prepared some mutton chops, which we could not eat, and killed two hens, of which Boswell made his servant broil a limb; with what effect I know not.  We had a lemon and a piece of bread, which supplied me with my supper.  When the repast was ended, we began to deliberate upon bed:  Mrs. Boswell had warned us, that we should catch something, and had given us sheets, for our security, for—­and—­, she said, came back from Skie, so scratching themselves.  I thought sheets a slender defence against the confederacy with which we were threatened, and, by this time, our Highlanders had found a place, where they could get some hay:  I ordered hay to be laid thick upon the bed, and slept upon it in my great coat:  Boswell laid sheets upon his bed, and reposed in linen, like a gentleman.  The horses were turned out to grass, with a man to watch them.  The hill Rattiken, and the inn at Glanelg, were the only things of which we, or travellers yet more delicate, could find any pretensions to complain.

Sept. 2nd.  I rose, rustling from the hay, and went to tea, which I forget, whether we found or brought.  We saw the isle of Skie before us, darkening the horizon with its rocky coast.  A boat was procured, and we lanched into one of the straits of the Atlantick ocean.  We had a passage of about twelve miles to the point where—­resided, having come from his seat in the middle of the island, to a small house on the shore, as we believe, that he might, with less reproach, entertain us meanly.  If he aspired to meanness, his retrograde ambition was completely gratified, but he did not succeed equally in escaping reproach.  He had no cook, nor, I suppose, much provision, nor had the lady the common decencies of her tea-table; we picked up our sugar with our fingers.  Boswell was very angry, and reproached him with his improper parsimony; I did not much reflect upon the conduct of a man with whom I was not likely to converse as long at any other time.

You will now expect that I should give you some account of the isle of Skie, of which, though I have been twelve days upon it, I have little to say.  It is an island, perhaps, fifty miles long, so much indented by inlets of the sea, that there is no part of it removed from the water more than six miles.  No part, that I have seen, is plain; you are always climbing or descending, and every step is upon rock or mire.  A walk upon ploughed ground in England is a dance upon carpets, compared to the toilsome drudgery of wandering in Skie.  There is neither town nor village in the island, nor have I seen any house but Macleod’s, that is not much below your habitation at Brighthelmstone.  In the mountains there are stags and roe bucks, but no hares, and few rabbits; nor have I seen any thing that interested me, as a zoologist, except an otter, bigger than I thought an otter could have been.