ficult to deserve. "That woman," said he, "loved her
husband as we hope and desire to be loved by our guardian angel. F-tzh--
b--t was a gay, good-humoured fellow, generous of his money and of his
meat, and desirous of nothing but cheerful society among people
distinguished in _some_ way, in _any way_, I think; for Rousseau and St.
Austin would have been equally welcome to his table and to his kindness.
The lady, however, was of another way of thinking: her first care was to
preserve her husband's soul from corruption; her second, to keep his
estate entire for their children: and I owed my good reception in the
family to the idea she had entertained, that I was fit company for F-tzh--
b--t, whom I loved extremely. 'They dare not,' said she, 'swear, and
take other conversation-liberties before _you_.'" I asked if her husband
returned her regard? "He felt her influence too powerfully," replied Mr.
Johnson; "no man will be fond of what forces him daily to feel himself
inferior. She stood at the door of her paradise in Derbyshire, like the
angel with a flaming sword, to keep the devil at a distance. But she was
not immortal, poor dear! she died, and her husband felt at once afflicted
and released." I inquired if she was handsome? "She would have been
handsome for a queen," replied the panegyrist; "her beauty had more in it
of majesty than of attraction, more of the dignity of virtue than the
vivacity of wit." The friend of this lady, Miss B--thby, succeeded her
in the management of Mr. F-tzh--b--t's family, and in the esteem of Dr.
Johnson, though he told me she pushed her piety to bigotry, her devotion
to enthusiasm, that she somewhat disqualified herself for the duties of
_this_ life, by her perpetual aspirations after the _next_. Such was,
however, the purity of her mind, he said, and such the graces of her
manner, that Lord Lyttelton and he used to strive for her preference with
an emulation that occasioned hourly disgust, and ended in lasting
animosity. "You may see," said he to me, when the "Poets' Lives" were
printed, "that dear B--thby is at my heart still. She _would_ delight in
that fellow Lyttelton's company though, all that I could do; and I cannot
forgive even his memory the preference given by a mind like hers." I
have heard Baretti say that when this lady died, Dr. Johnson was almost
distracted with his grief, and that the friends about him had much ado to
calm the violence of his emotion. Dr. Tay