l scenes, by mimicking
her in a dialogue he pretended to have overheard. I do not know whether
he meant such stuff to be believed or no, it was so comical; nor did I
indeed ever see him represent her ridiculously, though my husband did.
The intelligence I gained of her from old Levett was only perpetual
illness and perpetual opium. The picture I found of her at Lichfield was
very pretty, and her daughter, Mrs. Lucy Porter, said it was like. Mr.
Johnson has told me that her hair was eminently beautiful, quite blonde,
like that of a baby; but that she fretted about the colour, and was
always desirous to dye it black, which he very judiciously hindered her
from doing. His account of their wedding we used to think ludicrous
enough. "I was riding to church," says Johnson, "and she following on
another single horse. She hung back, however, and I turned about to see
whether she could get her steed along, or what was the matter. I had,
however, soon occasion to see it was only coquetry, and _that I
despised_, so quickening my pace a little, she mended hers; but I believe
there was a tear or two--pretty dear creature!"

Johnson loved his dinner exceedingly, and has often said in my hearing,
perhaps for my edification, "that wherever the dinner is ill got there is
poverty or there is avarice, or there is stupidity; in short, the family
is somehow grossly wrong: for," continued he, "a man seldom thinks with
more earnestness of anything than he does of his dinner, and if he cannot
get that well dressed, he should be suspected of inaccuracy in other
things." One day, when he was speaking upon the subject, I asked him if
he ever huffed his wife about his dinner? "So often," replied he, "that
at last she called to me, and said, 'Nay, hold, Mr. Johnson, and do not
make a farce of thanking God for a dinner which in a few minutes you will
protest not eatable.'"

When any disputes arose between our married acquaintance, however, Mr.
Johnson always sided with the husband, "whom," he said, "the woman had
probably provoked so often, she scarce knew when or how she had
disobliged him first. Women," says Dr. Johnson, "give great offence by a
contemptuous spirit of non-compliance on petty occasions. The man calls
his wife to walk with him in the shade, and she feels a strange desire
just at that moment to sit in the sun: he offers to read her a play, or
sing her a song, and she calls the children in to disturb them, or
advises him t