“A vow!” cried dear Mrs. Delany, “no, indeed, I hope she would not be so wicked—she who can so do what she does!”
“But she has not,” said the king, earnestly; “she has owned that to me already.”
What excessive condescension, my dear padre!
“I only wish,” cried Mrs. Delany, “it could be as easily done, as it is earnestly and universally desired.”
“I doubt it not to be so desired,” said the queen.
I was quite ashamed of all this, and quite sorry to make no acknowledgment of their great condescension in pressing such subject, and pressing it so much in earnest. But I really could get out nothing, so that's the truth; and I wish I could give a better account of my eloquence, my dear padre and I cannot, however, in justice any more than in inclination, go on, till I stop to admire the sweetness of the queen, and the consideration of the king, in each making me a party in their general conversation, before they made any particular address to me.
A MUSICIAN, WITH A PROBOSCIS.
They afterwards spoke of Mr. Webb, a Windsor musician, who is master to the young princesses, and who has a nose, from some strange calamity, of so enormous a size that it covers all the middle of his face. I never saw so frightful a deformity. Mrs. Delany told the queen I had met with him, accidentally, when he came to give a lesson to Miss Port, and had been quite startled by him.
“I dare say so,” said her majesty. “I must tell Miss Burney a little trait of Sophia, about Mr. Webb.”