Calmly and considerately did I sit down in my arm-chair this morning, and endeavour to call up all the Philosophy that I could. A distemper of this kind is more dreadfull to me than most People. I am of a warm constitution, a complection[,] as Physicians say, exceedingly amorous and therefore suck in the poison more deeply. I have had two visitations of this calamity. The first lasted ten weeks. The second four months. How severe a reflection is it! And O how severe a Prospect. Yet, let me take courage. Perhaps this is not a very bad infection, and as I shall be scrupulously carefull of myself, I may get rid of it, in a short time. Then as Smith1 used to observe, a time of indisposition is not alltogether a time of misery. There is a softness of disposition, and an absence of care which attend upon it’s indolent confinement. Then I have often lamented my ignorance of English History. Now I may make up that want. I may read all Hume’s six Volumes.2 I may also be amused with novels & books of a slighter nature. I gave orders to say at the door, that I was gone to the country, except to a few freinds. Dempster[,] Erskine & my Brother were with me today. Tho’ bad, my spirits did not flag. Yet to be kept from comfortable Child’s is somewhat hard. However I will be patient.
I was very dull this day. I considered the Guards as a most improper scene of life for me. I thought it would yeild me no pleasure; for my constitution would be gone, and I would not be able to enjoy life. I thought London a bad place for me. I imagined I had lost all relish of it. Nay so very strange is wayward diseased fancy that it will make us wish for the things most dissagreable to us, merely to procure a change of objects, being sick & tired of those it presently has. I thought I would go immediatly down to Edinburgh, and would be an Advocate in the parliament house,1 and so lead a comfortable life. I was vexed to find all my gay plans vanished, and I had a struggle between hope & despair. My freind Captain Erskine came in. I told him my strange conceits. He reminded me of the uneasy situation I had been in, when at home. This settled me a little. In the afternoon, my Brother came. He brought many low old Sunday ideas when we were Boys into my memory. I wanted to indulge my gloom in solitude. I wearied of him. I showed it. I was angry at myself. I was peevish. He was good enough to say, he would go & come just as I chose. He left me. I remained ill.
I was somewhat better, and had some hope of being happy again. I received the following card from Lord Eglintoune.
Dear Jamie
I am sorry it has not been in my power to pay my respects to you, as I promis’d, but will call on you soon. If you are not engaged, pray dine with me tomorrow.
Yours
Eglintoune.
I wrote for Answer
Mr. Boswell presents his Compliments to Lord Eglintoune and is sorry he cannot comply with his Lordship’s kind invitation, being confined to the house. But when he gets well, he hopes to be oftener with his Lordship, for indeed My Lord, we love each other.
Yours
Boswell.
This card was a little effusion of the love which I cannot help having for this very agreable Nobleman, who first brought me into life, & taught me the joys of splendour and gayety. — What will now become of my Journal for some time. It must be a barren desart, a mere blank. To relate gravely that I rose, made water, took drugs, sat quiet[,] read a book[,] saw a freind or two, day after day, must be exceedingly poor & tedious. My Journal must therefore like the Newspapers yeild to the times. Yet I may have some incidents to insert. At any rate, I shall soon again be roaming abroad in search of amusing Adventures.
Lord Eglintoune came to me this forenoon. We talked of Church-hill. My Lord owned he was a very clever fellow. But must in some degree be either a fool or a knave to abuse the Scotch so grossly.1 He said it was a pity he had taken such a turn. I asked My Lord to frank some covers.2 Certainly said he, I am your scribe, and every thing else that you please. As he was writing I could not help beginning upon my difference with him, as I felt my old love for him. Our dialogue was as follows.
B Upon my word My Lord, you & I ought to be upon a good footing; But we are not.
E. I am sorry for it Jamie. But it is not my fault. I am sure I forgive you, all your little follies.
B But My Lord, I don’t forgive you.
E How so now? Let me hear your complaints. [T]ell your story.
B Why then My Lord, to begin & go regularly through. You know I left Scotland abruptly & came up to London, two years ago, in an odd enough way. Your Lordship was kind enough to take particular notice of me. You took me into your own house. And You brought me right. You pulled me out of the mire,3 washed me, & cleaned me & made me fit to be seen. I was told by some freinds that the cause of all this was the Election in Ayrshire being then in dependance.4 But I was convinced not. No no — I was a fine fellow. It was all on my own account. Well, My Lord — you then pointed out to me a most agreable way of life, which was to be an officer of the Guards, indeed the only real employment that I ever liked, and you promised to use all your interest for me. My Father then came up & I was hurried down to Scotland, confined to live in my Father’s family & pressed to study law; so that my situation was very unhappy. Your Lordship in the mean time, continued to profess a regard for me, and promised me your assistance; Nay My Lord you went so far as to say to me ‘Jamie, to be sure I cannot do so much for you, as your Father; but if you & he cannot agree, come to me, and I will do all I can for you.’ Now, My Lord, this was saying the strongest thing you could say. It was making me more indifferent as to breaking with my Father. At last I got my Father’s consent. I immediatly applied to you; And you know My Lord how you used me, how you put me off. It was very hard.
E Now Jamie I acknowledge all this true that you have said. Have not I heard you patiently. I hope you will hear me, in the same way. — When you was first in London, I found that you had been much hurt, by being forced to studies contrary to the natural bent of your genius: and been obliged to live with your parents, who, tho’ very good people, had a strictness and confined way of thinking, which a man of your strength of Imagination, and natural freedom of Sentiment could not put up with. I pointed out the Guards to you, as I thought the gayety of a military life was the best thing in the world to keep off that melancholy to which you was a little Subject. Upon my going down to Scotland, I found your father much averse to it, and I need not tell you that he did all he could to thwart & oppose it. Now you must allow that it would have been very dissagreable for me, just directly to oppose him.
B. I grant you this, My Lord. But then.
E Allow me to go on. You wrote to me,5 in May last, that you had got your Father’s consent, and therefore you hoped I would now get you into the Guards. But then you desired expressly that your Commission might be in one of the Battallions at home. Now will you consider what sort of demand this was. No doubt, it would have been the utmost difficulty for me to get such a thing at any rate; & I would have required every argument & among the rest, that the young man was anxious to go upon service. But how could I possibly ask for one at home. And you know Jamie I wrote you this very strongly.
B. You did so My Lord. But you should have done it more gently.
E I confess to you, that my letter was too harsh from a man to his freind. But then you must consider that I was realy in a Passion, for your having brought me into a sad scrape, by publishing your Cub & dedicating it to the Duke of York, without his leave. I can assure you he was very angry.
B I think My Lord he was wrong there. For in my opinion I pay’d him a Compliment.
E So I think indeed[.]
B Well but My Lord you know I answered your letter & told you that I was willing to go abroad.
E You did so. But it was in such a way, that I could not imagine it anything else than a genteel evasion, and what I should have expected from a man of your sense & genius, if you did not want flatly to refuse going upon service, but yet chose to shun it. I have your letters yet to show you. I put that point very home to you. I expected an explicite answer: And you only said that no doubt you would be very willing to go if your Regiment went. But this was what no man could refuse to do. Except he would declare himself an arrant poltroon. He would rather go, & take the chance of not coming to action.
B Well I assure you My Lord that my meaning was this, that my great plan in getting into the guards, was not so much to be a Soldier, as to be in the genteel character of a gentleman; and therefore I would have rather chose that my commission should have been in one of the Battallions at home. But I should certainly have rather gone abroad than not go in.
E Indeed Jamie, I did not understand you so. You wrote me two letters. The first treated the thing slightly. In the second you seemed very angry. I assure you, I took it in this light, that I thought you would not accept of a Commission in a Battallion in Germany.
B Then My Lord — all this has just been a mistake. But I think my taking your behaviour so ill, is a proof that I realy meant as I say, to go abroad, if that should be necessary.
E It is so. But I hope I have explained my conduct to you. No doubt as you took it, you had great reason to blame me & think, I had broke my promise to you. But you see how it was.
(Here my heart melted with tenderness, genuine candour,6 & joy)
B My Lord I did not intend to have spoke on the subject at all to you. I was quite convinced of your bad usage. I intended just to be off with you. But My Lord, I am happy we have had this conversation. I see you was not to blame (taking him by the hand)[.] I suffered very much in thinking myself so deceived.
E Well I hope — all is over now, & we’re just where we were.
B (allmost weeping) We are indeed My Lord. I rejoyce at my being ill at present, as it has given us this opportunity. Even when I was most angry, I could not help now & then having returns of fondness for you as strong as ever.
E Like what one feels for a mistress? was it not?
B Just so, My Lord.
E I assure you Jamie, I have the same regard for you, I ever had. I have made allowance for you, all this time. Writing me such cards & never coming near me, was enough to make me break with you. But I made allowance for your mistakes. Had you been a Man of as much prudence & discernment as you take yourself to be I would not have forgiven it. Tho’ I beleive you now know your own character pretty well. I will own to you that I have too much resentment in my disposition. More than a Man of a noble Mind ought to have. Your liveliness of fancy and warmth of heart Jamie, are the qualities most ready to lead a man wrong.
B I beleive that is very true.
E Beleive me, I was allways ready to serve you, and I will help you at this time.
B Will you My Lord.
E Indeed will I.
I then told him all my different expectations about my Commission. The Duke of Queensberry[,] Lady Northumberland, the Marquiss of Granby. He said he would take me to Lord Bute’s levee,7 & I should push at all hands. All would help. We went on.
B Do you think My Lord it is worth my while to please myself with the idea of having a Regiment, by the time, I am sixty. E Ay, by the time you’re forty. It is agreable to have a prospect before one.
B Yes, My Lord, but what will you say to a man, who is Philosopher enough to know that a man, even before he gets the first step, Can enjoy his bottle[,] his girl and his freind, just as well, as when he comes to be a General. That is my case.
E I’ll tell you what I would do. When things go well, I would encourage the ideas of rising: and when they go ill, I would be the Philosopher.
B Your Lordship is right.
E Well Jamie, I must go — Now think seriously on what I have said to you, and I am sure you will see it stronger & stronger. We embraced each other cordialy and he left me. Here now is a very material period in my Journal. I was deeply offended with the behaviour of this Nobleman. I had resolved to give up all regard for him: and now by our coming to an explanation, I am perfectly convinced that he was not to blame. I hope this acknowledgement is not owing to mere goodness & easiness of temper. For his facts and arguments, which are all just, are very strong in his favour. I think my candid soul is to be admired for yeilding my resentfull feelings to truth. This event makes me very happy. I shall now enjoy his elegant company & conversation as fully & freely, as formerly. We shall be intimate Companions. Yet, let me moderate these sallies of Gladness & kindness. Let me not all at once make a transition too violent. Certain it is that although Lord Eglintoune might mean to act honestly with respect to me, yet it is certain that he is very selfish and very dissipated and therefore a man who depends upon him, must have a great deal of trouble & vexation. He also sets a high value on his favours, so that he treats people who are obliged to him, with a degree of contempt. Let me therefore be in this stile with him. Just an agreable lively Companion who is much at his house amongst other men of wit & spirit. This is not being obliged to him more than he is to me. I will thus have a great deal of pleasurable conversation, and at the same time maintain my own consequence. There is another consideration of some importance which is keeping myself independent of him in Ayrshire. Elections are very nice things.8 Nobody can tell what accidents may happen. I have a good family interest. I may indulge the idea of representing the County. Well then, let me keep this in mind, and I shall do very well. This afternoon, by taking too much physic,9 I felt myself very ill. I was weak. I shivered, and I had flushes of heat — I began to be apprehensive that I was taking a nervous fever, a supposition not improbable as I had one after such an illness, when I was last in London. I was quite sunk. I looked with a degree of horror upon death. Some of my intrigues which in high health & spirits I valued myself upon, now seemed to be deviations from the sacred road of Virtue. My mind fluctuated, but grew more composed. I looked up to the Beneficent Creator. I was resigned & more easy, & went to bed in hope.
Erskine came & dined with me. I was much better, and I felt a hearty satisfaction in entertaining my freind.
Our Performance entitled ‘Critical Strictures on the New Tragedy of Elvira, written by Mr. David Malloch’ pleased me greatly. I felt just the satisfaction that a Man does on the first time of seeing himself in print. We were very severe on Malloch, without sowring our own good-humour. Erskine drank tea with me. Our conversation was rather sensible & composed than lively & witty. I continued in a good way, & was not discontent.
Finish Hume — Keep up Journ moderately — Read chapter, so as to go thro’ all bible since you came to London. Send line to Irwine.1 — Take Elec[tuary] moderate.2 Be sure write mother & Cairnie3
Mr. Ward[,] a Physical young man4 who attends my brother, breakfasted with me. The day went on tollerably well.
Dress wash wt. warm wat[er] on clean shirt & shave. Give ord[er]s for Sherid[an] & Irvine.1
I amused myself with writing letters. I continued in a good way. I have lived all this week on bread and tea. I would fain say something to keep up the practice of writing Journal, like the Highlander who stole his pockets full of hay, to keep his hand in use.2 I put down mere trifles. I have now one great satisfaction which is reading Hume’s History. It entertains & instructs me. It elevates my mind, and excites noble feelings of every kind.
Bring up Journ as you have not[.] Hume. Intermix lively reflections & Essays and Kames’s letter &c1—Honey now last 3 days.
I regretted much by being kept from divine service. I was not so well. I had more inflammation so I caused Douglas blood me,2 which gave me releif. I now began to take a little better diet. I had a pound of veal made into a large bowl of weak broth. This gave me better spirits, & cherished my nerves.
Write notes to Stewart1 to break[fast] any day this week, & to Richardson for review.2 Be busy wt. Hume finish 2 Vol — so as by ansr. of last letter to give father return.3 Keep up Journ. Get some more Strictures — Send one to Mcquhae. Write to Blair & Sir Dav[id].4 Begin now & eat a bit of veal to keep up juices. Send to Pringle & confer. Be kind to John, now while here. You can be busy after he’s gone. keep Taylors secret.5
The Martyrdom of King Charles falling on a Sunday, this year, this day was kept as the fast on that occasion. This tragical event is an indelible stain on the British Nation. Worthy, tho’ misguided Monarch! may thy soul rest in peace. I could have wished to hear some of the sermons, this day.6 I found myself in a good way.
Bring up Journ well. Write Johnst[on] & inclose to some body.1 Go on with Hume. Also make draught of Taylors. Order admitt Sher[idan] &c.
I began to write a little comic Piece. This diverted me, & made me form many pleasing reveries of it’s success on the Stage.
Mark Pan & Honey1 — Send note to Love to take box2 — & come & see you. Bring up Journ this foren[oon]. You have but one long day — & read Hume afternoon. Bring journ to this day. Keep up spirits. Be drest today, & wear nightcap. You’re your own master. act on your own plan be steady — Take your elect[uary] by degrees — get balm.3
I had a visit of Captain Erskine[,] eldest son to Lady Frances. Dempster drank tea with me. We talked of the house of Commons, and schemes of rising in the World. Dempster said he had a great deal of ambition, & yet much contentment. I asked him what his ambition extended to. He answered ‘To be the first Man in the Kingdom’ — a fine idea no doubt, but a chimerical one. I hinted that servility to the court might be necessary; to stoop in order to rise. But he maintained that a Man who kept himself quite independent, and who showed that he resolutely acted according to his conscience, would acquire respect, & would make his way, honourably. He said that a Member who sets up, on that footing, must be laughed at, for some time, because all the Patriots4 have at last come in, for proper considerations[;] at least, the exceptions are very few: But he declared to me upon his word that he was determined to persevere in rectitude, let the consequence be lucky, or the reverse. He put me into excellent spirits. They lasted me all the Evening. I read, wrote and played on my violin5 with unusual satisfaction. And did not repine.
Break[fast] nice — send for balm — be moderate in honey to last 3 days. take elect[uary] in small dozes. bring up journ & Hume till 2 then dine — About half an hour after 3 set out for drury in chair straight.1 Say to freinds — youre sick & must be indulg’d. Be like Sr. Rich[ard] Steele & in humour of old times & think when your’e 40, to be in taverns like rare Ben2 — See about Johnny[;]3 be active & cautious. Of all schemes beware leave London — You might then be as at Marchmont house.4 While here you cant be long unhappy — remember this & be steady.
I was not so well as yesterday. I was somewhat morose. I thought the treacherous Louisa deserved to suffer for her depravity. I therefore wrote her the following Letter.
Madam
My Surgeon will soon have a demand upon me of five guineas for curing the disease which you have given me. I must therefore remind you of the little sum which you had of me, sometime ago. You cannot have forgot upon what footing I let you have it. I neither paid it for Prostitution, nor gave it in charity. It was fairly borrowed and you promised to return it. I give you notice that I expect to have it, before Saturday se’night.
I have been very bad; but I scorn to upbraid you. I think it below me. If you are not rendered callous by a long course of disguised Wickedness, I should think the consideration of your deceit and baseness, your corruption both of body & mind, would be a very severe punishment. Call not that a Misfortune, which is the consequence of your own unworthiness. I desire no mean evasions. I want no letters. Send the money sealed up. I have nothing more to say to you
James Boswell.
This I thought might be a pretty bitter potion to her. Yet I thought to mention the money was not so genteel. However if I get it (which is not probable) it will be of real service to me; and to such a creature as her a pecuniary punishment will give most pain. Am not I too vindictive. It appears so; but upon better consideration I am only sacrificing at the shrine of Justice; and sure I have chosen a victim that deserves it. This day was the first representation of Mrs. Sheridan’s Comedy, The Discovery.5 As Dempster[,] Erskine & I had made a resolution to be present at every first night I determined to venture abroad, altho’ I could not but hesitate for fear of being the worse of it. I had this forenoon Visits from Lord Advocate and Doctor Pringle, so that I had two chariots in one day at my door. I told Lord Advocate that I could not do without employment; and that if I could not get into the guards, I would go back to Scotland & join his Society.6 But that in the mean time, I would take a full career of London, & perhaps roam awhile abroad in france & Italy.
At three I swallowed an apple tart, then wrapped myself well up in two pair of stockings, two Shirts and a great coat; and thus fortified against the weather, I got into a snug chair & was carried to Drury lane. I took up my associates at the Rose tavern,7 & we went into the Pit at four, where, as they had not dined they laid down their hats, one on each side of me, & there did I sit to keep their places. I was amused to find myself transported from my room of indisposition to the gay, gilded Theatre. I put myself as much as possible into proper humour for seeing the Play. Luckily Doctor Goldsmith8 came in to the seat behind me. I renewed my acquaintance with him, & he agreed to keep the same place for the night. His conversation revived in my mind the true ideas of London Authors, which are to me something curious and as it were mystical. In my opinion perfect simplicity and intimate knowledge of scenes, takes away the pleasing sort of wonder & awe that we have, for what is not clear to us. As the Seers of old got reverence, by concealing the whole of their transactions. People in that case imagine more in things, than there realy is. This makes the great difference between People that are raw, and those that know the World. When we know exactly all a man’s views & how he comes to speak & act so & so, we lose any respect for him, tho’ we may love & admire him; at least we lose that kind of distant respect which is very agreable for us to feel, & him to receive. I wish I may make myself understood upon this Subject. The ideas are perhaps odd and whimsical; but I have found them with respect to my own mind just & real. As an instance of this my agreable family of Kelly from their plain hameliness (to use Lord Elibank’s expression with respect to the Ladies of Scotland) do not inspire that awe, that women with less parts & good looks than they have, would do, provided they have studied address, & learned the nice art of neither being too free nor too reserved; who know exactly & who practice their knowledge of how much they ought to show, & how much to conceal. Politeness is just what gives that. All it’s merit consists in that. There is indeed a kind of character perfectly disguised, a perfect made dish, which is often found both male & female in London. This is most disgusting[;] plain nature is infinitely better. What I admire is Nature improved by Art: for Art certainly may and does improve nature. I had but a troublesom occupation keeping two seats, while my Companions were enjoying themselves over a bottle & lolling at their ease in no hurry to come in. However I had the satisfaction to see them well punished, for by staying so late, they could scarcely squeese thro’ the crowd & with the utmost difficulty got to their places. The evening went finely on. I felt a little pain when the Prologue was spoke, considering how near I was to have had mine sounding away. We had several judicious & lively people round us, & kept up a clever enough chat. I wrought myself up to the imagination that it was the age of Sir Richard Steele, & that I was like him sitting in judgment on a new Comedy. This gave me much pleasure, in so much, that I could have wished my two Companions absent from me, as they brought down my ideas, & made me imagine myself just at Edinburgh, which tho’ a kind of comfortable idea, was not so high as what I was indulging. I find that I ought not to keep too much company with Scotch people, because I am kept from acquiring propriety of english speaking, and because they prevent my mind from being filled with London images, so that I might as well be in Scotland. For there is little or no difference between being with an entire Scotch company in a room in London, & a room in Edinburgh. Yet as I am in such a degree of intimacy with the Kellys, & the Dempsters, & as they are in reality as good Society as any, it will require the nicest conduct to act as I would chuse. In the mean time, till I get into the Guards, I may be much there. They will probably be gone after this winter. When I become an officer, I shall have more occupation, be more in the great world, & so have a very good title to have a little alteration in my conduct. There is a fine scheme, I wish I may be able to realize it.
This long digression has carried me quite away from the Play. However I may be glad now of any tollerable materials to furnish my journal with. The Play realy acted heavily. Dempster proposed it’s damnation. I would have agreed had not I been tied up, as it would look like revenge for refusing my prologue. It was therefore allowed to jog through. Goldsmith said many smart acrimonious things. I stole quietly into a chair. As I was carried along, & viewed the streets by the light of the lamps, I was amused by considering the variety of scenes going on in this Metropolis, with which I was now wholly unconnected during my state of confinement. Upon my coming home, I felt myself not so well. I dreaded the worst & went to bed.
I had been very bad all night; I lay in direfull apprehension that my testicle which formerly was ill, was again swelled. I dreamt that Douglas stood by me, & said This is a damn’d difficult case. I got up today, still in terror. Indeed, there was a little return of Inflammation. I had catched some cold. However before night I was pretty easy again.
I continued better[.] Erskine for the first time this day, was absent altogether from me. My Brother drank tea with me.
Break[fast] well — read Miss T M1 — & write account of Hume. see Webster & make him enquire about Graham, or some other partner2 — speak of Gould — Keep up spirit & dignit[y] & be shaved — on Mond[ay] Lee in Parl[our]3 — & be easy & up betimes[.] have on Great coat & nightcap — Dont engage in Strictures[.]4 Learn retenué. —
Erskine drank tea with me. I affirmed that flattery was a very good thing, & when we flatter a man We do him a kindness. To be sure said Erskine. For Applause is the thing we are all eagerly seeking after. Now when a man is flattered, he gets his praise in ready money. Future fame from the world is but like an Edinburgh Bank-bill, optional & not payable at sight. He might have added the many chances against Merit’s being heard of — and the danger of a slight piece of paper’s being blown away. My opinion of flattery is this, that it may be made a very fine thing. I would not say to a man, what I don’t think. But surely it is humanity[,] it is benevolence to hide from a man the faults which he cannot help, & to enumerate all the perfections that he evidently has. This evening I praised Erskine’s poetry exceedingly. I gave him just reasons for my opinion, & he owned himself obliged to me for my agreable flattery. We were in the very best spirits[,] comfortable & lively & happy. I told him I wondered how Mr. Lloyd got so much Poetry for his Magazine.5 I wonder said he that he does not get much more of such poetry. It is, as if one were making a collection of whinstones6 in Scotland; where you may get them on every feild. We talked with relish on publishing & on the Proffits made by Books and Pamphlets. We both agreed that if we could get something worth while by our works, we would be very glad[.] Money got this way would be highly valued by us, and we would enjoy the pleasures which it purchased, with peculiar satisfaction. It is very agreable to look forward, and imagine that we shall probably write much, get much fame & much gold.7 I had now & then mentioned my journal to him. I read him a little of it, this evening. To be sure it is very carelessly wrote, which he freely took notice; and said it might become a habit to me to write in that manner; so that I would learn a mere slatternly stile. He advised me to take more pains upon it; and to render it usefull by being a good method to practice writing. To turn periods8 & render myself ready at different kinds of expression. He is very right. I shall be more attentive for the future; and rather give a little neatly done, than a great deal slovenly.
Be well wt. Lee1 — Read Dryden2 — Go thro’ all dramatic Authors.3 Keep up this plan & be retenue
Douglas told me he had just been with Lord Eglintoune, who was indisposed & had been blooded; and had desired Douglas to tell me so, & make that Apology for his not having been again to see me. He said My Lord talked of me with great regard: Explained our difference fully; & upon Douglas’s saying that his Lordship had now an opportunity to make perfectly up an affair which was not quite clear, he declared he would do all for me in his power. I was pleased with this new instance of the Peer’s sincere liking to me, & I wrote him the following Epistle.
My Dear Lord
Mr. Douglas delivered me your kind message today; for which accept of my sincere love in return. Indulgent fancy, My Lord, is now bringing back to my mind, those pleasing days when our intimacy first began. When your Lordship first showed me the brilliant Scenes of life, and inspired me with the gay ideas, which I have ever since admired and fondly pursued. I had formerly been a stranger to Pleasure. The Goddess had been debarred access to my mind which Nature had formed capable of being made a Temple worthy of her residence. A dark curtain had been drawn between me & her charms. It was Lord Eglintoune who opened to me the enchanted palace. Delightfull Prospect! What lively impressions did it make on my youthfull imagination! How sweetly did I revel in delicious Enjoyment! But those days did not last. Hurried into the bleak northern shade, the blissfull visions fled. Gloom and Melancholy succeeded. Dismal I sat. I looked arround: But fair hope would not approach me. Spirited Resolution came & lent his freindly hand. Encouraged by him, I pushed my way; & here I am again in the Sunshine. Reflect O thou who wast once my affectionate Guardian, whom I can never think of without the feelings of tender regard; Reflect on all the circumstances of the unhappy coldness that has for sometime been between us. We have allready communed together freely; and, thanks to the propitious stars! We are no longer at variance. But upon serious reflection, I must be allowed to give my opinion that thou hast acquitted thyself fully at the tribunal of Justice; yet thou hast not given entire satisfaction in the more delicate court of freindship.
My dear Lord! you bid me think of our dispute, with attention. I have done so; and I have spoke freely. Your Lordship may be assured that we shall now be very good freinds.
I am very sorry to hear of your being ill. Pray take care of yourself. I wish you were as good a patient as me. Whenever you come abroad, I hope for the honour of seeing you. I shall get well again, soon: And then for days of felicity together.
Yours
Boswell.
I beg leave to remind your Lordship of a little sketch which I drew of you, at Newmarket, in the year 1760. I appealed to you as an honest man if it was like[;] you owned it was[.]
A Lord whose swift-discerning eye
The nicest strokes of wit can spy.
Whose sterling jests a sportive train
Flow warmly genuine from the brain
And with bright poignancy appear
Original to ev’ry ear!
Boswell fecit.4
I am in spirits you see. David Hume and John Dryden are at present my companions. Surely I am a man of Genius. I deserve to be taken notice of. O that my Grandchildren might read this character of me. — James Boswell a most amiable Man. He improved and beautified his paternal estate of Auchinleck: made a distinguished figure in parliament; had the honour to command a Regiment of footguards, and was one of the brightest Wits in the court of George the Third.
I was certain this Epistle would please him much. I was pleased with writing it. I felt myself quite serene & happy. My mind unclouded & serenely gay. I never remember to have past more agreable moments. All looked fine in my blest Imagination.
Be shav’d & clean’d. take off ruffles. Keep up plan. Be kind to John & give him advices[;] part affectionate.1 Bid him come here tomorrow.
I should have mentioned yesterday that Mr. Lee of Drury lane Theatre breakfasted with me. He recalled to my mind my first ideas of Plays & Players in the days of my youth at Edinburgh. This forenoon Mr. Sheridan came & stay’d an hour with me. I told him openly & smartly who had wrote the critical strictures on Malloch’s Play. He said they were laughable & sneered. I was in fine humour & in such a degree of spirits that I thought myself a match for any man. I therefore dexterously tickled the Professor of Oratory. ‘Do you know Mr. Sheridan that we intend regularly to have strictures on every new play, & as the Boy allways reminded Philip of Macedon that he was a man,2 so shall we remind the Authors that they are dull.’ I then repeated to him many severe taunts on his wife’s Comedy, but with so smiling a countenance, that he could not show any anger. I must remark that I have a most particular art of nettling people without seeming to intend it. I seldom make use of it; but have found it very usefull. Erskine came in & he & Sheridan talked very well upon the Poems of Ossian, whom Sheridan said he preferred to all the Poets in the world, and thought he excelled Homer in the Sublime, and Virgil in the Pathetic.3 He said Mrs. Sheridan & he had fixed it as the standard of feeling[,] made it like a Thermometer by which they could judge of the warmth of every body’s heart and that they calculated before-hand in what degrees all their acquaintances would feel them[,] which answered exactly. To be sure[,] said he, except People have genuine feelings of Poetry, they cannot relish these Poems. But if a man does not feel himself he never imputes it to his own deficiency. But perswades himself That it is all a pretence in those who say they do. Thus a man who is shortsighted will maintain that there is no such Object as other people declare that they see plainly, & he would continue obstinate in his denial, did not the application of a glass to his eyes, impress him with irresistible conviction. This allusion holds good in the case we are now upon. But we have not the same assistance to show people their mistake. We have no glasses for the mind. I consider it too[,] said he[,] as a great discovery in another respect — These Poems give us great light into the history of mankind. We could not imagine that such sentiments of delicacy as well as generosity could have existed in the breasts of rude uncultivated People. Sheridan is realy a fellow who knows a great deal; & his conversation is more instructive & classical than that of most people. Yet he has an irish wrongheadedness, and a positive singularity that is very disgusting; and for all that he says, I am apt to imagine that he has no real feeling of poetical Beauty. I rather take him to be a man of very great art, who wants to disguise it under the appearance of Nature. He had asked me to dine with him, two Sundays ago. He asked me next. But I resolved to keep the house, till out of danger. His invitation showed that he still continued on good terms with me. I shall be upon the same with him. As I formerly mentioned my giving orders to say that I was gone to the countrey, it may appear surprising that I should yet have so many visitors. But that surprise will soon vanish, when I tell that these orders were countermanded. I found a little intercourse with the living world was necessary to keep my spirits from sinking into lethargic dullness, or being sowred to peevish discontent. My Brother dined with me, today. We did very well as companions.
Get things neat for Dash.1 Be literary. When he’s gone make abstract of 2 Vol Hume. Write things ag[ains]t Malloch.2 Keep up plan.
I got up excellently well. My present life is most curious, and very fortunately is become agreable. My affairs are conducted with the greatest regularity & exactness. I move like very clockwork. At eight in the morning Molly lights the fire, sweeps & dresses my dining room. Then she calls me up & lets me know what o clock it is. I lie sometime in bed indulging indolence; which in that way when the mind is easy & chearfull is most pleasing. I then slip on my cloaths loosely[,] easily & quickly, & come into my dining room. I pull my bell. The Maid lays a milkwhite Napkin upon the table, & sets the things for breakfast. I then take some light amusing book and breakfast & read for an hour or more; gently pleasing both my palate & my mental taste. Breakfast over, I feel myself gay & lively. I go to the Window & am entertained with the people passing by all intent on different schemes. To go regularly through the day would be too formal for this my Journal. Besides every day cannot be past exactly the same way in every particular. My day is in general diversified with reading of different kinds, playing on the violin, writing, chatting with my freinds. Even the taking of medecines serves to make time go on with less heaviness. I have a sort of genius for Physic & allways had great entertainment in observing the changes of the human body & the effects produced by diet[,] labour, rest & physical Operations. My Landlord took a great anxiety that I should read the news, thought it would divert me much & begged me to take in one of the papers. I exprest my fondness for his scheme; but said I did not chuse to be at the expence of it. So I put it off. However his anxiety was so great, that he made a bold push at the Office where a number of the papers are taken in, & regularly every day does he bring home the public ledger,3 which is most duely served up to me. I joked with him & said; You see Sir when I put you to your shifts what you can do. Indeed said he I did not know before that I could do such a thing. But I find it is very easy. As I am now in tollerable health my appetite is very good; & I eat my slender bit of dinner with great relish. I drink a great deal of tea. Between eleven & twelve my bed is warm’d & I go calmly to repose. I am not at all unsatisfied with this kind of Existence. It is passing my portion of time very comfortably. Most philosophicaly do I reason upon this Subject; being certainly the most important one to me at present. I consider that altho’ I want many pleasures which are to be had, by being abroad, yet, I also want many pains. I am troubled with no dirty Streets nor no jostling chairmen. Multitudes of ideas float thro’ my fancy on both sides of the question. I shall now & then put some of them down, as they strike me strongly. I now made a very near calculation of my expences for the year & found that I would be able to save £50 out of my allowance. This sum would be requisite for immediate necessaries in case of my getting a commission in the Guards, & I would have a pride to furnish it without any extraordinary assistance from my Father, which it is reasonable he should allow in that event, as every body thinks he should rigg me out.4 However if I can do without him, I must be called an excellent manager. Not satisfied with saving £50 I went to work still nearer, wishing to save £20 more, & with great thought & assiduity did I compute. In short, I found myself turning very fond of money, & ruminating with a kind of transport on the idea of being worth £70 at the year’s end. The desire of being esteemed a clever œconomist was no doubt mixed with it, but I seriously think that sheer love of coin was my predominant principle. While I was strongly possest with this inclination, My Landlord came to wait on me & renewed a proposal which he had formerly mentioned & that was ‘That if I would give up one of my rooms, there should be a reasonable abatement made of my rent.’ He said that A Mr. Smith[,] a Gentleman of good fortune with his Lady & Son[,] wanted to take three rooms. I told him that I should be glad to do what was convenient for him & at the same time of advantage to myself; & that I considered my having two rooms above was unnecessary, as I had the parlour below to entertain my company in. I therefore agreed to the Proposal & he engaged to have a handsom tent bed with green & white check curtains put up in the room to the Street. By this means, I can save several pounds a year. The thing happened most opportunely while I was so much enamoured of the money-making scheme. It gratified my passion while it was strong, which is quite the nice requisite for pleasure. A drink when a man is dry is highly relished. And in other gratifications, the Analogy holds good. I have observed in some preceeding period of this my Journal that making money is one of the greatest pleasures in life, as it is very lasting, and is continualy increasing: But it must be observed that a great share of anxiety is the constant concomitant of this passion, so that the mind is as much hurt in one way as it is pleased in another. I felt this now very plainly. For while I hug’d myself with the prospect of my golden posessions, I was in pain lest I should not be able to fullfill my conjecture, & had dissagreable struggles between the love of many amusing schemes that gayly started up to my imagination and my principal scheme of saving. It is a good deal diverting to consider my present views. A young fellow of life & spirit with an allowance extremely moderate, in so much that most people declare it must be wonderfull management that can make it support a genteel appearance, yet is this fellow gravely laying down plans for making rich, & being a man of wealth. The love of property is strongly implanted in Mankind. Property to be sure, gives us a power of enjoying many pleasures which it can purchase; and as Society is constituted, a man has a high degree of respect from it. Let me however beware of allowing this Passion to take a deep root. It may engross my affections, & give me a mean[n]ess of spirit and a cold indifference to every manly & spirited pursuit. And when we consider what one gains, it is merely imaginary. To keep the golden mean between stinginess & prodigality is the point I should aim at. If a man is prodigal, he cannot be truly generous. His money is foolishly dissipated without any goodness on his part & he has nothing to be generous with. On the other hand a narrow Man has a hard contracted Soul. The finer feelings are bound up and altho’ he has the power, he never can have the will to be generous. The character worthy of imitation is the man of œconomy who with prudent attention knows when to save & when to spend, & acts accordingly. Let me pursue this system. I have done so hitherto since my setting out upon my own footing. Let me continue it. Let me lay out my money with ease & freedom tho’ with judgment & caution & if at the year’s end, I should have a genteel Sum remaining as a reward of my œconomy, let me congratulate myself on my felicity. Upon my word my Journal goes charmingly on at present. I was very apprehensive that there would be a dreary vacancy in it for some weeks but, by various happy circumstances I have been agreably dissapointed. I think too, that I am making a good use of the hint which Captain Erskine gave me, and am taking more pains upon it, & consequently writing it in a more correct stile. Stile is to Sentiment what dress is to the person. The effects of both are very great, & both are acquired & improved by habit. When once we are used to it, it is as easy to dress neatly as like a sloven; in the same way, Custom makes us write in a correct stile, as easily as in a careless inaccurate one.
Sometime ago I left off the Pamphlet shop in the passage to the Temple-exchange-Coffee-house & took the North-Briton from the Publisher of it, Mr. Kearsley5 in Ludgate Street, hard by Child’s. I have it now sent to me regularly by the Penny Post6 & read it with vast relish. There is a poignant acrimony in it that is very relishing. Noble also sends me from time to time, a fresh supply of Novels from his circulating Library, so that I am very well provided with entertainment. How easily & cleverly do I write just now! I am realy pleased with myself; Words come skipping to me like lambs upon Moffat-hill; and I turn my periods smoothly and imperceptibly like a skillfull Wheelwright turning tops in a turning Loom. There’s fancy! There’s Simile! In short I am at present a Genius[.] [I]n that does my Opulence consist & not in base metal. My Brother drank tea with me & took a cordial farewell, being to set out for Scotland, next day. We parted on excellent terms. He is as fond of being at home, as I am of ranging freely at a distance. My freind Erskine came & supt with me. I am excellently lodged. I get any thing drest vastly well. We had a very good evening of it.
Read Dryden. Be more composd & keep to plan. Make out letters — mention Temple & Johnston.1 Be more like Digges — Settle room not below £82
This forenoon a Maid from Louisa left a packet for me. It was most carefully sealed up, by the hands of attention, but was not addrest to me. I opened it up, & found my two guineas returned, without a single word written. I felt a strange kind of mixed confusion. My tender heart relented. I thought I had acted too harshly to her. I imagined she might — perhaps — have been ignorant of her situation. I was so foolish as to think of returning her the money & writing her a letter of atonement. I have too much of what Shakespear calls ‘the milk of human kindness.’3 I mentioned the thing to Dempster. He said it was just a piece of deep artifice in her. I resolved to think no more on the matter, and was glad that I had come off two guineas better than I expected. Before I left Scotland, I had a long conversation with Sir David Dalrymple on my future schemes of life. Sir David is a man of great ingenuity, a fine Scholar, an accurate Critic, and a worthy member of Society. From my early years I used to regard him with admiration and awe and look upon him as a Representative of Mr. Addison. Since I came to London I have found his name much respected in the literary World. He is also a great freind of my father’s[,] is one of two Witnesses to an important transaction between my Father and me,4 and is a sincere wellwisher to the family of Auchinleck. Upon all these considerations, I thought, his advice & corespondence would be of service to me & also give me pleasure. I therefore wrote to him telling him how my affairs went on, & that I wanted to be rationaly happy, yet easy & gay, & hoped he would take a charge of me. Would let me know what books to read & what company to keep, and how to conduct myself. This was paying him a high Compliment. I thought his precepts might do me much good & that I might follow them just as far as I thought them right. The views of things too which he would send me, would place them in new lights, and give me the dear pleasure of variety. I proposed to him that I would write to him on a Saturday, once a forthnight, as I was a man much devoted to form. I offered to send him any pamphlets he might chuse to have; and execute any other little Commissions he might have in London. I dont know what success my proposal may meet with, but I think it is a good one.
Resolve in earnest more retenué & ask Dash to say whimsical1 letters published by &c.
Nothing worth putting into my Journal occurred this day. It past away imperceptibly like the whole life of many a human Existence.
Get ink — This is the day of The North Britton — Be fine — read Hume[.] Bring up Journ & never be behind it[,] Go without nightcap — Keep to plan of letters & push for flexney1 as most clever and lucrative
When I began first to keep the house with this distemper which now confines me, it was a most severe frost. Luckily this did not last long after I was laid up[,] for cold is very bad for venereal complaints. The Weather I allways find has a sensible2 effect upon me. It has been mild and gentle for some time. This day it turned worse, and I got a little splenetic. However, I submitted quietly, and in the afternoon, the foul fiend3 left me.
Journ up[.] Hume & Dry[den] & Bible. Keep Dash fine to elegant edition of letters utmost secrecy & £50 apiece — agree to swear & then youre at ease1
This was a most terrible day. None of my freinds could come abroad to see me. I was realy a good deal low-spirited all the forenoon. In the Evening my mind cleared up. I was pleased and lively, and my Genius was in fine humour for composition. I wrote several fancifull little Essays2 which pleased me highly. Well, the human mind is realy curious: I can answer for my own. For here now in the space of a few hours, I was a dull & a miserable, a clever and a happy mortal, and all without the intervention of any external cause, except a dish of green tea, which indeed is a most kind remedy in cases of this kind. Often have I found releif from it. I am so fond of tea that I could write a whole Dissertation on it’s virtues. It comforts & enlivens without the risques attendant on spiritous liquors. Gentle Herb! let the florid grape yeild to thee. Thy soft influence is a more safe inspirer of social joy.
Go on wt. Hume & Journ & show Dash new letters1 & warm him to scheme. By no means show any body Hopromp but try North Brit[.]2 Be in no haste to go out —
Erskine drank tea with me. We were in a luscious flow of spirits & vastly merry. How we do chace a thought, said Erskine, when once it is started; let it run as it pleases, over hill and dale, and take numberless windings, still we are at it. It has a Greyhound at it’s heels, every turn. The distemper was now allmost over. I was free from pain, & had pleasurable ease. This night my new tent-bed was put up. I liked it much[;] it gave a snug yet genteel look to my room, and had a military air which amused my fancy & made me happy.
Order no body come in but Ersk[ine] & Dempst[er]. go down to Parl[our] till 2 then up afternoon. Fin[ish] Journ to go1 — Be busy at Hume & keep letters going
Consider youre now recovered & must gradually go out & enter again into the gay scenes of life — Send to Lady North[umberland] & see her on Sat[urday]. Walk very gently & between 12 & 3 for a week & never be out after that — Remember your plan — Be manly as your’e own Master — consider you’re now in the happy independent Situation — Let your Letters be lively & whimsical & have no real names & serious sentences2 &c — Keep firm to excellent plan
I had the pleasure to receive a very cordial answer from Sir David Dalrymple, in which he approved much of my proposal of writing to him regularly; and insisted that it should be every Saturday. This gave me much satisfaction, and a good opinion of myself, to find that a man of so much true worth and even Piety had my interest at heart, and was willing to keep a corespondence with me. Erskine drank tea with me. I don’t know what was the matter, but we did not talk nor laugh with great glee. We were coldish & somewhat tired. We have not the command of our facultys.
Send to Flexney to come here on friday or Saturday, at what time he pleases[.] Read hume today, & fill up only with Journ. Step down to Parl[our] a little[;] get out by degrees & be again in life
Dempster and Erskine had the night before, put a trick upon me. A lad whose name is fletcher1 (a cousin of Dempster’s), at whom I had a very great Antipathy was the instrument which they employed. They forged a letter from David Hume to me containing some genteel compliments, and recommending Fletcher to me, who was come up to go out to the East Indies. He accordingly delivered it & I suspecting no deceit was vastly pleased. They expected that I would be much distrest at having a being so dissagreable recommended to me; But so great was my vanity that it put me into exceeding good humour even with a being very odious. They came this forenoon and told me the artifice, at which I was realy vexed. I could not dissemble my resentment of it. I told them it was what I would not have done to them, & that I did not think it genteel in them to give such a miscreant as Fletcher an opportunity of laughing at me as much as themselves. I told Erskine that I would henceforth consider him & Dempster not in the light of freinds, and in short was quite chagrined. It is surprising how such a thing should have given me so much pain; yet to have my vanity so sadly baulked and to be made the sport of them & their Emissary was very galling. And here I must observe that my connections with Erskine & Dempster are realy not those of freindship. We are in the stile of companions. It is only fancy that cements us. It is only because we are entertaining to one another, that we are so much together. Dempster I do not know thoroughly. Erskine has too much selfishness and too bad a temper to be what I call a freind. Thank heaven! I have some true freinds. Johnston is most strictly so. Temple is also one. Honest Mcquhae is also one. To these I can unbosom my anxious mind; From these I am sure of Sympathy and kindness. Besides, these all agree with me in many things which are of consequence. They all, with me, look forward to another world, which Dempster and Erskine never think of. They have all strong ideas of real life & manners: which Erskine & Dempster see in fancifull & ludicrous lights, & are not in earnest about. Such distinctions are very nice and are better felt than explained. I dare say if I was to talk in this way to the Gentlemen I have mentioned, they would laugh most heartily, and what is more their ridicule would not only silence but in some measure convince me. That is realy a weakness about me, that I am easily overcome in any dispute, & even (as Doctor Brown has it) vanquish’d by a grin.2 I ought therefore seldom to engage in argument; especialy upon matters so very nice & delicate. I am also much made by the Company which I keep. I should be very cautious in my choice. I allmost determined to break with Dempster & Erskine. Yet I had a dissagreable struggle of mind about it.
Smile off little trick about Dav[id] Hume. Talk to Dun of the way to get bill1 payd & if John left guinea2 & give him let[ter] to North[umberland] House3 — Get Coch[rane] & payment of bill4 — Think if publish lett[er]s would be presumptous.5 Go out soon —
My resentment abated and I resolved to laugh the thing off, but at the same time to be more reserved with Dempster and Erskine, in time coming. Dempster came & sat a while in the Evening. I told him, all was now over. I certainly won by this. For to have broke with them just now, would have given them opportunity to make me ridiculous; and if I find it convenient, it is very easy to get out of acquaintance or rather familiarity with them. For they are very agreable acquaintances: But when a man is familiar with many people he must expect many dissagreable familiaritys. Another shocking fault which I have is my sacrificing allmost any thing to a laugh[,] even myself; in so much that it is possible if one of these my Companions should come in this moment, I might show them as matter of Jocularity, the preceeding three or four pages which contain the most sincere sentiments of my heart, and at these would we laugh most immoderately. This is indeed a fault in the highest degree to be lamented and to be guarded against. I am firmly resolved to amend it. I shall be most particularly wary. I shall rather err on the other which is the safer side.
By having come down to my parlour the day before, I had got some cold, and felt myself rather worse. I was very low-spirited and had the most dreary & discontented Imaginations. All things looked black. I thought I should never be well again. I could encourage no prospect in life. After dinner I grew better and was seized with a whim of making my quarrel with my companions a good reason for obtaining the Corespondence of David Hume. I wrote therefore the following letter to him.
Dear Sir
Dempster and Erskine (Both of whom you probably have some acquaintance of)1 have served me a trick, which they consider as a very high joke; but which I (like the frogs in the fable)2 consider in a very different light. They caused the inclosed letter to be delivered to me, as if from you; and you will beleive that it wound up my vanity to a pitch more than ordinary. After amusing themselves a little with my elevation of spirits occasioned by a fond, but very excusable credulity, they informed me of the deceit, which brought me as low, as before I had been high, and afforded them still greater subject for mirth. I will own to you, Sir, that all the little Philosophy which I posess, was not sufficient to preserve my temper unruffled. I was realy chagrined: I indulged the morose and resentfull feelings, and I allmost resolved to break off all intercourse with men who had used me so ill. However, the milk of human kindness, as Shakespear tenderly expresses it, was not long destroyed by this acrimony. My natural sweetness of disposition returned, and I freely forgave them. Although I still feel some degree of uneasiness for the severe ridicule which I underwent; yet that is greatly overballanced by a conscious Pride of having had goodness enough to excuse it. Permit me now Sir to sollicit the honour of your corespondence. You will administer consolation to me in my uneasiness, and will bestow a reward on my well-doing: You will give me a triumph over my facetious tormentors, when they find that I realy possess what I was so vain of in Imagination; and in short you will give much happiness to Your &c
James Boswell.
P.S. This is a mere Memorial.3 It might very well be given in as a Representation to the Lords of Session.4 If you will agree to corespond with me, you shall have London news, lively fancies, humourous sallies: provided that you give me elegant sentiments, just criticism, & ingenious observations on Human Nature. I should gladly endeavour to return you now & then, something in your own stile, which I am ambitious enough not to despair of doing.
This letter amused me in writing. Perhaps I may reap advantage by it. The Corespondence of distinguished Men is very much to be valued. It gives a man a dignity that is very desireable.
At night I fell back into my melancholy mood. I was quite harrassed with anxious discontent. I thought I would return to Scotland and drudge as a Lawyer, which would please my father, & gain me a character of prudence and also get me money & enable me to do good, and as I would not flatter myself with the expectation of much felicity, I would not be dissapointed. But then I considered this scheme as the unripe fruit of vexatious thought and as what I would soon repent of. Then it pained me to the heart to think that all the gay schemes which I had planned, were to prove abortive, and that all my intentions of seeing the world, should be frustrated. Never was any man more upon the fret, than I now was. I never thought or rather would not allow myself to believe that all these clouds were produced by my sickly confinement. At last I thought I would weather out a year in this way & then return to Scotland. Alas! alas poor Boswell!5 to what an abject situation art thou now reduced! Thou who lately prided thyself in luxuriance of health & liveliness of Imagination art now a diseased, dull capricious Mortal. Is not this a just punishment for thy offences? It is indeed; I submit to it. Sometimes I thought I would go down to Oxford and pass some weeks privately, in that august seat of learning; But then it would cost me money; and besides I am not fit for travelling. Alas! this sad distemper again comes accross me. However this is Sir James Macdonald’s last winter at Oxford, and he asked me to come down and said he would show me every thing. I should not lose the opportunity. Perhaps, when I get well again, and the fine weather comes in, I may make a trip to it. What is a sure sign of my not being right just now is my having dismal dreams allmost every night. I hope to be better e’er long.
Copy out Hume Then write Sir Dav[id] & Father & James Bruce & Campbell1 or delay the two last. Let your scheme be study & push Guards in the mean time as it is the most agreable to your inclinations. If it does not do, you can go to Holland &c & push Law. In the meantime be retenue & keep counsel.
This Morning my guardian Angel smiled upon me, and whispered soft notes into my glad ears. I loved the Guards and I longed for my Commission. The Marquis of Granby had now been come home, some time. I regretted my losing this fresh occasion of reminding Lady Northumberland of her promise. I considered that time was now precious & as I thought an Apology necessary for my long absence[,] I wrote her this letter.
Madam
I have been indisposed and confined to the house for some weeks, which has prevented me from having the honour and pleasure of paying my duty to your Ladyship. I am now better, and hope to be abroad soon. In the mean time, Madam, as My Lord Granby is now come over, permit me to put your Ladyship in mind of my Commission. I have the honour to be Madam
Your obliged & faithfull
Humble Servant
James Boswell.
Webster was with me, awhile. Tho’ he got a Company the other day2 he was discontented & repined & talked forsooth of retiring from the World. I told him he was much in the wrong. Retire! why am not I in retirement, and a pretty spectacle I am. He was pretty lively & agreed with me that every body had their portion of infelicity. Now[,] said he[,] Calcraft the great Agent3 who makes such an opulent fortune every year might be allowed pretty happy; and yet he is at this moment perfectly miserable. Mr. Fox4 his great Patron has sent to see him immediatly, on express business, and he in this great hurry has lost one of his kneebuckles, which cannot be found. This was very well hit off. Crookshanks who is Lord Eglintoune’s Steward in England5 comes now & then to see me. He came this forenoon and entered just on the same subject of the unhappiness of mortals. He is a spirited fellow, has read a good deal, and is much of a Gentleman, but has at the same time much of what is called a Rattle.6 He went on thus. Damn me if I can see why God Allmighty has created us all, just to complain & vex ourselves. By the Lord, I don’t see who’s happy, not I — and yet one may be happy with any thing. I have been happy with buying a new gun, and have been in high spirits for a week with a new Dog. By the Lord Mr. Boswell you have fine means of happiness by your turn for writing. I would rather have written the Preface to that Cub than had a good sum. In this manner did he run on much to my amusement. He does not want fancy & has a generous heart. I must observe that we are not affected by the complaints of a genteel agreable man against life. The agreable ideas which he inspires, serve as an antidote to gloom, and we cannot believe his murmurings to be serious. Every body must feel this from experience. When we see a fine Lady before us, and hear her venting discontented exclamations, we are apt to imagine them words of course; or if we think her realy distrest we solace ourselves by thinking that distress is not so terrible, and may be endured with a good deal of complacency, considering that a person may present us with so pleasing an appearance, who is distrest. This is a nice observation, but I am perswaded that it must be allowed a just one by those who have delicacy of sentiment. In the evening Dempster and Erskine were with me. My rancour was quite gone. We were very happy together. Yet I determined in my own mind to behave to them henceforth, with more reserve.
Keep up this good frame — Write account of 2 Vol of Hume. & fin[ish] 3 — & bring up Journ — & write two letters of Ersk[ine] & let it be a chearfull not dull day. Keep steady to plan of Guards[;] tho’ dissagreable ’tis your only one to be independ[ent] & like Digges & Somerville — Go out gently in the warmth this week
I past the day very comfortably. Captain Erskine was with me in the forenoon & we were very well together. Honest Captain Andrew! I must keep well with him. This forenoon I read the History of Joseph and his Brethren,1 which melted my heart, and drew tears from my eyes. It is simply and beautifully told in the Sacred Writings. It is a strange thing that the Bible is so little read. I am reading it regularly through at present. I dare say there are many People of distinction in London who know nothing about it. Were the History of Joseph published by some genteel Bookseller as an Eastern fragment and circulated amongst the gay world, I am perswaded that those who have any genuine taste might be taken in to admire it exceedingly and so by degrees have a due value for the oracles of God. I have a great mind to make the experiment. Were I a man more known and of more consequence it might do very well. Sir Richard Steele published his Christian Heroe when he was an Officer of the Guards, in the Coldstream Regiment.2 I had this day the honour of a Message from the Countess of Northumberland enquiring how I was. She is indeed an excellent Woman. I cannot enough regard her. I have heard nothing from Lord Eglintoune, this long time, a strong proof how little he is to be depended upon. After the interesting scene which we had together, it might have been expected that he would have been somewhat more attentive to me, than ordinary. But that confounded dissipation of his ruins all his other good qualitys so that altho’ we may love him for a little now and then, yet he can never be valued. I set apart this day for taking medecine most effectualy & keeping very warm, so was denied to every body[,] but those who were upon the footing of making good their way up stairs, notwithstanding of all my injunctions. I was quite in earnest to get quite free of this most terrible malady, which in my opinion is really a serious evil. I am sure it is so to me. But what I am most anxious about is to get it entirely eradicated, that I may recover perfect soundness of constitution and may not bring a race of poor sickly human beings into the World. I employed the day in reading Hume’s History which enlarged my views, filled me with great ideas and rendered me happy. It is surprising how I have formerly neglected the study of History which of all studys is surely the most amusing3 and the most instructive. As I am now begun to it in earnest, I hope to make good Progress. I write my Father regularly my observations on each Volume which is of great service to me and gives much satisfaction to him.
Keep up this fine spirit — you’ll now be well soon. Go out on Sat[urday] — after 5 weeks confinement, & clear. Push Commission. Write lett[er]s out by degrees. It will amuse, & it will bring you gold to jaunt to oxford and about the dusty roads round London. Be denied today. Have [D]ash at night. Be a little retenué[.] fin[ish] Hume — keep up journ more shortly — Send for Flexney &c —
There has more than once been calling for me a tall Gentleman in black, when I was denied; He never would leave his name. I this morning received the following Letter from him.
‘Arrah now by my shoul my dear Shoy1 you are much in the wrong in the midst of your melancholy to shut the door against your acquaintances and deprive yourself of the comforts of friendly confabulation. Who in the performance of a manly part, would not wish to get Claps? The brave only are wounded in front, and Heroes are not ashamed of such scars. Yours are the offspring of fun & merriment, and would you make them the Parents of dolour & care? I intend to laugh and breakfast with you, tomorrow. Pray give the necessary orders for my admission; otherwise, Pox take you.
Yours.’
I sent him for answer that he would be very wellcome. I could not conceive who it was. I formed multitudes of conjectures. Erskine drank tea with me, & we chatted very comfortably.
Keep up good frame & be Steady to Guards & go out Monday next to North[umberland] house & propose half pay ensign in mean time1 — This day break[fast] parl[our] wt. Gentleman. Be easy — when he goes fall to Letters & prepare. Twill bring you coin. Get franks from Dempst[er] — Next week get money[.]2 Go on wt. Hume Dryden Journal[.] you’re doing finely
Who did this strange tall Gentleman in black turn out to be, but Mr. William Cochrane[,] Judge Advocate for Scotland.3 Upon my word, I did not think he had humour enough to write such a letter & I told him so. He told me he was come up to study english law, and be called to the bar here. I was put into good humour with him. His company was a fine variety to me. He put me in mind of Burntsfield Links and Monday’s after the spring sacrament at Edinburgh, when the Meadow swarms with Preachers and others taking their walks.4
Copy Epist to Ersk[ine]1 & go on wt. Hume[.] your’e doing well[.] petitotian Corp2
This week I feel myself greatly better. I come allways down to my parlour, which is more chearfull for me, and I have my hair drest every day which gives me an idea of being well. I have an excellent Hair-dresser. His name is Chetwynd.3 He lives just opposite to me. He is a genteel chatty fellow like the generality of his profession, who by being so much among Gentlemen, acquire something of their manners.
Be fine wt. Mcdonald[.]1 Think on Mcquhae — Countess of Eglintoune2 breakfast sunshine Marmalade — Highland hills — Tartan plaids — Jacobites Cairrnie. Miss Mcleod3 — Sandy’s making fortune & coming home[.] Go on wt. Hume & Letters &c —
Doctor Mcquhae had sent me a letter inclosed in mine to Mr. Alexander Macdonald[,]4 Surgeon to the Lord Mansfield Indiaman.5 This young fellow has been long intimate with Mcquhae who has often given him an excellent character, and as he is besides a Highlandman from the Isle of Sky, I thought I would like to see him. I accordingly sent to him & beg’d he might come here. He came this morning to breakfast. He was going out to India on his first voyage. In a few minutes he and I were as easy & chatty as could be. The Highlanders have all a vivacity & a frankness that is very agreable. I was in fine spirits and I thought of many agreable ideas. I found him warmly attached to the family of Stuart and he said the Scotch Jacobites had yet great hopes of a Restoration, in which they were confirmed by a dream which he had. He told me it and he promised to write it out for me. It was realy very fancyfull and strongly allegorical. He repeated it to me with the greatest Enthusiasm. It was very entertaining to see the superstitious warmth of an old highland seer mixed with the spirited liveliness of a neat clever young fellow. He had a picture of Mary Queen of Scots set in a ring which he wore with much affection.6 I realy took a liking to the lad. He past the forenoon with me, and he promised to call again before he sailed. It gave me pleasure to see him animated with the prospect of making a fortune, and then returning to Scotland. This afternoon, I was very highspirited and full of Ambition. I wanted much to be a Man of consequence, and I considered that I could only be that in my own country, where my family and connections would procure it. I also considered that the Law was my plain road to preferrment. That if I would go to the Scotch Bar I would soon be well employed, and as this confinement has made me see that I can sit in & labour very well, I thought I might be able very well to do Business. By this means I would make money which would enable me to jaunt about wherever I pleased in the vacations. I would have an opportunity of being of much real use, of being of service to my friends by having weight in the country, and would make my father exceedingly happy. I considered that the law seemed to be pointed out by fate for me. That the family of Auchinleck had been raised by it.7 That I would soon be made Advocate depute on the Circuits8 and in all probability be made a Baron of Exchequer,9 and by this means have respect and yet an easy life[,] otium cum dignitate.10 I considered that my notions of an Advocate were false. That I connected with that character low breeding & presbyterian stiffness, whereas many of them were very genteel people. That I might have the wit and humour of Sir David Dalrymple[,] the jollity of Duncan Forbes, the whim of Baron Dalrymple, the show of Baron Maule and the elegant taste of Baron Grant.11 I thought I might write Books like Lord Kames12 and be a Buck like Mr. James Erskine. That I might keep a handsom Machine.13 Have a good agreable Wife and fine children & keep an excellent house. That I might show all the dull vulgar plodding young lawyers how easily superior parts can outstrip them. That I might keep them at a distance, have my own few select friends, and that Johnston and I might enjoy life comfortably together. I thought I might go to the Church of England Chapel like Pitfour,14 and in short, might live in the most agreable manner. I viewed this plan in every favourable light and became exceedingly fond of it. As I am most impetuous in whatever I take a fancy for, I was beginning to determine that I would write to my Father and propose the thing to him, on condition that he made me a handsom settlement, that is to say, continued my £200 a year and agreed that I should have lodgings of my own, and be quite an independent Man. But then such a step taken precipitantly would not be the thing. I therefore thought I had better get his permission to go abroad for a year or two to Holland where we have some dutch relations,15 to france and to Italy; after which I would be better satisfy’d & more settled. So great was my impatience to be a man of consequence, that I thought this would keep me too long from the Session House. So very violent an inclination could not last as will appear hereafter.
Fin[ish] Vol Hume today & keep honey till tomorrow so as to make Sat[urday] the great feast day.1 Consider you’re going well on improving & amusing. keep mind sound & take no rash resolves till you are out & in the world of gayety. Keep up your six sheets of journ by ways and means till you have advice from Johnst[on] to be more negligent.2 Consult him serious about Plans & get his counsel to be constant to guards[.] Attend courts soon.3
I continued in exceeding high spirits. Variety of fine chearing ideas glanced athwart my blest imagination, ideas which gave me exquisite sensations at the time, but which are so very nice that they elude endeavours to paint them. A man of similar feelings with me, may conceive them. The law-scheme appeared in another light. I considered it as bringing me back to a Situation that I had long a rooted aversion to. That my Father might agree to let me be upon the footing of independence, but when he had me under his eye he would not be able to keep to it. I considered that I would at once embark myself for all my life in a labyrinth of care, and that my mind would be harrassed with vexation. That the notion of being of consequence was not much: for that just now I knew from experience that just by strength of imagination I could strut about and think myself as great as any man. That the Guards was a situation of life that had allways appeared most enchanting to me, as I could in that way enjoy all the elegant pleasures of the gay world, and by living in the Metropolis, and having plenty of time, could pursue what studys and follow what whims I pleased: get a variety of acquaintances of all kinds, get a number of romantic adventures, and thus have my satisfaction of life. That if a man who is born to a fortune cannot make himself easier and freer than those who are not he gains nothing. That if I should suddenly relinquish my favourite schemes, I should deservedly be considered as a man of no stability, but inconstant and wavering with every breath. I considered that at present I was not a fair Judge of a question of so much importance; That by a long course of confinement and medecine, my animal spirits4 were necessarily tamed, and my relish for pleasure and amusement and whim evaporated. That the mere satisfaction of ease after a situation of pain and the happy prospect of a recovery of health had elevated me too much, and made me imagine nothing too difficult for me to compass. That indeed I had laboured hard, but it had been in writing my journal, letters and Essays which were all works chiefly of the Imagination. But that I would find it very irksom to sit for hours hearing a heavy agent explain a heavy cause,5 and then to be obliged to remember and repeat distinctly the dull story, probably of some very trivial affair. I considered that when I should again go about and mix in the hurry & bustle of life, and have my spirits agitated with a variety of brilliant scenes, this dull legal scheme would appear in it’s usual colours. Such were my reasonings upon both sides of this question which are in my own opinion very ingenious. It is strange to consider that the same man who could waver so much, could produce them. I was somewhat uneasy at the consideration of my indetermined state of mind which argues a degree of imbecillity. I wished much for some of my sincere affectionate friends to whom I might unbosom myself, and whose kind counsel might relieve & direct me. I had much ado to keep myself from mentioning the thing to People who must laugh at me, and had not my interest deeply at heart. However I resolved to keep my own counsel, and I was sure it was a thing that nobody would suspect. I was anxious a little about my Commission, & thought I should be dissapointed in it and become peevish and turn a sort of Misanthrope. But I summoned up more chearfull ideas & imagined that my noble Countess was pushing for me. At any rate I determined to give it a year’s run, and after that time, I would be fully able to judge what to think of great people & what plan of life I should pursue.
Have fine break[fast]. Keep steady to Plan & go out on Monday a little &c
Prepare gradually for going out & let it be on a fine day either Mond[ay] or Tues[day.] Think on again entering upon life & keep up spirits & relish of life so as to be patient for guards. Be at North[umberland]-house immed. & push all you can[.] Go gently abroad1 at first —
Last night Dempster came to me between ten and eleven, and sat till one. He is realy a most agreable Man[,] has fine sense sweet dispositions and the true manners of a Gentleman. His sceptical notions2 give him a freedom and ease, which in a Companion is very pleasing; although to a man whose mind is posest with serious thoughts of futurity, it is rather hurting to find them considered so lightly. He said he intended to write a treatise on the causes of happiness and misery; He considered the mind of man like a room which is either made agreable or the reverse by the pictures with which it is adorned. External circumstances are nothing to the purpose. Our great point is to have pleasing pictures in the inside. To illustrate this, We behold a man of quality in all the affluence of life. We are apt to imagine this man happy. We are apt to imagine that his Gallery is hung with the most delightfull paintings. But could we look into it, we should in all probability behold portraits of care, discontent, envy, languor and distraction. When we see a Beggar, how miserable do we think him! but let us examine his pictures. We will probably find merriment, hope, a keen stomach, a hearty meal, true friendship, the newspaper and a pot of porter. The great art is to have an agreable collection and to preserve them well. This is realy an ingenious and lively fancy. We gave some Examples. Lord Elibank has just a Cabinet of curiositys3 which are well ranged, and of which he has an exact catalogue. Macpherson has some bold Portraits, and wild landschapes, Lord Eglintoune has had a variety of pieces, but they have been mostly slightly painted and are fading, so that his most frequent Picture is Regret. The mind of a young man, (his Gallery I mean) is often furnished different ways. According to the Scenes he is placed in so are his pictures. They dissapear & he gets a new set in a moment. But as he grows up, He gets some substantial Pieces which he allways preserves, altho he may alter his smaller paintings in a moment. I said that he whose pictures shifted too often like the Glaiks,4 was too light-headed, and so in Scotland he is called Glaiked, an expression perfectly of a piece with this system. I past this day in writing a great many letters[,] particularly a long one to Mcquhae, whom I regard much. He has excellent parts, & has had a most accurate Education. He has a good heart[,] fine dispositions, and an agreable vivacity of manners. He had a high relish for the Scenes of active life and a great natural share of spirited Ambition: But considering the uncertaintys & the hazards of a Soldier of fortune he cooly checked his aspiring ideas, determined to embrace a sure competency and live contented as a Country Clergyman. He has formed a scheme of passing his time pretty much to his mind, with the dutys of his station, the pursuit of elegant literature, and the enlivening pleasures of Society which, tho’ not in profusion, are yet to be enjoyed in the country. I regret my want of power to serve such Men as him according to his Merit; however I hope to make him tollerably happy. Erskine came & sat some hours at night. We diverted ourselves with making ludicrous Parodys on the Cure of Saul a sacred Ode by Doctor Brown.5
Let this also be a chearfull Sunday. Make out Acct. of Hume’s 3. One Sheet will do — & read busily his 5. Prepare for going out tomorrow & resolve to do it gradualy & be first at North[umberland]-House then at Gould’s — & never out the first week after 3 — & have veal the first week — recollect this long affair or rather recapitulate it in Journal & don’t be too elated or too hasty in your entry into life[.] Love is to be here today
I had now kept the house five compleat weeks except that night when I was carried to The Discovery. My disorder was now over. Nothing but a gleet remained which gave me no pain, and which could be removed in three days; But I chose to give it a little longer time, that I might get clear of every the least tincture of infection. I thought since I had been so much in earnest hitherto to have a compleat cure, I would undoubtedly compleat it. Douglas gave it as his opinion that I should confine myself no longer. There was now no danger; and he thought a little air[,] exercise & amusement would be of great use both to my health & spirits. This day the Sun shone prettily, yet I doubted as to going abroad: However, a Battallion of the Guards from Germany1 were this day to march into town, & when I heard the beat of their drums, I could not restrain my ardour, & thought this the happiest occasion for me to emerge from obscurity & confinement, to light & to life. George Home was with me. I wrapped myself up in my great coat & taking my staff in my hand, he accompany’d me, while I walked out to the Park. The Battallion was not drawn up on the Parade as I expected, but was marched up to Lincoln’s Inn fields, so I lost that show. However I was much obliged to my Soldiers for bringing me fairly out. I might realy have got a habit of laziness, & become moapish alltogether. The sweet elevation of spirits which I now felt is scarcely to be conceived. I was quite in an extasy. O how I admired all the objects arround me! How I valued ease & health. To see the variety of People in the Park again put me all in a flutter. The sight of the parade and the splendid guards brought back my love to that profession with redoubled force. I was convinced that it was indeed the genuine object of my inclinations, and the only station in real life which (at least for some years) I could fill with pleasure. And now I swear that this is the true language of my heart. O why can I not allways preserve my inclinations as constant & as warm. I am determined to pursue it with unremitting steadiness. I don’t despair of having a Regiment. O why don’t my friends encourage me in it? Surely I ought not to languish in idleness. And surely so delicate a mind as I have cannot be greatly blamed for wavering a little when such terrible obstacles oppose my favourite scheme. I now see the sickly suggestions of inconsistent fancy with regard to the Scotch Bar, in their proper colours. Good heaven! I should by pursuing that plan have depriv’d myself of felicity when I had it fairly in my power, & brought myself to a worse state than ever. I shudder when I think of it. I am vex’d at such a distemper’d suggestion’s being inserted in my Journal which I wished to contain a consistent picture of a young fellow eagerly pushing thro’ life. But it serves to humble me, & it presents a strange & curious view of the unaccountable nature of the human Mind. I am now well & gay. Let me consider that the Heroe of a Romance or novel must not go uniformly along in bliss, but the story must be checquered with bad fortune. Æneæas2 met with many disasters in his Voyage to Italy, & must not Boswell have his rubs? Yes I take them in good part. I am now again set agoing[;] let me be content & chearfull and pursue the chace of happiness.
Mr. William Cochrane was with me today. I tired of him. He was affected[,] vulgar & snappish. Love drank tea with me. He brought to my mind, many old agreable ideas. Dempster sat an hour tonight and was very agreable.
Shave[,] dress — have break[fast] in good order & papers on chair. Be denied to all but Flexney. Talk to him of Strict[ure]s. Pamph[let]s sell ill But books how? better I suppose — Then mention Publication scheme gradualy & temperately. Open it to him fully & clearly & see what he offers — then ask all terms — consult as to size & see specimen what time it will take and what expence — & how to get proofs — & to see his Printer1 &c — Think on true London Authors men of wit praise pleasure & proffit.
Write Johnst[on] to make index & draw char. of Journ2 & that you’ll keep it till he returns to Ed[inburgh] — & bid him encourage yr. schemes
Make Landlady happy with Dempster’s Crown3 —
I walked about half an hour in the park very sweetly. The languor attendant on a man enfeebled with sickness has something in it not dissagreable to me. Then the taking care of one’s self is amusing. At night I received the following letter from David Hume Esq:
‘You must know Mr. James Boswell or James Boswell Esq: that I am very much out of humour with you & your two Companions or Co-partners. How the devil came it into your heads, or rather your noddles (for if there had been a head among you, the thing had not happen’d; nor are you to imagine that a parcel of volatile spirits inclosed in a skull, make a head) I repeat it, How the devil came it into your noddles to publish in a book to all the world, what you pretend I told you in private conversation? I say pretend I told you; for as I have utterly forgot the whole matter, I am resolved utterly to deny it. Are you not sensible that by this Etourderie,4 to give it the lightest name, you were capable of making a quarrel between me & that irascible little man, with whom I live in very good terms?5 Do you not feel from your own experience that among us Gentlemen of the quill, there is nothing of which we are so jealous, not even our wives, if we have any, as the honour of our Productions? and that the least touch of blame on that head puts us into the most violent fury & combustion? I reply nothing to your letter till you give me some satisfaction for this Offence, but only assure you that I am not
Sir
Your most obedient
and Most Humble Servant
David Hume
Edinburgh
24 Febry 1763.’
This letter was occasioned by a Paragraph in our Strictures on Mr. Malloch’s Elvira which ran thus. ‘We heard it once asserted by David Hume Esq: that Mr. Malloch was destitute of the Pathetic.’ This was actualy true. He said so to Captain Erskine and me, just before I left Scotland. The conversation is to be found at large in the Journal of my Harvest Jaunt 1762.6 Indeed to repeat a private conversation and that in so very public a manner was rather using Mr. Hume ungenteely. But we were all alive for sharp criticism, and thought this so fine a hit, that it is no wonder we did not advert to the impropriety we were guilty of. Mr. Hume seems by his letter, to have been seriously offended, altho’ he had been so good natured to lighten his reproof by blending it with an agreable pleasantry. I agreed to write him an answer. Erskine told me that he was in Becket’s shop7 this forenoon, where was Mr. Murphy the dramatic Writer[,]8 [w]ho told an Anecdote of the Reverend Dr. Brown[,] Author of an Estimate of the manners and principles of the times. Sir Hanbury Williams lived some weeks at a house in the country where Brown had lodged,9 & where he discovered there was a pretty Girl whom the Doctor was fond of and had even attempted to offend with. Well[,] said Erskine[,] I think since he railed against the effeminacy of the age, he was right to show that he himself had some vigour left.
Above all shun family disputes.1 Dont interfere. You’ve nothing to do. This is the Critical day2 relish it — Make Ersk[ine] swear to secrecy of Lett[er]s, & you to him, & push him to make out 3 or 4 — Walk with him today. Read Hume — Let this week be only recovering & next visiting — Write D Hume[,] C— & Blair. or Johnst[on] may tell C—3 Make Johnst[on] tell if he has got Box made4 & draw Char[acter] & little Index of Journ. — See the Ladies5 this week. House Commons Friday6
I was made acquainted with the quarrels and commotions of my Landlord’s family. He is a fellow of a high Scotch spirit [,] very passionate & very easily perswaded. His sister who stayed in the house with us, and other two who are in London[,] are wicked malicious beings, and have allways endeavoured to make a difference between him and his Wife who is a mild agreable creature as can be; but whom they hate. Poor Molly the maid having been born at Norwich which is the town her Mistress came from was for that reason an object of their hatred & they have provoked Mr. Terrie against her so much that she is to leave us next month. This led me to the knowledge of all the broils. For poor Mrs. Terrie with the tear in her eye related to me all the mischiefs occasioned by the malevolence of the Sisters, by whose instigation Mr. Terrie formerly behaved so harshly to her, that she parted from him & went & lived as a kind of better servant with a Lady in Ireland, for near a twelvemonth. But told me how her husband was just as glad to get her back again. She has now turned the other sister out of the house, which I rejoyce at. She proved to be an abominable cunning revengefull little wretch. There is realy in Scotland a species of low insidious wicked women worse than any creatures in the World. Terrie is a sad harsh dog. But not a bad fellow in the main. However I shall allways have a worse opinion of him, & have less acquaintance with him. Tho’ I shall make him very serviceable to me, as usual.
At night I wrote to David Hume as follows.
‘My Dear Sir,
The heavy charge which you have given us, demands a reply of proportionate weight of mettle. We are equaly surprised & afflicted at your imagining that we meant you, when we mentioned David Hume Esq: To be sure, Sir, you are The David Hume Esq: But you are not the sole one. He whose authority we have made bold to quote, is a Bookseller at Glasgow,7 who from his Employment must be supposed to be well known in the world of letters. He is a Man of very good understanding, and more genius than most of his Brethren; But his contempt for Mr. Malloch’s abilitys as a Tragic Poet, allmost exceed belief. He will not so much as allow his works to stand in his shop, and he constantly affirms that “he is destitute of the pathetic.”
Now, Sir, we shall suppose that we realy meant you; and in that case we are ready to make oath either before Sir John Fielding, or Mr. Saunders Welch,8 that we heard you utter that very expression. As to the consequences of this affair; We are very sorry that you live in good terms with Mr. Malloch, and if we can make a quarrel between you, it will give us infinite pleasure. We shall glory in being the instruments of dissolving so heterogeneous an alliance; of separating the mild from the irascible, and the divine from the bestial.
We know very well how sore every author is, when sharply touched in his works. We are pleased with giving acute pain to Mr. Malloch. We have vast satisfaction in making him smart by the rod of Criticism, as much as many a tender Bum has smarted by his barbarous birch, when he was Janitor of the High-school at Edinburgh.9
As to the giving you satisfaction for the offence, you may receive full gratification by reading the Reviews on our Performance. You will there find us held forth both as fools and as Knaves;10 and if you will give us any other abusive appellations, we shall most submissively acquiesce. I hope this affair is now perfectly settled. I insist upon your writing to me in your usual humane stile, and I assure you most sincerely that I am
My Dear Sir
Your Most Obedient
Humble Servant
Boswell & Co.’
This Letter I think a very good one;11 it is well exprest, and has a proper mixture of compliment, & spirit and jocularity. Erskine and Dempster were much pleased with it, and their praise now was more agreable than their trick was dissagreable. I am now in very good terms with them and I shall be on my guard & hope to meet with no more rubs.
Break[fast] well[;] get hair drest & go to North[umberland] House. If not in go nowhere else That you may tell her tis the first visit1 & tell your story in the most earnest manner & beg of her. Read Hume busy today. Write no more Lett[er]s till you see Proof.2 Make out account of 3 Vol of Hume as also 4th & on frid[ay] break[fast] Pring[le] & then Douglas & then Coutts —
I called at Northumberland-House, but My Lady was not at home. I now wished much for my commission, & hoped to push it with success. While I have been confined, Colonel Gould’s family has been sometime out of town & when they returned, I had a message to come & dine. But I sent my excuse of Indisposition. I was affraid that they might be taking my absence amiss. I shall soon wait on them & make all right again.
This is realy the proof sheet day. Be in fine spirits & think on whim & proffit & praise. at 11 Go to Lady North[umberland] & be very earnest & say ’tis your first visit. Then home & correct with Flexney — Then write Blair & at night copy let[ter]s — sharpen them & throw in fine sallies & write some new ones and keep steady to it. If ’tis good ’twill last if bad ’tis soon over —
I called again at Northumberland-House. But My Lady was again abroad. The Porter promised to let her know that I had been there; & would call again next day. He is a fine civil fellow.
I called at Northumberland-House a little after ten. The Porter said My Lady was not stirring, but would be up in half an hour. I said I would call again. I then went to my Banker’s & received a term’s allowance. I had not such an exquisite relish for gold now, as last time, after my extreme Poverty. At eleven I called again at Northumberland-House but was told My Lady was just gone out, but would be glad to see me in the evening. This looked very ill. She could not possibly be gone out so soon after she rose. She has found that she could not easily do me any service with The Marquis of Granby & so wants to shun a conversation with me, and has asked me to come in the evening as she is then surrounded with company, and I can have no opportunity to talk to her. I was much vexed & fretted & began to despair of my Commission altogether and to ruminate whether it would not be better just to lay aside thoughts of it. However I pluckd up spirit & determined to give it the twelve-month’s run. I thought I behoved to go to My Lady’s at night: But I thought I might make my Apology & so just be six weeks absent from her house. I encourage whims of this kind too much, & often deprive myself of pleasures for some conceit about times & numbers & seasons. Donaldson the Painter1 drank tea with me. He reminded me of former days at Edinburgh when he drew Johnston’s Picture in the Lawn Market where my friend then lived, and where I could wish he still had lived, rather than down in Don’s close; tho’ indeed his having an agreable buxom Landlady, and having a view of the Low -mond hills from his windows, are very great inducements.2 Donaldson is a kind of a speculative being, & must forsooth controvert established systems. He defended Adultery, & he opposed revealed Religion. I could not help being much diverted with his abusing Edinburgh & saying it was a place where there was no Company. However, he observed very justly that there is a degree of low cunning & malevolence amongst the vulgar, & a want of humour & spirit. As also amongst the better sort a deal of illbred coarse raillery & freedom of abusive speech.
Break[fast] soon & go immed to Pring[le] & consult whether to stop the gleet,1 & what to give Douglas.2 Then be in all day & take care, for after your nice regimen exercise soon hurts. So indulge & on Sunday only step to Whitehall3 & to Lady B[etty]’s — at night correct well4 & let Erskine be in good humour & have let[ter]s written & get last vol Hume5
I breakfasted with Doctor Pringle. He was pleased with my paying him my first visit.6 He gave me wholesom reproof for having been ill, & gave me a merry Pun which I never heard before. He that runs may read.7 He advised me to read all I could, in English[,] & declar’d that the latin was a very bad language; from the confusion of cases & inversions. He said David Hume was a man of a fine imagination but did not write correct english. I walked this day, as indeed I did yesterday, as far as Holbourn. I formerly, as it were, only coasted it, in the park. But now I launched into the wide ocean. I exulted in moving again freely about. I was rather too keen & had too great a hurry of spirits.
Break[fast] on fine muffins & good taste of flour. Have hair drest & if the day is moderate, go to Whitehall Chapel & Lady B[etty]’s But if it be cold, stay in comfortable & write journ short this week & acct. of 4 Vol of Hume. Have Ersk[ine] today and tell him the Story1 & inspirit him. Pray remember — & mark it on separate paper — how happy you now are in the full enjoyment of liberty. Summer will come when all Scots will be gone. Then you’ll grow more english & fine.
I heard prayers & Sermon at Spring-Garden Chapel.2 I felt a calm delight in again being at divine service. I then went & presented myself at Lady Betty’s where I was received with the greatest kindness. I was very lively, and chatted with my former ease & volatility; and they jok’d with great good-humour on my keeping the house. Erskine & I then walk’d through the Park, and over Westminster-Bridge.3 It was a delightfull day. He came in the evening and drank tea with me. The time past swiftly away in a kind of indolent amusive listlessness; yet with vivacity.
Dress & call Douglas & take direction about balsam & get other pot of balsamic.1 Then call Duke’s & push free once for all.2 Then Flexney’s & mention 3 or 4 copies on immense paper if convenient. If not delay till next Edition.3 Then fine thro Lincoln’s Inn fields to Lady B[etty]’s — order Jelly[.] enjoy fine Lady Quality.4 family Kelly old friends. Then Home & all this week dine muffins. Tuesday Break[fast] Garrick’s & Gould’s. Copy out neat5 & be steady —
I breakfasted at Lady Betty’s, and then Erskine & I walked to Holbourn, and were very hearty. I past the Evening at home.
Dress immed. Send card by Chairman to North[umberland]-House. Then carry whole copy to Flexney or Chandler, & compute & take out two Morpeth’s.1 Then Duke’s — Then Licester — Then Gould’s a little till 1 Then Home & Journ & let[ter]s to Johnst[on] all night — & then copy out. You may omit some as you appear too voluminous and not so smart. Beware dissipation, & keep on in regular plan.
I breakfasted at Lady Betty’s. Then Lady Anne, Erskine & I drove out in the coach to Brompton,2 where we left Lady Anne. It was a charming day. We were very fine; & Lady Anne owned that London was infinitely preferable to Edinburgh. Erskine & I then returned in the coach thro’ Hyde-Park, & then dined at Lady Betty’s very happily.
Dress & break[fast] in peace. & make up journ. Then wait till proof comes; & then step out to North[umberland] House, & then to Gould’s. to pay respects fairly & at 4 have veal again or tart rather. Think on General Cochrane & Hampstead1 & of fixing here for some years. & after letters are published to be polite & distant wt. Kellies, which will happen of course[.]2 Buy Poems &c for Sir Dav[id],3 & copy out fine.4
The exceeding great change of life which I have now experienced, cannot fail to make me very giddy. A Man who has been confined to the house, suffering gloominess & pain, for six weeks, when he gets abroad & enjoys all the pleasure of freedom & bustle & variety, he must be quite intoxicated.
I went this day to Lord Eglintoune’s; He insisted that I should dine, which I agreed to. Sir James Macdonald and some more company were with us. I was pretty happy; yet a little dull. In the evening Sir James & I walked to Covent-Garden together. I had a long conversation with him, in which I discovered that his seeming Pride was not real haughtiness. We talked in such a way, that we parted with a good opinion of each other, & a desire to be more together. I then met My Lord5 with whom I walked a little. He said he would do every thing he could with Lord Bute to get my Commission.
Dress & go immed to Garrick’s. Break[fast] moderate & be fine yet temperate — Between 10 & 11 Go to Eglint[oune] — & talk ser[iously] to him what a good officer you’ll make & how he put it into your head; & push the thing fairly[,] give it fair tryal. Yet be not too keen. At 12 meet Sir James and be well wt. him, and consult him in your commission affair — Then Ersk[ine]’s — then Mall — then home & sit all afternoon so as to prevent dissipation this week.
I breakfasted with Lord Eglintoune. He generaly breakfasts with his family above stairs, whom I shall now paint. It consists of three. In the first place Miss or Mrs. Brown,1 who has lived with him, seven or eight years. She is a good-looking Woman, and I dare say is the best of her profession that ever existed. She is quiet[,] good-humoured & diligent at slight pretty work[.] She is neither avaricious nor extravagant[.] She has a degree of laughing simplicity that is agreable so far,2 but when she shows it too much, it appears foolish. Next there is Mrs. Reid the Housekeeper who has been a great many years with My Lord. She is a good hearty wife, tells an old story, and looks after the family-affairs most diligently. She is a Jacobite & a keen churchwoman yet is she wantonly enough minded, and is not displeased that young People of different sexes should solace themselves with the enjoyment of each other. The third is Mr. Charles Crookshanks. He had his education with My Lord, & has been his Steward in England fifteen or sixteen years. He is a very excellent fellow. He is honest faithfull and generous. He has very good sense[,] a great deal of fancy and is much of a Gentleman. He & I are very good friends & I find myself very happy in his Company.
This forenoon Sir James Macdonald and I walked a long time in the Green Park. I found him very good company. We now begin to understand one another, and he likes me.
Dress —Then call Garrick & break[fast] fine wt. Sword.1 Then Sher[idan] — & dont mention Discovery, & sit short, & be retenué. Then L[ove]’s & see what can be done.2 Then Eglint[oune]’s & remind him of affair & push all schemes. & get Sir Dav[id]’s franks.3 Then home & copy till 5 then dress & a little after six, in plain ruffles, go to North[umberland] House, & see what is done. Then home & journ & copy. By all means take less exercise — Saturday Break[fast] Dempst[er] & then Child’s & then home —
Dempster took me into the house of Commons. The Novelty of being in the high court of Parliament which I had heard so much about, pleased me exceedingly. My Respect for it was greatly abated by seeing that it was such a tumultous scene. Yet I felt an ambition to be a speaker there. I wish that may be the case: It must afford very high satisfaction to make a figure as an Orator before an Assembly of so much consequence. At night, I was at Lady Northumberland’s. She said that she had as yet only seen Lord Granby in Public, but would not forget me. She spoke rather slightly, & I imagined She had no more thoughts of serving me. I was realy deprest.
If morn[ing] bad1 break[fast] in & be comfortable. & copy out[.] If good Dempster’s then Skeene’s2 then Eglint[oune]’s — then Lady B[etty]’s & see when she really goes & fix Dash at night for Proof & perhaps call [C]handler & see how much copy they will want, next week. Buy something to Lady Anne.3 And now push affairs & keep off Dissipation & continue Journal.
This was one of the blackest days that I ever past.4 I was most miserably melancholy. I thought I would get no Commission and thought that a grievous misfortune & that I was very ill used in life. I ruminated of hiding myself from the World. I thought of going to Spain, & living there as a silent morose Don. Or of retiring to the sweeter climes of France & Italy. But then I considered that I wanted5 money. I then thought of having obscure lodgings, and actualy looked up & down the bottom of Holbourn, and towards fleet-ditch,6 for an out-of-the-way Place. How very absurd are such conceits! yet they are common. When a Man is out of humour, he thinks he will vex the world, by keeping away from it, and that he will be greatly pitied; whereas in truth, the world are too busy about themselves, to think of him, and ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ I again went to my good Child’s, which gave me some comfort. I felt a warmth of heart to it, after so long an absence. I then dined at Lord Eglintoune’s. Sir James and Lord Advocate were there. I was very dreary. I had lost all relish of London. I thought I saw the nothingness of all sublunary enjoyments. I was cold & spiritless. I went to Lady Betty’s. Lady Anne only was at home. She gave me some tea & we chatted gently. Then the rest came in. I valued them, as they were to Go for Scotland, on Monday. I stayed Supper, after which we talked of death, of theft[,] Robbery[,] Murder & Ghosts. Lady Betty & Lady Anne declared seriously that at [A]llanbank they were disturbed two nights, by something walking & groaning in the room; which they afterwards learnt was haunted.7 This was very strong. My mind was now filled with a real horror, instead of an imaginary one. I shuddered with apprehension. I was frightened to go home. Honest Erskine made me go with him & kindly gave the half of his bed in which, tho’ a very little one, we past the silent watches8 in tranquillity.
I got up rather out of order. I am very easily disconcerted. I could never submit with patience to the inconveniences of a marching Corps. The want of my own bed, and my own nightcap, & being confined to stretch myself in a small space, hurt my cogitations. We went over to Lady Betty’s immediately, & breakfast relieved me. As I was rather in bad frame, & as it was the last day of the Ladies’ being in London I stayed at home from Church. Erskine & I took a walk to Covent-Garden, & I carried him to Southampton-Street & showed him the house in which I first payed my addresses to the Paphian Queen, where I first experienced the melting and transporting rites of Love.1 We then returned to dinner, after which the Ladies went out, and the Afternoon was past round the fire by Macfarlan[,] Myself[,] Erskine and the Laird of Spotiswood,2 a very curious Exhibition. He is quite a braid Scots Man. His conversation was diverting, from being so very unlike any thing that I have heard for a good time. He is half-Brother to Macfarlan, and they have a great similarity. They are both cram’d with knowledge of familys and Places in Scotland, & have both a sort of greasy drollery. In the evening I walked early & quietly home, & felt a most comfortable degree of sensation, upon getting into my neat warm bed and resigning myself to repose.
Have a bit of fire & dress & get up Mrs. Terrie & settle last week. Then take Proof in Pocket — and half guinea & then call Coutts & settle affair.1 Then Licester & think their last day. Ladys of quality[,] genius &c[.] buy hat & consider you save dinners[.]2 Be fine forenoon. Afternoon home settle all accounts & bring up Journal amusingly & recollect for Wednesday3 nor be mad. —
This forenoon was quite a scene of confusion at Lady Betty’s. We had a good breakfast tho’ & made as merry as we could. The Bills were now coming in upon her Ladyship; They fell arround her like flakes of Snow. They lighted upon the Laird. They rendered him frigid, & their whiteness was by reflection transferred to his honour’s face. The black lines upon them, were indeed a black sight to him. I thought a little jocularity would be usefull. I made the Sun of good-humour to smile, & to warm & cheer the Chieftain.4 I declared that these confounded bills were Satires upon Marriage, Lampoons upon Conjugal felicity. The Laird did not chuse that the holy state should be censured; He therefore with no small keen[n]ess embraced the cause of the Lady; (O could he but embrace her Person! or as a friend desire me to do it!) He asserted that Men spent their money more foolishly, which after a little opposition I acquiesced in. About four they set out. Erskine & I trotted along till we saw them fairly on the north side of London. We then took leave of them. I insulted over them a little; desired them to recollect that they were leaving all the magnificence & splendour & gayety of the Metropolis, & were gaiain down to Halkerston’s Wynd & Whigs & Roundabouts.5 They deserved a little chastisement for pretending not to be fond of London: Tho’ indeed it might realy be so. For to Ladies, London can never be agreable till they have been there a long time, & have a numerous circle of Acquaintances. They have not the same advantages of indulging Passion & whim & curiosity that Men have. Besides, Women who have been in the habit of living in a place where they are well known and being the Earl of Kelly’s sisters are just as good as any body, must be hurt to find themselves just poor Lasses, whose names are hardly known. There was a proposal made that Erskine & I should take a chaise & convoy them as far as Barnet,6 & stay a night, & make merry: This Proposal was much approved of, by the Captain, but declined by me, partly to save money; partly because I felt no inclination for a jaunt. The Captain therefore did not go. I then went to Lord Eglintoune’s. He had a large company with him; so I would not see him; but went up to Mrs. Browne’s & had some of the dainties from his board. There was a degree of mean[n]ess in this, & I felt it at the time. Yet I made it appear like a frolic. I felt a little regret at the Ladies of Kelly being gone altogether. It was a very comfortable Society for me. I drank tea with Mrs. Browne. I was diverted with a little english girl, who had been educated in France.7
Dress & go immed before 10 in sword & call Col. Skeene. Then call Pitfour.1 Then Eglint[oune] & settle Plan about Lord Bute. Then home & get on slippers &c. at 3 & have fire & some veal ordered — & write Father about Bill2 & bring up Journ. short, & compose mind & write out some letters so as to prepare some sheets of copy. Now be resolute; & on Wed[nesday] & till you are again clear of copy, break[fast] home. & let not dissipation confound you.
I breakfasted with Colonel Skeene. I then went to Gould’s, where I had been once last week. I was very happy to find myself in their elegant house again. I then went to Lord Eglintoune’s; He & I sauntered about all the forenoon. I had formed a scheme of writing a letter to Lord Bute, about my Commission, but thought it a wild conceit, so kept it to myself. Luckily Lord Eglintoune hit upon the same, & proposed it to me. I appointed to meet him at his house this evening at eleven, when we might talk my affair over, fully. He promised he would do every thing in his power, for me, with Lord Bute. But, said he, Jamie, after all you will perhaps not believe me. No My Lord, said I. Be not affraid of that. I allways believe your Lordship in the past tense but never in the future. When you say I have done so & so, I make no doubt of it. But when you say I will do so & so[,] Your Lordship must excuse me. I believe you intend to do what you say; But perhaps the Song of ‘Three blind mice’ comes accross you, & prevents you from thinking of it. He smiled. We are now very well together. I told him ‘My Lord you first put it into my head, that I might enjoy felicity. Now, don’t you think yourself obliged to make my existence happy.’ He replied I do think myself obliged to do all in my power to make you happy. We parted, & I waited on Mrs. Shaw, formerly Miss Thomson,3 who was very happy to see me. She is a Woman of a good deal of knowledge, pretty good sense, much vivacity & a prodigious flow of Words. I then called for My Lord, at a Mrs. Carwardin’s4 where he was sitting for his picture in Miniature. She is a very good-looking, agreable woman, unmarried, but I imagine virt[u]ous. I was again in pleasant spirits. The fine arts enliven me exceedingly. I never went into a good painter’s but I became happy. There is a sweetness & gentleness in this art which most of all sooths the mind to peacefull tranquillity. My Lord then went to dress & go abroad to dinner. I sauntered about, & came at three & chatted with my friend Crookshanks; who has just the same opinion of My Lord that I have. Sayd he, My Lord desires you just to be one of the family. [H]ave a care. If you go upon that footing, it will be dissagreable. He sets a value upon saving you a shilling for dinner. Keep clear & independent. However, he insisted that I should dine with Mrs. Browne that day. I asked him if I was not doing wrong; he owned it; but said for that day I must comply. We were very chearfull at dinner. I left them after it; but returned to tea. At night My Lord came as he promised. I ordered every thing just as I pleased. I made it just an evening which we past when I was first in London, which I described in my letter to his Lordship, which was published in The Scots Magazine.5 ‘We sat down in the dining-room, to an enlivening Bottle of old hock.’6 I showed him a letter that I had written to Lord Bute, which he declared too long[,] too personal & too circumstantial. He therefore wrote the following which I just copied out.
I am ashamed to trouble your Lordship, having nothing to recommend me, but being the eldest son of a Scotch Judge who is thought to serve his country honestly; I mean My Lord Auchinleck.7
My Father insisted on my following the Law. I past tryals8 to please him; but having an utter detestation at that Profession, beg your Lordship would recommend me to his Majesty to have a Commission in the Army; which will be conferring the highest favour on one who is with the highest Respect & Esteem
My Lord
Your Lordship’s Most Obedt.
Humble Servant
James Boswell.
I thought this letter not plain enough, nor free enough; but My Lord said he would explain all the affair. So I resolved to be for once the real Courtier & so most gravely signed this Letter. This anecdote will amuse me much afterwards. I told My Lord I would have nothing but the Guards. Sir said he, I think you should catch at any string. Nay, My Lord said I[,] another Commission would be a rope wherewith to hang myself; except you can get me one that is to be broke,9 & then I am not forced from London. We sat till near three. Honest Crookshanks saw me halfway home.
Break[fast] Douglass’s then Ersk[ine]’s & take him wt. you to Eglint[oune]’s & settle affair & not to send letter by any means as you will write.1 Then Sir Chaloner’s2 & take copy & settle all. Then home at 1 have veal, & be in till 3 on Thursday. Bring up Journ. & try again to be compos’d. Shut up3 & settle about letters, what to leave out &c. Go in coach & full dress to Advocate’s.4 Buy stone water Bottle
I breakfasted at Douglas’s. I then called for Erskine & we went & saw the Exhibitions of Pictures in the Strand.5 I was jaded with sitting up & rather in bad spirits. I went by myself & dined in a Chophouse near the New-church in the Strand.6 I have not yet learnt it’s proper name. But I shall soon, as I shall resort to it, pretty often. My spirits grew better there. Realy good sustenance dispells the vapours.7 I should now dislike dining with My Landlord. There is something confined & vulgar in it. The worst thing about me, at present is, that, having been accustomed during my confinement to live very cheap I grudge even a shilling for dinner. I must mention another strange thing; as it now occurs: From having been so long & so lately under strict family discipline at home, Whenever I have been a little too late abroad at night, I cannot help being apprehensive that Terrie my Landlord will reprove me for it, next Morning. Such is the force of Custom.
Dress[;] call Ersk[ine] & go to Pitfour’s & have a hearty break[fast] — yet be retenué somewhat. Then Eglint[oune]’s & settle no letter sent. Then saunter till Lord Ad[vocate]’s & then talk Sir James[.] Come off at 6 & tea Miss D[empster]. Home at 8, & make up Journ & lett[er]s till 12. Friday be in all day & Sat[urday] only be at Child’s, & for a week live on nothing, so as to get quite well, & to finish letters, and curtail as much as you possibly can. Send William1 to Sir Chaloner’s.
Erskine & I breakfasted with young Pitfour, who gave us a very copious meal, & put us into a good-humour, with his oddity. I dined at Lord Advocate’s where was an invited contrived formal company. I was but dull. Wedderburn was there who was over-bearing & flippant. Mrs. Miller’s abominable Glasgow tongue2 excruciated me. I resolved never again to dine, where a Scotch-woman from the west was allowed to feed with us. At six I left them, & met Erskine at Dempster’s where our Society over the pleasant tea, was very agreable. Time galloped along[.] We stayed & had a little supper, & then getting into a deep speculative conversation about the immortality of the Soul, human nature, the pursuits of Men, & happiness, we did not part till near three, to the severe mortification of Maid Molly who was obliged to sit up for me. Poor Being!
Finding myself much dissipated, & having a good deal to write, I kept the house all day & did my work; & became serene.
Enjoy pleasant Saturday. Dress easy — then go to Breakfast wt. Dempster fine & be very hearty. Then go to Lord Eglintoune’s & see about affairs. Then Sir Chaloner’s, & give more copy & calculate the rest: Then Flex[ney] & agree Sr. Chal[oner] to put his name.1 Then Child’s. Then home & write Sr. Dav[id] & a little journal & to mother. Then dress & N[orthumberland] House & be happy. Sunday St. Clement’s2 at 3 Whitefield’s3 & then Mrs. Shaw’s — Monday in all day
Erskine and I breakfasted at Dempster’s. He then accompanied me to Child’s, where I was not quite so comfortable as when there by myself. I can however now again furnish something like a
Dialogue at Child’s.
1 Cit. What changeable weather have we had!
Physic One day this week was like December & another like Midsummer.
2 Cit Bless me! how this Play the fall of Mortimer has sold, and all for the Dedication.6
Physician. Yes ’tis an old Play & not worth sixpence.
2 Cit I remember when the common price of new plays was Sixpence & no more.
We then walked to the Exchange, and sauntered into Guildhall.7 I was in good London humour, and comfortable enough. We dined at Dolly’s Beefsteak-house; then went to Saint Paul’s Church and heard the Choir chaunting. In short this was a day of great variety. We next walked into the Temple.8 It look’d well. I thought of living there some time perhaps. We then walked round by Holbourn & came to Dempster’s & drank tea. Erskine then went home with me, & stayed till I drest for a grand rout at Northumberland-House. He was in lively spirits. We kept up a pretty sharp platoon of raillery to the no small entertainment of Mr. Chetwynd. Boswell, said the Captain, your hair will be very well drest; but people will think it ill-drest, by seeing it upon your head. The rout this night was very splendid. I stayed till near one looking at very deep play,9 which made me shudder.
Break[fast] allways home Sunday. Before 10 St. Clement’s & give Penny for Seat.1 Be fine. Have white silks; but walk little. Then Eglint[oune]’s & consult & determine nothing out of London But what is broke2 & insist on seeing Lord Bute so then you can tell him your Story. Then go Lady Mirabel’s & try Siege fairly. Then saunter till 5 & then Mrs. Shaw. at 8 Home & Journ. Monday Journ till 3 then Sher[idan] & not again for a long time —
I was at St. Clement’s Church, which gave me very devout ideas. I then called on Sir James Macdonald, with whom I stayed an hour & was very easy. I then dined at Chapman’s eating-house in Oxford Road. I am resolved to have a variety of dining places. I am amused this way. I shall by degrees see many a one. This is a kind of curiosity whimsical enough. I drank tea with Mrs. Shaw where we were pretty lively & agreably entertained.
Dress & go & break[fast] Pitfour. Leave Sir Francis’s Speech wt. Corbin,1 as you pass. After Ferg[usson] Lord Eglint[oune] & be spirited & say you will have nothing but Guards & youve made a vow not to quit London, as you’d be miserable. Keep to purpose, dont be imbecill & ask to see Lord Bute. Then call Lady M[irabel] and propose fairly2 & say you’ll do all in your power to make happy. At 3 Sher[idan]’s & be retenué & never mention [D]iscovery nor be back for 5 weeks. Tuesday In all day.
I breakfasted with Fergusson. He said he had been constantly happy all his life, except one year that he was sick, & three days that he was in love. He said he had a rule that he would never do any thing for any man which he would not do for him. I then called for Lord Eglintoune. We walked together. He told me that he had presented my Ode on Ambition to Lord Bute, which he read and liked. That he also presented my letter & told my story in the most favourable manner; but that Lord Bute told him it was impossible to give me a Commission in the Guards, as People of the best parliamentary interest were pushing to purchase them. He then asked a Commission in another Regiment for me; which Lord Bute promised I should have.
B. I hope My Lord you insisted on it’s being in a young Corps.3
E. I could not mention it so particularly.
B I thought your Lordship had just talked freely with Lord Bute, as I do with you.
E So I do. But a minister of state is so much taken up, that he has not time to talk so much. Altho’ there is no man that I have a greater regard for than you, yet if I were a minister of State, I could not talk so much to you.
B Then, My Lord, I am glad you are not one: and I am glad I am not one; for I could not talk so much to you.
E If you get your Commission in a young Regiment, you will be broke of course. If in an old, you will get numbers who will be willing to exchange a half-pay commission for yours, & give you some money into the Bargain.4
B Well, My Lord, remember you must settle the affair for me; for London leave will I not.
In this situation are my affairs at present. This may be a step towards my favourite situation[,] the guards. At any rate, it can do no harm: as I can throw it up immediatly when I feel the least inconvenience from it. We sauntered about this forenoon, & went to Mrs. Carwardin’s where My Lord sat again for his Picture. I then parted from him, dined in a Pastry Shop, & drank tea with Mrs. Brown & Mr. Crookshanks. When I went home in the evening, I felt myself quite dissipated by running about so much. I was indolent & careless and could not fix to any thing. Even this my Journal was in danger of being neglected. Near a whole week had elapsed without my writing a single page of it. By way therefore of pennance for my idleness, & by way of making up for the time lost, & bringing up my business I determined to sit up all this night; which I accordingly did, & wrote a great deal. About two o’clock in the morning I inadvertently snuffed out my candle, & as my fire was long before that black & cold, I was in a great dilemma how to proceed. Down stairs did I softly & silently step to the Kitchen. But alas there was as little fire there as upon the icy mountains of Greenland. With a tinder-box is a light struck every morning to kindle the fire which is put out at night. But this tinder-box I could not see, nor knew where to find. I was now filled with gloomy ideas of the terrors of the night. I was also apprehensive that My Landlord who allways keeps a pair of loaded pistols by him, might fire at me, as a thief. I went up to my room [&] sat quietly till I heard the Watchman calling ‘Past three o’clock.’ I then called to him to knock at the door of the house where I lodged: He did so; & I opened it to him & got my candle relumed without danger. Thus was I relieved & continued busy till eight next day.
What a curious creature is Man! With what a variety of powers & faculties is he endued.1 Yet how easily is he disturbed & put out of order. This night’s watchfullness, (or rather last night’s) have quite stupified & confused me. However, the day must be weathered out.
I went with Erskine & breakfasted at Slaughter’s Coffee-house,2 & then we walked to Holbourn, which did me good. We then came to Douglas’s & saw from his Windows the procession of the Heralds and all the other Pageants up Pallmall in their way to the City, to proclaim the Peace. We then went with Dempster to the house of commons where the Cyder Bill was in agitation. Mr. Fox spoke as did several others. But at last Mr. Pitt3 got up, & then indeed I heard Oratory: the ease[,] the fluency[,] the grace with which he spoke was amazingly fine. He kindled an ardour in my breast to distinguish myself, as he did. Erskine & I stayed in the house till past dinner-time. We then drank tea with Miss Dempster. I felt myself pleasingly sleepy, & at nine went home, & went to bed with great joy. It is worth while to want the comforts of life a little, to have the satisfaction of recovering them again. I should have mentioned last sunday, that I called at Mr. Garrick’s, who said there were half a dozen as clever things in the Strictures on Elvira, as he had ever read.
Dont go Lord B[ute] as E[glintoune] forbid it; so let him take his own way entirely. Dress & go to Douglas; & consult what to do & take less exercise. Get last vol of Hume. Be at Eglint[oune]’s & Lady Marg[aret]’s & then Love’s & return tics & say you’ll get franks, & ’tis not ye custom.1 dine Newchurch chop-house — cause Dun pay your London Map.2 Get Sully’s Memoirs.3 Go Duke once more but say nothing
I breakfasted with Lord Eglintoune, who was very good to me. He said nobody liked me better than he did. He begun & taught me to sing catches,4 of which he is very fond; He gave me much encouragement, & said there were not five people in the whole Catch-club,5 who had a better ear than I have. I dined at Harris’s eating house in Covent-Garden, & then called on Erskine with whom I walked in the Park. We compared the Authors of great Brittain to Sheep. For instance the wool of Johnson is coarse but substantial. Hume’s fine but slight. We then went to Miss Dempster’s & drank tea. Dempster said he had been drunk the night before and this morning his tongue rattled in his mouth like two dice in a box. True, said his sister, & your head ach’d like a Backgammon table.
Dress — get Mrs. Terrie & settle Accounts & then mark1 breakfast at Slaughter’s. Then call Ersk[ine] & break[fast] Max[well]: take copy wt. you & go to Sir Chaloner’s and insist on 3 next week. Dont settle his name till next week. Then call Duke’s & Eglint[oune]’s Crooks[hanks] tomorrow — then home all evening to bring up Journ. Frid[ay] have breakfast large & fine & get other Vol of Hume[.] Sat[urday] call for Fell at Cornhill &c2 —
Erskine & I breakfasted with Captain Maxwell of Dalswinton & then walked to Holbourn. After sauntering about, I went to Sheridan’s where I dined. I had called there a few minutes, one day before; & both at that time, & this I never mentioned The Discovery which I thought the best way to picque them a little. This day he at last said to me. ‘You saw the Discovery only the first night.’ No more said I. S. ‘O then you did not see it to half the advantage.’ B What[,] was it lighten’d? Garrick said ‘we lighten’d it.’3 In this manner did I nettle them. It appeared strongly upon my asking him if he had read Captain Erskine’s Odes to Indolence & to Impudence.4 ‘No No,’ said he, ‘he is no Poet. Neither you nor he are Poets.’ This was somewhat impertinent.
Break[fast] fine Dash & Crooks[hanks]. Journ. all day & tart in room & at six Dempst[er]’s wt. Ersk[ine] & get Hume.1 Resolve after lett[er]s are published to study speak english yet unaffectedly. Sat[urday] Go to Eglint[oune]’s break[fast] & sing & then Flex[ney] & Sir Chal[oner] & Fell’s & Dolly’s & Kearsley’s & Dempster’s at night. Be soon at Gould’s. Insist wt. My Lord2 to introduce you to some Ladies. Also see Miss Wells.3 Give nothing4 but be fine.
Erskine breakfasted with me. We parted in the forenoon, & I sauntered up & down the streets rather out of spirits. I drank tea at Sheridan’s where was old Victor. We disputed much on systems of Government. Sheridan stood up for Monarchy & Victor mumbled some stuff in favour of a Republic. Surely a regular limited Royal Government is the best & the most conducive to the happiness of Mankind. A Republic is in my opinion a most confused, vulgar system whereas a Monarchy inspires us with gay & spirited ideas. As I was coming home this night I felt carnal inclinations raging thro’ my frame. I determined to gratify them. I went to St. James’s Park & like Sir John Brute,5 picked up a Whore. For the first time did I engage in Armour which I found but a dull satisfaction.6 She who submitted to my lusty embraces was a young shropshire Girl only seventeen, very well-looked[,] her name Elizabeth Parker. Poor being[.] She has a sad time of it!
I supt at Lord Eglintoune’s. Sir James was there. He invited me very kindly to come to Oxford, & promised to show me every thing to the best advantage. I shall certainly go & pass a week there.
Break[fast] home — then take coat to Eglint[oune]’s then Go to City — call at Dun’s & make send for bretches to mend. Have pocket book & go to [F]ell’s then Dolly’s then St. Paul’s — then Kearsly’s then Demp[ster]’s then home. [A]t 7 home & let[ter]s & journ all night. get Hume. Restrain Dissipation[.] Be more your own companion[.] Keep off from Sher[idan;] send for ode.1 All next week be retired —
Erskine & I sauntered up & down some hours. I should have mentioned some-time ago, that I said to him, that if venereal delight & the power of propagating the species were permitted only to the Virtuous[,] [i]t would make the World very good. Our Pulpits would then resound with noble descriptions of conjugal love. Preachers would incite the Audience to Goodness by warmly & lusciously setting before their Imaginations the transports of amorous Joy. This would render the pleasures of love more refined & more valuable when they were participated only by the good: Whereas at present it is the common solace of the Virtuous and the Wicked. The man of taste & the man of Brutality. I was somewhat averse to my City walk today: But Erskine encouraged me in it, & said it would give my Ballocks the venerable rust of Antiquity.2 Such wild ludicrous sallies will we sometimes throw out. Child’s was this day a silent meeting[,] as the Quakers say. I was too late to hear a Dialogue. The North Briton is now never published till four o’clock so that I shall dine in the City, every Saturday, so as to have it fresh from the Press. Erskine & I met at Dempster’s, & drank tea.
Dress & break[fast] — then Great coat & St. Dunstan’s1 — then call Coutts. Then Lord Ad[vocate] & get some franks. Then a visit or two more. Then Dempster’s & be pretty retenué & calm, in order to preserve spirits after tea, make D push Shawfield2 — about 8 precisely come home & labour 4 hours at Journ — & make it up well[.] Monday break[fast] Berkeley.3 be soon at Sir Chaloner’s & push. then Mrs. L[ove]’s — then Fell’s then Coch[rane]’s. Night home & journ & this week be decent.
I heard service at St. Dunstan’s Church. I then called on Erskine & he & I walked in the Park till four, & then went to Dempster’s, where we were engaged to dine. We expected an agreable party with him & his Sister, but we were hurt by two cousins who were there. Dempster has a tribe of dismal Relations4 who are about him; & he himself is not sensibly affected by dissagreable company. So that he does not discourage them. We stay’d & drank tea; I then left them & came home.
Dress then leave word 4 Muffins & tea & to keep Der[rick]1 when he calls. then go wt. Sheet to Sir Chaloner’s & push him. See what copy there is, & mention 24 pages more; & see if Witch must be taken out.2 & order all neat. take Noble’s books in pocket & get others — Then call Ersk[ine] & bring him down.3 Be curious wt. Derrick. recollect former times in London.4 Yet be retenué, & shift all appointments, & be denied. At 12 Eglint[oune]’s & Sir James’s & settle Commiss[ion]. at 1 march up to Fell’s & Coch[rane]’s & home at night. Tues[day] in at Journ all forenoon.
I wonder how I forgot to mention yesterday, that just as I was going out to church, a Gentleman called upon me, and who was this but Derrick, who is now Master of the ceremonies at Bath.5 I unluckily got acquainted with this creature when I was first in London, and after I found him out to be a little blackguard pimping dog, I did not know how to get rid of him. I now took care to let him see that I did not chuse to renew my acquaintance with him. I shifted all his proposals of meeting with me. Yet I asked him to breakfast this day, in order to show him to Erskine, however he did not come.
Erskine & I walked to Holbourn & he convoyed me up [S]now-hill, as far as to Cheapside. I then went to Jeffry square beyond Cornhill & dined with Mr. William Cochrane[,] Merchant. He has got an excellent house & lives well.6 He asked me to come & dine with him as often as I could. He is a good plain comfortable Scots fellow; and his wife7 tho’ a lean existence, is a quiet civil being. He is entrusted by my father to pay me my allowance, & being his great friend, takes upon him to lecture me on my idle views of life. I could not answer him; & yet I thought myself right from feeling, which is the great test to every man. I stayed & drank tea.
Hair cut — then break[fast] fine, & quick — Then Journ all forenoon & bring up. Send for Lett[er]s. Mark Advertisement.1 Be denied — Be in till 3 having settled wt. Mrs. Terrie. At 3 go wt. Webster to Tilt,2 & be merry. at 6 Love’s & order money3 — then Dash’s then Douglas’s & consult about inject[ion].4 Take care of new infect[ion]. Have nothing of that kind but wt. Mrs. L[ove] or wt. whom Lord E[glintoune] shows you — dont walk so much or fast
I was in miserable spirits. [A]ll was dark. I dined with Webster who treated me as his guest at a military mess at the Tilt-yard. Realy it must be observed that Officers live rather better than any other society. They have less to do; So it is a more important Object. I had this day the satisfaction of a very good dinner genteely served up in an elegant room, & a good company round me. Yet was I melancholy. I considered them all as unhappy tired slavish beings singled out from the rest of mankind for toil & pain. I disliked the idea of being a Soldier. I thought of refusing a Commission.
I went & drank tea at Douglas’s. He said he was low-spirited, that he was quite sunk & that his wig was too heavy for his head. Mrs. Douglas joked us both about that disease, & said it was people’s own fault; for that it might be easily prevented or driven away. She has a clear constant flow & never feels it. They talked much of Sir Alexander Jardine5 & his melancholy & whims & what a pretty agreable man he was at the same time. This relieved me, & by degrees I grew easy & chearfull. Douglas said that Sir Alexander used to dissapear & hide himself in bed for weeks here. Colonel Cæsar of the Guards6 used to do the same.
Dress then order no body admitted but Home. Get Terrie & settle Accts. If Molly be gone take out — from pot & put up in paper.1 At ½ after 11 Go to Ersk[ine] & then Sir Chal[oner] — & then L[ove] & give warning & then Eglint[oune] & then Douglas & get all your orders. Then home & settle Journ. Try retenué. Have no din[ner]s this week only tea afternoon & settle more at home[.] Get Mrs. Terrie to hem shirt.
Erskine & I dined with Lord Eglintoune, where we were very happy.2 My Lord and the Captain are growing better acquainted. We drank tea. We talked on human happiness. I said I wondered if any man ever past a whole day pleasantly. Sir James said that a man in the gay life of London could scarcely do it; because a thousand accidents may cross & dissapoint him[;] but that he had past such days at Oxford; because his time was regularly laid out. Exactly at such hours he did such & such things the doing of which in that manner was his pleasure, & could scarcely be interrupted as he moved like Clockwork. I realy beleive the college life in England is the least painfull of any. If the mind is not much agitated with joy neither is it shaken with grief. But altho’ the boisterous enjoyment of life is not here[,] [t]here is quiet gentle meditation, pleasing exercise of the mental powers: perhaps there is a silent preying misery too. In short we cannot pronounce where felicity deigns to fix her residence. I hope in the world that is above. We supt here. Colonel Maxwell of Kingsleys3 who commanded a brave Battalion of Grenadiers in Germany was with us[,] a fine bold Scot. An open brave honest Soldierly fellow.
Erskine this morning exhibited in a new capacity — that of a Landlord. He promised me a breakfast; & a most excellent breakfast did he give; entertaining me not only with plenty of good tea & bread & butter, but with that admirable viand Marmalade. We were very chearfull & very cordial. I sauntered about all the day. I did not dine & was somewhat lowish. At night I stroled into the Park & took the first Whore I met[,] whom I without many words copulated with free from danger, being safely sheeth’d. She was ugly & lean & her breath smelt of spirits. I never asked her name. When it was done she slunk off. I had a low opinion of this gross practice & resolved to do it no more. I went & sat a while with Webster.
This being Good friday1 be decently composed. Break[fast] home hearty tho’ slight — & then be denied & write journ. till 3 — then go to Westminster Abbey, then Eglint[oune]’s tea — at 5 — let journ be shortly & well done. Resolve next week retenué to get into humour of publication[.] Be in much & let break[fast]s abroad be some weeks hence. Get Hume & finish. Also Sully
This being Good friday, I endeavoured to excite in my mind a devout & solemn frame. In my opinion the annual return of such holy seasons is of great use. Men are thus kept in mind of Religion, and their affections are improved. The Churches of Rome & England in this particular have a great advantage over the Presbyterians. Regularity & Ceremony are of much advantage.2
I don’t know how it happened but a sort of listlessness seized me: and instead of going to Church I strolled up & down all day. As Love owed me a bill of £40 I was anxious to have it pay’d which makes me call much oftener for him, than I otherwise would do. I drank tea there tonight, and I was very gloomy. At nine I went to Dempster’s. Erskine was there. I was hungry, & eat a good supper which was a sort of solace to me.
Dress — then write Mcquhae note — & then go Dempst[er][.] at 11 Sir Chal[oner] — then Eglint[oune]’s or E—1 first & meet [D]ash then Lord Ad[vocate] for franks. then city & dine Coch[rane] & home at six & lett[er]s & have tea. & bring up journ. Begin now retenué & never be out late on any account. It hurts health & Plan. Youre losing ground.
I have often & often made enquiry for my friend Temple. On Sunday last I heard of him & wrote to him immediatly. I breakfasted this day at Dempster’s. Erskine[,] Pitfour & other jolly Scots were there. I then set out for the City. Just at St. Paul’s Church-yard whom should I meet but Temple. We met with a kind of confused joy at our unexpected Interview. I engaged to breakfast with him next day. I was a little affraid that He & I might not find ourselves so happy together, as we formerly were. We have not met for these five years, except one day at Cambridge. In so long a time we may have acquired new habits of thinking and living. When we were together, we were both very studious & scrupulously moral. Now I am pretty idly disposed. I have not the same high opinion of learning that I had when at College. I am more fond of conversation and amusement. I am also much more of a libertine. Tomorrow will convince me how we shall be. I am anxious till it comes. I dined at Cochrane’s. He had two or three Scotch People with him and we were very hearty. After dinner[,] I sauntered in a pleasing humour to London-Bridge[,] viewed the Thames’s silver expanse, & the springy bosom of the surrounding fields. I then went up to the top of the Monument.2 This is a most amazing Building. It is a Pillar two hundred feet high. In the inside, a turnpike stair runs up all the way. When I was about halfway up I grew much frighten’d. I would have come down again. But thought I would despise myself for my timidity. Thus does the spirit of Pride get the better of fear. I mounted to the top & got upon the balcony. It was horrid to find myself so monstrous a way up in the air, so far above London & all it’s spires. I durst not look round me. There is no real danger, as there is a strong rail both on the stair & balcony. But I shuddered, & as every heavy waggon past down Grace-church street, dreaded that the shaking of the earth would make the tremendous pile tumble to the foundation.3 I then got the North-Briton & read it at Child’s. I shall do so now, every saturday Evening. I then came to Dempster’s where Erskine & I drank tea. This seems now to be an established rule on Saturdays.
Easter. Dress at 7 & go to Temple immed renew regard to old friend[;] think on Redhead &c1 then go to St. Pauls. After it walk in Temple2 & talk at length — Invite him to break[fast] Monday. At 3 dine Douglas & at night call at Dempster’s & get Hume then home; & settle accounts wt. Landlady[.] Monday before break[fast] go Sr. Chal[oner] & Flex[ney] — to get paper. This week resolve retenué & quietness[.] Call Blair soon & go to places wt. him3
I went at nine and breakfasted with Temple. I found him in pleasant agreable chambers, with every thing neat & genteel about him. We got into an easy stile of conversation[,] mentioned old storys, compared our ideas and found that we were pretty near just as similar as when we parted. Tho’ my friend was still studious & moral, yet he was more gay in his pursuits & more liberal in his notions than ever. This was realy a matter of much consequence to us both. It so seldom happens in this world that men of delicate feelings meet with agreable friends, that such a Society cannot be enough valued. Poor Temple has been unfortunate in the World. His Father’s affairs went wrong, & Temple is obliged to give up about a half of an independent estate of between £3 & 400 a year, in order to relieve his Parent from shame & distress.4 He talks of it like a Philosopher, and says that out of the wrecks of his fortune he will be able to pick as much as will support him in studious Retirement; which is the life that he likes. He is not yet fixed whether he shall go into the Church. I shall encourage him in that scheme. He will be just the Clergyman in the Spectator.5 We were so happy & so pleasingly forgetfull of every thing but the immediate participation of cordial friendly discourse, that we did not go to church, altho’ it was Easter day[,] that splendid Festival. I dined with my friend Douglas[.] We had a hearty english dinner. I have particular agreable ideas annexed to dining there on a Sunday, which I affixed to it, when I was first in London. I drank tea there, & was realy Substantialy happy. At night, at home I read the Church service6 by myself with great devotion.
Take elect[uary] this morning[.] Leave word to take Temple in1 & run to Sir Chal[oner]’s & give orders about Lett[er]s. Then home & break[fast] fine. Then walk in park. Then go Gould’s, & mention plan. Then call Lady Mirabel & establish easy visiting & no vails.2 Get paper from Flexney and sit in all afternoon at Journ & hume. dine in room all this week allmost. Call J. Home3 Lord Advoc[ate] & Charles Douglas4 and Sir Roderick5 &c.
Temple breakfasted with me. I found him much more liberal in all his notions than when we were formerly together. We then walked in the Park, a good time. We parted; & I went to Gould’s, where I explained my scheme of accepting an ensigncy in a marching Regiment. He pushed me to get it changed to a Cornetcy, from which I might easily step into the Guards. Erskine & I dined at St. Clement’s Chophouse, very hearty; and then drank tea at Dempster’s where was Captain Archibald Erskine6 whom Johnston and I used to call the Owl.
Dress[;] write bit of Journ. then call Duke & leave letter or go to Sir Chal[oner] first & Duke after so as to call tomorrow or Thursday, again. Ask Sir Chal[oner] what to give to Printers & give them it. Then home & break[fast] not till after ten. & if they1 dont come, journ & Hume all forenoon. except hour at Lord Ad[vocate]’s. If they come, saunter & bring Blair to D[empster]’s to dinner. Buy pair spotted silk2 & buttons. Wed[nesday] go levee & then home & dress in frock & spotted stock[ing]s. Home all foren[oon] for Bill.3
I breakfasted with Mrs. Brown. Lord Eglintoune was at New -market, this week. I dined and drank tea at Dempster’s with the two Captain Erskines. I recollect nothing that past.
Run to Ersk[ine] & then Sr. Chal[oner]’s & Flexney’s & be in earnest. Get acct. of Strictures from Flex[ney] — & pay it. Then break[fast] Lord Ad[vocate]’s & get 3 doz.1 Then home read Hume. & then dress in frock suit & 5 sh diced stockings2 & clean shirt & sally at 3 to Sherid[an]’s. Be home before 12. Thursd[ay] break[fast] Temp[le] & give over dissipation[;] restrain. Write Sir J.3 on Sat[urday].
Temple breakfasted with me. We talked much of learning & philosophy. We then walked into the City & then stroled about the Temple which is a most agreable Place. You quit all the hurry & bustle of the City in fleetstreet & the strand; and all at once find yourself in a pleasant academical Retreat. You see good convenient buildings, handsom walks, you view the silver Thames. You are shaded by venerable trees. Crows are cawing above your head. Here & there you see a solitary bencher4 sauntering about. This description I take from the Reverend Doctor Blair who is now come to town. To select all these circumstances shows a fine imagination. Blair is a very amiable man. In my earliest years I admired him while he was Minister in the Cannongate.5 He is learned & ingenious & has a degree of simplicity about him, that is extremely engaging. He & I went this day to Sheridan’s & dined. Pitfour was there. It was diverting to see Tommy & Blair. No sooner was the Doctor set down, than he gave him a cart-load of compliments on his Dissertation on the Poems of Ossian. Poor Blair sat quietly & took it all like a Scotch fornicator when rebuked on the stool of Repentance;6 & when Tommy was done [h]e just began to lay on the colour of adulation upon Mrs. Sheridan’s Comedy. However; he did it with a gentle & moderate hand.7 Sheridan in his usual way railed against Mr. Garrick; & I as sternously defended him against Tommy’s attacks. He gave us however a most ingenious dissertation on the character of Hamlet that attoned for all his wrongheaded abuse of the great modern Roscius. He made it clear to us that Hamlet notwithstanding of his seeming incongruities, is a perfectly consistent character.8 Shakespeare drew him as the portrait of a young Man of a good heart & fine feelings who had led a studious contemplative life & so become delicate & irresolute. He shows him in very unfortunate circumstances; the author of which he knows he ought to punish but wants strength of mind to execute what he thinks right, & wishes to do. In this Dilemma he makes Hamlet feign himself mad, as in that way he might put his uncle to death with less fear of the consequences of such an attempt. We therefore see Hamlet sometimes like a man realy mad; and sometimes like a man reasonable enough tho’ much hurt in mind. His timidity being once admitted[,] all the strange fluctuations which we perceive in him, may be easily traced to that source. We see when the Ghost appears, which his Companions had beheld without extreme terror, we see Hamlet in all the agony of consternation. Yet we hear him uttering extravagant sallies of rash intrepidity, by which he endeavours to stir up his languid mind to a manly boldness; but in vain: For he still continues backward to revenge, hesitates about believing the Ghost to be the real spirit of his father, so much, that the Ghost chides him for being tardy. When he has a fair opportunity of killing his Uncle, he neglects it, & says he will not take him off, while at his devotions, but will wait till he is in the midst of some attrocious crime, that he may put him to death with his Guilt upon his head. Now this if realy from the heart would make Hamlet the most black revengefull Man. But it coincides better with his character, to suppose him here endeavouring to make an excuse to himself for his delay. We see too that after all he agrees to go to England, & actualy embarks. In short Sheridan made out his character accurately[,] clearly & justly:9 Blair & I stayed Supper. Whately a Lawyer10 was there[,] a fine honest open sensible agreable Man. I conceived a great esteem & liking for him.
Dress & take copy & march to Sir Chal[oner]’s[.] Make Flexney give in account[;] leave tickets with landlord.1 At 10 Go Temple. Be mild & composed[;] ask his advice & resolve to let things just go on. But keep to bargain wt. Lord Eglint[oune] not to leave London. dine wt. T[emple] & at night Dempst[er] & engage him to go wt. Blair. If not, set mind at ease[,] Be composed Sunday.
I breakfasted with Temple. This day was afterwards past in dissipation which has left no traces on my brain.
Dress & Sir Chal[oner] immed & wait till you see sheet composed & alter accordingly. Leave tickets wt. Landlord. Then Ersk[ine] & Taylor.1 Then Dun’s & leave orders for breetches[.] Then Temple & keep up friendship & dine. Then Douglas’s or home & be sure home at 7 & Journ & Hume. Be your own master & learn composure & be at home all monday.
This morning Erskine introduced me to Colonel Tayler of his Regiment. We breakfasted with him. He is a man of good sense[,] vivacity & humour, an excellent chearfull temper, & speaks english more properly & easily than most People which even in an englishman, is a very rare thing. I then went to Temple’s[,] walked a while, then dined at Clifton’s Chophouse.2 I drank tea at Dempster’s.
Dress & call Dempst[er] & get account.1 & mention Dash’s march.2 Order break[fast] dry muff[in]s.3 Then home give tick[et]s to Landlord — & have Blair & Napier4 to whom say you’re engaged for some time & you’ll let him know when you’re at leisure[.] Mark accts. &c. At 12 Sr. Chal[oner] — Then Temp[le] & settle not break[fast] Sund[ay] — then N. Briton & Child’s. home at 3 & dress neat. Then Blair & go to Artax[erxes]5 fine. Mem Sir D[avid]’s letter
Doctor Blair came & sat awhile with me. I then went with Erskine to Holborn. At three I called on Blair as we were engaged to go together to the English Opera of Artaxerxes. Nairne6 was with us. I conducted them to St. Clements’s Chophouse where we dined. I was diverted at walking the streets of London with Doctor Blair. I marched him down Southampton Street in the Strand, from the whimsical idea of passing under the Windows of my first London Lady of the Town, with an Edinburgh Minister whom I had so often heard preach in the New-church. We were in good frame & talked agreably serious. The House at Covent-Garden was much crowded; So I left my place to Nairne, went & drank tea with Mrs. Brown then came to the Park & in armorial guise performed concubinage with a strong plump good-humoured girl, called Nanny Baker. I then went to Drury-lane gallery, & saw the entertainment of Thomas and Sally in which Mrs. Love appeared for the first time, with pretty good applause.7 After the Play I met Blair & Nairne at the great Piazza Coffeehouse, where we had some Negoes, & solaced our Existences.
Dress & go to Temple & be calm & go fine to Church. Then go to Cochrane’s & dine; & then call Mrs. Shaw’s & then Eglint[oune]’s & then Dempster’s. Have Temp[le] to break[fast] on Monday. Come home this night & clear up Journal fine. Write again to Murray Broughtoun1 & to Sr. James to go down next week.2 See L[ove] sometime today; & engage him to pay, Monday senight.3
I breakfasted with Temple, & then went to the Temple-church4 & heard a very good sermon on ‘Set thy house in order, for thou shalt shortly die.’5 This with the Music & the good building put me into a very devout frame, and after service my mind was left in a pleasing calm state. I returned to my friend’s chambers, & we read some of Mr. Addison’s papers in the Spectator with infinite relish. We then dined at Clifton’s, & drank coffee at Tom’s.6 I drank tea at Dempster’s, from whence Erskine & I went to Lord Eglintoune’s & supt. John Home was there, he was forward & priggish, but clever. I was arguing for the benefit of Philosophy; how it soothed us in distress & how by hoping for future ease & pleasure, we might bear up under present distress. Said he if you was broiling upon a gridiron all this night[,] it would be no great consolation to you to know that you would be easy tomorrow. Nay, said I, but Philosophy may be used to heal the mind, as oil does a burnt finger. But, I’m affraid, said Home that Philosophy is not such a specific as oil. The true way said Erskine to determine the thing, would be to burn both fingers & take Philosophy to the one, & oil to the other, & see which of them was first healed. Lord Eglintoune said that the Women of Italy were worthy of a man’s fixing his affections on them, because they can intrigue & yet have principle, as it is the custom of the country. But in this country, a woman must be quite abandoned.
I past the forenoon with Lord Eglintoune, sauntering about, & sitting at Mrs. Cadwaldin’s the painter (for I believe her name is spelt thus)[.]1 It was now fixed that Lord Northumberland should go Lord Lieutenant to Ireland.2 This I considered as a very fortunate thing for me; as I could go over as an Aid de Camp,3 get promotion in the army in Ireland, & from thence step easily into the Guards. Lord Eglintoune promised to do what he could to forward this scheme; & this forenoon we met My Lady Northumberland in her chair. Lord Eglintoune stop’d her, & proposed the thing to her. She said she should like it much. But did not yet know whether My Lord & she were to go to Ireland. This looked ill; as if she wanted to shift doing any thing. O these great People! They are a sad set of Beings. This Woman who seemed to be so cordialy my friend, and promised me her good offices so strongly, is I fear a fallacious Hussey. Thus do I philosophize, & thus do I lash such unworthy proceedings. However, let me not yet be too certain. She may perhaps be honest. I dined at Lord Eglintoune’s. Erskine & I drank tea & supt at Dempster’s where we were pretty merry: Only Erskine lost a little money at Cards.
This was the greatest day that Erskine & I ever saw; the day of the Publication of our Letters.1 We used to write lively humourous letters to one another. I thought we might make a very entertaining little Volume of them & proposed the scheme to Erskine, who at first opposed it much: But at last the inclination seized him, & he became as fond of it as I. During my confinement, the thing was resolved upon & set agoing. Flexney was pitched upon for Bookseller & Mr. Chandler for Printer. And this was the reason of our taking so many walks to Holbourn, so often mentioned in this my Journal: For, both Flexney & Chandler live there. For a while we were in a sort of anxiety about the thing; dreaded censure, & exposing ourselves; But by degrees, we became well pleased with the Plan. We were entertained with the printing of it. We kept our secret to a miracle. Not a single soul knew a word of it, till it appeared in the News-papers. Erskine went out of town today to St. Alban’s where his Regiment was to be broke. I went a little way in the chaise with him. He was more concerned this day by much than I was; & rejoyced at his being absent for the first week after the Publication. For my part, I was pretty easy, & resolved just to bear the brunt. At night I called on my friend Temple with whom I talked over the affair. I began to be a little uneasy. He said he was vexed; but soothed me. He entertained me with a temperate repast of toast and Negoes, which he allways takes in the evening.
Dress & have neat break[fast] for Captain Archibald.1 Think of Lord Mar, Kelly, &c. When he goes fall hard to Journ. & bring it up. Then read Hume; & at 3 go Temple & be fine & bring mind to rights again. Call Donaldson & give him franks.2 call Dun & order about Breeches & bargain to exchange velvets. Get franks to Temple. D’s3 at night a minute[,] home soon.
Who is now come to town? but the Great Donaldson. I breakfasted with him this morning; & then we went to Flexney’s, where he took a parcel of the letters,4 & then to the Booksellers in Pater-Noster-row whom he engaged to befriend us. In these matters the favour of the trade (as the Booksellers call themselves) is a prodigious point. Temple & I dined at Clifton’s a very good Chophouse in Butcher-row near the Temple. We then went to Drury-lane gallery & saw Macbeth. We endeavoured to work our minds into the frame of the Spectator’s;5 but we could not. We were both too dissipated. Indeed Temple has some reason; for a Gentleman lives with him in his chambers, who is quite his reverse. A Prig[,] a fop[,] an idler. He will soon be rid of him, & then he will be at ease. The fellow is in the main a good enough lad; but his manners are very opposite & dissagreable to ours. Macbeth was played by Holland,6 who played it but poorly, & affected us little. I went home with Temple & sat till near twelve, and was very happy. I should have mentioned last night that I met with a monstrous big Whore in the Strand, whom I had a great curiosity to lubricate as the saying is. I went into a tavern with her, where she displayed to me all the parts of her enormous carcase; But I found that her Avarice was as large as her A—;7 for she would by no means take what I offered her. I therefore, with all coolness pulled the bell and discharged the reckoning, to her no small surprise and mortification, who would fain have provoked me to talk harshly to her, & so make a disturbance. But I walked off with the gravity of a Barcelonian Bishop. I had an opportunity tonight of observing the rascality of the Waiters in these infamous sort of taverns[;] They connive with the whores, & do what they can to fleece the Gentlemen. I was on my guard, & got off pretty well. I was so much in the lewd humour, that I felt myself restless, & took a little girl into a Court; but wanted vigour: So I went home resolved against low, street debauchery.
Dress or before run to D[ouglas]’s who behaved so mildly & like a Gentleman. & get soothing balm. Then home & break[fast] Stuart & Webster1 & be fine & retenué[.] Then Eglint[oune]’s and face it out[.] Then Temple or perhaps nowhere; & at night for Certain N[orthumberland] House & hide at Gam[ing] table try army then retire to Temp[le] wt. friend2 — Call Sir Roderick.
Captain Maxwell breakfasted with me. Temple & I dined at the New-church Chophouse; & then he drank tea with me. He talked to me seriously about fixing on some plan of life; about which I find I am as yet uncertain. I went to Lady Northumberland’s Rout. I was easier this night than I have been at any. I called up all my fortitude of mind to stand the jokes on my letters. After the run of the Book is over, I shall in this my Journal give an abstract3 of the different observations made upon them. I chatted a good deal with Lady Margaret Hume[,]4 a woman pretty clever; but snappish.
Dress careless then run to Blair; & settle Dining place —Then Donaldson’s then Flex[ney] & hear accounts.1 Bid Donaldson try to assist you. Temple before you go Flex[ney] — then Eglint-[oune]’s or up and down till the time. Then dine in company then play2 & sit fine & solace. After it Piazza Coffeehouse[;] take leave of Plays this year then home[.] Sat[urday] bring up Journ. & compose quite. Sunday Marchmonts in the evening or rather3
Temple & I dined together at Clifton’s. I remember nothing more.
Dress go Dempster’s then home & break[fast] large & copious. Then call Eglint[oune] & Marchmont. Then home & throw off cloaths & sit in all night & write Sr. Dav[id] & Mother & Johnston.1 Resolve no more plays or Dr. Blair’s dinners & be very moderate & try to compose mind & lay aside dissipation: & pray don’t leave London. restrain or you’ll lose œconomy.
I dined with Dempster. After dinner he went out; & I sat & drank tea téte a téte2 with his sister. We were in the most agreable stile, calm[,] sensible & entertaining without flashiness. We talked of Love & Marriage on which she threw out many elegant sentiments, which gave me a more favourable opinion of her than I ever had.
Dress & Temple. Then compose mind — then call Ersk[ine,] Clifton’s then home & call Ersk[ine] again. Then home by all means at night & fall to hearty & make out Journal & History of Lett[er]s &c so as to be at ease to go to Oxford. Engage Temp[le] on Monday for the Tower,1 & all this week pray be on guard. Go to Dodsley & make him buy.2 Yet be retenué & fine.
Temple & I went to St. Bride’s church, where the Parson3 was so very heavy & drawling that my friend tired, & we came away before the sermon. We were rather unsettled and in bad humour.
Dress a little. Put lett[er] to Public, in Penny Post1 — Break[fast] home quick or wt. Temp[le]. as you go up leave letter at North[umberland] House.2 After tower call Eglint[oune] — & see what can be done — & be retenué. But first call Erskine. At night home and bring up Journal. Ask Eglint[oune] for tickets to Mrs. Gould and Mrs. Douglas.3 Write to Father to have leave to go to Holland or any where abroad or perhaps just hang softly in London. Shun the Scots. Oxford soon.
Temple & I went to the Tower to see the landing of the Venetian Ambassadors.4 It was very elegant to see the fine Barges; and then the procession of their Coaches, Music & Attendants was exceedingly splendid. I was introduced to a name-sake, in the Guards. He spells it Bosville, but it is the same with Boswell & he told me it used to be spelt the latter way in his family. They are both derived from the french Boisville, our ancestor who came over with William the Conqueror. Never were two highlanders of the same clan happier to meet in a strange place, than he & I were to meet here. He told me that he was the eldest son of an ancient family, with a good estate, in Yorkshire. He is about eighteen; a genteel well-looked agreable young Man. He was very civil to Temple & me: took us to his Apartment & attended us till the Show was over. He promised to call for me; & we agreed to be better acquainted.5 Temple & I dined at Dollys, comfortably.
Call Dempst[er]. Get franks for Temp[le], & consult plans & then home & bring up journ — & write to Johnst[on] & Mothr. and Father. Be in the whole day. Have just tea in afternoon for dinner. Ersk[ine] will be with you today. Wed[nesday] Write Sr. James & on Thursd[ay] or frid[ay] Go to Oxford. See Eglint[oune] on Wednesday Morn. & honest Douglas Wed[nesday] even[ing]. Resolve free from dissip[ation] & promise to Temp[le] no Debauchery — & Study
I supt with the renowned Donaldson & his wife1 whom he has brought to see London. I was very easy & snug somehow.
Get hair cut. Then break[fast] Webster and think on youthfull days. Then call Ersk[ine]. Then Flexney. Then Oxford Inn & take place for friday1 — & write Sr. James[.] Compose mind. Call Temp[le] today & get into frame for Ox[ford]: Call Eglint[oune] before you go. Sit in much to cure dissip[ation]. Be as well as you can. & promise no more debauch.
I breakfasted with Captain Webster who was very high in spirits. At night Temple & I went to Covent-Garden & heard the English Opera of Artaxerxes. We were in pretty good frame, so relished the music. After the Opera, I went home with Temple & had an agreable conversation. It is a fine comfortable idea having a friend in the Temple.
Get Ink. then write a little journ. call Ersk[ine]. if in, break[fast]. If not L[ove]’s & take ticks1 & stay & try {Mrs} L[ove][;] yet dont go there for a month again. Between 11 & 12 Temp[le] & wt. him to Reynolds.2 Then call Eglint[oune] & at night be home to bring up Journ & compose Mind for Ox[ford]. Spend only 2 Guineas[;] take 3. Be sure to settle all e’er you go — Keep Boswelliana[.]3 Call N[orthumberland] House. Leave word wt. Chetwynd to settle things. Settle your jaunt calm & cool. Order candles tonight.
Write on lett[er]s for Lond Chron.4 Bid people write as good lett[er]s.5
I breakfasted with our Scotch Judge Advocate. I made a mistake in mentioning Artaxerxes yesterday: It was tonight.
This is the day before you go to Oxford, so employ it well. Call Dempst[er] a moment first. Then home, get ink & fall to Journ & be denied to all but Temple. Bring up journ short & neat. Then have Chetwynd & take advice about what to take wt. you. If you can get small Portmant[eau] — good & well[;] if not just Bundle. have shirts — stocks Stockings & slippers. Leave shoes to be soaled. Either go to bed at 5 & rise 11 — or go to Inn & lie1 — twill be but Shill[ing]. Be fine & composed —
To make a fair tryal of Lady Northumberland I had written to her as follows.
Madam.
I am soon to have a Commission in the Army. I beg leave to offer my attendance on Lord Northumberland to Ireland. Your Ladyship has it now in your power to serve me very much. I hope to be honoured with an answer.
I am &c—
This day I had her answer as follows —
Sir.
It is with very great pleasure I hear you are likely so soon to get a Commission in the Army. I hope it is in the Guards, as I know that will be the most agreable to you. My Lord is as well as myself extreamly thankfull to you for your polite offer of accompanying us into Ireland. Our Establishment there was compleated2 for some time before the King’s destination of My Lord to the Lieutenancy of that Kingdom, was made public; nor indeed is there any Post in the Household fit for the acceptance of a man in your situation in Life; but should any thing happen in our power, we should be very happy to shew our inclination to serve you: which I assure you we much wish to do.
I am With great truth
Sir
Your Most Obedt
Humble Servant
Elizabeth Northumberland
This Letter I by no means liked. I showed it to Lord Eglintoune who said it was very polite; but just ‘three blue beans in a blue bladder.’3 However, he said he would try if she would do any thing. Temple & I had a strole in the streets, this forenoon, and amused ourselves by building many aerial castles of future felicity when he would be with me at Auchinleck. I dined at Lord Eglintoune’s, where was John Home with whom I argued against War for making so much bloodshed. True, said he[,] but consider by the exercise of how many virtues this bloodshed is brought about. By patience[,] by honour[,] by fortitude; And as to all the severitys of a Campaign, one day of the Annui[,]4 the low spirits of a Man in London[,] is worse than them all. I don’t know how far he was right. I am affraid that in a Campaign I should have the low spirits and the severitys into the Bargain. I am sure I allways feel myself rendered melancholy by any degree of these hardships.
I had now fixed next day for my jaunt to Oxford. So this evening I took Mr. Chetwynd as my guide & Baggageman to the Blue Bell & Crown in Holbourn, where the Machine puts up. I ordered a bed here, that I might be ready in time, next morning. So very delicate am I that I was hurt at the bed’s not being so neat & agreable as my own.
Between five & Six we set out. I imagined myself the Spectator taking one of his rural excursions. We had as Passengers A fellow of Magdalen College Oxford, called Hawkins, & a Mr. Smith near Oxford.1 A Lady left us because we would not allow her son too to stay in. We had a very good journey and we chatted a good deal. I got to Oxford about six. The ideas which I had conceived of that noble university were realised when I saw it. I sauntered about, for an hour before I could find Sir James Macdonald, which flattened my spirits a good deal; and from my old notions of a College taken from those at Edinburgh & Glasgow, I had a kind of horror upon me, from thinking of confinement & other gloomy circumstances. Sir James received me with much politeness, & carried me to sup with Doctor Smith of Saint Mary Hall[,] a Gentleman born at Maybole in Ayrshire, but who has been nineteen years at Oxford, & gives lectures on Anatomy, & is also well employ’d as a Physician.2 He had with him a Mr. Pepys of Devonshire[;] a Mr. Cornwallis[;] Mr. Edin of the County of Durham[;] and a Mr. Foote.3 They were all Students; & talked of learning too much; & in short were just young old men without vivacity. I grew very melancholy & wearied. At night I had a bed at the blue boar inn.4 I was unhappy to a very great degree.
I got up in miserable spirits. All my old high ideas of Oxford were gone; & nothing but cloud hung upon me. I breakfasted with Sir James, and then wrote a few letters1 to friends which amused me a little. Sir James & I then walked about & saw the many different colleges, which to be sure are very noble. I also dined with him. Doctor Smith & Pepys were with us. Smith is a learned clever agreable Man. Pepys is also learned; but too rusty. I now thought that human happiness was quite visionary & I was very weary of life. After dinner we walked about the place. I tryed to work myself up to a little enthusiasm, & took a draught of the water of Isis2 so much celebrated in Poetry; but all in vain. We supt with Pepys, and I continued very bad.
I breakfasted with Sir James. Pepys was there. I thought them two very dull & unhappy existences. In short I could form no idea of happiness, & was vexed at having deprived myself of the venerable ideas which I had of Oxford. Even London seemed dull to my dreary mind. However I took a place in the Machine for next morning, which was a sort of relief to me. Sir James & I went to the Theatre,1 which is indeed a noble edifice; yet I could not relish it. We dined at Doctor Smith’s, where I was just as bad as ever. In the midst however of my dullness, I recollected a Mr. Shepherd of Corpus Christi College[,] author of Odes descriptive & Allegorical and of the Nuptials a didactic Poem. I had read extracts from his Odes in the Scots Magazine, a summer or two ago, in fine weather, when I was in serene & pleasant spirits, & so had elegant ideas of them.2 I could find nobody who was acquainted with him; which I thought a good sign of him. Sir James said he was a very good sort of man[,] very retired, & that he had seen him walking by himself in deep meditation, with the distracted look of a Poet. I took a vast desire to be acquainted with him: and I said I would just call upon him, & pay my respects as an admirer of his Genius. They thought this a most extraordinary Proposal. I drank tea with Mr. Thomson[,]3 Brother to Miss Thomson. (now Mrs. Schaw)
At six there was a Concert which I did not go to. So I had an hour or two by myself. I went & knocked at Mr. Shepherd’s rooms, but he was not at home. My curiosity to see him, was so great, that I wrote him the following Card.
‘A Gentleman from London who has received much pleasure from Mr. Shepherd’s Odes, is now in Oxford, and is to leave it early tomorrow morning. He is to sup with Mr. Foote of Christ-church, so cannot be his own master till eleven o clock. If after that time Mr. Shepherd will honour him with his Company, at the Blue Boar, it will be very obliging. He hopes Mr. Shepherd will excuse this freedom from a Stranger.’
I got for Answer.
Mr. Shepherd’s Compts. to the Gentleman from whom he was favoured with a Note, and wishes he might have had the pleasure of waiting on him, at his rooms, tomorrow: as that cannot be, he will do himself the pleasure of waiting on him, at the time appointed tonight.
I was as much pleased with this, as most Courtiers would have been with a letter assuring them of a Place or Pension. I stroled about by myself in the walks, went to Pembroke College where Whitefield was educated and to Lincoln College where Hervey was educated.4 I surveyed them with a degree of enthusiasm: especially Lincoln in which the amiable & ingenious Hervey lived, whose Meditations breathe the most genuine Piety and are full of fancy[,] taste & elegance. This night I past the only pleasant hours during my stay at Oxford. At supper we met at Mr. Foote’s of St. Mary-Hall (& not of Christchurch) where the very same dullness clouded me. One thing that contributed to this, was full living. I observe when I am bad, that I grow very voracious; & here we had great dinners, & great suppers, & I just clogged my faculties. It is but justice to observe that the young Oxonians are very hospitable & civil to strangers. I experienced that very much. At eleven I hastened to my Inn, & waited Mr. Shepherd’s arrival with impatience, and with a degree of concern as to my behaviour to him. When he came, I was freed from my apprehensions, by finding him a quiet modest diffident Man. I fell into his way with great address, & we soon chatted quite easily. I told him my name & where I came from; & he spoke with the utmost freedom; told me he was a fellow of a College, but it was but a poor pittance which that yielded him & besides that it kept him from active life, which was the sphere he loved most; in particular the Army. So strangely do people mistake themselves! Mr. Shepherd is exactly in the quiet serene life that is proper for him, & yet he has some fancifull ideas of the charms of a scarlet coat, & the respect which is shown to a military man; who has seen the world, as the phraze goes. I remember Mr. Smith5 at Glasgow once told me that his friends had cut his throat in not allowing him to be a Soldier. In him such an idea is compleately ridiculous. For he is quite a learned[,] accurate absent Man. Poor Shepherd would like to have been born to an Estate. He signify’d as much, & quoted Martial who reckons ‘Fortuna non parta labore’6 as one of the requisites of happiness. He had so much simplicity that he offered to pay the Wine. No, no, Mr. Shepherd, said I, that would neither be descriptive nor Allegorical. He was much pleased. He promised to call on me when he came to town, & said he would wish to cultivate an acquaintance with me. I was realy pleased with this night’s adventure.
Early in the morning, I set out. My companions were a Mr. Head1 of Hertford College[,] Mr. Crisp2 an old Gentleman[,] and a jolly Surgeon to a Man of war. I was much out of order & very gloomy; But by degrees we grew hearty & I turned better[.] We had a very good journey; I was a little affraid of highwaymen: but we met none. When I got to London, I could not view it in the usual light. My ideas were all changed and turned topsy turvey. Old Crisp asked us all to come & see him at his house in Pallmall Court. I came to Dempster’s & drank tea & made all my complaints. I retained the most gloomy ideas of the University. My mind was realy hurt by it. I thought every man I met had a black gown & cap on, & was obliged to be home at a certain hour.
Recover after Journey. Be calm. break[fast] home & then journ till 4 in room: So as to bring up. Then either go Temple or New-church & at night D— Hume.1 Begin now & get into right habits — & learn to be your own Master. Write Murray. Bring mind to good frame & by no means leave London. You see how miserable you grow. Consider your mind how it is. You realy cannot support the rough changes of life. Ask for Mrs. Corrie at Col. Douglas.2
I found myself quite unhinged. At night I went to the Temple & was pretty happy with my friend. He sympathised with my distress. I went also to the Cure of Saul.