Donaldson is undoubtedly
a gentleman perfectly skilled in the art of insinuation. His dinners are
the most eloquent addresses imaginable. For my own part, I am never a
sharer in one of his copious repasts, but I feel my heart warm to the
landlord, and spontaneously conceive this expressive soliloquy,--Upon my
word I must give him another hundred lines.

Now, my dear Captain, tell me how is it with you, after reading this?
With what feeling are you most strongly possessed? But as this depends a
good deal upon the time of the day at which you receive my epistle, I
shall make no farther inquiry.

Thus, Sir, have I unbosomed the big exultation which possessed me upon
occasion of what some of the fathers would call _splendidum prandium_;
Englished thus, a splendid dinner.

Are not you all this time very much astonished, nay, somewhat piqued,
that I have as yet made no mention of your last, notwithstanding of the
wonderful enchantments which you relate, the sagacious advices which you
give, and the ode to a Jew's harp, which you add. Forgive me, good
Captain. Blame Donaldson. Write to me whenever you have any thing that
you wish to say, and believe me,

Yours,

JAMES BOSWELL.

P.S. Are not you very proud of your Ode to Midnight? Lord K---- calls it
the best Poem in the English language. But it will not be long so. For
in imitation of it I have written an Ode to Gluttony, of which take two
stanzas.

I.

HAIL Gluttony! O let me eat
Immensely at thy awful board,
On which to serve the stomach meet,
What art and nature can afford.
I'll furious cram, devoid of fear,
Let but the roast and boil'd appear;
Let me but see a smoking dish,
I care not whether fowl or fish;
Then rush ye floods of ale adown my throat,
And in my belly make the victuals float!

II.

And yet why trust a greasy cook?
Or give to meat the time of play?
While ev'ry trout gulps down a hook,
And poor dumb beasts harsh butchers slay?
Why seek the dull, sauce-smelling gloom,
Of the beef-haunted dining room;
Where D----r gives to every guest
With lib'ral hand whate'er is best;
While you in vain th' insurance must invoke
To give security you shall not choke?

* * * * *

LETTER IX.

New-Tarbat, Dec. 3, 1761.

Dear BOSWELL,

EV'N now intent upon thy Ode,