He meant Mr. Briggs.(163)

Sir Joshua Reynolds now joined us.

" Are you telling her,” said he, “of our conversation with the old wits?  I am glad you hear it from Mr. Burke, Miss Burney, for he can tell it so much better than I can, and remember their very words.”

" Nothing else would they talk of for three whole hours,” said he, “and we were there at the third reading of the bill.”

“I believe I was in good hands,” said I, “if they talked of it to you?”

“Why, yes,” answered Sir Joshua, laughing, “we joined in from time to time.  Gibbon says he read the whole five volumes in a day.”

“’Tis impossible,” cried Mr. Burke, “it cost me three days and you know I never parted with it from the time I first opened it.”

A writer of romances.

Soon after the parties changed again and young Mr. Burke(164)
came and sat by me.   He is a very civil and obliging, and a
sensible and agreeable young man.   Old Lady Galway trotted from
her corner, in        the middle of the evening, and leaning her
hands upon the         backs of two chairs, put her little round
head through two fine        high dressed ladies on purpose to
peep at me, and then trotted        back to her place!  Ha, ha!

Miss Monckton now came to us again, and I congratulated

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her upon her power in making Dr. Johnson sit in a group upon which she immediately said to him,—­

“Sir, Miss Burney says you like best to sit in a circle.”

“Does she?” said he, laughing; “Ay, never mind what she says.  Don’t you know she is a writer of romances?”

“Yes, that I do, indeed,” said Miss Monckton, and every one joined in a laugh that put me horribly out of countenance.

“She may write romances and speak truth,” said my dear Sir Joshua, who, as well as young Burke, and Mr. Metcalf, and two strangers, joined now in our little party.

“But, indeed, Dr. Johnson,” said Miss Monckton, “you must see Mrs. Siddons.  Won’t you see her in some fine part?”

“Why, if I must, madam, I’ve no choice.”

“She says, sir, she shall be very much afraid of you.”

“Madam, that cannot be true.”

“Not true,” cried Miss Monckton, staring, “yes it is.”

“It cannot be, madam.”

“But she said so to me ; I heard her say it myself.”

“Madam, it is not possible! remember, therefore, in future, that even fiction should be supported by probability.”

Miss Monckton looked all amazement, but insisted upon the -truth of what she had said.

“I do not believe, madam,” said he, warmly, “she knows my name.”

" “Oh, that is rating her too low,” said a gentleman stranger.

“By not knowing my name,” continued he, “I do not mean so literally; but that, when she sees it abused in a newspaper, she may possibly recollect that she has seen it abused in a newspaper before.”