“I have been endeavouring to find some excuse,” continued he, “and, as
I could not sleep, I got up, and looked for some authority for the word;
and I find, madam, it is used by Dryden: in one of his prologues, he
says--'And snatch a homely rasher from the coals.' So you must not mind
me, madam; I say strange things, but I mean no harm.”
I was almost afraid he thought I was really idiot enough to have taken
him seriously; but, a few minutes after, he put his hand on my arm, and
shaking his head, exclaimed, “Oh, you are a sly little rogue!--what a
Holborn beau have you drawn!”
“Ay, Miss Burney,” said Mrs. Thrale, “the Holborn beau is Dr Johnson's
favourite; and we have all your characters by heart, from Mr. Smith up
to Lady Louisa.”
“Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith is the man!” cried he, laughing violently.
“Harry Fielding never drew so good a character!--such a fine varnish of
low politeness!--such a struggle to appear a gentleman! Madam, there is
no character better drawn anywhere--in any book or by any author.”
I almost poked myself under the table. Never did I feel so delicious
a confusion since I was born! But he added a great deal more, only I
cannot recollect his exact words, and I do not choose to give him mine.
About noon when I went into the library, book hunting, Mrs. Thrale came
to me. We had a very nice confab about various books, and exchanged
opinions and imitations of Baretti; she told me many excellent tales of
him, and I, in return, related my stories.
She gave me a long and very entertaining account of Dr. Goldsmith, who
was intimately known here; but in speaking of “The Good-natured Man,”
when I extolled my favourite Croaker, I found that admirable character
was a downright theft from Dr. Johnson. Look at “The Rambler,” and you
will find Suspirius is the man, and that not merely the idea, but the
particulars of the character, are all stolen thence![48]
While we were yet reading this “Rambler,” Dr. Johnson came in: we told
him what we were about.
“Ah, madam,” cried he, “Goldsmith was not scrupulous but he would
have been a great man had he known the real value of his own internal
resources.”
“Miss Burney,” said Mrs. Thrale, “is fond of his 'Vicar of Wakefield.'
and so am I;--don't you like it, sir?”
“No, madam, it is very faulty; there is nothing of real life in it, and
very little of nature. It is a mere fanciful performance.”
He then seated himself upon a sofa, and calling to me, said
“Come,--Evelina,--come and sit by me.”
I obeyed; and he took me almost in his arms,--that is, one of his arms,
for one would go three times, at least, round me,--and, half laughing,
half serious, he charged me to “be a good girl!”
“But, my dear,” continued he with a very droll look, “what makes you so
fond of the Scotch? I don't like you for that;--I hate these Scotch, and
so must you. I wish Branghton had sent the dog to jail! That Scotch dog
Macartney.”
“Why, sir,” said Mrs. Thrale, “don't you remember he says he would, but
that he should get nothing by it?”
“Why, ay, true,” cried the doctor, see-sawing very solemnly, “that,
indeed, is some palliation for his forbearance. But I must not have you
so fond of the Scotch, my little Burney; make your hero what you will
but a Scotchman. Besides, you write Scotch--you say 'the one'--my dear,
that's not English, never use that phrase again.”
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Thrale, “it may be used in Macartney's letter, and
then it will be a propriety.”
“No, madam, no!” cried he; “you can't make a beauty of it--it is in the
third volume; put it in Macartney's letter, and welcome--that, or any
thing that is nonsense.”
“Why, surely,” cried I, “the poor man is used ill enough by the
Branghtons.”
“But Branghton,” said he, “only hates him because of his
wretchedness--poor fellow!--But, my dear love, how should he ever have
eaten a good dinner before he came to England? And then he laughed
violently at young Branghton's idea.
“Well,” said Mrs. Thrale, “I always liked Macartney; he is a very pretty
character, and I took to him, as the folks say.”
“Why, madam,” answered he, “I like Macartney myself. Yes, poor fellow,
I liked the man, but I love not the nation.” And then he proceeded, in
a dry manner, to make at once sarcastic reflections on the Scotch, and
flattering speeches to me.[49]