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LETTER XXXIII.

Auchinleck, June 9, 1762.

Dear ERSKINE,--At this delightful season of the year, when everything is
cheerful and gay, when the groves are all rich with leaves, the gardens
with flowers, and the orchards with blossoms, one would think it almost
impossible to be unhappy; yet such is my hard fate at present, that
instead of relishing the beautiful appearance of nature, instead of
participating the universal joy, I rather look upon it with aversion, as
it exhibits a strong contrast to the cloudy darkness of my mind, and so
gives me a more dismal view of my own situation. Fancy, capricious fancy
will allow me to see nothing but shade. How strange is it to think, that
I who lately abounded in bliss, should now be the slave of black
melancholy! How unaccountable does it appear to the reasoning mind that
this change should be produced without any visible cause. However, since
I have been seized with _the pale cast of thought_, I know not how, I
comfort myself, that I shall get free of it as whimsically. You must
excuse this piece of serious sententiousness; for it has relieved me;
and you may look upon it as much the same with coughing before one
begins to sing, or deliver anything in public, in order that the voice
may be as clear as possible.

The death of your kittens, my dear Erskine! affected me very much. I
could wish that you would form it into a tragedy, as the story is
extremely pathetic, and could not fail greatly to interest the tender
passions. If you have any doubts as to the propriety of their being
three in number, I beg it of you to reflect that the immortal
Shakespeare has introduced three daughters into his tragedy of King
Lear, which has often drawn tears from the eyes of multitudes. The same
author has likewise begun his tragedy of Macbeth with three witches; and
Mr. Alexander Donaldson has resolved, that his collection of original
poems by Scotch gentlemen, shall consist of three volumes, and no more.

I don't know, indeed, but your affecting tale might better suit the
intention of an opera, especially when we consider the musical genius of
the feline race: were a sufficient number of these animals put under the
tuition of proper masters, nobody can tell what an astonishing chorus
might be produced. If this proposal shall be embraced, I make no doubt
of its being the wonder of all Europe, and I remain,

Yours, as usual,

JAMES BOSWELL.

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