d affections which she was fully entitled to consult in
arranging her scheme of life. When Lord Macaulay and his school
tacitly assume that these are to weigh as dust in the balance against
the claims of learning, they argue like sundry upholders of the
temporal sovereignty of the Pope, who contend that his subjects
should complacently endure any amount of oppression rather than
endanger (what they deem) the vital interests of the Church. When it
is maintained that the discomfort was amply repaid by the glory he
conferred, we are reminded of what the Strasbourg goose undergoes for
fame: "Crammed with food, deprived of drink, and fixed near a great
fire, before which it is nailed with its feet upon a plank, this
goose passes, it must be owned, an uncomfortable life. The torment
would indeed be intolerable, if the idea of the lot which awaits him
did not serve as a consolation. But when he reflects that his liver,
bigger than himself, loaded with truffles, and clothed in a
scientific _pate_, will, through the instrumentality of M. Corcellet,
diffuse all over Europe the glory of his name, he resigns himself to
his destiny, and suffers not a tear to flow."[1]

[Footnote 1: Almanach des Gourmands.]

Her case for a separation _de corps_ is thus stated in the "Anecdotes
":

"All these exactnesses in a man who was nothing less than exact
himself, made him extremely impracticable as an inmate, though most
instructive as a companion, and useful as a friend. Mr. Thrale too
could sometimes overrule his rigidity, by saying coldly, 'There,
there, now we have had enough for one lecture, Dr. Johnson, we will
not be upon education any more till after dinner, if you please,'--or
some such speech; but when there was nobody to restrain his dislikes,
it was extremely difficult to find any body with whom he could
converse, without living always on the verge of a quarrel, or of
something too like a quarrel to be pleasing. I came into the room,
for example, one evening, where he and a gentleman, whose abilities
we all respected exceedingly, were sitting; a lady who had walked in
two minutes before me had blown 'em both into a flame, by whispering
something to Mr. S----d, which he endeavoured to explain away, so as
not to affront the Doctor, whose suspicions were all alive. 'And have
a care, Sir,' said he, just as I came in; 'the old lion will not bear
to be tickled.'[1] The other was pale with rage, the lady wept at the
confusion she had c