I had whipt you severely, find my wrath and resentment
very much mollified; not so much indeed I confess, as if I had really
had the pleasure of actually correcting you, but however I am pretty
well satisfied. You was quite mistaken as to the manner I bore your
silence; I only thought it was a little droll.

Donaldson tells me, that he wants thirty or forty pages to complete his
volume; pray don't let him insert any nonsense to fill it up, but try
John Home[37] and John R----, who I hear is a very good poet; you may
also hint the thing to Mr. N----, and to my brother, Lord K----, who has
some excellent poems by him.

[Footnote 37: The author of "Douglas."--ED.]

Since I saw you, I received a letter from Mr. D----; it is filled with
encomiums upon you: he says there is a great deal of humility in your
vanity, a great deal of tallness in your shortness, and a great deal of
whiteness in your black complexion. He says there is a great deal of
poetry in your prose, and a great deal of prose in your poetry. He says,
that as to your late publication, there is a great deal of Ode in your
dedication, and a great deal of dedication in your Ode; it would amaze
you to see how D---- keeps up this see-saw, which you'll remark has
prodigious wit in it. He says there is a great deal of coat in your
waistcoat, and a great deal of waistcoat in your coat; that there is a
great deal of liveliness in your stupidity, and a great deal of
stupidity in your liveliness; but to write you all he says, would
require rather more fire in my grate, than there is at present; and my
fingers would undoubtedly be numbed, for there is a great deal of snow
in this frost, and a great deal of frost in this snow: in short, upon
this occasion he writes like a Christian and a Poet, and a Physician and
an Orator, and a Jew.

Pray, Boswell, tell me particularly in your first letter, how Fingal has
been received; that book will serve me as a criterion, to discover the
taste of the present age. Boswell, imitate me in your writing; observe
how closely the lines are joined, how near the words are written to one
another, and how small the letters are formed; I am praiseworthy in this
particular. Adieu. Yours sincerely,

ANDREW ERSKINE.

* * * * *

LETTER XVIII.

Edinburgh, Jan. 22, 1762.

Dear ERSKINE,--I would not for all the books in Donaldson's shop that
our correspondence should cease. Rather, much rather would I trot a
h