After the Queen of Beauty comes the Queen of the Blues, Mrs. Montagu, “brilliant in clothes, solid in judgment, critical in talk, with the air and manner of a woman accustomed to being distinguished and of great parts.” She writes in her letters of hating “ye higgledy-piggledy of the watering-places,” but seems happy enough combating for precedence “with the only other candidate for colloquial eminence” she thought worthy to be her peer—short, plump, brisk Mrs. Thrale; on the one side a placid, high-strained intellectual exertion, on the other an exuberant pleasantry, without the smallest malice in either. All the “Johnsonhood,” as Horace Walpole calls the circle, musters round the two brilliant ladies, the Great Bear in the centre, for he and Boswell are stopping at the Pelican Inn. The conversation turns on _Evelina_, the universal topic of the day; Johnson declaring he had sat up all night to read it, much to Fanny Burney’s delight, who, thirsting for flattery, sits with observant eyes and sarcastic little mouth, that belies the prudishly-folded hands and prim air. Moving about from group to group is the brilliant Sheridan, walking with his father and wife, and surrounded by the Linley family, to whom the lovely Cecilia is recounting the honours heaped on them in London. Unnoticed among all these great people is a little lame Scottish boy, destined to be the greatest of them all. Mrs. Siddons most likely saw and knew the little fellow then, who afterwards became so true a friend, for Walter Scott, in his autobiography, tells us he was frequently taken to Bath for his lameness, and, after he had bathed in the morning, got through a reading-lesson at the old dame’s near the parade, and had had a drive over the downs, his uncle would sometimes take him to the old theatre. On one occasion, witnessing _As You Like It_, his interest was so great that, in the middle of the wrestling scene in the first act, he screamed out, “A’n’t they brothers?”