itself; it was well spoken of, indeed, in all the Reviews, compared with general novels, but it was undistinguished by any quotation, and only put in the Monthly Catalogue, and only allowed a short single paragraph. It was circulated only by the general public, till it reached, through that unbiased medium, Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke, and thence it wanted no patron. Works of this kind are judged always by the many; works of science, history and philosophy, voyages and travels, and poetry, frequently owe their fate to the sentiments of the first critics who brand or extol them.

66

Miss Cambridge asked me, early, if I should not take some care about the Reviews? No," I said, 66 none. There are two species of composition which may nearly brave them-politics and novels; for these will be sought and will be judged by the various multitude, not the fastidious few. With the latter, indeed, they may be aided or injured, by criticism, but it will not stop their being read, though it may prejudice their readers. They want no recommendation for being handed about but that of being new, and they frequently become established, or sunk into oblivion, before that high literary tribunal has brought them to a trial."

She laughed at my composure; but, though I am a good deal chagrined, it is not broken. If I had begun by such a perusal I might, indeed, have been disturbed, but it has succeeded to so much solace and encouragement that it cannot penetrate deeply.

Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.

F. D'A.

Bookham, November 7, 1796.

YES, my beloved Susan safe landed at Dublin was indeed all-sufficient for some time; nor, indeed,

could I even read any more for many minutes. That, and the single sentence at the end "My Norbury is with me," completely overset me, though only with joy. After your actual safety, nothing could so much touch me as the picture I instantly viewed of Norbury in your arms. Yet I shall hope for more detail hereafter.

The last letter I had from you addressed to myself shows me your own sentiment of the fatal event* which so speedily followed your departure, and which my dear father has himself announced to you, though probably the newspapers will anticipate his letter. I am very sorry, now, I did not write sooner; but while you were still in England, and travelling so slowly, I had always lurking ideas that disqualified me from writing to Ireland.

The minute I received, from Sally, by our dearest⠀ ⠀ father's desire, the last tidings, I set out for Chelsea. I was much shocked by the news, long as it has been but natural to look forward to it. My better part spoke even before myself upon the propriety of my instant journey, and promised me a faithful nursing attendance during my absence. I went in a chaise, to lose no time; but the uncertainty how I might find my poor father made me arrive with a nervous seizure upon my voice that rendered it as husky as Mr. Rishton's.

While I settled with the postilion, Sally, James, Charlotte, and Marianne, came to me. Esther and Charles had been there the preceding day; they were sent to as soon as the event had happened. My dearest father received me with extreme kindness, but though far, far more calm and quiet than I could expect, he was much shaken, and often very faint. However, in the course of the evening, he suffered me * The death of Dr. Burney's second wife.

VOL. VI.

G

to read to him various passages from various books, such as conversation introduced, and, as his nature is as pure from affectation as from falsehood, encouraged in himself, as well as permitted in us, whatever could lead to cheerfulness.

Let me not forget to record one thing that was truly generous in my poor mother's last voluntary exertions. She charged Sally and her maid both not to call my father when she appeared to be dying; and not disturb him if her death should happen in the night, nor to let him hear it till he arose at his usual time. I feel sensibly the kindness of this sparing consideration and true feeling.

Yet, not so would I be served! O never should I forgive the misjudged prudence that should rob me of one little instant of remaining life in one who was truly dear to me! Nevertheless, I shall not be surprised to have his first shock succeeded by a sorrow it did not excite, and I fear he will require much watching and vigilance to be kept as well as I have quitted him.

F. D'A.

Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.

Bookham, November 14, '96.

I COVET much to hear that the melancholy task of ransacking, examining, depositing, or demolishing regretful records is over. Sometimes I wish this search could be mixed with collecting for copying your numerousand so many of them beautiful-manuscript poems. Some particular pursuit is absolutely necessary. How I wish we could engage in any conjointly! If Mr. Twining and two or three other such--(only, where are

they to be found?)-would bear a part, I know nothing that might better interest my dearest father, nor in which he would more, and in a thousand ways, excel, than in superintending some periodical work.

Upon a second reading the Monthly Review' upon 'Camilla,' I am in far better humour with it, and willing to confess to the criticisms, if I may claim by that concession any right to the eulogies. They are stronger and more important, upon re-perusal, than I had imagined, in the panic of a first survey and an unprepared-for disappointment in anything like severity from so friendly an editor. The recommendation at the conclusion of the book, as a warning guide to youth, would recompense me, upon the least reflection, for whatever strictures might precede it. I hope my kind father has not suffered his generous-and to me most cordial -indignation against the reviewer to interfere with his intended answer to the affectionate letter of Dr. Griffiths.

I must now inform you of a grand event: Alex has made his entrance into the polite circle. Last week he accompanied me in returning about the sixth visit for one of Lady Rothes. I left him in Mr. Lock's carriage, which I had borrowed for the occasion, till I was preparing to take leave, and then I owned I had a little beau in waiting. You will suppose he was immediately demanded.

The well, for water, seems impervious. I grow rather uneasy about it; it is now at near ninety feet depth. M. d'Arblay works all day long at his new garden and orchard, and only comes home to a cold spoiled dinner, at tea-time. Baby and I are just going to take a peep at him at his work, which various affairs of ménage, joined to frequent evenings at Norbury, to meet the excellent and

most worthy Count de Lally Tolendal, have hitherto

prevented.

Adieu, my dear, dear father!

F. D'A.

Madame d'Arblay to Mrs. Phillips.

Bookham, November 25, 1796.

NEVER was a sweeter letter written, my dearest Susanna, than that I have this moment read; and though my quinze jours are but half over, I cannot forbear answering it immediately, to tell you of my delight in all your accounts, especially of the Kiernan family, which is so peculiarly interesting to you. I was well prepared to love it from the fine branch I saw at Mickleham; pray make her remember me, and assure her she has a friend in England who, though but of a few hours' growth, thinks of her always with pleasure, and every sort of presentiment of good.

The anxiety I have been in to know how the weather agreed with you, in so trying a journey, makes what you say a relief, though, alas! anxiety must still live in such a season! I want to know more of Belcotton; a description of every room, when nothing else occurs more pressing, would much gratify me, by giving me a nearer view, in idea, of how and where my dearest Susan is seated, standing, or walking. The interview, as you describe it, with Mrs. Hill, brings fresh to me my tendency of loving that respectably singular and amiable cha

racter.

You will have heard that the Princesse d'Henin and M. de Lally have spent a few days at Norbury Park.