“Mr. William Locke, ma'am,” said Mrs. Delany, “I understand from Miss Burney, is now making the same wonderful progress in painting that he had done before in drawing.”
“I have seen some of his drawings,” said the queen, “which were charming.”
“How old is he?” cried the king.
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Eighteen!” repeated the king—“how time flies!”
“Oh! for me,” cried the queen, “I am always quarrelling with time! It is so short to do something, and so long to do nothing.”
She has now and then something foreign to our idiom, that has a very pretty effect.
“Time,” said the king, “always seems long when we are young, and short when we begin to grow old.”
“But nothing makes me so angry,” said the queen, “as to hear people not know what to do! For me, I never have half time enough to do things. But what makes me most angry still, is to see people go up to a window and say, 'what a bad day!—dear, what shall we do such a day as this?' 'What?' I say; 'why, employ yourselves; and then what signifies the bad day?'”
Afterwards, there was some talk upon sermons, and the queen wished the Bishop of Chester would publish another volume.