LITMIR.BIZ

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left if they could; but you tell me that's only because I have the reputation, whether true or false, of being a wit forsooth; and you remember poor Floretta, who was teased into wishing away her spirit, her beauty, her fortune, and at last even her life, never could bear the bitter water which was to have washed away her wit; which she resolved to keep with all its consequences."

      Her fugitive pieces, mostly in verse, thrown off from time to time at all periods of her life, are numerous; and the best of them that have been recovered will be included in these volumes. In a letter to the author of "Piozziana," she says:—"When Wilkes and Liberty were at their highest tide, I was bringing or losing children every year; and my studies were confined to my nursery; so, it came into my head one day to send an infant alphabet to the 'St. James Chronicle':—

      "'A was an Alderman, factious and proud;

      B was a Bellas that blustered aloud, &c.'

      "In a week's time Dr. Johnson asked me if I knew who wrote it? 'Why, who did write it, Sir?' said I. 'Steevens,' was the reply. Some time after that, years for aught I know, he mentioned to me Steevens's veracity! 'No, no;' answered H.L.P., anything but that;' and told my story; showing him by incontestable proofs that it was mine. Johnson did not utter a word, and we never talked about it any more. I durst not introduce the subject; but it served to hinder S. from visiting at the house: I suppose Johnson kept him away."

It does not appear that Steevens claimed the Alphabet; which may have suggested the celebrated squib that appeared in the "New Whig Guide," and was popularly attributed to Mr. Croker. It was headed "The Political Alphabet; or, the Young Member's A B C," and begins:

      "A was an Althorpe, as dull as a hog:

      B was black Brougham, a surly cur dog:

      C was a Cochrane, all stripped of his lace."

      What widely different associations are now awakened by these names! The sting is in the tail:

      "W was a Warre, 'twixt a wasp and a worm,

      But X Y and Z are not found in this form,

      Unless Moore, Martin, and Creevey be said

      (As the last of mankind) to be X Y and Z."

      Amongst Miss Reynolds' "Recollections" will be found:—"On the praises of Mrs. Thrale, he (Johnson) used to dwell with a peculiar delight, a paternal fondness, expressive of conscious exultation in being so intimately acquainted with her. One day, in speaking of her to Mr. Harris, author of 'Hermes,' and expatiating on her various perfections—the solidity of her virtues, the brilliancy of her wit, and the strength of her understanding, &c.—he quoted some lines (a stanza, I believe, but from what author I know not[1]), with which he concluded his most eloquent eulogium, and of these I retained but the two last lines:—

      'Virtues—of such a generous kind,

      Pure in the last recesses of the mind.'"

      [1] Dryden's Translation of Persius.

The place assigned to Mrs. Thrale by the popular voice amongst the most cultivated and accomplished women of the day, is fixed by some verses printed in the "Morning Herald" of March 12th, 1782, which attracted much attention. They were commonly attributed to Mr. (afterwards Sir W.W.) Pepys, and Madame d'Arblay, who alludes to them complacently, thought them his; but he subsequently repudiated the authorship, and the editor of her Memoirs believes that they were written by Dr. Burney. They were provoked by the proneness of the Herald to indulge in complimentary allusions to ladies of the demirep genus:

      "Herald, wherefore thus proclaim

      Nought of women but the shame?

      Quit, oh, quit, at least awhile,

      Perdita's too luscious smile;

      Wanton Worsley, stilted Daly,

      Heroines of each blackguard alley;

      Better sure record in story

      Such as shine their sex's glory!

      Herald! haste, with me proclaim

      Those of literary fame.

      Hannah More's pathetic pen,

      Painting high th' impassion'd scene;

      Carter's piety and learning,

      Little Burney's quick discerning;

      Cowley's neatly pointed wit,

      Healing those her satires hit;

      Smiling Streatfield's iv'ry neck,

      Nose, and notions—à la Grecque!

      Let Chapone retain a place,

And the mother of her Grace[1],

      Each art of conversation knowing,

      High-bred, elegant Boscawen;

      Thrale, in whose expressive eyes

      Sits a soul above disguise,

      Skill'd with-wit and sense t'impart

      Feelings of a generous heart.

      Lucan, Leveson, Greville, Crewe;

      Fertile-minded Montagu,

      Who makes each rising art her care,

      'And brings her knowledge from afar!'

      Whilst her tuneful tongue defends

      Authors dead, and absent friends;

      Bright in genius, pure in fame:—

      Herald, haste, and these proclaim!"

      [1] Mrs. Boscawen was the mother of the Duchess of Beaufort and Mrs. Leveson Gower:

      "All Leveson's sweetness, and all Beaufort's grace."

These lines merit attention for the sake of the comparison they invite. An outcry has recently been raised against the laxity of modern fashion, in permitting venal beauty to receive open homage in our parks and theatres, and to be made the subject of prurient gossip by maids and matrons who should ignore its existence. But we need not look far beneath the surface of social history to discover that the irregularity in question is only a partial revival of the practice of our grandfathers and grandmothers, much as a crinoline may be regarded as a modified reproduction of the hoop. Junius thus denounces the Duke of Grafton's indecorous devotion to Nancy Parsons: "It is not the private indulgence, but the public insult, of which I complain. The name of Miss Parsons would hardly have been known, if the First Lord of the Treasury had not led her in triumph through the Opera House, even in the presence of the Queen." Lord March (afterwards Duke of Queensberry) was a lord of the bedchamber in the decorous court of George the Third, when he wrote thus to Selwyn: "I was prevented from writing to you last Friday, by being at Newmarket with my little girl (Signora Zamperini, a noted dancer and singer). I had the whole family and Cocchi. The beauty went with me in my chaise, and the rest in the old landau."

      We have had Boswell's impression of his first visit to Streatham; and Madame D'Arblay's account of hers confirms the notion that My Mistress, not My Master, was the presiding genius of the place.

      "London, August (1778).—I have now to write an account of the most consequential day I have spent since my birth: namely, my Streatham visit.

      "Our journey to Streatham was the least pleasant part of the day, for the roads were dreadfully dusty, and I was really in the fidgets from thinking what my reception might be, and from fearing they would expect a less awkward and backward kind of person than I was sure they would find.

      "Mr. Thrale's house is white, and very pleasantly situated, in a fine paddock. Mrs. Thrale was strolling about, and came to us as we got out of the chaise.

"She then received me, taking both my hands, and with mixed politeness and cordiality welcomed me to Streatham. She led me into the house, and addressed herself almost wholly for a few minutes to my father, as if to give me an assurance she did

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