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years; and when Dr. Johnson and I were at Inver- Tour to ness, I had written to him as follows:

"MR. BOSWELL TO DAVID GARRICK, ESQ. LONDON.

"Inverness, Sunday, 29th August, 1773.
"MY DEAR SIR,-Here I am, and Mr. Samuel Johnson
actually with me. We were a night at Fores, in coming to
which, in the dusk of the evening, we passed over the bleak
and blasted heath where Macbeth met the witches. Your old
preceptor repeated, with much solemnity, the speech

How far is 't called to Fores? What are these,
So wither'd and so wild in their attire,' &c.

This day we visited the ruins of Macbeth's castle at Inverness.
I have had great romantick satisfaction in seeing Johnson upon
the classical scenes of Shakspeare in Scotland; which I really
looked upon as almost as improbable as that Birnam wood
should come to Dunsinane.' Indeed, as I have always been
accustomed to view him as a permanent London object, it would
not be much more wonderful to me to see St. Paul's church
moving along where we now are. As yet we have travelled in
postchaises; but to-morrow we are to mount on horseback, and
ascend into the mountains by Fort Augustus, and so on to the
We shall see that island
ferry, where we are to cross to Sky.
fully, and then visit some more of the Hebrides; after which
we are to land in Argyleshire, proceed by Glasgow to Auchin-
leck, repose there a competent time, and then return to Edin-
burgh, from whence the Rambler will depart for old England
again, as soon as he finds it convenient. Hitherto we have had
a very prosperous expedition. I flatter myself, servetur ad imum,
qualis ab incepto processerit. He is in excellent spirits, and I
have a rich journal of his conversation. Look back, Davy', to
Lichfield; run up through the time that has elapsed since you
first knew Mr. Johnson, and enjoy with me his present extra-
ordinary tour. I could not resist the impulse of writing to you
from this place. The situation of the old castle corresponds
exactly to Shakspeare's description. While we were there to-
day, it happened oddly, that a raven perched upon one of the
chimney-tops, and croaked. Then I in my turn repeated-

I took the liberty of giving this familiar appellation to my celebrated friend, to bring in a more lively manner to his remembrance the period when he was Dr. Johnson's pupil.—BOSWELL.

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Tour to
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"The raven himself is hoarse,

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan

Under my battlements.'

"I wish you had been with us. Think what enthusiastick happiness I shall have to see Mr. Samuel Johnson walking among the romantick rocks and woods of my ancestors at Auchinleck! Write to me at Edinburgh. You owe me his verses on great George and tuneful Cibber, and the bad verses which led him to make his fine ones on Philips the musician. Keep your promise, and let me have them. I offer my very best compliments to Mrs. Garrick, and ever am your warm admirer and friend,

His answer was as follows.

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JAMES BOSWell."

"MR. GARRICK TO MR. BOSWELL, EDINBURGH.

"Hampton, 14th September, 1773.

"Dear Sir,-You stole away from London, and left us all in the lurch; for we expected you one night at the club, and knew nothing of your departure. Had I paid you what I owed you for the book you bought for me, I should only have grieved for the loss of your company, and slept with a quiet conscience; but, wounded as it is, it must remain so till I see you again, though I am sure our good friend Mr. Johnson will discharge the debt for me, if you will let him. Your account of your journey to Fores, the raven, old castle, &c. &c. made me half mad. Are you not rather too late in the year for fine weather, which is the life and soul of seeing places? I hope your pleasure will continue qualis ab incepto, &c.

"Your friend'

threatens me much. I only wish that he would put his threats in execution, and, if he prints his play, I will forgive him. I remember he complained to you that his bookseller called for the money for some copies of his [Lusiad], which I subscribed for, and that I desired him to call again. The truth is, that my wife was not at home, and that for weeks

I have suppressed my friend's name from an apprehension of wounding his sensibility; but I would not withhold from my readers a passage which shows Mr. Garrick's mode of writing as the manager of a theatre, and contains a pleasing trait of his domestick life. His judgment of dramatick pieces, so far as concerns their exhibition on the stage, must be allowed to have considerable weight. But from the effect which a perusal of the tragedy here condemned had upon myself, and from the opinions of some eminent criticks, I venture to pronounce that it has much poetical merit; and its authour has distinguished himself by several performances which show that the epithet poetaster was, in the present instance, much misapplied.-BOSWELL. [The author was Mickle: see ante, vol. ii. p. 197.-ED.]

together I have not ten shillings in my pocket. However, had it Tour to been otherwise, it was not so great a crime to draw his poetical Hebrid. vengeance upon me. I despise all that he can do, and am glad that I can so easily get rid of him and his ingratitude. I am hardened both to abuse and ingratitude.

"You, I am sure, will no more recommend your poetasters to my civility and good offices.

"Shall I recommend to you a play of Eschylus (the Prometheus), published and translated by poor old Morell, who is a good scholar, and an acquaintance of mine? It will be but half-a-guinea, and your name shall be put in the list I am making for him. You will be in very good company.

"Now for the epitaphs!

(This refers to the epitaph on Philips, and the verses on George the Second, and Colley Cibber, as his poet laureat, for which see ante, vol. i. p. 120).

"I have no more paper, or I should have said more to you. My love and respects to Mr. Johnson. Yours ever,

"D. GARRICK.

"I can't write. I have the gout in my hand."

Sunday, 24th October.-We passed the forenoon calmly and placidly. I prevailed on Dr. Johnson to read aloud Ogden's sixth Sermon on Prayer, which he did with a distinct expression, and pleasing solemnity. He praised my favourite preacher, his elegant language, and remarkable acuteness; and said, he fought infidels with their own weapons.

As a specimen of Ogden's manner, I insert the following passage from the sermon which Dr. Johnson now read. The preacher, after arguing against that vain philosophy which maintains, in conformity with the hard principle of eternal necessity, or unchangeable predetermination, that the only effect of prayer for others, although we are exhorted to pray for them, is to produce good dispositions in ourselves towards them, thus expresses himself:

"A plain man may be apt to ask, But if this then, though enjoined in the Holy Scriptures, is to be my real aim and intention, when I am taught to pray for other persons, why is it

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Tour to that I do not plainly so express it? Why is not the form of the petition brought nearer to the meaning? Give them, say I to our heavenly Father, what is good. But this, I am to understand, will be as it will be, and is not for me to alter. What is it then that I am doing? I am desiring to become charitable myself; and why may I not plainly say so? Is there shame in it, or impiety? The wish is laudable: why should I form designs to hide it?

"Or is it, perhaps, better to be brought about by indirect means, and in this artful manner? Alas! who is it that I would impose on? From whom can it be, in this commerce, that I desire to hide any thing? When, as my Saviour commands me, I have entered into my closet, and shut my door,' there are but two parties privy to my devotions, God and my own heart which of the two am I deceiving?"

He wished to have more books, and, upon inquiring if there were any in the house, was told that a waiter had some, which were brought to him; but I recollect none of them, except Hervey's Meditations. He thought slightingly of this admired book. He treated it with ridicule, and would not allow even the scene of the dying husband and father to be pathetick. I am not an impartial judge; for Hervey's Meditations engaged my affections in my early years. He read a passage concerning the moon, ludicrously, and showed how easily he could, in the same style, make reflections on that planet, the very reverse of Hervey's, representing her as treacherous to mankind. He did this with much humour; but I have not preserved the particulars. He then indulged a playful fancy, in making a Meditation on a Pudding, of which I hastily wrote down, in his presence, the following note; which, though imperfect, may serve to give my readers some idea of it.

"MEDITATION ON A PUDDING.

"Let us seriously reflect of what a pudding is composed. It is composed of flour that once waved in the golden grain, and drank the dews of the morning; of milk pressed from the

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swelling udder by the gentle hand of the beauteous milk-maid, Tour to whose beauty and innocence might have recommended a worse draught; who, while she stroked the udder, indulged no ambitious thoughts of wandering in palaces, formed no plans for the destruction of her fellow-creatures: milk, which is drawn from the cow, that useful animal, that eats the grass of the field, and supplies us with that which made the greatest part of the food of mankind in the age which the poets have agreed to call golden. It is made with an egg, that miracle of nature, which the theoretical Burnet has compared to creation. An egg contains water within its beautiful smooth surface; and an unformed mass, by the incubation of the parent, becomes a regular animal, furnished with bones and sinews, and covered with feathers. Let us consider: can there be more wanting to complete the meditation on a pudding? If more is wanting, more may be found. It contains salt, which keeps the sea from putrefaction: salt, which is made the image of intellectual excellence, contributes to the formation of a pudding."

In a Magazine I found a saying of Dr. Johnson's, something to this purpose; that the happiest part of a man's life is what he passes lying awake in bed in the morning. I read it to him. He said, “I may, perhaps, have said this; for nobody, at times, talks more laxly than I do." I ventured to suggest to him, that this was dangerous from one of his authority.

I spoke of living in the country, and upon what footing one should be with neighbours. I observed that some people were afraid of being on too easy a footing with them, from an apprehension that their time would not be their own. He made the obvious remark, that it depended much on what kind of neighbours one has, whether it was desirable to be on an easy footing with them or not. I mentioned a certain baronet, who told me he never was happy in the country, till he was not on speaking terms with his neighbours, which he contrived in different ways to bring about. "Lord -," said he, "stuck along; but at last the fellow pounded my

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