Study the mother. Remember well what passes. Be a man of as much ease as possible. Thursday. Return to Glasgow. See High Church. and particularly the paintings, and put half a crown into the box at the door. Friday. Come back in the fly. N. B. You are to keep and exact account of your charges." The energy with which these short sentences succeed one another show how much Boswell was moved. And yet, he did not quite lose his head. "Study the mother," he says impressively, and "Keep an exact account of your charges."

Sad to relate, his suit did not prosper, and after a few days he again writes to his friend, wondering whether the lady is "coy and reserved" in order to make him more in love, or whether she is offended at the "Spanish stateliness" of his demeanor. He becomes greatly moved over his wretchedness. However, one cannot help doubting the real strength of such affection, when the last paragraph of the letter is reached. He concludes a passionate profession of love for Miss Blair, and then adds: "A letter from my signora at Siena, written with all the warmth of Italian affection. I am a strange man, but ever your most sincere friend, -James Boswell."

After a few weeks had gone by, he begins to write "Sultanish letters," as he terms them, to Miss Blair, and finally he determines to visit her. While there he informs us: "I am dressed in green and gold. I have my chaise, in which I sit alone like Mr. Gray, and Thomas rides by me in a claret-colored suit with a silver-laced hat. If she can still remain indifferent. she is not the woman I thought her."

When Miss Blair and her mother went up to Edinburgh, Boswell accompanied her, and we have an account of his love making there. "Next evening I was at the play with them: it was 'Othello.' I sat close behind her and at the most affecting scenes I pressed my had upon her waist: she was in tears and rather leaned to me. The jealous Moor described my very soul." The idea of Boswell torn by an Othello-like passion is certainly a striking one. The next day he popped the question, "after sqeezing and kissing her fine hand, while she looked at me with those beautiful black eyes," but, alas, he was refused. His disappointment was very bitter, and in the tumult of his soul, he wrote the following song to his mistress:

Although I be an honest laird,

In person rather strong and brawny,

For me the heiress never cared,

For she would have the Knight, Sir Sawney.

And when with ardent vows, I swore,

Loud as Sir Jonathan Trelawney,

The heiress showed me to the door,

And said she'd have the Knight, Sir Sawney.

She told me with a scornful look,

I was as ugly as a tawny,

For she a better fish could hook,