the apprehension that they would imagine I had a universal spite to that harmless piece of goods, which I have already been known to treat with no little indignity.  He would fain have discovered the reason of my skittishness; but as I could not tell it him, I was obliged to assure him it would be lost time to inquire further into my flights, since ‘true no meaning puzzles more than wit’, and therefore, begging the favour of him to ‘set me down an ass’, I suddenly retreated.

My dear, dear Dr. Johnson! what a charming man you are!  Mrs. Cholmondeley, too, I am not merely prepared but determined to admire; for really she has shown so much penetration and sound sense of late, that I think she will bring about a union between Wit and Judgement, though their separation has been so long, and though their meetings have been so few.

But, Mrs. Thrale! she—­she is the goddess of my idolatry!  What an eloge is hers!—­an eloge that not only delights at first, but proves more and more flattering every time it is considered!

I often think, when I am counting my laurels, what a pity it would have been had I popped off in my last illness, without knowing what a person of consequence I was!—­and I sometimes think that, were I now to have a relapse, I could never go off with so much eclat!  I am now at the summit of a high hill; my prospects on one side are bright, glowing, and invitingly beautiful; but when I turn round, I perceive, on the other side, sundry caverns, gulfs, pits, and precipices, that, to look at, make my head giddy and my heart sick.  I see about me, indeed, many hills of far greater height and sublimity; but I have not the strength to attempt climbing them; if I move, it must be downwards.  I have already, I fear, reached the pinnacle of my abilities, and therefore to stand still will be my best policy.

But there is nothing under heaven so difficult to do.  Creatures who are formed for motion must move, however great their inducements to forbear.  The wisest course I could take, would be to bid an eternal adieu to writing; then would the cry be, ’Tis pity she does not go on!—­she might do something better by and by’, &c, &c. Evelina, as a first and a youthful publication, has been received with the utmost favour and lenity; but would a future attempt be treated with the same mercy?—­no, my dear Susy, quite the contrary; there would not, indeed, be the same plea to save it; it would no longer be a young lady’s first appearance in public; those who have met with less indulgence would all peck at any second work; and even those who most encouraged the first offspring might prove enemies to the second, by receiving it with expectations which it could not answer:  and so, between either the friends or the foes of the eldest, the second would stand an equally bad chance, and a million of flaws which were overlooked in the former would be ridiculed as villainous and intolerable blunders in the latter.