May 1779

Friday. Once more, my dearest Susy, I will attempt journalising, and endeavour, according to my promise, to keep up something of the kind during our absence, however brief and curtailed. To-day, while Mrs. Thrale was chatting with me in my room, we saw Mr. Murphy drive into the courtyard. Down stairs flew Mrs. Thrale, but, in a few minutes, up she flew again, 'crying, “Mr. Murphy is crazy for your play—he won't let me rest for it—do pray let me run away with the first act.” Little as I like to have it seen in this unfinished state, she was too urgent to be resisted, so off she made with it. I did not shew my phiz till I was summoned to dinner. Mr. Murphy, probably out of flummery, made us wait some minutes, and, when he did come, said, “I had much ado not to keep you all longer, for I could hardly get away from some new acquaintances I was just making.” As he could not stay to sleep here, he had only time, after dinner, to finish the first act. He was pleased to commend it very liberally; he has pointed out two places where he thinks I might enlarge, but has not criticised one word; on the contrary, the dialogue he has honoured with high praise.