MR. BURKE.

Upon the publication of the celebrated Treatise of Mr. Burke on the

opening of the French Revolution, Dr. Burney had felt re-wakened all

his first unqualified admiration of its author, from a full conviction

that error, wholly free from malevolence, had impelled alike his

violence in the prosecution of Mr. Hastings, and his assertions upon

the incurability of the malady of the King: while a patriotism,

superior to all party feeling, and above all considerations but the

love of his country, had inspired every sentence of the immortal orator

in his new work.

The Doctor had interchanged some billets with Mr. Burke upon this

occasion; and once or twice they had met; but only in large companies.

This the Doctor lamented to Mrs. Crewe; who promised that, if he would

spend three or four days at her Hampstead little villa, she would

engage for his passing one of them with Mr. Burke; though she should

make, she added, her own terms; namely, “that you are accompanied, Mr.

Doctor, by Miss Burney.”

Gladly the invitation and the condition were accepted; and the

Editor hopes to be pardoned, if again she spare herself the toil of

re-committing to paper an account of this meeting, by copying one

written at the moment to her sister Susanna. Egotistic in part it must

inevitably be; yet not, she trusts, offensively; as it contains various

genuine traits of Mr. Burke in society, that in no graver manner than

in a familiar epistle could have been detailed.

“TO MRS. PHILLIPS.

“At length, my Susan, the re-meeting, so long suspended, with Mr.

Burke, has taken place. Our dearest father was enchanted at the

prospect of spending so many hours with him; and of pouring forth again

and again the rapturous delight with which he reads, and studies, and

admires, the sublime new composition of this great statesman.

“But—my satisfaction, my dear Susan, with all my native enthusiasm

for Mr. Burke, was not so unmingled. If such a meeting, after my

long illness, and long seclusion, joined to my knowledge of his kind

interest in them, had taken place speedily after that on Richmond

Hill, at Sir Joshua Reynolds’; where I beheld him with an admiration

that seemed akin to enchantment; and that portrayed him all bright

intelligence and gentle amenity;——instead of succeeding to the scenes

of Westminster Hall; where I saw him furious to accuse,—implacable

not to listen—and insane to vanquish! his respiration troubled,

his features nearly distorted, and his countenance haggard with

baneful animosity; while his voice, echoing up to the vaulted roof

in tremendous execrations, poisoned the heated air with unheard-of

crimes!—Oh! but for that more recent recollection, his sight, and

the expectation of his kindness, would have given me once again a joy

almost ecstatic.[24]

“But now, from this double reminiscence, my mind, my ideas—disturbed

as much as delighted—were in a sort of chaos; they could coalesce

neither with pleasure nor with pain.

“Our dear father was saved all such conflicting perplexity, as he

never attended the trial; and how faint are the impressions of report,

compared with those that are produced by what we experience or witness!

He was not, therefore, like me, harassed by the continual inward

question: ‘Shall I see once more that noble physiognomy that, erst,

so fascinated my fancy? or, am I doomed to behold how completely ’tis

expression, not feature, that stamps the human countenance upon human

view?’

“The little villa at Hampstead is small, but commodious. We were

received by Mrs. Crewe with great kindness, which you will easily

believe was the last thing to surprise us. Her son[25] was with her;

a silent and reserved, but, I think, sensible young man, though

looking—so blooming is she still—rather like her brother than

her son. He is preparing to go to China with Lord Macartney. Her

daughter[26] we had ourselves brought from town, where she had been

on a visit to the lovely Emily Ogilvie,[27] at the Duchess Dowager

of Leinster’s. She, Miss Crewe, is become an intelligent and amiable

adolescent; but so modest, that I never heard her uncourted voice.

“Mr. Burke was not yet arrived; but young Burke, who, when I lived in

the midst of things, was almost always at my side, like my shadow,

wherever we met, though never obstrusively, was the first person I saw.

I felt very glad to renew our old acquaintance; but I soon perceived a

strangeness in his bow, that marked a decided change from fervent amity

to cold civility.

“This hurt me much for this very estimable young man; but alarmed me

ten thousand times more for his father, whose benevolent personal

partiality—blame him as I may for one or two public acts—I could not

forfeit without the acutest mortification, pain, and sorrow.

“But it now oppressively occurred to me, that perhaps young Mr. Burke,

studiously as in whatever is political I always keep in the back

ground, had discovered my antipathy to the state trial: for though

I felt satisfied that Mr. Windham, to whom so openly I had revealed

it, had held sacred, as he had promised, my secret—for how could

honour and Mr. Windham be separated?—young Burke, who was always in

the manager’s box, must unavoidably have observed how frequently Mr.

Windham came to converse with me from the Great Chamberlain’s; and

might even, perhaps, have so been placed, at times, in the House of

Commons’ partition, as to overhear my unrestrained wishes for the

failure of the prosecution, from my belief in its injustice—and if so,

how greatly must he have been offended for his reverenced father! to

whom, also, he might, perhaps, have made known my sentiments!

“This idea demolished in a moment all my hope of pleasure in the visit!

and I became more uncomfortable than I can describe.

“Our dear Father did not perceive my disturbance. Always wisely alive

to the present moment, he was occupied exclusively with young Mr.

Crewe, at the motion of our fair hostess; who, after naming Lord

Macartney’s embassy, said: ‘Come, Dr. Burney, you, who know every

thing, come and tell us all about China.’

“Soon after entered Mrs. Burke, who revived in me some better hopes;

for she was just the same as I have always seen her; soft, serene,

reasonable, sensible, and obliging; and we met, I think, upon just as

good terms as if so many years had not parted us.

“Next appeared—for all the family inhabit, at present, some spot at

Hampstead—Mr. Richard Burke; that original, humorous, flashing, and

entertaining brother of THE Burke; whom we have so often met,

but whom we have never liked, or, at least, understood well enough to

associate with for himself; nor yet liked ill enough to shirk when

we have met him with others. From him I could develop nothing of my

great point of inquietude, _i.e._ how I stood with his great brother;

for I had put myself into a place, in my old way, in the back ground,

with Miss Crewe; Miss French, a lively niece of Mr. Burke’s; and a

very pleasing Miss Townshend; and Mr. R. Burke did not recollect, or,

probably, see me. But my father, immediately leaving young Crewe, and

Lord Macartney, and the whole empire of China in the lurch, darted

forward to expatiate with Mr. Richard upon his brother’s noble Essay.

“At length—Mr. Burke himself was announced, and made his appearance;

accompanied by the tall, keen-eyed Mr. Elliot, one of the Twelve

Managers of the Impeachment; and a favourite friend of Mr. Windham’s.

“The moment Mr. Burke had paid his devoirs to Mrs. Crewe, he turned

round to shake hands, with an air the most cordial, with my father;

who, proud of his alacrity, accepted the greeting with evident delight.

“I thought this the happiest chance for obtaining his notice, and I

arose, though with a strong inward tremor, and ventured to make him a

curtesy; but where was I, my dear Susan, when he returned me the most

distant bow, without speaking or advancing?—though never yet had I

seen him, that he had not made up to me with eager, nay, kind vivacity!

nor been anywhere seated, that he had not taken a place next mine!

“Grieved I felt—O how grieved and mortified! not only at the loss of

so noble a friend, but at the thought of having given pain and offence

to one from whom I had received so much favour, and to whom I owed so

much honour! and who, till those two deadly blights to his fair fame,

the unsubstantiated charges against Mr. Hastings, and the baneful

denunciation of the King’s incurability, had appeared to me of a nature

as exalted in purity of feeling as in energy of genius.

“While I hesitated,—all sad within—whether to retire to my retreat in

the back ground, or to abide where I stood, obviously seeking to move

his returning kindness, Mrs. Crewe suddenly said, ‘I don’t think I have

introduced Mr. Elliot to Miss Burney?’

“Mr. Elliot and I were certainly no strangers to each other’s faces,

so often I had seen him in the Manager’s box, whence so often he must

have seen me in the Great Chamberlain’s; but a slight bow and curtesy

had hardly time to be exchanged between us—for the moment I was named,

imagine my joy, my Susan, my infinite joy, to find that Mr. Burke had

not recollected me! He is more near-sighted, considerably, even than my

father or myself. ‘Miss Burney!’ in a tone of vivacity and surprise, he

now exclaimed, coming instantly, courteously, and smilingly forward,

and taking my willing hand, ‘and I did not see—did not know you!’ And

then, again, imagine my increasing joy, after this false alarm, to

hear him utter words that were all sweetness and amiability, upon his

pleasure on our re-meeting!

“I had so mournfully given up all hope of such sounds, that I was

almost re-organized by the sudden transition from dejection to delight;

and I felt a glow the most vivid tingle in my cheeks and my whole

face. Mr. Burke, not aware of the emotion he himself had caused, from

not having distinguished me before its operation, took the colour for

re-established health, and the air of gaiety for regenerated vigour;

and began to pour forth the most fervent expressions of satisfaction

at my restoration. ‘You look,’ cried he, still affectionately holding

my hand, while benignly he fixed his investigating eyes upon my face,

‘quite—_renewed!_—_revived!_—in short, _disengaged!_ You seemed,

when I conversed with you last, at the trial, quite——.’ He paused for

a word, and then finished with, ‘quite _altered!_—I never saw such a

change for the better!’

“Ah, Mr. Burke, thought I, this is simply a mistake from judging by

your own feelings. I seemed altered for the worse at the trial, because

I there looked coldly and distantly from distaste and disapprobation;

and I here look changed for the better, because I here meet you with

the re-kindling animation of my first devotion to your incomparable

genius. For never, my dear Susan, can I believe Mr. Burke to be either

wilfully or consciously wrong. I am persuaded, on the contrary, that

his intentions are always pure; and that the two fatal transgressions

which despoiled him of his supremacy of perfection, were both the

wayward produce of that unaccountable and inexplicable occasional warp,

which, in some or other unexpected instance, is sure, sooner or later,

to betray an Hibernian origin; even in the most transcendant geniuses

that spring from the land of Erin.

“Mrs. Crewe now made me take a seat by her side on the sofa; but,

perceiving the earnestness with which Mr. Burke was talking to me—and

the gratification he was giving to his hearer,—she smilingly rose, and

left him her own place; which, with a little bow, he very composedly

took. He then entered into a most animated conversation, of which while

I had the chief address, young Mr. Crewe was the chief object; as it

was upon Lord Macartney, the Chinese expedition, and two Chinese youths

who were to accompany it. These he described with a most amusing

minuteness of detail: and then spoke of the extent of the undertaking

in high, and perhaps fanciful terms; but with allusions and anecdotes

intermixed, so full of general information and brilliant ideas, as,

happily, to enchain again my charmed attention into a return of my

first enthusiasm—and with it a sensation of pleasure, that made the

rest of the day delicious.

“My father soon afterwards joined us, and politics took the lead. Mr.

Burke then spoke eloquently indeed; but with a vehemence that banished

the graces, though it redoubled his energies. The French Revolution, he

said, which began by legalizing injustice; and which, by rapid steps,

had proceeded to every species of despotism, except owning a despot;

was now menacing all mankind, and all the universe, with a diabolical

concussion of all principle and order.

“My father, you will be very sure, heartily concurred in his opinions,

and participated in his terrors. I assented tacitly to all that he

addressed to me against the revolutionary horrors; but I was tacit

without assent to his fears for stout old England. Surely, with such a

warning before us, we cannot fall into similar atrocities. We have,

besides, so little, comparatively, to redress! One speech he then

made, that I thought he meant to be explanatory of his own conduct,

and apparent change in cutting Mr. Fox; as well as in the sentiments

he has divulged in his late book in disfavour of democracy: or rather,

perhaps, I ought to say of republicanism.

“After expatiating copiously and energetically upon the present pending

dangers to even English liberty and property, and to all organized

government, from so neighbouring a contagion of havoc and novelty,

he abruptly exclaimed: ‘This it is,—the hovering in the air of

this tremendous mischief, that has made me an abettor and supporter

of courts and kings! Monarchs are Necessary! If we would preserve

peace and prosperity, we must preserve Monarchs! We must all put our

shoulders to the work: aye, and stoutly, too!—’

“Then, rising, somewhat moved, he turned suddenly towards me, and

repeated—‘’Tis this,—and this alone, could have made ME lend

MY shoulders to courts and to kings!’ Here he hastily broke up

the subject, and joined Mrs. Crewe; as everybody else had already done,

except Mr. Elliot; who had stood silent and fixed and tall, looking all

the time in one hard stare at Mr. Burke and a certain sister of yours,

with a sort of dry, but insatiable curiosity. I attribute it to his

so often seeing Mr. Windham, with whom he is very intimate, converse

with me at the trial. But whether he was pleased or displeased is all

in his own bosom, as he never either smiled or frowned. He only stood

erect and attentive. It was so odd, I could sometimes hardly keep my

countenance; for there was nothing bold nor rude in his look: it was

merely queer and curious.

“My dear father immediately followed Mr. Burke; as I, if I had not been

ashamed, should have done too! for when Mr. Burke is himself—that is,

in spirits, but not in a rage, there is no turning from him to any

thing or any one else! and my father, who goes all lengths with him on

the French Revolution, was here, what I was at Sir Joshua Reynolds’, a

‘rapt enthusiast!’

“At dinner, Mr. Burke sat next to Mrs. Crewe; and I, my dear Susan,

had the happiness to be seated next to Mr. Burke!—and that by his

own smiling arrangement! My other neighbour was his amiable son, in

whom, to my great satisfaction, all strangeness now subsided. Whether,

generously, he forgave my adherence to Mr. Hastings; or whether his

chagrin at it insensibly wore off from the very nature of things, I

know not. But it is at least as clear as it is amiable, that he never

had troubled his father or mother with what he must have deemed my

delinquency. They could not else have honoured me with such unabating

distinction.

“The dinner, and, far more, when the servants were dismissed, the

dessert, were delightful. How I wish my dear Susanna and Fredy[28]

could meet this wonderful man when he is easy, happy, and with people

he cordially likes! But politics, even then, and even on his own side,

must always be excluded! His irritability is so terrible upon politics,

that they are no sooner the topic of discourse, than they cast upon his

face the expression of a man who is going to defend himself against

murderers!

“I must now give you such little detached traits as I can recollect.

“Charles Fox being mentioned, Mrs. Crewe told us that lately, upon

his being shewn a passage upon some subject that, erst, he had warmly

opposed, in Mr. Burke’s Book, but which, in the event, had made its own

justification, very candidly said: ‘Well, Burke is right!—but Burke is

often right—only he is right _too soon_!’

“‘Had Fox seen some things in that book,’ answered Mr. Burke, ‘_as_

soon, he would at this moment, in all probability, be first Minister of

this country.’

“‘What!’ cried Mrs. Crewe, ‘with Pitt? No, No!—Pitt won’t go out; and

Charles Fox will never make a coalition with Pitt.’

“‘And why not?’ said Mr. Burke, drily, almost severely; ‘why not that

Coalition, as well as other Coalitions?’

“Nobody tried to answer this! The remembrance of Mr. Fox with Lord

North, Mr. Pitt with Lord Rockingham, &c., rose too forcibly to every

mind; and Mrs. Crewe looked abashed.[29]

“‘Charles Fox, however,’ said Mr. Burke, after this pause, ‘can never,

internally, like _this_ French Revolution. He is’—he stopped for a

word, and then added, ‘entangled!—but, in himself, if he could find no

other objection to it, he has, at least, too much _taste_ for such a

Revolution.’

“Mr. Elliot then related that he had recently been in company with

some of the first and most distinguished men of the French nation, now

fugitives here, and had asked them some questions concerning the new

French ministry; but they had answered that they knew not one of them,

even by name! ‘Think,’ said he, ‘what a ministry that must be! Suppose

a new administration were formed here of _English_ men, of whom we had

never before heard the names? What statesmen must they be! How prepared

and fitted for government? To begin being known by being at the Helm!’

“Mr. Richard Burke then narrated, very comically, various censures that

had reached his ears upon his brother, concerning his last and most

popular work; accusing him of being the _Abettor of Despots_, because

he had been shocked at the imprisonment of the King of France! and the

_Friend of Slavery_, because he was anxious to preserve our own limited

monarchy in the same state in which it so long had flourished!

“Mr. Burke had looked half alarmed at his brother’s opening, not

knowing, I presume, whither his odd fancy might lead him; but, when

he had finished, and so inoffensively, and a general laugh that was

excited was over, he—THE Burke—good-humouredly turning to

me, and pouring out a glass of wine, cried: ‘Come, then, Miss Burney!

here’s _Slavery for ever_!’

“This was well understood, and echoed round the table.

“‘This would do for you completely, Mr. Burke,’ cried Mrs. Crewe,

laughing, ‘if it could but get into a newspaper! Mr. Burke, they would

say, has now _spoken out_! The truth has come to light _over a bottle

of wine_! and his real defection from the cause of true liberty is

acknowledged! I should like,’ added she, laughing quite heartily, ‘to

draw up the paragraph myself!’

“‘Pray then,’ said Mr. Burke, ‘complete it by putting in, that the

toast was addressed to Miss Burney!—in order to pay my court to the

Queen!’

“This sport went on, till, upon Mr. Elliot’s again mentioning France,

and the rising Jacobins, Mr. Richard Burke, filling himself a bumper,

and flourishing his left hand, whilst preparing with his right to toss

it off, cried, ‘Come! here’s confusion to confusion!’

“Mr. Windham being mentioned, I was gratified by the warmth with which

Mr. Burke returns his attachment; for upon Mr. Elliot’s speaking with

regret of Mr. Windham’s being so thin, Mr. Burke exclaimed: ‘He is just

as he should be! If I were Windham this minute, I should not wish to be

thinner nor fatter, nor taller nor shorter, nor in any way, nor in any

thing, altered.’

“A little after, speaking of former times, you may believe how I was

struck, nay, how enchanted, to hear Mr. Burke say to Mrs. Crewe:

‘I wish you had known Mrs. Delany! She was a perfect pattern of a

_perfect_ fine lady; a _real_ fine lady of other days. Her manners were

faultless; her deportment was of marked elegance; her speech was all

sweetness; and her air and address were all dignity. I always looked up

to Mrs. Delany, as the model of an accomplished gentlewoman of former

times.’

“Do you think I could hear this testimony to the worth of my revered

and beloved departed friend unmoved?

“When, afterwards, we females were joined by the gentlemen at tea, Mr.

Richard Burke, crossing hastily over to me, cried, in a loud whisper,

almost in my ear: ‘Miss Burney! prune your plumes!—allow me to say,

I never was so glad in my life as I am to see you in the world again!

Prune your plumes, we all conjure you!—Prune your plumes! we are all

expectation!’

“Our evening finished more curiously than desirably, by a junction that

robbed us of the conversation of Mr. Burke. This was the entrance of

Lord Loughborough and of Mr.[30] and Mrs. Erskine, who, having villas

at Hampstead, and knowing nothing of Mrs. Crewe’s party, called in

accidentally from a walk. If not accidentally, Mr. Erskine, at least,

would probably have denied himself a visit that brought him into a

coterie with Mr. Burke; who openly, in the House of Commons, not long

since, upon being called by Mr. Erskine his Right Hon. Friend, sternly

demanded of him, _whether he knew what Friendship meant_?

“From this time there was an evident disunion of cordiality in the

party. My father, Mr. Elliot, Mr. Richard Burke, and young Burke,

entered into some general discourse, in a separate group. Lord

Loughborough joined Mrs. Burke. My new young partizan[31] sat with Miss

Crewe and Miss Townshend; but the chair of Mrs. Erskine being next to

mine, she immediately began talking to me as chattily and currently as

if we had known each other all our lives.

“Mr. Erskine confined his attention exclusively to Mrs. Crewe. Mr.

Burke, meanwhile, with a concentrated, but dignified air, walked away

from them all, and threw himself on a settee at a distant part of the

room. Here he picked up a book, which he opened by chance, and, to my

great astonishment, began reading aloud! but not directing his face,

voice, or attention to any of the company. On the contrary, he read

with the careless freedom from effort or restraint that he might have

done had he been alone: and merely aloud, because the book being in

verse, he was willing to add the pleasure of sound to its sense. But

what to me made this seem highly comic, as well as intrepidly singular,

was that the work was French; and he read it not only with the English

accent, but exactly as if the two nations had one pronunciation in

common of the alphabet. It was a volume of Boileau, which he had opened

at the famed and incomparable _Epître à son Jardinier_.

“Yet, while the delivery was so amusing, the tone, the meaning, the

force he gave to every word, were so winning to my ears, that I should

have listened to nothing else, if I had not unavoidably been engrossed

by Mrs. Erskine; though from her, too, I was soon called off by a

surprise and half alarm from her celebrated husband.

“Mr. Erskine had been enumerating, fastidiously, to Mrs. Crewe, his

avocations, their varieties, and their excess; till, at length, he

mentioned, very calmly, having a case to plead soon against Mr. Crewe,

upon a manor business in Cheshire. Mrs. Crewe hastily interrupted

him, with an air of some disturbance, to inquire what he meant? and

what might ensue to Mr. Crewe? ‘O, nothing but losing the lordship of

that spot;’ he coolly answered; ‘though I don’t know that it will be

given against him. I only know, for certain, that _I_ shall have three

hundred pounds for it!’

“Mrs. Crewe looked thoughtful; and Mr. Erskine then, finding he enjoyed

not her whole attention, raised his voice, as well as his manner, and

began to speak of the _New Association for Reform by the Friends of the

People_; descanting in powerful, though rather ambiguous terms, upon

the use they had thought fit, in that association, to make of his name;

though he had never yet been to the society; and I began to understand

that he meant to disavow it: but presently he added, ‘I don’t know—I

am uncertain—whether ever I shall attend. I have so much to do—so

little time—such interminable occupation! However, I don’t yet know—I

am not decided; for the People must be supported!’

“‘Pray will you tell me,’ said Mrs. Crewe, coolly, ‘what you mean by

_The People_? for I never know.’

“Whether she asked this with real innocence, or affected ignorance, I

cannot tell; but he was evidently surprised by the question, and evaded

any answer. Probably he thought he might as well avoid discussing such

a point before _his friend_, Mr. Burke; who, he knew well, though

_lying perdu_ from delicacy to Mrs. Crewe, would resistlessly be ready,

upon the smallest provocation, to pounce with a hawk’s power and force

upon his prey, in order to deliver a counter interpretation to whatever

he, Mr. Erskine, might reply of who and what were meant by _the People_.

“I conjecture this from the suddenness with which Mr. Erskine, after

this interrogatory, almost abruptly made his bow.

“Lord Loughborough instantly took his vacated seat on the sofa next to

Mrs. Crewe; and presently, with much grave, but strong humour, recited

a speech which Mr. Erskine had lately made at some public meeting, and

which he had opened to this effect. ‘As to me, gentlemen, I trust I

have some title to give my opinions freely. Would you know whence my

title is derived? I challenge any man amongst you to inquire? If he ask

my birth,—its genealogy may dispute with kings! If my wealth,— it is

all for which I have time to hold out my hand! If my talents—No!—of

those, gentlemen, I leave you to judge for yourselves!’

“When the party broke up, Mr. and Mrs. Burke joined in giving my dear

father and me a most cordial invitation to Beaconsfield. How I should

delight in its acceptance!

“We finished this charming day in a little trio of our three selves;

when our dear ardent father indulged in a hearty laugh at the untoward

question of Mrs. Crewe; and at its electrifying effect; declaring

that he almost regretted that Mr. Burke had shown his fair hostess

such punctilious deference, as not to start up at once with one of

his Thunders of Reply, that might have elicited the Lightnings of Mr.

Erskine, so as to have worked out, with the assistance of the arch

sarcasms of Lord Loughborough, and the pithy remarks of Mr. Elliot, so

tremendous a political storm as to have shaken her little dwelling to

its foundation.

“This mock taste for fire and fury soon, you will easily believe, gave

way to his genuine one for peace, literature, and elegance; and we

concluded a short long evening by various select morsels of poetry,

that my father read with his usual feeling and spirit; summing up the

whole with Rogers’ Pleasures of Memory; from which we retired to rest,

in very serene good-humour, I believe, with one another.”

* * * * *

1793.

This happy summer excursion may be said to have charmed away, for a

while, from Dr. Burney, a species of evil which for some time had

been hovering over him, and which was as new as it was inimical to

his health; and as unwelcome as, hitherto, it had been unknown to

his disposition; namely, a slow, unfixed, and nervous feverishness,

which had infested his whole system; and which, in defiance of this

salubrious episode, soon ruthlessly returned; robbing his spirits, as

well as his frame, of elasticity; and casting him into a state the

least natural to his vigorous character, of wasteful depression.

His recent mental trials had been grievous, and severely felt. The

loss of his old and much valued friend, Mr. Hayes; and of his far more

admired, and almost equally prized favourite, Sir Joshua Reynolds;

joined to that of his early and constantly attached patron, the Earl

of Orford, had all been inflicted, or been menacing, at the same time:

and a continual anxious watchfulness over the gradual deterioration of

health, and decay of life, of three such cherished friends, now nearly

the last of early associations—had been ill adapted for impeding the

mischief of the long and deeper disturbance caused by the precarious

health, and singular situation, of his second daughter: and the

accumulation of the whole had, slowly and underminingly, brought him

into the state that has been described.

The sole employment to which, during this morbid interval, he could

turn himself, was the difficult, the laborious work of composing the

most learned and recondite canons and fugues; to which study and

exposition of his art, he committed all the activity that he could

command from his fatigued faculties.

This distressing state lasted, without relief or remittance, till

it was suddenly and rudely superseded by a violent assault of acute

rheumatism; which drove away all minor or subservient maladies, by the

predominance of a torturing pain that nearly nullified every thing but

itself.

He was now ordered to Bath, where the waters, the change of scene, the

casually meeting with old friends, and incidentally forming new ones;

so recruited his health and his nerves, by chasing away what he called

the foul fiend that had subjugated his animal spirits, that he was soon

imperceptibly restored to his fair genial existence.

One circumstance, more potent, perhaps, in effect, than the concurrence

of every other, contributed to this revivifying termination, by a

power that acted as a spell upon his mind and happiness; namely,

the enlightening society of the incomparable Mr. Burke; who, most

fortunately for the invalid, was then at Bath, with his amiable wife,

his beloved son, and his admiring brother; and whose own good taste led

him to claim the chief portion of Dr. Burney’s recreative leisure. And

with Mr. Burke Dr. Burney had every feeling, every thought, nay, every

emotion in common, with regard to that sole topic of the times, the

French Revolution.

Dr. Burney wrote warmly of these meetings to the Memorialist, by whom

he well knew no subject would be more eagerly welcomed; and he finished

his last Bath details with these flattering words: “I dined, in all,

eight times at the Burkes’, where every day, after dinner, your health

was constantly given by Mr. Burke himself, as his favourite toast.”