“Sir, he did it much honour.”
“Made you, sir?” said the doctor, “you give an ill account of your own taste or understanding, if you wanted any making to read such a book as 'Cecilia.'”
“Oh, sir, I don't mean that; for I am sure I left every thing in the world to go on with it.”
A shilling was now wanted for some purpose or other, and none of them happened to have one; I begged that I might lend one.
“Ay, do,” said the doctor, “I will borrow of you; authors are like privateers, always fair game for one another.”
“True, sir,” said the parson, “one author is always robbing another.”
“I don't know that, sir,” cried the doctor; “there sits an author who, to my knowledge, has robbed nobody. I have never once caught her at a theft. The rogue keeps her resources to herself!”
THE TWO MR. CAMBRIDGES IMPROVE UPON ACQUAINTANCE.
Thursday.—In the morning Mr. Cambridge[168] came, and made a long
visit. He is entertaining, original, and well-bred; somewhat formal, but
extremely civil and obliging, and, I believe, remarkably honourable and
strict in his principles and actions. I wished I could have been easy
and chatty with him as I hear he is so much my friend, and as I like him
very much; but, in truth, he listens to every syllable I utter with
so grave a deference, that it intimidates and silences me. When he was
about taking leave, he said,—