We had a large party of gentlemen to dinner. Among them was Mr. Hamilton, commonly called Single-speech Hamilton, from having made one remarkable speech in the House of Commons against government, and receiving some douceur to be silent ever after. This Mr. Hamilton is extremely tall and handsome; has an air of haughty and fashionable superiority; is intelligent, dry, sarcastic, and clever. I should have received much pleasure from his conversational powers, had I not previously been prejudiced against him, by hearing that he is infinitely artful, double, and crafty.
The dinner conversation was too general to be well remembered; neither, indeed, shall I attempt more than partial scraps relating to matters of what passed when we adjourned to tea.
Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Selwyn, Mr. Tidy, and Mr. Thrale seated themselves to whist; the rest looked on: but the General, as he always does, took up the newspaper, and, with various comments, made aloud, as he went on reading to himself, diverted the whole company. Now he would cry, “Strange! strange that!”—presently, “What stuff! I don't believe a word of it!”—a little after, “Mr. Bate,[115] I wish your ears were cropped!”—then, “Ha! ha! ha! funnibus! funnibus! indeed!”—and, at last, in a great rage, he exclaimed, “What a fellow is this, to presume to arraign the conduct of persons of quality!”
Having diverted himself and us in this manner, till he had read every column methodically through, he began all over again, and presently called out, “Ha! ha! here's a pretty thing!” and then, in a plaintive voice, languished out some wretched verses.
SECT. 3 (1780-1781)
A SEASON AT BATH: MR. THRALE'S DEATH.
[There is a long hiatus here in the published “Diary,” and
upon its resumption we find Fanny at Bath with the Thrales,
in April, 1780; but from her letters to Mr. Crisp we learn
that she returned, at Christmas, 1779, to her father's house
in St. Martin's Street, and spent there the intervening
period, frequently visiting, and being visited by, the
Thrales. Bath was at this time the most fashionable summer
resort in the kingdom. Fanny had been there before, in 1776
or 1777, but of that visit no account remains to us. She
has recorded, however, in “Evelina,” her general impression
of the place. “The charming city of Bath answered all my
expectations. The Crescent, the prospect from it, and the
elegant symmetry of the Circus, delighted me. The Parades,
I own, rather disappointed me; one of them is scarce
preferable to some of the best paved streets in London; and
the other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, a
charming view of Prior-park and of the Avon, yet wanted
something in itself of more striking elegance than a mere
broad pavement, to satisfy the ideas I had formed of it.
“At the pump-room, I was amazed at the public exhibition of
the ladies in the bath; it is true, their heads are covered
with bonnets; but the very idea of being seen, in such a
situation, by whoever pleases to look, is indelicate.”
We may be sure Fanny never exhibited herself in such a
situation. Of her drinking the waters, even, there is no
mention in her Bath journal Of 1780. But the journal
records a continual succession of visits and diversions, and
keeps us entertained with the most life-like and amusing
descriptions of Bath society. The house occupied by Mr.
Thrale and his party was at the corner of the South-parade,
and Fanny's room commanded that beautiful prospect of Prior-
park and the Avon which had charmed Evelina.
Amid all these gaieties there are glimpses of more serious
scenes. The Gordon riots took place in June, 1780, and the
alarm they occasioned spread far and wide over the country.
The present section, too, closes with a melancholy incident—
the death of Mr. Thrale. He had been long ailing, and had
had a paralytic stroke in 1779. He died on the 4th of
April, 1781. Probably no one felt the loss more keenly than
Thrale's old friend, 'Dr. Johnson, in whose “Prayers and
Meditations” occurs the following touching entry:—
“Good Friday, 13th April, 1781. On Wednesday, 11th, was
buried my dear friend Thrale, who died on Wednesday, 4th;
and with him were buried many of my hopes and pleasures.
About five, I think, on Wednesday morning he expired. I
felt almost the last flutter of his pulse, and looked for
the last time upon the face that for fifteen years had never
been turned upon me but with respect or benignity.”—ED.]