This was a request to possess the Doctor’s bust in marble.
Such a wish was, of course, frankly acceded to; and Nollekens was the sculptor fixed upon for its execution; not only from the deserved height to which the fame of that artist had risen, but from old regard to the man, which the Doctor always believed to be faithfully and gratefully returned; conceiving him, though under-bred and illiterate, to be honest and worthy; yet frequently remarking how strikingly he exemplified the caprice, or locality, of taste, as well as of genius, which in one point could be truly refined, while in every other it was wanting.
Thirty casts of this bust, for family, friends, or favourites, were taken off; and the first of them Dr. Charles had the honour of laying at the feet of the Prince of Wales: who, when next he saw Dr. Burney, smilingly said: “I have got your bust, Dr. Burney, and I’ll put it on my organ. I got it on purpose. I shall place it there instead of Handel.”
In the month of May, 1805, Dr. Burney, through a private hand, re-opened, after a twelvemonth’s mournful silence, his correspondence with his absent daughter, by the following kind and cheering, though brief and politically cautious lines:
“To Madame d’Arblay.
“Chelsea College, May, 1805.
“My dear Fanny,
“The notice I received of our good friend, Miss Sayr’s,[73] departure for the continent, has been communicated to me so short a time before its taking place, that I am merely able to give you signe de vie; and tell you that, cough excepted, I am in tolerable health, for an octogenaire; with the usual infirmities in eyes, ears, and memory.
“God bless you, my dear daughter. Give my kindest love to our dear M. d’Arblay, and to little Alexander.
“Your ever affectionate father,
“Chas. Burney.
“As blind as a beetle, as deaf as a post,
Whose longevity now is all he can boast.”
The following is a paragraph of another letter to Paris, written about the same time, but conveyed by another private hand:
“I passed some days very pleasantly at Bulstrode Park in the Easter week. The good Duke of Portland came himself to invite me, and sat nearly an hour by my fireside, conversing in the most open and unreserved manner possible upon matters and things. Our party at Bulstrode had the ever-admirable Lady Templeton, her two younger daughters,[74] and their brother Greville,[75] who is an excellent musician, and a very charming young man, &c. &c. The Duke’s daughters, Lady Mary Bentinck and Lady Charlotte Greville, did the honours very politely; and Lord William Bentinck, [76] one of the Duke’s son, who was in Italy with Marshal Suwarrow, and has since been in Egypt, was also there; and he and I are become inkle-weavers. I like him much; and we are to meet again in town. We never sat down less than thirty each day at dinner; and we danced, and we sung, and we walked, and we rode, and we prayed together at chapel, and were so sociable and agreeable ‘you’ve no notion,’ as Miss Larolles would say.”
What will now follow, will be copied from the memoir book of Dr. Burney of this month of May; which, after a dreary winter of sorrow, seemed to have been hailed as genially by the Historian of Music, as by the minstrelsy of the woods.