re, they would gladly have exchanged for her
modest parure of beauty and freshness. Not a soul spoke to her--except,
to be sure, Beau Lothair, a friend of Mr. Will's, who prowled about
Bloomsbury afterwards, and even sent my wife a billet. I met him in
Covent Garden shortly after, and promised to break his ugly face if
ever I saw it in the neighbourhood of my lodgings, and Madam Theo was
molested no further.

The only one of our relatives who came to see us (Madame de Bernstein
never came; she sent her coach for us sometimes, or made inquiries
regarding us by her woman or her major-domo) was our poor Maria, who,
with her husband, Mr. Hagan, often took a share of our homely dinner.
Then we had friend Spencer from the Temple, who admired our Arcadian
felicity, and gently asked our sympathy for his less fortunate loves;
and twice or thrice the famous Doctor Johnson came in for a dish of
Theo's tea. A dish? a pailful! "And a pail the best thing to feed him,
sar!" says Mr. Gumbo, indignantly: for the Doctor's appearance was not
pleasant, nor his linen particularly white. He snorted, he grew red,
and sputtered in feeding; he flung his meat about, and bawled out in
contradicting people: and annoyed my Theo, whom he professed to admire
greatly, by saying, every time he saw her, "Madam, you do not love me;
I see by your manner you do not love me; though I admire you, and come
here for your sake. Here is my friend Mr. Reynolds that shall paint
you: he has no ceruse in his paint-box that is as brilliant as
your complexion." And so Mr. Reynolds, a most perfect and agreeable
gentleman, would have painted my wife; but I knew what his price was,
and did not choose to incur that expense. I wish I had now, for the
sake of the children, that they might see what yonder face was like some
five-and-thirty years ago. To me, madam, 'tis the same now as ever; and
your ladyship is always young!

What annoyed Mrs. Warrington with Dr. Johnson more than his
contradictions, his sputterings, and his dirty nails, was, I think,
an unfavourable opinion which he formed of my new tragedy. Hagan once
proposed that he should read some scenes from it after tea.

"Nay, sir, conversation is better," says the Doctor. "I can read for
myself, or hear you at the theatre. I had rather hear Mrs. Warrington's
artless prattle than your declamation of Mr. Warrington's decasyllables.
Tell us about your household affairs, madam, and whether his Excellency
your father