Diary from the French Court, Book III

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This is book 3 in the series depicting the personal diary of Fannys own life and experience at the French Court, the madness of kings and the life and death, agony and pain, joy and wonders of the French Revolution.

Photography and web adaptation by Mike Koontz
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Music of the day The veil of Elysium - by Kamelot

To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration

Chapters and pages, library and language menu to the left of the screen

A Season at Bath: Mr. Thrale’s Death.

Bath, April 7.

The journey was very comfortable; Mr. Thrale was charmingly well and in very good spirits, and Mrs. Thrale must be charming, well or ill. We only went to Maidenhead Bridge the first night, where I found the caution given me by Mr. Smelt,1 of not attempting to travel near Windsor on a hunting-day, was a very necessary one, as we were with difficulty accommodated even the day after the hunt; several stragglers remaining at all the inns, and we heard of nothing but the king and royal huntsmen and huntswomen. The second day we slept at Speen Hill, and the third day we reached Devizes.

And here Mrs. Thrale and I were much pleased with our hostess, Mrs. Laurence, who seemed something above her station in her inn. While we were at cards before supper, we were much surprised by the sounds of a pianoforte. I jumped up, and ran to listen whence it proceeded. I found it came from the next room, where the overture to the “Buona Figliuola” was performing. The playing was very decent, but as the music was not quite new to me, my curiosity was not whole ages in satisfying, and therefore I returned to finish the rubber.

Don’t I begin to talk in an old-cattish manner of cards?

Well, another deal was hardly played, ere we heard the sound of a voice, and out I ran again. The singing, however, detained me not long, and so back I whisked; but the performance, however indifferent in itself yet’ surprised us at the Bear however indifferent in itself, yet surprised us at Devizes, and therefore Mrs. Thrale determined to know from whom it came. Accordingly, she tapped at the door. A very handsome girl, about thirteen years old, with fine dark hair upon a finely-formed forehead, opened it. Mrs. Thrale made an apology for her intrusion, but the poor girl blushed and retreated into a corner of the room: another girl, however, advanced, and obligingly and gracefully invited us in and gave us all chairs. She was just sixteen extremely pretty, and with a countenance better than her features, though those were also very good. Mrs. Thrale made her many compliments, which she received with a mingled modesty and pleasure, both becoming and interesting. She was, indeed, a sweetly pleasing girl.

We found they were both daughters of our hostess, and born and bred at Devizes. We were extremely pleased with them, and made them a long visit, which I wished to have been longer. But though those pretty girls struck us so much, the wonder of the family was yet to be produced. This was their brother, a most lovely boy of ten years of age who seems to be not merely the wonder of their family, but of the times, for his astonishing skill in drawing.2 They protest he has never had any instruction, yet showed us some of his productions that were really beautiful. Those that were copies were delightful, those of his own composition amazing, though far inferior. I was equally struck with the boy and his works.
We found that he had been taken to town, and that all the painters had been very kind to him, and Sir Joshua Reynolds had pronounced him, the mother said, the most promising genius he had ever met with. Mr. Hoare has been so charmed with this sweet boy’s drawings that he intends sending him to Italy with his own son.

This house was full of books, as well as paintings, drawings, and music and all the family seem not only ingenious and industrious, but amiable; added to which, they are strikingly handsome.

Bath.—I shall now skip to our arrival at this beautiful city which I really admire more than I did, if possible, when I first saw it. The houses are so elegant, the streets are so beautiful, the prospects so enchanting, I could fill whole pages upon the general beauty of the place and country, but that I have neither time for myself, nor incitement for you, as I know nothing tires so much as description.

Yes, one more Monday.

—Lord Mulgrave, Augustus Phipps, Miss Cooper, Dr. Harrington, and Dr. Woodward dined with us.
I like Lord Mulgrave3 very much. He has more wit, and a greater readiness of repartee, than any man I have met with this age. During dinner he was all brilliancy, but I drew myself into a little scrape with him, from which I much wanted some of his wit to extricate myself. Mrs. Thrale was speaking of the House of Commons, and lamenting that she had never heard any debates there.
“And now,” said she, “I cannot, for this General Johnson has turned us all out most barbarously.”
“General Johnson?” repeated Lord Mulgrave.
“Ay, or colonel—I don’t know what the man was, but I know he was no man of gallantry.”
“Whatever he was,” said his lordship, “I hope he was a land officer.”
“I hope so too, my lord,” said she.
“No, no, no,” cried Mr. Thrale, “it was Commodore Johnson.”

Lord Mulgrave

on The


“That’s bad, indeed,” said Lord Mulgrave, laughing. “I thought, by his manners, he had belonged to the army.”

“True,” said I “they were hardly polished enough for the sea.”
This I said a demi-voix, and meant only for Mrs. Thrale, but Lord Mulgrave heard and drew up upon them, and pointing his finger at me with a threatening air, exclaimed,
“Don’t you speak, Miss Burney? What’s this, indeed?”
They all stared, and to be sure I rouged pretty high.

“Miss Burney,” said Mrs. Thrale, “should be more respectful to be sure, for she has a brother at sea herself.”
“I know it,” said he, “and for all her, we shall see him come back from Kamschatka as polished a beau as any he will find.”
Poor Jem! God send him safe back, polished or rough.
Lord Mulgrave’s brother Edmund is just entered into the army.
“He told me t’other day,” said his lordship, “that he did not like the thoughts of being a parson.”
“‘Very well,’ said I, ‘you are old enough to choose for yourself; what will you be then?’
“‘Why, a soldier,’ says he.

“‘A soldier? will you so? Why, then, the best thing you can do is to embark with your brother Henry immediately, for you won’t know what to do in a regiment by yourself.’ Well, no sooner said than done! Henry was just going to the West Indies in Lord Harrington’s regiment, and Edmund ordered a chaise and drove to Portsmouth after him. The whole was settled in half an hour.”

Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough.

My sister Gast, in her younger days, was a great favourite with an old lady who was a particular crony and intimate of old Sarah Marlborough, who, though much of the jade, had undoubtedly very strong parts, and was indeed remarkably clever.

When Mrs. Hinde (the old lady) would sometimes talk to her about books, she’d cry out, “Prithee, don’t talk to me about books; I never read any books but men and cards!” But let anybody read her book, and then tell me if she did not draw characters with as masterly a hand as Sir Joshua Reynolds.—Mr. Crisp to Fanny Burney (April 27.)


We had Mrs. Byron and Augusta,4 and Mrs. Lee, to spend the afternoon. Augusta opened her whole heart to me, as we sat together, and told me all the affairs of her family. Her brother, Captain George Byron, is lately returned from the West Indies, and has brought a wife with him from Barbadoes, though he was there only three weeks, and knew not this girl he has married till ten days before he left it!—a pleasant circumstance for this proud family!

Poor Mrs. Byron seems destined for mortification and humiliation; yet such is her native fire, and so wonderful are her spirits, that she bears up against all calamity, and though half mad one day with sorrow and vexation, is fit the next to entertain an assembly of company;—and so to entertain them as to make the happiest person in the company, by comparison with herself, seem sad.

Augusta is a very amiably ingenuous girl, and I love her the more for her love of her sisters: she talked to me of them all, but chiefly of Sophia, the youngest next to herself, but who, having an independent fortune, has quarrelled with her mother, and lives with one of her sisters, Mrs. Byron, who married a first cousin, And son of Lord Byron.
“Ah, Miss Burney,” she says continually, “if you knew Sophy, you would never bear me! she is so much better than I am, and so handsome, and so good, and so clever,—and I used to talk to her of you by the hour together. She longs so to know you! ‘Come,’ she says, ‘now tell me something more about your darling, Miss Burney.’ But I ought to hope you may never see her, for if you did I should be so jealous.”


the Blanket of night and dream is where tomorrows amber day field is born

Friday was a busy and comical day. We had an engagement of long standing, to drink tea with Miss L—, whither we all went, and a most queer evening did we spend.

When we entered, she and all her company were looking out of the window; however, she found us out in a few minutes, and made us welcome in a strain of delight and humbleness at receiving us, that put her into a flutter of spirits, from which she never recovered all the evening.

Her fat, jolly mother took her seat at the top of the room; next to her sat a lady in a riding habit, whom I soon found to be Mrs. Dobson;5 below her sat a gentlewoman, prim, upright, neat, and mean; and, next to her, sat another, thin, haggard, wrinkled, fine, and tawdry, with a thousand frippery ornaments and old-fashioned furbelows; she was excellently nick-named, by Mrs. Thrale, the Duchess of Monmouth. On the opposite side was placed Mrs. Thrale, and, next to her, Queeny. For my own part, little liking the appearance of the set, and half dreading Mrs. Dobson, from whose notice I wished to escape, I had made up myself to one of the now deserted windows, and Mr. Thrale had followed me. As to Miss L—, she came to stand by me, and her panic, I fancy, returned, for she seemed quite panting with a desire to say something, and an incapacity to utter it.

It proved happy for me that I had taken this place, for in a few minutes the mean, neat woman, whose name was Aubrey, asked if Miss Thrale was Miss Thrale?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And pray, ma’am, who is that other young lady?”
“A daughter of Dr. Burney’s, ma’am.”
“What!” cried Mrs. Dobson, “is that the lady that has favoured us with that excellent novel?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then burst forth a whole volley from all at once. “Very extraordinary, indeed!” said one;—“Dear heart, who’d have thought it?” said another,—“I never saw the like in my life!” said a third. And Mrs. Dobson, entering more into detail, began praising it through, but chiefly Evelina herself, which she said was the most natural character she had ever met in any book.

Mr. and Mrs. Whalley now arrived, and I was obliged to go to a chair—when such staring followed; they could not have opened their eyes wider when they first looked at the Guildhall giants! I looked with all the gravity and demureness possible, in order to keep them from coming plump to the subject again, and, indeed this, for a while, kept them off.
Soon after, Dr. Harrington6 arrived, which closed our party. Miss L— went whispering to him, and then came up to me, with a look of dismay, and said,

“O, ma’am, I’m so prodigiously concerned; Mr. Henry won’t come!”
“Who, ma’am?”
“Mr. Henry, ma’am, the doctor’s son. But, to be sure, he does not know you are here, or else—but I’m quite concerned, indeed, for here now we shall have no young gentlemen!”
“O, all the better,” cried I, “I hope we shall be able to do very well without.”

the gift

of stories

“O yes, ma’am, to be sure. I don’t mean for any common young gentlemen; but Mr. Henry, ma’am, it’s quite another thing;—however, I think he might have come but I did not happen to mention in my card that you was to be here, and so—but I think it serves him right for not coming to see me.”

Soon after the mamma hobbled to me, and began a furious Panegyric upon my book, saying at the same time,

“I wonder, Miss, how you could get at them low characters. As to the lords and ladies, that’s no wonder at all; but, as to t’others, why, I have not stirred night nor morning while I’ve been reading it; if I don’t wonder how you could be so clever!”
And much, much more. And, scarcely had she unburthened herself, ere Miss L—trotted back to me, crying, in a tone of mingled triumph and vexation,

“Well, ma’am, Mr. Henry will be very much mortified when he knows who has been here; that he will, indeed; however, I’m sure he deserves it!”
I made some common sort of reply, that I hoped he was better engaged, which she vehemently declared was impossible.
We had now some music. Miss L— sung various old elegies of Jackson, Dr. Harrington, and Linley, and O how I dismalled in hearing them! Mr. Whalley, too, sung “Robin Gray,” and divers other melancholic ballads, and Miss Thrale Sang “Ti seguiro fedele.” But the first time there was a cessation of harmony, Miss L— again respectfully approaching me, cried,

“O well, all my comfort is that Mr. Henry will be prodigiously mortified! But there’s a ball to-night, so I suppose he’s gone to that. However, I’m sure if he had known of meeting you young ladies here—but it’s all good enough for him, for not coming.”

“Nay,” cried I, “if meeting young ladies is a motive with him, he can have nothing to regret while at a ball, where he will see many more than he could here.”

“O, ma’am, as to that—but I say no more, because it mayn’t be proper; but, to be sure, if Mr. Henry had known—however, he’ll be well mortified!”

I was not two minutes relieved, ere Miss I—returned, to again assure me how glad she was that Mr. Henry would be mortified. The poor lady was quite heart-broken that we did not meet.


Lord Mulgrave called this morning. He is returned to Bath for only a few days. He was not in his usual spirits; yet he failed not to give me a rub for my old offence, which he seems determined not to forget; for upon something being said, to which, however, I had not attended, about seamen, he cast an arch glance at me, and cried out,
“Miss Burney, I know, will take our parts—if I remember right, she is one of the greatest of our enemies!”
“All the sea captains,” said Mrs. Thrale, “fall upon Miss Burney: Captain Cotton, my cousin, was for ever plaguing her about her spite to the navy.”
This, however, was for the character of Captain Mirvan,7 which, in a comical and good-humoured way, Captain Cotton pretended highly to resent, and so, he told me, did all the captains in the navy.

Augusta Byron, too, tells me that the admiral, her father, very often talks of Captain Mirvan, and though the book is very high in his favour, is not half pleased with the captain’s being such a brute.

However, I have this to comfort me—that the more I see of sea captains, the less reason I have to be ashamed of Captain Mirvan; for they have all so irresistible a propensity to wanton mischief—to roasting beaus, and detesting old women, that I quite rejoice I showed the book to no one ere printed, lest I should have been prevailed upon to soften his character. Some time after, while Lord Mulgrave was talking of Captain G. Byron’s marrying a girl at Barbadoes, whom he had not known a week, he turned suddenly to me, and called out,

“See, Miss Burney, what you have to expect—your brother will bring a bride from Kamschatka, without doubt!”
“That,” said I, “may perhaps be as well as a Hottentot, for when he was last out, he threatened us with a sister from the Cape of Good Hope.”

Lord Mulgrave and Dr. Harrington dined here. Lord Mulgrave was delightful;—his wit is of so gay, so forcible, so splendid a kind that when he is disposed to exert it, he not only engrosses attention from all the rest of the company, but demands the full use of all one’s faculties to keep pace in understanding the speeches, allusions, and sarcasms which he sports. But he will never, I believe, be tired of attacking me about the sea; “he will make me ‘eat it that leak,” I assure you.
During dinner he was speaking very highly of a sea officer whose name, I think, was Reynolds.

“And who is he?” asked Mrs. Thrale, to which his lordship answered, “Brother to Lord—something, but I forget what;” and then, laughing and looking at me, he added, “We have all the great families in the navy—ay, and all the best families, too,—have we not, Miss Burney?

The sea is so favourable an element to genius, that there all high-souled younger brothers with empty pockets are sure of thriving: nay, I can say even more for it, for it not only fosters the talents of the spirited younger brothers, it also lightens the dullness even of that poor animal—an elder brother; so that it is always the most desirable place both for best and worst.”

“Well, your lordship is always ready to praise it,” said Mrs. Thrale, “and I only wish we had a few more like you in the service,—and long may you live, both to defend and to ornament it!”
“Defence,” answered he with quickness, “it does not want, and, for ornament, it is above all!”


In the afternoon we all went to the Whalleys, where we found a large and a highly dressed company, at the head of which sat Lady Miller.8
As soon as my discourse was over with Mr. Whalley, Lady Miller arose, and went to Mrs. Thrale, and whispered something to her. Mrs. Thrale then rose, too, and said,
“If your ladyship will give me leave, I will first introduce my daughter to you”—making Miss Thrale, who was next her mother, make her reverences.
“And now,” she continued, “Miss Burney, Lady Miller desires to be introduced to you.”

Up I jumped and walked forward; Lady Miller, very civilly, more than met me half way, and said very polite things, of her wish to know me, and regret that she had not sooner met me, and then we both returned to our seats.

Do you know now that notwithstanding Bath Easton is so much laughed at in London, nothing here is more tonish than to visit Lady Miller, who is extremely curious in her company, admitting few people who are not of rank or of fame, and excluding of those all who are not people of character very unblemished.
Some time after, Lady Miller took a seat next mine on the sofa, to play at cards, and was excessively civil indeed—scolded Mrs. Thrale for not sooner making us acquainted, and had the politeness to offer to take me to the balls herself, as she heard Mr. and Mrs. Thrale did not choose to go.

After all this, it is hardly fair to tell you what I think of her. However, the truth is, I always, to the best of my intentions, speak honestly what I think of the folks I see, without being biassed either by their civilities or neglect; and that you will allow is being a very faithful historian.
Well then, Lady Miller is a round, plump, coarse looking dame of about forty, and while all her aim is to appear an elegant woman of fashion, all her success is to seem an ordinary woman in very common life, with fine clothes on. Her manners are bustling, her air is mock-important, and her manners very inelegant.

So much for the lady of Bath Easton; who, however, seems extremely good-natured, and who is, I am sure, extremely civil.

June 4.

To go on with Saturday evening. We left the Whalleys at nine, and then proceeded to Sir J. C—, who had invited us to a concert at his house.
We found such a crowd of chairs and carriages we could hardly make our way. I had never seen any of the family, consisting of Sir J. and three daughters, but had been particularly invited. The two rooms for the company were quite full when we arrived, and a large party was standing upon the first floor landing-place.
Just as I got up stairs, I was much surprised to hear my name called by a man’s voice, who stood in the crowd upon the landing-place, and who said,
“Miss Burney, better go up another flight (pointing up stairs)—if you’ll take my advice, you’ll go up another flight, for there’s no room anywhere else.”

I then recollected the voice, for I could not see the face, of Lord Mulgrave, and I began at first to suppose I must really do as he said, for there seemed not room for a sparrow, and I have heard the Sharp family do actually send their company all over their house when they give concerts.

However, by degrees we squeezed ourselves into the outer room, and then Mrs. Lambart made way up to me, to introduce me to Miss C—, who is extremely handsome, genteel, and pleasing, though tonish, and who did the honours, in spite of the crowd, in a manner to satisfy everybody.

After that, she herself introduced me to her next sister, Arabella, who is very fat, but not ugly. As to Sir J., He was seated behind a door in the music-room, where, being lame, he was obliged to keep still, and I never once saw his face, though I was upon the point of falling over him; for, at one time, as I had squeezed just into the music-room, and was leaning against the door, which was open, and which Lord Althorp, the Duchess of Devonshire’s brother, was also lolling against, the pressure pushed Sir James’s chair, and the door beginning to move, I thought we should have fallen backwards. Lord Althorp moved off instantly, and I started forwards without making any disturbance, and then Mr. Travell came to assure me all was safe behind the door, and so the matter rested quietly, though not without giving me a ridiculous fright.

Mr. Travell, ma’am, if I have not yet introduced him to you, I must tell you—‘is known throughout Bath by the name of Beau Travell; he is a most approved connoisseur in beauty, gives the ton to all the world, sets up young ladies in the beau monde, and is the sovereign arbitrator of fashions, and decider of fashionable people. I had never the honour of being addressed by him before, though I have met him at the dean’s and at Mrs. Lainbart’s. So you may believe I was properly struck.

Though the rooms were so crowded, I saw but two faces I knew—Lord Huntingdon, whom I have drank tea with at Mrs. Cholmley’s.9 and Miss Philips; but the rest were all showy tonish people, who are only to be seen by going to the rooms, which we never do.
Some time after, Lord Mulgrave crowded in among us, and cried out to me,
“So you would not take my advice!”
I told him he had really alarmed me, for I had taken him seriously.
He laughed at the notion of sending me up to the garrets, and then poked himself into the concert-room.
Oh, but I forgot to mention Dr. Harrington, with whom I ‘had much conversation, and who was dry, comical, and very agreeable. I also saw Mr. Henry, but as Miss L— was not present, nothing ensued.10

Miss C— herself brought me a cup of ice, the room being crowded that the man could not get near me.
How ridiculous to invite so many more people than could be accommodated! Lord Mulgrave was soon sick of the heat, and finding me distressed what to do with my cup, he very good—naturedly took it from me, but carried not only that, but himself also, away, which I did not equally rejoice at.

You may laugh, perhaps, that I have all this time said never a word of the music, but the truth is I heard scarce a note. There were quartettos and overtures by gentlemen performers whose names and faces I know not, and such was the never ceasing rattling and noise in the card-room, where I was kept almost all the evening, that a general humming of musical sounds, and now and then a twang, was all I could hear.
Nothing can well be more ridiculous than a concert of this sort; and Dr. Harrington told me that the confusion amongst the musicians was equal to that amongst the company; for that, when called upon to open the concert, they found no music. The Miss C—‘s had prepared nothing, nor yet solicited their dilettante’s to prepare for them. Miss Harrington, his daughter, who played upon the harpsichord, and by the very little I could sometimes hear, I believe very well, complained that she had never touched so vile an instrument, and that she was quite disturbed at being obliged to play upon it.

About the time that I got against the door, as I have mentioned, of the music room, the young ladies were preparing to perform, and with the assistance of Mr. Henry, they sang catches. Oh, such singing! worse squalling, more out of tune, and more execrable in every respect, never did I hear. We did not get away till late.


We had an excellent sermon from the Bishop of Peterborough, who preached merely at the request of Mrs. Thrale.

At dinner we had the bishop and Dr. Harrington; and the bishop, who was in very high spirits, proposed a frolic, which was, that we should all go to Spring Gardens, where he should give us tea, and thence proceed to Mr. Ferry’s, to see a very curious house and garden. Mrs. Thrale pleaded that she had invited company to tea at home, but the bishop said we would go early, and should return in time, and was so gaily authoritative that he gained his point. He had been so long accustomed to command, as master of Westminster school, that he cannot prevail with himself, I believe, ever to be overcome.

Dr. Harrington was engaged to a patient, and could not be of our party. But the three Thrales, the bishop and I, pursued our scheme, crossed the Avon, had a sweet walk through the meadows, and drank tea at Spring Gardens, where the bishop did the honours with a spirit, a gaiety, and an activity that jovialised us all, and really we were prodigiously lively. We then walked on to Mr. Ferry’s habitation.
Mr. Ferry is a Bath alderman; his house and garden exhibit the house and garden of Mr. Tattersall, enlarged. Just the same taste prevails, the same paltry ornaments, the same crowd of buildings, the same unmeaning decorations, and the same unsuccessful attempts at making something of nothing.

They kept us half an hour in the garden, while they were preparing for our reception in the house, where after parading through four or five little vulgarly showy closets, not rooms, we were conducted into a very gaudy little apartment, where the master of the house sat reclining on his arm, as if in contemplation, though everything conspired to show that the house and its inhabitants were carefully arranged for our reception. The bishop had sent in his name by way of gaining admission.

The bishop, with a gravity of demeanour difficult to himself to sustain, apologised for our intrusion, and returned thanks for seeing the house and garden. Mr. Ferry started from his pensive attitude, and begged us to be seated, and then a curtain was drawn, and we perceived through a glass a perspective view of ships, boats, and water.

This raree-show over, the maid who officiated as show-woman had a hint given her and presently a trap-door opened, and up jumped a covered table, ornamented with various devices.

When we had expressed our delight at this long enough to satisfy Mr. Ferry, another hint was given, and presently down dropped an eagle from the ceiling whose talons were put into a certain hook in the top of the covering of the table, and when the admiration at this was over, up again flew the eagle, conveying in his talons the cover, and leaving under it a repast of cakes, sweetmeats, oranges, and jellies.

When our raptures upon this feat subsided, the maid received another signal, and then seated herself in an armchair, which presently sank down underground, and up in its room came a barber’s block, with a vast quantity of black wool on it, and a high head-dress.

This, you may be sure, was more applauded than all the rest; we were en extase, and having properly expressed our gratitude, were soon after suffered to decamp.


This morning, by appointment, we met a party at the pump-room, thence to proceed to Spring Gardens, to a public breakfast. The folks, however, were not to their time, and we sallied forth only with the addition of Miss Weston and Miss Byron.

As soon as we entered the gardens Augusta, who had hold of my arm, called out, “Ah! there’s the man I danced with at the ball! and he plagued me to death, asking me if I liked this and that, and the other, and, when I said ‘No,’ he asked me what I did like? So, I suppose he thought me a fool, and so indeed, I am! only you are so good to me that I wrote my sister Sophy word that you had almost made me quite vain; and she wrote to me t’other day a private letter, and told me how glad she was you were come back, for, indeed, I had written her word I should be quite sick of my life here, if it was not for sometimes seeing you.”

passionate birds


as they are

The gentleman to whom she pointed presently made up to us, And I found he was Captain Bouchier, the same who had rattled away at Mr. Whalley’s. He instantly joined Miss Weston and consequently our party, and was in the same style of flighty raillery as before. He seems to have a very good understanding, and very quick parts, but he is rather too conscious of both however, he was really very entertaining, and as he abided wholly by Miss Weston, whose delicacy gave way to gaiety and flash, whether she would or not, I was very glad that he made one among us.
The rest of the company soon came, and were Mr. and Mrs. Whalley, Mrs. Lambart, Mrs. Aubrey, Colonel Campbell, an old officer and old acquaintance of Mr. Thrale, and some others, both male and female, whose names I know not.

We all sat in one box, but we had three tea-makers. Miss Weston presided at that to which I belonged, and Augusta, Captain Bouchier, and herself were of our set. And gay enough we were, for the careless rattle of Captain Bouchier, which paid no regard to the daintiness of Miss Weston, made her obliged in her own defence, to abate her finery, and laugh, and rally, and rail, in her turn. But, at ‘last, I really began to fear that this flighty officer would bring on a serious quarrel, for, among other subjects he was sporting, he unfortunately started that of the Bath Easton vase, which he ridiculed without mercy, and yet, according to all I have heard of it, without any injustice; but Mrs. Whalley, who overheard him, was quite irritated with him.

Sir John an Lady Miller are her friends, and she thought it incumbent upon her to vindicate even this vain folly, which she did weakly and warmly, while Captain Bouchier only laughed and ridiculed them the more. Mrs. Whalley then coloured, and grew quite enraged, reasoning upon the wickedness of laughing at her good friends, and talking of generosity and sentiment. Meanwhile, he scampered from side to side to avoid her; laughed, shouted, and tried every way of braving it out; but was compelled at last to be serious, and enter into a solemn defence of his intentions, which were, he said, to ridicule the vase, not the Millers.

The young, but agreeable infidel

Wednesday.—The party was Mr. and Mrs. Vanbrugh—the former a good sort of man—the latter, Captain Bouchier says, reckons herself a woman of humour, but she kept it prodigious snug; Lord Huntingdon, a very deaf old lord Sir Robert Pigot, a very thin old baronet; Mr. Tyson, a very civil master of the ceremonies; Mr. and Mrs. White, a very insignificant couple; Sir James C—, a bawling old man; two Misses C—, a pair of tonish misses; Mrs. and Miss Byron; Miss W—, and certain others I knew nothing of.
Augusta Byron, according to custom, had entered into conversation with me, and we were talking about her sisters, and her affairs, when Mr. E——(whose name I forgot to mention) came to inform me that Mrs. Lambart begged to speak to me. She was upon a sofa with Miss W—, who, it seemed, desired much to be introduced to me, and so I took a chair facing them.

Miss W— is young and pleasing in her appearance, not pretty, but agreeable in her face, and soft, gentle, and well bred in her manners. Our conversation, for some time, was upon the common Bath topics; but when Mrs. Lambart left us—called to receive more company—we went insensibly into graver matters.

As I soon found, by the looks and expressions of this young lady that she was of a peculiar cast, I left all choice of subjects to herself, determined quietly to follow as she led; and very soon, and I am sure I know not how, we had for topics the follies and vices of mankind, and, indeed, she spared not for lashing them. The women she rather excused than defended, laying to the door of the men their faults and imperfections; but the men, she said, were all bad—all, in one word, and without exception, sensualists.

I stared much at a severity of speech for which her softness of manner had so ill prepared me; and she, perceiving my surprise, said,
“I am sure I ought to apologise for speaking my opinion to you—you, who have so just and so uncommon a knowledge of human nature. I have long wished ardently to have the honour of conversing with you; but your party has, altogether, been regarded as so formidable, that I have not had courage to approach it.”

I made—as what could I do else?—disqualifying speeches, and she then led to discoursing of happiness and misery: the latter she held to be the invariable lot of us all; and “one word,” she added, “we have in our language, and in all others, for which there is never any essential necessity, and that is pleasure!” And her eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
“How you amaze me!” cried I; “I have met with misanthropes before, but never with so complete a one; and I can hardly think I hear right when I see how young you are!”

She then, in rather indirect terms, gave me to understand that she was miserable at home, and in very direct terms, that she was wretched abroad; and openly said, that to affliction she was born, and in affliction she must die, for that the world was so vilely formed as to render happiness impossible for its inhabitants.

There was something in this freedom of repining that I could by no means approve, and, as I found by all her manner that she had a disposition to even respect whatever I said, I now grew very serious, and frankly told her that I could not think it consistent with either truth or religion to cherish such notions.
“One thing,” answered she, “there is, which I believe might make me happy, but for that I have no inclination: it is an amorous disposition; but that I do not possess. I can make myself no happiness by intrigue.”
“I hope not, indeed!” cried I, almost confounded by her extraordinary notions and speeches; “but, surely, there are worthier objects of happiness attainable!”
“No, I believe there are not, and the reason the men are happier than us, is because they are more sensual!”
“I would not think such thoughts,” cried I, clasping my hands with an involuntary vehemence, “for worlds!”

The Misses C

Then interrupted us, and seated themselves next to us; but Miss W— paid them little attention at first, and soon after none at all; but, in a low voice, continued her discourse with me, recurring to the same subject of happiness and misery, upon which, after again asserting the folly of ever hoping for the former, she made this speech,

“There may be, indeed, one moment of happiness, which must be the finding one worthy of exciting a passion which one should dare own to himself. That would, indeed, be a moment worth living for! but that can never happen—I am sure not to me—the men are so low, so vicious, so worthless! No, there is not one such to be found!”
What a strange girl! I could do little more than listen to her, from surprise at all she said.

“If, however,” she continued, “I had your talents I could, bad as this world is, be happy in it. There is nothing, there is nobody I envy like you. With such resources as yours there can never be ennui; the mind may always be employed, and always be gay! Oh, if I could write as you write!”
“Try,” cried I, “that is all that is wanting! try, and you will soon do much better things!”

“O no! I have tried, but I cannot succeed.”

“Perhaps you are too diffident. But is it possible you can be serious in so dreadful an assertion as that you are never happy? Are you sure that some real misfortune would not show you that your present misery is imaginary?”

“I don’t know,” answered she, looking down, “perhaps it is so,—but in that case ’tis a misery so much the harder to be cured.”
“You surprise me more and more,” cried I; “is it possible you can so rationally see the disease of a disordered imagination, and yet allow it such power over your mind?”
“Yes, for it is the only source from which I draw any shadow of felicity. Sometimes when in the country, I give way to my imagination for whole days, and then I forget the world and its cares, and feel some enjoyment of existence.”
“Tell me what is then your notion of felicity? Whither does your castle-building carry you?”
“O, quite out of the world—I know not where, but I am surrounded with sylphs, and I forget everything besides.”
“Well, you are a most extraordinary character, indeed; I must confess I have seen nothing like you!”
“I hope, however, I shall find something like myself, and, like the magnet rolling in the dust, attract some metal as I go.”

“That you may attract what you please, is of all things the most likely; but if you wait to be happy for a friend resembling yourself, I shall no longer wonder at your despondency.”
“Oh!” cried she, raising her eyes in ecstasy, “could I find such a one!—male or female—for sex would be indifferent to me. With such a one I would go to live directly.”
I half laughed, but was perplexed in my own mind whether to be sad or merry at such a speech.
“But then,” she continued, “after making, should I lose such a friend, I would not survive.”
“Not survive?” repeated I, “what can you mean?”
She looked down, but said nothing.
“Surely you cannot mean,” said I, very gravely indeed, “to put a violent end to your life.”
“I should not,” said she, again looking up, “hesitate a moment.”

I was quite thunderstruck, and for some time could not say a word; but when I did speak, it was in a style of exhortation so serious and earnest, I am ashamed to write it to you, lest you should think it too much.

She gave me an attention that was even respectful, but when I urged her to tell me by what right she thought herself entitled to rush unlicensed on eternity, she said, “By the right of believing I shall be extinct.” I really felt horror-struck.
“Where, for heaven’s sake,” I cried, “where have you picked up such dreadful reasoning?”
“In Hume,” said she; “I have read his Essays repeatedly.”
“I am sorry to find they have power to do so much mischief; you should not have read them, at least till a man equal to Hume in abilities had answered him. Have you read any more infidel writers?”
“Yes, Bolingbroke, the divinest of all writers.”
“And do you read nothing upon the right side?”
“Yes, the bible, till I was sick to death of it, every Sunday evening to my mother.”
Have you read Beattie on the Immutability of Truth?”11
“Give me leave then to recommend it to you. After Hume’s Essays you ought to read it. And even for lighter reading, if you were to look at Mason’s ‘Elegy on Lady Coventry,’ it might be of no disservice to you.”

This was the chief of our conversation, which indeed made an impression upon me I shall not easily get rid of. A young and agreeable infidel is even a shocking sight, and with her romantic, flighty, and unguarded turn of mind, what could happen to her that could give surprise?

Friday.—In the evening was the last ball expected to be at Bath this season, and therefore knowing we could go to no other, it was settled we should go to this. Of our party were Mrs. Byron and Augusta, Miss Philips, and Charlotte Lewis.

Mrs. Byron was placed at the upper end of the room by Mr. Tyson, because she is honourable, and her daughter next to her; I, of course, the lowest of our party; but the moment Mr. Tyson had arranged us, Augusta arose, and nothing would satisfy her but taking a seat not only next to but below me; nor could I for my life get the better of the affectionate humility with which she quite supplicated me to be content. She was soon after followed by Captain Brisbane, a young officer who had met her in Spring Gardens, and seemed much struck with her, and was now presented to her by Mr. Tyson for her partner.

Captain Brisbane is a very pretty sort of young man, but did not much enliven us. Soon after I perceived Captain Bouchier, who, after talking some time with Mrs. Thrale, and various parties, made up to us, and upon Augusta’s being called upon to dance a minuet, took her place, and began a very lively sort of chit-chat.

I had, however, no small difficulty to keep him from abusing my friend Augusta. He had once danced with her, and their commerce had not been much to her advantage.
I defended her upon the score of her amiable simplicity and unaffected ingenuousness, but I could not have the courage to contradict him when he said he had no notion she was very brilliant by the conversation he had had with her. Augusta, indeed, is nothing less than brilliant: but she is natural, artless, and very affectionate. Just before she went to dance her minuet, upon my admiring her bouquet, which was the most beautiful in the room, she tore from it the only two moss roses in it, and so spoilt it all before her exhibition, merely that I might have the best of it.

Country dances were now preparing, and after a little further chat, Captain Bouchier asked me for the honour of my hand, but I had previously resolved not to dance, and therefore declined his offer. But he took, of the sudden, a fancy to prate with me, and therefore budged not after the refusal.

He told me this was the worst ball for company there had been the whole season; and, with a wicked laugh that was too significant to be misunderstood, said, “And, as you have been to no other, perhaps you will give this for a specimen of a Bath ball!”

He told me he had very lately met with Hannah More, and then mentioned Mrs. Montagu and Mrs. Carter, whence he took occasion to say most high and fine things of the ladies of the present age,—their writings, and talents; and I soon found he had no small reverence for us blue-stockings.

About this time Charlotte,12 who had confessedly dressed herself for dancing, but whose pretty face had by some means been overlooked, drawled towards us, and asked me why I would not dance?
“I never intended it,” said I, “but I hoped to have seen you.”
“No,” said she, yawning, “no more shall I,—I don’t choose.”
“Don’t you?” said Captain Bouchier, dryly, “why not?
“Why, because I don’t like it.”
“O fie!” cried he; “consider how cruel that is.”
“I must consider myself,” said she, pertly; “for I don’t choose to heat myself this hot weather.”

Just then a young man came forward, and requested her hand. She coloured, looked excessively silly, and walked off with him to join the dancers. When, between the dances, she came our way, he plagued her, a la Sir Clement.13
“Well,” cried he, “so you have been dancing this hot night! I thought you would have considered yourself better?”

laced stockings

high heels



“Oh,” said she, “I could not help it—I had much rather not;—it was quite disagreeable to me.”
“No, no,—pardon me there!” said he, maliciously; “I saw pleasure dance first in your eyes; I never saw you look more delighted: you were quite the queen of smiles!”
She looked as if she could have killed him; and yet, from giddiness and good-humour, was compelled to join in the laugh.
After this we went to tea. When that was over, and we all returned to the ball-room, Captain Bouchier followed me, and again took a seat next mine, which he kept, without once moving, the whole night.

He again applied to me to dance, but I was more steady than Charlotte; and he was called upon, and reproached by Captain Brisbane and others for sitting still when there were so few dancers; but he told them he could not endure being pressed into the service, or serving at all under the master of the ceremonies.
Well, I have no more time for particulars, though we had much more converse; for so it happened that we talked all the evening almost together, as Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Byron were engaged with each other: Miss Thrale, who did not dance, was fairly jockeyed out of her place next me by Captain Bouchier, and the other young ladies were with their partners. Before we broke up, this captain asked me if I should be at the play next night?—“Yes,”

I could not but say, as we had had places taken some time; but I did not half like it, for his manner of asking plainly implied, “If you go, why I will!”

When we made our exit, he saw me safe out of the rooms, with as much attention as if we had actually been partners. As we were near home we did not get into chairs; and Mr. Travell joined us in our walk.
“Why, what a flirtation,” cried Mrs. Thrale; “why, Burney, this is a man of taste!—Pray, Mr. Travell, will it do? What has he.”
“Twenty thousand pounds, ma’am,” answered the beau.
“O ho! has he so?—Well, well, we’ll think of it.”

Finding her so facetious, I determined not to acquaint her with the query concerning the play, knowing that, if I did, and he appeared there, she would be outrageous in merriment.
She is a most dear creature, but never restrains her tongue in anything, nor, indeed, any of her feelings:—she laughs, cries, scolds, sports, reasons, makes fun,—does everything she has an inclination to do, without any study of prudence, or thought of blame; and pure and artless as is this character, it often draws both herself and others into scrapes, which a little discretion would avoid.

Further flirtations, how delicious

Saturday morning I spent in visiting. At dinner we had Mrs. Lambart and Colonel Campbell. All the discourse was upon Augusta Byron’s having made a conquest of Captain Brisbane, and the match was soon concluded upon,—at least, they all allowed it would be decided this night, when she was to go with us to the play; and if Captain Brisbane was there, why then he was in for it, and the thing was done.

Well—Augusta came at the usual time; Colonel Campbell took leave, but Mrs. Lambart accompanied us to the play: and, in the lobby, the first object we saw was Captain Brisbane. He immediately advanced to us, and, joining our party, followed us into our box.
Nothing could equal the wickedness of Mrs. Thrale and Mrs. Lambart; they smiled at each other with such significance! Fortunately, however, Augusta did not observe them.

Well, we took our seats, and Captain Brisbane, by getting into the next box, on a line with ours, placed himself next to Augusta:14 but hardly had Mrs. T. and L. composed their faces, ere I heard the box-door open. Every one looked round but me, and I had reasons for avoiding such curiosity,—reasons well enough founded, for instantly grins, broader than before, widened the mouths of the two married ladies, while even Miss Thrale began a titter that half choaked her, and Augusta, nodding to me with an arch smirk, said, “Miss Burney, I wish you joy!”

To be sure I could have no doubt who entered, but, very innocently, I demanded of them all the cause of their mirth. They scrupled not explaining themselves; and I found my caution, in not mentioning the query that had been put to me, availed me nothing, for the captain was already a marked man in my service!
He placed himself exactly behind me, but very quietly and silently, and did not, for some minutes, speak to me; afterwards, however, he did a little,—except when my favourite, Mr. Lee, who acted Old Norval, in “Douglas,” was on the stage, and then he was strictly silent. I am in no cue to write our discourse; but it was pleasant and entertaining enough at the time, and his observations upon the play and the players were lively and comical. But I was prodigiously worried by my own party, who took every opportunity to inquire how I was entertained and so forth,—and to snigger.

Two young ladies, who seemed about eighteen, and sat above us were so much shocked by the death of Douglas, that both burst into a loud fit of roaring, like little children,—and sobbed on, afterwards, for almost half the farce! I was quite astonished; and Miss Weston complained that they really disturbed her sorrows; but Captain Bouchier was highly diverted, and went to give them comfort, as if they had been babies, telling them it was all over, and that they need not cry any more.

At breakfast, Mrs. Thrale said,

“Ah, you never tell me your love-secrets, but I could tell you one if I chose it!”
This produced entreaties——and entreaties thus much further—
“Why, I know very well who is in love with Fanny Burney!”

I told her that was more than I did, but owned it was not difficult to guess who she meant, though I could not tell what.
“Captain Bouchier,” said she. “But you did not tell me so, nor he either; I had it from Mr. Tyson, our master of the ceremonies, who told me you made a conquest of him at the ball; and he knows these matters pretty well; ’tis his trade to know them.”
“Well-a-day!” quoth I—”’tis unlucky we did not meet a little sooner, for this very day he is ordered away with his troop into Norfolk.”

Thursday, June 8.
We went to Bath Easton. Mrs. Lambart went with us.

The house is charmingly situated, well fitted up, convenient, and pleasant, and not large, but commodious and elegant. Thursday is still their public day for company, though the business of the vase is over for this season.
The room into which we were conducted was so much crowded we could hardly make our way. Lady Miller came to the door, and, as she had first done to the rest of us, took my hand, and led me up to a most prodigious fat old lady, and introduced me to her. This was Mrs. Riggs, her ladyship’s mother, who seems to have Bath Easton and its owners under her feet.

I was smiled upon with a graciousness designedly marked, and seemed most uncommonly welcome. Mrs. Riggs looked as if she could have shouted for joy at sight of me! She is mighty merry and facetious, Sir John was very quiet, but very civil.

his tongue

like velvet


I saw the place appropriated for the vase, but at this time it was removed. As it was hot, Sir John Miller offered us to walk round the house, and see his greenhouse, etc. So away we set off, Harriet Bowdler accompanying me, and some others following.

We had not strolled far ere we were overtaken by another party, and among them I perceived Miss W— my new sceptical friend. She joined me immediately, and I found she was by no means in so sad a humour as when I saw her last, on the contrary, she seemed flightily gay.
“Were you never here before?” she asked me.

“No? why what an acquisition you are then! I suppose you will contribute to the vase?”
“No, indeed!”
“No more you ought; you are quite too good for it.”
“No, not that; but I have no great passion for making the trial. You, I suppose, have contributed?”
“No, never—I can’t. I have tried, but I could never write verses in my life—never get beyond Cupid and stupid.”
“Did Cupid, then, always come in your way? what a mischievous urchin!”
“No, he has not been very mischievous to me this year.”
“Not this year? Oh, very well! He has spared you, then, for a whole twelvemonth!”

She laughed, and we were interrupted by more company.

Some time after, while I was talking with Miss W— and Harriet Bowdler, Mrs. Riggs came up to us, and with an expression of comical admiration, fixed her eyes upon me, and for some time amused herself with apparently watching me. Mrs. Lambart, who was at cards, turned round and begged me to give her her cloak, for she felt rheumatic; I could not readily find it, and, after looking some time, I was obliged to give her my own; but while I was hunting, Mrs. Riggs followed me, laughing, nodding, and looking much delighted, and every now and then saying,

“That’s right, Evelina—Ah! look for it, Evelina!—Evelina always did so—she always looked for people’s cloaks, and was obliging and well-bred!”

a gentle


inside, out

I grinned a little, to be sure, but tried to escape her, by again getting between Miss W— and Harriet Bowdler; but Mrs. Riggs still kept opposite to me, expressing from time to time, by uplifted hands and eyes, comical applause, Harriet Bowdler modestly mumbled some praise, but addressed it to Miss Thrale. I begged a truce, and retired to a chair in a corner, at the request of Miss W— to have a tête-à-tête, for which, however, her strange levity gave me no great desire. She begged to know if I had written anything else. I assured her never.

“The ‘Sylph,’” said she, “I am told, was yours.”

“I had nothing at all to do with that or anything else that ever was published but ‘Evelina;’ you, I suppose, read the ‘Sylph’ for its name’s sake?”
“No; I never read novels—I hate them; I never read ‘Evelina’ till I was quite persecuted by hearing it talked of. ‘Sir Charles Grandison’ I tried once, but could not bear it; Sir Charles for a lover! no lover for me! for a guardian or the trustee of an estate, he might do very well—but for a lover!”
“What—when he bows upon your hand! would not that do?”
She kept me by her side for a full hour, and we again talked over our former conversation; and I enquired what first led her to seeking infidel books?

“Pope,” she said; he was himself a deist, she believed, and his praise of Bolingbroke made her mad to read his books, and then the rest followed easily. She also gave me an account of her private and domestic life; of her misery at home, her search of dissipation, and her incapability of happiness.

Our conversation would have lasted till leave-taking, but for our being interrupted by Miss Miller, a most beautiful little girl of ten years old. Miss W— begged her to sing us a French song. She coquetted, but Mrs. Riggs came to us, and said if I wished it I did her grand-daughter great honour, and she insisted upon her obedience. The little girl laughed and complied, and we went into another room to hear her, followed by the Misses Caldwell. She sung in a pretty childish manner enough.
When we became more intimate, she said,
“Ma’am, I have a great favour to request of you, if you please!”
I begged to know what it was, and assured her I would grant it; and to be out of the way of these misses, I led her to the window.
“Ma’am,” said the little girl, “will you then be so good as to tell me where Evelina is now?”
I was a little surprised at the question, and told her I had not heard lately.

Curiosity about the “Evelina” Set.

“Oh, ma’am, but I am sure you know!” cried she, “for you know you wrote it; and mamma was so good as to let me hear her read it; and pray, ma’am, do tell me where she is? and whether Miss Branghton and Miss Polly went to see her when she was married to Lord Orville?”
I promised her I would inquire, and let her know.
“And pray, ma’am, is Madame Duval with her now?”

And several other questions she asked me, with a childish simplicity that was very diverting. She took the whole for a true story, and was quite eager to know what was become of all the people. And when I said I would inquire, and tell her when we next met.

“Oh, but, ma’am,” she said, “had not you better write it down, because then there would be more of it, you know?”

When we came home our newspaper accounts of the tumults In town with Lord George Gordon and his mob, alarmed us very much; but we had still no notion of the real danger you were all in.

Next day we drank tea with the Dowdlers. At our return home we were informed a mob was surrounding a new Roman Catholic chapel. At first we disbelieved it, but presently one of the servants came and told us they were knocking it to pieces; and in half an hour, looking out of our windows, we saw it in flames: and listening, we heard loud and violent shouts!

I shall write no particulars—the horrible subject you have had more than your share of. Mrs. Thrale and I sat up till four o’clock, and walked about the parades, and at two we went with a large party to the spot, and saw the beautiful new building consuming; the mob then were all quiet—all still and silent, and everybody seemed but as spectators.

Saturday morning, to my inexpressible concern, brought me no letters from town, and my uneasiness to hear from you made me quite wretched. Mrs. Thrale had letters from Sir Philip Clerke and Mr. Perkins, to acquaint her that her town-house had been three times attacked, but was at last saved by guards; her children, plate, money, and valuables all removed. Streatham also threatened, and emptied of all its furniture.
The same morning also we saw a Bath and Bristol paper, in which Mr. Thrale was asserted to be a papist. This villanous falsehood terrified us even for his personal safety, and Mrs. Thrale and I agreed it was best to leave Bath directly, and travel about the country.

She left to me the task of acquainting Mr. Thrale with these particulars, being herself too much disturbed to be capable of such a task. I did it as well as I could, and succeeded so far that, by being lightly told of it, he treated it lightly, and bore it with much steadiness and composure. We then soon settled to decamp.

We had no time nor spirits pour prendre conge stuff, but determined to call upon the Bowdlers and Miss Cooper. They were all sorry to part, and Miss Cooper, to my equal surprise and pleasure, fairly made a declaration of her passion for me, assuring me she had never before taken so great a fancy to a new acquaintance, and beginning warmly the request I meant to make myself, of continuing our intimacy in town.

Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.
Bath, June 9, 1780,

My dearest sir,
How are you? where are you? and what is to come next? The accounts from town are so frightful, that I am uneasy, not only for the city at large, but for every individual I know in it. Does this martial law confine you quite to the house? Folks here say that it must, and that no business of any kind can be transacted. Oh, what dreadful times! Yet I rejoice extremely that the opposition members have fared little better than the ministerial. Had such a mob been confirmed friends of either or of any party, I think the nation must have been at their disposal; for, if headed by popular or skilful leaders, who and what could have resisted them?—I mean, if they are as formidable as we are here told.

dear Sir

here I am

Dr. Johnson has written to Mrs. Thrale, without even mentioning the existence of this mob; perhaps at this very moment he thinks it “a humbug upon the nation,” as George Bodens called the parliament,
A private letter to Bull, the bookseller, brought word this morning that much slaughter has been made by the military among the mob. Never, I am sure, can any set of wretches less deserve quarter or pity; yet it is impossible not to shudder at hearing of their destruction. Nothing less, however, would do; they were too outrageous and powerful for civil power.

But what is it they want? who is going to turn papist? who, indeed, is thinking in an alarming way of religion?—this pious mob, and George Gordon excepted?

All the stage-coaches that come into Bath from London are chalked over with “No Popery,” and Dr. Harrington called here just now, and says the same was chalked this morning upon his door, and is scrawled in several places about the town. Wagers have been laid that the popish chapel here will be pulled or burnt down in a few days; but I believe not a word of the matter, nor do I find that anybody is at all alarmed.

Bath, indeed, ought to be held sacred as a sanctuary for invalids; and I doubt not but the news of the firing in town will prevent all tumults out of it.

Now, if, after all the intolerable provocation given by the mob, after all the leniency and forbearance of the ministry, and after the shrinking Of the minority, we shall by and by hear that this firing was a massacre—will it not be villanous and horrible? And yet as soon as safety is secured—though by this means alone all now agree it can be secured—nothing would less surprise me than to hear the seekers of popularity make this assertion.

Friday night.
The above I writ this morning, before I recollected this was not post-day, and all is altered here since. The threats I despised were but too well grounded, for, to our utter amazement and consternation, the new Roman Catholic chapel in this town was set on fire at about nine o’clock. It is now burning with a fury that is dreadful, and the house of the priest belonging to it is in flames also. The poor persecuted man himself has I believe escaped with life, though pelted, followed, and very ill used. Mrs. Thrale and I have been walking about with the footmen several times. The whole town is still and orderly. The rioters do their work with great composure, and though there are knots of people in every corner, all execrating the authors of such outrages, nobody dares oppose them.

An attempt indeed was made, but it was ill-conducted, faintly followed, and soon put an end to by a secret fear of exciting vengeance.


by the Mob

To what have we all lived!—the poor invalids here will probably lose all chance of life, from terror. Mr. Hay, our apothecary, has been attending the removal of two, who were confined to their beds in the street where the chapel is burning.

The Catholics throughout the place are all threatened with destruction, and we met several porters, between ten and eleven at night, privately removing goods, walking on tiptoe, and scarcely breathing.
I firmly believe, by the deliberate villany with which this riot is conducted, that it wil! go on in the same desperate way as in town, and only be stopped by the same desperate means. Our plan for going to Bristol is at an end. We are told it would be madness, as there are seven Romish chapels in it; but we are determined upon removing somewhere tomorrow; for why should we, who can go, stay to witness such horrid scenes?

Saturday Afternoon, June 10—I was most cruelly disappointed in not having one word today. I am half crazy with doubt and disturbance in not hearing. Everybody here is terrified to death. We have intelligence that Mr. Thrale’s house in town is filled with soldiers, and threatened by the mob with destruction.

Perhaps he may himself be a marked man for their fury. We are going directly from Bath, and intend to stop only at villages. To-night we shall stop at Warminster, not daring to go to Devizes. This place is now well guarded, but still we dare not await the event of to-night; all the catholics in the town have privately escaped.

I know not now when I shall hear from you. I am in agony for news. Our head-quarters will be Brighthelmstone, where I do most humbly and fervently entreat you to write—do, dearest sir, write, if but one word—if but only you name yourself! Nothing but your own hand can now tranquillize me. The reports about London here quite distract me. If it were possible to send ine a line by the diligence to Brighton, how grateful I should be for such an indulgence!

Fanny Burney to Dr. Burney.

Salisbury, June 11, 1780
Here we are, dearest sir, and here we mean to pass this night.
We did not leave Bath till eight o’clock yesterday evening, at which time it was filled with dragoons, militia, and armed constables, not armed with muskets, but bludgeons: these latter were all chairmen, who were sworn by the mayor in the morning for petty constables. A popish private chapel, and the houses of all the catholics, were guarded between seven and eight, and the inhabitants ordered to keep house.

We set out in the coach-and-four, with two men on horseback, and got to Warminster, a small town in Somersetshire, a little before twelve.

This morning two more servants came after us from Bath, and brought us word that the precautions taken by the magistrates last night had good success, for no attempt of any sort had been renewed towards a riot. But the happiest tidings to me were contained in a letter which they brought, which had arrived after our departure, by the diligence, from Mr. Perkins,17 with an account that all was quiet in London, and that Lord G. Gordon was sent to the Tower. I am now again tolerably easy, but I shall not be really comfortable, or free from some fears, till I hear from St. Martin’s-street.

The Borough house has been quite preserved. I know not how long we may be on the road, but nowhere long enough for receiving a letter till we come to Brighthelmstone.


and dragoons

Filled the streets

We stopped in our way at Wilton, and spent half the day at that beautiful place.
Just before we arrived there, Lord Arundel had sent to the officers in the place, to entreat a party of guards immediately, for the safety of his house, as he had intelligence that a mob was on the road from London to attack it:—he is a catholic. His request was immediately complied with.
We intended to have gone to a private town, but find all quiet here, and therefore prefer it as much more commodious. There is no Romish chapel in the town; mass has always been performed for the catholics of the place at a Mrs. Arundel’s in the Close—a relation of his lordship’s, whose house is fifteen miles off. I have inquired about the Harris’s;18 I find they are here and all well.

The Gordon Riots.

Charlotte Burney19 to Fanny Burney.

I am very sorry, my dear Fanny, to hear how much you have suffered from your apprehension about us. Susan will tell you why none of us wrote before Friday; and she says, she has told you what dreadful havoc and devastation—the mob have made here in all parts of the town. However, we are pretty quiet and tranquil again now. Papa goes on with his business pretty much as usual, and so far from the military keeping people within doors (as you say in your letter to my father, you suppose to be the case), the streets were never more crowded—everybody is wandering about in order to see the ruins of the places that the mob have destroyed.

There are two camps, one in St. James’s, and the other in Hyde Park, which together with the military law, makes almost every one here think he is safe again. I expect we shall all have “a passion for a scarlet coat” now.

I hardly know what to tell you that won’t be stale news. They say that duplicates of the handbill that I have enclosed were distributed all over the town on Wednesday and Thursday last; however, thank heaven, everybody says now that Mr. Thrale’s house and brewery are as safe as we can wish them.
There was a brewer in Turnstile that had his house gutted and burnt, because, the mob said, “he was a papish, and sold popish beer.” Did you ever hear of such diabolical ruffians?

To add to the pleasantness of our situation, there have been gangs of women going about to rob and plunder. Miss Kirwans went on Friday afternoon to walk in the Museum gardens, and were stopped by a set of women, and robbed of all the money they had. The mob had proscribed the mews, for they said, “the king should not have a horse to ride upon!” They besieged the new Somerset House, with intention to destroy it, but were repulsed by some soldiers placed there for that purpose.

The chaos

of conflicting views

Mr. Sleepe has been here a day or two, and says the folks at Watford, where he comes from, “approve very much Of having the Catholic chapels destroyed, for they say it’s a shame the Pope should come here!” There is a house hereabouts that they had chalked upon last week, “Empty, and No Popery!”

I am heartily rejoiced, my dearest Fanny, that you have got away from Bath, and hope and trust that at Brighthelmstone you will be as safe as we are here.

It sounds almost incredible, but they say, that on Wednesday night last, when the mob were more powerful, more numerous, and outrageous than ever, there was, nevertheless, a number of exceeding genteel people at Ranelagh, though they knew not but their houses might be on fire at the time!

A Suggested visit to Grub-Street.

Fanny Burney to Mrs. Thrale.

Since I wrote last I have drunk tea with Dr. Johnson. My father took me to Bolt-court, and we found him, most fortunately, with only one brass-headed cane gentleman. Since that I have had the pleasure to meet him again at Mrs. Reynolds’s, when he offered to take me with him to Grub-street, to see the ruins of the house demolished there in the late riots, by a mob that, as he observed, could be no friend to the Muses! He inquired if I had ever yet visited Grub-street? but was obliged to restrain his anger when I answered “No,” because he acknowledged he had never paid his respects to it himself.

"However,” says he, “you and I, Burney, will go together; we have a very good right to go, so we’ll visit the mansions of our progenitors, and take up our own freedom, together.” There’s for you, madam! What can be grander?

My brother

was promoted

Fanny Burney to Mrs. Thrale.

Chesington, Nov. 4.
I had no other adventure in London, but a most delightful incident has happened since I came hither. We had just done tea on Friday, and Mrs. Hamilton, Kitty, Jem, and Mr. Crisp, were sitting down to cards, when we were surprised by an express from London, and it brought a “Whereas we think fit” from the Admiralty, to appoint Captain Burney to the command of the “Latona,” during the absence of the Honourable Captain Conway. This is one of the best frigates in the navy, of thirty-eight guns, and immediately, I believe, ready for service. Jem was almost frantic with ecstacy of joy: he sang, laughed, drank to his own success, and danced about the room with Miss Kitty till He put her quite out of breath. His hope is to get out immediately, and have a brush with some of the Dons, Monsieurs, or Mynheers, while he is in possession of a ship of sufficient force to attack any frigate he may meet.
(Mrs. Thrale wrote to Fanny from Streatham, Dec. 22:—)

I have picked up something to please you; Dr. Johnson pronounced an actual eulogium upon Captain Burney, to his yesterday’s listeners—how amiable he was, and how gentle in his manner, etc., tho’ he had lived so many years with sailors and savages.

Fanny Burney to Mrs. Thrale20

Wednesday Evening, April 4, 1781
You bid me write to you, and so I will; you bid me pray for you, and so, indeed, I do, for the restoration of your sweet peace of mind. I pray for your resignation to this hard blow, for the continued union and exertion of your virtues with your talents, and for the happiest reward their exertion can meet with, in the gratitude and prosperity of your children. These are my prayers for my beloved Mrs. Thrale; but these are not my only ones; no, the unfailing warmth of her kindness for myself I have rarely, for a long time past, slept without first petitioning.

I ran away without seeing you again when I found you repented that sweet compliance with my request which I had won from you. For the world would I not have pursued you, had I first seen your prohibition, nor could I endure to owe that consent to teasing which I only solicited from tenderness. Still, however, I think you had better have suffered me to follow you; I might have been of some use; I hardly could have been in your way. But I grieve now to have forced you to an interview which I would have spared myself as well as you, had I foreseen how little it would have answered my purpose.
Yet though I cannot help feeling disappointed, I am not surprised; for in any case at all similar, I am sure I should have the same eagerness for solitude.

Mr Thrale

with death

has sailed

I tell you nothing of how sincerely I sympathise in your affliction; yet I believe that Mr. Crutchley and Dr. Johnson alone do so more earnestly; and I have some melancholy comfort in flattering myself that, allowing for the difference of our characters, that true regard which I felt was as truly returned. Nothing but kindness did I ever meet with; he ever loved to have me, not merely with his family, but with himself; and gratefully shall I ever remember a thousand kind expressions of esteem and good opinion, which are now crowding upon my memory.

1 Mr. Smelt was a friend of Dr. Burney’s, and highly esteemed by Fanny both for his character and talents. He had been tutor to the Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.). We shall meet with him later.—ED.]

2 This boy was afterwards the celebrated painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence, President of the Royal Academy.—ED.]

3 Constantine John Phipps, second Baron Mulgrave in the Irish peerage. He was born in 1744; served with distinction in the navy, and made a voyage of discovery towards the North Pole in 1773. His account of this voyage was published in the following year. He became Baron Mulgrave on the death of his father, the first Baron, in 1775; was raised to the English peerage under the title of Lord Mulgrave in 1790, and died in 1792.—ED.]

4 Mrs. Byron was the wife of Admiral the Hon. John Byron (“Foul-weather Jack”), and grandmother of the poet. Her daughter Augusta subsequently married Vice–Admiral Parker, and died in 1824.—ED.]

5 Mrs. Dobson was authoress of an abridged translation of “Petrarch’s Life,” and of the “History of the Troubadours.”—ED.]

6 Dr. Harrington was a physician, and a friend of Dr. Burney. His son, “Mr. Henry”—the Rev. Henry Harrington—was the editor of “Nugaae Antiquae.”—ED.]

7 The rough-mannered, brutal sea-captain in “Evelina.”—ED.]

8 Lady Miller, of Bath Easton—the lady of the Vase. Horace Walpole gives an amusing description of the flummery which was indulged in every week at Bath Easton under her presidency. “You must know, that near Bath is erected a new Parnassus, composed of three laurels, a myrtle-tree, a weeping-willow, and a view of the Avon, which has now been christened Helicon. Ten years ago there lived a Madam [Briggs], an old rough humourist, who passed for a wit; her daughter, who passed for nothing, married to a captain [Miller], full of good-natured officiousness. These good folks were friends of Miss Rich, who carried me to dine with them at Bath Easton, now Pindus. They caught a little of what was then called taste, built, and planted, and begot children, till the whole caravan were forced to go abroad to retrieve. Alas! Mrs. Miller is returned a beauty, a genius, a Sappho, a tenth muse, as romantic as Mademoiselle Scuderi, and as sophisticated as Mrs. Vesey. The captain’s fingers are loaded with cameos, his tongue runs over with virtu; and that both may contribute to the improvement of their own country, they have introduced bouts-rimes as a new discovery. They hold a Parnassus-fair every Thursday, give out rhymes and themes, and all the flux of quality at Bath contend for the prizes. A Roman vase, dressed with pink ribands and myrtles, receives the poetry, which is drawn out every festival: six judges of these Olympic games retire and select the brightest compositions, which the respective successful acknowledge, kneel to Mrs. Calliope (Miller), kiss her fair hand, and are crowned by it with myrtle.” Works, vol. v. P. 183—ED.]

9 Not our old acquaintance, Mrs. Cholmondeley, but a lady whom Fanny met for the first time during this season at Bath.—ED.]

10 See ante, note 121.—ED.]

11 Beattie’s “Essay on Truth,” published in 1770, and containing a feeble attack on Hume. Commonplace as the book is, it was received with rapture by the Orthodox, and Reynolds painted a fine picture of Beattie, standing with the “Essay” under his arm, while the angel of Truth beside him, drives away three demonic figures, in whose faces we trace a resemblance to the portraits of Hume, Voltaire, and Gibbon. For this piece of flattery the painter was justly rebuked by Goldsmith, whose sympathies were certainly not on the side of infidelity. “It very ill becomes a mann of your eminence and character,” said the poet, “to debase so high a genius as Voltaire before so mean a writer as Beattie. Beattie and his book will be forgotten in ten years, while Voltaire’s fame will last for ever. Take care it does not perpetuate this picture, to the shame of such a man as you.”—ED.]

12 Charlotte Lewis.—ED.]

13 Sir Clement Willoughby, a rakish baronet in “Evelina.”—ED.]

14 This flirtation came to nothing, as Captain Brisbane proved himself a jilt. The following month Miss Burney wrote to Mrs. Thrale as follows:—“Your account of Miss M—‘s being taken in, and taken in by Captain Brisbane, astonishes me! surely not half we have heard either of her adorers, or her talents, can have been true. Mrs. Byron has lost too little to have anything to lament, except, indeed, the time she sacrificed to foolish conversation, and the civilities she threw away upon so worthless a subject. Augusta has nothing to reproach herself with, and riches and wisdom must be rare indeed, if she fares not as well with respect to both, as she would have done with an adventurer whose pocket, it seems, was as empty as his head.”—ED.]

15 Sir John Fielding, the magistrate; brother of the novelist.—ED.]

16 Mr. Thrale’s brewery in Southwark. His town house in Grosvenor Square was threatened by the mob, but escaped destruction.—ED.]

17 The manager of Mr. Thrale’s brewery.—ED.]

18 James Harris, of Salisbury, and his family. Mr. Harris was the author of “Hermes, an Enquiry concerning Universal Grammar,” and was characterised by Dr. Johnson as a “sound, solid scholar.” He was an enthusiast on the subject of music, and had made Dr. Burney’s acquaintance at the opera in 1773.—ED.]

19 Fanny’s younger sister, some of whose lively and amusing letters and fragments of journal are printed in the “Early Diary.” Unlike Fanny, she was a bit of a flirt, and she seems to have been altogether a very charming young woman, who fully sustained the Burney reputation for sprightliness and good humour.—ED.]

20 This letter was written in reply to a few words from Mrs. Thrale, in which, alluding to her husband’s sudden death, she begs Miss Burney to “write to me—pray for me!” The hurried note from Mrs. Thrale is thus endorsed by Miss Burney:—“Written a few hours after the death of Mr. Thrale, which happened by a sudden stroke of apoplexy, on the morning of a day on which half the fashion of London had been invited to an intended assembly at his house in Grosvenor Square.” [Mr. Thrale, who had long suffered from ill health, had been contemplating a journey to Spa, and thence to Italy. His physicians, however, were strongly opposed to the scheme, and Fanny writes, just before his death, that it was settled that a great meeting of hi friends should take place, and that they should endeavour to prevail with him to give it up; in which she has little doubt of their succeeding.]—ED.]

Diary of French court


Madame Darblay

Author(s) and photography

Fanny Burney
Michael Koontz

To the daisy that is my sun and inspiration

   Author page, Michael A Koontz
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    I Höga Kusten arrangerar Mike från a Norse View och Scandinavian.fitness en dagstur ut i naturen där vi blandar naturfoto i en vacker insjömiljö och faktabaserat prat om kost, träning och hälsa.

  • Fitness school, question 42: Will maintained fitness reduce menstrual pain for the majority of women?

    Quality time needed: 1 minute

    Fitness is built upon the science of you.
    Do you know the right answer?.

    Question number 42 in our School of Fitness.
    Fitness has been established in scientific studies in the last few years as a health-improving daily life painkiller.
    Making it even better is the fact that it comes completely free of cost and nerve-wracking & time-consuming doctors appointment and unhealthy side-effects. Lowering pain and debilitating health issues such as arthritis while fortifying your lifespan and health.

    But is that tremendous gratis painkiller effect applicable to menstrual pain too?.

  • Wildlife Facts: Camelopardalis, 'The camel that could have been a leopard'.. What animal am I talking about right now?

    Quality time needed: 9 minutes




     Arctic Sunrise - Year 4.5 Billion
    The camel that could have been a leopard.


    One of planet Earth´s most unique land-living animals still roaming about in the wild also happens to be one of the cutest and most enchanting, and gentle colossuses that have ever existed. Yet, somehow, despite the towering size and unique characteristics of these majestic critters they are also one of the lesser talked about wildlife stars. And so it happens that by now they are like so many other species highly endangered without anyone really paying attention.

    But perhaps that is the reward that life gave these majestic beings that float across the land they call home as if they are majestic land dwelling whales. A backseat in the human consciousness as we proceeded to decimate their global population with 40 or so % in less than 30 years.

  • Fitness school, question 41: The science of our human fitness anatomy. Scalenus Anterior, medius and posterior.

    Quality time needed: 1 minute

    Fitness is built upon your own anatomy.
    Do you know the right answer?.

    Question number 41 in our School of Fitness.
    Beneath the tasty, delicious joy and sexiness of a life built on plant-based food and fitness, the weights you lift, the miles you walk and run. The mountains you climb, and the sandbags you punch and kick there is not just a burning passion and increased life quality. Nor is it just a question of the enhanced health and joy you can touch and feel deep inside both body & mind.
    No, there is also this marvelously progressive thing called science. Because all the physical fitness things, the sweat and healthy living discipline that others see are ultimately powered by the all-encompassing facts of biological life.

  • Fitness school, question 40: The science of sugar and intestine tumors... In both mice & men.

    Quality time needed: 8 minutes

    Yet another study on food & health.

    Looking at the impact of sugar in food and beverages.

    Sugar is a much beloved sweetener. Craved like a lovers touch by most biological beings that dare to ever look into the abyss and allow its tastebuds to grace this natural force of addiction.

    But as much as all things living seemingly enjoy the taste of sugar and more modern artificial sweeteners. Scientifically speaking the bad health impact of sugar ( from obesity to diabetes and cancer risk, poor dental health and non existing nutritional value ) and other sweeteners have thankfully turned countless of humans into die hard "no sugar" please sentinels. So let us take a brief look at a brand new 2019 study and let us find out if this study too will add even more reasons to say no to sugar and other sweeteners in your food and beverages.

  • Fitness school, question 39: Telomeres, the fancy sounding tail that connects healthy fit aging with fitness activities. Dive right in as we take a look at recent studies.

    Quality time needed: 13 minutes

    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.

    Question number 39 in our School of Fitness.
    I have talked about telomeres in years past, and fitness too obviously :).
    But such is the world of fitness, science, and health, it often revisits old "truths" and sometimes upends them because our knowledge has deepened, while new studies at other times will simply fortify and acknowledge what we already knew to be true.
    So what will happen today as we travel back to the world of that peachy sounding telomeres thingy that keeps wiggling its cute little tail inside of us? Let us find out.
    My Question:.
    For this particular study, published in European Heart Journal, Nov 2018, we´ll uncover what happens to the length of our telomeres when we do long distance endurance training, high-intensity sprint intervals, nothing at all or lift weights in a so-so way in the gym ( yeah, color me unimpressed by the strength plan in this study, but hold on to that thought as you read on because I will get back to the fairly inadequate strength training and why that too matters. ).
    The question, which option is the best for maintaining the length of our telomeres and what is the worst?.

  • Anthropocene & the survival of our brilliant but simpleminded species. Just another morning.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes

    Breakfast stuff and morning thoughts.

    climate inaction is an existential threat.

    Nothing fancy or big worded to say today, I am just drinking some tasty fresh black coffee while various death metal songs keep pumping through my livingroom gear.
    Yes, what a glorious morning :).
    But while I am enjoying my morning routine, getting ready for the gym and my own workouts as well as the health and fitness regimes of today's PT clients I am also reading up on science and sustainability from around the world. And one of the pieces that stand out is a tonally laid-back piece by Swedish outlet DN. They spent the better part of a month or so following Swedish sustainability advocate Greta as she continues her quest to bring much-needed awareness to the sad state of the world and the essential, deep-rooted changes we as a species and global civilization urgently need to undertake.

  • Fitness school, question 38. Is obesity itself tied to diabetes type 2 and coronary artery disease?. Yes or no?.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes

    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.

    Question number 38 in our School of Fitness.
    Time for a short one.
    Obesity is no friend of the bettering of our health and longevity.
    Just as how the old school act of serious bulking never did anyone's health and fitness levels any favors. And pointing this scientific reality out is not about fat shaming. It´s about helping the world and its individuals turn the tide toward better health, and better fitness. And doing so does not remove peoples individual right to pick whatever body size and fat percentage that they so prefer.
    My Question:.
    We already know that obesity ( and a fat powered high BMI ) increases unhealthy factors such as high blood pressure and high cholesterol. And it often increases depression, drowsiness and general sedentary choices. Which indirectly leads to worse health in numerous ways. But if a person with a high fat powered BMI is deemed healthy as far as those traditional markers are concerned is excess fat itself still bad?
    Put in another way, will a higher amount of excess body fat still lead to worse health even if your bloodwork turns out ok and you do not feel depressed and drowsy and you do hit the gym?.

  • Fitness school, question 37: Can something as simple as a reduction of daily walking decrease our lean muscle mass in a noticeable way in just 2 weeks time?

    Quality time needed: 8 minutes

    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.

    Question number 37 in our School of Fitness.
    Yes, it is once again time for you to put your thinking cap on before you proceed without hesitation through the hallway of healthy fit wonders and science :).
    You already know that keeping fit and lifting your weekly weights and doing your daily cardio is nothing but a rejuvenating choice. It's good for your strength, duh.. It is wondrously good for your harty heart health, and it aids your cognitive and creative processes. It scientifically speaking lowers depression and tardy drowsiness. And if you have been keeping up with me over the years, you also know that keeping fit on a regular weekly basis also lowers your physical age by quite a noticeable margin too.
    But even small ordinary things like taking a daily walk carries with it a huge life long health and fitness impact.

    My Question:.
    What happens with our skeletal lean muscle mass for people above 70 years of age if they take a few thousand steps more or less per day for 2 weeks time?.
    Read on to reveal just how big the impact of that tiny change can be below the break.

  • Fitness School, Question 36, Will lifting weights 1-3 days per week be enough to lower cardiovascular related mortality?.

    Quality time needed: 3 minutes

    Fitness School
    Do you know the right answer?.

    Question number 36 in our School of Fitness.
    All forms of fitness activity is a tiny little pill of good health no matter who you are.
    But is the simple act of lifting weights one to three days per week enough to substantially lower the risk of cardiovascular related mortality?.
    Yup, that is how easy and straightforward question number 36 turned out to be. And why? Because we have a brand new study to lean back on when it comes down to the (obvious) answer.
    Read on to reveal the complete Q and A below the break.

  • Going beyond 1.5C. Our world and daily life behind the IPCC report.

    Quality time needed: 27 minutes

    Cause & Consequence.

    Life on Earth laid bare by the IPCC report.

    But before we head on over to the meaty real life data of our reckless modern day life, which the 2018 IPCC report painfully laid bare, walk with me as I step out on frosty cold northern shores for my morning walk.

    Just a Thursday, spent on northern shores.
    And this is the way I started this gorgeous little Autumn day.

  • Roundabouts in the milky way galaxy. The duality of a sustainable earth, and interplanetary living.

    Quality time needed: 14 minutes

    Walking through the gates of autumn.

    We see a brand new dawn.

    Life itself is this majestic mirror world of brilliance and incompetence. Eternally merging and reflected, individually disengaged yet perfectly synchronized and attached to each other and everything else.

    Like the leaf that finds itself stranded on the wayward peaks of a stormy ocean. They are each others counterpart, yet entirely different. Individual objects, entwined and interconnected. Disengaged and perfectly unique.

  • Into Autumn, the spider´s lullaby. Random thoughts on life from another gorgeous day.

    Quality time needed: 5 minutes

    Walking through the gates of autumn.

    Together with a tiny little spider.

    And today, there´s officially a full-blown Autumn song playing out there in nature. Gorgeous and sunny, on a Sunday =). Wind free, except for the tiniest of breeze that you can almost not see or feel as it slowly makes it way through the crown of leaves that towers above.

    But it is, none the less, Autumn.
    The colors of the trees reveal it. The pale blue September moon that hangs high up in the middle of the day is another telltale.

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