I
remember when he turned his cup at Aberbrothick, where we drank tea, he
muttered _Claudite jam rivos, pueri'_[766]. I must again and again
apologize to fastidious readers, for recording such minute particulars.
They prove the scrupulous fidelity of my _Journal_. Dr. Johnson said it
was a very exact picture of a portion of his life.
While we were chatting in the indolent stile of men who were to stay
here all this day at least, we were suddenly roused at being told that
the wind was fair, that a little fleet of herring-busses was passing by
for Mull, and that Mr. Simpson's vessel was about to sail. Hugh
M'Donald, the skipper, came to us, and was impatient that we should get
ready, which we soon did. Dr. Johnson, with composure and solemnity,
repeated the observation of Epictetus, that, 'as man has the voyage of
death before him,--whatever may be his employment, he should be ready at
the master's call; and an old man should never be far from the shore,
lest he should not be able to get himself ready.' He rode, and I and the
other gentlemen walked, about an English mile to the shore, where the
vessel lay. Dr. Johnson said, he should never forget Sky, and returned
thanks for all civilities. We were carried to the vessel in a small boat
which she had, and we set sail very briskly about one o'clock. I was
much pleased with the motion for many hours.
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