Burney,” cried the former, “have you no older daughters? Can this possibly be the authoress of ‘Evelina’?”
And then he said abundance of fine things, and begged my father to introduce him to me.
“Why, it will be a very formidable thing to her,” answered he, “to be introduced to you.”
“Well then, by and by,” returned he.
Some time after this, my eyes happening to meet his, he waived the ceremony of introduction, and in a low voice said,
“I have been telling Dr. Burney that I have long expected to see in Miss Burney a lady of the gravest appearance, with the quickest parts.”
I was never much more astonished than at this unexpected address, as among all my numerous puffers the name of Sheridan has never reached me, and I did really imagine he had never deigned to look at my trash.
Of course I could make no verbal answer, and he proceeded then to speak of “Evelina” in terms of the highest praise but I was in such a ferment from surprise, not to say pleasure that I have no recollection of his expressions. I only remember telling him that I was much amazed he had spared time to read it, and that he repeatedly called it a most surprising book; and sometime after he added, “But I hope, Miss Burney, you don’t intend to throw away your pen?”
“You should take care, sir,” said I, “what you say: for you know not what weight it may have.”
He wished it might have any, he said, and soon after turned again to my father.
I protest, since the approbation of the Streathamites, I have met with none so flattering to me as this of Mr. Sheridan, in so very unexpected.
About this time Mrs. Cholmondeley was making much sport by wishing for an acrostic on her name. She said she had several times begged for one in vain, and began to entertain thoughts of writing one herself.
“For,” said she, “I am very famous for my rhymes, though I never made a line of poetry in my life.”
“An acrostic on your name,” said Mr. Sheridan, “would be a very formidable task; it must be so long that I think it should be divided into cantos.”
“Miss Burney,” cried Sir Joshua, who was now reseated, “Are not you a writer of verses?”
F.B.—No, sir.
Mrs C.—O don’t believe her. I have made a resolution not to believe anything she says.
Mr. S.—I think a lady should not write verses till she is past receiving them.
Mrs. C.—(rising and stalking majestically towards him).-Mr. Sheridan, pray, sir, what may you mean by this insinuation; did I not say I writ verses?
Mr. S.—Oh, but you—
Mrs. C.—Say no more, sir! You have made your meaning but too plain already. There now, I think that’s a speech for a tragedy.
Some time after, Sir Joshua, returning to his standing-place, entered into confab with Miss Linley and your slave upon various matters, during which Mr. Sheridan, joining us, said,
“Sir Joshua, I have been telling Miss Burney that she must not suffer her pen to lie idle—ought she?”
Sir J.—No, indeed, ought she not.
Mr. S.—Do you then, Sir Joshua, persuade her. But perhaps you have begun something? May we ask? Will you answer a question candidly?
F.B.—I don’t know, but as candidly as Mrs. Candour I think I certainly shall.
Mr. S.—What then are you about now?
F.B.—Why, twirling my fan, I think!
Mr. S.—No, no; but what are you about at home? However, it is not a fair question, so I won’t press it.
Yet he looked very inquisitive; but I was glad to get off without any downright answer.
Sir J.—Anything in the dialogue way, I think, she must succeed in; and I am sure invention will not be wanting.
Mr. S.—No, indeed; I think, and say, she should write a comedy.
SIr J.—I am sure I think so; and hope she will.
I could only answer by incredulous exclamations.
“Consider” continued Sir Joshua, “you have already had all the applause and fame you can have given you in the closet; but the acclamation of a theatre will be new to you.”
And then he put down his trumpet, and began a violent clapping of his hands.
I actually shook from head to foot! I felt myself already in Drury Lane, amidst the hubbub of a first night.
“Oh, no!” cried I, “there may be a noise, but it will be just the reverse.” And I returned his salute with a hissing.
Mr. Sheridan joined Sir Joshua very warmly.
“O sir,” cried I, “you should not run on so, you don’t know what mischief you may do!”
Mr. S.—I wish I may—I shall be very glad to be accessory.
Sir J.—She has, certainly, something of a knack at characters; where she got it I don’t know, and how she got it, I can’t imagine; but she certainly has it. And to throw it away is—
Mr. S.—Oh, she won’t, she will write a comedy, she has promised me she will!
F.B.—Oh! if you both run on in this manner, I shall—
I was going to say get under the chair, but Mr. Sheridan, interrupting me with a laugh, said,
“Set about one? very well, that’s right.”
“Ay,” cried Sir Joshua, “that’s very right. And You (to Mr. Sheridan) would take anything of hers, would you not? unsight, unseen?”60 What a point blank question! who but Sir Joshua would have ventured it!
“Yes,” answered Mr. Sheridan, with quickness, “and make her a bow and my best thanks into the bargain.”
Now my dear Susy, tell me, did you ever hear the fellow to such a speech as this! it was all I could do to sit it.
“Mr. Sheridan,” I exclaimed, “are you not mocking me?”
“No, upon my honour! this is what I have meditated to say to you the first time I should have the pleasure of seeing you.”
To be sure, as Mrs. Thrale says, if folks are to be spoilt, there is nothing in the world so pleasant as spoiling! But I was never so much astonished, and seldom have been so much delighted, as by this attack of Mr. Sheridan. Afterwards he took my father aside, and formally repeated his opinion that I should write for the stage, and his desire to see my play, with encomiums the most flattering of “Evelina.”
And now,
