“O! this is not your acquaintance — this is her sister—”
“No!” cried he—” well, I never saw any thing so like! I really thought it was Miss Burney!”
Helas! what flattery! But still I was puzzled to think who it was, till by papa’s conversation I discovered at last he was Lord Pigot,... who I had heard was of the party yesterday at Mrs. Pleydell’s. But how fortunate it was for me that papa chanced to be at home — I should have been horridly confused at his mistake else, for nothing on earth is so disagreeable as to be obliged to tell any body you don’t know them; — it is mortifying on both sides. His Lordship did papa the honour to invite him and Hetty, he said to a concert, and to spend the evening at his house.... Younger sisters are almost different beings from elder ones, but, thank God, it is quite and unaffectedly without repining or envy that I see my elder sister so continually gad about and visit, etc, when I rest at home. I fancy Lord Pigot is a very agreeable man — he is undoubtedly polite and lively. Charles and I sup alone. We are reading that satirical, entertaining poem the “New Bath Guide” — but I have read very little lately, tho’ I doat on nothing equally; but I have had sufficient employment in working — [In speaking of Lord Pigot’s taking me for Hetty,] my papa accounted for the mistake by saying— “You may have observed, my Lord, that people who live together, naturally catch the looks and air of one another, and, without having one feature alike, they contract a something in the whole of the countenance which strikes one as a resemblance. There are two ladies who your Lordship very likely has seen, Mrs. Greville and Mrs. Crewe, mother and daughter. In examining their faces, they are as different as one face can be from another; yet by living together, they have accustom’d themselves so much to the same habits and manners, that I never see one, without thinking of the other.”
* * * * *
[The entries of several days are cut away or obliterated.]
Thursday, June.
What an age since I last wrote! I have been wavering in my mind whether I should ever again touch this Journal, unless it were to commit it to the flames — for this same mind of mine would fain persuade me that this same Journal of mine is a very ridiculous — trifling, and useless affair; and as such, would wisely advise me to part with it for ever — but I felt at the same time a regret, a loss of some thing in forbearing to here unburthen myself the pleasure which (in imagination at least) awaits me in the perusal of these sheets hereafter, pleaded strongly in favour of continuing to encrease them — and now that I have once more taken courage to begin, I think and already feel twice the content I did while this dear little book was neglected.
I have much to write, and as I am to day entirely alone, why I have both time and opportunity, but as I am not at present much inclined to be particular — I shall only mention a few occurrences that are past. —
In the first place, my sister and self lately spent the evening at Mrs. Pringle’s. — Her party was — Mr. Scot, preceptor to the King when Prince of Wales — Mr. Seton, and Mrs. and Mr. Debbieg, his sister, and brother in law, who are a very polite, sensible couple. The company divided into little partys immediately — Mr. Debbieg — his lady, Mrs. Pringle and Andrew went to cards — a diversion I always avoid — Mr. Seton and Hetty amused themselves very comfortably together.... in an uninterrupted tete-a-tete. If Mr. Scot had not been there, I should have made some excuse for coming home; but as he was, I was extremely well contented to stay, for he disliked cards as much as myself, and very good naturedly devoted the whole evening — (till supper separated parties) to me. That he is very clever, his office of Preceptor ought to make undoubted — and he is very sociable and facetious too, and entertained me extremely with droll anecdotes and storys among the Great [and about the Court.... All the party was surprised to see that he would, and that I could be so sociable and intimate, but he was so good-natured and unassuming that I was quite at my ease with him.]
Not long after, Mrs. Debbieg and Mr. Seton called here... to invite Hetty and me to drink tea and spend the evening with the former. — Hetty joyfully accepted the invitation — it was not convenient for me to go, and so she made my excuses. She spent an exceeding agreeable evening — they all made very civil enquirys about me, and... Mr. Seton offered to fetch me, so did Andrew — and Mr. Debbieg himself — but Hetty, who knew I should not be delighted to see them all here, made excuses for me.
* * * * *
Miss Crawford called here lately — she is very earnest for us to visit her — but we are not very earnest about the matter: — however, the code of custom make our spending one evening with her necessary. O! how I hate this vile custom which obliges us to make slaves of ourselves! — to sell the most precious property we boast, our time; — and to sacrifice it to every prattling impertinent who chooses to demand it! — Yet those who shall pretend to defy this irksome confinement of our happiness, must stand accused of incivility, — breach of manners — love of originality, — and... what not. But, nevertheless,... they who will nobly dare to be above submitting to chains their reason disapproves, they shall I always honour — if that will be of any service to them! For why should we not be permitted to be masters of our time? — Why may we not venture to love, and to dislike — and why, if we do, may we not give to those we love the richest jewel we own, our time? — What is it can stimulate us to bestow that on all alike?— ’tis not affection— ’tis not a desire of pleasing — or if it is, ’tis a very weak one; — no! ’tis indolence— ’tis custom — custom — which is so woven around us — which so universally commands us — which we all blame — and all obey, without knowing why or wherefore — which keeps our better reason, which sometimes dares to shew it’s folly, in subjection — and which, in short, is a very ridiculous affair, more particularly as it hath kept me writing on it till I have forgot what introduced it — I feel myself in no excellent mood — I will walk out and give my spirits another turn, and then resume my pen.
Sunday afternoon. June.
Now don’t imagion that because I have not wrote sooner since the walk I proposed taking in order to amend my spirits and temper, I have so ill succeeded as not to have gain’d the desired point till now — no, no, I have been in most exceeding good humour I assure you, tho’ not at all inclined to write: nor indeed am I at present, but as I believe I shall not have time to employ myself in this pretty manner again soon, and as I have a most remarkable and very interesting affair to relate, I have resolved, neck or nothing, to take the pen once again in hand. This same affair is that —
My papa went last Monday to Oxford, in order to take a Doctor’s Degree in Musick: Is not that a grand affair? — He composed an Anthem by way of exercise to be perform’d on the occasion, in which [his pupil] Miss Barsanti was to be the principal singer, and make her first appearance in publick — His Anthem was performed last Thursday, and gave much satisfaction — indeed the musick of it is delightful — Poor Barsanti was terrified to death, and her mother, who was among the audience, was so much affected, that she fainted away; but by immediate assistance soon revived. However, notwithstanding her fears and apprehensions, Barsanti came off with flying colours and met with great applause — My dear, kind papa wrote us a short note to let us know all was well over the moment the performance was finished — The very great kindness of his thinking of us at so busy a time, I shall remember with the most grateful pleasure all my life — As Hetty keeps the letter... I will copy it here, for I shall always love to read it: —
“Oxford, Thursday June 22nd,
“post 2 o’clock.
“My dear Girls,
“I know it will please you much to hear that the performance of my Anthem is just very well over, not one mistake of consequence — Barsanti did extremely well, and all was much applauded — I shall to-morrow have both my Degrees (for I must first take that of Batchelor of Musick) with great unanimity and reputation — Dr. Hayes is very civil; and lends me his robe with a very good grace — Adieu — I know not when I shall get home.
” ——
This made us extremely happy. We have pass’d this week quite alone, but very comfortably and cheerfully. And now for something concerning myself, at which I am a little uneasy.
As I found Friday was to be the Day of Days that my father took his degrees, as soon as we had read this letter, I ran upstairs and wrote one to him in verse — which I am horridly afraid he will think impertinent — I read it to Hetty before I sent it, and she persuaded me it would merely have the effect I intended, namely to make him laugh — I wish it may, but I shan’t be happy till he comes home — I will copy from memory the foolish thing I sent, ’tis an attempt at Cranbo — and a poor one enough. —
TO DOCTOR LAST.
1.
O aid me, ye Muses of ev’ry degree,
O give me the standish of Mulberry Tree
Which was cut for the Author of “Ferney”;
O give me a quil to the stump worn by Gray,
And paper which cut was on Milton’s birth-day,
To write to the great Doctor Burney.
2.
O Doctor, of Doctors, the Last and the Best,
By Fortune most honoured, distinguished and blest,
And may you for ever be her nigh!
O smile (if a Doctor’s permitted to smile),
Your new acquire gravity lessen awhile
To read this, O dread Doctor Burney.
3
For the letter most kind we to day did receive
With grateful affection our bosoms do heave;
And to see you, O grave Sir! how yearn I!
’Tis true the time’s short since you last was in town,
Yet both fatter and taller you doubtless are grown,
Or you’ll make but a poor Doctor Burney.
4
For I never can think of a Doctor, not big
As a Falstaff, and not with a full bottom’d wig,
And the sly air Fame gives an atterney;
Not more at the bag did the citizens stare
Of Harley, when Harley was made a Lord Mayor,
Than I at the thin Doctor Burney.
5
O! may Wisdom, which still to Good Humour gives birth,
May fatness with dignity, goodness with mirth,
Still attend you, and speed your town journey!
And O! till the hour that Death us shall part
May Fanny a corner possess of the heart
Of the owner of her’s, Doctor Burney!
Mersh, June 29th.
Thursday Night
We are arrived thus far on our journey to Lynn —
Papa came home from Oxford on Sunday night, as we expected — We ran to meet him with as much joy as if instead of a week’s, we had groan’d at a year’s absence — I had frighten’d myself not a little before he came, lest he should be angry at my pert verses — but the moment he arrived, I forgot everything but the pleasure of seeing him. He was more kind — more affectionate than ever; if possible — tho’ he two or three times called me “Saucy Girl!” of which however, I wisely chose to take no notice, rather preferring to drop the subject. Notwithstanding his extreme hurry and business, he had thought of us when at Woodstock, and most kindly brought us both presents from that place — but the best thing he showed us was the Oxford Journal, in which his affair was mentioned. Who write it we know not, but I will copy the paragraph. —
[From the] Oxford Journal, June 23rd.
“On Thursday last was performed in the Musick School an Anthem composed by Mr. Charles Burney, of Poland Street, London, as an Exercise for the Degree of Doctor of Musick: which was received with universal applause, and allowed by the judges of musical merit to be the most elegant and ingenious performance that was ever exhibited here on the like occasion. The vocal parts were performed by Miss Barsanti (being the first time of her appearance in publick) Messrs. Norris, Mathews, Price, Millar, etc.; the instrumental by Mr. Burney, the composer — Messrs. Malchair, Charles Burney Junr., Richard Burney, Park, Pasquali, Lates etc., And yesterday Mr. Burney was admitted to his Degree, to which he was introduced ex officio by the Rev.
Mr. Hornsby, Savilian Professor of Astronomy. The whole of the Musical Performance was conducted by our Professor, Dr. Hayes. Miss Barsanti’s voice and manner of singing were greatly admired, both in the above performance, and in the Musick room on Thursday and Friday nights: and the young lady, who is a scholar of Dr. Burney, will, if we mistake not, in time amply repay the publick any indulgence with which they may be disposed to encourage the becoming diffidence of modest merit.”
There’s for you!— “think of that Master Brooke.” Well, when papa had been returned a short time, unfortunately a play called “Dr. Last in his Chariot” was mentioned by Charles.....
Papa looked at me — I looked any other way—” Oh! you saucy girl,” cried he. Charles appeared curious, I was horridly ashamed. “What do you think,” continued papa, “do you know this abominable girl calls me Dr. Last?” — Charles and Hetty both laughed, and papa took up the letter, and holding it out to me said—” Come, do me the favour of reading this!” — I would fain have torn it, but papa drew it back, and was going to read it — I beg’d him not — but in vain, and so I ran out of the room. But, to own the truth, my curiosity prevailed so far that I could not forbear running downstairs again with more speed than I ran up, and into the next room, where I found.... by papa’s voice and manner that he did not appear displeased — though he half affected to be so — he read it loud — .... “I assure you” said papa, “’tis very good stuff! I read it to Mrs. Playdel, and she was much pleased — particularly with the last stanza — and to one or two of my new Oxford friends at breakfast, and we had a very hearty laugh—”
This was enough — I ran once more upstairs, and lighter than a feather felt my heart!
* * * * * *
O — but one thing has very much vexed me — my papa has read my nonsense to Mrs. Skinner, an intimate acquaintance and a very clever woman, and she insisted on having a copy which papa desired me to write — I was horrid mad, and beg’d most earnestly to be excused, for such trash, however it may serve to read at the moment, must be shocking a second time; but papa would take no denial—” It’s very sufficient,” said he, “for the occasion, and for your age.” However, I am as much mortified at doing this, as if my first fear had been verified, for I cannot at all relish being thus exposed to a deliberate examination —
Lynn Regis,
St. Margts. Church Yard, July.
Once more I take up a pen to write to my Journal, which I thought I never again should do —
We find every body here well. My mama is in better health than ever.... Miss Allen is the same generous, unaffected, lively girl as ever — Susette seems much improved in every particular — Charlotte.... mighty pretty and.... also improved, indeed she is a sweet good girl;.... Bessy is more graceful and more handsome than ever.
* * * *
But I am extremely uneasy at present on the account of my elder brother — so are we all. He told us in his last letter, which we had above half a year ago, that he expected to be home this last Spring — we have long been impatient for his arrival — and we find by the newspaper that the Aquillon, his ship, was paid off last week: what can be the meaning of his not writing to us then? — We know not how to enquire for him, nor where to direct to him — dear, dear fellow! how much do I wish to see him — My papa I perceive is very anxious: he has wrote to town with directions for his journey hither in case of his going there. [I think of him from morning to night from fear of some accident.]
* * * * *
We have nothing but visiting here, and this perpetual round of constrained civilities, to persons quite indifferent to us, is the most provoking and tiresome thing in the world; but it is unavoidable in a country town, where everybody is known, as here. It’s a most unworthy way of spending our precious and irrecoverable time, to devote it to those who know not it’s value — why are we not permitte
d to decline as well as accept visits and acquaintance? It is not that we are ignorant of means to better employ ourselves, but that we dare not pursue them. However, restraint of this kind is much, much less practised or necessary in London than else where — Excuses that are no sooner made than admitted — acquaintance as easily dropped as courted — company chosen or rejected at pleasure — undoubtedly the same plan might be pursued here, but how? with breaking the customs of the place, disobliging the inhabitants, and incurring the censure of the town in general, as unsociable, proud, or impertinent innovators. Seeing therefore what must be submitted to, ’tis best to assume a good grace, only it’s horrid hard —
Saturday Morn. Aug.
How strange, how unaccountable, yet how prevalent and irresistable is the power of Time! We have not yet heard a word of my brother, but nevertheless I find my uneasiness and grief on his account abate and subside insensibly. I know not how to account for this, for doubtless I could have no fears formerly that are not now equally just, neither is my affection for this dear brother at all diminished. No, indeed! I love him as tenderly and as truly as ever, and I cannot well say more; but still does every morning waken me with less affliction, its edge is blunted, its very name often forgot; the general ease and chearfulness that I see in others not a little contributes to banish my grief. Tis this same Time which has insensibly stolen away my unhappiness that has, and I believe still sooner, robbed them of theirs: — most welcome thief!
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 455