I must here observe, that though Dr. Johnson appeared now to be philosophically calm, yet his genius did not shine forth as in companies, where I have listened to him with admiration.  The vigour of his mind was, however, sufficiently manifested, by his discovering no symptoms of feeble relaxation in the dull, ’weary, flat and unprofitable[464]’ state in which we now were placed.

I am inclined to think that it was on this day he composed the following Ode upon the Isle of Sky, which a few days afterwards he shewed me at Rasay:—­

     ODA,

     Ponti profundis clausa recessibus,
     Strepens procellis, rupibus obsita,
     Quam grata defesso virentem
     Skia sinum nebulosa pandis.

     His cura, credo, sedibus exulat;
     His blanda certe pax habitat locis: 
     Non ira, non moeror quietis
     Insidias meditatur horis.

     At non cavata rupe latescere,
     Menti nec aegrae montibus aviis
     Prodest vagari, nec frementes
     E scopulo numerare fluctus.

     Humana virtus non sibi sufficit,
     Datur nec aequum cuique animum sibi
     Parare posse, ut Stoicorum
     Secta crepet nimis alta fallax.

     Exaestuantis pectoris impetum,
     Rex summe, solus tu regis arbiter,
     Mentisque, te tollente, surgunt,
     Te recidunt moderante fluctus[465].

After supper, Dr. Johnson told us, that Isaac Hawkins Browne drank freely for thirty years, and that he wrote his poem, De Animi Immortalitate, in some of the last of these years[466].  I listened to this with the eagerness of one who, conscious of being himself fond of wine, is glad to hear that a man of so much genius and good thinking as Browne had the same propensity[467].

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6.

We set out, accompanied by Mr. Donald M’Leod, (late of Canna) as our guide.  We rode for some time along the district of Slate, near the shore.  The houses in general are made of turf, covered with grass.  The country seemed well peopled.  We came into the district of Strath, and passed along a wild moorish tract of land till we arrived at the shore.  There we found good verdure, and some curious whin-rocks, or collections of stones like the ruins of the foundations of old buildings.  We saw also three Cairns of considerable size.

About a mile beyond Broadfoot, is Corrichatachin, a farm of Sir Alexander Macdonald’s, possessed by Mr. M’Kinnon[468], who received us with a hearty welcome, as did his wife, who was what we call in Scotland a lady-like woman.  Mr. Pennant in the course of his tour to the Hebrides, passed two nights at this gentleman’s house.  On its being mentioned, that a present had here been made to him of a curious specimen of Highland antiquity, Dr. Johnson said, ’Sir, it was more than he deserved; the dog is a Whig[469].’