MADAME D'ARBLAY'S MEMOIRS OF BURNEY.

THE Memoirs of Dr. Burney, by Madame D'Aeriss.v, couple two of the most distinguished names of a family which, if merit, in place of ancestry or fortune, were chiefly esteemed, would be held to be one of the most honourable in England. The author of the History of Music, the friend of Jon xsoer, GARRICK, and GOLD- SMITH—and the authoress of Evelina, Cecilia, and Camilla—are- but two in a family that has graced most departments of intel- lectual exertion : and so various, so eminent, and so hereditary have been their success, that were we to make out a parallel Peerage of

Genius and Rank, we should class the name of BURNEY high up with the HOWARDS and FITZWILLIAMS.

The interest of these Memoirs is threefold : they carry us with all our feelings into the life and society of a past and most distin- guished age; an age in which talent and education abounded in sufficient quantities to form the agremens of society, but yet were neither so common nor so universally aimed at as to cease to be any but a vulgar distinction—an age in which the art of living to- gether was far better understood than now—in short, the last and most finished act of a long social and literary existence, just pre- ceding all the phenomena and all the inconveniences of a transition age, in the course of which new elements are at work, operating, probably, for future good, but for much pre- sent discomfort. Secondly, we are introduced to the pleasant and buoyant genius of BURNEY himself—the Illus. D. par emi- nence—the most active, energetic, social, and excellent of crea- tures ; and all his admirable connexions, more especially the angelic picture of his sainted wife, as drawn by the united pencils of her widower and her daughter. But thirdly, and more than all, the early education and experience of the most accom- plished authoress of Camilla are laid before us as in a mirror : we behold the nature of her education, of her earliest communica- tions, of her first and most lasting impressions—in short, the ma- terials of the little world of character as it was afterwards poured forth from her creative brain, in her ever-enduring novels. In the Memoirs—which are neither more nor less than sketches of so- ciety and character—all the intimate associates of her father, mostly distinguished as they were, are laid open under the aspect which they bore round the well-frequented social hearth of the amiable Doctor himself.

Infinite is the number of names, and now fading reputations, that these volumes recal to the student of the last century,— sometimes resuscitated from the memory of the authoress, some-_ times from the memoranda of the subject of these Memoirs, and sometimes the writer has had recourse to her own letters, written, in youth to a family friend, and which events have caused to be returned to her possession. With some exceptions, the most pleasing source of the Memoirs is the authoress's own letters, written in moments contemporary perhaps with the history of Evelina and the Brangtons. They possess a charm of nature and. vivacity denied to Madame D'ARBLAY'S later and more stately periods ; in which she seems to emulate the ponderous senten- tiousness of Dr. JOHNSON, hardly relieved by the allusive ver- bosity of GIBBON. Madame D'ARBLAY'S style, we regret to say.: is no longer English; though we do not deny that the principal portion of her sesquipedalian phraseology may be found in the Dictionary of the Leviathan of her day.

Under this decided feeling of preference for Madame D'Aanesees. earlier productions, we extract from the portion of the work before- us,* Miss FANNY BURNEY's account, while yet very young, of her' first sight of the famous Abyssinian BRUCE,—the lion of that day,. whose fame and name are now established on a sure foundation.

"TO SAMUEL CRISP, ESQ.

Cliesington, near Kingston, Surry. -St. Martin's Street,1775.

"Well, now then, my dear Daddy, I have got courage to obey your call for more ! more ! more ! without fear of fatiguing you, for I have seen the great man-mountain, Mr. Bruce; and have been in his high and mighty presence three times; as I shall proceed to tell you in due form and order, and with all the detail you demand.

"MEETING THE FIRST

took place at the tea-table, at Mrs. Strange's, to which my mother, by appoint- ment, had introduced her Lynn friends, Mr. and Mrs. Turner, who were ex- tremely curious to see Mr. Bruce. My dear father was to have escorted us; . but that provoking niarplot, commonly called Business, came as usual in the way, and be could onV join us afterwards.

" The Man-Mountain, and Mr. and Mrs. Turner, were already arrived; and ' no one else was invited, or, at least, permitted to enter.

" Mr. Bruce, as we found, when he arose—which be was too stately to do at once—was placed on the largest easy chair; but which his vast person covered.. so completely, bark and arms, as well as seat, that he seemed to have been merely. placed on a stool ; and one was tempted to wonder who had ventured to accom- modate him so slightly. He is the tallest man you ever saw in your life—ad least, gratis. However, he has a very good figure, and is rather handsome; so.that there is nothing alarming, or uncomely, or, I was going to say, ungenifil-- but I don't think that is the word I mean—in his immense and authoritative form. "My mother was introduced to him, and placed by his side ; but, having: made her a cold, though civilish bow, he took no further notice even of her being. in the room. I, as usual, glided out of the way, and got next to Miss Strange,

• We have received only the First and Second Volumes—in sheets.

who is agreeable and sensiblei and who, seeing. me, i enpnose, very curio.ns upon th'e subject, gave me a good deal of information about Man-Mountain.

" As he is warmly attached to Mrs. Strange and her family, he spends all bps disengaged evenings at their house, where, when they are alone, he is not only Chatty and easy, but full of comic and dry humour ; though if any company enters, he sternly, or gloutingly, Miss Strange says, shuts up his mouth, and utters not a word—except, perhaps, to her parrot ; which, I believe, is a present froin himself. Certainly he does not appear more elevated above the common race in his size, than in his ideas of his own consequence. Indeed, I strongly surmise, that he is not always without some idea how easy it would be to him— and perhaps how pleasant—in case any one should dare to offend him, to toss a svhoie company of such pigmies as the rest of mankind must seem to him, pell-mell down stairs, if not out of the window.

".There is some excuse, nevertheless, for this proud shyness, because he is persuaded that nobody comes near him but either to stare at him as a curiosity,

or to pick his brains for their own purposes : for, when he has deigned to be- have to people as if lie considered himself as their fellow-creature, every word that has been drawn from him has been printed in some newspaper or magazine; which, as be intends to publish his travels himself, .1s abominably provoking ; and seems to have made him suspicious of some dark design, or some invidious trick, when anybody says to him ' 1-low do you do, Sir ?' or, ' Pray, Sir, what's o'clock ? '

" And, after all, if his nature in itself is as imperiousas his person and air are domineering, it is hardly fair to expect that having lived so lung among savages should have softened bis manners.

." Well, when all the placements, and so forth, were over, we went to tea. There's an event for you, my dear Sir !

." There 1Va,■ however, no conversation. Mr. Bruce'S grand air, gigantic height, and foi Lidding brow, awed everybody into silence, except Mrs. Strange ; Who, with all her wit and powers, found it heavy work to talk without reply. " But Mr. Turner suffered the most. He is, you know, a very jocular man, and cannot bear to lose his laugh and his bon mot. Yet he durst not venture at either.; though he is so accustomed to indulge in both, and very successfully in the country, that lie seemed in blank dismay at finding himself kept in such complete subordination by the fearful magnitude of Mr. Bruce, joined to the terror of his looks.

" Mrs. Turner, still less at her ease, because still less used to the company of strangers, attempted not to obtain any sort of notice. Yet, bane- gay in her na- ture, she, too, did not much like being placed so totally in the back-ground. But she was so much impressed by the stateliness of this renowned traveller, that I really believe she sat saying her prayers half the evening, that she might get away from the apartment without some affront. "Pray have you happened to read a paragraph in the newspapers, impiarting that Mr. Bruce was dying, or dead ? My father, who had seen him alive and well the day before it appeared, cut it out, and watered it upon a sheet of paper, and sent it to him without comment.

"My mother now inquired of Mr. Bruce whether he had seen it ? '" '.Yes,' answered lie coolly ; 'but they are welcome to say what they please of 'me. I read my death with great composure."fhen, condescending to turn to me,—though only, I doubt not, to turn away from my elders,—lie added, Were you not sorry, Mies Burney, to hear that 1 was dead ? '

"Finding him thus address himself, and rather courteously, for he really smiled, to so small a personage as your very obedient servant, Afr.• Turner, re- vieing, gathered courage to open his mouth, and, with a pit-on air Of easy jocularity, ventured to exclaim with a laugh Well, Sir, as times go, I think, When they killed you, it is very well they said no harm of you.'

" t i.know of no reason they had ! ' replied Mr. Bruce, in so loud a tone, and with an air of such infinite haughtiness, that poor Mr. Turner, thus repulsed fishis first attempt, never dared to again open his lips. "Soon afterwards, a servant came into the room, with General Melville's compliments, .and he begged to know of Mrs. Strange whether it was true that Mr. Bruce was so dangerously ill. " Yes cried he, bluffly ; the General I am dead.' " Ay, poor soul ! poor inon!' cried Mrs. Strange, ' I dare say he has been vexed enough to hear such a thing Poor honest mon! I dare be sworn he never wronged or deceived a human being iu all his life.'

'-' Will you, faith ?' cried. Mr. Bruce : ' will you be sworn to that ? It's more than I would dare to lie for any man alive ! Do you really think he has risen to the rank of General with so little trouble?'

" "Troth, yes,' she answered ; ' you men, you know, never deceive men ! you have too much honour for that. And as to us women,—ah, troth! the best among you canno' deceive me ! for whenever you say pretty things to me, I niake it a rule to believe them all to be true : so the prettier the better !' -" Miss Bell Strange, the youngest daughter, a very sensible little girl, about ten years old, now brought bun his tea. Heiook it, in chucking her under the chin; which was evidently very annoying to her, as a little womanly conscious- ness is just stealing upon her childhood : but, not heeding that, he again turned to me, and said, 'Do you know, Miss Burney, that I intend to run away with Bell ? We are going to Scotland together. She won't let me rest till I take hbr to Gretna Green.' - "' La! how can you say so, Sir ? cried Bell, colouring, and much fidgeted. ,Pray, Ma'am, don't believe it!' " Why, how now, Bell ?—What ! won't you go ?' " No Sir, I won't !' answered Bell, very demurely.

" ' Well,' cried he, with a scoffing smile, and rising, 'this is the first lady- that ever refused me.'

" He then inquired of Mrs. Strange whether she bad heard any thing lately of Lord R., of whom they joined in drawing a most odious character ; especially for his avarice.. And when they had finished the portrait, Mr. Bruce, advanc- ing his great figure towards me, exclaimed, And yet this man is my rival !' " ' Really,' cried I, hardly knowing what he expected I should say, but afraid to affront him by a second total silence.

" ' 0, it's true !' returned lie in a tone that implied though, not credible. Is it not true, Mrs. Strange; he, lie is my rival ?'

• " Troth; they say so,' answered she, calmly. I wonder lie should dare!' cried my mother. ' I wonder he should not apprehend that the long residence in Egypt of Mr. Bruce, had made him so well acquainted with magic, that'-

' ' 0,' interrupted Mr. Bruce, coolly, I shall not poison him. But I may bribe his servant to tie a rope across his staircase, on some dark night, and then, as I dare say the miserly wretch never allows himself a candle to go up and down-stairs lie may get a tumble, and break his neck.' " This idea set him into a fit of laughter quite merry to behold ; and as I caught, from surprise, a little of its infection, he was again pleased to address himself to me, and to make inquiry whether I was musical; expressing his hopes that he should hear me play, when Mrs. Strange fulfilled her engagement of bringing him to our house; adding, that he had a passionate love of music.

" ' I was once,' said Mrs. Strange, ' with a young lady, a friend of mine, when she was at a concert for the first time she ever heard any music, except nursery lullaby-s, or street holla-balleos, or perhaps a tune on a fiddle by some poor blind urchin. And the music was very pretty, and quite tender ; and she liked it so wed, it almost made her swoon ; and she could no' draw her breath ; and she thrilled all over; and sat sighing and groaning, and groaning and sigh-

Iing, with over-much delight, till, at last, she burst into a fit of tears, and sobbed out, ' I can't help it !' " ' There's a woman, said Mr. Bruce, with some entiotion, ' who could never make a man unhappy ! Her soul must be all harmony.'

" My dear father now arrived; and he and Mr. Bruce talked apart for the res," of the evening, upon the harp and the letter.

,, put when the carriage was announced, imagine my surpi4ee to see this ma. jestic personage take it into his fancy to address something to me almost in a whisper ! bending down, with no small difficulty, his head to a level _With mine. What it was I could not hear. Though perhaps 'twas some Abyssin.tn compli- ment that I could not understand ! Its flattery, however, could not have done me much mischief, after Miss Strange's information, that, when he is not dis- posed to be social with the company at large, he always singles out for notice the youngest female present—except, indeed, a dog, a bird, a cat, or a squirrel, be happily at hand.

" As I had no ' retort courteous' ready, he grandly re-erected himself to the fullest extent of his commanding height ; setting me down, I doubt not, in his black book, for a tasteless imbecile. Everybody, however, as all his motions engage all attention, looked so curious, that my only gratitude for his condescen- sion, was heartily wishing him at one of the mouths of his own famous Nile.

" Will you not wish me there too, my dearest Mr. Crisp, for this long detail without one word of said Nile, and its endless sources? or of Thebes and its hun- dred gates? or of the two harps of harps that are to decorate the History of Music? But nothing of all this occurred ; except it might be in his private confab. with my father.

" You demanded, however, an account of his manner, his air, and his dis- course; and what sort of mode, or fashion, he had brought over from Ethiopia. " And here, so please you, all that is at your feet.

" I have only to add, that his smile, thoUgh rare, is really graceful and en- gaging. But his laugh, when his dignity is off its guard, and some sportive or active mischief comes across his ideas—such as the image of his miserly rival, Lord R., dangling from a treacherous rope on his own staircase, or tumbling headlong down,—is a chuckle of delight that shines his face of a bright scarlet; and shakes his whole vast frame with a boyish ecstacy. " But I forgot to mention, that while Mr. Bruce was philandering with little Bliss Bell Strange, who, with comic childish dignity, resented his assumed suc- cess, lie said he believed lie had discovered the reason of her shyness : ' Some- body has told you, I suppose, Bell, that when I am taken with a hungry fit in Dry rambles, I make nothing of seizing on a young bullock, and tying hint by the horns to a tree, while I cut myself off a raw beef-steak, and regale myself upon it with its own cold gravy ? according. to my custom in Abyssinia? Per- ligps, Bell, you may think a young heifer might do as well? and are afraid you might serve my turn, when my appetite is rather keen, yourself? Eh, Bell?'

Now for MEETING the SECOND ; which, though it offers but few more characteristics of the Abyssinian wonder, is full of indications of the authoress of perhaps the pleasantest novels in the language. It also introduces a man of singular merit, Mr. TWINING, the translator and commentator of ARISTOTLE'S Poetics—one of the best and modestest scholars of his day, and altogether a man of other times than the present. ,

." My father invited Mr. Twining, the great Grecian, to said meeting. What a contrast did lie form with Mr. Bruce, the great Ethiopian ! I have already de- scribed Mr. Twining to you, though very inadequately; for he is so full of merits, it is not easy to find proper phrases for him. There is only our 'dear Mr. Crisp whom we like and love half as well.

. " Mr. Twining, with all his excellences,—and he is reckoned one of the first scholars living, and is now engaged in translating Arietotlesis as modest and unassuming as Mr. Bruce is high and pompous. He came very early, frankly owning, with a sort of piteous shrug, that he really had not bronze to present himself, when the party should be assembled, before so eminent, but tremendous a man, as report painted Mr. Bruce; though lie was extremely gratified to nestle himself into a corner, as a private spectator.

" Mrs. Strange, with her daughter, arrived next ; and told Us that his Abys- sinian Majesty, as she calls Mr. Bruce, had dined at General: Melville's, but would get away as quickly as possible. " We waited tea, iu our old-fashioned manner, a full hour ; but no Mr. Bruce. So then we—or rather Imade it. And we all united to drink it. There, Sir ; there's another event for you I •

"Mr. Twining entreated that we might no longer postpone the concert, and was leading the way to the library, where it was to be held; bat just then, a thundering rap at the door raised our expectations, and stopped our steps ;—and Mr. Bruce was announced.

" He entered the room with the state and dignity of a tragedy giant. " We soon found that something had displeased him, and that he- was very much out of humour : and when Mrs. Strange inquired after General Melville, lie answered her, with a face all made up of fbrmidable frowns, that the Genes ral had invited a most stupid set of people to meet him. He had evidently left the party with disgust. Perhaps they had asked him whether there were any real men and women in Abyssinia, or only bulloeks and heifers. " He took his tea in stern silence, without deigning to again open his lips, tilt it was to demand a private conference with my father. They then went to- gether to the study,—erst Sir Isaac Newton's,—which is.within the library.

" In passing through the latter, they encountered Mr. Twining, who would- hastily have shrunk back ; but my father immediately, and with distinction to Mr. Twining, performed the ceremony of introduction. Mr. Bruce gravely bowed, and went on ; and he was then shut up -with my-father at least an .hour, in full discussion upon the Theban harp, and the letter for the History.

" Mr. Twining returned, softly and on tiptoe, to the drawing-room ; and ad- vancing to Mrs. Strange and my mother, with uplifted hands and eyes, ex- claimed, ' This is the most awful man I ever saw !—I never felt so little in all my life !' . " ' Well, troth,' said Mrs. Strange, ' never mind ! If you were six feet high be would overlook you ; and he can do no more now.' " Mr. Twining then, to recover breath he said, sat down, but declared be was in fear of his life ; ' for if Mr. Bruce,' he cried, 'should come in hastily, and, not perceiving such a pitiful Lilliputian, should take the chair to be empty, —it will soon be over with me ! I shall be jammed in a moment--while he will think he is only dropping down upon a cushion.' " As the study confab. seemed to menace duration, Mr. Twining petitioned Mr. Burney to go to the pianoforte ; where he fired away in a voluntary with all the astonishing powers of his execution, and all the vigour of his genius. •

" He might well be animated by such an auditor as Mr. Twining, who can- not be a deeper Grecian than he is a refined musician. How happy is my dear father that the three best, and dearest, and wisest of his friendi, should be three of the most scientific judges of his own art,-.--Mr. Twining, Mr. Bewley, and Mr. Crisp ! [to whom she is writing.]

" Dear me! how came that last name into my head? I beg your pardon a thousand times. It was quite by accident. A mere slip of the pen. " Mr. Twining, astonished, delighted, uttered the warmest praises, with all his heart, but that fervent effusion over, dropped his voice anto its lowest key, to add, with a look full of arch pleasantry, Now, is not this better than being tall ?'

" My poor sister, Burney, was not quite well, and had a hurt on one of her fingers. But though she could not exert herself to play a solo, she consented to take hee.partin.the .noble.duet for the piano-forte of Rluthel ; and she was 210 sooner seated, than Mr. Bruce re-appeared in our horizon.

" You well know that enchanting composition, which never has been more perfectly executed. . " 1Ir. Twining was enraptured ; Mrs. Strange listened in silent wonder and pleasure; and Mr. Bruce himself was drawn into a charmed attention. His air lost its fierceness ; his features relaxed into smiles ; and good humour and complacency turned pride, sternness, and displeasure, cant of his phis.

" I begin now to think I have perhaps been too criticising upon poor Man- Mountain ; and that, when he.is not in the way of r rovocation to his vanity, hemay be an amiable, as well as an agreeable man. But I suppose his giant- form, which makes every thdng.itround him seem diminutive, has given him a notion that he was born to lord it over the rest of mankind ; which, peradven- ture, seems to him a mere huddle of Lilliputians, as unfit to cope with him, ' mentally, in discourse, as corporeally in a wrestling match.

" Mr. Twining had been invited to supper ; and, as it now grew very late, my mother made the invitation general ; syhich, to our . great surprise, Mr. Bruce was the first to accept. 'Who, then, could start any objection?

" So softened bad he been by the music, that he was become all courtesy. No- body-else was listened to, or looked at ; and as 1w never scarcely deigns to lock at anybody himself, lie is a primary object for peering at."..1 The THIRD MEETING is very various and full of character; but we haveonly room for the part which relates to BRUCE, and which puts the traveller in a new but a full light.

" Mr. Bruce; however, with the Stranges, again consented to stay supper ; which, you know, with us, is nothing but a permission to sit over a table for chat, and roast potatoes or apples. " But now, to perfect your acquaintance with this towering Ethiopian, where do you think he will take you during supper ? " To the source, or sources, you cry, of the Nile ? to Thebes ? to its temple ? to an arietta on the Theban harp ; or, perhaps, to banqueting on hot raw beef in Abyssinia? "\o such thing, my dear Mr. Crisp, no such thing. Travellers who mean to write their travels, are fit for nothing but to represent the gap at your whist- table at Chesington, when you have only three players ; for they are mere dummies.

" Mr. Bruce left all his exploits, his wanderings, his vanishings, his reap- pearances, his harps so celestial, and his bullocks so terrestrial, to plant all our entertainment within a hundred yards of our own coterie; namely, at the mas- querades at the Haymarket. " Thus it was. He inquired of Mrs. Strange where he could find Mrs. Twoldlism, a lady of his acquaintance ; a very fine woman, but remarkably dissipated, whom he wished to see. " ' Troth,' Mrs. Strange answered, 'she did not know ; but if he would take a turn to a masquerade or two, he would be sure to light upon her, as she never missed one.'

" What !' cried he, laughing, 'has she not had enough yet of masquerades? Bravo, Mrs. Twoldham ! I honour your spirit.'

" He then laughed so cordially, that we were tempted, by such extraordinary good-humour, to beg him, almost in a body, to permit us to partake of his mirth.

" He complied very gaily. A friend of mine,' he cried, 'before I went abroad, had so often been teased to esquire her to some of these medleys, that he thought to give the poor woman a surfeit of them to free himself from her future importunity.. Yet she was a very handsome woman—very handsome in- deed. But just as they Were going into the great room, be bad got one of her visiting cards ready, and contrived, as they passed through a crowded passage, to pin to the back of her robe, "Mrs. Twoldham, Wimpole Street ;" and not three steps had she tript forward, before some one called out—" Hah ! Mrs. Twoldham ! how do you do, Mrs. Twoldham? "—" Oho, Mrs. 'Twoldham, are you here?" cried another; "Well, Ma'am, and how do all friends in Wim- pole Street do? " till the poor woman was half out of her wits, to know how so many people had discovered her. So she thought that perhaps her forehead was in sight, and she perked up her mask ; but she did not less hear, " Ah! it's you, Mrs. Twoldham, is it?" Then she supposed she had left a peep at her chin, and down again was tugged the poor mask ; but still, "Mrs. Twoldham !" and " How do you do, my dear Mrs. Twoldham?" was rung in her ears at every step; till at last, she took it into her head that some one, who, by chance, had detected her, had sent her name round the room ; so she hurried off like light- ning to the upper suite of apartments. But 'twas all the same. " Well, I declare, if here is not Mrs. Twoldham ! " cries the first person that passed her. " So she is, I protest," cried another ; I am very glad to see you, my dear Ma'am ! what say you to giving me a little breakfast tomorrow morning? you know Where, Mrs. Twoldham; at our old haunt in Wimpole Street." But, at last, the corner of an unlucky table rubbed off the visiting card ; and a waiter, who picked it up, grinned from ear to ear, and asked whether it was hers. And the poor woman fell into such a trance of passion, that my friend was afraid for his eyes; and all the more, because, do what he would, he could not refrain from laughing in her face.'

" You can scarcely conceive how heartily he laughed himself; be quite chuckled, with all the enjoyment in mischief of a holyday schoolboy. " And he harped upon the subject with such facetious pleasure, that no other could be started.

" 'I once knew,' he. cried, 'a man—his name was Robert Chambers, and a good-natured little fellow he was, who was served this very trick the first mas- querade he went to in London, upon fresh coming from Scotland. A gentleman who went to it with him, wrote upon his black domino, with chalk, " This is little Bob Chambers, fresh come from Edinburgh ;" and immediately some one called out, in passing him, "What Bob? little Bob Chambers? how do you do, my boy?" " Faith, ' says Bob to his friend, "the people of this fine London are pretty impudent ! I don't know that I know a soul in the whole town, and the first person I meet makes free to call me plain Bob !" But when he went on, and found that every creature in every room did the same, he grew quite outrageous at being treated with so little ceremony; and he stamped with his foot at one, and clenched his fist at another, and asked how they dared call him Bob? " What ! a'n't you Bob, then ?" replies one; " 0 yes, you are ! you're Bob, my Bob, as sure as a gun ! Bob Chambers ! little Bob Chambers ! And I hope you have left all well at Edinburgh, my Bob?" In vain he rubbed by them, and tried to get on, for they called to hint quite from a distance; " Bob ! —Bob ! come hither, I say !—come hither, my Bobby ! my Bob of all Bobs ! you're welcoMe from Edinburgh, my Bob !" Well, then, he said, 'twas clear the devil owed him a spite, and had told his name from top to bottom of every room. Poor Bob ! he made a wry face at the very sound of a masquerade to the end of his days.' " To have looked at Mr. Bruce in his glee at this buffoonery, you must really ]rave been amused ; though methinks I see, supposing you had been with us/ the picturesque rising of your brow, and all the dignity of your Roman nose, while you would have stared at such familiar delight in an active joke, as to transport into so merry an espi?gle the seven-footed loftiness of the haughty and

imperious tourist from the sands of Ethiopia, and the waters of Abyssinia; whom, nevertheless, I have now the honour to portray in his robe de chambre, i. e. in private society, to my dear Chesington Daddy. " What says he to the portrait? "

When we turn from the unpremeditated and agreeable style of

these letters, to the cold and pompous. notices of the later composi- tion,"we regret that the tale of her father's life could not all have been written in youth, and that in letters to the excellent and venerable Daddy CRISP, the Mentor of BURNEY, the Nestor of his daughters. The relation of father and child is scarcely favour- able to biography : the connexion is too sacred for freedom, too near for judgment, and yet not close enough for thorough) know- ledge. We pardon the vanity of autobiography for the sake of possessing the best authority on one side at least. Thus, where Madame D'ARBL AY speaks of herself, she is perhaps too wrapped up in the subject—too intensely desirous of developing her own sensations under particular circumstances ; but we are compensated for any wearisomeness thus produced, by being let into a complete participation of all the. secret knowledge connected with events of at least great curiosity in the history of literature, if not in human nature. On the other hand, the authoress's sketches of persons and scenes when relative to third parties, in spite of the stiffness and verbosity of the style, are full of interest : there have been no descriptions of GARRICK, Dr. JOHNSON, Mrs. THRALE, BURKE, of greater vivacity and strength than those contained in these vo- lumes. But when the Doctor, her father, becomes the subject of her pen, though we should be the last to deny his very high merit and his various accomplishments, still an air of ridicule impercep- tibly creeps over the page, and this in spite of our reverence for filial affection. Perhaps this effect is solely attributable to the tin- happy mannerism in language into which " This Memorialist" has fallen : not even the writings of the late admirable BENTHAM are more curiously inverted, or more widely twisted from true English idiom, than the solemnities of these pages. Who could suppose that the author of Evelina could ever have written a style that could easily be mistaken for the crabbed sentence of the Ancient of Westminster! But the curious style of both philosopher and novelist come from the same cause—the one had secluded himself from society, and the other has been habitually familiar with a fo- reign tongue. Grammar is retained, models are consulted, but

English and idiom fly the page.

After all, though we love and respect the memory of Dr. BURNEY, we are still more inclined to value these volumes for the autobiography they contain of the Memorialist. There never was a more charming romance of real life than the history of the pub- lication of Miss BURNEY'S first and famous novel. She tells it herself in the language of the time, or certainly we should not quote it; and the portion which we now bring in, we fear is to the exclusion. of valuable matter : nevertheless, we defy the literary historian to point out any narration connected with the pregnant history of genius, which is marked by more exquisite charms than the abridged and mutilated history of Evelina as given below,—for it is only thus by fragments that we can give it at all.

Frances, the second daughter of Dr. Burney, was during her childhood the most backward of all his family in the faculty of receiving instruction. At eight years of age she was ignorant of the letters of the alphabet ; though at ten, she began scribbling, almost incessantly, little works of invention; but al- ways in private ; and in scrawling characters, illegible, save to herself.

One of her most remote remembrances, previously to this writing mania, is that of hearing. a neighbouring lady recommend to Mrs. Burney, her mother, to quicken the indolence or stupidity, whichever it might be, of the little dunce, by the chastening ordinances of Solomon. The alarm, however, of that little dunce, at a suggestion so wide from the maternal measures that had been prac- tised in her childhood, was instantly superseded by ajoy of gratitude and surprise that still rests upon her recollection, when she heard gently martuured in reply, "No, no—I am not uneasy. about her' " But, alas ! the soft music of those encouraging accents had already ceased to vibrate on human ears, before these scrambling pot-hooks 'had begun their ope- ration of converting into elegies, odes, plays, songs, stories, farces—nay, trage- dies and epic poems, every scrap of white paper that could be seized upon with- out question or notice; for she grew up, probably through the vanity-annihi- lating circumstances of this conscious intellectual disgrace, with so affrighted a persuasion that what she scribbled, if seen, would but expose her to ridicule, that her pen, though her greatest, was only her clandestine delight. To one confidant, indeed, all was open ; but the fond partiality of the juvenile Susanna made her opinion of little weight ; though the affection of her praise rendered the stolen moments of their secret readings the happiest of their adolescent lives.

From the time, however, that she attained her fifteenth year, she considered it her duty to combat this writing passion as illaudable, because fruitless. Seiz- ing, therefore, an opportunity, when Dr. Burney was at Chesington, and the then Mrs. Burney, her mother- in-law, was in Norfolk, she made over to a bon- fire, in a paved play-court, her whole stock of prose goods and chattels; with the sincere intention to extinguish for ever, in their ashes, her scribbling pro- pensity. But Hudibras too well says- - He who complies against his will,

Is of his own opinion still."

This grand feat, therefore, which consumed her productions, extirpated neither the invention nor the inclination that bad given them birth ; and, in defiance of all the projected heroism of the sacrifice, the last of the little works that was immolated, which was the " History of Caroline Evelyn, the Mother of Evelina," left upon the mind of the writer so animated an impression of the singular situations to which that Caroline's infant daughter,—from the unequal birth by which she hung suspended between the elegant connexions of her mother, and the vulgar ones of her grandmother,—might be exposed ; and presented con- trasts and mixtures of society so unusual, yet, thus circumstanced, so natural, that, irresistibly and almost unconsciously, the whole of A Young Lady's Entrance into the WOr/d was pent up in the inventor's memory ere a para- graph was committed to paper. Writing, indeed, was far more difficult to her than composing ; for that de- manded what she rarely found attainable—secret opportunity : while composi • tion, in that hey-day of imagination, called only for volition.

When the little narrative, however slowly, from the impediments that always

. annoy what requires secresy, began to assume a "questionable shape," a wish —as vague, at first, as it was fitutastic—crowed the brain of the writer, to " see her work in print." She communicated, under promise of inviolable silence, this idea to her sis- ters ; who entered into it with much more amusement than surprise, as they well knew her taste for quaint sports, and were equally aware of the sensitive affright with which she shrunk from all personal remark. She now copied the manuscript in a feigned hand ; for as she was the Doc- tor's principal amanuensis, she feared her common writing might accidentally be seen by some compositor of the History of Music, and lead to detection.

She grew weary, however, ere long, of an exercise so merely manual ; and had no sooner completed a copy of the first and second volumes, than she wrote a letter, without any signature, to offer the unfinished work to a bookseller, with a desire to have the two volumes immediately printed, if approved ; and a prolnise to send the sequel in the following year.

This was forwarded by the London post, with a desire that the answer should be directed to a coffeehouse.

Her younger brothei—the elder, Captain James, was " over the hills and far away"—her younger brother, afterwards the celebrated Greek scholar, gaily, and without reading a word Of the work, accepted a share in so whimsical a frolic ; and joyously undertook to be her agent at the coffeehouse with her let- ters, and to the bookseller with the manuscript.

After some consultation upon the choice of a bookseller, Mr. Dodsley was fixed upon; for Dodsley, from his father's—or perhaps grandfather's—well-chosen collection of fugitive poetry, stood foremost in the estimation of the juvenile set.

Mr. Dodsley, in answer to the proposition, declined looking at any thing that was anonymous. The party, half-amused, half-provoked, sat in full committee upon this lofty .reply ; and came to a resolution to forgo the eclat of the west end of the town, and to try their fortune with the urbanity of the city. Chance fixed them upon the name of Mr. Lowndes. The city of London here proved more courtly than that of Westminster; and, to their no small delight, Mr. Lowndes desired to see the manuscript.

• And what added a certain pride to the author's satisfaction in this assent, was, that the answer opened by 44 Sit,"—which gave her an elevation to manly con- sequence, that had not been accorded to her by Mr. Dodsley, whose reply began " Sir, or Madam."

The young agent was muffled up now by the laughing committee, in an old great coat, and a large old hat, to give him a somewhat antique as well as vulgar disguise ; and was sent forth in the dark of the evening with the two first volumes to Fleet Street, where he left them to their fate.

In trances of impatience the party awaited the issue of the examination. But they were all let down into the very " Slough of Despond," when the next coffeehouse letter coolly declared, that Mr. Lowndes could not think of publishing an unfinished book; though he liked the work, and should be "ready to purchase and print it when it should be finished."

The third volume was written and delivered to the publisher ; who in return paid over to the unknown scribe 20/. ; and when the work arrived at a third edition, 101. more—out of (we believe) his own spirit of magnanimity. The most interesting part of the story is to come,—namely, that part which relates to her father's discovery, by some means, of his daughter's authorship. FANNY had fallen ill, and had been sent into the country to recruit : for six months in her retirement, she heard nothing of Evelina; in the mean while, however, it had become the town talk. The • authoress was indebted to the correspondence of her sister for the following facts- ; June came; and a sixth month was elapsing in the same silent concealment, : when early one morning the Doctor, with great eagerness and hurry, began a search amongst the pamphlets in his study for a Monthly Review, which he de- manded of his daughter Charlotte, who alone was in the room. After finding it, he earnestly examined its contents, and then looked out hastily for an article which he read with a countenance of so much emotion, that Charlotte stole softly behind him, to peep over his shoulder; and then saw, with surprise and joy, that he was perusing an account, which she knew to he most favourable, of Evelina, beginning, "A great variety of natural characters." When he had finished the article, he put down the Review, and sat motion- less, without raising his eyes, and looking in deep, but charmed astonishment. Suddenly, then, he again snatched the Review, and again ran over the article, with an air yet more intensely occupied. Placing it afterwards on the chimney-

' piece, he walked about the room, as if to recover breath, and recollect himself; though always with looks of the most vivid pleasure.

- Some minutes later, holding the Review in his hand, while inspecting the table of contents, lie beckoned to Charlotte to approach ; and pointing to Evelina," "you know,"he said, in a whisper, " that book? Send William for it to Lowndes's, as if for yourself; and give it to me when we are alone."

Charlotte obeyed ; and, joyous iu sanguine expectation, delivered to him the little volumes, tied up in brown paper, in his study, when, late at night, he came home from sonic engagement. Ile locked them up iu his bureau, without speaking, and retired to his chamber.

The kindly impatient Charlotte was in his study the next morning with the lark, waiting the descent of the Doctor from his room.

He also was early, and went straight to his desk, whence, taking. out and - untying the parcel, he opened the first volume upon the little ode to himself,- " Oh author of my being! far more dear,".

He ejaculated a " Good God !" and his eyes were suffused with tears. Twice he read it, and then recommitted the book to his writing-desk, as if Ids mind were too full for further perusal; and dressed, and went out, without uttering a syllable. All this the affectionate Charlotte wrote to her sister ; who read it with a ' perturbation inexpressible. It was clear that the Doctor had discovered the name of her book ; and learned, also, that Charlotte was one of her cabal : but how, was inexplicable; 'though what would be his opinion of the work absorbed now all the thoughts and surmises of the clandestine author. From this time, be frequently, though privately and confidentially, spoke with all the sisters upon the subject, and with the kindliest approbation. From this time, also, daily accounts of the progress made by the Doctor in • reading the work, or of the progrer- made in the world by the work itself, • 'Were transmitted to recreate the Chesington invalid from the eagerly kind 'sisters; the eldest of which, soon afterwards, wrote a proposal to carry to Ches- . iagton, for reading to Mr. Crisp, " an anonymous new work that was running about the town, called Evelina."

, She mune; and performed her promised office with a warmth of heart that glowed through every word she read, and gave an interest to. every detail. With eying colours, therefore, the book went off, not only with the easy so- cial circle, but with Mr. Crisp himself; and without the most remote suspicion - that the author was in the midst of the audience; a circumstance that made the urhole perusal seem to that author the most pleasant of comedies, from the innu- merable whimsiCal incidents to which it gave rise, alike in panegyrics and in criticisms, which alternately, and mast innocently', were often addressed to her- self ; and accompanied with demands of her apinions, tl forced her to per plexing evasions, productive of the most ludicrous -confusion, though of the - highest inward diversion.

Meanwhile, Dr. Burney, uninformed of this transactiiim,,rt justly concluding that, whether the book were owned or not, some one of the little committee would be carrying it to Chesington, sent an injuweion to procrastinate its being produced, as he himself meant to be its reader to Mt. Crisp,.

This touching testimony of his parental interest• in its success with the first and dearest of their friends, came close to the heart- for whiclnit was designed, with feelings of strong, and yet living gratitude !

After this, follows the crowding of little-flattering testimonies of the public and its leaders upon the modbstand unknown au- thoress, through the medium of such of her correspondents as were in the secret: and then arrives the acknowledgment of authorship in certain coteries, and all the satisfaction and surprise attendant upon the disclosure of a charming secret, and the ac- cumulation of high fame upon the head of an authoress-girl, who could scarcely be brought to think that she had: not: been doing something naughty instead of something glorious. We refer our readers with pleasure to the farther details.of this. pleasant piece of history, in which Dr. JomrsoN plays a conspicuous part, to the volumes themselves.

It is impossible to part with these volumes without feeling that, in spite of their peculiar style and occasional absurdities, in the end they succeed in making a deep impression on- the mind. As the reader arrives at the close, nearly every page records the de- parting moments of some celebrated name—some distinguished friend of the wide circle of Dr. BURNEY'S society, whose fame and name have now become public property. The whole passes like a solemn pageant. The tendency of the work, and the pervading feeling of the author's mind, are those which ought to characterize all biographies—the encouragement of a virtuous ambition.. It is scarcely possible to peruse these books without feeling stimulated in the race of clistiuction; and there is not an example nor yet a sentence that does not breathe the necessity of that distinction being pure and virtuous. Altogether, the book will be a great treat to the Old School, and a good lesson to the New.