Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.

Chenies Street, Alfred Place, May 23, 1813. ↑ Он, how teased I am, my dearest Padre, by this eternal unwalkable weather! Every morning rises so fairly, that at every noon I am preparing to quit my conjuring, and repair, by your kind invitation, to prelude my promised chat by a repast with Sarah; when mizzling falls the rain, or hard raps the hail, and the day, for me, is involved in damps and dangers that fix me again to my dry, but solitary conjurations. I am so tired now of disappointments, that I must talk a little with my Padre in their defiance, and in a manner now, thank God! out of their reach. Ah, how long will letters be any safer than meetings! The little world I see all give me hope and comfort from the posture of affairs; but I am too deeply interested to dare be sanguine while in such suspense.

Lady Crewe invited me to her party that she calls Noah's ark; but I cannot yet risk an evening, and a dressed one too. She then said she would make me a small party with the Miss Berrys, and for a morning; and now she has written to Charles to make interest with me to admit Lord Lansdowne, at his own earnest request! I am quite non compos to know how I shall make my way through these honours, to my strength and re-establishment, for they clash with my private plan and adopted system of quiet. However, she says the meeting shall be in the country, at Brompton, and without fuss or ceremony. Her kindness is inexpres

sible, therefore I have not courage to refuse her. She has offered me her little residence at Brompton for my dwelling, for a week or so, to restore me from all my influenzas: she may truly be called a faithful family friend. I hope dear Sarah and Fanny Raper will be of the party. If they are, charge them, dear Sir, to let me hear their voices, for I shall never find out their faces.

What weather! what weather! when shall I get to Chelsea, and embrace again my beloved father?

This free-born weather of our sea-girt isle of liberty is very incommodious to those who have neither carriages for wet feet, nor health for damp shoulders.

If the farmers, however, are contented, I must be patient. We may quarrel with all our wishes better than with our corn.

Adicu, my most dear father, till the sun shines drier. Ever and ever most dutifully

And affectionately yours,

F. B. D'A.

Madame d'Arblay to a Friend.

London, August 20, 1813.

YOUR charming girl, by what I can gather, has seen, upon the whole, a great deal of this vast town and its splendours; a little more might, perhaps. have been better, in making her, with a mind such as hers, regret it a little less. sort can here be known with difficulty.

Merit of her

Dissipation is

so hurried, so always in a bustle, that even amusement must be prominent, to be enjoyed. There is no time for developement; nothing, therefore, is seen but what is conspicuous; and not much is heard but what is obstreperous. They who, in a short time, can make themselves known and admired now in London, must have their Cupids, in Earl Dorset's phrase

Like blackguard boys,

Who thrust their links full in your face.

I had very much matter that I meant and wished to say to you upon this subject; but in brief-I do not myself think it a misfortune that your dear girl cannot move in a London round, away from your own wing: you have brought her up so well, and she seems so good, gentle, and contented, as well as accomplished, that I cannot wish her drawn into a vortex where she may be imbued with other ideas, views, and wishes than those that now constitute her happiness—and happiness! what ought to be held more sacred where it is innocent-what ought so little to risk any unnecessary or premature concussion? With all the deficiencies and imperfections of her present situation, which you bewail but which she does not find out, it is, alas! a million to one whether, even in attaining the advantages and society you wish for her, she will ever again, after any change, be as happy as she is at this moment. A mother whom she looks up to and doats upon-a sister whom she so fondly loves-how shall they be replaced? The chances are all against her (though the world has, I know, such re-placers), from their rarity.

I am truly glad you had a gratification you so earnestly coveted, that of seeing Madame de Staël : your account of her was extremely interesting to me. As to myself, I have not seen her at all. Various causes have kept me in utter retirement; and, in truth, with respect to Madame de Staël, my situation is really embarrassing. It is too long and difficult to write upon, nor do I recollect whether I ever communicated to you our original acquaintance, which, at first, was intimate. I shall always, internally, be grateful for the partiality with which she sought me out upon her arrival in this country before my marriage: and still, and far more, if she can forgive my dropping her, which I could not help; for none of my friends, at that time, would suffer me to keep up the intercourse! I had messages, remonstrances, entreaties, representations, letters, and conferences, till I could resist no longer; though I had found her so charming, that I fought the hardest battle I dared fight against almost all my best connexions. She is now received by all mankind; -but that, indeed, she always was-all womankind, I should say;-with distinction and pleasure. I wish much to see her Essay on Suicide;' but it has not yet fallen in my way. When will the work come out for which she was, she says, chassée de la France? Where did * *hear her a whole evening? She is, indeed, most uncommonly entertaining, and animating as well as animated, almost beyond anybody. Les Mémoires de Madame de Staël' I have read long ago, and with singular interest and eagerness. They are so attaching, so evidently original and natural, that they

stand very high, indeed, in reading that has given me most pleasure. My boy has just left me for Greenwich. He goes in October to Cambridge; I wish to install him there myself. My last letter from Paris gives me to the end of October to stay in England. There is a wish the present campaign should be over before my return, that I may go by Calais or Dunquerque. I dread inexpressibly the long passage by Morlaix. Adieu, my ever dear friend.

Madame d'Arblay to Dr. Burney.

August 24, 1813.

YOUR seal, my dearest Padre, waits but for opportunity to throw itself at your feet. I have brought it twice to you, in my little green bag, but I have found always so little time, and so much to hear and say, that I have never recollected my poor fellow-voyager till my return; and he never put me in mind of my neglect. He was sulky, perhaps; and no wonder, for he certainly is not used to be treated with such apathy. His appearance, he well knows, is accustomed to excite gratitude, and awaken hope and pleasure, as the sure herald of wit, humour, information, or kindness; who, then, can be surprised that he should resent being denied the light, which only shines upon him for other people's profit? But, how could I help beginning with an Hurrah! to your patriotism? What glorious intelligence! How big with hope as well as honour! I was delighted by meeting Lady Wellington, not long since,