The Memorialist had the comfort, however, to leave the Doctor always eagerly solicited to the society, or honoured with the correspondence of the noble Marquis of Aylesbury, and the liberal Earl of Lonsdale, inclusively with their singularly amiable families: and sought equally by the all-accomplished Dowager Lady Templeton, by Lady Manvers, Lady Mary Duncan, Mrs. Garrick, the Marchioness of Thomond, Mrs. Ord, Lord Cardigan, Mr. Coxe, Mr. Pepys, the still celebrated, though fading away Mrs. Montagu, the sagacious and polished Mrs. Boscawen, and the inimitable Lockes.

And while, in general friendship, such was the nourishment for his gratitude—that feeling which, when not the most oppressive, is the most delightful in human associations—his love of literature, science, and the arts, had food equally nutritive with Mr. Malone, from his spirit of research after facts, incidents, and all the shades and shadows of the great or marked characters that, erst, had been objects of renown.

With Mr. Courtney, though utterly dissimilar in politics, for his wit, sense, and general agreeability.

With Mr. Rogers, for the coincident elegance and philanthropy of his disposition with his poetry.

With Sir George Beaumont, from a vivid sympathy of taste in all the arts.

With Mr. Windham, from a union the most perfect in sentiment, in principles, and in literature.

And by the President of the Royal Society, Sir Joseph Bankes, the Doctor, from his own universal thirst of knowledge, and uncommon capacity for receiving, retaining, and naturalizing its gifts, was welcomed on public days as a worthy brother of the learned and studious; and in the hours of private conviviality was courted yet more from the gaiety of his humour and the entertainment of his anecdotes; Sir Joseph, when unbent from the state of Newton’s chair, being ever merrily charmed to reciprocate sportive nonsense; various remnants of which, laughingly amusing, but too ludicrous from the President of a scientific society for the press, are amongst the posthumous collections of the Doctor.

With all these his social hilarity was in constant circulation, kept alive by their kindness, and invigorated by their plaudits; which rendered such commerce as medicinal to his health as to his pleasure, from its sane and active spur to what constitutes the happiest portion of our mundane composition, animal spirits.

But the intercourse the most delighting to his fancy and his feelings, was through an increase of attachment for Lady Clarges. Yet melancholy was the cause of this augmented sympathy; melancholy then, and afterwards mournful. To the pleasing view of the personal likeness to his Susanna which had first endeared Lady Clarges to his sight; to the soothing sensations excited by those vocal notes in which a similarity of sound was so grateful to his ears, was now superadded another resemblance, as far more touching as it was less exhilarating; the health of Lady Clarges, never robust, was now in apparent, though not yet alarming, decline. This, altogether, occasioned a tender interest that clung to the breast of the Doctor, first with added regard, and afterwards with suffering solicitude.

In all, however, that was most efficient in good, most solid, most serious, most essential in comfort as well as elegance, the noble kindness of the Duke of Portland took the lead. His magnificent hospitality was nearly without parallel. The select invitations upon select occasions to Burlington House, with which his favour to the Doctor had begun, were succeeded by general ones for all times and all seasons; and with injunctions that the Doctor would choose his own days, and adjust their frequency completely by his own convenience.

This carte blanche of admission at will was next extended from Burlington House to Bulstrode Park; where he was found so agreeable by the noble host, and so pleasing to the noble family, that, in a short time, the Duke urged him to take possession of an appropriated apartment, and to consider himself to be completely at home in that sumptuous dwelling; where he had his mornings with undisturbed liberty, wholly at his own disposal; where he even dined, according to the state of his health and spirits, at the Duke’s table, or in his own parlour; and where, though welcomed in any part of the day to every part of the house, he was never troubled with any inquiry for non-appearance, except at the evening’s assemblage; though not unfrequently the Duke made him personal visits of such affectionate freedom, as signally to endear to him this splendid habitation.

So impressive, indeed, was the regard of his Grace for Dr. Burney, and so animated was the gratitude of its return, that the enjoyments of Bulstrode Park, with all their refined luxuries, and their cultivated scenery, soon became less than secondary; they were nearly as nothing in the calculation of the Doctor, compared with what he experienced from the cordial conversation and kindness of the Duke.

Such, added to his family circle, were the auspices under which, to her great consolation, his daughter d’Arblay left Dr. Burney in April, 1802.