“He is as fond of quotations as my poor ‘_Lady Smatter_,’ and, like her, knows little beyond a song, and always blunders about the author of that.... His whole conversation consists in little French phrases, picked up during his residence abroad, and in anecdotes and storytelling, which are sure to be re-told daily and daily in the same words.... “Speaking of the ball in the evening, to which we were all going, ‘Ah, madam!’ said he to Mrs. Thrale, ‘there was a time when—tol-de-rol, tol-de-rol [rising, and dancing and singing], tol-de-rol!—I could dance with the best of them; but, now a man, forty and upwards, as my Lord Ligonier used to say—but—tol-de-rol!—there was a time!’ “‘Ay, so there was, Mr. B——y,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘and I think you and I together made a very venerable appearance!’ “‘Ah! madam, I remember once, at Bath, I was called out to dance with one of the finest young ladies I ever saw. I was just preparing to do my best, when a gentleman of my acquaintance was so cruel as to whisper me—’B——y! the eyes of all Europe are upon you!‘—for that was the phrase of the times. ‘B——y!’ says he, ’the eyes of all Europe are upon you!‘—I vow, ma’am, enough to make a man tremble!—tol-de-rol, tol-de-rol! [dancing]—the eyes of all Europe are upon you!—I declare, ma’am, enough to put a man out of countenance!” “Dr. Delap, who came here some time after, was speaking of Horace. “‘Ah! madam,’ cried Mr. B——y, ‘this Latin—things of that kind—we waste our youth, ma’am, in these vain studies. For my part, I wish I had spent mine in studying French and Spanish—more useful, ma’am. But, bless me, ma’am, what time have I had for that kind of thing? Travelling here, over the ocean, hills and dales, ma’am—reading the great book of the world—poor ignorant mortals, ma’am—no time to do anything.’ “‘Ay, Mr. B——y,’ said Mrs. Thrale, ‘I remember how you downed Beauclerk and Hamilton, the wits, once at our house, when they talked of ghosts!’ “‘Ah! ma’am, give me a brace of pistols, and I warrant I’ll manage a ghost for you! Not but Providence may please to send little spirits— guardian angels, ma’am—to watch us: that I can’t speak about. It would be presumptuous, ma’am—for what can a poor, ignorant mortal know?’ “‘Ay, so you told Beauclerk and Hamilton.’ “‘Oh yes, ma’am. Poor human beings can’t account for anything—and call themselves _esprits forts_. I vow ’tis presumptuous, ma’am! _Esprits forts_, indeed! they can see no farther than their noses, poor, ignorant mortals! Here’s an admiral, and here’s a prince, and here’s a general, and here’s a dipper—and poor Smoker, the bather, ma’am! What’s all this strutting about, and that kind of thing? and then they can’t account for a blade of grass!’ “After this, Dr. Johnson being mentioned,