some half-pence for a shilling, and made up the deficiencies of
Boswell's distribution, who had given some money among the children. We
then directed, that the mistress of the stone-house should be asked,
what we must pay her. She, who, perhaps, had never before sold any thing
but cattle, knew not, I believe, well what to ask, and referred herself
to us: we obliged her to make some demand, and one of the Highlanders
settled the account with her at a shilling. One of the men advised her,
with the cunning that clowns never can be without, to ask more; but she
said that a shilling was enough. We gave her half-a-crown, and she
offered part of it again. The Macraes were so well pleased with our
behaviour, that they declared it the best day they had seen, since the
time of the old laird of Macleod, who, I suppose, like us, stopped in
their valley, as he was travelling to Skie.

We were mentioning this view of the highlander's life at Macdonald's,
and mentioning the Macraes, with some degree of pity, when a highland
lady informed us, that we might spare our tenderness, for she doubted
not but the woman, who supplied us with milk, was mistress of thirteen
or fourteen milch cows.

I cannot forbear to interrupt my narrative. Boswell, with some of his
troublesome kindness, has informed this family, and reminded me, that
the 18th of September is my birthday. The return of my birthday, if I
remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general
care of humanity to escape. I can now look back upon threescore and four
years, in which little has been done, and little has been enjoyed; a
life, diversified by misery, spent part in the sluggishness of penury,
and part under the violence of pain, in gloomy discontent, or
importunate distress. But, perhaps, I am better than I should have been,
if I had been less afflicted. With this I will try to be content.

In proportion as there is less pleasure in retrospective considerations,
the mind is more disposed to wander forward into futurity; but, at
sixty-four, what promises, however liberal, of imaginary good can
futurity venture to make? yet something will be always promised, and
some promises will be always credited. I am hoping, and I am praying,
that I may live better in the time to come, whether long or short, than
I have yet lived, and, in the solace of that hope, endeavour to repose.
Dear Queeney's day is next: I hope she, at sixty-four, will have less to
regret.

I w