Chapter VI: Part 6

“I think, indeed, there should be a society to join in this plan; which should include strictures upon life and manners at the end of the eighteenth century; to come out in one sheet for breakfast tables. How folks would read away, and talk, in all great towns, and in all country-houses; nay, and in London itself; where I remember my poor mother told me much of the effects produced formerly by periodical papers; even Pamela, when it came out in that way. Now how well Madame d’Arblay could manage such a work! and how one and all would join to get epigrams for her; and bobs at the times, in prose and in verse: and news from Paris; &c. &c. And we might all have a finger in the pie! and try to laugh people out of their Jacobinism. Old anecdotes, characters, and bits of poetry rummaged out of old authors; especially from some of the quaint, but clever ancient French poets: and a thousand interesting things that would be read, and tasted, and felt, if well introduced: and if Madame d’Arblay’s name could be said to preside, it would suit people’s laziness so well to have matters brought before them all ready chosen and prepared...!

“And O! how Mr. Burke’s spirit would be _relevé_ by such a spur! which is now choaked and kept down by gross abuse and disheartedness.

“Think of all this, Dr. Burney; it may employ you. Let it be a secret at first, and I have no objection to cater for our society of writers. People love to read the beauties of books; and we might pick out bits of Mr. Burke’s, so as to impress and shame all out of at least _creeping_ Jacobinism. I am certain, already, that Mr. Windham would approve the plan. The only point is to do it well.”

Project upon project, scheme upon scheme, and letter upon letter followed this opening, and sought, progressively, to make it effective to the Doctor: while all, by the desire of Mrs. Crewe, was communicated to Bookham, with the most cordial zeal for attracting its female recluse from her obscurity, by placing her at the head of a design to work at _mind_ and _morals_, in concert with the high names of Mr. Windham, Mr. Canning, and the then Dean of Chester; with various other honourable persons, marked out, but not yet engaged.

“Do ask Madame d’Arblay,” she continues, “to form some plan. We will all help to address letters to her, if she will be ‘Dear Spec.’”

She then adds a wish that the nominal Editor should be supposed to live in the neighbourhood of Sir Hugh Tyrold; whose simplicity of truth, perplexity of doubts and humility, and laughable originality of dialect, might produce comic entertainment to enliven the serious disquisitions.

And, in conclusion, her filial heart, always wedded to the memory of her distinguished mother, earnestly desired to make this work a mean to bring forth some “novel characters” of that celebrated lady, that might be taken from a posthumous manuscript which Mrs. Crewe, long since, had given to this Memorialist, to finish—if she thought feasible—or otherwise to edit; but which various impediments had, and still have, kept unpublished in her hands.

Nothing could be more honourable than such a proposition, nor more gratefully felt by the then Bookham, and afterwards West Hamble Female Hermit: but she, who, from the origin of her first literary attempt, might almost be called an accidental author, could by no means so new model the natural shyness of her character, as to assume courage for meeting the public eye with the opinions, injunctions, and admonitions of a didactic one. Her answer, therefore, to her Father, which, after communicating to Mrs. Crewe, Dr. Burney preserved, is here abridged and copied.

“TO DR. BURNEY.

* * * * *

“I hardly know whether I am most struck with the fertility of the ideas that Mrs. Crewe has started, or most gratified at their direction. Certainly, I am flattered where most susceptible of pleasure, when kindness such as hers would call me forth from my retirement, to second views so important in their ends, and demanding such powers in their progress. But though her opinion might give me courage, it cannot give me means. I am too far removed from the scene of public life to compose anything of public utility in the style she indicates. The manners as they rise; the morals, or their deficiencies, as they preponderate, should be viewed, for such a scheme, in all their variations, with a diurnal eye. The editor of such a censorial and didactic work, should be a watchful frequenter of public places, and live in the midst of public people. The plan is so excellent, it ought to be well adopted, and well fulfilled: but many circumstances would render its accomplishment nearly impossible for _me_. Wholly to omit politics, would mar all the original design: yet the personal hostility in which all intermingling with them is entangled, would make a dreadful breach into the peace of my happiness.” &c.

* * * * *

Then follows a statement of local obstacles to her presiding over such a project, from the peculiar position of M. d’Arblay; which required the most inflexible adherence to his cottage seclusion, till he could dauntlessly spring from it in manifestation of his loyal principles.

“But tell Mrs. Crewe,” she continues, “I entreat you, my dearest Father, that I am not only obliged, but made the happier by her kind partiality; and that, if otherwise circumstanced, I should have delighted to have entered into any scheme in which she would have taken a part.”

* * * * *

Here, at once, ere, in fact, it was begun, this business ended: Dr. Burney was acquiescent: and Mrs. Crewe was far too high-bred a character to prosecute any scheme, or persist in any wish of her own, that opposed the feelings of those whom she meant to please, or to serve. The topic, therefore, from the most eager pressure, was instantly cast into silence, from which it quietly dropt into oblivion.

DUKE OF PORTLAND.

But not so passive was Mrs. Crewe with respect to the signal favour to which the Doctor was rising in the estimation of the Duke of Portland, with whom, through her partial introduction, a long general acquaintance was now cementing into an intercourse of peculiar esteem and regard. His Grace, indeed, conceived so strong a liking to the principles and the opinions of Dr. Burney, as to manifest the most flattering pleasure in drawing them forth. And equally he seemed gratified, whenever they chanced to be _tête à tête_, in unbending his own mind in unrestrained and kind communication.

To owe the origin of this affectionate attachment to Mrs. Crewe, to whom already were owing such innumerable circumstances of agreeability, only heightened its charm. And it was here but the natural effect of situation—Mrs. Crewe being, at her pleasure, domiciliated at the various mansions of the Duke, from the marriage of one of her brothers with Lady Charlotte Bentinck, a daughter of his Grace.

This connexion became, ere long, a spring of spirits as well as of pleasure to Dr. Burney, in affording him, at Burlington House, a continually easy access to the highest rank of society of the Metropolis; and an elegantly prepared sojourn in the country, at the noble villa of Bulstrode Park; where the distinguished kindness of the Duke made the visits of the Doctor glide on deliciously to his satisfaction.

MR. BURKE.

But in the midst of this delectable new source of enjoyment to Dr. Burney, a deeply-mourned and widely-mournful loss tried again, with poignant sorrow, his kindliest affections.

On the 10th of July, 1797, he received the following note:—

“Dear Sir,

“I am grieved to tell you that your late friend, Mr.
Burke, is no more. He expired last night, at half-past
twelve o’clock.

“The long, steady, and unshaken friendship which had
subsisted between you and him, renders this a painful
communication; but it is a duty I owe to such friendship.

“I am, Dear Sir, &c., “EDW. NAGLE.”

“_Beaconsfield, 9th July, 1797._”

Hard, indeed, was this blow to Dr. Burney. He lamented this high character in all possible ways, as a friend, a patriot, a statesman, an orator, and a man of the most exalted genius.

“He was certainly,” says his letter to Bookham upon this
event, “one of the greatest men of the present century;
and, I think I might say, the best orator and statesman
of modern times. He had his passions and prejudices, to
which I did not subscribe; but I always ardently admired
his great abilities, his warmth of friendship, his
constitutional urbanity.”

He then adds:—

“That, while such was his character, and such his loss in
public, he, (Dr. Burney,) and his daughter, to whom Mr.
Burke had been so unremittingly and singularly partial,
must be ungrateful indeed not yet more peculiarly to
lament his departure, and honour his character in
private.”

In her answer, she sorrowingly assures the Doctor that there was nothing to fear of her want of sympathy in this affliction. “I feel it,” she cries, “with my whole heart, and participate in every word you say of that truly great man. That he was not, as his enemies exclaim, perfect, is nothing in the scale of his stupendous superiority over almost all those who are merely exempt from his defects. That he was upright in heart and intention, even where he acted erroneously, I firmly believe: and that he asserted nothing that he had not persuaded himself to be true, even from Mr. Hastings being the most rapacious of villains, to the King’s being incurably insane.[47] He was as liberal in sentiment as he was luminous in intellect, and extraordinary in eloquence; and for amiability, he was surely, when in spirits and good-humour—_all but_ the most delightful of men. Yet, though superior to envy, and glowing with the noblest zeal to exalt talents and merits in others, he had, I believe, an unavoidable, though not a vain consciousness of his own greatness, that shut out from his consideration those occasional and useful self-doubts that keep the judgment in order, by making us, from time to time, call our motives and our passions to account.”

The Doctor was amongst the invited who paid the last homage to the manes of Mr. Burke by attending his funeral.

“Malone and I,” he says, “went to Bulstrode together,
in my carriage, with two added horses. We found there
the Dukes of Portland and Devonshire. Windham arrived to
dinner. The Lord Chancellor and the Speaker could not
leave London till four o’clock, but were at Bulstrode by
seven. All set off together for Beaconsfield, where we
found the rest of the pall-hearers, Lords Fitzwilliam
and Inchiquin, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Frederick North, Drs.
King and Lawrence, Dudley North, and very many of the
great orator’s personal friends; though, by his repeated
injunctions, the funeral was ordered to be very private.
He left a list to whom rings of remembrance were to be
sent, in which my name honourably occurs; and a jeweller
has been with me for my measure.

“After these mournful rites, the Duke of Portland
included me in his invite back to Bulstrode, with the
Duke of Devonshire, the Chancellor, the Speaker, Windham,
Malone, and Secretary King: and there I continued the
next day.

“The Duke pressed me to stay on, and accompany him and
his party to a visit, the following morning, in honour of
Mr. Burke, that was to be made to the school, founded by
that enlarged philanthropist, for the male children of
the ruined emigrant nobility, now seeking refuge in this
country. But it was not in my power to prolong my absence
from town.”

DR. WARREN.

Dr. Burney now lost, also, his sagacious physician and enlightened friend, Dr. Warren; “a loss sad,” he says, “indeed, to his family, to science, and to hundreds of people whose lives he preserved.”

MRS. CREWE.

The unwearied Mrs. Crewe, grieved at the fresh dejection into which these reiterated misfortunes cast the Doctor, now started a scheme that had more of promise than any other that could have been devised of affording him some exhilaration. This was arranging an excursion that would lead him to visit the scene of his birth, that of his boyhood, and that of his education; namely, Shrewsbury, Condover, and Chester; by prevailing with him to accompany her to Mr. Crewe’s noble ancient mansion of Crewe Hall: a proposal so truly grateful to his feelings, that he found it resistless.

The following account of its execution is extracted from his own letters to the Hermits:

“The die is thrown; and I have agreed, at last, to go
down with Mrs. Crewe to the family mansion in Cheshire,
which Mr. Crewe, as well as herself, has so long pressed
me to visit. M. le President de Fronteville, a very
agreeable French gentleman, is to be of the party. But
dear Mr. Crewe, with his daughter,[48] sets off first,
to pass a condoling day or two with poor Mrs. Burke at
Beaconsfield. We are then to join at Wycomb; and thence
to Oxford; &c.

“_Crewe Hall, 2d August._

“I could not get a moment to write on the road, as we
travelled at a great rate, with Mrs. Crewe’s four horses,
followed by four post. I have now only time to name what
places we passed ere we got to old Shrewsbury, which
lies forty miles out of the right road of dear Mrs.
Crewe; who so kindly made a point of carrying me thither.
Blenheim—Shakespeare’s Stratford-upon-Avon,—where I
visited the mansion, or rather _cabane_ of our immortal
bard, now a butcher’s shop! I sate on his easy chair,
still remaining in his chimney corner; and wondered
more than ever how a man living in such a miserable
house and town, should have attained such sublime
ideas of grandeur in the most exalted situations.
Birmingham—Wolverhampton—Nufnal by the Rekin—Watling,
thought a Roman road—Lord Berwick’s—and, at five o’clock
in the afternoon, on Monday, old Shrewsbury.

“I ran away from Mrs. Crewe, who was too tired to walk
about, and played the Cicerone myself to Miss Crewe,
who has both understanding and curiosity for gaining
knowledge, and to M. de Fronteville, to whom I undertook
to shew off old Shrewsbury; of which I knew all the
streets, lanes, and parishes, as well as I did sixty
years ago.

* * * * *

“I found my way, without a single question, to the old
Town Hall, the New Town House, High Street, and Raven
Street, where I was born. And then to the Free School,
founded by Henry VIII. and endowed by his daughter Bess.

“We went up to the top of the highest tower in the
Castle, which Sir William Pulteney now inhabits. He has
repaired every one of the lofty and venerable towers in
their true ancient and Gothic style. After dinner, I laid
out _a shilling or two_ with an old bookseller, whom I
catechised about old people and old things,—but alas! of
the first, not one creature is now alive whom I remember,
or who can remember me!

* * * * *

“The next morning, Tuesday, I set off alone, at seven
o’clock, to visit the new church, St. Chad’s; which is
a very fine one but so irreverently secular, that it
would make a very handsome theatre. I then walked in that
most beautiful of all public walks, as I still believe,
in the world, called the Quarry; formed in verdant and
flower-enamelled fields, by the Severn side, with the
boldest and most lovely opposite shore imaginable.

“I found my way, also, from this walk to a new bridge,
called The Welsh Bridge; which leads to Montgomeryshire.
On the former old one there was a statue, which was
supposed to be of Llewellen, Prince of Wales; but is
now discovered to be of the Black Prince. It is well
preserved, and is not of bad sculpture. I was driven back
to the inn by the rain.

“We all adjourned to breakfast with Dr. Darwin, who is
newly married to a daughter of Mr. Wedgewood’s. They are
very intelligent, agreeable, and shrewd folks.

“In a most violent rain, nearly a storm, we left my dear
old Shrewsbury; and without being able, in such weather,
to get to my dearer old Condover.

Yet I could have found nothing there but melancholy
remembrances; all gone for whom I had cared,—or who had
cared for me!

“Crewe Hall was built in the reign of James the First,
of half Gothic, half Grecian architecture. It is the
completest mansion I ever saw of that kind; and has been
repaired and kept up in the exact costume of that period.
It is a noble house; well fitted, and well applied to
hospitality. Mr. Crewe is one of the politest men in his
own house, and one of the best landlords that I know.

“The park, in the midst of which the mansion stands, is
well wooded and planted. There is a noble piece of water
in sight of my window, nearly of the same effect as that
of Blenheim, allowing for the different magnitude of the
mansions and grounds. Mrs. Crewe has a little _ferme
ornée_, to which she sometimes retires when the house is
crowded with mixed company. ’Tis fitted up with infinite
fancy and good taste. She has established there a school
of forty girls, who are taught needle-work and reading.
The outside is built in imitation of a convent, and the
matron is called the Abbess.

“When I had passed, most agreeably, about a fortnight
at Crewe Hall, Mrs. Crewe fulfilled her kind promise
of making an excursion to Chester, knowing how much I
yearned to see again that city of my youth. Miss Crewe,
and M. le President alone made the party; which turned
out most pleasantly. I ran about Chester, the rows,
walls, cathedral, and castle, as familiarly as I could
have done fifty years ago; visited the Free School,
where I Hic, hæc, hoc’d it three or four years; and the
cathedral, where I saw and heard the first organ I ever
touched.

“From Chester, we went to Liverpool by water, on a new
canal that communicates with the river Mersey. The
passage-boat was very convenient, and the voyage very
pleasant. The sight of the shipping from the Mersey is
very striking. We put up at the Hôtel; passed all the
morning in visiting Liverpool, the docks, warehouses,
&c., which we were shewn by Mr. Walker, a rich and great
ship-broker, and an acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Crewe’s.
Mrs. Walker is a really elegant and agreeable woman.

“Eight Jamaica ships had come in for Mr. Walker a few
days before our arrival, by which he cleared £10,000. We
dined at his villa, two or three miles from the town,
on turtle; and afterwards went to the play, at a pretty
theatre, where the performance was good.

“We then took a little dip into a charming part of Wales,
about Wrexham, and visited Lady Cunliffe, wife of Sir
Foster, _capo di casa_ of a very old and worthy family of
my acquaintance of very many years. She is an elegant and
most pleasing woman; the house is just finished by Wyatt,
in exquisite taste; as is the furniture, &c. &c.

“At the end of a month, the President and I took leave,
reluctantly, of Crewe Hall, and set off together for
London. Mrs. Crewe made a party with us, the first day,
to Trentham Hall, the very fine place of the Marquis of
Stafford. We were very hospitably as well as elegantly
received by the Marchioness. The park, through which the
river Trent runs; the woods; the valley of Tempe; the
iron bridge over a large and clear piece of water; the
pictures, all fine in their way; and the house, lately
altered and enlarged by Wyatt: all this we saw to great
advantage, for almost all, in compliment to Mrs. and Miss
Crewe, was shewn us by the Marchioness herself.

“We thence went to Wedgewood’s famous pottery, called
Etruria, and witnessed the whole process of that
ingenious and beautiful manufactory, of which the produce
is now dispersed all over the world. Mrs. Crewe wanted to
send you a mighty pretty hand churn for your breakfast
table; but I was sure it would be broken to pieces in
the journey, and did not dare take it in charge. Here I
parted with that dear Mrs. Crewe.

LITCHFIELD.

“The President and I got to Litchfield about ten o’clock
that night; and the next morning, before my companion was
up, I strolled about the city with one of the waiters, in
search of

Dr. Johnson’s good negro, Frank Barber, who, I had been
told, lived there; but, upon inquiry, I found that his
residence was in a village four or five miles off: I
saw, however, the house where Dr. Johnson was born; and
where his father, ‘an old bookseller,’ died. The house
is stuccoed; has five sash windows in front; and pillars
before it. It is in a broad street, and is the best house
thereabouts, though it is now a grocer’s shop!

“I next went to the Garrick mansion; which has been
repaired, stuccoed, enlarged, and sashed. Peter Garrick,
David’s elder brother, died nearly two years ago, leaving
all his property to the apothecary who had attended him:
but the will was disputed and set aside not long since;
it having been proved at a trial, that the testator
was insane at the time the will was made; so that Mrs.
Doxie, Garrick’s sister, a widow with a numerous family,
recovered the house and £30,000. She now lives in it with
her children, and has been able to set up her carriage.
The inhabitants of Litchfield were so pleased with the
decision of the Court, that they illuminated the streets,
and had public rejoicings on the occasion.

“I next tried to find the abode of Dr. James, inventor
of the admirable fever powder, which so often has saved
the life of our dear Susan, and of others without number;
but the ungrateful Litchfieldites knew nothing about him!
I could find only one old man who remembered or knew
even that he was a native of the town! ‘The man who has
lengthened life’ to be forgotten at his natal place! and
already!

“The Cathedral here is the most complete and beautiful
Gothic building I ever saw. The outside was very ill-used
by the fanatics of the last century; but there are three
perfect spires still standing, and more than fifty
whole-length figures of saints in their original niches.
The choir is exquisitely beautiful. A fine new organ is
erected, and was well played. I never heard the cathedral
service so well performed, to that instrument only,
before. The services and anthems were of middle-aged
music, neither too old and dry, nor too modern and
light; the voices subdued, and exquisitely softened and
sweetened to the building.

“I found here a monument to Garrick; and another just
by it to Johnson. The former put up by Garrick’s widow;
the latter by Johnson’s friends. Both are beautiful, and
alike in every particular of workmanship.”

Note of Dr. Burney’s, in a memorandum book of this year,
1797:

“I beg that my pilgrimage to Litchfield, in 1797, may
somewhere be recorded in my Memoirs, from memorandums made
on the spot, after visiting the house where Dr. Johnson was
born, and his father kept a bookseller’s shop; the house where
Garrick lived, and his elder brother died; and seeking in vain
for the birth-place, or at least residence, of Dr. James.”

POEM ON ASTRONOMY.

Upon the return of Dr. Burney to Chelsea, his astronomical project became his greatest amusement as well as occupation. In a memorandum upon its idea he writes:

“Very early in life I collected all the books I could
attain upon this subject. I was already, therefore,
in possession of a good number; to which I now added
whatever I could procure from France, as well as in
England. And with these, having the free run of Sir
Joseph Bankes’ scientific library, with that of the
Royal Society, and of the Museum, I obtained such
ample materials, that I took my daughter d’Arblay’s
advice, and, in little more than a year from the time
that I began the work, I had made a rough sketch of an
historical and didactic Poem on Astronomy.”

This enterprise, shortly afterwards, so grew upon his fancy, that, to use again his own words,

“Every spare minute I now devote to astronomy and its
history, which I try incessantly to versify, but find
very difficult to render poetical. This probably,
however, may be the case with most didactic poems.”

In another letter to the Hermitage on this subject, in which he describes his various whirls of business and engagements, he sportively cries:

“And, after fulfilling them all, instead of going to
sleep, like a mere dull mortal, I take a flight upon
Pegasus to the moon, or to some planet, or fixed star.”

And, a little later, he writes:

“Do you know that I have had the assurance to mention my
planetary undertaking to Herschel, at the Royal Society?
and he encourages me by liking my plan, and wishing me
to go on. I am soon, therefore, to read and talk over my
manuscript with him. I desire very much indeed to have
his sanction for the scientific part of my characters and
opinions of the most renowned astronomers. He himself,
after Newton, will be my Achilles and Æneas, _c’est à
dire, l’heros de la pièce_. The discoveries which he has
made, by his improved specula, exceed in number those of
any one astronomer that ever existed. Galileo discovered
the four satellites of Jupiter, and Cassini four of the
five satellites of Saturn; but what are these compared
with a new planet? an additional satellite to Jupiter,
two satellites to Saturn, and myriads of fixed stars,
double as well as single, which his own telescope only
could discover?”

HERSCHEL.

An account of the first visit to Dr. Herschel, at Slough, upon this astronomical pilgrimage, written by Dr. Burney, to Bookham, in September, 1797, displays, though unintentionally, the characters of both these men of science, with a genuine simplicity that can hardly fail of giving pleasure to every unsophisticated reader.

After mentioning a call upon Lord Chesterfield, at Baillies, in the neighbourhood of Slough, he says:

“I went thence to Dr. Herschel, with whom I had arranged
a meeting by letter; but being, through a mistake, before
my time, I stopped at the door, to make inquiry whether
my visit would be the least inconvenient to Herschel
that night, or the next morning. The good soul was at
dinner, but came to the carriage himself, to press me to
alight immediately, and partake of his family repast: and
this he did so heartily, that I could not resist. I was
introduced to the company at table; four ladies, and a
little boy, about the age and size of Martin.[49] I was
quite shocked at intruding upon so many females. I knew
not that Dr. Herschel was married, and expected only to
have found his sister. One of these females was a very
old lady, and mother, I believe, of Mrs. Herschel, who
sat at the head of the table. Another was a daughter
of Dr. Wilson, an eminent astronomer, of Glasgow; the
fourth was Miss Herschel. I apologised for coming at so
uncouth an hour, by telling my story of missing Lord
Chesterfield, through a blunder; at which they were all
so cruel as to join in rejoicing; and then in soliciting
me to send away my carriage, and stay and sleep there.
I thought it necessary, you may be sure, to _faire la
petite bouche_; but, in spite of my blushes, I was
obliged to submit to having my trunk taken in, and my
carriage sent on. We soon grew acquainted; I mean the
ladies and I; for Herschel I have known very many years;
and before dinner was over, we all seemed old friends
just met after a long absence. Mrs. Herschel is sensible,
good-humoured, unpretending, and obliging; Miss Herschel
is all shyness and virgin modesty; the Scots lady
sensible and harmless; and the little boy entertaining,
comical, and promising.[50] Herschel, you know, and every
body knows, is one of the most pleasing and well-bred
natural characters of the present age, as well as the
greatest astronomer. Your health was immediately given
and drunk after dinner, by Dr. Herschel; and, after much
social conversation, and some hearty laughs, the ladies
proposed taking a walk by themselves, in order to leave
Herschel and me together.

We two, therefore, walked, and talked over my subject,
_tête à tête_, round his great telescope, till it grew
damp and dusk; and then we retreated into his study to
philosophise. I had a string of questions ready to ask,
and astronomical difficulties to solve, which, with
looking at curious books and instruments, filled up
the time charmingly till tea. After which, we retired
again to the study; where, having now paved the way, we
began to enter more fully into my poetical plan; and he
pressed me to read to him what I had done. Lord help his
head! he little thought I had eight books, or cantos,
of from four hundred to eight hundred and twenty lines,
which to read through would require two or three days!
He made me, however, unpack my trunk for my MS., from
which I read him the titles of the chapters, and begged
he would choose any book; or the character of any great
astronomer that he pleased. ‘O,’ cried he, ‘let us have
the beginning.’ I read then the first eighteen or twenty
lines of the exordium; and then told him I rather wished
to come to modern times; I was more certain of my ground
in high antiquity than after the time of Copernicus. I
began, therefore, my eighth chapter.

“He gave me the greatest encouragement; repeatedly saying
that I perfectly understood what I was writing about:
and he only stopped me at two places; one was at a word
too strong for what I had to describe; and the other
at one too weak. The doctrine he allowed to be quite
orthodox concerning gravitation, refraction, reflection,
optics, comets, magnitudes, distances, revolutions, &c.
&c.; but he made a discovery to me which, had I known
sooner, would have overset me, and prevented my reading
to him any part of my work! this was, that he had almost
always had an aversion to poetry! which he had generally
regarded as an arrangement of fine words, without any
adherence to truth: but he presently added that, when
truth and science were united to those fine words, he
then liked poetry very well.

“The next morning, he made me read as much, from another
chapter, on Descartes, as the time would allow; for I had
ordered my carriage at twelve. But I stayed on, reading,
talking, asking questions, and looking at books and
instruments, at least another hour, before I could leave
this excellent man.”

1798.

The spring of the following year, 1798, opened to Dr. Burney with pupils, operas, concerts, conversationes, and assemblies in their usual round. All that is marked as peculiar, in his memorandums, is the intimate view which he had opportunity to take of the triumphant elevation of commercial splendour over even the highest aristocratical, in the entertainments of this season.

His late new acquaintance, Mr. Walker, of Liverpool, and his charming wife, not only, the Doctor says, in their balls, concerts, suppers, and masquerades, rivalled all the Nobles in expense, but in elegance. And that with an _eclât_ so indisputable, as to make those overpowered great ones “hide their diminished heads;” or raise them only in a tribute of patriotic admiration, at a proof so brilliant of the true national ascendance of all-conquering commerce.

If a born nobleman, or gentleman, whose income, however great, be limited to his rent-roll, take up nine or ten thousand pounds for any extraordinary occasion, so abrupt a dip into his fortune must be met by selling, or mortgaging some estate; or by borrowing at ruinous interest: while to the successful man of commerce, there is frequently so sudden and lucrative a flush of abundance, that no obstacle seems to be in the way to any species of extraneous expenditure.

Yet it has generally been observed, that this exuberance of new-acquired wealth, when springing from fortuitous circumstances, not progressive prosperity, rarely terminates in a pre-eminence that is durable. On the same wheel, around which turn the favours of fortune, turn, also, its perils; and though there are splendid exceptions to the remark, still it is but seldom that the lavish superfluity of the happy chance, or fortunate speculation, which sets the merchant above his Peers, escapes, ultimately, the revolving counterbalance of ever-lurking reverse.

When the Doctor had finished, in twelve books, the rough sketch of his Astronomical Poem, he was allured into reading parts of it to no less personages than Messrs. Windham and Canning. His account of this lecture was thus given to the Hermits:

“_24th April, 1798, Chelsea College._

“Mrs. Crewe has frequent singing-parties with young
people of _ton_, to bring out Miss. Crewe. All the world
that I know are there. Last week I was at Mrs. Ord’s,
to meet my old sweethearts, Mrs. Garrick, Betty Carter,
Hannah More, and my new sweetheart, Mrs. Goodenough,
the Speaker’s sister, &c. To-morrow at Lord and Lady
Inchiquin’s; Friday again at Mrs. Crewe’s, with evening
music at Lady Northwick’s, _ci-devant_ Lady Rushont’s;
Saturday to dine with Lady Jones, relict of Sir
William.——And so we go on.

Well, but in the midst of all this hurly burly, and
business besides, I have terminated the twelfth book of
my Poem, and transcribed it fair for your hearing or
perusal. Mrs. and Miss Crewe, and Miss Hayman, who is now
privy purse to the Princess of Wales, have been attending
Walker’s astronomical lectures, and wanted much to hear
some of my _Schtoff_; so, also, Windham and Canning. An
evening was fixed upon for a meeting. Windham, after
dinner, was to read us his balloon journal; Canning a
manuscript poem; and I a book of my astronomy. The lot
fell on me to begin. When I had finished book the first,
“_Tocca Lei_,” quoth I to Mr. Windham. “No, no, not yet;
another book first!” Well, when that was read, “_Tocca
Lei_,” I cried to Mr. Canning. “No, no,” all called out,
“let us go on! another book!” Well, there was no help; so
hoarse as I now was, I began a third book. Mrs. Crewe,
however, soon offered to relieve me; and Miss Hayman
to relieve Mrs. Crewe; and then supper was announced;
and thus I was taken in! and the rest, with the balloon
and the manuscript poem, are to be read _comf._ at Mrs.
Crewe’s villa at Hampstead, as soon as finished.”

THE LITERARY CLUB.

Not the least, nor least prized honour, in the life of Dr. Burney, occurred in the June of this year, 1798, in seconding the motion of Mr. Windham for the election of Mr. Canning as a member of the Literary Club; “though, strange to say,” he relates, “I had already honoured myself by seconding the same motion once before, when Mr. Canning was put up, I believe, by Lord Spencer; but was rejected by one abominable party black-ball, though there were ten or eleven balls all white.”

As this club was instituted for the pursuits and enjoyment of literature, independent of party or politics, it seems strangely foreign to such a design, either to elect or reject merely from political incitement. Dissensions through politics in the senate must necessarily be endured; nay, cannot rationally be lamented; they are the unavoidable offsprings of the most exalted exercise of the human faculties, freedom of debate; that freedom whence spring independence, justice, and liberty.

But, in meetings consecrated to social intellectuality, might not the chance be greater of obtaining and dispensing liberal knowledge, if the scrutiny of the electors were solely directed to the general powers of instruction or entertainment in the candidates, than in being cast upon any arbitrary standard of political creeds?

How, but by this comprehensive view of literary conviviality, could Dr. Johnson and Charles Fox, so opposite in state opinions, yet so approximate in powers of colloquial combat, have been members of this very club, without leaving one record behind them of controversial discord? In truth, to exclude from meetings formed for social enlargement, all who are not in all things of the same opinion, seems assembling a company to face an echo, and calling its neat repetition of whatever is uttered, conversation.

The election this time, however, was honourable to the club, for it was successful to Mr. Canning. And Mr. Marsden, author of the curious and spirited account of Sumatra, was happily white-balled at the same time; which Dr. Burney called, in his next letter to the Hermits, a revival of the true spirit of the institution.

CAMILLA COTTAGE.

In the ensuing September, the Doctor writes, in a manuscript memoir:

“This autumn, September, 1798, after spending a week at
Hampton, at the house of Lady Mary Duncan, who did the
honours of that charming neighbourhood, by carrying me to
all the fine places in its circle, Hampton Court, Mrs.
Garrick’s, Richmond Hill and Park, Oatlands, Kew Gardens,
&c.; I went to Mrs. and Miss Crewe at Tunbridge; where I
enjoyed, for more than a fortnight, all the humours of
the place in the most honourable and pleasant manner.

“And thence I went to Camilla Cottage at West Hamble; a
cottage built on a slice of Norbury Park, by M. d’Arblay
and my daughter, from the production of Camilla, her
third work; where, and at Mr. and Mrs. Locke’s, I passed
my time most pleasantly, in reading, in rural quiet, or
in charming conversation.”

This small residence, here mentioned by Dr. Burney, of which the structure was just now completed, had, playfully, received from himself the name of Camilla Cottage; which name was afterwards adopted by all the Friends of the Hermits.

Its architect, who was also its principal, its most efficient, and even its most laborious workman, had so skilfully arranged its apartments for use and for pleasure, by investing them with imperceptible closets, cupboards, and adroit recesses; and contriving to make every window offer a freshly beautiful view from the surrounding beautiful prospects, that while its numerous, though invisible conveniences, gave it comforts which many dwellings on a much larger scale do not possess, its pleasing form, and picturesque situation, made it a point, though in miniature, of beauty and ornament, from every spot in the neighbourhood whence it could be discerned.

Dr. Burney promised to gratify, from that time, these happy Hermits once a year with his presence. He could not without admiration, as well as pleasure, witness the fertile resources with which his son-in-law, though till then a stranger to a country, or to private life, could fill up a rainy day without a murmur; and pass through a retired evening without one moment of _ennui_, either felt or given. Yet the longest day of sunshine was always too short for the vigorous exertions, and manly projects that called him to plant in his garden, to graft and crop in his orchard, to work in his hay-field, or to invent and execute new paths, and to construct new seats and bowers in his wood. From which useful and virtuous toils, when corporeally he required rest and refreshment, his mental powers rose in full force to the exercise of their equal share in his composition, through his love of science, poetry, and general literature. And Dr. Burney, through the wide extent of his varied connexions, could nowhere find taste more congenial, principles more strictly in unison, or a temper more harmoniously in accord with his own, than here, in the happy little dwelling which he named Camilla Cottage.

SIR WILLIAM HERSCHEL.

At the close of this second year of Dr. Burney’s astronomical operations, their efficacy upon his health and spirits grew more and more apparent. They chased away his sorrows, by leading to meditations beyond the reach of their annoyance; and they gave to him a new earthly connexion that served somewhat to brighten even the regions below, in an intimacy with Dr. Herschel.

This modest and true philosopher, who, not long afterwards, receiving the honour of the Guelphic order from the King, became Sir William, opened again his hospitable dwelling to hear the continuation of the Doctor’s poem; to which he afforded his valuable remarks with as much pleasure as acumen. And from that time, the intercourse was kept up by Sir William’s returning, occasionally, the visits of the Doctor at Chelsea College, when called to town for reading, or for presenting his astronomical discoveries to the Royal Society.

THE KING.[51]

Upon one of the excursions of the Doctor to Slough, he has left the following memorandum.

After having spoken of the lecture of his work, he says:—

“In the evening we walked upon the terrace, where I
was most graciously noticed by their Majesties, who
both talked to me a considerable time. Both, also,
condescended to inquire much after my health, and seemed
to observe with pleasure that I looked better than I had
done in the spring. ‘Yes;’ I answered; ‘the fine weather
has been more propitious to me than medicine.’

“‘I dare say it has!’ cried the King with quickness,
and an expression that implied much of scepticism as to
physic.

“In the evening, by the advice of Herschel, I accompanied
him to the King’s concert at the castle. The performance,
which was all of sacred music from Handel’s oratorio of
Joseph, was begun before we arrived. At the end of the
first part, his Majesty discovered, and graciously came
up to us; and, after some remarks on the excellence
of the choruses, the King suddenly cried: ‘How goes on
Astronomy, Dr. Burney?’

“This question quite astonished me, as I did not believe
that any one hut Herschel knew what I had been about. I
stared a little, but answered, ‘We must ask Dr. Herschel,
Sir, the state of the heavens.’—‘O, but I know,’ cried
he, moving his hand as if it held a pen, ‘that you are
doing something!’

“On my bowing very humbly at the implied interest of such
an inquiry, he said: ‘Well, you’ll make it entertaining,
whatever it is. But how do you find time to write?’

“‘I make time, Sir;’ I replied; ‘I have a sinking fund.’

“‘What!’

“‘I take it out of my sleep, Sir, for extra occasions.’

“He seemed too kind to laugh, and only very seriously
said: ‘But you’ll hurt your health.’”

HERSCHEL.

Yet more warmed by such encouragement in his ardour upon this ethereal subject, the Doctor thus gaily speaks of it in his next letter:

“_10th December, 1798, Chelsea College._

* * * * *

“Well, but Herschel has been in town, for short spirts
and back again, two or three times, and I have had him
here two whole days. * * * I read to him the first
five books without any one objection, except a little
hesitation, at my saying, upon Bayly’s authority, that
if the sun were to move round the earth, according to
Ptolemy, instead of the earth round the sun, as in the
Copernican system, the nearest fixed star in every second
must constantly run at the rate of near 100,000 miles.
‘Stop a little!’ cries he; ‘I fancy you have greatly
under-rated the velocity required; but I will calculate
it at home.’ And, on his second visit, he brought me a
slip of paper, written by his sister, as he, I suppose,
had dictated. ‘Here we see that Sirius, if it revolved
round the earth, would move at the rate of 1426 millions
of miles per second. Hence the required velocity of
Sirius in its orbit would be above 7305 times greater
than that of light.’ This is all that I had to correct of
doctrine in the first five books! And he was so humble as
to protest that I knew more of the _history_ of astronomy
than he did himself; and that I had surprised him by the
mass of information that I had gotten together.

“In arranging another lecture, he flattered me much in a
note, by saying that, if I should be disengaged on a day
that he mentioned, it would give him pleasure to devote
it to the continuation of ‘our’ poetical history. This is
adoption!

“He came, and his good wife accompanied him; and I read
four books and a half. * * * And on parting, still more
humble than before, or still more amiable, he thanked me
for the instruction and entertainment I had given him!

“What say you to that? ‘Can anything be grander?’ And
all without knowing a word of what I have written of
himself; all his discoveries, as you may remember, being
kept back for the twelfth and last book. Adod! I begin to
be a little conceited! * * * So God bless you, the dear
Gardener, and the Alexandretto.

“But hold! on the first evening Herschel spent at
Chelsea, when I called for my Argand lamp, Herschel, who
had not seen one of those lamps, was surprised at the
great effusion of light; and immediately calculated the
difference between that and a single candle, and found it
as sixteen to one.”

MR. SEWARD.

But before this year terminated, Dr. Burney had yet another, and a very sensible loss, through the death of Mr. Seward; who was truly a loss, also, to all by whom he was known. He was a man of sound worthiness of character, of a disposition the most amiable, and invested with a zeal to serve his friends, nay, to serve even strangers, that knew no bounds which his time or his trouble could remove.

He was pleasing and piquant in society; and, though always shewing an alacrity to sarcasm in discourse, in action he was all benevolence.

Yet he was eccentric, even wilfully; and wilfully, also, inconsistent, if not capricious; but he was constantly in a state of suffering, from some internal and unfathomable obstructions, which generally at night robbed him of rest; and frequently, in the day, divested him of self command.[52]

He was author of a very agreeable and amusing, though desultory, collection of anecdotes, entitled Biographiana.[53]

CHELSEA ARMED ASSOCIATION.

Still in his prime seemed Dr. Burney, in defiance either of years or of misfortune, for the free use of his unimpaired faculties, when called upon to any exertion.

On the anniversary of the birth-day of his Majesty George III., in 1799, a body of Cavalry of between 8000 and 9000 men, bearing the name of the Chelsea Armed Association, mounted, exercised, clothed and equipped at their own expense, under the command of an honorary Colonel, Matthew Yateman, Esq., mustered in the courts and precincts of Chelsea College, in full display of their military force and equipment. They were received with every honourable testimony to their noble zeal, and unparalleled liberality, by the Governor of the College, the principal officers, and the Chaplain: while the colours were presented to them by a daughter[54] of North, Bishop of Winchester.

Dr. Burney had the pleasure to compose a march for this brave corps; to play the organ upon the consecration of the colours; and, after the minutest investigation, and unsparing research into all that was most correct, and most distinguished of ancient practice upon similar ceremonies, to draw up the order for its procession.

The delight of the Doctor at this brilliant and disinterested loyalty in so large a body of volunteers, made his rendering it any assistance a true and lively self-gratification: the committee, however, of this armed association, thought it so much obliged for his services, that a vote of thanks was unanimously passed; and was publicly conveyed to him by the commander, Colonel Yateman.

He was too sensible to this mark of courtesy to receive it unmoved, and hastened back the following answer:

“15th JUNE, 1799.

“_To_ MATTHEW YATEMAN, ESQ., _Commandant of the Chelsea
Armed Association._

“Sir,

“I cannot resist the desire with which the testimony
of your approbation, and that of the special committee
of the Chelsea Armed Association has impressed me, of
returning thanks for the thanks with which you have
honoured me for a small service, in the performance of
which I had infinite pleasure. And, loving my country,
and its established government as I do, I shall, to the
last hour of my life, regard the loyalty, zeal, and
truly patriotic spirit of your very respectable corps,
manifested on the

King’s birth-day, as the most honourable to his Majesty
and to his subjects, which any country has ever shewn.

“We know that the Roman legions were _paid_, as well as
the individuals of every other army, ancient or modern;
and that the title of soldier is derived from _solidus_,
a piece of money; but a body of eight or nine thousand
men, voluntarily mounted, exercised, and clothed at their
own expense, is an instance of such real patriotism as
does not, perhaps, occur in the history of the world.
I feel, therefore, proud of my country, and the noble
efforts it is making to avert the misery and horrors with
which Gallic principles and plunder have desolated the
rest of Europe, and shook the globe.

“I have the honour to be,

“Sir, &c.

“CHARLES BURNEY.”

“_Chelsea College, June 15th, 1799._”

SONG ON THE NAVAL VICTORIES.

The Doctor wrote, also, a song upon the naval victories, of which the battle of the Nile was the climax. It was designed to stir the feelings of the multitude; and the language was familiar, and suited to that purpose. He set it to music himself; and the air was of the most popular, and what he called hallaballoo species, that he could compose; his only wish being to adapt it for a street-singing ballad. The following is his own account of it, written to the Hermitage:—

1799.

* * * “Pray take note, that I have made a song on the
five naval British heroes of the present war, to an easy
popular tune, which any one with a good ear may sing by
memory, after twice hearing. To this I was provoked by
Lady Spencer’s complaining to me, that though several
pretty poems, and a few good songs had been produced by
our late victories, yet there were no good new tunes. I
have gotten Lady Harrington to send a copy of this naval
ditty, both words and music, to the Queen at Windsor: and
I have sent another copy to Lady Spencer herself, who has
bestowed upon me the following flattering answer:

“‘Dear Sir,

“‘I should have returned you my best thanks for your
excellent song, and popular air, as soon as I received
them; but I have been severely ill: * * * however, I am
now somewhat recovered, and able to thank you; which I do
most sincerely. I wish you would get it sung at Covent
Garden theatre: that is always the progress of these kind
of songs; they begin on the stage, and come thence into
the street; and this last step is the highest honour such
music can look to. I declare that whoever composed ‘Rule
Britannia,’ is next to Handel in my list of composers.
That your song may have the same honour, and have it
long, my dear Sir, I most heartily hope. I am sure your
talents and your excellent intentions, deserve such fame.

“‘I am, dear Sir, &c. “‘LAV. SPENCER.’

“Mrs. Crewe, and two or three more, to whom I have
communicated this patriotic hallaballoo, join in the
opinion of Lady Spencer, that it should be sung at the
theatres. That, however, should it be thought worth
while, must be negociated by some one else—not by me.

“Lord and Lady Spencer are charming people: _he_, now
first Lord of the Admiralty, is everything one could wish
a man, in his high station, to be; active, accessible,
and well-bred. In private life, a lover of literature and
talents; manly at once, and elegant in his pursuits; and
a model for husbands, for fathers, and for masters. _She_
has a natural cheerfulness and sport about her, joined to
considerable acquirement; designs and paints well; is a
good musician; and has a keenness in reading characters
which I have but lately found out; with great eagerness
for knowledge of whatever is the subject of conversation.

“_7th Nov._—Well, Lady Harrington has received the most
gracious of requests relative to my ballad; and it is
written by Her Royal Highness the Princess Elizabeth:

“‘Mamma has just commanded me to beg you to return Dr.
Burney her thanks for the song he has sent her, which she
has already sung; and she thinks it has so much merit,
that she wishes Dr. Burney would give her leave to send
it to Covent Garden theatre, to be performed there; for
she thinks the tune so pretty and simple, that it will
become popular.’”

Highly gratified was the Doctor by this gracious command,
which he eagerly obeyed; and the song was performed when
their Majesties next indulged the public with their
presence at the theatre.

1799.

In the Doctor’s memorandums of this year, are the following paragraphs upon the Duke of Leeds and Lord Palmerston: