The Diary and Collected Letters of Madame D'Arblay, Frances Burney. Frances Burney
as ever; and Mr. Lucius Corcannon.
Mr. Murphy was the life of the party: he was in good spirits, and extremely entertaining; he told a million of stories, admirably well; but stories won’t do upon paper, therefore I shall not attempt to present you with them.
This morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Murphy said,
“I must now go to the seat by the seaside, with my new set of acquaintance, from whom I expect no little entertainment.”
“Ay,” said Mrs. Thrale, “and there you’ll find us all! I believe this rogue means me for Lady Smatter; but Mrs. Voluble65 must speak the epilogue, Mr. Murphy.”
“That must depend upon who performs the part,” answered he.
“Don’t talk of it now,” cried I, “for Mr. Thrale knows nothing of it.”
“I think,” cried Mr. Murphy, “you might touch upon his character in ‘Censor.’”
“Ay,” cried Mr. Thrale, “I expect a knock some time or other; but, when it comes, I’ll carry all my myrmidons to cat-call!”
Mr. Murphy then made me fetch him the second act, and walked off with it.
A Scene on the Brighton Parade
We afterwards went on the parade, where the soldiers were mustering, and found Captain Fuller’s men all half intoxicated, and laughing so violently as we passed by them, that they could hardly stand upright. The captain stormed at them most angrily; but, turning to us, said,
“These poor fellows have just been paid their arrears, and it is so unusual to them to have a sixpence in their pockets, that they know not how to keep it there.”
The wind being extremely high, our caps and gowns were blown about most abominably; and this increased the risibility of the merry light infantry. Captain ‘Fuller’s desire to keep order made me laugh as much as the men’s incapacity to obey him; for, finding our flying drapery provoked their mirth, he went up to the biggest grinner, and, shaking him violently by the shoulders, said, “What do you laugh for, sirrah? do you laugh at the ladies?” and, as soon as he had given the reprimand, it struck him to be so ridiculous, that he was obliged to turn quick round, and commit the very fault he was attacking most furiously.
Mr. Murphy Considers the Dialogue is Charming: a Censorious Lady
After tea, the bishop, his lady, Lord Mordaunt, and Mrs. H— seated themselves to play at whist, and Mr. Murphy, coming up to me, said,
“I have had no opportunity, Miss Burney, to tell you how much I have been entertained this morning, but I have a great deal to say to you about it; I am extremely pleased with it, indeed. The dialogue is charming; and the—”
“What’s that?” cried Mrs. Thrale, “Mr. Murphy always flirting with Miss Burney? And here, too, where everybody’s watched!”
And she cast her eyes towards Mrs. H—, who is as censorious a country lady as ever locked up all her ideas in a country town. She has told us sneering anecdotes of every woman and every officer in Brighthelm stone. Mr. Murphy, checked by Mrs. Thrale’s exclamation, stopt the conversation, and said he must run away, but would return in half-an-hour.
“Don’t expect, however, Miss Burney,” he said, “I shall bring with me what you are thinking of; no, I can’t part with it yet!”
What! at it again cried Mrs. Thrale. “This flirting is incessant; but it’s all to Mr. Murphy’s credit.”
Mrs. Thrale told me afterwards, that she made these speeches to divert the attention of the company from our subject; for that she found they were all upon the watch the moment Mr. Murphy addressed me, and that the bishop and his lady almost threw down their cards, from eagerness to discover what he meant.
The supper was very gay: Mrs. Thrale was in high spirits, and her wit flashed with incessant brilliancy; Mr. Murphy told several stories with admirable humour; and the Bishop of Peterborough was a worthy third in contributing towards general entertainment. He turns out most gaily sociable. Mrs. H—was discussed, and, poor lady, not very mercifully.
Mrs. Thrale says she lived upon the Steyn, for the pleasure of viewing, all day long, who walked with who, how often the same persons were seen together, and what visits were made by gentlemen to ladies, or ladies to gentlemen.
“She often tells me,” said the captain, “of my men. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘Captain Fuller, your men are always after the ladies!’”
“Nay,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “I should have thought the officers might have contented her; but if she takes in the soldiers too, she must have business enough.”
“Oh, she gets no satisfaction by her complaints; for I only say, ‘Why, ma’am, we are all young!—all young and gay!—and how can we do better than follow the ladies?’”
A Militia Captain Officiates as Barber
Saturday, May 29. After breakfast, Mrs. and Miss Thrale took me to Widget’s, the milliner and library-woman on the Steyn. After a little dawdling conversation, Captain Fuller came in to have a little chat. He said he had just gone through a great operation—“I have been,” he said, “cutting off the hair of all my men.”
“And why?
“Why, the Duke of Richmond ordered that it should be done, and the fellows swore that they would not submit to it; so I was forced to be the operator myself. I told them they would look as smart again when they had got on their caps; but it went much against them, they vowed, at first, they would not bear such usage; some said they would sooner be run through the body, and others, that the duke should as soon have their heads. I told them I would soon try that, and fell to work myself with them.”
“And how did they bear it?
“Oh, poor fellows, with great good-nature, when they found his honour was their barber: but I thought proper to submit to bearing all their oaths, and all their jokes; for they had no other comfort but to hope I should have enough of it, and such sort of wit. Three or four of them, however, escaped, but I shall find them out. I told them I had a good mind to cut my own hair off too, and then they would have a Captain Crop. I shall soothe them tomorrow with a present of new feathers for all their caps.”
“Hearts have at Ye All”
Streatham, Sunday, June 13. After church we all strolled the grounds, and the topic of our discourse was Miss Streatfield. Mrs. Thrale asserted that she had a power of captivation that was irresistible; that her beauty, joined to her softness, her caressing manners, her tearful eyes, and alluring looks, would insinuate her into the heart of any man she thought worth attacking.
Sir Philip66 declared himself of a totally different opinion, and quoted Dr. Johnson against her, who had told him that, taking away her Greek, she was as ignorant as a butterfly.
Mr. Seward declared her Greek was all against her, with him, for that, instead of reading Pope, Swift, or “The Spectator”—books from which she might derive useful knowledge and improvement—it had led her to devote all her reading time to the first eight books of Homer.
“But,” said Mrs. Thrale, “her Greek, you must own, has made all her celebrity:—you would have heard no more of her than of any other pretty girl, but for that.”
“What I object to,” said Sir Philip, “is her avowed preference for this parson. Surely it is very indelicate in any lady to let all the world know with whom she is in love!”
“The parson,” said the severe Mr. Seward, “I suppose, spoke first,—or she would as soon have been in love with you, or with me!”
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