“Are you sitting here for characters? Nothing, by the way, struck me
more in reading your book than the admirable skill with which your
ingenious characters make themselves known by their own words.”
He then went on to tell me that I had done the most wonderful of wonders
in pleasing the old wits, particularly the Duchess of Portland and Mrs.
Delany, who resisted reading the book till they were teased into it,
and, since they began, could do nothing else--and he failed not to point
out, with his utmost eloquence, the difficulty of giving satisfaction to
those who piqued themselves upon being past receiving it.
“But,” said he, “I have one other fault to find, and a more material one
than any I have mentioned.”
“I am the more obliged to you. What is it?”
“The disposal of this book. I have much advice to offer to you upon that
subject. Why did not you send for your own friend out of the city? he
would have taken care you should not part with it so much below par.”