This was a grand and busy day. Mr. Swinerton has been some time arranging a meeting for all our house, with Lady De Ferrars.. . .

   I happened to be standing by Dr. Johnson when all the ladies came in; but, as I dread him before strangers, from the staring attention he attracts both for himself and all with whom he talks, I endeavoured to change my ground. However, he kept prating a sort of comical nonsense that detained me some minutes whether I would or not; but when we were all taking places at the breakfast-table I made another effort to escape. It proved vain; he drew his chair next to mine, and went ratt!ing on in a humorous sort of comparison he was drawing of himself to me, -- not one word of which could I enjoy, or can I remember, from the hurry I was in to get out of his way. In short, I felt so awkward from being thus marked out, that I was reduced to whisper a request to Mr. Swinerton to put a chair between us, for which I presently made a space: for I have often known him stop all conversation with me, when he has ceased to

   But no sooner was this done, than Dr. Johnson, half seriously, and very loudly, took him to task.

   "How now, sir! what do you mean by this? Would you separate me from Miss Burney?"

   Mr. Swinerton, a little startled, began some apologies, and Mrs. Thrale winked at him to give up the place; but he was willing to oblige me, though he grew more and more frightened every minute, and coloured violently as the Doctor continued his remonstrance, which he did with rather unmerciful raillery, upon his taking advantage of being in his own house to thus supplant him, and crow; but when he had borne it for about ten minutes, his face became so hot with the fear of hearing something worse, that he ran from the field, and took a chair between Lady De Ferrars and Mrs. Thrale.

   I think I shall take warning by this failure, to trust only to my own expedients for avoiding his public notice in future. However it stopped here; for Lord De Ferrars came in, and took the disputed place without knowing of the contest, and all was quiet.

   All that passed afterwards was too general and too common to be recollected.. . .

   "Ay," cried Dr. Johnson, "some people want to make out some credit to me from the little rogue's book. I was told by a gentleman this morning, that it was a very fine book, if it was all her own. "It

   This gentleman I have good reason to believe is Mr. Metcalf. . . . He is much with Dr. Johnson, but seems to have taken an unaccountable dislike to Mrs. Thrale, to whom he never speaks. I have seen him but once or twice myself; and as he is dry, and I am shy, very little has passed between us. . . .

   While we were debating this matter, a gentleman suddenly said to me, -- "Did you walk far this morning, Miss Burney?" And, looking at him, I saw Mr. Metcalf, whose graciousness rather surprised me, for he only made to Mrs. Thrale a cold and distant bow, and it seems he declares, aloud and around, his aversion to literary ladies. That he can endure, and even seek me, is, I presume, only from the general perverseness of mankind, because he sees I have always turned from him; not, however, from disliking him, for he is a shrewd, sensible, keen, and very clever man; but merely from a dryness on his own side that has excited retaliation.

   "Yes," I answered, "we walked a good way."

   "Dr. Johnson," said he, "told me in the morning you were no walker; but I informed him that I had had the pleasure of seeing you upon the Newmarket Hill."

   "Oh, he does not know," cried I, "whether I am a walker or not -- he does not see me walk, because he never walks himself."

   "He has asked me," said he, "to go with him to Chichester, to see the cathedral, and I told him I would certainly go if he pleased; but why, I cannot imagine, for how shall a blind man see a cathedral?"

   "I believe," quoth I, "his blindness is as much the effect of absence as of infirmity, for he sees wonderfully at times."

   "Why, he has assured me he cannot see the colour of any man's eyes, and does not know what eyes any of his acquaintances have."

   "I am sure, however," cried I, "he can see the colour of a lady's top-knot, for he very often finds fault with it."

   "Is that possible?"

   "Yes, indeed; and I was much astonished at it at first when I knew him, for I had concluded that the utmost of his sight would only reach to tell him whether he saw a cap or a wig."

   Here he was called away by some gentleman.