“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 [Pg 257] 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, [Pg 263] 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 [Pg 264] 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 [Pg 268] 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.’
[Pg 270]
“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:
“In 1799 our Literary Club lost one of its noble members in the Duke of Leeds, to whom I had become known from the time of his marriage with Lady Emily d’Arcy, the daughter of my first patron, the Earl of Holdernesse. I had had the honour, also, of frequently meeting him, while Marquis of Carmarthen, in Italy; where he acquired a taste for good modern music, and whence he remembered fragments of Italian operas, and particularly of the opera L’Artigiano felice, to his last hours. He kindly visited Farinelli when at Bologna, and was cordially embraced by him, as the son of his great patron while in England. When he became acquainted with the Miss Anguishes, four young ladies of great accomplishments, and of extraordinary musical powers, he grew fond of the old, or Handelian school of music: and the eldest of these young ladies, whom he afterwards, in second espousals, married, made him a perfectly happy domestic man. He desired Boswell to set him up at our club, which he was fond of visiting; and where his remarkable good breeding and courteous demeanour could not but be appreciated; though he escaped not, from those members who thought themselves more learned, or better informed than himself, the common club-censure of being fonder of talking than listening.
“This year I had much pleasure at the Assemblies of Lady Palmerston, [Pg 272] whose exhilarating character rendered them peculiarly lively. The elegant mansion of her well-known lord, the Viscount, in Hanover Square, was fitted up and furnished with exquisite taste; and its walls were covered with pictures of the first masters; the chief of which had been collected by his great ancestor, Sir William Temple; to which he had added some chef d’oeuvres of modern artists; particularly of Sir Joshua Reynolds, of whom he was still more a friend and admirer than a patron.”
MRS. CREWE.
In the ensuing autumn, when the expedition against Holland was in preparation, Mrs. Crewe prevailed with the Doctor to accompany her and her large party to Dover, to see the embarkation; well knowing the animated interest which his patriotic spirit would take in that transaction. His own lively and spirited, yet unaffected and unpretending account of this excursion, will bring him immediately before those by whom he may yet be remembered.
DOVER.
“Dover, 9th Sept. 1799.
“Why you Fanny!—I did not intend to write you my adventures, but to keep them for vive voix on coming to Camilla Cottage; but the nasty east wind is arrived, to the great inconvenience of our expedition, and of my lungs—all which circumstances put it out of my power to visit [Pg 273] Camilla Cottage at present, as I wished, and had settled in my own mind to do. But let me see—where did I leave off? I believe I have told you of my arrival here, where, at first, I found Mr. Crewe, as you might observe by the frank. But two days after he went to Hythe, where he is now quartered with the Cheshire Militia corps, of which he is Colonel.
“You may be sure that I hastened to visit the harbour and town, which I had not seen for near thirty years * * * Did I tell you Mr. Ryder, our Chelsea joint paymaster, is here, and that we all dined on Wednesday with him and his sposa, Lady Susan? a most sweet creature, handsome, accomplished, and perfectly well-bred, with condescending good-humour; and who sings and plays well, and in true taste. Thursday, bad weather; but Canning came to Longchon to brighten it: and at night I read astronomy to Mrs. Crewe, and her fair, intelligent daughter.
“On Friday, I visited with them Lady Grey, wife of the Commander in Chief, at the Barham Down Camp. I like Lady Grey extremely, notwithstanding she is mother of the vehement parliamentary democrat, Mr. Grey, who is as pleasing, they pretend, as he is violent, which makes him doubly dangerous. She is, indeed, a charming woman, and by everybody honoured and admired; and as she is aunt to our ardent friend Spotty, the Dean of Winchester’s daughter, I was sure to be much flattered and fêted by all her family. Sir Charles’s mother, old Mrs. Grey, now eighty-five, is a great and scientific reader and studier; and is even yet in correspondence with Sir Charles Blagden; who communicates to her all the new philosophical discoveries made throughout Europe. What a distinguished race! The democrat himself,—but for his democracy, strikingly at their head! Mrs. Grey took to me mightily, and would hardly let me speak to anybody else. Saturday we visited Mr. and Lady Mary Churchill, our close neighbours [Pg 274] here, and old acquaintance of mine of fifty years’ standing or more. Next day, after church, I went with Miss Crewe and Canning—I serving for chaperon—to visit the Shakespeare Cliff, which is a mile and more beyond the town: and a most fatiguing clamber to it I found! We took different roads, as our eye pointed out the easiest paths; and, in so doing, on my being all at once missed, Canning and Miss Crewe were so frightened ‘you can’t think!’ as Miss Larolles would say. They concluded I had tumbled headlong down the Cliff! It has furnished a story to every one we have seen ever since; and that arch clever rogue, Canning, makes ample use of it, at Walmer Castle, and elsewhere. ‘Is there any news?’ if he be asked, his ready answer is, ‘only Dr. Burney is lost again!’
“This day, 5th September, pray mind! I went to Walmer Castle with Mrs. and Miss Crewe, to dine with Lady Jane Dundas—another charming creature, and one of my new flirtations; and Mr. Pitt dined at home. And Mr. Dundas, Mr. Ryder, Lady Susan, Miss Scott, the sister of the Marchioness of Titchfield,[55] and Canning, were of the party; with the Hon. Colonel Hope, Lady Jane’s brother. What do you think of that, Ma’am? Mr. Pitt!—I liked this cabinet dinner prodigiously. Mr. Pitt was all politeness and pleasantly. He has won Mrs. Crewe’s, and even Miss Crewe’s heart, by his attentions and good-humour. My translation of the hymn, ‘Long live the Emperor Francis!’ was very well sung in duo by Lady Susan Ryder and Miss Crewe; I joining in the chorus. Lady Jane Dundas is a good musician, and has very good taste. I not only played this hymn of Haydn’s setting, but Suwarrow’s March to the great minister: and though Mr. Pitt neither knows nor cares one farthing for [Pg 275] flutes and fiddles, he was very attentive; and before, and at dinner, his civility to me was as obliging as if I had half a dozen boroughs at my devotion; offering to me, though a great way off him, of every dish and wine; and entering heartily into Canning’s merry stories of my having been lost; and Mrs. Crewe’s relation of my dolorous three sea voyages instead of one, when I came back from Germany; all with very civil pleasantry.
“Monday the 2d. Dine with Sir Charles Grey, and twenty or thirty officers from the camp, for whom he keeps a table, and is allowed ten guineas a day towards that expense alone. Sir Charles placed me on Lady Grey’s right hand, and took the liberty of placing himself on mine! What do you say to that, Ma’am? You cannot imagine how cordially and openly he talked to me on all sort of things that occurred. I only wish he had kept his eldest hopes in better order! However, he is a charming man; very animated, and, for his time of life, very handsome. To Miss Grey,[56] a very sweet girl of ten or eleven, I gave a copy of the hymn and of the march; and made her try them with me; much to the satisfaction of Sir Charles and his lady. Next day, Lady Grey and her young people came to breakfast with Mrs. Crewe; and Lord Palmerston and his eldest son, Mr. Temple,[57] came in the evening. Lord Palmerston is a great favourite of Mrs. Crewe; she would have his character stand for the leading one in the periodical works at which she wants you to preside. Wednesday, we visited the castle at Dover, its Roman towers, and remains, &c.
[Pg 276]
“Thursday, we go to the camp at Barham Downs, and see Mr. Pitt at Sir Charles Grey’s. The Duke of Portland and Lady Mary Bentinck arrive at our house, where they take up their abode. Friday, go with his Grace and the ladies to the parade, where a feu de joie, by two or three thousand militia and regulars, took place for excellent Dutch news. After which, all but the Duke went to the Camp to visit Mr. John Crewe, just appointed Lieutenant-Commandant of the 9th Regiment, and going abroad. The Duke went on horseback to Walmer Castle, and lent me his chaise and four to follow the three ladies, who occupied Mrs. Crewe’s demi-landau. And I dined very comfortably and sociably with the good and gay Sir Charles and his charming Partner, and their engaging young folks. ’Tis a delightful family; all spirit and agreeability. There were likewise a few select officers. I came home alone in the Duke’s carriage and four,—in which Canning reports I was again lost!
“Saturday we go encore to Walmer Castle; Lady Mary Bentinck, Mrs. and Miss Crewe, in Mr. Crewe’s chaise and four; and Mrs. Churchill and I in the Duke’s. His Grace on horseback. The Duke of York was at the Castle; and all were preparing for the third embarkation for Holland, which did not take place till Sunday, the eighth; when we were all called up at five in the morning. The three ladies set out at six for Deal, which is just by Walmer Castle: but the Duke, who took me in his chaise, did not set off till between seven and eight: and we arrived just before the first boat of transports was launched. After seeing five or six launches, in a very high and contrary wind, we gazers all repaired to lunch at Walmer Castle. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dundas all hurry, but all attention to his Royal Highness the Duke of York; and to the business of the day. But just as we were going to depart, Mr. Pitt pressed us to stay and take a scrambling dinner, that we might see the Duke of York [Pg 277] himself launched. This offer was gladly accepted.
“It was truly a scrambling dinner; his Royal Highness, with his aides-de-camp, Lord Chatham, two or three general officers, the Duke of Portland, Mr. Dundas and Lady Jane, and Mrs. Crewe, filled the first table. Lady Mary Bentinck, with her youngest brother, Lord Charles, going also as aide-de-camp to his Royal Highness; Messrs. Ryder and Lady Susan, Miss Scott, Canning, &c. and I, filled the second. Canning is delightful in social parties; full of wit and humour. The cannon on the castle battlements of Walmer and of Deal, and those of all the ships, to the number of at least one hundred and fifty, were fired when his Royal Highness embarked. He looked composed, princely, and noble. It was a very solemn and serious operation to all but the military, who went off in high spirits and glee; though there was a violent east wind against them, which must oblige them to roll about all night, if not all this following day. I pity the sea-sickness of the fresh water sailors more than their fighting. And so here’s my Journal for you up to this day, 9th Sept. 1799. And take note, Lady Jane Dundas, Lady Susan Ryder, and Lady Grey, I regard as my bonnes fortunes in this expedition. All three have pressingly invited me to their houses in town, and begged that our acquaintance may not drop here. And I don’t intend to be cruel!—But for’ll this, I hope to get away in a week; for I dread letting the autumn creep on at a distance from my own chimney corner.”
“15th September, 1799.
“The Duke and Lady Mary left us two days after my last, but a dinner was fixed for Messrs. Pitt, Dundas, Ryder, and Canning, with us at Dover. Now I must give you a little episode. Canning told me that Mr. Pitt had gotten a telescope, constructed under the superintendence of Herschel, which cost one hundred guineas; but that they could make no use of it, as no one of the party had knowledge enough that way to put it together; and, knowing of my astronomical poem, Canning took it for granted that I could help them. The first day I went to Walmer Castle, I saw the instrument, and Canning put a paper in my hand of instructions; or rather, a book, for it consisted of twelve or fourteen pages: but before I had read six lines, company poured in, and I re-placed it in the drawer whence Canning had taken it; and, to say the truth, without much reluctance; for I doubted my competence. I therefore was very cautious not to start the subject! but when I got to Dover, I wrote upon it to Herschel, and received his answer just in time to meet the Dover visit of Mr. Pitt. It was very friendly and satisfactory, as is every thing that comes from Herschel; I shewed it to Mr. Pitt, who read it with great attention, and, I doubt not, intelligence.
“After discussing all the particulars concerning the telescope, Herschel says: ‘When I learn that you are returned to Chelsea, I shall write again on the subject of memorandums that I made when I had the pleasure of hearing your beautiful poetical work.’ This I did not let Mr. Pitt see; but withdrew the letter from him after Herschel had done speaking of the telescope, lest it should seem that I more wished Mr. Pitt should see Herschel’s civilities to me, than his telescopical instructions. But Mrs. Crewe, in the course of the evening, borrowed the letter from me, and shewed it to Lady Jane Dundas; who read it all, and asked what the poetical work meant. Miss Crewe smilingly explained.
“The dinner was very cheerful, you may imagine, for these Messieurs had brought with them the important news of the taking Seringapatam; truly gratifying to Mr. Pitt; but doubly so to Mr. Dundas, who plans and directs all India affairs.
“No one can be more cheerful, attentive, and polite to ladies than Mr. Pitt; which astonishes all those who, without seeing him, have taken for granted that he is no woman’s man, but a surly churl, from the accounts of his sarcastic enemies.
“The Major of Mr. Crewe being ill, Mr. Crewe himself could not dine at home, being obliged to remain at Hythe with his regiment; and, after the ladies left the dining-room, it having been perceived that none drank port but Mr. Pitt and I; the rest all taking claret, which made the passing and repassing the bottle rather awkward; I was voted into the chair at the head of the table, to put the bottle about! and that between the first ministers, Pitt and Dundas! what ‘only think,’ and ‘no notions,’ would Miss Larolles have exclaimed! I, so notorious for always stopping the bottle!
“When we went to the ladies, music and cheerfulness finished the evening. The hymn and the march were not forgotten. In talking over Pizarro, Mr. Pitt related, very pleasantly, an amusing anecdote of a total breach of memory in some Mrs. Lloyd, a lady, or nominal housekeeper of Kensington Palace: ‘being in company,’ he said, ‘with Mr. Sheridan, without recollecting him, while Pizarro was the topic of discussion, she said to him, “And so this fine Pizarro is printed?” “Yes, so I hear,” said Sherry. “And did you ever in your life read such stuff?” cried she. “Why, I believe it’s bad enough!” quoth Sherry; [Pg 280] “but at least, Madam, you must allow it’s very loyal.” “Ah!” cried she, shaking her head, “loyal? You don’t know its author so well as I do?”’
“In speaking, afterwards, of the great number of young men who were just embarked for Holland, Miss Crewe, half jocosely, but no doubt half seriously, said it would ruin all the balls! for where could the poor females find partners? ‘O,’ said Mr. Pitt, with a pretended air of condolence, ‘you’ll have partners plenty—both Houses of Parliament!’
“‘Besides,’ said Canning, ‘you’ll have the whole Bench of Bishops!’
“To be sure nobody laughed! Mr. Pitt, by the way, is a great and loud laughter at the jokes of others; but this was so half his own, that he only made la petite bouche.
“Two days after all this, Mrs. and Miss Crewe brought me on in my way home as far as Canterbury.
“Now what say you? Is this not a belle histoire?”
Not to break into the chain of the far too deeply interesting narrative that must soon follow, the Doctor’s account of the Abbé de Lille and of M. de Calonne will be here inserted, a little before its date.
“19th Nov. 1799.
“I have been at a dejeuné in the neighbourhood of Vauxhall. Mrs. and Miss Crewe called for me, and we went over Battersea bridge to Mr. Woodford’s; where we met Mr. and Mrs. Windham; M. de Calonne; Beau Dillon; M. Du Thé, secretary to Monseigneur le Comte d’Artois; Miss [Pg 281] Thellasson and her brother; and the Abbé de Lille. It has been a very pleasant morning. It is now half-past five, and I am just got home, to dine with our governor and his lady, Sir William and Lady Fawcet, so having a few unappropriated moments, I thought I would tell you my morning adventure.
“We were soon hussled together, and acquainted; and the little Abbé and I were presently quite thick. He is not such a fright as I expected; having been told that he was hideous; which, by the way, is a great advantage to any one previous to an interview. Well, but we prevailed upon him to repeat fragments of some of his best works—his Jardins; his poem on the Imagination; his defence of the Supreme Being, and of Religion in general, against the Chevalier Parry’s Guerre des Dieux, Anciens et Moderns; on the assassination of the Queen of France; a parallel between Milton and Ariosto; and some others.
“His person is not very unlike little Hawkesworth’s, though piu brutto; but he is so natural, cheerful, good-humoured and animated, yet civil, that he wants no further beauty. He repeats his verses all by memory, in a wonderful manner. I like his style of declaiming, as much as the substance and texture of his poetry. In discourse he is a fair reasoner, with excellent principles, moral, religious, and truly philosophical. He and M. de Calonne had a debate on the character of Sieyes, which was well supported on both sides. The Abbé thinks him without heart, without principles, and a coward: the statesman goes still deeper into his character, and says, what is very likely, that he is profound and dangerous; and that, besides his dexterity in falling upon his feet at every revolution since the year 1789, and escaping, though deserving, the vengeance of every party, he hoards separate designs, which only wait opportunity for bursting out in explosions: [Pg 282] that he has probably been in communication with Buonaparte in Egypt, and has been the main-spring of that general’s return to Europe: that the present Revolution, effected by Buonaparte, is deeply laid; and, consequently, is likely to be more permanently mischievous than its predecessors to the French nation, and to humanity: that Sieyes has a great force of self-denial, insomuch that he has not made un sous in all these Revolutions. The Queen, he says, in her terror of this Abbé’s sinister power, had applied to him, (Calonne,) to give Sieyes a bishopric: upon which occasion, Calonne thought proper to remark to him, that, though they might pass by his principles, in religion and government, as he was always a Frondeur, while he kept them to himself, he must now be counselled to remember that his public hostility to them could be no recommendation to church preferment; upon which Sieyes flew out into an unqualified declaration that he wanted no preferment; nor anything beyond what he already possessed, which supplied him with all he required, namely, de quoi manger; ‘a most dangerous independence of defiance, in times such as these,’ said Calonne, ‘as it endears him to the mob; for it persuades them to believe him sincere when he declaims upon equality.’”
1799.
The Doctor then goes on, in brief but cheerful journalizing upon sundry select dinners that had been given at the Duke of Portland’s and at Mr. Crewe’s, for meetings with Lord Macartney, Mr. Canning, Mr. and Mrs. Windham, Miss Hayman, Mr. Frankland, &c. &c., and then thus gaily concludes his letter:
“My cough is better; and so am I; and, as Horace Walpole used to say, ‘I am now at my best—for I shall never be better!’ I work at my astronomy, polish, make notes, &c., and often see Herschel, with whom I dearly love to conjure—as Daddy Crisp called all commerce upon the sciences. I review an article now and then for Griffith; I have had a most comic letter from dear Twi.;[58] I have gotten twenty-nine subscribers for Haydn; and to-morrow I shall have the musical graduates to dine with me.—And now I must run and dress.
“So here’s my history;—and so good night, and God bless you and your Alexanders, the Great and the Little.”
Three days afterwards he writes:
“A Burney party dined with me yesterday; and we were as merry, and laughed as bonnily as the Burneys always do when they get together, and open their hearts, and tell old stories, and have no fear of being quizzed by interlopers.”
About this period, Dr. Burney had become extremely earnest that the recluse of West Hamble should no longer wholly abandon her pen. He had acquiesced in her declining a project which would have occupied, at least involved it, in politics; for politics, save as affecting passing events, he held, abstractedly, to be out of the province of women. To any decided bent he would, nevertheless, have given way; but his own native inclination led him to wish that morals and manners, as swaying society, not as organizing difficulties of state, should employ their faculties: and one of his most constant desires was to see the writings of this recluse engaged by her imagination and her reflections. In relinquishing, therefore, the more ambitious enterprise of Mrs. Crewe, he urged the production of a pastoral tragedy, of which his daughter had shown him the manuscript before her marriage; and which he now pressed her to bring forth with a vivacity that would surely have charmed her into compliance; but that a secret solicitude, a trembling anticipation of anguish had seized so severely upon her earliest and tenderest affections, as wholly to nullify all literary operations.
And, even yet, with what pain does she approach—perforce!—the afflicting subject of the most heart-rending calamity that could then befal Dr. Burney—yet which, even while thus vividly the gayest scenes of his latter years were passing, and thus benignly for the gratification of the Camilla-cottage Hermits, were recording, was almost hourly, though obscurely, impending over his peace!
MRS. PHILLIPS.
Early in October, 1799, the desolating intelligence reached West Hamble, that the lingering sufferings of the inestimable Susanna, from long latently undermining her delicate frame, began openly to menace its destruction.
Dr. Burney, at this period, had received no intimation of the hovering storm, which all around him had for some time feared they saw gathering. To spare him was the united desire of his family, while any probability, however chequered, remained, that no dire and absolute necessity would force the infliction of so fatal a shock.
The disposition of Dr. Burney had aided their wishes, through his native inattention to all evil that was not obtrusive; for evil, indeed, he as little sought as practised. Passive, therefore, on one side, and timid on the other, the month of October, 1799, had arrived, with little comment or discussion upon the precarious health of the precious absentee; for Hope till then was still, even to the most anxious of the apprehensive, predominant—Celestial Hope! more soothing even than transient! more welcome even than delusive! and higher in power of inspiring blissful sensations than can be cancelled even by the misery of disappointment! for while so little of earthly happiness is permanent, how nothingly would be our portion of earthly enjoyment, were the episodes of ideal delights, in the epic poem of human existence, circumscribed by experience, and bounded by reality?
But when, with regard to this affecting subject, an alarm once arose in the family, that, striking even at Hope, showed it fading fast away, and verging on becoming imperceptible; the same filial solicitude took necessarily another turn, from the dread of exposing the parental tenderness of the Doctor to a blow for which he should be utterly unprepared.
How dire then was the task which fell upon this Memorialist, superadded to terrors the most thrilling, and grief the most piercing, of communicating to Dr. Burney, this harrowing menace! of tearing from his eyes those kindly mists, which had obscured from their sight the perspective of danger; and breaking into all the flattering schemes of ultimately calling that darling child “to rock the cradle of declining age,” and sooth and cheer its last days of repose!
The disclosure, however, was now imperative; the moment was come that admitted not of another for delay. A long season of agitating doubt was terminating in an affrighting conviction, that all possibility for averting the fast advancing calamity, was change of air and scene for the drooping sufferer.
The tale, therefore, was unfolded; and all that the truest filial devotion could suggest for mitigating the misery of this tragic confession, was zealously put forward, by an energetic enumeration of the means which might still be essayed, to obviate the difficulties arising from the insurrectional state of Ireland; and the lateness of the season for making the now last attempt—a trial of her natal air—to rescue this treasure, yet a space! from the already opening grave.
The Doctor bore the dreadful intelligence with a taciturn sadness, a gloomy consternation, the most affecting; yet that shewed surprise to have little share in his grief. His heart, during the ardent passions of glowing early manhood, had been rived by a deprivation that had nearly assailed his reason; and ever since that baleful period, he had recoiled from the approach of excessive affliction with a horror of its power over his mind, that made him shut his ears, and close his eyes, on the menace of every sorrow, of which the anticipation would be unavailing.—Such this must have been to him; and from this, therefore, he had sedulously turned aside; though he had long, it is presumable, been latently annoyed by apprehensions to which he had refused examination or harbour: for prognostics there are, where our wills and our wishes are opposed to the probabilities of events, from which no conflicts can rescue our fears, combat as we may to chase them from our thoughts. Prognostics that cross our paths like ruthless spectres; that present phantasms of perils; and that, while shunned in one quarter, start up abruptly in another! that invade the avenues of our most secret ruminations; that flit before even our closed eyes; and pierce across the shattered brain, in forms, shapes, fancies, and scenes, that relentlessly represent to us the appalling view of all we struggle to disbelieve and to discard! To such ineludable prognostics must be attributed the mutely mournful acquiescence that mingled with the heavy mass of woe with which the Doctor listened to these deadly tidings.
Winter now was nearly at hand, and travelling seemed deeply dangerous, in her sickly state, for the enfeebled Susanna. Yet she herself, panting to receive again the blessing of her beloved father, concentrated every idea of recovery in her return. She declined, therefore, though with exquisite sensibility, the supplicating desire of this Editor to join and to nurse her at Belcotton, her own cottage; and persevered through every impediment in her efforts to reach the parental home.
The ceaseless endeavours to hasten her journey, and the afflicting circumstances that intervened to retard it, cast the Doctor into a state of inquietude and disturbance, that had little intermission. Every part of her fond family severally, and in every way that the most anxious tenderness could vary or devise, worked at propitiating her arrival; while her heart-dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, and their beautiful, inappreciable bridal daughter, Mrs. Angerstein, made never to be forgotten, never to be equalled exertions of friendship, to draw her first to Norbury Park—that seat of all loveliness, and of every virtue!—that there they might recruit her debilitated frame, and brace her shattered nerves, by their boundless and incomparable restorative resources, and an air balsamic as their own social sweetness, before she should venture so near to even the precincts of the Metropolis as Chelsea College.
In her answer to the urgent propositions and prayers for preference that now poured in upon her, from her father, her brothers, her sisters, and these angelic friends, soothing—though nearly too penetrating to her grateful spirit—she declined, but with the softest expressions of reluctance, beginning her return at the dwellings of either sisters or brothers: and to the endearing; solicitations of Mr. and Mrs. Locke, she replied, that one thing only in the whole world could enable her to resist their kind desire, namely, her dearest father’s wishes to receive her himself, in all her feebleness and shaken state; and to help her restoration by his own personal cares: “This,” she adds, “had been such a balm to her sufferings, that she felt as if to behold him again, to meet his commiserating eyes, and to be under his roof and in his arms, would make him give her a second life.”
Her expressions had the genuine charm of native eloquence, for her language was that of her soul, and her soul seemed already angelical; so that all she said, and all she wrote, when addressing those she loved, found a passage to the inmost heart, of which they took the tenderest, the fullest, the most lasting possession.
Every obstacle, at length, being finally vanquished, the journey was resolved upon, and its preparations were made;—when a fearful new illness suddenly confined the helpless invalid to her bed. There she remained some weeks; after which, with the utmost difficulty, and by two long days’ travelling, though for a distance of only twenty-six miles, she reached Dublin; where, exhausted, emaciated, she was again forced to her bed; there again to remain for nearly as long a new delay!
Every hour of separation became now to the Doctor an hour of grief, from the certainty that, the expedition once begun, it could be caused only by suffering malady, or expiring strength.
It was not till the very close of the year 1799, amidst deep snow, fierce frost, blighting winds, and darksome days, that, scarcely alive, his sinking Susanna was landed at Park Gate.
There she was joined by her affectionate brother, Dr. Charles; who hastened to hail her arrival, that he might convey her in his own warm carriage to her heart-yearning father, her fondly impatient brethren, and the tenderest of friends.
But he found her in no state to travel further!—feeble, drooping, wasted away, scarcely to be known shrunk, nearly withered!—yet still with her fair mind in full possession of its clearest powers; still with all the native sweetness of her looks, manners, voice, and smiles; still with all her desire to please; her affecting patience of endurance; her touching sensibility for every species of attention; and all her unalterable loveliness of disposition, that sought to console for her own afflictions, to give comfort for her own sufferings!
During the space of a doubtful week, her kind brother, Dr. Charles, awaited the happy moment when she might be able to move on—— But on—save as a corpse,—she moved no more!
Gentle was her end! Gentle as the whole tenor of her life; but as sudden in its conclusion as it had been lingering in its approach.
The news of her reaching—at length!—these shores, written by herself from Park Gate, in a brief, but soul-touching letter to her father, and another to this Memorialist, had been enchanting to the whole family. Not to risk for her any fresh fatigue from haste, all impatience for her sight was suppressed. A distant day, therefore, had been named by Dr. Charles for her arrival at Chelsea College.
What a blessed instant was the reception of that appointment to the Doctor!—An instant indeed, for it passed away, never to return! But, during its brief interval, the Doctor devoted himself to making arrangements for this felicitous restoration; and fixed the nearest time that he could hope his Susanna would be sufficiently recovered to give, and to receive, the joy springing from a family assemblage to celebrate her return.——
Such was the radiant gleam that transiently shone upon the Doctor and his happy race, when all the fair fabric of his renovating expectations, his parental hopes, his fondest wishes, was broken down, dissolved, confounded, by tidings that his Susanna—instead of hastening to his roof, his arms, his blessing——was gone from all! was gone on that awful journey whence no traveller returns—had landed but to die—and was gone—gone hence for ever!
The deadly catastrophe was conveyed to the Doctor by his son-in-law and nephew, the deserving Mr. Burney; who kindly spared his afflicted wife—rent by personal sorrow—the dreadful task which, necessarily, had been appointed to her by Dr. Charles. The good Mr. Burney, as the Doctor afterwards declared, unfolded the irreparable calamity with as much judiciousness as feeling. And the Doctor again evinced a force of character unshaken by years, that shewed him capable of supporting, while bewailing this terrific blow, with the submission of resignation, and the fortitude of reason; not desponding, however wretched; not overwhelmed, though indescribably unhappy.
What scenes were those which followed! how deep the tragedy! How wide from their promised joys were the family meetings! Yet all his family impressively hastened to the Doctor, and all were kindly received.
It was on the midnight of the first day of this woe, that his unhappy daughter of West Hamble, whom its baleful blight had pierced the preceding noon, forced her way, with her sympathizing partner, to Chelsea College. Her, however, the Doctor could not see! His courage sunk from that interview! He gave them the apartment that for so far happier a purpose had been destined, and remitted a meeting to the next morning.
Nor yet, even at breakfast, was he able to encounter her grief; it was twelve or one o’clock at noon ere he could assume the strength necessary: and then, his first words, on opening the parlour door, at which he stopped and stood, feeble and motionless, with shut eyes, and a look of unutterable anguish, were an almost inaudible exclamation, “I dread to see you, Fanny! I dread to see you!”
The first heart-breaking effort, however, made, all else could not but be soothing to each, even while to each piercing; and he kept her at the College for some weeks, during which she devoted herself to him wholly.
But for the fair hope that all the pungency of heart-riving separations such as these, from the objects of our purest affections, is left behind;—that their bitterness is not shared; that the void, cold! unsearchable! of such dire deprivations, is known only to the survivors—while to the gone all clouds are cleared away, all storms are calmed, all pangs are chased by bliss; but for this celestial Hope, and spiritual Belief,—how could the fragile human frame be strong enough to sustain the convulsed human mind, in the writhings of its first desolating experience of a woe, which, by one fatal stroke, seems, for the moment, to leave life without a charm?—For such is the first, instinctive, imperious sensation upon such dread catastrophes; whatever are the consolations with which remaining tender ties may speedily afterwards soothe and regenerate our feelings; and exchange our mortal grief for immortal aspirations.
The ensuing lines were written by Dr. Burney, for an epitaph in Neston churchyard, near Park Gate, where the remains of Mrs. Phillips were deposited:
In Memory of
MRS. SUSANNA ELIZABETH PHILLIPS,
Third daughter of Doctor Burney, and wife of Major Phillips, of
Belcotton, in Ireland; who, in her way to visit her father at Chelsea
College, died at Park Gate, 6th of January, 1800.Learn, pensive reader, who may pass this way,That underneath this stone remains the clayThat held a soul as pure, inform’d, refin’d,As e’er to erring mortal was assign’d.Closed are those eyes whose radiance, mild, yet bright,Beam’d all that gives to feeling soul’s delight!Quench’d are those rays of spirit, taste, and sense,Pure emanations of benevolence,That could alike instruct, appease, control,And speak the genuine dictates of the soul.C. B.
1800.
Of the rest of this melancholy year no vestige remains, either from the Doctor or his Biographer. The beginning of the new century to them was the closing of hope, not the opening of joy! and the pocket-book memorandums of both are sterile and blank.
The Doctor, nevertheless, feeling himself past the time of life, and past the strength of body for yielding to unbending grief without danger to his faculties, as well as to his existence, accorded himself but a short period for retirement from the world; and then, with what force he could muster, returned to his business and his friends.
WILLIAM LOCKE, ESQ., JUNIOR.
The sole circumstance that excited him to any exertion, was the election of the eldest son of Mr. Locke, of Norbury Park, to be a member of the Literary Club.
It was to Dr. Burney that the idea of this election first occurred; no one else at the club, at that period, being equally acquainted with the claims of Mr. William Locke to confraternity with such a society. The Doctor communicated this project, in which he felt great interest, to West Hamble.
“Fanny Phillips[59] and I,” he says, “have dined thrice lately with your excellent neighbours, the Lockes, who rise in my esteem and affection at every visit. I have been long thinking of putting up Mr. William Locke at our club, but would not venture without his permission. After the last dinner, therefore, I drew him aside, and fairly asked him whether he would give me leave to try for his election at a club, established under Dr. Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and Mr. Burke? and he said, after some modest scruples of being unworthy, that nothing would flatter him more. Yesterday, therefore, I began to canvass Malone, at his own house, and Lord Macartney, a sotto voce, in the club-room, before dinner. Malone was readily de mon avis; but Lord Macartney, following up the known plan of Dr. Johnson, to select the first man in every profession, for the more exact information of the rest upon those points of which they were ignorant, argued that we ought to have a great painter to supply, as well as he could, the loss of Sir Joshua Reynolds.
“‘And you will have one, my Lord,’ I cried. ‘The painters all honour themselves in being of that mind with respect to Mr. William Locke. He only happens, by chance, to be heir to a considerable estate; he would else have been a painter by profession, as well as by talent and excellence. In Mr. William Locke we shall have every gratification we can wish for in a new member; he is a scholar, a traveller, a gentleman; and, when he can be prevailed with to talk, the best informed and most pleasing converser with whom men of cultivated minds can wish to associate.’
“This gave me Lord Macartney as well as Malone; and, after dinner, on that very day, Lord Macartney himself, seconded by Mr. Langton, put up your dear friend’s ‘eldest hopes.’ I was applied to for giving [Pg 299] the Christian name, and an assurance that the election was desired by the proposed new member. An entry then was made in the books, and the election will come on at the next club.”
The ensuing letter to West Hamble, will shew the happy effect of the Doctor’s success upon his spirits:
“I went to the club to-day with fear and trembling, lest I should have involved Mr. William Locke in any disappointment. Langton, though he had willingly seconded Lord Macartney’s motion, could not be there: it was a great day at the House, where they were debating the Adultery Bill, which lost us Windham, Canning, Bishop Douglas, Lords Spencer, Ossory, Palmerston, and Mr. Frere, of all whose suffrages I was sure. There were only nine members present; and I saw, on entering the room, with fear and dismay, the person suspected as a general black-baller. I’ll try to recollect the nine members: Lord Macartney, Sir Robert Chambers, Malone, Sir Charles Bunbury, Marsden, Dr. Fordyce, Mr. Thomas Grenville, Dr. Vincent, and your humble servant. Canning, whose turn it was to be President, being away, Lord Macartney, and two or three more, invited me to take the chair; but I modestly declined the honour! Well, we all seemed in perfect good-humour, and I hobbed a nob; and got two or three more to hob a nob, with the Knight of the Negro Ball; and, after dinner, when the box went round, Sir Charles Bunbury acted as Vice President, and opened it,—and—would you think it?—all was as white as milk!—and Mr. William Locke, jun. was declared duly elected.
[Pg 300]
“Sir Charles wrote the usual letter of inauguration, and I one of congratulation; and I sent my own man with both to Manchester Square. And so that fright, at least, is happily over.
“If Mr. and Mrs. Locke are with you, pray lay my best respects at their feet; and my love at the hearts of your two Alexanders. And so good night. It is past twelve, and time for all but owls and bats to be at roost.
“C. B.”