Fanny Burney's Diary and Letters

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 acknowledged that my visit at Sir Joshua’s had been 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. Cholmondeley with great politeness, and in a manner that showed she intended to throw aside Madame Duval, and to conduct herself towards me in a new style.

Mr. and 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.

Miss Linley was with her; she is very handsome, but nothing near her sister: the elegance of Mrs. Sheridan’s beauty is unequalled by any I ever saw, except Mrs. Crewe.  I was pleased with her in all respects.  She is much more lively and agreeable than I had any idea of finding her; she was very gay, and very unaffected, and totally free from airs of any kind.  Miss Linley was very much out of spirits; she did not speak three words the whole evening, and looked wholly unmoved at all that passed. Indeed, she appeared to be heavy and inanimate.

Mrs. Cholmondeley sat next me.  She is determined, I believe, to make me like her: and she will, I believe, have full success; for she is very clever, very entertaining, and very much unlike anybody else.

The first subject started was the Opera, and all joined in the praise of Pacchierotti.  Mrs. Sheridan declared she could not hear him without tears, and that he was the first Italian singer who ever affected her to such a degree.

Then they talked of the intended marriage of the Duke of Dorset, to Miss Cumberland, and many ridiculous anecdotes 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 him–so querulous, so dissatisfied, so determined to like nobody, and nothing but himself!”

After this, Miss More was mentioned and I was asked what I thought of her?

“Don’t be formal with me if you are, I sha’n't like you!”

“I have no hope that you will any way!”

“Oh, fie! fie! but as to Miss More–I don’t like her at all: that  is, I detest her!  She does nothing but flatter and fawn; and then she thinks ill of nobody.  Oh, there’s no supporting the company of professed flatterers.  She gives me such doses of it, that I cannot endure her; but I always sit still and make no answer, but receive it as if I thought it my due: that is the only way to quiet her.  She is really detestable.  I hope, Miss Burney, you don’t think I admire all geniuses? The only person I flatter,” continued she, “is Garrick; and he likes it so much, that it pays one by the spirits it gives him.  Other people that I like, I dare not flatter.”

A rat-tat-tat-tat ensued, and the Earl of Harcourt was announced. When he had paid his compliments to Mrs. Cholmondeley, speaking of the lady from whose house he was just come, he said,

“Mrs. Vesey ‘Is vastly agreeable, but her fear of ceremony is really troublesome ; for her eagerness to break a circle is such, that she insists upon everybody’s sitting with their backs one to another ; that is, the chairs are drawn into little parties of three together, in a confused manner, all over the room.”

“Why, then,” said my father, “they may have the pleasure of caballing and cutting up one another, even in the same room.”

“Oh, I like the notion of all things,” cried Mrs. Cholmondeley, “I shall certainly adopt it then she drew her chair into the middle of our circle.  Lord Harcourt turned his round, and his back to most of us, and my father did the same.  You can’t imagine a more absurd sight.

Just then the door opened, and Mr.  Sheridan entered.

Was I not in luck?  Not that I believe the meeting was accidental; but I had more wished to  meet him  and his wife than
any people I know not.

I could not endure my ridiculous  situation, but replaced myself in an  orderly manner immediately.  Mr. Sheridan stared at the mall, and Mrs. Cholmondeley said she intended it as a hint for a comedy.

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 utiful 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 extreely happy in each other: he evidently adores her, and she as evidently idolises him.  The world has by no means done him justice.

When he had paid his compliments to all his acquaintance, he went behind the sofa on which Mrs. Sheridan and Miss OFFy Cholmondeley were seated, and entered into earnest conversation with them.

Upon Lord Harcourt’s again paying Mrs. Cholmondeley some compliment. she said,

“Well, my lord, after this I shall be quite sublime for some days!  I shan’t descend into common life till–till Saturday.
And then I shall drop into the vulgar style–I shall be in the ma foi Way.”

I do really believe she could not resist this, for she had seemed determined to be quiet.

When next there was a rat-tat, Mrs. Cholmondeley and Lord Harcourt, and my father again, at the command of the former, moved into the middle of the room, and then Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Warton entered.

No further  company came.  You may imagine there was a general roar at the breaking of the circle, and when they got
into order, Mr. Sheridan seated himself in the place Mrs. Cholmondeley had left, between my father and myself.

And now I must tell you a little conversation which I did not hear myself 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.

“Why, it will be a very formidable thing to her,” answered 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 appearance, 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 recollection 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 sometime 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 hav met with none so flattering to me as this of Mr. Sheridan, in so very unexpected.

About this time Mrs. Cholmondeley was making much spO by wishing for an acrostic on her name.  She said she had several times begged for one in vain, and began to entertain thoughts of writing one herself.

“For,” said she, “I am very famous for my rhymes, though I never made a line of poetry in my life.”

“An acrostic on your name,” said Mr. Sheridan, “would be a very formidable task; it must be so long that I think it should be divided into cantos.”
“Miss Burney,” cried Sir Joshua, who was now reseated, “Are not you a writer of verses?”

F.B.-No, sir.

Mrs C.-O don’t believe her.  I have made a resolution, Aot to believe anything she says.

Mr. S.-I think a lady should not write verses till she is past receiving them.

Mrs. C. (rising and stalking majestically towards him).-Mr. Sheridan, pray, sir, what may you mean by this insinuation; did I not say I writ verses?  )

Mr. S.- Oh, but you–

Mrs. C.-Say no more, sir!  You have made your meaning but too plain already.  There now, I think that’s a speech for a tragedy

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 J.-No, indeed, ought she not.

Mr. S.-Do you then, Sir Joshua, persuade her.   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. S.-What then are you about now?

F.B.-Why, twirling my fan, I think!

Mr. S.-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 J-Anything in the dialogue way, I think, she must succeed in; and I am sure invention will not be wanting,

Mr. S.-No, indeed ; I think, and say, she should write a comedy.

SIr J.-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 violen clapping of his hands.

I actually shook from head to foot ! I felt myself already in Drury Lane, amidst the hubbub of a first night.

“Oh, no!” cried I, “there may be a noise, but it will b, just the reverse.” And I returned his salute with a hissing.

Mr. Sheridan joined Sir Joshua Very warmly.

“O sir,” cried I, “you should not run on so, you don’t know what mischief you may do!”

Mr. S.-I wish I may-I shall be very glad to be accessory,

Sir j.-She has, certainly, something of a knack at characters; where she got it I don’t know, and how she got it, I can’t
imagine; but she certainly has it.  And to throw it away is—

Mr. S.-Oh, she won’t, she will write a comedy, she has promised me she will!

F.B.-Oh! if you both run on in this manner, I 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 of 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 honour! 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.  Afterwards 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 fall, 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.

Now to this grand visit, which was become more tremendous than ever because of the pamphlet business, and I felt almost ashamed to see Sir JOShua, and could not but conclude he would think of it too.

My mother, who changed her mind, came with me.  My father promised to come before the Opera was half over.

We found the Miss Palmers alone.  We were, for near an hour, quite easy, chatty, and comfortable; no pointed speech was made, and no starer entered.  But when I asked the elder Miss Palmer if she would allow me to look at some of her drawings, she said,

“Not unless you will let me see something of yours.”

“Of mine?” quoth I.  “Oh,! I have nothing to show.”

“I am sure you have; you must have.”

“No, indeed; I don’t draw at all.”

“Draw?  No, but I mean some of your writing.”

“Oh, I never write–except letters.”

“Letters? those are the very things I want to see.”

“Oh, not such as you mean.”

” Oh now, don’t say so; I am sure you are about something and if you would but show me–”

“No, no, I am about nothing–I am quite out of conceit with writing.” I had my thoughts full of the vile Warley.

“You out of conceit?” exclaimed she; “nay, then, if you are, who should be otherwise!”

just then, Mrs. and Miss Horneck were announced.  you may suppose I thought directly of the one hundred and sixty miles–and may take it for granted I looked them very boldly in the face! Mrs. Horneck seated herself by my mother.  Miss Palmer introduced me to her and her daughter, who seated herself next me; but not one word passed between us!

Mrs. Horneck, as I found in the course of the evening, is an exceedingly sensible, well-bred woman.  Her daughter is very beautiful ; but was low-spirited and silent during the whole visit.  She was, indeed, very unhappy, as Miss Palmer informed me, upon account of some ill news she had lately heard of the affairs of a gentleman to whom she is shortly to be married.

Not long after came a whole troop, consisting of Mr. Cholmondeley!–perilous name!–Miss Cholmondeley, and Miss Fanny Cholmondeley, his daughters, and Miss Forrest.  Mrs. Cholmondeley, I found, was engaged elsewhere, but soon expected. Now here was a trick of Sir Joshua, to make me meet all these people.

Mr. Cholmondeley is a clergyman; nothing shining either in person or manners, but rather somewhat grim in the first, and glum in the last.  Yet he appears to have humour himself, and to enjoy it much in others.

Miss Cholmondeley I saw too little of to mention.

Miss Fanny Cholmondeley is a rather pretty, pale girl; very young and inartificial, and though tall and grown up, treated by her family as a child, and seemingly well content to really think herself such.  She followed me whichever way I turned, and though she was too modest to stare, never ceased watching me the whole evening.

Miss Forrest is an immensely tall and not handsome young woman. Further I know not.

Next came my father, all gaiety and spirits.  Then Mr. William Burke.

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 behaviour was exactly what my wishes would have dictated 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 confab was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. King; a gentleman who is, it seems, for ever with the Burkes; -and presently Lord Palmerston was announced.

Well, while this was going forward, a violent rapping bespoke, I was sure, Mrs. Cholmondeley, and I ran from the standers, and turning my back against the door, looked over Miss Palmer’s cards; for you may well imagine, I was really in a tremor at a meeting which so long has been in agitation, and with the person who, of all persons, 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 curtsied in silence, she too curtsied, 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 on 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 a’n't going to kill her!  don’t be afraid, I sha’n't compliment 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 reviewed my whole person.

“Now,” said she, “do tell me; is it true?”

“What, ma’am?–I don’t-I don’t know what–”

“Pho! what,-why you know what: in short, can you read? and can you write?”

“No, 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.  Burney, Dr.  Burney,–come here,–tell me if she is not very conceited?–if she is not eat 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 any thing of this game?”

“No, ma’am.”

“No?” repeated she, “ma foi, that’s pity!”

This raised such a laugh, I was forced to move on; yet everybody 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 himself.

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 ever 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.

Mrs. Cholmondeley hunted me quite round the card-table, from chair to chair, repeating various speeches of Madame Duval; and when, at last, I got behind a sofa, out of her reach, she called out aloud, ” Polly, Polly ! only think! miss has danced with a lord

Some time after, contriving 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.”(80)

Then, applying to Mr. Cholmondeley, she said, “Pray, sir, what is 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. C.-I have been very ill; monstrous ill 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. C.-Pray, miss, what’s your name?

F.B.-Frances, ma’am.

Mrs. C.-Fanny ?        Well, all the Fanny’s 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 have never got here!  I have been so out of humour 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 colour and simper?–all the company watching us, though all, very delicately, avoided joining the confab.

Mrs. C-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-call-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?

FB.-No, indeed, I do not!–that I can safely say.

Mrs. C.-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 tagging 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 down stairs, she changed 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, will 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 down stairs.

While we were upon the stairs, I heard Miss Palmer say to Miss Fanny Cholmondeley, “Well, you don’t find Miss Burney quite so tremendous as you expected?”

Sir Joshua made me sit next him at supper; Mr. William Burke was at my other side; though, afterwards, I lost the knight of plimton, who, as he eats no suppers, made way for Mr. Gwatkin, and, as the table was crowded, himself stood at the fire.  He was extremely polite and flattering in his manners to me, and entirely avoided all mention or hint at “Evelina” the whole evening: indeed, I think I have met more scrupulous delicacy from Sir Joshua than from anybody, although I have heard more of his approbation than of almost any other person’s.

Mr. W. Burke was immensely attentive at table; but, lest he should be thought a Mr. Smith for his pains, he took care,
whoever he helped, to add, “You know I am all for the ladies!”

I was glad I was not next Mrs. Cholmondeley; but she frequently, and very provokingly, addressed herself to me; once she called out aloud, “Pray, Miss Burney, is there anything new coming out?” And another time, “Well, I wish people who can entertain me would entertain me!”

These sort of pointed speeches are almost worse than direct attacks, for there is no knowing how to look, or what to say, especially where the eyes of a whole company mark the object for Whom they are meant.  To the last of these speeches I made no sort of answer but Sir Joshua very good-naturedly turned it from me, by saying,

“Well, let everyone do what they can in their different ways; do you begin yourself.”

“Oh, I can’t!” cried she; “I have tried, but I can’t.”

“Oh, so  you think, then,” answered he, “that all the world is made only to entertain you?”

A very lively dialogue ensued.  But I grow tired of writing.  One thing, however, I must mention, which, at the time,
frightened me wofully.

“Pray, Sir Joshua,” asked Lord Palmerston, what is this ‘Warley’ that is just come out?”

Was not this a cruel question?  I felt in such a twitter!

“Why, I don’t know,” answered he; “but the reviewers, my lord, speak very well of it.”

Mrs. C.-Who wrote it?

Sir Joshua.-Mr. Huddisford.

Mrs. C.-O! I don’t like it at all, then!  Huddisford What a name! Miss Burney, pray can you conceive anything of such a name as Huddisford?

I could not speak a word, and I dare say I looked no-how.  But was it not an unlucky reference to me? Sir Joshua attempted a kind of vindication Of him; but Lord Palmerston said, drily,

“I think, Sir Joshua, it is dedicated to you?”

“Yes, my lord,” answered he.

“Oh, your servant! Is it so?” cried Mrs. Cholmondeley; “then you need say no more!”

Sir Joshua laughed, and the subject, to my great relief, was dropped.

When we broke up to depart, which was not till near two in the morning, Mrs. Cholmondeley went up to my mother, and begged her permission to visit in St. Martin’s-street.  Then, as she left the room, she said to me, with a droll sort of threatening look,

“You have not got rid of me yet, I have been forcing myself into your house.”

I must own I was not at all displeased at this, as I had very much and very reasonably feared that she would have been by then as sick of me from disappointment, as she was before eager for me from curiosity.

When we came away, Offy Palmer, laughing, said to me,

“I think this will be a breaking-in to you!”

“Ah,” cried I, “if I had known of your party!”

” You would have been sick in bed, I suppose?”

I would not answer “No,” yet I was glad it was over.  And so concludeth this memorable evening.

Sept. 26-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 Reynolds!-no less a man, I assure 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; what has Miss Burney done to have him?”

” Nay, believe 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 tell 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 to 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’m 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?”

Dr. J.-Yes, madam, I think he is.

Mrs. T.-Shall he have Miss Burney?

Dr. J.-Why, I think not; at least I must know more about him; I Must inquire into his connections, his recreations, 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. T.-She says she likes Mr. Smith better.

Dr. J.-Yes, but I won’t have her like Mr. Smith without money, better than Mr. Crutchley with it.  Besides, if she has
Crutchley, he will use her well, to vindicate his choice.  the world, madam, has a reasonable claim upon all mankind to account for their conduct; therefore, if with his great wealth, he marries a woman who has but little, he will be more attentive to display her 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. T.-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.

Dr. J.-Why, I don’t hold it to be delicate to offer marriage 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 myself for Miss Burney.  I therefore nominnate Sir J- L-.

Mrs. T.-I’ll 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 Burney; it might restore him to our family.’  So spoke his Uncle and guardian.

F.B.-He, he! Ha, ha! He, he! Ha, ha!

Dr. J.-That was elegantly said of my master, and nobly said, and not in the vulgar way we have been saying it.  And madam, where 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 Burney; I would have everybody take to Miss Burney, 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 MrsThrale.

“Because,” answered he, “I never see her with a book in her hand. I have taken notice that she never has been reading whenever I have come into the room.”

” Sir,” quoth I, courageously, ” I’m always afraid of being 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’ll 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!”

Wednesday.-We could not prevail with Dr. Johnson to stay till 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 manner.  Mr. Crisp has said the same: however, nobody can now impartially see her, and not confess that she has extremely well succeeded.

My expectations, which were compounded of the praise of Mrs. Thrale, and the abuse of Mr. Crisp, were most exactly, 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 favourite–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 favour, because she did me the honour of addressing herself to me three or four times.

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 Will like it too; for ’tis a book to be liked.”

I began now a vehement nose-blowing, for the benefit of handkerchiefing my face.

“I hope though,” said Mrs. Montagu, drily, “it is not in verse?  I can read anything in prose, but I have a great dread of a long story in verse.”

“No, ma’am, no; ’tis all in prose, I assure you.  ‘Tis a novel; and an exceeding–but it does nothing good to be praised too much, so I will say nothing more about it: only this, that Mr. Burke sat up all night to read it.”

” Indeed?  Well, I propose myself great pleasure from it and I am gratified by hearing it is written by a woman.”

“And Sir Joshua Reynolds,” continued Mrs. Thrale, “has been offering fifty pounds to know the author.”

“Well, I will have it to read on my journey; I am going to Berkshire, and it shall be my travelling book.”

” No, ma’am if you please you shall have it now.  Queeny, do look it for Mrs. Montagu, and let it be put in her carriage, and go to town with her.”

Miss Thrale rose to look for it, and involuntarily I rose too, intending to walk off, for my situation was inexpressibly awkward; but then I recollected that if I went away, it might seem like giving Mrs. Thrale leave and opportunity to tell my tale, and therefore I stopped at a distant window, where I busied myself in contemplating the poultry.

“And Dr. Johnson, ma’am,” added my kind puffer, “says Fielding 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 killing 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 further than ever.  All 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 exclamations from Mrs, Montagu and Miss Gregory.

I was horribly disconcerted, but I am now so irrecoverably in for it, that I begin to leave off reproaches and expostulations; 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, somewhat hard of digestion, but they must make their own way as well as they can.

I determined not to make my appearance again till dinner was upon table; yet I could neither read nor write, nor indeed do any thing but consider the new situation in life into which I am thus hurried–I had almost said forced–and if I had, methinks it would be no untruth.

Miss Thrale came laughing up after me, and tried to persuade me to return.  She was mightily diverted all the morning, and came to me with repeated messages of summons to attend the company, but I could not brave it again into the roon’, and therefore entreated her to say I was finishing a letter.  Yet I was sorry to lose so much of Mrs. Montagu.

When dinner was upon table, I followed the procession, in a tragedy step, as Mr. Thrale will have it, into the dining parlour.  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 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 be invited to see it.

“Ay, sure,” cried Mrs. Montagu, looking well pleased; “or I shan’t like it: but I invite you all to a house warming; I shall hope for the honour 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,” cried she, “and I am proud of it: I am proud that a work so commended should be a woman’s.”

hhow my face burnt!

“Has Mrs. Montagu,” asked Dr. Johnson, “read ‘Evelina?’”

“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 already, read it, because you cannot speak of it with a full conviction of its merit: which, I believe, when you have read it, you will have great pleasure in acknowledging.”

Some other things were said, but I remember them not, for I could hardly keep my place: but my sweet, naughty Mrs. Thrale looked delighted for me……

When they were gone, how did Dr. Johnson astonish me by asking if I had observed what an ugly cap Miss Gregory had on?  Then taking both my hands, and looking at me with an expression of much kindness, he said,

“Well, Miss Burney, Mrs. Montagu now will read ‘Evelina’”……

Mrs. Thrale then told me such civil things.  Mrs. Montagu, it seems, during my retreat, inquired very particularly what kind of book it was?

“And I told her,” continued Mrs. Thrale, “that it was a picture of life, manners, and characters.  ‘But won’t she go on,’ says she; ’surely she won’t stop here?’

“‘Why,’ said I, ‘I want her to go on in a new path–I want her to write a comedy.’

“‘But,’ said Mrs. Montagu, ‘one thing must be considered; Fielding, who was so admirable in novel writing, never succeeded when he wrote for the stage.’”

“Very well said,” cried Dr. Johnson “that was an answer which showed she considered her subject.”

Mrs. Thrale continued:

“‘Well, but `a propos,’ said Mrs. Montagu, ‘if Miss Burney does write a play, I beg I may know of it; or, if she thinks proper, see it; and all my influence is at her service.  We shall all be glad to assist in spreading the fame of Miss Burney.’”

I tremble for what all this will end in.  I verily think I had best stop where I am, and never again attempt writing: for after so much honour, so much success–how shall I bear a downfall?

Streatham, Sept.– Our Monday’s intended great party was very small, for people are so dispersed at present in Various quarters: we had, therefore, only Sir Joshua Reynolds, two Miss Palmers, Dr. Calvert, Mr. Rose Fuller, and Lady Ladd. Dr. Johnson did not return.

Sir Joshua I am much pleased with: I like his ccountenance, and I like his manners; the former I think expressive, and sensible; the latter gentle, unassuming, and engaging.

The dinner, in quantity as well as quality, would have sufficed for forty people.  Sir Joshua said, when the dessert appeared, “Now if all the company should take a fancy to the same dish, there would be sufficient for all the company from any one.”

After dinner, as usual, we strolled out: I ran first into the hall for my cloak-, and Mrs. Thrale, running after me, said in a low voice,

“If you are taxed with ‘Evelina,’ don’t own it; I intend to say it is mine, for sport’s sake.”

You may think how much I was surprised, and how readily I agreed not to own it; but I could ask no questions, for the two Miss Palmers followed close, saying,

“Now pray, ma’am, tell us who it is?”

“No, no,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “who it is, you must find out.  I have told you that you dined with the author; but the rest you must make out as you can.”

Miss Thrale began tittering violently, but I entreated her not to betray me; and, as soon as I could, I got Mrs. Thrale to tell me what all this meant.  She then acquainted me, that, when she first came into the parlour, she found them all busy in talking of “Evelina,” and heard that Sir Joshua had declared he would give fifty pounds to know the author!

“Well,” said Mrs. Thrale, “thus much, then, I Will tell you; the author will dine with you to-day.”

They were then all distracted to know the party.

“Why,” said she, “we shall have Dr. Calvert, Lady Ladd, Rose Fuller, and Miss Burney.”

“Miss Burney?” quoth they, “which Miss Burney?”

“Why, the eldest, Miss Fanny Burney; and so out of this list you must make out the author.”

I shook my head at her, but begged her, at least, to go no further.

“No, no,” cried she, laughing, “leave me alone; the fun will be to make them think it me.”

However as I learnt at night, when they were gone, Sir Joshua was so very importunate with Mr. Thrale, and attacked him with such eagerness, that he made him confess who it was, as soon as the ladies retired.

Well, to return to our walk.  The Miss Palmers grew more and more urgent.

“Did we indeed,” said the eldest, “dine with the author of ‘Evelina?’”

“Yes, in good truth did you.”

“Why then, ma’am, it was yourself.”

“I shan’t tell you whethir it was or not; but were there not other people at dinner besides me?  What think you of Dr. Calvert?”

“Dr. Calvert? no! no; I am sure it was not he: besides, they say it was certainly written by a woman.”

“By a woman? nay, then, is not here Lady Ladd, and Miss Burney, and Hester?”

“Lady Ladd I am sure it was not, nor could it be Miss Thrale’s. O maam! I begin to think it was really yours! Now, was it not, Mrs. Thrale?”

Mrs. Thrale only laughed.

“A lady of our acquaintance,” said Miss Palmer, “Mrs. Cholmondeley, went herself to the printer, but he would not tell.”

“Would he not?” cried Mrs. Thrale, “why, then, he’s an honest man.”

“Oh, is he so?–nay, then, it is certainly Mrs. Thrale’s.”

“well, well, I told you before I should not deny it.”

“Miss Burney,” said she, “pray do you deny it?”  in a voice that seemed to say,–I must ask round, though rather from civility than suspicion.

“Me?” cried I, “well no: if nobody else will deny it, why should I?  It does not seem the fashion to deny it.”

“No, in truth,” cried she; “I believe nobody would think of denying it that could claim it, for it is the sweetest book in the world.  My uncle could not go to bed till he had finished it, and he says he is sure he shall make love to the author, if ever he meets with her, and it should really be a woman!”

“Dear madam,” cried Miss Offy, “I am sure it was you but why will you not own it at once?”

“I shall neither own nor deny anything about it.”

“A gentleman whom we know very well,” said Miss Palmer, “when he could learn nothing at the printer’s, took the trouble to go all about Snow Hill, to see if he could find any silversmith’s.”

“Well, he was a cunning creature!” said Mrs. Thrale; “but Dr. Johnson’s favourite is Mr. Smith.”

“So he is of everybody,” answered she: “he and all that family; everybody says Such a family never was drawn before.  But Mrs. Cholmondeley’s favourite is Madame Duval; she acts her from morning to night, and ma-foi’s everybody she sees.  But though we all want so much to know the author, both Mrs. Cholmondeley and my uncle himself say they should be frightened to death to be in her company, because she must be such a very nice observer, that there would be no escaping her with safety.”

What strange ideas are taken from mere book-reading!  But what follows gave me the highest delight I can feel.

“Mr. Burke,” she continued, “doats on it: he began it one morning at seven o’clock, and could not leave it a moment; he sat up all night reading it.  He says he has not seen such a book he can’t tell when.”

Mrs. Thrale gave me involuntarily a look of congratulation, and could not forbear exclaiming, “How glad she was Mr. Burke approved it!”  This served to confirm the Palmers in their mistake, and they now, without further questioning, quietly and unaffectedly concluded the book to be really Mrs. Thrale’s and Miss Palmer said,–”Indeed, ma’am, you Ought to write a novel every year: nobody can write like you!”

I was both delighted and diverted at this mistake, and they grew so easy and so satisfied under it, that the conversation dropped, and offy went to the harpsichord.

Not long after, the party broke up, and they took leave. I had no conversation with Sir Joshua all day; but I found myself more an object of attention to him than I wished; and he several times spoke to me, though he did not make love!

When they rose to take leave, Miss Palmer, with the air of asking the greatest of favours, hoped to see me when I returned to town; and Sir Joshua, approaching me with the most profound respect, inquired how long I should remain at Streatham?  A week, I believed: and then he hoped, when I left it, they should have the honour of seeing me in Leicester Square.

In short, the joke is, the people speak as if they were afraid of me, instead of my being afraid of them.  It seems, when they got to the door, Miss Palmer said to Mrs. Thrale, “Ma’am, so it’s Miss Burney after all!”

“Ay, sure,” answered she, “who should it be?”

“Ah! why did not you tell us sooner?” said Offy, “that we might have had a little talk about it?”

Here, therefore, end all my hopes of secrecy!