“Et centum Tales[1] curto centusse licentur.”

[Footnote 1:  Quere Thrales?—­Printer’s Devil.”]

Other critics have been more lenient or more just.  Enough philosophical knowledge and acuteness were discovered in the work to originate a rumour that she had retained some of the great lexicographer’s manuscripts, or derived a posthumous advantage, in some shape, from her former intimacy with him.  In “Thraliana,” Denbigh, 2nd January, 1795, she writes: 

“My ‘Synonimes’ have been reviewed at last.  The critics are all civil for aught I see, and nearly just, except when they say that Johnson left some fragments of a work upon Synonymy:  of which God knows I never heard till now one syllable; never had he and I, in all the time we lived together, any conversation upon the subject.”

Even Walpole admits that it has some marked and peculiar merits, although its value consists rather in the illustrative matter, than in the definitions and etymologies.  Thus, in distinguishing between lavish, profuse and prodigal, she relates: 

“Two gentlemen were walking leisurely up the Hay-Market some time in the year 1749, lamenting the fate of the famous Cuzzona, an actress who some time before had been in high vogue, but was then as they heard in a very pitiable situation.  ‘Let us go and visit her,’ said one of them, ‘she lives but over the way.’  The other consented; and calling at the door, they were shown up stairs, but found the faded beauty dull and spiritless, unable or unwilling to converse on any subject.  ‘How’s this?’ cried one of her consolers, ’are you ill? or is it but low spirits chains your tongue so?’—­’Neither,’ replied she:  ’’tis hunger I suppose.  I ate nothing yesterday, and now ’tis past six o’clock, and not one penny have I in the world to buy me any food.’—­’Come with us instantly to a tavern; we will treat you with the best roast fowls and Port wine that London can produce.’—­’But I will have neither my dinner nor my place of eating it prescribed to me,’ answered Cuzzona, in a sharper tone, ’else I need never have wanted.’  ‘Forgive me,’ cries the friend; ’do your own way; but eat in the name of God, and restore fainting nature.’—­She thanked him then; and, calling to her a friendly wretch who inhabited the same theatre of misery, gave him the guinea the visitor accompanied his last words with; ‘and run with this money,’ said she, ’to such a wine-merchant,’ (naming him); ’he is the only one keeps good Tokay by him.  ‘Tis a guinea a bottle, mind you,’ to the boy; ’and bid the gentleman you buy it of give you a loaf into the bargain,—­he won’t refuse.’  In half an hour or less the lad returned with the Tokay.  ‘But where,’ cries Cuzzona, ‘is the loaf I spoke for?’ ’The merchant would give me no loaf,’ replies her messenger; ’he drove me from the door, and asked if I took him for a baker.’  ‘Blockhead!’ exclaims she; ’why I must have bread to my wine, you know,