recent intelligence, and exerted himself to be acceptable by intelligence as well as obligingness. M. d'Arblay, at length, one very bitterly cold morning, thought it incumbent upon him to invite his anonymous acquaintance into the house. He knew not how to name him, but, opening the door where I was waiting breakfast for him with Alex, he only pronounced my name. The gentleman, smilingly entering, said, "I must announce mine myself, I believe-Mr. Strachan :" and we then found it was the printer to the King, who is Member of Parliament, son of the Andrew Strachan who was the friend of Johnson and the principal printer of 'Camilla.'

Much recollection of the many messages of business which had passed between us, while unknown, during the printing of that long work, made me smile also at his name, and we easily made acquaintance. He has all the appearance of a very worthy, sensible, unpretending man, well-bred and good-natured. Long connected with the Dickensons, he seems to have an apartment at pleasure in their house, and to love their children as if they were his own. He told us he had known Mrs. Dickenson from the time she was seven years old.

I have been eagerly, though with great disgust, wading through Carnot's pamphlet. I think Mr. Pitt might pay in letters of gold for such authentic intelligence of the frequent pecuniary distresses of the Directory, as well as for the many dissensions and evil propensities which must be excited between the civil and military powers, by the anecdotes he has related and disclosures he has made. He seems but few degrees less wicked than Barras, Rewbel, &c.; and those few, perhaps, only because a few degrees less powerful. Certainly there is nothing to im

press his readers with any respect for his superiority of virtue upon more solid grounds.

Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.

F. D'A.

Westhamble, August 28, '98.1/

IF I could find words,—but the language does not afford any, my dearest, dearest Susan, to tell what this final blow has been to me, I am sure I should be a brute to make use of them; but after so much of hope, of fear, of doubt, of terror, to be lifted up at length to real expectation, and only to be hurled down to disappointment! And you-sweetest soul!-that can think of anybody else in such a situation!-for though your neighbours are so good, Ireland is so unsettled, in our estimation, that I believe there is hardly one amongst us would not at least have parted with a little finger by the hatcheti to have possessed you for a few months in England.

I write because I must write, but I am not yet fit for it; I can offer no fortitude to my Susan, and it is wrong to offer anything else: but I must write, because I must let her see my hand, to tempt a quicker sight again of her own to eyes which yearn after it incessantly. Why did the Major desire me to look after our old cottage at Bookham? and so obligingly, so pleasantly, so truly say: he was certain of the pleasure he gave me by the com mission? Can you tell?

M. d'Arblay is at this time spending two days chez M. la Jard, the last Minister of War to poor Louis XVI.: If he should return before Mrs. Lock sends off the packet, I am sure he will add a line.

I have many things to say and talk of, but they all get behind the present overbearing, engrossing disappoint

ment, which will take no consolation or occupation, except my dear boy, who fortunately was out of the way when I first received it; for else he would have used the letter very ill when I got that which announced that you were coming, the one before the last, in which the Major himself wrote to James, and which James most kindly forwarded to me instantly, saying, "We may now expect to see dear Susan in a few days;" those words from him, less easily elated than most of us, so transported me, that I appeared to my poor Alex in deep grief from a powerful emotion of surprise and joy, which forced its way down my cheeks.

The little creature, who was playing on the sofa, set up a loud cry, and instantly, with a desperate impulse, ran to me, darted up his little hands, before I could imagine his design, and seized the letter with such violence, that I must have torn it to have prevented him: and then he flew with it to the sofa, and, rumpling it up in his little hands, poked it under the cushions, and then resolutely sat down upon it. I was too happy at that moment to oppose his little enterprise, and he sat still till my caresses and evident re-establishment brought him to my lap. However, when I put him down and made up to the sofa for my letter, he began crying again, and flying to his booty, put himself into such an agony that I was fain to quiet him by waiting till I could take it unobserved; yet he could not express himself better in words than by merely saying, “I don't ike ou to ead a letter, mamma!"—He had never happened to see me in tears before happy boy!—and, oh, happy mother!

The little soul has a thousand traits of character that remind me of Norbury, both in what is desirable and what is fearful; for he is not only as sweet, but as impetuous, and already he has the same desire to hear me

recount to him his own good and bad conduct at the end of the day that dear Norbury had when I visited Mickleham. Just now, when we took leave for the night, he said, "And what was I to-day, mamma?" "Good, my dear." "But what was I to dinner?" "A little rude." He then looks down very conscious, but raises his brightened eyes, to say, " And what are I now, mamma?" Quite good, my love."

66

And now, my beloved Susan, I will sketch my last Court history of this year.

The Princess Amelia, who had been extremely ill since my last Royal admittance, of some complaint in her knee which caused spasms the most deadfully painful, was now returning from her sea-bathing at Worthing, and I heard from all around the neighbourhood that her Royal Highness was to rest and stop one night at Juniper Hall, whither she was to be attended by Mr. Keate the surgeon, and by Sir Lucas Pepys, who was her physician at Worthing.

I could not hear of her approaching so near our habitation, and sleeping within sight of us, and be contented without an effort to see her; yet I would not distress Lady Rothes by an application she would not know how either to refuse or grant, from the established etiquette of bringing no one into the presence of their Royal Highnesses but by the Queen's permission. So infinitely sweet, however, that young love of a Princess always is to me, that I gathered courage to address a petition to her Majesty herself, through the medium of Miss Planta, for leave to pay my homage.-I will copy my answer, sent by return of post.

MY DEAR FRIEND,-I have infinite pleasure in acquainting you that the Queen has ordered me to say

that you have her leave to see dear Princess Amelia, provided Sir Lucas Pepys and Mr. Keate permit it. &c. &c. &c.

With so complete and honourable a credential, I now scrupled not to address a few lines to Lady Rothes, telling her my authority, to prevent any embarrassment, for entreating her leave to pay my devoirs to the young Princess on Saturday morning,—the Friday I imagined she would arrive too fatigued to be seen. I intimated also my wish to bring my boy, not to be presented unless demanded, but to be put into some closet where he might be at hand in case of that honour. The sweet Princess's excessive graciousness to him gave me courage for this request. Lady Rothes sent me a kind note which made me perfectly comfortable.

It was the 1st of December, but a beautifully clear and fine day. I borrowed Mr. Lock's carriage.

Sir Lucas came to us immediately, and ushered us to the breakfast-parlour, giving me the most cheering accounts of the recovery of the Princess. Here I was received by Lady Rothes, who presented me to Lady Albinia Cumberland, widow of Cumberland the author's only son, and one of the ladies of the Princesses. I found her a peculiarly pleasing woman, in voice, manner, look, and behaviour.

This introduction over, I had the pleasure to shake hands with Miss Goldsworthy, whom I was very glad to see, and who was very cordial and kind; but who is become, alas! so dreadfully deaf, there is no conversing with her, but by talking for a whole house to hear every word! With this infirmity, however, she is still in her first youth and brightness, compared with her brother; who, though I knew him of the party, is so dreadfully altered, that I with difficulty could venture to speak to