_Streatham, May, Friday_. Once more, my dearest Susy, I will attempt
journalising, and endeavour, according to my promise, to keep up
something of the kind during our absence, however brief and curtailed.
To-day, while Mrs. Thrale was chatting with me in my room, we saw Mr.
Murphy drive into the courtyard. Down stairs flew Mrs. Thrale, but, in a
few minutes, up she flew again, 'crying,
“Mr. Murphy is crazy for your play--he won't let me rest for it--do pray
let me run away with the first act.”
Little as I like to have it seen in this unfinished state, she was too
urgent to be resisted, so off she made with it.
I did not shew my phiz till I was summoned to dinner. Mr. Murphy,
probably out of flummery, made us wait some minutes, and, when he did
come, said,
“I had much ado not to keep you all longer, for I could hardly get away
from some new acquaintances I was just making.”
As he could not stay to sleep here, he had only time, after dinner, to
finish the first act. He was pleased to commend it very liberally; he
has pointed out two places where he thinks I might enlarge, but has not
criticised one word; on the contrary, the dialogue he has honoured with
high praise.
_Brighthelmstone, May 26_. The road from Streatham hither is beautiful:
Mr., Mrs., Miss Thrale, and Miss Susan Thrale, and I, travelled in a
coach, with four horses, and two of the servants in a chaise, besides
two men on horseback; so we were obliged to stop for some time at three
places on the road.
We got home by about nine o'clock. Mr. Thrale's house is in West Street,
which is the court end of the town here, as well as in London. 'Tis a
neat, small house, and I have a snug comfortable room to myself. The
sea is not many yards from our windows. Our journey was delightfully
pleasant, the day being heavenly, the roads in fine order, the prospects
charming, and everybody good-humoured and cheerful.
_Thursday._ Just before we went to dinner, a chaise drove up to
the door, and from it issued Mr. Murphy. He met with, a very joyful
reception; and Mr. Thrale, for the first time in his life, said he was
“a good fellow”: for he makes it a sort of rule to salute him with the
title of “scoundrel,” or “rascal.” They are very old friends; and I
question if Mr. Thrale loves any man so well.
He made me many very flattering speeches, of his eagerness to go on
with my play, to know what became of the several characters, and to what
place I should next conduct them; assuring me that the first act had run
in his head ever since he had read it.
In the evening we all, adjourned to Major H--'s, where, besides his
own family, we found Lord Mordaunt, son to the Earl of Peterborough,--a
pretty, languid, tonnish young man; Mr. Fisher, who is said to be a
scholar, but is nothing enchanting as a gentleman; young Fitzgerald, as
much the thing as ever; and Mr. Lucius Corcannon.
Mr. Murphy was the life of the party: he was in good spirits, and
extremely entertaining; he told a million of stories, admirably well;
but stories won't do upon paper, therefore I shall not attempt to
present you with them.
This morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Murphy said,
“I must now go to the seat by the seaside, with my new set of
acquaintance, from whom I expect no little entertainment.”
“Ay,” said Mrs. Thrale, “and there you'll find us all! I believe this
rogue means me for Lady Smatter; but Mrs. Voluble[96] must speak the
epilogue, Mr. Murphy.”
“That must depend upon who performs the part,” answered he.
“Don't talk of it now,” cried I, “for Mr. Thrale knows nothing of it.”
“I think,” cried Mr. Murphy, “you might touch upon his character in
'Censor.'”
“Ay,” cried Mr. Thrale, “I expect a knock some time or other; but, when
it comes, I'll carry all my myrmidons to cat-call!”
Mr. Murphy then made me fetch him the second act, and walked off with
it.