On the 19th, we persuaded sir Allan to lanch his boat again, and go with us to Icolmkill, where the first great preacher of Christianity to the Scots built a church, and settled a monastery. In our way we stopped to examine a very uncommon cave on the coast of Mull. We had some difficulty to make our way over the vast masses of broken rocks that lie before the entrance, 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 to squander life, to enervate intellectual strength, to cloud our thoughts, or fix our attention, when, by all this expense, we know that no good can be produced. Be alone as little as you can; when you are alone, do not suffer your thoughts to dwell on what you might have done, to prevent this disappointment. You, perhaps, could not have done what you imagine, or might have done it without effect. But even to think in the most reasonable manner, is, for the present, not so useful, as not to think. Remit yourself solemnly into the hands of God, and then turn your mind upon the business and amusements which lie before you. "All is best," says Chene, "as it has been, excepting the errours of our own free will." Burton concludes his long book upon Melancholy, with this important precept: "Be not solitary; be not idle." Remember Chene's position, and observe Burton's precept.
We came hither on the ninth of this month. I long to come under your care, but, for some days, cannot decently get away. They congratulate our return, as if we had been with Phipps, or Banks; I am ashamed of their salutations.
I have been able to collect very little for Queeney's cabinet; but she will not want toys now, she is so well employed. I wish her success; and am not without some thought of becoming her schoolfellow. I have got an Italian Rasselas.
Surely my dear Lucy will recover; I wish, I could do her good. I love her very much; and should love another godchild, if I might have the honour of standing to the next baby. I am, &c.
XXVIII.—To MRS. THRALE.