mistress may go somewhither; but, wherever you go, do not forget, madam,
your most humble servant.

I am pretty well.

August 15.

Thus far I had written at Newcastle. I forgot to send it. I am now at
Edinburgh; and have been this day running about. I run pretty well.

XVII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Edinburgh, August 17, 1773.

DEAR MADAM,--On the 13th, I left Newcastle, and, in the afternoon, came
to Alnwick, where we were treated with great civility by the duke: I
went through the apartments, walked on the wall, and climbed the towers.
That night we lay at Belford, and, on the next night, came to Edinburgh.
On Sunday (15th) I went to the English chapel. After dinner, Dr.
Robertson came in, and promised to show me the place. On Monday I saw
their publick buildings: the cathedral, which I told Robertson I wished
to see, because it had once been a church; the courts of justice, the
parliament-house, the advocates' library, the repository of records, the
college, and its library, and the palace, particularly the old tower,
where the king of Scotland seized David Rizzio in the queen's presence.
Most of their buildings are very mean; and the whole town bears some
resemblance to the old part of Birmingham.

Boswell has very handsome and spacious rooms, level with the ground, on
one side of the house, and, on the other, four stories high.

At dinner, on Monday, were the dutchess of Douglas, an old lady, who
talks broad Scotch with a paralytick voice, and is scarcely understood
by her own countrymen; the lord chief baron, sir Adolphus Oughton, and
many more. At supper there was such a conflux of company, that I could
scarcely support the tumult. I have never been well in the whole
journey, and am very easily disordered.

This morning I saw, at breakfast, Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, who
does not remember to have seen light, and is read to, by a poor scholar,
in Latin, Greek, and French. He was, originally, a poor scholar himself.
I looked on him with reverence. Tomorrow our journey begins; I know not
when I shall write again. I am but poorly. I am, &c.

XVIII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Bamff, August 25, 1773.

Dear Madam,--It has so happened, that, though I am perpetually thinking
on you, I could seldom find opportunity to write; I have, in fourteen
days, sent only one letter; you must consider the fatigues of travel,
and the difficulties encountered in a strange country.

August 18th. I passed, with Boswell, the frith