“The Harrels!—­O, then the Harrels!” cried Mrs. Delany.

“If you speak of the Harrels, and of the morality of the book,” cried the duchess, with a solemn sort of voice, “we shall, indeed, never give Miss Burney her due:  so striking, so pure, so genuine, so instructive.”

“Yes,” cried Mrs. Chapone, “let us complain how we will of the torture she has given our nerves, we must all join in saying she has bettered us by every line.”

“No book,” said Mrs. Delany, “ever was so useful as this, because none other that is so good was ever so much read.”

I think I need now write no more.  I could, indeed, hear no more; for this last so serious praise, from characters so respectable, so moral, and so aged, quite affected me; and though I had wished a thousand times during the discourse to run out of the room, when they gave me finally this solemn sanction to the meaning and intention of my writing, I found it not without difficulty that I could keep the tears out of my eyes; and 270

when I told what had passed to our sweet father, his cup quite ran over.

The duchess had the good sense and judgment to feel she had drawn up her panegyric to a climax, and therefore here she stopped; so, however, did not we, for our coach was ready.

Illnessand death of Mr. Crisp.

(Fanny Burney to Mr. Crisp.)
April 12, 1783.

My dearest—­dearest daddy,

I am more grieved at the long and most disappointing continuation of your illness than I know how to tell you ; and though my last account, I thank heaven, is better, I find you still suffer so much, that my congratulations in my letter to Susan, upon what I thought your recovery, must have appeared quite crazy, if you did not know me as well as you do, and were not sure what affliction the discovery of my mistake would bring to myself.  I think I never yet so much wished to be at Chesington, as at this time, that I might see how you go On, and not be kept in such painful suspense from post to post.

Why did you tell me of the DelaDYS, Portlands, Cambridges, etc., as if any of them came into competition with yourself?  When you are better, I shall send you a most fierce and sharp remonstrance upon this subject.  At present I must be content with saying, I will undoubtedly accept your most kind invitation as soon as I possibly can.  Meantime, if my letters will give you any amusement, I will write oftener than ever, and supply you with all the prog I get myself.

Susan, who is my reader, must be your writer, and let me know if such tittle-tattle as I can collect serves to divert some of those many moments of languor and weariness that creep between pain and ease, and that call more for mental food than for bodily medicine.  Your love to your Fannikin, I well know, makes all trash interesting to you that seems to concern her ; and I have no greater pleasure, when absent, than in letting you and my dear Susan be acquainted with my proceedings.  I don’t mean by this to exclude the rest of the dear Chesington set—­far from it—­ -but a sister and a daddy must come first.