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CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Corneii University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013167857 
 
Cornell university Linrary 
 PR 3316.A4Z53 1910 
 v.1-2 
 The diary and letters of Frances Burney 
 
 3 1924 013 167 857 
 
Fanny Burney 
 After a painling by E. Burney 
 
THE 
 
 DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 OF 
 
 FRANCES BURNEY 
 
 MADAME DARBLAY 
 
 REVISED AND EDITED BY 
 
 SARAH CHAUNCEY WOOLSEY 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 Vol. I. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1910 
 
Copyright, 1880, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE AMEEICAN EDITION. 
 
 " Miss Bueney," says Lord Macaulay, " did for the English 
 novel what Jeremy Collier did for the English drama, and 
 she did it in a better way. She iirst showed that a tale 
 might be written, in which both the fashionable and the 
 vulgar side of London might be exhibited with great force, 
 and with broad comic humor, and yet which should not 
 contain a single line inconsistent with rigid morality, or 
 even with virgin delicacy. Most of the popular novels 
 which preceded ' Evelina ' were such as no lady could have 
 written; and many of them were such as no lady could 
 without confusion own that she had read. The very name 
 of novel was held in horror among religious people. Miss 
 Burney took away the reproach which lay on a most 
 useful and delightful species of composition. Her ap- 
 pearance is an important epoch in our literary history. 
 'Evelina' was the first tale written by a woman, that 
 lived or deserved to live." 
 
 To have earned and merited praise like this is note- 
 worthy achievement for any woman ; but, with all respect 
 for Madame d'Arblay's powers as a novelist, the fact re- 
 mains that her hold on the regard of modern readers is 
 
Tl PREFACE. 
 
 due less to the fictions by which her celebrity was won, 
 than to a work which only saw the light after her death, — 
 namely, the "Diary and Letters," now presented to the 
 public for the first time in an American edition. " Eve- 
 lina'' and "Cecilia'' — whose wit and pathos dissolved half 
 England in tears, fluttered the fair circle of the Bas Bleu, 
 unloosed Doctor Johnson's ponderous commendations, and 
 kept Edmund Burke up till near morning finishing the 
 volume — now smack of the stale and the old-fashioned, 
 and, except for curiosity's sake, are left on the shelf, 
 crowded out by the great army of modern novels to which 
 they served as pioneers and examples. To be superseded 
 and crushed by the very weight and magnitude of their 
 own following is no uncommon fate with books which 
 have led the way to a new literary departure, and neither 
 author nor reader can justly be held to blame. But so 
 long as human nature continues its past and present prac- 
 tice of exhibiting from age to age the same deviating 
 but always recurring types, — for ever interrupted and 
 for ever renewed, — so long wUl sketches of real life 
 and real character preserve their charm, and those of 
 Madame d'Arblay retain a permanent hold on popular 
 liking. 
 
 The Diary opens with the publication of " Evelina," in 
 the author's twenty-sixth year. Eecording as it does a 
 literary success at once unexpected and unprecedented, 
 and recording it with the fullest detail, it is not surpris- 
 ing that a natural exultation should here and there show 
 itself, upon which the charge of egotism and vanity might 
 be based. But it must be recollected that, in chronicling 
 
PEEFACE. VII 
 
 her successes, and the compliments, large and small, se- 
 rious and comic, which are paid her, Miss Bumey is cater- 
 ing for the entertainment and gratification of the little 
 intimate circle that loved her best, and to which aU that 
 concerned her was a matter of affectionate importance. 
 Prominent in this circle stood her " Daddy Crisp," a man 
 of clever parts and wide accomplishments, who, conceiving 
 himself wronged by society in the cold reception accorded 
 to " Virginia, a Tragedy," — which darling of his imagina- 
 tion, produced at Covent Garden Theatre in 1754, was 
 suffered to die a natural death after ten nights of stren- 
 uously prolonged existence, — invented the ingenious re- 
 venge of retiring utterly from the world, and leading the 
 life of an embittered hermit in the loneliest of country 
 places. Not even a wheel-track led to the door behind 
 which Mr. Crisp sat, nursing his injuries, and criticising 
 men and things with a caustic and acute intelligence. 
 His old friends, the Burneys, alone were in the secret 
 of his residence ; and Frances Burney, whom he regarded 
 as a daughter, was his frequent visitor and correspondent. 
 An able critic of all work save his own, he seems to have 
 played a chief part in the formation of her mind; and, 
 though not in her confidence with regard to " Evelina," he 
 was so well acquainted . with her humorous and descrip- 
 tive powers, as shown by her letters, as to have expe- 
 rienced little surprise when at last her authorship was 
 revealed to him. 
 
 The life of Madame d'Arblay divides itself naturally 
 into four eras. The first — of which we have little record 
 — comprises the twenty-six years of unnoted growth which 
 
vm PKEFACB. 
 
 preceded "Evelina." The second covers those brilliant 
 years during which " Cecilia " appeared and Miss Burney 
 drank the full cup of literary success, — courted, feted,, 
 and surrounded by those close and dear friendships which 
 make the charm of existence. Five years of court sla- 
 very follow ; and then the long half-century, which in- 
 cludes her marriage and motherhood, her residence in 
 France, the loss of her husband, and her death at the 
 advanced age of eighty-eight. " She lived to be a classic," 
 says Lord Macaulay ; " Time set on her fame, before she 
 went hence, that seal which is seldom set except on the 
 fame of the departed." Time set on her as well another 
 and more honorable seal, — that accorded to a soul which 
 preserves to the final limits of old age the qualities which 
 made the excellence of its youth: the tenderness, the 
 moderation, the loyal adherence to duty, the modest piety, 
 the power of devotion to others. "She is true as gold," 
 declared Queen Charlotte, — a testimony the more valua- 
 ble that her austere Majesty would seem to have been 
 little addicted to superfluous commendations or enthu- 
 siasms. No biographer, except perhaps Samuel Pepys, has 
 given so faithful, finished, and detailed a picture of the 
 life of a court as Madame d'Arblay ; and in revising the 
 present edition of her " Diary and Letters," its editor has, 
 so far as was possible, taken pains to leave intact this 
 most unique and curious part of the narrative. 
 
DIARY AND LETTERS 
 
 MADAME D'ARBLAY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 1778. 
 
 This year was ushered in by a grand and most important 
 event ! At the latter end of January, the Kterary world 
 was favored with the first publication of the ingenious, 
 learned, and most profound Fanny Burney ! I doubt not 
 but this memorable affiiir wiU, in future times, mark the 
 period whence chronologers will date the zenith of the 
 polite arts iu this island! 
 
 This admirable authoress has named her most elaborate 
 performance, Evelina ; or, a Young Ladifs Entrance into 
 the World. 
 
 Perhaps this may seem a rather bold attempt and title 
 for a female whose knowledge of the world is very con- 
 fined, and whose inclinations, as well as situation, incline 
 her to a private and domestic life. All I can urge is, that 
 I have only presumed to trace the accidents and adven- 
 tures to which a "young woman" is liable; I have not 
 pretended to show the world what it actually is, but what 
 it appears to a girl of seventeen : and so far as that, surely 
 
 VOL. 1. 1 
 
2 DIARY AND LETTEBS t^'''^* 
 
 any girl who is past seventeen may safely do ? The motto 
 of my excuse shall be taken from Pope's "Temple of 
 Fame " : 
 
 " In every work, regard the writer's end ; 
 None e'er can compass more than they intend," 
 
 A thousand little odd incidents happened about this 
 time, but I am not in a humor to recollect them ; how- 
 ever, they were none of them productive of a discovery 
 either to my father or mother. My aunt Anne and Miss 
 Humphries being settled at this time at Brompton, I was 
 going thither with Susan to tea, when Charlotte acquainted 
 me that they were then employed in reading " Evelina " to 
 the invalid, my cousin Eichard. This intelligence gave 
 me the utmost uneasiness — I foresaw a thousand dangers 
 of a discovery — I dreaded the indiscreet warmth of all 
 my confidants. In truth, I was quite sick with apprehen- 
 sion, and was too uncomfortable to go to Brompton, and 
 Susan carried my excuses. Upon her return, I was some- 
 what tranquiUized, for she assured me that there was not 
 the smallest suspicion of the author, and that they had 
 concluded it to be the work of a man ! 
 
 Chbsinoton, June 18th. 
 
 Here I am, and here I have been this age ; though too 
 weak to think of journalizing ; however, as I never had so 
 many curious anecdotes to record, I will not, at least this 
 year, the first of my appearing in public — give up my 
 favorite old hobby-horse. 
 
 I came hither the first week in May. My recovery, from 
 that time to this, has been slow and sure ; but as I could 
 walk hardly three yards in a day at first, I found so much 
 time to spare, that I could not resist treating myself with 
 a little private sport with " Evelina," a young lady whom 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 3 
 
 I think I have some right to make free with. I had 
 promised Hetty that she should read it to Mr. Crisp, at 
 her own particular request ; but I \«rote my excuses, and 
 introduced it myself. I told hira it was a book which 
 Hetty had taken to Brompton, to divert my cousin Richard 
 during his confinement. He was so indifferent about it^ 
 that I thought he would not give himself the trouble to 
 read it, and often embarrassed me by unlucky questions, 
 such as, " If it was reckoned clever ? " and " What I 
 thought of it?" and "Whether folks laughed at it?" I 
 always evaded any direct or satisfactory answer; but he 
 was so totally free from any idea of suspicion, that my 
 perplexity escaped his notice. 
 
 I have had a visit from my beloved Susy, who, with my 
 mother and little Sally,' spent a day here, to my no small 
 satisfaction ; and yet I was put into an embarrassment, of 
 which I even yet know not what will be the end, during 
 their short stay; for Mr. Crisp, before my mother, very 
 innocently said to Susan, " 0, pray Susette, do send me 
 the third volume of ' Evelina ; ' Fanny brought me the first 
 two on purpose, I believe, to tantalize me." I felt myself 
 in a ferment ; and Susan, too, looked foolish, and knew not 
 what to answer. As I sat on the same sofa with him, I 
 gave him a gentle shove, as a token, which he could not 
 but understand, that he had said something wrong — 
 though I believe he could not imagine what. Indeed, 
 how should he ? 
 
 My mother instantly darted forward, and repeated " Sve- 
 lina — what 's that, pray ? " Again I jolted Mr. Crisp, 
 who, very much perplexed, said, in a boggling manner, 
 that it was a novel — he supposed from the circulating 
 library — '' only a trumpery novel." Ah, my dear daddy, 
 thought I, you would have devised some other sort of 
 1 Dr. Bumey's daughter by his second wife. 
 
4 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 speech, if you knew all ! — but he was really, as he well 
 might be, quite at a loss for what I wanted him to say. 
 
 Two days after, I f^eceived from Charlotte a letter, the 
 most interesting that could be written to me, for it ac- 
 quainted me thai my dear father was at length reading 
 my book, which has now been published six months. 
 How this has come to pass, I am yet in the dark ; but, it 
 seems, the very moment almost that my mother and Susan 
 and Sally left the house, he desired Charlotte to bring 
 him the Monthly Review ; she contrived to look over his 
 shoulder as he opened it, which he did at the account of 
 " EvdiTia; or, a Young Lady's Entrance, into the World." 
 He read it with great earnestness, then put it down ; and 
 presently after snatched it up, and read it again. Doubtless 
 his paternal heart felt some agitation for his girl in reading 
 a review of her publication ! — how he got at the name I 
 cannot imagine. 
 
 Soon after, he turned to Charlotte, and bidding her come 
 close to him, he put his finger on the word " Evelina," and 
 saying, she knew what it was, bade her write down the 
 name, and send the man to Lowndes', as if for herself. 
 This she did, and away went William. When William 
 returned, he took the book from him, and the moment he 
 was gone, opened the first volume — and opened it upon 
 the ode!^ How great must have been his astonishment 
 at seeing himself so addressed ! Indeed, Charlotte says, 
 he looked all amazement, read a line or two with great 
 eagerness, and then, stopping short, he seemed quite af- 
 fected, and the tears started into his eyes : dear soul ! I 
 am sure they did into mine ; nay, I even sobbed as I read 
 the account. 
 
 * Miss Bumey had dedicated " Evelina " to her father. 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 5 
 
 Miss F. Sierttey to Br. Bwrney, 
 
 Chbsinoton, Friday, July 26, 1778. 
 
 My dear and most kind Father, — The request you 
 have condescended to make me, I meant to anticipate in 
 my last letter. How good you are to pave the way for 
 my secrets being favorably received, by sparing your own 
 time and breath to gain the book attention and partiality ! 
 I can't express a third part of either the gratitude or 
 pleasure I feel upon hearing from Susy, that you are read- 
 ing it aloud to my mother ; because I well know nothing 
 can give it so good a chance with her. 
 
 My mother will the sooner pardon my privacy, when 
 she hears that even from ycm I used every method in 
 my power to keep my trash concealed, and that I even yet 
 know not in what manner you got at the name of it. In- 
 deed, I only proposed, like my friends the Miss Brangh- 
 tons a little "private fun," and never once dreamt of 
 extending my confidence beyond my sisters. 
 
 As to Mrs. Thrale — your wish of telling her quite un- 
 mans me ; I shook so, when I read it, that, had anybody 
 been present, I must have betrayed myself; and, indeed, 
 many of my late letters have given me such extreme sur- 
 prise and perturbation, that I believe nothing could have 
 saved me from Mr. Crisp's discernment, had he seen me 
 during my first reading. However, he has not an idea of 
 the kind. 
 
 But if you do tell Mrs. Thrale, won't she think it strange 
 where I can have kept company, to describe such a family 
 as the Branghtons, Mr. Brown, and some others ? Indeed 
 (thank Heaven !), I don't myself recollect ever passing 
 half-an-hour at a time with any one person quite so bad ! 
 so that, I am afraid she will conclude I must have an 
 innate vulgarity of ideas, to assist me with such coarse 
 
6 DIAEY AND LETTERS il778 
 
 coloring for the objects of my imagination. Not that I 
 suppose the book would be better received by her, for 
 having characters very pretty, and all alike. My only 
 fear in regard to that particular, is for poor Miss Bayes ! — 
 If I were able to "insinuate the plot into the boxes," I 
 should build my defence upon Swift's maxim, that " a nice 
 man is a man of nasty ideas." I should certainly have 
 been more finical, had I foreseen what has happened, or 
 had the most remote notion of being known by Mrs. Thrale 
 for the scribe. However, 't is perhaps as well as it is ; for 
 these kind of compositions lose all their spirit if they are 
 too scrupulously corrected ; besides, if I had been very 
 nice, I must have cleared away so much, that, like poor 
 Mr. Twiss after his friends had been so obliging as to give 
 his book a scourge, nothing but hum-drum matter of fact 
 would be left. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest sir. Pray give my duty to my 
 mother, and pray let her know, after the great gun is gone 
 off, that I shaU anxiously wait to hear her opinion : and 
 believe me ever and ever your dutiful and most affec- 
 tionate Fkancesca Sceiblbrtjs. 
 
 Journal resumed. 
 
 July 25. — Mrs. Cholmondeley has been reading ana 
 praising "Evelina," and my father is quite delighted at 
 her approbation, and told Susan that I could not have 
 had a greater compliment than making two such women 
 my friends as Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Cholmondeley, for 
 they were severe and knowing, and afraid of praising d, 
 tort et d trwvers, as their opinions are liable to be quoted. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale said she had only to complain it was too 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 7 
 
 short. She recommended it to my mothei to read ! — how 
 droll ! — and she told her she would be much entertained 
 with it, for there was a great deal of human life in it, and 
 of the manners of the present times, and added that it was 
 written " by somebody who knows the top and the bottom^ 
 the highest and the lowest of mankind." She has even 
 lent her set to my mother, who brought it home with her ! 
 
 Misa F. Bnrney to Miss S. Buraey. 
 
 Chesinoton, July 5, 1778. 
 
 My dearest Sust, — Don't you think there must be 
 some wager depending among the little curled imps who 
 hover over us mortals, of how much flummery goes to turn 
 the head of an authoress ? Tour last communication very 
 near did my business, for, meeting Mr. Crisp ere I had 
 composed myself, I " tipt him such a touch of the hero- 
 ics" as he has not seen since the time when I was so 
 much celebrated for dancing "Nancy Dawson." I abso- 
 lutely longed to treat him with one of Captain Mirvan's 
 frolics, and to fling his wig out of the window. I re- 
 strained myself, however, from the apprehension that they 
 would imagine I had a universal spite to that harmless 
 piece of goods, which I have already been known to treat 
 with no little indignity. He would fain have discovered 
 the reason of my skittishness ; but as I could not teU it 
 him, I was obliged to assure him it would be lost time to 
 inquire further into my flights, since " true no meaning 
 puzzles more than wit," and therefore, begging the favoi 
 of him to " set me down an ass," I suddenly retreated. 
 
 My dear, dear Dr. Johnson ! what a charming man you 
 
8 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 are ! Mrs. Cholmondeley,^ too, I am not merely prepared 
 but determined to admire ; for really she has shown so 
 much penetration and sound sense of late, that I think 
 she wiU bring about a union between Wit and Judgment, 
 though their separation has been so long, and though their 
 meetings have been so few. 
 
 But, Mrs. Thrale ! she — she is the goddess of my idol- 
 atry ! What an eloge is hers ! — an 4loge that not only de- 
 lights at first, but proves more and more flattering every 
 time it is considered ! 
 
 I often think when I am counting my laurels, what a 
 pity it would have been had I popped off in my last ill- 
 ness, without knowing what a person of consequence I 
 was ! — and I sometimes think that, were I now to have 
 a relapse, I could never go off with so much Mat ! I am 
 now at the summit of a high hill ; my prospects on one 
 side are bright, glowing, and invitingly beautiful ; but 
 when I turn round, I perceive, on the other side, sundry 
 caverns, gulfs, pits, and precipices, that, to look at, make 
 my head giddy and my heart sick. I see about me, in- 
 deed, many hills of far greater height and sublimity ; but 
 I have not the strength to attempt climbing them ; if I 
 move, it must be downwards. I have already, I fear, 
 reached the pinnacle of my abilities, and therefore to 
 stand still will be my best policy. 
 
 By the way, not a human being here has the most re- 
 mote suspicion of the fact ; I could not be more secure, 
 were I literally unknown to them. And there is no end 
 to the ridiculous speeches perpetually made to me, by all 
 of them in turn, though quite by accident. 
 
 " An't you sorry this sweet book is done ? " said Mrs. 
 Gast. A silly little laugh was the answer. " Ah ! " said 
 
 1 Mrs. Cholmondeley was wife of the Hon. and Rev. Robert Cholmon- 
 deley, and sister of the celehrated Mrs. Margaret [Peg] WofiSngton. 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 9 
 
 Patty, "'tis the sweetest book ! — don't you think so, Miss 
 Burney ? " N. B. — Answer as above. " Pray, Miss Fan," 
 says Mrs. Hamilton, " who wrote it ? " " Eeally I nevei 
 heard." 'Cute enough that. Miss Sukey ! 
 
 Miss F. Burney to Miss S. Burney. 
 
 Chesington, Sunday, July 6, 1778. 
 
 I have been serving Daddy Crisp a pretty trick this 
 morning. How he would rail if he found it all out ! I 
 had a fancy to dive pretty deeply into the real rank in 
 which he held my book ; so I told him that your last let- 
 ter acquainted me who was reported to be the author of 
 " Evelina." I added that it was a profound secret, and he 
 must by no means mention it to a human being. He bid 
 me tell him directly, according to his usual style of com- 
 mand — but I insisted upon his guessing. 
 
 " I can't guess," said he ; " may be it is you ! " Oddso ! 
 thought I, what do you mean by that ? " Pooh, nonsense ! " 
 cried I, " what should make you think of me ? " " Why, 
 you look guilty," answered he. This was a horrible home 
 stroke. Deuce take my looks ! thought I — I shall owe 
 them a grudge for this ! however, I found it was a mere 
 random shot, and, without much difficulty, I laughed it to 
 scorn. And who do you think he guessed next ? — My 
 father ! — there 's for you ! — and several questions he 
 asked me, whether he had lately been shut up much — 
 and so on. And this was not all — for he afterwards 
 guessed Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Greville. 
 
 There 's honor and glory for you ! — I assure you I 
 grinned prodigiously. He then would guess no more. 
 So I served him another trick for his laziness. I read a 
 
10 DIARY AND LETTERS [177a 
 
 paragraph in your last letter (which, perhaps, you may not 
 perfectly remember), in which you say the private report 
 is, that the author is a son of the late Dr. Friend, my 
 likeness. Now this son is a darling of my daddy's, who 
 reckons him the most sensible and intelligent young man 
 of his acquaintance ; so I trembled a few, for I thought, 
 ten to one but he 'd say : " He ? — not he — I promise 
 you ! " But no such thing ; his immediate answer was : 
 " Well, he 's very capable of that or anything else." I 
 grinned broader than before. 
 
 Journal remmed. 
 July 20. — I have had a letter from my beloved father 
 — the kindest, sweetest letter in the world ! He tells me, 
 too, that he found Mrs. Thrale fuU of Mafoi's jokes, the 
 Captain's brutality, Squire Smith's gentility. Sir Clement's 
 audaciousness, the Branghtons' vulgarity, and Mother Sel- 
 wyn's sharp knife, &c., &c. 
 
 I have also had a letter from Susanne. She informs me 
 that my father, when he took the books back to Streatham, 
 actually acquainted Mrs. Thrale with my secret. He took 
 an opportunity, when they were alone together, of saying 
 that, upon her recommendation, he had himself, as well as 
 my mother, been reading " Evelina." 
 
 " Well ! " cried she, "and is it not a very pretty book ? and 
 a very clever book ? and a very comical book ? " " Why, " 
 answered he, " 't is well enough ; but I have something to 
 tell you about it." " Well ? what ? " cried she ; " has Mrs. 
 Cholmondeley found out the author?" "No," returned 
 he, " not that I know of ; but I believe I have, though but 
 very lately." " Well, pray let 's hear ! " cried she, eagerly ; 
 "I want to know him of all things." 
 
1778,] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 11 
 
 How my father must laugh at the him! — He then, 
 however, undeceived her in regard to that particular, by tell- 
 ing her it was "our Fanny!" for she knows all about all our 
 family, as my father talks to her of his domestic concerns 
 without any reserve. A hundred handsome things, of 
 course, followed ; and she afterwards read some of the comic 
 parts to Dr. Johnson, Mr. Thrale, and whoever came near 
 her. How I should have quivered had I been there ! but 
 they teU me that Dr. Johnson laughed as heartily as my 
 father himself did. 
 
 AuGUS'l 3. — I have an immensity to write. Susan has 
 copied me a letter which Mrs. Thrale has written to my 
 father, upon the occasion of returning my mother two nov- 
 els by Madame Eiccoboni. It is so honorable to me, and 
 so sweet in her, that I must copy it for my faithful 
 joumaL 
 
 Stebatham, July 22. 
 
 " Deae Sir, — I forgot to give you the novels in your 
 carriage, which I now send, ' Evelina ' certainly excels 
 them far enough, both in probability of story, elegance of 
 sentiment, and general power over the mind, whether ex- 
 erted in humor or pathos : add to this that Eiccoboni is a 
 veteran author, and all she ever can be; but I cannot tell 
 what might not be expected from 'Evelina,' were she to 
 try her genius at comedy. 
 
 " So far had I written of my letter, when Mr. Johnson 
 returned home, full of the praises of the book I had lent 
 liim, and protesting there were passages in it which might 
 do honor to Eichardson. We talk of it for ever, and he 
 feels ardent after the denouement ; he ' could not get rid of 
 the rogue,' he said. I lent him the second volume, and he 
 is now busy with the other. 
 
 " Ton must be more a philosopher, and less a father, than 
 I wish you, not to be pleased with this letter ; and the giv- 
 
12 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 ing such pleasure yields to nothing but receiving it. Long, 
 my dear sir, may you live to enjoy the just praises of your 
 children ! and long may they live to deserve and delight 
 such a parent ! These are things that you would say in 
 verse ; but poetry implies fiction, and aU this is naked 
 truth. 
 
 " My compliments to Mrs. Burney, and kindest wishes 
 to all your flock, &c." 
 
 But Dr. Johnson's approbation ! — it almost crazed me 
 with agreeable surprise — it gave me such a flight of spir- 
 its, that I danced a jig to Mr. Crisp, without any prepara- 
 tion, music, or explanation — to his no small amazement 
 and diversion. I left him, however, to make his own com- 
 ments upon my friskiness, without affording him the small- 
 est assistance. 
 
 Susan also writes me word, that when my father went, 
 last to Streatham, Dr. Johnson was not there, but Mrs. 
 Thrale told him, that when he gave her the first volume of 
 " Evelina," which she had lent him, he said, " Why, Madam, 
 why, what a charming book you lent me ! " and eagerly in- 
 quired for the rest. He was particularly pleased with the 
 snow-hiU. scenes, and said that Mr. Smith's vulgar gentility 
 was admirably portrayed; and when Sir Clement joins 
 them, he said there was a shade of character prodigiously 
 well marked. Well may it be said, that the greatest minds 
 are ever the most candid to the inferior set ! I think I 
 should love Dr. Johnson for such lenity to a poor mere 
 worm in literature, even if I were not myself the identical 
 grub he has obliged. 
 
 Susan has sent me a little note which has really been 
 less pleasant to me, because it has alarmed me for my 
 future concealment. It is from Mrs. Williams, an exceed- 
 ing pretty poetess, who has the misfortune to be blind, but 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 13 
 
 who has, to make some amends, the honor of residing in 
 the house of Dr. Johnson ; for though he lives ahnost 
 wholly at Streatham, he always keeps his apartments in 
 town, and this lady acts as mistress of his house. 
 
 "July 25. 
 
 " Mrs. Williams sends compliments to Dr. Bumey, and 
 begs he will intercede with Miss Bumey to do her the 
 favor to lend her the reading of ' Evelina.' " 
 
 Though I am frightened at this affair, I am by no means 
 insensible to the honor which I receive from the certainty 
 that Dr. Johnson must have spoken very weU of the book, 
 to have induced Mrs. "Williams to send to our house for it. 
 
 I now come to last Saturday evening, when my beloved 
 father came to Chesington, in full health, charming spirits, 
 and all kindness, openness, and entertainment. In his 
 way hither he had stopped at Streatham, and he settled 
 with Mrs. Thrale that he would call on her again in his 
 way to town, and carry me with him ! and Mrs. Thrale 
 said, "We all long to know her." 
 
 Sunday evening, as I was going into my father's room, 
 I heard him say, " The variety of characters — the variety 
 of scenes — and the language — why she has had very little 
 education but what she has given herself — less than any 
 of the others ! " and Mr. Crisp exclaimed, " Wonderful ! — 
 it 's wonderful ! " 
 
 I now found what was going forward, and therefore 
 deemed it most fitting to decamp. About an hour after, 
 as I was passing through the hall, I met my daddy (Crisp). 
 His face was all animation and archness ; he doubled his 
 fist at me, and would have stopped me, but I ran past him 
 into the parlor. Before supper, however, I again met him, 
 and he would not suffer me to escape ; he caught both my 
 hands, and looked as if he would have looked me through 
 
14 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 and then exclaimed, "Why you little hussy — you young 
 devil! — -an't you ashamed to look me in the face, you 
 Euelina, you ! Why, what a dance have you led me about 
 it ! Young Friend, indeed ! O you little hussy, what 
 tricks have you served me ! " 
 
 I was obliged to allow of his running on with these 
 gentle appellations for I know not how long, ere he could 
 sufficiently compose himself, after his great surprise, to 
 ask or hear any particulars ; and then, he broke out every 
 three instants with exclamations of astonishment at how 
 I had found time to write so much unsuspected, and how 
 and where I had picked up such various materials ; and 
 not a few times did he, with me, as he had with my father, 
 exclaim, " Wonderful ! " 
 
 London, August. — I have now to write an account of 
 the most consequential day I have spent since my birth ; 
 namely, my Streatham visit. Our journey to Streatham 
 was the least pleasant part of the day, for the roads were 
 dreadfully dusty, and I was really in the fidgets from 
 thinking what my reception might be, and from fearing 
 they would expect a less awkward and backward kind of 
 person than I was sure they would find. Mr. Thrale's 
 house is white, and very pleasantly situated, in a fine 
 paddock. Mrs. Thrale was strolling about, and came to 
 us as we got out of the chaise. She then received me, 
 taking both my hands, and with mixed politeness and cor- 
 diality welcoming me to Streatham. She led me into the 
 house, and addressed herself almost wholly for a few min- 
 utes to my father, as if to give me an assurance she did 
 not mean to regard me as a show, or to distress or frighten 
 me by drawing me out. Afterwards, she took me upstairs, 
 and showed me the house, and said she had very much 
 wished to see me at Streatham, and should always think 
 
17V8.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 15 
 
 herself much obliged to Dr. Burney for his goodness in 
 bringing me, which she looked upon as a very great favor. 
 But though we were some time together, and though she 
 was so very civU, she did not hint at my book, and I love 
 her much more than ever for her delicacy in avoiding a 
 subject which she could not but see would have greatly 
 embarrassed me. Soon after, Mrs. Thrale took me to the 
 library ; she talked a little while upon common topics, and 
 then, at last, she mentioned " Evelina." 
 
 " Yesterday at supper," said she, " we talked it all over, 
 and discussed aU your characters; but Dr. Johnson's 
 favorite is Mr. Smith. He declares the fine gentleman 
 manqu^ was never better drawn, and he acted him all the 
 evening, saying ' he was all for the ladies ! ' He repeated 
 whole scenes by heart. I declare I was astonished at him. 
 0, you can't imagine how much he is pleased with the 
 book; he 'could not get rid of the rogue,' he told me. 
 But was it not droll," said she, " that I should recommend 
 it to Dr. Burney ? and tease him so innocently to read it ? " 
 I now prevailed upon Mrs. Thrale to let me amuse my- 
 self, and she went to dress. I then prowled about to 
 choose some book, and I saw, upon the reading-table, 
 " Evelina " — I had just fixed upon a new translation of 
 Cicero's Lselius, when the library-door was opened, and 
 Mr. Seward entered. I instantly put away my book, be- 
 cause I dreaded being thought studious and affected. He 
 offered his service to find anything for me, and then, in 
 the same breath, ran on to speak of the book with which 
 I had myself " favored the world ! " 
 
 The exact words he began with I cannot recollect, for I 
 was actually confounded by the attack; and his abrupt 
 manner of letting me know he was au fait equally as- 
 tonished and provoked me. How different from the deli- 
 cacy of Mr. and Mrs. Thrale ! 
 
16 DIAKY AND LETTERS [177& 
 
 When we were summoned to dinner, Mrs. Thrale made 
 my father and me sit on each side of her. I said that I 
 hoped I did not take Dr. Johnson's place ; — for he had 
 not yet appeared. " No," answered Mrs. Thrale, " he will 
 sit by you, which I am sure will give him great pleasure.'' 
 Soon after we were seated, this great man entered. I have 
 so true a veneration for him, that the very sight of him 
 inspires me with delight and reverence, notwithstanding 
 the cruel infirmities to which he is subject ; for he has 
 almost perpetual convulsive movements, either of his 
 hands, lips, feet, or knees, and sometimes of all together. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale introduced me to him, and he took his place. 
 We had a noble dinner, and a most elegant dessert. Dr. 
 Johnson, in the middle of dinner, asked Mrs. Thrale what 
 was in some little pies that were near him. "Mutton," 
 answered she, " so I don't ask you to eat any, because I 
 know you despise it." "No, madam, no," cried he; "I 
 despise nothing that is good of its sort; but I am too 
 proud now to eat of it. Sitting by Miss Burney makes 
 me very proud to-day ! " " Miss Burney," said Mrs. Thrale, 
 laughing, "you must take great care of your heart if 
 Dr. Johnson attacks it ; for I assure you he is not often 
 successless.'' " What 's that you say, madam ? " cried he ; 
 " are you making mischief between the young lady and me 
 already ? " 
 
 A little while after he drank Miss Thrale's health and 
 mine, and then added: "'Tis a terrible thing that we 
 cannot wish young ladies well without wishing them to 
 become old women ! " " But some people," said Mr. 
 Seward, "are old and young at the same time, for they 
 wear so well that they never look old." "No, sir, no," 
 cried the doctor, laughing ; " that never yet was ; you 
 might as well say they are at the same time tall and 
 short. I remember an epitaph to that purpose, which is 
 
1778.] OF MADAME B'ARBLAT. 17 
 
 in •" (I have quite forgot what, — and also the name 
 
 it was made upon, but the rest I recollect exactly : — ) 
 
 ■ lies buried here ; 
 
 So early wise, so lasting fair. 
 
 That none, unless her years you told, 
 
 Thought her a child, or thought her old." 
 
 Mrs. Thrale then repeated some lines in French, and 
 Dr. Johnson some more in Latin. An epilogue of Mr. 
 Garrick's to " Bonduca " was then mentioned, and Dr. 
 Johnson said it was a miserable performance, and every- 
 body agreed it was the worst he had ever made. " And 
 yet," said Mr. Seward, " it has been very much admired ; 
 but it is in praise of English valor, and so I suppose the 
 subject made it popular." " I don't know, sir," said Dr. 
 Johnson, "anything about the subject, for I could not 
 read on till I came to it ; I got through half a dozen lines, 
 but I could observe no other subject than eternal dulness. 
 I don't know what is the matter with David ; I am afraid 
 he is grown superannuated, for his prologues and epilogues 
 used to be incomparable." 
 
 " Nothing is so fatiguing," said Mrs. Thrale, " as the life 
 of a wit ; he and Wilkes are the two oldest men of their 
 ages I know, for they have both worn themselves out by 
 being eternally on the rack to give entertainment to 
 others." " David, madam," said the doctor, " looks much 
 older than he is ; for his face has had double the business 
 of any other man's ; it is never at rest ; when he speaks 
 one minute, he has quite a different countenance to what 
 he assumes the next ; I don't believe he ever kept the 
 same look for half an hour together in the whole course 
 of his life ; and such an eternal, restless, fatiguing play cf 
 the muscles must certainly wear out a man's face before 
 its real time." " O yes," cried Mrs. Thrale ; " we must; 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
18 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 certainly make some allowance for such wear and tear of 
 a man's face.'' 
 
 The next name that was started was that of Sir John 
 Hawkins, and Mrs. Thrale said, — " Why now. Dr. John- 
 son, he is another of those whom you suffer nobody to 
 abuse but yourself; Garrick is one, too ; for if any other 
 person speaks against him, you browbeat him in a min- 
 ute ! " " Why, madam," answered he, " they don't know 
 when to abuse him, and when to praise him ; I will allow 
 no man to speak ill of David that he does not deserve ; 
 and as to Sir John, why really I believe him to be an hon- 
 est man at the bottom ; but to be sure he is penurious, and 
 he is mean, and it must be owned he has a degree of bru- 
 tality, and a tendency to savageness, that cannot easily be 
 defended." We all laughed, as he meant we should, at 
 this curious manner of speaking in his favor, and he then 
 related an anecdote that he said he knew to be true in 
 regard to his meanness. He said that Sir John and he 
 once belonged to the same club, but that as he eat no sup- 
 per after the first night of his admission, he desired to be 
 excused paying his share. " And was he excused ? " " O 
 yes ; for no man is angry at another for being inferior to 
 himself! we all scorned him, and admitted his plea. For 
 my part, I was such a fool as to pay my share for wine, 
 though I never tasted any. But Sir John was a most un- 
 clubhahle man ! " 
 
 " And this," continued he, " reminds me of a gentleman 
 and lady with whom I travelled once ; I suppose I must 
 call them gentleman and lady, according to form, because 
 they travelled in their own coach and four horses. But 
 at the first inn where we stopped, the lady called for — a 
 pint of ale ! and when it came quarrelled with the waiter 
 for not giving full measure. Now, Madame Duval could 
 pot have done a grosser thing." 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 19 
 
 Oh, how everybody laughed ! and to be sure I did not 
 glow at all, nor munch fast, nor look on my plate, nor lose 
 any part of my usual composure ! But how grateful do I 
 feel to this dear Dr. Johnson, for never naming me and the 
 book as belonging one to the other, and yet making an al- 
 lusion that showed his thoughts led to it, and, at the same 
 time, that seemed to justify the character as being natural ! 
 But, indeed, the delicacy I met with from him, and from all 
 the Thrales, was yet more flattering to me than the praise 
 with which I have heard they have honored my book. 
 
 After dinner, when Mrs. Thrale and I left the gentle- 
 men, we had a conversation that to me could not but be 
 delightful, as she was all good humor, spirits, sense, and 
 agreeability. Surely I may make words, when at a loss, if 
 Dr. Johnson does. We left Streatham at about eight 
 o'clock, and Mr. Seward, who handed me into the chaise, 
 added his interest to the rest, that my father would not 
 fail to bring me again next week to stay with them for some 
 time. In short, I was loaded with civilities from them all. 
 And my ride home was equally happy with the rest of the 
 day, for my kind and most beloved father was so happy in 
 my happiness, and congratulated me so sweetly, that he 
 could, like myself, think on no other subject. 
 
 Yet my honors stopped not here ; for Hetty, who, with 
 her sposo, was here to receive us, told me she had lately 
 met Mrs. Eeynolds, sister of Sir Joshua ; and that she 
 talked very much and very highly of a new novel called 
 " Evelina ; " though without a shadow of suspicion as to 
 the scribbler ; and not contented with her own praise, she 
 said that Sir Joshua, who began it one day when he was 
 too much engaged to go on with it, was so much caught, 
 that he could think of nothing else, and was quite absent 
 all the day, not knowing a word that was said to him : 
 and, when he took it up again, found himself so much in- 
 
20 DIABY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 terested in it, that he sat up all night to finish it ! Sir 
 Joshua, it seems, vows he would give fifty pounds to know 
 the author ! I have also heard, by the means of Charles, 
 that other persons have declared they will find him out ! 
 
 This intelligence determined me upon going myself to 
 Mr. Lowndes, and discovering what sort of answers he 
 made to such curious inquirers as I found were likely to 
 address him. But as I did not dare trust myself to speak, 
 for I felt that I should not be able to act my part well, I 
 asked my mother to accompany me. We introduced our- 
 selves by buying the book, for which I had a commission 
 
 from Mrs. G . Fortunately Mr. Lowndes himself was 
 
 in the shop ; as we found by his air of consequence and 
 authority, as well as his age ; for I never saw him before. 
 
 The moment he had given my mother the book, she 
 asked if he could tell her who wrote it. " No," he an- 
 swered; "I don't know myself" "Pho, pho," said she; 
 " you may n't choose to tell, but you must know." " I don't, 
 indeed ma'am," answered he ; "1 have no honor in keeping 
 the secret, for I have never been trusted. All I know of 
 the matter is, that it is a gentleman of the other end of 
 the town." My mother made a thousand other inquiries, 
 to which his answers were to the following effect : that for 
 a great while, he did not know if it was a man or a wo- 
 man ; but now, he knew that much, and that he was a 
 master of his subject, and well versed in the manners of 
 the times. 
 
 " For some time," continued he, " I thought it had been 
 Horace Walpole's ; for he once published a book in this 
 snug manner ; but I don't think it is now. I have often 
 people come to inquire of me who it is ; but I suppose he 
 will come out soon, and then, when the rest of the world 
 knows it, I shall. Servants often come for it from the 
 other end of the town, and I have asked them divers ques- 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 21 
 
 tions myself, to see if I could get at the author ; but I 
 never got any satisfaction." Just before we came away, 
 upon my mother's still further pressing him, he said, with 
 a most important face, " Why, to tell you the truth, madam, 
 I have been informed that it is a piece of real secret his- 
 tory ; and, in that case, it will never be known." This 
 was too much for me ; I grinned irresistibly, and was 
 obliged to look out at the shop-door till we came away. 
 
 Steeatham, Sunday, Aug. 23. — I know not how to ex- 
 press the fulness of my contentment at this sweet place. 
 All my best expectations are exceeded, and you know they 
 were not very moderate. If, when my dear father comes, 
 Susan and Mr. Crisp were to come too, I believe it would 
 require at least a day's pondering to enable me to form an- 
 other wish. 
 
 Mr. Thrale was neither well nor ia spirits aU day. In- 
 deed, he seems not to be a happy man, though he has every 
 means of happiness in his power. But I think I have 
 rarely seen a very rich man with a light heart and light 
 spirits. Dr. Johnson was in the utmost good humor. 
 There was no other company at the house all day. After 
 dinner, I had a delightful stroll with Mrs. Thrale, and she 
 gave me a list of aU her " good neighbors " in the town of 
 Streatham. At tea we all met again, and Dr. Johnson was 
 gaily sociable. He gave a very droll account of the chil- 
 dren of Mr. Langton, "who" he said, "might be very good 
 children, if they were let alone ; but the father is never 
 easy when he is not making them do something which they 
 cannot do ; they must repeat a fable, or a speech, or the 
 Hebrew alphabet ; and they might as well count twenty, 
 for what they know of the matter: however, the father 
 says half, for he prompts every other word. But he could 
 not have chosen a man who would have been leas enter- 
 tained by such means." 
 
22 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 " I believe not ! " cried Mrs. Thrale : " nothing is more 
 ridiculous than parents cramming their children's nonsense 
 down other people's throats. I keep mine as much out of 
 the way as I can." " Yours, madam," answered he, " are 
 in nobody's way; no children can be better managed, or 
 less troublesome ; but your fault is, a too great perverseness 
 in not allowing anybody to give them anything. Why 
 should they not have a cherry, or a gooseberry, as well as 
 bigger children ? " 
 
 " Because they are sure to return such gifts by wiping 
 their hands upon the giver's gown or coat, and nothing 
 makes children more offensive. People only make the 
 offer to please the parents, and they wish the poor children 
 at Jericho when they accept it." " But, madam, it is a great 
 deal more offensive to refuse them. Let those who make 
 the offer look to their own gowns and coats, for when you 
 interfere they only wish you at Jericho." " It is difficult," 
 said Mrs. Thrale, " to please everybody." 
 
 Indeed, the freedom with which Dr. Johnson condemns 
 whatever he disapproves is astonishing ; and the strength 
 of words he uses would, to most people, be intolerable; 
 but Mrs. Thrale seems to have a sweetness of disposition 
 that equals all her other excellencies, and far from making 
 a point of vindicating herself, she generally receives his 
 admonitions with the most respectful silence. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale then asked whether Mr. Langton took any 
 better care of his affairs than formerly. "No, madam," 
 cried the doctor, " and never will ; he complains of the ill 
 effects of habit, and rests contentedly upon a confessed in- 
 dolence. He told his father himself that he had * no turn 
 to economy ; ' but a thief might as well plead that he had 
 ■ no turn to honesty.' " Was not that excellent ? 
 
 At night, Mrs. Thrale asked if I would have anything ? 
 I answered, " No ; " but Dr. Johnson said, — " Yes : she is 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 23 
 
 used, madam, to suppers ; she would like an egg or two, 
 and a few slices of ham, or a rasher — a rasher, I believe, 
 would please her better." How ridiculous ! However, 
 nothing could persuade Mrs. Thrale not to have the cloth 
 laid ; and Dr. Johnson was so facetious, that he challenged 
 Mr. Thrale to get drunk ! " I wish," said he, " my master 
 would say to me, Johnson, if you will oblige me, you will 
 call for a bottle of Toulon, and then we will set to it, glass 
 for glass, till it is done ; and after that I will say, Thrale, 
 if you will oblige me, you will caU for another bottle of 
 Toulon, and then we will set to it, glass for glass, tiH that 
 is done : and by the time we should have drunk the two 
 bottles we should be so happy, and such good friends, that 
 we should fly into each other's arms, and both together call 
 for the third ! " 
 
 I ate nothing, that they might not again use such a cere- 
 mony with me. Indeed, their late dinners forbid suppers, 
 especially as Dr. Johnson made me eat cake at tea ; for he 
 held it tin I took it, with an odd or absent complaisance. 
 He was extremely comical after, supper, and would not 
 suffer Mrs. Thrale and me to go to bed for near an hour 
 after we made the motion. 
 
 The Cumberland family was discussed. Mrs. Thrale said 
 that Mr. Cumberland was a very amiable man in his own 
 house, but as a father, mighty simple ; which accounts for 
 the ridiculous conduct and manners of his daughters, con- 
 cerning whom we had much talk, and were aU of a mind ; 
 for it seems they used the same rude stare to Mrs. Thrale 
 that so much disgusted us at Mrs. Ord's : she says that she 
 really concluded something was wrong, and that, in getting 
 out of the coach, she had given her cap some unlucky cuff, 
 ■ — by their merciless staring. I told her that I had not any 
 doubt, when I had met with the same attention from them 
 but that they were calculating the exact cost of all my 
 
24 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1778 
 
 dress. Mrs. Thrale then told me ttat, about two years ago, 
 they were actually hissed out of the playhouse, on account 
 of the extreme height of their feathers ! 
 
 Dr. Johnson instantly composed an extempore dialogue 
 between himself and Mr. Cumberland upon this subject, in 
 which he was to act the part of a provoking condoler : 
 " Mr. Cumberland (I should say), how monstrously ill-bred 
 is a playhouse mob ! How I pitied poor Miss Cumberlands 
 about that affair ! " " "What affair ? " cries he, for he has 
 tried to forget it. " Why," says I, " that unlucky accident 
 they met with some time ago." " Accident ? what accident, 
 sir ? " " Why, you know, when they were hissed out of the 
 playhouse — you remember the time — oh, the English mob 
 is most insufferable ! they are boors, and have no manner 
 of taste ! " Mrs. Thrale accompanied me to my room, and 
 stayed chatting with me for more than an hour. 
 
 Now for this morning's breakfast. Dr. Johnson, as 
 usual, came last into the library ; he was in high spirits, 
 and full of mirth and sport. I had the honor of sitting 
 next to him: and now, all at once, he flung aside his 
 reserve, thinking, perhaps, that it was time I should fling 
 aside mine. Mrs. Thrale told him that she intended tak- 
 ing me to Mr. T 's. "So you ought, madam," cried 
 
 he ; " 't is your business to be cicerone to her." Then sud- 
 denly he snatched my hand, and kissing it, " Ah ! " he 
 added, " they will little think what a tartar you carry to 
 them ! " " No, that they won't ! " cried Mrs. Thrale ; " Miss 
 Burney looks so meek and so quiet, nobody would suspect 
 what a comical girl she is ; but I believe she has a great 
 deal of malice at heart." " Oh, she 's a toad ! " cried the 
 doctor, laughing — "a sly young rogue ! with her Smiths 
 and her Branghtons ! " 
 
 " Why, Dr. Johnson," said Mrs. Thrale, " I hope you are 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 25 
 
 very well this morning ! If one may judge by your spirits 
 and good humor, the fever you threatened us with is gone 
 off." He had complained that he was going to be ill last 
 night. " Why, no, madam, no," answered he, " I am not 
 yet weU ; I could not sleep at aU ; there I lay, restless and 
 uneasy, and thinking all the time of Miss Burney. Per- 
 haps I have offended her, thought I ; perhaps she is angry ; 
 I have seen her but once, and I talked to her of a rasher ! 
 — Were you angry ? " I think I need not tell you my an- 
 swer. "I have been endeavoring to find some excuse," 
 continued he, " and, as I could not sleep, I got up, and 
 looked for some authority for the word; and I find, 
 madam, it is used by Dryden : in one of his prologues 
 he says — ' And snatch a homely rasher from the coals.' 
 So you must not mind me, madam ; I say strange things, 
 but I mean no harm." 
 
 I was almost afraid he thought I was really idiot enough 
 to have taken him seriously ; but, a f^^minutes after, he 
 put his hand on my arm, and shaking his head, exclaimed, 
 " Oh, you are a sly little rogue ! — what a Holborn beau 
 have you drawn ! " 
 
 " Ay, Miss Burney," said Mrs. Thrale, " the Holborn beau 
 is Dr. Johnson's favorite ; and we have all your characters 
 by heart, from Mr. Smith up to Lady Louisa." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith is the man!" cried he, 
 laughing violently. " Harry Fielding never drew so good 
 a character ! — such a fine varnish of low politeness ! — 
 such a struggle to appear a gentleman ! Madam, there is 
 no character better drawn anywhere — in any book, or by 
 any author." I almost poked myself under the table. 
 Never did I feel so delicious a confusion since I was born ! 
 But he added a great deal more, only I cannot recollect his 
 exact words, and I do not choose- to give him mine. 
 
 " Come, come," cried Mrs. Thrale, " we 'U torment her no 
 
26 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 more about her book, for I see it really plagues her. I 
 own I thought for a while it was only affectation, for I 'm 
 sure if the book were mine I should wish to hear of noth- 
 ing else. But we shall teach her in time how proud she 
 ought to be of such a performance." " Ah, madam," cried 
 the doctor, " be in no haste to teach her that ; she 'U speak 
 no more to us when she knows her own weight." " Oh, 
 but sir," cried she, " if Mr. Thrale has his way, she will be- 
 come our relation, and then it wOl be hard if she won't 
 acknowledge us." You may think I stared, but she went on. 
 " Mr. Thrale says nothing would make him half so happy 
 
 as giving Miss Burney to Sir J L ." Mercy! 
 
 what an exclamation did I give. I wonder you did not 
 hear me in St. Martin's-street. However, she continued, 
 "Mr. Thrale says. Miss Burney seems more formed to 
 draw a husband to herself, by her humor when gay, and 
 her good sense when serious, than almost anybody he ever 
 saw." 
 
 " He does me much honor," cried I : though I cannot 
 say I much enjoyed such a proof of his good opinion as 
 
 giving me to Sir J L ; but Mr. Thrale is both 
 
 his uncle and his guardian, and thinks, perhaps, he would 
 do a mutual good office in securing me so much money, 
 and his nephew a decent companion. Oh, if he knew how 
 little I require with regard to money — how much to even 
 bear with a companion ! But he was not brought up with 
 such folks as my father, my Daddy Crisp, and my Susan, 
 and does not know what indifference to all things but good 
 society such people as those inspire. 
 
 " My master says a very good speech," cried the doctor, 
 " if Miss Burney's husband should have anything in com- 
 mon with herself; but I know not how we can level her 
 
 with Sir J L , unless she would be content to put 
 
 her virtues and talents in a scale against his thousands ; 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 27 
 
 and poor Sir J must give cheating weight even then ! 
 
 However, if we bestow such a prize upon him, he shall set- 
 tle his whole fortune on her." Ah ! thought I, I am more 
 mercenary than you fancy me, for not even that would 
 bribe me high enough. Before Dr. Johnson had finished 
 his doge, I was actually on the ground, for there was no 
 standing it, — or sitting it, rather : and Mrs. Thrale seemed 
 delighted for me. 
 
 " I assure you," she said, " nobody can do your book 
 more justice than Dr. Johnson does : and yet, do you re- 
 member, sir, how unwilling you were to read it ? He took 
 it up, just looked at the first letter, and then put it away, 
 and said: 'I don't think I have any taste for it!'- — but 
 when he was going to town, I put the first volume into 
 the coach with him ; and then, when he came home, the 
 very first words he said to me were, 'Why madam, this 
 Evelina is a charming creature ! ' — and then he teased me 
 to know who she married, and what became of her — and 
 I gave him the rest. For my part, I used to read it in 
 bed, and could not part with it : I laughed at the second, 
 and I cried at the third ; but what a trick was that of Dr. 
 Burney's, never to let me know whose it was till I had 
 read it ! Suppose it had been something I had not liked ! 
 Oh, it was a vile trick ! " 
 
 " No, madam, not at aU ! " cried the doctor, " for in that 
 case you would never have known ; all would have been 
 safe, for he would neither have told you who wrote it, nor 
 Miss Burney what you said of it." Some time after the 
 doctor began laughing to himself, and then, suddenly turn- 
 ing to me, he called out, " Only think, Polly ! Miss has 
 danced with a lord ! " " Ah, poor Evelina ! " cried Mrs. 
 Thrale, " I see her now in Kensington Gardens. What she 
 must have suffered! Poor girl! what fidgets she must 
 have been in ! And I know Mr. Smith, too, very well ; I 
 
28 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778i 
 
 always have him before me at the Hampstead Ball, dressed 
 in a white coat, and a tambour waistcoat, worked in gi'een 
 silk. Poor Mr. Seward ! Mr. Johnson made him so mad 
 t'other day ! ' Why, Seward,' said he, ' how smart you are 
 dressed! "Why you only want a tambour waistcoat, to 
 look like Mr. Smith!' But I am very fond of Lady 
 Louisa. I think her as weU drawn as any character in the 
 book — so fine, so affected, so languishing, and, at the same 
 time, so insolent ! " She then ran on with several of her 
 speeches. 
 
 Some time after, she gave Dr. Johnson a letter from Dr, 
 Jebb, concerning one of the gardeners who is very iU 
 When he had read it, he grumbled violently to himself, 
 and put it away with marks of displeasure. " What 's the 
 matter, sir ? " said Mrs. Thrale ; " do you find any fault 
 with the letter ? " 
 
 " No, madam, the letter 's well enough, if the man knew 
 how to write his own name ; but it moves my indignation 
 to see a gentleman take pains to appear a tradesman. Mr. 
 Branghton would have written his name with just such 
 beastly flourishes ! " 
 
 " Ay, well," said Mrs. Thrale, " he is a very agreeable 
 man, and an excellent physician, and a great favorite of 
 mine, and so he is of Miss Burney's." " Why I have no 
 objection to the man, madam, if he would write his name 
 as he ought to do." 
 
 About noon, when I went into the library, book hunt- 
 ing, Mrs. Thrale came to me. She gave me a long and 
 very interesting account of Dr. Goldsmith, who was in- 
 timately known here; but in speaking of "The Good- 
 natured Man," when I extolled my favorite Croaker, I 
 found that admirable character was a downright theft 
 from Dr. Johnson. Look at the "Eambler," and you 
 wiU find Suspirius is the man, and that not merely 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 29 
 
 the idea, but the particulars of the character are all stolen 
 thence ! ^ 
 
 While we were yet reading this " Eambler," 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 hia 
 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 sol- 
 emnly, " 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 Macart- 
 ney's letter, and then it will be a propriety." 
 
 " No, madam, no ! " cried he ; " you can't make a beauty 
 
 I Siuf irina the Screech Owl. See "Bambler" for Tuesday, October 9, 
 1750. 
 
30 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778 
 
 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 vio- 
 lently 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 like Macart- 
 ney myself Yes, poor fellow, I liked the man, but I love 
 not the nation." 
 
 Saturday Morning. — Dr. Johnson was again all him- 
 self; and so civil to me ! — even admiring how I dressed my- 
 self ! Indeed, it is well I have so much of his favor ; for it 
 seems he always speaks his mind concerning the dress of 
 ladies, and all ladies who are here obey his injunctions im- 
 plicitly, and alter whatever he disapproves. This is a part of 
 his character that much surprises me : but notwithstanding 
 he is sometimes so absent, and always so near-sighted, he 
 scrutinizes into every part of almost everybody's appear- 
 ance. They tell me of a Miss Brown, who often visits 
 here, and who has a slovenly way of dressing. "And 
 when she comes down in a morning," says Mrs. Thrale, 
 "her hair wiU. be all loose, and her cap half off; and then 
 Dr. Johnson, who sees something is wrong, and does not 
 know where the fault is, concludes it is in the cap, axid 
 says, ' My dear, what do you wear such a vile cap for ? ' 
 ' I '11 change it, sir,' cries the poor girl, ' if you don't like 
 it.' ' Ay, do,' he says ; and away runs poor Miss Brown ; 
 but when she gets on another, it 's the same thing, for the 
 cap has nothing to do with the fault. And then she 
 wonders that Dr. Johnson should not like the cap, for 
 
1778.] OTf MADAME P'ARBTjAT. 31 
 
 she thinks it very pretty. And so on with her gown, 
 which he also makes her change ; but if the poor girl were 
 to change through all her wardrobe, unless she could put 
 her things on better, he would still find fault." 
 
 When Dr. Johnson was gone, she told me of my mother's 
 being obliged to change her dress. " Now," said she, " Mrs. 
 Burney had on a very pretty linen jacket and coat, and 
 was going to church ; but Dr. Johnson, who, I suppose, 
 did not like her in a jacket, saw something was the matter, 
 and so found fault with the linen: and he looked and 
 peered, and then said, ' Why, madam, this won't do ! you 
 must not go to church so ! ' So away went poor Mrs. 
 Burney and changed her gown ! And when she had done 
 so, he did not like it, but he did not know why; so he 
 told her she should not wear a black hat and cloak in 
 summer ! Oh, how he did bother poor Mrs. Burney ! and 
 himself too, for if the things had been put on to his mind, 
 he would have taken no notice of them." "Why," said 
 Mr. Thrale, very dryly, " I don't think Mrs. Burney a very 
 good dresser." 
 
 " Last time she came," said Mrs. Thrale, " she was in a 
 white cloak, and she told Dr. Johnson she had got her old 
 white cloak scoured on purpose to oblige him ! ' Scoured ! ' 
 says he, ' ay, — have you, madam ? ' — so he see-sawed, for 
 he could not for shame find fault, but he did not seem to 
 like the scouring." 
 
 And now let me try to recollect an account he gave ua 
 of certain celebrated ladies of his acquaintance : an account 
 which, had you heard from himself, would have made you 
 die with laughing, his manner is so peculiar, and enforces 
 his humor so originally. It was begun by Mrs. Thrale's 
 apologizing to him for troubling him with some question 
 she thought trifling, — 0, I remember ! We had been 
 talking of colors, and of the fantastic names given to them, 
 
32 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 and why the palest lilac should be called a sov/pir itmiff^; 
 and when Dr. Johnson came in she applied to him. 
 
 " Why, madam," said he, with wonderful readiness, " it 
 is called a stifled sigh because it is checked in its progress, 
 and only half a color." I could not help expressing my 
 amazement at his universal readiness upon all subjects, 
 and Mrs. Thrale said to him, " Sir, Miss Burney wonders 
 at your patience with such stuff; but I tell her you are 
 used to me, for I believe I torment you with more foolish 
 questions than anybody else dares do." "No, madam," 
 said he, "you don't torment me; — you tease me, indeed, 
 sometimes." "Ay, so I do. Dr. Johnson, and I wonder 
 you bear with my nonsense." "No, madam, you never 
 talk nonsense; you havft as much sense, and more wit, 
 than any woman I know ! " " Oh," cried Mrs. Thrale, 
 blushing, " it is my tuni to go imder the table this morn- 
 ing. Miss Burney ! " 
 
 " And yet," continued the doctor, with the most comical 
 look, "I have known all the wits, from Mrs. Montagu 
 down to Bet Flint!" "Bet Mint!" cried Mrs. Thrale; 
 " pray who is she ? " " Oh, a fine character, madam ! She 
 was habitually a slut and a drunkard, and occasionally a 
 thief and a harlot." " And, for Heaven's sake, how came 
 you to know her?" "Why, madam, she figured in the 
 literary world, too ! Bet Hint wrote her own life, and 
 called herself Cassandra, and it was in verse ; — it began : 
 
 ' When Nature first ordam'd my birth, 
 A diminutlTe I was bom on earth : 
 And then I came from a dark abode, 
 Into a gay and gaudy world.' 
 
 So Bet brought me her verses to correct ; but I gave her 
 half-a-crown, and she liked it as well. Bet had a fine 
 spirit ; she advertised for a husband, but she had no sac- 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 33 
 
 cess, for she told me no man aspired to her ! Then she 
 hired very handsome lodgings and a footboy ; and she got 
 a harpsichord, but Bet could not play ; however, she put 
 herself in fine attitudes, and drummed." 
 
 Then he gave an account of another of these geniuses, 
 who called herself by some fine name, I have forgotten 
 what. " She had not quite the same stock of virtue," con- 
 tinued he, " nor the same stock of honesty as Bet Flint ; 
 but I suppose she envied her accomplishments, for she was 
 so little moved by the power of harmony, that while Bet 
 Flint thought she was drumming very divinely, the other 
 jade had her indicted for a nuisance ! " " And pray what 
 became of her, sir?" "Why, madam, she stole a quilt 
 from the man of the house, and he had her taken up : but 
 Bet Flint had a spirit not to be subdued; so when she 
 found herself obliged to go to jail, she ordered a sedan- 
 chair, and bid her footboy walk before her. However, 
 the boy proved refractory, for he was ashamed, though 
 his mistress was not." 
 
 " And did she ever get out of jail again, sir ? " " Tes, 
 madam ; when she came to her trial, the judge acquitted 
 her. ' So now ' she said to me, ' the quilt is my own and 
 now I 'U make a petticoat of it.' Oh, I loved Bet Flint ! " 
 Oh, how we all laughed ! Then he gave an account of 
 another lady, who called herself Laurinda, and who also 
 wrote verses and stole furniture ; but he had not the same 
 affection for her, he said, though she too " was a lady who 
 had high notions of honor." Then followed the history of 
 another, who called herself Hortensia, and who walked up 
 and down the park repeating a book of Virgil. "But," 
 said he, " though I know her story, I never had the good 
 fortune to see her." 
 
 After this he gave us an account of the famous Mrs. 
 Pinkethman ; " And she," he said, " told me she owed aU 
 vol . I. 3 
 
34 DIARY AND LETTBKS [1778. 
 
 her misfortunes to her wit ; for she was so unhappy as to 
 marry a man who thought himself also a wit, though I be- 
 lieve she gave him not implicit credit for it, but it occa- 
 sioned much contradiction and iU-will." " Bless me, sir ! " 
 cried Mrs. Thrale, "how can all these vagabonds contrive 
 to get at you, of all people ? " "0 the dear creatures ! " 
 cried he, laughing heartily, " I can't but be glad to see 
 them ! " " Why I wonder, sir, you never went to see Mrs. 
 Eudd * among th^ rest ? " " Why, madam, I believe I 
 should," said he, " if it was not for the newspapers ; but I 
 am prevented many frolics that I should like very well 
 since I am become such a theme for the papers." , Now 
 would you ever have imagined this ? Bet Flint, it "seems, 
 once took Kitty Fisher to see him, but to his no little re- 
 gret he was not at home. " And Mrs. Williams," he added, 
 " did not love Bet Flint, but Bet Flint made herself very 
 easy about that." How Mr. Crisp would have enjoyed 
 this account ! He gave it all with so droll a solemnity, 
 and it was all so unexpected, that Mrs. Thrale and I were 
 both almost equally diverted. 
 
 Stebatham, August 26. — My opportunities for writing 
 grow less and less, and my materials more and more. 
 After breakfast I have scarcely a moment that I can spare 
 all day. Proceed — no ! Go back, my muse, to Thursday. 
 Dr. Johnson come home to dinner. In the evening he was 
 as lively and full of wit and sport as I have ever seen him ; 
 and Mrs. Thrale and I had him quite to ourselves ; for Mr. 
 Thrale came in from giving an election dinner (to which 
 
 ^ Margaret Caroline Rudd was celebrated only for having been con- 
 nected with two brothers, named Perrean, in committing a fbrgery, foi 
 which they were both executed, she having betrayed and borne witness 
 against them. The curiosity which she excited at this period no doubt 
 arose from its being studiously spread abroad by the friends of her victinu. 
 that they had been dupes and instruments in her hands. 
 
J 778.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 35 
 
 he sent two bucks and six pine-apples) so tired, that he 
 neither opened his eyes nor mouth, but fell fast asleep. 
 Indeed, after tea he generally does. Dr. Johnson was very 
 communicative concerning his present work of the " Lives 
 of the Poets ; " Dryden is now in the press, and he told us 
 he had been' just writing a dissertation upon "Hudibras." 
 
 " Do you remember, sir," said Mrs. Thrale, " how you 
 tormented poor Miss Brown about reading ? " " She might 
 soon be tormented, madam," answered he, " for I am not 
 yet quite clear she knows what a book is." "Oh for 
 shame ! " cried Mrs. Thrale ; " she reads not only English, 
 but French and Italian. She was in Italy a great while." 
 " Pho ! " exclaimed he ; " Italian, indeed ! Do yoa think 
 she knows as much Italian as Eose Fuller does English ? " 
 " Well, well," said Mrs. Thrale, " Rose Fuller is a very good 
 young man, for all he has not much command of language, 
 and though he is silly enough, yet I like him very well, 
 for there is no manner of harm in him." 
 
 Then she told me that he once said, " Dr. Johnson's con- 
 versation is so instructive, that I '11 ask him a question. 
 ' Pray, sir, what is Palmyra ? I have often heard of it, but 
 never knew what it was.' 'Palmyra, sir ! ' said the doctor ; 
 'why, it is a hill in Ireland, situated in a bog, and has 
 palm-trees at the top, whence it is called Palm-mire.' " 
 Whether or not he swallowed this account, I know not 
 yet.» 
 
 " But Miss Brown," continued she, " is by no means such 
 
 1 Mrs. Thrale (then Mrs. Piozzi), in relating this story, after John- 
 son's death, in her "Anecdotes" of him, adds : " Seeing, however, that 
 the lad" (whom she does not naiie, hut calls a "young fellow") "thought 
 him serious, and thanked him for his information, he undeceived him very 
 gently indeed; told him the history, geography, and chronology of Tad- 
 mor in the "Wilderness, with every incident that literature could fumisli, I 
 think, or eloquence express, from the huilding of Solomon's palace to th« 
 royage of Dawkins and Wood." 
 
36 DIABT AND LETTEKS [1778. 
 
 a simpleton as Dr. Johnson supposes her to be ; she is not 
 very deep, indeed, but she is a sweet, and a very ingenuous 
 girl, and nobody admired Miss Streatfield more. But she 
 made a more foolish speech to Dr. Johnson than she would 
 have done to anybody else, because she was so frightened 
 and embarrassed that she knew not what she said. He 
 asked her some question about reading, and she did, to be 
 sure, make a very silly answer ; but she was so perplexed 
 and bewildered, that she hardly knew where she was, and 
 so she said the beginning of a book was as good as the end, 
 or the end as good as the beginning, or some such stuff; 
 and Dr. Johnson told her of it so often, saying, ' Well, my 
 dear, which part of a book do you like best now ? ' that 
 poor Fanny Brown burst into tears ! " "I am sure I should 
 have compassion for her," cried I ; " for nobody would be 
 more likely to have blundered out such, or any such 
 speech, from fright and terror." " You ? " cried Dr. John- 
 son. " No ; you are another thing ; she who could draw 
 Smiths and Branghtons, is quite another thing." 
 
 After breakfast on Friday, or yesterday, a curious trait 
 occurred of Dr. Johnson's jocosity. It was while the talk 
 ran so copiously upon their urgency that I should produce 
 a comedy. While Mrs. Thrale was in the midst of her 
 flattering persuasions, the doctor, see-sawing in his chair 
 began laughing to himself so heartily as to almost shake 
 his seat as well as his sides. We stopped our confabula- 
 tion, in which he had ceased to join, hoping he would re- 
 veal the subject of his mirth ; but he enjoyed it inwardly, 
 without heeding our curiosity, — till at last he said he had 
 been struck with a notion that " Miss Burney would begin 
 her dramatic career by writing a piece called ' Streatham.' " 
 He paused, and laughed yet more cordially, and then, sud- 
 denly commanded a pomposity to his countenance and his 
 voice, and added, — " Yes ! ' Streatham — a Farce ! ' " 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AHBLAY. 37 
 
 Steeatham, September. — Our journey hither proved, 
 as it promised, most sociably cheerful, and Mrs. Thrale 
 opened still further upon the subject she began in St. 
 Martin's-street, of Dr. Johnson's kindness towards me. To 
 be sure, she saw it was not totally disagreeable to me; 
 though I was really astounded when she hinted at my 
 becoming a rival to Miss Streatfield in the doctor's good 
 graies. "1 had a long letter," she said, "from Sophy 
 Streatfield t' other day, and she sent Dr. Johnson her ele- 
 gant edition of the ' Classics ; ' but when he had read the 
 letter, he said, ' She is a sweet creature, and I love her 
 much, but my little Burney writes a better letter.' Fow," 
 continued she, " that is just what I wished him to say of 
 you both." 
 
 Tuesday morning, Mrs. Thrale asked me if I did not 
 want to see Mrs. Montagu ? I truly said, I should be the 
 most insensible of all animals, not to like to see our sex's 
 glory. " Well," said 'she, " we '11 try to make you see her. 
 Sir Joshua says she is in town, and I will write and ask 
 her here. I wish you to see her of all things.'' Mrs. 
 Thrale wrote her note before breakfast. I had a great 
 deal of private confab afterwards with Lady Ladd and 
 Miss Tharle concerning Miss Streatfield : I find she is by 
 no means a favorite with either of them, though she is half 
 adored by Mr. and Mrs. Thrale, and by Dr. Johnson. And 
 Lady Ladd, among other things, mentioned her being here 
 cnce when Mrs. Montagu came, and blamed Mrs. Thrale 
 for making much of her before Mrs. Montagu ; " who," she 
 added, " has no notion of any girl acquaintance, and, in- 
 deed, makes a point of only cultivating people of conse- 
 quence." 
 
 I determined, in my own mind, to make use of this hint, 
 and keep myself as much out of her way as I could. In- 
 deed, at any rate, a woman of such celebrity in the literary 
 
38 DIAKY AND LETTERS L1778. 
 
 world would be the last I should covet to converse with, 
 though one of the first I should wish to listen to. An 
 answer came from Mrs. Montagu at noon. Mrs. Thrale 
 gave it me to read ; it was in a high strain of politesse, 
 expressed equal admiration and regard for Mrs. Thrale, 
 and acceptod her invitation for the next day. But what 
 was my surprise to read, at the bottom of the letter, " I 
 have not yet seen ' Evelina/ but will certainly get it, and, 
 if it should not happen to please me, the disgrace must be 
 mine, not the author's." 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," cried I, " what does this mean ? " " Why 
 only," said she, " that in my letter this morning, I said. 
 Have you seen the new work called ' Evelina ? ' it was 
 written by an amiable young friend of mine, and I wish 
 much to know your opinion of it ; for if you should not 
 approve it, what signifies the approbation of a Johnson, a 
 Burke, &c. ? " Before dinner, to my great joy. Dr. Johnson 
 returned home from Warley Common. I followed Mrs. 
 Thrale into the library to see him, and he is so near- 
 sighted, that he took me for Miss Streatfield, but he did 
 not welcome me less kindly -when he found his mistake, 
 which Mrs. Thrale made known by saying — " No, 't is 
 Miss Streatfield's rival. Miss Burney." 
 
 At tea-time the subject turned upon the domestic econ- 
 omy of Dr. Johnson's own household. Mrs. Thrale has 
 often acquainted me that his house is quite filled and 
 over-run with all sorts of strange creatures, whom he ad- 
 mits for mere charity, and becaiuse no one else will admit 
 them, — for his charity is unbounded, — or, rather, bounded 
 only by his circumstances. The account he gave of the 
 adventures and absurdities of the set was highly diverting, 
 but too diffused for writing, — though one or two speeches 
 I must give. I think I shall occasionally theatricalize my 
 dialogues. 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 39 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Pray, sir, how does Mrs. Williams like all 
 this tribe ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Madam, she does not like them at all; 
 but their fondness for her is not greater. She and Des- 
 moulins quarrel incessantly; but as they can both be 
 occasionally of service to each other, and as neither of 
 them have any other place to go to, their animosity does 
 not force them to separate. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. And pray, sir, what is Mr. Macbean ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Madam, he is a Scotchman; he is a man 
 of great learning, and for his learning I respect him, and I 
 wish to serve him. He knows many languages, and knows 
 them well ; but he knows nothing of life. I advised him 
 to write a geographical dictionary; but I have lost all 
 hopes of his ever doing anything properly, since I found 
 he gave as much labor to Capua as to Eome. 
 
 Mr. Thrale. And pray who is clerk of your kitchen, 
 sir? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why, sir, I am afraid there is none ; a 
 general anarchy prevails in my kitchen, as I am told by 
 Mr. Levett, who says it is not now what it used to be ! 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Mr. Levett, I suppose, sir, has the office 
 of keeping the hospital in health ? for he is an apothecary. 
 
 Br. Johnson. Levett, madam, is a brutal fellow, but I 
 have a good regard for him ; for his brutality is in his 
 manners, not his mind. 
 
 Mr. Thrale. But how do you get your dinners dressed ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why Desmoulins has the chief manage- 
 ment of the kitchen ; but our roasting is not magnificent, 
 for we have no jack. 
 
 Mr. Thrale. No jack? Why how do they manage 
 without ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Small joints, I believe, they manage with 
 a string, and larger are done at the tavern. I have some 
 
40 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 thoughts {vdth a profovmd gravity) of buying a jack, be- 
 3ause I think a jack is some credit to a house. 
 
 Mr. Thrale. Well, but you 'H have a spit, too ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. No, sir, no ; that would be superfluous ; 
 for we shall never use it ; and if a jack is seen, a spit will 
 be presumed ! 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. But pray, sir, who is the Poll you talk of ? 
 She that you used to abet in her quarrels with Mrs. Wil- 
 liams, and call out, " At her again. Poll ! Never flinch. 
 Poll ! " 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why, I took to PoU very well at first, but 
 she won't do upon a nearer examination. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. How came she among you, sir ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why I don't rightly remember, but we 
 could spare her very well from us. PoU is a stupid slut ; 
 I had some hopes of her at first; but when I talked to 
 her tightly and closely, I could make nothing of her ; she 
 was wiggle-waggle, and I could never persuade her to 
 be categorical. I wish Miss Burney would come among 
 us; if she would only give us a week, we should fur- 
 nish her with ample materials for a new scene in her next 
 work. 
 
 A little while after, he asked Mrs. Thrale who had read 
 " Evelina " in his absence ? " Who ? " cried she ; — " why 
 Burke! — Burke sat up all night to finish it; and Sir 
 Joshua Eeynolds is mad about it, and said he would give 
 fifty pounds to know the author. But our fun was with 
 his nieces — we made them believe I wrote the book, and 
 the girls gave me the credit of it at once." 
 
 "I am sorry for it, madam," cried he, quite angrily, — 
 "you were much to blame; deceits of that kind ought 
 never to be practised ; they have a worse tendency than 
 you are aware of" 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Why, don't frighten yourself, sir; Mian 
 
)778.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 41 
 
 liurney will have all the credit she has a right to^ for I 
 told them whose it was before they went. 
 
 Br. Johnson. But you were very wrong for misleading 
 them a moment ; such jests are extremely blamable ; they 
 are foolish in the very act, and they are wrong, because 
 they always leave a doubt upon the mind. What first 
 passed will be always recollected by those girls, and they 
 will never feel clearly convinced which wrote the book, 
 Mrs. Thrale or Miss Burney. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Well, well, I am ready to take my Bible 
 oath it was not me ; and if that won't do. Miss Burney 
 must take hers too. 
 
 I was then looking over the " Life of Cowley," which he 
 had himself given me to read, at the same time that he 
 gave to Mrs. Thrale that of Waller. They are now printed, 
 though they will not be published for some time. But he 
 bade me put it away. " Do," cried he, " put away that now, 
 and prattle with us ; I can't make this little Burney prattle, 
 and I am sure she prattles well ; but I shall teach her an- 
 other lesson than to sit thus silent before I have done with 
 her." 
 
 " To talk," cried I, " is the only lesson I shall be back- 
 ward to learn from you, sir." 
 
 " You shall give me," cried he, " a discourse upon the pas- 
 sions ; come, begin ! Tell us the necessity of regulating 
 them, watching over and curbing them! Did you ever 
 I'ead Norris' ' Theory of Love ? ' " 
 
 " No, sir," said I, laughing, yet staring a little. 
 
 Dr. Johnson. Well, it is worth your reading. He wiU 
 make you see that inordinate love is the root of all evil : 
 inordinate love of wealth brings on avarice; of wine, 
 brings on intemperance ; of power, brings on cruelty ; 
 and so on. He deduces from inordinate love all human 
 frailty 
 
42 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. To-morrow, sir, Mrs. Montagii dines here, 
 and then you will have talk enough. 
 
 Dr. Johnson began to see-saw, with a countenance 
 strongly expressive of inward fun, and, after enjoying it 
 some time in silence, he suddenly, and with great anima- 
 tion, turned to me and cried, 
 
 " Down with her, Burney ! — down with her ! — spare 
 her not ! — attack her, fight her, and down with her at once ! 
 You are a rising wit, and she is at the top ; and when I 
 was beginning the world, and was nothing and nobody, the 
 joy of my life was to fire at all the established wits ! and 
 then everybody loved to halloo me on. But there is no 
 game now ; everybody would be glad to see me conquered : 
 but then, when I was new, to vanquish the great ones 
 was all the delight of my poor little dear soul ! So at her, 
 Burney — at her, and down with her ! " Oh, how we were 
 all amused ! By the way, I must tell you that Mrs. 
 Montagu is in very great estimation here, even with Dr. 
 Johnson himself, when others do not praise her improperly. 
 Mrs. Thrale ranks her as the first of women in a literary 
 way. I should have told you that Miss Gregory, daughter 
 of the Gregory who wrote the "Letters," or "Legacy of 
 Advice," lives with Mrs. Montagu, and was invited to ac- 
 company her. " Mark, now," said Dr. Johnson, " if I con- 
 tradict her to-morrow. I am determined, let her say what 
 she will, that I will not contradict her." 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Why, to be sure sir, you did put her a 
 little out of countenance last time she came. Yet you were 
 neither rough, nor cruel, nor ill-natured ; but stiU, when a 
 lady changes color, we imagine her feelings are not quite 
 composed. 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why, madam, I won't answer that I shan't 
 contradict her again, if she provokes me as she did then ; 
 but a less provocation I will withstand. I believe I am 
 
1778.J OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 43 
 
 not high in her good graces already ; and I begin (added 
 he, laughing heartily) to tremble for my admission into her 
 new house. I doubt I shall never see the inside of it. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Oh, I warrant you, she fears you, indeed ; 
 but that, you know, is nothing uncommon : and dearly I 
 love to hear your disquisitions ; for certainly she is the 
 first woman for literary knowledge in England, and, if in 
 England, I hope I may say in the world. 
 
 Br. Johnson. I believe you may, madam. She diffuses 
 more knowledge in her conversation than any woman I 
 know, or, indeed, almost any man. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. I declare I know no man equal to her, 
 take away yourself and Burke, for that art. And you 
 who love magnificence, won't quarrel with her, as every- 
 body else does, for her love of finery. 
 
 Br. Johnson. No, I shall not quarrel with her upon that 
 topic. (Then, looking earnestly at me,) " Nay,'' he added, 
 "it's very handsome!" "What, sir?" cried I, amazed. 
 " Why, your cap : — I have looked at it some time, and I 
 like it much. It has not that vile bandeau across it, which 
 I have so often cursed." Did you ever hear anything so 
 strange ? nothing escapes him. My Daddy Crisp is not 
 more minute in his attentions : nay, I think he is even 
 less so. 
 
 Some time after, when we had all been a few minutes 
 wholly silent, he turned to me and said : " Come, Burney, 
 shall you and I study our parts against Mrs. Montagu 
 comes ? " " Miss Burney," cried Mr. Thrale, "you must get 
 up your courage for this encounter ! I think you should 
 begin with Miss Gregory ; and down with her first." 
 
 Br. Johnson. No, no, always fly at the eagle ! down 
 with Mrs. Montagu herself ! I hope she will come full of 
 " Evelina ! " 
 
 Wednesday. — At breakfast. Dr. Johnson asked me if 
 
44 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 I had been reading his " Life of Cowley ? " "0 yes," said I 
 "And what do you think of it?" "I am delighted with 
 it," cried T ; " and if I was somebody, instead of nobody, I 
 should not have read it without telling you sooner what I 
 think of it, and unasked." 
 
 Again, when I took up Cowley's Life, he made me put it 
 away to talk. 
 
 We could not prevail with him to stay tUl Mrs. Montagu 
 arrived, though, by appointment, she came very early. She 
 and Miss Gregory came by one o'clock. There was no 
 party to meet her. 
 
 She is middle-sized, very thin, and looks infirm; she has 
 a sensible and penetrating countenance, and the air and 
 manner of a woman accustomed to being distinguished, 
 and of great parts. Dr. Johnson, who agrees in this, told 
 us that a Mrs. Hervey, of his acquaintance, says she can 
 remember Mrs. Montagu trying for this same air and man- 
 ner. Mr. Crisp has said the same : however, nobody can 
 now impartially see her, and not confess that she has ex- 
 tremely well succeeded. 
 
 My expectations, which were compounded of the praise 
 of Mrs. Thrale and the abuse of Mr. Crisp, were most ex- 
 actly answered, for I thought her in a medium way. 
 
 Miss Gregory is a fine young woman, and seems gentle 
 and well bred. 
 
 A bustle with the dog Presto — Mrs. Thrale's favorite — 
 at the entrance of these ladies into the library, prevented 
 any formal reception ; but as soon as Mrs. Montagu heard 
 my name, she inquired very civilly after my father and 
 made many speeches concerning a volume of "Linguet," 
 which she has lost; but she hopes soon to be able to 
 replace it. I am sure he is very high in her favor, because 
 she did me the honor of addressing herself to me three or 
 four times. 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 45 
 
 But my ease and tranquillity were soon disturbed : for 
 she had not been in the room more than ten minutes, ere, 
 turning to Mrs. Thrale, she said, "Oh, ma'am — but your 
 ' Evelina ' — I have not yet got it — I sent for it, but the 
 bookseller had it not. However, I will certainly have it." 
 
 " Ay, I hope so," answered Mrs. Thrale, " and I hope you 
 wiU like it too ; for 't is a book to be liked." 
 
 I began now a vehement nose-blowing, for the benefit of 
 handkarchiefing my face. "I hope though," said Mrs. 
 Montagu, dryly, " it is not in verse ? I can read any- 
 thing in prose, but I have a great dread of a long story in 
 verse." 
 
 " No, ma'am, no ; 't is all in prose, I assure you. And 
 Dr. Johnson, ma'am," added my kind puffer, " says Field- 
 ing never wrote so well — never wrote equal to this book > 
 he says it is a better picture of life and manners than is to 
 be found anywhere in Fielding." 
 
 " Indeed ? " cried Mrs. Montagu, surprised ; " that I did 
 not expect, for I have been informed it is the work of a 
 young lady, and therefore, though I expected a very pretty 
 book, I supposed it to be a work of mere imagination, and 
 the name I thought attractive; but life and manners I 
 never dreamt of finding." 
 
 "Well, ma'am, what I tell you is literally true; and for my 
 part, I am never better pleased than when good girls write 
 clever books — and that this is clever — But all this time 
 we are kiUing Miss Burney, who wrote the book herself." 
 
 What a clap of thunder was this ! — the last thing in 
 the world I should have expected before my face ! I know 
 not what bewitched Mrs. Thrale, but this was carrying the 
 jest farther than ever. AU retenu being now at an end, I 
 fairly and abruptly took to my heels, and ran out of the 
 room with the utmost trepidation, amidst astonished ex- 
 clamations from Mrs. Montagu and Miss Gregory. I was 
 
46 DIARY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 horribly disconcerted, but I am now so in-ecoverably in 
 for it, that I begin to leave off reproaches and expostula- 
 tions ; indeed, they have very little availed me while they 
 might have been of service, but now they would pass for 
 mere parade and affectation ; and therefore, since they can 
 do no good, I gulp them down. I find them, indeed, some- 
 what hard of digestion, but they must make their own way 
 as weU as they can. 
 
 When dinner was upon table, I followed the procession 
 in a tragedy step, as Mr. Thrale will have it, into the dining- 
 parlor. Dr. Johnson was returned. 
 
 The conversation was not brilliant, nor do I remember 
 much of it ; but Mrs. Montagu behaved to me just as I 
 could have wished, since she spoke to me very little, but 
 spoke that ■ little with the utmost politeness. But Miss 
 Gregory, though herself a very modest girl, quite stared me 
 out of countenance, and never took her eyes off my face. 
 
 When Mrs. Montagu's new house was talked of. Dr. 
 Johnson, in a jocose manner, desired to know if he should 
 Ije invited to see it. 
 
 " Ay, sure," cried Mrs. Montagu, looking well pleased ; 
 " or else I shan't like it : but I invite you all to a house- 
 warming; I shaU hope for the honor of seeing all this 
 company at my new house next Easter-day : I fix the day 
 now that it may be remembered." Everybody bowed and 
 accepted the invite but me, and I thought fitting not to 
 hear it ; for I have no notion of snapping at invites from 
 the eminent. But Dr. Johnson, who sat next to me, was 
 determined I should be of the party, for he suddenly 
 clapped his hand on my shoulder, and called out aloud, 
 ''little Burney, you and I will go together!" "Yes, 
 surely," cried Mrs. Montagu; "I shall hope for the 
 pleasure of seeing ' Evelina.' " " ' Evelina ? ' " repeated he ; 
 " has Mrs. Montagu then found out ' Evelina ? ' " " Yes," 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 47 
 
 cried she, " and I am proud of it ; I am pioud that a work 
 so commended should be a woman's." Oh, how my face 
 burnt ! " Has Mrs. Montagu," asked Dr. Johnson, " read 
 ' Evelina V" " No, sir, not yet ; but I shall immediately, 
 for I feel the greatest eagerness to read it." " I am very 
 sorry, madam," replied he, " that you have not read it 
 already, because you cannot speak of it with a full convic 
 tion of its merit : which, I believe, when you have read its 
 you will find great pleasure in acknowledging." 
 
 Some other things were said, but I remember tliem not, 
 for I could hardly keep my place : but my sweet, naughty 
 Mrs. Thrale looked delighted for me. 
 
 They went away very early, because Mrs. Montagu is a 
 great coward in a carriage. She repeated her invitation as 
 she left the room. So now that I am invited to Mrs. 
 Montagu's, I think the measure of my glory full ! 
 
 Monday, September 21st. — I am more comfortable 
 here than ever; Dr. Johnson honors me with increasing 
 kindness ; Mr. Thrale is much more easy and sociable 
 than when I was here before ; I am quite jocose, when- 
 ever I please, with Miss Thrale ; and the charming head 
 and life of the house, her mother, stands the test of the 
 closest examination, as well and as much to her honor as 
 she does a mere cursory view. She is, indeed, all that is 
 excellent and desirable in woman. 
 
 I have had a thousand delightful conversations with 
 Dr. Johnson, who, whether he loves me or not, I am sure 
 seems to have some opinion of my discretion, for he speaks 
 of all this house to me with unbounded confidence, neither 
 diminishing faults, nor exaggerating praise. Whenever he 
 is below stairs he keeps me a prisoner, for he does not like 
 I should quit the room a moment ; if I rise, he constantly 
 calls out, " Don't you go, little Burney ! " Last night, when 
 we were talking of compliments and of gross speeches; 
 
48 DIAET AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale most justly said, that nobody could make 
 either like Dr. Johnson. "Your compliments, sir, are 
 made seldom, but when they are made they have an ele- 
 gance unequalled; but then when you are angry, who 
 dares make speeches so bitter and so cruel ? " 
 
 Dr. Johnson. Madam, I am always sorry when I make 
 bitter speeches, and I never do it but when I am insuffer- 
 ably vexed. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Yes, sir ; but you suffer things to vex you 
 that nobody else would vex at. I am sure I have had my 
 share of scolding from you ! 
 
 Br. Johnson. It is true, you have ; but you have borne 
 it like an angel, and you have been the better for it. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. That I believe, sir; for I have received 
 more instruction from you than from any man, or any 
 book; and the vanity that you should think me worth 
 instructing always overcame the vanity of being found 
 fault with. And so you had the scolding, and I the im- 
 provement. 
 
 F. B. And I am sure both make for the honor of both ! 
 
 Dr. Johnson. I think so too. But Mrs. Thrale is a 
 sweet creature, and never angry; she has a temper the 
 most delightful of any woman I ever knew. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. This I can tell you, sir, and without any 
 flattery — I not only bear your reproofs when present, but 
 in almost everything I do in your absence, I ask myself 
 whether you would like it, and what you would say to it. 
 Yet I believe there is nobody you dispute with oftener 
 than me. 
 
 F. B. But you two are so well established with one 
 another, that you can bear a rebuff that would kiU a 
 stranger. 
 
 Dr. Johnson. Yes ; but we disputed the same before we 
 were so well established with one another. 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 49 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Oh, sometimes I think I shall die no other 
 death than hearing the bitter things he says to others. 
 What he says to myself I can hear, because I know how 
 sincerely he is my friend, and that he means to mend me ; 
 but to others it is cruel. 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why, madam, you often provoke me to 
 say severe things, by unreasonable commendation. If you 
 would not call for my praise, I would not give you my 
 censure ; but it constantly moves my indignation to be 
 applied to to speak well of a thing which I think con- 
 temptible. 
 
 F. B. Well, this I know, whoever I may hear complain 
 of Dr. Johnson's severity, I shall always vouch for his 
 kindness, as far as regards myself, and his indulgence. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Ay, but I hope he will trim you yet, too ! 
 
 Br. Johnsdn. I hope not : I should be very sorry to say 
 anything that should vex my dear little Burney. 
 
 F. B. If you did, sir, it would vex me more than you 
 can imagine. I should sink in a minute. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. I remember, sir, when we were travelling 
 in Wales, how you called me to account for my civility to 
 the people. " Madam," you said, " let me have no more of 
 this idle commendation of nothing. Why is it, that what- 
 ever you see, and whoever you see, you are to be so indis- 
 criminately lavish of praise ? " " Why, I '11 tell you, sir," 
 said I, " when I am with you and Mr. Thrale, and Queeny, 
 I am obliged to be civil for four ! " 
 
 There was a cutter for you ! But this I must say, for 
 the honor of both, Mrs. Thrale speaks to Dr. Johnson with 
 as much sincerity (though with greater softness) as he does 
 to her. 
 
 WeU, now I have given so many fine compliments from 
 Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, suppose, by way of contrast 
 and variety, I give a few of Eose Puller's. He called here 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 DIAEY AND LETTEES [1778. 
 
 on Saturday morning, with his little dog Sharp, v«ho is his 
 constant companion. When the common salutations were 
 over, and everybody had said something to him and his 
 dog, he applied to me. " Well, Miss Burney, and how do 
 you do ? Pray how do you like my little dog ? His name 
 is Sharp." 
 
 F. B. Oh, very well ! 
 
 Mr. Fuller. I am very glad to hear it; I shall pique 
 myself upon Miss Burney's opinion, and "that sort of 
 thing ; " I assure you I am quite proud of it. I have got 
 an "Evelina" of my own, now, Mrs. Thrale; we shall 
 break the bookseller, for Dr. Calvert sent for it too. I 
 am now in the middle of the second volume : upon my 
 word, Miss Burney, "in that sort of way," 'tis amaz- 
 ing how you 've hit off characters ! Upon my word, I 
 never read anything higher ! I declare I never laughed 
 so in my life. And, give me leave to say, for " that sort 
 of thing," I think that Captain a very ingenious sort of 
 man ; upon my word he is quite smart in some of his re- 
 plies ; but he is too hard upon the old Frenchwoman, too. 
 
 Steeatham, Sbptembee 26. — I have, from want of 
 time, neglected my journal so long, that I cannot now 
 pretend to go on methodically, and be particular as to 
 dates. 
 
 The present chief sport with Mrs. Thrale is disposing 
 of me in the holy state of matrimony, and she offers me 
 whoever comes to the house. This was begun by Mrs. 
 Montagu, who, it seems, proposed a match for me, in my 
 absence, with Sir Joshua Eeynolds ! — no less a man, I as- 
 sure you ! When I was dressing for dinner, Mrs. Thrale 
 told me that Mr. Crutchley was expected. " Who 's he ? " 
 quoth I. "A young man of very large fortune, who was 
 a ward of Mr. Thrale. Queeny, what do you say of him 
 for Miss Burney ? " " Him ! " cried she ; " no, indeed ; 
 
1778. J OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 51 
 
 what has Miss Burney done to have him ? " " Nay, be- 
 lieve me, a man of his fortune may offer himself anywhere. 
 However, I won't recommend him." " Why, then, ma'am," 
 cried I, with dignity, " I reject him ! " 
 
 This Mr. Crutchley stayed till after breakfast the next 
 morning. I can't teU you anything of him, because I 
 neither like nor dislike him. Mr. Crutchley was scarce 
 gone, ere Mr. Smith arrived. Mr. Smith is a second 
 cousin of Mr. Thrale, and a modest, pretty sort of young 
 man. He stayed till Friday morning. When he was 
 gone, " What say you to him, Miss Burney ? " cried Mrs. 
 Thrale — "I am sure I offer you variety." " Why, I like 
 him better than Mr. Crutchley, but I don't think I shall 
 pine for either of them." " Dr. Johnson," said Mrs. Thrale, 
 " don't you think Jerry Crutchley very much improved ? " 
 
 Br. Johnson. Yes, madam, I think he is. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Shall he have Miss Burney ? 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why, I think not ; at least, I must know 
 more of him ; I must inquire into his connections, his rec- 
 reations, his employments, and his character, from his 
 intimates, before I trust Miss Burney with him. And he 
 must come down very handsomely with a settlement. I 
 will not have him left to his generosity; for as he will 
 marry her for her wit, and she him for his fortune, he 
 ought to bid well ; and let him come down with what he 
 will, his price will never be equal to her worth. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. She says she likes Mr. Smith better. 
 
 Br. Johnson. Yes, but I won't have her like Mr. Smith 
 without the money, better than Mr. Crutchley with it. 
 Besides, if she has Crutchley, he wiU use her well, to vin- 
 dicate his choice. The world, madam, has a reasonable 
 claim on all mankind to account for their conduct ; there- 
 fore, if with his great wealth he marries a woman who 
 has but little, he will be more attentive to display hei 
 
52 DIAKT AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 merit than if she was equally rich, in order to show that 
 the woman he has chosen deserves from the world all the 
 respect and admiration it can bestow, or that else she 
 would not have been his choice. 
 
 Mrs. Thrah. I believe young Smith is the better man. 
 
 F. B. Well, I won't be rash in thinking of either ; I 
 will take some time for consideration before I fix. 
 
 Br. Johnson. Why, I don't hold it to be delicate to 
 offer marriages to ladies, even in jest, nor do I approve 
 such sort of jocularity ; yet for once I must break through 
 the rules of decorum, and propose a match mygelf for 
 Miss Bumey. I therefore nominate Sir J L . 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. I '11 give you my word, sir, you are not the 
 first to say that, for my master the other morning, when we 
 
 were alone, said, " What would I give that Sir J L 
 
 was married to Miss Bumey ; it might restore him to our 
 family." So spoke his uncle and guardian. 
 
 F. B. He, he ! Ha, ha ! He, he ! Ha, ha ! 
 
 Dr. Johnson. That was elegantly said of my master, and 
 nobly said, and not in the vulgar way we have been saying 
 it. And where, madam, will you find another man in trade 
 who will make such a speech — who will be capable of 
 making such a speech ? — Well, I am glad my master takes 
 so to Miss Bumey ; I would have everybody take to Miss 
 Bumey, so as they allow me to take to her most ! Yet I 
 
 don't know whether Sir J L should have her, 
 
 neither. I should be afraid for her ; I don't think I would 
 hand her to him. 
 
 F. B. Why, now, what a fine match is here broken off! 
 
 Some time after, when we were in the library, he asked 
 me very gravely if I loved reading ? " Yes," quoth I. 
 "Why do you doubt it, sir?" cried Mrs. Thrale. '"Be- 
 cause," answered he, "I never see her with a book in 
 her hand. I have taken notice that she never has 
 
1778.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 63 
 
 been reading whenever I have come into the room." 
 " Sir," quoth I, courageously, " I am always afraid of be- 
 ing caught reading, lest I should pass for being studious 
 or affected, and therefore, instead of making a display of 
 books, I always try to hide them, as is the case at this 
 very time, for I have now your ' Life of "Waller ' under my 
 gloves behind me. However, since I am piqued to it, I '11 
 boldly produce my voucher." And so saying, I put the 
 book on the table, and opened it with a flourishing air. 
 And then the laugh was on my side, for he could not help 
 making a droll face ; and if he had known Kitty Cooke, I 
 would have called out, " There I had you, my lad ! " 
 
 "And now," quoth Mrs. Thrale, "ynu must be more 
 careful than ever of not being thought bookish, for now 
 you are known for a wit and a iel esprit, you will be 
 watched, and if you are not upon your guard, all the 
 misses will rise up against you." 
 
 Br. Johnson. Nay, nay, now it is too late. You may 
 read as much as you will now, for you are in for it — you 
 are dipped over head and ears in the Castalian stream, 
 and so I hope you will be invulnerable. Another time, 
 when we were talking of the licentiousness of the news- 
 papers. Dr. Johnson said : " I wonder they have never yet 
 had a touch at little Burney." 
 
 " Oh, Heaven forbid ! " cried I : " I am sure if they did, 
 I believe I should try the depth of Mr. Thrale's spring- 
 pond." "No, no, my dear, no," cried he, kindly, "you 
 must resolve not to mind them; you must set yourself 
 against them, and not let any such nonsense affect you." 
 " There is nobody," said Mrs. Thrale, " tempers the satirist 
 with so much meekness as Miss Burney." Satirist, indeed! 
 is it not a satire upon words to call me so ? 
 
 " I hope to Heaven I shall never be tried," cried I, " for 
 I am »;ire I should never bear it. Of my book they may 
 
54 DIABY ANB LETTERS [1778. 
 
 say what they will and welcome, but if they touch at me 
 
 I shall be ." " Nay," said Mrs. Thrale, " if you are 
 
 not afraid for the book, I am sure they can say no harm of 
 the author." "Never let them know," said Dr. Johnson, 
 " which way you shall most mind them, and then they wiE 
 stick to the book ; but you must never acknowledge how 
 tender you are for the author." 
 
 Tuesday morning our breakfast was delightful. We had 
 Mr. Seward, Mr. Embry, and Lady Ladd added to our 
 usual party, and Dr. Johnson was quite in a sportive 
 humor. But I can only write some few speeches, want- 
 ing time to be prolix, not inclination. "Sir," said Mrs. 
 Thrale to Dr. Johnson, "why did you not sooner leave 
 your wine yesterday, and come to us ? we had a Miss who 
 sung and played like anything ! " " Ay, had you ? " said 
 he, droUy ; " and why did you not call me to the rapturous 
 entertainment ? " "Why, I was afraid you would not have 
 praised her, for I sat thinking all the time myself whether 
 it were better to sing and play as she sang and played, or 
 to do nothing. And at first I thought she had the best of 
 it, for we were but stupid before she began ; but afterwards 
 she made it so long, that I thought nothing had all the 
 advantage. But, sir. Lady Ladd has had the same mis- 
 fortune you had, for she has fallen down and hurt herself 
 woefully." " How did that happen, madam ? " " Why, 
 sir, the heel of her shoe caught in something." " Heel ? " 
 replied he ; " nay, then, if her ladyship, who walks six foot 
 high" (N.B. this is a fact), " will wear a high heel, I think 
 she almost deserves a fall." " Nay, sir, my heel was not 
 so high !" cried Lady Ladd. 
 
 "But, madam, why should you wear any? That for 
 which there is no occasion, had always better be dispensed 
 witb. However, a fall to your ladyship is nothing," con- 
 tif led he, laughing, "you, who are light and little, can 
 
1778., OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 55 
 
 soon recover; but I, who am a gross man, might suffer 
 severely: with your ladyship, the case is different, for 
 'Airy substance soon unites again.'" Poor Lady Ladd, 
 who is quite a strapper, made no answer, but she was not 
 offended. Mrs. Thrale and I afterwards settled, that not 
 knowing his allusion from the "Eape of the Lock," she 
 only thought ho had made a stupid sort of speech, and did 
 not trouble herself to find a meaning to it. 
 
 " However," continued he, " if my fall does confine me, 
 I will make my confinement pleasant, for. Miss Burney 
 shall nurse me — positively !" (and he slapped his hand on 
 the table), " and then, she shall sing to me, and soothe my 
 cares." Mr. Thrale then offered to carry Mr. Seward, who 
 was obliged to go to town, in the coach with him, — and 
 Mr. Embry also left us. But Dr. Johnson sat with Mrs. 
 Thrale, Lady Ladd, and me, for an hour or two. The sub- 
 ject was given by Lady Ladd ; it was the respect due from 
 the lower class of the people. " I know my place," said 
 she, " and I always take it : and I 've no notion of not 
 taking it. But Mrs. Thrale lets all sort of people do just 
 as they 've a mind by her." 
 
 "Ay," said Mrs. Thrale, "why should I torment and 
 worry myself about all the paltry marks of respect that 
 consist in bows and courtesies ? — I have no idea of troub- 
 ling myself about the manners of all the people I mix 
 with." 
 
 " N'o," said Lady Ladd, " so they will take aU sorts of 
 liberties with you. I remember, when you were at my 
 house, how the hairdresser flung down the comb as soon as 
 you were dressed, and went out of the room without mak- 
 ing a bow." 
 
 "Well, all the better," said Mrs. Thrale; "for if he had 
 made me one, ten thousand to one if I had seen it. I was 
 in as great haste to have done with him, as he could be 
 
56 UIABY AND LETTERS [1778. 
 
 to have done with me. I was glad enough to get him out 
 of- the room ; I did not want him to stand bowing and 
 cringing.'' 
 
 "If any man had hehaved so insolently to me," an- 
 swered she, " I would never again have suffered him in my 
 house." 
 
 "Well/' said Mrs. Thrale, "your ladyship has a great 
 deal more dignity than I have ! — Dr. Johnson, we are 
 talking of the respect due from inferiors ; and Lady Ladd 
 is of the same side you are." 
 
 " Why, madam," said he, " subordination is always ne- 
 cessary to the preservation of order and decorum." 
 
 " I protest," said Lady Ladd, " I have no notion of sub- 
 mitting to any kind of impertinence: and I never will 
 bear either to have any person nod to me, or enter a room 
 where I am without bowing." 
 
 " But, madam," said Dr. Johnson, " what if they will 
 nod, and what if they won't bow ? — how then ? " 
 
 " Why I always tell them of it," said she. 
 
 " Oh, commend me to that ! " cried Mrs. Thrale , " I 'd 
 sooner never see another bow in my life, than turn dancing 
 master to hair-dressers." 
 
 The doctor laughed his approbation, but said that every 
 man had a right to a certain degree of respect, and no man 
 liked to be defrauded of that right. ' 
 
 As my dear father spent the rest of the day here, I will 
 not further particularize, but leave accounts to his better 
 
 communication. He probably told you that the P 
 
 family came in to tea; and, as ha knows Mrs. P , pray 
 
 tell him what Dr. Johnson says of her. When they were 
 gone, Mrs. Thrale complained that she was qidte worn out 
 with that tiresome silly woman, who had talked of herfa- 
 mily and affairs till she was sick to death of hearing her. 
 " Madam," said he, " Why do you blame the woman for the 
 
1778.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 57 
 
 only sensible thing she could do — talking of her lankily 
 and her affairs ? For how should a woman who is as 
 empty as a drum, talk upon any other subject ? — If you 
 speak to her of the sun, she does not know it rises in the 
 east; — if you speak to her of the moon, she does not know 
 it changes at the full ; — if you speak to her of the queen, 
 she does not know she is the king's wife ; — how, then, can 
 you blame her for talking of her family and affairs 1 " 
 
58 DIARY AND LETTERS (177». 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1779—1780. 
 
 St. Martin's Street, January 1779. On Friday, a 
 had a visit from Dr. Johnson ! he came on purpose to 
 reason with me about this pamphlet ^, which he had heard 
 from my father had so greatly disturbed me. Shall I not 
 love him more than ever ? However, Miss Young was 
 just arrived, and Mr. Bremner spent the evening here, and 
 therefore he had the delicacy and goodness to forbear 
 coming to the point. Yet he said several things that I 
 understood, though they were unintelligible to all others ; 
 and he was more kind, more good-humored, more flatter- 
 ing to me than ever. Indeed, my uneasiness upon this 
 subject has met with more indulgence from him than from 
 anybody. He repeatedly charged me not to fret ; and bid 
 me not repine at my success, but think of Floretta, in the 
 Fairy Tale, who found sweetness and consolation in her 
 wit suf&cient to counterbalance her scoffers and libellers ! 
 Indeed he was all good humor and kindness, and seemed 
 quite bent on giving me comfort as well as flattery. 
 
 The next evening, just as I was dressed for my formi- 
 dable visit at Sir Joshua's, I received a letter from Mrs. 
 Thrale, the longest and most delightful she has ever writ- 
 ten me. It contains, indeed, warm expostulations upon 
 my uneasiness, and earnest remonstrances that I would 
 
 1 A pamphlet had appeared, in which Miss Bumey's name was inci 
 dentally mentioned. 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 59 
 
 overcome it; but that she should think me worth the 
 trouble of reproof, and the danger of sincerity, flattered, 
 soothed, and cheered me inexpressibly ; and she speaks so 
 affectionately of her regard for me, that I feel more con- 
 vinced of it than ever. 
 
 Now to this grand visit : which was become more tre- 
 u:endous than ever from the pamphlet business, as I felt 
 almost ashamed to see Sir Joshua, and could not but con- 
 clude he would think of it too. We found the Miss Pal- 
 mers alone. We were, for near an hour, q^uite easy, chatty, 
 and comfortable; no pointed speech was made, and no 
 starer entered. 
 
 Soon after, Sir Joshua returned home. He paid his 
 compliments to everybody, and then brought a chair next 
 mine, and said : " So you were afraid to come among us ? " 
 
 I don't know if I wrote- to you a speech to that purpose, 
 which I made to the Miss Palmers ? and which, I suppose, 
 they had repeated to him. He went on, saying I might 
 as well fear hobgoblins, and that I had only to hold up 
 my head to be above them all. After this address, his 
 behavior was exactly what my wishes would have dic- 
 tated to him for my own ease and quietness ; for he never 
 once even alluded to my book, but conversed rationally, 
 gaily, and serenely: and so I became more comfortable 
 than I had been ever since the first entrance of company. 
 Our subject was chiefly Dr. Johnson's Lives of the Poets ; 
 we had both read the same, and therefore could discuss 
 them with equal pleasure, and we both were charmed with 
 them, and therefore could praise them with equal warmth ; 
 and we both love and reverence the writer, and therefore 
 could mix observations on the book and the author with 
 equal readiness. 
 
 WeU, while this was going forward, a violent rapping 
 bespoke, I was sure, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and I ran from 
 
60 DIABT AND LETTERS [1779 
 
 the standers, and turning my back against the door, 
 looked over Miss Palmer's cards ; for you may weU ima- 
 gine, I was really in a tremor at a meeting which so long 
 has been in agitation, and with the person who, of all per- 
 sons, has been most warm and enthusiastic for my book. 
 She had not, however, been in the room half an instant, 
 ere my father came up to me, and tapping me on the 
 shoulder, said, " Fanny here 's a lady who wishes to speak 
 to you." 
 
 I curtseyed in silence, she too curtseyed, and fixed her 
 eyes full on my face, and then tapping me with her fan, 
 she cried : " Come, come, you must not look grave upon 
 me." Upon this, I te-he'd ; she now looked at me yet 
 more earnestly, and, after an odd silence, said, abruptly : 
 " But is it true ? " " What, ma'am ? " 
 
 " It can't be ! — tell me, though, is it true ? " 
 
 I could only simper. 
 
 " Why don't you tell me ? — but it can't be — I don't 
 believe it ! — no, you are an impostor ! " 
 
 Sir Joshua and Lord Palmerston were both at her side — 
 oh, how notably silly must I look ! She again repeated 
 her question of " Is it true ? " and I again affected not to 
 understand her ; and then Sir Joshua, taking hold of her 
 arm, attempted to pull her away, saying, "Come, come, 
 Mrs. Cholmondeley, I won't have her overpowered here ! " 
 I love Sir Joshua much for this. But Mrs. Cholmondeley, 
 turning to him, said, with quickness and vehemence : "Why, 
 I ain't going to kiU her ! don't be afraid, I shan't compli- 
 ment her ! — I can't, indeed." Then, taking my hand, she 
 led me through them all, to another part of the room, 
 where again she examined my phiz, and viewed and re- 
 viewed my whole person. " Now," said she, " do tell me ; 
 is it true ? " 
 
 " What, ma'am ? — I don't — I don't know what " 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 61 
 
 " Pho ! what, — why you know what : in short, can you 
 read ? and can you write ? " 
 
 "N—o, ma'am!" 
 
 " I thought so," cried she : " I have suspected it was a 
 trick, some time, and now I am sure of it. You are too 
 young by half! — it can't be!" I laughed and would 
 have got away, but she would not let me. 
 
 " No," cried she, " one thing you must, at least, tell me ; 
 — are you very conceited ? Come, answer me," continued 
 she. "You won't? Mrs. Buruey, Dr. Burney, — come 
 here, — tell me if she is not very conceited ? — if she is not 
 cat up with conceit by this time ? " They were both 
 pleased to answer " Not half enough." 
 
 " Well," exclaimed she, " that is the most wonderful 
 part of all ! Why that is yet more extraordinary than 
 writing the book ! " I then got away from her, and again 
 looked over Miss Palmer's cards : but she was after me 
 in a minute. " Pray, Miss Burney," cried she, aloud, " do 
 you know anything of this game ? " 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "No?" repeated she; "mafoi, that's a pity!" This 
 raised such a laugh, I was forced to move on ; yet every- 
 body seemed to be afraid to laugh, too, and studying to be 
 delicate, as if they had been cautioned; which, I have 
 since found, was really the case, and by Sir Joshua him- 
 self. Again, however, she was at my side. " What game 
 do you like. Miss Burney ? " cried she. " I play at none, 
 ma'am." " No ? pardie, I wonder at that ! " Did you evei 
 know such a toad ? Again I moved on, and got behind 
 Mr. W. Burke, who, turning round to me, said : " This 
 is not very politic in us. Miss Burney, to play at cards, 
 and have you listen to our follies." There 's for you ! I am 
 to pass for a censoress now. My frank will hold no more. 
 Adieu, my dearest Susan. 
 
62 DIARY AND LETTERS [1779 
 
 January 11. 
 
 Tour repeated call, my dear Susan, makes me once more 
 attempt to finish my visit to Sir Joshua : but I have very 
 much forgotten where I left off; therefore, if I am guilty 
 of repetition or tautology, you must not much marvel. 
 Mrs. Cholmondeley hunted me quite round the card-table, 
 from chair to chair, repeating various speeches of Mad.ame 
 Duval ; and when, at last, I got behind a sofa, out of her 
 reach, she called out aloud, " PoUy, Pollj' ! only think ! 
 miss has danced with a lord ! " Some time after, contriv- 
 ing to again get near me, she began flirting her fan, and 
 exclaiming, " Well, miss, I have had a beau, I assure you ! 
 ay, and a very pretty beau too, though I don't know if his 
 lodgings were so prettily furnished, and everything, as Mr. 
 Smith's." 
 
 Then, applying to Mr. Cholmondeley, she said, " Pray, 
 sir, what has become of my lottery-ticket ? " "I don't 
 know," answered he. " Pardie" cried she, "you don't 
 know nothing!" I had now again made off, and, after 
 much rambling, I at last seated myself near the card-table : 
 but Mrs. Cholmondeley was after me in a minute, and drew 
 a chair next mine. I now found it impossible to escape, 
 and therefore forced myself to sit still. Lord Palmerston 
 and Sir Joshua, in a few moments, seated themselves by 
 us. I must now write dialogue-fashion, to avoid the 
 enormous length of Mrs. C.'s name. 
 
 Mrs. Choi. I have been very ill ; monstrous Ul indeed ! 
 or else I should have been at your house long ago. Sir 
 Joshua, pray how do you do ? You know, I suppose, that 
 I don't come to see you ? 
 
 Sir Joshua could only laugh ; though this was her first 
 address to him. 
 
 Mrs. Choi. Pray, miss, what 's your name ? 
 
 F. B. Frances, ma'am. 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'ASBLAY. 63 
 
 Mrs. Cfhol. Fanny ? Well, all the Fannys are excellent ! 
 and yet, — my name is Mary ! Pray, Miss Palmers, how 
 are you ? — though I hardly know if I shall speak to you 
 to-night. I thought I should never have got here I I 
 have been so out of humor with the people for keeping me. 
 If you but knew, cried I, to whom I am going to-night, 
 and who I shall see to-night, you would not dare keep me 
 muzzing here ! 
 
 During all these pointed speeches, her penetrating eyes 
 were fixed upon me ; and what could I do ? — what, indeed, 
 could anybody do, but color" and simper ? — all the company 
 watching us, though all, very delicately, avoided joining 
 the confab. 
 
 Mrs. Choi. My Lord Palmerston, I was told to-night 
 that nobody could see your lordship for me, for that you 
 supped at my house every night ? Dear, bless me, no ! 
 cried I, not every night ! and I looked as confused as I 
 was able ; but I am afraid I did not blush, though I tried 
 hard for it ! Then, again, turning to me, " That Mr. What- 
 d' ye-oall-him, in Fleet-street, is a mighty silly fellow ; — 
 perhaps you don't know who I mean ? — one T. Lowndes, 
 — but maybe you don't know such a person ? " 
 
 F. B. No, indeed, I do not ! — that I can safely say. 
 
 Mrs. Choi. I could get nothing from him : but I told 
 him I hoped he gave a good price ; and he answered me, 
 that he always did things genteel. What trouble "and tag- 
 ging we had ! Mr. [I cannot recollect the name she 
 
 mentioned] laid a wager the writer was a man : — I said I 
 was sure it was a woman : but now we are both out ; for 
 it 's a girl .' 
 
 In this comical, queer, flighty, whimsical manner she 
 ran on, till we were summoned to supper ; for we were not 
 allowed to break up before : and then, when Sir Joshua 
 and almost everybody was gone downstairs, she changed 
 
64 DIABY AND LETTERS [1779. 
 
 her tone, and, with a face and voice both grave, said: 
 " Well, Miss Burney, you must give me leave to say one 
 thing to you ; yet, perhaps you won't, neither, wUl you ? " 
 " What is it, ma'am ? " " Why it is, that I admire you more 
 than any human being ! and that I can't help ! " Then, 
 suddenly rising, she hurried downstairs. 
 
 And now, my dear Susan, to relate the affairs of an even- 
 ing, perhaps the most important of my life. To say that, 
 is, I am sure, enough to interest you, my dearest girl, in all 
 I can tell you of it. On Monday last, my father sent a 
 note to Mrs. Cholmondeley, to propose our waiting on her 
 the Wednesday following : she accepted the proposal, and 
 accordingly on Wednesday evening, my father, mother, and 
 self went to Hertford-street. I should have told you that 
 Mrs. Cholmondeley, when my father some time ago called 
 on her, sent me a message, that if I would go to see her, I 
 should not again be stared at or worried ; and she acknowl- 
 edged that my visit at Sir Joshua's was a formidable one, 
 and that I was watched the whole evening ; but that upon 
 the whole, the company behaved extremely well, for they 
 only ogled ! Well, we were received by Mrs. Cholmonde- 
 ley with great politeness, and in a manner that showed she 
 intended to entirely throw aside Madame Duval, and to con- 
 duct herself towards me in a new style. Mr. and the Misses 
 Cholmondeley and Miss Forrest were with her ; but who 
 else think you ? — why Mrs. Sheridan ! I was absolutely 
 charmed at the sight of her. I think her quite as beautiful 
 as ever, and even more captivating ; for she has now a look 
 of ease and happiness that animates her whole face. 
 
 They talked of the intended marriage of the Duke of 
 Dorset with Miss Cumberland, and many ridiculous anec- 
 dotes were related. The conversation naturally fell upon 
 Mr. Cumberland, and he was finely cut up ! " What a 
 man is that ! " said Mrs. Cholmondeley : " I cannot bear 
 
1779.) OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 65 
 
 him — so querulous, so dissatisfied, so determined to like 
 nobody and nothing but himself ! " " What, Mr. Cumber- 
 land ? " exclaimed I. " Yes," answered she ; " I hope you 
 don't like him ? " "I don't know him, ma'am. I have 
 only seen him once, at Mrs. Ord's." " Oh, don't like him 
 for your life ! I charge you not ! I hope you did not like 
 his looks ? " " Why," quoth I, laughing, " I went prepared 
 and determined to like him ; but, perhaps, when I see him 
 next, I may go prepared for the contrary." 
 
 Just then the door opened, and Mr. Sheridan entered. 
 Was I not in luck ? Not that I believe the meeting was ac- 
 cidental J but I had more wished to meet him and his wife 
 than any people I know not. Mr. Sheridan has a very 
 fine figure, and a good though I don't think a handsome 
 face. He is tall, and very upright, and his appearance and 
 address are at once manly and fashionable, without the 
 smallest tincture of foppery or modish graces. In short, I 
 like him vastly, and think him every way worthy his 
 beautiful companion. And let me tell you what I know 
 will give you as much pleasure as it gave me — that, by 
 all I could observe in the course of the evening, and we 
 stayed very late, they are extremely happy in each other : 
 he evidently adores her, and she as evidently idolizes him. 
 The world has by no means done him justice. 
 
 When next there was a rat-tat. Sir Joshua Eeynolds and 
 Dr. Warton ^ entered. And now I must tell you a little 
 conversation which I did not hear myseK till I came home ; 
 it was between Mr. Sheridan and my father. "Dr. Burney," 
 cried the former, " have you no older daughters ? Can this 
 possibly be the authoress of 'Evelina?'" And then he 
 said abundance of fine things, and begged my father to 
 introduce him to me. 
 
 ' Dr. Joseph Wai-ton, authca: of the " Essay on the Genius and 'Writingg 
 of Pope." He was then Head Master of Winchester. 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
66 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1779 
 
 \ 
 
 " Why, it will be a very formidable thing to her," an- 
 swered he, " to be introduced to you." 
 
 " Well then, by-and-by," returned he. 
 
 Some time after this, my eyes happening to meet his, he 
 waived the ceremony of introduction, and in a low voice 
 said : " I have been telling Dr. Burney that I have long 
 expected to see in Miss Burney a lady of the gravest ap- 
 pearance, with the quickest parts." I was never much 
 more astonished than at this unexpected address, as 
 among all my numerous puffers the name of Sheridan has 
 never reached me, and I did really imagine he had never 
 deigned to look at my trash. Of course I could make no 
 verbal answer, and he proceeded then to speak of "Evelina" 
 in terms of the highest praise ; but I was in such a ferment 
 from surprise (not to say pleasure), that I have no recollec- 
 tion of his expressions. I only remember telling him that 
 I was much amazed he had spared time to read it, and 
 that he repeatedly called it a most surprising book ; and 
 some time after he added : " But I hope, Miss Burney, you 
 don't intend to throw away your pen ? " 
 
 " You should take care, sir," said I, " what you say : for 
 you know not what weight it may have." He wished it 
 might have any, he said ; and soon after turned again to 
 my father. 
 
 I protest, since the approbation of the Streathamites, I 
 have met with none so flattering to me as this of Mr. 
 Sheridan, and so very unexpected. 
 
 Some time after. Sir Joshua returning to his standing- 
 place, entered into confab with Miss Linley and your slave, 
 upon various matters, during which Mr. Sheridan, joining 
 us, said : " Sir Joshua, I have been telling Miss Burney 
 that she must not suffer her pen to lie idle — ought she ? " 
 
 Sir Joshua. No, indeed, ought she not. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan. Do you then, Sir Joshua, persuade her. 
 
1779,] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 67 
 
 But perhaps you have begun something ? May we ask ? 
 Will you answer a question candidly ? 
 
 F. B. I don't know, but as candidly as Mrs. Candour I 
 think I certainly shall. 
 
 Mr. Sheridarb. What then are you about now ? 
 
 F. B. Why, twirling my fan, I think ! 
 
 Mr. Sheridan. No, no; but what are you about at 
 home? However, it is not a fair question, so I won't 
 press it. 
 
 Yet he looked very inquisitive ; but I was glad to get 
 off without any downright answer. 
 
 Sir Joshua. Anything in the dialogue way, I think, 
 she must succeed in ; and I am sure invention will not be 
 wanting. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan. No, indeed ; I think, and say, she should 
 write a comedy. 
 
 Sir Joshua. I am sure I think so ; and hope she will. 
 
 I could only answer by incredulous exclamations. 
 " Consider," continued Sir Joshua, " you have already had 
 all the applause and fame you can have given you in the 
 closet ; but the acclamation of a theatre will be new to 
 you." And then he put down his trumpet, and began a 
 violent clapping of his hands. 
 
 I actually shook from head to foot ! I felt myself already 
 m Drury Lane, amidst the hubbub of a first night. " Oh, 
 no !" cried I, "there may be a noise, but it will be just the 
 reverse." And I returned his salute with a hissing. Mr. 
 Sheridan joined Sir Joshua very warmly. " Oh, sir ! " cried 
 I, " you should not run on so — you don't know what mis- 
 chief you may do !" 
 
 Mr. Sheridan. I wish T may — I shall be very glad to 
 be accessory. 
 
 Sir Joshua. She has, certainly, something of a knack at 
 characters ; — where she got it, I don't know, and how she 
 
68 DIARY AND LETTERS 1779 
 
 got it, I can't imagine ; but she certainly has it. And tc 
 throw it away is 
 
 Mr. SheridMn. Oh, she won't, — she wUl write a comedy 
 ■ — she has promised me she will ! 
 
 F. B. Oh ! — if you both run on in this manner, 1 
 shall 
 
 I was going to say get under the chair, but Mr. Sheridan 
 interrupting me with a laugh, said : " Set about one ? very 
 well, that 's right ! " " Ay," cried Sir Joshua, " that 's very 
 right. And you (to Mr. Sheridan) would take anything oi 
 hers, would you not ? — unsight, unseen ? " What a point- 
 blank question ! who but Sir Joshua would have ventured 
 it ! " Yes," answered Mr. Sheridan, with quickness, " and 
 make her a bow and my best thanks into the bargain." 
 Now, my dear Susy, tell me, did you ever hear the fellow 
 to such a speech as this ! — it was all I could do to sit it 
 " Mr. Sheridan," I exclaimed, " are you not mocking me ? " 
 " No, upon my honor ! this is what I have meditated to 
 say to you the first time I should have the pleasure of 
 seeing you." 
 
 To be sure, as Mrs. Thrale says, if folks are to be spoilt, 
 there is nothing in the world so pleasant as spoiling ! But 
 I was never so much astonished, and seldom have been so 
 much delighted, as by this attack of Mr. Sheridan. After- 
 wards he took my father aside, and formally repeated his 
 opinion that I should write for the stage, and his desire 
 to see my play, — with encomiums the most flattering of 
 " Evelina." 
 
 And now, my dear Susy, if I should attempt the stage, 
 I think I may be fairly acquitted of presumption, and 
 however I may fail, that I was strongly pressed to try by 
 Mrs. Thrale, and by Mr. Sheridan, the most successful and 
 powerful of all dramatic living authors, will abundantly 
 excuse my temerity. 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. G9 
 
 Streatham, Febkuahy. — I have been here so long, my 
 dearest Susan, without writing a word, that now I hardly 
 know where or how to begin. But I will try to draw up 
 a concise account of what has passed for this last fortnight, 
 and then endeavor to be more minute. Mrs. Thrale and 
 Dr. Johnson vied with each other in the kindness of their 
 reception of me. Mr. Thrale was, as usual at first, cold 
 and quiet, but soon, as usual also, warmed into sociality. 
 
 Tuesday. — Yesterday, at night, I told Dr. Johnson the 
 inquiry,* and added that I attributed it to my being at 
 Streatham, and supposed the folks took it for granted no- 
 body would be admitted there without knowing Latin, at 
 least. "No, my dear, no," answered he ; " the man thought 
 it because you have written a book — he concluded that a 
 book could not be written by one who knew no Latin. 
 And it is strange that it should — but, perhaps you do know 
 it — for your shyness, and slyness, and pretending to know 
 nothing, never took me in, whatever you may do with 
 others. I always knew you for a toadling." 
 
 At our usual time of absconding, he would not let us go, 
 and was in high good-humor; and when, at last, Mrs. 
 Thrale absolutely refused to stay any longer, he took me by 
 the hand, and said, " Don't you mind her, my little Burney ; 
 do you stay, whether she will or not." So away went Mrs. 
 Thrale, and left us to a UU-db-tete. Now I had been con- 
 sidering that perhaps I ought to speak to him of my new 
 castle, lest hereafter he should suspect that I preferred the 
 counsel of Mr. Murphy. I therefore determined to take this 
 opportunity, and, after some general nothings, I asked if he 
 would permit me to take a great liberty with him ? He 
 assented with the most encouraging smile. And then I 
 
 said: 
 
 " I believe, sir, you heard part of what passed between 
 
 > A clergyman had asked MiBS Burney if she knew Latin. 
 
70 DIARY AND LETTERS [1779. 
 
 Mr. Murphy and me the other evening, concerning — a — a 
 comedy. Now, if I should make such an attempt, would 
 you be so good as to allow me, any time before Michaelmas, 
 to put it in the coach, for you to look over as you go to 
 town ? " " To be sure, my dear ! — What, have you begun 
 a comedy then ? " I told him how the affair stood. He 
 then gave me advice which just accorded with my wishes, 
 viz., not to make known that I had any such intention ; ia 
 keep my own counsel ; not to whisper even the name of it ; 
 to raise no expectations, which were always prejudicial, 
 and, finally, to have it performed while the town knew 
 nothing of whose it was. I readily assured him of my 
 hearty concurrence in his opinion ; but he somewhat dis- 
 tressed me when I told him that Mr. Murphy must be in 
 my confidence, as he had offered his services, by desiring 
 he might be the last to see it. What I shall do, I know 
 not, for he has, himself, begged to be the first. Mrs. Thrale, 
 however, shaU guide me between them. He spoke highly 
 of Mr. Murphy, too, for he really loves him. He said he 
 would not have it in the coach, but that I should read it to 
 him ; however, I could sooner drown or hang ! When I 
 would have offered some apology for the attempt, he stopped 
 me, and desired I would never make any. " For," said he 
 
 "if it succeeds, it makes its own apology, if not " 
 
 " If not," quoth I, " I cannot do worse than Dr. Goldsmith, 
 when his play failed, — go home and cry ! " 
 
 He laughed, but told me, repeatedly (I mean twice, 
 which, for him, is very remarkable), that I might depend 
 upon all the service in his power : and, he added, it would 
 be well to make Murphy the last judge, " for he knows the 
 stage " he said, " and I am quite ignorant of it." After- 
 wards, grasping my hand with the most affectionate warmth, 
 he said : " I wish you success ! I wish you well ! my dear 
 little Bumey ! " When, at length, I told him I could stay 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 71 
 
 no longer, and bid him good night, he said, " There is none 
 like you, my dear little Burney ! there is none like you ! — 
 good night, my darling ! " 
 
 Tuesday Night. — Miss Streatfield came. Mrs. Thrale 
 prevailed upon her to stay till the next day. I find her a 
 very amiable girl, and extremely handsome ; not so wise as 
 1 expected, but very well ; however, had she not chanced 
 to have had so uncommon an education, with respect to lit- 
 erature or learning, I believe she would not have made her 
 way among the wits by the force of her natural parts. Mr. 
 Seward, you know, told me that she had tears at command, 
 and I begin to think so too, for when Mrs. Thrale, who had 
 previously told me I should see her cry, began coaxing her 
 to stay, and saying, " If you go, I shall know you don't 
 love me so well as Lady Gresham," — she did cry, not loud 
 indeed, nor much, but the tears came into her eyes, and 
 rolled down her fine cheeks. " Come hither. Miss Burney," 
 cried Mrs. Thrale, " come and see Miss Streatfield cry ! " 
 
 I thought it a mere badinage. I went to them, but 
 when I saw real tears, I was shocked, and saying " No, I 
 won't look at her," ran away frightened, lest she should 
 think I laughed at her, which Mrs. Thrale did so openly, 
 that, as I told her, had she served me so, I should have 
 been affronted with her ever after. Miss Streatfield, how- 
 ever, whether from a sweetness not to be rufiled, or from 
 not perceiving there was any room for taking offence, 
 gently wiped her eyes, and was perfectly composed ! 
 
 Steeatham, June 12. — Now, my dear Susan, hard and 
 fast — let me write up to the present time. 
 
 I left you all, as you truly say, on Saturday, in no very 
 high spirits. Mrs. Thrale's visible uneasiness and agitation 
 quite alarmed me. I dared ask her no questions ; but, soon 
 after we drove off. Sir Philip Gierke gently and feelingly 
 led to the subject, and, in the course of our ride, got from 
 
72 DIARY AND LETTERS (1779. 
 
 her all the particulars of poor Mr. Thrale's dreadful and 
 terrifying attack. 
 
 I find, with true concern, that it was undoubtedly a par- 
 alytic stroke. He was taken ill at his sister's, Mrs. Nes- 
 bitt's, during dinner ; he did not absolutely fall, but his 
 head sank upon the table, and, as soon as he was able to 
 raise it, they found that his reason had left him ; — he 
 talked wildly, and seemed to know nobody. Mrs. Nesbitt 
 brought him home : he was much better before Dr. Brom- 
 field could be fetched ; yet, for three days afterwards, his 
 senses, at intervals, were frightfully impaired. 
 
 When we stopped here. Sir PhUip immediately went to 
 Mr. Thrale, but I ran past the door, and up to my own 
 room, for I quite dreaded seeing him till I had prepared 
 myself to meet him, without any seeming concern, as 
 I was told that he was extremely suspicious of being 
 thought in any danger. I dawdled away about an hour, 
 and then asked Miss Thrale to accompany me into the 
 parlor. 
 
 Mr. Thrale was there, with Sir Philip, Mr. Seward, and 
 Captain FuUer. I endeavored to enter, and behave as if 
 nothing had happened. I saw Mr. Thrale fix his eyes upon 
 me with an inquisitive and melancholy earnestness, as if 
 to read my opinion : indeed, his looks were vastly better 
 than I expected, but his evident dejection quite shocked 
 me. I did not dare to go up to him, for if he had offered 
 to shake hands with me, I believe I should have been un- 
 able to disguise my concern ; for, indeed, he has of late 
 made himself a daily increasing interest in my regard and 
 kind wishes. I therefore turned short from him, and pre- 
 tending earnest talk with Miss Thrale, went to one of the 
 windows. 
 
 At dinner everybody tried to be cheerful ; but a dark 
 and gloomy cloud hangs over the head of poor Mr. Thrale, 
 
1779.1 OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 73 
 
 which no dashes of merriment or beams of wit can pierce 
 through ; yet he seems pleased that everybody should be 
 gay, and desirous to be spoken to, and of, as usual. 
 
 Steeatham, Sunday, June 13. — After church, we aU 
 strolled round the grounds, and the topic of our discourse 
 was Miss Streatfield. Mrs. Thrale asserted that she had a 
 power of captivation that was irresistible ; that her beauty, 
 joined to her softness, her caressing manners, her tearful 
 eyes, and alluring looks, would insinuate her into the heart 
 of any man she thought worth attacking. Sir Philip de- 
 clared himself of a totally different opinion, and quoted Dr. 
 Johnson against her, who had told him that, taking away 
 her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly. Mr. Seward 
 declared her Greek was all against her with him, for that, 
 instead of reading Pope, Swift, or the Spectator, — books 
 from which she might derive useful knowledge and im- 
 provement — it had led her to devote all her reading time 
 to the first eight books of Homer. 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Thrale, " her Greek, you must own, has 
 made all her celebrity ; — you would have heard no more 
 of her than of any other pretty girl, but for that." 
 
 " What I object to," said Sir Philip, " is her avowed pref- 
 erence for this parson. Surely it is very indelicate in any 
 lady to let all the world know with whom she is in love ! " 
 " The parson,'' said the severe Mr. Seward, " I suppose, 
 spoke first, — or she would as soon have been ia love with 
 you, or with me ! " You will easily believe I gave him no 
 pleasant look. He wanted me to slacken my pace, and teU 
 him, in confidence, my private opinion of her : but I told 
 him, very truly, that as I knew her chiefly by account, not 
 by acquaintance, I had not absolutely formed my opinion. 
 
 " Were I to live with her four days," said this odd man, 
 " I believe the fifth I should want to take her to church." 
 " Tou 'd be devilish tired of her, tliough," said Sir Philip, 
 
74 DIARY AND LETTERS [1779. 
 
 " in half a year. A crying wife will never do ! " " Oh, 
 yes," cried he, " the pleasure of soothing her would make 
 amends." 
 
 " Ah," cried Mrs. Thrale, " I would insure her power 
 of crj'ing herself into any of your hearts she pleased. I 
 made her cry to Miss Burney, to show how beautiful she 
 looked in tears." 
 
 " If I had been her," said Mr. Seward, " I would never 
 have visited you again.'' 
 
 " Oh, but she liked it," answered Mrs. T., " for she knows 
 how well she does it. Miss Burney would have run away, 
 but she came forward on purpose to show herself. I 
 would have done so by nobody else ; but Sophy Streat- 
 field is never happier than when the tears trickle from her 
 fine eyes in company.'' 
 
 Wednesday, June 16. — We had, at breakfast, a scene, 
 of its sort, the most curious I ever saw. The persons were 
 Sir Philip, Mr. Seward, Dr. Delap, Miss Streatfield, Mrs. 
 and Miss Thrale, and I. The discourse turning, I know 
 not how, upon Miss Streatfield, Mrs. Thrale said : " Ay, I 
 made her cry once for Miss Burney as pretty as could be : 
 but nobody does cry so pretty as the S. S. I 'm sure, when 
 she cried for Seward, I never saw her look half so lovely." 
 
 " For Seward ? " cried Sir Philip ; " did she cry for Sew- 
 ard ? What a happy dog ! I hope she '11 never cry for 
 me, for, if she does, I won't answer for the consequences." 
 " Seward," said Mrs. Thrale, " had affronted Johnson, and 
 then Johnson affronted Seward, and then the S. S. cried." 
 "Oh," cried Sir Philip, "that I had but been here!" 
 "Nay," answered Mrs. Thrale, "you'd only have' seen 
 how like three fools three sensible persons behaved: foi 
 my part, I was quite sick of it, and of them, too." 
 
 Sir Philip. Well, I have heard so much of these tears, 
 that I would give the universe to have a sight of them. 
 
^7'»-] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 75 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Well, she shall cry again, if you like it. 
 
 S. S. No, pray, Mrs. Thrale. 
 
 Sir Philip. Oh, pray do ! pray, let me see a little of it. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale. Yes, do cry a little, Sophy [in a wheed- 
 ling voice}, pray do ! Consider, now, you are going to-day, 
 and it's very hard if you won't cry a little; indeed, S. S. 
 you ought to cry. 
 
 Now for the wonder of wonders. When Mrs. Thrale, 
 in a coaxing voice, suited to a nurse soothing a baby, 
 had run on for some time — while aU the rest of us, in 
 laughter, joined in the request — two crystal tears came 
 into the soft eyes of the S. S., and rolled gently down her 
 cheeks ! Such a sight I never saw before, nor could I 
 have believed. She offered not to conceal or dissipate 
 them : on the contrary, she reaUy contrived to have them 
 seen by everybody. She looked, indeed, uncommonly 
 handsome ; for her pretty face was not, like Chloe's, blub- 
 bered ; it was smooth and elegant, and neither her features 
 nor complexion were at all rufiled ; nay, indeed, she was 
 smiling all the time. " Look, look ! " cried Mrs. Thrale ; 
 " see if the tears are not come already." Loud and rude 
 bursts of laughter broke from us aU at once. How, indeed, 
 could they be restrained ? Yet we aU stared, and looked 
 and re-looked again and again, twenty times, ere we could 
 believe our eyes. Sir Philip, I thought, would have died 
 in convulsions ; for his laughter and his politeness, strug- 
 gling furiously with one another, ma^e him almost black 
 in the face. Mr. Seward looked half vexed that her cry- 
 ing for him was now so much lowered in its flattery, yet 
 grinned incessantly ; Miss Thrale laughed as much as con- 
 tempt would allow her; but Dr. Delap seemed petrified 
 with astonishment. 
 
 When our mirth abated, Sir Philip, coloring violently 
 with his efforts to speak, said, " I thank you, ma'am ; I 'm 
 
76 DIARY AND LETTEES '1779. 
 
 much obliged to you." But I really believe he spoke 
 without knowing what he was saying. " What a wonder- 
 ful command," said Dr. Delap, very gravely, "that lady 
 must have over herself ! " She now took out a handker- 
 chief and wiped her eyes. " Sir Philip," cried Mr. Seward, 
 " how can you suffer her to dry her own eyes ? — you, who 
 sit next her ? " "I dare not dry them for her,'' answered 
 he, " because I am not the right man." " But if I sat next 
 her," returned he, " she should not dry them herself." " I 
 wish," cried Dr. Delap, " I had a bottle to put them in ; 
 't is a thousand pities they should be wasted." " There, 
 now," said Mrs. Thrale, " she looks for all the world as if 
 nothing had happened ; for, you know, nothing has hap- 
 pened ! " " Would you cry. Miss Burney," said Sir Philip, 
 " if we asked you ? " " Oh," cried Mrs. Thrale, " I. would 
 not do thus by Miss Burney for ten worlds ! I dare say 
 she would never speak to me again. I should think she 'd 
 be more likely to walk out of my house than to cry 
 because I bid her." " I don 't know how that is," cried Sir 
 Philip ; " but I 'm sure she 's gentle enough." " She can 
 cry, I doubt not," said Mr. Seward, " on any proper occa- 
 sion." " But I must know," said I, " what for." 
 
 I did not say this loud enough for the S. S. to hear me ; 
 but if I had, she would not have taken it for the reflection 
 it meant. She seemed, the whole time, totally insensible 
 to the numerous strange and, indeed, impertinent speeches 
 which were made, and to be very well satisfied that she 
 was only manifesting a tenderness of disposition, that in- 
 creased her beauty of coiihtenance. At least, I can put no 
 other construction upon her conduct, which was, without 
 exception, the strangest I ever saw. Without any pre- 
 tence of afiliction, — to weep merely because she was bid, 
 though bid in a manner to forbid any one else, — to be in 
 good spirits all the time, — to see the whole company 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 77 
 
 expiring of laughter at her tears, without being at aU 
 offended, — and, at last, to dry them up, and go on with 
 the same sort of conversation she held before they started ! 
 What Sir Philip or Mr. Seward privately thought of this 
 incident I know not yet : but Dr. Delap said, " Yes, she 
 has pretty blue eyes, — very pretty indeed ; she 's quite a 
 wonderful miss. If it had not been for that little gush, 
 I don't know what would have become of me. It was 
 very good natured of her, really, for she charms and un- 
 eharms in a moment ; she is a bane and an antidote at 
 the same time." 
 
 Steeatham, July 5. — I have hardly had any power to 
 write, my dear Susy, since I left you, for my cold has in- 
 creased so much that I have hardly been able to do any- 
 thing. I was heartily glad to see Dr. Johnson, and I 
 believe he was not sorry to see me : he had inquired very 
 much after me, and very particularly of Mrs. Thrale 
 whether she loved me as well as she used to do. I wished 
 twenty times to have transmitted to paper the conversa- 
 tion of the evening, for Dr. Johnson was as brilliant as I 
 have ever known him, — and that 's saying something ; — 
 but I was not very well, and could only attend to him for 
 present entertainment. 
 
 July 10. — Since I wrote last, I have been far from 
 well, — but I am now my own man again — d peu-pres. 
 Very concise, indeed, must my journal grow, for I have 
 now hardly a moment in my power to give it ; however, 
 I will keep up its chain, and mark, from time to time, the 
 general course of things. 
 
 Yesterday Mrs. Vesey ^ came hither to tea. I 'm sure 
 
 1 Mrs. Vesey was the lady at whose house the celebrated has bleu meet- 
 ings of the time were first held ; and indeed with her the phrase itself is 
 aaid to have originated. It is related tha^ on inviting Mr. Stillingfleet to 
 one of her literary parties, he wished to decline attending it, on the plea of 
 
78 DIARY AND LETTERS (1779. 
 
 if Anstey saw her he would make an exception to his as- 
 sertion, that " he never should see an old woman again ! " 
 for she has the most wrinkled, sallow, time-beaten face I 
 ever saw. She is an exceeding weU-bred woman, and of 
 agreeable manners ; but all her name in the world must, 
 I think, have been acquired by her dexterity and skOl in 
 selecting parties, and by her address in rendering them 
 easy with one another — an art, however, that seems to 
 imply no mean understanding. 
 
 Miss F. Bumey to Dr. Sumey. 
 
 The fatal knell, then, is knolled, and " down among the 
 dead men" sink the poor "Witlings ^" — for ever, and for 
 ever, and for ever ! 
 
 I give a sigh, whether I will or not, to their memory ! 
 for, however worthless, they were mes enfans, and one 
 must do one 's nature, as Mr. Crisp will tell you of the 
 dog. You, my dearest sir, who enjoyed, T really think, 
 even more than myself, the astonishing success of my first 
 attempt, would, I believe, even more than myself, be hurt 
 at the failure of my second ; and I am sure I speak from 
 the bottom of a very honest heart, when I most solemnly 
 declare, that upon your account any disgrace would mortify 
 and afflict me more than upon my own; for whatever 
 appears with your knowledge, will be naturally supposed 
 
 his want of an appropriate dreaa for an evening assembly. " Oh — never 
 mind dress," said slie ; " come in your blue stockings ! " — which he was 
 wearing at the time. He took her at her word, and on entering the room 
 directed her attention to the fact of his having come in his blue stocTmgs ; 
 and her literary meetings retained the name of bas bleu ever after. 
 
 ^ The comedy, in manuscript, which Miss Bnmey had submitted to hei 
 father, fa.> his criticism. 
 
1779. OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 79 
 
 to have met with approbation, and, perhaps, your assistance ; 
 therefore, though all particular censure would fall where it 
 ought — upon me — yet any general censure of the whole, 
 and the plan, would cruelly, but certainly, involve you in 
 its severity. 
 
 Of this I have been sensible from the moment my " au- 
 thorshipness " was discovered, and, therefore, from that 
 moment, I determined to have no opinion of my own in 
 regard to what I should thenceforth part with out of my 
 own hands. I would long since have burnt the fourth act, 
 upon your disapprobation of it, but that I waited, and was 
 by Mrs. Thrale so much encouraged to wait, for your 
 finishing the piece. 
 
 You have finished it now in every sense of the word. 
 Partial faults may be corrected ; but what I most wished 
 was, to know the general effect of the whole ; and as that 
 has so terribly failed, all petty criticisms would be need- 
 less. I shall wipe it all from my memory, and endeavor 
 never to recollect that I ever wrote it. You bid me open 
 my heart to you — and so, my dearest sir, I will, for it is 
 the greatest happiness of my life that I dare be sincere 
 to you. I expected many objections to be raised — a 
 thousand errors to be pointed out — and a million of al- 
 terations to be proposed ; but the suppression of the piece 
 were words I did not expect ; indeed, after the warm ap- 
 probation of Mrs. Thrale, and the repeated commendations 
 and flattery of Mr. Murphy, how could I ? 
 
 I do not, therefore, pretend to wish you should think a 
 decision, for which I was so little prepared, has given me no 
 disturbance ; for I must be a far more egregious witling 
 than any of those I tried to draw, to imagine you could 
 ever credit that I wrote without some remote hope of 
 success now — though I literally did when I composed 
 " Evelina ! " But my mortification is not at throwing away 
 
80 DIARY AND LETTEBS [1779. 
 
 the characters, or the contrivance ; — it is all at throwing 
 away the time, — which I with difficulty stole, and which 
 I have buried in the mere trouble of writing. What my 
 Daddy Crisp says, " that it would be the best policy, but 
 for pecuniary advantages, for me to write no more," is 
 exactly what I have always thought since " Evelina " was 
 pubhshed. But I will not now talk of putting it in 
 practice, — for the best way I can take of showing that I 
 have a true and just sense of the spirit of your condemna- 
 tion, is not to sink sulky and dejected under it, but to 
 exert myself to the utmost of my power in endeavors to 
 produce something less reprehensible. And this shall be 
 the way I will pursue as soon as my mind is more at ease 
 about Hetty and Mrs. Thrale, and as soon as I have read 
 myself into a forgetfulness of my old dramatis personoe, — 
 lest I should produce something else as witless as the last. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest, kindest, truest, best friend. I will 
 never proceed so far again without your counsel, and then 
 I shall not only save myself so much useless trouble, but 
 you, who so reluctantly blame, the kind pain which I am 
 sure must attend your disapprobation. The world will not 
 always go well, as Mrs. Sapient might say, and I am sure 
 I have long thought I have had more than my share of 
 success already. 
 
 Once more, adieu, dearest sir ! and never may my phi- 
 losophy be put to the test of seeing any abatement of true 
 kindness from you, — for that would never be decently 
 endured by your own, Frances Burney.^ 
 
 1 The following note is appended to this letter, in the handwriting of 
 Miss Bumey, at a subsequent period. " The objection of Mr. Crisp to the 
 MS. play of 'The Witlings,' was its resemblance to Moliire's Femmes 
 Si^vwntes and consequent immense inferiority. It is, however, a curious 
 fact, and to the author a consolatory one, that she had literally never read 
 the Femmes Sgavantes when she composed 'The Witlings.' " 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 81 
 
 Miss F. Burney to Mr. Crisp. 
 
 Well ! " there are plays that are to be saved, and playa 
 that are not to be saved ! " so good night, Mr. Dabbler ! — 
 good night. Lady Smatter, — Mrs. Sapient, — Mrs. Voluble, 
 — Mrs. Wheedle, — Censor, — Cecilia, — Beaufort, — and 
 you, you great oaf, Bobby ! — good night ! good night ! 
 
 And good morning. Miss Fanny Burney ! — I hope now 
 you have opened your eyes for some time, and will not 
 close them in so drowsy a fit again — at least till the full 
 of the moon. 
 
 I won't tell you I have been absolutely ravie with de- 
 light at the fall of the curtain ; but I intend to take the 
 affair in the tant miezix manner, and to console myself for 
 your censure ^by this greatest proof I have ever received of 
 the sincerity, candor, and let me add, esteem, of my dear 
 daddy. And as I happen to love myself rather more than 
 my play, this consolation is not a very trifling one. As to 
 all you say of my reputation and so forth, I perceive the 
 kindness of your endeavors to put me in humor with my- 
 self, and prevent my taking huff, which, if I did, I should 
 deserve to receive, upon any future trial, hollow praise from 
 you — and the rest from the public. 
 
 As to the MS., I am in no hurry for it. Besides, it ought 
 not to come till I have prepared an ovation, and the honors 
 of conquest for it. 
 
 The only bad thing in this affair is, that I cannot take 
 the comfort of my poor friend Dabbler, by calling you a 
 crabbed fellow, because you write with almost more kind- 
 ness than ever ; neither can I (though I try hard) persuade 
 myself that you have not a grain of taste in your whole 
 composition. 
 
 This, however, seriously I do believe, — that when my 
 two daddies put their heads together to concert for me that 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 DIARY AND LBTTEBS [1779., 
 
 hissing, groaning, catcalling epistle they sent me, they felt 
 as sorry for poor little Miss Bayes as she could possibly 
 do for herself You see I do not attempt to repay your 
 frankness with the art of pretended carelessness. But 
 though somewhat disconcerted just now, I will promise not 
 to let my vexation live out another day. I shall not 
 browse upon it, but, on the contrary, drive it out of my 
 thoughts, by filling them up with things almost as good of 
 other people's. Our Hettina is much better; but pray 
 don't keep Mr. B. beyond Wednesday, for Mrs. Thrale 
 makes a point of my returning to Streatham on Tuesday, 
 unless, which God forbid, poor Hetty should be worse 
 again. Adieu, my dear daddy, I won't be mortified, and 
 I won't be downed, — but I will be proud to find I have, 
 out of my own family, as well as in it, a friend who loves 
 me well enough to speak plain truth to me. Always do 
 thus, and always you shall be tried by, your much obliged 
 and most affectionate, Frances Burnet. 
 
 On Tuesday, Mr., Mrs., Miss Thrale, and " yours, ma'am, 
 yours," set out on their expedition. The day was very 
 pleasant, and the journey delightful. We dined very com- 
 fortably at Sevenoaks, and thence made but one stage to 
 Tunbridge. It was so dark when we went through the 
 town that I could see it very indistinctly. Safely, how- 
 ever, we reached the Sussex Hotel, at Tunbridge Wells. 
 Having looked at our rooms, and arranged our affairs, we 
 proceeded to Mount Ephraim, where Miss Streatfield re- 
 sides. We found her with only her mother, and spent the 
 evening there. 
 
 Mrs. Streatfield is very — very little, but perfectly well 
 made, thin, genteel, and delicate. She has been quite 
 beautiful, and has still so much of beauty left, that to call 
 it only the remains of a fine face seems hardly doing her 
 
1779. OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 83 
 
 justice. She is very lively, and an excellent mimic, and 
 is, I think, as much superior to her daughter in natural 
 gifts as her daughter is to her in acquired ones : and how 
 infinitely preferable are parts without education to educa- 
 tion without parts ! 
 
 The fair S. S. is really in higher beauty than I have ever 
 yet seen her ; and she was so caressing, so soft, so amiable, 
 that I felt myself insensibly inclining to her with an affec- 
 tionate regard. "If it was not for that little gush," as 
 Dr. Delap said, I should certainly have taken a very great 
 fancy to her : but tears so ready — oh, they blot out my 
 fair opinion of her ! Yet whenever I am with her, I like, 
 nay, almost love her, for her manners are exceedingly 
 captivating ; but when I quit her, I do not find that she 
 improves by being thought over — no, nor talked over ; 
 for Mrs. Thrale, who is always disposed to half adore her 
 in her presence, can never converse about her without ex- 
 citing her own contempt by recapitulating what has passed. 
 This, however, must always be certain, whatever may be 
 doubtful, that she is a girl in no respect like any other. 
 
 But I have not yet done with the mother ; I have told 
 you of her vivacity and her mimicry, but her character is 
 not yet half told. She has a kind of whimsical conceit, 
 and odd affectation, that, joined to a very singular sort of 
 humor, makes her always seem to be rehearsing some scene 
 in a comedy. She takes off, if she mentions them, all her 
 own children, and, though she quite adores them, renders 
 bhem ridiculous with all her power. She laughs at herself 
 for her smallness and for her vagaries, just with the same 
 ease and ridicule as if she were speaking of some other 
 person ; and, while perpetually hinting at being old and 
 broken, she is continually frisking, flaunting, and playing 
 tricks, like a young coquette. 
 
 When I was introduced to her by Mrs. Thrale, who said, 
 
84 DIARY AND LBTTEB8 il779. 
 
 " Give me leave, ma'am, to present to you a friend of your 
 daughter's — Miss Burney," she advanced to me with a 
 tripping pace, and, taking one of my fingers, said, " Allow 
 me, ma'am, will you, to create a little acquaintance with 
 you." And, indeed, I readily entered into an alliance with 
 her, for I found nothing at Tunbridge half so entertaining, 
 except, indeed. Miss Birch, of whom hereafter. The next 
 morning the S. S. breakfasted with us: and then they 
 walked about to show me the place. 
 
 This Miss Birch is a niece of the charming Mrs. Pleydell, 
 and so like her, that I should have taken her for her 
 daughter, yet she is not, now, quite so handsome ; but as 
 she will soon know how to display her beauty to the ut- 
 most advantage, I fancy, in a few years, she will yet more 
 resemble her lovely and most bewitching aunt. Every- 
 body, she said, tells her how like she is to her aunt 
 Pleydell. 
 
 As you, therefore, have seen that sweet woman, only 
 imagine her ten years old, and you will see her sweet niece. 
 Nor does the resemblance rest with the person ; she sings 
 like her, laughs like her, talks like her, caresses like her, 
 and alternately softens and animates just like her. Her 
 conversation is not merely like that of a woman already, 
 but like that of a most uncommonly informed, cultivated, 
 and sagacious woman ; and at the same time that her un- 
 derstanding is thus wonderfully premature, she can, at 
 pleasure, throw off all this rationality, and make herself a 
 mere playful, giddy, romping child. One moment, with 
 mingled gravity and sarcasm, she discusses characters, and 
 the next, with school-girl spirits, she jumps round the 
 room ; then, suddenly, she asks, " Do you know such, or 
 such a song ? " and instantly, with mixed grace and buf- 
 foonery, singles out an «bject, and sings it ; and then, be- 
 foTO there has been time to applaud her, she runs into 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 85 
 
 the middle of the room, to try some new step in a dance ; 
 and after all this, without waiting till her vagaries grow tire- 
 some, she flings herself, with an affectionate air, upon 
 somebody's lap, and there, composed and thoughtful, she 
 continues quiet till she again enters into rational conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Her voice is really charming — infinitely the most pow- 
 erful, as well as sweet, I ever heard at her age. Were she 
 well and constantly taught, she might, I should think, 
 do anything — for, two or three Italian songs, which she 
 learnt out of only five months' teaching by Parsons, she 
 sang like a little angel, with respect to taste, feeling, and 
 expression ; but she now learns of nobody, and is so fond 
 of French songs, for the sake, she says, of the sentiment, 
 that I fear she will have her wonderful abilities all 
 thrown away. Oh, how I wish my father had the charge 
 of her ! 
 
 She has spent four years out of her little life in France, 
 which has made her distractedly fond of the French operas, 
 " Eose et Colas," " Annette et Lubin," &c., and she told us 
 the story quite through of several I never heard of, always 
 singing the sujet when she came to the airs, and comically 
 changing parts in the duets. She speaks French with the 
 same fluency as English, and every now and then, address- 
 ing herself to the S. S. — " Que j'e.vous adore ! " — "Ah, per- 
 mettez que je me mette d vos pieds ! " &c., with a dying 
 languor that was equally laughable and lovely. 
 
 When I found, by her taught songs, what a delightful 
 singer she was capable of becoming, I really had not pa- 
 tience to hear her little French airs, and entreated her to 
 give them up ; but the little rogue instantly began pester- 
 ing me with them, singing one after another with a comical 
 sort of malice, and following me round the room, when I 
 said I would not listen to her, to say, " But is not this 
 
86 DIAEY AND LETTEES [1779, 
 
 pretty ? — and this ? — and this ? " singing away with all 
 her might and main. 
 
 She sung without any accompaniment, as we had no in- 
 strument; but the S. S. says she plays too, very well. 
 Indeed, I fancy she can do well whatever she pleases. 
 
 We hardly knew how to get away from her when the 
 carriage was ready to take us from Tunbridge, and Mrs. 
 Thrale was so much enchanted with her that she went on 
 the Pantiles and bought her a very beautiful inkstand. 
 
 " I don't mean, Miss Birch," she said, when she gave it 
 to her, " to present you this toy as to a child, but merely 
 to beg you will do me the favor to accept something that 
 may make you now and then remember us." 
 
 She was much delighted with this present, and told me, 
 in a whisper, that she should put a drawing of it in her 
 journal 
 
 So you see, Susy, other children have had this whim. 
 But something being said of novels, the S. S. said : 
 
 " Selina, do you ever read them ? " — And, with a sigh, 
 the little girl answered : 
 
 " But too often ! — I wish I did not ! " 
 
 The only thing I did not like in this seducing little 
 creature was our leave-taking. The S. S. had, as we ex- 
 pected, her fine eyes suffused with tears, and nothing 
 would serve the little Selina, who admires the S. S. pas- 
 sionately, but that she, also, must weep — and weep, there- 
 fore, she did, and that in a manner as pretty to look at, as 
 soft, as melting, and as little to her discomposure, as the 
 weeping of her fair exemplar. The child's success in this 
 pathetic art made the tears of both appear to the whole 
 party to be lodged, as the English merchant says, " very 
 near the eyes ! " 
 
 Brighthelmstone. — A few days since we drank tea at 
 Mrs. "Dickens's, where, with other company, we met Sii 
 
1779.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 87 
 
 John and Laily S . Sir John prides himself in being 
 
 a courtier of the last age. He is abominably ugly, and a 
 prodigious puffer — now of his fortune, now of his family, 
 and now of his courtly connections and feats. His lady is 
 a beautiful woman, taU, genteel, and elegant in her person, 
 with regular features, and a fine complexion. For the rest, 
 she is weU-bred, gentle, and amiable. 
 
 She invited us all to tea at her house the next evening, 
 where we met Lady Pembroke, whose character, as far as 
 
 it appears, seems exactly the same as Lady S 's. But 
 
 the chief employment of the evening was listening to Sir 
 John's braggadocios of what the old king said to him, — 
 which of the ladies of quality were his cousins, — how 
 many acres of land he enjoyed in Sussex, and other such 
 modest discourse. 
 
 After tea, we all went to the rooms. Lady Pembroke 
 having first retired. There was a great deal of company, 
 and among them the Cumberlands. The eldest of the girls, 
 who was walking with Mrs. Musters, quite turned round 
 her whole person every time we passed each other, to keep 
 me in sight, and stare at me as long as possible ; so did hei 
 brother. I never saw anything so ill-bred and imperti- 
 nent; I protest I was ready to quit the rooms to avoid 
 them ; tUl at last Miss Thrale, catching Miss Cumberland's 
 eye, gave her so full, determined, and downing a stare, that 
 whether cured by shame or by resentment, she forbore from 
 that time to look at either of us. Miss Thrale, with a sort 
 of good-natured dryness, said, " Whenever you are disturbed 
 with any of these starers, apply to me, — I '11 warrant I '11 
 cure them. I dare say the girl hates me for it ; but what 
 shall I be the worse for that ? I would have served master 
 Dickey so too, only I could not catch his eye." 
 
 Oct. 20. — Last Tuesday, at the request of Lady S — -• 
 who patronized a poor actor, we all went to the play, — 
 
88 DIABY AND LETTERS [1779. 
 
 which was Dryden's " Tempest," — and a worse perform- 
 ance have I seldom seen. Shakespeare's " Tempest," which 
 for fancy, invention, and originality, is at the head of 
 beautiful improbabilities, is rendered by the additions of 
 Dryden a childish chaos of absurdity and obscenity ; and 
 the grossness and awkwardness of these poor unskilful 
 actors rendered all that ought to have been obscure so 
 shocki:igly glaring, that there was no attending to them 
 without disgust. All that afforded me any entertainment 
 was looking at Mr. Thrale, who turned up his nose with 
 an expression of contempt at the beginning of the perform- 
 ance, and never suffered it to return to its usual place tUl 
 it was ended ! 
 
 The play was ordered by Mrs. Cumberland. These poor 
 actors never have any company in the boxes unless they 
 can prevail upon some lady to bespeak a play, and desire 
 her acquaintance to go to it. But we all agreed we should 
 not have been very proud to have had our names at the 
 head of a play-bill of Dryden's " Tempest." 
 
 The other morning the two Misses came into Thomas's 
 shop while we were there, and the eldest, as usual, gave 
 me, it seems, the honor of employing her eyes the whole 
 time she stayed. We afterwards meet them on the 
 Steyne, and they courtesied to Mrs. Thrale, who stopped 
 and inquired after their father, and then a dawdling 
 conversation took place. "How were you entertained 
 at the play, ma'am ! — did you ever see anything so 
 full?' 
 
 " Oh, cried Mrs. Thrale, " the ladies are all dying of it ! 
 such holding up of fans ! " " Oh, because it was so hot," 
 cried Miss Cumberland, entirely misunderstanding her; 
 " it was monstrous hot, indeed ! " 
 
 The next time I meet them, I intend to try if I can stop 
 this their staring system, by courtesying to them immedi- 
 
1779.J OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 89 
 
 ately. I think it will be impossible, if I claim them as ac- 
 quaintance, that they can thus rudely fasten their eyes upon 
 me. We have had a visit from Dr. Delap. He told me 
 that he had another tragedy, and that I should have it to 
 read. He was very curious to see Mr. Cumberland, who, it 
 seems, has given evident marks of displeasure at his name, 
 whenever Mrs. Thrale has mentioned it. That poor man 
 is so wonderfully narrow-minded in his authorship capacity, 
 though otherwise good, humane, and generous, that he 
 changes countenance at either seeing or hearing of any 
 writer whatsoever. Mrs. Thrale, with whom, this foible 
 excepted, he is a great favorite, is so enraged with him for 
 his littleness of soul in this respect, that, merely to plague 
 him, she vowed at the rooms she would walk all the even- 
 ing between Dr. Delap and me. I wished so little to in- 
 crease his unpleasant feelings, that I determined to keep 
 with Miss Thrale and Miss Dickens entirely. One time, 
 though, Mrs. Thrale, when she was sitting by Dr. Delap, 
 called me suddenly to her, and when I was seated, said, 
 " Now let 's see if Mr. Cumberland will come and speak to 
 me ! " But he always turns resolutely another way when 
 he sees her with either of us ; though at all other times he 
 is particularly fond of her company. " It would actually 
 serve him right," says she, "to make Dr. Delap and you 
 strut at each side of me, one with a dagger, and the other 
 with a mask, as tragedy and comedy." "I think, Miss 
 Burney," said the doctor, " you and I seem to stand in the 
 same predicament. What shall we do fcr the poor man 1 
 — suppose we burn a play apiece ? ' " Depend upon it," 
 said Mrs. Thrale, " he has heard, in town, that you are both 
 to bring one out this season, and perhaps one of his own 
 may be deferred on that account." 
 
 On the announcement of the carriage, we went into the 
 next room for our cloaks, where Mrs. Thrale and Mr, 
 
90 DIABY AND LETTEH8 [1779. 
 
 Cumberland were in deep conversation. " Oh, here 's Miss 
 Burney ! " said Mrs. Thrale aloud. Mr. Cumberland turned 
 round, but withdrew his eyes instantly ; and I, determined 
 not to interrupt them, made Miss Thrale walk away with 
 me. In about ten minutes she left him, and we all came 
 home. As soon as we were in the carriage, " It has been," 
 said Mrs. Thrale, warmly, "all I could do not to affront 
 Mr. Cumberland to-night ! " " Oh, I hope not ! " cried I ; 
 " I would not have you for the world ! " " Why, I have 
 refrained j but with great difficulty ! " And then she told 
 me the conversation she had just had with him. As soon 
 as I made off, he said, with a spiteful tone of voice, " Oh, 
 that young lady is an author, I hear ! " " Yes,'' answered 
 Mrs. Thrale, "author of 'Evelina!'" "Humph — I am 
 told it has some humor ! " " Ay, indeed ! Johnson says 
 nothing like it has appeared for years ! " " So," cried he, 
 biting his lips, and waving uneasily in his chair, " so, so ! " 
 " Yes," continued she ; " and Sir Joshua Eeynolds told Mr. 
 Thrale he would give fifty pounds to know the author ! " 
 " So, so — oh, vastly well ! " cried he, putting his hand on 
 his forehead. " Nay," added she, " Burke himself sat up 
 all night to finish it ! " 
 
 This seemed quite too much for him ; he put both his 
 hands to his face, and waving backwards and forwards, 
 said, " Oh, vastly well ! — this will do for anything ! " with a 
 tone as much as to say. Pray, no more ! Then Mrs. Thrale 
 bid him good night, longing, she said, to call Miss Thrale 
 first, and say, "So you won't speak to my daughter? — 
 why, she is no author ! " 
 
 Do you know I have been writing to Dr. Johnson ! I 
 tremble to mention it ; but he sent a message in a letter 
 to Mrs. Thrale, to wonder why his pupils did not write to 
 him, and to hope they did not forget him ; Miss Thrale, 
 therefore, wrote a letter immediately, and I added only 
 
1779.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. P"* 
 
 this little postscript : '■ P. S. — Dr. Johnsons other pupil a 
 little longs to add a few lines to this letter, — but knows 
 too well that all she has to say might be comprised in 
 signing herself his obliged and most obedient servant, 
 F. B. : so that 's better than a long rigmarole about 
 nothing." 
 
SJf UlABY AND LErXiiiKU ii}«U. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 1780 — 1781. 
 
 Bath, April 7. — Don't be angry that I have been ab- 
 sent so long without writing, for I have been so entirely 
 without a moment to myself, except for dressing, that I 
 really have not had it in my power. This morning, being 
 obliged to have my hair dressed early, I am a prisoner, 
 that I may not spoil it by a hat, and therefore I have made 
 use of my captivity in writing to my dear Susy; and, 
 briefly, I will now chronicle what has occupied me hitherto. 
 The journey was very comfortable ; Mr. Thrale was charm- 
 ingly well and in very good spirits, and Mrs. Thrale must 
 be charming, well or iU.. We only went to Maidenhead 
 Bridge the first night, where I found the caution given 
 me by Mr. Smelt, of not attempting to travel near Wind- 
 sor on a hunting day, was a very necessary one, as we were 
 with difficulty accommodated even the day after the hunt ; 
 several stragglers yet remaining at all the inns, and we 
 heard of nothing but the king and royal huntsmen and 
 huntswomen. 
 
 The second day we slept at Speen HiU, and the third 
 day we reached Devizes. And here, Mrs. Thrale and I 
 were much pleased with our hostess, Mrs. Lawrence, who 
 seemed something above her station in her inn. While 
 we were at cards before supper, we were much surprised 
 by the sound of a pianoforte. I jumped up and ran to 
 listen whence it proceeded. I found it came from the 
 Dft-st room, where the overture to the " Buona Figliuola " 
 
1780.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 93 
 
 was performing. The playing was very decent, but, as the 
 music was not quite new to me, my curiosity was not 
 whole ages in satisfying, and therefore I returned to finish 
 the rubher. Don't I begin to talk in an old-cattish man- 
 ner of cards ? Well, another deal was hardly played, ere 
 we heard the sound of a voice, and out I ran again. The 
 singing, however, detained me not long, and so back I 
 whisked : but the performance, however indifferent in it- 
 self, yet surprised us at the Bear at Devizes, and, therefore, 
 Mrs. Thrale determined to know from whom it came. 
 Accordingly, she tapped at the door. A very handsome 
 girl, about thirteen years old, with fine dark hair upon a 
 finely formed forehead, opened it. Mrs. Thrale made an 
 apology for her intrusion, but the poor girl blushed and 
 retreated into a corner of the room : another girl, however, 
 advanced, and obligingly and gracefully invited us in, and 
 gave us all chairs. She was just sixteen, extremely pretty, 
 and with a countenance better than her features, though 
 those were also very good. Mrs. Thrale made her many 
 compliments, which she received with a mingled modesty 
 and pleasure, both becoming and interesting. She was, 
 indeed, a sweetly pleasing girl. 
 
 We found they were both daughters of our hostess, and 
 born and bred at Devizes. We were extremely pleased 
 with them, and made them a long visit, which I wished to 
 have been longer. But though those pretty girls struck us 
 so much, the wonder of the family was yet to be produced. 
 This was their brother, a most lovely boy of ten years of 
 age, who seems to be not merely the wonder of their fam- 
 ily, but of the times, for his astonishing skill in drawing.^ 
 They protest he has never had any instruction, yet showed 
 us some of his productions that were really beautiful. 
 
 1 Thia boy was afterwards the celebrated painter. Sir Thomas Lawrence, 
 President of the Royal Academy. 
 
94 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1780. 
 
 Those that were copies were delightful — those of his own 
 composition amazing, though far inferior. I was equally 
 struck with the boy and his works. We found that he 
 had been taken to town, and that all the painters had been 
 very kind to him, and Sir Joshua Eeynolds had pro- 
 nounced him, the mother said, the most promising genius 
 he had ever met with. Mr. Hoare^ has been so charmed 
 with this sweet boy's drawings that he intends sending 
 him to Italy with his own son. This house was full of 
 books, as well as paintings, drawings, and music ; and aU 
 the family seem not only ingenious and industrious, but 
 amiable; added to which, they are strikingly handsome. 
 
 Friday was a busy and comical day. We had an en- 
 gagement of long standing to drink tea with Miss L , 
 
 whither we aU went, and a most queer evening did we 
 spend. When we entered, she and all her company were 
 looking out of the window ; however, she found us out in 
 a few minutes, and made us welcome in a strain of delight 
 and humbleness at receiving us, that put her into a flutter 
 of spirits from which she never recovered all the evening. 
 
 Her fat, jolly mother took her seat at the top of the 
 room ; next to her sat a lady in a riding-habit, whom I 
 soon found to be Mrs. Dobson ; below her sat a gentle- 
 woman, prim, upright, neat, and mean ; and, next to her, 
 sat another, thin, hagged, wrinkled, fine, and tawdry, with a 
 thousand frippery ornaments and old-fashioned furbelows ; 
 she was excellently nick-named, by Mrs. Thrale, the Duch- 
 ess of Monmouth. On the opposite side was placed Mrs. 
 Thrale, and, next to her, Queeny. For my own part, little 
 liking the appearance of the set, and half-dreading Mrs. 
 
 ' Mr. C. Prince Hoare. The intended patronage did not take place. 
 The Lawrences left Devizes almost immediately after the date of the above 
 notice, and henceforth the whole family were supported by the extraor- 
 dinai y talents of the boy artist. 
 
1780.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 95 
 
 Dobson, from whose notice I wished to escape, I had 
 made up myself to one of the now deserted windows, and 
 
 Mr. Thrale had followed me. As to Miss L , she 
 
 came to stand by me, and her panic, I fancy, returned, for 
 she seemed quite panting with a desire to say something, 
 and an incapacity to utter it. 
 
 It proved happy for me that I had taken this place, fni 
 in a few minutes the mean, neat woman, whose name was 
 Aubrey, asked if Miss Thrale was Miss Thrale? "Yea, 
 ma'am." "And pray, ma'am, who is that other young 
 lady ? " "A daughter of Dr. Burney's, ma'am." " What ! " 
 cried Mrs. Dobson, " is that the lady that has favored us 
 with that excellent novel ? " " Yes, ma'am." Then burst 
 forth a whole volley from all at once. "Very extraor- 
 dinary, indeed!" said one — "Dear heart, who'd have 
 thought it ? " said another — "I never saw the like in my 
 life ! " said a third. And Mrs. Dobson, entering more into 
 detail, began praising it through, but chiefly Evelina her- 
 self, which she said was the most natural character she 
 had ever met in any book. 
 
 Meantime, I had almost thrown myself out of the win- 
 dow, in my eagerness to get out of the way of this gross 
 
 and noisy applause ; but poor Miss L , having stood 
 
 quite silent a long time, simpering, and nodding her assent 
 to what was said, at last broke forth with : " I assure you, 
 ma'am, we 've been all quite delighted : that is, we had 
 read it before, but only now upon reading it again." 1 
 thanked her, and talked of something else, and she tool 
 the hint to have done ; but said : " Pray, ma'am, will you 
 favor me with your opinion of Mrs. Dobson's works ? " A 
 pretty question, in a room so small that even a whisper 
 would be heard from one end to another! However, I 
 truly said I had not read them. 
 
 Mr. aud Mrs. Whalley now arrived, and I was obliged 
 
96 DIARY AND LETTBB8 [1780. 
 
 to go to a chair — when such staring followed ; they could 
 not have opened their eyes wider when they first looked 
 at the Guildhall giants ! I looked with all the gravity and 
 demureness possible, in order to keep them from coming 
 plump to the subject again, and, indeed, this, for a while, 
 kept them off. Soon after. Dr. Harrington arrived, which 
 
 closed our party. Miss L went whispering to him, and 
 
 then, came up to me, with a look of dismay, and said : 
 "Oh, ma'am, I'm so prodigiously concerned; Mr. Henry 
 won't come!" "Who, ma'am?" "Mr. Henry, ma'am, 
 the doctor's son. But, to be sure, he does not know you 
 are here, or else — but I'm quite concerned, indeed, for 
 here now we shall have no young gentlemen ! " 
 
 Soon after the mamma hobbled to me, and began a 
 furious panegyric upon my book, saying, at the same time : 
 " I wonder. Miss, how you could get at them low characters. 
 As to the lords and ladies, that 's no wonder at all ; but, as 
 to t' others, why, I have not stirred, night nor morning, 
 while I've been reading it: if I don't wonder how you 
 could be so clever ! " And much, much more. And, scarcely 
 
 had she unburthened herself, ere Miss L trotted back to 
 
 me, crying in a tone of mingled triumph and vexation : 
 " WeU, ma'am, Mr. Henry wOl be very much mortified 
 when he knows who has been here ; that he will, indeed ; 
 however, I 'm sure he deserves it ! " We had now some 
 music. But the first time there was a cessation of harmony. 
 
 Miss L , again respectfully approaching me, cried: 
 
 " Well, all my comfort is that Mr. Henry wiU. be prodigi- 
 ously mortified ! But there 's a ball to-night, so I suppose 
 he 's gone to that. However, I 'm sure if he had known of 
 meeting you young ladies here — but it 's all good enough 
 for him, for not coming ! " 
 
 Soon after this, a chair next mine being vacated, Mrs. 
 Dobson came and seated herself in it, to my somewhat 
 
1780.] OF MADAME D'AHBLAT. 97 
 
 dismay, as I knew what would follow. Plump she came 
 upon her subject, saying: "Miss Burney, I am come 
 to thank you for the vast entertainment you have given 
 me. I am quite happy to see you ; I wished to see you 
 very much. It 's a charming book, indeed ; the characters 
 are vastly well supported ! " In short, she ran on for half 
 an hour, I believe, in nothing but plain, unadorned, down- 
 right praise ; while I could only bow, and say she was very 
 good, and long to walk out of the room. 
 
 I was not two minutes relieved, ere Miss L returned, 
 
 to again assure me how glad she was that Mr. Henry would 
 be mortified. The poor lady was quite heart-broken that 
 we did not meet. The next vacation of my neighboring 
 
 chair was filled by Mrs. L , who brought me some 
 
 flowers ; and when I thanked her, said : " 0, Miss, you 
 deserve everything ! You 've writ the best and prettiest 
 book. That lord there — I forget his name, that marries 
 her at last, what a fine gentleman he is ! You deserve 
 everything for drawing such a character; and then Miss 
 Elena, there. Miss Belmont, as she is at last — what a 
 noble couple of 'em you have put together ! As to that 
 t' other lord, I was glad he had not her, for I see he had 
 nothing but a bad design." 
 
 Well, have you enough of this ridiculous evening ? Mrs. 
 Thrale and I have mutually agreed that we neither of us 
 ever before had so complete a dish of gross flattery as this 
 night. 
 
 Bath, May 28. — I was very happy, my dearest girls, 
 with the account of your safe return from the borough. 
 I never mentioned your having both accompanied me till 
 I had got half-way to Bath; for I found my dear Mrs. 
 Thrale so involved in business, electioneering, canvassing, 
 and letter-writing, that after our first embrassades, we hardly 
 exchanged a word till we got into the chaise next morning 
 
 you I. 7 
 
98 DIARY AND LETTERS 11780- 
 
 Dr. Johnson, however, who was with her, received cue even 
 joyfully ; and, making me sit by him, began a gay and 
 spirited conversation, which he kept up till we parted, 
 though in the midst of all this bustle. 
 
 The next morning we rose at four o'clock, and when we 
 came downstairs, to our great surprise, found Dr. Johnson 
 waiting to receive and breakfast with us : though the night 
 before he had taken leave of us, and given me the most 
 cordial and warm assurances of the love he has for me, 
 which I do indeed believe to be as sincere as I can wish ; 
 and I failed not to tell him the affectionate respect with 
 which I return it ; though, as well as I remember, we 
 never came to this open declaration before. We, therefore, 
 drank our coffee with him, and then he handed us both 
 into the chaise. He meant to have followed us to Bath, 
 but Mrs. Thrale discouraged him, from a firm persuasion 
 that he would be soon very horribly wearied of a Bath 
 life : an opinion in which I heartUy join. 
 
 Sunday. — We had an excellent sermon from the Bishop 
 of Peterborough, who preached merely at the request of 
 Mrs. Thrale. Prom the Abbey we went to the pump- 
 room, where we met Mrs. and Miss Byron. At the 
 pump-room we also saw the beautiful Miss Ditcher. At 
 dinner, we had the Bishop and Dr. Harrington ; and the 
 Bishop, who was in very high spirits, proposed a frolic, 
 which was, that we should all go to Spring Gardens, where 
 he should give us tea, and thence proceed to Mr. Ferry's, 
 to see a very curious house and garden. Mrs. Thrale 
 pleaded that she had invited company to tea at home, but 
 the Bishop said we would go early, and should return in 
 time, and was so gaUy authoritative that he gained his 
 point. He had been so long accustomed to command, 
 when master of Westminster school, that he cannot pre- 
 vail with himself, I believe, ever to be overcome. 
 
i78J.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 99 
 
 Dr. Harrington was engaged to a patient, and could not 
 be of our party. But the three Thrales, the Bishop, and I, 
 pursued our scheme, crossed the Avon, had a sweet walk 
 through the meadows, and drank tea at Spring Gardens, 
 where the Bishop did the honors with a spirit, a gaiety, 
 and an activity that jovialized us all, and really we were 
 prodigiously lively. "We then walked on to Mr. Ferry's 
 habitation. Mr. Ferry is a Bath alderman ; his house and 
 garden exhibit the house and garden of Mr. Tattersall, 
 enlarged. Just the same taste prevails, the same paltry 
 ornaments, the same crowd of buildings, the same unmean- 
 ing decorations, and the same unsuccessful attempts at 
 making something of nothing. They kept us half an hour 
 in the garden, while they were preparing for our reception 
 in the house, where after parading through four or five little 
 vulgarly showy closets, not rooms, we were conducted into 
 a very gaudy little apartment, where the master of the 
 house sat reclining on his arm, as if in contemplation, 
 though everything conspired to show that the house and its 
 inhabitants were carefully arranged for our reception. The 
 Bishop had sent in his name by way of gaining admission. 
 
 The Bishop, with a gravity of demeanor difficult to him- 
 self to sustain, apologized for our intrusion, and retxirned 
 thanks for seeing the house and garden. Mr. Ferry started 
 from his pensive attitude, and begged us to be seated, and 
 then a curtain was drawn, and we perceived through a glass 
 a perspective view of ships, boats, and water ! This raree- 
 show over, the maid who officiated as show- woman had ;i 
 hint given her, and presently a trap-door opened, and up 
 jumped a covered table, ornamented with various devices. 
 When we had expressed our delight at this long enough to 
 satisfy Mr. Ferry, another hint was given, and presently 
 down dropped an eagle from the ceiling, whose talons were 
 put into a certain hook at the top of the covering of the 
 
100 DIAKT AND LETTERS [1780. 
 
 table, and when the admiration at this was over, up again 
 flew the eagle, conveying in his talons the cover, and leav- 
 ing under it a repast of cakes, sweetmeats, oranges, and 
 jellies. When our raptures upon this feat subsided, the 
 maid received another signal, and then seated herself in 
 an armchair, which presently sunk down underground, and 
 up in its room came a barber's block, with a vast quantity 
 of black wool on it, and a high head-dress. This, you may 
 be sure, was more applauded than all the rest : we were 
 en extase, and having properly expressed our gratitude, 
 were soon after suffered to decamp. 
 
 Feiday. — In the evening was the last ball expected to 
 be at Bath this season, and, therefore, knowing we could 
 go to no other, it was settled we should go to this. Of 
 our party were Mrs. Byron and Augusta, Miss Philips, and 
 Charlotte Lewis. Captain Bouchier asked me for the honor 
 of my hand, but I had previously resolved not to dance, 
 and, therefore, declined his offer. But he took, of the 
 sudden, a fancy to prate with me, and therefore budged 
 not after the refusal He told me he had very lately met 
 with Hannah More, and then mentioned Mrs. Montagu 
 and Mrs. Carter, whence he took occasion to say most high 
 and fine things of the ladies of the present age, — their 
 writings, and talents ; and I soon found he had no small 
 reverence for us blue-stockings. About this time, Char- 
 lotte, who had confessedly dressed herself for dancing, but 
 whose pretty face had by some means been overlooked, 
 drawled towards us, and asked me why I would not dance ? 
 " I never intended it," said I ; " but I hoped to have seen 
 you." "No," said she, yawning, "no more shaU I, — I 
 don't choose it." "Don't you?" said Captain Bouchier, 
 drily, " why not ? " " Why, because I don't like it." " O 
 fie!" cried he; "consider how cruel that is." "I must 
 consider myself," said she, pertly ; " for I don't choose to 
 
1780.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 101 
 
 heat myself this hot weather." Just then, a young man 
 came forward, and rec[uested her hand. She colored, 
 looked excessively silly, and walked off with him to join 
 the dancers. When, between the dances, she came our 
 way, he plagued her, d la Sir Clement, " "Well," cried he, 
 " so you have been dancing this hot night ! I thought you 
 would have considered yourself better ? " " Oh," said 3he, 
 " I could not help it — I had much rather not ; — it was 
 quite disagreeable to me." " Ko, no, — pardon me there ! " 
 said he, maliciously; "I saw pleasure dance first in your 
 eyes ; I never saw you look more delighted : you were 
 quite the queen of smiles !" She looked as if she could 
 have killed him : and yet, from giddiness and good-humor, 
 was compelled to join in the laugh. 
 
 After this we went to tea. When that was over, and 
 we all returned to the ball-room. Captain Bouchier followed 
 me, and again took a seat next mine, which he kept, with- 
 out once moving, the whole night. Before we broke up, 
 this Captain asked me if I should be at the play next 
 night ? — " Yes," I could not but say, as we had had places 
 taken some time ; but I did not half like it, for his manner 
 of asking plainly implied, " If you go, why / will ! " When 
 we made our exit, he saw me safe out of the rooms, with 
 as much attention as if we had actually been partners. As 
 we were near home we did not get into chairs ; and Mr. 
 Travell joined us in our walk. " Why, what a flirtation ! " 
 cried Mrs. Thrale ; " why, Burney, this is a man of taste ! 
 — Pray, Mr. Travell, will it do? What has he?" 
 "Twenty thousand pounds, ma'am," answered the beau. 
 "0 ho! has he so? — Well, well, we'll think of it." 
 Finding her so facetious, I determined not to acquaint hex 
 with the query concerning the play, knowing that, if I did, 
 and he appeared there, she would be outrageous in merri- 
 ment. She is a most dear creature, but never restrains her 
 
102 DIAKY AND LETTEK8 [1780. 
 
 tongue in anything, nor, indeed, any of her feelings : — she 
 laughs, cries, scolds, sports, reasons, makes fun, — does 
 everything she has an inclination to do, without any study 
 of prudence, or thought of blame ; and, pure and artless as 
 is this character, it often draws both herself and others into 
 scrapes which a little discretion would avoid. 
 
 Miss F. Btirney to Mrs. Thrale. 
 
 Nobody does write such sweet letters as my dear Mrs. 
 Thrale, and I would sooner give up a month's allowance of 
 meat, than my week's allowance of an epistle. The report 
 of the parliament's dissolution I hope is premature. I in - 
 quire of everybody I see about it, and always hear that it 
 is expected now to last almost as long as it can last. Why, 
 indeed, should government wish to dissolve it, when they 
 meet with no opposition from it ? Since I wrote last I 
 have drunk tea with Dr. Johnson. My father took me to 
 Bolt-court, and we found him, most fortunately, with only 
 one brass-headed cane gentleman. Since that, I have had 
 the pleasure to meet him again at Mrs. Eeynolds's, when 
 he offered to take me with him to Grub-street, to see the 
 ruins of the house demolished there in the late riots, by a 
 mob that, as he observed, could be no friend to the Muses ! 
 He inquired if I had ever yet visited Grub-street ? but was 
 obliged to restrain his anger when I answered " No," be- 
 cause he acknowledged he had never paid his respects to 
 it himself. " However," says he, " you and I, Burney, will 
 go together ; we have a very good right to go, so we '11 visit 
 the mansions of our progenitors, and take up our own free- 
 dom together." There 's for you, madam ! What can be 
 grander ? 
 
 Yesterday I drank tea at Sir Joshua's, and met by acci- 
 
1780.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 103 
 
 dent with Mrs. Cholmondeley ; I was very glad to find that 
 her spirits are uninjured by her misfortunes ; she was as 
 gay, flighty, entertaining, and frisky as ever. Her sposo is 
 not confined, as was said ; he is only gone upon his travels : 
 she seems to bear his absence with remarkable fortitude. 
 After aU, there is something in her very attractive; her 
 conversation is so spirited, so humorous, so enlivening, that 
 she does not suffer one's attention to rest, much less to flag, 
 for hours together. Sir Joshua told me he was now at 
 work upon your pictures, touching them up for Streatham, 
 and that he has already ordered the frames, and shall have 
 them quite ready whenever the house is in order for them. 
 Adieu, dearest madam, and from me accept not only 
 love, and not only respects, but both, and gratitude, and 
 warmest wishes, and constancy invariable into the bargain. 
 
 F. BUENEY. 
 
 From Mrs. Thrale to Miss F. Burney. 
 
 Brighthelmstone, "Wednesday, July 19, 1780. 
 
 And so my letters please you, do they, my sweet Burney ? 
 I know yours are the most entertaining things that cross 
 me in the course of the whole week; and a miserable 
 praise too, if you could figure to yourself my most dull 
 companions. I write now from Bowen's shop, where he 
 has been settled about three days I think ; and here comes 
 in one man hopping, and asks for " Eussell on Sea- water " 
 — another tripping, and begs to have the last new novel 
 sent him home to-night; one lady tumbles the ballads 
 about, and fingers the harpsichord which stands here at 
 every blockhead's mercy; and another looks over the Lilli- 
 putian library, and purchases Polly Sugarcake for her long- 
 legged missey. 
 
 My master is gone out riding, and we are to drink tea 
 
104 DIABT AND LETTEBS [1780. 
 
 with Lady Eothes ; after wMch the Steyne hours begin, 
 and we cluster round Thomas's shop, and contend for the 
 attention of Lord John Clinton, a man who could, I think, 
 be of consequence in no other place upon earth, though a 
 very well-informed and modest-mannered boy. Dr. Pepys 
 is resolutely and profoundly silent : and Lady Shelley, hav- 
 ing heard wits commended, has taken up a new character, 
 and says not only the severest but the cruellest things you 
 
 ever heard in your life. Here is a Mrs. K , too, 
 
 sister to the Duchess of M , who is very uncom- 
 panionable indeed, and talks of TunibTidge, These, how- 
 ever, are literally all the people we ever speak to — oh yes, 
 the Drummonds — but they are scarce blest with utter- 
 ance. 
 
 The going to Grub-street would have been a pretty ex- 
 ploit. Are you continuing to qualify yourself for an in- 
 habitant ? Sweet Mrs. Cholmondeley ! I am glad she can 
 frolic and frisk so : — the time will come too soon that will, 
 as Grumio expresses it, " tame man, woman, and beast," — 
 and thyself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 Adieu, — and divide my truest kindness among all the 
 dear Newtonians, ^ and keep yourself a large share. You 
 are in no danger of invaders from the sea-coast. Susan 
 and Sophy bathe and grow, and riot me out of my senses. 
 I am ever, my dear girl, most faithfully yours, 
 
 H. L. T. 
 
 Journal resumed. 
 
 Stbeatham, Monday, December 6. — As I am now well 
 enough to employ myself my own way, though not to go 
 downstairs, I will take this first opportunity I have had 
 since my return hither, to write again to my dearest Susan 
 
 1 Alluding to the house of Sir laaao Newton, in St. Martin's-etreet, in 
 which Dr. Bumey was at this time residing. 
 
17800 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 105 
 
 Your letters, my love, have been more than usually welcome 
 to me of late ; their coutents have been very entertaining 
 and satisfactory, and their arrival has been particularly 
 seasonable; not on account of my illness — that alone 
 never yet lowered my spirits as they are now lowered, 
 because I knew I must ere long, in all probability, be 
 again weU; but Susy! I am — I have been — and I 
 fear must always be, alarmed indeed for Mr. Thrale ; and 
 the more I see and know him, the more alarmed, because 
 the more I love and dread to lose him. 
 
 Poor Mr. Thrale had had this vile influenza for two 
 days before we set out ; but then seemed better. We got 
 on to Crawley all well ; he then ordered two of the ser- 
 vants to go on to Eeigate and prepare dinner : meantime 
 he suffered dreadfully from the coldness of the weather; 
 he shook from head to foot, and his teeth chattered aloud 
 very frightfully. When we got again into the coach, by 
 degrees he grew warm and tolerably comfortable; but 
 when we stopped at Eeigate his speech grew inarticulate, 
 and he said one word for another. I hoped it was accident, 
 and Mrs. Thrale, by some strange infatuation, thought he 
 was joking — but Miss Thrale saw how it was from the 
 first. 
 
 By very cruel Ul-luck, too tedious to relate, his precaution 
 proved useless ; for we had not only no dinner ready, but 
 no fire, and were shown into a large and comfortless room. 
 The town is filled with militia. Here the cold returned 
 dreadfully — and here, in short, it was but too plain to all, 
 his faculties were lost by it. Poor Mrs. Thrale worked 
 like a servant ; she lighted the fire with her own hands — 
 took the bellows, and made such a one as might have 
 roasted an ox in ten minutes. But I will not dwell on 
 particulars: — after dinner Mr. Thrale grew better; and 
 for the rest of our journey was sleepy and mostly silent. 
 
106 DIARY AND LETTERS [1780. 
 
 It was late in the night when we got to Streatham 
 Mrs. Thrale consulted me what to do : — I was for a 
 physician immediately; but Miss Thrale opposed that, 
 thinking it would do harm to alarm her father by such 
 a step. However, Mrs. Thrale ordered the butler to set 
 off by six the next morning for Dr. Heberden and Mr. 
 Seward. 
 
 The next morning, however, he was greatly better, and 
 when they arrived he was very angry ; but I am sure it 
 was right. Dr. Heberden ordered nothing but cupping. 
 Mr. Seward was very good and friendly, and spent five 
 days here, during all which Mr. Thrale grew better. Dr. 
 Johnson, you know, came with my dear father the Thurs- 
 day after our return. 
 
 You cannot, I think, have been surprised that I gave up 
 my plan of going to town immediately : indeed, I had no 
 heart to leave either Mr. Thrale in a state so precarious, 
 or his dear wife in an agitation of mind hardly short of a 
 fever. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale to Miss F. Burney. 
 
 Stkbatham, Thursday, 4th January. 
 
 Don't I pick up franks prettily? I sent a hundred 
 miles for this, and the churl enclosed but one — " certain 
 that Miss Burney could not live long enough away from 
 me to need two." Ah, cruel Miss Burney ! she will never 
 come again, I think. 
 
 Well ! but I did see Philips written in that young man's 
 honest face, though nobody pronounced the word ; and I 
 boldly bid him " Good morrow, Captain" at the door, trust- 
 ing to my own instinct when I came away. Your sweet 
 father, however, this day trusted me with the whole secret, 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 107 
 
 and from my heart do I wish every comfort and joy from 
 the match. 
 
 'Tis now high time to tell you that the pictures are 
 come home, all but mine, — which my master don't like. 
 He has ordered your father to sit to-morrow, in his per- 
 emptory way ; and I shall have the dear Docuor every 
 morning at breakfast. I took ridiculous pains to tutor 
 him to-day, and to insist, in my peremptory way, on his 
 forbearing to write or read late this evening, that my pic- 
 ture might not have blood-shot eyes. 
 
 Merlin has been here to tune the fortepianos. He told 
 Mrs. Davenant and me that he had thoughts of inventing 
 a particular mill to grind old ladies young, as he was so 
 prodigiously fond of their company. I suppose he thought 
 we should bring grist. Was that the way to put people in 
 tune ? I asked him. 
 
 Doctor Burney says your letters and mine are alike, and 
 that it comes by writing so incessantly to each other. I 
 feel proud and pleased, and find I shall slip pretty readily 
 into the Susannuccia's place, when she goes to settle on 
 her 7001 a-year ; of which God give her joy seven hundred 
 times over, dear creature ! I never knew how it was to 
 love an incognita but Susan Burney : my personal acquain- 
 tance with her is actually nothing — is it ? and yet ws 
 always seem to understand one another. H. L. 1. 
 
 Journal resumed. 
 
 (Addressed to Mr. Crisp.) 
 
 Makch 23rd, 1781. — I have very narrowly escaped a 
 
 return of the same vile and irksome fever which with such 
 
 difficulty has been conquered, and that all from vexation. 
 
 Last week I went to dinner in Grosvenor Square. I ran 
 
108 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1781. 
 
 upstairs, as usual, into Mrs. Thrale's dressing-room, and 
 she there acquainted me that Mr. Thrale had resolved upon 
 going abroad : Jirst to Spa, next to Italy, and then whither 
 his fancy led him ! that Dr. Johnson was to accompany 
 them, but that, as their journey was without limit either 
 of time or place, as Mr. Thrale's ill state of health and 
 strange state of mind would make it both melancholy and 
 alarming, she could not in conscience think of taking me 
 from my own friends and country without knowing either 
 whither, or for what length of time. She would write to 
 me, however, every post ; leave me the keys of all she left 
 of any value, and, in case of any evil to herself, make me 
 her executrix ! 
 
 Oh, what words ! and what a scheme ! I was so infi- 
 nitely shocked, surprised, and grieved, that I was forced 
 to run away from her, and insist upon hearing no more ; 
 neither could I sufficiently recover even to appear at din- 
 ner, as Dr. Johnson, Mr. Seward, and Mr. Ingram, were 
 of the party; I was obliged, therefore, to shut myself up 
 all the afternoon. 
 
 You wQl not, I am sure, wonder that I should be utterly 
 disconcerted and afflicted by a plan so wild in itself, and 
 so grievous to me. I was, indeed, hardly able to support 
 myseK with any firmness aU day; and, unfortunately, 
 there was in the evening a great rout. I was then obliged 
 to appear, and obliged to teU everybody I was but half 
 recovered from my late indisposition. 
 
 I have been so often and so provokingly interrupted in 
 writing this, that I must now finish it by lumping matters 
 at once. Sir Richard Jebb and Dr. Pepys have both been 
 consulted concerning this going abroad, and are both equally 
 violent against it, as they think it even unwarrantable, in 
 such a state of health as Mr. Thrale's ; and, therefore, it is 
 •"«Jed that a great meeting of his friends is to take place 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 109 
 
 before he actually prepares for the journey, and they are 
 to encircle him in a body, and endeavor, by representations 
 and entreaties, to prevail with him to give it up ; and 1 
 have little doubt myself but, amongst us, we shall be able 
 to succeed. 
 
 Miss F. Burnei/ to Mrs.Thrale}- 
 
 Wednesday evening. 
 
 You bid me write to you, and so I wUl ; you bid me 
 pray for you, and so, indeed, I do, for the restoration of 
 your sweet peace of mind. I pray for your resignation to 
 this hard blow, for the continued union and exertion oi 
 your virtues with your talents, and for the happiest reward 
 their exertion can meet with, in the gratitude and prosper- 
 ity of your children. These are my prayers for my be- 
 loved Mrs. Thrale; but these are not my only ones; no, 
 the unfailing warmth of her kindness for myself I have 
 rarely, for a long time past, slept without first petitioning. 
 
 I ran away without seeing you again when I found you 
 repented that sweet compliance with my request which I 
 had won from you. For the world would I not have pur- 
 sued you, had I first seen your prohibition, nor could I 
 endure to owe that consent to teasing which I only soli- 
 cited from tenderness. Still, however, I think you had 
 better have suffered me to follow you ; I might have been 
 of some use ; I hardly could have been in your way. But 
 I grieve now to have forced you to an interview which I 
 
 1 This letter was written in reply to a few words from Mrs. Thrale, in 
 which, alluding to her husband's sudden death, she begs Miss Bumey to 
 " write to me — pray for me ! " The hurried note from Mrs. Thrale is thus 
 endoraed by Miss Bumey : — "Written a few hours after the death of Mr. 
 Thrale, whioh happened by a sudden stroke of apoplexy, on the morning 
 of a day on which half the fashion of London had been invited to an in 
 tended assembly at his house in Grosvenor-square." 
 
110 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1781, 
 
 would have spared myself as well as you, had I foreseen 
 how little it would have answered my purpose. 
 
 Yet though I cannot help feeling disappointed, I am not 
 surprised ; for in any case at all similar, I am sure I should 
 have the same eagerness for solitude. 
 
 I teU you nothing of how sincerely I sympathize in 
 your affliction ; yet I believe that Mr. Crutchley and Dr. 
 Johnson alone do so more earnestly ; and I have some mel- 
 ancholy comfort in flattering myself that, allowing for the 
 difference of our characters, that true regard which I felt 
 was as truly returned. Nothing but kindness did I ever 
 meet with ; he ever loved to have me, not merely with his 
 family, but with himself; and gratefully shall I ever re- 
 member a thousand kind expressions of esteem and good 
 opinion, which are now crowding upon my memory. 
 
 Ah, dearest madam ! you had better have accepted ; I 
 am sure, if unfit for you, I am at this time unfit for every- 
 body. Adieu, and Heaven preserve my heart's dearest 
 friend ! Don't torment yourself to write to me, nor wiU 
 I even ask Queeny, though she is good, and I believe 
 would not deny me ; but what can you say but that you 
 are sad and comfortless? and do I not know that far too 
 well? I will write again to you, and a thousand times 
 again, for nothing am I more truly than your 
 
 F. B. 
 
 Miss F. Bumey to Mr. Crisp. 
 
 Steeatham, April 29th, 1781. 
 Have you not, my dearest daddy, thought me utterly 
 lost ? and, indeed, to all power of either giving or taking 
 comfort, I. certainly have been for some time past, I did 
 not, it is true, hope that poor Mr. Thrale could live very 
 long, as the alteration I saw in him only during my ab- 
 
1781-] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. HI 
 
 sence while with you, had shocked and astonished me. 
 Yet, still the suddenness of the blow gave me a horror 
 from which I am not even now recovered. The situation 
 of sweet Mrs. Thrale, added to the true concern I felt at 
 his loss, harassed my mind till it affected my health, which 
 is now again in a state of precariousness and comfortless 
 restlessness that will require much trouble to remedy. 
 
 You have not, I hope been angry at my silence ; for, in 
 truth, I have had no spirits to write, nor, latterly, ability 
 of any kind, from a headache that has been incessant. 
 
 I now begin to long extremely to hear more about your- 
 self, and whether you have recovered your sleep and any 
 comfort. The good nursing you mention is always my 
 consolation when I have the painful tidings of your ill- 
 ness; for I have myself experienced the kindness, care, 
 and unwearied attention of the ever good and friendly 
 Kitty, who, indeed, as you well say, can by no one be 
 excelled in that most useful and most humane of all 
 sciences. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale flew immediately upon this misfortune to 
 Brighthelmstone, to Mr. Scrase — her Daddy Crisp — both 
 for consolation and counsel ; and she has but just quitted 
 him, as she deferred returning to Streatham till her pres- 
 ence was indispensably necessary upon account of proving 
 the win. I offered to accompany her to Brighthelmstone ; 
 but she preferred being alone, as her mind was cnielly dis- 
 ordered, and she saw but too plainly I was too sincere a 
 mourner myself to do much besides adding to her grief. 
 The moment, however, she came back, she solicited me 
 to meet her, — and I am now here with her, and endeavor, 
 by every possible exertion, to be of some use to her. She 
 looks wretchedly indeed, and is far from well; but she 
 bears up, though not with calm intrepidity, yet with flashes 
 of spirit that rather, I fear, spend than relieve her. Such, 
 
112 DUSY AND LETTEES [1781. 
 
 however, is her character, and were this exertion repressed, 
 she would probably sink quite. 
 
 Miss Thrale is steady and constant, and very sincerely 
 grieved for her father. 
 
 The four executors, Mr. Cator,i Mr. Crutchley," Mr. 
 Henry Smith, and Dr. Johnson, have all behaved gener- 
 ously and honorably, and seem determined to give Mrs. 
 Thrale all the comfort and assistance in their power. She 
 is to carry on the business jointly with them. Poor soul ! 
 it is a dreadful toil and worry to her. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest daddy. I will write again in a week's 
 time. I have now just been blooded; but am by no 
 means restored by that loss. But well and ill, equally and 
 ever, your truly affectionate chUd, ¥. B. 
 
 Streatham, Thubsdat, May — . — This was the great and 
 most important day to aU this house, upon which the sale 
 of the Brewery was to be decided. Mrs. Thrale went early 
 to town, to meet all the executors, and Mr. Barclay, the 
 Quaker^, who was the bidder. She was in great agitation 
 of mind, and told me if all went well she would wave a 
 white pocket-handkerchief out of the coach window. Four 
 o'clock came and dinner was ready and no Mrs. Thrale. 
 Five o'clock followed, and no Mrs. Thrale. Queeny and 
 I went out upon the lawn, where we sauntered, in eager 
 
 1 M. P. for Ipswich in 1784. Described by Dr. Johnson as having 
 "much good in his character, and much usefulness in his knowledge." 
 Johns* used to visit Mr. Cator at his splendid seat at Beckenham. 
 
 2 M. P. for Horsham in 1784. 
 
 • David Barclay was one of seven sons of the celebrated Apologist 
 of the Quakers, — all of whom were living fifty years after the death of 
 their father. David was the last of them. He was a wealthy mercer 
 in Cheapside, and entertained successively three kings (George I., II., 
 and III.) on their respective visits to the city on Lord Mayor's day. He 
 was subsequently the purchaser of Mr. Thrale's brewery, and founder of the 
 most famous brewing firm of the present day, Barclay, Perkins, and Co. 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 113 
 
 expectation, tiU near six, and then the coach appeared in 
 sight, and a white pocket-handkerchief was waved from it. 
 
 I ran to the door of it to meet her, and she jumped out 
 of it, and gave me a thousand embraces while I gave my 
 congratulations. We went instantly to her dressing-room, 
 where she told me, in brief, how the matter had been 
 transacted, and then we went down to dinner. 
 
 Wednesday. — We had a terrible noisy day, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Cator came to dinner, and brought with them Miss 
 Collison, a niece. Mrs. Nesbitt was also here, and Mr. 
 Pepys. The long war which has been proclaimed among 
 the wits concerning Lord Lyttelton's " life," by Dr. John- 
 son, and which a whole tribe of Hues, with Mrs. Montagu 
 at their head, have vowed to execrate and revenge, now 
 broke out with all the fury of the first actual hostilities, 
 stimulated by long-concerted schemes and much spiteful 
 information. Mr. Pepys, Dr. Johnson well knew, was one 
 of Mrs. Montagu's steadiest abettors ; and, therefore, as he 
 had some time determined to defend himself with the first 
 of them he met, this day he fell the sacrifice to his wrath. 
 
 In a long tite-a-t4te which I accidentally had with Mr. 
 Pepys before the company was asserdbled, he told me his 
 apprehensions of an attack, and entreated me earnestly to 
 endeavor to prevent it ; modestly avowing he was no an- 
 tagonist for Dr. Johnson ; and yet declaring his personal 
 friendship for Lord Lyttelton made him so much hurt by 
 the " Life," that he feared he could not discuss the matter 
 without a quarrel, which, especially in the house of Mrs, 
 Thrale, he wished to avoid. It was, however, utterly 
 impossible for me to serve him. I could have stopped 
 Mrs. Thrale with ease, and Mr. Seward with a hint, had 
 either of them begun the subject ; but, unfortunately, in 
 the middle of dinner, it was begun by Dr. Johnson him- 
 self, to oppose whom, especially as he spoke, with great 
 
114 DIAEY AND LKTXEES [IT'S!. 
 
 anger, would have been madness and foUy. Never before 
 have I seen Dr. Johnson speak with so much passion. 
 
 " Mr. Pepys," he cried, in a voice the most enraged, " I 
 understand you are offended by my ' Life of Lord Lyttelton.' 
 What is it you have to say against it ? Come forth, man ! 
 Here am I, ready to answer any charge you can bring ! " 
 " No, sir," cried Mr. Pepys, " not at present ; I must beg 
 leave to decline the subject. I told Miss Burney before 
 dinner that I hoped it would not be started." I was quite 
 frightened to hear my own name mentioned in a debate 
 which began so seriously ; but Dr. Johnson made not to 
 this any answer : he repeated his attack and his challenge, 
 and a violent disputation ensued, in which this great but 
 mortal man did, to own the truth, appear unreasonably 
 furious and grossly severe. I never saw him so before, 
 and I heartily hope I never shall again. He has been 
 long provoked, and justly enough, at the sneaking com- 
 plaints and murmurs of the Lytteltonians ; and, therefore, 
 his long-excited wrath, which hitherto had met no object, 
 now burst forth with a vehemence and bitterness almost 
 incredible. 
 
 Mr. Pepys meantime never appeared to so much ad- 
 vantage; he preserved his temper, uttered all that be- 
 longed merely to himself with modesty, and all that more 
 immediately related to Lord Lyttelton with spirit. In- 
 deed, Dr. Johnson, in the very midst of the dispute, had 
 the candor and liberality to make him a personal compli- 
 ment by saying, — "Sir, all that you say, while you are 
 vindicating one who cannot thank you, makes me only 
 think better of you than I ever did before. Yet still I 
 think you do me wrong," &c., &c. Some time after, in the 
 heat of the argument, he called out — " The more my ' Lord 
 Lyttelton ' is inquired after, the worse he will appear ; 
 Mr. Seward has just heard two stories of him which cor- 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 115 
 
 roborate all I have related." He then desired Mr. Seward 
 to repeat them. Poor Mr. Seward, looked almost as fright- 
 ened as myself at the very mention of his name ; but he qui- 
 etly and immediately told the stories, which consisted of 
 fresh instances, from good authorities, of Lord Lyttelton's il- 
 liberal behavior to Shenstone ; and then he flung himself 
 back in his chair, and spoke no more during the whole 
 debate, which I am sure he was ready to vote a bore. 
 
 One happy circumstance, however, attended the quarrel, 
 which was the presence of Mr. Cator, who would by no 
 means be prevented talking himself, either by reverence 
 for Dr. Johnson, or ignorance of the subject in ques- 
 tion ; on the contrary, he gave his opinion, quite uncalled, 
 upon everything that was said by either party, and that 
 with an importance and pomposity, yet with an emptiness 
 and verbosity, that rendered the whole dispute, when in 
 his hands, nothing more than ridiculous, and compelled 
 even the disputants themselves, all inflamed as they were, 
 to laugh. To give a specimen — one speech will do for a 
 thousand. " As to this here question of Lord Lyttelton I 
 can't speak to it to the purpose, as I have not read his ' Life,' 
 for I have only read the ' Life of Pope ; ' I have got the 
 books though, for I sent for them last week, and they 
 came to me on Wednesday, and then I began them ; but I 
 have not yet read ' Lord Lyttelton.' ' Pope ' I have begun, 
 and that is what I am now reading. But what I have to 
 say about Lord Lyttelton is this here : Mr. Seward says 
 that Lord Lyttelton's steward dunned Mr. Shenstone for 
 his rent, by which I understand he was a tenant of Lord 
 Lyttelton's. Well, if he was a tenant of Lord Lyttelton's, 
 why should he not pay his rent ? " Who could contradict 
 this ? When dinner was quite over, and we left the men 
 to their wine, we hoped they would finish the affair ; but 
 Dr. Johnson was determined to talk it through, and make 
 
116 DIARY AND LETTERS 11781 
 
 a battle of it, though Mr. Pepys tried to be off continually 
 When they were all summoned to tea, they entered stil 
 warm and violent. Mr. Cator had the book in his hand 
 and was reading the "Life of Lyttelton," that he migh 
 better, he said, understand the cause, though not a crea 
 ture cared if he had never heard of it. 
 
 Mr. Pepys came up to me and said, — " Just what I ha( 
 so much wished to avoid ! I have been crushed in thi 
 very onset." I could make him no answer, for Dr. John 
 son immediately called him off, and harangued and at 
 tacked him with a vehemence and continuity that quit 
 concerned both Mrs. Thrale and myself, aud that mad 
 Mr. Pepys, at last, resolutely silent, however called upon 
 This now grew more unpleasant than ever ; tUl Mr. Catoi 
 having some time studied his book, exclaimed, — " What 
 am now going to say, as I have not yet read the ' life o 
 Lord Lyttelton ' quite through, must be considered as bein| 
 only said aside, because what I am going to say " 
 
 " I wish, sir," cried Mrs. Thrale, " it » had been all sai( 
 aside ; here is too much about it, indeed, and I should b 
 very glad to hear no more of it." This speech, whicl 
 she made with great spirit and dignity, had an admirabl 
 effect. Everybody was silenced. Mr. Cator, thus inter 
 rupted in the midst of his proposition, looked quite amazed 
 Mr. Pepys was much gratified by the interference; an 
 Dr. Johnson, after a pause, said, — "Well, madam, yo 
 sJimU hear no more of it ; yet I will defend myself in ever 
 part and in every atom ! " And from this time the subjec 
 was wholly dropped. This dear violent Doctor was cod 
 scious he had been wrong, and therefore he most candidl 
 bore the reproof. 
 
 Mr. Cator, after some evident chagrin at having hi 
 speech thus rejected, comforted himself by coming up t 
 Mr. Seward, who was seated next me, to talk to him of tb 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 117 
 
 changes of the climates from hot to could in the countries 
 he had visited ; and he prated so much, yet said so little, 
 and pronounced his words so vulgarly, that I found it im- 
 possible to keep my countenance, and was once, when most 
 unfortunately he addressed himself to me, surprised by him 
 on the full grin. To soften it off as well as I could, I pre- 
 tended unusual complacency, and instead of recovering my 
 gravity, I continued a most ineffable smile for the whole 
 time he talked, which was indeed no difficult task. Poor 
 Mr. Seward was as much off his guard as myself, having 
 his mouth distended to its fullest extent every other 
 minute. 
 
 When the leave-taking time arrived. Dr. Johnson called 
 to Mr. Pepys to shake hands, an invitation which was most 
 coldly and forcibly accepted. Mr. Cator made a point of 
 Mrs. Thrale's dining at his house soon, and she could not 
 be whoUy excused, as she has many transactions with him ; 
 but she fixed the day for three weeks hence. They have 
 invited me so often, that I have now promised not to fail 
 making one. 
 
 Thursday Morning. — Dr. Johnson went to town for 
 some days, but not before Mrs. Thrale read him a very 
 serious lecture upon giving way to such violence ; which 
 he bore with a patience and quietness that even more than 
 made his peace with me ; for such a man's confessing him- 
 self wrong is almost more amiable than another man being 
 steadily right. 
 
 Monday, JxmE 17th. — There passed, some time ago, an 
 agreement between Mr. Crutchley and Mr. Seward, that 
 the latter is to make a visit to the former, at his country- 
 house in Berkshire ; and to-day the time was settled : but 
 a more ridiculous scene never was exhibited. The host 
 elect and the guest elect tried which should show least 
 expectation of pleasure from the meeting, and neither 
 
118 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1781. 
 
 of them thought it at all worth while to disguise his 
 terror of being weary of the other. Mr. Seward seemed 
 quite melancholy and depressed in the prospect of making, 
 and Mr. Crutchley absolutely miserable in that of receiv- 
 ing, the visit. Yet nothing so ludicrous as the distress of 
 both, since nothing less necessary than that either should 
 have such a punishment inflicted. I cannot remember 
 half the absurd things that passed ; but a few, by way of 
 specimen, I will give. 
 
 " How long do you intend to stay with me, Seward ? " 
 cried Mr. Crutchley; "how long do you think you can 
 bear it ? " " 0, 1 don't know ; I sha' n't fix," answered the 
 other: "just as I find it." "Well, but — when shall you 
 come? Friday or Saturday? I think you'd better not 
 come till Saturday." "Why yes, I believe on Friday." 
 "On Friday ! Oh, you '11 have too much of it ! what shall 
 I do with you ? " " Why on Sunday we '11 dine at the 
 Lyells. Mrs. Lyell is a charming woman; one of the 
 most elegant creatures I ever saw." "Wonderfully so," 
 cried Mr. Crutchley ; " I like her extremely — an insipid 
 idiot ! She never opens her mouth but in a whisper ; I 
 never heard her speak a word in my life. But what must 
 I do with you on Monday ? will you come away ? " " Oh, 
 no ; I '11 stay and see it out." " Why, how long shall you 
 stay ? Why I must come away myself on Tuesday." " 0, 
 I sha' n't settle yet," cried Mr. Seward, very dryly. " I 
 shall put up six shirts, and then do as I find it." " Six 
 shirts ! " exclaimed Mr. Crutchley ; and then, with equal 
 dryness added — " Oh, I suppose you weai 'iwo a-day." 
 
 And so on. 
 
 Wednesday, June 26th. — Dr. Johnson, who had been 
 in town some days, returned, and Mr. Crutchley came also, 
 as well as my father. I did not see the two former till 
 summoned to dinner; and then Dr. Johnson, seizing my 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 119 
 
 hand, while with one of his own he gave me a no very 
 gentle tap on the shoulder, half droUy and half reproach- 
 fully called out, — " Ah, you little baggage, you ! and have 
 you known how long I have been here, and never to come 
 to me ? " And the truth is, in whatever sportive mode he 
 expresses it, he really likes not I should be absent from 
 him half a minute whenever he is here, and not in his owu 
 apartment. 
 
 Mr. Crutchley said he had just brought Mr. Seward to 
 town in his phaeton, alive. He gave a diverting account 
 of the visit, which I fancy proved much better than either 
 party pretended to expect, as I find Mr. Seward not only 
 went a day sooner, but stayed two days later, than was 
 proposed ; and Mr. Crutchley, on his part, said he had in- 
 vited him to repeat his visit at any time when he knew 
 not in what other manner " to knock down a day or two." 
 What curious characters these are ! Mr. Crutchley, how- 
 ever, continues the least fathomable, not only of these, but 
 of all the men I have seen. I will give you, therefore, 
 having, indeed, nothing better to offer, some further speci- 
 mens to judge of. 
 
 Dr. Johnson, as usual when here, kept me in chat with 
 him in the library after all the rest had dispersed; but 
 when Mr. Crutchley returned again, he went upstairs, and, 
 as I was finishing some work I had in hand, Mr. Crutchley, 
 either from civility or a sudden turn to loquacity, forbore 
 his books, to talk. Among other folks, we discussed the 
 two rival duchesses, Eutland and Devonshire. " The for- 
 mer," he said, " must, he fancied, be very weak and siUy, 
 as he knew that she endured being admired to her face, 
 and complimented perpetually, both upon her beauty and 
 her dress : " and when I asked whether he was one who 
 joined in trying her — "Me! "cried he; "no, indeed! I 
 never complimented anybody ; that is, I never said to any- 
 
120 DIAKT AND LETTERS [1771. 
 
 body a thing I did not think, unless I was openly laughing 
 at them, and making sport for other people." " Oh," cried 
 I, " if everybody went by this rule, what a world of conver- 
 sation would be curtailed ! The Duchess of Devonshire, I 
 fancy, has better parts." " Oh, yes ; and a fine, pleasant, 
 open countenance. She came to my sister's once, in Lin- 
 colnshire, when I was there, in order to see hare-hunting, 
 which was then quite new to her." " She is very amiable, 
 I believe," said I; "for aU her friends love and speak 
 highly of her." " Oh, yes, very much so ; perfectly go od- 
 humored and unaffected. And her horse was led, and she 
 was frightened; and we told her that was the hare, and 
 that was the dog ; and the dog pointed at the hare, and the 
 hare ran away from the dog, and then she took courage, 
 and then she was timid ; — and, upon my word, she 
 did it all very prettily! For my part, I liked it so 
 well, that in half an hour I took to my own horse, and 
 rode away." 
 
 Friday. — The moment breakfast was over, Mr. Crutch- 
 ley arose, and was taking leave ; but Mrs. Thrale told him, 
 with an arch laugh, he had better stay, for he would not 
 get mended by going. He protested, however, that he 
 must certainly go home. " And why ? " cried she ; " what 
 do you go for ? " " Nay," cried he, hesitating, " I don't 
 know, I am sure ! " " Never mind him, madam," cried Dr. 
 Johnson ; " a man who knows not why he goes, knows not 
 why he stays ; therefore never heed him." 
 
 " Does anybody expect you 1 " said Mrs. Thrale. " Do 
 you want to see anybody ? " " Not a soul ! " " Then why 
 can't you stay ? " " No ; I can't stay now ; I '11 meet you 
 on Tuesday." "If you know so little why you should 
 either go or stay," said Dr. Johnson, " never think about it, 
 sir ; toss up — that 's the shortest way. Heads or tails ! — 
 let that decide." " No, no, sir," answered he ; " this is but 
 
1781.1 OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 121 
 
 talk, for I cannot reduce it to that mere indiiference in my 
 own mind." " What ! must you go, then ? " said Mrs. 
 Thrale. " I must go," returned he, " upon a system of 
 economy." " What ! to save your horses coming again ? " 
 "No; but that I may not weary my friends quite out." 
 " Oh, your friends are the best judges for themselves," said 
 Mrs. Thrale; "do you think you can go anywhere that 
 your company will be more desired ? " " Nay, nay," cried 
 Dr. Johnson, " after such an excuse as that, your friends 
 have a right to practise Irish hospitality, and lock up your 
 bridle." 
 
 The matter was still undecided when Mrs. Thrale called 
 him to walk out with her. In about two hours, and when 
 I thought he was certainly gone, he came into the library, 
 where I was reading Sherlock's flippant but entertaining 
 letters, and said, — "A good morning to you, ma'am." 
 " Are you going at last," cried I, " in all this heat ? " 
 " No," cried he ; "I am upon a new plan now. I have sent 
 my man to Sunning-hill, and I am going now to see if I 
 can stop him ; for, in spite of all my resolves, I find there 
 is no resisting the pleasures of this place." "There is, 
 indeed, no resisting Mrs. Thrale,'' said I ; " but why in- 
 deed, should you resist her ? " " Oh," cried he, in a tone 
 half vexed, half laughing, " I wish with all my heart I was 
 at Jericho at this very moment." He then wished me 
 good-bye, and was off; leaving me, indeed, little better 
 able to judge his actual character than the first day I saw 
 him. At dinner, accordingly, he returned, and is now to 
 stay tni Tuesday. 
 
 Stkeatham, August. — I fear you will think me a long 
 time, my dearest Susy, without giving any sign of life; 
 but your letter of yesterday, for which I much thank you, 
 has given me sufficient compunction for my silence to 
 cause my seizing my pen, and going bai k to 
 
122 DIABY AND LETTEkS [178 
 
 Monday, July 30th. — Mrs. Thrale ran out to meet n 
 upon my return, in the court-yard ; and then we eocplicati 
 about the letters, and the coach, and so forth, and, as 
 came, all went well. Then, leading the way into tl 
 library, she called out, — 
 
 " Mr. Crutchley, I have got my %o again ! " 
 
 I was somewhat surprised to find him here, as I had on] 
 expected him to meet the great party the next day ; bi 
 it seems he escorted his guests, Mrs. and Miss Thrale, ar 
 Dr. Johnson, from Sunning-hill park on Saturday, and wi 
 not yet returned thither. 
 
 His park and house, Mrs. Thrale says, are extreme] 
 fine; his sister is a sensible and unaffected woman; 1 
 entertained them c[uite magnificently ; and his characti 
 among his own people, and in his own neighborhood, is i 
 high, that she has left his place with double the esteem, 
 possible, that she entered it. He is indeed, I believe sii 
 cerely, one of the worthiest and most amiable creatures in tl 
 world, however full of spleen, oddities, and minor foibles 
 
 Streatham. — My poor journal is now so in arrears, thi 
 I forget whoUy the date of what I sent you last. I hav 
 however, minutes by me of things, though not of time 
 and, therefore, the chronology not being very importai 
 take them, my dear girls, promiscuously. I am still, 
 know, in August, et voildi, tout. 
 
 We have now a new character added to our set, and oi 
 of no smaU. diversion, — Mr. Musgrave, an Irish gentleme 
 of fortune, and member of the Irish Parliament. He 
 tall, thin, and agreeable in his face and figure ; is reckon* 
 a good scholar, has travelled, and been very well educate 
 His manners are impetuous and abrupt; his language 
 high-flown and hyperbolical ; his sentiments are romant 
 and tender ; his heart is warm and generous ; his head h 
 and wrong ! And the whole of his conversation is 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 123 
 
 mixture the most uncommon, of knowledge and triteness, 
 simplicity and fury, literature and folly ! 
 
 Keep this character in your mind, and, contradictory as 
 it seems, I wUl give you, from time to time, such speci- 
 mens as shall remind you of each of these six epithets. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale who, though open-eyed enough to his ab- 
 surdities, thinks well of the goodness of his heart, has a 
 real regard for him ; and he quite adores her, and quite 
 worships Dr. Johnson — frequently declaring (for what he 
 once says, he says continually), that he would spiU his 
 blood for him, — or clean his shoes, — or go to the East 
 Indies to do him any good ! " I am never," says he, 
 " afraid of him ; none but a fool or a rogue has any need to 
 be afraid of him. What a fine old lion (looking up at his 
 picture) he is ! Oh ! I love him, — I honor him, — I rever- 
 ence him ! I would black his shoes for him. I wish I 
 could give him my night's sleep ! " 
 
 These are exclamations which he is making continually. 
 Mrs. Thrale has extremely well said that he is a caricature 
 of Mr. Boswell, who is a caricature, I must add, of all other 
 of Dr. Johnson's admirers. The next great favorite he has 
 in the world to our Doctor, and the person whom he talks 
 next most of, is Mr. Jessop, who was his schoolmaster, and 
 whose praise he is never tired of singing in terms the most 
 vehement, — quoting his authority for every other thing he 
 says, and lamenting our misfortune in not knowing him. 
 His third favorite topic, at present, is " The life of Loiiis 
 XV." in 4 vols. 8vo., lately translated from the French ; 
 and of this he is so extravagantly fond, that he talks of it 
 as a man might talk of his mistress, provided he had so 
 little wit as to talk of her at all. 
 
 Painting, music, all tke fine arts in their turn, he also 
 speaks of in raptures. He is himself very accomplished, 
 plays the violin extremely well, is a very good linguist, 
 
124 DUEY AND LETTERS [178! 
 
 and a very decent painter. But no subject in his hand 
 fails to he ridiculous, as he is sure, by the abruptness of ii 
 introduction, the strange turn of his expressions, or th 
 Hibernian twang of his pronunciation, to make everythin 
 he says, however usual or common, seem peculiar an 
 absurd. 
 
 When he first came here, upon the present renewal c 
 his acquaintance at Streatham, Mrs. Thrale sent a sum 
 mons to her daughter and me to come downstairs. W 
 went together : I had long been curious to see him, an 
 was glad of the opportunity. The moment Mrs. Thral 
 introduced me to him, he began a warm dloge of my fathe: 
 speaking so fast, so much, and so Irish, that I could hard! 
 understand him. 
 
 When we met again at dinner, and were joined by D: 
 Johnson, the incense he paid him, by his solemn manne 
 of listening, by the earnest reverence with which he eye 
 him, and by a theatric start of admiration every time h 
 spoke, joined to the Doctor's utter insensibility to all thes 
 tokens, made me find infinite difficulty in keeping m; 
 countenance during the whole meal. His talk, too, is in 
 cessant : no female, however famed, can possibly excel hir 
 for volubility. He told us a thousand strange staring stc 
 ries, of noble deeds of valor and tender proofs of constancj 
 interspersed with extraordinary, and indeed incredible ac 
 cidents, and with jests, and jokes, and bon-mots, that I ar 
 sure must be in Joe Miller. And in the midst of all thi 
 jargon he abruptly called out, " Pray, Mrs. Thrale, what i 
 the Doctor's opinion of the American war ? " Opinion c 
 the American war at this time of day ! We all laughe( 
 cruelly ; yet he repeated his question to the Doctor, whc 
 however, made no other answer but by laughing too. Bu 
 he is never affronted with Dr. Johnson, let him do what h 
 will ; and he seldom ventures to speak to him tiU he ha 
 
1781.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 125 
 
 asked some other person present for advice how he wii) 
 take such or such a question. 
 
 Some time after Sophy Streatfield was talked of, — Oh, 
 with how much impertinence ! as if she was at the service 
 of any man who would make proposals to her ! Yet Mr. 
 Seward spoke of her with praise and tenderness all the 
 time, as if, though firmly of this opinion, he was warmly 
 her admirer. From such admirers and such admiration 
 Heaven guard me ! Mr. Crutchley said but little ; but 
 that little was bitter enough. " However," said Mr. Sew- 
 ard, " after all that can be said, there is nobody whose 
 manners are more engaging, nobody m^re amiable, than 
 the little Sophy ; and she is certainly very pretty : I must 
 own I have always been afraid to trust myself with her." 
 
 Here Mr. Crutchley looked very sneeringly. "Nay, 
 'squire," cried Mr. Seward, " she is very dangerous, I can 
 tell you ; and if she had you at a fair trial, she would make 
 an impression that would soften even your hard heart." 
 " No need of any further trial," answered he, laiighing, " for 
 she has done that already ; and so soft was the impression 
 that it is absolutely all dissolved! — melted quite away, 
 and not a trace of it left ! " Mr. Seward then proposed 
 that she should marry Sir John Miller, who has just lost 
 his wife ; and very gravely said, he had a great mind to set 
 out for Tunbridge, and carry her with him to Bath, and so 
 make the match without delay ! " But surely," said Mrs. 
 Thrale, " if you fail, you will think yourself bound in honor 
 to marry her yourself." " Why, that 's the thing," said he ; 
 "no, I can't take the little Sophy myself; I should have 
 too many rivals; no, that won't do." How abominably 
 conceited and sure these pretty gentlemen are ! However, 
 Mr. Crutchley here made a speech that half won my heart. 
 " I wish," said he, " Miss Streatfield was here at this mo- 
 ment to cuff you, Seward !" " Cufif me ! " cried he. " What 
 
126 DIARY AND LETTEfiS [1781. 
 
 the little Sophy ! — and why ? " " For disposing of her so 
 freely. I think a man deserves to be cuffed for saying any 
 lady will marry him." 
 
 Monday, Sept. 3. — We had half done breakfast before 
 Dr. Johnson came down ; he then complained he had had 
 a bad night, and was not weU. " I could not sleep," said 
 he laughing, " no, not a wink, for thinking of Miss Burney; 
 her cruelty destroys my rest." " Mercy, sir ! " cried Mrs. 
 Thrale; " what, beginning again already? — why, we shall 
 all assassinate her. Late at night, and early at morn, — no 
 wonder you can 't sleep ! " " Oh ! what would I give," cried 
 he, " that Miss Burney would come and teU me stories all 
 night long ! — if she would but come and talk to me ! " 
 " That would be delightful indeed ! " said I ; " but when, 
 then, should I sleep ? " " Oh, that 's your care ! I shonld 
 be happy enough in keeping you awake." 
 
 " I wish, sir," cried Mr. Musgrave, with vehemence, " I 
 could give you my own night's sleep!" "I would have 
 you," continued Dr. Johnson to me (taking no notice of 
 this flight), " come and talk to me of Mr. Smith, and then 
 tell me stories of old Branghton, and then of his son, and 
 then of your sea-captain." "And pray, sir," cried Mrs. 
 Thrale, " don't forget Lady Louisa, for I shall break my 
 heart if you do." " Ay," answered he, "and of Lady Louisa, 
 and of Evelina herself as much as you please, but not of 
 Mr. Macartney, — no, not a word of him ! " "I assure you, 
 ma'am," said Mr. Musgrave, " the very person who first told 
 me of that book was Mr. Jessop, my schoolmaster. Think 
 of that ! — was it not striking ? ' A daughter,' says he, ' of 
 your friend Dr. Burney has written a book, and it does her 
 much credit.' Think of that ! (lifting up his hands to en- 
 force his admiration) ; and he desired me to read it — he 
 recommended it to me ; — a man of the finest taste, — a 
 man of great profundity, — an extraordinary scholar, — 
 
1781,] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 127 
 
 living in a remote part of Ireland, — a man I esteem, upon 
 my word ! " 
 
 " But, sir," cried Mrs. Thrale to Dr. Johnson, " why, 
 these men tell such wonders of what you said last night ! 
 Why, you spoke qnite an oration in favor of Miss Burney." 
 " Ay," said Mr. Crutchley, " the moment it was over I 
 went to bed. I stayed to hear the panegyric; but T 
 thought I could bear nothing after it, and made off." 
 
 " I would you were off now,'' cried I, " and in your 
 phaeton in the midst of this rain ! " " Oh, sir ! " cried Mr, 
 Musgrave, "the Doctor went on with it again after you 
 went ; I had the honor to hear a great deal more." " Why, 
 this is very fine indeed ! " said Mrs. Thrale ; " why, Dr. John- 
 son, — why, what is all this ? " " These young fellows," 
 answered he, " play me false ; they take me in ; they start 
 the subject, and make me say something of that Fanny 
 Burney, and then the rogues know that when I have once 
 begun I shall not know when to leave off." 
 
128 DIARY AND LETTERS [1782 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 1782. 
 
 Miis F. Surney to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 St. Mahtin's Stkeet, February 25, 1782. 
 
 Are you quite enrag^e with me, my dearest Susy ? In- 
 deed, I think I am with myself, for not sooner and oftener 
 writing to you ; and every night when I go to bed, and 
 every morning when 1 wake, I determine shall be ' the last 
 I will do either again till I have written to you. But 
 Mlas ! my pens get so fagged, and my hands so crippled, 
 when I have been up two or three hours, that my resolu- 
 tion wavers, and I sin on, tiU the time of rest and medita- 
 tion, and then T repent again. Forgive me, however, my 
 dearest girl, and pray pay me not in kind ; for, as Charlotte 
 would say, kind that would not be, however deserved and 
 just. 
 
 My work ^ is too long in all conscience for the hurry of 
 my people to have it produced. I have a thousand million 
 of fears for it. The mere copying, without revising and 
 correcting, would take at least ten weeks, for I cannot do 
 more than a volume in a fortnight, unless I scrawl short 
 hand and rough hand as badly as the original. Yet my 
 dear father thinks it will be published in a month ! Since 
 you went I have copied one volume and a quarter — no 
 more ! Oh, I am sick to think of it ! Yet not a little re- 
 viving is my father's very high approbation of the first 
 
 * Her novel " Cecilia." 
 
1782.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 129 
 
 volume, which is all he has seen. I totally forget whether, 
 in my last, I told you I had presented it to him ? but I 
 am sure you would never forget, for the pleasure you would 
 have felt for me, had you seen or heard him reading any 
 part of it. Would you ever believe, bigoted as he was to 
 " Evelina," that he now says he thinks this a superior 
 design and superior execution ? 
 
 Yoii can never half imagiae the delight this has given 
 me. It is answering my first wish and first ambition in 
 life. And though I am certain, and though he thinks him- 
 self, it win never be so popular as " Evelina," his so warm 
 satisfaction will make me amends for almost any mortifica- 
 tion that may be in store for me. One thing frets me a 
 good deal, which is, that my book affair has got wind, and 
 seems almost everywhere known, notwithstanding my 
 earnestness and caution to have it kept snug till the last. 
 Mr. Barry, t' other day, told me he had heard ' from Miss 
 Mudge what, &c., &c., he had soon to expect from me. 
 
 The Hooles have both told Charlotte how glad they are 
 in the good news they hear; and Mrs. Boyle and the 
 strangers take it for granted, they say, that I am too busy 
 for visiting! Mrs. Ord, also, attacked me very openly 
 about it, and I have seen nobody else. It is easy to guess 
 whence this comes, but not easy to stop its course, or to 
 prevent the mischief of long expectation, any more than 
 the great d4sagrement of being continually interrogated 
 u])on the subject. 
 
 I thank you most heartily for your two sweet letters, my 
 ever dearest Susy, and equally for the kindness they con- 
 tain and the kindness they accept. And as I have a frank 
 and a subject, I will leave my bothere, and write you and 
 my dear brother Molesworth a little account of a rout I 
 have just been at, at the house of Mr. Paradise. 
 
 You will wonder, perhaps, in this time of hurry, why I 
 
130 DIAEY Al^D LETTEBIi [1782. 
 
 went thither ; but when I tell you Pacchieiotti was there, 
 you will not think it surprising. 
 
 There was a crowd of company ; Charlotte and I went to- 
 gether ; my father came afterwards. Mrs. Paradise received 
 us very graciously, and led me immediately up to Miss 
 Thrale, who was sitting by the Pac. 
 
 Mrs. Paradise, leaning over the Kirwans and Charlotte, 
 who hardly got a seat all night for the crowd, said she 
 begged to speak to me. I squeezed my great person out, 
 and she then said, — "Miss Burney, Lady Say and Sele 
 desires the honor of being introduced to you." Her lady- 
 ship stood by her side. She seems pretty near fifty — at 
 least turned forty ; her head was full of feathers, flowers, 
 jewels, and gew-gaws, and as high as Lady Archer's ; her 
 dress was trimmed with beads, silver, Persian sashes, and 
 all sort of fine fancies ; her face is thin and fiery, and her 
 whole manner spoke a lady all alive. 
 
 " Miss Burney," cried she, with great quickness, and a 
 look all curiosity, " I am very happy to see you ; I have 
 longed to see you a great while ; I have read your per- 
 formance, and I am quite delighted with it. I think it 's 
 the most elegant novel I ever read in my life. Such a 
 style ! I am quite surprised at it. I can't think where 
 you got so much invention ! " You may believe this was 
 a reception not to make me very loquacious. I did not 
 know which way to turn my head. " I must introduce 
 you," continued her ladyship, " to my sister ; she '11 be 
 quite delighted to see you. She has written a novel her- 
 self; so you are sister authoresses. A most elegant thing 
 it is, I assure you ; almost as pretty as yours, only not 
 quite so elegant. She has written two novels, only one is 
 not so pretty as the other. But I shall insist upon your see- 
 ing them. One is in letters, like yours, only yours is 
 prettiest; it's called the 'Mausoleum of Julia!'" What 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 131 
 
 unfeeling things, thought I, are my sisters ! I 'm sure I 
 never heard them go about thus praising me ! Mrs. Para- 
 dise then again came forward, and taking my hand, led me 
 up to her ladyship's sister. Lady Hawke, saying aloud, and 
 with a courteous smirk, " Miss Burney, ma'am, authoress of 
 'Evelina.' " 
 
 " Yes," cried my friend, Lady Say and Sele, who followed 
 me close, " it 's the authoress of ' Evelina ; ' so you are 
 sister authoresses!" Lady Hawke arose and curtseyed. 
 She is m ich younger than her sister, and rather pretty : 
 extremely languishing, delicate, and pathetic ; apparently 
 accustomed to be reckoned the genius of her family, and 
 well contented to be looked upon as a creature dropped 
 from the clouds. I was then seated between their lady- 
 ships, and Lady S. and S., drawing as near to me as possi- 
 ble, said, — " "Well, and so you wrote this pretty book ! — 
 and pray did your papa know of it ? " " No, ma'am ; not 
 till some months after the publication." " So I 've heard J 
 it 's surprising ! I can't think how you invented it ! — 
 there 's a vast deal of invention in it ! And you 've got so 
 much humor, too! Now my sister has no humor — hers 
 is all sentiment. You can't think how I was entertained 
 with that old grandmother and her son ! " I suppose she 
 meant Tom Branghton for the son. 
 
 " How much pleasure you must have had in writing it ; 
 had not you?" "Y — e — s, ma'am." "So has my sister; 
 she 's never without a pen in her hand ; she can't help 
 writing for her life. When Lord Hawke is travelling 
 about with her, she keeps writing all the way." " Yes," 
 said Lady Hawke ; " I really can't help writing. One has 
 great pleasure in writing the things ; has not one. Miss 
 Burney?" "Y — e — s, ma'am." "But your novel," cried 
 Lady Say and Sele, " is in such a style ! — so elegant ! I 
 am vastly glad you made it end happily. I hate a novel 
 
132 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1782. 
 
 that don't end happy." "Yes," said Lady Hawke, with a 
 languid smile, " I was vastly glad when she married Lord 
 Orville. I was sadly afraid it would not have been." 
 
 " My sister intends," said Lady Say and Sele, " to print 
 her ' Mausoleum,' just for her own friends and acquaint- 
 ances." 
 
 " Yes," said Lady Hawke ; " I have never printed yet." 
 I saw Lady Hawke's name," quoth I to my first friend, 
 " as iribed to the play of ' Variety.' " " Did you indeed ? " 
 cried Lady Say, in an ecstasy. " Sister ! do you know Miss 
 Burney saw your name in the newspapers, about the 
 play!" 
 
 " Did she ? " said Lady Hawke, smiling complacently. 
 " But I really did not write it; I never wrote a play in my 
 life." " Well," cried Lady Say, " but do repeat that sweet 
 part that I am so fond of — you know what I mean; Miss 
 Burney must hear it, — out of your novel, you know ! " 
 
 Lady H. No, I can't ; I have forgot it. 
 
 Lady S. Oh, no I I am sure you have not ; I insist upon 
 it. 
 
 Lady H. But I know you can repeat it yourself; you 
 have so fine a memory ; I am sure you can repeat it. 
 
 Lady S. — Oh, but I should not do it justice ! that 's all, 
 — I should not do it justice ! 
 
 Lady Hawke then bent forward, and repeated — "'If, 
 when he made the declaration of his love, the sensibility 
 that beamed in his eyes was felt in his heart, what pleas- 
 ing sensations and soft alarms might not that tender 
 avowal awaken ! ' " 
 
 "And from what, ma'am," cried I, astonished, and im- 
 agining I had mistaken them, "is this taken ? " " From 
 my sister's novel ! " answered the delighted Lady Say and 
 Sele, expecting my raptures to be equal to her own ; " it 's 
 in the ' Mausoleum,' — did not you know that ? Well, I 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 133 
 
 can't think how you can write these sweet novels ! And 
 it 's all just like that part. Lord Hawke himself says it 's 
 all poetry. For my part, I 'm sure I never could write so. 
 I suppose. Miss Burney, you are producing another, — 
 a'n't your* 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say you are. I dare say you are writing 
 one at this very minute ! " Mrs. Paradise now came up to 
 me again, followed by a square man, middle-aged, and 
 hum-drum, who, I found, was Lord Say and Sele, after 
 wards from the Kirwans ; for though they introduced him 
 to me, I was so confounded by their vehemence and their 
 manners, that I did not hear his name. " Miss Burney," 
 said Mrs. P., presenting me to him, " authoress of 
 'EveHna.'" 
 
 " Yes," cried Lady Say and Sele, starting up, " ' t is the 
 authoress of ' Evelina ! '" " Of what ? " cried he. " Of ' Ev- 
 elina.' You'd never think it, — she looks so young, to 
 have so much invention, and such an elegant style ! Well, 
 I could write a play, I think, but I 'm sure I could never 
 write a novel." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you could, if you would try," said Lady Hawke. 
 
 " Oh, no, I could not," answered she ; " I could not get 
 a style — that 's the thing — I could not tell how to get a 
 style ! and a novel 's nothing without a style, you know ! " 
 
 " Why no," said Lady Hawke ; " that 's true. But then 
 you write such charming letters, you know ! " 
 
 "Letters!" repeated Lady S. and S., simpering; "do 
 you think so ? Do you know I wrote a long letter to Mrs. 
 Eay just before I came here, this very afternoon, — quite 
 a long letter ! I did, I assure you ! " Here Mrs. Paradise 
 came forward with another gentleman, younger, slimmer, 
 and smarter, and saying to me, " Sir Gregory Page Turner," 
 3aid to him, " Miss Burney, authoress of ' Evelina ! ' " At 
 
134 DIAEY AND LETTEBS [1782. 
 
 which Lady Say and Sele, in fresh transport, again arose, 
 and rapturously again repeated — " Yes, she 's authoress 
 of ' Evelina ! ' Have you read it ? " 
 
 " No ! is it to be had ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, yes ! it 's been printed these two years ! 
 You 'd never think it ! But it 's the most elegant novel 
 I ever read in my life. Writ in such a style ! " 
 
 " Certainly," said he, very civilly, " I have every induce- 
 ment to get it. Pray where is it to be had ? everywhere, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, nowhere, I hope ! " cried I, wishing at that moment 
 it had been never in human ken. 
 
 My square friend Lord Say and Sele, then putting his 
 head forward, said, very solemnly, " I '11 purchase it ! " 
 
 His lady then mentioned to me a hundred novels that 
 I had never heard of, asking my opinion of them, and 
 whether I knew the authors ; Lady Hawke only occasion- 
 ally and languidly joining in the discourse : and then Lady 
 S. and S., suddenly arising, begged me not to move, for 
 she should be back again in a minute, and flew to the next 
 room. I took, however, the first opportunity of Lady 
 Hawke's casting down her eyes, and reclining her delicate 
 head, to make away from this terrible set ; and, just as I 
 was got by the pianoforte, where I hoped Pacchierotti 
 would soon present himself, Mrs. Paradise again came to 
 me, and said, — " Miss Burney, Lady Say and Sele wishes 
 vastly to cultivate your acquaintance, and begs to know 
 if she may have the honor of your company to an assembly 
 at her house next Friday ? — and I will do myself the 
 pleasure to call for you, if you will give me leave." 
 
 " Her ladyship does me much honor, but I am unfortu- 
 nately engaged," was my answer, with as much prompt- 
 ness as I could command. F. B. 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 135 
 
 Mrs. Thrale to Miss F. Bunuy. 
 
 Tuesday Night. 
 
 My eyes red with reading and crying, I stop every mo- 
 ment to kiss the book * and to wish it was my Burney ! 
 'Tis the sweetest hook, the most interesting, the most 
 engaging. Oh ! it beats every other book, even your own 
 other volumes, for " Evelina " was a baby to it. 
 
 Dear charming creature ! do I stop every six pages to 
 exclaim ; and my Tit is no less delighted than I ; she is 
 run out of the room for a moment. But young DelvUle 
 is come and Queeny returned, so I leave the pen and seize 
 the MSS. 
 
 Such a novel! Indeed, I am seriously and sensibly 
 touched by it, and am proud of her friendship who so 
 knows the human heart. May mine long bear the inspec- 
 tion of so penetrating, so discriminating an eye ! This 
 letter is written by scraps and patches, but every scrap is 
 admiration, and every patch thanks you for the pleasure I 
 have received. I will say no more ; I cannot say half I 
 think with regard to praise. 
 
 I am sorry Pacchierotti does not come on Thursday, for 
 on Thursday se'nnight I am engaged. In your book his 
 praises will be recorded, and by it they will be diffused. 
 
 The Belfields are my joy, my delight. Poor Henrietta ! 
 how I adore her ! How easily was her sweet heart engaged 
 by that noble friend ! But I have not finished my book 
 yet ; 't 'is late now, and I pant for morning. Nothing but 
 hoarseness made me leave off at all. 
 
 My most ingenious, my most admirable friend, adieu ! 
 If I had more virtue than " Cecilia," I should half fear the 
 censures of such an insight into the deepest recesses of 
 the mind. Since I have read this volume, I have seriously 
 
 • Cecilia. 
 
136 DIARY AND LETTERS [1782. 
 
 thanked Heaven that all the litter of mine was in sight ; 
 none hoarded in holes, nor hastily stuffed into closets. 
 You have long known the worst of your admiring 
 
 H. L. T. 
 
 Journal resumed. 
 
 June, 1782. — At length, my ever dearest Susan, my 
 long-neglected journal and long-promised renewal behold 
 at your feet — for thither shall I speed them with all the 
 expedition in my power. 
 
 So much has passed since I lost you — for I cannot use 
 any other word — that I hardly know what first to record; 
 but I think 't is best to begin with what is uppermost in 
 my mind, Mr. Burke. Among the many I have been ob- 
 liged to shirk this year, for the sake of living almost solely 
 with " Cecilia," none have had less patience with my retire- 
 ment than Miss Palmer, who, bitterly believing I intended 
 never to visit her again, has forborne sending me any invi- 
 tations : but, about three weeks ago, my father had a note 
 from Sir Joshua Eeynolds, to ask him to dine at Eichmond, 
 and meet the Bishop of St. Asaph : and, therefore, to make 
 my peace, I scribbled a note to Miss Palmer to this pur- 
 pose, — " After the many kind invitations I have been ob- 
 liged to refuse, will you, my dear Miss Palmer, should I 
 offer to accompany my father to-morrow, bid me remembei 
 the old proverb, — 
 
 ' Those who will not when they may, 
 When they will, they shall have nay I ' 
 
 "F. B." 
 
 This was graciously received ; and the next morning Sir 
 Joshua and Miss Palmer called for my father and me, ac- 
 companied by Lord Corke. We had a mighty pleasant ride. 
 Miss Palmer and I made, up, though she scolded most via- 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 137 
 
 lently about my long absence, and attacked me about the 
 book without mercy. The book, in short, to my great con- 
 sternation, I find is talked of and expected all the town 
 over. My dear father himself, I do verily believe, men- 
 tions it to everybody ; he is fond of it to enthusiasm, and 
 does not foresee the danger of raising such general expec- 
 tation, which fills me with the horrors every time I am 
 tormented with the thought. 
 
 Sir Joshua's house is delightfully situated, almost at the 
 top of Eichmond Hill. We walked till near dinner-time 
 upon the terrace, and there met Mr. Richard Burke, the 
 brother of the orator. Miss Palmer, stopping him, said, — 
 " Are you coming to dine with us ? " " No," he answered ; 
 " I shall dine at the Star and Garter." 
 
 " How did j'^ou come — with Mrs. Burke, or alone ? " 
 "Alone." "What, on horseback?" "Aye, sure!" cried 
 he, laughing ; " up and ride ! Now 's the time." And he 
 made a fine flourish with his hand, and passed us. He is 
 just made under-secretary at the Treasury. He is a tall 
 and handsome man, and seems to have much dry drollery ; 
 but we saw no more of him. After our return to the house, 
 and while Sir Joshua and I were tite-ci-tite, Lord Corke 
 and my father being still walking and Miss Palmer having, 
 I suppose, some orders to give about the dinner, the 
 "Knight of Plympton" was desiring my opinion of the 
 prospect from his window, and comparing it with Mr. 
 Burke's, as he told me after I had spoken it, — when the 
 Bishop of St. Asaph and his daughter, Miss Georgiana 
 Shipley, were announced. Miss Palmer soon joined us ; 
 and, in a short time, entered more company, — three gen- 
 tlemen and one lady; but there was no more ceremony 
 used of introductions. The lady, I concluded, was Mrs. 
 Burke, wife of the Mr. Burke, and was not mistaken. One 
 of the gentlemen I recollected to be young Burke, her son. 
 
138 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1782. 
 
 whom I once met at Sir Joshua's in town, and another of 
 them I knew for Mr. Gibbon : but the third I had never 
 seen before. I had been told that the Burke was not ex- 
 pected ; yet I could conclude this gentleman to be no other; 
 he had just the air, the manner, the appearance, I had pre- 
 pared myself to look for in him, and there was an evident, 
 a striking superiority in his demeanor, his eye, his motions, 
 that announced him no common man. ^ I could not get at 
 Miss Palmer to satisfy my doubts, and we were soon called 
 downstairs to dinner. Sir Joshua and the unknown stop- 
 ped to speak with one another upon the stairs ; and, when 
 they followed us. Sir Joshua, in taking his place at the 
 table, asked me to sit next to him ; I willingly complied. 
 " And then,'' he added, " Mr. Burke shall sit on the other 
 side of you." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! " cried Miss Georgiana, who also had 
 placed herself next Sir Joshua ; " I won't consent to that ; 
 Mr. Burke must sit next me ; I won't agree to part with 
 him. Pray, come and sit down quiet, Mr. Burke." Mr. 
 Burke, — for him it was, — smiled and obeyed. " I only 
 meant," said Sir Joshua, " to have made my peace with Mr. 
 Burke, by giving him that place, because he has been 
 scolding me for not introducing him to Miss Burney. 
 However, I must do it now ; — Mr. Burke ! — Miss Bur- 
 ney ! " We both half rose, and Mr. Burke said, — "I have 
 been complaining to Sir Joshua that he left me wholly to 
 my own sagacity; however, it did not here deceive me." 
 "Oh dear, then," said Miss Georgiana, looking a little 
 consternated, " perhaps you won't thank me for calling you 
 to this place ! " Nothing was said, and so we all began 
 dinner, — young Burke making himself my next neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 Captain Phillips knows Mr. Burke. Has he or has he 
 not told you how delightful a creature he is ? If he has 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 139 
 
 not, pray, in my name, abuse him without mercy; if he 
 has, pray ask if he will subscribe to my account of him, 
 which herewith shall follow. He is tall, his figure is noble, 
 his air commanding, his address graceful ; his voice is clear, 
 penetrating, sonorous, and powerful ; his language is copi» 
 ous, various, and eloquent ; his manners are attractive, his 
 conversation is delightful. What says Captain Phillips? 
 Have I chanced to see him in his happiest hour ? or is he 
 all this in common ? Since we lost Garrick I have seen 
 nobody so enchanting. 
 
 N"ow to the present state of things and people. 
 
 My father is aU himself — gay, facile, and sweet. He 
 comes to all meals, writes without toiling, and gives us 
 more of his society than he has done many years. His 
 third volume he is not tied down to produce at any stated 
 time, and he has most wisely resolved not to make any 
 promise to the public about it, nor take in any subscrip- 
 tions, but to keep free from all engagement. 
 
 A serious piece of intelligence has given, does give, and 
 long must give me the utmost concern and sorrow. My 
 dear Mrs. Thrale, the friend, though not the Wiost dear 
 friend of my heart, is going abroad for three years certain. 
 This scheme has been some time in a sort of distant agita- 
 tion, but it is now brought to a resolution. Much private 
 business belongs tc it relative to her detestable lawsuit ; 
 but much private inclination is also joined with it relative to 
 her long wishing to see Italy. I have determined, therefore, 
 to do all in my power to bear this blow steadily ; and the 
 remembrance how very much I suffered when such an 
 one was formerly thought of, makes me suppress all my 
 regret, and drive the subject from my mind by every 
 method in my power, that I may save myself from again 
 experiencing such unavailing concern. The thought, in- 
 deed, that she wishes to go would reconcile me to a yet 
 
140 DIARY AND LETTERS ri.782. 
 
 longer absence, by making me feel that my own sorrow is 
 merely selfish. 
 
 Streatham, — my other home, and the place where 1 
 have long thought my residence dependent only upon my 
 own pleasure, and where, indeed, I have received such as 
 my father and you alone could make greater, — is already let 
 for three years to Lord Shelburne. If I were to begin with 
 talking of my loss, my strangeness, I had almost said, for 
 these three years, I should never have done, and only 
 make us both melancholy ; so nothing will I say about the 
 matter, but that you, tender and liberal as you are, will be 
 'almost my only friend who will not rejoice in this separa- 
 tion, as the most effectual means of keeping me more in 
 London ; though you, my Susy, will be, perhaps the most 
 sincerely gratified by what additional time it may give me. 
 
 Beighthelmstone, Oct. 26th. — My journey was inci- 
 dentless ; but the moment I came into Brighthelmstone I 
 was met by Mrs. Thrale, who had most eagerly been wait- 
 ing for me a long while, and therefore I dismounted, and 
 walked home with her. It would be very superfluous to 
 teU you how she received me, for you cannot but know, 
 from her impatient letters, what I had reason to expect of 
 kindness and welcome. I was too much tired to choose 
 appearing at dinner, and therefore eat my eat upstaira 
 and was then decorated a httle, and came forth to tea. 
 
 Dr. Johnson received me too with his usual goodness, 
 and with a salute so loud, that the two young beaus. Cot- 
 ton and Swinerton, have never done laughing about it. 
 
 Oct. 27tb:. — The Pepyses came to visit me in form, 
 but I was dressing ; in the evening, however, Mrs. and 
 Miss T. took me to them. Dr. Johnson would not go; 
 he told me it was my day, and I should be crowned, for 
 Mr. Pepys was wild about "Cecilia." "However," he 
 added, " do not hear too much of it ; but when he haa 
 
17^2.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 141 
 
 talked about it for an hour or so, tell him to have done. 
 There is no other way." A mighty easy way, this ! how 
 ever, ' tis what he literally practises for himself 
 
 Monday, Oct. 28th. — At dinner, we had Dr. Delap 
 and Mr. Selwyn, who accompanied us in the evening to 
 a ball ; as did also Dr. Johnson, to the universal amaze- 
 ment of all who saw liim there ; but he said he had found 
 it so dull being q^uite alone the preceding evening, that he 
 determined upon going with us ; " for," he said, " it cannot 
 be worse than being alone." Strange that he should think 
 so ! I am sure I am not of his mind. 
 
 Wednesday, Oct. 30th. — In the evening we all went 
 to Mrs. Hatsel's, where there was a large party ; the Count- 
 ess Eothes, Lady Shelley, Lady Warren, formerly Miss 
 Clavering, Miss Benson, Mrs. and Miss Dickens, H. Cotton, 
 Mr. Swinerton, two Bartons, the Hatsels, and Mrs. and 
 Miss Thrale. Dr. Johnson was not invited. We had a 
 very good evening ; but that I had a vile cold, and could 
 not quit the fire a moment. 
 
 Lady Warren is immensely tall, and extremely beautiful : 
 she is now but just nineteen, though she has been married 
 two or three years. She is giddy, gay, chatty, good- 
 humored, and a little affected ; she hazards all that occurs 
 to her, seems to think the world at her feet, and is so 
 young, and gay, and handsome, that she is not much mis- 
 taken. She is, in short, an inferior Lady Honoria Pember- 
 ton : somewhat beneath her in parts and understanding, 
 but strongly in that class of character. I had no conver- 
 sation with her myself ; but her voice is loud and deep, 
 and all she said was for the whole room. 
 
 Take a trait or two, which I think will divert my daddy 
 
 Crisp. Marriages being talked of, — " I '11 teU you," cried 
 
 she, " a story ; that is, it sha'n't be a story, but a fact. A 
 
 ^lady of my acquaintance, who had 50,000/. fortune, ran 
 
142 DIAEY XSD LBTTEES [1782. 
 
 away to Scotland with a gentleman she liked vastly ; so 
 she was a little doubtful of him, and had a mind to try 
 him : so when they stopped to dine, and change horses, and 
 all that, she said, ' Now, as I have a great regard for you, 
 I daresay you have for me : so I will tell you a secret : I 
 have got no fortune at all, in reality, but only 5,000^. ; for 
 all the rest is a mere pretence : but if you like me for 
 myself, and not for my fortune, you won't mind that.' So 
 the gentleman said, ' Oh, I don't regard it at all, and you 
 are the same charming angel that ever you was,' and aU 
 those sort of things that people say to one, and then went 
 out to see about the chaise. So he did not come back ; but 
 when dinner was ready, the lady said, ' Pray, where is he ? ' 
 ' Lor, ma'am,' said they, ' why, that gentleman has been 
 gone ever so long!' So she came back by herself; and 
 now she 's married to somebody else, and has her 50,000i. 
 fortune aU safe." 
 
 Saturday, Nov. 2nd. — We went to Lady Shelley's. 
 Dr. Johnson, again, excepted in the invitation. He is al- 
 most constantly omitted, either from too much respect or 
 too much fear. I am sorry for it, as he hates being alone, 
 and as, though he scolds the others, he is well enough sat- 
 isfied himself; and, having given vent to all his own oc- 
 casional anger or ill-humor, he is ready to begin again, and 
 is never aware that those who have so been " downed " by 
 him, never can much covet so triumphant a visitor. In 
 contests of wit, the victor is as ill off in future consequences 
 as the vauc[uished in present ridicule. 
 
 Monday, Nov. 4th. — This was a grand and busy day. 
 Mr. Swinerton has been some time arranging a meeting for 
 all our house, with Lady De Ferrars, whom you may re- 
 member as Charlotte EUerker, and her lord and sisters : 
 and this morning it took place, by mutual appointment, at 
 his lodgings, where we met to breakfast. Dr. Johnson, 
 
1782.J OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 143 
 
 who already knew Lord De Ferrars, and Mrs. and Mias 
 Thrale, and myself, arrived first ; and then came the Lord 
 and Lady, and Miss Ellerker and her youngest sister, Har- 
 riet. Lord De Ferrars is very ugly, but extremely well- 
 bred, gentle, unassuming, sensible, and pleasing. His lady 
 is much improved since we knew her in former days, and 
 seems good-humored, lively, and rather agreeable. Misa 
 Ellerker is nothing altered. 
 
 I happened to be standing by Dr. Johnson when all the 
 ladies came in ; but, as I dread him before strangers, from 
 the staring attention he attracts both for himself and all 
 with whom he talks, I endeavored to change my ground. 
 However, he kept prating a sort of comical nonsense that 
 detained me some minutes whether I would or not ; but 
 when we were all taking places at the breakfast-table I 
 made another effort to escape. It proved vain; he drew 
 his chair next to mine, and went rattling on in a humorous 
 sort- of comparison he was drawing of himself to me, — not 
 one word of which could I enjoy, nor can I remember, from 
 the hurry I was in to get out of his way. In short, I felt 
 so awkward from being thus marked out, that I was re- 
 duced to whisper a request to Mr. Swinerton to put a chair 
 between us, for which I presently made a space : for I have 
 often known him stop all conversation with me, when he 
 has ceased to have me for his next neighbor. Mr. Swiner- 
 ton, who is an extremely good-natured young man, and so 
 intimate here that I make no scruple with him, instantly 
 complied, and placed himself between us. 
 
 But no sooner was this done, than Dr. Johnson, hall 
 seriously, and very loudly, took him to task. " How now 
 sir ! what do you mean by this ? Would you separate me 
 from Miss Burney ? " Mr. Swinerton, a little startled, be- 
 gan some apologies, and Mrs. Thrale winked at him to give 
 'ip the place ; but he was willing to oblige me, though he 
 
144 DIABT AND LETTERS ri782. 
 
 grew more and more frightened every minute, and colored 
 violently as the Doctor continued his remonstrance, which 
 he did with rather unmerciful raillery, upon his taking 
 advantage of being in his own house to thus supplant him, 
 and crow ; but when he had borne it for about ten minutes, 
 his face became so hot with the fear of hearing something 
 worse, that he ran from the field, and took a chair between 
 Lady De Ferrars and Mrs. Thrale. I think I shall take 
 warning by this failure, to trust only to my own expedients 
 for avoiding his public notice in future. 
 
 Miss Thrale, who had met with Miss Benson, brought 
 me a long message from her, that I had used her very ill, 
 and would make her no reparation ; for she had been read- 
 ing my book till she was so blind with crying, she had 
 disfigured herself in such a manner she could not dress, 
 and must give up going to the ball in the evening, though 
 it was the last ; and though she had not yet near come to 
 the end, she was so knocked up with blubbering, she must 
 give up every engagement in order to go on with it, being 
 quite unfit for anything else ; but she desired Miss Thrale 
 to tell me she thought it very unwarrantable in me to put 
 her nerves in such a state ! " Ay," cried Dr. Johnson, 
 ' some people want to make out some credit to me from the 
 little rogue's book. I was told by a gentleman this morn- 
 ing, that it was a very fine book, if it was all her own. ' It 
 is all her own,' said I, ' for me, I am sure, for I never saw 
 one word of it before it was printed.' " 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 10th, brings in a new person. The Hon- 
 orable Miss Monckton, ^ who is here with her mother, the 
 Dowager Lady Galway, has sent various messages of her 
 earnest desire to be acquainted with Mrs. Thrale and your 
 humble servant to command. Dr. Johnson she already 
 knew, for she is one of those who stand foremost in col- 
 ' Afterwards Countess of Cork and Orrery. 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 145 
 
 lecting all extraordinary or curious people to her Loudon 
 conversaziones, which, like those of Mrs. Vesey, mix the 
 rank and the literature, and exclude all beside. Well, 
 after divers intimations of this sort, it was at last settled 
 that Lady De Ferrars should bring her here this morning. 
 In the evening came Lady De Perrars, Miss Monckton, 
 and Miss Ellerker. Miss Monckton is between thirty and 
 forty, very short, very fat, but handsome ; splendidly and 
 fantastically dressed, rouged not unbecomingly, yet evi- 
 dently and palpably desirous of gaining notice and admi- 
 ration. She has an easy levity in her air, manner, voice, 
 and discourse, that speak all within, to be comfortable- 
 and her rage of seeing anything curious may be satisfied, 
 if she pleases, by looking in a mirror. 
 
 I can give you no account of the conversation, as it was 
 broken, and not entertaining. Miss Monckton went early, 
 having another engagement, but the other ladies stayed 
 very late. She told us, however, one story extremely well 
 worth recording. The Duke of Devonshire was standing 
 near a very fine glass lustre in a corner of a room, at an 
 assembly, and in a house of people who. Miss Monckton 
 said, were by no means in a style of life to hold expense 
 as immaterial, and, by carelessly lolling back, he threw the 
 lustre down, and it was broke. He showed not, however, 
 the smallest concern or confusion at the accident, but 
 coolly said, " I wonder how I did that ! " He then removed 
 to the opposite corner, and to show, I suppose, he had for- 
 gotten what he had done, leaned his head in the same 
 manner, and down came the opposite lustre ! He looked 
 at it very calmly, and, with a philosophical dryness, merely 
 said, " This is singular enough ! " and walked to another 
 part of the room, without either distress or apology. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 20th, Mrs. and the three Miss Thrales 
 and myself all arose at six o'clock in the morning. 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 DIAKY AND LETTERS 11782. 
 
 and " by the pale blink of the moon " we went to 
 the sea-side, where we. had bespoke the bathing-women 
 to be ready for us, and into the ocean we plunged. 
 It was cold, but pleasant. I have bathed so often as to 
 lose my dread of the operation, which now gives me noth- 
 ing but animation and vigor. We then returned home, 
 and dressed by candle-light, and, as soon as we could get 
 Dr. Johnson ready, we set out upon our journey, in a 
 coach and a chaise, and arrived in Argyll Street at dinner 
 time. Mrs. Thrale has there fixed her tent for this short 
 winter, which will end with the beginning of April, when 
 her foreign journey takes place. 
 
1''82.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 147 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1782 — 1786. 
 
 St. Martin's Street, Dec. 8th. — Now for Miss Monek- 
 ton's assembly. I had begged Mrs. Thrale to call for me, 
 that I might have her countenance and assistance upon 
 my entrance. Miss Thrale came also. Everything was 
 in a new style. "We got out of the coach into a hall 
 full of servants, not one of which inquired our names, or 
 took any notice of us. We proceeded, and went up- 
 stairs, and when we arrived at a door, stopped and 
 looked behind us. No servant had followed or preceded 
 us. We deliberated what was to be done. To an- 
 nounce ourselves was rather awkward, neither could 
 we be sure we were going into the right apartment. I 
 proposed our going up higher, tiU we met with somebody ; 
 Miss Thrale thought we should go down and call some of 
 the servants; but Mrs. Thrale, after a ridiculous consul- 
 tation, determined to try her fortune by opening the door. 
 This being done, we entered a room fuU of — tea-things, 
 and one maid-servant ! " Well," cried Mrs. Thrale, laugh- 
 ing, " what is to be done now ? I suppose we are come 
 so early that nothing is ready." The maid stared, but said, 
 — " There 's company in the next room." 
 
 Then we considered again how to make ourselves known ; 
 and then Mrs. Thrale again resolved to take courage and 
 enter. She therefore opened another door, and went into 
 another apartment. I held back, but looked after, and 
 observing that she made no curtsey, concluded she ■was 
 
148 DIARY AND LETTERS [1782. 
 
 gone into some wrong place. Miss Thrale followed, and 
 after her went little I, wondering who was to receive, or 
 what was to become of us. Miss Monckton lives with her 
 mother, the old Dowager Lady Galway, in a noble house 
 in Charles Street, Berkeley Square. The room was large 
 and magnificent. There was not much company, for we 
 were very early. Lady Galway sat at the side of the fire, 
 and received nobody. She seems very old, and was dressed 
 with a little round white cap, and not a single hair, no 
 cushion, roll, nor anything else but the little round cap, 
 which was flat upon her forehead. Such part of the com- 
 pany as already knew her made their compliments to her 
 where she sat, and the rest were never taken up to her, but 
 belonged whoUy to Miss Monckton. 
 
 Miss Monckton's own manner of receiving her guests 
 was scarce more laborious ; for she kept her seat when 
 they entered, and only turned round her head to nod it, 
 and say " How do do ? " after which they foimd what 
 accommodation they could for themselves. As soon, how- 
 ever, as she perceived Mrs. and' Miss Thrale, which was 
 not tiU they had been some minutes in the room, she arose 
 to welcome them, contrary to her general custom, and 
 merely because it was their first visit. Our long trains 
 making my entrance some time after theirs, gave me the 
 advantage of being immediately seen by her, and she ad- 
 vanced to me with quickness, and very politely thanked 
 me for coming, and said, — "I fear you think me very 
 rude for taking the liberty of sending to you." "No, 
 indeed, you did me much honor," quoth I. 
 
 She then broke further into her general rules, by mak- 
 ing way for me to a good place, and seating me herself, 
 and then taking a chair next me, and beginning a little 
 chat. I really felt myself much obliged to her for this 
 seasonable attention, for I was presently separated from 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 149 
 
 Mrs. Thrale, and entirely surrounded by strangera, all 
 dressed superbly, and all looking saucily ; and as nobody's 
 names "were spoken, I had no chance to discover any 
 acquaintances. Mr. Metcalf, indeed, came and spoke to 
 me the instant I came in, and I should have been very 
 happy to have had him for my neighbor; but he was 
 engaged in attending to Dr. Johnson, who was standing 
 near the fire, and environed with listeners. Some new 
 people now coming in, and placing themselves in a regular 
 way, Miss Monckton exclaimed, — " My whole care is to 
 prevent a circle ; " and hastily rising, she pulled about the 
 chairs, and planted the people in groups, with as dexterous 
 a disorder as you would desire to see. 
 
 The company in general were dressed with more bril- 
 liancy than at any rout I ever was at, as most of them 
 were going to the Duchess of Cumberland's, and attired for 
 that purpose. Just behind me sat Mrs. Hampden, still 
 very beautiful, but insufferably affected. Another lady, in 
 full dress, and very pretty, came in soon after, and got her- 
 self a chair just before me ; and then a conversation began 
 between her and Mrs. Hampden, of which I will give you 
 a specimen. 
 
 " How disagreeable these sacques are ! I am so incom- 
 moded with these nasty ruffles ! I am going to Cumber- 
 land House — are you ? " 
 
 " To be sure," said Mrs. Hampden ; " what else, do you 
 think, would make me bear this weight of dress ? I can't 
 bear a sacque." 
 
 " Why, I thought you said you should always wear them ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, but I have changed my mind since then — as 
 many people do." 
 
 " Well, I think it vastly disagreeable indeed," said the 
 other ; " you can't think how I 'm encumbered with these 
 raffles ! " 
 
150 DIABT AND LETTEHS [1781 
 
 " Oh, I am quite oppressed with them," said Mrs. 
 Hampden ; " I can hardly bear myself up." 
 
 " And I dined in this way ! " cried the other ; " only 
 think, dining in a sacque ! " 
 
 " Oh," answered Mrs. Hampden, " it really puts me quite 
 out of spirits." 
 
 Well, have you enough ? — and has my daddy raved 
 enough ? 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Thrale had other engagements, and soon 
 went away. Miss Monckton then took a chair again next 
 to me, which she kept till we both started at the same voice, 
 and she cried out, — " Oh, it 's Mr. Burke ! " and she ran to 
 him with as much joy as, if it had been our house, I should. 
 Cause the second for liking her better. I grew now in a 
 violent fidget, both to have his notice, and for what his 
 notice would be ; but I sat very still, and he was seized 
 upon by scores, and taken to another part of the room. 
 
 Then came in Sir Joshua Eeynolds and he soon drew a 
 chair near mine, and from that time I was never without 
 some friend at my elbow. 
 
 " Have you seen," said he, " Mrs. Montagu lately ? " 
 
 " No, not very lately." 
 
 " But within these few months ? " 
 
 " No, not since last year." 
 
 " Oh, you must see her, then. You ought to see and to 
 hear her — 't will be worth your while. Have you heard 
 of the fine long letter she has written ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I have not met with it." 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "And who is it to?" 
 
 " The old Duchess of Portland. She desired Mrs. Mon- 
 tagu's opinion of ' Cecilia,' and she has written it at full 
 length. I was in a party at Her Grace's, and heard of 
 nothing but you. She is so delighted, and so sensibly, so 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'AEBIAY. 151 
 
 rationally, that I only wish you could have heard her. And 
 old Mrs. Delany had been forced to begin it, though she 
 had said she should never read any more ; however, when 
 we met, she was reading it already for the third time." 
 
 Pray tell my daddy to rejoice for me in this conquest of 
 the Duchess, his old friend, and Mrs. Delany, his sister's. 
 
 Sir Joshua is extremely kind ; he is always picking up 
 some anecdote of this sort for me ; yet, most delicately, 
 never lets me hear his own praises but through others. 
 He looks vastly well, and as if he had never been HI. 
 
 After this Mrs. Burke saw me, and, with much civility 
 and softness of manner, came and talked with me, while 
 her husband, without seeing me, went behind my chair to 
 speak to Mts. Hampden. 
 
 Miss Monckton tripped to somebody else, and Mr. Burke 
 very quietly came from Mrs. Hampden, and sat down in the 
 vacant place at my side. I could then wait no longer, for 
 I found he was more near-sighted than myself; I, there- 
 fore, turned towards him and bowed: he seemed quite 
 amazed, and really made me ashamed, however delighted, 
 by the expressive civility and distinction with which he 
 instantly rose to return my bow, and stood the whole time 
 he was making his compliments upon seeing me, and call- 
 ing himself the blindest of men for not finding me out 
 sooner. And Mrs. Burke, who was seated near me, said, 
 loud enough for me to hear her, — " See, see ! what a flirta- 
 tion Mr. Burke is beginning with Miss Burney ! and befoip 
 my face too ! " 
 
 These ceremonies over, he sate down by me, and began 
 a conversation which you, my dearest Susy, would be glad 
 to hear, for my sake, word for word ; but which I really could 
 not listen to with sufficient ease, from shame at his warm 
 eulogiums, to remember with any accuracy. The general 
 substance, however, take as I recollect it. Aftcjr many 
 
152 DIARY AND LETTERS [1782. 
 
 most eloq[uent compliments upon the book, too delicate 
 either to shock or sicken the nicest ear, he very emphati- 
 cally congratulated me upon its most universal success; 
 said, " he was now to late to speak of it, since he could 
 only echo the voice of the whole nation ; " and added, with 
 a laugh, " I had hoped to have made some merit of my en- 
 thusiasm ; but the moment I went about to hear what 
 others say, I found myself merely one in a multitude." 
 
 He then told me that, notwithstanding his admiration, 
 he was the man who had dared to find some faults with so 
 favorite and fashionable a work. I entreated him to tell 
 me what they were, and assured him nothing would make 
 me so happy as to correct them under his direction. He 
 then enumerated them : and I will tell you what they are, 
 that you may not conclude I write nothing but the fairer 
 part of my adventures, which I really always relate very 
 honestly, though so fair they are at this time, that it hardly 
 seems possible they should not be dressed up. 
 
 The masquerade he thought too long, and that some- 
 thing might be spared from Harrel's grand assembly ; he 
 did not like Morrice's part of the pantheon ; and he wished 
 the conclusion either more happy or more miserable ; " for 
 in a work of imagination," said he, " there is no medium." 
 I was not easy enough to answer him, or I have much, 
 though perhaps not good for much, to say in defence of 
 following life and nature as much in the conclusion as in 
 the progress of a tale ; and when is life and nature com- 
 pletely happy or miserable ? " But," said he, when he had 
 finished his comments, " what excuse must I give for this 
 presumption ? I have none in the world to offer but the 
 real, the high esteem I feel for you ; and I mtist at the 
 same time acknowledge it is all your own doing that I am 
 able to find fault ; for it is your general perfection in writ- 
 ing that has taught me to criticise where it is not quite 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 153 
 
 uniform." Here 's an orator, dear Susy ! Then, looking 
 very archly at me, and around him, he said, " Are you sit- 
 ting here for characters ? Nothing, by the way, struck me 
 more in reading your book than the admirable skill with 
 which your ingenious characters make themselves known 
 by their own words." 
 
 He then went on to tell me that I had done the most 
 wonderful of wonders in pleasing the old wits, particularly 
 the Duchess of Portland and Mrs. Delany, who resisted 
 reading the book till they were teased into it, and, since they 
 began, could do nothing else ; and he failed not to point 
 out, with his utmost eloquence, the difficulty of giving 
 satisfaction to those who piqued themselves upon being 
 past receiving it. Sir Joshua Eeynolds now joined us. 
 " Are you telling her," said he, " of our conversation with 
 the old wits ? I am glad you hear it from Mr. Burke, 
 Miss Burney, for he can tell it so much better than I can, 
 and remember their very words." 
 
 I was extremely happy to have my dear father with me 
 at Miss Monckton's. We found Mrs. Siddons, the actress, 
 there. She is a woman of excellent character, and there- 
 fore I am very glad she is thus patronized, since Mrs. 
 Abington, and so many frail fair ones, have been thus 
 noticed by the great. She behaved with great propriety ; 
 very calm, modest, quiet, and unaffected. She has a very 
 fine countenance, and her eyes look both intelligent and 
 soft. She has, however, a steadiness in her manner and 
 deportment by no means engaging. Mrs. Thrale, who was 
 there, said, — " Why, this is a leaden goddess we are all 
 worshipping ! however, we shall soon gild it." 
 
 I went in the evening to call on Mrs. Thrale, and tore 
 myself away from her to go to Bolt Court to see Dz 
 Johnson, who is very unwell. He received me with great 
 kindness, and bade me come oftener, which I will try to 
 
154 DIABY AND LETTEKS [1782. 
 
 contrive. He told me he heard of nothing but me, call 
 upon him who would ; and, though he pretended to growl, 
 he was evidently delighted for me. His usual set, Mrs. 
 Wniiams and Mrs. Desmoulins, were with him ; and some 
 queer man of a parson, who, after grinning at me some 
 time, said, — 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Desmoulins, is the fifth volume of ' Cecilia ' 
 at home yet? Dr. Johnson made me read it, ma'am." 
 
 "Sir, he did it much honor " 
 
 " Made you, sir ? " said the Doctor ; " you give an ill ac- 
 count of your own taste or understanding if you wanted 
 any making, to read such a book as ' CeciHa.' " 
 
 " Oh, sir, I don't mean that ; for I am sure I left every 
 thing in the world to go on with it." 
 
 A shilling was now wanted for some purpose or other, 
 and none of them happened to have one ; I begged that 
 I might lend one. 
 
 " Ay, do," said the Doctor, " I wUl borrow of you ; 
 authors are like privateers, always fair game for one 
 another." 
 
 " True, sir," said the parson, " one author is always rob- 
 bing another." 
 
 " I don't know that, sir," cried the Doctor ; " there sits 
 an author who, to my knowledge, has robbed nobody. I 
 have never once caught her at a theft. The rogue keeps 
 her resources to herself!" 
 
 Satuiiday, Dec. 28th. — My father and I dined and 
 spent the day at Sir Joshua Eeynolds', after many preced- 
 ing disappointments. Our dinner party consisted merely 
 of Mr. West,' the painter, Mr. Jackson of Exeter, and 
 Miss Eeynolds. Mr. West had, some time ago, desired 
 my father to invite him to our house, to see that lion, 
 your sister, saying to him, "you will be safe. Dr. Bur- 
 1 Beqjamin West, afterwards President of the Boyal Academy. 
 
1782.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 155 
 
 ney, in trusting to our meeting, for I am past forty, and 
 married." 
 
 After dinner Mr. Jackson undertook to teach us all how 
 to write with our left hands. Some succeeded, and some 
 failed ; but both he and Mr. West wrote nothing but my 
 name. I tried, and would have written Sir Joshua, but it 
 was illegible, and I tore the paper ; Mr. Jackson was very 
 vehement to get it from me. " I have done the worst," 
 cried I, "and I don't like disgracing myself" "Pho!" 
 cried he, " let me see it at once ; do you think you can do 
 any thing with your left hand that wiU lessen the credit 
 of what you have done with your right ? " This, however, 
 was all that was hinted to me upon that subject by him. 
 I had afterwards one slight touch from Mr. West, but the 
 occasion was so tempting I could not possibly wonder at 
 him. Sir Joshua had two snuff-boxes in use, a gold and a 
 tin one; I examined them, and asked why he made use 
 of such a vile and shabby tin one. 
 
 " Why," said he laughing, " because I naturally love a 
 little of the blackguard. Ay, and so do you too, little as 
 you look as if you did, and all the people all day long are 
 saying, where can you have seen such company as you 
 treat us with?" 
 
 " Why you have seen such. Sir Joshua," said Mr. West, 
 taking up the tin snuff-box, " for this box you must cer- 
 tainly have picked up at Briggs's sale." 
 
 You may believe I was eager enough now to call a new 
 subject ; and Sir Joshua, though he loves a little passing 
 speech or two upon this matter, never insists upon keep- 
 ing it up, but the minute he sees he has made me look 
 about me or look foolish, he is most good-naturedly ready 
 to give it up. But how, my dearest Susy, can you wish 
 any wishes about Sir Joshua and me ? A man who has 
 had two shakes of the palsy ! What misery should I 
 
156 DIARY AND LETTERS [1782 
 
 suffer if I were only his niece, from a terror of a fatal 
 repetition of such a shock ! I would not run voluntarily 
 into such a state of perpetual apprehension for the wealth 
 of the East. Wealth, indeed, fer se, I never too much 
 valued, and my acquaintance with its possessors has by no 
 means increased my veneration for it. 
 
 Tuesday, Dec. 31st. — I went this morning with my 
 dear father to Sir John Ashton Lever's, where we could not 
 but be entertained. Sir Ashton came and talked to us a 
 good while. He may be an admirable naturalist, but I 
 think if in other matters you leave the ist out, you wUl 
 not much wrong him. He looks full sixty years old, yet 
 he had dressed not only two young men, but himself, in a 
 green jacket, a round hat, with green feathers, a bundle of 
 arrows under one arm, and a bow in the other, and thus, 
 accoutred as a forester, he pranced about; while ths 
 younger fools, who were in the same garb, kept running to 
 and fro in the garden, carefully contriving to shoot at some 
 mark, just as any of the company appeared at any of the 
 windows. After such a specimen of his actions, you will 
 excuse me if I give you none of his conversation. 
 
 Friday, 4th Jan. — We had an invited party at home, 
 both for dinner and the evening. The occasion was in 
 honor of Dr. Parr, of Norwich, Mr. Twining's friend ; and 
 who has been very kind about our Charles. He had been 
 asked to dinner, to meet Dr. Johnson, but could not come 
 till the evening. Mr. Seward and Mr. Sastres came early. 
 Charles also came from Chiswick. Dr. Johnson came so 
 very latCj that we had aU given him up ; he was, however, 
 very ill, and only from an extreme of kindness did he come 
 at all. When I went up to him, to tell how sorry I was 
 to find him so unwell, — " Ah ! " he cried, taking my hand 
 and kissing it, " who shall ail anything when ' Cecilia ' is 
 so near ? Yet you do not think how poorly I am ! " This 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 157 
 
 was quite melancholy, and all dinner time he hardly opened 
 his mouth but to repeat to me, — " Ah ! you little know 
 how ill I am." He was excessively kind to me, in spite 
 of all his pain, and indeed I was so sorry for him, that I 
 could talk no more than himself. All our comfort was 
 from Mr. Seward, who enlivened us as much as he possibly 
 could by his puns and his sport. But poor Dr. Johnson 
 was so iU, that after dinner he went home. 
 
 Friday. — I made a visit to poor Dr. Johnson, to inquire 
 after his health. I found him better, yet extremely far 
 from well. One thing, however, gave me infinite satisfac- 
 tion. He was so good as to ask me after Charles, and said, 
 " I shall be glad to see him ; pray teU him to call upon 
 me." I thanked him very much, and said how proud he 
 would be of such a permission. 
 
 " I should be glad," said he, still more kindly, " to see 
 him, if he were not your brother ; but were he a dog, a cat, 
 a rat, a frog, and belonged to you, I must needs be glad to 
 see him ! " 
 
 Sunday, Jan. 19. — And now for Mrs. Delany. I spent 
 one hour with Mrs. Thrale, and then called for Mrs. Chapone, 
 and we proceeded together to St. James's Place. Mrs. De- 
 lany was alone in her drawing-room, which is entirely 
 hung round with pictures of her own painting, and orna- 
 ments of her own designing. She came to the door to re- 
 ceive us. She is still tall, though some of her height may 
 be lost : not much, however, for she is remarkably upright. 
 She has no remains of beauty in feature, but in countenance 
 I never but once saw more, and that was in my sweet ma- 
 ternal grandmother. Benevolence, softness, piety, and gen- 
 tleness are all resident in her face ; and the resemblance 
 with which she struck me to my dear grandmother, in 
 her first appearance, grew so much stronger from all 
 that came irom her mind, which seems to contain 
 
158 DUEY AND LETTERS [1783. 
 
 nothing but purity and native humility, that I almost 
 longed to embrace her ; and I am sure if I had, the recol- 
 lection of that saint-like woman would have been so strong 
 that I should never have refrained from crying over her. 
 
 Mrs. Chapone presented me to her, and taking my hand, 
 she said, — "You must pardon me if I give you an old- 
 fashioned reception, for I know nothing new." And she 
 saluted me. " Can you forgive, Miss Burney," she contin- 
 ued, " this great liberty I have taken with you, of asking 
 for your company to dinner ? I wished so impatiently to 
 see one from whom I have received such extraordinary 
 pleasure, that, as I could not be alone this morning, I could 
 not bear to put it off to another day ; and, if you had been 
 so good to come in the evening, I might, perhaps, have had 
 company ; and I hear so ill that I cannot, as I wish to do, 
 attend to more than one at a time ; for age makes me stupid 
 even more than I am by nature ; and how grieved and 
 mortified I must have been to know I had Miss Burney in 
 the room, and not to hear her ! " 
 
 She then mentioned her regret that we could not stay 
 and spend the evening with her, which had been told her 
 in our card of accepting her invitation, as we were both 
 engaged, which, for mj' part, I heartily regretted. 
 
 " I am particularly sorry," she added, " on account of the 
 Duchess Dowager of Portland, who is so good as to come 
 to me in an evening, as she knows I am too infirm to wait 
 upon her Grace myself : and she wished so much to see Miss 
 Burney. But she said she would come as early as possible, 
 and you won't, I hope, want to go very soon ? " 
 
 My time, I answered, was Mrs. Chapone's, and Mrs. 
 Chapone said she could not stay later than half-past seven. 
 
 " Fie, fie ! " cried Mrs. Delany smiling ; " why Miss La- 
 rolles would not for the world go before eight. However, 
 the Duchess will be here by seven, I dare say, for she said 
 
1783.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 159 
 
 nothing should detain her." Mrs. Chapone then made 
 me look at the paintings, which I greatly admired ; par- 
 ticularly a copy of Saccharissa, from Vandyke. There 
 was also a portrait of Madame de S^vigne, which struck 
 me very much ; and, while I was noticing the gaiety of 
 its countenance, Mrs. Delany, with an arch look, said, — 
 
 " Yes, it is very enjou^e, as Captain Aresby would say." 
 
 And afterwards of some other, but I have forgot what, 
 she said, — 
 
 " I don't know how it is, Mrs. Chapone, but I can never 
 look at that picture without thinking of poor Belfield. 
 You must forgive us. Miss Burney ; it is not right to talk 
 of these people ; but we don't know how to speak at all 
 now without, they are so always in our minds ! " 
 
 Soon after we went to dinner, which was plain, neat, 
 well-cooked, and elegantly served. When it was over, 
 I began to speak ; and now, my Chesington auditors, look 
 to yourselves ! 
 
 " Will you give me leave, ma'am, to ask if you remem- 
 ber anybody of the name of Crisp ? " 
 
 " Crisp ? " cried she ; " what ! Mrs. Ann Crisp ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " surely ! extremely well ! a charming, an excellent 
 woman she was ; we were very good friends once ; I 
 visited her at Burford, and her sister Mrs. Gast." 
 
 Then came my turn, and I talked of the brother ; but 
 I won't write what I said. 
 
 Mrs. Delany said she knew him but very little ; and by 
 no means so much as she should have liked. I reminded 
 her of a letter he wrote her from abroad, which she imme- 
 diately recollected ; and I told her that the account I had 
 heard from him and from Mrs. Gast, of her former friend- 
 ship for Mrs. Ann Crisp, had first given me a desire to be 
 acquainted with her. 
 
160 DIARY AND LETTEKS [1783. 
 
 " I am sure, then," said she, " I am very much obliged 
 to them both ; but how Mr. Crisp can so long have remem- 
 bered so insignificant a body I don't know. I beg, how- 
 ever, when you write to him, you will give my compli- 
 ments and thanks to him, and also to Mrs. Gast, for being 
 so good as to think of me." 
 
 Mrs. Chapone then asked me a hundred questions 
 about Mr. Crisp, and said, — 
 
 " Pray, is he a Doctor Lyster ? " 
 
 " I don't know Dr. Lyster, ma'am," cried I, very simply, 
 for the book was so wholly out of my head at the time, that 
 I really thought she meant some living character. They 
 both laughed very much, and assured me they should 
 soon teach me to remember names better, if I lived with 
 them. 
 
 This Chesingtonian talk lasted till we went upstairs, and 
 then she showed me the new art which she has invented. 
 It is staining paper of all possible colors, and then cut- 
 ting it out, so finely and delicately, that when it is pasted 
 on paper or vellum, it has all the appearance of being 
 pencilled, except that, by being raised, it has still a richer 
 and more natural look. The effect is extremely beautiful 
 She invented it at seventy-five ! She told me she did 
 four flowers the first year ; sixteen the second ; and the 
 third, 160 ; and after that many more. They are all from 
 nature, and consist of the most curious flowers, plants 
 and weeds, that are to be found. She has been supplied 
 with patterns from all the great gardens, and all the great 
 florists in the kingdom. Her plan was to finish 1000 ; 
 but, alas ! her eyes now fail her, though she has only 
 twenty undone of her task. ^ 
 
 She has marked the places whence they all came, on the 
 back, and where she did them, and the year ; and she has 
 put her cypher, M.D., at the corner of each, in different 
 
1783.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 161 
 
 colored letters for every different year — such as red, blue, 
 green, &c. 
 
 "But,'' said she, "the last year, as I found my eyes 
 grew very dim, and threatened to fail before my work was 
 completed, I put my initials in white, for I seemed to my- 
 self already working in my winding sheet." 
 
 I could almost have cried at the mingled resignation 
 and spirit with which she made this melancholy speech. 
 
 Mrs. Chapone asked her whether any cold had lately 
 attacked her eyes ? 
 
 " No," said she, smiling, " nothing but my reigning mal- 
 ady, old age ! 'T is, however, what we all wish to obtain ; 
 and, indeed, a very comfortable state I have found it. I 
 have a little niece coming to me soon, who wiU see for 
 me." 
 
 At about seven o'clock, the Duchess Dowager of Port- 
 land came. She is not near so old as Mrs. Delany, nor, to 
 me, is her face by any means so pleasing ; but yet there 
 is sweetness, and. dignity, and intelligence in it. Mrs. 
 Delany received her with the same respectful ceremony as 
 if it was her first visit, though she regularly goes to her 
 every evening. But what she at first took as an honor 
 and condescension she has so much true humility of 
 mind, that no use can make her see in any other light. 
 She immediately presented me to her. Her Grace curt- 
 seyed and smiled with the most flattering air of pleasure, 
 and said she was particularly happy in meeting with me. 
 
 We then took our places, and Mrs. Delany said — 
 
 " Miss Burney, ma'am, is acquainted with Mr. Crisp, 
 whom your Grace knew so weU ; and she tells me he and 
 his sister have been so good as to remember me, and to 
 mention me to her." 
 
 The Duchess instantly asked me a thousand questions 
 about him— where he lived, how he had his health, and 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
162 DIARY AMD LETTERS [1783 
 
 whether his fondness for the polite arts still continued, 
 She said he was one of the most ingenious and agreeable 
 men she had ever known, and regretted his having se- 
 questered himself so much from the society of his former 
 friends. 
 
 This conversation lasted a long while, for it was one 
 upon which I could myself be voluble. I spared not for 
 boasting of my dear daddy's kindness to me ; and you can 
 hardly imagine the pleasure, ease, and happiness, it was to 
 me, to talk of him to so elegant a judge, who so well knew 
 I said nothing that was not true. She told me, also, the 
 story of the poor Birmingham boy, and of the sketches 
 which Mr. Crisp, she said, had been so good as to give 
 her. 
 
 In the course of this conversation I found her very 
 charming, high-bred, courteous, sensible, and spirited ; not 
 merely free from pride, but free from affability — its most 
 mortifying deputy. 
 
 After this she asked me if I had seen Mrs. Siddons, and 
 what I thought of her. I answered that I admired her 
 very much. 
 
 " If Miss Bumey approves her," said the Duchess, " no 
 approbation, I am sure, can do her so much credit ; for no 
 one can so perfectly judge of characters or of human 
 nature." 
 
 " Ah, ma'am," cried Mrs. Delany, archly, " and does your 
 Grace remember protesting you would never read ' Cecilia ?" 
 
 " Yes," said she, laughing ; " I declared that five volumes 
 could never be attacked ; but since I began I have read it 
 three times." 
 
 " teriible ! " cried I, " to make them out fifteen ! " 
 
 " The reason," continued she, " I held out so long against 
 reading them, was remembering the cry there was in favor 
 of ' Clarissa ' and ' Sir Charles Grandison ' when they came 
 
1783.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 163 
 
 out ; and those I never could read. I was teased into try- 
 ing both of them ; but I was disgusted with their tedioas- 
 ness, and could not read eleven letters with aU the effort I 
 could make : so much about my sisters and my brothers, 
 and all my uncles and my aunts ! " 
 
 " But if your Grace had gone on vrith ' Clarissa,' said 
 Mrs. Chapone, " the latter part must certainly have affected 
 you and charmed you." 
 
 " 0, I hate anything so dismal ! Everybody that did 
 read it had melancholy faces for a week. ' Cecilia ' is as 
 pathetic as I can bear, and more sometimes ; yet, in the 
 midst of the sorrow, there is a spirit in the writing, a fire 
 in the whole composition, that keep off that heavy depres- 
 sion given by Eichardson. Cry, to be sure, we did. 0, 
 Mrs. Delany, shall you ever forget how we cried ? But, 
 then, we had so much laughter to make us amends, we 
 were never left to sink under our concern." 
 I am really ashamed to write on. 
 
 " Por my part," said Mrs. Chapone, " when I first read it, 
 I did not cry at all ; I was in an agitation that half killed 
 me, that shook all my nei-ves, and made me unable to sleep 
 at nights from the suspense I was in ; but I could not cry 
 for excess of eagerness." 
 
 " I only wish," said the Duchess, " Miss Bumey could 
 have been in some corner, amusing herself with listening 
 to us, when Lord Weymouth, and the Bishop of Exeter, 
 and Mr. Lightfoot, and Mrs. Delany, and I, were all dis- 
 cussing the point of the name. So earnest we were, she 
 must have been diverted with us. Nothing, the nearest 
 our own hearts and interests, could have been debated 
 more warmly. The Bishop was quite as eager as any of 
 us ; but what cooled us a little, at last, was Mr. Lightfoot's 
 thinking we were seriously going to quarrel; and while 
 Mrs. Delany and I were disputing about Mrs. Delville, he 
 
164 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 very gravely said, " Why, ladies, this is only a matter of 
 imagination ; it is not a fact j don't be so earnest." 
 
 " Ah, ma'am," said Mrs. Delany, " how hard your Grace, 
 was upon Mrs. Delville; so elegant, so sensible, so judi 
 cious, so charming a woman." 
 
 " 0, 1 hate her !" cried the Duchess, " resisting that sweet 
 Cecilia ; coaxing her, too, all the time, with such hypocriti- 
 cal flattery." 
 
 " I shall never forget," said Mrs. Delany, " your Grace's 
 earnestness when we came to that part where Mrs. Delville 
 bursts a blood-vessel. Down dropped the book, and just 
 with the same energy as if your Grace had heard some real 
 and important news, you called out, ' I 'm glad of it with 
 all my heart ! " 
 
 "What disputes, too," said Mrs. Chapone, "there are 
 about Briggs. I was in a room some time ago where 
 somebody said there could be no such character; and a 
 poor little mean city man, who was there, started up and 
 said, ' But there is though, for I'se one myself ! ' " 
 
 "The Harrels! — 0, then, the Barrels !" cried Mrs. 
 Delany. 
 
 " If you speak of the Harrels, and of the morality of the 
 book," cried the Duchess, with a solemn sort of voice, " we 
 shall, indeed, never give Miss Burney her due — so strik- 
 ing, so pure, so genuine, so instructive." 
 
 "Yes," cried Mrs. Chapone, "let us complain how we 
 will of the torture she has given our nerves, we must all 
 join in saying she has bettered us by every line." 
 
 " No book," said Mrs. Delany, " ever was so useful as 
 this, because none other that is so good was ever so much 
 read." 
 
 I think I need now write no more. I could, indeed, 
 hear no more ; for this last so serious praise, from char- 
 acters so respectable, so moral, and so aged, quite affected 
 
1783. J OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 165 
 
 me ; and though I had wished a thousand times during the 
 discourse to run out of the room, when they gave me finally 
 this solemn sanction to the meaning and intention of my 
 writing, I found it not without difficulty that I could keep 
 the tears out of my eyes ; and when I told what had passed 
 to our sweet father, his quite ran over. 
 
 Of all the scenes of this sort in which I have heen en- 
 gaged, this has been the least painful to me, from my high 
 respect for the personages, from their own elegance, in 
 looking only at one another while they talked, and from 
 having no witnesses to either watch me or be wearied 
 themselves : yet I still say only least painful ; for pleasant 
 nothing can make a conversation entirely addressed to one 
 who has no means in the world of taking any share in it. 
 
 This meeting had so long been in agitation, and so much 
 desired by myself, that I have not spared for being cir- 
 cumstantial. 
 
 The Duchess had the good sense and judgment to feel 
 she had drawn up her panegyric to a climax, and therefore 
 here she stopped ; so, however, did not we, for our coach 
 was ready. 
 
 Thuksday, June 19th.i — We heard to-day that Dr. 
 Johnson had been taken iU, in a way that gave a dreadful 
 shock to himself, and a most anxious alarm to his friends. 
 Mr. Seward brought the news here, and my father and 
 I instantly went to his house. He had earnestly desired 
 me, when we lived so much together at Streatham, to see 
 him frequently if he should be ill. He saw my father, 
 but he had medical people with him, and could not admit 
 me upstairs, but he sent me down a most kind message, 
 that he thanked me for calling, and when he was better 
 should hope to see me often. I had the satisfaction to 
 
 iln the mean time, early in April, Miss Bumey had lost her kind 
 friend and mentor, Samuel Crisp. 
 
166 DIARY AND LETTERS [1783 
 
 hear from Mrs. Williams that the physicians had pro- 
 nounced him to be in no danger, and expected a speedy 
 recovery. The stroke was confined to his tongue. Mrs. 
 Williams told me a most striking and touching circum- 
 stance that attended the attack. It was at about four o'clock 
 in the morning : he found himself with a paralytic affec- 
 tion; he rose, and composed in his own mind a Latin 
 prayer to the Almighty, " that whatever were the sufferings 
 for which he must prepare himself, it would please Him, 
 through the grace and mediation of our blessed Saviour, 
 to spare his intellects, and let them all fall upon his body." 
 When he had composed this, internally, he endeavored to 
 speak it aloud, but found his voice was gone. 
 
 July 7th. — I spent the whole day with sweet Mrs. 
 Delany, whom I love most tenderly. I always long to 
 ask for her blessing. We had no company but Mrs. San- 
 ford, an old lady who was formerly her elhe, and who 
 seems well worthy that honor. In the evening, came in 
 Mr. Walpole, gay, though caustic ; polite, though sneering ; 
 and entertainingly epigram matical. I like and admire, 
 but I could not love, nor trust him. 
 
 Thursday, Oct. 29th. — This morning, at breakfast, Mr. 
 Hoole called. I wanted to call upon Dr. Johnson, and it 
 is so disagreeable to me to go to him alone, now poor Mrs. 
 Williams is dead, on account of the quantity of men 
 always visiting him, that I most gladly accepted, and 
 almost asked, his 'squireship. We went together. The 
 dear Doctor received me with open arms. "Ah, dearest 
 of all dear ladies ! " he cried, and made me sit in his best 
 chair. He had not breakfasted. "Do you forgive my 
 coming so soon ? " said I. " I cannot forgive your not 
 coming sooner," he answered. I asked if I should make 
 his breakfast, which I have not done since we left Streat- 
 ham; he readily consented. 
 
1783.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 167 
 
 " But sir," quoth I, " I am in the wrong chair." For I 
 was away from the table. "It is so difficult," said he, 
 " for anything to be wrong that belongs to you, that it can 
 only be I am in the wrong chair, to keep you from the 
 right one." And then we changed. You wiU see by this 
 how good were his spirits and his health. I stayed with 
 him two hours, and could hardly get away ; he wanted me 
 to dine with him, and said he would send home to excuse 
 me ; but I could not possibly do that. Yet I left him 
 with real regret. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 19th. I received a letter from Dr. 
 Johnson, which I have not by me, but will try to recol- 
 lect. 
 
 " To Miss Burney. 
 
 " Madam, — You have now been at home this long time, 
 and yet I have neither seen nor heard from you. Have 
 we quarrelled ? I have met with a volume of the ' Philo 
 sophical Transactions,' which I imagine to belong to Dr. 
 Burney. Miss Charlotte will please to examine. Pray 
 send me a direction where Mrs. Chapone lives ; and pray, 
 some time, let me have the honor of telling you how much 
 I am, madam, your most humble servant, 
 
 Sam. Johnson. 
 
 " Bolt Court, Nov. 19th, 1783." 
 
 Now if ever you read anything more dry, tell me. I 
 was shocked to see him undoubtedly angry, but took 
 courage, and resolved to make a serious defence ; there- 
 fore thus I answered, — 
 
 " To Dr. Johnson. 
 
 Deab Sm, — May I not say dear ? for quarrelled I am 
 sui-e we havii not. The bad weather alone has kept me 
 from waiting upon you ; but now you have condescended 
 
168 DLA.Ry AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 to give me a summons, no lion shall stand in the way of 
 my making your tea this afternoon, unless I receive a pro- 
 hibition from yourself, and then I must submit; for what, 
 as you said of a certain great lady, signifies the barking of 
 a lap-dog, if once the lion puts out his paw ? The book 
 was very right. Mrs. Chapone lives at either No. 7 or 8 
 in Dean Street, Soho. I beg you, sir, to forgive a delay 
 for which I can only ' tax the elements with unkindness,' 
 and to receive, with your usual goodness and indulgence, 
 your ever most obliged and most faithful humble servant, 
 
 "F. BURNEY. 
 " St. Martin's Street, Nov. 19th, 1783." 
 
 My dear father spared me the coach, and to Bolt Court 
 therefore I went, and with open arms was I received. 
 Nobody was there but Charles and Mr. Sastres, and 
 Dr. Johnson was, if possible, more instructive, entertain- 
 ing, good-humored, and exquisitely fertile, than ever. 
 He thanked me repeatedly for coming, and was so kind 
 I could hardly ever leave him. 
 
 Tuesday. — I spent the afternoon with Dr. Johnson, who 
 indeed is very lU, and whom I could hardly tell how to 
 leave. But he is rather better since, though still in a most 
 alarming way. Indeed, I am very much afraid for him ! 
 He was very, very kind ! — Oh, what a cruel, heavy loss 
 will he be ! 
 
 Tuesday, Dec. 30th. — I went to Dr. Johnson, and spent 
 the evening with him. He was very indifferent, indeed. 
 There were some very disagreeable people with him; and 
 he once affected me very much, by turning suddenly to 
 me, and grasping my hand, and saying, — " The blister I 
 have tried for my breath has betrayed some very bad 
 tokens ; but I will not terrify myself by talking of them ; 
 ah, priez Dieu pour moi ! " You may believe I promised 
 
1761.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 169 
 
 that I would ! — Good and excellent as he is, how can he 
 so fear death ? — Alas, my Susy, how awful is that idea ! — 
 He was quite touchiagly affectionate to me. How ear- 
 nestly I hope for his recovery ! 
 
 Thursday, Jan. 8th. — I dined with Mrs. Delany.^ 
 The venerable and excellent old lady received me with 
 open arms, and we kissed one another as if she had been 
 my svfeet grandmother, whom she always reminds me of. 
 She looks as well as ever, only rather thinner ; but she is 
 as lively, gay, pleasant, good-humored, and animated, as at 
 eighteen. She sees, she says, much worse ; " but I am 
 thankful," she added, cheerfully, " I can see at all at my 
 age. My greatest loss is the countenance of my friends ; 
 however, to see even the light is a great blessing." 
 
 She showed me a most elegant and ingenious loom, 
 which the Queen made her a present of last summer at 
 Windsor, for making fringe; and a gold knitting needle 
 given her by the King. And she t^ld me the whole his- 
 tory of their manner of presenting/them, with a sort of 
 grateful simplicity that was quite affecting. Did I ever 
 tell you of the letter the Queen wrote her, when she gave 
 her a beautiful case of instruments for her curious works ? 
 She signed it her " affectionate Queen." I quite reverence 
 the Queen for her sense of Mrs. Delany's merit. 
 
 1 Mary Granville, Mrs. Delany, niece of George, Lord Lanadowne, 
 widow of Patrick Delany, Dean of Down, great great aunt of Frances, 
 Baroness Bunsen, whose memoirs, published in 1878, by Augustus Hare, 
 met with a cordial reception in both England and America. — Mrs, Dela- 
 ny's AvioMography and Correspondence, 2 vols. Boston, 1879. 
 
170 DIARY AND LETTERS [1784. 
 
 Mrs. Thrale to Miss Bwmey. 
 
 Bath, Tuesday, 23rd March, 1784. 
 
 You were a dear creature, to write so soon and so sweetly ; 
 but we shall never meet. I see that clearly, and have seen 
 it long. My going to London would be a dreadful expense, 
 and bring on a thousand inquiries and inconveniences — 
 visits to Johnson and from Cator : and where must I live 
 for the time, too ? Oh, I have desired nothing else since 
 you wrote ; but aU is impossibility. Why would you ever 
 flatter me that you might, maybe, come to Bath ? I saw 
 the unlikelihood even then, and my retired life will not 
 induce your friends to permit your coming hither now. I 
 fancy even my own young ladies wOl leave me, and I sin- 
 cerely think they will be perfectly right so to do, as the 
 world they wish to shine in is quite excluded by my style 
 of living. 
 
 Bath flash they properly enough despise, and London 
 flash I cannot attend them in. More chapters of the Bible, 
 or more volumes of the Eoman and English histories, 
 would fatigue their ears — for their lungs have not yet 
 suffered. I have, however, read to them the Bible from 
 beginning to end, the Eoman and English histories, Milton, 
 Shakespeare, Pope, and Young's works from head to heel ; 
 Warton and Johnson's criticisms on the Poets ; besides a 
 complete system of dramatic writing; and classical — I 
 mean English classics — they are most perfectly acquainted 
 with. Such works of Voltaire, too, as were not dangerous, 
 we have worked at; "Kollin des Belles Lettres," and a 
 hundred more. 
 
 But my best powers are past, and I think I must look 
 them a lady to supply my deficiency, to attend them if 
 they should like a jaunt next summer or so ; for I will not 
 quit Bath. The waters and physicians of this place are aU 
 
1784.] OF MADAME D'ARBLATf. 171 
 
 my comfort, and I often think I never shall again leave 
 the spot. 
 
 Ah, Burney ! you little know the suffering, and, I wiU 
 add, the patient suffering of your H. L. T.^ 
 
 Monday, April 26th. — I spent with my dear Mrs. De- 
 lany, and more pleasantly than I have spent any day since 
 my Susy left town. She gave me her letters to rummage, 
 from Swift and Young ; and she told me all the anecdotes 
 that occurred to her of her acquaintance with them. How 
 I grieve that her sight visibly continues to decay ! all her 
 other senses and faculties are perfect, though she says 
 not. 
 
 " My friends," said she once when we were alone, " will 
 last, I believe, as long as I last, because they are very 
 good ; but the pleasure of our friendship is now all to be 
 received by me, for I have lost all power of returning 
 
 any." 
 
 If she often spoke such untruths, I should not revere her 
 as I do. She has been in great affliction lately for Lady 
 Mansfield, a very old friend, just dead. 
 
 1 The above letter is indorsed as follows in the handwriting of Madame 
 d 'Arfclay : — 
 
 " Many letters of a subsequent date to this letter, of 14th March, 1784, 
 I have utterly, for cogent reasons (cogent and conscientious), destroyed. 
 Following, with this so long dearest friend, the simple, but unrivalled, 
 golden rule, I would only preserve such as evince her conflicts, her misery, 
 and her sufferings, mental and corporeal, to exonerate her from the banal 
 reproach of yielding unresisting to her passions. Her fault and grievous 
 misfortune was, not combating them in their origin ; not flying even from 
 their menace. How have I loved her ! with what affection, what gratitude, 
 what admiration, and what affliction ! 
 
 " im February, 1825." 
 
172 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1784. 
 
 " The Duchess of Portland and I," said she, " have shut 
 ourselves up together, and seen nobody ; and some people 
 said we did mischief to ourselves by it, for the Duchess 
 lamented Lady Mansfield stiU more than I did. However, 
 our sympathy has only done good to both. But to-day I 
 wanted a cordial, and that made me wish for you." 
 
 How kind and how sweet! We were quite alone tiU 
 
 evening, except for lovely Miss P , whom I like very 
 
 much ; and I entreated Mrs. Delany always to let me dine 
 with her alone ; and I believe she will comply, for we grow 
 more and more sociable and unreserved. 
 
 " I was told," said she once, " that when I grew older, I 
 should feel less ; but I do not find it so ; I am sooner, I 
 think, hurt than ever. I suppose it is with very old age 
 as with extreme youth, the effect of weakness ; neither of 
 those stages of life have firmness for bearing misfortunes." 
 
 Mri. Thrale to Miss F. Burney. 
 
 MOIfMlIER Stbeet, Cayeitdish Sqvabe, 
 Tuesday Night, May, 1784. 
 
 I am come, dearest Burney. It is neither dream nor 
 
 fiction ; though I love you dearly, or I would not have 
 
 come. Absence and distance do nothing towards wearing 
 
 out real affection ; so you shall always find it in your true 
 
 and tender H. L T. 
 
 I am somewhat shaken bodily, but 'tis the mental 
 shocks that have made me unable to bear the corporeal 
 ones. 'T is past ten o'clock, and I must lay myself down 
 with the sweet expectation of seeing my charming friend 
 in the morning to breakfast. I love Dr. Burney too well 
 to fear him, and he loves me too well to say a word which 
 should make me love him less. 
 
1784.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 173 
 
 Journal resumed. 
 Mxx 17. — Let me now, my Susy, acquaint you a little 
 more connectedly than I have done of late how I have gone 
 on. The rest of that week I devoted almost whoUy to sweet 
 Mrs. Thrale, whose society was truly the most delightful 
 of cordials to me, however, at times, mixed with bitters the 
 least palatable. One day I dined with Mrs. Garrick to 
 meet Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Carter, Miss Hamilton, and Dr. 
 and Miss Cadogan ; and one evening I went to Mrs. Vesey, 
 to meet almost everybody, — the Bishop of St. Asaph, and 
 aU the Shipleys, Bishop Chester and Mrs. Porteus, Mrs. 
 and Miss Ord, Sir Joshua Eeynolds and Miss Palmer, Mrs. 
 BuUer, aU the Burrows, Mr. Walpole, Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. 
 Garrick, and Miss More, and some others. But all the 
 rest of my time I gave wholly to dear Mrs. Thrale, who 
 lodged in Mortimer Street, and who saw nobody else. 
 Were I not sensible of her goodness, and full of incurable 
 affection for her, should I not be a monster ? 
 
 I parted most reluctantly with my dear Mrs. Thrale, 
 whom, when or how, I shall see again. Heaven only knows ! 
 but in sorrow we parted — on my side in real affliction.^ 
 
 [Towards the end of July in this year, Mrs. Thrale's 
 second marriage took place with Mr. Piozzi, and Miss Bur- 
 ney went at the same time to Norbury Park, where she 
 
 1 " 28th May, 1784. — I have heen to London for a week to visit Fanny 
 Bumey, and to talk over my intended (and I hope approaching) nuptials. 
 Dear Bumey, who loves me kimdly but the world reverentially, was, I be- 
 lieve, equally pained and delighted with my visit ; ashamed to be seen in 
 my company : much of her fondness for me must of course be diminished. " 
 — Extract frmn Mrs. Thrale's journal, im, the Autobiography, Letters, dtc, of 
 Mrs. Piozzi, edited by A. Hayward. 
 
174 DUEY AND LETTERS [1784. 
 
 passed some weeks, with Mr. and Mrs. Locke. The follow- 
 ing " sketch " of a letter, and memorandum of what had 
 recently passed between Mrs. Piozzi and herself, is taken 
 from the journal of that period.] 
 
 Miss F. Burney to Mrs. Piozzi. 
 
 NoEBUHY Park, Aug. 10, 1784. 
 
 When my wondering eyes first looked over the letter I 
 received last night, my mind instantly dictated a high- 
 spirited vindication of the consistency, integrity, and faith- 
 fulness of the friendship thus abruptly reproached and cast 
 away. But a sleepless night gave me leisure to recollect 
 that you were ever as generous as precipitate, and that your 
 own heart would do justice to mine, in the cooler judg- 
 ment of future reflection. Committing myself, therefore, 
 to that period, I determined simply to assure you, that if 
 my last letter hurt either you or Mr. Piozzi, I am no less 
 sorry than surprised ; and that if it offended you, I sincerely 
 beg your pardon. 
 
 Not to that time, however, can I wait to acknowledge 
 the pain an accusation so unexpected has caused me, nor 
 the heartfelt satisfaction with which I shall receive, when 
 you are able to write it, a softer renewal of regard. 
 
 May Heaven direct and bless you I F. B. 
 
 [N". B. This is the sketch of the answer which F. Burney 
 most painfully wrote to the unmerited reproach of not 
 sending cordial congratulations upon a marriage which she 
 had uniformly, openly, and with deep and avowed afflic- 
 tion, thought wrong.] 
 
1784 1 OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 176 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi to Miss Burney. 
 
 ■Wblbbok Stbebt, No 83, Cavendish Squarii, 
 Friday, Aug. 13, 1784. 
 
 Give yourself no serious coucern, sweetest Burney. AH 
 is well, and I am too happy myself to make a friend other- 
 wise; quiet your kind heart immediately, and love my 
 husband if you love his and your H. L. Piozzi. 
 
 [N. B. To this kind note, R B. wrote the warmest and 
 most affectionate and heartfelt reply ; but never received 
 another word ! And here and thus stopped a correspou- 
 dence of six years of almost unequalled partiality and fond- 
 ness on her side ; and affection, gratitude, admiration, and 
 sincerity on that of F. B., who could only conjecture the 
 cessation to be caused by the resentment of Piozzi, when 
 informed of her constant opposition to the union. 
 
 Diary resumed. 
 
 NoRBUEY Park, Sunday, Nov. 28th. — How will my 
 Susan smile at sight of this date ! Let me tell her how it 
 has all happened. Last Thursday, Nov. 25th, my father 
 set me down at Bolt-court, while he went on upon busi- 
 ness. I was anxious to again see poor Dr. Johnson, who 
 has had terrible health since his return from Lichfield. 
 He let me in, though very ill. He was alone, which I 
 much rejoiced at : for I had a longer and more satisfactory 
 conversation with him than I have had for many months. 
 He was in rather better spirits, too, than I have lately seen 
 him ; but he told me he was going to try what sleeping 
 out of town might do for him. 
 
 " I remember," said he, " that my wife, when she was 
 near her end, poor woman, was also advised to sleep out of 
 
176 DIAET AND LETTERS [1784. 
 
 town ; and when she was carried to the lodgings that had 
 been prepared for her, she complained that the staircase 
 was in very bad condition — for the plaster was beaten off 
 the walls in many places. ' Oh,' said the man of the house, 
 ' that 's nothing but by the knocks against it of the cofi&ns 
 of the poor souls that have died in the lodgings I'" He 
 laughed, though not without apparent secret anguish, in 
 teUing me this. I felt extremely shocked, but, willing to 
 confine my words at least to the literal story, I only ex- 
 claimed against the unfeeling absurdity of such a confes- 
 sion. "Such a confession," cried he, "to a person then 
 coming to try his lodging for her health, contains, indeed, 
 more absurdity than we can well lay our account for." 
 
 I had seen Miss Thrale the day before. " So," said he, 
 " did I." I then said, — " Do you ever, sir, hear from her 
 mother ? " " No," cried he, " nor write to her. I drive her 
 quite from my mind. If I meet with one of her letters, I 
 burn it instantly. I have burnt all I can find. I never 
 speak of her, and I desire never to hear of her more. I 
 drive her, as I said, wholly from my mind." 
 
 He then animated, and talked on, upon our immortal 
 Shakespeare, with as much fire, spirit, wit, and truth of 
 criticism and judgment, as ever yet I have heard him. 
 How delightfully bright are his faculties, though the poor 
 and infirm machine that contains them seems alarmingly 
 giving way. Tet, all briUiant as he was, I saw him grow- 
 ing worse, and offered to go, which, for the first time I 
 ever remember, he did not oppose ; but, most kindly press- 
 ing both my hands — " Be not," he said, in a voice of even 
 tenderness, " be not longer in coming again for my letting 
 you go now." I assured him I would be the sooner, and 
 was running off, but he called me back, in a solemn voice, 
 and, in. a manner the most energetic, said — " Eemembei 
 me in your prayers ! " 
 
1784.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 177 
 
 I longed to ask him to remember me, but did not dare 
 I gave him my promise, and, very heavily indeed, I left 
 him. Great, good, and excellent that he is, how short a 
 time wUl he be our boast ! Ah, my dear Susy, I see he is 
 going ! This winter will never conduct him to a more 
 genial season here ! Elsewhere, who shall hope a fairer ? 
 I wish I had bid him pray for me ; but it seemed to me 
 presumptuous, though this repetition of so kind a conde- 
 scension might, I think, have encouraged me. Mrs. Locke, 
 however, I know does it daily ; my Susan's best prayers I 
 know are always mine ; and where can I find two more 
 innocent pleaders ? So God bless you both ! 
 
 Thursday Morning — 1 have been a second time to see 
 poor Dr. Johnson, and both times he was too iU to admit 
 me. I know how very much worse he must be, for when 
 I saw him last, which was the morning before I went to 
 Norbury, he repeatedly and even earnestly begged me to 
 come to him again, and to see him both as soon and as 
 often as I could. I am told by Mr. Hoole that he inquired 
 of Dr. Brocklesby if he thought it likely he might live six 
 weeks ? and the Doctor's hesitation saying — No — he has 
 been more deeply depressed than ever. Fearing death as 
 he does, no one can wonder. Why he should fear it, aU 
 may wonder. 
 
 He sent me down yesterday, by a clergyman who was 
 with him, the kindest of messages, and I hardly know 
 whether I ought to go to him again or not; though I 
 know stiU less why I say so, for go again I both must and 
 shall. One thing, his extreme dejection of mind considered, 
 has both surprised and pleased me ; he has now constantly 
 an amanuensis with him, and dictates to him such compo- 
 sitions, particularly Latin and Greek, as he has formerly 
 made, but repeated to his friends without ever committing 
 to paper. This, I hope, will not only gratify his survivora 
 
 VOL. 1. 12 
 
178 DIAET AND LETTERS [1784. 
 
 but serve to divert him. The good Mr. Hoole and equally 
 good Mr. Sastres attend him, rather as nurses than friends, 
 for they sit whole hours by him, without even speaking to 
 him. He will not, it seems, be talked to — at least very 
 rarely. At times, indeed, he re-animates ; but it is soon 
 over, and he says of himself, " I am now like Macbeth, — 
 question enrages me." 
 
 My father saw him once while I was away, and carried 
 Mr. Burke with him, who was desirous of paying his re- 
 spects to him once more in person. He rallied a little 
 while they were there ; and Mr. Burke, when they left him, 
 said to my father — " His work is almost done ; and well 
 has he done it ! " 
 
 St. Martin's Street, Wednesday, Dec. 10th. — I went 
 in the evening to poor Dr. Johnson. Frank told me he 
 was very HI, but let me in. He would have taken me up- 
 stairs, but I would not see him without his direct per- 
 mission. I desired Frank to tell him I called to pay my 
 respects to him, but not to disturb him if he was not well 
 enough to see me. Mr. Strahan, a clergyman, he said, was 
 with him alone. In a few minutes, this Mr. Strahan came 
 to me himself He told me Dr. Johnson was very ill, 
 very much obliged to me for coming, but so weak and bad 
 he hoped I would excuse his not seeing me. I had prom- 
 ised to call for Charlotte at Mr. Hoole's ; and there I went 
 in to tea, sure of a good reception, though too much out of 
 spirits to be worth one. They were all at home, and their 
 good humor and happiness were pleasant to behold, after 
 such an unexpected blow. Dear, dear, and much-rev- 
 erenced Dr. Johnson ! how ill or how low must he be, to 
 decline seeing a creature he has so constantly, so fondly, 
 called about him ! If I do not see him again I shall be 
 truly afflicted. And I fear, I almost know, I cannot ! — 
 
1784.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 179 
 
 At night my father brought us the most dismal tidings 
 of dear Dr. Johnson. Dr. Warren had seen him, and told 
 him to take what opium he pleased ! He had thanked and 
 taken leave of all his physicians. Alas ! — I shall lose 
 him, and he will take no leave of me ! My father was 
 deeply depressed ; he has himself tried in vain for admis- 
 sion this week. Yet some people see him — the Hooles, 
 Mr. Sastres, Mr. Langton ; — but then they must be in the 
 house, watching for one moment, whole hours. I hear 
 from every one he is now perfectly resigned to his ap- 
 proaching fate, and no longer in terror of death. I am 
 thankfully happy in hearing that he speaks himself now 
 of the change his mind has undergone, from its dark horror, 
 and says — " He feels the irradiation of hope ! " Good, 
 and pious, and excellent Christian — who shall feel it if 
 not he? 
 
 Dec. 11th. — We had a party to dinner, by long ap- 
 pointment, for which, indeed, none of us were well disposed, 
 the apprehension of hearing news only of death being hard 
 upon us all. The party was, Dr. Eose, Dr. G-Olies,^ Dr. 
 Garthshore,^ and Charles. 
 
 The day could not be well — but mark the night. My 
 father, in the morning, saw this first of men ! I had not 
 his account till bedtime ; he feared over-exciting me. He 
 would not, he said, but have seen him for worlds ! He 
 happened to be better, and admitted him. He was up, 
 
 1 Dr. Gillies. The learned author of the "History of Ancient Greece 
 till the Division of the Macedonian Empire," and several other historical 
 works. He was appointed by George III. Historiographer-Eoyal for Scot- 
 land. Dr. Gilliea was bom in Forfarshire (Scotland) in 1750, and died in 
 1824. 
 
 ' Dr. Garthshore. An eminent physician, son of the minister of Kirk- 
 cudbright, in Scotland, Mhere he was bom. He came to Londcin in 1763, 
 and practised there the \ irious branches of his profession, till his death, 
 in 1812. He was the writer of many valuable medical and ph faiologi'ial 
 papers in the Transactions of the Eoyal Society, &o. 
 
180 DIARY AND LETTEKS [1784. 
 
 and very composed. He took his hand very kindly, asked 
 after all his family, and then, in particular, ho-^r Fanny 
 did ? "I hope," he said, " Fanny did not take it amiss 
 that I did not see her ? I was very had ! " Amiss ! — 
 what a word ! Oh that I had been present to have an- 
 swered it! My father stayed, I suppose, half an hour, and 
 then was coming away. He again took his hand, and en- 
 couraged him to come again to him; and when he was 
 taking leave, said — " Tell Fanny to pray for me ! " 
 
 Ah ! dear Dr. Johnson ! might I but have your prayers ! 
 After which, still grasping his hand, he made a prayer for 
 himself, — the most fervent, pious, humble, eloquent, and 
 touching, my father says, that ever was composed. Oh, 
 would I had heard it ! He ended it with Amen ! in which 
 my father joined, and was echoed by all present. And 
 again, when my father was leaving him, he brightened up, 
 something of his arch look returned, and he said — "I 
 think I shall throw the ball at Fanny yet ! " Little more 
 passed ere my father came away, deciding, most tenderly, 
 not to tell me this till our party was gone. 
 
 This most earnestly increased my desire to see him ; this 
 kind and frequent mention of me melted me into double 
 sorrow and regret. I would give the world I had but gone 
 to him that day ! It was, however, impossible, and the 
 day was over before I knew he had said what I look 
 upon as a call to me. This morning, after church time, I 
 went. Frank said he was very ill, and saw nobody ; I told 
 him I had understood by my father the day before that he 
 meant to see me. He then let me in. I went into his 
 room upstairs ; he was in his bedroom. I saw it crowded, 
 and ran hastily down. Frank told me his master had re- 
 fused seeing even Mr. Langton. I told him merely to say 
 I had called, but by no means to press my admission. His 
 own feelings were all that should be consulted ; his tender- 
 
1784.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 181 
 
 ness, I knew, would be equal, whether he was able to see 
 me or not. 
 
 I went into the parlor, preferring being alone in the 
 cold to any company with a fire. Here I waited long, 
 here and upon the stairs, which I ascended and descended 
 to meet again with Frank, and make inquiries : but I met 
 him not. At last, upon Dr. Johnson's ringing his bell, 
 I saw Frank enter his room, and Mr Langton follow. 
 " Who 's that ? " I heard him say ; they answered " Mr 
 Langton," and I found he did not return. Soon after, all 
 the rest went away but a Mrs. Davis, a good sort of woman, 
 whom this truly charitable soul had sent for to take a din- 
 ner at his house. I then went and waited with her by 
 the fire : it was, however, between three and four o'clock 
 before I got any answer. Mr. Langton then came himself. 
 He could not look at me, and I turned away from him. 
 Mrs. Davis asked how the Doctor was ? " Going on to 
 death very fast ! " was his mournful answer. " Has he 
 taken," said she, "anything?" "Nothing at all! We 
 carried him some bread and milk — he refused it, and said, 
 ' The less the better.' " She asked more questions, by 
 which I found his faculties were perfect, his mind composed, 
 and his dissolution was quick drawing on. 
 
 I could not immediately go on, and it is now long since 
 I have written at all ; but I will go back to this afflicting 
 theme, which I can now better bear. Mr. Langton was, I 
 believe, a quarter of an hour in the room before I suspected 
 he meant to speak to me, never looking near me. At last 
 he said — " This poor man, I understand, ma'am, desired, 
 yesterday to see you." "My understanding that, sir, 
 brought me to-day." " Poor man ! it is a pity he did not 
 know himself better, and that you should have had this 
 trouble." " Trouble ! " cried I ; " I would come a hundred 
 
182 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 times to see him the hundredth and first ! " " He hopes, 
 now, you will excuse him ; he is very sorry not to see you ; 
 but he desired me to come and speak to you myself, and 
 teU you he hopes you will excuse him, for he feels him- 
 self too weak for such an interview." 
 
 I hastily got up, left him my most affectionate respects 
 and every good wish I could half utter, and ran back to the 
 coach. Ah, my Susy! I have never been to Bolt-court 
 since ! 
 
 Dec. 20th. — This day was the ever-honored, ever- 
 lamented Dr. Johnson committed to the earth. Oh, how 
 sad a day to me ! My father attended, and so did Charles. 
 I could not keep my eyes dry all day ! nor can I now in 
 the recollecting it ; but let me pass over what to mourn 
 is now so vain ! 
 
 Miss Burrtey to Miss ■ 
 
 St. Maktin'b Stkbbt, Jan. 3rd, 1785. 
 Tour and my beloved Mrs. Delany I have not yet been 
 able to see, though we are now both inhabitants of this 
 '■ dark and busy city." I heard on Thursday of her arrival, 
 from Mr. Sandford, the seaman, whom I met at Mrs. Cha- 
 pone's, and the next morning early I hastened to St. James's 
 Place. I was anxious to catch her alone, that I might en- 
 joy what is so precious to me, — her own conversation, 
 unmixed, uninterrupted, I had almost said unadulterated, 
 by casual visitors and miscellaneous talk ; but I fancy, by 
 my ill success, my plan was too selfish. She had been 
 tired the day before, and was not stirring. Mrs. Astley, 
 however, assured me she was pretty well, and I have heard, 
 from Mrs. Boscawen, that she is 'n sxcellent spirits ; and 
 her spirits, we know, enliven all around her, though their 
 vivacity is so gentle that they could not oppress even a 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 183 
 
 mourner in the deepest affliction — if, indeed, such a one 
 could be present and her spirits not sink into similar 
 sadness. 
 
 I am sure my dear M will give me a little share of 
 
 concern for the loss of my great, good, and highly rever- 
 enced friend. Dr. Johnson. My loss, indeed, where a whole 
 nation has cause to mourn, it seems almost impertinent to 
 mention ; yet, immaterial as it is in so wide and general a 
 regret, I do not feel it the less for knowing it to be univer- 
 sal. You can now only know him in his works; and, 
 perhaps, from his character of harshness and severity, you 
 may think you could there alone know him to any advan- 
 tage. But had you been presented to him, you would not 
 have found that the case. He was always indulgent to the 
 young, he never attacked the unassuming, nor meant to 
 terrify the diffident. I pretend not, however, to vindicate 
 his temper, nor to justify his manners ; but his many and 
 essential virtues and excellences made all who were much 
 connected with him rather grieve at his defects than resent 
 them, — grieve, indeed, to see how much remains to be 
 pardoned, even where there is most to be applauded and 
 admired ! 
 
 Our all-amiable Mrs. Delany seems to me to have these 
 two reflections ever uppermost, and to owe to them chiefly 
 the benevolence that makes her so pleasing to others, and 
 the purity that makes her so valuable in herself Need I 
 
 say to my dear M how edifying an example ? Oh, 
 
 no ! no one is more watchfully awake to all her virtues. 
 You have constantly before you whatever is most worthy 
 to be imitated. Sweet and happy plant ! long may you 
 thrive, and long may those who rear you rejoice in your 
 fragrance ! 
 
 To one of your cultivators, I beg to present my best re- 
 spects ; to the other, I hope personally to pay them verj 
 
184 DIABY AND LETTERS [1786 
 
 ispeedily. A very happy new year to you and your fire- 
 side. I am, my dear M 's sincerely affectionate friend, 
 
 F. B. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 St. Maktin's Street, July 11th, 1785. 
 I have been this whole morning with Madame de Genlis, 
 the sweetesj ap well as most accomplished Frenchwoman I 
 ever met with. Were my time and mind more disengaged, 
 I would send you an account of her, highly interesting 
 both for you and Mr. and Mrs. Locke ; but I have neither 
 leisure nor spirits for journalizing. 
 
 [A note from Madame de G-enlis was long preserved as 
 a memorial of so attractive a person.] 
 
 Madame de Genlis to Miss Burney. 
 
 Ce Vendredi, 15 JuUlet, 1785. 
 Combien j'ai 6t6 fachee, ma chfere amie, de n'avoir pft 
 jouir du plaisir de vous recevoir; mais je dinois avec des 
 persounes qu'il m'^toit impossible de quitter. Eecevez 
 tous mes remercimens du pr^cieux present que vous m'avez 
 fait, et chargez vous d'exprimer k monsieur votre pfere toute 
 la reconnaissance que je lui dois. Je sais combien son 
 cuvrage est estimable ; U sera pour moi doublement int^res- 
 sant, et je me flatte que vous en devinerez facilement la 
 raisou. Je pars dans I'instant pour Oxford : adieu ma chfere 
 amie; n'oubliez pas que vous avez pris I'engagement de 
 m'aimer. Pour moi, je vous aime depuis I'instant oil j'ai lu 
 Evelina et Cecilia, et le bonheur de vous entendre et de 
 vous conn6itre personneUement, a rendu ce sentiment aussi 
 tendre qu'il est bien fond4 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 185 
 
 [The acquaintance, however, was not kept up. They 
 were not at this time thrown in each other's way, and 
 afterwards, such tales, whether true or false, were forced 
 into the unwilling ears of Miss Burney, that, to use her 
 own words, " notwithstanding the most ardent admiration 
 of Madame de Genlis' talents, and a zest yet greater for 
 her engaging society and elegantly lively and winning 
 manners, she yet dared no longer come within the precincts 
 of her fascinating allurements." — " In France, equally, she 
 felt compelled to keep aloof, though most reluctantly."] 
 
 Miss F. Burney to Br. Burney. 
 
 St. James's Place, August 24th, 1785. 
 I have been very much alarmed, dearest sir, these last 
 four days, by a feverish attack which dear Mrs. Delany has 
 suffered. Unfortunately none of her physical assistants 
 were in town ; however, she is now, thank Heaven ! recov- 
 ering, and if there is no relapse, will soon, I hope, be well. 
 I must tell you, dearest sir, a tale concerning her, which 1 
 am sure you will hear with true pleasure. Among the 
 many inferior losses which have been included in her great 
 and irreparable calamity,^ has been that of a country house 
 for the summer, which she had in Bulstrode,^ and which 
 for the half of every year was her constant home. The 
 Duke of Portland behaved with the utmost propriety and 
 feeling upon this occasion, and was most earnest to accom- 
 modate her, to the best of his power, with every comfort 
 
 1 The death of the Duchess Dowager of Portland. 
 
 ^ Miss Burney would seem to have been misinformed, as Mrs. Delanv'* 
 Autobiography and Correspondence make it evident that her summers were 
 habitually passed with her friend at Bulstrode, and not in any separate 
 bouse provided for her. — Am. Ed. 
 
186 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 to which she had been accustomed ; but this noblest of 
 women declared she loved the memory of her friend be- 
 yond all other things, and would not suffer it to be tainted 
 in the misjudging world by an action that would be con- 
 strued into a reflection upon her Will, as if deficient in 
 consideration to her. " And I will not," said she to me, 
 " suffer the children of my dearest friend to suppose that 
 their mother left undone anything she ought to have done 
 She did not ; I knew her best, and I know she did what 
 she was sure I should most approve." She steadily, there- 
 fore, refused all offers, though made to her with even 
 painful earnestness, and though solicited till her refusal 
 became a distress to herself. 
 
 This transaction was related, I believe, to their Majesties ; 
 and Lady Weymouth, the Duchess's eldest daughter, was 
 commissioned to wait upon Mrs. Delany with this mes- 
 sage : — That the Queen was extremely anxious about her 
 health, and very apprehensive lest continuing in London 
 during the summer should be prejudicial to it ; she en- 
 treated her, therefore, to accept a house belonging to the 
 King at Windsor, which she should order to be fitted up 
 for her immediately ; and she desired Lady Weymouth to 
 give her time to consider this proposal, and by no means 
 to hurry her ; as well as to assure her, that happy as it 
 would make her to have one she so sincerely esteemed for 
 a neighbor, she should remember her situation, and promise 
 not to be troublesome to her. The King, at the same time, 
 desired to be allowed to stand to the additional expenses 
 incurred by the maintenance of two houses, and that Mrs. 
 Delany would accept from him £300 a year. 
 
 It would be needless to tell you how Mrs. Delany was 
 touched by this benevolence ; for no creature has heard it 
 without emotion, and I am sure my dear father wUl not be 
 the first. Yet she dreaded accepting what she feared would 
 
1785.] OP MADAME D'ARBLAY. 187 
 
 involve her in a new course of life, and force her into notice 
 and connections she wished to drop or avoid. She took the 
 time the Queen so considerately gave her for deliberation, 
 and she consulted with some of her old friends. They all 
 agreed there must be no refusal, and, after many circum- 
 stances too long for writing, though otherwise well worth 
 knowing. Lady Weymouth was made the messenger of her 
 Majesty's offer being accepted. The house, therefore, is 
 now fitting up, and the King sees after the workmen 
 himself. 
 
 A few days ago Miss Planta was sent from the Queen, 
 with very kind inquiries after Mrs. Delany's health, and 
 information that she would receive a summons very soon. 
 She told her, also, that as the house might still require a 
 longer time in preparation than would suit Mrs. Delany to 
 wait in London, the Queen had ordered some apartments 
 in the Castle, which lately belonged to Prince Edward^ to 
 be got ready with all speed, that she might reside in them 
 till her own house was finished. 
 
 This is the state of her affairs. I am now with her 
 entirely. At first I slept at home ; but going after supper, 
 and coming before breakfast, was inconvenient, and she has 
 therefore contrived me a bedroom. 
 
 When she sets off for Windsor, Mr. Locke will be so 
 kind as to send his carriage for me to return to Norbury. 
 
 Miss F. Burne^ to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 St. James's Place, August 25th, 1785. 
 My most dear Susan's letter is this moment arrived, just 
 as I was preparing to write to her without so kind an in- 
 ducement. You are right in concluding me entirely under 
 this roof. My plans are lying in wait for Mrs. Delany's, 
 
188 DIAEY AND LEITEKS [1786. 
 
 ■which depend upon her summons from the Queen, and her 
 ability to obey it. She is far from well, and unfit at present 
 to remove. But Miss Cambridge earnestly claims my long- 
 given promise, and I have sent her the situation of things. 
 She is very good, and very affectionate, and very sincere, 
 and I wUl certainly go to her for one night and day. 
 
 I am by no means at ease about my revered Mrs. Delany. 
 Dr. Turton has been with her. He says she has a thrush, 
 and says, too, by the state he finds her in, that what she 
 must have suffered is very great indeed. Sweet soul ! I 
 have all along dreaded some such effect, from the constraint 
 she has imposed upon all her feelings. I would not but 
 be here for the world. I draw her from so hard and dan- 
 gerous a self-set task, with all the vigilance in my power ; 
 and to me, whenever we are quite alone, she now unbur- 
 thens her loaded heart, and allows her tears some vent. 
 And to see them upon her venerable cheeks caUs forth 
 mine, as if the friend she laments had been equally dear 
 to myself It is, indeed, the most touching spectacle that 
 can be beheld. 
 
 As I told my dear Susan some melancholy circumstances 
 relative to the examination we are making of her papers, 
 let me not forget to mention that she is taken by surprise 
 with respect to those, but employs me by design to search 
 for all she thinks I can receive entertainment from ; and I 
 have met with a thausand both amusing and instructive 
 things in the course of the general survey. 
 
 The Queen sent a message the other day to tell Mrs. 
 Delany that, as her own house would stUl require a week 
 or two, she had ordered apartments to be prepared for her 
 in the Castle. 
 
 If she does but recover her strength, honors and favors 
 such as these, to her grateful and most loyal heart, will 
 prove, I am sure, very pleasant. 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 189 
 
 She preserves, indeed, in the midst of afHiction, a disposi- 
 tion to happiness, that makes her thankfully accept what- 
 ever is put in her way, to lead her back to it. She repulses 
 no attempt even at gaiety, and delights in nothing so much 
 as in seeing her sweet niece in high spirits. I talk to her 
 often of Norbury, and she always hears me with pleasure . 
 
 August 29. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Delany has gone on mending gradually 
 ever since I wrote last. She is employing me, when able, 
 to look over her papers : 'tis to me a sacred task, for she 
 cannot read what she is trusting me with. Sometimes, 
 with a magnifying glass, she examines, first, if what she is 
 giving me is some manuscript of secrecy, with respect to 
 the affairs or character of her friends ; and as a word suf- 
 fices to inform her, she destroys, unread, whatever is of 
 that sort. But this, though a business she wishes to have 
 done, produces letters and memorandums too affecting for 
 her spirits. Yet she never, but by persuasion, leaves off ; she 
 seems bent upon subduing all emotions but those that 
 might give pain to others by their suppression. I fre- 
 quently court her to sadness, for her exertions make me 
 tremble more than her tears ; yet those, when they do fall, 
 I can hardly, indeed, with all her example before my eyes, 
 bear to look at. 
 
 Just now we have both of us been quite overset. In 
 examining some papers in a pocket-book, she opened one 
 with two leaves dried in it ; she held them a little while 
 in sUence, but very calmly, in her hand, yet as something 
 I saw she highly prized : she then bade me read what was 
 written on the envelope; — it was, I think, these words — 
 " Two leaves picked at Balsover, by the Duchess of Port- 
 land and myself, in September, 1756, the 20th year of our 
 most intimate and dear friendship." I could hardly read 
 
190 DIABY AND LETTERS [1786, 
 
 to her the last words, and, upon hearing them, for a little 
 while she sunk. But I hastened, the moment I could, to 
 other less interesting papers, and she forced her attention 
 to them with a strength of resolution that makes me honor 
 as much as I love her. 
 
 To me alone, she kindly says, she gives way to any in- 
 dulgence of sorrow ; she fears being misunderstood and 
 thought repining by most others ; and, indeed, the rest of 
 her friends spending with her but a short time, she thinks 
 it her duty to study their comfort, by appearing composed 
 to them. Mine, she justly and sweetly sees, can only be 
 studiel by what is most relief to herself The nobleness 
 of her mind can never have had such opportunity of dis- 
 playing itself as during this last month ; and in the num- 
 berless instances in which it now appears, she seems 
 already raised to that height I am still selfishly trying to 
 keep her from yet reaching. 
 
 All our movements are at present uncertain ; her Wind- 
 sor house is still unfinished, but I suppose it will be fit for 
 her reception by the beginning of next week, and I have 
 the happiest reasons for hoping she wiU then be fit for it 
 herself Her maid has been to see what forwardness it is 
 in, and this was her report : — She was ordered to wait 
 upon Miss Goldsworthy, by the King's direction, who 
 heard of her being sent to inspect the house ; and there 
 she received commands, in the name of both King and 
 Queen, to see that Mrs. Delany brought with her noth- 
 ing but herself and clothes, as they insisted upon fitting 
 up her habitation with everything themselves, including 
 not only plate, china, glass, and linen, but even all sorts 
 of stores — wine, sweetmeats, pickles, &c., &c. Their 
 earnestness to savd her every care, and give her every 
 gratification in their power, is truly benevolent and amia- 
 ble. They seem to know and feel her worth as if they 
 
1785.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 191 
 
 had never worn crowns, or wearing, annexed no value 
 to them. 
 
 I have just written to Mrs. Walsingham, to apologize 
 for ray long forbearance of that satisfaction, and to talk of 
 Thames Ditton. I was informed, the other day, by Mr. 
 Walpole, that she is going, or gone, to see the lakes in the 
 North, with Mrs. Garrick and Miss More. — Mrs. Delany 
 had sent for Mr. Walpole, to return him a picture of her 
 uncle Lansdowne, which he had lent her to get copied ; 
 and I never knew him so entertaining, for he exerted him- 
 self to the utmost to amuse my dear friend, who accepted 
 his attempts with a grace and sweetness that encouraged 
 them, and gave double poignancy to all his anecdotes. 
 
 I will not say, forgive me that I talk of her so much ; 
 who can T talk of so fitted to my dear Fredy's ear ? I 
 only wish I had time to acquaint you with everything that 
 belongs to her, and everything that passes. F. B. 
 
 Miss F. Burney to Mrs. Qast. 
 
 NoKBUBT Park, Nov. 14th, 1785. 
 
 Can you, dear madam, after a silence so long, bear to 
 receive a letter from me, that has no other motive for be- 
 ing written than a wish to inquire after your health, and 
 an anxiety to solicit your pardon for not sooner thanking 
 you for the kind letter with which you last favored me ? 
 
 I am happy to find we thought so exactly alike with 
 respect to my most beloved friend, your honored and truly 
 incomparable brother. As to his " Virginia," ^ I believe, 
 indeed, it was his wish and intention that everything be- 
 longing to it should rest in silence and quiet, till they finally 
 
 1 A tragedy, by Mr. Crisp, which had been produced at Drury -lain 
 Theatre by Garrick, with moderate succe.ss. It was printed in 1754. 
 
192 DIAET AND LETTERS (1786. 
 
 sunk into oblivion. With me nothing can, that ever be- 
 longed to him ; but I shall keep all the papers with which 
 you have so kindly entrusted me, wholly to myself. 
 
 I have great pleasure in telling you, dear madam, that 
 our good Kitty Cooke is evidently restored to some share 
 of her natural, though long lost cheerfulness. Her spir- 
 its, however, have received a shock which they can never 
 wholly recover ; nor can I wonder, when I consider how 
 every way irreparable is the loss she has sustained, and 
 when I feel that, with the innumerable blessings with 
 which I am myself encompassed, scarce a day passes in 
 which I do not lament him, and not an incident happens 
 to me that I do not long to communicate to him. My 
 confidence in him was one of the greatest sources of my 
 happiness ; his wisdom and his kindness made my un- 
 bounded trust at once my pleasure and my profit. He 
 thought no occasion too trifling to be consulted upon ; and 
 I thought none too important to be governed in wholly by 
 his advice. I hardly ever could tell whether I most loved 
 or admired him, for my reverence for his abilities always 
 kept pace with my affection for his virtues. Unconscious 
 of his own superiority, he used frequently to apprehend 
 that when I went more into the world, my regard for him 
 would weaken. But, even if my nature had been of so 
 ungrateful a texture, (which I must hope is not the case) 
 he would still have had nothing to fear ; for where could I 
 go to meet friendship more sincere ? and whom could I 
 see to inspire a more deserved return ? 
 
 You will forgive me, I hope — I know, indeed, you wiU 
 forgive me — for entering so largely upon this subject ; 
 for though you have looked too far and too clearly to suffer 
 your affection to overpower you, I am sure your best be- 
 loved on earth will ever be uppermost in your thoughts, 
 and the grateful justice done his honored memory by her 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 193 
 
 whom you so truly call his favorite adopted child, cannot 
 be offensive to you. 
 
 Captain Prodsham and his amiable lady and their fam- 
 ily are, I hope, better than when you were so good as to 
 write last. I beg my best compliments when you see 
 them. 
 
 I am now at the house of a friend, Mr. Locke, who lives 
 only six miles from Chesington, and whose many similar 
 excellences, both of head and heart, make me frequently 
 regret that he knew not what a treasure was in his neigh- 
 borhood. Mr. Crisp could not, with all his persevering 
 love of retirement, have rejected the acquaintance of a 
 man so nobly worthy his attention and regard, and whose 
 own good and great qualities would have taught him the 
 value of our beloved hermit's. His lady, too, the fair 
 partner of his worth as well as affection, being no fine lady, 
 but, on the contrary, the pattern of all that is amiable and 
 lovely in woman, would have conquered unavoidably my 
 dear daddy's secluding spirit. But it would have made 
 me, perhaps, too happy here, to have been allowed the 
 friendship I now experience from this admirable family, 
 while my first and best friend, out of my own house, was 
 still spared me. I remain, dear madam, your obliged and 
 affectionately obedient servant, P. Btjeney. 
 
 Journal resumed. 
 Addressed to her Father and Sister. • 
 
 Windsor, November, 1785. — As you don't quite hate 
 one another, you wiU not, I hope, hate me, for coupling you 
 in my journal. It will be impossible for me to write sep- 
 arate accounts of any length or satisfaction, so I crave your 
 joint permissions to address you together. And now, this 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 DIARY AND LBTTEES [1786. 
 
 settled, I have only to beg of Fortune some events worth 
 recording, and only to remind my dear father it is my mis- 
 fortune, not fault, if they will not happen ; his misfortune', 
 too, I grant, should he have but common nothings to read. 
 As to Susanna, I heed her not, for she has been in that 
 practice all her life, when we have been separated. Well, 
 then, — 
 
 Satukday, 'Nov. 25th. — I got to Hounslow almost at the 
 same moment with Mrs. Astley, my dear Mrs. Delany's 
 maid, who was sent to meet me. As soon as she had satis- 
 fied my inquiries concerning her lady, she was eager to 
 
 inform me that the Queen had drunk tea with Mrs. D 
 
 the day before, and had asked when I should come, and 
 heard the time; and that Mrs. Delany believed she would 
 be with her again that evening, and desire to see me. 
 
 This was rather fidgetting intelligence. I rather, in my 
 own mind, thought the Queen would prefer giving me the 
 first evening alone with my dear old friend. 
 
 I found that sweet lady not so well as I had hoped, and 
 strongly affected by aflicting recollections at sight of me. 
 With all her gentleness and resignation, bursts of sorrow 
 break from her stiU, whenever we are alone together ; and 
 with all her gratitude and all her real fondness for the 
 Queen, her suffering heart moans internally its irreparable 
 loss ; for the Duchess of Portland was a bosom friend — a 
 very Susan to her. 
 
 The Queen herself is most sensible of this, and while she 
 tries, by all the means in her power, to supply the place of 
 the lamented Duchess of Portland, she is the first to observe 
 and to forgive the impossibility of a full success ; indeed, 
 the circumstances I am continually hearing of her sweet- 
 ness and benevolence make me more than ever rejoice she 
 has taken my dear Mrs. Delany under her immediate 
 protection. 
 
t786.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 195 
 
 Miss P , who is a truly lovely girl, received me with 
 
 her usual warmth of joy, and was most impatient to whisper 
 me that " all the Princesses intended to come and see me." 
 She is just at the age to dote upon an ado, and nothing so 
 much delights her as the thought of my presentations. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Delany, meanwhile, fearful of occasioning 
 the smallest embarrassment, gave me no hint of any design 
 to notice me, but only told me things of the Queen, that 
 could not but make it my own wish to see her in her 
 private conduct, life, and demeanor. 
 
 I did well, it seems, to be the champion of Madame de 
 
 Genlis ; for Miss P tells me Madame de Genlis spoke 
 
 of me to the Queen in terms the most extraordinary, and 
 which the Queen has repeated to Mrs. Delany, and which, 
 when we meet, perhaps I may tell, but on paper, this hint, 
 methinks, is pretty well. Mrs. Delany acquainted me that 
 the Queen, in their first interview, upon her coming to this 
 house, said to her, " Why did you not bring your friend 
 Miss Burney with you ? " My dear Mrs. Delany was very 
 much gratified by such an attention to whatever could be 
 thought interesting to her, but, with her usual propriety, 
 answered that, in coming to a house of her Majesty's, she 
 could not presume to ask anybody without immediate and 
 express permission. "The King, however," she added, 
 " made the very same inquiry when I saw him next." 
 
 Sunday, Nov. 26th. — So now the royal encounters, ilr 
 a while at least, are out of all question. Nobody came last 
 
 night, though Mrs. Delany I saw, and Miss P I heard, 
 
 in continual expectation ; but this morning, Mr. Battis- 
 combe, apothecary to the household, called, and said that 
 an express arrived from Gerriiany yesterday afternoon, with 
 an account of the death of the Queen's youngest brother. 
 
 The Queen, whose domestic virtues rise upon me every 
 hour, i? strongly attached to all her family, and in much 
 
196 DIABY AND LETTEKS [1786, 
 
 affliction at this news ; for though this brother was quite a 
 boy when she left Germany, he has twice been to visit her 
 in England. None of the Koyal Family will appear till the 
 mourning takes place ; the Queen, perhaps, may shut her- 
 self up still longer. 
 
 Afterwards came Lady Louisa Clayton, who had dined 
 at the Queen's Lodge, where she often attends in the place 
 of her sister. Lady Charlotte Finch, whose ill health makes 
 her frequently require assistance in her of6.ce of governess. 
 The Queen, she said, had been expecting this ill news some 
 time, though she heard it with great grief. 
 
 Lady Louisa is very earnest to oblige Mrs. Delany, and 
 most civilly offered her an apartment for me in her house, 
 if the single spare bed in this should be at all wanted by 
 any of her nephews ; desiring that no circumstance of that 
 sort might hasten my leaving Windsor a moment sooner 
 than I was obliged to go. 
 
 Some time after, while I was writing to my dear father 
 about my mourning. Miss P jumped into my room. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Burney ! you must come this moment ! 
 Here 's a gentleman here wants to see yoii, and he says 
 he has danced with you." 
 
 I could not conceive who this might be, but she would 
 not let me rest till I went into the dining-room, and there 
 who should I find but Dr. Lind, who might, perhaps, have 
 been my partner at Mr. Bremner's Twelfth Night ball. He 
 asked very much after my father, and invited me to see 
 his curiosities ; which invitation I shall be glad to accept, 
 
 as will Miss P . He is married and settled here, and 
 
 follows, as much as he can get practice, his profession , 
 but his taste for tricks, conundrums, and queer things, 
 makes peoplii fearful of his trying experiments upon their 
 constitutions, and think him a better conjurer than physi- 
 cian ; though I don't know why the same man should not 
 be both. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 197 
 
 At night, quite iyicog., quite alone, and quite privately, 
 the King came, and was shut up with Mrs. Delany for an 
 hour. It is out of rule for any of the family to be seen till 
 in mourning, but he knew she was anxious for an account 
 of the Queen. I had a very narrow escape of being sur- 
 prised by him, which would have vexed me, as he only 
 meant to see Mrs. Delany by herself, though she says he 
 told her he was very glad to hear I was come. 
 
 Tuesday, Nov. 29th. — My dear Mrs. Delany was ill 
 yesterday, and to-day she has been much worse. The 
 Queen sent to ask her to the Lodge, but she was obliged to 
 be blooded, and seemed so full of inflammation, that I was 
 extremely alarmed for her. The Queen sent Miss Planta 
 to see her at night ; she says the Queen is in much grief 
 for her brother. 
 
 Wednesday, Nov. 30th. — This morning I had the hap- 
 piness of seeing my dear Mrs. Delany much cooler and more 
 easy, but a little incident happened that a good deal af- 
 fected her." It shows the tenderness of the Queen for her 
 in so strong and amiable a manner, that I must tell it my 
 dear father and Susan, who, I am sure, like me, will grow 
 more and more loyal in hearing it. When the Duchess of 
 Portland died, the Duke, before Mrs. Delany took her last 
 leave of Bulstrode, begged her to choose and to take what- 
 ever she pleased that had belonged to his mother. Mrs. 
 Delany refused everything that was proposed to her of any 
 value, but said she would name one thing herself, which was 
 all she could accept : this was a favorite bird of her friend's, 
 — a weaver, an African bird, — which the Duchess had been 
 very fond of, and always kept in her room. She brought 
 it to town with her, and thence to Windsor, and it has 
 grown so dear to her, that she could scarce ever look at it 
 with dry eyes. Imagine, then, if I was concerned, when 
 this morning, upon conrng into the room where we break- 
 
198 DIARY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 fast, not seeing the bird perching, I took down the cage, 
 and perceived it at the bottom, lying dead. 
 
 Mrs. Delany was still in her own room, weak and un- 
 well, though better. It was a particularly unlucky time to 
 tell her of this loss, which we knew she would regard as the 
 conclusion of all that had remained to her of Bulstrode. 
 
 While Miss P and I were considering what we could 
 
 do. Miss Planta came in, to inq[uire from the Queen, how 
 Mrs. Delany had passed the night. The bird was in my 
 hand, and I told her the circumstances belonging to it. 
 She was sorry, went to speak with Mrs. Delany in her bed- 
 room, and returned to the Queen. In less than a quarter 
 of an hour she came back again, bringing with her a bird 
 in a very fine cage. It was the weaver bird, she said, and 
 sent by the Queen, to know if we thought it could not be 
 put in the same cage that had belonged to the Duchess, and 
 prevent Mrs. Delany from hearing that hers was dead. 
 
 This tender desire to spare her any pain, though without 
 the reward of having such kindness known to its object, 
 touched me extremely, and the more, for being told th(. 
 Queen herself had never possessed but two of those birds. 
 I saw, however, the kind deception could not succeed, for 
 the resemblance was very imperfect, and much as my dear 
 old friend has lost of the acuteness of her eyesight, enough, 
 thank Heaven ! yet remains to have discerned the change. 
 I told Miss Planta this, but at the same time added, that, if 
 she could leave the bird, an attention so sweet and so deli- 
 cate in the Queen would soften the tale we had to tell, and 
 be her best solace for the loss. Miss Planta answered, she 
 would certainly leave it ; for the Queen had desired that if 
 we thought it could not pass for the same bird, it might be 
 left in its own cage, and given immediately from herself. 
 This, accordingly, we did ; she heard it more quietly than 
 've expected, yet not without emotion ; but when we 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 199 
 
 brought her the Queen's bird, the tears came into her eyes, 
 and she looked at it with great tenderness, and exclaimed, 
 " Don't you, too, die in my hands ! " 
 
 Thursday, Dec. 1st.— To-day the Queen sent Miss 
 Planta to tell Mrs. Delany that if she could not yet ven- 
 ture to the Lodge, she would come to her in the evening. 
 Mrs. Delany accepted the gracious offer, and, at tea-time, 
 she came, as well as the King, and spent two hours here. 
 They talked of me, she says, a good deal; and the King 
 asked many questions about me. There is a new play, he 
 told Mrs. Delany, coming out ; " and it is said to be Miss 
 Burney's !" Mrs. Delany immediately answered that she 
 knew the report must be untrue. " But I hope she is not 
 idle ? " cried the King. " I hope she is writing something ? " 
 What an opportunity, my dear father, for the speech Mr. 
 Cambridge told you he longed to make — that "Miss B. 
 had no time to write, for she was always working at her 
 clothes ! " 
 
 What Mrs. Delany said I know not ; but he afterwards 
 inquired what she thought of my writing a play. " What," 
 said he, " do you wish about it, Mrs. Delany ? " Mrs. De- 
 lany hesitated, and the Queen then said, " I wish what I 
 know Mrs. Delany does — that she may not; for though 
 her reputation is so high, her character, by all I hear, is too 
 delicate to suit with writing for the stage." Sweet Queen ! 
 I could have kissed the hem of her garment for that speech, 
 and I could not resist writing it. Mrs. Delany then said, 
 " Why, my opinion is what I believe to be Miss Burney's 
 own ; that it is too public and hazardous a style of writing 
 for her quiet and fearful turn of mind." I have really the 
 grace to be a little ashamed of scribbling this, but I know 
 I can scribble nothing my dear father will be more curious 
 to hear. 
 
 Saturday, Dec. 3rd — To-night, the King and Queen 
 
200 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 again spent two hours with Mrs. Delany. They were both 
 of them in the greatest alarm for the Princess Elizabeth, 
 who has a complaint on the chest, and whose sufferings 
 afflict them very deeply. They go to her two or three 
 times a day, but are forbid speaking to her. How happy 
 for sweet Mrs. Delany that, after the obligations innumer- 
 able showered down upon her by the King and Queen, she 
 now sees herself the resource to which they fly for comfort 
 and relief in their own distresses ! The Queen sees nobody 
 else. 
 
 In the midst of all, the Queen took the good-humored 
 pleasure of telling Mrs. Delany the kind things said of her 
 guest, by Madam de la Fite: — "You two," she said, 
 " speak of her just alike." 
 
 Madame de la Flte sent me a note, to say she heard the 
 Queen was to pass the evening with Mrs. Delany, and to 
 ask me to pass it with her. I was very busy, however, at 
 work, and excused myself till to-morrow, when Mrs. De- 
 lany, if well enough, will go to the Lodge ; and she is very 
 much better. 
 
 Miss P and I went to Dr. Lind's, and saw his fat, 
 
 handsome wife, who is as tall as himself, and about six 
 times as big. We had not time to stay and look at his col- 
 lection, but he showed me one very curious representation 
 of the "Elephanta," in the East Indies, which has been 
 admirably executed, from a drawing of his own, taken on 
 the spot, by Paul Sandby. He told me that when he went 
 to see it, with a large party of English, they carried masons, 
 carpenters, and workmen with them, no less in number 
 than sixty — in short, I suppose all who could dig, saw, or 
 carry — from the ship he belonged to, for he was surgeon 
 to an East Indiaman. But after all their toiling, in this 
 wonderful excavation, they found the rock so impenetrable, 
 and the piUars and idols so stupendous, that they could 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 201 
 
 only bring away an odd head or two, and a few limbs. I 
 assured him he now fully explained to me why, in " Gul- 
 liver's Travels," Swift has ranked in one class, assassins, 
 murderers, robbers, and virtuosi. 
 
 This morning we had better nev;s of the Princess ; and 
 Mrs. Delany went again to the Lodge in the evening, to 
 the Queen. When Mrs. Delany returned, she confirmed 
 the good accounts of the Princess Elizabeth's amendment. 
 She had told the Queen I was going to-morrow to Thames 
 Ditton for a week ; and was asked many questions about 
 my coming back, which the Queen said she was sure I 
 
 should be glad to do from Mrs. W to Mrs. Delany. 
 
 most penetrating Queen ! 
 
 She gratified Mrs. Delany, by many kind speeches, of 
 being sorry I was going, and glad I was returning, and so 
 forth. Mrs. Delany then told her I had been reading " The 
 Clandestine Marriage " to her, which the Queen had recom- 
 mended, and she thanked her Majesty for the very great 
 pleasure she had received from it. 
 
 " Oh, then," cried the Queen, " if Miss Burney reads to 
 you, what a pleasure you must have to make her read her 
 own works ! " 
 
 Mrs. Delany laughed, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! read her own works ! — your Majesty has 
 no notion of Miss Burney ! I believe she would as soon 
 die ! " 
 
 This, of course, led to a great deal of discussion, in the 
 midst of which the Queen said, 
 
 " Do you know Dr. Burney, Mrs. Delany ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, extremely well," answered Mrs. Delany. 
 
 " I think him," said the Queen, " a very agreeable and 
 entertaining man." 
 
 There, my dear father ! said I not well just now, " 
 most penetrating Queen ? " 
 
202 DIARY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 So here ends my Windsor journal, part the first. To- 
 morrow morning I go for my week to Thames Ditton. 
 
 Windsor, Wednesday, Dec. 14th, 1785. — Yesterday I 
 returned to my dear Mrs. Delany, from Thames Ditlon, 
 and had the great concern of finding her very unwell. 
 Mr. Bernard Dewes, one of her nephews, and his little girl, 
 a sweet child of seven years old, were with her, and, of 
 
 course. Miss P . She had been hurried, though only 
 
 with pleasure, and her emotion, first in receiving, and next 
 in entertaining them, had brought on a little fever. Her 
 health, now, is fearfully precarious, and her days, to me, are 
 most tremblingly precious. Everything shatters her dear 
 feeble frame : she can bear neither joy nor sorrow ; and how 
 few are those placid days that are touched by neither ! Her 
 mind, however, has still its original strength, and aU her 
 faculties are in their fullest vigor ; 't is only the " tenement 
 of clay " that has suffered by time. 
 
 I am now obliged to confess a little discussion I have 
 had with my dear Mrs. Delany, almost all the time I spent 
 with her at first, and now again upon my return, relative 
 to the royal interview, so long in expectation. Immedi- 
 ately upon my arrival, she had imagined, by what had pre- 
 ceded it, that a visit would instantly ensue here, and I 
 should have a summons to appear ; but the death of the 
 Queen's brother, which was known the very night I came, 
 confined her Majesty and all the family for some days to 
 the Lodge ; and the dangerous illness of the Princess Eliz- 
 abeth next took place, in occupying aU. their thoughts, 
 greatly to their credit. My dear old friend, however, ear- 
 nest I should have an honor which her grateful reverence 
 for their Majesties makes her regard very highly, had often 
 wished me to stay in the room when they came to see her, 
 assiiring me that though they were so circumstanced as 
 not to send for a stranger, she knew they would be much 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 203 
 
 pleased to meet with me. This, however, was moie than 
 I could assent to, without infinite pain, and that she was 
 too kind to make a point of my enduring. 
 
 Yesterday, upon my return, she began again the same 
 reasoning; the Princess Elizabeth had relapsed, and she 
 knew, during her being worse, there was no chance the 
 Queen would take any active step towards a meeting. 
 "But she inc[uires," continued Mrs. Delany, "so much 
 about you, and is so earnest that you should be with me, 
 that I am sure she wants to see and converse with you. 
 You will see her, too, with more ease to yourself by being 
 already in the room, than from being summoned. I would 
 not for the world put this request to you, if I were not 
 sure she wishes it." There was no withstanding the word 
 " request," from Mrs. Delany, and little as I liked the busi- 
 ness, I could not but comply. "What next was to be done, 
 was to beg directions for the encounter. 
 
 Now, though you, my dear father, have had an audience, 
 and you, my dear Susan, are likely enough to avoid one, 
 yet I think the etiquettes on these occasions will be equally 
 new to you both ; for one never inquired into them, and 
 the other has never thought of them. Here, at Windsor, 
 where more than half the people we see are belonging to 
 the Court, and where all the rest are trying to be in the 
 same predicament, the intelligence I have obtained must 
 be looked upon as accurate ; and I shall therefore give it 
 in full confidence you will both regard it as a valuable ad- 
 dition to your present stock of Court knowledge, and read 
 it with that decent awe the dignity of the topic requires ! 
 
 Directions for a private encounter with the Royal Family. 
 
 But no, they wiU take me so long that I had better put 
 them on a separate sheet, and go on with my journal while 
 all is fresh in my memory. I am sorry to have wasted so 
 
204 DIAET AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 solemn a preamble, but hope you will have the generosity 
 to remember it when, I produce my directions, as I cannot 
 possibly undertake writing another. 
 
 To come, then, now, to those particular instructions I 
 received myself, and which must not be regarded as having 
 anything to do with general rules. 
 
 " I do beg of you," said dear Mrs. Delany, " when the 
 Queen or the King speak to you, not to answer with mere 
 monosyllables. The Queen often complains to me of the 
 difficulty with which she can get any conversation, as she 
 not only always has to start the subjects, but, commonly, 
 entirely to support them : and she says there is nothing 
 she so much loves as conversation, and nothing she finds 
 so hard to get. She is always best pleased to have the 
 answers that are made her lead on to further discourse. 
 N"ow, as I know she wishes to be acquainted with you, and 
 converse with you, I do really entreat you not to draw 
 back from her, nor to stop conversation with only answer- 
 ing Yes, or No." 
 
 This was a most tremendous injunction; however, I 
 could not but promise her I would do the best I could. 
 To this, nevertheless, she readily agreed, that if upon en- 
 tering the room, they should take no notice of me, I might 
 quietly retire. And that, believe me, will not be very 
 slowly ! They cannot find me in this house without know- 
 ing who I am, and therefore they can be at no loss whether 
 to speak to me or not, from incertitude. 
 
 In the midst of aU this the Queen came ! I heard the 
 thunder at the door, and, panic struck, away flew all my 
 resolutions and agreements, and away after them flew I ] 
 Don't be angry, my dear father — I would have stayed if 
 I could, and I meant to stay ; but, when the moment came, 
 neither my preparations nor intentions availed, and I ar- 
 rived at my own room, ere I well knew I had left the 
 
1786.] OF MABAMB D'AEBLAY. 205 
 
 drawing-room, and quite breathless between the race I ran 
 with Miss Port and the joy of escaping. Mrs. Delany, 
 though a little vexed at the time, was not afterwards, when 
 she found the Queen verj- much dispirited, by a relapse of 
 the poor Princess Elizabeth. She inquired if I was re- 
 turned, and hoped I now came to make a longer stay. 
 
 Friday, Deo. 16th. — Yesterday morning we had a 
 much better account of the Princess Elizabeth ; and Mrs. 
 Delany said to me, — " Now you will escape no longer, for 
 if their uneasiness ceases, I am sure they will send for you, 
 when they come next.'' 
 
 After dinner, while Mrs. Delany was left alone, as usual, 
 to take a little rest, — for sleep it but seldom proves, — 
 Mr. B. Dewes, his little daughter. Miss Port, and myself, 
 went into the drawing-room. And here, while, to pass the 
 time, I was amusing the little girl with teaching her some 
 Christmas games, in which her father and cousin joined, 
 Mrs. Delany came in. We were all in the middle of the 
 room, and in some confusion ; — for she had but just come 
 up to us to inquire what was going forwards, and I was 
 disentangling myself from Miss Dewes, to be ready to fly 
 off if any one knocked at the street-door, when the door 
 of the drawing-room was again opened, and a large man, 
 in deep mourning, appeared at it, entering and shutting it 
 himself without speaking. 
 
 A ghost could not more have scared me, when I dis- 
 covered by its glitter on the black, a star ! The general 
 disorder had prevented his being seen, except by myself, 
 
 who was always on the watch, till Miss P , turning 
 
 round, exclaimed, " The King ! — Aunt, the King ! " 
 
 mercy ! thought I, that I were but out of the room ! 
 which way shall I escape ? and how pass him unnoticed ? 
 There is but the single door at which he entered, in the 
 room ! Every one scampered out of the way : Miss P , 
 
206 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 to stand next the door; Mr. Bernard Dewes to a comer 
 opposite it ; his little girl clung to me ; and Mrs. Delany 
 advanced to meet his Majesty, who, after quietly looking 
 on tiU she saw him, approached, and inquired how she 
 did. 
 
 I had now retreated to the wall, and purposed gliding 
 softly, though speedily, out of the room ; but before I had 
 taken a single step, the King, in a loud whisper to Mrs. 
 Delany, said, " Is that Miss Bumey ? " — and on hei 
 answering, " Yes, sir," he bowed, and with a countenance 
 of the most perfect good humor, came close up to me. 
 
 A most profound reverence on my part arrested the pro- 
 gress of my intended retreat. " How long have you been 
 come back. Miss Bumey ? " " Two days, sir." 
 
 Unluckily he did not hear me, and repeated his question ; 
 and whether the second time he heard me or not, I don't 
 know, but he made a little civil inclination of his head, 
 and went back to Mrs. Delany. 
 
 He insisted she should sit down, though he stood him- 
 self, and began to give her an account of the Princess 
 Elizabeth, who once again was recovering, and trying, at 
 present, James's Powders. She had been blooded, he said, 
 twelve times in this last fortnight, and had lost seventy-five 
 ounces of blood, besides undergoing blistering and other 
 discipline. He spoke of her illness with the strongest 
 emotion, and seemed quite filled with concern for her 
 danger and sufferings. 
 
 Mrs. Delany next inqidred for the younger chUdrea 
 They had all, he said, the whooping-cough, and were soon 
 to be removed to Kew. 
 
 " Not," added he, " for any other reason than change of 
 air for themselves; though I am pretty certain I have 
 never had the distemper myself, and the Queen thinks she 
 has not had it either : — we shall take our chance. When 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 207 
 
 the two eldest had it, I sent them away, and would not see 
 them till it was over ; but now there are so many of them 
 that there would be no end to separations, so I let it take 
 its course." 
 
 Mrs. Delany expressed a good deal of concern at his 
 running this risk, but he laughed at it, and said he was 
 much more afraid of catching the rheumatism, which has 
 been threatening one of his shoulders lately. However, he 
 added, he should hunt the next morning, in defiance of it. 
 
 A good deal of talk then followed about his own health, 
 and the extreme temperance by which he preserved it. 
 The fault of his constitution, he said, was a tendency to 
 excessive fat, which he kept, however, in order by the 
 most vigorous exercise, and the strictest attention to a 
 simple diet. 
 
 When Mrs. Delany was beginning to praise his forbear- 
 ance, he stopped her. 
 
 " No, no," he cried, " 't is no virtue ; I only prefer eating 
 plain and little, to growing diseased and infirm." 
 
 During this discourse, I stood quietly in the place where 
 he had first spoken to me. His quitting me so soon, and 
 conversing freely and easily with Mrs. Delany, proved so 
 delightful a relief to me, that I no longer wished myself 
 away ; and the moment my first panic from the surprise 
 was over, I diverted myself with a thousand ridiculous 
 notions of my own situation. 
 
 The Christmas games we had been showing Miss Dewes, 
 it seemed as if we were stiti performing, as none of us 
 thought it proper to move, though our manner of standing 
 reminded one of Puss in the corner. Close to the door was 
 
 posted Miss P ; opposite her, close to the wainscot, 
 
 stood Mr. Dewes ; at just an equal distance from him, close 
 to a window, stood myseK; Mrs. Delany, though seated, 
 was at the opposite side to Miss P ; and his Majesty 
 
208 DIAKT AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 kept pretty much in the middle of the room. The little 
 girl, who kept close to me, did not break the order, and 
 I could hardly help expecting to be beckoned, with a puss ! 
 puss ! puss ! to change places with one of my neighbors. 
 
 This idea, afterwards, gave way to another more pom- 
 pous. It seemed to me we were acting a play. There is 
 something so little like common and real life, in every- 
 body's standing, while talking, in a room full of chairs, and 
 standing, too, so aloof from each other, that I almost 
 thought myself upon a stage, assisting in the representation 
 of a tragedy — in which the King plaj-ed his own part of 
 the king ; Mrs. Delauy that of a venerable confidante ; Mr. 
 
 Dewes, his respectful attendant ; Miss P , a suppliant 
 
 virgin, waiting encouragement to bring forward some peti- 
 tion ; Miss Dewes, a young orphan, intended to move the 
 royal compassion ; and myself, a very solemn, sober, and 
 decent mute. These fancies, however, only regaled me 
 while I continued a quiet spectator, and without expecta- 
 tion of being called into play. But the King, I have reason 
 to think, meant only to give me time to recover from my 
 first embarrassment; and I feel myself infinitely obliged 
 to his good breeding and consideration, which perfectly 
 answered, for before he returned to me I was entirely 
 recruited. 
 
 To go back to my narration. The King went up to the 
 table, and looked at a book of prints, from Claude Lorraine, 
 which had been brought down for Miss Dewes ; but Mrs. 
 Delany, by mistake, told him they were for me. He 
 turned over a leaf or two, and then said — " Pray, does Miss 
 Burney draw, too ? " The too was pronounced very civilly. 
 " I believe not, sir," answered Mrs. Delany ; " at least, she 
 does not teU." " Oh ! " cried he, laughing, "that 's nothing ! 
 She is not apt to tell ; she never does tell, you know ! Her 
 father told me that himself. He told me the whole history 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 209 
 
 of her ' Evelina.' And I shall never forget his face when 
 he spoke of his feelings at first taking up the book ! — he 
 looked quite frightened, just as if he was doing it that 
 moment ! I never can forget his face while I live ! " Then 
 coming up close to me, he said — " But what ? — what ? — 
 how was it ? " " Sir," cried I, not well understanding him. 
 " How came you — how happened it ? — what ? — what ? " 
 "I — I only wrote, sir, for my own amusement — only in 
 some odd, idle hours." " But your publishing — your 
 printing — how was that ? " 
 
 "That was only, sir — only because " I hesitated 
 
 most abominably, not knowing how to tell him a long story, 
 and growing terribly confused at these questions — besides, 
 to say the truth, his own " what ? what ? " so reminded me 
 of those vile Probationary Odes, that, in the midst of all 
 my flutter, I was really hardly able to keep my counte- 
 nance. The WTiat ! was then repeated with so earnest 
 a look, that, forced to say something, I stammeringly 
 answered — "I thought — sir — it would look very well 
 in print ! " I do really flatter myself this is the silliest 
 speech I ever made ! I am quite provoked with myself 
 for it ; but a fear of laughing made me eager to utter any- 
 thing, and by no means conscious, till I had spoken, of 
 what I was saying. 
 
 He laughed very heartily himself — well he might — 
 and walked away to enjoy it, crying out — " Very fair in- 
 deed ! that 's being very fair and honest ! " Then, returning 
 to me again, he said — " But your father — how came you 
 not to show him what you wrote ? " "I was too much 
 ashamed of it, sir, seriously." Literal truth that, I am 
 sure. 
 
 "And how did he find it out ? " 
 
 " I don't know myself, sir. He never would tell me." 
 
 Literal truth again, my dear father, as you can testify. 
 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
21U DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 " But how did you get it printed ? " 
 
 " I sent it, sir, to a bookseller my father never employed, 
 and that I never had seen myself, Mr. Lowndes, in full 
 hope by that means he never would hear of it." 
 
 " But how could you manage that ? " 
 
 " By means of a brother, sir." 
 
 " Oh ! — you confided in a brother, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir — that is, for the publication.'' 
 
 " What entertainment you must have had from hearing 
 people's conjectures before you were known! Do you 
 remember any of them ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, many." 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 " I heard that Mr. Baretti laid a wager it was written by 
 a man ; for no woman, he said, could have kept her own 
 counsel." 
 
 This diverted him extremely. 
 
 " But how was it," he continued, " you thought most 
 likely for your father to discover you ? " 
 
 " Sometimes, sir, I have supposed I must have dropped 
 some of the manuscript : sometimes, that one of my sisters 
 betrayed me." 
 
 " Oh ! your sister ? — what, not your brother ? " 
 
 "No, sir; he could not, for — " 
 
 I was going on, but he laughed so much I could not be 
 heard, exclaiming, 
 
 " Vastly well ! I see you are of Mr. Baretti's mind, and 
 think your brother could keep your secret, and not your 
 sister." 
 
 " WeU, but," cried he presently, " how was it first known 
 to you you were betrayed ? " By a letter, sir, from an- 
 other sister. I was very ill, and in the country ; and she 
 wrote me word that my father had taken up a review, in 
 which the book was mentioned, and had put his finger 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'ABBLA^. 211 
 
 upon its name, and said — ' Contrive to get that book for 
 me.' " " And when he got it," cried the King, " he told 
 me he was afraid of looking at it ! and never can I forget 
 his face when he mentioned his first opening it. But you 
 have not kept your pen unemployed all this time ? " " In- 
 deed I have, sir." " But why ? " "I — I believe I have 
 exhausted myself, sir." He laughed aloud at this, and 
 went and told it to Mrs. Delany, civilly treating a plain 
 fact as a mere hon mot. Then, returning to me again, he 
 said, more seriously, " But you have not determined against 
 writing any more ? " " N — o, sir — " " You have made 
 no vow — no real resolution of that sort?" "No, sir." 
 " You only wait for inclination ? " How admirably Mr. 
 Cambridge's speech might have come in here ! " No, sir." 
 A very civil little bow spoke him pleased with this answer, 
 and he went again to the middle of the room, where he 
 chiefly stood, and, addressing us in general, talked upon 
 the different motives of writing, concluding with, " I believe 
 there is no constraint to be put upon real genius ; nothing 
 but inclination can set it to work. Miss Burney, however, 
 knows best." And then, hastily returning to me, he cried, 
 " What ? what ? " " No, sir, I — I — believe not, certainly," 
 quoth I, very awkwardly, for I seemed taking a violent 
 compliment only as my due ; but I knew not how to put 
 him off as I would another person. 
 
 He then made some inquiries concerning the pictures 
 with which the room is hung, and which are all Mrs. 
 Delany's own painting; and a little discourse followed, 
 upon some of the masters whose pictures she has copied. 
 
 This was all with her; for nobody ever answers him 
 without being immediately addressed by him. 
 He then came to me again, and said, 
 " Is your father about anything at present ? " 
 " Yes, sir, he goes on, when he has time, with his history." 
 
212 DIAEY AND LETTERS 11786. 
 
 "Does he write quick ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, wlien he writes from himself; but in his 
 history, he has so many books to consult, that sometimes 
 he spends three days in finding authorities for a single 
 passage." 
 
 " Very true ; that must be unavoidable." 
 
 He pursued these inquiries some time, and then went 
 again to his general station before the fire, and Mrs. Delany 
 inquired if he meant to hunt the next day. " Yes," he 
 answered, and, a little pointedly, Mrs. Delany said, 
 
 " I would the hunted could but feel as much pleasure as 
 the hunter." 
 
 The King understood her, and with some quickness, 
 called out, " Pray, what did you hunt ? " 
 
 Then, looking round at us all, — 
 
 "Did you know," he said, "that Mrs. Delany once 
 hunted herself? — and in a long gown, and a great 
 hoop ? " 
 
 It seems she had told his Majesty an adventure of that 
 sort which had befallen her in her youth, from some acci- 
 dent in which her will had no share. 
 
 While this was talking over, a violent thunder was 
 made at the door. I was almost certain it was the Queen. 
 Once more I would have given anything to escape ; but 
 in vain. I had been informed that nobody ever quitted 
 the royal presence, after having been conversed with, till 
 motioned to withdraw. Miss P , according to estab- 
 lished etiquette on these occasions, opened the door which 
 she stood next, by putting her hand behind her, and slid 
 out backwards, into the hall, to light the Queen in. The 
 door soon opened again, and her Majesty entered. 
 
 Immediately, seeing the King, she made him a low curt- 
 sey, and cried, — " Oh, your Majesty is here ! " " Yes," he 
 cried. " I ran here without speaking to anybody." 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 213 
 
 The Queen had been at the lower Lodge, to see the 
 Princess Elizabeth, as the King had before told us. She 
 then hastened up to Mrs. Delany, with both her hands held 
 out, saying, " My dear Mrs. Delany, how are you ? " In- 
 stantly after, I felt her eye on my face. I believe, too, she 
 curtseyed to me ; but though I saw the bend, I was too 
 near-sighted to be sure it was intended for me. I was 
 hardly ever in a situation more embarrassing ; I dared not 
 return what I was not certain I had received, yet con- 
 sidered myself as appearing quite a monster, to stand stiff- 
 necked, if really meant. 
 
 Almost at the same moment she spoke to Mr. Bernard 
 Dewes, and then nodded to my little clinging girl. I was 
 now really ready to sink, with horrid uncertainty of what 
 I was doing, or what I should do, — when his Majesty, 
 who I fancy saw my distress, most good-humoredly said to 
 the Queen something, but I was too much flurried to 
 remember what, except these words, — "I have been tell- 
 ing Miss Burney — " Believed from so painful a dilemma, 
 I immediately dropped a curtsey. She made one to me in 
 the same moment, and, with a very smiling countenance, 
 came up to me ; but she could not speak, for the King went 
 on talking, eagerly, and very gaily repeating to her every 
 word I had said during our conversation upon " Evelina," 
 its publication, &c., &c. 
 
 Then he told her of Baretti's wager, saying, — " But she 
 heard of a great many conjectures about the author, before 
 it was known, and of Baretti, an admirable thing ! he laid 
 a bet it must be a man, as no woman, he said, could have 
 kept her own counsel ! " 
 
 The Queen, laughiug a little, exclaimed — 
 
 " Oh, that is quite too bad an affront to us ! — Don't you 
 think so ? " addressing herself to me with great gentleness 
 of voice and manner. 
 
214 DIAET XSD LErrERS [1786. 
 
 I assented ; and the King continued his relation, which 
 she listened to with a look of some interest ; but when he 
 told her some particulars of my secrecy, she again spoke 
 to me. 
 
 " But your sister was your confidant, was she not ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 My sisters, I might have said, but I was always glad to 
 have done. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried the King, laughing ; " but I assure you 
 she is of Baretti's opinion herself; for I asked her if she 
 thought it was her sister or her brother that betrayed her 
 to her father ? — and she says her sister, she thinks." 
 
 Poor Esther ! — but I shall make her amends by what 
 follows : for the Queen, again addressing me, said — 
 
 "But to betray to a father is no crime — don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 I agreed ; and plainly saw she thought Esther, if Esther 
 it was, had only done right. 
 
 The King then went on, and when he had finished his 
 narration the Queen took her seat. 
 
 She made Mrs. Delany sit next her, and Miss P 
 
 brought her some tea. 
 
 The King, meanwhile, came to me again, and said, "Are 
 you musical ? " 
 
 " Not a performer, sir." 
 
 Then, going from me to the Queen, he cried, — " She 
 does not play." 
 
 I did not hear what the Queen answered ; she spoke in 
 a low voice, and seemed much out of spirits. 
 
 They now talked together a little while, about the Prin- 
 cess Elizabeth, and the Eang mentioned having had a very 
 promising account from her physician. Sir George Baker : 
 and the Queen soon brightened up. 
 
 The King then returned to me, and said. — 
 
1785.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 215 
 
 " Axe you sure you never play ? — never touch the keya 
 ataU?" 
 
 " Never to acknowledge it, sir." 
 
 " Oh ! that 's it ! " cried he ; and flying to the Queen 
 cried, " She does play — but not to acknowledge it ! " 
 
 I was now in a most horrible panic once more ; pushed 
 so very home, I could answer no other than I did, for these 
 categorical questions almost constrain categorical answers ; 
 and here, at Windsor, it seems an absolute point that what- 
 ever they ask must be told, and whatever they desire must 
 be done. Think but, then, of my consternation in expect- 
 ing their commands to perform ! My dear father, pity me ! 
 
 The eager air with which he returned to me fully ex- 
 plained what was to follow. I hastily, therefore, spoke 
 first, in order to stop him, crying — "I never, sir, played 
 to anybody but myself ! — never ! " 
 
 " No ? " cried he, looking incredulous ; " what, not to — " 
 
 " Not even to me, sir ! " cried my kind Mrs. Delany, who 
 saw what was threatening me. 
 
 " No ? — are you sure ? " cried he, disappointed ; " but — 
 but you 'U—" 
 
 " I have never, sir," cried I, very earnestly, " played in my 
 life, but when I could hear nobody else — quite alone, and 
 from a mere love of any musical sounds." 
 
 He repeated all this to the Queen, whose answers I never 
 heard; but when he once more came back, with a face 
 that looked unwilling to give it up, in my fright I had 
 recourse to dumb show, and raised my hands in a suppli- 
 cating fold, with a most begging countenance to be excused. 
 This, luckily, succeeded ; he understood me very readily, 
 and laughed a little, but made a sort of desisting, or rather 
 complying, little bow, and said no more about it. 
 
 I felt very much obliged to him, for I saw his curiosity 
 was all alive. I wished I could have kissed his hand. 
 
216 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 He still, however, kept me in talk, and still upon music. 
 
 " To me," said he, " it appears quite as strange to meet 
 with people who have no ear for music, and cannot dis- 
 tinguish one air from another, as to meet with people who 
 are dumb. Lady Bell Finch once told me that she had 
 heard there was some difference between a psalm, a min- 
 uet, and a country dance, but she declared they all sounded 
 alike to her ! There are people who have no eye for dif- 
 ference of color. The Duke of Marlborough actually can- 
 not tell scarlet from green ! " 
 
 He then told me an anecdote of his mistaking one of 
 those colors for another, which was very laughable, but I 
 do not remember it clearly enough to write it. How un- 
 fortunate for true virtuosi that such an eye should possess 
 objects worthy the most discerning — the treasures of 
 Blenheim ! 
 
 " I do not find, though," added his Majesty, " that this 
 defect runs in his family, for Lady Di Beauclerk draws 
 very finely." 
 
 He then went to Mr. Bernard Dewee. 
 
 Almost instantly upon his leaving me, a very gentle 
 voice called out — " Miss Burney ! " 
 
 It was the Queen's. I walked a little nearer her, and a 
 gracious inclination of her head made me go quite up to 
 her. 
 
 " You have been," she said, " at Mrs. Walsingham's ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " She has a pretty place, I believe ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 " Were you ever there before ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Oh, shocking ! shocking ! thought I ; what will Mrs. 
 Delany say to all these monosyllables ? 
 
 " Has not she lately made some improvements ? " 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 217 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; she has built a conservatory." 
 Then followed some questions about its situation, during 
 which the King came up to us ; and she then, ceasing to 
 address me in particular, began a general sort of conversa- 
 tion, with a spirit and animation that I had not at all 
 expected, and which seemed the result of the great and 
 benevolent pleasure she took in giving entertainment to 
 Mrs. Delany. 
 
 The subject was the last drawing-room, which she had 
 been in town to keep on Thursday, during a dense fog. 
 
 " I assure you, ma'am," cried she to Mrs. Delany, " it 
 was so dark, there was no seeing anything, and no knowing 
 anybody. And Lady Harcourt could be of no help to tell 
 me who people were, for when it was light, she can't see ; 
 and now it was dark, I could not see myself. So it was in 
 vain for me to go on in that manner, without knowing 
 which I had spoken to, and which was waiting for me ; so 
 I said to Lady Harcourt, ' We had better stop, and stand 
 quite still, for I don't know anybody, no more than you do. 
 But if we stand still, they will all come up in the end, and 
 we must ask them who they are, and if I have spoken to 
 them yet, or not : for it is very odd to do it, but what else 
 can we manage ? ' " 
 
 Her accent is a little foreign, and very prettily so ; and 
 her emphasis has that sort of changeability, which gives an 
 interest to everything she utters. But her language is 
 rather peculiar than foreign. 
 
 " Besides," added she, with a very significant look, " if 
 we go on here in the dark, maybe I shall push against 
 somebody, or somebody will push against me — which is 
 the more likely to happen ! " 
 
 She then gave an account of some circumstances which 
 attended the darkness, in a manner not only extremely 
 lively, but mixed, at times, with an archness and humoi 
 
218 DIARY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 that made it very entertaining. She chiefly addressed her- 
 self to Mrs. Delany, and to me, certainly, she would not, 
 separately, have been so communicative; but she contrived, 
 with great delicacy, to include me in the little party, by 
 frequently looking at me, and always with an expression 
 that invited my participation in the conversation. And, 
 indeed, though I did not join in words, I shared verj 
 openly in the pleasure of her recital. 
 
 " WeU," she continued, " so there was standing by me a 
 man that I could not see in the face; but I saw the twist- 
 ing of his bow ; and I said to Lady Harcourt, ' I am sure 
 that must be nobody but the Duke of Dorset' — 'Dear,' 
 she says, ' how can you teU that ? ' — ' Only ask', said I ; 
 and so it proved he." 
 
 "Yes," cried the King, " he is pretty well again ; he can 
 smile again, now ! " 
 
 It seems his features had appeared to be fixed, or stif- 
 fened. It is said, he has been obliged to hold his hand to 
 his mouth, to hide it, ever since his stroke, — which he 
 refuses to acknowledge was paralytic. 
 
 The Queen looked as if some comic notion had struck 
 her, and, after smiling a little while to herself, said, with a 
 sort of innocent archness, very pleasing, 
 
 " To be sure, it is very wrong to laugh at such things, — 
 I know that ; but yet, I could not help thinking, when his 
 mouth was in that way, that it was very lucky people's 
 happiness did not depend upon his smiles ! " 
 
 Afterwards, she named other persons, whose behavior 
 and manners pointed them out to her, in defiance of 
 obscurity. 
 
 " A lady," said she, " came up to me, that I could not 
 see, so I was forced to ask who she was ; and immediately 
 she burst into a laugh. ' Oh,' says I, ' that can be only Mrs. 
 De EoUes !' — and so it proved." 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 219 
 
 Methinks, by this trait, she should be a near relation to 
 my Miss Larolles ! 
 
 When these, and some more anecdotes which I do not so 
 clearly remember, were told, the King left us, and went to 
 Mr. Bernard Dewes. A pause ensuing, I too, drew back, 
 meaning to return to my original station, which, being 
 opposite the fire, was never a bad one. But the moment 
 I began retreating, the Queen, bending forward, and speak- 
 ing in a very low voice, said, " Miss Burney ! " — and, upon 
 my coming up to her, almost in a whisper, cried, " But shall 
 we have no more — nothing more ? " 
 
 I could not but understand her, and only shook my head. 
 
 The Queen then, as if she thought she had said too much, 
 Avith great sweetness and condescension, drew back herself, 
 and very delicately said, 
 
 " To be sure it is, I own, a very home question, for one 
 who has not the pleasure to know you." 
 
 I was quite ashamed of this apology, but did not know 
 what to say to it. But how amiable a simplicity in her 
 speaking of herself in such a style, — " for one who has not 
 the pleasure to know you." 
 
 " But, indeed," continued she, presently, " I would not 
 say it, only that I think from what has been done, there is 
 a power to do so much good — and good to young people — 
 which is so very good a thing — that I cannot help wishing 
 it could be.'' 
 
 I felt very grateful for this speech, and for the very soft 
 manner in which she said it ; and I very much wished to 
 thank her, and was trying to mutter something, though not 
 very intelligibly, when the King suddenly coming up to 
 us, inquired what was going forward. 
 
 The Queen readily repeated her kind speech. 
 
 The Bang eagerly undertook to make my answer for me, 
 crying. 
 
220 DIABY AND LETTEKS [1785. 
 
 " Oh, but she will write ! — she only waits for 
 tion, — she told me so." Then, speaking to me, he said, 
 "What— is it not sol" 
 
 I only laughed a little ; and he again said to the Queen, 
 
 " She will write ! She told me just now she had made 
 no vow against it." 
 
 "No, no," cried the Queen, "I hope not, indeed!" 
 
 " A vow ! " cried dear Mrs. Delany, " no, indeed, I hope 
 she would not be so wicked — she who can so do what she 
 does ! " 
 
 " But she has not," said the King, earnestly ; " she has 
 owned that to me already." 
 
 What excessive condescension, my dear Padre ! 
 
 " I only wish," cried Mrs. Delany, " it could be as easily 
 done, as it is earnestly and universally desired." 
 
 " I doubt it not to be so desired," said the Queen.- 
 
 I was quite ashamed of all this, and quite sorry to make 
 no acknowledgment of their great condescension in press- 
 ing such a subject, and pressing it so much in earnest. But 
 I really could get out nothing, so that 's the truth ; and I 
 wish I could give a better account of my eloquence, my 
 dear Padre and Susan. 
 
 I cannot, however, in justice any more than in inclina- 
 tion, go on, till I stop to admire the sweetness of the 
 Queen, and the consideration of the King, in each making 
 me a party in their general conversation, before they made 
 any particular address to me. 
 
 They afterwards spoke of Mr. Webb, a Windsor musi- 
 cian, who is master to the young Princesses, and who has a 
 nose, from some strange calamity, of so enormous a size 
 that it covers all the middle of his face. I never saw so 
 frightful a deformity. Mrs. Delany told the Qaeen I had 
 met with him, accidentally, when he came to give a lesson 
 to Miss P , and had been quite startled by him. 
 
1785.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 221 
 
 " I dare say so ; " said her Majesty. I must tell Miss 
 Bumey a little trait of Sophia, about Mr. Webb." 
 
 A small table was before the Queen, who always has it 
 brought when she is seated, to put her tea or work upon, 
 or, when she had neither, to look comfortable, I believe ; 
 for certainly it takes off much formality in a standing 
 circle. And close to this, by the gracious motion of her 
 head, she kept me. 
 
 "When first," continued she, "Mr. Webb was to come 
 to Sophia, I told her he had had some accident to disfigure 
 his whole face, by making him an enormous nose ; but I 
 desired her to remember this was a misfortune, for which 
 he ought to be pitied, and that she must be sure not to 
 laugh at it, nor stare at it. And she minded this very well, 
 and behaved always very properly. But, while Lady 
 Cremorne was at the Lodge, she was with Sophia when Mr. 
 Webb came to give her a lesson. As soon as he was 
 named, she colored very red, and ran up to Lady Cremorne, 
 and said to her in a whisper, ' Lady Cremorne, Mr. Webb 
 has got a very great nose, but that is only to be pitied — 
 so mind you don't laugh ! ' " 
 
 This little Princess is just nine years old ! 
 
 The King joined us while the Queen was telling this, 
 and added, " Poor Mr. Webb was very much discounte- 
 nanced when he first saw me, and tried to hide his nose, 
 by a great nosegay, or I believe only a branch, which he 
 held before it : but really that had so odd a look, that it 
 was worse, and more ridiculous, than his nose. However, 
 I hope he does not mind me, now, for I have seen him four 
 or five times." 
 
 The King then, looking at his watch, said, " It is eight 
 o'clock, and if we don't go now, the children will be sent 
 to the other house." "Yes, your Majesty," cried the 
 Queen, instantly rising. Mrs. Delany put on her Majesty's 
 
222 D1^EY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 cloak, and she took a very kind leave of her. She then 
 curtseyed separately to us all, and the King handed her to 
 the carriage. It is the custom for everybody they speak 
 to to attend them out, but they would not suffer Mrs. 
 
 Delany to move. Miss P , Mr. Dewes, and his little 
 
 daughter, and myself, all accompanied them, and saw them 
 in their coach, and received their last gracious nods. When 
 they were gone, Mrs. Delany confessed she had heard the 
 King's knock at the door before she came into the drawing- 
 room, but would not avow it, that I might not run away. 
 Well ! being over was so good a thing, that I could not but 
 be content. 
 
 The Queen, indeed, is a most charming woman. She 
 appears to me full of sense and graciousness, mingled with 
 delicacy of mind and liveliness of temper. She speaks 
 English almost perfectly well, with gTeat choice and copi- 
 ousness of language, though now and then with foreign 
 idiom, and frecLuently with a foreign accent. Her manners 
 have an easy dignity, with a most engaging simplicity, and 
 she has all that fine high breeding which the mind, not the 
 station gives, of carefully avoiding to distress those who 
 converse with her, or studiously removing the embarrass- 
 ment she cannot prevent. The King, however he may 
 have power, in the cabinet, to command himself, has in 
 private, the appearance of a character the most open and 
 sincere. He speaks his opinions without reserve, and seems 
 to trust them intuitively to his hearers, from a belief they 
 will make no ill use of them. His countenance is fuU of 
 inc[uiry, to gain information without asking it, probably 
 from believing that to be the nearest road to truth. All I 
 saw of both was the most perfect good humor, good spirits, 
 ease, and pleasantness. 
 
 Their behavior to each other speaks the most cordial 
 confidence and happiness. The King seems to admire as 
 
1785.J OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 223 
 
 much as he enjoys her conversation, and to covet her par- 
 ticipation in everything he either sees or hears. The Queen 
 appears to feel the most grateful regard for him, and to 
 make it her chief study to raise his consequence with 
 others, by always marking that she considers herself, 
 though Queen to the nation, to him, only the first and 
 most obedient of subjects. Indeed, in their different ways, 
 and allowing for the difference of their characters, they left 
 me equally charmed both with their behavior to each other 
 and to myself 
 
 Monday, Dec. 19th. — In the evening, while Mrs. Delany, 
 
 Miss P , and I were sitting and working together in the 
 
 drawing-room, the door was opened, and the King entered. 
 
 We ail started up ; Miss P flew to her modest post by 
 
 the door, and I to my more comfortable one opposite the 
 fire, which caused me but a sKght and gentle retreat, and 
 Mrs. Delany he immediately commanded to take her own 
 place again. 
 
 I should mention, though, the etiquette always observed 
 upon his entrance, which, first of all, is to fly off to distant 
 quarters ; and next. Miss P goes out, walking back- 
 wards, for more candles, which she brings in, two at a time, 
 and places upon the tables and pianoforte. Next she goes 
 out for tea, which she then carries to his Majesty, upon a 
 large salver, containing sugar, cream, and bread and butter, 
 and cake, while she hangs a napkin over her arm for his 
 fingers. When he has taken his tea, she returns to hex 
 station, where she waits till he has done, and then takes 
 away his cup, and fetches more. This, it seems, is a cere- 
 mony performed, in other places, always by the mistress oi 
 the house ; but here neither of their Majesties wiU permit 
 Mrs. Delany to attempt it. 
 
 He then spoke of Voltaire, and talked a little of his 
 works, concluding with this strong condemnation of their 
 
224 DIARY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 tendency — " I," cried he, " think him a monster — I own 
 it fairly." Nobody answered. Mrs. Delany did not quite 
 hear him, and I knew too little of his works to have cour- 
 age to say anything about them. He next named Eousseau, 
 whom he seemed to think of with more favor, thoiigh by 
 no means with approbation. Here, too, I had read too little 
 to talk at all, though his Majesty frecLuently applied to me. 
 Mrs. Delany told several anecdotes which had c6me to her 
 immediate knowledge of him while he was in England, at 
 which time he had spent some days with her brother, Mr 
 GranviUe, at Calwich. The King, too, told others, which 
 had come to his own ears, all charging him with savage 
 pride and insolent ingratitude. 
 
 Here, however, I ventured to interfere ; for, as I knew 
 he had had a pension. from the King, I could not but wish 
 his Majesty should be informed he was grateful to him. 
 And as you, my dear father, were my authority, I thought 
 it but common justice to the memory of poor Eousseau to 
 acquaint the King of his personal respect for him. " Some 
 gratitude, sir," said I, " he was not without. When my 
 father was in Paris, which was after Eousseau had been in 
 England, he visited him in his garret, and the first thing he 
 showed him was your Majesty's portrait over his chimney." 
 The King paused a little while upon this ; but nothing 
 more was said of Eousseau. 
 
 Some time afterwards, the King said he found by the 
 newspapers that Mrs. Clive was dead. Do you read the 
 newspapers ? thought I. Oh, King ! you must then have 
 the most unvexing temper in the world not to run wild. 
 This led on to more players. He was sorry, he said, for 
 Henderson, and the more as Mrs. Siddons had wished to 
 have him play at the same house with herself. Then Mrs. 
 Siddons took her turn, and with the warmest praise. " I 
 am an enthusiast for her,'' cried the King, " quite an enthu- 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'aRBLAT. 225 
 
 siast. I think there was never any player in my time so 
 excellent — not Garrick himself ; I own it ! " Then, com- 
 ing close to me, who was silent, he said — " What ? what ? " 
 — meaning, what say you ? But I stiU said nothing ; I 
 could not concur where I thought so differently, and to 
 enter into an argument was quite impossible ; for every 
 little thing I said the King listened to with an eagerness 
 that made me always ashamed of its insignificancy. And, 
 indeed, but for that I should have talked to him with much 
 greater fluency, as well as ease. 
 
 From players he went to plays, and complained of 
 the great want of good modern comedies, and of the ex- 
 treme immorality of most of the old ones. "And they 
 pretend," cried he, " to mend them ; but it is not possible. 
 Do you think it is ? — what ? " " No, sir, not often, I be- 
 lieve. The fault, commonly, lies in the very foundation." 
 " Yes, or they might mend the mere speeches ; but the 
 characters are aU bad from the beginning to the end." 
 Then he specified several ; but I had read none of them, 
 and consequently, could say nothing about the matter ; — 
 tm, at last he came to Shakespeare. "Was there ever," 
 cried he, " such stuff as great part of Shakespeare ? only 
 one must not say so ! But what think you ? — What ? — 
 Is there not sad stuff ? — What ? — what 1 " " Yes, in- 
 deed, I thiok so, sir, though mixed with such excellences, 
 that — " " Oh ! " cried he, laughing good-humouredly, " I 
 know it is not to be said ! but it 's true. Only it 's Shake- 
 speare, and nobody dare abuse him." Then he enumerated 
 many of the characters and parts of plays that he objected 
 to ; and when he had run them over, finished with again 
 laughing, and exclaiming — " But one should be stoned for 
 saying so ! " 
 
 I should say more of this evening, and of the King, 
 with whose unaffected conversation and unassuming port 
 
22b DIAEY AND LETTERS [1785. 
 
 and manner I was charmed, but that I have another meeting 
 to write, — a long, and, to me, very delightful private confer- 
 ence with the Queen. It happened the very next morning. 
 Tuesday, Dec. 20th. — 1st, summons ; 2ndly, entree, 
 " Miss Burney, have you heard that BosweU is going to 
 publish a life of your friend Dr. Johnson ? " " No, ma'am." 
 " I tell you as I heard. I don't know for the truth of it, 
 and I can't tell what he will do. He is so extraordinary 
 a man, that perhaps he will devise something extraordinary. 
 
 Have you heard of " (mentioning some German book 
 
 of which I forget the name). " No, ma 'am." " Oh, it 
 will be soon translated ; very fine language, — very bad 
 book. They translate all our worst ! And they are so 
 improved in language ; they write so finely now, even for 
 the most silly books, that it makes one read on, and one 
 cannot help it. Oh, I am very angry sometimes at that I 
 Do you like the ' Sorrows of Werter ? ' " "I — I have 
 not read it ma 'am, only in part," " No ? Well, I don 't 
 know how it is translated, but it is very finely writ in Ger- 
 man, and I can't bear it." " I am very happy to hear that 
 for what I did look over made me determine never to read 
 it. It seemed only writ as a deliberate defence of suicide." 
 " Yes ; and what is worse, it is done by a bad man for 
 revenge." She then mentioned, with praise, another book, 
 , saying, — "I wish I knew the translator." " I wish the 
 translator knew that ! " " Oh — it is not — I should not 
 like to give my name, for fear I have judged ill : I picked 
 it up on a stall. Oh, it is amazing what good books there 
 are on stalls." " It is amazing to me," said Mrs. Delany, " to 
 hear that." " Why, I don 't pick them up myself ; but I have 
 a servant very clever ; and if they are not to be had at the 
 booksellers', they are not for me any more than for another."^ 
 
 1 "Miss Bumey desorilDes this conversation as delightful ; and indeed 
 we cannot wonder that, with her literary tastes, she should be delighted at 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 227 
 
 Miss F. Burney to Mrs. Burney. 
 
 Windsor, Dec. 17th, 1786. 
 
 My dearest Hetty, — I am sorry I could not more im- 
 mediately write ; but I really have not had a moment since 
 your last. Now I know what you next want is, to hear 
 accounts of kings, queens, and such royal personages. 
 ho ! Do you so ? Well. Shall I tell you a few matters 
 of fact ? or, had you rather a few matters of etiquette ? 
 Oh, matters of etiquette, you cry ! for matters of fact 
 are short and stupid, and anybody can tell, and every- 
 body is tired with them. Very well, take your own choice. 
 
 You would never believe — you, who, distant from courts 
 and courtiers, know nothing of their ways — the many 
 things to be studied, for appearing with a proper propriety 
 before crowned heads. Heads without crowns are quite 
 other sort of rotundas. Now, then, to the etiquette. I 
 inquired into every particular, that no error might be com- 
 mitted. And as there is no saying what may happen in 
 this mortal life, I shall give you those instructions I have 
 received myself, that, should you find yourself in the royal 
 presence, you may know how to comport yourself 
 
 Directions for coughing, sneezing, or moving, before the King and Queen. 
 
 In the first place you must not cough. If you find a 
 cough tickling in your throat, you must arrest it from 
 making any sound ; if you find yourself choking with the 
 forbearance, you must choke — but not cough. In the 
 second place, you must not sneeze. If you have a vehe- 
 ment cold, you must take no notice of it ; if your nose 
 membranes feel a great irritation, you must hold your 
 breath ; if a sneeze still insists upon making its way, you 
 
 hearing in how magnificent a manner the greatest lady iu the land encour- 
 aged literature.'' — Lord Macaulcsy, Essay on Madame d'Arblay. 
 
228 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 must oppose it, by keeping your teeth grinding together ; 
 if the violence of the repulse breaks some blood-vessel, you 
 must break the blood-vessel — but not sneeze. In the 
 third place, you must not, upon any account, stir either 
 hand or foot. If, by chance, a black pin runs into your 
 head, you must not take it out. If the pain is very great, 
 you must be sure to bear it W'thout wincing; if it brings 
 the tears into your eyes, you must not wipe them off ; if 
 they give you a tingling by running down your cheeks, 
 you must look as if nothing was the matter. If the blood 
 should gush from your head by means of the black pin, 
 you must let it gush ; if you are uneasy to think of making 
 such a blurred appearance, you must be uneasy, but you 
 must say nothing about it. If, however, the agony is very 
 great, you may, privately, bite the inside of your cheek, 
 or of your lips, for a little relief'; taking care, meanwhile, 
 to do it so cautiously as to make no apparent dent out- 
 wardly. And, with that precaution, if you even gnaw a 
 piece out, it will not be minded; only be sure either to 
 swallow it, or commit it to a corner of the inside of your 
 mouth till they are gone — for you must not spit. 
 
 I have many other directions, but no more paper ; I wiU 
 endeavor, however, to have them ready for you in time. 
 Perhaps, meanwhile, you will be glad to know if I have 
 myself had opportunity to put in practice these receipts ? 
 How can I answer in this little space ? My love to Mr. B. 
 and the little ones, and remember me kindly to cousin 
 Edward, and believe me, my dearest Esther, most affec- 
 tionately yours, F. B. 
 
 [A vacancy at this time occurred in che royal household, 
 from the resignation of Madame Haggerdorn, one of the 
 Queen's German attendants, who, together with Madame 
 Schwellenberg, held the ofiice of Keeper of the Robes. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 229 
 
 The place was much sought after, but her Majesty had 
 been so well pleased with what she saw of Miss Burney, 
 that she graciously empowered Mr. Smelt to offer her this 
 situation, allowing her time to consider and weigh its 
 advantages. 
 
 Miss Burney, though deeply grateful for such a dis- 
 tinction, foresaw with alarm the separation from her fam- 
 ily and the total confinement it would occasion ; and, in 
 her perplexity how to decide, she wrote the following 
 letter to her judicious and faithful friend, the late Miss 
 Cambridge.] 
 
 To Miss CAJUBBioaE. 
 
 Monday, June, 1788. 
 
 " I will share," says my dearest Miss Cambridge, in a 
 letter, not long ago, " in all your cares — all your joys. " 
 Is it fair in me, beginning, per force, by the worst, to take 
 you at your generous word ? Yes, I hope it is — for would 
 you have invited such a participation, and not have wished 
 it ? No, I know your noble sincerity too well, and I call 
 upon you to speak to me in those words you would speak 
 to yourself, when I have told you the subject of my pres- 
 ent difficulty. 
 
 It is only by minds such as yours — as my Susan's, Mrs. 
 Delany's and Mrs. Locke's — my four invaluable friends, 
 that I can hope to be even understood, when I speak of 
 difficulty and distress from a proposal apparently only ad- 
 vantageous. But Susan's wishes are so certainly and in- 
 variably my own, that I wish to spare her from hearing 
 of this matter tiU the decision is made ; Mrs. Delany, with 
 all her indulgent partiality, is here too deeply interested 
 on the other side to be consulted without paining her; 
 and Mrs. Locke has an enthusiasm in her kindness that 
 
230 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 makes every plan seem cruel to her that puts or keeps ua 
 asunder. In this particular case, therefore, I shall apply 
 for no opinion but yours, — yours, which I may here pe- 
 culiarly trust, from knowing that it unites the two precise 
 qualities that suit it for judging my situation, — a strong 
 sense of duty, with a disinterested love of independence. 
 And you are liberal enough, too, I am sure, to permit me 
 openly to tell you that I do not beg your advice with a 
 premeditated resolution to follow it; but simply with a 
 view to weigh and compare your ideas with my own, in the 
 same manner I should do could I talk the matter over 
 with you instead of writing it. 
 
 I now come straight to the point. 
 
 Yesterday evening, while I was with Mrs. Delany, Mr. 
 Smelt arrived from Windsor, and desired a private confer- 
 ence with her ; and, when it was over, a separate one with 
 me ; surprising me not a little, by entreating me to suffer 
 some very home questions from him, relative to my situ- 
 ation, my views, and even my wishes, with respect to my 
 future Hfe. At first, I only laughed : but my merriment 
 a little failed me, when he gave me to understand he was 
 commissioned to make these inquiries by a great personage, 
 who had conceived so favorable an opinion of me as to be 
 desirous of undoubted information, whether or not there 
 was a probability she might permanently attach me to 
 herself and her family. 
 
 You cannot easily, my dear Miss Cambridge, picture to 
 yourself the consternation with which I received this in- 
 timation. It was such that the good and kind Mr. Smelt, 
 perceiving it, had the indulgence instantly to offer me his 
 services, first, in forbearing to mention even to my father 
 his commission, and next in fabricating and carrying back 
 for me a respectful excuse. And I must always consider 
 myself the more obliged to him, as I saw in his own face 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 231 
 
 the utmost astonishment and disappointment at this re- 
 ception of his embassy. 
 
 I could not, however, reconcile to myself concealing from 
 my dear father a matter that ought to be settled by him- 
 self ; yet I frankly owned to Mr. Smelt that no situation 
 of that sort was suited to my own taste, or promising to 
 my own happiness. 
 
 He seemed equally sorry and surprised ; he expatiated 
 warmly upon the sweetness of character of all the royal 
 family, and then begged me to consider the very peculiar 
 distinction shown me, that, unsolicited, unsought, I had 
 been marked out with such personal favor by the Queen 
 herself, as a person with whom she had been so singularly 
 pleased, as to wish to settle me with one of the princesses, 
 in preference to the thousands of offered candidates, of 
 high birth and rank, but small fortunes, who were waiting 
 and supplicating for places in the new-forming establish- 
 ment. Her Majesty proposed giving me apartments in the 
 palace ; making me belong to the table of Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg, with whom all her own visitors - — • bishops, lords, or 
 commons, — always dine ; keeping me a footman, and set- 
 tling on me £200 a year.^ " And in such a situation," he 
 
 1 How differently such a situation may appear when judged by an un- 
 biased eye is evident from Lord Macaulay's resumS of the advantages 
 offered Miss Bumey by the terms of her court appointment : — 
 
 " What was demanded of her was that she should consent to be as com- 
 pletely separated from her family and friends as if she had gone to Cal- 
 cutta, and almost as close a prisoner as if she had been sent to gaol for a 
 libel ; that, with talents which had instructed and delighted the highest 
 living minds, she should now be employed only in mixing snuff and stick- 
 ing pins ; that she should be summoned by a waiting-woman's bell to a 
 waiting-womar.'£ duties ; that she should pass her whole life under the 
 restraints of a paltry etiquette, — should sometimef fast till she was ready 
 to swoon with hunger, should sometimes stand till her knees gave way 
 with fatigue ; that she should not dare to speak or move without consider- 
 ing how her mistress might like her words and gestures. And what was 
 
232 DIABY AND LETTERS [1786 
 
 added, " so respectably offered, not solicited, you may have 
 opportunities of serving your particular friends, — espe- 
 cially your father, — such as scarce any other could afford 
 you." 
 
 My dear Miss Cambridge will easUy feel that this was a 
 plea not to be answered. Yet the attendance upon this 
 Princess was to be incessant, — the confinement to the 
 court continual ; — I was scarce ever to be spared for a sin- 
 gle visit from the palaces, nor to receive anybody but with 
 permission, — and, my dear Miss Cambridge, what a life 
 for me, who have friends so dear to me, and to whom 
 friendship is the balm, the comfort, the very support of 
 existence ! 
 
 Don't think me ungrateful, meanwhile, to the sweet 
 Queen, for thus singling out and distinguishing an obscure 
 and most unambitious individual. No indeed, I am quite 
 penetrated with her partial and most unexpected condescen- 
 sion : but yet, let me go through, for her sake, my tasks 
 with what cheerfulness I may, the deprivations I must 
 suffer would inevitably keep me from all possibility of 
 happiness. 
 
 Though I said but little, my dear Mrs. Delany was dis- 
 turbed, and good Mr. Smelt much mortified, that a proposi- 
 tion which had appeared to them the most flattering and 
 honorable, should be heard only with dejection. I cast, 
 however, the whole into my ifather's disposal and pleasure. 
 
 But I have time for no more detail, than merely to say, 
 that till the offer comes in form, no positive answer need 
 
 the conaideration for which she was to sell herself to this slavery ? The 
 price at which she was valued was her board, her lodging, the attendance 
 of a man-servant, and two hundred pounds a year. The man who, even 
 when hard pressed by hunger, sells his birthright for a mesa of pottage, is 
 unwise ; but what shall we say of him who parts with his birthright, and 
 does not get even the pottage in return ? " — Ussay on Madame d'Arhlay 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 233 
 
 be given, and tberefore that I am yet at liberty. Write to 
 me, then, my dearest Miss Cambridge, with all your fullest 
 honesty, and let me know which you wish to strengthen — 
 my courage in making my real sentiments openly known, 
 or my fortitude in concealing what it may be right I should 
 endure. 
 
 The moiaent this affair is decided, as I shall then strive 
 to make the best of it, whatever be my decision, I shall 
 entreat you to return me this letter, or commit it to the 
 flames. The measles will keep off any meetings at Wind- 
 sor for some time. I hope, therefore, to receive your answer 
 before I am obliged to speak finally. 
 
 Can you forgive me this trouble ? If matters take the 
 turn I so much dread, I shall not give you much more ! 
 
 If it should be in my power, I still intend to defer my 
 going to Windsor till all this is arranged. 
 
 Adieu ! my dearest Miss Cambridge ; I am sorry to send 
 you a letter written in such confusion of mind. 
 
 Monday Night. — I have now to add that the zealous 
 Mr. Smelt is just returned from Windsor, whither he went 
 again this morning, purposely to talk the matter over with 
 her Majesty. What passed I know not, — but the result 
 is, that she has desired an interview with me herself; it is 
 to take place next Monday, at Windsor. I now see the 
 end — I see it next to inevitable. I can suggest nothing 
 upon earth that I dare say for myself, in an audience so 
 generously meant. I cannot even to my father utter my 
 reluctance, — I see him so much delighted at the prospect 
 of an establishment he looks upon as so honorable. But 
 for the Queen's own word permanent, — but for her de- 
 clared desire to attach me entirely to herself and family, — 
 I should share in his pleasure; but what can make me 
 amends for all I shaU forfeit ? But I must do the best I 
 can. Write me a comforting and strengtliening letter, my 
 
234 DIARY AND LETTERS [17&I). 
 
 dearest Miss Cambridge. I have no heart to write to 
 Mickleham, or Norbury. I know how they will grieve • 
 — they have expected me to spend the whole summer with 
 them. My greatest terror is, lest the Queen, from what 
 Mr. Smelt hinted, should make me promise myself to hei 
 for a length of years. What can I do to avoid that ? 
 
 Miaa F. Burney to Br. Burney. 
 
 Monday, June 19th, 1786. 
 
 How great must have been your impatience, dearest sir ! 
 but my interview has only this morning taken place. Ev- 
 erything is settled, and to-morrow morning I go to the 
 Queen's Lodge, to see the apartments, and to receive my 
 instructions. 
 
 I must confess myself extremely frightened and full of 
 alarms, at a change of situation so great, so unexpected, so 
 unthought of. Whether I shall suit it or not, heaven only 
 knows, but I have a thousand doubts. Yet nothing could 
 be sweeter than the Queen, — more encouraging, more 
 gentle, or more delicate. She did not ask me one question 
 concerning my qualifications for the charge ; she only said, 
 with the most condescending softness, " I am sure. Miss 
 Burney, we shall suit one another very well." And, an- 
 other time, " I am sure we shall do very well together." 
 
 And what is it, dear Sir, you suppose to be my business ? 
 Not to attend any of the Princesses — but the Queen her- 
 self ! This, indeed, was a delightful hearing, reverencing 
 and admiring her as I have so sincerely done ever since I 
 first saw her. And in this, my amazement is proportioned 
 to my satisfaction ; for the place designed me is that of 
 Mrs. Haggerdom, who came with her from Germany, and 
 
1786.] OP MADAME D'AEBLAT. 235 
 
 it will put me more immediately and more constantly in 
 her presence than any other place, but that of Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, in the Court. 
 
 The prepossession the Queen has taken in my favor is 
 truly extraordinary, for it seems as if her real view was, as 
 Mr. Smelt hinted, to attach me to her person. She has 
 been long, she told Mrs. Delany, looking out for one to 
 supply the place of Mrs. Haggerdorn, whose ill health 
 forces her back to Germany ; " and I was led to think of 
 Miss Burney, first by her books : then by seeing her ; then 
 by always hearing how she was loved by her friends ; but 
 chiefly by your friendship for her." I fancy my appoint- 
 ment will take place very soon. F. B. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Francis, Aylesham, Norfolk. 
 
 St. Maktin's Stebbt, June 27tli, 1786. 
 My sweet Charlotte's kind indulgence to my long silence 
 has been very, very dearly accepted. Her Majesty has 
 sent me a message, express, near a fortnight ago, with an 
 offer of a place at Court, to succeed Mrs. Haggerdorn, one 
 of the Germans who accompanied her to England, and who 
 is now retiring into her own country. ' T is a place of being 
 constantly about her own person, and assisting in her toil- 
 ette, — a place of much confidence, and many comforts; 
 apartments in the palace ; a footman kept for me ; a coach 
 in common with Mrs. Schwellenberg ; 200?. a^year, &c., &c. 
 I have been in a state of extreme disturbance ever since, 
 from the reluctance I feel to the separation it will cause 
 me from all my friends. Those, indeed, whom I most love, 
 I shall be able to invite to me in the palace ; but I see 
 little or no possibility of being able to make, what I most 
 value, excursions "jito the country. 
 
236 DIAKT AND LETTEES [1786. 
 
 Everybody so violently congratulates me, that it seema 
 as if all was gain. However, I am glad they are all so 
 pleased. My dear father is in raptures ; that is my first 
 comfort. Write to wish him joy, my Charlotte, without a 
 hint to him, or any one but Susan, of my confessions of 
 my internal reluctance and fears. 
 
17S«0 OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 237 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 1786 — 1787. 
 
 Diary resumed. 
 
 Queen's Lodge, Windsoe, Monday, July 17th, 1786. 
 — With what hurry of mind and body did I rise this morn- 
 ing ! Everything had already been arranged for Mrs. Ord's 
 carrying us to Windsor, and my father's carriage was merely 
 to go as baggage-wagon for my clothes. But I wept not 
 then. I left no one behind me to regret ; my dear father 
 accompanied me, and all my dear sisters had already taken 
 their flight, never more to return. Even poor little Sarah, 
 whom I love very dearly, was at Chesington. 
 
 Between nine and ten o'clock we set off. We changed 
 carriage in Queen Ann Street, and Mrs. Ord conveyed us 
 thence to Windsor. With a struggling heart, I kept my- 
 self tolerably tranquil during the little journey. My dear 
 father was quite happy, and Mrs. Ord felt the joy of a 
 mother in relinquishing me to the protection of a Queen 
 so universally reverenced. Had I been in better spirits, 
 their ecstasy would have been unbounded ; but alas ! — 
 what I was approaching was not in my mind ; what I was 
 leaving had taken possession of it solely. 
 
 Miss P flew out to us as the carriage stopped — the 
 
 youthful blush of pleasure heightening her complexion, 
 and every feature showing her kind happiness. Mrs. De- 
 lany, she said, was gone out with the Queen. I took leave 
 of my good Mrs. Ord, whose eyes overflowed with mater- 
 nal feelings — chiefly of contentment. Mrs. Delany came 
 
238 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 home in about an hour. A chastened satisfaction waa 
 hers ; she rejoiced in the prospect before me ; she was hap- 
 py we should now be so much united, but she felt for my 
 deprivations, she saw the hard conflict within me, and the 
 tenderest pity checked her delight. 
 
 It was now debated whether I was immediately to go to 
 the Lodge, or wait for orders. The accustomed method for 
 those who have their Majesties' commands to come to them 
 is, to present themselves to the people in waiting, and by 
 them to be announced. My heart, however, was already 
 sinking, and my spirits every moment were growing more 
 agitated, and my sweet Mrs. Delany determined to spare 
 me the additional task of passing through such awe-strik- 
 ing formalities. She therefore employed my dear father — 
 delighted with the emplojonent — to write a note, in her 
 name. " Mrs. Delany presents her most humble duty to 
 the Queen ; she found Dr. Burney and his daughter at her 
 house ; Miss Burney waits the honor of her Majesty's 
 commands." 
 
 This, though unceremonious and unusual, she was sure 
 the Queen would pardon. A verbal answer came that I 
 was to go to the Lodge immediately. Oh, my dear Susan ! 
 in what an agony of mind did I obey the summons ! I 
 was still in my travelling dress, but could not stay to 
 change it. My father accompanied me. Mrs. Delany, 
 anxiously and full of mixed sensations, gave me her bless- 
 ing. We walked ; the Queen's Lodge is not fifty yards 
 from Mrs. Delany's door. My dear father's own courage 
 all failed him in this little step ; for as I was now on the 
 point of entering — probably for ever — into an entire 
 new way of life, and of foregoing by it all my most favor- 
 ite schemes, and every dear expectation my fancy had ever 
 indulged of happiness adapted to its taste — as now all 
 was to be given up — 1 could disguise my trepidation no 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 239 
 
 longer — indeed I never had disguised, I had only forborne 
 proclaiming it. But my dear father now, sweet soul ! felt 
 it all, as I held by his arm, without power to say one word, 
 but that if he did not hurry along I should drop by the 
 way. I heard in his kind voice that he was now really 
 alarmed ; he would have slackened his pace, or have made 
 me stop to breathe ; but I could not ; my breath seemed 
 gone, and I could only hasten with all my might, lest my 
 strength should go too. 
 
 A page was in waiting at the gate, who showed us into 
 Mrs. Haggerdorn's room, which was empty. My dear 
 father endeavored here to compose my spirits; I could 
 have no other command over them than to forbear letting 
 him know the afflicted state of all within, and to suffer 
 him to keep to his own conclusions, that my emotion was 
 all from fear of the approaching audience. Indeed was it 
 not ! — I could hardly even think of it. All that I was 
 resigning — there, and there only went every fear, and all 
 reluctance. The page came in a minute or two to sum- 
 mon me to the Queen. The Queen was in her dressing- 
 room. Mrs. Schwellenberg was standing behind her : no- 
 body else present 
 
 She received me with a most gracious bow of the head, 
 and a smile that was all sweetness. She saw me much 
 agitated, and attributed it, no doubt, to the awe of her 
 presence. Oh, she little knew my mind had no room in it 
 for feelings of that sort ! She talked to me of my journey, 
 my father, my sisters, and my brothers ; the weather, the 
 roads, and Mrs. Delany — any, every thing she aould sug- 
 gest, that could best tend to compose and to make me 
 3agy ; and when I had been with her about a quarter of 
 an hour, she desired Mrs. Schwellenberg to show me my 
 apartment, and, with another graceful bow, motioned my 
 retiring. Not only to the sweet Queen, but to myself let 
 
240 DURY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 me here do justice, in declaring that though I entered her 
 presence with a heart filled with everything but herself, 
 I quitted it with sensations much softened. The conde- 
 scension of her efforts to quiet me, and the elegance of 
 her receiving me thus, as a visitor, without naming to me 
 a single direction, without even the most distant hint of 
 business, struck me to show so much delicacy, as well as 
 graciousness, that I quitted her with a very deep sense of 
 her goodness, and a very strong conviction that she merited 
 every exertion on my part to deserve it. 
 
 When summoned to dinner, I found Mrs. SchweUenberg 
 and a German officer. Colonel Poher.^ who is now an at- 
 tendant of Prince Charles of Mecklenberg, the Queen's 
 brother, who is on a visit to their Majesties. I was intro- 
 duced to him, and we took our places. I was offered the 
 seat of Mrs. Haggerdorn, which was at the head of the 
 table ; but that was an undertaking I could not bear. I 
 begged leave to decline it ; and as Mrs. SchweUenberg left 
 me at my own choice, I planted myself quietly at one 
 side. 
 
 Colonel Poller, though a German officer, is of a Swiss 
 famUy. He is a fat, good-humored man, excessively fond of 
 eating and drinking. His enjoyment of some of the fare, 
 and especially of the dessert, was really laughable: he 
 could never finish a speech he had begun, if a new dish 
 made its appearance, without stopping to feast his eyes 
 upon it, exclaim something in German, and suck the inside 
 of his mouth ; but all so openly, and with such perfect 
 good-humor, that it was diverting without anything dis- 
 tasteful. After dinner we went upstairs into Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg's room, to drink coffee. This is a daily practice. 
 
 1 In Miss Bumey's letters during this period, and in Mrs. Phillips's 
 replies, fictitious names were occasionally employed, which, for obvious 
 reasons, are retained in the present edition. 
 
1786.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 241 
 
 Her rooms are exactly over mine ; they are the same size, 
 and have the same prospect, but they are much more sump- 
 tuously fitted up. 
 
 Colonel Poller soon left us, to attend Prince Charles. 
 "We had then a long tite-di-tite, in which I found her a 
 woman of understanding, and fond of conversation. I was 
 
 called down afterwards to Miss P , who was eager to 
 
 see me in my new dwelling, and dying with impatience to 
 know, hear, and examine everything about me. She ran 
 about to make all the inc[uiries and discoveries she could for 
 me, and was so highly delighted with my situation, it was 
 impossible not to receive some pleasure even from looking 
 at her. She helped me to unpack, to arrange, to do every- 
 thing that came in the way. 
 
 In a short time Madame La Flte entered, nearly as im- 
 patient as herself to be my first visitor. She was quite 
 fanciful and entertaining about my succeeding to Mrs. 
 Haggerdorn, and repeatedly turned round to look at me 
 fresh and fresh, to see if it was really me, and me in that 
 so long differently appropriated apartment. 
 
 She had but just left me, when who should enter but my 
 dear Mrs. Delany herseK This was indeed a sweet regale 
 to me. She came to welcome me in my own apartment, 
 and I am sure to teach me to love it. What place could I 
 see her in and hate ? T could hardly do anything but kiss 
 her soft cheeks, and dear venerable hands, with gratitude 
 for her kindness, while she stayed with me, which was 
 I ill the royal family came home from the terrace, which 
 they walk upon every fine evening. She had already 
 been invited to the King's concert, which she then at- 
 tended. 
 
 Miss p and I now planned that we would drink tea 
 
 together. It was, indeed, my dearest Mrs. Locke's injunc- 
 tions that determined me upon making that trial ; for I 
 
242 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 knew nothing could more contribute to my future chance 
 of some happy hours than securing this time and this 
 repast to myself Mrs. Delany had the same wish, and 
 encouraged me in the attempt. As I knew not to whom 
 to speak, nor how to give a positive order, in my ignorance 
 whether the measure I desired to take was practicable or 
 
 not, Miss P undertook to be my agent. She therefore 
 
 ran out, and scampered up and down the stairs and pas- 
 sages in search of some one to whom she could apply. She 
 met at last Mrs. Schwellenberg's man, and boldly bid him 
 " bring Miss Burney's tea." " It is ready," he answered, 
 " in the dining parlor." And then he came to me, with 
 his mistress's compliments, and that she was come down 
 to tea, and waited for me. 
 
 To refuse to go was impossible ; it would have been an 
 opening so offensive, with a person destined for my prin- 
 cipal companion, and who had herself begun very civiUy 
 and attentively, that I could not even hesitate. I only felt 
 
 heavy-hearted, and Miss P made a thousand faces, and 
 
 together we went to the eating-room. Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 had already made the tea ; and four gentlemen were seated 
 at the table. The Bishop of Salisbury, as I afterwards 
 found he was, came up to congratulate me, and spoke very 
 kindly of my father, whom he said he had just seen on the 
 terrace. This is a brother of Lord Barrington's ; I had never 
 met him before. Next him sat a young clergyman, Mr. 
 Fisher, whom I did not recollect, but who said he had seen 
 me once at Mrs. Ord's, and spoke to me of her, and of Mrs. 
 Thrale, whom he had lately left in Italy, where he has been 
 travelling. And next was Major Price, the Equerry of the 
 King at present in waiting. He is the same that all the 
 Barbome family so adored when a Captain. He men- 
 tioned them all to me, with high praise and great good- 
 breeding. I am very much pleased with him, and happy 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 243 
 
 he should be the Equeny in waiting on my first arrival. 
 Colonel Poller was also of the party. 
 
 I find that it has always belonged to Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 and Mrs. Haggerdorn to receive at tea whatever company 
 the Bang or Queen invite to the Lodge, as it is only a very 
 select few that can eat with their Majesties, and those few 
 are only ladies ; no men, of what rank soever, being per- 
 mitted to sit in the Queen's presence. I mean and hope 
 to leave this business wholly to Mrs. Schwellenberg, and 
 only to succeed Mrs. Haggerdorn in personal attendance 
 upon the Queen. 
 
 At night I was summoned to the Queen's apartment. 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg was there, waiting. We sat together 
 some time. The Queen then arrived, handed into her 
 dressing-room by the King, and followed by the Princess 
 Eoyal and Princess Augusta. The Queen spoke to me a 
 little of my father, my journey, and Mrs. Delany, and then 
 entered into easy conversation, in German, with Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, who never speaks English but by neces- 
 sity. I had no sort of employment given me. The Queen 
 was only waited upon by Mrs. Schwellenberg and Mrs. 
 Thielky, her wardrobe- woman ; and when she had put on 
 her night d&hahille, she wished me good night. This con- 
 sideration to the perturbed state of my mind, that led her 
 Majesty to permit my presence merely as a spectatress, by 
 way of taking a lesson of my future employment for my 
 own use, though to her, doubtless, disagreeable, was ex- 
 tremely gratifying to me, and sent me to bed with as much 
 ease as I now could hope to find. 
 
 Monday, July 18th. — I rose at six, and was called to 
 the Queen soon after seven. Only Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 was with her, and again she made me a mere looker-on ; 
 and the obligation I felt to her sent me somewhat Ughter- 
 hearted from her presence. When she was dressed, in a 
 
244 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 simple morning gown, she had her hat and cloak put on, 
 to go to prayers at eight o'clock, at the King's Chapel in 
 the Castle ; and I returned to my room. 
 
 My Windsor apartment is extremely comfortable. I 
 have a large drawing-room, as they caU it, which is on the 
 gBound-floor, as are all the Queen's rooms, and which faces 
 the Castle and the venerable Round Tower, and opens at 
 the further side, from the windows, to the Little Park. It 
 is airy, pleasant, clean, and healthy. My bedroom is small, 
 but neat and comfortable ; its entrance is only from the 
 drawing-room, and it looks to the garden. These two 
 rooms are delightfully independent of all the rest of the 
 house, and contain everything I can desire for my conve- 
 nience and comfort. 
 
 At night, Mrs. Schwellenberg inquired of me if I had 
 rather have no supper ? I told her a little fruit was all T 
 should like ; and then orders were given, and I had some 
 in my own room, and the great pleasure of making my 
 go()d-natured little friend partake of it. This practice 
 has been kept up ever since, and has proved the means of 
 procuring me a little time to myself, and to quietness, be- 
 fore my last summons to the Queen. To-night, like the 
 rest of my attendance, I was merely treated as if an acci- 
 dental visitor. Sweet Queen ! — she seems as fearful of 
 employing me as I am myself of being employed. 
 
 Monday, July 24th. — Let me endeavor to give you, 
 more connectedly, a concise abstract of the general method 
 of passing the day, that then I may only write what varies, 
 and occurs occasionally. I rise at six o'clock, dress in a 
 morning gown and cap, and wait my first summons, which 
 is at all times from seven to near eight, but commonly in 
 the exact half hour between them. The Queen never sends 
 for me till her hair is dressed. This, in a morning, is 
 always done by hcf wardrobe-woman, Mrs. Thielky, a 
 
1786.] OP MADAME D'AEBLAT. 245 
 
 German, but who speaks English perfectly well. Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, since the first week, has never come down 
 in a morning at all. The Queen's dress is finished by 
 Mrs. Thielky and myself. 'No maid ever enters the room 
 while the Queen is in it. Mrs. Thielky hands the things 
 to me, and I put them on. 'T is fortunate for me I have 
 not the handing them! I should never know which to 
 take first, embarrassed as I am, and should run a prodigious 
 risk of giving the gown before the hoop, and the fan before 
 the neck-kerchief. 
 
 By eight o'clock, or a little after, for she is extremely 
 expeditious, she is dressed. She then goes out to join the 
 King, and be joined by the Princesses, and they all proceed 
 to the King's chapel in the Castle, to prayers, attended 
 by the governesses of the Princesses, and the King's 
 equerry. Various others at times attend ; but only these 
 indispensably. I then return to my own room to break- 
 fast. I make this meal the most pleasant part of the day ; 
 I have a book for my companion, and I allow myself an 
 hour for it. At nine o'clock I send off my breakfast things, 
 and relinquish my book, to make a serious and steady ex- 
 amination of everything I have upon my hands in the way 
 of business — in which preparations for dress are always 
 included, not for the present day alone, but for the court- 
 days, which require a particular dress ; for the next arriv- 
 ing birthday of any of the Eoyal Family, every one of 
 which requires new apparel ; for Kew, where the dress is 
 plainest ; and for going on here, where the dress is very 
 pleasant to me, requiring no show nor finery, but merely 
 to be neat, not inelegant, and moderately fashionable. 
 
 That over, I have my time at my own disposal till a 
 quarter before twelve, except on "Wednesdays and Satur- 
 days, when I have it only to a quarter before eleven. My 
 rummages and business sometimes occupy me uninter- 
 
246 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 raptedly to those hours. When they do not, I give till ten 
 to necessary letters of duty, ceremony, or long arrears ; — 
 and now, from ten to the times I have mentioned, I devote 
 to walking. These times mentioned call me to the irksome 
 and quick-returning labors of the toilette. The hour ad- 
 vanced on the Wednesdays and Saturdays is for curling 
 and craping the hair, which it now requires twice a week. 
 
 A quarter before one is the usual time for the Queen to 
 begin dressing for the day. Mrs. Schwellenberg then con- 
 stantly attends ; so do I ; Mrs. Thielky, of course, at all 
 times. We help her off with her gown, and on with her 
 powdering things, and then the hairdresser is admitted. 
 She generally reads the newspapers during that operation 
 When she observes that I have run to her but half dressed, 
 she constantly gives me leave to return and finish as soon 
 as she is seated. If she is grave, and reads steadily on, 
 she dismisses me, whether I am dressed or not ; but at 
 all times she never forgets to send me away whUe she is 
 powdering, with a consideration not to spoil my clothes, 
 that one would not expect belonged to her high station. 
 Neither does she ever detain me without making a point of 
 reading here and there some little paragraph aloud. 
 
 When I return, I finish, if anything is undone, my 
 dress, and then take Baretti's Dialogues, my dearest Fredy's 
 Tablet of Memory, or some such disjointed matter, for the 
 few minutes that elapse ere I am again summoned. I find 
 her then always removed to her state dressing-room, if any 
 room in this private mansion can have the epithet of state. 
 There, in a very short time, het dress is finished. She then 
 says she won't detain me, and I hear and see no more of 
 her tUl bedtime. 
 
 It is commonly three o'clock when I am thus set at 
 large. And I have then two hours quite at my own dis- 
 posal : but, in the natural course of things, not a moment 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 247 
 
 after ! These dear and quiet two hours, my only quite sure 
 and undisturbed time in the whole day, after breakfast is 
 over, I shall henceforward devote to thus talking with my 
 beloved Susan, my Fredy, my other sisters, my dear father, 
 or Miss Cambridge ; with my brothers, cousins, Mrs. Ord, 
 and other friends, in such terms as these two hours will 
 occasionally allow me. Henceforward, I say ; for hitherto 
 dejection of spirits, with uncertainty how long my time 
 might last, have made me waste moment after moment as 
 sadly as unprofitably. 
 
 At five, we have dinner. Mrs. Schwellenberg and T 
 meet in the eating-room. We are commonly t§te-i-tSte : 
 when there is anybody added, it is from her invitation 
 only. Whatever right my place might afford me of also 
 inviting my friends to the table I have now totally lost, 
 by want of courage and spirits to claim it originally. When 
 we have dined, we go upstairs to her apartment, which is 
 directly over mine. Here we have coffee till the terracing 
 is over : this is at about eight o'clock. Our t§te-k-t§te then 
 finishes, and we come down again to the eating-room. 
 There the equerry, whoever he is, comes to tea constantly, 
 and with him any gentleman that the King or Queen may 
 have invited for the evening ; and when tea is over, he con- 
 ducts them, and goes himself, to the concert-room. This is 
 commonly about nine o'clock. 
 
 From that time, if Mrs. Schwellenberg is alone, I never 
 quit her for a minute, till I come to my little supper at 
 near eleven. Between eleven and twelve my last summons 
 usually takes place, earlier and later occasionally. Twenty 
 minutes is the customary time then spent with the Queen : 
 half an hour, I believe, is seldom exceeded. 
 
 I then come back, and after doing whatever I can to 
 forward my dress for the next morning, I go to bed — 
 and to sleep, too, believe me : the early rising, and a long 
 
248 DIARY AND LETTERS 1788. 
 
 day's attention to new affairs and occupations, cause a 
 fatigue so bodily, that nothing mental stands against it 
 and to sleep I fall the moment I have put out my candle 
 and laid down my head. Such is the day to your F. B. in 
 her new situation at Windsor; such, I mean, is its usual des- 
 tination, and its intended course. I make it take now and 
 then another channel, but never stray far enough not to 
 return to the original stream after a little meandering about 
 and about it. 
 
 With regard to those summonses I speak of, I wiU now 
 explain myself. My summons, upon all regular occasions 
 — that is, morning, noon, and night toilets — is neither 
 more nor less than a bell. Upon extra occasions a page is 
 commonly sent. At first, I felt inexpressibly discomfited 
 by this mode of call. A bell ! — it seemed so mortifying a 
 mark of servitude, I always felt myself blush, though alone, 
 with conscious shame at my own strange degradation. But 
 I have philosophized myself now into some reconcilement 
 with this manner of summons, by reflecting that to have 
 some person always sent would be often very inconvenient, 
 and that this method is certainly less an interruption to 
 any occupation I may be employed in, than the entrance 
 of messengers so many times in the day. It is, besides, 
 less liable to mistakes. So I have made up my mind 
 to it as well as I can ; and now I only feel that proud 
 blush when somebody is by to revive my original dis- 
 like of it. 
 
 Tuesday July 25th. — I now begin my second week, 
 with a scene a little, not much, different. We were now 
 to go to Kew, there to remain tUl Friday. I had this morn- 
 ing, early, for the first time, a little visit from one of the 
 Princesses. I was preparing for my journey, when a little 
 rap at my room -door made me call out " Come in ! " and 
 who should enter but the Princess Royal ! I apologized 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 249 
 
 for my familiar admittance, by my little expectation of 
 such an honor. She told me she had brought the Queen's 
 snuff-box to be filled with some snuff which I had been 
 directed to prepare. It is a very fine-scented and mild 
 snuff, but requires being moistened from time to time to 
 revive its smell. 
 
 The Princess, with a very sweet smUe, insisted upon 
 holding the box while I filled it ; and told me she had seen 
 Mrs. Delany at the chapel, and that she was very well; 
 and then she talked on about her, with a visible pleasure 
 in having a subject so interesting to me to open upon. 
 When the little commission was executed, she took her 
 leave with as elegant civility of manner as if parting 
 with another King's daughter. I am quite charmed with 
 the Princess Eoyal; unaffected condescension and native 
 dignity are so happily blended in her whole deportment. 
 She had left me but a short time before she again returned. 
 " Miss Burney," cried she, smiling with a look of congratu- 
 lation, " Mamma says the snuff is extremely well mixed ; 
 and she has sent another box to be filled." I had no more 
 ready. She begged me not to mind, and not to hurry my- 
 self, for she would wait till it was done. 
 
 When I went to the Queen before dinner, the little 
 Princess Amelia was with her ; and, though shy of me at 
 first, we afterwards made a very pleasant acquaintance. 
 She is a most lovely little thing, just three years old, and 
 full of sense, spirit, and playful prettiness: yet decorous 
 and dignified when called upon to appear en princesse to 
 any strangers, as if conscious of her high rank, and of the 
 importance of condescendingly sustaining it. 'T is amazing 
 what education can do, in the earliest years, to those of 
 quick understandings. This little Princess, thus in infancy, 
 by practice and example taught her own consequence, con- 
 ducts herself, upon all proper occasions, with an air of 
 
250 DURY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 dignity that is quite astonishing, though her natural char- 
 acter seems all sport and humor. 
 
 When we became a little acquainted, the Queen de- 
 sired me to take her by the hand, and carry her downstairs 
 to the King, who was waiting for her in the garden. She 
 trusted herself to me with a grave and examining look, 
 and showed me, for I knew it not, the way. The King, 
 who dotes upon her, seemed good-humoredly pleased 
 to see me bring her. He took her little hand and led 
 her away. 
 
 Wednesday, Aug. 2nd. — In the evening T had no little 
 difficulty how to manage to go to Mrs. Delany — for I 
 have here to mention the worst thing that has happened 
 to me at Windsor — the desertion of Major Price from the 
 coffee. The arrival of General Bud^, who belongs to the 
 equerries' table, has occasioned his staying to do the honors 
 to him tiU terrace time. At tea, they belong to Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg. This has not only lost me some of his 
 society, the most pleasant I had had in the Lodge, but has 
 trebled my trouble to steal away. When I left him be- 
 hind, the absconding from a beau was apology all-sufficient 
 for running away from a belle ; but now I am doubly 
 wanted to stay, and too doubly earnest to go ! 
 
 For this evening, however, an opportunity soon offered. 
 The Duchess of Ancaster, who with her daughter, Lady 
 Charlotte Bertie, was just come on a visit to the Queen, 
 called in upon Mrs. SchweUenberg ; and, after an extremely 
 civil salutation and introduction to me, and joy-wishing 
 on my appointment, she showed so much agitation, and 
 seemed so desirous to speak of something important to 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg, that I found it perfectly easy to make 
 my apology for retiring. I went into my own room for 
 my cloak, and, as usual, found Madame La Flte just wait- 
 ing for me. She was all emotion — she seized my hand 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY, 251 
 
 — "Have you heard? — 0, mon Dieu! — 0, le Ion Boi! 
 Oh, Miss Bwrney ! — what an horreur ! " 
 
 I was very much startled, but soon ceased to wonder at 
 her perturbation; — she had been in the room with the 
 Princess Elizabeth, and there heard, from Miss Golds- 
 worthy, that an attempt had just been made upon the life 
 of the King ! 
 
 I was almost petrified with horror at the intelligence. 
 If this King is not safe — good, pious, beneficent as he is 
 
 — if his life is in danger, from his own subjects, what is 
 to guard the Throne ? and which way is a monarch to be 
 secure ? 
 
 Mrs. Goldsworthy had taken every possible precaution so 
 to tell the matter to the Princess Elizabeth as least to 
 alarm her, lest it might occasion a return of her spasms ; 
 but, fortunately, she cried so exceedingly that it was hoped 
 the vent of her tears would save her from those terrible 
 convulsions. 
 
 Madame La Fite had heard of the attempt only, not the 
 particulars ; but I was afterwards informed of them in the 
 most interesting manner — namely, how they were related 
 to the Queen. And as the newspapers wiU have told you 
 all else, I shall only and briefly tell that. 
 
 No information arrived here of the mattei before his 
 Majesty's return, at the usual hour in the afternoon, from 
 the lev^e. The Spanish Minister had hurried off instantly 
 to Windsor, and was in waiting, at Lady Charlotte Einnh's, 
 to be ready to assure her Majesty of the King's safety, in 
 case any report anticipated his return. 
 
 The Queen had the two eldest Princesses, the Duchess 
 of Ancaster, and Lady Charlotte Bertie with her when the 
 King came in. He hastened up to her, with a countenance 
 of striking vivacity, and said, " Here I am ! — safe and well 
 
 — as you see! — but I have very narrowly escaped being 
 stabbed 1 " 
 
252 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 His own conscious safety, and the pleasure he felt in 
 thus personally showing it to the Queen, made him not 
 aware of the effect of so abrupt a communication. The 
 Queen was seized with a consternation that at first almost 
 stupefied her, and, after a most painful silence, the first 
 words she could articulate were, in looking round at the 
 Duchess and Lady Charlotte, who had both burst into tears 
 — "I envy you ! — I can't cry ! " 
 
 The two Princesses were for a little while in the same 
 state ; but the tears of the Duchess proved infectious, and 
 they then wept even with violence. 
 
 You may have heard it wrong ; I will concisely tell it 
 right. His carriage had just stopped at the garden-door at 
 St. James's, and he had just alighted from it, when a 
 decently-dressed woman,^ who had been waiting for him 
 some time, approached him with a petition. It was rolled 
 up, and had the usual superscription — "For the King's 
 Most Excellent Majesty." She presented it with her 
 right hand; and, at the same moment that the King 
 bent forward to take it, she drew from it, with her left 
 hand, a knife, with which she aimed straight at his heart ! 
 
 The fortunate awkwardness of taking the instrument 
 with the left hand made her design perceived before it 
 could be executed ; — the King started back, scarce believ- 
 ing the testimony of his own eyes ; and the woman made 
 a second thrust, which just touched his waistcoat before he 
 had time to prevent her ; — and at that moment one of the 
 attendants, seeing her horrible intent, wrenched the knife 
 from her hand. " Has she cut my waistcoat ? " cried he, 
 in telling it, — " Look ! for I have had no time to ex- 
 amine." Thank heaven, however, the poor wretch had not 
 gone quite so far. "Though nothing," added the King, 
 in giving his relation, " could have been sooner done, for 
 
 ' Margaret Nicholson. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 253 
 
 there was nothing for her to go through but a thin linen 
 and fat." 
 
 While the guards and his own people now surrounded 
 the King, the assassin was seized by the populace, who 
 were tearing her away, no doubt to fall the instant aaori- 
 fice of her murtherous purpose, when the King, the only 
 calm and moderate person then present, called aloud to the 
 mob, " The poor creature is mad ! — Do not hurt her ! She 
 has not hurt me ! " He then came forward, and showed 
 himself to all the people, declaring he was perfectly safe 
 and unhurt ; and then gave positive orders that the woman 
 should be taken care of, and went into the palace, and had 
 his lev^e. 
 
 There is something in the whole of his behavior upon 
 this occasion that strikes me as proof indisputable of a true 
 and noble courage : for in a moment so extraordinary — an 
 attack, in this country, unheard of before — to settle so in- 
 stantly that it was the effect of insanity, to feel no appre- 
 hension of private plot or latent conspiracy — to stay out, 
 fearlessly, among his people, and so benevolently to see 
 himself to the safety of one who had raised her arm against 
 his life, — these little traits, all impulsive, and therefore to 
 be trusted, have given me an impression of respect and 
 reverence that I can never forget, and never think of but 
 with fresh admiration. 
 
 When I went to the Queen at night she scarce once 
 opened her Ups. Indeed, I could not look at her without 
 feeling the tears ready to start into my eyes. But I was 
 very glad to hear again the voice of the King, though only 
 from the next apartment, and calling to one of his dogs. 
 
 August 3hd. — The poor Queen looked so ill that it was 
 easy to see how miserable had been her night. It is un- 
 fortunately the unalterable opinion of Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 that some latent conspiracy belongs to this attempt, and 
 
254 DIABY AND LEXTiiKS [1786. 
 
 therefore that it will never rest here. This dreadful sug- 
 gestion preys upon the mind of the Queen, though she 
 struggles to conquer or conceal it. I longed passionately 
 this morning, when alone with her, to speak upon the mat 
 ter, and combat the opinion ; but as she still said nothing 
 it was not possible. 
 
 When she was dressed for the chapel, she desired me to 
 keep little Badine ; but he ran out after her : I ran too, 
 and in the gallery leading from the Queen's room to mine, 
 all the Princesses and their governesses, were waiting for 
 the Queen. They aU looked very ill, the Princess Eoyal 
 particularly. — Oh, well indeed might they tremble ! for a 
 father more tender, more kind, more amiable, I believe has 
 scarcely ever had daughters to bless. 
 
 The Princess Mary assisted me to recover the little dog, 
 or, rather, took all the trouble herself, for she caught him 
 and brought him to me in her arms; and the Princess 
 Augusta very sweetly came up to me, to say she had just 
 seen Mrs. Delany pass by to the chapel, which must be a 
 proof of her health. 
 
 I then passed on to my own room, which terminates this 
 gallery. But I have since heard it is contrary to rule to 
 pass even the door of an apartment in which any of the 
 royal family happen to be, if it is open. However, these 
 little formalities are all dispensed with to the ignorant; 
 and as I learn better I shall observe them more. I am 
 now obliged to feel and find my way as I can, having no 
 friend, adviser, nor informer in the whole house. Accident 
 only gives me any instruction, and that generally arrives 
 too late to save an error. My whole dependence is upon 
 the character of the Queen ; her good sense and strong 
 reason will always prevent the unnecessary offence of 
 ranking mistakes from inexperience, with disrespect or in- 
 attention. I have never, therefore, a moment's uneasiness 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 255 
 
 upon these points. Though there is a lady who from time 
 to time represents them as evils the most heinous. 
 
 I had afterwards a letter from my poor Mrs. Delany, 
 written with her own hand, and with a pencil, as she is 
 now too indistinct of sight to see even a word. She writes 
 therefore only by memory, and, if with pen and ink, can- 
 not find her place again when she leaves it, to dip the pen 
 in the inkstand. 
 
 She had escaped the news at the chapel, by the care of 
 Lady Spencer, who had been cautioned to watch her ; but 
 she had been told it afterwards by Lady Spencer herself, 
 lest it should reach her ears in any worse manner. You 
 may imagine how greatly it shocked her. I ran to answer 
 her note in person, determining, upon such an occasion, to 
 risk appearing before the Queen a second time in my 
 morning dress, rather than not satisfy my dear Mrs. Delany 
 by word of mouth. I gave her all the comfort in my 
 power, and raised her agitated spirits by dwelling upon the 
 escape, and slightly passing by the danger. 
 
 The Queen was so late before her second summons that 
 I was still in time. I found her with her eyes almost 
 swollen out of her head, but more cheerful and easy, and 
 evidently relieved by the vent forced, at length, to her 
 tears. 
 
 She new first spoke upon the subject to me ; inquiring 
 how Mrs. Delany had borne the hearing of it. I told her 
 of the letter sent me in the morning, and half proposed 
 showing it, as it expressed her feelings beyond the power 
 of any other words. She bowed her desire to see it, and I 
 ran and brought it. She read it aloud, Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 being present, and was pleased and soothed by it. 
 
 Sunday, August 6th. — The private conduct of the 
 Eoyal Family is all so good, so exemplary, that it is with 
 the greatest pleasure I take, from time to time, occasion 
 
256 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 to give my Susan some traits of it. This morning, before 
 church, Miss Planta was sent to me by the Queen, for some 
 snuff, to be mixed as before : when I had prepared it, I 
 carried it, as directed, to her Majesty's dressing-room. I 
 turned round the lock, for that, not rapping at the door, is 
 the mode of begging admission ; and she called out to me 
 bo coine in. I found her reading, aloud, some religious 
 book, but I could not discover what, to the three eldest 
 Princesses. Miss Planta was in waiting. She continued 
 after my entrance, only motioning to me that the snuff 
 might be put in a box upon the table. 
 
 Just as I had slowly finished my commission, the King 
 entered. She then stopped, and rose ; so instantly did the 
 Princesses. He had a letter in his hand open : he said 
 something to the Queen in German, and they left the room 
 together; but he turned round from the door, and first 
 spoke to me, with a good-humored laugh, saying, " Miss 
 Burney, I hear you cook snuff very well." " Cook snuff ! " 
 repeated the Princess Augusta, laughing, and coming up to 
 me the moment they left the room. " Pray, Miss Burnej^ 
 let me have one pinch ! " The Princess Elizabeth ran up to 
 me, also, exclaiming, "Miss Burney, I hope you hate snuff? 
 I hope you do, for I hate it of all things in the world ! " 
 
 In the afternoon I had a sweet visit from Mrs. Delany, 
 who stayed with me till the evening party, when she ac- 
 companied me into the tea-room, where we found the Duke 
 of Montagu, M. del Oampo, the German Baron, and Mr. 
 Fisher, with the two customary beaux. 
 
 Just as tea was over, the door opened, and the King en- 
 tered. He only seized Mrs. Delany by the arm, and laugh- 
 ing a little at the enlevement, instantly carried her away 
 with him to the concert-room. I was very glad to lose her 
 thus, knowing well the great gratification she receives from 
 the honors done her by such sovereigns. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 257 
 
 The Major and General immediately followed, but the 
 Baron stayed, and while he engrossed Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 — (I wish he would live here !) — and M. del Campo the 
 Duke, Mr. Fisher, for the first time, entered into conversa- 
 tion with me, and spoke to me of Mrs. Thrale — with 
 whom he had seen me in former times — with such can- 
 dor that it quite won my heart. 
 
 During this discourse, Westerhahl, one of Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg's domestics, called me out of the room. John 
 waited to speak to me in the gallery. "What time, 
 ma'am," cried he, " shall you have your supper ? " 
 
 " What supper ? " cried I. " I only eat fruit, as usual." 
 
 " Have not you ordered supper, ma'am, for to-night ? " 
 • "No." 
 
 " There is one cooking for you — a fowl and peas." 
 
 " It 's some great mistake ; run down and teU them so." 
 
 I returned to the company, and would have related the 
 adventure, had I been in spirits; but voluntary speech 
 escaped me not. Where I am not happy, or forced to it, 
 it never does. In silence and in quiet, I court repose and 
 revival ; and I think, my dearest Susan, I feel that they 
 will come. 
 
 Presently I was called out again. 
 
 "Ma'am," cried John, "the supper is ordered in your 
 name. I saw the order — the clerk of the kitchen gave 
 it in." 
 
 This was the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. I de- 
 sired him to run down forthwith, and inquire by whose 
 directions all this was done. 
 
 He came back, and said, " By Sir Francis Drake's." 
 
 Sir Francis Drake is, I think, steward of the household. 
 
 I then desired him to interfere no more, but let the mat- 
 ter be pursued in their own way. 
 
 As soon as the company was gone, all but a Miss Mawer. 
 
 VOL. I. 17 
 
258 DIARY AND LETTEKS " [1786. 
 
 who is on a visit to Mrs. Schwellenberg, I told my tale. 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg said the orders had been hers, that a 
 hot supper belonged to my establishment, and that some- 
 times she might come and eat it with me. 
 
 I had not a word to add. At ten o'clock, both she and 
 Miss Mawer accompanied me to my room. 
 
 Miss Mawer is an old maid ; tall, thin, sharp-featured, 
 hurrying and disagreeable in her manner, but, I believe, 
 good-natured and good-hearted, from all I have observed 
 in her. The smell of the meat soon grew offensive to Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, who left me with Miss Mawer. As I never 
 eat any myself at night, all I coiild devise to make the 
 perfume tolerable was to consider it as an opportunity foi 
 a lesson in carving : so I went to work straight-forward 
 to mangle my unbidden guest, for the use and service of 
 Miss Mawer. 
 
 Soon after, I was delighted and surprised by the entrance 
 of Mrs. Delany, ushered to my room by Major Price. The 
 concert being over, and the Eoyal Family retired to sup- 
 per, she would not go away without seeing me. I thanked 
 the Major for bringing me so sweet a guest, but almost 
 fear he expected to be invited in •with. her. I am sure I 
 could have had nothing but pleasure from his joining us ; 
 but I had made a rule, on my thus first setting up for my- 
 self, to invite no man whatever, young, old, married, single, 
 acquaintance or stranger, till I knew precisely the nature 
 of my own situation : for I had been warned by an excel- 
 lent friend, Mrs. De Luc, on my first entrance into office, 
 that there was no drawing back in a place such as this ; 
 and that therefore I ought studiously to keep back, till I 
 felt my way, and knew, experimentally, what I could do, 
 and what I should wish to leave alone. 
 
 This advice has been of singular use to me, in a thou- 
 sand particulars, from the very first to the present day of 
 
1786. J OF MADAMK D'AEBLAY. 259 
 
 my abode in this Lodge. Mrs. De Luc trusted me with 
 several other private hints, that have proved of the greatest 
 utility to me. Indeed, I never see her without receiving 
 the most indubitable testimonies of her confidence and 
 friendship. 
 
 Monday, August 7th. — This has been the first cheerful 
 day since the memorable and alarming attack of the 2nd 
 of August. It was the birthday of the little Princess 
 Amelia; and the fondness of the whole family for that 
 lovely child, and her own infantine enjoyment of the hon- 
 ors paid her, have revived the spirits of the whole house. 
 
 The manner of keeping the birthdays here is very simple. 
 All the Eoyal Family are new-dressed; so — at least so 
 they appear — are all their attendants. The dinners and 
 desserts are unusually sumptuous ; and some of the princi- 
 pal officers of state, and a few of the ladies of the court, 
 come to Windsor to make their compliments ; and at night 
 there is a finer concert, by an addition from town of the 
 musicians belonging to the Queen's band. If the weather 
 is fine, all the family walk upon the terrace, which is 
 crowded with people of distinction, who take that mode of 
 showing respect, to avoid the trouble and fatigue of at- 
 tending at the following drawing-room. 
 
 Another method, too, which is taken to express joy and 
 attachment upon these occasions, is by going to the eight 
 o'clock prayers at the Eoyal Chapel. The congregation all 
 assemble, after the service, in the opening at the foot of the 
 great stairs which the Eoyal Family descend from their 
 gallery; and there those who have any pretensions to 
 notice scarce ever fail to meet with it. 
 
 To-day, this Staircase Drawing-room, as it is named by 
 Major Price, was very much crowded ; and it was a sweet 
 sight to me, from my windows, to see that the royal group 
 — respectfully followed by many people of distinction, who 
 
260 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 came on the occasion, and, at a still greater distance, en- 
 circled by humbler, but not less loyal congratulators — had 
 their chief attention upon my dear, aged, venerable Mrs. 
 Delany, who was brought in by the King and Queen, to 
 partake with them the birthday breakfast. 
 
 In the evening, for the first time since my arrival, I 
 went upon the terrace, under the wing and protection of 
 my dear Mrs. Delany, who was tempted to walk there her- 
 self, in order to pay her respects on the little Princess's 
 birthday. She was carried in her chair to the foot of the 
 steps. Mrs. Delany was desirous to save herself for the 
 royal encounter : she therefore sat down on the first seat 
 tni the royal party appeared in sight : we then, of course, 
 stood up. 
 
 It was really a mighty procession. The little Princess, 
 just turned of three years old, in a robe-coat covered with 
 fine muslin, a dressed close cap, white gloves, and a fan, 
 walked on alone and first, highly delighted in the parade, 
 and turning from side to side to see everybody as she 
 passed : for aU the terracers stand up against the walls, to 
 make a clear passage for the Royal Family, the moment 
 they come in sight. Then followed the King and Queen, 
 no less delighted themselves with the joy of their little 
 darling. The Princess Royal, leaning on Lady Elizabeth 
 Waldegrave, followed at a little distance. Next the Prin- 
 cess Augusta, holding by the Duchess of Ancaster ; and 
 next the Princess Elizabeth, holding by Lady Charlotte 
 Bertie. Office here takes place of rank, which occasioned 
 Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave, as lady of her bedchamber, to 
 walk with the Princess Royal. Then followed the Princess 
 Mary with Miss Goldsworthy, and the Princess Sophia 
 with Mademoiselle Monmoulin and Miss Planta ; then 
 General Bud4 and the Duke of Montagu; and, lastly. 
 Major Price, who, as equerry, always brings up the rear, 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 261 
 
 walks at a distance from the group, and keeps off all crowd 
 from the Royal Family. 
 
 On sight of Mrs. Delany, the King instantly stopped to 
 speak to her. The Queen, of course, and the little Prin- 
 cess, and all the rest, stood still, in their ranks. They 
 talked a good while with the sweet old lady ; during which 
 time the King once or twice addressed himself to me. I 
 caught the Queen's eye, and saw in it a little surprise, but 
 by no means any displeasure, to see me of the party. The 
 little Princess went up to Mrs. Delany, of whom she is very 
 fond, and behaved like a little angel to her: she then, 
 with a look of inquiry and recollection, slowly, of her own 
 accord, came behind Mrs. Delany to look at me. " I am 
 afraid," said I, in a whisper, and stooping down, "your 
 Royal Highness does not remember me ? " 
 
 What think you was her answer ? An arch little smile, 
 and a nearer approach, with her lips pouted out to kiss me. 
 I could not resist so innocent an invitation ; but the 
 moment I had accepted it, I was half afraid it might seem, 
 in so public a place, an improper liberty : however, there 
 was no help for it. She then took my fan, and having 
 looked at it on both sides, gravely returned it me, saying, 
 " ! a brown fan ! " The King and Queen then bid her 
 curtsey to Mrs. Delany, which she did most gracefully, and 
 they all moved on ; each of the Princesses speaking to Mrs. 
 Delany as they passed, and condescending to curtsey to her 
 companion. 
 
 August 8th. — An exceeding pretty scene was exhibited 
 to-day to their Majesties. We came, as usual on every 
 alternate Tuesday, to Kew. The Queen's Lodge is at the 
 end of a long meadow, surrounded with houses, which is 
 called Kew Green ; and this was quite filled with all the 
 inhabitants of the place — the lame, old, blind, sick, and 
 infants, who all assembled, dressed in their Sunday garb, 
 
262 DIARY AND LETTERS ri786. 
 
 to line the sides of the roads through which their Majesties 
 passed, attended by a band of musicians, arranged in the 
 front, who began " God save the King ! " the moment they 
 came upon the Green, and finished it with loud huzzas. 
 This was a compliment at the expense of the better inhab- 
 itants, who paid the musicians themselves, and mixed in 
 with the group, which indeed left not a soul, I am told, in 
 any house in the place. 
 
 This testimony of loyal satisfaction in the King's safe 
 return, after the attempted assassination, affected the Queen 
 to tears : nor were they shed alone ; for almost everybody's 
 flowed that witnessed the scene. The Queen, in speaking 
 of it afterwards, said, " I shall always love little Kew for 
 this ! " At the second toQette to-day, Mrs. Schwellenberg, 
 who left the dressing-room before me, called out at the 
 door, " Miss Bernar, when you have done from the Queen, 
 come to my room." There was something rather more per- 
 emptory in the order than was quite pleasant to me, and I 
 rather dryly answered, " Very well, Mrs. Schwellenberg." 
 
 When I went to Mrs. Schwellenberg, she said, "You 
 might know I had something to say to you, by my calling 
 you before the Queen." She then proceeded to a long pre- 
 lude, which I could but ill comprehend, save that it con- 
 veyed much of obligation on my part, and favor on hers ; 
 and then ended with, " I might tell you now, the Queen is 
 going to Oxford, and you might go with her ; it is a secret 
 — yru might not tell it nobody. But I tell you once, I 
 shall do for you what I can ; you are to have a gown." 
 
 I stared, and drew back, with a look so undisguised of 
 wonder and displeasure at this extraordinary speech, that 
 I saw it was understood, and she then thought it time, 
 therefore, to name her authority, which, with great empha- 
 sis, she did thus : " The Queen will give you a gown ! The 
 Queen says you are not rich," &c. There was something 
 
1786.] OB MADAME D'ARBLAY. 263 
 
 in the manner of this quite intolerable to me ; and I hastily 
 interrupted her with saying, " I have two new gowns by 
 me, and therefore do not require another." 
 
 Seeing the wonder and displeasure now hers, I calmly 
 added, " The Queen is very good, and I am very sensible of 
 her Majesty's graoiousness ; but there is not, in this in- 
 stance, the least occasion for it." " Miss Bernar," cried 
 she, quite angrily, " I tell you once, when the Queen will 
 give you a gown, you must be humble, thankful, when you 
 are Duchess of Ancaster ! " She then enumerated various 
 ladies to whom her Majesty had made the same present, 
 many of them of the iirst distinction, and all, she said, 
 great secrets. StiU I only repeated again the same speech. 
 I can bear to be checked and curbed in discourse, and 
 would rather be subdued into silence — and even, if that 
 proves a gratification that secures peace and gives pleasure, 
 into apparent insensibility ; but to receive a favor through 
 the vehicle of insolent ostentation — no ! no ! To submit 
 to ill humor rather than argue and dispute I think an exer- 
 cise of patience, and I encourage myself all I can to prac- 
 tise it : but to accept even a shadow of an obligation upon 
 such terms I should think mean and unworthy ; and there- 
 fore I mean always, in a Court as I would elsewhere, to be 
 open and fearless in declining such subjection. 
 
 At tea I found a new uniform. Major Price immedi- 
 ately introduced me to him ; he was Colonel Fairly. He 
 is a man of the most scrupulous good-breeding, diffident, 
 gentle, and sentimental in his conversation, and assiduously 
 
 attentive in his manners. He married Lady -, and I 
 
 am told is a most tender husband to her. A very unfor- 
 tunate subject happened to be started during our tea ; 
 namely, the newspaper attacks upon Mrs. Hastings. The 
 Colonel, very innocently, said he was very sorry that lady 
 was ever mentioned in the same paragraph with her Maj- 
 
264 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 esty. Mrs. Schwellenberg indignantly demanded " Why ? 
 — where ? — when ? and what ? " 
 
 Unconscious of her great friendship for Mrs. Hastings, 
 the Colonel, unfortunately, repeated his concern, adding. 
 " Nothing has hurt me so much as the Queen's being ever 
 named in such company." The most angry defence was 
 now made, but in so great a storm of displeasure, and 
 confusion of language, that the Colonel, looking ut- 
 terly amazed, was unable to understand what was the 
 matter. 
 
 Major Price and myself were both alarmed ; Miss P 
 
 longed to laugh ; Miss Mawer sat perfectly motionless ; 
 Mr. Fisher decidedly silent. No one else was present. 
 The Colonel, whenever he could be heard, stiU persisted in 
 his assertion, firmly, though gently, explaining the loyalty 
 of his motives. This perseverance increased the storm, 
 which now blew with greater violence, less and less distinct 
 as more fierce. Broken sentences were all that could be 
 articulated. " You might not say such thing ! " — " Upon 
 my vord!" — "I tell you once!" — "Colonel what-you- 
 call, — I am quite warm ! " — " Upon my vord — I tell you 
 the same ! " — " You might not tell me such thing ! " 
 " What for you say all that? " 
 
 As there was nothing in this that could possibly clear 
 the matter, and the poor Colonel only sunk deeper and 
 deeper, by not understanding the nature of his offence. 
 Major Price now endeavored to interfere ; and, as he is a 
 great favorite, he was permitted not only to speak, but to 
 be heard. " Certainly," said he, " those accounts about 
 Mrs. Hastings, and the history of her divorce, are very un- 
 pleasant anecdotes in public newspapers ; and I am sorry, 
 too, that they should be told in the same paragi-aph that 
 mentions her being received by the Queen." Nothing 
 could equal the consternation with which this unexpected 
 
1786. J OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 265 
 
 speech was heard. " Upon my vord ! You sorprise me ! " 
 was all that could now be got out. 
 
 As I found them now only running further from general 
 comprehension, I felt so sorry that poor Mrs. Hastings, 
 whom I believe to be a most injured woman, should so ill 
 be defended, even by her most zealous friend, that I com- 
 pelled myself to the exertion of coming forward, now, in 
 her behalf myself; and T therefore said, it was a thousand 
 pities her story should not be more accurately made known : 
 as the mode of a second marriage from a divorce was pre- 
 cisely the contrary here of what it was in Germany ; since 
 here it could only take place upon misconduct, and there, 
 I had been told, a divorce from misconduct prohibited a 
 second marriage, which could only be permitted where the 
 divorce was the mere effect of disagreement from dissimilar 
 tempers. Mrs. Hastings, therefore, though acquitted of ill- 
 behaivior by the laws of her own country, seemed, by those 
 of England, convicted ; and I could not but much regret 
 that her vindication was not publicly made by this ex- 
 planation. " So do I, too," cried Major Price ; " for I never 
 heard this before." " Nor I," cried the Colonel ; " and in- 
 deed it ought to be made known, both for the sake of Mrs. 
 Hastings, and because she has been received at Court, 
 which gave everybody the greatest surprise, and me, in my 
 ignorance, the greatest concern, ' on account of the Queen.' " 
 
 This undid all again, though my explanation had just 
 stilled the hurricane ; but now it began afresh. " You 
 might not say that, Colonel Fairly ; you might not name 
 the Queen ! — 0, I can't bear it ! — I tell you once it is 
 too moch ! — What for you tell me that ? " 
 
 " Ma'am, I — I only said — It is not me, ma'am, but the 
 newspapers — " " What for you have such newspapers ? 
 — T tell you the same — it is — what you call — I don't 
 like such thing ! " " But, ma'am — " " 0, upon my vord, 
 
266 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 I might tell you once, when you name the Queen, it is -^ 
 
 — what you call — I can't bear it ! — when it is nobody 
 else, with aU my heart ! — I might not care for that — but 
 when it is the Queen, — I tell you the same, Colonel Fairly 
 
 — it makes me — what you call — perspire." 
 
 The Major again interfered, saying it was now all cleared 
 up, by the account of the difference of the German cus- 
 toms, and therefore that it was all very well. A certain 
 quiet, but yet decisive way, in which he sometimes speaks, 
 was here very successful; and as the lady stopped, the 
 Colonel saw aU explanation too desperate to aim at further 
 argument. 
 
 August 12th, Saturday. — I come now to the Oxford 
 expedition. The plan was to spend one day at Lord Har- 
 court's, at Nuneham, one at Oxford, and one at Blenheim ; 
 dining and sleeping always at ISTuneham. I now a little 
 regretted that I had declined meeting Lady Harcourt, when 
 invited to see her at Mrs. Vesey's about three years ago. 
 I was not, just then, very happy — and I was surfeited of 
 new acquaintances; when the invitation, therefore, came, 
 I sent an excuse. But now when I was going to her 
 house, I wished I had had any previous knowledge of her, 
 to lessen the difficulties of my first appearance in my new 
 character, upon attending the Queen on a visit. 
 
 I said something of this sort to Mrs. Schwellenberg, in 
 our conversation the day before the journey ; and she an- 
 swered that it did not signify ; for, as I went with the 
 Queen, I might be sure I should be civilly treated. Yes, 
 I said, I generally had been; and congratulated myself 
 that at least I knew a little of Lord Harcourt, to whom I 
 had been introduced, some years ago, at Sir Joshua Eey- 
 nolds's, and whom I had since met two or three times. 
 "Oh," she cried, "it is the same, — that is nothing, — when 
 you go with the Queen, it is enough ; they might be civil 
 
1786.1 OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 267 
 
 to you for that sake. You might go quite without no, 
 what you call, fuss ; you might take no gown but what 
 you go in : — that is enough, — you might have no servant, 
 — for what ? — You might keep on your riding-dress. 
 There is no need you might be seen. I shall do every- 
 thing that I can to assist you to appear for nobody." I 
 leave you to imagine my thanks. 
 
 We arrived at Nuneham at about six o'clock. 
 
 The house is one of those straggling, half-new, half-old, 
 haK-comfortable, and half-forlorn mansions, that are begun 
 in one generation and finished in another. It is very pleas- 
 antly situated, and commands, from some points of view, 
 all the towers of Oxford. 
 
 In going across the park to the entrance, we saw not a 
 creature. All were busy, either in attendance upon the 
 royal guests, or in finding hiding-places from whence to 
 peep at them. 
 
 We stopped at the portico, — but not even a porter was 
 there ; we were obliged to get out of the carriage by the 
 help of one of the postilions, and to enter the house by 
 the help of wet grass, which would not suffer me to stay 
 out doors; otherwise, I felt so strange in going in uninvited 
 and unconducted, that I should have begged leave to stroll 
 about tiU somebody appeared. 
 
 Miss Planta, more used to these expeditions, though with 
 quite as little taste for them, led the way, and said we had 
 best go and see for our own rooms. 
 
 I was quite of the same opinion, but much at a loss 
 how we might find them. We went through various pas- 
 sages, unknowing whither they might lead us, till at length 
 we encountered a prodigious fine servant. Miss Planta 
 asked him for Lady Harcourt's maid ; he bowed slightly, 
 and passed on without making any answer. 
 
 Very pleasant this! — I then begged we might turn back, 
 
268 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 not caring for another adventure of the same sort. Miss 
 Planta complied; and we met two more of the yellow- 
 laced saunterers, with whom she had precisely the same 
 success. 
 
 I think I never remember to have felt so much shame 
 from my situation as at that time. To arrive at a house 
 where no mistress nor master of it cared about receiving 
 me; to wander about, a guest uninvited, a visitor un- 
 thought of; without even a room to go to, a person to in- 
 quire for, or even a servant to speak to ! It was now I 
 felt the real want of either a man or maid, to send forward, 
 and find out what we were to do with ourselves ; and in- 
 deed I resolved, then, I would not another time be so pas- 
 sive to unauthorized directions. 
 
 The fault of this strange reception was certainly in the 
 lady of the house, whose affair it was to have given orders, 
 previous to our arrival, that some of her people should 
 show us to whatever apartment she destined for us. The 
 Queen herself had sent word that we were to attend her ; 
 and however impossible it was that she could receive us 
 herself, which her own attendance upon their Majesties 
 made really impracticable, it was incumbent upon her to 
 have taken care that we should not have been utterly 
 neglected. . 
 
 We strayed thus, backwards &,nd forwards, for a full 
 quarter of an hour, in these nearly deserted straggling 
 passages ; and then, at length, met a French woman, whom 
 Miss Planta immediately seized upon : it was Lady Har- 
 court's woman, and Miss Planta had seen her at Windsor. 
 
 " Pray show us," cried Miss Planta, "where we are to go." 
 
 She was civil, and led us to a parlor looking very pleas- 
 antly upon the park, and asked if we would have some tea. 
 Miss Planta assented. ' She told us the King and Queen 
 were in the. park, and left us. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 269 
 
 As th(jre was a garden-door to this room, I thought it 
 very possible the royal party and their suite might return 
 to the house that way. This gave great addition to my 
 discomposure, for I thought that to see them all in this 
 forlorn plight would be still the worst part of the business; 
 I therefore pressed Miss Planta to let us make another 
 attempt to discover otir own rooms. 
 
 Miss Planta laughed exceedingly at my disturbance, hut 
 complied very obligingly with my request. 
 
 The wardrobe-women had already been shown to the 
 rooms they were to prepare for the Queen and the Prin- 
 cesses. 
 
 The King and Queen's suite, then in the house, were the 
 Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Charlotte Bertie, Colonel Fairly, 
 and Major Price; with pages whose names I know not, 
 and footmen, and two hairdressers. 
 
 The family party in the house were, the Lord and Lady ; 
 two Miss Vernons, sisters of LeCdy Harcourt ; General Har- 
 court, hrother to Lord Harcourt, and aide-de-camp to the 
 King ; and Mrs. Harcourt, his wife. 
 
 In this our second wandering forth we had no better 
 success than in the first ; we either met nobody, or only 
 were crossed by such superfine men in laced liveries, that 
 we attempted not to question them. My constant dread 
 was of meeting any of the royal party, while I knew not 
 whither to run. Miss Planta, more inured to such situa- 
 tions, was not at all surprised by our difficulties and dis- 
 graces, and only diverted by my distress from them. 
 
 We met at last with Mhaughendorf, and Miss Planta 
 eagerly desired to be conducted to the Princesses' rooms, 
 that she might see if everything was prepared for them. 
 
 When they had looked at the apartments destined for 
 the Princesses, Miss Planta proposed our sitting down to 
 our tea in the Princess Elizabeth's room. This was ex- 
 
270 DIARY AND LETTERS 11786. 
 
 tremely disagreeable to me, as I was sensible it must seem 
 a great freedom from me, should her Eoyal Highness sur- 
 prise us there ; but it w&3 no freedom for Miss Planta, as 
 she has belonged to all the Princesses these nine years, and 
 is eternally in their sight. I could not, therefore, persuade 
 her of the difference ; and she desired Mhaughendorf to go 
 and order our tea upstairs. 
 
 Miss Planta, followed by poor me, then whisked back- 
 wards and forwards, from one of the apartments to another, 
 superintending all the preparations ; and, as we were cross- 
 ing a landing-place, a lady appeared upon the stairs, and 
 Miss Planta called out " It 's Lady Harcourt," and ran down 
 to meet her. 
 
 They talked together a few minutes. " I must get you, 
 Miss Planta," said she, looking up towards me, " to intro- 
 duce me to Miss Burney." 
 
 She then came up the stairs, said she was glad to see 
 me, and desired I would order anything I wanted, either 
 for the Queen or for myself. 
 
 Gold enough was my silent curtsey. 
 
 She talked again to Miss Planta, who, already knowing 
 her, from seeing her frequently when in waiting, as she is 
 one of the ladies of the bedchamber, was much more socia- 
 ble than myself 
 
 She afterwards turned to me, and said, " If there is any- 
 thing you want. Miss Burney, pray speak for it." And she 
 added, " My sisters will attend you presently ; — you will 
 excuse me, — I have not a moment from their Majesties." 
 And then she curtseyed, and left us. 
 
 We returned to the Princess Elizabeth's room, and there 
 the tea followed, but not the promised sisters. 
 
 I never saw Miss Planta laugh so heartily before nor 
 since ; but my dismay was positively comical to behold. 
 
 The tea was but just poured out, when the door opened, 
 
1786.] OF MADAME IVAEBLAT. 271 
 
 and in entered all the Princesses. I was very much 
 ashamed, and started up, but had no asylum whither to 
 run. They aU asked us how we did after our journey ; 
 and I made an apology, as well as I could, to the Princess 
 Elizabeth, for my intrusion into her apartment ; confessing 
 I did not know where to find my own. 
 
 The Princess Eoyal, eagerly coming up to me, said, " I 
 thought you would be distressed at first arriving, and I 
 wanted to help you ; and I inquired where your room was, 
 and said I would look at it myself; and I went round to 
 it, but I found the King was that way, and so, you know, 
 I could not go past him ; but indeed I wished to have seen 
 it for you." 
 
 There was hardly any thanking her for such infinite 
 sweetness ; — they then desired us to go on with our tea, 
 and went into the Princess Eoyal's room. 
 
 I was now a little revived ; and soon after the Princess 
 Elizabeth came back, and asked if we had done, desiring 
 us at the same time not to hurry. 
 
 Yes, we said ; and ashamed of thus keeping possession 
 of her room, I was gliding out, when she flew to me, and 
 said, " Don't go ! — pray come and stay with me a little." 
 She then flew to another end of the room, and getting a 
 chair, brought it herself close up to me, and seating herself 
 on another, said, " Come, sit down by me. Miss Burney." 
 
 You may suppose how I resisted and apologized — truly 
 telling her that I had not opposed her Eoyal Highness's 
 design, from being ashamed of even suspecting it. She 
 only laughed good humoredly, and made me take the chair 
 she had thus condescended to fetch me. 
 
 " "Well," cried she, drawing quite close to me — " so you 
 have had Mrs. Locke with you ? — how happy that must 
 have made you ! " 
 
 And then she went on, in a manner that seemed desirous 
 
272 DIAET AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 of being comfortable, till, in a very few minates, the other 
 Princesses came for her. 
 
 The Princess Eoyal then told me she was quite sorry to 
 hear we had been so much distressed ; and I found Miss 
 Planta had recounted our adventures. 
 
 I was not glad of this, though greatly gratified by the 
 goodness of the Princess. But I know how quickly com- 
 plaints circulate, and I wish not even for redress by such 
 means, which commonly, when so obtained, is more humil- 
 iating than the offence which calls for it. 
 
 When the Princesses left us, we were again at a loss what 
 to do with ourselves ; we saw several passing servants, maids 
 as well as men, and Miss Planta applied to them all to 
 show me my room, which I was anxious to inhabit in peace 
 and solitude : however, they all promised to send some one 
 else, but no one came. Miss Planta, in the midst of the 
 diversion she received from my unavailing earnestness to 
 get into some retreat, had the good nature to say, " I knew 
 how this would turn out, and wished the visit over before 
 it began ; but it must really be very new to you, unused 
 as you are to it, and accustomed to so much attention in 
 other places." 
 
 At length she seized upon a woman-servant, who under- 
 took to conduct me to this wished-for room. Miss Planta 
 accompanied me, and off we set. 
 
 In descending the stairs, a door opened which led to one 
 of the state rooms, in which were the Royal Family. We 
 glided softly past ; but the Princess Eoyal, attended by the 
 Duchess of Ancaster, came out to us. We soon found her 
 Royal Highness had told our tale. " Miss Vernons," said 
 the Duchess, " will come to take care of you ; you must 
 both go and take possession of the eating-parlor, where you 
 will sup ; and the equerries will be of your party." 
 
 I said not a word, but of general thanks, still longing 
 
1786.) OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 273 
 
 only to go to my own room. I whispered this to Miss 
 Planta, who obligingly, though rather reluctantly, consented 
 to pursue our first scheme. But when the Duchess ob- 
 served that we were turning off, she called out, " I see you 
 do not know your way, so I '11 come and show you to the 
 eating-parlor." The Princess Eoyal said she would come 
 with us also ; and, according to direction, we were therefore 
 necessitated to proceed. 
 
 When we got to the hall leading to this parlor, we were 
 suddenly stopped by the appearance of the King, who just 
 then came out of that very room. Lord Harcourt attended, 
 with a candle in his hand, and a group of gentlemen 
 followed. 
 
 We were advanced too far to retreat, and therefore only 
 stood still. The King stopped, and spoke to the Duchess 
 of Ancaster ; and then spoke very graciously to Miss Planta 
 and me, inquiring when we set out, and what sort of 
 journey we had had. He then ascended the stairs, the 
 Princess Eoyal accompanying him, and all the rest follow- 
 ing ; the Duchess first pointing to the door of the eating- 
 parlor, and bidding us go there, and expect Miss Vernons. 
 
 Lord Harcourt, during this meeting, had contrived to slip 
 behind the King, to make me a very civil bow ; and when 
 his Majesty moved on, he slid nearer me, and whispered a 
 welcome to his house, in very civil terms. This was all he 
 could do, so situated. 
 
 We now entered the eating-room. We sat down — but 
 no Miss Vernons ! Presently the door opened — I hoped 
 they were coming — but a clergyman, a stranger to us 
 both, appeared. This gentleman, I afterwards found, was 
 Mr. Hagget, chaplain to Lord Harcourt, and rector of a 
 living in his lordship's gift and neighborhood; a young 
 man, sensible, easy, and remarkably handsome, in very high 
 favor with all the family. 
 
 VOL. I, 18 
 
274 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 With nobody to introduce us to each other, we could but 
 rise and bow, and curtsey, and sit down again. 
 
 In a few minutes, again the door gave hopes to me of 
 Miss Vernons ; but there only appeared a party of gentle- 
 men. 
 
 Major Price came foremost, and immediately introduced 
 me to General Harcourt. The General is a very shy man, 
 with an air of much haughtiness ; he bowed and retreated, 
 and sat down, and was wholly silent. 
 
 Colonel Fairly followed him, and, taking a chair next 
 mine, began some of the civilest speeches imaginable, con- 
 cerning this opportunity of making acquaintance with me. 
 
 Just then came in a housemaid, and said she would 
 show me my room. I rose hastily. Miss Planta, who 
 knew everybody present except the clergyman, was now 
 willing to have sat still and chatted ; but nothing short of 
 compulsion could have kept me in such a situation, and 
 therefore I instantly accompanied the maid ; and poor Miss 
 Planta could not stay behind. 
 
 The truth is, the non-appearance of any of the ladies of 
 the house struck me to be so extremely uncivil, that I de- 
 sired nothing but to retire from all the party. 
 
 I felt quite relieved when I had once taken possession of 
 a room that, for the time, I might call my own ; and I could 
 not possibly listen to Miss Planta's desire of returning to 
 the company. I told her frankly, that it was a situation 
 so utterly disagreeable to me, that I must beg to decline 
 placing myself in it again. 
 
 She was afraid, she said, that, as the Duchess of Ancas- 
 ter had taken the trouble to show us the room, and to tell 
 us what to do, in the presence of the Princess Eoyal, the 
 Queen might hear of our absconding, and not be pleased 
 with it. 
 
 " I must risk that," I answered ; " I shall openly tell my 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 275 
 
 reasons, if questioned, and I firmly believe they will be 
 satisfactory. If not questioned, I shall say nothing ; and 
 indeed I very much wish you would do the same." 
 
 She agreed — consented rather — and I was the more 
 obliged to her from seeing it was contrary to her incli- 
 nation. I was sorry, but I could not compliment at the 
 expense of putting myself again into a situation I had 
 been so earnest to change. Miss Planta bore it very weU, 
 and only wished the maid farther, for never finding us out 
 till we began to be comfortable without her. 
 
 Here we remained about two hours, unsummoned, unno- 
 ticed, unoccupied — except in forcing open a box which 
 Mrs. Thielky had lent me for my wardrobe, and of which 
 I had left the key, ingeniously, at "Windsor. 
 
 At ten o'clock a maid came to the door, and said supper 
 was ready. 
 
 " Who sent you ? " I called out. 
 
 " Whom do you come from ? " cried Miss Planta. 
 
 She was gone — we could get no answer. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour after, one of those gentlemen 
 footmen, for whom you must already have discovered my 
 partiality, called out, from the stairs, without troubling 
 himself to come to the door, " The supper waits." 
 
 He was already gone ; but Miss Planta darted after him, 
 calling out, " Who sent you ? — who did you come to ? " 
 
 She was not heard by this gentleman, but what she said 
 was echoed after him by some other, and the answer that 
 reached our ears was, " The Equerries want the ladies." 
 
 This was enough ; Miss Planta returned quite indignant, 
 after hastily replying, " We don't choose any supper." 
 
 We were now precisely of an opinion. Miss Planta, in- 
 deed, was much more angry than myself; for I was very 
 sure the equerries had sent a very different message, and 
 therefore thought nothing of the words used by the ser- 
 
276 DIAET AND LETTERS [1786 
 
 vant, but confined all my dissatisfaction to its first origin 
 — the incivility in the ladies of the house, that they came 
 not themselves, or some one from them, to invite us in a 
 manner that might be accepted. 
 
 From this time, however, we became more comfortable, 
 as absconding was our mutual desire ; and we were flung, 
 by this means, into a style of sociability we might else 
 never have arrived at. 
 
 We continued together till Miss Planta thought it right 
 to go and see if Mhaughendorf had prepared everything 
 for the Princesses; and then I was left to myself — the 
 very companion I just at that time most wished a t^te-k- 
 tSte with — till I was summoned to the Queen. 
 
 In this tSte-^-tSte, I determined very concisely upon my 
 plan of procedure; which was to quietly keep my own 
 counsel, unless I found my conduct disapproved ; and, in 
 that case, to run all risks in openly declaring that I must 
 always prefer solitude to society upon terms to which I 
 was unaccustomed. 
 
 A little after the scenes I have described, I was sur- 
 prised, when, late at night, my summons was brought me 
 by Lady Harcourt, who tapped gently at my door, and 
 made me a little visit, previously to telling me her errand. 
 She informed me, also, that the Queen had given her com- 
 mands for Miss Planta and me to belong to the suite the 
 next day, in the visit to Oxford ; and that a carriage was 
 accordingly ordered for us. 
 
 The Queen said not a word to me of the day's adven- 
 tures ; and I was glad to have them passed over, especially 
 as Lady Harcourt's visit, and the civility which accompa- 
 nied it, appeared a little conscious of remissness. But 
 when, in speaking of Oxford, her Majesty condescended 
 to ask what gown I had brought with me, how . did I 
 rejoice to answer, a new Chambdry gauze, instead of 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AJBBLAT. 277 
 
 only that which I have on, according to my Cerbera'a 
 advice. 
 And now for the Oxford expedition. 
 The city of Oxford afforded us a very noble view on the 
 road, and its spires, towers, and domes soon made me for- 
 get all the little objects of minor spleen that had been 
 crossing me as I journeyed towards them ; and indeed, by 
 the time I arrived in the midst of them, their grandeur, 
 nobility, antiquity, and elevation impressed my mind so 
 forcibly, that I felt for the first time since my new situa- 
 tion had taken place a rushii;g in of ideas that had no con- 
 nection with it whatever. 
 
 The roads were lined with decently-dressed people, and 
 High Street was so crowded we were obliged to drive 
 gently and carefully, to avoid trampling the people to 
 death. Yet their behavior was perfectly respectful and 
 proper. Nothing could possibly be better conducted than 
 the whole of this expedition. We all drove straight to the 
 theatre, in procession. Here, in alighting from the car- 
 riages, there was some difficulty, on account of the pressure 
 of the people to see the King and Queen, and Princesses : 
 however, even then, it was still the genteelest and most 
 decent crowd I ever saw. 
 
 Here it was that Major Price signalized that part of his 
 character I have so strongly marked, of his being truly a 
 gentleman. It was his business to attend and guard the 
 King ; but he was determined to take almost equal care of 
 some of his Majesty's subjects : he was everybody's equerry 
 during the whole expedition, assisting and looking after every 
 creature, seeing us all out of our carriages and into them, 
 and addressing the people, when they pressed too forward, 
 with a steadiness and authority that made them quicker in 
 retreat than all the staves of all the constables, who were 
 attending by dozens at the entrance of every collega 
 
278 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 At the outward gate of the theatre, the Vice-Chaiicellor, 
 Dr. Chapman, received their Majesties. All the Professors, 
 Doctors, &c., then in Oxford, arrayed in their professional 
 robes, attended him. — How I wished my dear father 
 amongst them ! 
 
 The Vice-Chancellor then conducted their Majesties 
 along the inner court to the door of the theatre, all the rest 
 following ; and there, waiting their arrival, stood the Duke 
 and Duchess of Marlborough, the Marquis of Blandford, in 
 a nobleman's Oxford robe, and Lady Caroline and Lady 
 Elizabeth Spencer. 
 
 After they had all paid their duties, a regular proces- 
 sion followed, which I should have thought very pretty, and 
 much have liked to have seen, had I been a mere looker- 
 on ; but I was frequently at a loss what to do with myself, 
 and uncertain whether I ought to proceed in the suite, or 
 stand by as a spectator ; and Miss Planta was stiU, if pos- 
 sible, more fearful. 
 
 The theatre was filled with company, all well dressed, 
 and arranged in rows around it. The area below them was 
 entirely empty, so that there was not the least confusion. 
 The Chancellor's chair, at the head of about a dozen steps, 
 was prepared for the King ; and just below him, to his left, 
 a form for the Queen and the Princesses. 
 
 The Vice-Chancellor then made a low obeisance to the 
 King, and producing a written paper, began the Address 
 of the University, to thank his Majesty for this second 
 visit, and to congratulate him and the nation on his late 
 escape from assassination. He read it in an audible and 
 distinct voice ; and in its conclusion, an address was sud- 
 denly made to the Queen, expressive of much concern for 
 her late distress, and the highest and most profound ven- 
 eration for her amiable and exalted character. 
 
 I question if there was one dry eye in the theatre. The 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 279 
 
 tribute, so just, so honorable, so elegant, paid to the exalted 
 character of the Queen, affected everybody, with joy for 
 her escape from affliction, and with delight at the reward 
 and the avowal of her virtues. 
 
 When the address was ended, the King took a paper 
 from Lord Harcourt, and read his answer. The Bang reads 
 admirably ; with ease, feeling, and force, and without any 
 hesitation. His voice is particularly full and fine. I was 
 very much surprised by its effect. 
 
 When he had done, he took off his hat, and bowed to the 
 Chancellor and Professors, and delivered the answer to 
 Lord Harcourt, who, walking backwards, descended the 
 stairs, and presented it to the Vice-Chancellor. 
 
 AU this ceremony was so perfectly new to me, that I re- 
 joiced extremely in not missing it. Indeed I would not 
 have given up the pleasure of seeing the Queen on this 
 occasion for any sort of sight that could have been exhib- 
 ited to me. 
 
 Next followed music : a good organ, very well played, 
 anthemed and voluntary-ed us for some time. 
 
 The Vice-Chancellor and Professors begged for the honor 
 of kissing the King's hand. Lord Harcourt was again the 
 backward messenger ; and here followed a great mark of 
 goodness in the King : he saw that nothing less than a 
 thoroughbred old courtier, such as Lord Harcourt, could 
 walk backwards down these steps, before himself, and in 
 sight of so full a hall of spectators ; and he therefore dis- 
 pensed with being approached to his seat, and walked 
 down himself into the area, where the Vice-Chancellor 
 kissed his hand, and was imitated by every Professor and 
 Doctor in the room. 
 
 Notwithstanding this considerate good-nature in his 
 Majesty, the sight, at times, was very ridiculous. Some of 
 the worthy collegiates, unused to such ceremonies, and un- 
 
280 DIAKT AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 accustomed to such a presence, the moment they had 
 kissed the King's hand, turned their hacks to him, and 
 walked away as in any common room ; others, attempting 
 to do better, did still worse, by tottering and stumbling, 
 and falling foul of those behind them ; some, ashamed to 
 kneel, took the King's hand straight up to their mouths ; 
 others, equally off their guard, plumped down on both 
 knees, and could hardly get up again ; and many, in their 
 confusion, fairly arose by pulling his Majesty's hand to 
 raise them. As the King spoke to every one, upon Lord 
 Harcourt's presenting them, this ceremonial took up a good 
 deal of time ; but it was too new and diverting to appear 
 long. 
 
 It was vacation time ; there were therefore none of the 
 students present. 
 
 When the whole was over, we left the theatre in the same 
 form we had entered it. The Duke and Duchess, of Marl- 
 borough, the Marquis and the Ladies Spencer, attended the 
 King and Queen to their carriages, and then went back to 
 the theatre, to wait for their own. I cannot now go on 
 with our progress regularly, for I do not remember it. I 
 will only, therefore, in general, say, that I was quite de- 
 lighted with the city, and so entertained and so pleased 
 with STich noble buildings as it presented to me, that I felt, 
 as I have told you, a consciousness to pleasure revived in 
 me, which had long lain nearly dormant. 
 
 At Christ Church College, where we arrived at about 
 three o'clock, in a large hall there was a cold collation pre- 
 pared for their Majesties and the Princesses. It was at 
 the upper end of the haU. I could not see of what it con- 
 sisted, though it would have been very agreeable, after so 
 much standing and sauntering, to have given my opinion 
 of it in an experimental way. Their Majesties and the 
 Princesses sat down' to this table ; as weU satisfied, I be- 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 281 
 
 lieve, as any of their subjects so to do. The Duchess of 
 Ancaster and Lady Harcourt stood behind the chairs of the 
 Queen and the Princess Eoyal. There were no other ladies 
 of sufficient rank to officiate for Princesses Augusta and 
 Elizabeth. Lord Harcourt stood behind the King's chair ; 
 and the Vice-Chancellor, and the head master of Christ 
 Church, with salvers in their hands, stood near the table, 
 and ready to hand to the three noble waiters whatever was 
 wanted : while the other Eeverend Doctors and Learned 
 Professors stood aloof, equally ready to present to the 
 Chancellor and the Master whatever they were to 
 forward. 
 
 We, meanwhile, untitled attendants, stood at the other 
 end of the room, forming a semicircle, and all strictly fac- 
 ing the royal collationers. We consisted of the Miss 
 Vemons, thrown out here as much as their humble guests 
 — Colonel Fairly, Major Price, General Harcourt, and, — 
 though I know not why, — Lady Charlotte Bertie ; — with 
 all the inferior Professors, in their gowns, and some, too 
 much frightened to advance, of the upper degrees. These, 
 with Miss Planta, Mr. Hagget, and myself, formed this 
 attendant semicircle. 
 
 The time of this collation was spent very pleasantly — to 
 me, at least, to whom the novelty of the scene rendered it 
 entertaining. It was agreed that we must all be absolutely 
 famished unless we could partake of some refreshment, as 
 we had breakfasted early, and had no chance of dining be- 
 fore six or seven o'clock. A whisper was soon buzzed 
 through the semicircle, of the deplorable state of our appe- 
 tite apprehensions; and presently it reached the ears of 
 some of the worthy Doctors. Immediately a new whisper 
 was circulated, which made its progress with great vivacity, 
 to offer us whatever we would wish, and to beg us to name 
 what we chose. Tea, coffee, and chocolate, were whispered 
 
282 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 back. The method of producing, and the means of swal- 
 lowing them, were much more difficult to settle than the 
 choice of what was acceptable. Major Price and Colonel 
 Fairly, however, seeing a very large table close to the wain- 
 scot behind us, desired our refreshments might be privately 
 conveyed there, behind the semicircle, and that, whUe all 
 the group backed very near it, one at a time might feed, 
 screened by all the rest from observation. 
 
 I suppose I need not inform you, my dear Susan, that to 
 eat in presence of any of the Eoyal Family, is as much hors 
 d' usage as to be seated. This plan had speedy success, and 
 the very good Doctors soon, by sly degrees and with 
 watchful caution, covered the whole table with tea, coffee, 
 chocolate, cakes, and bread and butter. The further plan, 
 however, of one at a time feasting and the rest fasting and 
 standing sentinels, was not equally approved ; there was too 
 much eagerness to seize the present moment, and too much 
 fear of a sudden retreat, to give patience for so slow a pro- 
 ceeding. We could do no more, therefore, than stand in 
 a double row, with one to screen one throughout the troop ; 
 and, in this manner, we were all very plentifully and very 
 pleasantly served. 
 
 The Duchess of Ancaster and Lady Harcourt, as soon as 
 the first serving attendance was over, were dismissed from 
 the royal chairs, and most happy to join our group, and 
 partake of our repast. The Duchess, extremely fatigued 
 with standing, drew a small body of troops before her, that 
 she might take a few minutes' rest on a form by one of the 
 doors ; and Lady Charlotte Bertie did the same, to relieve 
 an ancle which she had unfortunately sprained. "Poor 
 Miss Bumey ! " cried the good-natured Duchess, " I wish 
 she could sit down, for she is unused to this work. She 
 does not know yet what it is to stand for five hours follow- 
 ing, as we do." 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 283 
 
 The beautiful window of Sir Joshua Eeynolds and Mr. 
 Jervis, in New College, would alone have recovered me, 
 had my fatigue been infinitely more serious. In one of the 
 colleges I stayed so long in an old chapel, lingering over 
 antique monuments, that all the party were vanished be- 
 fore I missed them, except Doctors and Professors; for 
 we had a train of those everywhere ; and I was then a 
 little surprised by the approach of one of them, saying, 
 " You seem inclined to abide with us. Miss Burney ? " — 
 and then another, in an accent of facetious gallantry, cried, 
 " No, no ; don't let us shut up Miss Burney among old 
 tombs ! — No, no ! " After this many of the good Doctors 
 occasionally spoke to me, when there happened to be op- 
 portunit)'. How often did I wish my dear father amongst 
 them ! They considered me as a Doctor's daughter, and 
 were aU most excessively courteous — handing, and point- 
 ing, and showing me about as much as possible. 
 
 I think it was in Trinity College that we saw the noblest 
 library I have ever happened to enter. For 't is but little, 
 my dear Susan, I have seen of sights. Here we had new 
 court scenery, in which I acted but an uncourtier-like 
 part. The Queen and Princess had seats prepared for them, 
 which, after a stroll up and down the library, they were 
 glad, I believe, to occupy. The ladies of their suite were 
 then graciously ordered by her Majesty to be seated, as 
 there was not here the state or public appearance that was 
 observed at the theatre, and in the college where the re- 
 freshments were given. 
 
 As to the poor men, they never must sit in the presence 
 of the Queen, be they whom they will, or what they will : 
 so they were fain to stand it out. Miss Planta glided 
 away behind a pillar, and, being there unseen, was able 
 to lounge a little. She was dreadfully tired. So was 
 3 very body but myself. For me, my curiosity was so 
 
284 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 awake to everything, that I seemed insensible to all in- 
 convenience. 
 
 I could not, in such a library, prevail with myself to so 
 modest a retirement as Miss Planta's : I considered that 
 the Queen had herself ordered my attendance in this expe- 
 dition, and I thought myself very well privileged to make 
 it as pleasant as I could. I therefore stole softly down the 
 room to the further end, and there amused myself with 
 examining what books were within reach of my eyes, and 
 with taking down and looking into all such as were also 
 within reach of my understanding. This was very pleasant 
 sport to me," and, had we stayed there till midnight, would 
 have kept me from weariness. 
 
 In another college (we saw so many, and in such quick 
 succession, that I recollect not any by name, though all by 
 situation) I saw a performance of courtly etiquette, by Lady 
 Charlotte Bertie, that seemed to me as dif&cult as any feat 
 I ever beheld, even at Astley's or Hughes's. It was an 
 extremely large, long, spacious apartment. The King 
 always led the way out, as well as in, upon all entrances 
 and exits : but here, for some reason that I know not, the 
 Queen was handed out first ; and the Princesses, and the 
 Aide-de-camp, and the Equerry followed. The King was 
 very earnest in conversation with some Professor ; the at- 
 tendants hesitated whether to wait or follow the Queen ; 
 but presently the Duchess of Ancaster, being near the door, 
 slipped out, and Lady Harcourt after her. The Miss Ver- 
 nons, who were but a few steps from them, went next. 
 But Lady Charlotte, by chance, happened to be very high 
 up the room, and near to the King. Had I been in her 
 position, I had surely waited tiU his Majesty went first ; 
 but that would not, I saw, upon this occasion, have been 
 etiquette. She therefore faced the King, and began a march 
 backwards — her ankle already sprained, and to walk for- 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 285 
 
 ward, and even leaning upon an arm, was painful to her 
 nevertheless, back she went, perfectly upright, without one 
 stumble, without ever looking once behind to see what she 
 might encounter; and with as graceful a motion, and as 
 easy an air, as I ever saw anybody enter a long room, she 
 retreated, I am sure, full twenty yards backwards out of 
 one. 
 
 For me, I was also, unluckily, at the upper end of the 
 room, looking at some portraits of founders, and one of 
 Henry VIII. in particular, from Holbein. However, as 
 soon as I perceived what was going forward — backward, 
 rather — I glided near the wainscot (Lady Charlotte, I 
 should mention, made her retreat along the very middle of 
 the room), and having paced a few steps backwards, stopped 
 short to recover, and, while I seemed examining some other 
 portrait, disentangled my train from the heels of my shoes, 
 and then proceeded a few steps only more ; and then observ- 
 ing the King turn another way, I slipped a yard or two at 
 a time forwards ; and hastily looked back, and then was 
 able to go again according to rule, and in this manner, by 
 slow and varying means, I at length made my escape. 
 Miss Plauta stood upon less ceremony, and fairly ran off. 
 
 Since that time, however, I have come on prodigiously, 
 by constant practice, in the power and skill of walking 
 backwards, without tripping up my own heels, feeling my 
 head giddy, or treading my train out of the plaits — acci- 
 dents very frequent among novices in that business ; and 
 I have no doubt but that, in the course of a few months, I 
 shall arrive at all possible perfection in the true court re- 
 trograde motion. 
 
 In another CoUege, in an old Chapter House, I had the 
 opportunity to see another court-scene. It was nearly 
 round in shape, and had various old images and ornaments. 
 We were all taken' in by the Doctors attendant, and the 
 
286 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 party, with Doctors and all, nearly filled it ; but, finding it 
 crowded, everybody stood upon the less ceremony, and we all 
 made our examinations of the various contents of the room 
 quite at our ease : till suddenly the King and Queen, per- 
 ceiving two very heavy old-fashioned chairs were placed at 
 the head of the room for their reception, graciously accepted 
 them, and sat down. Nothing could exceed the celerity 
 with which all confusion instantly was over, and the most 
 solemn order succeeded to it. Chairs were presented to 
 the three Princesses by the side of the Queen, and the 
 Duchess of Ancaster and Lady Harcourt planted them- 
 selves at their backs j while Lady Charlotte instantly 
 retreated close to the wall, and so did every creature else 
 in the room, all according to their rank or station, and the 
 Eoyal Family remained conspicuous and alone, all crowd 
 dispersed, and the space of almost the whole room unoccu- 
 pied before thern, so close to the walls did everybody 
 respectfully stand. 
 
 The last college we visited was Cardinal Wolsey's — an 
 immense fabric. While roving about a very spacious apart- 
 ment, Mr. F came behind me, and whispered that I 
 
 might easily slip out into a small parlor, to rest a little 
 while ; almost everybody having taken some opportunity 
 to contrive themselves a little sitting but myself I as- 
 sured him, very truly, I was too little tired to make it 
 worth while ; but poor Miss Planta was so wofully fatigued 
 that I could not, upon her account, refuse to be of the 
 party. He conducted us into a very neat little parlor, be- 
 longing to the master of the college, and Miss Planta flung 
 herself on a chair, half dead with weariness. 
 
 Mr. F was glad of the opportunity to sit for a moment 
 
 also ; for my part, I was quite alert. Alas ! my dear Susan, 
 'tis my mind that is so weak, and so open to disorder; my 
 body, I really find, when it is an independent person, very 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 287 
 
 strong, and capable of much exertion without suffering 
 
 from it. Mr. F now produced, from a paper repository 
 
 concealed in his coat pocket, some apricots and bread, and 
 insisted upon my eating ; — but I was not inclined to the 
 repast, and saw he was half famished himself ; — so was 
 poor Miss Planta : however, he was so persuaded I must 
 both be as hungry and as tired as himself, that I was forced 
 to eat an apricot to appease him. Presently, while we 
 were in the midst of this regale, the door suddenly opened, 
 and the Queen came in ! — - followed by as many attendants 
 as the room would contain. 
 
 Up we all started, myself alone not discountenanced; 
 for I really think it quite respect sufficient never to sit 
 down in the royal presence, without aiming at having it 
 supposed I have stood bolt upright ever since I have been 
 admitted to it. Quick into our pockets was crammed our 
 bread, and close into our hands was squeezed our fruit ; by 
 which I discovered that our appetites were to be supposed 
 annihilated, at the same time that our strength was to be 
 invincible. Very soon after this we were joined by the 
 King, and in a few minutes we all paraded forth to the 
 carriages, and drove back to Nuneham. 
 
 Miss Burney to Mrs. Phillips. 
 
 Aognst 20. 
 Has my dear Susan thought me quite dead ? — not to 
 write so long ! and after such sweet converse as she has 
 sent me. Oh, my beloved Susan, 't is a refractory heart I 
 have to deal with ! — it struggles so hard to be sad — and 
 silent — and fly from you entirely, since it cannot fly en- 
 tirely to you. I do all I can to conquer it, to content it, 
 to give it a taste and enjoyment for what is stiU attainable : 
 
288 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 but at times I cannot manage it, and it seems absolutely 
 indispensable to my peace to occupy myself in anything 
 rather than in writing to the person most dear to me upon 
 earth ! 'T is strange — but such is the fact — and I now 
 do best when I get with those who never heard of you, 
 and who care not about me. 
 
 My dearest Mrs. Locke's visit to Kew had opened all 
 my heart to its proper channels, and your dear — your 
 soothing narrative had made it yearn, to see you ; but the 
 cruel stroke of Mr. and Mrs. Locke both coming to Wind- 
 sor in my absence, has turned my mortification back into 
 the same dry course again. 
 
 ■ If to you alone I show myself in these dark colors, can 
 you blame the plan that I have intentionally been forming 
 — namely, to wean myseK from myself — to lessen aU my 
 affections — to curb all my wishes — to deaden all my sen- 
 sations ? This design, my Susan, I formed so long ago as 
 the first day my dear father accepted my offered appoint- 
 ment: I thought that what demanded a complete new 
 system of life required, if attainable, a new set of feelings 
 for all enjoyment of new prospects, and for lessening re- 
 grets at what were quitted, or lost. Such being my primi- 
 tive idea, merely from my grief of separation, imagine 
 how it was strengthened and confirmed when the interior 
 of my position became known to me ! — when I saw my- 
 self expected by Mrs. Schwellenberg, not to be her col- 
 league, but her dependent deputy ! not to be her visitor at 
 my own option, but her companion, her humble companion, 
 at her own command ! This has given so new a character 
 to the place I had accepted under such different auspices, 
 that nothing but my horror of disappointing, perhaps dis- 
 pleasing, my dearest father, has deterred me, from the mo- 
 ment that I made this mortifying discovery, from soliciting 
 his leave to resign. But oh ! my Susan — kind, good, in- 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 289 
 
 dulgent as he is to me, I have not the heart so cruelly to 
 thwart his hopes — his views — his happiness in the hon- 
 ors he conceived awaiting my so unsolicited appointment. 
 The Queen, too, is all sweetness, encouragement, and gra- 
 cious goodness to me, and I cannot endure to complain to 
 her of her old servant. You see, then, my situation ; here 
 I must remain ! The die is cast, and that struggle is no 
 more. To keep off every other, to support the loss of the 
 dearest friends, and best society, and bear, in exchange, the 
 tyranny, the exigeanae, the ennui, and attempted indignities 
 of their greatest contrast — this must be my constant 
 endeavor. 
 
 My plan, in its full extent, I meant not to have told , 
 but since so much of it, unhappily, burst from me in the 
 hurry of that Friday morning, I have forced out the rest, 
 to be a little less mysterious. 
 
 Amongst my sources of unhappiness in this extraordi- 
 nary case is, the very favor that, in any other, might 
 counteract it — namely, that of the Queen : for while, in a 
 manner the most attractive, she seems inviting my confi- 
 dence, and deigning to wish my happiness, she redoubles 
 my .conflicts never to shock her with murmurs against one 
 who, however to me noxious and persecuting, is to her a 
 faithful and truly devoted old servant. This will prevent 
 my ever having my distress and disturbance redressed ; for 
 they can never be disclosed. Could I have, as my dear 
 father conceived, all the time to myself, my friends, my 
 leisure, or my own occupations, that is not devoted to my 
 official duties, how different would be my feelings, how far 
 more easily accommodated to my privations and sacrifices ! 
 Little does the Queen know the slavery I must either resist 
 or endure. And so frightful is hostility, that I know not 
 which part is hardest to perform. 
 
 WJiat erasures ! Can you read me ? I blot, and re- 
 
 VOL. t. 19 
 
290 DIAEY AND LETTERS (178A 
 
 write — yet know not how to alter or what to send ; I so 
 fear to alarm your tender kindness. 
 
 Friday, August 25th. — To-day I had the happiness of 
 seeing my dear Charlotte, for the first time since I parted 
 with her almost at the altar. 
 
 The dear girl stayed a week and a day, and came to me 
 constantly every morning, and almost every afternoon : 
 even when I did not venture to keep her to tea, but was 
 forced to part from her when it was announced. She was 
 introduced to Mrs. Schwellenberg, and dined with us once, 
 as also Mr. Francis; and once I begged permission for 
 meeting her at Mr. Hastings's, at Beaumont Lodge, where 
 I passed an agreeable evening with that very intelligent 
 and very informing man, whom I pity at my heart, for the 
 persecutions he undergoes, and whom I think the man the 
 most oppressed and injured of modern times. His lively 
 and very pleasing wife contributed largely to the after- 
 noon's well-doing. 
 
 I shall put the little occurrences of this week of her 
 stay together, without journalizing. 
 
 I had one day a visit from Miss Gomme, who was 
 brought by Madame la Itte. Miss Gomme was but lately 
 settled at the Lower Lodge, where she is one of the gov- 
 ernesses to the Princesses Mary and Sophia. She is short 
 and plain, but sensible, cultivated, and possessed of very 
 high spirits. 
 
 Another day — or rather night — I met accidentally 
 Major Price in the Gallery, and he stopped me to talk 
 
 over the F affair, which we mutually flatter ourselves 
 
 is wholly blown over since his absence. This led on to 
 other matters, and he frankly told me that there was not a 
 man in the establishment that did not fear even speaking 
 to me, from the apparent jealousy my arrival had awak- 
 ""orl • and after a little longer talk, opening still more, he 
 
1786.) OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 29' 
 
 confessed that they had all agreed never to address me, but 
 in necessary civilities that were unavoidable. 
 
 How curious ! I applauded the resolution, which I saw 
 might save me from ill-wUl, as well as themselves. Yet he 
 owned himself extremely surprised at my management, 
 and acknowledged they had none of them expected I could 
 possibly have done so well. "Nay," cried I, "T only co 
 nothing ; that 's all ! " " But that," answered he, " is the 
 difficulty; to do nothing is the hardest thing possible." 
 Much more passed, — for when he could speak he resolved 
 to make himself amends for former silence. 
 
 This curious conference has been productive of an almost 
 total reserve and taciturnity at our tea-meetings ; for now 
 the Major has satisfied himself that I am informed of their 
 motives, he and aU of .them think their scheme may go on 
 with my concurrence; which, accordingiy, I give it, by 
 more scrupulously keeping aloof than ever. 
 
 I come now to introduce to you, with a new character, 
 some new perplexities from my situation. Madame la Flte 
 called to tell me she must take no denial to forming me a 
 new acquaintance — Madame de la Eoche, a German by 
 birth, but married to a Frenchman ; — an authoress, a wo- 
 man of talents and distinction, a character highly cele- 
 brated, and unjustly suffering from an adherence to the 
 Protestant religion. " She dies with eagerness to see you," 
 she added, in French, " and I have invited her to Windsor, 
 where I have told her I have no other feast prepared for 
 her but to show her Dr. Herschel and Miss Burney." 
 
 I leave you to imagine if I felt competent to fulfil such 
 a promise : openly, on the contrary, I assured her I was 
 quite unequal to it. She had already, she said, written to 
 Madame la Eoche, to come the next day, and if I would 
 not meet her she must be covered with disgrace. Expos- 
 ti;'ation was now vain ; I could only say that to answer for 
 
292 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 myself was quite out of my own power. "And why ? — and 
 wherefore ? — and what for ? — and surely to me ! — and 
 surely for Madame de la Eoche ! — unefemme d' esprit — 
 mon amie — ramie de Madame de Genlis," &c., &c., fiUed 
 up a hurried conference in the midst of my dressing for 
 the Queen, till a summons interrupted her, and forced me, 
 half dressed, and all too late, to run away from her, with 
 an extorted promise to wait upon her if I possibly could. 
 
 Accordingly I went, and arrived before Madame la 
 Eoche. Poor Madame la Fite received me in transport ; 
 and I soon witnessed another transport, at least equal, to 
 Madame la Eoche, which happOy was returned with the 
 same warmth ; and it was not till after a thousand em- 
 braces, and the most ardent professions — "Ma digne amie ! 
 
 — est-il possible ? — te vois-je ? " &c. — that I discovered 
 they had never before met in their lives ! they had corre- 
 sponded, but no more ! This somewhat lessened my sur- 
 prise, however, when my turn arrived ! for no sooner was 
 I named than all the embrassades were transferred to me 
 
 — " La digne Miss Borni ! — I'auteur de Cecile ? — d' Eve- 
 lina ? — non, ce n'est pas possible ! — suis-je si heureitse ! — 
 oui, je le vois d ses yeux ! — Ah ! que de bonheur ! " &c. 
 
 Madame la Eoche,* had I met her in any other way, 
 might have pleased me in no common degree ; for could I 
 have conceived her character to be unaffected, her manners 
 have a softness that would render her excessively engaging. 
 She is now bien passee — no doubt fifty — yet has a voice 
 of touching sweetness, eyes of dove-like gentleness, looks 
 supplicating for favor, and an air and demeanor the most 
 tenderly caressing. I can suppose she has thought herself 
 all her life the model of the favorite heroine of her own 
 favor^e romance, and I can readily believe that she has had 
 
 1 This lady was celebrated in her day and country as a writer of senti- 
 loental novels, and as the " first love " of Wieland, the German poet. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 293 
 
 attractions in her youth nothing short of fascinating. Had 
 I not been present, and so deeply engaged in this interview, 
 I had certainly been caught by her myself; for in her 
 presence I constantly felt myself forgiving and excusing 
 vsrhat in her absence I as constantly found past defence or 
 apology. 
 
 Poor Madame la Fite has no chance in her presence ; for 
 though their singular enthusiasm upon " the people of the 
 literature," as Pacchierotti called them, is equal, Madame 
 la Fite almost subdues by her vehemence, while Madame 
 la Eoche almost melts by her softness. Yet I fairly be- 
 lieve they are both very good women, and both believe 
 themselves sincere. 
 
 I returned still in time enough to find Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg with her tea-party ; and she was very desirous to hear 
 something of Madame la Eoche. I was led by this to give 
 a short account of her : not such a one as you have heard, 
 because I kept it quite independent of all reference to poor 
 Madame la Fite; but there was stiU eaough to make a 
 little narration. Madame la Eoche had told me that she 
 had been only three days in England, and had yet made 
 but a beginning of seeing les spectacles, and les gens celhlres ; 
 
 — and what do you think was the first, and, as yet, sole 
 spectacle to which she had been carried ? — Bedlam ! And 
 who the first, and, as yet, only homme ceWbre she had seen ? 
 
 — Lord George Gordon ! — whom she called le fameuoc 
 George Gordon, and with whom she had dined, in company 
 with Count Cagliostro ! 
 
 When foreigners come hither without proper recom- 
 mendations, how strange is their fare ! General Budd 
 found himself so excessively diverted with this account, 
 intermixed, at the time, with several circumstances I have 
 now forgot, and with the novelty of hearing anything be- 
 yond a grave monosyllable from my mouth, that it surprised 
 
294 DIARY AND LETTE83 [1786. 
 
 him off all guard, and he began, for the first time since the 
 day of his arrival, to venture coming forward to converse 
 with me ; and though it was soon over, from that time he 
 has never seen me without the amazing temerity of speak- 
 ing a few words to me ! 
 
 Sunday, Sept. 17th. — At the chapel this morning, Ma- 
 dame la Flte placed Madame la Eoche between herself and 
 me, and proposed bringing her to the Lodge, "to return 
 my visit." This being precisely what I had tried to avoid, 
 and to avoid without shocking Madame la Fite, by meeting 
 her correspondent at her own house, I was much chagrined 
 at such a proposal, but had no means to decline it, as it 
 was made across Madame la Roche herself. Accordingly 
 at about two o'clock, when I came from the Queen, I found 
 them both in full possession of my room, and Madame la 
 Ftte occupied in examining my books. The thing thus 
 being done, and the risk of consequences inevitable, I had 
 only to receive them with as little display of disapprobation 
 of their measures as I could help ; but one of the most 
 curious scenes followed I have ever yet been engaged in or 
 witnessed. 
 
 As soon as we were seated, Madame la Fite began with 
 assuring me, aloud, of the " conquest " I had made of Ma- 
 dame la Roche, and appealed to that lady for the truth of 
 what she said. Madame la Roche answered her by rising, 
 and throwing her arms about me, and kissing my cheeks 
 from side to side repeatedly. Madame la Fite, as soon as 
 this was over, and we had resumed our s.eats, opened the 
 next subject, by saying Madame la Eoche had read and 
 adored " Cecilia : " again appealing to her for confirmation 
 of her assertion. " 0, oui, owl ! " cried her friend, '' mats 
 la vraie Gecile, c^est Miss Bomi ! ckarmante Miss Borni ? 
 digne, douce, et aimable ! Coom to me arms ! que je voits 
 embrasse milk fois ! " ^ 
 
1786/ OF MADAME D'AHBLAY. 295 
 
 Again we were all deranged, and again, the same cere- 
 mony being performed, we all set ourselves down. " Ce- 
 cilia " was then talked over throughout, in defiance of 
 every obstacle I could put in its way. After this, Madame 
 la Flte said, in French, that Madame la Eoohe had had the 
 most extraordinary life and adventures that had fallen to 
 anybody's lot; and finished with saying, "Eh! ma chlre 
 amie, contez nous un peu." They were so connected, she 
 answered, in their early part with M. Wieland, the famous 
 author, that they would not be intelligible without his 
 story. 
 
 " Hh Men ! ma trh-Mre, contez nous, done, un peu de ses 
 aventures; ma cMre Miss Bwney, (^dtoit son amant, et 
 I 'homme le plus extraordinaire — d 'un g^nie ! d 'un feu ! Eh 
 Men, ma chhre ? oil I 'avez vous rencontr4 ? oil est-ce qu'il a 
 commence cb vous aimer ? contez nous un peu de tout ga." 
 Madame la Eoehe, looking down upon her fan, began then 
 the recital. She related their first interview, the grada- 
 ti(>ns of their mutual attachment, his extraordinary talents, 
 his literary fame and name ; the breach of their union from 
 motives of prudence in their friends ; his change of char- 
 acter from piety to voluptuousness, in consoling himself for 
 her loss with an actress ; his various adventures, and vari- 
 ous transformations from good to bad, in life and conduct ; 
 her own marriage with M. de la Eoche, their subsequent 
 meeting when she was mother of three children, and all the 
 attendant circumstances. 
 
 This narrative was told in so touching and pathetic a 
 manner, and interspersed with so many sentiments of ten- 
 derness and of heroism, that I could scarcely believe I was 
 not actually listening to a Clelia or a Cassandra, recounting 
 the stories of her youth. When she had done, and I had 
 thanked her, Madame la Fite demanded of me what I 
 thought of her, and if she was not delightful ? I assented, 
 
296 DIAEY AND LBTTEBS [1786. 
 
 and Madame la Eoche then, rising, and fixing her eyes, 
 filled with tears, in my face, while she held both my hands, 
 in the most melting accents, exclaimed, " Miss Borni ! la 
 plus chere, la plus digne des Angloises ! dites moi — m'aimez 
 vous.'' 
 
 I answered as weU as I could, but what I said was not 
 very positive. Madame la Flte came up to us, and desired 
 we might make a trio of friendship, which should bind us 
 to one another for life. And then they both embraced me, 
 and both wept for joyful fondness ! I fear I seemed very 
 hard-hearted ; but no spring was opened whence one tear 
 of mine could fiow. 
 
 The clock had struck four some time, and Madame la 
 JFite said she feared they kept me from dinner. I knew it 
 must soon be ready, and therefore made but a slight nega- 
 tive. She then, with an anxious look at her watch, said 
 she feared she was already too late for her own little dinner. 
 I was shocked at a hint I had no power to notice, and heard 
 it in sUence — silence unrepressing! for she presently added, 
 "You dine alone, don't you?" "Y— e — s, — if Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg is not well enough to come down stairs to 
 dinner." "And can you dine, ma cMre Mademoiselle — can 
 you dine at that great table alone ? " "I must ! — the table 
 is not mine." 
 
 " Yes, in Mrs. Schwellenberg's absence it is." 
 
 "It has never been made over to me, and I take no 
 power that is not given to me." 
 
 "But the Queen, my dearest ma'am — the Queen, if she 
 knew such a person as Madame, la Eoche was here." 
 
 She stopped, and I was quite disconcerted. An attack 
 so explicit, and in presence of Madame la Eoche, was 
 beyond all my expectations. She then went to the win- 
 dow, and exclaimed, " It rains ! — Mon Dieu ! que ferons- 
 rums ? — My poor littel dinner ! — it will be all spoilt ! — 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 297 
 
 La pauvre Madame la Roche ! une telle femme ! " 1 was 
 now really distressed, and wished much to invite them 
 iDoth to stay ; but I was totally helpless ; and could only 
 look, as I felt, in the utmost embarrassment. 
 
 The rain continued. Madame la Eoche could under- 
 stand but imperfectly what passed, and waited its result 
 with an air of smiling patience. I endeavored to talk of 
 other things ; but Madame la Fite was restless in returning 
 to this charge. She had several times given me very open 
 hints of her desire to dine at Mrs. Schwellenberg's table ; 
 but I had hitherto appeared not to comprehend them : she 
 was now determined to come home to the point ; and the 
 more I saw her determination, the less liable I became to 
 being overpowered by it. 
 
 At length John came to announce dinner. Madame la 
 nte looked at me in a most expressive manner, as she rose 
 and walked towards the window, exclaiming that the rain 
 would not cease ; and Madame la Eoche cast upon me a 
 most tender smile, while she lamented that some accident 
 must have prevented her carriage from coming for her. T 
 felt excessively ashamed, and could only beg them not to 
 be in haste, faithfully assiiring them I was by no means 
 disposed for eating. Poor Madame la Fite now lost all 
 command of herself, and desiring to speak to me in my 
 own room, said, pretty explicitly, that certainly I might 
 keep anybody to dinner, at so great a table, and all alone, 
 if I wished it. I was obliged to be equally frank. I 
 acknowledged that I had reason to believe I might have 
 had that power, from the custom of my predecessor, Mrs. 
 Haggerdorn, upon my first succeeding to her ; but that 1 
 was then too uncertain of any of my privileges to assume 
 a single one of them unauthorized by the Queen ; and I 
 added that I had made it the invariable rule of my conduct, 
 from the moment of my entering into my present oflBce, to 
 
298 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 run no risk of private blame, by any action that had not 
 her previous consent or knowledge. 
 
 She was not at all satisfied, and significantly said, " But 
 you have sometimes Miss Planta ? " " Not I ; Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg invites her." " And M. de Luc, too — he may dine 
 with you ! " " He also comes to Mrs. Schwellenberg. Mrs. 
 Delany alone, and her niece, come to me ; and they have 
 had the sanction of the Queen's own desire." " Mais, enfin, 
 ma chhre Miss Burney — when it rains — and when it is 
 so late — and when it is for such a woman as Madame la 
 Eoche ! " So hard pressed, I was quite shocked to resist 
 her ; but I assured her that when my own sisters, Phillips 
 and Francis, came to "Windsor purposely to see me, they 
 had never dined at the Lodge but by the express invitation 
 of Mrs. Schwellenberg ; and that when my father himself 
 was here, I had not ventured to ask him. 
 
 This, though it surprised, somewhat appeased her ; and 
 we were called into the other room to Miss Planta, who 
 was to dine with me, and who, unluckily, said the dinner 
 would be quite cold. They begged us both to go, and 
 leave them till the rain was over, or till Madame la Eoche's 
 carriage arrived. I could not bear to do this, but entreated 
 Miss Planta, who was in haste, to go and dine by herself. 
 This, at last, was agreed to, and I tried once again to enter 
 into discourse upon other matters. But how greatly did 
 my disturbance at all this urgency increase, when Madame 
 la nte said she was so hungry she must beg a bit of bread 
 and a glass of water ! I was now, indeed, upon the point 
 of giving way ; but when I considered, while I hesitated, 
 what must follow — my own necessary apology, which 
 would involve Madame la Flte in much blame, or my own 
 concealing silence, which would reverse all my plans of 
 openness with the Queen, and acquiescence with my own 
 situation — I grew firm again, and having assured her a 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 299 
 
 thousand times of my concern for my little power, I went 
 into the next room : but I sent her the roll and water by 
 John; I was too much ashamed to carry them. Miss 
 Planta was full of good-natured compassion for the scene 
 in which she saw me engaged, but confessed she was sure 
 I did right. 
 
 When I returned to them again, Madame la Flte re 
 quested me to go at once to the Queen, and tell her the 
 case. Ah, poor Madame la Fite ! to see so little a way for 
 herself, and to suppose me also so every way short-sighted ! 
 I informed her that I never entered the presence of the 
 Queen unsummoned. 
 
 " But why not, my dear ma'am ? — Mrs. Haggerdorn 
 went out and in whenever she pleased." 
 
 " So I have heard ; but she was an old attendant, and 
 only went on in her old way : I am new, and have yet no 
 way marked out." 
 
 " But Miss Planta does also." 
 
 " That must have been brought about by the Queen's 
 directions." 
 
 She then remonstrated with me upon my shyness, for 
 my own sake ; but I assured her I was more disengaged, 
 and better pleased, in finding myself expected only upon 
 call, than I could be in settling for myself the times, 
 seasons, and proprieties of presenting myself of my own 
 accord. 
 
 Again she desired to speak to me in my own room ; and 
 then she told me that Madame la Eoche had a most ear- 
 nest wish to see aU the Eoyal Family ; she hoped, there- 
 fore, the Queen would go to early prayers at the chapel, 
 where, at least, she might be beheld : but she gave me 
 sundry hints, not to be misunderstood, that she thought I 
 might so represent the merits of Madame la Eoche as to 
 induce the honor of a private audience. I could give her 
 
300 DUEY AND LETTERS [178& 
 
 no hope of this, as I had none to give ; for I well knew 
 that the Queen has a settled aversion to almost all novels, 
 and something very near it to almost all novel-writers. 
 
 She then told me she had herself requested an interview 
 for her with the Princess Eoyal, and had told her that if it 
 was too much to grant it in the royal apartments, at least 
 it might take place in Miss Bumey's room ! Her Eoyal 
 Highness coldly answered that she saw nobody without the 
 Queen's commands. 
 
 How much J rejoiced in her prudence and duty ! I 
 would not have had a meeting in my room unknown to 
 the Queen for a thousand worlds. But poor mistaken 
 Madame la Fite complained most bitterly of the deadness 
 of the whole Court to talents and genius. 
 
 In the end, the carriage of Madame la Eoche arrived, 
 about tea-time, and Madame la Fite finished with making 
 me promise to relate my difficulties to the Queen, that she 
 might give me such orders as to enable me to keep them 
 any other time. And thus ended this most oppressive 
 scene. You may think I had no very voracious appetite 
 after it. 
 
 To give you the result at once. Miss Planta, of her own 
 accord, briefly related the aflFair to the Queen, dwelling 
 upon my extreme embarrassment, with the most good- 
 natured applause of its motives. The Queen graciously 
 joined in commendation of my steadiness, expressed her 
 disapprobation of the indelicacy of poor Madame la Fite, 
 and added that if I had been overcome it would have been 
 an encouragement to her to bring foreigners for ever to the 
 Lodge, wholly contrary to the pleasure of the King. 
 
 Fkidat, September 29th. — This day the Princess Eoyal 
 entered her twenty-first year. I had the pleasure of being 
 in the room with the Queen when she sent for her, early in 
 the morning. Her Majesty bade me stop, while she went 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 301 
 
 into another apartment to fetch her birth-day gifts. The 
 charming Princess entered with so modest, so composed an 
 air, that it seemed as if the day, with all its preparations 
 for splendor, was rather solemn than elevating to her. I 
 had no difficulty, thus alone with her, in offering my hest 
 wishes to her. She received them most gracefully, and 
 told me, with the most sensible pleasure, that the King had 
 just been with her, and presented to her a magnificent dia- 
 mond necklace. 
 
 The Queen then returned, holding in her hands two very 
 pretty portfoKos for her drawings, and a very fine gold dtui. 
 The Princess, in receiving them with the lowest curtsey, 
 kissed her hand repeatedly, while the Queen gave back her 
 kisses upon her cheeks. 
 
 The King came in soon after, and the three youngest 
 Princesses. They all flew to kiss the Princess Eoyal, who 
 is affectionately fond of them all. Princess Amelia showed 
 how fine she was, and made the Queen admire her new 
 coat and frock ; she then examined all the new dresses of 
 her sisters, and then, looking towards me with some sur- 
 prise, exclaimed, " And won't Miss Burney be fine, too ? " 
 
 I shall not easily forget this little innocent lesson. It 
 seems all the household dress twice on these birth-days — 
 for their first appearance, and for dinner — and always in 
 something distinguished. I knew it not, and had simply 
 prepared for my second attire only, wearing in the morn- 
 ing my usual white dimity great coat. 
 
 I was a little out of countenance; and the Queen prob- 
 ably perceiving it, said — 
 
 " Come hither, Amelia ; who do you think is here — in 
 Miss Burney 's room ? " 
 
 " Lany," answered the quick little creature ; for so she 
 calls Mrs. Delany, who had already exerted herself to come 
 to the Lodge with her congratulations. 
 
302 DUBY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 The King, taking the hand of the little Princess, said 
 they would go and see her ; and turning to the Queen as 
 they left the room, called out — 
 
 " What shall we do with Mrs. Delany ? " 
 
 " What the King pleases," was her answer. 
 
 I followed them to my room, where his Majesty stayed 
 some time, giving that dear old lady a history of the con- 
 cert of the preceding evening for the Archduke and Duch- 
 ess, and that he had ordered for this day for the Princess 
 Koyal. It is rather unfortunate her Eoyal Highness 
 should have her birth-day celebrated by an art which 
 she professes to have no taste for, and even to hear almost 
 with pain. 
 
 The King took Mrs. Delany to breakfast with himself 
 and family. 
 
 Monday, October 2nd. — Major Price left Windsor. 
 He took leave of nobody : everybody, I believe, regretted 
 him ; the sweet little Princess Amelia cried when told he 
 was gone. 
 
 The next day we were all to go to Kew; but Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg was taken ill, and went by herself to town. 
 
 The Queen sent for me after breakfast, and delivered to 
 me a long box, called here the jewel box, in which her jewels 
 are carried to and from town that are worn on the drawing- 
 room days. The great bulk of them remain in town all 
 the winter, and remove to Windsor for all the summer, 
 with the rest of the family. She told me, as she delivered 
 the key into my hands, that as there was always much 
 more room in the box than her travelling jewels occupied, 
 I might make what use I pleased of the remaining part ; 
 adding, with a very expressive smile, " I dare say you have 
 books and letters that you may be glad to carry backwards 
 and forwards with you " 
 
 I owned that nothing was more true, and thankfully ac- 
 
1786. J OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 303 
 
 cepted thp offer. It has proved to me since a comfort of 
 the first magnitude, in conveying all my choice papers and 
 letters safely in the carriage with me, as weU as books in 
 present reading, and numerous odd things. 
 
 Monday, Octobee 25th. — Again I waited alone, Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg being in town. Nothing could be sweeter 
 than the Queen in these my first single essays ; and she 
 bid me the next day send an invitation again to Mr. and 
 Mrs. Smelt to dine with me, if I wished it. She trans- 
 lated to me also the whole story of a German play, which 
 she had just been reading, and narrated it so well, and 
 with observations so just of its characters, that she fiUed 
 me with fresh admiration at the keenness of her penetra- 
 tion into people and things so remote from her own sphere 
 of life. 
 
 She lent me an old Scotch ballad to read, that had lately 
 been printed in Germany, with an introductory essay upon 
 the resemblance still subsisting between the German and 
 Scotch languages. The ballad is entitled the "Gaber- 
 lunzie Man." It had to me no recommendation, save its 
 curiosity in a vocabulary and glossary, that pointed out 
 the similitude of the two languages. 
 
 I cannot here help mentioning a very interesting little 
 scene at which I was present, about this time. The Queen 
 had nobody but myself with her, one morning, when the 
 King hastily entered the room, with some letters in his 
 hand, and addressing her in German, which he spoke very 
 fast, and with much apparent interest in what he said, he 
 brought the letters up to her and put them into her hand. 
 She received them with much agitation, but evidently of a 
 •much pleased sort, and endeavored to kiss his hand as he 
 held them. He would not let her, but made an effort, with 
 a countenance of the highest satisfaction, to kiss hers. I 
 saw instantly in her eyes a forgetfulness, at the moment, that 
 
304 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 any one was present, while, drawing away her hand, she 
 presented him her cheek. He accepted her kindness with 
 the same frank affection that she offered it ; and the next 
 moment they both spoke English, and talked upon com- 
 mon and general subjects. What they said I am far 
 enough from knowing; but the whole was too rapid to 
 give me time to quit the room; and I could not but see 
 with pleasure that the Queen had received some favor with 
 which she was sensibly delighted, and that the King, in 
 her acknowledgments, was happily and amply paid. 
 
 No sooner did I find that my coadjutrix ceased to speak 
 of returning to Windsor, and that I became, by that means, 
 the presidentess of the dinner and tea table, than I formed 
 a grand design — no other than to obtain to my own use 
 the disposal of my evenings. 
 
 From the time of my entrance into this court, to that of 
 which I am writing, I had never been informed that it was 
 incumbent upon me to receive the King's equerries at the 
 tea-table ; yet I observed that they always came to Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, and that she expected them so entirely as 
 never to make tea tUl their arrival. Nevertheless, nothing 
 of that sort had ever been intimated to me, and I saw no 
 necessity of falling into all her ways, without commands 
 to that purpose : nor could I conclude that the King's 
 gentlemen would expect from me either the same confine- 
 ment, or readiness of reception, as had belonged to two in- 
 valid old ladies, glad of company, and without a single 
 connection to draw them from home. 
 
 The first week, however, of my presidency, my dear Mrs. 
 
 Delany, with Miss P , came to dine and spend the rest 
 
 of the day with me regularly; and though Mrs. Delany 
 was generally called away to the royal apartments, her 
 aiece always remained with me. This not only obviated 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 30£ 
 
 all objections to the company of the equerries, but kept me 
 at home naturally, and for my own society and visitors. 
 
 I could not, however, but be struck with a circumstance 
 that showed me, in a rather singular manner, that my tea- 
 making seemed at once to be regarded as indispensable : 
 this was no other than a constant summons, which John 
 regularly brought every evening, from these gentlemen, 
 to acquaint me they were come upstairs to the tea-room, 
 and waiting for me. I determined not to notice this : and 
 consequently, the first time Mrs. Delany was not well 
 enough to give me her valuable society at the Lodge, 1 
 went to her house, and spent the evening there ; without 
 sending any message to the equerries, as any apology must 
 imply a right on their part that must involve me in future 
 confinement. 
 
 This I did three or four times, always with so much suc- 
 cess as to gain my point for the moment, but never with 
 such happy consequences as to ensure it me for the time 
 to come ; since every next meeting showed an air of pique, 
 and since every evening had still, unremittingly, the same 
 message for John. I concluded this would wear away by 
 use, and therefore resolved to give it that chance. One 
 evening, however, when, being quite alone, I was going to 
 my loved resource, John, ere I could get out, hurried to 
 me, " Ma'am, the gentlemen are come up, and they send 
 their compliments, and they wait tea for you." 
 
 " Very well," was my answer to this rather cavalier 
 summons, which I did not wholly admire ; and I put on 
 my hat and cloak, when I was called to the Queen. She 
 asked me whether I thought Mrs. Delany could come to 
 her, as she wished to see her ? I offered to go instantly 
 and inquire. "But don't teU her I sent you," cried the 
 most considerate Queen, " lest that should make her come 
 when it may hurt her : find out how she is, before you 
 VOL. I. 20 
 
306 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 mention me." I promised implicit obedience ; and she 
 most graciously called after me, " Will it hurt you. Miss 
 Burney, to go — is it a fine evening ? " I assured her it was. 
 " Well, put on your clogs, then, and take care," was her 
 kind injunction. As I now knew I must return myself, at 
 any rate, I slipped into the tea-room before I set off. I 
 found there Colonel Goldsworthy, looking quite glum, Gen- 
 eral Bud4 Mr. Fisher, Mr. Fisher, his brother, and 
 
 Mr. Blomberg, chaplain to the Prince of Wales. 
 
 The moment I opened the door, General Bud6 presented 
 Mr. Blomberg to me, and Mr. Fisher his brother ; I told 
 them, hastily, that I was ruiming away to Mrs. Delany, 
 but meant to return in a quarter of an hour, when I should 
 be happy to have their company, if they could wait so long ; 
 but if they were hurried, my man should bring their tea. 
 They all turned to Colonel Goldsworthy, who, as equerry 
 in waiting, was considered as head of the party ; but he 
 seemed so choked with surprise and displeasure, that he 
 could only mutter something too indistinct to be heard, 
 and bowed low and distantly. " If Colonel Goldsworthy 
 can command his time, ma'am," cried Mr. Fisher, " we shall 
 be most happy to wait yours." General Bud6 said the 
 same ; the Colonel again silently and solemnly bowed, and 
 I curtseyed in the same manner and hurried away. Mrs. 
 Delany was not well ; and I would not vex her with the 
 Queen's kind wish for her. I returned, and sent in, by 
 the page in waiting, my account : for the Queen was in the 
 concert-room, and I coidd not go to her. Neither would I 
 
 seduce away Miss P from her duty ; I came back, 
 
 therefore, alone, and was faia to make my part as good as 
 I was able among my beaux. I found them all waiting. 
 Colonel Goldsworthy received me with the same stately 
 bow, and a look so glum and disconcerted, that I instantly 
 turned from him to meet the soft countenance of the good 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AftBLAY. 307 
 
 Mr. Fisher, who took a chair next mine, and entered into 
 conversation with his usual intelligence and mildness. 
 General Bude was chatty and weU-bred, and the two stran- 
 gers wholly silent. 
 
 I could not, however, but see that Colonel Goldsworthy 
 grew less and less pleased. Yet what had I done ? — I 
 had never been commanded to devote my evenings to him, 
 and, if excused officially, surely there could be no private 
 claim from either his situation or mine. His displeasure 
 therefore appeared to me so unjust, that I resolved to take 
 not the smallest notice of it. He never once opened his 
 mouth, neither to me nor to any one else. In this strange 
 manner we drank our tea. When it was over, he still sat 
 dumb ; and still I conversed with Mr. Pisher and General 
 Bude. At length a prodigious hemming showed a prepara- 
 tion in the Colonel for a speech : it came forth with great 
 difficulty, and most considerable hesitation. 
 
 " I am afraid, ma'am — I am afraid you — you — that is 
 
 — that we are intruders upon you." " N — o," answered 
 I faintly ; " why so ? " "I am sure, ma'am, if we are — if 
 you think — if we take too much liberty — I am sure I 
 would not for the world ! — I only — your commands — 
 nothing else — " " Sir ! " cried I, not understanding a 
 word. " I see, ma'am, we only intrude upon you : however, 
 you must excuse my just saying we would not for the 
 world have taken such a liberty, though very sensible of 
 the happiness of being allowed to come in for half an hour 
 
 — which is the best half-hour of the whole day — but yet, 
 if it was not for your own commands " " What com- 
 mands, sir ? " 
 
 He grew still more perplexed, and made at least a dozen 
 speeches to the same no purpose, before I could draw from 
 him anything explicit ; all of them listening silently the 
 whole time, and myself invariably staring. At last, a few 
 
308 DUEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 words escaped him more intelligible. "Your messages, 
 ma'am, were what encouraged us to come." " And pray, 
 sir, do tell me what messages ? — I am very happy to see 
 you, but I never sent any messages at all!" "Indeed, 
 ma'am ! " cried he, staring in his turn ; "why your servant, 
 little John there, came rapping at our door, at the .equerry- 
 room, before we had well swallowed our dinner, and said, 
 ' My lady is waiting tea, sir.' " I was quite confounded. 
 I assured him it was an entire fabrication of my servant's, 
 as I had never sent, nor even thought of sending him, for I 
 was going out. 
 
 "Why to own the truth, ma'am," cried he, brightening 
 up, " I did really think it a little odd to send for us 
 in that hurry — for we got up directly from table, and 
 said, if the lady is waiting, to be sure we must not keep 
 her ; and then — when we came — to just peep in, and say 
 you were going out ! " 
 
 How intolerable an impertinence in John ! — it was 
 really no wonder the poor Colonel was so glum. Again 
 I repeated my ignorance of this step ; and he then said, 
 " Why, ma'am, he comes to us regularly every afternoon, 
 and says his lady is waiting; and we are very glad to 
 come, poor souls that we are, with no rest all the live long 
 day but what we get in this good room ! — but then — to 
 come, and see ourselves only intruders — and to find you 
 going out, after sending for us ! " 
 
 I could scarce find words to express my amazement at 
 this communication. I cleared myself instantly from hav-' 
 ing any the smallest knowledge of John's proceedings, and 
 Colonel Goldsworthy soon recovered all his spirits and good- 
 humor, when he was satisfied he had not designedly been 
 treated with such strange and unmeaning inconsistency. 
 He rejoiced exceedingly that he had spoken out, and I 
 thanked him for his frankness, and the evening concluded 
 very amicably. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 309 
 
 My dearest friends will easily conceive how vexed I 
 must feel myself with my foolish servant, for taking so 
 great a liberty in my name ; and how provoked to have 
 had these gentlemen, and all others who have occasionally 
 dined at their table, persuaded that I sent them so pressing 
 a call, for the mere impertinent caprice of running away 
 from them after they obeyed it. 
 
 Colonel Goldsworthy had been quite seriously affronted 
 with me ; General Bud^ is of a disposition too placid and 
 unconcerned for pique, and had therefore taken the matter 
 very quietly ; but Mr. Fisher, as he has since owned to 
 me, suspected some mistake the whole time, and never 
 believed I had sent them any such message. It was owing 
 to his interference, and at his earnest request, that the 
 Colonel had been prevailed upon to state the case to me. 
 
 The evening after, I invited Miss P , determined to 
 
 spend it entirely with my beaux, in order to wholly ex- 
 plain away this impertinence. Colonel Goldsworthy now 
 made me a thousand apologies for having named the mat- 
 ter to me at all. I assured him I was extremely glad he 
 had afforded me an opportunity of clearing it. In the 
 course of the discussion, I mentioned the constant sum- 
 mons brought me by John every afternoon. He lifted up 
 his hands and eyes, and protested most solemnly he had 
 never sent a single one. " I vow, ma'am," cried the Colonel, 
 " I would not have taken such a liberty on any account ; 
 though all the comfort of my life, in this house, is one 
 half-hour in a day spent in this room. After all one's 
 labors, riding, and walking, and standing, and bowing, — 
 what a life 'it is ! Well, it 's honor ! that 's one comfort ! 
 it 's all honor ! royal honor ! — one has the honor to stand 
 till one has not a foot left; and to ride till one's stiff, 
 and to walk tiH one's ready to drop — and then one 
 makes one's lowest bow, d' ye see, and blesses one's self 
 with joy for the honor 1" 
 
310 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 This is his style of rattle, when perfectly at his ease, 
 pleased with every individual in his company, and com- 
 pletely in good humor. But the moment he sees anyone 
 that he fears or dislikes, he assumes a look of glum dis- 
 tance and sullenness, and will not utter a word, scarcely 
 even in answer. He is warmly and faithfully attached to 
 the King and all the Eoyal Family, yet his favorite theme, 
 in his very best moods, is complaint of his attendance, and 
 murmuring at all its ceremonials. This, however, is merely 
 for sport and oddity, for he is a man of fortune, and would 
 certainly relinquish his post if it were not to his taste. 
 
 His account of his own hardships and sufferings here, 
 in the discharge of his duty, is truly comic. "How do 
 you like it, ma'am ? " he says to me, " though it 's hardly 
 fair to ask you yet, because you know almost nothing of 
 the joys of this sort of life. But wait till November and 
 December, and then you 11 get a pretty taste of them ! 
 Eunning along in these cold passages ; then bursting into 
 rooms iit to bake you ; then back again into all these agree- 
 able puffs ! Bless us ! I believe in my heart there 's wind 
 enough iu these passages to carry a man of war! And 
 there you '11 have your share, ma'am, I promise you that ! 
 you'll get knocked up in three days, take my word for 
 that." I begged him not to progno&ticate so much evil for 
 me. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, there 's no help for it ! " cried he ; " you 
 won't have the hunting, to be sure, nor amusing yourself 
 with wading a foot and a half through the dirt, by way of 
 a little pleasant walk, as we poor equerries do ! It 's a 
 wonder to me we outlive the first month. But the agree- 
 able puffs of the passages you will have just as completely 
 as any of us. Let 's see, how many blasts must you have 
 every time you go to the Queen ? First, one upon your 
 opening your door; then another, as you get down the 
 three steps from it, which are exposed to the wind from 
 
1788.] OP MADAME D'ARBLAY. 811 
 
 the garden door downstairs ; then a third, as you turn the 
 corner to enter the passage ; then you come plump upon 
 another from the hall door; then comes another, fit to 
 knock you down, as you turn to the upper passage ; then, 
 just as you turn towards the Queen's room, comes another ; 
 and last, a whiff from the King's stairs, enough to blow 
 you half a mile off ! " " Mere healthy breezes," I ciied, 
 and assured him I did not fear them. 
 
 " Stay tni Christmas," cried he, with a threatening aii, 
 " only stay till then, and let 's see what you '11 say to them ; 
 you '11 be laid up as sure as fate ! you may take my word 
 for that. One thing, however, pray let me caution you 
 about — don't go to early prayers in November ; if you do, 
 that will completely kill you ! Oh, ma'am, you know no- 
 thing yet of all these matters ! — only pray, joking apart, 
 let me have the honor just to advise you this one thing, or 
 else it 's all over with you, I do assure you ! " It was in 
 vain I begged him to be more merciful in his prophecies ; 
 he failed not, every night, to administer to me the same 
 pleasant anticipations. "Why, the Princesses," cried he, 
 " used to it as they are, get regularly knocked up before 
 this business is over, off they drop, one by one : — first the 
 Queen deserts us ; then Princess Elizabeth is done for ; 
 then Princess Eoyal begins coughing ; then Princess Au- 
 gusta gets the snuffles; and all the poor attendants, my 
 poor sister at their head, drop off, one after another, like so 
 many snuffs of candles : till at last, dwindle, dwindle, 
 dwindle — not a soul goes to the chapel but the King, the 
 parson, and myself; and there we three freeze it out to- 
 gether!" 
 
 One evening, when he had been out very late hunting 
 with the King, he assumed so doleful an air of weariness, 
 
 that had not Miss P exerted her utmost powers to 
 
 revive him, he would not have uttered a word the whole 
 
312 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 night ; but when once brought forward, he gave us more 
 jntertainment than ever, by relating his hardships. 
 
 " After all the labors," cried he, " of the chase, all the 
 riding, the trotting, the galloping, the leaping, the — with 
 your favor, ladies, I beg pardon, I was going to say a 
 strange word, but the — the perspiration, — and — and all 
 that — after being wet through over head, and soused 
 through under feet, and popped into ditches, and jerked 
 over gates, what lives we do lead ! Well, it 's all honor ! 
 that 's my only comfort ! Well, after aU this, fagging away 
 like mad from eight in the morning to five or six in the 
 afternoon, home we come, looking like so many drowned 
 rats, with not a dry thread about us, nor a morsel within 
 us — sore to the very bone, and forced to smile all the 
 time ! and then, after aU. this, what do you think follows ? 
 — ' Here, Goldsworthy,' cries his Majesty : so up I comes 
 to him, bowing profoundly, and my hair dripping down to 
 my shoes ; ' Goldsworthy,' cries his Majesty. ' Sir,' says I 
 smiling agreeably, with the rheumatism just creeping all 
 over me ! but stUl, expecting something a little comfort- 
 able, I wait patiently to know his gracious pleasure, and 
 then, ' Here, Goldsworthy, I say ! ' he cries, ' will you have 
 a little barley water ? ' Barley water in such a plight as 
 that ! Fine compensation for a wet jacket, truly ! — barley 
 water ! I never heard of such a thing in my life ! barley 
 water after a whole day's hard hunting ! " 
 
 " And pray did you drink it ? " 
 
 " 1 drink it ? — Drink barley water ? N"o, no ; not come 
 to that neither ! But there it was, sure enough ! — in a jug 
 fit for a sick room ; just such a thing as you put upon a 
 hob in a chimney, for some poor miserable soul that keeps 
 his bed ! just such a thing as that ! — And, ' Here, Golds- 
 worthy,' says his Majesty, ' here 's the barley water ! ' " 
 " And did the King drink it himself 1 " " Yes, God bless 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 313 
 
 his Majesty ! but I was too humble a subject to do the 
 same as the King ! Barley water, quoth I ! — Ha ! ha ! — 
 a fine treat, truly ! — Heaven defend me ! I 'm not come to 
 that, neither ! bad enough too, but not so bad as that." 
 
 This sort of sport and humor, however, which, when 
 uttered by himself, is extremely diverting, all ceases wholly 
 if the smallest thing happens to disconcert him. The en- 
 trance of any person unexpected by him was always suf- 
 ficient not merely to silence, but obviously to displease him. 
 If Madame de la Flte came, his mouth was closed, and his 
 brows were knit, and he looked as if even ill used by her 
 entrance. 
 
 I have now to mention an affair — a secret one — which 
 relates to Mrs. Delany. That dear and very extraordinary 
 lady, in our long and many meetings, has communicated 
 to me almost aU the transactions of her life, and as nearly 
 as she can remember them, almost all the thoughts. The 
 purity and excellence of her character have risen upon me 
 in every circumstance, and in every sentiment that has 
 come to my knowledge ; but the confidence most delightful 
 that she has placed in me has been of her transactions with 
 her darling friend, the late Duchess of Portland. That 
 friend, some years ago, had prevailed with Mrs. Delany, 
 by her earnest entreaties, to write down the principal 
 events of her life. This she did in the form of letters, and 
 with feigned names. These letters, invaluable both from 
 their contents and their writer. Lady Weymouth, upon her 
 mother's death, most honorably restored to Mrs. Delany. She 
 has permitted me to see them, and to read them to her. 
 
 In reading them to her, she opened upon several circum- 
 stances which were omitted or slightly mentioned ; and re- 
 lated so many interesting anecdotes belonging to the times, 
 which, being known already to the Duchess, she had not 
 inserted, that I proposed fiUing up the chasms, and linking 
 
314 DIAHT AND LBTTEKS (1786. 
 
 the whole together. She was pleased with the thought, 
 and accordingly we began. I have commenced from the 
 earliest time to which her incomparable memory reaches, 
 and, if her health permits our meeting for this purpose, 
 I shall complete, with the help of these letters, a history of 
 her whole life. Its early part was entirely left out, and 
 its latter, of course, had never been related. 
 
 All the time, therefore, that we were able to pass by 
 ourselves was regularly appropriated to this new work. 
 We have not advanced very far, for our interruptions are 
 almost continual ; but I hope, nevertheless, we shall not 
 conclude till the design is completed. The first night that 
 we began this business, when all the letters, and sundry 
 papers relative to them, were spread upon the table, the 
 King entered my room ! Dear Mrs. Delany was quite 
 frightened, and I felt myself pretty hot in the cheeks. He 
 immediately asked what we were about ? Neither of us 
 answered. " Sorting letters ? " cried he, to me. " Eeading 
 some, Sir," quoth I. And there the matter dropped for 
 that time ; but not long after he surprised us again. We 
 were then prepared with a double employment, and there- 
 fore had one ready for avowal. This was, selecting and 
 examining letters from eminent persons, or from chosen 
 friends, and burning all that contained anything of a pri- 
 vate nature, and preserving only such as were ingenious, 
 without possible hazard to the writers or their family. 
 This has been a pleasant, painful task — pleasant from the 
 many admirable letters it gave me opportunity to read, 
 and painful from the melancholy retrospections they occa- 
 sioned dearest Mrs. Delany. 
 
 The King, from this time, grew used to expecting to find 
 us encircled with papers when he came into my room for 
 this highly, justly favored lady (which was almost every 
 evening that we spent at Windsor during this month), and 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 315 
 
 only said — " Well, who are you reading now ? " I went 
 through Swift's letters to her, Dr. Young's, and Mr. Ma- 
 son's ; and destroyed all that could not be saved every way 
 to their honor. And we proceeded in the memoirs pretty 
 well through the infantine part. 'T was a sweet occupation 
 for our private hours, and I would not have exchanged it 
 for any that could have been offered me.^ 
 
 I must now tell a little thing for my dear Fredy, for 't is 
 about a flower : though my Susan will equally feel how 
 much more grateful it was to me than the fine robe sent 
 by other hands. 
 
 The Queen received one morning from Stoke some of 
 the most beautiful double violets I ever saw ; they were 
 with other flowers, very fine, but too powerful for her, and 
 she desired me to carry them into another room: but, 
 stopping me as I was going, she took out three little 
 bunches of the violets, and said, " This you shall send to 
 Mrs. Delany ; this I will keep ; and this — take for youi^ 
 self." 
 
 I quite longed to tell her how much more I valued such 
 a gift, presented by her own hand, than the richest tabby 
 in the world by a deputy ! She knows, however, that, be 
 , the intrinsic worth small as it may, the honor of anything 
 that comes immediately from herself is always great : she 
 does such things, therefore, charily, and always in a manner 
 that marks them for little traits of favor. 
 
 I have mentioned to you, I think, the eldest Miss Clay- 
 ton. — I believe, indeed, my dearest Susanna saw her at the 
 tea-drinking when at "Windsor. She left this place in this 
 
 1 In 1861, these remiuisoenoes were published, under the title : "The 
 Autobiography and Correspondence of Mary Granville (Mrs. Delany), with 
 Interesting Eeminiscenoes of King George III. and Queen Charlotte. 
 Edited by Lady Llanorer." 6 vols. 8vo. Bichard Bentley & Sons, Pub- 
 lishers. 
 
316 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 month, to prepare for changing her name as well as dwell- 
 ing, and to bestow herself upon Colonel Fox, brother to 
 the famous Charles. She called upon me the last morning 
 of her stay, with her sister. Miss Emily. She seemed very 
 happy, and she seems, also, so amiable, that she had my 
 best wishes for continuing so. She had just been receiving 
 little parting tokens from the Queen and the Princesses, 
 with whom she was in such favor that her Majesty had 
 permitted her to take lessons of drawing at the Lodge, at 
 the same time with their Eoyal Highnesses. The Queen 
 had given her a pin-cushion in a gold case ; the Princess 
 Eoyal a belt of fine steel ; and the Princess Augusta an 
 ivory toothpick case, inlaid with gold. She is really a loss 
 to Windsor, where there are not many young women of 
 equal merit and modesty. 
 
 IsTovEMBER 3ed. — In the morning I had the honor of a 
 conversation with the Queen, the most delightful, on her 
 part, I had ever yet been indulged with. She told me, 
 with the sweetest grace imaginable, how well she had liked 
 at first her jewels and ornaments as Queen, — " But how 
 soon," cried she, " was that over ! Believe me, Miss Bur- 
 ney, it is a pleasure of a week, — a fortnight at most, — 
 and to return no more ! I thought at first, I should always 
 choose to wear them ; but the fatigue and trouble of put- 
 ting them on, and the care they required, and the fear of 
 losing them, — believe me, ma'am, in a fortnight's time I 
 longed again for my own earlier dress, and wished never to 
 see them more ! " 
 
 She then still more opened her opinions and feelings. 
 She told me she had never, in her most juvenile years, 
 loved dress and show, nor received the smallest pleasure 
 from anything in her external appearance beyond neatness 
 and comfort : yet did not disavow that the first week or 
 fortnight of being a Queen, when only in her seventeenth 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 317 
 
 year, she thought splendor sufficiently becoming her sta- 
 tion to believe she should thenceforth choose constantly 
 to support it. But her eyes alone were dazzled, not her 
 mind ; and therefore the delusion speedily vanished, and 
 her understanding vjfas too strong to give it any chance 
 of returning. 
 
 I have to chronicle the arrival of two more gentlemen, 
 Mr. Fisher and Mr. Turbulent. 
 
 Mr. Fisher had been ordered to come, that he might 
 read prayers the next day, Sunday. Mr. Turbulent was 
 summoned, I suppose, for his usual occupations; reading 
 with the Princesses, or to the Queen. 
 
 Shall I introduce to you this gentleman, such as I now 
 think him, at once ? or wait to let his character open itself 
 to you by degrees, and in the same manner that it did to 
 me ? I wish I could hear your answer ! So capital a part 
 as you will find him destined to play, hereafter, in my 
 concerns, I mean, sooner or later, to the best of my power, 
 to make you fully acquainted with him — as fully as I am 
 myself, let me add : for even yet I could not delineate him 
 with precision, nor be certain that the very next time I see 
 him may not change the whole progress of the texture I 
 should weave. For a while, therefore, at least, I will leave 
 him to make his own way with you, by simply recounting 
 the gradations of our acquaintance, and the opinions, as 
 they arose, that I conceived of him. 
 
 He took his seat next mine at the table, and assisted 
 me, while Mr. Fisher sat as chaplain at the bottom. The 
 dinner went off extremely well, though from no help of 
 mine. Unused to doing the honors to any party, so large 
 a one found me full employment in attending to their 
 grosser food, without any space or power to provide for 
 their mental recreation. To take care of both, as every 
 mistress of a table ought to do, requires practice as well 
 
318 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 as spirits, and ease as well as exertion. Of these four 
 requisites I possessed not one ! 
 
 However, I was not missed; the three men and the 
 three females were all intimately acquainted with one 
 another, and the conversation, altogether, was equal, open, 
 and agreeable. 
 
 You may a little judge of this, when I teU you a short 
 speech that escaped Miss Planta. Mr. Turbulent said he 
 must go early to town the next morning, and added, he 
 should call to see Mrs. Schwellenberg, by order of the 
 Queen. "Now for heaven's sake, Mr. Turbulent," cried 
 she, eagerly, "don't you begin talking to her of how 
 comfortable we are here ! — it wUl bring her back di- 
 rectly!" 
 
 This was said in a half whisper; and I hope no one 
 else heard it. I leave you, my dear friends, to your own 
 comments. 
 
 Nov. 4th. — Mr. and Mrs. Smelt and Mrs. Delany came 
 to us at tea-time. Then, and in their society, I grew more 
 easy and disengaged. The sweet little Princess Amelia, 
 who had promised me a visit, came during tea, brought by 
 Mrs. Cheveley. I left everybody to play with her, and 
 Mr. Smelt joined in our gambols. We pretended to put 
 her in a phaeton, and to drive about and make visits with 
 her. She entered into the scheme with great spirit and 
 delight, and we waited upon Mrs. Delany and Mrs. Smelt 
 alternately. Children are never tired of playing at being 
 women ; and women there are who are never tired, in re- 
 turn, of playing at being children ! 
 
 In the midst of this frolicking, which at times was rather 
 noisy, by Mr. Smelt's choosing to represent a restive horse, 
 the King entered ! We all stopped short, guests, hosts, and 
 horses ; and all, with equal celerity, retreated, making the 
 usual circle for his Majesty to move in. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 319 
 
 The little Princess bore this interruption to her sport 
 only while surprised into quiet by the general respect in- 
 spired by the King. The instant that wore off, she grew 
 extremely impatient for the renewal of our gambols, and 
 distressed me most ridiculously by her innocent appeals. 
 " Miss Burney ! — come ! — why don't you play ? — Come, 
 Miss Burney, I say, play with me! — come into the phaeton 
 again ! — why don't you. Miss Burney ? " 
 
 After a thousand vain efforts to quiet her by signs, I 
 was forced to whisper her that I really could play no 
 longer. "But why? why. Miss Burney? — do! do come 
 and play with me ! — You must, Miss Burney ! " This 
 petition growing still more and more urgent, I was 
 obliged to declare my reason, in hopes of appeasing her, 
 as she kept pulling me by the hand and gown, so entirely 
 with all her little strength, that I had the greatest diffi- 
 culty to save myself from being suddenly jerked into the 
 middle of the room : at length, therefore, I whispered, " "We 
 shall disturb the King, ma'am ! " This was enough : she 
 flew instantly to his Majesty, who was in earnest discourse 
 with Mr. Smelt, and called out, " Papa, go ! " " What ? " 
 cried the King. "Go! papa, — you must go! "repeated 
 she eagerly. The King took her up in his arms, and began 
 kissing and playing with her ; she strove with all her might 
 to disengage herself, calling aloud, "Miss Burney! Miss 
 Burney ! take me ! — come, I say. Miss Burney ! — Miss 
 Burney, come ! " 
 
 You may imagine what a general smile went round the 
 room at this appeal : thu King took not any notice of it, 
 but set her down, and went on with his discourse. She 
 was not, however, a moment quiet till he retired : and then 
 we renewed our diversions, which lasted to her bed-time. 
 The Princess Augusta soon after came for Mrs. Delany, 
 and a page for Mr. Smelt. 
 
320 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 Tuesday, November 28th. — Miss Planta and Mr. de 
 Luc accompanied me to Kew, where, as soon as I arrived, 
 I had the honor of a little call from the Princess Royal, 
 with a most gracious message from the Queen, to desire me 
 to invite my friends the Smelts to dinner. You may im- 
 agine with what pleasure I obeyed. They came, — as did, 
 afterwards, Mr. Turbulent, — and the dinner was enlivened 
 with very animated conversation, in which this gentleman 
 took a part so principal, that I now began to attend, and 
 now, first, to be surprised by him. 
 
 The subject was female character. Miss Planta de- 
 clared her opinion that it was so indispensable to have it 
 without blemish, that nothing upon earth could compen- 
 sate, or make it possible to countenance one who wanted 
 it. Mrs. Smelt agreed that compassion alone was all that 
 could be afforded upon such an occasion, not countenance, 
 acquaintance, nor intercourse. Mr. de Luc gave an opinion 
 so long and confused, that I could not sufficiently attend 
 to make it out. Mr. Smelt spoke with mingled gentleness 
 and irony, upon the nature of the debate. T said little, but 
 that little was, to give every encouragement to penitence, 
 and no countenance to error. 
 
 The hero, however, of the discourse was Mr. Turbulent. 
 With a warmth and fervor that broke forth into exclama- 
 tions the most vehement, and reflections the most poignant, 
 he protested that many of the women we were proscribing 
 were amongst the most amiable of the sex — that the fastid- 
 iousness we recommended was never practised by even the 
 best part of the world — and that we ourselves, individually, 
 while we spoke with so much disdain, never acted up to 
 our doctrines, by using, towards all fair failers, such 
 severity. 
 
 This brought me forth. I love not to be attacked for 
 making professions beyond my practice : and I assured 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 321 
 
 him, very seriously, that I had not one voluntary acquain- 
 tance, nor one with whom I kept up the smallest inter- 
 course of my own seeking or wilful concurrence, that had 
 any stain in their characters which had ever reached my 
 ears. " Pardon me, ma'am," cried he, warmly, " there are 
 amongst your acquaintance, and amongst everybody's, many 
 of those the most admired, and most charming, that have 
 neither been spared by calumny, nor been able to avoid 
 reproach and suspicion." 
 
 I assured him he was mistaken; and Mrs. Smelt and 
 Miss Planta protested he was wholly in an error. He grew 
 but the more earnest, and opened, in vindication of his 
 assertions and his opinions, a flow of language that amazed 
 me, and a strain of argument that struck and perplexed us 
 all. He felt the generosity of the side he undertook, and 
 he could not have been more eager nor more animated 
 had the fair dames in whose cause he battled been present 
 to reward him with their smiles. 
 
 In the end, finding himself alone, and hard pressed, he 
 very significantly exclaimed, " Be not too triumphant, 
 ladies ! — I must fight you with weapons of your own 
 making for me. There is a lady, a lady whom you all 
 know, and are proud to know, that stands exactly in the 
 place I speak of." "I'm sure I don't know whom you 
 mean ! " cried Miss Planta. " You know her very well, — 
 at least, as well as you can," answered he, dryly. Mrs. 
 Smelt, laughing, said she might know many unfortunate 
 objects, but she was unconscious of her knowledge. 
 
 I boldly protested I knew not, as an acquaintance of my 
 own, a single person his description suited. Those whom 
 I might see or meet or know at the houses of others, I 
 could not pretend to assert might all be blameless ; but 
 however I might compassionate, or even admire, some who 
 could not be vindicated, 1 began no such acquaintances -- 
 
 VOL. I. 21 
 
322 DIABT AND LETTEBS [1788. 
 
 I wished them well, and wished them better, — but I dis- 
 tanced them to the best of my power, as I had not weight 
 enough to do good to them, and avoided, therefore, the 
 danger of being supposed to approve them. " Yes, ma'am," 
 cried he, in a high tone, "you also know, visit, receive, 
 caress, and distinguish a lady in this very class ! " 
 
 " Do I ? " cried I, amazed. " You do, ma'am ! You all 
 do!" Fresh general protestations followed, and Mr. de 
 Luc called eagerly for the name. " I do not wish to name 
 her," answered he, coolly, " after what I have said, lest it 
 seem as if I were her censurer ; but, on the contrary, I 
 think her one of the most charming women in the world ! 
 
 — aimable, spirited, well-informed, and entertaining, and 
 of manners the most bewitching ! " 
 
 " And with all this, sir," cried I — and I stopped. '-' And 
 with all this, ma'am," cried he (comprehending me imme- 
 diately), "she has not escaped the lash of scandal; and, 
 with every amiable virtue of the mind, she has not been 
 able to preserve her reputation, in one sense, unattacked." 
 " And — I know her ? " " Yes, ma'am ! — know her, and 
 do her justice ; and I have heard you, in common with aU 
 this company, sing her praises as she deserves to have them 
 sung." 
 
 I assured him I was q^uite in a wood, and begged him to 
 be more explicit. He hung back, but we all called upon 
 him, and I declared I should regard the discription as fabu- 
 lous unless he spoke out, and this piqued him to be cate- 
 gorical ; but what was my concern to hear him then name 
 
 — almost whispering with his own reluctance — Madame 
 de Genlis ! I was quite thunderstruck, and everybody was 
 silent. 
 
 He was then for closing the discourse, but I could not 
 consent to it. I told him that I pretended not to say the 
 character of that lady had never in my hearing been at- 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 323 
 
 tacked ; but that I could, and would, and hoped I ever 
 should, say I believed her perfectly innocent of the charges 
 brought against her. He smiled a little provokingly, and 
 said, " We agree here, ma'am — I think her innocent too." 
 " No, sir, we do not agree ! — I should not think her inno- 
 cent if I believed the charge ! " " Circumstances," cried 
 he, ■ may make her mind innocent." I could say nothing 
 to this, I think it so true ; but I would not venture such 
 a concession where my wishes led me to aim at a full de- 
 fence. Accordingly, with all the energy in my power, I 
 attempted it ; assuring him that there was an evidence of 
 her untainted worth in her very countenance, and written 
 there so strongly, that to mistake the characters was 
 impossible. 
 
 " True," cried he, again smQing, " the countenance speaks 
 all that captivating sweetness that belongs — if she has 
 them — to the very frailties of her character." I could not 
 bear this. " No, sir," I cried, as warmly as himself, " 't is 
 a countenance that announces nothing but the openness of 
 virtue and goodness ! There would be more reserve and 
 closeness if she failed in them. I saw her myself, at first, 
 with a prejudice in her disfavor, from the cruel reports I 
 had heard; but the moment I looked at her it was re- 
 moved. There was a dignity with her sweetness, and a 
 frankness with her modesty, that assured, that convinced 
 me, beyond all power of report, of her real worth and 
 innocence." 
 
 Nobody else spoke a word, and his fervor was all at an 
 end ; he only smiled, and protested that, admiring her so 
 very much himself, it made him happy to hear I was so 
 warmly her admirer also. Here the matter was forced 
 to drop. I was vexed at the instance he brought, and 
 grieved to have nothing more positive than my own 
 opinion to bring forward in her defence : for it is moat 
 
324 DIARY AND LETTBE3 [1786 
 
 true I do beliove her innocent, though I fear she has been 
 imprudent. 
 
 December 10th. — This evening I had my appointed 
 party, the Provost, Mrs. Koberts, Miss Eoberts, Mrs. Ken- 
 nicott, and my dearest Mrs. Delany, quite recovered. We 
 were soon joined by the General, the Colonel, and Mr. 
 Fisher. 
 
 Mrs. Kennicott is a middle-aged woman, neither ugly 
 nor handsome. She must certainly be very estimable, for 
 she is sought and caressed by a large circle of friends, 
 among people whose friendship is most honorable. I saw 
 too little of her to form any independent judgment. 
 
 The best part of my evening was the honor done to it 
 by the entrance of his Majesty to fetch Mrs. Delany. He 
 knew of the party, and stayed to converse with the Provost 
 for a considerable time. This was a gratification that 
 made aU else immaterial 
 
 Mrs. Delany, upon her recovery, had invited the General 
 and Colonel to come to tea any evening. For them to be 
 absent from the Lodge was contrary to all known rules ; 
 but the Colonel vowed he would let the matter be tried, 
 and take its course. Mrs. Delany hoped by this means to 
 bring the Colonel into better humor with my desertion 
 of the tea-table, and to reconcile him to an innovation of 
 which he then must become a partaker. 
 
 On the day when this grand experiment was to be made, 
 that we might not seem all to have eloped clandestinely, 
 in case of inquiry, I previously made known to the Queen 
 my own intention, and had her permission for my visit. 
 But the gentlemen, determining to build upon the chance 
 of returning before they were missed, gave no notice of 
 their scheme, but followed me to Mrs. Delany's as soon as 
 they quitted their own table. 
 
 I had sent to speak with General Budd in the morning. 
 
1786.] OF MADAME d'AEBLAT. 325 
 
 and then arranged the party : he proposed that the Colonel 
 and himself should esquire me, but I did not dare march 
 forth in such bold defiance ; I told him, therefore, I must 
 go in a chair. 
 
 Mrs. Delany received us with her usual sweetness. We 
 then began amusing ourselves with surmises of the manner 
 in which we should all be missed, if our rooms were visited 
 in our absence ; and the Colonel, in particular, drew several 
 scenes, highly diverting, of what he supposed would pass, 
 — of the King's surprise and incredulity, of the hunting 
 up and down of the house in search of him, and of the 
 orders issued throughout the house to examine to what 
 bedpost he had hanged himself, — for nothing less than 
 such an act of desperation could give courage to an equerry 
 to be absent without leave ! 
 
 Further conjectures were still starting, and all were en- 
 gaged in aiding them and enjoying them, when suddenly 
 a violent knocking at the door was followed by the 
 most unexpected entrance of the Queen and the Prin- 
 cess Amelia ! 
 
 Universal was the start, and most instantaneous and 
 solemn the silence ! I felt almost guilty, though not for 
 myself: my own invariable method of avowing all my 
 proceedings saved me from the smallest embarrassment on 
 my own account in this meeting ; but I was ashamed to 
 appear the leader in a walk so new as that of leaving the 
 Lodge in an evening, and to have induced any others to 
 follow my example. The Queen looked extremely sur- 
 prised, but not at me, whom she knew she should encoun- 
 ter ; and the two gentlemen hardly could settle whether to 
 make humble explanations, or frank ridicule, of the situa- 
 tion in which they were caught. The Queen, however, 
 immediately put them at their ease, speaking to them with 
 marked civility, and evidently desirous not to mar what 
 
326 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 she found intended as a private frolic, by any fears of hei 
 disapprobation. 
 
 She did not stay long, and they soon followed her to the 
 Lodge. I also returned, and at night the Queen owned to 
 me, but very good-humoredly, that she had never been 
 more astonished than at sight of the equerries that evening, 
 and asked me how it came to pass. 
 
 " Mrs. Delany, ma'am," I answered, " as she had taken 
 away their tea-maker, thought she could do no less than 
 offer them tea for once at her own table." 
 
 And here the matter rested. But the enterprise has 
 never been repeated. 
 
 December 26th. — The equerries and Miss P came 
 
 to tea. Colonel Goldsworthy was in one of his most fa- 
 cetious humors, and invited us to supper at his house in 
 town, giving a really comic account of his way of life, the 
 great power of his domestics, their luxurious manner of 
 living, and tbe ascendancy they had gained over theii 
 master. 
 
 Mrs. Smelt was to be the head lady, he said, of the 
 party, to which she readily agreed. Miss P made in- 
 quiries into every particular of the entertainment he was 
 to give us ; and he uttered a very solemn charge to her, 
 not to offend one of his maids, an elderly person, so ex- 
 tremely 'tenacious of her authority, that she frequently 
 took up a poker, and ran furiously about with it, after any 
 of her fellow-servants, who thwarted her will. To me also 
 he gave a similar charge — "I have a poor old soul of a 
 man, ma'am," says he, " that does his business very well for 
 such a forlorn poor fellow as me ; but now, when you want 
 a glass of wine or so, don't be in too great a hurry with 
 him — that's aU I beg; don't frighten him, poor fellow, 
 with calling to him hastily, or angrily, or that — for if you 
 once do that he won't know a single thing he says oi 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 327 
 
 does all the rest of the time ! — he '11 quite lose liis wits at 
 a stroke ! " 
 
 Some one now by chance named Mrs. Ariana Egerton, 
 
 the bed-chamber Moman; and Miss P said she now 
 
 sent in her name in that manner, as she must no longer be 
 called Miss, from her present office. " Mrs. what ? " cried 
 Colonel Goldsworthy, " Mrs. Ariana ? what name is that ? " 
 
 " Why, it 's her name," said Miss P ; " she writes it 
 
 upon her cards." " Ariana ? " repeated he, " I never heard 
 the like in my life ! Why I no more believe — what will 
 these folks tell us next! It's nobody's name under the 
 sun, I'll be bound for it. All the world put together 
 shan't make me believe it. Ariana, forsooth ! why it must 
 be a nick-name ! depend upon it it 's nothing else. There, 
 at my poor miserable bachelor's cell in the Mews, I 've got 
 a boy that says his name is Methusalem ; he comes from 
 Windsor, too ! Heaven help the poor people ! if they are 
 but near a court, it turns their heads directly. I had the 
 boy only out of the stable, just by the bottom of the gar- 
 den, yet he told me his name was Methusalem ! A hkely 
 matter, truly ! ha ! ha ! I '11 be sworn his name is no 
 other than Jack ! " " Pray," cried I, " what do you call 
 him for short ? " 
 
 " Why, ma'am, that was a great difficulty to me at first : 
 I 'd have called him Me, for shortest, but I thought the 
 people would all laugh, and say. Ah, poor gentleman, it 's 
 all over with him now ! he 's calling himself when he 
 wants his man ! and then I thought of Thusy. Thusy 
 sounds soft and pretty enough ; but I thought it is Kke a 
 woman's name — Susy ; to be sure, thinks I, they '11 all 
 suppose I mean one of the maids ; and then again, ah, 
 say they, the poor gentleman 's certainly cracked ! nothing 
 else would make him behave so comical ! And then I 
 thought of Lem. But it 's quite too much for me to settle 
 such a set of hard long names ! " 
 
328 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 In this manner he ran on, till General Bude reminded 
 him it was time they should appear in the concert-room. 
 " Ay," cried he, reluctantly, " now for the fiddlers ! There 
 I go, plant myself against the side of the chimney, stand 
 first on one foot, then on the other, hear over and over 
 again all that fine squeaking, and then fall fast asleep, and 
 escape by mere miracle from flouncing down plump in all 
 their faces!" "What would the Queen say if you did 
 that ? " " Oh, ma'am, the Queen would know nothing of 
 the matter; she'd only suppose it some old double bass 
 that tumbled." " Why, could she not see what it was ? " 
 " Oh, no, ma'am, we are never in the room with the Queen ! 
 that's the drawing-room, beyond, where the Queen sits; 
 we go no farther than the fiddling-room. As to the Queen, 
 we don't see her week after week sometimes. The King, 
 indeed, comes there to us, between whiles, though that 's 
 all as it happens, now Price is gone. He used to play at 
 backgammon with Price." 
 
 " Then what do you do there ? " " Just what I tell you 
 — nothing at all, but stand as furniture ! But the worst 
 is, sometimes, when my poor eye-peepers are not quite 
 closed, I look to the music-books to see what 's coming ; 
 and there I read ' Chorus of Virgins : ' so then, when they 
 begin, I look about me. A chorus of virgins, indeed ! why, 
 there 's nothing but ten or a dozen fiddlers ! not a soul 
 beside ! it 's as true as I 'm alive ! So then, when we 've 
 stood supporting the chimney-piece about two hours, why 
 then, if I 'm not called upon, I shuffle back out of the 
 room, make a profound bow to the harpsichord, and I 'm 
 off." 
 
 Dec. 28. — This morning I met the Bishop of Worcester 
 at Mrs. Delany's. He was very serious, unusually so, but 
 Mrs. Ddlany was cheerfuL He soon left us ; and she then 
 told me she had been ill in the night, and had been led. to 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AHBLAY. 329 
 
 desire some very solemn conversation with the good Bish- 
 op, who is her friend of many years' standing, and was 
 equally intimate with her lost darling, the Duchess of 
 Portland. 
 
 My dearest Mrs. Delany had been discoursing upon the 
 end of all things with this good and pious Bishop ; and 
 she went on with the conversation, in a manner so content 
 with her fair expectations, yet so meek upon her deserts, 
 that she inspired me at once with double pain in the pros- 
 pect of losing so inestimable a friend. Oh, how shall I now 
 do without her ? I felt so sorrowed in the talk, that she 
 sweetly and benignly glided into other and less affecting 
 matters, yet not till first she had given me this serious ex- 
 hortation, tenderly, at the same time, folding me to her 
 loved heart, — " You must let me, my dear Fanny, you 
 must let me go quietly ! " I understood her, and promised 
 aU the composure I could gather. Oh, could I but cling 
 to her wings ! how willingly would they waft me, if to her 
 indulgent partiality my future lot were given in charge. 
 
 All gay and all alive, her mind relieved and her sweet 
 spirits cheered by the conference with the Bishop, who had 
 spoken peace to her fears and joy to her best hopes, this 
 evening came again my revered Mrs. Delany. With what 
 admiration did I look at her — what admiration and what 
 tenderness ! I knew what was passing in her mind ; I 
 knew well she believed her dissolution approaching, and 
 I saw with what pious, what edifying faith she was resign ■ 
 ing herself to everlasting mercy. 
 
 This, however, has passed away, and her precious life is 
 yet spared us. 
 
 Friday, December 29th. — At three o'clock our dearest 
 Padre arrived. At dinner the party was enlarged by the 
 presence of Mrs. Delany and Mr. Smelt; to these were 
 added the lovely and lively Miss P , the gentle Mile. 
 
330 DIARY AND LETTERS [1786. 
 
 MoatmoiiUin, and the friendly Miss Planta. My dear 
 father was the principal object to all, and he seemed to 
 enjoy himself, and to be enjoyed throughout. We returned 
 to my own apartment to our coffee, and the two governess 
 ladies retired ; and then came the King for Mrs. Delany ; 
 and not for that solely, though ostensibly, for his behavior 
 to my father proved his desire to see and converse with 
 him. 
 
 He began immediately upon musical matters, and en- 
 tered into a discourse upon them with the most animated 
 wish of both hearing and communicating his sentiments ; 
 and my dear father was perfectly ready to meet his ad- 
 vances. No one, at all used to the court etiquettes, could 
 have seen him without smiling ; he was so totally unac- 
 quainted with the forms usually observed in the royal 
 presence, and so regardless or thoughtless of acquiring them, 
 that he moved, spoke, acted, and debated, precisely with 
 the same ease and freedom that he would have used to any 
 other gentleman whom he had accidentally met. 
 
 A certain flutter of spirits, which always accompanies 
 these interviews, even with those who are least awed by 
 them, put my dear father off the guard which is the cus- 
 tomary assistant upon these occasions, of watching what is 
 done by those already initiated in these royal ceremonies : 
 highly gratified by the openness and good-humor of the 
 King, he was all energy and spirit, and pursued every topic 
 that was started, till he had satisfied himself upon it, and 
 started every topic that occurred to him, whether the King 
 was ready for another or not. 
 
 While the rest, retreating towards the wainscot, formed 
 a distant and respectful circle, in which the King alone 
 moves, this dear father came forward into it himself, and, 
 wholly bent upon pursuing whatever theme was begun, 
 followed the King when he moved away, and came forward 
 
1786.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 331 
 
 to meet his steps when he moved back ; and while the rest 
 waited his immediate address ere they ventured to speak a 
 word, he began and iinished, sustained or dropped, renewed 
 or declined, every theme that he pleased, without consult- 
 ing anything but his feelings and understanding. 
 
 This vivacity and this nature evidently pleased the King, 
 whose good sense instantly distinguishes wl '; is uncon- 
 scious from what is disrespectful ; and his stay in the room, 
 which I believe was an hour, and the perfect good-humor 
 with which he received as well as returned the sprightly 
 and informal sallies of my father, were proofs the most 
 convincing of his approbation. 
 
 December 30th. — This morning my dear father carried 
 me to Dr. Herschel. This great and very extraordinary 
 man received us with almost open arms. He is very fond 
 of my father, who is one of the Council of the Eoyal Society 
 this year, as well as himself, and he has much invited me 
 when we have met at the Lodge or at Mr. de Luc's. 
 
 At this time of day there was nothing to see but his 
 instruments : those, however, are curiosities sufiicient. His 
 immense new telescope, the largest ever constructed, will 
 still, I fear, require a year or two more for finishing, but I 
 hope it will then reward his labor and ingenuity by the 
 new views of the heavenly bodies, and their motions, 
 which he flatters himself will be procured by it. Already, 
 with that he has now in use, he has discovered fifteen 
 hundred universes ! How many more he may find who 
 can conjecture ? The moon, too, which seems his favorite 
 object, has already afforded him two volcanoes ; and his 
 own planet, the Georgium Sidus, has now shown two satel- 
 lites. From such a man what may not astronomy expect, 
 when an instrument superior in magnitude to any ever yet 
 made, and constructed wholly by himself or under his own 
 eye, is the vehicle of his observation ? 
 
332 DIAET AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 Tuesday, January 2nd. — Mr. West came to take leave. 
 He has done, for the present, with "Windsor, but returns to 
 his great work in the summer. "We talked over, of course, 
 his window ; and he spoke of it in the highest terms of 
 praise and admiration. Another man would he totally 
 ridiculous who held such language about his own perform- 
 ances ; but there is, in Mr. West, a something of simplicity 
 in manner, that makes his self-commendation seem the 
 result rather of an unaffected mind than of a vain or proud 
 one. It may sometimes excite a smile, but can never, I 
 think, offend or disgust. 
 
 At night we came to town. I found Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg better ; and she presented me, from her Majesty, with 
 a new year's gift. The Queen makes one annually to all 
 her household : I mean all of the upper class. Mine was 
 very elegant : a complete set of very beautiful white and 
 gold china for tea, and a coffee-pot, tea-pot, cream-jug, and 
 milk-jug of silver, in forms remarkably pretty. 
 
 Saturday, January 6th. — To-day arrived again my 
 dearest father. He came to me to dinner. This evening 
 proved indeed a pleasant one ; the honors paid my dear 
 father gladdened my heart. The King came into my room 
 to see Mrs. Delany, and conversed with him so openly, so 
 gaily, and so readily, that it was evident he was pleased 
 with his renewed visit, and pleased with his society. Nor 
 was this aU ; soon after, the Queen herself came also, pur- 
 posely to see him. She immediately sat down, that she 
 might seat Mrs. Delany, and then addressed herself to my 
 father, with the most winning complacency. Eepeatedly, 
 too, she addressed herself to me, as if to do me honor in 
 my father's eyes, and to show him how graciously she was 
 disposed towards me. I had previously entreated my fa- 
 ther to snatch at any possible opportunity of expressing his 
 satisfaction in all that related to me, as I knew it would 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 333 
 
 not only give pleasure to her benevolence, but was a token 
 of gratitude literally expected from him. 
 
 My Susan, however, knows our dear father, and will 
 know him by the following trait: he had planned his speech, 
 and was quite elevated with the prospect of making it, and 
 with the pleasure of my pointing it out, and being so happy ! 
 Dearest father ! how blessed in that facility of believing all 
 people as good and as happy as he wishes them. Never- 
 theless, no sooner did the King touch upon that dangerous 
 string, the History of Music, than all else was forgotten ! 
 Away flew the speech, — the Queen herself was present in 
 vain, — eagerly and warmly he began an account of his 
 progress, and an enumeration of his materials, — and out 
 from his pockets came a couple of dirty books, which he 
 had lately picked up at an immense price, at a sale, and 
 which, in showing to the King, he said were equally scarce 
 and valuable and added, with energy, " I would not take 
 fifty pounds for that ! " Just as if he had said — little as he 
 meant such meaning — "Don't hope for it to your own 
 collection ! " Was not this a curious royal scene ? 
 
 Thuesd AY, January 11th. — I was taken very iU. A 
 bilious fever, long lurking, suddenly seized me, and a 
 rheumatism in my head at the same time. I was forced to 
 send to Mr. Battiscomb for advice, and to Miss Planta to 
 officiate for me at night with the Queen. 
 
 Early the next morning Miss Planta came to me from 
 the Queen, to desire I would not be uneasy in missing 
 my attendance and that I would think of nothing but how 
 to take care of myself. This, however, was not all, for soon 
 after she came herself, not only to my room, but to my 
 bedside, and, after many inquiries, desired me to say 
 sincerely what I should do if I had been so attacked at 
 home. 
 
 A blister, I said, was all I could devise ; and I had one 
 
334 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 accordingly, which cured the head, and set me at ease. 
 But the fever had been longer gathering, and would not so 
 rapidly be dismissed. I kept my bed this day and the 
 next. 
 
 Tuesday, January 16th, was the day appointed for 
 removing to town for the winter; from which time we 
 were only to come to Windsor for an occasional day or two 
 every week. I received a visit, just before I set out, from 
 the King. He came in alone, and made most gracious in- 
 quiries into my health, and whether I was sufficiently 
 recovered for the journey. 
 
 The four days of my confinement, from the fever after 
 the pain, were days of meditation the most useful. I re- 
 flected upon all my mental sufferings in the last year ; 
 their cause seemed inadequate to their poignancy. In the 
 hour of sickness and confinement, the world, in losing its 
 attractions, forfeits its regrets — a new train of thinking, a 
 new set of ideas, took possession of all my faculties ; a 
 steady plan, calm, yet no longer sad, deliberately formed 
 itself in my mind ; my affliction was already subsided ; I 
 now banished, also, discontent. I found myself as well off, 
 upon reflection, as I could possibly merit, and better, by 
 comparison, than most of those around me. The beloved 
 friends of my own heart had joined me unalterably, invio- 
 lably to theirs — who, in number, who, in kindness, has 
 more ? 
 
 Now, therefore, I took shame to myself, and resolved to 
 be happy. And my success has shown me how far less 
 chimerical than it appears is such a resolution. To be 
 patient under two disappointments now no longer recent 
 — to relinquish, without repining, frequent intercourse 
 with those I love — to settle myself in my monastery, with- 
 out one idea of ever quitting it — to study for the appro- 
 bation of my lady abbess, and make it a principal source 
 
1787.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 335 
 
 of content, as well as spring of action — and to associate 
 more cheerily with my surrounding nuns and monks — 
 these were the articles which were to support my 
 resolution. 
 
 I thank God I can tell my dearest friends I have ob- 
 served them all ; and, from the date of this illness to the 
 time in which I am now drawing out my memorandums, 
 I can safely afS.rm I know not that I have made one break 
 with myself in a single promise here projected. And now, 
 I thank God, the task is at an end — what I began from 
 principle, and pursued from resolution, is now a mere natural 
 conduct. My destiny is fixed, and my mind is at ease — 
 nay, I even think, upon the whole, that my lot is, altogether, 
 the best that can betide me, except for one flaw in its very 
 vitals, which subjects me, at times, to a tyranny wholly 
 subversive of aU power of tranquillity. 
 
 Satuedat, January 20th. — Miss Planta came to din- 
 ner with me : so did Mr. Turbulent. Much was said about 
 Colonel Welbred. I made such answers when he was 
 named as left it still in the dark that we had never met, 
 for I dreaded some introducing scheme from Mr. Turbulent 
 that might seize out of my hands the only remaining 
 chance of gaining to my own disposal the evenings spent 
 at Windsor in Mrs. SchweUenberg's absence. 
 
 He left us after dinner to visit this Colonel, who stands 
 in his favor the highest of all the equerries. 
 
 At tea-time Mr. Turbulent returned in very high spirits. 
 When the tea was brought, and I was preparing to make 
 it, — " Have you sent, ma'am," he cried, " to Colonel 
 Welbred?" 
 
 " No, I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance." 
 
 " But, do you not know, ma'am, the honorable customs 
 of this house, and that the gentlemen here are always in- 
 vited to the ladies ? " I tried to laugh this off ; but he 
 
336 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 pursued it^ till Miss Planta, quite teased, begged he would 
 not trouble his head about the matter, but leave me to 
 manage as I pleased. Turning upon her very short, "What 
 is your objection," he cried, " Miss Planta ? " 
 
 Miss Planta, surprised, and a little intimidated, dis- 
 claimed having any. Mercy ! thought I, what an imperious 
 esquire is this to whom we are committed ! And this was 
 just the thought that gave me courage to determine against 
 yielding to him. 
 
 Turning then again to me, he said, with a very courteous 
 bow, — " Will you depute me, ma'am, to fetch the Colonel ?" 
 " By no means, sir ! I would not give you that trouble." 
 " Shall you send him a message, then, ma'am ? " " No, 
 sir," cried I, very steadily. " And why not, ma'am ? " 
 cried he in the same tone. Miss Planta then again broke 
 forth, asking him why in the world he could not be con- 
 tent with minding his own affairs? With an adroitness of 
 raillery, against which she had not the smallest chance, he 
 retorted the question upon her. Again she was silenced ; 
 and again he renewed his application. "You will not 
 make the tea, ma'am, and leave the Colonel out?" "I 
 have never had the Colonel in, sir, and therefore there is 
 nothing peculiar in the omission." " And why, ma'am ? — 
 why have you not ? There cannot be a more amiable 
 man — a man of manners, person, address, appearance, and 
 conversation — more pleasing — more enchanting, ma'am." 
 " I don't at all doubt it, sir." " Shall I fetch him, then ? " 
 " No, sir." " Voiis avez rionc peur ? " 
 
 "Now, if you would Imt let him alone!" cried Miss 
 Planta ; " he does not want to come." 
 
 " And how do you know that. Miss Peggy Planta ? " 
 
 Again poor Miss Planta was silenced; but soon after, 
 with an impatience that she could not repress, she de- 
 clared that if Colonel Welbred had wished to come he 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 337 
 
 would have made his appearance the first evening. This 
 was a most unfortunate speech. Mr. Turbulent seized 
 upon it eagerly, and said he now perceived the motive 
 to so much shyness, which was aU the effect of resent- 
 ment at the Colonel's apparent backwardness. I pro- 
 tested against this warmly, but to no purpose; and aU 
 that fell from the too eager zeal of Miss Planta in my 
 service seemed but to confirm his pretended new expla- 
 nation. 
 
 " However, ma'am," he continued, " if you will suffer 
 me to fetch him, he will soon satisfy you with his apolo- 
 gies. I do assure you he only waits an invitation: when I 
 asked him if he was not coming up to tea, he said he had 
 not the pleasure to know Miss Burney, and could not take 
 the liberty to intrude upon her." I was now satisfied that 
 General Bud^ had given him a hint of the new construc- 
 tion of the tea-table : I therefore earnestly begged Mr. 
 Turbulent to permit me to have my own arrangement in 
 my own way, and only to be quiet, and forbear any inter- 
 ference of any sort in the business ; and after much oppo- 
 sition, he submitted to my request. 
 
 January 24th. — I went in the morning to see my 
 sweet Mrs. Delany, whom I had not for a long, long time, 
 been able to behold. I found her in bed and iU. I was 
 cruelly alarmed, she wept bitterly — bitterly I say, for her 
 tears of kind joy in my return to her were embittered in- 
 deed by personal sorrows and afflictions of the most poig- 
 nant sort. Dear and venerable Mrs. Delany i — what on 
 earth can be so affecting as to see excellence and age such 
 as hers bowed down by personal ill-usage and ingratitude, 
 from those who are most bound to cherish and revere her ! 
 — yet such has been her hard lot through all the latter 
 period' of her long and exemplary life ! 
 I stayed to my last moment, and left her more calm, and 
 
 VOL. I. 22 
 
338 DIARY AND LETTERS [1?87. 
 
 promised to see her, now I was myself well again, almost 
 daily. For, since the birthday, I had been much indis- 
 posed tiU now. 
 
 Sunday, January 28th. — I was too iU to go to church. 
 I was now, indeed, rarely weU enough for anything but 
 absolute and unavoidable duties; and those were still 
 painfully and forcibly performed. I had only Miss Planta 
 for my guest, and when she went to the Princesses I retired 
 for a quiet and solitary evening to my own room. But 
 here, while reading, I was interrupted by a tat-tat at my 
 door. I opened it, and saw Mr. Turbulent. He came for- 
 ward and began a gay and animated conversation, with a 
 flow of spirits and good-humor which I had never observed 
 in him before. His darling Colonel was the subject that 
 he still harped upon ; but it was only with a civil and 
 amusing raillery, not, as before, with an overpowering 
 vehemence to conquer.^ Probably, however, the change in 
 myself might be as observable as in him, — since I now 
 ceased to look upon him with that distance and coldness 
 which hitherto he had uniformly found in me. 
 
 I must give you a little specimen of him in this new 
 dress. After some general talk, " When, ma'am," he said, 
 " am I to have the honor of introducing Colonel Welbred 
 to you ? " " Indeed, I have not settled that entirely ! " 
 " Eeflect a little, then, ma'am, and tell me. I only wish to 
 know when." 
 
 " Indeed to tell you that is somewhat more than I am 
 able to do ; I must find it out myself, first." "Well, ma'am, 
 make the inquiry as speedily as possible, I beg. What say 
 you to now ? shall I call him up ? " " No, no, — pray let 
 him alone." " But will you not, at least, tell me your rea- 
 sons for this conduct?" "Why, frankly, then, — if you 
 will hear them and be quiet, I wiU confess them." I then 
 told him, that I had so little time to myself, that to gain 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 339 
 
 even a single evening was to gain a treasure ; and that I 
 had no chance but this. " Not," said I, " that I wish to 
 avoid him, but to break the custom of constantly meeting 
 with the equerries." 
 
 " But it is impossible to break the custom, ma'am ; it 
 has been so always : the tea-table has been the time of 
 uniting the company, ever since the King came to Wind- 
 sor." " Well, but everything now is upon a new construc- 
 tion. I am not positively bound to do everything Mrs. 
 Haggerdorn did, and his having drank tea with her wiU 
 not make him conclude he must also drink tea with me." 
 " No, no, that is true, I allow. Nothing that belonged to 
 her can bring conclusions round to you. But still, why 
 begin with Colonel Welbred ? You did not treat Colonel 
 Goldsworthy so ? " 
 
 " I had not the power of beginning with him. I did what 
 I could, I assure you." " Major Price, ma'am ? — I never 
 heard you avoided him." " No ; but I knew him before I 
 came, and he knew much of my family, and indeed I am 
 truly sorry that I shall now see no more of him. But 
 Colonel Welbred and I are mutually strangers." "AH 
 people are so at first ; every acquaintance must have a be- 
 ginning." " But this, if you are quiet, we are most willing 
 should have none.'' " Not he, ma'am — he is not so wil- 
 ling ; he wishes to come. He asked me, to-day, if I had 
 spoke about it." 
 
 I disclaimed believing this ; but he persisted in asserting 
 it, adding, " Por he said if I had spoke he would come." 
 " He is very condescending," cried I, " but I am satisfied 
 he would not think of it at aU, if you did not put it in his 
 head." " Upon my honor you are mistaken ; we talk just 
 as much of it down there as up here." " You would much 
 ohlige me if you would not talk of it, — neither tkeie, nor 
 here." " Let me end it, then, by bringiag him at once ! " 
 
340 DIARY AND LETTEHS [1787. 
 
 " Ko, no, leave us both alone : he has his resonrces and 
 his engagements as much as I have ; we both are best as 
 we now are." 
 
 " But what can he say, ma'am ? Consider his confusion 
 and disgrace ! It is well known, in the world, the private 
 life that the Eoyal Family live at Windsor, and who are 
 the attendants that belong to them ; and when Colonel 
 Welbred quits his waiting — three months' waiting — and 
 is asked how he likes Miss Barney, he must answer he has 
 never seen her ! And what, ma'am, has Colonel Welbred 
 done to merit such a mortification ? " 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh at such a statement of 
 the case; and again he requested to bring him directly. 
 " One quarter of an hour will content me ; I only wish to 
 introduce him — for the sake of his credit in the world; 
 and when once you have met, you need meet no more ; no 
 consequences whatever need be drawn to the detriment of 
 your solitude ! " 
 
 I begged him to desist, and let us both rest. 
 
 " But have you, yourself, ma'am, no curiosity — no de- 
 sire to see Colonel Welbred ? " 
 
 " None in the world." 
 
 " If, then, hereafter you admit any other equerry — " 
 
 " No, no, I intend to carry the new construction through- 
 out." 
 
 " Or if you suffer any one else to bring you Colonel 
 Welbred." 
 
 " Depend upon it I have no such intention." 
 
 " But if any other more eloquent man prevails — " 
 
 " Be assured there is no danger ! " 
 
 " Will you, at least, promise I shall be present at the 
 meeting ? " 
 
 " There will be no meeting." 
 
 " You are certainly, then, afraid of him ? " 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 341 
 
 T denied this, and, hearing the King's supper called, he 
 took his leave ; though not before I very seriously told 
 him that, however amusing all this might be as pure badi- 
 nage, I should be very earnestly vexed if he took any steps 
 in the matter without my consent. 
 
 Miss Planta came to tea, and we went together to the 
 eating parlor, which we found quite empty. Mr. Turbu- 
 lent's studious table was all deserted, and his books laid 
 waste ; but in a very few minutes he entered again, with 
 his arms spread wide, his face all glee, and his voice all 
 triumph, calling out, "Mr. Smelt and Colonel Welbred 
 desire leave to wait upon Miss Burney to tea ? " 
 
 A little provoked at this determined victory over my 
 will and my wish, I remained silent — but Miss Planta 
 broke forth into open upbraidings : " Upon my word, Mr. 
 Turbulent, this is really abominable ; it is all your own 
 doing — and if I was Miss Burney I would not bear it ! " 
 — and much more, till he fairly gave her to understand 
 she had nothing to do with the matter. Then turning to 
 me, " What am I to say, ma'am ? Am I to tell Colonel 
 Welbred you hesitate ? " 
 
 " No, no ; but why in the world have you done this — 
 so seriously as I begged you to be quiet ? " " And what 
 harm have I done ? It will be but for once — and what 
 mischief can there be in your giving Colonel Welbred a 
 dish of tea one single evening ? " " But will it be one 
 single evening ? " " Unless you make it more, ma'am ! " 
 '■ Indeed, Miss Burney," cried Miss Planta, " if I were you, 
 I would not consent!" "And what reason would you as- 
 sign. Miss Peggy ? " This silenced poor Miss Planta ; and 
 I then questioned him whether he was not inventing this 
 message, or whether it was really sent ? 
 
 He protested he came upon the embassy fairly employed. 
 " Not fairly, I am sure, Mr. Turbulent ! The whole is a 
 
342 DIAHY AND LETTERS [1787, 
 
 device and contrivance of your own ! Colonel Welbred 
 would have been as quiet as myself, had you left him 
 alone." " Don't throw it all upon me, ma'am ; 't is Mr. 
 Smelt. But what are they to think of this delay ? are 
 they to suppose it requires deliberation whether or not you 
 can admit a gentleman to your tea-table ? " 
 
 I begged him to tell me, at least, how it had passed, and 
 In what manner he had brought his scheme about. But 
 he would give me no satisfaction : he only said, " You refuse 
 to receive him, ma'am ? — shall I go and tell him you re- 
 fuse to receive him ? " " Oh, no." This was enough : he 
 waited no fuller consent, but ran off. Miss Planta began 
 a good-natured repining for me. I determined to fetch 
 some work before they arrived ; and in coming for it to my 
 own room, I saw Mr. Turbulent not yet gone downstairs. 
 J really believe, by the strong marks of laughter on his 
 countenance, that he had stopped to compose himself be- 
 ff-re he could venture to appear in the Equerry-room ! 
 
 I looked at him reproachfully, and passed on. He shook 
 his head at me in return, and hied downstairs. I had but 
 just time to rejoin Miss Planta when he led the way to 
 the two other gentlemen, entering first, with the most 
 earnest curiosity, to watch the scene. Mr. Smelt followed, 
 introducing the Colonel. 
 
 I could almost have laughed, so ridiculous had the be- 
 havior of Mr. Turbulent, joined to his presence and watch- 
 fulness, rendered this meeting; and I saw in Colonel 
 Welbred the most evident marks of similar sensations : for 
 he colored violently on his entrance, and seemed in an em- 
 barrassment that, to any one who knew not the previous 
 tricks of Mr. Turbulent, must have appeared really dis- 
 tressing. And, in truth, Mr. Smelt himself, little imagining 
 what had preceded the interview, was so struck with his 
 manner and looks, that he conceived him to be afraid of 
 
irST.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 343 
 
 poor little me, and observed, afterwards, with what " blush- 
 ing diffidence " he had begun the acquaintance ! 
 
 I who saw the true cause through the effect, felt more 
 provoked than ever with Mr. Turbulent, since I was now 
 quite satisfied he had been as busy with the Colonel about 
 me, as with me about the Colonel. He is tall, his figure is 
 very elegant, and his face very handsome : he is sensible, 
 well-bred, modest, and intelligent. I had always been told 
 he was very amiable and accomplished, and the whole of 
 his appearance confirmed the report. 
 
 The discourse was almost all Mr. Smelt's ; the Colonel 
 was silent and reserved, and Mr. Turbulent had resolved to 
 be a mere watchman. The King entered early and stayed 
 late, and took away with him, on retiring, all the gentle- 
 men. Certainly, were no consequences of future constraint 
 to be apprehended, no one could be otherwise than pleased 
 by the acquisition of such an acquaintance as Colonel 
 Welbred ; but my fears of other times told me that the 
 exclusion to which he might have submitted contentedly, 
 those who were every way his inferiors might always re- 
 sent, unless such a precedent stood before them. However, 
 it was over, and past remedy. 
 
 February 3rd. — As the tea hour approached to-day, 
 Mr. Turbulent grew very restless. I saw what was pass- 
 ing in his mind, and therefore forbore ordering tea : but 
 presently, and suddenly, as if from some instant impulse, 
 he gravely came up to me, and said, " Shall I go and call 
 the Colonel, ma'am ? " 
 
 " No, sir ! " was my Johnsonian reply. 
 
 " What, ma'am ! — won't you give him a little tea ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ! — I beg you will be at rest ! " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, and walked away ; and Mr. 
 Smelt, smiling, said, " Will you give us any ? " 
 
 " yes, surely ! " cried I, and was going away to ring for 
 the man. 
 
344 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 I believe I have already mentioned that I had no bell 
 at all, except in my bedroom, and that only for my maid, 
 whom I was obliged to summon first, like Smart's 
 monkey — 
 
 " Here, Betty I — Nan ! — 
 Go call the maid, to call the man ! " 
 
 For Mrs. Haggerdom had done without, twenty-six years, 
 by always keeping her servant in waiting at the door. I 
 could never endure inflicting such a hardship, and therefore 
 had always to run to my bedroom, and wait the progress 
 of the maid's arrival, and then of her search of the man, 
 ere ever I could give him an order. A mighty tiresome 
 and inconvenient ceremony. 
 
 Mr. Turbulent insisted upon saving me this trouble, and 
 went out himself to speak to John. But you will believe 
 me a little amazed, when, in a very few minutes, he re- 
 turned again, accompanied by his Colonel. 
 
 My surprise brought the color both into my own cheeks 
 and those of my guests. Mr. Smelt looked pleased ; and 
 Mr. Turbulent, though I saw he was half afraid of what he 
 was doing, could by no means restrain a most exulting 
 smile, which was constantly in play during the whole 
 evening. 
 
 Mr. Smelt instantly opened a conversation, with an ease 
 and good breeding which drew every one into sharing it. 
 The Colonel was far less reserved and silent, and I found 
 him very pleasing, very unassuming, extremely attentive, 
 and sensible and obliging. 
 
 The moment, however, that we mutually joined in the 
 discourse, Mr. Turbulent came to my side, and, seating 
 himself there, whispered that he begged my pardon for the 
 step he had taken. 
 
 I made him no answer, but talked on with the Colonel 
 and Mr. Smelt. 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 345 
 
 He then whispered me again, " I am now certain of your 
 forgiveness, since I see your approbation ! " 
 
 And when still I said nothing, he interrupted every 
 speech to the Colonel with another little whisper, saying 
 that his end was obtained, and he was now quite happy, 
 since he saw he had obliged me ! 
 
 At length he proceeded so far, with so positive a deter- 
 mination to be answered, that he absolutely compelled me 
 to say I forgave him, lest he should go on till the Colonel 
 heard him. 
 
 Monday, Feb. 26th. — To-day — our travelling day — 
 I was drawn into a species of trust with my companions 
 that I had resolved from prudence steadUy to avoid ; but 
 T was not proof against the discoveries of Mr. Turbulent. 
 With respect to a certain lady, I had hitherto uniformly 
 declined all discussion. The hard or coarse treatment I 
 occasionally met with I had kept to myself, and accepted 
 the intermediate better usage without making any remark 
 whatsoever. Mr. Turbulent, however, this last week, had 
 told Miss Planta he was in much concern at a sight he had 
 accidentally obtained of my poor phiz, when tSte-iu-Ute in 
 one of the Queen's rooms with this lady, and when I knew 
 not, from short-sightedness, even that a door was ajar; 
 though he, long-sighted and observant, had seen through it 
 sufficiently to read all the depression of countenance which 
 some immediate disagreeability had brought on. 
 
 Miss Planta had already informed me of this accident, 
 which was vexatious enough. I had hitherto always tried 
 to make them suppose that either I did well enough, or 
 was unconcerned in doing otherwise. But there was no 
 combating ocular proof He put aside all his flights and 
 his violences, and seemed hurt for me more than I could 
 have supposed. I passed it all off as gaily as I could, but 
 he touched me, I own, when in a tone of the most com 
 
346 DIARY AMI LETTEBS [178?. 
 
 passionate regret at my lot, he exclaimed, " This, ma'am, is 
 your colleague ! — Who could ever have imagined it would 
 have been Miss Burney's fate to be so coupled? Could 
 you ever, ma'am, foresee, or suspect, or believe you should 
 be linked to such a companion ? " No, thought I, indeed 
 did I not! But to recover myself from the train of 
 thoughts to which so home a question led, I frankly nar- 
 rated some small circumstances, of a ludicrous and unim- 
 portant nature, which regarded this lady with some of her 
 domestics. 
 
 They were almost in iits of laughter ; and Mr. Turbu- 
 lent's compassion so fleeted away from the diversion of this 
 recital, that he now only lamented I had not also known 
 the other original colleague, that she too might have lived 
 in my memory. I thank him much ! He had lately, he 
 told me, had much conversation concerning me with Mr. 
 Boswell. I feel sorry to be named or remembered by that 
 biographical, anecdotical memorandummer, tiU his book of 
 poor Dr. Johnson's life is finished and published. What 
 an anecdote, however, did he tell me of that most extra- 
 ordinary character ! He is now an actual admirer and 
 follower of Mrs. Eudd! — and avows it, and praises her 
 extraordinary attractions aloud ! 
 
 March 1st. — With all the various humors in which I 
 had already seen Mr. Turbulent, he gave me this evening 
 a surprise, by his behavior to one of the Princesses, nearly 
 the same that I had experienced from him myself The 
 Princess Augusta came, durir^ coffee, for a knotting shuttle 
 of the Queen's. While she was speaking to me, he stood 
 behind and exclaimed, d demi voix, as if to himself, 
 " Comme die est jolie ce soir, son Altesse Hoy ale !" And 
 then, seeing her blush extremely, he clasped his hands, in 
 high pretended confusion, and, hiding his head, called out, 
 " Que/erai-je ? The Princess has heard me ! " " Pray, Mr. 
 
1787.] OF MADAUE D'ARBLAY. 347 
 
 Turbulent," cried she, hastily, " what play are you to read 
 to-night ? " 
 
 "You shall choose, ma'am; either La Coquette corrigie, 
 or — " [he named another I have forgotten.] " Oh, no ! " 
 cried she, " that last is shocking ! don't let me hear that ! " 
 " I understand you, ma'am. You fix, then, upon La Co- 
 quette ? La Coquette is your Eoyal Highness's taste ? " 
 " No, indeed, I am sure I did not say that." " Yes, ma'am, 
 by implication. And certainly, therefore, I wUl read it, to 
 please your Eoyal Highness ! " " No, pray don't ; for I like 
 none of them ! " " None of them, ma'am ? " " No, none ; 
 — no French plays at all ! " And away she was running, 
 with a droll air, that acknowledged she had said something 
 to provoke him. 
 
 " This is a declaration, ma'am, I must beg you to ex- 
 plain ! " cried he, gliding adroitly between the Princess and 
 the door, and shutting it with his back. " No, no, I can't 
 explain it; so pray, Mr. Turbulent, do open the door." 
 "Not for the world, ma'am, with such a stain uncleared 
 upon your Eoyal Highness's taste and feeling ! " She told 
 him she positively could not stay, and begged him to let 
 her pass instantly. But he would hear her no more than 
 he has heard me, protesting he was too much shocked for 
 her, to suffer her to depart without clearing her own 
 credit ! 
 
 He conquered at last, and, thus forced to speak, she 
 turned round to us and said, " Well — if I must, then — I 
 wOl appeal to these ladies, who understand such things far 
 better than I do, and ask them if it is not true about these 
 French plays, that they are all so like one to another, that 
 to hear them in this manner every night is enough to tire 
 one ? " " Pray, then, madam," cried he, " if French plays 
 have the misfortune to displease you, what National Plays 
 have the honor of your preference ? " I saw he meant 
 
348 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 something that she understood better than me, for she 
 blushed again, and called out, " Pray open the door at once ! 
 I can stay no longer ; do let me go, Mr. Turbulent.'' 
 
 " Not till you have answered that question, ma'am ! 
 what Country has plays to your Koyal Highness's taste ? " 
 " Miss Burney," cried she impatiently, yet laughing, " pray 
 do you take him away ! — Pull him ! " He bowed to me 
 very invitingly for the office ; but I frankly answered her, 
 " Indeed, ma'am, I dare not undertake him ! I cannot 
 manage him at all." " The Country ! the Country ! Prin- 
 cess Augusta ! name the happy Country ! " was all she 
 could gain. 
 
 " Order him away. Miss Burney," cried she ; " 't is your 
 room : order him away from the door." " Name it, ma'am, 
 name it ; " exclaimed he ; " name but the chosen nation ! " 
 And then, fixing her with the most provoking eyes, " Est- 
 ce la JDanemarc ? " he cried. She colored violently, and, 
 quite angry with him, called out, " Mr. Turbulent, how can 
 you be such a fool ! " And now I found. . . . the Prince 
 Eoyal of Denmark was in his meaning, and in her under- 
 standing ! 
 
 He bowed to the ground, in gratitude for the term fool, 
 but added, with pretended submission to her will, " Very 
 well, ma'am, s'il ne faut lire que les comMies Danoises." 
 "Do let me go!" cried she seriously; and then he made 
 way, with a profound bow as she passed, saying, " Very 
 well, ma'am. La Coquette, then ? your Eoyal Highness 
 chooses La Coquette corrigie ? " " Corrig4e ? That never 
 was done ! " cried she, with all her sweet good-humor, the 
 moment she got out ; and off she ran, like lightning, to the 
 Queen's apartments. What say you to Mr. Turbulent 
 now? 
 
 Por my part, I was greatly surprised. I had not im- 
 agined any man, but the King or Prince of Wales, had 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 349 
 
 ever ventured at a badinage of this sort with any of the 
 Princesses; nor do I suppose any other man ever did. 
 Mr. Tuibulent is so great a favorite with all the Eoyal 
 Family, that he safely ventures upon whatever he pleases, 
 and doubtless they find, in his courage and his rhodomon- 
 tading, a novelty extremely amusing to them, or they 
 would not fail to bring about a change. 
 
 Tuesday, March 6th. — I spent almost all this morning 
 with her Majesty, hearing her botanical lesson, and after- 
 wards looking over some prints of Herculaneum, till the 
 Princess Augusta brought a paper, and a message from 
 Mr. Turbulent, with his humble request to explain it him- 
 self to her Majesty. It was something he had been ordered 
 to translate. 
 
 " Oh yes ! " cried the Queen readily, " let him come ; I 
 am always glad to see him." He came immediately; and 
 most glad was I when dismissed to make way for him : 
 for he practises a thousand mischievous tricks, to confuse 
 me, in the Eoyal presence; most particularly by certain 
 signs which he knows I comprehend, made by his eye- 
 brows ; for he is continually assuring me he always dis- 
 covers my thoughts and opinions by the motion of mine, 
 which it is his most favorite gambol to pretend constantly 
 to examine, as well as his first theme of gallantry to com- 
 pliment, though in a style too high-flown and rhodo- 
 montading to be reaUy embarrassing. 
 
 I find no further memorandums of my winter Windsor 
 expeditions of this year. I will briefly record some cir- 
 cumstances which I want no memorandums to recollect, 
 and then tie my accounts concisely together tUl I find my 
 minutes resumed. Mr. Turbulent became now every jour- 
 ney more and more violent in his behavior. He no longer 
 sued for leave to bring in his Colonel, who constantly sent 
 
350 DIAKY AND LETTEE8 [1787. 
 
 in his own name to ask it, and invariably preserved that 
 delicacy, good-breeding, and earnestness to oblige, which 
 coidd not but secure the welcome he requested. I saw no 
 more of Major Price, which I sincerely regretted. He re- 
 turned to his farm in Herefordshire. 
 
 We were travelling to Windsor — Mr. Turbulent, Miss 
 Planta, and myself, the former in the highest spirits, and 
 extremely entertaining, relating various anecdotes of his 
 former life, and gallantly protesting he was content to 
 close the scene by devoting himself to the service of the 
 ladies then present. All this for a while did mighty well, 
 and I was foremost to enter into the spirit of his rhodo- 
 montadiug ; but I drew a little back when he said we did 
 not live half enough together during these journeys, and 
 desired he might come to breakfast with me. 
 
 " Why should we not," he cried, " aU live together ? I 
 hate to breakfast alone. What time do you rise ? " " At 
 six o'clock," cried I. " Well, I shall wait upon you then 
 — call you, no doubt, for you can never be reaUy up then. 
 Shall I call you ? Will you give me leave ? " 
 
 "No, neither leave, nor the trouble." "Why not? 1 
 used to go to Miss Planta's room before she rose, and wan- 
 der about as quiet as a lamb." 
 
 Miss Planta was quite scandalized, and exclaimed and 
 denied with great earnestness. He did not mind her, but 
 went on — 
 
 "I shall certainly be punctual to six o'clock. If 1 
 should rap at your door to-morrow morning early, should 
 you be very angry ? — can you be very angry ? " An un- 
 fortunate idea this — both for him and for me, and some- 
 what resembling poor Mrs. Vesey's, which she expressed 
 once in the opening of a letter to me in these words — 
 " You look as if you could forgive a liberty.'" I fear Mr. 
 Turbulent thought so, too. 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 351 
 
 His vehemence upon the eternal suhject of his Colonel 
 lasted during the whole journey, and when we arrived at 
 Wiadsor he followed me to my room, uttering such high- 
 flown compliments, mixed with such bitter reproaches, 
 that sometimes I was almost tempted to be quite serious 
 with him, especially as that manner which had already so 
 little pleased me returned, and with double force, so as to 
 rise at times to a pitch of gallantry in his professions of 
 devotion and complaints of ill-usage that would have 
 called for some very effectual exertion to subdue and 
 crush, had I not considered all the circumstances of his 
 situation, and the impossibility of his meaning to give me 
 cause for gravity. 
 
 All his murmurs at the weariness of these winter jour- 
 neys, and all his misanthropical humors, were now van- 
 ished. He protested he longed for the return of the 
 Windsor days ; and when he got into my room upon owe 
 arrival, he detained me in a sort of conversation hard to 
 describe, of good-humored raillery and sport, mixed with 
 flighty praise and protestations, till I was regularly obliged 
 to force him away, by assurances that he would disgrace 
 me, by making me inevitably too late to be dressed for the 
 Queen. Nevertheless, till this evening, to which I am 
 now coming, I was altogether much amused with him, and 
 though sometimes for a moment startled, it was only for a 
 moment, and I felt afterwards constantly ashamed I had 
 been startled at all. 
 
 I must now, rather reluctantly, I own, come to recite a 
 quarrel, a very serious quarrel, in which I have been in- 
 volved with my most extraordinary fellow-traveller. One 
 evening at Windsor Miss Planta left the room while I was 
 winding some silk. I was content to stay and finish the 
 skein, though my remaining companion was in a humor 
 too flighty to induce me to continue with him a moment 
 
352 DIARY AND LETTERS [1?87. 
 
 longer. Indeed I had avoided pretty successfully all t^te- 
 d,-t4tes with him since the time when his eccentric genius 
 led to such eccentric conduct in our long conference in the 
 last month. 
 
 This time, however, when I had done my work, he pro- 
 tested I should stay and chat with him. I pleaded 
 business — letters — hurry — all in vain. He would listen 
 to nothing, and when I offered to move was so tumultuous 
 in his opposition, that I was obliged to re-seat myself to 
 appease him. A flow of compliments followed, every one 
 of which I liked less and less ; but his spirits seemed un- 
 controllable, and, I suppose, ran away with all that ought 
 to check them. I laughed and rallied as long as I possi- 
 bly could, and tried to keep him in order, by not seeming 
 to suppose he wanted aid for that purpose ; yet stLU, every 
 time I tried to rise, he stopped me, and uttered at last such 
 expressions of homage — so like what Shakespeare says of 
 the schoolboy, who makes " a sonnet on his mistress' eye- 
 brow," which is always his favorite theme — that I told 
 him his real compliment was all to my temper, in imagin- 
 ing it could brook such mockery. 
 
 This brought him once more on his knees, with such a 
 volley of asseverations of his sincerity, uttered with such 
 fervor and violence, that I really felt uneasy, and used 
 every possible means to get away from him, rallying him, 
 however, all the time, and disguising the consciousness I 
 felt of my inability to quit him. More and more vehement, 
 liowever, he grew, tiU I could be no longer passive, but 
 forcibly rising protested I would not stay another minute. 
 But you may easily imagine my astonishment and provo- 
 cation, when, hastily rising himself, he violently seized 
 hold of me, and compelled me to return to my chair, with 
 a force and a freedom that gave me as much surprise aa 
 offence. 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 353 
 
 All now became serious. Eaillery, good-humor, and 
 even pretended ease and unconcern, were at an end. The 
 positive displeasure I felt I made positively known ; and 
 the voice, manner, and looks with which I insisted upon an 
 immediate release were so changed from what he had ever 
 heard or observed in me before, that I saw him quite 
 thunderstruck with the alteration ; and, all his own violence 
 subsiding, he begged my pardon with the mildest humility. 
 
 He had made me too angry to grant it, and I only de- 
 sired him to let me instantly go to my own room. He 
 ceased all personal opposition, but going to the door, planted 
 himself before it, and said, " Not in wrath ! I cannot let 
 you go away in wrath ! " " You mn,st, Sir," cried I, " for I 
 am in wrath ! " He began a thousand apologies, and as 
 many promises of the most submissive behavior ia future ; 
 but I stopped them all with a peremptory declaration that 
 every minute he detained me made me but the more seri- 
 ously angry. 
 
 His vehemence now was all changed into strong alarm, 
 and he opened the door, profoundly bowing, but not speak- 
 ing, as I passed him. I am sure I need not dwell upon 
 the uncomfortable sensations I felt, in a check so rude and 
 violent to the gaiety and entertainment of an acquaintance 
 which had promised me my best amusement during our 
 winter campaigns. I was now to begin upon quite a new 
 system, and instead of encouraging, as hitherto I had done, 
 everything that could lead to vivacity and spirit, I was 
 fain to determine upon the most distant and even forbid- 
 ding demeanor with the only life of our parties, that he 
 might not again forget himself 
 
 This disagreeable conduct I put into immediate practice. 
 I stayed in my own room till I heard every one assembled 
 in the next : I was then obliged to prepare for joining them, 
 but before I opened the door a gentle rap at it made me 
 
 VOL. 1. 23 
 
354 DIAET AND LETTERS !;i787. 
 
 call out, "Who's there?" and Mr. Turbulent looked in. 
 I hastily said I was coining instantly, hut he advanced 
 softly into the room, entreating forgiveness at every step. 
 I made no other answer than desiring he would go, and 
 saying I should follow. He went back to the door, and, 
 dropping on one knee, said, " Miss Burney ! surely you 
 cannot be seriously angry ? — 't is so impossible you should 
 think I meant to offend you ! " 
 
 I said nothing, and did not look near him, but opened the 
 door, from which he retreated to make way for me, rising 
 a little mortified, and exclaiming, '■ Can you then have 
 such real Hi-nature ? How little I suspected it in you ! " 
 " 'T is you," cried I, as I passed on, " that are ill-natured !" 
 I meant for forcing me into anger ; but I left him to make 
 the meaning out, and walked into the next room. He did 
 not immediately follow, and he then appeared so much dis- 
 concerted that I saw Miss Planta incessantly eyeing him, 
 to find out what was the matter. I assumed an unconcern 
 I did not feel, for I was really both provoked and sorry, 
 foreseeing what a breach this folly must make in the com- 
 fort of my Windsor expeditions. ' 
 
 He sat down a little aloof, and entered into no conver- 
 sation all the evening ; but just as tea was over, the hunt 
 of the next day being mentioned, he suddenly asked Miss 
 Planta to request leave for him of the Queen to ride out 
 with the party. " I shall not see the Queen," cried she ; 
 " you had much better ask Miss Burney." This was very 
 awkward. I was in no humor to act for him at this time, 
 nor could he muster courage to desire it ; but upon Miss 
 Planta's looking at each of us with some surprise, and 
 repeating her amendment to his proposal, he faintly said, 
 " Would Miss Burney be so good as to take that trouble 1 " 
 
 I felt he was forced to ask this to avoid exciting fresh 
 wonder, and the same reason forced me to answer, though 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 355 
 
 most unwillingly, that I would mention it to her Majesty, 
 if I found an opportunity. I rose to retire to my room at 
 the same moment with Miss Planta, and he let us both 
 pass without molestation. He will not, however, again ask 
 if I can be angry, but I was truly vexed he should have 
 put me to such a test. 
 
 An opportunity offering favorably, I spoke at night tc 
 the Queen, and she gave leave for his attending the chase. 
 I intended to send this permission to Miss Planta, but I 
 had scarce returned to my own room from Her Majesty, 
 before a rap at my door was followed by his appearance. 
 He stood quite aloof, looking grave and contrite. I imme- 
 diately called out, " I have spoken, sir, to the Queen, and 
 you have her leave to go." He bowed very profoundly, 
 and thanked me, and was retreating, but came back again, 
 and advancing, assumed an air of less humility, and ex- 
 claimed, "Allans, done, Mademoiselle; j' esphre que vous 
 n'ites plus si mechante qu' hier au soir ? " 
 
 I said nothing ; he came nearer ; and, bowing upon his 
 own hand, held it out for mine, with a look of most re- 
 spectful supplication. I had no intention of cutting the 
 matter so short, yet from shame to sustain resentment, I 
 was compelled to hold out a finger : he took it with a look 
 of great gratitude, and very reverently touching the tip 
 of my glove with his lip, instantly let it go, and very sol- 
 emnly said, " Soyez stir que j'e n'ai jamais eu la moindre 
 id6e de vous offenser ; " and then he thanked me again for 
 his license, and went his way. I was not sorry to have 
 our war end here apparently, though I was obliged to re- 
 solve upon a defensive conduct in future, that would pre- 
 vent any other attack. 
 
 And now for a few general anecdotes that belong to this 
 month. I had the pleasure of two or three visits from Mr. 
 Bryant, whose loyal regard for the King and Queen makes 
 
356 DIAET AND LETTERS [1787 
 
 him eagerly accept every invitation, from the hope of see- 
 ing them in my room; and one of the days they both 
 came in to speak to him, and were accompanied by the 
 two eldest Princesses, who stood chatting with me by the 
 door the whole time, and saying comical things upon royal 
 personages in tragedies, particularly Princess Augusta, who 
 has a great deal of sport in her disposition. She very 
 gravely asserted she thought some of those Princes on the 
 stage looked really quite as well as some she knew off it. 
 
 Once about this time I went to a play myself, which 
 surely I may live long enough and never forget. It was 
 " Seduction," a very clever piece, but containing a dreadful 
 picture of vice and dissipation in high life, written by Mr. 
 Miles Andrews, with an epilogue — Oh, such an epilogue ! 
 I was listening to it with uncommon attention, from a 
 compliment paid in it to Mrs. Montagu, among other 
 female writers ; but imagine what became of my attention 
 when I suddenly was struck with these lines, or some- 
 thing like them : — 
 
 " Let sweet Cecilia gain your just applause, 
 Whose every passion yields to Reason's laws." 
 
 To hear, wholly unprepared and unsuspicious, such lines 
 in a theatre — seated in a Eoyal Box — and with the whole 
 Eoyal Family and their suite immediately opposite me — 
 was it not a singular circumstance ? To describe my em- 
 barrassment would be impossible. My whole head was 
 leaning forward, with my opera-glass in my hand, exam- 
 ining Miss Farren, who spoke the epilogue. Instantly I 
 shrunk back, so astonished and so ashamed of my public 
 situation, that I was almost ready to take to my heels and 
 run, for it seemed as if I were there purposely in that con- 
 spicuous place — 
 
 " To list attentive to my own applause." 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 357 
 
 The King immediately raised his opera-glass to look at 
 me, laughing heartily — the Queen's presently took the 
 same direction — aU the Princesses looked up, and all the 
 attendants, and all the maids of honor ! I protest I was 
 never more at a loss what to do with myself: nobody was 
 in the front row with me but Miss Goldsworthy, who, in- 
 stantly seeing how I was disconcerted, prudently and good- 
 naturedly forbore taking any notice of me. I sat as far 
 back as I could, and kept my fan against the exposed pro- 
 file for the rest of the night, never once leaning forward, 
 nor using my glass. 
 
 None of the Eoyal Family spoke to me upon this mat- 
 ter tiU a few days after ; but I heard from Mrs. Delany 
 they had all declared themselves sorry for the confusion it 
 had caused me. And some time after, the Queen could 
 not forbear saying, " I hope, Miss Burney, you minded the 
 epilogue the other night ? " And the King very comically 
 said, " I took a peep at you ! — I could not help that. I 
 wanted to see how you looked when your father first dis- 
 covered your writing — and now I think I know ! " 
 
 The Princesses all said something, and the kind Princess 
 Elizabeth, in particular, declared she had pitied me with 
 all her heart, for being so situated when such a compliment 
 was made. 
 
 My Fredy will have told our visit to Mrs. Cholmley, 
 where I met sundry old acquaintances, amongst whom 
 were Sir Joshua Eeynolds, Mrs. Montagu, the Bishop of 
 Chester, and Mrs. Porteus. 
 
 But what was most interesting, and, alas ! most melan- 
 choly, to me in this month, was news of the return of Mrs. 
 Piozzi to England! I heard it first from Mr. Stanhope, 
 but my dear Fredy will have told all that also, since she 
 spent with me the same evening. 
 
 The waiting of Colonel Welbred finished with this 
 
358 DURY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 month, and it finished with leaving me very sorry it was 
 over, especially as I had an entirely new acquaintance to 
 form with his successor. 
 
 His elder brother made him a visit during one of our 
 last journeys for three days, and the Colonel sent to re- 
 quest leave to bring him to my tea-table, before he made 
 his appearance. I need say nothing of him, as you aU 
 know him ; but I had a good deal of vertii talk with him, 
 and an opportunity of feeling very thankful to the con- 
 sideration of the Colonel, who, when called away himself 
 after tea to attend the King, whispered his brother that he 
 must not stay longer in that room than nine o'clock. 
 
 The elder, without asking a question, observed the in- 
 junction, and the moment the clock struck nine started up, 
 and led the way to the rest of the party in retiring. 
 
 And here closes March. 
 
1787.1 or MADAME D'AKBLAY. 369 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 1787—1788. 
 
 Apeil. — Colonel Manners now came into waiting, and 
 the very first day, as if generously to mark the superior 
 elegance of his predecessor — he came into my tea-room 
 with General Bud^, who was at Windsor by invitation — 
 without any previous message or ceremony of any sort 
 whatever. The King himself was already there, and Mr. 
 Smelt, with whom his Majesty was conversing; but as 
 soon as he retired, General Bud6 named us to each other, 
 and from that time Colonel Manners came every evening, 
 without the smallest trouble of arrangement, either for 
 himself or for me. 
 
 Fortunately, Miss Planta or Miss Emily Clayton at this 
 time were constantly of my party, which took off from the 
 awkwardness of these visits. 
 
 Colonel Manners is a tall and extremely handsome 
 young man, well enough versed in what is immediately 
 going forward iu the world ; and though not very deep in 
 his knowledge, nor profound in his observations, he is very 
 good-humored, and I am told well principled. I saw, 
 however, but little of him at this time, as my illness so 
 soon took place, and I shall mention nothing more of this 
 month except to have the pleasure of saying that my very 
 strange fellow-traveller gave me no further uneasiness after 
 the scene I have mentioned. I continued grave and dis- 
 tant, in defiance of the piqued air with which he received 
 my change, tiU 1 saw all his own flights subside into quiet 
 and common behavior. I then by degrees suffered my stiff- 
 
360 PUEY AifD LETTERS fl787. 
 
 ness to wear away, and before the time of my illness he had 
 reconciled me to him pretty entirely, by a general propriety 
 of conduct. This caused me very great satisfaction. Yet 
 from the moment of my provocation to that of my fever, I 
 could never bring myself to venture to be one moment 
 alone with him. He remonstrated on my constantly run- 
 ning away when he only remained ; but though he remon- 
 strated, now, with gentleness, I could not change my plan. 
 I saw all was then right, and I thought it most wise to 
 run no risks. 
 
 I need say nothing to my dear friends of my illness — 
 they and my dear Esther nursed me out of it, and I shall 
 skip useless recollections upon unpleasant subjects ; though 
 never will my memory's best tablet skip the records of 
 their kindness and goodness. 
 
 May. — A fresh beginning now of journal to the kindest 
 of .sisters, and of friends, from the date of my parting 
 with them as nurses and companions. 
 
 When I could see no more of my Susan's hat, and lost 
 all sight of my Fredy's carriage, I drew in my head, and 
 shut down my window, and walked slowly up and down 
 the room, to keep myself from stagnation ; and then I de- 
 termined to set about — all I was equal to imdertaking — 
 an inspection of some of my drawers and presses. 
 
 I had but just unlocked one of them when a smart rap 
 at my door startled me. Goter was upstairs with her 
 mother and sister — I was unwilling, and indeed unfit, to 
 see anybody. I made no answer — a second rapping fol- 
 lowed ; I was forced to call out, "Who 's there ? " " May I 
 pay my compliments for a moment to Miss Burney ? " was 
 the answer, in the voice of Mr. Turbulent. 
 
 Of all the whole household he was just the last person I 
 then wished to see. Those who have never been ill them- 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 361 
 
 selves know nothing of the gentleness which an invalid 
 requires. Afraid, therefore, of his visit, I earnestly called 
 out, " No, not now ; I am not visible ; I can see no com- 
 pany ! " He entered, notwithstanding, crying " Why ? " in 
 answer to all I could say to stop him, though I was so 
 little disposed for his society that I fairly turned away 
 from him, when I could not prevail, with almost serious 
 peevishness. 
 
 He must, at least, he said, ask me after Mrs. Phillips, 
 with whom he had been extremely struck, whom he much 
 wished to know more, and thought a very uncommonly 
 charming woman. I was softened a little in my spleen by 
 this, for I saw he spoke it with all his heart : " She was 
 gone ! " I answered, — "I had lost both my nurses but that 
 moment." " Indeed ? " said he ; " I had had hopes of seeing 
 
 — under your protection — Mrs. Locke ; I long to know 
 that lady — what pity to part you from them !" 
 
 I had now a good mind to shake hands with him. His 
 soothing fit, however, was soon over, for he presently added, 
 
 — " But since that must have been — why this was as good 
 a way to begin as any other." He then insisted upon it 
 that I must dine with them again : " We have Miss Golds- 
 worthy," said he, " Miss Planta, and Mile. Montmoulin," 
 and ran on with most vehement protestations that I not 
 only could come, but ought to come, to join the party. 
 
 I assured him I was quite unequal to so much company ; 
 and I told him if he would but go then, I would see him 
 again in the evening. This bribery, as he called it, made 
 him consent to depart, and he got up immediately. I have 
 told you so much, in brief, of the singularities of this gen- 
 tleman, that I enter afresh into detail, in order to prove to 
 you the consistency of the inconsistencies of my accounts 
 of him. And take now a most characteristic trait. You 
 will naturally suppose he did not spare for length of visit 
 
362 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787, 
 
 in the evening, when privileged to come by my own in- 
 vitation : — he never came at all ! You will conclude he 
 was kept away by business or necessity : — no ; for in that 
 case when we met next he would not have spared for com- 
 plaints. The simple fact is, he forgot before night aU he 
 had been so eager for at noon ! 
 
 Tuesday. — Soon after followed, both here and in town, 
 congratulatory visits on my recovery, from most of the 
 household with whom I am acquainted. You may sup- 
 pose Mr. Turbulent would not alone be omitted ; but you 
 can hardly suppose how he made me to stare when he 
 assured me, most solemnly, that he was now planning, for 
 his first leisure, a ride to Worbury Park ! 
 
 I begged to know what had occasioned that resolution ? 
 " I go," he cried, " to see the spot, the very spot, where Ma- 
 dame la Mte first beheld you." I thought him ranting ; and 
 not less when he proceeded, — "I must see the very, the 
 identical piece of earth ! — I shall want no one to tell me 
 which it is — I must needs feel it by inspiration, when 
 once I approach that hallowed ground; and who knows 
 what may follow, or what blessing may be in store for me ! 
 That spot which blessed Madame la Flte may bless me 
 also ; that look — for you loved one another at first sight 
 — that look which she describes, when you met at Lord 
 Locke's! — " 
 
 I asked him whether he was really in his senses ? And 
 he then positively assured me that Madame la Fite had 
 just published a book, in which she had recounted the or- 
 igin of her friendship with Miss Burney, whom she met at 
 Lord and Lady Locke's ! — I must own I did not believe 
 one word of this ; attributing it aU to his fertile invention, 
 till he resumed the subject at dinner, in the presence of 
 Miss Planta, by whom it was partly confirmed. I was 
 really vexed for all parties, weU knowing my beloved 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBIAY. 363 
 
 Fredy and Mr. Locke would contemn such an ill-judged 
 frivoliU as mucli as I could myself. Miss Planta — and I 
 did not wonder — could not resist a most hearty laugh at it ; 
 but Mr. Turbulent protested I had no right to find fault, as 
 that single passage was the only one in the book that had 
 any salt or spirit ! " I read that," he cried ; " but when T 
 opened it elsewhere, I fell asleep involuntarily." 
 
 St. James's Palace, June 4th. — I have had a dread of 
 the bustle of this day for some weeks, and every kind 
 friend has dreaded it for me : yet am I at this moment 
 more quiet than I have been any single moment since I 
 left my dearest Susan at that last gate of sweet ISTorbury 
 Park. Till we meet again, I shall feel as if always seeing 
 that beloved sister on that very spot. 
 
 Take a little of the humors of this day, with respect to 
 myself, as they have arisen. I quitted my downy pillow 
 at half-past six o'clock ; for bad habits in sickness have lost 
 me half an hour of every morning; and then, according 
 to an etiquette I discovered but on Friday night, I was 
 quite new dressed : for I find that, on the King's birthday, 
 and on the Queen's, both real and nominal, two new attires, 
 one half, the other full dressed, are expected from all at- 
 tendants that come into the royal presence. 
 
 This first labor was happily achieved in such good time, 
 that I was just seated to my breakfast — a delicate bit of 
 roll, half-eaten, and a promising dish of tea, well stirred — 
 when I received my summons to attend the Queen. 
 
 She was only with her wardrobe-woman, and accepted 
 most graciously a little murmured congratulation upon 
 the day, which I ventured to whisper while she looked 
 another way. Fortunately for me, she is always quick in 
 conceiving what is meant, and never wastes time in de- 
 manding what is said. She told me she had bespoke Miss 
 Planta to attend at the grand toilette at St. James's, as she 
 
364 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 saw my strength still diminished by my late illness. In- 
 deed it still is, though in all other respects I am perfectly 
 well. 
 
 The Queen wore a very beautiful dress, of a new manu- 
 facture, of worked muslin, thin, fine, and clear, as the 
 Chamb^ry gauze. I attended her from the Blue Closet, in 
 which she dresses, through the rooms that lead to the 
 breakfast apartment. In one of these, while she stopped for 
 her hair-dresser to finish her head-dress, the Eling joined her. 
 She spoke to him in German, and he kissed her hand. 
 
 The three elder Princesses came in soon after; they 
 all went up, with congratulatory smiles and curtseys, to 
 their royal Pather, who kissed them very affectionately; 
 they then, as usual every morning, kissed the Queen's hand. 
 The door was thrown open to the breakfast room, which is 
 a noble apartment, fitted up with some of Vandyke's best 
 works ; and the instant the King, who led the way, entered, 
 I was surprised by a sudden sound of music, and found 
 that a band of musicians were stationed there to welcome 
 him. The Princesses followed, but Princess Elizabeth 
 turned round to me to say she could hardly bear the sound : 
 it was the first morning of her coming down to breakfast 
 for many months, as she has had that repast iu her own 
 room ever since her dangerous illness. It overcame her, 
 she said, more than the dressing, more than the early rising, 
 more than the whole of the hurry and fatigue of all the rest 
 of a public birthday. She loves the King most tenderly ; 
 and there is a something in receiving any person who is 
 loved, by sudden music, that I can easily conceive to be 
 very trying to the nerves. 
 
 Princess Augusta came back to cheer and counsel her ; 
 she begged her to look out at the window, to divert her 
 thoughts, and said she would place her where the sound 
 might be less affecting to her. 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 365 
 
 A lively " How d' ye do. Miss Burney ? I hope you are 
 quite well now ? " from the sweet Princess Mary, who was 
 entering the ante-room, made me turn from her two charm- 
 ing sisters ; she passed on to the breakfast, soon followed 
 by Princess Sophia, and then a train of their governesses, 
 Miss Goldsworthy, Mademoiselle Montmoulin, and Miss 
 Gomme, all in full dress, with fans. We reciprocated little 
 civilities, and I had then the pleasure to see little Princess 
 Amelia, with Mrs. Cheveley, who brought up the rear. 
 Never, in tale or fable, were there six sister Princesses 
 more lovely. 
 
 As I had been extremely distressed upon the Queen's 
 birthday, in January, where to go or how to act, and could 
 obtain no information from my coadjutrix, I now resolved 
 to ask for directions from the Queen herself; and she 
 readily gave them, in a manner to make this gala-day far 
 more comfortable to me than the last. She bade me dress 
 as fast as I could, and go to St. James's by eleven o'clock ; 
 but first come into the room to her. 
 
 Then followed my grand toilette. The hair-dresser was 
 waiting for me, and he went to work first, and I second, 
 with all our might and main. 
 
 When my adorning tasks were accomplished, I went to 
 the Blue Closet. No one was there. I then hesitated 
 whether to go back or seek the Queen. I have a dislike 
 insuperable to entering a Eoyal presence, except by an im- 
 mediate summons : however, the directions I had had pre- 
 vailed, and I went into the adjoining apartment. There 
 stood Madame la Fite! she was talking in a low voice 
 with M. de Luc. They told me the Queen was in the 
 next room, and on I went. 
 
 She was seated at a glass, and the hair-dresser was put- 
 ting in her jewels, while a clergyman in his canonicals was 
 standing near, and talking to her. 
 
366 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 I imagined him some bishop unknown to me, and 
 stopped ; the Queen looked round, and called out, " Oh, 
 it 's Miss Burney ! — come in. Miss Burney." In I came, 
 curtseying respectfully to a bow from the canonicals; 
 but I found not out, till he answered something said by 
 the Queen, that it was no other than Mr. Turbulent. 
 
 Madame la Fite then presented herself at the door (which 
 was open for air) of the ante-room. The Queen bowed to 
 her, and said she would see her presently : she retired, and 
 Her Majesty, in a significant low voice, said to me, " Do go 
 to her, and keep her there a little ! " 
 
 I obeyed, and being now in no fright nor hurry, entered 
 into conversation with her sociably and comfortably. 
 
 I then went to St. James's. The Queen was most bril- 
 liant in attire ; and when she was arrayed, Mr. West was 
 allowed to enter the dressing-room, in order to give his 
 opinion of the disposition of her jewels, which indeed 
 were arranged with great taste and effect. 
 
 The three Princesses, Princess Eoyal, Augusta, and Eliz- 
 abeth, were all very splendidly decorated, and looked beau- 
 tiful. They are indeed uncommonly handsome, each in 
 their different way — the Princess Royal for figure, the 
 Princess Augusta for countenance, and the Princess Eliza- 
 beth for face. 
 
 The Duchess of Ancaster, on these gala-days, is always 
 admitted to the dressing-room before the Bed-chamber 
 Women are summoned. I quite forget if I have told you 
 that ceremonial ? If not, I will in some future packet. 
 
 Feiday, June 8th. — This day we came to Windsor for 
 the summer, during which we only go to town for a draw- 
 ing-room once a fortnight, and to Kew in the way. Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg remained in town, not weU enough to re- 
 move. That poor unhappy woman has an existence truly 
 pitiable. The house now was quite full, the King having 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 367 
 
 ordered a party to it for the Whitsun holidays. This party 
 was Colonel Manners, the equerry in waiting; Colonel 
 Eamsden, a good-humored and well-bred old officer of the 
 King's household ; Colonels Welbred and Goldsworthy, and 
 General Bud4. I shall not give these days in separate ar- 
 ticles, but string their little events under one head. 
 
 Colonel Manners I must introduce to you by a few 
 specimens. He is so often, in common with all the equer- 
 ries, to appear on the scene, that I wish you to make a 
 particular acquaintance with him. One evening, when 
 we were all, as usual, assembled, he began a discourse upon 
 the conclusion of his waiting, which finishes with the end 
 of June : " Now I don't think,'' cried he, " that it 's well 
 managed : here we 're all in waiting for three months at a 
 time, and then for nine months there 's nothing ! " " Cry 
 your mercy ! " cried Colonel Goldsworthy, " if three months 
 — three whole months ! — are not enough for you, pray 
 take a few more from mine to make up your market ! " 
 " No, no, I don't mean that ; but why can't we have our 
 waitings month by month ? Would not that be better ? " 
 " I think not ! We should then have no time unbroken." 
 " Well, but would not that be better than what it is now ? 
 Why, we 're here so long, that when one goes away nobody 
 knows one ! — one has quite to make a new acquaintance ! 
 Why, when I first come out of waiting, I never know 
 where to find anybody ! " 
 
 The Ascot races were held at this time ; the Royal Fam- 
 ily were to be at them one or two of the days. Colonel 
 Manners earnestly pressed Miss P to be there. Colo- 
 nel Goldsworthy said it was quite immaterial to him who 
 was there, for when he was attending Royalty he never 
 presumed to think of any private comfort. " Well, I don't 
 see that ! " cried Colonel Manners, " for, if I was you, and 
 not in my turn for waiting, I should go about just as I 
 
368 DUET AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 liked ; tut now, as for me, as it happens to be my own 
 turn, why I think it right to be civil to the King." We 
 all looked round ; but Colonel Goldsworthy broke forth 
 aloud — " Civil, quotha ? " cried he. " Ha ! ha ! civil, for- 
 sooth ! You 're mighty condescending ! — the first equerry 
 I ever heard talk of his civUity to the King ! ' Duty,' and 
 'respect,' and 'humble reverence' — those are words we 
 are used to ; but here come you with your civility ! Com 
 mend me to such affability ! " 
 
 The following evening, when the same party, Mr. Bry- 
 ant excepted, were assembled, the King sent for Colonel 
 Eamsden to play at backgammon. " Happy, happy man ! " 
 exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy, exultingiy ; but scarce had 
 he uttered the words ere he was summoned to follow him- 
 self. " What ! already ! " cried he, " without even my tea ! 
 Why this is worse and worse. No peace in Israel ! Only 
 one half-hour allowed for comfort, and now that 's swal 
 lowed ! Well, I must go — make my complaints aside, and 
 my bows and smiles in full face ! " 
 
 Off he went, but presently, in a great rage, came back, 
 and, while he drank a hot dish of tea which I instantly 
 presented him, kept railing at his stars for ever bringing 
 him under a royal roof " If it had not been for a puppy," 
 cried he, " I had never got off even to scald my throat in 
 this manner ! But they 've just got a dear little new ugly 
 dog : so one puppy gave way to t' other, and I just left 
 them to kiss and hug it, while I stole off to drink this tea ! 
 But this is too much ! — no peace for a moment ! — no 
 peace in Israel ! " 
 
 When this was passed. Colonel Welbred renewed some 
 of the conversation of the preceding day with me ; and, 
 just as he named Dr. Herschel, Colonel Manners broke 
 forth with his dissenting opinions. " I don't give up to 
 Dr. Herschel at all ! " cried he ; " he is all system ; and so 
 
1787.J OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 369 
 
 they are all ; and if they can but make out their systems, 
 they don't care a pin for anything else. As to Herschel, 
 I liked him well enough till he came to his volcanoes in 
 the moon, and then I gave him up. I saw he was just 
 like the rest. How should he know anything of the mat- 
 ter ? There 's no such thing as pretending to measure at 
 such a distance as that." 
 
 Miss P and myself had an extremely risible even- 
 ing with Colonels Goldsworthy, Welbred, and Manners. 
 The rest were summoned away to the King, or retired to 
 their own apartments. Colonel Welbred began the sport, 
 undesignedly, by telling me something new relative to Dr. 
 Herschel's volcanoes. This was enough for Colonel 
 Manners, who declared aloud his utter contempt for such 
 pretended discoveries. He was deaf to all that could be 
 said in answer, and protested he wondered how any man of 
 common sense could ever listen to such a pack of stuff. 
 
 Mr. de Luc's opinion upon the subject being then men- 
 tioned — he exclaimed, very disdainfully, " Oh, as to Mr. 
 de Luc, he 's another man for a system himself, and I 'd no 
 more trust him than anybody : if you was only to make a 
 little bonfire, and put it upon a hill a little way oif, you 
 might make him take it for a volcano directly ! — And 
 Herschel 's not a bit better. Those sort of philosophers are 
 the easiest taken in in the world." 
 
 Our next topic was still more ludicrous. Colonel Man- 
 ners asked me if I had not heard something very harmo- 
 nious at church in the morning ? I answered I was too 
 far off, if he meant from himself. " Yes," said he ; "I was 
 singing with Colonel Welbred ; and he said he was my 
 second. — How did I do that song ? " " Song 1 — Mercy ! " 
 exclaimed Colonel Goldsworthy ; " a song at church ! — 
 why it was the 104th Psalm ! " " But how did I do it, 
 Welbred ? for I never tried at it before." " Why, — pretty 
 VOL. I. 24 
 
370 DIAEY AUD LETTERS [1787. 
 
 well," answered Colonel Welbred, very composedly ; " only 
 now and then you run me a little into ' God save the 
 King.' " This dryness discomposed every muscle but of 
 Colonel Manners, who replied, with great simplicity, 
 " Why, that 's because that 's the tune I know best ! " 
 
 " At least," cried I, " 't was a happy mistake to make so 
 near their Majesties ! " " But pray, now, Colonel "Welbred, 
 tell me sincerely, — could you really make out what I was 
 singing?" " Oh yes," answered Colonel Welbred ; "with 
 the words!' " Well, but pray, now, what do you call my 
 voice ? " " Why — a — a — a counter tenor." " WeU, and 
 is that a good voice ? " 
 
 There was no resisting, — even the quiet Colonel Wel- 
 bred could not resist laughing out here. But Colonel 
 Manners, quite at his ease, continued his self-discussion. 
 " I do think, now, if I was to have a person to play over a 
 thing to me again and again, and then let me sing it, and 
 stop me every time I was wrong, I do think I should be 
 able to sing ' God save the King ' as well as some ladies 
 do, that have always people to show them." " You have a 
 good chance then here," cried I, " of singing some pieces of 
 Handel, for I am sure you hear them again and again." 
 " Yes, but that is not the thing ; for though I hear them 
 do it so often over, they don't stop for me to sing it after 
 them, and then to set me right. Now I '11 try if you know 
 what this is." He then began humming aloud, " My soul 
 praise," &c., so very horribly, that I really found all de- 
 corum at an end, and laughed, with Miss P , A qui 
 
 mieux mietue. Too much engaged to mind this, he very 
 innocently, when he had done, applied to us all round for 
 our opinions. 
 
 Miss P begged him to sing another, and asked for 
 
 that he had spouted the other day, " Care, thou bane of 
 love and joy." He instantly complied ; and went on, in 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 371 
 
 such shocking, discordant, and unmeaning sounds, that 
 nothing in a farce could be more risible : in defiance, how- 
 ever, of all interruptions, he continued till he had finished 
 one stanza ; when Colonel Goldsworthy loudly called out, 
 
 — " There, -'- • there 's enough ! — have mercy ! " 
 
 " Wen, then, now I '11 try something else." " Oh, no ! " 
 cried Colonel Goldsworthy, hastily ; " thank you, thank you 
 for this, — but I won't trouble you for more — I '11 not 
 hear another word ! " Colonel Welbred then, with an 
 affected seriousness, begged to know, since he took to sing- 
 ing, what he should do for a shake, which was absolutely 
 indispensable. " A shake ? " he repeated, " what do you 
 mean ? " " Why — a shake with the voice, such as singers 
 make." " Why, how must I do it ? " " Oh, really, I can- 
 not teU you!" "Why then I'll try myself, — is it 
 so ? " 
 
 And he began such a harsh hoarse noise, that Colonel 
 Goldsworthy exclaimed, between every other sound, — " No, 
 no, — no more ! " While Colonel Welbred professed teach- 
 ing him, and gave such ridiculous lessons and directions, 
 
 — now to stop short, now to swell, — now to sink the 
 voice, &c. &c., — that between the master and the scholar, 
 we were almost demolished. Afterwards, — "I think," 
 cried Colonel Welbred, turning to me, " we might make a 
 little concert among ourselves when Major Price comes." 
 This was the last day of freedom for the whole livelong 
 summer ! — Were we not right to laugh while we were 
 able ? The next day — to dinner — arrived Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, 
 
 Tuesday, June 19th. — At tea we had Miss P , 
 
 Madame La Fite, Colonel Manners, and of course, now, Mrs. 
 Schwellenberg, who presides. We were scarcely aU ar- 
 ranged when the Colonel eagerly said, " Pray, Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, have you lost anything ! " " Me ? — no, not I ! " 
 
372 DIABY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 " No ? — whftt, nothing ? " " Fot I ! " " Well, then, that 's 
 very odd ! for I found something that had your name writ 
 upon it." " My name ? and where did you find that ? " 
 " Why T— it was something I found in my hed." " In your 
 bed ? — Oh, ver well ! that is reelly oomeecal ? " " And 
 
 pray what was it ? " cried Miss P . " Why — a great 
 
 large, clumsy lump of leather." " Of leadder, sir ? — of 
 leadder ? What was that for me ? " " Why, ma'am, it 
 was so big and so heavy, it was as much as I could do to 
 lift it." 
 
 " Well, that was nothing from me ! when it was so 
 heavy, you might let it alone ! " " But, ma'am. Colonel 
 Welbred said it was somewhat of yours." " Of mine ? — 
 Oh, ver well ! Colonel Welbred might not say such thing ! 
 I know nothing, sir, from your leadder nor from your bed, 
 sir, — not I ! " " Well, ma'am, then your maid does. Colo- 
 nel Welbred says he supposes it was she." " Upon my 
 vord ! Colonel Welbred might not say such things from 
 my maid ! I won't not have it so ! " " Oh, yes, ma'am ; 
 Colonel Welbred says she often does so. He says she 's a 
 very gay lady. " 
 
 She was quite too much amazed to speak : one of her 
 maids, Mrs. Arline, is a poor humble thing, that would not 
 venture to jest, I believe, with the kitchen-maid ; and the 
 other has never before been at Windsor. " But what was 
 
 it ? " cried Miss P . " Why, I tell you — a great, 
 
 large lump of leather, with ' Madame Schwellenberg ' 
 wrote upon it. However, I 've ordered it to be sold." 
 " To be sold? How will you have it sold, sir ? Tou might 
 tell me that, when you please." "Why, by auction, 
 ma'am." " By auction, sir ? What, when it had my name 
 upon it ? Upon my vord ! — how come you to do dat, sir ? 
 Will you teU me, once ? " 
 
 "Why, T did it for the benefit of my man, ma'am, that 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 373 
 
 he might have the money." " But for what is your man to 
 have it, when it is mine ? " " Because, ma'am, it fright- 
 ened him so." " Oh, ver well ! Do you rob, sir ? Do 
 you take what is not your own, but others', sir, because 
 your man is frightened ? " " Oh yes, ma'am ! We mili- 
 tary men take all we can get ! " " What ! in the King's 
 house, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, then, ma'am, what business had it in my bed ? 
 My room 's my castle : nobody has a right there. My 
 bed must be my treasury ; and here they put me a thing 
 
 into it big enough to be a bed itself " " Oh ! veil ! 
 
 (much alarmed) it might be my bed-case, then ! " (When- 
 ever Mrs. Schwellenberg travels, she carries her bed, in a 
 large black leather case, behind her servants' carriage.) 
 " Very likely, ma'am." " Then, sir," very angrily, " how 
 come you by it?" 
 
 " Why, I '11 teU you, ma'am. I was just going to bed ; 
 so my servant took one candle, and I had the other. I 
 had just had my hair done, and my curls were just rolled 
 up, and he was going away ; but I turned about, by acci- 
 dent, and I saw a great lump in my bed ; so I thought it 
 was my clothes. ' What do you put them there for ? ' says 
 I. ' Sir,' says he, ' it looks as if there was a drunken man 
 in the bed ! ' 'A drunken man ? ' says I ; ' Take the poker, 
 then, and knock him o' the head ! — '" 
 
 " Knock him o' the head ? " interrupted Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg. " What ! when it might be some innocent person ? 
 Fie ! Colonel Manner ! I thought you had been too good- 
 natured for such thing — to poker the people in the King's 
 house ! " " Then what business have they to get into my 
 bed, ma'am ? So then my man looked nearer, and he said 
 ' Sir; why here 's yoiir night-cap ! — and here 's the piUow ! 
 — and here 's a great, large lump of leather ! ' ' Shovel it 
 all out ! ' says I. ' Sir,' says he, ' it 's Madame SchweUen- 
 
374 DIABY AND LETTEES [1787. 
 
 berg's ; here 's her name on it.' ' Well, then,' says I, ' sell 
 it, to-morrow, to the saddler.' " 
 
 " What ! when you knew it was mine, sir ? Upon my 
 vord, you been ver good!" (Bowing very low.) "WeU, 
 ma'am, it 's all Colonel Welbred, I dare say ; so, suppose 
 you and I were to take the law of him ? " " Not I, sir ! " 
 (scornfully.) " Well, but let 's write him a letter, then, 
 and frighten him: let's tell him it's sold, and he must 
 make it good. You and I'll do it together." "Wo, sir; 
 you might do it yourself ! I am not so familiar to write 
 to gentlemens." " Why, then, you shall only sign it, and 
 I'U frank it." Here the entrance of some new person 
 stopped the discussion. 
 
 Happy in his success, he began, the next day, a new 
 device : he made an attack in politics, and said he did not 
 doubt but Mr. Hastings would come to be hanged ; though, 
 he assured us, afterwards, he was firmly his friend, and be- 
 lieved no such thing. Even with this not satisfied, he next 
 told her that he had just heard Mr. Burke was in Windsor. 
 Mr. Burke is the name in the world most obnoxious, both 
 for his Reform Bill, which deeply affected all the house- 
 hold, and for his prosecution of Mr. Hastings ; she there- 
 fore declaimed against him very warmly. "Should you 
 like to know him, ma'am ? " cried he. " Me ? — No ; not 
 I." " Because, I dare say, ma'am, I have interest enough 
 with him to procure you his acquaintance. Shall I bring 
 him to the Lodge to see you ? " 
 
 " When you please, sir, you might keep him to your- 
 self ! " " WeU, then, he shall come and dine with me, and 
 after it drink tea with you." 
 
 " No, no, not I ! You might have him all to yourself ! " 
 " Oh, but if he comes, you must make his tea." " There is 
 no such must, sir ! I do it for my pleasure only — when 
 I please, sir ! " At night, when we were separating, he 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 375 
 
 wluspered Miss P that lie had something else in store 
 
 for the next meeting, when he intended to introduce mag- 
 netizing. 
 
 July 1st, Sunday. — Alarming to my heart was the 
 opening of this month ! As soon as I came from church, 
 
 I found a note from Miss P , that my beloved Mrs. 
 
 Delany was taken extremely ill. Oh how did I suffer in 
 not instantly flying to her! I was compelled only to 
 write, and to stay for my noon attendance ; but the mo- 
 ment I then acquainted the Queen with my intelligence, 
 which indeed she saw untold, she most sweetly and kindly 
 dispensed with my services, said Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 should wait alone, and permitted me to be absent for the 
 whole day. 
 
 The sweet soul — all heart, all sensibility, unhackneyed 
 by the world, uninjured by age and time — had suffered a 
 mental distress, and to that solely was her illness owing. 
 Something had gone very wrong, and so deeply was she 
 wounded, that she had been seized with cruel nervous 
 spasms, that ended in a high fever. Mr. Young, her town 
 apothecary, had been sent for. I went to her bedside as 
 calmly as was in my power, and there I spent the precious 
 day. 
 
 How edifying, between whiles, was the conversation she 
 held with me ! how prepared for the last scene ! — with what 
 humble, yet fervent joy, expecting its approach ! It seemed 
 almost wicked to pray for its delay, — yet, while destined 
 to stay in the world, can we help devoutly wishing to de- 
 tain those who best can fit us for quitting it ? 
 
 We sent for Dr. Heberden ; he saw no immediate danger. 
 Mr. Young soon arrived, and gave hope of recovery. With 
 what exquisite sensations of delight did I hear that sound ! 
 
 The Queen herself presently came to the house, and sent 
 for me downstairs to the drawing-room. She was equally 
 
376 DIABT AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 surprised and pleased that so fair a prospect was once again 
 opening. She then ordered Miss P to her, and I re- 
 turned to this most honored friend, whose sweet soft smiles 
 never a moment forsook her when she saw me approach, 
 or permitted me to be seated by her side. 
 
 The King, also, came himself, in the evening, and sent 
 for me. I delighted his benignant heart with a still fairer 
 account, for all went better and better ; and before I was 
 forced, at night, to tear myself away, she was so happily 
 revived that I left her with scarce a tear, though I would 
 have given the world not to have left her at all. 
 
 July 10th. — We came to Kew — Mrs. SchweUenberg, 
 Miss Planta, Mr. de Luc, and myself. Mrs. Schwellenberg 
 was extremely angered against the equerries, who had 
 wholly neglected all conversation with her, and hurried 
 out of the room the moment they had drunk their tea. 
 She protested that if they did not mind, she would have 
 them no more, but let them make their tea for themselves. 
 " Oh, yes, I will put an end to it ! your humble servant ! 
 when they won't talk to me, they may stay ; comical men ! 
 'hey bin bears ! " 
 
 Mr. Fisher said to me, " A friend of yours, ma'am, drank 
 tea with me lately — one who did not ask after you!" 
 " And who was that ? " " There can be but one of that 
 description in the universe ! " He meant, I found, poor 
 Mrs. Piozzi. May she be happy. She has had her share 
 of making me otherwise — a share the world holds not 
 power to give to her again. Alas ! she has lost what gave 
 that ascendance ! And those cannot long give great pain 
 who have forfeited their power to give pleasure. I find 
 this truth more and more strongly every time 1 think of 
 her; but where I find its strength the most, is that I 
 think of her, any way, less and less. 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 377 
 
 A German family dined with us at Kew ; and now I 
 had my share in the company. They no longer confined 
 themselves to their own language : they eagerly came up 
 to me as I entered the room, to tell me, in broken Engli.sb, 
 that they had not known who I was when they were at 
 Windsor. The lady told me she had read my book in 
 German, and liked it " best of any book," adding, warmly, 
 " JJ'pon my vord, it is so vat I sink, dat I wiss I had wrote 
 it selfs ! " The gentleman, in French, told me he was 
 charmed to know my name, but said he had little enough 
 imagined himself in a room- with one " si Men connue " 
 by him already, " par la renomm^e." So you see, my dear 
 friends, here is a little of the old flummery coming round 
 to me again. 
 
 Madame de Freuss took me by the hand and the arm, 
 and charged me to sit by her, and talk to her, and not to 
 esquiver so continually : however, I could not help it, for 
 when her hand was off me, there was nothing else to draw 
 me. The next day, at St. James's, when I retired from the 
 Queen's apartments to my own, who should I find there but 
 Madame de Freuss ! waiting for me, with Mrs. Farman, 
 the mantua-maker, and a couple of milliners ! I despatched 
 them soon ; but not my new friend. My dear father came : 
 " She was glad to see him." Mrs. and Miss Ord called — 
 that did not disturb her. Mr. Stanhope peeped in, — that 
 had no sort of effect. My two Worcester cousins came, — 
 and " She liked to see any of my family." Well — she 
 outstayed every one of them ! Well ! she is gone back to 
 Germany, so no matter.' 
 
 July 19th. — The election of a member for Windsor, 
 who proved to be Lord Mornington, determined his Ma- 
 jesty to spend the day at Kew with the Queen and aU the 
 Princesses. By appointment, therefore, the vacation was 
 destined to Mr. Bryant, to whose house I accompanied my 
 
378 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 dearest Mrs. Delany. We found Mr. Turbulent waiting 
 for us, with the good old gentleman, and an ample break- 
 fast prepared for our reception. 
 
 The morning was very pleasant. Mr. Bryant was quite 
 delighted with the visit, and did the honors with the 
 utmost activity and spirit, regaling us at once with his 
 excellent anecdotes and excellent brown bread, &c. 
 
 He took us all over his house, which has books in every 
 part. He begged me to follow him, when in his own room, 
 to a small neat case, which he desired me to examine. I 
 complied very readily, but you may believe my surprise 
 when I there saw, very elegantly bound, " Cecilia " and 
 " Evelina ! " He laughed very heartily at my start ; how, 
 indeed, could I suspect such a compliment from this good 
 old Grecian ? " Cecilia " and " Evelina " were not written 
 before the Deluge ! He then lent me some curious old 
 newspapers, printed just before the Eevolution ; with 
 various tracts upon that era, not very interesting to me. 
 
 "We stayed very late, and returned well pleased with our 
 expedition. Mr. Bryant was eager in displaying his col- 
 lection to Mrs. Delany, who accepts every attention not 
 as a due, but a favor, and who excuses every omission 
 with an indulgence that seems to put pardon out of the 
 question. 
 
 In the afternoon, while I was working in Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg's room, Mr. Turbulent entered, to summon Miss 
 Planta to the Princesses ; and, in the little while of exe- 
 cuting that simple commission, he made such use of his 
 very ungovernable and extraordinary eyes, that the moment 
 he was gone, Mrs. Schwellenberg demanded for what he 
 looked so at me? I desired to know what she meant. 
 " Why, like when he was so cordial with you ? Been you 
 acquainted ? " " Oh, yes ! " cried I ; " I spent three hours 
 twice a- week upon the road with him and Miss Planta, all 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 379 
 
 the winter ; and three or four dinners and afternoons be- 
 sides." " Oh, that 's nothing ! that 's no acquaintance at 
 all. I have had people to me, to travel and to dine, 
 fourteen and fifteen years, and yet they been never so 
 cordial !" 
 
 This was too unanswerable for reply ; but it determined 
 me to try at some decided measure for restraining or 
 changing looks and behavior that excited such comments. 
 And I thought my safest way would be fairly and frankly to 
 tell him this very inquiry. It might put him upon his guard 
 from such foolishness, without any more serious effort. 
 
 July 20th. — This evening Mrs. Schwellenberg was not 
 well, and sent to desire I would receive the gentlemen to tea, 
 and make her apologies. I immediately summoned my lively 
 
 and lovely young companion. Miss P , who hastens at 
 
 every call with good-humored delight. We had really a 
 pleasant evening, though simply from the absence of spleen 
 and jealousy, which seemed to renew and invigorate the 
 spirits of all present : namely. General Bud4, Signor del 
 Campo, and Colonel Gwynn. 
 
 They all stayed very late ; but when they made their 
 exit, I dismissed my gay assistant, and thought it incum- 
 bent on me to show myself upstairs. But what a re- 
 ception was awaiting me ! — so grim ! Heaven ! how 
 depressing, how cruel, to be fastened thus on an associate 
 so mgeante, so tyrannical, and so ill-disposed ! I feared to 
 blame the equerries for having detained me, as they were 
 all already so much out of favor. I only, therefore, men- 
 tioned M. del Campo, who, as a Foreign Minister, might 
 be allowed so much civility as not to be left to himself : 
 for I was openly reproached that I had not quitted them to 
 hasten to her ! Nothing, however, availed; and after vainly 
 trying to appease her, I was obliged to go to my own room, 
 to be in attendance for my royal summons. 
 
380 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 July 21st. — I resolved to be very meek and patient, as 
 I do now and then, when I am good, and to bear this hard 
 trial of causeless offence without resentment ; and there- 
 fore I went this afternoon as soon as I had dined, and sat 
 and worked, and forced conversation, and did my best, but 
 with very indifferent success, when, most perversely, who 
 should be again announced but Mr. Turbulent. 
 
 As I believe the visit was not, just after those " cordial " 
 looks, supposed to be solely for the lady of the apartment, 
 his reception was no better than mine had been the pre- 
 ceding days. He did not, however, regard it, but began a 
 talk, in which he made it his business to involve me, by 
 perpetual reference to my opinion. This did not much 
 conciliate matters ; and his rebuffs, from time to time, were 
 so little ceremonious, that nothing but the most confirmed 
 contempt could have kept off an angry resentment. I 
 could sometimes scarcely help laughing at his utterly care- 
 less returns to an imperious haughtiness, vainly meant to 
 abash and distance him. 
 
 I took the earliest moment in my power to quit the 
 room, and the reproach with which he looked at my exit, 
 for leaving him to such a tite-d-tSte, was quite risible. He 
 knew he could not, in decency, run away immediately, and 
 he seemed ready to commit some desperate act for having 
 drawn himself into such a dif&eulty. I am always rejoiced 
 when his flights and follies bring their own punishment. 
 
 Mrs. Delany was not well. I made her two little visits : 
 her eyes, she said, failed more and more ; but with such 
 resignation, such piety, she spoke of their threatened loss, 
 that I know not which I felt most at heart, sorrow or 
 admiration. 
 
 July 24th. — This day we came to Kew. 
 
 While Miss Planta and I were waiting in the parlor foi 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBIAY. 381 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mr. Turbulent entered: involuntarily 
 affriglited at tlie thought of his accompanying us, in his 
 present flighty humor, and in a carriage with one whom 
 it had already offended, I earnestly exclaimed, " Good 
 Heaven, Mr. Turbulent, I hope you are not going 
 with us 1 " 
 
 " Upon my word," answered he, " You are a most flat- 
 tering lady ! "What compliments you pay me ! You don't 
 like I should travel with you in the summer, — you de- 
 clared against it in the spring, • — it was disagreeable to 
 you in the winter, — and you are affected by it in the 
 autumn ! " — And off he went, half angry. 
 
 July 25th. — Mr. Turbulent amused himself this morn- 
 ing with giving me yet another panic. He was ordered to 
 attend the Queen during her hair-dressing, as was Mr. de 
 Luc. I remained in the room. The Queen conversed with 
 us all three, as occasions arose, with the utmost compla- 
 cency: but this person, instead of fixing there his sole 
 attention, contrived, by standing behind her chair, and 
 facing me, to address a language of signs to me the whole 
 time, casting up his eyes, clasping his hands, and placing 
 himself in various fine attitudes, and all with a humor so 
 burlesque, that it was impossible to take it either ill or se- 
 riously. Indeed, when I am on the very point of the most 
 alarmed displeasure with him, he always falls upon some 
 such ridiculous devices of affected homage, that I grow 
 ashamed of my anger, and hurry it over, lest he should 
 perceive it, and attribute it to a misunderstanding he might 
 think ridiculous in his turn. 
 
 How much should I have been discountenanced had her 
 Majesty turned about and perceived him ! yet by no means 
 so much disconcerted as by a similar Gerheric detection ; 
 since the Queen, who, when in spirits, is gay and sportive 
 herself, would be much farther removed from any hazard 
 
S82 DIAEY AND LETTEfiS [1787. 
 
 ol" misconstruction. I saw him afterwards, just before 
 dinner, alone. He began a vehement expostulation at my 
 conduct in shunning him ; but I stopped him short in his 
 career, by seriously assuring him I had something of mo- 
 ment for his attention. 
 
 Surprised and alarmed, he exclaimed, "Is it good or 
 bad ? " "I hope it may be good ! " I answered, not to in- 
 flame his curiosity, as I could not now have time to go on. 
 " If," cried he, with great abatement of violence from an 
 answer milder than he expected, " if it were bad, from such 
 a channel — " but the entrance of Mr. de Luc spared me 
 the rest of the compliment. 
 
 No opportunity of an explanation offering, I had not 
 long stole to my room, for a little breathing, before he fol- 
 lowed me, tapping at my door, but entering without wait- 
 ing for any leave. I did not much like his pursuit, but 
 resolved to make the fullest use of the conference ; and 
 just as he began his usual round of reproaches for my 
 elopements and shynesses, I desired him to desist and hear 
 me. " Most willingly," he cried ; and then I frankly told 
 him he must not wonder I avoided him, while he con- 
 ducted himself in a manner so unaccountable and singular. 
 He desired me to explain myself; looking quite aghast, 
 and even turning pale, while he waited my answer. I was 
 now wholly at a loss how to analyze my charge. I could 
 not, for shame, mention his peculiarities personal, while he 
 seemed unconscious of them, and therefore I got into a 
 most disagreeable embarrassment myself. All I could say, 
 in a general way, he either did not or would not under- 
 stand ; and after a long perplexed half remonstrance, scarce 
 inteHigible to myself, I rested my expostulation on what I 
 least regarded, merely because it was what I could best 
 dilate upon, namely, that he had excited strong suspicions 
 in Mrs. Schwellenberg that he was ridiculing her, and that 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 383 
 
 the continual reference of his eyes to mine must needs 
 make her include me in his conspiracy, which gave me so 
 much alarm, that I must always shun him tiU he behaved 
 better. And then I told him the attack of his " looMng so 
 cordial." 
 
 Extremely relieved by this account, he recovered his 
 color and his spirits, and laughed violently at the charge, 
 especially that part of it which belonged to the "fowteen 
 or fifteen years." " Well," cried he, " if that is all, I can 
 make no reform : if I look cordial, it is only that I am so ; 
 and I will not try to disprove it." I begged him to rest 
 assured that, however ridiculous this might seem, I should 
 most certainly keep out of his way with my utmost power, 
 so long as he continued to give me so much of his notice 
 when I could not escape him. But my only answer was a 
 laughing prayer that she might next discover / looked 
 cordial at Mm ! 
 
 July 26th. — We returned to Windsor the next day, and 
 I had the joy to find my sweet Mrs. Delany delightfully 
 well. Miss P having another engagement, she in- 
 dulged me with a tete-k-t^,te visit, and we renewed our 
 investigation, &c., of the ' Memoirs." How I wish my 
 two sisters could see them ! They so exactly show the 
 sweet character that has drawn them up, and how unaffect- 
 edly and innocently she has ever been the same — in the 
 prime and glow of youth, and in every danger and every 
 distress. 
 
 The good King and his charming little daughter came, 
 as usual, to rob me of my venerable Biographer in the 
 evening. 
 
 Thursday, August 2nd. — To-day, after a seven years' 
 absence, arrived the Duke of York. I saw him alight from 
 his carri^age, with an eagerness, a vivacity, that assured me 
 of the affectionate joy with which he returned to his coun- 
 
384 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787, 
 
 tiy and family. But the joy of his excellent father ! Oh, 
 that there is no describing ! It was the glee of the first 
 youth — nay, of ardent and innocent infancy — so pure it 
 seemed, so warm, so open, so unmixed ! 
 
 Softer joy was the Queen's — mild, equal, and touching 
 — while all the Princesses were in one universal rapture. 
 
 It was a happy day throughout. No one could forbear 
 the strongest hopes that the long-earned, long-due recom- 
 pense of paternal kindness and goodness wa? now to be 
 amply paid. 
 
 To have the pleasure of seeing the Eoyal Fa-uily in this 
 happy assemblage, I accompanied Miss P^ on the Ter- 
 race. It was indeed an affecting sight to view the general 
 content ; but that of the King went to my very heiwt, so 
 delighted he looked — so proud of his son — so benevo- 
 lently pleased that every one should witness his satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 The Terrace was very full ; all Windsor and its neigh- 
 borhood poured in upon it, to see the Prince, whose whole 
 demeanor seemed promising to merit his flattering recpp- 
 tion — gay, yet grateful ; modest, yet unembarrassed. 
 
 I brought in only Miss P to tea. Her sweet aunt 
 
 then joined us, as did General Grenville, who had attended 
 the Duke home, and who is chief of his establishment. 
 The Duke of Montagu arrived soon after, to see his former 
 pupil, and was greatly moved with pleasure. 
 
 The excellent King came into the tea-room for Mrs. De- 
 lany, who congratulated him, most respectfully apologizing, 
 at the same time, for venturing to come to the Lodge on 
 such an occasion. " My dear Mrs. Delany," cried he, " if 
 you could have stayed away on such a day as this, I should 
 have thought it quite unkind ! " And then he bid the 
 Duke of Montagu hand her to the royal apartment. " 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 385 
 
 Early the next morning arrived the Prince of Wales, 
 who had travelled all night from Brighthelmstone. The 
 day was a day of complete happiness to the whole of the 
 Eoyal Family. The King was in one transport of delight, 
 unceasing, invariable ; and though the newly-arrived Duke 
 was its source and support, the kindness of his heart ex 
 tended and expanded to his Eldest-Born, whom he seemed 
 ready again to take to his paternal breast. Indeed, the 
 whole world seemed endeared to him by the happiness he 
 now felt in it. 
 
 The tea circle was now enlarged with some of the Prince's 
 gentlemen, and others who came to pay their duty to the 
 Duke. Colonel Hotham, Colonel Lake, General Fawcett, 
 Mr. Bouverie, Lord Herbert, and some others, were here 
 for three evenings, and General Grenville during the whole 
 stay of the Duke at Windsor, as well as General Bud^. 
 
 Sunday, August 5th. — The Prince of Wales returned 
 to Brighton. I walked again upon the Terrace, with Miss 
 Egerton, who had Lady Mexborough of her party. The 
 next day arrived my beloved Fredy's beautiful work-box 
 for my little Princess. 
 
 To our already large party was now added the Bishop of 
 Salisbury, Major Price's uncle, who made me some such 
 very kind speeches from Mrs. Kennicott, then on a visit 
 at lus house, that I was soon satisfied, from my very slight 
 acquaintance with her, he made her name a mere vehicle 
 for his own civilities. For a Bishop, he is rather too cour- 
 teous. I am much better pleased with Bishop Hurd, 
 whose civility is all in manner, not words. 
 
 General Grenville brought in the Duke this evening to 
 the' tea-room. I was very much pleased with his behavior, 
 which was modest, dignified, and easy. Might he but 
 escape the contagion of surrounding examples, he seems 
 promising of all his fond father expects and merits. 
 
 VOL. I. 25 
 
386 DIARY ANB LETTEBS [1787 
 
 August 7th. — I followed my fair little Princess to the 
 garden with her cadeau, on this morn of her hirth ; but 
 she could not then take it. I saw her afterwards with the 
 Queen, and she immediately said, "Mamma, may Miss 
 Burney fetch me my box ? " 
 
 The Queen inquired what it was, and, hearing the expla- 
 nation, gave immediate consent. I fetched it. The sweet 
 Princess was extremely delighted, and her sweet mother 
 admired it almost equally. It was only too pretty for so 
 young a possessor. 
 
 Des horreuTs — des humews are still all in play ! I have 
 no account to give of them, but those '' cordial looks " of 
 that mischievous Mr. Turbulent, who certainly has been 
 observed to contrast them strikingly elsewhere.. I some- 
 times think I must wholly break with that strange man, 
 to avoid some actual mischief ; and surely, were such the 
 alternative, I should not hesitate one little instant. 
 
 We returned to "Windsor next day ; and all les horrev/rs 
 were soothed by the sweet balmy kindness of my revered 
 Mrs. Delany. What may not be endured where there is 
 the solace of sympathy ? Everything, I think, save one — 
 
 " Hard unkindness' alter'd eye.*' 
 I know of no endurance for that. 
 
 Sunday, 12th. — This was the Prince's real birthday, 
 though it was celebrated on the Monday. Mrs. Schwellen- 
 berg was iU ; accumulated bile, I believe, disordered her : 
 she could not come downstairs, and I dined quite alone, 
 upon a most splendid dinner, fit for the mayor and corpo- 
 ration of a great trading city. I entreated the protecting 
 presence of my dear old friend for the tea-table, which was 
 crowded. The Duke of Montagu, Signor del Campo, Gen- 
 erals Grenville, Budd, Fawcett, and Colonels Hulse, Lake, 
 Gwynn, and St. Leger. 
 
1787.] OS MADAME D'AKBLAY. 387 
 
 Tuesday, August 14th. — Late at night Mrs. Delany 
 was handed back to us by Colonel Goldsworthy, who be- 
 gan a most unreserved lamentation of being detaiaed all 
 the evening in the royal apartments — "Because," cried 
 he, " I heard Mrs. What-do-you-call-her was Ul, and coiild 
 not be here ; and I was so glad — sorry, I mean ! Well, 
 it would come out ! there 's no help for it ! " 
 
 Then he told us his great distress on account of a 
 commission he had received to order some millinery goods 
 to be sent by his sister from town, — " So I knew I could 
 not remember one word about it, — garlands, and gauzes, 
 and ribbons, — so I writ to my sister, and just said, ' Pray, 
 sister, please to send down a whole milliner's shop, and the 
 milliners with it, for directions, because the Queen wants 
 something.' And so she did it, — and to-night the Queen 
 told me the things came quite right ! " And then, when 
 obliged to return to the Eoyals, he exclaimed, in decamp- 
 ing, " Well — to-morrow I will not be so seized ! I am so 
 glad — swry, I mean ! — for this illness ! " 
 
 Wednesday, 15th. — I shall now have an adventure to 
 relate that wiU much — and not disagreeably — surprise 
 both my dear readers. 
 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg's illness occasioned my attending the 
 Queen alone; and when my of&cial business was ended, 
 she graciously detained me, to read to me a new paper, 
 called "OUa Podrida," which is now publishing periodically. 
 Nothing very bright — nothing very deficient. In the 
 afternoon, while I was drinking coffee with Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg, — or, rather, looking at it, since I rarely swallow 
 any, — her Majesty came into the room, and soon, after a 
 little German discourse with Mrs. SchweUenberg, told me 
 Mrs. Siddons had been ordered to the Lodge, to read a 
 play, and desired I would receive her in my room. 
 
 I felt a little queer in the oflEice ; I had only seen her 
 
388 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 twice or thrice, in large assemblies, at Miss Monckton's, 
 and at Sir Joshua Eeynolds's, and never had been intro- 
 duced to her, nor spoken with her. However, in this dead 
 and tame life I now lead, such an interview was by no 
 means undesirable. I had just got to the bottom of the 
 stairs, when she entered the passage gallery. I took her 
 into the tea-room, and endea,vored to make amends for 
 former distance and taciturnity, by an open and cheerful 
 reception. I had heard from sundry people (in old days) 
 that she wished to make the acquaintance ; but I thought 
 it, then, one of too conspicuous a sort for the quietness I 
 had so much difficulty to preserve in my ever increasing 
 connections. Here aU was changed ; I received her by the 
 Queen's commands, and was perfectly well inclined to reap 
 some pleasure from the meeting. 
 
 But, now that we came so near, I was much disappointed 
 in my expectations. I know not if my dear Fredy has 
 met with her in private, but I fancy approximation is not 
 highly in her favor. I found her the Heroine of a Tragedy, 
 — sublime, elevated, and solemn. In face and person, 
 truly noble and commanding; in manners, quiet and stiff; 
 in voice, deep and dragging ; and in conversation, formal, 
 sententious, calm, and dry. I expected her to have been all 
 that is interesting; the delicacy and sweetness with which 
 she seizes every opportunity to strike and to captivate upon 
 the stage had persuaded me that her mind was formed with 
 that peculiar susceptibility which, in different modes, must 
 give equal powers to attract and to delight in common life. 
 But I was very much mistaken. As a stranger, I must 
 have admired her noble appearance and beautiful counte- 
 nance, and have regretted that nothing in her conversation 
 kept pace with their promise ; and, as a celebrated actress, 
 I had stUl only to do the same. 
 
 Whether fame and success have spoiled her, or whether 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 389 
 
 she only possesses the skill of representing and embellish- 
 ing materials with which she is furnished by others, I 
 know not; but still I remain disappointed. She was 
 s.-arcely seated, and a little general discourse begun, before 
 she told me — all at once — that " there was no part she 
 had ever so much wished to act as that of Cecilia." I 
 made some little acknowledgment, and hurried to ask when 
 she had seen Sir Joshua Eeynolds, Miss Palmer, and others 
 with whom I knew her acquainted. The play she was to 
 read was " The Provoked Husband." She appeared neither 
 alarmed nor elated by her summons, but calmly to look 
 upon it as a thing of course, from her celebrity. 
 
 I should very much have liked to have heard her read 
 the play, but my dearest Mrs. Delany spent the whole 
 evening with me, and I could therefore take no measures 
 for finding out a convenient adjoining room. 
 
 At the Castle there was a ball. Mrs. Delany and Miss 
 
 P spent the evening here, and all of us upstairs. I 
 
 sat up all night, not having the heart to make Goter, and 
 not daring to trust to a nap for myself. But the morning 
 proved very fine, and I watched the opening dawn and 
 rising sun, and enjoyed, with twinkling eyes, their blushing 
 splendor. 
 
 How tired I felt the next day ! but I was kindly told I 
 must " certainly like sitting up all night, or for what did 
 I do it ? — when the Queen came not home till near morn- 
 ing, I might have done what I liked ; nobody might pity 
 me, when I did such things, if I had been ill for my 
 pains." 
 
 I hastened, when able, to my beloved comforter, whose 
 soothing sweetness softened the depression of hardness and 
 injustice. Some rudeness, however, which even this angel 
 met with from the same quarter, determined her not to 
 come this evening to tea. • I invited, therefore, Madame la 
 
390 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 Ftte to assist me at tea : when I had a party of gentlemen, 
 all, like myself, so fatigued with the business of the preced- 
 ing day's diversion, that our only conversation was in 
 comfortably comparing notes of complaint. 
 
 In the evening, Madame la Flte took my place at piquet 
 upstairs, and I began Dr. Seattle's " Evidence of the Chris- 
 tian Eeligion," and there found the composure I required. 
 
 Sunday, 19th. — I had a long morning visit from Lady 
 Harcourt, who talked zealously of the present critical time 
 for the King's happiness, in the turn yet remaining to be 
 taken by the Duke of York. 
 
 My dear Mrs. Delany would stay away no longer, seeing 
 me the only person punished by her merited resentment. 
 She came, though Mrs. SchweUenberg was again down- 
 stairs ; and behaved with a softness of dignity peculiar to 
 herself. 
 
 Windsor, August. — Who should find me out now but 
 Dr. Shepherd. He is here as canon, and was in residence. 
 He told me he had long wished to come, but had never 
 been able to find the way of entrance before. He made me 
 an immense length of visit, and related to me all the ex- 
 ploits of his life, — so far as they were prosperous. In no 
 farce did a man ever more floridly open upon his own per- 
 fections. He assured me I should be delighted to know 
 the whole of his life ; it was equal to anything ; and every- 
 thing he had was got by his own address and ingenuity. 
 
 " I could tell the King," cried he, " more than all the 
 Chapter. I want to talk to him, but he always gets out 
 of my way : he does not know me ; he takes me for a com- 
 mon person, like the rest of the canons here, and thinks of 
 me no more than if I were only fit for the cassock ; — a 
 mere Scotch priest ! Bless 'em ! — they know nothing about 
 me. You have no conception what things I have done ! 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 391 
 
 And I want to tell 'em all this ; it 's fitter for them to hear 
 than what comes to their ears. What I want is for somebody 
 to tell them what I am." They know it already, thought I. 
 
 Then, when he had exhausted this general panegyric, he 
 descended to some few particulars ; especially dilating up- 
 on his preaching, and applying to me for attesting its ex- 
 cellence. " I shall make one sermon every year, precisely 
 for you ! " he cried : " I think I know what will please you 
 That on the Creation last Sunday was just to your taste. 
 You shall have such another next residence. I think I 
 preach in the right tone — not too slow, like that poor 
 wretch Grape, nor too fast, like Davis and the rest of 'em ; 
 but yet fast enough never to tire them. That 's just my 
 idea of good preaching." 
 
 Then he told me what excellent apartments he had. here, 
 and how much he should like my opinion in fitting them 
 up. He begged to know if I could come to a concert, as 
 he would give such a one as would delight me. I told 
 him it was quite impossible. Then he said I might per- 
 haps have more time in town ; and there he had the finest 
 instruments iu the world. I assured him of his mistake. 
 
 September. — My memorandums of this month are so 
 scanty that I shall not give them in their regular dates. 
 
 To me the month must needs be sweet that brought to 
 me friends dearest to my heart ; and here again let me 
 thank them for the reviving week bestowed upon me from 
 the 10th to the 17th. 
 
 On the evening they left me, my kind Mrs. Delany 
 carried me to Dr. Herschel's. Madame la Flte said, after- 
 wards, that, nothing remaining upon earth good enough 
 to console me for les Lockes and Mrs. Phillips, I was fain 
 to travel to the moon for comfort. I think it was very 
 well said. 
 
 And, indeed, I really found myself much pleased with 
 
392 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 the little excursion. Dr. Herschel is a delightful man ; so 
 unassuming, with his great knowledge, so willing to dis- 
 pense it to the ignorant, and so cheerful and easy in his 
 general manners, that, were he no genius, it would be im- 
 possible not to remark him as a pleasing and sensible man. 
 
 I was equally pleased with his sister, whom I had 
 wished to see very much, for her great celebrity in her 
 brother's science. She is very little, very gentle, very 
 modest, and very ingenuous : and her manners are those 
 of a person unhackneyed and una wed by the world, yet 
 desirous to meet and to return its smiles. I love not the 
 philosophy that braves it. This brother and sister seem 
 gratified with its favor, at the same time that their own 
 pursuit is all-suf&cient to them without it. 
 
 I inquired of Miss Herschel if she was still comet- 
 hunting, or content now with the moon ? The brother 
 answered, that he had the charge of the moon, but he left 
 to his sister to sweep the heavens for comets. 
 
 Their manner of working together is most ingenious and 
 curious. WhUe he makes his observations without-doors, 
 he has a method of communicating them to his sister so 
 immediately, that she can instantly conjmit them to paper, 
 with the precise moment in which they are made. By 
 this means he loses not a minute, when there is anything 
 particularly worth observing, by writing it down, but can 
 still proceed, yet still have his accounts and calculations 
 exact. The methods he has contrived to facilitate this 
 commerce I have not the terms to explain, though his sim- 
 ple manner of showing them made me fully, at the time, 
 comprehend them. 
 
 The night, unfortunately, was dark, and I could not see 
 the moon with the famous new telescope. I mean not the 
 great telescope through which I had taken a walk, for that 
 is still incomplete, but another of uncommon powers. I 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 393 
 
 saw Saturn, however, and his satellites, very distinctly, and 
 their appearance was very beautiful. 
 
 Septembee. — I saw a great deal of Mr. Bunbury in the 
 course of this month, as he was in waiting upon the Duke 
 of York, who spent great part of it at Windsor, to the 
 inexpressible delight of his almost idolizing father. Mr. 
 Bunbury did not open upon me with that mildness and 
 urbanity that might lead me to forget the strokes of his 
 pencil and power of his caricature: he early avowed a 
 general disposition to laugh at, censure, or despise all 
 around him. He began talking of everybody and every- 
 thing about us, with the decisive freedom of a confirmed 
 old intimacy. 
 
 Notwithstanding the general reverence I pay to extraor- 
 dinary talents, which lead me to think it even a species 
 of impertinence to dwell upon small failings in their rare 
 possessors, Mr. Bunbury did not win my good-will. His 
 serious manner is supercilious and haughty, and his easy 
 conversation wants rectitude in its principles. For the 
 rest, he is entertaining and gay, full of talk, sociable, wil- 
 ling to enjoy what is going forward, and ready to speak his 
 opinion with perfect unreserve. 
 
 Plays and players seem his darling theme: he can 
 rave about them from morning to night, and yet be ready 
 to rave again when morning returns. He acts as he talks, 
 spouts as he recollects, and seems to give his whole soul to 
 dramatic feeling and expression. This is not, however, his 
 only subject. Love and romance are equally dear to his 
 discourse, though they cannot be introduced with equal fre- 
 quency. Upon these topics he loses himself wholly — he 
 runs into rhapsodies that discredit him at once as a father, 
 a husband, and a moral man. He asserts that love is the 
 first principle of life, and should take place of every other; 
 
394 DIARY AND LETTERS [178T 
 
 holds all bonds and obligations as nugatory that would 
 claim a preference ; and advances such doctrines of exalted 
 sensations in the tender passion as made me tremble while 
 I heard them. 
 
 He adores Werter, and would scarce believe I had not 
 read it — still less that I had begun it and left it off, from 
 distaste at its evident tendency. I saw myself sink in- 
 stantly in his estimation, though tOl this little avowal I 
 had appeared to stand in it very honorably. 
 
 The Queen received a very beautiful and curious present 
 this month from the King of Naples, consisting of a most 
 complete set of china, and a dessert, representing antique 
 games ; the figures white, and apparently from models of 
 very extraordinary merit and beauty. The plates gave the 
 curiosities of Herculaneum — every plate of the almost 
 innumerable quantity containing a different representation. 
 Combats of gladiators and of Amazons, chiefs victorious 
 returning for their prizes, old victors instructing youthful 
 candidates, cars, chariots, men and horses, all in battle and 
 disorder, conquerors claiming crowns of laurel, and the 
 vanquished writhing in the agonies of wounds and death — 
 such were the subjects, and the execution in general was 
 striking and masterly. 
 
 So here I stop — this calm month offering nothing more 
 to relate : save, what you all know, that I wrote my little 
 ballad, "Willy," for Mr. WiUiam Locke, and that the 
 writing it was my best amusement upon losing my dearest 
 friend, because most congenial with the sad feelings of my 
 mind on the separation, when " Void was the scene, blank, 
 vacant, drear ! " A tautology so expressive of the tautology 
 of my life and feelings, that it was the-first line written of 
 my ballad, though afterwards inserted in the midst of it. 
 
 Thursday, November 1st. — I received my beautiful 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 395 
 
 fairings from my dearest Tredy, and a noble giornale from 
 my Susanna. What sweet wealth to me ! — such are the 
 riches I covet ; all meaner coin is thrown away upon me. 
 It suits convenience, indeed, a little ! — that I confess ! 
 
 I carried up to Mrs. Schwellenberg the present sent her 
 by my liberal Fredy. When I produced it, she motioned 
 it away with her hand, and said, loftily, " For what ? " 
 "For civility, ma'am!" answered I, very coolly. Never 
 theless, it was some time ere she could settle it with her 
 notions to accept it. 
 
 No one else, however, proved quite so sublime. 
 
 Saturday, 3rd. — I carried to the lower Lodge my little 
 offerings for the Princess Sophia, who had been ill some 
 time, and kept her birthday in bed. She received them 
 very prettily. Miss Goldsworthy being so obliging as to 
 usher me into her room. They were much admired by 
 Princess Mary, and the Princess Amelia insisted on my 
 making her a separate visit in another room, where we 
 played together very sociably. 
 
 I also took the Sventurata her fairing ; and she poured 
 forth bitter complaints to me against the Cerbera. I could 
 but condole with her, and advise a little " dignity of ab- 
 sence '' till better received. 
 
 Thursday, 8th. — My kindest Fredy's screen arrived on 
 the very moment of time for presentation to Princess Au- 
 gusta, who received it with the utmost sweetness, and told 
 me they had all been much diverted lately, by Mrs. Har- 
 court, who, very innocently, had acquainted them there 
 was a new fair kept at Leatherhead, where a Mr. and Mrs. 
 Locke sent the most beautiful and elegant toys and orna- 
 ments that could be conceived. 
 
 Friday, 27th. — I had a terrible journey indeed to 
 town, Mrs. Schwellenberg finding it expedient to have the 
 glass down on my side, whence there blew in a sharp 
 
396 DIAET AND LETTEK8 [1787. 
 
 wind, •whicli so painfully attacked my eyes, that they were 
 inflamed even before we arrived in town. Mr. de Luc and 
 Miss Planta both looked uneasy, but no one durst speak ; 
 and for me, it was among the evils that I can always best 
 bear : yet before the evening I grew so ill that I could not 
 propose going to Chelsea, lest I should be utterly unfitted 
 for Thursday's drawing-room. 
 
 The next day, however, I received a consolation that has 
 been some ease to my mind ever since. My dear father 
 spent the evening with me, and was so incensed at the state 
 of my eyes, which were now as piteous to behold as to 
 feel, and at the relation of their usage, that he charged me, 
 another time, to draw up my glass in defiance of all oppo- 
 sition, and to abide by all consequences, since my place 
 was wholly immaterial when put in competition with my 
 health. 
 
 I was truly glad of this permission to rebel, and it has 
 given me an internal hardiness in all similar assaults, that 
 has at least relieved my mind from, the terror of giving 
 mortal offence where most I owe implicit obedience, should 
 provocation overpower my capacity of forbearance. 
 
 We wrote jointly to our good and dear Mr. Twining, 
 though I was so blind that my pen went almost its own 
 way, and for the rest of the evening my dear father read 
 me papers, letters, manuscripts innumerable. 
 
 On the Thursday I was obliged to dress, just as if noth- 
 ing was the matter. The next day, when we assembled to 
 return to Windsor, Mr. de Luc was in real consternation at 
 sight of my eyes ; and I saw an indignant glance at my co- 
 adjutrix, that could scarce content itself without being un- 
 derstood. Miss Planta ventured not at such a glance, but a 
 whisper broke out, as we were descending the stairs, expres- 
 sive of horror against the same poor person — 'pow person 
 indeed — to exercise a power productive only of abhorrence, 
 to those that view as well as to those that feel it ! 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 397 
 
 Some business of Mrs. Schwellenberg's occasioned a 
 delay of the journey, and we all retreated back ; and when 
 I returned to my room, Miller, the old head housemaid, ■ 
 came to me, with a little neat tin saucepan in her hand, 
 saying, " Pray, ma'am, use this for your eyes : 't is milk 
 and butter, sit,ch as I used to make for Madame Haggerdorn 
 when she travelled in the winter with Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg." 
 
 Good Heaven ! I really shuddered when she added, that 
 all that poor woman's misfortunes with her eyes, which, 
 from inflammation after inflammation, grew nearly blind, 
 were attributed by herself to these journeys, in which she 
 was forced to have the glass down at her side in all 
 weathers, and frequently the glasses behind her also I 
 Upon my word this account of my predecessor was the 
 least exhilarating intelligence I could receive ! Goter told 
 me, afterwards, that all the servants in the house had 
 remarked / was going just the same way ! 
 
 Miss Planta presently ran into my room, to say she had 
 hopes we should travel without this amiable being ; and 
 she had left me but a moment when Mrs. Stainforth suc- 
 ceeded her, exclaiming, " Oh, for Heaven's sake, don't leave 
 her behind ; for Heaven's sake. Miss Burney, take her 
 with you ! " 'T was impossible not to laugh at these oppo- 
 site interests, both, from agony of fear, breaking through 
 all restraint. 
 
 Soon after, however, we all assembled again, and got into 
 the coach. Mr. de Luc, who was my vis-d-vis, instantly 
 pulled up the glass. "Put down that glass!" was the 
 immediate order. He affected not to hear her, and began 
 conversing. She enraged quite tremendously, calling aloud 
 to be obeyed without delay. He looked compassionately at 
 me, and shrugged his shoulders, and said, " But, ma'am — " 
 " Do it, Mr. de Luc, when I tell you ! I will have it ! When 
 
398 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 you been too cold, you might bear it !" "It is not for me, 
 ma'am, but poor Miss Burney. " " 0, poor Miss Burney 
 might bear it the same ! put it down, Mr. de Luc ! without, 
 I will get out ! put it down, when I tell you ! It is my 
 coach ! I will have it selfs ! I might go alone ia it, or with 
 one, or with what you call nobody, when I please ! " 
 
 Frightened for good Mr. de Luc, and the more for being 
 much obliged to him, I now interfered, and begged him 
 to let down the glass. Very reluctantly he complied, and 
 I leant back in the coach, and held up my muff to my 
 eyes. What a journey ensued ! To see that face when 
 lighted up with fury is a sight for horror ! I was glad to 
 exclude it by my muff. Miss Planta alone attempted to 
 speak. I did not think it incumbent on me to " make the 
 agreeable," thus used; I was therefore wholly dumb: for 
 not a word, not an apology, not one expression of being 
 sorry for what I suffered, was uttered. The most horrible 
 ill-humor, violence, and rudeness, were all that were shown. 
 Mr. de Luc was too much provoked to take his usual 
 method of passing all off by constant talk : and as I had 
 never seen him venture to appear provoked before, I felt a 
 great obligation to his kindness. 
 
 When we were about half way, we stopped to water the 
 horses. He then again pulled up the glass, as if from 
 absence. A voice of fury exclaimed, " Let it down ! with- 
 out I won't go ! " "I am sure," cried he, " all Mrs. de Luc's 
 plants wiU be killed by this frost ! " For the frost was 
 very severe indeed. 
 
 Then he proposed my changing places with Miss Planta, 
 who sat opposite Mrs. Schwellenberg, and consequently 
 on the sheltered side. " Yes ! " cried Mrs. Schwellenberg, 
 " Miss Burney might sit there, and so she ought ! " I told 
 her briefly I was always sick in riding backwards. " Oh, 
 ver well ! when you don't like it, don't do it. You might 
 
178V.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 399 
 
 bear it when you like it ! What did the poor Haggerdorn 
 bear it ! when the blood was all runnin" down from her 
 eyes ! " This was too much ! " I must take, then," I cried, 
 " the more warniug ! " After that I spoke not a word. I 
 ruminated all the rest of the way upon my dear father's 
 recent charge and permission. I was upon the point con- 
 tinually of availing myself of both, but alas ! I felt the 
 deep disappointment I should give him, and I felt the most 
 cruel repugnance to owe a resignation to a quarrel. 
 
 These reflections powerfully forbade the rebellion to 
 which this unequalled arrogance and cruelty excited me ; 
 and after revolving them again and again, I — accepted a 
 hit of cake which she suddenly offered me as we reached 
 Windsor, and determined, since I submitted to my monastic 
 destiny from motives my serious thoughts deemed right, I 
 would not be prompted to oppose it from mere feelings 
 of resentment to one who, strictly, merited only contempt. 
 
 And from this time, my dear friends, I have shut out 
 from my sight the prospect that such rumination was 
 opening. I pray God I may persevere in crushing inferior 
 motives — that I may strengthen such as are better. But 
 't is best to build no castles in the air. They have so ter- 
 rible an aptitude, light as they are, to shatter their poor 
 constructors in their fall. 
 
 I would not have had my tender friends know this 
 conflict at the time ! Now that again my mind is made 
 up to its fate, I feel sure of their ultimate approbation, 
 when I tell them my ultimate opinion, which I must hope, 
 also, to make my rule and practice in this, to me, momen- 
 tous decision : — That, in total disregard to all that belongs 
 to myself, I must cherish no thought of retreat, unless 
 called hence, by willing kindness, to the paternal home, 
 or driven hence, by weakness and illness, from the fatigues 
 of my of&ce. I am glad I have written this. All better 
 
400 DIAKT AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 resolves have double chance with me, when I have com- 
 municated them to my Susanna and Fredy. 
 » I gulped as well as I could at dinner : bul all civil fits 
 are again over. Not a word was said to me ; yet I was 
 really very ill all the afternoon. The cold had seized my 
 elbows, from holding them up so long, and I was stiff and 
 chilled all over. 
 
 In the evening, however, came my soothing Mrs. Delany. 
 Sweet soul! She folded me in her arms, and wept over 
 my shoulder ! Mrs. Ashley had been with me, and saw my 
 condition ; and this beloved friend could not contain her 
 grief. Yet how small a matter this to the whole ! But 
 this was apparent; and the whole, the tenor of my feelings, 
 she knows not. 
 
 Too angry to stand upon ceremony this evening, she told 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg, after our public tea, she must retire 
 to my room, that she might speak with me alone. This 
 was highly resented, and I was threatened, afterwards, that 
 she would come to tea no more, and we might talk our 
 secrets always. Mr. de Luc called upon me next morning, 
 and openly avowed his indignation, protesting it was an 
 oppression he could not bear to see used, and reproving 
 me for checking him when he would have run all riska 
 I thanked him most cordially, but assured him the worst of 
 aU inflammations to me was that of a quarrel, and I en- 
 treated him, therefore, not to interfere. But we have been 
 3ordial friends from that time forward. 
 
 Miss Planta also called, kindly bringing me some eye- 
 water, and telling me she had never so longed to beat 
 anybody in her life ; " And yet, I assure you," she added, 
 " everybody remarks that she behaves, altogether, better to 
 you than to anybody ! " Heavens ! Mr. Turbulent 
 spent almost all this month in attendance upon his deserv- 
 ing wife, who relapsed, but recovered ; and his conduct was 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 401 
 
 such as to give him a higher place in my good graces than 
 he had ever yet secured himself. I saw him three or four 
 times ; all civility, but wholly without flights and raptures; 
 tamed and composed, happy in the restoration of his wife, 
 and cured of all wild absurdity. I conducted myself to 
 him just as when we iirst grew acquainted — with open- 
 ness, cheerfulness, and ease ; appearing to forget all that 
 had been wrong, and believing such an appearance the best 
 means to make him forget it also. Such was this month, 
 in which, but for the sweet support of Mrs. Delany, I must 
 almost wholly have sunk under the tyranny, whether 
 opposed or endured, of my most extraordinary coadjutrix. 
 
 Saturday, December 1st. — 'Tis strange that two feel- 
 ings so very opposite as love and resentment should have 
 nearly equal power in inspiring courage for or agaiifist the 
 object that excites them ; yet so it is. In former times I 
 have often, on various occasions, felt it raised to anything 
 possible by affection, and now I have found it mount to the 
 boldest height by disdain. For, be it known, such gross 
 and harsh usage I experienced in the end of last month, 
 since the inflammation of the eyes, which I bore much more 
 composedly than sundry personal indignities that followed, 
 that I resolved upon a new mode of conduct — namely, to 
 go out every evening, in order to show that I by no means 
 considered myself as bound to stay at home after dinner, 
 if treated very ill: and this most courageous plan I flat- 
 tered myself must needs either procure me a liberty of ab- 
 sence, always so much wished, or occasion a change of 
 behavior to more decency and endurability. 
 
 I had received for to-day an invitation to meet Lady 
 Bute and Lady Louisa Stuart at my dearest Mrs. Delany 's, 
 and I should have wished it at all times, so much I like 
 them both. I had no opportunity to speak first to my 
 Royal Mistress, but I went to her at noon, rather more 
 
402 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 dressed than usual, and when I saw her look a little sur- 
 prised, I explained my reason. She seemed very well 
 satisfied with it, hut my coadjutrix appeared in an aston- 
 ishment unequalled; and at dinner, when we necessarily 
 met again, new testimonies of conduct quite without ex- 
 ample were exhibited ; for when Mrs. Thackeray and Miss 
 Planta were helped, she helped herself, and appeared pub- 
 licly to send me to Coventry — though the sole provoca- 
 tion was intending to forego her society this evening ! 
 
 I sat quiet and unhelped a few minutes, considering 
 what to do; for so little was my appetite, I was almost 
 tempted to go without dinner entirely. However, upon 
 further reflection, I concluded it would but harden her 
 heart still more to have this fresh affront so borne, and so 
 related, as it must have been, through Windsor, and there- 
 fore I calmly begged some greens from Miss Planta. 
 
 Neither she nor Mrs. Thackeray had had courage to 
 offer me anything, my " disgrace " being so obvious. The 
 weakness of my eyes, which still would not bear the light, 
 prevented me from tasting animal food all this time. A 
 little ashamed, she then anticipated Miss Planta's assist- 
 ance, by offering me some French beans. To curb my own 
 displeasure, I obliged myself to accept them instead of the 
 greens, and they tasted very well by that means, though 
 they came through such hands. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, this little softening was pres- 
 ently worn out, by some speeches which it encouraged 
 from Mrs. Thackeray, who seemed to seize the moment of 
 permission to acknowledge that I was in the room, by tell- 
 ing me she had lately met some of my friends in town, 
 among whom Mrs. Chapone ; and the Burrows family had 
 charged her with a thousand regrets for my seclusion from 
 their society, and as many kind compliments and good 
 wishes, This again sent me to Coventry for the rest of 
 
1787.1 OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 403 
 
 the dinner. When it was over, and we were all going up- 
 stairs to coffee, I spoke to Columb, in passing, to have a 
 chair for me at seven o'clock. "For what, then, "cried 
 a stern voice behind me, " for what go you upstairs at all, 
 when you don't drink coffee ?" Did she imagine I should 
 answer " For your society, ma'am ? " N"o — I turned back, 
 quick as lightning, and only saying " Very well, ma'am," 
 moved towards my own room. 
 
 Again a little ashamed of herself, she added, rather more 
 civilly, " For what should you have that trouble ? " I 
 simply repeated my "Very well, ma'am," in a voice of, 1 
 believe, rather pique than calm acquiescence, and entered 
 my own apartment, unable to enjoy this little release, 
 however speedy to obtain it, from the various, the griev- 
 ous emotions of my mind, that this was the person, use 
 me how she might, with whom I must chiefly pass my 
 time! 
 
 So unpleasant were the sensations that filled me, that 1 
 could recover no gaiety, even at the house of my beloved 
 friend, though received there by her dear self, her beauti- 
 ful niece, and Lady Bute and Lady Louisa, in the most 
 flattering manner. Yet I stayed till ten o'clock, though 
 hitherto I had returned at nine. I was willing to make 
 manifest that I did not make such sacrifice of my time 
 equally to the extremest rudeness as to common civility ; 
 for more than common civility never, at best, repays it. 
 
 Lady Bute and Lady Louisa were both in such high 
 spirits themselves, that they kept up all the conversation 
 between them, and with a vivacity, an acuteness, an arch- 
 ness, and an observation on men and manners so clear and 
 sagacious, that it would be dif&cult to pass an evening of 
 greater entertainment. They were just returning from 
 Bath, and full fraught with anecdote and character, which 
 they dealt out to their hearers with so much point and 
 
40't DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 humor, that we attended to them like a gratified audience 
 of a public place. 
 
 My reception at home was not quite similar ; and I ob- 
 served, even in my Eoyal Mistress, a degree of gravity that 
 seemed not pleased. I conjectured that my aisence had 
 been lamented. How hard, if so, not to make known, in 
 my turn, how my presence is accepted! However, I will 
 not complain of her ; I will only continue to absent my- 
 self, while she behaves thus intolerably. 
 
 Accordingly, the next evening, I went to Mrs. de Luc's, 
 and there I had a little music. Miss Myers, a poor girl 
 who has been rescued from much mischief and distress 
 through the benevolence of good Mrs. de Luc, played upon 
 the violin, and in a very pleasing manner. 
 
 The Prisidente was all amaze at this second visit ; but 
 rather less imperious. All I regretted was my poor Miss 
 
 P , who had come to tea, and had no means to get 
 
 away before me : I had therefore advised her to make a 
 virtue of necessity, and to faire I'agrddble in my absence. 
 But the account she gave me, on my return, of the ex- 
 treme haughty ill-breeding she had experienced sincerely 
 concerned me for her. She assured me she would not 
 change situations with me, to avoid any situation she ever 
 could conceive ; and the good nature with which she la- 
 mented my destiny, from this little sample of what it is 
 unassisted, has really endeared her to me very much. 
 
 The behavior of my coadjutrix continued in the same 
 strain — really shocking to endure. I always began, at 
 our first meeting, some little small speech, and constantly 
 received so harsh a rebuff at the second word, that I then 
 regularly seated myself by a table, at work, and remained 
 wholly silent the rest of the day. 
 
 I tried the experiment of making my escape ; but I was 
 fairly conquered from pursuing it. The constant black re- 
 
1787.] OF MADAME D'AEBIAT. 405 
 
 ception depressed me out of powers to exert for flight; and 
 therefore I relinquished this plan, and only got off, as I 
 could, to my own room, or remained dumb in hers. 
 
 To detail the circumstances of the tyranny and the 
 grossii,rete I experienced at this time would be afflicting to 
 my beloved friends, and oppressive to myself. I am fain, 
 however, to confess they vanquished me. I found the res- 
 toration of some degree of decency quite necessary to my 
 quiet, since such open and horrible ill-will from one daily 
 in my sight even affrighted me; it pursued me in shocking 
 visions even when I avoided her presence ; and therefore 1 
 was content to put upon myself the great and cruel force 
 of seeking to conciliate a person who had no complaint 
 against me, but that she had given me an inflammation of 
 the eyes, which had been witnessed and resented by hei 
 favorite Mr. de Luc. I rather believe that latter circum- 
 stance was what incensed her so inveterately. 
 
 I gave up either going to my beloved solace, or receiv- 
 ing her here, and oifered my service to play at piquet. — 
 At first this was disdainfully refused, and but very proudly 
 accepted afterwards. I had no way to compose my own 
 spirit to an endurance of this, but by considering myself 
 as married to her, and therefore that all rebellion could but 
 end in disturbance, and that concession was my sole chance 
 for peace ! Oh what reluctant nuptials ! — how often did I 
 say to myself — Were these chains voluntary, how could I 
 bear them ! — how forgive myself that I put them on ! 
 
 The next extraordinary step she took was one that 
 promised me amends for all : she told me that there was 
 no occasion we should continue together after coffee, unless 
 by invitation. I eagerly exclaimed that this seemed a 
 most feasible way of producing some variety in our inter- 
 course, and that I would adopt it most readily. She 
 wanted instantly to call back her words : she had expected 
 
406 DIARY AND LETTERS [1787. 
 
 I should be alarmed, and solicit her leave to be buried 
 with her every evening ! When she saw me so eager in 
 acceptance, she looked mortified and disappointed ; but I 
 would not suffer her to retract, and I began, at once, to 
 retire to my room the moment coffee was over. 
 
 This flight of the sublime, which, being her own, she 
 could not resent, brought all round : for as she saw me 
 every evening prepare to depart with the coffee, she con- 
 stantly began, at that period, some civil discourse to detain 
 me. I always suffered it to succeed, while civil, and when 
 there was a failure, or a pause, I retired. By this means I 
 recovered such portion of quiet as is compatible with a 
 situation like mine : for she soon returned entirely to such 
 behavior as preceded the offence of my eyes ; and I ob- 
 tained a little leisure at which she could not repine, as a 
 caprice of her own bestowed it. 
 
 To finish, however, with respect to the Pr^sidente, I must 
 now acquaint you that, as my eyes entirely grew well, 
 her incivility entirely wore off, and I became a far greater 
 favorite than I had ever presumed to think myself tUl 
 that time ! I was obliged to give up my short-lived priv- 
 ilege of retirement, and live on as before, making only my 
 two precious little visits to my beloved comforter and sup- 
 porter, and to devote the rest of my wearisome time to her 
 presence — better satisfied, however, since I now saw that 
 open war made me wretched, even when a victor, beyond 
 what any subjection could do that had peace for its terms. 
 This was not an unuseful discovery, for it has abated 
 all propensity to experiment in shaking off a yoke which, 
 however hard to bear, is so annexed to my place, that I 
 must take one with the other, and endure them as I can. 
 My favor now was beyond the favor of all others ; I was 
 " My good Miss Berner " at every other word, and no one 
 else was listened to if I would speak, and no one else was 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 40*7 
 
 aocepted for a partner if I would play ! I found no cause 
 to which I could attribute this change. I believe the 
 whole a mere matter of caprice. 
 
 During all this time, and all this disturbance, the be- 
 havior of my Eoyal Mistress was uniformly kind, gra- 
 cious, confidential, and sweet. She bestowed upon me 
 more and more trust, by every opportunity ; and when- 
 ever I was alone with her, her whole countenance spoke 
 benignity. 
 
 A most melancholy event happened in this month to a 
 most tender mother, Lady Louisa Clayton, who lost her 
 only daughter. Miss Emily, by a death as unexpected as 
 it seems premature. Everybody joined in lamenting her. 
 She was good and amiable, and much and generally loved. 
 Lady Louisa bears this heavy blow in a manner unequalled 
 for steady fortitude. 
 
 I went, also, to condole with poor Madame la Fite, 
 whose affliction was, I heard, very great, as Emily had 
 been the first friend of her own poor Elise. I found her 
 weeping, and much touched : but she described to me all 
 her feelings with so many picturesque expressions, and 
 poetical comparisons drawn between Emily Clayton and 
 her Ehse, and added so much of the cruel disappointment 
 she had herself endured, in the midst of this affliction, that 
 sa chlre Mademoiselle Borni had not come to her house to 
 meet Mrs. Roberts and Mrs. Kennicott — that, when I 
 weighed the two sorrows together, I found my opinion of 
 both all the lighter. 
 
 Tuesday, January 1st. — I began the new year, as I 
 ended the old one, by seizing the first moment it presented 
 to my own disposal, for flying to Mrs. Delany, and begging 
 her annual benediction. She bestowed it with the sweetest 
 affection, and I spent, as usual, all the time with her I had 
 to spare. It seems always so short : yet we now meet 
 
408 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 almost regularly twice a-day. Yet where there is a per- 
 fect confidence, there is so much to communicate, and so 
 much to discuss, and compare opinions about, that the 
 shortest absence supplies food for the longest meeting. 
 And, indeed, without any materials of events, an . inter- 
 course the most smooth and uninterrupted with a mind so 
 full, an imagination so fertile, and a memory so richly 
 stored as Mrs. Delany's, would stUl seem brief, if broken 
 only by that which will break all things. 
 
 My kind Mrs. Ord, by appointment, came to me early at 
 St. James's, and stayed till three o'clock. We had much 
 to say to each other. I proffered her an evening against 
 my next return to town, and begged her to let me meet a 
 party of my old friends at her house. It is high time I 
 should see them again, after this long separation ; and now 
 that my mind is easy, and I am quite resigned to my fate 
 and situation, I feel an anxiety not to be forgotten by those 
 who have been kind to me, and a yet stronger one to 
 show them I have set no forgetting example. I rather 
 wish to make this first re-entrance at the house of Mrs. 
 Ord than at any other, because I am proud to show every- 
 body the just first place she holds with me, among all that 
 set ; next, indeed, to my most bosom friends do I prize her, 
 and because I am sure she wiU make a selection that will 
 give me pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Smelt, the only person who, to both, would have 
 been a welcome interrupter, came from the Drawing-room, 
 to make me a little visit. 
 
 We had scarce arranged ourselves when a real intruder 
 
 broke in, that disconcerted us all — Mr. S ; but he is 
 
 never disconcerted himself, for he never perceives what 
 mischief he enacts. He came to beg my consolation upon 
 a misfortune he had met the day before. He was the 
 Queen's Equerry in waiting, as usual, and came to the 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 409 
 
 Palace to attend her Majesty to the play ; but he stole up- 
 stairs, into our eating-parlor, and stayed chattering there 
 till he was too late, and the Queen was gone, and aU the 
 suite, and his own royal coach among tlie rest ! So he had 
 to walk across tlie park in the rain, to get into a chair. 
 Yet he entreated me not to tell Mrs. SchweUenberg, for 
 he said she would be more severe upon him than anybody. 
 The Queen, he saw by her looks, had pardoned him, but 
 with Mrs. SchweUenberg he could have no chance of 
 quarter. 
 
 He went not away till Mr. Smelt kindly drew him off, 
 by proposing that they should return to the drawing-room 
 together. 
 
 Mrs. Ord was soon obliged to follow, but not till she had 
 distressed me, in the only way she can pain me, by in- 
 veigling, rather than forcing upon me, a beautiful but very 
 expensive new year's gift : as to her child, she says, she 
 does it, and I feel her so truly maternal I dare not struggle 
 with her. " And why should you ? " I hear my Fredy 
 whisper. My dearest Fredy, for the same motive that 
 urges the struggle with yourself — a wish of preventing 
 such costly tokens of regard from being repeated, since I 
 cannot be easy to see the best economists I know turn 
 prodigals only for me. 
 
 Friday, January 4th. — In the morning, Mrs. Schwel- 
 lenberg presented me, from the Queen, with a new year's 
 gift. It is plate, and very elegant. The Queen, I find, 
 makes presents to her whole household every year : more 
 or less, according to some standard of their claims which 
 she sets up, very properly, in her own mind. 
 
 Sunday, January 6th. — Things are now, indeed, much 
 mended. I gain abundantly more time, and that recruits 
 me, and my present plan of operations unlocks me from thai 
 enclosure of stagnation which, in my former plan, seemed 
 
410 DIAEY AND LETTEKS [1788. 
 
 necessary to my well-doing. I really thank Colonel Wel- 
 bred very much, as I think this coming forth will reconcile 
 my absences far more than all my studious holding backs 
 — I mean in company, for when t^te-k-t^te I have always 
 been as communicative as I could urge myself to be. 
 
 Tuesday, January 8th. — I met Mr. Bryant, who came 
 by appointment to give me that pleasure. He was in very 
 high spirits, full of anecdote and amusement. He has as 
 much good-humored chit-chat and entertaining gossiping 
 as if he had given no time to the classics and his studies, 
 instead of having nearly devoted his life to them. One or 
 two of his little anecdotes I will try to recollect. 
 
 In the year thirty-three of this century, and in his own 
 memory, there was a cause brought before a judge, between 
 two highwaymen, who had quarrelled about the division of 
 their booty; and these men had the effrontery to bring 
 their dispute to trial. " In the petition of the plaintiff," 
 said Mr. Bryant, " he asserted that he had been extremely 
 misused by the defendant ; that they had carried on a very 
 advantageous trade together upon Blackheath, Hounslow 
 Heath, Bagshot Heath, and other places ; that their busi- 
 ness chiefly consisted in watches, wearing apparel, and 
 trinkets of all sorts, as well as large concerns between them 
 in cash ; that they had agreed to an equitable partition of 
 all profits, and that this agreement had been violated. So 
 impudent a thing, the judge said, was never brought before 
 out in a court, and so he refused to pass sentence in favor 
 of either of them, and dismissed them from the court." 
 
 Then he told us a great number of comic slip-slops, of 
 the first Lord Baltimore, who made a constant misuse of 
 one word for another : for instance, " I have been," says he, 
 " upon a little excoriation to see a ship lanced ; and there 's 
 not a finer going vessel upon the face of God's yearth : 
 you 've no idiom how well it sailed." 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBIAY. 41]. 
 
 Having given us this elegant specimen of the language 
 of one lord, he proceeded to give us one equally forcible 
 of the understanding of another : — The late Lord Ply- 
 mouth, meeting in a country town with a puppet-show, 
 was induced to see it ; and, from the high entertainment 
 he received through Punch, he determined to buy him, 
 and accordingly asked his price, and paid it, and carried 
 the puppet to his country-house, that he might be diverted 
 with him at any odd hour ! Mr. Bryant protests he met 
 the same troop just as the purchase had been made, and 
 went himself to the puppet-show, which was exhibited 
 senza Punch ! 
 
 Next he spoke upon the Mysteries, or origin of our the- 
 atrical entertainments, and repeated the plan and conduct 
 of several of these strange compositions, in particular one 
 he remembered which was called " Noah's Ark," and in 
 which that patriarch and his sons, just previous to the 
 Deluge, made it all their delight to speed themselves into 
 the ark without Mrs. Noah, whom they wished to escape ; 
 but she surprised them just as they had embarked, and 
 made so prodigious a racket against the door that, after a 
 long and violent contention, she forced them to open it, 
 and gained admission, having first contented them by being 
 kept out till she was thoroughly wet to the skin. These 
 most eccentric and unaccountable dramas filled up the 
 chief of our conversation ; and whether to consider them 
 most with laughter, as ludicrous, or with horror, as blas- 
 phemous, remains a doubt I cannot well solve. 
 
 This is Mrs. Delany's last week at Windsor. On Satur- 
 day she goes to town for the winter ; so do we ourselves 
 on Tuesday. She could not come out this evening, and I 
 determined to drink tea with her. I stayed, however, with 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg tiU just before her own tea-time, be- 
 cause she was alone, and was very civil. 
 
412 WARY AND LETTERS [1788 
 
 I found my dear Mrs. Delany sweeter, more alive, and 
 kinder than ever. This evening I finished reading her 
 memoirs. The almost incessant dangers to which she was 
 exposed in aU the early part of her life, and the purity of 
 prudence with which she always extricated herself from 
 them, have more than ever raised my admiration and in- 
 creased my tenderness. What a character is Mrs. De- 
 lany's ! — how noble throughout ! — how great upon great 
 occasions ! — how sweet, how touching, how interesting 
 upon aU ! Oh, what should I do without her here ? That 
 question will occur, but no answer can I make to it. 
 Heaven be praised, however, she is well, uncommonly 
 well, and looks as if she would live to be one hundred 
 years old with ease. 
 
 Thursday, Jan. 10. — The evening I spent wholly with 
 Mrs. Delany, who was to go to town the next day. But 
 when, the next morning, I called to see her set off, and 
 take her kind blessing, I found her in much anxiety ; her 
 niece had been ill in the night, and she had sent for Dr. 
 Lind ; and it was agreed their journey should be put off 
 to the next day. 
 
 How did I languish to spend with them that day ! but 
 I was obliged to come home to dinner ; Miss Planta and 
 Madlle. Montmoullin being engaged to me. 
 
 I was amply recompensed for this little forbearance in 
 spending an evening the most to my natural taste of any I 
 have spent officially under the royal roof How high 
 Colonel Welbred stands with me you know ; Mr. Fairly, 
 with equal gentleness, good breeding, and delicacy, adds a 
 far more general turn for conversation, and seemed not 
 only ready, but pleased, to open upon subjects of such 
 serious import as were suited to his state of mind, and 
 could not but be edifying, from a man of such high moral 
 character, to all who heard him. 
 
K88.] OF MADAME U'ARBLAY. 413 
 
 life and Death were the deep themes to which he led ; 
 and the little space between them, and the little value of 
 that space, were the subject of his comments. The un- 
 happiness of man, at least after the ardor of his first youth, 
 and the general worthlessness of the world, seemed so 
 deeply impressed on his mind, that no reflection appeared 
 to be consolatory to it, save the necessary shortness of our 
 mortal career. 
 
 Eespect to his own private misfortunes ^ made me listen 
 in silence to a doctrine I am else ever ready to try to com- 
 bat : for I cannot myself conceive this world so necessa- 
 rily at variance with happiness, nor suppose our beneficent 
 Creator averse to our enjoying it, even on earth, where we 
 seek it in innocence. 
 
 Colonel Welbred scarcely exerted himself any better, 
 and, I do not doubt, he gave way from the same motive : 
 for he seemed to feel every consideration that the most 
 respectful compassion can inspire, for the situation as well 
 as sentiments of Mr. Fairly. 
 
 Wlien he talked, however, of the ardor of youth, I could 
 not refrain naming Mrs. Delany, and mentioning that she 
 had still every susceptibility for happiness ; and that I al- 
 ways thought with pleasure, from such an instance of the 
 durability of human powers, that there was no time, no 
 age, in which misery seemed tied to our existence, or in 
 which, except for circumstances, it might not, pretty equal- 
 ly, be happy. 
 
 " Indeed," answered he, " there is no time — I know of 
 none — in which life is well worth having. The prospect 
 before us is never such as to make it worth preserving, 
 except from religious motives." 
 
 I felt shocked and sorry. I wished Mm at Norbury; 
 and ventured — hardly, though, speaking to be heard — to 
 
 ^ Colonel Fairly had lost Ms wife during the preceding summer. 
 
414 DIABY AND LETTEES [1788. 
 
 acknowledge that I thought differently, and believed hap- 
 piness dependent upon no season of life, though its mode 
 must be adapted to all its changes. 
 
 " But do y^u think," cried he, in a tone of extreme de- 
 jection, " that those who before forty have never tasted it, 
 may ever expect it after ? " 
 
 Has he never tasted happiness, who so deeply drinks of 
 sorrow? He surprised me, and filled me, indeed, with 
 equal wonder and pity. At a loss how to make an answer 
 sufficiently general, I made none at all, but referred to 
 Colonel "Welbred. Perhaps he felt the same difficulty, for 
 he said nothing ; and Mr. Fairly then gathered an answer 
 for himself, by saying, " Yes, it may, indeed, be attainable 
 in the only actual as well as only right way to seek it — 
 that of doing good ! " 
 
 " If," cried Colonel Welbred, afterwards, " I lived always 
 in London, I should be as tired of life as you are. I al- 
 ways sicken of it there, if detained beyond a certain time." 
 
 They then joined in a general censure of dissipated life, 
 and a general distaste of dissipated characters, which 
 seemed, however, to comprise almost all their acquain- 
 tance; and this presently occasioned Mr. Fairly to say, 
 " It is, however, but fair for you and me to own, Welbred, 
 that if people in general are bad, we live chiefly amongst 
 those who are the worst." 
 
 Whether he meant any particular set to which they be- 
 long, or whether his reflection went against people in high 
 Ufe, such as constitute their own relations and connections 
 in general, I cannot say, as he did not explain himself 
 But I again wished him safe in Norbury Park, and looking 
 from thence at a loved and pure abode, at the bottom as 
 well as at the top of that sweet hill ! 
 
 This, however, was no time for indulging myself in talk- 
 ing upon that subject, or painting scenes of felicity. Mr. 
 
1788.J OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 415 
 
 Fairly, besides the attention due to him from all, in con- 
 sideration of his late loss, merited from me peculiar def- 
 erence, in return for a mark I received of his disposition to 
 think favorably of me from our first acquaintance ; for not 
 more was I surprised than pleased at his opening frankly 
 upon the character of my coadjutrix, and teUing me at 
 once, that when first he saw me here, just before the Oxford 
 expedition, he had sincerely felt for and pitied me. 
 
 This must have resulted wholly from his own sense of 
 the nature of things, as nothing, I am certain, escaped me 
 that betrayed my unhappiness at that period. I did not, 
 however, venture to enlarge upon the subject, and he in- 
 stantly dropped it when he found me reserved ; though he 
 laughed a little himself, on recollecting the dialogue upon 
 the newspapers, and said he had seen my inward laugh, 
 though, at that time, he observed me too much in awe of 
 Mrs. Schwellenberg not to disguise it. 
 
 I fancy, by his saying " at that time," he conceives me 
 now a person at large, and draws this conclusion from see- 
 ing me converse so much with Colonel Welbred in pres- 
 ence of La Pr^sidente. He does not know how new a 
 business that is, nor that it is wholly owing to the Colonel's 
 innocence of my general retirement, not to any fresh 
 adopted measures of my own courage. But I soon found 
 him one whose observation was all alive to whatever 
 passed ; and, with those keen remarkers, where their 
 shrewdness is unalhed to ill-nature, there is a zest in con- 
 versing that gives a spirit to every subject. 
 
 When they left me to go to the music-room, I hastened 
 to my dearest Mrs. Delany, and stayed to the last moment. 
 
 I found Miss P recovered, and ready for her journey 
 
 the next morning, I recounted my evening's adventures, 
 and my sweet counsellor approved my new promise, and 
 strongly advised me to make the best throughout of an of- 
 
416 DIAEY AND LETTERS [ItSS. 
 
 ficial circumstance that could not, without infinite difficulty, 
 be wholly avoided. She gave me a very kind message for 
 Mr. Fairly, inviting him to visit her in town, in remem- 
 brance of his mother, with whom she was weU acquainted. 
 
 Sunday, 13th. — I went to breakfast with my beloved 
 old friend, and found her lovely niece quite weU, and Dr. 
 lind with them, who, seeing ray good spirits to find all 
 well, joined to my extreme haste not to be too late for 
 church, said I was " in a very fidget of joy." 
 
 They were all prepared for departure ; and that, I am 
 sure, was no joy to me, though we were now so soon to go 
 to town ourselves for the winter. 
 
 I ran all the way, past King, Colonels, and regiment, to 
 church, and just entered before the Queen. 
 
 At tea-time I went at once, and stationed myself in the 
 room, with a book to pass the time till the arrival of my 
 company ; for Mr. Fairly's open request, and my own ac- 
 quiescence, fixed me to my office during his stay, and 
 determined me to take no further steps for eluding it. 
 
 He came, and brought his little son, with Colonel Wel- 
 bred and General Harcourt, and all of them before eight 
 o'clock, I fear from still misunderstanding the affair of 
 yesterday. The two Colonels seated themselves next me 
 on each side, and little Mr. Fairly sat on his father's chair 
 He seems a sweet boy — open, innocent, and sensible — 
 a.nd his father almost lives in him. 
 
 The evening was not so unexceptionable as that of yes- 
 terday, for the cold General Harcourt was a damp to it. I 
 had, however, a good deal of separate conversation with 
 Mr. Fairly, while Colonel Welbred talked with the Gen- 
 eral He asked me for Miss Baker's letter, assuring me 
 that both himself and Colonel Welbred had been much 
 disappointed by missing it. I instantly produced it. The 
 expression for which I had shown it, concerning my Lord 
 
i78S.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 417 
 
 Chesterfield — " What pity it is his spirits run away with 
 his brains ! " — amused him much, and led to a good deal 
 of character-stricture in a more general way. We also 
 talked over the old newspaper story at full length ; and I 
 acquainted him of some laughable particulars which had 
 followed his departure. He held them almost in too much 
 contempt to laugh, but very gently and compassionately 
 turned the discourse into an expression of concern at my 
 situation, in being tied to such a person. He had felt, he 
 said, quite sorry for me, and the more as he was told that 
 she now made a point of always appearing, though in the 
 latter times of Mrs. Haggerdorn, he informed me, she had 
 seldom shown herself 
 
 This is an obligation de plus ! 
 
 Just as tea was over the King came into the room. He 
 stayed chatting, and in high spirits some time, and when 
 he went, called General Harcourt to follow. The other two 
 stood suspended a moment, whether to go also, according 
 to the usual custom, or to seize the apparent privilege of 
 having no summons, to stay. But the suspense was de- 
 cided by Colonel Welbred, who, smUing a little at his own 
 act, softly stepped to the door, shut it, and then returned 
 to his seat, with the look of a man who said to himself, 
 " Come, 't is as well to stay and be comfortable ! " 
 
 Mr. Fairly seems ever ready at an invitation of that sort, 
 and sat down immediately ; and then they entered into 
 conversation, with so much good sense, good breeding, good 
 morality, and good fellowship, that far from wishing my- 
 self released, I was happy in their relinquishing both the 
 usual waiting-room, and their own Equerry-apartment, and 
 preferring to remain in the tea-room. 
 
 There is something in Colonel Welbred so elegant, so 
 equal, and so pleasing, it is impossible not to see him vdth 
 approbation, and to speak of him with praise. But I 
 
 VOL. I. 27 
 
418 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788, 
 
 found in Mr. Fairly a much greater depth of understand- 
 ing ; and all his sentiments seem formed upon the most 
 perfect basis of religious morality. 
 
 During the evening, in talking over plays and players, 
 we all three united warmly in panegyric of Mrs. Siddons ; 
 but when Mrs. Jordan was named, Mr. Fairly and myself 
 were left to make the best of her. Observing the silence 
 of Colonel Welbred, we called upon him to explain it. 
 
 " I have seen her," he answered, quietly, " but in one 
 part." 
 
 " Whatever it was," cried Mr. Fairly, " it must have been 
 well done." 
 
 " Yes," answered the Colonel, " and so well that it seemed 
 to be her real character ; and I disliked her for that very 
 reason, for it was a character that, off the stage or on, is 
 equally distasteful to me — a hoyden." 
 
 I had had a little of this feeling myself when I saw her in 
 the " Komp," where she gave me, in the early part, a real dis- 
 gust ; but afterwards she displayed such uncommon humor 
 that it brought me to pardon her assumed vulgarity, in 
 favor of a representation of nature, which, in its particular 
 class, seemed to me quite perfect. 
 
 At length, but not till near ten o'clock, Mr. Faiily said, 
 " Now, Miss Bumey, I fear we are trespassing upon your 
 time ? " 
 
 Colonel Welbred, with a look of alarm, instantly arose, 
 repeating a similar question. I said they did me honor ; 
 but thinking it really time to break up, I added nothing 
 more, and they left me, pleased with them both, and satis- 
 fied how little the ofi&cial room had to do with my general 
 distaste to my evenings there, since these two evenings 
 had appeared as short as if spent in the fairest regions ot 
 liberty. 
 
 Monday, 14th. — This morning my dear Miss Cam- 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 419 
 
 bridge spent with me. Mrs. Hemming came to visit a re- 
 lation at "Windsor, and she kindly took the opportunity to 
 spend the same time with me. Her society was doubly 
 welcome to me, as it was my first morning for missing my 
 revered old friend. 
 
 Again I stationed myself, with work and books, ready 
 for my cavaliers in the evening. Mr. Fairly's positive re- 
 quest has taken off a world of indecision. I was not, how- 
 ever, quite so well pleased with my of&ce when I saw 
 Greneral Grenville and Mr. Fisher enlarge the party. Mr 
 Pisher, indeed, is never unwelcome ; but General Grenville 
 is as cold as General Harcourt, and wears an air of proud 
 shyness extremely ill calculated to bring forward those 
 who are backward. He is, besides, a valetudinary, and 
 restless and ennuyd to a most comfortless excess. 
 
 " Will you give me leave," cried Colonel Welbred, " to 
 begin your circle ? " and drew a chair next mine, while Mr. 
 Fairly took my other side, quite as a thing of course ; and 
 indeed I conversed with him almost solely, all the even- 
 ing, leaving the other two gentlemen to do their best for 
 General Grenville, whom I could by no means attempt. 
 
 Colonel Welbred extremely admired my beautiful Nor- 
 bury workbox, and he did me the honor to suspect the 
 impressions of being my own. For a moment I felt sorry 
 to undeceive him, but it was only for a moment : the hap- 
 piness of saying by whom was the joint work, succeeded, 
 and was far greater than I think 1 could have felt even 
 from a more selfish consciousness. 
 
 When tea was over, poor General Grenville, who had 
 been some time stretching and yawning, called out, " Come, 
 Fairly, come ! — let 's go to the King." 
 
 "I shall have quite standing enough to satisfy me," 
 answered Mr. Fairly, " if I go half an hour later ! " 
 
 " No, no — but it 's time ! — come ! " 
 
420 DIABT AND LBTTEES [1788. 
 
 " Yon may go if you please," answered he, bowing his 
 full permission ; " the King will want to talk with you 
 about the Duke of York : but Welbred and I may stand 
 still and hear ! To be sure, a great inducement to quit 
 Miss Burney's tea-table ! " 
 
 He could not help laughing, but was forced for some 
 time to desist; and then attacking Colonel Welbred, de- 
 clared it was absolutely necessary they should now show 
 themselves. 
 
 Colonel Welbred, getting his hat, with a leave-taking 
 bow to me, said " I am afraid it is ; " and they went to- 
 gether, but Mr. Fairly steadily stayed out his half-hour 
 longer. Mr. Fisher had brought him a very curious Latin 
 poem, upon London and its environs, and they read it 
 together, explaining and translating to me as they went on, 
 though not without many professions of suspicion that I 
 should understand it without that trouble. Not a syllable, 
 Heaven knows ! 
 
 Januaby 31st. — And now I must finish my account of 
 this month by my own assembly at my dear Mrs. Ord's. I 
 passed through the friendly hands of Miss Ord to the most 
 cordial ones of Mrs. Garrick,^ who frankly embraced me, 
 saying, " Do I see you, once more before I tie, my tear little 
 spark ? for your father is my flame, all my life, and you 
 are a little sparlc of that flame ! " 
 
 She added how much she had wished to visit me at the 
 Queen's house, when she found I no longer came about the 
 world ; but that she was too " tisereet," and I did not dare 
 say " Bo come ! " unauthorized. Then came Mr. Pepys, 
 and I do not know what my dear Fredy would have said 
 to his raptures at the meeting. She would have asked 
 
 • Widaw of David Garrick. Born at Vienna (where for sonre time she 
 was a dancer on the stage) in 1725, came to London in 1744. Died at a 
 "orv advanced age in 1822. 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 421 
 
 him, perhaps, if it would make a good paragraph I He 
 spoke to me instantly of the "Streatham Letters." He is 
 in agony as to his own fate, but said there could be no 
 doubt of my faring well. Not, as I assured him, to my 
 own content, if named at all. 
 
 We were interrupted by Sir Joshua Eeynolds. I was 
 quite glad to see him ; and we began chatting with all our 
 old spirit, and he quite raved against my present life of 
 confinement, and the invisibility it had occasioned, &c., &c. 
 
 I was next called to Mrs. Montagu, who was behind with 
 no one in kind speeches, and who insisted upon making 
 me a visit at the Queen's house, and would take no denial 
 to my fixing my own time, whenever I was at leisure, and 
 sending her word ; and she promised to put off any and 
 every engagement for that purpose. I could make no 
 other return to such civility, but to desire to postpone it 
 till my dear Mr. and Mrs. Locke came to town, and could 
 meet her. 
 
 Then up came Mrs. Chapone, and, after most cordially 
 shaking hands with me, " But I hope," she cried, " you are 
 not always to appear only as a comet, to be stared at, and 
 then vanish ? If you are, let me beg at least to be brushed 
 by your tail, and not hear you have disappeared before my 
 telescope is ready for looking at you ! " When at last I 
 was able to sit down, after a short conference with every 
 one, it was next to Mr. Walpole, who had secured me a 
 place by his side ; and with him was my longest conversa- 
 tion, for he was in high spirits, polite, ingenious, enter- 
 taining, quaint, and original. But all was so short ! — so 
 short ! — I was forced to return home so soon ! 'T was, 
 however, a very great regale to me, and the sight of so 
 much kindness, preserved so entire after so long an absence, 
 warmed my whole heart with pleasure and satisfaction. 
 My dearest father brought me home. 
 
422 DIAEY AND LETTEES [1788. 
 
 CHAPTEE VHL 
 
 1788. 
 
 February 13th. — To what an interesting transaction 
 does this day open ! a day, indeed, of strong emotion to 
 me, though all upon matters foreign to any immediate 
 concern of my own — if anything may be called foreign 
 that deeply interests us, merely because it is not personal. 
 
 The Trial, so long impending, of Mr. Hastings, opened 
 to-day. The Queen yesterday asked me if I wished to be 
 present at the beginning, or had rather take another day. 
 I was greatly obliged by her condescension, and preferred 
 the opening. I thought it would give me a general view 
 of the Court, and the manner of proceeding, and that T 
 might read hereafter the speeches and evidence. 
 
 The business did not begin till near twelve o'clock. The 
 opening to the whole then took place, by the entrance of 
 the Managers of the Prosecution; all the company were 
 already long in their boxes or galleries. I shuddered, and 
 drew involuntarily back, when, as the doors were flung 
 open, I saw Mr. Burke, as Head of the Committee, make 
 his solemn entry. He held a scroll in his hand, and walked 
 alone, his brow knit with corroding care and deep laboring 
 thought — a brow how different to that which had proved 
 so alluring to my warmest admiration when first I met 
 him I so highly as he had been my favorite, so cajitivating 
 as I had found his manners and conversation in our first 
 acquaintance, and so much as I owed to his zeal and kind- 
 ness to me and my affairs in its progress ! How did I 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 423 
 
 grieve to behold him now the cruel Prosecutor (such to me 
 he appeared) of an injured and innocent man ! 
 
 A Serjeant-at-Arms arose, and commanded silence in the 
 Court, on pain of imprisonment. Then some other officer, 
 in a loud voice, called out, as well as I can recollect, words 
 to this purpose : — " Warren Hastings, Esquire, come forth ! 
 Answer to the charges brought against you; save your 
 bail, or forfeit your recognizance ! " 
 
 Indeed I trembled at these words, and hardly could keep 
 my place when I found Mr. Hastings was being brought to 
 the bar. He came forth from some place immediately 
 under the Great Chamberlain's Box, and was preceded by 
 Sir Francis Molyneux, Gentleman-Usher of the Black 
 Eod ; and at each side of him walked his Bails, Messrs 
 Sullivan and Sumner. 
 
 The moment he came in sight, which was not for full 
 ten minutes after his awful summons, he made a low bow 
 to the Chancellor and Court facing him. I saw not his 
 face, as he was directly under me. He moved on slowly, 
 and, I think, supported between his two Bails, to the open- 
 ing of his own Box ; there, lower still, he bowed again ; 
 and then, advancing to the bar, he leant his hands upon it, 
 and dropped on his knees ; but a voice in the same moment 
 proclaiming he had leave to rise, he stood up almost in- 
 stantaneously, and a third time profoundly bowed to the 
 Court. 
 
 What an awful moment this for such a man ! — a man 
 fallen from such height of power to a situation so humilia- 
 ting — from the almost unlimited command of so large a 
 part of the Eastern World to be cast at the feet of his 
 enemies, of the great tribunal of his country, and of the 
 nation at large, assembled thus in a body to try and to 
 judge him ! Could even his prosecutors at that moment 
 look on — and not shudder at least, if they did not blush ? 
 
424 DIAKY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 The crier, I think it was, made, in a loud and hollow 
 voice, a public proclamation, " That Warren Hastings, 
 Esquire, late Governor-General of Bengal, was now on his 
 trial for high crimes and misdemeanors, with which he was 
 charged by the Commons of Great Britain ; and that all 
 persons whatsoever who had aught to allege against him 
 were now to stand forth." 
 
 A general sUence followed, and the Chancellor, Lord 
 Thurlow, now made his speech. I will give it to you, to 
 the best of my power, from memory ; the newspapers have 
 printed it far less accurately than I have retained it, though 
 I am by no means exact or secure. " Warren Hastings, 
 you are now brought into this Court to answer the charges 
 brought against you by the Knights, Esquires, Burgesses, 
 and Commons of Great Britain — charges now standing 
 only as allegations, by them to be legally proved, or by you 
 to be disproved. Bring forth your answers and your de- 
 fence, with that seriousness, respect, and truth due to ac- 
 cusers so respectable. Time has been allowed you for 
 preparation, proportioned to the intricacies in which the 
 transactions are involved, and to the remote distances 
 whence your documents may have been searched and re- 
 quired. You will still be allowed Bail, for the better for- 
 warding your defence, and whatever you can require will 
 stiU be yours, of time, witnesses, and all things else you 
 may hold necessary. This is not granted you as any indul- 
 gence : it is entirely your due : it is the privilege which 
 every British subject has a right to claim, and which is 
 due to every one who is brought before this high Tribunal." 
 
 This speech, uttered in a calm, equal, solemn manner, 
 and in a voice mellow and penetrating, with eyes keen and 
 black, yet softened into some degree of tenderness whUe 
 fastened full upon the prisoner — this speech, its occasion, 
 its portent, and its object, had an effect upon every hearer 
 
1788.] OP MADAME D'ARBLAY. 425 
 
 of producing the most respectful attention, and, out of the 
 Committee Box at least, the strongest emotions in the 
 cause of Mr. Hastings. 
 
 Again Mr. Hastings made the lowest reverence to the 
 Court, and, leaning over the bar, answered, with much 
 agitation, through evident efforts to suppress it, "My 
 Lords — impressed — deeply impressed — I come before 
 your Lordships, equally confident in my own integrity, 
 and in the justice of the Court before which I am to clear 
 it." " Impressed " and " deeply impressed " too, was my 
 mind, by this short yet comprehensive speech, and all my 
 best wishes for his clearance and redress rose warmer than 
 ever in my heart. 
 
 A general silence again ensued, and then one of the 
 Lawyers opened the cause. He began by reading from an 
 immense roll of parchment the general charges against 
 Mr. Hastings, but he read in so monotonous a chant that 
 nothing could I hear or understand than now and then the 
 name of Warren Hastings. During this reading, to which 
 I vainly lent all my attention, Mr. Hastings, finding it, I 
 presume, equally impossible to hear a word, began to cast 
 his eyes around the House, and having taken a survey of 
 all in front and at the sides, he turned about and looked 
 up ; pale looked his face — pale, ill, and altered. I was 
 must affected by the sight of that dreadful harass which 
 was written on his countenance. I felt shocked and 
 ashamed to be seen by him in that place. I had wished to 
 be present from an earnest interest in the business, joined 
 to firm confidence in his powers of defence ; but Ms eyes 
 were not those I wished to meet in Westminster Hall. 
 
 From this time, however, he frequently looked round, 
 and I was soon without a doubt that he must see me. 
 Not very desirable to me, therefore, was a civility I next 
 received from one of the managers, — one, too, placed in 
 
426 DIABY AND LETTERS riTSS. 
 
 the front of the Committee, and in a line with the pris- 
 oner : it was Mr. Frederick Montagu, who recognized and 
 howed to me. I hope Mr. Hastings did not see us ; but in 
 a few minutes more, while this reading was still continued, 
 I perceived Sir Joshua Reynolds in the midst of the Com- 
 mittee. He, at the same moment, saw me also, and not 
 only bowed, but smiled and nodded with his usual good- 
 humor and intimacy, making at the same time a sign to his 
 ear, by which I understood he had no trumpet ; whether he 
 had forgotten or lost it I know not. 
 
 I would rather have answeted all this dumb show any- 
 where else, as my last ambition was that of being noticed 
 from such a Box. I entreated aid in turning away ; but 
 Miss Gomme, who is a friend of Sir Gilbert Elliot, one of 
 the Managers, and an ill-wisher, for his sake, to the oppo- 
 site cause, would only laugh, and ask why I should not be 
 owned by them. I did not, however, like it, but had no 
 choice from my near situation ; and in a few seconds I had 
 again a bow, and a profound one, and again very ridicu- 
 lously I was obliged to inquire of Lady Claremont who 
 my own acquaintance might be. Mr. Eichard Burke, 
 senior, she answered. He is a brother of the great — 
 great in deiiance of all drawbacks — Edmund Burke. 
 
 Soon after, a voice just by my side, from the green 
 benches, said, " Will Miss Burney allow me to renew my 
 acquaintance with her ? " I turned about and saw Mr. 
 Crutchley. All Streatham rose to my mind at sight of him. 
 I have never beheld him since the Streatham society was 
 abolished. We entered instantly upon the subject of that 
 family, a subject ever to me the most interesting. He also 
 had never seen poor Mrs. Thrale since her return to Eng- 
 land ; but he joined with me very earnestly in agreeing 
 that, since so unhappy a step was now past recall, it be- 
 came the duty, however painful a one, of the daughters, 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 427 
 
 to support, not cast off and contemn, one who was now 
 as much their mother as when she still bore their own 
 name. 
 
 " But how," cried he, " do you stand the fiery trial of 
 this Streatham book that is coming upon us ?" I acknowl- 
 edged myself very uneasy about it, and he assured me all 
 who had ever been at Streatham were in fright and conster- 
 nation. We talked all these matters over more at length, 
 till I was called away by an " How d' ye do. Miss Burney ? " 
 from the Committee Box ! And then I saw young Mr. Burke, 
 who had jumped up on the nearest form to speak to me. 
 
 While we talked together, Mr. Crutchley went back to 
 his more distant seat, and the moment I was able to with- 
 draw from young Mr. Burke, Charles, who sat behind me, 
 leant down and told me a gentleman had just desired to be 
 presented to me. " Who ? " quoth I. " Mr. Wyndham," 
 he answered. I really thought he was laughing, and 
 answered accordingly; but he assured me he was in 
 earnest, and that Mr. Wyndham had begged him to make 
 the proposition. What could I do 1 There was no refus- 
 ing : yet a planned meeting with another of the Com- 
 mittee, and one deep in the prosecution, and from whom 
 one of the hardest charges has come — could anything be 
 less pleasant as I was then situated ? 
 
 Charles soon told me he was at my elbow. He had 
 taken the place Mr. Crutchley had just left. The ahord 
 was, on my part, very awkward, from the distress I felt 
 lest Mr. Hastings should look up, and from a conviction 
 that I must not name that gentleman, of whom alone I 
 could then think, to a person in a Committee against him. 
 He, however, was easy, having no embarrassing thoughts, 
 since the conference was of his own seeking. 'T was so 
 long since I had seen him, that I almost wonder he re- 
 membered me. 
 
428 DIAKY AND LETTEKS 11788. 
 
 After the first compliments he looked around him, and 
 exclaimed " What an assembly is this ! How striking a 
 spectacle ! I had not seen half its splendor down there. 
 You have it here to great advantage ; you lose some of the 
 Lords, but you gain all the Ladies. You have a very good 
 place here." " Yes ; and I may safely say I make a very 
 impartial use of it : for since I have sat here, I have never 
 discovered to which side I have been listening ! " He 
 laughed, but told me they were then running through the 
 charges. " And is it essential," cried I, " that they should 
 so run them through that nobody can understand them ? 
 Is that a form of law ? " 
 
 He agreed to the absurdity ; and then, looking stUl at 
 the spectacle, which indeed is the most splendid I ever saw, 
 arrested his eyes upon the Chancellor. "He looks very 
 well from hence, " cried he ; " and how well he acquits 
 himself on these solemn occasions ! With what dignity, 
 what loftiness, what high propriety, he comports himself ! 
 I joined heartily in the commendation, and warmly praised 
 his speech. " Even a degree of pompousness, " cried I, " in 
 such a Court as this, seems a propriety." 
 
 " Yes," said he ; " but his speech had one word that 
 might as well have been let alone ; ' mere allegations ' he 
 called the charges ; the word ' mere ' at least, might have 
 been spared, especially as it is already strongly suspected 
 on which side he leans ! " I protested, and with truth, I 
 had not heard the word in his speech ; but he stiU af&rmed 
 it. " Surely," I said, " he was as fair and impartial as pos- 
 sible : he called the accusers 'so respectable ! ' " " Yes, but 
 ' mere — mere ' was no word for this occasion ; and it could 
 not be unguarded, for he would never come to speak in 
 such a Court as this, without some little thinking before- 
 hand. However, he is a fine fellow, — a very fine fellow ! 
 and though, in his private life, guilty of so many inac- 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 429 
 
 curacies, in his public capacity I really hold him to be 
 unexceptionable." 
 
 He noticed the two Archbishops. " And see," cried he, 
 " the Archbishop of York, Markham, — see how he affects 
 to read the articles of impeachment, as if he was still open 
 to either side ! My good Lord Archbishop ! your Grace 
 might, with perfect safety, spare your eyes, for your mind 
 has been made up upon this subject before ever it was 
 investigated. He holds Hastings to be the greatest man 
 in the world — for Hastings promoted the interest of his 
 son in the East Indies ! " 
 
 Somewhat sarcastic, this ; but I had as little time as 
 power for answering, since now, and suddenly, his eye 
 dropped down upon poor Mr. Hastings : the expression of 
 his face instantly lost the gaiety and ease with which it 
 had addressed me; he stopped short in his remarks; he 
 fixed his eyes steadfastly on this new, and but too inter- 
 esting object, and, after viewing him some time in a sort of 
 earnest silence, he suddenly exclaimed, as if speaking to 
 himself, and from an impulse irresistible — " What a sight 
 is that ! to see that man, that small portion of human clay, 
 that poor feeble machine of earth, enclosed now in that 
 little space, brought to that Bar, a prisoner in a spot six 
 foot square — and to reflect on his late power ! Nations at 
 his command! Princes prostrate at his feet! — What a 
 change ! how must he feel it ! " 
 
 He stopped, and I said not a word. I was glad to see 
 him thus impressed ; I hoped it might soften his enmity. 
 I found, by his manner, that he had never, from the Com- 
 mittee Box, looked at him. He broke forth again, after 
 a pause of some length, — " Wonderful indeed ! almost 
 past credibility, is such a reverse ! He that, so lately, 
 had the Eastern World nearly at his beck; he, under 
 whose tyrant power princes and potentates sunk and 
 
430 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788, 
 
 trembled ; he, whose authority was without the reach of 
 responsibility ! '' 
 
 Again he stopped, seeming struck, almost beyond the 
 power of speech, with meditative commiseration ; but then, 
 suddenly rousing himself, as if recollecting his "almost 
 blunted purpose," he passionately exclaimed, "0 could 
 those — the thousands, the millions, who have groaned and 
 languished under the iron rod of his oppressions — could 
 they but — whatever region they inhabit — be permitted 
 one dawn of light to look into this Hall, and' see him 
 there ! There — where he now stands — it might prove, 
 perhaps, some recompense for their sufferings ! " 
 
 I can hardly tell you, my dearest Susan, how shocked I 
 felt at these words ! words so hard, and following sensa- 
 tions so much more pitying and philosophic ! I cannot 
 believe Mr. Hastings guilty ; I feel in myself a strong in- 
 ternal evidence of his innocence, drawn from aU I have 
 seen of him ; I can only regard the prosecution as a party 
 affair; but yet, since his adversaries now openly stake their 
 names, fame, and character against him, I did not think it 
 decent to intrude such an opinion. I could only be sorry 
 and silent. 
 
 StiU he looked at him, earnest in rumination, and as if 
 unable to turn away his eyes ; and presently he again ex- 
 claimed, " How wonderful an instance of the instability of 
 mortal power is presented in that object ! From posses- 
 sions so extensive, from a despotism so uncontrolled, to 
 see him now there, in that small circumference ! In the 
 history of human nature how memorable wUl be the records 
 of this day ! a day that brings to the great tribunal of the 
 nation a man whose power, so short a time since, was of 
 equal magnitude with his crimes ! " 
 
 Good Heaven ! thought I, and do you really believe all 
 tlrs ? Can Mr. Hastings appear to you such a monster ? 
 
1788.3 OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 431 
 
 and are you not merely swayed by party ? I could not 
 hear him without shuddering, nor see him thus in earnest 
 without alarm. I thought myself no longer bound to 
 silence, since I saw, by the continuance as well as by the 
 freedom of his exclamations, he conceived me of the same 
 sentiments with himself; and therefore I hardily resolved 
 to make known to him that mistake, which, indeed, was a 
 liberty that seemed no longer impertinent, but a mere act 
 of justice and honesty. 
 
 His very expressive pause, his eyes still steadfastly fixed 
 on Mr. Hastings, gave me ample opportunity for speaking; 
 though I had some little dif&culty how to get out what I 
 wished to say. However, in the midst of his reverie, I 
 broke forth, but not without great hesitation, and, very 
 humbly, I said, " Could you pardon me, Mr. Wyndham, if 
 I should forget, for a moment, that you are a Committee 
 man, and speak to you frankly ? " 
 
 He looked surprised, but laughed at the question, and 
 very eagerly called out, "Oh yes, yes, pray speak out, I beg 
 it ! " " Well, then, may I venture to say to you, that I 
 believe it utterly impossible for any one, not particularly 
 engaged on the contrary side, ever to enter a court of 
 justice, and not instantly, and involuntarily, wish well to 
 the prisoner!" His surprise subsided by this general 
 speech, which I had not courage to put in a more pointed 
 way, and he very readily answered, " 'T is natural, certainly, 
 and what must almost unavoidably be the first impulse ; 
 
 yet, where justice " I stopped him ; I saw I was not 
 
 comprehended, and thought else he might say something 
 to stop me. 
 
 "May I," I said, "go yet a little farther?" "Yes," 
 cried he, with a very civU smile, " and I feel an assent 
 beforehand." " Supposing then, that even you, if that may 
 be supposed, could be divested of all knowledge of the 
 
432 DIAKY AND LETTERS (1788. 
 
 particulars of this affair, and in the same state of general 
 ignorance that I confess myself to be, and could then, like 
 me, have seen Mr. Hastings make his entrance into this 
 Court, and looked at him when he was brought to that 
 bar; not even you, Mr. Wyndham, could then have re- 
 flected on such a vicissitude for him, on all he has left and 
 aU he has lost, and not have given him, like me, aU your 
 best wishes the moment you beheld him." 
 
 The promised assent came not, though he was too civil 
 to contradict me ; but still I saw he understood me only 
 in a general sense. I feared going farther : a weak advo- 
 cate is apt to be a mischievous one ; and, as I knew noth- 
 ing, it was not to a professed enemy I could talk of what I 
 only believed. Eecovering, now, from the strong emotion 
 with which the sight of Mr. Hastings had filled him, he 
 looked again around the Court, and pointed out several of 
 the principal characters present, with arch and striking 
 remarks upon each of them, all uttered with high spirit, 
 but none with ill-nature. " Pitt," cried he, " is not here ! 
 — a noble stroke that for the annals of his administration ! 
 A trial is brought on by the whole House of Commons in 
 a body, and he is absent at the very opening ! However," 
 added he, with a very meaning laugh, " I 'm glad of it, for 
 't is to his eternal disgrace ! " Mercy ! thought I, what a 
 friend to kindness is party ! 
 
 Next, Mr. Wyndham pointed out Mr. Francis ^ to me. 
 
 1 Mr. Hastings's enemy was Mr., afterwards Sir, Philip Francis, who 
 was horn in 1740, and was the son of Dr. Francis, the well-known trans- 
 lator of Horace. He was brought up at St. Paul's School, and early ob- 
 tained a clerkship in the Secretary of State's office. Afterwards, he was 
 attached to the Embassy to Portugal, and ou his return obtained a clerk- 
 ship in the War Office. Up to this period he was little known out of his 
 own family circle. Suddenly, however, in 1772, he was appointed a Mem- 
 ber of the Bengal Council, with a salary little short of ten thousand a year. 
 Some persons have ende.ivored to account for this extraordinary piece of 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 433 
 
 'Tis a singular circumstance, that the friend who most 
 loves and the enemy who most hates Mr. Hastings should 
 bear the same name ! ^ Mr. Wyndham, with all the bias 
 of party, gave me tlien the highest character of this Mr. 
 Francis, whom he called one of the most ill-used of men. 
 Want of documents how to answer forced me to be silent, 
 oppositely as I thought. But it was a very unpleasant 
 situation to me, as I saw that Mr. Wyndham still con- 
 ceived me to have no other interest than a common, and 
 probably to his mind, a weak compassion for the prisonei 
 — that prisoner who, frequently looking around, saw me, 
 I am certain, and saw with whom I was engaged ! 
 
 The subject of Mr. Francis again drew him back to Mr. 
 Hastings, but with more severity of mind. " A prouder 
 heart," cried he, " an ambition more profound, were never, 
 I suppose, lodged in any mortal mould than in that man ! 
 With what a port he entered ! did you observe him ? his 
 air ! I saw not his face, but his air ! his port ! " 
 
 " Surely there," cried I, " he could not be to blame ! He 
 comes upon his defence ; ought he to look as if he gave 
 himself up ? " " Why, no ; 't is true he must look what 
 vindication to himself he can; we must not blame him 
 there." 
 
 Encouraged by this little concession, I resolved to 
 venture farther, and once more said, " May I again, Mr. 
 Wyndham, forget that you are a Gommittee-man, and say 
 something not fit for a Gommittee-man to hear ? " " Oh 
 yes ! " cried he, laughing very much, and looking extremely 
 curious. " I must fairly, then, own myself utterly ignorant 
 
 good fortune by supposing that lie was, and was known to be, the writer 
 of the famous " Letters of Junius." Certain it is that after his appoint- 
 ment to India, Junius was heard of no more. 
 
 1 The friend of Mr. Hastings here alluded to was Clement Francis, 
 Esq., of Alysham in Norfolk, who married Charlotte, fourth daughter of 
 
 Dr. Bumey. 
 
 VOL. I. 28 
 
434 DIABT AND LETTERS 11788. 
 
 upon this subject, and — and — may I go on ? " " I beg 
 you will ! " " Well, then, — and originally prepossessed in 
 favor of the object ! " He quite started, and with a look 
 of surprise from which all pleasure was separated, ex- 
 claimed — " Indeed ! " " Yes ! " cried I, " 't is really true, 
 and really out, now ! " " For Mr. Hastings, prepossessed ! " 
 he repeated in a tone that seemed to say — do you not 
 mean Mr. Burke ? 
 
 " Yes," I said, " for Mr. Hastings ! But I should not, to 
 you, have presumed to own it just at this time, — so little 
 as I am able to do honor to my prepossession by any ma- 
 terials to defend it, — but that you have given me courage, 
 by appearing so free from all malignity in the business. 
 'T is, therefore, your own fault ! " " But can you speak 
 seriously," cried he, " when you say you know nothing of 
 this business ? " " Very seriously : I never entered into it 
 at all ; it was always too intricate to tempt me." " But, 
 surely you must have read the charges ?" 
 
 "No; they are so long, I had never the courage to 
 begin." The conscious look with which he heard this, 
 brought — all too late — to my remembrance, that one of 
 them was drawn up, and delivered in the House, by him- 
 self ! I was really very sorry to have been so unfortunate ; 
 but I had no way to call back the words, so was quiet 
 perforce. " Come, then," cried he, emphatically, " to hear 
 Burke ! come and listen to him, and you will be mistress 
 of the whole ! Hear Burke, and read the charges of the 
 Begums, and then you will form your judgment without 
 difficulty." 
 
 I would rather (thought I) hear him upon any other 
 subject : but I made no answer ; I only said, " Certainly, I 
 can gain nothing by what is going forward to-day. I meant 
 to come to the opening now, but it seems rather like the 
 shutting up ! " He was not to be put off. " You will come, 
 
1788.) OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 436 
 
 however, to hear Burke ? To hear truth, reason, justice, 
 eloquence ! You will then see, in other colors, ' that Man ! ' 
 There is more cruelty, more oppression, more tyranny, in 
 that little machine, with an arrogance, a self-confidence, 
 unexampled, unheard of." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ! " cried I ; " that does not appear, to those 
 who know him; and — I — know him a little." "Do 
 you ? " cried he, earnestly ; " personally, do you know him ? " 
 " Yes ; and from that knowledge arose this prepossession I 
 have confessed." " Indeed ! what you have seen of him 
 have you then so much approved ? " " Yes, very much ! 
 I must own the truth ! " " But you have not seen much 
 of him ? " " No, not lately. My first knowledge of him 
 was almost immediately upon his coming from India: I 
 had heard nothing of all these accusations ; I had never 
 heen in the way of hearing them, and knew not even that 
 there were any to be heard. I saw him, therefore, quite 
 without prejudice, for or against him ; and indeed, I must 
 own, he soon gave me a strong interest in his favor." 
 
 The surprise with which he heard me must have silenced 
 me on the subject, had it not been accompanied with an 
 attention so earnest as to encourage me still to proceed. 
 It is evident to me that this Committee live so much shut 
 up with one another, that they conclude all the world of 
 the same opinion with themselves, and universally imagine 
 that this tyrant they think themselves pursuing is a mon- 
 ster in every part of his life, and held in contempt and 
 abhorrence by all mankind. Could I then be sorry, seeing 
 this, to contribute my small mite towards clearing, at least, 
 so very wide a mistake ? On the contrary, when I saw he 
 listened, I was most eager to give him all I could to hear. 
 
 "I found him,'' I continued, "so mild, so gentle, so 
 
 extremely pleasing in his manners " " Gentle ! " cried 
 
 he, with quickness. " Yes, indeed ; gentle, even to humil- 
 
436 DIARY AND LETTERS [178& 
 
 ity." "Humility? Mr. Hastings and humility!" "In- 
 deed it is true ; he is perfectly diffident in the whole of 
 his manner, when engaged in conversation ; and so much 
 struck was I, at that veiy time, by seeing him so simple, 
 so unassuming, when just returned from a government that 
 had accustomed him to a power superior to our monarch's 
 here, that it produced an effect upon my mind in his favor 
 which nothing can erase ! " 
 
 " Oh yes, yes ! " cried he, with great energy, " you will 
 give it up ! you must lose it, must give it up ! it will be 
 plucked away, rooted wholly out of your mind ! " " Indeed, 
 sir," cried I, steadily, " I believe not ! " " You believe not ? " 
 repeated he, with added animation ; " then there will be the 
 more glory in making you a convert ! " If " conversion " 
 is the word, thought I, I would rather make than be made. 
 " But, Mr. Wyndham," cried I, " all my amazement now is 
 at your condescension in speaking to me upon this busi- 
 ness at all, when I have confessed to you my total igno- 
 rance of the subject, and my original prepossession in favor 
 of the object. Why do you not ask me when I was at the 
 play ? and how I liked the last opera ? " 
 
 He laughed; and we talked on a little while in that 
 strain, till again, suddenly fixing his eyes on poor Mr. 
 Hastings, his gaiety once more vanished, and he gravely 
 and severely examined his countenance. " 'T is surely," 
 cried he, " an unpleasant one." He does not know, I sup- 
 pose, 't is reckoned like his own ! " How should he," cried 
 I, " look otherwise than unpleasant here ? " " True," cried 
 he : " yet still, I think, his features, his look, his whole ex- 
 pression, unfavorable to him. I never saw him but once 
 before ; that was at the Bar of the House of Commons ; 
 and there, as Burke admirably said, he looked, when first 
 he glanced an eye against him, like a hungry tiger, ready 
 to howl for his prey ! " 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAY. 437 
 
 "Well," cried I, "I am sure he does not look fierce now! 
 Contemptuous, a little, I think he does look ! " I was 
 sorry I used this word ; yet its truth forced it to escape 
 me. He did not like it ; he repeated it ; he could not but 
 be sure the contempt could only be levelled at his prose- 
 cutors. I feared discussion, and flew off as fast as I could 
 to softer ground. " It was not," cried I, " with that coun- 
 tenance he gave me my prepossession ! Very differently, 
 indeed, he looked then ! " " And can he ever look pleas- 
 ant? can that face ever obtain an expression that is 
 pleasing ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed and in truth, and very pleasant ! It was 
 in the country I first saw him, and without any restraint 
 on his part ; I saw him, therefore, perfectly natural and 
 easy. And no one, let me say, could so have seen him 
 without being pleased with him ; his quietness and seren- 
 ity, joined to his intelligence and information — " " His 
 information ? — In what way ? " " In such a way as suited 
 his hearer : not upon committee business ! — of all that I 
 knew nothing. The only conversation in which I could 
 mix was upon India, considered simply as a country in 
 which he had travelled ; and his communications upon the 
 people, the customs, habits, cities, and whatever I could 
 name, were so instructive as well as entertaining, that I 
 think I never recollect gaining more intelligence, or more 
 pleasantly conveyed, from any conversation in which I 
 ever have been engaged." 
 
 To this he listened with an attention that but for the 
 secret zeal which warmed me must have silenced and 
 shamed me. I am satisfied this committee have concluded 
 Mr. Hastings a mere man of blood, with slaughter and 
 avarice for his sole ideas ! The surprise with which he heard 
 this just testimony to his social abilities was only silent 
 from good-breeding, but his eyes expressed what his tongue 
 
438 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 withheld ; something that satisfied me he concluded I had 
 undesignedly been duped by him. 
 
 I answered this silence by saying " There was no object 
 for hypocrisy, for it was quite in retirement I met with 
 him : it was not lately ; it is near two years since I have 
 seen him ; he had therefore no point to gain with me, nor 
 was there any public character, nor any person whatever, 
 that could induce him to act a part ; yet was he aU I 
 have said — informing, communicative, instructive, and at 
 the same time gentle and highly pleasing." He seemed 
 now overpowered into something like believing me, and, 
 in a voice of concession, said, " Certainly, from a man who 
 has been in so great a station — from any man that has 
 been an object of expectation — there is nothing so win- 
 ning as gentleness of manners." 
 
 I cannot say how even this little speech encouraged me : 
 I went on with fresh vigor. "Indeed," I cried, "I was 
 myself so entirely surprised by that mildness, that I re- 
 member carrying my admiration of it even to his dress, 
 which was a very plain green coat ; and I asked the friBnd 
 at whose house we met, when I saw his uniform simplicity, 
 whether the Governor-General of Bengal had not had that 
 coat made up before he went to the East, and upon putting 
 it on again when he returned, had not lost all memory of 
 the splendor of the time and the scenes that had passed 
 in the intermediate space." 
 
 " Well," said he, very civilly, " I begin the less to won- 
 der, now, that you have adhered to his side ; but — " " To 
 see him, then,'' cried I, stopping his lut, — " to see him 
 brought to that Bar ! and kneeling at it ! — indeed, Mr. 
 Wyndham, I must own to you, I could hardly keep my 
 seat — hardly forbear rising and running out of the Hall." 
 
 " "Why, there," cried he, " I agree with you ! 'T is cer- 
 tainly a humiliation not to be wished or defended : it is, 
 
1788.1 OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 439 
 
 indeed, a mere ceremony, a mere formality ; but it is a 
 mortifying one, and so obsolete, so unlike the practices of 
 the times, so repugnant from a gentleman to a gentleman, 
 that I myself looked another way : it hurt me, and I 
 wished it dispensed with." " Oh, Mr. Wyndham," cried I, 
 surprised and pleased, " and can you be so liberal ? " 
 " Yes," cried he, laughing ; " but 't is only to take you in ! " 
 Afterwards he asked what his coat was, whether blue or 
 purple ; and said, " Is it not customary for a prisoner to 
 come in black ? " " Whether or not," quoth I, " I am 
 heartily glad he has done it ; why should he seem so dis- 
 mal, so shut out from hope ? " " Why, I believe he is in 
 the right ! I think he has judged that not ill." " Oh 
 don't be so candid," cried I, " I beg you not." " Yes, yes, 
 I must ; and you know the reason ! " cried he gaily ; but 
 presently exclaimed, " One unpleasant thing belonging to 
 being a manager is that I must now go and show myself 
 in the committee." 
 
 And then he very civilly bowed, and went down to his 
 box, leaving me much persuaded that I had never yet been 
 engaged in a conversation so curious, from its circum- 
 stances, in my life. The warm well-wisher myself of the 
 prisoner, though formerly the warmest admirer of his ac- 
 cuser, engaged, even at his trial, and in his presence, in so 
 open a discussion with one of his principal prosecutors; 
 and the Queen herself in full view, unavoidably beholding 
 me in close and eager' conference with an avowed member 
 of opposition ! 
 
 In the midst of the opening of a trial such as this, so 
 important to the country as well as to the individual who 
 is tried, what will you say to a man — a member of the 
 House of Commons — who kept exclaiming almost per- 
 petually, just at my side, " What a bore ! — when will it 
 be over ? — Must one come any more ? — I had a great 
 
440 DIAUY AND LETTERS 117^8 
 
 mind not to have come at all. — Who 's that ? — Lady 
 Hawkesbury and the Copes ? — Yes. — A pretty girl, 
 Kitty. — Well, when will they have done ? — I wish they 'd 
 call the question — I should vote it a bore at once ! " Just 
 such exclamations as these were repeated, without inter- 
 mission, till the gentleman departed. 
 
 Towards the close of the day, Mr. Wyndham very un- 
 expectedly came again from the Committee-Box, and seated 
 himself by my side. I was glad to see by this second 
 visit that my frankness had not offended him. He began, 
 too, in so open and social a manner, that I was satisfied 
 he forgave it. 
 
 " I have been," cried he, " very busy since I left you — 
 writing — reading — making documents." I saw he was 
 much agitated ; the gaiety which seems natural to him was 
 flown, and had left in its place the most evident and un- 
 quiet emotion. I looked a little surprised, and rallying 
 himself, in a few moments he inquired if I wished for any 
 refreshment, and proposed fetching me some. But, well 
 as T liked him for a conspirator, I could not hreak tread 
 with him ! I thought now all was over of communication 
 between us, but I was mistaken. He spoke for a minute 
 or two upon the crowd — early hour of coming — hasty 
 breakfasting, and such general nothings; and then, as if 
 involuntarily, he returned to the sole subject on his mind. 
 " Our plan," cried he, " is all changing : we have aU been 
 busy — we are coming into a new method. I have been 
 making preparations — I did not intend speaking for a 
 considerable time — not tiU after the circuit — but now, I 
 may be called upon, I know not how soon." 
 
 Then he stopped — ruminating — and I let him rumi- 
 nate without interruption for some minutes, when he broke 
 forth into these reflections : " How strange, how infatuated 
 a frailty has man with respect to the future ! Be our 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 441 
 
 views, our designs, our anticipations what they may, we are 
 never prepared for it ! — it always takes us by surprise — 
 always comes before we look for it ! " He stopped ; but 
 I waited his explanation without speaking, and, after paus- 
 ing thoughtfully some time, he went on : — 
 
 " This day — for which we have all been waiting so 
 anxiously, so earnestly — the day for which we have fought, 
 for which we have struggled — a day, indeed, of national 
 glory, in bringing to this great tribunal a delinquent 
 from so high an office — this day, so much wished, has 
 seemed to me, to the last moment, so distant, that now — 
 now that it is actually arrived, it takes me as if I had 
 never thought of it before — it comes upon me all unex- 
 pected, and finds me unready ! " Still I said nothing, for 
 I did not fully comprehend him, till he added, " I will not 
 be so affected as to say to you that I have made no prepa- 
 ration — that I have not thought a little upon what I have 
 to do ; yet now that the moment is actually come — " 
 
 Again he broke off ; but a generous sentiment was burst- 
 ing from him, and would not be withheld. " It has brought 
 me," he resumed, " a feeling of which I am not yet quite 
 the master! What I have said hitherto, when I have 
 spoken in the House, has been urged and stimulated by the 
 idea of pleading for the injured and the absent, and that 
 gave me spirit. Nor do I tell you (with a half-conscious 
 smile) that the ardor of the prosecution went for nothing 
 — a prosecution in favor of oppressed millions ! But now, 
 when I am to speak here, the thought of that man, close to 
 my side — culprit as he is — that man on whom all the 
 odium is to fall — gives me, I own, a sensation that almost 
 disqualifies me beforehand ! " 
 
 Ah, Mr. Wyndham ! thought I, with feelings so generous 
 even where enmity is so strong, how came you ever en- 
 gaged in so cruel, so unjust a cause ? I could almost sup 
 
442 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788 
 
 pose he saw me think this, though I uttered never a word ; 
 but it may be that a new set of reflections were pouring in 
 wpon him irresistibly, for he presently went on : — " 'T was 
 amazing to myself how I got into this business ! I thought 
 it at first inextricable, but once begun — the glow of a 
 public cause — a cause to support, — to revive, to redress 
 helpless multitudes ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Wyndham ! " cried I, " you chill me ! " " But 
 surely," cried he, "you cannot be an earnest advocate in 
 such a cause ? " "I am so unwilling," cried I, " to think 
 so iU of it!" " But is it possible Mr. Burke's representa- 
 tions should have so little effect upon you ? " 
 
 " I am the friend of Mr. Burke," cried I, eagerly, " all 
 the time ! Mr. Burke has no greater admirer ! — and that 
 is precisely what disturbs me most in this business ' " 
 " Well," cried he, in a tone extremely good-humored and 
 soft, "I am then really sorry for you ! — to be pulled two 
 ways is of all things the most painful." 
 
 " Indeed it is : and in this very question, I wish so well 
 one way, and have long thought so highly the other, that I 
 scarce know, at times, what even to wish." 
 
 " That doubt is of all states the worst : it will soon, how- 
 ever, be over ; you must be all one way the moment you 
 have heard Burke." " I am not quite so sure of that ! " 
 cried I, boldly. " No ? " cried he, looking amazed at me. 
 
 "No, indeed ! But if it seems strange to you that I should 
 own this, you must impute it all to the want of that malig- 
 nity which I cannot see in you ! " The odd civility of this 
 speech, which was a literal truth, again brought back his 
 gaiety, and he made some general comments upon the com- 
 pany and the place. 
 
 " What an assembly ! " he cried ; " how brilliant, how 
 striking! When I look around and think of speaking 
 here — rank, nobility, talents, beauty. — Well, however. 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 443 
 
 'tis worth, and nobly worth, all our pains and all our 
 powers." 
 
 " Now again, Mr. Wyndham," cried I, " I am going to 
 beg that you will forget that you are a Committee-man 
 while I say something more to you." " Surely ! — I beg 
 you will speak ! " " Well, supposing you out of the ques- 
 tion, I cannot, as I sit here, look down upon those two 
 Boxes, and not think it a little unfair — at least very hard 
 — for Mr. Hastings to see on one side only feed hireUngs, 
 and men little experienced and scarce at all known, and on 
 the other almost all the talents of the nation ! Can that 
 be fair ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," cried he, " have no apprehensions from that ! 
 A lawyer, with his quirks and his quibbles, and his cross 
 questions and examinations, will overset and master the 
 ablest orator, unpractised in their ways." I hoped there 
 was some truth in this, and therefore accepted the conso- 
 lation. " That this day was ever brought about," continued 
 he, "must ever remain a noble memorial of courage and 
 perseverance in the Commons. Every possible obstacle 
 has been thrown in our way — every art of Government 
 has been at work to impede us — nothing has been left 
 untried to obstruct us — every check and clog of power 
 and influence." "Not by him," cried I, looking at poor 
 Mr. Hastings ; " he has raised no impediments — he has 
 been whoUy careless." " Come," cried he with energy, 
 " and hear Burke ! — Come but and hear him ! — 't is an 
 eloquence irresistible! — a torrent that sweeps all before 
 it with the force of a whirlwind ! It will cure you, indeed, 
 of your prepossession, but it will give you truth and right 
 in its place. What discoveries has he not made ! — what 
 gulfs has he not dived into ! Come and hear him, and your 
 conflict wiU end ! " 
 
 I could hardly stand this, and, to turn it off, asked him 
 
444 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 if Mr. Histings was to make his own defence ? " No," he 
 answered, " he will only speak by counsel. But do not 
 regret that, for his own sake, as he is not used to public 
 speaking, and has some impediment in his speech besides. 
 He writes wonderfully — there he shines — and with a 
 facility quite astonishing. Have you ever happened to see 
 any of his writings ? " 
 
 " No : only one short account, which he calls Memoirs 
 relative to some India transactions, and that struck me as 
 being extremely unequal — in some places strong and finely 
 expressed, in others obscure and scarce intelligible.'' 
 
 " That is just the case — that ambiguity runs through 
 him in everything. Burke has found an admirable word 
 for it in the Persian tongue, for which we have no trans- 
 lation, but it means an intricacy involved so deep as to be 
 nearly unfathomable — an artificial entanglement." 
 
 Again he was going : but glancing his eyes once more 
 down upon Mr. Hastings, he almost sighed — he fetched, 
 at least, a deep breath, while he exclaimed with strong 
 emotion, " What a place for a man to stand in to hear what 
 he has to hear ! — 't is almost too much ! " What pity, my 
 Susan and my Fredy, that a man who could feel such im- 
 pulsive right in the midst of party rage, should bow down 
 to any party, and not abide by such impulse ! 
 
 It would not be easy to tell you how touching at such a 
 time was the smallest concession from an avowed opponent, 
 and I could not help exclaiming, "Oh, Mr. Wyndham, 
 you must not be so liberal ! " " Oh ! " cried he, smiling, 
 and recovering himself, "'tis all the deeper malice only 
 to draw you in ! " Still, however, he did not go : he kept 
 gazing upon Mr. Hastings till he seemed almost fasci- 
 nated to the spot ; and presently, after growing more and 
 more open in his discourse, he began to talk to me of Sir 
 Elijah Impey. I presume, my dearest friends, little as 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 445 
 
 they hear of politics and state business, must yet know 
 that the House of Commons is threatening Sir Elijah with 
 an impeachment, to succeed that of Mr. Hastings, and all 
 upon East India transactions of the same date. 
 
 When he had given me his sentiments upon this subject, 
 which I had heard with that sort of quietness that results 
 from total ignorance of the matter, joined to total igno- 
 rance of the person concerned, he drew a short compari- 
 son, which nearly, from him, and at such a moment, drew 
 the tears from my eyes — nearly do I say ? — indeed more 
 than that ! 
 
 " Sir Elijah," cried he, " knows how to go to work, and 
 by getting the lawyers to side with him professionally, has 
 set about his defence in the most artful manner. He is not 
 only wicked, but a very pitiful fellow. Let him but escape 
 fine or imprisonment, and he will pocket all indignity, and 
 hold himself happy in getting off: but Hastings (again 
 looking steadfastly at him) — Hastings has feeling — 't is 
 a proud feeling, an ambitious feeling — but feeling he has ! 
 Hastings — come to him what may — fine, imprisonment, 
 whatsoever is inflicted — aU will be nothing. The moment 
 of his punishment — I think it, upon my honor ! — was 
 the moment that brought him to that Bar ! " When he 
 said, " I think it, upon my honor," he laid his hand on his 
 breast, as if he implied " I acquit him henceforward." 
 
 Poor Mr. Hastings ! One generous enemy he has at 
 least, who pursues him with public hate, but without per- 
 sonal malignity ! yet, sure I feel he can deserve neither ! 
 I did not spare to express my sense of this liberality from 
 a foe ; for, indeed, the situation I was in, and the sight of 
 Mr. Hastings, made it very affecting to me. He was 
 affected too, himself; but presently, rising, he said with 
 great quickness, " I must shake aU this off ; I must have 
 done with it — dismiss it — forget that he is there." " Oh, 
 
446 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 no," cried I, earnestly, " do not forget it ! " " Yes, yes : I 
 must." " 'No, remember it rather," cried I ; "I could al- 
 most (putting up my hands as if praying) do thus ; and 
 then, like poor Mr. Hastings just now to the house, drop 
 down on my knees to you, to call out, ' Remember it.' " 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried he, precipitately, " how else shall I go 
 on ? I must forget that he is there, and that yov, are here." 
 And then he hurried down to his Committee. Was it not 
 a most singular scene ? We stayed but a short time after 
 this last conference ; for nothing more was attempted than 
 reading on the charges and answers, in the same useless 
 manner. 
 
 The interest of this trial was so much upon my mind, 
 that I have not kept even a memorandum of what passed 
 from the 13th of February to the day when I went again 
 to Westminster Hall ; nor, except renewing the Friday 
 Oratorios with Mrs. Ord, do I recollect one circumstance. 
 
 The second time that the Queen, who saw my wishes, 
 indulged me with one of her tickets, and a permission of 
 absence for the Trial, was to hear Mr. Burke, for whom my 
 curiosity and my interest stood the highest. 
 
 At length the Peers' procession closed, the Prisoner was 
 brought in, and Mr. Burke began his speech. It was the 
 second day of his harangue : the first I had not been able 
 to attend. All I had heard of his eloquence, and all I 
 had conceived of his great abilities, was more than an- 
 swered by his performance. Nervous, clear, and striking 
 was almost all that he uttered : the main business, indeed, 
 of his coming forth was frequently neglected, and not sel- 
 dom whoUy lost ; but his excursions were so fanciful, so 
 entertaining, and so ingenious, that no miscellaneous 
 hearer, like myself, could blame them. It is true he was 
 unequal, but his inequality produced an effect which, in so 
 
1788., OK MADAME D'AEBLAT. 447 
 
 long a speech, was perhaps preferable to greater consis- 
 tency, since, though it lost attention in its falling off, it 
 recovered it with additional energy by some ascent unex- 
 pected and wonderful. When he narrated, he was easy, 
 flowing, and natural ; when he declaimed, energetic, warm, 
 and brilliant. The sentiments he interspersed were as 
 nobly conceived as they were highly colored ; his satire 
 had a poignancy of wit that made it as entertaining as it 
 was peneti-ating ; his allusions and quotations, as far as 
 they were English and within my reach, were apt and 
 ingenious ; and the wild and sudden flights of his fancy, 
 bursting forth from his creative imagination in language 
 fluent, fotTcible, and varied, had a charm for my ear and my 
 attention wholly new and perfectly irresistible. 
 
 Were talents such as these exercised in the service of 
 truth, unbiassed by party and prejudice, how could we 
 sufficiently applaud their exalted possessor? But though 
 frequently he made me tremble by his strong and horrible 
 representations, his own violence recovered me, by stigma- 
 tizing his assertions with personal ill-will and designing 
 illiberality. Yet, at times I confess, with all that I felt, 
 wished, and thought concerning Mr. Hastings, the whirl- 
 wind of his eloquence nearly drew me into its vortex. I 
 give no particulars of the speech, because they will all be 
 printed. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, what say you to all this ? how have you 
 been entertained ? " cried a voice at my side ; and I saw 
 Mr. Crutchley, who came round to speak to me. " Enter- 
 tained ? " cried T, "indeed, not at all ; it is quite too serious 
 and too horrible for entertainment: you ask after my 
 amusement as if I were at an opera or a comedy." 
 
 " A comedy ? " repeated he, contemptuously, " no, a farce ; 
 't is not high enough for a comedy. To hear a man rant 
 such stuff. But you should have been here the first day 
 
448 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 he spoke ; this is milk and honey to that. He said then, 
 ' His heart was as black — as — black ! ' and called him the 
 Captain-general of iniquity." " Hush ! hush ! " cried I, for 
 he spoke very loud ; " that young man you see down there, 
 who is looking up, is his son ! " "I know it," cried he, 
 " and what do I care ? " 
 
 And now for my third Westminster Hall, which, by" the 
 Queen's own indulgent order, was with dear Charlotte and 
 Sarah. 
 
 It was also to hear Mr. Fox. We went early, yet did 
 not get very good places. The Managers at this time were 
 all in great wrath at a decision made the night before by 
 the Lords, upon a dispute between them and the Counsel 
 for Mr. Hastings, which turned entirely in favor of the 
 latter. When they entered their Committee-Box, led on 
 as usual by Mr. Burke, they all appeared in the extremest 
 and most angry emotion. 
 
 When they had caballed together some time, Mr. Wynd- 
 ham came up among the Commons, to bow to some ladies 
 of his acquaintance, and then to speak to me : but he was 
 so agitated and so disconcerted, he could name nothing 
 but their recent provocation from the Lords. He seemed 
 quite enraged, and broke forth with a vehemence I should 
 not much have liked to have excited. They had experi- 
 enced, he said, in the late decision, the most injurious 
 treatment that could be oflfered them : the Lords had re- , 
 solved upon saving Mr. Hastings, and the Chancellor had 
 taken him under the grossest protection. " In short," said 
 he, "the whole business is taken out of our hands, and 
 they have all determined to save him." 
 
 " Have they indeed ? " cried I, with involuntary eager- 
 ness. "Yes," answered he, perceiving how little I was 
 shocked for him, " it is now all going your way." I coidd 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 449 
 
 not pretend to be sorry, and only inquired if Mr. Fox was 
 to speak. " I know not," cried he, hastily, " what is to be 
 done, who will speak, or what will be resolved. Fox is in 
 a rage ! Oh, a rage ! " " But yet I hope he will speak. I 
 have never heard him." " No ? not the other day ? " " No ; 
 I was then at Windsor." " Oh, yes, I remember you told 
 me you were going. You have lost everything by it. To- 
 day will be nothing, he is all rage ! On Tuesday he 
 was great indeed. You should have heard him then. And 
 Burke, you should have heard the conclusion of Burke's 
 speech ; 't was the noblest ever uttered by man ! " " So I 
 have been told." " To-day you will hear nothing — know 
 nothing, — there will be no opportunity ; Fox is all fury." 
 I told him he almost frightened me ; for he spoke in a 
 tremor himself that was really unpleasant. " Oh ! " cried 
 he, looking at me half reproachfully, half good-humoredly, 
 " Fox's fury is with the Lords — not there ! " pointing to 
 Mr. Hastings. I saw by this he entered into my feelings 
 in the midst of his irritability, and that gave me courage 
 to cry out, " I am glad of that at least." " Oh, yes ! yes ! " 
 cried he, a little impetuously, " all our complaints, our in- 
 dignities, our difficulties — all those are but balm to you." 
 And he shook his head and his hand at me tremulously 
 and reproachfully, rising at the same to be gone. " Oh, 
 Mr. Wyndham," cried I, half laughing, yet half afraid, 
 " ' soften a little of that flint,' as Mr. Sterling says, I be- 
 seech you.'' A smile forced its way to his features whether 
 he would or not ; but he very earnestly said. " And do 
 you still, and can you after what you have heard, retain 
 any esteem for Mr. Hastings ? " " Why — a — little ! " 
 answered I, hesitatingly. " What, still ! after what you 
 have heard !" "Won't you allow me any ? " cried I. " If it 
 is half what it was — " " Not half ! — Oh yes, allow me 
 half !" "What, half ! after all you have heard !" And again 
 
 VOL. I. 29 
 
450 DIAEY AND LETTEKS [1788. 
 
 shaking his head and his hand, as if quite scandalized for 
 me, he hurried back to his den, and I saw no more of him. 
 
 Mr. Fox spoke five hours, and with a violence that did 
 not make me forget what I had heard of his being in 
 such a fury ; but I shall never give any account of these 
 speeches, as they will aU be printed. I shall only say a 
 word of the speakers as far as relates to my own feelings 
 about them, and that briefly will be to say that I adhere 
 to Mr. Burke, whose oratorical powers appeared to me far 
 more gentleman-like, scholar-like, and fraught with true 
 genius than those of Mr. Fox. It may be I am preju- 
 diced by old kindnesses of Mr. Burke, and it may be that 
 the countenance of Mr. Fox may have turned me against 
 him, for it struck me to have a boldness in it quite hard 
 and callous. However, it is little matter how much my 
 judgment in this point may err. With you, my dear 
 friends, I have nothing further to do than simply to give 
 it ; and even should it be wrong, it wOl not very essen- 
 tially injure you in your politics. 
 
 Again, on the fourth time of my attendance at West- 
 minster Hall, honest James was my esquire. 
 
 We were so late from divers accidents that we did not 
 enter till the same moment with the prisoner. In de- 
 scending the steps I heard my name exclaimed with sur- 
 prise, and looking before me, I saw myself recognized by 
 Mrs. Crewe. " Miss Burney," she cried, " who could have 
 thought of seeing you here ! " 
 
 Very obligingly she made me join her immediately, 
 which, as I was with no lady, was a very desirable circuni- 
 stance ; and though her political principles are well known, 
 and, of course, lead her to side with the enemies of Mr. 
 Hastings, she had the good sense to conclude me on the 
 other side, and the delicacy never once to distress me by 
 any discussion of the prosecution. 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAT. 451 
 
 I was much disappointed to find nothing intended for 
 this day's trial but hearing evidence ; no speaker was pre- 
 paring ; all the attention was devoted to the witnesses. 
 
 Mr. Adam, Mr. Dudley Long, and others that I know 
 not, came from the committee to chat with Mrs. Crewe ; 
 but soon after one came not so unknown to me — Mr. 
 Burke ; and Mrs. Crewe, seeing him ascend, named him to 
 me, but was herself a little surprised to see it was his pur- 
 pose to name himself, for he immediately made up to me, 
 and with an air of such frank kindness that, could I have 
 forgot his errand in that HaU, would have made me receive 
 him as formerly, when I was almost fascinated with him. 
 
 But far other were my sensations. I trembled as he 
 approached me, with conscious change of sentiments, and 
 with a dread of his pressing from me a disapprobation he 
 might resent, but which I knew not how to disguise 
 "Near-sighted as I am," cried he, "1 knew you imme- 
 diately. I knew you from our box the moment I looked 
 up ; yet how long it is, except for an instant here, since I 
 have seen you ! " " Yes," I hesitatingly answered, "I — live 
 in a monastery now." He said nothing to this. He felt, 
 perhaps, it was meant to express my inaccessibility. 
 
 I inquired after Mrs. Burke. He recounted to me the 
 particulars of his sudden seizure when he spoke last, from 
 the cramp in his stomach, owing to a draught of cold water, 
 which he drank in the midst of the heat of his oration. 
 
 I could not even wear a semblance of being sorry for 
 him on this occasion ; and my cold answers made him soon 
 bend down to speak with Mrs. Crewe. I was seated in the 
 next row to her, just above. Mr. Wyndham was now talk- 
 ing with her. My whole curiosity and desire being to 
 hear him, which had induced me to make a point of 
 coming this time, I was eager to know if my chance was 
 wholly gone. " You are aware," I cried, when he spoke to 
 
452 DIABT AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 me, " what brings me here this morning ! " " No ; " he pro- 
 tested he knew not. 
 
 Mrs. Crewe, again a little surprised, I believe, at this 
 second opposition acquaintance, began questioning how 
 often I had attended this trial. Mr. Wyndham, with much 
 warmth of regret, told her very seldom, and that I had 
 lost Mr. Burke on his best day. I then turned to speak 
 to Mr. Burke, that I might not seem listening, for they 
 interspersed various civilities upon my peculiar right to 
 have heard all the great speeches, but Mr. Burke was in 
 so profound a reverie he did not hear me. I wished Mr. 
 Wyndham had not either, for he called upon him aloud, 
 " Mr. Burke, Miss Burney speaks to you ! " He gave me 
 his immediate attention with an air so full of respect that 
 it quite shamed me. 
 
 " Indeed," I cried, " I had never meant to speak to Mr. 
 Burke again after hearing him in Westminster Hall. I 
 had meant to keep at least that geographical timidity.^' 
 
 I alluded to an expression in his great speech of " geo- 
 graphical morality " which had struck me very much. He 
 laughed heartily, instantly comprehending me, and as- 
 sured me it was an idea that had occurred to him on the 
 moment he had uttered it, whoUy without study. 
 
 A little general talk followed; and then, one of the 
 Lords rising to question some of the evidence, he said he 
 must return to his Committee and business, — very flat- 
 teringly saying, in quitting his post, " This is the first time 
 I have played truant from the Manager's Box." However 
 I might be obliged to him, which sincerely I felt, I was 
 yet glad to have him go. My total ill-will to all he was 
 about made his conversation merely a pain to me. 
 
 I did not feel the same with regard to Mr. Wyndham. 
 He is not the prosecutor, and seems endowed with so much 
 liberality and candor that it not only encourages me to 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAY. 453 
 
 speak to him what I think, hut leads me to believe he will 
 one day or other reflect upon joining a party so violent as 
 a stain to the independence of his character. 
 
 Almost instantly Mr. Wyndham came forward to the 
 place Mr. Burke had vacated. " Are you approaching," I 
 cried, " to hear my upbraidings ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know," cried he, looking half alarmed. 
 
 " Oh ! I give you warning, if you come you must expect 
 them ; so my invitation is almost as pleasant as the man's 
 in ' Measure for Measure,' who calls to Master Earnardine, 
 ' Won't you come down to be hanged ? ' " 
 
 " How," cried he, " have I incurred your upbraidings ? " 
 " By bringing me here," I answered, " only to disappoint 
 me." " Did I bring you here ? " " Yes, by telling me you 
 were to speak to-day." He protested he could never have 
 made such an assertion. I explained myself, reminding 
 him he had told me he was certainly to speak before the 
 recess ; and that therefore, when I was informed this was 
 to be the last day of trial till after the recess, I concluded 
 I should be right, but found myself so utterly wrong as to 
 hear nothing but such evidence as I could not even under- 
 stand, because it was so uninteresting I could not even 
 listen to it. 
 
 " How strangely," he exclaimed, " are we all moulded, 
 that nothing ever in this mortal life, however pleasant 
 in itself, and however desirable from its circumstances, 
 can come to us without alloy — not even flattery ; for here, 
 at this moment, all the high gratification I should feel, and 
 I am well disposed to feel it thoroughly in supposing you 
 could think it worth your while to come hither in order to 
 hear me, is kept down and subdued by the consciousness 
 how much I must disappoint you." 
 
 " Not at all," cried I ; " the worse you speak, the better 
 for my side of the question." 
 
454 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 He laughed, but confessed the agitation of his spirits 
 was so great in the thought of that speech, whenever he 
 was to make it, that it haunted him in fiery dreams in his 
 sleep. " Sleep ! " cried I ; "do you ever sleep ? " He 
 stared a little, but I added with dryness, " Do any of you 
 that live down there in that prosecutor's den ever sleep in 
 your beds ? I should have imagined that, had you even 
 attempted it, the anticipating ghost of Mr. Hastings would 
 have appeared to you in the dead of the night, and have 
 drawn your curtains, and glared ghastly in your eyes. I do 
 heartily wish Mr. Tickell would send you that ' Anticipa- 
 tion ' at once ! " 
 
 This idea furnished us with sundry images, till, looking 
 down upon Mr. Hastings, with an air a little moved, he 
 said, " I am afraid the most insulting thing we do by him 
 is coming up hither to show ourselves so easy and disen- 
 gaged, and to enter into conversation with the ladies." 
 
 " But I hope," cried I, alarmed, " he does not see that." 
 
 "Why your caps," cried he, "are much in your favor for 
 concealment ; they are excellent screens to all but the first 
 row!" 
 
 I saw him, however, again look at the poor, and, I sin- 
 cerely believe, much-injured prisoner, and as I saw also he 
 still bore with my open opposition, I could not but again 
 seize a favorable moment for being more serious with him. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Wyndham," I cried, " I have not forgot what 
 dropped from you on the first day of this trial." 
 
 He looked a little surprised. "You," I continued, 
 " probably have no remembrance of it, for you have been 
 living ever since down there; but I was more touched 
 with what you said then, than with all I have since heard 
 from all the others, and probably than with all I shall hear 
 even from you again when you mount the rostrum." 
 
 "You conclude," cried he, looking very sharp, "I shall 
 then be better steeled against that fatal candor ? " 
 
1788.] OF MAJ)AME D'AKBLAY. 455 
 
 " In fact," cried I, " Mr. Wyndham, I do really believe 
 your steeliag to be factitious, notwithstanding you took 
 pains to assure me your candor was blit the deeper malice ; 
 and yet I will own, when once I have heard your speech, 
 I have little expectation of ever having the honor of con 
 versing with you again." 
 
 " And why ? " cried he, starting back ; " what am I t-j 
 say that you denounce such a forfeit beforehand ? " 
 
 I could not explain ; I left him to imagine ; for, should 
 he prove as violent and as personal as the rest, I had no 
 objection to his previously understanding I could have no 
 future pleasure in discoursing with him. 
 
 " I think, however," I continued, with a laugh, " that 
 since I have settled this future taciturnity, I have a fair 
 right in the meanwhile to say whatever comes uppermost." 
 
 He agreed to this with great approvance. 
 
 " Moli^re, you know, in order to obtain a natural opinion 
 of his plays, applied to an old woman ; you, upon the same 
 principle, to obtain a natural opinion of political matters, 
 should apply to an ignorant one ; — for you wOl never, I 
 am sure, gain it down there." 
 
 He smiled, whether he would or not, but protested this 
 was the severest stricture upon his Committee that had 
 ever yet been uttered. 
 
 I told him as it was the last time he was likely to hear 
 unbiassed sentiments upon this subject, it was right they 
 should be spoken very intelligibly. 
 
 "And permit me," I said, "to begin with what strikes 
 me the most. Were Mr. Hastings really the culprit he is 
 represented, he would never stand there." 
 
 " Certainly," cried he, with a candor he could not sup- 
 press, " there seems something favorable in that ; it has a 
 good look; but assure yourself he never expected to see 
 this day." 
 
456 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 " But would he, if guilty, have waited its chance ? Was 
 not all the world before him ? Could he not have chosen 
 any other place of residence ? " 
 
 " Yes ; — but the shame, the disgrace of a flight ? " 
 
 " What is it all to the shame and disgrace of convicted 
 guilt?" 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 " And now," I continued, " shall I teU you, just in the 
 same simple style, how I have been struck with the speak- 
 ers and speeches I have yet heard ? " He eagerly begged 
 me to go on. " The whole of this public speaking is quite 
 new to me. I was never in the House of Commons. It is 
 all a new creation to me." " And what a creation it is ! " 
 he exclaimed ; " how noble, how elevating ! — and what an 
 inhabitant for it ! " I received his compliment with great 
 courtesy, as an encouragement for me to proceed. 
 
 I then began upon Mr. Burke ; but I must give you a 
 very brief summary of my speech, as it could only be in- 
 telligible at full length from your having heard his. I told 
 him that his opening had struck me with the highest ad- 
 miration of his powers, from the eloquence, the imagina- 
 tion, the fire, the diversity of expression, and the ready 
 flow of language, with which he seemed gifted, in a most 
 superior manner, for any and every purpose to which rheto- 
 ric could lead. " And when he came to his two narra- 
 tives," I continued, " when he related the particulars of 
 those dreadful murders, he interested, he engaged, he at 
 last overpowered me ; I felt my cause lost. I could hardly 
 keep on my seat. My eyes dreaded a single glance towards 
 a man so accused as Mr. Hastings ; I wanted to sink on 
 the floor, that they might be saved so painful a sight. I 
 had no hope he could clear himself; not another wish in 
 his favor remained. But when from this narration Mr. 
 Burke proceeded to his own comments and declamation — 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 457 
 
 when the charges of rapacity, cruelty, tyranny were gene- 
 ral, and made with aU the violence of personal detestation, 
 and continued and aggravated without any further fact or 
 illustration ; then there appeared more of study than of 
 truth, more of invective than of justice ; and, in short, so 
 little of proof to so much of passion, that in a very short 
 time I began to lift up my head, my seat was no longer 
 uneasy, my eyes were indiiferent which way they looked, 
 or what object caught them ; and before I was myself 
 aware of the declension of Mr. Burke's powers over my 
 feelings, I found myself a mere spectator in a public place, 
 and looking all around it, with my opera-glass in my 
 hand ! " 
 
 His eyes sought the ground on hearing this, and with no 
 other comment than a rather uncomfortable shrug of the 
 shoulders, he expressively and concisely said — "I compre- 
 hend you perfectly ! " This was a hearing too favorable to 
 stop me ; and Mr. Hastings constantly before me was an 
 animation to my spirits which nothing less could have 
 given me, to a manager of such a Committee ! 
 
 I next, therefore, began upon Mr. Pox ; and I ran 
 through the general matter of his speech, with such ob- 
 servations as had occurred to me in hearing it. " His 
 violence," I said, " had that sort of monotony that seemed 
 to result from its being factitious, and I felt less pardon 
 for that than for any extravagance in Mr. Burke, whose 
 excesses seemed at least to be unaffected, and, if they spoke 
 against his judgment, spared his probity. Mr. Fox ap- 
 peared to have no such excuse; he looked all good humor 
 and negligent ease the instant before he began a speech of 
 uninterrupted passion and vehemence, and he wore the 
 same careless and disengaged air the very instant he had 
 finished. A display of talents in which the inward man 
 took so little share could have no powers of persuasion to 
 
458 DIARY AND LETTEB8 [1788. 
 
 those who saw them in that light ; and, therefore, however 
 their brilliancy might be admired, they were useless to 
 their cause, for they left the mind of the hearer in the 
 same state that they found it." 
 
 After a short vindication of his friends he said, " You 
 have never heard Pitt ? You would like him beyond any 
 other competitor." And then he made his panegyric in 
 very strong terms, allowing him to be equal, ready, splen- 
 did, wonderful ! — he was in constant astonishment him- 
 self at his powers and success; — his youth and inexperieuce 
 never seemed against him : though he mounted to his pres- 
 ent height after and in opposition to such a vortex of 
 splendid abilities, yet, alone and unsupported, he coped 
 with them all ! And then, with conscious generosity, he 
 finished a most noble 4loge with these words : " Take — you 
 may take — the testimony of an enemy — a very confirmed 
 enemy of Mr. Pitt's ! " Not very confirmed, I hope ! A 
 man so liberal can harbor no enmity of that dreadful ma- 
 lignancy that sets mitigation at defiance for ever. 
 
 I then said " Now, then, Mr. Wyndham, shall I tell you 
 fairly what it is that induced me to say all this to you ? — 
 Dr. Johnson ! — what I have heard from him of Mr. Wynd- 
 ham has been the cause of all this hazardous openness." 
 " 'T was a noble cause," cried he, well pleased, " and noble 
 has been its effect ! I loved him, indeed, sincerely. He 
 has left a chasm in my heart — a chasm in the world' 
 There was in him what I never saw before, what I never 
 shall find again ! I lament every moment as lost, that I 
 might have spent in his society, and yet gave to any 
 other." 
 
 How it delighted me to hear this just praise, thus 
 warmly uttered ! — I could speak from this moment upon 
 no other subject. I told him how much it gratified me ; 
 and we agreed in comparing notes upon the very few np- 
 
1788.} OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 459 
 
 portunities his real remaining friends could now meet with 
 of a similar indulgence, since so little was his intrinsic 
 worth understood, while so deeply all his foibles had been 
 felt, that in general it was merely a matter of pain to hear 
 him even named. 
 
 How did we then emulate each other in calling to mind 
 all his excellences ! " His abilities," cried Mr. Wyndham, 
 " were gigantic, and always at hand ; no matter for the 
 subject, he had information ready for everything. He was 
 fertile, — he was universal ! " My praise of him was of a 
 still more solid kind, — his principles, his piety, his kind 
 heart under all its rough coating : but I need not repeat 
 what I said, — my dear friends know every word. I re- 
 minded him of the airings, in which he gave his time with 
 his carriage for the benefit of Dr. Johnson's health. " What 
 an advantage ! " he cried, " was aU that to myself ! I had 
 not merely an admiration, but a tenderness for him, — the 
 more I knew him, the stronger it became. We never dis- 
 agreed; even in politics, I found it rather words than 
 things in which we differed." " And if you could so love 
 him," cried I, " knowing him only in a general way, what 
 would you have felt for him had you known him at 
 Streatham ? " 
 
 I then gave him a little history of his manners and way 
 of life there, — his good humor, his sport, his kindness, his 
 sociability, and all the many excellent qualities that, in 
 the world at large, were by so many means obscured. He 
 was extremely interested in aU I told him, and regrettingly 
 said he had only known him in his worst days, when his 
 health was upon its decline, and iniirmities were crowding 
 fast upon him. 
 
 " Had he lived longer," he cried, " I am satisfied I 
 should have taken to him almost wholly. I should have 
 taken him to my heart ! have looked up to him, applied to 
 
460 DIAEY AND LETTERS [178& 
 
 him, advised with him in all the most essential occurrences 
 of my life ! I am sure, too, — though it is a proud asser- 
 tion, — he would have liked me, also, better, had we min- 
 gled more. I felt a mixed fondness and reverence growing 
 so strong upon me, that I am satisfied the closest union 
 would have followed his longer life." Just before we 
 broke up. "There is nothing," he cried, with energy, 
 "for which I look back upon myself with severer disci- 
 pline than the time I have thrown away in other pursuits, 
 that might else have been devoted to that wonderful man!" 
 
 He then said he must be gone, — he was one in a Com- 
 mittee of the House, and could keep away no longer. 
 
 But, very soon after, Mr. Burke mounted to the House 
 of Commons again, and took the place left by Mr. Wynd- 
 ham. I inquired very much after Mrs. Burke, and we 
 talked of the spectacle, and its fine effect ; and I ventured 
 to mention^ allusively, some of the digressive parts of the 
 great speech in which I had heard him : but I saw him 
 anxious for speaking more to the point, and as I could not 
 talk to him — the leading prosecutor — with that frank- 
 ness of opposing sentiments which I used to Mr. Wynd- 
 ham, I was anxious only to avoid talking at all ; and so 
 brief was my speech, and so long my silences, that, of 
 course, he was soon wearied into a retreat. Had he not 
 acted such a part, with what pleasure should I have ex- 
 erted myself to lengthen his stay ! Yet he went not in 
 wrath ; for, before the close, he came yet a third time, to 
 say " I do not pity you for having to sit there so long, for, 
 with you, sitting can now be no punishment." " No," cried 
 I, " I may take rest now for a twelvemonth back." His 
 son also came to speak to me ; but, not long after, Mrs. 
 Crewe called upon me to say, " Miss Burney, Mr. Sheridan 
 begs me to introduce him to you, for he thinks you have 
 forgot him." I did not feel very comfortable in this ; the 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 461 
 
 part he acts would take from me all desire for his notice, 
 even were his talents as singular as they are celebrated. 
 Cold, therefore, was my reception of his salutations, though 
 as civil as I could make it. He talked a little over our 
 former meeting at Mrs. Cholmondeley's, and he reminded 
 me of what he had there urged and persuaded with all his 
 might, namely, that I would write a comedy ; and he now 
 reproached me for my total disregard of his counsel and 
 opinion. I made little or no answer, for I am always put 
 out by such sort of discourse, especially when entered upon 
 with such abruptness. 
 
 EecoUecting then, that " Cecilia " had been published 
 since that time, he began a very florid flourish, saying he 
 was in my debt greatly, not only for reproaches about what 
 I had neglected but for fine speeches about what I had 
 performed. I hastily interrupted him with a fair retort, 
 exclaiming — " Oh ! if fine speeches may now be made, I 
 ought to begin first — but know not where I should end ! " 
 I then asked after Mrs. Sheridan, and he soon after left me. 
 
 In the conclusion of the day's business there was much 
 speaking, and I heard Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke, and several 
 others : but the whole turned extremely in favor of the 
 gentleman at the bar, to the great consternation of the 
 accusers, whose own witnesses gave testimony, most unex- 
 pectedly, on the side of Mr. Hastings. 
 
 Apeil. — I have scarce a memorandum of this fatal 
 month, in which I was bereft of the most revered of 
 friends,' and, perhaps, the most perfect of women. 
 
 I believe I heard the last words she uttered ; I cannot 
 learn that she spoke after my reluctant departure. She 
 finished with that cheerful resignation, that lively hope, 
 which always broke forth when this last — awful — but, 
 
 Mrs. Delany. 
 
462 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 to her, most happy change seemed approaching. Poor Miss 
 
 P and myself were kneeling by her bedside. She had 
 
 just given me her soft hand ; without power to see either 
 of us, she felt and knew us. Oh, never can I cease to 
 cherish the remembrance of the sweet, benign, holy voice 
 with which she pronounced a blessing upon us both ! We 
 kissed her ; and, with a smile all beaming — I thought it 
 so — of heaven, she seemed then to have taken leave of aU 
 earthly solicitudes. Yet then, even then, short as was her 
 time on earth, the same soft human sensibility filled her 
 for poor human objects. She would not bid us farewell — 
 would not teU us she should speak with us no more — she 
 only said, as she turned gently away from us, " And now — 
 I'll go to sleep!" — But, oh, in what a voice she said it! 
 I felt what the sleep would be ; so did poor Miss P . 
 
 How full of days and full of honors was her exit ! I 
 should blush at the affliction of my heart in losing her, 
 could I ever believe excellence was given us here to love 
 and to revere, yet gladly to relinquish. No, I cannot think 
 it : the deprivation may be a chastisement, but not a joy. 
 We may submit to it with patience ; but we cannot have 
 felt it with warmth where we lose it without pain. Outra- 
 geously to murmur, or sullenly to refuse consolation — 
 there, indeed, we are rebels against the dispensations of 
 Providence — and rebels yet more weak than wicked ; for 
 what and whom is it we resist ? what and who are we for 
 such resistance ? 
 
 She bid me — how often did she bid me — not grieve to 
 lose her ! Yet she said, in my absence, she knew I must, 
 and sweetly regretted how much I must miss her. I teach 
 myself to think of her felicity ; and I never dwell upon 
 that without faithfully feeling I would not desire her 
 return. But, in every other channel in which my thoughts 
 and feelings turn, I miss her with so sad a void ! She was 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 463 
 
 all that I dearly loved that remained within my reach ; she 
 was become the bosom repository of all the livelong day's 
 transactions, reflections, feelings, and wishes. Her own ex- 
 alted mind was all expanded when we met. I do not think 
 she concealed from me the most secret thought of her 
 heart ; and while every word that fell from her spoke wis- 
 dom, piety, and instruction, her manner had an endearment, 
 her spirits a native gaiety, and her smile, to those she loved, 
 a tenderness so animated. — Oh, why do I go on entering 
 into these details ? Believe me, my dear friends, now — 
 now that the bitterness of the first blow is over, and that 
 the dreary chasm becomes more familiar to me, I think and 
 trust I would not call her back. 
 
 What a message she left me ! did you hear it ? She 
 told Mrs. Astley to say to me, when she was gone, how 
 much comfort I must always feel in reflecting how much 
 her latter days had been soothed by me. 
 
 Blessed spirit ! sweet, fair, and beneficent on earth ! — 
 Oh, gently mayest thou now be at rest in that last home — 
 to which fearfully I look forward, yet not hopeless ; never 
 that — and sometimes with fullest, fairest, sublimest ex- 
 pectations ! If to her it be given to plead for those she 
 left, I shall not be forgotten in her prayer. Eest to her 
 sweet soul ! rest and everlasting peace to her gentle spirit ! 
 My dearest friends, I know not why I write aU this ; but I 
 can hardly turn myself away and write anything else. 
 You must not read a word of it to Mr. Locke. 
 
 I will now compile the heads of this sad month, and 
 then end it with a conference long since promised with Mr. 
 Wyndham, which may enliven it to my feeling friends and 
 to my own pen. 
 
 I saw my poor lovely Miss P twice in every day, 
 
 when in town, tiU after the last holy rites had been per- 
 formed. I had no peace away from her ; I thought my- 
 
464 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 self fulfilling a wish of that sweet departed saint, in con- 
 signing all the time I had at my own disposal to solacing 
 and advising with her beloved niece, who received this 
 little offering with a sweetness that once again twined her 
 round my heart. 
 
 I was much blamed here, universally, for my conduct at 
 ^is time, in keeping alive all my sorrow, by going so con- 
 uinually to that scene of distress. They knew not it was my 
 only balm ! — all for which I could willingly exert myself, 
 and all that rested with me of power to pay the devotion 
 of my heart to the revered manes of her who was gone. 
 
 My poor Miss P came to Windsor to settle her 
 
 affairs here, and again I spent with her every moment in 
 my power, though, indeed, I could not enter that house 
 with a very steady foot; but we could join our tears, and 
 try to join promises and exhortations to submission. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Astley, the worthy humble friend, rather than 
 servant, of the most excellent departed, was the person 
 whom, next to the niece, I most pitied. She was every 
 way to be lamented: unfit for any other service, yet un- 
 provided for in this, by the utter and most regretted inabil- 
 ity of her much-attached mistress, who frequently told me 
 that leaving poor Astley unsettled hung heavy on her mind. 
 
 My dearest friends know the success I had in venturing 
 to represent her worth and situation to my Eoyal Mistress. 
 In the moment when she came to my room to announce 
 His Majesty's gracious intention to pension Mrs. Astley 
 here as housekeeper to the same house, I really could scarce 
 withhold myself from falling prostrate at her feet : I never 
 felt such a burst of gratitude but where I had no ceremo- 
 nials to repress it. 
 
 Joseph too, the faithful footman, I was most anxious to 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 465 
 
 secure in some good service ; and I related my wishes for 
 him to General Gary, who procured for him a place with 
 his daughter, Lady Amherst. 
 
 I forget if I have ever read you the sweet words that 
 accompanied to me the kind legacies left me by my hon- 
 ored friend — I believe not. 
 
 They were ordered to be sent me with the portrait of 
 Sacharissa, and two medallions of their Majesties: they 
 were originally written to accompany the legacy to the 
 Bishop of Worcester, Dr. Hurd, as you may perceive by the 
 style, but it was desired they might also be copied : — 
 "I take this liberty, that my much-esteemed and re- 
 spected friend may sometimes recollect a person who 
 was so sensible of the honor of her friendship, and 
 who delighted so much in her conversation and works. " 
 Need I — oh, I am sure I need not — say with what 
 tender, grateful, sorrowing joy I received these sweet 
 pledges of her invaluable regard ! 
 
 To these, by another codicil, was added the choice of one 
 of her mosaic flowers. And, verbally, on the night but 
 one before she died, she desired I might have her fine 
 quarto edition of Shakespeare, sweetly saying she had 
 never received so much pleasure from him in any other 
 way as through my reading. 
 
 What a heart overflowing with kindness, goodness, and 
 benevolence was hers ! — ever insensible to the noblest 
 things she did ; ever alive to the most trivial she received ! 
 She always appeared to me an angel before her time — oh, 
 may she now be a guardian, a guiding, and a pitying one ! 
 
 The part of this month in which my Susanna was in 
 town I kept no journal at all. And I have now nothing 
 to add but to copy those memorandums I made of the 
 Trial on the day I went to Westminster Hall with my 
 two friends, previously to the deep calamity on which I 
 
 VOL. I. 30 
 
466 DIARY AND LETTBKS ll?88. 
 
 have dwelt. They told me they could not hear what Mr. 
 Wyndham said; and there is a spirit in his discourse 
 more worth their hearing than any other thing I have 
 now to write. 
 
 You may remember his coming straight from the man 
 agers, in their first procession to their box, and beginning 
 at once a most animated attack — scarcely waiting first to 
 say How do ! — before he exclaimed, " I have a great quar- 
 rel with you ! — I am come now purposely to quarrel with 
 you ! — you have done me mischief irreparable — you have 
 ruined me ! " " Have ? " " Yes : and not only with what 
 passed here, even setting that aside, though there was mis- 
 chief enough here; but you have quite undone me since!" 
 I begged him to let me understand how. " I will," he cried. 
 " When the Trial broke up for the recess I went into the 
 country, purposing to give my whole time to study and 
 business; but, most unfortunately, I had just sent for a 
 new set of 'Evelina;' and intending only to look at it, 
 I was so cruelly caught that I could not let it out of my 
 hands, and have been living with nothing but the Brangh- 
 tons ever since ! " 
 
 I could not but laugh, though on this subject 't is always 
 awkwardly. " There was no parting with it," he continued ; 
 " I could not shake it off from me a moment ! — see, then, 
 every way, what mischief you have done me ! " 
 
 I asked him to name to me the various managers. He 
 did ; adding, " Do you not like to sit here, where you can 
 look down upon the several combatants before the battle ? " 
 When he named Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor, I particularly 
 desired he might be pointed out to me, telling him I had 
 long wished to see him, from the companion given to him 
 in one of the Probationary Odes, where they have coupled 
 him with my dear father, most impertinently and unwar- 
 rantably. " That, indeed," he cried, "is a licentiousness in 
 
1?88.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 467 
 
 the press quite intolerable ! — to attack and involve private 
 characters in their puhlic lampoons ! To Dr. Burney they 
 could have no right ; but Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor is 
 fair game enough, and likes that or any other way what- 
 ever of obtaining notice. You know what Johnson said to 
 Boswell of preserving fame ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " There were but two ways," he told him, " of preserving ; 
 one was by sugar, the other by salt. ' Now,' says he, ' as 
 the sweet way, Bozzy, you are but little likely to attain, I 
 would have you plunge into vinegar, and get fairly pickled 
 at once.' And such has been the plan of Mr. Michael 
 Angelo Taylor. With the sweet he had, indeed, Little 
 chance, so he soused into the other, head over ears." 
 
 Some time after, but I have forgotten how, we were 
 agreeing in thinking suspense and aU obscurity in ex- 
 pectation or in opinion amongst the things most trying 
 to bear in this mortal life, especially where they lead to 
 some evil construction. "But then," cried he, "on the 
 other hand, there is nothing so pleasant as clearing away 
 a disagreeable prejudice; nothing so exhilarating as the 
 dispersion of a black mist, and seeing all that had been 
 black and gloomy turn out bright and fair." 
 
 " That, sir," cried I, " is precisely what I expect from 
 thence," pointing to the prisoner. "What a look he gave 
 me ! yet he laughed irresistibly. " However," I continued, 
 " I have been putting my expectations from your speech to 
 a kind of test." " And how, for Heaven's sake ? " " Why, 
 I have been reading — running over rather — a set of 
 speeches, in which almost the whole House made a part, 
 upon the India Bill ; and in looking those over I saw not 
 one that had not in it something positively and pointedly 
 personal, except Mr. Wyndham's." " Oh that was a mere 
 accident ! " " But it was just the accident I expected from 
 
468 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 Mr. Wyndham. I do not mean that there was invective in 
 all the others, for in some there was panegyric — plenty ! 
 but that panegyric was always so directed as to convey 
 more of severe censure to one party than of real praise to 
 the other. Yours was all to the business, and thence I 
 infer you will deal just so by Mr. Hastings." 
 
 " I believe," cried he, looking at me very sharp, " you 
 only want to praise me down. You know what it is to 
 skate a man down ? " " No, indeed." " Why, to skate a 
 man down is a very favorite diversion among a certain race 
 of wags. It is only to praise, and extol, and stimulate him 
 to a double and treble exertion and effort, till, in order to 
 show his desert of such panegyric, the poor dupe makes so 
 many turnings and windings, and describes circle after 
 circle with such hazardous dexterity, that, at last, down he 
 drops in the midst of his flourishes, to his own eternal dis- 
 grace, and their entire content.'' 
 
 I gave myself no vindication from this charge but a 
 laugh. 
 
 A little after, while we were observing Mr. Hastings, 
 Mr. Wyndham exclaimed, " He 's looking up ; I believe he 
 is looking for you." I turned hastily away, fairly saying, 
 " I hope not." " Yes, he is ; he seems as if he wanted to 
 bow to you." I shrank back. " No, he looks off; he thinks 
 you in too bad company ! " " Ah, Mr. Wyndham,'' cried 
 I, " you should not be so hard-hearted towards him, who- 
 ever else may ; and I could tell you, and I will tell you if 
 you please, a very forcible reason." He assented. 
 
 " You must know, then, that people there are in this 
 world who scruple not to assert that there is a very strong 
 personal resemblance between Mr. Wyndham and Mr. 
 Hastings ; nay, in the profile, I see it myself at this mo- 
 ment; and therefore ought not you to be a little softer 
 than the rest, if merely in sympathy ? " He laughed very 
 
1?88.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 469 
 
 heartily; and owned he had heard of the resemblance 
 before. " I could take him extremely well," I cried, " for 
 your uncle." " No, no ; if he looks Uke my elder brother, 
 I aspire at no more." 
 
 And then he offered his assistance about servants and 
 carriages, and we all came away, our different routes ; but 
 my Fredy and Susan must remember my meeting with 
 Mr. Hastings in coming out, and his calling after me, and 
 saying with a very comic sort of politeness, " I must come 
 here to have the pleasure of seeing Miss Burney, for I see 
 her nowhere else." What a strange incident would have 
 been formed had this rencontre happened thus if I had 
 accepted Mr. Wyndham's offered services ! I am most 
 glad I had not ; I should have felt my^^lf a conspirator, 
 to have been so met by Mr. Hastings. I have nothing 
 more to say of this month. Alas ! that I had not had half 
 as much. 
 
 May. — I must mention a laughable enough circum- 
 stance. Her Majesty inquired of me if I had ever met 
 with Lady Hawke ? Oh yes, I cried, and Lady Say and 
 Sele too. " She has just desired permission to send me a 
 novel of her own writing," answered her Majesty. " I 
 hope," cried I, " 't is not the Mausoleum of Julia ! " But 
 yes, it proved no less ! and this she has now published aud 
 sends about. You must remember Lady Say and Sele's 
 quotation from it. Her Majesty was so gracious as to lend 
 it me, for I had some curiosity to read it. It is all of a 
 piece — all love, love, love, unmixed and unadulterated 
 with any more worldly materials. 
 
 July. — Early in this month the King's indisposition 
 occasioned the plan of his going to Cheltenham, to try the 
 effect of the waters drank upon the spot. It was settled 
 
470 DIABT AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 that the party should be the smallest that was possible, 
 as his Majesty was to inhabit the house of Lord Faucon- 
 berg, vacated for that purpose, which was very small. 
 He resolved upon only taking his Equerry in waiting, 
 and pages, &c. Lord Courtown, his treasurer of the house- 
 hold, was already at Cheltenham, and therefore at hand 
 to attend. The Queen agreed to carry her Lady of the 
 Bedchamber in waiting with Miss Planta and F. B., 
 and none others but wardrobe-women for herself and 
 the Princesses. 
 
 So now for yesterday, Saturday, July 12. 
 
 We were all up at five o'clock ; and the noise and con- 
 fusion reigning through the house, and resounding all 
 around it, from the quantities of people stirring, boxes 
 nailing, horses neighing, and dogs barking, was tremendous. 
 
 I must now tell you the party : Their Majesties ; the 
 Princesses Royal, Augusta, and Elizabeth; Lady Wey- 
 mouth, Mr. Fairly, Colonel Gwynn, Miss Planta, and a 
 person you have sometimes met. Pages for King, Queen, 
 and Princesses, Wardrobe-women for ditto, and footmen 
 for all. 
 
 A smaller party for a royal excursion cannot well be 
 imagined. How we shall all manage Heaven knows. Miss 
 Planta and myself are allowed no maid ; the house would 
 not hold one. 
 
 The Eoyal party set ofl' first, to stop and breakfast at 
 Lord Harcourt's at Nuneham. 
 
 You wUl easily believe Miss Planta and myself were not 
 much discomfited in having orders to proceed straight for- 
 ward. You know we have been at Wuneham. 
 
 When we arrived at Cheltenham, which is almost all 
 one street, extremely long, clean, and well paved, we had 
 to turn out of the public way about a quarter of a mile, 
 to proceed to Fauconberg HaU, which my Lord Faucon- 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 471 
 
 berg has lent for the King's use during his stay at this 
 place. 
 
 It is, indeed, situated on a most sweet spot, surrounded 
 with lofty hills beautifully variegated, and bounded, for 
 the principal object, with the hUls of Malvern; which, 
 here barren, and there cultivated, here all chalk, and there 
 all verdure, reminded me of Box-hill, and gave me an im- 
 mediate sensation of reflected as well as of visual pleasure, 
 from giving to my new habitation some resemblance of 
 Norbury Park. 
 
 When we had mounted the gradual ascent on which the 
 house stands, the crowd all around it was as one head ! 
 W6 stopped within twenty yards of the door, uncertain 
 how to proceed. All the Eoyals were at the windows; 
 and to pass this multitude — to wade through it, rather — 
 was a most disagreeable operation. However, we had no 
 choice : we therefore got out, and leaving the wardrobe- 
 women to find their way to the back-door. Miss Planta and 
 I glided on to the front one, where we saw the two gentle- 
 men, and where, as soon as we got up the steps, we 
 encountered the King. He inquired most graciously con- 
 cerning our journey ; and Lady Weymouth came down- 
 stairs to summon me to the Queen, who was in excellent 
 spirits, and said she would show me her room. 
 
 " This, ma'am ! " cried I, as I entered it — " is this little 
 room for your Majesty ? " 
 
 " Oh, stay," cried she, laughing, " till you see your own 
 before you call it little ! " 
 
 Soon after, she sent me upstairs for that purpose ; and 
 then, to be sure, I began to think less diminutively of that 
 I had just quitted. Mine, with one window, had just 
 space to crowd in a bed, a chest of drawers, and three small 
 chairs. 
 
 The prospect, however, from the window is extremely 
 
472 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 pretty, and all is new and clean. So I doubt not being 
 very ccmfortable, as I am sensa Cerbera, — though having 
 no maid is a real evil to one so little her own mistress as 
 myself. I little wanted the fagging of my own clothes and 
 dressing, to add to my daily fatigues. 
 
 I began unpacking, and was called to dinner. Columb, 
 happily, is allowed me, and he wiU be very useful, I am 
 sure. Miss Planta alone dined with me, and we are to 
 be companions constant at all meals, and t§te-i-t^te, dur- 
 ing this s4jour. She is friendly and well disposed, and I 
 am perfectly content ; and the more, as I know she will 
 not take up my leisure unnecessarily, for she finds saunter- 
 ing iu the open air very serviceable to her health, and she 
 has determined to make that her chief occupation. Here, 
 therefore, whenever I am not in attendance or at meals, I 
 expect the singular comfort of having my time wholly 
 unmolested, and at my own disposal. 
 
 Not a little was I surprised to be told, this morning, by 
 ber Majesty, that the gentlemen were to breakfast with 
 Miss Planta and me, every morning, by the King's orders. 
 When I left the Queen, I found them already in my little 
 parlor. Mr. Fairly came to the door to meet me, and hand 
 me into the room, telling me of the new arrangement of 
 the King, with an air of very civR satisfaction. Colonel 
 Gwynn appeared precisely as I believe he felt, — perfectly 
 indifferent to the matter. 
 
 Miss Planta joined us, and Columb was hurried to get 
 ready, lest the King should summon his esquires before 
 they had broken their fast. Mr. Fairly undertook to settle 
 our seats, and all the etiquette of the tea-table ; and I was 
 very well content, for when he had placed me where he 
 conceived I should be most commodiously situated, he 
 fixed upon the place next me for himself, and desired 
 we might all keep to our posts. 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAY. 473 
 
 It was next agreed, that whoever came first to the room 
 should order and make the tea ; for I must often be de- 
 tained by my waiting, and the King is so rapid in his 
 meals, that whoever attends him must be rapid also, or fol- , 
 low fasting. Mr. Fairly said he should already have 
 hastened Columb, had he not apprehended it might be too 
 great a liberty ; for they had waited near half an hour, and 
 expected a call every half minute. I set him perfectly at 
 his ease upon this subject, assuring him I should be very 
 little at mine if he had ever the same scruple again. He 
 had been in waiting, he said, himself, ever since a quarter 
 after five o'clock in the morning, at which time he showed 
 himself under the King's window, and walked before the 
 house till six ! I was beginning to express my compassion 
 for this harass, but he interrupted me with shrewdly say- 
 ing, " Oh, this will save future fatigue, for it will establish 
 me such a character for early rising and punctuality, that I 
 may now do as I will : 't is amazing what privileges a man 
 obtains for taking liberties, when once his character is 
 established for taking none ! " 
 
 But let me give you, now, an account of the house and 
 accommodations. 
 
 On the ground-floor there is one large and very pleasant 
 room, which is made the dining-parlor. The King and 
 Eoyal Family also breakfast in it, by themselves, except 
 the Lady-in-waiting, Lady Weymouth. They sup there 
 also, in the same manner. The gentlemen only dine witli 
 them, I find. They are to breakfast with us, to drink tea 
 where they wiU, and to sup — where they can ; and I 
 rather fancy, from what I have yet seen, it will be com- 
 monly with good Duke Humphrey. 
 
 A small, but very neat dressing-room for his Majesty is 
 on the other side the hall, and my little parlor is the third 
 and only other room on the ground-floor : so you will not 
 
474 DIABY AND LBTTBES 11788. 
 
 think our Monarch, his Consort and offspring, take up too 
 much of the land called their own ! 
 
 Over this eating-parlor, on the first floor, is the Queen's 
 drawing-room, in which she is also obliged to dress and to 
 undress ! — for she has no toilette apartment ! Who, after 
 that, can repine at any inconvenience here for the house- 
 hold? 
 
 Here, after breakfast, she sits, with her daughters and 
 her lady, and Lady Courtown, who, with her Lord, is 
 lodged in the town of Cheltenham. And here they drink 
 tea, and live till supper-time. 
 
 Over the King's dressing-room is his bedroom, and over 
 my store-room is the bedroom of the Princess Eoyal. 
 
 And here ends the first floor. 
 
 The second is divided and sub-divided into bedrooms, 
 which are thus occupied : — Princess Augusta and Princess 
 Elizabeth sleep in two beds, in the largest room. Lady 
 Weymouth occupies that next in size. Miss Planta and 
 myself have two little rooms, built over the King's bed- 
 room ; and Mrs. Sandys and Miss Macentomb, and Lady 
 Weymouth's maid, have the rest. 
 
 This is the whole house ! 
 
 Not a man but the King sleeps in it ! 
 
 A house is taken in the town for Mr. Fairly and Colonel 
 Gwynn, and there lodge several of the servants, and among 
 them Columb. The pages sleep in outhouses. Even the 
 housemaids lodge in the town, a quarter of a mile or more 
 from the house ! 
 
 While the Eoyals were upon the walks. Miss Planta and 
 I stroUed in the meadows, and who should I meet there 
 but Mr. Seward ! This was a great pleasure to me. I had 
 never seen him since the first day of my coming to St. 
 James's, when he handed me into my father's coach, in my 
 sacque ami long ruffles. You may think how much we 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AKBLAT. 475 
 
 had to talk over. He had a gentlemau with him, for^ 
 tunately, who was acquainted with Miss Planta's brcither, 
 so that we formed two parties without difficulty. All my 
 aim was to inquire about Mrs. Piozzi, — I must, at last, 
 call her by her now real name ! — and of her we conversed 
 incessantly. He told me Mr. Baretti's late attack upon 
 her, which I heard with great concern. It seems he has 
 broken off all intercourse with her, and not from his own 
 desire, but by her evident wish to drop him. This is very 
 surprising; but many others of her former friends, once 
 highest in her favor, make the same complaint. 
 
 Monday, July 21st. — I was very much disappointed 
 this morning to see Colonel G-wynn come alone to break- 
 fast, and to hear from him that his poor colleague was 
 still confined. 
 
 The royal party all went at ten o'clock to Tewkesbury. 
 
 About noon, while I was writing a folio letter to my 
 dear father, of our proceedings, Mr. Alberts, the Queen's 
 page, came into my little parlor, and said, " If you are at 
 leisure, ma'am, Mr. Fairly begs leave to ask you how 
 you do." 
 
 I was all amazement, for I had concluded his confine- 
 ment irremediable for the present. 
 
 I was quite happy to receive him ; he looked very Ul, 
 and his face is still violently swelled. He had a handker- 
 chief held to it, and was muffled up in a great coat ; and 
 indeed he seemed unfit enough for coming out. 
 
 He apologized for interrupting me. I assured him I 
 should have ample time for my letter. " What a letter ! " 
 cried he, looking at its size ; " it is just such a one as I 
 should like to receive, and not — " 
 
 " Eead," cried I. 
 
 " No, no ! — and not answer ! " 
 
 He then sat down, and I saw by his manner he came 
 
476 DIARY AND LETTEKS [1788. 
 
 with design to make a sociable visit to me. He was 
 serious almost to sadness, but with a gentleness that could 
 not but raise in whomsoever he had addressed an implicit 
 sympathy. 
 
 He led almost immediately to those subjects on ^hich 
 he loves to dwell — Death and Immortality, and the 
 assured misery of all stations and all seasons in this vain 
 and restless world. 
 
 I ventured not to contradict him with my happier sen- 
 timents, lest I should awaken some fresh pain. I heard 
 him, therefore, in quiet and meditative silence, or made but 
 such general answers as could hazard no allusions. Yet, 
 should I ever see him in better spirits, I shall not scruple 
 to discuss, in such a way as I can, this point, and to vindi- 
 cate as well as I am able my opposite opinion. 
 
 He told me he had heard a fifth week was to be now 
 added to this excursion, and he confessed a most anxious 
 solicitude to be gone before that time. He dropped some- 
 thing, unexplained, yet very striking, of a peculiar wish to 
 be away ere some approaching period. 
 
 I felt his meaning, though I had no key to it ; I felt 
 that he coveted to spend in quiet the anniversary of the 
 day on which he lost his lady. 
 
 You may believe I could say nothing to it ; the idea was 
 too tender for discussion ; nor can I divine whether or not 
 he wishes to open more on this subject, or is better pleased 
 by my constant silence to his own allusions. I know not, 
 indeed, whether he thinks I even understand them. 
 
 We then talked over Cheltenham and our way of life, 
 and then ran into discourse upon Courts and Court life in 
 general. I frankly said I liked them not, and that, if I 
 had the direction of any young person's destination, I 
 would never risk them into such a mode of living ; for, 
 though vices might be as well avoided there as anywhere^ 
 
1788.] OF MADAME d'AKBLAY. 477 
 
 and in tliis Court particularly, there were miachiefs of a 
 smaller kind, extremely pernicious to all nobleness of 
 character, to which this Court, with all its really bright 
 examples, was as liable as any other, — the mischiefs of 
 jealousy, narrowness, and selfishness. 
 
 He did not see, he said, when there was a place of set- 
 tled income and appropriated business, why it might not 
 be filled both with integrity and content in a Court as well 
 as elsewhere. Ambition, the desire of rising, those, he 
 said, were the motives to that envy which set such little 
 passions in motion. One situation, however, there was, 
 he said, which he looked upon as truly dangerous, and as 
 almost certain to pervert the fairest disposition ; it was 
 one in which he would not place any person for whom he 
 had the smallest regard, as he looked upon it to be the 
 greatest hazard a character could run. This was, being 
 Maid of Honor. 
 
 Tuesday, July 22nd. — Mr. Seward, with a good- 
 humored note, sent me the Magazine with Baretti's strict- 
 ures on Mrs. Thrale. Good heaven, how abusive ! It can 
 hardly hurt her — it is so palpably meant to do it. I 
 could not have suspected him, with all his violence, of a 
 bitterness of invective so cruel, so ferocious ! 
 
 I well remember his saying to me, when first I saw him 
 after the discovery of " Evelina," " I see what it is you can 
 do, you little witch — it is, that you can hang us all up 
 for laughing-stocks ; but hear me this one thing, don't 
 meddle with me. I see what they are, your powers ; but, 
 remember, when you provoke an Italian, you run a dagger 
 into your own breast ! " 
 
 I half shuddered at the fearful caution from him,* be- 
 cause the dagger was a word of unfortunate recollection ; 
 but, good heaven ! it could only be a half shudder when 
 
 ^ Baretti had himself been tried for stabbing a man. 
 
478 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 the caution was against an offence I could sooner die than 
 commit, and which, I may truly say, if personal attack 
 was what he meant, never even in sport entered my mind, 
 and was ever, in earnest, a thing I have held in the deep- 
 est abhorrence. 
 
 Thuesday, July 31st. — Mr. Fairly joined Miss Planta 
 and me at tea. " And here," cried he, " after all the toils 
 and bustle of the day, here we meet, to finish with our 
 quiet dish of tea the last, and not, to me, least pleasant 
 part of the day's business." We talked much upon letter- 
 writing, perfectly agreeing in holding it the first of all 
 enjoyments, in the absence of those first in our affections. 
 He has many correspondents, for he has many friends, and 
 loves to keep up a constant intercourse with them. 'T is a 
 rule with him to destroy his letters almost as soon as 
 they are answered. Here, certainly, we agreed not so 
 perfectly. 
 
 Miss Planta said the Duke of York was expected the 
 next day. This led to much discourse on the Princes, 
 in which Mr. Fairly, with his usual but most uncommon 
 openness, protested there was something in the violence 
 of their animal spirits that would make him accept no post 
 and no pay to live with them. Their very voices, he said, 
 had a loudness and force that wore him. Immediately 
 after he made a little attack — a gentle one, indeed — upon 
 me, for the contrary extreme, of hardly speaking, among 
 strangers at least, so as to be heard. " And why," cried 
 he, " do you speak so low ? I used formerly not to catch 
 above a word in a sentence from you." 
 
 In talking on about the Princes, he asked me how I man- 
 aged with them. Not at all, I said, for since I had re- 
 sided under the Koyal roof they were rarely there, and I 
 had merely seen them two or three times. He congratu- 
 lated me that I had not been in the family in earlier days, 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 479 
 
 when they all lived together ; and Miss Planta enumerated 
 various of their riots, and the distresses and difficulties 
 they caused in the household. I was very glad, I said, to 
 be out of the way, though I did not doubt but I might 
 have kept clear of them had I been even then a resident. 
 
 " Oh no, no," cried Mr. Fairly ; " they would have come 
 to you, I promise you ; and what could you have done — ■ 
 what would have become of you ? — with Prince "William 
 in particular ? Do you not think, Miss Planta, the Prince 
 of "Wales and Prince "William would have been quite 
 enough for Miss Burney ? "Why she would have been 
 quite subdued ! " I assured him I had not a fear but I 
 might always have avoided them. 
 
 " Impossible ! They would have come to your tea-room." 
 " I would have given up tea." " Then they would have 
 followed you — called for you — sent for you. The Prince 
 of "Wales would have called about him, ' Here ! where 's 
 Miss Burney ? ' " " Oh, no, no, no !" cried I ; " I would have 
 kept wholly out of the way, and then they would never 
 have thought about me." " Oh, ho ! " cried he, laughing, 
 " never think of seeing Miss Burney ! Prince "William, 
 too ! what say you to that. Miss Planta ? " She agreed 
 there was no probability of such escape. I was only the 
 more glad to have arrived in later times. Here a page 
 came to call Mr. Fairly to backgammon with his Majesty. 
 And here ends July, 1788. 
 
 Saturday, August 2nd. — (Mr. Fairly, not being well, 
 shirked his attendance on the King, and spent the evening 
 with Miss Burney.) He said — " Have you done with my 
 little book ? " " Oh yes ! " I cried, " and this morning I 
 have sent home the map of Glocester you were so good as 
 to send us. Though, I believe, I have kept both so long, 
 you will not again be in any haste to lend me either a map 
 of thn land, or a poem of the sea ! " 
 
480 DIAEY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 I then gave him back the " Shipwreck." " Shall I tell 
 you," cried I, " a design I have been forming upon you ? " 
 " A design upon me ? " " Yes ; and I may as weU own it, 
 for I shaU be quite as near success as if I disguise it." I 
 then went to my little drawer, and took out " Akenside." 
 He then began reading " The Pleasures of the Imagination," 
 and I took some work, for which I was in much haste, and 
 my imagination was amply gratified. 
 
 How sweet a poem, in parts, it is ! I rejoiced never to 
 have read it sooner, unless, indeed, I had read it with my 
 Susan or Fredy. But anything highly beautiful I have 
 almost an aversion to reading alone. He only looked out 
 for favorite passages, as he has the poem almost by heart, 
 and he read them with a feeling and energy that showed 
 his whole soul penetrated with their force and merit. 
 
 Sunday, August 3rd. — This morning I was so violently 
 oppressed by a cold, which turns out to be the influenza, it 
 was with the utmost difficulty I could dress myself. I did 
 indeed now want some assistant most wofuUy. The Prin- 
 cess Eoyal has already been some days disturbed with this 
 influenza. When the Queen perceived it in me she told 
 his Majesty, who came into the room just as she was going 
 to breakfast. Without making any answer, he himself 
 went immediately to call Mr. Clerk, the apothecary, who 
 was then with the Princess Eoyal. " Now, Mr. Clerk," 
 cried he, " here 's another patient for you." 
 
 Mr. Clerk, a modest, sensible man, concluded, by the 
 King himself having called him, that it was the Queen he 
 had now to attend, and he stood bowing profoundly before 
 her ; but soon observing she did not notice him, he turned 
 in some confusion to the Princess Augusta, who was now 
 in the group. " No, no ! it 's not me, Mr. Clerk, thank 
 God ! " cried the gay Princess Augusta. Still more con- 
 fused, the poor man advanced to Princess Elizabeth. " No, 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 481 
 
 DO ; it 's not her ! " cried the King. I had held back, 
 having scarce power to open my eyes, from a vehement 
 head-ache, and not, indeed, wishing to go through my 
 examination till there were fewer witnesses. But his 
 Majesty now drew me out : " Here, Mr. Clerk," he cried, 
 " this is your new patient ! " He then came bowing up to 
 me, the King standing close by, and the rest pretty near. 
 "You — you are not well, ma'am ? " he cried in the greatest 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "No, sir, not quite," I answered in ditto. "Oh, Mr. 
 Clerk will cure you ! " cried the King. " Are — are you 
 feverish, ma'am ? " " Yes, sir, a little." "I — I will send 
 you a saline draught, ma'am." " If you please." And then 
 he bowed and decamped. 
 
 Did you ever hear a more perfectly satisfactory exami- 
 nation ? The poor modest man was overpowered by such 
 Royal listeners and spectators, and I could not possibly 
 relieve him, for I was little better myself I went down 
 to breakfast, but was so exceedingly oppressed I could not 
 hold up my head ; and as soon as I could escape I went to 
 my own room, and laid down till my noon attendance, 
 which I performed with so much difficulty I was obliged 
 to return to the same indulgence the moment I was at 
 liberty. 
 
 Saturday, August 9th. — Her Majesty this morning a 
 little surprised me by gravely asking me what were Mr. 
 Fairly's designs with regard to his going away ? I could 
 not tell her I did not know what I was really acquainted 
 with ; yet I feared it might seem odd to her that I should 
 be better informed than herself, and it was truly unpleasant 
 to me to relate anything he had told me without his leave. 
 Her question, therefore, gave me a painful sensation ; but 
 it was spoken with an air so strongly denoting a belief 
 that I had power to answer it, that I felt no choice in 
 
 VOL. I. 81 
 
482 DIARY AND LETTERS [1788. 
 
 making a plain reply. Simply, then, " I understand, 
 ma'am," I said, " that he means to go to-morrow morning 
 early." " Will he stay on to-night, then, at Worcester ? " 
 " N — 0, ma'am, I believe not." " I thought he meant to 
 leave us to-day ? He said so." " He — intended it, ma'am, 
 — he would else not have said it." " I know I understood 
 so, though he has not spoke to me of his designs this 
 great while." I saw an air bordering upon displeasure as 
 this was said ; and how sorry I felt ! — and how ashamed 
 of being concluded the person better informed ! Yet, as 
 he had really related to me his plan, and I knew it to be 
 what he had thought most respectful to herself, I con- 
 cluded it best, thus catechised, to speak it all, and there- 
 fore, after some hesitation, uninterrupted by her, I said, " I 
 believe, ma'am, Mr. Fairly had intended fuUy to begin his 
 journey to-day, but, as your Majesty is to go to the play 
 to-night, he thinks it his duty to defer setting out till to- 
 morrow, that he may have the honor to attend your Ma- 
 jesty as usual." 
 
 This, which was the exact truth, evidently pleased her. 
 Here the inquiry dropped ; but I was very uneasy to relate 
 it to Mr. Fairly, that the sacrifice I knew he meant to 
 make of another day might not lose all its grace by wanting 
 to be properly revealed. 
 
 Our journey back to Cheltenham was much more quiet 
 than it had been to Worcester, for the royal party took 
 another route to see Malvern Hills, and we went straight 
 forward. 
 
 Miss .Planta having now caught the influenza, suffered 
 very much all the way, and I persuaded her immediately 
 to lie down when we got to Fauconberg Hall. She could 
 not come down to dinner, which I had alone. The Prin- 
 cess Elizabeth came to me after it, with her Majesty's per- 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'AEBLAT. 483 
 
 mission that I might go to the play with my usual party ; 
 but I declined it, that I might make some tea for poor 
 Miss Planta, as she had no maid, nor any creature to help 
 her. The Princess told me they were all going first upon 
 the walks, to promen&r tiR the play time. 
 
 I sat down to make my solitary tea, and had just sent 
 up a basin to Miss Planta, when, to my equal surprise and 
 pleasure, Mr. Fairly entered the room. " I come now," he 
 said, " to take my leave." 
 
 They were all, he added, gone to the walks, whither he 
 must in a few minutes follow them, and thence attend to 
 the play, and the next morning, by five o'clock, be ready 
 for his post-chaise. 
 
 Seeing tne, however, already making tea, with his usual 
 and invariable sociability he said he would venture to stay 
 and partake, though he was only come, he gravely repeated, 
 to take his leave. '' And I mufst not say," cried I, " that I 
 am sorry you are going, because I know so well you wish 
 to be gone that it makes me wish it for you myself" " !N"o," 
 answered he, " you must not be sorry ; when our friends 
 are going to any joy we must think of them, and be glad 
 to part with them." 
 
 Eeadily entering into the same tone, with similar plain- 
 ness of truth I answered, " N"o, I will not be sorry you go, 
 though miss you at Cheltenham I certainly must." 
 
 " Yes," was his unreserved assent ; " you will miss me 
 here, because I have spent my evenings with you ; but you 
 will not long remain at Cheltenham." 
 
 Oimi ! thought I, you little think how much worse will 
 be the quitting it. He owned that the bustle and fatigue 
 of this life were too much both for his health and his 
 spirits. 
 
 I told him I wished it might be a gratification to him, 
 in his toils, to hear how the Queen always spoke of him ; 
 
484 DIAKY AND LETTEKS [1788. 
 
 with what evident and constant complacency and distinc- 
 tion. 
 
 " And you may credit her sincerity," I added, " since it 
 is to so little a person as me she does this, and when no 
 one else is present." 
 
 He was not insensible to this, though he passed it over 
 without much answer. He showed me a letter from his 
 second son, very affectionate and natural. I congratulated 
 him, most sincerely, on his approaching happiness in col- 
 lecting them all together. " Yes," he answered, " my group 
 wiU increase, like a snowball, as I roll along, and they will 
 soon all four be as happy as four little things know how 
 to be." 
 
 Sunday, Aug. 15. — When I came from her Majesty, just 
 before she went down to dinner, I was met by a servant 
 who delivered me a letter, which he told me was just come 
 by express. I took it in some alarm, fearing that ill news 
 alone could bring it by such haste, but before I could open 
 it, he said, " 'T is from Mr. Fairly, ma'am." I hastened to 
 read it, and will now copy it : — 
 
 " Miss Burnet, Fauconbbrg Hall. 
 
 " NoRTHLEACH, Aug. 10th, 1788. 
 "Her Majesty may possibly not have heard that Mr. 
 Edmund Waller died on Thursday night. He was Master 
 of St. Catherine's, which is in her Majesty's gift. It may 
 be useful to her to have this early intelligence of this cir- 
 cumstance, and you will have the goodness to mention' it 
 to her. Mr. W. was at a house upon his own estate within 
 a mile and a half of this place. Very truly and sincetely 
 yours, S. Fairly." 
 
 How to communicate this news, however, was a real 
 distress to me. I know her Majesty is rather scrupulous 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ABBLAT. 486 
 
 that all messages immediately to herself should be con- 
 veyed by the highest channels, and I feared she would 
 think this ought to have been sent through her Lady then 
 in waiting, Lady Harcourt. Mr. Fairly, too, however 
 superior to such small matters for himself, is most punc- 
 tiliously attentive to them for her. I could attribute this 
 only to haste. But my difficulty was not alone to have 
 received the intelligence — the conclusion of the note I 
 was sure would surprise her. The rest, as a message to 
 herself, being without any beginning, would not strike her ; 
 but the words, " very truly and sincerely yours," come out 
 with such an abrupt plainness, and to her, who knows not 
 with what intimacy of intercourse we have lived together 
 so much during this last month, I felt quite ashamed to 
 show them. 
 
 While wavering how to manage, a fortunate circumstance 
 seemed to come in to my relief; the Princess Elizabeth 
 ran up hastily to her room, which is just opposite to mine, 
 before she followed the Queen down to dinner ; I flew after 
 her, and told her I had just heard of the death of Mr. 
 Waller, the Master of St. Catherine's, and I begged her to 
 communicate it to her Majesty. She undertook it, with 
 her usual readiness to oblige, and I was quite delighted to 
 have been so speedy without producing my note, which I 
 determined now not even to mention unless called upon, 
 and even then not to produce ; for now, as I should not 
 have the first telling, it might easily be evaded by not hav- 
 ing it in my pocket. 
 
 The moment, however, that the dinner was over, Princess 
 Elizabeth came to summon me to the Queen. This was 
 very unexpected, as I thought I should not see her till 
 night ; but I locked up my note and followed. She was 
 only with the Princesses. I found the place was of im- 
 portance, by the interest she took about it. She asked me 
 
486 DIAET AND LETTEE8 [1788. 
 
 several questions relative to Mr. Waller. I answered her 
 all I could collect from my note, for further never did I 
 hear ; but the moment I was obliged to stop she said, 
 " Pray have you known him long ? " 
 
 " I never knew him at all, ma'am." " No ? Why, then, 
 how came you to receive the news about his death ? " Was 
 not this agreeable ? I was forced to say, " I heard of it 
 only from Mr. Fairly, ma'am." Nothing could exceed the 
 surprise with which she now lifted up her eyes to look at 
 me. " From Mr. Fairly ? — Why did he not tell it me ? " 
 Oh, worse and worse ! I was now compelled to answer, 
 " He did not know it when he was here, ma'am ; he heard 
 it at Northleach, and, thinking it might be of use to your 
 Majesty to have the account immediately, he sent it over 
 express." 
 
 A dead silence so uncomfortable ensued, that I thought 
 it best presently to go on further, though unasked. " Mr. 
 Fairly, ma'am, wrote the news to me, on such small paper, 
 and in such haste, that it is hardly fit to be shown to your 
 Majesty ; but I have the note upstairs." No answer; again 
 all silent ; and then Princess Augusta said, " Mamma, Miss 
 Burney says she has the note upstairs." 
 
 " If your Majesty pleases to see it — " She looked up 
 again, much more pleasantly, and said, " I shall be glad to 
 see it, " with a little bow. Out I went for it, half regret- 
 ting I had not burned it, to make the producing it impos- 
 sible. When I brought it to her, she received it with the 
 most gracious smile, and immediately read it aloud, with 
 great complacency, till she came to the end ; and then, with 
 a lowered and somewhat altered tone, the " very truly and 
 sincerely yours, " which she seemed to look at for a moment 
 with some doubt if it were not a mistake, but in returning 
 it she bowed again, and simply said, "I am very much 
 obliged to Mr. Fairly. " 
 
1788.] OF MADAME D'ARBLAY. 487 
 
 Tou will be sure how much I was pleased during this 
 last week to hear that the place of the Master of St. 
 Catherine's was given by her Majesty to Mr. Fairly. It 
 is reckoned the best in her gift, as a sinecure. What is 
 the income I know not : reports differ from 400^. to 800/. 
 per annum. 
 
 Saturday, August 16th. — We left Cheltenham early 
 this morning. Major Price breakfasted with us, and was 
 so melancholy at the King's departure he could hardly 
 speak a word. All Cheltenham was drawn out into the 
 High-street, the gentles on one side and the commons on 
 the other, and a band, and " God save the King " playing 
 and singing. 
 
 My dear Miss P , with all her friends, was there for 
 
 a last look, and a sorrowful one we interchanged; Mr. 
 Seward also, whom again I am not likely to meet for 
 another two years at least. 
 
 The journey was quite without accident or adventure. 
 And thus ends the Cheltenham episode. May I not justly 
 call it so, different as it is to all the mode of life I have 
 hitherto lived here, or alas ! am in a way to live hencefor- 
 ward ? Melancholy — most melancholy — was the return 
 to Windsor ; destitute of all that could solace, compose, or 
 delight ; replete with whatever could fatigue, harass, and 
 depress ! Ease, leisure, elegant society, and interesting 
 communication, were now to give place to arrogant man- 
 ners, contentious disputation, and arbitrary ignorance ! Oh, 
 Heaven ! my dearest friends, what scales could have held 
 and have weighed the ,heart of your F. B. as she drove pasl 
 the door of her revered, lost comforter, to enter the apart 
 ment inhabited by such qualities ! 
 
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