do not know, nor did he
probably know himself. But, whatever he expected, he certainly got
nothing. Miss Burney had been hired for board, lodging, and two hundred
a year. Board, lodging, and two hundred a year, she had duly received.
We have looked carefully through the Diary, in the hope of finding some
trace of those extraordinary benefactions on which the Doctor reckoned.
But we can discover only a promise, never performed, of a gown; and for
this promise Miss Burney was expected to return thanks, such as might
have suited the beggar with whom St. Martin, in the legend, divided his
cloak. The experience of four years was, however, insufficient to dispel
the illusion which had taken possession of the Doctor's mind; and,
between the dear father and the sweet Queen, there seemed to be little
doubt that some day or other Frances would drop down a corpse. Six
months had elapsed since the interview between the parent and the
daughter. The resignation was not sent in. The sufferer grew worse and
worse. She took bark; but it soon ceased to produce a beneficial effect.
She was stimulated with wine; she was soothed with opium; but in vain.
Her breath began to fail. The whisper that she was in a decline spread
through the Court. The pains in her side became so severe that she was
forced to crawl from the card-table of the old Fury to whom she was
tethered, three or four times in an evening, for the purpose of taking
hartshorn. Had she been a negro slave, a humane planter would have
excused her from work. But her Majesty showed no mercy. Thrice a day the
accursed bell still rang; the Queen was still to be dressed for the
morning at seven, and to be dressed for the day at noon, and to be
undressed at midnight.

But there had arisen, in literary and fashionable society, a general
feeling of compassion for Miss Burney, and of indignation against both
her father and the Queen. "Is it possible," said a great French lady to
the Doctor, "that your daughter is in a situation where she is never
allowed a holiday?" Horace Walpole wrote to Frances, to express his
sympathy. Boswell, boiling over with good-natured rage, almost forced an
entrance into the palace to see her. "My dear ma'am, why do you stay? It
won't do, ma'am; you must resign. We can put up with it no longer. Some
very violent measures, I assure you, will be taken. We shall address Dr.
Burney in a body." Burke and Reynolds, though less noisy, were zealous
in the same cause. Wi