'We talked of a lady's verses on Ireland. MISS REYNOLDS. "Have you seen them, Sir?" JOHNSON. "No, Madam. I have seen a translation from Horace, by one of her daughters. She shewed it me". MISS REYNOLDS. "And how was it, Sir?" JOHNSON. "Why, very well for a young Miss's verses;--that is to say, compared with excellence, nothing; but, very well, for the person who wrote them. I am vexed at being shewn verses in that manner." MISS REYNOLDS. "But if they should be good, why not give them hearty praise?" JOHNSON. "Why, Madam, because I have not then got the better of my bad humour from having been shewn them".'