elf," all unknown the while, as Shortreed
said of Scott over the Liddesdale raids.

He dined with the general and suite. In spite of, perhaps by very reason
of, his protestations of having no diplomatic mission, the highest
attention was shewn him as an accredited envoy from St James'. In the
morning chocolate was served up to him on a silver salver with the
national arms; he rode out on the general's horse, with guards marching
before him. Paoli knew sufficient English to maintain the dialogue,
having picked up some slight knowledge of the tongue from Irish refugee
officers in the Neapolitan service. His library was turned over by his
inquisitive guest, who found among the books some odd volumes of _The
Spectator_ and _The Tatler_, Pope's _Essay on Man_, _Gulliver's
Travels_, and Barclay's _Apology for the Quakers_. His good humour, as
it had won on the general, endeared the supposed _ambasciadore Inglese_
to the peasants, and he had a Corsican dress made for him. Of that
dress--'in which I walked about with an air of true satisfaction'--every
one who has heard of James Boswell has read, and it is inseparable
somehow from our conceptions of the man and writer.

We select from this Corsican Tour--the least known to the general reader
of Boswell's three great works--what seems to us the gem of the
book:--'One day they must needs hear me play upon my German flute. To
have told my honest natural visitants, 'Really, gentlemen, I play very
ill,' and put on such airs as we do in our genteel companies, would have
been highly ridiculous. I therefore immediately complied with their
request. I gave them one or two Italian airs, and then some of our
beautiful old Scots tunes, _Gilderoy_, _The Lass o' Patie's Mill_, _Corn
Riggs are Bonny_.' The pathetick simplicity and pastoral gaiety of the
Scots musick will always please those who have the genuine feelings of
nature. The Corsicans were charmed with the specimens I gave them,
though I may now say that they were very indifferently performed. My
good friends insisted also to have an English song from me. I
endeavoured to please them in this, too. I sung them 'Hearts of Oak are
our Ships, Hearts of Oak are our Men.' I translated it into Italian for
them, and never did I see men so delighted as the Corsicans were.
'_Cuore di querco_,' cried they, '_bravo Inglese!_' It was quite a
joyous riot. I fancied myself to be a recruiting sea officer. I fancied
all my chorus of Corsicans aboard