upon
the rough road of discontent; and shortly after sunk in the deep rut of
low spirits; now galloping on the post-road of expectation, and
immediately after, trotting on the stony one of disappointment; but the
days of our driving soon cease, our shafts break, our leather rots, and
we tumble into a hole.

Adieu, yours,

ANDREW ERSKINE.

* * * * *

LETTER XXXVIII.

Kelly, July 7, 1762.

Dear BOSWELL,--I imagined, that by ceasing to write to you for some
time, I should be able to lay up a stock of materials, enough to
astonish you, and that, like a river damm'd up, when let loose, I should
flow on with unusual rapidity; or like a man, who has not beat his wife
for a fortnight, I should cudgel you with my wit for hours together;
but I find the contrary of all this is the case; I resemble a person
long absent from his native country, of which he has formed a thousand
endearing ideas, and to which he at last returns; but alas! he beholds
with sorrowful eyes, everything changed for the worse; the town where he
was born, which used to have two snows[56] and three sloops trading to
all parts of the known world, is not now master of two fishing-boats;
the steeple of the church, where he used to sleep in his youth, is rent
with lightning; and the girl on whom he had placed his early affections,
has had three bastard children, and is just going to be delivered of a
fourth; or I resemble a man who has had a fine waistcoat lying long in
the very bottom of a chest, which he is determined shall be put on at
the hunter's ball; but woe's me, the lace is tarnished, and the moths
have devoured it in a melancholy manner; these few similies may serve to
shew, that this letter has little chance of being a good one; yet they
don't make the affair certain. Prince Ferdinand beat the French at
Minden; Sheridan, in his lectures, sometimes spoke sense; and John Home
wrote one good play.[57] I have read Lord Kames's Elements,[58] and
agree very heartily with the opinion of the Critical Reviewers; however,
I could often have wished, that his Lordship had been less obscure, or
that I had had more penetration; he praises the Mourning Bride
excessively, which, nevertheless, I can not help thinking a very
indifferent play; the plot wild and improbable, and the language
infinitely too high and swelling.[59] It is curious to see the opinions
of the Reviewers concerning you and me; they take you for a poor
distress