ance, and at the mouth were embarrassed with stones,
which the sea had accumulated, as at Brighthelmstone; but, as we
advanced, we reached a floor of soft sand, and, as we left the light
behind us, walked along a very spacious cavity, vaulted over head with
an arch almost regular, by which a mountain was sustained, at least a
very lofty rock. From this magnificent cavern, went a narrow passage to
the right hand, which we entered with a candle; and though it was
obstructed with great stones, clambered over them to a second expansion
of the cave, in which there lies a great square stone, which might serve
as a table. The air here was very warm, but not oppressive, and the
flame of the candle continued pyramidal. The cave goes onward to an
unknown extent, but we were now one hundred and sixty yards under
ground; we had but one candle, and had never heard of any that went
farther and came back; we, therefore, thought it prudent to return.

Going forward in our boat, we came to a cluster of rocks, black and
horrid, which sir Allan chose for the place where he would eat his
dinner. We climbed till we got seats. The stores were opened, and the
repast taken.

We then entered the boat again; the night came upon us; the wind rose;
the sea swelled; and Boswell desired to be set on dry ground: we,
however, pursued our navigation, and passed by several little islands in
the silent solemnity of faint moonshine, seeing little, and hearing only
the wind and the water. At last, we reached the island, the venerable
seat of ancient sanctity; where secret piety reposed, and where falling
greatness was reposited. The island has no house of entertainment, and
we manfully made our bed in a farmer's barn. The description I hope to
give you another time. I am, &c.

XXVII.--To MRS. THRALE.

Edinburgh, Nov. 12, 1773.

DEAREST MADAM,--Among the possibilities of evil, which my imagination
suggested at this distance, I missed that which has really happened. I
never had much hope of a will in your favour, but was willing to believe
that no will would have been made. The event is now irrevocable; it
remains only to bear it. Not to wish it had been different, is
impossible; but as the wish is painful without use, it is not prudent,
perhaps, not lawful, to indulge it. As life, and vigour of mind, and
sprightliness of imagination, and flexibility of attention, are given us
for valuable and useful purposes, we must not think ourselves at liberty
t