"I hope Mrs. Boswell and little Miss are well. When shall I see them again? She is a sweet lady, only she was so glad to see me go, that I have almost a mind to come again, that she may again have the same pleasure."-Editor.

He said, "You think I love flattery, and so I do; but a little too much always disgusts me. That fellow, Richardson, on the contrary, could not be contented to sail quietly down the stream of reputation without longing to taste the froth from every stroke of the oar."-Mrs. Piozzi.

Mrs. Digby was present at the introduction of Dr. Johnson at one of the late Mrs. Montagu's literary parties, when she herself, with several still younger ladies, almost immediately surrounded our Colossus of literature (an odd figure, sure enough) with more wonder than politeness; and while contemplating him as if he had been some monster from the deserts of Africa, Johnson said to them, "Ladies, I am tame; you may stroke me!"—B. N. Turner (in the New Monthly Magazine, December, 1818).

After breakfast on Friday a curious trait occurred of Dr. Johnson's jocosity. While Mrs. Thrale was in the midst of her most flattering persuasions,* the Doctor, seesawing in his chair, began laughing to himself so heartily as to almost shake his seat as well as his sides. We stopped our confabulation, in which he had ceased to join, hoping he would reveal the subject of his mirth; but he enjoyed it inwardly, without heeding our curiosity, till at last he said he had been struck with a notion that "Miss Burney would begin her dramatic career by writing a piece called 'Streatham."" He paused, and laughed yet more cordially; and then sud

* That Miss Burney should write a comedy. This scene occurred at the country-seat of the Thrales, at Streatham, where Johnson and Miss Burney were guests.

denly commanded a pomposity to his countenance and his voice, and added, "Yes, 'Streatham. A Farce!" How little did I expect from this Lexiphanes, this great and dreaded lord of English literature, a turn for burlesque humor!— Madame D'Arblay.

PLAYFULNESS.

DR. JOHNSON has more fun, and comical humor, and love of nonsense, than almost anybody I ever saw: I mean, when with those he likes; for otherwise he can be as severe and bitter as report relates him.-Madame D'Arblay.

Next morning I won a small bet from Lady Diana Beauclerk, by asking him as to one of his particularities, which her ladyship laid I durst not do. It seems he had been frequently observed at the Club to put into his pocket the Seville oranges, after he had squeezed the juice of them into the drink which he had made for himself. Beauclerk and Garrick talked of it to me, and seemed to think that he had a strange unwillingness to be discovered. We could not divine what he did with them; and this was the bold question to be put. I saw on his table the spoils of the preceding night, some fresh peels, nicely scraped and cut into pieces. "Oh, sir," said I, "I now partly see what you do with the squeezed oranges you put into your pocket at the Club." Johnson: "I have a great love for them." Boswell: "And pray, sir, what do you do with them? You scrape them, it seems, very neatly; and what next?" Johnson: "Let them dry, sir." Boswell: "And what next?"

Johnson: "Nay,

sir, you shall know their fate no farther." Boswell: "Then the world must be left in the dark. It must be said," assuming a mock solemnity, "he scraped them and let them dry; but what he did with them next, he never could be prevailed upon to tell." Johnson: "Nay, sir, you should say it

more emphatically: he could not be prevailed upon, even by his dearest friends, to tell.'"-Boswell.

I dined with Mrs. Thrale and Dr. Johnson, who was very comic and good-humored. Susan Thrale had just had her hair turned up and powdered, and has taken to the womanly robe. Dr. Johnson sportively gave her instructions how to increase her consequence, and "take upon her" properly. "Begin," he said, "Miss Susan, with something grandsomething to surprise mankind! Let your first essay in life be a warm censure of 'Cecilia.** You can no way make yourself more conspicuous. Tell the world how ill it was conceived, and how ill executed. Tell them how little there is in it of human nature, and how well your knowledge of the world enables you to judge of the failings in that book. Find fault without fear; and if you are at a loss for any to find, invent whatever comes into your mind; for you may say what you please with little fear of detection, since of those who praise 'Cecilia,' not half have read it, and of those who have read it, not half remember it. Go to work, therefore, boldly; and particularly mark that the character of 'Albany' is extremely unnatural, to your own knowledge, since you never met with such a man at Mrs. Cummyn's school."-Madame D'Arblay.

I told him that I heard Dr. Percy was writing the history of the wolf in Great Britain. Johnson: "The wolf, sir! why the wolf? Why does he not write of the bear, which we had formerly? Nay, it is said we had the beaver. Or why does he not write of the gray rat, the Hanover rat, as it is called, because it is said to have come into this country about the time that the family of Hanover came? I should like to see 'The History of the Gray Rat, by Thomas Percy, D.D., Chaplain in Ordinary to His Majesty'" (laughing

*Miss Burney's second novel, which had just appeared.

immoderately). Boswell: "I am afraid a court chaplain could not decently write of the gray rat." Johnson: "Sir, he need not give it the name of the Hanover rat." Thus could he indulge a luxuriant, sportive imagination, when talking of a friend whom he loved and esteemed.—Boswell.

We all observed a sudden play of the muscles in the countenance of the Doctor that showed him to be secretly enjoying some ludicrous idea; and accordingly, a minute or two after, he pursed up his mouth, and, in an assumed pert, yet feminine accent, while he tossed up his head to express wonder, he affectedly minced out, "La, Polly !-only think! Miss has danced with a lord !"*—Madame D'Arblay.

Dr. Warton was always called an enthusiast by Dr. Johnson, who at times, when in gay spirits, and with those with whom he trusted their ebullition, would take off Dr. Warton with the strongest humor; describing, almost convulsively, the ecstasy with which he would seize upon the person nearest to him, to hug in his arms, lest his grasp should be eluded, while he displayed some picture or some prospect; and indicated, in the midst of contortions and gestures that violently and ludicrously shook, if they did not affright his captive, the particular point of view or of design that he wished should be noticed.-Madame D'Arblay.

"I have known," said the Doctor, with the most comical look, "all the wits, from Mrs. Montagu down to Bet Flint !" "Bet Flint!" cried Mrs. Thrale, " pray who is she?" "Oh, a fine character, madam! She was habitually a slut and a drunkard, and occasionally a thief and a harlot." "And, for Heaven's sake, how came you to know her?" "Why, madam, she figured in the literary world, too! Bet Flint

*This was a quotation from a speech of "Biddy Branghton," in Miss Burney's novel, "Evelina."

wrote her own life, and called herself Cassandra, and it was in verse; it began:

'When Nature first ordained my birth,

A diminutive I was born on earth;

And then I came from a dark abode

Into a gay and gaudy world.'

So Bet brought me her verses to correct; but I gave her half a crown, and she liked it as well. Bet had a fine spirit -she advertised for a husband, but she had no success, for she told me no man aspired to her. Then she hired very handsome lodgings and a foot-boy; and she got a harpsichord, but Bet could not play; however, she put herself in fine attitudes and drummed." Then he gave an account of another of these geniuses who called herself by some fine name I have forgotten what. "She had not quite the same stock of virtue," continued he, "nor the same stock of honesty as Bet Flint; but I suppose she envied her accomplishments, for she was so little moved by the power of harmony, that while Bet Flint thought she was drumming away very divinely, the other jade had her indicted for a nuisance." "And pray what became of her, sir?" "Why, madam, she stole a quilt from the man of the house, and he had her taken up; so when she found herself obliged to go to jail, she ordered a sedan-chair, and bid her foot-boy walk before her. However, the boy proved refractory, for he was ashamed, though his mistress was not." "And did she ever get out of jail again, sir ?" "Yes, madam; when she came to her trial, the judge acquitted her. 'So now,' she said to me, 'the quilt is my own, and now I'll make a petticoat of it.' Oh, I loved Bet Flint!" Oh, how we all laughed! Then he gave an account of another lady, who called herself Laurinda, and who also wrote verses and stole furniture; but he had not the same affection for her, he said, though she too "was a lady who had high notions of honor." Then followed the history of another, who called herself Hortensia, and who walked up and down the