Bath.—I shall now skip to our arrival at this beautiful city which I really admire more than I did, if possible, when I first saw it. The houses are so elegant, the streets are so beautiful, the prospects so enchanting, I could fill whole pages upon the general beauty of the place and country, but that I have neither time for myself, nor incitement for you, as I know nothing tires so much as description.
Monday.—Lord Mulgrave, Augustus Phipps, Miss Cooper, Dr. Harrington, and Dr. Woodward dined with us.
I like Lord Mulgrave[118] very much. He has more wit, and a greater readiness of repartee, than any man I have met with this age. During dinner he was all brilliancy, but I drew myself into a little scrape with him, from which I much wanted some of his wit to extricate myself. Mrs. Thrale was speaking of the House of Commons, and lamenting that she had never heard any debates there.
“And now,” said she, “I cannot, for this General Johnson has turned us all out most barbarously.”
“General Johnson?” repeated Lord Mulgrave.
“Ay, or colonel—I don't know what the man was, but I know he was no man of gallantry.”
“Whatever he was,” said his lordship, “I hope he was a land officer.”
“I hope so too, my lord,” said she.
“No, no, no,” cried Mr. Thrale, “it was Commodore Johnson.”
“That's bad, indeed,” said Lord Mulgrave, laughing. “I thought, by his manners, he had belonged to the army.”