Boswells Correspondence with the Honourable Andrew Erskine, and His Journal of a Tour to Corsica | Page 8

could not have been more impatient than I am for a
return to my last letter. I thought, indeed, that my firing so great a gun,
would have produced a speedy and a suitable echo, and I had no doubt
of at least being paid the interest of a sum so very large. I now give you
fair warning, that if something is not speedily done in this affair, I shall
be obliged to take very disagreeable methods. From this way of talking,
I begin to fancy myself a Schoolmaster; a character next to that of a
giant, most terrible to tender minds. Don't think to escape the rod. Don't
think your dignity as a poet will save you from it. I make no question,
but what that acrimonious pedagogue George Buchanan has often
applied it to his pupil, and he you know was a poet and a king into the
bargain. I have been reading the Rosciad. You see my very studies have
tended towards flagellation. Upon my word Churchill[14] does scourge
with a vengeance; I should not like to come under his discipline. He is
certainly a very able writer. He has great power of numbers.
[Footnote 14: Churchill's "Rosciad" had been published in March of
this year.--ED.]
"In manly tides of verse he rolls along."[15]
[Footnote 15:
"In manly tides of sense they roll'd along."
--"The Rosciad."--ED.]
I desire, Erskine, once again, that you may write without delay,
otherwise, I shall no longer be
Your affectionate friend,
JAMES BOSWELL.

* * * * *
LETTER V.
Kelly, Nov. 1, 1761.
Dear BOSWELL,--If you could conceive the many twitches of
conscience I have felt upon your account, the agitations, the
compunctions, the remorses, you would certainly forgive me. However,
I was beginning to turn callous against all suggestions of writing to you,
when your last letter arrived, which like the day of judgment, made my
transgressions stare me full in the face. Indolence and unwearied
stupidity have been my constant companions this many a day; and that
amiable couple, above all things in the world detest letter-writing.
Besides, I heard you was just going to be married, and as a poet, I durst
not approach you without an Epithalamium, and an Epithalamium was
a thing, which at that time I could not compass. It was all in vain, that
Cupid and Hymen, Juno and Luna, offered their assistance; I had no
sort of employment for them.
When you and I walked twice round the meadow upon the subject of
matrimony, I little thought that my difference in opinion from you,
would have brought on your marriage so soon; for I can attribute it to
no other cause: From this I learn that contradiction is of use in society;
and I shall take care to encourage that humour, or rather spirit, in
myself. As this is the first marriage I ever made, I expect great
congratulations, especially from you.
I have been busy furbishing up some old pieces for Donaldson's[16]
second volume: I exceed in quantity, twenty Eustace Budgels,
according to your epistle. Pray what is become of the Cub? Is Dodsley
to sell you for a shilling, or not? I have written one or two new things,
an Ode to Pity, and an Epistle to the great Donaldson, which is to be
printed: The subject was promising, but I made nothing of it. I must
give over poetry, and copy epistles out of that elegant treatise the
Complete Letter-Writer. D---- is gone to London, his parting advice to
his sister was, to keep the key of the coals herself; so I suppose he
intends to keep up his fire, this winter, in parliament, and not to go over

the coals with the ministry.
[Footnote 16: Donaldson, an Edinburgh bookseller, was bringing out a
collection of Original Poems, by the Rev. Mr. Blacklock, and other
Scotch gentlemen. Erskine was the editor.--ED.]
Lady A---- and I set out for New-Tarbat to-morrow. Could you come?
Let nothing but wedlock detain you. Oh, Boswell! the soporific effluvia
of a hearty dinner cloud all my faculties. I'm as dull as the tolling in of
the eighth-hour bell, or a neighbour in the country, that pays you an
annual visit. At this present moment, I'm astonished how anybody can
be clever; and your letter in heroic verse seems more amazing to me
than if the King of Britain was to send an express for me, to dance a
hornpipe before him, or the King of Prussia was to declare in a
manifesto, that I was the occasion of the present war. I detest the
invention of writing; and nothing could reconcile me to it, but that I can
assure you at this distance, that I am yours sincerely,
ANDREW ERSKINE.
There's a genteel conclusion for you.