bring him ninety-six thousand

pounds a year. He is desirous of improving the agriculture of his

country; and, in imitation of the czar, travelled for improvement, and

worked, with his own hands, upon a farm in Hertfordshire, in the

neighbourhood of your uncle, sir Thomas Salusbury. He talks of doing

useful things, and has introduced turnips for winter fodder. He has made

a small essay towards a road.

Col is but a barren place. Description has here few opportunities of

spreading her colours. The difference of day and night is the only

vicissitude. The succession of sunshine to rain, or of calms to

tempests, we have not known; wind and rain have been our only weather.

At last, after about nine days, we hired a sloop; and having lain in it

all night, with such accommodations as these miserable vessels can

afford, were landed yesterday on the isle of Mull; from which we expect

an easy passage into Scotland. I am sick in a ship, but recover by lying

down.

I have not good health; I do not find that travelling much helps me. My

nights are flatulent, though not in the utmost degree, and I have a

weakness in my knees, which makes me very unable to walk. Pray, dear

madam, let me have a long letter. I am, &c.

XXVI.--To MRS. THRALE.

Inverary, Oct. 24, 1773.

HONOURED MISTRESS,--My last letters to you, and my dear master, were

written from Mull, the third island of the Hebrides in extent. There is

no post, and I took the opportunity of a gentleman's passage to the

mainland.

In Mull we were confined two days by the weather; on the third we got on

horseback, and, after a journey, difficult and tedious, over rocks

naked, and valleys untracked, through a country of barrenness and

solitude, we came, almost in the dark, to the seaside, weary and

dejected, having met with nothing but water falling from the mountains

that could raise any image of delight. Our company was the young laird

of Col, and his servant. Col made every Maclean open his house, where he

came, and supply us with horses, when we departed; but the horses of

this country are small, and I was not mounted to my wish.

At the seaside we found the ferryboat departed; if it had been where it

was expected, the wind was against us, and the hour was late, nor was it

very desirable to cross the sea, in darkness, with a small boat. The

captain of a sloop, that had been driven thither by the storms, saw our

distress, and, as we were hesitating and deliberating, sent his boat,

which, by Col's order, transported us to the isle of Ulva. We were

introduced to Mr. Macquarry, the head of a small clan, whose ancestors

have reigned in Ulva beyond memory, but who has reduced himself, by his

negligence and folly, to the necessity of selling this venerable

patrimony.

On the next morning we passed the strait to Inch Kenneth, an island

about a mile in length, and less than half a mile broad; in which

Kenneth, a Scottish saint, established a small clerical college, of

which the chapel walls are still standing. At this place I beheld a

scene, which I wish you, and my master, and Queeney had partaken.

The only family on the island is that of sir Allan, the chief of the

ancient and numerous clan of Maclean; the clan which claims the second

place, yielding only to Macdonald in the line of battle. Sir Allan, a

chieftain, a baronet, and a soldier, inhabits, in this insulated desert,

a thatched hut, with no chambers. Young Col, who owns him as his chief,

and whose cousin was his lady, had, I believe, given him some notice of

our visit; he received us with the soldier's frankness, and the

gentleman's elegance, and introduced us to his daughters, two young

ladies, who have not wanted education suitable to their birth, and who,

in their cottage, neither forgot their dignity, nor affected to remember

it. Do not you wish to have been with us?

Sir Allan's affairs are in disorder, by the fault of his ancestors: and,

while he forms some scheme for retrieving them, he has retreated hither.

When our salutations were over, he showed us the island. We walked,

uncovered, into the chapel, and saw, in the reverend ruin, the effects

of precipitate reformation. The floor is covered with ancient

grave-stones, of which the inscriptions are not now legible; and without,

some of the chief families still continue the right of sepulture. The

altar is not yet quite demolished; beside it, on the right side, is a

bass-relief of the virgin with her child, and an angel hovering over her.

On the other side still stands a hand-bell, which, though it has no

clapper, neither presbyterian bigotry, nor barbarian wantonness, has yet

taken away. The chapel is thirty-eight feet long, and eighteen broad.

Boswell, who is very pious, went into it at night, to perform his

devotions, but came back, in haste, for fear of spectres. Near the

chapel is a fountain, to which the water, remarkably pure, is conveyed

from a distant hill, through pipes laid by the Romish clergy, which

still perform the office of conveyance, though they have never been

repaired, since popery was suppressed.

We soon after went in to dinner, and wanted neither the comforts nor the

elegancies of life. There were several dishes, and variety of liquors.

The servants live in another cottage; in which, I suppose, the meat is

dressed.

Towards evening, sir Allan told us, that Sunday never passed over him,

like another day. One of the ladies read, and read very well, the

evening service;--and paradise was opened in the wild.

Next day, 18th, we went and wandered among the rocks on the shore, while

the boat was busy in catching oysters, of which there is a great bed.

Oysters lie upon the sand, one, I think, sticking to another, and

cockles are found a few inches under the sand.

We then went in the boat to Sondiland, a little island very near. We

found it a wild rock, of about ten acres; part naked, part covered with

sand, out of which we picked shells; and part clothed with a thin layer

of mould, on the grass of which a few sheep are sometimes fed. We then

came back and dined. I passed part of the afternoon in reading, and in

the evening one of the ladies played on her harpsichord, and Boswell and

Col danced a reel with the other.

On the 19th, we persuaded sir Allan to lanch his boat again, and go with

us to Icolmkill, where the first great preacher of Christianity to the

Scots built a church, and settled a monastery. In our way we stopped to

examine a very uncommon cave on the coast of Mull. We had some

difficulty to make our way over the vast masses of broken rocks that lie

before the entrance, and at the mouth were embarrassed with stones,

which the sea had accumulated, as at Brighthelmstone; but, as we

advanced, we reached a floor of soft sand, and, as we left the light

behind us, walked along a very spacious cavity, vaulted over head with

an arch almost regular, by which a mountain was sustained, at least a

very lofty rock. From this magnificent cavern, went a narrow passage to

the right hand, which we entered with a candle; and though it was

obstructed with great stones, clambered over them to a second expansion

of the cave, in which there lies a great square stone, which might serve

as a table. The air here was very warm, but not oppressive, and the

flame of the candle continued pyramidal. The cave goes onward to an

unknown extent, but we were now one hundred and sixty yards under

ground; we had but one candle, and had never heard of any that went

farther and came back; we, therefore, thought it prudent to return.

Going forward in our boat, we came to a cluster of rocks, black and

horrid, which sir Allan chose for the place where he would eat his

dinner. We climbed till we got seats. The stores were opened, and the

repast taken.

We then entered the boat again; the night came upon us; the wind rose;

the sea swelled; and Boswell desired to be set on dry ground: we,

however, pursued our navigation, and passed by several little islands in

the silent solemnity of faint moonshine, seeing little, and hearing only

the wind and the water. At last, we reached the island, the venerable

seat of ancient sanctity; where secret piety reposed, and where falling

greatness was reposited. The island has no house of entertainment, and

we manfully made our bed in a farmer's barn. The description I hope to

give you another time. I am, &c.

XXVII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Edinburgh, Nov. 12, 1773.

DEAREST MADAM,--Among the possibilities of evil, which my imagination

suggested at this distance, I missed that which has really happened. I

never had much hope of a will in your favour, but was willing to believe

that no will would have been made. The event is now irrevocable; it

remains only to bear it. Not to wish it had been different, is

impossible; but as the wish is painful without use, it is not prudent,

perhaps, not lawful, to indulge it. As life, and vigour of mind, and

sprightliness of imagination, and flexibility of attention, are given us

for valuable and useful purposes, we must not think ourselves at liberty

to squander life, to enervate intellectual strength, to cloud our

thoughts, or fix our attention, when, by all this expense, we know that

no good can be produced. Be alone as little as you can; when you are

alone, do not suffer your thoughts to dwell on what you might have done,

to prevent this disappointment. You, perhaps, could not have done what

you imagine, or might have done it without effect. But even to think in

the most reasonable manner, is, for the present, not so useful, as not

to think. Remit yourself solemnly into the hands of God, and then turn

your mind upon the business and amusements which lie before you. "All is

best," says Chene, "as it has been, excepting the errours of our own

free will." Burton concludes his long book upon Melancholy, with this

important precept: "Be not solitary; be not idle." Remember Chene's

position, and observe Burton's precept.

We came hither on the ninth of this month. I long to come under your

care, but, for some days, cannot decently get away. They congratulate

our return, as if we had been with Phipps, or Banks; I am ashamed of

their salutations.

I have been able to collect very little for Queeney's cabinet; but she

will not want toys now, she is so well employed. I wish her success; and

am not without some thought of becoming her schoolfellow. I have got an

Italian Rasselas.

Surely my dear Lucy will recover; I wish, I could do her good. I love

her very much; and should love another godchild, if I might have the

honour of standing to the next baby. I am, &c.

XXVIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Edinburgh, Nov. 18, 1773.

MY DEAREST MISTRESS,--This is the last letter that I shall write; while

you are reading it, I shall be coming home.

I congratulate you upon your boy; but you must not think that I will

love him, all at once, as well as I love Harry; for Harry, you know, is

so rational. I shall love him by degrees.

Poor, pretty, dear Lucy! Can nothing do her good? I am sorry to lose

her. But, if she must be taken from us, let us resign her, with

confidence, into the hands of him who knows, and who only knows, what is

best both for us and her.

Do not suffer yourself to be dejected. Resolution and diligence will

supply all that is wanting, and all that is lost. But if your health

should be impaired, I know not where to find a substitute. I shall have

no mistress; Mr. Thrale will have no wife; and the little flock will

have no mother.

I long to be home, and have taken a place in the coach for Monday; I

hope, therefore, to be in London on Friday, the 26th, in the evening.

Please to let Mrs. Williams know. I am, &c.

XXIX.--To THE SAME.

Lichfield, June 23, 1775.

DEAR MADAM,--Now I hope you are thinking: Shall I have a letter to-day

from Lichfield? Something of a letter you will have; how else can I

expect that you should write? and the morning, on which I should miss a

letter, would be a morning of uneasiness, notwithstanding all that would

be said or done by the sisters of Stowhill, who do and say whatever good

they can. They give me good words, and cherries, and strawberries. Lady

****, and her mother and sister, were visiting there yesterday, and

Lady ---- took her tea before her mother.

Mrs. Cobb is to come to Miss Porter's this afternoon. Miss A--comes

little near me. Mr. Langley, of Ashbourne, was here to-day, in his way

to Birmingham, and every body talks of you.

The ladies of the Amicable society are to walk, in a few days, from the

townhall to the cathedral, in procession, to hear a sermon. They walk in

linen gowns, and each has a stick, with an acorn; but for the acorn they

could give no reason, till I told them of the civick crown.

I have just had your sweet letter, and am glad that you are to be at the

regatta. You know how little I love to have you left out of any shining

part of life. You have every right to distinction, and should,

therefore, be distinguished. You will see a show with philosophick

superiority, and, therefore, may see it safely. It is easy to talk of

sitting at home, contented, when others are seeing, or making shows.

But, not to have been where it is supposed, and seldom supposed falsely,

that all would go if they could; to be able to say nothing, when every

one is talking; to have no opinion, when every one is judging; to hear

exclamations of rapture, without power to depress; to listen to

falsehoods, without right to contradict, is, after all, a state of

temporary inferiority, in which the mind is rather hardened by

stubbornness, than supported by fortitude. If the world be worth

winning, let us enjoy it; if it is to be despised, let us despise it by

conviction. But the world is not to be despised, but as it is compared

with something better. Company is, in itself, better than solitude, and

pleasure better than indolence: "Ex nihilo nihil fit," says the moral,

as well as the natural, philosopher. By doing nothing, and by knowing

nothing, no power of doing good can be obtained. He must mingle with the

world, that desires to be useful. Every new scene impresses new ideas,

enriches the imagination, and enlarges the power of reason, by new

topicks of comparison. You, that have seen the regatta, will have

images, which we, who miss it, must want; and no intellectual images are

without use. But, when you are in this scene of splendour and gaiety, do

not let one of your fits of negligence steal upon you. "Hoc age," is the

great rule, whether you are serious or merry; whether you are stating

the expenses of your family, learning science, or duty, from a folio, or

floating on the Thames in a fancied dress. Of the whole entertainment,

let me not hear so copious, nor so true an account, from any body as

from you. I am, dearest madam, your, &c.

XXX.--To MRS. THRALE.

Ashbourne.

DEAR MADAM,--I am sure I write and write, and every letter that comes

from you charges me with not writing. Since I wrote to Queeney I have

written twice to you, on the 6th and the 9th: be pleased to let me know

whether you have them, or have them not. That of the 6th you should

regularly have had on the 8th, yet your letter of the 9th seems not to

mention it; all this puzzles me.

Poor dear ****! He only grows dull, because he is sickly; age has not

yet begun to impair him; nor is he such a chameleon as to take

immediately the colour of his company. When you see him again you will

find him reanimated. Most men have their bright and their cloudy days;

at least they have days when they put their powers into action, and days

when they suffer them to repose.

Fourteen thousand pounds make a sum sufficient for the establishment of

a family, and which, in whatever flow of riches or confidence of

prosperity, deserves to be very seriously considered. I hope a great

part of it has paid debts, and no small part bought land. As for

gravelling, and walling, and digging, though I am not much delighted

with them, yet something, indeed much, must be allowed to every man's

taste. He that is growing rich has a right to enjoy part of the growth

his own way. I hope to range in the walk, and row upon the water, and

devour fruit from the wall.

Dr. Taylor wants to be gardening. He means to buy a piece of ground in

the neighbourhood, and surround it with a wall, and build a gardener's

house upon it, and have fruit, and be happy. Much happiness it will not

bring him; but what can he do better? If I had money enough, what would

I do? Perhaps, if you and master did not hold me, I might go to Cairo,

and down the Red sea to Bengal, and take a ramble in India. Would this

be better than building and planting? It would surely give more variety

to the eye, and more amplitude to the mind. Half fourteen thousand would

send me out to see other forms of existence, and bring me back to

describe them.

I answer this the day on which I had yours of the 9th, that is on the

11th. Let me know when it comes. I am, &c.

XXXI.--To MRS. THRALE.

Lichfield, August 2, 1775.

MADAM,--I dined to-day at Stowhill, and am come away to write my letter.

Never, surely, was I such a writer before. Do you keep my letters? I am

not of your opinion, that I shall not like to read them hereafter; for

though there is in them not much history of mind, or anything else, they

will, I hope, always be, in some degree, the records of a pure and

blameless friendship, and, in some hours of languor and sadness, may

revive the memory of more cheerful times.

Why you should suppose yourself not desirous hereafter to read the

history of your own mind, I do not see. Twelve years, on which you now

look, as on a vast expanse of life, will, probably, be passed over

uniformly and smoothly, with very little perception of your progress,

and with very few remarks upon the way. The accumulation of knowledge,

which you promise to yourself, by which the future is to look back upon

the present, with the superiority of manhood to infancy, will, perhaps,

never be attempted, or never will be made; and you will find, as

millions have found before you, that forty-five has made little sensible

addition to thirty-three.

As the body, after a certain time, gains no increase of height, and

little of strength, there is, likewise, a period, though more variable

by external causes, when the mind commonly attains its stationary point,

and very little advances its powers of reflection, judgment, and

ratiocination. The body may acquire new modes of motion, or new

dexterities of mechanick operations, but its original strength receives

not improvement: the mind may be stored with new languages, or new

sciences, but its power of thinking remains nearly the same, and, unless

it attains new subjects of meditation, it commonly produces thoughts of

the same force and the same extent, at very distant intervals of life;

as the tree, unless a foreign fruit be ingrafted, gives, year after

year, productions of the same form, and the same flavour.

By intellectual force, or strength of thought, is meant the degree of

power which the mind possesses of surveying the subject of meditation,

with its circuit of concomitants, and its train of dependence.

Of this power, which all observe to be very different in different

minds, part seems the gift of nature, and part the acquisition of

experience. When the powers of nature have attained their intended

energy, they can be no more advanced. The shrub can never become a tree.

And it is not unreasonable to suppose, that they are, before the middle

of life, in their full vigour.

Nothing then remains but practice and experience; and, perhaps, why they

do so little, may be worth inquiry.

But I have just now looked, and find it so late, that I will inquire

against the next post night. I am, &c.

XXXII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Lichfield, Augusts, 1775.

DEAR MADAM,--Instead of forty reasons for my return, one is sufficient,

--that you wish for my company. I purpose to write no more till you see

me. The ladies at Stowhill and Greenhill are unanimously of opinion,

that it will be best to take a post chaise, and not to be troubled with

the vexations of a common carriage. I will venture to suppose the ladies

at Streatham to be of the same mind.

You will now expect to be told, why you will not be so much wiser, as

you expect, when you have lived twelve years longer.

It is said, and said truly, that experience is the best teacher; and it

is supposed, that, as life is lengthened, experience is increased. But a

closer inspection of human life will discover, that time often passes

without any incident which can much enlarge knowledge, or ratify

judgment. When we are young we learn much, because we are universally

ignorant; we observe every thing, because every thing is new. But, after

some years, the occurrences of daily life are exhausted; one day passes

like another, in the same scene of appearances, in the same course of

transactions: we have to do what we have often done, and what we do not

try, because we do not wish to do much better; we are told what we

already know, and, therefore, what repetition cannot make us know with

greater certainty.

He that has early learned much, perhaps, seldom makes, with regard to

life and manners, much addition to his knowledge; not only, because, as

more is known, there is less to learn, but because a mind, stored with

images and principles, turns inwards for its own entertainment, and is

employed in settling those ideas, which run into confusion, and in

recollecting those which are stealing away; practices by which wisdom

may be kept, but not gained. The merchant, who was at first busy in

acquiring money, ceases to grow richer, from the time when he makes it

his business only to count it.

Those who have families, or employments, are engaged in business of

little difficulty, but of great importance, requiring rather assiduity

of practice than subtilty of speculation, occupying the attention with

images too bulky for refinement, and too obvious for research. The right

is already known: what remains is only to follow it. Daily business adds

no more to wisdom, than daily lesson to the learning of the teacher. But

of how few lives does not stated duty claim the greater part!

Far the greater part of human minds never endeavour their own

improvement. Opinions, once received from instruction, or settled by

whatever accident, are seldom recalled to examination; having been once

supposed to be right, they are never discovered to be erroneous, for no

application is made of any thing that time may present, either to shake

or to confirm them. From this acquiescence in preconceptions none are

wholly free; between fear of uncertainty, and dislike of labour, every

one rests while he might yet go forward; and they that were wise at

thirty-three, are very little wiser at forty-five.

Of this speculation you are, perhaps, tired, and would rather hear of

Sophy. I hope, before this comes, that her head will be easier, and your

head less filled with fears and troubles, which you know are to be

indulged only to prevent evil, not to increase it.

Your uneasiness about Sophy is, probably, unnecessary, and, at worst,

your own children are healthful, and your affairs prosperous. Unmingled

good cannot be expected; but, as we may lawfully gather all the good

within our reach, we may be allowed to lament after that which we lose.

I hope your losses are at an end, and that, as far as the condition of

our present existence permits, your remaining life will be happy. I am,

&c.

XXXIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Lichfield, March 25, 1776.

DEAR MADAM,--This letter will not, I hope, reach you many days before

me; in a distress which can be so little relieved, nothing remains for a

friend, but to come and partake it.

Poor, dear, sweet little boy! When I read the letter this day to Mrs.

Aston, she said, "such a death is the next to translation." Yet, however

I may convince myself of this, the tears are in my eyes, and yet I could

not love him as you loved him, nor reckon upon him for a future comfort,

as you and his father reckoned upon him.

He is gone, and we are going! We could not have enjoyed him long, and

shall not long be separated from him. He has, probably, escaped many

such pangs as you are now feeling.

Nothing remains, but that, with humble confidence we resign ourselves to

almighty goodness, and fall down, without irreverent murmurs, before the

sovereign distributer of good and evil, with hope, that though sorrow

endureth for a night, yet joy may come in the morning.

I have known you, madam, too long to think that you want any arguments

for submission to the supreme will; nor can my consolation have any

effect, but that of showing that I wish to comfort you. What can be

done, you must do for yourself. Remember first, that your child is

happy; and then, that he is safe, not only from the ills of this world,

but from those more formidable dangers which extend their mischief to

eternity. You have brought into the world a rational being; have seen

him happy during the little life that has been granted him; and can have

no doubt but that his happiness is now permanent and immutable.

When you have obtained, by prayer, such tranquillity as nature will

admit, force your attention, as you can, upon your accustomed duties and

accustomed entertainments. You can do no more for our dear boy, but you

must not, therefore, think less on those whom your attention may make

fitter for the place to which he is gone. I am, dearest, dearest madam,

your most affectionate humble servant.

XXXIV.--To MRS. THRALE.

Sept. 6, 1777.

DEAREST LADY,--It is true, that I have loitered, and, what is worse,

loitered with very little pleasure. The time has run away, as most time

runs, without account, without use, and without memorial. But, to say

this of a few weeks, though not pleasing, might be borne; but what ought

to be the regret of him who, in a few days, will have so nearly the same

to say of sixty-eight years? But complaint is vain.

If you have nothing to say from the neighbourhood of the metropolis,

what can occur to me, in little cities and petty towns; in places which

we have both seen, and of which no description is wanted? I have left

part of the company with which you dined here, to come and write this

letter, in which I have nothing to tell, but that my nights are very

tedious. I cannot persuade myself to forbear trying something.

As you have now little to do, I suppose you are pretty diligent at the

Thraliana; and a very curious collection posterity will find it. Do not

remit the practice of writing down occurrences as they arise, of

whatever kind, and be very punctual in annexing the dates. Chronology,

you know, is the eye of history; and every man's life is of importance

to himself. Do not omit painful casualties, or unpleasing passages; they

make the variegation of existence; and there are many transactions, of

which I will not promise, with Aeneas, "et haec olim meminisse juvabit;"

yet that remembrance which is not pleasant, may be useful. There is,

however, an intemperate attention to slight circumstances, which is to

be avoided, lest a great part of life be spent in writing the history of

the rest. Every day, perhaps, has something to be noted; but in a

settled and uniform course, few days can have much.

Why do I write all this, which I had no thought of when I began! The

Thraliana drove it all into my head. It deserves, however, an hour's

reflection, to consider how, with the least loss of time, the loss of

what we wish to retain may be prevented.

Do not neglect to write to me, for when a post comes empty, I am really

disappointed.

Boswell, I believe, will meet me here. I am, dearest lady, your, &c.

XXXV.--To MRS. THRALE.

Lichfield, October 3, 1777,

DEAR MADAM,--This is the last time that I shall write, in this

excursion, from this place. To-morrow I shall be, I hope, at Birmingham;

from which place I shall do my best to find the nearest way home. I come

home, I think, worse than I went; and do not like the state of my

health. But, "vive hodie," make the most of life. I hope to get better,

and--sweep the cobwebs. But I have sad nights. Mrs. Aston has sent me to

Mr. Greene, to be cured.

Did you see Foote at Brighthelmstone?--Did you think he would so soon be

gone?--Life, says Falstaff, is a shuttle. He was a fine fellow in his

way; and the world is really impoverished by his sinking glories. Murphy

ought to write his life, at least, to give the world a Footeiana. Now,

will any of his contemporaries bewail him? Will genius change _his sex_

to weep? I would really have his life written with diligence.

It will be proper for me to work pretty diligently now for some time. I

hope to get through, though so many weeks have passed. Little lives and

little criticisms may serve.

Having been in the country so long, with very little to detain me, I am

rather glad to look homewards. I am, &c.

XXXVI.--To MRS. THRALE.

October 13, 1777.

DEAR MADAM,--Yet I do love to hear from you: such pretty, kind letters

as you send. But it gives me great delight to find that my master misses

me, I begin to wish myself with you more than I should do, if I were

wanted less. It is a good thing to stay away, till one's company is

desired, but not so good to stay, after it is desired.

You know I have some work to do. I did not set to it very soon; and if I

should go up to London with nothing done, what would be said, but that I

was--who can tell what? I, therefore, stay till I can bring up something

to stop their mouths, and then--

Though I am still at Ashbourne, I receive your dear letters, that come

to Lichfield, and you continue that direction, for I think to get

thither as soon as I can.

One of the does died yesterday, and I am afraid her fawn will be

starved; I wish Miss Thrale had it to nurse; but the doctor is now all

for cattle, and minds very little either does or hens.

How did you and your aunt part? Did you turn her out of doors, to begin

your journey? or did she leave you by her usual shortness of visits? I

love to know how you go on.

I cannot but think on your kindness and my master's. Life has, upon the

whole, fallen short, very short, of my early expectation; but the

acquisition of such a friendship, at an age, when new friendships are

seldom acquired, is something better than the general course of things

gives man a right to expect. I think on it with great delight: I am not

very apt to be delighted. I am, &c.

XXXVII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Lichfield, October 27, 1777.

DEAR MADAM,--You talk of writing and writing, as if you had all the

writing to yourself. If our correspondence were printed, I am sure

posterity, for posterity is always the author's favourite, would say

that I am a good writer too.--"Anch'io sono pittore." To sit down so

often with nothing to say; to say something so often, almost without

consciousness of saying, and without any remembrance of having said, is

a power of which I will not violate my modesty by boasting, but I do not

believe that every body has it.

Some, when they write to their friends, are all affection; some are wise

and sententious; some strain their powers for efforts of gaiety; some

write news, and some write secrets; but to make a letter without

affection, without wisdom, without gaiety, without news, and without a

secret, is, doubtless, the great epistolick art.

In a man's letters, you know, madam, his soul lies naked, his letters

are only the mirror of his breast; whatever passes within him, is shown,

undisguised, in its natural process; nothing is inverted, nothing

distorted: you see systems in their elements; you discover actions in

their motives.

Of this great truth, sounded by the knowing to the ignorant, and so

echoed by the ignorant to the knowing, what evidence have you now before

you? Is not my soul laid open in these veracious pages? Do not you see

me reduced to my first principles? This is the pleasure of corresponding

with a friend, where doubt and distrust have no place, and every thing

is said as it is thought. The original idea is laid down in its simple

purity, and all the supervenient conceptions are spread over it,

"stratum super stratum," as they happen to be formed. These are the

letters by which souls are united, and by which minds, naturally in

unison, move each other, as they are moved themselves. I know, dearest

lady, that in the perusal of this, such is the consanguinity of our

intellects, you will be touched, as I am touched. I have, indeed,

concealed nothing from you, nor do I expect ever to repent of having

thus opened my heart. I am, &c.

XXXVIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

November 10, 1777.

DEAR MADAM,--And so, supposing that I might come to town, and neglect to

give you notice, or thinking some other strange thought, but certainly

thinking wrong, you fall to writing about me to Tom Davies, as if he

could tell you anything that I would not have you know. As soon as I

came hither, I let you know of my arrival; and the consequence is, that

I am summoned to Brighthelmstone, through storms, and cold, and dirt,

and all the hardships of wintry journeys. You know my natural dread of

all those evils; yet, to show my master an example of compliance, and to

let you know how much I long to see you, and to boast how little I give

way to disease, my purpose is to be with you on Friday.

I am sorry for poor Nezzy, and hope she will, in time, be better; I hope

the same for myself. The rejuvenescency of Mr. Scrase gives us both

reason to hope, and, therefore, both of us rejoice in his recovery. I

wish him well, besides, as a friend to my master.

I am just come home from not seeing my lord mayor's show, but I might

have seen, at least, part of it. But I saw Miss Wesley and her brothers;

she sends her compliments. Mrs. Williams is come home, I think, a very

little better.

Every body was an enemy to that wig.--We will burn it, and get drunk;

for what is joy without drink? Wagers are laid in the city about our

success, which is yet, as the French call it, problematical. Well--but,

seriously, I think, I shall be glad to see you in your own hair; but do

not take too much time in combing, and twisting, and papering, and

unpapering, and curling, and frizling, and powdering, and getting out

the powder, with all the other operations required in the cultivation of

a head of hair; yet let it be combed, at least, once in three months on

the quarterday.--I could wish it might be combed once at least, in six

weeks; if I were to indulge my wishes but what are wishes without hopes,

I should fancy the operation performed--one knows not when one has

enough--perhaps, every morning. I am, dearest lady, your, &c.

XXXIX.--To MRS. THRALE.

Ashbourne, June 14, 1779.

DEAR MADAM,--Your account of Mr. Thrale's illness is very terrible; but

when I remember that he seems to have it peculiar to his constitution,

that, whatever distemper he has, he always has his head affected, I am

less frighted. The seizure was, I think, not apoplectical but

hysterical, and, therefore, not dangerous to life. I would have you,

however, consult such physicians as you think you can best trust.

Broomfield seems to have done well and, by his practice, appears not to

suspect an apoplexy. This is a solid and fundamental comfort. I remember

Dr. Marsigli, an Italian physician, whose seizure was more violent than

Mr. Thrale's, for he fell down helpless, but his case was not considered

as of much danger, and he went safe home, and is now a professor at

Padua. His fit was considered as only hysterical.

I hope sir Philip, who franked your letter, comforts you as well as Mr.

Seward. If I can comfort you, I will come to you; but I hope you are now

no longer in want of any help to be happy. I am, &c.

The doctor sends his compliments; he is one of the people that are

growing old.

XL.--To MRS. THRALE.

Ashbourne, June 14, 1779.

DEAR MADAM,--How near we are all to extreme danger. We are merry or sad,

or busy or idle, and forget that death is hovering over us. You are a

dear lady for writing again. The case, as you now describe it, is worse

than I conceived it, when I read your first letter. It is still,

however, not apoplectick, but seems to have something worse than

hysterical--a tendency to a palsy, which, I hope, however, is now over.

I am glad that you have Heberden, and hope we are all safer. I am the

more alarmed by this violent seizure, as I can impute it to no wrong

practices, or intemperance of any kind, and, therefore, know not how any

defence or preservative can be obtained. Mr. Thrale has, certainly, less

exercise than when he followed the foxes; but he is very far from

unwieldiness or inactivity, and further still from any vitious or

dangerous excess. I fancy, however, he will do well to ride more.

Do, dear madam, let me know, every post, how he goes on. Such sudden

violence is very dreadful; we know not by what it is let loose upon us,

nor by what its effects are limited.

If my coming can either assist or divert, or be useful to any purpose,

let me but know: I will soon be with you. Mrs. Kennedy, Queeney's

Baucis, ended, last week, a long life of disease and poverty. She had

been married about fifty years.

Dr. Taylor is not much amiss, but always complaining. I am, &c.

XLI.--To MR. THRALE.

Lichfield, June 23, 1779.

DEAR SIR,--To show how well I think of your health, I have sent you a

hundred pounds, to keep for me. It will come within one day of

quarterday, and that day you must give me. I came by it in a very

uncommon manner, and would not confound it with the rest.

My wicked mistress talks as if she thought it possible for me to be

indifferent or negligent about your health or hers. If I could have done

any good, I had not delayed an hour to come to you; and I will come very

soon, to try if my advice can be of any use, or my company of any

entertainment.

What can be done, you must do for yourself: do not let any uneasy

thought settle in your mind. Cheerfulness and exercise are your great

remedies. Nothing is, for the present, worth your anxiety. "Vivite

laeti" is one of the great rules of health. I believe it will be good to

ride often, but never to weariness, for weariness is, itself, a

temporary resolution of the nerves, and is, therefore, to be avoided.

Labour is exercise continued to fatigue--exercise is labour used only,

while it produces pleasure.

Above all, keep your mind quiet: do not think with earnestness even of

your health; but think on such things as may please without too much

agitation; among which, I hope, is, dear sir, your, &c.

XLII.--To MRS. THRALE.

DEAR MADAM,--On Sunday I dined with poor Lawrence, who is deafer than

ever. When he was told that Dr. Moisy visited Mr. Thrale, he inquired

for what? and said there was nothing to be done, which nature would not

do for herself. On Sunday evening, I was at Mrs. Vesy's, and there was

inquiry about my master, but I told them all good. There was Dr. Bernard

of Eton, and we made a noise all the evening; and there was Pepys, and

Wraxal, till I drove him away. And I have no loss of my mistress, who

laughs, and frisks, and frolicks it all the long day, and never thinks

of poor Colin.

If Mr. Thrale will but continue to mend, we shall, I hope, come together

again, and do as good things as ever we did; but, perhaps, you will be

made too proud to heed me, and yet, as I have often told you, it will

not be easy for you to find such another.

Queeney has been a good girl, and wrote me a letter; if Burney said she

would write, she told you a fib. She writes nothing to me. She can write

home fast enough. I have a good mind not to let her know that Dr.

Bernard, to whom I had recommended her novel, speaks of it with great

commendation, and that the copy which she lent me, has been read by Dr.

Lawrence three times over. And yet what a gipsy it is. She no more minds

me than if I were a Brangton. Pray speak to Queeney to write again.

I have had a cold and a cough, and taken opium, and think I am better.

We have had very cold weather; bad riding weather for my master, but he

will surmount it all. Did Mrs. Browne make any reply to your comparison

of business with solitude, or did you quite down her? I am much pleased

to think that Mrs. Cotton thinks me worth a frame, and a place upon her

wall; her kindness was hardly within my hope, but time does wonderful

things. All my fear is, that if I should come again, my print would be

taken down. I fear I shall never hold it.

Who dines with you? Do you see Dr. Woodward, or Dr. Harrington? Do you

go to the house where they write for the myrtle? You are at all places

of high resort, and bring home hearts by dozens; while I am seeking for

something to say about men, of whom I know nothing, but their verses,

and, sometimes, very little of them. Now I have begun, however, I do not

despair of making an end. Mr. Nichols holds, that Addison is the most

taking of all that I have done. I doubt they will not be done, before

you come away.

Now you think yourself the first writer in the world for a letter about

nothing. Can you write such a letter as this? So miscellaneous, with

such noble disdain of regularity, like Shakespeare's works; such

graceful negligence of transition, like the ancient enthusiasts? The

pure voice of nature and of friendship. Now, of whom shall I proceed to

speak? Of whom but Mrs. Montague? Having mentioned Shakespeare and

nature, does not the name of Montague force itself upon me? Such were

the transitions of the ancients, which now seem abrupt, because the

intermediate idea is lost to modern understandings. I wish her name had

connected itself with friendship; but, ah, Colin, thy hopes are in vain!

One thing, however, is left me, I have still to complain; but I hope I

shall not complain much, while you have any kindness for me. I am,

dearest, and dearest madam, your, &c.

London, April, 11, 1780.

XLIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

DEAREST MADAM,--Mr. Thrale never will live abstinently, till he can

persuade himself to abstain by rule. I lived on potatoes on Friday, and

on spinage to-day; but I have had, I am afraid, too many dinners of

late. I took physick too both days, and hope to fast to-morrow. When he

comes home, we will shame him, and Jebb shall scold him into regularity.

I am glad, however, that he is always one of the company, and that my

dear Queeney is again another. Encourage, as you can, the musical girl.

Nothing is more common than mutual dislike, where mutual approbation is

particularly expected. There is often on both sides a vigilance, not

over-benevolent; and as attention is strongly excited, so that nothing

drops unheeded, any difference in taste or opinion, and some difference,

where there is no restraint, will commonly appear, immediately generates

dislike.

Never let criticisms operate upon your face, or your mind; it is very

rarely that an author is hurt by his criticks. The blaze of reputation

cannot be blown out, but it often dies in the socket; a very few names

may be considered as perpetual lamps, that shine unconsumed. From the

author of Fitzosborne's Letters, I cannot think myself in much danger. I

met him only once, about thirty years ago, and, in some small dispute,

reduced him to whistle; having not seen him since, that is the last

impression. Poor Moore, the fabulist, was one of the company.

Mrs. Montague's long stay, against her own inclination, is very

convenient. You would, by your own confession, want a companion; and she

is "par pluribus," conversing with her you may "find variety in one."

At Mrs. Ord's I met one Mrs. B--, a travelled lady, of great spirit, and

some consciousness of her own abilities. We had a contest of gallantry,

an hour long, so much to the diversion of the company, that at Ramsay's,

last night, in a crowded room, they would have pitted us again. There

were Smelt, and the bishop of St. Asaph, who comes to every place; and

lord Monboddo, and sir Joshua, and ladies out of tale.

The exhibition, how will you do either to see or not to see! The

exhibition is eminently splendid. There is contour, and keeping, and

grace, and expression, and all the varieties of artificial excellence.

The apartments were truly very noble. The pictures, for the sake of a

skylight, are at the top of the house; there we dined, and I sat over

against the archbishop of York. See how I live, when I am not under

petticoat government. I am, &c.

London, May 1, 1780.

XLIV.--To MRS. THRALE.

London, June 9, 1780.

DEAR MADAM,--To the question, Who was impressed with consternation? it

may, with great truth, be answered, that every body was impressed, for

nobody was sure of his safety.

On Friday, the good protestants met in St. George's fields, at the

summons of lord George Gordon, and marching to Westminster, insulted the

lords and commons, who all bore it with great tameness. At night, the

outrages began, by the demolition of the mass-house by Lincoln's inn.

An exact journal of a week's defiance of government, I cannot give you.

On Monday, Mr. Strahan, who had been insulted, spoke to lord Mansfield,

who had, I think been insulted too, of the licentiousness of the

populace; and his lordship treated it, as a very slight irregularity. On

Tuesday night, they pulled down Fielding's house and burnt his goods in

the street. They had gutted, on Monday sir George Saville's house, but

the building was saved. On Tuesday evening, leaving Fielding's ruins,

they went to Newgate, to demand their companions, who had been seized,

demolishing the chapel. The keeper could not release them, but by the

mayor's permission, which he went to ask; at his return, he found all

the prisoners released, and Newgate in a blaze. They then went to

Bloomsbury, and fastened upon lord Mansfield's house which they pulled

down; and as for his goods, they totally burnt them. They have since

gone to Caen wood, but a guard was there before them. They plundered

some papists, I think, and burnt a mass-house in Moorfields the same

night.

On Wednesday, I walked with Dr. Scott, to look at Newgate, and found it

in ruins, with the fire yet glowing As I went by, the protestants were

plundering the Sessions house at the Old Bailey. There were not, I

believe, a hundred; but they did their work at leisure, in full

security, without sentinels, without trepidation, as men lawfully

employed in full day. Such is the cowardice of a commercial place. On

Wednesday they broke open the Fleet, and the King's Bench, and the

Marshalsea, and Wood street Counter, and Clerkenwell Bridewell, and

released all the prisoners.

At night, they set fire to the Fleet, and to the King's Bench, and I

know not how many other places; and one might see the glare of

conflagration fill the sky from many parts. The sight was dreadful. Some

people were threatened; Mr. Strahan advised me to take care of myself.

Such a time of terrour you have been happy in not seeing.

The king said, in council, that the magistrates had not done their duty,

but that he would do his own; and a proclamation was published,

directing us to keep our servants within doors, as the peace was now to

be preserved by force. The soldiers were sent out to different parts,

and the town is now at quiet.

What has happened at your house, you will know; the harm is only a few

butts of beer; and I think you may be sure that the danger is over.

There is a body of soldiers at St. Margaret's hill.

Of Mr. Tyson I know nothing, nor can guess to what he can allude; but I

know that a young fellow of little more than seventy is naturally an

unresisted conqueror of hearts.

Pray tell Mr. Thrale that I live here and have no fruit, and if he does

not interpose, am not likely to have much; but, I think, he might as

well give me a little, as give all to the gardener.

Pray make my compliments to Queeney and Burney. I am, &c.

XLV.--To MRS. THRALE.

June 10, 1780.

DEAR MADAM,--You have, ere now, heard and read enough to convince you,

that we have had something to suffer, and something to fear, and,

therefore, I think it necessary to quiet the solicitude which you

undoubtedly feel, by telling you that our calamities and terrours are

now at an end. The soldiers are stationed so as to be every where within

call; there is no longer any body of rioters, and the individuals are

hunted to their holes, and led to prison; the streets are safe and

quiet: lord George was last night sent to the Tower. Mr. John Wilkes

was, this day, with a party of soldiers, in my neighbourhood, to seize

the publisher of a seditious paper. Every body walks, and eats, and

sleeps in security. But the history of the last week would fill you with

amazement: it is without any modern example.

Several chapels have been destroyed, and several inoffensive papists

have been plundered, but the high sport was to burn the gaols. This was

a good rabble trick. The debtors and the criminals were all set at

liberty; but, of the criminals, as has always happened, many are already

retaken, and two pirates have surrendered themselves, and it is expected

that they will be pardoned.

Government now acts again with its proper force; and we are all again

under the protection of the king and the law. I thought that it would be

agreeable to you and my master, to have my testimony to the publick

security; and that you would sleep more quietly, when I told you, that

you are safe. I am, dearest lady, your, &c.

XLVI.--To MRS. THRALE.

London, April 5, 1781.

DEAREST MADAM,--Of your injunctions, to pray for you, and write to you,

I hope to leave neither unobserved; and I hope to find you willing, in a

short time, to alleviate your trouble by some other exercise of the

mind. I am not without my part of the calamity. No death, since that of

my wife, has ever oppressed me like this. But let us remember, that we

are in the hands of him who knows when to give and when to take away;

who will look upon us, with mercy, through all our variations of

existence, and who invites us to call on him in the day of trouble. Call

upon him in this great revolution of life, and call with confidence. You

will then find comfort for the past, and support for the future. He that

has given you happiness in marriage, to a degree of which, without

personal knowledge, I should have thought the description fabulous, can

give you another mode of happiness as a mother, and, at last, the

happiness of losing all temporal cares, in the thoughts of an eternity

in heaven.

I do not exhort you to reason yourself into tranquillity. We must first

pray, and then labour; first implore the blessing of God, and use those

means which he puts into our hands. Cultivated ground has few weeds; a

mind, occupied by lawful business, has little room for useless regret.

We read the will to-day; but I will not fill my first letter with any

other account, than that, with all my zeal for your advantage, I am

satisfied; and, that the other executors, more used to consider property

than I, commended it for wisdom and equity. Yet, why should I not tell

you, that you have five hundred pounds for your immediate expenses, and

two thousand pounds a year, with both the houses, and all the goods.

Let us pray for one another, that the time, whether long or short, that

shall yet be granted us, may be well spent; and, that, when this life,

which, at the longest, is very short, shall come to an end, a better may

begin, which shall never end. I am, dearest madam, your, &c.

XLVII.--To MRS. THRALE.

April 7, 1781.

DEAR MADAM,--I hope you begin to find your mind grow clearer. My part of

the loss hangs upon me. I have lost a friend of boundless kindness, at

an age when it is very unlikely that I should find another.

If you think change of place likely to relieve you, there is no reason

why you should not go to Bath; the distances are unequal, but with

regard to practice and business they are the same. It is a day's journey

from either place; and the post is more expeditious and certain to Bath.

Consult only your own inclination, for there is really no other

principle of choice. God direct and bless you.

Mr. C--has offered Mr. P--money, but it was not wanted. I hope we shall

all do all we can to make you less unhappy, and you must do all you can

for yourself. What we, or what you can do, will, for a time, be but

little; yet, certainly, that calamity which may be considered as doomed

to fall inevitably on half mankind, is not finally without alleviation.

It is something for me, that, as I have not the decrepitude, I have not

the callousness of old age. I hope, in time, to be less affected. I am,

&c.

XLVIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

London, April 9, 1781.

DEAR MADAM,--That you are gradually recovering your tranquillity is the

effect to be humbly expected from trust in God. Do not represent life as

darker than it is. Your loss has been very great, but you retain more

than almost any other can hope to possess. You are high in the opinion

of mankind; you have children, from whom much pleasure may be expected;

and that you will find many friends you have no reason to doubt. Of my

friendship, be it worth more or less, I hope you think yourself certain,

without much art or care. It will not be easy for me to repay the

benefits that I have received; but I hope to be always ready at your

call. Our sorrow has different effects; you are withdrawn into solitude,

and I am driven into company. I am afraid of thinking what I have lost.

I never had such a friend before. Let me have your prayers and those of

my dear Queeney.

The prudence and resolution of your design to return so soon to your

business and your duty, deserves great praise; I shall communicate it,

on Wednesday, to the other executors. Be pleased to let me know, whether

you would have me come to Streatham to receive you, or stay here till

the next day. I am, &c.

XLIX.--To THE SAME.

Bolt court, Fleet street, June 19, 1783.

DEAR MADAM,--I am sitting down, in no cheerful solitude, to write a

narrative, which would once have affected you with tenderness and

sorrow, but which you will, perhaps, pass over now with a careless

glance of frigid indifference. For this diminution of regard, however, I

know not whether I ought to blame you, who may have reasons which I

cannot know; and I do not blame myself, who have, for a great part of

human life, done you what good I could, and have never done you evil.

I have been disordered in the usual way, and had been relieved, by the

usual methods, by opium and catharticks, but had rather lessened my dose

of opium.

On Monday, the 16th, I sat for my picture, and walked a considerable

way, with little inconvenience. In the afternoon and evening, I felt

myself light and easy, and began to plan schemes of life. Thus I went to

bed, and, in a short time, waked and sat up, as has been long my custom,

when I felt a confusion and indistinctness in my head, which lasted, I

suppose, about half a minute; I was alarmed, and prayed God, that,

however he might afflict my body, he would spare my understanding. This

prayer, that I might try the integrity of my faculties, I made in Latin

verse. The lines were not very good, but I knew them not to be very

good: I made them easily, and concluded myself to be unimpaired in my

faculties.

Soon after, I perceived that I had suffered a paralytick stroke, and

that my speech was taken from me. I had no pain, and so little

dejection, in this dreadful state, that I wondered at my own apathy, and

considered that, perhaps, death itself, when it should come, would

excite less horrour than seems now to attend it.

In order to rouse the vocal organs, I took two drams. Wine has been

celebrated for the production of eloquence. I put myself into violent

motion, and, I think, repeated it; but all was vain. I then went to bed,

and, strange as it may seem, I think, slept. When I saw light, it was

time to contrive what I should do. Though God stopped my speech, he left

me my hand: I enjoyed a mercy, which was not granted to my dear friend

Lawrence, who now, perhaps, overlooks me, as I am writing, and rejoices

that I have what he wanted. My first note was, necessarily, to my

servant, who came in talking, and could not immediately comprehend, why

he should read what I put into his hands.

I then wrote a card to Mr. Allen, that I might have a discreet friend at

hand, to act as occasion should require. In penning this note, I had

some difficulty; my hand, I knew not how nor why, made wrong letters. I

then wrote to Dr. Taylor, to come to me, and bring Dr. Heberden, and I

sent to Dr. Brocklesby, who is my neighbour. My physicians are very

friendly and very disinterested, and give me great hopes, but you may

imagine my situation. I have so far recovered my vocal powers, as to

repeat the Lord's prayer, with no very imperfect articulation. My

memory, I hope, yet remains as it was; but such an attack produces

solicitude for the safety of every faculty.

How this will be received by you, I know not. I hope you will sympathize

with me; but, perhaps,

"My mistress, gracious, mild, and good,

Cries: Is he dumb? 'Tis time he shou'd."

But can this be possible? I hope it cannot. I hope that what, when I

could speak, I spoke of you, and to you, will be, in a sober and serious

hour, remembered by you; and, surely, it cannot be remembered but with

some degree of kindness. I have loved you with virtuous affection; I

have honoured you with sincere esteem. Let not all our endearments be

forgotten, but let me have, in this great distress, your pity and your

prayers. You see, I yet turn to you with my complaints, as a settled and

unalienable friend; do not, do not drive me from you, for I have not

deserved either neglect or hatred.

To the girls, who do not write often, for Susy has written only once,

and Miss Thrale owes me a letter, I earnestly recommend, as their

guardian and friend, that they remember their creator in the days of

their youth.

I suppose, you may wish to know, how my disease is treated by the

physicians. They put a blister upon my back, and two from my ear to my

throat, one on a side. The blister on the back has done little, and

those on the throat have not risen. I bullied and bounced, (it sticks to

our last sand,) and compelled the apothecary to make his salve according

to the Edinburgh dispensatory, that it might adhere better. I have two

on now of my own prescription. They, likewise, give me salt of

hartshorn, which I take with no great confidence, but I am satisfied

that what can be done, is done for me.

O God! give me comfort and confidence in thee; forgive my sins; and, if

it be thy good pleasure, relieve my diseases, for Jesus Christ's sake.

Amen.

I am almost ashamed of this querulous letter; but now it is written, let

it go. I am, &c.

L.--To MRS. THRALE.

DEAR MADAM,--Among those that have inquired after me, sir Philip is one;

and Dr. Burney was one of those who came to see me. I have had no reason

to complain of indifference or neglect. Dick Burney is come home five

inches taller.

Yesterday, in the evening, I went to church, and have been to-day to see

the great burning-glass, which does more than was ever done before, by

the transmission of the rays, but is not equal in power to those which

reflect them. It wastes a diamond placed in the focus, but causes no

diminution of pure gold. Of the rubies, exposed to its action, one was

made more vivid, the other paler. To see the glass, I climbed up stairs

to the garret, and then up a ladder to the leads, and talked to the

artist rather too long; for my voice, though clear and distinct for a

little while, soon tires and falters. The organs of speech are yet very

feeble, but will, I hope, be, by the mercy of God, finally restored: at

present, like any other weak limb, they can endure but little labour at

once. Would you not have been very sorry for me, when I could scarcely

speak?

Fresh cantharides were this morning applied to my head, and are to be

continued some time longer. If they play me no treacherous tricks, they

give me very little pain.

Let me have your kindness and your prayers; and think on me, as on a

man, who, for a very great portion of your life has done you all the

good he could, and desires still to be considered, madam, your, &c.

LI.--To MRS. THRALE.

London, July 1, 1783.

DEAREST MADAM,--This morning I took the air by a ride to Hampstead, and

this afternoon I dined with the club. But fresh cantharides were this

day applied to my head.

Mr. Cator called on me to-day, and told me, that he had invited you back

to Streatham. I showed the unfitness of your return thither, till the

neighbourhood should have lost its habits of depredation, and he seemed

to be satisfied. He invited me, very kindly and cordially, to try the

air of Beckenham; and pleased me very much by his affectionate attention

to Miss Vesy. There is much good in his character, and much usefulness

in his knowledge.

Queeney seems now to have forgotten me. Of the different appearance of

the hills and valleys an account may, perhaps, be given, without the

supposition of any prodigy! If she had been out, and the evening was

breezy, the exhalations would rise from the low grounds very copiously;

and the wind that swept and cleared the hills, would only, by its cold,

condense the vapours of the sheltered valleys.

Murphy is just gone from me; he visits me very kindly, and I have no

unkindness to complain of.

I am sorry that sir Philip's request was not treated with more respect,

nor can I imagine what has put them so much out of humour; I hope their

business is prosperous.

I hope that I recover by degrees, but my nights are restless; and you

will suppose the nervous system to be somewhat enfeebled. I am, madam,

your, &c.

LII.--To MRS. THRALE.

London, October 9, 1783.

Two nights ago, Mr. Burke sat with me a long time; he seems much pleased

with his journey. We had both seen Stonehenge this summer, for the first

time. I told him that the view had enabled me to confute two opinions

which have been advanced about it. One, that the materials are not

natural stones, but an artificial composition, hardened by time. This

notion is as old as Camden's time; and has this strong argument to

support it, that stone of that species is nowhere to be found. The other

opinion, advanced by Dr. Charlton, is, that it was erected by the Danes.

Mr. Bowles made me observe, that the transverse stones were fixed on the

perpendicular supporters by a knob, formed on the top of the upright

stone, which entered into a hollow, cut in the crossing stone. This is a

proof, that the enormous edifice was raised by a people who had not yet

the knowledge of mortar; which cannot be supposed of the Danes, who came

hither in ships, and were not ignorant, certainly, of the arts of life.

This proves, likewise, the stones not to be factitious; for they that

could mould such durable masses, could do much more than make mortar,

and could have continued the transverse from the upright part with the

same paste.

You have, doubtless, seen Stonehenge; and if you have not, I should

think it a hard task to make an adequate description.

It is, in my opinion, to be referred to the earliest habitation of the

island, as a druidical monument of, at least, two thousand years;

probably the most ancient work of man, upon the island. Salisbury

cathedral, and its neighbour Stonehenge, are two eminent monuments of

art and rudeness, and may show the first essay, and the last perfection

in architecture.

I have not yet settled my thoughts about the generation of light air,

which I, indeed, once saw produced, but I was at the height of my great

complaint. I have made inquiry, and shall soon be able to tell you how

to fill a balloon. I am, madam, your, &c.

LIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

London, Dec. 27, 1783.

DEAR MADAM,--The wearisome solitude of the long evenings did, indeed,

suggest to me the convenience of a club in my neighbourhood, but I have

been hindered from attending it by want of breath. If I can complete the

scheme, you shall have the names and the regulations.

The time of the year, for I hope the fault is rather in the weather than

in me, has been very hard upon me. The muscles of my breast are much

convulsed. Dr. Heberden recommends opiates, of which I have such

horrour, that I do not think of them but _in extremis_. I was, however,

driven to them, last night, for refuge, and, having taken the usual

quantity, durst not go to bed, for fear of that uneasiness to which a

supine posture exposes me, but rested all night in a chair, with much

relief, and have been, to-day, more warm, active, and cheerful.

You have more than once wondered at my complaint of solitude, when you

hear that I am crowded with visits. "Inopem me copia fecit." Visitors

are no proper companions in the chamber of sickness. They come, when I

could sleep or read, they stay till I am weary, they force me to attend,

when my mind calls for relaxation, and to speak, when my powers will

hardly actuate my tongue. The amusements and consolations of languor and

depression are conferred by familiar and domestick companions, which can

be visited or called at will, and can, occasionally, be quitted or

dismissed, who do not obstruct accommodation by ceremony, or destroy

indolence by awakening effort.

Such society I had with Levet and Williams; such I had where--I am never

likely to have it more.

I wish, dear lady, to you and my dear girls, many a cheerful and pious

Christmas. I am, your, &c.

LIV.--To MRS. Piozzi.

London, July 8, 1784.

DEAR MADAM,--What you have done, however I may lament it, I have no

pretence to resent, as it has not been injurious to me; I, therefore,

breathe out one sigh more of tenderness, perhaps useless, but at least

sincere.

I wish that God may grant you every blessing, that you may be happy in

this world, for its short continuance, and eternally happy in a better

state; and whatever I can contribute to your happiness, I am very ready

to repay, for that kindness which soothed twenty years of a life

radically wretched.

Do not think slightly of the advice which I now presume to offer.

Prevail upon Mr. Piozzi to settle in England; you may live here with

more dignity than in Italy, and with more security; your rank will be

higher, and your fortune more under your own eye. I desire not to detail

all my reasons; but every argument of prudence and interest is for

England, and only some phantoms of imagination seduce you to Italy.

I am afraid, however, that my counsel is vain, yet I have eased my heart

by giving it.

When queen Mary took the resolution of sheltering herself in England,

the archbishop of St. Andrew's, attempting to dissuade her, attended on

her journey; and when they came to the irremeable stream, that separated

the two kingdoms, walked by her side into the water, in the middle of

which he seized her bridle, and with earnestness, proportioned to her

danger and his own affection, pressed her to return. The queen went

forward.--If the parallel reaches thus far, may it go no farther.--The

tears stand in my eyes.

I am going into Derbyshire, and hope to be followed by your good wishes,

for I am, with great affection, your, &c.

END OF VOL. I.