"One day," she said, "he had scolded the maid for not getting good peats, and had gone out in the rain to the stack to fetch in some himself.[1] He caught a bad cold. Lady Macleod went up 
MAM RATTACHAN. to his room to see how he was, and found him in bed, with his wig turned inside out, and the wrong end foremost, serving the purpose of 'a cap by night,' like the stocking of Goldsmith's Author. On her return to the drawing-room, she said, 'I have often seen very plain people, but anything as ugly as Dr. Johnson, with his wig thus stuck on, I never have seen.'[2] She was (her granddaughter added) greatly pleased with his talk, for she had seen enough of the world to enjoy it; but her daughters, who were still quite girls, disliked him much, and called him a bear."
At the inn at Broadford, sitting in the entrance-hall, I fell into talk with an elderly man, a retired exciseman, who lived close by. He, too, had his traditions of the Sassenach mohr. His father had known
- ↑ "The peats at Dunvegan, which were damp, Dr. Johnson called 'a sullen fuel.' Here a Scottish phrase was singularly applied to him. One of the company having remarked that he had gone out on a stormy evening, and brought in a supply of peats from the stack, old Mr. M'Sweyn said, 'that was main honest.'"—Boswell's Johnson, v. 303.
- ↑ See Boswell's Johnson, v. 214, for Boswell's account.
