At the second interview young Burney innocently and eagerly flew at once to the harpsichord, and tried it with various recollections from his favourite composers.
Mr. Greville listened complacently and approvingly; but, at the end of every strain, made a speech that he intended should lead to some discussion.
Young Burney, however, more alive to the graces of melody than to the subtleties of argument, gave answers that always finished with full-toned chords, which as constantly modulated into another movement; till Mr. Greville, tired and impatient, suddenly proposed changing places, and trying the instrument himself.
He could not have devised a more infallible expedient to provoke conversation; for he thrummed his own chosen bits by memory with so little skill or taste, yet with a pertinacity so wearisome, that young Burney, who could neither hearken to such playing, nor turn aside from such a player, caught with alacrity at every opening to discourse, as an acquittal from the fatigue of mock attention.
This eagerness gave a piquancy to what he said, that stole from him the diffidence that might otherwise have hung upon his inexperience; and endued him with a courage for uttering his opinions, that might else have faded away under the trammels of distant respect.
This meeting concluded the investigation; music, singing her gay triumph, took her stand at the helm; and a similar victory for capacity and information awaited but a few intellectual skirmishes, on poetry, politics, morals, and literature,—in the midst of which Mr. Greville, suddenly and gracefully holding out his hand, fairly acknowledged his scheme, proclaimed its success, and invited the unconscious victor to accompany him to Wilbury House.
Of Mr. Greville, young Burney soon became a confidential companion; he accompanied his patron into all companies; was introduced to all his friends and associates; and, of course, made many connexions that were highly valuable in after life. After Mr. Greville’s marriage, Burney still continued to reside in the family, and was to have accompanied it on a foreign tour, but love had by this time taken possession of his heart, and instead of travelling on the continent, he, while still in his minority, married his first wife, Miss Esther Sleepe, a lady, whose personal charms and genuine worth are beautifully enshrined by the eloquence and affection of her daughter.
The account given of Dr. Burney’s first settlement in London after his marriage, and of his migration to Lynn, affords us no opportunity of altering or adding, in any material point, to the biographical article in our number for last October. His residence in Norfolk was fruitful in new and valuable connexions, and contributed to the full restoration of his health. It was while thus an exile from the capital and its circles, however, that Mr. Burney laid the foundation of his intimacy with Dr. Johnson; an intimacy which never suffered interruption or diminution, and ended but with the life of the latter. Burney had always been an enthusiastic admirer of Johnson’s writings, and when his dictionary was announced, exerted himself so strenuously in its favour throughout his Norfolk circuit, that he soon collected a little list of subscribers, which afforded him an opportunity of expressing his admiration to the object of it; and the following letter made the opening to a connexion he always considered as one of the greatest honours of his life.
MR. BURNEY TO MR. JOHNSON.
Sir,—Though I have never had the happiness of a personal knowledge of you, I cannot think myself wholly a stranger to a man with whose sentiments I have so long been acquainted; for it seems to me as if the writer, who was sincere, had effected the plan of that philosopher who wished men had windows at their breasts, through which the affections of their hearts might be viewed.