eems the
universal favourite. The book is well spoken of on the whole; yet
Cadell murmurs. I cannot make out why."

This entry is not dated; the next is dated March 27th, 1788.

"This collection," says Boswell, "as a proof of the high estimation
set on any thing that came from his pen, was sold by that lady for
the sum of 500_l_." She has written on the margin: "How spiteful."

Boswell states that "Horace Walpole thought Johnson a more amiable
character after reading his Letters to Mrs. Thrale, but never was one
of the true admirers of that great man." Madame D'Arblay came to an
opposite conclusion; in her Diary, January 9th, 1788, she writes:

"To-day Mrs. Schwellenberg did me a real favour, and with real good
nature, for she sent me the letters of my poor lost friends, Dr.
Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, which she knew me to be almost pining to
procure. The book belongs to the Bishop of Carlisle, who lent it to
Mr. Turbulent, from whom it was again lent to the Queen, and so
passed on to Mrs. S. It is still unpublished. With what a sadness
have I been reading! What scenes has it revived! What regrets
renewed! These letters have not been more improperly published in the
whole than they are injudiciously displayed in their several parts.
She has given all, every word, and thinks that perhaps a justice to
Dr. Johnson, which, in fact, is the greatest injury to his memory.

"The few she has selected of her own do her, indeed, much credit; she
has discarded all that were trivial and merely local, and given only
such as contain something instructive, amusing, or ingenious."

She admits only four of Johnson's letters to be worthy of his exalted
powers: one upon Death, in considering its approach, as we are
surrounded, or not, by mourners; another upon the sudden death of
Mrs. Thrale's only son. Her chief motive for "almost pining" for the
book, steeped as she was in egotism, may be guessed:

"Our name once occurred; how I started at its sight! 'Tis to mention
the party that planned the first visit to our house."

She says she had so many attacks upon "her (Mrs. Piozzi's) subject,"
that at last she fairly begged quarter. Yet nothing she could say
could put a stop to, "How can you defend her in this? how can you
justify her in that? &c. &c." "Alas! that I cannot defend her is
precisely the reason I can so ill bear to speak of her. How
differently and how sweetly has the Queen conducted herself upon this
occasion. Eager to see