A Bluestocking At Court

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Title:     A Bluestocking At Court
Author: Lily Adams Beck [More Titles by Beck]

[The following is endorsed: "Miss P.'s Narrative of the causes leading to the celebrated Miss Burney's retirement from Court in the year 1791."]

The intention of this narrative of Miss Burney's later residence at the Court of Their Majesties King George the Third and Queen Charlotte is simple. I am informed that reports spread among her friends have given birth to the notion that she was harshly treated, her genius slighted, and herself subjected to an odious tyranny from Mrs Schwellenberg, the Keeper of the Robes, and that she fled from the scene of such cruelties as the only means of preserving her health and life. As an eyewitness, I may be permitted to set forth another view which, though uncoloured by the rosy or lurid hues of the genius of the author of "Evelina," may be received as a plain account of what took place, especially with regard to the Honourable Colonel Digby and the causes of the lady's quitting the circle of the attendants on Royalty. These humble notes will not appear to the world until all concerned are reposing in the dust of the tomb.

I had the distinction to be early made privy to Miss Burney's intention to resign her appointment; but this less from any wish of her own, than as I concluded from my own observation. She did not suspect this, nor that the Queen's ready penetration had prepared her also for the coming resignation before it was respectfully laid at her feet. Indeed, much of what follows she was a total stranger to, and might have found it difficult to credit had it been known to her.

It was the custom that, while Her Majesty's head was powdering and her powdering-gown had been placed upon the Royal person, she should be left sola with her friseur, when she usually read the newspapers. On a certain day, however, she despatched Miss Burney for me, adding that she need not return; and when I arrived, addressed me as follows--the man not comprehending what was said:--

"There is a little matter which I have wished to open with you. I have some reason to believe Miss Burney's spirits a little sunk. Do you, Miss P., remark any failure in this respect?"

Her Majesty, all sweetness and benignity, fixed her eyes on me as well as the operation she was undergoing would permit (the man casting clouds of powder about her), and awaited my reply. Much embarrassed, for it is the first rule of courts to make no comment on the affairs of others to the ear of Royalty, I stammered a few words, to the effect that I thought Miss Burney imagined her health a little declined, but could offer no opinion of my own.

"She is a lady," continued the Queen, "no longer in her first youth, who has been accustomed to much adulation in her own circle, and may miss that incense."

I murmured that it might be supposed the dignity of a life in the Royal service--but was gently interrupted:--

"No. We have neither the time nor the inclination to make the Court a Bluestocking circle, and Miss Burney may prefer such surroundings. But, why I address you, my good Miss P., is to enquire whether Miss Burney has made any observation, of course not confidential, which would lead you to suppose her unsettled in her intentions?"

I believed that I realised Her Majesty's views. She would probably prefer that the severance should come from herself and not from the lower quarter. Alas, how little did I do justice to the benevolence of her character! I hurriedly replied that I knew nothing of Miss B.'s mind further than all the world might know, and within myself earnestly wished Her Majesty might turn the subject of her remarks. She, however, thought proper to continue with a mingled dignity and sweetness which distinguishes all she utters.

"All this is spoke in a confidence which must not be broke. But if there were any little agitation of the affections which--"

Here the Royal speaker was herself interrupted by a cloud of powder which the unconscious friseur flung over the edifice then erecting. It gave me a moment for hasty reflection. Impossible!--who could suppose that Her Majesty, in whose presence every look was restrained, every word calculated, could have remarked the preference by which I had long known Miss Burney distinguished Colonel Digby? He, in the first anguish of bereavement of a lovely and beloved partner, did undoubtedly seek Miss Burney's sympathy. So much was visible to all. There was even a certain luxury of grief,--a heightening of the loss,--which gave his very handsome and attractive person an interest few could resist. Many indeed might have been ready for the tender office of consolatrix, but it was Miss Burney who was specially chosen, and the conviction formed in my own mind that the sympathy she so feelingly tendered was not untinged by a rosy flush of expectation. The caution incident to life at Court hindered my breathing so delicate a suspicion to any, and that Her Majesty's calm but piercing eye should have discerned any preference did indeed animate my soul with astonishment.

"Ma'am, your Majesty's observation so far exceeds my own poor powers," said I fluttering, "that, while it is impossible for me to deny, it is equally impossible for me to confirm it. Miss Burney's superior talents, her reserve, constitute a barrier which--"

"I know--I knew," interrupted the Queen, "that I could not expect any confirmation from you. You are discretion itself. I am surrounded by discretion. We will not now pursue the subject further. Will you oblige me, my good Miss P., by preparing the pocket-case which I give Lady Harcourt today."

The hint was an order. I respectfully retired at once, leaving Her Majesty almost concealed in the cloud of powder which was casting about her headdress.

Any little unusual occurrence at Court causes comment, and I was obliged to meet the questioning gaze of the ladies in attendance with composure. I mentioned that Her Majesty had given me directions about Lady Harcourt's pocket-case, and said no more. Miss Burney followed me to the room where it was laid out in readiness for wrapping--a trifle of extreme elegance, pink satin spangled with silver and fitted with all the little furniture of gold scissors, bodkins, thimble, and so forth, which the venerated friend might accept as a compliment both royal and affectionate. Miss Burney admired it with me.

"It resembles that formerly given to sweet Mrs Delany," said she. "Dear excellence--sweet heavenly angel departed to her kindred sphere! What wonder that Their Majesties' discernment should single her out for the veneration due to age and piety so unaffected. She is gone, but how will this gift presented to the equally worthy Lady Harcourt bring the tear to her eye and the almost pang of gratitude to her bosom!"

I made an appropriate reply, but reflected. These gushes of feeling on the part of Miss Burney sometimes appeared to me a little overwrought and designed to conceal a sharpness of wit and observation which she feared to exercise in courtly circles. In this resolve she was doubtless discreet, but it gave her conversation a turn of unreality which impressed as might the use of some perfume of Araby to conceal a less romantic odour. It affected my own candour disagreeably. Possibly the praise received by the author of "Evelina" might cause her to abandon the common modes of conversation and talk literary, if I may so express it; but it was, to my knowledge, a great disappointment to the Queen, who loved good talk and in her position could expect but little of it. She had formed great hopes of the wit and originality of Miss Burney, and was always met only by a sentimental silence, coupled with an affected modesty which promised nothing fresh. Her reading-aloud was also not of a high order, and her slender knowledge of books, apart from her own, astonished the hopeful Queen, who had looked forward to much pleasing entertainment in her company.

There were also other difficulties. Miss Burney's extreme sensitiveness to her own dignity operated as a hindrance to herself as well as her friends. Never can I forget her expression on hearing that a bell was to be the means of her summons to attend her Royal Mistress. She was ever ready to anticipate a slight; and that I may not be supposed malicious in this statement, I will cite what was said by her old friend, the brilliant Mrs Thrale-Piozzi on this circumstance:--

"I live with her in a degree of pain which precludes friendship--dare not ask her to buy me a ribbon--dare not desire her to touch the bell, lest she should think herself slighted."

It can readily be imagined that slights would in such a case be imagined where none were intended.

It was a habit Miss Burney encouraged in herself to use the longest words to express the simplest opinions. Colonel Manners, who laughed at all and everyone, declared she had made the illustrious Dr Johnson her model, and would slyly note down some of her most flowing periods to deliver them, enhanced by humour, when she had left the room. I mean only to imply that she chose the corporeal style of the famous Doctor without acquiring the zest and gusto of that great man.

But this is to digress.

"The equerries will attend us at tea today, Miss P.," she observed. "Colonel Manners and Colonel Digby will be present and Mr de la Giffardiere. Colonel Digby's spirits depend much upon female support and sustentation. He loves to contemplate the melancholy aspects in a way which cannot but be harmful to a character so feeling."

I replied collectedly:--

"Colonel Digby owes much to Miss Burney for all the consolations of literature and religion so charitably offered. But indeed who would not sympathise with his bereavement of a partner so lovely that, should he ever think of replacing her, beauty of the first order must be his object."

This was perhaps a little pointed, but I could never agree in Dr Johnson's estimate of her as "Pretty Burney," and she was not reckoned a pretty woman by others. She had not the graces of height nor elegance in movement, and might in complexion be called a brown woman. The eyes, while expressive, were decidedly green. If I add that she slightly stooped, though by no means sufficiently to be a deformity, and that her features were, on the whole pleasing, I have been honest in my description.

While we were speaking, the Princess Royal entered, fresh and bright as the day, to inspect the case and add to it her own little tribute, a posy of beautiful satin flowers made by her own fair hands. This she attached to the case.

"I really think it very pretty," she said, adding in the most winning manner, "I hope Miss Burney and Miss P. approve it. Princess Elizabeth's gift is a fairing from Cheltenham--a most elegant little box, containing a bottle of rose perfume which came to mama from India, in the great box from the Bengal Nabob."

This would add interest to the gift, these bottles consisting of a minute tube of the precious oil of roses, enclosed, as it were, in a thick tube of embossed glass, ornamented with gold and sealed. Each of the lovely Princesses now brought her gift, and each spoke with us with the most conciliatory softness. Princess Elizabeth said laughing:--

"How go the equerries' teas, Miss Burney? Do they still insist on their right to wait on you, even when Mrs Schwellenberg is present?"

Miss Burney curtseyed, a little out of countenance. I put in my word:--

"Why, Ma'am, they are very constant. We have much entertainment from Colonel Manners and Mr de la Giffardiere--especially the latter."

"I can believe that," said she, laughing again. "His spirits grow more boisterous daily. Mama says an hour of his company is like a walk in a high wind. But you know how we all value and respect him. What a contrast to poor Colonel Digby!"

"I imagine, Ma'am, that Colonel Digby too is recovering his spirits a little under our united kind treatment. He was even observed in a melancholy smile yesterday," said I.

Her Royal Highness smiled with a soft meaning kindness on Miss Burney, whose eyes were fixed on the floor. This convinced me, if I had needed conviction, that the Queen intended the allusion she had made to Colonel Digby, and there had been a something in her tone, indescribable but audible, which indicated disapproval. I considered myself that the man had quite as much encouragement as he needed if his intentions were serious. I could not make him out. There were times when I saw a growing interest in Miss Burney, and he indeed haunted her parlour; yet was I assured that in London he was assiduous in waiting on Miss Gunning--a young lady with every advantage of fortune, beauty, and connection. I own the thought sometimes occurred to me that he might be that most despicable of characters--a male flirt. I had thoughts sometimes also of a word of warning to Miss Burney, but was restrained by fear of her displeasure.

Two days later Colonel Manners and Colonel Digby waited on us to tea, Mr de la Giffardiere following. Colonel Digby wore his Vice-Chamberlain's uniform, being to wait on the Queen, and a very handsome sight he made, adding all the advantages of birth and breeding to extreme good looks. Miss Burney, with a pleasure she could not conceal, found the conversation turn to "Evelina," Colonel Manners praised it in his gay light-hearted way, and declared its special glory in his eyes to be the character of Captain Mirvan. He asserted it was that which gave rise to the suspicion that the author was a man, since a lady could scarcely be supposed capable of drawing a portrait of such vulgarity in such bold strokes. I now saw Miss Burney wavering whether to receive this as compliment or insult, when immediately Colonel Manners, whom no awe can check, broke out into Dibdin's song, applying it, as it were, to Captain Mirvan:--

I've a spanking wife at Portsmouth Gates,
A pigmy at Goree.
An orange-tawny up the Straits,
A black at St. Lucie.
Thus whatsomedever course I bend
I lead a jovial life--

Miss Burney rose indignantly, and the more so as Mr de la Giffardiere, who could never resist the absurd, was applauding vehemently, and even Colonel Digby smiling. She cast one awful glance upon the offender, and was quitting the room, when Colonel Digby threw himself in front of the door.

"Miss Burney shall not deprive us of the happiness of her company without a word of entreaty," said he, fixing his eyes upon hers, "My friend Manners would be the first to deplore having offended the delicacy of any lady, and especially that lady whose genius created Captain Mirvan. But Miss Burney will condescend upon forgiveness when she hears he has been sharing His Majesty's barley water after a day's hunting. It always goes to his head with most boisterous results."

It was drolly said, indeed, though with his usual languor, and no other intervention would have stopped the exit. She graciously consented to return to her seat, and Colonel Manners immediately and absurdly fell on his knees before her, offering to kiss her shoe like the Pope's, if she would but pardon him.

"Alas, I was compelled to drink the barley water, Ma'am. I think it right to be civil to the King, though Heaven knows a violent drink like that is not what one should prefer after a hard day's hunting. I had chose something milder, had it been in my power."

She smiled faintly, and Colonel Digby, visibly to please her, uttered a very handsome praise of "Cecilia," specially dwelling on the chapter of the Opera Rehearsal. Her eyes followed his every movement. I perceived but too well the growing interest, and pitied the poor lady were her feelings to be deeply engaged; for I believed he turned his melancholy to as good account with others as with herself. I could not but note how his visits to her were made at times when he could almost count upon finding her alone. If his intentions were serious, all was well. Otherwise I could not approve it.

"Miss Burney is so evidently the Muse of Comedy," cried Mr de la Giffardiere, "that I wonder you, Manners, and you, Digby, do not fear her ironic pen. What if she record this scene in the third volume, for which all the world attends! There are only two persons who will emerge with grace--Miss P. and myself. We tread on awful ground with a lady so gifted."

Mrs. Schwellenberg now made her appearance, and the talk changed, with Colonel Manners gravely enquiring after the health of her pet frogs, and the gentlemen shortly after left, a circumstance not very pleasing to her.

"What for they always--what you call--run away when I come?" she cried. "I like it not. Or if he stay,--that Colonel Manner,--he sleep! Sleeps he with you, Miss Burney? He sleep always with me. It is not to bear!"

We could not forbear laughing, and it was goodhumouredly taken.

The cloud of fearful blackness which was to overshadow the nation soon broke upon us in His Majesty's illness. I had for some time suspicion that all was not well. It was his habit to talk with most condescending frankness to all whom he trusted, and I, as an old servant, had the happiness to be thus honoured. It could, therefore, be no secret to me that his mind was often agitated in the highest degree about public matters, and to my thinking had never recovered its tone since the disasters with regard to his American colonies. His outward fortitude was astonishing at the time of the rebellion; but it preyed inwardly and undoubtedly was the first and most galling link in the chain of misfortune which surrounded him from private and public sources. I have been told on high authority that the falling of the largest diamond from the Crown on the Coronation Day was a prognostic which His Majesty supposed awfully fulfilled when those rebellious colonies broke away from his sceptre.

It is not in my power, as it would not be my duty, to give an account of circumstances which involved the whole nation in mourning when it beheld the reason of its Monarch eclipsed. Be mine rather the female task to describe how it affected the celebrated lady who is the subject of these notes.

All then was confusion, and the habits of the Royal family so intermitted, whether at Windsor or Kew, that those attached to the household came and went as they pleased, although the strictest inquisition followed all that was allowed to pass outside the walls, lest reports adverse to His Majesty's health should reach the party of the Princes, his sons, who caught eagerly at any facts they might distort in a way to gain the Regency for the dissolute Prince of Wales, and cast the Queen completely into his power. It so happened that one day I was seated to my knotting behind the Japan screen in the parlour apportioned by the Prince to Her Majesty at Kew. My knotting had fallen on my knee as I gazed pensively at the prospect of oaks and beeches in all their verdure, when I heard voices, and Her Majesty and the Princess Royal entered, talking earnestly as if continuing a conversation.

"Mama, I do indeed think the news is true, and if so you will desire that we should soon give Colonel Digby joy. It is not absolutely certain--"

Here I stepped forth from behind the screen, curtseying deeply. The notion in my mind was that Colonel D. had announced his coming engagement with Miss Burney. He had visited her sedulously during the King's illness, and, I might add, somewhat in defiance of Her Majesty's hints to that lady, and had brought his little son more than once to visit her--a step which could not but appear very particular.

The Queen saw me advance with her usual gracious composure, and the Princess greeted me charmingly. She wore a morning negligee embroidered all over with roses, and looked what she was--the Rose of England.

"You have appeared at an opportune moment, Miss P.," said Her Majesty. "The matter in hand is one where I rely on your discretion. Princess Royal, inform Miss P. of what you have heard."

She took her seat, and the sweet Princess, standing behind her mother's chair, related to me with her own artless candour that she had heard, from a source which she did not give, though unimpeachable, that an engagement subsisted or shortly might subsist between Colonel Digby and Miss Gunning, and she thought--she feared--

Here she hesitated in the most pleasing manner. I now fully understood, but it became me to remain silent and hear the Queen's pleasure. My beloved Queen spoke presently and even--marvellous to relate--with a touch of the gentle archness which so adorned her before His Majesty's all-overshadowing malady. Her fortitude was astonishing.

"My good Miss P., you have heard the Princess Royal, and I am full sure the announcement you expected was of a kind far nearer home. Am I wrong?"

I hurriedly said I had indeed expected and hoped--Her Majesty would pardon my confusion. I scarce knew what I was saying, for it rushed on my mind that, if this were true, the effect on Miss Burney's health and spirits might be serious--his attentions having been so public.

"I have noticed and heard how frequent Colonel Digby's visits to her have been," continued Her Majesty; "and if this has reached me, it is certain that others must have felt his attentions to be particular. I cannot acquit him."

"Nor I, Ma'am," I cried eagerly, and interrupted myself in such a breach of etiquette. She proceeded composedly:--

"I believe Colonel Digby is frequently with Miss Burney. You have the same impression, Princess Royal?"

The fair Princess softly murmured that she had. I could not but suspect Mrs Schwellenberg the informant, nor yet blame her. All must depend upon the colouring given.

"Colonel Digby's confidential favour with us all disappoints me the more in the course he has taken," continued the Queen. "There has been a touch of something insincere. And I have heard also that the poor Schwellenberg is left entirely to herself while these visits take place. I thought this hard and so dropped a hint to Miss Burney, which I failed not to see was resented. Have you, my good Miss P., observed anything of this?"

Catching the encouraging eye of the Princess, I ventured to say I was not wholly a stranger to the fact that Mrs Schwellenberg felt herself somewhat dropped out in these visits, so agreeable to the gentleman. Miss Burney I alluded not to.

"Another hint I offered," proceeded the Queen, "when my hair was dressing one night, and I was informed the Schwellenberg was very unwell and needed company, but found Miss Burney was engaged as usual with Colonel Digby. I asked Miss Burney, without leading up to the subject, whether he had been here. She coloured very high and admitted it and, on further questioning, displayed a knowledge of all his movements which I own surprised me, especially on her complaining of the want of variety here--a fact that made any visitor welcome, as she told me."

"Can it be possible, Ma'am," I cried, "that at this time of universal sorrow, Miss Burney should so far forget the cruel facts as to reproach--"

I was softly interrupted in my turn.

"I am far from blaming Miss Burney," said the amiable Queen. "It has been a time of gloom for all. I am only considering, from these circumstances and others I could name, how sharp and severe may be her disappointment when she hears the news which has reached the Princess Royal."

Such goodness did, I confess, moisten my eyes, for had I been the commentator, I might have been tempted to say that any little coquetries were misplaced at a time of national grief, and especially so in Miss Burney, whose extreme sensibility, somewhat paraded in words, was in its highest flight as regarded the King's health. Only that morning she had cried out:--

"What must be the guilt of that implacable country which, in breaking away from his mild majestic sway, sowed the seeds of the malady which reduced the best of kings and men to a condition where this fell disease could prey upon his overcharged heart and brain! Surely the blessing which disowns its present cannot attend its future!"

But this is a digression.

"What we are to consider, Miss P.," said the benignant Queen, "is how best to hint this news to Miss Burney so that her mind may be gradually accustomed. It is to be remembered that, in her confined home circle, she can have met but few so distinguished and eligible as Colonel Digby. I am perhaps not wholly free of blame from having introduced her to so new a sphere. I never contemplated that she would so soon liberate herself from the control of the Schwellenberg."

Gracious Powers! I, who had once accidentally heard Miss Burney term Mrs S. "Cerbera," could have told Her Majesty that Miss Burney was the last person in the world to permit Mrs S., or any other person in the world, to control her, as might appear by her rejoinders to Her Majesty herself.

"If," said the Princess, interposing with a gentle civility, "such a hint could be dropped to Miss Burney, it might spare her much pain. She is so gifted--so high-strung--"

"We leave it to your good heart," said the Queen. "We wish all that is good to Miss Burney. You will see I cannot commit it to the Schwellenberg. These literary ladies have high flights, I believe, and are a more fragile porcelain than ordinary folks. Do your best, my good Miss P., and I shall be well satisfied."

The Princess sweetly requested permission to retire with me and we were about to withdraw, when the Duchess of Ancaster entered, and the Queen informed her of Colonel Digby's supposed engagement. The Duchess laughed with all her own humour.

"What, Ma'am? Miss Gunning? No, surely Miss Burney! I am Miss Burney's advocate as regards her just rights and claims. Miss Gunning is but an interloper.

"I will wager that Miss Burney at last secures Colonel Digby, whatever his struggles. He is but a bird hovering a few inches above the charming serpent's jaws, which are open to receive him. I know not how our sex has ever acquired the reputation of flight, for it has ever appeared to me that apparent flight was but a feint to encourage pursuit not otherwise forthcoming. Believe me, Ma'am, that your Majesty will yet see Colonel Digby overtaken and captured by the united arts of 'Evelina' and 'Cecilia.'"

"Come, Duchess," said Her Majesty, with the little arch smile she sometimes wears; "you would not have us believe the Duke made a very desperate race of it, would you?"

"Indeed, Ma'am, I did my part as well as others," the kind Duchess said, laughing, "and but for my efforts, who knows what indiscretion he might have committed? Do but consider the late marriages made by noble lords who shall be nameless! Miss Burney probably is Colonel Digby's destined saviour, or so believes herself."

So the lively lady rattled on, until I withdrew, following the Princess.

"Pray do your best, Miss P.," she whispered softly at the door. "I feel for poor Miss Burney--I do indeed. Colonel Digby has been so particular in his attentions. And her health is never strong."

She sighed as she glided off to join the Princess Elizabeth for their sketching-lesson. Sure never was such a bouquet of beauty and warm hearts as these Royal sisters! I know not which I can distinguish more than another, though perhaps the Princess Royal is my pattern for all that is excellent and sweet.

I took my doubting way to Miss Burney's parlour. She was writing, as was her wont. If it were not another novel, it must have been a daily mass of information to her friends. In all she did seemed a little mystery that promoted not the unreserve so essential to friendship. Perhaps it might be a part of the profession of a writer of fiction; but it made itself felt.

She looked up smilingly.

"Pray take a seat, Miss P. I hope your gratifying entry is with good news of that precious health on which Britain hangs. I hear this black cloud begins to turn its silver edges."

I agreed, and she then spoke of cheerful details she had had from Lady Charlotte Finch. It appeared that there were now much longer intervals of rational quiet. He had alluded to public matters with a piety and reason the most exalted, which moved all who heard almost to tears. Oh, that those rebellious subjects beyond the ocean could have heard their Monarch! Yet why should this be my aspiration when there were rebels, and filial ones, close at hand, to rejoice in his misfortune!

I was about to reply when the door opened without knocking, and Colonel Digby glided in, with the words:--

"How does Miss Burney? May a friend, a friend of the faithfulest, enter to make his enquiries?"

He did not perceive me behind the opened door. Miss Burney blushed visibly, and instantly seeing me, he bowed with his own finished good-breeding and no sign of discomposure. I sat, as it were on thorns, until, Mr Smelt entering later, the talk became general and I retreated, more and more confused at the part expected of me, especially as Colonel Digby's manner appeared as softly ingratiating as ever. I felt I should be compelled to sink the truth a while longer and could only hope the Princess Royal misinformed.

The coolness between Miss Burney and Mrs Schwellenberg about this time began to be much warmed by many little kindnesses on the part of the latter as she observed Miss Burney's somewhat careworn brow. It has since been confided to me that the account given of her by Miss Burney to her friends was one of uncontrolled malignity; but though my testimony is humble, it is sincere, and I can describe Mrs Schwellenberg, apart from her acknowledged devotion to her Royal Mistress, as possessing a much more kindly heart than Miss Burney would consent to allow her. Her imperfect knowledge of English often did her an injustice and made it easy to be witty at her expense. While she thought she saw Miss Burney inflated with the pride of a caressed and flattered author, and rebelling at the necessary restrictions of court life, she certainly was watchful and sometimes disapproving; but in the time of trouble she opened out into an attention which Miss Burney's candour should have gratefully owned.

Time went on. Our beloved King recovered the use of his invaluable senses, thus escaping the snares set for him and the Queen by enemies the most difficult to subdue. This enabled us to return in triumph to Windsor--in triumph, do I say? No, but ecstasy--a kind of rapture which pervaded the whole nation, excepting the party of the Opposition. The inhabitants of every place we passed flooded out to greet their King. The people, stirred as by an earthquake, broke upon him in a wave of loyalty; and we, who almost adored him for his private benignity and public virtues, seemed swept away in the torrent. As for the Queen, what joy sat upon her sweet but wearied countenance, as she turned her eyes, swimming in tears, upon him who was the centre of all rejoicing!

I never came so near loving Miss Burney as when one day, in walking with Her Majesty's little dogs, Badine and Phillis, in the Park, she broke out into feelings warmly expressed of her sense of what the Queen's conduct had been during the scenes of agony we had witnessed. For once she forgot herself nobly, and I shall never forget her countenance as she paused and said:--

"Indeed, Miss P., when I consider Her Majesty's complicated suffering,-- increased as it was to misery by attacks from quarters whence only love and duty might have been expected, harassed by politics and cabals, torn by national and foreign dissension, herself deprived of all protection, and yet protecting with almost masculine fortitude a beloved husband and King,--I say with all my heart that to have attained such heights of courage, resignation, and ability, is much, much more than to be Queen of England, or possessed of the most shining genius the world has known. I bow the knee in spirit as in body before a Mistress so truly Royal."

The generous fire in her voice was quenched by the tears in her eyes. I grasped her hand, but could not reply. Here was indeed the cry of sincerity. We walked pensively for some time in the shrubberies, and ended our airing on the great terrace.

How exquisitely pastoral, yet soul-stirring, is the view from that majestic height! The towers of Windsor Castle behind us breathing of the historic past; the Thames unrolling its silver windings below; the meadows; the roofs of Eton College lifting through the veil of foliage-- can aught on earth surpass it? A distant sound of cheering from the Eton playing-fields reached us, to announce that some young votary of athletic games had reached his goal. Over all floated the sunshine. Why seek foreign shores for recreation which these sylvan bowers, so richly charged with memories of departed greatness, afford to all?

A quick step on the gravel roused me from these thoughts and, turning, I saw Colonel Digby proceeding quickly to the Queen's Lodge. To my astonishment he only bowed hurriedly and went on his way without a word. Miss Burney looked the amazement she naturally felt; and it flashed across my mind that here might be the long-sought opportunity. I seized it with a beating heart.

"We have seen but little of Colonel Digby since the King's recovery," said I.

"Oh," she replied nervously, "you know the King's attachment to him, and also the Queen's; they impose on him many important errands to London. We cannot expect--I should be the last--"

She paused.

"He has many friends in London," I ventured.

"Certainly. A disposition so generous, affectionate, and kind must be entitled to all the blessings of friendship."

"And even warmer sentiments--" I hesitated.

She turned her face from me, but I could see the perturbation. I would not for the world that she should misconceive me then. Though feeling to the full the difficulty of my position, I tried to turn it lightly.

"There is one fair lady in London who is said to have a warmer interest in His Majesty's recovery, since it enables Colonel Digby to be more constant in his attendance."

There was a moment's silence.

"You allude to Miss Gunning," she replied coldly. "On the few occasions I have seen her I have thought her so cool in her likings and sentiments, so self-sufficient, that I could not think her attractive to a nature so warm as Colonel Digby's. Nor do I think her mental attainments such as to render a real friendship possible between them."

"It is difficult," I breathed, "to name the qualities which attract the other sex. But I have heard certain rumours to the effect that Colonel Digby finds Miss Gunning attractive."

She flashed her eyes on me with a kind of indignant scorn, as if suspecting some meaner motive in what I said, and coolly consulted her watch.

"I too have heard those rumours and their denial. We must return, though I am loath to quit this enchanting scene. Shall I leave you, or shall we return together?"

We walked in silence, I feeling I had miserably failed in my commission, and she discoursing of the national fetes in prospect, in a way which bespoke her hurry of spirits.

A few days later, Colonel Gwynn came into waiting, and told us Colonel Digby was taken ill in London and could not hope to resume his duties for some time. I saw the concern on Miss Burney's face. We all shared it in a measure but, alas, her pallor showed but too well how deep the shaft had pierced.

I was present that evening when she was in attendance on the Queen. Her Majesty, rousing herself from thought, said somewhat abruptly:--

"I am much displeased with Colonel Digby" (instancing her reasons and adding): "He will not come here. He has set his mind against coming. For some reason he cannot bear it. He has been in London in perfect health, and I have it on good authority that he desired it might not be told here."

I dared scarcely glance at Miss Burney. She was perfectly white and stood with her eyes fixed on the ground. The Queen, seeing she had alarmed us, glided with her benignant grace into another subject. I, who knew her mind, could perceive what was intended; but to Miss Burney it must have been a thunderbolt.

Next morning the Princess Royal, coming to my room, lovely in her flowered sacque, and without her hoop, her curls twisted with rose-hued ribbons, seemed to cast a radiance before her. She paused at the door, and said condescendingly: "May I come in?"

I hastened to set her a chair, and after a little indifferent discourse she said with a touch of melancholy:--

"I think Miss Burney has not been fairly treated. It is the Queen's opinion that Colonel Digby's conscience prevents his coming hither. We are to offer our formal congratulations to him and Miss Gunning at the Drawing-Room. I own I shall present mine with very little heart. Do you not think, Miss P., that the poor lady should be told the truth? It might come as a shock, but would be best from a friend like yourself. If all else failed, I would gladly do it. But indeed, I dare not."

I implored Her Royal Highness not to put herself out. I would be the messenger.

"That Miss Burney should have been given any pain under our roof, and by one connected with our service, is very painful to mama, who fully values Miss Burney's gifts of the mind," added the beloved Princess. "If it is to be done, however, there is no time like the present, for the news is now very generally known."

She left me, and with a trembling step I rose to seek Miss Burney's room. She was seated by the window, a large black hat with ostrich plumes shading her face, and a muslin handkerchief folded across the bosom. I had never seen her look so becoming. She was then thirty-seven or-eight years of age, as I have since learned (for that was then a carefully guarded secret), but did not look near so much; and her expression, intensely absorbed, had the pensive sweetness of a day in autumn ere the golden leaf yet flutters to its fall.

"Miss Burney," I said timidly, "I believe I intrude, but may I ask you to favour me with the copy of verses you made for Her Majesty on 'The Great Coat.'"

This was graciously granted, and a seat offered. A light conversation ensued, and at last, summoning my resolution, I said:--

"We are soon to congratulate an old friend on his approaching nuptials. Colonel Digby--"

She turned angrily, but restrained herself with a distressing effort. I continued: "I hear his engagement with Miss Gunning is confirmed."

"I too have heard it," she said haughtily; "I am therefore no stranger to your news."

She half rose, and taking the hint I hurried away, confident that she believed me not at all. I met the Princess Royal with Princess Augusta on my way, and they stopped me eagerly.

"Did you succeed, Miss P.?" asked each fair sister, with such sympathising faces as made me love them the better, if that were possible. The elder Princess shook her head sadly.

"Poor, poor lady! I fear he is a very heartless man. I cannot easily forgive this treatment of one we esteem."

She linked her arm in her sister's, and the two hurried away to attend the Queen, who was to consider their Drawing-Room robes just then inspecting.

Willingly would I have softened the blow, but fall at length it must! After the Drawing-Room, it became known to Miss Burney that Miss Gunning had attended and had been given joy by all the Princesses. The Princess Royal herself breathed this, with a voice like a dove and her eyes considerately averted, adding:--

"Miss Gunning was most elegant in a dress of purple gauze and silver; but I cannot think her beautiful, though some find her manners pleasing. Colonel Digby was not present."

There was a pause and then Miss Burney, deplorably pale, replied:--

"I had already heard this, Ma'am. I believe she is thought handsome. The Drawing-Room must have been particularly elegant from the rejoicing crowds who would wish to pay their duty."

No more was said on the subject. Later, she complained of headache to me, and I, breathing it into the sympathising ear of Her Royal Highness, Miss Burney was recommended, nay, commanded to return to her room, and the truly amiable Queen dispensed with her attendance.

The marriage took place in due course, and in a private house, a circumstance which met with Her Majesty's warm disapproval, as considering that a contract so solemn needs all the blessing and ratification imposed at such tunes by the church's ordinance.

During all this tune, Colonel Digby did not appear at Court, though whether by his own choice or the kind concern of Her Majesty, I cannot tell. Miss Burney visibly drooped--I could see suffering written on her face, and it awoke a sympathy which I dared not offer. The Queen's consideration for her increased, and the lovely Princesses avoided with true delicacy every subject which could recall the image of the past, making what soft amends lay in their power.

Yet but a very short while after, will it be believed that Colonel Digby sent his bride to call upon Miss Burney, having himself resumed attendance upon the Court immediately after his marriage! I sincerely felt for Miss Burney when a bustle was heard and before us there appeared the bride, glowing in health and happiness, and dressed in the last perfection of the milliner's art. Triumph, visible and exultant, sat on her brow; and as she took her place on the sofa by Miss Burney, who looked wan and aged beside so much splendour, I felt it would have declared a better heart had she deferred her visit. Miss Burney, with an effort of courage, parried all the speeches which could hardly fail to have the appearance of thrusts, and undertook to deliver the bride's duty to the Queen with a calmness which did her honour.

I have more than once in my life seen reason to congratulate myself on passing through life untroubled by the attentions of that sex which, while the blessing, is also the curse of our own, and felt this with peculiar energy during that scene, when I saw one so justly celebrated, triumphed over almost publicly by a young lady whose face was her chief recommendation.

I concluded that we should soon now lose Miss Burney and could not harshly censure (though disapproving) the course she took in attributing her waning health to the tyranny of Mrs Schwellenberg and even to the hardships of her attendance on the Queen. Nevertheless, Her Majesty more than once favoured me with the remark:--

"Large allowance must be made for Miss Burney. I foresee she will before long wish to be among the healing influences of her own home circle; and as I would not for the world dismiss her, all must be done on the foot she herself chooses, and with reluctance on my part. I know her good sense will dictate a commendable course."

Of this I was by no means certain, but could, of course, make no rejoinder; and Her Majesty's face, beneath her becoming fly-cap, beamed with a true benevolence as she pronounced these words. I have certain knowledge that she favoured Mrs Schwellenberg also with this injunction, and that she also exerted herself to show many little pleasing attentions on our return to Windsor. It was that day Miss Burney came in, with an animation to which she had long been a stranger, to say she had met Mr Boswell--friend and survivor of the Great Lexicographer--near St. George's Chapel, on his way to view the alterations, and he had arrested her steps.

"It was like a breath of fresh air in a shut room!" she cried; "and indeed almost too much for my weak health. 'O Ma'am,' he said with energy, 'when do you return to us? You must resign--you must indeed. It won't do, Ma'am. We can put up with it no longer!' I laughed and stared, but he continued: 'We shall address Dr Burney in a body. It was so resolved at the Club last week--Charles Fox in the chair. I need your aid in my book on the Great Man, soon to appear. You are to lighten the picture. In my hands he is grave Sam, great Sam, learned Sam. With your aid we will deck him with all the graces. He shall be gay Sam, agreeable Sam, and, to that end, I claim all the little pleasing billets he has written to your fair self.' So he rattled on, and I could with difficulty extricate myself. But, O Miss P., though your goodness will not repeat the scene, it was such a view of home and its surroundings as may greet the returning sailor when his country rises on his view."

I sympathised and venturesomely said:--

"I would not presume to counsel, Miss Burney, but if you so crave for your family and friends, were it not well to seek their healing company? None can doubt that your health suffers under the restraints of court life, and Miss Burney's is a health valuable to the world at large."

I ever found that a little well-turned compliment softened her sense of injury. She smiled gratefully upon me and was silent; then softly pressed my hand.

I related this little scene to the tender-hearted Princess Royal who took the pains to make an opportunity with Miss Burney, when we were in attendance for that walk on the Windsor Terrace which so often presented the Royal Family to the view of a delighted people. The procession was not yet formed, Their Majesties not having appeared. She detached herself from her group of sweet sisters, holding the little darling Princess Amelia by the hand, and said:--

"Are you fit for the walk, Miss Burney? You appear tired and unwell. Permit me to make your excuses to the Queen."

She paused, and Miss Burney warmly thanked her and said tremblingly that she believed she could support herself through the walk.

"But why?" exclaimed Her Royal Highness. "Indeed, we are not such tyrants, and allow me to say, my dear Miss Burney, that if you should feel--should think you need a long rest--a releasing rest, there need be no hesitation in mentioning it to the Queen."

She repeated this with emphasis and glided away. I saw Miss Burney's eyes moisten as she turned and retreated.

Events now succeeded each other slowly but surely. The Queen had with reluctance accepted her resignation, the successor had been found, and the time drew near for departure when, most unexpectedly, my whole view was changed with regard to Miss Burney's feelings.

We were walking in the Park on a fine sunny day, having chosen the Long Walk which leads to the eminence and its noble prospect of the Castle, though scarcely with hope of reaching it so slow were our footsteps. I had led the talk to her writings and she gave me some interesting particulars of the praise "Evelina" had received from such judges as Mrs Delany and the Duchess of Portland, who agreed in thinking it a book likely to do more good than any other ever published, from its high principles wrapped in a glitter of entertainment. This was a subject on which she never wearied, and I was pressing for its continuance, when we beheld a lady approaching, leaning on a gentleman's arm--a handsome woman in a rich pelerine and jewellery--and with a start my companion caught my arm, crying softly: "Mrs Thrale--Mrs Piozzi. Good heavens! For years we have not met. Oh, could we escape."

I was no stranger to the fact that they had been the closest friends and that Mrs Thrale's most injudicious marriage with a Roman Catholic and a foreigner had ruptured the friendship on Miss Burney's very proper objection to such an alliance. It is known how society, how even the papers, rung with the scandal of a lady of birth and fortune thus forgetting what was due to herself and others. And a fresh blaze had lately been kindled by the publication of Dr Johnson's Letters and many anecdotes relative to the life at L>treatham, all of which Miss Burney had entirely disapproved. I could not sympathise with Mrs Thrale-Piozzi-- impossible that any right-minded person should, but I own to the deepest curiosity to see her, and above all to witness her meeting with this discarded friend, having understood from my own friends that feeling run very high between them. Consequently I did not hurry my steps.

"For Heaven's sake, hasten!" cried Miss Burney. "'T is Mr Piozzi himself. Was ever anything so mortifying!"

Unfortunately Mrs Piozzi heard these words and recognised the speaker.

"Mortify not yourself, Miss Burney, I entreat. Mr Piozzi is obliged to hasten into Windsor to bespeak apartments at the White Hart. Delay not, Piozzi. I will follow. Do I see my Burney in good health?"

I was never so affrighted in my life. The lady, though short, had such an air of resolution and her eyes shot such lively sparks of anger hid under a show of good humour that I looked to see Miss Burney sink at my feet. She also was in a horrid fright if panting breath and fading cheeks may be trusted. I would now have fled but she detained me by the hand and presented me to a sweeping curtsey from Mrs Piozzi. Doubtless she thought my presence would confine the meeting to the forms of politeness.

Accustomed to courts, I could not consider the lady high-bred, but her energy and intelligence were overpowering.

"I have not seen you since my return, dear Burney," says she, "but am glad of this favourable opportunity to ask if what I have been told is true-- that Baretti was inspired and abetted in his attack on my marriage by friends I could the least suspect. Pray emulate my candour. An open enemy is preferable to a stabbing friend."

"Surely, Madam, before a third person--" began Miss Burney, but was interrupted:--

"I have learnt to know a witness is very valuable on occasion. All I require is a plain 'Yes' or 'No.'"

"Then 'No'--a thousand times 'No,'" cried Miss Burney with immense spirit. "I know nothing of Baretti--would know nothing--a violent unprincipled man, that frightened myself. That I disapproved your marriage is known--"

"And on what impertinent grounds!" Mrs Piozzi was now trembling with rage --and as pale as Miss Burney. "Let me tell you, Madam, that a gentleman of good birth is not to be despised, and his means of L1200 per annum, though not splendour in comparison with my own revenue, set him above all mercenary imputation!"

'T was with the greatest effort my companion now clung to her cautious decorum, for she was palpitating violently as she held to my arm.

"Madam, money was not in question. A woman who will marry a foreigner and a Roman Catholic, in both respects her country's foe, must expect--"

I looked for an explosion but, as happens when women quarrel, Mrs Piozzi's humour took the most unexpected turn. She laughed:--

"Ah, Fanny, Fanny, that was the world's voice. Time was you loved me kindly; but the world you always did and will love reverentially. Well-- continue!--'t is worth it. The world has its prizes to give and I have none now. I did not even provide a husband for my friend, and your Royals have not been more successful--I know not why. The day may come when you yourself may fall back on a foreigner and Roman Catholic, and, if so, may he be as good as mine and may you live as happy with him!"

She curtseyed and made to move on. I thought of this later when Miss Burney married M. D'Arblay, a Frenchman and Roman Catholic. I wondered then if she recalled this scene and her own strictures. She bridled with dignity.

"I can scarce imagine Dr Burney's daughter doing the like, Madam. My tastes are all English. But is it well to prolong this talk? Our ways of life are now so different--"

"Truly all is changed--and you with it. But I was ever a prophet, Fanny, and I venture to tell you that you have so overloaded your heart and your wits with caution and fear of the world's opinion that when you take pen in hand once more you 'll find it clogged and heavy. 'T will move on stilts instead of the light heels that danced 'Evelina,' and the ungrateful world will say, 'There goes a woman that if she had shut her eyes on forms and opened them on nature had been the glory of her age.' You are too fearful of the world, Fanny. I flew in its face and found its bark worse than its bite, and that if you kicked it, it crawled to kiss your feet. And so now good-bye."

They both curtseyed angrily, and Mrs Piozzi proceeded quickly down the drive, then suddenly turned and ran back, both hands outstretched:--

"Fanny, Fanny, I can't--" she panted. "It all so rose on me with the sight of you. My master at the table, and Johnson in his chair booming out his wisdoms, and Burke, and poor Goldie--Oh, the poor dead days--the sad dead days--and you a part of them all; and could I say a word to wound you, no matter what you did to me! You that were a part of it all--I felt as if I would kill it outright if I left you in anger. Can one kill ghosts?--they are but ghosts, and yet--Oh, Fanny!"

She held out her shaking hands. I knew this shockingly disordered Miss Burney's notions of propriety and that a lady out of favour with the great world should be seen by me thus familiar with her, and she at Court. She barely touched the hand.

"It was to the memory of those days your friends looked to keep you in a becoming path," said she. "Indeed I share your affection for them, but to remember them thus--"

"Do you so?" says the other a little wildly, and drawing back to dash the tears from her eyes. "Then remember them your way and I 'll remember them mine, and so our paths go east and west: (then turning to me,) I'm sure I ask your pardon, Ma'am, for what must appear so declamatory and high-flown. We Welsh folk, like all the other poor Celts, are allowed romantic flights sometimes to make sport for the sober English. Farewell, Miss Burney. My! best compliments and respects attend your father."

She ran off again very quick and tripping. We stood looking after her till Miss Burney spoke:--

"The tenderness I had and have for her is not to be expressed nor compared save with the love of David for Jonathan. How have I been wounded! Yourself, my dear Miss P., is a witness to her ungoverned passions. Your delicacy will not prefer to entail the misery of explanation on me."

I hurriedly disclaimed any wish to pursue the subject, and she was silent as if revolving the scene. But why should I now hesitate to own that though all the propriety of speech and silence had been on Miss Burney's side, my own sympathies were engaged with the poor lady. I thought a heart that less weighed opinion must have melted at her appeal to fond memories, gushing warm from a sensibility that she could not control. Since that interview, when I have heard Mrs. Piozzi censured I could comprehend the high romantic notion with which she had entered on her marriage, and the more so, since I had been credibly informed that Mr Piozzi was in all respects admirable could he but have had the blessing to be born an Englishman and Protestant.

"Dear Miss P., I trust to you to keep this painful meeting a secret," said my companion. "I know your serious and respectable character too well to doubt you will draw the veil over the wild ungoverned temper of one once so honoured."

I promised and reserved my thoughts and we turned back to the Castle. But the events of this astonishing walk were not yet at an end. We were nearing the gates of the gardens, when we saw Colonel and Mrs Digby beneath the trees on the further side. They were not conversing and the whole width of the path was between them. It gave rightly or wrongly an air of dissatisfaction, of weariness in each other's company, that struck me as instantly as it did my companion, though of course it could be no surprise to see them where all the Household took their airings when they would. She drew me sharply behind a tree.

"Miss P.," she said in breathless agitation, "it is not the least of my sufferings here that I know it is supposed they are caused by this marriage. I beg you would not deny it (for I would have spoken)--it is too palpable that this is believed. Yet you are wrong--completely wrong. Those who have ceased to give us pleasure very soon lose the power to give us pain; and I view his marriage with an indifference that wishes him neither well nor ill. My heart was never engaged. I will not deny that he risked it and all my peace with it, but he succeeded not. I do not form one wish to be in her place whom we have just seen. They will have what happiness they deserve and, if I am not mistaken, I think it will be little indeed."

She turned and gazed after them with an expression of bitterness the most concentrated. Never again did I doubt that it was not wounded love but wounded pride which was driving her from Court into the retirement of her home. Let others more capable than myself judge which is the severer pang! She had never regarded him further than as he had flattered her vanity as woman and genius, and a burning resentment at the public slight was all that needed commiseration.

She added composedly:--

"Your kindness deserved this explanation and will accept it. There is no man on earth so indifferent to me as Colonel Digby, and later events will prove to you that I speak the truth."

I said I could but rejoice to hear it, and we returned from these agitations to her room.

All this confirmed the opinion I held that she was naturally a person of agreeable disposition but spoiled by her literary success. I never doubted that her acceptance of Court office was with a view to a brilliant establishment such as she had given her own "Evelina." She was as much her own heroine and hoped for as romantic advancement, very sensibly preferring a social triumph, could it be secured, to a mere literary one, which she always took a little doubtfully as somewhat that might be disparaged. Disappointed, and openly disappointed, in this hope by the heartless behaviour of Colonel Digby, she felt retreat to be inevitable and also the only hope for a future settlement. Yet had she been wiser to remain! I have ever been convinced that her taste for the pen was gone by and that only the narrowness of her means drove her to it again. At Court she would have been valuable from a natural caution which received a fresh lesson in this foiled love-affair. When I add that Mrs Schwellenberg offered her the reversion of her own place when ill health should cause her retirement and that I know this would have been confirmed, it will be seen what she most imprudently sacrificed to sentiment.

It will be objected that marriage was her object. If so, there were opportunities at Court she could not have elsewhere, and among the grave clergy who attended, a suitable settlement might have been found. Miss Burney, as the lady of a Bishop, dispensing a serious hospitality and amending his Charges to his clergy, would have been in her right place. I am told that her later manner of writing was far more suited to Episcopality than to fiction, and can answer that when reading her "Memoirs" of her father I was unable to trace the sense through the verbiage, which appears to confirm this view. But it was not to be, though I believe from the eagerness with which she ever visited the Royals and took every opportunity to keep her name in sight, that she regretted her folly and would have repaired it. But how was it possible for Their Majesties to assist a needy Frenchman and Roman Catholic?

In her final parting with her Mistress she received much kind notice, including permission to retain half her emolument as a pension--and this after but five years' service!

The sweet Princesses successively pressed her hand at the parting scene and she quitted the room with her handkerchief at her eyes and a profound final curtsey. The Princess Royal whispered aside to me:--

"Poor soul, she might have made others happier but for the cruel wound her heart has received. I cannot--cannot forgive Colonel Digby!"

The gay and pretty Princess Elizabeth, much livelier in disposition, leaned on her sister's shoulder, whispering also:--

"I think, sister, that Miss Burney will not always be inconsolable, for at the trial of Mr Warren Hastings the Duchess of Ancaster observed that Mr Wyndham was very particular in his attentions to Miss Burney and that she did by no means froisser them. And have you not thought that she will certainly meet him much oftener in town than here?"

I could but smile at the young discerner whose thoughts agreed so fully with my own. For some time after she would ask me merrily what news of Mr Wyndham, and I certainly expected it. However that was not to be, and my expectations were verified next year by Miss Burney's marriage--a truly amazing one--even to M. D'Arblay, a refugee Frenchman and Roman Catholic!

Would that I could have heard Mrs Thrale-Piozzi's views on this circumstance!

Here I end. I design these notes as a strong corrective of what might place the Queen and others of less moment in an unamiable light. Let it be remembered that Miss Burney was the spoiled child of genius, who would still be first and who throbbingly aspired to a social eminence denied her. She received all attentions from the Royal Family as her due, and knew not how to draw the distinction between what was due to her own merit and what was given by these personages as due to their own high standard of courtesy and compassion. This is a distinction seldom drawn by those unused to high circles and a mere literary society cannot teach it.

I have often desired that I could have had the honour to be admitted to Her Majesty's private thoughts on Miss Burney, and should not be wholly surprised if they favoured my own.

No doubt allowance may be made for the vagaries of genius, but none the less do I rejoice that this, my first meeting with uncommon talent, was also the last. It is entirely out of place in courts, and certainly a happy mediocrity is the soil in which flourish the domestic virtues.

Though I defend not Colonel Digby it is possible he showed his judgment if not his delicacy in his retreat, it being very difficult for him or any man to preserve in Miss Burney's company that sense of superiority which is so essential to matrimonial peace. There was that in her eye which, if suddenly surprised, indicated satire; there was that in her demeanour which hinted depths which might or might not be soothing. To be candid, what we do not understand is feared rather than loved. And it is to the author of "Evelina" I owe this conviction.

Peace be with her manes when what I have so doubtfully written shall be read!

Elizabeth Bennet Mrs. Darcy

"I must confess," observed Jane Austen, when Elizabeth Bennet, who had been created in 1796, was at last introduced to the world of readers in 1812, "I must confess that I think her as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how I shall be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least, I do not know."

Miss Austen had the whimsical habit of diverting herself, when visiting portrait galleries, by looking for faces that resembled those of her heroines. She was continually on the watch for Elizabeth, but never came upon her. She found Mrs. Bingley, "in a white gown with green ornaments," but not Mrs. Darcy herself. "I daresay Mrs. D. will be in yellow."

The exhibition in Spring Gardens promised well, but no Elizabeth appeared. "We have been both to the exhibition and to Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and I am disappointed, for there was nothing like Mrs. D. at either. I can only imagine that Mr. D. prizes any picture of her too much to like it should be exposed to the public eye. I can imagine he would have that sort of feeling--that mixture of love, pride, and delicacy."

We could wish that Miss Austen had found the portrait; but since she never did, there is none of Mrs. Darcy in this book.

[The end]
L. Adams Beck's short story: A Bluestocking At Court

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