April, 1774.
Dear Sir,
When Mr. Johnson and I arrived at Inveraray after our expedition to the
Hebrides, and there for the first time after many days renewed our
enjoyment of the luxuries of civilised life, one of the most elegant that I
could wish to find was lying for me, a letter from Mr. Garrick. It was a
pineapple of the finest flavour, which had a high zest indeed amongst
the heath-covered mountains of Scotia. That I have not thanked you for
it long ere now is one of those strange facts for which it is so difficult
to account, that I shall not attempt it. The Idler has strongly expressed
many of the wonderful effects of the vis inertiæ of the human mind.
But it is hardly credible that a man should have the warmest regard for
his friend, a constant desire to show it, and a keen ambition for a
frequent epistolary intercourse with him, and yet should let months roll
on without having resolution, or activity, or power, or whatever it be, to
write a few lines. A man in such a situation is somewhat like Tantalus
reversed. He recedes, he knows not how, from what he loves, which is
full as provoking as when what he loves recedes from him. That my
complaint is not a peculiar fancy, but deep in human nature, I appeal to
the authority of St. Paul, who though he had not been exalted to the
dignity of an apostle, would have stood high in fame as a philosopher
and orator, "What I would that do I not." You need be under no concern
as to your debt to me for the book which I purchased for you. It was
long ago discharged; for believe me, I intended the book as a present.
Or if you rather chuse that it should be held as an exchange with the
epitaphs which you sent me, I have no objection. Dr. Goldsmith's death
would affect all the club much. I have not been so much affected with
any event that has happened of a long time. I wish you would give me,
who am at a distance, and who cannot get to London this spring, some
particulars with regards to his last appearances. Dr. Young has a fine
thought to this purpose, that every friend who goes before us to the
other side of the river of death, makes the passage to us the easier.
Were our club all removed to a future world but one or two, they, one
should think, would incline to follow. By all means let me be on your
list of subscribers to Mr. Morrell's Prometheus. You have enlivened the
town, I see, with a musical piece. The prologue is admirably fancied
arripere populum tributim; though, to be sure, Foote's remark applies to
it, that your prologues {329} have a culinary turn, and that therefore the
motto to your collection of them should be, Animus jamdudum in
Patinis. A player upon words might answer him, "Any Patinis rather
than your Piety in Pattens." I wonder the wags have not been quoting
upon you, "Whose erudition is a Christmas tale." But Mr. Johnson is
ready to bruise any one who calls in question your classical knowledge
and your happy application of it. I hope Mr. Johnson has given you an
entertaining account of his Northern Tour. He is certainly to favour the
world with some of his remarks. Pray do not fail to quicken him by
word as I do by letter. Posterity will be the more obliged to his friends
the more that they can prevail with him to write. With best
compliments to Mrs. Garrick, and hoping that you will not punish me
by being long silent, I remain faithfully yours,
JAMES BOSWELL.
To David Garrick, Esq., Adelphi, London.
W. P.
* * * * *
MINOR NOTES.
White Roses.--In an old newspaper, The Weekly Journal, or British
Gazetteer, of Saturday, June 15, 1723, I find the following paragraph:
"Monday being the anniversary of the White Roses, some persons who
had a mind to boast that they had bid defiance to the government, put
them on early in the morning; but the mob not liking such doings,
gathered about them, and demolished the wearers; which so terrified
the crew, that not one of them afterwards would touch a white rose."
Can you, or any of your correspondents, explain this curious allusion?
Is it to the emblem of the House of York, or the badge of the Pretender?
E. G. B.
Fifeshire Pronunciation.--I have observed, in various parts of Fifeshire,
a singular peculiarity in the pronunciation of certain words, of which
the following are specimens:
Pronounced
Wrong, Vrang. Wright, Vricht (gut.). Wretch, Vretch. Write, v. a. Vrite.
Write, or writing, s.
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