you, my dear Madame d'Arblay, people ought to know more how good the Queen is, for they don't know it half." And then she told me that she only by accident had learnt almost all that she knew of the Queen's bounties. "And the most I gathered," she continued, laughing, "was, to tell you the real truth, by my own impertinence; for when we were at Cheltenham, Lady Courtown (the Queen's lady-in-waiting for the country) put her pocketbook down on the table, when I was alone with her, by some chance open at a page where mamma's name was written so, not guessing at any secret commission, I took it up, and read-Given by Her Majesty's commands— so much, and so much, and so much. And I was quite surprised. However, Lady Courtown made me promise never to mention it to the Queen; so I never have. But I long it should be known, for all that; though I would not take such a liberty as to spread it of my own judg

ment."

I then mentioned my own difficulties formerly, when Her Majesty, upon my ill state of health's urging my resigning the honour of belonging to the Royal household, so graciously settled upon me my pension, that I had been forbidden to name it. I had been quite distressed in not avowing what I so gratefully felt, and hearing questions and surmises and remarks I had no power to answer. She seemed instantly to comprehend that my silence might do wrong, on such an occasion, to the Queen, for she smiled, and with great quickness cried, "O, I dare say you felt quite guilty in holding your tongue." And she was quite pleased with the permission afterwards granted me to be explicit.

When I spoke of her own and her Royal sisters' contributions, 1007. per annum, she blushed, but seemed ready to enter upon the subject, even confidentially, and

related its whole history. No one ever advised or named it to them, as they have none of them any separate establishment, but all hang upon the Queen, from whose pin-money they are provided for till they marry, or have an household of their own granted by Parliament. "Yet we all longed to subscribe," cried she, "and thought it quite right, if other young ladies did, not to be left out. But the difficulty was, how to do what would not be improper for us, and yet not to be generous at mamma's expense, for that would only have been unjust. So we consulted some of our friends, and then fixed upon 1007. a-piece; and when we asked the Queen's leave, she was so good as to approve it. So then we spoke to the King; and he said it was but little, but he wished particularly nobody should subscribe what would really distress them; and that, if that was all we could conveniently do, and regularly continue, he approved it more than to have us make a greater exertion, and either bring ourselves into difficulties or not go on. But he was not at all angry."

She then gave me the history of the contribution of her brothers. The Prince of Wales could not give in his name without the leave of his creditors. "But Ernest," cried she, "gives 3007. a-year, and that's a tenth of his income, for the King allows him 3000","

All this leading to discourse upon loyalty, and then its contrast, democracy, she narrated to me at full length a lecture of Thelwall's, which had been repeated to her by M. de Guiffardière. It was very curious from her mouth. But she is candour in its whitest purity, wherever it is possible to display it, in discriminating between good and bad, and abstracting rays of light even from the darkest shades. So she did even from Thelwall.

She made me, as usual, talk of my little boy, and was much amused by hearing that, imitating what he heard from me, he called his father "mon ami," and tutoyé'd him, drinking his health at dinner, as his father does to me-" à ta santé."

When at length the Princess Augusta gave me the bow of congé, she spoke of seeing me again soon: I said I should therefore lengthen my stay in town, and induce M. d'Arblay to come and bring my boy.

"We shall see you then certainly," said she, smiling; "and do pray, my dear Madame d'Arblay, bring your little boy with you."

66

And don't say anything to him," cried she, as I was departing; "let us see him quite natural.”

I understood her gracious, and let me say rational, desire, that the child should not be impressed with any awe of the Royal presence. I assured her I must obey, for he was so young, so wild, and so unused to present himself, except as a plaything, that it would not be even in my power to make him orderly.

*

My dear father was extremely pleased with what I had to tell him, and hurried me back to Westhamble, to provide myself with baggage for sojourning with him. My two Alexanders, you will believe, were now warmly invited to Chelsea, and we all returned thither together, accompanied by Betty Nurse.

I shall complete my next Court visit before I enter upon aught else.

I received, very soon, a note from Madame Bremyere, who is my successor. [I have told you poor Mlle. Jacobi is returned to Germany, I think; and that her niece, La Bettina, is to marry a rich English merchant and settle

in London.] This note says; "Mrs. Bremyere has received the Queen's commands to invite Madame d'Arblay to the play to-morrow night" with her own desire I would drink coffee in her apartment before we went to the theatre.

Could anything more sweetly mark the real kindness of the Queen than this remembrance of my fondness for plays?

My dear father lent me his carriage, and I was now introduced to the successor of Mrs. Schwellenberg, Mlle. Bachmeister, a German, brought over by M. De Luc, who travelled into Germany to accompany her hither. I found she was the lady I had seen with the Queen and Princesses, teaching some work. Not having been to the so-long-known apartments since the death of Mrs. Schwellenberg, I knew not how they were arranged, and had concluded Madame Bremyere possessed those of Mrs. Schwellenberg. Thither, therefore, I went, and was received, to my great surprise, by this lady, who was equally surprised by my entrance, though without any doubt who I might be, from having seen me with the Queen, and from knowing I was to join the play-party to my ci-devant box. I inquired if I had made any mistake; but though she could not say no, she would not suffer me to rectify it, but sent to ask Madame Bremyere to meet me in her room.

Mlle. Bachmeister is extremely genteel in her figure, though extremely plain in her face; her voice is gentle and penetrating; her manners are soft, yet dignified, and she appears to be both a feeling and a cultivated character. I could not but lament such had not been the former possessor of an apartment I had so often entered with the most cruel antipathy. I liked her exceedingly; she is a marked gentlewoman in her whole deportment,

though whether so from birth, education, or only mind, I am ignorant.

Since she gave me so pleasant a prejudice in her favour, you will be sure our acquaintance began with some spirit. We talked much of the situation she filled; and I thought it my duty to cast the whole of my resignation of one so similar upon ill health. Mrs. Bremyere soon joined us, and we took up Miss Barbara Planta in our way to the theatre.

When the King entered, followed by the Queen and his lovely daughters, and the orchestra struck up "God save the King," and the people all called for the singers, who filled the stage to sing it, the emotion I was suddenly filled with so powerfully possessed me, that I wished I could, for a minute or two, have flown from the box, to have sobbed; I was so gratefully delighted at the sight before me, and so enraptured at the continued enthusiasm of the no longer volatile people for their worthy, revered sovereign, that I really suffered from the restraint I felt of being forced to behave decorously.

6

The play was the Heir at Law,' by Colman the younger. I liked it extremely. It has a good deal of character, a happy plot, much interest in the under parts, and is combined, I think, by real genius, though open to innumerable partial criticisms.

I heard a gentleman's voice from the next box call softly to Miss Barbara Planta, "Who is that lady?" and heard her answer my name, and him rejoin "I thought so." I found it was Lord Aylesbury, who also has resigned, and was at the play only for the pleasure of sitting opposite his late Royal Mistress.

About a week after this theatrical regale, I went to the Queen's house, to make known I had only a few more