“His guest, appalled, could not speak; but he soon discerned that it was grief from coincidence, not distrust from opposition of sentiment, that caused her taciturnity.  This perception calmed him, and he then exhibited a face ‘in sorrow more than anger.’  His see-sawing abated of its velocity, and, again fixing his looks upon the fire, he fell into pensive rumination.

“At length, and with great agitation, he broke forth with:  ’She cares for no one!  You, only—­You, she loves still!—­but no one—­and nothing else!—­You she still loves——­’

“A half smile now, though of no very gay character, softened a little the severity of his features, while he tried to resume some cheerfulness in adding:  ‘As ... she loves her little finger!’

“It was plain by this burlesque, or, perhaps, playfully literal comparison, that he meant now, and tried, to dissipate the solemnity of his concern.

“The hint was taken; his guest started another subject; and this he resumed no more.  He saw how distressing was the theme to a hearer whom he ever wished to please, not distress; and he named Mrs. Thrale no more!  Common topics took place, till they were rejoined by Dr. Burney, whom then, and indeed always, he likewise spared upon this subject.”

[Footnote 1:  About six months.]

After quoting this description at length, Lord Brougham remarks: 

“Now Johnson was, perhaps unknown to himself, in love with Mrs. Thrale, but for Miss Burney’s thoughtless folly there can be no excuse.  And her father, a person of the very same rank and profession with Mr. Piozzi, appears to have adopted the same senseless cant, as if it were less lawful to marry an Italian musician than an English.  To be sure, Miss Burney says, that Mrs. Thrale was lineally descended from Adam de Saltsburg, who came over with the Conqueror.  But assuredly that worthy, unable to write his name, would have held Dr. Johnson himself in as much contempt as his fortunate rival, and would have regarded his alliance as equally disreputable with the Italian’s, could his consent have been asked."[1]

[Footnote 1:  Lives of Men of Letters, &c, vol. ii.]

If the scene took place at all, it must have taken place within a few days after the profession of satisfied and unaltered friendship contained in Johnson’s letter of November 13th.  His next letter is to Miss Thrale: 

“Nov. 18th, 1783.

“Dear Miss,—­Here is a whole week, and nothing heard from your house.  Baretti said what a wicked house it would be, and a wicked house it is.  Of you, however, I have no complaint to make, for I owe you a letter.  Still I live here by my own self, and have had of late very bad nights; but then I have had a pig to dinner, which Mr. Perkins gave me.  Thus life is chequered.”

On February 24th, 1784, Dr. Lort writes to Bishop Percy: 

“Poor Dr. Johnson has had a very bad winter, attended by Heberden and Brocklesby, who neither of them expected he would have survived the frost:  that being gone, he still remains, and I hope will now continue, at least till the next severe one.  It has indeed carried off a great many old people.”