“To be sure, my dear!—­What, have you begun a comedy then?

I told him how the affair stood.  He then gave me advice which just accorded with my wishes, viz., not to make known that I had any such intention; to keep my own counsel; not to whisper even the name of it; to raise no expectations, which were always prejudicial, and finally, to have it performed while the town knew nothing of whose it was.  I readily assured him of my hearty concurrence in his opinion; but he somewhat distressed me when I told him that Mr. Murphy must be in my confidence, as he had offered his services, by desiring he might be the last to see it.

What I shall do, I know not, for he has, himself, begged to be the first.  Mrs. Thrale, however, shall guide me between them.  He spoke highly of Mr. Murphy, too, for he really loves him.  He said he would not have it in the coach, but I should read it to him; however, I could sooner drown or hang!

When I would have offered some apology for the attempt, he stopt me, and desired I would never make any.

“For,” said he, “if it succeeds, it makes its own apology, if not—–­”

“ifnot,” quoth I, “I cannot do worse than Dr. Goldsmith, when his play(94) failed,—­go home and cry”

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He laughed, but told me, repeatedly (I mean twice, which, for him, is very remarkable), that I might depend upon all the service in his power; and, he added, it would be well to make Murphy the last judge, " for he knows the stage,” he said, and I am quite ignorant of it.”

Afterwards, grasping my hand with the most affectionate warmth, he said,

“I wish you success!  I wish you well ! my dear little Burney !”

When, at length, I told him I could stay no longer, and bid him good night, he said, “There is none like you, my dear little Burney ! there is none like you !—­good night, my darling!”

A beauty weeping at will,

I find Miss Streatfield’ a very amiable girl, and extremely handsome; not so wise as I expected, but very well; however, had she not chanced to have had so uncommon an education, with respect to literature or learning, I believe she would not have made her way among the wits by the force of her natural parts.

Mr. Seward, you know, told me that she had tears at command, and I begin to think so too, for when Mrs. Thrale, who had previously told me I should see her cry, began coaxing her to stay, and saying, “If you go, I shall know you don’t love me so well as Lady Gresham,”—­she did cry, not loud indeed, nor much, but the tears came into her eyes, and rolled down her fine cheeks.

“Come hither, Miss Burney,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “come and see Miss Streatfield cry! "

I thought it a mere badinage.  I went to them, but when I saw real tears, I was shocked, and saying “No, I won’t look

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NE at her,” ran away frightened, lest she should think I laughed at her, which Mrs. Thrale did so openly, that, as I told her, had she served me so, I should have been affronted with her ever after.