CHAPTER VII

HALF A LIFETIME

Whatever view may be taken of the effect of Miss Burney’s life at Court upon her literary prospects, it was allowed by King George that she had sacrificed something. “It is but her due,” said that amiable monarch, referring to the Queen’s intention of granting her late Keeper of Robes a retiring allowance. “She has given up five years of her pen.” A hundred pounds per annum may not, it is true, seem much; but considering the amount of Miss Burney’s salary, and the brief duration of her service, it was not illiberal. And it came out of the Queen’s pocket. “It is solely from _me_ to _you_,”—Her Majesty told her, adding other friendly expressions of farewell. This pension, or retiring allowance,—as far as we know,—Miss Burney continued to receive for the greater part of her life, which lasted forty-eight years more. That this is also the period comprised in the present chapter, may appear—at first sight—to suggest a certain hurry at the close. But the fault lies with the material, not with the limits of the volume. After Miss Burney’s resignation, and her marriage two years later, the events of her career, as well as the record of them, grow less interesting. She wrote tragedies, one of which was produced, and failed. She wrote a comedy, which was never produced at all. She wrote—mainly for money—two novels, which were commercial successes but added nothing to her reputation. Finally, in extreme old age, she wrote _Memoirs_ of her father, which have been over-abused, but which cannot conscientiously be praised. Such are the leading facts of her literary life from the 7th July, 1791,—the day she quitted St. James’s Palace,—to her death in 1840.

For a week or two she remained at home,—home being now Chelsea College, where her father was domiciled. Then her kind friend, Mrs. Ord, carried her off on a four months’ tour to recruit. “She rambled”—in Macaulay’s picturesque phrases—“by easy journeys from cathedral to cathedral, and from watering-place to watering-place. She crossed the New Forest, and visited Stonehenge and Wilton, the cliffs of Lyme, and the beautiful valley of Sidmouth. Thence she journeyed by Powderham Castle, and by the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, to Bath, and from Bath, when the winter was approaching, returned well and cheerful to London.”[70] By this time it was the middle of October. Her father had anxiously awaited her coming, not without hope that she would forthwith resume her literary pursuits. Resume them indeed she did, but fitfully, working chiefly at tragedies, two of which she had roughly sketched at Windsor. To these she now added a third. “I go on with various writings,” she says at the close of 1791, “at different times, and just as the humour strikes. I have promised my dear father a Christmas Box, and a New Year’s gift upon my return from Norbury Park, and therefore he now kindly leaves me to my own devices.” But social functions, as in the post-Cecilian days, began to exercise their old attraction; and, in her _Diary_, we frequently trace her at places which were not those haunts of study and imagination, the great and little “Grubberies” at Chelsea. She visits poor Sir Joshua, now nearly blind, with bandaged and green-shaded eyes, and fast nearing his end.[71] “‘I am very glad,’ he said, in a meek voice and dejected accent, ‘to see you again, and I wish I could see you better! but I have only one eye now—and hardly that.’” She visits Buckingham House periodically, and even looks in upon “Cerbera,” who is unexpectedly cordial, though she has evidently not forgiven her old colleague for declining to die at her post. During the temporary lameness of her successor, Mlle. Jacobi, Miss Burney goes so far as to resume her attendance for two days, only to be amply assured, by that brief experience, of the peril she has escaped. “Indeed,”—she says,—“I was half dead with only two days’ and nights’ exertion.” She goes again to the ever-during Hastings trial,[72] renewing her relations with Windham; she goes to a public breakfast at Mrs. Montagu’s in Portman Square, and sees the Feather Room, referred to in chapter iv. “It was like a full Ranelagh by daylight,” she writes; and among other guests she meets Sophy Streatfield, no longer the peerless “S.S.” of yore, but faded, and sad, and changed. Another visit she mentions is to Mrs. Crewe at Hampstead. Mrs. Crewe, it will be remembered, was the daughter of Fanny’s godmother, Mrs. Greville. Here she listens to Burke’s praise of her dead friend, Mrs. Delany, whom he affirms to have been “a real fine lady”—“the model of an accomplished woman of former times”; and she reads with her hostess the newly published _Pleasures of Memory_ of Mr. Samuel Rogers.

The close of 1792 was saddened by the sudden death of Miss Burney’s brother-in-law, Mr. Francis of Aylsham,—an event which detained her for some time in Norfolk. It is about this time, too, that we begin to hear of the French refugees whose arrival in this country, previous to the execution of Louis the Sixteenth, was to exercise so important an influence upon Fanny’s fortunes. The letters of Mrs. Phillips from Mickleham are much occupied with these illustrious exiles. There is the Duc de Liancourt, who has escaped to England in a small boat covered with faggots; there is Mme. de Broglie, who has taken a little cottage hard by in the hamlet of West Humble. There is a group who have clubbed to rent Juniper Hall—a delightful and still existent house on the road between Mickleham and Burford Bridge. This group, or syndicate, consists of Count Louis de Narbonne, ex-Minister of War; of the Marquise de la Châtre and her son; of M. de Montmorency, “a _ci-devant Duc_”; of M. de Jaucourt; and afterwards of Mme. de Staël, and M. Ch. Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, late Bishop of Autun,—not yet the terrible old man of Maclise’s sketch and Rossetti’s scathing description,[73] but a dignified personage of eight-and-thirty. Finally there was M. de Narbonne’s friend, M. Alexandre D’Arblay, an artillery officer, _maréchal de camp_ and former adjutant-general to La Fayette. On the night of the flight to Varennes he had been on guard at the Tuileries. With all these pathetic figures of exile, the waif and stray of a fallen Constitution, Mrs. Phillips, with her French traditions and education, was delighted; but particularly with the last. “He seems to me”—she writes to Fanny in November—“a true _militaire, franc et loyal_—open as the day—warmly affectionate to his friends—intelligent, ready, and amusing in conversation, with a great share of _gaieté de cœur_, and at the same time, of _naïveté_ and _bonne foi_.” Further, he was announced to be about forty, tall, with a good figure, and a frank and manly countenance. Like his friend, Narbonne, he had lost almost everything, but what Narbonne had left they were to share. “Quoique ce soit, nous le partagerons ensemble,” he said. “Je ne m’en fais pas le moindre scrupule, puisque nous n’avons eu qu’un intérêt commun, et nous nous sommes toujours aimés comme frères.”

Early in January, having duly presented herself at Buckingham House on the Queen’s Birthday, Fanny set out for Norbury Park, arriving just after the news of the execution of Louis the Sixteenth, an event which of course overwhelmed her. With her quick sympathies, she was soon absorbed by the interesting tenants of _Junipère_, as they called it; and they, on their side, were equally interested in the author of _Cecilia_.[74] Mme. de Staël, who was now at the head of the little French colony, was especially amiable to the lady whom she designates “la première femme d’Angleterre”; and Fanny seems to have been delighted from the first with Narbonne and his friend. M. D’Arblay—she tells her father—“is one of the most delightful characters I have ever met, for openness, probity, intellectual knowledge, and unhackneyed manners.” Very soon she is being pressed by Mme. de Staël—who is as ardent as Mrs. Thrale—to come and stay at Juniper. Concurrently, M. D’Arblay, who, in addition to his other good qualities, turns out to be “passionately fond of literature, a most delicate critic in his own language, well versed in both Italian and German, and a very elegant poet,”[75] undertakes to teach her French in return for lessons in English. Dr. Burney, who received these confidences (_per_ favour of M. de Talleyrand _en route_ to his too expensive lodgings in Woodstock Street), and no doubt recollected the similar relations of Sir Charles Grandison and Clementina, must have foreseen the result—not without misgiving. He did not like Talleyrand; there was gossip afloat about Narbonne and Mme. de Staël; and at length, when “this enchanting M. D’Arblay” (as Fanny calls him to Mrs. Locke) openly expressed what was no doubt a genuine affection for his daughter, he was naturally averse from a match which promised so little, as the gentleman had no prospect of regaining his lost fortune, and Fanny had only her pension and her pen. But romance, and the world, were, as usual, against common sense; and after retreating for a little “maiden meditation” to Chessington, whither she was promptly followed by her lover, Fanny was eventually married to M. D’Arblay at Mickleham Church on the 31st July, 1793, Captain Burney, in the absence of his father, giving her away. Owing to the bridegroom’s being a Roman Catholic, the ceremony was, on the following day, repeated at the chapel of the Sardinian Ambassador in London—the object being that, if by any chance M. D’Arblay came to his own again, his wife might not be debarred from participation. Their means for the present were limited to Fanny’s pension, which, it had been feared, might be withdrawn. This fear, however, must have been removed. Mr. Locke gave them a site for a cottage in Norbury Park, adding cheerfully that after all, £100 per annum was but the income of many curates. But the view of the outsiders is expressed by Miss Maria Josepha Holroyd in a letter to her friend Miss Firth. “I must desire you”—she writes—“to wonder at Miss Burney’s marriage if I have not mentioned it before. She met with Monsieur D’Arblay at Mr. Locke’s, therefore probably Mme. de Staël was in the secret.” . . . “He [M. D’Arblay] is even worse off than many other Emigrants, who have at least a futurity of Order in France to look forward to. But this man is disinherited by his father, for the part he took in politics, having followed LaFayette on his Étât Major. Miss Burney has nothing but the 100l from the Queen. Should you not have formed a better opinion of the author of _Cecilia_?”[76]

The match, not the less, was a thoroughly happy one. “Never,”—says Mme. D’Arblay’s niece,—“never was union more blessed and felicitous; though after the first eight years of unmingled happiness, it was assailed by many calamities, chiefly of separation or illness, yet still mentally unbroken.” Pending the arrival of funds for building the cottage in Norbury Park, they went into temporary lodgings in Phenice or Phœnix Farm, and subsequently migrated to what she calls—“a very small house in the suburbs of a very small village called Bookham”—about two miles from Mickleham. Very early in his wedded life M. D’Arblay announced his intention of taking part in the Toulon Expedition; but fortunately for his wife, his services, for reasons which do not appear, were not accepted by the Government. Upon this he settled down quietly to domesticity and gardening—in which he was apparently more energetic than expert. “Abdolonime,”[77] writes Mme. D’Arblay to her father after his first visit to the Bookham hermitage,—“‘Abdolonime’ [who figures her husband] has no regret but that his garden was not in better order; he was a little _piqué_, he confesses, that you said it was not _very neat_—and, _to be shor!_—but his passion is to do great works: he undertakes with pleasure, pursues with energy, and finishes with spirit, but, then, all is over! He thinks the business once done always done; and to repair, and amend, and weed, and cleanse,—O, these are drudgeries insupportable to him!“ However, he seems to have succeeded in “_plantant des choux_,” as it is admitted that the Bookham cabbages were remarkable for freshness and flavour; and when La Fayette’s ex-adjutant mowed down the hedge with his sabre, his wife was “the most _contente personne_ in the world” to see that warlike weapon so peaceably employed. Madame herself, after composing a not very persuasive Address to the Ladies of England on behalf of the Emigrant French clergy, was plying her pen upon a new novel and a tragedy. Then, at the close of 1794,—a year which had not been “blemished with one regretful moment,” her activities were interrupted by the birth (Dec. 18) of a son, who was christened Alexandre Charles Louis Piochard, his _prénoms_ being derived from his father, and his godfathers, Dr. Burney junior, and the Count de Narbonne.

The tragedy was the earlier of Mme. D’Arblay’s new works to see the light. She had begun it, she says, at Kew, and she finished it at Windsor (August, 1790), without any specific intention either of production or publication. Having been read by some of her family and friends, it was shown by her brother Charles to John Kemble, who pronounced for its acceptance. A few days before the birth of her son it was suddenly required for Sheridan’s inspection, with the result that, according to the author’s account, it was brought out at Drury Lane without the full revision she intended, and as she subsequently had a seven weeks’ illness, was never in a position, to give it. On the 21st March, 1795, it was played. But not even the Kembles and Mrs. Siddons, aided as they were by Bensley and Palmer, could secure a success for _Edwy and Elgiva_, nor could the fact that there were no fewer than three Bishops among the _dramatis personae_, save it from being withdrawn, nominally “for alterations,” after one solitary performance. Mme. D’Arblay quite reasonably attributes some of its ill-fortune to her inability to correct it and superintend the rehearsals; and, in a later letter, which gives an account of its fate, she lays stress upon the very unsatisfactory acting of some of the subordinate performers. But though _Edwy and Elgiva_ was never printed, the MS., which still exists, has been carefully examined by a capable critic, whose report leaves little room for doubt as to the real cause of its faint reception.[78] Though at some points there is a certain stir and action, the plot generally lacks incident and movement. But what is said to be fatal is the “incurable poverty of its stilted language, its commonplace sentiments, and its incorrect and inharmonious versification.” The specimens given of the blank verse are certainly of the most unhappy kind. From the fact that the MS. is carefully pencilled with amendments in French and English, it is probable that, just as “Daddy” Crisp had, to the last, believed in _Virginia_, the author must have continued to believe in _Edwy and Elgiva_. But though Cumberland—always forgiving to a failure—professed that the players had lent it an ill-name, and offered to risk his life on its success if it were re-cast and submitted to his inspection, it is not likely the audience were radically wrong. What is wonderful is, that Sheridan and Kemble should have accepted it, and that Mrs. Siddons should have consented to play the heroine.

When, a month after the production of _Edwy and Elgiva_, Warren Hastings, to Mme. D’Arblay’s great delight, was finally acquitted, she was apparently hard at work upon her new novel, with which she makes as rapid progress as is consistent with the absorbing care of the little personage whom she styles the “Bambino,” and to whom she hopes “it may be a little portion.” In June she tells a friend that it has been a long time in hand, and will be published in about a year. But, owing to the expenses of the press, she has now—money being a very definite object—decided to act upon the advice, formerly given to her by Burke, and to print by subscription. “This is in many—many ways,” she writes, “unpleasant and unpalatable to us both; but the chance of real use and benefit to our little darling overcomes all scruples, and, therefore, to work we go.” The Honble. Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Crewe and Mrs. Locke consented to keep the subscription books. The result of this contrivance, which Dr. Burney (who was generally unfortunate as an adviser) did not at first approve, was a complete pecuniary success. _Camilla; or, a Picture of Youth_, was issued in the middle of 1796, in five volumes, 8vo., with a list of subscribers rivalling that of Prior to the poems of 1718. It occupies thirty-eight pages; and the whole is headed by the Duchess of York, and the Duke of Gloucester. The volumes are dedicated, from Bookham, to the Queen, who, when they were presented to her at Windsor by Mme. D’Arblay and her husband in person, repaid the compliment by a purse of one hundred guineas from herself and the King. Many persons took more than one copy. Warren Hastings interested himself specially for his staunch adherent, and engaged to attack the East Indies on her behalf. Burke, a sad and mourning man, who had lost both son and brother, subscribed nevertheless for them, as well as for his wife, sending £20 for a single copy; three of the Miss Thrales took ten copies, Mrs. Piozzi two, and so forth. It would be idle to select further names; but two are of special interest. One is that of “Miss J. Austen, Steventon”; the other that of the sworn adversary of “what you call stuff,” Mrs. Schwellenberg, who with Miss Planta and Miss Goldsworthy rallied round an old colleague. The names of Colonel Digby and his wife are significantly absent.[79] The result of all this effort was encouraging. About a month after publication Dr. Burney told Horace Walpole that his daughter had made £2000; and three months after publication only five hundred copies remained out of four thousand. The selling price was one guinea, so that Macaulay’s estimate that the author “cleared more than three thousand guineas” is,—allowing for fancy payments and the Queen’s _douceur_, and deducting for the cost of publication,—probably below the mark upon this occasion.

_Camilla_, however, could not be called a literary success, even by its contemporaries, and certainly was not an advance upon the writer’s previous works. Horace Walpole, who had regretted the live-burial of the author’s talents in the Windsor antechambers, was too frank to disguise his disappointment. He had not cared for _Cecilia_ as much as _Evelina_: he thought the “deplorable _Camilla_” infinitely worse than _Cecilia_. “Madame D’Arblay,”—he wrote to Hannah More in August, 1796,—had “reversed experience.” She had known the world and penetrated character before she had stepped over the threshold, “and, now she had seen so much of it, she had little or no insight at all.” This, of course, did not prevent the _Monthly Review_ from politely comparing her to Homer,—both for occasionally nodding and for the peculiar distinctness and propriety of her delineations of character. But though Mme. D’Arblay still deserves the praise which Burke had formerly given to her, and which the _Monthly Review_ repeats, of assigning “to each person a language of his own, and preserving it uniformly through the work,” the maze of misapprehensions which encompass the loves of Camilla Tyrold and Edgar Mandlebert grows sadly tedious, and the book, it must be confessed, is difficult reading. Whether, if it had been written in the style of _Evelina_, it would have been more attractive, is impossible to say: the style in which it is in great part written, by reason of its absurd roundabout pomposity, is simply unendurable. “Where opinion may humour systematic prepossession, who shall build upon his virtue or wisdom to guard the transparency of his impartiality”—is one of the sentences which even Mr. Griffiths’ review is forced to characterise as “singularly obscure.” Obscure it certainly is; but it is not by any means single, for there are other passages to pattern. For this extraordinary degradation of manner various reasons have been assigned. It has been ascribed to recollections of Johnson,—to imitation of Dr. Burney,—to the influence of a French husband,—to the inflation superinduced upon a court appointment. There is another cause that has not been mentioned, which we suspect had more to do with the matter than any of the things suggested. This is, that Mme. D’Arblay had recently been engaged in the composing of much indifferent blank verse; and like other distinguished authors, she fell insensibly into this laboured style whenever she had anything to say in her own person which she regarded as unusually fine. And it is curious that the manner must have been adopted _de parti pris_, for, as the “Abdolonime” quotation on an earlier page almost suffices to show, she was, at this very time, writing easy and graphic letters to her friends. But apart from the style, and the fact that the personages reproduce, in many instances, the earlier types, there is still humour and careful character-drawing in the Orkbornes and Dubsters and Clarendels of _Camilla_. And even the impatient modern may care to remember that in Chapter V. of _Northanger Abbey_ Jane Austen does not scruple to couple it with _Cecilia_ and Miss Edgeworth’s _Belinda_ in terms of enthusiastic praise; and that Charles Lamb himself, in a sonnet to Fanny’s novelist step-sister Sarah Harriet, referring to her elder as—

“renowned for many a tale Of faithful love perplexed”—

goes on to commend specially the character of Sir Hugh Tyrold—

“that good Old man, who, as CAMILLA’S guardian, stood In obstinate virtue clad like coat of mail.”[80]

At the close of 1796 Mme. D’Arblay lost her step-mother. By this time she was apparently engaged in converting the gains from _Camilla_ into bricks and mortar. Upon a piece of land in a field at West Humble, leased to her husband by Mr. Locke of Norbury,[81] they built a cottage, to which, at Dr. Burney’s suggestion, they gave the name of the novel;[82] and the letters at this date are full of the activities of M. D’Arblay, who was his own sole architect and surveyor, in planning his new garden, digging a well, and constructing a sunk fence to prevent the inroads of the domestic (and prospective) cow. As may be anticipated, the cost of building largely exceeded the estimate. “Our new habitation”—she writes in August, 1797—“will very considerably indeed exceed our first intentions and expectations”; and not much remained when the bills for Camilla Cottage were discharged. The expenses of living in war time, too, were exceptionally heavy, and various expedients were suggested to replenish the _pot-au-feu_, including the liberal planting of potatoes in every corner of the little property. It was perhaps wise that under this pressure Mme. D’Arblay did not fall in with Mrs. Crewe’s proposal that she should edit an Anti-Jacobin journal to be styled _The Breakfast Table_. But she again attempted the stage with a comedy called _Love and Fashion_, which, in 1799, was actually accepted and put into rehearsal by Harris of Covent Carden. Dr. Burney, however, had set his heart upon fiction. It was in vain that his daughter protested that all her life she had been urged to write a comedy, and that to write a comedy was her ambition. Moreover, that the incidents and effects for a drama occurred to her, and the combinations for a long work did not. Her father was seized with a panic of failure, and early in 1800 _Love and Fashion_ was hastily withdrawn. Before this took place, Mme. D’Arblay had the misfortune to lose her sister, Mrs. Phillips, who since 1796 had been resident in Ireland. She died on the 6th January, when on her way to visit her relations. In 1801, the preliminaries for the short-lived Peace of Amiens having been signed, and the difficulties of the domestic situation being urgent, M. D’Arblay decided to return to France, hoping vaguely, first, to recover his lost property, and, secondly, to obtain from Napoleon something in the nature of a recognition of his past military services. Ultimately, having stipulated that he should not be called upon to serve against his wife’s country, and having besides pledged himself to the Alien office, when obtaining his passport, not to return to that country for a year, he found himself in the double predicament of getting nothing, and being obliged to remain in France, whither he accordingly summoned his _bonne amie_ and his son.

Mme. D’Arblay expected to have been able to come back to her father in eighteen months: she stayed in France ten years. During this period she resided with her husband at Passy. Their means, in the absence of remittances from England, which had practically ceased with the renewal of the war, consisted, primarily, of a small military _retraite_, or retiring allowance, of 1500 francs per annum (£62, 10s.), and later of a modest income earned by M. D’Arblay as a _rédacteur_ and afterwards _sous-chef_ in the Civil Department of _les Bâtiments_ (_Ministère de l’Intérieur_). The post was no sinecure, and carried him to Paris daily from about half-past eight to half-past five. But he was treated by his chiefs with exemplary good feeling and consideration; and although, for lack of funds, only three rooms of the little home in the Rue Basse were finished and furnished, the husband and wife were perfectly happy. “Our view is extremely pretty from it [Paris on one side; the country on the other], and always cheerful; we rarely go out, yet always are pleased to return. We have our books, our prate, and our boy—how, with all this, can we, or ought we, to suffer ourselves to complain of our narrowed and narrowing income?” This was written in April, 1804. In 1810, they have apparently moved to Paris, for she dates from the Rue D’Anjou; and is rejoicing over the adopted friends she has found in her adopted country. “The society in which I mix, when I can prevail with myself to quit my yet dearer fireside, is all that can be wished, whether for wit, wisdom, intelligence, gaiety or politeness.” M. D’Arblay, says the same letter, is well, and at his office, where he is sadly overworked; and their son, now a youth of fifteen, with mathematical gifts, is preparing, at the same table, an exercise for his master. He is thin, pale and strong—we are told elsewhere;—but terribly _sauvage_, and singularly “averse to all the forms of society. Where he can have got such a rebel humour we conceive not; but it costs him more to make a bow than to resolve six difficult problems of algebra, or to repeat twelve pages from Euripides; and as to making a civil speech, he would sooner renounce the world.”[83]

In 1810 M. D’Arblay yielded to his wife’s desire to visit her friends in England. Everything had been done, and M. de Narbonne had procured her passport from the terrible Fouché, when a sudden embargo blocked all departures from the coast, and she was unable to start. In the following year she was operated upon for “a menace of cancer” by Napoleon’s famous surgeon, Baron de Larrey, a trial which, according to her niece, she bore with such fortitude as to earn, in her French circle, the name of _L’Ange_. In 1812 she made another, and a more successful, attempt to reach England. The necessity was then growing urgent, as her son was seventeen, and liable soon to a conscription which would have forced him to do the very thing his father had endeavoured to avoid,—namely, to fight the English. Mme. D’Arblay and young Alexandre, after waiting six weeks vainly at Dunkirk, at last landed at Deal in August. Many things had happened in her ten years’ absence. The King was now hopelessly mad; the Princess Amelia was dead; Mr. Twining was dead, as was also Mr. Locke of Norbury. She found her father sadly aged and broken, and indeed almost entirely confined to his bed-room. But she had plenty to occupy her during her stay. First, there was the settling of her son at Cambridge, where, having gained the Tancred scholarship, he began residence at Christ’s College in October 1813. Then there was the completion and publication of a new book, of which nearly three volumes out of five had been finished before she quitted France. Already, from Paris, she had been attempting some informal negotiations as to this, for Byron had heard of its existence. “My bookseller, Cawthorne,”—he wrote to Harness in Dec. 1811,—“has just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he is in treaty for a novel of Madame D’Arblay’s, for which 1000 guineas are asked! He wants me to read the MS. (if he obtains it), which I shall do with pleasure; but I should be very cautious in venturing an opinion on her whose _Cecilia_ Dr. Johnson superintended.[84] If he lends it to me, I shall put it into the hands of Rogers and M[oor]e, who are truly men of taste.” Three days later, he repeats the story to Hodgson; but the amount has grown to 1500 guineas.

The best one can say about _The Wanderer; or,_ _Female Difficulties_, issued in March 1814, is, that it brought grist to the mill. It was not published by subscription like _Camilla_;[85] but Mme. D’Arblay herself tells us that 3600 copies were “positively sold and paid for” at the “rapacious price” of two guineas each in six months. From a literary point of view the book was an utter failure. It “was apparently never read by anybody,” observes Sir Leslie Stephen; and Macaulay says that “no judicious friend to the author’s memory will attempt to draw it from the oblivion into which it has justly fallen.” Even Mme. D’Arblay’s most faithful editor and admirer, Mrs. Ellis, makes open and heartfelt thanksgiving that it is not her duty to read it again. After these discouraging opinions from critics not unfriendly, it is scarcely surprising to learn that _The Wanderer_ was attacked with unusual severity in the _Quarterly_ for April, 1814; or that Hazlitt should, in the _Edinburgh_ for February, 1815, make it the sorry pretext for that admirable survey of the national fiction which he afterwards converted into No. VI. of his _Lectures on the English Comic Writers_. Hazlitt earned, as has already been told in chapter i., the disapprobation of honest James Burney for his treatment of Mme. D’Arblay’s final effort. Yet it is notable that the critic blames _The Wanderer_, not for “decay of talent, but a perversion of it.” It is impossible to say as much now. The book, in truth, is wearisome, and its “difficulties” are unreal. The reason for its first success is, we suspect, to be traced to the cause suggested by Mme. D’Arblay herself, namely, the prevailing expectation that its pages would present a picture of contemporary and revolutionary France, where, it was known, the writer had been residing; and that this led to a number of copies being freely bespoken. When the real nature of its theme—the trivial and improbable adventures, in England, of a female refugee during the reign of Robespierre—was fully appreciated, the sale immediately fell off. Were it not futile, it would be interesting to speculate whether, had _The Wanderer_ taken the place of _Evelina_ in the order of Mme. D’Arblay’s productions, it would have succeeded at all, even in the absence of rivals. But it is a curious instance of the irony of circumstance that a book which nobody could read should have brought more than £7000 to somebody in the year in which Miss Edgeworth published _Patronage_, and Miss Austen, _Mansfield Park_. It is also more curious still, that in this very year Constable could not see his way to risk more than £700 on the copyright of an anonymous novel entitled _Waverley; or, ’tis Sixty Years Since_.

The Preface or Dedication to _The Wanderer_, from which some quotations have already been made during the progress of this volume, is dated 14 March, 1814. On the 12 April following, Dr. Burney died, being nursed tenderly by his daughter Fanny during his last illness. He had attained his eighty-eighth year, and since 1806 had enjoyed a pension of £300 per annum. One of the last distinctions of his busy career, which he had latterly occupied with a _Life of Metastasio_ and contributions to Rees’ _Cyclopædia_, was that of Correspondent to the Institute of France, the diploma for which Mme. D’Arblay brought with her from Paris. A tablet was erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey. Not long after his death, his daughter had the honour of being presented, in England, to Louis XVIII., who received her effusively, complimenting her, “in very pretty English,” upon her writings, and bidding her farewell at last under the style of “Madame la Comtesse.”[86] This was in April, 1814, after the taking of Paris, and the abdication of Buonaparte. A short time subsequently M. D’Arblay arrived from the French capital. He received a commission from the Duc de Luxembourg as Sous-Lieutenant in the Corps de Garde, and was restored to his old rank as Maréchal de Camp. He came to England on leave later in the same year, and took his wife back with him to France. Then followed the return of Buonaparte from Elba; and in March, 1815, Mme. D’Arblay took flight for Brussels. Some time afterwards she wrote from memory a narrative of the Hundred Days (March 20 to June 28), which has interest, but not the interest of a journal, although it is supposed to have supplied Thackeray with hints for the Brussels chapters of _Vanity Fair_. In July of the same year, General D’Arblay, while attempting, at Trèves, to raise a troop of refugees, received a kick from an unbroken horse. The accident was made worse by unskilled surgery; and having now, like his wife, passed his sixtieth year, he was placed on the retired list, with the title of Lieutenant-General, and received permission to settle in England. Three years later (3 May, 1818), he died at Bath, being buried in Walcot churchyard.[87] General D’Arblay is one of the most delightful figures in his wife’s _Diary_. A true _militaire_—as Susan Burney called him—he is also a typical specimen of the old pre-revolutionary _régime_, courteous, cheerful, amiable, and as dignified in ill-fortune as he is patient under poverty.

The remaining occurrences of Mme. D’Arblay’s life may be rapidly related. At Bath, in 1817 she had renewed her acquaintance with Mrs. Piozzi. At Ilfracombe, in the same year, she had a narrow escape from drowning, being surprised by the rising of the tide when she was searching for curiosities. After M. D’Arblay’s death she moved to 11, Bolton Street, Piccadilly, which bears a Society of Arts tablet in testimony of her residence there. It was at Bolton Street that she was visited by Sir Walter Scott, who describes her in his _Journal_ for Nov. 18, 1826. Rogers took him. He found her an elderly lady (she was then seventy-four), “with no remains of personal beauty, but with a gentle manner and a pleasing expression of countenance. She told me she had wished to see two persons—myself, of course, being one; the other, George Canning. This was really a compliment to be pleased with—a nice little handsome pat of butter made up by a neat-handed Phillis of a dairymaid, instead of the grease, fit only for cart-wheels, which one is dosed with by the pound.” She told him the story of _Evelina_, and the mulberry tree episode.[88] “I trust I shall see this lady again,” writes Scott; “she has simple and apparently amiable manners, with quick feelings.”[89] He did see her again, two years later, and again with Rogers, when she showed him some notes which she induced him to believe had been recollected and jotted down in compliance with his suggestion on the former occasion. This was in May 1828.[90]

From 1828 to 1832 she busied herself in putting together the _Memoirs of Dr. Burney_, which appeared in the latter year. They are based, with slight exceptions, on her father’s own MSS., drawn up in 1807 and afterwards, and on her own unprinted diaries and personal recollections. She herself was eighty when they were published, and her style had not improved with age. For the present generation, these records have been superseded by the publication of the original diaries and letters upon which in part they were based; but when they were issued in 1832, their memories and anecdotes were new to the public, who were not so impatient of their other defects as are later readers. Southey, indeed, to whom the volumes were sent by the author’s son, was unreserved in his praise. He wrote from Keswick that _Evelina_ had not given him more pleasure when he was a schoolboy than these memoirs had given him now, and that was saying a good deal. “Except Boswell’s”—he went on—“there is no other work in our language which carries us into such society, and makes us fancy that we are acquainted with the people to whom we are there introduced.” But Croker, whom she had declined to assist with material for his edition of Boswell, made the _Memoirs_ the subject of malignant attack in the _Quarterly_ for April, 1833. Mme. D’Arblay—we are given to understand—was seriously pained by the imputation of unveracity contained in this article; and she might well be hurt on other grounds. The duties of reviewers are not always pleasant to perform; and Croker might plead, in defence of his ungallant inquisition into the author’s age, that, like Rousseau, he was simply actuated by the love of truth; but to say of a blameless and inoffensive old lady of eighty, who might certainly claim indulgence for imperfect recollection, that her style could not have been “more feeble, anile, incoherent, or ‘_sentant plus l’apoplexie_,’” is surely to write oneself down both cruel and contemptible.

One of the rare references to Mme. D’Arblay at this date is contained in Disraeli’s letters to his sister. “_Contarini_,” he writes, “seems universally liked, but moves slowly. The staunchest admirer I have in London, and the most discerning appreciator of _Contarini_, is old Madame D’Arblay. I have a long letter, which I will show you,—capital!” This was written in July, 1832. In 1837 Mme. D’Arblay had the misfortune to lose her son. Since she had placed him at Cambridge in 1813, he had done well. He had graduated in 1818 as tenth Wrangler; and though handicapped by a French education, became a Fellow of his College (Christ’s). Having taken orders in 1819, he was made, in 1836, minister of Ely Chapel, Holborn. He was preparing to marry, when he succumbed suddenly to influenza in January, 1837. His mother did not long survive him. Two years later, she was attacked by an illness, which was accompanied by spectral illusions; and, on January 6, 1840, being then in her eighty-eighth year, she died, at Lower Grosvenor Street, New Bond Street, and was buried by the side of her husband and son at Walcot. The prettiest story of her last days is told by Rogers. It is _à propos_ of the well-known lines which begin—

“Life! we’ve been long together”;

and end—

“Say not Good Night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning.”

“Sitting with Madame D’Arblay some time before she died, I [Rogers] said to her, ‘Do you remember those lines of Mrs. Barbauld’s _Life_, which I once repeated to you?’ ‘Remember them,’ she replied; ‘I repeat them to myself every night before I go to sleep.’”[91]

* * * * *

In 1842, two years after Mme. D’Arblay’s death, the first five volumes of her _Diary and Letters_ were issued. These, like the _Memoirs of Dr. Burney_, were savagely assailed by Croker in the _Quarterly_ in an article which had the good fortune to provoke a masterly retort in the _Edinburgh_ from Lord Macaulay. Modern research has rectified some of the minor details, and modern criticism may dissent from some of the deductions, in this famous counterblast. But though no doubt prompted by antagonism to Mme. D’Arblay’s assailant in the rival review, and though strongly coloured by the writer’s political opinions, it remains, and must remain, a memorable tribute to the author of _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_.

To Lord Macaulay’s essay, indeed, and to its periodical reproduction in fresh editions of his works, is probably due most of Mme. D’Arblay’s existing reputation as a novelist. And that reputation rests almost exclusively upon her first two productions, _Evelina_ and _Cecilia_. We doubt if the piety of the enthusiast could ever revive—or rather create—the slightest interest in _The Wanderer_; or that any but the fanatics of the out-of-date, or the student of manners, could conscientiously struggle through _Camilla_. Works of genius, it is true, are occasionally born out of due time, and consequently fail of the recognition they deserve from their contemporaries, only to attain it eventually either through the insight of the independent critic, or the better knowledge of after ages. But these were not the circumstances of _Camilla_ and _The Wanderer_. Both books were circulated freely among an audience not only specially qualified to judge, but also specially well-disposed; and if, with these advantages, they could not succeed in obtaining approbation, it is idle to attempt to revive them now. With _Cecilia_ and _Evelina_, the case is different. They stand on their merits. And their merits are undeniable. It is true that—as Walpole said—_Cecilia_ is too long; but its crowd of characters is very skilfully varied, and many of them, as Briggs, Albany, Mr. Delville, Mrs. Harrel, Mr. Monckton, are drawn with marked ability. And though the book has less freshness than its predecessor, it has more constructive power and greater certainty of hand. Mme. D’Arblay’s masterpiece, however, is _Evelina_. This she wrote because she must,—neither preoccupied with her public nor her past;[92]—and throughout this book penned for amusement in Newton’s old observatory, one never catches, as in _Cecilia_, the creak of the machinery, or fancies, in the background, the paternal voice pressing for prompt publication. It is perhaps difficult for a modern reader to be impressed by the sentiments of the excellent Mr. Villars, still less to “blubber,” like Dr. Burney, over Sir John Belmont’s heroics; but, in spite of youthful exaggerations and faults of taste, it is still possible to admire the vivacity with which Miss Anville narrates her experiences, embarrassments, and social trepidations. It is also possible to comprehend something of the unparalleled enthusiasm produced by the opportune appearance of Evelina’s history in a dead season of letters—by its freedom from taint of immorality, its unfeigned fun and humour, and its unhackneyed descriptions of humanity. One can easily conceive how welcome these latter characteristics must have been to a public sickened and depressed by the “inflammatory tales” and “sentimental frippery”[93] of the circulating libraries. _Evelina_, moreover, marks a definite deviation in the progress of the national fiction. Leaving Fielding’s breezy and bustling highway, leaving the analytic hothouse of Richardson, it carries the novel of manners into domestic life, and prepares the way for Miss Edgeworth and the exquisite parlour-pieces of Miss Austen.

Of the _Memoirs of Dr. Burney_, it is not necessary to say much more than has already been said. Although, as we have seen, Southey could praise them warmly,—to be sure, he was acknowledging a complimentary copy,—Macaulay declares that they were received with “a cry of disgust,” which a later writer converts into “a scream of derision.” Yet is must nevertheless be admitted that they contain much in the way of letters, documents, and anecdote which the student cannot well neglect; and it should be observed that it is in the connecting passages that the writer’s “peculiar rhetoric” is most manifest. The curious expedients she adopts to avoid using the personal pronoun; and the catenated phrases to which Croker objected, and which he unkindly emphasised by hyphens (_e.g._ “the yet very handsome though no longer in her bloom, Mrs. Stephen Allen,” “the sudden, at the moment, though from lingering illnesses often previously expected death, of Mrs. Burney”),—are certainly amusing; as is also the nebulous magniloquence of passages like the following, not, it may be added, an exceptional specimen:—“This sharp infliction, however, though it ill recompensed his ethereal flight, by no means checked his literary ambition; and the ardour which was cooled for gazing at the stars, soon seemed doubly re-animated for the music of the spheres.” But what is more extraordinary than these utterances is, that Mme. D’Arblay seems herself to have had no suspicion of their extravagance, since we find her, even after the publication of _The Wanderer_, gravely enjoining her son to avoid overstrained expression, not to labour to embellish his thoughts, and above all, to “be natural.”[94]

Happily for her readers, the _Diary_—to which we now come—is not written in the pernicious style of the _Memoirs of Dr. Burney_. Even in those parts of it which were composed after _Cecilia_ and _Camilla_, it is still clear, fluent, and unaffected. Now and then, perhaps,—as in the quotation on Burke’s oratory at p. 160,—there is a sense of effort; but in general, the manner is delightful. Why Macaulay, who praised the _Diary_ so much, did not praise it more,—did not, in fact, place it high above Mme. D’Arblay’s efforts as a novelist,—is hard to comprehend. It has all the graphic picturesqueness, all the dramatic interest, all the objective characterisation, all the happy faculty of “making her descriptions alive” (as “Daddy” Crisp had said),—which constitute the charm of the best passages in _Evelina_. But it has the further advantage that it is true; and that it deals with real people. King George and Queen Charlotte, Mrs. Schwellenberg and M. de Guiffardière, Johnson and Reynolds, Burke and Garrick, Sheridan, Cumberland, Mrs. Thrale, Mrs. Delany, Omai and Count Orloff—stand before us in their habits as they lived, and we know them more intimately than Mr. Briggs, believe in them more implicitly than in Captain Mirvan, and laugh at them more honestly than at “Madam French.” The _Diary_ of Mme. D’Arblay deserves to rank with the great diaries of literature. It is nothing that it is egotistical, for egotism is of its essence: it is nothing that it is minute, its minuteness enforces the impression. It gives us a gallery of portraits which speak and move; and a picture of society which we recognise as substantially true to life.

[70] _Edinburgh Review_, January 1843, lxxvi. 557.

[71] Sir Joshua Reynolds died on the 23rd February following.

[72] One of the tickets given to her by the Queen is preserved by Archdeacon Burney of Surbiton.

[73] In an article in the _Academy_ for 15th April, 1871, on the Maclise Gallery in _Fraser’s Magazine_.

[74] _Cecilia_, it may be mentioned, had been translated at Neuchâtel in 1783.

[75] He was, indeed, a better poet than Fanny herself, to judge from some graceful _vers d’occasion_, printed in the _Diary_, which he addressed to her on her birthday. The quatrain he placed under her portrait is not so happy.

[76] _The Girlhood of Maria Josepha Holroyd_ (Lady Stanley of Alderley), 1897, 2nd edn. pp. 229-30. Mrs. Barrett (_Diary and Letters_, 1892, iv. 476) puts the income “for a considerable time” at about £125, so that it must have been supplemented in some way.

[77] _Abdolonime_ is a gardener of Sidon in a five act comedy by M. de Fontenelle.

[78] Mr. E. S. Shuckburgh, in _Macmillan’s Magazine_ for February, 1890, pp. 291-98.

[79] Mrs. Ellis thought she detected in _Camilla_ a shaft aimed at the philandering Colonel. “They [men] are not like us, Lavinia. They think themselves free, if they have made no verbal profession; though they may have pledged themselves by looks, by actions, by attentions, and by manners, a thousand, and a thousand times” (_Camilla_, 1796, iv. 42-3).

[80] Lamb’s sonnet was first published in the _Morning Chronicle_, 13th July, 1820, upon the appearance of Sarah Burney’s tale of _Country Neighbours_. The author is indebted for knowledge of this poem to the courtesy of Mr. E. V. Lucas, at pp. 82-3, vol. v., of whose very valuable edition of Lamb’s works it is printed. Lamb also addressed a sonnet to Martin Charles Burney, Admiral Burney’s son. It is prefixed to vol. ii. of his _Works_, 1818. Martin Burney, a barrister, and a dear friend of Lamb, is also mentioned in Elia’s “Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading.” His mother is thought to have been “Mrs. Battle.”

[81] For reasons connected with the future tenancy of the house, Mr. Locke’s offer of a site in Norbury Park itself had finally been declined.

[82] The house, Camilla Lacey, still exists; but altered and enlarged. When Thorne wrote his _Environs of London_ in 1876, it belonged to Mr. J. L. Wylie, and contained many interesting Burney relics. It is now in possession of Mr. Wylie’s nephew, Mr. F. Leverton Harris, M.P. for Tynemouth.

[83] In “A Burney Friendship” (_Side-Lights on the Georgian Period_, by George Paston, 1902, pp. 31-32), there is an interesting extract from one of Mme. D’Arblay’s letters describing the young Alexandre’s triumphs at “the principal _école_ of Passy.”

[84] Moore’s _Life of Lord Byron_, 1844, 147. Moore corrects this in a note. But it shows that Johnson’s alleged revision of _Cecilia_ must have been current as a rumour long before Macaulay asserted it upon internal evidence in 1843.

[85] The arrangement was, that she was to receive £1500 in three payments, spread over a year and a half. If 8000 copies were sold she was to have £3000.

[86] She never used this title—as she says in an unpublished letter, dated 26 June, 1827, to her nephew, Dr. C. P. Burney, where she adds to her signature, “otherwise La Comtesse Veuve Piochard D’Arblay”—“because I have had no Fortune to meet it, and because my Son relinquished his hereditary claims of succession—though he might, upon certain conditions, resume them—on becoming a Clergyman of the Church of England. But I have never _dis_claimed _my_ Rights, as I owe them to no Honours of my own, but to a Partnership in those which belonged to the revered Husband who, for twenty-four years, made the grateful Happiness of my Life.”

[87] In the previous year Mme. D’Arblay had lost her brother Charles. James, the Admiral, survived to 1821.

[88] See _ante_, p. 87.

[89] _Journal of Sir Walter Scott_, 1891, i. 308-9. Rogers’ _Table Talk_, 1858, p. 192, adds a detail of the first visit. Mme. D’Arblay had not heard that Scott was lame; and, seeing him limp, hoped he had not met with an accident. He answered, “An accident, Madam, nearly as old as my birth.”

[90] _Ibid._, ii. 190.

[91] _Table Talk of Samuel Rogers_, 1856, 179-80.

[92] “It was not hard fagging that produced such a work as _Evelina_”—wrote “Daddy” Crisp in 1779—“it was the ebullition of true sterling genius—you wrote it because you could not help it—it came, and so you put it down on paper.” (_Diary and Letters_, 1892, i. 178.)

[93] These expressions are from Cowper’s _Progress of Error_, written in 1780-1.

[94] _Diary and Letters_, 1892, iv. 339.

INDEX

A │Hodgson, 194. │ _Abdolonime_, Fontenelle’s, 183, │Holroyd, Miss M. J., 182. 189. │ │ Abel, K. E., 60 _n._ │Hoole, John, 130. │ _Address on Behalf of the French │Hoppner, John, 88. Clergy_, D’Arblay’s, 184. │ │ _Adèle et Théodore_, Genlis’s, 131. │Horneck, Mary (Mrs. Gwyn), 99. │ Agujari, Lucrezia, 37, 42, 43, 109. │—— Mrs., 99. │ Allen, Maria (Mrs. Rishton), 17, 34.│_Hundred Days, Narrative of the_, │D’Arblay’s, 197. │ —— Mrs. Stephen, 17, 18, 204. │_Humphry Clinker_, Smollett’s, 61. │ _Amelia_, Fielding’s, 30 _n._, 61, │Hyde, Catherine, Duchess of 87 _n._ │Queensberry, 32. │ —— Princess, 153, 154, 156, 169, │ 194. │ │ I Ancaster, Duchess of, 155. │ │_Idler_, Johnson’s, 54. Anstey, Christopher, 112, 113. │ │_Iliad_, Pope’s, 27. Aram, Eugene, 9. │ │_Irene_, Johnson’s, 13, 95. Arne, Dr. Augustine, 3. │ │ _Art of Preserving Health_, │ J Armstrong’s, 5. │ │ Ashburnham, Lord, 48. │Jacobi, Mlle., 178. │ Aston, Sir Willoughby, 7. │Jaucourt, M. de, 179. │ Augusta, Princess, 146, 154. │Jebb, Dr., 96. │ Austen, Jane, 187, 196, 204. │Jenyns, Soame, 127. │ Aylesbury, Earl of, 170. │Jersey, Lord, 164. │ │“Jessamy Bride,” Goldsmith’s, 99, │170. B │ │Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 8, 12, 21, 52, │61, 87, 94, 97, 106, 125, 127, 128, │133, 135, 205. B——, Miss, 51. │ │_Joseph Andrews_, Fielding’s, 122. Bach, John Christian, 55. │ │_Journal_, Sir Walter Scott’s, 198. Baker, Sir George, 165. │ │—— _to Stella_, Swift’s, 22. “Bambino,” The, 186. │ │_Julia de Roubigné_, Mackenzie’s, 61. Barber, Alderman, 22. │ │Juniper Hall, Surrey, 179. Barborne Lodge, Worcester, 58. │ │ Baretti, Joseph, 10, 30 _n._, 94. │ K │ Barlow, Thomas, 59. │Keepers of Robes, The, 145. │ Barret, George, 137. │Kemble, John, 184, 185. │ Barrett, Mrs. Charlotte Frances, vi,│Kenrick, Dr., 83. 23. │ │ Barrington, Lord, 48. │Kew Palace, 166-168. │ Barry, James, 36. │King, Dr., 44, 45, 46. │ Barsanti, Miss Jenny, 20. │Kirkman, Jacob, 3. │ Barton, Catherine (Mrs. Conduitt), │Knole Park, 105. 32. │ │ Bath in 1780, 111. │ │ L Batheaston Vase, The, 112. │ │_Lady Catesby’s Letters_, Brooke’s, │87 _n._ Bath residents, 111. │ │—— _Julia Mandeville_, Brooke’s, 27, │62, 63. Bawr, General, 45, 46. │ │La Fayette, General, 180, 184. Bay’s Hill Lodge, Cheltenham, 161. │ │Lake, Sir James, 51. B——y, Mr., 109-110. │ │Lamb, Charles, 9, 189, 206 _n._ Beauclerk, Lady Di, 106. │ │Langton, Bennet, 97, 136. —— Topham, 106. │ │Larrey, Baron de, 193. _Belinda_, Miss Edgeworth’s, 189. │ │Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 111. Bell’s Library, 69. │ │_Lectures on the English Comic │Writers_, Hazlitt’s, 195. Bensley, 184. │ │Leicester Fields, 31. _Biographiana_, Seward’s, 107. │ │—— —— Chapel, 31. Birch, Miss Selina, 107. │ │—— House, 31. Blount, Patty, 108. │ │—— Square, 31. Bolton Street, Piccadilly, No. 11, │ 198. │ │_Lethe_, Garrick’s, 56. Bookham, 183. │ │_Lexiphanes_, Campbell’s, 53. Boone, Mr. Charles, 33, 44, 73. │ │Liancourt, Duc de, 179. Boscawen, Hon. Mrs., 129, 186. │ │Lichtenberg, 29. Boswell, James, 60 _n._, 126, 172. │ │_Life_, Mrs. Barbauld’s, 201. Branghton family, The, 77, 78. │ │Linley, Miss, 99. _Breakfast Table, The_, 191. │ │Literary Club, The, 172. Bridges, Lady Augusta, 7. │ │Little Park at Windsor, The, 146. Brighton in 1779, 105, 106. │ │Locke, William, 143, 182, 194. Broglie, Mme. de, 179. │ │—— —— Junr., 137. Brontë, Charlotte, 35. │ │—— Mrs.,137, 143, 181, 186. Brooke, Mrs. Frances, 62. │ │Longleat, 170. Bruce, James, of Kinnaird, 37, 40. │ │Louis XVI., 179, 180. —— Lord, 45, 46. │ │—— XVIII., 197. Brudenel, Mrs., 45. │ │_Love and Fashion_, D’Arblay’s, 191. Bryce, Mr. James, 144 _n._ │ │Lower Grosvenor Street, 201. Buller, Mrs., 107, 130. │ │—— Lodge at Windsor, The, 175 _n._ Buonaparte, Napoleon, 142, 197. │ │Lowndes, Thomas, 66, 68, 69, 70, 92, │99. Burke, Edmund, vi, 94, 124, 126, │ 129, 131, 160, 181, 205. │ │Luc, M. de, 140, 150, 151. —— W., 99. │ │Lucas, Mr. E. V., 206 _n._ Burney, Ann, 58. │ │Luxembourg, Duc de, 197. —— Archdeacon, of Surbiton, v-vi, │ 206 _n._ │ │_Lydia_, Shebbeare’s, 27. —— Charles, 5. │ │ —— Dr. Charles, vi, 6, 10, 35, 67, │ M 184, 206 _n._ │ │ —— Charles Rousseau, vi, 34, 42. │_Macaria_, Delap’s, 107. │ —— Charlotte (Mrs. Francis), 8, 28, │Macartney, Frances (Mrs. Greville), 34, 38, 85, 144 _n._, 159. │4. │ —— Dr. C. P., 197. │Macaulay, Lord, 14, 26 _n._, 112, │128, 156, 187, 206 _n._, 201, 204, │205. │ —— Dr., 19, 30, 36, 38, 52, 68, 87, │Macburney, James (1), 1. 90, 94, 114, 144 _n._, 131, 134, │ 143, 187, 191, 196. │ │ —— Edward Francis (the artist), vi, │—— —— (2), 1. 58, 68, 88, 89, 116 _n._ │ │ —— Elizabeth, of Worcester, 85. │—— Joseph, 1. │ —— Esther or Hetty, vi, 5, 15, 16, │—— Charles, 2. 34, 42, 46, 53, 91. │ │ —— Fanny (afterwards Mme. │—— Susannah, 2. D’Arblay),vi, 2, 30 _n._; │ her mother, 5; │ born at Lynn, 13 June 1752, 5; │Mackenzie, Henry, 61. her godmother, Mrs. Greville, 5; │ death of Fanny’s mother, 8; │Maclise, Daniel, 179. the Burney children, 8-10; │ childish characteristics, 10-12; │—— Gallery, 206 _n._ the wig-story, 11-12; │ Samuel Crisp, 12-15; │Malmesbury, Earl of, 36, 46. Chessington Hall, 13-15; │ Susan Burney’s character of Fanny, │Manners, Colonel, 152. 16; │ first visit to Chessington, 1766, │ 17; │ father’s second marriage, 1767, 17; │_Man of Taste_, Bramston’s, 3, 4. early writings, 18-19; │ the bonfire at Poland Street, 19; │_Mansfield Park_, Miss Austen’s, 196. _Early Diary_ begun, 1768, 19; │ verses to father, 20; │_Marianne, Histoire de_, Marivaux, 87 │_n._ secretary to father, 20; │ the “Cabin” at Lynn, 22; │Marmontel, 30 _n._ _Early Diary_, 23-30; │ its characteristics as a record, │Mary, Princess, 154. 24-25; │ her reading, 26-27; │ the “Teignmouth Journal,” 28; │Mason, William, 3, 21. Crisp’s advice, 28; │ No. 1, St. Martin’s Street, 31-60; │Melmoth, William, 113. Newton’s observatory, 33-34; │ the Burney family, 34-35; │_Memoirs of Dr. Burney_, D’Arblay’s, │v, 63, 177, 199, 201, 204. letters to Crisp, 35; │ visitors to St. Martin’s Street, │_Messiah_, Klopstock’s, 142. 36-37; │ Garrick, 38-39; │ Bruce, 40-41; │_Metastasio, Life of_, Dr. Burney’s, │196. Omai, 41-42; │ the Sunday concerts, 42-49; │Miller, Lady, 112, 114. Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Thrale, 52-57; │ theatricals at Worcester, 58; │Mirvan, Captain, 75-77. Mr. Thomas Barlow, 59; │ publication of _Evelina_, January │_Miss Charlotte Villars_, 65. 1778, 69; │ story of that book, 61-87; │ portrait of the author, 88-89; │—— _Lucy Wellers_, 65. visits Streatham, 90; │ progress of _Evelina_, 92-93; │—— _Polly Willis_, 65. bibliography, 116 _n._; │ at Streatham again, 94-98; │Monckton, Hon. Miss, 125. Streatham Place described, 94-95; │ Johnson, 95-97; │Montagu, Mrs., 54, 56, 97, 98, 101, │112, 129, 178. Mrs. Montagu, 97-98; │ Mrs. Cholmondeley, 99; │Montmorency, M. de, 179. Sheridan, 99-100; │ play-writing and Crisp, 100-102; │Moore, Thomas, 194. _The Witlings_, 103-105; │ Tunbridge Wells and Brighton, │More, Hannah, 101, 129, 136, 188. 105-110; │ Richard Cumberland, 106; │ Sophy Streatfield, 107-108; │_Morning Herald_, Verses in, 128. at Bath, 1780, 111-114; │ death of Thrale, 115; │Mortimer, J. H., 116 _n._ writing _Cecilia_, 116; │ _Cecilia_ published, July 1782, 118;│Murphy, Arthur, 94, 103, 104. story of that book, 117-128; │ verses in _Morning Herald_, 129; │_Musical Tours_, Dr. Burney’s, 21, │23. miscellaneous friends, 130-131; │ death of “Daddy” Crisp, 131; │_Music, History of_, Dr. Burney’s, 6, │20, 23, 30. marriage of Mrs. Thrale, 132-135; │ death of Johnson, 135-136; │Musters, Mrs., 106. the Lockes of Norbury Park, 136-137;│ the Duchess of Portland and Mrs. │ Delany, 138-139; │ with Mrs. Delany at Windsor, │ N 140-144; │ King George and Queen Charlotte, │ 140-144; │ is offered post as Junior Keeper of │Napoleon, 142, 197. Robes, 143-144; │ appointed 17 July 1786, 145; │ “Queen’s Dresser,” 145-175; │Narbonne, Count de, 179, 180, 184, │193. Mrs. Schwellenberg, 148-151; │ other colleagues, 151-153; │Necker, Mme., 29. the Queen’s presents, 155-156; │ Mrs. Siddons, 157-158; │Needlework, Eighteenth Century, 27. the Hastings trial, 159-161; │ death of Mrs. Delany, 161; │_Newcomes_, Thackeray’s, 175. the “Cheltenham episode,” 161-163; │ Colonel Digby, 162-163; │Newton, Sir Isaac, 31, 32, 33. illness of the King, 163-169; │ Weymouth, etc., 169; │Newton’s Observatory, 66. health fails, 171-172; │ resigns Court Office, July 1791, │Nicolson, Peg, 153. 173; │ receives pension of £100 p. a. from │ Queen Charlotte, 176; │ recovers health, 177; │_Night Thoughts_, Young’s, 170. death of Clement Francis, 179; │ visits Mickleham, 179; │No. 1, St. Martin’s Street, 31. the French Colony, 179-180; │ marries M. D’Arblay, 31 July 1793, │Nollekens, Joseph, 36, 51, 144 _n._ 182; │ living at Phœnix Farm, 183; │ at Bookham, 183; │—— Mrs., 51. _Address on behalf of the French │ Clergy_, 1794, 184; │ birth of a son, 18 December 1794, │_Nollekens and his Times_, Smith’s, 184; │144 _n._ _Edwy and Elgiva_, 1795, 184-185; │ Camilla published, 186; │Norbury Park, 137, 177, 180. story of that book, 186-189; │ death of Mrs. Burney (No. 2), 190; │_Northanger Abbey_, Austen’s, 189. building Camilla Cottage, 190; │ _Love and Fashion_, 1799, 191; │ residence in France, 192-193; │ O return to England, 193; │ places son at Cambridge, 194; │_Observations_, Gilpin’s, 147. _The Wanderer_ published, March │ 1814, 195; │ story of that book, 194-196; │Observatory, Newton’s, 33, 66. death of father, 196; │ the Hundred Days, 197; │_Odes_, Akenside’s, 162. death of husband, 198; │ visited by Scott, 198-199; │_Ode on St. Cecilia’s Day_, │Thornton’s, 7, 30 _n._ _Memoirs of Dr. Burney_, 1832, 199; │ death of son, 201; │_Odyssey_, Pope’s, 27. dies 6 January 1840, at Lower │ Grosvenor Street, 201; │ Rogers’s anecdote, 201; │Ogle, Dr., 44, 60 _n._ _Diary and Letters_ published, │ 1842-6, 201-202; │ _Novels_, 202-204; │_Old English Baron_, Reeve’s, 61. _Memoirs_ of father, 204-205; │ _Diary_, 205-206. │Omai, Omiah, or Omy, 37, 41-42, 205. │ Burney, James (Admiral Burney), 2, │Orange Coffee House, 66, 67, 69. 3, 5, 9, 34, 37, 41, 116, 118, 182, │ 195, 206 _n._ │ │ —— —— of Worcester, 58. │—— Street Congregational Church │(Leicester Fields Chapel), 31. │ —— Mrs. (No. 1), 5, 8, 11, 15. │Ord, Mrs., 126, 130, 177. │ —— —— (No. 2), 17, 18, 19, 92, 190, │_Original Love Letters_, Combe’s, 204. │162. │ —— Richard, of Worcester, vi, 58. │Orloff, Alexis, 37, 44, 45, 205. │ —— —— Jun., of Worcester, 28, 73, │Owen, Miss, 53. 85. │ │ —— Sarah Harriet, 34, 189. │ │ P —— Susan (Mrs. Phillips), 5, 10, 16,│ 18, 34, 53, 57, 85, 86, 98, 115, │ 137, 179, 198. │ │Pacchieroti, Gasparo, 10, 37. —— Susannah, 2. │ │Palmer, 184. Burrell, Sir Peter, 159. │ │Palmerston, Lord, 99. Byron, Admiral, 113. │ │_Pamela_, Richardson’s, 61. —— Lord, 194. │ │Parr, Dr., 130. │ C │Passy, 192. │ “Cabin,” The, at Lynn, 22, 25. │_Patronage_, Miss Edgeworth’s, 196. │ Cambridge, Mrs., 130. │Payne, Tom, 50, 118. │ —— R. O., 130, 159. │—— Miss Sally, 60 _n._ │ _Camilla_, D’Arblay’s, 186, 187, │Paynes, The Misses, 50. 188, 195, 202, 205. │ │ —— Cottage, 190. │Pepys, Sir W. W., 129. │ —— Lacey, 206 _n._ │_Percy_, Hannah More’s, 116 _n._ │ Canning, George, 198. │Perkins, Mr., 115. │ Carlyle, Thomas, 21. │Peter III. of Russia, 37. │ Carter, Miss Elizabeth, 113, 129. │Phillips, Captain, 115. │ _Castle of Otranto_, Walpole’s, 61, │—— Mrs. (Susan Burney), 115, 137, 116 _n._ │143, 179, 180, 191. │ Catherine of Russia, 37. │Phœnix Farm, 183. │ Cawthorne the bookseller, 194. │“Pindar, Peter,” 140. │ _Cecilia_, Miss Burney’s, 104, 117, │Piozzi, Gabriele, 132, 134, 135. 118, 119, 120, 122, 124, 125, 127, │ 128, 140, 157, 175, 206 _n._, 189, │ 194, 202, 203, 205. │ │ “Cerbera,” 148-151. │—— Mrs. (Thrale), 135, 187, 198. │ Chambers, Sir William, 88, 146. │_Piramo e Tisbe_, Rauzzini’s, 48. │ Chamier, Anthony, 45, 46, 73. │Pitt, William, 166, 169. │ _Champion of Virtue_, Reeve’s, 61. │Planta, Miss, 151, 161, 162, 187. │ Chandos, Duke of, 7. │Playwriting, Mr. Crisp on, 101-102. │ Chapone, Mrs., 126, 129, 130, 138. │_Pleasures of Memory_, Rogers’s, 179. │ Chappel, Mrs., vi, 116 _n._, 175 │_Pliny’s Letters_, Melmoth’s, 112, _n._ │113. │ Charlotte, Queen, 126, 138, 139, │_Plutarch’s Lives_, 27. 140, 141, 142, 144, 146, 147, 148, │ 149, 205. │ │ Châtre, Marquise de la, 179. │_Polly Honeycombe_, Colman’s, 62, 65. │ Chelsea College, 177, 178. │Portland, Duchess of, 138, 139. │ Cherokee King, The, 7. │_Prejugé à-la-mode_, La Chaussée’s, │58, 130. │ Chessington Hall, 13-15. │Presents of Queen Charlotte, 155, │156. │ Chesterfield, Lord, 41, 62. │_Present State of Music in France and │Italy_, Dr. Burney’s, 21. │ Cholmondeley, Mrs., 99. │_—— —— Germany_, Dr. Burney’s, 23. │ Cibber, Colley, 29. │“Présidente, La,” 149, 151. │ —— Mrs., 3. │Price, Major, 152, 154. │ _Cicero_, Middleton’s, 27. │Princess Royal, The, 146, 154, 156, │164. │ _Clandestine Marriage_, Garrick and │Prior’s “Kitty,” 60 _n._ Colman’s, 72. │ │ _Clarissa_, Richardson’s, 64, 138. │Prior’s “Peggy,” 138. │ Clive, Kitty, 142. │_Probationary Odes_, 140. │ Conduitt, Mrs., 32. │_Progress of Error_, Cowper’s, 206 │_n._ │ _Contarini Fleming_, Disraeli’s, │_Provoked Husband_, Vanbrugh and 200. │Cibber’s, 158, 169. │ Cook, Captain, 34. │ │ Q _Cook’s Voyages_, Hawkesworth’s, 28.│ │Queensberry, Duchess of, 32. Cooper, Miss Ann, 2. │ │Queen Anne’s Lodge, 146. Cornelys, Mrs., 60 _n._ │ │Queen’s Lodge, The, 146, 151. Cotton, Captain, 113. │ │Queen Square, 22. _Country Neighbours_, Sarah │ Burney’s, 206 _n._ │ │Quin, James, 3. Cowley, Mrs., 129. │ │ Crewe, Mrs., 30 _n._, 178, 186, 191.│ R │ Crisp, Samuel (“Daddy Crisp”), │_Rambler_, Johnson’s, 126. 12-15, 17, 21, 28, 35, 86, 87, 88, │ 89, 100-102, 110, 116, 121, 129, │ 131, 206 _n._ │ │ “Critics,” Johnson on, 98. │_Rasselas_, 12, 26, 61. │ Croker, J. W., 26, 83, 152, 200, │Rauzzini, Venanzio, 37, 48, 49. 201, 204. │ │ Cumberland, Richard, 106, 185, 205. │Rebecca, Biagio, 168. │ —— The Misses, 106. │Reeve, Clara, 61. │ _Cunning Man, The_, Dr. Burney’s, │Reid, Catherine, 62. 16. │ │ │Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 36, 88, 91, 94, │99, 100, 106, 109, 124, 125, 178, │205. D │ │Riccoboni, Mme., 86. Dahl, Michael, 1. │ │Richardson, Samuel, 61, 96. _Daphnis and Amaryllis_, Harris’s, │ 36. │ │Rishton, Martin, 34. D’Arblay, Alexandre, 184, 193, 194, │ 197, 200, 201. │ │Robertson, George, 175 _n._ —— M. or General, 179, 181, 182, │ 183, 190, 197, 198. │ │Robespierre, 196. —— Mme. _See_ Burney, Fanny. │ │Rogers, Samuel, 179, 194, 198, 199, │201. Davies, Cecilia, 37. │ │_Roman History_, Hooke’s, 27. Deiden, Baroness, 42, 48. │ │Rossetti, D. G., 179. —— Baron, 48. │ │Rousseau, J. J., 20, 141. Delany, Mrs., 89, 138, 139, 140, │ 143, 144, 146, 147, 149, 154, 155, │ 161, 168, 179, 205. │ │_Royal Suppliants_, Delap’s, 116 _n._ Demidoff, Baron de, 45, 46. │ │Rue Basse, Passy, 192. _Devin du Village_, Rousseau’s, 16. │ │Rue D’Anjou, Paris, 192. Devonshire, Duchess of, 50. │ │ _Diary and Letters_, D’Arblay’s, v, │ S 23, 24, 201, 205. │ │ “Dick Minim,” Johnson’s, 98. │Salusbury, Mrs., 121. │ _Dictionary of Arts and Sciences_, │Sandwich, Lord, 48. Goldsmith’s, 30. │ │ Diderot, 20. │_School for Scandal_, Sheridan’s, │100. │ Digby, Hon. Stephen (Colonel Digby),│Schwellenberg, Mrs., 145, 146, 147, 152, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, │148, 149, 150, 151, 155, 156, 157, 170, 187. │159, 166, 168, 171, 172, 173, 178, │187. │ Disraeli, Benjamin, 200. │Schwellenbergen, Mrs., 145. │ Dobson, Mrs. Susannah, 112, 113. │Scott, Sir Walter, 67, 198, 199. │ Dodsley, Robert, 66. │_Seduction_, Holcroft’s, 157. │ _Doyen de Killérine_, Prévost’s, 27.│Selwyn, George, 40. │ _Dream of Eugene Aram_, Hood’s, 30 │_Sentimental Journey_, Sterne’s, 26. _n._ │ │ Dresser, The Queen’s, 145-175. │Seward, Mr., 53, 56, 90, 96, 107. │ Duval, Madame, 74, 75. │Shakespeare, 142. │ │Shebbeare, Dr. John, 26. E │ │Sheridan, R. B., 100, 103, 104, 105, │184, 185, 205. _Early Diary_, Miss Burney’s, v, 19,│ 23. │ │—— Mrs., 36, 99. Edgecombe, Lady, 44, 47. │ │_She Stoops to Conquer_, Goldsmith’s, │29. Edgeworth, Maria, 204. │ │_Shipwreck_, Falconer’s, 162. _Edwy and Elgiva_, D’Arblay’s, │ 184-185. │ │Shuckburgh, Mr. E. S., 206 _n._ _Election Ball_, Anstey’s, 116 _n._ │ │Siddons, Mrs., 111, 169, 184, 185. Ely Chapel, Holborn, 201. │ │_Sidelights on the Georgian Period_, │Paston’s, 206 _n._ Elizabeth, Princess, 140, 154. │ │Sleepe, Mrs. Esther, 5. Ellis, Mrs. Annie Raine, v, 10, 24, │ 30 _n._, 187, 195. │ │Smart, Christopher, 28. Ellis, Rebecca, 1. │ │Smollett, Tobias, 61. Elwin, Rev. Whitwell, 175 _n._ │ │Sophia, Princess, 154. _Environs of London_, Thorne’s, 206 │ _n._ │ │_Sorrows of Werther_, Goethe’s, 142. _Epictetus_, Carter’s, 112. │ │Southey, Robert, 199. _Evelina_, 51, 61-87, 93, 117, 159, │ 199, 202, 203, 205. │ │_Spiritual Quixote_, Graves’s, 116 │_n._ │ F │Staël, Mme. de, 179, 180, 181, 182. │ “Fairly, Colonel,” 152, 161, 162, │Stephen, Sir Leslie, 195. 163, 164, 165, 166, 170, 187. │ │ _False Delicacy_, Kelly’s, 87 _n._ │St. Martin’s Street, 3. │ Fauconberg Hall, Cheltenham, 161. │St. Mart, Mme., 16, 17. │ _Female Quixote_, Lenox’s, 126. │Strange, Sir Robert, 36. │ _Femmes Savantes_, Molière’s, 103. │Streatfield, Sophia, 116 _n._, 107, │108, 178. │ Fielding, Henry, 61, 95, 101, 204. │Streatham Place, 90, 94, 95, 97, 115, │116, 133. │ Fite, Mme. la, 151. │Swift, 22, 32. │ FitzGerald, Edward, 30 _n._ │ │ T Fox, Charles, 161. │ │_Table Talk_, Rogers’s, 206 _n._ Francis, Clement, 175 _n._, 179. │ │Talleyrand, Ch. M. de, 179, 181. —— Mrs., 175 _n._ │ │Teignmouth Journal, 28, 72. —— Philip, 160. │ │_Telemachus_, Hawkesworth’s, 27. Francklin, Dr., 98. │ │Terrace at Windsor, The, 146, 147, │153-154. Frederick the Great, 30 _n._, 47. │ │Thrale, Mrs., 52, 53, 54, 55, 86, 90, │94, 97, 101, 106, 113, 115, 116, 118, │121, 129, 132, 133, 134, 138, 205. French Chapel in St. James’s Palace,│ 175 _n._ │ │—— Gallery, The, 94. “Fuzelier, Miss,” 162. │ │—— Queenie, 52, 53, 94, 134, 135. │ G │—— Susan, 125. │ Gabrielli, Caterina, 37, 44, 49. │Thrales, The Misses, 187. │ Garrick, David, vi, 3, 21, 36, 38, │_Thraliana_, 114. 56, 57, 90, 94, 109, 116 _n._, 205. │ │ —— Mrs., 11, 130. │_Thucydides_, Smith’s, 27. │ Genlis, Mme. de. 131, 140, 141, 142.│_Tom Thumb_, Fielding’s, 58. │ George, King, 138, 139, 140, 141, │Toplady, Rev. A. M., 31. 142, 146, 161-169, 194, 205. │ │ _George III._, Jesse’s, 175 _n._ │Tottenham Park, 170. │ Gibbon, Edward, 126. │_Treatise on Poetry_, Twining’s │Aristotle’s, 37. │ Giffardier, Rev. C. de, 152, 158, │_Tristram Shandy_, Sterne’s, 26, 61. 205. │ │ _Girlhood of Maria Josepha Holroyd_,│Tunbridge Wells, 105. Adeane’s, 182. │ │ Gloucester, Duke of, 186. │“Turbulent, Mr.,” 152, 158. │ —— House, Weymouth, 169. │Twining, Thomas, 37, 127, 194. │ Goldsmith, Oliver, 29, 61, 94, 96. │Twiss, Richard, 27, 74. │ Goldsworthy, Colonel Philip, 151. │ │ U —— Miss, 151, 187. │ │Upper Lodge, The, 146. _Grandison_, Richardson’s, 64. │ │ Graves, Rev. Richard, 116 _n._ │ V │ _Grecian History_, Stanyan’s, 27. │_Vanity Fair_, Thackeray’s, 197. │ Gregory, Miss, 97. │Vauxhall, Mr. Smith at, 79-81. │ Greville, Fulke, 3, 33, 73. │Vesey, Mrs., 130. │ —— Colonel Fulke, 152. │_Vicar of Wakefield_, Goldsmith’s, │26, 61. │ —— Mrs., 4, 5, 179. │_Virginia_, Crisp’s, 13, 30 _n._, 56, │103, 132. │ Griffiths, Mr. Ralph, 188. │Voltaire, 20, 30 _n._, 141. │ Guiffardière, Rev. Charles de, 152, │_Voyages_, Cook’s, 41. 158, 205. │ │ Guines, Count de, 47. │ │ W Gunning, Charlotte, 162, 171. │ │Wales, Prince of, 164, 165. Gwyn, Colonel, 99, 152, 161. │ │Walpole, Horace, 39, 40, 61, 92, 116 │_n._, 127, 130, 172, 187, 202. —— Mrs. (“The Jessamy Bride”), 99, │ 170. │ │Walsingham, Mrs., 126. │ H │_Wanderer_, D’Arblay’s, 19, 30 _n._, │63, 194, 195, 196, 202. │ Haggerdorn, Mrs., 143, 145, 174. │_Warley Camp_, Huddesford’s, 116 _n._ │ Halifax, Charles Montagu, Earl of, │Warton, Dr. Joseph, 52. 32. │ │ Hamilton, Christopher, 13. │—— Thomas, 130. │ —— Miss, 14. │_Waverley_, Scott’s, 196. │ Handel, 3. │_Way to Keep Him_, Murphy’s, 58, 103. │ Hanway, Jonas, 130. │West, Benjamin, 130. │ Harcourt, Lord, 155. │—— Humble, 179, 190. │ Harris, James, 36, 45, 46. │Wilbury House, 4. │ —— Mr. F. Leverton, 206 _n._ │Williams, Sir C. H., 126. │ —— Mrs., 36. │Willis, Dr. Francis, 167. │ —— of Covent Garden, 191. │—— Dr. John, 167. │ Hastings trial, The, 159, 172, 178. │Windham, Mr., 6, 160, 161, 172. │ —— Warren, 159, 185, 186. │_Witlings, The_, Burney’s, 101-105, │117. │ Hawkesworth, Dr., 11, 21, 28. │Worcester Journal, 72. │ Hawkins, Miss L., 144 _n._ │Wycherley, William, 2. │ —— Sir John, 39, 97. │Wylie, Mr. J. L., 206 _n._ │ Hayward, Abraham, 133, 144 _n._ │ │ Y Hazlitt, William, 10, 195. │ │Yates, Mary Ann, 62. Heberden, Dr., 164. │ │Yearsley, Ann, 136. _Henry and Frances_, Griffiths’, 27.│ │York, Duchess of, 186. _Hermes_, Harris’s, 36. │ │—— Duke of, 165. Herschel, 146. │ │Young, Miss Dorothy, 25. _Histoire Ancienne_, Guiffardière’s,│ 175 _n._ │ │ _History of Caroline Evelyn_, │ Burney’s, 63, 64, 65. │ │ —— _England_, Hume’s, 27. │ │ —— —— Smollett’s, 27. │ │ —— _Music_, Dr. Burney’s, 20, 49, │ 50, 66. │ │

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