’At early morn I to the market haste,
      Studious in ev’ry thing to please thy taste. 
      A curious fowl and sparagrass I chose;
      (For I remember you were fond of those:)
      Three shillings cost the first, the last sev’n groats;
      Sullen you turn from both, and call for OATS[434]:’ 

He laughed, and asked in whose name I would write it.  I said, in Mrs. Thrale’s.  He was angry.  ’Sir, if you have any sense of decency or delicacy, you won’t do that!’ BOSWELL.  ’Then let it be in Cole’s, the landlord of the Mitre tavern; where we have so often sat together.’  JOHNSON.  ‘Ay, that may do.’

After we had offered up our private devotions, and had chatted a little from our beds, Dr. Johnson said, ’GOD bless us both, for Jesus Christ’s sake!  Good night!’ I pronounced ‘Amen.’  He fell asleep immediately.  I was not so fortunate for a long time.  I fancied myself bit by innumerable vermin under the clothes; and that a spider was travelling from the wainscot towards my mouth.  At last I fell into insensibility.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1.

I awaked very early.  I began to imagine that the landlord, being about to emigrate, might murder us to get our money, and lay it upon the soldiers in the barn.  Such groundless fears will arise in the mind, before it has resumed its vigour after sleep!  Dr. Johnson had had the same kind of ideas; for he told me afterwards, that he considered so many soldiers, having seen us, would be witnesses, should any harm be done, and that circumstance, I suppose, he considered as a security.[435] When I got up, I found him sound asleep in his miserable stye, as I may call it, with a coloured handkerchief tied round his head.  With difficulty could I awaken him.  It reminded me of Henry the Fourth’s fine soliloquy on sleep; for there was here as uneasy a pallet[436] as the poet’s imagination could possibly conceive.

A red coat of the 15th regiment, whether officer, or only serjeant, I could not be sure, came to the house, in his way to the mountains to shoot deer, which it seems the Laird of Glenmorison does not hinder any body to do.  Few, indeed, can do them harm.  We had him to breakfast with us.  We got away about eight.  M’Queen walked some miles to give us a convoy.  He had, in 1745, joined the Highland army at Fort Augustus, and continued in it till after the battle of Culloden.  As he narrated the particulars of that ill-advised, but brave attempt, I could not refrain from tears.  There is a certain association of ideas in my mind upon that subject, by which I am strongly affected.  The very Highland names, or the sound of a bagpipe, will stir my blood, and fill me with a mixture of melancholy and respect for courage; with pity for an unfortunate and superstitious regard for antiquity, and thoughtless inclination for war; in short, with a crowd of sensations with which sober rationality has nothing to do.