Saturday, 4th September

My endeavours to rouse the English-bred chieftain, in whose house we were, to the feudal and patriarchal feelings, proving ineffectual, Dr Johnson this morning tried to bring him to our way of thinking. JOHNSON. ‘Were I in your place, sir, in seven years I would make this an independant island. I would roast oxen whole, and hang out a flag as a signal to the Macdonalds to come and get beef and whisky.’ Sir Alexander was still starting difficulties. JOHNSON. ‘Nay, sir; if you are born to object, I have done with you. Sir, I would have a magazine of arms.’ SIR ALEXANDER. ‘They would rust.’ JOHNSON. ‘Let there be men to keep them clean. Your ancestors did not use to let their arms rust.’

We attempted in vain to communicate to him a portion of our enthusiasm. He bore with so polite a good-nature our warm, and what some might call Gothick, expostulations, on this subject, that I should not forgive myself, were I to record all that Dr Johnson’s ardour led him to say. This day was little better than a blank.