The first office performed was dressing Miss Brown. She had put on bright, jonquil ribbons. Mrs. Thrale exclaimed against them immediately; Mr. Fuller half joined her, and away she went, and brought green ribbons of her own, which she made Miss Brown run up stairs with to put on. This she did with the utmost good humour; but dress is the last thing in which she excels; for she has lived so much abroad, and so much with foreigners at home, that she never appears habited as an Englishwoman, nor as a high-bred foreigner, but rather as an Italian Opera-dancer; and her wild, careless, giddy manner, her loud hearty laugh, and general negligence of appearance, contribute to give her that air and look. I like her so much, that I am quite sorry she is not better advised, either by her own or some friend's judgment.
Miss Brown, however, was queen of the breakfast: for though her giddiness made everybody take liberties with her, her good-humour made everybody love her, and her gaiety made everybody desirous to associate with her. Sir Philip played with her as with a young and sportive kitten; Mr. Fuller laughed and chatted with her; and Mr. Seward, when here, teases and torments her. The truth is, he cannot bear her, and she, in return, equally fears and dislikes him, but still she cannot help attracting his notice.
SOPHY STREATFIELD AGAIN WEEPS TO ORDER.
Wednesday, June 16.—We had at breakfast a scene, of its sort, the most curious I ever saw.
The persons were Sir Philip, Mr. Seward, Dr. Delap,[98] Miss Streatfield, Mrs. and Miss Thrale, and I. The discourse turning I know not how, upon Miss Streatfield, Mrs. Thrale said,
“Ay I made her cry once for Miss Burney as pretty as could be, but nobody does cry so pretty as the S. S. I'm sure, when she cried for Seward, I never saw her look half so lovely.”
“For Seward?” cried Sir Philip; “did she cry for Seward? What a happy dog! I hope she'll never cry for me, for if she does, I won't answer for the consequences!”
“Seward,” said Mrs. Thrale, “had affronted Johnson, and then Johnson affronted Seward, and then the S. S. cried."[99]
“Oh,” cried Sir Philip, “that I had but been here!”