  Amongst the Bouquets, as Dr. Burney denominated the fragrant flatteries courteously lavished, in its day, on the Memoirs of an Heiress, few were more odorous to him than those offered by the famous old Wits, Soame Jenyns and Owen Cambridge. Soame Jenyns, at the age of seventy-eight, condescended to make interest with Mrs. Ord to arrange an acquaintance for him, at her house in Queen Ann-street, with the father and the daughter. Soame Jenyns is so well known as an author, and was in his time so eminent as a wit; and his praise gave such pleasure to Dr. Burney, that another genuine letter, written for Mr. Crisp at the moment, with an account of the meeting, will be here abridged, as characteristically marking the parental gratification of the Doctor. TO SAMUEL CRISP, ESQ. Chesington. My dear Mr. Crisp will be impatient, I know, for a history of the long-planned re-encounter with the famed Soame Jenyns. My father was quite enchanted at his request; and no wonder! for who could have expected such civil curiosity from so renowned an old wit? We were late; my father could not be early: but I was not a little disconcerted to find, instead of Mr. Soame Jenyns all alone by himself, a room full of company; not in groups, nor yet in a circle, but seated square; i.e. close to the wainscot, leaving a vacancy in the middle of the apartment sufficient for dancing three or four cotillons. Mrs. Ord almost ran to the door to receive us, crying out, You may believe how happy I was at this “some thought,” and “others thought,” which instantly betrayed that every body was apprised they were to witness this grand encounter: And, to mark it still more strongly, every one, contrary to all present custom, stood up,—as if to see the sight! I really felt so abashed at meeting so famous an author with such publicity; and so much ashamed of the almost ridiculously undue ceremony of the rising, that I knew not what to do, nor how to comport myself. But they all still kept staringly upright, till Mr. Jenyns, who was full dressed in a court suit, of apricot-coloured silk, lined with white satin, made all the slow speed in his power, from the F. B. I made all possible reverences, and endeavoured to get to a seat; but Mrs. Ord, when I turned from him, took my hand, and led me, in solemn form, to what seemed to be the group of honour, to present me to Mrs. Soame Jenyns, who, with all the rest, was still immovably standing! The reverences were repeated here, and returned; but in silence, however, on both sides; so they did very well—that is, they were only dull. I then hoped to escape to my dear Mrs. Thrale, who most invitingly held out her hand to me, and said, pointing to a chair by her own, “Must I, too, make interest to be introduced to Miss Burney?” This, however, was not allowed; for my dear Lady Clement Cotterel, Mrs. Ord, again taking my hand, and parading me to a sofa, said, “Come, Miss Burney, and let me place you by Mrs. Buller.” I was glad by this time to be placed any where; for not till I was thus accommodated, did the company, en masse, re-seat themselves! Mr. Cambridge, senior, then advanced to speak to me; but before I could answer, or, rather, hear him, Mrs. Ord again summoned poor Mr. Jenyns, and made him my right hand neighbour on the sofa, saying, “There, Mr. Jenyns! and there, Miss Burney! now I have put you fairly together, I have done with you!” This dear, good Mrs. Ord! what a mistaken road was this for bring us into acquaintance! I verily think Mr. Jenyns was almost out of countenance himself; for he had probably said all his say; and would have been as glad of a new subject, and a new companion, as I could have been myself. To my left hand neighbour I had never before been presented. Mrs. Buller is tall and elegant in her person, genteel and ugly in her face, and abrupt and singular in her manners. She is, however, very clever, sprightly, and witty, and much in vogue. She is, also, a Greek scholar, a celebrated traveller in search of foreign customs and persons, and every way original, in her knowledge and her enterprising way of life. And she has had the maternal heroism—which with me is her first Mr. Soame Jenyns, thus again called upon, resolved, after a pause, not to be called upon in vain; and therefore, with the chivalrous courtesy that he seemed to think the call demanded, began an eulogy unrivalled, I think, in exuberance and variety of animated phraseology. All creation in praise seemed to open to his fancy! No human being had ever begun Cecilia, or Evelina, who had power to lay them down unread: pathos, humour, interest, moral, contrast of character, of manners, of language—O! such mille jolis choses! I heard, however, but the leading words—which—for I see your arch smile!—you will say I have not failed to retain!—though every body else, the whole room being attentively dumb, probably heard how they were strung together. And indeed, my dear father, who was quite delighted, says the panegyric was as witty as it was flattering. But for myself, had I been carried to a theatre, and perched upon a stool, to hear a public oration upon my simple penmanship, I could hardly have been more confounded. I bowed my head, after the first three or You will only, as usual, laugh, I know, my dear Mr. Crisp, and rather exult than be sorry for my poor embarrassed phiz during this playful duet. So also do I, too, now it is over; and feel grateful to the inflictors: but, for all that, I was tempted to wish either them or myself in the Elysian fields—for I won’t say at Jericho—during the infliction. And indeed, as to this present evening, the extraordinary things that were sported by Mr. Jenyns, and seconded by Mrs. Buller, would have brought blushes into the practised cheeks of Agujari or of Garrick. I changed so often from hot to cold, between the shame of insufficiency, and the consciousness that while they engaged “Sit attentive to my own applause—!” and my dear father himself, with all his gratified approbation, said I really, at times, looked quite ill. Mrs. Thrale told me, afterwards, she should have come to naturalize me with a little common chat, but that I had been so publicly destined for Soame Jenyns before my arrival, that she did not dare interfere! At length, however, finding they seemed but to address a breathing statue, they entered into a discussion that was a most joyful relief to me, upon foreign and English customs; and especially upon the rarity, in England, of good conversation; from the perpetual intervention of politics, always noisy; or of dissipation, always frivolous. Here they were joined by Mr. Cambridge, who, as all the world When the party broke up, Mr. Jenyns thought it necessary—or, at least, thought it would so be deemed by Mrs. Ord, to recapitulate, though with concentration, his panegyric of the highly honoured Cecilia. And Mrs. Buller renewed, also, her civilities, and hoped “I would not look strange upon them!”—for “‘I’d not look at all, if I couldn’t look better!’” But how I blush when I think of Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. and Miss Thrale, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Garrick, Miss More, Mrs. Chapone, Miss Gregory Dear, good—mistaken Mrs. Ord!—But my father says such panegyric, and such panegyrists, may well make amends for a little want of tact. But I have not told you what was said by Mr. Cambridge, and I dare not! lest you should think that fervent friend a little non-compos! for ’twas higher and more piquant in eulogy than all the rest put together. ’Twas to my father, however, that he uttered his lively sentiments; for he studies little me as much as my little books; and he knew how he should double my gratification, by How I wish you could catch a glimpse of my dear father upon these occasions! and see the conscious smiles, which, however decorously suppressed by pursing his lips, gleam through every turn, every line, every bit and morsel of his kind countenance during the processes of these agreeable flummeries—for such, I know, my dear Mr. Crisp will call them—and, helas! but too truly! Agreeable, however, they are! ’twere vain to deny that. And here—O how unexpected! I am always trembling in fear of a reverse—but not from you, my dearest Mr. Crisp, will it come to your faithful, F. B. Pleasant to Dr. Burney as was this tide of favour, by which he was exhilarated through this second publication of his daughter, it had not yet reached the climax to which it soon afterwards arose; which was the junction of the two first men of the country, if not of the age, in proclaiming each to the other, at an assembly at Miss Moncton’s, where they seated themselves by her side, their kind approvance of this work; and proclaiming it, each animated by the Such were the words of Dr. Johnson himself, in speaking afterwards to Dr. Burney of Mr. Burke’s share in this flattering dialogue; to which Dr. Burney ever after looked back as to the height of his daughter’s literary honours; though he could scarcely then foresee the extent, and the expansion, of that indulgent partiality with which each of them, ever after, invariably distinguished her to the last hour of their lives. Thus salubriously for Dr. Burney had been cheered the opening winter of 1782, by the celebrated old Wits, Owen Cambridge and Soame Jenyns; through the philanthropy and good-humour which cheered for themselves and their friends the winter of their own lives: and thus radiant with a warmth which Sol in his summer’s glory could not deepen, had gone on the same winter to 1783, through the glowing suffrage of the two first luminaries that brightened the constellation of genius of the reign of George the Third,—Dr. Johnson and Edmund Burke—— But not in fair harmony of progression with this |
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