Life, however, still smiled upon her. Domestic
happiness, friendship, independence, leisure, letters,
all these things were hers; and she flung them all
away.
Among the distinguished persons to whom Miss Burney
had been introduced, none appears to have stood higher
in her regard than Mrs. Delany. This lady was
an interesting and venerable
relic of a past age. She was the niece of George
Granville, Lord Lansdowne, who, in his youth, exchanged
verses and compliments with Edmun Waller, and who
was among the first to applaud the opening talents
of Pope. She had married Dr. Delany, a man known
to his contemporaries as a profound scholar and eloquent
preacher, but remembered in our time chiefly as one
of that small circle in which the fierce spirit of
Swift, tortured by disappointed ambition, by remorse,
and by the approaches of madness, sought for amusement
and repose. Dr. Delany had long been dead.
His widow, nobly descended, eminently accomplished,
and retaining, in spite of the infirmities of advanced
age, the vigour of her faculties, and the serenity
of her temper, enjoyed and deserved the favour of
the royal family. She had a pension of three
hundred a-year; and a house at Windsor, belonging to
the crown, had been fitted up for her accommodation.
At this house, the king and queen sometimes called,
and found a very natural pleasure in thus catching
an occasional glimpse of the private life of English
families.
In December, 1785, Miss Burney was on a visit to Mrs.
Delany at Windsor. The dinner was over.
The old lady was taking a nap. Her grandniece,
a little girl of seven, was playing at some Christmas
game with the visitors, when the door opened, and a
stout gentleman entered unannounced, with a star on
his breast, and “What? what? what?” in
his mouth. A cry of “The king!” was
set up. A general scampering followed.
Miss Burney owns that she could not have been more
terrified if she had seen a ghost. But Mrs.
Delany came forward to pay her duty to her royal friend,
and the disturbance was quieted. Frances was
then presented, and underwent a long examination and
crossexamination about all that she had written, and
all that she meant to write. The queen soon
made her appearance, and his majesty repeated, for
the benefit of his consort, the information which
he had extracted from Miss Burney. The good
nature of the royal pair might have softened even
the authors of the “Probationary Odes,"(17) and
could not but be delightful to a young lady who had
been brought up a Tory. In a few days the visit
was repeated. Miss Burney was more at ease than
before. His majesty, instead of seeking for
information, condescended to impart it, and passed
sentence on many great writers, English and foreign.
Voltairehe pronounced a monster. Rousseau he
liked rather better. “But was there ever,”
he cried, " such stuff as great part of Shakspeare?
Only one must not say so. But what think you?
What? Is there not sad stuff? What?
What?”
