“‘Oh,’ cried Mrs. Thrale, blushing, ’it is my turn to go under the table this morning, Miss Burney!’

“‘And yet,’ continued the Doctor, with the most comical look, ’I have known all the wits, from Mrs. Montagu down to Bet Flint!’

“‘Bet Flint,’ cried Mrs. Thrale; ‘pray who is she?’

“’Oh, a fine character, Madam!  She was habitually a slut and a drunkard, and occasionally a thief and a harlot.’

“‘And, for heaven’s sake, how came you to know her?’

“’Why, Madam, she figured in the literary world, too!  Bet Flint wrote her own life, and called herself Cassandra, and it was in verse.  So Bet brought me her verses to correct; but I gave her a half-a-crown, and she liked it as well.’

“‘And pray what became of her, Sir?’

“’Why, Madam, she stole a quilt from the man of the house, and he had her taken up:  but Bet Flint had a spirit not to be subdued; so when she found herself obliged to go to jail, she ordered a sedan chair, and bid her footboy walk before her.  However, the boy proved refractory, for he was ashamed, though his mistress was not.’

“‘And did she ever get out of jail again, Sir?’

“’Yes, Madam; when she came to her trial, the judge acquitted her.  “So now,” she said to me, “the quilt is my own, and now I’ll make a petticoat of it."[1] Oh, I loved Bet Flint!’

“Bless me, Sir!’ cried Mrs. Thrale, ’how can all these vagabonds contrive to get at you, of all people?’

“‘Oh the dear creatures!’ cried he, laughing heartily, ’I can’t but be glad to see them!’”

[Footnote 1:  This story is told by Boswell, roy. 8vo, edit. p. 688.]

Madame D’Arblay’s notes (in her Diary) of the conversation and mode of life at Streatham are full and spirited, and exhibit Johnson in moods and situations in which he was seldom seen by Boswell.  The adroitness with which he divided his attentions amongst the ladies, blending approval with instruction, and softening contradiction or reproof by gallantry, gives plausibility to his otherwise paradoxical claim to be considered a polite man.[1] He obviously knew how to set about it, and (theoretically at least) was no mean proficient in that art of pleasing which attracts

  “Rather by deference than compliment,
  And wins e’en by a delicate dissent.”

[Footnote 1:  “When the company were retired, we happened to be talking of Dr. Barnard, the provost of Eton, who died about that time; and after a long and just eulogium on his wit, his learning, and goodness of heart—­’He was the only man, too,’ says Mr. Johnson, quite seriously, ’that did justice to my good breeding; and you may observe that I am well-bred to a degree of needless scrupulosity.  No man,’ continued he, not observing the amazement of his hearers, ’no man is so cautious not to interrupt another; no man thinks it so necessary to appear attentive when others are speaking; no man so steadily refuses preference to himself, or so willingly bestows it on another, as I do; nobody holds so strongly as I do the necessity of ceremony, and the ill effects which follow the breach of it:  yet people think me rude; but Barnard did me justice.’”—­Anecdotes.  “I think myself a very polite man,”—­Boswell. 1778.]