Some time after the Doctor began laughing to himself, and then, suddenly turning to me, he called out, ‘Only think, Polly! Miss has danced with a lord!’
‘Ah, poor Evelina!’ cried Mrs. Thrale, ‘I see her now in Kensington Gardens. What she must have suffered! Poor girl! what fidgets she must have been in! And I know Mr. Smith, too, very well; I always have him before me at the Hampstead Ball, dressed in a white coat, and a tambour waistcoat, worked in green silk. Poor Mr. Seward! Mr. Johnson made him so mad t’other day! “Why, Seward,” said he, “how smart you are dressed! Why you only want a tambour waistcoat, to look like Mr. Smith!” But I am very fond of Lady Louisa. I think her as well drawn as any character in the book—so fine, so affected, so languishing, and, at the same time, so insolent!...
As I have always heard from my father that every individual at Streatham spends the morning alone, I took the first opportunity of absconding to my own room, and amused myself in writing till I tired. 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 interesting 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![[38]]
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.’