I believe I told you in my last of another party we were to have with the King of Abyssinia. I heartily wished you had been here, for the evening proved very agreeable. I will give you our party. The first who came was Mr. Solly. He is a brother of a merchant in the city, and a great traveller. He met my father at four several places in Italy, all accidentally, namely, at Bologna, Florence, Rome, and Naples. Since that time he has been wandering to many more remote places. But what occasioned his being invited for this evening is that he had met with Mr. Bruce at Alexandria and Grand Cairo. He is a very chatty man — good tempered and lively. He has a little of the affectation of a travelled gentleman, and is very full of prate. He and my father “fought all their battles o’er again” in a very sprightly conversation which lasted till the arrival of Mr and Miss Bagnall.
Mr. Bagnall is a man of large fortune. His manners are infinitely elegant; he is all attention and politeness. He is an elderly man, but still very handsome, and his face is a very bad index if he is not an amiable, sensible, and benevolent man.... His daughter is about twenty. She is tall and well made, with a fair complexion; but otherwise is rather plain, having very bad features. She is sensible and reserved, yet by no means seems worthy of such a father as she has to boast of, for her manners are unformed and rather uncouthe.
Mr. Burney and Hetty arrived next; and after them Mr and Miss Strange. And then came Mr. Bruce and his friend Mr. Nesbitt.
Mr. Bruce was in the most perfect good humour — all civility and pleasantry, and his smiles diffused a general cheerfulness which every one partook of. As to Mr. Nesbitt he is a young Scotchman of distinction: he is conceited, self-sufficient, and puppyish. He spoke very little, except to Mr. Bruce, and to him always in a whisper. He is heir to a monstrous fortune, which is lucky for him, as it will be the only thing which will recommend him.... Mr. Bruce himself holds him very cheap, and I cannot imagine why he introduced him here. That you may not think me severe I will tell you a little circumstance that will, with you, I am sure, justify my opinion. I was talking to Miss Strange t’other day about this coxcomb, and observing how politely he amused himself with whispering to Mr. Bruce. “Shall I tell you,” said she, “what he whispered about? He was telling Mr. Bruce of a certain lady of quality he had seen at the Opera the night before, who was so well pleased with him that she appointed him to wait on her the next evening at 9 o’clock, and therefore, he said, he must shorten his visit at your house.” What think you of this? She added that Mr. Bruce gave so little weight to his intelligence, that he scrupled not to doubt of every particular, which he told to Mrs. Strange with no little laughter.
But I have not yet mentioned all our party. The rear was brought up by Dr. Russel, a learned and travelled physician, who was acquainted with Mr. Bruce at Aleppo, where he resided some years. He appears to be a droll, clever, and rather original character. He is so fond of the human face divine that he looks at no other object, for his eyes are never for a moment fixed upon the ground or upon anything inanimate, but always upon the phiz of some one of the company —
[From Mr. CRISP to Miss F. BURNEY.]
Chesington, April 18th.
Dear Fannikin Tho’ fingers are crippley and left arm lame, I shall not spare them to tell you, you are at last (after a hard fight with you) a tolerable (not very tolerable, observe) good Girl You make such a rout about my sisters seeing what you are pleased to call “your trifling stuff” &c. &c. &c., that I could beat you. I thought you had more taste, but no; ’tis not want of taste; ’tis a way young girls have got by habit, and, as it were, mechanically, of making mille façons, without a shadow of reason. You cannot but know that trifling, that negligence, that even incorrectness, now and then in familiar epistolary writing, is the very soul of genius and ease; and that if your letters were to be fine-labour’d compositions that smelt of the lamp, I had as lieve they [travelled elsewhere.] So no more of that, Fanny, and thou lov’st me. Dash away, whatever comes uppermost; and believe me you’ll succeed better, than by leaning on your elbow, and studying what to say.
One thing more, and I have done: Rest assured, that the unconnected rattle you tax yourself with, is exactly the same sort of thing, as that “nonsense” which we are told is “Eloquence in Love.”
Now for Jem’s letter, which I am much pleas’d with. What I am so much pleas’d with, above the rest, is to observe that caution and guardedness in his descriptions and accounts, that indicate a maturity of judgement, that is more frequently to be wish’d than found in a warm, bold buck of his time of life and profession. This uncommon and valuable quality at so early a period, promises and seems almost to insure future success.
I am so far from being tir’d with your long letters, as you call them, that I only wish them a quire apiece, and all that stuff about reading them at my leisure, and the impossibility of getting through them at once, &c. &c. &c., is of a piece with “the ringing of the Bellman;”
“being come to the bottom of your page,” and the rest of those usual sprightly conclusions, which if you’ll take my opinion, are rather too much hackneyed for my Fanny’s use.
You young devil, you! you know in your conscience, I devour greedily your journalizing letters, and you once promised they should be weekly journals, tho’ now you fight off, both in your declarations and your practice. — I desire you would reform both. Take my word for’t, Miss Davis will lose her law-suit. I am glad to find the Abysinian King mends upon your hands. Pray are not the Strange’s going to live abroad?.... Write me more about your Daddy. Will he come here at Whitsuntide?
* * * * * * * *
[Miss BURNEY to Mr. CRISP, Monday, April, 1775, endorsed by Mr. CRISP “April 24.”] letter, which was on occasion of carrying Miss Bell Strange thence after she had been with my mother and me to the School Ball in Queen Square. He was extremely out of sorts, because there was some company in the room (Dr. Smith and a lady) who did not please him. How Dr. Smith offended him I know not, but as to the lady Miss Strange told me that she had too much tongue, and had fatigued his Majesty.
Last night Andrew Strange drank tea here. He is the second son, and now at Oxford. He is a very pretty young man. He told us that he had been in the morning with a party who had the honour of seeing Mr. Bruce’s collection of curiosities. He spoke of them very highly, particularly of the drawings, which he declares are delightful. He said it was to be the last morning of exhibiting them, as he only wishes them to be sufficiently seen to make their fame induce the Government to be at the expense of publication. He sends them all to-day privately to Dr. Hunter’s Museum; “But,” said Andrew, ‘* he intends the world to think they are gone to Scotland, that he may not be solicited to shew them any more.” He added that the morning had proved very agreeable, not only because the collection was extremely curious, but also, he said, “Because his Majesty was less relentless than usual.”
I am sorry to tell you that the advertisement you have seen about the Stranges is true; the whole family are going abroad — they say for two years, but I fear for life — I shall extremely regret all of them, though most particularly Mrs. Strange, who has more goodness and wit that I ever before saw united in one woman.... All the family merit regard and esteem — The reason of Mr. Strange’s quitting England is a disgust he has taken at being excluded from being a member of the Royal Academy. You know his principles, and therefore will not wonder either at the exclusion or the disgust.
My father’s History goes on very slowly indeed at present. The town is very full. He teaches from nine to nine almost every day, and has scarce time to write a page a week. Nobody besides himself could write a word so circumstanced.
His health and hand are, I hope, rather better, however, very little, for never surely was an attack more obstinate.
I have been just interrupted by a visit from Dr. King, which as it proved short, and very ridiculous, I cannot forbear relating. I think you know him — if you do — you must remember how prosing, affected, and very fine he is. But this mornin
g he took it into his head to be quite flighty. Mama was out — Sue and I at home. After the first common speeches, he enquired of me for his snuff. (You must know he, a long time since, gave me some snuff in charge for him, as he likes a pinch now and then, though he does not regularly take it. This snuff I have always unfortunately mislaid, or lost, and been frequently upbraided, I had therefore promised to put it in a box for him — but after he went I had thought no more of it.) Shamming a little confusion, I confessed I knew not where it was. He reproached me with great gravity, said he had depended upon me, but found he had mistaken his man — but desired me to take no more trouble about it. “You come so seldom,” cried I, “that it is too much for me to remember from time to time.”
“What?” cried he, “you forget me then?” God forbid I should not! thought I, but only said “I forget your snuff, Sir.”
“Very well,” answered he, solemnly. “I find I was mistaken! I had pitched upon you! There is my good friend Mrs. Burney would most cheerfully have undertaken the charge — there is Sukey wished to have had it — and Bessy almost quarrelled with me about it — but I picked you out of the herd, as the one whom I expected most from—”
“O! I have just recollected,” exclaimed I, “the reason why I did not buy a box — you must know I put it off in order to chuse it at the Fièra in Mascherata, to-night — I was determined it should be elegant — and I thought you would like it the better for the place it came from.”
“No, no,” said he, “don’t take any more trouble about it” Then starting up he said he could stay no longer, but that he would not take any further notice of me! He then went up to Susette, and, casting a look of reproach at me, said—” Come, I’ll shake hands with Sukey.”
I bore this great stroke with all imaginable patience, though I believe he expected I should have wept at least — and I suffered him very quietly to go to the door — which he had no sooner reached, than — unable, I suppose, to act with so much cruelty — he turned hastily back, and hurrying back to me, took my hand, patted my cheek, and genteely called me a little hussey. — I again wished him good-morning. He then renewed his reproaches — and said, if any other person had used him so ill, he should not have minded it — but — cried he, in a raised voice, and suddenly flinging himself into a theatrical attitude—” But there — where I had treasured up my heart! — There — where — O fye! fye! fye!” — He then opened the door — and half shutting it again, repeated in an emphatic manner— “Excellent wretch! — perdition catch my soul—” He did not wait to finish his rhapsody, but left the house, suddenly, on seeing John, the man, coming into the parlour —
I think I never told you that Mr. Hutton — curious after every thing and body — had a most anxious desire to be introduced to Mr. Bruce — whose enterprise he regards with a kind of veneration, and reveres the man who has made travels so extraordinary and dangerous. Accordingly he begged my father to speak of him to Mr. Bruce.... My father, who loves the character of this original man, complied with his request, and spoke of him in terms so advantageous to the Abyssinian King that he graciously condescended to admit him. He was very civil also to him, which I think is somewhat to his honour, considering that Mr. Hutton’s appearance is by no means in his favour, as he wears an old wig and shabby clothes. But he is a good being: and I think you would, all together, oddities and all, like him —
Adieu, my dearest Sir. I will write again next Monday, according to your desire — provided I hear of or from you between this and then. I do assure you I could not wade through so much writing were it not for the reward of seeing your hand in return —
My love and compts., and so forth,
I am ever, my dear Daddy,
Your obliged and affectionate
F. BURNEY.
Monday, April May 8th.
This month is called a tender one. It has proved so to me — but not in me. I have not breathed one sigh, — felt one sensation, — or uttered one folly the more for the softness of the season. However I have met with a youth whose heart, if he is to be credited, has been less guarded — indeed it has yielded itself so suddenly, that had it been in any other month — I should not have known how to have accounted for so easy a conquest.
The first day of this month I drank tea and spent the evening at Mr. Burney’s, at the request of my sister, to meet a very stupid family, which she told me it would be charity to herself to give my time to. This family consisted of Mrs. O’Connor and her daughter, by a first marriage, Miss Dickenson, who, poor creature, has the misfortune to be deaf and dumb. They are very old acquaintances of my grandmother Burney, to oblige whom my sister invited them. My grandmother and two aunts therefore were of the party: — as was also Mr. Barlow, a young man who has lived and boarded with Mrs. O’Connor for about two years.
Mr. Barlow is rather short, but handsome. He is a very well bred,.... good-tempered and sensible young man..... He bears an excellent character both for disposition and morals. He has read more than he has conversed, and seems to know but little of the world; his language [therefore] is stiff and uncommon, [and seems laboured, if not affected] — he has a great desire to please, but no elegance of manners; neither, though he may be very worthy, is he at all agreeable.
Unfortunately, however, he happened to be prodigiously civil to me, and though I have met with much more gallantry occasionally, yet I could not but observe a seriousness of attention much more expressive than complimenting.
As my sister knew not well how to wile away the time, I proposed, after supper, a round of cross questions. This was agreed to. Mr. Barlow, who sat next to me, took near half an hour to settle upon what he should ask me, and at last his question was — What I thought most necessary in Love? I answered — Constancy. I hope for his own sake he will not remember this answer long, though he readily subscribed to it at the time.
The coach came for me about eleven. I rose to go. He earnestly entreated me to stay one or two minutes. I did not, however, think such compliance at all requisite, and therefore only offered to set my grandmother down in my way. The party then broke up. Mrs. O’Connor began an urgent invitation to all present to return the visit the next week. Mr. Barlow, who followed me, repeated it very pressingly, to me, hoping I would make one. I promised that I would.
When we had all taken leave of our host and hostess, my grandmother, according to custom, gave me a kiss and her blessing. I would fain have eluded my aunts, as nothing can be so disagreeable as kissing before young men; however, they chose it should go round; and after them Mrs. O’Connor also saluted me, as did her daughter, desiring to be better acquainted with me. This disagreeable ceremony over, Mr. Barlow came up to me, and making an apology, which, not suspecting his intention, I did not understand, — he gave me a most ardent salute! I have seldom been more surprised. I had no idea of his taking such a freedom. However, I have told my good friends that for the future I will not chuse to lead, or have led, so contagious an example. [I wonder so modest a man could dare be so bold.]
He came down stairs with us and waited at the door, I believe, till the coach was out of sight.
Four days after this meeting, my mother and Mrs. Young happened to be in the parlour when I received a letter which, from the strong resemblance of the handwriting [in the direction] to that of Mr. Crisp, I immediately opened and thought came from Chesington; but what was my surprise to see “Madam,” at the beginning, and at the conclusion, “ Your sincere admirer and very humble servant Thos. Barlow.”
I read it three or four times before I could credit my eyes. An acquaintance so short, and a procedure so hasty astonished me. It is a most tender epistle, and contains a passionate declaration of attachment, hinting at hopes of a return^ and so forth.
[From MR. BARLOW to Miss BURNEY.]
Madm, — Uninterrupted happiness we are told is of a short duration, and is quickly succeeded by Anxiety, which moral Axiom I really experienc’d on the Conclusion of May day at Mr. Charles Burney’s, as the singular
Pleasure of your Company was so soon Eclips’d by the rapidity of ever-flying Time; but the felicity, tho’ short, was too great to keep within the limits of one Breast, I must therefore intreat your Pardon for the Liberty I take, in attempting to reiterate the satisfaction I then felt, and paying a Tythe of Justice to the amiable Lady from whom it proceeded, permit me then Madm, with the greatest sincerity, to assure you, that the feelings of that Evening were the most refined I ever enjoy’d, and discovered such a latent Spring of Happiness from the Company of the Fair, which I had positively before then been a Stranger to; I had ‘til then thought, all Ladys might be flatter’d, but I now experience the contrary, and am assur’d, Language cannot possibly depict the soft Emotions of a mind captivated by so much Merit; and have now a Contest between my ardorous Pen, stimulated by so pleasing and so just a subject, on the one side, and a dread of being accused of Adulation on the other; however, endeavouring at Justice, and taking Truth (in her plainest Attire) for my Guide, I will venture to declare, that the Affability, Sweetness, and Sensibility, which shone in your every Action, lead me irresistably to Love and Admire the Mistress of them, and I should account it the road to the highest Felicity, if my sincerity might in any degree meet your Approbation; as I am persuaded that is the first Principle, which can be offer’d as a foundation for the least hope of a Lady’s regard; and I must beg leave to observe, I greatly admire that Quality which yourself so justly declar’d, was most necessary in Love, I mean CONSTANCY, from which I would presume to infer, that we are naturally led from Admiration, to Imitation and Practice; All which in being permitted to declare to you — would constitute my particular happiness, as far as Expression could be prevail’d on to figure the Ideas of the Mind; meanwhile I woud particularly Request, you would condescend to favour me with a Line, in which I hope to hear you are well, and that you will honour us with your Company with good Mrs. Burney and Family some day next week, which that Lady is to fix; in which request I trust we shall not be deny’d, as ‘twill not be possible to admit separating so particularly desirable a part of the Company, and as I am persuaded we are honoured with your Assent to the Engagement:
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 484