As he is notorious for his contempt of all artists, whom he looks upon with little more respect than upon day-labourers, the other day, when painting was discussed, he spoke of Sir Joshua Reynolds as if he had been upon a level with a carpenter or farrier.

“Did you ever,” said Mrs. Thrale, “see his Nativity?”

“No, madam,—­but I know his pictures very well; I knew him many years ago, in Minorca; he drew my picture there; and then he knew how to take a moderate price; but now, I vow, ma’am, ’tis scandalous—­scandalous indeed! to pay a fellow here seventy guineas for scratching out a head!”

“Sir,” cried Dr. Delap, “you must not run down Sir Joshua Reynolds, because he is Miss Burney’s friend.”

“Sir,” answered he, “I don’t want to run the man down; I like him well enough in his proper place; he is as decent as any man of that sort I ever knew; but for all that, sir, his prices are shameful.  Why, he would not (looking at the poor doctor with an enraged contempt] he would not do your head under seventy guineas!”

“Well,” said Mrs. Thrale, “he had one portrait at the last exhibition, that I think hardly could be paid enough for; it was of a Mr. Stuart; I had never done admiring it.”

“What stuff is this, ma’am!” cried Mr. B-y, “how can two or three dabs of paint ever be worth such a sum as that?” 161

“Sir,” said Mr. Selwyn(113) (always willing to draw him out), “you know not how much he is improved since you knew him in Minorca; he is now the finest painter, perhaps, in the world.”

“Pho, pho, sir,” cried he, “how can you talk so? you, Mr. Selwin, who have seen so many capital pictures abroad?

“Come, come, sir,” said the ever odd Dr. Delap, “you must not go on so undervaluing him, for, I tell you, he is a friend of Miss Burney’s.”

“Sir,” said Mr. B—­y, “I tell you again I have no objection to the man; I have dined in his company two or three times; a very decent man he is, fit to keep company with gentlemen; but, ma’am, what are all your modern dabblers put together to one ancient? nothing!—­a set of—­not a Rubens among them!  I vow, ma’am, not a Rubens among them!” .....

To go on with the subject I left off with last—­my favourite subject you will think it—–­Mr. B-y.  I must inform you that his commendation was more astonishing to me than anybody’s could be, as I had really taken it for granted he had hardly noticed my existence.  But he has also spoken very well of Dr. Delap-that is to say, in a very condescending manner. " That Mr. Delap,” said he, " seems a good sort of .man ; I wish all the cloth were like him; but, lackaday! ’tis no such thing; the clergy in general are but odd dogs.”

Whenever plays are mentioned, we have also a regular speech about them.  “I never,” he says, “go to a tragedy,—­it’s too affecting; tragedy enough in real life:  tragedies are only fit for fair females; for my part, I cannot bear to see Othello tearing about in that violent manner—­and fair little Desdemona, ma’am, ’tis too affecting! to see your kings and your princes tearing their pretty locks,—­oh, there’s no standing it!  ’A straw-crown’d monarch,’—­what is that, Mrs. Thrale?