“S.S..—­No, pray, Mrs. Thrale.

“Sir Philip.—­Oh, pray do! pray let me see a little of it.

“Mrs. Thrale.—­Yes, do cry a little Sophy [in a wheedling voice], pray do!  Consider, now, you are going to-day, and it’s very hard if you won’t cry a little:  indeed, S.S., you ought to cry.

“Now for the wonder of wonders.  When Mrs. Thrale, in a coaxing voice, suited to a nurse soothing a baby, had run on for some time,—­while all the rest of us, in laughter, joined in the request,—­two crystal tears came into the soft eyes of the S.S., and rolled gently down her cheeks!  Such a sight I never saw before, nor could I have believed.  She offered not to conceal or dissipate them:  on the contrary, she really contrived to have them seen by everybody.  She looked, indeed, uncommonly handsome; for her pretty face was not, like Chloe’s, blubbered; it was smooth and elegant, and neither her features nor complexion were at all ruffled; nay, indeed, she was smiling all the time.

“‘Look, look!’ cried Mrs. Thrale; ’see if the tears are not come already.’

“Loud and rude bursts of laughter broke from us all at once.  How, indeed, could they be restrained?”

“Streatham, Sunday, June 13, 1779.—­After church we all strolled round the grounds, and the topic of our discourse was Miss Streatfield.  Mrs. Thrale asserted that she had a power of captivation that was irresistible; that her beauty, joined to her softness, her caressing manners, her tearful eyes, and alluring looks, would insinuate her into the heart of any man she thought worth attacking.

“Sir Philip declared himself of a totally different opinion, and quoted Dr. Johnson against her, who had told him that, taking away her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly.

“Mr. Seward declared her Greek was all against her with him, for that, instead of reading Pope, Swift, or the Spectator—­books from which she might derive useful knowledge and improvement—­it had led her to devote all her reading time to the first eight books of Homer.

“‘But,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ’her Greek, you must own, has made all her celebrity;—­you would have heard no more of her than of any other pretty girl, but for that.’

“‘What I object to,’ said Sir Philip, ’is her avowed preference for this parson.  Surely it is very indelicate in any lady to let all the world know with whom she is in love!”

“‘The parson,’ said the severe Mr. Seward, ’I suppose, spoke first,—­or she would as soon have been in love with you, or with me!’

“You will easily believe I gave him no pleasant look.”

The parson was the Rev. Dr. Vyse, Rector of Lambeth.  He had made an imprudent marriage early in life, and was separated from his wife, of whom he hoped to get rid either by divorce or by her death, as she was reported to be in bad health.  Under these circumstances, he had entered into a conditional engagement with the fair S.S.; but eventually threw her over, either in despair at his wife’s longevity or from caprice.  On the mention of his name by Boswell, Mrs. Piozzi writes opposite:  “whose connection with Sophia Streatfield was afterwards so much talked about, and I suppose never understood:  certainly not at all by H.L.P.”  To return to the D’Arblay Diary: