She gave me a long and very interesting account of Dr. Goldsmith, who was intimately known here; but in speaking of ‘The Good-natured Man,’ when I extolled my favourite Croaker, I found that admirable character was a downright theft from Dr. Johnson. Look at the ‘Rambler,’ and you will find Suspirius is the man, and that not merely the idea, but the particulars of the character are all stolen thence![38] While we were yet reading this ‘Rambler,’ Dr. Johnson came in: we told him what we were about. ‘Ah, madam!’ cried he, ‘Goldsmith was not scrupulous; but he would have been a great man had he known the real value of his own internal resources.’ ‘Miss Burney,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘is fond of his “Vicar of Wakefield,” and so am I; don’t you like it, sir?’ ‘No, madam; it is very faulty. There is nothing of real life in it, and very little of nature. It is a mere fanciful performance.’ He then seated himself upon a sofa, and calling to me, said: ‘Come, Evelina—come, and sit by me.’ I obeyed, and he took me almost in his arms—that is, one of his arms, for one would go three times, at least, round me—and, half-laughing, half-serious, he charged me to ‘be a good girl.’ ‘But, my dear,’ continued he with a very droll look, ‘what makes you so fond of the Scotch? I don’t like you for that; I hate these Scotch, and so must you. I wish Branghton had sent the dog to jail—that Scotch dog, Macartney!’ ‘Why, sir,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘don’t you remember he says he would, but that he should get nothing by it?’ ‘Why, ay, true,’ cried the Doctor, see-sawing very solemnly, ‘that, indeed, is some palliation for his forbearance. But I must not have you so fond of the Scotch, my little Burney; make your hero what you will but a Scotchman. Besides, you write Scotch—you say, “the one.” My dear, that’s not English—never use that phrase again.’ ‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘it may be used in Macartney’s letter, and then it will be a propriety.’ ‘No, madam, no!’ cried he; ‘you can’t make a beauty of it; it is in the third volume; put it in Macartney’s letter, and welcome!—that, or anything that is nonsense.’ ‘Why, surely,’ cried I, ‘the poor man is used ill enough by the Branghtons!’ ‘But Branghton,’ said he, ‘only hates him because of his wretchedness, poor fellow! But, my dear love, how should he ever have eaten a good dinner before he came to England?’ And then he laughed violently at young Branghton’s idea. ‘Well,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘I always liked Macartney; he is a very pretty character, and I took to him, as the folks say.’ ‘Why, madam,’ answered he, ‘I liked Macartney myself. Yes, poor fellow, I liked the man, but I love not the nation.’”