which often marks the untrustworthy, censured Cecilia's want of confidence in her lover, and her abrupt withdrawal from him after the interruption of their marriage. Miss Burney assured him that she herself would have acted as she had made Cecilia act. Many a timid maiden might agree with her, yet there is something harsh in the conduct of Cecilia. It may also be doubted whether any clergyman would have heeded the unsupported objection of an unknown woman who escaped as she spoke.

Mr. Windham hinted blame of the redundance of trials and troubles which afflict the hero and heroine, after readers have become thoroughly interested in their fate. Burke told Miss Burney that he wished the end to have been "either more happy, or more miserable; for that in a work of imagination there was no medium."1

Every one, we think, must feel that the aftermath of misery in the last book of Cecilia,' might as well have been spared the tender and "elegant readers of 1782,-from Mrs. Chapone, whose nerves were shattered even to the loss of sleep for a week, to the Duchess of Portland and Mrs. Delany, who thrice wept their way through the five volumes. The readers of 1882, are a less simple folk, and need no shelter for their nerves. Those who are critics may observe that these very last troubles were probably made to crop up that Miss Burney might describe the language and actions of a delirious person. She repeated this ambitious effort towards the end of her third novel, 'Camilla.'

Burke did not like what Miss Burney calls "Morrice's part in the Pantheon." Most likely he thought that the upsetting of a commonplace tea-pot by an impertinent

D'Arblay's 'Camilla,' one shaft aimed at this Colonel Digby. "If you would avoid deceit and treachery, look at a man as at a picture, which tells you only the present moment! Rely upon nothing of time to come! They are not like us, and they think themselves free, if they have made no verbal profession; though they may have pledged themselves by looks, by actions, by attentions, a thousand and a thousand times!"

"I was not easy enough to answer him, or I have much, though perhaps not good for much, to say in defence of following life and nature as much in the conclusion as in the progress of a tale; and when is life and nature completely happy or miserable ?"-Diary of Mme. D'Arblay, p. 195, vol. ii.

meddler, too mean a way of surprising a hero of any magnitude into a burst of tender concern for a heroine of any dignity. Dr. Moore thought well enough of this incident to repeat it, with some slight changes, in his forgotten novel, Edward.'

It may be doubted if sayings or doings such as those of Morrice and Mrs. Belfield should be so closely copied from Nature as to stir in us the same feelings of irritation which they would excite in real life. To tease, or worry, is a poor aim of fiction. More or less unconsciously, Miss Burney has made much of this book an expression of her own very strong feeling of the hindrance of gentle and pleasant ways of life by the impertinent, the tiresome, the meddling, and the perverse.

The gambling of that time could hardly be exaggerated. It was the ton to play at Commerce with a thousand guineas in the pool. This was mere play in drawing-rooms, and nothing to the serious play which was carried on at Brooks's. There was many a tragedy like that of Harrel. Surely all that leads up to his end, and the chapter which completes it, are the finest parts of this book. In the self-importance of Mr. Hobson, and the servility of Mr. Simkins, amid the awful merriment in the box at Vauxhall, there is something not unlike the great dramatists of the sixteenth century.

It is true that if the construction of the plot were very closely examined, many improbable details might be found; but it is a serviceable plot for bringing in fine things.1 A critical reader cannot but discern, and admire, the skill with which the author has chosen and marshalled her characters, the wide and complex framework in which she has arranged them, her spirit, vivacity, and readiness of resource. What is wanting in her characters has been so well shown by Macaulay,2 that it need not be dwelt on here.

1 “BAYES. What is the plot good for, but to bring in fine things ?” -The Rehearsal, Act iii. Scene 1.

2 Macaulay threw his warm heart into his Essay' on Madame D'Arblay. It has some oversights, but they are almost too trifling to be named. It is marvellous that his rapid eye did not mis-read, or miss, more on her printed pages than was the case. One very minute statement we must correct: Macaulay says that Miss Burney never got the gown which Mrs. Schwellenberg offered her (on the part of the Queen), in a manner totally devoid of "softness and elegance." Miss Burney

To us, her contrivances for throwing odd people together are too obvious, and too often repeated. We soon learn to expect them. We know that if Cecilia visits Miss Belfield, one or other Mr. Delvile is sure to surprise her; when Morrice skips on the stage, it is to disturb the actors, or derange the scenery; if Miss Larolles is flighty, or Mrs. Harrel heedless, or Sir Robert insolent, the voice of Albany is sure to come from a corner. In real life no Cecilia would a second time have heard Mrs. Belfield recommend her son; Morrice would have found most doors shut in his face; and Albany, none open to him.

Though Mr. Briggs is caricatured, we have seen tears of laughter shed over Mr. Briggs; we have also heard a person whom the gods had not made humorous, say that Mr. Hobson was "not a half bad sort of man.' Hobson, Simkins, and Mrs. Belfield are excellently drawn.

The "ton parties" gave so much pleasure to Mrs. Thrale that we may trust them as faithful transcripts of the affectations of 1779. Those who are curious concerning the antiquities of slang may learn that the " maccaronies of 1779, who were soon to be followed by the "jolly young bucks of 1796, called the dull, and the wise alike, "quizzes," or "quozzes," "bores," "frumps," and "fogramites," that morality was with them "fogrum stuff," and that they "smoked" people before "roasting" them. When an old lady could be described as a "limping old puddle," and coarse, unfeeling mockery be made, almost within their sight and hearing, of the decrepit, or deformed, we know how much need there was of formal manners to protect the weak and aged from the grossness still prevailing. Lady Honoria is not merely flippant, but coarse, both in thought and speech. The tales which she tells her aunt of her aunt's own son, before Cecilia, would, at least, have been kept to herself by any girl born after 1800, for fear of the disgust she would excite, and the reproofs she would incur. In her Diary, Miss Burney compares the wife of Sir Borlase Warren with Lady Honoria, not as to coarseness, but as to thoughtlessness. Lady Honoria is a Rattle of

did get what she calls her "memorable present gown and wore it on the twenty-first birthday of the Princess of September, 1786.

66

(a lilac tabby), Royal, the 29th

rank. Another "Rattle," Miss Larolles, cries "Lord," as freely as a French peasant would say "Dame," (our Lady,) and with about as little meaning.

In Pride and Prejudice,' such ejaculations have gone down to Lydia Bennet; in 'Sense and Sensibility,' to the vulgar Mrs. Jennings; still, this careless use of sacred words lasted long in what was called "the best company." Miss Martineau tells us that Miss Berry swore. Miss Martineau was so deaf, that we think she mistook Miss Berry's foreign "my God," (mon Dieu,) for an oath worthy of Queen Bess.

The languid dandies, whom Miss Burney calls the "fades maccaronies," still exist, under newer names, and still take the trouble to be weary of everything. Many little details of the dress and demeanour of 1779 may be gleaned from this book, after we have gathered in the mass that may be learned as to what manner of story stirred our forefathers to merriment, or to sadness; what kind of conduct they blamed, or admired, when at their best.

Among the legends which cluster round the name of Frances Burney, there is one, often repeated in print, that she received two thousand pounds, or guineas, for the copyright of 'Cecilia.' We should be little surprised to learn that she received less than one thousand. The price paid for the copyright was no secret at the time; Burke blamed her for parting with it for too small a sum. Hence seems to have arisen his desire to see her books published by subscription, which was afterwards done, in the case of 'Camilla.' When her fame was little impaired by the falling off manifest in 'Camilla,' when many readers were looking with impatience for a novel which might bring before them revolutionary and imperial France, she did not ask more than eleven hundred guineas for the copyright of ‘The Wanderer.' This seems very much against the two thousand guineas legend in the case of 'Cecilia.'1

1 Mr. Crisp writes of Dr. Burney's intention to add something to the sum which his daughter had received for Cecilia' in order "to make it even money." Burke said to her, speaking of 'Cecilia,'" But I have one other fault to find, and a far more material one than any I have mentioned ;-the disposal of this book-I have much advice to offer you upon that subject. Why did you not send for your own friend out of

The correspondence between Mr. Crisp and Miss Barney while she was at work on 'Cecilia' is given in the second volume of her 'Diary.' She sometimes changed things to please him, and sometimes resisted his advice. Dr. Burney had his say besides. Mrs. and Miss Thrale were permitted to laugh, or to cry, over the manuscript, but the only word said of Dr. Johnson's part in it, is the record of his flat denial that he ever saw the book until it was printed. He was probably not consulted lest the whole credit should be given to him.

Macaulay thought that he could trace the corrections— nay, more than the corrections of Johnson throughout 'Cecilia.' Of one passage which he gives us, at least, corrected by the great Doctor, a part is cited by Boswell among serious (as opposed to burlesque) imitations of Johnson's style. It is this, from Delvile's first letter to Cecilia :-"My family, mistaking ambition for honour, and rank for dignity, have long planned a splendid connexion for me, to which, though my invariable repugnance has stopped any advances, their wishes and their views immoveably adhere. I am but too certain they will now listen to no other. I dread therefore to make a trial where

I despair of success. I know not how to risk a prayer with those who may silence me by a command.”

The first sentence of this extract has blemishes so obvious that it is plain Boswell might easily have chosen a better passage for his purpose. Macaulay has chosen a second, much better suited to his. In the most Johnsonian passage in 'Cecilia,' Boswell seems only to have seen a serious imitation of Johnson's style; "whether," as he writes, "intentionally, or by the imperceptible effect of its strength

the city?" (Briggs) "he would have taken care you should not part with it so much below par."-Diary of Mme. D'Arblay, p. 196, vol. ii. Two thousand pounds could not, even by Burke, using the most friendly of hyperboles, have then been called below par.

"Even the imperious Mr. Delvile was more supportable here than in London. Secure in his own castle, he looked round him with a pride of power and possession which softened while it swelled him. His superiority was undisputed his will was without control. He was not, as in the great capital of the kingdom, surrounded by competitors. No rivalry disturbed his peace; no equality mortified his greatness. All he saw were either vassals of his power, or guests bending to his pleasure.